#so it’s not like I’m forced to get a degree in something I ‘hate’

[halfd3af]

It’s really devastating that I’ve been… essentially gatekept from finishing my MSW and I’m forced to switch to an MPP, MPH, or MS degree instead

Like, I’m unsure how many, if any, of my 21 credits will transfer to a different program… it’ll be like starting from scratch

[macfrog]

homesick

a cowboy like me one shot

oh, i missed these two. here's a little check-in on my favorite morally irresponsible outlaws.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you spend the weekend back home in austin with joel.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 40s), twinge of angst, piv sex in the shower (beware of slippage). you know the drill with these two. part of the cowboy like me universe, but can probably be enjoyed as a standalone.

word count: 6.3k

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“This is Joel Miller. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

You wait for the beep, pacing along a wall of steel cylinders. The laundromat is stifling, the machines’ drumming deafening. It’s eighty-something degrees out, and it’s only six o’clock.

“Pick up, Miller. Hello? Hello? I know you’re there. Can’t come to the –” you clear your throat, strum the twang in your vocal cords, “– Can’t come to the ph-owww-ne right n–”

The line clicks as he picks the handset up.

“Did you call just to make fun of me, kid?”

You halt, spinning on your heel. “So you were screening me?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t notice the time. I’ve been out back with Tommy.”

“Oh,” you mellow, tongue curling around your ice cream, “We don’t have to call right now, you know. I’m just doing laundry.”

“It is six there, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me keep you. Go hang with your brother.”

Joel sighs as he sinks back into his couch. “Keep me. He knows you were calling tonight. He’s probably outside fraternizing with the neighbor, anyway. Won’t even notice I’m gone. Laundry, huh?”

“Mhm.” You suckle on the lip of the waffle cone. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m stuck being force-fed Mötley Crüe and watching a steel drum shred my panties.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Enough, cowboy.”

“I like Mötley Crüe,” he chuckles. “They got some hits under their belt.”

“Name five.”

“Five,” he says. “You’re asking a lot there, darlin’.”

“Of Mötley Crüe or of your memory, old man?”

Joel hums. “Should’ve seen that one coming, baby.”

You boost yourself up onto one of the dryers, swinging your legs. If there were anyone else in the laundromat, you’d care to hide your fluster – but you’re here on your own, and the man just melts you. All girlish and giggly, you feel his words swirl around your stomach like sweet honey.

“Tell me about your day,” you say, covering the flutter in your voice with another mouthful of ice cream.

“Well,” Joel says, “weather’s fine, work’s fine. Almost done with that renovation for your favorite clients.”

You gasp. “The old couple with the cats?”

He grumbles. “That’s them. They still hate me, by the way.”

“The couple, or the cats?”

“…Jury’s out.”

You snicker.

“Then, uh, I called Sarah, had some dinner, and now here I am talkin’ to you.”

“Hm. I’m your favorite part, right? I’m your favorite part of today?”

Joel pauses, breathing for a moment. Slow, quiet, but sure, he says: “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

The smile on your face cracks, crumbles into something more pained. Your heart sinks.

It’s been three months since you were last home. Technically, it’s been seven weeks since you were in Austin – but Joel was out of town for the weekend, and you spent four days cleaning your dad’s gutter and watching westerns.

It’s been three months since you were last in Joel’s arms. In his house, in his clothes, in his bed. Three months since you heard his voice not through the crackle of a thousand miles apart; since you smelled him on your skin, not on the flannels you’ve stolen from him.

Three long, tough months.

And it means nothing, anyway. All this missing each other. So you tell yourselves, and so you tell everyone else. You’re not together, you’re not committed. You’ve been seeing other people, so has Joel – even if he’s only been on two dates in the nine months since you moved away.

Spending a casual weekend together here and there is enough to get you by. It’s easier this way, right? It’s cleaner. There are no crossed wires, no strings at risk of becoming tangled.

Only – your entire relationship is woven in tangled strings. Messy, knotted, twisted around your fingers and threaded through your ribs. A summer’s worth of weaving yourselves closer and closer together, only to be pulled apart come fall.

It didn’t take long to prove that when a knot is pulled, it only binds tighter.

It only binds sorer.

“Anyway,” Joel says, “your turn. How was your day?”

You gulp, slipping down from the dryer to check on your wash. If you speak, you’ll break, and if you break, you’ll sob.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yep,” you croak. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and shake your head. “I – uh…Yeah, my day was fine.”

The line quietens.

“You sure? Everything okay at work?”

Your reflection blinks back at you in the window of the machine, warped and molten. She opens her mouth and replies, “All good.”

He can read you even three states apart. “Let me call you back. Hold on.”

The call disconnects before you can protest. Over your shoulder, another regular shuffles into the laundromat.

She smiles, skin supple and sun-spotted, looking but not looking you in the eye. She slides her full basket over one of the machines on the other side of the room, and tosses her clothes into the drum.

When your phone vibrates again, you pass by her and out onto the street.

Joel’s pixelated living room stretches across your screen.

“Joel,” you sniff, “Joel, it’s –”

“Can you see me?”

“No, you gotta flip your –”

“…never know why the damn thing don’t –”

“The button with the arrows. The camera button, Joel, it’s –”

His coffee table flips, and in place – straight, dark brows drawn tight in a frown. Crows feet, scar across the bridge of his nose. Peppered hair a little longer than the last time you called, beard a little thicker.

The only person in the world who can weaken your knees and splinter your chest, in one fleeting glance.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers, expression softening. “Look at you.”

You slump against the warm wall, sliding down. One sight of him, and your knees give. “Oh, my God, I miss you today.”

Joel laughs. His head cocks, smirk tugging at his lips. “I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I…” you sigh, “…That’s what I meant. It’s just – some days, you feel a little further away.”

“Today one of those days?”

You nod. A car soars by, whipping hot air from the road which pours over your bare legs. “It’s just…been a day. That’s all.”

“We can talk about it, if you want. You’re hell of a lot smarter than me, darlin’, but I’ve had my share of bad days before. Never does any harm to get it off your chest.”

He smiles. It breaks your heart.

He works ten hours straight, some days. Out at the crack of dawn, home with only enough time and energy to nuke something in the microwave. Somewhere amongst that, he fits in beers with Tommy and ridiculous DIY jobs your dad elicits his help for.

And still – he sets aside an hour or two every few nights, specially for you. He collapses into his couch, decaf in his mug, and puts the world to rights with you on the other end of the phone.

The meaningless work dramas, the paper building up on your desk. The commute, for the love of God – the traffic jams you swear will one day be the death of you. The last thing Joel needs is to listen to your problems on end, and you tell him so.

“Bullshit,” he replies. He shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. “I asked, didn’t I? Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You groan. “I just…I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while. No meetings, no call times. No helping my dad trim the trees in the yard when I’m home for the weekend.”

He laughs. “He rope you into that one too, huh?”

“Sure did.” You tense your fist, wince at the memory of splinters you were still plucking from your palm even weeks later.

“I got nothing to complain about,” you tell Joel, “I know that. This job is…it’s right where I want to be. Just – sometimes, I miss being back in Austin, following you around Costco and hiding from my dad. It’s like life was simpler then.”

Joel chokes. “I guarantee you,” he coughs, thumping his chest clear of beer, “life was not simpler. Not by a long shot. Goddamn.”

He swings to his feet and wanders across the room to his kitchen. Past his armchair, past the guitar mounted on the wall. Past the dining chair he always hangs his coat from. You know the anatomy of his home better than your own, it feels like.

You sure as hell miss it more than your own.

“Lemme see…” Joel squints over his phone. He leans over his kitchen counter. “What’s next weekend look like for you?”

You shrug. “My weekend off.”

“Nothing planned?”

“Nothing yet.”

He nods. “I’m meeting a supplier on Saturday afternoon, but if you can stand to be without me for a few hours, then…”

His eyebrows lift.

So do yours. “Then…?”

“I can look at flights,” Joel says, “get you booked tonight. Pick you up Friday, drop you off Sunday. Spend the whole weekend with your brain shut off, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

A wave of warmth floods through your chest. Relief, maybe – or simple adoration for the man on the other end of the phone. Most likely, the way it always seems with Joel, it’s both at once.

He loves you. Enough to break every rule in the book. To go behind his best friend’s back for an entire summer. He loves you enough to let you go, watch you follow your wildest dreams, and then be the safety net at the end of each long day, each hard night.

He loves you enough to scratch everything off his calendar for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay. Just to hold you in his arms, heart beating a rhythm he knows better than his own. Just to sing you to sleep, and wake you up with burnt toast and runny eggs.

You pull the collar of your shirt over your nose and weep into the material. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

He smiles. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

The laundromat door flings open.

Face now flushed and hair scraped back, the woman clocks you immediately and throws a pointed finger in your direction. “Are you coming to get your panties or what, little girl?”

She clicks her teeth and disappears again. The blind hanging over the door rattles with the force it slams closed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you whisper, heaving to your feet. “Better go get my panties.”

“Why?” Joel’s making his way back outside. “Ain’t like you’re gonna need ‘em.”

You scoff. “Talk later, cowboy.”

Austin welcomes you back with a delayed flight, a screaming seatmate, and a raging headache.

The airport is busy. Loud busy. All chittering couples, hordes of kids with nauseatingly bright backpacks. You drag your suitcase through to arrivals, careful not to trip over the wheels of the stroller ahead.

When you spot his tall, dark figure weaving between bodies, the gate hushes. You move towards him by instinct, parting the crowd as you go. The magnet in your chest senses its partner drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

And nearer, until he’s reaching out. He’s close enough that his hands land on your waist, and it’s the first time in three months that you’ve felt this weight – his weight, the way only he feels – all around you.

Joel pulls you in to his chest. He locks you in, resting his chin on your head.

“Hi, honey.”

You inhale his scent, breathe in the comfort of him. “Hi,” you exhale.

Tears prickle at your eyes. It feels stupid. He looks down at you, thumb swiping across your cheek, and a salty droplet spills.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect, now.”

“You look perfect,” Joel grins, “Look like the sun.”

And you could swat him away, could shrug him and his flirting off. The sun sure as hell doesn’t look stewed in three-hour plane, too tired to move and too clingy to unhook from her dad’s best friend’s arm.

But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?

You do look different. You feel different. You feel brand new. Golden – just like the sun.

These days, it feels like there are two versions of you. One, you’ve spent the better part of a year polishing off – electric and vibrant, eyes wide and head spinning, moving through her day like gliding on air and then collapsing in a heap come nightfall. Chaos with a clipboard and call sheet.

And the other – slower. Steadier. Surer on her feet, simpler in her ways. Dust under her heels and a Texan shine in her smile. Honeylike; moving where her body tells her to go, drinking up the world as she pleases.

There’s a moment, stood under the fluorescent lights of the terminal, where you feel the first give way to the second. Safe now, in Joel’s arms, to slip back into her old, worn boots and shutter her mind – even just for this weekend.

“Come on,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around yours. “Let’s get you home.”

And there never seemed like a better idea than that.

He keeps your things in his shower caddy.

Bottom basket, strictly yours. Shampoo and conditioner and bodywash and a loofah, all exactly where you left them last time you were here. He says it as he cranks the handle, holds his palm under the flow until it’s just right.

“The strawberry stuff…?” Joel nods to the bottle, face screwed.

You gasp. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “Like it on you. I smelled like a fruit farm for a week, baby.”

“Makes a change from wood trimmings,” you mutter, peeling the shirt from your chest.

Joel glares over his shoulder. “You wanna say that a little louder?”

“No, sir,” you whisper, and step into the cubicle.

The water pours over your head and down your spine, breathing life back into your body. You close your eyes and let it wash down your face. LA feels so distant, so lost to the steam and serenity in Joel’s ensuite.

He lingers in the doorway, watching as you turn under the shower. He smiles when you hold your hand out and flick your fingers.

“Soap, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, dropping it in your palm.

You slip the velvety bar over your skin. The soap lathers in thick, milky bubbles, cascading over your chest down to your hips. Your hands lift from your navel to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between soft fingers.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, shoulders tensing. “Easy, darlin’. Dancing with the devil here.”

It burns low in your stomach.

You pass him the bar back. “Maybe I want to dance,” you murmur. “Maybe he does, too.”

His eyebrows lift. “Maybe he does,” he agrees. He trades the soap for shampoo, tapping the bottle against your hip.

The heat grows under your skin. Having him watch, his close eye on you as you wash the suds from your hair and slick bodywash over your skin.

His eyes drift from your chest to your waist, looping up to your soaked eyelashes and dripping bottom lip, diving again between your legs.

Hungry. Starved, even.

Three months of secret photos and sexy phone calls to get you both by. Three months of imagining you, fist around his cock in the dead of night, coating his stomach just with the thought of you.

And right here, right now, in his shower: the real thing. The forbidden fruit. Body hot and skin soaked, just as desperate as he is. Just as needy.

You step forward, reaching for his shoulders. Arms around his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt, you pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” you whisper against his lips, stealing a kiss.

Joel’s gaze darkens. He takes your jaw and tilts your head back. Voice like thunder rolling over you, he warns, “I told someone we’d be somewhere.”

You smile, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “We’re running late. Something’s come up.”

His arms lift and you pull the cotton over his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s the same solid sculpture as always. Strong and wide, torso scattered with hair which thickens across the span of his chest.

He rids himself of his boots and jeans, kicks his underwear off, and joins you under the water. So big that he corners you, so tall that he has to adjust the showerhead.

Pressed up against your body; warm, manly scent raining over you. He’s hard, tucked right by your hip, rutting gently as he steals kiss after kiss.

He’s addicted to it. To you. Has been ever since that first night, the first taste of poison. Has been, probably, since that first glimpse of you last summer. For all the wrong reasons and in all the wrong ways, for better or worse –

You break him open. You make him weak.

Joel groans when you wrap your hand around him. That familiar weight in your grasp. He glances down to watch your slow strokes, fighting back a filthy smile.

“Missed you,” he breathes, voice lost to the patter of the shower. He slips a hand between your legs. “Ain’t gonna last long, are you?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding into his palm. You toy with his bottom lip, nipping at the edges of his smirk. “We got all weekend. Just – just fuck me.”

He hikes your leg over his hip and lines up. A blooming ache when he notches at your hole, tip teasing your entrance.

Your back curls. You wrap your arms around Joel’s neck, whimpering into his chest.

“’s alright,” he kisses your neck, “Just take it nice ‘n slow. Get her used to me again, baby.”

He pushes inside, two heavy hands on your waist. Always in control, always easing you in. He holds you delicately, moving inch by inch, watching the twist of your brow and bite of your lip before sinking in further.

