#got the idea volunteering at an elementary school

[nico-the-overlord]

So, Logan is based off the teacher character yeah? What if I just

+alt version and sketch I’m not gonna finish

For context if anyone is confused: Carson Dellosa Education is a company that makes worksheets/posters for elementary school students.

Tried to replicate their art style (what the internet has dubbed the ‘Carson-Dellosa’ art style’). Idk if first ones are also called that, I know the sketch is most like their style, but I’ve also seen first type alot in classrooms so yeah.

[Image ID start. Four separate drawings of Logan Sanders from Sanders Sides, drawn in a cartoonish art style. Most notable of the style is a wide, simplistic smile. First drawing is a drawing of Logan standing, looking forward.

Second drawing is a poster that reads “KNOWLEDGE IS POWER” in round white block letters outlined in black. In the middle is a drawing of Logan reading an untitled blue book, his head and hands only visible peaking out the sides of the book. The background has purple swirls, and many little purple and white stars.

Third drawing is the same as the first drawing, but without Logan’s brain emblem on his shirt.

Fourth drawing is an uncolored pencil sketch of Logan standing, looking off to the side. He is holding a spiral notebook to his chest with both hands. Image ID end.]

[netherfeildren]

Greener Memories of Better Men

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them. 

-OR- 

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink

A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 10.8K

Read on AO3

When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to “The Weight” by The Band all the time. He’d sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and he’d watch her breathe. For hours, he’d sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when she’d let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, she’d mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy. 

And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, she’d say that Fanny was the friend they’d always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end. 

It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line she’d seemed desperate to win. 

At times he’d been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger. 

If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything he’d ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. He’d told her they’d be brave together, that they’d get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, she’d been the only one to be brave, and he’d been the only one to get out of it. If that’s what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now. 

It’d been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since he’d put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what she’d think of him now, if she saw what he’d let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what he’d always been or wanted to be. 

But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what he’d been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldn’t he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her. 

He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after he’s finished his workout. For months he’d gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but he’d had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when they’d go and feed the ducks. She’d wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And he’d felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature he’d become. He’d gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as he’d been, he’d tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and he’d thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But he’d gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then he’d gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself he’d make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldn’t stop. 

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream. 

So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going. 

They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldn’t, didn’t want to lose them. 

The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarah’s old elementary school, “Breakfast with Dads” requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didn’t have a father figure in their lives. He’d stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time he’d picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way she’d looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. She’d always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. He’d had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before she’d died, when she’d started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. He’d not been back to the place since. Didn’t know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where she’d been happy, had friends, been a kid. 

He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isn’t really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that he’d shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now. 

The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. She’d died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joel’s hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight he’d ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. He’d watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if he’s being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommy’d shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and he’s once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarah’s old cafeteria. 

The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of children’s voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. He’s inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: “Joel?”

He turns and there you are. “Joel Miller?” You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time he’d seen you was the last time he’d picked Sarah up here, and there’d been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much she’d miss you, how much she didn’t want to go. You’d been her last teacher before she’d had to leave school – she’d never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One he’d not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like you’ve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. You’d gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarah’s second grade year, and he’d been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman who’d come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, he’d been so fucking glad he’d missed you. He hoped he’d never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad he’d missed you and grateful he’d not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that you’d been able to give her something she’d needed and he could not provide. 

He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns. 

He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. “Joel, I’m so glad to see you,” said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person who’d known and cared for his daughter so deeply. 

“I– I’m glad to be here,” he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. “I saw the posters– just thought… I just thought it’d be nice for me to come around.”

“Yes,” you squeeze his arm gently, “Yes, of course. Welcome, please, I’m really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here today–” you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: “There are so many kids here that need someone. It’s a real good thing you came.”

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to– to feel– to remember–” he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like you’ve got the best sort of secret you’re about to let him in on. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.”

-

“Joel, this is my niece–”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot. 

“Ellie,” you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, “We’re gonna be nice. You promised this morning.”

“Ugh, fine,” she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. “Stick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?” Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face. 

“Ellie– Mom said you can’t go to the sleepover tonight if you aren’t nice. Right?” You try and reason with her. 

“Fine. Whatever – nice.” And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you. 

“Okay,” you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile – worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, “It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial. 

You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.

He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book she’s got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingston’s No Pun Intended: Volume Too. 

He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the table’s edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. “Well aren’t you a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. What’s your problem?”

“Jesus, kid. How old are you?”

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Forty eight.”

“Old.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?”

He clears his throat, “Uh well, she– she’s not here anymore. Or I mean– she doesn’t go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.”

“Oh, shit.” She’s quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope. It’ll still be stationary. “That sucks, man. I'm sorry.”

He supposes the correct response is: “Thank you,” he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be something he gets used to. 

“I think…” she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. “That my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,” she snickers. “Don’t know. My mom never talks about him.”

Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s hard– being a parent, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah… hardest thing in the world–”

“Is it like – like weird… to not be one anymore?”

He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, “Dunno… I guess– I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think I’ll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, it’s… weird.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense. You don’t forget how stuff feels, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t forget how stuff feels.”

“Do you like space?” she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.

“Sure, yeah. Space is alright.”

And then another seeming one eighty: “If you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?”

“Don’t know, never really thought about it. Maybe… an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.”

“Cool. What kind?”

He shakes his head, Jesus, I don’t know… “Sheep. I would raise sheep.” She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, “They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,” she says sarcastically. 

“What about you? What would you do?”

She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space… “Probably because I’ve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya know– I’ve read everything I could in the school library… Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?”

He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where she’d left him. “Sally Ride,” he says, of course.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride!” She slaps her hands down on the table, “Best astronaut name ever,” Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively. 

He nods his head, yeah, figures. “So, your aunt…” and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least he’d waited this long. 

“She’s my mom’s sister. She’s great. The three of us live together – kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. We’ve always been together.”

“That’s great, kid. She’s great. She– she was my daughter’s teacher, I’ve known her for a while now.”

“Yeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,” she says way too excitedly, “Bethany,” rolls her eyes, “For being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else would’ve stuck up for me that way.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Seems like her style–”

“Protective,” she snickers.

“Yeah–” 

“And good. Her and my mom, they’re a unit, the three of us. Don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. Sometimes…” she looks away a little shyly, “I misbehave,” she says slowly, “Like the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But I’m trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, she’s a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.”

“I reckon it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, is what I’d say. I’m sure being thirteen is difficult,” he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.

“Fuck you, man,” she laughs, “It’s difficult as shit.” It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all he’s lived through, it’s everything to him. 

The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also can’t really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he can’t help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and it’s easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but who’s really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her he’s going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself. 

He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else – a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes it’s difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like he’d said to the kid, it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better. 

“Joel?” That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed. 

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, “M’fine. Just needed a second–” Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I’m just– It’s overwhelming being here. I’m sorry. I’m okay,” he rambles. 

“It’s okay, Joel. Just take your time.” Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him. 

“She’s a good kid,” he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back. 

“She is,” you whisper.

“S’got a fuckin’ mouth on her.”

“Yeah…” You try and laugh, fail.

He cracks and splinters: “I didn’t think it would be like this coming back here… seeing you,” voice breaking, “She was sick for so long, and I knew she didn’t want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that I’d find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what I’ve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.”

“You’re trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being here–”

“I wish I could see her smile again, just once–” he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and it’s too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldn’t have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off. 

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have come here today, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“Joel–”

“Tell Ellie I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughter’d be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give. 

He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes he’d never been made into. 

-

You’re on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When you’d seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, you’d felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame… Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was. 

Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of you’d decided to have a girl’s night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well. 

You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his. 

He’s so sad. There’s no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though it’s not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, she’d warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy. 

“Hi, Joel.” Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, he’ll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that he’d done good. Tommy’d abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. He’s gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly. 

“Hey–” he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. “Hey.”

“I saw you come in earlier, and I– I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.” You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but you’re pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Anna’s mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man. 

“You already thanked me,” he says gruffly, “And besides there’s nothing really to thank me for.”

“I know, but again, or anyways,” you stutter, “And there is.” There’s absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, “It was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked you–”

“You gave her my apologies, right?” He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone. 

“I did, don’t worry. She understood.” He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to say thank you again.”

“Alright. And I’m sorry too, about earlier – after. I was an ass.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have gone after you, should’ve given you your privacy. I’m sorry. I was nosey.”

He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, “No, I wanted you to come after me.” His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, “Thank you.”

You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. “That’s your brother, right? Tommy?” You turn back to him. 

“Yeah, it is… You wanna sit?” He gestures to Tommy’s empty stool. 

“She used to talk about him all the time.” You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that he’ll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. “Yeah…” he says slowly, “They were real close.”

“That’s really nice,” you say sincerely. You catch Ben’s eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. “You two having a boys night out?”

He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, “Guess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure I’m alright or somethin’,” a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high. 

Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. “Here you go, baby girl,” a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, “Tequila for you and your friend here.”

