#he needs a parent more than a partner but he still continues to date and expect those he dates to baby him

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. ii

hi. this is max's lawyer speaking. please don't get mad at her for this part. she asked me to let you know that she loves you all and hopes that you trust her. sincerely, jimmy mcgill

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're pregnant with joel miller's kid. he's dating someone else. you deal with it.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy stuff like nausea (none of the v word, y'all are safe with me), ultrasound scene set in a hospital, anxiety and guilt surrounding pregnancy, description of body change/growth, brief and i mean brief discussion of abortion, joel is dating someone who isn't reader, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), reader has no physical description save for hair, cursing, genderless use of buddy when referring to baby, joel kisses someone who is not his partner, mention of alcohol, disturbing & semi-graphic nightmare about being involved in car accident, reader has a panic attack, discussion of dead parents, fluff and the beginnings of angst DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there's ever anything you feel i've missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 9.2k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

“I know, I know,” Joel holds a palm up, “it’s nine thirty. I know. But I had to lug all this wood over here, and it – You okay?”

You realize when he pauses that you’re gaping at him, wide-eyed and frozen in place behind your front door. Your jaw hinges shut, a gulp like carpet burn down your throat. You didn’t hear a word he just said.

How does he know? He can’t possibly. Did he sense it, from two lawns away? Dream about the binding of cells, the furnace left lit in your body from that night? The embers still floating, just waiting to catch to life again?

Did he do the fucking math, the way you probably should’ve? How does he fucking know?

The minute the question leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Joel’s eyebrows drop. “How did I know what, kid? That you need new closets? Like you ain’t been nipping my ear about ‘em for weeks?”

Your eyes unlock from his and shift to the slats of wood leaning against the balustrade. The toolbox hanging from his fist. The worn jeans and the white dust marks on his thighs. He doesn’t fucking know, you idiot.

Joel steps forward. Takes your wrist. One grounding, steady hand around your thrashing pulse. “You’re freaking me out. What the hell’s –?”

“Nothing,” you chirp, remembering. The closet. The deal. The fucking – the deal. You withdraw your arm. Hidden up your sleeve, quickly slipping out of his grasp, is the news that his life is about to change forever.

Maybe. You don’t fucking know.

“No,” you continue, blinking the burn of sunlight from your vision, “I just – I forgot. Sorry. Come in. Sorry.”

“Quit sayin’ sorry,” he mutters, eyeing you suspiciously. He lifts a foot and hovers it over the threshold, hesitating. Like the first step across a minefield; instinct telling him to tread carefully.

And you swear an oath to yourself, swear it on your own life: if he doesn’t put the heel of his boot in your hallway, if he turns around right now whether because his instinct is razor sharp, or because he forgot his lucky screwdriver, or purely because he needs to take a fucking leak before he gets started – you will never tell him. He will never know.

If his intuition is that good, he’ll turn around and never show up on your porch again. If he has any sense, he’ll forget any of this ever happened. Deal off.

“How’s the stomach?” Joel asks, sole still three inches from wood.

“What?” you bleat, your heel knocking against the bottom stair. It’s a little more panicked than you intended.

“Yesterday,” a crease forms between his brows, “you said you had a weird stomach. That any better?”

Oh, you think, and as you open your mouth to reply, his foot hits the ground. No answer needed. He was coming in whether you tried to deter him or not.

“Oh, yeah. It’s – Well, it’s better than it was. I think I worked it out,” you grimace, tongue curling under the tinge of anxiety and – well. “Thanks,” you add, noticing the brisk cut of your replies.

The heavy thud of his footsteps follows you upstairs, blunt on the carpet as you lead him up. Joel sets the toolbox down and casts your room a quick glance, snapping back to you as soon as you notice him.

You tug on the corner of the bedsheets, a heat bubbling beneath your cheeks. Something shy and self-conscious, all of a sudden. The reality that you don’t feel close enough to this man to share the anatomy of your room with him, mixed with the knowledge that the two of you are, now and forever, bound by the anatomy of something a little more significant than dirty laundry and dusty wardrobes.

A little closer than most humans get, let’s say.

“You want a coffee or something?” you ask, crossing your arms and leaning back against the window sill.

“You havin’ one?”

“Sure. Wait – actually –” Can you have coffee whilst pregnant? A woman at work quit it altogether when she fell pregnant with her son. Fuck. “I’m – No. I’m good. But let me go make you one.”

Joel shakes his head, amused. Screwdriver burrowing into a door hinge already. He flashes you a tickled grin. “I’m good just now, kid. Wait until you’re makin’ one. Thanks.”

You lift a shoulder. “Welcome.”

His eyes flit from the twist of silver to your hunched shoulders, your arms crossed protectively over your chest. “You gonna stand there ‘n watch me all day? You my foreman now?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he laughs. You sniff, twisting your foot into the carpet. The plastic test itches against your skin; you can feel the two lines ripping into your wrist like tiny burns. “I can go, if you want.”

His lip turns, musing. A quick flick of his jaw. “You’re good company, all in all.”

Metal clanking against metal; fingers knuckle-deep in the toolbox. You can hear the harsh sound across your body, like the point of screws and bite of rust are actually scoring your skin. The groan of a near-fifty-year-old man rising to rip a decades-old door from its home. The creak of wood as it splits.

Everything so heightened that it’s actually painful.

Joel straightens up and pauses, turning his screwdriver between his fingers. “Are we –? We’re good, right?”

“Good?”

“Yeah. You’d tell me if things were weird?”

“Why would things be weird?”

His answer scrawls itself across his face. Your response scoffs from your lips.

“I just,” Joel sighs, “I feel like something might be off with ya. Maybe you just ain’t feelin’ too hot. But you’re quiet.”

“Quiet,” you whisper, palms locking heavily against your biceps. More defensive than convincing.

“Yeah. You usually annoy the hell outta me.”

Over your shoulder, Alice Brown waddles down her driveway, eyeing her flowerbeds. She pauses when Diane’s station wagon pulls up across the street; stands motionless as she watches the round figure climb out and totter to her own front door.

“Just – not in a very annoying mood, I guess,” you offer, staring at the white head of hair fluttering in the breeze. The glint of a trowel in her hand.

Joel’s chin lifts. He studies you, tongue tracing the ridges of his teeth. And then he’s nearing you, turning until you’re shoulder to shoulder, two silhouettes stood against the bright square of blue sky inside your window frame. His arms crossed; his stare fixed.

The words begin to boil in your stomach. Violent bubbles against the wall of your midriff. Rising like steam, fading into nothingness over your tongue, the sting of heat where your voice won’t collect them.

Joel moves from foot to foot. It feels like some kind of merry dance, some choreographed moment between you – like a skit in a comedy show. I know something you don’t know.

“What happened – at the wedding,” he murmurs, addressing the polished gold of your bedframe.

Some small sound passes your lips. An affirmative. You’re on the same page.

“We didn’t use – you know. And with you not feelin’ well, it’s…” A deep breath. Chest full of a ghostly bravery. And then he asks, “Are you –?”

Silence swallows the end of his question whole. You didn’t need it, anyway. The stiffness of his frame, his stare shooting straight ahead. The lack of oxygen between you – both holding your breath for fear that something might tear loose from your lungs. He knows. He knows he knows he knows.

You gulp. “…If I was?”

His head cranes upwards, focusing on the cracked plaster of your ceiling. The realization slowly trickling down over his skin. It hasn’t seeped through, hasn’t bled into his brain yet. “Then,” another breath, “then it’d be a conversation…” His voice is halved, split somewhere between knowing and – what is it? Hoping?

Your eyes slip over to the worn sleeve of his T-shirt, stretched around the swell of his bicep; scaling up to his shoulder, the tight set of his jaw. He’s so much taller, he’s so much older. There’s so much life lived and so many lessons learned behind his eyes that you wonder how much the news I’m pregnant would actually crack him.

Your eyes meet. You whisper, “Then – talk,” and his expression softens.

He blinks away whatever’s left of his trying, his polite attempts to skirt around it. He sheds probably a good three decades – turns back into some doe-eyed boy, wonderstruck and terrified. His voice is quiet, and at the same time, the heaviest with emotion you’ve ever heard it. “Are you?” he asks, and immediately, he blurs behind a wall of tears.

Your sentence gets caught in your teeth. It made no sense to begin with. Tangled between your molars, latching at the back of your tongue. Your hand slowly pulls free from your sleeve, the little white test between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes instantly drop, staring at the pale stick with a fraught expression you understand to mean the message has finally reached his brain. The same words now ringing between his ears: She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. I got her pregnant.

You hold the test out, quivering in the daylight. He takes it in his thumbs, instantly soothing its tremble. Everything muted, every movement steady and considered. And suddenly the sight of that positive test feels less scary, in his hands. Feels like a smaller problem, if that were ever possible.

And he says nothing, and it’s almost unbearable to watch the shape of his lips thin, the shadow beneath his brows darken. Agonizing to stand here and wonder what the next words over his tongue will be.

He stares at it a moment longer. You count the beats of your pulse in your throat. You wrap your arms tighter around your body, holding your skeleton together.

Joel’s lips part. Your breath freezes. Whatever he says, you don’t want to miss a syllable.

“Are you –” he blinks, “– are you feelin’ okay?”

You stare blankly. His eyes finally lift.

“What?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Your head jerks. “I’m – I’m fine. I mean, I’m fucking shocked.”

He nods. “How long have you known?”

“Took that right before you showed up,” you say, eyes diving to his hands. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

He’s still switching between you and the test. Checking those two lines are still there, as if they might fade to nothing, and then checking you’re still there – as if you might, too. Might be swept off if he’s not keeping an eye on you.

His face pales. He sinks back against the window ledge. “Jesus,” he breathes, a hand down the scruff of his chin.

And it feels like relief, like a mirror sat before you, presenting the honest truth: you’re fucked, and Joel thinks so, too. It embeds the shock into the cushion of your brain, the weight of it absorbed and laid bare for every particle in your body to pay it a visit. What the fuck do we do now?

“Yeah,” you sniff, “Jesus.”

But then his arm wraps around your shoulder, reminding you you’re still solid. Still whole. He holds you to his side, and when you turn into him, he takes you in the other and pulls you flat against his chest. His lips to your hair. His breathing slowing yours.

“We’re gonna work it out,” he says into your hair. “We’re gonna – Jesus, I did not expect…We are goin’ to be fine, alright? You are goin’ to be fine.”

You’re nodding, the prickle of tears flooding across your eyes again. They’re doing nothing, his words – blunt against your skin and insignificant to the fear swelling around your heart – but it feels better to be afraid with someone. Feels better to hold onto something stronger, something bigger, while you feel yourself beginning to shrink.

“What do we do?” you ask into his shirt.

Joel loosens his grip, pulls away until you’re staring at one another. “What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t…” Your head’s shaking, lips moving quicker than your voice will offer the words over. “I don’t think I want to get rid of it.”

He nods, a hand coming up to hold your cheek. “Alright. Then you don’t have to. You don’t gotta do anythin’ you’re not comfortable with.”

“But,” you sniff, guiltily averting his gaze, “this fucks everything up. Everything’s about to change.”

Joel takes a long, slow breath. “It complicates some things, that’s for sure.” He looks out to the street; Alice Brown now hauling weeds from the edge of her lawn. In his exhale, he breathes a name.

“V…What?”

He looks down. Eyes dance around your damp cheeks. “Vanessa,” he says, clearer now.

“Vanessa?”

A nod. His nose wriggles with an awkward sniff. You push off from his chest.

“Who the hell is Vanessa?”

Joel lets you go; lets you step back. He watches as you brace yourself against the ledge. Runs a hand through his hair while he fixes the right order of words. He’s thinking. Carefully.

Too fucking carefully. He’s taking too long.

“Joel. Who’s Vanessa?”

“She’s…” He sighs. “She’s my ex. From Tommy’s wedding. Vanessa Hart.”

Your jaw slackens. The purple dress. The hair like silk, a halo around her head where the light kissed her perfectly. Her plump lips; the way her head tipped back to laugh. The amount of air you felt her take up the second you laid eyes on her, the second you saw her, arm on top of Joel’s.

“Vanessa,” you whisper, your eyes descending his frame. The memory feels menacing now: her sweet giggle a sneering cackle, and you’ve no idea why. The bulky jewels around her neck, her clawed fingers on his arm.

Joel’s hand sits inches from yours on the wooden sill. Alice is walking back inside.

“We, uh…we swapped numbers the morning after the wedding, at breakfast. I didn’t think much of it, but we’ve seen each other a couple times since.”

This isn’t the time for another it’s a date, it’s not a date argument. What the fuck does he mean by –

“Seen each other?”

“Mhm.” He owes you better than that. He reckons so, too. “Dates,” he clarifies. “We’ve been on a couple dates.”

“Oh.”

Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. Plummets, dragging with it your breath and your nerve and any other words you can think of. Your chest gnaws at the edges of the cavity left behind. It hurts. It stings.

Though you’ve no right for it to hurt or sting: as far as you were concerned, as far as you think Joel was concerned, that night was a one-off. It meant as little as the alcohol draining from your glasses, the vacant buzz of love and hope loose in the air. Equally as intoxicating as each other.

Cataclysmic, for the first little while. So heavily awkward that you would wait to watch Joel head out in the morning, clear of your path, before you’d set off for work. It felt like the aftermath of some natural disaster – the cleanup of debris and mistake.

But oh, it feels like a punch to the gut. Low, unexpected; a foul move by someone who never meant to hurt or not hurt you. Someone ignorant to every move he made, right up to this moment.

Your arms wrap around your body again, as though tending to the bruise left by the sucker punch shaped something like that tall woman named Vanessa.

Joel scratches the back of his neck. “We were…we were seein’ about starting things up again. Me ‘n her.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I got you. That’s – I mean, I’m – I’m sorry, Joel, I –”

“Woah, woah,” he’s stepping forward now, “hey, no. No way. This wasn’t you. Well, shoot – it kinda was you. But it was just as much me, right?”

You smile, your face back in the safe hold of his hands. Tears roll down your cheeks, collecting in the corners of your mouth. His thumbs swipe them away.

“This was just as much me,” he repeats, voice soft and soothing.

“But, you know – if you wanted to – just ‘cause I don’t want to get – so if you didn’t wanna have to – that’d be okay, you know that, right?”

His head snaps back, brows low. It’s the first time he looks like his cool has broken all morning. It’s the first time he looks…downright offended. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, and then, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I just – I know this ain’t ideal. It’s even worse if you’re tryna make it work with Vanessa. So if you felt like it was too much, then…”

Joel shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says, edged with some kind of groan. “Stop talking, right now. Stop. You gotta take a deep breath, alright? I’m here, ‘n I mean I’m here. We’re in this together. I am not running out on you.”

“Joel –”

What was a mere crack in his cool before, rips through it now like lightning spreading across the sky. He closes his eyes, a sigh escaping between his teeth. “If you think I would leave you right now, to deal with this on your own –”

“I don’t,” you tell him, his vexation powering your sudden animation. You wipe your tears away, shaking your head. “I’m just saying, it’s a fucking lot. I don’t want you to feel trapped. I’m giving you an out, man.”

“I am not interested in taking it. Enough. Conversation over.”

“And what about Vanessa?”

