#people are like so your mother was a horrible person

[konmics-n-stuff]

Hi, I disagree with your viewpoint a bit (about Tim’s character, absolutely not trying to get into a ship war lol). Just putting this in a reblog cause trying to format it in the comment section would be super messy. Not trying to be rude or start a heated argument or anything, just wanna discuss/debate fiction in a chill manner. And if you want me to take this down I gladly will.

More words under cut:

So, I would argue that Tim had just as much, if not more, of a choice than most of the other characters you mention with respect to his initial choice to be Robin. No one HAD to step in for Batman. And certainly not a random, tween civilian. Bruce had people like Alfred and Leslie Thompkins (and kinda sorta Dick and Babs, maybe even Harold lol) that could have helped. Even if he didn’t, that responsibility does not fall onto the shoulders of a random kid. Tim made a choice to step in because he felt it was the right thing to do; no one forced him. He had no duty; he didn’t even know Bruce.

Additionally, unlike the cases of Dick, Jason, and Damian, he had a perfectly comfortable life with no big personal tragedy. (To the best of my knowledge), crime had never personally impacted him at this point, except for witnessing the Haley’s Circus incident. After Dick turned down becoming Robin again, Tim could have said “ok, I tried” and gone back to his comfortable, (relatively) trauma-free life with his alive parents and his civilian friends.

Obviously he didn’t, but imo that was a freer choice than Damian’s, for example, who lived an early life of violence, stretched between two legacies and feeling obligated to choose one or the other. Damian never really had an opportunity to lead a normal, civilian life like Tim did. He became Robin because, at the time, he saw it as a way to eventually earn the Batman mantle and thus make the most of the Wayne bloodline. With the way he was raised and his general mentality at this point in canon, I would argue that his choice wasn’t between a civilian life or Robin, it was between Robin or assassinhood, and after Talia dropped him off, he couldn’t be an assassin without outright running from Bruce (and thus the legacy that his mother and grandfather spoke highly of and that he had never known). I don’t think it can be considered a free choice.

In the case of Jason, the Robin mantle already existed. He had a horrible childhood and experienced some of the worst that Gotham city had to offer. He was adopted by the Batman, a man that had done this for only one other boy, and that boy was Robin. Of course he felt pressure to do the same and also to make a difference for kids like him. What other choice did he have?

I’ll concede to your point on Bruce. When he started training, Bruce had been personally touched by crime, tragedy, and the general specter of Gotham more than 13-year-old Tim. But at the end of the day, he deliberately created his own superhero mantle, and was the first to do so in Gotham. And he had a cushy life he could’be fallen back on instead. So yeah, I agree with you here.

For Dick, there’s also wiggle room because he was the first ever Robin, but he was ultimately following Batman’s example, not to mention the recent trauma of his parents’ death and how it shaped his worldview. He was already living with Bruce; expecting him to sit idly by while Batman fights men like Tony Zucco is a bit more unreasonable than expecting Tim to keep living his life as normal and not intervening in a strangers’ mental health.

Even once Tim is Robin, he (initially) views being a superhero as a free choice, and one he can and will take back.

Nightwing (vol 2) #6

Tim, to me, is interesting as a character partially because he had every opportunity to continue on as normal and he chose to be selfless. The mundanity of his pre-Robin life alongside his lack of powers stand in contrast to most superheroes. There is no grand event that happens to him in particular to make him a hero. When he makes that choice, he has no Flying Graysons, Thomas and Martha Wayne, or Uncle Ben. He had no personal connection to Bruce, Dick, or Jason, and he still sacrifices the potential for a perfectly happy, average life solely because he wants to help others. That, to me, is a fundamental aspect of his character. If nothing else, that’s what I see as making him Tim.

And yes, Tim does eventually (in the late 00s) come to think (arguably validly) that he has no choice but to continue. I won’t argue that. But that’s certainly not unique to him; most other Batfamily members think like that too, including Bruce. (In your own post, you acknowledge how much worse Gotham is without Batman, and Bruce’s feeling of obligation to Gotham because of that. I think Dick might also think like that, but i haven’t gotten to that part of New Teen Titans yet so I won’t speak with authority). A whole lot of other superheroes have that kinda mindset too.

However, if you’re captivated by the idea of a character that never had that initial choice of becoming a superhero, (and limited connections in the civilian world), I suggest reevaluating Kon-El.

As much as I love TimKon, I prefer TimBern and it's mainly because of this:

“Bernard says I sacrifice myself like it's a bad thing.”

“But it's all I've ever known.”

“All that my family has ever been taught.”

Tim, out of all of the BatFamily members is the one that never really had a choice.

Bruce had a choice to become Batman. He almost retired, until things went badly again and he realized how much more awful Gotham would be if he did.

Dick had a choice to become Robin. When Bruce fired him he could've finished college and lived a normal life, but he chose to continue on as Nightwing.

Jason had a choice to become Robin. And while his mind had been messed with after being dunked in the Lazarus Pit, he had a choice to become Red Hood, too.

Damian had a choice to become Robin. He fought hard for the role, and seems to genuinely enjoy doing it.

Tim didn't have a choice to become Robin. Yes, no one actually forced him into the role, but he saw what had happened to Bruce after Jason's death (such as how he became more violent), and knew that Bruce needed a Robin to keep himself sane. He tried going to Dick, but Dick said the best he could do was help as Nightwing as he wasn't willing to be Robin again. So Tim felt like he had to take up the role, because Batman, his greatest hero, would lose it if he didn't.

Tim also didn't have a choice to give up being a vigilante, unlike the others. When he got replaced as Robin, Bruce was trapped in time and everyone but him thought he was dead. He didn't have Dick's experience of going out soul searching and deciding that being a hero was what he wanted in life, he had to almost immediately take up a new secret identity and start going on missions so he could find out what happened to Bruce.

I love TimBern so much, because Bernard is Tim's connection to civilian life. If you're a hero dating a hero, even when you're being civilians and doing civilian things, there's always going to be the knowledge of who you both are really, and the missions you've been on together (Such as Tim looking at Kon and remembering things like when he tried to clone him because he was ‘dead’). I feel like with Bernard, Tim can be a full on civilian and forget about the hero life for a while, and that makes it special.

Also I just think Bernard is neat :3

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Some of these anons take the easy way of blaming the BRF for MM's "downfall". Jean Malek called her out LONG ago. Why aren't her Suit cast mates defending her or even being friends with her except for that one thirsty fella who's posting about her?

What happened to Janina, her number one supporter who said she had seen the emails and texts and had lived the experience with MM? All her supposed A list buddies are no longer selling the "MM is a poor little victim" story anymore? Gayle and Oprah did a happy dance on the street saying they have seen the proofs of BRF's horrible treatment of MM but now are as quiet as mice. Is that the BRF's doing too? 🙄

Tell me, what else has Jean Malek done to expose Meghan other than that one Instagram comment? Did he give interviews talking about her? Did he provide any receipts? Did he go on a media tour to talk about her behavior? No, he didn’t. He wrote one comment and then noped off to the rest of his life. But sure, let’s give him, a photographer that no one outside the incredibly-niche SMM side of royal-watching knows, all the credit for Meghan’s takedown.

The Suits cast are Meghan’s former coworkers. You sound young, so let me clue you in on How The World Works: people don’t talk about or to former coworkers when they’re no longer working together unless they’ve developed a personal relationship and socialize outside of work. You could work somewhere for 2 years or 10 years or 30 years - but the day you walk off that job, that’s the end of that relationship with most of those people. The Suits cast doesn’t talk about Meghan because their only relationship was work. They didn’t actually have a real relationship. It was all faked for the camera. They don’t have anything to share about her.

Now let’s look at your accusations that we’re ignoring the BRF’s attempts to silence their critics, who also just so happen to be Meghan’s friends. Whoops, sorry, “friends,” because 2 of 3 people you cited have only publicly associated with Meghan less than 5 times combined and have not confirmed any time spent together privately.

Janina - the fact that you don’t even know her last name to include it in your ask gives her the same importance as Jean Malek. No one outside a very niche group of royal-watchers know who she is, what she does, or how Meghan knows her. She has no power to take down the BRF so they don’t give a twat about her. They, like the rest of us, probably don’t even know who she is.

Oprah - the most famous of Meghan’s so-called friends, but someone who has only publicly associated with Meghan 3 times (the wedding, the interview, and the bookstore) and her mother once (pap photos) over 6-7 years. A woman who still has the power to sway Middle America with her own opinion? If anyone could do serious damage to the BRF’s reputation, it’d be Oprah and her influence over middle America, even with her downgraded credibility after that interview. And you’re positive that it was the BRF who silenced Oprah and not, you know, her own ambition? Because at the end of the day, Oprah would give both kidneys, her right arm, and her Tina Turner wig to interview Charles, William, and/or Kate. You don’t get to have that opportunity if you’re backing someone who’s declared them Public Enemy #1.

Gayle King - Oprah’s best friend and a newsreader who’s only been in the same room with Meghan once (when she presented her baby to the world in Windsor Castle). A newsreader who also, may I remind you, anchored her network’s broadcasts of The Queen’s funeral and The King’s coronation. She knows which side her bread is buttered because as one of her network’s key news anchors for historic and special event programming, she cannot afford to upset the family of the British head of state whose personal milestones - coronations, jubilees, weddings, births, deaths, and funerals - are important and newsworthy historical events that her network wants media credentials to cover.

(In case you didn’t know: it’s not an automatic guarantee who goes to these events and who gets to cover them.

1. Most networks have internal discussions - which are really more like competitions between all the anchors and reporters - about who gets to cover these events. The reporters that go to London for the in-person coverage are going to be the reporters who can get the best interviews with bystanders, attendees, or the Royal-adjacent crowd. If Gayle King is gloating about “devastating” receipts she has personally seen and she’s staked her professional and public reputation on being #TeamMeghan…well, she probably isn’t going to get the kind of interviews or pull-asides that other networks with more BRF-friendly reporters get, so CBS probably isn’t sending her to London. They’re keeping her in the New York studios instead. Now Gayle might want that cushy studio job, but she might also want to be on the ground in London - we don’t know. But the fact that Gayle has stopped speaking about Meghan is striking; either she’s realized her career depends on shutting up about the BRF or she’s realized that Meghan is on a downward spiral into public obscurity and professional embarrassment and unhitched her wagon from Meghan’s coattails.