“Baby girl?” Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him. 

You roll your eyes, “Ignore him.” He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly. 

“Shall we?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh. 

“Seems I don’t got much of a choice,” before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the bar’s surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously. 

Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. “He sweet on you or somethin’?” 

“No, not at all.”

“Huh, not so sure about that,” he eyes your sister’s boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, “He’s fucking my sister. Not me.”

He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. He’s so thick everywhere. 

“Is that so?” The place on your legs where he’d gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joel’s molten gaze, “Gimme permission to come over tonight?” he says as he passes. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joel’s touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him he’s staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones. 

There’s something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didn’t sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now. 

“You know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?” He asks you suddenly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You were Sarah’s teacher, and she talked about you all the time – her last teacher – and I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if I’m bein’ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,” he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, “In that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, it’s like… like we’re meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way we’ve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her – it’s… I don’t really know what it is I’m trying to say, to be honest. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. It’s okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what you’re trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. “You knew me before in a different way, and I’m not that man anymore. And I don’t know who I am now, or I’m beginning to relearn, but I’m not there just yet,” He trails off, and then softly: “Have you ever not known yourself?”

You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. “I’m… I’m not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That I’ve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like… like sometimes when you’re uncertain of the next step, or– or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending you’d like?” You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where you’re still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. “I think now we’re both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all I’ve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way I’d make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, we’re okay.”

“No… I know exactly what you mean.” His brow caves in on itself, “I know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. She’s gone, I failed her.”

“But you didn’t, Joel,” you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that he’s wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure he’s understanding. “You can’t honestly say that. You’re right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it.  There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.” And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. “When she died – was she scared? Or peaceful?”

“She was so fucking brave,” he chokes. “She was so fucking brave. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in that heart. I’d swallowed all of it. I’d swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. She’s the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that I’d be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me she’d see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and I’d promised her that we’d both be – that we’d both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.” And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldn’t and maybe you’re overstepping and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though he’s probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that he’d not have to bear this alone, that he’d never have had to live it at all. I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m sorry that you lost your daughter, and I’m sorry you’re alone now, and I’m sorry we didn’t know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. I’d like to know you now more than anything else.

You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, “I’m killing the mood,” and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Anna’s nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail. 

“Let’s go outside,” you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you. 

He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. “For what?” Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking. 

“I wanna kiss you.” Might as well be honest now that you’ve got his hands on you.

“I think that if we go out there, I’m gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?”

“Yes, let’s go,” and you’re already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you can’t help but give him a small laugh. “Are you okay?” Just making sure.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Are you?” His gaze is so warm. 

“Yes.” And you can’t help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when it’s nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He pulls you along behind him, and as you’re making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut. 

He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that he’s steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. He’s not even looking where he’s going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, he’s swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. “Joel–” you gasp. 

“Back seat,” he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before he’s pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. You’re wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. He’s always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way he’s looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you,” he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, “Where the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?” He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and you’re sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then he’s pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. He’s so masculine, hard in all the places you’re soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, he’s big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then you’re slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. “Jesus, fuck–” he gasps. 

You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin. 

“Fucking wet little cunt. Shit, you’re soaked for me, baby.” All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. He’s heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. “Joel, please–” you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and you’re so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. “Shit, you’re too fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, and you’re about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him you’re about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, “All of it, baby. The whole thing.” He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. “Yeah… Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.” You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. “Now you’ve gotta take the whole thing, no cryin’” He sounds like he’s spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, “Taking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.” He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant. 

“Fuck– fuck, Joel–” 

“I know, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? But you can take it– deep breath, you can take it.” He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. “Does that feel good, sweet girl? Tell me–”

“It’s so– it’s so good. Wanted it so bad–” you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that he’s growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix. 

“Lemme see you– I’ve gotta see you,” he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where he’s fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. “You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now,” he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes – just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him. 

He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truck’s bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. “Fuck, there ain’t enough room in this fuckin’ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,” his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something… different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is that’s happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and he’s pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. “Taste–” he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, “That’s what it tastes like when you come for me.” His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, I’ve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you. 

“Open your fucking eyes,” he pants. “Look at me,” he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin. 

He’s so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you can’t help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. “Yes, Joel,” you gasp, “Please, don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. “Yeah, just like that– Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.” He’s so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him you’re about to come again. 

“God, yes, yes, you’re such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.” His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and he’s saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. “Hey,” he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, “Hey, baby– you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?” It sounds, a little bit, like he’s beginning. 

You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose – please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then he’s filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper. 

-

He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. He’s careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, “You’re going to have dinner with me, right?” Voice a little frantic. 

You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, “Think we’ve gone and done things a little out of order here, haven’t we?”

He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, “No,” another kiss, this one to your hip, “Not at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.” He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. “How I see it, that’s actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.”

You sigh, laugh softly, “You know… I’m actually a little hungry right now,” you say contemplatively.

“Burgers? Fries?”

“Milkshake?”

“Well, we’ve gotta have somethin’ to dip ‘em in, right?”

“Of course.” Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, “You’re so smart.”

“Very true. You’ve gotta stick with me now, I’ll teach you everything I know.” A kiss, another and another. 

He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy. 

-

It’s been months since then… and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that he’s sure you saved his fucking life. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog : Follow and turn on notifications for new fics!

[jaxinkh]

Why Pokedex entries are weird

Now, I'm not the only one that has the first part of this, but I haven't seen others go a bit deeper into this yet. Obvious answer first:

You are a child and filling these in yourself.

Now, others say this to, but I haven't seen this take here:

Your character is a little freak, doing stuff they really shouldn't.

In the Pokemon Universe, it's normal and customary that; when a kid leaves Elementary school they have a little adventure to help them figure out what kind of person/trainer they want to be in the future. So they go to their local (volunteer) Pokemon Professor, get a starter Pokemon and a Pokedex and set out into the world!

But that's not a regular, pre-filled Pokedex with factual information. It's a junior Pokedex that they can fill in themselves. After a week or 2 when their adventures ends they can take it home and laugh with their family about the entries years later as a memento. No actual professor looks at them for their research, unless it pings an undiscovered Pokemon, but how often does that happen?

But you, player character, are a little freak.

You were SUPPOSED to go home after camping in the local woods for a few weeks and making it to the next village! Every kid does! But YOU actually went out into the world! Only you immediately went after the gyms and beat your way through! the only reason people aren't concerned when they see a unfamiliar 12-year old in town is because they think you came from the neighboring city, they have NO IDEA you are MILES, sometimes an OCEAN away from home! You are living completely off your winnings in battle, your little fund you got from mom only lasted until the next town! You were expected to call mom for some cash to get home but you went further and battle for a living.

Not only that, but you decided that you were going to be a hero! You saw a thief/gangster/terrorist/edgelord that was causing trouble and you beat their ass, so now you are off to topple a criminal empire! Which almost always turns out to be involved with Legendary or Mythical Pokemon, so now you are fighting GODS.

When you FINALY come home, your poor mom has been so worried that she is either in shock, depressed or straight up thinks she's hallucinating you coming home again, so she barely responds to you being home. By the time she realized that it actually was you you're out the door again!

You're a terrible child, and no one can stop you.

[starrysvn]

puppy love | kang yeosang

pairing: kang yeosang x gn!reader

genre: headcanon; e2l (i TRIED); co-workers au, volunteering at an animal shelter; fluff; angst if you really, really squint, crack (i’m nOT funny)

word count: 3.1k

rating: pg-13

warnings: none; one smooch, mayhaps a couple swear words (lowercase intended)

networks: @cromernet

author’s note: happy belated christmas from your secret santa, @armysantiny !! i really hope you’ll enjoy this and i sincerely hoped you spent warm holidays surrounded by people you loved! <3 i’ve tried my very best with the e2l but mAN writing it is so much less fun than reading it. big, huge, thanks to @hwaightme for giving me wonderful ideas to use and delulus to ponder so i could write this down. ilysm <333

kang yeosang is one infuriating individual. for one, there is no way anyone can be so praised and well-liked by literally everyone. not a day goes by where you don’t wonder how his small smiles and quiet attitude could bewitch every last person he talked to. not when he would not bother to say hi in passing to you specifically, or resolve to small nods and monosyllables when talking. to you.

it seems that you are the problem.

you and him work volunteer shifts at the same shelter. only, he deals with cats while you deal with dogs so it wasn’t like you’d see each other that often, but it was often enough to know he doesn’t like you.

not enough to say hi, engage in any sort of coversation or, least of all, help out if needed.

until christmas.

the shelter was decked out, you spent a whole afternoon helping out with decorations, along with yunho and yena, two other volunteers.

and yeosang.

the man almost laughed his ass off watching you balance on a ladder in the most uncoordinated way possible to avoid falling. arms flailing around and everything.

he just stood there, an ornament in his hands, with his stupidly cute smile and watched.

you sigh, scratching behind the ear of the latest rescue dog that was brought in. you like baxter, he is chill and his black, shiny fur does not show signs of him having had to live out in the streets all on his own for weeks anymore. you like him best because it looks like he is listening when you ramble on, in disbelief of the rudeness showcased, about yeosang.

just then, a call of your name sounds in the air, the voice coming from the front desk of the shelter.

