#also I am much more at peace about taking this gap year now so that's a blessing

[flickeringflame216]

blessings roll call!

[littlcdarlin]

Event Horizon

summary: When you start university to do your master’s in physics, you are more than surprised to meet your professor: Joel Miller, an old friend of your parents' who moved away years ago. word–count: 15k warnings: professor kink, power imbalance due to Joel being reader's professor, illegal relationship (overage & consenting), dbf!Joel, big fat age gap (unspecified but written with early 20s & mid 50s in mind), unprotected piv, just overall daddy issues (no use of the word daddy)

note: Okay, time to tell you I am a big nerd and studied physics in uni. Truth is, I quit to pursue a career in the arts, so my knowledge of masters level physics is...a little rusty. Please be lenient with me if I messed anything up. Also, I know most people hate physics, but I promise Joel makes it hot. Warning: explanation of the Dirac equation as foreplay. Also, I'm European and have no fucking clue how the American education system works but I don't care enough to do research. Enjoy <3333

event horizon noun ASTRONOMY a notional boundary around a black hole beyond which no light or other radiation can escape. a point of no return.

Uni felt different at eighteen, when everything was about moving out, drinking beer at frat parties, and kissing boys who didn’t grow up in the same town you did. It was an exciting time, the degree itself fading into the background of all sorts of new experiences, but now that you’re doing your masters, you plan on focusing on your your grades more than on partying.

You enrolled in a new university, farther away from home, with a better physics program, and although you’ve grown up considerably, you still feel that tingle of anxiety you did when you first walked to your dorm, fresh out of high school. This time you won’t have to share with another student, spending your saved money on a bit of privacy that is a single dorm room, but still, you wonder if you’ll make friends here, or if you’ll spend your night hauled up alone, watching trash TV and crying because you’re lonely.

The room is small, blank, but functional with a bathroom you share with another student and a small kitchenette, and immediately you dream of all the ways you could decorate it. You didn’t bring much, just a big suitcase and a few boxes your Dad dropped off earlier. You feel slightly guilty for leaving your parents behind, but the relief outweighs the guilt – you won’t have to come home every Sunday for dinner, visits will be scarce. You love you parents, but the distance is much needed.

You get to unpacking your clothes, reveling in the fact that you can listen to music without headphones in your very own space. You could do it in your underwear, or naked, you could sing and dance along, and nobody would be bothered by it. It’s going to be a tough two years, the program you chose more than challenging, but a childish sort of giddiness fills you – no roommate to be considerate of, no parents to visit and take care of every week. This time in your life is about you, and only you – your career, but also your well-being. You promise yourself to do what makes you happy, instead of looking out for everyone else all of the time, and you’ll start by ordering Thai food and watching the trashiest movie with the hottest actors you can find on the little flatscreen you brought with you.

***

Your first lecture is Computational Physics – the one you’re looking forward to the least. The reason you decided to study physics at all was the predictable logic behind each problem, but the more you studied, the more complex the problems got, until they were impossible to solve analytically. Now you get to solve fluid dynamic equations and simulate quantum systems on a Monday morning instead of having a peaceful cup of coffee and taking a walk around campus.

The lecture hall is big, and you pick a seat that is neither too far away to be able to read the professor’s notes, nor close enough to immediately be pinned as an over-eager teacher’s pet. In the end, you plop down next to a girl who’s sitting alone, something about her shaved head and countless earrings making you think she wouldn’t make fun of you even if you didn’t understand a single thing all lecture.

"Okay if I sit here?", you ask somewhat timidly, trying hard not to sound too much like an eleven year old Ron Weasley boarding the train to Hogwarts.

"Please," the girl answers, "I don’t know anybody here."

"Did you move here, too?"

"Yeah, I’m from New York."

"You look it," you say with a smile, eyes drifting over her clothes and jewelry.

"Thanks…I guess?", she answers, her grin revealing a charming gap between her front teeth. "I’m Alva."

You introduce yourself, thankful to have found someone you can stick to already. Throughout the lecture you find out that apart from being much cooler than everyone else in the room, Alva has a biting sense of humor, and a near endless knowledge of computational physics. You make a mental note to ask her to study together, her explanations much easier to understand than the professor’s.

The two of you spend your lunch break together, and you tell her a little bit about yourself, but way too soon it’s time to go already – you have Advanced Quantum Mechanics in a different lecture hall. This you find way more interesting, basic quantum mechanics was one of your favorite lectures during your bachelor’s degree. As Alva and you sit down, you find yourself hoping you’ll be able to help her out this time, or you’d feel like a leech for making her help you with Computational. She doesn’t seem bothered, though, and keeps babbling happily about a band she recently discovered.

"– Britpop, but they only put out two albums. I think they were like a student band or something? They’re wildly underrated, I’ll send you a song, their debut is called The Sun Is Often Out."

Your thoughts start to wander off a little, eyes drifting over the old-fashioned chalkboards, when the door at the front of the lecture hall opens, and a tall man walks in – a man you recognize.

"Holy shit," you whisper, interrupting Alva’s rant about the Longpigs, and she turns her head to look at what you’re staring at.

"Damn," she says with a grin, "if I wasn’t gay, I’d want a piece of that."

"No," you snort, "I know him. He’s my Dad’s friend."

Alva opens her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Joel Miller steps forward, checking to see if the microphone is working, and introduces himself to the hundreds of students in front of him. His voice is deep, and as warm as you remember it, but that’s where the accuracy of your memories ends – your childish brain failed to register the tanned forearms and rolled up sleeves, the carelessly styled curls, the perfect side-profile. He’s got grey streaks in his hair now, which should send you into a crisis about time passing and your own little life being finite, but instead it makes your stomach swirl with something dangerous. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller, who organized backyard barbecues with your father and bought your favorite vegan sausages when your Dad rolled his eyes at you, who made strawberry lemonade instead of lemon, because he knew you preferred it, who helped you with your physics homework when you were graduating high school and didn’t rat you out when he caught you smoking at seventeen – he’s handsome.

There’s still a familiarity about him, the way he moves and talks, although it’s unsettling to see him in such a different environment. You’re used to band-tee-Joel, beer bottle and tongs in his hands, a breezy smile on his face. He looks different here, in a white button-down, with a stern expression on his face, as he’s reading the names on his list to check attendance. When he calls Alva’s name and she raises her hand, his eyes flicker upwards, but he doesn’t look at you. Still, your stomach lurches. If you listen carefully, you can detect that southern twang in his voice you’re sure most people would miss, and it fills you with satisfaction to know you’re the one who knows him best in this room – you’re sure half the lecture hall must see how attractive he is.

When he reads out your name, there’s a surprised lilt to his tone, and your heart threatens to skip a beat.

"Here."

Your eyes meet, and although his expression doesn’t change, he holds your eyecontact for a second too long. Alva nudges your side and grins.

Your plans about outshining Alva and returning the favor of helping with a lecture are quickly buried by Joel Miller’s beautiful hands – thick fingers holding a piece of chalk almost tenderly, twirling it around when he isn’t writing on the chalkboard. You vaguely register him introducing the Dirac equation, but as interesting as you would normally find it, your thoughts are stuck between memories of barbecues and the realization that you will have to call the man who taught you to drive Professor Miller.

If Alva notices your wandering mind, she doesn’t comment on it, which you’re thankful for. You do notice her throwing you a couple of knowing glances, as you copy down what Joel is writing down, mixing up gamma, delta, and the Dirac spinor.

"Alright, so you all know how Schrödinger’s equation works great for quantum mechanics, but it doesn’t play nicely with Einstein’s relativity, right? That’s a problem because electrons move fast, sometimes close to the speed of light, so we need an equation that respects both quantum mechanics and special relativity. That’s where Dirac steps in."

He’s still got that warm way of explaining things your Dad never managed when you needed help in high school, like he enjoys clearing things up for people. He’s a born teacher, patient when you panicked in the car because you confused the clutch and the break, persistent when you wanted to throw your physics book against a wall. Look, kid, think of it this way: Push harder, it moves faster. Make it heavier, it’s harder to move. If you apply a force F to an object with mass m, it will accelerate a. That’s why your Dad’s car takes longer to stop than your bike. Even now, he manages to make a far more complex equation than Newton’s second law tangible.

"Dirac's equation is like the grown-up version of Schrödinger’s equation. It explains how particles with spin-half, like electrons, behave when they move at relativistic speeds. The gamma mu matrices make sure the equation works in four-dimensional spacetime, meaning three space dimensions plus time. The psi is a spinor, which is just a fancy way of saying that an electron isn’t just a simple wave function, it actually has spin built into its nature. Now, can anyone think of a situation where we would need to use this equation instead of the regular Schrödinger equation?"

Nobody raises their hand, most people still busy with writing down Joel’s complicated notes, and as if on cue, his eyes are on yours when you look up from your notebook. He raises an eyebrow, and you see the corner of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. Then, he calls your last name, a formal Miss dripping off his tongue as if he hasn’t called you kiddo for most of your life. It’s almost like he’s making a joke only the two of you are able to understand, and the thought thrills you to your bone. Two can play this game – you smile back.

"Sure, Professor Miller. You’d use it for studying high-energy particles, like electrons in particle accelerators, because it accounts for relativistic speeds. It’s also needed for situations where particles are created or destroyed, which Schrödinger’s equation doesn’t cover."

Again, his eyes linger on yours, and his slightly amused smile turns into a more genuine one at your answer. You let out a relieved sigh.

"Exactly," Joel answers, his attention on the rest of the class again, "Someone payed attention during Basic Quantum Mechanics. Now, here’s where it gets wild. When Dirac wrote this down, he realized it naturally predicts antiparticles, meaning for every electron, there should be a mirror-image particle with opposite charge, which we now call the positron. That was a huge deal because it wasn’t something people were expecting, it just fell out of the math."

For the rest of the class, Joel doesn’t continue that little game between the two of you, but whenever he asks a question, his gaze flickers over you, and your stomach gives an embarrassing little jump. Alva grins whenever this happens, but for most of the class she’s busy following Joel’s explanations.

"I want you to read up on today’s lecture," Joel says at the end of the lecture, and writes down a few page numbers on the chalkboard, "and solve the problems I mentioned earlier. Attendance isn’t mandatory, we’re all adults here, but I urge you to come if you’re interested in graduating in the next three years. Trust me, it’s easier to just do the work here than in your dorms. Now, enjoy the weather, see you Monday."

You and Alva pack up your things, and before she can ask you which class you have next, you pick up your backpack.

"I’m gonna say hi to him," you tell her, nodding in Joel’s direction, "my Dad and him go way back."

"Sure," Alva says, a cheeky smile on her face, "it’d be rude not to."

"Meet you outside?"

"I’ll be at the vending machine. Go get him," she jokes, and you snort.

Joel is packing up his course materials when you make your way down the steps and to his desk, but he looks up when he hears you coming towards him, and immediately his face splits into a smile. If you were anywhere else and ten years younger, he’d probably ruffle your hair.

"Good lecture," you say, "Dad didn’t tell me you’re teaching again."

Joel puts his piece of chalk into a tin box and nods.

"I don’t think he knows. You know how it is, we never get around to callin’ and I haven’t been home in a while."

So this is a new development, perhaps even Joel’s first semester back at university, too.

"What about the contracting? Don’t you miss the…pipes?"

He chuckles at your lack in basic contracting knowledge, his eyes not moving from yours.

"Ah, that was always Tommy, he just needed a little help. Company’s doin’ well now, though, so he’ll manage without me."

You think you remember Tommy – a man good-naturedly chasing you and the rest of the giggling neighborhood kids with a harden hose – but the memory is too vague to be sure it’s really him.

"You’ve grown up," Joel says, almost accusingly, and you shrug and smile. "Doin’ your master’s already. How come you’re familiar with Dirac?"

His accent is much thicker now that it’s only the two of you, and you notice a hint of pride when he asks about your correct answer to his question during the lecture. The satisfied feeling it gives you is still the same as when he high-fived you after your drivers test, or when he patted your back after you solved a problem for school without his help.

"Summer reading," you admit, trying hard not to sound like a nerd, "Basic Quantum Mechanics was my favorite lecture as an undergrad."

Joel smiles at you, and puts his notes into his leather bag. He slings it across his shoulder, and nods towards the door.

"How would you like to grab a coffee and tell me all about what’s been goin’ on with you and your old man?"

Your eyes flicker briefly over his hand, gripping the strap of his bag, and you raise an eyebrow.

"What’s the policy for staff having coffee with their students, Professor?"

Joel holds your gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I’m actually not sure, Miss, I’ve never had to check before."

He’s playing along, and it feels dangerously blurry – yes, he’s your Dad’s old friend, your childhood neighbor, but it feels like more than just joking around.

"Does that mean I’m your first, then?", you ask, voice sweet and close to flirting now. The smile freezes on Joel’s face, and his gaze becomes almost calculating.

"Am I yours?" he asks you softly, and the double-meaning behind his question isn’t lost on you. You feel a thrilling pang in your stomach – Joel Miller is flirting with you.

***

You do end up getting coffee after you tell Alva you’ll meet her later, Joel reassuring you it won’t get him into trouble, and you’re fascinated to see he still drinks it black. What fascinates you even more is that you remember how he takes his coffee, and you wonder why your brain filed this fact away as important, not to be forgotten.

"So, when did you graduate? Sorry I missed it."

There’s honest regret in his voice, which surprises you. Joel was always a warm person, but you figured he cared for you as much as he would have for any kid living across the street.

"Last June," you tell him, dropping a sugar cube into your cappuccino. "I spent the summer working, and now I’m here."

"How d’you like it so far?"

You give a nervous chuckle, torn between the honest truth and pleasant small talk. You opt for the former – this is Joel, after all, not some stranger.

"To be honest with you, I oscillate between enjoying my freedom away from Mom and Dad, and being scared shitless by starting over somewhere new," you admit, looking at your coffee. You haven’t told people about your fear, and it feels good to finally admit it – the grip your parents have had on you makes your newfound freedom almost uncomfortable.

"What d’you mean, startin’ over?", Joel asks, his voice strikingly gentle. You sigh, and shrug.

"I know the distance is good for me, but it was comfortable, just doing what my parents expected of me. I had good grades, nice friends, and just the right amount of drunken nights for them not to worry about my social life too much," you explain, "and now it’s like…there’s so much room to be someone else, cause they won’t see it anyway."

You look up, embarrassed to have spilt your guts like this, but Joel looks thoughtful, his thumb moving along the handle of his coffee cup.

"Sorry," you mutter, "I know they’re your friends, but they can be…"

"Overbearing?"

You smile at him gratefully and he smiles back.

"Look, I know your parents pretty well. They love you to bits, but as an adult I imagine it must be stiflin’.“

"Yeah," you sigh, grateful for his understanding, "I feel like I don’t know who I am when I’m not…their kid."

Joel nods, and sips his coffee, apparently pondering what you said.

"I promised myself I would only do what makes me happy while I’m here," you tell him sheepishly, as if it’s a secret, and Joel laughs.

"Well, I’m not expectin’ you to hand in any homework, then."

You grin, too, and shake your head. It’s surreal, Joel being your professor, and you wearing your heart on your sleeve for him.

"Don’t worry, Professor Miller, I’m not dropping your class."

"You’d better not, it’d really hurt my feelings," Joel says, eyes trained on yours. Again, that blurriness set in motion by the change of his role in your life: neighbor to professor to – what?

"What about you, though? This your first semester here?"

"Second," he tells you, "but I still don’t feel at home. Once a Texan, always a Texan, I guess."

You cock your head and watch him drain the last of his coffee, the cup tiny in his hands.

"What?" he asks you, curiosity evident in his voice.

"You look so different," you say, and Joel scoffs.

"Well, that’s real nice. Know I’m not thirty anymore, but geez–"

"No," you say with a grin, "it’s not that. I don’t know, I’ve just never seen you teach before. Or dressed this nice – I remember you mowing the lawn in a Fleetwood Mac shirt, not checking attendance in a button down."

Joel’s cheeks go slightly pink, and he scoffs again.

"Well, I can’t show up here in a band tee, can I? Gotta dress the part," he mutters.

"I get it. You suit it," you tell him, if only to see that blush appear on his face again. He looks up at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds, then he shakes his head.

"What were the odds of us meetin’ like this, huh? I gotta call your father and tell him."

Something about that bothers you, you’d prefer for your parents not to know. You like sitting here with Joel, reminiscing the old times, without anybody getting a peek in.

"Or not," he says gently, seeing the expression on your face.

"Sorry," you say, "course you can tell him."

"You apologize a lot," he tells you, and you fight the urge to say sorry once again. "It’s okay, I’m not tellin’ anyone, kid. ’S just you n me."

That pang in your stomach again, and you nod.

"Alright," you answer, "just us."

You get a refill for the two of you, and a blueberry muffin to split, which feels strangely intimate, but Joel pats his stomach and jokes about keeping an eye on his figure, so you grin, and ask the barista to cut it in half. Joel asks you about your friends, and you tell him about Alva.

"Oh yes," he says and swallows a bite of the muffin, "that punky lookin’ kid who sits next to you?"

"Yeah, she’s nice. Haven’t really met anyone else."

"Geez, I’m not keepin’ you from findin’ frat boys to hook up with, am I?"

You laugh, the idea of sitting here with a twenty-something year old kid named Cole or Josh instead of him so absurd, you can’t help it.

"No," you tell him, "I’m honestly enjoying the fact that I don’t have to have someone else in my dorm anymore."

"Well, that’s a relief to hear," Joel says, "they’re all dipshits."

You remember him telling you something similar about the boys in high school, and it makes you smile. He’s still got that protective streak, then.

"To tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re here," you say quietly, "if I’m not making any friends, I can come crying to you."

Joel watches you for a couple of seconds, not laughing as you intended, but taking your words seriously.

"Course you’ll make friends. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll have forgotten all about physics cause you’ll be skippin’ classes left and right to hang out with people."

You don’t tell him, but you think it’s very unlikely you’ll skip any of his classes. Still, you appreciate his words and how confident he seems to be in your ability to open up to people.

"Well, will you give me the answers to your exams if I skip your class?"

"No way," he says with a cheeky smile, the crinkles around his eyes prominent. "I don’t do preferential treatment. You wanna split another blueberry muffin?"

You grin.

"Thought you were watching your waistline."

"I am, that’s why I’m only eating halves."

***

Your afternoon with Joel leaves you on a high for the rest of the day, feeling much less lonely now that you’ve had a conversation beyond the usual so how many siblings do you have? and where did you do your undergrad?

You start spending your lunch breaks with Alva and some friends she made in another lecture, all of whom are very nice. In the evenings you all go to see a movie or have dinner together in any of your dorm rooms, and although you walk around campus holding out one eye for Joel, you don’t see him for the rest of the week. There is always a nudge of disappointment in your stomach, when you glance in the direction of his office, and the door is closed, but you’re so busy, you don’t dwell on it too much. The days pass in a blur of new lectures, swapping music with Alva, and evenings spent as a group of six, and suddenly it’s Sunday again. You aren’t too sad the weekend is already over, and you know exactly why you’re looking forward to Monday, but you don’t allow yourself to think about Joel any more than you can help.

