#she's blind as a bat about her own feelings but i still love her she can do no wrong ect ect

[ladysophiebeckett]

something about how caroline is written in s1 vs s2 is so?? like her neurosis were turned up to ten when they were originally at a 4\5. im not saying this is richard’s doing...but im also not saying it isn’t. 

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART EIGHT

previous chapters | yall are absolutely fucking incredible. truly. i never could have ever expected the response to the last chapter and i'm so so SO grateful to everyone who's been contributing their thoughts and theories over the past week. your engagement and passion for this story means the world to me. so many people wanted so many different things for this chapter and i know i can't please everybody, but i hope this satisfies most of you. thank you so much for being here and for loving this story. here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: you don't know what to think after catching joel at the bar. tasha wants to help in the best she knows how - getting fucked up. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mentions of religion, catholic guilt, sexual assault (nothing to do w joel), alcohol, almost penetration word count: 13.6k ao3

You've never felt like this before.

Tasha practically has to drag you into a cab, gripping tight to your hand with an arm around your back as she gives the driver the address of where you're both staying. He barely bats an eye to the fact that you're practically inconsolable, tears streaming steadily down your face as you gasp and sob and stare at the floor with wide eyes. He's probably picked up countless passengers in similar situations and it's not like you can bring yourself to feel any sort of embarrassment over it.

"Shh," she soothes you, still rubbing your back and peering down at you with empathy in her eyes, an expression that somehow makes you feel even worse - she'd told you this might happen. She'd known all along, but you hadn't wanted to believe anything she said about the lack of definition in your relationship with Joel. You'd chosen to believe differently, believe that he was different than the guys your friends have encountered.

How could you have been so stupid?

It's your own fault you're even in this position now, crying in the back of a cab while Joel makes out with some woman in a bar you don't belong in. Your own fault for putting any ounce of faith in someone else for once, for choosing to be blind to the obvious - of course he doesn't want you. Of course you're not his priority. You're not his girlfriend. You're his fuck buddy. You're a warm body and nothing more.

You don't speak for the entire drive, just cry and try desperately to control your breathing. By the time you reach the Airbnb your throat hurts from the sobs, although throwing up on the sidewalk could also have something to do with it. You're just a mess, lightheaded and distant as Tasha guides you into the house and helps you settle on the couch.

"Stay here," she says softly, grabbing a throw blanket and carefully covering your loose and exhausted form, "I'm gonna go get some necessities, okay? This place doesn't have shit."

You nod slowly, just to let her know you acknowledge her words, though you're unsure exactly what necessities she's talking about. She reaches her hand down and strokes your cheek, still looking at you with that sad expression.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she repeats to you for probably the fortieth time in the past hour.

You close your eyes; you can't stand to see the pity on her face.

--

Tasha returns shortly after with her "necessities", which mainly consist of junk food and alcohol. You haven't moved an inch from where she'd left you, still laying on the couch with bloodshot eyes and a quivering mouth. You listen as she busies herself in the kitchen, putting together some sort of snack platter for the both of you that you already know you won't eat. You're not hungry. You've never been less hungry in your life.

"You were right," you finally manage to croak out as she seats herself beside you on the couch, placing the food on the coffee table and turning to you with that familiar look of pity, "He's just like the rest of them."

She shakes her head, "No, that's not true, I never said that," she rips open a bag of chips and starts munching, seemingly lost in thought.

"Oh, we're gaslighting now, are we?"

She raises an eyebrow, "Girlie, tell me when I said what you just said."

"Boys are mean," you quote hastily, turning a bit on the couch to stare up at the ceiling.

"Yes, it's true. Boys are mean. And so are men," she sighs then, dropping the chips back on the table, "Look, I'm not defending him, I promise, but-"

"Tasha," you state coldly, still staring at the ceiling, "Do not continue that sentence."

"You don't even know what I'm gonna say."

"Yes, I do," you shut your eyes and bring your hands to cover your face, feeling the tears starting up again, "You're gonna tell me we never defined what we had, that he was never my boyfriend, that this can't constitute as cheating because there was no relationship to begin with."

She's quiet but you can still feel her looking at you with that sadness, that sympathy, the look of someone who's been here before and knows how it feels. And it makes you so angry. Because-

"Joel wasn't supposed to do this," you continue, softer now, voice shaky as the tears flow down your temples and into your hair, "He's not a boy, he's not like the guys you date. He- he was different, I-" you choke, throat tightening at the thought of him, the image of him with her at the front of your mind again, "I thought he- I thought that we-"

You can't continue, words turning into cries and sniffles turning into sobs. You feel Tasha's hand on your calf, stroking your skin gently despite the fact that you just criticized both her own judgement and her taste in men in the same breath.

"I'm not trying to hurt your feelings," she says soothingly, "That's the last thing I wanna do. If anything I'm trying to tell you that this doesn't necessarily make him an asshole."

You scoff at that, "Right. Makes sense," you finally pull your hands down to look at her through your tears, brow furrowing, "Tasha he was kissing her. That- that woman, he was- he touched her face."

"I know he did," she murmurs with a frown, eyes casting downward, "And I know it hurts, but-"

"But nothing," you find yourself tossing the blanket to the floor and standing up shakily, not bothering to even look at Tasha as you stomp toward the bedroom. "I don't need this right now," is the last thing you say before slamming the door behind you.

She doesn't follow you. This is the first time you've ever yelled at her, the first time you've ever felt truly mad at her, and even though you know deep down that this isn't her fault... you still feel betrayed. Betrayed by Tasha's nonchalance, betrayed by Joel's actions, but worst of all - betrayed by yourself.

Because how did you manage to get into this mess in the first place?

You practically rip the too-tight and too-short pink dress off your body and stagger to the bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers. You still feel sick, lightheaded and woozy as you press your face to the cool pillow and try to collect yourself. You can't get the image of the woman out of your head; you hadn't even seen her face and yet it's like she's somehow consuming every fiber of your being. All you can see behind your closed lids are those long, perfectly styled braids hitting her bare waist, skin a deep and rich brown that almost sparkled under the bar lights, the way her bare ankle traveled up and down his leg, the soft curve of her cheek as he'd cupped it in his hand-

A sob wracks through you and you pull the other pillow toward yourself, wrapping your legs and arms around it like a koala, remembering how less than twenty four hours ago you'd been in a bed just like this one - except it hadn't been a pillow you were cuddling. And now, what? Who's in that bed now? Another woman? That gorgeous woman who you don't stand a chance against?

You're sure Tasha can hear you crying but she doesn't come, staying in the living room and giving you the space you need. You already feel awful for snapping at her like that - you know she means well, that she's just trying to alleviate the situation in her own way, but you barely even know how you feel about it.

And how do you feel? Hurt? Sad? Angry? Of course you feel all of those things, to a degree you've never felt them before, but underlying all of those emotions is something else entirely, something you can't quite put your finger on - or would rather not put your finger on, because doing so would mean finally admitting something you're not sure you're ready to admit yet.

You try to think about your relationship with Joel up to this point, try and pinpoint the exact moment it went from being something frivolous to being something real, but you find that it's impossible to do so. For you, you could say the moment you walked past his threshold was when it became official. Or when he touched you for the first time. Or when he kissed you. When he made you come. When he called you his babygirl. When you touched his cock. When he put his mouth on your pussy. When you woke up this morning completely naked in his bed.

Any of those moments could have been the moment. But a gnawing voice in the back of your mind reminds you that any of those moments could have equally not been the moment as well. Maybe there was no moment. Maybe this really has just been a whole lot of nothing.

But then you think about the way he looks at you. The way he treats you.

The way he'd comforted and reassured you last night, held you, made you feel safe and secure - "If you just wanna lay here with me, that's okay too."

The way he'd shared his insecurities with you over the phone, been vulnerable, honest and open - "I don't want you to look at me differently".

The way he'd dressed up just in case your mother took you to your lesson, looking like he was ready to attend a church service, purposely putting himself in uncomfortable clothing to make sure things went smoothly - "I wanted to make a good impression."

The way he'd told you about his past on his back deck, related his own childhood to yours, tried to calm your own fears and tell you things would be okay - "You gotta focus on what's right for you, on livin' the life you want, not worryin' about what they'll think".

What did any of it mean? What does any of it mean? Has it just been sex this whole time or does he actually care about you? And if he does, why would he kiss someone else?

And what if he's been kissing someone else... fucking someone else... this entire time? What if it's not just you he's been seeing? The thought makes you want to throw up all over again.

You hear a peal of laughter from the other room, a sound that feels odd in the silence and sadness of the bedroom where you lie. Tasha must have put on a movie or something. You feel bitterness rise in your throat, a sudden urge to run out to the living room and grab the remote and toss it out the window, scream at her for finding something to laugh at when you're literally falling apart at the seams.

But the bitterness fades when you hear her laugh again; you love that laugh, have missed it ever since you came home. Tasha has always had such a free and fun way about her, a natural joy that you've always envied. You'd watched her go out night after night over the past three years, come home with the most bizarre stories that you were never able to fully relate to, and yet she always tried to include you in some way, ask you questions, make you laugh.

You remember the looks of shock you'd received from the other girls when you'd first shared that you were a virgin, that you'd never done anything except kiss. She'd sensed your discomfort immediately, seen your embarrassment, and had quickly flipped the conversation to something else more shocking, more embarrassing - at her own expense. Easier than flipping a light switch. And any time it was mentioned after that, she'd always emphasize how lucky you were, how she wished she'd taken her time, how all you were missing out on was bonehead losers who didn't know how to please a woman.

She's always reassured you, always listened, and has always been your number one fan, even when you had nothing to give. You'd told her all about your upbringing, about the way you'd begun to question everything, and she'd given you her own two cents and made you feel better for the first time in a long time. And when you'd told her you were coming home for the summer she'd said, "Are you sure that's gonna be okay for you?"

You trust her. So why are you in this room avoiding her? Why aren't you listening to what she has to say?

With heavy limbs you manage to climb off the bed and tug on your pajamas, wiping your eyes and letting the sadness and humility settle for just a moment. Yes, this is a fucked up situation. But Tasha wants to help you. Let her.

A few moments later you find yourself back on the couch, this time with Tasha's arm around you as she pours you a glass of wine and shakes away your apology. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she tells you softly, "You're upset, I get it."

You sigh deeply and take a sip, wincing at the bitterness but making no move to put it back on the table. "So," you murmur hoarsely, "Why is he not necessarily an asshole?"

--

You stay up late talking for hours about the situation and listening to Tasha's theories, most of which center around a lack of communication - based on her own personal experiences. She also has to factor in the fact that Joel is a lot older, a detail she's still beyond surprised over.

"I just can't believe he's fifty six," she faux whispers the number with wide eyes, shaking her head. "Like... this man knows things. How to take care of you, ya know? You're luckier than you realize."

"Lucky," you scoff, "Yeah, that's one way to describe how it feels."

She slaps your hand playfully, "I'm serious. This is yet another reason I think you just got your signals crossed here. I refuse to believe he's trying to hurt you, especially after how considerate he's been with you up until this point. If this was just about sex he would have dropped you ages ago, honey. I mean, no offense but you're not exactly making it easy for him, are you?"

She's certainly blunt. But she's also right. Joel has been nothing but patient with you this entire time, never expecting anything more than what you've been willing to give. If it was just about sex, this thing between the two of you wouldn't have gone beyond that first day in his house when you'd told him you were a virgin.

You slowly begin to come to the conclusion that you should give him the benefit of the doubt. As much as what you saw hurts, as much as it makes you want to crawl in bed and never get up, you were never Joel's girlfriend. There was never an establishing conversation, never a moment where you laid your heart on the line and told him exactly what you wanted, mainly because you haven't been sure what you wanted up until this point. But now you do.

"Communication," Tasha repeats for maybe the fifth time, "Communication is key. He doesn't know what you want, so you need to tell him. You need to stand up for yourself. And if he doesn't take you seriously, you move on. Simple."

"Simple," you echo, your third glass of wine already getting to you as you peer at her hazily with an upturned brow, "Communication."

"Communication," she repeats, "Simple."

Communication. Simple.

It's what echoes in your head over and over after your head hits the pillow that night, and continues to repeat the following morning as Tasha rouses you from sleep to get you ready for your "lesson". You don't feel as hungover as you'd expected - "That's because we didn't get totally fucked up like we were supposed to," Tasha says to you with a roll of her eyes - but your face is puffy from all the crying.

You're splashing your face with cold water when you hear Tasha call out, "Hey, I think you have a text."

Heart pounding in your chest you run back to the bedroom and grab your phone from the nightstand, the first time you've checked it since you got back from the bar. Your eyes go wide when you see not just one but two texts from Joel. One from last night, around midnight:

Hope you're having a good night, babygirl. You deserve to have some fun. I'll see you tomorrow. Be safe.❤️

And one from this morning, around seven:

You get home ok? Let me know x

"Don't text him back," Tasha advises over your shoulder, "Keep him sweating a bit, you're leaving soon anyway."

You nod slowly, still staring at the messages, especially the one from last night. When had he sent that? Had he still been at the bar? Still with her? Did he take her home? That familiar sadness and betrayal from last night bubbles in your throat again, tears pricking in your eyes.

No. You will not cry anymore.

You let your phone fall onto the bed and turn on the spot, marching back to the bathroom like a woman on a mission.

"Tasha, make me fucking hot."

--

The Plan: Go to your lesson with Joel. Talk to him about what you saw. Tell him how you feel. And look good doing it.

Communication. Simple. It certainly seems easier said than done; you've never been very good at communication. Your whole life has been spent suppressing your true feelings and your true self for crying out loud - the concept of being completely vulnerable and honest with someone is terrifying. But you know that it's necessary for your heart, and you also know that if you're going to be able to be vulnerable with anyone, it's Joel. He's already seen glimpses of the broken parts of you, not to mention seen you completely naked. How much harder can it get?

And nothing can be worse than how you felt last night.

Tasha essentially makes you her very own doll for the majority of the morning - doing your makeup, styling your hair, choosing your outfit - and you're surprised to find that you don't hate any of it, have no notes or critiques or changes to make. You stand in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror with your eyebrows raised, lips parted in admiration at a job well done.

"I look good," you say with a smile, and Tasha grins at your reflection, "I mean it, Tasha. Like, I still look like me, but..."

"All I did was accentuate what you already have, my love," she replies, reaching forward to fix a piece of hair that's not sitting quite right, "You're just a gorgeous human, inside and out."

You can't help but feel touched at her words, lips turning down into a pout as your hands come up to touch your heart, "Tasha-"

She waves you away, shaking her head, "Bitch, do not get sappy on me right now. Save those doe eyes for Mr. Miller."

Twenty minutes later you're winding through the suburban streets of your neighborhood. You're about half an hour early; Tasha had wanted you to be fashionably late but there's only so much of yourself you can alter in such a short amount of time, your punctuality being one of them. You figure you'll just drive around for a bit to build up your courage, plan out your words.

Joel, I saw you at the bar last night. I saw the woman. And I'm not mad, I'm just....

Joel, my feelings were really hurt last night...

Joel, I can't believe you would kiss another woman after everything we've been doing. Do I not mean anything to you at all? Do I-

Nothing really seems like the right thing to say. You figure once you're standing in front of him the words will just come naturally, flow easily in a way that makes sense and articulates your feelings properly. You can only hope.

You've still got about fifteen minutes before your lesson but you figure there's no point in continuing to circle the area - you're just delaying the inevitable. With a heavy sigh and a few quiet words of encouragement directed at your rearview mirror, you turn onto Joel's street, gripping the wheel tightly and trying to keep your breathing as even as possible. You can do this. You can do this.

You're a few houses down from his when you see it.

Panic turns to shock. Shock turns to confusion. Confusion turns to anger. Anger turns to sadness.

You're already pressing Tasha's number in your contacts before you can fully collect your thoughts.

"What is it? Did you go in?"

"There's a car in his driveway," you hiss through your teeth, feeling the tears spring to your eyes again, your hand coming up to cover your mouth, "She stayed the fucking night, Tasha. He fucking slept with her."

"You don't know that," Tasha replies quickly, calmly, already trying to calm you down, "Maybe it's his, maybe he has another car."

"He doesn't have another car, Tasha," your voice is stoic despite the lump in your throat, "He has his truck and that's it. Joel Miller doesn't drive a purple fucking convertible."

"A purple convertible?" Tasha repeats, voice faltering now, processing the information, "Jesus Christ."

You stare at the driveway, at the car in question - you're still a few houses down so it's hard to see any specific details, but you're sure you can make out a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror inside. This is definitely not Joel's vehicle by any means. Your stomach is in knots, unsure what the fuck you're supposed to do now; you'd thought briefly of the possibility that he'd slept with her, and up until this moment you'd been prepared to hear him admit it to you. But you hadn't expected it to really be true, to almost come face to face with the woman herself.

"I don't understand," Tasha suddenly says on the other line, "He knows you're coming for your lesson, why the fuck would he still have her in the house?"

"I don't know," your voice is almost a whisper, thick with sadness and disbelief, "I- oh shit." You cut yourself off and sink deep into your front seat when you catch the front door of his house opening, eyes going wide as you watch two figures emerge out onto the front step.

"What's happening?" Tasha asks frantically - you can practically hear her pacing on the other end, "Talk to me!"

"They're coming out!" you hiss, "They're on the fucking front step."

"Oh, honey, you gotta leave. You're not gonna wanna see this, you need to just turn around and come back," her voice is full of disappointment, anger that mirrors your own, "I'm serious, this is just-"

"Shhh," you peer over the dashboard at them, squinting against the sun. You can make out Joel's broad back in the early morning light, can recognize one of his band t-shirts and his signature bedhead, pointing in all directions. You can see him, but it's difficult to make out the figure he's with, his body blocking her almost entirely from you. "I think she's leaving."

You watch with a mix of rage and horror as he suddenly leans down and wraps his arms around her, her own winding around his broad form as her hands interlock together behind his back. Your eyebrows raise in confusion, mouth dropping open.

"It's not the same woman," you whisper.

"What do you mean it's not the same woman?"

"Literally that," you breathe, shaking your head and feeling a few tears begin to make their way down your cheeks, "It's not the one from last night, it's someone else."

"How do you know?"

"Because the woman last night was black and this girl isn't, I can see her arms," you snap, a sob threatening to burst its way past your lips, "And this one's shorter, he has to bend down to hug her."

"To hug her?!" Tasha echoes, "What the fuck?"

You watch as they separate from one another, watch with rage burning in your chest as she walks down the steps toward her car. You can see her better now, get a good look at her in the few seconds it takes her to reach the driver's side door. She's wearing a pink dress, frilled at the bottom with a pair of white sandals - she looks young. You're already redacting your prior statement about her not being black - now that she's properly in view, you can see the brown softness of her skin, her afro textured hair plaited neatly into two rows. But it's not the same woman.

"So, what, he had two girls in one night? Is that what you're telling me?" Tasha is saying in your ear while you continue to stare at the woman, watch her open the car door and climb inside with one last wave to Joel, "Hello?"

"I - I don't know. I'm-" you watch Joel wave to her and then head back inside the house, presumably to wait for you to arrive. Your stomach is tight and painful, bile in your throat all over again. "You were right," you whisper, tears cascading down onto your bare legs, "I didn't need to see this."

