#intense tags today folks

[beanmochiii]

one of these is not like the other. post-city feels

[balladetto]

i think link deserves a flower crown if he can't get little kisses on the forehead. WHO will make him one....a darling little crown? a lily pad sunhat?? flower bracelets that he takes off and keeps pressed in his notebook because he's afraid they'll be ripped off otherwise?!?!?

[araneitela]

I'm sorry, but why did no one tell me that we caught a glimpse of the "Stellaron Hunters" in Acheron's trailer that dropped 17 hours ago?

[hauntingblue]

Why do they say dragon is luffy's father but doesn't look much like him... I mean it is true but why point it out... in that way he doesn't look like garp either

[ravcnism]

STRIKEOUT. ( PART 2 ) — KEN SATO x Male!Athlete READER

Summary: An after-party. A conversation-turned-confrontation. Kenji finally meets the esteemed Toyo Bullet and struggles to define the difference between anger, terror, and infatuation.

# # TAGS: Even More Tension, Kenji Has a Good Relationship with His Team, Intense First Encounter, Domestic Sato Family Shenanigans

# # WARNINGS: Mature Language, Alcohol Consumption, Nothing Too Crazy, No Beta Again We Die Like Onda

Note: Okay, here we go: the actual second part. Again, I am so sorry for accidentally publishing my draft earlier — I am ill with embarrassment. But I’m very happy to know that people look forward to it! If you read the false-post, then you’ve only read half of the chapter. This one has over 3000 words more! Enjoy.

“It was a nail-biter of a game here at the New Tokyo stadium tonight, folks. Right off the bat, both teams were going neck and neck, toe-to-toe. And it seemed like neither one was willing to give an inch! Our home team managed to pull off a narrow victory in the end, and by narrow, I mean narrow, Kiba.”

“That is absolutely right, Sasaki. I truly have never seen anything like it in my entire career. And you know- you know I know a lot of baseball. You know I’ve been doing this for many years, but wow! Just- insane.”

“Truly a close call. Eight additional innings? To break the tie? I cannot believe it. Let me tell you, neither the Hiroshima Toyo Carp nor the Yomiuri Giants wanted to lose today.”

“If you look at the crowd, It looks like everyone’s been wanting to go home.”

Exhausted was an understatement. Kenji hadn’t felt this drained after a game since, well, only months ago: when he was still juggling the responsibilities of raising a baby Kaiju, carrying the weight of being Ultraman, and maintaining his reputation as a well-known baseball player. All of these, on top of the sleepless nights, no longer hindered him from his work. He usually left the stadium feeling brand new every single time — regardless of whether they won or lost. He had grown and learned to lean on people, to ask for help, accept defeat. Which was good and all that, but the point was: he was exhausted from this game. You had him panting for air like an overworked dog.

Shimura had Kenji on the field for longer than he should have been. While his younger, more egotistical self might have loved his moment in the spotlight, running base to base for six innings in a row was unsurprisingly really tiring. The teams had hit a clean tie by the ninth inning, and the tie-breaker lasted for eight more. You were eating their rookies alive and having their journeymen for dessert. When Shimura realized that Sato was the only one batting your pitches, he had him play for every round after the tie. The only times Kenji wasn’t on the field was when you weren’t either. Which wasn’t a lot. It scared him how you looked like you could throw that ball for days.

“Hiroshima’s L/n is just- an absolute unit, isn’t he?”

“He certainly is, Kiba. He certainly is. I mean his performance was near inhuman tonight. Each pitch was a gem and we- he really wanted us to know that he’s here, he’s ready, and he’s willing to change Japanese baseball. He was a major force out there on the field.”

“I cannot agree with you more. But credit where credit is due, we all know that the only reason the Giants are coming home with tonight’s win is because of none other than Ken Sato himself.”

“That’s right, Sato really put up a fight. L/n was throwing him off balance every time, but he always found his footing. I think tonight might have been the hardest I’ve seen him work. You know he- he usually makes his plays look effortless — disregarding last season’s slump.”

“I say he held his own very, very impressively. The team was right to rely on him. I know we’ve spoken a lot about their tension, but I’d say it’s their dynamic that really drove the point home. They were like- mirrors of each other out there. When you put two equal forces together, they deflect. You know what I’m saying?”

Kenji’s hand shook with a weakness he wasn’t familiar with. He stared at his calloused palm and noticed his fingers twitching. Shit. It really was some game. He might have been hitting the ball, but he was barely getting it through the field. Not only were your pitches fast, but there was weight to them, too. He was witnessing the caliber of your capabilities; understanding why you were the talk of every city.

The rest of the Giants came walking into the locker room, jeering and laughing amongst themselves. “That L/n is a real piece of work, ain't he?” Shirakumo, number 24, sat himself next to Kenji, unlacing his shoe. “Never seen anything like it.”

“Did you see the look on Tateoka’s face?” Yuki laughed, smacking his thigh. “Dude was scared shitless!”

“Hey!” Tateoka frowned in reply, tugging his jersey off his arms. “You try standing in front of that guy and telling me you don't feel a little threatened.” He shuddered, remembering the look in your eyes. Dark and pointed and menacing. “He was staring me down like he was gonna—”

“Eat you alive?” Kenji scoffed.

The team went silent, then erupted into a cluster of teasing ‘oooh’s. God. It reminded him of highschool.

“Oohh, yeah.” Yamada, number 21, slid over to him with a teasing tone. He wrapped an arm around Kenji’s shoulder and squeezed him closer. “I don't think I've ever seen Sato so shaken!”

He laughed, playfully pushing him away. He was also actually really sore on that shoulder. Hell, he could already feel the pain he’d need to go through just to get up tomorrow. He was going to need another ice bath. The rest of the boys jumped in on the jokes.

“Did you see the way he was looking at you Ken?” Tokuda opened his locker, grabbing a shirt from the top shelf. He whistled. “Like he wanted your head on a plate.”

Tanaka chuckled. “He wanted you dead, man!”

Kenji rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Let's not get carried away. I never said I was shaken.”

“But that last bat was sweet as hell.” Yuki nodded. “I doubt any of us would've gotten through the guy if it weren't for Sato.”

“Well, duh.” Shirakumo shrugged. None of the Giants denied it. Ken was their star player. And tonight proved it more than ever. “We owe you for drinks, bud. Give us a date and we'll treat ya’ to someplace you like.” He slapped Ken’s back affectionately, which elicited a pained groan. “Shit, sorry.”

Kenji’s watch started beeping. He flinched at the sound, eyes widening slightly. “Uh, see you in a sec, guys. I gotta take this.”

He was there a moment, then gone the next. Kenji rushed himself out the hallways and into an empty locker room to answer Mina’s call. “Hey!” he greeted, anxiously. A screen projected itself from his watch and lit up his face. “Hey. Hi. What's wrong? Everyone alright? I know I said I'd be home soon, but the game took way longer than–”

He was interrupted by cheering. His father clapped and whooped with excitement as Emi occupied the background, screeching with glee. Kenji could see the ground shaking as she was jumping around and doing her special dance. One of Mina’s arms was protruding from the wall and waving celebratory flags. It immediately put a smile on his face, easing the tension from his shoulders. He was always happy to see everyone alright, and even happier to see them as their silly selves.

“Kenji!” cheered Hayao. “That was an incredible game! You were unstoppable!” The professor chuckled. Emi picked him up into a hug, slightly toppling the camera over. His legs swung like a ragdoll’s. “Okay, okay girl-”

Ken laughed, slightly shaking his head. “Easy, Emi. Put Grandpa down.”

“It was a very impressive game, Ken. Perhaps one of your bests.” Mina’s calculative yet affectionate voice echoed from his watch.

Hayao fell to the floor with an ‘oof’. “You didn't tell me you were playing against THEE Mets’ Bullet!” He scrambled to stand up, barely leaning on his cane. “I wasn’t even aware that he was signed into the Carp!”

Kenji’s smile immediately faded. “Okay.” He rolled his eyes. “He was alright, I guess. And we don’t actually know if he signed into it or if he was traded. We barely heard anything about him from the press.”

“Alright?” Professor Sato gasped, appalled. “Kenji, he was spectacular! He’s a lot like you, you know. I’ve always suspected that the both of you equalled in skill, but to see it in action? Phew.” He wiped some pretend sweat off of his forehead. “What a show! Eight extra innings to break a tie? Unbelievable! I highly doubt that he was traded. Who in their right mind would purposely lose a player like that?”

Kenji scoffed. “He wasn’t that good.” His sore limbs would like to say otherwise.

“He had you chasing after his pitches like a dog!”

“I don’t like that analogy.”

“I ought’ to rewatch that documentary they made about him. You know they’ve done studies on the physics of his throws.”

“Dad.”

“And how fortunate for Hiroshima to have gotten him out of all teams! I can tell that this season is going to turn around really fast. Just today he’s already scored-”

“Dad!”

“Oh. Sorry.” Hayao chuckled. “I’m just very excited to see the both of you on the same field.” Kenji sighed, nodding his head. “Anyway, congratulations on the win, my boy. I’m so proud of you. I always am. Get home safe. It may be late, but we still have a lot of leftovers from dinner!” Emi made a noise that let him know she was waiting, too.

Going home sounded like heaven. Ken wanted nothing more but to rest. Maybe kick back and have a chocolate shake while he and his family watched cartoons to fall asleep. It was the perfect way to end his night. It had been an unexpectedly long day and he looked forward to tomorrow’s well-earned break. Eight extra innings might even win him a second day of rest. Or a third, if Shimura agreed not to schedule him for the next game. Which, he doubted, if it meant you’d be playing.

“I’m on my way.” He ended the call, and opted to take the fastest way out, desperate to avoid the press.

Ken collapsed onto the floor, snuggling into Emi’s arm. Having washed up and eaten his dinner, he felt the last remains of his adrenaline-fueled strength die out like a dwindling flame. He felt as if his limbs were about to fall off. “Ugh,” he groaned. “I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.” Emi didn’t much care. She seemed to be preoccupied by the new ( gigantic ) stacking blocks that Mina made for her. Ken sighed, sinking deeper into her arm. “She always smells so good after her baths.” The baby Kaiju’s warm and heavy grasp felt like a weighted blanket. It was a comfort that Ken would find nowhere else.

Professor Sato walked past them, chuckling into his coffee mug. “That, she does. You should have seen her earlier, you know. I’ve never seen her so invested in a game.”

Kenji hummed. “Is that right?” He rolled onto his stomach, facing Emi. “Hey. Baby.” He poked her cheek. “Is that true? Did you cheer for Daddy? I bet you did.” Giving into his cuteness aggression he rubbed at her cheeks. Emi expressed her annoyance through a small squeak. “God, that mean old Bullet had Daddy running laps, didn’t he? We hate him, don’t we?” Kenji pushed her cheeks up and down, leading her into a nod. “Yes we dooo.”

