#barely gettin bi

[barely-getting-bi]

babygirl are you country roads? cause i want you to take me home

[sixhours]

Chapter 5 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Joel is waiting on your porch holding a large toolbox when you jog up at ten past the hour.

“Sorry, I’m late, got held up.”

He glowers, rumbling in his deep Texas drawl. “I said five.”

“And I said I got held up,” you reply easily, bypassing him to unlock your front door. “The kitchen’s through here.”

He follows with an exaggerated hmph and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“There,” you say, pointing up at the kitchen ceiling, a spot just above the cabinets, running down the back wall. “I think there was a leak at some point. Pipes froze, maybe.”

He walks slowly up to the wall and splays a hand against the drywall, testing its solidity. “Bathroom’s upstairs?”

“Uh-huh. Right above this.”

“Sounds like you already know what the problem is,” he says over his shoulder. “Whaddya need me for?”

“I need to make sure the floor in the bathroom is sound. And…I was hoping you could help tear out the old insulation and re-insulate so the pipes don’t freeze again.”

He shakes his head. “I told you–”

“I know, the committee, but I’m sure I can get the insulation for trade, and if you have a few free hours–”

“I don’t.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard.

God, he will not make this easy.

“Okay. Fine. But can you at least look at the floor?”

He sighs, “Alright. Lead the way.” 

You show him up the narrow staircase and into your bathroom. At the far end, a clawfoot tub and shower take up most of one wall. There’s barely enough room for both of you, so you let him go first. Yellowed stains creep up the floral wallpaper behind the tub, rippling across the floor underneath.

“If you step right here, you’ll see what I mean,” you squeeze tentatively past Joel in the tight space, using your foot to push down on the painted hardwood between the tub and the toilet.

You reach out to pull him toward you by the arm, but he jerks away as if burned by your touch.

“I can get it. Get outta there.”

You slide back out, hands up in mock defense, letting him take your place. He frowns at the dip in the wood when his boot puts weight on it, then stands up, hands on his hips, staring at the ceiling.

“Is there an attic in this place? Should check–”

“No,” you say quickly. “I’ve been up there. Just a bunch of junk. No water damage.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re sure? ‘Cause if there’s rain gettin’ in, there’s no point in fixin’ the floor until the roof is sealed up.”

“I’m sure. So...you think it’s safe, or…?”

“Only one way to find out,” he says, reaching for the toolbox and retrieving a hammer. He drives the claw into the wood and meets little resistance, pulling up on the first board, which bends too readily, like a twig. You wince as he goes back for more, ripping out three, four, five of the narrow oak planks like they were nothing. The subfloor underneath gives way just as easily. 

“Yeah, that’s all rot,” he says, digging into the hole he’s made, shining a flashlight into the gap between the floor and the kitchen ceiling. “You’ve got a joist here to support the tub…but it’s half gone.

“You’ll have to take out the wall on this side,” he stands up with a muffled grunt, the sound of a man with sore knees. “Plumbing’s on this wall, prob’ly leaked down from here.”

“Well…shit. I hoped it wasn’t that bad,” you lie.

“Look, if it were me, I’d ask to be reassigned,” Joel says, tucking the hammer back in the toolbox. “No shortage of houses around here.”

“I know. I’ve just…I’ve grown attached to this place,” you say, letting your voice waver. Even better if he thinks you’re crying. “It’s the first time I’ve had a…a real home in a long time, y’know? ”

You expect him to roll his eyes at this overplayed sentimentality, but he doesn’t, just considers you with that unreadable expression. You drive the point home with a shaky, hiccupy little breath.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I can do the work. It’s not gonna be pretty, drywall don’t hold up and we don’t have much. I need time to get the supplies, but–”

“Thank you!” you burst in before he can finish. “I mean, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.” You squeeze his arm, and this time he doesn’t pull away, only flinches.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go usin’ that bath,” he nods toward the tub. “And I wouldn’t use the kitchen until we get the joist replaced.”

“It’s fine. I can shower at the clinic, and I’m no cook.” He scowls as though you’ve given too much information, but you press on. “How can I repay you? Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t drink,” he says. He’s already picked up the toolbox and is headed for the stairs.

“Well…think about it,” you tell him. “I owe you one.”

“Right.”

~*~

You thought cornering Joel into helping with your house would give you time to work your way into his good graces, but he doesn’t make it easy. When he’s not on patrol, he’s working on community projects, leaving only a handful of free evenings to focus on your house. You always seem to be working at the clinic during those times, and part of you wonders if that’s his intent.

In the meantime, you try to get information about Ellie through subtle questions of the community. You learn her schedule, and you know who she hangs out with, and where she volunteers, but no one seems to know anything about her past.

Over the next few weeks, you come home to find your kitchen walls stripped to the studs, a steel support post holding up the clean half of the rotted floor joist. The bathroom closed off with a tarp, a note stuck to the blue vinyl.

Mold. Stay out.

He’s left an old plastic joint compound bucket on the floor, the implication clear.

What a gentleman.

He always sweeps up, wipes down the dust, and stacks his salvaged supplies and tools out of the way before he leaves. He takes out the rotted innards of your bathroom in fat black contractor bags.

You occasionally cross paths with him as he’s packing up to go, and each time you try to engage him in conversation, he answers in monosyllabic grunts and makes a wide arc around you to get to the door. Too many evenings like this and you realize you need to step it up, or the project will be finished before you’ve had a chance to learn his middle name. So on a particularly slow night, you feign a headache and leave the clinic in Shiela’s capable hands.

The whine of a saw echoes down the hall as you close your front door. You hear Joel’s low voice talking from the kitchen and you move toward the sound, keeping your steps quiet, feeling like an intruder in your own house. Through the doorway, you’re surprised to see Ellie at his side, both of them crouched over something behind the kitchen island.

“You keep your fingers clear, hand on the grip; no, not like that. It’s not a pistol. Here,” he reaches over and adjusts her grip on the drill. “This is forward. This is reverse.”

“Righty tighty, lefty loosey,” Ellie says. “I got it, I got it.”

Joel grunts. “You want a ninety-degree angle or the screw’ll get stripped. Put some muscle into it–”

There’s a mechanical whirr as the drill springs to life, the grinding of metal on metal. Then from Ellie, “Ah, shit.”

“It happens, try again,” Joel says. His voice is soft, and patient, lacking his usual gruffness.

“Hey–”

The pair startles, standing and wheeling around. You recognize the soft snick of a switchblade opening at Ellie’s side.

“Whoa, sorry,” you say. “It’s just me, I got the night off, I thought maybe you could use a hand–”

“We’re good,” Joel snaps.

“Yeah, I see you’ve got it covered,” you say, turning to the girl. “Hey, Ellie. How’s it going?”

“It’s fine,” Ellie says, shrugs. “I read those comics. They were pretty good. Maybe not as good as Savage Starlight , but still…pretty good, yeah.”

She’s wearing a purple t-shirt and her sweatshirt is piled with Joel’s jacket on the kitchen island. You step forward into the room, eyeing her exposed, scarred arm.

“So…what’s the damage?” you ask, turning to Joel.

He runs a hand through his messy hair, looking up to the ceiling, where the drywall has been torn out to expose the underside of the bathroom subfloor.

“There was mold in the bathroom drywall and the floor’s rotted out about five feet from the wall. The joist’s gonna need to be replaced, but that’s a two-man job. I might be able to talk Tommy into helpin’, but he’s got a new kid so...” He trails off as if he’s offered too much personal information, wiping his hands on a rag before tucking it into the pocket of his jeans.

“This should hold her ‘til we can get a crew in here to replace the joist. But no baths, I don’t trust this thing with that kinda weight,” he says, gesturing to the temporary support.

“You calling me fat?”

“What?” For a moment Joel looks panicked, then he rolls his eyes. “I mean a tub that size weighs a shit-ton and you fill it with fifty gallons of water, you got yourself a problem. It’s a miracle the damned thing hasn’t already fallen through.”

He continues to detail the project status, but your attention drifts back to Ellie, who’s playing with the cordless drill, holding it out in front of her like a gun. This puts her arm on full display, and now you’re close enough to see the snaking, vining cordyceps blisters under the skin, the imprint of someone’s dental work in the flesh.