--

So much for not crying anymore.

You're back on the couch again, wrapped up like a burrito staring at the wall while Tasha paces back and forth around the living room in front of you, talking a mile a minute.

"It was a whole different story when it was just the one girl," she's ranting, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed in anger, "But two? Two girls. In one fucking night. And one of them is half his age," she scoffs, almost a growl, "So what, he just does this in his spare time? Fucks around with girls' hearts and bodies and then acts like some tough, macho contractor with a busy schedule? Please."

You don't need to remind her that you're also half his age - you know she'd come up with a reason why you're different, why you're the exception. And you do appreciate that, but the more she talks the more you're starting to realize that maybe that's never been the case. Maybe you weren't some beautiful coincidence that wandered into Joel's life - maybe he's been doing this for a long time.

Your gaze follows her as she walks around, pacing the same circle over and over again around the coffee table; it's typical Tasha - you've seen her do this on numerous occasions before, but never on your behalf. Your phone suddenly vibrates on the table and your heads both snap toward it, plunging the room into silence. You already know it's him - who else would be texting you this early? You reach over and unlock it, eyes scanning the message:

Where are you?

"He's wondering why I haven't shown up," you say quietly, voice still hoarse from all the crying.

"What a fucking prick. Do not reply," she resumes her pacing, "Two girls the night before he's supposed to have a date with you. Who does that? Who actually does that? Men, that's who. Men do that. I'm swearing off them forever after this. Seriously, I mean it. What the fuck."

You appreciate her concern, appreciate that she's no longer arguing on Joel's behalf, but her words cut you deep regardless. The whole situation still feels surreal. How is it that just over twenty four hours ago he was kissing you softly, sweetly, peering at you with those beautiful brown eyes and telling you he had something special planned for your lesson? What had he wanted to try, a fucking threesome?

"I don't know him at all," you whisper softly, sadly, "I never did. He's a stranger. A complete stranger who I was stupid enough to trust."

Your words seem to touch something in Tasha. She stops her pacing, slowly turns toward you with that empathetic look again and then carefully steps toward the couch, sitting down on the end.

"He just... he was there," you continue, lip trembling, "My parents were being so controlling and I was literally thinking about just... just leaving, finding some way to get back to campus without them knowing and then I heard that fucking guitar and-" you hiccup through a sob, clutching your hand to your chest, "I should've known then. I should've just kept walking. He asked me to come in, Tasha. He wanted to fuck me, then and there. And when I said no I guess I... I became some sort of challenge. Just a stupid, naïve little Catholic girl he could fuck and dump. And I fell for it, hook line and sinker."

She places a hand on your calf, just like she had last night, stroking gently up and down, "You're not stupid," she murmurs, "You're just a girl. A girl experiencing something really special for the first time. And I'm sorry he took that experience from you."

You manage to smile at her, soft and sincere. Despite everything, it feels good to have a friend, to not be alone when you're feeling like this. To be validated and comforted. You have no idea how you'd be processing all of this without Tasha by your side, if you'd have even been able to leave your bed this morning.

"This is so not what I wanted this weekend to be," she suddenly sighs, putting her head in her hands, "I wanted you to have fun, be free. And here you are feeling like shit about yourself. It's not fair."

She's right. It's not fair.

You take a deep breath, then carefully pry yourself out from underneath your blanket, rolling off the couch and coming to stand in front of Tasha with a determined expression on your face.

"You didn't dress me to the nines just for me to cry and feel sorry for myself on the couch," you say confidently, doing your best to wipe away your tears without completely smearing away Tasha's hard work, "I don't wanna think about Joel anymore. I don't wanna cry about Joel anymore. You know what I wanna do?"

She looks up at you, a grin slowly spreading across her face, "Go have fun and be free?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

--

You never thought you'd be the kind of person to go day drinking, but here you are. Tasha had fixed your makeup and then gotten all dolled up herself, ready for a whole day of doing exactly what you'd both set out to do this weekend: have fun.

Your first stop is a little bistro within walking distance of the Airbnb; you already know that neither of you will be fit to drive by the time this is all over, so you stick to places that are relatively close to the house. As you sip your cocktails and dig into a plate of sandwiches, Tasha informs you that she'd purposely booked this house in particular because of its proximity to the local club scene - you're not surprised in the slightest.

Your phone vibrates a few times while you're eating but you don't check it, forcing yourself to avoid reading anything else Joel has to say to you. It's only when it actually rings, two cocktails deep and plate empty, that you briefly consider picking it up.

"Nope," Tasha says, grabbing the phone from you and canceling the call before you can answer, "No more Joel today, we agreed."

"No more Joel," you repeat, nodding. You let her slip your phone into her own purse after putting it on silent - you know she'll keep it safe, and you know it's for the best.

--

You spend the majority of the afternoon popping in and out of local bars and boutiques, shopping and chatting to your hearts content as your body adjusts to the constant thrum of alcohol running through your system, making your head a bit foggy in the best way. It's like nothing really matters except this moment, right now, the beat of live music here and there as the sun gets lower in the sky, the conversations drifting past, the smell of food wafting out of restaurants. Tasha is a constant presence at your side, arm linked with yours as she dishes on all the drama of her life you've missed thus far this summer.

You don't think about Joel.

It's obvious throughout your little adventures throughout the day that people - particularly men - gravitate to Tasha very easily. You're not sure if it's simply because of how gorgeous she is - all curves and plump lips and dark curls down to her waist, purple cowboy hat askew above her perfectly applied makeup - or because she's simply a light. She's so bubbly and completely herself, smiling and laughing and dancing, never apologetic or ashamed. It feels good to have a girl like that in your corner, helping you out of your shell, only wanting what's best for you.

You realize as the day passes that you're beginning to mimic her behavior a bit. Whether it's due to the alcohol or your admiration for her, you're not sure, but either way you can feel yourself loosening up, allowing yourself to be more uninhibited, less insecure, not caring if people are looking at you. And people are definitely starting to look at you.

"Dude over there is staring at you," Tasha says quietly to you as you sip margaritas on the back deck of a country bar. You're now wearing her cowboy hat, stolen it after what can only be described as a predictable turn of events where she'd rode the mechanical bull and lost it in one particularly hard buck. You'd picked it up off the floor and placed it on your head, laughing hysterically as the bull threatened to launch Tasha across the room.

"Where?" your eyes go wide as you take a long sip, waiting for her to point him out. She nods at something behind you and you do your best to slowly turn around, not wanting to be too obvious. In your drunken state, however, it's not very smooth. You almost topple off the chair as you spin in place to find who she's talking about.

Through your laughter you spot him. Typical young Texan - floppy blonde hair and a strong jawline, sun-kissed skin and a white smile that practically glimmers against the sunset. He nods to you when he sees you looking, tilts his head to the side a bit and winks.

You turn back to Tasha, shaking your head, "He is not looking at me," you feel your skin heating up, not just from the alcohol, "There's no way."

"He is looking at you," Tasha reiterates, placing her empty glass down on the table, "You're fucking hot."

Your mind can't help but flash back to freshman year, that godforsaken party when another boy with a similar appearance had looked your way. The hope you'd felt, the desire, the confidence... all of it fading when he approached and chose your friend to talk to instead, not even bothering to glance your way despite standing right there beside her. You can't help but worry that it's happening all over again.

But then you hear a deep voice behind you, southern and sexy: "Pardon me, but I just had to tell you, I think you're the prettiest girl I ever saw."

Your eyes widen and you spin back around, still half expecting him to be talking to Tasha, not you, but his green eyes connect with yours instead. His gaze holds you there, your lips parting with no words coming out as you stare up at him in shock.

"She was just telling me that you're not so bad yourself," Tasha offers with a smile, nudging you under the table with her heel, "Right?"

"R-right," you manage to stammer out, still staring open-mouthed at this gorgeous specimen that has somehow decided that you're the girl he wants to talk to right now. The prettiest girl he ever saw.

He smiles at that, toothy and beautiful, "I'm Noah," he puts his hand out for you to take and you do, grasping it tightly and trying to hold on to the reality of this moment, the way his soft skin feels against yours, the way your brain is buzzing with amazement - and tequila.

Tasha's foot hits your ankle again and you quickly splutter out your name, releasing his hand and awkwardly placing yours back in your lap. You feel the bare skin of your thigh and you're suddenly hyperaware of how exposed you are right now - this dress certainly doesn't leave much up to the imagination. Your thighs and breasts are practically spilling out of it, pink material clinging to your body. But he isn't looking at any of that - he's looking at your face.

"It's real nice to meet you," he says with another smile, "Can I buy you a drink?" he suddenly looks at Tasha, like he's only just remembered she's sitting there, "And one for your friend too, of course."

"She'd love one," Tasha answers for you, nudging her arm against yours gently, "We'll both have another margarita."

Noah nods once, sets his gaze to your face again with a smile, then disappears inside the bar to go order the drinks.

The second he's gone it's like you're released from some sort of spell he'd put you under. Your heart is suddenly pounding in your chest, breaths coming shorter as you turn to Tasha with utter horror.

"What happened to swearing off all men?" you hiss, brow furrowing.

"Please, Noah isn't a man, he's a boy," she scoffs with a smile, twirling her hair between her fingers, "And I know alllll about boys."

--

You don't know how it happens, somehow lost the plot about halfway into your second margarita, but Noah is going to the club with you.

You are drunk. You know this for a fact. You hadn't been expecting to already feel this fucked up upon setting foot in the club but here you are, Tasha on one arm and Noah on the other. Tasha's had just as much to drink as you but doesn't seem anywhere near as intoxicated as you feel, continuing to be her excitable self when the bass drops and the neon lights start to dance across her skin. She's stolen back her cowboy hat but you've somehow gained your own - you think it might be Noah's.

"LET'S DANCE!" she screeches, pulling you away from Noah and dragging you onto the dance floor. You watch with slightly blurred vision as he goes in the opposite direction, toward the bar, probably to order more drinks.

The music is loud, the dance floor full of people, bodies swaying back and forth, people jumping up and down, grinding on one another, screaming conversations over the heavy bass. The lights are bright and it feels like all of your senses have been heightened, like you can feel, taste, see, and hear everything in your immediate vicinity to the utmost degree. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but you can feel it in other places too - your feet, your kneecaps, your skin.

"I FUCKING LOVE THIS SONG!" Tasha screams to you, throwing her hands up in the air and spinning on the spot, smile wide and joyous as she starts to dance, "DANCE WITH ME, COME ON!"

Your senses are overloading but you try your best to match her energy, copy her movements, focus on just this instead of everything else that's going on around you. This is what you've been missing all these years; this is what you've been waiting to experience. Enjoy it. You let your inhibitions flow and just exist in this moment, having fun with your best friend, far away from anyone who would ever judge you for being here. Far away from your parents and your neighbors and Bethany and -

No. You do not think about Joel.

You and Tasha dance to about three songs before she's tugging you away from the dance floor and over to the bar, back to where Noah is leaning with a beer bottle perched against his lips. He smiles when he sees you approaching, gestures to the little mini drinks beside him, small enough to only have about a thumb of liquid in each.

"Shots!" Tasha squeals, clapping her hands together, "Shots, shots, shots!" She picks one up and hands it to you, then grabs her own, "Come on, Noah, do one with us!"

Noah still can't seem to keep his eyes off you, though you've begun to notice that he's no longer just looking at your face anymore. This time his eyes fall to your breasts as he puts down his beer bottle and replaces it with one of the shot glasses, gaze falling down to your legs before finding your eyes again.

You catch a glint of something darker there, something seductive, and as you bring the glass to your lips you're suddenly aware that beneath the alcohol you feel a bit... uneasy.

--

You're fucked up. You're really fucked up.

Tasha doesn't leave your side, something you're extremely grateful for. You're starting to have difficulty seeing straight, even walking is becoming confusing, let alone dancing. You grip Tasha's shoulders tightly on the dance floor as you both sway to the music, unsure exactly how long it's been since you arrived at the club. She's looking at you with hazy eyes, much drunker now than she was earlier, and your very intoxicated brain is wondering if you're actually going to leave at some point or whether you're just stuck here for the rest of eternity.

You can feel Noah against your back. He's grinding against you to the song, hands on your hips as his groin presses firmly into your ass. It's weird, being in a Tasha-Noah sandwich that you didn't really sign up for. You're too drunk to really know what you want, actually. You feel fine having Tasha this close, feel safe in her embrace, but Noah's presence is starting to make you feel a bit uncomfortable.

"I'm really drunk," you slur, but it's too quiet for either Tasha or Noah to hear you. Tasha just nods as if she understands, head tilting back and mouth popping open as another song begins. She mouths something, probably I love this song, something she's said about ten times tonight.

Noah pulls you in closer, almost like he's tugging you away from Tasha, but your voice is too faint under the music for your protests to be heard. His arms come up to wrap around your middle, and you feel the unmistakable shape of his cock dip down between your cheeks through your dress. At first you think maybe it's unintentional, but then he does it again, and again, like he's using your body to get himself off. On the fucking dance floor.

"Let go of me," you breathe, but it's lost to the music. You watch as Tasha gets further away, your arms dropping completely from her shoulders as she turns and starts to spin on the spot, still staring up at the ceiling, unaware of what's happening. "Stop," you mumble, feeling his clothed cock rub against you again, a sensation you're now familiar with but certainly not in this context. And certainly not with someone who isn't Joel Miller.

The thought of Joel is what does it.

"STOP," you practically scream, yanking yourself away from him and taking a few heavy steps back, shaking your head frantically, "DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME."

A few people are turning to look and Noah seems more than embarrassed, hands going up quickly. He's drunk too, you can see it in his face, in his eyes, but you already know he's certainly not the harmless young Texan you thought he was. That feeling of unease earlier sure as hell hadn't been the alcohol talking.

You feel a hand at your waist and you flinch but only for a second, gaze coming to rest on Tasha who's now standing beside you with a look of pure horror on her face.

"What'd he do?" she asks, voice panicked and quick, almost like she's not even drunk anymore, "Are you okay?"

You nod but you can feel tears in your eyes, threatening to spill over at any second. Your ears are ringing like they had last night, but it's different this time, almost like you're underwater as Tasha grips your arm and leads you toward the front of the club, away from the loud music and drunk people. Away from Noah.

"Oh my fucking god, I am so sorry," her voice is shaking with emotion when you get out onto the street, hand holding tight to your arm, "I didn't even notice what he was doing. Jesus fucking Christ," she pulls out her phone and dials the number for a cab - through your bleary eyes you see a few teardrops dribble down the bridge of her nose, "We're going home, I'm so sorry, honey."

"S'okay," you manage to garble out through your tears, flowing heavily now in your drunken state, "It happened really fast."

"Doesn't make it okay," she replies, bringing the phone to her ear.

No, it doesn't.

--

"I want Joel," you whisper through your tears once you're settled in the back seat of the cab, Tasha beside you with her hand resting soothingly on your arm.

"What, honey?" Tasha asks softly, "Say it again, can't hear you."

"I want Joel," you repeat, words slurred as your hands come up to cover your face, "I don't wanna go home. I want Joel."

"We can't go to Joel's," Tasha murmurs, stroking your arm, "It's almost three in the morning, he's asleep."

"I want Joel," you repeat, "I wanna see him."

"I need an address," the cab driver says over his shoulder; he's already started running the meter, "Don't got all night, girls."

Before Tasha can say anything you're spluttering out Joel's address through a sob. Tasha starts to protest but you shake your head furiously, tears scattering everywhere, "I'll just walk," you mumble adamantly, "If you change it I'll just get out and walk."

"But-"

"You owe me," you practically spit, "You owe me after what just happened." You don't mean it, but your brain is nowhere near sober enough to fully realize that. And neither is hers.

She doesn't say anything else.

--

It's very strange being back in your neighborhood not sober. Your mind is still ridiculously fuzzy from the alcohol but part of you is able to acknowledge how crazy it is that you're back here so late at night in such a drunken state, driving through the dark streets while your parents are none the wiser. The cab passes by your house and you find yourself ducking down into the seat, afraid they might see you despite it being almost three o'clock in the morning.

"Can you just keep the meter running?" Tasha asks the cab driver quietly as you approach Joel's house, "I'm not staying, I just wanna make sure she gets in okay and that someone's here to help her."

"You're not coming in," you mutter, voice still slurred and heavy. You don't look at her as you say it.

"I'll just wait in the car for a few minutes then," she says quietly, just as the cab comes to a stop in Joel's driveway.

His truck is here, just like this morning. Except this time there's no purple convertible blocking him in, no other woman standing on the front step hugging him, waving to him.

Anger rises in your chest at the memory.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Tasha says softly - what happened earlier has clearly sobered her up, almost no trace of drunkenness in her speech, "He's asleep, there aren't any lights on."

"Then I'll wake him up," you mumble, opening the car door and stepping out into the cool night air.

"I'll wait here for a few-," she calls out to you but you slam the door before she can finish her sentence.

You're not sure why you're suddenly being so mean to her. That is, until you stagger up Joel's front steps and feel even more rage bubbling inside you at the thought of standing where he'd stood this morning, where she'd stood this morning. Where the woman from the bar had probably stood too. Oh. You're an angry drunk.

Without any hesitation you push down on the doorbell. You don't bother to wait in silence; you just keep pushing it and pushing it over and over, hearing the dull sound of the bell dinging inside the house. You're vaguely aware of a light being turned on behind the frosted glass as you lean your hand against the door, suddenly feeling dizzy now that you're standing again.

The door opens and you practically fall through it, squinting against the sudden bright light and bringing your hands up to your face as you stagger inside. You feel someone catch you, big hands coming to rest atop both of your arms, and then your name being said in a deep voice, husky with sleep.

Joel.

"Are you okay?" he asks somewhere above you; your ears are ringing again and his voice is loud and muffled, that underwater feeling coming back. You try to mumble something but it comes out an incoherent garble.

You feel him pull you inside, hear the door shut behind you as he kicks it closed with his foot. He guides you inside the living room and your eyes shut tightly against the brightness of the overhead light, shining down on top of you like a spotlight.

"Too bright," you manage to mumble out, bringing your hands up to cover your face. You find yourself being seated on the couch before the light is switched off, plunging you both into total darkness.

"Baby, what happened?" you hear him ask, voice still swimming thickly through your muted ears, "I've been so fuckin' worried about you, where've you been? Where'd you go?" you feel his hands take yours, gripping them tightly. They're so rough and callused, nothing at all like Noah's, and it makes you smile.

"Feels nice," you mutter, already forgetting what he asked you.

"What'd you take?" he asks, and you suddenly realize that there's a very frantic edge to his voice, thick with worry and... fear? "Huh? Tell me what you took so I can help."

"D-didn't take anything," you hiccup, shaking your head slowly.

"Christ, babygirl," he mutters, squeezing your hands again, "Where were you? I called you so many times, I texted you, I-"

"Tasha's got my phone," you mumble.

"Where's Tasha? She alright?"

"In the cab."

"Jesus," he releases your hand and stands up, turns on a dim lamp in the corner of the room so you're not in total darkness anymore. You watch with hooded eyes as he opens the front door again, walks out onto the step and starts gesturing something into the darkness. He looks ridiculous, waving his arms like that - it makes you giggle.

