#and times where I should be writing I wasn't writing

[grison-in-space]

I remember this happening. I was fourteen and living in Georgia, and I was pretty sure I was queer and equally pretty sure that no one was ever going to leave me alone about it. There's a great song about the moment by Vienna Teng, I hope someone has linked it for OP by now.

The moments I remember are a decade later: having spent a year of graduate school tied to Texas admitting to myself that I was unhappy with the idea that my relationships were going to have to stay online only until I graduated with the PhD and could leave Texas again, because hell would freeze over before Texas did shit for us. Didn't matter I was living in Austin, one of the first cities in the nation to legalize the civil union shit back in the 90s; I was always going to be a second class citizen that way. Immigration wasn't an option.

And then, while I was working in the field in Costa Rica, Windsor came down. Suddenly immigration from Canada was an option. Suddenly we could talk about it. So we did. And we started scrambling to take advantage before it got taken away, because it probably would, but we had learned from y'all that even if it got taken away later, the having was important. Once you were legally in the country, deportation would have been harder, right?

I was one of the second wave of people with transnational relationships taking advantage of immigration in the post-DOMA world. (Defense of Marriage Act, children: ol' Bill Clinton signed that into law in 1996, so that we filthy queers couldn't ever touch the protections afforded by a federally recognized marriage.) It was a hell of a ride. We had to travel to Boston to get married because T thought an American certificate would carry more weight with immigration than a Canadian one. We couldn't actually afford to live together without both of us working, so we had to decide whether it was worth trying on the strength of one delighted October week long visit, get married and then put our petition through. We stayed on my friend @queenieofaces 's floor for the week of my spring break in 2014 and she married us to save money, which was not exactly something we had a lot of at the time or since. Then we both went home to our own countries for a year while we assembled the legal packets, petitioned the federal government, and started trying to navigate the immigration system.

Almost everyone I met outside our families was excited for me, sometimes to an extent that felt ridiculous. We were getting married because it was a shot at getting to live together, but we were both acutely aware of the possibility of failure, of just how much we were sacrificing for a shot at a relationship. The kinds of decade long affairs where marriage was just the legal affirmation of the households that already existed were inspirational, but not us: we were taking a risk and leaping for one another, but it was a leap, not an embrace quite yet. We talked earnestly about pre nuptial agreements before discovering, slightly shame-faced, that those are really designed for people with assets greater than a single subcompact hatchback and a laptop. computer.

(A decade later, and we've nevder had the stability to put through T's citizenship paperwork. That's changing now, slowly.)

My apartment had burned down that summer of 2013, and my car got totaled that winter, and I had to deal with a lot of insurance paperwork. Sometimes the paperwork required additional in person signatures for spouses and I would have to ask: "ah, uh: what law requires the paperwork?" See, I spent a year and change married for the purpose of federal law, single for the purposes of state law, and married again for purposes of municipal law. No one ever writes down what law they use to generate a policy, but no one wanted to mail documents to Toronto and back for signatures, either. So no one was quite sure what I should do on the paperwork.

It was chaos. T spent the entire entrance interview trying to convince the confused man at the consulate that it was actually fine to immigrate to Texas on a Massachusetts wedding license even though Texas would not recognize the marriage. We got approved and moved and I went to put T on my insurance. Then I discovered that Texas outright banned any of its state employees (|ike me!) from extending benefits to partners unless their marriage was recognized by the state of Texas. I had about a week to start panicking about that and then Obergefell hit the ground.

We just left work and went down to the Capitol and everyone was cheering and hugging each other and crying. All the bars and the liberal churches were open. We listened to speeches and stories and went dancing. It was beautiful.

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[fanbasetwo]

✦ ZB1 MAKNAE LINE TAKING CARE OF THEIR GIRLFRIEND WHILE SHE'S ON HER PERIODS!

001. PAIRING , zb1 maknae line ! afab reader

002. GENRE , scenario, reaction work

003. WARNING(S) , mentions of blood and cramps obviously, kissing, cuddling, pet names, lmk if more

NOTE FROM SENA , literally on my periods as I write this. basically dedicated to me and my period twin @teaxeee! take care of yourself sweetie 🤍 MASTERLIST!!

SHEN RICKY . . . ✦

“Baby, are you okay?” Ricky's voice rang out once more, tinted with a sense of worry. He had completely lost track of how many times he had checked on you that day, but he just couldn't help it. Not knowing how long you had been in the bathroom was one more reason Ricky was getting even more anxious because you were on your period. When you finally got out, you walked slowly, looking totally pale and sickly. His sharp gaze picked it up at once. “You should have just told me,” he murmured and came up to you in seconds. Without letting you say another word, he swept you off your feet into his arms, once again swooping you with ease. Unable to protest, you buried your head into his chest while the unrelenting beat of his heart soothed your pain. “I've got you,” he whispered in that soft way of his, escorting you to the couch, where comfort and Ricky's caring heart awaited.

KIM GYUVIN . . . ✦

You lay awake in bed, glaring spitefully at your boyfriend, who was snoring softly beside you. Gyuvin was such a picture of peace, blissfully ignorant of your battle with the dreadful cramps. The green-eyed monster made its home in your rib cage. “Hey! Quit snoring,” you whispered, poking him hard. Maybe it was the mood swings, or perhaps it was pure injustice, but if you could not get any sleep, he would not either. Gyuvin stirred before opening his eyes slowly. He did not say anything but shamelessly nestled you closer while curling you in the protective embrace of his arms. For a moment, he let his hands fall on your belly. Circles his fingers with slow and soft movements on your belly “Still hurts?” he managed to say, a little sleepy but shown great care and gentleness. Your growing outrage melted halfway into oblivion as you gazed into his half-open eyes and tousled hair. “Not much now,” you murmured against his touch. He surely was your haven amid all this pain.

PARK GUNWOOK . . . ✦

Gunwook wasn't the type who liked much physical touch, but he had pretty much been nothing but kind to you. That didn't prevent him from being justifiably frightened of your moods during your periods. Today was no different. “What is wrong?” he asked, freaking out because you suddenly broke into tears. His dark sarcasm, one that regularly made you laugh, had surprisingly worked against him. “Did I say something wrong? Baby, please...” he was just racking his brain now to come to terms with what click had gone awry. In the moment, tears bubbling in your throat, you slurred something unintelligible, leaving him even more frazzled. But Gunwook would never give up on you. He scooped you into his arms and began to cover your tear-stained cheeks with desperate but awkward kisses. “Don't cry,” he murmured, sounding much more like his usual self. “I'll stop making jokes, I promise.” It was typecast to make him cringe, but he'd surely do anything else, probably endure your periods, just to get a smile back on your face.

HAN YUJIN . . . ✦

Yujin had always been the shy one in your relationship, and while you were still navigating its early stages, moments of awkwardness were inevitable—like today. Unaware of the red spot that had appeared on your pants, you walked beside him after your date, chatting casually. Yujin suddenly slowed, his cheeks tinged pink as he glanced at you. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked, his voice soft but steady. Before you could respond, he was already shrugging off his jacket and draping it gently over your shoulders. It was oversized, enveloping you completely and, unbeknownst to you, discreetly covering the red period spot on your pants. You blinked at him, confused by his sudden action but touched by the gesture. “Thanks…” you mumbled, still unsure what had prompted it. Yujin gave a small, reassuring smile, his hand brushing yours. He didn’t need to say anything; his quiet thoughtfulness spoke volumes.

© fanbasetwo | tumblr

[writergirlll]

Will you write a lazy day with Charles Leclerc and Leo? Maybe Charles came back exhausted from a race that didn't go so well and all he needs is a hug from his girlfriend?

LAZY EVENING/ CL16

Charles Leclerc x reader

sorry if this isn't what you wanted, but I enjoyed writing it! It's just a lot of fluff sorry guys!!

Charles was always good at what he did. Cooking, making things, cuddling with your dog, or driving in Formula 1. He broke the curse of Monaco and thus began his huge career. But this race he ran didn't go too well, due to Ferrari's bad strategy and bad tires. And so he got a DNF in the first qualification and placed 5th in the overall race.

Which is certainly not a bad thing, especially since this race was in Las Vegas, where there are always the most participants and the track is very difficult to remember, but for Ferrari, who had to finish the season well, it wasn't enough.

Charles was mainly angry with himself. He knew that he should have tried harder and that he had messed up the race, but all he wanted was to finally get out of the cameras and pitiful stares and get cozy in bed with his girlfriend.

Unfortunately, You wasn't at his race because you had to stay at the hotel and do computer work due to work reasons that you hated. However, you definitely did not miss the race and watched it until the end, when Verstappen, Sainz and Norris stood on the podium.

But as midnight slowly approached and you tried harder and harder to stay awake to wait for Charles, your eyes closed until they closed completely and you fell asleep over an open laptop with work and the TV on with the main broadcast of interviews with F1 drivers.

When Charles came home, he expected you to be waiting for him. Therefore, he opened the door sharply, put his backpack on the floor and gave a small shout; "Love, I'm home"!

You twitched and grunted slightly in your sleep before turning over on the couch to face the TV and snuggling further into the blankets. You didn't plan to open your eyes because in your sleepy state you didn't realize that Charles was home.

Hearing no response, Charles frowned slightly and slowly walked into the living room. When he saw how the TV was on with F1 and you were sleeping on the couch, he couldn't help but feel happiness and love.

You were his everything. In good times and in bad, you were his sunshine. And that's why when he saw you sleeping in front of the TV with the footage of the other Formula 1 drivers, it warmed his heart. He knew very well how sad you felt when you couldn't make it to his race.

He slowly walked over to you, kneeling by your head and slowly brushing your hair away from your face. Then he bent down so as not to wake you and planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

You smiled a little under his touch as you realized who it was and slowly opened your tired eyes. “Hi Char” you smiled at him and reached out to stroke his cheek. “Congratulations on the race” you smiled.

He leaned into your touch and his smile brightened even more. “Shall we go to sleep?” he asked as he saw you close your eyes again even though you were trying not to and you slowly nodded.

“And where is Leo?” he asked one more question before he could pick you up in his arms and carry you to bed. You didn't answer anything and just lifted the blanket, where a small golden dog was hidden by your lap, which has become your "child" for the six months you've had it.

When he saw Charles, he immediately got up and ran his short legs to him for a kiss and a cuddle.

After Charles cuddled up to him, he scooped you up in his arms as a reward for having to wait for him and carried you to bed with Leo at your heels.

He slowly laid you down on the bed, you shifted to your side and waited for him to take off his shirt, change his pants and come to you.

Before long, he finally appeared by the bed in just his shorts and you couldn't help but bite your lip when you saw him like that. You still didn't understand how someone like him could be yours.

He climbed into bed behind you, pulling you to his side and you rested your head on his shoulder. One of his hands caressed your back and the other brushed your hair away from your face. Again. You should probably get a haircut..

“I love you do you know that?” he whispered in your ear and you raised your head to be directly facing him.

“How could I not know Char?” you smiled and leaned down so your lips met his halfway. It was a loving kiss that you thought was more of a good night, but later it got more and more passionate.

When you were both out of breath, you had to pull away from each other. “Are you sure you want to go to sleep?” he asked, looking all over your face.

You did, you think them even though you were actually 100% clear. "I'm not sure..." you whispered before smiling and bringing your head closer to his.

"I think you know" Charles smiled lightly and connected his lips to yours again, this time in a hungrier kiss.

[lara4eclipze]

Hey so this is a very quick response but I’ve kinda had this idea sitting for a fat minute lol.. ANYWAY could you do like a slight angst fic where Yoonchae has a crush on the reader but the reader has a crush on a boy??

›› c'est la vie

sypnosis -» yoonchae has the hardest time confessing to you — with the kats by her side she finally takes the first step

beware -» fluff , slight angst , confession , very short fic , swearing , loser yooonchae ,

talks -» combined this two asks , I'm writing this instead of writing my marz fic since erm idk how the story is going, hope y'all like it mwa

taglist (open): @nyssalvr @ohmyhaely @vrtualstar @jellaaa @c-yerim

yoonchae was whipped the minute she saw you , the way your hair frames your face , how your lips were perfect and every time you smiled her day would've been made in an instant

yet there was one problem — you were "straight" , I mean everyone in the friend group knows you like arkin but no one really approved of it , you were top of your classes and arkin was the complete opposite

yoonchae was obviously very heartbroken to know you like someone like that , I mean cant you just look at her for a minute instead of falling in love with a man who can't even study even if his life depends on it?

"we should go here" megan exclaims showing a newly opened café — the café wasn't that far but it had the amazing view of the scenery of the city

"oh my gosh it's so cute!!" sophia says excitedly , you took a peek and it was amazing , plus you all needed a break from school anyways

"let's go later?" lara asks already checking if the place is open at night on her phone

"sure!!"

"I'm down"

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

it was actually a plan by the girls , no the café wasn't new , they knew that they had to help out yoonchae , the girl was actually a loser — I mean everytime you talked about arkin it was obvious that yoonchae was disinterested the way her eye suddenly look hurt and upset

"you got this, calm down your sweating" megan teases the youngest , as yoonchae was getting the flowers and bracelet ready

"what if I mess up in front of her , what if she rejects me?!" yoonchae stammers her mind racing with thoughts , "hey listen to me , that wouldn't happen okay?" megan pipes up

their conversation got cut short when you , lara and sophia were finally in the café , you scan the place and went to the table you saw megan, yoonchae , manon and dani sit in

"hi , sorry we're late , LA traffic y'know" you apologize, sitting down you were a tad bit confused on why the girls were exchanging looks , you wanted to know what that meant why yoonchae seemed off , why megan kept looking at you and yoonchae

"what's wrong? — did I miss something?" you ask , sophia bumps yoonchae , "oh- uh can we maybe talk outside?" yoonchae asks which you nod to

you two walked outside, the view was wonderful, city lights and a cold breeze in the air

"why ,what did you want to tell me yoonie?" you ask curiously , the younger looks at you with sparkles in her eyes she looked amazing

"y/n i-i- I like you" yoonchae finally says handing you the flowers and the bracelet , for a moment you were frozen in spot , you didn't know what to say neither if you even can say anything

"I'm sorry, I know you like arkin I should've just not done this" the younger says , she turns to walk back in , but you stop her , you felt the same way yet you never knew that yoonchae liked you

"I like you too , and no I don't like arkin I don't know where you got that from but he's my cousin" you chuckle

"you do?! — oh my gosh this is so embarrassing!" yoonchae exclaims , you laugh at how the younger seemed to panic

"I knew the plan — you're not slick yoonie the minute I walked in here i already saw the bracelet and flowers, I'm just surprised it took you this long to confess" you admit to her , she was flushed god she so adorable

"now lets go back in — I love you yoonie" you say to her as you held her hand and walked back in the café earning you giggles and teasing from the rest

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

"what now?" yoonchae asks as you both stand outside her house

"we'll figure it out , that's life right?" you replied smiling at her

[iz-star]

About Zayne's nightmares...

The most unrealistic thing about Zayne is that he's a functional working adult that seemingly has put his life together at 27 not because he's young or a prodigy but because he's said to have nightmares since he was 12?? Like... I feel like this theme might be a bit overlooked but just think about it deeply, having constant nightmares fucks your mind like really REALLY bad, I can genuinely say this by experience and also as someone who has had trouble to have a healthy sleeping schedule since I was at highschool (like, for example, right now, I should be sleeping instead of writing this...).

There was a time I would have nightmares almost everytime I went to sleep during a really hard time in my life. Of course, the topic about those nightmares was almost always the same, not like the nightmares repeated themselves but they always revolved about the same things that I was actually working in therapy at the moment. Back then I was jobless and medicated most part of the time, I was pretty dysfunctional.

I suppose that's why when I listened to "Fragmented Dreams" for the first time it was the time I said "Yeah, this is my man". I love how he's always nagging MC about sleeping early because I know by experience that not sleeping properly can mess up with your mind pretty bad, and probably he knows it too. It truly is a showcase of love how he worries about her sleep like that and it also showcases how strong minded he is for enduring too much stress and remind kind constantly.

I love how healthy he is. I like to think that he's overcome all the stressful stuff he's gone thru bc of his discipline and healthy life style, but realistically it would take him some more to deal with all of that.

