#the only things i have left are the house of hope and then disabling the foundry and killing gort and doing the final fight stuff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

notjustjavierpena · 3 months ago

Text

Peek

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Haven’t written about these two for a while! I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Joel finds an excuse to get out of watching the Olympics but only so he can go upstairs and find you getting ready to go out while listening to the summer’s biggest album.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, basically pwp, dad’s best friend, age gap, immorality kink, dirty talk, groping, fingering, possessive behavior. pet names, Daddy kink, unprotected piv sex, rough sex, anal threat, creampie, y2k vibes, brat summer

Word count: 4.2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58023772

Peek

The TV is loud in your father's living room as the Olympics are on but Joel can concentrate on nothing but the thought of you being upstairs even if he had looked forward to seeing the competition in gymnastics this afternoon. He is here because it is tradition to watch whatever sports are on during the summer with your father, his best friend, but nothing feels the same since he started seeing you behind his mate’s back.

Carefully, he shifts his weight on the leather couch cushion, the heat of Texas making the material stick uncomfortably to the slightly exposed skin of his thighs. It creaks as he changes his position, leaning forward to grab his near-empty beer and sneak a look at your dad out of the corner of his eye. He tries to figure out if he knows that Joel has had his face buried between his daughter’s thighs just yesterday but he doesn’t even flinch, too absorbed in the intricate routine on the screen.

He leans back again and takes a long sip of the bottle in his hand, emptying it in case he has to think of a reply to a sudden question about you. It doesn’t come but instead, he receives a raised brow.

“You sure are thirsty there, Miller,” he says with a gentle grin, playful and normal in everything he does so that Joel may relax a little more. He laughs with embarrassment in return, a blush of guilt that he hopes is taken as shame creeping up from under the neck of his t-shirt.

“Hot day,” he answers simply. He covers up his train of thought with a conversation, “Did you see that landing? That was something else.”

Your father seems satisfied with that answer to the degree where he turns back to the television, “And that dismount. They’re gettin’ better and better each year.”

Joel follows his line of sight, fixated upon the tight suit of a female gymnast, and chuckles under his breath. He puts the bottle back on the coffee table, knowing he is no better than that; he can almost hear your soft laughter from upstairs as you chat with someone on the phone, can almost feel the warmth of your gorgeous body against his. This push and pull between what he should do and what he wants to do is slowly driving him to insanity.

Your father slaps the armrest in excitement as another woman does her routine without faltering, “Did you see that? Gold medal for sure.”

“Yes,” Joel lies like he has gotten so good at lately, for the first time in his entire life not very interested in sports, “Best thing I’ve seen so far, think you’re right.”

He is more busy with thinking about how to act in case you make your way downstairs, wearing a cute sundress and smiling at him like you always do but still in a way that it took him way too long to notice. He hopes you might give him the thrill of making an appearance soon.

During commercial break, your father gets up from the couch to get more beers from the kitchen and Joel has time to glance towards the stairs. He cranes his neck to see if you are standing at the top but he is left disappointed, left to imagine what you are doing upstairs in your childhood bedroom with the Hello Kitty computer mat. He remembers the way your tits were pressed against it the first time he fucked you and shamelessly hopes he’ll get to have you in this house again just once before summer ends. Perhaps today? No, he shouldn’t want to do anything with you in this house.

Time passes. Nothing happens. It’s with relief and disappointment that he concludes that he won’t see you, with a smile as he is handed another cold beer to not quite quench his thirst.

“Five more routines to go,” your father says with his glasses resting on the tip of his nose as he looks through the program on his phone, “Sprints later. Always exciting.”

“No volleyball?” Joel hates himself for joking with a wink.

“Not watching women in tiny shorts, are we?” Joel nearly jumps at the sudden sound of your voice, blushing at his own distasteful joke, “Didn’t know you were a pervert, Mr. Miller.”

“Mind your own business, you,” your father tuts with his eyes on his phone. It takes a moment before he glances over the back of the couch, giving Joel’s own eyes a second to stare at you while he clenches his jaw at the sight of your white sundress, tied in around your waist. You look radiant, pure, and forbidden. He wants to reach out to touch the bit of your thigh that peeks out.

“Another shitty day for women,” you roll your eyes teasingly and nudge him playfully in a way that sends electricity through his entire being. However, Joel tenses up at hearing you use foul language, an inside rule between you that he cannot tell you that you’ve broken.