“I won’t have the insulation ‘til next week, Tommy says there’s some extra up in the rec center but god knows what condition it's in. Salvage runs don’t usually turn up anything worth a shit…”

There’s no mistaking it; that’s an infected bite…

No wonder FEDRA wants this kid , you think, a cold seed of certainty planting itself in your stomach.

Suddenly Joel is in your face, stepping between you, pushing you back. “Ellie, go home.”

“But–”

“ I said go home .”

“Fucking hell, man,” Ellie huffs, snatching her sweatshirt off the counter and stalking out of the room.

He waits until you hear the front door slam before he speaks, slowly and deliberately cutting his words. “I know what you’re doing,” he growls, still standing too close; you can feel an angry heat coming off his body, the faintest kiss of his breath on your face, and your back is inches from the wall.

You hate to admit it, but you’re almost turned on.

“And what is that, exactly?” you counter. “Treating your kid? Trying to get to know my neighbors? What exactly am I doing that’s so fucking objectionable, Miller?”

He seems taken aback at your sudden venom, the use of his name. There’s a glimmer of sorrow in his eyes, but it quickly turns dark. “She’s not your friend. We don’t need no friends,” he hisses, the Texan drawl thick with agitation. “Just…back off.”

You gape at him, barking a laugh. “Wow. You’re a piece of work, you know that? Does this moody, macho-bad-boy thing go for everyone? Or am I just that fucking special?”

“I’m…” he starts, swallowing hard. You wait for the rest, but it doesn’t come. He scowls, and you feel him edge back. The rush of cool air between your bodies should be a relief.

He doesn’t clean up, doesn’t grab his tools, just shoulders his way around you and out the door.

You seethe, barely containing a sudden urge to break your fist on the wall while pretending it’s Joel’s stupid face. You settle for a few deep breaths, unsure if you’re truly irritated with him, or with yourself for letting the arrogant asshole get under your skin.

The headache you were supposedly faking has manifested behind your eyes, and you don’t fall asleep for a long time.

~*~

He’s standing on your front porch in the morning, blocking the doorway as you’re leaving for the clinic. He jumps, caught off guard when you open the door and find him there, looking lost.

“What–”

“What are you–”

You speak at the same time, cutting each other off.

“I live here,” you say, feeling a fresh prickle of ire reseat itself in the pit of your stomach. “What’s your excuse?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I…yeah.” Joel rubs at the back of his neck, visibly agitated. There’s a long silence before he finally mutters, “I wanted to apologize.”

Another long pause.

“By all means, go ahead,” you prompt.

His eyes narrow. “...what?”

“You said you wanted to apologize, but I didn’t hear an apology,” you smirk, knowing you’re being pedantic, but it feels too good to watch him squirm.

He gapes, mouth opening and closing for a few delicious seconds before he huffs. “Whatever. Need my stuff.”

He invites himself in, barreling past you and straight toward the kitchen. You follow on his heels. You don’t know you’re going to ask the question until it’s out of your mouth.

“Christ, Miller, why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He’s kneeling, shoving tools and supplies into the toolbox with force, but his head snaps up at your words.

“Shut your damn mouth,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

But you can’t stop yourself. You’ve spent the night tossing and turning, angry at yourself for how much you’ve let this stupid man get to you, and now you have him cornered.

“You get off on being a dick? Is that it?”

He’s suddenly on his feet, crossing the distance between you in two long strides. He’s so fucking close you can feel his body practically vibrating with rage. His eyes bore into yours, lit by an angry flame.

You sneer. “You wanna hit me, big man? Go right the fuck ah–”

His mouth descends on yours before you can comprehend it: The press of lips, the hard clack of his teeth, the scrape of stubble against your chin. Rough and hungry, almost needy, the kiss shocks you into a numb silence.

Your hands come up to his chest, pushing him away, too stunned to speak. You’re both breathing hard. He licks his lips, watching you, something unknowable flicking across his face before he turns, grabs his toolbox, and walks out.

What…the fuck.

You’re still trying to catch your breath, to make sense of this strange and abrupt shift, when you hear his boots thudding on the hardwood floor. He re-enters the kitchen and looks at you, flushed and contrite.

“I shouldn’t’ve done that,” he says roughly. “That’s not–”

You don’t let him finish. You turn and grab him by the collar of his flannel, throwing yourself against him, meeting his ferocity with your own. You kiss him with tongue and teeth and bite, pleased when he doesn’t pull away when his hands find your hips and dig into the soft flesh.

That’s more like it.

You tug at his belt buckle with skilled fingers and have it off before he knows what’s happening. He moans into your mouth when you bite his lower lip. You soothe the nip with your tongue, diving in, tasting him.

“Fuuuuck,” he hisses, hands fumbling at the waist of your scrubs. You help, undoing the front tie, letting the soft fabric slip down your legs. You anchor your arms around his neck and he takes the hint, pulling you up so you can wrap your legs around him. He turns you both around, slamming your back against the wall hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

More fumbling as he works his jeans down his hips–a challenge with you hanging off him, but somehow you manage. His breath is on your neck, the painful nip of his teeth at the hollow where your jaw meets your ear. Your panties are roughly pushed aside and he’s inside you, thick and hot, too full, too fast. You bite your lip to avoid crying out.

Braced against the wall, he thrusts into you, your head hitting the wall with each thrust. His brow furrows, head down in concentration, and you run your hands down his back, muttering encouragement. 

“Yeah, that’s right baby, fuck me,” you hiss, and his hand grips your jaw, covering your mouth, his eyes meeting yours in a silent warning as he punctuates his intent with a hard thrust.

Not a talker, should have known, you think, letting your teeth graze his palm, tasting salt.

You breathe, trying to stay open, to let him use you. A pleasant burn settles low in your abdomen as you get used to his invasion, but you’re barely there, just a vessel for him to fill.

His pace speeds up and you feel the telltale tensing in his back, his neck. Suddenly you’re unmoored, almost dropped, sliding down the wall. He turns away with a grunt, finishing in his hand. The emptiness between your legs throbs, half pain, half unsated desire.

There’s a long silence as the proverbial dust settles in around you. You feel a happy surge of triumph. After days of trying to breach his stony exterior, he’s finally in your territory.

“Miller–”

“I’m clean,” he says, moving to the sink, turning on the tap. His face is flushed, whether from embarrassment or arousal, you’re not sure, but his eyes are soft.

“Good. So am I,” you say brusquely, plucking your scrubs from the floor, pulling them up, and cinching them at your waist. “So this doesn’t need to be a one-time thing.”

He shakes his head, not meeting your gaze. “I’m not lookin’ for anything.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as if this encounter was the start of a romance, a prelude to anything but more fucking.

Barely passable fucking, at that.

“Neither am I,” you say. “But I have some experience with…relieving tension.”

This is as close as you’ll come to revealing your hand, letting your real-life identity bleed into this one. Not something you do as a general rule, but under the circumstances, you’ll take the risk.

He arches an eyebrow, and the expression is such a drastic difference from his stony glare that you allow yourself to admit that he’s incredibly attractive. He’s muscled from years of hard labor, hair just on the edge of salt and pepper, and when he’s not scowling, his eyes have a dark, seductive, come-fuck-me look that makes your stomach do pleasant somersaults.

“It’s a trade economy, right?” you continue, moving around him to wash your hands, smoothing loose strands of hair behind your ears. “Consider it a trade for work on the house. Payment for services rendered.”

He doesn’t respond, looks so confused that you have to bite back a smile, but you know he’ll take the bait. The desperation in his eyes, the frantic way he’d pushed inside you–this is a man who hasn’t had a physical connection in months, maybe years.

“Think about it,” you say flatly. “I’m late for work.”

You leave him standing in your kitchen, his belt buckle still undone.

~*~

He has you again two days later. You return from the clinic to find him in the bathroom on his back, wedged between the toilet and the tub. He grunts in acknowledgment when he hears you come in but doesn’t look at you, intent on his work. 

“You’re missing a shutoff valve for the shower. I’m not a plumber,” he says gruffly. “But I can do the work if we find the right fitting.”

“Oh?” you feign interest, seeing an opportunity, stripping off your scrub top and tossing it in the hamper.

“You’ve got three different kinds of pipe in here and they’re held together with fuckin’ bubblegum and spit,” he grumbles, as though the shoddy craftsmanship is somehow your fault. “No point in insulating until I clean this up and get the valve in, it’ll just leak again and you’ll be shit outta–”

When he finally sits up and looks at you, you’re standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a bra and panties. The nice ones.