Yes, all of the guys have been through some very rough stuff and they all need therapy, but my point with Zayne comes with the fact that not having a good sleeping schedule and on top of that having constant nightmares can mess up with your perception of reality and induce you a bad depression or other mental health issues. Everytime I remember Zayne's main story branch when they're trapped in Zayne's dream and MC leaves him alone and he starts listening to Willian, Georgie and his Mom so he has to remind himself "It's not real, it's not real" I deeply feel that and I just want to hug him so bad :(

I think I'd like to see a card where they explore the consecuences of their past in their psyche more deeply. I can't help remembering this post which was one of the first posts you unlock with Zayne:

It was there when I just knew that even if he looked quiet, he had a lot to say but didn't know how to express.

Another thing I'd like to highlight about this is that actually I love the emotional maturity that Zayne displays about dealing with such issues like nightmares, traumatic experiences and literally being exposed to see people dying 24/7 while being someone that feels a lot yet says little. He's dealt with this the best way he can, no wonder why he came to be quite serious and inexpressive or sarcastic. Not allowing himself to express other emotions than seriousness or sarcasm was like keeping himself in check so he wouldn't spill everything he feels and considering how stressing is his job already, it just makes sense, but that didn't mean Zayne didn't feel because he feels too much and too deeply and worries sick about ppl and especially about MC.

Of course, bottling up his emotions wasn't the best way to deal with them but he never used any unhealthy coping mechanism neither, like alcohol, for example (My teetotaler King ❤️) etc. Yeah, his workaholism isn't exactly healthy but not something toxic to his mind and relationships, and I've always had a feeling that he's a big foodie and addicted to sweets to give himself that boost of serotonine he needs so bad.

That's why he compares MC with sweets, being her his favorite dessert, bc she's brought all that serotonine to his life naturally and has helped him let go little by little. When he opened to her about losing Dulcie, I had a feeling that Zayne always wanted someone to listen to him but he didn't know how to ask for it and ppl around him was too afraid to even dare to suggest it. I think even in one of his anecdotes, it is said that sometimes Dr Noah wanted to tell him something but at the end ended up saying nothing.

The fact that Zayne bottled up his emotions didn't mean that he wouldn't willingly share them, he wanted to but wasn't used to it. With MC, he's slowy started to let it go and enjoy life more, allowing himself to be sad in front of her, to express his fears (about losing her) or to express his childish tantrums and indulge in his softest side. That's why also she's not only his favorite dessert but also his best painkiller ❤️

And just to finish, I've always thought this quote by Kafka fits him so well:

"Remember, you should sleep more than other people, for I sleep less than most. And I can’t think of a better place to store my unused share of universal sleep than in your beloved eyes."

[district4loading]

Pathetic

Twice Sana x Male Reader

4k words

Content Warning: smut, cheating, mix of degrading and praise

Minors DNI

A/N: First of all I wanna say thank you so much for the support on my latest fic! It motivates me to put out more for you guys and I really appreciate it.

So so so sorry to the person that wanted female reader next, I PROMISE its coming. This is just some smut that was in my drafts, i figured I'd post it while I write the next fic I plan on uploading.

This is cut from a longer fic I wrote a little bit ago. I won't be posting the entire thing because I took alot of inspiration from a different fic I read. Not the smut though, the smut is all my writing so that's why I'm sharing it with you all.

(Also when I mention "Kim Minji" I'm talking about Jiu from Dreamcatcher.)

-

"You're pathetic"

-

One bad night was all it took, an argument with your wife over the way you looked at the intern at work earlier that day. You swore you weren't looking because 'no co-workers' was the rule in your open marriage and you would always honor that. Even if it wasn't, you knew that they didn't like each other so it'd be nothing short of betrayal to fuck someone who hated your wife. So no matter how incredible the girl looked in her short dresses and her tiny mini skirts, she was forbidden fruit.

Minji couldn't trust you though, she knew your type and could spot that look in your eye from a mile away. So she waited until you both got home to confront you about it. Of course, you denied even looking the interns way—a lie, might I add—then it turned into a screaming match, the hatred she had for her subordinate much more prevalent in her fiery eyes.

It ended with a slam of your bedroom door and the expectation that you'd sleep on the couch that night, which you did.

That's basically how you spent the following weekend, not talking to each other and only being painfully cold and passive aggressive when you did. You never liked to fight, it always felt so cold and empty, sleeping in different rooms waiting for the other to apologize. Days had passed, still barely any communication as your weekend fight bled into the weekdays. At work you kept things cordial, still not communicating much at all.

Everyone could tell, people at work could tell, there was a certain coldness in the both of you. You two were similar in that way, being extra shitty to your co-workers when things weren't going well at home. That and the fact that you chose to eat alone at lunch rather than with her.

You were in your office spending your lunch eating some ordered fast food while trying to catch up to a deadline when you heard your door open. Assuming it's one of your assistants you say "I'm on my lunch break, come back in thirty" without even looking up from your computer.

In your peripheral vision, you see the person instead step into your office and close the door behind them. Actually looking up this time, you open your mouth to speak, but the words fail to come out. It's the intern, Sana and she looks incredible. Her hair is straight and black today, very different from her usual brown wavy look but she pulled it off all the same. She wore a cute black dress, its material velvet and its collar white with three cute silver buttons down the midline. Then your eyes drift to her legs. Bare, pale and slim, not to mention there wasn't a bruise, scab or blemish in sight.

"Minatozaki, if you're looking for Mrs. Kim, she should be in her office" You throat goes dry, immediately noticing the interns quick move to lock the door behind her, a mischievous grin on her face.

"She's my boss, I know where she is. If I was looking for her, I would've went to her" Sana rolls her eyes and approaches your desk, leaning forwards to place her palms flat against the maple wood, straightening her arms as well. You look above your desktop, meeting her eyes for a split second before hearing alarms ringing distantly in the back of your mind.

You dart your eyes back to the paper you were working on then you gather up the thread of authority you have left to say "I can't imagine there would be anything you'd want from me, we work in completely different departments and.." You make eye contact for a moment "No disrespect but you're just an intern, so if you could please unlock the door and see your way out.." You say it so non chalantly, almost catching her confident demeanor shift at your passive aggressive tone.

Sana chews on her bottom lip for a bit "Oh don't be like that Mr. L/n..." She fake pouts, acting as if she's oh-so upset about your tone and in a way it was sexy. It's the way she drags out the words all slow in that sweet voice of hers, God it's killing  you. "I just noticed that Mrs. Kim's been extra bitchy this week... you know, at first I thought maybe she's on her period but then I noticed you two are barely talking to each other. Trouble in Paradise?" She asks, circling around your desk to stand beside you.

You look over with a fake polite grin on your face, making the grave mistake of rolling your chair back and turning it so you could face her. "That's really none of your business"

"Oh please, your open marriage is everybody's business" Sana chuckles for a moment and she leans down, holding herself up on the armrests of your chair. You mean to scoot the chair back as far as it can go, stand up and demand that she leave with your voice stern but instead you freeze. You fucking freeze, realizing how close she is and those ringing alarms from before? They turn into blaring sirens "So, why don't you tell me what happened? Whose fault is it? Yours or hers? She fuck someone she's not supposed to?"

It takes you a second to blink, then you swallow hard as you feel your body begin to burn, that nervous heat in your armpits. You catch a whiff of her perfume and it's fucking heavenly, some warm mix of vanilla and maybe cinnamon. Then her face, her beautiful face, one that could've only been hand sculpted by God himself. Her pink lipgloss only making her plump lips look all the more delectable and—fuck you're staring way too hard. "Listen, you're - you're way too close right now"

Sana leans down even closer and conveniently, if you were to look a few millimeters down, you'd be able to see her cleavage pouring out of her dress. "I'm just as close as I need to be, Sir" She says and there's that smirk again, that fucking smirk, the one that says 'I know i've got this mother fucker right where I want him' Now there's a thumping sound that begins filling your ears and it takes a second for you to realize it's your heart.

"I'm married, you should know this is very inappropriate and- "

A whimper escapes your lips the moment she makes a move to straddle your legs. "You're in an open relationship, so this..." She puts her hands on your shoulders "Is fine"

"We have certain boundaries, certain rules that aren't to be broken.. it's what makes us work"

She pokes her bottom lip out and looks at you through her lashes "Am I a boundary?"

"Of course you are! I know you and my wife aren't exactly the best of friends and to be frank, you're a stuck up, entitled brat who seriously needs a fucking reality check" You tell her and for the first time it actually sounds as if you have some sort of backbone but Sana doesn't flinch, make a face or get upset.

She just tilts her head "If i'm so bad, then why am I still on your lap?" She pauses, then looks down observing exactly how your body has betrayed you "And why are you hard?" She asks with a false-innocent tone, God you hated when she used that voice because she just sounded so stupidly sexy. She leans in closer to you, just by your ear "How about you give me a reality check" Her breath is warm as it brushes past your ear lobe.

Then you lose it, like actually lose it. Your hands find their way to her waist and you squeeze, hard enough that it elicits a sharp gasp from her. You pull her forwards and your bodies are now closer than ever, she leans down, arms wrapped loosely around your neck before your lips are pressed together. It's nothing like a rom-com, where the two main characters kiss and suddenly fireworks go off and it's magical and wholesome. No, this was pure raw lust, so strong that if it had a scent, the room would fucking reek of it.

Your lips move together so messily—sloppily as if you're genuinely trying to absolutely devour each other. Sana shoves her tongue into your mouth and you can taste her lipgloss, sweet strawberries, so intoxicating it all made your vision start to blur like a lucid dream. But this is no dream, this is real and the it's the sinful desire that makes it feel so good.

Now she's rocking her hips, whining and humming into your mouth as you suck each others lips swollen. She kisses your cheek and then deviates all the way down to your neck. You sigh a pleasureful breath "I shouldn't be doing this" You mutter, but make no effort to push her off.

She slides back then works on unbuttoning your shirt. "But you want to, I know you do" Her tongue darts out to wet her lips even more than they already were as she focused on getting your shirt off "God, how many fucking buttons.." She whispers to herself with a hot frustration.

This is wrong. You know it's wrong, hell your mind is yelling at you, sending an army of receptors to stimulate your brain to form a coherent rejection. Something mean enough that'll make this evil seductress leave the your office crying. It doesn't work in the slightest, you can't control the way you grip her waist or the way your head stirs from the feeling of being under her.

Sana finally finishes opening your button up "How'd I know you'd have a perfect body?" She mumbled, allowing her cute black nails to scrape against the hard surface of your chest and torso. Your hands drifted, eager to finally get a feel of those legs you've been leering at since day one. They were even softer than you imagined, you grabbed them softly, refraining from digging your fingernails into them. You just couldn't bring yourself to ruin such beautiful skin just yet.

"Sana" You say her name, low and deep, still not taking your eyes off of the way her thighs seem so tiny in your hands. With one hand still on her thigh, your dominant one slides up her dress and you pull her so called panties to the side. The material feels so thin and lacy, you couldn't even for sure call it underwear. "You're already dripping for me" You announce, sliding the pad of your middle finger up and down her slit, just slightly parting her lips so that it can graze against her clit ever so slightly when you reach the top. Her body jerks as you do, a tight gasp escaping her lips.

She's grinding on the pad of your fingers now and you're just watching—observing how she was so desperate, so needy for you. For you. She needed you to do something so badly but you wouldn't yet. It was frustrating her, of course but she just refused to open her mouth to say something so you do "Go ahead Sana, beg for it, tell me exactly what you want" You say it softly, slight rasp in your voice only adding to her burning arousal.

It takes her a moment before she can actually communicate words that didn't sound like pathetic whines. Still, moving her hips on your now stationary hand she mutters "I d-don't beg." She says it so weakly without even an ounce of conviction in her tone. What a fucking brat. You slip your hand from under her dress and they're on her waist again, then you pull her forwards and sit her directly over the rock hard bulge between your legs. She gasps, wet core directly on your clothed cock and when she moves to grind she realizes she can't because you are holding her still.

"You know, my lunch break will be over in a little under 20 minutes. Then people will be in and out of here like clock work and you?" You pause, taking a second to admire her beautiful face. From those pink pouty lips all the way to those dark and lustful eyes. "You'll be walking out of here un-touched and so wet that it's leaking down your thighs" You chuckle for a moment and shake your head "Is that what you want Sana?"

"mm-mm" She shakes her head, then looks deep into your eyes as if the thought of walking out of your office unsatisfied was the worst possible thing that could ever happen in life. "Please Sir, please - I need you inside of me please, please Sir"

You push her back a bit, then slide your dominant hand back under her dress. Your fingers come back into contact with her core and she's looking at you, her eyes begging-pleading for you to take her right here, right now in your office. Ever so slowly, you push your middle and ring fingers inside. She took them easy, a long whine escaping her lips when you curl your fingers "Fuck - thank you sir, thank you, thank you, thank you—" She's chanting in short breaths, her eyes screwing shut the moment you begin to pump in and out.

It's so wet, the sticky sound echoing throughout the otherwise empty office. Her walls hugged you tightly, only making your cock throb even more in your pants when you realized that you were going to be inside of her. Inside of this perfect fucking pussy. "So fucking tight, baby" You mutter as she mirrors your movements, grinding down on your fingers. She's moaning and whining so loud you think someone will hear, but you don't care anymore. Sana looks amazing like this, like she's made for this. To be on your fingers, rutting like a needy slut on top of you as she tries to get them much deeper than they could go.

"Oh - Fuck yes... just like that sir" She cuts herself off with a gasp "That feels so fucking good" You're allowing the pad of your fingers to press against her g-spot and you can tell its driving her crazy. By the way she's moving her hips and squeezing your arms for leverage, she's fucking loving this. Everything about Sana is just obscene. From the way she curses in that filthy tone to the way she's shamelessly

Now her breathing is erratic, like she's about to have a panic attack or faint, and you can feel her walls massaging you. "Are you gonna cum already?" You mutter almost in awe as you stare at her beautiful face. She was so pretty with her eyes closed and her head hung from the embarrassment of being so needy and horny. Then she was soaking, her arousal running down your fingers.

"I - fuck sir - please" She tries to respond, nodding frantically as she begins moaning unabashedly in your face. Her breath warm and shaky as it escapes her lips "Ah - Please make me cum sir, please make me fucking cum" Sana's begging now, pridefully without any kind of shame even though she was in a really shameful position. Riding her superior's fingers on his lap in his office where there's a big ass window in the door. If someone looked through at the right angle, she would've been caught and she knew that. Hell, she gets off on it.

The stirring in your pants gets more persistent, more impatient and it's fucking aching. So you slide your fingers out and for a moment, Sana's still whining and grinding, her fucked out brain still not registering the loss of touch yet. You grab her legs and stand up, then you place her on the desk, right next to your computer and you begin unzipping your pants. "Oh fuck yes daddy please give me your cock" She bites her bottom lip and gives you a look and it almost makes you growl.

Your pants are at your ankles along with your boxers and you're pulling her closer, her legs loosely wrapping around your waist. "You're a real fucking slut" You grab her face, squeezing her cheeks so her lips sort of smush together. In your grip, she nods the best she can, a hot 'mm-hmm' leaving her throat. There's a moment you take to just look into her eyes, the way her eyebrows were upturned, the look of pure fucking want in her eyes. God it was ruining you.

"I can be your personal slut if you'd like, sir" She says it like she's pleading after you let go of her face. Then you hike her dress up a bit more and you're finally lining yourself up. You press the fat tip against her entrance and she winces and looks down. She's holding onto your arms to brace herself "Fuck, it's so big - want you to fucking stretch me"

God she's so filthy, in the way she speaks, moves and stares at you it's unbelievable and you fucking love it. You know you should hate it, you should be disgusted with her. Practically throwing herself at a married man all to spite his wife, her boss at that. You should fucking hate her for the things she's said to Minji and the fact that she hates her. But you just can't get over her body, the way she walks, the way she talks, the way she does fucking anything with that pretty face of hers.

You slide your cock into of her entrance ever so slowly, immediately feeling the tight grip of her warm walls. "Holy shit" You groan and Sana's gone silent, her jaw slack as she looks up and directly into the white light in the ceiling with her eyebrows furrowed. "So - fucking - tight" Your teeth are clenched as you're grunting finally making it all the way to the hilt.

