#he's been through a lot and i think i would love to see him do nothing more than smile

[go-fornicate-yourself]

Every day I am in the trenches fighting for my life defending this poor man. He was going through so much and people online demonize him and say he's as bad as his abuser

(I've got a lot of thoughts about this so I'll make sure to separate things to make it easier to look at lol)

Curly is a victim of abuse. Jimmy is his abuser. This is something that I feel a lot of people tend to brush over or don't acknowledge it often.

And I'm not just talking about post-crash. Jimmy's abuse of Curly is there pre-crash too. The party scene where the crew learns about the company going under is a huge example of this. Jimmy verbally abuses him, he gaslights him, he blames him for their (his) misfortune. Jimmy accuses Curly of thinking he's better than everyone (better than him), that he doesn't care about them (about him). That he's going leave them (leave him). Which is not true. Curly tries to explain himself but Jimmy shuts him down and he just takes it.

The fact that he just allows this to happen makes it seem like he's used to this... That this kind of behavior is a recurring thing with Jimmy. And the fact that nobody else tries to defend him or stands up to Jimmy just normalizes it for him. When Anya tells Curly what Jimmy did it catches him off guard. Bc he genuinely didn't think that his friend was capable of that. It wasn't something that was obvious to him. There were absolutely many red flags in the past but they were subtle enough for him to not see them bc he cares for Jimmy, he trusts him. Jimmy's the only one he feels he can open up to, who he can let his guard down with. Jimmy's his home. That's how close they are.

Because of this deep love for his friend and the subtlety of Jimmy's cruelty, he doesn't see the constant verbal and emotional abuse as what it is: abuse. Which is why he finds Jimmy's abuse towards Anya so shocking and jarring.

He isn't a man covering for his rapist friend bc of the 'bro code'. It does look like that from a certain angle and it's understandable why people see it that way but that's not what his character is really about as much as it makes sense otherwise.

He's essentially a battered housewife who's still in love with her husband but is realizing for the first time that the man she loves is a monster. That the man she loves and devoted her life to has been hurting her this whole time and she didn't even realize it. That the man she loves and spent so much of her life caring for has gone and hurt someone else. That he's most likely hurt others before and she's been utterly unaware of it the entire time she defended him and made excuses for him when he wasn't the best or the fairest or the most responsible or when he screwed up yet again solely bc of how much she loved and cared for him.

And Curly barely had any time to process ANY of that before Jimmy decided to try and kill them all to avoid the consequences of his actions. It was ultimately a selfish act even if he thought he wasn't just doing it for himself. Jimmy is selfish and needs to be in control or he loses it. He cares for Curly. He loves him. Curly's done so much for him. Curly's the only one who understands him, who doesn't hate him. Curly's his home. He resents how 'successful' he is but that's only bc he thinks so highly of him. He constantly puts himself down and put Curly on a pedestal and worships him while simultaneously mistreating him.

He treats his best friend like shit, he's awful to him. But he's not aware that this is the case or maybe he's in denial about it. He can't or just refuses to see how he's doing all of what he does for himself in the end. He justifies his attempt to kill them all (to himself and to Curly) by claiming he's doing this for them both. That if they were to get back to earth it would all be Curly's fault, that it'll ruin his life and career... despite the fact he had basically nothing to do with Anya's abuse. Jimmy's shifting the blame on him while acting like he cares for him. Well, he does genuinely care for him but clearly not nearly enough to not mistreat him or use him as a scapegoat for his own guilt.

Jimmy is the rapist, Jimmy is the one who does all of these horrible things. And yet it's highly likely that Curly would just blame all of it on himself bc that's exactly what Jimmy did to him. He's in so deep he can't see the facts of the situation.

It takes abuse victims so long to come to terms with their abuse. It takes time and reflection to see things with an unbiased and healthy perspective. Abuse (especially years of it) isn't just something you can just escape. It consumes you and can twist your reality. Curly had about a week or less to process all of it and then take action in a way that protected his crew and abided by Pony Express' guidelines. Dealing with something this serious in a setting that makes resolving it extremely difficult in a practical sense is already hard.

There were no locks on any of the doors except for medical and the cockpit. They couldn't just kill him. There was nowhere they could detain Jimmy that wouldn't involve corporate potentially penalizing the entire group. They could have used the cryopods but then there'd only be three available for any actual emergency and there were already five crew members and four pods in total. Also, I doubt corporate would be 'okay' with them using the cryopods for anything other than their intended purpose. Hell, even if they were able to make it back to earth without any incidents there's a good chance that corporate would consider the situation 'poor team synergy' and collectively punish the entire crew for Jimmy's actions.

So on top of having to deal with an already difficult situation, Curly has to grapple with the realization that Jimmy a: abused Anya, b: has been abusing him as well (for a very long time too), and c: has probably abused others before Anya and he had no idea about it. He needed to act but he didn't and it doomed all of them.

But it's so unrealistic (maybe even cruel) to put that much pressure on someone, force them through an utterly earth-shattering realization, and then expect them to do the correct/right/responsible thing in that moment. It's a little ironic how people vilify him for that when other characters do the same thing that nobody blames for it.

Anya is the ship's nurse. Curly is the ship's captain. They both have duties and responsibilities on board the Tulpar. She has to keep the crew healthy and safe and is the only one with enough medical knowledge to do so. He has to make sure that everything goes well and goes according to procedure. He's responsible for the crew, the cargo, and even the ship itself. Both positions are integral and require a lot of responsibility to do properly

They're both put through distressing and traumatic situations where due to them being human people with emotions and fears that make them essentially avoid their responsibility/doing what's required of them.

Curly has a freeze response and doesn't act when he should have when it was crucial to have done so. Anya has a fawn response and essentially puts her patient in danger and harm's way. She knew full well what Jimmy was capable of. She experienced it herself and she witnessed it happening to Curly as well. And yet she allows Jimmy to be alone with Curly while being fully aware of how dangerous he is. Which she shouldn't have, that wasn't the 'right' thing to do. Keeping him safe was her responsibility.

But Anya's human. She's going through a lot at the moment. She's terrified of Jimmy and she's trying to appease him so he doesn't hurt her again. It's a natural very understandable thing to do even if it's not the 'right' or 'responsible' thing. They failed each other when they needed each other most and I think that's the most tragic part of it. If anything, all of them failed each other in some way, shape, or form.

So it's incredibly frustrating to see people give Anya so much sympathy and grace for doing something so human yet still 'wrong' but then turn around and give Curly none of that for doing essentially the same thing she does.

I don't know for sure if it's actually because Curly is a man or if it's only part of it or maybe some people just lack that sense of awareness but it's depressing and frustrating as fuck as a male victim of sexual violence and abuse to see this kind of behavior and this much victim blaming towards a character who is undeniably a victim of abuse like I am.

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green - Part 24

masterpost

“We should make H— Jason spend some time in here,” Danny said. He was good with the rest of the name now, but he still struggled with with Jason. He was trying. “He could use the reason to relax.”

“I do not believe that Todd is capable of relaxing,” Damian said with a little frown and Danny was pretty sure meant Damian was uncertain, but other people tended to think that it meant Damian was judging them.

“Sure he can. He makes a great pillow too,” Danny said. He leaned over and bumped his shoulders against Damian’s. “Totally bet if you just just sat down and leaned against him, he wouldn’t do anything.”

“Tch.”

“Okay, sure, half of that would be because he’d be too shocked, but really. He’s secretly a cuddler but, like, in a totally different way than Dick. Jason is more like Cass is.”

Damian’s brows were knitted together, but he gave a considering little nod at that.

Danny was glad that Damian went through the door to the hall first. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, exactly, but being out of the apartment now felt wrong and bad and… scary. Danny knew that had delayed them taking him to the Manor and was making some of them anxious, but Danny just couldn’t… it was hard to shake, even if everywhere they went had been safe.

“How were the kittens, Dandelion?” Jason asked. He was leaning against one wall and Lacey stood next to him, looking at something on her phone.

“Pointy,” Danny said with a little smile, “and very cute.”

“We are going to go see the dogs now instead,” Damian said.

“Okay,” Lacey said with a smile. “Your brother and I were talking about what might work for you. I think we have a few options, but I actually have someone in mind for you to meet first of the bunch. She might not work at all but… I have a hunch.”

“As ludicrous as it sounds, Ms. Lacey’s hunches do often play out,” Damian said. “Which dog are we going to see?”

“You haven’t met her yet. She just came here from another shelter because the last one didn’t have the space for her. Before that she was out in the suburbs where she had been adopted, but she kept trying to herd all the other animals and children. They got her from a shelter where she had been surrendered by her owners because they moved to a new apartment that wouldn’t let a dog like her in.”

Danny frown grew as Lacey talked. “Oh, wow… she’s been through a lot of homes, hasn’t she?”

“She has, and it’s really not her fault. She’s only a year and a half old, so she’s still a bit of a puppy and will need training, but she’s a real sweetheart and I think she just needs the right person to love her back.” Lacey paused in front of a door and opened it to some sort of waiting room. “Now, she is a large dog, so I’ll keep her on a harness when I bring him in and you let me know when you’re comfortable for her to come close, okay?”

“Okay,” Danny agreed. He knew he had told Damian not small, but he was suddenly a little concerned by how large was large.

Jason must have been able to tell, because he led Danny over to the small couch to sit down with him while Damian scooted the chair he chose closer to Danny’s open side.

Very, was the answer to how large was large a few minutes later when Lacey brought in a huge dog. The bright red harness barely visible through the mass of black fur that seemed to stand straight out from the dog in a massive mane.

“Okay, come on girl, down,” Lacey said, drawing out the words.

When the large, deep black eyes turned to her, she pointed purposefully at the ground. The dog huffed and settled on the floor looking like some avant guard throw pillow. She snuffed curiously at the group and shuffled forward a few inches on her belly before peering up at Lacey to see if she was noticed.

“Stay. Like I said, still a puppy,” Lacey said fondly.

“What breeds do we suspect she is?” Damian asked.

“She’s definitely a large part chow,” Lacey answered. “She has the black mouth and everything. We’re guessing black lab maybe as some of the rest or some other sporting dog. From those breeds, and her behavior so far, she’s going to be loyal and protective. She will need to be exercised as specially at this age she’ll have a lot of energy, but I know you have the yard to let her run. Fetch or retrieval games will be great stimulation for her and walks can probably be kept pretty short, but I know that Damian could help you train her. Do you want to come over here and let her smell your hand? Or we could just let her settle in and wander the room.”

“I’ll, um…” Danny trailed off as he moved to sit down on the ground at Jason’s feet. He leaned forward and offered his hand, stretching out as far as he could.

The mass of fluff crept forward a few inches, then a few more, and the last few to where she was close enough to sniff at Danny’s hand. The curly tail started to wag before the dog gave Danny’s hand a lick.

A small smile lit up Danny’s face. “Oh, you’re just a big fluffy sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“She really is. She gives me the biggest puppy dog eyes every time someone passes her and doesn’t give her attention. She really wants nothing more than to be with people or other pets and part of a family,” Lacey said.

Danny watched the dog snuff at Danny’s hand before he decided that it was probably okay to move forward a little more so that he could pet the dog. His fingers sank into the thick black fur and the curly tail started to wag.

“She’s kinda like a big teddy bear,” Danny said, completely missing the look that Damian and Jason exchanged behind his back at that statement.

“Chows are like that.,” Lacey agreed. “They get a bad rep because they can be really protective of their owners, so if she’s the dog you go with, you will need to work on socializing her. Taking her to the dog park or things like that would be a good step.”

“It will help that there is such a large amount of family and acquaintances coming and going from the manor,” Damian added. “But if she is the dog that will be yours, we can easily set up a plan for socialization.”

“I, um, I’ve never adopted a pet before. How do I know if she’s the right one?” Danny asked.

“Seeing if you get a long is a good start. With a big dog like her, I think you should walk him a little and play some. We can try some tricks too and see how she listens to you,” Lacey said. “We have a two week trial window where if you think she’s the right dog, she’ll go home with you and you can see how it all works out. If it doesn’t, she comes back here no issues.”

Danny took in a calming breath and let it out. “Okay, let’s see how it goes.”

The dog was a lot. There was no doubt about that what with her size, but she did seem very eager to listen. She apparently walked very well with Danny, even if that was almost sandwiched up against Danny’s side between him and the road. It reminded him of how Jason always walked, as if guarding Danny from the world.

There back at the shelter now. Danny buried his fingers in the dog’s thick fur, ruffling it idly.

“What do you guys think?” he asked his brothers.

“I think that she will be a loyal dog for you,” Damian said, “and that training her may also be beneficial for you.”

“That,” Jason said, “and that she likes you already just like you like her already. I think the only real question is what’s her name going to be?”

Danny looked down at the almost bottomless seeming brown eyes that were staring adoringly back up at him. “Ursa. Her name’s Ursa.”

-

Ursa took to the Manor immediately— or at least took next to being by Danny’s side in the manor. His bed seemed much smaller with her laying next to him, but he had a feeling it he woke up that night with a nightmare that it wouldn’t last long.

His fingers tightened in her mane as he took a breath and hit send on the text message to Babs.

Her name is Jasmine Fenton.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Dark Days Coming

King: hey guys sorry i'm late King: i just could not get up this morning King: feels like I've been sleeping for days King: what did i miss? King: how did the election go? Lovecraft: not too bad King: King: oh no King: oh no oh no oh no

Lovecraft: don't worry steve it won't be so bad Lovecraft: I've heard assurances from the new regime that they only want the trade unionists King: King: King:

Lovecraft: i mean really steve Lovecraft: how bad could it be? [meanwhile] Donald Trump: we're gonna have the biggliest boot stamping on a human face forever Trump: we love the boot stamping on the human face forever, don't we folks? Trump: more and more people are saying they love the boot

Lovecraft: you're overreacting steve Lovecraft: what's trump even going to do? King: well i'm glad you asked King: [unrolls comically long scroll] Lovecraft: oh is this going to be a song

King: well for starters King: decimate reproductive rights King: LGBTQ rights King: labor rights King: civil rights King: accelerate climate change Lovecraft: [sweats] this is making me feel bad steve Lovecraft: i can't wait for trump to outlaw you telling me this stuff!

King: use the military to brutalize americans King: abandon Ukraine King: and as for gaza George Romero: in all honesty steve Romero: that probably won't change much King: oh look! an optimist!

Lovecraft: ok but Lovecraft: has he actually SAID he's going to do any of that? King: yes Lovecraft: oh he was probably just lying Lovecraft: he lies a lot Poe: he does lie a lot

Lovecraft: i think you're overreacting, he's probably not gonna do all the stuff he says he's gonna do King: so you don't believe him? Lovecraft: nope! King: king: then what's his appeal? Lovecraft: well he's just so honest

Lovecraft: a real straight shooter Lovecraft: tells it like it is Lovecraft: says what he means King: King:

King: howard please tell me you didn't vote for trump did you? Lovecraft: [sweats] steve! please! Lovecraft: i'm only a loveable archie bunker style racist Lovecraft: i'm still 100% yang gang King: King: King: i picked a bad day to quit cocaine

King: i really need some cocaine King: edgar you know where i can get some cocaine don't you Poe: steve stay strong Poe: you don't need cocaine King: just one bump King: to get me through the next four years King: i mean few days King: no i mean four years

King: how about a beer? i was an alcoholic too you know King: maybe i'll take that up again King: this is good drinking weather Poe: steve no Poe: dean help me hold him back King: don't try to stop me! Poe: no steve! you've got so much to live for! King: yeah? like what? Poe: well Poe: you've got a loving family King: Joe is pretty great Koontz: and owen! King: King: yeah and owen is alright too i guess

King: yeah he's pretty good King: what the heck, i can say it King: i love owen too! Koontz: and there's naomi too King: whoa wait a second, i have THREE kids?? King: this just keeps getting better!