“see you later,” you leave behind baxter’s toy, leaving him with one last pat on the head, and make your way to the front where hongjoong had called for you.

you smile upon entering the reception area as it had been a joint decorating effort between you, yunho and yena. the result was looking very much like an elementary school christmas project, but you enjoy the general vibe. the senior rescuer currently behind the counter, looking rather preoccupied with a few papers, however, had just shook his head dejectedly upon seeing the final result.

“i’m sorry to be doing this, but could you take the christmas day shift?” he looks apologetic as he asks, rushing to explain. “it’d only be a half day, I promise that by one you can leave, we’ve got the staff taking care of the other shifts and the morning one’s the only one left uncovered-”

“no worries,” you interrupt his rambling. “i’ll be there.”

hongjoong smiles, looking relieved only for a second, before his face betrays further worrying.

“what is it?”

“nothing, i,” he sighs, shoulders sagging upon seeing the inquisitive look on your face. “yeosang will be working the same shift.”

defeat. dejection. betrayed trust. you groan dramatically, barely hearing hongjoong say that you’d already agreed and it would not be that bad.

surely it’d make for an interesting christmas.

when you arrive on christmas morning, the night shift staff gives you a tired nod and you offer him a smile in return, quickly wishing him happy holidays.

you waste no time in doing the rounds, giving all the cute doggos their breakfast.

while going over the duty checklist left from the night shift staff you hear the bell jingle in the front and roll your eyes.

when you finally decide to go up front it takes a couple of minutes before yeosang finally comes into view.

decked out in his funniest ugly sweater it reads “here comes santa paws” and has a cat wearing a christmas hat on it and with his long hair tucked behind his ears, he’s coming up to you with an awkward air about him.

you squint your eyes in suspicion.

“merry christmas,”

you’re floored, shocked, gaping like a fish looking up at your co-worker who for the first time ever has spoken to you first.

“cookie?” he produces a tupperware from behind his back, carefully removing the lid to reveal the most crooked, ill-decorated christmas cookies you’ve ever seen. some look slightly burned. a gingerbread man has three eyes.

you’re still gaping, not in the slightest understanding how it's possible that he’s spoken to you first, and also not noticing how ever so slowly a blush starts to creep up on his cheeks.

maybe you’re hallucinating, but it snaps you out of your trance.

you quickly reach for the gingerbread man with three eyes.

“thanks,” you mumble, giving him a small smile. “merry christmas.”

yeosang nods, closing the tupperware and disappearing without a word.

so you’re left there, cookie in hand, not knowing what to do with this.

you stay put, eating your cookie, until you hear a loud bang.

you rush to the source of it, finding a very flustered yeosang surrounded by cat litter. at least it’s clean.

you hold in your laughter, seeing him stand there, look around and try to come up with a plan.

“a little help?” you pretend to wipe away tears, facing his deadpan expression.

“you would’ve let me fall from a ladder,”

“you would’ve survived,”

you scoff, turning around to grab the broom and toss it his way. Yeosang catches it, just barely.

“really?”

“you scared my dogs.”

with that, you leave him to his mess, going to comfort and play a little bit with the shaken up puppies.

it’s not until a little later that you show up at the front desk again, noticing yeosang is already sitting there, typing away on the computer.

he’s also got the phone pressed to his ear, helping out someone on the line with cat duties, speaking with his honey voice and a small smile on his face.

it’s almost mesmerizing seeing him wear an expression that’s not his usual blank stare he holds up around you.

“if you’re done staring, we’ve got hongjoong’s checklist to go through,”

just like that, you feel like a deer caught in headlights, heat pervading your face.

“sure,” you shrug, going over to him to take a look at it, trying not to stare at his smug pout.

deep down, very deep down, you think about kissing it away.

if he weren’t so unbearable. but he is. so.

the checklist read “lobby Ikea chairs”

you both looked at each other, confused, until you noticed the boxes hidden behind the counter.

there was a post-it on it that read: “good luck! -HJ”

simply infuriating. you’d lost count of all the times you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes or drop everything and go back to your dogs.

there was no trace of the cold, odd yeosang you were used to.

he’d casually sat down on the spot where you were assembling the Ikea chairs, picked up the instruction manual and waited for you to hand him the screwdriver. bewildered, you had.

that was about two hours ago, before trying to follow instructions had gone to your heads, when it was only extremely awkward and quiet while he read the manual and you tried your best to sneak glances at him. to figure out what possibly could have been going through his head, of course.

now you were busy trying to one up each other in an undeclared war of who is the best handyman, clearly having lost the main aim: building the damned chairs.

“you were supposed to put in the screw first and then the little wooden thingy.”

“does it matter?”

“does your chair look structurally sound?”

“listen, if we start over-” pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes closed with a sigh, you stop him before he could finish his sentence.

“like hell we are, it took us two hours just to get to this.”

“exactly,” his deadpan tone leaves you no choice but to sigh.

“fine,” you give in.

you were going to kill hongjoong.

because it took you only two hours to realize all it took for yeosang to distract you were his hands working on assembling furniture, his voice asking you to pass him stuff and his silence.

if you hated it before, now you appreciated the quiet moments where all you could hear was the faint music coming from the radio and the occasional bark or meow that prompted one of you to stand up and go check on your animals.

of course it was because you didn’t have to hear his disdainful reprimanding, not at all because it gave you the chance to throw glances at him and how a few strands of hair escaped the clips pinning it back and framing his face very nicely. no, not at all. you still couldn’t stand him. mhmh.

once you finally finish building the chairs, he helps you set them up in exchange for the older ones, now piled up in the storage room.

it’s almost second nature for you to hold up your fist for him to bump.

it’s just a thing you do all the time with your friends but now you’re standing there awkwardly, fist mid air, yeosang staring at you very lost, eyes going back and forth from your face to your hand and of course now he’s not going to want to see your face ever again and you feel embarrassment slowly and steadily creeping in the more you stand there until

he fist-bumps back

a little puzzled, seemingly asking if he’s done the right thing with one look, before dropping his hand and clearing his voice

you do the same

“gotta go see the dogs,”

“yeah, no, me too… i mean, the cats, yeah, so-”

he turns around and speeds away.

you follow him.

“so how’re the cats?”

yeosang jumps on his spot, almost dropping the little mouse toy he was about to throw for a kitty to catch.

“sleeping, mostly,” he shrugs. “how’re the dogs?”

you motion for him to follow and, surprisingly, he does.

immediately, he greets the ones that are up or go up to him with a smile on his face that you’ve never seen.

it shines brighter than the sun and you find yourself smiling as well, seeing him crouch down and pat dogs left and right.

then you get a grip, not for long

it leaves you pleasantly surprised how he follows while you introduce him to every dog, how he listens while you explain why they’re there, their stories, their backgrounds

but then, while you try to get some of the dogs to play with you so he could finish the round of greetings, he reaches the puppies’ enclosure and enters it to sit among them

and while he tries to play catch with a couple, one makes his way into his arms

and when he looks down at the pup, he’s wearing the most adoring expression

like a kid seeing snow for the first time

it’s wondrous and starry and happy

and you’re staring as he softly pats the puppy’s head and coos at it

“what’s his name?”

you almost don’t answer, too focused on the scene unfolding and having trouble locating the information he’s asked for in your brain

“i don’t think he has one,” you mumble, patting baxter’s head

“sleepy,” he looks down at the puppy. “cause he’s asleep while everyone wants to play, you know?”

you just nod with a smile, or at least you hope it is because what the fuck

why are you losing your mind over yeosang cradling a sleeping puppy?

why is your brain recognizing just now that your stomach’s doing cartwheels? why do you want to look away but also keep staring?

“what’s this?” you think he’s speaking to himself, but you still catch the words leaving his mouth as he enquires the toy another puppy has just brought him

then yeosang looks up at you, eyes wide as saucers, and your heart drops for being caught staring

he doesn’t say a thing, but looks down prompting you to do the same

it’s the mistletoe chew toy

yunho’s brilliant idea of getting the dogs christmas themed toys

yeosang looks away throwing it

“yunho,” you start, catching your coworker’s attention. “yunho’s idea, to get them those.”

you offer him a pained smile as he nods, scratching his head.

“seonghwa too, for the cats…”

“ah, really?”