“...luck,” he finishes, lips parting, eyes dark with desire, a catch in his breath. You bite back a smirk.

Men are so fucking easy.

“Wash up,” you say. “I’ll be in the bedroom.”

There’s the brief sound of running water as you wait for him on the bed, then his footsteps over the threshold. He looks nervous, unsure, as though he hadn’t just taken you up against the wall two days ago.

You crawl to the edge of the bed, reaching out to undo his belt, and his jeans, sliding them down over narrow, muscled hips and thighs. He’s already half hard, not bad for a guy pushing sixty. You take him in your hand, watching his lids grow wanton, heavy with lust. You move to take him in your mouth, but he grunts and pushes you back on the bed, gripping your thighs to pull your hips flush with his. He’s inside you before you’re fully ready, and the sensation is more pain than pleasure.

Your hands come up under his shirt, running your fingers over the warm brown skin, the softness of his abdomen in sharp contrast to the hardness between your legs. You feel the edges of a scar.

A bite?

He’s lost in you so deeply, thrusting and churning, hips snapping against yours. He doesn’t notice you pulling the shirt up at first, doesn’t see you run your fingers around the outline of the bright pink, welted crescent.

“Fuck, so fuckin’…tight…”

Not a bite , you think, no teeth marks . Your doctor’s mind is already calculating the possibilities. Stab wound, maybe. Not a blade, too jagged.

He stills as he realizes what you’re doing, eyes meeting yours in furious betrayal before slapping your hands away. He pulls out of you with a low, angry growl, and strong arms flip you onto your stomach, gripping your hips where he’d bruised you yesterday. He re-enters you hard enough to take the breath from your lungs. His sharp, angry thrusts elicit a harsh cry from your throat, and this only serves to make him move faster.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he snarls. “Showin’ off your tits. Think you’re…so…fuckin’...smart…”

“You kiss your kid with that mouth, Miller?”

“Don’t,” he growls, a guttural warning, and you fight the urge to laugh as an almost vicious thrust pitches you forward, your hands splaying in the sheets to keep yourself upright. His fingers thread their way through your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your throat. His hand on your scalp is almost intimate, the way it kneads the tender skin, and you find yourself moaning with pleasure.

Before you can truly enjoy it, he pulls out and finishes with a groan on your back, warm liquid seeping down the crack of your ass. 

“So I take it that’s a yes?” you half laugh, half pant over your shoulder.

“What?” He’s pulling up his pants, fumbling with the belt buckle.

“Payment for services rendered.”

He glares at you and huffs an angry breath, but his final word is a whisper.

“Yes.”

~*~

There is a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth. You learn more about Joel during these brief encounters than you have the rest of the months you’ve lived in Jackson.

He likes you up against the wall, or on your hands and knees, fast and rough. He never completely removes his clothes, just enough to get the job done, his flannel shirts like armor guarding his heart.

He never undresses you, either, never does so much as pull down your panties, preferring to push them aside.

He likes you to be silent, but he has a dirty mouth. He smells like wood smoke and sweat and gunpowder.

He hasn’t kissed you since that first time. When you try, he pushes you away, turns you around, and takes you from behind. He won’t let you go down on him. Maybe he’s not into that, you know some guys aren’t, but you suspect it’s too personal, too intimate. Too vulnerable.

He never, ever comes inside you.

Somehow you think this isn’t what your superiors had in mind when they told you to find out who this guy’s daughter is, but it’s progress.

“Y’know, you don’t have to pull out,” you say, wiping ejaculate off your stomach with a tissue. You’re tired of washing his come out of your nice underwear, your bedclothes, your hair.

He’s sitting on the edge of your bed, pulling on his boots. You feel him pulling away, as always, and it’s a desperate move to try to keep him just a little longer, to edge your way into the cracks in his stony facade.

He scoffs at this, shaking his head, pulling the laces tight with a snap .

“I know condoms are hard to come by,” you continue evenly, the crisp voice of a practiced physician reciting rote facts, “but there’s no risk of pregnancy.”

He stiffens but doesn’t turn to look at you. “And I’m s’posed to believe that?”

You bristle, surprised to find this lack of trust stings…a little.

“What, you think I want a kid with you? You think I want a kid in…in this ?” you scoff, gesturing outside. “Don’t flatter yourself, Miller. I just hate doing laundry.”

“Accidents happen,” he grumbles, and you get the sense he speaks from experience.

“Was she an accident?” you ask, trying to imagine a younger Joel’s strong, calloused hands cradling the tender skull of a newborn Ellie, but you can’t picture it.

“Ellie? She ain’t mine.”

Oh.

You’ve touched on something, you’re so close you can taste it. What’s more, he doesn't leave immediately. He seems to be lost in thought, defenses down. He’s rubbing absently at his arm, his shoulder, kneading the muscle where his neck meets his collarbone.

“Well,” you say, clipped and final, “I haven’t had a period since I was 25. There are no accidents here.”

He looks at you with an unreadable expression; is that sadness…or pity? You don’t like the feeling it stirs in you, the twist in your gut. You suddenly wish you hadn’t started this conversation, hadn’t bared this much of yourself. It’s sloppy.

He opens his mouth as if to reply, but you’re unable to meet his eyes. You climb off the bed and head for the bathroom. Cold water on your face brings you back to yourself as you wipe off with a rough washcloth, then pull on your jeans and a soft, worn t-shirt.

Fuck. Too close.

By the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s standing in the hall. He looks like he wants to tell you something, and you meet his eyes, silently pleading.

Don’t.

Seconds pass, and you can almost see the moment his expression shutters, closes up, and suddenly he’s Joel Miller again, the neighborhood asshole. He scowls and makes for the stairs.

“You wouldn’t know it,” you say, in a desperate move to regain the upper hand, to find your footing on the roiling ground beneath you.

He stops on the first step but doesn’t turn around. “Wouldn’t know what?”

“That she’s not yours.”

~*~

When he’s gone, you walk up to the attic to check for new transmissions on the recorder.

You follow a straightforward procedure: Play back the tape, log the messages on a notepad, then wipe the tape for next time. You stash the logs at the bottom of one of the boxes of junk in the back of the attic. If someone did find the radio up here, you could get away with telling them it’s a hobby.

She ain’t mine.

His words ring in your ears.

Was the girl kidnapped? She doesn’t act like a victim, but maybe she was taken before she was old enough to understand what was happening. Maybe she has only ever known Joel as a father, and the mother is out there trying to find her. Were you chasing after some petty custody battle?

You brush the idea aside. You can’t imagine why FEDRA would care, and it doesn’t explain the scars on her arm.

You finish your notes and store them for the night, left with more questions than answers.

[nuclearbattery]

presidential alert,the girl is fighting

(ft @theuwumaster and @barely-gettin-bi )

[statistically-awesome-tgirl]

get hugged losers

@sarsaparillasister @z0mbi3dgutzz @theuwumaster @bigmeatpete69420 @barely-gettin-bi @pioneer8 @ruesroox @ratsunefreaku @dong-garage @gmobanana

do care + did ask + im hugging you + im hugging you + im hugging you + im hugging you + im hugging you

[g0dcountry]

WHEREABOUTS SECURED: ALMA BOTANICA SHOP.   CAUGHT IN THE MIDST OF THE BI-WEEKLY STOCK REARRANGEMENT BY @soundbord

the door creaked open, and she didn’t have to look. of course, it was milo. never a real paying customer. it was always milo. always the shadow slipping in on a day when he shouldn’t be here, like he couldn’t keep to schedules, like he lived in the cracks between the hours. isla’s fingers froze on the shelf, dusty from the dried sage she’d been rearranging, her breath catching in her throat for no reason at all. this wasn’t the day for him to visit, but there he was, pulling the whole room off its axis. “ you’re early, ” she said, barely glancing at him. like it wasn’t strange, him showing up when he shouldn’t. milo had come a day too early. the shop wasn't open on saturdays but somehow he knew the door would be unlocked, and more importantly that isla would be there. she could feel his energy hanging in the air—something restless, something heavy—and it pressed against her, made her fingers tighten around the shelf. there was a silence there, not quite empty, more like a void that had to be filled. “ you wanna help? ” the words slipped out before she could think them through, but once they were out there, she leaned into them. “ i could use another set of hands gettin' things arranged. ”

[chipen]