King: thanks guys i do feel a little better Poe: good, hold onto that Poe: cuz it's going to be a long four years Lovecraft: only four years? i thought we weren't gonna have to vote anymore! Poe: Poe: good drinking weather, huh?

Joyce Carol Oates: huh, i really don't see why the electorate would hate trans people unless they were persuaded by hate speech and fearmongering JK Rowling: well well well look at the fancccy pantsss rich author Rowling: with her out of touch fancccy ideasss about a pluralissstic sssociety! Rowling: with her fancccy german automobile! Oates: this car was made in Guatemala

Rowling: you're clearly too rich to underssstand the feelingsss of the common man Rowling: unlike me, a true daughter of the proletariat Rowling: i know all about the material needsss of the underclassss Rowling: anyway i'm going to insulate my Scottish castle with big bags of money

[bluesidez]

Gym Rat Miguel Part 16

content warning: angst, recreational drug use, mentions of food, 18+ so MDNI (not spoiling the positions this time, so you’ll just have to read and see)

word count: 8.2k (thank ya once again @slushycoookie 😚)

If you really love Xina as a character, then don't read this. Nothing crazy happens, it's just so far removed from her original character action-wise that you’ll definitely get angry. That's all. 🥸👍🏾

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GymRat!Miguel who should have taken the edible.

He held his head down, everything over the past years starting to click.

The touches, the stares, the treatment. Xina wasn’t just close to him because they were friends.

She was in love with him and he was too dumb to see it, too naïve to even think it was a possibility.

He takes a deep breath and looks down at his hands.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Xina speeds out. “Or maybe you can just let it sit with you.”

“Ok.”

Xina widens her eyes, “O-ok? What do you mean ok? Ok as in you…you like me back?”

“Ok as in I hear you. I understand.”

Xina nods, hand holding her elbow.

“And I’m sorry that so much happened to you. I wish you would have reached out. It sounds traumatizing and no one should have to go through that on their own.”

Xina waits, heart beating out of her chest.

“But?”

“But, it doesn’t excuse anything you’ve done to me. Not a single fucking thing.”

She opens her mouth, eyes burning and eyebrow pinched, “I-“

“-need to let me talk first,” Miguel finishes. “You know how much you mean to me, so you have to understand that what you did was so low, Xina. It hurt, genuinely.”

“I know.”

“You know and yet you continued. It’s funny because after you were being weird to my girlfriend the first time you met her, I still defended you. That’s how much I had faith in our friendship.”

Xina blinks rapidly, pulling her hair back.

“Now, I feel even more stupid because this,” Miguel pushes his hand in and out between himself and Xina, “looks exactly how she thought it was. But that’s what you wanted, right? You wanted her to feel like you were someone to look out for.”

Her lip wobbles, “For just a second, I was relieved. I was so relieved that someone finally fucking beat me to you. But then I saw how you looked at her and I, I felt something boil over.”

Miguel wanted to laugh in disbelief.

“Xina, that doesn’t make it ok for you to go in my phone, plot and scheme, then lie like you didn’t. When has that ever been right?”

“Miguel, I know that so please-“

“You don’t love me.”

Xina falters, a tear falling down her face. A light from a car outside brightens the room for just a second, and she sees Miguel give an unfamiliar look of disdain.

“Yes, I do. I do love you. How could you say that I don’t?”

“Because you really don’t,” Miguel pushed his hair off of his face, only for it to fall back in place. “Love isn’t seeing me happy and trying your best to ruin it. Love is not control. If this is what you do to me, I would hate to see what you’re willing to do to someone who wants to be yours.”

She squats, hands wiping away the sorrow on her face.

In the past, Miguel would have been at her side arms open for comfort, heart hurting to see her like this. Right now, he just wants to plead at your waist for forgiveness.

“I don’t really want to look at you right now. I think you should go.”

He starts to get up, tired.

“M-Miguel? I, I’m sorry.”

“Me too. About a lot of shit I need to fix. You have more than just me to own up to and whenever you’re ready to do that, let me know. Right now though? You can see your way out.”

“Miguel, just,” she grabs his arm. “If I- Do you-“ her quiet sobs rack through her body. “I don’t want to lose you. Y-you don’t have to like me back.”

He turns and grabs her arms softly, eyes going back and forth between hers.

“Go home, Xina.”

GymRat!Miguel who opens the door to a flustered Gabriel and a nonchalant Tempest sitting on the floor.

“It’s not what it looks like-”

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Tempest cuts Gabriel off. She looks past Miguel to a mourning Xina. “C’mon, girl, I’ll walk you to the door.”

Miguel steps aside as Xina shuffles over. He does his best to ignore the last tug she gives his hoodie before she leaves.

GymRat!Miguel who crosses his arms as he looks at Gabriel.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough to put a smile upon my face,” Gabriel grins. “It’s like watching your dreams come into fruition. I feel like I have enough adrenaline to run to New York and back, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. This isn’t funny, Gabri.”

“Uh,” Gabriel peers left and right. “It’s a little funny. To me.”

Miguel reaches into his pocket and threw the gummy into his mouth. The taste was interesting, to say the least.

“This is a good thing,” Gabriel tries again. “It’s one step closer to what you wanted, right?”

Miguel thought about you from last week.

He didn’t want you to look at him like that again.

“It is. I just don’t know how I let it get this far.”

Gabriel squeezes his shoulder with a pout.

“Because you’re an idiot, to be frank.”

The squawk that Gabriel lets out when Miguel hits him on the back echoes through the hallway.

GymRat!Miguel who goes back to his room to see a knocked out Lyla and Winston with a plate piled high with wings and yams.

“Yo,” he whispers, but his voice is still unbearably loud. “I think she’s trying to steal my fucking food.”

Miguel looked to Lyla who was folded over a beanbag, neck bent awkwardly. Her mouth was open and a little wet, but she was snoring up a storm.

“No, she’s not,” Miguel laughs. His friend's eyes are blown wide, horrified, like he’s in the middle of a haunted house.

Winston observes Lyla before turning back to Miguel, slow like he was made of wires and metal, “Don’t say shit to me when you’re next.”

GymRat!Miguel who shouldn’t have turned on your playlist as his limbs got heavier.

He was going to try and write something down in his journal, thoughts from before too much for his head.

It started with what just happened down the hallway. Was he right or wrong for what he said and what he did? Should he have done more?

Was it enough for you to see the truth?

You. You and everything you brought him. Your being, your emotions, you core, your love.

Now, he’s staring at the page full of your name alone scrawled across it with slow blinking eyes.

It feels like your hands are all over him and you’re whispering in his ears. You’re going through his hair from his scalp to his neck. Your tongue is hot on his skin, in his mouth. You taste like cinnamon and whipped cream. You’re pressing your chest against his and your heartbeats are becoming one.

His heartbeat.

Your heartbeat.

It’s sinking him. His heart is on the marked paper before him. It’s in red and graphite, smudged and darkened.

He’s falling. The clothes on him are rubbing against his bones. The chair under him is slipping from his grasp but he thinks you’ll catch him.

GymRat!Miguel who gasps for air as his back hits the cold metal of his desk chair.

Winston’s cackle refocuses his train of thought and he breathes in deep as he tries not to let you drown his thoughts again.

GymRat!Miguel who joins Winston on the floor to finish off the variety bag of takis.

Lyla shifts to a better position and Winston clutches his purple bag for dear life. Miguel laughs until he cries.

GymRat!Miguel who ends up on Gabriel’s fluffy rug, rubbing his hands over the fur like it’s a cat. Winston is bopping his head in the corner, music making him worry less about whether or not he’s being watched.

“Why is he so soft? What did you put on him?” Miguel asks.

Gabriel snickers as he watches him, “My feet.”

Miguel makes a face like a disgruntled cat.

“That’s fucking weird. Why would you ever do that? Is that why he smells lie that?”

“No, that’s your breath.”

Miguel gasps and covers his mouth, blowing straight through his fingers. He waits for a minute, then sniffs the air.

“You’re such a liar. It smells like apples. You need to be nicer to your rug, Gabri.”

A snap from above makes Miguel pose at the very last second. He thinks he’s posing at least. His smile is big but his eyes are closing every time the camera clicks and his peace sign is hidden somewhere in the fuzz of the rug.

“Say ‘party gal!’” Gabriel sang.

“I’m not at a party, nor am I a girl, so…no?” Miguel says with squinted eyes. “Why are you taking pictures of me?”

“Because you’re just so adorable that I have to share with your girlfriend.”

Miguel stops rubbing the rug and sits up, “Is she here? Where is she?”

Gabriel pushes him away with his foot.

“Chill out, Mig. I’m just sending her a video.”

“But,” Miguel stiffens. “It’s too dark in here. How is she supposed to see me?”

Gabriel looks at the several ambient lights his room is sporting then back to Miguel, “She can see it.”

“Was my shirt off in it? She likes it when my shirt is off.”

“I’m not filming your striptease, you hornball.”

“But Gabri-“

“No!”

GymRat!Miguel who snowballs his way through telling Gabriel his plans for when he visits New York for the next twenty minutes.

“And then,” he pauses and giggles like he’s holding the world’s greatest secret. “We go to the bodega. Ham and cheese. Orange drink. You know the one.”

Gabriel joins in his endless bubble of laughter, “Who taught you that?”

Miguel spaces out his giggles just enough to let your name fall through.

“Do you think she still loves me, Gabri? Because sometimes I get scared that she doesn’t.”

His brother sighed, head upside down as it hung off of his bed, “Yeah, I think so. It’s your first big fight, but what is love if not war?”

There’s a silence in the room.

Winston is giving a silent performance in the corner of the room now, his audience being Gabriel’s closet door of scarves and belts.

“War is what keeps humans apart,” Miguel mumbles.

“Uh oh,” Gabriel turns to look at him. “Don’t start this.”

“Statistically speaking, all first marriages have a 50% chance of surviving.”

“You just made that up.”

“No,” Miguel closes his eyes, hoping that would stop his million and one thoughts. “She could find another guy and last longer with him. It’s science. Proven.”

“You’re not even married.”

Miguel opens one eye and checks his empty left hand, “Holy shit you’re right.”

He starts to pat down his clothes, cotton pulling against his fingers.

“Where did it go? I just had it.”

Gabriel thought for a second.

“The Funyuns you just ate?”

Miguel starts to flip things over, papers and chip bags going everywhere.

He finds the bright yellow bag, opening it up and finding nothing. He turns it over and shakes it much to Gabriel’s annoyance who snatches it from his hands.

Miguel is about to cry until Gabriel throws another bag into his hands.

“Let’s switch topics,” Gabriel grumbles. “I feel like I’m watching a big ass baby.”

Miguel opens the bag and starts crunching.

“I think stars is such a good theme for the nursery. And penguins.”

“I’m turning on Spongebob.”

GymRat!Miguel who is out of his mind watching Squidward run around a blank screen.

The colors were there and now they’re not.

It does a number on him.

GymRat!Miguel who sits staring at Gabriel’s door. Watching. Waiting.

He said that you were coming around eventually.

It was sure taking you a long time to open the door.

GymRat!Miguel who is disappointed when Tempest and her pink-tipped locs bang the door open instead of you.

His slow turn and look of disappointment towards Gabriel is comical.

GymRat!Miguel who is guided back to his room by a more relaxed Tempest who asks Gabriel to distract Conchata.

“Did she say something?” Gabriel asks.

“No, but we need to act normal. She asked me some shit about some seasoning I used and I think dozed off mid-explanation. Can’t remember.”

GymRat!Miguel who finds a picture of you under his pillow right before he goes to sleep.

It’s a part of the polaroids you gave him last Christmas with your tank and panties.

He presses his lips against the film, eyes closing as he groans against it. The action repeats, his mind putting him in front of you.

A pain hits his hip, ache in his bones matching his heartbeat.

He looks down to a gray, metal hand covering him and screams.

Two of his friends jerk up from across the room while Winston throws a pillow at him.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to sleep.”

Tempest squints as she removes her eye mask, “Why did you throw your arm at him?”

“He was making weird sounds,” Winston replies as if the answer was obvious.

GymRat!Miguel who wakes up to Tempest shaking him for dear life.

His eyelids are heavy and the sun peaking through the windows are bright.

His arm covers his eyes as he tries to block it, feelings of his muscles slowly coming back to him.

“C’mon, buddy. You feeling ok?”

Miguel only yawns and nods into the pillow.

“Need to pee? Feeling sick? I got some water right here.”

Miguel slowly sits up with his eyes closed, hair sticking up every which way. Tempest opens his hand and places a glass of water there, helping him guide it to his lips. One taste of the liquid and he’s gulping it down like he’s never drank before.

“What time is it?” he asks, throat dry.

“Noon,” Tempest takes the glass away. “You guys were sleeping like babies. Very cute.”

Memories of last night slowly come back.

He’s pretty sure he texted you a string of random things, but he doesn’t even know if it went through.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Come to the kitchen and eat some food.”

GymRat!Miguel who makes his friends promise to text him when they make it home.

Sure, they’ll probably be on the call tonight playing some game or watching obscure compilations, but he was nothing if not a worrier.

“And don’t forget to-“

“We know, dad,” they say in unison.

GymRat!Miguel who spends Thanksgiving near his grandma.

His mom is giving him sideways looks all day and he feels that something is coming.

GymRat!Miguel who watches his brother place his cousins in formation for a video for the nth time.

“It’s swing, back a-round, grab your pants, thumb up with ‘I’m cool’. Feet out and in at the same time then CIRCLE your arms really high. What is so hard to understand about that guys?”

He runs to his phone on the tripod.

“From the top!”

GymRat!Miguel who hides with his grandma in her bedroom as his mom starts to bark orders. She was doing a lot for someone who didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving.

The two of them are watching some random sitcom under a giant quilt sharing coconut cookies that she snuck from the kitchen.

“¿Abuela?”

“¿Si nieto?”

“¿Alguna vez has experimentado un desamor?”

His grandmother looks up, chewing as she thought.

“Yes, but only for a short while. I didn’t really have the time to sit with my feelings.”

“But, what if you did? Does it feel as terrible as it sounds?”

“Sometimes. But we’re human. If you’ve put in effort to love, that means you can put effort into yourself to heal and grow.”

Her arms wrap around him and squeeze, kissing his cheek like he was still the chunky baby she met decades ago.

“Now, relax and watch these two teachers avoid love. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

GymRat!Miguel who is leaning on his grandma, cheek pressed against her chest, when Gabriel comes in to plop on the bed.

“Move over,” he whines to Miguel as he tries to push him away to be in the middle.

“I don’t wanna sit next to you. You’re disturbing my peace.”

“And you’re hogging Abuela.”

“Go to her other side!”

“But this side is already warm!”

“My daughter has raised two giant babies,” their grandmother laughs as she moves the blanket to let Gabriel into her other side. “What am I going to do with you two?”

