#but again it provides insight

[hawkssucks]

You guys need to stop comparing Mahito to Shigaraki. MAHITO ISN’T HUMAN!!! ITS NOT THE SAME THING!!!! ONE IS A BEING THAT EXISTS SOLELY TO CAUSE DEATH AND DESTRUCTION!! THE OTHER WAS A BOY ABUSED AND KIDNAPPED AND GROOMED WHO HAS/HAD THE CAPACITY FOR GOOD!!! THIS IS REFLECTED IN THE WAY HE TREATS THE LEAGUE MEMBERS!!!! THEY ARE NOT THE SAME

[littencloud9]

i don’t think it’s wrong to feel wary about yingdu chapter and being confused with all the questions it left us. i also think you people are forgetting that this is a prequel

[ratatatastic]

"For me, kinda, something that's changed in me is the way I approach it mentally is... you know, in the American League I used to be the guy that would run goalies and, you know... just all that stuff... until my goalie started to get hurt! And then everybody's lookin' at me, and it goes... at the same time it was... the same with my time in Florida, like, if I take a run that doesn't need to be done against a top player on the other team, and now [Aleksander] Barkov takes a knee-on-knee and he's out for two months, like, that's on me!"

The intricacies of a scrappy 4th liner, when to throw big hits and the burden of responsibility of putting targets on your star players' backs

[unproduciblesmackdown]

(pictures & text of "the bus" casting announcement & first readthrough, via writer james lantz, via kickstarter, via the wayback machine)

Update #23: Introducing Our Cast

Posted on September 9 [2011]

Hello Awesome Backers of The Bus!

It's been almost two weeks, a hurricane, and an address to Congress since we last talked -- how have you been? For all of you brave Vermonters who might still be dealing with the lingering effects of Irene, here's wishing you all the best -- you're in our thoughts!

We've been busy here at Bus central preparing your show for this fall. Our first and most exciting news is that we're cast! John Simpkins, our director, has been rehearsing our actors for about a week now. I've been lucky to linger on the edges and watch them work; I don't have to wait another three weeks to tell you this: we're gonna have an awesome show! We've got four actors from New York City, and two from Vermont. You'll get to know them in detail in later posts, but until then, let's give a big welcome to the cast of The Bus!

Travis Mitchell (in the role of Harry Deforge)

Bryan Fitzgerald (in the role of Jordan McRae)

Julia Lawler (in the role of the little girl)

Kerry McGann (in the role of Sarah Deforge)

Bob Nuner (in the role of Mr. Sloat)

Will Roland (in the role of Ian Deforge) 

What else have we been up to?

Had a press and publicity meeting with the good folks at 59E59 Theaters; met our publicist and discussed possible hooks to publicize our show

Had our first production meeting with all of our creatives (who you'll meet in a later post)

Did a photo shoot for the new central image of the show with our two 'teen' actors, Will and Bryan

Began redesigning our website

Started rehearsing at NOLA Studios in New York City

Below are some photos of one of our first rehearsals, a table read. (photo #1, l. to r., Will Roland, Julia Lawler, Kerry McGann, Ben Ash, Bob Nuner (with back to camera), stage manager Josh Wright, director John Simpkins, and Bryan Fitzgerald)

Until next time, take care!

Jim

(bonus: the comment from sam malloy kicking off with "Those boys are as cute as can be.")

[druckers]

"think about claus" i do that all of the time already.

[imminent-danger-came]

"I can't handle the fanon depictions of anyone", this is so true it hurts 😭

I‘ve never been so hyperfixated on a piece of media, without being able to read anything about it. The way every character get‘s flattened like a pancake and forced into a archetype is unreal.

I have like- 5 stories I can read and don‘t really engage with with the fandom in any way.

It‘s all just:

Monkey King is depressed and MK has to mother him and kiss all his boo boo‘s.

Macaque never did anything wrong in his life, it‘s all Wukong‘s fault. He is also secretly a mom.

What is Mei? Do you mean the month? Bitch can‘t even spell right.

Red Son‘s parents are still assholes, because parents changing for the better is impossible and children can‘t have decent parental figures I guess.

-Casually bastardizes everyone into an asshole so my fav has a reason to be sad-

"What is Mei? Do you mean the month? Bitch can‘t even spell right." IS THE FUNNIEST THING. HOLY SHIT. I'M CACKLING.

"I‘ve never been so hyperfixated on a piece of media, without being able to read anything about it" is also so relatable. I've never had my fandom experience be so self-generated before. I'm just kinda stewing over here, having fun, making my own gif sets and analysis posts. Maybe I reblog some fanart from time to time.

[floral-hex]

real depressing, probably delete when I’m not miserable and about to fall asleep

Ummm how do trigger warnings work here… tw: substance abuse. Alcohol. Uhhhhmmm just general sad times.

I’ve been thinking a lot about drinking again. Not that I was ever an alcoholic, but… maybe I was a little. I get a little loose with anything that makes me feel good. Long story short, apropos of nothing, I got drunk one New Year’s Eve a couple years back. It was nice. Then I kept getting drunk once or twice or thrice every week for a year before I decided it wasn’t worth it any more. Stopped being as effective, made me gain a bunch of weight, and was just all around a pricey habit. So… I mean, why would I think about doing that to myself again?

Life fucking sucks. A lot. My mom is slowly dying, some days worse than others. I’m so drained and exhausted and I hate this. She’s been in the hospital for about a week now, her second extended hospital stay in two months. I don’t know how to cope with this. I’m taking care of my brothers right now and it’s just so much. Cleaning, shopping, making sure they eat, taking care of them, the animals, everything, driving to see my mom who’s almost an hour away. I’m emotionally exhausted and I feel so alone and scared and to add on to that my hearing started to get muffled today and I’m worried another wave of intermittent hearing loss is coming on. It makes me feel so closed off. I’m trapped. I feel trapped and suffocating and scared and my mom is dying and I’m so alone and don’t know what to do and I just want something that will, even temporarily, take some of that away. I used my last klonopin today and it didn’t do much of anything for me. I just want to get so fucked up out of my mind that I can’t worry about anything. I’m barely sleeping. I’m so tired. I just want to be held. I want someone to hold me and tell me it will all be okay, even if it won’t. I just want someone to lie to me and comfort me for a little while. I’m so scared. I don’t know how to do this. I can do this because I have to. I don’t know how, though. I’m just flinging myself forward, or the world is pushing me forward, I can’t tell the difference right now. I hate saying all of this. I feel so needy. I know I’m allowed to be needy. My therapist gets on to me for always qualifying what I’m saying or down playing or ignoring my feelings, but I feel like such a burden when I complain. I don’t want to be selfish. I’ll suffer in silence all day, I don’t want to add more stress to everyone else. I have to be a rock. I have to be steadfast. I don’t know where to put it down. I don’t know where to rest myself. There is no where. There is nothing. My ears are full of droning noise and I’m in this dark room and I feel so cut off from the world. Like I’m in a small dark box and outside the box I know my life is falling apart but I just can’t quite make out what’s happening. I can’t see but shadows through dark glass. I want to stop feeling like this.