Your father says your name in disapproval and glances apologetically at him, “Where did you learn to talk like that? Sure as heck ain’t from me. The kids you’re hanging out with tonight?”

Joel’s grip tightens on the couch as you giggle sweetly, the sound enchanting him to the point where he thinks of everything off-putting that he can come up with so his cock might flag again. He hopes it doesn’t strain against the loose fabric of his shorts. You are doing this on purpose, teasing him relentlessly now that he can do nothing about it, and he is so turned on that it makes him feel ill.

“Oh, you old man. You can’t keep me in line anymore. I’m over 21; I can do whatever I want,” you stand behind the couch and wrap your arms around your father, kissing his cheek from behind. Joel looks at the way your ass sticks out, quickly catching himself ogling when your father’s eyes fix on him with embarrassment.

“She’s incorrigible,” he says with resignation, patting the hand that you rest on his shoulder. Joel can only imagine what would happen if your dad knew what he was thinking about.

“I can imagine her being her own boss,” he laughs to make himself feel less like a creep but doesn’t quite succeed when your dad joins in.

“Why are you here?” Joel hears him finally say.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” you begin, pulling back a little to look at your father properly, “Can I borrow the car?”

He frowns for a moment but then nods, “Alright but be careful.”

“Always am, thank you, Dad. Love you,” you peck his cheek again to feel him smile, stretching to your full height. The wind blows in from the door to the garden and Joel catches a sniff of your perfume as you leave the living room, “I’ll go change now. See you, Dad! Joel!”

You disappear upstairs again and the atmosphere shifts significantly. Your absence sends him into small talk with your father, going over the usual topics of work, sports, and family. He tells your dad about a big upcoming project, that Sarah’s doing well at college, and that he actually never really cared much for cycling despite it being a massive hit each time the Olympics are held.

“Actually, I might head up for a sec,” he says when thoughts of you have raged long enough in his mind, making him shift in his seat before pushing himself to stand. He is too curious about seeing you, too desperate to have you alone, “Nature’s calling, and I can’t wait for the commercials.”

Your father chuckles, eyes still glued to the television where they are handing out medals, “Sure thing, Joel. You know where it is. Tell my offspring to get out if she’s barricaded the door.”

Joel nods, giving a relieved smile, and quickly makes his way upstairs. His heart pounds with the anticipation of the moment ahead. As he reaches the top of the stairs, he hesitates briefly, listening for any sound of where you might be, and sure enough, he hears the faint hum of music coming from the bathroom and walks towards it.

Without knocking, he opens the bathroom door and finds you in front of the mirror, applying makeup to a song that he has never heard. The sight of you makes his erection come right back; you have changed into a pleated miniskirt that stops way above your knees, making the skin where your thighs meet your ass peek out. Above the waistline, he can see the waistband of your pink underwear and he has to adjust himself in his shorts.

“Where the hell are you going looking like that?” He demands to know, shutting the door behind him with a click. The music fades to the background as you wiggle your hips automatically.

You look up from your lips, catching his eye in the mirror, and smile sweetly while applying lip gloss. The color makes your lips seem plumper, the shine most likely to accentuate your cupid’s bow if you were to stretch your lips around his cock. You look away again, purposely acting like a brat, “Out with friends. No boys allowed.”

“Seems like you’re dressed to impress someone,” he retorts. If you were to check him out again, you would see the way his eyes are going down your intoxicating figure. He stops at your ankles, knowing how you would be standing on your toes if he touched you between your legs, before going all the way up to your face again.

You snap the lid of the lipgloss closed with a click and place it on the counter. You grab the edge with both hands, still looking at him through the mirror, “Did it ever occur to you that I might be dressed to impress you, Daddy?”

Joel does a sharp intake of air at hearing his nickname. He takes a step closer and you allow him. Without a second thought, he places his hands on your gorgeous hips and squeezes until your giggles make the upbeat song sound like garbage, “You’ll have me thinking about you all night with this skirt, kiddo. I’m not sure I’ll have it.”

“So what you’re saying is that I’ll feel your menacing presence all night?” You grin playfully, making a show of arching your back the way you sometimes do when he hits the right spot inside of you.

“I should run behind you to make sure you don’t expose your pretty pussy to strangers,” Joel lets his dominant hand slide down your thigh until he can clutch the fabric of your miniskirt. He pulls it down roughly to stress his point, covering you up as much as he can.