He reaches up and tilts the downpour to the wall. Lifts your fragile body, split in two on his cock, and pushes you against the tile.

Your cunt aches as he slides out. She clamps around his tip. It hurts – but you don’t want to let him go.

“Stay,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. “Stay inside me.”

He hums and presses his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

His hips move forward. Your cunt opens for him the deeper he moves. Like welcoming him home, remembering the way it feels to be this full. The stretch of taking him, the air stolen from your lungs. The love you can never find the beginning nor the end of.

And then he’s moving quicker, sharper, one arm wrapped around your neck to cradle your head. Hips snapping against yours, slowing to a roll when you yelp.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear – how good you’re taking him, how tight she is. How much he’s missed this, missed her, missed you. Never wants to let you go, never wants to be anywhere except right here, feeding you his cock and watching you come undone.

“Made for me, huh?” Joel grunts. He presses his forehead to yours and slips the words across your tongue. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, weeping under him. The flame catches and curls around your stomach.

The missing piece to the last nine months. The dead-end dates, the hazy hookups. Awkward good mornings, and goodbyes that never seem to come quick enough. Sneaking off home to shower the scent of it away, to replace it with something sweeter.

Him.

Because none of them are him.

They don’t make you laugh and they don’t make you come. They don’t see you, don’t hang on your every word. They don’t – they can’t break your world apart and paint it something new. They don’t know your every move, don’t understand the most fleeting glances.

You could spend forever circling every bar and every diner; what do you do for work and where did you grow up. You could chase the tail of every flannel shirt, search all over for that twinkle in his eye.

They’re not him. They’ll never be him.

Joel coaxes you where he needs you. He fucks you until you’re quivering in his arms, head rolling across his shoulder. His thrusts begin to stall, breathing turns to panting, teeth sink into any part of your skin he can find.

He moans into your neck. The sound nudges you towards the edge.

“I’m close, baby,” he grits, “’m so close.”

You look up at him through tear-soaked eyes.

Three months. Since the last time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you like this. Since the last time he lost control, came deeper inside than anyone before, or anyone since.

Three months since the last time you held him in your hands, lined your lips with his, and begged him to stay in you.

Joel laughs. “Dangerous little game, darlin’.”

But he’s fading. He’s falling under, same as you are.

You want it. You need it. Need to be full of him – that ache when you walk, the warmth leaking down the inseam of your thighs. The feeling of being his, all his; ruined and wrecked in the sweetest way.

“Stay – inside,” you plead. “I want you to – want it so bad.”

“Keep begging, honey. Sound so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Please, Joel,” it’s getting harder to hold, “Just wanna feel you in me –”

“I know, I know,” he shushes.

You tense in his arms, gasping. “I’m gonna – come –”

“So,” Joel smirks, “come.”

And it snaps.

You scream into his chest. Your climax pulls you under, drowns you in a heavy wave of pleasure. Your hips lock, legs clamp around his waist as you cry out.

He plants a hand flat against the tile to steady himself. He holds you still as his own orgasm rolls through, pumping your swollen cunt with each rush of warm release.

You collapse against his body, bubbling and mumbling something incoherent.

He hears you, though.

He shuts the water off and rocks you back and forth. His cock slips from between your legs. “Shh, shh,” lips to your temple, “’s my girl. Such a good girl, baby. So good for me.”

You hum in response and pull yourself upright. You trace the shape of his beard, soaking wet and soft under your touch, following the droplets of water to his chin.

He kisses the tips of your fingers. “I love you,” he says. Chants it like a prayer, leaning closer and closer until his lips are against yours. “Love you more ‘n anything.”

You giggle. “You’re tickling me.”

Joel nuzzles his nose into your neck. He wriggles his fingers under your ribcage. “Can’t get enough of you,” his tongue swipes across your hot skin, “Swear to God, baby, you’re killing me.”

“Joel,” your head falls back with a clap of laughter, “Joel, stop – oh, my God, you have to stop, please – Joel!”

He hoists you onto his hips and turns. Hands still exploring, still pinching and squeezing everywhere they shouldn’t be, he carries you out to his bedroom and drops you onto the mattress.

“Here,” he chuckles, wrapping a towel around your body. He knots it over your chest and rubs your waist, before flopping down onto the bed with a sigh.

You roll over on top of him and fix the dripping hair from his forehead. “Missed you,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his collarbone.

He smiles. His heart flutters beneath yours. “Missed you more,” he says.

His semen drips between your legs. He’s softening against the inside of your thigh. The bed is soaked, sheets that’ll need changed before you sleep tonight. You’re tired, spent, pussy throbbing from the loss of him – and it’s all so perfect.

Being here, with him. Seeing him, feeling him on your body. In your body, for crying out loud. Holding him, kissing him, loving him up close.

It’s fucking perfect.

“What are we running late for?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes flutter open. He cocks his head, frowning.

“You said we had somewhere to be,” you clarify.

“Oh,” he winces, “Uh, your dad’s. He’s havin’ us for dinner.”

“Oh,” you echo. “When is he expecting –?”

He glances at the clock. “Half hour ago.”

“Nice.” You push yourself up, slipping from his grasp. “Well, this is about to be awkward.”

Joel folds his arms behind his head. He tracks your flurried movements: lugging your bag across the floor, tearing through it for an outfit that doesn’t scream, Your best friend just fucked me senseless in his shower.

When you straighten and lift your arms, eyes wide, his lips turn.

“You said you wanted to dance, baby. I was just following orders.”

The sun filters through the leaves, breathing back and forth with the sway of the trees.

You’re horizontal in a deckchair, feet in Joel’s lap, blanket around your shoulders. Full on burgers and baseball talk; if it weren’t for your dad’s riveting conversation about his new lawnmower, you’d probably be asleep.

“Ride-on,” he tells Joel, nodding. It makes gardening a real thrill, apparently. He flicks a hand over the span of the yard. “Whole thing done in less than twenty minutes. Hank says he’s half a mind to make an investment himself.”

Joel purses his lips. He strokes your ankles soothingly. “Sounds like a good buy,” he placates.

Your dad drums on his armrests, admiring his yard some more. He mumbles something about raking the leaves, painting the fence, then – with a vigor that makes you jump, he taps your arm.

“How’s work, kiddo? Still rockin’ ‘n rollin’?”

Your eyes flash across Joel’s. The hell does that even mean?

The corner of his lip twitches. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Yep,” you lie. “Living the dream, Dad.”

Joel says nothing. He hasn’t told your dad why you came home – hasn’t even mentioned the tears outside the laundromat. Your secret is safe with him, you know that. Some puzzles are easier to figure out, the less eyes that are on them.

He hasn’t even brought it up with you yet. Granted, you’ve been home all of four hours, and a solid quarter of that time has been spent naked with him back at his place – but he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

This weekend doesn’t have to be about work. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be about you feeling homesick. It can be as simple as you hadn’t seen your dad for a few weeks, or you heard the news about the damn lawnmower and just had to pay a visit.

It’s what you’ve always loved so much about Joel. It’s what reeled you into him in the first place.

He just lets you be. No questions, no pressure, no worries. He knows you’ll figure it out – you always do. And if he knows that, then it makes you believe in it, too.

Dad sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What’s on the cards this weekend, then?”

“Joel’s down San Antonio way tomorrow,” you yawn, “Some supplier meeting.”

“You don’t feel like a road trip?”

Your eyes roll to Joel. He’s already staring back. You cock an eyebrow, smirking into your glass.

His shoulder rolls in a shrug. “Your call, chief,” he says, tipping his drink to you.

The minute he mentioned the meeting last week, you knew you’d be tagging along. Two hours each way and an hour in between is too big a chunk of your weekend together to miss out on.

That – and you’ve missed Joel’s front-seat singing.

It doesn’t matter what you planned on doing – rolling around his bed for three days straight, driving to San Antonio and back. Hell, trimming your dad’s trees and cleaning his guttering.

As long as you’re doing it with Joel, it’s enough.

It’s what you came home for in the first place.

The drive passes quickly enough. Joel’s truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, and he only keeps three discs in his glove compartment: Don McLean’s American Pie, a Guitar Classics compilation album, and a blank disc with SARAH MILLER, SECOND GRADE scrawled in Sharpie.

He whips it from your hands when you fish it out of the compartment.

“Listen, listen to this,” Joel says, slotting it in the tray. “Found it a couple weeks ago. I listen to it when I’m drivin’ to work.”

Her squeaky, seven-year-old voice punches through the cabin. “Welcome to my presentation –” she roars into the mic, pausing when a voice picks up in the background. “Huh?” Sarah asks.

“You’re holdin’ the mic too close,” Joel murmurs, almost fourteen years younger. “Farther. Farther,” he says, and then – “Alright. Go.”

“Welcome to my presentation on Amelia E-Earhart,” she resumes, clearing her throat. “She…Oh, Daddy, we gotta restart. I forgot to tell ‘em my name.”

Joel covers his laughter with his fist, reciting it line for line. “Tommy said he’s gonna make her a copy for her birthday,” he says.

“Oh, my God. She’s gonna hate you guys, you know that, right?”

He nods. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Sarah rounds off a few facts about twentieth century air travel before Joel swaps her for the radio. He hands you the disc and you place it safely back in the glove compartment.

You curl up in the passenger seat, swinging your legs over to his lap.

He rubs your calves and glances over, smiling. “You okay over there?”

“I’m more tired than I was when I landed,” you reply, and he laughs.

You haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on sleep. The second you made it home last night, your dress was on the floor at the foot of Joel’s bed. He woke you this morning with his lips on your thighs, your underwear around your ankles.

He was midway through cooking breakfast when you floated into the kitchen to return the favor. The toast burned, the eggs shriveled to a crisp, and your knees bruised.

Fuck it, right? You’ll miss him when you’re gone. When all that’s left are the memories, and the sound of his climax through speakerphone.

An afternoon spent on the road is good recovery time, then, for all that’s waiting for you when you make it back to Joel’s tonight.

A few off-key covers of fifty number ones from the last fifty years later, you’re pulling into a barren lot headered by a beige trailer. The supplier springs out – a beefy guy with a full head of thick, white hair. He crosses the lot as Joel parks up.

Joel rounds the truck, pausing when he spots you lingering at the tailgate. He curves a hand around your neck, thumb circling over your pulse point. “You comin’?”

You twist the hem of your tee around your finger. “Maybe I’ll stay out here and wait. It’s a nice night, and you ain’t gonna be too long, right?”

He shakes his head. “Be as fast as I can. If it gets dark out, you come inside, alright?”

You shuffle into his embrace. “Promise.”

He kisses your head and steps back. “Here,” he slips the flannel from his shoulders, “If you’re sittin’ out. Got my phone if you need me.”

He disappears inside and the door falls closed. A cluster of moths twirls around the light on the trailer’s side. You hop up on the bed of the truck, crossing Joel’s shirt around your frame, and nestle against the back window.

The sun pulls down towards the horizon, sending dregs of daytime in ripples to the stars. She’s still alight just beyond the trees, still burning a hole in the sky. She winks at you from a distance.

The world looks different from Austin. Bigger, like the view from your bedroom window. There’s always more, just beyond the horizon. There has to be more, right? More than four pink walls and a chest of drawers. More than Sal’s store, more than Rita’s cross stitch.

You chased that more halfway across the country – only to realize it was in your hands the whole time.

Him and his lazy smile, sarcasm as thick as the accent he speaks it in. Rolled up sleeves and messy collar; a half-empty cup of coffee and a cracked watch face.

He’s all the more you could ever need.

You’re still perched on the tailgate, staring skyward, when Joel finishes up.

He swaggers across the lot, tan arms speckled with dry dirt, boots kicking up dust. He tosses a fistful of papers in the front seat, then drifts around to settle between your knees.

“Hi,” he whispers, tucking his nose under your jaw.

“Hi.”

He plants his hands either side of your hips and kisses your neck. “Home time, sweet girl.”

You glance over your shoulder.

This time tomorrow, you’ll be on your flight back. Row twelve, seat C. Joel’s flannel over your shoulders, slowly forgetting the scent of him, mile by mile. You’ll sleep with it tucked under your chin until it no longer smells like oak or pine, or the mint bodywash he uses.

You’ll miss it the way you’ll miss him. Holding onto every last moment. Deep morning voice, warm, safe embrace. The rumble of a laugh in his chest, the glimmer or mischief in his eye. The touches he saves just for you; the words he whispers when the lights turn out.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can we go watch the sunset somewhere?”

Joel glances off behind you. His eyes flit back to yours, sunlight catching their ochre and setting him ablaze.

“Get in,” he pulls you down, “I know just the spot.”

It’s almost dusk by the time you reach the outlook.

A twisty dirt road which opens up between some trees, halfway out of the city. Joel reverses the truck and parks in the clearing. The two of you slide onto the tailgate, sharing a bag of fruit gums he had stored alongside Sarah’s CD.

The stars turn one by one, dotted across deep indigo. The last of the day’s blush still lingers where the city meets the sky. Tucked between trees and twilight, it feels as though you’re the only two in the world.

Joel holds the bag out, and you pinch a couple pieces of candy. “How you feelin’?” he asks, looking out to the skyline.

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter. “This has been a nice reset. I wish I could take you back with me.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t.”

“No?” you suckle on the sweet fruit, “I think you’d fit right in.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He shakes his head, pinching your chin. “Naw, LA is yours. It’s something you did, all by yourself. I am so proud of you, honey, do you know that? I mean, I miss you like hell, I really do…”

He glances back down, rustling the bag in his hands. He’s hiding, you know him well enough. Staring at his lap instead of in your eye. When he looks back up, there’s a glimmer along his waterline.

“…But the way I feel any time you call, and I know…I know you’re out there doin’ something you actually give a shit about. You ain’t stuck here, too big for your own bedroom, too comfortable for anywhere else.”

He slips a hand over your knee and squeezes.

It’s infuriating, how right he always is. You’re working your fucking ass off, and for good reason. Austin was always too small for the world inside your head. Missing each other is a price you’re both willing to pay, for the luxury of not missing out on every dream you’ve ever had.

But –

“What if it keeps getting harder?” you sniff, “What if I need you more?”

Joel clicks his teeth. “’s always gonna get harder. That’s life, darlin’. But the hard times won’t last forever. And when it feels real tough, and you feel like you can’t do it no more, you call me. You jump on the next flight. You switch your brain off, and you let me take care of you for a little while.”