He turns around and walks back over to you with long strides. You can see his face more clearly now, expression lined with worry. He looks tired. He probably is.

"Just wanted you," you mutter, staring at him.

Before he can say anything Tasha is suddenly walking in through the door, expression stoic as she passes the threshold. She avoids Joel's gaze completely, looking only at you.

"What the fuck happened?" Joel asks her, any sort of introductory pleasantries gone out the window, "Where's she been? What'd she take?"

"Nice to meet you too," Tasha grumbles, hitching her purse over her shoulder and walking over to where you sit on the couch, "She's fine, we went clubbing and she got drunk. I'll take her back."

"No you fuckin' won't," he says indignantly, moving to stand directly in front of you with his arms crossed, "How could you let this happen to her? She's never done shit like this before, you know that right? She's never been drunk in her fuckin' life and you bring her back like this? You ever heard of takin' it fuckin' slow?"

"Oh please, like I'm gonna take advice from you," she snaps back, walking around him and reaching down to take your hand, "Come on, honey, we need to go. Now."

"She's not goin' with you, she's stayin' here," his voice is loud, louder than you've ever heard it. In fact, you don't think you've ever seen him mad before. It's strange, seeing the way his eyes narrow, his mouth downturned into an angry frown, fists tight against his chest.

"I only brought her here because she said she'd jump out and walk if I didn't," Tasha argues, voice firm, "She's safe with me."

"Safe, huh?" he scoffs, "So why the fuck do you have her phone? Do you know how many times I've tried to call her in the past fuckin' twelve hours? I was this close to callin' the fuckin' police."

"If anyone here needs the fucking police called on them it's you," Tasha's voice is louder now, every word echoing in your brain, "Fucking creep."

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

Your drunken brain can't process much of what's going on at all, both Tasha and Joel's voices blending into one constant loud noise. You bring your hands up to your head and cover your ears, though it can only do so much to block out their voices. What they're saying still manages to come through, albeit muffled and distant.

"You heard what I said. Fucking. Creep." Tasha repeats, "She knows what you've been doing, you asshole."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?"

"What, don't have the balls to admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"Stop," you say loudly, bringing your hands down from your ears, "Stop yelling, you're hurting my head."

Joel crouches down, picks up your hands and takes them in his again, peering into your eyes. You can't see him properly anymore and you hate it, can only make out bits and pieces as your eyesight just continues to get worse the longer you sit here. You feel sleepy, almost like you're on the edge of unconsciousness.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, thumbs stroking yours gently, "I'm sorry, babygirl. I'll stop yellin'."

You close your eyes, nodding and breathing deeply in and out, loving the feeling of having him touching you again. It's almost like last night didn't happen, like this morning didn't happen.

Last night. This morning.

You suddenly yank your hands away from him, eyes going wide as you remember exactly why you're even here in the first place, why you wanted to get fucked up to begin with. His face comes back into view again, expression confused.

"I know what you've been doing," you hiss, echoing Tasha's words and scooting away from him. You reach your hand up for her to take and she grips it tightly, helping you get up.

"Babygirl," he says softly, brown eyes tender and soft as he eases himself up from the floor, "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"We saw you," Tasha says then, linking her arm with yours, "At the bar last night." She means business now, you can hear it in her voice, "We saw you kiss someone else."

His expression changes instantly. Worry, anger, concern... all of it gone in a single second.

"That's what I thought," Tasha says firmly, then carefully eases you out of the living room, walks with you as far as the porch before you hear Joel speak.

His voice is quiet, shaky, "It's not what you think."

"Then what is it, exactly?" Tasha turns then, rounding on him again while you cling to her arm, "You're not playing her? You didn't waste weeks of her life making her feel special only for it to turn out you're just like the rest of them?"

He doesn't say anything and you can't bring yourself to look at him, heart in your throat and tears in your eyes once again as you stare at the hardwood floor.

"I didn't... that's not what..." he finally breathes, "It's not what you think. That's all I can say."

"That's all you can say?"

"Well, I can hardly fuckin' explain myself when she won't remember it, can I?" his voice is raw, hitching on the last few words, "Nothin'... nothin' happened other than some kissin'. It didn't go any further, I swear."

"And I'm just supposed to believe you?"

"I'm not askin' you to believe me," he breathes, "But that's the truth. That's the fuckin' truth, swear on my life."

"And what about the girl she saw leaving this morning?"

He's quiet again for a moment. You're still afraid to look at him, can barely even comprehend that this conversation is even really happening right now.

"That was - Jesus, I never wanted you to find out like this," he mutters, and Tasha laughs without humor.

"Yeah, you thought it'd just stay your little secret, huh?" It's hard to believe she's had just as much to drink as you have tonight - you wouldn't know it by the way she handles herself now, the way she speaks to Joel like she already knows him. She's done this before. She's no stranger to confronting men who did her wrong, or in this case, her friend.

"That was my daughter," he says softly.

Tasha freezes.

The words do their best to seep into your skin, to make their way into the sober depths of your brain that lie dormant, somewhere hidden. You still feel so fuzzy, bleary eyed and heavy and confused, but the words register somehow.

You slowly unhook your arm from Tasha's to finally look up from the floor, moving your gaze to Joel's still form. He's standing there by the couch, arms still crossed across his chest but not angry anymore, a look of pure sadness and shame on his face. He looks small.

"Y-you have a daughter?" you whisper.

"Yes," he replies softly, eyes slowly lifting to meeting yours, "And the woman at the bar, that was her mother. My ex wife." You see tears shining in his eyes, watch as his lip trembles as he softly whispers, "And I swear - I swear it never went further than some kisses. And it won't go any further than that ever again."

You feel Tasha reach down and squeeze your hand. What she's trying to communicate to you, you're not sure. You just stand there staring at him, unable to process this information in your current state, head swimming and ears still ringing.

"I'll tell you everything," he continues quietly, taking a slow step toward you, "When you're feelin' better, I swear. Anythin' you wanna know, I'll tell you." He takes another few steps until he's standing directly in front of you and Tasha, leaning down so he can peer directly into your eyes, "I'm so sorry it happened this way," he whispers, "I never thought - Jesus, I'm just so fuckin' sorry."

You swallow tightly around the lump in your throat, completely unsure of how you feel, of what you're supposed to say or do. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is computing properly.

"You need to take her home," he murmurs, pulling back and turning his attention to Tasha, "Look, I'm sorry for-"

"No, I'm sorry," she suddenly breathes, "I was- wow, that's... I mean, I wasn't expecting that. I'm sorry. I just, I thought-"

"It's okay," he replies, voice still a bit stiff, "Just get her back safe, okay? She's-" he cuts himself off to look at you again, eyes peering down at you sadly. "She's special."

Tasha nods, "I know she is."

The last thing you remember, the last thing that's at least semi-clear in your mind, is the soft look of affection on his face as he stands on his doorstep and watches you go.

--

You're not sure exactly what time it is when you wake up on Sunday. The only thing you're sure of is that your head is pounding and the sun streaming through the window is only making it worse. You roll over in bed and press your face into the pillow with a low moan.

You're never drinking that much ever again.

There's movement beside you and you open your eyes briefly to see Tasha laying in a similar position, still in her dress from yesterday, face smooshed into her own pillow. You can't remember how you got back, memories extremely hazy and shrouded completely in too much alcohol. The last thing you can remember is being at Joel's house, of the brief conversation he had with Tasha, the words he'd said to you...

My ex wife.

It never went further than some kisses.

That was my daughter.

Now that your brain isn't under the influence, you can finally think straight, can finally process everything he said to you last night. Or at least what you can remember. You roll over again with another moan, sensing nausea in the pit of your stomach.

"The hangover is the worst part," Tasha mumbles, and you turn your head to see her looking at you through messy mascara, smudged and smeared all over her eyes, "But you'll be okay."

You stare at her for a few seconds, everything else from the night before slowly coming back to you in bits and pieces. The club, Noah, the way you'd snapped at her...

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, "Tasha, I was so fucking mean to you."

The part of her lips that you can see curve upward into a smile and she shakes her head slowly, "It's all water under the bridge, babe," she murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep, "You had every right."

"No, I didn't. That stuff with Noah, that wasn't your fault."

"I should've known better than to invite him along," she sighs deeply, "I just wanted you to have fun, you know? I wanted you to forget about..." she trails off, biting her lip.

"I know," you breathe, "And I did, for a while. You couldn't have known about Noah, he certainly had me fooled."

She nods, closing her eyes and nuzzling the pillow a bit. You both lay there in silence, the elephant in the room growing bigger and bigger the longer you go without talking about it.

"So, Joel's got a daughter," you finally whisper, "And an ex wife."

She opens her eyes again, raising an eyebrow, "I'm surprised you remember that. You were pretty fucked up."

You wince, "Did I completely embarrass myself?"

"No, not at all," her hand comes up to touch your shoulder gently, thumbing the skin there, "You stood your ground, you did good. And now... now we know the truth."

"The truth," you echo.

More silence. It's like neither of you really knows what to say to the other. You're sure Tasha has already formulated her own opinion, has probably known since last night exactly how she feels about the whole thing. And that scares you a bit - because what if she doesn't feel the same way you do?

And how exactly do you feel about it anyway?

"I think he texted you again a little while ago," she finally says softly, pointing toward your phone on the night stand, "I heard it when I got up to use the bathroom. And there's a lot of texts there from yesterday. He, uh-" she bites her lip, "He was really worried about you, honey."

You reach over and pick up your phone, taking a deep breath before unlocking it and looking at the damage: 9 texts. 18 missed calls.

Shit. You suppose it makes sense. The last time you'd talked to him was on Friday morning in his kitchen, when you'd told him you were planning on going out with Tasha and having a girl's weekend, finally having your college experiences. He hadn't known anything that happened between then and last night, hadn't known you'd seen him at the bar, that you'd gone to his house on Saturday morning and left again, not giving him any explanation as to why you hadn't shown up for your lesson. To him, it had just been complete radio silence.

With a shaky finger you press his name, heart pounding as the unanswered text messages flood your screen. First, the three you've already seen:

Hope you're having a good night, babygirl. You deserve to have some fun. I'll see you tomorrow. Be safe.❤️

You get home ok? Let me know x

Where are you?

And everything else:

???

Hey, I'm worried about you. Give me a call or a text ok?

Please call me.

I'm outta my mind over here baby. Please let me know you're alright.

I'm scared for you. Last I heard you were going out with your friend and then nothing since. Please call.

Just a text is all I need honey. I promise. If you're not feeling this anymore that's okay. Just wanna know you got home safe last night.

I'm so worried about you. I can't sleep. Please call me.

I don't know what to do angel. Can't stop thinking about you. Wish you were here in my arms. Please be safe.

Please.

The most recent text was sent this morning, around ten:

I'm so sorry. Words can't even describe how fucking ashamed and embarrassed I am. I can't imagine how horrible that must have been for you. I understand if you don't want to see me anymore, but I want to tell you everything, if you'll let me. I hope you're feeling okay today, angel. Drink lots of water, stay with Tasha. Text me whenever you're ready.

"Did you read these?" you ask Tasha softly, eyes unmoving from the last text, scanning the words over and over.

"No," she replies, "Just saw the notifications."

You scroll back up and read them again, and again, like you'll somehow be able to rewind time if you just keep reading them. You can't believe there's this many, can't believe that the man who'd been so distant the past week is the same man who sent you all of these.

The same man with a whole other life he never told you about.

"What do I do?" you whisper.

Tasha sighs, then carefully pulls herself up to lean against the headboard, crossing her legs and looking over at you, "What do you wanna do?"

You lock your phone again and sit up beside her, exhaling deeply, "I don't know."

You both sit there in silence for a few moments, lost in thought. You can't explain it but you feel nowhere near as betrayed or angry as you'd felt yesterday. Rage is no longer present - and neither is sadness. The only way you can describe how you feel is... relieved.

"He has a daughter and an ex wife," you state.

"He does."

"He has a daughter and an ex wife," somehow saying it again makes it feel more real, but the words still don't trigger any strong emotions. You sigh and look at Tasha, urging her to say something else.

"So, other than that, what's changed?" she asks.

You bite your lip and turn away from her again, shrugging your shoulders slowly, "I mean, that's... that's a lot."

"It is," she agrees softly, "It is a lot."

You swallow, fingers playing with the edge of your dress, reminding you that you're still wearing the same outfit from yesterday. God, you need a shower. You need to wash this entire experience off of you.

"You remember where we landed Friday night?" Tasha asks suddenly, "We talked about the possibility of him kissing someone else and we agreed that communication was the way to go, right?"

"That was before we knew he had a daughter and an ex wife, Tasha."

"Yeah, well... now we do know. And we know he's willing to talk to you about it," she twists her mouth in thought, "So do you wanna talk to him about it?"

"...I don't know."

She suddenly eases herself off the bed, stretching her arms above her head and yawning loudly. You watch as she assesses her pillow, grimaces at the dark makeup stains on the white cotton.

"I'm scared," you admit softly, avoiding her gaze.

"What are you scared of?"

You don't know how to answer that, biting your lip and sniffling a bit. You bring your knees up to your chest, hugging them and leaning your face into your warm skin.

"You're falling in love with him, aren't you?" she asks quietly, absolutely no judgement in her voice, "That's it, isn't it? You're really starting to fall and that's why you're scared."

You can't speak, unable to say anything because you know you'll burst into tears if you do. Instead, you nod your head slowly, up and down against your knees.

"Then you gotta talk to him, honey," she kneels down on the bed, places her hand on your shoulder soothingly, "You gotta hear what he has to say."

You groan, bringing your hands up to cover your face as you stretch out your legs again, turning on the bed and scooching downward to smoosh your face back into the pillow.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Tasha murmurs softly, "I feel disgusting."

"Welcome to the club," you mumble into the pillow.

You're vaguely aware of Tasha moving around you, grabbing things from the nightstand and puttering around the room as she gets ready for her shower. You sense her standing close to you for a bit longer than necessary, like she's just staring at you without really knowing what to say. With a roll of your eyes you turn to face her, and you catch the briefest moment that she places your phone back down on the nightstand.

Your brow furrows, "What are you doing with my phone?"

"Nothing," she says quickly, turning around and leaving the room without another word.

--

You fall back to sleep without meaning to, and when you wake again, it's only because you hear someone talking in the other room, someone with a deep voice. Tasha must be watching a movie. You curl in on yourself a bit, rubbing your eyes and wincing when you feel the makeup smudge across your face. You really should get up and shower.

You suddenly hear footsteps in the hallway, getting closer. But there's something different about them, something heavy in the way they sound against the floorboards.

The door opens and there's just silence for a few seconds, no movement. Then the footsteps return, closer now, slow and unsure.

You know it's him before his weight sinks into the bed.

Oh, Tasha. Of course you did.

You close your eyes as you feel his arms snake around you from behind. You allow him to pull you in close, feel his nose against the back of your neck, his scruff against your shoulder. He smells like his cologne, feels warm and solid against your back, the denim of his jeans brushing against your bare legs.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.

You immediately turn within his embrace, coming face to face with the man who you've spent the past twenty four hours hating, being angry at, feeling betrayed by - he's looking at you with a tenderness you can't describe, lips downturned into a soft frown that says everything. He's upset. He's ashamed. He's sorry.

"Why did you kiss her?" you whisper.

He takes a breath, "We have this... arrangement," he murmurs, "We've had it for years. Whenever she's in town - which isn't very often, maybe once every three years or so - we sleep together. It's been goin' on for over twenty years now, it's just.. it's just what we do."

You nod slowly, eyes falling to his mouth and then back to his eyes, "But you didn't this time."

"We didn't," he breathes, "I swear to you, we didn't. We went back to my place, we... we were kissin'," he winces but doesn't close his eyes, keeping his gaze on you, "I.. I went to grab a condom out of my bedside table before things got heavy and I-" he cuts himself off, taking another breath.

"What?"

You watch as he reaches down into his pocket, fishes something out. He brings his hand up and extends his fingers, shows you what's sitting in the palm of his hand.

Your crucifix.

"I saw this," he breathes, "And all of a sudden, I just... I just knew I couldn't."

You stare at the gold cross, watch it glint in the sunlight still cascading through the windows. His breath hitches and your gaze goes back to his face, the lines and wrinkles and grey whiskers, his soft brown eyes and curved nose.

"I understand if you can't forgive me," he whispers, tears shining in his eyes, "I don't expect you to, but I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry that I did."

He closes his fist around the crucifix again and slowly brings it downward to your own hand, urging you to open it. He slips the chain past your fingers, goes to pull his hand away, but you stop him. You grip his hand tightly, the cross digging into both of your palms.

"We never established anything," you whisper softly, "We... we've never said that we're anything. It's just been sex."

He doesn't say anything, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks as he waits for you to speak again. He's so handsome, so unreal in a way that doesn't make sense to you, and probably never will.

"I wanna be yours," you breathe, meeting his gaze, "I don't want you to be with anyone else."

He leans forward to gently brush his nose to yours, eyes closing as he breathes deeply, the tears spilling over onto his cheeks.

"Okay," he whispers.

You know there's more for him to explain, so many more details you don't have yet that you do want to know. But in this moment, you don't care about any of it. You just want him.

It doesn't take long for you both to be completely undressed, clothes tossed over the sides of the bed as your naked bodies press warmly up against each other, soft and eager. He presses kisses to your neck, breathes you in, runs his fingers through your hair as he hovers above you with absolute need in his eyes, a look you're sure mirrors your own.

He knows you're still not ready without you having to say it. Knows this isn't the right time. There's no need for any words of reassurance or any questions. He knows what you need. You know what he needs.

His cock moves firmly down against your tummy beneath the sheets, his shaft settling perfectly against your pussy, already wet and aching for him like it had been the second he walked into the room. He puts both hands above your head, leans down to kiss you as he drags himself up and down within your folds, up and down, up and down.

It feels incredible, just having the thick length of him rubbing back and forth against your clit, the wide head catching at your entrance every now and then, eliciting a deep groan from Joel and soft whimpers from you. You grip his back tightly, broad and firm and yours, fingertips digging into his skin as he fucks himself against you.

"Feels so good," you whisper in his ear, voice trembling with every thrust, "Feels so good, Joel."

"I know it does, babygirl," he whispers, kissing your ear and grinding himself against you even deeper, moving his hands down to grip your hips as his cock continues to slip back and forth against your folds, "You're so sensitive, aren't you? That big cock feels so good against your little pussy, hm?"

You nod frantically, arms moving up a bit to wrap around his neck, your cheek brushing against his.

"You want a bit of my cock inside your hole, baby?" he whispers softly, secretly, pushing your hair away from your face, "Huh? You want the tip, honey? Just a little bit?"

You don't even have to think.

"Yes," you moan, "Yes, please, put it in, please."

"Okay, baby," he murmurs, pulling back a bit to look down at the mess you're making together, reaching his hand down to position his cock at your entrance, "Just the tip, babygirl, I won't go any further than that. Don't be scared."

"I'm not scared," you breathe, and you absolutely mean it, looking up at him with what you're sure is a completely wrecked expression, "I want it, Joel. Please."

He places the head of his cock against your hole gently, very gently. Then he takes your hands from around his neck and holds them in his, presses them up against his chest as he looks deep into your eyes. You look back, gaze never leaving his as he slowly pushes himself inside you - just the tip.