2. Outside of the rota, all media networks, British and foreign, have to request credentials (aka approval) from the BRF to attend their events and apply for a spot on the ropes or in a media center to broadcast from. So a network needs to be on good terms with the palace’s press office to ensure they get a good spot for broadcasting. While the palace isn’t going to outright reject or deny credentials to a network or a reporter critical of them or their principals, they’re certainly going to make it clear they’re not a preferred network and that’s going to be through giving them a not-so-good placement. So when a network is having the internal discussion/competition about who to send, they’re going to take into consideration what kinds of public comments their most-visible reporters or anchors have said and how it affects their chances for placement.

So the chances that BRF silenced Gayle are pretty small. It’s more likely that Gayle herself decided Meghan was the wrong horse to back when she considered potential ramifications to her career with all the BRF events that were - at the time - in the pipeline.)

So all that…and now I must ask: are you honestly, seriously, really telling me that the head of state in Britain cares that much about suppressing terrible information about themselves that they’d smother a whole bunch of C-list actors, some nobodies, one of the most famous women in the world, and a reporter in NDAs prohibiting them from speaking?

Put down Finding Freedom and Endgame and go take a walk in some crunch leaves, because this take is wild.

(My deepest, sincerest apologies to Gina Torres and Wendell Pierce, who are very much A-List and were shining beacons of gloriousness amidst the sea of cable C-Listers.)

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hallo! IT'S ME AGAINNNNN!

Okay, so I was listening to a song and daydreaming, and then boom—I came up with this idea,It might not make total sense(lmao), but here we gooooo...

So, Donna and the reader are close. They’re not exactly friends, but it’s definitely more than just “a lord and a random villager.” The catch? Donna has a girlfriend whom she genuinely loves. Every time she sees the reader, she can’t help but rave about how amazing her girlfriend is, always blabbing about her personality and how great she treats Donna.

But then, They break up over something (maybe Donna finds out that Mother Miranda sent her "girlfriend" to make her feel less lonely). Donna is heartbroken, but during one of her crises, she realizes the reader is the one who ACTUALLY cares about her. So, she gets her emotions in check and starts getting close to the reader, and they eventually start dating. Donna is OVER THE MOON because, this time, she knows someone is truly in love with her, and she turns into a total hopeless romantic. She loves the reader way more than she ever loved her ex (way more than ANYONE actually)

But here’s where it gets a bit shaky: the reader sometimes feels like she's not enough because she remember all the sweet things Donna used to say about her ex. So, the reader starts putting a ton of pressure on herself, trying to be better. Donna notices right away and makes it her mission to ensure the reader never feels that way again. (You can totally ignore this part if you’re not feeling the angst, though!)

yeah that's it.

THANK YOU SO MUCH, CUTIE! WISH YOU THE BEST! TSCHÜSS!

Yess!!!! Thank you for your request and for being here!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))

A fake love, a real love

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff

Word count: 7,643

Summary: You loved her, but she didn't...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

Walking to that isolated mansion might seem like an unwanted routine, something you had to do, but you didn't like. No one could blame you if you refused that usual errand, if you refused to cross that forest, those ruins, to get closer to the home where fear itself lived.

But you, a normal villager, young, happy and without much fear of everything around you, didn't see it that way. It was a normal transaction that had been common for you since you could remember. Your parents were farmers, a profession that couldn't be missing in an isolated village like that. Fruits, vegetables... everything that could feed a person was sold and grown by them.

Naturally, they weren't the only family that provided the village with food, but it was the only one who had the privilege of doing so for important people. Your father was related to a person who had long worked in the lands of the Beneviento family. That connection with one of the four noble families was what made you never lacked work.

Your parents were providers for that strange family long before you were born, like a kind of family profession that was inherited over time. You never knew the old family that lived next to a waterfall, that made dolls to brighten up the boring life of the villagers.

When you were born, they no longer existed. Misfortune had taken its toll on that Italian family. Not even your father could quite understand what exactly happened; he was only a child when Mr. and Mrs. Beneviento decided to end their life by jumping into the void.

It was the end of their existence, but not the end of their family. They left a girl too young to bear that horrible loss, a strange girl, carrier of a terrible mental illness.

No one could have guessed what would become of that girl after the death of her family. Only Josef Simon, the family gardener, and your young father were able to discover what was left in that horrible place, which then belonged to the only daughter who survived the tragedy: the young and sick Donna Beneviento.

You didn't know much about her, only what your parents talked about from time to time. Shortly after that tragedy, the Beneviento girl closed herself off even more, spending years and years completely alone.

But that was until, one day, when the young Donna apparently decided to give up, her destiny changed forever. Mother Miranda, the priestess who claimed to have the will of the Black Gods, saw something in that young woman with black hair and a horrible scar on her face.

The young Donna, barely 32 years old, became (you didn't know if voluntarily or not) one of the four Lords, the youngest of the witch's adopted children. That was too long ago, enough for your father to know something about who he was working for.

As time went by, the cold relationship with the lady of the mansion remained as a silent alliance. Serving a noble family and then, serving a Lord… It was definitely a good change for your family.

Since you were very young, you had accompanied your parents on their deliveries and, of course, you had walked the dangerous path that led to the mansion. You barely remember what your first encounters with that strange woman, with that veiled woman, dressed in black, who never, ever said a single word, were like.

You were just a little girl, and, well, the power that Lady Beneviento had, allowed her to give life to the Angie doll. You were a little girl, Angie was a doll. It was quite evident that it caught your attention.

Little by little you began to want to go to the mansion to play with the puppet, to laugh, to have fun with its irreverent attitude. Tag, hide and seek... For a girl without too many friends like you, the Angie doll began to seem like a playmate.

That silent appreciation of the lady, and Angie's playful attitude towards you was something your parents would always be grateful for. If Angie was happy, Donna was happy, if Donna was happy, you could live another day.

Of course you weren’t immortal, you didn’t have the grace of not aging, and as time went by, you grew up enough to get bored of playing with the doll. The lady, always hidden in the shadows, began to catch your attention. She was a lonely woman, a woman you didn’t know if she even noticed you.

Already in your teens, you began to show some of your slightly more daring attitude, asking questions to the lady in black, or even sharing books with her; a silent exchange that didn't seem to bother the Lord. Due to that lack of fear the lady generated in you, unlike your parents, at only 14 years old, you were the only one in charge of delivering the orders to that lost mansion.

Getting along with Donna was perhaps an exaggeration, but, unlike most of the villagers, you didn't feel uncomfortable with her presence. Her gestures were vague, and your voice and Angie's were the only ones that could be heard.

The years passed and that strange relationship you had with the lady in black mutated little by little, until, finally, you had the privilege of hearing her hoarse voice, addressing you.

Small talks, advices, personal experiences... the conversations became more complicated as you grew up, becoming a new routine that you considered pleasant.

Donna wasn’t your friend, she never was and she never would be, but your relationship certainly couldn't be limited to what it really was. You were both quite close, you had known each other for many years, and you learned to relate in a pleasant way.

At 21, you continued working for your parents. You continued walking through that dark forest, knocking on that door, talking with the lady in black.

She had lost her fear of the unknown, of that smiling girl who brought her vegetables. The trust increased enough for Lady Beneviento to do something unthinkable, uncover her face.

Your father barely remembered what her face was like, what that young, tormented girl looked like. No one had seen that woman once adopted by Miranda, no one knew what that black veil hid, no one, except you.

Beneath the black cloth there was no hideous monster, as your companions used to say or speculate. No, there was only a beautiful woman, black and shiny hair, a beautiful eye, an existing one.

You could sense why the lady in black covered herself, but you didn't quite understand it. Donna Beneviento, Lord and doll maker, wasn't a monster, and somehow, you knew that some time ago.

You tried to convince yourself, to deny the things you were starting to feel when you were with her, but you couldn't.

That strange woman who barely spoke to you, but who smiled, who laughed at your stupid comments, was no longer just a job for you. She was no longer Lady Beneviento, she was just Donna. Without being friends you were close, and, at 21 years old, with no hope of finding love, she became the involuntary target of your heart.

You couldn't help it, you were crazy about her. It didn't matter that you knew what she was capable of, that you had heard the horrible things she did in the past, those that your parents sometimes commented on. She was everything to you, the only reason that made you smile in your hard work.

Distracted, you approached the estate with your weekly order, clumsily checking that your working girl clothes were as neatly arranged as possible.

“Ahem,” you said, clearing your throat before knocking softly on the door.

“Who is it?” a squeaky voice asked, along with small footsteps on the wood.

Behind the door was not Donna, but the doll Angie, comically opening it and looking at you suspiciously.

“Hi, Angie, how are you?” you asked, crouching down pleasantly and smiling kindly at your old playmate.

“Oh, it's you,” the doll said, placing a hand on her chest. “I thought you wouldn't come, silly.”

“Of course I came, I-I'm bringing the vegetables,” you said, pointing to the boxes. “Is Donna here?”

“Um, yes,” Angie said, leaning over the boxes and picking up some vegetables. “But… she’s kind of… busy right now.”

“Oh,” you said, feeling a dagger stab your heart slowly, painfully. “T-Then I better go and…”

“No, no, don’t go,” Angie said, tugging at your dress hastily. “Stay, stay.”

“I don’t want to disturb you,” you said in a small voice, suppressing a sob.

“Nonsense, we like you being here,” the doll said, crossing her arms. “Come, come in.”

“Angie, I don’t…” you said uncertainly, picking up the boxes and entering the mansion. “W-Wait,” you said whispering when the doll closed the door and walked away from you and towards the living room.

“Hey, you two! Stop that!” Angie shrieked, causing some annoying grunts that you tried not to hear. “(Y/N) has come! Hey, silly, come here!”

Obeying without really wanting to, you walked slowly towards the voices. Just as you feared, on Donna's lap, there was a girl, one you had known for a while, who was part of your visits to the estate.

“Oh, (Y/N), I'm glad to see you,” the lady in black said with a soft voice, standing up and straightening her dress, with a kind smile.

“Hello, Donna,” you said, with a slight blush on your cheeks, looking away from the young woman who sat up, getting up from the sofa, putting on her clothes as well. “I-I'm glad too. S-Sorry to interrupt, Angie…”

“Mm, don't worry, we were just... wasting the time,” the Lord said softly, with an embarrassed smile. “Sit down, please... would you like some tea?”

“Oh, no, I don't want to disturb,” you said kindly, moving away from the overwhelming presence of the lady, from her addictive smile. “H-Hello, Anya.”

The girl nodded with a fake smile, checking that her dress, a little flashy one, was in its place.

“How are you, (Y/N)?” the young woman said, walking beside you.

