#but i guess i'm still learning as i write

[creatingblackcharacters]

Writing Polls Notes #2

‼️Number of Submissions Received:‼️

246 submissions!

‼️Number of Submissions co/authored, co/directed, co/screenwritten or co/produced by Black creators:‼️

A whopping.... 17.

6.9% of creations that involved Black people at the narrative helm. Let's talk about it!

The submissions with Black creators involved: Addy (American Girl), The Woman King, Legendborn, Static Shock, Circle of Magic, Grey's Anatomy, Nope, Wendell and Wild, Dread Nation, The Residence, Wakanda Forever, Bridgerton (TV), The Old Guard, Moon Girl (TV), How to Get Away With Murder, and Lou's 2 Dimension 20 characters

*I am not perfect with numbers and given the amount received, I may have missed some, so please let me know!

(Bridgerton and The Residence are Shondaland like Grey's and HTGAWM, so I included them.)

It seems despite this being the fandom website, y'all don't.... there was a lot of not seen😅 Don't get me wrong, it checks that everyone doesn't watch the same things, so of course there'd be a large number, but...

Well, it means we REALLY don't consume media made by the very demographic we're discussing! Part of that is due to what's emphasized in media, what receives funding and advertisement and support, but... Still. So many white and nonblack creators of Black characters, and then we notice how the trend generally leans mid to negative in these polls 😅 That's something we might wanna consider, especially when I say "study Black creators if you want to learn how to write us well".

I spent a lot of time waiting and wondering if anyone was going to submit any media made by Black people, resisting the urge to submit things myself so as to prevent a bias or artificial push. There were so many characters from "Black movies" I would have posted... But it didn't really feel like anything y'all have watched was culturally ours 😅 So I decided to create another series of polls and... Well 😅

Can you guess which is which 😅

I see that I should have made them equivalent measurements now, to better see this, but like... 😬

And to be fair! I myself shocked myself at how little of my own media I had consumed versus mainstream media. It bothered me, especially because I knew of the movies and hadn't seen them yet. It's something I want to set about fixing. It is clear that we could all use some more Black movie nights!

I also noticed that there was a small pattern of self back patting when I posted the "how many of these have you seen" polls. This wasn't about you feeling good about yourself lol, it was about recognizing that there's an entire subgroup of movies that you culturally would have never had put in your face because they weren't centered on your identity. "I don't watch movies, I've only seen four ever in my life" and of those four, how many had well written Black characters? How many were movies written by Black people? The question remains! Just because you watch less TV, doesn't make the TV you watch any less lacking in diversity. As always, I think we need to get out of that mindset of "whew I checked the list, I'm not racist" and focus on "here's this pattern I never noticed and should start".

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Homecoming | Ten.Two

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 12k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, discussions of family dynamics, emotional vulnerability, and that warm ache when you realize someone is making space for you in their life, not just their bed.

A Few Quick Notes:

📌 This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. Do NOT copy, repost, translate, or distribute my work on any other platform. Please respect my writing.

📌 Want to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or message me!

📌 Requests: Open

Author’s Note:

First off, I’m so sorry this chapter is late, I’m in the last two weeks of the quarter, it’s my senior year, and shit has officially gotten real. Thank you for being patient with me while I try to survive this final academic gauntlet. I’m still going to try to keep up my one-chapter-a-week rhythm, but I can’t promise that until I’m fully, officially, done with school. I’d rather take my time and make these chapters something I’m proud of and something you genuinely enjoy than rush just to hit a deadline. I will be catching up on asks today and tomorrow!

This chapter is about the calm before the shift. The comfort, the warmth, the feeling of coming home to someone and starting to believe this could last. It’s about those little domestic moments that sneak up on you and start to feel like real life. The way love settles into the quiet spaces. In making someone a shake, you guessed your way through. In the way bodies find their natural rhythm. Realizing someone fits not just in your bed, but your life.

For Joe, it’s learning that showing up doesn’t always mean grand gestures. Sometimes it means letting go of control, eating the meal someone made for you, and feeling how good it is to be cared for while watching someone move through their world with that natural grace he’s never quite learned. For Riley, it’s that flicker of recognition that this man fits not just in her present, but in her future. In her routines, hopefully, her family, and her dreams of building something permanent.

It’s sweet. It’s intimate. It’s the kind of chapter that feels like laying your head on someone’s chest and breathing in sync. It’s about the way homecoming feels different when you’re coming home to someone, not just somewhere.

Thank you again for reading and supporting this story. You guys keep me going through dead week and beyond. Truly.

Happy reading! 🩵🏡

Taglist: @wickedfun9@starsyoongi@amiets2@palmettogal508@throwaway12356123@lilfreakjez

---

The plane taxied across the tarmac, bright Louisiana sun beating down on the windows. Joe leaned back in his seat, drumming his fingers once on the armrest—the only outward sign of the anticipation coursing through him. The flight attendant's voice crackled over the speaker, but the words barely registered. His mind was already outside the plane.

He’d spent the flight half-watching game film, half-ignoring the nervous energy building all week. That was his way compartmentalize, stay busy, stay in control. But now, with New Orleans stretching out below him, the excitement he’d tried to shove down was buzzing just under his skin.

The seatbelt sign dinged off. He grabbed his bag, ducked into the aisle, and moved through the crowd at that same steady pace he did everything unbothered, unhurried.

His phone buzzed as he stepped into the terminal.

Riley: I'm outside. Gray 4Runner. Parked where the giant pelican sign is.

Joe: Walking out now.

He moved through the small airport, cap pulled low, bag slung over one shoulder. A few heads turned, but he barely noticed. His pace picked up without thinking, moving toward her.

The automatic doors slid open, and the humidity wrapped around him thick and unrelenting, a sharp contrast to the harsh blast of airport AC and the echo of rolling suitcases and overhead announcements. That Louisiana kind of heat familiar, but still enough to knock the wind out of you. He blinked against the sun, eyes sweeping the pickup lane.

Then he saw it the gray 4Runner idling at the curb, windows down, music barely audible over the airport noise.

Riley was half-hanging out the driver's side window, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, scanning the terminal doors. She hadn't spotted him yet, and for a moment, Joe just watched her—the casual way she drummed her fingers on the door, how she occasionally blew a strand of hair from her face, the slight bounce of her shoulders to whatever song was playing.

No carefully maintained image. No calculated pose. Just Riley.

Joe felt the corner of his mouth tug upward as he crossed toward the car. He opened the back door first, tossed his bag in, then rounded to the passenger side.

Riley’s head turned as he opened the door, and she smiled. Bright, easy, like she couldn’t help it. She shifted toward him without thinking, like her body already knew what to do.

"Hey, lovey," she said, voice warm with something just for him.

"Hey," Joe replied, taking her in. She looked more vibrant here, more settled in her own skin than in Cincinnati or LA.

Without overthinking it, Joe leaned across the console. His hand found the curve of her jaw, thumb brushing once across her cheek before he kissed her. Not brief, not rushed. Just slow and full, like he needed her to feel how much he’d missed her.

When he pulled back, Riley's eyes stayed closed for half a second longer, as if holding onto the moment. Her smile had softened into something private.

“Missed you,” she said, like she already knew he had.

Joe nodded, holding her gaze. "Yeah. Me too."

In that moment, the time apart collapsed. Five days compressed into nothing. That was how it had been from the start with them. Distance, schedules, complications, all of it faded when they were face to face, leaving just the gravity between them. The one thing in his life Joe couldn't calculate or control.

"I made lunch," Riley said, putting the car in drive while keeping her eyes on him. "Nothing fancy. Just some of that bread you liked last time and shrimp."

"Perfect," Joe said, settling back as she pulled away from the curb.

Riley’s hand found his on the console between them, fingers threading together like muscle memory. With his free hand, Joe reached for the window control and let the heavy air rush in. The city met him in waves, warm and heady, carrying the scent of magnolia and jasmine blooming somewhere nearby.  He remembered it from his LSU days, but it hit different now. It wasn’t just New Orleans. It was her.

Riley glanced over, taking in his simple gray T-shirt and navy joggers. There was nothing deliberate about how good he looked. It was just him, unthinking and effortless. She smiled, one hand still on the wheel.

“You packed layers, right? The weather here’s been crazy. Hot one minute, storming the next.”

Joe nodded. "I'm good."

"My auntie’s been getting ready since yesterday,” she said, turning onto a side street, navigating through neighborhoods where trees hung low over the road. “Pretty sure she bought out half the seafood market this morning.”

“I’ve been thinking about crawfish all week,” Joe said, and she could hear the genuine anticipation in his voice.

Riley's mouth curved. "She's going all out. Said she's testing your Louisiana credentials with her special batch."

“I’m not worried,” Joe said, voice easy.

Riley laughed. "That's what I told her. 'I said you could probably out-eat half the family.'"

“You’ll still need to watch yourself,” Riley said, mock-serious. “Megan’s boyfriend got exiled to the kids’ table last year for peeling them wrong.”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Exiled, huh?”

"Family tradition," Riley said with a shrug. "We judge people by how they eat."

The street narrowed, houses growing more colorful as they turned into her neighborhood. The jasmine she’d mentioned was exactly as described, spilling over fences and gates, spreading across the sidewalks in waves of green and white. Her house sat in the middle of the block,  its lilac paint as vivid as he remembered. 

She pulled into the small driveway and cut the engine, the sudden silence thick with anticipation. For a moment, neither of them moved. It felt like they both needed that breath of stillness before stepping into whatever came next.

"Welcome back," Riley said finally.

Joe nodded, taking in the house with fresh eyes. During Mardi Gras, he’d seen it in fragments. Dim light, celebration chaos, his attention split between the unfamiliar space and the woman leading him through it. Now, in daylight, the details stood out. The weathered trim, the porch swing moving gently in the breeze, the flower boxes overflowing beneath each window.

He felt it again, that same quiet certainty from months ago. This must be the place.

They grabbed his bag and walked up the path together, Riley’s keys jingling in her hand. The gate creaked as she pushed it open, the sound oddly satisfying. Real, not pristine. So different from his carefully maintained house.

"You were right, the jasmine is intense this year," Joe observed.

“I told you, it’s taking over.” Riley bumped her shoulder against his. “Kind of like you in my life.”

Joe glanced at her, catching the mix of teasing and vulnerability in her expression. "That a complaint?"

"HA! Not even close," she said, unlocking the front door.

The house wrapped around them as they stepped inside. Cool air carried traces of something cooking, wood floors creaked beneath their weight, light filtered through lace curtains and caught on record sleeves and picture frames. Everything was exactly as he remembered. He understood why it had stayed with him.

Riley set her keys in a ceramic bowl by the door. "Lunch is almost ready. Just need to finish the sauce."

Joe set his bag beside the entry table. The feeling settled in quietly, familiar and steady. Vintage concert posters. A guitar in the corner. A stack of books marked with candy wrappers and dog-eared pages. Everything just as he remembered, but it carried a different weight now. Like something that had taken root. Like a place that had been waiting for him.

He followed her into the kitchen, where she’d turned the pot back on and two places were already set at the small table by the window.

Nothing fancy. Just Riley. Thoughtful without making a thing of it, already making space for him without needing to say a word.

Riley moved to the stove, lifting the lid to check whatever was inside. Without thinking, Joe stepped behind her, hands finding her waist, chin resting lightly on top of her head.

She leaned back against him instantly, her body relaxing into his. "Been waiting all week for exactly this," she said quietly.

Joe didn’t need to say anything. He just tightened his arms slightly and pressed a kiss to the curve where her neck met her shoulder. Actions over words, always his way. Riley felt herself soften into him, her body understanding what he meant before her mind caught up.

Riley turned in his arms, wooden spoon still in hand, face tilted up to his. Her expression was open in the way that always caught him off guard. No defenses, no performance. Just Riley, looking at him like he was the answer to a question she’d been carrying. He felt the weight of that look, how rare it was, how unguarded, and found himself wanting to be worthy of it.

"I should finish this," she said, gesturing to the stove with the spoon, "or we'll be eating burnt sauce."

Joe nodded, releasing her but not moving far. "Need help?"

"Just cut the bread? It's warming in the oven."

The familiar rhythm of preparing a meal together felt surprisingly natural, considering they'd only done this a handful of times. Joe found the bread wrapped in foil, Riley ladled the shrimp and sauce into shallow bowls, and they moved around the small kitchen with an ease that suggested they'd been doing this for years rather than months.

"So tomorrow's the crawfish interrogation," Joe said, setting the bread on a cutting board.

Riley laughed. "Is that what you're calling it now? The crawfish interrogation?"

"Seems accurate based on your description."

She carried the bowls to the table, her movements unhurried. "It's not an interrogation. It's just... Papa wanting to make sure you're good enough for his baby."

"And the technique evaluation," Joe added, deadpan.

"That's just a bonus torture method," Riley said, grinning. "If you nail the crawfish technique, he might even skip the baby photos."

"Now I'm definitely worried."