You gasp.

"Shhh," he breathes, squeezing your hands and continuing to peer into your eyes, never breaking eye contact, "Shhh, you're okay," he murmurs, "You're okay, angel."

You lay completely still, lips parting and eyes going hazy as you focus all your energy on experiencing this moment, on feeling the way the head of Joel's cock feels inside of you. It's pulsing, warm and wide and big inside your pussy, throbbing against your walls.

It feels fucking amazing.

"Joel," you whimper, eyes still locked completely on his.

"You're mine," he breathes, jaw tense and eyes alight with something you can only describe as pure passion, "You hear me? You're the only one I want. Don't want anyone else, baby. Nobody."

You nod desperately, thighs shaking as the fat head of his cock pushes inside just a little more, making you squirm. He stills his hips, still holding your hands against his warm chest.

"Look at us," he murmurs, "Just look."

Your gaze finally unlocks from his, eyes trailing downward to where you're connected, where the thick length of his cock juts out from between your legs. You rise a bit on the bed, whimpering as you look down at exactly where he sits inside of you, wet and dark and filthy and fucking beautiful.

"You can take all of me," he whispers, "I know you can, babygirl. But not now, not here."

"I know," you breathe, swallowing and looking up at him again with tears filling your eyes.

He pulls himself out of you then, places his thick and throbbing shaft against your pussy again and begins to thrust, moving downward so he's pressed up tightly against you, your hands caught between each other's bodies, the crucifix still hanging between your fingers.

"I'm gonna take you away with me, okay?" he says, almost a whimper as he stares into your eyes again, intense and focused, "We're gonna go away and I'm gonna tell you everything you wanna know about me, alright? And I'm gonna fuck you, baby. I'm gonna fuck you so good."

You're nodding as he speaks, whimpers and whines flowing continuously from your mouth as you near closer and closer to your orgasm, that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach growing stronger.

"I'll fuck you in the bed, I'll fuck you in the shower, I'll fuck you on the fucking floor," he groans, eyes suddenly shutting and breaking the eye contact he'd managed to hold for so long, his face coming down to bury itself in your neck, "You're mine, angel, you're mine."

"I'm yours," you cry as your climax hits you, knocks the wind out of you as you start to shake beneath him, your hole fluttering against the length of him, "I'm yours, Joel, only yours."

You feel his come hit your stomach, painting your skin as he releases a deep groan into your ear and puts his entire body weight on top of you. You just close your eyes and feel him, exist in this moment for as long as you can, just listening to his breathing match your own as you both come down from your high.

He nuzzles his face against the heat of your neck, squeezes your hand in his between your bodies. The crucifix digs into your palm but you barely feel it.

"I want you to keep it," you whisper in his ear, and he doesn't have to ask what you're talking about, just presses a soft kiss to your neck and finally pulls back to peer down at you with total adoration.

"Okay," he murmurs with a soft smile, "I will."

[acourtofthought]

It doesn't bother you that Lucien is friends with the man who joked about his mate getting raped? Interesting take....

I want you to do something for me since you decided to come to my page and ask for MY opinion.

I want you to set aside your own personal agenda and really think about what I'm saying.

I get it, we all have lived different lives and are triggered by different things. In real life, SA is not a joking matter, it's not appropriate, it's not something to giggle about between friends. I never returned to a job the day after a boss corned me and inappropriately touched me and I felt too uncomfortable to speak up since he owned the company. I was inappropriately touched by a neighbor when I was around 9 years old, someone who allowed me to stop by and play with his two dogs since I loved pets so much. I consider myself lucky because neither scenario escalated to what others have dealt with but those scenarios still give me enough empathy to realize the fear of being put in a position where you feel helpless against someone bigger, stronger and who holds power over you.

But the ACOTAR series is not what happened to me or anyone else no matter how many parallels or connections some find. It's fantasy fiction and in fantasy fiction (whether you agree with it or not), things that are serious in the real world are never given the same weight as in the book. Take murder, torture, and using others as pawns for example. These things are done by the main cast of character and nobody bats an eye. In fact, the fandom applauds them for it, turns them into sex symbols for it. Azriel literally tortures people yet many are more interested in the size of his wingspan than the things he's done to people who are unarmed in his torture room. Since Jurian's comments are so offensive and unforgivable, how are you comfortable thinking torture is something it's ok for the fandom to turn a blind eye to when it's a hotly debated issue in the real world as it relates to torture of POWs? Since you're sending me this anon I have to take a guess and say you're an e/riel and that means you're fine with torture in books but not fine with SA comments in books though both exist in real life.

Onto your specific question though, how am I fine with Lucien being friends with Jurian after he made those comments.

Simply put, because I'm reading the story the author is telling. Your reading experience seems vastly different from mine because I'm choosing to read the story as it's actually being told whereas you seem to be reading the story you wish was being told based on very specific things that are personal to you.

If I was basing my reading experience on real life morals and things that personally effect me then I could have never gotten behind the Feysand relationship because Rhys did some pretty horrible things to Feyre UTM. He forced her to drink wine she didn't ask for, he put her in clothes she was was uncomfortable wearing, he forced her (while she was drunk) to dance in his lap in a way she was embarrassed to hear about and he coerced her into a bargain she clearly didn't want, going so far as to twist the bone in her arm to force her to agree.

But I'm not basing my reading experience on real world morals, I'm allowing myself to let Sarah take the reins. I'm allowing an author to lead me so I understand what they're telling me (so long as I'm losing myself in this fantasy world) , to shape my mind, to rewrite the rules. The second I step away from my book I am once again a law abiding citizen of this world who understands right and wrong but in the ACOTAR world? I'm just a spectator along for the ride. I forgave Rhys because Sarah wanted me to forgive him, because her explanations were to serve the reasons for his actions.

"Just because Sarah forgave Rhys doesn't mean we have to listen!"

If you've already decided that she's wrong, that you don't have to agree, then you're no longer reading the book as it was intended to be read. And that's fine, feel free to hate on it as much as you want, but it doesn't change the story she's telling. Your personal opinion DOES NOT CHANGE WHAT'S HAPPENING.

It's the same with Jurian. He said / did bad things, we thought he was a villain (just as we did Rhys) until Sarah told us he wasn't. Until the author said, "this is my story and this is the reason for his actions and now he's a good guy strongly connected to the plot and the other good guys in the series". You can feel free to remain stuck in the past, unable to move forward with the series but that's not why I'm here. I want to know the story Sarah is telling, not what nameless faceless person decides I should have an issue with because they have an issue with it. If the author moved forward and the characters no longer have a problem with something that happened way back when then what good is it doing me to remain stuck in past plots? The plot moved forward therefore I move forward. It's honestly as simple as that.

I don't use the ACOTAR novel to teach me how to behave in real life. I use the ACOTAR novel to teach me what is happening with these characters. Therefore when said ACOTAR novel says "Jurian good" I'm going to accept that because that's the journey we're going on. I'm not sure why you take such issue with a reader simply following along with the story that's being told, isn't that the entire point of reading fictional books?

[spiriteddreams]

to the sky, the sun, (and you)

"there is something about you that i will always recognize" — boygenius (we're in love) Pairing: past Neuvillette x Reader, implied current Wriothesley x Reader Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort Word Count: ~0.9k

oh to love someone and fall hard, only to watch it all crumble through your fingers and sink into the ocean along with your heart. oh to love someone with all your heart and feel it be ripped away, only for it to be pieced back in a place you’d least expect to find the sun. 

you find yourself standing as the accused, unfortunately rightfully so, in a plot in which you sought to bring justice to someone wrongfully accused. but where they were wrong, you were right. and the sight of you starting at neuvillette defiantly, head raised, mouth downturned, and eyes cold, forces him to reconsider what does justice really mean. he saw the signs of “betrayal” and yet he turned a blind eye, trying to convince himself that it was just his own paranoia.

his voice is unwavering as he delivers the final verdict that seals your fate. the words are bitter and poison on his tongue, sending a sharp ache to spear through his chest. but nothing will haunt him more than the look you give him on your knees, hands bound behind your back as you stare up at him on the dais. you don’t look at him as you are led away.

and in the fortress of meropide you meet wriothesley whose both surprised and hesitant to find you down there. you, who was an acquantance to him before being cast aside and stripped of all titles and status. but you hardly bat an eye when wriothesley makes an attempt to rile you up. yet he begins to find it fun to try to poke at you. and because there is still some lingering form of courteousness between the two of you, a friendship begins to bloom and he begins to understand why you did what you did. for justice is as cruel as she is blind, and her blade always strikes without remorse. wriothesley learned of it years ago and now he sees the way you try to bandage your own wounds. he takes note of the grimace that crosses your face at the mention of the chief justice, and the way a ghost of a smile seems to flicker across your lips when he catches you staring out into the ocean, as if you could see up to the sky.

time passes as the waves rise and fall, and the lines of friendship begin to blur. it is then that neuvillette decides to come down. he wonders if this feeling in his chest, the one of sinking regret and guilt as he is lowered deeper and deeper into the ocean, is what you felt when you were torn away from the sunlight and rolling green hills that you adored at his side. neuvillette runs through a practiced apology in his head, each step feeling like a balanced step on a tightrope leading towards where you are. and to his horror, he watches from a distance as you sit at the cafeteria, still as bright as ever, and yet you smile as the duke the same way you used to smile at him. and neuvillette wonders how long it’s been since he’s seen you laugh that hard.

he doesn’t make his presence known immediately, but he catches the way your eyes linger on his figure when he goes to meet with the duke. he pauses at the door, hand raised and ready to knock, and casts a glance at where you stand. he wishes you were closer so that he could see what emotions are on your face, but he can barely make out the traces of your features. your expression is blank, and he’s not sure if that’s worse than the look of betrayal on his face that you left to haunt him with.

when he asks to meet with you, wriothesley is hesitant and neuvillette’s chest aches at the way the duke thinks of your own wellbeing before the chief justice’s request. they sit across from each other, conversation locked away to the prying eyes and ears of all others. wriothesely traces the rim of his cup with his finger and it is then that neuveillette notices that the duke has acquired a new piece of jewelry, wrapped around his middle finger. he knows where he’s seen it before, but chooses not to ask. instead he waits as wriothesely chooses his words carefully, and tells neuvillette that if this conversation that he wishes to have with you has nothing to do with “bringing justice” or your case, then it’s not in your best interest to see him again. but neuvillette insists, a hint of desperation just barely slipping into his words. and because he’s the chief justice, his word is law. 

but when wriothesley goes to retrieve you, he can’t help but notice the whispers shared between the two of you. you look at him the way you used to look at the sun and above ground, clouds begin to darken the sky. you haven’t noticed him thus yet, but neuvillette notices the moment that his name comes from wriothesley’s lips, your smile falters. it’s impossible to miss the concerned look wriothesely shoots between you and neuvillette as you both approach. that smile that you offered wriothesely immediately drops when you look to face neuvillette, and justice crumbles beneath his feet.

oh to love someone and fall hard and feel it become swept away by unforgiving waters, to watch as those fragmented pieces of trust and adoration are offered to the hands of another, one who knows how to protect your own heart better than he ever could.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3

[artiststarme]

The Party Forgets Steve's Birthday

Thank you for the prompt @nburkhardt ! I hope it meets your expectations!

Now with a Part 2!

~*~*~*~

Steve was used to being forgotten. His parents regularly left for months at a time without regarding him at all, his old friends at school had only ever seemed to remember him when they wanted to use his house to throw a party, and his own girlfriend conveniently forgot about him when she chose to sleep with the guy that gave him his first concussion. He was well past being surprised when people neglected to think about him. 

So he really shouldn’t have been surprised when everyone forgot his birthday. 

He woke up the morning of his twentieth birthday to an empty house and an even emptier heart. Just like every other day, his parents were off on a business trip ignoring his existence. They hadn’t even left him a message congratulating him on making it to twenty, a feat Steve never thought he would accomplish. The mailbox was just as empty as it always was and it was like Steve didn’t exist to his parents at all. He didn’t know why he expected anything different. He’d been ignored, cast aside by them, his entire life and he still had the gall to expect things to change. 

Steve had a shift at Family Video at 4 until close so he had to change out of his pajamas eventually. But right up until the moment he had to leave, he sulked from the comfortable nest of blankets on his couch. He grieved the loss of love from his parents that, looking back, may have never existed in the first place. 

He also waited for his friends to call. Eddie, Robin, Nancy, or Jonathan had to know it was his birthday today. He’d told them enough times and Robin had called him a “troublesome Taurus” at least once. The older teens may not have enough excitement over just another birthday to come over to his house but surely they would call. But as time marched on, his phone sat silent despite his staring at it. 

Well, he was seeing Robin at work so she was probably just waiting to tell him in person. And maybe the others were throwing a surprise party for him. The Party threw a birthday party for each one of the members on their special day so maybe it was Steve’s turn this year to be introduced to the tradition. After the horrific Spring Break from hell, he thinks he deserved it. 

While the Party was fine now, this encounter with the Upside Down had been their worst yet. Max was in a coma for two weeks before she woke up but the repercussions of Vecna’s mind-melt were permanent. She was now blind and she still hadn’t managed to leave her wheelchair over a month later. 

Eddie was ambushed by demobats and ripped apart even though his job was supposed to be the decoy that was out of danger. Steve had to give him CPR to restart his heart through the shock then had to sprint with him out of the Upside Down and into the nearest car in the Rightside Up, a car that he had to hotwire with Eddie’s minimal guidance. Then they had to clear his name with the police and townspeople that wanted nothing more than the outcast to go down for a crime he didn’t commit. 

And Steve. While his injuries were less severe than the others, his skin would always show the scars from the demobats. His neck was still blemished and his abdomen was sunken where the bats tried to use him as a meal. Mentally, his self-confidence was gone and he had nightmares every night about the feel of the teeth tearing through his flesh. He almost didn’t make it out of there this time which made this birthday all the more special. 

When he walked into the video store for his shift, all of the kids and Eddie were there. Steve had the brief thought that they were probably putting their final touches on the surprise party but that passed quickly once they turned to look at him. 

“Oh look, your esteemed babysitter is here which means he can deal with you. Now, if you don’t mind I’m going to go hang out with other grownups instead of sticking around with you children. Bye now!” Robin told them dramatically, waggling her fingers in their faces. She turned to Steve, “hey Dingus, your children have been trying to rent a rated R film for the past twenty minutes. You deal with that while I go on my date with Vickie. Toodles!”

Steve didn’t even have time to say anything in response before she made her way to the back to clock out and left his sight. He was still watching where she used to be when he heard a throat clear. It was fucking Dustin, of course it was. The little bastard had a smug smirk on his face and wiggled his eyebrows. 

“Gross dude, no. I keep telling you that it's not like that with Robin and I. Get your head out of the gutter,” Steve told him, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“We can see how you look at her! It’s not rocket science, Steve. Just ask out the pretty girl already and stop being a lonely loser,” Dustin told him in a sarcastic tone. The other kids nodded while Eddie left to awkwardly look through the horror aisle full of movies he’d already seen. That fucker knew Robin was a lesbian and was just leaving him to suffer through this alone, on his birthday no less. 

“Look, I’m not talking about this today and I’m not renting you a tape that’s rated R. Is that all you’re here for?” Maybe this was a ruse and they were going to shower him with birthday wishes. 

“Oh come on! Eddie can rent it for us under his name!” Dustin whined. 

“I said no.”

"But-" Dustin started.

“Whatever, let’s go guys. Steve’s just being an asshole today,” Lucas said from his spot near the door. 

Will tucked his head down instead of acknowledging the asshole comment but still agreed, “we can go to the arcade!”

“Steve’s an asshole everyday. Today he’s just being unhelpful. If we wanted someone useless, we should’ve asked my dad,” Mike sneered at him. 

Being compared to Ted Wheeler was too much for Steve and the brats were starting to give him a headache. “Whatever dipshits, get out of my store. Go bother someone that cares. Bye!”

With some angry mumbles and grumbles, they shuffled out and made their way to the arcade (or so Steve assumes). Eddie poked his head out from the horror aisle then and upon seeing the coast was clear, hopped up to situate himself on the counter. “You having a bad day then?”

Steve sighed, “yeah you could say that. They were starting to give me a headache.”

Eddie hummed and poked Steve’s leg with his toe. “What’s up with you today? You seem… mad. Did something happen?”

Steve wasn’t mad, he was disappointed. He was disappointed that he didn’t mean as much to anyone else as they meant to him. The Party was his family but he was just an inconvenience to them. That was a common theme in life and many people have told him that through the years. His parents, Tommy and Carol, Nancy, some of the girls he’d taken on dates. Every single one of them considered him to be an inconvenience at best, a disappointment at worst. 

He really thought that he’d collected a good group of friends over the past few years that would treat him better, that didn’t just want to use him but loved him as he did them. Apparently not. 

He said as much to Eddie. “Do you ever feel like you mean something to someone and then it turns out that you don’t matter as much as you think you do?”

Eddie’s face twisted and he pulled a chunk of hair to cover his mouth. But he still nodded slightly before clearing his throat and answering his question. “Um yeah, I feel that way around you guys all the time.” 

Steve shot him an alarmed look but he continued. “It’s not meant to be a dig at you or anything! You guys have all been friends for so much longer that it just, it still feels like I’m an outsider still. You know?”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I feel like that too, man.” Eddie went to cut him off but he continued speaking. “No, seriously! It just feels like no one gives a shit about me even after all these years. Like, I woke up today thinking everyone was going to be calling me and coming over, just making a big deal all around, but no one did. I mean, it’s not like anyone’s ever done anything big for my birthday before but I just. I expected people to care this year.”

Eddie’s face slowly paled the more Steve spoke until his skin was practically translucent. “It’s your birthday today?”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled sardonically. “I finally made it to the big 2-0. I kinda expected to have a party today since everyone else in the Party got one for their birthday but it’s fine. Even now I’m still just the babysitter, I guess.” 

Tears started to well in Eddie’s eyes and he lunged behind the counter to give Steve a hug. “Stevie, big boy, I’m so sorry! You deserve so much more than just a party today, baby. And you’re so much more than just the babysitter. You’re family to all of us, man.”

Steve shrugged again, “maybe that’s the problem. My family has never liked me either so that’s probably the case here too. It’s fine, I got my hopes up and I shouldn’t have. No one’s ever cared before so why would they start now?”

Eddie went to speak but a customer came in. Steve took their presence as a sign and pushed Eddie gently away from behind the counter. “I have to go help them, Eddie. See yourself out, okay? I’ll see you later.”

And then he was off to do his job and ignore the fact that Eddie was still watching him with tears in his eyes. He had other things to deal with today than Eddie’s hurt feelings. Like helping customers and trying to stomp down the soul-crushing disappointment in his chest. After all, what else could he have expected for his birthday?

Permanent tag list: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @pyrohonk @straight4joekeery @trippypancakes

If you want to be tagged on all of my works, let me know!

[spicy-pears]

𝑨 𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒅 𝑴𝒂𝒏

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: 1-𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚. 2-𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑹𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔. 3-𝑬𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒔.[WIP]. 4-𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍'𝒔 𝑭𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 [WIP].