Professor Sato laughed. “Whatever happened to sportsmanship?”

“Whatever happened to loyalty?” He pouted. “My own father, rooting against me. I would never root against you, Emi.” Wanting to return to her blocks, Emi lifted Kenji up by his torso and placed him on her head. The batter laughed, laying on her with no protest.

“What!” The professor exclaimed. “I never said I was rooting against you. I was just— feeling enthusiastic, that’s all. For both teams.”

Mina entered the room, her mechanisms humming faintly. “Good evening, everyone.” The Sato’s greeted her accordingly. “I have a message for Ken.”

The mentioned Ken slumped into his daughter, rolling his eyes. “Here we go. I bet it’s the press.” He scoffed. “Let me guess, at least 30 emails asking for my statement. Or, better yet, it’s Shimura warning me not to miss the next game.” He raised his fist, mocking a reporter’s tone: “We’ve witnessed baseball history tonight, folks! Blah, blah, blah.”

“Actually, it’s an invitation for something else.” Mina hovered closer. “An event.”

This caught his attention. Kenji tilted his head. “For what?”

“A party, hosted by various sponsors.”

“Bit too early for an afterparty, don’t you think?” Ken sighed, resting his head on folded arms. “We’ve only won one game.”

“I suppose it’s to celebrate Mr. L/n as well.” Mina would shrug if she had the shoulders to do so. “His coming to Japan is quite a big deal.”

“Great.” Kenji was half-asleep by then, eyes already closed. “All the more reason for me not to go.” The professor had settled himself onto one of the desks, getting into some light reading. Emi had grown tired herself, and decided that she was not interested in the blocks anymore. Waddling to her spot, (with Kenji still on her head), she yawned, and opted for some much-needed sleep.

Mina’s light blinked. “I think you should go, Ken.”

The rightfielder cracked one eye open. “And why would I do that?”

“I think it would benefit you to interact with Mr. L/n more.”

“Mina, that’s literally the last thing I want.”

“Is it?”

Ken frowned. “What do you mean, ‘is it’? Of course it is.”

“Your vitals seemed to say otherwise earlier.”

Kenji scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I was keeping careful watch of your vitals, as I always do. I have your daily status tracked and recorded.”

Kenji couldn't get rid of Mina’s voice in his head. Even amidst the warm crowd, with chatter swaying smoothly atop of light r&b music, he felt as if he could still hear her words ringing in the back of his mind. It remained vivid, though she had told it to him days ago. It was as clear as day. Like a broken record.

“Believe it or not, the heart beats differently for every emotion. There is a difference between fear, anxiety, excitement, and—”

Kenji stared at you from across the room, watching as you conversed with your team, nursing a glass of cold, hard whiskey. He watched as you bowed your head and smiled, listening for the faint, muffled sound of your laughter. He wondered what you were talking about; what joke might have made you grin that hard. He wondered why you seemed to illuminate a room, and why everyone seemed so drawn. His eyes were caught in the way the colorful lights sank into your hair.

“—Infatuation.”

You looked up, and your eyes met his. Kenji flinched. He felt his heart skip a beat. Shit, he thought. Mina was definitely going to catch that. She had probably already marked it down to tease him for it later. You held his gaze for longer than he could have standed and greeted him with that same annoying wink. The same one you gave him on the field. Confident, snarky, playful. You lifted your glass and took a sip, eyes still trained on his.

“What you may perceive as frustration for him might just be the opposite.”

Kenji's jaw clenched. Mina had no idea what she was talking about.

And he would prove her wrong tonight.

Like a soldier marching into battle, he waded through the party to make his way towards you. Was he intimidated? Yes. Unfortunately, he was. But he knew his way around a crowd, and his weapon-of-a-tongue knew all the right talk to make a conversation work. He was sociable like that. He was a poet, a wordsmith. If you weren't careful, one little exchange could have you wrapped around his finger. Some people called it his charisma, some blamed it on his irresistible good looks. Either way, Ken took it. He wasn't going to deny the fact that people loved talking to him — though he, admittedly, didn't really like talking to them in return. But he could do it. He could make it work.

Besides, how bad could you be?

With a newfound confidence, Ken dared to get closer. The distance between you and him lessened, and– oh, fuck, was that your cologne? He blinked. You smelled so good. Why did you smell so good? “Hey. Hi.” Shit. Abort mission. No, it's too late. Too awkward to back out. You were already looking at him. “L/n, yeah?” He spoke your name like he only just remembered you upon seeing you. When in truth, he hadn't stopped thinking about you since that damn first pitch. “Some game, huh?” Ken held his hand out for you to shake. ‘Fuck, I hope he doesn't notice how clammy it is.’

“Ken Sato.” It was the first time he heard your voice, as well as the first time he heard you say his name. He didn't like how his body reacted. There was a small shiver down his spine, a tingling flutter in his chest. You took his hand. Yours was cold. So cold. Kenji concluded that the icy glass of whiskey you had placed on the counter was to blame. He could feel your callouses against his. Your hands mirrored one another, marked with the battlescars of your sport. He was oddly sensitive to every detail. Touching you was.. a sensation.

You gave him a firm shake before promptly letting go.

“That's me,” he said, miraculously. Ken was oscillating between panic and confidence at a speed that likely wasn't normal. He was holding his own, though. Like the real champ he was. It was surreal to be standing in front of you without a ball to keep you apart. No bat, no competition. Just you, and a few shots of alcohol. “You adjusting into Japan alright?”

“As well as I can.” You shrugged. You had a tone to you; an elegant air of grace and self-assurance. You had no need to raise your voice because you knew he'd do his best to listen. It was pissing him off. “It's definitely different from the States.”

“I gotta say, I'm pretty surprised to see you here.” Ken usually knew what to say when it came to conversations. He never blanked out at interviews, nor left dead air hanging at conferences. But speaking with you made him feel like his vocabulary was on a limit. “After a game like that?” He whistled. “A lesser man would've taken a week off.”

“But we're not lesser men, are we, Ken?” A waitress passed by. Without the need to look, you had grabbed two shots of vodka from her tray. You handed the other one to him. “That's why you're here, too.”

He stared at you, brows furrowed slightly. “Exactly.” He took the shot from your hand and bumped the rim against yours. “Cheers.”

You grinned. “Cheers.”

Kenji tilted his head back, downing his drink, tasting the fire run down his throat. His face screwed up a little, but not enough for you to notice. You did the same, sighing the heat out of your nose. You allowed a small laugh to slip past your lips. “Japan’s liquor is surprisingly stronger.”

Kenji chuckled. “Yeah. If you know where to look.” The music felt like it was growing louder. He leaned in to speak to you better. “You know, I can't believe this is the first time we're meeting.”

You nodded. “Neither can I.”

“The Mets and Dodgers have always been at each other's throats, and yet—”

“Our schedules just never lined up.” You scoffed. “What are the odds of that, huh?”

It really was such a coincidence. If Ken had known that your interactions would've fired the press up as much as it did now, he would've fought to face you sooner. “When was it?” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Playoffs. 2019, I think. The Mets were set to face the Dodgers.”

“2019,” you repeated, brows raised. “I was there.” Kenji took notice of the way your head slightly shifted to the side. Like you were trying to get a better look at him. He swallowed thickly. “I was there.” You shrugged. “You weren't.”

“I was overseas.” He was wanting another drink. But, speaking to you was surprisingly not horrible. “Didn't get back until 3 months in. And when I did—”

“I wasn't there,” you chuckled. “Alright. I remember. 2019, I was gone for half the season. Injury.”

“The world was in shambles.” Ken grinned at you. A second waiter passed by. He grabbed you another glass of whiskey. He took scotch for himself. “See what I mean? It's like– divine intervention.”

“Big word.” To say that fate had a hand to play in yours and his meeting was beyond your beliefs. You didn't place your trust in things like that. But to know that he had thought about it was charming.

“Hey.” Ken shrugged. “Ya’ never know.”

The music shifted, and so did the lights. There was a moment of quiet between the both of you, and in that time, you found a common interest in people-watching. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, nor the absence of something to talk about. The two of you merely agreed upon the minutes it took to watch the party unfold. A good number of the guests were already drunk. The dance floor was alight and occupied mostly by women. Ken rested his weight on one foot, sighing at his still-aching muscles. He wondered if you were any sore too.

“They love it, don't they?” You leaned your back against the counter, arms crossed over your chest. Ken took quick notice of the necklace worn loosely around your neck. A silver dogtag, similar to his. “The drama. The intensity. Even the things that go on beyond the field.”

Ken shrugged. “It's baseball. Who doesn't?”

“Exactly.” You smiled. “Which is why it's important to always let the home team win the first game.”

It took a moment for Kenji to process what you said. He was distracted by the colorful lights, his favorite song coming on, and a tray full of hors d'oeuvres. “Mhm.” He reached over to take one, before— “Wait.” His brows knitted together. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Hm?” You had your lips pressed together into a thin line. Your expression feigned innocence, a stark contrast to your bold statement. “I said it's important to let the home team win the first game.”

Kenji made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. He couldn't believe his ears. Had he been standing by the speakers for too long? “No, I heard what you said. What I'm asking is what you're saying.” It was a dare of a reply, with a tone that commanded: go on. Clarify.

Your smile refused to leave your face. Nearing the batter, ever so carefully, you whispered:

“I'm saying you won because I let you.”

Kenji blinked.

And there it was. He knew you were too good to be true. Goddammit, he knew it! Beneath your seemingly-perfect self was something cold and rotten and he called it. He fucking called it. How thrilled he was to be correct, and oh, how utterly terrified.

But this was good. This was absolutely good. He needed something to hold onto, something to keep himself afloat. The next time he found himself drowning in your eyes again, he'd only need to remember that you were a grade A asshole. That you had the audacity to claim that you were in full control of the game. Surely it would solve all his problems.

Kenji broke out into a laugh. It started out as a small cluster of sarcastic chuckles, but erupted into actual laughter. You were funny. So, so funny. Unbeknownst him, you were watching with amusement. “Because you let me!” Kenji repeated, smiling, but, exasperated. Two can play at that game. “Right. Of course. Totally not because you're an average pitcher and I can bat anything you throw.”

“If that helps you sleep at night.” You shrugged. Your attention wasn't on him anymore. You were watching the crowd, disinterested.

Kenji felt his eye twitch. “That's big talk coming from someone who got struck out by a rookie.” He was referring to the eighth inning, when Tateoka managed to bat your pitch into a homerun.