“What about her?” he asks, the question dripping in something akin to anger. He catches himself, draws it back in. “She’ll just – We’ll talk, I’ll explain it. The hell else can we do? One thing at a time, okay?”

“Right,” you nod, “okay. One thing at a time.”

“Let’s just build these damn wardrobes. I sure as hell didn’t lug all that timber over here to not do ‘em.”

“Okay,” you repeat, making for the door.

“Ah.” He clicks, and you turn back. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“To get the timber.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, pointing to your bed. “Sit down. Relax. You ain’t getting a damn thing.”

Joel calls it a day at six o’clock.

The skeleton of the closet is up: a smooth, tan frame lining one wall of your room. Much bigger, much sturdier than its predecessor.

You’re in the same spot he left you in: lying across your bed, admiring his handiwork. He’s good at what he does. You told him twice, and the two of you almost heaved both times. Compliments aren’t something you’re used to handing one another.

He left, maybe, three hours ago. Said he had to shower; said he’d be back first thing to finish the job. You sat up to see him out, got struck by a wave of nausea so bad that you fell back to the bed with one hand on your stomach and the other over your lips, and Joel had insisted – demanded – that you stay where you were.

I’ll be back later to check on ya, he assured, setting a glass of water at your bedside. And then he told you to call him if you felt even remotely off – sick, or panicked, or had a tickle in your throat that you couldn’t clear – and that’s when the two of you realized that you don’t even have one another’s numbers.

And you laughed, the both of you; laughed at the absurdity of you carrying his child when you don’t even carry his contact details in your phone. Laughed at how quickly everything has turned one hundred and eighty degrees in the few hours since you woke up. It felt like some form of release, the only way to clear the blockage of tension in both your throats. So, you laughed, until you felt sick again, and Joel swept the hair from your shoulders to cool you down.

The attentiveness is…new. It’s interesting. It’s kind, in the same way that being told to say hi to whoever your grandma is talking to in the grocery store, is kind. Sweet, the same way that answering the door on Halloween to a bunch of kids you don’t know from a street you don’t recognize the name of, is sweet.

Whatever. It’s fucking weird, alright?

You’ve never seen this side of Joel. You didn’t know or even think, in your wildest dreams, that he existed. Let’s face it: you two have spent the entirety of your inhabitance next door to one another, antagonizing each other. Your favorite hobby has always been pissing Joel off – teasing him for having backache, seeing how far down his porch you can launch his newspaper and he’ll still go get it. Playing the same kind of music you heard him playing on his guitar that one time, full-volume from your kitchen window just to fuck with him.

And, likewise: his favorite hobby has always been…well, ignoring you. Doing everything he can not to engage. If it weren’t for that fucking cat lady and her jittery green Chevrolet, none of this would’ve ever happened. She was a catalyst where one was neither needed nor wanted. You would’ve gone about your life, pinning your underwear only slightly more carefully to your clothesline, and Joel would’ve gone about his, doing – whatever the fuck he does.

Sure, it’s weird. But it’s nice. It’s nice to have him on your side, turning to check on you rather than snap at you for something. Nice to have him talk – actual, rounded words in place of grumbles and mumbles and groans and sighs. Nice to hang out with him and watch him work and ask questions about screws and power tools and pretend to be interested just to distract from the weight of queasiness in your stomach.

Your hands trail down, cupping around your navel. Your stomach still feels like your stomach: still soft, still spongey under your touch. If not for the two more tests you’d taken this afternoon, perched on the bathroom counter waiting for Joel to unstick his gaze from his watch and announce, That’s three minutes – both also positive, by the way – you’d have no fucking clue.

You hold the bottom half of your tummy, fingers rubbing gently over the skin that will soon enough grow and swell and protect.

“Hey,” you whisper, staring at the stationary ceiling fan overhead. A pause. An awkward inhale. “…hey, little buddy. I don’t – know you very well, yet. I figure you can’t even fucking hear me, but whatever. Just wanted to say hi. I’m – Ew, no. I’m not Mom, yet. What the fuck. I don’t know who I am right now, so just…maybe go easy on me until I figure that part out. And after, too. Alright? Are we…we cool?

“You can’t tell me, I know. I just have to assume we’re cool. Okay. Well. Keep growin’. Keep…doing your thing. You’re doing great. We’re doing – we’re doing alright.

“Good job, kid. Good job.”

Joel tells Vanessa two days later. She takes it…about as well as you might hope.

He says they talked for four hours. Three cups of coffee and a drive to Taco Bell later, she agreed to meet you. Properly. Not across the cluttered dancefloor of Tommy’s wedding.

She –? Is – is that a good idea?

I don’t know, kid. It’s the best I’ve got.

Meet me? Like, come kick my ass for sleeping with her boyfriend?

Joel had sighed and deadened his eyes on yours. Not her boyfriend, he corrected, passing you a sweater folded a little slapdash for your liking, and wasn’t her boyfriend when we slept together.

You shook the sweater straight again and fixed his work, muttering to yourself that at least he’s a better builder than he is a folder.

Joel heard you, and let it go. Passed you another – unfolded – sweater to sit in your wardrobe. Let’s just see how it goes, alright?

Alright.

We’re really trying this again. It’s only been a couple weeks.

Okay.

And neither of us have had much luck in that department since we broke it off, y’know?

Joel. I said okay.

He held your gaze a moment too long. Okay.

You’re on your porch when he strolls over, wrist blocking the six o’clock sun from his eyes. Newspaper in his fist, wind licking the corners. “Forget somethin’ today?” he asks, meeting you at the top of the steps.

“Came out to get it,” you brace yourself on the railing, “felt sick. This is me workin’ up to it.”

“You want me to toss it back onto my lawn so you can go fetch me it?”

You smile, eyes screwing shut. “Was coming over to ask what time for tomorrow.”

The reminder snaps him from his happy daydream. He says, “I was comin’ to ask you the same thing. Seven work?”

“Seven’s good. Are we getting food?”

“You wanna get food? I figured maybe you wouldn’t be up for it, what with the, uh…” Joel gestures to your hunched position, your head low between your shoulders, your deep, deliberate breaths.

“Maybe just drinks,” you utter, gulping back the sharp taste of bile.

He nods. “Drinks it is. You okay? You need anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks. See you guys at seven.”

Four minutes early, there’s a knock at your door. You pull it open, and there they are. Picture-perfect, like they might be posing for a holiday card. A bottle in his arm, a bunch of flowers in hers. A timid but genial smile between her cheeks, a twinkle in her eye. That same circle of shining light around her head, brunette tresses curled into bouncing waves.

“Howdy,” Joel says, stepping into the space you create. He dips his head, kisses your cheek, whispers a brief, Y’okay? in your ear. You nod quickly, gently shifting him out of the way.

Vanessa lingers for a moment in the doorway. She glances from Joel to you again, blinking in the porch light. Her pale skin lit in an ethereal glow. She’s prettier up close.

Joel addresses you, hand brushing the small of your back, “…this is Vanessa.”

“Hi,” she says, and pushes the flowers towards you – a small bouquet of gypsophila and eucalyptus. Bright, polite. Each sprig laden with the burden of appearing simpatico, but important. Meaningful, in the airiest sense of the word. “Hi,” again.

“Hi,” you echo, and then feel stupid for having nothing more to offer. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, hot on your shoulder.

But Vanessa takes the weight from your chest. “It’s nice to meet you – officially. I saw you at Tommy and Maria’s wedding. You looked so beautiful.”

“Thanks,” springs from your tongue sooner than the rest of the sentence. Your brain scrams to find more words. “You looked – you looked great, too. Do you wanna –? I mean – Sorry. Come in. Obviously.”

She clicks over the threshold, her pale dress floating into your hallway like she’s part of a dream. She’s just as beautiful in this light, relaxed form – pastel blue and the glimmer of golden jewelry – as she was in the sleeker, more dramatic form you saw her in before. An aura about her which captures and tends to your attention. Intense, captivating, but not intimidating.

You usher them to the living room, offer them a space on the couch while you take Vanessa’s flowers to the kitchen. Joel follows you through, sets the bottle on the counter.

“Nonalcoholic,” he says, unscrewing the cap.

Your eyebrows jump. “Great. Thanks.”

“She’s nervous,” he murmurs, leaning in. “I know you are, too. Y’all are similar like that.”

You slot the stems into a vase of water one by one, carefully organizing a display. “She seems sweet,” you assure him. “She shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Neither should you.”

“Is this…totally weird for you?”

Joel breathes in deep, filling three glasses. “Yeah,” he says, eyes never lifting from the sparkling peach.

“Sorry.”

He angles his jaw. “Stop sayin’ you're sorry. I’ll kick your ass.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, eyes lifting only to his elbows. “Sorry.”

He scoffs, swiping the glasses and stepping back to let you out first.

“I’m trying not to make it weird,” you offer, slipping by.

“I don’t want you to try anything.” He kicks your ankle lightly and follows you back into the living room.

Vanessa sits forward and clasps her hands around her knee when you sit back down, shifting as though to reach for you before she stops herself. “How are you feeling? Joel said you’re a little…worse for wear, right now.”

“I’ve been better,” you say, smiling. “Just morning sickness. Which lasts – all day.”

She nods sympathetically. “My sister had it rough with her first. I actually…” She twists around, reaches for her purse, fishes out an orange packet. “I brought you some ginger tea. Kate told me it helped her a lot, so.”

She holds it out in almost trembling fingers. Likewise, you steady yours to take it from her, thanking her with a shy nod of the head. “That’s so kind,” you reply quietly, eyes darting to Joel. He’s staring at the pack in your hands, watching as you turn it over to read the back.

“And – listen,” Vanessa continues, the acceptance of her offering clearly fueling her assuredness, “I don’t want anything to be weird – between you and I, between you and Joel. I know this situation is…new. It���s, um…”

“It’s kinda weird,” you say, humoring. “It’s okay. I know.”

She breathes a relieved laugh. “It is. Thank God you said it.” She glances back at Joel, who smiles at her, slips his hand onto her knee. “But I guess,” a deep breath, “I guess it is what it is. And we’re all adults, you know? We can make it work, right?”

Your head switches rapidly between nodding enthusiastically and shaking enthusiastically. “Yeah. Yes. No, absolutely. And, you know, me and Joel – there isn’t – we’re not at all…”

“Oh,” she bats the idea away, “I know. I know that. He told me everything. It’s – You know, it’s just a timing thing.”

Joel’s staring down at his hand locked around her leg. Unblinking. Unmoving. His expression doesn’t shift until the two of you settle back into your seats; until Vanessa asks if he’d mind making you a cup of ginger tea.

You barely notice his absence, the way she takes you up in conversation. Like twirling you off in some kind of dance, each sentence strung safely to the next. There are no lulls, no awkward pauses. She asks about work, asks about your family. She tells you stories about her niece, who’s three now, and compares how you’re feeling to how she remembers her sister feeling.

Then her work, and the IT guy her friend hooked up with, and her class at the gym which she’s trying to convince Joel to come along to, and Kate’s hot yoga class every Thursday night, and the new sushi place which just opened downtown and You gotta try it some day; the nigiri is divine.

And you nod along, and you laugh at her anecdotes and tell your own, and Joel tells her to tell you about the jazz band who were playing at the restaurant they visited a couple weeks ago, and you offer to top her drink up and she says she’ll do it herself and she leaves you and Joel alone for the first time all evening, and – it’s weird.

Because – behind the veil of conversation you’re doing your best to uphold, sits an image of this very night – only, in Joel’s house. In Joel’s house, on Joel’s couch, drinking nonalcoholic wine with Joel’s brother. Joel and Vanessa leant against one another on one couch, Tommy and Maria on the other.

You can’t help it – you’re wondering what Maria thinks of Vanessa. How long they knew each other, if at all, before the breakup. Whether they hung out, whether they discussed sushi and yoga, or the housing market, or their Miller boyfriends and their annoying Miller habits.

Maria would’ve liked her, you think. Would’ve found her as lovely as you do. And the idea, the image of them giggling together at family parties and being Tommy’s Maria and Joel’s Vanessa – presses a firm, bullying finger into the bruise you thought had faded some from the other day.

And once they’re gone, once you’re left alone again – lying in still silence, closed in on yourself by the thick darkness of your room, nothing but you and your thoughts and your unborn child for company – it slips out.

“Fuck her, right?” You hold your hands out, addressing your stomach. “She was so fucking nice. Did you like her? Fuck me, I liked her. I hope they break up.”

And then, realizing who you’re talking to: “No. Sorry, baby, no. I don’t hope they break up. I want your dad to be really happy. But – Goddamn. She was so sweet. I thought she was gonna slap me, and she just – she brought ginger tea! Fuck. They look good together, don’t they?”

It’s just hormones. Just the emotional trip that is being four weeks pregnant. Everybody feels like this when they fall pregnant – sensitive, vulnerable, clingy. Right? Right?

Your words sit stagnant in midair. You swear you can see them, heavy and intruding. Awkwardly lingering someplace they don’t belong. Because none of it even matters – the hormones, the emotions. The weird knot burning a hole in your chest, shaped like a clenched fist, knuckles branded by the heat of longing. It can’t matter.

You’re where you are, he’s where he is. A pillow in your arm, Vanessa in his. Feet apart, bricks and mortar and something like twenty years and two dates too late separating you.

Both staring up at the ceiling, wondering who the other’s thinking of.

“At eight weeks, your baby is roughly the size of a raspberry.”

Your knee bounces, breath coming and going in shaky ripples. The rubber sole of your shoe cries against the sterilized hospital floor. Your chest hums anxiously and your throat catches when you swallow and are the lights too bright? The room too hot? You’re sweating. Why are you sweating? Can you breathe right now?

Joel nudges your arm and your eyes roll to the pamphlet in his hand, his finger tracing the words. “C’mon,” he utters, leaning in, “how can anything the size of a raspberry be scary?”

You squint under fluorescent white. “A raspberry that grows into the size of a watermelon, can break my ribs, make me throw up, make me lose hair, and then tear my vagina apart on its way out? That’s pretty scary.”

He smirks. “Not to me it ain’t. My vagina stays perfectly intact the entire time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you reply, whacking him.

He laughs, swatting your palm away, keeping ahold of your fingers inside his own. “Speaking of – we gotta talk.” He elbows you, waiting until you’re looking again to speak. “We gotta cut the language.”

“Cut the language?”

“Uhuh. Rein it in. And by we, I mean you.”

“Uh,” you scoff, “I don’t think so. When you do the growing, then you can rein your own swearing in. Leave me alone, asshole.”

“Charming,” Joel says. “You know the baby can hear you? You want it to come out swearin’ like a trooper?”

You grin, tipping your head to him. “If it comes out and says anything, we’re rich. So – yeah. Let it.”

He opens his mouth to reply when a nurse emerges from a nearby room and calls your name.

“You’re up, kid,” Joel says, standing beside you.

You turn back, speaking before your brain settles on words. “I’m scared.”

“Hey,” he says, taking your hand. He squeezes it gently, uses the other to keep you facing him. “This is the easy part, right? We’re just going to meet them.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, and wander over to meet the nurse. Joel’s hand a vice grip around yours.

She leads you into a similarly washed-out clinic room, only slightly dimmer with the lights turned out, and yanks a roll of paper across the bed. Tapping it twice, she smiles. “Hop up, darlin’.”