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙨: 𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙡(𝙢 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜), 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙙𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙚, 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜,Sadism,sexual vulgarity.[For the dirty readers like myself, the smut is towards the bottom 🤣]

𝙒𝙘: 3.4 k

Disclaimers: I researched a bit on johnny, and per the Pflugerville incident. Breaking into houses is not his Forte. He has tendencies to be extremely wreckless and impulsive. I'll be exploring that a bit more here. Along with mentions of babi sawyer.

I hope you enjoy❣️

Weightless, your warm dream state embraced you. The only God-given blessing, that took away the human flaw of pain. But this was only temporary. Voices, they were chaotic and many. But you could pick out your keeper's voice easily. You began to descend; your senses awoke in a violent rush. Your hip produced a festering burn. Wrists denied circulation as they were tightly bound. your eyes opened to the mesmerizing glimmer of your tears. Although awake you couldn't make sense of anything. Feverish sweat rolled off your heaving chest, as you were hung off the ground like butcher's meat. Your senses conflicted fear with peace you found yourself smiling at a small girl, a curious older woman, and your captor. Johnny's eyes glanced at you for a short moment, as if he knew something was wrong with you already. Your ears finally began to focus, now able to take in the chaos.

"Oh? Is she now? Well, babi's doll could use some fresh bones!" an old man mocked Johnny and topped it off with snide laughter. The older man leans down, getting a good look at you. "With how you roughed her up, how do you expect to keep her?" your eyes strangely couldn't keep up, as the old man shuffled round to meet your burning side. Using a red stick, he pushed up your dress slightly spotting the source of your delirium. "Your little work of art is infected, now she's no use at all!" He sucked his teeth and shook his head with grave disappointment. "Again, she ain't for eat'n old man" Johnny's voice trembled like an angry kettle. As you took witness to the conversation, you realized how badly you miscalculated. There was no section about cannibals, in your "How to tame a psycho" handbook.

"Big boy was allowed to have babi. I should be able to have my own too. I do plenty for this family!" johnny began to argue his case, making his importance and dominance in the family Prominet. "He's allowed that right! He works hard to support the household and does as he's told. All you do is bring trouble and damned mess about!" the older man continued to argue not backing down, to Johnny's bubbling annoyance. "Quit yer' barking at me. Or I may have to put your rabid ass down."

"Well, if she was a virgin, it should take just fine" Suddenly a cold yet maternal voice chimed in, to tame the rising tensions. Instantly you had a feeling this woman had to be Johnny's mother. as no one else in the room but her was sticking up for his passionate pleas. "No! No no no! We just got out of that Flores mess! And we finally just tamed babi. now you want another love child around here!?" you watched the older man quickly shuffle towards her. If her being johnny's mother wasn't already obvious her quick temper made it undeniable. "If you don't shut up! Those big Ol ears you still can't hear what people are saying! Feed the girl. She doesn't eat she don't live."

With a point to prove the old cook took no time to rush into the kitchen. he intended to present to you the most morbid dish he could muster. He hated Johnny's swaggering attitude and Nancy's persistent coddling. He couldn't wait to relish in Johnny's failure; all it took was you refusing to eat. Johnny followed him close behind and began to protest again, "You blind old bat! She's delirious, she can't eat meat yet.". Drayton confidently shot back, "She eats, or she doesn't live. You heard your mother." this time he had Johnny. there was no way he could huff and puff out of this one.

Nancy uncharacteristically took pity on you. She bent the rules for just this once. She took a handkerchief out from the pocket of her house dress. With it tightly balled in her fist, she let it soak in the blood at the bottom of a empty meat tray. "Well, she can still drink, go on sweet boy." Nancy handed johnny your saving grace. And stayed in the kitchen with Drayton, to finish her verbal lashing.

Johnny approached you with the blood-dripping cloth in hand. You tried to show your disapproval by shaking your head no. But in your delirious state, not much of a fight could be done. You felt Johnny's hand caressing your sweat-glistening cheek, ever so gently. As he began to bring your face down towards him, your lips now closer.

You held your lips firmly closed with all the strength you could muster.

"Come on now kitten, drink for me."

For the first time, his voice was heart-rending. You weren't sure if it stemmed from his pride or selfish desires. But he was desperate now, for you to accept his morbid request. Your eyes began to well with tears, watching the seemingly innocent 10-year-old girl. Her dark innocent eyes peering a curious glance at you. Babi would pass off as a sweet child, but she was proudly raised twisted. Close to her chest held her baby doll, something you knew was deprived of all innocence. How could you bring a child into this hellish environment, how selfish and cruel. You became content with the idea of death.

But one final look into Johnny's eyes broke your resolve. Deep down, unknowingly you etched out a part of your heart that cared for him. Your lips slowly began to part, opening your mouth as much as you could. Johnny's relieved gasp was met with drops of cold blood onto your lips, painting your tongue.

"There we are,let it be."

HOUSTON TEXAS.

SEPTEMBER 15, 1989, TIME: 2:00 AM

"I was wondering, 1 month into the search we found you in newt. How did you end up there? Many miles from Austin?"

"I honestly...don't know, the last thing I can piece from that time. Was going to a small-town college bar; in September."

Your eyes were fixated on the TV, examining each and every movement of yourself. Frisking for any nervous twitch, a self-soothing gesture, or even a moment of self-restraint. An aggravated huff radiated from your chest, as your fingertips ran against your scalp soothingly. why? why couldn't you remember anything? You watched your taped police interview so many times, combed through your written statements thoroughly, and attended each and every therapy session and then some to combat the mind wipping delirium. All exasperatingly fruitless, you couldn't even understand why the month of August held such great personal importance. so much so, that your sweet baby boy was named after it.

Your tired eyes began to shut, everything becoming silent and still in your mind. A soft grazing feeling ran up your neck, a feeling you could have sworn was a hand. Promptly your body shot up, and your hand protectively held your neck. Frightened you began to scan the room until they froze on a peculiar sight. Leaning in, you focused on an odd dark shadow casted against the crystal back door. As if shadows had awareness, it quickly moved from your inspecting gaze. You quickly excused it away, figuring it was a wild rabbit again.

Wisley, you called it a night. Not before quietly stopping by your son's nursery. Admiring the sleeping baby from his angelic expression down to his pretty boy lashes. All of which faintly reminded you of someone, someone who is now far from your memory.

TIME 3:15 AM

Your eyes fluttered open to the familiar melody. The upbeat romantic song that played during your wedding, bringing you a warm feeling of safety. The safety you cherished when you were finally found, finally free. But it was strange, your lazy eyes caught the time. 3:15 am, why would he play this so late? . You remembered your husband's disappointed confusion at his broken record player. Which now played eerily off key, deep and slow. Why would he play music on it now? Lazily your feet shuffled against the carpet. And unexpectedly met the soft rattle of your son's comfort blanket. Now Perplexed, you examined the small bat covered blanket. Abruptly, the flashing blue and white lights of your TV caught your full attention.

You felt the fear on your fingertips, as they glided against the wooden stair railing. Holding your breath, in an attempt to stop your heart from beating so violently. With each braved stair, your skin crawled with a stabbing chill that only increased. Until you stopped halfway, there he was. Your baby boy is being held by a shadowy stranger.

"Da-da!" The sweet babble from your baby boy brought you so much dread. He could never piece his babbles into a clear "Pa-pa" or "Da-da", To your husband's dismay. But now sitting on the knee of a stranger, he joyfully rang out his newfound word. The stranger leaned down, playfully shaking a teddy bear. While the smiling babe sucked on his knuckles, feeling truly entertained. Promptly, a pair of mirror dark eyes cut from him to you.

"Does mama remember me?" You knew that build, those eyes, and that damned intoxicating southern twang. With no more stairs to stall the inevitable, you now stood in Johnny's open view. You watched the corners of his mouth, curl into his signature devilish grin. "Well, Hey there kitten!". You were rendered stuck, each attempt to speak was snuffed out with exhales of confused disbelief. Before you could finally say anything, a frantic knock at the door, snapped you out of your confused loop.

"Hey, neighbor! It's me Carol from across the street? I know it's late, but I was looking out the window. You know, As I always do. And I think I saw a man entering your garage." Slowly you turned your incedulous glare at Johnny. Who averted your gaze, paying his full attention to his coo'ing baby boy. You looked up at the ceiling, the new object of your ire. As it received an array of silent French curses.

"Uh! That was just the emergency, pest control guy. I found a rattlesnake in there not so long ago, scared me half to death!" you devised the quickest excuse for the tall scar covered man who took presence in your home. Then the realization hit you, this wasn't a cute little night time visit. You instantly knew johnny was going to kill you tonight.Before carol could walk away, you quickly opened the front door and stammered your desprate request. "Hey, carol? could you watch August for a bit? Even for just an hour, ....please?".

She noticed your desperate distress, before she could ask what was going on. august was already in her arms. "O-oh!" she looked at the tiny heartbreaker in her arms. She looked up, in a second attempt to ask what the matter was this late. Only for her eyes to be met with johnny's. She was frightful under his stone-cold, intimidating stare. "Oh! Goodness!" Carol looked down at August, her eyes gradually widen with revelation. The baby oddly looked exactly like the pest control man. Before she could get in a second look, Johnny shut the front door in her face.

"Now why would you go on and do a foolish thing like that?" You were now alone with Johnny's full upset. He waited for a response from you, but you were silent entering a state of doe-eyed fright. johnny knew that look and knew what it meant. He wasn't here to kill you, as far as he was concerned you are his family. But the look he gave in return was different; it wasn't his hungry grin, nor was it any sign of the bad man. It was rather calculated, he circled you. Letting you take in the unknown expression, and he knew it drove you crazy. The corners of his mouth curled softly, and his eyes appeared gentle. For once you admired the light dancing off his eyes, a rare sight. Then the realization struck you, and at the same time the pain did. This was his calm before his storm.

Swiftly your body was yanked and pressed against his from behind. He began savoring the way your plush ass cradled his now hardened length. With a soft exhale, you felt your needy cunt tighten on nothing. As if your body was preparing itself for a battle. Johnny's soft drifting lips against your neck acted as the carnal declaration of a long night. Sly as ever, you felt him lick his lips against your neck. The tip of his tongue teasingly ran across the small area on the back of your neck. The sweet fantasy ended, with his devilish chuckle.

"Enjoyed yourself?" As he began to pull away, your eyes filled with dismay begging for him to continue. "You know half of the family wanted me to come down here slit your throat and leave. but where's the fun in that?" Johhny would exact his usual cruelty, firmly pressing his finger down on your still very sensitive branding. You tried your best to stand still on your feet. refusing to give him the satisfaction, of watching you crumble weakly before him." we have an hour, right?" He asked you a question, in any other situation he'd demand an answer. but tonight, he didn't need any answers. You were to be thoroughly disciplined. His controlling press got maliciously harder, his fingers almost digging into it. Unable to hold in the pain any longer, you fell to your knees. A hunched-over teary mess, panting as you attempted to collect yourself.

"You know, you have no business being up this late" Johnny knelled down to your eye level. His hand displaying a unexpected gentleness. His fingertips softly taped the bottom of your chin. Promptly, you raise your head to look at him "Time to teach you the house rules.". you felt a swift yanking of your left hand. before you knew it johnny tossed away your wedding ring into a trashcan. You watched his leather boots re-enter your view. Eagerly you watched johnny make a display of taking off his shirt Infront of you. He met your starving gaze, only to unzip his pants. allowing his thick curved length to spring out for you.

"Lesson one, who's the man of the house?" He gave you the sweetest smile. You knew something was up. This felt like a trick question, but you had no desire to navigate his mind games. Your hips began to grind in a circular motion, begging to be fucked. You answered his question with ease, "You Johnny". Johnnys sweet smile slowly curled into a coy smirk. His fingers carefully glided through your hair, only to vandalize your locks with a rough yank. The pull by the top of your hair forced your mouth wide open. Assuming the position, you let your tongue lay out flat, ready to receive him. You felt his eyes impatiently glaring down, before his grip exucted a rough correcting yank. "Follow the curve, memorize my cock." His deep voice firmly demanded you, his gaze sharp and equally dictating.

Johnny was nice enough to slowly thrust into your mouth, allowing you to learn how to follow the perfect upward curve. Your jaw achingly tensed up on the first stroke, as you took in his full girth. Your sloppy warm tongue caressed each ridge from the veins that adorned his length. He'd let out a pleased groan that traveled down his spine. Encouraging him to thrust deeper into your mouth, his pace growing increasingly rough. The tip of his cock began tapping the back of your throat, dipping in deep until he felt your lips meeting his base. Each rough thrust forced your nose to press hard against the base of his cock. Leaving you in a sweet breathless starry haze. Eyes half lidded you enjoyed the bouncing stars that rivaled Exstacy.

He watched you struggle to keep up, your eyes prickled with thick beads of tears. You desperately dug your nails deeper into his toned thighs, each time he denied you a chance for air with his punishing thrusts. He even ignored your needy fingers, trying to tame your aching clit. The view was truly beautiful, your sloppy hot saliva dripping off his cock. While your wet cunt covered your fingers in a constant dripping stream of wasted slick, combined made the perfect lewd puddle.

The grip on your hair tightened, while his length pulsed against your tongue. Your fingertips felt the muscles in Johnny's hip and thighs begin to contract. The rumble of his frustrated moan alerted your eyes to look up at him. god did he love your face, especially when it was an innocent-eyed mess. "Get up" His tone is now dangerously impatient, his hand gesturing you towards the dining table. Your obedient mouth parted ways with his cock, leaving a connected string of salvia as a parting gift. hastily you tried to catch as many breaths as you could. Before you could even take your dress off for him. He tossed away your uselessly wet panties to the side. And proceeded to hike your left leg up over the top of the dining table, allowing you to stand on the other. The new position stretched the muscles in your thighs into a tingling numbness.

Johnny's forceful control of your hair didn't waiver. He kept his heated gaze on you, yanking your head back onto his shoulder. Your pussy stood no chance, he maliciously watched you build yourself up. Your needy well-manicured fingertips rubbed your clit in so many ways. Never once did you stop, nor did you ask for permission. And for that, he wanted to make you suffer all that build-up all at once. Your breath hitched into a soft hiss. Your entrance is teased with a shallow thrust, Taking in the full girth of his tip.

"Impatient whore, you couldn't just wait, could you?" Johnny's hands roughly gripped your ass, spreading you open for his abuse. leaving no room for your squirming, you weren't going to run from it this time. His hips thrusted deep into your pussy with calculated precision. His tip ruthlessly hit the sensitive spot of your cervix. Your loud moan became a choked-out sob, as Johnny kept your head still in his desired position. He had the best view of your Sobbing face and quivering sweat-kissed body that couldn't handle the intensity of your sudden release. Numb your fingertips reached back meeting his rugged abs with a push, trying your best to request for a moment of pause. With a pathetic whimper, you began to beg "Please Johnny, i cant" Which was ignored. With a low demonic growl, his thrusts picked up a feral pace.

Johnny reveled in the symphony of cries, as your oppressed pussy gushed and squelched around him. "Damn!" He cursed Through a deep trembling snarl; his cruel discipline grew animalistic against your broken body. Letting go of your head, his chest firmly pressed against your back. Your hips began to tease back, pushing back in circular movements along his length. For once Johnny began to break a sweat, feeling the tight wet gummy ridges of cunt flutter around him.

In an attempt to stop your antics, his teeth sank into the soft cartilage of your ear. The blood-rendering bite brought a stabbing pain that shot down your spine, freezing your disobedient body still. His hips rocked you into a sensual wave, as he fucked his thick spill into you. overwhelmed your pussy struggled to take the weight of his cock and now his heavy load. He probably pulled his satisfied cock out of your thoroughly disciplined cunt."Still a defiant slut, we'll fix that later" Your head whipped around, eyes filled with yearning as you watched Johnny dress himself back up, his fingers combing his hair back into his signature style. He wore an amused smirked, while looking at your pitiful expression;

"Aww, too bad. Your hour's up kitten"

CHAPTER 2 END.

CHAPTER 3 PREVIEW:

"10-23, empty squad car located on the emergency lane. No sign of suspicious activity, looks like he left the car to move roadkill maybe."

The female officer looked around the empty highway, for any signs of blood or a wounded animal. With no luck, her eyes inspected the inside of the car.

" Uh, 10-13, I see what looks to be...sunflowers? left on the driver's seat?"

Refusing to foolishly taint any evidence, she took her pen and flipped over a card that simply read.

"Family First." Warning: upcoming chapter will be bloody (potential end) of the series.

PREVIEW END.

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

September 17th

OK HERE WE GO I AM MENTALLY PREPARED TO LEARN ABOUT LUCY’S DEA —

Lucy Westenra's Diary.

Nevermind that. Guess I’ll have to do it all over again.

Four days and nights of peace. I am getting so strong again that I hardly know myself. It is as if I had passed through some long nightmare, and had just awakened to see the beautiful sunshine and feel the fresh air of the morning around me. I have a dim half-remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and fearing; darkness in which there was not even the pain of hope to make present distress more poignant: and then long spells of oblivion, and the rising back to life as a diver coming up through a great press of water.

The pain of hope alright…

To-night Dr. Van Helsing is going away, as he has to be for a day in Amsterdam. But I need not be watched; I am well enough to be left alone.

‘Cause here we go, go, go again 🎶

Thank God for mother's sake, and dear Arthur's, and for all our friends who have been so kind! I shall not even feel the change, for last night Dr. Van Helsing slept in his chair a lot of the time. I found him asleep twice when I awoke; but I did not fear to go to sleep again, although the boughs or bats or something napped almost angrily against the window-panes.

EVERYONE. IS TRYING. SO HARD.

Anyways BACK TO RENFIELD:

Suddenly the door was burst open, and in rushed my patient, with his face distorted with passion. I was thunderstruck, for such a thing as a patient getting of his own accord into the Superintendent's study is almost unknown.

Right. But he did escape the facility itself twice, including once with your complicity. So maybe the safety protocols need a liiittle bit of reassessing here.

Without an instant's pause he made straight at me. He had a dinner-knife in his hand, and, as I saw he was dangerous, I tried to keep the table between us. He was too quick and too strong for me, however; for before I could get my balance he had struck at me and cut my left wrist rather severely.

FIGHT!!!!! FIGHT!!!!! FIGHT!!!!! FIGHT!!!!

He was lying on his belly on the floor licking up, like a dog, the blood which had fallen from my wounded wrist. He was easily secured, and, to my surprise, went with the attendants quite placidly, simply repeating over and over again: "The blood is the life! The blood is the life!"

Renfield’s DYI Guide to Vampirism: now available in a bookstore near you!

I cannot afford to lose blood just at present;

This is a terrifying and strangely sweet thought and I will be reusing this turn of phrase.

Happily Van Helsing has not summoned me, so I need not forego my sleep; to-night I could not well do without it.

Telegram, Van Helsing, Antwerp, to Seward, Carfax. Do not fail to be at Hillingham to-night.

Now that’s what I call comedic timing.

Anyways back to… Lucy again… Oh…

I write this and leave it to be seen, so that no one may by any chance get into trouble through me. This is an exact record of what took place to-night. I feel I am dying of weakness, and have barely strength to write, but it must be done if I die in the doing.

Talk about an emotional roller-coaster.