“That's right, Sato.” You laughed, low and sultry. “Batted by a rookie. How could I have struck you out at the last inning but be batted by a rookie?” You tilted your head at him, brows knitted together. You spoke in a sickeningly soft tone. Like you were helping a toddler understand something simple. “Doesn't seem to make a lot of sense, does it?”

Kenji was growing flustered. His face was warm and his fist was itching to meet your cheek. Nobody spoke to him this way. Sure guys had been mean to him before, but it was mostly because they were threatened by him. They'd tried to put him down and pick apart his flaws, but what you were doing was something different. You weren't claiming that he was weak, you were claiming that you were stronger. You didn't deny the amount of talent that Ken had in his body, but you were fully convinced that you had more. You were bigger, smarter, and better. And you had him under your control.

“Oh, c’mon. Seriously?” God, your voice. It infuriated him. It drove him insane. You leaned in, closer, whispering your words, as if hearing you through the party wasn't hard enough. He could smell the whiskey on your breath. It mingled with your cologne. It was intoxicating. “Are you blushing?”

He scoffed in disbelief. “No.” Except he totally was. He could feel the heat radiating off of his face. His breathing had gone shallow, his heartbeat rapid. “Why would I– Tch. You— You don't know what you're talking about.” Holy shit. He was a mess.

He wanted so desperately to blame it on the alcohol, but he knew damn well he wasn't drunk enough to be acting the way he was. He was stumbling over his words stone-cold sober.

You were smiling. He was dying, and you were smiling. “You amuse me, Sato.”

Ken took a cautious step back, knowing that being that close to you for too long was only going to make him worse. “Who the hell do you think you are, huh?” He had to retaliate somehow. Like a soldier fumbling for his sword, he had to get up and do something. “You don't think I don't know what this is? Where you're heading?”

You tilted your head. “Do enlighten me.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Sure. Celebrity-Athlete from America waltzes into Japan thinking he's the shit— that he can rule the world. He's a shiny new toy and everyone's just dying to catch a look. Nevermind that his old team traded him off, nevermind that he goes home to an empty penthouse. He's got the stats to prove his skills and he thinks he doesn't need anything else.” Ken dared to retake a step forward. He sort of regretted it when you didn't take a step back. “Well, guess what,” he continued. “I've been where you are. I know how you feel, what you're thinking.

Everything you're trying to be is a shadow of what I already was.”

There was a beat of silence. You weren't smiling anymore. You were staring at him, stone-faced, seemingly indifferent.

Kenji narrowed his eyes. “So don't go talking to me like you're any better.”

He didn't know what to expect. You were quiet for such a long time that he thought you were going to snap. He partially expected a punch to the chin. But you were calm. There wasn't a trace of irritation on your face. Instead, you set your glass of whiskey — now empty — on the counter behind you. With a sigh, you shoved a hand in your pocket. “Are you done?”

Kenji blinked.

“Let me tell you something, Sato.” You raised a brow at him. Ken felt his heartbeat pick up again. Your once-approachable gaze shifted into something cold and commanding. He swallowed thickly. “There is a difference between you and me. And that difference is the fact that I don't settle.”

Kenji was glaring at you, brows fixed together.

A teammate called you from the other side of the room. You nodded at him, once, then returned your focus to the Yomiuri Prince. You placed a hand on his shoulder, tauntingly, smiling at him as if you'd known him your whole life. “I hope last season’s slump accustomed you to the feeling of losing those points.”

Kenji wanted to say something, but his lips refused to move. Somehow, the blaring music in the background had faded into a muffled blur. All he could hear was your voice. Like a moth to a flame.

You winked at him. Again. And like before, his body reacted in ways he didn't like. You squeezed his shoulder once, before leaving to go to your friend. With your back turned against him, Kenji released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He clutched his chest, watching wide-eyed as you moved through the crowd. He could still smell your cologne. The last thing he heard from you was,

“I'll see you on the field.”

taglist: @fairy-lenaa @moonjellyfishie @witchygod — Thank you for your patience!

[forsworned]

I NEED more Elias Walker content before I die😫😫💀

God Knows I Tried ft. Elias Walker

Synopsis: Your daddy issues are raging and your long-time 'victim' has been none other than your superior and captain, Elias Walker. After a failed attempt to capture and kill Rorke, you go to "comfort" him, but he seems to have other plans for you.

Author's Note: AND GUESS WHAT I WILL PROVIDE FOR YOU, I'M GLAD WE'RE REVIVING GHOSTS IN THE FORM OF DROOLING OVER DILFS BC LORD KNOWS I NEED SOME MORE MCDADDY CLUB LOVIN

Tags: NSFW, Daddy Issues, Age Gap, Power Dynamics, Reader has long hair???

Elias ruffles his fingers through his silver hair after he removes his distressed and worn mask, setting it down on his desk as he sharply inhales. He hadn't gotten to Rorke on time and that pissed him off, and rightfully so. The bastard had been getting away every damn time. His body is tense and he feels as though his anger is brimming from within, bubbling to the surface and he yearns to do something about it.

So when you come rapping on his door, ripping him away from his inner turmoil, and he hears the pleasant sound of your voice through the small crack asking, "Can I come in?" He is more than willing to oblige.

His body completely faces you now, beaconing you over, and taking in your figure in your all-black tactical uniform. It fits you like a second skin, but his intense gaze shifts to your smooth visage. The moonlight catches in your teeth when you greet him. "Can I speak to you for a moment, Sir?"

He raises a brow at you. "Somethin' on your mind, Sergeant?"

Truthfully, you had no idea why you came in. You just found yourself walking back to his office rather than your bunk. After today's failure, you want nothing more than to comfort him. You slowly step forward, just a few feet away from him. "Was just checkin' on you...?"

God, you were so stupid. Checking in? Come on...

A flash of amusement etches into his features, he tilts his head as he studies your expression. "Checkin' in?" He leans his palms against his wooden desk.

"Yeah, I mean--I know this is something very close to you..."

Oh. My. God. Would you shut the everliving fuck up!?

He sighs and turns to the night sky. The moon is full, and its luminance brings a sense of calm to him. He chuckles at your obvious statement, but he doesn't chide you about it. Something about you makes the hardass in him a little soft. "Suppose so."

You swallow and fiddle with the leather on your gloves, waiting to think of something, anything else to add to the conversation, but your mind is coming up blank.

"Tell me, Sergeant--why did you really come into my office?"

Your heart drops to your ass, and your stomach does the thing. Not the hot-and-sexy-thing, but the oh-shit-I-just-got caught thing.

Elias is a sharp man; follows his intuition, checks every corner he treks, and was raised by plain-spoken folk. He can see through most people and unfortunately, you're most people. You wear your heart on your sleeve, your gaze lingers longer than usual and although it may not be obvious to others, you imitate most of his behaviorisms.

Where you used to take your coffee sweet and milky, you now take black. The way you now drink sparkling water over soda. Your go-to music is The Eagles and Creed over Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift (though you still did listen to them, it was seldom). Even your eating habits have changed drastically from avid fast food eater to health nut, although that seems more like a get in shape sorta ordeal due to your fast-paced, rigorous work environment. Either way, you have definitely been picking up on a lot of things that he actively does.

You avert your gaze to your fatigued boots. "I don't know."

"Step forward, soldier." He commands, and you oblige. Not because he commanded it, but because you want to be nearer to him. To take in the scent of gunpowder and the leftover aroma of his aftershave.

You're a foot away from him now, hands tucked behind your back, eyes forward. His dark eyes size you up, and you feel the sweat forming on the nape of your neck. 

"Eyes up." His fingers tap under your chin and your lip quivers a bit when you meet his gaze. "You gonna tell me what's really on your mind?"

He taps on your chin once more. "And don't lie to me."

You swallow thickly. "It's not...appropriate."

He clicks his tongue and a half smile appears on his lips. "That right?"

You nod. "Yes, sir."

"I want to hear it."

But he sees the trepidation that overcomes your features. It’s been so painfully obvious to him. Your little crush. It was endearing, cute, mere puppy love, but he would be lying to himself if he hadn’t thought of molding your walls with his girthy cock. He usually tiptoes around it, but the mission from earlier is bringing on an itch that he can’t quite scratch. Not even a Playboy mag could get him right anymore.

He sighs. "You're not my bud to blossom, sweetheart." Brushing the strands out of your face. You tremble at his touch, yet you lean into it. God, he could do anything to you and you'd let him.

"But I'd let you." You grasp his hand. His eyes ream in surprise, but the building arousal jostles up his spine. He may think that blossom is not for him, but he's intently observing how your desire stirs, seeping into your veins. His breath spreads out your petals, the smell of your perfume permeating, intoxicating him.

Your lips part open and his thumb slips in, your saliva coating his gunpowder-stained skin draws an involuntary groan from him. He wants to devour you, but he can't. You're too sweet, too decadent, too fresh. He needs to take his time to savor you. It's wrong, but he can't help himself. Especially when you look up at him with those pretty, perfect doe eyes with his fingers in your mouth.

Your free hand palms at his crotch. It's intrepid, daring how forward you are about your fiery fervor for him. He cocks an eyebrow at you, but he doesn't halt your actions.

"That's a big weapon you're slingin' there, sir." You smirk up at him, squeezing his member over his trousers. "Can I cock it?"

He chuckles at your cheekiness. He wants to disarm you, wipe off everything on his desk, and throw you up there. And you'd be so easy to lift too...

But he's shocked when your lips lock with his, a dauntless action on your part. A subordinate fraternizing with her superior? It's enough to get you locked up, and dishonorably charged, but this wasn't the minor leagues anymore. You were hunting for bigger fish. Something that's beyond the crumbling American government outside these four walls. There's a spark between the both of you that you've been waiting to ignite in him, and he can no longer suppress his deepest hunger pains for his carnal needs.

And soon he is swiping away at the stacks of papers and stationery that lines his desk, hoisting you up to sit that pretty ass on his mahogany counter. A gruff moan escapes his lips as you collide once more, and you're practically clawing at his chest. His tongue slips between your lips wanting to collect yours as your teeth clash in desperate need for each other's solace.

His hands grasp at your wrists, slowing you down, wanting to relish in your taste, your smell, your touch, and the way you moan when he dips his head in the crook of your neck to sensually kiss at your sweet spot. Perspiration builds at the base of his forehead as he slowly unzips your fleece, revealing more of your skin and he kisses at your sternum. Your fingers thread through his silver hair and your breaths become labored at his hot touch.

He wants to build as much anticipation as possible before he takes all of you, all of what you'll allow him at least. Impatiently, your arms cross over your chest, pinching at the hem and smoothly peeling off the skin-tight fabric, leaving you only in your tactical bra. Elias pauses for a second. He loves to appreciate the finer things in life.