Then you stop for a moment, pulling her even closer "You're so fucking deep i - please fuck me sir, please" You do exactly as she says, pulling your hips back just to thrust all the way back in and she lets out a moan so guttural that it had to have been stuck the back of her throat. Then you're in more of a rhythm, fucking the tight, smooth hole that she's just letting you have. "That's right - fucking use me - oh God"

She's more than just enjoying herself and you're both moaning way louder than you should be. But everything's just too much, because you're a thousand degrees, sweaty and tousled. You can't smell it but you know the room reeks of that pungent aroma, one that could only be recognized for what it was—what it could only be. Sex.

You lean over, resting your head in the crook of her neck so that your lips can come into contact with the salty flesh. "You feel so fucking good - God" You mumble on her skin, licking, kissing, sucking all to make everything feel all the more overstimulating to her. It was something you never thought you'd ever say, but she felt the best out of almost any girl you've ever been with. There was something uniquely warm, tight and moist about her that you've never felt before.

"Yeah - Yeah - Yeah - please don't stop sir, please keep fucking me like that." You can't get enough of her, you wouldn't even stop if you wanted to. Then you're reaching your hand down, tongue still licking her neck as you press your fingers against her swollen clit. The poor thing was practically begging for attention before you got to it. You circled your fingers around it in a way which matched your thrusts.

Now Sana was really seeing stars, like actual stars, her vision even going black at some points. You knew you had her when you first felt her legs begin to shake, then the rhythmic pulsing inside. You lightly bite her ear "There you go baby, cum for me" You whisper so hotly that it's got her right on the edge.

"Yeah" She whispers, her voice shaking breathily and then she gets louder "G-Gonna - Fuck" It's erratic, the way she's moving so rigidly and the insane grip you have on her waist isn't doing any favors. "You're gonna make me cum, you're gonna make me fucking cum" Sana's nodding her head.

Then her back is arched, pushing her chest into yours and she's toppling over the edge. Her moans beautifully silent, caught in her throat as her body stutters and shakes erratically. "That's a Good girl, Sana" You encourage her, knowing that she'd love the praise.

Once she recovers, you don't slow down, in fact you're speeding up almost choking as you now recognize how pent up and sensitive you are. Like you could explode any fucking minute. You know it and Sana does from the way you're heaving and panting like a beat dog. The way your face is red, and then the serious concentration. She squeezes her legs tighter around your waist "Please cum in me sir - wanna feel you filling me up" She moans erotically.

You shiver at this, hearing the words come out of her mouth so fucking easily.. "I can't" Are the only words you can mutter without your voice breaking, it's almost humiliating. But she wants it, she wants it so bad.

"Yes you can" She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls you close, her mouth near your ear now. "Come on daddy, breed me. Mark your fucking territory" she eggs you on in that perfect voice of hers and you almost fucking malfunction. This girl is so dangerous. You mean to pull out, you really do but all of a sudden you can't make yourself stop when you begin shooting your load inside. Fucking it deep inside of her womb, like really deep and she's moaning so loud as if she's the one cumming. She's getting off on it.

The two of you stay like that for a bit, God knows how long with your heads empty and your bodies sweaty. When you finally pull out, your cock already soft. Sana giggles a bit, then pulls her panties back over her raw cunt and she slowly slides herself off of your desk. You're pulling your pants up, fixing your belt and then your button up as she tidy's up her dress. "I shouldn't have done that" You sigh, immediately feeling the regret hit you like a truck now that the lust has withered away.

"Come on, it's not like your marriage is exclusive"

You sit in your chair, leaning forwards as you bury your hands in your face, smelling Sana on them. "We have fucking rules Sana, and i broke them all" You're thinking about what you'll tell Minji, how badly this'll probably fucking hurt her. Way to go, you went ahead and fucked a load into the only girl your wife hates. The one you promised that she didn't have to worry about. Sana opens her mouth to say something else but you don't want to hear it "Please get out and... don't tell anybody about this"

"Okay" She says, but she says it sarcastically, like she doesn't take you seriously. You get up from your chair as she puts her hand on the door knob "I'm fucking serious, Sana. Nobody, not your friends, not our co-workers and certainly not-"

"Mrs. Kim?" She finishes your thought, tilting her head. "You're pathetic, let go of me" She scoffs then snatches her arm from your hands then continues to exit your office. You exhale deeply, and you punch the wall, not hard enough to leave a hole but hard enough to leave a bruise. So you immediately regret it, shaking the hand you used.  Sana was right, you were pathetic.

"This can't happen again" You tell yourself out loud as if it'll make your words true.

It doesn't.

[postcardsfromheapside]

No. I wasn't missing the point of most criticism. Literally, I saw post after post of people saying they wished the characters could be mean to each other. Some posts were more specific, like "I don't like Taash," (and I'm sure you can imagine what THAT'S about) and some were more ambigious but cited DA2 and how everyone was bitchy toward each other.

I honestly don't care where you work and what you do, because hopefully most of us after the age of 30 have experienced an adult job where we have to be reasonable with our coworkers, even if we strongly disagree, or outright dislike them. I had the suspicion that most people who think that there is "no conflict," or "low conflict" or "bad writing" in this game haven't experienced this kind of setting in any capacity. What I'm now hearing is that you might have, but you didn't absorb any of the dialogue, or switch out your party to listen to banter, which is an essential function for picking up information in any DA game.

I walked around Arlathan with Lucanis and Harding, and they have a whole ongoing conversation in which she threatens him with one of her special arrows. And he agrees that if Spite should take him over, she should do something about it. Harding isn't frightened, because Harding isn't a pushover, but she's not taking any shit either. Did you walk around with just the two of them right after recruiting Lucanis? Did you frequently visit the rest of the companions so that you could see just how much Lucanis and Davrin *didn't* get along? Neve mentions what sounded like a knock-down drag out fight.

**Just because this isn't explicitly mentioned to you doesn't make it bad writing - it means you haven't had the time we had with Inquisition to play the game over and over and switch out your party so you can see everyone's interactions with each other. You will actually have to play the game multiple times and switch your party out a fair amount in order to see these interactions. Or wait for people to post them to tumblr. You can complain about how unfair this is, or remember that Inquisition has 10 years on this game, and it's been out for just shy of a month.**

Why in the absolute fuck would Davrin manufacture conflict between himself and someone he could easily conjecture isn't pro-slavery based on the fact that within five minutes he could find out she's from Dock Town, she's a private investigator working with the Shadow Dragons, and LITERALLY WHEN YOU GET ONTO THE DOCK WITH HIM, her first priority as she's running back to Minrathous is to say "if the dragon wrecks havoc, the Venatori will take over." Davrin isn't an idiot, he could pretty well surmise that she's not "pro slavery" with only the barest of interactions and Rook saying "yeah Neve's cool."

Why would Neve yell at you? Why is it bad writing for the writers to give Neve a personality you don't agree with, because you're uncomfortable with how she reacts? Neve's an adult who is used to working on her own and people not showing up for her - she says this MULTIPLE TIMES - it's actually a large arc of bonding with her, as a friend and a lover. She's not going to scream at you, she's so far past the point of being loud about disappointment, she's on the other side, for one, and for another, she does in fact understand that the entire North of Thedas is on fire and blighting Treviso is pretty fucking bad when it has no major defenses. Rook doesn't endlessly apologize. She came back after a short pause and while I didn't have her healing abilities after that, it didn't take long for me to boost my bond with her back up and feel like we were friends again.

This honestly feels like you're having a personal reaction that you need to examine, and it's not something to do with the writing, since the game mechanics and the dialogue don't actually bear out what you're putting down here.

All of the companions who have conflict initially have to figure out how to trust each other and it sometimes takes most of the game for them to do that. If you didn't spend the time listening to their banter as they work their way through it, that's not Bioware's problem. That's you. And...I don't want to have repeated conversations where I go into Emmrich's (my romance) room and "vent"? I didn't do that with Cullen. I didn't do that with Anders. Why would it suddenly be a thing here? But if you listen in to people's conversations, they do express dismay and doubt and fear about the various quests they've been on. Again, it feels like you didn't spend the time eavesdropping or taking people out and listening to banter.

I have no idea what you're talking about with flirting. I flirted with every companion at first even though I knew I was running for Emmrich, and all of them responded according to their personality. I romanced Cullen in Inquisition, and he was pretty quiet initially, until you get to Skyhold, and similarly, most of the companions here retain a certain reticence until the game progresses. But if you're looking for people who get flustered - Lace and Bellara absolutely do! And Emmrich isn't flustered, but he's taken aback a few times before he collects himself and flirts back - though whether you'd actually recognize it for flirting, I'm starting to wonder. The fact that you can't tell with Neve is actually making me tilt my head at the screen, and I say this as a self-confessed disaster who is very very bad at knowing someone is interested. Even I can tell what's going on in DA romances.

This is probably a lost cause, but I urge you to either spend time playing the game again, or watch someone else who really loves DA (and is Veilguard positive) play so that you can watch without being in the thick of it, and hopefully experience more dialogue and different choices.

No, I'm not done yet, I'm house sitting and she left me snacks and soda and not even god could keep me from venting my spleen at this point.

"I wish the companions were meaner to each other in this game, like in DA2."

While I think there's a larger argument to be made discussing the similarities between DA2 and Veilguard, I need everyone to get so close to me right now about a glaring difference:

DA2 involved a ragtag group of assholes with their own agendas coalescing around Hawke's personality or exchange of favors. There was no larger "goal," except maybe Varric's expedition - everything else is encountered as circumstance. You wend your way through your companions' stories while a city winds ever tighter into itself, a spring about to literally explode.

There's zero reason for these people to be nice to each other. They have no point in being around each other except Hawke. They can bitch at each other all they like.

Rook becomes Varric's second in command (I've seen one post say it's about 6 months before the events of the game) with an explicit purpose: find and stop Solas. Harding and Neve are recruited as experts in their respective fields for this particular goal. When it all goes to shit, Neve recruits another expert, Lucanis, to deal with the fallout, and Harding finds Davrin, *also* an expert in his field (monster hunting). When Rook has to make a particularly consequence heavy decision, two more are added to the crew: Emmrich (Fade expert) and Taash (dragon expert). All of these people are extremely competent, and know from the jump that they have one particular goal in mind.

They join ready to work together on Day 1 because if they don't, there's simply no other alternative. It's lights out. Even when they mistrust each other, the direness of the situation is not lost on them. Infighting serves no purpose. That's why the struggle is directed inward: clean up your own house, so we can move as a single unit.

Honestly the fact that what people took away from this game was "I wish my friends were meaner to each other" and not "wow, I wish we all worked together to keep evil dictators from taking over" is fucking mindblowing when I sit back and reread this.

[physalian]

How to Make Your Writing Less Stiff 8 | "to-be" and auxiliary verbs

Part 7

Part 6

Part 1

As I go through editing my latest manuscript, I'm faced with the dilemma of when to drop a to-be verb, but also when to keep it and how the differences between the two in any given situation can make just a little... a little *garnish* of a difference.

To-be verbs:

Am, is, are, was, were; a subset of auxiliary verbs

Auxiliary verbs:

To do, to be, to have (simplified)

Auxiliary verbs tend to indicate tense, but we use them more often as crutch verbs, filler verbs, because you can just conjugate the verb itself to the proper tense without the need of the auxiliary verb.

The advice generally goes to remove these, as they count as filler words when followed up by a second verb. Versus the TBV or AXV and an adjective.

He does look / He looks She is cooking / She cooks They were standing / They stood I am fishing / I fish She does cry / She cries We have slept / We slept

vs

He is afraid / He fears She was sorry / She regrets They were happy / They cheered I was confused / I hesitated

The verb+adjective combo can't so easily drop the verb without changing either the tone, the flow, or the actions of the characters, because one is an act of doing, and one is a state of being (for the most part, 'fear' is one of those exceptions in English).

You would have to rearrange the sentence, e.g. "I was confused by this" to "This confused me," to elimiate the TBV. Which, most of the time, does help the narrator feel less passive in the story, but, again, we're here for flavor text, not an MLA formatting guide.

So, sometimes the inclusion of the TBV or AXV adds subtext to the action itself.

"He does look" has slightly more urgency and weight than simply "he looks" because the AXV emphasizes that this is an action the actor might not have taken otherwise, for better or for worse.

In the silence, she stands there huffing, voice wrecked from crying as he heads for the open door. “Don’t you walk away from me.” He turns, face impassive. “There’s nothing left to be said.” vs He does turn, face impassive. “There’s nothing left to be said.”

The latter indicates that this might be hesitation or regret on his part, as opposed to a decisive, quick action, or that this is an action that she, the narrator, didn't expect him to take.

It also helps convey the tone of voice (or at least the general direction of the level of emotion in a voice). This absolutely varies on a case-by-case basis and the context of the action and should not be abused.

One of the juicier verbs for subtext here is "try"

He tries to coach her through how to do it properly. vs He does try to coach her through how to do it properly.

The former is direct and simple. He is attempting (he attempts) to help but through the act of "trying" and not "doing" there's an indication that she isn't getting it.

The latter is a little more hopeless, where he and she both know that whatever she's attempting to learn, she won't succeed, but he's doing it anyway. Maybe because he cares or he feels bad, or, that he wasn't going to help her, but something changed his mind.

Deciding when to use these helps convey the inner thoughts of non-narrating characters without head-hopping, and also shows the biases of the narrator.

Hope this helps!

[baronessvonglitter]

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 20 🍒

"Baby Loves Me"

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 8,823 (she's a big'un)

Summary: A blizzard, a wedding, family secrets, and two people who can't stop thinking about each other. Are these fateful events going to drive you apart for good, or bring you even closer together?

(Warnings contain spoilers beneath the cut)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (reader is 39, Joel is 56), takes place a few days before Christmas 2023, mention of eating food/drinking alcohol, mention of health issues, oral (m & f receiving), Ellie has anger issues, use of guns for recreational shooting, jealous!Joel, mutual pining, reader wears makeup and dresses, unprotected piv, creampie, TW for minor heart attack and hospitalization (everything is okay in the end), getting back together and having a happily ever after. In this universe everyone is alive and happy.

Author's Note: this series was the first story I ever posted on AO3 and then recently here on tumblr. I had no idea so many people would love it, and it's currently my most liked, most commented-on, and most bookmarked work on AO3 ♥️ It feels so good to finally have this complete, but I will write some one-shots about this couple in the future, because part of me really doesn't want to let them go. Much love to those who stuck around and showed their support while I got this story hammered out. I love and appreciate all of you!

Please enjoy this playlist for your listening pleasure, songs that either appear in the series or provided inspiration

Series Masterlist

It's early when Joel wakes, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he puts his hand to his heart, eyes scrunched closed tight as he prepares himself for the increasingly painful palpitations. He grunts in suffering at the agony of the erratic pounding of his heart, body tense until it passes, and he sighs with relief, head in his hands as he runs his fingers through his greying locks.

It's been almost a week now that he's had these pains, happening every day now that Sarah's wedding day is nearing. He gets them on and off but lately stress has been catching up to him and reminding him he's not in his thirties anymore. Hell, he'd give anything just to be in his forties again.

He gets up to get a glass of water, quickly throwing on a shirt before going downstairs. The house is quiet though he can see the electric glow of the television light on underneath yours and Ellie's rooms. He hesitates just outside of your room, putting an ear to the door, hoping to catch some tidbit of your voice, some clue as to what you're doing in there, but it's quiet, just the low volume of something playing on TV.

With a sigh he goes down to the kitchen.

Alone with his thoughts, affected by the presence of you and Ellie under his own roof, he takes stock of his life, of all the moments he failed you when he should have been there for you.

That first night he set foot back in Austin after serving time in the Bexar County jail, wondering if he should call you, he'd gone instead to a bar and met Hailey. He didn't recognize her at first, but she'd come on so strong, and the alcohol ran freely that night, so by the time he'd taken her home and her warm, tight little mouth was wrapped around his cock, it was too late. He didn't expect that that one night would lead to her wanting more, but by then you were gone, tucked back safely away in Houston where he couldn't get his hands on you and where you could (he'd hoped) in time forget about him. You were too much of a good girl with too much potential to waste it on someone like him. Hailey was someone who was always going to be stuck in a small town, so he didn't have to worry he was holding her back. But he soon came to realize that all they had between them was fucking. Not that he'd ever minded it in the past, but after having you, experiencing what real love was like, what Hailey offered felt like a cheap replacement, and he just wasn't that man anymore. He knew Sarah hated her, so when he caught Hailey stealing from him he knew that was the last straw and ended things.