They settled at the table, sunlight casting dappled patterns through the lace curtains. Riley passed him a napkin, their fingers brushing briefly.

"They're going to like you," she said, suddenly serious. "You know that, right?"

Joe looked at her, considering his response. "That matters to you. That they approve."

Riley's expression opened, surprise flickering across her face at his perception. "Yeah. It does."

"Then I'll make sure they do," he said simply.

It wasn’t bravado or empty reassurance. Just a statement of intent, delivered with the same calm certainty he brought to everything that mattered. Riley’s family was important to her, so they were important to him. Problem identified, solution determined.

Riley studied him for a moment, then shook her head slightly, a soft smile playing at her lips. "Just like that, huh?"

"Just like that," Joe confirmed.

The tension in her shoulders visibly eased. "Alright then, lovey. Let's eat before it gets cold."

The shrimp was perfect. Spicy and rich, the sauce layered with flavor in a way that seemed effortless but wasn’t. Joe took another bite, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"This is fucking good," he said simply.

No embellishment, no comparison. Just straightforward appreciation. Riley grinned, clearly pleased.

"Thanks," she said. “Made it for you.”

They settled back into comfortable silence for a few moments, the house quiet around them except for the occasional creak of old wood settling.

"Tell me about your session with Dak yesterday," Riley said eventually. "That new footwork drill you mentioned."

Joe paused, surprised she'd remembered that detail from their brief call. "We're tweaking the progression. Small adjustments to my drop, trying to shave off a tenth of a second."

"Tell me how," she prompted.

Joe’s mouth quirked, not quite a smile, but close. He used his hands as he explained, gesturing with quiet precision to show the weight transfer points, the subtle shift in timing.

“It’s about loading the back foot differently,” he said, his right hand marking the pivot. “Most people wouldn’t catch it, but at game speed, it matters.”

It was the kind of microscopic adjustment that sounded obsessive to outsiders, but at his level, fractions of seconds determined completions or interceptions. Riley leaned forward slightly, asking questions that showed she was actually listening, not just being polite.

It struck him, not for the first time, how rare that was. Someone who engaged with his off-season work without pretending to know more than they did, without dismissing it as excessive or unnecessary. Riley approached it the way she approached music, with respect for the craft behind it.

When he finished explaining, she nodded thoughtfully. "So it's like... microadjusting technique. The basic movement stays the same, but you're refining the efficiency."

"Exactly," Joe said, surprised by how perfectly she'd distilled it.

Riley smiled, pleased with herself. "See? I'm learning your language."

"You are," he agreed, and found he meant it more deeply than the words suggested.

They finished the meal in easy conversation. Riley’s plans to help Egan with a recording project the day after he left. Joe’s teammate Sam and his latest misadventure. The neighbor’s cat that had taken to sleeping on her porch. Nothing profound, nothing dramatic. Just the quiet pleasure of being in the same space again.

As Riley gathered their empty bowls, she glanced at him over her shoulder. "I didn't plan anything major for today. Figured you might want to just... be here for a while. Get settled."

Joe nodded, understanding what she wasn't saying. She was giving him space to adjust, to transition from the controlled environment of his training schedule to the warmth and chaos of her world. It was a small consideration, but it spoke volumes about how well she'd come to know him.

"That sounds perfect," he said.

Standing in her sun-drenched kitchen, watching her move with the casual confidence of someone completely at home, Joe felt something in his chest loosen. A tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. The careful compartmentalization he kept in Cincinnati didn’t seem necessary here.

It wasn’t something she said. It was just how she was with him. No expectations, no edits. And somehow, that made him want to meet her there. Not as someone better. Just as himself, with nothing held back.

* * *

They cleared the table slowly, neither in a rush. Riley rinsed the bowls in the sink, humming under her breath. A song he didn’t recognize, maybe something new. Joe leaned against the counter, drying dishes without being asked.

It wasn’t domesticity for show. Just a rhythm, unspoken and easy.

When the last glass was stacked in the drying rack, Riley turned, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Want to sit outside for a bit?”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Porch swing?”

She nodded.

They stepped out into the brightness, the screen door clicking shut behind them. Jasmine wound through the railing and along the steps, blooming wild and fragrant in the afternoon light. The porch swing creaked as Joe sat first, one arm stretching across the back as he settled in. He glanced at her, then patted his thigh.

Riley didn’t hesitate. She climbed onto the swing, folding easily into him, her head resting in his lap, feet propped up on the far end. Her curls brushed against his shirt, bare legs stretched out and relaxed, one hand resting lightly on his knee.

The swing moved beneath them, slow and steady. Down the block, wind chimes tinkled, soft as breath.

Joe’s hand moved instinctively to her hair, fingers combing through it without rhythm. Not to soothe, not to distract. Just to touch.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

The silence stretched, soft and unhurried. Riley’s fingers moved absently over his knee. She did that sometimes, like she just needed the contact. Joe let his head fall back against the swing and closed his eyes. For the first time all day, maybe longer, he felt himself fully relax.

“You ever think about leaving LA?” he said quietly, his hand still in her hair. 

Her fingers paused.

She didn’t look up right away—just let the question hang there a second like it deserved its own breath.

Then “You mean for good?”

Joe didn’t press. Just nodded once. “Yeah.”

“All the time,” she said.

Joe didn’t respond right away. Just kept tracing slow, absent lines along her shoulder.

“It’s good for work,” Riley added. “For the band. Meetings, sessions, press, all that noise. But I don’t know… it’s not home.”

She turned her face a little, resting her cheek more firmly against his thigh.

“It gets lonely,” she said. “Even when I’m busy. Especially when I’m busy, actually. There’s too much of everything and not enough of anything that sticks.”

Joe stayed quiet, listening.

“A lot of shit with Ethan happened there,” she said. “And there are people I still run into sometimes. Old habits I don’t want near me. It’s not like I’m on the edge or anything. I’m not. It’s just… LA doesn’t forget who you used to be. Even when you’re trying to be someone different.”

“Andy loves it,” she said. “Pete could take it or leave it. Daniel hates it more than I do.

Joe didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low and even. “You think you’ll leave?”

Riley shifted slightly against him. Not pulling away, just enough to glance up and check if he was looking at her.

He was.

“Yeah,” she said.

It wasn’t a maybe. Wasn’t hesitant.

“Not today,” she added. “Not tomorrow. But I don’t think I’m meant to stay there.”

Joe nodded, just once. Quiet understanding.

Riley let her head rest back in his lap, eyes fixed on the spot where the jasmine reached across the porch rail.

“Feels good to say that out loud,” she said after a while.

Joe looked down at her, his hand still resting lightly on her side.

“Thanks for sharing it with me,” he said.

Joe let the silence stretch a little longer. Then he asked, quiet and even, “You ever thought about moving the work here?”

Riley nodded. “Yeah. We’ve talked about it.”

She shifted slightly in his lap, not pulling away, just adjusting, her legs stretching out a little farther.

“Something outside the city,” she said. “Not in New Orleans proper. A little land, enough space to build something that’s ours. We’ve been in the hustle so long, we haven’t really slowed down to make it real.”

She looked up at him. “But yeah. It’s come up.”

The swing creaked beneath them, a gentle rhythm as Joe pushed against the porch floor with one foot. He was quiet, thinking about what she'd said. About LA not being home. About wanting somewhere with space, with land.

"What would you need?" he asked finally. "To make it happen?"

Riley considered this, her eyes following a hummingbird that darted toward the jasmine. "Time, mostly. To figure out the logistics. Find the right property. Build something that works for recording." She paused. "And everyone would need to be on board. It'd change a lot of things."

Joe nodded, his hand resuming its gentle movement through her hair. "The band would move too?"

"That's the idea," she said. "At least part-time. Andy might keep a place in LA. But Pete and Daniel... they'd be all in, I think."

Joe tried to picture it. Riley here permanently, not just between tours or on breaks. New Orleans would hold more of her. The distance between them would be fixed now, defined. Cincinnati to New Orleans, instead of Cincinnati to wherever she happened to be that week.

He’d asked without thinking too hard about it, but part of him had wanted to know. Not just if she’d leave LA, but if she’d ever look farther. If she’d ever look his way.

"It'd be good," he said, surprising himself with how much he meant it. "You here. Closer to your grandfather. To the things that matter."

Riley looked up at him, a question in her eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, sure now. "You light up here. It's different from how you are anywhere else."

Her fingers found his free hand, twining through it loosely. "Not everywhere else," she said softly.

Joe glanced down at her, not quite able to read her expression. "No?"

"I'm pretty sure I lit up in Cincinnati too," she said, a small smile playing at her lips. "Just in a different way."

The implication hung there, unspoken but understood. Joe didn’t push. He just tightened his hand around hers, quiet and steady.

She’d heard what he hadn’t quite meant to say. And that changed something, even if neither of them named it.

The swing moved with them, slow and even. The afternoon stretched soft and gold around them. No rush to figure anything out. Just the quiet sense that whatever came next, they were already thinking about it together.

* * *

The swing had gone quiet, their movement slowed to barely more than a breath. The sun was sinking now, casting the porch in a low amber wash.

Joe’s hand rested at her hip, steady and warm.

Riley’s voice broke the silence.

“You wanna go in?”

He nodded, but didn’t move yet. “Yeah. I was thinking I might take a shower.”

Riley raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curving just slightly.

Joe looked at her, already catching on. There was a glint in her eye, a hint of something unspoken.

“You wanna take one with me?” he asked, smile tugging at his mouth.

Riley didn’t blink. “Yeah,” she said. “I do.”

He tapped her thigh lightly. “Alright, come on,” he said, voice low.

The swing groaned in protest as they left it behind.

They made their way through the house, quiet and easy.

Riley turned the taps, and steam began to gather in the air. She pulled her tank over her head in one clean motion, the fabric catching slightly at her shoulder.

Joe stepped in behind her, quiet and steady like always. His shirt hit the tile beside hers. Then his jeans. Then his socks.

Nothing said. Nothing needed.

She stepped in first, eyes closed as the water hit her collarbone, running down her chest in rivulets.

Joe followed.

The space was small, but they didn’t bump or shift awkwardly. They knew how to move around each other now. 

Riley let the water slick her hair back, then turned, her hands finding his waist. Joe leaned into the spray, eyes fluttering shut as it hit his face.

He exhaled slowly.

Neither of them spoke.

She reached for the shampoo, worked a little into her palm, and stepped closer. Joe bent to meet her hands, his head lowered, eyes still shut. Her fingers moved gently through his hair, slow and sure, nails grazing his scalp just enough to make his breath hitch.

When she rinsed, his hands slid to her hips. Not pulling, not asking for more. Just holding. Like he needed the contact to make it real.

When it was her turn, he took the bottle from her without needing to be told.

His hands were larger, less practiced, but careful. Almost reverent.

Joe tipped her chin back gently, making sure no soap stayed at her temple. His knuckles brushed her jaw. Her eyes closed.

They stood under the water until the heat began to fade. Skin pruned, muscles loose, neither ready to let the moment shift just yet.

When they finally stepped out, towels wrapped and skin damp and chilled, Riley reached for the edge of the fogged mirror and wiped a small circle clean. Just enough to see her own face.

Joe watched her from behind, towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping from his collarbone.

He didn’t say anything.

But when she caught his gaze in the glass, he didn’t look away.

They moved without hurry, toweling off as the last of the steam thinned in the air. Riley tugged on one of her softest shirts, oversized and collar stretched, then padded barefoot into the bedroom.

The light had changed since earlier. It came in low now, warm, brushing the floor in long streaks.

Joe followed a moment later, still drying his hair with one end of the towel. He didn’t say anything; he just watched her for a second, as if he were filing the whole scene away.

She sat at the edge of the bed, combing her fingers through her damp hair, not really trying to detangle it. Just moving slowly. Letting herself feel everything. The water on her skin. The weight of the day shifting.

Joe dropped the towel at the foot of the bed and pulled on a clean pair of shorts, his movements unhurried. When he crossed the room, Riley didn’t look up, but she felt the mattress shift beside her. His thigh against hers. Warm.

For a while, they just sat like that. Facing forward. Shoulders touching. Sharing the quiet.

Joe’s hand found hers without fanfare. He threaded their fingers together, thumb brushing lightly along the side of hers. 

She turned to him, and he met her halfway.

The kiss wasn’t urgent. It didn’t need to be. It just…was. She turned to him, and he met her halfway.

They lay back eventually, not under the covers, just stretched out on top, her head on his chest, his hand resting on the slope of her thigh. The room around them hummed with late afternoon stillness. Outside, the cicadas were starting up.

Neither of them said much. They didn’t need to.

His fingers traced lazy shapes against her leg, the same way hers had on the porch. Her breathing slowed to match his rhythm.

She could hear his heartbeat beneath her cheek. Steady and sure. The kind of sound that made everything else quiet down.

After a while, Joe's hand stilled on her leg. "Hey," he said quietly.

Riley lifted her head from his chest, meeting his eyes. "Hmm?"