You settle into the crinkly paper, leaning back until you’re blinking up at the speckled ceiling. Another door opens and a woman in a white coat floats in, and you swear that if it weren’t for Joel’s Evenin’, ma’am when she greets the two of you, you’d believe she were a figment of your imagination. Another character in this fucking insane dream.

“Not often I do these past five o’clock,” she says, clicking her mouse and typing on her keyboard and fixing a hair grip back into her bun. Casual. It’s not even a thing to her, introducing parents and children. She does this all fucking day.

Joel tosses half a glance to you and then realizes you’re not currently in the room. He pinches your hand again. It grounds you for all of two seconds.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat, “work commitment. I couldn’t get away any earlier, so we’re havin’ to do this a little late.”

“What do you do?” she asks, staring at her screen. Her glossy brown eyes and rich, dark skin.

“I’m a contractor,” Joel replies, thumb stroking your shoulder.

Something bubbles in your stomach, something akin to jealousy, an urgency to tell her that right now, in this room, he’s mine. No more questions. Something which quickly dissipates when you remind yourself to quit being fucking ridiculous and that right now, in this room, he’s someone else’s, and the thumb on your shoulder is merely to hold you back from fleeing. Nothing more.

The sonographer nods. Her name badge reads Freya. Pretty name. Stop picturing what your kid would look like as a Freya. You are not naming them after the first sonographer you meet.

“Shouldn’t be too long, then y’all can get home for the night. You live nearby?”

“Twenty minutes’ drive. Not far, are we?” Joel asks you.

Your eyes shoot down to his. “No,” you push your cheeks up, telling Freya, “not far.”

She flattens her lips against one another, lending you a sympathetic smile. “You got nothing to worry about, honey. Promise. Gel might be a little cold, that’s about as scary as this gets. We’re just gonna make sure everything’s looking good, check your dates, check your measurements. You’re doing great.”

“You hear that?” Joel murmurs, settling down into the chair by your side. His hand hasn’t left yours. His voice is low, meant just for you, when he repeats, “You’re doin’ great.”

You huff a laugh, some nervous release from your lungs.

Freya smiles, face lit by the faint glow of the screen in front of her. “We ready?”

You roll the hem of your tee up when she motions, bunching it under the wire of your bra. She squeezes a bottle over your stomach, which tenses solid when the frozen bite of gel curls right below your belly button. Freya smiles apologetically when you wince. Told you, she murmurs, and your breath escapes in a slightly more comfortable laugh. Lighter, easier. Scariest part over.

She presses the probe to your skin and spreads the gel, coating the bottom of your tummy in a slippery slick which tickles with each inch she covers. Two buttons pressed, and a dark image appears on a screen opposite you.

A gray fan, speckled like the ceiling above your head. Dark, black shapes growing and shrinking at the turn of Freya’s wrist. She pauses, two blobs onscreen: the larger, black, round, home to a smaller, misshapen one. Flecked with white and silver and moving slowly, gently, but – right there.

“Mom, Dad,” she grins, “meet your baby.”

You and Joel move forward at the same time, drawn closer to the crunchy image as if by some kind of natural magnetism. Eyes never blinking, lips agape. The shapes flutter, the smaller dipping in and out of view.

“You see right here, right in the center?” A white cross appears over the blob’s middle. “That little movement? The kinda – pulsing?”

You each nod. Your nails dig so deep into Joel’s hand that you risk drawing blood.

“That’s the heart. Ticking away.”

“The heart?” you ask, watching the rhythmic flicker in the center of the screen.

“Yep. Perfect, too.”

She hits another key and suddenly the room is filled with a muffled thudding; a steady, energetic pulse in your ears. It matches the movements onscreen, the tiny throb of the baby’s chest, the shape of your womb moving like waves before you.

And suddenly, it's real – all of it: the screen and the room and the sonographer and you, and Joel’s hand encasing yours, holding your knuckles to his lips, and –

And the heartbeat. Right there, right in front of you. Shy, probably as nervous as you are to introduce themselves. Feeling your eyes on them, curled up somewhere safe inside you. Right there.

You turn to Joel, and his illuminated face is staring straight at the screen. Eyes soaked with tears, blinking as they form, cheeks dappled with wet. He draws his eyes from his child only to look back at you, only to mirror your stunned smile, your disbelieving laugh, more tears dripping down into his beard. He sits up, presses his damp lips firmly to your forehead.

Freya mutes the heartbeat, pauses the scan where the image is clearest, and sits back. “I’ll give you guys a moment to yourselves,” she says, wheeling back in her chair. “Take all the time you need. I’m right outside.”

“Thanks,” Joel mumbles for the both of you, sweeping hair from your face.

The door closes on your little bubble – you, Joel, and the grainy image of your baby. The evidence that – yeah, that night happened, and yeah, you’re forever changed because of it. The evidence that you’re about to become a mom, for real, no matter how much the thought makes you feel like your stomach is kicking around at your ankles.

And the evidence that, no matter how scared you might be, how unprepared and unworthy you feel – you fucking adore that little blob already.

Love it as much as Joel does, stood over you, kissing your hair and whispering words you’re only half-listening to. A quiet thank you, a shaky I can’t believe it. Something about showing his brother. And when you look up at him, blinking at one another, inches apart – he takes your jaw in his hands and lowers his lips to yours.

Different. Softer. No want laced through. No urgency. Nothing needed, nor requested, that isn’t already right here in this little bubble of yours.

He kisses you slowly, eyes closed, holding you until you pull away for breath. His nose bumps against yours and you laugh, heads together, eyes low.

“Still scared?” he whispers.

“Terrified,” you tell him.

“Me, too,” he says, and kisses you again.

You lean back against the bed, relief settling your bones and soothing your heartbeat. The notion washes over you that, if you could, you’d stay in this room forever. Staring at the screen, holding Joel’s hand. Whispering fears into his mouth and letting him swallow them in a kiss.

He hands you some paper towel and helps you drag it across your stomach, your eyes still fixed on the little shape opposite. He hooks his chin over your head – the fresh, woody smell of his cologne infiltrating your lungs and throwing you under the haze of something you’re not quite sure how to define.

“Duck,” he says, voice vibrating into your skull.

“Huh?”

“Start saying duck. Make the baby think we’re saying that, then you can say –” he lowers his voice, “– fuck, all you want.”

“The hell would I have to say duck for?”

Joel stands upright and shrugs. “I don’t know. Think of somethin’. A nickname, maybe.”

“Duck?”

He nods plainly, glancing over to the screen.

The pillow beneath your head sighs as you turn from Joel back to the ultrasound. “Baby Duck,” you offer, and he smiles.

Smiles in a way you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile. Eyes glistening, cheeks swollen. Something innocent and earnest about it. Something pure.

He agrees. “Baby Duck it is.”

Joel insists that you spend the night at his place.

“It’s been a big day,” he reasons, fixing the bed in his guestroom. “Just – let me run around after you for a little bit.”

You fight your corner as much as you can be bothered – I gotta maintain my independence, I’m gonna be a single mom soon enough, you know – but, truthfully, you’ll take any excuse to have him rush around at your beck and call. Some days you open your mouth and he hears the wet click of saliva between your lips, and grabs a glass of water for you before you’ve even voiced the request.

He orders takeout, settles shoulder-to-shoulder with you on the couch, and lets you pick whichever movie you feel like putting him through until the food’s gone, he’s out of beer, and you’ve abandoned Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles for an argument about the best part of pizza.

You don’t like the crust?

Nope.

What fuckin’ age are you?

If it ain’t stuffed, it’s just not worth it.

At eleven, you bid him goodnight and wander upstairs, falling into a sea of navy-blue sheets to be delivered to sleep by the serene silence of Joel’s home. It takes no time for your eyes to flutter closed, the soft sheen of moonlight painted across the wall, sweeping from your view to be replaced in a whir by –

Lights. Overhead and all around and so bright and so close that you swear they’re etched on the inside of your eyelids.

You’re in the backseat, watching them soar by in blurs of white and red and amber and green, and your pulse is rattling through your veins and throbbing between your temples and you can’t focus on any one object for longer than three seconds, before your eyes roll and your head dizzies.

A word, slung from your lips in a half-wakened attempt to stop it. A word you barely recognize at first, don’t understand the meaning of. It’s been years. Why now? Mom.

You’re not sure why, or who you’re even reaching out to. There are two figures in the front seats, heads facing forward. She’s not turning around. She’s not even fucking moving, not reacting to the speed or the lights or your voice. Mom.

You scream it, the syllable ripping violently from your throat, and your tiny fingers reach for her swirls of hair. You pause, staring at the chipped polish on your stubby, kiddy nails. Mom, I’m scared.

The distorted blast of a horn scoops the car up in one motion, hurtling over itself along the freeway. You’re thrown to the roof of the car, plummet back down to your seat; the seatbelt throttles you, rips a burn deep into the skin of your neck. Back up again; your head hits the spongey roof of the car. Your stomach somersaults.

Mom, please, you wail, swiping for her hand. It’s lying limp by her thigh, dark droplets on her wrist. Mom Mom please Mom I’m scared Mom please I’m so scared I –

“Baby.”

His voice is low, earthy. It chews apart the high-pitched squeal of brakes and screaming. The glass smashing. The metal crunching.

You lift from the bed like it’s ice water, gasping when you finally surface back on Earth. Your chest heaves, it’s not sucking in enough breath; you can’t breathe you can’t breathe you can’t fucking breathe.

Joel whips the cover from your legs and you roll from the mattress, feet planting on the floor. You bend forward to grip onto the sheets, a choking rising up your throat, closer and closer until it tugs on your tongue.

“Icantbreathe,” you pant.

Joel’s body curves around yours. “You’re alright,” he’s telling you – urging you; one hand between your shoulder blades, the other holding your wrist for fear you might collapse. “I’m here, you’re okay. You’re at my place, you’re safe, but, kid – I need you to slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”

You work your breathing to the strokes of his hand up and down your spine: in out in out in and out and in and out and in, and out, and in, and…out…and in…and…out.

“That’s it. Keep doing that. You’re good, baby, I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

In – and out. In – and out again.

The room slowly desaturates back into boring, moonlit blue. Feeling sputters back into your hands, clawing at the sheets once the sharpness dissolves. The cotton pets back, smooth under your quivering touch. Your lips stop tingling, your ears stop ringing. One after another, until your blood settles back to a steady stream and you straighten up.

“Can you sit down for me?”

“No,” you whimper, and Joel nods.

“That’s alright,” he says. “I’m gonna get you a drink, that okay?”

You grab his T-shirt. “No. Don’t leave me. Please. Sorry.”

He cups your frozen cheeks. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Just downstairs. You can come.”

He settles you at his kitchen table and shuffles over to the cupboards, rubbing his eyes. You feel the heat of embarrassment and guilt, watching as he settles down with a groan minutes later.

“Ginger,” he tells you, voice rounded by his mug, sliding one of your own over to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, lifting it with two hands. The smell sharp, cutting up the remnants of gasoline and smoke.

“Many times do I gotta say it?” he asks dryly. “Quit sayin’ you’re sorry.”

You gulp nervously. “You got work in the morning. You’re gonna be exhausted.”

“And if I hadn’t let you keep me up watchin’ chick flicks, I’d be rested. That’s something I can deal with later. I got you to worry about right now.”

You shake your head; the ceramic hits the table with a sharp thud. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well,” Joel sniffs, “you’re carrying my child. I’ll always worry about you.”

You sit back, the curve of the chair cradling, your heart beating lamely against the wood. Joel’s jaw rests in the cushion of his palm, staring back at you.

“What time is it?” you ask, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Three. Take a sip.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sip.”

You obey, lifting the tea and swallowing harshly.

He watches every move, every shift reflected in his dark eyes, decorated by a tense, stony expression. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Never,” you say. “This never happens.”

Joel cranes his jaw, cracks his neck. “Alright,” he sighs, “that’s okay. Breathe again. You’re doing fine.”

But you don’t feel fine. The dregs of panic sizzle into something thicker, hotter. Anger. Frustration. “Why the fuck is this happening?” you hiss, fingers prodding into your eye sockets. “What the f–?”

“Easy. I don’t know. Hormones? Stress?”

“You sound like my fucking doctor.”

Joel smiles. Amusement, before concern wipes over it again. “Let’s just give it some time to pass, okay?”

You nod, hanging over your drink, the silhouette of your reflection staring back at you. The steam snakes up, seeping into your skin, bubbling under the surface. Wiping clean any memory of freeway or nail polish, like coating over a bathroom mirror. The shapes still visible behind, but blurred. Gone.

“How’s Vanessa?” you ask, an attempt to distract yourself.

Joel adjusts a little awkwardly in his chair. “She’s good. She loved the scan photo. Showed it to her sister. They’re sure it’s a boy.”

“Ha. Joel Jr.”

“Joel Jr.,” he agrees, and then attempts to distract himself. “So,” he says, “Allandale.”

“Mhm?”

“Wonder if I ever saw your mom or dad. When I was there visitin’ Sam.”

You shrug. “Doubt it. I mean, they always lived right next to the elementary school, if that helps. My mom was a first-grade teacher. The two of us used to walk there ‘n back together, every day.”

“First grade, huh? Best one.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and she was the best of the best. She used to go all out for her kids; used to go to Michaels and get all this crafty stuff so they could spend all afternoon making little houses or zoos, or – whatever she could think of. And she’d always keep some aside, bring some home for me to make one, too. One time, she came home with all this blue tissue paper and little foam fish, and we made an aquarium together.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Joel says.

“Yeah,” you say again, nodding eagerly. “She was so cool. And fun, y’know? I just remember her being so much fun. I always felt safe with her, felt loved. I actually used to think she hung the sun every morning, just for me.” You take a deep breath, replacing it with a broken sigh.

“What about your dad? What was he like?”

You frown. “He was…fine. Real quiet, reserved. A little grumpy, I guess. I always got the idea he couldn’t be bothered with me, young as I was. Always wanted to be left alone. I think my mom overcompensated a lot.”

Something flashes across Joel’s face that seems to say he knows – or, at least, he understands. Almost imperceptible, a quick flicker of annoyance. “You miss her?” he asks, switching back.

“My mom?” You almost laugh, gripping onto your mug. Staring at the slow swirl of ginger. A shrug which presents more like a flinch; an animal swatting a fly away. “I miss those parts, when I think of them. The aquarium, the walking to school. Miss the memories. But I don’t think I knew her well enough or long enough to miss her.

“I’ve lived way longer without her than I ever had her. Done everything without her, like –” gesturing down, “– this. But, sometimes…sometimes, I bundle the sheets up behind my back in bed, and I pretend it’s her. Pretend I have a mom, and she’s cuddling me to sleep. I dunno. Maybe that’s what missing her feels like.”

Joel soaks in every word you say, letting the shape of each one settle on the table between you before he speaks again. Letting them be spoken into the dead of night, collected by no one, and letting them fade into silence. Secrets sweeping off into starlight. Nothing you would admit in the daytime.

“What was her name?” he asks, voice timid and gentle in the dark kitchen.

You almost choke on your tea. “Shoot – I’m sorry. That was a lot. Sorry. She, uh – Her name?”

It brings the first genuine smile to your lips; the memory of your mom now clear behind your eyes. Her round cheeks, her fluttering earrings. The deep, dark curls of her hair, thick ringlets twisting and lighting in the sun. The gap between her front teeth, the purse of her lips as she kissed your cheeks, your hands, your tummy.