“yeah…”

you want to bash your head into the wall

but the phone saves you, so you dash to the front, escaping the burning flames of awkwardness

it turns out to be a family wanting to adopt as a christmas present for their kids

so you say that yes, you’re open and yes they can come in whenever

when they do, yeosang has re-emerged and stands beside you, silent like always

this time around, though, you fear he’ll hear your heart beating out of your chest at the proximity

why’s he so close?

you almost jump to greet the happy family of four when they walk in to the sound of let it snow coming from the radio

“we were afraid it wasn’t going to stop!” the dad says, brushing off some snow from his hat

turns out they’d like to adopt a dog

it surprises you that yeosang follows when you lead the family in but you try to pay him no mind

the kids seem to be enamored with every dog they see, their parents giving them free reign

they’re still very polite and don’t cause much ruckus or yell too loud, which you’re grateful for

“could you tell us more about him?”

you’re about to turn to answer the question, if it weren’t that yeosang’s already at it

he’s introducing the kids to baxter

“he’s been here for a while, he’s very fond of our y/n and his favorite snack is carrots. he doesn’t like loud noises all that much. his past owners left him here because they could no longer take care of him, but he’s looking to find a new home,” he speaks as if he’s always been taking care of him, like he hadn’t just learned all that stuff half an hour ago

and he has his smile on, the one who could charm and warm up even the coldest of hearts

except one detail

you didn’t notice the little girl facing the puppies enclosure

until you hear her go “that one’s sleeping!”

but you can’t tear your eyes away from yeosang and his can’t help but hear his soft giggle as he says “his name’s sleepy”

yeah you want to punch a wall just about now

though you have to snap out of it quick

because you’re now letting this nice family adopt baxter and can’t fuck up the procedure or hongjoong will have your head

“how’d you know?” you ask, a little melancholic but over the moon to finally see your baxter go to a family worthy of him, as you both watch the car pull out of the parking lot.

“know what?” when yeosang turns to look at you, it’s with a shadow of a smile and curious eyes, an expression you’ve rarely ever seen directed your way

you swallow hard before speaking next

“that baxter’s fond of me”

his eyes light up in recognition

yeosang swore no soul shall ever know of this

but now he feels his resolution coming apart under your waiting eyes

because truth is, he’s noticed

he notices everything about you

from how you walk in dragging your feet when you have an early morning shift, relying on your cup of coffee, to how you laugh loudly at yunho’s jokes, always get your favorite snack from the vending machines at just about the same time he goes to get his melon pan he does wait for you to be done before going up to the machines himself

and how deeply you care for the dogs and how you seem to have a soft spot for baxter

maybe he’s even heard you once or twice rambling on and on to him about how you don’t get why he doesn’t like you

truth is, he sees you, and he likes you

so much

too much

he’s afraid of doing the wrong thing, say the wrong thing and make you hate him

but apparently his plan had backfired immensely

that’s why he insisted hongjoong gave him and not seonghwa the christmas shift

he even baked stupid cookies to give you

“ah, well…” yeosang has no idea how to get out of this one. “you just seemed to like him a lot from the way you spoke about him”

you hum, not really convinced

yeosang notices though, just as he notices the car of the afternoon staff pull in under the snowfall to free you of your volunteering duties

it’s not long before the shift’s over and he’s not going to see you until after the holidays

so, as you part ways to say goodbye to the pets and grab your coats, he musters up some courage

under the snowfall, he calls your name

when you turn around his dark hair is lightly dusted with snowflakes, only making him look more ethereal, and his eyes are determined

you don’t know what’s up with you today and why suddenly he’s making you feel like a teenager dealing with their first crush under his gaze

“yes?”

he comes closer, much more than he’s ever been, so close that you’re frozen on the spot

“just wanted to let you know that you can redeem your mistletoe kiss whenever you want to”

there’s a smugness in his voice, in his pouty smirk and a sense of accomplishment shining clear in his honey eyes

have they always been this mesmerizing?

his words and his warmth leave you breathless for just a beat too long, until your eyes fall on his lips

when you look back into his eyes, his are already looking at you, waiting

“alright,” you mutter lowly, pecking his lips once, testing the waters

he places another peck on your lips and, before you know, you’re kissing him

it feels exhilarating, and soft, so soft, just like his lips. just like the hand that’s come up to cup your cheek, bringing you closer, deepening the kiss.

when you come up for air you giggle, yeosang following suit

“may i also interest you in a coffee?” he asks, hand still on your cheek, gently brushing away snowflakes before they melt. you smile.

“i thought you hated me,” it almost sounds like a question and your brow furrows when he clicks his tongue.

“have you ever heard about the concept of quiet, introverted people who feel highly intimidated by awesome, funny, pretty people?”

you laugh, finally presented with the answer to the question that most replayed in your head

“take me on a date, hilarious, quiet, handsome guy”

he blushes and you know he’ll blame it on the cold, but only brushes his nose against yours

and to think you thought he couldn’t stand you mere hours ago

now he’s here, making your heart melt like snow upon touching his perfect skin

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Please?

pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader (Elementary-verse)

rating: F (literally just reader and sarah teaming up against this grump, joel builds a birdhouse for career day)

wc: 800

series masterlist

Today was Career Day at school, each class welcoming a few selected parents to come in and give a demonstration for the kids. Sarah had eagerly suggested over dinner that Joel volunteer, something that made you smile just from imagining it.

“What am I supposed to do? Show up with a drill?” Joel chided in between ungraceful bites of his steak.

“You could build a birdhouse or something,” she suggested with a shrug.

“That’s actually a really good idea, Sarah,” you chimed, your foot nudging Joel’s under the table to draw his eyes to yours.

“No,” he shook his head. You poked your bottom lip out dramatically and rounded your eyes as they batted at him.

“Please?”

“Yeah, dad,” Sarah joined in, making your puppy dog eyes look pathetic in comparison to her round, hazel brown stare. “Please?”

“Ain’t fair when y’all gang up on me,” he muttered at his plate before sighing and meeting your eyes again. “Fine. One birdhouse.”

You’d expected Joel to run late, his time management skills only slightly improving since you entered his life a couple months ago, but even you were starting to grow impatient as you watched the clock tick away.

“Miss, what are we waiting for?” Monique, one of your students, groaned.

“Let me go see,” you said, standing from your desk and walking over to the door to poke your head out. Thankfully, you spotted Joel jogging his way across the courtyard from the school office, his tool belt tucked under his left arm.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he muttered to you as he met you outside the class, leaning in to press an apologetic kiss to your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you playfully rolled your eyes and opened the door to your class, gesturing him in.

Joel’s hand flexed and tapped nervously on his hip as he walked in, his eyes searching the room of students until he landed on his daughter, Sarah’s smile bright as she waved at him from her seat.

“Alright everyone, I want you all to welcome Sarah’s dad, Mr. Miller,” you said, turning to Joel as the two of you stood in front of the class.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” the class droned in unison, clearly ready for the school day to be over.

“Hey,” he mumbled nervously, his eyes dropping to the table in front of him, the spread of pre-measured pieces of lumber acting as an anchor in the midst of all this anxiety.

“What do you do for a living?” you asked, sensing his nerves.

“Right, uh, I’m a contractor,” he said, more confident this time.

“What does that mean?” a student asked.

“It, uh, it means I build stuff, work on houses, that type’a thing,” Joel replied. “So today I’m gonna show you how to build a birdhouse.”

“Ooo! Can I help?” Breanna, one of your more eager students, raised her hand and squealed.

“Uh,” Joel turned to look at you for permission, earning a shake of your head.

“Sounds like an accident waiting to happen,” you said, earning a collective groan from your students. “Sorry, guys.”

“How ‘bout you come up here and show me what tool you think I’m gonna use to put everything together,” Joel suggested, making both you and Breanna smile.

Joel’s lesson was quick but a hit with the kids, especially after he led all of them outside to go hang the birdhouse outside.

Joel stayed around after his lesson, sitting at your desk patiently as you ran through your end of class routine until all the students had packed up and filed out of the room except for Sarah.

“You got parking lot duty?” Joel asked as you came over to the desk to start packing your own things up.

“Nope, I’m all done for the week,” you smiled. “You two doing anything tonight?”

“No,” Sarah spoke for the two of them.

“Wanna go see a movie?” you asked, watching as Sarah instantly lit up at the idea.

“Uh, yeah! Can we see Bring It On?” she said, turning to Joel and using those same round eyes that got him here in the first place. “Please?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you grinned, watching him roll his eyes at the two of you. “Please?”

“Is this gonna be a thing? Y’all teamin’ up?” he asked, resting his hands on his hips.

“It’s alright,I could just go over to Jesse’s instead,” Sarah said, feigning indifference.

“Yeah, and it’s been a while since I’ve had a night to myself,” you joined in, earning a hearty chuckle from Joel.

“Too good at this,” he shook his head. “Come on, let’s go watch a cheerleading movie, I guess.”

“You’re gonna love it,” Sarah promised, hugging her dads arm as they led you out of the class. “And if you don’t, just pretend you do.”