His fingers caress your disheveled plait from the top to where your hair tie keeps it bound and he gently removes it. You analyze the lust and admiration in his features as he carefully unweaves your hair.

You watch as his Adam's apple oscillates. "You're beautiful." He susurrates, carding his fingers through your hair. Your heart stammers against your chest when you notice how he looks at you. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your collarbone to the strap of your bra, and slides either side off of your shoulder to reveal your naked breasts. Your nipples instantly harden from the chill in the room, and he gulps before reaching out to squeeze your left one.

To say it had been a while was simply an understatement. The touch of a woman has been lost on him since the death of his wife. So soft, so supple. He pinches at your bud and you involuntarily arch your back and whine out. The guilt he feels dissipates the second his lips latch onto your nipple and you shudder as his tongue swirls around the sensitive skin. "Captain...!"

He gently hushes and kisses your lips tenderly, then your cheek, your jaw as he cops another feel, grabbing two handfuls of your tits while he sucks on your neck. One of his hands glides over the expanse of your abdomen, to unbuckle your belt and unzip your trousers--

"Dad?"

Shit, he left the office unlocked. But it's too late. His boys are stepping through the door, although it's not long before their eyes ream at your half-naked form, legs spread with their father between them. Hesh quickly shuts the door and you both glance down, feeling the guilt skulk into your minds.

"I should go--" Elias sputters, and you nod as you scramble to put your clothes back on. Now this was humiliating. Being caught by his sons fraternizing with their father is just the icing on the cake of it all. You straighten your hair and fix your collar as you begin to head out the door, but his hand catches your wrist bringing you back flush against his chest.

"Don't think I'm lettin' them scare you off." He caresses your cheek, with thumb and you sigh, cheeks still warm with embarrassment. "I ain't done with you yet, sweetheart. Got that?"

He raises his brows at you and you nod. "Yes, sir."

He kisses you softly and your heart skips a beat. "Go on, now." He gestures toward the door. "I'll deal with those two."

Your lashes flutter up at him and you feel warmth all over. He smiles at you, kissing your wrist and it's no wonder you keep forgetting to leave. His gaze, his aura it's alluring and you keep pulling back in for more.

He chuckles at the hearts in your eyes. "That's an order, soldier."

You straighten at his words and nod before rushing out the door, ensuring you hear the click as you close it and quickly get to your quarters. A feeling of heaviness weighs on your shoulders as soon as you shut your door. How were you going to face Hesh and Logan?

[brittle-doughie]

It appears that Y/N Cookie just can't catch a break from these folks.

It'd be honestly interesting to see how some cookies would react to Y/N finally snapping back or getting enraged from all the stress.

- 🐼 Anon.

(p.s: Remember that your mental health is important too! Please take a break if you need one!)

Halt! The Restriction Mayhem Update!

This and a reply on that post about restraining orders gave me this idea heheha

Greetings, Cookie Runners. I’m Brittle, a writer for the CR x Reader tag.

Today, I’ll be introducing this totally not made up new event starring Y/N Cookie, a cookie that that can never seem to catch a break from the shower of attention their fellow cookies give them.

After many major incidents involving a feud between cookies, Y/N Cookie is at their wits end for some peace and quiet, and so has decided to have some time apart..with restraining orders! Will Y/N Cookie finally get their tranquility with this method? You’ll find out by playing the new event mode!

In this event, you’ll play various stages themed around certain clingy cookies, collect the evidence jellies you need to file the restraining order against the Cookie.

You can attempt the harder difficulties after completing Normal Mode with Hard and Intense Mode, which will up the challenge in stages and evidence!

For costumes, Scorpion and Cocoa will be receiving Epic costumes while a Super Epic is ready for Y/N Cookie, it’s Y/N Cookie’s Super Epic Costume, Absolute Heartstopper! There’s a new sheriff in town and your heart is their bounty!

That’s all that will be shared for today, hopefully Y/N Cookie survives the wait for the update and try not to get dogpiled on by upset cookies. Take care bye byeeee

Coupon Code: RUN Y/N COOKIE RUN (To clarify, this isn’t an actual code, but you probably already knew that)

Normal Mode:

Kumiho Cookie

“W-what? But darling, you can’t be serious!”

Cocoa Cookie

(Cocoa just stands there, confused and heartbroken)

Ninja Cookie

“…..Why would you do that? Did I come off too strong?”

Hard Mode:

Okchun Cookie

“I just wanted to make you feel welcome in our village. Why leave when your home is here…”

Lilac Cookie

“A piece of paper won’t stop me from you..”

Timekeeper Cookie

“Understood.” (Tears restraining order out from the fabric of reality. Thank Tree you had copies)

Intense Mode:

Sea Fairy Cookie

“I am very passionate about you, Y/N Cookie. Is there anything wrong with that?”

Fire Spirit Cookie

“HA HA! NO PIECE OF PAPER IS KEEPING FROM YOU, Y/N COOKIE!”

Lotus Dragon Cookie

“That’s a difficult wish to fulfill, Y/N Cookie. A dragon’s desire for a companion is strong, regardless of any restrictions like this one, a dragon WILL get what they desire eventually…”

[taste-thewaste]

WIP Wednesday 5.29.24

happy wednesday, folks, hope your weeks are going well. Thank you so much for the tags @o0anapher0o @onthewaytosomewhere @tailsbeth-writes @blueeyedgrlwrites @softboynick I've been enjoying your words <3

I'm not feeling so hot mentally so the words have been a little hard to come by, but nothing will stand in my way of creating yet another WIP apparently?? I started a porny 5+1 today, and I'm here to give you the first snippet of it. I'm really enjoying how it's coming along, so smut is below, be warned! (would it be me if it wasn't?)

Henry can almost imagine grabbing Alex by the waist, dragging him closer. He’s carding his fingers through that hair, kissing him deeply, biting Alex’s lower lip. He’s feeling every muscle in Alex’s arms, he’s pushing his legs apart with one knee, he’s unbuttoning those jeans and slipping a hand inside.  It’s his own hand he’s pushing down his own pants, though. It’s his own cock that he’s jerking, imagining his hands on Alex, imagining the nearness of their bodies, of skin pressed against skin and of passion so deep they can’t keep it inside. The Alex in his mind begs Henry for more, faster, harder, and the Henry in his dimly lit bedroom is all too eager to oblige. The Alex of his dreams moans, his breaths coming fast and hot, and the Henry in his silent room in Kensington Palace pants and fills the space with dripping wet wails. The Alex he has never met babbles that he is in fucking love as his cock shoots off, and the Henry that is alone says nothing as he comes all over himself, his body rising and falling with the effort of the most intense orgasm he’s had in he doesn’t even know how long.

tagging: @england-would-fall @henrysfox @eusuntgratie @lfg1986-2 @bigassbowlingballhead

@piratefalls @priincebutt @duchessdepolignaca03 @luainthewild @insecuregodcomplex

@captainjunglegym @stratocumulusperlucidus @doublecheekedkinard @firstprincehornyramblings @heysweetheart-writes

@bitbybitwrites @caterpills @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @nilefreemans @thinkof-england +open tag for anyone who wants to

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

Hi 👋🏻 you generously offered to give me some fic recs once you're back home if I gave you some more details as to what I'm looking for. Basically, anything tedependent that's close to, around or after canon. Open to personal favourites that deviate from this, though. Thanks in advance. Seeing the tags made me so happy! ❤️

oughh sorry this took forever, long story short getting back home ended up being a 24 hour comically terrible disaster and then i was just. tired :( but HERE I AM NOW!!!!!!!!!YAY

okay! OKAY.

tedependent

near/around canon

i'm going to assume leaning away from nsfw since it wasn't specified

no preference towards complete/incomplete, but i tended for the former

let's start with a ⚡LIGHTNING ROUND⚡!

these are fics I think at least somewhat fit your description (not sure I'm a great judge of 'close to canon') that i don't have any extra commentary to add about (that's not a bad thing!) they're all good!

A Mighty Nice Shine by turingpatterns - oneshot (complete) (trent's daughter! cute fic!!)

For As Long As We Can by ShutUpGwen - longer fic (complete) (post-canon getting together, kinda)

All Publicity, as they say by JessJessTheBest - medium sized fic(?) (complete) (very cute and funny social media centered fic)

if music be the food of love, play on by literary_lesbian - medium sized fic (complete) (great author, mae pov deserves more love)

Take My Whole Life Too by ItsClydeBitches - oneshot (complete) (adorable valentines day fic)

it's nice to have you here by foxwatson - longer fic (incomplete) (excellent 'there's only one cottage' fic, not s3 compliant as it was written before s3)

Holding Pattern by Wildgoosery - oneshot (complete) (honestly worth it for the ending alone--not that the whole thing isnt' good)

Nothing’s as Easy as Riding a Bike When You Don’t Know How by r_n_g_are_dead - long fic (complete) (trent falls in looove)

closer to your request (i think)

richmond is for lovers by confessionofaking- series (complete)

[summary for the first fic in the two-fic series] “So you do laugh!” He heard himself shout. Trent blinked, and then he was standing. “But you don’t do it until page—,” he crossed the room and peered over Ted’s shoulder “forty-three? And it wasn’t even a big laugh! That was more of a loud nose breath,” he paused, trying to recall the proper word. “An exhale.” Ted put a halt to his nervous rambling in a matter of seconds. “Hey, Trent, look. I know folks are divided on the actual police these days, but all human beings are opposed to the laugh-police.” or, the 'laugh police' scene fix-it fic, except i made it worse.

notes: an eventual post-canon fix-it, as well as a fix-it for the "laugh police" scene. excellent fic, excellent author (HI CADE!!!! HI!!!!! ILY!!!!) i would also reccomend from him... well, any of his fics, but for a quick round-up of a few more sfw tedependent fics of his:

twist of fate

red light

i’ll catch you, darling

just can’t get enough (more nsfw in themes but very cute)

The Lasso Effect by earlybloomingparentheses - oneshot (complete; part two of a series)

Dating Ted Lasso is a wonderful thing. There are, however, certain downsides. For example, Trent no longer has control over when and where he smiles. He apparently cares about Roy Kent's opinion of him now. And he's been having the most ridiculous urge to tap dance. It's the Lasso Effect.

notes: there's several bits in this for trent's characterization that live in my brain rent free.

number four was always you by thefaceofno - long fic (complete)

Ted’s phone rings. He looks away from the window, where he was watching the tree sway in the wind, to see Beard’s face splashed over his phone screen. He thinks about not answering, but if he doesn’t answer then all he’ll have done today is run to CostCo for no reason. He doesn’t need eight pounds of almonds, but he has eight pounds of almonds. a.k.a. the post s3 fix-it where Ted does some intense mental healing.

notes: THE post-canon tedependent fix-it. excellent. please read it immediately.

constant as a northern star (constantly in the dark) by laiqualaurelote - medium sized fic (complete) (technically part of a series but this is standalone)

“I just met Ted Lasso,” Sachiko Crimm says bluntly when her ex-husband picks up. Trent is silent for a while. “And?” he says finally. Sachiko gives it five seconds, and then she bursts out laughing. “Stop it,” says Trent wearily.

notes: one of my favorite incarnations of trent's ex-wife ever. also always a sucker for pov outsider. also, excellent author, and you should absolutely read their post-apocalypse theater/shakespeare au. please.

nothing worth doing comes easy by pocky_slash - medium sized fic (incomplete)

First Ted Lasso is a joke, then Ted Lasso is a story, and then, suddenly--mortifyingly--Ted Lasso is something more. (Or: Trent doesn't want to be Ted's friend.)

notes: excellent, loving it, basically, to quote the author's note, "trent's deeply awkward gay spiral in the [s2] finale". however, word of warning: it is, tragically, unfinished.