"Need to get up for a second."

She shifted, rolling to the side to let him move. Joe sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the shorts and t-shirt he'd put on after their shower hanging loosely on his frame. He moved to where his bag sat on the floor near her dresser, kneeling with that unhurried precision that characterized everything he did.

Riley watched him, propped up on one elbow, sheet draped across her. Joe unzipped a side compartment, retrieving something small before returning to the bed. No explanation, no announcement—just that quiet certainty in his movements.

He settled beside her, a small velvet box in his hand. Black, slim, unassuming.

"Got you something," he said simply, extending it to her.

Riley's eyes moved from the box to his face, a hint of surprise flickering across her features. She sat up fully, the sheet tucked loosely around her, and took it. Her fingers were light against the velvet.

Opening it slowly, she found a bracelet that caught the late afternoon light and held it—gold scales textured like a serpent's skin, fluid and alive even while perfectly still. The clasp was subtle but distinctive, echoing a snake's head in a way that was elegant rather than literal.

Riley turned the bracelet in her hands, thumb brushing the clasp. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly.

Joe didn’t say anything right away. Just watched her. Steady, open.

Riley looked at the bracelet for another second, then up at him.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, a little quieter now. “You just… saw it and got it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Thought of you.”

Simple. Uncomplicated. Like he didn’t even realize what it meant. Not really.

Something caught low in her throat. It wasn’t the bracelet, not really. It was the fact that he’d been out, living his day, and somewhere in the middle of it, he’d seen something and thought: Riley would like this.

That hadn’t happened before.

She nodded once, not trusting her voice. Then held out her wrist.

Joe took it carefully, fastening the clasp with that quiet precision of his. The bracelet slid into place like it had always belonged there. His thumb grazed the inside of her wrist before he let go.

“There,” he said.

Riley looked down at it. Then at him.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. “Wanted to.”

Her chest tightened, not in a bad way, just sudden.

She leaned in, pressed her lips to his. Slow. Deliberate. More thank you than anything else.

When she pulled back, she didn’t go far. Just rested her forehead against his, her voice low.

“No one’s ever done that.”

Joe's jaw flexed slightly, the only outward sign of what those words did to him.

“You deserve it,” he said. Simple. Certain.

He didn’t look away. And she felt it land low and real, right where she carried the part of her that still wasn’t used to being chosen like this.

* * *

Riley didn’t say anything at first. She just set the box aside and shifted into his lap, slow and certain.

Joe didn’t move, just let his hands rest at her hips as she leaned in and kissed him softly, unrushed, full of feeling.

When she pulled back, she looked at him like it was already obvious.

“Thank you,” she said. Quietly.

Joe just nodded, his thumb brushing her side. “You’re welcome.” 

Riley didn’t move at first. Just stayed there in his lap, one knee on either side of him, the hem of her T-shirt skimming her thighs. Her hands were on his shoulders. Just there to feel him close.

She looked at him for a long moment, something settling behind her eyes. Like she caught a piece of him he didn’t mean to show, and decided to hold it anyway.

Then, quietly,

“Let me take care of you.”

Joe didn’t speak. Just blinked once. She felt the way his hands tensed a little where they rested at her hips, not in resistance. Just in that way, he always did when he was trying to stay in control of himself.

She kissed him again. Slow. Deliberate. More breath than pressure.

And when she pulled back, she didn’t look away as she slid off his lap, settling on the floor between his knees.

Joe watched her the whole way down.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t tease. She just let her hands settle on his thighs, her thumbs brushing along the inside like she was smoothing something invisible out of him.

He was still. Breathing steadily. But she could feel it in him, that quiet coil he carried all the time. The one he never let slip unless he was with her.

It wasn’t a show. Just a quiet thank you, pressed into skin.

Her voice was soft as her fingers curled under the waistband.

“Okay?”

Joe didn’t nod this time. Didn’t move. He just looked at her, like maybe he couldn’t believe she was real.

Then, rough and low,

“Yeah.” 

She didn’t rush. She didn’t look away.

Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately, easing the fabric down over his hips, her knuckles grazing his skin as she went.

 Joe shifted slightly, lifting for her without being asked. That alone said everything, how much he trusted her, and how much he wanted this too.

Once his shorts were off, she let her hands settle on his thighs again. Just breathing. Just taking him in.

She could feel the heat of him. Could see the way his cock was already thickening, the weight of it pressing against the cotton of his briefs.

But she didn’t reach for it yet.

Instead, she leaned in and kissed the skin just above his waistband, right at the dip of his hip. Quiet. Intentional.

Joe exhaled hard, the kind of breath that sounded like it had been sitting in his chest for too long.

Her voice barely carried, but he heard it.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just let me.”

He didn’t say anything. Just let his hands fall back to the bed, fingers curling into the comforter behind him like he needed something to hold on to.

Joe’s jaw was tight. Not because he was tense, but because he was trying not to come undone

She tugged the fabric down, and he lifted again for her, quiet and obedient. Not because she asked, but because he wanted to give her whatever she needed.

His cock sprang free, heavy and already half-hard. Her breath caught. Just want, hitting all at once.

She didn’t flinch or look away. Just took him in, calm and sure. Like she already knew he liked this. Like she loved him like this.

She shifted closer, her hand wrapping around him. Careful, but not tentative. She knew exactly what she was doing.

She lowered her head with no hesitation.

And when her mouth closed over him, slow, soft, wet, Joe’s whole body went still.

Not tense. Not bracing.

Just quiet.

She started with just the head, lips sealing around him with purpose. A slow pull, the kind of suction that made him twitch against her tongue. No rush. No show. Just the kind of pressure that said she knew exactly where he was most sensitive and wanted him to feel it.

Joe let out a low breath through his nose, eyes locked on her. One hand slid forward, fingers grazing her hair, not to guide her, just to touch. Like he needed the anchor.

She hollowed her cheeks slightly, easing down a little further. Not all at once. Just enough to feel him pulse on her tongue. Her hand moved in tandem, stroking the base with the same rhythm her mouth had found slow, steady, present.

Joe’s fingers tightened slightly at the back of her head.

“Riley.” It came out quietly, hoarse. Like he hadn’t meant to say it, but couldn’t help himself.

She looked up at him, her mouth still around him, and something in her expression wrecked him. She wasn’t asking for anything. She wasn’t seeking a reaction. She was offering. Quietly. Intimately. Like she already knew she belonged there—like his body had always made space for her. 

Then she closed her eyes again and took him deeper. Slower this time. Her hand moved with her mouth, smooth and deliberate, matching the pressure of her lips. It wasn’t about technique. It was about feel. About how she knew exactly what he needed, not just his body, but all of him.

Joe’s breath caught, barely audible, and the hand still tangled in her hair flexed like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She could feel him start to swell more fully against her tongue, feel the tension begin to build in his thighs. He was holding back, of course, he was. He always did. Always trying to stay composed, even now, when she had him bare and breathless in her mouth.

She pulled back just slightly, let her tongue drag across the underside of him before she eased down again. A rhythm, not fast, but focused. Intentional. Like she was trying to pull the weight from his chest, one slow stroke at a time.

His hips shifted under her, just barely, like he couldn’t help it. She tightened her hand a little and hollowed her cheeks again, and that made him groan quietly, strangled, like the sound slipped out before he could stop it.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes falling shut.

Still trying to hold it together.

She didn’t stop. Just kept giving. Kept knowing.

She pulled back just enough to breathe and look at him, his chest rising, eyes heavy, jaw clenched like he was still trying to hang on.

Then she whispered it, soft and certain, the words falling from her lips like a secret only meant for him.

“Baby… let go.”

Something in his expression cracked. Just a flicker, but she saw it.

And then she took him back in. Faster this time, but just as focused. Like she was pulling him out of something heavy. One stroke at a time.

Joe let out a low, broken sound. His hips lifted just slightly into her mouth, breath stuttering as the restraint in him finally began to shake loose. One hand slid down her back, not to stop her. Just to touch her. To feel something solid while the rest of him started to unravel.

He was close now. She could tell. The way his thighs tensed beneath her palms, the way his cock pulsed thick and full against her tongue. He was still trying to stay quiet, of course, he was, but he was losing that now, and she loved him for it.

Loved that he trusted her enough to come undone.

She didn’t rush him.

Just stayed there, mouth warm around him, hands steady at his thighs, watching the tension rise through his body like a tide he could no longer hold back.

Joe’s head dropped, breath rough through his nose, brow tight with effort. His hand shifted in her hair, not rough but firm now, guiding her just enough. He was close, and his body knew it before he did.

She felt it before he said anything. The way he tightened under her. The way his whole body braced, like something was about to break open inside him.

And then—

“Fuck, Riley—”

His voice cracked, and that was it.

He came hard, hips jerking once against her mouth before he caught himself, his other hand curling into the bedsheet like he needed something to bear the weight of it.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. She took all of him, let him give it to her slow and messy and full, every pulse of him spilling against her tongue. She held him through it, eyes closed now, her hand still stroking slowly at the base as he emptied into her.

He groaned low, not sharp, not loud. Just raw. Unmasked.

And when it passed, when his muscles finally eased beneath her palms, she stayed there a moment longer. Letting him breathe. Letting him feel what it meant to be held like that.

She pulled back slowly, careful, her lips still parted as she swallowed. Her breath came softly through her nose. She didn’t wipe her mouth right away, just looked up at him from between his knees, her fingers still splayed lightly on his thighs, thumbs brushing absent circles like she was calming him back down from wherever he’d gone.

Joe looked wrecked.

Head tipped back slightly. Chest rising slowly. One hand still clenched in the bedsheet, the other limp in her hair like he’d forgotten it was there.

When his eyes finally found hers, they were heavy-lidded, glassy, like he hadn’t come all the way back yet.

She gave him the smallest smile. Not coy. Just… soft.

Then she stood slow and sure, knees brushing his as she rose and climbed back into his lap without a word. Straddled him again like before, her thighs warm against his, her hands sliding gently up his arms until they settled at the back of his neck.

He let her.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just rested his forehead against her collarbone, breath still uneven, hands sliding around her waist like he needed to hold something real.

Riley stroked the back of his neck. Quiet, grounding. Like she knew exactly how to bring him home.

“You good?” she whispered.

Joe nodded into her shoulder, slowly. His voice was rough when it came.

“Yeah.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“Jesus.”

She pressed a kiss to the side of his head, her smile soft against his skin.

“Did I break you?”

Joe let out a breath, voice low and wrecked. “Maybe a little.”

She laughed quietly and warmly and pulled him closer.

They stayed like that for a while. Riley in his lap, her arms loosely around his neck, her body warm and steady against his. His forehead rested against her shoulder, and she could feel his breath shift slowly, grounding, like he was finally settling back into himself.

She didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Just let her fingers trail gently through the short hair at the nape of his neck, calming, constant. Like she could ease whatever still lingered in him.

His hands stayed at her waist. Not to guide. Just to hold. Like she was the thing keeping him grounded.

Fading light slipped through the window, warm against his skin. Evening sounds carried in from the street, but they barely registered.

Like they’d stepped into a pause.

He shifted a little, just enough to look at her. His eyes were clearer now, still quiet. Still full.

He didn’t speak.

He just looked at her the way he always did when he didn’t have the words for what he felt.

And Riley, without needing to ask, leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. Soft. Certain.

She stayed there, forehead against his, the weight of the moment still hanging between them.

And for a long while, neither of them moved.

Eventually, Riley shifted in his lap, just enough to press a soft kiss to his temple before she stood. She didn’t say anything. Just moved with quiet ease, her bare feet making no sound as she crossed the room and disappeared into the bathroom.

Joe stayed where he was, elbows on his knees now, his body loose in a way it rarely was. His head dipped forward for a second like he was catching up to himself.

She returned a minute later with a warm cloth, folded small in her hands. Knelt between his legs again like it was the most natural thing in the world. And when she reached for him gently, unhurried, he didn’t flinch.

She cleaned him up with that same quiet care. Not clinical. Not showy. Just real.

He watched her the whole time, something unreadable in his expression. Something soft and unguarded.

Just hers.

Joe exhaled softly, eyes still on her. That look again like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Riley gave him the smallest smile. Then stood again, moving toward the laundry hamper in the corner to toss the clothes in.

Joe tugged his boxers back up, slower than usual. Like the moment still hadn’t fully let him go.

The sound of her footsteps padded down the hall, followed by the low creak of the fridge door opening. A cabinet closing. The gentle clink of a glass being set on the counter.

He sat there for a long moment, staring at the floor, feeling the hum of her still in his body.

Then he stood.

The house was quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his feet. He followed the sound of her ice clinking gently in a glass, the refrigerator door closing with a soft thud.

She was at the counter, back to him, pouring water into a tumbler. Loose strands of hair had slipped from behind her ear. Her T-shirt hung long on her frame, one shoulder bare.

He stepped in behind her quietly, gently, and leaned in.

Pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, warm and slow. He felt her pause, just for a second.