GymRat!Miguel who was nearly asleep when George comes to get them to eat.

It’s deep in the evening and the crickets are loud outside of the window.

He and Gabriel pout, the darkness of the room and the smell of their grandmother’s perfume making them lethargic.

“Your cousins are going to eat up all of the empanadas if you don’t hurry up.”

Miguel perks up and stumbles out of the bed, foggy mind registering his willingness to stuff his face with doughy goodness.

“Like a moth to a flame,” Gabriel says as he helps his grandmother up.

GymRat!Miguel who is on his third or fourth plate, not that he’s really counting, when his mom does what she always does every holiday: annoy him.

“Mijo, have you checked on Xina today? I saw Tempest walk her out the other day. Was she doing alright?”

Miguel glances around the table, mouth full of turkey as he sees his family perk up.

“No, I haven’t,” he answers slowly. “I’ll see her next week. Probably.”

Conchata brings a cup to her mouth while giving him a miffed look.

“And you’re not worried about her? What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing has gotten into me,” Miguel replies calmly. His relatives are staring at him like he’s grown two heads.

“Did you two fight?” one of his aunts asks.

Miguel didn’t understand how this was anyone else’s business, but from the looks of it, it seems that his mother has already told it.

“Can I just finish my food, please?”

His mother thumps her cup against the table with more force than necessary.

“You’re never going to find a suitable woman if you keep acting like this. I know you hurt her somehow and you need to fix it.”

“Ma,” Gabriel interrupts with a hushed tone. “Right here? At the table? Seriously?”

She ignores him and stares at Miguel, as it’s supposed to urge him to obey her. His appetite is long gone.

“I have a suitable woman-“

“Mijo, no. You have stars in your eyes. You’re young, so I know you can’t see it yet, but it’s almost time for you to start planning properly for the future. I can only let your playing go on for so much longer.”

Miguel stares at her, eyes not blinking once. Gabriel anxiously looks back and forth between them.

“Who is up for Abuela’s famous cake? Mm mm mm, I know I am!” he tries, only getting a small portion of the table to move.

Miguel gets up to follow them, plate in his hand heavy and half-eaten.

They’re back at square one.

He’s not sure how many more times he can restart.

GymRat!Miguel who texts you before he knocks out.

He stares at the blinking line, thinking of all that he wants to say, but not really knowing how to put it.

“Happy Thanksgiving mi luz”

“I miss you more than ever today”

“I miss you every day”

He stops himself and turns his phone off.

GymRat!Miguel who does a light jog Friday morning.

He’s been having far too many days of wallowing and feasting.

The November air wakes him up completely.

GymRat!Miguel who thinks he still has THC in his bloodstream when your name pops up on his screen as he’s checking his miles.

He opens it too fast, heart racing faster than what any exercise could do to him.

It’s a link to your calendar, blocks of blues and pinks covering the screen. He sees that your last final is next Thursday, and his plan is already in motion.

He hearts your text and stops himself from spamming you with emojis and pictures.

He’s ready to see you.

GymRat!Miguel who has never been more happy for his coding professor being a recluse and making their final submission online.

He knew for a fact Xina was definitely still processing everything. Quite frankly, he didn’t want to see her unless she was ready to apologize to you.

He tried not to stew on it, his mom’s insinuation putting a bad taste in his mouth.

He had finals to focus on and a girlfriend to win back so he pushed thoughts of crumbling friendship to the back of his mind.

GymRat!Miguel who sits in the hallway of the art building. It was becoming a familiar sight for someone who couldn’t draw a stick figure to save his life.

He waits for the studio door to open, leg bouncing involuntarily. He wasn’t sure when it would end, so he got there about thirty minutes after it started.

Maybe that was a bad idea, simply because he feels like he’s about to sweat out of the stupid button down and sweater he chose to wear. The thick knitting was starting to suffocate him.

Pulling at the chain around his neck, he wonders if he can appeal to you like he did around this time last year.

The door opens in the middle of his tenth time rehearsing what he was going to say. A few students walk out, arms full of canvases as they chat about whatever.

Miguel stands, big bouquet in his hands and heartbeat in his ear. The students notice him and shuffle out of his way as he heads towards the studio entrance.

GymRat!Miguel who spots you talking with a classmate.

You’re both bent over some, engrossed in conversation.

Miguel sees you laugh before you stand up straight. The guy next to you looks familiar.

He rises too, and his build and height become all of the focus. His hand lands on the middle on your back and slowly begins to fall down.

Miguel is building the formation of your name at the back of his tongue, anger climbing before he can really think about it.

You grab the guy’s arm and yank it off, a smack on his shoulder to follow.

Miguel stops himself with an ugly sound, alerting you both to turn and look at him.

GymRat!Miguel who hides the bouquet behind his back, not wanting you to see it yet. Not when your friend was making him shoot daggers with his eyes.

You walk over to him eyes curious, and Miguel thinks that there was no way in this lifetime, no way in this timeline, that you weren’t made for him.

“Hi,” Miguel starts.

“Hi,” you repeat back.

“We’re matching.”

Miguel couldn’t help but to sound giddy about it. He was more than ecstatic about it. You both looked like a couple, therefore you are a couple.

You purse your lips and nod, “That we are. Did you spy on me?”

Miguel copies you and shakes his head.

“You look different.”

“Ah. I uh, I ate good.”

You pat his stomach, fingers tentative and soft, “I see.”

Miguel wants to say something back but your eyes are scanning him with a small light similar to your anniversary night.

He breathes in and puffs his chest up a bit, like a bird trying to show off his pretty feathers to win over his lady. The corners of your lips twitch, holding back your smile.

That alone brightens Miguel up.

GymRat!Miguel who tries not to deflate when your classmate slash friend slash him-imposter makes his way into an A and B conversation.

“I haven’t seen you around campus before,” he puts his right hand out, “I’m Royce.”

Miguel’s eyes flit to you and you look up to the ceiling avoiding his look with your hands behind your back. He brings his left hand out, still poorly hiding his gift for you, twisting his wrist to shake Royce’s hand.

“Miguel.”

“Strong grip you’ve got there, Miguel,” Royce smiled, lip piercing shining. The chains attached to his pants clinked together as be let go.

“Just happy to meet new people.”

Royce pulls the sleeves of his sweater up and grins, like he knew something Miguel didn’t. The fullness of his tattoos contrasted his skin.

“Likewise. What else do you have there?” he tilts his head.

You push him in his side, Royce’s laugh echoing of the studio ceiling, “Go away. You’re so irritating.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. I’m guessing this means our late night session is rain checked?” he asks as your eyebrows raise.

He barely dodges as you pick up a ruler and swing at him, laughing as your professor tiredly asks you both to chill out.

Royce calms down, grabs his things, and hugs you goodbye, black hair brushing against your head.

“See you later. Bye, Miguel,” he sings, hand waving.

Miguel makes a line with his lips as he watches him leave.

“Interesting guy.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty fun,” you say, watching Miguel’s lips. “You ok?”

His face shifted, “I should be asking you that after everything.”

“Hm,” your eyes casted down. “Well, you’re here, so I think that counts for something.”

GymRat!Miguel who presents the bouquet to you, nervous of your reaction.

“It’s a small start, but I, I hope that we can still be together. I talked to Xina like you asked and I want to go somewhere with you to really say everything. All truths on the table.”

Your mouth wobbles as your eyes light up from the fairy lights woven throughout the green and golden roses.

“I’m sorry it’s not as big as it’s supposed to be.”

The woman he ordered them from was stacked with birthday and anniversary bouquets. He paid more than he should to get his flowers finished faster.

“‘You are my Evangeline’?” you ask, fingers going over the silky petals.

“Sí,” his hands cover yours over the bottom of the bunch. “La luz de mi vida, mi estrella. Mi bella Evangeline.”

You pout, stopping yourself from falling, only to plant your face in his chest, glasses and all.

Miguel wraps his arms around you, confused.

“You make me so weak,” you mumble.

His hands clutch onto your sweater, heart warm.

“I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing.”

You move your head, cheek pressed against his chest, “Of course you don’t. C’mon.”

His sweater is a little damp but he doesn’t mention it.

GymRat!Miguel who wants to skip as he follows you back to your dorm, but your wet oil paint canvases are in his hands. One wrong move, and his pants will be stained with whatever color landed on him.

He watches as you cradle your flowers to your chest, glancing down whenever you were waiting to cross the street.

“Do you like them?”

“Yes. They’re beautiful.”

He could do a backflip.

GymRat!Miguel who takes his shoes off by your door.

Your dorm smells like oranges and cherries, something so different than the pinecones and brown leaves outside.

“Where do want me to put these?” he asks, holding the sides of your paintings with all of his focus.

You turn and laugh at his stiff stance. His arms were stretched out to a slanted T and his feet were placed together.

“Just sit them up against the wall. They won’t bite you,” you say.

“Ok,” he says and awkwardly puts them down. He pauses his hands in front of them afterwards in case they fall.

You go to sit at your desk, placing the flowers down.

“Is Jess here?” you hear Miguel ask.

“No, she’s gone for winter break already.”

You survey your desk, looking for anything else to focus on. You brought him here, you asked for him to prove himself, yet it’s barely been two weeks since you told him that. You feel silly for it.

Still, when you don’t hear or feel him for a while, you call his name.

“Miguel?”

“What’s this?” he asks.

Spinning around, you see he’s by the end of your bed, on the floor rummaging through a box.

“You packed my stuff up?” he holds up a hoodie that you only let him wear shortly before it finds its way back into your closet. His eyebrows turn, limbs heavy as he pulls out gift after jacket after picture. So many things that marked his time together with you.

“Looking at everything was too much for me. I did it the night we fought. It helped me to focus and not,” you threw your hands up, “simmer on my boyfriend sleeping with someone who is practically the opposite of me.”

Miguel pushes the box to the side and crawls towards you. It was an odd sight to see him inching steadily across your big rug. He stops and sits in front of you, face upset.

“I really wish you would listen to me. I wish you would believe me.”

“I’m trying-“

“No, baby,” Miguel says, pulling your chair towards him. You were too far away. “You’re not. You’re blocking me out.”

You blink, fingers picking at your nails.

“Do you remember that time I said I wasn’t going to let you go?” Miguel wraps your legs around his sides and slots his head on your thigh. “I was serious about that. You aren’t supposed to let me go either.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I know.”

“So if you know, why did you let me go?”

You took a deep breath.

“Because I was hurting, Miguel. I painted this picture in my head of you two being this perfect, ideal couple because of….jealousy? Insecurity? I don’t know. I would see you two in the library sometimes or standing in line for food together, close and wrapped up in a bubble. I kept telling myself that you both were friends. These are the things that friends do. I would leave before I could give myself time to get stupidly upset. But when we were all hanging out together, you kept defending everything she was doing.”

Miguel thinks back to the comments and snide remarks he let slide and wants to shake that version of himself out of delusion.

“Then, there were the messages that weren’t going through, the calls that were getting dropped. Sometimes, I saw Xina holding you,” your voice faltered. “And she’d wear things I could find in my closet and I thought I was being punked. So, when I saw you on your birthday and took a leap of faith, I was destroyed when she was texting your phone.”

You couldn’t take it. You thought he lied to your face for months.

Miguel closed his eyes, trying to form what he wanted to say.

He’s thinking about how stupid he was to not see your pain. The signs were all there, or at least, the times when he should have stepped in were.

That aside, he was upset. Upset at the situation, upset that his relationship has been torn by someone who barely acknowledged him for a year, upset at you.

He didn’t want another girl, he didn’t need another girl, and even if by some sick and terrible decision, he decided to part ways with you, he would never choose Xina.

She couldn’t love him the way you do and what she did to him showed that.

She couldn’t make him feel the way you do. You left him with butterflies, you made him excited. You brought him so much joy.

She couldn’t care for him the way that you did. She would rather hang him out to dry to make herself look good before she thought about how he felt about something.

She couldn’t even confess to him without hurting him, without trying to shift her chances of being with him. It sucks that her life was changing so rapidly against her will, but that didn’t mean she had to create a whirlwind for him to suffer through, too.

It’s so irritating how she came in and swept up his time, his life, and your confidence, but it’s more frustrating for you to have to even wonder if she could replace you.

Miguel’s mind is going a thousand miles per minute, head starting to hurt with how aggravated he was.

“Don’t cry,” you say reaching up to his face, sniffling. “Please, don’t cry.”

He didn’t even notice he was. He realizes then that his thoughts were made aloud.

“’M sorry,” he says, face scrunching up. He leans into your hand, eyes closed as the tears fall. “I’m sorry for everything. But I’m angry that you keep thinking that you’re not worth my love. You’re worth it. You’re worth so much more than what I can give you. But I feel so lucky that you’re giving me the chance to be a part of your life, so I want you to love yourself, too.”

You nod once, twice, before your palms cover your face and you’re sobbing. Miguel pulls you down to his lap, holding you tight. He hated that you were fighting these thoughts alone, but now that he’s aware of everything he’ll try his best again to give you the love you needed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair like a mantra.

Through your sorrow, your relief, you everything, you echo his words, “I’m sorry, too. I should have trusted you more.”

“True,” Miguel says and you laugh in the midst of your aches. “But I still love you.”

“I love you, too. I never stopped.”

He squeezes you tighter, heart feather light.

GymRat!Miguel who eventually gets you comfortable, the two of you settling down on the giant plush bean bag sofa that you’ve stuffed under your dorm bed.

He was prepared to wine and dine you, but you insisted on videos and some warm, fulfilling fast food. The true college dream.

You laid on his chest, watching as the man on screen yelled as his character opened the door to a bathroom and a stranger was fixing the sink. Miguel tensed under you, hands gripping the waist of your lounging pants.

It was making up for the Halloween you two spent apart.

“Too scary?” you move your head to look at his face.

His mouth was twisted up, heart beating, “No…”

“Then, why are you holding me so tight?”

“A boyfriend can’t hold his girlfriend?”

You grinned.

You didn’t know how much you missed him calling you his girlfriend until he was less than a centimeter away from you.

A scream followed by a line of curses comes from your laptop speakers, Miguel gasping and squinting at the screen, eyes almost squeezing shut.

“You know, we don’t have to watch this,” you try your best to turn your body so that you were fully on top of him. “We can watch something else.”

Miguel focused on your face, eyes fighting to not look at your lips, “Like what?”

“We can watch a cooking competition. I know you have some documentaries and video essays saved up. We could watch those.”

Miguel thinks he could really be a lip reader. Your lips were moving pretty fast, but he thinks he got most of it.

“You want to use the kitchen this late? It might be closed.”

You slide your hand up his chest, comforting through the thin shirt. Your lips move again and Miguel blinks slowly trying to keep up.

A touch on his jaw has him look up.

“Did you hear me?”

Miguel moves his head in a circle, answer going from yes to no.

“What are you thinking right now?”

He feels you out, hands slowly going down your back and circling the area where your thighs curve out into your ass.

“How much I need to kiss you.”

“Oh really?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Then maybe, you should put those words into action.”

That was all he needed to pull you up, mouth going to yours like a magnet. You make a startled noise as he opens his mouth to slide his lip from your jaw to the bottom of your lip.

You open your mouth with his, thumbs rubbing against his sideburns as he hums against your tongue. The sound of the push and pull of your lips fills the small space under your bed. The tale of the girl and her winter vacation long forgotten in the background.