“You’re pulling it the wrong way, Daddy,” you tell him with a bratty grin, chewing your bottom lip to play innocent, “Don’t you want to have a peek? I’ll let you see up under it.”

“Daddy can’t promise only a peek,” he replies, making a point of his words by letting his bulge graze your ass. You push back into him to allow him whatever he wants without saying it explicitly, earning a moan that’s loud enough for you to reach for the small Bluetooth speaker and increase the volume a little. Your father must question the noise but he hopes that he simply thinks you’ve gone to your bedroom instead, letting the door stay open.

“What the hell is this garbage music?” Joel asks as he steps back to allow you to reach back effortlessly. You reach behind you to grip the hem of your skirt, lifting it with deliberate slowness. It is a teasing gesture, more about the act itself than the reveal of your lacy underwear that clings to your cunt and gives him the perfect outline.

“Stop sounding ancient,” you tease, shifting your weight from one foot to the other to strut your ass. You’re leaning forward a little to be more appealing, so easy to push forward so you have to grip the sink.

“You’re making it sound like a problem, Princess,” he replies with a chuckle. Yes, he could shove you down onto the counter but he chooses to finger the crotch of your barely-covering panties. You don’t seem to have predicted that he would actually dare to touch you in your father’s house, so you fall forward when he pulls your underwear to the side and sinks two fingers into your wet slit. He smiles tauntingly at you in the mirror, “Don’t act like you don’t cream yourself over older men like me or we wouldn’t be in this mess together.”

“What are you doing?” You ask with your glossy mouth hanging open. He turns his wrist to press against your g-spot and sure enough, you’re already on your toes with a filthy moan tumbling out your mouth. He admires the way you always manage to look stupid and cute when he touches you, and he notices that whenever he doesn’t pump his fingers inside of you, you fuck yourself onto them.

“I ain’t doing nothing,” he says casually and slowly drags his two fingers over the spot that belongs to him, the spot he always searches for and likes to stay on. The song is horrible for fucking but it’s loud enough that you can’t be heard downstairs and quiet enough that he can hear the wet squelch when he goes a little faster, “I’m just giving you something to remember me by when you’re showing your pussy to the whole world.”

“That’s not… Joel,” you say his name and he almost believes that you want him to stop but then you arch your back just how he likes and he slips his thumb between your folds to rub your clit. He has your cunt in an iron grip, flicking his wrist repeatedly to see beads of slick threatening to drip onto the tiled floor.

“Nuh-uh,” he sternly says and halts just a few seconds, “You don’t get to call me that when I hear you use your potty mouth around here. Who do you answer to?”

“You, Daddy, I’m sorry,” you whine and earn added pressure to your clit. You keen but then the song ends, and the both of you hold your breath for a moment. Courageously, you whisper, “He’ll hear.”

“Not if you shut your mouth,” Joel barks quietly back, relieved when another annoying pop song comes out of the speaker. He catches the pout on your lips in the mirror, the fake offense on your face that has his dick throbbing in his shorts. He needs to fuck you soon, hasn’t got a long time to do it before your father will get suspicious of what he is up to, but he won’t shove his cock in you before you have begged him to do it.

Then the line comes with a breathless moan, “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Oh, so that’s the card you want to play to get fucked. He pushes his fingers deeper into you until his knuckles brush your ass, avoiding your g-spot altogether, and practically lifts you on his digits. Your whole chest lays down over the sink and counter, your whole weight on your front instead of on your toes. It must hurt but not more than a dull ache when he pays attention to your clit as he does it.

“I sure as fuck shouldn’t but I didn’t think I’d find you dressed like a little cockhungry girl in here,” he tuts and abuses your perfect cunt. God, it sounds like he is splashing with water by now.

“I-I should be with someone my own age,” your voice shakes, your walls start to pulse slowly around him. It becomes hard for you to continue your chastising, ”God, you feel so good, Daddy.”

“Yeah? Ancient Daddy should pull out his fingers and fuck you while you’re on the verge of coming for him?” Joel mocks. He pushes down and drags the pads of his fingers against your front wall on the way out. His fingers are white with your creamy slick. He smears it over your quivering slit, talking softly while you are almost cross-eyed, “I need you, baby. Daddy has to do it even though it’s wrong.”

“No,” you protest but don’t mean it. You look back at the sound of his shorts being pulled down, whimpering feebly as his hard cock comes into your view.