“Thank you,” he said, low against her skin.

Riley didn’t turn around right away. Just set the glass down and let her fingers brush over his where they’d come to rest lightly at her hips.

“You’re welcome,” she said, just as softly.

Then she leaned back into him, her body fitting into his like it always had a place there.

It wasn’t just the orgasm. It was what came with it the way she saw him, held him, made him feel like he didn’t have to keep everything inside.

* * *

She tossed the peeled garlic into the pan, the sizzle filling the quiet. Joe stayed where he was, arms folded across his chest, content just to watch her move. The smell of butter and spice bloomed in the air, rich and familiar.

Then her phone rang from the windowsill, screen lighting up with Papa in bold letters.

Riley wiped her hands on a dish towel and picked it up, already smiling. “Hey Papa.”

“Hey baby,” he said, voice warm and familiar. “I was just callin’ to check and see if Joe made it in alright.”

Riley glanced over at Joe, who met her eyes across the kitchen. She smiled a little. “He did. He’s sitting in my kitchen right now lookin’ real suspicious of the way I’m about to repurpose these shrimp.”

Joe huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Good,” Papa said. “Just wanted to check on y’all before I went to sleep and see what time y’all pickin’ me up tomorrow.”

“Thinkin’ around ten-thirty,” she said, turning the burner down. “That work for you?”

“Sounds good.”

“Joe, son, I’m lookin’ forward to finally meetin’ you.”

Joe raised his voice just enough to be heard. “Same here. Appreciate the invite.”

There was a pause, then Riley’s Papa chuckled. “Alright then. I’m gonna let y’all get back to your evening. This old man’s gotta get some sleep.”

“Night, Papa. Love you,” Riley called out, already moving to put her phone on the sill.

She stirred the pan again. “You hear that?” she said, still facing the stove. “Already in good graces.”

Joe leaned back in the chair, eyes on her.

"That's a relief," he said. "Though I'm guessing his in-person vetting process might be a bit more thorough." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What else should I know before meeting him?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, eyes soft. “Just be yourself,” she said. “He’s gonna love you.”

* * *

Riley scooped the last of the shrimp into the pan, gave it a final stir, then cut the heat. She moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, plating the food without saying much.

Joe leaned back in his chair, watching her. Still quiet. Still coming down from the last few hours, the kind of full you don’t always get from food.

She set a bowl in front of him, shrimp and grits, still steaming, garnished like she actually cared what it looked like, and reached for another plate.

“Go ahead and start,” she said, not looking up. “I’m gonna run a plate over to Ms. Josephine real quick.”

Joe blinked, like it took him a second to process.

“The neighbor?

Riley nodded. “Yeah. She hasn’t been feeling great. I’ve been bringing her little things. This’ll last her a couple of meals.”

She pulled a paper bag from the drawer and slipped the plate inside, fingers moving quickly and easily.

Joe didn’t argue. Didn’t offer to go. He just sat there, one hand resting on the bowl she’d made for him, the other on the table, watching her like he was still learning her in real time.

And maybe he was.

The screen door clicked shut behind her, and Joe sat still for a moment, eyes on the space she'd just left.

Then he stood, carrying his bowl with him, and stepped out onto the porch.

The evening was warm, heavy with jasmine and the slow hum of insects. Across the street, he could see Riley in the streetlight, a covered dish balanced in her hand as she talked to someone just beyond the screen of another porch. Ms. Josephine. He remembered her from the last time. Just a quick hello, a kind smile. He couldn’t hear Riley’s words but could tell she was smiling. That specific smile she reserved for people she’d known forever.

He sat on the top step, bowl balanced on his knee, spoon in hand. Took a bite. It was stupid good, rich, salty, spicy, creamy. Something deeper than comfort food. It tasted like someone cared if you'd eaten. If you were alright.

He watched as the elderly woman's hand reached through the screen door to accept the leftovers, lingering on Riley's wrist for a moment in silent gratitude. A simple exchange that spoke volumes about who Riley was when no one was watching.

She moved like someone who belonged everywhere. Someone who remembered neighbors' birthdays and saved portions of dinner without being asked. Someone who knew what mattered.

And all he could think was God, she's better than me.

Not dramatic. Not self-pitying.

Just true.

He took another bite and let the quiet settle around him, wondering if the food tasted even better now that he'd seen this small act of kindness, this glimpse of the Riley that existed before him and would exist long after.

Ms. Josephine called something after Riley that made her laugh, the sound carrying across the quiet street. She waved goodbye, lingering a moment before turning back toward home toward him.

When she spotted Joe on the steps, she paused briefly, as if seeing him in a new light, then crossed the street with unhurried steps. The warmth of the evening clung to her as she approached, settled beside him on the porch step, their shoulders not quite touching.

"Ms. Josephine says the Saints are going all the way this year," Riley said, leaning back on her palms. "I didn't have the heart to tell her what you'd think about that."

Joe smiled, still working on the last of his food. "Smart. Don't want to get you banned from the neighborhood."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the rhythm of the night around them. A distant car. Cicadas. Someone's wind chimes three houses down.

"You do that a lot?" Joe asked finally, nodding toward Ms. Josephine's. "The leftovers thing."

Riley shrugged, but there was nothing dismissive about it. "Her arthritis makes cooking hard. And she used to feed half the block when I was growing up." She glanced at him. "Not a big deal."

But it was. That was the thing about Riley that kept throwing him off balance, the way she wore her goodness so lightly. Like it wasn't worth mentioning.

"You're good at this," he said quietly.

"At what? Feeding the elderly?" Her tone was teasing, but her eyes stayed on his, curious.

"At..." He gestured vaguely with his spoon, searching for the right words. "Being connected. To a place. To people." He set his empty bowl beside him. "I don't think I've ever brought my neighbor leftovers."

“Well, in your defense,” she said, bumping her shoulder against his, “all your neighbors are probably rich. They’ve probably got chefs.”

Joe let out a soft breath—almost a laugh. “Probably,” he said. “Though that’s not really an excuse, is it?” He looked out at the street, at the houses with their porch lights coming on one by one as darkness fell. "I don't even know most of their names."

The quiet admission felt easier than explaining what he was really thinking, that wealth and status had somehow distanced him from the kind of community Riley seemed to create so effortlessly. That somewhere between Ohio and the NFL, he'd traded connection for control.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm just passing through everywhere I go," he added, quieter now.

The words felt raw once they were out, more honest than he'd intended. But Riley didn't rush to fill the silence or offer easy reassurance. She just let his admission breathe between them.

"Maybe," she said finally. "Or maybe you just haven't found your place yet." She turned to face him, her expression open, unguarded. "Sometimes it's not about where. It's who."

Riley held his gaze for a moment after she spoke, then pushed herself up with a soft exhale.

“I should grab mine before it gets cold,” she said, brushing her hands on her shorts as she stood.

Joe nodded, but didn’t move. Just watched as she disappeared back inside, screen door creaking shut behind her.

A minute later, she returned with her bowl and a fresh napkin, settling beside him on the step like she’d never left.

They didn’t speak at first. Just ate, side by side, their plates lit by the soft glow from inside the house.

* * *

Joe lay on his back, Riley’s head resting in the crook of his shoulder, her breathing steady against his chest. The ceiling fan above them turned lazily, barely disturbing the quiet that had settled between them.

Tomorrow, he would meet her family, her grandfather, the man she called Papa, whose approval seemed to matter more to Riley than anyone else’s. Joe wasn’t nervous exactly, but there was a weight to it that felt significant. Like crossing some invisible threshold in their relationship.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Riley murmured, her voice husky with sleep as she traced idle patterns on his chest. “I can practically hear the gears turning.”

Joe smiled in the darkness, his fingers finding their way into her hair. “Just thinking about the first time I was here.”

“At my house?” She shifted to look up at him, chin resting on his chest.

“Yeah.” He paused, gathering words for something he’d never said out loud. “I never told you… what it was like. Walking in here that first time.”

Riley propped herself up on one elbow, suddenly more awake. Joe didn’t offer up personal revelations easily unless they clawed their way out. “Tell me,” she said softly.

He was quiet for a moment, eyes on the ceiling. “Remember that record store?”

She nodded, her hair brushing his skin.

“I never told you why I bought that Talking Heads album.” He shifted slightly, turning toward her. “When I walked into your house that night, this song just… showed up in my head. ‘This Must Be the Place.’”

His voice stayed low, steady. “My dad used to play it on Sunday mornings when I was a kid. It was the happiest I ever felt growing up, just normal, quiet moments when everything felt right.”

He paused, swallowing. “Then I walk into Elvin’s shop, and it’s right there. Front and center. Like the universe was trying to tell me something.”

Riley didn’t speak. Just looked at him, eyes soft and open in the low light.

“I don’t really believe in signs,” he said.

“But?” she prompted.

He looked over at her.

“But I believed that one.”

Riley's breath caught somewhere in her chest. Joe wasn't a man of many words, which made the ones he chose matter more. A simple admission like that from him felt monumental.

"You never said anything," she said finally. Not accusatory, just wondering.

Joe's hand found the small of her back, warm against her skin. "What would I have said?" His voice was low, almost contemplative. "That walking into this house made me feel more at home than any place I'd lived in for as long as I can remember?"

Riley stayed quiet, listening.

"That I felt that way after knowing you for a week? Two?" He exhaled, the sound barely audible. "That it made no sense how comfortable I felt in a place I'd never been before, with someone I barely knew?"

He paused, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin. "We'd had dinner once in New York. A couple of phone calls. That was it. And then I'm standing in your living room feeling like..."

He trailed off, searching for the right words.

"Like what?" Riley prompted softly.

"Like I'd been looking for something without knowing what it was. And suddenly there it was." He shifted slightly, his eyes finding hers in the darkness. "It wasn't just the house. It was you in it."

Riley felt a flicker of vulnerability at his admission. They'd only met in February, and here they were in late April, already so tangled in each other's lives. It had happened fast, maybe too fast for logic, but somehow exactly right in every other way.

"I know it's crazy," he continued, as if reading her thoughts. "We barely knew each other then. Hell, we barely know each other now." His voice held no uncertainty despite his words. "But I think that's what scared me the most, how it didn't feel like we were strangers. Not even from the beginning."

Riley placed her palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her hand. "I know," she said simply, because she did. That immediate recognition had been there for her too, though she'd tried to dismiss it as attraction, chemistry, anything but what it had actually been.

“I felt it too,” she admitted. “That first night here. I’ve brought people into this house before, but watching you take it all in was different. Like you were seeing parts of me I hadn’t shown you yet, and you weren’t running for the door.”

She let out a small, breathless laugh. “I thought I was imagining it. That connection. I kept telling myself we barely knew each other, that it was just… I don’t know, chemistry or something. Because the alternative was terrifying.”

She leaned down and pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat. “Thank you,” she whispered against his skin. “For telling me. For being here. For buying a record you couldn’t even play.”

Riley watched him a moment longer, her hair falling around them like a curtain. He looked up at her, steady and unguarded, and it stirred something deep and certain inside her.

She could have said it then. Could have let it slip out easy, right there between them.

But she didn’t. She kissed him then. Not urgent, not hurried. Just real. The kind of kiss that settled instead of sparked. That said, I’m here.

When she started to move, ready to deepen it, Joe’s hands moved to her hips. He guided her down onto her back with a quiet kind of care, like he didn’t want to rush any of it.

Her head hit the pillow. “Joe…”

“I need to,” he said quietly, already kissing down her neck, over her collarbone.

She didn’t say anything else, just lay back, her chest rising beneath his touch, the sheet cooling quickly as he pushed it aside.

His fingers found the waistband of her underwear. He didn’t rush. Didn’t look up right away. He just moved like he knew exactly what he was doing and didn’t want to miss any part.

When he did glance up, it wasn’t a question, not really. He just wanted her with him.

She didn’t answer with words.

Instead, she reached down slowly, deliberately, and slid her own underwear down her thighs, lifting her hips just enough to help. A quiet offering. Not shy, not performative. Just open.

Joe watched her, eyes dark and steady, like he was watching something sacred unfold.

He lowered himself without a word, settling between her legs like that had been the plan all along. Not rushed. Not tentative.

Her breath caught when he kissed the inside of her knee, then again higher, her thigh, her hip. No rhythm yet, just reverence.

She ran her fingers through his hair, not guiding him, just needing to touch him. To keep him close.

She didn’t shake or gasp or fall apart. She just went still, breath shallow, like her body couldn’t keep up with what it meant to be wanted like this.

* * *

Joe woke at 6:43 AM, eyes opening to the golden morning light already streaming through Riley's lace curtains. Beside him, Riley slept deeply, one arm flung above her head, her breathing slow and even. He watched her for a moment, taking in how the sunlight caught in her hair, turning the strands to burnished gold against the white pillowcase.

Carefully, he eased himself from the bed, practiced at not disturbing her. Experience had taught him that Riley slept like the dead before 9 AM, a fact that still amused him, given his own hardwired early-rising habits.