Architecture With a Human Element by ItsClydeBitches - oneshot (complete)

“There has to be something,” Trent muttered, furiously scrolling through his feed. Each suggestion he found was debunked by the next post, with many parents swearing up and down that certain techniques made the whole thing worse. Trent stopped on a video of a mother taking scissors to her daughter’s curls and bit down on an actual sob building in the back of his throat. It was right before Trent let it fly that his mobile rang. Coach Ted Lasso (from America). Trent couldn’t say what possessed him to answer with his throat thick and his eyes prickling, but his traitorous hand had already swiped while his mouth said, “I have to shave my head.” Or: 5 times Ted got to touch Trent's hair and one time he returned the favor.

notes: losing my mind at the tenderness in this one. ough (positive)

time may change me by rockinhamburger - oneshot (complete) (part of a series)

Trent’s writing a book, so he’s in the room, generally, whilst [AFC Richmond’s magical season] fucking happens. These are the kinds of days when he curses single fatherhood. Trent debates whether he can just skip work for the day, but the West Ham match is a mere week away. Nothing else for it. “Mia, how would you like to come to work with me today?”

notes: very sweet, good series. this particular work is pre-relationship, but i love crimmlet so much, and their interactions with the team.

Independent by TheBasilRathbone - medium sized fic (complete)

Trent Crimm might only recently be an independent journalist, but he's had no one to rely on but himself for far, far longer. And most days, it feels like he's barely keeping it together. So it only seems fitting that the conclusion to the worst period of his life is for the whole thing to go up in literal flames.  Luckily for Trent, help comes from a (not so) unexpected source.

notes: one of my favorite tedependent fics, not gonna lie. just. wow

some all-time favorites!

a man arrives on thursday by clementines_and_colorful_things - medium sized fic (complete)

The capture of a friend prompts notorious outlaw Ted Lasso to take on the crooked leadership of Nelson Road, Kansas, with his motley crew of castoffs, cowboys, and criminals. When English-born historian Trent Crimm finds himself unwillingly swept into the fast-paced world of Lasso and his outlaws, he gradually begins to unravel the enigmatic Ted Lasso’s complicated ties to Nelson Road’s most prominent players. Tensions run high as Ted evades arrest and plots the downfall of those who have wronged him, and Trent worries that Ted will meet the same abrupt end that most outlaws do: with a length of rope and a rather short drop. — A Ted Lasso Wild West AU

notes: a very good cowboy au from a very good author. not close to canon by any means, being a cowboy au, but very, very good nonetheless.

read our constellations by ShowMeAHero - long fic (complete) (series)

[summary of the first fic in a four fic ongoing series]

And Trent’s not a mess! He’s not. He’s got his life entirely together. He chose to reveal his source and give up his position with The Independent. He chose to start chasing book authorship as his new branch of his career tree. He chose his flat, and his car, and his life, down to the brands of tea he buys and the sorts of people he spends time with and the sheet sets he puts on his and Beatrice’s beds. He’s an adult man, for Christ’s sake. Of course, he’s got his life together. Everything is under his control, and it’s all fine. It’s entirely, completely, fully fine. Taking one last steadying breath, Trent opens his eyes and looks over the line of seven tests on the counter: the first he took a few hours ago, and the six he just took since. Each and every last one of them says he’s pregnant. Some have plus signs, some have two lines, some simply have the word pregnant. All of them may as well come together to form a little sign reading, Congratulations, Trent! You did it! You’ve finally made a goddamn bloody mess out of everything! Just wait until you have to tell Ted! Trent’s stomach turns for more reasons than one.

notes: what is there to say??? one of my favorite fics from one of my favorite authors. it does somewhat follow along canon, with a pretty obvious deviation of their relationship and trent (a trans man) getting pregnant. but i truly cannot recommend their fics enough. another lightning round of their more sfw tedependent fics:

to seek solace (exploration of trent and past abuse that makes me wanna bawl (positive))

you'll never walk alone (HEARTWRENCHING soulmate au, happy endings all around, i adore it)

you know (i love you so)

darling, i love you

come what may

birdhouse in your soul

[disgruntledkittenface]

Hello fellow fic writer mutual— I hope you’re hanging in there. 🤍 I’m reaching out bc I’m compiling non-1D reading recs for folks like myself who might be struggling to engage with 1D fics right now. If you’d like to join in, I’d love your recommendations for: Fics from other fandoms and/or original works—especially your own works that fit either of these categories!

You can submit them by: 

Filling out the google form linked HERE—anonymously if you’d like.

Answering this ask with any fics you’d like to share. 

Emailing me at louisandtheaquarian {at} gmail {dot} com.

Please feel free to tag or pass along this ask to fellow writer/reader friends! (And if anyone else has turned to working on original fiction lately—lmk if you would be interested in a future fest of original works. Community and deadlines can be so helpful, haha.)

Sending you so much love. 🫂

hiii I love this idea <3 And thank you for making it easy to submit fics! Once I started opening tabs, I realized I had way more recs than I thought

If you like Schitt's Creek, do yourself a favor and check out these Alexis/Twyla fics by our very own @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

Crystal Clear and Ladies Night Inn series

My friend @queenofquiet17 writes incredible and mostly angsty Grace/Karen fics in the Will & Grace fandom; this is her most recent completed work

Forbidden Thoughts of Youth and Strawberry Gloss

While I was gearing up to write Harry/Louis/Tom Hardy, I found a few Arthur/Eames fics in the Inception fandom and this is my favorite

I've Got Nothing To Do Today But Smile (The Only Living Boy In New York)

I turned to AO3 after the latest season of Selling Sunset and the results did not disappoint; I found a Harry Potter AU!

Faking It

An old friend asked me to look over this Happy Endings AU before I really knew what betaing even was; luckily it didn't even need editing

Secrets and Waffles

I know nothing about hockey, but this AU by @badger-bear left me feral

Tongue Tied

I remember this West Wing AU by @muldxr as being Very Intense!

headlights on dark roads

I once lost an entire workday to this AU of The Office

I Don't Know Where I Belong, I Don't Know Where I Went Wrong

I haven't read a lot of drarry, but this is definitely my favorite

Little Compton Street (One Rainy Night in Soho)

And I would be remiss if I didn't include this classic Folgercest AU (sorry and you're welcome)

A Home for All Seasons

sending you (and everyone out there) love! I think an original work fest is a great idea; we could all use more community these days, especially when trying something new <3

[millersdjarin]

Some Invisible String

Chapter II: Skies Grew Darker

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader (afab)

Rating: E (eventually)

Summary: Ten years after Reader left Joel for reasons he still doesn't know, they find themselves together again in a town called Jackson. Joel has questions he's too afraid to ask; and Reader dreads having to give the answers.

Chapter length: 3.9k

Warnings/Tags: injury recovery, light angst, ellie is an absolute G and i love her with all my heart

Chapter One

notes: hello i hope u enjoy love u <3

They’ve got medicine here. Actual antibiotics, even some painkillers. 

Apparently some of the folks in town are from all different corners of the country—some ex-fireflies, some ex-loners, even some ex-hunters, like me, Tommy, and Joel. Everyone came with their own stories, and their own supplies, or ways of getting them. 

Well, everyone except me. All I brought was blood and confusion. But, still. 

Angela keeps me in the town’s doctor’s office for a couple of days to recover. In that time, Joel comes to see me several times each day, as well as Tommy and Ellie. I still don’t really know who she is; just that, for some reason, she’s especially close with Joel. But, just like he’s holding back his questions—I can see it on his face every time the room falls into quiet—I’ve held back mine until I start to feel a little more human again. 

Which is today, apparently. Everything is aching less, and I feel like I’m actually awake where I lie still in my bed. I could probably even sit up to eat today if I wanted to.

Ellie comes in sometime in the early morning, not long after I and the rest of the town started to wake up. She smiles, so bright-eyed and young, and sits in the chair beside my bed. “How you feeling?” She asks. “You look better.” 

“I feel better,” I answer with a relieved exhale. “I mean, I still feel like I just came back from the brink of death, but…you know.” 

“I know what you mean,” Ellie says. “I’ve had days like that, too. I remember after Joel was injured last winter, even once he was better he still took a while to get right again.” 

I frown, mostly out of curiosity, partly out of concern. “How long have you two known each other?” 

She blows a raspberry and looks away in thought. “I guess over a year now. A year and a half maybe? Time is weird.” 

“Yeah, tell me about it. Have you been here all that time?” 

“No. We actually both came from Boston.” 

“Boston?” I feel my eyebrows raise. That’s a long way from Texas, and it’s a long way from here. “So how long have you been…here? What brought you here?” 

“That’s…kind of a long story,” she grins, sheepish. “I’m sure Joel’ll tell you all about it.” 

I almost snort. “I doubt it.” 

“Why not? You guys were obviously close.” 

“It was a long time ago.” 

“Alright, well, he obviously cares a lot about you,” Ellie counters. She’s swinging her legs back and forth under the chair, her hands sitting calmly in her lap. “Him and Tommy. How’d you guys meet?” 

“It’s a long story,” I echo her earlier sentiment, not wanting to get into it. I’m sure Ellie is just as curious about my history with them as I am about her’s. But it’s complicated. Everything is always so complicated. “You guys are obviously close, too. You and Joel.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we are.” A fond smile spreads over her lips, shy, like she’s trying to hide it. She looks down at her lap, fiddles with her fingers. “We had a pretty intense few months together out on the road. But you know what he’s like. Emotions, relationships…not really his area of expertise.” 

I actually do laugh at that, because I can’t help it. Because even though she’s just a kid, Ellie gets it. “Yeah, you’re telling me, kid. It’s just his way of surviving, though, you know?” 