“Yes, sweetheart, I gotta,” he holds the base of his cock in his hand, slowly dragging the tip through your messy folds. He pushes against your ass first, chuckling darkly when you tense up and shake your head. He teases you, “No? That’s not where you want it? Don’t want to get ass-fucked with your old man downstairs? This skirt surely tells me you like taking it up the ass.”

“N-no,” you let your head hang between your shoulders, exhaling shakily, “I want it in my pussy, Daddy. Please. Until you come inside.”

Joel gives in when you ask so nicely. He presses the head against where you need it the most, slowly letting your warm walls engulf his length while you release a relieved breath. He growls from low in his throat as he buries himself deep inside, touching where his fingers have been just moments before.

“You sure change your mind quickly, baby,” he points out after starting a rough rhythm that makes his thighs smack into your ass, the crotch of your panties straining against your cheek that bounces in rhythm with his thrusts. He settles his hands on your hips, dragging you onto his cock as much as he spears you onto it, “First you say no, and now you wanna get bred? What happened to my good girl?”

“I know it’s bad but it feels so good,” you pant softly, nearly sounding animated with how you moan and groan. You’ve reached to grope your tits through your lime green top, caressing yourself greedily as you are drowned out by some lady singing about Von Dutch, “Don’t stop, Daddy, please don’t stop.”

“Fucking hate this song,” Joel grumbles breathlessly while he keeps a steady pace, nudging something just right inside of you because you fly forwards, “Don’t tell me you’ll go out dancing to this.”

“I’ll come to it,” you groan, sucking in a breath as you start to squeeze around his girth, “Gonna come.”

“Give it to me,” he demands with heavy breathing. He lets one of his hands slide up your spine until it sits on your neck. He tilts his hips forward so he can pound you, rewarded with a squeak that he finds adorable.

Suddenly, the room goes completely quiet. The both of you turn your heads towards the speaker, noting at the same moment that its battery has run out and the possibility of getting heard has upped dramatically.

None of you say a word. Joel even tries to stop his heavy breathing, putting pressure on the back of your head when you squeeze him by wriggling slightly. He makes a quiet noise of disapproval, “Stop it.”

“We aren’t done,” you whisper with a wounded whimper. You try to fuck yourself onto him, “Daddy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he bites, listening for potential footsteps that could lead to his doom. Instead, he hears your father cheer in reaction to something on the television. Should he? He can’t go downstairs again with a raging hard-on and there’s no way in hell that he is jerking off in here alone like some perverse madman. He makes a decision.

Leaning down over your very still frame, he catches onto the tears that have welled up in your eyes and whispers, “I’m gonna fuck a load into you and you’re gonna be quiet all the way through, got it?”

You nod frantically. Joel’s hand on your hip tightens and he pushes to stretch to his full height again. He bottoms out inside of you, “If you can do that, I’ll let you come on it, okay?”

You nod again, pushing back eagerly to impossibly swallow more of him. With determination and efficiency, he draws back and slams into you with all the muscles in his neck straining to keep quiet. You feel like you have been molded into a perfect sleeve for his cock, like he couldn’t imagine that anyone could ever live up to what you are giving him right now; cheeks bouncing, spine arching, and walls clenching as you teeter on your high.

You come with a tiny whine that he’ll allow and he comes right along with you, high on the danger and the fact that you belong to him so desperately. He manages to just sound like he is doing a sharp intake of air, hinting at a growl, before he fills you with his warm seed, each pulse of your soft muscles milking him dry.

It is a dangerously addictive sensation. He pumps in and out of you until he is too sensitive, slipping out of your used cunt so he can see the drip of his load. He stumbles backward, tucks himself, sticky and overstimulated, back into his shorts, and watches you pull down your underwear and move to the toilet to not spill all over the floor.

You sport a lazy little smile, satisfaction all over your face. It dawns on him what he has done - the deprivation of it - so he tries to distract the feelings of disgust that he has towards himself, “Why are you going out anyway?”

You are both still panting. He grabs onto the sink to steady himself, feeling old as he leans against it while you pee, your knees falling inwards so you look innocent compared to what you have just done together.

“Getting a tattoo,” you reply with a dirty little smile.

That surely changes Joel’s train of thought. He straightens a little, “Of what?”

“Don’t know yet but I’ll tell you where,” you reach to point to your hip bone, measuring about an inch with your thumb and index finger. You beam girlishly at him and he feels his chest tighten with affection, “Right here. Cute, right?”