Sad to say he went back to his usual routine from before he met you. Working from sunup to sundown, coming home with new aches in his joints to a meal Sarah had had to cook herself, or pizza that had gone cold. On the weekends he'd be at the bar, either with Tommy or more often alone, and he'd find a woman and wind up at her place. He could never bring them back to his, not in his bed that he shared with you.

Seeing you in New Orleans that summer night had been a shock to his system. He thought he'd managed to get over you just a little, but seeing you, a little older than the last time, looking soft and happy and bright-eyed as you laughed with Tommy.. and that fucking rock on your finger that signaled you were taken. Something primeval in him stirred when he ran into you in that restroom hallway, your lips full and glossy from making out with his brother, jealousy surging through him that you'd be so willing to cheat on your husband-to-be with someone other than himself.. it led him to want you more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

Leaving you the next day had been the hardest thing, but he had to remind himself you were going to belong to another. He couldn't get in the way of that, not when he'd only shown his love for you by fucking you in a bar restroom. You were going to marry a military man and have a respectable life, that was what he wanted for you. To have a life with Joel would only make you sordid, ripe for gossip. He was old enough to be your father and you were in fact his his best friend's daughter. He couldn't sully your life with his mistakes.

On a last minute whim he'd come to your wedding, sat at the very back as you were oblivious to him, staring into your husband's eyes as you spoke your vows, each word a piece of jagged glass in his heart. He'd left before you could see him, driving back to Texas at a high rate of speed, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. Why hadn't he just objected? He could have done it, raised his hand and told the entire congregation that you were his god damn it. He would have led you out, carrying you bridal style, ripped your damn dress off you and fucked you senseless.

It was later that Tommy suggested the dating app. Joel wasn't a fan of technology, and in fact still had his old Nokia phone that Sarah was warning him was becoming obsolete and cajoled him into upgrading to a smartphone. Once she and Tommy had helped him with setting up a profile on eHarmony, the requests piled in. Women from all over the state showed their interest. He had his pick of almost anyone. While he went on a few fruitless dates (some of which actually ended up in sex) there were few that actually interested him.

Until Tess. She was so much like him, and more suited to his age. A divorcee, she knew what she wanted in a relationship and stuck by her values. Beneath her tough exterior Joel found she was actually very kindhearted, even sweet. She cared about animals, liked beer, and was a homebody. She'd resisted his charms at first, but eventually neither could give in to the spark they felt. It took some convincing to get her to marry him. She accepted only on the terms that he move to Boston. She'd visited Texas a few times on business, but she wanted to stay in the northeast, and Joel, in love again for the first time in years, acquiesced.

The problem was they were too much alike. Both wanted to lead, and while he was happy to let Tess have the reigns now and then, it became an issue. This led to more arguments, tense discussions over things that shouldn't have mattered. The divorce, when it finally happened, was a blessing in disguise. Joel followed Tommy away from Boston and found comfort here in Wyoming, in a place he could start anew.

Sarah had been none too subtle when she brought you up in conversation. "Did you know she's a teacher?" "She's single now, divorced actually." "She's in California with her daughter."

Every damn day there was a phone call or a text where you were mentioned. And now, with you here under his roof at Sarah's behest, it was apparent that she was trying to get you two back together again.

He knew he needed to speak with you about that comment you uttered, about "our" daughter Ellie. He'd done the math in his head, just to be safe, and had calculated that he could indeed be her dad. But he had to get the honest answer from you.

It'd be easy if you would at least acknowledge his presence.

Your cold shoulder is more like an arctic icy blast. Your refusal to even meet his eye is like an arrow through his heart. He wishes that you would at least glare at him, or say something sarcastic or hurtful, but your silence is the coldest thing, even with the blizzard outside.

He's hopeful during one moment the next morning, as he's going into the hall restroom while you're coming out. Freshly showered, you're wearing a towel around your body, skin glowing, hair combed back and damp. The steam that surrounds you from your hot shower makes you look like a figure from a movie, an ethereal angel come to earth. His breath catches in his throat as you look up at him, your beautiful eyes wide and plush lips parted. Then you resume your coldness, pulling your towel tighter around you as you go to your room. When he steps in he smells the jasmine aroma of your body wash still in the air around him his dick hardens in response.

Hearing that Sofia has arrived is the one bright spot in your time here.

You meet her at the Tipsy Bison after everyone has helped out shoveling snow off the path. You'd found yourself working next to Joel and said nothing to him, ignoring his silent appeal for you to talk to him.

Now the crew is indulging in some food and beer at the bar while you catch up with your cousin.

"How did you get in? I thought the roads were impassable," you tell her after a big hug and an introduction to her fiancee Ruby. It had come as a surprise to you when she'd told you she was marrying a woman, but Sofia had said she'd only followed her heart and didn't consider herself stuck to any sort of label. Ruby was the perfect person for her and there was no looking back.

"Tommy sent a pilot friend of his to pick us up from the airport when our taxi couldn't make it through the snow," she says, nearly knocked over as Ellie pummels her with a bear hug. "We were helicoptered in, like a couple of VIPs."

It's like old times as you share a booth altogether, different kinds of appetizers in the center of the table as you catch up on things.

"How did you manage to still stay friends with Tommy?" you ask when Ruby and Ellie go to make change for the jukebox. Hearing that Sofia is staying with Tommy and Maria during their visit, you can't help but wonder how other people can so easily put aside the past.

"I think it helped that we were friends before we started dating," she shrugs. "And.. to be honest, our relationship never got that serious. Not like you and Joel," she finishes in a whisper, darting a glance at the elder Miller brother, who's knocking back some beer with Tommy and a few others.

"Why do you ask?" Sofia continues.

"I don't know how to deal with being under the same roof as Joel," you admit. "Everything that he put me through.. I know we're only here for a few days but it feels like an eternity. It's becoming harder to avoid him."

"You should talk to him," she says gently. "You don't have to be best friends or anything, but you're a friend of the bride. You should at least be civil."

You sneak a look over your shoulder at him, just to find he's already staring at you. You quickly turn away.

"Does he know about.." Sofia motions with her head toward Ellie, who's at the jukebox with Ruby.

"No," you respond. "And he doesn't need to know."

"That's not fair to him," she softly scolds you.

"You are the only one I've trusted with this, Sofia. Please do not make me regret telling you."

Sofia is really the only family you have left. You never saw you father after that fateful night when Joel fought him, and your mother disowned Ellie when she came out, causing you to disown your mother in return. Your circle is small but faithful.

She backs off. "All right," she relents. "But what about Ellie? She'll resent you for keeping this a secret this long."

You watch your daughter, who's drifted from the jukebox to one of the pool tables, mindlessly spinning the cue ball upon the soft green surface. She's distracted when she sees another girl across the room, a pretty dark-haired girl around her own age, watching Ellie furtively, as if fascinated.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Ellie shouts, causing the girl to run away.

"Ellie!" you snap at her, and to your astonishment Joel walks past you to go to her. You freeze, watching their interaction, but all seems to be okay as they talk quietly.

"I don't know what to do for her. I don't know how to help her.. she's so angry, especially since the divorce. And Justin rarely ever sees her. The only thing he's good for is the child support." You swig your beer, itching to go and talk to her, but the stubborn side of you refuses to be closer to Joel than is necessary.

Sofia folds her napkin in sections. "She called me and told me about Riley.. and the little mishap at the mall."

Earlier that year, Ellie and Riley had been picked up by the cops for trespassing in an abandoned mall and vandalizing some stores. It was completely unlike her, and even though you both sought family therapy for all the issues you were going through, it didn't seem to be making much leeway.

"She doesn't seem so angry now," Sofia mentions, and you turn to see Joel and Ellie starting a game of pool. You both watch as she tries to pull off complicated trick shots and Joel just shakes his head in feigned frustration. Once again your gaze lingers too long and you lock eyes, but this time you offer a tiny smile, mouthing 'thanks.'

"Hey Mom, can I go with Joel and Finn? Joel said I have to ask you."

You look up from where you're steam-cleaning your dress for the rehearsal dinner tonight. "Where are you going?"

"It's near the woods on Joel's property. We're just going for a hike," she shrugs.

"I guess.. just behave yourself, okay?"

She grins, glad to have gotten permission. You follow her down to the foyer where Joel and Finn are getting their hats and gloves on. "Be careful," you tell them, though it's mostly meant for Joel.

"Of course. You're okay with her shootin'?"

"What?!"

Ellie manages to look chagrined. "I didn't think you'd let me go if you knew guns would be involved."

"Well you thought right!"

"I won't let her if you won't allow it," Joel offers.

"Come on!" Ellie groans.

"Just remember that you're on thin ice back home," you tell her without wanting to let on to the others about Ellie's troubled past.

"Somethin' the matter?" Joel asks, eyes darting between you and her.

"Nope," Ellie's all smiles when you hesitate to answer. "Let's get going!"

She and Finn race out the door into the snowy yard just as Joel stops for a brief moment. "I won't let her shoot if you don't want her to," he says solemnly.

The nearness of him, the rich baritone of his voice could easily bring you to your knees. It feels like a chore just to swallow that emotion and consider it dead, a mistake.

"Just be careful," you repeat, a smile flitting on your lips. Heat rises in your face when you see his gaze drop down to your mouth, his tongue peeking out to swipe across his own lips.

"You could come with us."

Your first instinct is to refuse, to keep that wall built between him and yourself. Good fences make good neighbors and brick walls keep people from reliving past trauma.

But damn it's hard to say no when he's here right in front of you, after all this time, and the parts of you that have healed just want to give in, to go into his arms again.

It's not a surprise when you're in the passenger seat of his truck, like old times. And though it's a newer model and the seats have warmers and the upholstery makes the whole car smell like it was just driven off the lot, in a way it still feels like summer 2003.

Finn's done this before, the apple of his grandfather's eye. Even with the skill of a child, he shoots with ease, knocking down most of the targets Joel had set up on a fence.

When it's Ellie's turn she's eager for the gun, but her practice shots are haphazard: off an old fallen tree, a random snowbank. She huffs in frustration.

"Wide right," Joel tells her. "You're flinchin'."

Ellie shakes her head. "The target's too small."

"I made it bigger than I should've. Eject the cartridge."

You watch your only child move with precision, handling the gun with ease despite being new to this. "I'm not flinching, the rifle just sucks."

You and Finn exchange a look, suppressing your laughter.

"Okay, give it." Joel changes places with Ellie, who quips, "It doesn't aim right, you'll see."

It's hard to tear your eyes from him as he sets up, moving with the ease of someone half his age. "A deep breath in, slow breath out. You squeeze the trigger like you love it," he says, ignoring Ellie's teasing remarks. "Gentle, steady, nice and slow."

"You gonna shoot this thing or get it pregnant?" she smirks, and when you laugh out loud Joel shakes his head, pulling off the perfect shot.

After, you rest on the tailgate of the truck while drinking warm beverages from your thermoses. Ellie and Finn gather their energy quickly enough, playing in the snow and chasing each other. It brightens your day to see your daughter smiling.

"I wanna apologize for the other day," Joel says, his eyes flicking to you. "I was outta line. I've apologized to Ellie too. I think she and I are good now."

You nod, somewhat relieved that he'd brought it up first. "I'm sorry too. I guess I get pretty riled up when someone tries to out-parent me."

Joel looks away, towards the mountains that peak their grayness against the clear blue sky. "He been outta the picture long?"

"Who? Justin?" You notice Joel winces at your ex husband's name. "Long enough. He was supposed to spend time with her for Christmas but chose his new wife over his own daughter. She didn't take it very well."

"Fuckin' bastard," he mutters. "Always figured there was a reason for me to not like him."

You give him a strange look. "You didn't know him."

"Didn't need to. He took you away from me. That's reason enough."

"Joel," you say quietly, both a scolding and a scoff. You remember his body against yours that night, the way your sheets bore his scent until the day before Justin came back from out of town and you had to wash away the evidence of your betrayal.

"I'm sorry I didn't go after you. There were a million opportunities and I failed each time."

You say his name again, with softness this time, your hand finding his, his palm almost completely dwarfing yours. You think about his fingers inside you, teasing you for the first time, showing you how to open up to him, and how you ended up giving away your whole heart.

In the moment where you can say the most heartwarming or romantic or even angry thing, what comes out of your mouth is: "You never accepted my friend request."

Joel looks puzzled. "What?"

"My friend request. On Facebook. I tried to add you but you never accepted it, so I canceled it." Cringing at your own words, how needy they sound, you take your hand from his, but he traps it within his own again.

"Darlin', I never look at that stuff. I only got one 'cause everyone else goaded me into it." His eyes look mirthful as he sees your doleful eyes.

"And that's how I found out about Tess.."

"Oh." The mirthful look is gone, replaced by a dark, blank look. The first marriage, the only marriage he ever had, so late in life, ended.

"What was she like?"

"Why do you wanna know?" He looks at the ground, as if the snow is so interesting. "What was that idiot fuckboy husband of yours like?"

You almost laugh, surprised that he's jealous, even after you've moved on from your marriage.

"He wasn't as great as I thought," you shrug. "But that doesn't matter now."

Joel smiles, agreeing. "Tess was.. we were good for awhile but you're right, doesn't matter now."

"Because we both turned out okay.. me and you."

He thinks it over a bit, eventually nodding. "Yeah.." His deep brown eyes meet yours, and you catch a glimmer of the man he was before, twenty years past, a single dad with a teenage girl and an interest in the new girl next door. "I'm sorry.. for everything. We happened so fast that my brain had to catch up with my heart."

You're afraid that if you think about it for too long you'll cry and never stop. "We don't have to talk about that.."

He nods, looking a little sad that you declined. "You're right, we don't."

"Look at you with all this land," you smile, gently teasing him to change the subject. "What are you gonna do with all of it?"

Joel shrugs, looking at his property, thinking again of the possibilities. "I might decide to turn it into a ranch, raise sheep," he shrugs. "They're quiet and do what they're told."

He's quiet another moment, before his voice drops an octave. "I'm really glad you came, babygirl.. it's really good to see you. Don't think I said that before."

A smile graces your lips, a genuine one, and the warmth of his words melts what's left of your defenses. "Joel.. there's something I need to tell you.. about Ellie.." The words are out before you even think.

Your heart pounds, taking residence in your throat as if to keep the truth from spilling out. Joel turns his whole body to you. His eyes search yours, without question or condemnation, as if he's willing you to say it because he already knows, because he just wants it made real.

When the moment passes it's a disappointment to both of you. It's getting later in the afternoon and you still need to get ready for tonight. The kids trudge back to the truck and you get in next to Joel in the front. There's a quietness that fills the space, thick and somewhat desperate.

The Tipsy Bison has gone through another temporary makeover for the rehearsal dinner: garlands of lights arch across the ceiling from beam to beam, creating a pleasant, dreamy atmosphere. People mill around waiting for the bride and groom who are running a little late. Drinks are served and tables of food boast different kinds of cuisine.

Ellie makes a beeline for the hors d'oevres, immediately picking out what she wants and stuffing it straight into her mouth as if she hasn't seen food in months. Joel watches her from the next table over, trying hard as hell not to call her out too harshly, but as his stomach growls he joins her in the hunt for sustenance.

A tray of pastel-colored macarons catches Ellie's eye and she takes a light green treat with her fingers. "What are these?" She scrutinizes it, taking a quick sniff.

"It's some kinda cookie.. or something.. how the hell should I know?" he grumbles.

"Pistachio," she grunts in disgust, putting it back on the plate.

"Well, now don't put it back, you've already touched it and sniffed it and everything.." Joel quickly pops the discarded macaron into his mouth.

"If you want 'em they're all yours," she says, giving his shoulder a couple heavy claps before moving on down the line of food.