Her name like a melody in your head; a safe word, a calming mantra when the world becomes too noisy, too saturated, too sharp to bear. Two syllables. Two little beats, like a piece of her still lives in the sound of her name.

“Sarah,” you tell Joel. “Her name was Sarah.”

[fieldofdaisiies]

Alone

ship: Theodore Nott x Hufflepuff!Reader type: angst/fluff word count: 2,6k words warnings: mentions of racist parents, awful parent child relationship, talk of war and Death Eaters summary: Y/N and Theo are childhood friends, when she receives a howler from her mother that breaks her, he is there for her. (I'll blame @azrielscrown for her amazing Theo stories and hence making me want to write about him, and also @moonlightazriel for the tiktok videos she sent me hahaha)

It is quiet. So very quiet. All of a sudden everyone stops talking. There aren’t even any hushed whispers. Nothing.

It is so quite that one could hear a needle drop. 

So quiet that even the mice in the smallest nooks and corners of the castle could hear your mother’s voice blaring out of the howler that has just unfolded itself in front of you. Its tongue poking out, the howler spats the exact same words your mother shouted into it in your family manor.

The words drip with venom. Disdain and disappointment lace every spoken syllable. 

Your blood runs cold, your chin quivering, as you watch and listen in absolute shock. Your whole body has gone rigid, you don't even dare turn to glance around, not wanting to see the either mocking or pitiful looks of your school mates. 

How would she know? How does she know? And why is she so mad? 

It was just a school project, not your decision to spend time with him. You had to spend time with Harry Potter — it was for a Potions project, preparing a recipe, trying it out and then presenting it in class. It was project where you were assigned partners. A project where you were forced to spend time together. And even if you don't hate Harry, you would not have chosen to do the project. But you had no choice.

'The shame you brought upon this family by being sorted into Hufflepuff.'

There is a pause, and it is so long, so dreadful, so painful, and you just hope the letter won’t continue talking. Maybe it is over and the letter will just rip itself into shreds — the same shreds your heart has been ripped into when the letter started howling.

Or maybe a hole in the ground will open, and swallow you wholly? A ghost will appear and take you with him? A giant will crash both you and the letter?

But your prayers are ignored. Of course they are…

'And now, now you are doing partner work with him? Spending your free afternoons with him? What comes next? Dating a Muggle? Marrying one?'

'Y/N Y/L/N, in this house I allow none of that!'

Your best friend slides her hand into your cold one, squeezing it tightly. She is the purest and kindest soul Hufflepuff house has ever seen and in this very moment you are more grateful to have her than ever before. She somehow grounds you, stops your body from shaking or convulsing fully. 

'I am deeply disappointed. So very much. What you do to this family, the shame you bring upon us.'

That’s how the letter ends. No well wishes, no goodbye, no I love you, no motherly love. Nothing.

You are shocked, sad, embarrassed — feeling too much. Too many emotions. Your heart can’t take them, can’t deal with them all at once and you know you have to leave, get away, escape. Cry. And be alone. 

You need to get out of the Great Hall. And that right now. 

You know your friends want to support you, comfort you, but sometimes you just need to be alone.

Your voice sounds choked, throat constricted, as you climb over the bench, the howler still in pieces on the table.

"I am sorry, I need to be alone now." You run, weaving your way through the pupils crowded in the Great Hall and the corridors outside. Tears start to burn behind your eyes, clouding your vision and your throat starts to burn. 

You run, run until your feet ache, slumping down on the ground, sliding down the ball. And then the damn breaks. Hot, burning tears rolling down your cheeks, as one ragged sob after the other leaves you. 

It hurts so much, growing up in a family like this. It is so painful. Your mother's words, laced with venom, still reverberate through your mind, loud and awful, filling every fibre of your being. A cool shiver makes its way down your spine, making you shiver. 

You draw in a deep inhale, your breathing shaky, lower lip quivering. Closing your eyes, you let your head rest against the wall, replaying every single word she said to you. 

The eerie silence of the corridor and your calm sobs are suddenly interrupted by the faint echo of footsteps nearing. You have no time to make guesses who it could be, finding you sitting behind a corner, back pressed against the wall to almost become invisible. 

"Are you…alright?"

It is strange seeing him like this. He is always so confident, so cocky, arrogant, silver-tongued. And not so…reserved, and at a loss for words. Your desperate state has probably shocked him, you think, trying to hold his gaze, but the tears are coming back again. 

"I am…fine," you croak, the lie in your voice louder than the Howler you received earlier. 

Theo breathes out a cold chuckle. "That was the worst lie I've ever heard, Y/N."

His voice is flat, his expression stoic. He just looks at you, his normally confident demeanour nowhere in sight. "And I thought you Hufflepuffs are those goody-two-shoes who never lie."

You watch how the corner of his mouth tips upwards, but only shortly. He quickly presses his lips in a thin line, something he has always done when thinking deeply. A crease appears on his forehead, eyes solely focused on you.

You have known Theo basically since the day you were born. He is two months older than you, both of you coming from noble pureblood families, your father's had once been good friends, are still probably, but you don't really know. When you were placed in Hufflepuff…things changed. 

Also the friendship with Theo changed. He got distanced, you did too. Being friends with him was somehow no longer possible, and still isn't. You are not rude towards each other, he also always stayed out when the Slytherins mocked you and your housemates, but he has also never sought you out to spend time with you…and neither did you.

You have been growing apart and this is alright — some friendships are not forever. Or at least that is what you always tell yourself. 

"I…I just had to get out."

He nods, slowly, and in understanding. "I always come here when I want to be alone."

"Yes, that is why I am here, I want to be alone." You hope he gets the memo…that you want to be alone. Fully alone.

Not deigning him another look, you bury your face in your hands again, knees pulled up to your chest. It is not in your nature to be rude to anyone, but…

"I know I should probably leave…" But he moves closer.

"I heard what the howler said and I don’t really want to—"

"Everyone heard what the Howler said." A humourless chuckle escapes you and you lift your head. Theo is already looking at you, his eyes, meeting your red and puffy ones. Pain flashes in his eyes, bright and stark and you feel yourself shiver.

He nods slowly, almost like he wants to tell you it is not the truth, hoping it will ease the pain and discomfort a little, but he says nothing. And that for a long moment. Until—

He closes the distance between the two of you, claiming the spot on the ground beside you. 

"I am sorry," he says, stretching out his long legs and leaning his head against the stone wall behind him. "I am so sorry for what she said and that everyone had to hear."

"It is not your fault, you don't have to apologise." You furrow your brows as you turn to look at him. 

His eyes are filled with concern. You can still feel the embarrassment, the way the entire hall had turned to watch as the red envelope exploded in a blaze of your mother's fury and rage. Everyone became witness to your misery…

You swallow hard, trying to push the memory aside, but it lingers like an illness that just won't get better. 

"Y/N," Theo says, his voice softer than what you are used to. "I can't believe she sent you this letter…"

"Howler," you correct him, wearing a forced smile.

The corner of his mouth curls up, and he casually runs a hand through his hair. "Indeed, a Howler, you smartass."

You chuckle, and playfully nudge him with your elbow. But then you shake your head, take a deep breath and shrug."You know how she is. Always expecting more, always disappointed in me."

Theo reaches out, his hand brushing gently against yours. He does not take your hand into his, just rests it next to yours on the ground, your pinkies touching. "You don't have to listen to her, Y/N. You're so much more than what she thinks of you."

You draw in a shaky breath, thankful about his presence.

Funny, you think. You would not have thought that exactly his presence would bring you so much comfort now. You had wanted to be alone just moments before, but talking to him feels somehow good. "Thank you," you say.

He smiles. "Of course." But he does not look away, keeps holding your gaze, his hand shifting the tiniest bit, his pinkie finger now placed on top of yours.

The dimly lit sconces cast eerie flickers of light upon the stone walls, and also on you two. His lashes look longer in this light, casting shadows across his cheeks, his eyes looking so much deeper. And soon you realise you are staring at him. 

It feels like he leans closer, but you could also be mistaken.. And yet, his presence wraps around you, like a gentle embrace or a warm winter coat. And, with his voice barely above a whisper, Theo says. "You deserve so much better than this."

Tears glisten in your eyes once more. His gaze is intense, filled with an emotion you have not really seen on him before. "Thank you for being here for me."

"I am your friend, of course I am." 

Your expression must have given you away.

He huffs, and lowers his chin to his chest. "Well, at least I hope we are still friends…"

For a long moment silence stretches out between you because first of all, you did not expect that statement and secondly, you don't know how to answer.

Are you really friends? Still?

You’ve doubted it in the past years, you’ve never talked to each other, unless you had to do so in class. You’ve never spent time together. This is not what you would call a friendship. 

"I don't know, are we?" you answer honestly, and a small smile appears on his face. "I can't blame you for not considering me your friend anymore…"

It is still strange seeing him like this. He has never been like this…so vulnerable somehow. 

"I know I should have been here for you so much more in these past years."

This is not at all what you expected, and it confuses you greatly. Is he blaming himself for not being here? You also did not reach out to him, you did not seek him out, and you are in different houses.

"There is no blame on you!" Your voice is stronger, firmer, wanting him to see that it is absolute bullshit that he is talking. "Why would you say something like this?"

He shrugs. "I am…" He does not continue, only draws in a deep inhale, and leans his head against the wall. His eyes close for a moment.

There has always been a connection between you, a connection that is still somehow there, even though you might no longer be friends. The kind of friends you once used to be.

You also lean back against the wall, your own eyes closing, his finger still touching yours. It is such a tiny gesture, but you feel it everywhere. Feel him so strongly. 

Theo breaks the silence, his voice quieter when he says. "Y/N, I want you to know...I've always cared about you more than just a friend."

Your heart skips a beat, and you open your eyes, turn your head and look up at him, your eyes meeting his gaze. "Theo..."

"I know it's complicated," he continues, his hand now flipping yours over and taking it into his. "I can't pretend anymore. And seriously, if Draco or Blaise would see me like that right now…stumbling over my own words, they would call me the biggest fool on this planet, but I need you to know…"

He groans almost like in frustration, and squeezes your hand. 

"In Salazar's name, why is this so fucking hard?" A chuckle escapes him, but you only look at him, not sure if you are ready for his confession. 

"I'm in love with you, Y/N. And I have been for the longest time."

Your breath catches in your throat, and a mixture of emotions swirls within you, a whirlwind starting for a whole new reason now. "Theo, I..." You hesitate, not sure what to say.

He smiles and shakes his head. "You don't have to say anything right now. I just needed you to know. And if you ever need someone to talk to, to be there for you, I'll always be here, I want you to know this."

This is a side of him, you think, only you know. And only you know since this very moment. He has never been like this before, he is not like that to others and it makes your chest warm from the inside. 

Tears well up in your eyes again, but this time they're not tears of sadness — they’re tears of happiness and comfort. Without thinking you throw your arms around Theo and hug him tightly, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "Thank you, Theo. I... I really care about you too. I want you to know this."

He holds you close, his hand gently rubbing your back. "What happened today, and what is maybe about to come…we'll get through this together. You are not alone in this. I know you have your Hufflepuff friends, but you also have me."

He holds you tightly, and for as long as it takes the pain of the former happenings to ease. The weight of the howler and your mother's hurtful words begins to fade, replaced by the knowledge that you have someone who cares deeply for you by your side. His words and his confession were like balm to your soul, and they make you smile, even when you thought you wouldn't be smiling much this day. 

"I am really glad to have you back in my life."

He smiles, a genuine and adorable smile that makes your heart flutter. "I have always been in your life. Maybe we weren't that close, but our bond has always been there."

You nod, and draw in a deep inhale. "You are right."

When more pupils file into the corridors, you know lessons are probably soon about to start. You give his hand a final squeeze and slowly get up. "I'll see you later, Theo."

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours. "Take care, Y/N. I'll see you for lunch?"

You nod, a smile on your lips and his eyes momentarily dip to them.

With one last smile, you turn and head toward the Hufflepuff common room, your heart lighter. You know you can talk to him about the issues in your family, and he will listen, because he understands. Understands the pure blood nobility and problems.  And maybe, just maybe, there is also a chance for something more between the two of you in the future. He, after all, already confessed his love for you. 

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

A New Tradition [Sebek Zigvolt]

You had never seen Sebek look this serious in your life.

And that said a lot, considering you’d known him all throughout your years in NRC and a few years into his adult life where you had subsequently dated. Sebek was a partner who regarded romance with an intensity that was unsurprising yet appreciated. He made every date special, even in tiny ways, he remembered significant days in your relationship without needing to be reminded, he tried to be as open with his communication as possible (which still resulted in fumbling, as he couldn’t always accurately define the emotions he was feeling). Either way, you could see the intense look of concentration on his face now after your request.

You had hesitated on asking him to participate in a Christmas tradition as you had correctly guessed it wasn’t something he really cared for. He was part human, and his dad celebrated it a bit, but had always left it up to Sebek on if he wanted to join. Sebek’s mother was far more interested in the little holiday traditions, helping his father set up the glass tree he took from the attic every year (it caused little mess, and was still customizable enough that they could change out the decorations on it). There was an exchanging of presents that always included Sebek, and as an adult he felt the need to give back as well, but that was the extent of his interaction with the holiday. His mother always seemed to light up the night before, excited as she looked at the colorful wrapping paper around her presents and mused on what they might be. Sebek couldn’t help but consider it a tradition that was more his parents than his, as they seemed more disgustingly in love on that day compared to every other day of the year (and they were pretty much always openly affectionate, so that was saying something).

Sebek was far too aware of the change of energy as he answered your question, the disappointed look being a ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ moment but he noticed. He knew when your smile was forced, that you were simply not making him to do something he didn’t want to, and he had always appreciated the side of you that was understanding. He had come to learn that relationships had a give and take, that as stubborn as he could be there were moments he had to yield to you because it was truly not a serious enough issue that an argument should continue on. And it’s not like he was anti-human tradition, he had to nix that when he started dating one a few years ago, so there was no reason he couldn’t agree to making your own personalized tradition like his parents had.

“I want to… I’ll decorate with you,” Sebek finally stated, regarding the tree he had just pulled into your home. He was still on his knees in front of it, having arranged the skirt around the bottom as you had directed, so now the green pine stood proud at the center of your dining room. “The tree. We can find something in the nearby shops to put on them… I heard there are enchantments that make the lights change color, or sparkle, whichever you’d like…”

He was talking to himself more than you now, seeming to think of all the way he could make this unique for the two of you to enjoy. The thought of a shopping trip was an exciting one, especially when you knew Sebek was thinking of human tradition alternatives that might be found in the fae world; you’d never enchanted a tree before but you wondered what kind of magical baubles might be in the shops, just waiting to find a loving home.

“Ah! But, I do have a rule.”

Sebek tilted his head in acknowledgement despite staying in his thinking pose, to let you know he was listening.

“Do not bring an ornament into this house with Malleus’ face on it.” Sebek went to open his mouth, his eyebrows knitted together on his head, a retort on the tip of his tongue when you cut him off again, “Not a tree topper, either!”

Sebek huffed, arms crossed as he wondered what other way he might make tribute to Malleus on the tree without you noticing.

[batbux]

"Sometimes I forget they're gone."