[ultimaid]

Do you have any headcanons for what Kirumi's childhood was like?? Asking for scientific reasons

STARES DIRECTLY AT YOU. pluto you are not prepared for what you have just asked me. i have so many headcanons that i’ve just adopted as canon in my mind.

kirumi was born to upper middle class parents on the outskirts of tokyo. not quite in the city, but not quite in the country either.

her father was rarely home as he was the sole breadwinner, and her mother struggled with an undiagnosed mental illness, likely depression; she was also physically ill often. she was a former career woman who was forced to stay home due to her illnesses, but even with physical proximity to her daughter, they struggled to bond. she would often scold kirumi for crying.

kirumi was a… strange child. she met some milestones, like grasping objects and walking, extremely early. talking, however, came late.

kirumi was never close to either of her parents. she became fiercely independent from a very young age. by the time she was four or five, she was making her own simple meals and cleaning up after herself. she walked to and from school on her own every day. she didn’t mind. her mother would praise her for being able to take care of herself, and considering how little praise she got overall, she soon developed a complex about being able to do things without help.

school was a struggle. kirumi excelled academically, often having the highest grades in her class, but had a very hard time making friends. other kids found her intimidating and unapproachable; her blunt manner of communication did her no favors either. she would also often volunteer to help clean up at the end of the day, so she got a bit of a reputation as a teacher’s pet.

in an effort to be more likable, kirumi started making snacks for her classmates and bringing them to school near the end of elementary school. the other kids loved her cooking, and kirumi learned that doing things for others was a good way to get them to like her. for the first time in her life, she wasn’t lonely. it was a new feeling, but one she became obsessed with.

her reputation improved greatly in middle school. she would make food for her classmates, help them with homework, take over cleaning duty when they had somewhere to be… sure, she never had close friends like her classmates did, but this was so much better than the nothingness she was used to. so what if kids still teased her behind her back for her monotone voice and peculiar way of dressing? at least they talked to her now.

still, though… even as her service to others got rid of a bit of that loneliness, she still felt like a complete outsider. like no matter what she did, there would always be a layer of glass between her and her peers.

she began working as a maid at age thirteen. partially to have something to do after school, partially as a way to hone her skills in housework. soon, though, word got out about her talents. by the time she was fifteen, she was getting requests from high-profile clients in major cities. she still did well in school, but she was rarely home. she liked it that way.

some of her clients were kind people. some were not. but kirumi had no concept of standing up for herself. after all, this was the only way she had to be independent, receive love, and have a purpose. her career became extremely important to her, and she became known as the maid who would fulfill any request given to her. any request.

selfishness is a foreign concept to her. if she is selfish, nobody will love her. she must give and give and give in order to be cared for. it seems very simple to kirumi.

she’s accepted at this point that to have a real friend, or a romantic partner, or anybody who sees her as an equal would be inherently selfish, so she eschews the idea. this is how she was meant to live. this is how she was meant to be. constantly subservient. constantly giving.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for getting upset because my friends said they couldn’t hang out with me?

TW: small mention of SA

Context: I(16m) am in a friend group with around 7 other people, including my bf (16m). Who I am currently living with because of issues at home. And because of things going on, like work, getting drivers licenses, and the school musical (which is, imo, the worst thing we have at this school bc of the toxic environment, toxic director, and child predators that were in there touching girls.) we haven’t been hanging out much. The last time we all hung out was for my birthday at the end of February, which I had to fight with some people to even go.

So, this starts with me making plans. ALWAYS. I’ve made the plans for this friend group every time without fail for the last year and a half. And I noticed we haven’t been hanging out as much and my boyfriend agrees, so I text everyone around 2 weeks ago and asked if they wanted to do anything. My one friend, we will call L, suggested that we go to a museum in the city. I asked her if Saturday at Noon would work that week and she and everyone else agreed. So, that Thursday, I made sure everyone was good with that, and I found out that she and my other friend, who we will call O, had to go in for a 7 hour rehearsal on Saturday. No big deal, I get it. So I rescheduled for the following Saturday.

The next Friday rolls around and me, my bf, and L are doing volunteer hours at our elementary school. I, again, check in to see if she’s going. She says that because she is so exhausted from the musical, she can’t go. I understand again, but here’s the thing. L thinks she HAS to do our schools play and musical, and got upset with me when I didn’t wanna go because I had been assaulted physically and verbally by other cast members and the director. L actively overbooks herself and then complains that she’s upset or tired or acts like she has to do these things. Her parents aren’t forcing her or pressuring her btw. But, I do understand needing some time, and I agree that I’ll reschedule again, because i want all of us to be there. And also, O texted me (after he expressed his desire to go really badly) that he couldn’t go because there was a parade that weekend. So I changed it to that Sunday. Me and my bf thought it would fix all the problems.

It didn’t. Both L and O came up with bullshit excuses not to go after it was THEIR idea to hang out! L said she had to “babysit” her 14 year old brother who is perfectly healthy and capable. Not because her parents asked her to, but because she said he will “burn the house down” and O said that his mom had to work and he didn’t wanna ask his dad (btw both of his parents are the nicest people I’ve ever met). So, I got very upset with them and I actually cried to my boyfriend about it. I feel like my friends don’t wanna hang out with me or see me. Especially bc O had got a new bf, who is cis (O is a trans boy) and his new bf has publicly been known as the “tboy/femboy chaser” and fetishizes trans people. When I expressed this to O, he said that I was making it up. They also are extremely inappropriate, and actively make out when we’re all trying to hang out or talk to them. One time, we were having a New Year’s party, and they took up the only couch, making out for 5 hours. O and L also like to point out that me and my bf never are apart, and that’s when I remind them that we not only live together, but he is in the main friend group. I’m tired of these guys making up excuses to not see me. So, AITA?? :(

What are these acronyms?

[treasure-goblin]

Lu Elementary School AU

Little Shadow (ft. Legend and Warriors)

“Hey, when you're done with that, can you help me clean up Mr. Raven’s classroom?”

“Yes, just give me a sec.” Warriors called back to Time, filling up his water bottle a little higher before going to screw on the lid. He and Time had stayed late today and were helping clean classrooms, as tomorrow was the start of Spring Break. Wind had a doctor's appointment, and Grandma couldn't pick them up till later, so they might as well be useful.

He was distracted and didn't notice the small form of Legend behind him till the second grader pulled on his blazer, startling Wars into nearly dropping his water bottle.

“What're you doing?” The 2nd grader asked as Warriors recovered from his scare.

“How are you so quiet?” Warriors asked back, a slight frown on his face as he looked down at the bit of water he had spilled. Legend shrugged.

“Dunno.” He said, playing with his ID tag. Warriors waited to be told to mind his own business, but it never came.

“Um, ok.” He said after a moment of awkward silence. He nodded to the younger boy and turned, heading down the hall to Mr. Raven’s classroom, the 2A class, and Legend followed behind him.

Time wasn't in the classroom when they got there, so Warriors grabbed a rag and spray bottle and started wiping down desks. Legend sat in the teachers chair and watched for a bit, playing with his hoodie strings.

It was unusual for the 2nd grader to be around Warriors this long without saying something to try and start a fight, or at least a conversation, but Wars wasn't sure how to start a conversation himself, so the two went on in uncomfortable quiet.

“...that's my desk.” Legend eventually spoke up as Warriors moved to the next desk. Upon further inspection, the elder boy noticed little rabbits drawn on the wood of the desk in pencil lead.

“Huh. These are pretty good.” Warriors said, raising his eyebrows and looking mildly impressed. He hesitated at wiping them away, then got an idea. “Hold on, let me show you something.”

Legend sat up, curious as Warriors rooted through the teachers desk for some wide, clear packing tape. He knew Mr. Raven would have some because he had moved classrooms recently and had put stuff in storage. After getting the tape and a few thick pieces of pink construction paper, he knew that was Legend's favorite color, he painstakingly used the tape to transfer the images off the desk and onto the paper for Legend to keep.

“Woah.” Legend said softly, looking at the pages in awe. Warriors smiled, handing them to the boy, then wiping down the desk. Legend hovered by his side until an after-school program volunteer tracked him down, and told him his uncle was there to pick him up.

Legend and Warriors waved goodbye to each other, and Wars continued cleaning the classroom in silence.

The younger boy was back to pestering Warriors the next day. He put leaves in his lunchbox, left silly notes by his locker, and started an argument over whether black was a color or not.

But, at the end of the day, Wars found a little pink origami bunny on his desk, and he realized he might not mind Legend's antics as much as he thought.

Masterlist

Divider by @/cafekitsune

[ajthedumbass]

Descendants Grease AU (VKs)

We were watching Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies and my partner mentioned a Grease AU for the Descendants characters. So I made aesthetic boards. (Credits to @mjthechaotic for giving me the idea)

I kinda see them as being in between RotPL and the first Grease movie. They probably would be the gangs between 1956-1958.

I kept it simple. VKs are the Pink Ladies and T Birds and the AKs are the Socs.

AK Version

Mal

Mal is the leader of the Pink Ladies. She regularly skips most of her classes except for art, and you can find her work scattered around on the fronts of lockers or on the walls of the school. She usually hangs out at the diner when Uma’s working to avoid going to either of her parents’ houses. She also sometimes crashes in her car or at Evie’s if it’s her mom’s turn to have her.