So I’ve been thinking about alcohol. and weed. and whining on some dating app about wanting to make out. I took a vistaril earlier, too, but it really didn’t do anything for me. It’s not an anxiety attack, it’s… it’s the void. and sadness. and stress. and loneliness. It’s too heavy. It’s too much.

I just need to sleep. What a loser.

[lunasilvis]

Sucks to know you’ll always miss a person in particular ways. It’s not at all crumbling. Just a “damn” - one some mornings, or nights. A part of you (even in a deep hibernational slumber, even after years) will yearn to have them close(r) to your heart and enjoy life with them. Happy to say it’s not a constant feeling, fuck, I couldn’t do that. It’s in the small, unexpected, subconscious moments.

Little thunder bolts hitting the floor on a clear day.

I thought it was an exaggeration so for years I called myself an unfair judge. But fuck, energy doesn’t lie. And you wish you didn’t feel this way. I am not one who seeks out these sort of situations, I’m too relaxed to stir the seas of my calm life in these ways. And I can’t put my finger on it what it is. But you gotta make peace with the here and now, with the life that’s yours, before you. And you gotta continue sailing in your own waterway. That’s what I’m doing, it’s a matter of letting what doesn’t belong here go (and keeping what does). Still, my heart misses you sometimes so much it feels like its chambers will cave in on itself realizing there’s not a single person who’ll ever come close. And I’m trying to find ways now to be okay with that for my remaining life.

[nataref]

Wanting to weigh in here as a light skinned native person (specifically Mi'kmaw) its really complicated..

On the one hand colorism is real! My light skin let me & my mother (& lots of other ndns) survive, by keeping our heritage secret. In my area this is almost a universal experience, due mainly to the enslavement of natives in the Atlantic provinces that my people are native to. So a lot of Mi'kmaq are light-skinned, even after reconnection in later generations, with Mi'kmaq people marrying each other rather than being forced into relationships with settlers (like my grandparents for ex).

But my darker skinned family couldn't do that. My moms sister is darker than her, more like my nan, & got clocked, & harassed for it. Really the issue here is that, stereotypes make it so ppl like me find it difficult to feel "native enough" because of how people racially profile natives as all looking one way. And stereotypes also make it that people like my auntie are actively harassed by settlers, without any means to protect themselves. Which is a awful, dangerous position to be in, even when you DO get accepted as being native enough.

But I think it's important that these issues also aren't exclusive to us, mixed Black natives deal with the same things, only exacerbated by a fuck ton because they have no access to the shelter of white privilege. They don't have that access the way I do- the access that is able to keep you safe, at the price of assimilation & insecurity. For mixed Black and dark skin natives, even if they do assimilate & reject their nativeness because of the way they are perceived physically - they're still going to experience racial discrimination.

Basically what I'm saying is: this issue is nuanced and to focus in on light skinned suffering in our community, while not *untrue*, does the underlying issue a disservice. Because yeah; the stereotypes suck, the assumptions suck, the fakeclaiming sucks, it makes assimilation more and more forceful in a way non natives don't ever think about.

But its not a light skin issue, its a racial stereotyping issue, and one that dark skin natives struggle with too, & often have very little - if any - protection from. I've repeatedly seen this phrase but using Black rather than white being thrown at fellow natives to harass them more than once, & the aggressiveness of it is just as if not more intense, & a lot of non native people don't seem to realize this is even happening.

Its incredibly important to highlight that when talking about this phenomenon of being fake-claimed. Native people can look like anything. We can be light, dark, brown, we can have monolids, we can not have them. The reality is that there are native people across the entire globe, & through years of colonialism, a lot of the community are mixed. Alot of us don't look like how we're "supposed to".

The lesson to take away is: no, you CAN'T tell who is and isn't native by looking at them. Ever. And if you're non native & think someone is lying, please do us all a favor and keep it to yourself - our community is perfectly capable of regulating ourselves without your intervention. Your insistence that we need you to harass random native people because they don't check all your boxes of what we are and aren't, is frankly, just an extension of colonial violence- Stop it.

And yes, I can tell when you think I'm lying & won't say it, I can feel how uncomfortable you get when you realize I'm not shying away from who I am regardless of how I look. But at least when you don't say that shit out loud we don't have another keeler situation. And yes, even though it does effect me, and other light skin natives, we absolutely have to acknowledge it is impacting *all* native people who don't perfectly fit the narrow stereotypes of what native people look like. That's all.

something that may shock you all is that repeatedly insisting a native person is white because of what you perceive to be them not looking native enough is not only racist but one of the oldest forms of racism against indigenous americans lol

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (Dilf!Simon, your next door neighbor, reader’s around early 20s, Simon’s around late 30s~early 40s) pt.2

Just retired and move into a new flat, Simon doesn’t expect someone to knock on his door when he’s unpacking his belongings. With slight annoyance, he opens the door and try to dismiss whoever is out there.

His annoyance vanishes quickly when he lays eyes on you, young, gorgeous, gazing up at him with a baggy shirts barely cover the sweat-shorts. The simple apron on the outside looks incredible on you, the fabric of it rises and taut around your chest. Greeting him with a grin and hand him a plate of biscuits. A welcome gift for the new neighbor, you explain to him before leaving with a wave, hips swaying tantalizingly as you saunter back to your flat and close the door behind you.

He becomes closer to you each day, helping you without a word when one day he hears noises from the staircase outside, swings open the door of his flat and discovers you struggling with the heavy groceries bags. When you sheepishly knock on his door again, holding a screwdriver and fidgeting it, telling him you have some issues with assembling the new bookshelf you bought, he already starts his steps and walks into your flat, finish the work in minutes while you circling around cutely and trying to help like a desperate puppy.

To express your thankfulness to him, you invite him to have dinner with you, become a habit of yours when he shoots you a glance with a ‘Not bad.” but devours your home cooked meal like a man starved for days.

Sweet, beautiful girl, a year before graduating from college, expressing your insecurity about your future when he hinted that you can share your worries with him—a person who has much more experience than you— a while ago, he provides some insight and rational advice, swallowing back the words he’s been thought about for months now: Slide the silver ring on your ring finger with his name name engraved on it, makes you his missus and away from all shites the society is boiling everyday. A man alone for years and has low material desires, he has the money to take care of and spoil you without any hesitation.

He’s been fisting his cock whenever he hears your moans coming from the other aide of the wall. Hell, you don’t know how shitty and thin the walls are, the soundproof ability of them is imperceptible when it comes to louder sounds. Simon listens closely to the sounds, closing his eyes, head leans back on the armchair, trying to imagine how you must be right now. Hands in sync of the squelchy sounds of you pumping your fingers in and out of that soaked pussy. His cock’s so huge, even his own palms are just big enough wrapped around the girth, and an obscene growl left his lips as your whimpers and moans turn higher and sultrier, definitely look like a goddess when you’re weeping tears, stuffing your cunny full and craving for the release. But when you finally tumble over the edge, he snaps his eyes open and groans the second his name comes out of your mouth with such honeyed tone, crying his name in need and suppressed desire.