“Fine,” you said dryly, looking at the floor and not at how the girl approached Donna, planting a wet kiss on one of her cheeks, causing a shy giggle that made you tremble.

“Donna, honey, I've taken up too much of your time, I'd better get home,” Anya murmured in her ear, looking at you out of the corner of her eye.

“Are you going to leave? Why don't you stay and have some tea with (Y/N) and me?” the lady asked, gently grabbing her hand, with a pleading eye.

“I'm sorry, sweetie, but I can't,” she whispered, approaching the coat rack to pick up her clothes. “Don't worry, sweetie, see you tomorrow, mm?” she said, approaching Donna again and running a hand over her chest. “I'll let you do whatever you want to me... Don...” she whispered, discreetly making you burn and kissing the lady slowly, before moving away and walking definitively towards the exit.

“Va bene,” Donna sighed, without losing sight of her girlfriend.

“Mm, don't talk to me that weird, you know I don't understand you,” Anya said, shaking her head as she opened the door.

“I'm sorry, I mean... it's okay, see you tomorrow,” the woman in black corrected, playing nervously with her hands. “Be careful, please.”

“Of course, baby,” the girl said, before throwing a kiss in the air and closing the door, disappearing, to your relief.

That girl was a bit stupid, but your opinion was clouded by spite, so you never told Donna what you thought.

Anya had been her girlfriend for some time. You still remember the pain it caused you to hear it from her lips, to hear that there was someone who had managed to make Donna fall in love, and that it wasn't you.

Donna loved her with all her heart. She did nothing but speak wonders of that young woman from the village, who appeared by chance in her life and turned it upside down. Jealousy and rage built up in your body every time you saw her approach Donna, kiss her, caress her, but you had to suffer in silence.

Confessing your love was something for which it was too late and, even if it was just a friendship, you didn’t want to lose it, you wanted to continue seeing that beautiful woman, even if her heart never belonged to you.

“She is beautiful, isn't she?” the lady murmured when her girlfriend left, biting her lip and turning shyly.

You smiled sadly, nodding and looking at your clothes, completely different from that Anya’s, from that love-stealer.

“Yes, she is,” you sighed with a fake smile, scratching the back of your neck.

“Sono pazza di lei,” Donna whispered, leaning her head towards the door.

“Yes, I see that,” you said amused, bending down to pick up the boxes and put them on the table. “Look, Donna, I brought you the vegetables you asked for.”

“Mm, let me see, (Y/N),” she said, getting a little closer to you to rummage through the boxes, carefully examining the vegetables. “Wow, those peppers look really good.”

“It's been a very good harvest,” you commented distracted by her slender hands, hands that would never caress you.

“No doubt,”  Donna murmured, going back to put the vegetables. “Aspetta un attimo, I'm going to get your money.”

“Okay,” you said with a kind look, without losing sight of her, without missing a detail of her walk, the hypnotic dance of her dress.

“Thank goodness she's gone…” Angie said, suddenly getting on the table, scaring you. “That girl is a pain in the ass.”

“Why do you say that?” you asked curiously, checking the vegetables again. “She seems nice.”

“Nice? She's dumb and boring as a rock. She never wants to play with me,” the doll said, making you laugh unintentionally and shake your head. “I don't know what Donna saw in her.”

“She's beautiful,” you said with a sad voice, looking at the place where the Lord disappeared and gently closing your eyes. “Donna didn't deserve less.”

“Do you like that stupid girl?” Angie asked, making you think carefully about your answer.

“Um, well, I don't know her very well, but if she makes Donna happy…” you whispered, trying to keep your voice from breaking. “I guess I like her.”

“I don't,” Angie said, with a brusque gesture. “I don't like that girl at all, but Donna doesn't listen to me, she's completely in love with her.”

“It's good that Donna has a girlfriend she loves, she deserves it, you know as well as I do that she's been through a lot of disgraces,” you said without wanting to say it, hurting yourself.

“That's what worries me,” the doll said, getting a little closer to you. “Donna's a fool too, suddenly a pretty girl comes out of nowhere, tells her she’s in love with her and wants to be with her… and all that shit.”

“What are you implying?” you asked, now paying full attention.

“I didn't imply anything, I'm saying it clearly: I don't want that stupid girl to be Donna's girlfriend,” Angie said, with a confidential whisper, almost speaking in your ear. “I don't like Anya, there's something about her that gives me a bad feeling.”

“I'm afraid that's what Donna has chosen, you can't do anything,” you commented with a sad sigh, watching the door.

“No... but you can,” the puppet said, pointing at you. “You are her friend, aren't you?”

“Me? I-I don't know if friend is the right word but...”

“You can tell her what you think of that stupid girl, Donna will listen to you,” said the doll, jumping comically on the table.

“What? No, I'm not going to do that,” you said, shaking your head. “Donna is happy with Anya and I have no right to butt in.”

“Another boring girl,” Angie said, getting down from the table when the lady's heels began to echo on the wood. “I wish you were her girlfriend instead that fool.”

Your eyes widened at her comment, but you didn't have much time to think about it, as Donna appeared through the door, a bag of coins in her hand.

“Prego,” she whispered, giving you the bag with a tender smile, to which you nodded.

“Thanks Donna, I hope you didn't overpay me as usual,” you said amused.

She laughed and shook her head.

“Are you going to question my will, (Y/N)?” she joked, gesturing for you to follow her to the couch.

“I would never dare,” you said, putting the coins in your bag.

“Sit with me,” she said, kicking the couch. “Do you want to play chess?”

“Chess?” you asked, sitting as far away from her as possible while she pulled out an old board. “I-I don't know, I always lose.”

“Don't talk nonsense, you've beaten me more than once,” Donna said, her gaze away from yours, placing the pieces. “White or black?”

“Black. You probably play a lot with Anya…” you commented, choosing a color while the lady focused on the board, looking at you briefly and shaking her head.

“Not really,” the doll maker whispered, sitting in front of you, with a thoughtful look. “Anya says it's boring. She doesn't like to play this… kind of games.”

“Oh, well, I guess there are all kinds of tastes, right?” you asked, ignoring that information. “Let's see…”

“Certo,” Donna sighed, making her first move. “Anyway, we don't have much time to play or chat. I'm afraid that... well, she really likes... kissing me.”

You swallowed a sob, moving your piece and nodding slowly.

“I understand why,” you whispered in a terribly low voice.

“Scusi?” she asked, concentrating on your move. “Did you say something, (Y/N)?”

“No, nothing, I was just... thinking about my next move,” you lied, erratically moving another of the pieces. “I guess it's wonderful to have someone so affectionate by your side.”

“It is, of course it is,” Donna sighed, with a tender smile.

Nothing that happened that afternoon was out of the ordinary. The conversations with Donna usually traveled between unimportant experiences or... well, or compliments and words of love from the brunette to her girl.

Anya must have been the most wonderful girl in the world, or at least she was to Donna. The lady never got tired of talking about her, praising her… You might think it was almost unbearable to spend time with her just to hear about her girlfriend, but it wasn't like that. You were her only friend, or her only truly close contact, surely the only one who listened to her.

You loved Donna hopelessly. Even if her words weren't about you, they were her words, it was her voice.

Another afternoon of soft laughter, another night of dreams and fantasies about her. At some point you should realize the mistake you made by falling in love with Donna Beneviento, the delay in your confession, the theft of her heart by that beautiful girl.

Donna was crazy about her, she always told you so innocently, without knowing the damage she was doing to you, without wanting to know, perhaps.

The days passed and your visits could be summed up in chess games or comments about how fabulous Anya was. Angie's words echoed in your head.

Naturally, the Angie doll was jealous and distrustful, but the insinuation that she would prefer you to be Donna's girlfriend... You just couldn't get it out of your head.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fritz,” you said pleasantly, after doing your daily shopping in the village.

“Give my regards to your parents, dear,” the woman said, making you smile before setting off on your way back home.

You didn't live as isolated as Donna, but you had a nice walk to the orchards, a walk you always enjoyed.

“Shh, hey, Anya...” a male voice caught your attention as you walked.

Behind one of the crumbling walls of the orchards, there was a boy hiding, gesturing to a young woman who seemed to walk slowly, looking around.

You recognized her immediately: Anya, Donna's girlfriend. You weren't usually a gossipy girl, but this situation was a out of the ordinary, so you slowly camouflaged yourself in the wheat fields, behind a stone wall.

“Sergei…” Anya sighed, looking cautiously as she approached the boy. You had to quickly crouch down as they both looked in your direction.

“Has anyone followed you?” the young man asked, grabbing the girl's hands while you peeked discreetly.

“Of course not, you know I'm careful,” Anya said, letting that boy grab her waist and… kiss her, kiss her passionately.

“Shit,” you whispered, covering your mouth with your hands, blinking in bewilderment at the sight before you. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be.

“I've missed you, I thought you came back every night,” the boy said, kissing her repeatedly. “Did she trick you into staying again?”

“No, she knows I need some room and… well, thank goodness, because otherwise I wouldn't be able to see you,” Anya said, leaving you more and more confused.

“This situation is awkward, Anya, I can't stand to think what you do with… with her,” he said, with an angry gesture. “To think that you kiss her, that you… Gods, Anya, you have to end this.”

“Do you think it makes me happy to be with that nutcase? That I have another option?” Donna's girlfriend asked, crossing her arms. “You knew what the situation is.”

“I know but… maybe if you talk to Mother Miranda and…”

“I've already told you, Sergei, I would never dare to contradict her, besides, it's not difficult to fool the idiot Beneviento, we can still see each other,” she said, leaving you frozen on the ground.

“Yes, but for how long?” the boy asked, resting his hands on the shoulders of the girl, who sighed with a sad look.

“I don't know, but... I promise I'll fix it, I promise you,” she said, with a much more genuine smile than the one you had seen in the mansion as if she really... were in love with that boy, as if she didn't care about Donna.

Your trembling legs moved nervously, accidentally stepping on a dry branch, which alerted the lovers.

“You better go, Sergei, I'll call you when I'm free,” Anya said, gesturing for the boy to leave.

 He did, and you stood up from your hiding place, terribly furious.

That perfect girlfriend that Donna adored was a farce, a lie. You wanted to throw yourself at her, pull her hair, yell at her for cheating on the love of your life, but you didn't dare to do it. You were just a coward, but something inside your head prevented you from letting that discovery go, and you started walking towards her.

“You,” you said, getting her attention, walking through the orchards. The girl didn't move. She just frowned at you, as if she hadn't recognized you at first.