You shake your head. Tears break loose, rolling down your cheeks. “I can’t ask that of you, Joel, you got your own shit to worry about –”

“Baby.” He sighs. “I’m old. I’ve done everything I think I oughta do. You know, the days I know you’re gonna be callin’ at eight o’clock – it’s all I can think about. I’m at work checking my watch every five minutes.”

You giggle, turning into the crook of his arm.

“It’s true,” Joel snickers, “I’m like a goddamn teenager. That’s what you do to me.”

He catches you and pulls you against his chest.

“What I’m saying is – there ain’t nothing that matters more to me in the world than you. My own shit to worry about? You mean – you?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, spitting tears into his shirt.

“You call,” he says, resolute, “and I’ll be there.”

“I’m calling,” you whisper. “I’m always calling.”

“Then I’m always here.”

You sit back, bracing yourself on Joel’s thighs. He wipes the wet from your cheeks and fixes his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know, one day,” you tell him, “you’re gonna get a call, and it’s not just gonna be for the weekend.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“One day, I’m gonna come home forever, Joel.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’ll be on the front porch waitin’.”

[sinofwriting]

So Many Reasons - Ollie Bearman

Words: 3,343 Summary: She honestly just wants to go to these two races to see her brother so he won’t complain about never seeing her anymore that is it. She has exams, an internship, and a job, she doesn’t have time for any of this. Note(s): Thank you V once again for commissioning the fic! I had a lot of fun writing it and may or may not have spent an hour researching different business degrees and universities and such. Reader is Andrea Kimi Antonelli’s older sister. Age gap of 3 years between her and Ollie. Not good family dynamics between her and Kimi and their father.

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“Andrea, no.” Her voice is firm, perhaps harsh but she doesn’t care. She was tired, hungry, and had to stay up for at least another six hours. Her last red bull in her bag sounded better every second. “C’mon, sorella. It is my first F2 race. You can miss a few classes.” Her jaw clenches and she forces herself to take a deep breath. Thank god this was just a phone call. “No, Andrea. I can’t. I have exams.” “Ask for an extension.” “Andrea,” she snaps. “Does padre know you are asking me this?” His voice is quiet, “no.” She sighs, pushing away her work. “How is your school work going?” “It’s fine.” “And the sim?” “Good.”

It’s quiet between the two siblings.

“It’s been months since we last saw each other. Do you not miss me?” “We saw each other at Christmas.” She reminds him but softens. “Of course I do. But I’m busy. I can’t take a few days away to go to a race, at least not one that’s not in Europe.” She looks at her planner, at the days blocked out with different colors. Purple for exams, blue for classes, yellow for work, green for work and classes, the dreaded orange for when she had both exams and work. It was filled for days, weeks, and months. “I could maybe make it for Imola.” She’d have to talk to her professors, put in her time now for work, but she didn’t have any exams the day after his feature race. “Maybe even Monaco if you can get me a spare pass.” She shouldn’t go to Monaco, not with her final exams to obtain her MBA starting just the day after the race, but she didn’t have any work those days and she could always bring her books with her. “Really?” She smiles at the excitement in his voice. “Really. Are you sure you want your big sister around?” “Yes. It will be nice to have family in the paddock. Someone other than dad.” She hums, eyes widening as they catch the time. “Let me know about the passes for the different races, okay? As soon as you get them I’ll talk to my professors.” “I will.” “Bye Andrea.” “Bye.”

—

“Mr. Garcia?” She knocks on the door frame. “You asked to see me?” He smiles, beckoning her in. “Yes. Please sit.” He gestures at the chairs in front of his desk before quickly typing something. She sits down, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. “I wanted to talk to you about your plans after you get your MBA.” “I’d like to get a travel position or be able to work remotely half of the time. Then I think after ten years of doing that, I’d like to take a bigger account or two.” He hums, looking at her consideringly. “Why the travel position?” “I like traveling, going to different places, and when I went once before with Maria, I liked what she had to do.” “You're also good with languages.” “Yes.” “And the hybrid?” She fidgets a little. “The same reasons really as the travel position and I like the extended hours.” His lips twitch into a smile, “Maria hated remote.” She nods.

“She said you’d be suited for it.” Her leg that had started to bounce stops. He leans forward, “I’d like to keep you on. I know that your internship with Maria ends the first week of May. And that you’re only supposed to continue to work with us until August. But I’d like to offer you the remote position, starting June 20th.” She looks at him with a slight open mouth. “What,” she clears her throat. “What exactly would that look like?” He pushes forward a folder. “All of the details are in there, but there are two important things. There will only be a few days every month that require you in the office. Those days are always made known at least two weeks in advance, some as much as six months.” She nods. “The second is you will have strict deadlines. Miss two within a three month period and you will be on probation, meaning that for a time you will be spending at least eighty hours in office for the month, until your probation is up. Look over all the details and get back to me next week.” “Of course.” Taking the folder, she stares at it before standing. “Thank you, Mr. Garcia.” “Of course, Ms. Antonelli.”

—

“Andrea!” She calls, seeing him looking around. His head turns to look at her, a large grin taking over his face. “Sorella!” He calls, jogging over to her. “You made it.” She rolls her eyes, pushing him away when he tries to give her a hug. “I told you two weeks ago I’d make it to Imola. It’s not my fault, you don’t listen.” She touches her ears before giving him a quick hug. “How are you feeling?” “Good.” She hums, following him as he leads her to what she assumes is Prema’s space for this race.

The good was false that was more than clear to see, if she wasn’t his sister, she’d know just by looking at the F2 races so far. Round four with no podiums? Or pole position. Her brother was surely smarting. She wondered if it had hit him yet that he wasn’t the most talented driver in this series yet.

Entering the Prema garage she smiles when Rene immediately greets her.

“How are you?” “I’m good. Very good. How are you? How is Angelina?” “I am good, I’m sure you saw the Indycar news.” She nods, watching as Andrea starts talking to either a mechanic or an engineer. “I did. It sounds amazing.” “Very amazing. And Angelina, well,” He pauses, turning his head and calling her over.

“Oh, Y/N.” “Angelina.” She greets back, melting into the hug the older woman gives. “How are you doing?” “I’m doing good. And you are well?” “Of course, it is the season.” She smiles at her, knowing all too well how much everyone loved the motorsport season.

“Kimi!” Angelina calls and she has to stop herself from flinching at the use of his nickname. “You did not tell me that your sister was coming.” He shrugs, “She’s coming next race as well.” “You are coming to Monaco?” She shrugs, adjusting her purse. “It’s my last free time before my exams and Andrea asked when I was going to come.” Rene and Angelina share a look but before either can say anything, someone interrupts.

“Angelina, Dino and Antonio are wondering about the next shoot.” The older woman sighs, “And neither of them could get me themselves.” He shoots her a grin, and it’s the sight of his grin that makes her realize that this is Andrea’s teammate. “I volunteered.” Angelina shakes her head, muttering under her breath but leaves the small group.

“Ah, Ollie, this Y/N. Y/N, this is Ollie.” Rene introduces. She shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you.” “You as well. Are you new to the team?” “No.” She laughs, pulling her hand from his. “Just a guest for this race and next.” “Oh.” He looks at Rene questioningly, but the older man is already in conversation with other people. “I could give you a tour, if you’d like.” “You don’t need to do that.” He smiles, giving a small shrug with his shoulders. “I don’t mind.” “Don’t you have race prep?” She can see just behind him, Andrea talking to another two people, their heads all gathered around a tablet. “I finished mine already.” Her lips purse. “At least let me get you a coffee from Ferrari’s hospitality.” Her nose nearly wrinkles at the word coffee, but Ferrari… She wasn’t into motorsports by choice, but she was Italian. She knew the allure of Ferrari and more so now Charles Leclerc than the team itself better than anyone. “So, coffee?” He grins. She sighs but nods. “Just one though.” She doesn’t think she could stomach another one.

“You don’t like coffee do you?” He asks nearly twenty minutes later as she sips at the coffee he got her and she chooses not to think too hard about the money she tried to hand him that he refused. “No.” She laughs. “But you like Ferrari.” “I’m Italian, Ollie. I think I get kicked out of the country, especially this part if I don’t bleed rosso corsa.” “Yet your brother is a Mercedes junior.” She pauses, “My brother?” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m sorry, it’s just Kimi, he has a picture of you. I asked about it once, because I already knew what his girlfriend looked like.” “I didn’t know that.” She wondered when the picture was from. Not from this Christmas, that was for sure. Ollie stares at her for a few seconds, something dancing in his eyes before turning the conversation back around. “It is a bit funny isn’t it? An Italian choosing Mercedes, while an Englishman chooses Ferrari.” “A second Charles Leclerc in the making.” She muses, remembering an article that said it. He flushes red. “I wouldn’t say that.” She shrugs, “Then other people will for you.”

Her phone buzzing makes her look away and she rolls her eyes at the text from Andrea. “I have to go back, Andrea is looking for me. Thank you for the coffee.” He nods, standing with her. “No problem.” He then opens his mouth again, quickly closing it. She raises an eyebrow and he flushes a bit more. “Could I get your number?” “Ah.” She glances down at her phone, another text on the screen. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Why not?” She can think of a million reasons. “It’s just not a good idea.” She settles on. “What if I want it as a friend?” She sends him a look and he grins. “I could do friends.” She shakes her head, “I need to go. Thank you again.” “Anytime.”

—

“You're at a race.” “Padre.” She greets, watching the screens as the sprint race goes into its fifth lap. “Andrea asked me to come.” “You don’t like races.” Her lips thin. “No, I don’t. But he wanted to see me, I made time.” “Have you made time for the interview I want scheduled?” “No.” He starts to say her name and she shakes her head. “No, padre. I’m here for Andrea, to see him. Just like I will be for Monaco, that is it. I have no interest in working for you.” “For the family.” “Or that.” He sighs.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she winces at the way Andrea gets overtaken, can already imagine the way he’ll beat himself up over it if he doesn’t regain the position, especially with the way Ollie is in P2, no battle in sight, as he more than comfortably keeps the place.

An arm wraps around her shoulders and she easily goes into her fathers side. “I miss my little girl.” She bites back on the words that want to crawl from her throat. “Love you too.”

—

“So,” she startles at the sound of a voice and the owner of it grins. “You don’t like coffee.” “Hello, Ollie.” “Hi.” He greets back. “You don’t like coffee.” He repeats. “I don’t like coffee.” She can’t help but smile at the way he grins at her responding to him. “What about,” he pauses looking around, before leaning closer and lowering his voice. “Red bull?” “I’m listening.”

She has to stop herself from giggling as Ollie leads her through Ferrari’s garage. She really shouldn’t be here. And not just because she shouldn’t even be at the race.

Stopping in front of a door, she watches as Ollie knocks, sending her a grin as he does.

“Hello?” The voice is a little confused. “Ollie! Come in, come in.” And Ollie grabs her hand, intertwining their fingers as he pulls her into the room with him. “Hi Charles.” Her eyes widen at the name and she quickly schools her expression though neither are looking at her. “What are you doing here?” Ollie grins at the older man. “I wanted to introduce you to someone and raid your fridge.” Charles rolls his eyes. “At least you don’t ask permission anymore.”

The tease makes her stiffen, this was a lot more than she felt she should be seeing or hearing.

“No, I learned.” Ollie laughs and then he’s tugging her closer. “Charles, this is Y/N.” A bit of tension leaves her when he doesn’t say her last name. “Y/N, this is Charles.” “Bonjour.” She greets, keeping her free hand firmly by her side as she wiggles her fingers in Ollie’s hand, but he just brushes his thumb over her knuckles. Charles’ eyes brighten at the greeting. “Bonjour. Est-ce un accent italien que j'entends?” (“Hello. Is that an Italian accent I hear?”) “Oui. Je suis italienne et je vis actuellement en France.” (“Yes. I am Italian currently living in France.) His grin widens. “Oh, très bien. Votre français est bon.” (“Oh, very nice. Your French is good.”) She ducks her head. “Merci.” (“Thank you.”)

“I didn’t know you spoke French.” Ollie says. She gives him a look. It should make his smile falter a little, but it only grows. “An Italian living in France. A bit uncommon, no?” Charles asks, handing her then Ollie a Red Bull. Before grabbing one for himself. “I study there.” “What are you studying?” Ollie asks, “Ki,” he stops himself. “Andrea never said.” Her eyes narrow at the catch, wondering why exactly he did it. “Accounting. And I’m not surprised. If it’s not something racing related, my brother has no interest.” Charles laughs. “I think Lorenzo and you would get along well. Having siblings that live and breath racing while you don’t.” “Maybe.” “Are you close to getting your degree?” “I am actually. My final exams start Monday.” “And you came to the Monaco Grand Prix?” Charles’ eyes are wide. “Yes.” “My goodness.” He looks at Ollie, winking at him. “This one is a keeper.” “Oh,” she says, feeling blood rush to her cheeks and Ollie is turning pink. “We aren’t.” He shrugs, taking a drink of his red bull. “Maybe not yet.” His eyes then fall to their still intertwined fingers and she gives another tug to Ollie’s hand, expecting him now to let go, but he doesn’t. “No, not yet.”

—

“What race are you coming to next?” Her hand tingles at the sound of Ollie’s voice. “I’m not.” “What?” She turns to face him. “Andrea wanted me at the first race of the season, but I couldn’t make it, so I said I’d come to these two.” She doesn’t mention that the want of her coming was because he apparently missed her. She had her doubts about that, especially after this weekend. “You don’t think he’ll ask you to come again?” She looks around, seeing no one nearby, she sighs. “Even if he did, I wouldn’t come. I love my brother, but not on race weekends, not during the season. I’ve seen you more than him.” Ollie’s face that had looked shocked, turns to understanding. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” She shrugs. “He’s busy.” Ollie looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.

Instead he leans a bit closer, “so, could I get your number now?” She laughs, shaking her head. “No. Still not happening.” “Oh, c’mon. I won today. This is the one thing I want as the Monaco F2 feature race winner.” She shakes her head. “Maybe, if you actually wanted it as a friend. I’d say yes.” “And why can’t we be more than friends?” He’s closer now somehow and she has to swallow around the lump in her throat. “Ollie,” Her name spills from his lips in a gentle sigh as he leans ever closer. “We can’t.” She whispers, hand against his chest, holding him place. “Why? Give me one good reason why.”

He’s guiding her backwards, down the short hallway and into a room that’s thankfully empty, the door shutting behind him.