Presently the door opened, and mother looked in; seeing by my moving that I was not asleep, came in, and sat by me. She said to me even more sweetly and softly than her wont:—

"I was uneasy about you, darling, and came in to see that you were all right."

I feared she might catch cold sitting there, and asked her to come in and sleep with me, so she came into bed, and lay down beside me;

SEE WHAT I MEANT LAST TIME. Yes Ms Westenra is dying but she still wants to watch over her little girl! Yes Lucy is a grown adult but she still needs her mum! It’s all about love

After a while there was the low howl again out in the shrubbery, and shortly after there was a crash at the window, and a lot of broken glass was hurled on the floor. The window blind blew back with the wind that rushed in, and in the aperture of the broken panes there was the head of a great, gaunt grey wolf. Mother cried out in a fright, and struggled up into a sitting posture, and clutched wildly at anything that would help her. Amongst other things, she clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing insisted on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away from me. For a second or two she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and there was a strange and horrible gurgling in her throat; then she fell over—as if struck with lightning, and her head hit my forehead and made me dizzy for a moment or two. The room and all round seemed to spin round. I kept my eyes fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and a whole myriad of little specks seemed to come blowing in through the broken window, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of dust that travellers describe when there is a simoon in the desert.

OK OK not to (surprisingly) turn into your local Mrs Westenra Defender™ but. But. If this exact ordeal happened to you and you did not have the benefit of knowing the lore, would your natural conclusion not be that the flowers attracted the wolf? Because that sure as Hell would be mine.

I tried to stir, but there was some spell upon me, and dear mother's poor body, which seemed to grow cold already—for her dear heart had ceased to beat—weighed me down; and I remembered no more for a while.

WAIT SHE’S DEAD????? WHAT ARE WE BLAMING HER FOR EXACTLY????? SHE FUCKING DIED

The maids shrieked, and then went in a body to the dining-room; and I laid what flowers I had on my dear mother's breast. When they were there I remembered what Dr. Van Helsing had told me, but I didn't like to remove them, and, besides, I would have some of the servants to sit up with me now.

I WAS TOLD LUCY’S MUM THREW THE FLOWERS AWAY AND THAT DIRECTLY CAUSED HER DEATH. THAT COULD NOT BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH. WHAT HAPPENED

My heart sank when I saw what had happened. They all four lay helpless on the floor, breathing heavily. The decanter of sherry was on the table half full, but there was a queer, acrid smell about. I was suspicious, and examined the decanter. It smelt of laudanum, and looking on the sideboard, I found that the bottle which mother's doctor uses for her—oh! did use—was empty. What am I to do? what am I to do? I am back in the room with mother. I cannot leave her, and I am alone, save for the sleeping servants, whom some one has drugged. Alone with the dead! I dare not go out, for I can hear the low howl of the wolf through the broken window.

WHO WHAT AND HOW

The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim. What am I to do? God shield me from harm this night! I shall hide this paper in my breast, where they shall find it when they come to lay me out. My dear mother gone! It is time that I go too. Good-bye, dear Arthur, if I should not survive this night. God keep you, dear, and God help me!

LUCY NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO —

Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra (Unopened by her.)

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

My dearest Lucy,—It seems an age since I heard from you, or indeed since I wrote. You will pardon me, I know, for all my faults when you have read all my budget of news.

Why don’t you twist the knife even deeper Bram.

Well, I got my husband back all right;

A little bit of light in this God-forsaken world

'My dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity; and may every blessing attend you both. I know you both from children, and have, with love and pride, seen you grow up. Now I want you to make your home here with me. I have left to me neither chick nor child; all are gone, and in my will I have left you everything.' I cried, Lucy dear, as Jonathan and the old man clasped hands. Our evening was a very, very happy one.

And twist the knife deeper he did.

So here we are, installed in this beautiful old house, and from both my bedroom and the drawing-room I can see the great elms of the cathedral close, with their great black stems standing out against the old yellow stone of the cathedral and I can hear the rooks overhead cawing and cawing and chattering and gossiping all day, after the manner of rooks—and humans.

Windows! Parallels and contrasts!! Something monstrous VS something divine and most of all human!!! I’m fine this is fine we’re all fine —

How is your dear mother getting on?

ALRIGHT BRAM THAT’S ENOUGH TWISTING.

and Jonathan wants looking after still.

🥺🥹 (<- Hanging on by a thread)

And now I have told you my news, let me ask yours. When are you to be married, and where, and who is to perform the ceremony, and what are you to wear, and is it to be a public or a private wedding? Tell me all about it, dear; tell me all about everything, for there is nothing which interests you which will not be dear to me. Jonathan asks me to send his 'respectful duty,' but I do not think that is good enough from the junior partner of the important firm Hawkins & Harker; and so, as you love me, and he loves me, and I love you with all the moods and tenses of the verb, I send you simply his 'love' instead. Good-bye, my dearest Lucy, and all blessings on you.

Yours,

MINA HARKER.

(Thread snapped)

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[elekinetic]

hi! i was just wondering what your opinions are on hopper, like, as a character? i've just seen so much slander for him and i was wondering about your own thoughts on it since you seem to have a good grasp of the show's characters. also, no pressure to answer if you don't want to, i'm just genuinely curious :)

hi!! i am so honored you asked!

so. hopper’s a shithead. i love him.

no but actually so, i think hopper is one of the most interesting characters in the show, and i think a lot of the hopper slander (and character slander in general) comes from having fundamentally different approaches to the show. and I don’t think there’s any one correct way to watch the show, but there’s a difference between looking at characters as people who are accountable for their actions and characters as vehicles for communicating themes and ideas.

(I wanna start with a disclaimer that I’m not really gonna touch how he exists as copaganda, especially as a character, who really does not subvert the hero cop trope. That’s a separate post and a whole other conversation — one that’s important when contextualizing our discussion of hopper, but for now I’m just gonna focus on his characterization and behavior within the context of the show. alright, moving on.)

hopper is not always the nicest person and doesn’t always make the right call, but he is so caring and protective of the people he loves, and he believes in goodness in the world. i think it’s really interesting to see that over the course of the show, part of his journey is relearning that there are good things, and that even though it’s painful, those things are still worth protecting. (it’s less so that he’s learning that those things are worth protecting and it’s more so that he’s learning to be okay with the pain of it.)

after losing sarah, hopper shuts everything down and everything out. and like, obviously. of course he would. there’s this really interesting part of his spinoff novel that talks about how when he was in the war, he was stationed in an area that exposed him to chemicals that could lead to birth defects or infertility in the future. and then he comes home and has sarah anyway, and then she dies of cancer. obviously he feels really guilty about that. I think it’s really really important to remember that that is a key part of his experience when it comes to analyzing hopper and considering his behavior.

i was re-watching the first couple episodes of season two with abby strangeswift and bats demobatman, specifically el’s conversation with him about wanting to go out for halloween. and i was really frustrated, right, because here’s this girl that’s been trapped in a lab her entire life and just wants to feel normal, and there’s really no end in sight to this new kind of confinement. but then abby and bats were talking about how there’s really no other choice and especially after losing sarah, he is not willing to put el at risk.

I think this haunts him through the next couple of seasons. he becomes so blinded by his need to protect and keep el safe that he loses nuance. especially with a kid as extraordinary and as hunted as el, hopper is so on guard all the time. and that’s frustrating! because then we see him as the reason el loses out on experiences that she should get to have. she should get to be a normal kid and do normal things like go to the mall and kiss her boyfriend etc. etc. but hopper is so keenly aware of the fact that el is not a normal kid and the world is not safe for her. he’s not willing to be the reason another daughter dies.

like i said, i think hopper makes bad decisions and doesn’t always consider the agency of the people he loves, but i think the reason that we see so many parallels between him and mike is because they are both protectors. fundamentally, i think their arcs are the same. it’s them learning they don’t always have to be the protector, that they can trust the people they love to love them back without being a defensive force. learning there’s a way to be protective without being overbearing or imposing on agency. 

and listen, hopper fucks up a lot. I don’t think the way he speaks to Joyce season three is OK and I think he owes her an apology. and I think he and eI will need to have a real conversation about why he acts the way he does and why he put the rules he does in place. (I don’t think people understand just how much danger el is in even when the upside down shit isn’t happening.)

hopper makes a lot of sense to me and his inner conflict is really, really interesting. if you’re looking at him as a person, then, yeah, it gets a lot harder to excuse his actions because they do cause harm, tangible harm. but i read an article recently that i think articulated really well why our progress as a society about discussing mental health hasn’t really solve the problems we need it to solve; that, despite introducing these therapeutic terms and emphasizing boundary setting, we still center ourselves in our experience of the world. (when you fuck up, youre learning—when your friend fucks up, they’re a narcissist, kind of thing.)

so let’s let both things be true. that hopper is not always making the best decisions and doesn’t always say or do the right thing, that he should apologize for that (which he has on occasion).  but he’s also learning and he should be given the space and grace for that. and yes, he’s 40. but people don’t stop learning and growing when they’re 40. you don’t hit 25 and suddenly you’re a perfect person. and this is a man who has been through a war, lost his four-year-old daughter to cancer he is sure he caused, struggled with addiction and depression, and at this point has been literally tortured by russians for months. 

but then again, hopper isn’t person. he’s a character. hopper does not exist to be accountable to his actions. he exists to convey a story, to communicate ideas. stories like this aren’t interesting without complicated people. he adds complexity to the plot and the relationships between characters. he informs el’s relationship with society and adults in her life. he gives joyce the space to be taken care of, to not be the mom, the hustler, the protector of her own family all day everyday. he fills out hawkins as a three-dimensional place, where not everyone is a wheeler-esque suburban wet dream. he shows that there is a path out of grief and depression. he shows that it’s important to lean on people and that isolation will just lead to further suffering. It shows that protecting other people is important, but so is moderation and communication. how do we learn those lessons without a character making mistakes that hopper does?

anyway, those are my brief scattered thoughts on hopper. i think he deserves more grace than he’s given by people in fan spaces, but i understand peoples hesitation to treat him as a beloved character the way they would treat el or lucas or will. he’s a very real character and doesn’t really fit the schema of a fave, i think. and i think the way people communicate their appreciation for his character doesn’t fit easily into the way people show their appreciation for other characters in fans spaces.

I hope this makes sense. 👍

[natureboy96]

Tamlin and the Hybern Deal: Fumbling or Preplanned?

Preface:

a lot of criticism for the series can be directed at the quality of the writing or narrative. ultimately, I don't believe the series is interested in a more nuanced approach when it comes to a relationship coming apart or having the characters understanding each others' motivations in favor of promoting an escapist fantasy for overcoming a traumatic event. That being said, I am going to approach this event aiming to be more objective than the narrative, because that's generally how I look back on most books, even the ones I am really invest in personally. I understand why people may choose to simply accept the narrative as is for catharsis or vicarious comeuppance, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

I've had a number of thoughts about this part of the story since I read ACOWAR, as I'm sure a number of people have. After a lengthy discussion on a different post with two very passionate and respectable fans of the series, however, I found myself thinking about and discussing points about the deal I hadn't thought about before, and I feel a proper assessment of the event is worth doing. I've come to my own conclusions on this based on what I have read/remember, but I imagine there are other conclusions people can draw as well.

Tamlin's motivation pt 1 - Feyre

The first knowledge we have of Tamlin's deal with Hybern is when he shows up there, and he and the King tells us he's made the deal to rescue Feyre from Rhysand. Getting Feyre back is the only motive he clearly states in ACOMAF, though in ACOWAR we get more reason to believe there could be more to it.

I still hold that it feels very disingenuous to say his motivation was solely to control her or treat her like a pet. We do know that, at least at the start of ACOMAF, he's very much blind to what Feyre's going through, a combination of their two traumas making actual, honest communication between them impossible. We also know that Tamlin's motives for his actions at the beginning of the book, as stated by him, are to protect her from every threat he couldn't before. He cares for her as the person he'd fallen in love with, and did not know the person she became after UtM.

After Feyre leaves, there is no credible reason for Tamlin to believe that she wants to stay away and wasn't taken by the "evil high lord who could control people's minds and who had sexually assaulted her for months in front of him", whom she had said she didn't want to be with. Tamlin was not informed by Lucien or his staff that Feyre was rescued willingly by Mor, including hiding the melted ring. A short letter written in her own hand could easily be coerced, not even with mind control. When Lucien went to find her and bring her back, she tells him that, "When you're trapped in the darkness long enough, the darkness stares back", and then produces massive bat wings. I can't see that as anything but confirming that she was corrupted by darkness, whether it was her decision or otherwise. That doesn't seem like the sort of message that means you don't need rescuing.

Lastly, we get to Hybern itself, when Feyre tells Tamlin directly that she does not want to go with him, and Tamlin learns they are mated. I'd point to the whole, 'evil mind controlling HL' again for why she might say it, but the mating bond would have made it even worse; we know for a fact mating bonds doesn't mean true love, and a lot of bonds end up terrible - imagine the woman you love mated to a monster she wanted to escape from? Either way, this part happens after the deal is made, and as Lucien mentions, the deal couldn't be reneged on without costing his life, even if he did believe her. And no, I don't consider a high lord including his inner circle in an alliance as wrong, for reasons I will elaborate on in the next section.

Tamlin's motivation pt 2 - Hybern's inevitability

at the beginning of ACOMAF, we know that Tamlin and Lucien are off on their territory's borders, supposedly hunting down Amarantha's threats and doing other war things. It isn't until later in the book that Rhysand tells us that Hybern is preparing for war, and that the Spring Court would be the first target, as Hybern wants to destroy the wall and reenslave the human population. We also learn that Tamlin and Lucien's trips to the border and war camps were also in anticipation to Hybern's plans.

The question, then, is why would Tamlin make a deal to let the invading kingdom into his lands, when his court would be the first on the chopping block, and when he's explicitly stated he hates slavery? Some point to this as being a poor decision/oversight on his part, sacrificing everything to get Feyre back.

We learn, early on in ACOWAR, that Tamlin’s deal for Feyre wasn’t just to get her back, but also to leave the people of the Spring Court undisturbed and untouched:

I would also call to Tamlin's evidence during the HL meeting (another topic worth a deeper look) as proof that Tamlin had plans for more than just rescuing Feyre with this deal. We know that Feyre has been at Spring for a few weeks at the start of ACOWAR and doesn't stay for much longer, past the Summer Solstice and a bit longer at that, but not much. An indeterminate amount of time passes after, without any notable events/holidays to track it (worth clarifying if people know otherwise) And yet, Tamlin has months worth of records on Hybern's movements and plans when he's at the High Lord meeting. It's possible he started gathering this information after Feyre left, but I find it harder to believe he wouldn't have started this planning from the beginning - it's clear when Feyre is there that he isn't just looking to play along with Feyre, and tries to tell her there is more going on than just a betrayal. Lucien actually confirms it himself when the two of them are fleeing from Spring and through Autumn - he confirms Tamlin was already playing the double agent when he made the deal, to use Hybern for their own ends and hope to rally support later:

Ianthe (who Hybern calls one of his own) states that Hybern is inevitable, and Rhysand and the IC plan and prepare through the two books along the same lines. It seems foolish for Tamlin to assume otherwise, especially with Ianthe's manipulation so close. And it's already been confirmed that Spring would be the first court to be invaded, for its proximity to the wall and human lands. That leaves Tamlin with a choice: Should he risk open warfare against Hybern, devastate his forces without guarantee the other lords will come to help? And even if he could manage to hold off Hybern (we learn well that even all the courts together couldn't do it together without Amren) what would the devastation be?

This is where I draw a parallel between Rhysand's choice with Amarantha and Tamlin's choice with Hybern. When Rhysand knew Amarantha would be inevitable, he decided to play a double agent in order to better protect people he could. The choice to work with Hybern, once it was clear they were inevitable, would be the best out of terrible choices. pretending to be on Hybern's side offers Tamlin the highest level of control he can manage in the face of an all out invasion. We see that this was part of Tamlin's planning; his bargain guarantees the safety of his people, and he's able to evacuate people to the east to protect them. It mitigates damage in a way he can protect more people than not.

Was Tamlin's planning, then, effective at all, especially seeing as Hybern's twins were daemati, and Feyre has to protect his and Lucien's minds because they couldn't guard their minds themselves? I would posit that, as far as the story goes, we only know of 5 daemati in the entire series; Rhys, Feyre (from Rhys' powers), the twins, and the unnamed daemati Rhys claims was the one to actually kill the kids (sloppy retcon, thin lie or legit story, impossible to tell). Rhjys mentions that daemati are super rare and highly prized, but no other court seems to have one in their arsenal, a skill that could be very useful in the middle of a war. We certainly know the Spring Court hasn't one, none they know about.

As for protecting oneself against a daemati's attack, we only have a single example of training one's mind, that being Rhys training Feyre. We haven't any confirmation that non daemati can even guard their minds from mental attacks, and even if they could, we've only seen it be done by another daemati, and Tamlin neither is nor has a daemati.

Furthermore, we have no confirmation that Tamlin or the Spring Court knew Hybern had powerful daemati on their side, or that the twins were themselves. Even if it could be assumed they were, there's no indication that the twins are daemati or that they would be the ones sent to Spring as emissaries. There are a lot of things you can't plan for when it comes to things you don't know, and something as rare as a mind controller seems hard to plan for.

As for the rest of Tamlin's plans... We can't know for sure what he might have planned to manage Hybern, because Feyre's manipulations affected anything he might have had planned. Whether you think it justified or not, Feyre's actions were calculated with the intent of driving a wedge between Tamlin and his people, using her Fae Sainthood to do so. Tamlin was put into more and more situations between her manipulation and Ianthe's, and because of the deal (and his attempt to remain looking as a good ally to Hybern) his hands were forced to make terrible decisions. If Tamlin had sided with a sentry over Ianthe, a Hybern agent and not just priestess, he would have risked the double agent position he was holding, and Feyre made sure he would be punished for these choices. Feyre is, as she was in ACOMAF, Tamlin's blindspot. His love had blinded himself to what she could do or needed, to her detriment in ACOMAF, and then his own and Spring Court in ACOWAR. Perhaps Tamlin had plans to protect his people and his lands better than he managed... We can never know, though, because Feyre chooses to act and the narrative hasn't been interested in explaining more. We also know, from Feyre's own words, that she was aware her plans would hurt more than just Tamlin and was willing to let Spring fall to better unite the rest of the courts to work together.

Conclusions

Based on the evidence in the text, we can come to the conclusion that Tamlin had used his deal with Hybern to try and better protect his Court, a plan that Lucien seems to confirm was in their thinking to begin with, and Tamlin confirms in the High Lord Meeting with follow through. We cannot know the full effect of his planning, whether it would have worked or not, due to Feyre's actions in Spring. Saying Tamlin's only motive for Hybern was to get Feyre back and he hadn't thought through/planned for Hybern seems to be proven false from Lucien's words.

[themissinghand]

Hello! If your requests are still open, may i ask for a stanley snyder x reader? (fem, or GN) Where the reader is xeno's sibling? It's ok if not though. Just dont get pressured from the requests :) (also, if i may reccommend a manhwa, I suggest you try to read return of the mount hua sect if you like action and murim (it's rlly good trust me), or omniscient reader's viewpoint if you haven't read it already (my favourite) but if you like romance manhwa's with a medieval setting, either "your majesty please spare me this time" (unlike most romance manhwa's the mc in this one doesn't get over their hatred for the crown prince so quickly and and immediately falls in love with them. she's very conflicted and the emotions she feels are well written and she's not always "girlbossing" her way through. fantasie of a stepmother/stepmothers marchen is also a really good one.

sorry i went on a rant there, but thanks for thaking the time to read this and have a nice day/night!