“Hi, you're (Y/N), right?” she said with a fake smile, with a somewhat cocky pose. “How are you?”

“Great, I just found out what you're doing to Donna,” you said without wasting time, pointing at her in an unpleasant way.

“Please…” she sighed, rolling her eyes, with no intention of denying the evidence. “Are you surprised?”

“What? You're Donna's girlfriend, of course it surprises me. How dare you to cheat on her?” you said defiantly, dropping your bags on the snowy ground. “She loves you very much, did you know that?”

“Of course I know… unfortunately,” she muttered with a look of disgust. “Hey, vegetable girl, I hope you're not thinking of spilling the beans.”

“What do you expect me to do?” you asked furiously, hating that stupid girl even more. Angie was right.

“Mm, well, okay, let's talk, shall we?” she said, helping you pick up the bags from the ground and handing them to you kindly.

“There's nothing to talk about, it's all very clear,” you hissed, moving away from her, who shook her head, sighing tiredly.

“Six months ago, Mother Miranda asked me to go to church,” the girl began to tell, as if you were really listening to her. “Naturally I was willing to do whatever she asked me to do.”

“What are you talking about?” you wanted to know, stopping your steps.

“She told me that her youngest daughter, Lady Beneviento, was going through a rough patch, that she was very lonely and… well, she was afraid that she would decide to do something stupid. You and I know that Beneviento is not right in the head.”

“Don't insult her,” you growled, clenching your fists. “Don't you dare to insult her.”

“I'm just telling the truth, (Y/N), denying that she is sick would be stupid,” Anya said, with a serious expression.

“That doesn't matter, it doesn't matter at all,” you said in a low voice, looking away from Anya.

“Mother Miranda thought it would be a good idea to give her… well, some fun, I don't know if you know what I mean,” she explained with a sinister look. “Understand me, my family is poor, and I need all the appreciation of the Black Gods. At first I just had to go to Beneviento's house and have sex with her but… well, it didn't turn out as I expected.”

“How disgusting,” you said nervously, running a hand over your forehead.

“The stupid Donna fell in love with me and far from considering my work finished, Mother Miranda asked me to play along, to be with her so she wouldn't feel so terribly alone.”

“And you accepted,” you hissed, looking at her out of the corner of your eye.

Anya sighed and nodded, with a calm look.

“I assumed it was okay to play pretending to have feelings for her, surely Miranda would think that Donna would get tired of me, but… obviously she didn't,” the young woman said, lowering her gaze.

“You're stupid, Anya, you're playing with poor Donna's feelings, aren't you ashamed?” you accused, unable to believe her words.

“Poor Donna? What's so much affection for her about? You only bring her vegetables, don't you?” she asked, frowning at your revealing attitude.

“I've known Do... Lady Beneviento since I was 5 years old,” you explained, running a hand through your hair.

“I see... you know her... well,” the girl said with a sinister laugh. “Well, you should know, vegetable girl: I don't care about her. I just want to get on with my life and get away from her so I can be with my boyfriend.”

“I assumed so,” you said mockingly. “But do you know what you're doing? You're playing with her feelings, Donna loves you and...”

“I don't feel the same,” the young woman sighed, leaning against a wall. “It's very easy to judge others, isn't it? You don't understand my situation, vegetable girl. I can't do anything.”

“Of course you can, you must tell her,” you said, in a calmer tone. “She has to know the truth.”

“Wrong, silly girl,” she said, arching her eyebrows. “If I tell that nutcase that I don't love her, that it's all been a lie, I'm dead.”

“She adores you, she would never hurt you,” you said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “She loves you madly, she wouldn't dare to…”

“What are you saying? Are you saying that I should go to her house and tell her that it's all been a lie? Seriously, girl, where did you come from?”

“It's better than her finding out on her own, don't you think? If you want to get away from her so much… it must be you,” you said, without thinking too much.

“Why do you care so much about that crazy woman?” Anya asked, making you back away.

“My reasons are… only mine,” you murmured. “I don't want her to suffer.”

“You don't want her to suffer... if I didn't know that no one could feel anything for Donna, I would think that you were terribly in love with her,” Anya mocked, shaking her head.

“You're wrong,” you murmured in a dark tone. “You have to end this, Anya, for your own sake.”

“Mm, maybe I'll think about it, she's unbearable, you know?” Anya said in an unpleasant tone, moving away from the wall and passing by you. “It might not be such a bad idea, after all.”

“You are unbearable,” you growled when the girl walked away.

That conversation, that revelation fell on you like a bucket of cold water, freezing you, leaving you completely lost. You didn't feel joy or relief, only sadness for Donna. She was crazy about Anya, she would give her life for her if she asked. She was madly in love.

Breaking her heart, telling her what you had seen wasn’t in your plans, but you didn't want to go back to the mansion either, not when you knew that those kisses they gave each other were fake ones. You decided to get away for a while, just for a while, until you could forget that horrible truth and stop being tempted to reveal it.

“Honey, something's wrong,” your mother commented at dinnertime, surely looking at your sad expression. You faked a smile and shook your head.

“Mm, your mother is right, (Y/N), what is it…?”

Your father couldn't finish the question, as the phone rang to interrupt that attempt at interrogation.

“Hello,” your father said, picking up the phone, immediately moving it away from his ear, due to some loud, high-pitched screams coming out of it. “Hello? Who's speaking? Are you a little girl? Hey, listen…”

“What's wrong?” you asked, getting up from your chair and approaching slowly.

“It’s for you, (Y/N),” your father said, handing you the phone. “She must be a friend of yours.”

“A friend?” you asked, bringing it close to your ear and recognizing the screams. Angie. “Who is it?”

“Oh, it's you, thank goodness…” the doll said, with her voice distorted by a terrible cry that sounded in the distance. “(Y/N), you have to come, now.”

“Angie? What's wrong?” you asked somewhat scared, with your family looking at you with intrigue.

“There's no time to explain it to you, silly! Come, run, come! Donna is completely out of her mind!” the doll shrieked, before hanging up.

“D-Donna?” you asked, hanging up scared and looking at your family. Something had happened, something had happened to Donna.

“What's wrong, honey?” your mother asked as you ran out of the house. “(Y/N)!?”

You didn't pay attention to her calls. You just limited yourself to running without looking back. You didn't know what had happened, but Donna needed your help, and you had to give it to her.

In record time you arrived at the dimly lit mansion. The door was open and agonizing sobs echoed off the walls.

“It's about time!” Angie shouted, welcoming you and pulling your hand to guide you to the living room. “Quick!”

The sight before you shattered your heart. Donna, the lady in black, was sitting on the floor, her head between her legs, pulling at her hair as she sobbed inconsolably. All around her were traces of fury, of broken furniture. Something terrible had happened. Donna had lost her mind again.

“Donna...” you sighed, cautiously approaching the lady, who roared, cried and kicked the air without moving from the floor, muttering something you couldn't understand. “Gods, Donna, your hand,” you said when you saw her blood stained knuckles, looking at Angie sharply. “What happened?”

“Just like I told you, that whore wasn't trustworthy! She left my Donna!” the doll shrieked, approaching her owner. “My Donna is very nervous, she's having a very bad crisis, you have to help her! She doesn't listen to me anymore.”

“Anya's gone?” you asked, blinking in confusion.

“She left me!” Donna shrieked, making you look at her. “She didn't love me, she never loved me!” she screamed, pulling at her hair again, something you tried to stop.

“No, Donna, stop… don't hurt yourself,” you said, fighting against her sudden movements, against her nervous kicks. “Shh, Donna, please… I'm so sorry, darling…”

“Troietta! You bitch!” the lady shrieked, attacking you as if you were the girl who broke her heart, throwing herself at you, struggling.

“Donna, Donna, no!” Angie screamed, pushing the lady off of you with a thud.

You had to admit that you were scared, but you made a superhuman effort to stay calm, to soothe her wounded heart.

“No, darling, please stop…” you said, grabbing her shoulders, pulling her body towards yours to hug her tightly. “It's over, Donna… Shh… it's over…”

“Porca miseria!” the lady shrieked, trying to release herself from your embrace until, thanks to your strength and mental advantage in the situation, the poor lady calmed down, staying close to you, crying at your chest.

“Shh…” you whispered while, sitting on the floor, you tenderly rocked Donna, calming her down little by little. “Shh, it's over Donna… I'm here with you… calm down… that's it… very good, very good, Donna, relax with me…”

“Listen to her, Donna, she's here, (Y/N) has come to help you,” Angie said, carefully approaching your embraced bodies, the soft maternal movements with which you rocked her.

The sobs were horrible, piercing, but little by little they stopped sounding, being nothing but an agonizing lament while you rubbed her hair, keeping her head on your chest.

“Shhh, Donna…” you whispered softly, wiping her tears and moving her away from you when you saw she was feeling better.

“Mm?” the lady murmured, slowly pushing you away, her eye was red from crying and her cheek full of tears. Donna blinked confused at the sight of you, running a hand through her hair. “(Y/N)… what… what are you doing here?” she asked with a thick accent, looking at you suspiciously, disoriented.

“Angie called me a while ago, she said you had lost your mind,” you explained with a soft voice, while she got up from the floor in pain, sitting on the couch, looking at you briefly.

“I don't…” she stammered, still confused, shaking her head. “(Y/N)… I…”

“Relax, I'm here,” you said with a tender smile, sitting next to her and glancing at her hand. “Did you break a glass again? Wow, you have a serious wound, Donna…”

She looked away, embarrassed, but letting you play with her injured hand.

“You shouldn't be here,” the lady whispered with a dark voice, looking at you shyly. “I could have hurt you. I-If I lose you too, I'll...”

“You haven't,” you said, daring to run a hand over her cheek. “You won't lose me…” you whispered softly, looking at the doll again. “Angie, bring the first aid kit, please.”

Once again in silence, you healed the wound the lady had self-inflicted. The sound of the wind and slight moans of pain were the only atmosphere in that place, until the lady glanced at you out of the corner of her eye as you bandaged her hand.

“Anya left me,” Donna whispered in a sad voice, gripping the fabric of the sofa tightly. “She came this afternoon and told me that… she didn't love me.”

You looked at her, but repressed any attempt to speak.

“Mother Miranda sent her to pretend that she loved me, to make me believe that I wasn't alone,” the brunette explained, nervous, but at the same time, calm.

“I'm so sorry, Donna,” you said in a whisper, tying the bandages tightly. “I couldn't imagine that…”

“I did, I should have realized,” she said, looking away with a nervous moan. “I should have realized!”