He just shakes his head, looking around for you for the tenth time tonight, finding you with Sarah and her soon-to-be inlaws at the bar. His mouth goes dry at the sight of you in a dark red dress, long-sleeved, cinched at the waist, and he feels a familiar rush of blood to his cock as he eyes the thigh-length slit on one side of the skirt.

"That color is sensational on you."

You turn to the voice you've just heard, as the group you were talking with disperses.

"Hi," you tell the older, well-dressed man in front of you. "I don't believe we've met." But then it hits you, and just as he introduces himself you realize you already know his name.

"I'm Frank," he says, a Duchenne smile lighting up his features and crinkling the wrinkles around his eyes. He's handsome, and very friendly. And he was friends with Joel during his marriage to Tess.

He introduces you to his husband Bill, who regards you with a certain suspicion and gives a gruff acknowledgement to your hello. "He's like that with everyone," Franks explains in a stage whisper, while rolling his eyes. "He's just a big grump, but I love him."

"I'm a friend of the bride," you tell them after giving your name, and also introducing Ellie, who's arrived next to you with a plate piled high with shrimp, pulled pork sliders, and mini cheesecakes.

"She's a friend of Joel's," Frank tells Bill, as if to clarify.

"Um, yes.. I'm also a friend of his," you agree. Pretending to spot someone across the room, you excuse yourself, giving a subtle motion for Ellie to follow you, but she stays where she is, popping a whole shrimp in her mouth, eyeing the couple.

"There's a story there," Frank says enticingly as he sips his beer.

"What do you mean?" she asks, curious about the gossip.

Bill gives him a look and shakes his head. "She's a kid, she doesn't need your dramatic stories."

"Now I have to know!" Ellie insists.

Frank feigns annoyance. "Oh all right."

He weaves the tale of Joel and his wife Tess: happily married at first, so alike in attitude and hobbies. She thought she knew everything about the man she married, but when Tommy, in a drunken game of poker one night, recalled a certain young woman who Joel knew, a woman who could tie a knot in a cherry stem with her tongue, Joel told his brother, in a similar drunken state, that he remembered her fondly, missed her like crazy, she was the one who got away.

Tess wasn't the type to hound someone for details, but she didn't like there was a part of Joel's past that she didn't know about. Especially if that past was filled with him falling in love with and screwing a college girl. This naturally led to arguments that Tess refused to drop. Joel didn't want to relive that time with you, and insisted it meant nothing since you were well and truly out of his life.

But the damage had been done, and the thorn of jealousy had pierced Tess's heart. You were a stranger to her and still could not be defeated.

Frank recalled with suppressed glee the night Tess had stormed out on a dinner party, ranting at Joel about "not being able to get over a stupid ass teenager" and causing a scene for the others to eat up. It had embarrassed Joel deeply, but when news of Sarah's wedding had become known, Joel couldn't keep it secret from the friends of his ex-wife. He'd come to like them in his own way, especially Bill, with whom he shared a predilection for quiet and keeping to one's self. They hunted and fished like old times and soon enough both he and Frank were invited to the wedding.

"There's a saying that goes," Frank is telling Ellie, "'everyone can see it but them.'"

Ellie glances at you across the room, and then at Joel. You and he trade silent, surreptitious glances at one another, filled with longing. You glance at him and he catches you before you glance away, and vice versa. The signal between your gazes is irrefutable. There's something there, has been all this time. All it needed was a little meddling from Sarah to bring the spark back to life.

For the first time Ellie sees you as something more than her mother. She realizes you had a past, a life before she was born, and a fraction of that life was spent in love with a man she just met a couple days ago.

"Hey Mom, can you help?"

Hearing Ellie, you immediately shift into Mom Mode, stopping your own get-ready routine to assist her. She's in your doorway, holding out her wrists. She picked out the suit herself, but the cufflinks are something new.

"Did you get these from your dad?"

"Joel let me borrow them for today."

It's finally the day of the wedding, and as the ceremony isn't until the evening, the whole house is a kind of organized chaos from morning through the afternoon. As if your nerves weren't already on fire, Sarah had approached you early that morning (fortunately for her while you were drinking your coffee) and asked if you'd replace one of her bridesmaids who'd come down with a cold overnight and couldn't attend.

You'd reasoned with her that you didn't have a bridesmaid dress, but that was easily solved when it was revealed the bridesmaids were all wearing jewel tones, and the sapphire gown you'd purchased off the rack would do just fine.

You had anticipated being part of a crowd. Now you'd be at the front of the congregation, all eyes on you, especially Joel's.

Shaking yourself from your thoughts, you finish helping Ellie with her cufflinks and let her entertain you with whatever teenage thought is flipping around in her brain while you touch up your makeup.

"I'm supposed to meet with Sarah and the bridal party at the church. You can ride with me or you'll have to find a ride with someone else."

"Joel will take me."

You brush away some stray powder on your cheek. "Are you sure?"

"Maybe he could take both of us. Want me to ask him?"

"No--"

But she's gone before you can stop her.

You feel Joel's eyes on you as you during the short drive to the church, and you blame the heat you feel coursing through your body on the seat warmer.

"It's a nice thing you're doin' for Sarah, steppin' in at the last minute," he says, eyes finally on the road.

"I can't let down a bride in need," you say somewhat cheerfully. "She'd do the same for me."

"Maybe at your next wedding." Ellie pipes up from the backseat, and Joel's frown is not lost on you.

The lead-up to the actual ceremony is a blur, as it was at your own wedding fifteen years before. The bridal party clusters around Sarah, who looks radiant, as she promises she isn't nervous. You can sense her agitation in the way her knee bounces as she's seated, one of the bridesmaids doing a last minute touch up to her hair. The air is heavy with excitement, the scent of hair spray and perfume all around you, reminding you that you're flammable.

"Remember this day," you advise her, and she looks up at you with a grateful smile. "It goes by unbelievably fast."

You wonder if you'll ever have this again, the butterflies in your stomach as you wait for the moment when you see your man at the aisle, awaiting you. You were lucky to have it once. Twice would be an anomaly, considering you haven't had a real relationship in so long.

Joel knocks and, granted entrance, the bridesmaids flutter about, getting ready for their entrance into the church. The bride and her father are left alone, no doubt exchanging words of love before he gives her away to her true love.

You had no one to walk down the aisle with when you were a bride, and the memory threatens to cloud your mind as you take your small bouquet of white roses and camellias. "Canon in D" starts, and the line makes its way down the aisle, towards the altar where Theo and his groomsmen wait.

Situated at the altar, the congregation rises as the music changes, and Sarah walks in, arm in arm with Joel.

Your eyes are on him the entire time, and your heart feels to big to fit in your chest. You've never seen Joel in a suit, but this one is perfectly tailored to his broad, strong physique. His hair is perfectly styled, his grey visible through the curls you long to run your fingers through.

When Sarah and Theo exchange vows your gaze unexpectedly meet Joel's and this time neither of you look away. You catch the glimmer of a tear falling down his cheek, which he does not wipe away. The bride and groom's words seem to ring loud and true: a promise of love through hard times and illness; of love that only grows in each others' absence; of love that does not die even after death.

The reception is held at the Tipsy Bison, and you marvel at how it's managed to disguise itself once more from a saloon to an elegant wedding atmosphere. A lot of money has gone into the week's events, and you know it's all Joel's doing. He's giving away his daughter, sending her off in style, giving her a day she'll remember forever.

You watch Sarah and Joel during their father-daughter dance, a tradition you didn't get to have yourself. "I Loved Her First" by Heartland starts up by the band onstage, and it tugs on your heartstrings to watch them. In the back of your mind you see them, Joel still thirty-six and Sarah still fourteen. By the time Sarah and Theo have their first dance as husband and wife you're already in the ladies' room, splashing cold water on your face so no one can see you've been crying.

Later, the bridesmaids and groomsmen have scattered, dancing or drinking at the bar, mingling. You stay at your seat at the now nearly-empty wedding party table, fingers twirling the stem of your champagne glass.

Mired in your own thoughts, you don't realize Joel has approached, crouching next to you.

"Dance with me?" he asks, his voice nearly a rasp with how nervous he is.

Wordlessly you take his hand, which practically dwarfs your own, as he leads you to the dance floor. You fall into a rhythm as the band starts up "Tennessee Whiskey", swaying softly to the music. His right hand rests on your lower back, gently guiding you. Your heart pounds as you gaze into his eyes. You haven't been this close to him since the night you conceived Ellie, the fateful night that threw a wrench into all your plans.

"It was a beautiful wedding," you lean in close to be heard over the music.

Joel shivers at your proximity, the brush of your lips against his ear, and he pulls you a little closer. "I'm happy you came all this way for it. You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," you affirm, your hand gliding up to his shoulder.

The air is thick with tension, much like in the days you'd first met. You have to turn away or risk your feelings made known to everyone here.

Ellie's at one of the booths with the dark-haired girl from a couple days ago, watching something on her phone. As the girl laughs you see Ellie looking at her with a warmth you haven't known her capable of for anyone else.

"She's going to hate me for having to take her away again.." you tell him. "I haven't seen her this happy in a long time."

He clears his throat. "Maybe now she has a reason to return." He nods towards Ellie and her new friend.

Your limbs stiffen a little in response. You're not yet ready to think about the future, the possibilities it holds. You've barely begun to mend your friendship with Joel.

"Maybe," you relent, quietly, a promise made in the ether.

Joel's silent as the music moves smoothly in the air between you. His grip tightens on your body as he asks, "She's mine, ain't she?"

You snap from your thoughts, your heart in your throat as you stop dancing. "Excuse me?" Your eyes bore into him, daring him to speak the truth for himself.

"The other day you said 'our daughter'.. the timeline's right, I'm not that bad at math," he manages a smile.

"Joel, I.." you shake your head. "It's all too much. I can't think about this right now."

"Just tell me the truth," he says quietly.

"What would it matter if she was?"

"It'd make a whole hell of a difference. Two daughters, two Miller girls. Don't you think somethin' like that would make me happy?"

For a rare moment you let yourself think about the day your mother came to get you, pull you back home to Houston seeped in shame and regret. She'd lied and manipulated facts to get you on her side. You vowed you'd never be like her or put Ellie through that.

"Yes, Joel.." you whisper. "She's yours.."

The joy that shines in his eyes is like nothing you've ever seen before. When his arms wrap around you your lips find his as if twenty years has never passed between you. Right there, in the middle of the dance floor, you're making out like teenagers.

"I want you," he growls.

"Let's get out of here," you agree.

You're barely through the front door of his home when he presses you to the wall, his mouth hungry for yours. You hadn't thought you'd experience this level of passion again, but time has not diminished it for either of you.

"Joel," you moan as he presses himself to you, the blunt hardness of his erection teasing you. "Fuck me, Joel.."

He groans at your words, body aching with desire as he goes to his knees in front of you, lifting the hem of your dress. He presses messy kisses along your thighs while his hands roam over your hips and ass, his breath hot against your skin as he approaches the spot he most wants to taste again.

"Been too long, darlin'," he murmurs as he pulls your lacy underwear down your legs. "Been too damn long since I had you like this."

You kick your panties off, hooking one leg over his shoulder as he dives in, tongue lapping at your sweet pussy like a thirsty man finally finding water.

He stays there, tongue dancing between your folds and then tickling your clit, tasting you so deeply that you cry out, head falling back, body arched towards him, fingers tangled in his hair. Joel feasts like a man starved, slurping you up, inhaling your scent that surrounds him. There's nothing about you that's changed. You're still so sensitive to his touch, responsive to his lips, tongue, and now fingers pressed deep inside, finding the spot that makes you scream while his lips purse around your throbbing clit.

He doesn't stop after you come. He feasts on you over and over again, making up for lost time, pleading for your forgiveness this way, literally on his knees until you scream his name, convulsing around his fingers, your honey collecting on his large digits. Only when you feel completely boneless does he remove them gently, licking up your syrupy taste.

Joel picks you up, your dress falling back in to place as he carries you bridal style up to his room.

All roads have led back to him. No matter where you went, no matter who you chose, Joel was always going to be there at the end of the path, your guiding light, even when you thought you hated him and when you thought he would never choose you again.

Even now, his body over yours, he's the missing piece of the puzzle. He teases you with his cock until you beg him to just put it in, to make you whole again. The glorious slide of his flesh into yours causes you both to gasp and your bodies still for a moment, taking in the significance of this act which you've done so many times before.

He's older now, but his vigor is not gone. He fucks you gently at first, then with impatience, as if he's afraid you'll dissolve like a dream in daylight. You'd know the feel of his cock among any other, the smooth outline and the ridges, the way he's molded his perfect shape into you, marked you years ago when you were a virgin, as if leaving his initials inside you. Mine.

You've never had a man to match him, never had someone so in sync with your body. He knows all your buttons, every dip and valley that his hand caresses. He's mapped out your skin like a cartographer, claiming the land in his own name.

You come almost too quickly the first time, before he flips you on top of him, gripping your hips as you ride him. "Love you," you moan as you come close to the edge again, heart and soul flying ahead of you into the bliss you've only really known with him.

Beneath you Joel's eyes go wide when you come, his hips lifting up into you, warmth spilling into your core.

"Babygirl," he whispers, a choked grunt as he turns pale, his skin clammy and sweaty when he loses consciousness.

As soon as Sarah and Ellie arrive at the hospital you hug them, overcome with worry for Joel's medical emergency.

"How is he?" Sarah asks, still in her wedding dress. Even in the emergency waiting room she's generating a lot of interested looks her way.

"They just took him in a few minutes ago," you tell her, secretly glad she wasn't there to see her dad in such shape. "I think it was a heart attack.."

"Oh my god," she puts her hand over her mouth and sits on the nearest chair, Ellie right next to her, comforting her.

"The party's winding down at the bar," Ellie explains. "Only a few people know-- Theo, Tommy, Maria.."

"We didn't want to worry anyone else," Sarah adds.

You look at her, heart aching. This is supposed to be her special day.. and if something happens to Joel--

Don't think like that.

The three of you sit down, drinking stale coffee from the machine down the hall. Soon Tommy joins you, Theo staying at the house to keep an eye on Finn.

The worst thoughts poke through your brain, teasing you and taunting you. But at last the doctor comes out, a guy even younger than yourself, green scrubs and white coat.

He talks with the family, letting them know the diagnosis. "It was a silent myocardial infarction, basically a mild heart attack," he explains it. "He's going to be fine and he's resting right now."

"A heart attack?" Tommy and Sarah exclaim together.

"At his age it's not uncommon.. he's fifty-six years old," the doctor checks the chart. "Now, we have him on some aspirin and beta-blockers. Tests show he doesn't have enough blockage to necessitate surgery, but he'll need blood pressure medication and to keep a healthier lifestyle."

"Can we see him?" you ask.

"Yes, two at a time, preferably. We want to keep him calm while we're monitoring him." He checks the chart again and looks at you. "You brought him in, correct, ma'am?"

"Yes.. why?"

"What was Mr. Miller doing before he exhibited symptoms of his coronary event?"

"Um.. what?" you pretend not to understand.

"What was he doing before he had his heart attack?"

"Mild heart attack," Tommy emphasizes.

"Well.." you race to think of what to tell him.

"I take it you were celebrating a wedding," the doctor says, seeing Sarah in her dress and the rest of you in tuxes and gowns and whispers a 'Congratulations' to her.

"Yes. Well, we danced.." you answer, and the doctor keeps his eyes on you as if he knows you're lying.

You go up to him, giving a subtle whisper. "We were.. intimate--"

"Sexual relations," he nods, writing it on the chart. "It's important for us to know what was a causing factor in his event. Now, two at a time can visit him."

Tommy and Sarah go first. He gives you a sly wink. "Y'all were fuckin'!" he teases, passing by. Sarah gives you an excited smile, to which you just purse your lips.

It's quiet but for the bag of Lays Ellie has opened, eating the chips slowly. "So you and Joel?"

You nod.

"But not just tonight.. a long time ago, right?"

There's an odd sensation in your stomach, as if the unspoken truth is fluttering around inside, beating its wings as it tries to find a way out. "I guess there's a lot I need to tell you. But only when you're ready."

Ellie seems to steel herself for whatever conversation is on the way, nodding at last, crumpling up the bag and tossing it in the bin. "Ready."