Bruce looks up from work - a crossword he's doing to pass time until the gas chromatography finishes - and over to where Tim is rolling back and forth in front of a secondary terminal. The steady squeak of his chairs back wheel was almost meditative in a way. He stared up at a blank screen, face only illuminated in profile by the gentle glow of Bruce's own terminal.

"Who is?" Bruce asked when Tim didn't elaborate. For all that this was functionally his home now, the boy had a tendency to occupy space in a way that made Bruce's jaw ache from biting his tongue.

"My parents." Tim stopped rocking and the Cave was as silent as a grave between them. One grave in particular. "Like, something happens and I think, oh, Mom would love to hear about this. Or Dad would get all huffy and rant over something silly and it would be fun to listen to."

Tim, who loved his parents and, arguably was loved in return. He spent most of his time in his room or the Cave, exploring other rooms in the Manor like his parents did archeological sites. Interesting to him, but not a place to be.

"Sometimes I pick up the phone and get as far as putting in their international number, you know?"

Tim, who was parented through phone calls and post cards. Tim, who spent so much of his life in boarding schools that an actual home looked more like a museum than a place to live.

"I'm sorry, bud," Bruce murmured. There wasn't much else he could say, aside from reminding Tim that his father was still alive. Comatose, hanging in limbo, but alive.

Bruce thought it would be easier if Jack Drake died with his wife. Bruce also hated himself for thinking those kinds of things.

"I just keep thinking about Mohenjo-daro," he continued. "We're learning about it in school this unit and I keep remembering- I keep remembering that Dad said he's been there. I can't keep the dates right in my head and he would have helped."

"I can give it a shot," Bruce offered even though he knew it was the wrong thing to do now just as it had been the wrong thing to do when he offered to find a Romani language tutor for Dick when he realized he was forgetting things.

It would solve one part of the problem, but it would never replace the help a father could give.

Tim turned towards him, pale face washed out in stark relief under the light from behind Bruce. He wondered if Tim could even see his face in the relative darkness and found a cowards courage knowing he couldn't.

"He told me a story about it once," Tim said. "I can't remember the ending. I can't remember what he told me. Why didn't I listen better?"

Bruce had no answer for him. He set his paper aside and opened his arms.

Dick would have thrown himself at Bruce, taking comfort where and when he could. Jason would have slunk over and did his level best to press close enough to cave in Bruce's chest and make himself a home.

He was, in hindsight, too good at that.

Tim always hesitated. Weighting the pros and cons? Overthinking a simple comfort offered freely? Bruce never knew.

Still, Tim slowly abandoned his squeaking chair. He let Bruce tug him in for a hug.

Tim was older than Dick had been, around the same age as Jason. Even so, in moments like this he seemed immeasurably younger. Tim, cast off in a prestigious boarding school, had lived comparatively untouched by life's hardest lessons. He signed up for the work, but he couldn't have known how hard it would be. Bruce never should have let him in, but what could he do now? Tim came to him when he needed a partner the most and he was so, so grateful even as regret threatened to choke him.

A beep, then. Bruce's eyes drifted upwards.

"The drugs we lifted from the Iceberg Lounge?" Tim asked against Bruce's neck.

"Yes."

"Show me."

Bruce let Tim out from the protective circle of his arms and did so. The moment lay broken behind them, like so many others.

[lurkingshan]

Cherry Magic Episode 12

MY HEART IS FO FULL. This adaptation has exceeded my wildest expectations to become one of my favorite bls of all time. They really put their backs into it and gave us everything we could want for these characters, and I will always be grateful. This show managed to be a faithful manga adaptation, a loving homage to the jbl, and a fresh take on the story all at once. An amazing feat to pull off and this creative team deserves so much love and kudos.

The way Achi and Karan have grown together over the course of this show has been fantastic to witness. I love how seriously the show took their growth, and that we got to see them put in the work to improve their communication and become a great team. Meeting the parents was a big step for them, especially because they were uncertain how their respective families would react, but I loved that they were so open with each other throughout about how they were feeling. I loved, too, that we got a contrast, with Achi's mom being so warm and loving (but still managing to get a dig in on her son, lmao) and Karan's being more avoidant and passive aggressive and needing a talking to her from her eldest child to get her shit together. I love that the drama created space for things to not go perfectly with the parents, and to show us that people can be moved to acceptance.

We got a bit of a parallel with that message in Jinta and Min's story this week, with Min's fans initially attacking Jinta, but backing off once Min named him as his faen and asked them to respect his relationship. I like the choice to model positive fan behavior, and it felt a bit pointed from this production company. Both with Pai and now with this new group of fans, the show has said consistently that being a fan should be about love and support, not control. That you can admire your idols but you also need to give them privacy. That it's not your place to judge who they love. I just love that message.

Of course, I have to talk about the mutual proposal and the wedding. I am pretty sure Karan has been carrying that ring around in his pocket since the second day of dating, but it was such a welcome surprise to see that Achi had already made his own plans, too. The show really succeeded in taking this relationship from something that felt a little one-sided to a very mutual partnership I can believe in. I teared up when right along with Karan when Achi followed Karan's proposal with his own, and you could see how much it meant to him to know that Achi is really truly on the same page. Getting to see their wedding and the love surrounding them on their special day was the cherry (lol) on top of this fantastic love story. I also absolutely loved the wink to the jbl elevator non-kiss in the way they framed their final married couple kiss and then cut away from the bed.

Continuing the love fest, I also love the changes this version made to the side couple's story. Min getting to fulfill his dream, Jinta being an excellent supportive partner, their agreement that they will marry someday when they're ready--it was all just lovely. The nod to the jbl pen proposal was cute, and I love that they took it a step further by drawing rings on each other. The flip in the sexual relationships was also quite welcome, with that triumphant arc reserved for the main couple in this version. Jinta ended the show with his magical powers still intact, but it didn't seem like that would be the case for long.

As for Rock and Pai, I am happy with how the show handled their story. To the end, Pai stayed true to herself, and Rock came to know her better and understand what kind of romantic relationship he could reasonably expect from her. She will always have her head more on her ships than on her own love life, and he seems okay with it. I think you can still take an aroace read on this Pai if you choose, and I appreciate that the show made space for that. I like, too, that Pai helped Rock reconnect with his own passion for dancing and find a fun outlet for his creativity. They were another reinforcement of this show's overarching themes about the importance of kindness, support, and clear communication in relationships.

This show left me with such a warm feeling. I'm so glad they stuck the landing, that episode 8 never happened, and that we can rewatch and remember this Cherry Magic so fondly. I never expected Thailand to go so above and beyond the original live action drama, but they have undoubtedly delivered my favorite version of this story.

[anticapitalistclown]

can I request some lookism boys reacting to reader sleeping with plushies?

You can choose the characters but please add james lee 🥺

I love your writings!

sure!

James Lee, Jake Kim, Gun and Taesoo Ma reacting to reader sleeping with plushies

James

The pink haired man was staring at your favorite plushie while he had you sitting in front of him, you invited him over and now you both were talking in your bed about your sleeping manias; you told him that you need that exact plushie he has been holding for a while to sleep and that you hug it every night.

A bit of jealousy flooded in James as he still had the plushie in his hands "I wanna rip his arm apart" he spitted, you jumped on him to rescue your plushie "don't hurt fluffy!" you cried. James looked at you astonished "fluffy" he repeated the name, fluffy was for James a rival now, a really powerful one.

Jake

You obligated Jake to take a rest, you were afraid his body will crumble after all he's been through, so you drag him to sleep in your bed.

"here you can sleep all you want, I'll make sure none annoys you", you pushed the man in your bed "so aggressive, we didn't even had a date gosh" he said jokingly "I would want you to meet my parents first" he continued "oh for real?" you pushed him in you bed again "nah, nevermind" he finally gave up and accommodated in your bed, his eyes inspecting your bedroom and you, who was placing a plushie in the bed with so much care, much more care than with him actually.

"a favorite plushie?" he broke the silence again, you knew that if you don't reply Jake will still keep talking and not sleeping "yeah, I can't sleep without mr. bubbles" you tossed the plushie to him "it's comforting to sleep with him" Jake grabbed the plushie "thanks for helping y/n sleep every night mr. bubbles".

Gun

"what's this? a rat?" Gun asked holding your plushie, you gave him an offended look "can't you see it's a bear?" you went to save your plushie from Gun failing at it "this thing is so ugly" he kept talking about your plushie "you ugly" you jumped on top of Gun trying to get buttons back "I need buttons to sleep" Gun raised his hand higher with buttons, you where trapped by his other arm "beg for it" he demanded "you really like to be begged you maniac" Gun's hold was stronger "please Gun" you gave up, the man was smiling at you "not enough" you whined "please don't get buttons away from me" once Gun noticed you were starting to get worried, that he gave you buttons back "so childish sleeping with a plushie" you hugged buttons, your body still under Gun's hold "thank you Gun" "whatever"

Taesoo

You were really excited, you reached that stage in the relationship where you can leave your stuff to your partner's house so you can stay with them as long as you need, your toothbrush, some clothes, meds where in Taesoo's place, even your most important object, your plushie, it was the one Taesoo got for you in a date, the first present actually and since then that you couldn't sleep any single night without it.

Taesoo joined bed a little more later, he hugged you from behind, always being the big spoon, his calloused hand roamed your body it was once he reached your arms that he felt something in between them, he took your plushie from you making you whine, Taesoo inspected the tiny brown bear, a smile in his face, it was the same one he got you when you where still getting to know each other, he actually got the plushie on a fight, after crashing someone's head against a claw machine minutes before going on a date with you.

You took your plushie from him "my taetae, I need him to sleep" Taesoo kissed your forehead, he was actually proud that you where so attached to the plushie he gave you.

[jaslan4f1]

Can You maybe continue the dirty secret part of lando nsfw list. With his secret wish to get reader pregnant. Can be smut or not if you don’t feel like it

Let’s make a baby L.N 🧡

Notes: English is not my native language so this may contain consistency errors, i would really appreciate the corrections but please, be kind. feedback is also appreciated ♡

 Warnings: fluff

Masterlist Part 2

“Her favorite toys are in the bag, her clothes are in this bag and…” Savannah said, holding Mila in her arms while Oliver put Milas bags in Landos apartment. “Sav, you don’t need to worry. Uncle Lando and aunt Y/n will take good care of Mila,” he said in a baby voice while taking Mila from Savs arms. “Well technically she isn’t aunt YET” Oliver interrupted and made sure to underline the yet.

“Bro when are you going to pop the question?” Oliver said, a grin forming as he slung an arm around his younger brother. Lando let out a nervous chuckle. “I will…soon” was all he could say.

Lando didn’t missed that not only his family but everybody around him made clear that marriage would be the next step in his relationship with you. Being together for 5 years and living together for 3,5 years gave him not only the best partner who he could have asked for but also many happy memories that he shared during this relationship. In fact, Lando thought about proposing to you far more often than you did. Of course, you guys talked about marriage, but both decided that you wanna take it slow due to Landos and your carrer.

“What will be soon?” was what you said when you walked inside the hallway to greet Landos brother and his family. “My due date will be soon” was quickly said from Sav. Lando gave her a thankful look. You just nodded and switched your attention to the little girl in Landos arms.

You absoulutly adored Landos niece. She was the most perfect little human that you ever met. Mila liked you too due to the many times where you played with her in the garden of Landos parents or the times where you and Lando took care of her when Sav and Oli went out on a date. “Aont Y/n” Mila tried to say and signaled with her hand that she would rather be in your arms than in her uncle's. Everybody chuckled when Lando gave Mila to you. “Hey, I missed my best friend” you said and poked her little nose.

Lando watched you closely, adoring not only his niece but especially you. He loved that you were good with his family but watching you with his niece made him feel a certain way. Did he want to start a family with you? Was he ready for it? And another question was, are you ready to start a family with him?

A loud cough interupped Landos daydreaming. “We have to go now but if you need anything you can call me” Sav said before they said goodbye to Mila and headed to the Spa resort in saint tropez where they would be staying for the weekend.

 

After a lot of playing, you both cooked Mila her dinner, took her to bed and read her a story. You both said down on the couch in the living room enjoyed the silence, both exhausted from baby sitting Mila today. Lando switched his attention towards you. “You looked good toady” he said. You laughed, you looked horrible in fact you had paint on your cheek, your shirt was red from Milas tomato soup, and your hair was a mess. “If you think I look good like this then I must look fantastic on every other day” you laughed with him. “No, no that’s not what I meant. I meant you looked good today with Mila. You looked like…like a mother” he said after a short pause.

Your eyes softened after Lando said his last word. You didn’t dare to respond to his comment knowing that he would continue with another sentence in a few seconds. “You know I could really imagine you being a mother to our children. Us taking care of them and bring them to bed. I know Mila is an angel and not every kid is like her…but I think we could handle one. And I know we are still young and have plenty of time but…” the last part of his sentence died on his lips as you pressed your lips on his. Lando instinctively wrapped his arms around you and sat you on his lap.

After a while you broke the kiss. “I am ready for everything that our future holds” was all you said before crashing your lips on his for the second time. “Let’s make a baby. I heard this is by far the most exciting part,” he said a devilish grin forming on his lips. “You’re such a dork…I love it” was all you said befor you stood up, took his hand, and walked to your shared bedroom ready to start a family with him.

 

a/n; Hi guys, I hope you like this post. Tell me if I should write a smut part?

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Records of forgotten times.

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Old music records bring back memories and sparks talk of a new future.

~~☆☆☆~~

Today was relaxing day in your Alexandria home.

Daryl had come home from a run and had brought home a literal truckload of items of which a couple of boxes were dropped at your place.

He busied himself moving the boxes into the living room while you continued your work in the kitchen.

"What did you bring back, Dee?" you mused from you spot in the kitchen, where you were cleaning off last night's dishes in your favorite shorts and one of Daryl's shirts that were way too large on you. It was fraying at the hem and the old classic rockband on the print was fading badly, tour dates from a long forgotten time barely recognisable anymore. He never thought twice about you stealing his shirts. They were so much more comfortable than his button downs and with the shirts smelling like him they helped you sleep when he was out on runs.

“Found an old storage place, had a bunch of boxes with music. I got first pick cuz I found ‘em.” He kept filing through the large boxes filled with records and taking each one he liked out to stack near the old record player your house came with.

“Let me have a look too when I’m done here, please?” He grumbled an agreeing response and you made sure to hurry along with your cleaning round so you could join Daryl on the living room floor.

Daryl had gotten up off the floor to fumble around with the record player and try out one of the records and to his luck it still played. He had pocketed some still boxed replacement needles and swapped the old one out before playing a Judas Priest record and got a nice, crisp sound to which he comfortably hummed along to and even sang along with some parts.

As you were hanging your cleaning rag and towel over the opened oven door to dry you mumbled along with some lyrics that had remained in the back of your head.

This surprised your dear old partner to the point of stopping entirely with what he was doing to stare at you enjoying his all time favorite band. “Ya know this music?” He sounded so confused it made you laugh. You never really talked about your old world life, never really feeling it was needed to share about it. Not until now.

“My parents were old school rockers, I grew up on this kind of music.” You had walked over and sat down at one if the boxes.

“Yer calling me old now?” Old. He hated that word, even if you were both adults he still didn’t like the sound of him being put in the same box as your late parents.