The embers of dusk, orange & mauve, dissipate into eventual darkness with the crisp outlines of highrises against the sky reflected in the low-lidded, lambent blue of his gaze. Hawk’s apartment was as pretentious as they come; the upper-most floor, decked out in extortionately expensive bullshit. It wasn’t as if the lowly criminal wasn’t appreciative, there were certain luxuries forbidden to those who didn’t line their pockets with the profits reaped from their valiant deeds. His thumb drags across the tip of a haphazardly rolled cigarette, blue light flickers against the darkness & is soon replaced by long, sinuous rings of smoke. ❝  what ? was it gettin’ lonely all on your own ? ❞ his laughter is a harrowing rasp, tilting his head back to take another long drag, the precision of those billowing rings rather impressive, lips pursed before stretching into a derisive sneer. ❝ I was just out here really appreciatin’ the city you put so much effort into protecting.❞  down below the dim luster of street lights shimmering to life pulsed, car engines droning alongside the clamor of a bustling weekend indulged in by those who toiled their weeks away. He could relate, there hadn’t been much chance to really relax recently. ❝ couldn’t interest ya in one, could i ? ❞ he shook the questionably procured packet of cigarettes at his side, having dug it out of his coat pocket & shimmied another out until it peaked out from the box’s disfigured opening. ❝ can’t say you heroes seem to really take the time to enjoy the fruits of your labour. ❞

A  PENTHOUSE  DID  NOT  MAKE  A  HOME  -  but  keigo  takami  wasn't  exactly  familiar  with  what  made  homes  to  begin  with...  on  account  of  never  really  having  one.  sure,  the  lavishness  of  the  niceties  his  pro  hero  salary  afforded  him  were  written  in  the  penthouses  minimalist  modern  furniture,  barely  lived  in  save  for  the  scattering  of  clothes  that  had  trailed  from  door  to  bedroom  only  a  few  hours  prior.  taking  dabi  back  to  his  home  -  the  literal  home  that  his  handler's  truly  worked  to  keep  under  wraps  -  had  not  been  his  smartest  idea,  but  hawks  was  batting  a  thousand  of  those  these  days  -  and  he  was  tired  of  fucking  in  back  alleyways  and  on  scratchy  hotel  sheets.  at  some  point  -  hawks  had  decided  that  it  really  just  didn't  matter,  did  it?  the  villain  probably  already  knew  where  he  lived.  might  as  well  invite  him  up  instead  of  adding  breaking  and  entering  to  his  rather  daunting  rap  sheet.

hawks  had  made  the  right  call,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned.  dabi  had  pressed  him  to  the  sheets  -  enough  room  for  his  large  wingspan  to  splay  across  the  mattress,  and  indulged  the  carnal  aspects  of  their  working  relationship  so  thoroughly  -  he  would've  thought  the  villain  to  be  the  more  physically  fit  of  them  both,  especially  considering  he's  certain  he  passed  out  at  some  point  towards  the  end.  when  hawks  does  awaken  -  the  sun  has  set,  but  his  body  is  relatively  clean  -  and  the  burned  handprints  upon  his  thighs  no  longer  smart  quite  as  severely.  it'd  been  an  hour  or  two  at  most  -  and  keigo  was  delirious  enough  to  think  that  like  every  time  before,  the  villain  had  left  and...  telltale  foreign  odors  pull  the  hero  from  his  sleepy  stupor,  and  with  a  soft  groan  he  eases  the  ache  of  his  lithe  frame  up  from  the  bed.  wings  stretching  and  folding,  hawks  pauses  only  to  grab  a  rumpled  sheet,  securing  it  around  his  lower  half  with  a  lazy  hand,  before  beginning  the  stiff  trek  towards  the  balcony  -  where  dabi  cuts  an  almost  haunting  figure  against  the  illuminated  skyline.

at  the  threshold  -  hawks  pauses.  not  because  he  knows  it's  unwise  to  step  outside  -  half  naked  and  covered  in  bites  and  burns,  nor  because  he's  pretty  sure  there  are  cameras  trained  on  this  angle,  but  because  the  villain  is  oddly  stunning.  long  frame  shadowed  by  lights  below,  plumes  of  smoke  curving  past  kiss  stained  lips,  and  the  bright  blue  of  those  beautiful  eyes  shining  with  what  can  only  be  a  million  stars  in  the  streetlight.  hawks  is  sure  it  shows  on  his  face,  his  own  features  angling  into  something  stricken,  before  easing  into  a  lazy  roll  of  those  amber  eyes.

❝ thought  you  left. ❞  is  all  he  says,  securing  that  barely  there  sheet  around  his  waist  with  a  carefully  tied  knot  and  advancing  to  dabi's  side.  cruel,  black  talons  (  so  rarely  ungloved  -  they  tended  to  scare  people,  but  judging  by  the  scratches  down  dabi's  back,  he  was  familiar  )  pluck  the  cigarette  free  to  place  between  his  lips,  and  he  moves  to  seat  himself  -  not  at  the  chair  across  from  dabi,  but  directly  upon  the  villain's  lap.  wings  fold  neatly,  strong  legs  tossing  over  the  side  of  his  own  as  he  seats  himself  upon  his  warmth.  an  arm  swings  around  dabi's  shoulders,  those  taloned  digits  weaving  through  his  hair,  and  with  the  delicate  grip  he  leans  forward,  pressing  the  filter  of  his  own  cigarette  to  the  villains.  close  like  this,  that  predatory  gaze  is  unflinching,  unblinking  -  staring  with  a  familiar  hunger  as  he  pulls  back  to  take  a  drag.

slowly,  hawks  exhales,  watching  the  ring  of  his  smoke  mingle  with  dabi's  own  (  a  fitting  metaphor,  he  thinks,  for  everything  he  was  doing  ).  ❝ careful  dabs. ❞  talons  twirl  the  hair  at  the  nape  of  the  villains  neck,  and  he  just  hums,  before  dropping  his  head  to  the  elder's  shoulder  in  a  near  mocking  gesture  of  affection.  a  docile  bird  -  for  now.  ❝ you  keep  talking  like  that  and  i  might  think  you're  going  soft  on  me. ❞

[sugargliderowl]

@barely-gettin-bi​ ‘s 200 DTIYS! Snek Boi💛🐍

I may have or may not have told her, but in Janus’ words, I totally didn’t ask her some questions during this... totally. She might have known, she may not! We’ll see...

To Ali: CONGRATS FOR GETTING 200 FOLLOWERS DEAR ALI! I know we, as in the Picnic Gang and the Safe Space kids, have been preaching this, but you really are a person that is valued in the group. You might think otherwise, and I can literally hear you scream falsehood at me. However, you are worthy and loved. The appreciation post I made about you? No matter what the number is currently, know that those numbers don’t mean anything: what really matters is that there are people who think about you and care about you. People who love you for who you are despite of what you think about yourself. I guess that was the lesson for the whole post: to prove that you are worthy of love.

To those wondering about the art: I made the sketch on my sketchbook as well as the lettering! Then I worked on it digitally afterwards on my phone as usual. I really can’t pick the best part... but the most arduous part was the lettering. It’s quite surprising, but trying to find the perfect balance of Dramatic and Sticking To The Original was definitely very hard. Hopefully I found the right balance?

This style is so familiar... why is it familiar? No clue.

Also, drawing Janus is self-care at times.

Click below for Tag List and some sketches!

Tag List: @barely-gettin-bi​ @poodleman39​ @omenalaakso​ @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @aspex-t​

[vampirebriar]

@barely-gettin-bi

warning ⚠️

[texasbama]

You know what was the worst part about the kiss and the cut scenes? All the hypocritical discourse surrounding Lucy.

From the people who said she was supposed to bring out the worst in Buck ( lol ) and ended up being very very wrong.

The people who said they didn’t like her using the excuse that they didn’t like because “she had 3 lines and she brought nothing to the team” (don’t lie to yourself you would have still hated her even if they didn’t cut her scenes and we learned more about her.) You would have just found a new reason to say you hate her.

The people who were all bi!Lucy until they realized she was there to further a male character’s storyline and nothing more.

The condescending people who kept trying to make it look like people were insane and hated Lucy for no reason because “she barely did anything you guys look! You’re overreacting she’s barely on screen” while knowing full well her scenes were cut.

And so so much more…just hypocrisy flying in all directions.