His hands go under your waistband, palms bringing extra warmth as he squeezes over your underwear.

“I missed this,” he sighs, mouth and hands working together to make you melt into him. He was starting to grind you against him, humming low in his throat.

“Kissing me or something else?” you open your eyes a little, watching his eyelashes against his cheek.

He pushes up against you, bean bag shifting down, “Everything.”

“Cheeky.”

“More like charmed.”

The two of you were glued to each other long enough for the hour long video to end, only the glow of your fairy lights and lamps lighting your room.

Both of your shirts were pulled up, your chest smooshed against his. Miguel had one hand around your waist, massaging your side, and another pulling your underwear between your lips so that you had something extra to feel as you grind against his groin.

“Bebecita,” Miguel says after you let his tongue from your lips. He pecks you in between his words, hungry. “Let’s move this to the bed.”

He kisses down your jaw, making no effort to get up.

“I don’t have any condoms and unless you’re willing to drive out to get some-”

Miguel removes a hand to reach into his pocket.

“Did you just have that on you?” you ask looking at the pack of condoms in his hand.

“No. I got them when I went to go get clothes.”

You tut, “So you just thought we were going have sex? You’re not even supposed to be in here right now.”

He slides his fingers down between your legs, pressing on your lips over cotton, “Of course not, bebe. I’m not an animal.”

He rubs and sucks a kiss into your neck. You’re so lost in him that you didn’t even realize that you were beginning to push back against his fingers. The moan you let out brings you back to reality.

Seeing Miguel’s smug face made you hide yours in his chest.

“Just try not to be too loud. I don’t know if my neighbor is still here or not,” you muffled into his skin.

GymRat!Miguel who really didn’t give a fuck about the neighbors.

He thinks he wants them to hear. It’s been too long since he had you, his decency was thrown out of the window.

Right now, he was head first, indulging, sucking at the entrance of your heat. You were on your knees, ass in his face, and feet hanging off the bed. You were already so wet from earlier, but now he has you dripping down his face onto the floor, moaning into your pillow.

He didn’t hear you over himself as he gripped your skin to spread you over his tongue. Your thighs were shaking like a leaf, feet occasionally kicking as Miguel found his pocket to make you suck him in.

You sounded off into the silk case below you, trying not to make yourself louder than the music you put on.

Miguel was satisfied that you came on his tongue, but didn’t like you censoring yourself not one bit.

“I want to try something new,” he states into your skin, sucking your clit through the aftershocks.

You only give him a shaky thumbs up, mind still finding its other pieces.

GymRat!Miguel who has you flat against your stomach along the bed. There really was barely any room to do this, but he was going to make it work.

You had a long mirror in your room that wasn’t attached to the wall, so beforehand, he brought it over to lean against the desk and turn it towards the top of your bed. He saw the confusion in your face through the glass, but he only smiled and went right back to you.

Now, he was holding one cheek over as he slid in slowly. From the mirror, he could see your face scrunch up. He shifted his knees, watching.

“¿Estás bien?” he asks. “Want me to slow down? Pull out?”

“No,” you keen, constricting around him. He sucked air in through his teeth, feeling you suck him in. “I just haven’t felt you in a while.”

He leans to kiss up your back, taking fat in between his lips to mark it as his. He fights the urge to just bite and stay there for a while.

“Whose fault is that, pretty?” he teases, dragging his lips to the back of neck.

You look to your left and pout at him through the mirror. He looks back, eyes scanning your naked upper half.

You arch your back and tighten around him. He thinks you’re a menace.

“Yours,” you tease back.

“Yeah?” his left hand grabs your waist, thumb pressing into the small of your back. He slides out a bit, hips elevated. “Let me fix that, then.”

His hips dip back into you, smack of his skin against yours. The bed creaks and Miguel watches your eyelids fall.

“Do you want a fast solution?” Miguel says right in your ear. “Or should we do some deeper research?”

He snaps his hips again, leaning down and pressing his weight onto you. Your hands curl up against the mattress, mouth open but only letting out gasps and breaths. Miguel nearly pulls all the way out, then swerves back in, pushing your voice out of you.

“It sounds like you want to pull from some scholarly articles,” Miguel whispers. He’s barely picking up a sweat while you’re hot everywhere. “It’s unclear.”

The springs of the mattress sing, metal and wood bed frame keeping a steady tempo against the wall.

You can’t even focus enough to tell him to shut up, the position you were in knocking the wind out of you. You start to hide your face in your pillow again, overwhelmed.

Miguel releases an offended sound.

“Nuh uh,” his right hand wraps in front of your neck. He pulls head up and turns it towards the mirror. “Look how pretty you look. Don’t hide.”

Your boyfriend might be a little nuts.

Your eyes can’t even focus but he’s holding your head steady and nibbling your earlobe as he waits. Your glasses are crooked and fogging up, you can’t even really see.

His name tries to fall from your mouth, but that “M” sound comes out broken and loud. He’s too busy being enchanted by how good you look.

“Mi preciosa princesita,” his hips stutter as you clench in response. “So gorgeous.”

He’s hitting your spot over and over again. You’re losing track of time.

“Don’t you think so too, baby?” Miguel huffs.

“Y-yes, Miggy, please.”

“Are you close?”

You nod, watching his eyes get darker.

“Ok, bebé. I still have some follow-up questions, though. Gonna answer them?”

A yell comes out as your answer, Miguel stroking faster.

He kisses your cheek and takes your glasses off. They were slipping and he was scared you were going to break them.

“Question one, do you want to do something for winter break?”

He opens your legs a bit, leaning and wrapping his hand under your body. His fingers find your clit and rub nice and slow. Overstimulated, you scream into the pillow. Miguel kisses your shoulder as he hums.

“I think that’s a yes,” Miguel says. Your back arches as you try to move your hips to match his pace. “Question two, what do you want for Christmas? It’s getting late, but I’ll find it. I swear.”

“Fuck, Miguel,” you say as his hands move to your breasts. He can’t do much, but there’s still something so good about him all over you.

“You want this again? We can arrange that.”

He was close and you could hear it in the way his voice wavered.

“Last question,” he rose off of you, hands pushing against your back. Your body couldn’t move as he slapped his pelvis against your ass. The recoil sounded off in the room and the entire bed jumped with his movement.

“Are you still mad at me?”

Your back arched as you felt him breach deep enough to make you go crazy. He was mumbling something but your thoughts were swimming with his dick inside of you about to introduce another orgasm.

“Say it back, baby. You gotta say it back,” Miguel’s voice sounds out.

There might be a pool of drool growing under your face. Your boyfriend didn’t care, though. He would still want you to say that declaration through any obstruction.

“I love you, Miguel. Te amo tanto.”

His hips quicken, bed against the wall like a drumline.

When he cums, his body tightens and releases, weight letting go as he covers you. He’s breathing hard, “te amo,” his proverb to you.

You blink at the mirror, vision blurry, but the comforted and satisfied expression of Miguel still recognizable.

You could stay like this, breaths slowly becoming tighter until you fall asleep in his arms.

The bed gives a loud snap, scaring Miguel into nearly falling off of it with you on top.

It’s leaning a little more to the back left than it should.

“Did you just break my fucking bed?”

He panics, “I-it was a joint effort!”

“Miguel.”

GymRat!Miguel who thanks whatever entity it is out there afterwards that it was just a screw that came out and not the bed actually completely splitting.

“This is why the beds are tiny in the first place,” you say from the bean bag, watching him screw it back together.

“I would have covered the costs if it was actually broken. We should look into sturdy bed frames for the future, though.”

“Oh?”

Miguel pauses, “Not that I was thinking about that!”

“You already have a list, don’t you.”

You watch his hands stutter as he puts your screwdriver back in your bin.

GymRat!Miguel who suggests you lay on top of him in the bed.

The two of you were freshly showered and ready to close your eyes any minute now.

“We should take breaks more often. I feel like jelly,” you say with a low voice, drawing circles over his chest.

He grabs your wrist, voice serious in the dark, “Don’t joke like that.”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right. You made up for the last time you didn’t make me come.“

“Baby.”

You giggled into him as he pinched your sides.

“What about you and Royce? Your friend whose name starts with an R and ends with an E.”

“It’s not my fault rose and Royce are similar!”

“But you knew what you were doing. How cruel,” he pouts.

You pat his cheek!

“Well, you don’t have to worry because he has a boyfriend.”

“Oh! So, he’s gay.”

“Bi. Open relationship.”

“Oh,” Miguel replied, less happy.

“I kind of just want one lover, though.”

“Oh,” Miguel says again, more happy. “What kind of lover?”

You stay quiet for so long, Miguel thinks you’ve gone to sleep.

There’s a lot of things that you love about him. His kindness, his heart, his determination, his wit. Tonight, though, he truly took your breath away.

And you realize, he’s always done that.

“The kind that loves me the way that you do.”

Miguel’s chest rises and falls like a wave that gets weaker as it hits the shore.

“Me too, mi luz. Me too.”

divider by: fanguro + adornedwithlight 🩵

a/n: Our family is has been brought back together!! Also, if you get which horror game they were watching, you get a gold star.

Please very mindful, very cutesy, very demure in the comments. Don’t ask about the next part unless you have something nice/constructive to say to go with it. And no, this is not the last time Xina will be in this story. But it’ll get better!

The taglist is full, so if you would like to be informed of future updates, check my blog occasionally (💀) or subscribe to the story on AO3!

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[ven0moir]

Will had hope ... and then lost it.

He had hope that maybe, just maybe, Mike and he felt the same way. And I think it started here:

Mike expressed relief at the idea of Will not joining another party. And Will's look seems ... surprised but joyful? Like he's picking up on Something the audience is not.

Then we have this:

I know a lot of people say he meant this in a friendship way. But I don't think he did entirely. I think he was 'testing the waters' so to speak, to see Mike's reaction to him asking something like this so forwardly--an action driven in part, possibly, also by frustration. Of course their friendship was his priority but he was also Sending Mike a Message. Speaking in code, if you will. And I'm not sure if Mike picked up on it or not, but he knew what he was doing when he used the word 'us'.

Then of course we have Mike's speech to Will in episode 4. The way he slightly tilts his head to the side inquisitively after Mike said 'It's Hawkins, it's not the same without you', as if he's thinking "am I dreaming? Is he really saying this?" And not to be meta but he might even be wondering if he's being delusional here.

On top of that, the speech prompted him to gather the courage to do this:

hope again. But then his arc culminated in this:

Will's facial expressions when Mike is self-depricating ... he seems so sad. In the second one, even Mike notices and cuts himself off to apologize for bringing up this subject.

I think he, sadly, realized Mike did feel the same way as him, but not in the way he had initially hoped. Mike, like him, is struggling with not feeling good enough for the person he loves.

And Will did not want Mike to feel the same way he did. So he did what we saw him do and give the painting to Mike, which symbolizes his love for DnD, for what they do together, for their friend group, for him. His intention here was to make Mike feel better. Important. Seen. Even at the cost of his own heartbreak.

"Every smile you fake, I'll be watching you."

So to recap, at the beginning of the season, Will had been acting weird and painting for someone he liked ( according to El ). We find out very quickly that the recipient of the painting was intended to be Mike. I don't think Will ever intended for the painting to be a full blown love confession--but a start. A continuation of the 'hint dropping' they started doing at the end of S3. But of course, the whole world went to shit, and his feelings got amplified to the point where the painting's meaning took a different turn. And it became the basis of a veiled love confession.

I think this is devastating because the narrative forced them, once again, down a different path from the natural progression this would've been had Mike been allowed to enjoy a nice spring break in California.

I do believe by the end of S4, Will has completely lost the last vestiges of hope he had left that Mike would ever reciprocate his feelings, especially after Mike's love confession. I think he feels stupid for even allowing himself to believe there was a chance.

I mean, look at him. And, terrifyingly, I feel like that is exactly where Vecna needs him to be at the start of S5.

Sprinkle in some #birthdaygate and voila ... we have the perfect recipe for a horrible Vecna vision.

I don't know how they'll resolve this, but it does feel to me that the intention of Will's S4 arc was to get him to a point of loss of hope, which signifies the death of his dream.

Going into S5, he probably sees this dream now as stupid and childish--an impossibility. Adding to this, there's no way in hell Will is going to confess. Not when this happened and it was never resolved.

The ball is on Mike's court, for better or for worse.

And I think this is also another plot twist we will find out through Vecna: the fact that Will had hope that he and Mike could be together and felt the same way. And that honestly makes whatever Vecna does to Will 10 times worse because if Will had NEVER had hope, then there's nothing new there. But having hope and then having it crushed to the ground? Yeah ... my heart hurts as I type this.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 5

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4

Eddie’s just dropped his response in the requested copy of Romeo and Juliet. He’d looked furtively around the library, trying to see if anyone was paying him an abnormal level of attention.

No one even looks up.

There’s a mousy girl in the corner reading a comic book, some band girl muttering to herself as she frantically pulls books off the shelf, and Nancy Wheeler writing, fast enough that Eddie’s surprised the lead of her pencil doesn’t snap clean off.

Could it be her?

Eddie squints at her, trying to look past her frizzy hair and prissy face to what must be hidden underneath. Before he finds any clarity, she looks up from the page in front of her, already scowling before she meets Eddie’s gaze.

Eddie startles, damn-near sprinting out of the library, his smoker’s lungs wheezing hard enough to damn-near expel themselves from his lungs.

No way in hell is it Wheeler—she’s way too scary, and besides, no one’s ever accused her of being an athlete. That band girl, maybe? She looked feisty enough to kick ass at organized sports-ball.

The secret’s burning a hole through his heart and he wants, no, needs, to tell someone.

Eddie feels deranged with it, almost manic as he rushes to find someone, anyone, he can talk to. Hell, right now he’d take Hagan if he didn’t think the dude would punch him in the face.

Luckily, he smacks into Gareth before anything gets that dire. The kid’s obviously rushing through the parking lot to catch the bus before it leaves without him, stranding him at the school before the weekend can truly start.

“Dude—”  he stutters out as Eddie latches onto both of his shoulders and begins shaking him about. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Gareth smacks him off, and Eddie stumbles back, almost buzzing with the frenetic energy built up from weeks of getting love letters in his locker and not being able to tell a soul. Eddie grabs onto him again and just keeps shaking, lest his soul quiver right out of his body. “I can’t keep it in anymore, man,” Eddie says, and he can tell from the bug-eyed look on the other boy’s face that he’s not picking up what Eddie’s putting down. “I’ve gotten four letters, Gare-Bear, four!”

He enunciates the last word with an even harder shake until Eddie can hear his teeth clack together. Gareth makes an unholy noise, like a cat submerged in bathwater, and damn-near claws Eddie’s face off in his attempts to get away. Eddie ends up standing in the parking lot, still holding the shoulders of Gareth’s flannel up despite there no longer being a body in it.

“And each one is sweeter than the last!” Eddie cries, maliciously dropping the flannel into a puddle.

Gareth squawks, bending down to scoop his outerwear up from the ground and twist it until some of the water sops out of it and back to the pavement from whence it came. He’s not looking at Eddie at all. God, he knew he should have picked Doug.

“So, why are you telling me about it?” Gareth gripes.