“I mean,” You started, not sure how to properly say this without being offensive. You loved Daryl and you were happy with him, really not wanting to make him uncomfortable. “I guess you’re around their age, right? Dad would have been sixty-two by now. He loved this music so much we had cabinets filled with CDs, he'd go to concerts with friends and have music nights every month. Mom woukd have been around fifty-eight I think. She preferred more symphonic stuff.” You were so caught up in your memories you had stopped looking through the music entirely, your hands shakily holding onto one record a little too tightly for Daryl’s comfort.

“I’m fifty-three, if ya really gotta know.” He had moved over to your side and put an arm around you to pry your fingers off the record. “An’ I really hope yer not secretly seein’ me as a father figure cuz I'd love it if my kid'd be one year old in about two years from now..”

You registered his comment and were pulled back into this world with a soft sob. You hoped it’d be saved for later when the sadness that these boxes brought you had blown over.

“I miss them.” Your words were barely above a whisper, but Daryl caught them all. He had managed to get the record from your hands and took a glance at the cover.

The image didn’t look all too different from the current world. A blue sky behind the ruins of a building, and a man in a rather unnatural pose on a regal looking wooden throne in the foreground. The title reading ‘A Farewell to Kings’ by RUSH.

“Yer old man listen to this?” You quietly nodded, sniffling and wiping at your tears that were now freely running down your face. He put the record aside to make a new separate pile just for you.

“Come on, let’s see what else is in here. Maybe some Ozzy. Ya like Ozzy?” You now nodded with a smile appearing on your face. “Y.. yeah, we had a dog named Ozzy. Mom liked him a lot.” The memory of the dog you had for a short while did lighten the mood a bit, thankfully.

Daryl had abandoned his search entirely and only looked through the boxes with you now, picking out records he did like and ended with almost the entire collection by Judas Priest, which you learned was his favorite.

“Oh shit, look!” You held up a copy of Mötley Crüe’s ‘Dr. Feelgood’ with an excited squeal.

“Nah, that’s what yer into? Crazy girl.” He shook his head with a loving smile. By the time you reached the second to last box you had both gathered quite the collection. Daryl had reluctantly handed you all the Crüe records he found, even if they were duplicates. You wanted to keep them because of their different covers. Even in this world you loved collecting and Daryl admired your ability to find happiness in these items.

“Hey, ya want this one too?” A Metallica record. Not one that you knew so you declined. A grumble let you know he heard you and the fwips of records being looked through continued until another one was being held in your direction. This time it was a Black Sabbath record. You took it to inspect the track list on the back and added it to your pile. “Oh! Another one, yess!” You happily pulled out an Iron Maiden album and admired the cover art, taking in all the small details.

“Ya really listen to them or just love the art?” A hand extended to hand you one more. “Ah, thanks. I like both.” You declared, staring at the next artpiece. “But I wouldn‘t be mad if these end up not playing. We could decorate with the cover arts.”

Daryl looked around the still bare walls of the house and loved your idea to make it more truly yours.

With all the boxes thoroughly searched and your collection put away you went to take the leftover boxes to the communal area for everyone else to enjoy. Seeing the other residents get so excited over music brought smiles to your faces and you went back home more satisfied than you’d thought.

“So..” You locked the front door behind you and nervously stepped over to the cabinet that held your newly acquired collection. Daryl followed your every step with a true hunter’s eye, wondering what got your nerves up all of a sudden. “Which one of these do you think has the best baby making vibes.”

“M’sorry?” No way he heard that correctly. He had convinced himself you hadn‘t heard him since you completely disregarded his comment before. “Ya sure? I mean.. I know wha’ I said but,” he stopped and couldn’t get himself to look you in the eyes. Opting for the crack in the floorboard instead. Before he had a chance to find the right words you had abandoned the record cabinet and stepped over to stand in front of him and kiss his cheek. “I love you.” You whispered before properly kissing him and making sure he got the hint that this was really what you wanted.

“But seriously, pick one. We need something loud to drown out the ..other noises.” You joked with a wink.

~~☆☆☆~~

The talk you had with Daryl that day months ago turned out to be true.

When you laid in your shared bed you spoke about the one obvious thing about your relationship and how the Alexandrians were gonna be judging you for it. When word got out about yours and Daryl’s romantic relationship you already got stares from concerned women who thouht you were being claimed by the older man. You both were way more open about your relationship now that you had a safe place to live and try to have a normal life again, but the original residents who had never gone through the horrors that you had never really let go of their old world beliefs. And now that normal life you tried to live also came with your own child shich had the staring and quiet comments becoming even worse. Uncle Daryl already had Judith, who would always make rude comments to whoever dared to speak ill of her new auntie, but now he had you and with that his own soon to be born child and he wasn't gonna let anyone ruin his happiness because of some dumb opinions.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: This one made me cry while writing. The parents are based off my own, one of which is no longer with us. Did some painful remembering for this one.

[hauntedhokage]

PART 14: Proposals pt 1

WORD COUNT: Kirishima wants you with them full time, now that you’ve smoothed things over with Bakugou. But is it too soon for the two of you to be comfortable under the same roof?

SUMMARY:  1.4k

WARNINGS: none, just the KiriBaku content I’ve been wanting to write since the start 

[series masterlist] | {ao3} | [tumblr masterlist] | {ko-fi} | [spotify playlist]

Kirishima was nervous. 

Never had Bakugou ever seen his lover so nervous that he was practically dancing around a real conversation, but he was going to let it slide. Whatever was going on was something he trusted his boyfriend to bring up when he was ready to do so - since it likely had something to do with either their work or their parents. He was never nervous to talk about their little anchorwoman, so it couldn’t be that, which was why the blonde was going to let it go. 

Until he couldn’t. 

Two days was much too long to dance around a subject, signifying the concept of hiding something rather than simply being conflicted about bringing it up - and that just wouldn’t do. A text to the beautiful news woman asking what was wrong with her boyfriend was met with a response that she also didn’t know what was bothering one Eijirou Kirishima. 

‘Idk but he’s your boyfriend too? Ride him into the sunrise and he’ll say something after that I’m sure.’

That wasn’t helpful, but he doesn’t tell her that since she knew it wasn’t helpful. Which was fine, because he’d get to the bottom of it tonight. Neither of them would be out on patrol, it was date night and they were staying in for their dinner date and a movie, and he’d find time to ask the question that was not yet burning but definitely had some embers lit in the blonde’s curiosity. 

The time comes when Eijirou returns home from running errands, delivering the bottle of wine and green onions that had been requested to the kitchen where Katsuki is working on cooking dinner. 

“Can I ask why you’re being cagey?”

“Huh?”

“You’re dancing around me, like you’re hiding something or afraid to tell me something so I’m asking if you’re okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” The way Eijirou starts doesn’t bring any comfort to Katsuki, who was trying his best to keep patience while the redhead took a deep breath. “Our lease is expiring soon.”

“It is.”

“And so is hers.”

Ah. He was catching on to what had Eijirou so nervous. The proposition of having the little news lady with them all the time rather than most of the time.

 “I’d like for her to live with us full time, shared lease and all of that. But I need you to be okay with it, and I wasn’t sure how exactly to ask without-“

“Yeah, I get you.” Katsuki has to cut off the nervous rambling, for his own sanity more than anything else. “But she already practically lives here, why would it be a big deal?”

“You guys are still in the puppy love stage of dating, I wasn’t sure how weird it’d be for you - or if it’d be weird at all.”

“Not puppy love for me, it’s more than that, for one. Two, not weird, and three, does she have thoughts?”

“Haven’t asked. Wanted to clear it with you since she normally asks what you’re wanting before telling me what she wants.”

Of course she would. Her consideration of his comfort was pretty annoying, considering the fact that he’d probably do anything for her. She didn’t know that he was that down bad, but he hoped she’d figure it out soon. It wasn’t like he was good at admitting those things.

“I like having her with us, and feel better knowing that she’s coming home to us here every night so we’re not worrying about whether she made it home okay. We’ll just have to get a three bedroom so we all have a personal space.”

He hasn’t even looked up from the cutting board, just continues to chop at the green onions he’d been given in an effort to hide the blush that’s warmed his face at the thought of having her around all the time and all of the possibilities that came with that. He was so down bad he was truly fucked, having both of his partners in the same vicinity, but it’d be fine. 

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just expected you to freak out a bit more.”

“We spent like twenty minutes making out on the couch the other day. And then another thirty taking turns making out with you before she had to head to the station. I think we should be okay.”

There’s no tension in his shoulders, no jaw clenching or bottom lip biting, none of Katsuki’s tells that he’s uncomfortable or compromising. Just a blushing man who has moved on to cutting the tofu on the other cutting board while the vegetables cooked. 

“Dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes, are you picking the movie?”

“Was thinking we’d finish the season of that Chinese drama about the princess needing to travel to her arranged marriage.”

“Yeah while trying to get out of it? I like that one. We should watch while we eat, makes more time for the handsy stuff since we have to be up early.” And now Katsuki is grinning, clearly pleased with himself while also excited for the evening they had ahead of them. He’d have to let her know that he figured it out and dealt with Eijirou’s cagey behavior and then rode him into the sunrise as she suggested. 

“Oh, let’s watch the news first though?” Eijirou asks, turning back into the kitchen to look at Katsuki. “She’s got the video package and interview with Hawks about the Hero Commission and future projects.”

“Of course.” 

He wanted to watch that anyway; she’d been so nervous about finally meeting Hawks despite all the coverage she’d done on hero activities. He’d actually sat down so she could run practice interview questions, and he was eager to hear Hawks’ answer to her question about increased community service for heroes outside of their paid duties and the response to future Fight Nights. Hero work should be more than just punching people and getting paid for it, and her ideas surrounding avoiding another Fight Night were worth consideration - she just didn’t know that he’d already taken her research to Hawks for consideration. So far, he’d only heard positive things about it but he hadn’t heard about how it went over with local and national governments - just high ranking heroes and retired ones. 

Plus she said she’d wear the red shirt they both liked so much, since the floral one she’d worn when he’d been interviewed was now saved for just him and Eijirou as a symbol of some pivotal points in their relationship. He really liked the red shirt.

And he was extremely smitten with her. So much so that his eyes were glued to the television, except for when he was grabbing drinks for himself and Eijirou. Even then the redhead was watching intently, grinning when Hawks commended her for her help on the ground during Fight Night and her continued service keeping Red Riot in check. 

“He’s right y’know.” Katsuki comments as he sits down again, setting their glasses on the coasters in front of them.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a handful, in multiple ways.” The statement is accompanied by a strong hand gently grabbing Eijirou’s thigh. There’s no complaint when that hand moves higher, but a whine does escape the parted lips of his boyfriend. Eijirou was needy, with a high libido and even higher level of touch starvation, going even a couple days without some kind of sex was equivalent to being put to death. 

“Week?”

“Tragically.” The word comes out as a soft moan when Katsuki squeezes the growing hardon through the sweatpants he’d changed into. “You’ve both been busy and my hand is subpar.”

“Hand isn’t enough when you’ve already been to Heaven.”

“You get it, baby.”

Why either of them expected to focus long enough to finish the three episodes left of the season was comical, but the sentiment of the suggestion that they’d have a quiet evening was nice in and of itself to Katsuki, even though he was the one who initiated this time. 

“Also pretty needy tonight, babe?”

“Missed you,” is all he says at first, leaning in to kiss at his boyfriend’s neck in the spot that he knew tickled. “Hate when our schedules don’t line up.” 

“Kats, baby, please don’t tease tonight.” 

“You’re an insatiable brat,” the blonde scolds, grinning at the tug to his hair to guide him back to look into the scarlet eyes he loved so dearly. “But I love you for it.” 

“Love you, too. Wanna take me to bed?”

[d3adbr3inc3lls]

hi !! 🪶 anon here, i couldnt find the one i originally requested for way back anf lowk forgot about it

so im back again:3

could i ask for a Friede x male reader, where the reader has like.. metal hands? similar to Violet evergarden, and the users a gardener

their main pokemon could be any pokemon, but more specifically a really protective florges that helps reader out and just. stares down friede like “hi. thats my son. get away before i attack you.”

basically just him trying to get on the good side of florges ?

-🪶

Friede x Reader with Robotic Hands | Headcanons

As a result of an accident, you lost your hands, and becuase technology was so advanced, you could get robotic hands which made everything slightly easier for you -whenever they're charged.

Not only has the accident made you lose both your arms, it has made your trusty Florges overprotective over you, almost taking a more 'motherly' role to ensure that you wouldn't get hurt again,

She has been there your whole life and she isn't willing to leave your side in any way- going as far as to make a fuss if you as much as try to have her go back into her pokéball.

Her concern over you is admirable, but it does tread into overprotective territory when she scoots you out of the way so she can pour you the water from the kettle, or how closely she watches you doing that involves your hands.

It doesn't help that you've began to see someone - Friede from the 'Rising Volt Tacklers'.

You knew that if you told your Florges, she'd get mad. She already wasn't too happy about you wanting to continue your pokémon adventure, and you had to practically BEG her to allow you to continue your adventure afterwards

So you knew that convincing her that dating a man who's constantly travelling is going to be even harder.

And that time has come faster than you ever wished.

Florges -as expected- was protective over you. She didn't like Friede one bit, and convincing her that he was actually good for you was like talking to a brick wall.

But, Friede continued to try and convince her that he is worthy of dating you.

At first, he began with giving the both of you flowers. Then he'd progress with giving you diffrent gifts. He'd focus more on natural gifts for your florges, and he'd give you more expensive gifts.

He tried to make something a few times.

It failed in his eyes, so he never gave it to you, but he definitely tried to make some other things that have looked good enough to give to you.

It took months to get your Florges to even consider dropping her gaurd a bit around Friede, and she only did that because she saw that Friede was treating you like a normal person.

But before that, Friede would carefully tread the thin line of what's acceptable and what isn't.

Friede reminded you to charge your hands before you go to bed to make sure that they're not going to run out of battery anytime soon, even if your hand can go days without needing to be charged and checked for any swelling or inflammation that your prosthetics may have caused,

It was little things like that that made your Florges slightly relax around him.

But being the overprotective mother Torchic that she is, she still kept her eye on him.

It probably took about a year for your Florges to 'allow' you to date Friede, but she'd always give you a look that told you if he even slightly hurt your feelings, he's dead.

If you ever wanted to marry him though- you'd need to worry about getting her blessing before getting one from your parents.