Simon jumps up from the armchair, heavy cock forming an obvious tent when he shoves open his door and knocks on yours impatiently. “Wait-Wait me a second…!” your voice hits his ears with trembles that can’t be left unnoticed.

“ 'S what you want, love? getting bent over by a man older than you and fucked stupid? Is that so, princess?” He squeezes himself through the crack of your door, kicking it close and pinning your upper body on the shoe cabinet beside the door, your legs dangling in the air as he drives the fat tip into your entrance ferociously, tight cunt still spasming from your orgasm and makes him grunts out a curse, “Fucking screaming my name when you touch yourself, hmm? you know you can come to me anytime you need something, like I told you before.”

He gets you cry out in pleasure without any concern of receiving complaints from other neighbors, wrapping your legs back and standing between your wide-spread thighs, leaning his weight on your back while his hips rocks unrelentingly. “No more, no more…Simon!” You clenching down on his shaft so nice and hot, milking him loads after loads, the angry tip of his cock abusing every spots inside you, and your legs are shaking uncontrollably when he finally comes one last time, satiated both your needs for now, and you the last thing you feel before succumbing to slumber is a gentle kiss pressing on your twitching, overstimulated clit as his seeds flood out of your swollen pussy.

The relationship between you and him deepens since that night,and he doesn’t stop you or protest when you wear the low-cut top and cute skirt, semi-transparent thigh high stockings keeps attracting his attention to stare at the bare skin of your thighs between them and the skirt, and wave goodbye at him with an apologetic expression before heading off to a party with your college friends. He knows the importance of these social activities between youngsters, so he didn’t get mad or upset, just kiss your temple, reminded you to stay safe and call him whenever you need, then he’d be there in no time.

You sure will turn heads wherever you go tonight, and though there might be some troublesome wankers trying their luck on you, but he knows you won’t even spare them anything beside a polite nod of rejection. You’re all his, you won’t feel the same bliss and love from those young blokes of your age. No one can make you feel as good as he does, they can’t make you squirt all over the floor when he eats you out at the countertop, no one knows how to lower and disperse all your concerns and thoughts like him, with his tongue lapping your perked buds and that long cock massaging your cervix, coaxing countless orgasms out of you before you fall asleep in his embrace contently.

So when you ring him just about 2 hours later, asking if he can come pick you up at the club, he immediately hops in to his truck, pulls up at the location you texted him. He doubts how your breasts haven’t spilled out your low cut tops, but he’s definitely enjoying the view, your cheeks burning from the alcohol, pawing at his shirt and whining about how you missed him, how boring the party was and you just wanted to go home and bounce on his dick through your tipsy state.

Good that Simon parked his truck at a secluded spot, so you don’t need to wait any longer, let him bend you over the hood and kneel down behind you, tongue shoving deep inside, occasionally pulls out and prodding at your pussy to calm you down from keep pleading him to just fuck you already and rubbing his bulge when he just wants to drive you home first. “Will give you the cock you’ve been thinking all night when we’re home, sweetheart.” He speaks against your slick pussy lips before diving back to lick every drop of your sugary juices again.

[anti-transphobia]

Trying to use a hotline for the first time in like 5 years even though I have zero faith in such systems out of sheer desperation wish me luck

[shaykai]

Still thinking about Gortash’s coronation and how smoothly he cuts a Durge off from their companions (and wishing we had a follow up with that)

The first words out of his mouth are that he cares about them- anybody else who remembers Durge has only distain for them, but not him- he’s happy to see them, he missed them, they’re his favorite assassin and he’s only glad to see them alive

And then he takes it a step further by providing insight into their past, something Ketheric refused to do for them- and Gortash isn’t dumb. He knows exactly how Durge’s companions will react, knows that he’s effectively outing Durge when he so easily could have pulled them to the side instead

And when their companions snap at them and refuse to look at them, Gortash is still smiling. Suddenly, he’s the nicest person in the room. Suddenly, everything is unstable and dangerous- but he likes you. He’s sitting there with open arms while the companions are rightfully so mad with Durge, but Gortash is more than happy to resume their alliance

He’s more than happy to be their sole source of comfort again, and isn’t he just so sweet for that?

[quicksilversnails]

It's so fun how the Princess and the Dragon acknowledges and plays with game mechanics that are assumed to be non-diegetic, and uses them to add insight to the story/characters.

The title card is a really obvious example, being something that TLQ actually sees and can comment on, and something that the Princess hadn't ever seen. What most would assume is just a framing device for the player is a real element of the world/construct.

I think it emphasizes how the story that the Narrator constructed is only "meant" to be told to TLQ. After all, The Narrator only appears in TLQ's mind, providing elaborate descriptions and attempting to contextualize the events of the game as a heroic task to save the world. Meanwhile the Princess is all alone, with no title cards or exposition, no context for why any of this is happening to her. The story revolves around her, but it doesn't care about her beyond her designated role, as something to be slain and hated. Her perspective is irrelevant to the Narrator's plan, so she doesn't get the fancy presentation or necessary context: she doesn't deserve it.

There's also those long stretches of dialogue where the voices talk to each other in TLQ's mind without progressing the story. They're occasionally acknowledged by the Princess elsewhere (Prisoner, Nightmare) but P&tD makes it very explicit and confirms that time is actively passing during these conversations, with TLQ staring in silence for who knows how long.

(Personally I don't think all of the voice dialogue is necessarily in real time, if only because some Princesses wouldn't have had the patience for it. Like if you had really stood still for that long, the Beast would've definitely eaten you... she's not waiting for you to finish thinking lol)

This one I think is more for humour, but it also draws attention to how much of the inner conversation the Princess is missing in normal chapters, when the voices aren't actively speaking to her through TLQ's body. Where we're having vibrant debates or key information revealed by the Narrator, she just sees a silent, staring figure. Speaking of the Narrator, He's completely absent from the Princess' POV, either because He doesn't want to speak to her or is somehow unable to (He does say in Tower that she's not supposed to be able to interact with Him...) Again, the story was not made to be told to her, so she isn't given His context, and because the player is usually so immersed in TLQ's perspective, they probably wouldn't realize just how much she's missing until they see things from her perspective.

One other example: if you choose to [Say nothing] immediately after you excise yourself, the Princess reacts to it:

I just find this so hilarious tbh, and the fact that she repeats back those exact words implies that she literally senses the text written in brackets. If you do it once you're back in the basement, she says this:

I wonder if it's the same for the Narrator/voices... do they also “feel” your actions while you’re choosing them? Do they hear you say (Lie) before you lie? When Skeptic said "Wink" out loud did he actually choose a dialogue option with [Wink] in brackets?? Ok that last one's a joke but there's lots of potential here

I just think it's cool because the average player wouldn't think twice about any of these things, because they seem like simple stylistic/game design choices. In a game where all player input is through dialogue options, the square brackets are an immediately understandable way to convey action, as opposed to plain text. In a game structured around repeating loops, it makes sense to make those loops distinguishable for players by separating each loop with a title card, and the chapter naming convention works as a nod to the fairytale storybook aesthetics the game draws from.