“Shh, don't yell anymore, honey…” you whispered in a sweet voice, caressing her injured hand. “You must get over it.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Donna asked, shaking her head. “I-It's all been a lie… She cheated on me!”

“I'm sorry,” you said with a broken voice, feeling guilty for knowing it, and not having warned her before. “I'm so sorry, Donna.”

“I must look pathetic, right?” she said with a sinister smile, panting nervously. “How pathetic is Donna, who needs you to pay her a whore so she doesn't feel so alone, because, of course, no one could ever love her.”

“Don't say that, it's not true,” you said, holding back your tears, calming the doll maker's madness with your touch. “That's a lie, do you hear me?”

“You...” she hissed, moving away from your caresses, abruptly getting up from the sofa. “Is that why you came? She also sends you!” she shrieked, pointing at you with a deranged gesture. “You're a liar! Bugiarda!”

“No, Donna, that's not true, I came to help you,” you said nervously, somewhat scared. “You are… you are…”

“What am I? A moron who doesn't deserve to be loved? Poor Donna, she needs a toy to play with and not to think about the shitty life she has, right? You whores, you're all sluts! Sluts!”

“No, Donna, you're wrong, I…” you said trembling, putting your hands in a defensive position.

“What are you doing here then?! Why are you pretending to care about me? Huh? Talk, bitch!” Donna shouted, grabbing you by the collar of your dress.

“Silly Donna, let her go!” Angie said, fearing that her fury would be launched against you. “Donna, Donna…”

“I… I care about you because… because I'm in love with you,” you said with a broken voice, stammering and preventing her hands from applying more force, from hurting you. “I love you, Donna, I've always loved you.”

“What?” she asked, frowning and letting you go immediately. “What…?”

“I'm sorry to tell you in a situation like this, but if you're going to kill me… I want you to know what I feel for you, for longer than I'd like to admit…” you said, squeezing your eyes tightly, waiting for a nightmare that never came.

Again, the silence caused the atmosphere to become tense. Donna moved away from you, looking at you with distrust, breathing with difficulty.

“It's not true, you don't…” she murmured nervously, looking at you briefly and moving confused. “It can't be true.”

“I don't care if you don't believe me, I understand that you don't, but I want, I want you to know that you are a wonderful and beautiful woman and... you can say whatever you want, but you have made me fall in love with you, Donna, what I feel for you is what you have done, being who you are. Don't think that it's not possible for someone to fall in love with you, to want to give you their heart because I... have already done it.”

Saying those last words, ensuring your confession, you slowly stood up ready to leave the mansion, to leave poor Donna alone.

“A-Aspetta, (Y/N)” Donna interrupted, before you walked out the door. “Wait, please.”

You turned slowly, scared of the consequences of your confession.

“You...” she whispered, approaching with a slow step, with her chest rising and falling quickly, with her gaze lost. “Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes, Donna,” you sighed, wiping away a tear. “I would understand if you didn't want to see me again, I'll tell my father to take care of…”

“N-No, no, wait a moment,” she said, shaking her head, grabbing your arms, very tightly, but without any intention of hurting you. “You… you've always been with me… always.”

You nodded, suppressing the trembling of your body.

“I-I remember you took care of me when I lost my mind, and how you played with Angie when you were little,” Donna said, with a distracted look, but speaking without stuttering. “You were the vegetable girl, but for me you were something else, you know?”

“A fool,” you said amused, sobbing.

“No, you… you were my only friend… you were always there when I needed you, you never cared about my appearance and… you've never abandoned me. (Y/N), is it possible that you're telling me the truth? That you really have feelings for me?”

“I would never lie to you Donna, to me you were much more than a friend or a Lord,” you whispered, looking away, noticing how her grip loosened.

“You have always understood me,” she said, getting a little closer, moving her hand erratically to your cheek. “Angie was right… I-I was so blind with… with her that… I wasn't able to see that you were the only one who was by my side.”

“I will be if you want me to be, always, Donna,” you said in a very low voice, with her too close to you.

“Don't leave, (Y/N)… stay with me,” she asked you, squeezing your hand in hers. “Let me… let me… love you as you have always deserved…”

“Donna…” you sighed, letting yourself be carried away by the gentle swaying of your bodies. “You don't love me.”

“I may not have known until now,” she whispered, coming closer, placing her lips on yours, a sensation so dreamed, so imagined, that you already knew what it was like, but not how it made you feel.

A tender, salty and slow kiss… It was a quiet, calm kiss, emphasized by her caresses, a kiss that you didn’t expect, that you wanted, even at a time like that.

In that horrible and sad way, with a doubtful but sincere confession, her relationship with that poor girl ended, and one with you began.

At first you were suspicious that her love was real. Anya was too recent and Donna was resentful. It didn't take long for you to realize that you were wrong.

Donna was romantic, sweet, understanding and tender. Being her girlfriend was the best thing that had ever happened to you, you had never felt so loved, so cherished.

It was simply impossible, it was impossible for the lady in black to treat you so well after that breakup. Happiness occupied your entire life, you even moved in with her, but doubts also haunted your mind.

Every night, after the passion, came the thoughts, the fears, those horrible memories about Anya, about the admiration Donna felt for her, the love she had for her. You didn't know what that fake relationship was like inside, but, somehow, you felt inferior to that stupid girl.

Little by little, the pressure you put on your mind took its toll on you. Your movements and attempts to surprise Donna were almost pathetic and… over time, you started to look like that stupid girl, or try to.

The doll maker had no friends, she only had you. She wouldn't talk to anyone about how much she loved you, so you would never know if you had gotten over that stupid girl in some way, and that… that was killing you.

“Come on…” you said comically, trying to fit into a tight, provocative dress, one very similar to the one her ex-girlfriend used to wear.

Maybe your doubts were stupid, but they were doubts, and you had to do everything you could to not think they were justified.

“Okay, that's it,” you said, looking at yourself in the mirror. “I-I can see everything but... well, I guess Donna will like it,” you said, finishing getting ready for a special occasion, the celebration of your 6 months together.

“Here you go, amore mio,” Donna said, serving you dinner and wine elegantly, looking at you out of the corner of her eye and making a strange expression.

“Thank you, darling,” you said with a tender smile, putting yourself in a position that clearly exaggerated your feminine attributes.

“Um, yes, um...” she said nervous and confused.

Smiles, caresses and words of love accompanied you throughout the dinner, but, after dessert, a small moment of awkwardness formed.

Normally you didn't mind Donna looking at your breasts, you even found it funny, but that look was different than other times, very different.

“Donna, are you looking at my tits?” you asked amused, encouraged by the wine. “Do you like them?”

“Y-Yes, of course, you know I love your body, (Y/N),” she said, looking away, without her usual smile.

“You don't seem to like my dress very much,” you whispered distrustfully, with a sad sigh.

“Oh, yes I... just... (Y/N), what are you wearing?” she asked finally, crossing her arms.

You looked at yourself and shrugged with an amused smile.

“It's new,” you said in a seductive voice.

“I see but... You... you don't usually wear that kind of clothes,” Donna commented, with a cold look.

“Yeah but… I thought, I thought you would like it,” you said in a fearful whisper.

“(Y/N), you're… very strange lately, you don't want to play chess, you wear… those things… it seems like something's wrong with you.”

“I'm the same as always,” you said in your defense, with a somewhat dangerous tone and look.

“No, that's not true, you've changed…” she said, shaking her head. “It seems like you're trying to be like…”

“Well, so what if I do? You loved her a lot, didn't you? I have nothing to do with her, you'll never love me that much,” you said, bringing your worries to light.

“(Y/N),” the lady sighed, getting up and approaching you while resting two fingers on your chin. “I like the way you are, do you hear me? I don't want you to be like her, I don't love her. She was stupid and she never wanted to do anything that I liked. She could never, ever compare to you, (Y/N), I've never loved anyone as much as you, only you, and always you... do you understand? I love you, you are the love of my life, you always will be.”

[freebooter4ever]

dear mom, one day ill be living in a big old city and all youll ever be is mean :)

[anglerflsh]

i feel bad for your mom...

She had me exorcised before, like, twice, so I don't particularly feel bad for her, but I suppose someone has to

[asklesbianonceler]

I have not posted any of my analysis to reddit yet and I think I might just post it and ghost it. I've already spent too much time looking at other people's threads on there to feel any way good about interacting with folks.

I already went in an added the "I know you're going to bring this up let me save you the time" section which is exclusively touching on the frequent topics of:

"well what about the fingerprint nostrum and finger mimics? He is clearly just a crackpot"

And

"it's definitely some weird elaborate sacrifice to Metyr thing"

[pens-and-paperbacks]

Endeavor is almost a perfect allegory for what the society in the mha universe does to people who can't be heroes or use their quirks in a way to benefit society, which is cast them aside or pass them over without over giving them a second glance until uh-oh! Suddenly they're worth being noticed because they're a threat.

He apologizes to his family, which is good! If you're a bad person and did terrible things, the first step in your own transformation and atonement should be to acknowledge what you've done and to apologize to those you've wronged. Great!

Thing is, Endeavor set off a chain reaction with his abusive, neglectful and downright irresponsible choices that it damaged everyone in his family for life.

I don't think someone who causes one of their own children to literally go up in flames, crying because they're finally getting attention from their father and family in the very end, ever deserves to be forgiven.

[altruistic-meme]

once again thinking about how the fandom treats Kristina like she’s the devil incarnate and often refuses to see the same amount of depth in her as they do the other characters

once again thinking about how there are less than 25 fanfics on ao3 currently tagged “Good Parent Kristina” and over 100 tagged “Bad Parent Kristina”

once again thinking about how i can hardly ever find a fic, even that isn’t under the bad parent tag, that doesn’t have Kristina acting like a horrible terrible villain

once again thinking about how just because the way that Kristina behaves isn’t “Perfect Ideal Mother” this means that she must not love her children at all and will actively never choose their happiness or ever consider their feelings 

once again thinking about how Linda’s problems parenting are constantly ignored just because we do see her show affection to her kids, and apparently that’s the only thing that’s needed to make a good parent and any absence of this makes you a terrible parent and person

once again thinking about how Ludvig shows little interest in understanding Wilhelm, actively ignores what he says at the table, never speaks up for him, and yet the fandom would constantly rather make him a perfect and loving parent over Kristina, who we see doing what she thinks is best to protect her son, implying that she fought with the royal court to make sure Wilhelm would stay heir (something that, despite his outbursts, Wilhelm has said he wanted, if only to honor Erik), and specifically stating that she loves him and has no problem with his queerness, or with him liking Simon, aside from the scandal of the video.

once again thinking about how people will give August the benefit of the doubt, talk about how his character is deep and complex and how much they love that about his character, but absolutely refuse to see any deeper meaning or possible feelings in what Kristina does because clearly she’s just a horrible person and there is no depth to her at all 

once again thinking about how much of my own mother i see in Kristina and how much it pains me to see people saying that Kristina is an irredeemable villain who only exists to bring pain to her son because i know my mother loves me even when she makes mistakes and says things that hurt sometimes, because i know my mother is also human and thus not perfect. 