She nods. “Yeah, I know. And I get it. He’s taught me a lot about that. You know, surviving.” 

My mind goes to Sarah in an instant. 

I met Joel five years after the outbreak. He never talked about his past, his family, his life before it all went to shit. And he definitely never talked about Sarah. 

But Tommy told me. One night, when Joel had been particularly gruff and distant all day, insisting on taking all the patrols even though he was exhausted from constant nightmares for a week, Tommy told me it was Sarah’s birthday. He said her name like I should have already known who she was. Like he’d expected Joel would have told me.

I only brought it up to him the one time. That night when I went to bed and saw him sitting on his shitty mattress on the ground, fiddling with the broken watch on his left wrist. “Tommy told me,” I said, quiet into the dark room. “About Sarah.” 

“Don’t…” 

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. And that if you ever want to tell someone about her, I’m all ears,” I’d said. Then, before he could protest or leave the room out of frustration, embarrassment, survival instinct—whatever it was that kept him so guarded—I just said, “Goodnight, Joel.” 

And that was that. 

Now, lying here in this bed, I look up at Ellie, hear her say Joel taught her how to survive. Something he never got chance to teach Sarah after it all went to shit. Something he blamed himself for. Maybe he still does. 

I think of Sarah, of Joel, of his closeness with Ellie. It must have taken him a lot to overcome his fears and his past. It’s always weighed over him so heavily that I could see it. 

But now, thinking about it, about how he is with Ellie, he looks different. Lighter. Like he’s not so afraid anymore. 

I wonder what happened between them. How he let anyone new into his life again. 

Just as I’m about to ask Ellie, the door swings open, and in walks Joel. 

“Speak of the devil,” Ellie smirks, craning her neck to look at him. 

“You ladies talkin’ about me?” Joel asks. He doesn’t smile, but there’s one in his voice. He’s carrying a covered tray that’s billowing steam up from around the edges. “Thought my ears were burnin’.”

“Yeah, talking shit,” Ellie says. 

Joel grumbles in response and heads closer to me. He’s so tall from where I am, towering over me like a beautiful skyscraper. Shifting the tray into one hand, he uses his other to gently bump his fist against Ellie’s shoulder. “Scoot,” he says. Ellie does as he asks but stands behind the chair as he sits down, putting her hands on the backrest. “You hungry?” He asks me. 

“Starving,” I answer. The food, whatever it is, smells good. Sweet. I haven’t had sweet in so long. 

“Got pancakes,” he opens the tray like someone on an old ad for a cruise. If I was talking to anyone else but Joel, I’d expect them to say Bon appetit. 

“Pancakes?” Ellie repeats from behind him, staring down at the plate with wide eyes. “Why did no one tell me it’s pancakes?!” 

He smiles, mostly to himself. It’s soft and fond. It’s fucking beautiful to see on him. “Well, go on then,” he says to her, so southern that it hurts, “there might still be some left. Better hurry before the other kids get there first.” 

Ellie starts towards the door, but pauses before opening it. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she says, smiling at me, then she heads back out into the cold and runs across the street to the cafe. 

Joel turns to me with that same fond smile. There’s a look on his face that says, Kids, am I right? And I don’t know how I translate it, because I’ve never seen him look like this before. “You need help eatin’?” He asks, putting the cover back on the plate to keep it hot.

“I think I can sit up today,” I say.

“You sure? I don’t know if Angela needs to check you over first…” 

I wave a nonchalant hand, then press it into the mattress. “I’m fine.” Using both hands, I start to push myself up the bed, lifting my head and chest. 

Joel shifts on his chair. “I don’t know if…”

“She told me to sit up when I feel ready,” I grunt out, using all the strength I have—which isn’t a lot—to get myself sitting upright. It hurts like fuck, but the pain has been worse in the last few days, so it’s fine. (It’s not. It’s spreading across my whole body. But I just want to eat my pancakes, to feel normal again. To prove Joel wrong and make up for the fact that I cried in front of everyone. In front of him.) 

Joel half reaches out towards me. I start to struggle the last few inches as my stomach muscles begin to weaken. I can’t quite get straight enough to lean back against the wall, and my elbows are shaking. 

Without a word, Joel puts down the tray and shoots up from his seat, reaching out to hold me steady. One of his hands grasps the arm opposite him, the other wrapping around my back. “I gotcha,” he hauls me up against the headboard. God. His hands are freezing, but my skin under where he touches me feels like fire. “Alright?” He asks once I’m settled. 

I can’t quite speak, so I just nod. 

The tray is in my lap soon, complete with a closed cup of milk with a straw, like it’s made for a kid. But it means it hasn’t spilled, and doesn’t spill even when my hands shake a little as I drink, so it is what it is. 

“You want some time alone, or…?” 

I stare at him, not knowing what to say. What I want. 

“Just I know Ellie’s been comin’ in here a lot, so I thought maybe you’re wanting some space…” 

I stab a piece of pancake and eat it. My God, there’s not even any syrup on it, just some stewed apples, but it is like heaven has just exploded in my mouth. I feel my eyelids flutter at the sensation, at the sweetness I haven’t tasted in so many years. Then, instead of giving Joel an answer, I ask, “What’s the deal with you two? She’s a sweet kid. Seems to care about me just ’cause you d—know me.” I stop myself before I say Because you do. Because, does he? Does he care any more than he feels obligated to anymore? 

If Joel notices my stumble, he doesn’t show it. “Yeah, she’s…she’s a good kid. It’s kind of a long story.” 

“That’s what Ellie told me, too.” I’m speaking with my mouth full of sticky, sweet pancakes. This might actually be heaven. 

“I, uh…I did a lot of smuggling, back in Boston. Me and my…partner, we got a job to smuggle her out of the QZ.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You smuggled a teenage girl out of a safe place and into the wild?” 

“I wouldn’t say safe,” he grumbles, “but, yeah.” 

“Why’d she need smuggled?” 

“That’s, uh…” he looks away, down at his lap. For a moment he seems to consider something, his forehead creasing like it does when he’s thinking really hard. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

Observing him for a moment, I push a bit of apple out of my teeth with my tongue. “Try me,” I say. 

Instead of answering, Joel sighs, long and heavy. After a minute he shakes his head, and when he lifts it to meet my eyes, I see an expression that I only saw in the first few weeks we knew each other. An expression I never thought I’d have to see again: distrust. 

He shakes his head again, and doesn’t say anything. 

But I hear him clear as day. He doesn’t trust me. 

I don’t blame him. 

Clearing my throat, I chop up another mouthful of pancake and shove it down me. Somehow, I’ve almost finished the plate already. “Thanks, uh, for the breakfast.” 

“Thank Lucy. We’re damn lucky to have her.” 

Lucy is the town’s cook. A lot of the residents cook for themselves in their homes—which was once the norm in our lives, but now seems like such a foreign concept—but she still makes meals in the cafe for newer residents, injured people, and those who are shit at cooking. 

“So, you went on some big adventure, I assume,” I say into the quiet, half-joking. But the way Joel chuckles dryly and shakes his head, I realise that the answer is a very serious yes. “How’s Tommy already married if you’ve not been here long?” 

“He’s been here a lot longer than me. Maria’s dad set this place up.” 

I frown. “Tommy wasn’t in Boston with you?” 

Joel still won’t meet my eyes. He runs a rough hand over his mouth and stubble, rubs his jaw where the hairs are greyer. I’m a little distracted by it, to be honest. I can’t help but imagine running my hands over his face myself. Even after all this time, those thoughts are still there. 

“We, uh, we separated a while back. Not long after you left, actually.” 

“…Oh,” I’m not sure what to make of that. “I’m glad you’re back together again.” 

“Me, too.” 

My plate now empty, I watch him. He’s somewhat lost in thought, stroking at his jaw over and over, back and forth, staring down at the floor. Maybe he, too, is lost in the memories of what it was like back then. When me, him, and Tommy were a team. When we were part of a group of hunters. When we killed to survive. 

It was hell. Tommy always hated it the most, even though I was always the softest. 

But we did survive.

I look at Joel now, all grey flecks of hair and creases on his face from years of horror. I’ve got some premature greys now, too, but not nearly as many. He looks tired. Not badly rested; there are no bags under his eyes or paleness in his cheeks. But he just looks…tired. Worn down. Maybe it’s because of my presence here.

“Joel…” I say, hesitant. I don’t really know where I’m going with it. I can’t stop thinking about the old days. About the day I left. About the letter I wrote explaining why, that was always addressed to the fire, and not to him. “It’s been a long time,” I find myself settling on. 

He laughs at that. I can’t decide if it’s humourless or not. “Yeah. It has.” 

“You got old,” I tease. Because that’s always a good route to go down when I’m not sure. 

“I sure did. Happens to all of us. Not you, apparently.” He glances up at me, then looks away just as quickly. 

“What are you talking about? I got old, too.”

“You still look just like you did the day I lost…the day you…” 

I look down as guilt hangs in my chest. I should say something. I should apologise. Maybe I should explain, after all these years. 

Does he even want to know? Does he need to? 

Do I want him to know? 

“I should get goin’,” he says before I have any longer to overthink. He slaps his hands on his legs before standing up, then reaches for my empty tray. “Take it easy today. Angela’ll check on you soon.” 

He turns towards the door and I try to scrabble for something to say to get him to stay. I don’t want him to leave—not yet. “Joel…” but his name fades in my mouth, because there are no words. 

“I’ll come by later,” is all he says before he leaves. 

Deflated, I lean further back into the wall behind me. 

Everything hurts.

-

“Joel and Tommy both have spare rooms, if you wanted to stay with one of them,” Angela explains as she tends to some of the smaller cuts on my arms and shoulders. “Or there’s the inn where we house new residents before getting them settled.” 

“I’ll take the inn,” I answer, not needing to think about it. 

“You sure? Recovery ain’t gonna be an easy thing. You might want some friends around to help you out.” 

I’ve survived this long on my own. “I’ll be fine,” I insist. “Had worse.” 

Angela snorts. “Doubt it. You almost died, you know that, right?” 

“Oh, I know,” I sigh. The pain in my body never lets me forget it. Then, realising I haven’t said it yet, “Thank you. For…for saving my life.” 

Angela leans back, happy with her work. “No need to thank me,” she offers a warm smile. “You should thank the brothers. They’re the ones who found you. Crazy how fate works, isn’t it?” She throws old bandages into the bin and closes her medical case. 

I chuckle, dark. “Fate is one word for it, I guess.” Luck is probably more accurate. But whether or not it’s good luck or bad luck, I’m not sure yet. Jury’s still out. 