Left unspoken, but patently obvious between them, is that Jeff, Eddie’s usual secret keeper, is entirely absent. Eddie twirls one of his own curls, bringing it up to shield the blush that’s no doubt blooming on his face as he admits, “Jeff would make fun of me.”

Besides, Jeff’s been weird all day, eyes darting away from Eddie’s like he’s got some sort of disease that might be catching.

He doesn’t want to talk to Jeff right now.

Giving it up as a bad job, Gareth slings his sopping flannel over one shoulder with the beleaguered sigh of a single mother and finally meets Eddie’s eyes.

“Dude,” he says, voice that of someone delivering a deadly blow. “I’m going to make fun of you.”

Eddie can feel himself pouting, does absolutely nothing to try to stop it as he mutters, “knew I should’ve confided in Hagan,” too quietly for Gareth to hear.

“Now, where are these stupid letters?”

Eddie throws his hands up and takes two showily large steps back as he declares, “well, I’m not going to show you now!”

“Oh, Jeff,” Gareth calls, all sing-songy and sly.

Eddie lunges forward to slam his palm over Gareth’s mouth even though Jeff had disappeared from the school long ago. With his hands so close already, he’s hard-pressed to stop himself from wringing Gareth’s scrawny neck.

Before he knows it, Eddie finds himself settled in his room, the letters strewn about Eddie’s unmade bed.

Gareth reads them all; he laughs at all the parts that are sweetest, and despite being born an only child, Eddie can feel himself developing one hell of a Cain instinct. Maybe Cain was actually a cool guy, and Abel drove him to it with his incessant wheedling.

Eddie wouldn’t know; he’s never read the bible.

“Dude, she’s a jock?” Gareth asks, peering down at the letter with a level of glee Eddie’s never seen on the other boy’s face.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Eddie asks, taking sadistic enjoyment in the way Gareth’s nose wrinkles with disgust. He rips—gently!—the letter out of Gareth’s hands and gathers them all back together, intent to hide them from any more prying eyes.

“I was reading that!”

“Girls can do sports,” Eddie replies snootily, tucking the letters away beneath his pillow. “And besides, there’s always cheerleaders.”

All that does is make Gareth start laughing again. “You think you can bag a cheerleader?”

He raises his hand threateningly, one wrong word from smacking that look off his face, the way Eddie’s dad had always threatened. “Do you want to walk home?” Eddie demands.

Eddie’s doubtful it was the threat that got Gareth to stop laughing—they both know they’ll spend the rest of the evening eating stale cereal and watching whatever’s on TV before falling asleep in Eddie’s small bed—but the silence is still welcome.

It lasts a solid three seconds before Gareth asks, “you’re not afraid it’s all a joke?”

Eddie’s going to kill him.

***

The day’s been long despite Steve, Chrissy, and Jeff all skipping first period. Still, nothing could stop him from taking precious time out of his weekend to pick up any notes Eddie might have written.

It’s becoming normal now, to skulk behind Chrissy through the library as she picks up notes. What’s that saying about the third time being a pattern? And there, tucked reverently into a copy of Romeo and Juliet—Chrissy’s idea, not his—is an envelope with Secret Admirer written across it in bold, cursive font. Like Eddie’d gone out and gotten a quill and ink pot just for the occasion.

The ink’s so black, it still looks wet, but when Steve caresses the letters, they don’t even smudge. They both stare down at it where it’s still clutched between Chrissy’s fingers. Chrissy, ever the good friend, waits for his next move.

“Want to come over?” he asks, tired of impersonal whispers in quiet libraries. He wants a girl’s night, the way he and Carol used to before she’d started dating Tommy and everything had gotten so stilted. “I can paint your nails.”

Chrissy doesn’t even hesitate. She’s beaming as she puts the envelope carefully into her book bag, grabs his arm, and drags him out of the room.

She doggedly follows his car all the way home to his big empty house, her headlights beaming light and warmth straight into his heart.

The porch light’s on in front of his house, a beacon leading him home from his rapidly darkening driveway. He always leaves it on, something about its cheerful light making his dark house seem more welcoming, even more so now that he’s got a friend parking her car right behind his.

He’s glad not to get run out of town, but more than that, he’s grateful that it was all just a mistake, that he doesn’t need to let another friendship fizzle out into nothing.

“Are your parents home?” she asks as she bounces out of her car and up to his side.

“Almost never,” Steve replies, not turning back to her, unwilling to see the expression on her face as he leads her to the front door and ushers her inside once it’s unlocked. 

He slides his shoes off, and she copies his movements before following him up the stairs. They settle onto his bed, and he’s tempted to make a wise-crack about what boyfriends and girlfriends usually do in beds, but he’s a little afraid she might slap him, so all he says is, “did you bring it?”

Chrissy rolls her eyes, “of course I brought it.”

She’s already made herself comfortable laying on her stomach, but she dutifully reaches toward the ground to rifle through her bag and pull the envelope that’s been burning a hole in it free. Steve descends on it like a drowning man on land.

He lays on his stomach beside her, tempted to kick his feet and twirl his hair as he slots his finger into the envelope and opens it with the precision born from years of practice opening his parents’ mail.

It’s only as he pulls the tab open that he notices it’s not an envelope at all. Eddie had cleverly folded the note he’d written into the shape of an envelope, tucking the tab into it to keep it closed. He smooths the creases out and devours the words.

       Secret Admirer,

       I want to learn everything about you– the color of your eyes, how your lips curve when you smile, how soft your hands are, the sound of your laughter. But more than that, I want to know what you love, along with all of your deepest wants and needs. You’ve piqued my curiosity with your scant answers. I can’t help but want more.

       Unfortunately, there’s not enough room on the page for the unrelenting number of questions flooding my mind. I know the point of being a secret admirer is that it’s a secret, but I hope that if you really do like me, you won’t stay secret for long.

       I came up with a game I think could be fun! I’ve filled mine out already, for you to keep. Recopy it onto a separate sheet and return it with your next note. That way I get to keep your answers and you can have mine. I also wrote little notes on the back for some of them. I couldn’t help myself.

       Yours,

       Eddie

And there, tucked behind the envelope is a notecard, Eddie’s usual sloppy handwriting covering it with that same, black ink. But he’s circled his answers in red, and added little numbers next to some of them.

       ||Rock or Pop 1 || Board Games or Sports Games 2 || Early Bird or Night Owl || Reading Or TV || Big Spoon or Little Spoon 3 || Outer Space or The Ocean 4 || Art or History || Alcohol or Weed 5 || Cats or Dogs || Holding Hands or First Kiss 6 || Winter or Summer || Grease or Star Wars || Gold or Silver || Halloween or New Year’s Eve || Vampires or Werewolves 7 || Drive-In or Movie Theater || Back Seat or Under the Bleachers 8 || Cuddling or Dancing || Slides or Swings 9 ||

Steve flips it over and finds more little numbers in red, each with a corresponding blurb.

       1. Pop is fun if you’re into that, but nothing beats a good guitar riff.

       2. I know you’re into sports, sweetheart, but come on, board games are the obvious winner.

       3. If you prefer being the big spoon, I’m willing to compromise <3

       4. If you pick the ocean, then you’re braver than me! That’s a body of water you can’t even see the bottom of! How are you cool with that?

       5. If you know me, and it really seems like you do, then my answer here is obvious.

       6. I bet you’ve got really nice hands, sweetheart. Would love to feel them in mine someday.

       7. Werewolves are cool, too, but come on, vampires fit my aesthetic way better.

       8. Under the bleachers would probably be cool, too, but my van’s a lot warmer (does that count as a backseat?)

       9. I was always that kid who would go down the slide and pretend there was a dragon chasing me, what about you?

Steve smiles down at the card and all the secrets it holds.

“Aww, that’s so cute!” Chrissy says.

Steve, for the first time, gets the inexplicable urge to hide Eddie’s words behind his hands. He doesn’t because that would be insane, and also she’s already seen it. So, all he says is, “help me respond?”

She does.

       Eddie —

       I don’t love like you do, not so easily and with my whole heart. But I love my best friend, and I like a whole lot more—hopefully that’s enough.

       I’m just as greedy for answers as you are. I want to write all your answers down on flash cards, study them like you might test me on them. If you do, I’m determined to get an A+.

       I hope my own answers satisfy, even if they don’t include my face, my smile, or my name. But my eyes? They’re brown, but nowhere near as pretty as yours. I could fall into your eyes and die happy.

       Yours, Always,

       Your Secret Admirer

       P.S. This time, put your reply in The Anatomy and Physiology textbook, right next to the diagram of the human heart.

Chrissy tears up at the bit about his best friend, but luckily doesn’t comment, just keeps spinning his yarn into gold. She dutifully re-writes the answer card as well, letting Steve circle his own answers with her pretty pink pen as she peers over her shoulder.

“It’s kind of funny how many of your answers are opposites,” Chrissy says, once they’re done.

Steve frowns, staring between both cards. She’s right; between all the questions, they’ve got three in common: they both chose holding hands over first kisses, drive-ins over movie theaters, and cuddling over dancing.

It’s not much to build a relationship on.

“Yeah, funny,” Steve replies, trying for chill but his voice comes out all wrong.

“Steve?” Chrissy asks, sounding hesitant herself now. “None of that matters, you know that right?”

Steve doesn’t respond; he’s too busy looking between each filled-out card, debating whether changing some of his answers might be for the best.

As if she can sense his thoughts, Chrissy snatches them both from his hands.

“Hey!”

He goes to snatch them back, but she’s pushed them behind her, glare fierce enough to give him pause. “None of that matters,” she says, voice firm. “You really think whether you like gold or silver better is a deal-breaker for a relationship?”

She’s right, that’s not what’s doomed this whole thing before it’s even started—it’s Steve. Steve, who’s a boy, and a jock, and not very bright.

He’s always the problem.

“You hear me, Steve?” Chrissy asks. She’s leaning toward him now, eyes blazing with a conviction he doesn’t quite understand. “You’re perfect just the way you are, okay?”

His throat’s all clogged up so he just nods, looking down at her hands where they’re clutching tightly enough to his comforter that the beds of her nails turn pink, and her knuckles bleach white.

She’s got thin, pretty fingers, and jagged nails. These are the hands that can write letters Eddie will want to read; it’s got nothing to do with silver, or gold, or any of that shit.

It’s Steve.

“Did you really want to paint my nails?” Chrissy asks, biting her lip and not meeting his eyes.

Steve’s up off the bed in an instant, ready for the distraction she’s handed him. He rifles around in the bathroom and comes back with a crate of nail polish which he immediately shoves into her chest with enough gusto that she makes a little oof! noise.

“Pick your poison,” Steve says, watching as her eyes grow wider with every new color she picks up.

“You have so many,” she breathes, touching the small glass bottles almost reverently before picking up a pale pink color that suits her. “What about this one?”

She looks so unsure, like his opinion on her choice of nail polish is the most important thing in the world. Steve’s heart squeezes beneath his ribcage. “‘course, Chris.”

He settles onto the bed, legs criss-crossed. He waits for Chrissy to match his pose before grabbing her hand. She curls her fingers into a fist, a breath shuddering out of her before she forces her hand back open.

Steve doesn’t comment on the ragged state her nails are in. He just grabs a nail file from the crate and smooths them down as best he can. He buffs her nails out before finally grabbing her chosen color and gives the bottle a shake.

The first coat goes on quick, Chrissy watching each flick of the brush like it’s fascinating.

“You’re really good at this,” she says, sounding shocked.

Steve presses her hands down on the bed to keep them still as the first coat dries. “Thanks,” he replies, still not looking up at her. “I used to do Carol’s like every week.”

There’s a silence in the room now that feels one step to the left of stilted. He doesn’t know what to do about it, so he picks up her hand and blows on the nails like that will speed anything up at all.

“Can I do yours next?”

At that, Steve finally looks up from Chrissy’s nails to meet her eyes. She’s biting her lip, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.

“Do you want to?” Steve asks.

No one’s ever painted his nails before, not even Carol. But in the face of Chrissy’s earnest, nervous expression, he can’t say no.

That’s how he finds himself at school on Monday with bright yellow nail polish painted on each of his fingers, the edges already chipped from where he couldn’t stop himself from picking at it.

No one says a thing.

PART 6

[thestrangestthlng]

Thoughts and prayers rants...

So, now that I've had almost 48 hours to marinate on this and cycled through my emotions, I am in a much better headspace to talk on the whole 9-1-1 of it all.

But this bears repeating: We fell in love with Tommy because he made Buck fall in love with Evan.

So, first and foremost, I've decided that canon stopped for me at 8x05. lol. I am going to continue with my BT train like that shit show didn't happen. And for me, for a while, I am going to let the show end there. I will go back, probably after the hiatus, but not how I was. I do love all the characters on this show (some more than others) and I still want to be able to see their journey, but I need a break from that manipulation stunt. I'm still going to share all the positive BT stuff I see and all the beautiful Lou content I see.

Secondly, now that I am over the initial hurt of the breakup, I'm just mad. We were manipulated intentionally with 8x05 for us to feel worse when the break up happened. That was unnecessary. And that was cruel. And I know that a lot of this is because it was the icing on a shit week. Emotions were already raw due to the election and it was reallllllyyyy bad timing for this, but that doesn't make the way they did it okay, just that it can explain why there was such a strong reaction for many of us, on top of the completely justified anger.

Breakups happen, and that's okay. If it was the end of Tommy's time on the show, that's okay. I am a Buck girlie and I always will be. But... the breakup was reductive, stereotypical, and just poor storytelling. I get they want to leave doors open a crack, because you never truly know, but turning him into an OOC stereotypical biphobic gay man is disgusting. You had this beautiful thing and you shat on it. I am going to do another post about my personal relationship with groundbreaking storylines next.

That was a miscommunication. That was a breakup where someone chases after you and is like wtf actually just happened. It felt like whiplash, because that is not how breakups are formulated in media. You know how else you could have written him out of the story?

At the date (and the basketball tickets are actually a really sweet touch when you think about it) Tommy could have told Buck that he got a job offer in another city or state or that his parents are ill and he has to go home to take care of them and asked Buck to go with him. At the apartment, it could have been buck telling him that as much as he could see a future with him, he can't go with him.

Would it have sucked? Yes. But it wouldn't have induced this amount of rage.

For over six months Lou and BTs have been at the receiving amount of a ton of vitriol. And that's not to say that there weren't antagonizers on this side of the fence or that BTs never did anything wrong, but this isn't a both sides bullshit piece. People can suck everywhere, but only one "side" harassed an actor and his family with death threats, he read about the "stoning" calls, used slurs on a regular basis. All of this persisted for months for it to turn out that he was the only one who seemed to give a shit about the story and it's representation. There honestly doesn't seem like there would have been anyone better for it.

You know what's ironic? It was the Buddie's hate and vitriol that pulled me into fandom and made me love Tommy and then Lou. When they would run their mouths, I would look into it and I found a man who genuinely seems like (he is still someone we don't know) a wonderfully kind, sweethearted, genuine man. He looks like a bundle of light and his smile can warm even the coldest hearts. So their vitriol made me a fan. So thanks BoBs.

Buck and Tommy wasn't just about Buck's queerness and definitely not about "wanting to see two white men kiss". It was about our love for Buck. We saw him happier and more fulfilled than he's ever been. We see his life being lived and full of love and stuff and joy.

Again:

We fell in love with Tommy because he made Buck fall in love with Evan.