[pocketramblr]

Really dark topic, but what do you think would it take for Enji (pre-AM retirement, obviously) to threaten to, or legit kill Rei, mindcontrolling quirks aside?

mind-controlling quirks aside... i don't think he would threaten to kill her. he'd basically never have something to gain from killing her that he couldn't get some other far easier and less risky way. If she was able to prevent him from abusing Shoto, or threatened to take him/all the kids away, Enji could very much threaten divorce, institutionalization, maybe even arrest, but he can stop her from doing that without threatening to kill her.

If Enji were to kill her, which could happen, i don't think it'd be premeditated. But he has hit her before, and Rei isn't exactly going to do great with heat or flame, so if she intervened at the wrong time in the dojo... it's plausible enough i'd accept it as a fic premise.

[widevibratobitch]

.

[crsinclair]

Suddenly remembering a family Christmas Eve dinner that I endured had some years ago at a Mexican restaurant, and though I started off the evening hating it and wishing I had the freedom to leave (I was forced to ride with someone else instead of taking my own car), by the time dinner was over I was quite eager to stay for dessert.

I should preface this by saying that I do not have a healthy relationship with my parents (biological or otherwise). They have never treated me well and the holidays were always, always a bad time for me because they would say words of love and then turn around and do things like gaslight or worse.

Anyways, a story of me being petty and taking advantage of a bad situation!

Now, I couldn't tell you the name of the restaurant to save my life. What I can tell you is that it was a fancy Mexican restaurant, the kind with the servers in white button up shirts, black slacks, and black aprons, they brought their fajitas out on a cart still cooking, and they only served certain meats (like cabrito) on an actual, literal spit that they brought to the table and let you carve up there. All the dishes were frightfully expensive, too.

I was not allowed to get anything expensive, no, but everyone else got to order fajitas and margaritas and that delicious goat meat and -

*deep breaths*

Anyways, I was not having a good time. I wasn't able to get anything good, nobody was ordering any fucking queso, and the place was crowded so I couldn't even hear most of my family talking. My step-dad was poking fun at me for being a grump, my mother was trying to tell me to cheer up because I was ruining the night, my grandmother was telling me to think godly thoughts, my aunts were looking at me in concern, my brothers were not getting involved (and honestly looking back I don't blame them), and my Gung Gung was just looking forward to cabrito.

About five minutes after we ordered our main dishes, though, the Mariachi band arrived.

They came in and immediately started playing music. Loud, obnoxious, in-your-face music. The restaurant was already loud, but oh, suddenly it was much, much louder.

My mother groaned and made a disgusted face. "Ugh, Mariachi bands."

"What's wrong with Mariachi bands?" I asked.

"Nothing, I guess," she said, shrugging, but her disgust did not fade. "I just don't like them. I just really, really don't like them."

So I looked at the band with intrigue.

For a while I just watched them go around the room, playing at tables one by one. I assumed, because people were waving them over, that they were playing music in exchange for some money. That assumption was pretty much confirmed when the band got closer to our table and I leaned over and watched as someone handed one of the band members a 20 dollar bill.

Then our server came by to refill our drinks. She noticed that I was watching the band, and as she poured water into my glass she smiled at me.

"Do you want them to play for your table?" she asked me.

I gave her an awkward smile and a shrug in return. "Oh, I don't have a whole lot of money."

"They've already been paid for by the restaurant," the server told me. "All you have to do is get their attention."

"...Wait, really?"

"Really."

I glanced at my mother. She hadn't noticed my conversation with the server at all.

"...Yeah, I would like them to play for our table."

Less than a minute later the band was right next to our table, and right next to me. All of the members of the band were eagerly looking at me, smiling widely. "What would you like us to play?" one of them asked. "Any requests?"

Still, no one else at the table noticed.

"No, play whatever you feel like," I said, smiling back. "And if you can, when you don't have anybody else flagging you down, please come back to this table? I don't have much, but I can afford at least a few dollars in tips."

That got confused expressions on their faces, but they shrugged, said sure, brought their instruments up into positions, and started to play.

The entire table jumped.

My mother turned around in horror, looking at the Mariachi band members as they started loudly playing and singing Feliz Navidad. She had no idea what the hell was going on, but she didn't like it. "Excuse me!" she called to them. "Can you move, please? You're right next to our table!"

"Of course they are," I piped up, surprising my mother. "I called them over here and asked them to play."

"You what?"

"I thought you noticed," I said, playing innocent. "After all, I'm sitting right next to you."

We stayed at the restaurant for another two hours. The Mariachi band came back to our table many, many times as they said they would - by the fifth visit they cottoned on to what my game was, and they stopped accepting my money. Instead, they happily danced around the table and played even louder. The tables next to ours also became aware of what I was doing, and they laughed each time the band came by.

I gleefully sang along to all the songs they played, even if I didn't know the words. My mother wanted me to stop, to be quiet, but I was "finally having fun, mom, didn't you want me to cheer up?" I even got my aunts to join in, and my step-dad and grandmother were too caught up in their drinks and talking to my Gung Gung to notice anything.

My brothers only sit there and laughed, too.

As we finally left, I was grinning and skipping. "I think I love Mariachi bands," I told my mother.

She could only groan.

[emulation-0]

my mom is the best person in this household and she is the best person in this whole fucking family and im sick of people acting like its otherwise

[nature-played-a-trick-on-me]

Moodboard

[kavehater]

Even logging in here makes me feel sick whatttt

[bean-pronounced-bawn]

The closer it gets to Normal People Are Okay With Eating A Lot season (i.e. thanksgiving and chrimus), the more grating my mother is becoming because she's got fucking issues and loves controlling other people's diets, and it's genuinely starting to push me towards the edge. It's one thing to be a health freak and not eat anything that doesn't fit in your narrow and tragic category of Okay To Eat, it's a whole nother thing to get on someone else's ass for eating A Cookie -- cookies that she fucking bought for us to eat because she has no self control and would rather self flagellate over buying/eating Evil Foods than sticking to her own stupid fucking morals and Not Buy them in the first goddamn place. You'd think that November - December she'd reel herself in a bit because this is literally Eating Season, but she has somehow become more irritating because instead of just Not Allowing Bad Foods in the house, she buys them and then gets mad at me for eating them after explicitly saying I could eat them. And that's not even touching on the fact that she thinks that there are limited Normal Times to eat and gets mad at anyone who eats outside of Her established breakfast lunch and dinner times, but that's not how my body fucking works and I tend to eat 4-5 small meals a day and I always get hungry around 10pm, but she gets mad at me for not eating enough at Normal Times even though I've explained to her that her Normal Dinnertime is right between my Body Gets Hungry times, so of course I'm not eating a lot cause I'm not fucking hungry regardless of what I've eaten today. And then she makes some snide fucking comment about my weight when I actually Do Get Hungry later and grab myself something to eat and acts like I've downed ten thousand fucking calories when I most likely haven't even had two full meals. I'm so fucking done with her, and I'm pissed because living alone the past two years finally allowed me to work on having a healthy relationship with food, and now not only am I backtracking on all of that cause I have to adhere to my mom's stupid fucking arbitrary bible, but I'm starting to do shit I never did before moving out like sneaking food when I'm out of the house and stashing candy to snack on at night and I know it's bad and it's pissing me off that I feel like I have to fucking do it. I've reached the point where little comments are making my fucking blood boil and I know that means I'm gonna start snapping soon and I don't have the ability to move out now or anytime in the near future. Fuck.

[coquettepascal]

texas sweet

summary: joel is your friendly neighborhood dad of the year, so why is his driveway empty on father's day? better yet, why do you feel the need to make up for everyone elses absence?

tags: 18+, smut, handjob, desc of joel mastubrating, a "massage", neighbor!joel x f!reader, massages, general cheesiness, soft!joel, pathetic!joel, almost(?) sub!joel, reader gets blueballed (sorry), biting, joel whimpering, joel being a proud girl dad, no-outbreak, ellie and sarah exist, tommy is mentioned(!!), joel is a southern gentleman, mention of reader having parents, no desc of reader but she can fit between joel and the couch, dilf!joel (yum)

a/n: my first joel fic ever... i would like to thank every person who has written no-outbreak!joel or pre-outbreak!joel. i freaked it.

(4.9k, not beta read.)

Moving to Texas was not the plan, or even the “blessing” your mother claimed it would be. Being the one who took over your grandparents home after they moved to a seniors facility? Fantastic! Amazing, even. Leaving your job, friends, and boyfriend, back home? Horrible. Heart wrenching and annoying. 

Austin, for the most part, was lonely. Long distance didn’t end up working between you and your boyfriend, your friends just got busier with their jobs, and it wasn’t like your parents could just drive 14 hours to see you every weekend. Co-workers were nice, but honestly who really wants to hang out with people you already spend 40 hours a week with? Maybe you were jaded, or picky, which was what your mother also claimed, or maybe your whole life was uprooted for what felt like no reason.

What you weren’t picky about, was the view from your bedroom window. You’re not a peeping tom, or a perv, but it isn’t your fault that your dilf-y next door neighbor is so easy on the eyes.

No, moving to Austin was not a blessing, but Joel Miller was.

Joel was the neighborhood guy. Need an oil change? Joel. Need your fence fixed? Joel. Block party? Joel’s yard. It’s like he doesn’t know how to say no to anybody, that southern politeness deeper than the drawl that lies in his voice. When you had first moved here he had helped you move your couch through the door, all smiles and polite nods. He barely introduced himself before he was asking if you needed any help, and he had called you “young lady,” which made you giggle. Such a giving man, but of course he was. A single father to two daughters? “No” wasn't in his vocabulary.