“One good reason.” “You’re Andrea’s teammate.” “For nine more weekends.” She lets out a shaky breath, watching as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I’m busy with school and work.” “You have final exams this week, which you’ll pass. And I’m busy with work as well.” “You're younger than me. I’m twenty-two, you just turned nineteen.” He shrugs, her eyes following the strong line of shoulders with the movement. “I’m an adult. And I like you.” “Ollie.” She breathes. He’s closer than ever before, their lips nearly brushing. “I’m still waiting.” Her eyes scan his face, his words full of confidence, his body too, but he’s flushed and his nervousness is easy to read. And she delivers the reason that has to make him see reason. Because she doesn’t know if he stays this close to her if she can stop herself from kissing him. “Your parents,” his throat bobs. “Would never approve.” He looks at her and she looks back, holding her breath, waiting for him to back away but he doesn’t, and god when does Ollie ever do things she expects. “They don’t need to.” He whispers and then he’s kissing her.

—

“What are you talking about?” “Andrea,” “No.” He stops her, shaking her head. “What do you mean, you are seeing Oliver?” He spits the name out. “Don’t, Andrea.” “NO!” His face is red and she’s reminded of the times when he wanted candy that she had and threw a fit over not getting it instead. “He is, he is,” he shakes his head. “I don’t even know what he is. He is my teammate, he works in motorsports, you hate motorsports.” She keeps quiet, watching as her brother processes the news. “He is younger than you, barely older than me. And you.” He shakes his head again. “Does padre know?” She scoffs, now shaking her head. “Does padre know? That’s all you care about isn’t it. If our father approves or not, if you knows what he thinks, because heaven forbid Kimi,” he flinches at the name. “You think for yourself.” “That is not.” “Don’t.” She cuts him off. “Yes, he knows. Don’t worry he disapproves as well. So, you don’t have to think for yourself again.”

She stares at her younger brother, knowing that this is her fault, but she can’t, she still doesn’t have it in her to deal with it, not today. “I will talk to you sometime, Andrea.”

—

“Your fans are lovely.” Ollie makes a humming sound, half asleep. She pauses her scrolling on twitter, unable to stop herself from liking the picture of Charles’ dog in his own personal little car. “Your fans. Very creative as well. They can’t call me a gold digger, but a fame seeker? Well, if the shoe fits.” “They what?” He sounds so much more awake, it makes her laugh. “It’s just hate, Ollie. I’m an old woman praying on the young. Apparently I’m like Piquet.” “Ew.” And she can picture his nose wrinkling. “You know you aren’t though right?” “An old woman?” She jokes. “A predator.” She softens, turning in his arms, so that they are chest to chest. “I know.” “I mean, really if anything I was.” “You were very insistent.” He flushes. “Only a little.” She nods, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Only a little.”

“I know we talked about it before, but are you okay with everything?” “Yes. I mean, it hurts that Andrea is still not okay with it but my father’s opinion has not mattered to me in a long time. And no matter what the media and fans were never going to give us peace, so I made my peace with that as well. Besides, your parents are okay with it.” “They love you.” “Our friends are understanding.” “They are.” “And you aren’t about to dedicate any more podiums to me.” He grins at her and dread starts to form in her stomach. “Ollie…” “About that last one.” “Ollie!”

@crashingwavesofeuphoria @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

[clockwayswrites]

Masked in Amity

CW: Sam doesn't come off great in this, but not Sam bashing. She just has a lot of growing up to do still and knee jerk reacts badly. (I also don't want to listen to any Sam bashing please and ty.)

Sam’s room still looked the same as always. Danny supposed that’s what happened when someone moved out for college but still came home again— especially to a home like Sam’s. There were only a few posters, a few photos, and a knickknack or two that had changed between high school and now. Danny sat on the edge of the bed like always.

“So how’s school doing?” Danny asked into the awkward silence. Silences never used to be awkward between them, or was that just looking back with rose colored glasses?

“Ugh,” Sam gripped and flopped back onto her bed next to Danny. “Why would you even ask me that? You know I hate it.”

“Because it’s what you’re doing right now? It’s a huge part of your life, you can’t just… avoid it.”

“Watch me,” Sam said, bitterly. Her snarled lips looked weird without the dark purple lipstick. “I’m going to get my stupid law degree my parents are paying for and work at some stupid corporate firm Dad has connections at and when my trust fund has made enough in interest I’m going to quite and go open a non-profit and sue all those fuckers I was forced to work for over how they’ve fucked up the environment.”

“Okay,” Danny said. He didn’t want to argue about this. He just hoped this plan worked better than the last three Sam had had before her privilege knocked her down a peg.

“Can I ask about, I don’t know, your time in Chicago at least?”

“Chicago is amazing,” Sam said, wistfully. “Being in Chicago, I mean, I’m sure you know how it is, it really makes it clear how backwater Amity Park is. The things people worry about here are so small compared to what’s out there!”

Danny just hummed in response. He didn’t exactly know what to say to that. It didn’t feel completely wrong, but it wasn’t right either. Worries weren’t a competition like that.

“And the bands!” Sam continued, thankfully changing the topic. “I have got to see so many amazing bands. The local scene alone is amazing and no one knows about them so you can be right up close and a lot of times even talk to the band after. You should come for a show sometime.”

“I can try to,” Danny said. Sam’s music wasn’t usually his thing, but something like that might be fun. It would be different at least. Danny gave her a little smile. “Maybe Tucker could make it out too.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “You know he won’t. When was the last time you talked to him not on the computer or the phone? He’s only here at Christmas when you aren’t.”

“You know how I feel about Christmas, Sam,” Danny said, holding back a sigh. Sure Tucker had been busy lately and that had made him more distant, but he was still one of their trio. “And if we plan something then Tucker can schedule for it. Don’t count him out just because he’s busy.”

“Alright, fine, we can plan something for a bigger show with Tucker,” Sam agreed, “but you still need to come out to something local. They’re really better anyways. We’ll go out to eat first and hit up a bar or three after. I know some really great places— places like you’ve never seen.”

Sam reached up and wrapped her hands around Danny’s neck, pulling him down a little. “It can be a date.”

Something in Danny balked at that. It was an innocent enough comment. Sam and him had dated and then not and then dated again or just had fun together. They’d known each other so long that it was easy to just ebb and flow out of the different levels of a relationship like that.

This time, though, Danny found himself resisting the tide. “Or we can just hang out.”

The almost dreamy smile Sam had crumpled into a frown. “What? I mean, sure, it can, but why? Are you seeing someone?”

“Yes? No? I mean, I’ve been… sleeping with someone, but we’re not dating or anything.”

“That’s okay,” Sam said easily. “I’m not going to make you be exclusive. I don’t want to be either right now; we’re not around each other enough for that and You know that I’ve been sleeping with my roommate sometimes and I’ve met a cute person in study group now too with amazing fingers.”

“No, I know, just…” Danny gave a frustrated noise. Nightwing and him weren’t even close to being exclusive. Someone like Nightwing could have anyone they wanted and with how much he liked sex, Danny was pretty sure Nightwing did have whoever he wanted. Danny was just… convenient for the hero side and Danny didn’t begrudge the other that. It was convenient for Danny too. It was just…

Danny didn’t want to keep living the same cycle with Sam where he was her world for a few weeks or months and then just back to an occasional phone call. He didn’t want to keep being pulled back to Amity Park. Maybe meeting her in Chicago would be different enough, but Sam was still so tied to Amity and always would be by her parent’s money.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this again,” Danny said slowly, feeling the words out as he said them. “Maybe it’s time just to leave us dating in the past?”

Sam dropped her hands and sat up. “Excuse me?”

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck. “Just, we’ve tried being together in a lot of different ways and we always end up in the same place.”

“So you want to leave me in the past?”

“No!” Danny said quickly, trying to get ahead of this before Sam spiraled too badly from making assumptions. “I’d love to come to Chicago and see a band with you! Just… not as a date.”

“Because you want to leave that in the past,” Sam snapped and got up off the bed.

Danny scrambled off also.

“That’s not a bad thing. I enjoyed it and I know you did too. Just more, okay, maybe that wasn’t the best phrase? I mean maybe we shouldn’t go down that road again when we know where it’s going to end.”

Sam crossed her arms. That was never a good sign. “Right, because I’m always going to be a dead end, is that it? Not like you who’s off playing hero with the big names?”

“What? What does me being a Titan have to do with this?”

“Don’t play dumb, Danny, we both know you’re not. You left to go be a famous hero and hardly looked back at Amity Park or me or Tucker or your parents. What if the town needed you?”

Danny threw his hands up in the air. “Why would they need me? I destroyed the portal, came to an agreement with Vlad, made sure my parents couldn’t build another working one— it fixed everything!”

“And then left.”

“So I could help other people!”

“Sure it wasn’t so that you could be famous?”

Danny closed his mouth with a clack.

Sam winced at her own words. “Danny…”

“No.” Danny backed up a few steps from her. “No. You don’t get to— you of all people don’t get to come at me like that! I never wanted to be a hero, Sam! You’re the one who said I needed to protect Amity and you were right, sure, but it’s never what I wanted! You wanted it!”

“Danny, no—” Sam reached out for him and Danny stepped back again, hitting the wall.

“Yes you did, Sam! You did or I never would have had to die a second time after your wish! I lost everything again! I don’t have a future like you and Tucker, I just have being a hero. I just have being dead.”

“Come on Danny,” Sam tried. She moved close again, slowly, like Danny was some sort of feral animal.

Maybe he really was just a caged beast.

“I’m just— I better go. I’m just going to go,” Danny said. In a flash of light he was back to being Phantom. He let himself tip back and phase through the wall.

As he left Amity Park behind, he couldn’t help but think it really said something that he was far more comfortable being Phantom these day than Danny.

--

AN: Here's yous all voted on treat for the day! This comes before Danny showing up at Dick's door, quite upset.

[cameronspecial]

Loving the Zach stuff so far!!!

Could you maybe do something where yn hates his guts, but he is like in love with her and all her sass?? Then they're forced to go on some school trip together or something, and she realizes she likes him and a cute angry love confession, perhaps???

Danke 🫶🏼💐

Thank You, History Class

Pairing: Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

Masterlist

Y/N and Zach have been running in the same friend group since Freshman year, but it doesn’t mean they necessarily get along. Well, it doesn’t mean that she likes him. His sarcasm and puppy dog vibe annoys her cool and distant personality. He’s always asking her how her day is going and trying to make her laugh with his stupid jokes. Zach, on the other hand, fell for her grumpy soul the moment he set eyes on her. Unlike most people, who don’t bother looking deeper into her personality, Zach could see the soft side that she held within and never let anyone see. He would always catch how she would stand up from her bus seat when she saw an elderly person. She wouldn’t let people around her know it was the reason, but she always did. He saw the little bowl of milk she left outside her house for a cat mother and her kittens. Finally, he saw how sweet she was to children whenever they were around her. 

Zach didn’t want to take a history class and he certainly didn’t feel like going on a field trip to a museum. It all felt very high school to him. The only upside about it: Y/N is also taking the same class. When he saw that he needed a history credit to graduate, he definitely didn’t go looking for what classes she was taking this semester to try and be in the same one. The cost was giving Jason access to his bathroom whenever he wanted, but it was worth it. He knows the field trip isn’t mandatory for any marks, yet he knows Y/N is going to be there. As he heads toward the Victorian house, he finds Y/N out front waiting for the professor to show up. Her clothing consists of black and brown colours as usual. Her hair was held back by a shiny black claw clip. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he grins, coming to stand beside her. She gives him a side eye, “Could you be more cliche? Try something more original, would ya? I still can’t believe you are taking this class.” He doesn’t let her sour mood dampen his energy. “Come on, you know you like having me with you in this class. The only other people in this class are girls who have a romanticized view of the era, or guys, who have a history stick so far up their ass that they think a history degree will take them far in life,” he notes, turning to look at her. She looks him dead in the eyes, “I’m a history major. And I am neither of those things.” “I know, that’s because you are so much better than them. You are far too smart for them,” he flatters. She shakes her head, turning her attention to the professor who has just arrived, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” The professor leads them into the museum and begins his lecture. After ten minutes of listening to the man speak, both Y/N and Zach realized that coming was a big waste of time. He doesn’t know what he is talking about and Zach can hear Y/N constantly correcting the older man under her breath. 

He leans toward her, making sure his lips are close to her ear. “Wanna go on our own little tour? This man is getting half of this stuff wrong.” She thinks she has lost her mind because this must be the first thing Zach has said that she thought was a good idea. “That actually sounds kind of fun. They have a Victorian fashion exhibit I want to see, but I don’t think Professor Robo over there is going to take us to,” she whispers back. Her hand finds his and she hates to admit she likes the warmth of his in hers. They round the stairs to the exhibit. She looks delighted when she spots the first mannequin with clothes. Her feet find their way beside a girl about six years old, already looking at the dress. The child’s eyes find Y/N’s face and they smile at each other. “You know, this is an 1843 Evening dress. The bodice, the thing around the chest, is low off the shoulders. And they have lots of other skirts underneath to make it poofy,” Y/N softly explains to the little girl. 

They spent around thirty minutes in the small room. Y/N walks around with Willow and Zach, explaining each outfit to them. She is surprised that Zach seemed honestly engaged with what she was saying and would ask thoughtful questions. Eventually, Willow’s mother, an employee, came looking for her and took the girl to lunch. “Do you want to head to lunch?” she asks. He shakes his head, “Actually, I was hoping we could look at the Victorian sports exhibit. I brought some snacks, so if you are hungry, we can share.” He pulls out a bag of cucumbers shaped like hearts. She has to giggle at the sight because big jock Zach MacLaren likes to have his vegetable cut into shapes. 

“What?” he questions in fake offence, holding out the Ziploc to her. She shakes her head with a chuckle, “Nothing, just surprised your cucumbers look like an inaccurate depiction of a human organ.” “They make them taste better. Try,” he says with a shrug. He hands her a slice and listens to the sweet crunch of her biting into the vegetable. “Okay… I must admit it is more fun to eat it like a heart. I can pretend I’m a witch eating people’s hearts,” she agrees. He doesn’t look disturbed by her macabre comments, instead, he pretends to be ripping out his heart as he hands her another slice. She enjoys him playing with her deadly thoughts.

They spent about an hour looking at the different displays, eating his snacks and taking turns reading the display’s blurbs to each other. As they stand on the steps of the museum, Y/N towers over him from the step above. He looks up at her like she hangs the stars in the sky. “I hate to admit that you made this day pretty fun,” she confides. Her hands find their way behind her back, biting her lip as she looks into his eyes. His mouth turns into a crescent moon, “I’m really glad I did. I like spending time with you.” She takes a moment to think and moves her head away in frustration. Not at him, but at the turmoil inside her mind. Why is his charming smile suddenly getting to her? Why does she want to step into his warmth and let his arms bring her in? “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m falling for you, MacLaren. So… would you want to go to dinner? Like on a date,” she confesses with a hint of annoyance in her tone that is just normally there. She is disgusted by the excitement that crosses his face. He gets off the steps, running around the green grass in front of the building. He jumps every so often with a little whoop let out as he does so. 