He moved quietly through her room, finding his running shoes in his bag. The ritual was familiar, routine. He put on his compression shorts, performance t-shirt, shoes laced to the perfect tension. His mind was already shifting into preparation mode, not for a game, but for something that felt equally significant.

Meeting Willis Carter, Papa, wasn't just about making a good impression. It was about showing up as the man Riley had seen last night, the one who was more than carefully crafted press conferences and calibrated public appearances. The real Joe. Whoever that was.

Outside, the morning was already warm, the sun well above the horizon, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. New Orleans was coming to life around him, with early risers walking dogs, a few people heading to work, and the occasional delivery truck rumbling past. The city had a different energy in the morning light, less chaotic but no less vibrant than it had been at night.

He set off at an easy pace, letting his body warm up as he mapped a route through Riley’s neighborhood. His mind worked the way it did before games. Methodical. Strategic. He wasn’t nervous, exactly. Joe Burrow didn’t get nervous. But he was focused. Aware of the stakes.

What did he know about Papa? Riley spoke of him with reverence tinged with protectiveness. He and her Gram raised her when her mother couldn't, or wouldn't. Worked multiple jobs to keep them afloat. Gave Riley her first guitar, a fact she'd shared late one night in Cincinnati, her voice soft with memory.

Joe turned a corner, increasing his pace slightly. If football had taught him anything, it was that preparation mattered, but adaptation mattered more. You could study every play, memorize every strategy, but in the end, it came down to showing up fully present, ready to respond to whatever happened on the field.

Today would be no different.

By the time he circled back to Riley's street, the sun was higher, the heat beginning to build in earnest. His shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, his mind clear and focused in that post-run state that always felt like a reset.

He let himself in quietly, half-expecting the house to be as silent as when he'd left. Instead, he caught the faint notes of music coming from the kitchen, something bluesy and old, with a voice like gravel over velvet.

Following the sound, he found Riley at the stove, her back to him as she swayed slightly to the music. She wore one of his t-shirts, the hem hitting mid-thigh, her hair piled messily on top of her head. The domesticity of the scene hit him with unexpected force.

"You're up early," he said, leaning against the doorframe.

Riley turned, a slow smile spreading across her face as she took in his running clothes and damp hair.

“And you’ve been productive, I see.”

She nodded toward the counter.

“Made you a shake. Didn’t know exactly what you liked, so I Googled a recipe that looked decent. Chocolate, banana, almond butter. Hopefully close to what you’re used to.”

Joe crossed the kitchen and picked up the shake, the weight of it familiar, the gesture anything but. She wasn’t a morning person. He knew that. And still, she’d gotten up, made sure there was something waiting for him. That landed hard in his chest.

Morning light spilled across the counter. Riley moved around the kitchen like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip. It was exactly how he liked it.

Then he set the glass down, stepped in close, and kissed her. No build-up. No teasing. Just a kiss that said everything he didn’t know how to say.

Riley smiled as he pulled away, then turned back to the stove like it hadn’t just shifted something in the room. She flipped the French toast, the edges golden and crisp.

“You should try the routes through the Garden District sometime,” she said, voice easy. “Cooler in the mornings with all those oak trees.”

He took another sip, then glanced at her over the rim of the mug. “You should come with me next time.”

He leaned against the counter, glass in hand, sweat still drying across his chest. His shirt clung at the collar and shoulders, and his hair, never really neat to begin with, was sticking up at odd angles, unruly from the run and the weight of the headband he’d just pulled off. A few pieces curled damp against his forehead, catching in the light.

She didn’t mean to stare. But there was something about the way he looked in that moment, flushed, loose-limbed, hair a mess, body buzzing from exertion, that knocked something loose in her.

“I’d like that,” she said when he suggested the run. It came out softer than she intended.

He nodded, watching her for a beat. Not pressing.

She turned back to the stove, reaching for the plates. As she moved past him, her fingers skimmed his arm lightly, casually, but her pulse kicked all the same. His skin was warm. Still humming from movement. Still carrying the scent of wind and salt and something so unmistakably him that it made her head go a little quiet.

She didn’t say anything.

But she needed to move.

Or she was going to reach for him without thinking.

They ate standing up, plates balanced on the counter, too hungry to bother with the table. The French toast disappeared fast, the bacon even faster, quiet chewing, occasional glances, and something humming low beneath it all.

Riley moved around him easily, brushing past to refill her coffee, her bare shoulder grazing his arm in a way that felt more deliberate than accidental. She didn’t mean to linger, but she didn’t really stop herself, either.

Joe set his fork down and leaned into the counter slightly, watching her over the rim of his glass. His voice was low, casual but not careless.

She could feel the shift in his attention. The way his eyes tracked her, not overt or showy, but hungry in a way that felt deeper. Like he’d taken in everything she hadn’t said and already made up his mind.

His gaze didn’t leave hers. “We have time?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the way he said it. Low. Even. Like he wasn’t asking permission, just checking the clock before he did what he was already planning to do.

“For what?” she asked, though part of her already knew.

He held her there with just his eyes.

Joe raised his eyebrows, not smiling. “Riley, you know what I mean.”

Something in her stilled.

They were standing in a warm, sunlit kitchen, plates half-stacked by the sink, her coffee still steaming. But the air shifted like it had thickened around them, like the room was waiting to see what she’d say.

“We don’t have to pick up Papa until ten,” she said, voice barely above a murmur.

Joe didn’t wait for more.

He stepped forward, wrapped his arm around her waist, and then she was weightless, lifted in one smooth, practiced motion, his shoulder pressed against her stomach, her hair swinging forward.

“Joe—”

He was already moving, steady down the hall like this was routine, like he knew exactly what she needed before she did.

“You could’ve warned me,” she said, half breathless, half laughing.

His hand settled behind her thigh, his pace unhurried. “Bird,” he said, voice low near her back, “you were practically hyperventilating in the kitchen.”

Riley huffed a soft laugh against the fabric of his shirt. “I was not.”

“You were,” he said, steady as ever. “Kept looking at me like you didn’t know whether to finish your breakfast or climb me.”

She didn’t respond because he was not wrong, but because she didn’t trust her voice.

Joe adjusted his hold just slightly, his arm tightening beneath her knees. “I made the call.”

He carried her through the doorway like it was nothing, then crossed into the bedroom and set her down at the edge of the bed. His hands were steady, careful, like he was placing something he didn’t want to break.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, voice low. “Take your clothes off.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the bathroom.

Riley didn’t move at first. She just watched the empty doorway, heart pounding in her chest.

Then she reached for the hem of her shirt.

When he came back, steam drifted behind him from the open bathroom door. His shirt was gone. So were his shorts. He was barefoot, quiet, eyes already on her.

Riley had done what he asked. Mostly. Her shirt was off, balled on the floor near her feet. She was still working on the rest, but paused when she saw him.

Joe didn’t speak. Just walked toward her, calm and sure, like he always was when he knew exactly what he wanted.

He stopped in front of her and looked down, eyes sweeping over her in a way that wasn’t rushed, wasn’t hesitant. Just… his.

“Good girl,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Then he leaned in and kissed her. Hard. No hesitation. No buildup.

He turned her with both hands, guiding her down onto the bed, her body folding easily under his touch.

She caught herself on her elbows. Joe moved in behind her, warm and solid, his hands rougher now. He still hadn’t cooled off completely, not from the run, not from her. And it showed.

Her breath came fast, shallow beneath him, and he felt it — the way she arched, the way her body answered his without hesitation. It lit something in him. Pushed everything sharper.

He gripped her hips tighter and leaned in, mouth close to her ear. “You feel that?”

She nodded, but it wasn’t really an answer. Not with the way she pushed back into him, not with the way her breath caught again when his hand slid down to guide himself against her.

He pressed in slowly, just enough for both of them to feel it.

Riley’s fingers curled into the sheets. She made a sound, soft but broken, and it went straight through him.

Joe’s grip tightened. He sank into her all at once, one smooth, solid thrust, and everything else fell away.

The slap of skin, her breathing, his name, all of it tangled together, messy and real.

She was panting now, forehead pressed to her forearm, thighs trembling with every push.

He didn’t slow down. Couldn’t. Not with the way she was giving herself over to it. To him.

Every sound she made twisted something deeper inside him. The way she gasped when his angle changed. The way her hips pushed back to meet him, greedy for it. The way she said his name, like it was the only thing tethering her to the room.

His hand slid up her back, fingers splayed between her shoulder blades, holding her steady. Not to control her to stay connected. To feel every inch of what she was giving him.

“Right there,” she choked out, voice high and breaking. “Don’t stop.”

He wasn’t going to.

Not until she came around him.

He felt it before she said a word, the way her body clenched tight, the way her breath broke into fragments. Her hand fisted in the sheets, her other reaching back for him like she needed something to hold on to.

Joe didn’t let go. Just kept his rhythm through it, steady, relentless, until she cried out, trembling under him, her whole body arching with it.

Only then did he let himself go.

He sank deeper, jaw clenched, a low sound tearing from his throat as he followed her over the edge. His hips stuttered once, twice, then held there, his hands still firm on her skin like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Just breathing. Just there.

Joe leaned in, his voice low near her ear. “Feel better now?”

Riley let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. Her body was still twitching beneath his, skin flushed and damp. She turned her head just enough for her cheek to brush his jaw.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled. “Stop it.”

Joe smirked, pressing one more kiss to her shoulder before standing up just enough to give her ass a playful swat.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s shower this off. We’ve got to go meet your family.”

[obsessivevoidkitten]

I have some really important information that may concern you and a blogger on Tumblr that I think you might know of, or could be mutuals with…

This was an anon send in that can be found on this blog [censored, blogger doesn’t want people to mistake them being part of the drama, and does NOT SUPPORT the following bigoted beliefs]…

“Ew, you're collaborating with a white supremacist's best friend?

Just a heads up, but @fangdokja-anon has been called out by multiple authors here for being homophobic, fatphobic, and racist, as well as making multiple problematic posts (like wanting to write about genocide and infant SA). The only person who publicly supported her was @yanderedrabbles who praised her in the comments and even made a post to defend her friendship.

It's your choice to have her as a writer for the zine, but please make it public knowledge so people can at least opt out. I myself won't sign up to share space with a bigot.”

Then there was this follow up post by the same anon, who goes into detail of the issues above…

“Sorry for the sudden accusatory ask, I'm one of the people who unfollowed @yanderedrabbles after she openly expressed her support for the homophobe and I was annoyed to see her acting so careless on another blog I follow. I guess she's hoping we'll just forget about it at some point and keeps quiet on her main.

Here's the first post where she explained in many empty words she doesn't care about the issue because the blog has been nice to her and they're friends: https://www.tumblr.com/yanderedrabbles/780435897593315328/hi-idk-if-your-mutuals-with-fangdokja-but-shes?source=share

The problematic post on @fangdokja-anon blog has since been deleted or removed, but I have a screenshot of @yanderedrabbles commenting on it with ‘THATS why your pro pic went all blurry when I logged in. Literally freaked me out so bad. I'm glad to see you reorganising fang! Gonna learn to use AO3 just for you 😘’ while the rest of us were freaking out at the atrocities mentioned.

Instead of coming out and telling us why she chose to publicly support someone who fetishizes stuff like concentration camps and pedophilia she's all giddy about writing for a yandere magazine, like we're dumbasses who'll just swallow up any content. The audacity is amazing.”

Hopefully the last follow up post by the anon that goes into some more history/evidence…

“The post that started this whole drama is from December, but it didn't gain traction until some bigger blogs like ozzgin and moyazaika talked about it, which happened recently. It's still available and you can read it for yourself, including the paragraphs where she explicitly says she doesn't support LGBTQ+ content: https://www.tumblr.com/fangdokja/770117292416712704/blog-rules-guidelines?source=share

The main conclusion from it was that she's (@fangdokja-anon) homophobic, though more people pointed out she's made questionable statements in the past, too. It should've stopped there, but then she made a post basically explaining that she's been gathering an audience so she can switch to different platforms (her website and AO3), where she can finally write without censorship. It was an extremely cringe story about her ‘shackles’ coming off, listing a bunch of offensive topics from the Trigger Warning Database and saying that nothing is sacred and she won't hold back. (Yes, it included the part about children and infants not being safe from it) Same blogs called her out again and she proceeded to block everyone who interacted with those posts. I guess a lot of people reported her blog since it's now hidden and tagged as ‘mature’, for which she had a meltdown.

Anyway, friend (@fangdokja-anon) is against queer people but you (@yanderedrabbles) argue she's actually kind because you haven't been targeted? Suspicious, but I let it sit.

Friend (@fangdokja-anon) publishes entire paragraphs about wanting to write downright atrocious content and you (@yanderedrabbles) comment how excited you are for it? Yeah, that doesn't work anymore, sorry. You're clearly ok with it and that's fucked up. Go support your cult member somewhere else, not in my gay household.”

Since this all seems to be true, please reconsider any relationship you have with @yanderedrabbles and @fangdokja-anon

That's a lot to read and I do not follow these people.