It does makes me wonder: had Lucy been a woman of color, if there would be this much discussion surrounding her/people defending her

You know people love going up for white women but will be SILENT when characters of color are gettin dogged. *taps mic* is this thing on? Bueller? Bueller?

[vampirebriar]

I only know one of the characters, but I'm going to assume you're a very chill and laid-back person.

In order: Death (The Sandman Comics), Gwen Stacy (Spiderverse), Jobu Tupaki (EEAAO), Testament (Guilty Gear)

@barely-gettin-bi @sugargliderowl @dotpip @ anyone else who wants to

Making a tag game cause I can

Rules: post 4 fictional characters you relate to and assume something about the person you reblogged from based on their characters

No pressure tag! @sidneyoftheblackwoods @mqstermindswift @stars-and-birds @zenilvar @forever-chained-to-myself @themidnightarcher @skeelly @thepencilsnameissteve @thislove-taylorsversion @thislifeissweeterthanfiction @swiftieannah @a-pessimistic-swiftie @catastrxblues @jellycanon @what-about-wendy and anyone else who wants to join<3

[popculturebuffet]

Disney Plus just dropped a Pride Month Collection. Your thoughts?

I saw it and was HOPING someone would bring it up or I could slip it into a review because man oh man is this shit hilariously pathetic. Like last year's attempt at showing queer solidarity to earn some quick points:

Still hilarous btw, it TRIES to show them as progressive.. while instead showing just how bad they are at doing representation.

So starting off we have the movie section

It's not as hilarious as the other two, we'll get to that, as there are four full length movies in here making a gennuine effort as well as shorts.

That said two things about it stick out: the first is that there are ONLY four movies here. While I do thank Disney for not having the balls to put any of thier "first gay person" bs films in there, it does show that it took until LAST YEAR to put a gay character of note in a marvel film and that none of the others are huge relases.

As for west side story, which is indeed a film... that one's simply because Ariana Debose, who is wonderous, is nonbinary. Which is awesome, she is, but it does feel a touch pathetic to put a film in there JUST because the actor is nonbinary, especially when they didn't for any films that had other queer actors. I didn't see Cheetah Girls 1 or 2, College Road Trip, The Descendants Trilogy, Encanto, Kim Possible: So the Drama, Onward and that's just the handful I saw that I know have a queer actor in them. The list likely goes on past that. I mean if they wanted to i'd fully support it, but this feels less like putting a spotlight on ariana, like it should, and more like Disney going "oh shit we only have 8 things in this section quick pull another out of our goofy's ass!". So it's not TERRIBLE but it is pretty shocking just how little queer content disney has, as well as how a possible out, spotlighting it's queer actors, was never thought of beyond one single movie.

Now onto our main event

It's beautiful. Stupid and self serving but beautiful. So yeah for starters like movie's it' slaughably sparse. It's not as bad as there's still a decent spread of shows and outside of glee I honestly can't speak for big shot, hsm the series, future president, doogie kamahola MD, or grown ish as I haven't seen them and only know jessica jones and runaways gayness by having read stuff. And on stuff I have seen I watched all of glee as it aired...

Look I was a nerdy kid who loved music. It wasn't a hard sell and only became one as it slowly degraded into a blob monster of hit's former self. I regret nothing. But they had NOTHING to do with Glee's production so while not a bad grab, it had quite a few queer characters and decent one at that including Blaine played by my boy darren criss and Santana played by the late great Naya Rievera as my faviorites out of it's queer cast, it does come off as reaching. Owl House, while something they CANCELED, is also a stellar choice. Granted I also hope this means more yelling at them for it but still. We also get louder and prouder which not only had a standout episode I planned to cover this month but got bumped up thanks to don't say gay, REMEMBER THAT GUYS?, b

But then we get reachy. We have amphibia which DOES have gay characters: oliva and yunan, the IT gals, the "I don't clownface you" guys, and our main trio despite never gettin ga proper upgrade, it just feels lik e"hey this has a few gay characters" feels a bit of a reach.

But then we get to ENTIRE reaches. We have Star Vs which while heavily impling tom, star and marco are all bi or pan, never really goes through with it and in the episode section promotes just friends.. for showing same sex couples. It congradulates the show fo rdoing the bARE MINIMUM. We also get louder and prouder which at the very least has a gay character in the main cast

Then we have the biggest joke of all: Gravity Falls. They put the series they let have the BAREST BIT of gay content at the end in, that they constantly rejected ANY AND ALL gay content from i nthere.. from a guy who DIRECTLY AND RIGHTFULYL MOCKED THEM FOR THE EVERYONE'S WELCOME UNDER THE RAINBOW TWEET. It's a level of embarassment i'd be shocked a company had reached if it was anyone but disney.

Overall it's not that the rep is bad persay, ther'es some decent one, but only ONE of these shows has a queer lead and only a few of them are on mainline networks and one of them, and Glee was added again transparently for representatoin. It probably woudl've eventually but doing it THIS MONTH just makes it obvious.

But most hilarious, most damming is that they LEFT SHOWS OUT. Yes. REALLY. With a list this small they STILL forgot some shows had queer content. So in order

Andi Mack: THe most galling omission as one of the main cast members is gay, both in character and in real life, and was Disney Channel's first gay character I believe. Hell some of his coming out arc is outright MISSING from the service because disney wants you to forget they hired a pedophile to play the dad. Yes that happened. But it's not the show's fault. They coudln't of known he was a sex monster. Just my god

Big City Greens: Admitely it's just two side characters we see together and who are confirmed a couple in the valentine's special but it's weird that's fine for Amphibia but not this show to get put on there.

DuckTales; Now like the gravity falls one this would bite them in the ass a bit as they outright blocked saying Penny was gay.. but she still is and says she is best they could. Not only that you also have weblena and Storkules. There is no straight explination for eithe rof those.

The Muppet Show: Not only was Richard Hunt gay as hell, but you also had queer guests like Elton John on there. It' sbaffling.

The Simpsons: This is a BIG one to me, especially since next week i'm doing FOUR episodes of the show for pride as part of a bigger project. Not just plugging myself there either: homer's phobia was groundbreaking for the time, there's something about marrying handles how gay marriage was and the more recent smithers episodes with him coming out and finding love help recontexualitze what was once a "GET IT HE'S Gay" joke. The show isn't the gayest, i'll grant you but the fact two major supporting cast members are gay and the shows had a decent amount of queer characters, it's weird to not feature it or at least the gay episodes. And it's not the homophobia either: Louder and Prouder's father figures is all abou homophobia as are the black-ish episodes featured. there is NO excuse.

So yeah episodes are also a mess. My point here is that while Disney is trying.. they really haven't learned anything about representation and hopefully CAN.

[deejadabbles]

A Thousand Songs (Atem/Yami x Reader)

Chapter One: We Are Broken

One /// Two /// Three /// Four /// [Five Coming Soon]

Summary: You knew that you and your band could make it big. Not only that, but stay together while doing it; the five of you were family, after all. The only problem was that despite all your musical talents...none of you were particularly good at lyrics. After years of struggling to put out your first full album, the solution finally made himself know in chance meeting on an empty stage.

Rock Band AU, Atem x Reader, gender neutral reader.

A.N.  Woo look at me, starting a new series before I finish my current ones. Don't hate me I have the attention span of a squirrel! I know band AUs are pretty cheesy but I don't care, this idea has been floating in my head for awhile and it's super cute okay?? I was also going to wait to post this until all the chapters were done but I couldn't control myself anymore. These chapters will be much shorter than my usual length so hopefully that means I can update faster??? I won't make any promises but I'll try. Anywho, I hope you guys like fashionable, sensitive Atem because that's who'll be featured in this fic <3 The reader's gender is never mentioned but I will admit I tended to lean more towards songs sung by women in this, I don't really think that matters though (I have Atem sing songs originally sung by women so...). I really hope you guys like this series and I'll love to hear your thoughts <3 Also: @ohyema​ This is the series I told you about all that time ago lol

I am outside

And I've been waiting for the sun

With my wide eyes

I've seen worlds that don't belong

My mouth is dry

With words I cannot verbalize

Tell me why

We live like this

The crowd was small, as always, but it was enough. Anyone hearing your songs was enough for now, or so you told yourself week after week. You felt Yugi’s eyes on you as you leaned away from the mic, plucking the cords of your Stratocaster for the brief solo and you looked to your left to see him smiling at you; always the positive optimist, the sun that shone on you and the rest of the band.