“Alright, well, if you feel ready, you can head on to your new lodgings. I’m sure Maria’ll get you set up with your own place in no time. For now, I’ll get them to give you a ground floor room.” 

“Thanks,” I say, relieved to be getting out of here. It’s not that it’s not nice—hell, this is the nicest place I’ve been in since before the outbreak—it’s just I’m going a little stir crazy. I haven’t been this still for this long in a very, very long time. Every time someone says they’re going out on patrol, I get a little jealous. I want to be helpful, but more than that, I want to feel that I can still look after myself if push comes to shove. 

Which clearly is not the case, because as soon as I stand up with the help of the crutches Angela has loaned me, I regret it. Only for a second. But the regret is there; my brain says, Maybe we should’ve just stayed sitting down! 

As I hobble out of the doctor’s office and out into the snow, a cold breeze instantly assaults me. Angela is behind me, making sure I don’t fall, watching my step for me. But it’s fucking freezing out here.

My eyes are watering in an instant, blurring my vision. Using the crutches helps with my leg pain, but my arms are still weak and trembly. 

It’s as I’m stepping down off the stoop that I see Joel and Ellie coming running across the street towards me. 

“Angela! I told you to tell me when you discharged her!” Joel shouts as he gets closer. 

“I’m fine!” I shout into the wind, definitely not fine. The cold is making my fingers ache. As if I needed more things to hurt. 

“Where are you going?” Ellie asks. She points down the street in the opposite direction, “Our place is that way.” 

“She’s staying at the inn,” Angela says. She puts a hand on my back, steadying me, then gestures to the building we’re heading to.

“What—the inn?” Joel asks, following us now. 

“Yeah. You know, a place where people stay when they don’t have anywhere else?” Angela retorts, rolling her eyes. “Watch your step,” she says quietly to me, helping me hobble over a deeper patch of snow that crunches as I stand on it. 

“She can stay with us,” Ellie says. “You know that, right?” She looks at me from the side. 

I glance at her and try my best to smile through the pain and discomfort. “I’m fine, Ellie. Really.” 

“No, you’re not,” Joel argues. His voice is so deep and rumbly, like it’s coming from his belly. “You can’t recover on your own.”

“Let’s argue about this once we get her sat down in the warm, shall we?” Angela suggests, which gets everyone to stay silent until then. 

Ellie tries to pitch their house to me one last time. Joel is standing in the doorway of my room, looking disgruntled and grumpy, though that’s nothing new. Ellie sits at the bottom of my bed as I tell her No, thank you, for the last time. 

“Alright, well, if you’re sure. If you need any help, or anything…” 

“I know where you are,” I say, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, Ellie.” 

“I got you some of my favourite movies. Since we came here I’ve been able to watch them. You ever seen Star Wars?” 

Chuckling, I nod. “Yeah, I’ve seen those.” 

“I don’t think this TV has a DVD player hooked up, but I’ll ask Maria,” Ellie promises, putting the DVD cases on the vanity opposite the bed, next to the old TV. The idea of watching a movie is somehow alien and familiar all at once. 

“Thank you,” I say again. I’m amazed by this kid. She’s soft and kind and yet hard as nails. She’s mostly covered in winter clothing, but the skin I can see, she’s got a hell of a lot of scars. The most noticeable is on her eyebrow, gashing right through the hairs. It looks badass. 

But it’s also sad. She’s just a kid. 

“You can stay and watch them with me when it’s hooked up, if you want,” I offer. 

Ellie grins. “I’d love that! I’ll bring snacks.” 

Warmth blooms in my chest. It’s so unfamiliar that it concerns me for a second; I think something must be wrong. But then I look at Joel, standing in the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing his big puffy winter coat, and it reminds me that the same warmth used to be there every time I looked at him. Until it turned to something fearful, something looming.

“Alright, kid, let her get some rest,” Joel says, standing up straight and nodding his head out the door. 

Ellie stands up and smiles at me. “I’ll see you later.” 

“See you.” 

She brushes past Joel in the doorway and elbows him in the ribs as she passes. Joel gives an over exaggerated grunt and bends over, making Ellie laugh as she heads down the hallway. “Come on, old man!” She shouts after him. 

With a small smile still on his lips, and a hand on his ribcage, he turns to me. “You sure you’re alright?” He asks.

His concern has that feeling coming back. Warmth, from my chest to my toes. I nod. “I’m sure. I’m probably gonna try and sleep for a bit.” 

“Angela said she’ll check on you. And there’s always someone about down here, if you need help.” 

“I’m alright, Joel,” I assure him gently, pulling the blanket further up so it sits against my hips. “Look at me, I’m sitting up. I’ll be fine.” 

He stays there for another long moment, but then he nods once, and turns to head out the door. “We’ll talk later.” 

“Later,” I agree, even though I don’t know what there is to talk about that isn’t telling him why the hell did I leave, and asking him why aren’t you angry at me for it?

I watch him walk away until he’s no longer there.

{chapter 2/5}

notes: all interactions are very appreciated, but comments/reblogs especially make my heart go brrr♡ ps. pls come and scream about the tlou show with me i am feral

taglist: @rosymythologies @lover1307

[thechaseofspades]

DT17 Anniversary Posting

So I've heard around the cafeteria that there's a theme for today centered around people's favorite episodes. Well, I don't have [a] favorite episode. But I can narrow it down to 1 per season, so let's go with that.

(P.S. if you were tagged in this post it's because I gave you cool people a shoutout at the end.)

S1: The Last Crash of the Sunchaser!

When I first watched this show, this episode was the one where I realized things were serious. This wasn't just a funny duck show. It's definitely still funny and a duck show, but it's so much more than that.

On Disney+, this episode comes right after Lena is possessed by Magica, so my mind was 100% on that heading in. Instead, we got the resolution to Dewey's arc and the mystery of Della Duck... or so we thought!

Sure, we found out Della's fate, but that was almost secondary to the family drama, especially between Dewey and Scrooge. It's very intense, and even when we get the answers we're looking for, the questions all change.

I don't need to explain why this episode is good. It just is. The fact that I picked this episode, and not a Lena-centric one, shows how good it is.

S2: A Nightmare on Killmotor Hill!

Alright fine. One Lena episode.

After Lena was brought back in "Friendship Hates Magic!", the question was, where do we go from here? I think they handled it very well, integrating her back into the kids' friend group while still letting the effects of Magica's abuse linger on.

I really enjoy the idea of characters' dreams showing their deepest fears and desires. The kind of stuff they would otherwise stash away when they're awake. This episode took that concept and sprinted with it.

I still think we ought to have had more sleepover episodes with all of the kiddos. When everybody is fighting for screen time in Season 3, this episode shows how you can balance several characters at once, even if Lena was the one getting the majority of the attention. The "Swanstantine" episode is another good example of this.

I mean, come on. We got Webby dressing herself up as Scrooge McDuck as soon as she realized she could do whatever she wanted. It was foreshadowed from the beginning!

S3: Astro B.O.Y.D.!

I've talked about this one before. It's one of my favorite pieces of autism rep. Boyd's journey in this episode really resonated, as well as his relationship with Huey.

In my opinion, the best part about it is how Huey relates to Boyd. Specifically not because he's a robot, but how Huey sees him as just a kid, just like him. The robot part is more of a neat quirk than anything. He's wired differently, literally, but they deserve a chance to be themselves.

And I appreciate how "Astro-B.O.Y.D!" gives Boyd a purpose as a character. I thought the bit in the Doofus episode where the villains try to pull the same con as Louie was fun, but Boyd didn't feel like much of a character, or at least no more of one than Sharkbomb was.

So "Astro-B.O.Y.D!" takes a character that very well could have had a one-off bit role, and made him something special. Made him somebody that a viewer can relate to, just as Huey did in the episode. Even just for 22 minutes, Boyd felt special. I felt special. I felt seen.

So yeah, that's my three. The fact that I can sit here and ramble about a half-decade old show that ended before I found it, is really cool. I'm so glad to have the chance to hang out with everybody here, whether we're discussing the best show in the history of time or doing literally anything else.

Shoutout to the people rallying the troops for today's anniversary... @secret-tester @justaboot @alexcanine @boingodigitalart @yeyeducks @cookieruby @the-richest-duck ... and to everyone else who's participated not just today but any day. We wouldn't be a community without the fine folks in it.

[richardmoonstreet]

They are BACK! 🦆

The long awaited return of my @hausofhonk mugs have landed today in many many many boxes and my arms hurt a lot 😵‍💫 thankyou SO MUCH for your patience, I've had these available on pre-order since January and I know there's some long awaited honkery on the way to many of you.

If you're new around here too, allow me to reintroduce what this army of ducks is all about! Haus of Honk is my ceramic spin-off where I design items but don't craft them myself. Unlike Richard Moonstreet (where everything is hand made by me 100% from start to finish) the Haus collection is factory-made to my design. Not only does this mean all the productions are dishwasher, food and microwave-safe, but crucially it allows me to get duck silliness out there to folk who may not always have the means to pay the higher prices that comes with more labour-intensive handmade buddies. Plus they are more useful too! You can't drink your tea out of a Silly Goose or a Quackson Pollock (well you can but he'd be cross)

I've put a website discount on all Haus of Honk goodies to celebrate the launch (because I also do plant pots!).Happy honking ♥️ and please feel free to tag a pal who may want a quack in the kitchen 💌

[grapehyasynth]

NINE PEOPLE TO GET TO KNOW BETTER

i was tagged by @toast-jpg, hello!! thank you! (almost just wrote 'yank you')

Last Song: i had to scroll back a bit because it's been podcasts today, but the last song I listened to was "landslide" by the japanese house

Relationship status: dating feels like a nonfactor in my life

Sweet/savoury/spicy?: right now, i'd go for something savory-spicy

Favourite colour: blue

Last movie/TV show: The Sopranos

Last thing I googled: "sun emoji" lmaaaaaao

Current obsession: i don't know if i have one! like, young royals, obviously, but that's been the case for 2+ years and it's not QUITE as intense as it was at its peak

tagging some folks from my recent notifs: @cardigan-jam @skibasyndrome @nerdyfangirl76 @loren91 @leojfitz @youngroyals-baby @themarsbar @glimmeringdreams @jackies-ear

[transienttheologyproject]

i hope my followers & others keeping up & supporting this project know that whenever you leave a kind message on my post — whether it be something as simple as a tagging your reblog of my posts with ‘!!!’ or as personal as sending me a message to the effect of ‘this type of work means so much to me thank you for doing it,’ you are helping me keep my momentum going.

bit of a whole big rant below, sorry for the length, but tl;dr i’m just immensely grateful for what support this project has received because the backlash it has gotten has taken way more of a toll on me & my mental health than i anticipated, and your kindness has helped in motivating me to not just completely wipe this whole thing from the internet.