[youryanderedaddy]

I have some really important information that may concern you and a blogger on Tumblr that I think you might know of, or could be mutuals with…

This was an anon send in that can be found on this blog [censored, blogger doesn’t want people to mistake them being part of the drama, and does NOT SUPPORT the following bigoted beliefs]…

“Ew, you're collaborating with a white supremacist's best friend?

Just a heads up, but @fangdokja-anon has been called out by multiple authors here for being homophobic, fatphobic, and racist, as well as making multiple problematic posts (like wanting to write about genocide and infant SA). The only person who publicly supported her was @yanderedrabbles who praised her in the comments and even made a post to defend her friendship.

It's your choice to have her as a writer for the zine, but please make it public knowledge so people can at least opt out. I myself won't sign up to share space with a bigot.”

Then there was this follow up post by the same anon, who goes into detail of the issues above…

“Sorry for the sudden accusatory ask, I'm one of the people who unfollowed @yanderedrabbles after she openly expressed her support for the homophobe and I was annoyed to see her acting so careless on another blog I follow. I guess she's hoping we'll just forget about it at some point and keeps quiet on her main.

Here's the first post where she explained in many empty words she doesn't care about the issue because the blog has been nice to her and they're friends: https://www.tumblr.com/yanderedrabbles/780435897593315328/hi-idk-if-your-mutuals-with-fangdokja-but-shes?source=share

The problematic post on @fangdokja-anon blog has since been deleted or removed, but I have a screenshot of @yanderedrabbles commenting on it with ‘THATS why your pro pic went all blurry when I logged in. Literally freaked me out so bad. I'm glad to see you reorganising fang! Gonna learn to use AO3 just for you 😘’ while the rest of us were freaking out at the atrocities mentioned.

Instead of coming out and telling us why she chose to publicly support someone who fetishizes stuff like concentration camps and pedophilia she's all giddy about writing for a yandere magazine, like we're dumbasses who'll just swallow up any content. The audacity is amazing.”

Hopefully the last follow up post by the anon that goes into some more history/evidence…

“The post that started this whole drama is from December, but it didn't gain traction until some bigger blogs like ozzgin and moyazaika talked about it, which happened recently. It's still available and you can read it for yourself, including the paragraphs where she explicitly says she doesn't support LGBTQ+ content: https://www.tumblr.com/fangdokja/770117292416712704/blog-rules-guidelines?source=share

The main conclusion from it was that she's (@fangdokja-anon) homophobic, though more people pointed out she's made questionable statements in the past, too. It should've stopped there, but then she made a post basically explaining that she's been gathering an audience so she can switch to different platforms (her website and AO3), where she can finally write without censorship. It was an extremely cringe story about her ‘shackles’ coming off, listing a bunch of offensive topics from the Trigger Warning Database and saying that nothing is sacred and she won't hold back. (Yes, it included the part about children and infants not being safe from it) Same blogs called her out again and she proceeded to block everyone who interacted with those posts. I guess a lot of people reported her blog since it's now hidden and tagged as ‘mature’, for which she had a meltdown.

Anyway, friend (@fangdokja-anon) is against queer people but you (@yanderedrabbles) argue she's actually kind because you haven't been targeted? Suspicious, but I let it sit.

Friend (@fangdokja-anon) publishes entire paragraphs about wanting to write downright atrocious content and you (@yanderedrabbles) comment how excited you are for it? Yeah, that doesn't work anymore, sorry. You're clearly ok with it and that's fucked up. Go support your cult member somewhere else, not in my gay household.”

Since this all seems to be true, please reconsider any relationship you have with @yanderedrabbles and @fangdokja-anon

This person @moyazaika goes into more lengthy detail too of what @fangdokja-anon writes and supports. And remember, @yanderedrabbles also supports @fangdokja-anon

Oh my! Thank you for telling me about this, I had no idea. They will be blocked. This behavior is disgusting - I scanned some of their page now and noticed they posted some really questionable things (like reader only being pale and skinny? lmao yikes). Homophobia or any type of hatred is not something I can accept or stand by.

And to be completely frank and transparent, I wasn't exactly thrilled to be tagged in their mega-recommendations post. I felt like my work was being reduced to just erotica or porn, which honestly hurt me a bit, and to be broadcasted and compared next to other blogs (without being asked first or anything) in the way they did, as if putting us in excel sheets... yeah. But anyways, thanks for bringing this to my attention. time to get even gayer :33

[radioactive-earthshine]

Hi!! In Impulse (1995) #1 Bart has to write a biography for school and I can’t for the life of me decipher all of the words because I can’t read the handwriting! Do u know what is written? Can u help a gal out?

^ ^

>•<

(I tried to make a cat emoticon😭)

The boy writes in cursive, I guess they don't teach how to write that anymore, which is ironic because my 5th grade teacher in 1999 told all of us we would never amount to anything if we couldn't write in cursive and the whole world revolved around cursive, then the second I was in middle school our teachers snarled if they saw ANY hand written paper they would give us an immediate F and everything had to be typed 🙃

ANYWAY. Here are the pages, and the translation.

Oh.

My name is Bart. I hope my spelling's okay.

I just learned to write this morning...

I'm not from around here. Big time.

I come from a thousand years in the future, and though my story is full of people I don't know, this is how it was told to me.

I'm the grandson of a man named Barry Allen, a 20th century hero who had super speed.

Just before he died, Granpa Barry and his wife, Iris, moved to the 30th century and started a family.

Eventually, their kids died too ... but not before I came along.

Apparently, I was born with Grandpa's speed -- and a mega-metaloblism metabolism.

It was whacked. They say I was aging at hyper-speed. At two, I looked twelve.

I'd still be two in the head if the scientists hadn't plugged it with virtual reality.

So my world was unusual. Who could tell? All I knew was that I made the rules (and learned whatever I needed to feel kinda kind of normal).

Other than that, I don't remember much about it...

...except the day it went away.

They tell me I would've died of old age -- literally -- waiting for Earthgov to fix my problem.

But Grandma Iris never gave up on me. She took me away...

... and brought me back to this century so her nephew Wally --

-- you call him The Flash --

-- could show me how to control my speed.

Some teacher.

He gave me some whoop about tempering my power...

...so I could stop the aging...

...run wherever I wanted...

...and even vibrate through solid objects.

I probably could have been more grateful.

But Wally played me like a

a

like whatever you guys play in this era...

All the time I helped him fight to keep Kobra from taking over Keystone, Wally thought he was gonna going to die. So he groomed me to be Flash Mark IV.

And then he went and didn't die.

Which meant nobody knew what to do with me.

I wanted to stay with Iris. She's the only one who ever really

But that didn't work out.

So instead, Wally used his connections to set me up with personal creds

identity papers...

...and shipped me off to live with... get this... Max Mercury. Yes. The old hero-guy who helped us beat Kobra.

I'm still wondering what I did to deserve that.

The man is one weird flavor, Wally keeps calling him the zen master of speed...

...but I never see him run!

He spends his time watching me, like he expects me to develop into something!

And he never answers my questions... not directly, anyway! It's like he's not human! And let's talk about smug! He

/end

Hope this helps!

[aphroditelovesu]

I have some really important information that may concern you and a blogger on Tumblr that I think you might know of, or could be mutuals with…

This was an anon send in that can be found on this blog [censored, blogger doesn’t want people to mistake them being part of the drama, and does NOT SUPPORT the following bigoted beliefs]…

“Ew, you're collaborating with a white supremacist's best friend?

Just a heads up, but @fangdokja-anon has been called out by multiple authors here for being homophobic, fatphobic, and racist, as well as making multiple problematic posts (like wanting to write about genocide and infant SA). The only person who publicly supported her was @yanderedrabbles who praised her in the comments and even made a post to defend her friendship.

It's your choice to have her as a writer for the zine, but please make it public knowledge so people can at least opt out. I myself won't sign up to share space with a bigot.”

Then there was this follow up post by the same anon, who goes into detail of the issues above…

“Sorry for the sudden accusatory ask, I'm one of the people who unfollowed @yanderedrabbles after she openly expressed her support for the homophobe and I was annoyed to see her acting so careless on another blog I follow. I guess she's hoping we'll just forget about it at some point and keeps quiet on her main.

Here's the first post where she explained in many empty words she doesn't care about the issue because the blog has been nice to her and they're friends: https://www.tumblr.com/yanderedrabbles/780435897593315328/hi-idk-if-your-mutuals-with-fangdokja-but-shes?source=share

The problematic post on @fangdokja-anon blog has since been deleted or removed, but I have a screenshot of @yanderedrabbles commenting on it with ‘THATS why your pro pic went all blurry when I logged in. Literally freaked me out so bad. I'm glad to see you reorganising fang! Gonna learn to use AO3 just for you 😘’ while the rest of us were freaking out at the atrocities mentioned.

Instead of coming out and telling us why she chose to publicly support someone who fetishizes stuff like concentration camps and pedophilia she's all giddy about writing for a yandere magazine, like we're dumbasses who'll just swallow up any content. The audacity is amazing.”

Hopefully the last follow up post by the anon that goes into some more history/evidence…

“The post that started this whole drama is from December, but it didn't gain traction until some bigger blogs like ozzgin and moyazaika talked about it, which happened recently. It's still available and you can read it for yourself, including the paragraphs where she explicitly says she doesn't support LGBTQ+ content: https://www.tumblr.com/fangdokja/770117292416712704/blog-rules-guidelines?source=share

The main conclusion from it was that she's (@fangdokja-anon) homophobic, though more people pointed out she's made questionable statements in the past, too. It should've stopped there, but then she made a post basically explaining that she's been gathering an audience so she can switch to different platforms (her website and AO3), where she can finally write without censorship. It was an extremely cringe story about her ‘shackles’ coming off, listing a bunch of offensive topics from the Trigger Warning Database and saying that nothing is sacred and she won't hold back. (Yes, it included the part about children and infants not being safe from it) Same blogs called her out again and she proceeded to block everyone who interacted with those posts. I guess a lot of people reported her blog since it's now hidden and tagged as ‘mature’, for which she had a meltdown.

Anyway, friend (@fangdokja-anon) is against queer people but you (@yanderedrabbles) argue she's actually kind because you haven't been targeted? Suspicious, but I let it sit.

Friend (@fangdokja-anon) publishes entire paragraphs about wanting to write downright atrocious content and you (@yanderedrabbles) comment how excited you are for it? Yeah, that doesn't work anymore, sorry. You're clearly ok with it and that's fucked up. Go support your cult member somewhere else, not in my gay household.”

Since this all seems to be true, please reconsider any relationship you have with @yanderedrabbles and @fangdokja-anon

This person @moyazaika goes into more lengthy detail too of what @fangdokja-anon writes and supports. And remember, @yanderedrabbles also supports @fangdokja-anon

I'm not mutuals with any of the people you mentioned, anon. But I did see what was going on, albeit from the outside because I haven't been online on tumblr lately. I was so disbelieving that I just blocked them and decided not to engage with them. Ah, prejudiced people in the yandere community that have so many topics and subjects that can be explored? I'm not going to lie that THIS took me by surprise.

I'll speak for myself: my blog is a safe space for everyone, regardless of sexuality, gender, religion, or anything. I'm bi myself and have written for sapphic relationships, just as most of my content is gender-neutral so that everyone can identify with it, with no description of the Reader's appearance or gender unless someone specifies it in a request, otherwise it's neutral. Just like the issue of a specific religion or beliefs for a given context, I've written about Christian!Reader once because I was asked to, and I remember receiving something about Atheist!Reader and Jewish!Reader as well. I, Larissa, am agnostic and don't have a specific belief, but I respect all religions and beliefs equally.

As I said, my blog is open to everyone but I do not tolerate, in any way, any kind of hate, homophobia, transphobia and any kind of hatred towards any person or community. So, if you are homophobic or have these kinds of views, please block me.

Just like when I write about Child!Reader is and always will be platonic (I never wrote and I will never write about pedophilia) and the yanderes tend to be more softs because the Reader is a child.

And honestly, in my opinion, why would you be a friend of someone who does not agree with your sexuality or your way of life because of their beliefs? I, unfortunately, have already dealt with many people who said that "God created man and woman the rest is not natural" and I know how it is. And many of them are my relatives, sadly.

With the wave of hate growing more and more towards the queer community, I see it in my country, online, and in other places too, I avoid these as much as possible this kind of things and people. More and more I see queer people being attacked for no reason just for being who they are. And that's so fucking sad and wrong!

Anyway, I just wanted to say these things. I'm not spreading hate towards anyone because I don't do that, but it's sad to see that we're increasingly regressing and the hatred towards queer people is increasing more and more, instead of people opening their minds and understanding that human beings have been queer since the beginning of humanity.

[lazylittledragon]

ok someone please correct me if i'm wrong but am i weird for thinking those 'audiobooks don't count as reading' posts are ableist as fuck????