You flashed him the briefest smile in return before turning back to the mic. If you closed your eyes, got lost in Anzu’s keys, Jou’s steady beats, and Honda’s strings, you could almost pretend you were playing in front of a packed venue. One full of fans solely there to hear music, and not just a dozen or so patrons who enjoyed the music as a backdrop to their late-night drinks.

Keep me safe inside

Your arms like towers

Tower over me

You could have sworn you heard another voice in the crowd join yours as the chorus came. Ah, so there was an actual fan in the crowd.

Cause we are broken

What must we do to restore

Our innocence

And all the promise we adored?

Give us life again

Cause we just wanna be whole

Your eyes fluttered back open for the briefest second and through the smoky haze in the room, you saw that someone at the bar was holding up their phone, camera aimed at the stage. That managed to make you smile, at least you had someone’s attention.

Lock the doors

Cause I'd like to capture this voice

It came to me tonight

So everyone will have a choice

And under red lights

I'll show myself it wasn't forged

We're at war

We live like this

“Are you guys on SoundCloud or anything? Cos that was pretty awesome!” asked a young man who looked barely old enough to be in the bar at all.

You were just helping Yugi pack away his turntables, having finished your set and wishing the small crowd a good night. The young man was with two others, all of them looking enthused as they stood at the base of the small stage. The girl even giggled when Honda winked at her.

Yugi, as usual, was the one to speak up and pulled out a small leather folder from his back pocket. “Yeah, we are actually! We also have a youtube channel,” he pulled cards from the folder, black cardstock with your band’s name, logo, and media accounts scrawled across it in gold text. He handed one to each in the trio, smile still bright on his face, “Check us out if you get the chance, we’re trying to put out a new album this summer, so we should have plenty of new songs to listen to soon.”

With a few ‘cool man’s and ‘awesome’s, the trio wandered back to the bar, the one who had spoken already pulling out his phone with the card in hand, and the girl waving at Honda over her shoulder.

“You know you shouldn’t get their hopes up,” Anzu whispered as she set her keyboard case at the foot of the stage, “Two songs does not an Album make- we have no clue when we’ll actually have it out!”

“Well,” you chimed in, clicking one of Yugi’s several cases closed, “Maybe telling new fans to expect more from us will finally light a fire under our song-writing-asses.” When Jonouchi opened his mouth, that cheeky look on his face, you held up your hand to silence him, “And yes, I know I procrastinate too much, I’m to blame too.”

Yugi lifted two of his cases- and answered after Jou jumped in to take the heavier of the two, “I still think all of us should take a week's vacation, lock ourselves in our studio and work on the album together. Only getting together a few times a week is what’s really killing us I think- we can’t get into a creative groove!”

You and Anzu exchanged a look, knowing full well that neither of your bills would appreciate the week's loss in pay. Still, maybe it was something that you guys could find a way to work out. Then again, there was another idea that had been brewing in the back of your mind for a while now, and you weren’t sure if it was really something that the others in your band would go for...like, at all.

“I don’t know, a week probably wouldn’t even be long enough,” Honda chimed in after slinging his guitar case over his shoulder, grabbing an amp in the free hand.

Jou nodded as you all started filing out the bar’s back door, “I’m still thinking that gettin’ together every single night until the album’s done is the best way to go, even if it’s just for a few hours!”

This was the usual road the song writing debate took, or at least, how it usually went the past month or so, and soon enough the topic came to a standstill, as it usually did.

After loading up Jonouchi’s truck with your equipment, Honda gave the suggestion of stopping for some burgers at the 24 hour joint down the road, a common ritual after your monthly gig at “The Bandit’s Den”. As usual, Jou parked in the space best visible from the front windows of the dinner, and the five of you were glad to find that not another soul sat at the tables.

After settling at your usual booth and ordering, Yugi actually splayed his hands out on the table, looking rather determined. “You don’t start work until seven tomorrow. Right?” he asked you.

“Yeah?”

“I think we should take another trip to the station.”

You actually had to repress a sigh at that. Yugi was all about trying to trigger inspiration for songs, and the “station” referred to an old train station on the outskirts of town. You guys had discovered it long ago and were eager to use it in a music video, but were waiting for the perfect song to go with it. Sure, the old giant clock and brick stairs were a perfect setting, but it had only sparked a line or two of lyrics, nothing to make a full song.

Out of the five of you, most of the lyric writing fell on your’s and Yugi’s shoulders, with Anzu, Honda, and Jonouchi giving occasional input. Since you were the lead singer most seemed to think you would be the natural lyric maker, but the truth was that, despite your talent in singing and playing the lead guitar, lyrics just weren’t your forte. You’d had some luck when teaming up with Yugi, his emotional maturity helping you work through the written expressions, but that only went so far. Yugi also tried things like this, exercises and field trips in the hopes that it would spark creativity.

“How many times have we been to the station before, Yugi?” you asked, “I just don’t think it’s the oracle of inspiration we all hoped it would be. I still want to film there some time, but I don’t wanna take time out to visit it again, I’ll just get annoyed when it doesn’t lead to anything.”

Yugi’s set expression seemed to blink away, replaced with something almost like guilt, “Okay, I was just trying to think of something to get our inspiration flowing…”

Now you’re the one who felt guilty. “I know...hey maybe we could try something new? Like we could go some other place or try some different way to spark our heads?” you suggested, trying to sound positive.

Yugi’s eyebrows lifted in interest, but he was cautious when he asked, “Like what?”

“I…” you trailed off when your mind came up blank. It remained blank even as your eyes trailed over the entirety of the empty dinner as well as the dark scenery outside. A growl of frustration left your throat as you face planted on the table, “I don’t know!”

You heard Yugi giggle as he reached out and patted your head. Beside him, Jonouchi said, “What you need is some brain food! That’s sure to help some ideas come- ah! And here’s our feast now!”

Even though the food was good, kick-start your brain, it did not. If anything the meal just made you more sleepy, even as you guys chatted over the next hour before paying the tab and piling back into Jou’s truck.

Like always the next stop was the studio, the home and hideaway for you and your friends. For a small-time band whose biggest fame was on Youtube, all of you were actually quite proud of your studio. Yugi’s grandfather owned a few rental properties, and since the building wasn’t fitting for a residential space, nor in a part of town that would serve a shop well, he had agreed to give you guys the small building in exchange for help around his game shop every week.

Working together to make the space your own was some of the best memories you had with your oldest friends; going to second-hand shops to gather fitting set pieces, saving up for the sound dampeners so you could record your songs without paying a big-time studio, setting up the back room with tattered old furniture and a mini-fridge that was sure to break down any day.

The only thing that beat those days were the times you actually spent in the studio; rehearsing, recording your few music videos, spending downtime together writing new music on lumpy bean bag chairs and worn rugs (and definitely getting distracted by each other every ten minutes).

The night was late enough that no one bothered the five of you as you unloaded the truck, and soon enough all of you were taking your usual spots in the back room (Anzu sprawling out on the battered chaise, Jonouchi and Yugi filling up the loveseat, Honda falling onto a pair of beanbags, and you plopping down in the hammock chair).

“Alright you guys, I’m just going to come out and say it,” Anzu sighed after a few moments of hanging off the arm of her seat, “We need help writing our songs.”

You actually sat up as straight as you could in your chair and peered over at her- had she really just said what you had been thinking of saying for weeks?!

When she saw your look, something like panic colored her face as she waved her hands, “Not that I don’t think you’re a good writer! The songs you came up with were awesome! ...But-”

You waved off her concern, the hard motion causing your hammock to spin a little, “No- no, Anzu, I totally agree! I just didn’t know if I should bring it up...”

Even if you hadn’t thought of it too, Anzu had plenty of reason to think you needed help. In the whole four years since your group had started the band, from the first days sitting in class drawing up logo ideas, you had only written six original songs- and that included the two that were meant to go on your new album. You had gotten by with relying on covers to fill out your live sets and media accounts and making a host of excuses for the lack of originality.

“You really think bringing in another bandmate’s a good idea?” Honda chimed in, eyes narrow as he leaned back in his beanbag chair.

“Yeah, we don’t wanna end up like half the other bands out there,” Jonouchi chimed in, seeming to subconsciously pull Yugi closer to his side, “you guys know the only reason our band works is because we get each other- we’re family! We can’t just bring another person into that, it’ll ruin it and maybe even break us up!”