He rushes back to her, grabbing her around her waist and spinning her around. She finds the sound of her giggles odd but enjoys it nonetheless. “Way to keep a poker face,” she sasses, looking down at him. He doesn’t care though all he wants is a chance to be with her.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

[littlemisssatanist]

on the topic of me being team green

a bit of a different post for me, considering what my blog is, but i was honestly so offended at being called a misogynist i made a fresh google docs page and typed out 1634 words of me ranting.

is there a real reason to post this? probably not, but i felt the need to establish myself as team green, considering all the posts i've been liking and commenting on lately. (if you are team green, and you see this, feel free to be my friend. in fact, i am begging you to be my friend. i have no tg friends and i need to see the light).

beware, typos and repitition are probably aplenty.

Whenever I see people talk about being TG, I always will see TB stans in the comments saying something along the lines of “Oh, you must be a misogynist, then.” And you know, it never happened to me until a few days ago when I commented on a TikTok post about Rhaenyra beefing with two-year-old Aegon. Someone replied to me, saying that I only brought it up because I’m a misogynist.

And. You know, I’ve been insulted before. I’ve been called ugly, stupid, immature, whatever whatever. But I honestly can’t think of a worse thing for someone to say to me, that I’m a misogynist. I know this isn’t that commentator’s fault, because they obviously don't know me. But the irony of calling me a misogynist when I am the most misandristic person to exist on this earth. I pray for the downfall of men daily. I make fun of them. Whenever I see an AITA post on TikTok, I am immediately on the woman’s side, regardless of what she may have done. 

It’s because I distrust men to a certain degree. You know what’s different for ASoIaF, though? It’s not real. It’s all fiction. TB stans will come on the internet daily and complain about TG existing, calling us misogynists, elevating the conflict between us to that of a literal genocide. Are y'all delusional? Are you guys stuck so far up Rhaenyra’s ass that you can’t tell reality from fiction? 

Y’all love to preach about how Rhaenyra is the number one feminist girlboss of Westeros, without realizing exactly how exactly you’re falling into the trap. You uphold a woman because she’s the heir, meanwhile she steals Rhaena’s and Baela’s inheritance in order to put her illegitimate sons on the throne (which, btw, is treason). But of course you guys wouldn’t care, because you like to think Rhaenyra is the exception to the rule.

That’s the thing. She’s only the exception because of her father, the king. After Viserys dies, she suddenly finds herself back in the same patriarchal world that y’all love to claim she’s trying to overthrow, that she’s trying to change. 

I don’t hate Rhaenyra because she’s a woman. I hate her because she’s a stupid woman. She knew exactly what it meant to be a woman in Westeros; she gets forced into an unwanted marriage (and even in that she gets far more freedom and will to choose than other women), she is undermined for being a woman, and others view her as unfit to rule. I would sympathize with her if she did absolutely anything to change that whatsoever. 

Y’all love to say that she’s so iconic with her dragon scenes, but what did that really accomplish aside from showcasing she is unfit to rule? She has three illegitimate sons who look absolutely nothing like her. Even if Viserys was on her side, everyone knows that they are bastards. Like, at least Cersei’s bastards looked like her. Rhaenyra was a white woman with white hair married to a black man with white hair, and her first three children are white boys with brown hair. Girl, if you were going to have bastards, at least do it with someone that bears at least some resemblance to your husband, or yourself. She purposefully made it harder for herself.

And for those of you guys who will bring up something about Laenor being gay. I genuinely don’t know how to tell you this, but if they truly cared about keeping up appearances, they would have had children. I say this as a queer person myself: If I were in Laenor’s shoes, I would have children with my coverup. Afterall, that’s what a coverup is for. And also: I could find nothing about Laenor being infertile. 

And for those who will also bring up Laenor accepting the Strong boys as his own, I literally couldn't care less. Everyone and their grandmother could see that those boys were bastards. Laenor accepting them and Viserys being delusional doesn’t change the fact that they were illegitimate, and everybody knew it. Secondly: Rhaenyra would need to admit the boys were bastards in the first place for anybody to claim them, something she did not do. In fact, she went so far the opposite way, I wouldn’t be surprised if she managed to delude herself that they were legitimate. 

And this I don’t understand. How do you shoot yourself in the foot, not once, not twice, but three times, with three obvious bastards, knowing that people would oppose you, people already oppose you, and still think yourself fit to rule? Every decision Rhaenyra makes is so stupid, it’s almost mind blowing to me. To live in Dragonstone for years while your father, the king, is sick (in which case, btw, the heir is supposed to step in to rule). Instead, we see Alicent ruling the kingdoms from behind the shadow, because Rhaenyra does nothing but live out a couple of years of bliss and comes back to King's Landing expecting everything to be handed to her. She does absolutely no politicking, absolutely nothing in order to sway the lords to her side. Should she be so surprised, then, that she is met with such resistance? 

Y’all TB stands love to call TG misogynistic because we don’t worship your perfect little dragon lady, as if her uncle-husband isn’t Lord of Fleabottom and grooms and rapes her from a young age. As if Daemon hasn’t called women whores and bitches, and his first wife, Rhea Royce, ‘Bronze Bitch.’ Like, is that not disgusting to you? Y’all love to preach about how Daemon loved Rhaenyra, as if he didn’t choke her the moment she disagreed with his methods. As if his first instinct everytime is anger and death and war.

(In case y’all couldn’t tell, I am extremely anti-war. I am under the impression that if you can’t solve things by talking it out, then you are definitely not mature enough to be ruling a kingdom, and Daemon is one of the most immature rapist misogynists I’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing).

(As an aside, I am not blaming Rhaenyra for her relationship with Daemon. Yes, I do find that most of her actions are stupid, but I cannot deny the fact that she was groomed and raped by him-- yes, raped, because she was a child, and children cannot consent. That is in no way her fault, and Daemon is the one responsible for this).

Y’all praise Rhaenyra for her maternal instincts while simultaneously hating Alicent for hers. Of course, an eye for an eye is unreasonable and far too much, but a son for a son is totally reasonable and to be expected. Rhaenyra protecting her children is being a good mother, but Alicent (rightfully) assuming that her children would be persecuted if Rhaenyra ascended the throne is her being a jealous bitch. Y’all blow her “sweet sister” line so much out of proportion, saying that she wouldn’t have killed her siblings if they just came over to her side. As if Alicent’s children, Alicent’s family, would choose Rhaenyra over her. Because “Helaena was the only good green” and “if only she just joined Rhaenyra”. Why would she ever do that? Because Aegon was a bad husband? The show literally stated that he only ever laid with her when he was drunk, because he couldn't do it otherwise. Obviously neither of them sought any pleasure from it, but they are still family. Helaena only had Aemond, Aegon, Daeron, and Alicent. Why would Rhaenyra ever be worth what her family is worth to her?

On a similar note, TB stans will constantly say how “oh, I feel sorry for younger Alicent, but not older Alicent.” As if Alicent wasn’t a 14 year old girl groomed and abused, as if she wasn’t twice pregnant by 17. As if Alicent wasn’t a victim doing her best in a world specifically designed against her.

That’s the difference between her and Rhaenyra. Both were victims to a much older man, but Rhaenyra considered herself an exception. Alicent had no choice but to be the bad guy, and despite how much y’all love to ignore it, Rhaenyra should have done the same. “Oh but Alicent was jealous of Rhaenyra!” Like you wouldn’t also be jealous of Rhaenyra? Rhaenyra, the perfect little princess, loved by her rapist daddy the king, who had everything handed to her on a silver platter. Would you not also be infuriated by her attitude, the entitled way she views the world? I’m sorry, but if your “strong female character” needs every other female character to agree with her, then she’s not that strong. Or a girlboss.

In conclusion, Rhaenyra sucks and is a terrible role model. True feminists love Alicent Hightower. Also, negative comments will be deleted, bc yk what is so fun about the internet? You can block people. I know, crazy concept. If you don’t want to see me or other TG on your for you page, consider blocking them. That tends to get rid of the thing you don’t want to see. I will also be doing this to anyone who thinks they’re smart enough to argue this topic with me. I do not care, hope your day goes terribly. <3

Btw, please never call me a misogynist again. In fact, you can call me Little Miss Misandrist, because there is no universe out there where I side with a man over Alicent Hightower. Or any woman at all, for that matter. 

(Except for maybe if the pickings were between Rhaenyra and Criston. If you’re one of the media illiterate TB stands who consider Criston to be an incel, you should also go ahead and block me, your stupidness is draining my brain cells).

Stay mad, xoxo.

[littleadaline]

I Didn’t Know Where Else To Go [P.G6]

Warnings: Reader is unwell?? Angsty on the readers side??

Word count: 2.03k

A/N: wrote this while dealing with stomach flu, so it may be inconsistent or unpolished, sorry about it!!

A/N: Ramadan Kareem to all who partake in it!! May this Ramadan heal our hearts and bring our souls some much needed peace xx.

———————————————————

18:00

You had just gotten off the phone with the agency you had landed an internship with. After countless interviews and days of going back and forth to establish a schedule, you had finally received the green light for your internship. Grabbing your cat in your arms, you twirled around, letting a shriek of excitement.

“We did it Lucía!!” The ping of your phone stole your attention. It was Aurora.

[From Roro ✨🌸]:

Any news about the internship? I got a response for mine!

[To Roro ✨🌸]:

OMG RORO I GOT THE INTERNSHIP!! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT 😭 HBUUU?

[From Roro ✨🌸]:

ENHORABUENA AMIGA!! I GOT MINE AS WELL!

[To Roro ✨🌸]:

I’M SO PROUD OF YOU AURORA! I can’t wait for us to celebrate xx Is tonight any good??

[From Roro ✨🌸]:

Me too! Tonight is no good :( How about tomorrow?? I’ll ask Gavi to drop me off after his physiotherapy appointment.

Your face soured at the mention of Pablo. Pablo Páez Gavira was your friend’s little brother, and despite being the same age and having similar interests, you guys hated each other. You were always bickering, exchanging snarky and sarcastic remarks about one another. Pablo’s parents were deranged by their son’s behaviour, but Aurora saw something beyond the sarcasm and lack of agreement. She often teased the two of you, pushing you to at least pretend to like each other.

“If you end up even getting along with each other, you each owe me 20€.”

“Never.” Pablo responded, shooting the basket ball into the net.

19:00

In need to contain your excitement, you put on your shoes and left the house for a walk. Strolling around the neighbourhood, you admired the early sightings of springs; people keeping their windows open, the sound of music escaping onto the streets. The smell of dinner was not unfamiliar to your nose. You realized were near Pablo’s neighbourhood when you heard the ping of your email. The smile you had harboured for the last hour was quickly wiped away as you read the title of the email.

[Termination of your internship]

Dear Y/N Y/LN,

It has been brought to our attention by our hiring committee that it will be impossible for us to accommodate your personal schedule into the internship schedule. As such, due to the late application date and your uncooperative schedule, we are forced to rescind our offer for the internship. We wish you the best in your academic and professional career,

The Agency.

Your eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Uncooperative schedule”? You knew your schedule was rather complicated, but at no point was the hiring committee bothered by it…nor had they said something either. You and the agency knew the weight this internship held for your final project this semester. If you couldn’t land an internship, you wouldn’t be able to hand in a project, and you’d automatically fail the class. Failing the class would mean you wouldn’t obtain your degree and your graduation would be delayed by a year as this class was only given during the winter. Something wet rolled from your cheeks and onto your phone screen. You didn’t know if it was tears or rain. You let your back slide against the street wall, an uneasy feeling taking over. You were hyperventilating, a million thoughts rolling in. Unable to think clearly, you ran to the only address you knew in this neighbourhood. Making it to the front of the house, you pounded at the door.

“Pablo? Pablo are you here? Please! Anyone?” You begged, sliding your body down the door as you cried uncontrollably. Your body was soaked from the rain, shivering as the wet clothes clang to you. 3 minutes had passed before rapid footsteps were heard and the door was opened in a hurry. You didn’t have the time to turn to look at whoever had opened the door before a pair of arms dragged you inside.

“Who’s that?” Pablo’s mom said, running into the entrance, apron still on.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Hey, hey, deep breaths. Look at me.” Aurora said, taking off your coat and shoes. Your chest was falling and rising at an alarming rate. Your sight was hazy as you fought tears.

“She’s freezing.” You felt Pablo’s mom dragging you to the bathroom upstairs, tears still streaming down your face. You were unable to stop. Aurora was behind you, frantically removing your soaked clothes. Pablo was following, still perplexed as to what had brought you to his house.

“I’ve got it from here,” Aurora held her hand in front of Pablo’s face. “Go get some towels and put them in the dryer for 10 minutes. Pablo do as I say or so help me God you won’t live to see another day. Now is not the time for your rivalry.” Aurora scolded her brother.

Pablo bit back his tongue, swallowing the comments he had. He obliged, rapidly jogging to his laundry closet before grabbing his fluffiest towels, and chucking them in the dryer. No matter how far back your rivalry went, he couldn’t help but feel worried about you. Your soaked clothes clinging to you, your face covered in a mixture of rain and tears, your sudden zombie-like state.

“Pablo? The dryer’s been done for 2 minutes now.” His dad’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

He grabbed the towels and ran upstairs before softly knocking on the bathroom door. The door opened slightly, enough for him to peak at your slumped figure on the bathroom floor, still stuck in a zombie-like state. You were left in your bra and underwear as Aurora and her mom worked tirelessly to calm you down. Pablo’s heart broke at the sight of you. He just wanted to take away that pain.

“How’s she-”, he mustered up to say before the door closed back on his face.

“Vale, hija, respira.” Pablo heard his mom softly say from behind the door. Defeated, he walked back to his room and rummaged through his drawers. As fun as the rivalry was, the current sight made him want to burn the entire world. He dug through his clothes until he pulled a matching sweatpants and sweater set. He put the set in a basket, heading to the guest room where he grabbed the fluffy socks he kept. He grabbed those before heading down to his laundry room and putting them in the dryer to warm them up. While waiting for the dryer to finish, he walked back to the kitchen where he poured you a bowl of soup, previously made with care by his mother, and boiled some water for tea. The dryer had been done for a few minutes now when he heard the sound of the bathroom door open. He ran, skipping steps, to hand the clothes to his sister. Aurora took the clothes without hesitation, simply thinking Pablo for his actions. Gavi knew you were soon going to come out of the bathroom, so he left the food and tea on the guest bedside table. Soon enough, Aurora helped you get in bed. You had regained some colour, your hair now clean and in a braid. You were wearing the set Gavi had warmed up, the clothes baggily hanging around your body. Gavi’s inner self breathed a sight of relief seeing you settled in bed, a more peaceful look on your face.