A/N: your previous request was a Leon x M!Reader with a type specialty in fairy who's partner pokémon is an overprotective Florges who judges Leon, lmk if you still want me to write it (I don't have anything for it ngl-)

--

3rd image - HUMANO by Nicolás Herrera Rojas

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for going no-contact with my ex a couple months after we broke up?

i (22nb) dated my girlfriend (26f) for nearly three years. we were long-distance, and i had intended on visiting her post-covid (we started dating in fall 2020). the relationship was great at first, messaging each other every day and being lovey-dovey. in december 2022, things began to fall apart. she told me that i would never be able to visit her or she would be able to see me due to her homophobic parents. i told her that really hurt because that was a huge part of starting the relationship, and i wasn't sure if i could be completely ldr. we didn't talk for a week or so after that.

while we weren't talking, things began to bubble up. i realized how she was using me almost exclusively as an erp partner/person to write her self-insert fanfics and used me as a bank when she wanted to spend money on nsfw art commissions instead of her phone bill (i had to really be on her about paying back $100+ before all this), and how the relationship was starting to fade compared to when we first started dating. i brushed this aside due to my own neurodivergency (bpd, among others) and the fear of abandonment.

fast forward to summer 2023. I'm on vacation visiting my uncles and having fun as it's my first time flying alone. i told my gf before this that i was going to be on vacation and busy during that time. during my time away, she messaged me asking to continue an rp we had done before the trip, saying "it only needs two more replies". i told her matter-of-factly that i was on vacation and didn't have the time. she accused me of being harsh and told me, "i could've just said no". i talked to my uncles about this, as it was upsetting me. they advised me that "a person can be in your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime," being that not everyone will be in your life forever. i took this in and decided it was time to break up with her.

we didn't talk for a few weeks after my trip until i decided to break up with her. while telling her i didn't want to be in a relationship anymore, she asked "will we still rp and write fics together?" it was clear where her priorities lay. i said yes, and that we could continue to be friends, just not dating. this was in july 2023.

now, up to september 2023. i wrote 100ish-word drabbles for kinktober instead of longer fics so i could balance it with my college course load. i shared the link to the beginning of the collection with my ex. she suggested i write 500 words for each day instead of 100. i asked why, and she said (her exact words)

"how are you gonna write a threesome in 100 words though? this convo we're having is at 65 words rn, that's over half your wordcount"

this upset me, and i had the urge to cut her all off and act self-destructively. i decided to instead calm down and not talk for a few days as i mentally sorted it out. a few days later, i civilly responded to her, saying

"what you said about not being able to fit a fic like that into 100 words really hurt ... all I have time for between responsibilities is 100ish words, and I chose to do that rather than abandoning kinktober ... if you’re that dissatisfied with my writing, you can find someone else to write your self insert fics"

she responds while i'm on voice chat with two different friends. she says,

"i'm not dissatisfied with your writing. i did not mean what i said that way. there's no need to be spiteful."

the spiteful comment completely threw me off, and i sent the screencap to said friends i was on vc with. my instinct was to respond civilly again, trying to patch things up. my friends acted like kronk's devil and angel on my shoulder ("no, no, he's got a point"), and i ended up blocking her on every platform instead of responding at all. i feel relieved that she's out of my life.

a month later, i checked my tumblr inbox for an ask from a friend. the second message in the inbox is clearly from her, but from a side account she denied having when i brought it up to her a year or so ago (the blog sent me a meme that she had shared on her main account so i wondered if it was her). it read (paraphrased),

"it's obvious you were never gonna work on that fic or rp again! you always had an excuse to push it off. i didn't matter when i was no longer your gf. you were a suffocating datemate, and i couldn't be gone for more than 10 min, but it was ok for you to not respond for hours!"

little note: i was a full-time college student working two jobs at the time. i had very little time to socialize on platforms like discord, and i took every opportunity i took. on the other hand, my ex was unemployed aside from occasional freelance writing, was not in education, and lived at her parent's house.

i deleted the message as she didn't deserve a response, nor did i want to make it public, but how our relationship ended still weighs on me. aita?

What are these acronyms?

[joanofexys]

drop more info about the now-named redacted 👀

Angelo “Angel” Di Fiore

He popped into existence yesterday night and was officially named this morning lmao

A quick overview:

18-19 years old (haven’t firmly decided where he fits in the timeline I’m working off of. Either same age as Neil or a little younger)

He/him

Backliner

6’4

Plays for the foxes

Queer (otherwise unlabeled)

English major

Girl dad

Will only answer to Angel, doesn’t like being called Angelo

Okay so Angel is still in the early stages of development obviously but I’m slowly getting there with the things that would make him a fox and all that

Angel has a daughter named Phoebe (or just called P most of the time) with his ex-girlfriend Harper Shaw. Phoebe is around 2-3 at this point, they had her when they were 16.

The two co-parent the best they can, they both attend PSU. Angel obviously plays Exy and Harper is a Vixen. Harper has the busier schedule (nursing major plus extracurriculars) so Angel has Phoebe with him the majority of the time. Before Angel was offered a scholarship with exy he wasn’t even planning on going to college and it had been agreed by them that Harper shouldn’t have to give up any of her future plans just because they have a kid now. Phoebe goes to a lot of Angel’s classes, stays in his dorm most of the time, and attends a lot of practices (usually being supervised by Abby. Sometimes running through the stands. Sometimes on Wymack’s shoulders)

Angel ended up in the foster system at 10 years old. His mother went missing when he was 4, leaving him with his abusive father. When Angel was 10 he ended up in the hospital, his father’s abuse escalating beyond the hidden bruises. CPS had been called to their house before, on multiple occasions, and with his father out of the room and his anger with how far it had gone this time, Angel admitted it was father’s doing.

The first home he was placed with was fine. Good even. But once the broken nose, the wrist, the ribs, all fully healed they weren’t prepared for the trouble he would start causing. He acted out. Frequently. Fought with other kids at school. Slammed doors. Refused to eat. Yelled till his voice was hoarse. They tried their best. He went to therapy. They took him on trips. But when he started lashing out at their other kids they let him go. He made it 7 months with that family, that was his longest placement.

He never stayed with another family longer than a few months. He was an angry child and a violent one. When he reached high school it was like the flip of a switch. That loud, brash, aggressive child became a quiet, withdrawn teen. One of his foster parents kids at the time played exy, she was a senior at the time he was a freshman, and seeing this change figured teaching him could be a positive thing. He ended up joining the high school team, playing as a backliner because that was the position they needed. When he hit a growth spurt and stopped being that gangly teen he ended up being their best player. He would’ve stayed with that family. 5 months in they were moving out of state, they offered to try and start the adoption process, but Angel didn’t want to leave.

When he was 15 he met Harper Shaw. She sat in front of him in biology and he thought she was an absolute genius. They ended up as lab partners for one assignment and it became routine to meet each other in the library. They dated for 8 months, obviously things happened, and Harper found out she was pregnant. The two thought about staying together when Harper decided she wanted to keep the baby but decided they didn’t deserve to make each other miserable and they would just co-parent instead.

Throughout it all Angel continued to flit through foster homes. Causing just enough trouble that no one would let him stay. His plan was to get through high school and get whatever job he could. Harper’s family was welcoming enough to him, they would help the two get an apartment to raise Phoebe and whatever they needed.

Shortly after Harper had announced her decision to go to PSU, Angel received an offer for a full ride from Wymack. His coach had submitted his file without Angel’s awareness. At first Angel wanted to reject it outright. He knew the foxes reputation. And knew he’d fit right in. It was Harper who convinced him to accept and they started at PSU together in the fall.

I know he ends up with the monsters. I’m not quite sure how yet. There’s more of his background that I have to flesh out. Most of my focus has been on his high school years but there’s a lot with his father that I need to work on that makes him fit right in with Neil. All connecting to his mother’s disappearance, unfortunately. It’s all just kind of developing as I go since he is so new. For now what I’ve shared abt him is tame. His story is swinging straight into batshit crazy territory the more I think about it.

Anyway, yeah, that’s a little glimpse into him.

[immabitqueer]

Watching House MD for the first time in 2024 full SEASON 1 Review-

- I had learned from his Wiki page before I even started the show that he had a couple of divorces, but Wilson is really bad at marriage, isn't he? His wife is having company and she makes dinner. House calls once and he totally abandons those plans to meet him at a bar. Wilson lies to his wife and says he's working on christmas and then he goes to Houses apartment instead. House continuously implies that wilson is having affairs around the hospital. He's very funny, he's clever, and he can be sweet, but I would NOT want that man as a partner. That being said, whenever House and Cameron were going on a date and he goes to Cameron to tell her not to hurt House was crazy. Everyone is just so worried about Cameron getting hurt and he does NOT care about her. He's like "huh?? why would I care about you i'm here about house??"

- Cameron's crush on House hit me like a ton of bricks. Even before it was revealed that she had a crush. I thought that they were so good as friends. It seems that now at the end of the season. It's kind of been packed up? And i'm glad for that I hope they can go back to being just besties. You kind of begin to see some of the more flawed parts of Cameron in the latter half of this season, which I appreciate. Such as her need to fix things or people. It makes her feel a bit more human and not just a very angelic being.

- Chase also has a lot of flaws shown in the latter half of the season, and a lot more than Cameron. Don't get me wrong, I still love him, but he was one sidedly enemies with a ten year old girl because she was overweight? Also I picked up on a consistent habit that Chase seems to have where in general he's a pretty nice guy, but when things start to go wrong for him, he will say the most out of pocket things to patients. It's a writing quirk that showed up early in the season with the nuns and has been a constant part of his character since. Also, I made a post about this when I watched the episode. But canonically has seen a dominatrix???? More and more ragged pieces of fabric are stitching themselves together to show me a quilt of Chase.

- I hope in the future we get more focus on Foreman as a character. I would like to know everything about this man. And I know that it was a joke at the beginning, but this man really does try to tie every case back to neurology. Him stepping in to tell House not to hurt Cameron by being nice and giving her hope was nice.

- Time for Mister Gregory House himself. Noticing a pattern of him very much being good with children and having no room for idiot parents who are hurting their kids or are weary of medicine. Love to see it. He has a very distinct relationship with everyone on screen. Every person he interacts with, he interacts with the differently. He's pretty hard on Chase, especially after the Vogler incident. He is continuously hard on Foreman as well with an unhealthy dose of micro-aggression mixed in. Generally, he's hard on Chase in a fatherly way and hard on Foreman in a motherly way, if that makes any sense. He is much softer with Cameron. He and Wilson are co-dependent and at the same time can be very cruel to each other, while also supporting each other. It's very interesting to see these dynamics play out.

- Stacy is complicated. Her trying to convince House to do a treatment her husband doesn't want him to do, mirroring how Housebecame disabled was painful. I can see why she would want the treatment for them in both scenarios and I can also see why it can be selfish or wrong. She found someone that doesn't make her feel alone and is willing to forgive her, so in the end I guess she found her way to a happier life. I still think House has the right to be angry, of course and she isn't owed House's forgiveness but she's at least understandable.

Random extra thoughts and things I've noticed:

- THE KID FROM SPY KIDS WAS IN AN EPISODE??

- So was the girl from mean girls, les mis, mama mia, and Jennifer's body, can you tell I don't know peoples names?

- House has the saddest little eyes but they also pierce my soul and make me feel horrible for him, almost like I did something

- House has an array of toys all over his desk, and he plays with his cane or rubber bands all the time

- I could not STAND Vogler. I'm glad they wrapped up his arch this season because I was getting tired of him

Some context:

I'm watching the show mostly because my Twitter and Tumblr were very adamant that I do, but also because I have a running thing where I very rarely finish a show that I start. I've started several shows and finished very few of them. I started watching House on New Year's Eve The day before the first day of 2024 and plan to finish it before the first day of 2025. This is actually a big deal for me because usually I can't finish a show over 3 seasons and the farthest I've gotten is five seasons. I will be posting as I go and also doing a halfway point and a full season review of all 8 seasons.

[cozyfoxy]

The Brackenwood Murders Chapter 1

Summary: After nine murders of gay men in Brackenwood, detective Phil Lester is called in at last to help them catch the killer. Dan Howell is always eager to get a scoop for his blog, so he is often in Phil's way. What has the potential to be an easy enough case proves to be much more in depth than Phil expects, especially when feelings come into the equation.

Chapter Two

Read on AO3

“The small town of Brackenwood was shaken this Friday evening when four children stumbled upon a dead body near Juniper Park. The four children, between the ages of eight and eleven, were riding their bikes when one of them spotted what they thought to be a lost shoe sticking out from under the brush, near the walking trail. When the children went to investigate, they realized that there was someone wearing the shoe and ran to find their parents. The police were quickly notified and are currently investigating.

“The body was identified as that of local Jace Pickens, aged nineteen. Jace was born and raised in Brackenwood and was a very active member of our community. Between his studies to become a high school professor and his part-time job at his father’s hardware store (Picken’s Hardware), he also found the time to volunteer at the local Baptist church every Saturday and Sunday, working with children who needed a little extra love. At the bottom of this post, you will find a link to Jace’s obituary. There, you can donate to the Picken’s family, offer condolences, or send flowers.

This is the ninth murder of local gay men in the past six years. All murders have been nearly identical in date, method, and victim type, though the local sheriff continues to ignore the possibility of a serial killer. However, it has been confirmed that for the first time ever in Brackenwood history, an outside source has been brought in to help investigate the murder. A renowned detective who is most well known for solving the string of murderers in Crumbleford all on his own is coming to our small town in the next few days. It’s wonderful to see these murders finally being taken seriously."

Currently, the police are trying to pin the murder on Logan Schmidt, aged twenty, Jace Picken’s longtime partner. Schmidt has alibis, as he was three towns over at his college campus, but they still want to pin it on him. It seems as though the police of Brackenwood want to get rid of the case rather than actually solve it. After six years and nine murders, they’re clearly anxious to have someone to blame besides themselves. Perhaps now that they have an actual detective, they will get off of their lazy, homophobic asses and do something to protect the community here. Follow for real-time updates, and until then, please stay safe out there. It’s just barely October now, and the Brackenwood killer could strike again.”

Chief Brewer groaned loudly and slammed his fist against his desk, sending a few stray papers flying. This journalist, blogger, whatever anyone wanted to call him, always got under the man’s skin. Not only did the author of the post always know more about their investigations than he should, he also had a bad habit of bringing his own views into his posts. Whether Cheif Brewer liked it or not, the blog was quite popular in their town, and everything posted on it would spread like wildfire.

A soft cough from his open door grabbed his attention from his wallowing. He looked up to see a smart-looking man, dressed in a navy blue suit. The man wore glasses that perched carefully on the bridge of his nose and held a dark brown briefcase in his right hand and a slightly damp umbrella in his other hand. Ah, Phil Lester was here at last.

“Detective Lester! Please come in and shut the door behind you if you don’t mind.” Chief Brewer exclaimed, jumping up to shake the man’s hand.

Phil smiled in silent thanks and stepped in, shutting the door carefully before shaking the balding man’s hand. He quickly realized that Chief Brewer was overly tired; deep purple bags were prominent beneath his eyes and coffee in his breath. Phil released the older man’s hand and took a seat, eager to get started on his new case.

“Alright Chief, I’d like to ask you some questions before I start my investigation. Mostly about what you have already figured out, but also just about the town and its people. I grew up just a few towns over, but I haven’t been up this way in years.” Phil explained, crossing his long legs after making himself comfortable.

Brewer cleared his throat and nodded, taking a seat at his desk across from Phil. “Of course, detective Lester, ask anything you need. We want to get this all taken care of as soon as we possibly can.”

“Please call me Phil. Formalities aren’t really my thing. Yes, I’m sure you do, but we can’t rush too much. This is a complicated case, and it has been going on for years based on my own research and understanding. My first question is, of course, why you neglected to call an outside source in for so long.” Phil asked, resting his chin against his fist.

Brewer flinched back slightly at Phil’s nonchalant tone, the back of his neck burning. He didn’t like being scrutinized. “Yes, of course, Phil. Well, we didn’t see it as something that needed help from an outside source. Most years, it was one murder, and that one murder would be the only one in Brackenwood for that year. Not much happens here, you know?”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “So, though each murder happened around the same time every year, with the same victim profile and the same murder method, you didn’t think it was a problem that needed help? The bodies are always found around the same vecinity too, Brewer. The men were raped before they were killed, but it wasn’t a serious problem.”