In the afternoon, while you’re doing Joel’s assignment for the next class, your mother calls, and you answer the phone with a mixture of feelings.

Hi, my darling, how are you doing?

"Hi, Mom. I’m good, just doing my work for tomorrow. How are you?"

Good, good. How was your first week? Did you meet anyone nice?

Hah, if she only knew. It feels deceptive, not telling her about Joel, but you like that for now, he’s just yours.

"Yes, this girl called Alva. We and some guys hang out a lot, there’s a cinema near by, but the lectures are pretty hard, so we only have the evenings off."

Well, I’m glad you found some nice people! Dad says hi, he’s making dinner. Anyway, baby, we miss you terribly. Do you know when you’ll be coming home?

"I just got here, Mom."

You sigh so quietly your mother can’t hear it, guilt already nagging at your heart. Sunday is the day you would usually be coming home for dinner, and you know it’s no coincidence your parents called you now.

Of course, you’re right. It’s just not easy for your Dad and me, you know? You’ve never been this far from home, and you’re our baby.

Yeah, you think, your adult baby. You sigh again.

"I don’t know if I’ll come this month, I’m still sort of settling in. But I’ll let you know if there’s a free weekend next month, alright?"

Sure, that sounds great. Will you send us some pictures of your friends, and your room?

"Sure," you say, but it bugs you that you’re giving in. Already, you’re breaking the promise you made yourself, and letting your parents further into your life here than you’re comfortable with.

"Mom, I gotta go, I’ve still got some problems to solve and I’m meeting Alva for dinner soon."

Okay, darling, enjoy your night! And make yourself heard. I love you!

"Love you, too! Talk soon."

Your kind, clingy mother, whose greatest pain is not knowing if you’re safe. In a way you miss her, and you feel guilty for being annoyed. Still, you know you have to gently nudge her away from you, or she’ll suffocate you one day. It makes you angry with yourself, because you know your Mom would have liked nothing more than to hear all about your week, but as soon as she asked you a question, you felt like your seventeen year old self again, getting yelled at because you stayed up past your curfew, and your parents didn’t know where you were.

Tears of frustration spring to your eyes – the mix of feelings too much for you to handle. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, breathe in shakily, and try to focus on your assignment again, but now you’re riled up, and the tears won’t stop.

It’s hard for you to deal with disappointing your parents, forcing them away when they would like nothing more than to know everything that’s going on in your life. So, instead of preparing for Joel’s lecture, you cry on your bed, feeling lonely and angry with yourself for hurting them. You know your reaction is disproportionate, but everything you kept buried while you lived close to your parents comes bubbling out of you.

You call Alva, tell her you have cramps because of your period and just want to stay in bed. She’s understanding, asks you if there’s anything she can do, even offers to bring you takeout or a hot water bottle, which makes you feel all the worse for lying to her. You decline her offer, tell her you’ll meet her Monday morning. In the evening, you regret not letting her bring over a real meal, eating cold pasta in your underwear, tears still running down your face and making your head pound.

***

On Monday, you feel slightly better, your headache is gone and your face isn’t as puffy as you expected it to be. Still, you’re in a solitary mood, and are glad to find Alva is able to keep up an entire conversation virtually by herself – you just grunt from time to time, or give noncommittal movements of your head in vague agreement. You hope if she notices your bad mood, she just thinks it has to do with your period.

Computational Physics is hell – you dislike it on the best of days, but guilt ridden and tired, you’re barely able to pay attention at all, and the professor’s handwriting is so bad, you end up copying down Alva’s notes instead. She’s kind about it, slides over her notebook at an angle that makes it easy to read, and you make a mental note to thank her for being so kind to you while you’re offering nothing but a scowling expression all day. Maybe you’ll cook for her, or make a mixtape of your favorite songs, just to show her you’re interested in being actual good friends.

Lunch passes easily, as always you sit with Alva and the guys, and there’s enough people for you to stare at your mashed potatoes and repeatedly stab them with your fork instead of eating them. They taste like flour mixed up with water, and you dream up your father’s Sunday dinner instead, but it does little to help with the taste.

"So, you lookin’ forward to flirting with Miller in front of the whole lecture hall again?" Alva asks you, as you’re making your way to said room. You glare at her, but can’t help the corners of your mouth twitching.

"Wasn’t flirting with him," you answer, kicking a pebble, "I grew up across the street from him, I’ve known him practically my whole life."

"Whatever you say, grumpy," Alva teases, nudging your shoulder with hers. You’re overcome with a rush of gratitude for the way she treats you, persistently kind and humorous. You chuckle, your mood lifting slightly.

"He’s probably been waiting for you to turn legal," she continues, and you groan.

"Gross, Alva, he’s not a creep."

"I’m just saying, if your little connection gets you the answers to his tests, you could sell them and become rich."

"I already asked him, he said no," you say darkly, thinking of the nights you’ll have to spend studying to pass his exam. This makes Alva laugh her brilliant laugh, and you can’t help but smile, too.

"Damn," she grins, "I’d try if he wasn’t a guy."

You snort.

"You try with Professor Carter, I need the answers to Computational," you suggest, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

"You’re joking, but I bet once you get her out of her frumpy cardigans, she’s a real–"

"Okay, stop," you grown, the image of Professor Carter taking off her cardigans worse than her keeping them on – if possible. Alva giggles.

"I’ll help you with Computational," she says, "if you help me with Quantum Mechanics."

"You’re good at both," you argue, and Alva shrugs.

"Not like you, though. I spent like four hours doing Miller’s assignment last night."

You want to tell her you didn’t do it at all, but before you can open your mouth, she spots a friend in the crowd, grabs your arm and drags you over to him.

The three of you sit down together, closer to the front than the week before, which gives you a direct line of sight to Joel’s desk. When he walks in, your stomach jumps – he’s wearing a tie today, a dark burgundy or blue, you aren’t sure from this distance, flecked with specks of white. Again, his hair is styled in that carelessly disheveled look you like so much, and the image of him putting gel in it makes you smile. He gets out his materials for the lecture, and looks up, his eyes finding yours – you smile and he gives a small nod. Again you’re struck by how different he acts in front of the class, how serious he seems. You think of his laid back manner when you had coffee, and struggle to make the images align. Joel clears his throat, and the chatter around you stops.

"Quiet, please, everyone. Thank you. So, last week, we found out that Dirac’s equation predicts the existence of antiparticles. But instead of just accepting that, let’s think deeper—mathematically, what feature of the equation forces this conclusion?"

Joel jumps right into the lecture, and just like last week, nobody raises their hands – you curse the people around you for their lethargy, because sure enough, Joel’s eyes land on you. Before you can shake your head to signal to him not to ask you, he calls your name.

"If I remember correctly, you were already familiar with Dirac’s equation last week. What would you say, what does the existence of negative-energy solutions tell us, and why couldn’t we just ignore them?"

You wish you could answer him, know he asked you because he was sure you’d know the answer, perhaps hoped your enthusiasm for the subject would get the rest of the students to participate more, but you didn’t do the assignment, and you’ve already half forgotten his question. You swallow.

"Um…I…I’m not sure, Sir," you say, watching the way his brows furrow, and looking down at your notes. Alva shoots you a curious look, and when she sees your expression, she raises her hand. You’re thankful to have Joel’s attention diverted, feeling like a fool in front of hundreds of students you’re trying to make friends with.

"Dirac’s equation gives positive and negative energy solutions, and at first, the negative ones didn’t make sense. Dirac suggested they represent antiparticles, like the positron, which he predicted. The idea was that electrons could, like, jump into these negative-energy states, creating a hole that looks like a positron, which was later confirmed experimentally," Alva explains instead of you.

"You're close, but electrons don’t actually 'jump into' negative-energy states. Instead, Dirac proposed that these states are already filled, forming what he called the Dirac Sea. A positron isn’t an electron jumping down, it’s actually a 'hole' left when a negative-energy electron gets excited to a positive-energy state. That distinction is important because it explains why positrons have the opposite charge. Good answer, though, thank you Ms. Bennet."

Joel’s eyes flicker over to you again, but you show no reaction, and he continues with his lecture without asking you another question. Alva glances at you inquiringly, and you sigh.

"I wanted to do the assignment yesterday, but my cramps were really bad," you explain quietly, and she nods sympathetically.

"Call me next time, I’ll send you my answers," she whispers, and you smile gratefully. It seems you really hit the jackpot in friendship when you sat down next to Alva.

***

After Joel’s lecture, you and Alva make your way over to the vending machine, because it has the sour patches she likes, and in her own words she’ll combust if she doesn’t eat some right fucking now.

"Shit," she curses, "they’re stuck."

"Let me," a voice comes from a behind you, and when you turn around, Joel is smiling at the two of you. "Took me a while to figure this thing out, too."

Alva steps aside, and Joel bangs his palm against the side of machine. You jump, but the sour patches make their tumbling way down to the dispenser.

"Great! Thanks, Professor Miller," Alva says, ripping the bag open and offering it to the two of you. To your surprise, Joel takes her up on it, and Alva grins at you.

"You were quiet during today’s lecture," Joel says tentatively, when he’s swallowed his sour patch "everything alright?"

You glance at your shoes.

"Um, yeah. I wasn’t feeling well yesterday, and I left your assignment for last, so…I didn’t do it."

Joel’s expression grows worried, and Alva glances between the two of you.

"Hey, I’m meeting Max for coffee," she tells you, "see you later?"

"Yeah," you answer, grateful she’s granting you this time alone with Joel, "see you, Alva."

When she’s gone, Joel is still looking at you with that worried look on his face, and you sigh.

"Sorry about the assignment," you say, "won’t happen again."

"I’m not worried about the assignment," Joel says earnestly, but then he turns his head, and you know he doesn’t want someone listening in. Sure, you can be seen chatting in the university cafe, but this conversation is rapidly blurring the lines between scholarly and – something else.

"I…have some materials in my office that might make it easier for you to catch up with the lectures again," Joel tells you, and you understand the underlying meaning. Let’s talk in my office.

"Thank you," you say, relieved, and Joel nods, eyes still glued to yours, brows still furrowed. You walk to his office making smalltalk about the lecture, which to anyone listening in would seem like a normal conversation between a professor and an interested student.

Joel opens the door to his office for you, and lets you step in first. It’s small, cramped bookshelves on the walls and a sturdy desk in the middle that is littered with notes, pencils, books, and a couple of old coffee mugs. You notice he put part of his books sideways onto the shelves, which you find weirdly endearing. This is the Joel you know – clutter and warmth.

He closes the door behind you, and you turn around to watch him drop his bag and walk over to the kettle in the corner of the room.

"Coffee?"

"Please," you sigh, "if you don’t have anything stronger."

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t answer, just turns on the already filled kettle, and gets two clean cups for the two of you.

"I only have drip coffee," he tells you, "I don’t drink that crap the machines brew up."

"That’s fine, I enjoy the medieval feel of it."

"Watch it," he answers, a smile tugging on his lips, "don’t insult my coffee filter in front of me."

You grin, and walk over to his bookshelf to have a look.

"So, what’s going on?" he asks you while pouring the boiling hot water over the coffee grounds. Again, the Joel you remember – empathetic, but unusually direct. You sigh, turn around and shrug.

"Mom and Dad called yesterday, and I could tell they missed me, but I just…I cut them off after two minutes."

Joel places the cups on his desk, and leans against it. His sleeves are rolled up again, and when he crosses his arms, you feel that familiar pang in your stomach.

"And now I…I don’t know, I feel so guilty, Joel. They’re not even being dicks about it, but I just know they’d prefer for me to check in with them more…and the worst thing is, I know it’s not a big deal. They’ll get over it, they’ve got a good life without me constantly in it, so I don’t know why my stupid brain can’t just let this go, you know? One I miss you, darling, and I’m reduced to this pathetic mess, instead of just, I don’t know, getting my shit together."

You shake your head and clench your teeth, once again embarrassed to come crying to Joel about your parental issues, but he’s the only one you can tell. Sure, Alva would probably listen, but you don’t feel like explaining your family to a near stranger. Joel just gets it. Joel knows you.

He’s looking at you, arms still crossed, and for a second you worry he might not want to hear about your little breakdown, but then he sighs.

"You have your shit together all of the fuckin’ time, kid, I think that might be the problem," he tells you quietly. "You’ve always been so hard on yourself."

He’s right, once again he sees what you struggle to show the world, and his words make tears spring to your eyes. You will your eyeballs to suck them back in, but of course, Joel sees.

"Hey now," he says, taking a tentative step towards you. One tear drops from the end of your lashes and down your cheek, and the dam is broken again – they come spilling in floods. Joel crosses the room in a second, and there is a slight moment of hesitation between the two of you, before you bury your face in his chest, and let your restraint fall. You cry quietly, feel him wrap his arms around you, as he rocks you back and forth.

"You’re alright," he tells you, "Shhh, it’s okay, you’re alright."

"S-s-sorry about the assignment," you manage, and Joel’s hand starts stroking your back.

"Jesus, kid, stop worryin’ about the fucking assignment," he tells you, voice low and worried. "You don’t gotta be so strict with yourself. You’re doin’ just fine."

He smells so much like home, you think you might never stop crying.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with me," you hiccup, "One week here and I’m a mess already."

You feel Joel rest his chin on your head, and his arms tighten around you.

"There’s nothin’ wrong with you, you hear me? You hold yourself to high standards. Creates pressure, kid."

As always, he’s right of course – you want to excel academically, you don’t want to hurt your parents, you want to stay true to yourself and do what makes you happy, you want to make friends without compromising your grades. It’s impossible.

You breathe in shakily, your eyes closed, face buried in Joel’s chest, and for a second he is all that exists – just Joel, all around you, pulling you to the earth. Slowly, your breathing calms, Joel still rocking you soothingly, holding you close.

"There we go," he mutters, when your chest stops shaking, "that’s good."

When you pull away from him, he puts his hands on your shoulders to really look at you, and although you’re embarrassed by your outburst, you’re glad he doesn’t shy away from you.

"I want you to start being a little more lenient with yourself, alright? You don’t need to worry about an assignment on top of everything."

His hands are rubbing your shoulders, his eyes are kind and warm.

"Maybe not about yours, but I have like five other lectures –"

"Okay, so try to stop worrying about my assignments, just mine. Won’t bite your head off if you don’t do them, and I’ll only ask you questions when you raise your hand, alright? In fact, for the rest of the term, I want you to hand them in late."

Despite yourself, your lips pull up in a small smile.

"That’s silly, Joel," you say softly, but he shakes his head.

"It’s not silly, it’s practice to get you out of your comfort zone."

You consider his words for a moment. You do keep a pretty tight reign on yourself, and just the thought of doing every assignment late makes your skin crawl with anxiety. But when will you get another chance to step out of your comfort zone as safely as now, with Joel? He’s offering you a way to try it without actually risking your grades. And who knows, perhaps it actually will take a little bit of pressure off of you.

"Okay," you answer, staring up at Joel with puffy cheeks and teary eyes. "Alright."

He smiles at you, but he still looks worried and you wish he’d pull you close to him again. It’s such a relief to have this sort of human contact with someone who really knows you.

"Feel better?"

You sigh, and nod.

"It’s just a lot, you know, uni and my parents, and every social interaction feels like such a chore, cause I don’t know people yet. I feel like I’m not even relaxed when I’m asleep."

Joel hesitates for a moment, before he speaks, but when he does, he sounds determined.

"Come over tonight, I’ll make us somethin’ to eat, and you don’t have to worry about talkin’ to anyone. We’ll watch whatever you’d like. You still enjoy those crappy horror movies?"

You smile at the shared memory – Joel letting you use his living room to watch slashers your parents didn’t want you to see. One summer, when the heat was so stifling you barely went outside, you practically lived at his place, and when you’d seen all the DVDs he owned, he got you more from the video store.

"I do," you say quietly, the fact that Joel remembers more important to you than his proposal to spend the evening together. You feel significantly less alone, all of a sudden.

"Alright, then. Be over at seven,“ Joel tells you, and you nod, wiping your wet face with the back of your hand.

"Thank you, Joel," you say, and hug him again, because you don’t know how to tell him in words what you’re feeling, and his big, warm body against yours feels more than soothing.

"Course, kid. Just don’t tell Alva, or they’ll fire me."

You smile, your arms still wrapped around his neck, as he holds you.

"But I don’t wanna get you in trouble, what if–"

"No," Joel interrupts you, "no what ifs. No worryin’. I forbid it."

And you accept it, leave it to Joel, because he tells you to – because you don’t have any room in your head for more worries, and because you trust Joel not to do anything reckless. You trust him, period.

***

You text Alva you’re having dinner alone, that your cramps are still acting up, and you do feel slightly bad for lying, but you would never risk Joel’s job. The idea of having dinner with him at his place should make you nervous after your change in feelings about him, but you’re just looking forward to having a meal with someone who knows you, and lets you be yourself.

Joel asked you to be there at seven, so you spend the rest of the afternoon in your dorm room, wondering if you should change your outfit or if it would seem desperate – in the end, you keep the jeans but change into a blouse instead of a sweater. The part of you that stares at Joel’s forearms during class now wants to look pretty for him, so that he’ll ask you over again. You know you’re being ridiculous, but it doesn’t stop you from putting on your nicest perfume.

You’re ten minutes early, so you sit in your little second hand car and try not to panic. You know Joel is merely trying to be a good…friend? Ex-neighbor, Dad’s best friend turned professor? There’s no real etiquette to cling to in this situation, for either of you, and although you’re positive Joel doesn’t have any ulterior motives with you despite his flirting, you know he could lose his job if someone finds out you went to his house. Even if you just watch slashers together the way you did ten years ago. It makes you anxious to know he’d risk something clearly important to him for just that – he moved to a different state, quit his old job, started over completely, and is now willing to endanger that new life just because you’re stressed. At the same time it seems ridiculous anyone could forbid the two of you to spend time together after having known each other your entire life. The thought is absurd, and still, you need to be careful.

You get out of the car before you start to hyperventilate, and ring Joel’s doorbell – it feels strange for him to live in a new house. He opens the door with a smile, and absurd relief floods your veins when you realize he’s wearing an old Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of worn jeans. This is your Joel.

"I come bearing gifts," you announce, stepping into the house.

“Christ, where did you get this?”, Joel asks, taking the six pack of beer from you, so you can take off your jacket. “I didn’t know they sold Shiner Bock outside of Texas, I’ve been survivin’ on Bud”.

“Brought it with me,” you explain, “figured it’d help if I got homesick, you know, in multiple ways.”

You grin, and Joel shakes his head good-naturedly.

“Old enough to drink, well I’ll be damned. I remember when you begged your Dad to let you have a coke and he asked me if I thought the caffeine would stunt your growth.”

“Did it?”

“It might’ve,” Joel says with a chuckle, “but he didn’t let you have it.”

“Well, he isn’t here now, so let’s put those in the fridge.”