And you know what, not matter how reductive and all the phobics that breakup was, they can never take that away from us.

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 45!

what a week... i'm greatly enjoying all of the post-8x06 buddie fic (many more recs to come!) and took some time to revisit old favourites, which can be found in previous rec lists. enjoy!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

all that we need | not1_2write | 26.4k | M

When Buck buys a Powerball lottery ticket he doesn't think much beyond his need for change to air up his tire. He forgets all about the ticket until word spreads that the winning ticket was sold in LA and hasn't been claimed yet and pretty much dismisses it. After all, there's no way he won the lottery. Turns out no, he really did win the Powerball, to the tune of 295 million dollars and just in time for Christmas. He's going to make sure the 118 has the best Christmas of their lives. And just maybe he'll have a good one too. idk about all of you but i do dream about winning the lottery regularly (way too often for someone who's never bought a ticket, that's for sure). this is such a lovely look at what buck would do with a whole lot of money <3

i take this magnetic force of a man | playinginthunderstorms/@playinginthunderstorms | 9k | M

Turns out, he isn’t actually afraid of commitment. He’s just afraid of committing to the wrong thing, or the wrong person. Ana, obviously, had been a mistake, because he hadn’t been ready, and he’d put other people’s expectations above his own wants and needs. With Marisol, he’s done the same thing. Moved too fast, doing what he thinks is the right thing according to who? His parents? For Chris’s benefit? Again, pushing past his own comfort, discarding any doubt because it doesn’t fit like… Like Buck. blanket rec for one of my favourite authors who has been posting incredible fics lately!! this one in particular is so beautifully written and so romantic and just so very buddie <3

if i need to rearrange my particules i will for you | thelikesofus/@thelikesofus | 7.9k | GA

Eddie catches a cold and Buck takes care of him while having a minor, non-platonic emotional crisis. this is definitely influenced by the fact that i've been ill myself but wow truly nothing hits as hard as buddie taking care of each other when one of them isn't feeling well. the bed sharing in this is so good <3

let me | facewithoutheart/@facewithoutheart | 1.6k | T

Eddie doesn't think he needs romance. Buck, respectfully, disagrees. AKA the fic where Buck picks Eddie up and kisses him breathless against a wall. and buck is so right for doing that!! i love it when buck turns eddie to jello <3 so lovely!

second child, restless child | lesbianrobin/@lesbianrobin | 23k and counting| M

how Evan and Maddie make it out of Pennsylvania, and Buck and Maddie build a family. okay so listen these past few weeks i've been doing this thing where i only rec finished fics, and every time i scroll through my ao3 history for these rec lists, i come across this one and go oh i wish i could rec this already. and then i realised wait it's my rec list i can do whatever i want, and so then i did. anyway, mind the tags for this one, but wow are you in for a treat here! i love the character dynamics (chim is brilliant in this!! and maddie!!) and i'm so so excited to see the rest of this fic unfold <3

said that i was fine, said it from my coffin | justhockey/tumblr | 7.3k | T

And it doesn’t matter that he feels like he’s dying. Like the version of himself that he’s always been is suddenly a stranger to him - just a mask he’d spent his entire life hiding behind, without ever even realising he was wearing it. It doesn’t matter that Eddie is…that he’s gay. Because he knows - as surely as he knows that the sun will rise again tomorrow - that the only person he has ever, and will ever, truly love is Buck. And Buck isn’t his to love. another blanket rec for an author who's been posting incredible fics!! this one in particular has such brilliant eddie characterisation and i just devoured it the second i got that little ao3 email hehe

there's no place like home-spun | icewhisper | 4.1k | GA

Buck has spent most of his life trying to find something to settle fidgeting hands and the restless need for a home. He found the key to the latter when he was thirteen. He finds the former in a cozy home on South Bedford Street with two of his favorite people. (AKA the Buck-crochets fic that literally no one asked for.). this fic makes me want to learn how to crochet. i am the least crafty person ever and i have like minus time but just know that if two weeks from now i'm posting about yarn and crochet hooks and whatnot, it's all thanks to this fic. i love buck who crochets so very much <3

you get your dreams for free | llovely/@butchdiaz| 14.9k | T

five times buck and eddie cuddle drunk and one time they cuddle sober. buddie bed sharing my absolute favourite. i read this late at night curled up under three blankets and it hit just right <3

[joejhang]

andrew minyard.

finally andrew is getting the essay treatment from me. i love this man and i just needed to yap about him. spoilers ahead and continue at ur own risk.

people (both within the series and in the fandom) like to think of andrew as super unemotional and stoic. i don't think people realise it but the whole "andrew is soulless" mindset has bled into the fandom, and the way people write and talk about him really makes me think they do just consider andrew to be extremely cold and unreachable as a person. i lowkey find this funny because andrew's not even that monstrous or difficult or stone cold he's literally just bipolar (canonically) with some clinical depression in there. like???

and it's weird because people like to think of andrew as super out of control and violent and yes, he was unpredictable when he was on his drugs and he does still play by his own rules, but he honestly rarely incites any violence? i can't really think of a single instance he's been violent for no reason. he punched matt for hitting kevin. he choked allison for slapping aaron. he choked kevin for lying to him and also because he was understandably panicked and angry about neil being taken from him. what i find interesting is that when one-dimensional booktok men and the stereotypical book boyfriends do this typa shit it's seen as cute and protective and bf material but when andrew does it he's seen as violent, out of control and emotionless. and what also doesn't make sense is when people see his ability to inflict fear and violence on people (usually retaliatory but whatever) they consider it to be proof of his inability to feel emotion, but it seems to me that it's proof of the opposite? all of his violent and "out of control" moments to me are literally displays of how much he cares.

andrew is such an acts of service show don't tell kinda person and you'd have to be pretty blind (or biased) to not be able to see how his actions reflect his thoughts and emotions. he agreed to everything neil asked of him because he was interested in and a little (a lot) in love with him. he agreed to let kevin stay and protect him from the literal mafia because kevin believed in him and believed he was worth something and was willing to be patient and give him something to live for. he's friends with and hangs out with renee because she's kind and honest and genuine with him and isn't immediately dead-set against him because he doesn't fit into the conventional values of what a guy is supposed to act like.

does he have problems and flaws? yes, absolutely. many of his issues do stem from his existing trauma and the biases he's developed from that, but he's working through them, with other people's help, and it's so bizarre when people in the fandom talk about him like he's so far gone and to "rehabilitate" him would be a miracle when...he's literally already in the process of healing?? and he's not resistant to it at all?? before neil even shows up, he's seeing and talking to betsy, he's doing things (in his own way, sure) to try and patch up his relationship with aaron, he's protecting the people he cares about, he isn't honestly as self-sabotaging and self-destructive as he says he is. betsy is right when she says that he's done exceptionally well despite everything the world and his life have tried to throw at him.

people like to accuse aftg of demonising mental illness and people like andrew but i actually think the aftg fandom does that a lot more than the actual books. i think anyone with critical thinking can see that despite the nickname, andrew isn't a monster at all, and i think anyone that really knows him in the novel would see that too. and people in the fandom still write him like a sociopath even though it's explicitly stated he isn't, he literally has bipolar disorder, and it's funny and ironic to me because the fandom is like the general public in aftg, and the fandom (at least to me) demonises andrew a hell of a lot more than the actual books do.

andrew isn't the emotionless, stony, cold, unreachable, violent monster the fandom seems to think he is. i think he does have some problems expressing his emotions and probably has some issues coming to terms with a lot of them, but i think he definitely experiences the full range of emotions and they show themselves pretty frequently, intentional or not.

[revelboo]

I LOVE your work but bestie, do you sleep?? 😭

Sleep? What’s that?

The Weakends Pt 8

TFP Ratchet x Reader

• There’s no leaving you after that soft request, because refusing might just widen that distance between you and he can’t stand that. Venting tiredly, he lays back on his berth and awkwardly settles you on his chassis, too aware of that little spot of warmth that’s you shifting against him. “Your nest would be more comfortable,” he grumbles, watching you wrinkle your nose at him and fold your arms so you can rest your chin on top of them laying on your belly and just staring at him. “What?”

• He’s right back to the cranky medic act, leaning into it hard and you resent it, but after the fear and stress of working on Bee, you think you get it. Maybe it’s his armor, a way of insulating himself from fear because there’d been points where you’d frozen. Hadn’t been able to convince yourself it was only a machine you’re working on, because it wasn’t. It was Bee and he was in pain. But Ratchet hadn’t missed a step, his gruff voice kept you moving so you didn’t break down crying. Because he’d been looking after you and Bee both. Slowly standing to carefully walk up his chassis closer to his face, he tenses as you lay your palms on his chin. Those blue optics staring as he frowns down at you. “You’re a jerk.”

• Venting in exasperation, he reaches for you to move you and you aggressively swat his servos with a scowl. “You’re a jerk a lot of the time,” you say, leaning on his chin. “And a little mean, but you don’t fool me, okay?” He wants to growl, roll his optics, but can’t. Your serious eyes locked with his optics. “You’re actually a sweetheart.” Huffing out a soft laugh at that, it’s choked off when you lean over and press a soft, warm kiss against his face.

• Face red, you straighten and go back to sit on his chassis with your back to him so he can’t see how embarrassed you are, but you’d needed to say it. Needed him to know you care about him, that you’re going to look after him since he’s too stubborn to take care of himself. One of his servos brushes along your arm and it trembles ever so slightly before he curls his hand loosely about you, not forcing you to look at him. And not asking what that was about, just letting you be.

• Head falling back to stare at the ceiling, he tries to puzzle out what that was. Why it spreads warm through him. Feeling you stretch on him, the reassuring beat of your heart grounds him. Feeling strangely like home.

Previous

[dyns33]

New life

!! SPOILERS - Careful, Venom The last dance spoilers here !!!

I was wondering while watching the movie if that would give me new ideas for Eddie and his tiny alien, and yes, yes it did.

When Y/N had met Eddie Brock in a New York cafe, he had hesitated at first before accepting her into his life.

It had taken him several weeks to open up, talk to her, understand that she liked him, and then admit that he liked her too.

Once he had offered her his trust, he had explained why to her. Really explained everything, adding that he understood that she thought he was crazy and that she would decide to run away from him when he was done.

First, he had completely ruined his career and his relationship with his fiancée Anne by being selfish and stupid. For a long time, Eddie had refused to see the truth, making excuses, but he had to admit that it was all his fault.

Then, there was Venom. The alien symbiote who had brought as much joy as problems into his existence, before sacrificing himself to save him, along with the rest of humanity.

"He was my best friend." he said, trying to hold back his sobs. "He could be annoying, but I wasn't a gift either. We were supposed to see the Statue of Liberty together, but… Well. I miss him a lot. It's weird not hearing from him all the time. It's hard without him."

Not only did these revelations not scare Y/N away, but she found herself even more in love and touched by this wounded man who was doing his best to move forward despite everything he had been through.

Like a wild animal, it took a little more time to reassure Eddie that she really loved him and especially that he wasn't going to lose her.

For their first date, he offered her an ice cream, not far from Lady Liberty. Y/N took his hand, to support him, but especially so that he knew that she wasn't going to try to make him forget Venom.

Just because they were together didn't erase everything he'd experienced with his alien parasite friend, who was a lot like a boyfriend when he told her all their stories.

"Nah, just a friend."

"You said you loved each other."

"Like buddies."

"You had arguments as a couple. He was jealous and protective. You gave him chocolate on Valentine's Day."

"Once ! And to keep him quiet. And the rest was just a symbiote thing."

"You admitted to me that he 'took care of' your erections when he was in full form. Why did you have erections anyway ?"

"… Shit, I was in a relationship with Vee."

He cried again, in shock. Not because he was ashamed, but because he had not understood the nature of their relationship, much more intense than simple friendship. He did not blame Y/N for opening his eyes, as she did not hold back from doing so, thinking that it was necessary for him to grieve properly.

Several months passed, life continuing in an excellent direction.

After using his contacts and abilities, Eddie Brock had become a formidable reporter in New York, even if he was a little more careful about his methods and the people he wrote about.

In his private life, he made Y/N very happy, learning from his past mistakes to become the best boyfriend possible. No secrets, no lies, no manipulation to get information for an article. They were not in symbiosis, but almost.

Much more relaxed and open than before, he kept his calm in most situations. Even when they had some cockroach problems. Or rather one cockroach problem.

"It's still there." Eddie noted while drinking his coffee, observing the insect that was partially hidden behind the couch.

"Do you want me to call someone ?"

"Nah. He doesn't hurt anyone, that little guy. We don't leave food lying around, we throw out our trash. No point in staying here or calling his friends. He must be lost, he'll leave eventually."

"What if he thinks you're so cool that he tells the others to come over just so he can watch you sleep ?"

"Eww, babe, gross. Listen, if he's still here in a week, I'll take care of him. But it must be a neighbor with questionable hygiene who has a colony, he'll go back there."

The cockroach stayed, but like Eddie had said, he wasn't that much of a nuisance. Most of the time he was nowhere to be found, otherwise he stayed in his corner.

Strangely, he showed up when the couple was together, as if he was waiting to watch them. His presence was still abnormal, in addition to being possibly dirty, so Y/N decided to take matters into her own hands, trying to get him out.

"I know you're the most impossible thing to kill on this Earth." she said to the cockroach that was hiding under the closet. "And besides, Eddie decided he didn't want you to die, so let me put you in this jar, I'll take you to a landfill, and you'll be the happiest little cockroach, okay ?"

Of course, the insect wasn't ready to cooperate, putting itself as far away as possible, in an impossible place to reach. It was ridiculous, but Y/N had the impression that it understood perfectly what she was saying.

Eddie found her on the living room floor, her hand under the closet, trying for several hours to catch it.

"Need some help ?"

"Thanks, Eddie, it's between him and me now."

"Poor little thing that has no chance against someone stronger than them. Accept that he's winning."

"You're hilarious. He's staring at me without moving, he's making fun of me, it's personal. I'm pretty sure I saw him smile."

"You been upside down for a long time, babe ?" he asked as he sat down next to her, rubbing her back. "Come on, I'll take care of it, I'll get rid of the horrible monster."

"No, Eddie… Please…"

It was probably the first time someone had dropped their shoe to cry and try to hug a cockroach, but Eddie being an extraordinary man, Y/N was only half surprised. Same thing when the insect started talking again, small tentacles coming out of it to wrap around her boyfriend. She had thought she had imagined that voice.

Losing its dark color, the creature was thrown out the window, while the tentacles remained around Eddie, before disappearing, as if absorbed by his heart. Then an alien head appeared near his shoulder.

"Wait… Is that Venom ?" she asked, a bit lost. "You told me he was dead."

"I thought so too ! Last time, he was just exhausted but still inside me, but this time… Vee, I thought I'd never see you again !"

"Eddie… I told you it wasn't goodbye. It took me a lot longer than I thought to find you. Cockroaches are tough, but their legs are tiny, not as fast as a horse. And then… I saw you with your new love. So I didn't know if you'd want me to come back."

"But of course I…"

Remembering the discussion they had had, Eddie turned to Y/N, as if he was scared. Now that he knew the feelings he had for his symbiote, without ever realizing it when they were together, it was embarrassing to say that he wanted him back while he was in a relationship with her.

Maybe Venom had insisted for a long time that he get back with Anne, because it seemed to be the key to his host's happiness, but then there had been no one between them.