“I’m gonna help mamá clean up the bathroom. Make sure she stays warm and at least drinks the tea or eats the soup.” She patted him on the back before closing the door behind her. Gavi simply nodded, feeling the need for rivalry fading away.

“Vale…” Gavi awkwardly sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you want the tea?”

“Did you poison it Gavira?”

Gavi chuckled, taking your sarcasm as a sign of wellness.

“No, I didn’t. Tea or soup?” He tried to sound annoyed, but his newly found care for you betrayed him.

“Soup smells delicious. I could recognize your mom’s soup from miles away.” You laughed weakly.

Gavi grabbed the tray with the bowl of soup and approached the bed. He sat on the corner before bringing a spoonful to your lips.

“Mhhh…” you moaned in delight. “Gimme more.” You felt your body slowly regaining its strength. You sat up on the bed, Gavi feeding you one more spoonful of soup.

“Y/N, what happened? You had us all scared.” Pablo confessed, setting aside the bowl of soup.

You sighed, debating telling your newfound friend the truth.

“I…um. You know that class Aurora and I are taking? The one where we need to intern with a company related to the theme assigned to us? Well, if we don’t land an interview by the deadline, we automatically fail the class. And up until,” you checked your phone. “2 hours ago, I had an internship. Until I received an email telling me that they had to rescind their internship offer due to schedule issues. And if I don’t pass this class, I have to wait a whole year to retake the class. Which also means my graduation is delayed.”

“I don’t get it… How could they do this?” Gavi angrily asked. “What theme were you assigned?”

“Gavi… I’m not sure you can help in this situation…” Gavi’s eyes pierced through yours, desperately trying to uncover your secret. He had this kindness in his eyes, something you had never noticed before…. Maybe because you were too busy being at each other’s throats.

“What theme were you assigned?” He asked a second time.

“Media in sports…”

“You’re doing it with us and that’s final. I’ll contact the media department first thing in the morning. They don’t have any interns for this term, they should be able to accommodate you. I may have to twist Xavi’s arm for this, and sprinkle in some emotional manipulation, but you know the mister, he can’t say no to these puppy eyes.” He bragged.

Gavi fed you a new spoonful of soup, slowly taking more space on the bed.

“What brought you here?”

You almost chocked on your soup, the brutality of Gavi’s question taking you by surprise.

“Oye Gavira, are you trying to kill me with your brutal questions?” You heard Gavi laugh, something you never dreamed you’d be able to hear coming from him. “Since you want to know, I went on a walk to contain the excitement of the news, and I made it to your neighbourhood when I received the email. I guess my instinct just kicked in, and I ran to your house. I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go…” you said, defeated.

You heard Gavi put down the bowl on the tray before he shuffled closer, pulling you into a hug. Shocked, you simply laid there, your arms laid on your side. Your body turned on auto-pilot and you hugged him back. You didn’t know Gavi was capable of such signs of affection, especially not with someone he’s been bickering with for the last decade. On the other side of the interaction, Gavi’s mind was rolling at 200 km/h. *What are you doing cabrón? You’re supposed to hate each other. Let her go! Push her away! Wait, this feels natural, almost meant to be…*

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened to you. Aurora was boasting about how happy she was you obtained the internship with this agency. I can’t imagine how it must feel.” He whispered. You both stayed in a comfortable silence until he spoke up again. “You look tired, do you want me to leave?” He slowly got off the bed, but you pulled him right back down.

“Stay. Your presence is somewhat comforting. I don’t know what your mom put in this soup, Gavira, but it’s making you less… annoying.”You sighed, your eyelids growing heavier by the second. You heard Gavi laugh, a low but subtle chuckle, and smiled to yourself. Gavi was lying on his back, his arms crossed on his chest.

“Can I… Can I lay my head on your chest?” You asked him, your voice growing shy at the request.

Gavi was slightly taken aback, but nonetheless nodded, his heart fluttering at the thought of you being so close to him. He heard the sheets shuffle before he felt your head snuggle in on his chest. He swore right away in this moment that he was done with the animosity, the backbiting, the jokes. He was going to let you in. He was going to properly love you. He was going to cherish you. And in that split second, he realized he owed Aurora 20€, not that he minded anymore.

“Sleep tight nena.” Gavi’s hand found your hair, slowly stroking it.

[dokidokitsuna]

Magical Girl #1

So I realize I haven’t been posting a lot here lately…there are several reasons.

Most of it was just a garden-variety depressive episode, which was unfortunately extended after I had to go on antibiotics for a couple weeks. It got to a point where I considered canceling a bunch of projects because I just didn’t like to draw anymore. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (Still recovering from that, tbh…)

After a while I decided to focus on my writing instead, at least to take my mind off that frightening thought. ^^; I got pretty far into a new novel (which I’ll probably talk about later) but more importantly, I managed to complete a 19-page script for ^this concept, the first new original comic idea I’ve had in years.

It’s basically my take on the idea of a solitary magical girl, which you don’t see so much of nowadays…I think the most famous is Cardcaptor Sakura, and even she had some magical sidekicks (iirc, they just had different sources of power, something like that). I’m not familiar with any examples in the genre where it’s literally just her, ala typical Western superhero…

But that’s not really the reason I wanted to write this story– I developed it mainly to explore the idea of a solitary protagonist, someone who doesn’t have any conventional social relationships outside of their family, AND doesn’t use the story to form any. How could I develop an entertaining story around such a person; what sort of character arc would they go through? Might this character realize, to some degree, that they’re not a ‘traditional’ protagonist, and have some thoughts about this…?

For a while I toyed with the idea of applying this framework to an existing idea, but then I figured it’d be easier (and shorter) to write a completely new self-contained story. Which led to the creation of Anno the magical girl, and her partner Armitage. ^^

My #1 rule was ‘no crutches’: No making her (2) family members stick to her like glue and take the place of the usual friendgroup, for instance. This rule also forced me to change the usual characterization of the helpful fairy sidekick to that of an abusive parasite…which ended up being one of the best writing decisions I ever made. ^^ I love Armitage; not only are he and Anno a great comedy duo, but I think his meanness makes Anno a stronger character.

His worst ‘friendless loser’ insults towards her are just simple statements based (oddly enough) on things I’ve heard people express about themselves. So his dialogue becomes almost cathartic, and Anno’s reactions to it become more realistic as a result. She can’t just brush off his comments as meaningless hate; she kinda has to internalize them whether she wants to or not…if she were just a little more sensitive, this story would probably have a very unhappy ending. ^^;;; But as it is, it’s just an introspective comedy about a neurodivergent girl learning to love and trust herself.

I’m not 100% sure what I’m going to do with the script now that it’s done…mostly I’ve just been using it as motivation to draw for fun again, and to continue developing a manga style (I think I’m getting close to something solid).  But will I actually attempt to draw the manga? Will I try that thing I always wanted to try where I commission some artists to draw it with me…? Or will I just hang onto it and start writing a sequel in my spare time, like I usually do? ^^; Only time will tell…

[freeuselandonorris]

art school au ? 👀👀👀

YEAH!! think i’ve mentioned this before but i went to a very pretentious and moderately well known art school in london for my degree and then an even more pretentious and well known for the arts one for my masters, so this would basically me be rewriting my own past, but: oscar as a talented but fairly traditional fine artist (i’m thinking pen and ink, oils, maybe did a short course in florence one summer) who gets to art school and is faced with like. lando the pretentious hipster making glitch art on his ipad and charles who makes these tortured installations where he sews himself into cocoons made of his childhood clothes and it’s a commentary on unfulfilled potential or something, and max who makes these huge sculptures out of old car parts he throws together the night before the monthly crits and calls everyone else’s work shit and worthless but somehow the tutors all love him. the tutors being like… lewis the former student who never left and who makes these beautiful, huge haunting collage pieces exploring geopolitics. fernando who was nominated for the turner prize in 1996 and never lets anyone forget about it. jenson who’s just there to sleep with his students and relive his misspent youth as a YBA. and now oscar’s being told that pen and ink is SO passé and has he ever thought about doing video installation. so he gets paired up with lando for a project because jenson thinks they’ll be a good influence on each other’s work (i.e. oscar might force lando to actually do something with his talent instead of submitting epilepsy-inducing gif loops of smiley faces and lando might force oscar to do something that feels like it’s of this century) and of COURSE they hate each other at first… but then……….

[artssslut2]

Unexpected: Part Six

Art Donaldson x Pregnant! Reader

Angst with a happy ending

Previous Chapter: Chapter Five

“Art that’s… great.” You forced out of your mouth with a fake smile.

“I won’t go.” He responded looking at you like he was offering you something

“What?” You asked.

“I can’t leave you or her y/n”

“Stop you have to go. Your career will be over if you don’t Art.” You were growing angry, not at Art just at the world. Everything finally felt so perfect now Art was leaving. What did this mean, were you going to have to have the baby alone. All the emotions built inside of you until you burst into tears. Art rushed to your side,

“Y/n I’m not going okay don’t worry.” He told you bringing you to the couch.

“No art stop! You have to go. If you stay here you will resent me forever and hate yourself! This isn’t a discussion you’re going!” You yelled,

“It’s not all up to you y/n.” He told you sympathetically.

“But it’s all you have ever wanted.” You said putting your face in your hands

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted. I’m not messing this up.” He said firmly, you looked at him with big teary eyes.

“Well we can still be together” you bargained

“No. Listen to me I don’t want to miss out on our daughter’s birth, or her life or any of it. My dad was never around and it broke me y/n, that’s not the dad I want to be.” He said with his voice cracking. You sat next to him but didn’t say anything. Fuck. This is Arts biggest dream, it has been since he was a kid. No way could you let him pass this up. But you didn’t think you could do this alone either, this was an impossible decision.

“Come with me. You can I’m sure of it, they won’t care-“ a flicker of hope came into Arts eyes, but you interrupted it

“I’m in school art! I can’t just pack everything up and leave. I have dreams too” you argued.

“So what I’m gonna go and your gonna stay?” He raised his voice a little and it surprised you he had never done that to you

“I guess that’s the only way” you yelled getting really angry

“Y/N you need help, you can’t do this alone”

“Of course I fucking can”

“So you’re gonna be nine months pregnant in class while trying to get everything together and then juggle all of this and a baby?” He said, it felt like he was mocking you.

“What else can I fucking do Art!?” You said starting to cry. Art felt guilt rush over him

“Baby I’m sorry just, you can come with me And-“ you couldn’t talk about this anymore not tonight

“I’m going to bed.” You said calmly walking away,

“Y/n please-“ he tried to grab your arm but you pulled away.

“Art stop I’m tired and I’m pregnant. Let’s just talk tomorrow.” You said pulling the pregnancy card. He let you go and didn’t say anything. Once you got into bed you cried silently wondering why this had to happen. You wanted to be happy for him but this is such a bad time. He had to go and you had to stay… did you though? Did you even want to be a nurse? You felt like you didn’t know anything anymore. You just wanted to feel arts arms around you.

You woke up after a terrible nights sleep to an empty bed. You gathered yourself and went out to find Art. You had been too upset to get ready for bed so you were still in your clothes.

Art was sitting up on the couch on his laptop. It looked like he hasn’t moved since you last talked.

“Hey.” You spoke softly leaning on the doorframe,

“Hey.” He said with big eyes, he was just happy to see you and that you were speaking to him.

“You never came to bed last night”

“I- I was just trying to figure some stuff out” he said apologetically. “Y/n I’m really sorry about-“

“No Art, I’m sorry. I should have listened to you” you admitted.

“Look I was thinking and you shouldn’t have to give up anything either, you can get a nursing degree fully online I looked” he told you pulling up his laptop. There was the guy you loved, the guy who would do anything for you.

“How are we going to afford everything Art? I was at Stanford on scholarships”

“I know you don’t want to but…”

“I’m not taking your parents money” you told him

“Listen we would pay them back, they would just help us get started and I’m going to be making money on tour.” He tried to convince you.

“Art… I don’t even think I want to be a nurse” you admitted sitting on the couch

“What?” He looked shocked, it’s what you’ve been talking about for years. You scoffed

“I wanted to be a doctor, or something bigger. My parents said they wouldn’t pay if I went for that, they didn’t think I could. Now they don’t even talk to me” you said. Arts expression changed from shock to anger,

“What? What the fuck how could-“

“Art it’s fine okay. I don’t want to be upset anymore I just want to try to be happy.” You told him. You really were tired of all the drama, you didn’t know what you wanted anymore. Art was stunned, he took a minute,

“So I don’t know what I’ll do. But you’re right I can’t do this alone, I’ll just go with you and-“ Art cut you off before you could finish.

“No.” He said firmly, you were surprised “y/n, I want nothing more than for you to come with me but not if it means your sacrificing everything that you want. You have to stay in school, I know it’s what you want. A-and you can do anything you want, you could even do this alone but you won’t have to. We can- I can, just wait here.” He said before storming off and slamming the door. He wasn’t angry at you, you worried that he was going to tell of your parents. You were too tired to fight though. Instead you decided to wallow in self pity and lay on the couch and watch tv. You felt so lost, more now than ever.

You had dozed off on the couch for longer than you would have liked, when you woke up there was a blanket on top of you, your head was on Arts lap. When did the happen? Then you vaguely remembered being moved a little bit.

“Art?” You asked sleepily, he was looking at something on his computer.

“Hey sleepy.” He smiled stroking your hair “I’m sorry I stormed out”

“S’okay… did my parents get an earful from you?” You asked, art chuckled

“No, I was on my way over there though. Then I thought about what you said, how you just wanted to be happy. So I turned around. It’s not there life y/n it’s yours. You can start over now and do anything that you want and I will be here.” Art helped you sit up so you were facing him. “I was thinking. You gotta stay in school and be something great. I remember when you took that class last year about physical therapy or something. You said you wanted to be a doctor and they always need physiotherapists and stuff on tour.” You didn’t reply you just leaned in and kissed him catching him off guard. You pulled back and smiled at him.

“I love you so much you know.” He smiled at your words

“I talked to my coach and my team and they said you could apprentice with them while your in school and they would pay you and help with tuition, they said you could do the school part online and then log clinical hours with them… but that’s only if you want to, I don’t want to push you into something-“ you interrupted him with another kiss.