“No," Joel mutters, “no, he ain’t.”

While Joel puts the beer away, you take a look around his living room – despite your reservations about the new house, it reminds you of his old place. It’s got the same masculine and warm feel to it, dark wood, books all over the place, no bells and whistles. Joel is a practical man, and it’s charmingly etched into every part of his life – except for his new work-look. The room isn’t as cluttered as you remember Joel’s old house back in Texas, but you assume he hasn’t had time to accumulate clutter yet. No old newspapers are lying around, no birthday cards stacking up. You wonder if he’s lonely here, teaching all by himself, hundreds of miles away from the place he last grew roots in.

“Do you miss home?” you ask him, when he comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer in his hands. He looks at ease, much more himself than back at university. His jeans are faded, his shirt a little too big on his already broad frame, and his hair is clean and curly the way you like it – no gel twisting it into all sorts of un-Joel-like styles. Warmth floods your chest at the sight of him taking a swig of his beer. His crowfeet are a little more pronounced, and his hair has more grey strands than it did back home, but he’s still got that distinctly warm, no-nonsense feel to him.

“Sometimes,” he answers, offering you the second bottle. Your hand brushes his when you take it from him. “But I’m pretty busy here, you know, got a whole lotta lectures to plan, papers to grade and that sort of stuff.”

You nod, and sip at your beer.

“Have you…you know, met people? Made friends here?”

Joel plops down on the couch, and smiles up at you.

“You worried about my social life?”

You shrug, and smile almost timidly.

“You know me, kid, I like bein’ by myself.”

That’s true, for as long as you’ve known Joel, he’s been alone. You know he has nieces and nephews who adore him, and your Dad mentioned a woman once, but it must have been at least twenty years since they were together. You wonder why Joel doesn’t seem to want that sort of a domestic life, surely many women would be happy to let him put a ring on them.

You walk over to the window, and watch a blackbird tug at a writhing worm.

“Have you met someone at uni you wanna be by yourself with?” you ask with a small grin, turning back to find Joel already watching you. “I heard Professor Carter’s still single.”

“She’s very intelligent,” Joel says earnestly. You give him credit for not laughing about his colleague, and suddenly you feel bad for calling her frumpy with Alva. “But I think I’ll leave her to her simulations. Why am I bein’ interrogated?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, and glance out of the window again, “just making conversation.”

“Your turn, then,” Joel answers, and takes another swig of beer. “Any frat boys catch your eye? Or frat girls?”

You glance at him, a smile on your lips, and raise your eyebrows.

“Hey, I don’t discriminate. I thought, maybe Alva…”

“No,” you answer, feeling fond of him for considering the possibility. “Alva’s a friend. The guys are…well, they’re frat boys.”

 Your voice carries enough disgust for Joel to laugh.

“Right,” he says, and his eyes are warm when they meet yours again. “Just us two loners, then."

“Cheers,” you say with a smile.

“Cheers.”

***

Joel’s cooking is a mystery to you – he loves to eat, and when he does cook, it’s always delicious, but he only ever makes one of five dishes. Again, that practicality shining through. Why try something new if you’ve perfected your routine? He made pasta for you, wasn’t sure if you’re still vegetarian and makin’ your Dad’s hair fall out, and you smile into the neck of your beer bottle, when you watch him drizzle dressing onto a carefully arranged side-salad. Throughout dinner, you tell him how much you love it at least five times, because you can tell he put effort into the meal. You know it’s not technically a date, but having a dinner he made just for you, in his home – it feels like one.

You steer the conversation away from heavy topics like your parents. Although Joel offered you this evening to make you feel better, you want to spend it with him rather than in your head, so you ask him about books and music, about his lectures, about Tommy and the kids. You like watching how his face lights up whenever he talks about something he particularly loves. Joel is a quiet man, but you found out years ago it isn’t shyness, but a disinterest in most mundane topics – he doesn’t like gossip or superficial small talk. When he tells you Tommy made him godfather of all of his children, the pride is evident in his voice, and you don’t have to fake your enthusiasm, although it amuses you, too – Tommy loving his big brother enough not to consider anyone else.

"She calls me uncle Joe," he tells you with a chuckle, "Can’t pronounce her Ls yet, but I’ve considered legally changing my name."

When you’re done eating, you help him clear the table, but when you reach for the sponge to do the dishes, Joel shakes his head.

"Let me do that later, kid. You wanna watch a movie?"

So the two of you plop down on the couch with a bag of M&Ms and another round of beer, and Joel hands you the remote.

"Go wild," he says, chuckling when you excitedly turn on he TV to open Netflix.

"Wow, a streaming service? I thought you’d just hoard DVDs for the rest of your life."

Joel huffs, and instead of answering, he leans forward, and reaches for something under his couch table. When he turns his head, he’s got glasses on his face, thick-rimmed and black, and so startlingly sexy, you almost drop the remote.

"You…you’ve got glasses?"

"Yeah," he answers, his eyes meeting yours, and you swallow. "When your eyesight deteriorates, that’s when you know you’re gettin’ old."

You hum but don’t answer, just hold his gaze for a second and look back to the screen. You try to ignore the familiar pang in your stomach at the sight of Joel in his new glasses, and skip through movie after movie, mumbling seen it, seen it, that one sucks, seen it, until Joel reaches over and snatches the remote from you.

"Hey–"

"I can’t read anything if you skip through them that quickly."

"You’re not supposed to read, you’re supposed to go with the vibe of the cover."

He glances at you with furrowed brows.

"Okay, sorry, didn’t know you’re a filmbro," you grumble, but it’s almost entirely fake – you couldn’t be annoyed with him, not when he pushes his glasses up his nose, and carefully considers which button to press on the remote.

"I don’t know what that means," he answers, and starts reading the description of a romantic comedy about Christmas.

"I’m not watching that."

"You don’t even know what it’s about."

"It’s September, Joel."

He huffs again, but finally reaches the horror movies. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take the two of you long to pick one, and the thought of two hours of brainless, scary entertainment on a couch with Joel makes you practically melt into his couch.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you during the opening credits, so you glance over and he smiles.

"Comfy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from relaxation.

"Yeah," you answer, and smile when hands you a blanket. He’s not exactly close to you, but it still feels a little intimate when you spread the blanket out and offer him the other end. He moves over a little, so that the blanket covers his legs, and when you concentrate you can feel his body heat next to you, so you try hard not to – and instead get lost in the movie.

It’s not particularly good, but the story does get under your skin a little, and when there’s an unexpected shriek, you violently jump and instinctively move closer to Joel. He chuckles, but doesn’t give any reaction to your arm suddenly pressing against his. He doesn’t move away, either, so you don’t, fear suddenly not being the only thing bubbling up in your stomach.

"Jesus," you mumble, the creeping music making you anticipate another jumpscare. You’re right, it does come, but prepared though you are, you still wince, and turn away from the screen slightly. Out of sight, out of mind. Joel turns around, too, and when he sees your widened eyes, he grins.

"How’s that Christmas movie lookin’ now?"

"I’m not scared," you say, and there is some truth to it, "I’m just not good with jumpscares."

When the next one comes, you can’t help it, you clutch his arm next to you, your nails digging into his firm muscle, and Joel glances at you again.

"Sorry," you say quickly, letting go of his forearm now marked with five tiny crescent shapes. "Jesus, Joel, sorry."

"It’s fine," he says, and the amusement is evident in his voice, "you sure you’re into this? There might be some cartoons–"

He stops talking when you glare at him, but his mouth is twitching under his beard. You’re determined to watch the entire movie, and you try not to let any reaction show, wanting to prove Joel wrong.

There is one particularly scary scene – it’s not necessarily violent, but the music and shaky camera movements make your pulse race, and you turn your head slightly, so as to look at something else. Joel glances at you again, but he doesn’t laugh this time, just puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. It’s grounding, the warmth of it, how his thumb digs into your muscle and his fingers spread out over your back and neck.

"You don’t gotta force yourself to watch this, kid," Joel says gently, all teasing humor gone.

"No," you say stubbornly, but move even closer to him. His touch is a welcome distraction from the movie, and although you know it’s stupid and reckless, you lean into him, and Joel puts his arm around you. It’s closer than you’ve been to him except for hugging, and your heartbeat starts to quicken for all the wrong, non-horror reasons. When you flinch, Joel tugs you against his side, and it feels natural to hide your face in his shoulder.

He was never touchy with you, or anyone for that matter, so something must have changed. You wonder if he’s trying to comfort you, or if you might not be the only one who can feel that strange pull between the two of you.

When the movie ends, Joel regrettably removes his arm from around your shoulders to switch off the TV, and although you’re slightly disappointed, you scold yourself for expecting something else.

"Not bad," Joel says with a small smile, and pushes his glasses up his nose. "Very brave."

You scoff, but feel the corners of your mouth twitching, too.

"I used to be less of a wimp, but I guess you soften with age."

"You’re twenty-three," Joel argues, "that’s young."

Yeah, too young. Too young to lean over and kiss him, or climb into his lap, or expect anything other than paternal care when he’s got his arm around you. You look at your lap, all of a sudden feeling stupid and silly for having dreamed up an absurd fantasy about the man in front of you.

"Hey," Joel says gently, "what’s wrong?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, "nothing, I had a really great evening. Thanks, Joel."

You can tell you’ve confused him, but he nods, doesn’t question your sudden change of mood, and stands when you get up from the couch.

"Anytime, kid. You call me if you’re havin’ a bad time, alright? My door’s always open."

He’s so kind, so recklessly, stupidly, lovingly kind, and all of it is directed at you. You curse yourself for it, but again you feel that familiar burn in your eyes. Joel reaches out and easily pulls you towards his big body, hugging you the way he did in his office just this afternoon. He doesn’t ask you what brought on your tears, just lets you cry into his Led Zeppelin shirt that smells so much like home, like a childhood you won’t get back to. You remember whiffs of that smell when you were watching movies on his couch while he was at work, too pissed off at your parents to spend the summer at home. This scent was there when you attended a neighborhood barbecue after fighting with your father and Joel grilled some vegan sausages for you without comment or question. He’s always looked out for you like this, quietly, without demanding an explanation, just a solid, comforting presence in your life.

Your tears stop after a couple of minutes, and you take a step away from Joel, wiping your face. He looks so worried again, brows all furrowed and arms hanging limply at his side. Didn’t he flirt with you, though? Didn’t he prepare dinner for you the way a date would, ask you about your dating life, ask you to coffee? You don’t think you would be able to handle another evening like this one not knowing what Joel really thinks, so in a moment of hazy recklessness, you lean up.

His eyes meet yours, all warm and strangely unguarded, but before your lips brush his, a hand on your shoulder stops you. Without saying something, you move away from him, and nod to yourself, his reaction all the information you needed.

"Sorry," you say very quietly, not managing much else now that you’ve humiliated yourself in front of the only person you really know in a six hundred mile radius. Joel runs a hand through his soft hair, and inhales deeply.

"No," he says, his voice a little strained, "no, don’t be. I just…Jesus, kid."

He rubs his palm over his beard in such a familiar way, your chest aches a little. It’s ridiculous how much you want to touch his face, to feel him again, skin on skin. So you don’t turn and run the way your embarrassed heart is telling you to, just watch him collect his thoughts, standing in front of him like a wet and beaten dog.

"Look," he begins, "I won’t say I’m not flattered, but that’s…it’s a bad fuckin’ idea. It’s…it’s chaos, and on top of that most people would argue it’s wrong."

You swallow. You know all of this, have turned it over in your head ever since you stared at Joel’s rolled up sleeves for two hours on that first Monday, but hearing him say it makes your stomach churn.

"Yeah," you mutter, and trace Joel’s shadow with the very tip of your foot, "yeah, of course. Sorry I put you in that position, wasn’t right."

Your face still feels puffy, and you know you’re probably all red and pathetic looking, begging Joel for scraps of his attention, but all of a sudden, he lifts his hand up to your face, and cups it in his broad palm. His thumb strokes your cheek, and when you meet his eye, the expression on his face is tender.

"It’s alright," he tells you softly, "I can see you worryin’ at the speed of light in that pretty head of yours."

Something in your chest flutters at his words, at the rough and warm cadence of his voice. He reads you so easily, one turn of your head and he knows you’re lost to your thoughts.

"I shouldn’t have let myself toy with this idea," he continues, and your stomach flips. "I should’ve realized you’d pick up on it. It’s on me, alright? It’s on me not to start anythin’."

You can hear the implication – I’m the adult here. It’s not what you want to hear, but just the mention of Joel toying with this idea, as he put it, is enough to lift your spirits. So you weren’t crazy.

"I’m an adult," you say weakly, never having felt more like a child. Joel nods.

"You are, but I’m still in a position of power here. Be wrong, to abuse that."

His thumb is still moving over your cheek slowly, making it hard to think straight.

"So dinner and a movie doesn’t abuse it?"

You don’t want to argue, you don’t know why you keep disagreeing with him, and the way his face falls, you wish you hadn’t said it.

"No, it…it does, you’re right. Jesus, of course it does. I don’t blame ya for bein’ ang-"

"I’m not angry," you say softly, and tentatively turn your head in Joel’s hand. You press a kiss to his palm, his warm skin pressed right against your mouth. "I’m not your student, Joel. I mean, of course I am, but I know you. It’s different."

Joel’s eyes are glued to your face, and he looks so conflicted you wish he’d just throw you out of his house, if only to solve his dilemma.

"It’s still wrong," Joel mutters, his eyes glued to your lips since they brushed his skin "even if you take away the fact that I’m your fuckin’ professor. Your Dad…"

"My Dad is half a continent away and finds a way to be unhappy with whatever choices I make, so I might as well make the ones I want to."

The very first day, before you even met Joel, you decided to do what makes you happy while in university, and although this certainly wasn’t what you had in mind, you know it’s what you want. The only thing you want, in fact.

Joel sighs, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Joel, I’m not trying to…look, if I’m wrong about this, just tell me, but I feel…I just wanna be close to you all of the fucking time," you say quietly, "and it’s okay if you don’t, really. I just…I want you to know it’s not nothing to me."

Saying I don’t just want to hook up with you would feel too straight forward or crass, but you think Joel gets the gist of what you’re trying to say, and he closes his eyes briefly. You study his face behind his glasses, the wrinkles and freckles from years in the sun. You do feel anxious about his answer, but whatever it is, you’re glad you told him. It’s out in the world now, the way you feel when he holds you, and he can do with it what he pleases – you’ve handed him the reigns.

"I…I know what you mean. Me too," he says very quietly after a beat, his eyes open and looking directly into yours again.

A triumphant pang of affection pulses through you, and you put your hand over Joel’s, which is still resting on your cheek. He looks conflicted, but his other hand holds your waist now, and tugs your smaller body closer to his again. He’s solid as a brick wall in front of you, and you figure you’re allowed to touch, so you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Joel mutters, and strokes your lower lip with his thumb. If you had more guts, you’d let it slip into your mouth, but you’re still afraid he’ll pull back if you make a wrong move, so you just let him caress your mouth tenderly.

"Whatever you’d like," you answer just as quietly, and you know it sounds sexual, but you mean it in every way – if Joel wants to be nothing but your professor, you’d take it, and if he wants to keep you here in his house indefinitely, you’d let him. Joel keeps looking at you, taking you in as if he’s considering whether the risks outweigh whatever magnetic or gravitational pull the two of you have between you.

"Stay," he say after a while, and although his face looks slightly regretful, his voice is determined, "just…sleep here tonight. I like havin’ you here."

You want him to kiss you, to pull you onto his lap on the couch, to take you upstairs right now, but Joel seems to be restraining himself, so you just nod.

"Me too," you whisper, echoing his words back to him, and for just a second, his thumb digs into your lip a little harder, but then he pulls away.

"Testin’ my goddamn restraint," he mutters, and takes a step away from you. "I’ll get you something to sleep in."

***

Joel gets you one of his band tees you love so dearly, and just the idea of being enveloped by something that smells like him all night makes it a little easier when Joel tells you he’ll take the couch instead of inviting you to sleep with him in his bed.

"No," you say softly, "it’s fine, you just sleep in your bed, Joel. I’ll take the couch."

He looks critical, so you offer him a soft smile.

"I don’t know if your back could take it," you tease, and he seems torn up between laughing and frowning. In the end, he just shakes his head, mutters something that sounds a lot like bad fuckin’ idea, and gets you a blanket and pillow.

He brings you a clean toothbrush and towel, let’s you use his bathroom (you look at the shower the entire time you’re brushing your teeth, trying hard not to think about what Joel looks like using it in the mornings), and when you’re done changing, you unlock the door again.

He’s there, sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes trailing over your form in his much too big shirt. It’s long as a dress on you, coming down to your naked thighs. Joel visibly swallows and gets up from the bed.

"You got everythin’ you need?"

"Yes. Thank you, Joel."

There’s a beat of silence and you almost think Joel’s about to cross the room, but he just runs his palm over his beard the way he always does, and nods.

"Alright. Just shout if there’s…well, you know. I’ll be here."

"I will."

"Alright. Okay…goodnight, kid."

"Night," you almost whisper, voice soft, and right before you reach the door, Joel clears his throat.

"I…you were right about dinner and the movie. I wasn’t just tryin’ to be friendly," he says quietly, and your stomach swirls. Before you can walk over to Joel and do something about it, he sighs.

"Sleep tight, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

***

You wake to the sound of something dripping, and when your eyes flutter open, you can see Joel’s back from the kitchen. He’s wearing his work outfit again, a white button down and dark pants, sleeves rolled up. It smells like coffee, and with a smile you realize he must be brewing his beloved coffee – no machine, just a filter. He looks broad, even from your spot on the couch, and you enjoy peeking in on him. You study his movements, the way he reaches for a cup, how his fingers absentmindedly drum on the kitchen counter while he waits.

When he turns around, his eyes find yours, and he smiles.

"Mornin’. Did I wake ya?"

"’S fine," you yawn, pulling the blanket up to your chin, not yet ready to get up. "I have classes at ten anyway."

"’S eight," Joel tells you, "Coffee?"

"Yes please," you answer, and stretch your limbs under the blanket.

Joel brings you a cup, complete with a little bit of milk and sugar, and you move your feet so he can sit down on the couch.

"Sleep well?"

You sip your coffee, let it burn your tongue and close your eyes at the taste. When you open them, Joel’s gaze lingers on your face.

"Yeah," you answer, "thank you for…you know."

He nods, takes a sip of his coffee, and looks at his lap. He looks like he wants to say something, but he’s very quiet, and you feel anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

"Joel, do you want me to leave? It’s fine if you do," you ask him softly, not wanting to make things awkward for him. It would be rational of him to ask you to leave, the smart and ethical thing to do.

"No," he answers quietly, still not looking at you, "I want you to stay."

Stay? On a Tuesday morning, after you almost kissed him and he told you he couldn’t do that, after you spent the night on his couch? When you have classes in two hours, haven’t showered yet, are half naked and wearing his clothes, on his couch under his blanket? When you’ve got friends wondering where you are and probably ten unanswered messages from Alva?