The alien didn't know Y/N. He had spent several days observing her, seeing if she was good enough for his Eddie, and after accepting that she was a suitable partner, he had wondered if he wasn't going to ruin everything by showing himself.

After all, Eddie had often said that it was his fault that he had lost everything. Venom didn't agree, he knew that most of his host's problems were the result of his bad decisions, but maybe he had turned his life upside down a bit, forcing him to give up certain things for him, like Vee had given up certain things to please him.

A relationship was certainly one of those things. With Anne, it might have been possible since she knew about the symbiote, but someone new ? That would have been hard to sell.

"You told her about me ?" Venom realized as he stared at Y/N. "Weren't you ashamed ? Didn't you repress your feelings because of the stupid social conventions that say men should be strong and insensitive ?"

"Of course I told her about you. I made a lot of resolutions after… After. I wanted to honor your memory, while being honest with Y/N."

"That's good, Eddie ! You're a little less of a loser !"

"Thanks, buddy, so nice."

Poor Eddie grimaced, probably accepting that this insult was a compliment, but Y/N quickly understood that there was a parallel, silent discussion going on between them in his head. She could easily guess that Venom was wondering if he would be able to stay, if she would leave because of him, or worse if his host would have to make a choice, which would make him unhappy.

Ensuring the happiness of his human was so important to him that the symbiote would have been ready to stay hidden under their couch, to be close to him without risking disturbing him. Who could hate such an adorable alien ?

"If we don't adopt chickens, and we buy lots of chocolate, I guess cohabitation won't be impossible." she smiled shyly, before they found the courage to ask her opinion.

"Babe ? Really ?"

"You really chose well, Eddie ! She might even be too good for you !"

"Thanks Vee, really super nice again. But babe, are you sure ? He can be… We are… You can say it if you find it weird."

"It's weird, but it doesn't bother me."

Almost every day, Eddie kissed her tenderly, in the morning, before leaving for work, when entering their apartment, when they went to sleep, but he had never been so passionate when he kissed her at that moment, repeating that he loved her.

As if he had been there forever, the alien had surrounded them with his tentacles in an attempt of a hug, commenting on the scene that he considered the most beautiful and romantic thing he had ever seen, even better than in his favorite telenovela with Maximiliano. He immediately ordered them to watch it when Y/N told him that she didn't know who he was talking about.

Not as invested, Eddie fell asleep on the sofa, keeping her in his arms and snoring lightly in her neck, while Venom explained the previous episodes to her with great excitement, as if everything was normal.

[yappielestappie]

Some lestappen thoughts in these trying times:

I think Max and Charles have a bond unlike anyone else in F1, even though they’re not that close of friends. I’d even go so far as to say they’re trauma bonded.

We all know Jos was downright horrible. It’s quite reasonable to assume that this was very hard on Max as a child, and that he felt alienated and alone (recall the quote of him saying it would’ve been nice to be able to play football with kids his age, sometimes). The only times he got to hang around with kids his age was on the race track. And who was always there? Always at the top? Always challenging him? Charles Leclerc.

Charles, meanwhile, had the opposite. He had a entire support system built around his racing career. He had both brothers and his godfather with him, and a fathers love to guide him through. In his teens, he lost both Jules and his father, and suddenly, the only consistent familiar part of racing that remainder from his childhood, would have been Max.

Meanwhile, while Charles was suffering this loss, Max was in Formula 1, in a top team, doing quite well, and had picked up a support system (albeit a likely limited one) in Daniel Riccardo. I think Charles was extremely jealous of Max when he also got to F1 in 2018. Their whole lives, they’d been opponents, and then Max beat him to F1 by 3 years & had everything Charles did not (a good seat, a father, an older F1 driver to guide him). I also think that’s why the Austria 2019 podium ended up being such a big conflict. It was a lot more than just a win to Charles. It was proving himself.

Now, they’ve both matured (Daniel helped Max and Seb helped Charles). They can look back on their karting days fondly, and they both recognize that the only real supportive part of their karting careers that still remains, is each other. All the hatred they had for one another has turned into support, and a kind of respect that very few drivers have for one another.

They have something special. It’s undeniable. There’s no other drivers on the grid that have history anything like them (Pierresteban could be discussed but that’s a whole mess). And now I think they’re old enough to realize they have something special.

Max genuinely cares about Charles. It’s obvious. Their racing is so much different to anyone else Max goes wheel to wheel with. Leclerc is the only driver I’ve ever seen him apologize to. The whole “Charlie I’ve got a space for you!” Thing is still blowing my mind. Max talks about Charles like he’s the only one Max actually wants to race, like Charles is the only person worthy of challenging him. He rates Charles over everyone else even when he fucks up “come on Charles man, too many mistakes” comes to mind.

And Charles is the same way right back, he just usually has a bit more shame. It’s worth noting that he speaks highly about a lot of other drivers, but Max always seems special. He compliments max out the wazoo sometimes. It’s clear that he sees Max as the very best - as the benchmark to beat. But more than that, he defends Max just like we do. Charles always supports Max’s moves on Lando, even when they’re clearly in the wrong. He supports Max’s aggressive racing, claims to LIKE it even, when Max is being constantly harassed by the fans and media.

There’s something between them. Some unspoken reason why they support each other like this and the only conclusion I can come to is that the memories they have of each other are inseparable from their memories of racing. They’ve been competing at the top since they were 6 years old. They know how to be rivals better than they know how to do anything else in the world.

I don’t know if they ever hang out outside of F1. I don’t know if we’ll ever see them interact again once Max retires. But I do know that they’ve shaped each other in a way that will impact them until the day they die. Every untainted memory from their childhoods is about each other. All the memories of loss and abuse are separate to their memories of each other. They are the only thing that remains.

The most fundamental part of racing for Max, is beating Charles. And the most fundamental part of racing for Charles, is beating Max. Everyone else on the grid is irrelevant- an obstacle. They are two halves of the same story and I think that’s more beautiful than any romance book I’ve ever read.

oh anon you are so absolutely right. listen for me, it's the fact that we can talk all day about lestappen and ship them or let our imaginations and minds go wild with w/e but fundamentally? at the end of the day? there is also substance to it - even any form of fandom aside, there are simply facts about them that make them such a beautiful dynamic. there is something so mesmerizing about the level on which they drive, perform, their talents and skills and the way they grew up with and around each other in a sense. the beautiful juxtapositions, the red strings of fate, the way their paths kept crossing and intertwining even before they raced each other again (suzuka being max' first proper f1 test drives and then jules etc.)... there is just something cosmic about them that (as stated in some previous post) almost boils down to THEM BOTH BEING LIBRAS which is still driving me insane. the balance. the way this just screams UNIVERSE just as partners in life, as twin flames, as two sides of the same coin, two weights on a scale... again, not even saying this is related to the fandom angle of romance. like you said it almost runs deeper than that. and i, personally, refuse to be normal about it the same way the two of them are never truly normal about each other.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

request for a logan x reader where logan comforts the reader after they come home from a mission all bloodied up? i see a lot of reader comforting logan fics but im curious to see how itd be the other way round :)

me? responding to a request like three weeks later? it's more likely than you think. also sorry it's so short. originally it turned into smut but i didn't know if you'd want that given the request was for hurt/comfort. (if you guys want i can publish the alternate smut version of this fic too).

solace

summary: you come home from a mission gone wrong and logan helps you through it.

warnings: death (offscreen), blood, non-sexual intimacy, nudity, reader has hair, pet names (logan canonically calls his love interests "darlin'" and this is me pushing that agenda), english is not my first language so please do not be rude

word count: 1004

you’re splattered in blood and grime, grey ash streaking your skin from the fire created by a little boy lashing out at the world. he had set his own house on fire, his parents dying in the most brutal of ways, burned alive.

“oh princess, c’mere,” logan pulls you into his arms. you’re in too much shock to argue, letting him manoeuvre you like a doll.

you don’t like going on missions, don’t like hurting people. you’re only ever sent on the easy ones, the non-violent ones, where you try to convince mutant kids to join the school. you’re good at talking to children, at getting them to admit their fears to you, at soothing their worries. but even the easy missions don’t always go well.

charles could sense that this particular child was powerful, and far worse than that, he was angry. he’d lashed out when he’d seen you, screamed in anger when his parents expressed a desire for him to go to xavier’s school, to learn to control himself before he came back home again. his parents were frightened too, scared of what might happen if things continued the way they were.

they’d all died in the explosion of his power.

he was so scared. he never meant to hurt anyone, you could see it in his eyes when the fire continued to burn despite him letting go. it was out of control, no longer a part of him that he could control like an extra limb, but something with a mind of its own.

it reminds you of yourself when you’d first discovered your abilities, scared and alienated from the rest of the world, from the non-mutants around you. you see yourself in every kid you save, and in every kid you lose.

you stay in logan’s arms for a long while, the only sound in the room his steady breathing contrasting with your ragged, choked out sobs. his chest rises steadily against yours, a rhythm that you try to imitate but you can’t, and with every failed inhale you feel your frustration grow, your panic increase.

he picks you up easily, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, clutching onto him so as not to fall. he would never drop you, you know that, but it’s always a slight surprise when you’re not expecting him to lift you from the ground.

he leads you to the bathroom where he helps you strip out of your clothes, so gentle with your shaking form. his hands trace each new sliver of skin revealed to him, keeping a firm pressure on you always, grounding you, reminding you of where you are. not in a burning house watching a child’s corpse go pitch black from the flames, but in the house that logan bought the two of you, not too far from the school but enough to give the two of you privacy.

in the shower, the blood rinses off your skin, pink rivulets swirling down the drain. yet you can still feel it, thick and sticky and warm. you want to scrub at your skin until its red and blistering, until you have to grow a new layer of skin, a fresh one that hasn’t been touched by death.

logan doesn’t let you. he catches your hand and whispers, “let me take care of you, darlin’.”

you lean into his bare chest and he massages shampoo into the roots of your hair, over your scalp until it foams, and then rinses it away. he runs your conditioner - the one he always claims is too expensive and why would you spend so much on hair products - through your hair, tugging gently at the strands when he notices you disappearing into your mind.

afterwards he pats you dry, and kisses every inch of your skin, reverent, on his knees before you. and then he rises to his feet and finally presses his lips to yours, soft and intimate, not rushed or heated, just reassurance that he’s here, he’s got you, and he’s not going anywhere.

“do you want to talk about it?” he asks eventually.

you shake your head, “he was just a kid.”

“i know,” logan says, rubbing his large, rough hands over your arms, up and down, “but it’s not your fault, you know that. you can’t control what other people do. d’you blame storm for what happened?”

“no!” you exclaim, eyes wide at the implication that one of your best friends could have caused the boys death.

“but she was on the mission with you,” logan comments, and you shake your head, “if you don’t blame her, you can’t blame yourself. neither of you knew, you couldn’t’ve stopped it.”

“maybe,” you say. you don’t really believe it, but logan knows it’ll take you time to get back to your usual happy self, and he’s fine with staying by your side, whispering praise and reassurance until you start to believe him again.

afterwards, he puts on your favourite movie. he spends the whole time making fun of the characters and their decisions, grumbling about how movies will base their entire plot progression on actions no real, rational person would ever do, until you giggle wetly and slap him in the arm, telling him to shut up and let you watch the film.

you lean back into the circle of his arms and he holds you tight, occasionally wiping stray tears that run down your cheeks. there’s less tension in your muscles now, but you’re not quite relaxed, so he shuffles the two of you around until he can massage your shoulders and back.

you moan at the feeling, sinking into the sensation of his large hands working at the knots, until you’re putty for him. you feel warm and fuzzy by the time his hands start to stray down, massaging your thighs.

“feelin’ better?” he asks as the end credits roll, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“yeah,” you sigh, “thank you for taking care of me.”

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ 30

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,855ish

Summary: You and Logan still struggle with your relationship. The two of you make a decision to help ease the struggles.

Warnings: Emotional, Angst, Injuries

Notes: crossing my fingers that you guys will be okay with this chapter...

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

“So, how are you and Logan doing?” Ororo asked one morning at breakfast.

“Fine,” you responded with a shrug. “We have a lot of work to do, but we’re working through it.”

“He does seem a little more on edge around the kids, as do you.”

You sighed. “I’ve actually been thinking… I think Logan and I should go away for a while.”

“Wait, you two want to leave?”

“I haven’t brought it up to Logan yet, and it wouldn’t be forever… we just need a space where we can focus on just the two of us. We’re constantly thrown every which way with classes, missions, and world-ending scenarios. Logan and I need to simply be us for a while and figure out what that means.”

“I… do whatever you have to do.” Ororo stood up. “I’ve got a class to teach.”

“Ororo, please stay and talk.” 

But she slipped out of the room. You sighed, hiding your head in your hands. That was the position Logan found you in. He quietly came up behind you and rested your hands on your shoulders. He leaned down and kissed the back of your neck.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered against your neck.

You leaned back into him, looking up at him. “I made Ororo upset.”

“What did you do?” You sighed, looking back down. “Hey.” He sat down beside you. “I thought we were doing better with the talking shit.” He hooked a finger under your chin and guided your face to look at him. “Tell me.”

“I told Ororo about something I was going to talk to you about.”

“And that was…?”

“About leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“I was thinking that we need some time to ourselves. To figure things out and just be us.”

“But this is your home. Would you really be okay leaving it?”

“Logan, you’re my home. And you were long before this was.”

Logan studied your gaze and could see that you were telling the truth, but he worried that after a while, he wouldn’t be enough. You at least had people here, other mutants, to lean on when the two of you were struggling. If it’s just you and him? Then you’d have no one. Logan was okay with that for himself but not for you.

“I thought that we’ve been doing well here,” Logan said, trying to see if he could get you to change your mind. 

His words took you back. “You want to stay? You’re constantly trying to run.”

“I just want you to really think about it, sweetheart. I don’t want you to leave and then regret it.”

“You think that I’d regret being with you?”

“That’s not what I said—“

You pulled away, standing up. “But it’s what you meant, right?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” He stood up as well, growing angry. 

“Do you not want this long-term, Logan? Am I just your person until a new, better one comes along?”

“Hey! That’s not fair!”

“Morning! Oh—“ Bobby stopped in the doorway. “I can see that this is not a good time, so I—“

“No, Bobby, we’re done here,” you told him, rushing off.

“Y/N!” Logan yelled after you, hurrying to follow you. He followed you into the gardens. “Now, who’s running?!”

“Oh, please,” you spun around. “You’ve wanted to run since the moment you got here!”

“Yes, but I stayed for you!”

“Oh, I feel so honored.”

“You know what, maybe I should go. Since it’s clear that I’m unable to hit the high expectations you have set for me.”

“You are the reason for those high expectations.”

“Ugh! I’m not that person anymore! And I’m sick and tired of feeling like shit all the time about that!”

Logan’s hand flew out as he was talking, his claws accidentally unsheathing. Before either of you knew it, the claws were cutting against your cheek. You gasped, stumbling back as your hand came up to hold your cheek.

“Oh my God,” he sputtered. He hid his claws before reaching for you. “Sweetheart—“ You stepped back, breaking both of your hearts. Logan’s fingers were tingling. If you didn’t let him try to fix this—if you didn’t let him touch you, Logan would never trust himself to touch someone again. “Please let me—“

“No,” you shook your head, tears falling down your cheeks. “Just… leave me alone.”