Evie

Evie has dreamed of being a fashion designer since she was six years old. She regularly has to fight against the dress code at Rydell when she wears her own designs. She likes to sew and design with Carlos, who she’s been friends with since they were toddlers. Her favorite class is chemistry, both because she’s interested in the subject, and because she has her eye on one of her classmates.

Uma

Uma works at her mom’s diner after school, occasionally cutting school to work an extra shift when she needs it. Her favorite place to go is the beach. She regularly goes to surf with her childhood best friends, Gil and Harry. She at first was rivals with her fellow Pink Ladies, but eventually became their friend and joined the gang after they all got weeks of detention for an incident at the Rydell homecoming game their junior year.

Jay

Jay is the leader of the T Birds at Rydell. He often has to fix up the car when it breaks down, though he isn’t as good as Carlos with technical stuff. He helps out with his dad’s antique shop by swiping things from his wealthier peers at school. He’s always the first to bring refreshments when the gangs hang out and watches over all of them like a big brother.

Carlos

Carlos is the youngest T Bird. He skipped a year in Elementary school, putting him in the same grade as the others. He’s good at fixing up cars and often gets free milkshakes at the diner by repairing the jukebox that’s too old for its own good. He volunteers at the animal shelter on the weekends, claiming it would look good on scholarship applications, but he just enjoys spending time with the animals. He spends most nights either at Jay’s or Evie’s to escape his mother’s abuse.

Harry

Harry enjoys fast cars and loud music. He has been written up and given detention on multiple occasions for playing loud rock from his car’s stereo in the parking lot. He often races for the T Birds during disputes with other gangs. He enjoys going to the racetrack to flirt with the ladies, or to the beach to surf with Gil and Uma.

Gil

Gil is always willing to put a smile on his friends’ faces. He’s unwaveringly loyal and is down to help out with whatever crazy scheme Jay or Harry has cooked up. His favorite things to do are going to get a snack at the diner or driving around town with the T Birds. He also loves weekend surfs with Uma and Harry.

[katareyoudrilling]

Hi Kat

'Shared Document' has its Fan Fiction Birthday on 28th August 🎂

Happy birthday!

Tell us something about that fic, anything you like, and we'll help blow out the candles and wish it many happy returns!

You can save this ask until the actual date or reply whenever you like.

Omg, really?? It’s been two years??

It feels longer ago, honestly lol

To celebrate Shared Document’s birthday, I’ll tell the true story that inspired it…

In early 2021, I had just started writing smut and just started falling for the one and only Pedro Pascal. We were still a year away from me joining tumblr. Also, I was in my second year as treasurer for my kid’s elementary school PTA (don’t worry, we weren’t *that* kind of PTA)

One day, I’m just minding my business when I get an email from another PTA board member. The email says “Katie, what’s this?” followed by a couple of sentences from something I was writing.

I’m sure you can all imagine the full body panic that took over me. I immediately wrote her back explaining that I had taken up “creative writing” over the pandemic and it was from something I wrote (the sentences weren’t explicit but it was pretty clear what type of thing they were from). I apologized profusely and said how I had no idea how I could have emailed that to her.

She responded back that it was ok and not to worry, but that I hadn’t emailed it her… I had put those sentences in a shared google doc she had sent out the night before

☠️☠️☠️

Cue hyperventilating.

Here’s what happened— she was getting everyone in a leadership role with the PTA to fill out our job descriptions in a Google sheet so that we could start recruiting volunteers for the next school year. I had quickly filled in my responsibilities and remember doing some cut/pasting and the doc being weird about it. Turns out I had cut those sentences from my fic earlier in the day and had accidentally pasted them in the doc.

I was MORTIFIED. She had deleted it from the doc but I was able to see who had been in the document during the time it was there… and it wasn’t just me. No one ever said anything, but I was panicked for a while. She ended up moving out of our district that summer and I haven’t seen her since, which is a shame, I really liked her. She did say that she would like to read more, so I sent her Reunion later that year when I finished it and she enjoyed it.

I was able to laugh about the whole incident pretty quickly and knew it would make a great story one day. Fast forward to spring of 2022– I am finishing my time on the PTA board, we have resumed in-person meetings, and I have been on tumblr for a few months. Four of us go out for drinks after a PTA meeting and start talking pandemic hobbies. I revealed mine. They all wanted to read my stuff but I wasn’t sure they were ready for it. (I didn’t tell the shared document story until I was officially done with the PTA and then only to a few people. It definitely got a good laugh and some dropped jaws when I did)

My writing is an open secret now among my extended friend group. My closest friends (2 of which were at that table when I shared my pandemic hobby. That night was in many ways the start of our friendship) have read some of my stuff and so have some who weren’t there that night.

The third at the table wanted to read but he is a dad and I told him I wouldn’t send smut to another woman’s husband lol, but if he had his wife ask me, I would send it to her and she could decide. That hasn’t happened yet lol. She and I are getting to be friends now and I can’t imagine him admitting to her that he knew about my hobby years ago and wanted to read it. He told me he tried to find my tumblr, but as you all know finding anything on tumblr is a fools errand. He’s never going to find and I don’t think he’s tried since right after that night.

I wanted to use the story as the base of a fic but really struggled with how to do it until one day I had the idea that became Shared Document! The story is a funny one for me, but reader gets a much more satisfying ending 😏

Thanks for helping me celebrate!

[thoughtlessarse]

Fred Leidel was born in 1916, before women got the right to vote. At 99 years old, he biked to the polls in Madison, Wisconsin, on Election Day. He designed propeller blades for airplanes during World War II and was an engineering professor at the University of Wisconsin. Everyone knew him at his polling place, Schenk Elementary School, where he volunteers to read to kindergartners. But for the first time in his life, Leidel was turned away from the polls. He no longer drives, and his faculty ID, which he’d used to vote in the past, wasn’t accepted under Wisconsin’s strict new voter-ID law. “I never had any problems voting until today,” he said. The poll workers called Molly McGrath of Vote­Riders, who helps people get voter IDs, and she took Leidel to the Department of Motor Vehicles branch in East Madison, where he was issued a new state ID and given a temporary receipt for voting—an option only available because a court order forced the state government to make IDs readily available. Leidel returned to the polls a second time and successfully cast a ballot. If it hadn’t been for McGrath’s assistance, he would have been disenfranchised a month before his 100th birthday. Not everyone was as determined to vote as Leidel. Margie and Alvin Mueller, who are 85 and 86, respectively, went to vote early in Plymouth. They’ve been married for 64 years and always vote at the same place. But Margie, who no longer drives, wasn’t able to vote because her driver’s license had expired. Election officials said she had to get a new ID at the DMV in Sheboygan, 25 minutes away. But Margie, a cancer survivor who’s in between radiation treatments, wasn’t up for the trip. “When you’re 85, I guess you don’t count anymore,” she said. Her husband was so angry, he decided not to vote, either. “I could’ve voted, but when they pulled that crap, I didn’t want to vote,” Alvin said. “We could’ve gone to Sheboygan, but it’s just the idea of it… to pull that crap, when she has a picture ID—what more do you want?” He blamed “the damn Republicans,” who “don’t want Latinos and old people to vote.” The Muellers were both Democrats who would have voted for Hillary Clinton. The 2016 election was the first presidential contest in 50 years without the full protections of the Voting Rights Act (VRA), because the Supreme Court ruled in Shelby County v. Holder that states with a long history of discrimination no longer need to have their proposed voting changes approved by the federal government. Partly as a consequence, 14 states had new voting restrictions in effect for the first time in 2016—including important swing states like Wisconsin and Ohio. This was the first presidential contest in 50 years without the full protections of the Voting Rights Act.

continue reading

[ahedderick]

Outdoor School

@oceanfloorfires I don't want to derail a perfectly good snake post, so I will write a separate one to explain Outdoor School. I hope this doesn't end up being TOO many details.

I have no idea how widespread this phenomenon is across the usa or the world, but it is a long tradition here in Maryland. There is a camp facility owned by the 4H club that is used for OS for a couple of weeks in September and October. There are simple cabins with rows of bunks, a bath house, a cafeteria, and several larger buildings. The idea is to get kids in their last year of elementary school out into the woods from Monday to Friday one week in the fall.

As a chaperone I was in charge of a cabin full of about 12 girls, half from our school and half from a different one. The girls I knew were pretty easy to handle, because I was a frequent volunteer in school and they knew me. The others - were a handful at times.

Parent chaperones did not have to attend any of the classes or activities, and in fact some of them had to scamper off to go to work. THAT must have been tough. I chose to go on all activities that had hikes, and a few of the classes.

The camp site is gorgeous. The weather is always surprisingly chilly, because it is one climate zone colder than home. The "classes" were absolutely terrible. They had to rely on volunteers to teach, and they got what they paid for. For example . . . no, I need to go take my medicine.

{pause for tranquilizers}

Ok, the one hike took them through the forest and also a gorgeous bog.