"Alright," you say, agreeing as easy as breathing.

Finally, he looks up, and his expression is so conflicted you reach out for him. Your hand finds his and you squeeze it. He keeps looking at you, his hand limp in your grasp, as if any movement of his muscles would incriminate him.

"You shouldn’t," he tells you earnestly. "Stay, I mean. You shouldn’t stay."

"I know."

You don’t let go of his hand. He doesn’t move his away.

"It’s a really, really bad idea," he adds, and you’re not sure who he is trying to talk out of whatever this is. "It’s risky. Could blow up both our lives."

"Yeah," you say, and watch him sip his coffee, "okay."

Then, a tentative flex of his fingers against yours, and finally, he’s squeezing your hand just as tightly, and before you can process what that means, Joel is leaning over you, dangerously close. Your breathing quickens, you register how soft his hair looks, how strong his hand is. He leans in further and you sit up a little, still cocooned in his blanket. His face is close to yours, his eyes fiery with something you can’t pinpoint, and you sigh, when he closes the gap between you.

He tastes of coffee and toothpaste, and you wish you’d gotten the chance to shower, but the thought disappears almost immediately when you hear Joel groan. His kisses you languidly, deeply, and your fingers come up to his beautiful arm, barely wrapping around half of his biceps. He cradles the side of your face, pulls you closer, makes your stomach clench with need. It feels inevitable, the way he touches you, like you only exist in a physical form to be touched by him.

His free hand peels the blanket off your body, lets it slide to the floor without ever stopping his the kiss, and you moan softly, when his hand touches your waist. The sound makes him break away, stare down at you, pupils blown wide.

"Fuck, you look good in my clothes," he mutters, nudging your jaw with his nose, and pressing a kiss there. "You should really, really go home."

Your head falls back slightly to give him better access to your neck, and he brushes his lips over your pulse point. Your heart skips a beat.

"I – I know," you breathe, fingers digging into his arm. His beard scratches your skin deliciously, and it takes everything in you not to whimper or beg. Joel’s hand slips under your shirt – his shirt – and instead of finding your waist again, he digs his thumb into your hip, stroking the fabric of your cotton panties. The fire in your stomach burns brighter, and you almost buck up into him. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller who until recently had a key to your childhood home, who lent it to you whenever you forgot yours inside – he’s sucking bruises into your skin, and toying with your panties. It’s dizzying, his familiar voice when he hums in satisfaction, even rougher than usually.

His fingers trace the waistband of your panties towards the front, until they find a small, silky bow, and Joel groans. He doesn’t take your underwear off, doesn’t even touch you where you need him the most, just keeps playing with the little bow, until your hips twitch without your permission. A little lower, and he would be able to feel how wet you are, how wet you have been all night. You didn’t do anything about it, not while you were a guest in his house. It would have felt wrong. You can’t imagine anything feeling more right than Joel’s mouth and hands on you, though.

"Jesus," Joel curses, "I should stop bef–"

"No," you whine, all dignity turned to hot air by Joel’s fingers, "please, Joel, please don’t stop."

He curses again, and moves his big body so that he’s not just hovering above you, but actually on top of you, your thighs falling open for him easily. At the movement, his shirt hikes up your thighs, and you know you’re basically on display for him, your soaked underwear leaving little to the imagination. He’s still fully clothed, his perfect button down all wrinkled now.

"Look at you," Joel breathes, lightheaded with desire, "this all for me?"

So he saw, when you moved to accommodate his broad form, saw how soaked you are, knows you ruined your panties just because he kissed you.

"Yes," you breathe, "yes, please–"

Before you can beg further, his finger presses down on your clit, and he watches your face contort in pleasure, as it shoots up your spine. You whimper, staring into his eyes, and he stares right back, as you start to grind your hips against his palm.

Your head feels blissfully empty, all worries about this relationship, uni, your parents, gone from you with a simple, practiced movement of his hand. The whimpers keep falling from your lips, and Joel curses.

"So beautiful," he mutters, "tell me what you need, angel."

It’s not a question, it’s an order.

"I – fuck, I need you i–inside," you groan, and Joel’s lips find yours again.

"Yeah? Need me to fuck you good, even though they’ll throw us both out?"

It shouldn’t turn you on. You’re jeopardizing both your own and Joel’s career, and he’s turning it into dirty talk. Still, your pussy doesn’t lie, and the way it throbs for him, aching to get him inside, makes all doubts disappear from your mind.

"Yes," you answer, unable to say much more as Joel keeps drawing tight circles into your clit.

Your hands drift from his arms towards his front, and Joel curses, when you paw at his belt buckle. It takes you a second, but then it’s open, the sound of the metal exciting you – it sounds like a promise.

Joel finally tugs your panties down, and for a second you’re self–conscious about not being clean shaven, but the second he sees you bare and glistening for him, his fingers dip into your folds, gathering your wetness with no hesitation.

"Fuck me," he groans, bringing his hand up to his face and tasting you, holding eye–contact the entire time, "prettiest pussy I’ve seen in my life."

You twitch under him, dragging your gaze away from his eyes and to his fingers. A moan escapes you, your hands have gone slack on his waistband, and Joel smiles down at you. Then, he does the same motion again, drags the tips of his thick fingers through your sticky arousal, but instead of sucking them clean himself, he holds them up to your mouth. His eyes burn, when you wrap your lips around them without a moments hesitation, and he feeds you your own slick.

"Taste so sweet, huh?"

You don’t answer, just swirl your tongue around his fingers, and suck on them. Joel watches your mouth intently, lets you take your time.

"Good girl," he praises you, and you clench around nothing, "so fuckin’ needy for me."

He drags his fingers from your mouth, and finally pushes into you, the stretch much tighter than with two of your own. Your head falls backwards, and Joel curls his fingers.

"No, baby, look down here," he orders, and immediately you lift your head again, and watch him pump two thick digits in and out of you. It’s dizzying to think it’s the same hand that waved to you from over his fence for years and years. You feel a coil building in your stomach, and you moan.

"Fuck, Joel," you moan, his name leaving a delicious aftertaste in your mouth. His beautiful forearm flexes with every movement, your slick is dripping down his fingers, and those damn sleeves are still perfectly rolled up.

With a few more curls of his fingers, you gush around him, barely having time to warn him, and he praises you, calls you his good girl, drags his fingers against that spongey spot inside of you until you see stars.

When he slips his fingers out of you and holds them up to your face again, you clean them up with your mouth as Joel watches with bright eyes. To think that he’s the same man who taught you Dirac not twenty-four hours ago – already, you want him inside again. When you’re done, he fumbles with his own clothes, and you watch him this time instead of helping.

"You look so good like this," you mumble, eyes raking over his broad form, "Professor."

His eyes snap up to yours, and you grin.

"Fuckin’ Christ, kid," he mutters, popping open the buttons on his shirt, "you can’t say shit like that."

"You don’t like it? You know, I watched you during your lectures and dreamed about…well, about this."

His expression is unreadable, but if you’re not mistaken, his hands move even faster now, and then he shrugs out of his shirt. You almost moan at the sight of his naked torso, so broad and solid.

"You need to pay attention in class," Joel answers, as he opens his pants. Your breathing grows a little shallow when he reveals his boxers underneath, his bulge huge.

"Can’t," you mumble, "not with you looking like this."

He chuckles at that, at the honesty and need in your answer.

"Don’t worry," he says softly, "I’ll fuck it outta you. Won’t be needing’ me in class, not if I’m still leakin’ out of you."

Your lips part, your pussy clenches – a smile tugs on the corners of Joel’s mouth at your reaction. He drags down his boxer shorts, and your eyes snap towards his cock, so thick and dripping in precum. You whimper, you can’t help it, and Joel’s smile widens.

"We’ll make it fit, baby," he says, reading your mind, and then bends down and kisses you again. You try to tug your shirt upwards, but Joel’s hands find your wrists and he holds them tight.

"No, want to fuck you in it," he breathes against your lips, and you press your hips upwards until he groans. He pumps his fist over his cock a couple of times, and aligns it with your entrance.

"Deep breath, baby," he mutters, and you obey, staring up at him as he starts pressing into you. It’s tight, much tighter than his two fingers, and your eyes glass over with pain, but Joel goes slow. His hand strokes your tummy, helps you relax, while he pushes on consistently. You feel like he’s punching the air from your lungs, eyes wide with the stretch of him, as he nips at your jaw and neck to distract you.

"Know it’s a lot, but you can take it, angel."

"Y-yes," you moan, and screw your eyes shut, "please don’t stop, Joel."

 Joel’s breathing is ragged with restraint, and suddenly his hips snap forwards – and he’s fully buried inside of your tight body, nestled right against your cervix.

"Back to Joel, are we?" he teases, and gives you a couple of seconds to get used to him. You whimper and claw at his arm.

"I – ah – I’ll call you Professor Miller ’f you want," you slur, as he starts dragging his cock out of you again. You tremble under him, the feeling almost more intense than when he pushed inside of you.

"Yeah? That get you off? Or – fuck–  is it the fact that I’m friends with your parents?"

It really, really should be a turn off, to be talking about your parents right now, but the way Joel says it, the way he points out just how debauched it is what you’re doing – you can’t help but moan. You blush, too, can feel the heat in your face, but you’re tired of being ashamed of wanting him the way you do.

"Both," you answer, and this time Joel groans, his hips snapping into you at a rougher pace. The head of his cock hits your spot every time, and you let out little sounds of pleasure with every drag of his cock, unable to form a coherent sentence. Joel’s hand finds your clit again, rubbing circles as his other one pressing down on your stomach.

"Feel that?" he asks you, and you do, you feel him all up in your guts, "you take it so well baby, take all ’f me."

"Yes," you answer, eyes glassy with pleasure, "want all of you, Joel."

He bites your shoulder, keeps rutting into you, and soon you feel another orgasm building.

"Close – ah – so close," you whimper, and Joel speeds up his thrusts just slightly. You clench around him, right on the edge.

"Come for me, angel, give it to me."

You do, your hips bucking, back arching.

"Ah – fuck, Joel, Prof–"

"Say it," Joel orders, fucking you through the waves of pleasure.

"Professor."

He comes, too, twitching deep inside of you and spilling rope after rope of come. It feels right, like you’re his. His groan is rough, his thrusts sloppy, and you feel your pussy spasm around him in a third, weaker orgasm, or maybe it’s just aftershocks from your second. You’re limp underneath him, letting him use your body how he needs to.

"Fuck," he curses, "did so good for me."

He slips out of you, and you can feel his spend drip out of you. You’re weak, soft like jelly, sweaty and entirely satisfied.

"Jesus," you breathe, when he falls down next to you, his couch mercifully being big enough.

"Yeah," he answers, "Jesus."

***

Turns out, Joel Miller is a dirty talking bastard during sex, and a big softie afterwards. He makes you tea, strokes your hair while you sip it, then carries you up to his shower and gently washes your body his his sponge. Throughout, he’s quiet, and you wonder if it was too much, the mention of him being your professor, of your parents, but you’re too afraid to ask. He brushes your forehead with his lips when he dries you off, and pulls another of his shirts over you head. Your panties are entirely ruined, it’s all you’re wearing.

When you’re clean again, and relaxed, Joel pulls you onto his bed, wrapping you up in his arms.

"Did you…was that too much?" he asks you softly fingertips tracing over your thigh lazily.

"It was just right," you answer quietly, and he hums.

"You didn’t feel like you…I mean when you called me Professor, you wanted to do that, right?"

You look up at him, and press a soft kiss against his jaw.

"Of course, Joel. Wanted everything we did, I promise."

He nods, but you can tell there’s still something bothering him.

"You know that’s not what you are to me, though, right?" Your voice is soft. "You’re just Joel."

He brushes the top of your head with his lips.

"I mean it," you press on when he doesn’t answer, "it’s like a costume, Joel. I know it’s your job, but it’s…I don’t think of you as like, an authority figure or something. I just thought you looked hot in that slutty shirt."

"Slutty–?" he sputters and you laugh.

"Sure, you know, with your sleeves rolled up, and that first button popped open."

"’S not slutty."

"You showed your forearms. Half the lecture hall felt like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time."

Joel makes an exasperated sound, half amused and half offended.

"I mean it," you say again after beat, humor gone from your tone, "and it’s not just sex to me. You know that."

"Yeah," Joel answers slowly. "’S more to me, too."

It’s a hell of an admission.

"What are we gonna do?", you ask quietly, and Joel sighs.

"You’re gonna go to class," he says, voice dark, "and I’ll try very, very hard not to call your father and tell him I’m fallin’ for his daughter."

You bury your face in his chest. With anyone else, it would be too much, too fast, too intense. But this is Joel. It’s not fast if you’ve known him your whole life, is it? You kiss his chest, and he seems to understand.

"We’ll figure it out," Joel says quietly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

For a second you do want your parents to know, want them to see that someone does treat you like an adult, want to look them in the eye and say I’m with Joel now and there’s nothing you can do about it. I have my own life now and it includes this kind man. It’s childish, you know it is. You lean up, catch Joel’s mouth in a kiss.

"Yeah," you answer, “We’ll figure it out, Professor.”

[choccy-zefirka]

Letter sent to the field hospital for the Blight victims in Treviso

Dear Father

I hope you are doing well. Your research is invaluable to

Papa,

Are you getting enough sleep? Are you remembering to eat? I know how you get when you are focused on work. Please don’t torture yourself.

And no, to get it right out of the way: nothing bad happened. Well, nothing worse than what we already have going on. I’m not writing to report a new calamity; and nobody is taking dictation while I am lying back dramatically, gravely injured. Get that out of your head this instant.

I’m writing because I wanted to share something with you. Though it’s such a long and convoluted story I struggle with even getting started. But I will try.

You know Emmrich Volkarin; I remember the two of you were friends, before everything. And Neve told me he has been asking after you — so if you are becoming friends again, I am glad. From the bottom of my heart.

Well, and if you know Emmrich, you must have heard of Manfred: his spirit ward, who’s been growing more and more human the more we travel together. To cut down all the ramblings (those will have to wait until we all see each other in person), we almost lost Manfred recently. His spirit was torn from his vessel, about to be forever lost in the Fade, and Emmrich had to make a choice. To let Manfred go, to accept the finality of death — or to bring him back, but lose the ultimate honor a Mourn Watcher can get, his greatest aspiration, the reward he’s been working so hard to earn. This was a terribly heavy decision to make, and Emmrich was so dismayed he turned to me for advice.

And here’s the reason why I picked up the quill and did not put it down after so, so many drafts. When Emmrich looked up at me, with so much pain and desperation, kneeling beside Manfred — all I could see was you.

Ten years ago, you refused to let go of me. No matter how much I begged you to. No matter the lengths myself, and Dorian, went to in order to stop you. No matter what your grief twisted you into. I was ready to die, I was meant to; but you would not accept it, and it broke my heart. Even after King Alistair sensed the Blight in me and arranged for my Joining, it still felt wrong. Like I shouldn’t be here. That’s why I went through so many aliases, I think — first Warden Tristan Thorne, then Rook. To hide from the Venatori, yes; but also to try and make sense of this new thing that I was, alive against all common sense, fitting shoddily into the gap that was supposed to be there after my death.

But now… Now I think I made peace with that. Redcliffe is still on my conscience, and I’ve been trying so hard to make something of my stolen years, to prove that it’s all been worth it. And it just might be working. I am fighting against gods — the gods, the beings whom Corypheus tried to copy — and with every pushback, we also get a little victory. I have new comrades in the Wardens (I hope you are not bothering Evka and Antoine too much with questions about my health it’s a bit embarrassing).  I have Bellara, and Darvin, and Neve, and so many other dear friends that I would be lost without. I get to watch Dorian make our home better, the way he and you always wanted. I get to see the sky again, and again, in so many different parts of Thedas.

Maybe I shouldn’t be here, but I am. And so are you. And maybe that matters.

I told Emmrich to save Manfred. Not to let go, if just for a little while longer.

I love you.

I hope to see you again soon.

Felix

[seraphmaws]

(feel free to help with flag id, I don’t feel well enough to make them rn)

Neoidyn

A alternative term for Xenoidenity, Neoidyn is the same concept of xenogender, but rather than something relating to your gender, it applies to your identity. It can apply to your whole identity or only parts of it (which can include gender). Neoidyn can be used along side of xenos and is NOT anti-xenogender. Any gender can double as a Neoidyn (Examples, Catgender can be Catneoid, Boything can be used as a Neoidyn, and so forth). Neoidyn can be used by anyone and can be altered to fit one’s experience.

This is not a replacement for xenogenders, but rather a counterpart. More information under cut

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Here it is!! Ive had a fascination with xenogenders for years now and i’ve connected with many of them. However, i never could connect to them on a gender level, but rather on an identity level. The term xenoidenity seemed like the perfect term for me, though unfortunately, everything i’ve read about it claims it is meant to be inherently anti-xenogender. I never felt comfortable going ahead with using the term as i am pro-xenogender and firmly believe that one should identify as whatever makes them comfortable with themselves (as long as it’s not harmful *coughcough*radqueers*coughcough*). But there was a lot of confusion with the term as i saw a lot of back and forth between pro-xeno people reclaiming the term and anti-xeno people trying to maintain its anti-xeno intention. I’ve had enough and decided to coin this so i have some peace of mind and no longer worry about using a term that is against what i’m am firmly for.

(Edit: So uhhhh, when I started making this I had no idea xeniden already existed. But this one is meant to be an add on to existing terms while xeniden looks like you have to coin a separate term. There are also not many xenidens from what I’ve seen. I’m coining this for my own personal comfort, I hope this isn’t too much of a recoin)

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How It’s Used

Neoidyn is essentially meant to be compatible with all genders. That meaning any gender can be a Neoidyn. For example, you can take Catgender, change “gender” to “neoid” and boom, you’ve got Catneoid. For terms that don’t have gender in its name (Ex: Boything), you can leave it as is. Neoidyn is meant to be very open ended so it can fit any experience. Catneoid can mean:

- Identifying as a cat

- Identifying with cats

- Having a strong connection to cats

- Behaving like a cat

- Being cat kin/linked/hearted or a cat alterhuman

- Being catgender

- And anything having to due with cats that can be tied to identity

- As well as any of these examples combined

There is absolutely no wrong way to use Neoidyn. It’s essentially an add on to xeno/neogenders. Since Neoidyns are intended to use existing genders/terms as a base, there is no need to coin your own or make your own flags. You may, however, coin subterms for Neoidyn

This is not necessary, but if you’d like to indicate you use a xeno as a Neoidyn you can apply two dark bars in the corners of the flag like so:

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End note: I am NOT a mogai/liom blog, I’m just a silly lil editor and stimboard maker who wanted to fill a gap within his identity 😭 This is a one off thing and I won’t be coining anything else after this, my silly edits and stims will resume shortly. This also gave me extremely anxiety posting this and I don’t wanna go through that again lmao. I don’t wanna be too involved with this, I just wanna hand this to yall, let yall go wild with it, and be done. Like I said, I made this for my own personal comfort and at least if I have this out there other people may connect with this and I can have an easier time explaining my identity. Credit is absolutely not required, just go crazy

[seaglassmelody]

I’m trying to turn my frustration with bad Veilguard takes into positivity. But man is it hard when I just wanna argue. But here’s an attempt.