Yugi put a hand over Jonouchi’s, “Hey hey, slow down, don’t you think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves? First of all, bands hire ghostwriters all the time, and they don’t always join the band. Besides... I don’t know, if the person’s really cool, would it be that bad to have another member?”

“We could always have them ghostwrite for us for a while, and if we like them, then talk about letting them join,” you offered, and were glad when everyone seemed to contemplate that with at least some positivity. “But that brings up the issue I think we’ll have, I’m not sure we can find someone who fits with our style all that easily. Like Jonouchi said, there’s a reason all of us work well together.”

It was true, all of you brought something to the table, something more than an instrument. The five of you had slightly different tastes, all of it coming together in something that wasn’t quite punk, not quite rock, not quite pop or even metal, and that’s what worked to your advantage. You wanted to prove that different sounds and styles could come together in harmony and appeal to listeners all across the spectrum. Not fit into a genre-labeled box that only fans of said genre would even bother listening to.

Eventually, Anzu gave a shrug, “We won’t know until we try. Why don’t we put the word out and see what happens?”

“We can still work on our own, and if we don’t find anyone who fits, we didn’t really lose anything besides time,” Yugi added, and that pretty much settled the matter.

Tomorrow the search for a new member of your team began.

[letmebegaykaren]

Everyone!

@miaherrington13 has recently developed breasts and is in need of bras immediately! Please boost!

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[mydearesthrry]

places we won’t walk (chapter one) || peter parker

summary - the doors at midtown seem a little boring, but when you get introduced to someone you seem to remember, what happens when they seem to remember you too?

word count - 2.9k (wow shes gettin better!)

pairings - peter parker x fem!reader

warnings - like mild mention of s*xual assault, angst if you squint really hard, mj being a softy for you, mj being a lowkey bi, peter being stupid as always, y/n calling peter a colonizer.... thats it ok enjoy

a/n: so i know i last updated in october, but as u all saw i have a 25 days of xnas thing going on (PLS I WROTE THE A/N LIKE A MONTH AGO PLUS I FORGOT ABOUT THE XMAS THING DISREGARD) so pwww updates will be slow (as if they werent already omg) but the next chapter will be arriving hopefully, fingers crossed, on xmas eve or xmas! also, are you guys watching the new euphoria episode? also, i’ve stopped using the word ‘stuttering’, as it may be ableist, and i’d never wanna come off as insensitive. anyway lmao, enjoy chapter one, the trials and tribulations of hitting someone in the nuts.

also side note psa: biggest thank you to @blossomparkers for helping me so much w this chapter. i owe it all tooooo u lani yani. thank u for everything !!!!!

series masterlist | regular masterlist | series playlist

(gif not mine!)

when y/n y/m/n stark was in her early years, she was never aware of the impact her father would and did hold over her life, and in turn, the whole world. for the longest time, you’d always assumed that your father wasn’t real, and everything that had been told to you by malicious family members who were jealous over your father’s “successes” had been lies, and you had it believed yourself. no one would even think that you were tony stark’s daughter until it had been mentioned. tony’s snarky attitude had been a character trait that you’d gotten, and you always took pride in your humor and attitude.

the story of your mother and tony had been messy and all over the place. from a drunken hook-up followed by multiple days of morning sickness, to a surprise pregnancy test, the storyline of your parents had been.. well.. interesting to say the least. you never focused on your family’s history, solely based on the fact that you didn’t have two fucks to give about your family history, but you also never knew your father which was-- bizarre. 

when tony had found out about you, he claimed it was a drunken accident, a mistake, and one he made when he was “less responsibly a stark”, which was actually just some fucking bullshit, but he didn’t wanna admit that he hooked up with some random chick at a bar that he thought was hot.

since you had been raised by a mother who was barely there, you had to raise yourself. you were kinda street smart and book smart, and you were always smart when it came to books, because you were the type to want to learn-- unlike others.

when you were in your teen years, you had tabs on you and the media on you 24/7 to make sure you didn’t royally fuck up. the unwanted attention became too much when you started realizing that people didn’t want you for your personality, they wanted you for your title. but this was after you moved from brooklyn. nuvale and peter never saw you as some “movie star”, or some famous person in the media because you weren’t. but when you had grown to learn what your father did, he had forced you to not fuck up to maintain his-- somewhat okay reputation. 

you always wanted that superstar life, as a fantasy of course, but when you got to it, you realized the cliche-y-ness of it all. you’d idolized the famous women in the media-- idolized how they looked like. you realized fairly quick how fucked up the media truly is. you realized how things really aren’t as they seem. its not just the galas that look extravagant, or getting to wear a fancy new gucci outfit every night. it honestly was a whole bunch of other shit you wouldn’t even imagine. it comes with the no privacy thing- people stalking you in public, the death threats, so much shit that wouldn’t happen as common if you were just anonymous.

being an avenger (basically), your dad had natasha teach you the ropes; the basic rules of how to kick someones ass. it was a handbook that the women of the avengers had created, and it had all the rules and regulations of how to spar someone on the team, and basically how to righteously beat someone's ass up. it was never really something you found too important, but as you grew older, you realized that it was very important to know, especially since you were a girl.

despite your harsh remarks and snarky attitude, your father always knew how to hit a sensitive point in you that always managed to break you down. you never quite understood why he would want to make you feel worse about yourself than you already felt, but regardless, you always felt underappreciated by him. being a stark, you were expected to be a genius, get over the top grades, and constantly be able to keep up, but with your luck, you were graced with depression, social anxiety, and a 4.0 gpa. fun, right? 

wrong.

when you were 11, you had made friends with the kids in your apartment halls, and you learned that their names were nuvale jones and peter parker, and you were basically the golden trio. you were hermione, peter was ron, and nuvale was harry. which, now that you look back at it, makes much more sense than any other arrangement. you also had another friend, harry osborn, but once he moved away, there was no way for you to talk to him anymore. he had moved across the country to california, and from then, it was just you, peter, and nuvale. your best friends ha been there for you for what seemed like decades, although you only knew them for about three.

peter was the boy with the rosy cheeks who little 12 year old you would get butterflies in her tummy. or the type of boy to bring you an extra snack if you weren’t able to pack it the night before. he was the type of boy to walk you to the nurses office if you got hit with a dodgeball. he was the type of boy to fall for someone like you. but he didn’t. or so you thought. 

little prebubescent y/n was an awkward girl who thought the world would be on her side when she needed it the most, or that whenever you needed peter or nuva, they would be there. you didn’t think your best friend would stop talking to you after you had moved away. you were too naive to know that peter liked you, and you were too naive to know that he had liked you back, but you wanted to believe what your brain would tell you, so you decided to flush your feelings down the drain and forget about them, which, in hindsight, was a pretty shitty idea. who would’ve known?

your alarm clock blared loudly from beside you, causing you to let out a loud groan in protest. you hit the side of your head angrily, then whining and rubbing the spot which you hit. whines and loud sighs fell from your lips as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and pulled the covers over your head, knowing what would come next after you would try to snooze your alarm.

“good morning, miss stark, how could i be of service to you this morning?” friday’s voice echoed through your large bedroom. you peaked your eyes and forehead from beneath the covers, your eyes slowly starting to adjust to the light that was pulled through the big blinds which were now open. 

“mmm, fri, just tell happy to get the car ready, ill be ready in a few min- nevermind, tell him to get ready in thirty, im probably gonna fall asleep in the shower.” you croaked, taking your phone from the charger which was on your nightstand. you slipped on your bunny slippers and turned on the heater in your room, the draft filling your room with cold air throughout the night.

-------

once you walked through the large industrial doors of midtown’s cafeteria, everyones voices started to drop into sharp hushed whispers, making you roll your eyes and pull your hood up over your face. you pulled your airpods from your pockets into your ears and tried your best to avoid any and all eye contact with anyone you did end up coming into contact with. you walked over to the food bar where you grabbed a red school tray and plastered on your best smile to the lunch ladies who work oh so hard to make sure you all were fed. as you walked through the line, you could feel the intensified stares on you, making your back erupt in chills. you didn’t like to be watched, and the fact that you were a so-called celebrity didn’t help your cause in any way. 

“hey.” a low voice called from behind you. it was a girl with curly hair with gorgeous light brown skin, and a jawline that would cut you. you were almost astonished by her beauty, but you remembered the facade you had to hold, especially to strangers that you didn’t know.