[little-pondhead]

The Folly of Men -

Chapter 1: #355E3B

AO3 - MASTERPOST

[GENERAL TW: Swearing, lukewarm violence, lots of POV changes, and mild body horror.]

[Fair warning, guys: Canon is a ball pit, and I’m throwing a baby into it. I have no clue what's happening. Feel free to point out mistakes!]

-

Danny was starting to hate the color green. It was the color of death.

Green reminded him of the portal that killed him, and the electricity that was constantly humming under his skin. It reminded him of being on the wrong end of an ecto-blaster and having to dodge for dear life. It reminded him of choking plants that swallowed him whole and tried to turn him into fertilizer. It reminded him of his glowing eyes and how they seemed to take up his entire face when he looked at himself in the mirror.

And right now, as he lay weakly on his side, grasping at fresh wounds with shaky fingers as he tried to ice them closed, the green blood that was splattered everywhere reminded him he wasn’t human.

Not anymore.

-

Green was a familiar color to Ra’s al Ghul. It was the color of life. 

Green reminded him of the Lazarus Pits, mostly. When it was the reason he’d lived such a long life, how could it not be the first thing he thought of? Green also reminded him of his cloak and the warmth it wrapped him in during the cold desert nights when his wife was still alive. Of the beauty he saw in the natural world and why he wanted to protect it. It reminded him of his green eyes that have been passed down through his very few children and grandchildren. Green was the color of the al Ghuls and represented the power he’d amassed through centuries of hard work. 

And right now, as he stood before the Well of Sins, Ra’s was reminded of a secret contract that was buried deep within his personal records, and the monster he’d made it with. The Gardener, the creature called itself, was a being who had crawled out of a Lazarus Pit years ago in search of Ra’s. Its flesh was made from thorny vines and grasses intertwined, and its eyes were tiny red blooms that glowed and made him feel sick just thinking about it. It had forced him into the contract, exchanging power and knowledge in return for a promise of help in the near future. 

‘Near future,’ my ass. Timothy Drake's fleeting voice flickered in his mind, and he could only agree with his subconscious's crude words. It seemed like the only appropriate term as it had already been several centuries since the contract was made, and the being had yet to claim its part of the deal.

He watched, mind racing, as the Well of Sins started swirling frantically. He was alone, with his attendants on standby. Should he call them in? No. Whatever was causing the strange reaction in the pool had something to do with that contract. He could feel it. A power was tugging at his heart, drawing him closer to the edge of the green waters. He loathed to admit it, but this was beyond his scientific understanding. He just knew that every time he tried to look away and leave, his whole body felt like it was alight with flame.

So he stood. And he stared. For hours, possibly, before the first sign of something new caught his attention. A screeching sound was echoing from the bottom of the pool. It slowly got louder and higher pitched as the stone floor started glowing so bright Ra's almost risked the pain of glancing away.

A large head was making its way through the bottom of the pool. It went slowly to accommodate large shoulders, followed by a wide chest and narrow waist. The figure paid no mind to the churning of the Well of Sins and broke the surface of the waters with the ease of a seasoned swimmer. The screeching sound echoed wildly, bouncing unnaturally throughout the chamber, sounding more like incomprehensible words. Ra's wanted to plug his ears with wax and banish the figure back where it came from. Instead, he didn't even twitch an eye.

The Gardener stood before him. And it was carrying a body.

"Master of Lazarusss," it hissed, inclining its head in acknowledgment, but making no move to exit the pool. "Too long has it been, has it not? I've come to collect on my part of the deal."

Ra's nodded in return. Higher being or not, he refused to bow to anyone. "I've expected this, Gardener." He said roughly. Despite learning their language years ago, the sharp chirps and clicks made by the dead were difficult to sound out. It was like he was trying to mimic a broken radio. "Although it's taken longer than I expected for your arrival."

The Gardener clicked its beak in annoyance. "Don't give me flowery words, Pretender. It was not my choice whether to appear before you or not. The Scepter of our realm visited me long ago and commanded me thus; I only now see her vision behind it."

"I...see." He did not see, thank you very much. That was more information in two sentences than he'd ever managed to get from the Gardener. Were there others at play in this little contract of theirs? He did not like the idea of that. "And I assume this whole thing has something to do with the boy in your arms?"

The Gardener let out a low humming sound that seemed to originate from its chest and echo in Ra’s bones. It glanced down, turning the body over gently to let Ra's see his face. The boy was just a child, no older than sixteen. He was deathly pale and seemed eerily stiff, just as if rigor mortis had set in. His white hair was plastered to his forehead from the water, and his clothes were nothing more than rags. Thick green blood was leaking from several wounds and pooling underneath his skin. It wasn't hard to guess what the Gardener was about to ask.

"This is our Guardian and one of the last of his kind. His haunt is not safe anymore, and I task you with his care for the foreseeable future."

Without waiting for a response, the Gardener sloshed forward to set the boy oh-so-gently upon the edge of the pool, taking care that his thorns did not pierce the child. A few vines cupped his face gently as if the Gardener was sad about the boy's state of being.

The assassin made no move to step forward and claim him. "What iske?" He asked. Ra’s voice caught on the last syllable, and he had to repeat the question again properly. Annoying.

The Gardener didn’t seem to mind and just stepped back, relinquishing its hold completely. "He is our Guardian." It repeated. "Care for him well. His fraid will be on the hunt for him and return any harm tenfold. But earn his loyalty, and the power of the Infinite Realms will be at your fingertips. Good luck, Master of Lazarus."

With that, the Gardener disappeared beneath the waves of the Well of Sins, and the waters calmed. The only proof that someone had been there was the sopping wet teen that lay at Ra's feet.

Ra's stared at the boy. The tugging in his heart was a bind, he realized. And it was tying him to the boy. Well, caring for a dead child shouldn't be that hard. Despite his disagreement with Talia over the matter, Jason Todd had turned out just fine, hasn’t he?

With the contract heavy on his mind, Ra's turned and left the boy lying there, clicking his jaw and calling for his attendants to collect him. The Lazarus Pits had gifted him with a new heir, it seemed.

-

“WHAT DID YOU DO?”

In another world, a redheaded girl was on the edge of a rampage. Her scream echoed down the suburban street her house was on, and the neighbors sighed quietly and locked their windows shut, not realizing the severity of the question. They were used to this family's antics, and the girl's screaming as a result.

But this could not be written off as 'family antics.'

Jasmine Fenton, nicknamed ‘Jazz,’ was positively furious. Red-faced, she stood before her parents with steam coming from her ears and a bat in hand. 

“Jazzy-pants, we-” her father tried.

“Nope!” Jazz put up a hand to stop him. “Never mind, I don’t want to hear it. I already know.” 

She whirled around, tuning out her parents' protests as she stormed through their house. Correction, her parent’s house. If she had her way, Jazz would never see these metal and unloving walls ever again. Neither would her brother, once she found him. 

Her phone rang, and she flipped it open with a snap, leaving the bat at the end of the hallway. Only a few people had her number, and it sure as hell wasn’t her parents calling her. “What.” She barked, shoving the phone between her shoulder and ear as she dug through Danny’s closet. His bug-out bag hadn’t been moved. 

“It’s Tucker.”

“We have a code green and a code yellow.” She ground out. Good, the ecto-dejecto shots were up to date. The less time she spends in that god-forsaken lab, the better. 

“Fuck.” Tucker swore. Rustling was heard and she heard another voice in the background. “I’m putting you on speaker.” 

Jazz re-packed the bag quickly, adding in some non-essentials that she knew Danny would appreciate. After it was settled on her shoulders, she switched the phone back to her hand for a better grip. “Is Sam there?”

“I’m here.” The girl responded. 

Jazz tripped over her bedroom carpet in her rush to her room. She cursed but recovered and started ransacking her closet and drawers. “Good. One of you needs to contact Danielle. Our parents sold Danny out, and the GIW took him while I was gone yesterday. I’m going ghost and getting him back. Tell Danielle she’s in danger since they have her ecto-signature now.”

“We’re going with you.” Sam said firmly. There was more rustling, and Jazz guessed they were looking for their own emergency bags. “I don’t care how long it takes; we’ll get him back.” 

“Are you going to shut down the portal?” Tucker asked. 

Jazz paused, considering it. In the original plan, Danny was in charge of shutting down the portal while Jazz and the others took care of the Fentons, GIW, and everything else. It was personal for him; his final resting place. But now that Danny was missing, and they needed a reliable escape route. 

“Not permanently.” She decided. “I’ll figure out how to turn it off temporarily, or put a shield up, but Danny will need to be the one to make that call.” 

Tucker started typing furiously on his laptop, muttering under his breath until he got to the file he wanted. “Sam and I will take care of the town defenses, and Dani’s on her way from New Zealand. She’ll be here in a few hours. I’m sending you a bug; plug it into the Fenton’s security systems, and it’ll lock them out of the house for now. Only do it after you’re done in the labs. Sam’s gone off and is pulling some strings to get all the ghosts in town back to the Zone. I’ll start tracking Danny and shutting down all the Fenton and GIW equipment I can find.”

“Thanks, Tucker. I’ll meet you guys at Nasty Burger in two hours; pass that message to Danielle.”

“Sure thing. Oh, and Jazz?”

“Yeah, Tuck?” Jazz started counting her hidden wads of cash, making sure it was all there. They never wanted to believe the Fentons would go this far, but she was glad they’d made contingency plans just in case. 

She could hear Tucker’s silent snarl as he said his parting remark. “Leave enough of them behind for the rest of us.”

Jazz laughed, a little hysterical. “I’ll try.” She said, bidding him farewell. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure she could look at her parents ever again. But she knew, deep in her bones, that if they tried to stop her, there wouldn’t even be ashes left from the hell she would raise. 

-

Gotham was caught in a storm. It was one of those ugly, howling summer storms that threw water in your eyes and bit your skin with a vengeance. Damian squinted, trying to make out the sight of Spoiler and Signal through the rain, but even their bright uniforms were lost in the shadows.

He tightened his grip on his grappling hook as a particularly harsh wind tried to throw him around like a ragdoll. Water seeped into his collar, making him shiver. A beep echoed in his ear, and he risked taking one hand off the line to answer his comms.

"Robin," Oracle was practically shouting in his ear over the storm. "Signal made it to the Cave. Spoiler is rounding up Condiment King, and then she'll do the same. You can go back now."

Damian tsked. "Father is still out here," he replied. "I shall not return until he does."

"Robin-" Oracle sighed.

Another gust of wind made him grunt, and he cut the call to refocus on scaling the building. The only good thing that came from such a wild storm was that most of the villains were smart enough to stay inside. Splitting up in such conditions always left a sour taste in his mouth, but Damian understood it was necessary to cover as much ground as possible during times of emergency.

He wasn't sure this counted as an emergency, but Todd was certainly treating it as such. The citizens of Crime Alley were being hit hard. Enough to the point where Red Hood had openly invited the Bats onto his turf to help with the flooding and evacuation from some unstable buildings. Batman and Red Robin had gone, leaving Robin and Orphan to cover their patrol routes.

Finally, finding purchase on the rough brick, Damian quickly hauled himself up to safety. Some of his equipment was ruined, and his costume was soaked. Truly, this storm had come out of nowhere.

His comms clicked back to life. "Robin." Cain's clipped tone was somehow louder than Oracle's voice.

"I'm here," he replied, scowling at the oily mud on his shoes. Damned pollution.

"Home," Orphan said simply.

Damian scowled even harder. He could argue with Oracle without issue, but he barely won when it came to speaking with Orphan. "...Fine." He sniffed. "I shall return."

"Good." Damian could hear the smile in her voice. "Agent A has cocoa."

"I'll consider it." He said stiffly. He imagined his adoptive sister smiling slyly and glancing toward the sky before the comms switched off, leaving him to his thoughts again. After checking his grapple to ensure it still worked, he started picking his way through the building at a snail's pace, letting himself get distracted whenever he spotted someone in trouble. The Batcave would be warmer and dryer than the streets, but not everyone had a dry place to return to. Every little bit helped in the long run, and even Damian wouldn't pass by a lost child in the rain.

The only thing that bothered him more than the dark clouds overhead and fresh hail on the way home was the unnatural feeling on his spine. It felt like someone was watching him, judging him. But when he looked, nobody was there.

-

The stars were gone.

Danny felt weightless as he floated, staring at the space where the stars were supposed to be. He felt lighter than normal. Danny was surrounded by colors that flowed and ebbed like the tide, taking him deeper into this mysterious space. Golden fish and silver deer wove past him as fire and ice trailed behind, and yet he couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to get up. He just laid there silently. A bone deep exhaustion was settling into him, but sleep refused him.

“Ghost Child.”

Oh, Danny was dreaming. He was already asleep.

He didn’t turn his head, nor acknowledge when the stars returned to his line of sight. The stars wrapped around him like a curtain, cutting off the rest of the dreamscape. Two bright eyes, burning like red giants, peered down at him as thin hands cupped his body.