Seeing Joel in the hospital bed is a sobering visual. Years ago your age gap represented something illicit, scandalous. Now you're reminded that no matter what road you and he take from here, you will most likely outlive Joel Miller.

He's awake when you and Ellie go in. It's obvious he doesn't like being here, but in his current state is not fit to complain.

"Hey," you say softly, going to his side. "How are you feeling?" You caress his cheek with the back of your hand.

Joel's eyes close at your delicate touch, and when he opens them there's a warmth in them that can't be denied. "I've been better, babygirl," he says. "But I'm damn glad you're here."

He glances at Ellie, seated in a chair on his other side. "And how about you, kiddo? You okay?"

"Am I okay?" she says incredulously. "Dude, I'm not the one in a hospital bed." But her face clearly shows relief that Joel's all right. You also see her brain working over everything you've told her (well, the gist of it.. there are some things she doesn't need to know).

"I was so worried," you tell him, your voice soft and warm, all your feelings coming to the forefront. "I thought I was gonna lose you."

Tears appear in Joel's eyes, which he brushes away impatiently. "You ain't losin' me yet, baby. Not for a long time, not if you don't want to."

"Joel.." you whisper. "Do you really want to do this? After everything that's happened.. all the hurt we put each other through.. all the secrets.." you cast a glance at Ellie, who looks more reserved than you've ever seen her before. Sensing this is a moment you want to share alone, she gives a fleeting smile before she leaves, giving Joel a playful mock hit on his shoulder. Still smiling, Joel pats the space beside him in the bed and you snuggle in with him, his body warm.

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Joel asks softly, eyes imploring you. "You're mine and I'm yours. That's how this thing of ours operates: you belong to me and I belong to you. Despite everything that's happened in the last twenty years, that's been the one constant." His hands grips yours, thumb running over your knuckles. "I don't care if I've got thirty years or thirty days left of my life. I wanna spend the rest of it with you, babygirl."

You search his eyes, seeing nothing there but the truth, laid bare and ready for you to either accept or deny.

He continues, "I don't wanna keep failin' you. I'm too much in love to let you go again." Then he gently lifts your chin, making sure you meet his eyes. "But only if you want me back."

Some would say you're on a precipice in the choice you're about to make, but it's not that difficult to choose. It's simply the separate paths you're on, converging at last. for good.

"You're the only one I've ever wanted," you whisper. It's not a fancy declaration of truth, a bit surprising coming from an English teacher, but it's the only thing Joel needs to hear before he pulls you close for another kiss.

Joel's released on Christmas Eve, and the two of you don't waste any time.

You and Joel are married in a small, intimate ceremony in the spacious living room of his home. Ellie, Sarah, Theo, Finn, Tommy, Maria, Sofia, Ruby, and even Bill and Frank are in attendance, watching as a judge from town and friend of the Millers officiates.

Joel promises you a nicer wedding when the frost thaws, anywhere you want in the world. You tell him you can't imagine a more perfect place to marry the most perfect man for you.

Your first wedding went by in a blur, but this time around you engrave it upon your heart, make note of every little skip of your heart when you and Joel hold hands, his delicate touch as he places a gorgeous sapphire ring on your hand, the sweetness of his lips when you share your first kiss as husband and wife.

After Christmas, Sarah and Theo leave for their honeymoon to Maui, and with the weather more agreeable the guests take leave too. Tommy sees to it that you and Joel have your house all to yourselves for your own honeymoon.

You insist on taking it easy with Joel, but he tells you he'd rather die while inside you, his name pouring from your lips the last thing he ever hears. He seems to get a second wind with you, making use of every possible flat surface in the house. You feel better about such activity when he takes his medication, promising to take it faithfully so long as you follow it with a kiss.

One morning after a particularly strenuous night, while drinking coffee in the kitchen and discussing your plans, Ellie returns, calling out to you before she enters.

"You're not doing anything gross in there, are you?"

"No," Joel laughs.

"Yes we are, we're working on making a sibling for you," you smirk over your coffee, glancing at Joel and giving a little shake of your head when his eyes go wide.

"Gross," she mutters, walking in. "Joel, Tommy says everyone's meeting at the Tipsy Bison for lunch later. But he couldn't get through to you on the phone." She makes a playful, pointed look, eyeing the two of you.

She's lukewarm to the idea of calling Joel 'Dad', and there's going to be some legal hoops to go through regarding Justin and his parental claim. But it all seems so small in comparison to the problems that plagued you before. You can get through anything because now you have each other.

You and Joel get ready as Ellie goes back to Tommy's, enjoying spending her time with Finn and getting ready to leave with them instead.

Unable to keep your hands off each other, it takes you twice as long to get dressed, hands going into each other's back pockets, lips finding each other's throats.

There's all the time in the world for it now.

Driving up to the Tipsy Bison, Joel turns on the radio. "Cherry, Cherry" starts to play, and you sing along with Neil Diamond, catching your husband's eye as he smiles and sings along too. The road before you is smooth, mountains standing guard in the distance, staying the same grand height no matter how far along you drive. Joel's hand finds yours, presses a kiss to it before entwining your fingers.

"Babe?"

"Yes, Mrs. Miller?"

You smile. "Let's not go right away. Let's drive around a little, play this song again, just soak in this moment."

"Of course, babygirl. I don't want to share you with the others just yet anyway."

Neil continues on the radio: No, we won't tell a soul where we gone to Girl, we do whatever we want to Ah, I love the way that you do me Cherry, babe, you really get to me

It's come full circle, and it only took two decades to complete. You and Joel in his truck, your song playing, the sun shining through the hazy clouds. You could close your eyes and it'd be 2003 again.

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

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[angelflms]

Cobra Kai has a tone-deaf problem.

Now, I am a Black woman so all of my observations are through the lenses of that. You can critique my words all you want, but don't be disrespectful because I will be equally as disrespectful in the replies.

I have this phenomenon that I've noticed for a lot of shows I have watched called The Leo Dooley effect, inspired by character from Lab Rats, where the main character, a POC who set the tone for the whole story, is surrounded by a white ensemble cast that slowly but surely pushes that character aside to serve their purpose.

Cobra Kai does the same thing with Miguel Diaz, as he seems to be the sole reason why any of these things on the show are happening (for better or for worse) and gets one of the worst character driven storylines throughout the series post-coma (I rewrote his story on my blog. Go find it under the Miguel or Xolo hashtags) to further make the show The Robby Show (we'll get into the tone-deaf writing of his character this past season in a minute). He becomes a shell of a character, empty, boring, and in the sidelines all up until the final season, where the writers seem to remember *snaps fingers* oh shit, Miguel's one of our protagonists, and writes an okay story for him. Better than his s5 plot, but not as good as the stuff we got in s1, 2, and the last half of 3 and 4.

Now, s6 has him in his true prime (not in the way people claimed he was in the past seasons). He's got a clear mind, he's goals-oriented, you wouldn't even be able to tell that this kid was paralyzed from the waist down a year ago (in-universe time). However, he's out-performing everyone, was single-handedly saving his team, and it wasn't even enough for Johnny. It was very interesting to watch as People of Color, especially Black and Brown people, tend to have to go above and beyond to prove that we're the shit, but it'll never amount to anything if our white associates (minus Devon in this case - more on her later) aren't doing anything. But the second they do, everyone is getting praised. Miguel knocked his opponent out in forty seconds. FORTY SECONDS. But because the team wasn't doing good overall, he got no attention. I know that feeling all too well and it sucks.

As much as I thought Johnny's "Miguel is our anchor" line was powerful, it also didn't at the same time. The Magical Negro is such an annoying stereotype, as well as the Strong Black Woman/Man, and the Brown and Asian variations that come with it.

Miguel is the Brown equivalent of the Magical Negro, trying to tell the white Johnny what's right and wrong. Teaching him what's okay to say and what's not, despite Johnny being grown enough to probably understand shit on his own. He basically is teaching Johnny in a sense despite the fact that it should be the other way around. And I know that's a typical mentor/mentee thing trope but with how the show goes out of its way to show how self aware of modern problems it is, it's hella tone-deaf.

In terms of the Strong Black Man trope (or in this case Brown), Miguel isn't always strong. He breaks down and cries pretty often but it's viewed by the fandom as annoying, weak, and pathetic, as well as not manly which pisses me all the way off because every time he gets emotional, it's with valid reason. Losing his girlfriend (both times), finding out he's paralyzed, apologizing for running away, his mom possibly dying, not getting into Stanford (tho this would've had more of a punch if Stanford actually mattered but it doesn't whatever). Also, he's a 16/17 year old Brown kid in poverty who was embarrassingly bullied MULTIPLE TIMES. You're telling me you didn't cry as a kid? But when Robby cries every once in a while (which is also equally as valid because he was also a kid in poverty who was bullied), everyone holds his hand and says "it's okay."

"He's our anchor." It just sounds so off to me. Like has to be the one to help everyone else, when you have two Captains who can do the exact same thing. We as POCs have to be the ones to hold down the fort and keep things steady on our backs while white people can settle for mediocrity and not have to do to much because "hey, the POCs got us." It's just like that "if you're in danger, find a Black woman" thing. Because we're expected to be the ones to save y'all when y'all are in trouble. But when the roles reverse, we're expected to save ourselves because we're strong. Y'all don't like it when Miguel isn't emotionally or physically tough because y'all expect him to push through since he's the main character, but it also feels like he's expected to push through because he's a Brown boy in poverty so he's been through enough.

Tory's "we have to fight to get a spot in life" speech was well performed by Peyton List but it felt strange to see a white woman explain privilege to a Brown boy who has less privilege in comparison to her. I have always had a problem with that scene and I never won't have an issue with it.

Moving on to Kenny. Kenny is the only Black character of current time to be in the ensemble. Aisha was on the show but left ofc. Kenny, like Miguel was brutally picked on, primarily by white kids, especially by white rich boy Anthony LaRusso. In the fandom Anthony tends to be the more favored overall. Kenny is primarily favored on the Black side of the fandom (much like Miguel). Similar to Miguel, there was a moment in s6 part two that may have not been intentional but in my eyes, felt very racially targeted.

Hawk and Demetri were very skeptical towards Kenny because they assumed that he was working with Silver despite the fact that Kenny didn't even want to do the Sekai Tekai to begin with after he became publicly bullied again. During a round of tag-teamed fighting, the boys refused to let Kenny in, causing them to lose the round due to Robby not being prepared to be tagged in (he thought they were gonna tag Kenny). Kenny gets mad, rightfully so but the boys didn't back down on their theory (the only reason this theory was even a thing was because they say Kenny and Silver talking and assumed the worst). It took the team's "anchor" to give Robby a pep talk to lead and the others will follow (you know, something a Captain should already know) for Kenny to get the attention he deserves. And then Hawk and Demetri finally accept Kenny. All because the white guy said "hey, we should tag him in."

That sounds so off in so many ways.

It wasn't intentional, I know. But the fact that this was something that happened and the boys didn't even apologize to Kenny after for the assumptions they made only furthers my point on how tone deaf this show can get. Amanda, Miguel, and Robby are literally the only people who see Kenny as more than just a Silver puppet and it sucks because Hawk and Demetri were in the same spot as Kenny once upon a time.

And then there's Devon, the overworking, overwhelmed Asian girlie who tries her hardest to seek validation and gets overlooked. Similar to Miguel in this new part, Devon got ignored badly in the first part. It was so bad that she cheated to get into the Sekai Tekai and got her ass handed to her. And like Miguel, it takes her to have to explain to her white sensei that she's being ignored for him for her to be taken seriously. She's not the best fighter by any means but I thought we were done with this Asian stereotype years ago. And the way Sam talked to her after literally celebrating her victory with all smiles and everything in the first part??? Like it felt so fake as hell.

Finally, Robby. Robby is written well, we all know that. But this shit that they did to him in the second part pissed me off, especially since it's not gonna get addressed apparently. So Robby gets drunk at a bar and basically follows Zara back to her hotel room. Next time we see them, he's disoriented, and she's kissing him. I'm sorry, but that's sexual assault, yes? Robby was drunk and didn't remember anything. So that's her taking advantage of him, yes? Well the creator apparently doesn't think so and is saying that Robby made a mistake and that the interaction won't be talked about next part.

Bitch, Robby is a VICTIM.

Zara sexually assaulted him. Just because he's a man doesn't change the fact that the man got taken advantage of by Zara.

Like did we watch the same scene?

This show has so many problems and I feel like since it's a show about fighting no one cares. But as a Black woman, I see this shit and in between the lines, there's so many issues that won't even get fixed because the show is over.

[paperstarwriters]

Sorry for the light mode lmao

Anyways I was going to respond to this in a comment saying—and I quote "💕💕💕💕 Idk If I'd be able to actually write a fic from this but it really just scratches the good itch in my brain lmao like—" and then proceeded to basically write TWO small drabbles in the comments lmaooo

anyways it was getting too long for that so I'm just gonna put it into a reblog.

But like imagine you're running away from base—maybe it's to goof off or maybe it's to avoid all the trouble that's going on. Maybe you want to prove yourself capable, or maybe you got into an argument and stormed off believing no one would follow. Whatever the case, you've left the base, and Optimus took notice. He hunts you down, searching for you discretely in his alt-mode in your favorite populated areas, and transforming to get a better view in your favorite but less populated spots. He's doing this to protect you, he argues to himself, turning over every stone, nearly decimating entire buildings as he feverishly looks for you. You could be caught by Decepticons, you could be harassed by some lot of unsavory criminals, it was getting late—where were you???

The moment he finds you of course, he's running over to you, eager to see that you're okay, eager to make sure you're protected and safe. Eager to see you.

It doesn't stop the slight terror he imposes, when his head swivels to turn to you, blue lights gleaming as they've caught their target, and the thundering footsteps of someone approaching breaks your initial silence. Under the shadow, you can't tell if he's mad.

Under the shadow, you can't tell if that's a bad thing.

Oooooorrrr—

maybe this is you goofing off! One of many pictures taken after you had been trying to take a picture of the sunset, and curiously, Optimus peered into the frame, shadowed from the setting sun, but blue eyes still gleaming curiously as he tried to assess what you were doing. It makes him look like some sort of weird cryptid—like one of those shitty pictures of mothman, and all too eagerly you lean into the idea of it. After all, this wasn't tangible evidence of his face and existence in your possession, you could easily pass it off as a collection of weird cryptid sightings you've had should it ever put you or him in any danger, and if you had kiss-marks over the printed pictures, well hey, some people wanted to fuck mothman, why couldn't you simp for your own "freshly discovered" cryptid? So you take more pictures of him, revealing your master plan of pretending he's some janky silly creature of folklore, that few would take seriously just so you could have pictures of him on your person. He's confused but interested, and you vow to find and share stories of the modern folklore of the area, but he agrees to participate in your pictures, letting you snap a few pictures that teeter the line of creepy, and yet look nothing but pretty and adorable on his features.

As the sun sets further, you catch one picture where the dying light paints his face gold as he stares towards it, a beautiful contrast to his blue optics looking almost honey soft, in the orange-y light and for the first time you get a picture that shows his face, distorted only by the glowing light, but identifiable to a keen eye. All too suddenly, you're struck with the urge to find and collect many more pictures of him, to drag him out with you to enjoy the sunset, if only to see that face—that expression again.

And all too soon, the sun sets, and In the darkness of the growing night you can hardly see his silhouette against the surrounding darkness, just two twin spheres of blue, looking almost like some UFO in the sky through the pixelated screen of your camera. You still take the picture, you still giggle at the sight, but you make the mental note to figure out more ways to take and keep pictures of this ever stoic bot.

Optimus, on the other hand, is all to delighted at the attention you douse him in, in the delight you express at the ability to keep a picture of him for yourself. His fingers almost twitch at the urge to do the same, to have you captured in a picture so that he might have your likeness when ever you stray away from him. For work or to return home or whatever, something to ease the ache of your absence. For now though, engraving the image into his processor will be sufficient.

I touched grass a few weeks ago and while aggressively and illegally speeding through highways like Blurr (for legal reasons this is a joke), I snapped an ✨ aesthetic ✨ sunset pic. But the vibes were giving OG Bayverse, heavy 2007 vibes, like BIG TIME, so I edited Optimus in there cuz why the fuck not? 🌚

(Edit: some ppl said it looked creepy and I kinda see it now so I added eyes to make it creepier. I like it the creepiness, it’s a vibe wtf?)