Today I’m thinking about the romances and how they’re executed.

(Under the cut because this got way longer than I intended)

I’m going to couch this in the context of the fact that I am currently replaying the entire series. I just started Inquisition this weekend after playing DAO and DA2.

I cannot comment on the DAI romances because I’m still in Haven, but in my opinion the DAO and DA2 romances are incredibly heavy-handed. They often boil down to “I have trauma-dumped on you and you do not find me violently repulsive so I will shove my tongue down your throat now”.

ESPECIALLY Anders and Fenris. Zevran doesn’t even wait to trauma dump on you, though I understand the difference between having sex with him initially and building up the romance (after he’s trauma-dumped on you).

I’m not COMPLAINING about this fact- the games are shorter, older, and iterating on the roleplaying systems that get us to Veilguard. But you can see the age that these games have, and the change in cultural attitudes (honestly, the amount of “but I’m a man??” In the m/m romance with Zevran…)

Versus in Veilguard, I love that a lot of the “flirt” options come out as subtle, personal statements that aren’t coming on too strong and express a deeper interest in the person as an individual. It makes things build slower and more purposefully.

But I also love that there’s a range! Lace’s flirting is sweet and a little awkward. Davrin’s is more obvious but still more natural than Hawke and Fenris’s flat-out “you’re very hot” conversations. Lucanis’s flirting is very much rooted in showing him that you aren’t scared OF him but FOR him, which is important to him!

And the biggest thing- romance or not, I love that a lot of the companion quests are just “hey go to this place and hang out with me.” Rook actually gets to build friendships, see characters outside of crisis situations, and have some moments of peace in between saving the world. That breathing room between plot points is very valuable to me- it’s fertile ground for fanfic and character building! And you don’t have to find a way to cram it in between crises because the game shows you it exists.

I guess for some people this approach doesn’t work (I can’t really imagine why not, but maybe that’s the aroace talking) but for me it’s incredible. The team is a TEAM and the romances feel like actual adults navigating relationships.

For a more contentious point, I really cannot get on board with the idea that the romances are “lacking” compared to the older games. DAO is basically throwing gifts at companions, a romance confirming conversation, minimum one sex scene, and then some endgame dialogue. Even then, by the time I got to Zevran’s “uhoh I guess I love you” convo I did feel like it was earned. But you don’t get a lot of individual romance time and you REALLY gotta dig into those dialogue trees to get places. It’s not very natural-feeling.

Now DA2? It HAS to be nostalgia goggles. I LOVED Fenris’s romance when I first played the game (Fenris was the reason I started playing DA at all) and replaying it was honestly a letdown?? He’s so angry through the entire game It’s very difficult to make sense of why he would love Hawke so much if they’re a mage supporter. The scene where he leaves after they sleep together in Act 2 was sad, but it was impossible to react in the way I wanted (which was understanding sympathy, of course a personal relationship is overwhelming when you’re suddenly getting over amnesia!). Getting back together immediately after killing Danarius feels rushed.

At this point I’m just rambling but I can’t help but feel that people are using 10-15 years of fanfic and daydreams to fill in gaps for the older games and when they’ve only sat with 1 playthrough of Veilguard for 2 months and spent most of that time angry about it, I can’t help but feel they’re missing the beauty of the execution of natural-feeling adult relationships.

[ofmermaidstories]

Hey Mermaid 🩷💜

It's me Lady, it's been a while. ;) I hope you're doing amazing! Having beautiful days and peaceful evenings, sleeping well, and staying hydrated💌💟

I hope you don't mind if this message feels too personal, and if it bothers you, please do ignore it.

I don't know if you've seen anything about the final chapter yet. And I, of course, do not want to spoil.

And I do sincerely hope you see the official chapter before this, so that my words makes sense. I guess I just want to say I'm feeling very overwhelmed about MHA ending, it's the most precious show to me . And especially Izuku's conclusion and how Horikoshi went about it. Again, I won't spoil of course but I guess I'm a bit disappointed.

I don't know, but something in me wanted your opinion and thoughts on the ending and Izuku's story's conclusion. Since, through reading your In another Life series fanfictions, I felt more connected to my favs (Izuku and Katsuki). Your writing gave me a new way of looking at their dynamic, story, and what a future for them entails with everything that they are and aren't.

I was actually avoiding the leaks because I wanted to at least read the official chapter when it's out since it is the last. So that I can honor it on a way. But one thing led to another by a simple scroll through tiktok.

Anyways, when I saw the panels I guess I thought "I would like to write him a hundred other happy endings". I say "other" because he's clearly happy in the conclusion, even with everything that happened (OFA and Tenko's conclusion mostly). But still, the thought came up.

And then I actually remembered your drabble of Izuku and his child, the "he will be your husband's biggest heartache" one, and I don't know, I guess I really wanted to ask you.

Thank you for staying with me. I hope you have a day filled with happy wishes. 🎀💌

Hi Mermaid 💌

It's me Lady, I half-hope you see this ask before my other previous one that I sent. This one might be long too, so sorry in advance. And thank you for taking the time♥️.

It has been plaguing my mind. I was really emotional about the ending and had alot to get off my chest, I ended up writing all that to you. I feel so embarrassed, and I could have worded it better.

I really just want to clear out a few things 😅. If you don't mind. I am not the kind of fan to put dirt on the author her/himself no matter how unsatisfied I am with a part of their story. I hope I didn't imply that in my previous ask about the ending and Izuku's conclusion (I barely remember much of what I said 😭)

Secondly, while 8 years is a huge gap, getting to see pro-hero class A was so surreal, in a "proud parent" way 🥹. I think I implied I wanted ur thoughts on the could-be-considered unsatisfactory parts of the ending. But I actually meant as a whole. Eri grown up also had me so proud and happy! She deserves to live a normal teenager girl life 🩷.

Bonus points pro hero Bakugou looking gorgeous as always 🤭. Kind of fills the picture for me now whenever | read pro-hero au fanfiction.

And the way he paid the most out of the class A alumni for Izuku to have a hero suit so that he could he a hero, and they could compete with one another again is so sweet.

But again, to make my point clear. I would love to hear your thoughts personally on everything that the ending, please.

I hope you have a wonderful day 🎀💟

Lady! Lilium. Lady Lilium. 🥹 Hi!!! Please don’t feel embarrassed!!! 🥺 Your asks actually let me feel relieved, lmao, because it meant I wasn’t alone in the… idk! topsy turvy feelies that the leaks had caused. 🥹 If there’s one thing I won’t miss it’s the entitlement that causes leaks to breach containment and ruin everyone else’s day. 💀 But!! Lili, how are you feeling on the other side of the official release??? For me personally it was like… a sense of relief, lmfao, like no matter my nitpicks about things (I do think the epilogue in general was rushed, and i’m kinda like 💀💀💀 over class a’s decision not to tell their friend about their goal to fund his iron man suit, lmao. there’s surprises and then there’s making life-altering decisions for someone LOL) i think the ending is sweet. 🥹 The last page does a lot of heavy lifting, emotionally, for me, and i’m wondering if it’s the same for you and others?

An account I follow on twitter said something about how as a reader they weren’t really happy with the ending, but they could see why fic writers would be, because everything’s so open-ended and it kinda startled me, because of how immediately i agreed? LOL. like, i like the ending for the same reason i’ve liked the series: it is open-ended, there’s enough world building that you can build on top of it, as a fic writer, and work with the lore Hori like, hints throughout it. But as a reader I could see how someone could be unsatisfied. We rush through the group’s remaining years at UA. The Billboard rankings are still a thing, despite Hawk’s grand speech in making an effort to include non-traditional heroes. Hero commercialism is still running rampant and if anything, the pro hero world sounds like it’s gotten more enclosed and harder to be apart of? Whichhhh I guess you could argue it should’ve always been that way—they are extreme first defenders in a lot of respects so sure, you need the best of the best—but idk. I keep thinking about the league, lmao, and all that change they carried on about wanting—and what they got was most of them killed in action and also no change LMAOO. No, wait, Shoji ends mutant racism and Ochako compels more Quirk counselling 🥹 (I’m not mad at that, I think it’s touching they both end up spearheading movement/efforts for ending discrimination/encourage understanding, it’s just… those are a big fights, you know? Big undertakings 🥺).

Idk idk idk. I’m trying to think of something that I, as a reader and not a fanfic writer, am unsatisfied with and I guess… I’m not unsatisfied with the ending moreso than I am with my biggest and most constant complaint: that Hori’s a coward who’s cowardice undermines his emotional beats LMAOOO. I think he’s a coward for letting Edgeshot live. I think he’s a coward for not confirming a ship—like, any of them. He’s a coward for not daring to imagine significant change in the pro hero system. But even with those criticisms, I still enjoy the series, and love it for what it is. 🥺

My original reaction to the final chapter leaks, tbh, was like—to get the ick LMFAOOOOOO. i was like, what is this. what have u DONE TO MY BOYYY. idk it gave me the ick for both deku and bakugou and i can’t really explain why??? now that we have the official chapter out, i think it was definitely a deadly combo of like—fandom making up their own minds about things and running it into the ground within the space of hours. 💀 that’s on me, i should’ve gone underground, i knew this fandom would skirt close to ruining the entire series for me like the clowns in the clown car they are. but this is why i was so relieved to get your asks, Lili!!! 🥺 Because it was like, omg, it’s not just me, like, we’re processing what we know about it together. 🥺 eight years!!!! i feel the same—like a proud parent. 🥹 The montage panels showing us the bits and pieces of everyone—Eri deserves to live her best high school musician life!!! 😭 But all of them, all of them made me emotional in some way. Aizawa and Mic visiting Oboro’s grave. 🥺 mirko with her insane prosthetics. 💀 love her. Endeavour losing his family, but being surrounded by the heroes from his agency. 🥺 Izuku seeing Shigaraki, at the end. So much of it was bittersweet, or satisfying to see in action. The kids competing in the sports festival!! Bakugou being cheerled as he rehabs his arm!!! Izuku, smiling, as he holds the last embers of OFA. That part actually devastates me lmfao. I love that MHA like—shows that anyone can be a hero, that the thing that makes one is the compulsion to help others first, and that now there’s like, accessibility, but… idk. I wanted him and OFA to stay together forever. 🥹 But maybe this is for the best… now the past users really are at rest, and Izuku can be a hero on his own strength.

I love that Class A worked together to fund the suit. I know the “Bakugou paid more” thing was popular, in the wake of the leaks, and I could see him funnelling more into it but one of the things I hated the most with the leaks/that gave me the biggest ick (lmao) was how everyone was turning it into a shipping thing, and not an incredible statement on just how much Class A love each other, and love Deku. 🥺 All Might mentions in his fight with AFO, with his own hero suit, that it took his life’s savings—so for them to be able to fund Izuku’s with only, what, six years of pro hero salary? That’s an incredible group effort. And they did it because they love him!!!! 😭 Because he worked hard and deserved it and they all knew it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Because the golden generation doesn’t leave anyone behind!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love them, i’m obsessed with their pro hero designs, concerned about the potential rat tails bakugou has tho and i don’t want to talk about the facial hair that sero and mineta have, lmfao. Shinsou, however, can absolutely get it. 😎

idkkkkkkk lili—what do you think, now? Overall i’m still emotional about it, lmao. i think the endgame had weak spots and that hori has strengths and weaknesses (like we all do) as a storyteller—but that he delivered. 🥹 i think ultimately he did what he promised us he’d do: told us the story of how they became the greatest heroes.

[witlessficcer]

Drabble Before Bed - One Piece

Note: This fic is for my mutual, @kurosakiichigoat. I am new to the One Piece fandom, having only watched the Netflix live action series. Ichigo sent me a link to read the manga, which I moving through slowly. I hope this is received well by Ichigo and the One Piece fandom at large.

Fanart taken from reddit posted by ScarletCatnip

Out of Nowhere by witlessficcer

When Nami emerged from below decks, she was surprised to see that Luffy was not at his usual perch above the ram's figurehead on the ship's bow. Looking down the stern, she saw the captain standing at the taffrail. His straw hat was pulled low over his brow, and his arms appeared tightly folded. If she didn't know better, he looked asleep standing up. Though she could not see his face, she could sense he was at peace, a peace he had recently given her by saving her village in defeating the Fishmen.

Nami had thanked him then, but it was a raw thanks; one still hardened by years of servitude to Arlong. She owed him a proper thanks. No. She wanted to let him know the depth of her gratitude. But how? It wasn't easy having feelings. She wasn't sure she welcomed them. But for his sake and her own, she stepped lightly across the main deck.

Like the thief she had become, the navigator made not a sound. Not a creak on the deck. Not a breath that could be heard. Why was she sneaking? What purpose did it serve? Other than to surprise him. A thought that made her suddenly giddy. Nami was not giddy. None the less, the butterflies in her stomach and the thought of personally creating that smile of his, overwhelmed her. That broad, joyful, loving smile.

She was right behind him. Luffy was stock still. What could he be thinking about? His next word stunned her.

"Nami."

It wasn't a question. He couldn't know she was there. She was that good. But so was he. Was he thinking about her? Like, seriously thinking about her. Could he be fantasizing about her? Did Luffy fantasize?

Nami had the overwhelming urge to snake her arm between his and his waist; to hug him from behind. Was it too intimate? Would he freak? Did Luffy freak out? Ever?

The urge didn't make sense. Had she ever thought of Luffy more than means to an end? A patsy. Of course that was over now. He was so much more than that. He had told she was so much more as well. So much more than a slave to a liar. She had hugged him once. Once. But had she really ever touched him. Had they even brushed shoulders much less shook hands. They had to have, hadn't they?

She reached out, almost as if it was another person, not herself. He hand slid into the gap and and she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his shoulder, her breasts to his back as her hand gently landed on his hip.

Luffy gave a small start and turned his head before pivoting to face her.

"Nami?" he asked, quietly. His voice has none of the bombast. No call of East Blue. But also no certainty. No assuredness. "What are you doing?"

The question woke the ginger from her reverie and she stepped back, watching his wide, but soft eyes take her in. Was she losing her mind?

"I-I don't...know," Nami stammered, suddenly searching the deck for critters.

"Are you sure?" he said, that smile, that devastating smile, breaking across his face.

He knees felt weak. Stay. On. Your. Feet. she told herself What in the hells was happening to her.

"I...I wanted to thank you," Nami whispered. "For saving the village."

"You did that already," Luffy replied, magnanimously. "No need to do it again. That would be like-"

There it was. His blessed assurance. His grace, if she wanted to call it that.

"Repetitive, I know."

He smiled again. Damn her knees. This had never been a problem when she was keeping secrets. Now that she was free, her body and mid were betraying her.

"Did you just kiss my shoulder and try to give me a back hug?" the captain said matter of fact, tipping his straw hat back on his head.

Why did he always have to be so direct? You are impossible, Luffy!

"You are impossible, Luffy!" she blurted in exasperated.

He blinked, tilting his head to side with a smirk. "Impossible? I like the sound of that. Tell me more."

"What?" she replied, stupified, her mouth hanging open. "Did I say that out loud?"

"You did!" hew said, eyes ablaze in anticipation. How am I impossible?"

The navigator closed her eyes and took a took a deep breath. "So many ways, You clown."

"Hey, don't calm me a clown!" he replied, with faux anger. "I might take a fence."

"Where would you take it? We're at sea."

He pointed at her, nodding his head in a approval.

"I want to take it the stern and set it up so no once can see us."

Nami perked up at that. She knitted her brow and put her hands on her hips. "See us what?"

"Hugging, of course!" he declared..

"What if I don't want to hug you anymore?" she protested. (Too much)

"I think you do," Luffy replied, meeting her gaze. You made it kind of obvious."

" I guess I did," Nami replied. "I'm still trying to make sense of it. If there is going to be any more hugging, we should probably keep it quiet. The crew doesn't need to know."

"Don't worry about them," he replied with a wink. "They are sworn to secrecy!"

"What do you mean?" she asked in wonder.

"I can't. It's a secret."

"What's a secret?" she pressed.

"That they had this figured all they back at the Baratie."

"Those...Those Finks!" Nami fumed. "I'll show them a thing or two about secrecy!"

"Navigator!" he said, firmly. "I think you and I should hash out or secrets first. Then, you can destroy them. I promise."

"Promise?" she confirmed, placing her hand on his shoulders and staring into his eyes.

"Promise," Luffy replied, taking the straw had from his head and placing it atop her orange locks.

[trekkele]

re: redemption stories

Hi, i actually love your answer because it made it easier to sort my thoughts, so thank you <3 However I'm still thinking over how i wanna phrase my next - hopefully - elaborating ask, so that might take a bit.

Meanwhile, how would you narratively treat characters like Thanos (the mcu version), Mr. Freeze, Harley Quinn and Magneto in terms of redemption and forgiveness? 👀

And what do you think about the redemption stories of heroes that we've already seen? Like Tony Stark (mcu version again), Zuko, and, idk, Severus Snape?

Ooh this one has meat in, delicious. Also funny story! Tony Stark was actually in one of my previous rambledy answers that i felt went nowhere!! As an example of someone who’s ‘redemption’ felt hollow because it was ended* with an abdication of responsibility instead of an acceptance of it.

Ok to start! Thanos is in a different category of villain to me so lets break it down. There are villains who are acting, wether that is in response to a problem they see or a problem they are creating (ie, Thanos destroying half the universe for ‘resources’, or too woo Death, Harley Quinn to match Jokers freak) and then there are villains who are reacting (Mr Freeze to save Nora, Magneto to champion human rights for mutants). Both are capable of doing awful things, but they will be coming at redemption in very different ways because of the catalyst that would get them to stop.

For example, Thanos wont stop because he either sees himself as a savior to a problem he created, or because he is convinced his next “gift” will turn Death to him, and (narratively, Doylestly) Magneto wont stop because comics will never allow mutant kind to achieve acceptance and peace. Thats where the money is!

(Obligatory side note that i am on Magnetos side. He is right and that is my zeidy whom i love.)

Vs Harley Quinn and Mr Freeze, both of which have clear parameters under which they stop being antagonists. Mr Freeze saves Nora’s life, Harley realizes not only can Joker never give her what she wants, she doesnt want to be that person anymore either.

So in order to write these 4 characters with any kind of coherent redemption arc, you have to break down 1. are they acting or reacting 2. What are they acting or reacting to 3. Can this change without completely sacrificing the story/who they are 4. Would that be satisfying, narratively.

Thanos cant get a redemption arc because it would entail him 1. Admitting his resources excuse was bullshit and he could have just doubled everything (except the people) in the universe or 2. Death will never love him. And considering the type of guy he is, neither of those seem satisfying to me.