But by placing you into the Princess's head and acknowledging those design choices as diegetic elements that change depending on your perspective, it forces you to reevaluate your experiences: the things you didn't think were really "part of the game" and the experiences you didn't realize weren't universal. It exposes your hidden privileges, the luxuries and structural supports you have compared to the Princess that you don't even notice because you've never experienced the alternative.

It might make you realize how the way you perceive and conceptualize the world might be very different from how others conceptualize it (Tony's recent ask about the multicoloured glass in HEA could also play into this in a fascinating way, with the mismatch in perception between TLQ and the Narrator's script). It's all just very cool for a game that's based on perception.

It also makes me wonder... what other elements of this game are diegetic that we just haven't paid attention to?

Well, I think that the captions are probably also diegetic. TLQ occasionally refers to the voices by their complete titles despite them not ever referring to each other by those titles, instead opting for descriptors like "jumpy one" or "the worst one" or "rage boy" or "chilly little freak" lol. For a direct comparison, Paranoid exclusively calls Smitten "the lovesick one" or some variant in HEA, but TLQ refers to him by his full name using quotation marks, as if he's quoting something he's read:

The voices don't seem aware that these titles exist, while TLQ does, despite them sharing a mind. Also, when the Princess shares a body/mind with you, she never uses their titles either. In the Spectre/Princess and the Dragon, she calls Hero "the nice one", Cold "the quiet one" or "cold little freak", and the Narrator "the bossy one" or "that murder-happy know-it-all". Spectre describes the voices as shards of broken glass on the floor, so she likely perceives them completely differently to how we/TLQ see them.

Even The Narrator isn't aware of His title. If you call Him that in the mirror conversation, He says "'The Narrator'. I suppose that's my job, isn't it?", reacting to the title as if it's His first time hearing about it. There's also this question from the fourth Shifty encounter:

It seems like the titles are presented specifically for The Long Quiet/decider, and that they somehow reflect how TLQ perceives the voices/Narrator, since TLQ takes credit for "calling him" that. If the captions were specifically shown to TLQ in the same way that the title cards are, it'd explain how he has this information without it ever being verbally told to him, and why the Princess doesn't know their titles even when she's sharing your body.

But besides the captions, I think it could be fun to interpret the game as if most, if not all of its game mechanics exist in-universe. The choice menu, the music, the cursors, the save/load icons, saving/loading in general, the title screen, the Clown Princess living in the walls (game files), you name it. Let’s peel away these game mechanics cell by cell! Let's see what meaning we can find together, let's see what we're made of!

[gemma-nye]

This has probably already been pointed out a million times and I don’t pretend to have a way with words but I’ll try:

One thing I love about good omens is the visual storytelling, and the way in which Aziraphale and Crowley approach interior decor provides an insight into the journey they take as characters.

Take Aziraphale’s bookshop, it couldn’t contrast more with the stark and soulless minimalism of Heaven, he loves clutter and mess and you can tell this space is a reflection of who he is as a person. The set design here shows that rebellion against heaven doesn’t just lie in doing evil and consorting with the enemy but also in appreciating and surrounding himself with the things that bring him joy.

Then there’s Crowley’s flat, this time a brutalist and spacious middle finger to the dark and dank corridors of hell. His appreciation of art and plants and light is reflected in this space and once again goes to show that rebellion really can be as simple as distancing himself from the looks and ideals of the place he has come from.

TL;DR the good omens set designers kick ass and I can’t wait to see more from them in series two

[nanenna]

This Phone Call Could've Been a Text

More Sleepy King Here

-----

Batman moved to sit at the table in the kitchenette, his hand absently moving to adjust a cape that wasn’t there. He pulled out a tablet and brought up the camera feed for the bedroom, the audio from the bugs he’d planted in his ear. Nearby the JLD had finished agreeing on their plan and were setting it in motion, it seemed Dr. Fate was the first to go cast spells at the boy.

Diana came into the room. “The boy has several blessings.”

That caught everyone’s attention. “What kind of blessings?” Constantine asked warily.

Diana shook her head, “I couldn’t tell, I just know he has several blessings from powerful beings.”

“The boy or the king?” Raven asked.

Diana shook her head again.

“Something else for us to look into,” Zatanna said with a tired sigh. Discussion between the JLD members picked back up, kept carefully hushed, as if afraid the boy (or the king sleeping inside him) would somehow hear.

Diana came and sat down next to Batman, he changed the angle on the tablet so they could both watch. That’s all either of them could do right now, sit and watch.

Diana sighed, “He looks content.”

Batman turned his attention from Dr. Fate casting his spells to Danny, seemingly dead to the world as magic flashed over him. “He does.”

“I hope it stays that way, I hope we are able to find a solution before he wakes.”

Batman simply nodded, he hoped so as well.

Dr. Fate finished with his spells and quietly made his way back to the kitchenette. There was a brief discussion from the group, then Zatanna was taking her turn.

Their discussion continued even after the Sorceress Supreme left, Batman catching brief snatches of magical jargon. He technically knew the definitions of the words he heard, but he knew his understanding was surface level at best.

Dr. Fate approached their table. “Wonder Woman, you said the blessings were laid by powerful beings?”

Diana nodded, “Yes, quite powerful.”

“Can you describe how powerful?”

Diana’s brow furrowed as she thought the matter over, “I believe they were on par with the gods, though it didn’t feel divine.”

Dr. Fate nodded, then returned to the huddle to discuss the matter further.

Batman and Diana watched as Zatanna finished her round, then conceded to Captain Marvel. They expected him, as the champion of magic, to have the most insight, yet when he walked back into the room he looked quite disappointed as he shook his head. “I fear the wisdom of Solomon has failed me.”

“Is it perhaps the same block that has kept us from noticing Amity Park?” Diana asked, standing up to join the JLD in their huddle.

“Most likely,” Zatanna agreed. “I couldn’t even get a read on the blessings you spoke of.”

“Was there anything you could scry?” Diana asked.

While their discussion continued, debating whether it was better to figure the block out or attempt to blindly work around it given their unknown limit, Batman kept his eye on the feed of Danny’s room. Clark leaned forward, the blankets shifted, then Danny was sitting up while yawning and stretching.

“Danny’s woken up,” Batman said.

The room fell silent.

Constantine sighed and nudged Raven, “C’mon, luv, let’s get outta the way.” He waved a hand and the lights dimmed. “Remember, keep him half awake as long as possible. And try to look like you’re here for a reason, make a cuppa or something.”

There was a mild flurry in Constantine’s wake as the others bustled about making a quick cup of tea or popping off-brand toaster pastries into the provided toaster. Not a bad plan, it’ll make the room smell homier and would give the magicians an excuse to be there.