[auroracalisto]

Hey can you do a fiyero x reader where the reader is afraid of being vulnerable and he helps them?

yes, superfartninja, i think i can.

to be changed.

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 3.4k words summary: to be vulnerable meant to be defenseless. it was a liability and that's all it ever would be. fiyero couldn't have that, now could he? a/n: please remember that i only have movie knowledge, so this will be based solely on what i saw in the movie. :P also, shout outs to house song by searows (was on repeat for this fic). erm. this kind of got away from me. i started it was 12 AM and now it's nearly 2 AM. hope it's coherent.

It wasn't like you to be vulnerable. It just didn't happen. It was like... asking a fish or an elephant to climb a tree, or some other weird analogy that you heard oh-so-long ago, when vulnerability aged you more than it helped.

To be vulnerable meant to be hurt. To be ridiculed, to be laughed at, to be made a fool in front of anyone who cared to look your way. It was something that you knew was not needed. You would be fine living by yourself. You came into this world alone and screaming, and you would leave this world the same way.

If you cut out the wound before it began to fester, you solved the problem immediately. Or so they say.

So that's what you did, long ago, when you swore to yourself that the pain you felt would be the very last time. It would never happen again. It couldn't happen again.

Oh, Oz, it couldn't. Your heart couldn't take it.

What was left of your heart, anyway. Sometimes you feared you no longer had one, especially when you feared the pain that would haunt you if someone else came along and made you feel that way again.

It's not that you were afraid. No, fear of being vulnerable was foolish. At least... you believed that you weren't afraid of being vulnerable.

Perhaps that was an act of foolishness in itself. Pretending that you weren't afraid. Pretending that having few friends and few moments of happiness didn't pierce your heart with every passing second.

Perhaps you needed to be better. To be vulnerable, to swear off that silly promise you made to yourself so many years ago.

But it was so difficult.

Being vulnerable was to be in pain. To be lost to a world of sorrow. To be... hurt by the very thing you swore you'd never be hurt by again.

It wouldn't happen.

You wouldn't let it.

He existed in the back of your mind. His beautiful brown eyes, the way those pretty locks fell in front of his eyes when he actually studied his books (if he ever did, of course).

When was the last time he actually tried...? No. You couldn't think of him like that. Too much thinking about his pretty face would ruin you.

You had only talked to him a few times here and there, and the first time was to merely ask him to move out of the way. He took up quite a lot of space—or at least, maybe it was his confidence. It oozed from him like an air of upmost superiority.

No...

You were just being cruel. He was just standing in the way, out of breath from singing to Galinda in the library (because of course—who didn't sing to pretty girls in libraries anymore?).

The second time you spoke to him was over the essay you had to write in your literature class. Peer reviews were the bane of your existence, and this essay, because of course it did, had a simple prompt in response to one of your readings: Taking into account the author's sheer disdain for the idea of magic, write what you believe Oz would be like without magic.

Thought-provoking, yes. You wrote a decent two pages, handwritten of course.

He gave you a paragraph.

If the world of Oz existed without magic, perhaps we would all be better off. No more bickering over the usages of it all, no more idiosyncrasies, no more debates on whether you are intelligent or mediocre if you hadn't the ability to wave a wand or utter a simple spell. If we didn't have magic, perhaps life would be far more difficult, but I also feel as if we should see what it would be like. Maybe there would be less heartbreak. More happiness to go around.

Okay. A piss-poor paragraph that made you wonder how he was even passing Madame Lillabet's literature class.

Maybe he wasn't.

You didn't feel pity for the man—nobility had the ability to do so many things that you would only ever dream of. Why should you feel pity—vulnerability—for a man you didn't know, let alone understood?

Oz, even now, his essay haunted you. You did your best with your review, pointing out the obvious things missing—a decent thesis, body paragraphs that proved his thesis, and just in general, an entire essay that was expected of the entire class.

He merely read over your essay and made one simple comment: Excellent.

Oh, yes, excellent. It was excellent to know that he was just trying to help your essay, yes? Leaving that little comment, even though you didn't make full marks—how was it supposed to help you?

Pity be damned. He was a fool, through and through.

Things muddled in your mind like they often did. Thoughts racing, heartbeat close behind the quick pace.

If you had magic, you'd be sure to quell it.

These thoughts were the one thing that you wished you could squash under the heel of your boot. They were the bane of your existence, the utterance of a foolhardy penance to the god of whatever looked down upon you and wished for pain.

Perhaps that was what was meant for you.

A life of pain—of pity from others, of the amenability to be swayed by those around you even when you tried, desperately, to stay away from those who may catch your attention.

Like him.

Oh, Oz, just like him.

Fiyero.

The man who'd lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders. The man who once told you in passing that if he hadn't a brain, perhaps classes would be easier—then he wouldn't truly be all there, and he'd easily get around the... well, specifics of it all. The man whom you felt tugging at your heartstrings, even when you told yourself no.

It would not happen.

It could not happen.

You would not let it.

In typical, terrible luck fashion, you found yourself wandering the halls of Shiz late at night, unable to sleep. The thoughts racing through your head of so many things, not just him (although they kept leading back to the fool), they just weren't stopping.

An exam was to be held tomorrow. Perhaps you could create a distraction—keep the professors from being able to do as they needed. There were a box of fireworks hidden in one of the many corridor closets, kept for special occasion. You could whip a few of them out and create so much chaos that they'd surely have to cancel the exam!

You leaned against the railing, looking down at the stonework of Shiz's courtyard. A chill ran down your spine from the cold breeze, and for once, all was silent if only for a moment.

His voice brought you out from your thoughts.

"Y/n," he said, an obvious smile playing at his lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut and glanced back at him. Without saying a word, you acknowledged him.

"Doesn't look like your dorm," he continued. "What are you doing out here, all alone?"

"Thinking."

His eyebrow quirked. "Thinking? Oh," he softly hummed, coming to stand beside of you. "Well, that's no fun, now is it? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

He snorted softly. "You're thinking about... nothing?"

"Whatever I'm thinking is none of your business," you retorted.

He stared you down for a moment, tilting his head curiously. He hummed again and looked out at where you had been staring moments prior.

"You are right," he softly said, voice much quieter this time. "Let me lead you back to your room. We have an exam tomorrow, remember? You at least need to pretend to sleep."

You paused. Since when did he care about exams? You glanced at him, fighting the urge to question him. You let out a soft sigh and shrugged, allowing him to lead you to your dorm.

The walk was quiet, and you almost questioned how he knew where your dorm was, but you didn't. He seemed to pay attention better than most (it was part of that aloofness, you've noticed), and it wasn't the first time he had seen you near your dorm.

It was at least the third. The number had to be easy to memorize by now. 133.

As you opened your door, Fiyero spoke. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous thing for you, isn't it?" you quipped, not looking at him as you stepped inside.

He let out a soft chuckle. You amused him to no end.

"Yes, perhaps," he softly said. "But besides. I was still thinking. I've been... well, wondering if perhaps you would—"

"—no."

He blinked slowly. "What? No? Y/n, you didn't even hear what I had to say—"

"—the answer is still no," you said. You glanced up at him from the spot you had been staring at, frowning. "I don't know what this is, but we are not friends. Do not ask me for favors."

"Not friends, hm?" he softly hummed, leaning against the doorway as he locked eyes with you. So knowing your dorm number was just a fluke.

"Not friends. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably go and pretend to sleep."

His upper lip quirked in a faint smirk. Not friends, but you still joked with him as a friend would do. He rolled his eyes and gave you a rather joking half-bow.

"Of course," he said. "Do not let me keep you up. Perhaps I should find my dorm as well."

"You should do that," you simply said, shutting the door right after.

You didn't give him a chance to say anything else, quickly locking the door and heading back to your bed.

Heart pounding, mind still racing, but not with the thoughts of earlier. No, dear reader, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

So impressionable, so—so kind, so—well, was he really kind?

To you.

He was kind to you.

Nearly a week passed you by. The exam went rather well, without any kind of distraction. Passing marks and a somewhat decent night sleep.

You do everything you can to try and avoid Fiyero. Running this way and that, going through all of the longer corridors instead of the shortcuts you knew by heart. You did everything you could to avoid his handsome face.

You did everything you could to avoid the vulnerability that plagued your heart every time you thought of him.

If you simply embraced the wants of Fiyero, perhaps not having a brain would keep you from thinking this way. You'd still have a heart, sure, but it was much better than keeping yourself on your toes wondering if you'd see the damned man at any passing second.

On the hour of the rising moon, almost exactly on the dot, Fiyero spotted you. And this time, you were not evading him.

He practically took off after you, leaving his friends behind. They scoffed and called after him, but he didn't look back. His focus was on you.

He grabbed onto your wrist as you went to leave, not letting you go.

"Y/n! There you are," he softly said. "I have been looking everywhere for you. I wouldn't have thought it would be so difficult to find you, but—"

"—there you go, thinking again," you blurted, unable to stop yourself. Your tongue was wagging faster than your brain was working.

He weakly smiled. "Yes. I know. How ironic, hm?"

You watched as he stared you down.

"Look," he softly began. "I truly—I do not know what I did to deserve you ignoring me at any which way, but I wish you would tell me why. What did I do, Y/n? I thought—well, I assumed that we were friends, but perhaps I was wrong. I find myself wrong quite often nowadays."

"I—well, Fiyero, I—" you paused. You squeezed your eyes shut and inhaled a deep breath. "I don't have friends."

He blinked slowly. "You don't have friends? What of the one girl you were with the other day? Milla?"

"I do not have friends," you repeated. "I have... acquaintances. People I do not get attached to."

"That is sad."

"What?"

He raised an eyebrow. It seemed like a commonality when he spoke with you. The staple eyebrow raise had to happen or else he wasn't really chatting with you.

"It is sad. Why wouldn't you want to get attached to people?"

"I don't want to have meaningless relationships," you said. You avoided saying, I don't want to have relationships at all. "Not everyone can be as friendly as you, Fiyero."

He rolled his eyes. "Friendly. Yes. I talk to people, but I would rather not have all the attention that I do."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "You play the popular little prince and then claim you do not want it? What is that, Fiyero?"

Fiyero pursed his lips. "It is just—this is not a conversation about me. I wanted to have an intervention for you since you seemed as though you were avoiding me every which way. Now. Just—"

"—an intervention? What? Please. You sound ridiculous."

"So do you!" he returned, hands to his hips like an older man scolding a child for something they broke. "You vex me, Y/n! You act as if you are interested in me, then run away hiding like a scared little pup. You act as if you are afraid to get close to anyone."

You stared at him, lips parted ever-so-slightly. But it was enough. You were done for.

He let out a curt laugh. "You are."

"What?"

"You are. Scared. I can see it in you. You listen to what I have to say, even when the others don't. I've made an effort to pay attention to you. To see what you—"

"—Fiyero, stop."

"Do not tell me to stop, Y/n," he said, voice low with conviction. "Not now. Not when I've finally figured you out. You are scared. But of what? Being close to someone? Having a friend?"

You frowned. "I am not scared—"

"—you look at me like if I were to touch you, you'd melt."

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"I can see it in your eyes, Y/n," he said, not looking away. He held eye contact with you and hoped that you would continue to do the same. "You—you're scared. To open your heart to the people around you."

You frowned, again. It was perpetual anymore. "And you're a sad man who dances and pretends everything is fine because Galinda said you looked pretty one day."

He blinked slowly, a smile quirking on his lips. "Maybe. But this—this isn't about me, Y/n. This is about you."

"What even is this? I didn't agree to have you psychoanalyze everything I've ever done."

"Neither did I, yet here we are," he said. "I've had a lot of time to think, to mull it over, and I know it. I know it now. You are scared. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know who hurt you in your past, or if something tragic happened to make you so cold inside, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with being... with being vulnerable, Y/n. There's something... magical, even, about opening up to others."

"Oh, and you would know, wouldn't you?"

He frowned. "Y/n—"

"—no. Absolutely not. You do not get to sit there and ridicule me for not wanting to be close to people and then not take what I give you," you said. "You do not let anyone close to you. Sure, Galinda, but what does she know about you? Does she know how you half-ass everything? How you hardly even talk to your 'friends' and just let them float along with you like everything is fine and dandy? You're as sad as I am, if that's what you're trying to say. Don't try to fool yourself."

"I am not trying to fool myself," he softly said. "I am only trying to make it known that I see you. I see myself in you."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "The rich, popular boy sees himself in little ol' me. That's perfect."

"Y/n—"

"—no. Don't. Stop. Just. I don't want to talk to you anymore. We're not friends. We never were friends. Just leave me alone."

It's simple, but it shuts him down. And with that, you run from his side, rushing to hide away in your dorm.

You couldn't believe what you did. Blowing up at him instead of listening to what he had to say. He read you like the children's book your heart truly was—while everyone else focused on the words, he focused on the pictures. The minute details that seemed to pass by everyone's mind because the story was flowing far too quickly.

He saw the delicate brush strokes, the intricate colors, the pieces of you that the words did not show.

He knew you.

And it scared you.

Only you knew yourself. If anyone else were to know who you were, deep inside, well, that would be disastrous.

It couldn't happen.

You couldn't let it.

Fear.

Perhaps fear was the best way to describe the way you felt.

You sat by the edge of the lake in the forest just beyond Shiz's campus, fingers gently brushing against the water. The surface rippled, sending small waves to the end of the shore.

You were afraid.

Of what?

Of a man knowing you?

Of Fiyero knowing you better than even your family once knew you?

You sat there, thoughts racing through your mind. It was as if you couldn't avoid them anymore.

Days had passed since you blew up at Fiyero and ran. You couldn't avoid him forever, you knew that, but it seemed as if your thoughts believed the same.

Tears pricked at your eyes. The warm, salty tears began to fall before you could even try to stop them, and a soft sob bubbled at the back of your throat.

"Y/n?"

Shit.

You quickly wiped your tears away and looked back at him—at Fiyero. But your tears wouldn't stop. A soft sob rippled through you and you turned your head away.

Fiyero came to your side, kneeling down in the soft earth beside of you. He inwardly grimaced at the dirt, but he said nothing of it. He'd bathe in mud if it meant you would stop your tears.

He reached forward, gently placing a hand to your cheek. He turned your head to face him.

"Y/n," he softly said. "It's alright. You... you're alright."

Another sob.

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him. You didn't pull away, melting into his embrace as he said you would before. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, situating himself so he would be more comfortable near you.

He softly hummed a soft tune—you remembered it. The one thing he hummed quite often when you caught him alone, or trying to focus on his school work.

Dancing through life, skimming the surface... Life's more painless for the brainless.

He was just a sad boy with needs of his own, much like you were scared of being seen. Of being known.

Of being loved.

Oh. Oh, that's what it was.

It terrified you to no end.

Fiyero pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands.

"What's got you so upset, love?" he softly asked, wiping your tears away gently with his thumbs.

You shook your head. "I... later," you mumbled. You leaned into his grasp, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes soften.

He released a soft, shaky sigh of his own, before he pulled you back into his arms. He'd hold you until the end of the world if that's what you needed him to do.

Being vulnerable—it was the one thing you had told yourself you would never do. Ever again. And here you were, letting this man hold you and practically lull you into a calmness you'd never felt before.

Is this what it felt like? To be... weak? To be... frail?

No.

Vulnerability... it didn't mean that.

It meant that you were... open. That you had managed to open your heart to a more... malleable form.

To be changed.

To find the one thing in life that you knew would keep you going for as long as it could.

To be vulnerable meant to be loved.

[the-superoriginal]

It's a tic

A/N: Maked Bucky a neighbour, because I thought it would just make the most sense and sprinkled a tiny bit of Angst in it. I really hope you like it through, dear Anon!

Request: Hey....... Do you think you can write a Bucky Barnes x reader, with the reader having tics or a tic disorder like tourettes? Preferably motor tics, like jerking of the head or winking the eyes, but it's your pick of course. I've got a lot of painful tics like those but I can't never find any accurate fics.... Everyone seems to think tourettes is just swearing all the time without meaning too, but it's really not just that.......

English is not my native language!