“Ghost Child.” The voice repeated again, speaking in his mind even as the words were swallowed by the silence of space.

Danny turned his head slowly. “Nocturn,” he murmured. These too, were snatched from his throat and lost. The cold seeped into his chest and he hiccuped. He couldn’t speak. Not that he really wanted to.

Luckily, Nocturn seemed to understand him just fine. He cradled Danny gently, bringing him closer to his chest. Something shifted in the fabric of space, and suddenly Danny was being laid to rest on the smooth stone of a crescent moon, as pearly white as his own hair. He sighed as the coolness of the moon seeped into his body, soothing aches and burns he didn’t remember getting.

“Where are we?” He wanted to ask.

Nocturn blinked slowly at him, his face twisted down towards Danny. His ram’s horns glinted as a glowing blue jay landed on them and started preening itself. Danny wanted to fly with the bird. His body didn't move.

“Sleep, Ghost Child.” Nocturn hummed. The moon vibrated beneath Danny, soothing the electric currents that kept him awake no matter what he did. Danny’s eyes started sliding shut as Nocturn’s song wrapped around him like a lullaby.

The others… Danny’s mind whispered.

Are safe. The song replied. Rest, young guardian. Your people are safe. You did well.

That was all he needed to hear. Danny let himself fall into slumber, relief flooding his mind. Yes, his people were safe. He did well. He deserved some rest.

As the young ghost fell into a dreamless sleep, a real sleep, Nocturn gently tucked the boy in with a blanket made from his own starry robes, shifting the fabric once more to hide away his core, and the boy who was resting on it. The bluejay on his head chirped indignantly from the movement and flew away, leaving a trail of smoke behind.

Nocturn paid it no mind. Warnings from Fate were never a good idea to ignore, but the bird was but a memory of a life that had long since passed. It only stuck around because of the dreams that kept feeding it. The ghost let his lullaby continue as he returned to his work, taking care to move slowly.

Undergrowth was taking care of his physical body, so he would care for the boy's mind. Vortex was off to round up the little ghostlings who had scattered like dandelion seeds, and the Master of Time was keeping an eye on the rest of Phantom's fraid while they rampaged in the mortal realms. After the stunt he pulled to protect the Realms, it was the least the elder ghosts could do.

-

"Is the boy awake?" Ra's asked sharply, entering the private rooms he had set aside for the boy.

The attending nurse, an older man born with no tongue, bowed his head and signed, 'No, sir. Vitals are off. He is a cold corpse.'

Ra's regarded the boy. It has been several weeks since the Gardener dropped the boy off in his care, and he hadn't awoken once throughout the entire time. He truly looked like a regular dead teenager, if you exclude the unnaturally white hair.

The Demon's Head bent over the boy's bed, tugging open an eyelid to see if he would react. Nothing. However, he noted the boy's eyes were green, which he was mildly pleased about. Green was such a lovely color, and this boy seemed surrounded in it.

A sharp knock echoed from the door, and Ra's granted the other party permission to enter. His best phlebotomist, a man named Paz, entered, holding a stack of papers as thick as his thumb. He bowed to Ra's as soon as he saw him.

"The results?" Ra's asked.

Paz immediately handed over his work, fully confident that Ra's understood everything he'd written. "For all purposes, the boy is dead." He said in a thick accent. He spoke in halted Arabic, as he'd only lived in 'Eth Alth'eban for a short time. "He has no circulation. No heart to move blood, or lungs to breathe. We must move him every hour to prevent postmortem lividity. He has undergone an extensive autopsy process, but it seems it was stopped before his brain was removed. No organs remain in his body otherwise.”

Ra's examined the papers. They were reports from different scientists and doctors, all of whom had been assigned to examine and work on the boy. Most of them said the same thing. The boy was dead and had been for a while. If the Well of Sins didn't do anything when he first exited the waters, what good would it do now?

He flicked his eyes up. "But you think otherwise," he stated.

Paz nodded enthusiastically. "The boy is dead, but his blood is alive!" He tapped a green folder that was poking out from the bottom of the pile. Ra's shuffled the papers off to the nurse and opened it. Printed off charts had been scribbled over with Paz’s frantic notes, documenting his thought process.

The phlebotomist rambled excitedly as his boss read his work, gesturing wildly. “It’s incredible! Most of his red blood cells have died off, and he has an abnormal amount of white blood cells, which indicate some kind of infection. But his plates-“

‘Platelets.’

“Platelets,” Paz nodded his thanks to the nurse for correcting his speech. “The boy’s platelets are still alive, and are actually trying to heal his injuries! We recorded a time-lapse last week to confirm it. The process is incredibly slow, even compared to human healing, but there’s a difference! Because of the absence of red blood cells, the plasma left in his body has practically doubled in volume, even though there’s no circulation to keep it moving. We’ve noticed a collection of stem cells at the base of his skull has started growing as well, and whatever it’s producing is being released into the body at regular intervals.”

“What kind of cells are they?”

“Unsure. At first, we thought it was cancerous in nature.” Paz tapped the corner of the folder again, prompting Ra’s to turn the page. “And while these cells are certainly growing as fast as unchecked cancer, rather than doing harm, we’ve taken samples and noted that they’re merging with whatever original matter has been left in the boy’s body. Bonding, like glue! The healing process is periodically speeding up with every release, the plasma has started circulating on its own, and the white blood cell count is diminishing. Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s filling in for everything that’s missing, and keeping what is there, alive. Dr. Vanessa hypothesized that within the month, it may even start replacing the boy’s organs.”

Ra’s looked up from the research. “These photos look like plant cells, is this an example or actual recordings of the activity?”

Paz wrinkled his nose. “Those are evidence of the activity. For some reason, cellulose is present within his body, and the mysterious stem cells seem to be a mix of both plant and animal matter. It’s hard to track even with our technology, but it looks like the cellulose is forming a sort of…skeleton? Frame? I’m not sure what the right word is, but Dr. Vanessa says they might start regrowing in another month. If that’s true, this would be a huge breakthrough in the realm of organ transplants and other medical fields!”

The Demon’s Head hummed, flipping through the work again and considering the man’s words. “Very good,” he praised. Paz beamed like a child at his words. “Unfortunately, I shall be releasing you of your duty, and your tongue is too loose for your head.”

“What-“ Paz’s eyes widened as he gurgled, his words cut off. Ra’s twisted his wrist, driving home the dagger he’d planted in the man’s heart. He had no use for men who talked too much.

Paz fell to the floor, convulsing as he tried to weakly remove the weapon still sticking out of his chest. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he went pale as his blood seeped out onto the floor.

Ra’s barely spared the dying man a glance, taking back the extra stack of papers from the nurse and neatly stepped around him to exit the room. “Clean that up,” he said over his shoulder.

The old nurse bowed his head, waiting patiently for the foolish doctor to finish dying before he got out the mop.

This is why the nurse had survived so long; he knew how to stay silent.

-

[Nocturn tucking Danny in to rest. Ghost speech says, "Rest well, ghost child"]

[carnage-cathedral]

good evening. this made me cry

[laugtherhyena]

Ngl it's so funny to me when i see people wondering why on earth i ship those two so much like, oh buddy your guess is as good as mine

[moe-broey]

Some. Sort of spectrum. From most likely to least likely.

And by kitten-pile I mean This

I'll put a transcript under cut for easier reading! 🫡

How Likely Are They to Kitten Pile?

__

Mirabilis: "are you tired..? do you need a break...? ohh we could take one together..."

If she likes/trusts you even a little, she wants to cuddle about it!!!

-

Sharena and Peony: "Okay! 💖 Yay! 💖"

Shari: The only thing stopping her is social conventions -- making her MORE likely to jump at the opportunity!

Peony: Learning social awareness as she goes, and is surprisingly good at it?

-

Triandra: "Aren't we a bit old for that...? But... even so..."

Embarrassed, conflicted, but feels strangely nostalgic at the notion...

-

Plumeria: "I'm not so petal-soft that I'd resort to such INDECENCY, I mean even if your intentions are Pure USE YOUR HEADS YOU FOOLS!! Girl, the IMPLICATIONS!!!"

Desperately wants to join the kitten-pile, but her Issues and Pride gets in the way.

-

Moe: "aw, so cutes!"

Generally touch adverse, extremely picky even with the people it likes/loves -- everything is entirely on its terms.

[sosadraws]

Anyone has Mynah fanfic recomendations?

Or at least fanfics where they're plot relevant or recurring characters. I'm not picky regarding genre or ships

[cosmogyros]

.

[thelovers-thedreamers-and-me]

the downside to being a sitcom neighbour sort of person is that when rough things happen and emotionally fuck u up a lil bit, it also sounds completely made up

[lord-squiggletits]

I need to reread the comics again to have specific arguments/evidence for this, but like

I feel a bit like I could've been sympathetic to the way other Cybertronian colonies view Cybertron, if it weren't for the fact that at least several of them (as in, ones that get notable dialogue/screen time) are so low-key self-righteous?

Like, idk... there's a lot of criticism of Cybertronians because they're so "warlike" and how their obsession with violence and vengeance is just dragging the whole galaxy down with them, but uh. The Autobot-Decepticon war was basically a product of societal ills bubbling over for like 6 million years beforehand and then finally boiling over into a 4 million year war that lasted as long as it did because the people involved had immense social/psychological trauma from being "raised" in an oppressive society.

So when the colonists come in being all 'omg you people are so violent and uncivilized why don't you just like, stop fighting' it kind of pissed me off a little bit as a reader/person like. Idk the colonists really came into this society of people full of massive amounts of trauma where even before the war society was super oppressive and no one has any experience of living "normal" lives unaffected by violence and bigotry. And the colonists were like "ummm wow why don't you guys just??? stop fighting???." Like idk it wasn't EVERY SINGLE MOMENT, in fact I think that when it was played for laughs it's quite a funny "fridge horror" type element. It was just annoying because like.... IDK???? It's just really annoying to watch a bunch of people who lived relatively sheltered lives on their own planets come to a different planet full of traumatized people and be like "omg why are you people so fucked up" IDK BRO MAYBE BECAUSE THEIR SOCIETY WAS OPPRESSIVE AND THEY LIVED THROUGH A LIFELONG WAR???

It also doesn't help that the colonies were literally founded based on imperialism and conquest so like, it's fucking rich to hear colonists scolding Cybertronians for their violence ruining the whole galaxy while literally sitting on planets that their Primes colonized from others. The hypocrisy of this is briefly mentioned in Unicron (literally the FINAL STORY OF THE SERIES) but like, that's basically the only time Cybertronian characters are given a reprieve of sympathy from other characters in universe and it's so tiresome.

I've talked to other people who didn't like the colonists and thought they basically (narratively speaking) existed just to shit on the existing characters, and it's actually really easy for me to sympathize with/outright agree with that assessment of the story considering how much of exRID/OP seems to be preoccupied with "Cybertron/the Primes/Optimus sucks" with very few reprieves for anything positive happening and even fewer chances for characters to get to explain themselves and experience a little bit of justice? Like, as the audience, it's just very frustrating to see the characters you spent hundreds of issues keeping up with get shit on by a bunch of "literally-who"s and then not really get a chance to ever defend themselves, either by literally defending themselves in conversation or having some sort of narrative thing happening that vindicates them at least symbolically

[pfhwrittes]

For a second I thought the cow incident was over the weekend and I was about to book a flight to the UK to tuck you into blankets and make you huge piles of food and treatos.

Also thing. So I have zero and I do mean zero filter on my mouth. Mum likes to say the shit I say is why she has so many grey hairs. Now this isn't to say I'm a jerk or anything close to that. More that I'm a sassy thing and it's amazing that I still have a job. Example, yesterday at work my supervisor and an educator were showing these two students we have proper body mechanics for lifting heavy surgical trays.

Educator "just remember to bend and lift with your knees."

Me walking behind them "pop it like you want that anaconda to get some hun."

Educator and Supervisor "MA'AM" and government name while laughing.

Me walking away as I shake my ass "am I wrong?"

Anyways somehow I still have a job and I'm not entirely sure how. One supervisor wanted to get me drug tested and like 3 weeks later I accidentally gave him nightmares.

Love you hope your week going fabulous ❤️

stigy oh my god i am trying so hard not to cackle at your lack of brain-to-mouth filter right now.

i am fully high-fiving you over saying weird shit at work and somehow still keeping a job. i was well known for saying some truly off the wall shit at my last job (never mean or malicious, just stuff that made people go "parker!" in a scandalised tone while also laughing).

like that time one of my favourite co-workers came to find me in the stockroom and i said "i wish i was getting fucked as hard by dickheads in charge outside of work as i am inside of work" and i made her think she'd gone into premature labour because she was laughing so hard. i am very pleased to tell you she didn't go into labour because i would NOT have handled that well let me tell ya.

lmao i can promise i haven't been getting up to (many) antics at the moment. i've been good! just a few harmless pranks on my mum and an accidental midnight spidering.

love you too! and i hope your week goes most excellently! 💜