Diana placed a half full glass of water near Batman, sitting down with her own steaming mug. The kitchenette now smelled of warm tea, toasting pastries, and ozone. Batman closed out of the surveillance and switched over to a note taking app.

Clark eventually entered, gently guiding Danny along. The boy had Batman’s cape over his shoulders but it was dangerously close to slipping off one, Clark fussily rearranged the cape as the bleary eyed boy shuffled slowly into the room. Danny hadn’t even seemed to notice his audience as he slowly made his way to the table and plopped gracelessly into a chair.

Marvel handed off the quickly plated pastries to Clark, which he gently placed before Danny. Zatanna offered a steaming mug, which Clark also gently placed in front of the boy.

“There we are, Danny, you hungry?”

Danny mumbled something as he absently picked up his pastry, chocolate this time, and began nibling it.

There was an exchanging of glances between the room’s occupants, as if unsure how to proceed. Then Zatanna and Dr. Fate both lifted a hand each, inscribing runes into the air.

“How are you feeling now, champ?” Clark asked awkwardly.

“Mmm… better,” Danny mumbled, crumbs tumbling from his mouth. He followed it with a yawn, yet again moving his hand as if to cover his mouth and missing far and away too much to hide his sharp fangs.

Clark glanced down at the mug, then nudged it closer. “Have some hot cocoa.”

Danny hummed in agreement and reached for the mug, just holding it in his hands.

Batman glanced back at the magicians. It seemed Zatanna was having difficulty with whatever spell she was attempting, and from the similar expression on Marvel’s face he was in the same situation. Or perhaps all three were attempting a combined spell.

Danny slowly lifted the mug and took a careful sip. “Hmmm… s’good.”

“That’s good,” Clark said with a gentle smile. “Eat up, you’re a growing boy.”

“Still growing,” Danny mumbled, but did as he was told. He held his pastry back up and nibbled more.

Batman felt the hairs on his arms raise despite being covered head to toe, the tension from the three magicians’ combined spell clearly filling the room.

The tension broke suddenly with a gasp at the same time a faint jingle played in the room. Batman frowned, unsure what had caused that. From the wide eyed stares from Marvel and Zatanna, they weren’t sure either. Or perhaps they knew exactly what was going on and were shocked.

The jingle played again, this time Batman placing it as coming from Danny’s direction. He watched as Danny absently reached up to touch his ear, a white ear piece with a little arm and neon green mic on the end simply appeared.

There were choked gasps, Batman spared a quick glance to find all three magicians reeling back in stunned shock.

“... ‘llo?” Danny mumbled.

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 8

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.  WC: 5.5k TW: I will put them below the cut for those who want to avoid spoilers. This is more of an original character, there have been some descriptions of reader throughout the series. A/N: How can I make a note when I have words?! I'm just so grateful for how many people have fallen in love with this story this year. It's crazy to me that I posted my first fan pic on December 23rd 2023, expecting about 3 people to see it and waking up to 100's of notifications. 2024 has literally been whirlwind, I've made so many wonderful ladies here and have grown more and more confident in my writing abilities. Thank you @lotusbxtch for being my forever beta for this series (probably an unhealthy crutch, but so be it haha). Thank you @for-a-longlongtime for letting me bounce ideas off of you and giving me a new insight to how sweet girl or Joel would think. @mermaidgirl30, @alltheirdamn and @littlevenicebitch69, what would I do if I couldn't scream about this story with you?! Ok eww, I'm done being sappy. Enjoy! Dividers and headers by @saradika-graphics

My Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: use of sex toys (vibrator and butt plug)

You

When you walked into your small apartment on Sunday, Odette was wrapped up in a blanket watching TV. She looked you up and down with a knowing smirk. It was pretty obvious based on the way Joel’s sweats and hoodie hung off your body that you were with a man all weekend. So, after she agreed to keep it between the two of you, you told her absolutely everything. It was freeing to finally be able to discuss Joel with one of your friends. The two of you spent almost six hours going over every detail of the last few weeks, and after ordering pizza and splitting a bottle of rosé, you had all the validation you needed. He loves you. And you love him, too. 

As the weekend rolls into the week, you still have not come down from your happy, little Joel Miller-shaped cloud. There’s not a single doubt in your mind that he is it. You have never let your walls down with someone like you have with him. It was always easier to just do it on your own; you could always count on yourself.  For the first time in your life, you can confidently say that you’re ready to let that go. It’s time for you to let someone take care of you for once. When he texts you on Monday to make plans for the following day, you decide that you’re going to tell him how you feel.

When Tuesday finally comes around, you practically skip up to his house. You have a duffle bag of items in one hand: your outfit for this evening, make up, and a change of clothes in case you spend the night. Wearing his clothing home was fun and all, but you won’t be doing any sort of walks of shame again. Clasped tightly your other hand is your company-provided caddy full of cleaning supplies. Just as you’re about to place the supplies on the front step, the large front door opens.

“Hi, Freckles,” Joel's voice coats every inch of your skin in warm honey. He shines an absolutely knee-weakening smile down at you. As per his usual JMKink attire, he’s in perfectly fitted black dress pants, expensive looking black dress shoes, and a pressed, crisp white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows and your mouth waters at the way his bare forearms look.  

“Hi,” you beam up at him, not holding back your ear-to-ear grin as you glow under his attention. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here!”

“I have to leave soon, but I have something for you.” He steps out onto the front steps and grabs everything from you before you follow him inside. You change into the white keds that Jamie gave you on your first day at Maid Discreetly before heading towards where he’s standing in the kitchen. There are three boxes on the kitchen island; two small black ones and one white one that you recognize immediately. He pushes that one towards you first. 

“This is your new iPhone,” he says with a wink and you feel your cheeks flush.

“Thank you,” you say shyly.

He shakes his head, “No, thank you for not fighting me on this. That cracked screen...”

“I know,” you say, raising a hand to stop him. You deepen your voice, “It’s a hazard, sweet girl.”

He laughs like he did that night at the Shibari class, deep and from his gut; it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard and your heart swells at the possibility of getting to hear that laugh for the rest of your life. “Exactly. These other boxes…well, they’re for you, but also for me.”

You raise your eyebrows curiously as he slides the smaller of the two black boxes across the smooth marble of the island. His bottom lip slips between his teeth as you pull the top off of the first box. Sitting on a bed of white tissue paper is a small metal plug with a pink heart-shaped diamond on the end. 

“Mister Miller! Scandalous!” You gasp, feigning shock and surprise.

He laughs again as he asks, “Is that ok?”

“Very much so,” you respond with a smile before opening the next box, which is slightly bigger than the last. A black, U shaped piece of silicone sits in the box, along with a small plastic rectangle that looks similar to a key fob. “What’s this?”

“That, my sweet girl, is a remote vibrator. I was thinking that maybe you could wear both of those while you clean my house today. I can control that with the remote from a close distance or from my phone anywhere in the world.” 

Every hair on your body stands on end as your clit throbs in excitement. “Yes, I would really, really like to do that!”