They paused in the forest to talk to the kids about the vegetation, and confidently told the children that. that. that a club moss (lycopodium) was a baby pine tree. *breaks down sobbing*

On another hike, a different instructor pointed dramatically at a small mountain laurel and told the kids it was a blueberry bush. The LOOK my daughter gave me. There was an actual lowbush blueberry right there. There was also a cranberry bush with one or two little cranberries on it. We had to point it out to the instructor, who said "Hunh. Maybe that IS a cranberry."

That aside. There were many good things. Showing up at the cafeteria three times a day to get a good meal that I didn't have to cook OR clean up was utterly splendid. I loved those cafeteria ladies. I hope they didn't find it unnerving that I beamed radiantly every time they handed me a tray of mediocre-but-nourishing food. One night we had movie night. They set up the projector and the screen in the middle of the cleared area. We were sitting in the dark, surrounded by an impressively large forest, watching a fun movie. Good times.

One dinner I tried sitting with the other chaperones instead of with my campers. It took me three days before I realized that chaperones were sitting separately. Oh, well. Someone came in and told the lady sitting across from me that "Lee" was outside having a meltdown. She rolled her eyes and started to get up reluctantly. "Um, would that be 'Lee' from [our school]?" I asked. Yes, it was.

"I'll handle this," I snapped, and Woman plunked back down. I did not punch her (but I wanted to). I went outside and found Lee sobbing like her heart would break. She was INTENSELY homesick. Neither of her parents could drive, and there was no other family member able to come (over an hour away from our town) get her. She had called home and begged to be picked up, but they couldn't. I held her and started Talking. How proud I was that she had made it Three Whole Days already. How strong she was! How proud she would be when - not if! - she made it to the last day. And didn't her older brother bail and go home when he did OS? My, wouldn't that be something, for her to succeed where Brother had failed. By the end of this she had subsided from sobbing to sniffling gently. She did indeed manage to complete the week. I told her and her chaperone that any further Issues should be directed to me, because I knew her and her family.

The last evening they gathered all the campers in the main building for skits (the less said, the better) and entertainment. The last thing was a spoooooooky story about the ghosts of the family that originally lived on the land when it was a farm and they still haunt the campground to this very day!!! The kids were scared silly (in a good way). We walked back through the dark (there were no outside lights anywhere) to our cabin. There were about four girls clinging to me, and the others were clumped very closely around. Campers going all different directions were hooting and yelling in the distant darkness.

Next morning the kids packed up, swept the cabin, and everybody went home. It was, overall, a good experience, give or take some late-night shenanigans. I was glad I did it. I missed the cafeteria ladies for weeks.

[giggly-squiggily]

miss rey is having a sick day and she's gonna spend it sending you kny modern au christmas thoughts 😌 working in this goddamn elementary school has gotten me into the spirit for the first time in years and i need to embrace this while it lasts.

growing up sanemi never really got anything big for christmas, over the course of november he mostly necessities like new shoes when his old ones didn't fit anymore or a winter jacket and then on actual christmas day maybe a dvd or something handmade. it got a little better once he was old enough to do parttime jobs but even then he used most of his earnings to get something nice for his siblings. when it came to sanemi money was always tight and he was okay with that if it meant genya or the others could get something out of it. and when he got older and his friend group started to give each other christmas presents, the first time they'd come up to him like "we got you something" he'd be like "... why would you do that 🤨" - literally the second kanae hears that he never really got nice christmas presents you KNOW she's dedicating eight months of the year to plan something for him and it makes him cry every single time.

with tengen it's the same thing but sort of in the other direction. got everything he never wanted for christmas every year which was annoying and draining and just felt so detached and performative. the first time makio hands him a box with self made cookies and says "i'm sorry, i would've bought you something but i didn't find anything you'd like" he almost proposes on the spot because it just feels so great to have people actually put thought into their gifts for him and not just grab the shiniest looking thing from a shelf. (not that he doesn't love getting shiny things but only if it's a shiny thing that the person picked specifically because they thought he'd like it)

obanai is the grinch for exactly however long it takes him to discover that mitsuri loves christmas more than anything. once he's a bit more open to the idea he also discovers that it's actually fun to exchange gifts and spend time together during the holidays (who can blame him, he never had that prior to going to university) and he gets really into it. people are always surprised by his great gift giving skills but it really pays off to sit in the corner and listen in on conversations quietly, he really picks up on a lot of wishes that way and when december rolls around he just knows what everyone wants or needs. on their first christmas together mitsuri gives him a little scarf she made and says "so kaburamaru doesn't get sick" and obanai decides right then and there that christmas is his favorite holiday of the year. (ONLY christmas eve and christmas day though and ONLY for exchanging gifts and spending time together, all the blinking lights and santa merch and mariah carey can go to hell)

tanjiro is always all over the place during christmas time because there's just so much to do and so much to take care of and oh son of a monkey i have to go gift shopping and oh fudge what am i gonna cook and fiddlesticks i forgot to put the tree up and GOD FUCKING DAMNIT INOSUKE STOP EATING THE ADVENT WREATH - it's a lot. so on actual christmas day he's usually exhausted and his friends have to tie him to his seat so he doesn't continue to run around and try to do everything for everyone. he still loves it tho, he's always participating in social projects around that time as well and getting gifts for homeless people, children in poverty and volunteering to dress up and collect kids' wish lists in hospitals etc.

sabito on the other hand grew to despise christmas because of his job at the elementary school. it's just too much. all the music and all the glitter and the all the christmas shows he has to attend (and organize!), the baking and crafting and reading christmas stories and looking out so children don't burn themselves with the candles and putting up that dusty old tinsel that makes his eyes water and pretending that santa is real, christmas is the bane of his existence. of course he gets his loved ones some gifts and maybe goes out to eat with them but once that's done he immediately goes home and sleeps through til new year's eve. everybody knows not to say merry christmas until sabito has left because one time they all said it when they met up during the holidays and when they got to sabito he went "if i have to say that one more time i'm gonna kill each and every one of you and then myself" and now they just do it when he's not around.

that's all the thoughts i have for now, sorry for barging in with this long ass ask like that 💀 stay hydrated, i send you a fluffy blanket and a kiss on the forehead but with a mask so you don't catch my cough :3

Oh Rey! *hugs and brings all the healing vibes and tissues* I'm sorry you got sick; something about this season just brings all the germs! And lets go getting into the spirit of things! :D

IJKRKJERJEJKRJ AHHHHHHH THESE ARE FREAKING DELIGHTFUL! Sanemi prioritizing his siblings and necessities is such a canon thing he'd do; and Kanae making it her life's mission to give him a good christmas is so KJEJJREKJREJ She's the queen of gifting- she knows everyone's taste and preferences and while it takes a while to get any info out of him, she'll find him something special. He's always so touched by it and makes it a point to do the same for her- saving up to get her one of those nice hair ornaments or dedicating any free time he has to making her something from scratch. He is a jack of no trades, but the effort is there and seeing her genuinely love it is the best gift to him.

Oh my god YES! I feel like Tengen doesn't really like christmas all that much? Mainly like you said, gifts always felt draining and preformative and also, despite growing up in a large family, maybe it didn't feel like a loving home? (Going a little into his canon background there) Like- his family held christmas parties every year but gifts were more like bragging rights over their guests vs actual care and thoughtfulness. Christmas with the girls is so much more special to him cause everything feels like they really thought of one another. (Also Tengen liking shiny things makes me laugh- he's like a crow ajerkjajekraejrj)

KLJERKJLEJKLRJKERJ OBANAI HELP! Grinch 363 days a year- the last two it fades away, especially with Mitsuri. He's a gift giving god; rivaling Kanae with his observation skills and such. You know he's always dressing Kaburamaru in his little scarf during the colder months- even when it starts to get a little worn down. (Mitsuri makes it her new tradition to make him a scarf every year after that.) They'd be the couple sneaking kisses under the mistletoe throughout the party.

TANJIRO YES! He's a little busy bee running about during December; baking treats and keeping Inosuke off the advent wreath (that's freaking hilarious oh my god) and volunteering and just- all of it! Christmas rolls around and he's so tired he can't even keep his eyes open for a good few hours into the day. It's his little reward for working so hard; a nice break on the big day ajerjaejarj

Sabito hating christmas is a whole mood akjekjrakjejkrajkerja He might have liked it at one point, but after working at an elementary school and being overdosed with the holiday spirit he is so burned out jareajreajjaerjkeajr (NOT HIM QUOTING ROSE KLJWJRKEJRJEJR) Of course he's gonna keep the vibes up for the children and his love ones but when the day is done he's hibernating with a heated blanket ajkaerjae

Just to add on:

Akaza wins ugly christmas sweater every year; he has so many cause he unironically thinks they're cute (and they keep him nice and toasty during the cold months). He gets matching ones for his favorite/only nephew Rui; they take pictures every year and have a whole album dedicated to it.