today yesterday kinda sucked. a lot of the past couple weeks have sucked, especially since pushing more of an online presence with this zine, because of course, with something like this you’re naturally gonna attract a range of Christians, from those ‘gender-criticals’ (whatever that means) who think I’m misguided, to those who begin their messages by calling me & my work perverted, to those whose vitriolic transphobia manifests in sending me Gospel verses weaponized as straight-up death threats. and obviously i knew this was going to happen, and it did, even from as early on as when i was posting the calls-for-art.

and at first i handled it well — i deleted whatever i felt wasn’t worth my time responding to, and if i could meme a hate-comment into a promotional tiktok, then i kept it around to do exactly that. and that worked. i told myself i wasn’t going to get defensive and bound up in keyboard wars because the purpose of this specific project, this specific platform isn’t for debating or dialoguing with Christians who don’t affirm trans+ identities — it’s to serve those who are trans+ and Christian, and I didn’t want this intra-community effort to become an inter-community debate forum. dialogue is a perfectly necessary thing, don’t get me wrong, but there’s a time & a place for everything and this project wasn’t meant to be it.

as the weeks went on, however, the negative attention this project was receiving began to take a toll on me. it didn’t help that in addition to the anticipated pushback from Christian peers, some of the trans+ folks i knew gave me a hard time for ‘bootlicking the oppressor.’ i was, and still definitely am, having the most intense experience i’ve had to this day of the exact type of ostracization that inspired me to pursue this project in the first place — too trans for the Christians, too Christian for the trans folks.

receiving comments calling an academic research project i dedicated my entire summer to “perverted” made me doubt everything i had worked so hard on. accusations of “heresy” and “blasphemy” i had expected and received plenty of, but perversion was not something i had anticipated. comments like “you make me sick” made me second-guess everything i had done leading up to that moment — am i sickening? i was falling for the false narrative that exists as the backbone of much of today’s transphobia — that trans+ people are inherently groomers, monstrous predators. i was perverting my body, they said, and scripture, too — and i began to wonder if they were right.

receiving comments like “enjoy your insanity! I hope the boot still tastes good when they've taken away all our rights so you could feel like ‘one of the good ones’” made me doubt my identity as a Christian. yeah, it’s no secret that the anti-trans legislation running rampant and scaffolding an era of fascism in the United States is the result of neoconservative Christians who represent more the Rome that Jesus mocked & condemned than Christ’s mission itself. i began to worry if calling myself Christian identified me with the oppressor and if talking about transness from a Christian perspective was really a helpful endeavor or if i was essentially stabbing my trans+ community in the back.

you’d think that given the nature of this project, i would be better about not letting those sorts of interactions wear me out. because i’m conducting a project that’ll say “hey, trans+ Christians, you don’t have to choose between those two facets of your identity because they’re not mutually exclusive,” you’d think i would’ve had that mindset confidently internalized. or maybe you wouldn’t think that, but i guess i thought so myself. and i guess i thought that expecting the petty backlash & having done enough research to dismiss it was enough to be prepared for it. not really.

from the beginning, i told myself, “don’t let the mean ones get to you, you’re smart and have done your research and know what you’re talking about.” but there was such a separation between myself and my work this summer that i never truly internalized what i was writing about — i believed it, but i didn’t necessarily believe it for myself.

this project has been a labor of love. and i definitely think the labor part got the best of me this whole summer. the literary review was a drag. writing up the annotated bibliography was immensely frustrating and took me way longer than i would have liked. same with the zine’s section prefaces. and i had planned and hoped to meet with and interview several professionals in the various fields examined in the zine — and i totally dropped the ball because of… something that felt like burnout, which actually made me feel like i had committed the biggest blunder of my professional career before it had even begun. I’m still recovering from that.

the mental and emotional toll this has caused me, the academic, spiritual, psychological, and physical strife this whole endeavor has proven to have been has resulted in me sort of dissociating from the project; i talked about it as though it was a passion project of mine — which it is — but as i was working on it, i felt so disconnected from the material. as if it were akin to a homework assignment in a class i couldn’t care less about.

i’ve been in a tough spot regarding mental health for a long while now (for various other reasons besides this), and i’ve reached the point where i’ve wanted to pull the plug on something to just try and break whatever vicious cycle im trapped in, whether that something be as large-scale as dropping out of university, or as low-scale as shaving all my hair off, or maybe…well, maybe since i can pinpoint these online interactions and this research pursuit as a whole as contributing substantially to my poor mental state, maybe i should pull the plug on the zine. screw it, delete the social media pages & the website, make sure artists get their copies & be done with it.

but i have folks who have been legitimately looking forward to this — not even just people of the intended audience! i have cis Christian friends on my college campus who had never met a(n openly) trans+ person, let alone a trans Christian, before they had met me who have demonstrated such a genuine eagerness to learn from the expressions of faith and gender from myself & others like me. i know a Catholic mother — the sweetest woman — who is ordering a physical copy of the zine so she can try to understand and support her two trans+ daughters, and any other trans+ people she meets, better. i’ve had countless people — strangers — message me “this work you are doing is incredible and incredibly needed. thank you for doing it.” i’ve seen several people, folks just scrolling through their tiktok for you page who don’t even usually follow after leaving me comments to the effect of “yknow, this is a strange crossover episode, but i’m here for it, this is cool!”

there are people who want this work out there. and what’s more is that there are people who need this work out there. and i guess every time someone goes out of their way to extend some kindness towards me and gratitude for this project, i am reminded that i am among those who need this work. those little moments ground me in the purpose and mission of this project — to serve my trans+ Christian community, particularly those who may be having trouble reconciling their intersection within those identities especially within the current socio-political climate. and like, that’s me!!! i am a member of my community, i am a part of the people i am hoping to serve.

everything i was (and truthfully, still am) anxious about, everything that was (and is) weighing on my heart is everything that this project hopes to challenge. all the doubt i’ve been experiencing as of late is exactly what inspired me to do this work in the first place.

and the kindness and gratitude so many of you have extended towards me in the past few weeks, especially within the past few days, have truly helped ground me. i’m still struggling to get back on my emotional feet per se, which is why i will ask that if you find a moment, you keep me in your prayers — but i genuinely mean it when i say that every positive tag on a reblog, every share on one’s story and every kind comment serves as a reminder to me that a.) there are people will be genuinely served by a project like this, and not only that, but b.) i am one of those people. you all remind me to take a look at what i’ve done from the perspective of a trans Christian, not of a student researcher or a graphic designer or a social media moderator or any of the other practical roles i had to take on this summer. you remind me to look at this project as the type of person it’s meant to serve. you remind me of my initial hopes and goals with this endeavor.

you remind me to allow myself to be transformed by the work i have done.

when you share with me how inspirational this project is to you, you remind me to let myself be inspired by the work i’ve done. when you share how much this zine means to you, you remind me to let myself take meaning in it.

and i think it’s sort of ironic in a very beautiful way — so much of this zine focuses on the idea of entanglement and the interdependence of many facets of our lives, and it wasn’t until this project became entangled with you all so much that your experience with the zine is no longer just dependent on mine, but that ours are interdependent on each other. the positivity you feel at learning about this project is poured back into my cup, giving me the breathing room to finally allow myself to feel positively about it, too.

so truly, from the bottom of my soul, thank you. thank you for your kindness and your support, and for making it this far in my ramblings if you have. i know it was quite disorganized and probably very repetitive but this is my first time sort of articulating what i’ve been feeling so heavily recently. so, thank you again — i hold each and every one of you always in my heart, mind, and prayers!

<3 - Soup

(the man behind the curtain)

[darkesttimelinestuff]

"Just in case this doesn't work."

This is my final story for Fictober! It was meant to be short, just a few hundred words, but it's a little longer than expected. It will contain a few chapters (not certain how many yet) that will use the remainder of the prompts. Sorry to those pure MSR folks out there. This one will deviate from that with bisexual Scully. Maybe even bisexual Mulder!

Thanks to those with an open mind.

Prompt #21- "Just in case this doesn't work."

No beta, but my good friend AnonymousFijiMermaid did glance at this. This one is for you, my friend!

Disclaimer: I don't recall where I first found this image, but it's hilarious and wonderful and kudos to the artist. Please tag them if you know who made this.

And now, for the main course! Thanks for reading!

1.

If there is one thing you could say about their sex life, it’s that they were always open, ready to experiment and try new things. Today Mulder and Scully are ready to push the boundaries of their relationship even more. It’s something they had talked about for a long time. Scully would often describe the act in great detail, building their excitement to explosive orgasms. 

“It’s really happening,” Mulder sys, fidgeting. 

Scully adjusts her dark wine-colored blouse and looked up at him. She senses his nervousness and she feels it too. The exhilaration of what they’re about to do rising inside her, threatening to spill over. 

“This is it,” she replies. “It’s happening.”

“What do you think it will be like?” Mulder wonders. 

“We’ll find out soon,” Scully smiles and walks to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You look very sexy.”

Mulder wears a tight gray shirt and jeans. Casual, but somehow breathtakingly arousing. She feels that her low-cut blouse, something she would never wear to work, and slacks that make her ass look amazing, work well with his look. They make one hot couple. 

Mulder takes her hand in his, says, “Just in case this doesn’t work, we’re still coming back here and having mind blowing sex, right?”

2. 

They had searched endlessly through profiles. Countless possibilities. But it took many long hours of conversation to find the right person. 

Getting passed Scully was the first, and toughest, test: was the person willing to be exclusive, discreet; were they intelligent and sexy, willing to have an open discussion about expectations? Mulder’s expectations were less intense: was their prospective “other” fun and sexy? Could they please both him and Scully?

After finally narrowing it down to one person, who was seemingly perfect for them, Mulder and Scully finally decided it was time they all met in person. 

They pull up to a bistro forty miles north of their home. It is quaint and quiet in the midday lull, perfect for a private chat. Mulder and Scully arrive early and sit facing the door, eagerly waiting for their guest. 

They each order a glass of wine to sip while they wait, the alcohol dulling those little butterflies in Scully’s stomach. 

“What do you think it will be like?” Scully asks.

Mulder ponders this for a minute and says, “Just like we always talked about. But also, Scully, if at any point you don’t feel comfortable, all you have to do is say so. There is no pressure at all.”

She smiles at her sweet, considerate man. Of course he would say that after they had discussed this at length. Of course he would ensure her comfort and pleasure. What more could she ask for?

“I know,” she says. “But there is no way I am changing my mind unless this person is a shapeshifting murderous monster.”

The door opens then and Mulder taps Scully’s hip under the table. They both look up to find their very attractive guest staring at them.