“Good girl,” he says with a wink, holding a hand out to you. His fingers link with yours and just the slightest touch from him sends sparks up your wrist and straight to your racing heart. He grabs your new toys and leads you up the stairs. Your giggle is laced with arousal when you come to a stop in his enormous ensuite. After placing the toys on the counter he pulls you in, his free hand cupping the back of your neck before he slams his lips into yours. He kisses you hungrily, and you meet his energy, kissing him back as if you’re drunk with passion. His teeth nip your bottom lip as he pulls away. You’re so insanely, maddeningly in love with this man that you almost forget how to stand as he steps back.

“Take off your pants, sweet girl.”

You do as he says, eagerly unbuttoning your company issued black dress pants before sliding them down your legs. He stops you before you remove your thong, breathing out a heady ‘fuck’ before hooking his thumbs through the bright pink lacy waist band and sliding them down your legs. 

“Put your hands on the vanity and bend over for me,” he instructs with bated breath. He watches your reflection in the mirror, looking right into your soul as always, as you follow his instructions.  

You smile lovingly at him, clocking the way his throat works as he swallows hard at the sight of you bending at the waist, pushing your ass out for him. “Fuck, how did I get so lucky? All of this, just for me?”

“Just you, Joel,” you breathe, slipping your bottom lip between your teeth. 

He slides open a drawer and takes out two small bottles before turning on the water. He pops the top of one bottle, using the contents to wash both toys, then steps back behind you with the second bottle in and the plug in his hands. A warm laugh leaves your lips, “Always so prepared, Mister Miller.”

“With a pretty little thing like you in my life, I better be.” He clicks the top of the lube open as he continues, “Ready? I’ll go slow.”

“Mm-hm, I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” you coo, your body thrumming with the anticipation of his touch. 

“I know you will. No safeword right now, okay? Just say stop, and I will.” He spreads the lube around your tight ring of muscle with his thumb. Every muscle in your body goes slack under his attention and you sigh as your lashes flutter against your cheeks. “Good girl, just relax for me.”

After a few minutes of teasing you with the pad of his thumb he switches to the plug. The cold metal makes you jump. He reassures you by squeezing your hip as he murmurs, “You’re ok, baby.”

He swirls it gently at first, slowly applying more and more pressure before it slips in on its own and you whimper at the feeling. “Does that feel okay, sweet girl?”

“Mmm, yes,” you smile at his reflection in front of you. The amber glow of the LED lighting behind the mirror accentuates the honey flecks in his eyes. Everything about the way he’s looking at you feels overwhelming. It’s like when you first step foot into a hot tub on a cold winter's night. The sting of the swirling water is almost too hot as you sink further in. For a second you consider getting out, but then every single cell in your body adjusts and you can’t imagine not being wrapped in that heat.

“Now this one,” he says, holding up the black u-shaped vibrator. He adds a bit of lube and then guides your hips further back with one hand before kneeling. Your pussy clenches against nothing as you glance over your shoulder seeing him on his knees behind you. He practically whimpers, “God, Freckles, this pussy. She’s so gorgeous.”

A shy smile turns your lips upward. Joel starts to work the toy inside of you and you gasp out a moan. He moves the bulbous head of the toy back and forth until it slips in on its own accord, just like the plug did. Your breathing quickens at the pressure on your g-spot and clit; the toy isn’t even on yet and it already feels so good. Joel’s lips sponge against the globes of your ass, then your hip as he stands. “Are you ok, sweet girl?”

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you respond, your breath catching in your throat as you stand. 

“Good. Now put your clothes back on and get to work.”

Before you can bend to pick up your discarded clothing, he pulls you into his arms and brings his lips to yours. The kiss is so soft that it steals your breath, and you almost blurt your feelings for him right then and there. He keeps one arm wrapped tightly around your waist while the other snakes up your body until his large palm cups the side of your face. This kiss, compared to the one from earlier, is different in every way. Where that one was rough and passionate, this one is gentle and almost lazy; a content moan rumbles from his chest. Before pulling away, his warm tongue swipes sweetly across yours. 

 “See you later, honey,” he whispers, then kisses your forehead and walks away.

Honey, he called me honey. Everything about the last few seconds feels so goddamn domestic, and your potential life five years from now flashes through your mind. 

You're standing in this bathroom, getting ready to head to the law firm you work at. Joel, no longer just your dom but also now your new husband, puts a fresh latte on the counter for you, then helps you with the clasp of your necklace before kissing that sensitive spot behind your ear. ‘See you later, honey’.

The rev of Joel’s Jag pulling out of the garage snaps you out of your daydream. You get dressed and walk back downstairs while opening the Maid Discreetly app. To your surprise, cleaning Joel’s office isn’t the first task. Instead, you’ve been asked to wipe down the kitchen, then vacuum the main floor, stairs and upstairs rooms, and finish off by dusting his bedroom. All of it seems very doable in the next four hours, and just when you think you’ll probably be done early and have time to properly get ready for your night out, Mister Miller reminds you that he has the remote to a very distracting detonator. 

The first few times the vibrator comes on it’s subtle, just a light buzzing against your clit. It’s enjoyable, almost like a tickling massage, but after almost an hour and half of being gently teased at random you can feel your frustrations start to reach a boiling point.

You: Mister Miller, you’re torturing me Joel: Oh, sweet girl. We’ve only just begun. You: *pouts* Joel: That’s not going to get you what you want. Be a good girl and get back to work. I have a meeting. 

You check off the kitchen and main floor tasks and then move to the stairs. You decide to start at the top, sitting on the stair below it and scoot down to save your back. You’re also hoping that the pressure on the toy will make it strong enough that you can finally come. Joel turns the vibrator on again and you whine out in frustration when your plan fails. The slight hum against your clit stops and you mutter something about Joel being a sadistic bastard under your breath and continue your backwards ride down the stairs. As you reach the halfway point the vibrator comes to life at an intensity so strong that you drop the hose of the vacuum and dig your nails into the plush carpet of the stair tread. 

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, squeezeing your legs together as he brings you right to the edge. Your orgasm builds quickly, and just as it’s about to take you, the vibrations stop. 

Joel: You better not have come You: Please, Mister Miller. I was so close Joel: Not yet, babygirl  

Joel continues this throughout the afternoon. Every ten minutes or so, the black u-shaped torture device inside of you comes to life; always at different intensities and for varying times. 

Torture device might be a bit strong, the discarded box of feelings says from the back of your mind. We both know you’re enjoying it. You don’t know when she decided to come back, but at least she’s keeping you honest. 

It’s been about three hours by the time you get to your last task of the day. The vibrator buzzes gently as you grab a duster and head into Joel's bedroom. You bite back a smile seeing his bed, the white fluffy sheets neatly tucked in. You can’t help but run your fingers across the soft duvet, remembering how it felt against your skin, remembering how he felt above, behind, below and beside your naked body.

Joel: You doing ok? Do you need to use your safeword? You: I’m okay, Mister Miller. I REALLY need to come, but this is the best day I’ve ever had at work.