Dr. Stone: "Who Did This To You?"

Requested by: Anonymous

Note: Hey! Requests are open! Thanks for your patience, I really appreciate it. I love to try and write different things so getting requests is exciting for me. This is a bit different from how I write but hopefully I did it justice. Also, thanks for your manhwa recs, I already finished the novel for ORV (literally my fav) and read the manhwa for Your Majesty Please Spare Me This Time. I read a bit of Stepmother's Marchen and Return of the Mount Hua Sect a while back but haven't caught up with it yet. Definitely down to write something for manhwa!

Summary: In which no one messes with Xeno’s sibling and gets away with it. Or there's tension between siblings and Stanley is just a puppy (or is he?).

Pairing: Stanley Snyder x GN! Reader!

Warnings: Will contain violence and swearing. Spoilers for the characters, but no plot. For anime watchers, don't search up Xeno or Stanley if you don't want to be spoiled!

Jealousy is a mental cancer.

(Y/N) knows it well, especially since they have such an outstanding older brother named Xeno Houston Wingfield.

Unlike their brother, (Y/N) is a troublemaker, a free spirit, and most importantly, a fighter.

Instead of lab experiments and academic competitions, (Y/N) spends their time in the gym and fights street thugs that bullies the weak.

At first, (Y/N) hated their brother, for Xeno always, always cared more about his science experiments more than them, and had the love and attention from everyone.

Also, he always had his best friend Stanley around him to keep him entertained.

Stanley Synder was chill and abnormally attractive, so much so that every time Stanley greeted them, (Y/N) was blinded by his appearance.

So what if he looks good? He was annoying.

No matter how much (Y/N) avoided Stanley, the man would find them some way somehow, and it was frustrating to have a literal man-puppy follow you around!

So (Y/N) ignored both of them out of spite.

But one day, when (Y/N) heard loud curses and the sound of painful grunts from a suspicious alleyway (that they knew gangs and thugs frequent), they rushed in without a thought.

They assumed that the person getting bullied might be the old lady that sold shoes, or the nerdy student at school, or the little boy who saw something he shouldn’t see.

People who are too nice, too vulnerable, and too trusting of their own good.

However, this wasn’t the typical thug that (Y/N) beat up often, they were men dressed in formal suits with bats and batons in their hands.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Who the fuck is this kid?” The smell of cigarettes drifted into the air.

“Get out of here kid, we’re not looking for a fight. It’s this kid our boss has beef with.”

The person they were beating up were also not what (Y/N) was thinking of at all.

They weren't nice, vulnerable, or naive.

So when the person that (Y/N) saw was their brother, slightly beaten up and wet from water, they felt another type of emotion.

“(Y/N)?!”

Rage.

But (Y/N) didn’t know why.

“What are you doing here, Xeno?!” (Y/N) clutched their hands into fists.

“Hey, you know this kid?”

“Yea, I know him damn well.” In the next instant, (Y/N) kicked a metal bat out of a thug’s hands and used it as a weapon to fight.

Panic and curses filled the air as people yelled out profanities. But (Y/N) was used to this environment, this situation of 1 vs too many.

“Hey kid. We don’t have any business with you. Just with that fake little NASA scientist behind you.”

(Jealousy is a mental cancer)

(Y/N) never back down from a fight.

“Xeno, run.”

“What? There’s a zero percentage chance that you will win, and a very low chance that I’ll escape anyway! It’s more logical that I-”

(Ignorance runs in our blood, Xeno doesn't know (Y/N))

“There’s a hidden shortcut.” (Y/N) whispered, “Ran back and then take a sharp left, there’s a narrow walkway but you’ll fit through. Then you’ll find an apartment door - knock on it and tell the uncle there that I sent you.”

“What?! How can I-”

“Don’t you always take the logical path? Then do it. Stop being so emotional. It’s not like you care anyway.”

((Y/N) couldn’t see it, but Xeno immediately frowned and a bitter expression appeared on his face for a solid second before he turned and ran.)

“Catch him!”

That was their cue.

In the middle of the all-out brawl, (Y/N) maneuvered their way around like a slippery little snake, avoiding thugs with parkour and fighting back like a wild animal. They threw punches that sent people flying and kicks that sent people tumbling to the ground.

“I know you, you’re that troublemaker!” (Y/N) looked up with an arrogant smirk, and wiped the blood off the side of their lips.

“Yea, I know.” (Y/N) dodged the swing of a bat, and kicked one of them in the balls.

Unfortunately, someone grabbed (Y/N) from behind.

“I got you now-” But little did they know, (Y/N) is not one to be captured so easily. By leaning backwards and kicking the incoming fighters, it sent both of them back from the inertia, enough for (Y/N) to break out of the hold and kick all of them to the curb.

With so many taken out, it was quiet enough for them to hear sirens in the background.

“Fuck! I’ll fucking kill you and your brother the next time I see you!” Seeing them run with their tails tucked behind their ass was satisfying.

“Ha, what a joke. There won’t be a next time.” It took everything for (Y/N) to not fall over from fatigue and explain everything to the police, then they provided the police with camera footage and recording so the police could hunt them down.

The police insisted on bringing (Y/N) to the hospital due to the various injuries they got on their body, but (Y/N) instead just said they wanted a ride home. With a little bit of convincing, the police eventually listened and did as they said.

“Another person jealous of Xeno huh? Not surprised.”

"Xeno Houston Wingfield was the one that called for help." (Y/N) didn't say anything to that but simply looked outside the window.

When (Y/N) entered the house, they immediately went to their room, disregarding the worries from Xeno, and their parents.

“Fuck.” A string of curses left their lips as they tried to treat themselves with a first aid kit. It stings like hell and it doesn’t help when they’re extremely tired.

“(Y/N), it’s me. Stanley.”

“Go away.” (Y/N) replied with annoyance, they don’t need Xeno’s pity or get blinded right now.

“It’s just me.” (Y/N) watched the door silently.

“If you don’t open the door, I’ll kick it open.” With Stanley's playful tone, it sounded like something he would do out of spite.

“Fucking- alright. Happy?” Exasperated, (Y/N) opened the door and dragged the annoying prick into their room, before slamming it shut, not caring if Xeno was there at all.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks Sherlock.” Before (Y/N) could sit back on their bed, a hand reached out and grabbed their arm. With a forceful tug, Stanley spun them around.

“What the fuck-”

Sharp, predator eyes are what shut (Y/N) up.

For the first time in a long time, (Y/N) felt…nervous.

Stanley tilted (Y/N)’s chin up to get a better look at their face and the injuries from the fight. A hiss left their lips, but no words dared to come out when being stared down by those watchful eyes.

(Y/N) was both nervous and confused, just what was happening right now? What happened to the literal man-puppy?

But nothing came out of them in this tense atmosphere.

Stanley gently wipes away the streak of blood by (Y/N)’s mouth without saying anything.

(Y/N)’s heart skips a beat as Stanley finally directly looks them dead in the eye.

Stanley’s voice quiet and tense, their anger barely restrained.

“Who did this to you?”

It took a moment for (Y/N) to collect themselves.

“It’s none of your business.” (Y/N) tries to pry the hand away, but Stanley only tightens his hold.

“Yes it is.”

“Yea?” (Y/N) challenged, glaring at the older man, “And what are you gonna do about it huh?”

For a moment, (Y/N) saw an uncharacteristic violent glint in his eyes, bringing shivers done their spine.

“No one can hurt you and get away with it.”

[hollowwrites]

HC part 2! HC part 2!

(Only if you want to!)

HC part 2! HC part 2!

Loving super tall Ominis. I'll always love a good height difference 🥵

Ominis Headcanons Pt. 2

So when I said I thought about a little more, I lied I went a tad mad

I’ll refer to MC as Evelyn throughout this cause she’s my ship with Omi. This is basically my notes page. Things may conflict. Who cares? If anything grabs you please ask about it. You guys inspire me for way too much of my stuff 💚

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

Family (Angsty…)

Some waffle about Ominis can’t be alive past 50 because of Tom Riddles family tree? No. He separates from his family after he’s 18. He uses his Aunts notes to prove that she has passed away and because of this he learns she left everything she owned to Ominis. He uses her money (I like to think it’s the majority of the Gaunt fortune because she’s not a blood purist therefore is sensible with her money not spending it on trinkets and Slytherin heirlooms) to legally separate from his family so they scorch him from the records.

I think the developers gave Ominis blonde hair to win Malfoy points but I also think it symbolises his separation from his family. Tom Riddle and Art of the Gaunt Family all have dark hair so our boi Omi is physically different compared to them not just mentally. It also might help him later to disassociate from his family because he doesn’t look like them.

I genuinely can’t remember if this was mentioned in game or not (I stop playing after Beasts Class and pretend that nothing bad happens to any of our bois) but I imagine he’s suffered Crucio quite a few times. If his family are cruel enough to do it once, they’d do it multiple times.

I mention this in my Blindsided fic but I feel like Crucio would leave a scar behind. Avada Kedavra does so why not Crucio huh? Is it because I wanted Eve to tend to his wounds and try to remove the scarring?…maybe. Do I care if it makes any sense at all? No!

Obviously because of this I feel like Ominis is covered in scars. Always hidden so no one can see how horrible a family they are…even though everyone already knows.

Patronus

His Patronus is a difficult one. I was Googling animals that have some of Ominis traits so I’ve narrowed it down to three:

Spider - I read an article ages ago debating whether or not spiders or insects in general feel pain or not. They either don’t or have a high tolerance for pain. So I feel like with how often Ominis gets tortured he’d have grown a tolerance for it like a Spider.

Vampire Bat - …I like Vampire Ominis what can I say? No obviously they use echolocation like his wand and they sleep in the day…need I say more?

A Blind Basilisk - THE UNINTENDED FORESHADOWING. Plus a basilisk is a dangerous snake, blind or not blind, like Ominis. People would maybe underestimate a blind basilisk thinking it would be easier to take down with its main weapon taken from it but I would still not want mess with one. JUST LIKE OMI

Either way I think once he falls in love with Eve his Patronus would change to Dove (I headcanon that Eves Mom used to call her a dove and her wand is a bird skull)

Speaking of Patronus’ he wouldn’t be able to cast one until he met Sebastian.

His first memory he could use to conjure a Patronus would be when Sebastian asks him to stay with him over the holidays. The mixture of guilt, relief, happiness and sadness he feels is powerful enough to cast one.

Second would be looking after Eve after she got Crucio’d in the Scriptorium. Despite the horrible origin of the day he looks back at it fondly. It’s where him and Eve truly started to bond and probably where his feelings for her originated.

General HCs

He snaps his wand a lot. It’s constantly in his hand and Sebastian is a trying person to be around so I imagine he just grips it too hard and snap. Learns to fix it himself after one too many visits to Ollivanders.

Maybe he completely snaps it one day after he separates from his family and has to get a completely new wand. Evelyn points out that it’s a lighter wood than before. I know the wood has nothing to do with anything like that but I like the though that he’s free of his dark past and his wand becomes lighter because of it

His boggart is just an amalgamation or screams and torture he’s pretty used to it. I go in detail here

He definitely grows up to be the next Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher just to rub it in his families face. Plus I think he’s close with Hecat she would put him forward for the position. Maybe he quits before Dumbledores era to travel with Eve finding ancient magic spots.

Thinking about the mirror of Erised is tricky with the boi cause blind BUT I think his deepest desire is just peace so maybe when he ‘looks’ into the mirror he can hear the wind blowing through grass and can smell roses, the distant sound of Eve and Sebastian laughing. I think he gets to live that anyway…he deserves it.

Relationshipy stuff (NSFW 🔞)

I don’t think he wants kids… I just can’t see him with them. I know people like Dadimis but…no. Maybe I’m projecting but kids take so much patience which he clearly does not have.

Contrary to everyone else’s opinion but I think he like public signs of affection he’s just a touchy person. He’s always had something in his hands whether it was a stick when he was younger or his wand he’s ALWAYS touching SOMETHING. It grounds him. So he’s touchy when he knows the person doesn’t mind.

I think he’d shamelessly hold Sebastian’s hand everywhere. I don’t think Seb would care either. If it’s comforting then whatever

(NSFW 🔞) So I’m expanding on the choking thing from last time 👀 I don’t think he’d do it in a dominating way, I think it’s more of a feeling thing? I imagine the first time it happened was an accident. He just slid his hand up her chest and went a bit too far up. He felt the vibrations of her moaning against his hand, yeah he can hear it but feeling it is better. After that it’s almost a certainty that his hand will find its way around her neck. Maybe it becomes a dom thing but not originally.

Masterlist

[salbertwolf]

Talent Swap Au - Part 3!

I'm so normal about them what do you mean

Decided to just post the remaining ones here in just one batch because I need to throw the ideas somewhere and I do not have the patience I would like to imagine I have, especially not with stuff I want to talk about.

Be warned! Some spoilers for DR1, read at your own discretion.

First Group - The Deserved Better Gang

Yasuhiro Hagakure - Ultimate Idol

Going through his Hozier era, good for him <- Friend about him.

This man can fit so many conspiracies in his head.

Him and Mondo know each other in a daily basis because of some reasons I'll say later, you can imagine how his dead impacted the other.

Why pick Sakura? He's dumb but not that dumb.

"Those are some weird blood splatters" "It looks like a tree" "Huh" Truth Bullet Added! "Poorly Drawn Tree".

Sakura Ogami - Ultimate Baseball Idol

She's wearing a 50's style baseball uniform, this is not her usual uniform but she likes how it looks so sue her.

The deal with the mm still happens and goes as you'd expect.

She didn't kill Hiro because she wanted, Hina was the original target for the letter so she went to confront him about it.

Aoi Asahina - Ultimate Programmer

I had to look up so many Y2K fashion girl I'm so sorry that this means you died 3rd.

Alter Ego takes mostly the form of her brother and she created both to help and cope with everything.

Her death happens because her and Makoto have heard of each other through her brother, he didn't mean to kill her he swears! Still happens, I hug her.

Second Group - Trouble Trio

Kyoko Kirigiri - Ultimate Gambler

She went to live with her dad when she was little but the deduction talent runs through her blood, she is type of player that counts card and doesn't get caught.

Eventually reconnected with her grandfather and flips her dad off a lot.

Case 3 was not for the money, it was a revenge thingy.

Makoto Naegi - Ultimate Biker Gang Leader

Still a sweethear! Just a good boy that could kick you in your knees and send you to the hospital

Started the gang more of a personal thing but then it got out of control and he doesn't know what will happen if he decides to leave (Especially since the Crazy Diamonds guys left so some of the members moved to his gang).

Sister is his second in command

Expected to get caught in Trial 2, then the whole meddling with the crime scene happened and he doesn't know how to feel about it.

Byakuya Togami - Ultimate Fanfic Creator

That type of nerd that corrects you even if you get a tiny detail wrong because "How dare you get this wrong even if you are just starting to learn about this piece of media? You are unworthy of calling yourself a true fan!".

Loser, L.

Doesn't know how he became friends with Makoto but case 3 certainly did happen got killed LMAO.

Third Group - The Allies(?)

Hifumi Yamada - Ultimate Moral Compass

I struggled so hard giving him a talent I tried my best.

The type of hall monitor that strucks a conversation with you while walking and you not realizing he took you to detention or the office.

Nothing like canon Hifumi, just, nothing, the best way to write Hifumi is not writing Hifumi.

Mukuro Ikusaba - Ultimate Martial Artist

The main 6's emotional support through everything, elder sister tired energy.

Her and Junko didn't get separated at teens but they are friends, she really cared about her sister and loves her very much.

MM deal hurts her soul... case 4, yeah.

Celestia Ludenberg? - Ultimate Fashionista? Toko Fukawa - Ultimate Soldier

Omg is that Celestia Ludenberg the Ultimate Fashionista she looks so cool???

She looks different than in the pictures... Huh

Most be kept away from Taka at least 3 rooms appart if they are not in the group.

"WHY WEAR GLASSES IF CONTACTS?" "BECAUSE THEY DO SHIT SHE'S STILL BLIND AS A BAT"

That's all, thank you for hearing me ramble once again

Case 1 aftermath being like:

Part 1 <-

Part 2 <-

Part 4 <-

[gutsfics]

!!

BATEZ!!!!!!!!!!! MY BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS WITH SO MANY DISORDERS

not pictured: them ourple

they used to be an ok ko lets be heroes fancharacter until the fun little fic story i was writing for them got out of hand and now their story is a whole beast of its own im writing with @spacepumpkins

theyre nonbinary and also dont have a human sex (bc theyre. not human). theyre around 40-50ish years old. theyre demiromantic and demisexual and they have loved exactly Two people in their life (both deceased now) and do not care to find a third

theyre the eldest child of an infamous supervillian + his (slightly less) infamous villianess wife who both died during a Mysterious House Fire when Batez was a teenager. he was super abusive and she turned a blind eye to his abuse at best and joined in at worst.

theyve got four younger siblings: conjoined twins named Brams and Stoker (both boys(?)), a girl named Fig who is a living beehive, and another boy named Barnam (who has gone missing since a week or so after the housefire). Batez occasionally reaches out to them (-Barnam, of course), but they feel like their siblings probably lead happier lives when theyre not around. Brams and Stoker are six years younger than Batez, Fig is thee years younger than the twins, and Barnam is five years younger than Fig.

post-parent-death, Batez and their siblings were put into foster care and started attending public schooling. Batez especially struggled to make friends and connect with people, as they were publicly known as the child of the greatest supervillain of the past century and people automatically assumed the worst of them, despite their best efforts to show theyre not their parents

they eventually are able to start a superhero team with their only closest friend, but it falls apart after a few years when a cocky newcomer insists that Batez MUST still be evil and eventually pushes them too far. they decide "you want a villain? fine. I Will Give You A Villian"

blah blah blah, stuff happens, a super hero dies, theyre blamed for it, they go to bottom storage jail for a long time, theyre eventually let out on good behavior/a villain rehabilitation program

theyre retired now, for the most part. but two of their old minions keep coming by trying to start villainy back up, and also they found a trash child rooting through their garbage and now they have a daughter? her name is The Screech and she thinks she's his minion and hes still a villain, even though he tries to tell her otherwise. shes my special baby girl and i love her <3

non story stuff: theyre a musical prodigy and their villian group was an orchestra that caused chaos with the music they played. their favorite instruments to play are violin and piano, but they can play basically anything. also theyre a contortionist. and technically a plant. same with the twins and Fig. Barnam is a bit more meat based than the others.

BONUS SCREECH AND BATEZ DOING A THREE-LEGGED RACE BECAUSE I LOVE THIS IMAGE SO MUCH DRAWN BY @spacepumpkins

Screech is blind and uses echolocation to "see". those bat ears are part of her hat, they help amplfy her hearing. also she taught herself how to code! shes a little menace and i love her so much <3 shes about 6-11 years old

[pickledpascal]

Put Me Back In

Chapter Four

Warnings: angst, fluff, wade wilson

Word Count: 1.9k

Put Me Back In Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Ever since their first meeting at the café, it has been a routine for them to see each other anytime they could. They'd talk—about absolutely anything. Logan described how he got there and his living situation with Wade, while Maya would tell him stories of her now-mundane life. She'd occasionally go to the X-Mansion and help out where she could, but it still stung being there without him by her side. 