Mr. Freeze is less complicated because (going off his BTAS character) all he really wants is to cure this disease, and the US has a history of letting worse scientists get away with more. Give him an ankle bracelet and some funding and i think he can contribute more to society then he took* (*caveat i cant remember if he kills people or not)

The thing with Harley and Magneto is that theyre both mostly antiheroes. Harley is already pretty much “redeemed” in comics these days, and by having her enagage directly against the kinds of plots she used to run i think theyve done a pretty good job by making that a satisfying if not always elegant arc. *(caveat here that Harley is a victim of manipulation and abuse. She isnt a perfect victim of either, in case someone’s brought a horse and climbed onto it, but she is a victim. Her redemption under those circumstances was always going to be easier to swallow)

As for Magneto, let the old man rest and stop building giant robots to hunt down his people and you’ll be fucking fine. He truly is reacting to situations so i dont think he needs redemption as much as everyone else needs to leave Zeidy alone.

And now for the fun part. Tony Stark’s redemption could have been fine. It was spread out over a few movies in a few years, so the gaps would have been less obvious, the character progression would have been serviceable, etc etc, IF he hadnt gone and handed the fucking UN and ROSS of all fuckers all of his allies on silver platter because he never truly reckoned with his own guilt and complicity in the deaths of innocents. Ultron was a symptom of this btw.

Tonys arc circled around the abdication of responsibility vs the acceptance of it, and by the time he dies i think he simply hasnt done enough to prove he truly accepts it. *caveat here that i didnt watch the final phase and only know of it through fandom and meta breakdowns. I think Tony is a really good example of a failed redemption arc and i would love it the movies knew thats what they were doing. The movies end with his death because he simply cannot accept who he was and what he did enough to change past it. And thats pretty comics accurate actually.

Between Tony and Snape theres a common thread actually and its that death is not redemption. death can benefit and protect those you hurt but if it is the only action towards change you take it isnt redemption. So thats Snape isnt it?

The thing is, Snape never does redeem himself, nor, personally, do i think he ever tries. Because his death is related to his work as a double agent and his opposition to voldemort, while the actions he needs redemption for are several years of actively bullying children from ages 11-18. Thats. Not the same!! How exactly do you redeem yourself from being a bad teacher and bad person if you dont live long enough to become a good teacher and a good person.

And the thing is, its not even that he was forced into being a teacher by circumstance and is bad at it, he is shown several times throughout the series to be good at teaching when he wants to be. The fact that he chooses to be mean to children because of his own angst and guilt is like. Textual. I hate him.

Zuko is a pretty perfect example of a redemption arc that feels genuine because 1. His tragic backstory isnt presented as a reason to forgive him, simply as an explanation for his behavior. 2. His setbacks never completely return him to who he was. He always changes and retains that change at least slightly 3. His change is almost entirely divorced from the people he hurt - they happen in separate rooms so to speak. Those people might be a catalyst but they arent the driving force. He doesnt change for them but rather because what he’s learned from them. And 4. Even if he never got acceptance or forgiveness from the gAang, he would still have changed and remained changed. There are good metas on this that are more coherent floating around.

I’ve run out of steam but if any of this doesn’t seem complete or is confusing let me know and i can (hopefully) explain!

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Rereading The Fellowship of the Ring for the First Time in Fifteen Years

Holy Foreshadowing, Batman! Gandalf is SUPER psyched to get his ass under a mountain, but literally Gimli and Aragorn are like, "Nah, bro, we are worried about YOU SPECIFICALLY if we do that." And this is after Mom and Dad fought about going up Caradhras and after literally everyone is like, "We are getting super bad vibes from Moria."

But they can't go over the mountains, they can't go around the mountains, and the Gap of Rohan is too close to Isengard, so fuck it, we ball in Moria, I guess. Let's talk chapter 4, "A Journey in the Dark."

Ok, so this is a relatively long chapter (30-odd pages by my math), but wow is it mostly vibes. We start off very defeated by the anti-wizard-and-elf mountain, which makes sense because if you lose the ring bearer to exposure in the first month of travel, you're going down in history as the dingus who lost the last great conflict with Sauron. Again, Boromir is DEEPLY underappreciated as the reason our hobbits survived Caradhras.

After a few pages of back-and-forthing about where to go next, Gandalf is over here pushing Moria HARD, and literally everyone is like, "This does not pass the vibe check, wizard boy." Although Gimli is like, "I could find out what happened to Balin" and Aragorn literally says THIS:

"You followed my lead almost to disaster in the snow and have said no word of blame. I will follow your lead now..."

Because apparently Fellowship leadership operates on phlebotomist rules. If you miss the vein, you let someone else take a shot.

Ultimately, the decision is made because there are goddamn WARGS after the group, and even Boromir accedes that wolves literally on your tail are worse than hypothetical wolves up the road, so we stop arguing about it and hunker down. This gives us time to have a nice little moment with Sam and Pippin though. Poor Pippin is over here like, "I wish I had taken Elrond's advice [...], I am no good after all. [...] I don't remember ever feeling so wretched, " but Sam is coming in clutch with "Honestly same, but Gandalf isn't going to let us get eaten by wolves." Which like...yeah, I accept that, and it's way more comforting than a generic "there, there." I also appreciate that Sam admits he's scared too. It's like how hearing, "Oh god, I haven't started that either" is so comforting for stressed-out students.

What neither I nor the fellowship love though, is the wolves literally sniffing around their campfire that night. There are literally glowing eyes in the dark, howls on the wind, and a goddamn warg silhouette in the gap between stones. And an arrow through the throat of one warg buys the group some measure of peace until the moon sets. Once the moon sets though, we get a pre-dawn warg attack:

In the leaping light as the fresh wood blazed up, Frodo saw many grey shapes spring over the ring of stones. More and more followed. Through the throat of one huge leader Aragorn passed his sword with a thrust; with a great sweep Boromir hewed the head off another. Gimli stood with his stout legs apart, wielding his dwarf-axe. The bow of Legolas was singing.

The battle scenes in these books read SUPER Beowulf, but are somehow briefer. Tolkien was super not here for contemporary battle scene writing; it's very much painting with watercolors. He gives you the odd detail or two and you pretty much get to fill in the rest yourself. Which is fine, and holy cow can I see where that would inspire Robert Jordan's manner of naming sword forms rather than describing an actual duel (which is not shade, I think Jordan does that really damn well and to excellent effect). But then we get Gandalf doing wizardy things in a really...unusual way?

In the wavering firelight Gandalf seemed suddenly to grow: he rose up, a great menacing shape like the monument of some ancient king of stone set upon a hill. Stooping like a cloud, he lifted a burning branch and strode to meet the wolves. They gave back before him. High in the air he tossed the burning brand, It flared with a sudden white radiance like lightning; and his voice rolled like thunder.

This hearkens back both to "Gandalf the fireworks wizard" who we meet in the Shire, but also to the little moment in Bag End where Gandalf goes wizard on Bilbo to snap him out of his Ring moment. It also is not like...wildly dissimilar to how they teach you to scare bears off in the wild: Get big and loud and look intimidating. We were not supposed to then set a goddamn forest fire--that's a little scorched earth for Alaskan survival techniques--but it was one of those moments where the familiar was made pointedly exotic, and I actually thought it was quiet effective. You take the foundation of something real and then you add a bit of wizard to it. Then things feel sufficiently grounded, but also with just that extra bit of wizard to heighten EVERYTHING. The subtlety (and yeah, I know, forest fire and lightning isn't subtle, but the way this is written is and how it functions is) is really quite impressive. That said...Gandalf, honey. Maybe not with the ecological disasters???

At the very least, the wargs were polite enough to evaporate so they didn't have to deal with any of the bodies when the sun came up.

After that, we haul ass off to the Doors of Durin. It's not a good journey though. Right from the start, the Sirannon wasn't where it was supposed to be, the landscape is lifeless and desolate, and when we do finally find the stream, it's a freaking trickle. If the IDEA of Moria didn't pass the vibe check, then the landscape on the trip in is a parade of red flags. And again, Boromir is SUPER ON POINT with not wanting to get caught between a stone wall and a bunch of wolves. This place is all quiet unease and red flags. Even the freaking WATER is gloomy and unwholesome-looking.

And then we get a WEIRD FLEX moment for Gandalf:

"I am sorry," said Gandalf. "Poor Bill has been a useful companion, and it goes to my heart to turn him adrift now. I would have travelled lighter and brought no animal, least of all this one that Sam is fond of, if I had had my way. I feared all along that we should be obliged to take this road."

Like, I believe he's genuinely sorry to have to hurt Sam and to turn the goodest pony loose. But it's the "if I had had my way" and the last sentence where I'm just like...Gandalf. Sir. Why are you bitching to Frodo that you have to share leadership on this mission? And why are you flexing an "I told you so" on Frodo instead of, IDK, Aragorn??? Is it because Aragorn would kick your wizened wizard ass for it? Because I'd watch that.

Also, again with Gandalf being weirdly open with, aware of, and as solicitous as possible to Sam. He has zero problems kicking Pippin when he's down (as we'll see in a bit in this very goddamn chapter), but he's always been very straight yet compassionate with Sam in a way that doesn't even match how this wizard treats Frodo. Like, we are almost getting to a point where I need to go see what the Tolkien scholars have written about the Sam-Gandalf relationship, because it's getting NOTICEABLY unique and it has gotten a fair number of little moments at this point. Like...what is this relationship and why is this the dynamic? I demand to know.

I also just want to take a second to highlight something DEEPLY inequitable as they round the lake to the door:

When they came to the northernmost corner of the lake they found a narrow creek that barred their way. It was green and stagnant, thrust out like a slimy arm toward the enclosing hills. Gimli strode forward undeterred, and found that the water was shallow, no more than ankle-deep at the edge. Behind him they walked in fie, threading their way with care, for under the weedy pools were sliding and greasy stones, and footing was treacherous. Frodo shuddered with disgust at the touch of the dark unclean water on his feet.

THE HOBBITS DONT WEAR SHOES. Everyone else has boots to act as something of a barrier to this gross-ass water, but the hobbits have to tromp through it BAREFOOT. Did NOBODY think, "oh shit, this will be super unpleasant for the hobbits, maybe we should yeet or carry them?" Apparently not, and honestly now they're just gonna have gross feet as they tromp through Moria and I hate that for their poor hobbit toesies. And as a WWI soldier, TOLKIEN SHOULD KNOW THE DANGERS OF WET, MUCKETY FEET.

But then we actually get to the doors--finally--and Sam has a deeply understandable moment when Gandalf tells him they have to cut Bill loose, and Gimli and Legolas try to start world war 2.5 over Elf-Dwarf relations before Gandalf tells them to knock that shit off.

Everyone is super over everything at this point, and I cannot blame them.

But where Gandalf has zero time for Legolas and Gimli sniping at each other, he takes the time to speak over Bill and give him his best shot at getting home safely. Again, I do not get the relationship between Gandalf and Sam. I appreciate the care for the pony, but whatever the Gandalf-Sam thing is, it's more than just trolling Pippin or ensuring that Frodo makes it to the volcano or ignoring Merry's existence for the most part.

Literally, Pippin gets a "Knock on the door with your head" from Gandalf, and once the damn thing IS open, Merry just gets a casual, "Merry, of all people, was on the right track" before Gandalf pulls ANOTHER weird flex and says "Too simple for a learned lore-master in these suspicious days." Like...ok, sure, Gandalf. You were TOO SMART to get the riddle.

But we get the doors open just in time for Frodo to get nabbed by a metric frick-ton of tentacles. Sam yoinks him back and they haul ass through the door, which get slammed behind them and the tentacle monster bolts it behind them with boulders and trees. After which we get THIS little gem from Gandalf:

"I fear from the sounds that boulders have been piled up and trees uprooted and thrown across the gate. I am sorry; for the trees were beautiful, and had stood so long."

SIR. I was THERE when you burned a flaming doughnut into the land to get rid of the wargs. You are a walking ecological disaster and do not get to high ground the tentacle monster ripping up a few trees by the roots. You probably burned more LAST NIGHT. I know it's unfair to expect characters to know the genre of the book they're in, and by extension its equally unfair to expect them to know the themes of the book they're in. That said though...I WATCHED YOU START A FOREST FIRE, GANDALF. This is not the moment to suddenly discover ecocriticism.

At any rate, we have FINALLY made it inside Moria. Boromir is (rightfully) quite pissed off an apprehensive about this, but Gandalf is like, "Gimli and I will lead the way!" before they manage to get the party fucking lost and Sam is bitching about not having rope. Because oh my god there is SO MUCH atmospheric walking in this book. And most of the time the atmosphere is "vaguely evil with a healthy helping of depression." Which...yeah, that's what we get here.

So it makes sense that Gandalf is SUPER FUCKING OVER IT when Pippin yeets a rock down a well and they hear hammer blows from the deeps. And it makes even more sense when Gandalf realizes he's apparently also experiencing withdrawal symptoms because he hasn't had a smoke since before they started climbing Caradhras. So he non-apologizes to Pippin, lights up, and everything looks better in the morning...sort of. At least the wizard is less grumpy, and he has now firmly established himself as that member of the party who needs to be properly self-cared or he will make it EVERYONE ELSE'S PROBLEM. Seriously, what a goddamn diva.

But getting himself a wee bit of a smoke made it so he could make a decision and they headed up to where the air smelled good. So fair enough.

Then we have EVEN MORE atmospheric walking, and Sam picks up some dwarven lore via Gimli singing a song all about Moria and Khazad-dum, and I swear, the hobbit is going to be a lore-master himself by the end of this journey.

This chapter is also where we get a bit of a mithril infodump, which is pretty cool just in general. We also get Frodo having delayed sticker-shock because he's just casually waltzing around with a whole-ass shirt of mithril on. That's also a nice little reminder to all the readers that hey, remember that Frodo has this thing? I betcha it's going to be important soon.

We end the chapter on the SUPER downer note of finding Balin's tomb, and the dwarves now have their (not unexpected) answer to what happened to the party from thirty-odd years ago. Which is really sad, frankly.

That's also about where we're going to leave this chapter, because I am...exhausted by all the atmospheric walking. We will pick up next time with a relatively short chapter, and hopefully there is more to it than infodumping and atmospheric walking.

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 40: The Web Tightens

Spoiler alert: The main character's hair is not anywhere near so dull a color. This post and the whole reread has all kinds of big, terrible spoilers for this book and every other book. Okay, maybe just The Wheel of Time ones. But that's still a lot of spoilers, so if you don't want those you need to be elsewhere. I recommend this great little hole in the wall in Bologna, best Italian food you'll ever have.

Anyway, this chapter has a Flame of Tar Valon symbol, in part because of the Andorian royalty's association with Tar Valon (the imminent tutoring of the kids is discussed) but also because Elaida is here and she is spitting... well, not fire. Acid. But the weak kind.

When he looked back to the table, Moiraine and Logain had vanished, and Ba’alzamon sat there instead.

I assume that this is the moment when Ba'alsy narrows down his candidates definitively. He's using Moiraine and Logain's behaviors as the evidence he needs. Lucky for Rand, he's only mildly concussed so he doesn't stick around for the dream!

She was completely different from Egwene in height and face and body, but every bit as beautiful. He felt a twinge of guilt, but told himself that denying what his eyes saw would not bring Egwene safely to Caemlyn one whit faster.

It sure won't. In fact, the laws of dramatic irony say that if you kiss Elayne right now, Egwene will be safe and sound and right behind you.

“Be quiet, Gawyn.” She was clearly the younger of the two, but she spoke as though she took it for granted that he would obey. The boy’s face struggled as if he had more to say, but to Rand’s surprise he held his peace.

Even now Gawyn is not down for his assigned role in life. Really both he and Elayne are already chafing against the expectations upon them - that's why Elayne is off ruining her dresses climbing trees and carrying medical bags in said ruined dresses. Frankly I think the gap year she takes after going to Tar Valon was quite good for her; she'd be a good queen regardless but without a chance to get to know herself outside of her mother's oversight she wouldn't have been able to get great.

Rand looked at Gawyn. “Does she always expect everybody to do what she tells them?” A flash of surprise crossed the young man’s face, and his mouth tightened with amusement. “Most of the time she does. And most of the time they do.”

Gawyn relaxes a lot around Rand once he realizes how clueless he is. I'm surprised he didn't try the usual gag of keeping him clueless to laugh about it, but honestly it shows that he's not bad at heart. Stupid maybe, but not bad.

Elayne is too busy being a doctor to notice though.

“Not even Mother,” Elayne said, bending her head back over Rand’s hands. “She makes suggestions, and he always does what she suggests, but I’ve never heard her give him a command.” She shook her head.

Oh hey, earlier I was talking about Jordan loving "women are effectively in charge of a relationship because of soft power" and here we have another example of its inversion. Bryne though is pulling this off by seniority - he's been Captain-General and First Prince of the Sword to one woman or another since his mid-20s. Which makes him another fascinating figure, since most armies don't tend to put dudes who aren't in their 30s in charge. As ever, there's all these crazy people who we don't get to know much about.

Looking longingly at the wall, Rand gave his right name before he thought what he was doing, and even added, “From Emond’s Field, in the Two Rivers.” ... Rand stared at him. Elayne was staring, too. Gawyn looked as much under control as ever, but he was babbling. Why?

Once again Rand's ta'veren seems to be a little more fair at this point. Usually Rand doesn't babble half as much. Is it just getting turned on or something. (Also it's hilarious that Gawyn all but says, "You two should fuck" when he learns where Rand's from.)

“I am aware of your fondness for strays, Elayne,” the slender man said reasonably...

It's an interesting contrast between the two brothers that Gawyn kind-of almost suggests he thinks of Rand in such terms and then quickly clarifies that he definitely does not while Galad just does not give a fuck. Always the right thing, no matter who it hurts.

Also is this the only time the two half-bros are ever close to being in the same place? I think it might be and I'm too lazy to check. I guess maybe they're together at the big pre-TG tent meeting? Seems like everyone still alive but Mat, Seanchan, and the Darkfriends are at that one.

“You say I am fond of giving orders. Well, I command you to let nothing happen to you. I command you to be my First Prince of the Sword when I take the throne—the light send that day is far off!—and to lead the armies of Andor with the sort of honor Galad cannot dream of.” “As you command, my Lady.” Gawyn laughed, his bow a parody of Galad’s.

And again the contrast. Galad doesn't like following Elayne's orders but it's proper and he takes it seriously and he does it - then finds ways to work around them for the greater good. Gawyn doesn't take it seriously and so when the time comes to obey he does everything but.

Elayne growled an oath, and Rand’s eyebrows shot up. He had heard that one from the stablemen at The Queen’s Blessing and had been shocked then.

Elayne's first on-page swear. <3

I can't wait for her to learn the real curse words!

Despite her outstretched arms Elayne drew herself up regally. “You dare to bring bare steel into my presence, Tallanvor? Gareth Bryne will have you mucking stables with the meanest trooper for this, if you are lucky!”