"Listen, Phil, no disrespect, but this is a small town. We try not to scare our residents unless there’s good reason to. It wasn’t until Jace Pickens was killed and found by some of our children that I accepted that we needed help. We don’t have many leads; whoever this killer is knows how to avoid being found.” Brewer explained, anger tightening his voice.

Phil nodded and ran his fingers through his slightly damp hair. “Okay, so I need any leads that you already have. Including a list of people who you have ruled out. Are there any significances that you know of for the dates of the murders? Do you have a profile of your murderer?”

“We do have a profile, yes, but I will be the first to say that it’s not very well put together yet. We believe the murderer is a male in his late twenties or early thirties. He is a local; that much is clear. He would have to be to avoid us for so long. One thing that my team doesn’t agree with is that he’s got an accomplice. I don’t think he works alone.” Brewer explained, opening a worn-down-looking folder, overflowing with papers.

Phil hummed, leaning forward eagerly, “Why do you think he’s not working alone? And you never answered my question. Is there any significance with the dates?”

Brewer pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across the desk to Phil, “Because the murders are all almost identical. The keyword being almost. The murder weapon is almost always a blunt object; my team thinks it could be a metal bat. But three of the murders were just different enough. On these three bodies, there were larger bruises. Bruises that were consistent with someone being beaten by fists. I can’t say for sure that it was two people against one, but I do have a hunch that just won’t go away.”

Phil took the paper that was given to him, looking at it curiously before looking back at the older man in front of him and asking, "What’s this?”

“That’s a list of important dates in this town for the homosexual community, specifically in October. I can’t take credit for it, it was written up by a local journalist of sorts. We normally don’t take him too seriously, but at times his posts are helpful.” Brewer explained, fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket.

Phil nodded and smiled calmly. “Have you considered him a suspect yet?”

Brewer paused before shaking his head, “No. We don’t even know who he is; he uses a fake name and has strong security measures in place. We’ve tried to get into his computer system, but it didn’t work.”

“Interesting. I will surely be looking into that. One last question for now, and then I’ll be on my way. While I solve the case, what safety measures do you plan on implementing?” Phil asked, focusing intensely on the man in front of him.

Brewer stuttered, “Well, we have talked about setting up a curfew. We’ve already advised any gay men to stay inside and avoid any of their... activities.”

Phil cleared his throat softly. “First things first, I’m appearing on the local news station tonight to explain what my presence means and what we are doing to protect not only the gay men of Brackenwood, but their families as well. You’ve been in this line of work much longer than myself, you should know that pressure can make a criminal act out. This murderer might be frightened by me and act out. Everyone could be in danger. We’ll set up a curfew; everyone must travel in groups, and we’ll have your deputies stationed around Juniper Park at all times. But that won’t be public information. That’s all I’ll need from you for now.”

“Yes, um, thank you, Phil. I just hope this will be over with sooner rather than later.” Brewer said, standing up and shaking Phil’s hand one more time before Phil left the room, writing a note messily in his notebook.

“Brewer doesn’t care about the men dying; he just cares about the image of his town.” ~ Dan was sitting in his desk chair, typing eagerly, when a soft knock on his bedroom door startled him. “Come in!” He called out, not pausing his typing.

PJ walked in, closing the door behind him. “The news is going to be interviewing detective Lester down at the park. Wanna go down and watch?”

"Yeah, mate, I wanted to go anyways. We can get food after.” Dan suggested, saving his document before closing his laptop.

PJ chuckled, “Sounds good. Our readers will be expecting an update soon, so we need all of the information that we can get. Have you gotten anything out of Levi?”

“Not really. He’s been a little distant lately. Chief Brewer has been putting a ton of pressure on everyone to solve the case. Nice to know he finally cares.” Dan chuckled, pulling on his favorite Halloween jumper, a cat with ‘Boo!’ written above it.

Dan’s best friend rolled his eyes. “We both know that he doesn’t care. If he did, then maybe Liam wouldn’t be dead.”

The brunette tensed and looked down at his feet at the mention of Liam’s name. Liam was the third victim of the Brackenwood killer. Liam was also Dan’s first and only boyfriend, the first guy that ever stole his heart. The only guy that ever made Dan drop his walls and fall without fear. Dan hadn’t felt love since the night that Liam’s cold body was found, his lover’s mouth still open in a silent scream. Dan couldn’t help but think that Liam was screaming for him, but he wasn’t around. He was out getting high, just like he had promised Liam he wasn’t going to do.

“Hey, hey Dan. I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have said that, I just... I fucking miss him too, mate. If Brewer wasn’t such a piece of shit, then he would’ve caught the killer after the first murder. Dan, I’m sorry. Hey, don’t do that; you’ll hurt yourself.” PJ rambled, quickly pinning Dan’s arms to his sides when Dan began to bite his pointer finger.

Dan took a deep breath and looked at PJ with an emotionless expression, “I’m not mad at you. Let’s just go; we can be the first journalists to post about Lester’s plan.”

PJ watched Dan carefully before releasing his grip on him, backing away. “Yeah, that sounds great. But tomorrow, we’re both taking it easy. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on.” Dan mumbled, walking past his best friend with a huff.

PJ closed his eyes for a silent moment and sighed. This time of year was always hard on them both, but this year seemed to be even more so for Dan. PJ couldn’t wrap his head around it, but Dan was angerier, more distant, and crying more. PJ could hear him sobbing at night, but he didn’t dare bother him about it; Dan would just deny it anyway. He walked to Dan’s desk, feeling his heart swell in his chest at the old photo of the three of them laughing while carving pumpkins together.

“Are you coming, Peej? Or should I leave without you?” Dan called from downstairs; the sound of jingling keys and an opening door filled PJ’s ears.

PJ rolled his eyes. “Oi, calm your ass down! I’m coming!” He yelled before rushing down the stairs, “You have no fucking patience, Dan? What’s wrong?”

In front of him, Dan was shaking violently, much like the day that Liam’s body was found. PJ felt sick to his stomach. “Dan? Dan?! What’s wrong?” He asked again, running over to his friend. In Dan’s hand was an open envelope, thick from whatever was inside. On the outside, written so messily that it was almost illegible, was Dan’s name. PJ reached out, for Dan or for the envelope he didn’t know; he just wanted to help in any way that he could.

“What’s in it?” PJ asked so quietly that he barely heard himself. The room felt unusually cold, though their heat was on.

Dan swallowed thickly and thrust the envelope to PJ, inviting him to look for himself. PJ reached in wordlessly, pulling out a small stack of polaroids, immediately recognizing Liam in the first picture. The red-haired man was laying on a mattress, naked, tied up, and gagged with tears in his green eyes. In the second picture, Liam was sucking someone’s cock, wearing a blindfold. The last photo was the most intense, with Liam tied up by his wrists and his ankles, with a masked man fucking him from behind. Liam’s mouth was hanging open, and he stared directly at the camera in a way that made PJ want to vomit.

“What…?” PJ whispered anxiously.

Dan shook his head quickly, pacing the small space in front of the doorway. “Read the fucking note, Peej.”

PJ took a shaky breath and unfolded the note, written in the same sloppy handwriting as was on the envelope.

“Liam wasn’t the man you thought he was, Daniel. I don’t often feel remorse for what I do, but I see you at his grave sometimes, crying out for him like he can hear you. He wasn’t studying on Friday nights; he was getting fucked by every man that wanted him. He was never faithful. to you, not once. No man that I’ve killed was innocent. They all deserved what I did to them. So please stop trying over an unfaithful asshole; he’s not worth it.”

PJ looked up from the note, his fingers shaking against the paper. No, it had to be a lie. Liam loved Dan more than anything; Liam was PJ’s best friend since childhood. Liam wouldn’t do something like that, right?

Dan swayed from side to side, “PJ... I think I’m going to be sick.”

PJ dropped the paper and the pictures just in time to catch Dan when he fainted, gently setting him onto the floor and onto his side. He sighed and ran his finger’s through Dan’s hair gently in a way of comfort. As soon as Dan came to, they would need to go to the police. As shocking and as terrifying as the note and pictures were, they could be evidence.

[halitis]

Ive seen someone ask on your thoughts of dickroy.

Id like to know your thoughts on roywally if that isnt a problem! /nf

DUDE….. YOU TRIGGERED MY FUCKING TRAP CARD………

i don’t think ive ever like, actually talked about them BUT ROYWALLY ARE MY OTP!! i like actually ADORE them. heroes in crisis did so very little right, but giving me more roywally angst (even though it’s basis was shit) was all i needed in life….

i dont think ill ever be able to move on from this image.... they way they cradle each other? "is this real"? the content smile on roy's face? hooooly fuck.......... they are my everything D:

I ALSO WANT TO TALK ABOUT THE "IS THIS REAL" BECAUSE WALLY..... the way hes asking always makes me think that he hallucinates roy often enough to have to ask.... im going insane........ these two have litterally the most perfect relationship for both angst and fluff i DONT CAREEE

[continued under the read more]

why do these guys clutch each other so much..... i dont mean to sound like one of those macho dudes who are like "hugging cant be platonic!" but either these two are touched starved or something else is going awn here..... (option c, all of the above)

UNRELATED BUT JESUS CHRIST WHY ARE THEIR BOOBS SO BIG...... like i cannot stop staring im so sorry boys you are being objectified... im but a man, and all i can think is how badly i want to [LOUD CENSORED NOISE]

moving on :3

EVERYONE knows these two are dating before they do, and it's not like either of them think it's unrequited, they just dont realise. theyve been friends and loved each other for so long, that they dont even notice when it starts to slip from platonic to something else. their loyalty and dedication to each other is so natural, they dont even question it as their feelings change because they could never hate the other, so it has to just be really good friendship! obviously! (this all comes to a head in a sloppy make out session where they both come to the rapid conclusion 'oh WOW this is gay' and then proceed to just... not acknowledge how supressed they were. yes guys we knew the whole time of course ahaha :)))))

despite my prior comment: these two are both so fucking smart.... like genuinely they are geniuses??? i love to picture them just doing dorky shit. its my firm headcannon that when roy is engineering shit, wally loves to come and watch him. roy will always talk through the process to him and eventually it becomes just something they always do together, until wally gets confident enough to start working on it with roy. and then they just start having fun with it and making shit just for the joy of creation!

DILFS. THE BOTH OF THEM. (how does that one meme go? and i want my boyfriends to be boyfriends? i want my dilfs to be boyfriends). bro they are such good parents, let them co-parent! i want to see the horrible "so youve got a step parent" talk! lian, jai and irey Deserve to be besties as well.

i think there is something very intimate about knowing your partners every move, im gonna be honest. like knowing them well enough to know all their tells and stuff like that? that is so dangerous for them to know of all this about you and yet you still dont care. its poetic really.

whatever they had going on with donna? hmmmmm...... i know what yall are. but honestly tho that man does Nawt know which one hed rather be rn.

this reads like nothing other than a breakup sweet JESUS man how do they keep getting away with this!? "im done with you." "roy wait-!" im pretty sure ive heard this exact line in a romcom before. they are actually so queercoded, im not projecting i just have EYES.

roy has always been very left leaning, even as a kid. so he knew all about queer and punk culture and all that even as a teen. roy Awoke something in wally upon attending one of his concerts (great frog remains my favourite part of roy lore).

they bickered SOOO much when they first met. ollie immediately clocked it as pulling pigtails, and could Not stop finding that shit HILARIOUS. barry was trying to figure out how to like, tell wally "i love you no matter what and roy is a lovely person, but PLEASE im begging find someone else i cant deal with ollie." hal meanwhile is just so delighted at this development between the two. hes the biggest roywally supporter out there guys its cannon.

as the two biggest wife-guys out there, with the actual best romantic interests in dc, i think that to counteract the sheer Power of roywally: jade and linda should hook up. its the natural progression of things! dc hmu i know what the gays want, and its this. (i cannot stop giggling over the mental image of one of them heading over to the others house just to find the girls there, at first they were like. "what the fucl!?" now its just "LINDA I REALLY- oh hi jade o/ - THINK I HAVE A CHANCE.")

and on that delightful note, i think thats where im gonna finish this post! i actually had written out more but tumblr despises me and consistently deletes paragraphs while im typing them and i refuse to retype them (unless someone wants me too wink wink)

its becoming a thing now that i have to end these with a kiss so BIG SMOOCHES!!!!

[viaviv124]

My partner @kaihoney and i cooked up a lil something for all the Solomon x Simeon shippers.

Veeeeery slight spoilers just for context bits but like it's stuff brought up in Lesson 15 so idk.

So, angels aren't exactly allowed to date humans, right? Well it just happens a very specific angel with already an offense under his belt fell for a human and said human felt the same. Being the faithful angel he is, Simeon openly brought it up in front of his father, thinking maybe Solomon would be an exception considering his status in both the Devildom and Celestial Realm. Well, he wasnt. And considering this is Simeon's second offense the punishment was even harder. This time he didn't just slip down a few ranks, no, this time he fell entirely. He was cast down to Devildom, now a demon. Lucifer was there to steady him through the first rush of panic, as Barbatos saw what would happen and told Lucifer to be the one to greet him.

A room in the House of Lamentation was cleared for him, now a brother once more, and Solomon stood by his side as much as he could. This was much appreciated, considering the wreck he was the first few weeks, maybe months. Simeon was usually known for his calm composure, but now? He's panicked, paranoid, emotional, easily irritated, cries a lot and despite the people around him he feels so lost and alone. Ironic, he thought, it used to be his job to guide lost little sheep and now he's one of them, helpless. Simeon is desperate for Solomon to stay close and reaffirm his feelings for him, he's lost everything he's known for this love so it shouldn't be all for nothing. Solomon's calm nature helps him a lot.

I also have this piece of dialogue in my mind, the context being s conversation with Luke once he's more adjusted and grounded:

"i cannot say truthfully that i don't regret my actions. It hurts and i doubt the pain will ever fully fade, it will take a while until i can smile and laugh in earnest again. I do love Solomon or this would've never even happend, but love can only get you so far through everything. A single reciprocated feeling was able to take everything i've known from me, that is a fact. I'm the only one to blame for this predicament, i know the rules more than anyone and have suffered punishment before. It'd be foolish to blame anyone else, especially Solomon. All i can hope is that this love will last at least for a while so this wasn't was for nothing."

On the topic of Luke, yeah he just lowkey lost his dad to the creatures he despises the most and it messes it up. The other angels don't make it exactly easier for him, too. Yet despite him being a demon now, Luke cannot stay away from Simeon. Because that's still his guardian, the one always there for him, the one he views as a parental figure. But this entire situation is so painful for him too and the other angels' mocking is just cruel. Once at a breaking point Luke would consider falling too, to be with Simeon again, but he tells him he shouldn't. Simeon tells him that they need an angel up there advocating for everything Diavolo is trying to do, the peace and alliance between the three realms. Things have gotten better but Simeon's situation is proof it's not as good as it needs to be, so Luke needs to continue the work he did up there. Only reluctantly Luke agrees, quietly mumbling a "but i'll always look up to you, okay?" before leaving for the night.