“You did all that for me?” You asked

“Of course” he smiled, you thought about how sweet this guy was, how he always supported you and thought if he about you. He had been there for you more than anyone in your life.

“That sounds pretty good to me.” You told him with a big smile.

“Really?” Arts face lit up

“Really.” You smiled and he pulled in for another kiss

“You know you just did more for me than my parents ever did. You support me more than anyone has Art.” You confessed “you really are going to be the greatest dad to our little girl.” A tear came to your eye of course.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asked one more time

“Never been more sure of anything baby.” You tucked his hair behind his ear pressing your forehead to his. He smiled,

“My girlfriend as my physiotherapist. I think you just unlocked a new fantasy” he said smirking, you laughed and bumped his arm playfully,

“Yeah we’re gonna be quite the team.” You said as He kissed your nose,

“We’re gonna be traveling the world, just you and me, and her? Living our dreams? This worked out pretty perfectly.” He told you grinning from ear to ear. You finally got the feeling of contentment back, you were happy. This was the best reality that you could picture.

“Things do happen for a reason.” You told him placing his hand on your bump. “I love you.”

“I love you too…” he pulled you onto his lap so you were straddling it. It was a position that was much harder to do now that you were further along, you laughed adjusting yourself on him “look at that, you still got it baby.” He laughed moving his hands to your ass.

“Yeah not for long” you said wrapping your arms around his neck. “I know I said I could do it alone. But I’m not so sure, I can’t even see my feet or pick things up from the ground anymore. I feel enormous ” You pouted and Art laughed at you

“Well then it’s good I’m not going anywhere. I think you look better now than you’ve ever looked, so curvy and glowy” he told you in a flirty tone, moving his hands to your hips.

“Just wait a few months” you warned, he chuckled.

“Oh cmon I can’t wait.” He said picking you up with ease despite your increase in size, you laughed

“Art put me down what are you doing?”

“Gotta get it on while we still can before your really ”enormous”” he joked playfully mocking you while kissing your neck and bringing you to the bedroom. You gasped and hit his arm but then you gave into him.

After your couple rounds of slow intimate sex you were laying wrapped up in the sheets with your boyfriend who was behind you tracing patterns onto your stomach.

“I’m so excited.” He said trying to stay awake. You hummed in agreement and put your hand on his interlocking your fingers.

“Just you me and Sunny” he smiled

“No way Donaldson.” You patted his hand and he laughed

“You’ll come around”, he said before you both peacefully dozed off.

[doumadono]

Hello hello! I hope you’re having a good day🗣️❤️

I have a bit of an emergency request if u don’t mind.

I recently got surgery on my shoulder and the recovery has been… rough to say the least. I can’t lift my arm higher than 90 degrees and can’t pick up anything more than five pounds, this has made it where I’m unable to work which means I’m struggling to make ends meet. I have a lot of wonderful people in my life but I’m such an independent person that I have trouble asking for any help in any way, this has lead to me being in either a lot of pain while doing something I shouldn’t, or just absolutely defeated because I’m unable to do something as well as getting in multiple fights with friends and family bc of my stubbornness.

Anyways, could I have a shoto x fem reader where she’s kind of in a similar situation? Maybe like he lets her do things herself but only if it’s safe for her to do so and lets her know it’s okay to let people help her? I’m just really in a weird life phase rn and I’m trying to remain hopeful but it’s getting hard.

Anyways, I hope you have a lovely week❤️

-Jupiter<3

Learning to lean - Shoto x Reader

A/N: I’m very saddened to hear you’re going through this, but remember, it’s okay to ask for help. Your strength isn’t just in your independence, but also in knowing when to lean on others. This tough time will pass, and you'll come out even stronger on the other side. Stay hopeful and be kind to yourself!

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

You never thought something as simple as picking up a cup of tea could be such a monumental task. Your shoulder ached with every slight movement, a constant reminder of your surgery and the limitations it imposed. You gritted your teeth and tried to push through the pain, but the frustration was always lurking just beneath the surface.

The days since your surgery had been a whirlwind of pain, frustration, and a lot of sleepless nights. You hated feeling so helpless, unable to do even the simplest things without a sharp reminder of your injury. You were an independent person, always priding yourself on being able to handle things on your own. But now, everything had changed.

"Y/N, let me help you with that," Shoto's calm voice interrupted your struggle.

You glanced over at him, a pure stubbornness in your eyes. "I can do it myself," you muttered, not wanting to rely on anyone, not even your boyfriend.

Shoto walked over, his mismatched eyes filled with concern. "I know you can, but you don't have to do everything alone." He reached out, gently taking the cup from your trembling hand and setting it on the table.

A sigh escaped your lips, both from relief and frustration. "I hate this. I feel so useless."

Shoto crouched down beside you, his hand lightly touching your uninjured shoulder. "You're not useless, sweetie. You're recovering, and that's not something you have to do by yourself."

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. "But what if I never get better? What if I'm always like this?" You looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. "And I don't want to be a burden."

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to face him. "You're never a burden to me, little one. And you will get better. It takes time, but you will. And even if it takes longer than we hope, it doesn't change how I feel about you. You're strong, and you've already come so far."

You bit your lip, tears welling up. "I just… I don't want to feel weak."

Shoto's expression softened, and he pulled you into a gentle hug, extremely mindful of your injury. "Asking for help doesn't make you weak. It makes you human. And I'm here for you, no matter what. You should know that by now, sweetie."

You leaned into him, allowing yourself to relax for the first time in what felt like ages. "Thank you, Sho."

He smiled, his warmth seeping into you. "Now, how about we tackle this together? You tell me what you need, and I'll be your hands when you can't use yours."

A small laugh bubbled up despite your tears. "Deal."

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of breakfast wafting through the air.

Shoto had insisted on staying over, just to make sure you were okay.

You protested at first of course, but now you were grateful for his presence.

You made your way to the kitchen, your shoulder protesting with every step.

Shoto was at the stove, his back to you, flipping pancakes with a practiced ease. "Good morning, princess," he greeted without turning around. "How did you sleep?"

"Better, thanks," you replied, taking a seat at the table. "You didn't have to do all this, you know."

He turned to face you, a little smile playing on his lips. "I wanted to. Besides, it's not every day I get to cook for someone I care about."

You blushed, making a loud awww sound. "Well, it smells amazing."

He brought a plate over to you, setting it down with a flourish. "Bon appétit."

As you struggled to cut your pancakes with one hand, Shoto quietly slid the plate over to his side and began cutting them into smaller pieces for you. "Here you go, Y/N," he said softly, sliding the plate back to you with a warm smile.

You dug in, savoring the delicious meal. As you ate, you couldn't help but watch Shoto.

He moved around your kitchen with such grace, his every action filled with a quiet determination. You marveled at how thoughtful he was, always anticipating your needs before you even voiced them.

After breakfast, Shoto suggested a short walk outside.

You hesitated, knowing how much effort it would take, but his gentle encouragement made you agree.

He stayed close by your side, matching his pace to yours, his presence a comforting reassurance.

As you walked, the two of you talked about everything and nothing.

You found yourself opening up to him in ways you never had before, sharing your fears and frustrations. "Sometimes, I just feel so angry," you admitted, your voice trembling. "Angry at myself for getting hurt, angry that I can't do the things I used to."

Shoto stopped walking and turned to face you, his eyes full of understanding. "It's okay to feel that way, Y/N. It's a natural part of the healing process. I'm here, right by your side, and you shouldn't hesitate to lean on me. You can fully rely on me, princess."

You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks. "I know, but it's hard to ask for help."

"I understand. But remember, it's not a sign of weakness. It's a sign of strength, to know when you need support and to accept it."

Over the next few days, Shoto's presence became a comforting constant. He allowed you to do what you could, but was always around to step in when you needed him.

Slowly, you began to accept his help without feeling guilty.

One evening, as you struggled to reach a book on a high shelf, Shoto was there in an instant. "I've got it," he said, retrieving the book effortlessly.

You smiled up at him, no longer feeling the sting of inadequacy. "Thanks, Shoto."

He handed you the book, his eyes twinkling. "Anytime, Y/N."

That night, as you sat together on the couch, Shoto turned to you with a serious expression. "Y/N, there's something I've been wanting to tell you."

You looked at him, curiosity piqued. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "I care about you a lot. More than I can put into words. Seeing you in pain, struggling, it hurts me too. I want to be there for you, not just now, but always."

Your heart skipped a beat, warmth flooding your chest. "Shoto, I… I care about you too. You've been my rock through all of this." Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time they were tears of happiness. "Thank you, Shoto. For everything."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I love you."

"And I love you too," your voice was a soft whisper, gentle and warm like a summer breeze.

Shoto's love and support gave you the strength to keep going, to heal, and to embrace the future with hope.

[weebsinstash]

I’m honestly living for the potential Miguel angst in your YouTwo fics, like him realising it’s pretty much entirely his fault that you got so injured/traumatised. Excellent Yandere potential right here lmaoo.

No but really, because like your standard edition default yandere could be like "oh, you're so weak and delicate, only I can protect you, only I deserve to have you, oh you're so wonderful and lovely, you are incapable of actually truly taking care of yourself like i can" and you know all the mushy shit that is varying degrees of truth and delusion

And here you have Miguel, who like, let's look on "the timeline" that we've kind of established here, ok, because, wow does he have some reasons to uh, go feral

-you guys have a cordial, team-up kind of first meeting against an anomaly in your home dimension, you wind up being invited to Spider Society, one day your home universe is JUST GONE while you're out and about in Nueva York or elsewhere

-You're like basically homeless, traumatized, depressed, like what was all of that for, what was all your suffering for, those deaths and tragedies you experienced, you SUFFERED to be a Spider, and now, your home is gone, what does this mean, like, you have the most justifiable existential crisis one can imagine, you had a DESTINY my dude! And it's GONE NOW, POOF

-Spider Society becomes new home, new community, new thing to keep you going and alive and grounded and they all like you and sometimes you think you're actually happier than ever, you feel very loved and supported, even teach your own class, people like you, little do you know how much lol

-but you still have depression and anxiety and self doubts but hey everyone supports you 🥺 part of being a Spider is picking yourself back up right?

-youtwo shows up, you feel weird, somwqhat threatened by their presence but, also some kinship actually, maybe they even feed you some story either genuine or a lie and you allow them to be you once or twice, they get drunk on it, kind of trick you, fans out, starts stealing your identity. Suddenly what purpose you had in your life is at question. If anything and everything you can do can simply be replicated, what use is there for you? Whatever depression and issues you have before are amplified

-members of the community start mistaking you for the replica and treat you varying degrees of disregard to outright disrespect and you wonder what that means, if they were all just nasty liars to "real you" or if you were just never really that special or anything to begin with and they just latched onto "real you" for some random reason

-you get framed for something youtwo does,sabotaging a big society construction project that you saved the day on but got injured for. YouTwo doesn't even need to pretend it wasn't them, you're framed and people believe it, they believe the narrative that you wanted to feel needed and set this up to be the hero and people treat you with either pity or disgust or just coddling "oh, poor them :( they shouldn't have done that though..."

-you just kind of start hating everyone because it's at the point where now YouTwo hasn't just stolen your life but put you in a position where EVEN WHEN your identity was believed, your reputation and relationship with others is tarnished. Like picture with me here, put yourself in the moment, you're crying you're feeling so sad and outraged because you genuinely cannot believe what you're hearing as Miguel stands there forcing himself to be emotionless and saying "the footage doesn't lie and we have a witness" and it's just YouTwo planting bombs and they stole your costume or were manipulating people and spreading lies or something, and you're just, like, feeling literally fucking violated that this is happening to you, you're literally sitting there with like a hip or broken femur because of being injured in the incident, where you also saved other people by the way, and you're being accused of being the perpetrator, after everything you've done for them, with them, after never having done this sort of thing before, you're just. Outraged doesn't begin to describe it. Whether you love or respect him you can't believe someone who was like family to you, not just him but by extension all of them, would do this to you. You're more alone than ever, and stuck in a wheelchair where they try to pitying dote on you while you completely clam up and some of them interpret it as guilt and you eventually just tell all of them to leave you the fuck alone (again, a little interpreted as guilt)

-Miguel like legitimately thinks he's doing what's best for you. The time he finally truly sides with YouTwo and winds up actually hurting you the worst is when he's trying to be like, "see I finally believe you, Im sorry I doubted you, I'll fix this I promise, I'll get rid of the second one" and he's saying it all to. YouTwo. Like imagine how bad that fucking hurts. You're either crying or just laughing at the absurdity of it, either weeping or actively antagonizing him until you blip away from having your bracelet broken/removed when you're "exiled"

-after you're gone, that's when he realizes how BAAAAAAADLY he's fucked up. He's got definitive evidence the you in front of him is the fake, he has no idea where you are, if even that you're alive. really, you glitching away instead of outright dying basically makes you an anomaly, even more than before anyways. Maybe the fact you just vanish instead of have the whole cell death thing gives him hope that you're still out there and he obsessively searches for you, but can never find you

-until one day when he's at his near breaking point, I mean this man is hanging on by THREADS at this point, you just, glitch back into his life. Like a miracle. And you're hungry. And you're cold. And you're hurt. And you need help and he NEEDS you, needs to be the one to help you, to atone for what's happened, especially when he sees your deteoriated state mentally, physically, and emotionally. Like. He latches on to you like a parasite, please please PLEASE let him make this up to you he is like BARELY holding himself together he NEEDS you and needs to help you (oh wow that whole construction disaster "causing a problem to reap the benefits of fixing it" is unintentionally coming back full circle for you ain't it dude, the apollo gift of prophecy levels of projection lmao)

And you know I mentioned in the past "what if you get rescued by another Miguel and latch onto him" but like if Reader is so emotionally and mentally worn down, I think really having "your" Miguel so desperate for your forgiveness and seeming so genuinely attached to you would really sort of activate the Oh God I Just Need Someone To Love Me And Need Me insecurities and traumas. You wake up from a good rest after first coming back and he's apologizing to you profusely and you just kind of break down and immediately accept him back because you just. Need to feel like you matter. Like the toxic codependency of you needing to feel loved and him desperately wanting to make things up to you, giving you any praise or affection or attention he wants to give you and you feeling somehow reassured by the dedication, but also him being in this position of power and authority over you where he, if he wants to, has extreme control over your life. You're just over here barely keeping it together and critically depressed and needing hugs and needing to matter and you have this hulking almost 7 foot behemoth of trauma of grief who has a More Than Unhealthy Attachment to you who does have Intentions is now being fully in control of your care, of your safety, of your environment, with a heightened emotional investment in just. Literally everything about you

Oh yeah, he's all too happy to give you food and shelter after your traumatizing multiverse travels. But he also didn't want to let you leave in the first place. Now he won't let you. He's partially convinced he shouldn't ever let you out of his sight ever again, period. He's just becoming Downright Mentally Unstable because not only have these things happened to you, between you and him, but also, there were people who helped YouTwo, helped the scheme, whether intentionally or not, and now he's more untrusting of his peers and surroundings. He grows colder to the ones he doesn't trust. He programs his own watch to give him notifications on your status on those occasions you're apart like when he has to go fight anomalies, which is suddenly magically Way Too Dangerous for you to do anymore you're basically on house arrest

You really truly become All He Has Left, like borderline his reason for living at this point besides his own motivations and drive as Spiderman 2099 and his mission to protect the multiverse. But you're a big thing keeping him going. Even if you don't love him, he'll make sure to stay by your side and not leave you ever again. He won't make the same mistake twice, he promises. You just have to give him the time to prove it

[voidandabyssal]

Aw, that last one was so good! May I request another?