Going to the café rather than the bar, gave Logan a better will to live. Life suddenly mattered again. So he could see Maya again and scribble down sketches when he got home and locked himself in his room. They paled in comparison to the real thing. But maybe he needed to ask her to sit for him so he could memorize every detail more closely. 

Unfortunately for Logan, Wade was catching on. And he was smug about it because when was he not?

“Hey, Logi-Bear, I noticed you're glowing lately. Someone get you pregnant?” He asked. Logan could hear the smirk in his voice under his mask. 

Logan huffed under his breath as he sipped on his beer. Just because he didn't go to a bar as much, if at all, anymore didn't mean he was going to stop drinking. Regular beer didn't affect him anyway. 

Wade smirked as he watched Logan. The man wasn't outwardly hostile for the first time since living there. Wade counted that as a win. And he had a feeling he knew what caused that. The Wolverine's beloved Maya. 

She seemed to be the antidote to everything. Every little bad thing in his mind could be soothed over. His mind was like a jagged rock, smoothed over by water with time. She was the water. The river he was drowning in. The river he never wanted to leave.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Logan glared at him.

“Like what?” Wade responded innocently. 

“Like a fucking moron.” 

“That really hurts my feelings, Wolvie.”

“Good.” 

“Aw, such sweet words. Come whisper that in my ear.”

Logan huffed again. It almost came out as a growl. The animal inside him couldn't control itself around Wade sometimes. The idiot was annoying. 

“Don't fuck in the kitchen, our apartment already smells like shit.” Althea grumbled as she walked past them to the door.

Wade turned to look at her, eyebrows furrowed. “And where are you going when you're blind as a bat?” 

“Bingo with a bunch of whores.” She spat back at him before she left. 

“If she gets run over by a truck…” Wade sighed under his breath and shook his head. He then looked at Logan again. “How's Maya?” He asked slyly. 

The man didn't answer for a little while, wondering how much he should say before the fucker made a joke. Which he knew to be inevitable. “She's fine.” Logan said simply.

Wade sat at the table. “She is fine.” He whistled lowly. 

Logan's claws unsheathed and stabbed through Wade's hand, pinning it down to the table. It caused the merc to yelp. “Don't talk about her like that.” His jaw clenched. 

“Feisty, Wolvie.” Wade mused, already forgetting the fact that Logan's claws impaled his hand. “I was just stating a fact.” 

Logan put his claws away and shook his head. He stood up from the table and grabbed his coat before he left the apartment. It was evening now, a bit chilly so he shrugged the jacket on. He didn't know where he was going. He just didn't like the way Wade spoke about Maya, even if it was in jest. 

Maya was an attractive woman. Anyone who didn't think so needed to get their eyes checked, perhaps rearranged, but she was so much more than that. She was able to bring him out of dark places that he wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy. Even back in his own universe, he valued their friendship so deeply. She never thought of him as a monster, never even called him ‘Wolverine.’ He was simply ‘Logan’ to her. He was a man. Not an animal. The only one to ever think so. 

He loved her. He continued to love her. Especially now. He could see her, feel her, talk to her. Everything he had wished for years since her counterpart died in his universe. 

Wade could never understand that. He could never see just how much Logan missed her. How much he longed to feel her hold him tight, feel her cool hands against his skin again. That's what he thought, anyway. 

“Logan?” Maya asked. She was in her pajamas—a pair of shorts and a shirt that seemed to have the neckline cut to be wider. 

He hadn't registered walking to her townhouse. Or the fact that he knocked on her door. His feet seemed to carry him by themselves. He couldn't help but think she looked beautiful like this, ready for bed, and was possibly even woken up by him. 

“Logan,” She pressed softly. “Are you okay?” The door to her home was slightly open as she stood at the doorstep with him.

He breathed in deeply. “Yeah, just…” His eyes roamed over her body. “Can I come in?” 

Maya tilted her head as she looked at him. She stepped aside so Logan could come in. She closed and locked the door once he was. 

It was the first time Logan was in her house. It was small since it was right outside the main city but it was nice. It smelled amazing. It smelled like her. He breathed in the scent with a soft sigh. And her decor was so overwhelmingly her too. Native Inuit-style furs and tapestries decorated the walls. He wondered if she managed to find her parents or traveled to her old village every so often to reconnect with her culture. He had known about her dream to do so.

Maya stepped closer to Logan, lifting a hand to his lower back. He nearly melted at the touch, even over his layers of clothes. She wore a look of concern on her face. “Did Wade upset you?”

“When does he not?” He laughed dryly. 

“He's an acquired taste.” Maya nodded in agreement, an amused look in her eyes. 

Logan sighed softly. “I just needed to see you.” It was out in the open now. His need for her. 

He needed her like he needed air. He needed her like he needed his healing factor or his claws. She was a part of him. Without her, he felt like his adamantium bones were hollow and he was simply a man made of metal. With her, he felt more human than he had ever felt in his life. Like he was simply flesh, blood, and bone, the same as any non-mutant. 

Maya was about to speak but Logan beat her to it. “I love you.” He breathed weakly, his eyebrows drawn together as if he was pleading she wouldn't reject him. 

“Logan—” She began.

“No, no, don't—don’t say anything. Please.” He choked on his own words. It felt like she was about to let him down gently. He wouldn't blame her. 

She loved deeply too. She was the goddamn ocean, and he was but a pebble rippling down to the bottom of the sea. The other Logan was like a goddamn island, changing waves and currents. Hell, he was the moon. Controlling her tides however he saw fit. 

Maya shook her head and let out a breath before she surprised him in a way he never saw coming. She kissed him, her cool hands cupping his face, cradling it like he was the most delicate piece of porcelain that would crack if she held him firmly. And maybe he would've. 

“I love you too.” She whispered, eyes roaming over his face. Her thumbs gently rubbed over the skin of his cheeks, causing soft chills to run down his body. “Please stop thinking I don't. I love him… but I love you too.” 

Logan sniffled slightly, feeling his eyes well up with tears. They seemed to be stuck there, he didn't cry when his X-Men died, but now they were pouring out of him like a dam. Maya loved him. She really did, didn't she? She had kissed him. And she looked at him like he hung the stars. His chest felt tight, constricted like a cinder block had been placed there but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. 

Maya frowned at him and pulled him into a tight hug. “I'm sorry.” She murmured, rubbing up and down his back. 

“Don't be.” Logan said shakily, wrapping his arms around her in return. He couldn't help the reaction he had. 

Love wasn't something he allowed himself to feel. Everyone was going to die eventually and he would be there, watching it all. But Maya… god, she slipped through his fingers, through the cracks in his walls, and tore them all down with one swift crash of a wave. He thought his fortress was impenetrable. Not for her. 

Maya let out a soft chuckle and shook her head as she pulled away from the embrace to look at Logan properly. She wiped a few of his tears away, watching as a few seeped into his skin and then into hers. 

“You're beautiful.” Logan whispered, unable to keep himself from saying so. 

To be able to see her so close, to see the light shining against her two-toned eyes, the small blemishes in her skin, the light patch of hair missing in her eyebrow because of the scar there—it felt like a privilege. He had never wanted to capture a moment on paper as much as this one.

Maya's lips quivered into a lopsided smile, enticing Logan to kiss her again. “You’re a sap in every universe, it seems.”

“I'm only telling the truth.” He whispered, breathless. “You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my life.” 

Logan wasn't kidding. He had been alive for nearly two hundred years and couldn't remember a face that stuck out as much as Maya, even amongst his past lovers. They all paled in comparison. 

He could hear Maya's breath hitch. She wasn't expecting him to be quite so forward. He couldn't stop it. He had been wanting her for so long that now that he had her, he didn't care for trying to seem put together or ‘himself.’ He would beg on his knees if she asked and he wouldn't feel ashamed. 

They ended up kissing on the couch, Maya on top of him. She pulled one of his legs over her hip as she tilted her head to get a better angle for the kiss. Logan had his arms around her neck, not minding that she had taken the lead. It felt so much better than his dreams. So much better. Her lips on his, his hands tangled in her long, dark hair, her hands on his hips or around his waist. 

“Wanna stay the night.” Logan murmured, breathless when they pulled away from the kiss. He couldn't imagine leaving her now.

Maya pressed her forehead against his and sighed. “You can stay as long as you want.” She whispered, their breaths entangling. 

For the first time in years, Logan's mind was calm. His head was clear, clearer than ever. A still river. He focused on the moment. This moment between them. He finally had what he wanted. Her. He could've cried again. His love wasn't only his anymore. It was theirs. 

The moon was shining brightly that night, glowing through the blinds. No one noticed how it seemed to shine on her house specifically. 

[breannasfluff]

Want a Drink?

Whump Rating: 0.5/5

Kara Kara Bazaar had a delightful new addition; an extension of the Noble Canteen. Most of the Chain were happy to settle in the inn or do a little shipping. Hyrule, though, pulled Wild aside. “Still have those vai clothes?”

The champion lights up. “What are you thinking?”

“Want to go check out the new bar?”

“Yes! Come on, I’ll help you get ready.”

A quick scrub and Hyrule is sliding into silks; smooth and airy against his skin. They don’t need to wear the face coverings here, so Wild dips into his store of makeup. Glitter eyeshadow highlights his eyes and he sweeps gloss across Hyrule’s lips. Then he takes over the mirror to do his own.

“Well? What do you think?” Wild spins to show off the outfit and makeup.

“Stunning!”

“You look like a catch yourself!”

Hyrule smiles at the compliment, but it’s a little tight. The feeling is forgotten as Wild loops his arm in his and pulls him to the door. They have a bar to visit.

The bar is packed with people. Wild and Hyrule squeeze up to the counter and order drinks. People bump up against them and to one side, hylians are dancing. There are a few Gerudo women as well and a couple are chatting with the men.

Drinks in hand, Hyrule and Wild find a clear space and a little table to stand by. It’s barely a minute before two people come up.

“Hi cuties! My friend and I were hoping we could buy you a drink?”

Hyrule looks at the drink in his hand, still full, then at the two hylians. A girl and a boy; both dressed for the desert heat, although not in vai clothes. The girl’s hair is braided and looped up; the boy’s pulled back in a ponytail. They look similar in age to Wild and Hyrule.

“I’m Oshi,” the girl introduces herself, “and this is my friend Koran.” The boy waves.

Wild’s grin is welcoming. “I’m Wild! This is my friend Hyrule—funny name, I know. But ah,” he glances sideways at the traveler. “I think my friend is good on drinks.”

Wait...what? Hyrule looks at his cup and then back to Wild. “I mean, I can have more than one drink.”

The champion’s smile is fading. “I can get you another drink if you want one. Or you can have mine.”

“Oshi and Koran offered?”

The two friends simply smile and wait, not minding the discussion.

Wild nods slowly. “Yes, but in this case I think it would be…rude.”

“I don’t mind buying Hyrule a drink,” Oshi offers. She bats her lashes; they sparkle in the dim light. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you are gorgeous. Look at your eyes!” she leans across the table, which pulls at her loose shirt.

Hyrule smiles back. “I love your hair braids. Can you tell me how you did them?”

Before Oshi can answer, Wild flashes them a blinding smile. “Give us just a moment, would you?”

“Of course.”

Hyrule glances back at the table as Wild pulls him a few feet away. “You need to stop it,” Wild hisses. “They’re not just being nice, they are flirting.”

“I know.” The traveler stares back, brows crinkling.

“You…do?”

Unbidden, annoyance surges. “I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Wild. I know what flirting is. I know what sex is, relationships, and everything else that goes along with it. Everyone acts like I’m—Wind, too young to hear about it. Just because I don’t want some of those things doesn’t mean I don’t know what they are!”

Wild steps back, hands up. “Woah, okay! I’m sorry! I just…didn’t want you to agree to something you didn’t understand.”

“I know. I know. But you never asked. You just assumed. I know my era isn’t like the rest of yours and there are not a lot of people around but…I like flirting with people. It’s fun. And it’s nice to feel wanted, you know? Even if I don’t want to do anything about it. Don’t you like feeling pretty, too?”

“Of course.” His face falls and he glances at the scars on his side and arm. The vai outfit hides little. “I get it. It’s nice to feel wanted.”

The annoyance vanishes and Hyrule steps closer, laying a hand on the champion’s arm. “I’m sorry I snapped. You were just trying to watch out for me.”

“I’m sorry I assumed. You never seemed interested in any of it before and…well, I guess I fell into the same trap as everyone else.” He still looks subdued.

“Really, Wild, it’s okay. Now, come on, I think we could both use some liquid encouragement to loosen up tonight.”

“Yeah.”

The traveler pauses and ducks slightly to look up at Wild. “Hey, what’s going on? Really?”

His face twists. “I just—I feel so bad for treating you like that. I should know better.”

“Why?”

“Because I…feel the same sometimes. Not always. But I get what you mean, about not wanting all the stuff that goes with being with someone. But sometimes I do want it and—anyway, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Hyrule grabs Wild’s hand and squeezes it. Somehow, this has drawn up more feelings than he was expecting. “You can feel however you want, champ.”

When Wild looks up, tears are brimming at the edges of his eyes. “But when if something’s wrong with me? The shrine messed up and I’m—broken.”

“You are not broken.” The traveler grabs his other hand and gives him a little shake. “Listen to me, Wild, there is nothing wrong with you. I know that’s hard to accept but…everyone is different.

“It took a while for me to realize I didn’t want to settle down and get married, you know? Warriors likes boys. Time is so focused on Malon that I don’t think he realizes anyone else exists in the world. Legend and Ravio are…well, whatever they’ve got going on. We’re all different.”

“But—”

“No buts. You can want someone and change your mind. You don’t have to do anything more or less than you want to. Don’t let anything make you feel guilty for that.”

“I don’t want to lead them on.” Wild lets go to wipe at his eyes, nearly smearing his eyeshadow.

“You aren’t.” Hyrule pulls him in for a hug. “And if they don’t appreciate you as you are, then you probably don’t want anything to do with them.”

Wild squeezes and when he pulls back, his smile is a little stronger. “Thanks for the talk, Rulie.”

“Any time. Now let’s go see if those drinks are still on the table.”

[ageless-aislynn]

Aislynn's Rumble Jumble of Random Thinky Thoughts on Halo s2 ep 5 "Aleria."

Spoilers, natch. 😉

I was holding out a little bit of hope, especially given that Riz went back for Vannak, that we were going to get some sort of last minute reprieve to save the big fellow. Sadly, no. 😭

John's guilt that Riz went back for Vannak's body because he had been pushing her so hard was understandable but I don't believe that was the whole story, if it was even a part of it at all. I think she went back for him because because he was one of them and they don't leave one of their own behind. More than that, she went back for him because she loves him. Call it the love for a brother, for a comrade, a friend who has been at her side since they were children, she loved him. Of course, you're also welcome to call it romantic as well, you know how I support my fellow shippers 117% at all times 😇 (she says, as if she hasn't totally written Vannak/Riz shippy fic 😂😉)

Poor John, of all the trauma he's been through, this has been by far the worst of it all: he's been abandoned by the UNSC, he's lost his armor, he's lost his identity as Master Chief, he's lost Reach, has lost Cortana, lost Admiral Keyes, lost Kai, lost Vannak and then now Riz. That moment when he tells her she's all he has left just about broke my heart. When she hugged him, he did a brilliant job, IMO, of showing how for a moment, he just wanted to close his eyes and collapse onto her, then pride makes him withdraw and try to pull a facade together like it doesn't matter. *sniffle*

I obviously hope this isn't the last we see of Riz but, at the same time, I'm happy for her. She deserves some peace after the terrifying amount of physical and emotional violence she's been through. Just seeing her smiling at the end made my heart feel a little better. Love you, Riz. I hope we see you again having a great life, bb, you deserve it. 💖

Okay, so I was NOT expecting Laera to go all Negan with a barbed wire bat. 😮 But was it satisfying to watch the quiet menace growing larger and larger, while that shopkeeper dude clearly realized that he would've been better off taking a beating from Soren? Yes, that was very satisfying, indeed, lol! And why I wasn't expecting the UNSC to have taken Kessler is beyond me because of COURSE they know about him (Halsey called him by name, after all) and of COURSE they're going to want a son of a Spartan. Will any of Soren's enhancements have been passed down genetically? Will Kessler be more likely to survive the process if they put him through it? Will they not even have to put him through it at all? I would imagine they have a lot of questions they'd like answered. And Laera and her bat would be very happy to answer them all, I'd imagine... 🥊😠🥊😉

Now, the three most important things about the scenes with Makee, Cortana and not!Thel!Arbiter whom I shall try to now call Var 'Gatanai since that's his name:

I still don't care for Cortana's makeover. 🤷‍♀️I liked the bit of camaraderie between her and Makee, especially with Makee's line about what happens when a useful thing loses its use. I see a forced alliance in their future, if not an actual friendship.

I still keep staring at Makee's eyebrows, wondering if they're more blonde because she dyed them or is it from whatever she went through to bring her back to life after last season. Yes, this is the important thing to keep worrying about. 🙄😜

I had to struggle so hard not to loudly exclaim, "ARE YOU BLINDED BY ITS MAJESTY?" when Cortana showed Var the Halo lands Makee and John frolicked through in season 1. 😇😂😉

And fourth place runner up, I didn't get as many shippy vibes this week between Makee and Var, whom I can call by his name or by not!Thel!Arbiter but not just "the Arbiter" because I'm a card-carrying member of the Fangirls of Arbiter Thel 'Vadam Fan Club and I'm not going to risk losing my membership. 😂😉

My bb boi. *draws sparkly hearts everywhere* 💖💖💖😉

I'm of two minds about them pretty obviously giving Var the Arbiter storyline here. However, if they would've called the character Thel 'Vadam(ee) but not had him voiced by Keith David? Um, HERESY. I don't say that sort of thing often when it comes to new adaptations but, c'mon, he IS the Arbiter when it comes to voices and considering that Thel would be CGI or whatever they're using to create Var and the other Elites, it's not the same sort of prospect as I've heard other people say, that they should've dubbed Steve Downes' voice over Pablo Schreiber's. (Yes, I saw that pop up a couple of times in the earlier days.) I mean, clearly Steve Downes IS Master Chief when it comes to the games but dubbing a live action actor is never going to look smooth, IMO.

Anyway, I think this means we won't be meeting Thel in this series, since his storyline is currently going along without him. 🤷‍♀️

Now to see what's in store for us next week. I am both looking forward to and dreading Kai and John's inevitable reunion. He's going to feel utterly betrayed, I'd think, and as I've said before, if she's not utterly devastated by Vannak's death and feeling guilty over not being there when Silver Team needed her... I'm going to have to super-duper fix that with fic. *nodnods* 😜😉

PS - Am I writing something utterly fluffy for Vannak right now? OF COURSE I am! C'mon, Vannak, jump in the AU Party Warthog, where you'll always be safe and happy!