Sometimes, you think if your dad was as good a father as Joel Miller was, maybe you wouldn’t be fiending after him with such ferocity. Watching him with his two girls, Sarah and Ellie, was something that tugged your heartstrings no matter what. Sarah wasn’t around a lot anymore, apparently she went away to a fancy college. You had helped her pack all her stuff into Joel’s truck, but quickly went inside when you saw him getting misty eyed, you didn't want to embarrass the poor guy. Ellie is younger than Sarah and still lives at home. Honestly, you didn’t know much about her apart from the fact that she was adopted and that she’s in high school. She’s always happy to chat, but she’s also always going somewhere, which leaves Joel lonely sometimes. 

Joel seems better suited for loneliness than you are though. His brother Tommy comes around pretty often, though they seem fairly opposite. Tommy truly is sweet, has always chatted with you during block parties (even if it may be for nefarious reasons when he’s had too many drinks,) but he looks like… a fuckboy. Without fail, every time he rolls up to Joel’s house, he’s blasting some shitty new country music and wearing Pit Viper sunglasses as he carefully parks his spotless truck. Despite their differences though, they get along just as well. Your summer evenings are often interrupted by the sound of their laughs and the crisp sound of the two cracking open some cold ones. 

So why is it that when Father’s day rolls around, Joel’s driveway is empty?

You aren’t watching on purpose, you just happen to glance over that way a lot. The only action you see from his house is Ellie leaving for her friend's house sometime after noon, like usual on a Sunday. No signs of Sarah or Tommy. Part of you figured that maybe Sarah would make the lengthy drive down from her school, or maybe that Tommy would show up at some point, but nobody does. 

‘Not creepy,’ you assure yourself as you go upstairs to peer through your bedroom window to see if anyone is there. You could totally look through the kitchen window that directly faces his backyard, but you fear the day he’s looking right back at you. 

Looking outside, you see nothing. Joel’s grey-blue truck sits unmoved in the driveway, his plants are watered though so you guess he came outside at some point. The thought makes you feel a bit sad, the image of Joel and his soft eyes watering the plants, whistling to himself and trying to tell himself it doesn’t matter that nobody came. He probably really doesn’t care at all, a lot of men aren’t very sentimental or emotional about days like this, but you care.

He’s a good man, a good father, and a good neighbor. Seeing him be underappreciated on what is basically his day is ticking you off for some stupid reason. When 3pm rolls around you decide that you have to do something for Joel, it feels wrong not to. 

Which is how you end up in line for the register at Home Depot. You sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes racking your brain, trying to think of things that guys like, but came up with nothing. Joel is a contractor, so he’ll probably find some use out of a 50 dollar Home Depot gift card, but it still feels too impersonal. Joel literally fixed your toilet when a date you took home broke the handle off the tank mid-vomit. He’s too nice to just hand a stupid gift card with “Happy Father’s day” scrawled across the mini paper envelope. He deserves something thoughtful, something gentler than a gift card for (probably) his job. 

…Which is how you end up waiting in line for the register at the supermarket. You have a bouquet of flowers in your hand, with a Home Depot gift card shoved in your jacket pocket. It feels utterly ridiculous to give Joel Miller flowers, to pick out which colours you think he’d like and get the florist to wrap them up neatly with a bow, but you have a good reason. At some point in the past week you had seen a post about how a lot of men never receive flowers. It resurfaced in your head as you picked your brain again, making you wonder if Joel had ever received flowers. You know that he was married once, but that was when Sarah was little, it’d probably been 10 or even 15 years since he had any gestures like that made for him.

Not that this was for romance reasons. It was for father’s-appreciation-day reasons. Of course.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so invested in your neighbors emotions and life, but it’s too late now. You carefully pack away the flowers in the back seat of your car, snuggling the gift card into the ribbon that holds the flowers together. 

—

And if you thought that standing in line at Home Depot, or at the supermarket was bad, it’s so much worse trying to work up the courage to knock on Joel’s front door. You can’t figure out how to hold this bouquet of flowers behind your back without dropping them, so you just awkwardly knock on his door with one hand, flowers in the other. At least the gift card is managing to stay in place where you tucked it, but you wish you told the florist not to write his name in cursive.

Your repeating thoughts of “Is this weird? Am I weird?” are interrupted when he opens the door.

Joel looks… normal. He doesn’t look sad like you thought he might, if anything he looks more confused at you being there. His brown hair is tousled slightly and he’s wearing pajama pants, even though he smells fresh. Joel’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head quietly, as if waiting for you to go on, but what do you even say? Oh shit that’s right–

“Happy father’s day,” your voice comes out shyly. You shove the flowers at him a little abruptly and he blinks in surprise, accepting them. It’s awkward for a second, the way his eyebrows shoot up as he notices the cursive lettering of his name written on the envelope.

“These’re for me, darlin’?” He asks curiously, still looking over the flowers.

A stammering of “um” and “yeah” leave your mouth pretty quickly and he smiles. You’re pretty sure he says thank you, but you just kind of stare at him awkwardly. A beat passes between the two of you as he admires the gift. “You uh– You don’t think of me as your dad, do you?” Joel asks. Oh fuck. You hadn’t thought about the fact that maybe that was what he would take away from this. All of your thoughts had been consumed by worries that he’d think you were trying to hit on him, but here he was thinking that you thought of him as a father figure. Which you didn’t. Your dad is fine, no need to replace him, at least not at this point. 

“No, no. Oh my god– Sorry,” You choke out, half laughing. It’s a quiet moment on the porch for a second, just the two of you standing there. Maybe you should explain your thought process.

“It’s just that you’re a dad and like– not to sound like a weirdo freak but nobody’s been at your house all day and it made me sad for you. Not that I pity you but,” your voice trails off as you fear you’ve made this worse. Joel seems a bit surprised at this, mouth opening slightly but then transitioning to a soft smile.

“And what if I told you that I wanted everyone t’leave me alone today?” He asks you slyly. And oh god, that is so much worse than him mistaking this gesture for flirting or pity. You never would have thought that maybe the guy who does everything for everyone probably just wants to be left the hell alone for a gift. Your heart drops in your chest, taking all the blood in your face with it. Embarrassment floods you with a force you didn’t realize possible, stuttered apologies leaving your lips as fast as you can. Joel shakes his head, laughing quietly as you sputter “sorry” repeatedly, like a broken sprinkler.

“I’m jokin’, sweetheart. I appreciate this,” he says. The crows' feet by his eyes shouldn’t be as charming as they are, but combined with that rumbling laugh and smile… he could get away with anything. He plucks the Home Depot gift card from the ribbon and huffs a laugh, like he’s impressed.

Well that’s… something? It made him smile right? Maybe feeling bad for Joel was better than feeling stupid in front of him. You step back, towards the stairs of his porch, but he shakes his head. “You were really this worried?” He asks, admiring the flowers. That makes your heart bloom in your chest, seeing how much he really liked this. Joel didn’t seem much like a flower guy, but you saw the way he kept his yard neat, with tulips in the spring and his lawn trimmed squarely. Shyly, you nod in response to his question. It feels silly to worry for him like this, you don’t know if he considers you a friend the way he is in your head.

“S’awful sweet,” he tells you. Something about his presence is so big, a balance of hospitality and intimidation all at once. Maybe it’s his big stature, broad shoulders and thick arms, a body built for work. Or his voice, the strong timbre of it, humbled in southern twang. Joel is a force of warmth, a heat that can’t be contained. His heart shines through his golden skin, forcing whoever he looks at to have a spotlight. That’s where the intimidation lies, in how he makes you feel like there’s a halo over your head, all his attention right there. 

He’s so hot you don’t even want him to look at you.

But there he is anyways, smiling as he admires the gift again, dorkily leaning in to dramatically huff the flowers. His mouth is moving but you're deafened by the sensation of a blush on your face. You thought it was just a silly little crush, because who wouldn’t find Joel attractive. He’s handsome, hard working, and just an all around traditional man. But this attraction… It's like your crush on him has given you tinnitus. His lips are moving and you aren’t registering the words. Wait shit, he’s speaking–

“Darlin’?” Joel calls. He looks at you, head tilted, and still fucking smiling. The way his eyes glimmer, the crows feet that squeeze them into a smile… Why is it so hard to hear him?

“I asked if you wanted to come in,” he repeats. 

—

You’ve never been inside Joel’s house, but you’d never thought about it either. Being in it, now, it all makes sense. Photos of his daughters are framed everywhere, their achievements plastered on the walls in shines of silver and gold. It’s hard not to imagine Joel hunched over his kitchen counter, tediously cutting pictures out to place them in frames. He was only an idea before, an idea of a man, and now he has become one wordlessly. All it took was stepping inside his house, smelling him everywhere. Life dances in the jackets that are tossed over dining room chairs, the toolbelt dumped by the shoe rack at the door. The picture of Joel you held in your mind begins to come alive, the movements in the details of his life stealing your breath. He is more than a good man, he is a great one.

And now, you have to strike up a conversation with him.

Joel grunts as he sits down on the couch beside you, placing two glasses of water down. He places his glass in front of the can of beer sitting on a coaster, distorting the label to nothing but warped blue and red. Is he hiding that he was drinking? Why is that cute? 

A pause hushes both of you as Joel gets comfortable, sitting down. He’s paused a show, but it just looks like it was whatever movie was playing on the local TV channel. 

“You must be so proud of them,” you say, eyes glazing over the pictures of Sarah and Ellie. You can tell exactly which photos were taken with a camera and which were taken with his phone. One picture of Ellie, maybe when she was 13 or 14, is from her soccer tournament. She’s smiling, holding up a ribbon for MVP, and Joel’s thumb is in the bottom corner. It’s strange to realize that Joel has basically been a father twice over, but also admirable. 

He talks for a little while, rambling about Sarah and her time up at college, and also how Ellie has been doing better in school this year. You always had a feeling Ellie was a bit feistier than Sarah was, but to hear how proud Joel is of her anyways makes your heart flutter. His love for them was so unconditional, so why weren’t they here today? You ask him, a half smile crossing his lips as he hears your question.

“Sarah called me ‘round lunchtime, one of them video calls. Had lunch with my girl and got to catch up with her. She’s so damn busy, y’know that? Always studying and,” he catches his breath, realizing he’s blabbing again. A reddish tone creeps up his neck in embarrassment.

“Point is, she called. Was nice of her, I miss her lots,” He finishes quietly.

Your eyebrow raises. He didn’t mention Ellie. Joel huffs.

“I’m 99% sure she’s over at Dina’s making me a gift, but it’s fine that she forgot. I’ve been on her ass about homework, fair’s fair.”

He looks cute when he’s begrudging, one side of his mouth sliding to the side so part of his cheek puffs over it. You nod, making a comment in response. The conversation is so smooth you forget what you’re saying as soon as you’re laughing. 