When 3:30pm hits, you’ve finished everything in the app, and are so wound up from being teased that you’re fighting from taking the vibrator out and making yourself come. Everytime the vibrator comes on, you break out in goosebumps, the hair on your body standing on end, but when he turns it off, your cheeks flush in frustration and a wave of heat rolls through you. You know Joel will take care of you when he gets home and sees how badly you need it. He talks a big game, but you see the way he folds when you beg. 

Joel: I’ll be home in about 40 minutes, Tommy won’t shut up about concrete. You: I need to come so badly, Mister Miller. I’m throbbing, please!  Joel: Soon. Just breathe, sweet girl. You can do this. 

You need to distract yourself, and you know Joel’s office usually gets pretty dusty, so even though it’s not on your list, you grab your cleaning supplies and slowly open the door. It’s as it usually is: small piles of papers on the desk and a few things out of place on the book shelf. You put the books back and dust the shelves, then run the duster over the blinds before cleaning the window.

Joel: Goddamn, he’s still going on about fucking concrete. How’s my baby doin? You: Horny, I’m trying to distract myself

The vibrator comes to life at the lowest setting. Once again, it’s not enough to make you come, just enough to tease and taunt. You could cry at the frustration of it. 

You: That’s not helping, Mister Miller Joel: What’s not? You: Hilarious. Please? Joel: Nope. I love watching you come, hearing the whiny little gasps you make, so not until later

You move towards the desk. Just as you reach to tidy the stack of papers, the vibrations against your clit hit at an intensity you haven’t felt yet today. You fall forward, gasping for breath, as the papers scatter to the floor. You’re about to fall into the pleasure, feel those waves of nirvana that you so desperately need when the vibrator turns off and you’re left with nothing. You bite back an agitated yell. 

Joel: See you in less than half an hour, sweet girl. You better not have come.  You: I didn’t. I promise. 

You’ve never read anything on Joel’s desk before, but you notice a familiar emblem on the first piece of paper you pick up. It’s a short, handwritten note, and as your eyes scan the few sentences, your heart leaps into your throat as your stomach simultaneously falls to the floor. You read through it once and then twice, trying to make sense of the information in front of you. After blinking hard a few times, you read it again. 

You feel like you’re being ripped in two. 

Joel, Thank you for your generous (and anonymous) donation to the law library. I’ll be sure to find her application and review it myself. See you at the club's anniversary party in a few weeks.

You flip the note over and back again, reading it through one last time. It’s not signed by anyone, just black ink on eggshell white, the University of Austin letterhead at the top. The letter and the room start to spin. You stumble towards his desk chair and breathe through the wave of nausea that hits you; your mind reels at what you’ve just learned. Anger, disbelief and sadness all push against your prefrontal cortex, fighting to be the winning emotion. You want it to be anger – anger is so much easier to deal with. Yelling and telling Joel to fuck off would make you feel so much better, but overwhelming sadness and disappointment ultimately become the victors. 

He doesn’t believe in me.

The realization feels like knives along your skin. Everything he said about how you could do it, or that you’d get in…that was all bullshit. He paid for you to get in, and then – and this is the part that hurts the most – he made you believe that you did it all on your own. Your lungs feel like they’re filled with glass as you force yourself to take slow, controlled breaths. 

He doesn’t believe in me.

Tears prickle behind your eyes but you force them back. You will not cry, not when you’ve been through this before and came out stronger. Your parents didn’t believe in you, and you proved them wrong, graduating early and making it on your own in Texas for the last four years.

I can prove Joel wrong, too.

You shut your eyes tight. You don’t need him; you don’t need anyone. But if that’s true, why does his sexy smirk flash behind your eyelids? The glass moves from your lungs to your veins; everything hurts, and you scold yourself for letting him get this intertwined in you. 

Never again, you tell yourself. Stick to your plan. Law school. Get in with a good firm, pass the bar and become partner; then worry about a love life. 

You walk to his bedroom, removing the toys and cleaning them off before changing into the black leggings and beige crew neck sweater you brought. You gather your hair into a claw clip and head downstairs. With your bag by the door and the letter still clutched in your hand you lean back against the kitchen island and wait for Joel. 

He doesn’t believe in me. 

Joel

The drive home feels like it takes forever; granted, Tommy talking about fucking concrete for almost an hour felt longer. At dinner tonight, he’s going to explain from the beginning. He prepares himself for the worst, for your anger or hurt. He won’t be able to live with himself if he’s hurt you, but anger he can deal with. He knows it’s selfish, but you yelling at him over this would make him feel better. 

Finally, he turns into his neighborhood. The sight of your slightly rusty SUV parked on the street spreads a familiar warmth from his heart to his toes. Mine, he thinks to himself as he pulls into his garage. He knows you’re going to be so tightly wound from all the teasing you endured today, and he plans to very slowly unwind you before you go for dinner. The way you fall apart for him is so beautiful, and after almost four hours of being brought to the edge over and over again, he can’t wait to have your writhing and shaking with a simple flick of his tongue against your clit. But first, he’s going to kiss every inch of your skin while occasionally clicking the vibrator on at its lowest setting. He almost trips over your bag as he comes into the house, and when his eyes meet yours, he knows something is wrong.  

“Baby?” His voice cracks in concern at the look on your face. He mentally runs through the rolodex of facial expressions he’s seen from you, and he hates that he can’t place this one; it’s not anger or sadness, and it most definitely is not excitement or curiosity. Your soft lips are turned down in the corners, arms crossed and eyes soft. “What’s wrong?”

Your arms uncross and you hold out the letter he should have shredded weeks ago.

His stomach does a free fall. Disappointment. The look on your face is disappointment, and that is so much worse than anger or sadness. 

Fuck. 

You

Joel walks towards you with slow, measured steps while carding a nervous hand through his curls. You force yourself to continue breathing, fighting against the tears that threaten to appear. He takes the letter from you and rips it in half; you drop your eyes, watching as the two halves of paper flutter to the ground and then slide away from each other along the marble. You shake your head at the symbolism of it, hugging your arms tightly against your body again.

“I thought you believed in me,” you say, trying not to sound as gutted as you feel. 

“I do, sweet girl,” he says, stepping so close that his black leather dress shoes line up with your socked feet. You look up as he continues, “I swear I do. You - you got in on your own. Please, just let me explain.”

His eyes line with tears and moments that you overlooked over the last few weeks playback like a movie. The first day in this kitchen he said he knew the dean of admissions. The flash of anger when you went to the Shibari night and his response of “all of them?” when you said you didn’t get in. The way he insisted you open the letters before the anniversary party. He knew, he fucking knew all along that at least one university would accept you. Dread settles in your stomach, turning the shards of glass under your skin to icicles. Berkeley.

“Did you pay off Berkeley, too?”

“I didn’t pay anyone off.” He’s calm but firm in his response, which just seems to piss you off more. 

You roll your eyes, gesturing to the ripped paper on the floor and scoff. “Did you pay off Berkeley, Joel?”