I don't remember if you've written anything about the Dreamtale twins. Do you have any personal headcanons about them? No, I'm not asking because Nightmare is my favourite and has been on mind a tone lately...

I’ve written a teeny tiny bit about the dreamtale twins. Not all that much tho so I’m glad I get the opportunity to ramble about them!

Nightmare is 100% the elder twin, if only by a few seconds. He totally lords this fact over Dreams head whenever is most convenient, and also means he felt solely responsible for himself and Dream when they were children

Nightmare hid all of the abuse and mistreatment the villagers threw at him. Dream genuinely had no clue anything was wrong.

Dream has a hero complex. He doesn’t know it yet, and doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s something he picked up when he was a kid that never quite went away.

Nightmare is capable of positive emotions, just as Dream is capable of negative emotions. Though either twin isn’t the best at expressing positive/negative emotions

Dream really likes spicy foods, Nightmare loves sweets.

Dream picked up archery at first when he was young, a travelling merchant had gifted him a bow as a gift and he got into archery.

Dream is illiterate, or at least is for his childhood and then likely a few years after he’s released from stone. Neither twin grew up with a formal education, so they both had to teach themselves.

Going on from this, Dream has dyslexia. He hated reading for years and would only sit down to listen to his brother narrate one of his books.

Nightmare has a gigantic library in his castle, stocked with books from all different au’s. He likes seeing how the same author can write such different stories across multiple au’s.

Nightmares castle works like the Other mother’s home from Coraline. Theres only so much to the world, walk far enough and eventually you end up right back where you started.

Dreams version of Nightmares castle is a little cottage on the outskirts of a Monster town. It’s not in its own separate dimension like Nightmares is, Dreams home is settled in a highly positive au.

It’s probably Blue who teaches Dream to read. Ink is…not the best teacher, and Blue is the only other person Dream would feel comfortable telling about his illiteracy.

Ink and Blue both crash at Dreams home. Even though neither live there full time Dream likes to keep their rooms just as they left them. (He has a room dedicated for Nightmare… if his brother ever wanted to stay of course)

Nightmare does get along with the bad Sans’s. To varying degrees on certain days (….Killer I’m looking at you)

Nightmare and Dreams relationship never fully repairs. Ever.

Sure they’re not actively trying to kill each other anymore. But by this point there is such a wide gap between the two.

Dream doesn’t like this, and for the longest time tries to force Nightmare to be around him, to spend time together, etc.

And it doesn’t go well, Nightmare is really the twin who feels too different from his past self to ever go back.

As much as it hurts Dream to think about. Nightmare has new interests, thoughts, personality, friends, even family.

Dream can only hope that one day, they will be able to spend time together like they did as children.

[velvetsupremacy]

what kinks do you think the members are into 🤭

Hi, thanks for the question! I’m just gonna write my top three for each member, not in any particularly ranking order:

Irene

Praise – I think it’s pretty obvious why I think this lol but she just seems like a partner that craves intimacy and loves receiving compliments because beauty to her extends beyond looks. I think she would love giving too, she wants to make sure her partner is enjoying themselves too and lets them know that through her words.

Bondage – I meannnnn come on… don’t tell me this wouldn’t be fun both ways with her! Seeing her squirm and ache for everything you have to offer her (and hearing her whineeee). I think she would have so much fun and might even laugh seeing you struggle as well!

Edging – My opinion of Irene as a strict sub has changed recently (as you can tell), but she loves teasing. She would so be into letting someone else control her pleasure, taking her mind off being responsible all the time. On the other hand, she can be a little shit (I say this lovingly lol) and wants to see how long you can go without breaking and loves riding your face. Something about the Aries in her would make her compete for being the best partner you’ve ever had in bed.

Seulgi

Blindfold – I feel like Seulgi is lowkey a freak😭 She loves the anticipation and thrill of guessing what her partner might do to her. In general, she loves experimenting and expects the unexpected, gets tired of routine and constantly wants to spice things up. Wants to share unique experiences with you as well so expect to be blindfolded as well (not that I’m complaining lol).

Impact play – loves being physical and is into some degree of pain. Loves being spanked, hearing her little gasps and she kinda gets turned on trying to hide the marks on both your bodies. It makes her feel a rush of excitement like how she feels when she’s performing.

Edging – I just get heavy vibes that the woman has stamina! It’s different with her because I just know this can go hours on end. The sensation of being on stage and controlling her breath is so like how she forces herself to keep going for you and vice versa.

Wendy

Gag – As I said before, she loves using her mouth for anything! When your fingers aren’t enough sometimes, she’ll ask for a gag herself or whenever she won’t stop begging to cum, you’ll gladly stuff her mouth with something that’ll keep her quiet.

Bondage – Hates that she loves being tied down and can’t touch you! It’s a sweet torture but she loves watching you please yourself in front of her, it’s the best seat in the house. She just loves being your patient girl and goes crazy when you sit on her face! She just gives good girl vibes so much, always wanting to please her partner!

Clothed/public(?)- Okay this one is kinda hard to put into a specific kink rn, but I think she would be down to sneak into in an empty practice room or bathroom and have you bend her over the nearest surface to take her. She always has those abs out and shows off on purpose just to get a reaction from you! She still has some sense so she never goes completely unclothed but likes when you mess up her pretty outfits even though she pretends its a hassle to fix

Joy

Bimbofication – This might be random, but I think she’s the type to fuck to the point where it makes her or her partner dumb, like all she wants to think about is being pounded stupid. Loves hearing/saying phrases like, “you’re my dumb slut, aren’t you? All you can think about is my fingers fucking you so good huh?”

Roleplay – She’s probably the type to get off on costumes and making up scenarios to spice up the bedroom. Loves to dress up in lingerie, sexy nurse outfits, cop outfits, anything that seems silly but she adores the way you devour her when you get back home. Loves surprising you and being surprised herself.

Teasing in public – Her kink is somewhat different from Wendy’s since she would probably like to tease in public instead, rather than fuck. I don’t think she’d get off properly in public. Loves the built-up tension it creates. Loves using vibes and lingering touches. She’d crave a crazy makeout session, but stop midway and say to be patient just to frustrate you even more.

Yeri

Praise – Another subby baby who loves nothing more than to be praised for being the good girl she is! You don’t have the heart to give her harsh punishments, especially when she’s so good for you. You just wanna protect her and let her know that she’s doing so well!

Body worship – Both giving and receiving I think! Going down her body with kiss to all her “imperfections” and telling her you love every inch of her??? She’s putty in your hands at that point! Especially loves when you play with her tits, she’s just so sensitive everywhere!

Bondage – She’s such a pillow princess honestly. I would say you’re the one going down on her 90% of the time but how can you not when she moans, whines, and thrashes about so cutely?? She can get a bit handsy and wants to hold your head down, but you tie her up and while its frustrating, it's a reminder that you’re the one in charge and controlling her pleasure and she wouldn’t want it any other way!

[enchantedflameandflower]

Can you talk about your thoughts on Billy and Becca's relationship? From what I've read from your comments and notes, you're not a big fan of them together and it's rare to find others besides myself in the Boys fandom willing to be critical of this ship and especially Becca herself in regards to how it turned out.

Yeah I can certainly try! I don’t speak on it a lot I don’t think because I’m not about to argue with someone I don’t even know and I’m not going to put down someone’s ship. I wouldn’t say I’m not a fan of them together, I love how Billy loved her and he did - I would say I’m not a fan of the way people put her or their relationship on a pedestal just like she said not to and they were clearly toxic for each other.

My feelings have a lot of different aspects - one I think she’s just badly written, I mean she’s totally fridged and there’s no basis in my opinion for her to be amazingly perfect? (Not that any woman has to!) So I don’t get why people think that. Two - my feelings while I’m watching emotionally are kind of different from my more academic opinions and are also different from Addison’s feelings on it - which in my head I’ve really gotten into so I can write my story authentically.

I will say additionally I have a degree in psychology and I’ve been in a happy successful relationship for 27 years (so far) from 16-43 so I know a little bit about what it takes. The things we have been through together and come out still completely committed and fully loving each other…

Emotionally, she annoys me and that’s just me. They’re trying to make her look like some amazing mother but the first chance she gets she’s spouting how she just ‘acts’ like ‘Carol fucking Brady’ like what? How is that in any way being a good mom. And I hugely disagree with her over sheltering. And she just wishes she was doing nothing on the couch smoking weed and eating Cheetos like huh? That’s the first thing she wants to say to Billy after 10 years? The way she acts about it rings so weird to me. Now BELIEVE ME I absolutely do those things too and enjoy it when my child is good for the night but I would never say it like that or think like that nor would that ever be my first conversation with my husband after hiding from him for a decade.

Billy was shown often (except for one weird one off line) to be there for her and love her but her whole attitude and the ease with which she left him leads me feel she was in it for a good time and not much else. The conversation about the spice girls concert is ridiculous. I can’t even fathom making my husband do something like that that he’s not into. We absolutely both have things we like to do together and then we have our own things too. Why would she force him to go to something he hates like that? Especially when she has her sister to enjoy it with. I don’t get it at all and it’s not how a relationship works.

In the fourth season the Becca hallucination tells Butcher that he shouldn’t betray Hughie even to save Ryan, there would be another way. And that’s what should’ve happened after she was r*ped. She left Billy because he would’ve gone on a rampage if she told him?? She thinks he wouldn’t if she disappeared? (He did.) How does that make sense. There’s always another way. Just like she says. I cannot even for a second imagine doing what she did to my husband. And yes I understand Billy has major problems but he was never shown to be beyond love and support. I don’t think she supported him as a partner at all. She was there because he was hot, sexy, he worshipped her and he took care of her. How did she take care of him, ever? I have a lot of Billy in me on the inside and I’ve said some very choice things in private messages but I won’t say them here haha <3

Now Addison is a better person than me, though of course she doesn’t know any of those examples, but she loves Billy unconditionally even though it’s going to be really really hard but her view of Becca is through Billy’s eyes so she really respects and protects that vision for Billy in a way and I kind of like exploring that too :) Latest chapter out here 🖤

hope that kind of makes sense, and thank you for your ask. just my thoughts and all ships should be happily whatever the shipper wants them to be because a ship can be anything

[j0kers-light]

Hi, Chaos! I have a request - How would J react with Y/N having a condition called 'winking eye syndrome'? It's actually something I have but it's such a rare condition that it's never mentioned. I would love to read your take on it. Thanks in advance! <3

Hello and hi beloved!!! 🖤✨

Fun fact! Anytime I have an ask that’s medical in nature, I run to my mother to get the most accurate information. She loves helping out to answer these so much!

Moving along! Winking eye syndrome? Coming right up! 👩🏽‍💻 I’m sorry I’m answering this ask so late, writers block is powerful. I hope you enjoy beautiful 😘

Definition: Marcus Gunn Jaw winking syndrome (MGJWS) is one of the congenital cranial dysinnervation disorders (CCDD) and these individuals have variable degrees of blepharoptosis in the resting, primary position. It is associated with synkinetic movements of the upper eyelid during masticating movements of the jaw.

credit & credit

MGJ, another rare condition (with hardly any studies/articles) that affects the eyelids literally by 'winking' at inopportune moments.

(From my research) its more of an insecurity or an annoyance than anything since its not life threatening or harmful, (if it exceeds 2mm then it could be).

However the mental health side effects—being self conscious, is serious enough to discuss.

Joker is very perceptive, and especially about his Bunny, so he would definitely notice but not comment.

He takes notice how you don't eat or drink in front of him to avoid him seeing your condition.

You are very particular about how you angle your face or talk in order to not upset your jaw and cause any flare ups even though sometimes the wink can be involuntary.

Joker doesn't like you hiding from him and makes it his mission to help you become more comfortable with yourself.

You might get a cheeky joke every now and then like, "Are ya getting sleepy Bunny?" or “Happy to see me doll?" as he winks right back at you.

Don't panic, Joker is never insulting or mean to you! Its all done in jest.

He does enjoy seeing you fluster and try to shy away but he's quick to spin you around to face him.

You pout and close your eyes, that won't work. Joker is patient and he'll wait however long it takes for you to look at him. Its high time he addressed this.

"Mind tellin' me whyy your hiding those... gorgeous eyes from me sweetheart?"

His alluring voice makes the words pierce your heart even harder yet your lingering insecurities make you hesitate. "They're not gorgeous, J. I hate them."

You bury your face into Joker's chest. He's just saying that because he's your partner. You hate your eyelids for always being stupid and not working properly. It makes taking photos a daunting task. Eye contact is your worst nightmare and it overall makes you ugly.

"You are noT ugly, Y/n."

Wait, did you say that part out loud? Joker tipped your chin up so he could see you more clearly. The deep frown on his face means he's dead serious and you silently begin to panic.

"You think I would liee when I call ya my pretty girl. My Goddess? Mm? Am I a li-ar Y/n?"

His eyes scan your face and force you to mumble a quick, "N-No.."

Joker leaned down to kiss your forehead, both of your eyelids, and then lastly your lips. "No I'm noT, I'm tellin' ya the truth. I don't care if your 'eyelids are stupid'. They belong to my Bunny and my Bunny is perfect. Mhm, wouldn't change a thiiiing." J hugged you close and nuzzled your hair with his cheek.

He hated acting all soft but you needed some sweet reassurance. Your condition made you unique and J loved that about you.

One of these days he would get you to fully embrace your individuality. It would take some time and loads of energy but Joker had more than enough patience to help his Bunny be the best version you could be.