This is easier than you thought it would be. Joel’s always been friendly, obviously, but you just assumed he would be more closed off than this. Even if it’s just rambling about his daughters, or Tommy, or the jobs he’s been managing and how annoying his clients are, it’s something more. Something more than the passing glances and small conversation you’ve had before.

You talk a bit about your own life, how tough the move to Texas was, how lonely it can be. Joel doesn’t seem as receptive to this, but there’s an understanding in his eyes that you can feel. He’s a tough clam to slide your knife into, and you doubt you’ll feel his tongue today. The eager blabber he has for his family and career doesn’t extend to himself, and it seems you’ve hit a wall with him. Or maybe you’ve hit too close to home. “Sorry,” you say, feeling a little weird. 

This whole day has felt like you’re pulling against a lead Joel wasn’t even holding in the first place, like you’re always doing too much. But just like the rest of the day, he isn’t holding the rope around your neck. He’s surging forward with reassurances blooming out of his mouth, Texas sweet to the bone. 

He shakes his head, telling you that it’s fine, he gets it. A joke about being a single father, a smile directed at you, consoling. Vaporub for your congested anxieties.

“I’m sorry darlin,” Joel starts, and fuck is he sending you home? Is that your cue to leave? You did too much, he was just being nice.

“-- I didn’t even offer you water when you came in. D’you need somethin’ to drink?” He asks.

God, doesn’t he get tired of being this nice? Your neighbors warned you that he was a grump when you first moved here, dirty liars. 

“Oh, sure, uh. Water would be good, thanks,” you reply.

You’re only half paying attention to the grunt he lets out when he gets up the first time, your eyes busying themselves with the way his cotton tee stretches across the muscled planes of his back. But, after he hands you the glass of water and groans when he sinks back into the couch, you notice. 

You down the glass like you’re parched, but really your mouth just needs to be full right now. The sound of his groans are bouncing in your ear canals as your neck flushes red with each gulp of water. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Bad back?” You ask after you catch your breath. 

He hums in response, talking about how it comes with the job he has. “All that lifting in my early years…” as if he’s a thousand years old. Joel mentions that he’s been to the chiropractor a few times, thanks to Sarah’s begging and pleading.

“I don’t know, I think it’s gimmicky. They get you on the table and the guy feelin’ you up acts like he’s Christ himself,” Joel says, rolling his eyes. 

The idea of Joel, shirtless and face down, grumbling as some guy works his hands over his skin. The idea of Joel groaning in relief as someone else works those knots out, God you wish you were a chiropractor, you wish you could put your hands all over him.

Greed hardens over your mind like a shell, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“I could– I could help, maybe. My dad used to have a pretty bad back and I kinda figured out how to work knots out.”

Joel’s eyes widen, looking over to you with mild interest. For the first time today, around Joel, you don’t feel like you’ve overstepped. In fact he looks interested in this offer. A beat passes between the two of you, hesitation caught in his throat it seems.

It’s probably super fucked up in his head, his younger neighbor coming over and offering to rub him down. But your mind is still greedy, coated in thoughts of his skin under your palms, and that southern rumble that’s given you dilf earworms.

He looks like he’s about to say no when you speak again.

“You don’t even have to lay down, or take your shirt off. Could just lift it up,” you offer. 

Joel still looks like he’s going to say no, the left side of his mouth raising to make up some reason. You can’t let him, not when you’ve been this ballsy. Walking out of here now would make this infinitely more awkward.

“It’s your day, Joel,” you supply him with a reason to say yes. The reason might be silly, might be a last minute add-on to his father’s day, but who cares.

Apparently not Joel, since he pulls his shirt up to his shoulders, the fabric scrunching around his broad frame.

—

You feel a little stupid, slotted behind Joel on the couch. The two of you are basically shoved up against one another, Joel wriggling to give you access to his lower back. He hasn’t said anything yet, no reassurance that this backrub is any good. You think you’re doing well, you feel the knots loosening. It might be better this way, him not making noise. The groan you heard earlier was more than enough to push you into a frenzy.

Your hands work further down, where his waist begins to pull in. Looking closer you can see where the softness of his tummy is, a fatherly badge of honor. Continuing your movements, you gently press your thumbs into the flesh there, and earn yourself Joel’s first noise.

Not a grunt, groan, complaint, or cuss. A whimper.

Your voice clashes with his, both of you talking over each other accidentally.

“Are you okay–” you ask as his voice flounders again, a “Darlin--” leaving him out of his own volition.

Pulling your hands away you begin to pull his shirt back down his back, mortified. How could you claim you were good at this and then hurt his back more? Joel’s been through enough today.

“Please don’t stop,” Joel’s voice grabs your brain again, forcing your focus.

He’s sliding his shirt up again, just by rolling his shoulders as he hunches over, waiting for you to continue. His face is in his hands, and his ears are pink. It’s the first time he’s asked you for anything tonight, you can’t refuse him. 

Placing your hands back where they were, you begin to massage again. It seems like his lower back is the main problem, with the way he’s grunting into his palms. As your hands work away the aches he begins to swear to himself. 

“Fuck,” he grunts as your thumbs dig deep, soothing a pain he hasn’t felt eased in years. 

This is good. Pride spreads in your chest, knowing he feels better. Your hands work away, and you get laser focused on untangling these massive knots in his back. Eventually you break your focus, switching to softer rubs and small scratches up and down his back.

Tearing your eyes away from his skin, you realize the throw pillow that was beside you earlier is gone. The yellow corner of the cushion peeks at you from where you saw Joel’s belly earlier, over his lap. A thick forearm is crushing it into himself there, the veins in his neck pulsing. 

Flames lick up your face, onto the tips of your ears and down your neck, heating your spine. Is he aroused right now? “Joel?” You ask quietly. 

He shakes his head, voice tight.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just– it just feels nice,” he admits.

Your hands pause. Okay, so he’s admitted he’s hard. What do you do now? Keep rubbing his back and blueball the poor guy? On Father's day? That seems mean, and awkward. Everything about this is awkward though, so it couldn’t really get worse.

“I could… I could help it feel better,” you offer meekly.

You’re not scared of a dick. You aren’t. Your voice is quiet because it seems like he is horribly ashamed of this, probably feeling guilty.

Joel rubs a hand over his face.

“You don’t have to, you can just go,” he says, but his voice betrays him. Need is sewn in his tone, a desperation.

Part of you wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him like this as you reach around, palming the front of his jeans. The hiss he lets out tells you it’s been awhile. How wrong that is, an attractive man like Joel being forced to get his own rocks off.

Getting the button and fly of his jeans down is difficult when you can’t see, even worse when your brain is making up images of Joel masturbating. He’s so shy when he’s being touched, does he bite his sheets? Bite his other fist in the shower? Poor boy, he deserves this. 

His hips lift off the couch to help you shove his jeans and briefs down. Joel’s bare ass slides against you and he cringes. “Is it okay if you don’t look?” He asks. 

You hate that he seems so insecure, but you’re not going to push him. Nodding into his skin, you press your face to his back, resting your cheek near the blade of his shoulder. He’s heavy in your palm, warm skin with veins your fingers can trace over.

Telling him that he’s big feels redundant, you’re sure he knows that about himself. Neither of you seem very sure about what you’re doing, the shuddering breaths from his chest matching your hesitant grasp around his cock. 

“Are you okay?” You ask again.

Joel nods into his hand, asking you to please touch him. 

Admittedly, it’s a dry hand job, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. The flick of your wrist is fluid, even if your arm is cramping from being wrapped around him. Joel lets out these little noises, grunts and whines. His hand is covering his eyes while the other one rests lightly on your forearm, like he wants to know that you’re still there.

Need is exuding from him, making his desperation take over his need to really give a shit about how submissive he might be appearing. He shudders particularly hard as you squeeze on the upstroke, voice choking.

“Shit– shit, please,” he gasps, “please can I spit in your hand?” 

It’s a little surprising, but again, you can’t refuse him. You say “yeah” into his skin, closing your eyes as you feel him spit into your hand. It’s filthy, his saliva on you as he guides your hand to jerk him off. Joel uses your palm to slick the head of his dick, teasing himself on your skin.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him be selfish all day. Part of you wants to call him a good boy, but part of you also knows this might not be normal for Joel. Hell, this isn’t normal for you either. 

Instead, you ask him if it’s good. A rasped “yes,” emanates from him between a low groan and a curse. Your head lifts from his back as he begins to shudder, his orgasm creeping closer. Listening to him is so good, you’re a mess between your legs, where your core nudges his ass.

Without a thought, you sink your teeth into the meat between his shoulder and his neck. Not enough pressure to bruise or hurt, just to let him know you’re there. There was no intention to push him over the edge, but your little bite does. A guttural groan is forced out of him as he comes into your hand, stringing sticky between your fingers. 

“Fuck– fuck I’m sorry, oh my god,” he pants, shivering. 

Your head is shaking again, reassuring him that it was okay, that he’s okay. 

“It’ll wash off,” you joke, feeling the stick of him on you. 

—

Joel does help you wash it off, once he’s done redressing. He’s clingy though, arms around your waist and chin hooked over your shoulder as you wash your hands in his kitchen sink. He’s definitely sleepy, eyes blinking slowly when you peek at him while you dry your hands.

You step close to him, your damp hands meeting his dry ones. The awkward spirit of the evening has been killed off, his shyness melted away.

“Usually I’d offer to return the favor but… I have to pick up Ellie from her friend’s house now. I’m really sorry, darlin’,” he admits.

Shaking your head, you push away the negative feeling that surfaces. How are you supposed to go back to being neighbors after that? But also, what did you really expect?

Joel leads you to the door, legs a bit shakey. A smug feeling joins the negative ones in your chest at that, but it’s not enough. 

“I really do apologize,” Joel says again, “but this just gives me an opportunity to see you again. If you’d like, obviously. I think I owe ya dinner.” 

And there he is, not holding your lead but reassuring your heart. He wants to see you again.

Your eyes meet his in the dim light of the hallway, catching those sweet eyes in your own. He looks so hopeful, so apologetic too.

“I’d like that, but you don’t owe me anything. It’s Father’s day,” you point out. 

Joel rolls his eyes. This Father’s day excuse is a little overused between the two of you now, but it’s still cute to him since you’re the one saying it. He opens the door for you, slipping his own boots on and grabbing his keys.

“Fine,” Joel says, “but when Pretty Neighbor day rolls around, you let me know.