The two of you stare at each other for a few heartbeats, and you don’t back down as more tears gather along his bottom lash line. He shakes his head in defeat, burying his hands in his pockets and breathing slowly a few times before whispering, “No.”

“Why would you do this to me? This could have ruined my entire career.” You try to keep your voice calm, but how dare he stand in front of you holding back tears. 

“I’m sorry, sweet girl. I wasn’t - I just…I’m sorry,” he flounders.

“Why, Joel?” Your eyes dance along his face. You aren’t sure what justification you're looking for or hoping for. The dream of staying here died the moment you picked up that note, but you can’t go to California without knowing why he did it. 

He opens his mouth, shaking his head slightly and then closes his mouth. He takes a deep breath through his nose, blinking away the tears. “Because I don’t want to lose you, Freckles. I should have told you, I was going to tell you tonight. That donation isn’t the reason you got in…you did that on your own. I just…well, I just sped up the process. And I’m so sorry you found out like this.”

You scoff again. “I thought my consent was the most important thing to you.”

His eyes widened in shock. “It is, sweet girl.”

“I didn’t ask you to meddle in my life, Joel. And I certainly didn’t ask you to speed along the process. What happens if I become a Supreme Court judge and someone finds out that you bribed a university to get me?” He goes to speak, but you raise a hand to stop him and continue. “And don’t tell me that you didn’t bribe anyone, because that’s exactly how this looks and you know it. You wouldn’t be looking at me like a guilty puppy if you thought what you did was right.”

His hands come to cup your face. The warm coffee eyes that usually dance rhythmically around your face are replaced by shifting dark glass beads laced with fear and loss. The warmth you normally feel when he touches you is gone. His eyes flick to your lips and then back to your eyes before he speaks. 

“Freckles, I lov-”

Your still raised hand covers his mouth, clamping tightly to his face to stop him. 

“Please don’t,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat and keeping your palm pressed to his soft lips. Your heart pounds behind your ribs in response to what he was about to confess. If he tells you what you so desperately wanted to hear just hours ago, you know you’ll crumble. You’ll let him take you up to his bedroom and apologize in a way that only he can. You’ll spend the night planning how you can do long distance while you’re in California. You’ll let him interfere with the plan…again.

“Don’t say that to me right now, I can’t hear that.”

He nods into your hand slowly, his eyes soften, and you try to memorize every bit of amber in his otherwise black brown eyes. This will be the last time he looks at you like this, and the realization seems to suck the air out of the room. You wish you could bottle up how it makes you feel when he looks at you like that; the way it comforts you and shuts off the narrated to do list in your mind that’s always growing in your mind. 

“Joel, if…if you feel that way, then you’ll let me go,” you tell him, voice just above a whisper. He lets out a shaky breath through his nose, the heat of it warming your hand. One of his hands leaves your face to wrap around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull your hand away or step back out of your grip. Instead, he runs his thumb in small circles along the soft, smooth skin there, and you swear you can feel the whorls of his thumb tattooing themself on you, trying desperately to stay with you forever. 

“You’ll understand why I have to go to Berkeley now,” you continue. “I have been working so hard for this. And for years, I have been doing it all on my own. I’m so close, Joel…so close to finishing what I started when I was, like, seven years old. So, please, I’m begging you…please do not finish that sentence.”

You drop your hand from his mouth, his grip going weak as he lets you slip out of his grasp. He looks small, almost deflated in front of you as he stumbles back a few steps. The silence between the two of you feels heavy. 

It’s over. Whatever this was, or could be, is over, and you both know it. 

When he finally speaks, it’s a sad whisper. “What about when you’re done?”

“A lot can change in three years, Joel,” you respond, mostly to extinguish the flicker of hope in your chest. It’s better for you to push him away now than to hope that he’ll be there when you graduate. No one has ever been there for you, and this is proving to be no different. You step around him and head to the front door, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek as the tears threaten to reappear while you get your shoes on. 

“Freckles, wait.”

You close your eyes, facing the door with your hand on the matte black knob. His dress shoes click on the shiny marble before his large hand comes to rest on the door beside your head. This is the exact position you were in after accidentally catching him in his office. You keep your eyes glued to the door and after a sniffle, a quiet clearing of his throat and a whispered, heartbreaking ‘fuck’, he continues. 

“I really am sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. “This is not how I wanted this to go, but you know what you need and I respect your choice. These last few weeks have been so much more than I could have imagined, more than I deserve. You have brought me back, sweet girl. I know you probably don’t believe a word of what I’ve said tonight, and that’s ok, but with you, I felt that pull that I’ve been waiting for. I felt it the minute your cleaning caddy fell to the ground and I locked eyes with you. If you were anyone else, I would have let you run out of here and then had you fired. I chased you and I’ve been chasing you ever since, even though I know you are meant for more and that this could only ever be temporary for you. This was always going to be the end for me and a well-deserved, hard-earned beginning for you.”

He takes a shaky breath in and you open your eyes, but you don’t look back at him. “Regardless of all that, I meant what I said in my office that day. Starting this with you would be it for me. A lot can change for you in three years, and I want you to experience everything in California. But for me, it’s you. It will always be you.”

Your chest feels like it’s going to cave and your knees threaten to buckle. “I have to go, Joel,” you grit out, forcing your voice past the boulder that’s formed in your throat.

“I know, and I’m so proud of you, sweet girl,” he whispers, dropping his hand and stepping back. The heat of his broad body and leather-and-ash scent disappear from behind you, and it feels like you’ve been plunged into freezing, uncharted waters. 

You get in your car and drive, unsure of where your final destination will be. After driving around Austin for a while, you find yourself parking outside of the Maid Discreetly office. You take a minute, deciding what you are and aren’t going to tell your best friend before heading in. Jamie’s office is impeccable as always, not a single smudge on the glass desk as she types on her laptop, looking effortlessly perfect.  

“Hey, babe!” she says with a smile as you cross the threshold.

“How’s your dad doing with the California office?” you say, trying to act casual.

“Oh my god!” she practically shrieks as she jumps up from her chair. “Did you get into Berkeley?”

“That depends,” you say, raising one shoulder. “Does he have a job for me there?”

“Holy shit!” She runs around the desk and wraps you in her arms. How she can move like that in stilettos is beyond you.

“Careful, you’re gonna break an ankle,” you deadpan. The weight of what just happened with Joel almost dissipates. Jamie pulls back to look at you, her eyes scan your face and you feel exposed.

���Why aren’t you more excited? What’s wrong?”

Shit. 

A sob leaves your throat and you collapse into Jamie’s open arms. She pulls you into her office with one arm and closes her door with the other, then leads you to the couch along the far wall. As soon as she gets you seated, you manage to explain everything between sobs and very unattractive nose blowing.

This is supposed to be one of those exciting moments of your life. You did it: you got into the school you always dreamed of and you're moving to California; a place you always felt most at ease in. Yet, it’s all clouded over by having your heart wholly shattered by a man that you actually thought was going to be the love of your life. Someone who showed you he cared, showed you that he’d always be there. 

But it was all a lie.