You rushed off back into the mansion. You knew that Logan didn’t mean to hurt you, but you needed time and space. 

Logan was frozen in his spot. The high emotions had gotten the best of both of you, but especially his claws. He had hurt you, and he was fully conscious for it. This was different than him having a nightmare. This was much worse.

~~~

You had sat in front of the mirror, watching the three cuts along your cheek heal into scars. Tears streamed down your face the entire time while you thought of Logan. Both of you were in the wrong here, and this was a complete accident. You were thinking about what to say to Logan when you started to hear drawers slamming in Logan’s room. Rushing out of your room, you looked into his room to see him stuffing his clothes into a bag.

“What are you doing?” You whispered.

Logan spun to face you. Slowly, his hand reached out to brush against the scars on your cheek, but he didn’t let his hand actually make contact.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” his voice was completely broken, tears lining his eyes. “I never wanted to be the one to hurt you… yet I keep doing it.” He shook his head and got back to packing. “I have to go.”

“What?”

“I can’t keep hurting you. I can’t be the person you need… The person I was before…”

“And this will make it better? I’ve messed up in this relationship, too. This is not just on you. I’m sorry for making it seem like I’m forcing you to be that person again. I know that you’ve changed, so I have, and that’s okay. I still love you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Stop that.” You slipped in between him and the dresser. He kept his head down, not willing to make eye contact. “Fine. Tell me you don't love me, and I’ll let you walk away. But you have to look me in the eye and be honest with me.”

You nibbled your bottom lip as you waited for Logan to make the next move. You could tell that there was a war waging in his mind. His eyes suddenly snapped to yours.

“I… I can’t do that,” he murmured. “I love you.”

You quickly pulled him by his shirt to kiss him. He dropped his bag and slid his hands to the small of your back.

“If you really want to leave,” you whispered against his lips, “then you have to take me with you.”

“Okay,” he replied. 

~~~

“It’s not forever,” you said as you hugged Ororo. “We’ll stay in contact and visit. Logan and I just need to figure things out.”

“I’ll miss you,” Ororo responded, pulling back. “I’ll miss the both of you.”

“You ready?” Logan asked, coming up from the truck he had just packed. 

He had already said goodbye to Marie and Bobby before packing the truck, knowing that you would need some time with Ororo.

“I think so,” you responded. “See you later, Ororo.”

“See you,” she replied.

You took Logan’s hand, and he led you to the truck. He opened the door and helped you in before going around to the driver’s seat. You turned back and watched as the mansion grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Logan placed a hand on your knee, giving it a slight squeeze.

“Are you okay?” He asked, clearly concerned. “We can turn back around.”

You laced your fingers through his and scooted closer to Logan, very thankful for the bench seat. “I’m okay,” you told him. You kissed his shoulder. “Where are we headed?”

“I have a place in mind.”

“Care to tell?”

“Not yet. Why don’t you get some rest?”

“You sure?”

He leaned over and kissed your head. “I’m sure.”

You hummed in content as you rested your head on his shoulder and let yourself relax. Logan’s lifted up in a barely-there smile as you tried your best to cuddle into him. 

~~~

You didn’t bother to ask Logan where the two of you were headed again. You kept yourself occupied with books and naps when you weren’t talking to Logan. It was already proving to be worth it, as the farther the two of you drove from the mansion, the less tension there was. Logan insisted on driving the whole way, and so far you’ve had to beg him to stop to sleep in motels for the three nights you’ve been on the road so far.

It didn’t shock you when the two of you crossed over into Canada. You figured that Logan would always feel a call back there. The shock factor was later as the two of you drove up an old, familiar road in the Canadian Rockies.

“Logan, where—“

“Just patience, okay?” He cut you off. “I’ll explain soon.”

You simply nodded, focusing on the trees you were passing out the window. Your heart started pounding the closer you got to the top. Before you knew it, the small house appeared and Logan was pulling up to it. It looked just how you remembered it. You were too busy staring that you didn’t realize Logan had gotten out of the truck and walked around to your side. He opened the door and took your hand.

“Come on,” he urged, tugging you out of the truck. “Let’s go inside.”

“Inside?” You repeated. “It’s probably a disaster. We—“ Your eyes widened as Logan pulled you inside. The place was clean, updated, and furnished. “What? How?”

“Charles. We had a conversation about when Jean died, and I got part of my memories back. He knew that we would need a place to start over and found where we used to live. Before I could stop it, he had people here fixing it up.”

You let go of his hand and began slowly walking around the house. Your hands gently trailed against the walls and updated pieces of furniture. 

“You and Charles…” you breathed out. “You did all this?”

“Is it okay?” Logan was clearly nervous. “We can go somewhere else. I just know that this was the—“ You shut him up with a kiss.

“This is perfect. Thank you. But know that I don't expect you to be the same person as before. Time has changed both of us… are you okay with being here?”

“Yes. I even already got a job as a lumberjack.”

“Oh, got the old job back?”

Logan chuckled. “Somethin’ like that. I start in a week.”

“So I have a week of you all to myself?”

“A whole week.” He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

“Can we try out the new bed?”

A devious smirk formed over Logan’s lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Love the not who he seems au!

I've got some(a lot of?) questions if that's alright?

After Ford finally wakes up, you mentioned that Bill watches over the littler twins' dreams, does he do something similar with Stan? do they chat in the Mindscape or anything? does he avoid Stan?

what are(of there are?) the immediate consequences to the relationship between them now that Ford is awake?

Has 'Stanfraud' ever had any interactions with any Unicorn hair?

What would happen if Stanfraud/Bill ever got any on him? Would he have an allergic reaction? Or other ill reactions?

Have the time police ever given Stanfraud/Bill any trouble?

In the 30 years that Stan and Bill have known each other, have they ever saved each other's life? Or gotten protective/defensive for each other?

Alright that's all for now! Bye!

Lots of questions are always alright!

Let’s go through all these:

— He definitely does it with Stan too. He doesn’t really have any reason to avoid Stan, except Ford obviously being against it. But… he won’t tell if Stan won’t. He makes excuses as to why he’s visiting Stan’s dreams so much, which Stan doesn’t comment on, he’s just oddly grateful he’s still around. And bleeding into the next question: this all being said, a few old angers have risen to the surface, seeing how broken down his brother is again, knowing Bill’s behind it, so sometimes their conversations get a little tense and Bill does avoid him for a few days after. Or he doesn’t, and gets a little to pushy, lashing out at Stan.

It doesn’t help that Stan feels some guilt still speaking with Bill because of Ford, and because of how adamant his brother has been about Bill being a threat to them. But, it isn’t as easy as just telling him to go away. He knows for a fact Bill wouldn’t listen. The kids would be upset too. They don’t now the depths of all this stuff.

And, not an immediate consequence, but the new tension will eventually bubble into a very intense argument between Stan and Bill that’ll probably have consequences for everyone.

— You know, I hadn’t quite considered that, but I think so yes! He has negative reactions to anything that works as an ingredient in repellent against him. Unicorn hair, definitely more of an allergic reaction, akin to something like hay fever. But something like Mercury probably burns him.

— I have thought about their being an ‘episode’ where Bill’s rivalry with Time Baby comes up, thanks to Dipper and Mabel messing with time, but I’d need to think more about that to give a proper answer. I don’t think he and Stan have ever been given any trouble prior, being as they haven’t messed with time themselves. Bill might try and get a rise out of any time agents if he spots them though, like Blendin. Just for fun.

— They have absolutely saved each other’s lives and that’s a catalyst in their relationship becoming what it is. This is another thing I need to think more on, but being as Stan didn’t fake his death, unfortunately some of his past comes back to haunt him, with old friends putting two and two together with his fake identities. I’m not sure where that would go yet, but I know Bill would step in and rescue him. Naturally, he claims it’s because he needs Stan to get out of this body, but he isn’t really convincing when he says that. There’s also likely a situation where Bill has gotten himself in danger, and Stan rescues him, but I haven’t settled on that. There’s probably a few more minor instances of them saving each other too.

And yes! They do get protective/defensive over each other. On Stan’s end it’s strange. Initially, he was having to protect Ford’s body from Bill. Bill was the threat. But now, he sometimes finds himself actually protecting Bill… because he’s his friend. He’ll jump to his defence about his behaviours if someone comments on them harshly for example. He’s the only one allowed to give him shit for being weird. And with Bill, he’s gone from trying to rile Stan up, calling him useless, a failure of a brother, to getting riled up himself when someone tries to have a go at Stan instead.

If either got physically hurt, they’d also be protective. They genuinely have each other’s backs. Stan at least has the excuse he’s looking out for his brother’s body, making sure Bill doesn’t damage it any further, and can poke fun at Bill later for not having an excuse.

“Sure you don’t just give a shit about this old ‘bag of flesh’?”

“Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself, Fez. Your heart could stop right now and I’d dance over your corpse.”

I realise they’re basically just in a constant game of chicken on who’s going to admit they care out loud first — while sober.

I hope these have been satisfactory! Sorry if there’s a lot of questions I’m still unsure on or figuring out the answers too. I’m developing this AU as I answer all these.

[vianbarnes]

my buddie going canon ideal scenario and why it could happen before eddie fully realises he’s gay

i’ve been cooking up this scenario for a while now but before going into it i wanna clarify that i don’t think eddie’s homosexuality is tied to buck and just that. i could write a full essay about eddie’s queerness without even mentioning buck. HOWEVER i do think buck could be the key to eddie’s discovery, the last puzzle piece that makes it all make sense.

narratively speaking, i think it could be interesting to see buck and eddie get to the same conclusion (that they’re in love with each other) but in the complete opposite way. while for buck it’s oh shit i’m bi > oh shit i’m in love with eddie, for eddie it would be oh shit i’m in love with buck > oh shit i’m gay. and obviously eddie is starting his own journey just now, so he might realise he’s gay and then it could click for him that all he’s been looking for was there all along, but i do think that - since this is a tv show - it would be interesting to offer a different side of the story to the audience. and yes i know that buck’s queerness and eddie’s queerness are very different already, but i’m specifically referring to their storylines leading up to buddie. (also this is just a personal side note but i think i would be lowkey crazy to have both of them realise they’re queer and still not understand their feelings for each other, like i know they’re dumb and dumber but c’mon!!!)

ok so now let’s put on the tinfoil hat

we literally know nothing about what’s gonna happen in the next episodes so i don’t have any solid theory on how we could get to this scenario. some of the interviews were teasing some potential tension (or angst even) between buck and eddie so my brain took this information and ran with it. a lot of us were also theorising a nde for buck, for eddie or for both of them at the same time and that could also be the setup for what i’m thinking.

but first let’s analyse where buck and eddie are right now (and in the upcoming episodes)

buck was just broken up with so now he’s trying to explore his sexuality and understand it more. it feels like the search for “his last” has just started and he’s excited to look at relationships and love through a new lens, but he also might feel a little discouraged that he has to do it all over again. he might be thinking “now that i have all these new possibilities, why is it still so hard to find my person?” (average bisexual experience i will tell you that much).

eddie on the other hand is slowly trying to forgive himself and love himself, accepting joy and not pushing away his desires and needs. allowing himself to feel certain feelings and just let go. he’s taking small steps to show up for himself just like he does for his loved ones every day (we still don’t know how far they’re gonna go with his story so the next episodes are definitely gonna be interesting)

so, with all that being said, here’s how buddie could go canon:

it’s late and buck shows up at eddie’s house. they’re in the kitchen drinking a beer, both leaning on the counter and not looking at each other at first. something has happened between them that they need to clear up (could be an argument, a fight or some very important words exchanged when they thought they were about to lose the other).

as much as i love a “because i love you!!” screamed during an argument, i don’t see that happening in this scenario. i imagine them having the softest, most honest and open conversation where they lay it all out - without even realising what they’re doing. at some point, buck is gonna say something that will make it finally click for eddie. if it’s an argument he could say something like “i need you in my life”/“i want you in my life forever”, or if this happens after a nde he could say “i can’t imagine my life without you”/“i don’t know how i could live without you” (i’m not a writer but you get the gist lol)

and that’s when eddie finally allows himself to feel what deep down he’s been feeling for years, and so he leans over and kisses buck. the kiss is pretty short: eddie pulls away almost immediately, as if his body was possessed by something and he just snapped out of it. buck can’t believe what just happened, but it takes him just a few seconds to realise and to grab eddie’s face and kiss him back. they start making out, they go out of frame, the screen turns black, the episode is over.

now let’s talk about the aftermath of the kiss. because if we know 911 we know that this goddamn show can’t let people just be happy so of course there’s gonna be some angst and miscommunication.

after the kiss, they don’t really talk about it. they might even get interrupted by something else (maybe eddie has to go to texas to get chris back?) so they have to postpone the what the fuck just happened conversation. and that’s when both of them start to spiral, but for different reasons. buck of course thinks that eddie’s distance means that he regretted the kiss, that they got caught up in the moment but that he doesn’t feel that way about him and he basically ruined their friendship. eddie is also freaking the fuck out: he’s panicking about how they could make their relationship work, how they could tell christopher, he’s questioning literally his whole life and past relationships like oh my god have i been gay this whole fucking time??, he’s worried about their jobs, how they’re gonna tell bobby and the others. basically questioning everything but buck.

being the idiots that they are, they’re gonna convince themselves that the other regretted everything and they’re gonna avoid each other and never have that much needed conversation. the 118 obviously notices that something is off, but no one knows what it is. until hen and eddie finally talk and he tells her everything: what happened, what made him panic and doubt everything and what’s stopping him from talking to buck. hen is shocked but not necessarily surprised. her and karen look at eachother (yes karen is there too because of eddiekaren bestfriendism that is very real to me) and then hen says something like “i don’t have the answers to all of these questions, but i’m sure of one thing: you love him and he loves you. you can figure out the rest together. go talk to him” (i think it would be nice for eddie to have this conversation with henren as a couple, since his biggest fears and concerns are about how they could make the relationship work)

eddie feels like he just woke up from a 20+ year long sleep. he runs out of hen’s place, hurrying to his car, and from now i’m picturing a full romcom montage with him just fighting for his life to get to buck’s apartment: traffic, construction work so he has to take a detour, his shirt is drenched in sweat so he has to go back home to change because surely he can’t show up at buck’s looking like that. once he gets home, he sprints to his room to find a new shirt (maybe he puts on too much cologne - the one buck likes - and he has to change again. just because it would be fun to see him in distress). he fixes his hair for the 100th time, grabs his keys, finally opens the front door and stops in disbelief. buck is on his doorstep, hand mid-air about to knock. they look at each other and in that moment they just know. they both lean in and go for the kiss aaand BUDDIE CANON !!!! (+ the buck at eddie’s door parallel finally having the romcom resolution it always meant to have)

of course i have no clue how we could get there, but i do feel like it would be true to the show if they didn’t immediately get together and if there was some angst between them. i hope that once they get together they won’t try to break them up (even just temporarily) so they might have to go through some shit at the very beginning of their relationship for that to happen.

alright tinfoil hat OFF folks. i always try to stay consistent to the show and only come up with theories that i could truly see being developed and i don’t think any of this is unrealistic. buuut i’m still a clown so who knows. quite frankly i’m fine with buddie canon either way (as long as their first kiss is initiated by eddie and it happens in his kitchen <3)