“hey?” you asked unsurely, wondering if she was with the media or not. which was something that tended to happen quite a bit.

“don’t worry, i’m not with the press. you just seem interesting.” she said in a monotone voice, but still with a strong look of seriousness on her face. you giggled softly when your eyes locked and your faces went totally still, making the girl in front of you laugh as well. she held out her hand in front of you, while also balancing her tray and book in the other hand. you placed yours into hers and shook it, smiling when she told you her name.

“michelle jones.” she smiled, your throat getting a little tight at her last name, and you had to admit that it struck a little chord within you, but you quickly cleared it from your thoughts and introduced yourself as well.

“y/n stark. pleasure to meet you, jones.”

“pleasure to meet you too.”

“so, i get that you’re new here,” she started walking, inviting you to walk along with her. “what- what are you doing here? i mean i get you’re smart and all, but this is a nerd school; you literally could’ve gone anywhere, so, might i ask, why here?”

“hm, interesting question. seriously i don’t know. my dad and i don’t really get along so he makes the decisions and i tell him if i like it or not. which by the way, i’m gonna have to stay near you-- you’re the only one making this bearable for me right now.” you snorted, nudging your elbow to hers. 

“hm, daddy issues. great song, love the artists.” she smirked, making you shoot your head back in loud laughter, gaining some side eyed glances from a few people sitting at the tables around you.

“so, where are we sitting? i usually nev-”

“hey mj!” you were interrupted by a boyish laugh and hoots and hollers coming from a table two tables ahead of you. 

“jesus fucking christ. what? just because i got some and you didn’t doesn’t mean that you have to be that fuckin’ loud about it.” she grumbled, placing her tray down, slinging the backpack on her right shoulder beside her. you looked at her with a nervous but curious glint in your eyes. she gave you a knowing look which said, ‘just go with what i say’, making you nod in understanding.

“woah! holy shit! i m- i mean woah- nice to- nice to meet you!” the boy fumbled over his words, looking at you and michelle in disbelief, shaking his friends shoulder and poking at his cheek.

“nice cut, g. looks nice.” you said to him, giggling as you stuck your straw into the mini juice box.

“o-oh, thanks… g?” he said back to you, observing your looks with a confused expression written on his face making you giggle at his confusion. 

“peter! look! y/n stark is at our table!” he whisper shouted to his friend, making you look at michelle with a smile on your face and playfully rolling your eyes. she looked back at you, rolling her eyes as well, gesturing to her head as if saying ‘idiots’, making you giggle and turn back to them. 

“so, bowl cut dude, what’s your name?” you nodded to him, picking at your salad with the blac spork that was so cordially given to you by mj. 

“n-ned, ned leeds.” he smiled sheepishly.

“and you, colonizer, what’s your name?” you tapped on the table, alerting the boys attention. you could hear michelle and ned hollering and snickering from their seats, but decided to keep your poker face rolling. but i mean, how couldn’t you? the look on his face was absolutely priceless. 

“peter park- wait did you just call me a colonizer?” he cut himself off in his own sentence, looking at his other friends for confirmation, to which they nodded, still cackling at the fact that you had indeed call him a colonizer.

“peter park, hm?” you teased, ignoring the way you hesitated and ignoring the way your chest felt heavy when the name of peter was said.

“n-no thats not my name-” he said, tripping over his words, making you let out a chuckle. 

“i’m messing with you. with what you’ve given me, i could only guess your name is peter parker?” you rested your chin on your hand, engaging in the awkward conversation.

“yeah. thats my name.” he said more confidently, giving you a tight lipped smile.

“nice to meet you, parker.”

“you too, stark, my pleasure.”

----

after the small encounter with your new found friends, you had gone back to your respective classes, which meant that your next class had peter in it. after you had split up, you decided to get there early to avoid any commotion surrounding you.

as the boring class continued, you heard the loud clicking of high heels in the hallways, which had to be one person and one person only.

“stark,” someone shouted from the door which swung open. low and behold, in front of you was the prickly bitch, your principal, mrs cunningham. “come with me, eugene’s parents have requested a meeting with you and your father considering that you had just hit their son in the private areas!” everyone snickered and laughed. finally someone had stood up to flash’s shit. 

“y- you punched flash in the nuts? i thought that was just a rumor?” peter stuttered, looking at you in disbelief.

“yeah, the fuck was i gonna do? let him flirt with me? no. that bitch tried to grab my ass. i’m a stark, i was raised better than that.” you whispered to him, packing your bag as you did so.

“hm, guess you’re right. well, good luck stark.” 

“thanks parker.”

--------

once you arrived in the principals office, you saw what seemed to be his mother in one of the seats decked out in expensive pearls and diamonds. typical.

“little miss over here punched my son in the privates! i will not allow this to happen!” fuck. you thought; another one of those stuck up cunty parents.

“pfft, probably paid to get their son into here.” you muttered under your breath, playing with your protection bracelets incase anything was to ever happen.

“wHAT? mrs cunningham, i will not allow this child to talk about my son this wa-”

“hello! i was called in?” a voice interrupted, one you could only peg as your father.

“ahh! mr stark! you’re finally here!” your hilarious excuse as a principal said cheerfully.

“i am! and i am here to.. come and have a meeting about my daughter's- behavior?” he asked questiongly, already seeing the triumphant and cocky look on your face. he knew you weren’t at fault, and you were gonna lie your pretty ass out of it.

“well, mr stark, we have a student in the nurses room due to the actions of your daughter!” she looked at him menacingly. he shook his head with a smile on his face and walked over to you, grasping your shoulders in his hands.

“well kiddo, wanna explain what and why you did what you did?” he smiled, giving you two taps on your shoulder, already knowing what was next. you two had a pretty good acting schedule when it came to it, when in reality, you despised eachother.

“sure daddy! eugene had been hitting on me for several days now, and even found my private social medias in use to.. how can i say this, use me for my fame? he tried talking to me, very inappropriately on several occasions, and even went as far as to try and grab me in areas in which i find extremely inappropriate, without my consent, might i add, which doesn’t seem okay with me. does it seem exceptional to you, mrs thompson?” you asked, while only keeping your eyes on his mother.

“why, i am so sorry miss stark! his father will be in contact, i did not raise my baby to be this way! im sorry for any inconvenience he may have caused you!” she gasped, raising a hand to her heart. 

“it’s okay, i just request, may this never happen again? i would not like my privacy to be invaded, much less from your son, and can i please ask that he never try to hit on me, nor any girls at this school ever again? i can only imagine how many other girls this may have happened to, mrs thompson.” you sighed, your eyes filling up with fake tears. you reached up to touch your fathers hand, tapping it twice back, knowing that you both had just won.

“never again miss stark, once again, i am so sorry this happened to you.” 

“it’s okay. now mrs cunningham, shall we see our way out?” your father answered for you, looking over at the old white woman who looked like a piece of cheese. she could only nod in awe, giving you the cue to pick up your bags and walk proudly to the door.

“thanks i guess.” you muttered, pulling out your airpods once more, hoping to seal the conversation with your father.

“yeah yeah, no problemo.” he muttered back, avoiding eye contact and stuffing his hands in his  pockets. 

once you reached the door, you remembered that you had left something in your locker, and informed your dad that you’d be going back to get it. he all but nodded and looked back at his shoes before trudging to the car.

once you entered the seemingly halls, much to your surprise, you saw a scrawny teenage boy lifting open a set of lockers, which you didn’t even know was possible, and pulling out a red and blue suit. once you saw who the hands belonged to, your mouth fell agape as you gasped,

“peter?”

[sugargliderowl]

donaTELLO! 💜 with a book in his hand, saves the day and proves to everyone that he’s the man!

Literally all the characters are so… shaped. I love them.

Also a doodle from class:

(Read more for tag list and further comments)

College may be kickin me in the butt, but at least I’m badass enough to get through it-

I am still in college, but having an ipad makes drawing and posting so much easier. I used to draw on tablet connected to my laptop, and I used to draw a lot when I did my work there. Now that my laptop basically turned into a PC, I have an ipad I use as a laptop. With the stylus and all, it’s SO MUCH EASIER AND ACCESSIBLE LIKE… PROCREATE???? It blows my mind.

Ah and the doodle. Yeah, I drew that in stats class. It wasn’t boring, it was just that I was to tired to concentrate without anything going on with my hands. So we draw to ✨concentrate✨. Hope everyone’s doing alright!

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