One rather gets the impression that Elayne has been practicing this since a young age. "You dare to carry me to the bathtub, [name of generic servant who is helping poor Lini]?" Also dang, I forgot we got Tallanvor this early! This chapter is just filled with introductions - this is the most characters I've had to tag so far and all of them bar Rand, Ishamael and Elayne first appear in this chapter (and her in the last sentences of the previous one).

“You will conduct all three of us to my mother,” Elayne announced suddenly. A grin bloomed on Gawyn’s face.

They give Galad a lot of shit for being hard to have as a sibling, but frankly I expect Galad is very tired of having Elayne as a sibling too.

“The Queen, your lady mother,” Tallanvor announced, “commands me to bring the intruder to her immediately. It is also the Queen’s command that my Lady Elayne and my Lord Gawyn attend her. Also immediately.”

Sorry Elayne, but the Pattern demands Rand and Elaida meet, so there's no way to stop Tallanvor.

“It is not right,” Elayne said. “She asked if I wanted to pick out the one farm she could do the same for, while all around it the crops still failed, but it still isn’t right for us to have flowers when there are people who do not have enough to eat.”

And here we see why Elayne is a good ruler and Elaida is a terrible one - frankly, why the White Tower is a failed institution. If it were worth a damn, after a winter like this one they'd be sending women out across the known world helping what farms they could on the grounds that something was better than nothing. Instead, only the royalty benefit, and it's a meaningless affectation. You can't live off of a palace garden and Elaida's shamelessness is terrible.

And sadly, her ability at ratting is going to go in sharp decline too.

“First rank to accompany me,” Tallanvor commanded. “Announce the Lady Elayne and the Lord Gawyn to Her Majesty,” he told the doorkeepers. “Also Guardsman-Lieutenant Tallanvor, at Her Majesty’s command, with the intruder under guard.”

Good work Tallanvor, you did just defy the word of the Lady Elayne. It's a good thing you leave the palace before she gets crowned or she'd have every right to fire you.

Rand was just congratulating himself on getting it right when he noticed Tallanvor, his head still bent, glaring sideways at him from behind his face-guard. Was I supposed to do something else? He was suddenly angry that Tallanvor expected him to know what to do when no one had told him.

Gawyn is Elayne's First Prince and everyone else is a sworn guard, Rand. They're pissed that you're bowing as if you're Morgase's servant and protector instead of one of her subjects. But again, since you're the Dragon Reborn, you're really probably bowing in the only appropriate way to the woman who is currently your metaphorical wife.

If she had been a widow in Emond’s Field, she would have had a line of suitors outside her door even if she was the worst cook and most slovenly house keeper in the Two Rivers. He saw her studying him and ducked his head, afraid she might be able to tell his thoughts from his face. Light, thinking about the Queen like she was a village woman! You fool!

This is almost foreshadowing, except for the part where she only has the one suitor.

Gawyn, I have thought better of you. You must learn not only to obey your sister, but at the same time to be counterweight for her against disaster.

Don't worry Morgase, Gawyn will put equal effort into both of those endeavors!

But my sisters will keep you away from the unbeliever. That sort of thing is not for you, not yet.

Elaida is quite the fool if she thinks that anything about how she's behaved would bring Elayne to the Red Ajah. That's what she means here, that she thinks Elayne will mature into a hunter of male channelers. Well, she's not entirely wrong.

“A loyal subject from the Two Rivers.” Morgase sighed. “My child, you should pay more heed to those books. The Two Rivers has not seen a tax collector in six generations, nor the Queen’s Guards in seven. I daresay they seldom even think to remember they are part of the Realm.”

Assuming that they measure generations on about the same scale we do (20-30 years), this means that the last tax collector went to the Two Rivers no sooner than 120 years ago, the last guard 140. Possibly as much as 200 years back! The Two Rivers is not part of the Realm! They have as much in common with the average subject of the Lion Throne as a Saldaean!

Sanderson keeping them part of the same kingdom when Perrin's only note was "king" is nothing short of inappropriately inserting his bizarre political beliefs into the story. The man is completely opposed to actual revolution of any kind and Perrin suffered for it. Jordan had damn well been setting up this separation since the beginning, and he was right to do so.

It was his sword she touched, not him, her hand closing around the hilt at the very top. Her fingers tightened and her eyes opened wide with surprise. “A shepherd from the Two Rivers,” she said softly, a whisper meant to be heard by all, “with a heron-mark sword.”

Fain really fucked Elaida up, you know? Here she is, keeping all of the Dark One's eyes out of the palace and being the only person who can see what's right in front of her. None of the guards noticed how terrifying Rand's blade is. Gawyn didn't. Elaida's the only one who sees just how big a threat Rand might be. Sadly, she's going to go completely crazy.

“. . . with a story calculated to entice Elayne and bearing a heron-mark blade. He does not wear an armband or a cockade to proclaim his allegiance, but wrappings that carefully conceal the heron from inquisitive eyes. What chance this, Morgase?”

See what I mean? And worst of all, she only crafts this story because Rand lies and says he arrived that day. Elaida's quite right to object that's an absurd coincidence because even in this world, it is. It's complete bullshit. But now that she's drawn her false conclusion she only wants to damage with it.

She spoke again, barely moving her lips, so softly that he could barely hear her less than an arm’s length away. “This, too, I Foretell. Pain and division come to the whole world, and this man stands at the heart of it. I obey the Queen,” she whispered, “and speak it clearly.”

Elaida loves her some loopholes too. She spoke clearly but inaudibly. Watch for her abuse of loopholes later. I suppose she might have withheld this from everyone because of Rand's ta'veren, but I think it's just her glory hound nature coming out. If Rand's imprisoned or found out here, it's by Queen Morgase. If she hunts him down privately, without orders, it's Elaida doing it and it'll look great on her CV when she runs for usurper in Tar Valon.

First, because I have the advantage of Elaida and Gareth in having heard Two Rivers speech when I was young. You have not the look, but if a dim memory can serve me you have the Two Rivers on your tongue.

I wonder if Morgase and Tam crossed paths while he was on his way to Illian and she was on her way to train at the White Tower.

Elaida was only half attending what the Queen was saying; he could feel her eyes on his back. What would have happened if Morgase had not kept the Aes Sedai with her? 

Another bit of ta'veren luck in this chapter, the final tightening of the web that will set Rand's course for the final act of the book.

“Wrap a shoufa around your head, Rand, and you would be the image of an Aielman. Odd, since Mother seems to think you sound like a Two Rivers man, at least. I wish we could have come to know one another, Rand al’Thor. Fare you well.”

And so ends Rand and Gawyn's only moment around each other, again barring the huge group at Merrilor. This certainly ends whatever friendliness Gawyn has to Rand, from here on out it's hostility and nothing else.

Oh well. This also pretty much ends the chapter, with all that's left being Rand running back to the inn in terror. Who can blame him?

Next time: The party finally reunites (except Thom, who is still pretending to be dead)! Everyone realizes they're screwed!

[heyitsjooooanne]

I'm Pathetic. Please Don't Talk To Me.

Date: November 23rd, 2024

Time: 3:43 am

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

I'm trying to create a gig for Fiverr.

But to do that, I need to fill out a 1099 form for self-employment tax (which is provided on the site).

Easy right?

But I am so overwhelmed from just reading the first line.

I also looked at the form for income tax and the thought of calculating that on my own in the future is so nerve-wracking to me.

I'm not sure I have what it takes.

Even my anxiety at this is enough to make me hate myself.

There are a lot of skills that I've learned to do over the years, but interacting with the outside world is not one of them.

I'm a 33 year old who's never had her own income, so I've never been employed.

And I've been living at the home I was raised in since my high school graduation (I also attended the local community college).

Yes, I'm pathetic.

It's also one of the reasons why I'm hesitant to make new friends.

It's really lonely, but I'd rather not have any new peers get to know me until I'm a proper adult (earning income and having the ability to do things independently).

Of course, even if I had the bare minimum of a paying job, I still wouldn't want anyone to be interested in me.

I don't think there's a single person on Earth who would be interested in getting to know a young woman who is looking for employment super late/became employed super late, never made her own friends (my friends from middle/high school, who I'm still friends with today, approached me first), doesn't know how to drive, and has little interest in sexual intimacy (pregnancy, stds, and it’s kinda gross? no thank you).

And so, the isolation continues… . . . Writing this made me tear up a bit, which was unexpected.

But I would really really prefer it if no one spoke to me until I at least found a way to generate my own income.

Of course, I can't actually stop anyone from wanting to speak to me online. If someone out there thinks a never-employed adult who still lives at home and has no hope for any sort of future except poverty and misery is worth getting to know, then have at it.

But anyone who wants to get to know me can do so much better than me.

I also feel kinda stupid now for being so annoying on Wattpad this year. I wanted someone on there to be honest about their true identity with me for my own peace of mind so I wouldn't feel like I was crazy, but now I'm not so sure I would've been ready for him to be honest with me back then. Or now.

And the context for this is that near the end of January, I messaged someone on social media telling them about a written work of mine. And then, the very next day, an anonymous user complimented that same written work on my profile's conversations tab (I deleted it), which made me believe it was him. The written work had also never been commented on until then, which also made me believe it.

But even when I was chatting with him on Wattpad messaging (before they took it away), a part of me was hesitant to talk more freely in the chat (I only said "hi" then left a huge gap before telling him "goodbye") because a part of me didn't want anyone new to speak to a pathetic adult like me. And another part of me was like "What if it really is him? Do I even deserve his attention? I mean, he could've ignored the message I sent. He didn't have to waste his time on Wattpad just to speak to me, but…"

So me not being sure if he really was the person I messaged was a great excuse to cut off our two week's worth of communication right then and there. Plus, he didn't seem different on his social media, so I started to doubt that it was actually him.

Then I tried chatting with him again in April because I wanted to really make sure that he wasn't the person that I messaged on social media. I even ranted a bit because I couldn't believe that he (allegedly) wasn't him.

And my rants mostly consisted of me saying "I can't believe you're not him" and "how did you find me if you're not him?" in the chat. He took it surprisingly well (at least in writing), but, ugh.

Long story short is that he wasn't the person I messaged. That, or he did a really good job of convincing me that he wasn't.

But the nerve of me to ask somebody like him to actually admit his true identity to a nobody like me was/is ridiculous.

No matter who it was, I shouldn't have put him through that.

That situation is now a dark time in my life because of how crazy, sad, and stupid I felt at the end of it.

But even if it is/was him, it's way better for him to just forget about me.

I mean, I can't even think about doing "adult things" without a sense of internal dread.

And it would be way too embarrassing for him be friends with someone like me, even if we're only able to communicate online for quite some time.

(⌣_⌣”)

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

UPDATE:

2:50 pm

I spoke with my mom about my anxiety over the taxes and she tried to reassure me that it’s not as scary as I’m making it out to be. The fear is still there, but she made me feel a little bit better.

(She doesn’t know about him and I plan on keeping it that way.)

[navigating--thru--life]

17/10/2024

TIME; 11:30 AM

So if I shud talk abt today. There is actaully nthg to talk about. God that was SO lame. Anyway I woke up at like 8 and all I did was scroll thru insta. I have like nothing to do in life. like srsly. Idk I couldn't get into a college. Ofc not the end of the world but pretty much its like that for me. I wanted to go for nursing and I couldn't get into one either cause of my marks or cause I'm broke af. Um yeah so basically my life is pretty down and uk wts worse The people!!!! they just make you feel sm more miserable about everything in life. I didn't wanted to take a freaking gap year. I always hoped THAT I would get into one. But I didn't welll! wt can I do? Sometimes things just go all the way around of wt you actually prayed for. What can we do? Some people just makes me feel pathetic cause I couldn't get into a cllg. I'm so scared about my future. idk wt ever is gonna happen or wt could ever possibly go right? I just wanted to have that peace in life uk. Where I could just have experiences, meet new people and just simply GROW. My dreams were Go to cllg, get some friends, going out and just enjoying my life as it is. But all I got is no cllg, I do have my scl friends who got into cllg or who are actually doing smthing with life,( I'm so happy for them tho! like I'm so proud) and absolutly no going out, NO enjoyment BUT! clearly rotting in home. Dude!! like I wake up, I go to church, I eat, I scroll, I eat, I scroll again, I sleep AND OVER TO THE NEXT DAY DOING THESE ALL OVER AGAIN. This is all that've been happening for the past 4-5 months. It's a freaking loop like dude no wonder I got issues.

so Ig I rlly need to get out of this situation. So as a part of my plan, here's today's list;

PRIORITIES OF THE DAY

GETTING CLOSE TO JESUS- Now how do I do that? Bible helps ryt! imma read bible today yeah I asked Chatgpt to MAKE a schedule for me to read bible and today acc to Chatgpt imma read genesis 1 and 2 then john 1 and psalms 8 yeah I'm doing it if that's gonna help imma do it.

SECOND PRIORITY OF THE DAY - LET'S LEARN A LANGUAGE. SPANISH SOUNDS GOOD. I WILL TAKE DUALINGO LESSONS.

AFFIRMATIONS? yeh I kinda need positivity rn which idk if will ever work!!!!

TIME-8:00PM- updates

Yeah so I read bible today. Felt good ofc. Also went to church my mood was sm better. Felt closer to GOD. Also gave him an updation about my life (like he doesn't know wts going on)

I sat outside for almost 15 mins( waw that's like a lot *eye roll*) and wrote my journal. Ik that was like not on my list but Ig I wanted it today. It was very therapeutic. Just nature and writing with music in headphones. ITS A VIBE. Felt pretty calm. despite of hw my mood was in the mrng, evening felt good.

hola! Mucho guesto

So that was Hi and nice to meet you in Spanish. Its pretty fun actually I like Duolingo but I have no commitment. Hopefully I can work on that thru this as well.

then affirmations which I did and which had no effect. I mean its the first day wt do u expect.

So what now I don't feel like anything now. I mean its much better feeling than wt was there in the mrng. Yeah Ig imma end it heree.

gracias!

-Ann

[thaleleah]

awe tal 🩷 don't even apologize!

no girl same i have not met a single step parent who's at least a bit decent! my uncle recently married this woman who has two grown kids, my uncle also has two grown kids. and let's just say that both my cousins disowned their dad 👀 his wife and her daughters are all so problematic that my uncle only hangs out with them and he doesn't even talk to his sons anymore. it's honestly so sad how divided a parent and their child's relationship becomes. and they are so blind to it!

my stepmonster is 43-44! same age my older sister 🥴 and her dad is a year younger than my dad like it's actually so gross 🤮 i do not have an issue with huge age gap relationships, i was in one myself 2 years ago, but when it comes to it being the same age as your own kid or dad i'm like ew dad 😂

and tell me about it? how can they still get it up is the question 😂 my stepmom is actually sick. you know what she would do? she would come up to me and tell me how good my dad fucks her 😑 like bitch i don't want hear how my dad is in bed. i was about to throw up with the details she was providing me 🤢

also girl don't even feel bad for my dad. he fucked up his kids lives so much. he's been a serial cheater since he married my mom, which is why they got divorced, and yet he claims he's still in love with her like what? 😂 and my mom is just selfish. both did so much wrong. my dad actually has a girlfriend on the side rn 😂 and stepmonster knows, but it's all about the money for her. it's a mess of a shitshow lmfao 😂

i just went on a long ass rant i am so sorry girl 😂

your poor mom 😢 your step dad is such a pos. and of course he uses religion as an excuse to control your mom 🙄 "God first, then the husband, then the children" - fuck off clown. he knows damn well it's the kids that come first, you're not even her father? like stfu dude.

girl i get you, i also have to be civil, and it's so hard. i can't imagine how hard it is for you 🩷 it's so sad we have to keep the peace in order to still be in our parents lives 🫤 it's so unfair to us. some parents are just selfish. both mine fucked up everything for their own sake and happiness and completely forgot how it would affect us.

but... thank god we're not alone 🩷 like we always have each other to talk to about this stuff and that helps a lot to know that there is a lot of us who have gone through this!

thank god for tom blyth cause that man is my happiness atm 😩 he literally makes me so happy. whenever i see his face i have this instant smile on my face like an idiot 🥰 i honestly can't for june!

and tal, my love, you have gift.... that tom blyth drabble ughhh 👄💦

THE FUCKING DRAMA WHAT

First of all, I take back everything I said about your dad lol. That man is a cheater and therefore I have ZERO sympathy for him.

I agree that the age gap isn't an issue but it is superrrrrr uncomfortable for him to be older than her own dad and her to be the same age as his daughter. Those vibes are NOT it 😭

Also, your stepmom is fucking horrid. Staple her lips shut cause no! No one wants to hear about their parent and how they are in bed. And that man is almost in his 80s. I'm sorry but there is no way he's fucking anyone that good. He'd probs break a damn hip, be so for real right now. I'm actually so curious how "attractive" your dad is to be having a side chick at 78. Or is his side-girlfriend trying to get money too? Is the side-gf nice at least???? How old is she??

I have so many questions lol. Tell me the tea ☕️ (if you're comfortable of course, no pressure)

My stepdad is the absolute worst. Nothing pisses me off more than someone using religion to control people and cause harm but it seems more and more that that's the norm. Also like... she loves me because I'm her daughter. She chooses to love him. He won - can he stop this bullshit feud now? I'm tired of it. Having to deal with him and constantly be in survival mode, plus seeing how he mistreats my mom has absolutely fucked me in terms of my own romantic relationships. I have never had a relationship that lasted longer than a month cause if I see even one thing that reminds me of my stepdad, I'm gone. He completely messed up my sense of trust and I'm trying to work through it but its sooooo hard.

Also, he threatened to take me to court once cause I pissed him off. That's not relevant to anything other than to further show that he's an asshole lol

But yes, you can 100% always talk to me about this cause even just going through these messages was actually really cathartic. I don't have any siblings so anyone that I talk to about this really can't understand anything completely from my perspective so its nice to talk to someone who gets it.

JUNE CAN'T COME FAST ENOUGH. I'm so excited for the new episodes, I'm gonna be completely unbearable for a lot of people lmaooooo

Thank you, babesssss 😏 I'm glad you liked it! I'm proud to serve 🫡

[storyhuntress31]

Erwin looks at her, composed and serious. Deadly serious. "By now, the certainty that you have been the only survivor of the 34th is absolute. There is no one else that has survived, Ilse." Erwin informs, in a calmed and quiet tone, composed, as he sits by her side once again. "Levi, myself and some of our best soldiers offered to come back to the zone again and search for survivors. Nothing to do except recovering the corpses of the fallen. At least, they will now be able to get a proper burial and rest in peace." He says. His eyes not matching the serenity of the words he spoke.

He can't help but smile softly as she notices she remembers. "You did write it. And yes. I am sorry about that, Lagnar. I know how private are you about your notes and how much you treasure them until they are complete enough so as to be able to provide some sort of theory or insight into titans...but... I needed information. I needed to know what had happened and how had you managed to keep yourself alive for days in that forest. I'm not proud about invading your privacy...but I hope you can excuse me this one time"

He lets out a sight and looks at her. "You kept writing for as long as it was humanly possible to do so... Just...take this as an advice from a friend. I know you and I know you are curious and stubborn and won't probably listen to me in this. But there are quite some triggering lines in what you wrote... I don't think that you should just look at them right now. You need to settle and get your memories back. Recover. And let things sink down before going through this." He warns and advises her. His hand now over the black front cover of the now dirty and deteriorated (but still readable) notebook.