You were friends with your neighbour Bucky Barnes since a while. To be more accurate, since he moved into the apartment opposite the one you lived in. You weren't even sure anymore how this friendship happened, but it did. The only thing? You hadn't had a tic in front of him yet which actually was quite surprising considering how often you had spend time together. And you hadn't had the courage to tell him about it. Or, well, it actually wasn't about courage but rather the fear that it might change his view of you. What if that was too much for him?

Nonethelessly you knocked on his door after coming from school, your backpack still strapped to your shoulders. "Bucky? It's me.", you called a moment afterwards, just in case. The man had dissappeared the last three days to God knows where. So you weren't totally sure if he was even there.

Your head jerked a bit.

Just a few seconds afterwards his door opened through and you smiled nearly automatically. "Hi, Bucky." His short brown hair was slightly disheveled and the skin around his left eye was slightly darker, you noticed afterwards. He got into a fight.

"Hey.", he opened the door more so you could come in, a small smile making it's way on his face too. The super soldier smiled nearly all the time when you two saw each other the first time the day. According to Sam - who you had meet roughly a week ago - that was a change to his usual 'grumpy staring'. You had no idea if Bucky really was like that when he wasn't around you, but that wasn't your business anyways, right? You took his silent invitation and walked in, setting your backpack to the side. "What happened to your face?"

Bucky closed the door, mentally cursing that you had to ask that. Even if he understood why and amusement glinted in his eyes. "You are too young for that story."

Your mouth falled open, the protest already sitting on the tip of your tongue. But the adult just gave you a amused look that said you should just let it be and you only mumbled a quiet, "I am not..."

Bucky shook his head faintly with a smirk before walking past you and towards his kitchen. "Juice?"

You let yourself fall onto his couch, slipping your shoes off with a quiet, relieved sigh and closed your eyes. "Yes, please." That was better. You were sure you would get blister if you would have needed to walk just one step further.

Your head jerked again.

"You okay?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin, heart thumping harder in your ribcage in anxiety and shock. What should you do now? Tell him? Lie?

"Eh... Yes.", you swallowed, mentally reminding yourself that this was Bucky. You could tell him. There wouldn't be a better opportunity than now, right? And he wouldn't just kick you out, correct? "It's... It's just a tic. A motor tic disorder... thing, that I have.", you then got out.

Bucky processed the words, you could see it, then he smiled lightly. It was reassuring and gentle and it soothed a lot of your anxiety and tension. The adult sat down beside you, handing you the glass of juice. "So, what exactly are your tics? Only the jerking of the head?"

[howly]

headcanon: the boring perfect self control vampire bella thinks she has is a LIE and at one point she caught human scent mid-hunt and snapped. it made her so wild she had to be restrained to the point where things got ugly

i know edward would never dare to do it and meyer would never dare write it and in canon newborn vamp bella would be far stronger than him...

actually. you know who would be stronger than one young vampire? two old vampires. and who would act practical in a critical situation? emmett

imagine edward and bella heading out for a hunt and emmett being like "do you guys mind if i tag along? i feel like snacking". bella's a little mad at the prospect of suddenly having a third wheel (homegirl wasn't planning on just. hunting) but alice gets a weird hunch and goes "no, no, em should go with you" ok nostradamus. he's going.

fast forward they're in the mountain. bella finds having emmett third-wheeling is not half bad. in emmett's head, lowkey it's bella who's the third wheel after so many decades of him hunting together with edward. but nevertheless, it's so fun with her around. all is good until they catch the scent of an entire group of friends hiking just a couple of miles from here, away from all civilization. emmett and edward stop in their tracks, ready to turn around. bella, her guard down, loses it and stars running towards the group, so they have no choice but to charge at her. while strugging to keep her in place, they try to talk her down but she doesn't listen. she doesn't care, she's strong enough to fight them off, and she fights and claws and hisses and breaks bones of whoever gets in her way because there are so many pulses just a few minutes' run away from her and their scent is so sweet and burning and calling, calling, calling to her

while struggling to restrain her, emmett grunts "we have to disarm her". edward catches the image in his head and shouts "no! you can't literally disarm bella!". well, how the hell do you expect us to stop her from massacring all those hikers? we'll just put her back together afterwards. duh!, emmett thinks, and knows he has to act fast so he goes in while bella's busy yanking away from edward's grip and tears off a limb. or two. all 3 of them may or may not be screaming.

a few moments later edward's pinning bella to the ground, holding her face between his palms, forcing her to look at him. her thrashing is not so effective with limited body parts. part of him wants to yell at emmett but that's kind of low priority. he's holding on to the last of his composure while he looks down at bella's feral expression and chants 'baby. i'm so sorry but i'll give you your leg back after you calm down a bit. i won't be able to outrun you if you go chasing after those people now. please calm down. i love you. hold your breath'

just then she listens, stops breathing and her vision refocuses. for the first time she realizes she was on her way to slaughter a bunch of strangers and she broke the arm of the man she loves at least three times when he tried to stop her. she wants to open her mouth and apologize but that will require her to breathe and possibly go crazy with thirst again. so she stares back at edward's panicked eyes and nods at him, her own red eyes just as full of terror.

then she looks over his shoulder and sees emmett waving her severed leg in the air like it's a baseball bat. "hey, did you know that rose wears the same shoe size?"

[sofiadragon]

I do like Jewish Snape or Jewish ancestry Snape when I see it in fanfiction. I've seen several takes on it and I think it adds a lot of nuance. There should be more diversity in mainstream fiction so let's inject it where it makes sense, and for better or worse JKR did write him with those traits. (I even read one that strayed a little too far into bashing for my taste where Mr. Evans tells Severus flat out he'll never have permission to date his daughters because his father is a Jew, and that was the first big crack in their friendship - which made them both a little racist which I suppose evens the scales a bit.)

Prince is a very western name, but in the fannon spaces that got me into those ideas, it was his mother's ancestry that gave him his coloration and his hair in particular was that thick Asian or Romani texture.

Also, for what it is worth, my great-grandfather was born with the given name Slavi and a surname that is essentially (but not exactly for privacy reason) RomaniDude. When he moved out of the way of the advancing WWI armies in a hurry, he became Steve Rodgers (again changing the surname slightly to one that's functionally the same.) He kept his initials but now sounded like he wasn't a foreigner... aside from sounding exactly like Boris Badenoff from the Rockey and Bullwinkle cartoon when he spoke. That sort of thing is less likely for upper class people, of course, though he was a chemist with more money than most who were running for the hills with only the clothes on their backs at the time. I have been told anecdotally during my dabbling in genealogy that Prince is a common way to anglicize certain names for Russian immigrants.

However, all this is from a US American viewpoint, so the name change conventions for people who didn't use this alphabet in their home country were probably different in England. I checked out the other post later the same day I queued the above post, and it's rock solid theory craft. Love that even Severus' first name fits.

Harry Potter, a first year with bad eyesight and an old lens prescription, who, so far, has only seen Snape from far in the Great Hall, and from close in the dark dungeon, sees him outside in the sunlight for the first time, and realizes that his hair, and eyes, are in fact brown (because — let’s be honest — Snape is a pasty-white British man). This is a shit-post, by the way.

That being said, I am going to keep drawing him with black hair and black eyes.

[neverpathia]

you, my good sir, are a gem 💞💞💞 love all your stuff 🩷 any thoughts on how a smittunist meeting/conversation would go if they meet on or after happily ever after?

WAHOO and i know this probably isn't exactly a writing request but here's a funny thing, i actually kind of had a scenario like this in mind, and i was kind of thinking about writing it out and posting it when this ask came in! so i might as well just kill two birds with one stone (heh) and answer this request while writing out that excerpt here mwahah

sigh. have i said that romance wasn't really my thing? perhaps fortunately for you all, I may have lied.

so this came out a little more shippy than intended, and it's a bit long so I'm sorry if it gets boring, and it's kinda ooc but it is what it is I guess

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What had he done wrong?

What had he done wrong? What had he done wrong?

What had he done wrong, what had he done wrong, what had he done wrong what-had-he-done-wrong what-had-he-done-wrong? The finest garments a Princess could ever have been clad in. The most lavish settings a Princess could ever have stepped into. The best meals, the best games, the best of everything that she could ever have asked for. It was perfect. All of it ought to be perfect.

The Smitten had given her everything, but for that, he had been reduced to nothing.

Less than nothing.

Because 'nothing' at least required a 'something' to define it, and she was supposed to be his 'something'. Once upon a time, she had been his 'everything', and she would have remained so for all of eternity. It was their happily ever after. Everything would have been bliss. Perfection. The last chapter of their story; the closure they had been offered once and for all.

But there was the Princess, and there was the rest of them—the rest of him—dancing under the starlit sky he had shunned so. Dirt beneath their feet, grass-blades scraping the skin of their legs.

And here he was, trapped in the cabin. The torches no longer burned and only the dark was left. He, too, was the dark now. He was one with the bleak nothingness inside, left to rot away as they pranced and laughed.

They all no longer required him. Perhaps they never had in the first place.

So he watched them dance as he faded, because it was the only thing left to do. Their movements were graceful, elegant, and so natural. There was something about it that his 'grand paradise' had so plainly lacked. He couldn't comprehend it. It lay beyond raw passion, beyond what he thought was-

"May I have this dance?"

Something, someone had entered the cabin. Someone familiar. Like that other heroic voice, or like the Smitten himself; he was a semi-corporeal shadowy echo floating just as he did. He seemed to know him, though he didn't recall meeting him. This one was wily and devious. He shouldn't have liked him.

Yet he felt inexplicably drawn to him, like they were meant to be one. He could tell that he had been a piece of the Decider, the Hero. They both had. And the Smitten had felt the same pull at the banquets and games, but it had been resisted for all their sakes. How had it not been enough? How had it not been enough?

"Why have you come?" The Smitten's voice, once reserved only for the Princess's ears, came out far too hoarse. "Leave me be. Allow me to decay in solitude."

The other one, the Opportunist, cocked his head. "Hm, no, I don't think so."

Before the Smitten could respond, the Opportunist grabbed his hand and yanked him back onto the grand carpets. He pushed him—pulled him—twirled him around—

"Begone." The Smitten, weakened as he was, could only manage a low angry murmur. "I did this. It was I who failed to cover every eventuality. And she is unhappy. I made her unhappy. I...made...her...unhappy."

"Yes, that's true," said the Opportunist, but he continued with the dance.

Here they were, cavorting about a hollow mimicry of a palace, when at least one of them should have been dancing with the Princess instead. Outside. Where the Smitten had failed to take her; where he could have saved everything.

"So?" Resignation sat heavy, thick and bitter beneath Smitten's tone. He tried to wrench his hands away from his new partner's, but for some reason, he couldn't. "Isn't that what I deserve? Harken, am I not the true villain of this new story? Go forth. Enjoy your happy ending while it lasts."

Opportunist stepped to the side, his fingers still splayed across Smitten's palm as he shrugged with one shoulder. "Well, this ending looks like the Princess and the Decider's. Doesn't have to just be theirs, though. It could be ours too."

"I do not remain one of you any longer," Smitten spat. "For how should I?"

The Opportunist smirked, a horrible mirror of the Smitten's own smile at them from across the table earlier. "But you were! At least I remember you. Besides, this can still be a happy ending for everyone! Including you."

He brought his mouth closer to the Smitten's ear. "Or, forget about you, I'm the one who wants this dance."

Smitten was too tired for rage. "Why?"

"Well, I can't quite put my finger on it myself," Opportunist mused. "But it's like, the Decider and that other one and you and me and the Princess, we're all fragments of the same thing, you know? Except there's two major parts, us and the Princess."

Opportunist paused for a bit, silent in contemplation, but he and Smitten continued to move in tacit harmony.

"There it is," said Opportunist. "Of course I'm drawn to the Princess, we all are. But I feel more drawn to you. Because the Princess and the rest of us, well, the crack between us is too wide and we're too separate. And even if I'd joined their dance, there's still a missing piece somewhere, and I suppose it must be you. But you're a closer thing to me than she is. We fit tighter, better perhaps."

Opportunist bowed forward and Smitten leaned back in response. Their bodies pressed close together: chest against chest, hand clasped in hand, fingers gently intertwining.

"So that's how it is." The Smitten stared into the Opportunist's eyes, but he didn't know how to read them. It all felt so right and it all felt so wrong; it felt so impossible; it felt like something that he should never have been able to feel.

And he couldn't understand it at all.

"How dare you?" Smitten rose, forcing the Opportunist backwards. "How dare you utter such...balderdash?"

"It's just how I felt, since I know you like feelings so much."

"No. This is nonsense! The Princess is the only absolute right. We must be with her, you must be one with her. How could you forgo such a chance? How could you forsake her, how could you choose to stay behind in this wreck and deny your true happy ending, how could you? Do you go against her? Are you mad, are you impertinent? For we have wronged and I may not make right, but you...you. How dare you?"

"How dare me?" This angered the Opportunist. "As if you did anything right! As if you're not the one responsible for her suffering in the first place! We ate and we ate and we ate then we played and we played—do you know how boring it got? How stale? And then it all lost its meaning and everything was just so empty! And you caused it, and you forced her to sit through everything! She was so scared! So before you even think about going all 'oh, how dare you, how dare you,' think about that first."

For a few beats, no one spoke. And still they danced, two shadows, graceful blank silhouettes amidst the vast unlit chambers.

"Alright, I take everything back," said Opportunist. "In the end, you've lost. Look at you. You were so powerful that reality itself bent according to you and your simpy little desires. And now, what are you? An exhausted little thing."

The Opportunist led the dance, steering him this way and that, with but a few flicks of his wrists and turns of his heels. He grinned. "So I'm still a winner, and you're still the loser here."

Smitten glared at him. "Have you no shame?"

"Not one bit, no."

"You have come to gloat, then? To laugh at my fall?"

"Why, yes I have! Can't say I don't enjoy it. See? I've come up on top. Just as I've always wanted."

And the Opportunist did laugh, throwing his head back as he cackled and shook. Amused, he veered aside, dragging the Smitten with him in a circle.

"So that was you," Smitten seethed. "The one who said we could stay in the cabin, she and I. The one who started everything. You caused it. You. You!"

"Yes." Opportunist sighed. "Fine, I admit it. I did something wrong there."

He violently jerked Smitten's arm backwards with his own, as if he wanted to wrench it from its socket.

"But who was the one who ripped our heart out?" demanded Opportunist. "And who made this whole place like this, and did everything he could to keep her unhappy? That definitely wasn't me. No, I think it was—"

"No more, I beseech you." Smitten interrupted. "I..."

He hesitated.

"I did make her unhappy. And right now, she's happier. Without me."

"Of course she is. You brought this loss upon yourself, lover-boy. Now isn't that satisfying."

Smitten didn't speak.

"I do agree with you, to be honest," said Opportunist. "You do deserve this. To fade away alone and unloved."

Smitten looked up at him. "Then why do you still take my hand in yours?"

Opportunist didn't respond either.

And there was another moment of silence. They quietly dared each other to pry apart their hands, to cease this dance, to stop these motions altogether.

But they didn't.

"Something about this still feels whole," said Opportunist. "I'm more complete here. Don't you feel it?"

"I don't know." The Smitten averted his gaze. "Truth be told, I don't know how it's meant to feel. But I think I do."

A few more steps. A few more turns. Pulling together, falling apart, pulling close again.

"This feels more complete," whispered Smitten.

"It does," said Opportunist. "But I still don't like what you did."

"And nor do I," said Smitten. "You vile, scheming wretch."

"You delusional lovesick psycho."

"..."

"...Are you scared to let go too?"

Something grey threatens the edges of their sight. Yet they dance still.

"I am."

Something ancient pulls at them, passes over the walls and floors. Yet they dance still.

"But you know I still can't forgive you, right?"

Something feathered reaches out and away, consuming, morphing, becoming. Yet they dance still.

"I know what I've done. I'm sorry, I truly am."

Something taloned stretches into the long quiet, and a mirror is touched. And the dance ends; still they stand hand in hand.

"I hate you." The Opportunist reaches out and pulls the Smitten into an embrace.

"I hate you." The Smitten reciprocates, resting his head against his shoulder, pulling him in, ever closer.

Shards of broken glass dissipate into oblivion.