Douma is a pro figure skater without the pro part; good luck keeping him off the ice this season, especially if you put on "Theme of King JJ"; he also sings christmas songs non-stop and while he has a nice voice and can carry a tune, there comes a time when someone's about to shout "STOP SINGING ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS, IT'S FREAKING JANUARY!"

Zenitsu is absolutely the one to plan a trip to a warmer part of the world during winter; he cannot stand the cold whatsoever and saves up every year to escape for a week or two. If it happens to fall during Christmas, he facetimes everyone with a drink in hand on the beach wearing pineapple sunglasses he bought at the souvenir shop like the absolute tourist he is.

Thank you for sharing these, Rey! They are absolutely delightful! :3

[tawneybel]

Note: “Izzy Bohen x fem!reader x Jake (I forgot his last name but they’re both from Jeepers creepers 2) love triangle? I do like some rivalry. You can add the creeper if you want as well, make it into a love square? *wiggle eyebrows*” Turned this into a love (?) pentagon, because Dante 🤤.

Imagine Izzy and Jake competing for your affection. 

You counted yourself and the boys lucky that Izzy just reported for the Bannon Bantams. If he’d played for them, well, he and Jake would have the cockfight of the century. 

Izzy’d been disappointed when you’d opted for cheer squad instead of the newspaper. But you’d assured him the front row seats were worth it. He agreed, expression thoughtful. 

Jake’d been psyched. Had even suggested the Bannon Banner do a feature. Which you shied away from, not wanting to kick off the season with resentful teammates. Of course, Jake had given Izzy shit. And continued to give him shit, all because of- 

“-so much ink, huh? I’m serious, people are starting to think you’re sweet on him.” 

Oh, Dante. 

Izzy did write about him a bit. But that was mostly due to the reporter’s rivalry with Jake. How much messier it would be if Dante was thrown into the mix! Or if it was even just a love triangle with Dante. Izzy/You/Dante. Jake/You/Dante. Izzy/Dante/Jake. 

Good thing, you figured, glancing everywhere but skyward, no one else was seriously interested in you or Dante or Jake- 

“Really? I heard that was you.” 

Time to step in. Bucky noticed you stroll up from behind before the other two did. 

“There are no urinals… out here,” you greeted, gesturing at the vast farmland. “Why you all together?” 

The team manager had already slunk off. Not because he didn’t like you. Bucky just found Jake to be more a cocksore loser around crushes. The jock at least looked slightly embarrassed. For a sec. 

“Hey, ______.” Jake made no effort to conceal himself. “Caught me with my pants down.” 

“Don’t turn around,” you teased. “Or get any ideas,” grumbled Izzy, pants zipped as he faced you. 

“No, here’s one. Why don’t you write about a pretty girl for once?” 

“What, I thought you were jealous I don't write enough about you?” 

Their squabbling ceased after boarding the bus. The rivalry was still there, strong as ever, but Jake and Izzy at least sat far apart. The latter kept casting longing glances back. Dante was on the same side as you, but farther back. You could only imagine the shitstorm if you’d asked to sit next to the player with the most “ink.” Maybe he’d mediate.

Yeah, right.

A few glimpses into Rhonda’s compact mirror revealed Jake was also yearning. His eyes drifted between you and… Dante? 

An image of you and him, lips locked, squeezed between Jake and Izzy popped into your head. The compact fell into your lap. You nonchalantly passed it back to Rhonda. Dante’s pretty face wasn’t likely to be within kissing distance anytime soon. 

You had volunteered as a junior bus monitor for the elementary school, as part of a class. This experience came in handy when you begged Betty to let you help lay road flares. Anything to get away from crushes and admirers for a minute. 

Unfortunately, Coach Hanna was spontaneously raptured and you, knocked onto your *ss after something smacked your ass, only narrowly avoided rolling out of the way after his flare dropped. You remained still. The others were talking, but the mounting horror was too distracting. 

“______?!” 

“I’m okay!” 

Betty went to help while Barnes called out for the other coach. You shakily got to your feet. The driver continued to lay flares as she approached, before she too was ripped off the face of the earth. But not before the assailant made your rump smart again.

Note: Pluto TV kept glitching, so I couldn’t rewatch it completely. :(

[aristocratic-otter]

Thank you @bazzybelle for the tag, I like doing these two!

Were you named after anyone?

Oddly enough, I was named after my father's best friend. And then, through drama and betrayal, they had a major falling out, and so I never met this friend.

Do you have kids?

Yes, two. A Uni student and a high school student.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Not nearly as much as I used to. Being a middle school teacher has put a curb on my tongue and a tendency to second thoughts in my mind. I always think of how my students might perceive my words, and I don't say it if it might cause hurt feelings.

What's the first thing you notice about people?

Their face, definitely. I don't notice anything else about them for a long time. Unless they come up to me in a clown costume!

What's your eye colour?

Hazel

Scary movie or happy ending?

Not a fan of scary movies and I figure, I watch movies to escape real life, so I don't want real life pain in my movies, so definitely happy ending.

Any special talents?

I am absolutely amazing at multiple choice tests. Like, got a perfect score on my GREs amazing. It's a useless talent in real life, of course, but it helped in school!

What are your hobbies?

Writing, daily. Some elementary school level crafting. I want to do more scrapbooking. And travel, if that can be called a hobby when I can only afford it once or twice a year!

Have any pets?

Yes, though none are technically 'mine'. We have a lab/sharpei mix, Hazel, a guinea pig, Ashley, and a piebald python, Jamz.

What sport do you play/have you played?

I am the opposite of athletic. I played softball in high school. I sucked at it.

How tall are you?

5' 7"

Favourite subject at school?

Lol, I teach science...and my favorite school subject was English. Go figure.

Dream job?

Can volunteering be a job? In my wildest dreams, I wouldn't need to work for money and I could volunteer for wildlife and poverty charities, to make the world a better place.

I've got no idea who's done this (it's the first time I've seen it, so I'll tag a few friends I'd like to know better.

@artsyunderstudy, @bookish-bogwitch, @facewithoutheart, @giishu, @hushed-chorus, @ic3-que3n, @letraspal, @larkral, @moodandmist, @alexalexinii, @nausikaaa, @raenestee, @theearlgreymage, @youarenevertooold, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

[soleminisanction]

📔

So one of my go-to favorite games whenever DC creates a new adaptation of their stuff is to imagine how I'd work my favorite characters into that new world. Or, on the off chance my favs are actually introduced into that world, how I'd adapt or work in some of their best stories. So while I may have mostly lost interest in the Young Justice cartoon, I still sometimes kick around my idea for a potential origin story for its version of Tim Drake.

It would be set around the era of the first season, when the series was at its best, maybe a few months after the whole thing with the Light went down. It'd start with Dick getting picked up from Gotham Academy early for some training thing, so he's alone outside the school waiting for Alfred to pick him up when, all of a sudden, a certain black-haired, blue-eyed child from the elementary school rushes up and grabs onto him, begging for help.

He's being pursued by two men in suits who are very deliberately *not* running as they demand Dick hand the kid over, insisting that they're here to pick him up for his parents. Kid says they're lying -- "My parents aren't even in the country and they're not my nannny." -- and Dick of course believes him. He pulls a fast one as Alfred pulls up, grabbing the kid and leaping with him into the back of the limo, shouting at Alfred to floor it; he does, and they leave the shouting goons in the dust.

In the aftermath, the naturally freaked-out kid starts crying, and when Dick tries to soothe him by telling him he's safe he says he knows -- he knew Dick would help him "'cause you're Robin."

From there it comes out that the kid is of course Tim and what he knows about Dick and how, which all pretty much lines up with canon. From there the story turns into a mystery about the disappearance of Jack and Janet Drake on their latest dig -- they were supposed to call Tim two days ago and they might travel all the time but they never miss their call-ins -- and then these strangers showed up trying to take Tim out of school with forged permission slips from his parents so something's definitely up.

Dick initially calls in just Wally for support (Tim of course pegs him as KF immediately), though the rest of the team gets called in once they put together what's actually going on: Jack and Janet have been kidnapped by some international organized crime group who are holding them for ransom. The D.I. board intends to simply not pay the ransom, let said criminals murder the Drakes, and disappear Tim so the company will be split between the board members instead. So the Team heads out on a rescue mission, with Dick leaving a distraught Tim with Alfred and promising him they're going to bring his parents home -- though unfortunately it goes bad and Dick falls just short of rescuing the pair from whatever poisoning/electric/super-science death-trap they've been placed in.

In a twist on canon, Jack is the one who dies in this timeline and Janet survives. The question of how Tim became Robin is answered by a flash-forward -- years later, when Dick is Nightwing and it's implied to be just after Jason dies in the line of duty, a now-teenage Tim meets up with Dick in a dinner, having stayed a close friend for all these years, and tells him he wants to volunteer -- he's been training all this time, and he truly believes that there needs to be a Robin both to help Batman and to save "people like me." He wins Dick over and the rest is history.

So, yeah. Bit of a rambling summary but I've got a few really strong detailed scenes in mind and then long stretches of pfffffffft.