At her words, Erwin blinks a couple of times. She doesn't hate him. She doesn't. In all his years as a soldier and commander he can't even recall a moment in which he has ever felt more relief. But he was also quick in noticing how distressed and uncomfortable she was feeling. "Now if you allow me, I will change your bandage into a less constructive one... Will also open the window a bit ..." He approaches the window leaving it slightly open so the air in the room would naturally refresh and she wouldn't feel so anxious.

" Feeling a bit better? Here." He says taking out a hairband from his wrist and slowly taking her hair off her nape in a clumsy yet useful little ponytail. "I must admit I'm terrible at this but I still hope it helps a bit with the unsetting feeling of you loose hair against your nape. Now... Let's take care of these... "Constrictive" bandages." He adds approaching her with the utmost care, taking the bandage off and treating her with the utmost care as he replaced them, this time with a different kind of pattern to ensure her arm wouldn't move and therefore would be able to fix the fracture but also that it wasn't as tight as it originally was and she could breath and change positions as painlessly as possible. "There you go... Hairstyle may not be my thing but I have always get on well with medical aid and basic healthcare. Do you think I would have made a good doctor?" He asks curiously, trying to lighten the atmosphere a bit for a while.

As she speaks again, he regain his position by her side, his back now straight and his look determined, fierce and without a single glimpse of doubt. "I do believe it. And I don't think it was your mind playing any tricks. You kept writing until the very last moment. I know how much of a perfectionist you are when it comes to research and investigation. How passionate you are about it. On top of it... You also perfectly described your feelings, surroundings...the previous talks with that titan...how you ended up losing your temper. In chronical order. No gaps, no doubts not a single incoherence. It is impossible that you made it up yourself"

He takes her hand softly. In a tender, comforting gesture to also help her regain some sense of reality "Everything you wrote, as hard and triggering and incredible as it may sound. Was real. There are talking titans. You found the very first one of them. There is a lot yet to be determined and investigated about them. But they do exist and there is a reason why some of them are able to talk and others don't."

"I can't fathom the situation you found yourself in, Ilse, not in the slightest. What you just overcame is huge, hard and extremely scary and distressing. But I want to let you know a couple of things before leaving. First. You have no idea about how much you have actually helped humanity with your findings. This will change the course on our knowledge on titans forever. And second and on a more personal note: I am really glad to see you safe and sound and alive despite everything. You are one of my most loyal soldiers and also one of my dearest friends. Welcome back to the living side, Ilse. I'm happy you are here."

@shiiptowreck

Erwin lets, out a little chuckle at her comment. He just couldn't help it. She was always so incredibly direct and right to the point. "I get it, it's annoying and you are quite uncomfortable. I will make sure your nurse made a new bandage. Loosening it a bit this time, not to much, tho. Just...enough to save you from dying strangled. " He stated firmly. With her, he still felt like he can be himself. A bit goofy if he felt like it. They had entered the. Corps together. They had grown together and fought together. Still, he felt fear at his very core. Fear of losing one of his most dearest friends If he revealed his biggest failure as both. Man and captain.

Still, he couldn't keep that from her. The truth. Not knowing how naturally curious she was and how incredibly Inquisitive. So he took a deep breath and started. "I will tell you everything. I will leave you time to process it the best you can. Stay here to answer whatever questions you have and... I will understand your hate after it. I was the ultimate responsible for it. I just want you to take that into account, Ilse." He says incredibly serious now. "Raw and unfiltered as you asked... " He begins. The utmost grieve and guilt painted in his features their weight all combined crushing his very soul and heart as he speaks.

"The 34th expedition outside the walls has been my biggest failure as a captain and commander. The expedition was working reasonably well till we made to an area played of titans. The entirety of your flank was mercilessly massacred by them with almost no time for reaction. We learnt from your notebook that you lost your horse and 3D maneuver Gear, and that left you disoriented and lost in the area. From what you wrote..." Erwin makes a pause leaving her black notebook on her nightstand " You were the only survivor."

"You tried to reach back the walls and entered a forest area. That's when you found it. What you thought was an abnormal titan. It doesn't eat you directly. Instead....it seemed to have recognized or identified you as he apparently talked to you " Ymir Sama" It called you. He placed you inside a tree....as long as you were able to write...he had you there...and seemed to treat you with the respect someone would show towards royalty... "Ymir Sama...Ymir people..." At first... You were taken back by the fact that it was able to actually talk. So your natural answer was to reply.... By asking questions, naturally. " He sighed.

"You asked it why they ate people. Where they come from... Natural things everyone would like to know to solve some of the utmost important questions for humanity.... But it was apparently not intelligent enough to register or try to answer your questions... You got enraged and shouted at it....it started to claw at its face....squirting blood as it tore it's facial skin off. Upon its reactions, yours were the natural one. Flee. It wouldn't let you. As you wrote....it grab you and tried to eat you. Bite your head... Some comrades from Neil wing found the situation and killed the titan on the spot. You were unconscious and almost left us twice in your way back to the walls.... You were taken into custody by the military police and it took us almost a week to get your release."

He couldn't help to scratch his nape, feeling incredibly lost and uncomfortable for the first time he can recall in quite a long time "we managed to get your Notebook back as well, without them getting to read it. I know this is not of importance in this precise moment. But you have made a major discovery for humanity. This could change everything. Still that doesn't erase the fact that I miscalculated the amount of titans within the area and almost got the whole expedition but you killed on the spot."

"The notebook is here. All your notes have been protected and copied carefully in case the notebook gets eventually damaged. You will now have all the time in the world to read through it. Mourn the fallen ones.... Write to your family... Of have someone write them for you while you recover. No one is expecting you to jump back into action immediately.... Most of us still haven't fully processed what has happened. And as I told you.... You asked for it raw and unfiltered. I offered it to you as you asked. To be clear on the matter: you are the sole survivor of the 34th expedition outside the walls and an abnormal talking titan almost ate you raw."

He stands up, looking at her "Feel free to hate me from this day on if that offers your heart some peace. I know that I the minimum I deserve. I will carry it with me until my last day. As I was the one in charge. The one entrusted with all your precious lives. The one that couldn't protect any of them, as well. As I told you... If you still can bear to look at my face...I will answer any question you have... Any need. Just say it. And you will have it done, Lagnar."

He states. Offering her their salute. Serious, formal, distant. He was now the commander. The responsible and the officer in charge. Still his inner self was absolutely terrified to loss the one person in his current life that was able to give his heart and soul something similar to sunlight. He was afraid of loosing his friend. This person that had inadvertently gotten closer and closer to him and to his heart. Having by now, with a single word, the power to completely destroy his heart and feelings and shattering it into a million pieces. Feelings that from now on, due to what has happened he might now never be able to confess or even talk about.

@shiiptowreck

[dolletro]

Exhaustion

Hello DMC tumblr! This is my first ever post on tumblr! 

My native language is not english, plus I am not really sure how to write Vergils character, so he might be a little bit OOC. Despite that I did try my absolute best! Please of you have any suggestions how to polish my skills and create aesthetically more pleasing works, don’t hesitate to DM me! Constructive critisism is always welcomed! 

I was  debating wether I should post it or not, since I wasn’t sure if it’s good enough, then I though what if this is exactly the thing someone needs? 

Anyways, please enjoy!

Word count: 1.5+K

 He never meant to stay for this long in your room, all he wanted was to notify you about the training schedule change for the upcoming two days, but somehow your warm smell mixed with the vanilla scented air freshener pulled an unfamiliar kind of exhaustion out of him, so he sat down on your bed and welcomed your voice in. You talked a lot, he made a mental note in himself, about an hour into you talking about the game you were now playing, the frantic button smashing, the frustrated grunts  from time to time and your cats nestled on his chest purring away, lulled him to sleep even more.

"...And that's why I like him so much! OH, that reminds me, he is also wielding a katana just like you-..." you turned around with an excited smile, the dim, pink tinted LED strips and your TV's light illuminating your features. Eyes filled with joy looking down at him, taking in his reaction. When did he lie down on your fluffy pillows?

"You know, if you are too tired to move you can always just sleep here, I don't mind it." with that the weight from the end of your bed disappeared signaling that you stood up. Now humming the same tune as the music that was coming from the game, you began to search for something in your closet, checking an item out for whatever reason and then putting it back. Vergil averted his gaze to the bright screen, that now burned his eyes out, he certainly now missed the way you blocked a good part of it. There stood the character with a katana in his hand, body covered from head to toe in what seemed to be metal, hair similar shade to his. He had a faint idea what you might have called this warrior, but to be fair Vergil hardly paid any attention to your rambling, yet some of those tiny details that stuck made the blue devil wonder, if you liked him mainly because he reminded you of some of your favorite game characters, or if you like those characters because they looked similar to him.

'How foolish...' Vergil blinked once, twice then he moved his arm up to cover his eyes to block out any light. Why would that be the reason? You two had known each other for just a few months now, if not a year. The age gap too was quite wide in anyone's opinion, maybe twenty years give or take, and you, as if you had known eachother since forever, talk to him about everything from anything mundane to more serious or even exciting topics. Even when he used to push you away you kept on trying to befriend and create a connection with him. Maybe your unwavering determination is what led to this moment, him allowing his guard to be down around you. 

 When was the last time he was this...content? Both before and after destroying the Qliphoth nightmares often plagued his consciousness whenever he tried to sleep, often about the atrocities he had done not only to RedGrave but to the world in general, so he never really bothered to try to rest up in years. Yet now, he felt like he was in a drunken daze, everything felt surreal, like life cannot be this peaceful.

"Vergil..." a gentle hand on his shoulder pulled out of his train of thoughts. There you stood,a black sweater and a pair of gray sweatpants in hands, offering them to him. "...I don't really know if these will fit you, but hopefully they will. You can use my bathroom if you want more privacy." and with that the warmth disappeared as you sat back down in front of your TV and continued to play your game.

Vergil slowly lifted himself up from your bed, trying to shoo the cats off of himself. While he knew you had seen him half naked once before due to an incident, he didn't  want to make you uncomfortable.

"It's okay to change here too. No need to push yourself too hard." The blue devil could have sworn you were reading his mind just now if he didn't know any better. You have to be some sort of witch to know this much about his way of thinking and to occupy his mind for this long. Reluctantly he took off his coat and vest, and laid them down on your night stand. He was in the middle of unbuckling his belt when he heard rustling beside him, then once again your frame was right in front of him near the closet. You had taken his clothes and put them on a hanger.

"You sleep with socks on? I have some really fluffy pairs that will warm your feet up since this room can get quite chilly."

"There's no need for you to lend me such unnecessary items."

"Hm? You wear your boots without socks?"

"That is not what I said nor implied."

"Mhm, sure boss man." your giggles were nice, it could melt off any tension that was ever in his body. "So...no socks?"

"No need..." he sighed as he slipped off his boots, then pants in haste. The material of the sweater was soft against his rougher fingers. There was no way that it belonged to you, it must have been gifted or something because it would've been far too big on you.

"I once bought that for Dante, then I realized it would go to waste since he just doesn't wear things like that, so I kept it for myself, but you can have it if you'd like!" you chimed, once again smashing away on your buttons. The music in the game picked up as a bossfight began. Vergil tried to climb back in your bed after he put on every article of clothing without disturbing you, yet when he was almost settled you groaned loudly and put your controller down beside you. 

Silence began to set in. The only things that could be heard were the title screen of the game and your cats soft purrings as they inched closer to Vergil. The atmosphere was once again calming like the first time he sat down, but now he has a fresh set of clothes on and was buried under your two toned gray comforter, yet now somehow he felt an itch in his mind. When will you head to bed? He has only ever seen you in your pajamas when you showed up that one time in the kitchen at noon for a cup of coffee. Even then he just saw you briefly as he strolled by. Do you usually head to bed later into the earliest time of the day? Or do you ever sleep?

"Does the noise bother you?"

"No."

"Can I start a stream on youtube then? I can only sleep with some noise." Vergil stayed silent while he inspected as you scrolled through your YouTube recommendations to find an appropriate video. He was contemplating on what to say or rather ask you. He alway had been a man who spoke with well chosen words, and  right now he didn't know if he thought he didn't care enough for your emotions to question you about the matter or if he didn't want to put you into an even more sour mood.

" Has something upset you?" he ultimately decided to ask, resulting in a surprised expression on your face when you faced him.

"It’s kinda-, Well…I died in the bossfight, and I really don't feel like playing anymore." setting down the remote, you stretched.

"I see." he began to pet your lighter cat, Tofu, who fell asleep on his chest. Distant water splashed and the warm bathroom light now seeped into the room from underneath your door, then you emerged. Vergil looked at your digital clock on your wall in the same sleepy daze as he was in before, noticing that you were gone for exactly ten minutes. His eyes followed your every movement taking in your elegant gestures. Your face now appeared to be glowing, and you smelled slightly different than you usually do. You sat down in front of your mirror checking out your own skin on your cheeks and chin, before you pulled a bottle of lotion out of your vanity cupboard. The scent alone was enough for the blue devil to realize this is what made you smell the way you always did. Vergil was no expert in these kinds of things, but for him it matched your personality perfectly. It had a slightly spicy base, but some sweet undertones. You massaged the substance on your arms and legs, giving extra attention to your knees and elbows.

Your voice traveled in his ears and stayed in his mind. He recognised this tune, you hummed every once in a while when you were in a peaceful place, this meant you were no longer upset about your loss in the videogame. This melody pushed and pushed the bad thought right out of his head and filled him with an unfamiliar warmth he never felt. Vergil knew he was just right about to succumb to the sleep he oh-so desperately needed, yet he took one more glance at your calm form, he wished he could feel this content once he woke up in your room. 

Just about one and a half hours after arriving at your room to give you a heads up, the older son of Sprada welcomed the sweet slumber in.

[ticklishraspberries]

Stronger (Dipper/Wendy)

Summary: Now that they’re older, Dipper can hold his own against Wendy. (Got an anonymous prompt that wanted some aged-up Wendy and Dipper, so here it is! This fic takes place post-canon, when they would be in their early twenties. I did originally plan to post this on the show’s anniversary, but life got in the way of me finishing it in time, so here it is now, lol. Enjoy!)

That first summer in Gravity Falls had changed Dipper’s life forever. From the age of twelve, he knew that the old, small, and odd town in Oregon was where he belonged. And he had been right. Now twenty-two, he and Mabel had returned and decided to settle in the same place that they had promised one another that they would never allow themselves to grow apart.

Mabel and Pacifica were living together in a pretty little cottage they had fixed up in town, and Mabel gushed non-stop about it all, which Dipper pretended to be annoyed by, but he secretly couldn’t be more pleased to see his sister so happy.

Dipper and Wendy had never lost contact, and that childhood crush had never faded. The only difference was that Wendy had begun to reciprocate it, as a two-year age-gap held a lot less weight when you were both in your early twenties.

Having spent so much of their childhoods in fear, Dipper was just grateful for things to be peaceful. Well, as peaceful as Gravity Falls could get, at least.

It was a cloudy morning when Dipper awoke next to Wendy in bed, having been together for a year, however it felt more like an eternity. In fact, Dipper could hardly remember a time where he didn’t love Wendy. It felt like such a distant memory, certainly more than just ten years.

Red hair spilled over her freckled shoulders, and he couldn’t help but lay there and watch her breathe. He should have known that peaceful moments were rare while in Wendy’s presence, though, because it wasn’t long until her eyes had fluttered open, and her face twisted into a sleepy smile.

“Morning, stalker,” she said.

Dipper felt his face turn red, still easy to fluster as ever. “Good morning,” he replied nevertheless.

Wendy sat up in bed, and Dipper still couldn’t believe how immediately alert she was in the mornings. Perhaps it came from all that survival training her father had forced her to complete, which had conditioned her to rise with the sun.

While he was distracted, marveling at the fact that she could be so awake before coffee, she pushed the sheets off of her body and clambered on top of his legs, grinning down at him.

“Got a staring problem?” she asked.

“I wasn’t staring,” he replied. “I was just…admiring.”

That made her chuckle, and Dipper couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

Wendy leaned down, bringing her face close to his. Dipper, expecting a kiss, closed his eyes and leaned in, only to be startled when her hands latched onto his sides and squeezed, making him shriek in surprise. Being straddled meant that he could only wriggle so much, leaving him helpless beneath her touch.

“No, wait—!”

“What am I waiting for?” Wendy asked, nonchalant as ever.

Dipper huffed, attempting to hold back his giggles and failing miserably. It was so completely unfair that she not only functioned so well in the mornings, but it was also unfair that she had grown up with three younger brothers to wrestle with, giving her a significant advantage against him, who only had a twin sister who had always managed to beat him.

When they were younger, all the way back to that first summer in Gravity Falls, when his gigantic crush on Wendy Corduroy formed, she had tickled him a few times after Mabel had ratted out his worst spots, but he had never struck back, knowing she would have him begging for mercy in seconds if he tried. It might have been worth it, to hear her laugh. Lately though, he heard it every day.

Her fingers scribbled at his stomach and sides, making laughter pour from his lips like a waterfall, seemingly never-ending. But Dipper wasn’t a kid anymore, and he had learned over the past few years of craziness to stand up for himself and to fight back. Sure, in much more dire, life-threatening situations, but still, the moral still counted.

With a newfound bout of strength, he took Wendy by the hips and managed to roll them both over, catching her off guard and making her yelp. Breathless and grinning triumphantly, Dipper hovered over her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Oh, well, would you look at the time? We should probably get up,” Wendy attempted, but the smile already curling on her lips proved that she knew she was about to get a taste of her own medicine.

“You’re not getting out of this that easily,” Dipper replied, and before she could say anything else, he started tickling her ribs in earnest.

Wendy’s laugh was beautiful. It was loud, unapologetic, and just so totally her. If he hadn’t been on a very important mission, he may have melted at the sound.

“You see, I’m not so weak anymore,” he said. “So I can actually fight back.”

With those words, he unleashed a flurry of staccato pokes to her midriff, over her stomach, sides, and ribs, causing her to flail wildly beneath him in a new fit of laughter. 

His victory was short-lived, however, as one of Wendy’s arms shot out and smacked into the side of his head, not quite hard enough to cause a substantial amount of pain, but certainly enough to startle him, making him cry out and topple to the side.

Wendy scrambled after him. “Are you okay? I’m sorry!”

Dipper began to laugh, nodding to ease her worries. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Once she got confirmation that she hadn’t hurt or upset him, Wendy laughed too.

Mornings in Gravity Falls were always filled with laughter, whether it was him and Mabel cackling over Grunkle Stan’s stories all those years ago, or him and Wendy starting their day with a tickle fight. It was the place that Dipper was happiest, and he wouldn’t change that for the world.