“Cute,” he manages to say as his mind automatically imagines it right there on your hip but the word comes out a little rougher than intended. He is let in on a little secret that only a few will be allowed to see. Perhaps, he’ll be the one who gets to be the very first to see it, or maybe the one who gets to be the closest.

You finish, wipe yourself, and wash your hands. Then once again, you are close to him but this time it is chest to chest. You link your arms around him, leaning close, “Perhaps I’ll get something that reminds me of that one time I hooked up with Joel Miller, my dad’s best friend.”

“Dangerous game you are playing,” Joel reaches down to graze the spot on your hip with his thumb. He is so into you that it is ridiculous, smirking as you bat your eyelashes at him and filling him with youthful energy that he remembers from crushes in his teenage days. The idea of you marking yourself for him has his head in a spin and has his cock stirring again.

“What can I say? I’m a brat,” you shrug with a grin and when you both hear your father shout at the TV again, you grin with your tongue in your cheek. Yes, you are.

“Oh, babydoll, you make me wanna kiss you,” he almost growls as he leans into you, eyes focused on your cute glossy lips as he tries to capture them despite knowing that he won’t be allowed to touch them.

“Nope, not the gloss,” you tease and gently push him away on his chest. When he tries again, you hold your hand over his mouth and he groans against your soft fingers like from not getting his way. You grin, eyes shining with affection, “Now get out so I can clean myself up. And don’t tell my dad about the tattoo.”

“Fine,” Joel gives you one last lingering look, squeezing your hip before pulling away. He leaves the bathroom reluctantly, stepping backward as he walks out the door to keep his eyes on. You roll your eyes at him without being able to stop smiling.

When he is out in the hallway again, he heads back down the stairs and into the living room. He pats the back of the sofa to make himself known in the room once more, startling your father slightly.

“There you are,” he says, watching Joel walk around the sofa, “What took you so long?”

“Got talking with your kid,” he answers as casually as he can muster. However, your father seems to be completely disinterested in whatever he has been doing upstairs.

“What? Oh, yeah. At least you got her to turn off that awful noise she calls music. Come on, you’ll miss the final run,” he says obliviously, and so Joel joins him in the chair opposite his couch to make sure he doesn’t smell how he probably reeks of sex.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

745 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 8 months ago

Text

Chapter 41 of human Bill Cipher being really sick of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: after absolutely terrorizing Gideon for projecting used car ads into Bill's dreams, tries to blackmail Gideon into working for him again.

But not before showing some unexpected sympathy for the plight of a child psychic on whose shoulders the family's financial future rests.

####

Dipper and Mabel were in the middle of a race on a roller coaster track when Bill wandered back downstairs. He sat on the couch armrest next to Mabel and precariously balanced as he crossed his legs. "So I've been thinking over this whole thing," Bill said. "I think I should apologize to Gideon."

"Work that out all by yourself?" Dipper glanced at the clock. "Wow. And it only took you half an hour."

Mabel finished a lap. While the roller coaster track slowly lifted her car to the top of the hill to start the next lap, she turned to give Bill an appraising look, ready to assess his work. "Apologize for what?"

"For terrorizing him! Is this a trick question?"

She nodded slowly—a little skeptical, but so far so good—but had to look away as she regained control of her car. "What's your angle?"

"I'm equilateral, work it out."

"Shut uuup, I'm serious."

"Why do I need to have an angle? Maybe I want to practice some of the apology lessons they're teaching on Color Critters! Aren't you the one who wanted me to be a decent person? You should be thrilled. You are thrilled."

"Bill."

"Okay fine, I want you to stop looking at me like I'm evil incarnate over a silly little prank letter." He nudged Mabel's head with his elbow. She smacked his arm away. "Isn't that the only reason anyone apologizes? To stop people from getting mad at them?" He lifted his eyepatch and squinted at the screen. "Goose in the left barrel."

Mabel swerved left. "Yes! Eat tail feathers, Dipper!"

"No no no no—!" His anguished groan mingled with angry honks. He tossed down his controller as Mabel sailed past his disabled car. "I'm not playing with Bill in the room."

Mabel laughed. "You're a sore loser!"

"I'll be out of your matted hair in a few minutes," Bill said. "You're cranky, go get a juice."

Dipper stomped from the room, grumbling. "Whatever, I'm getting a snack." He pointed at Bill, "Not because you told me to! I'm just hungry! It's got nothing to do with you!"

"Sure." Bill nudged Mabel again. "C'mon, let me use my training. Don't think I haven't noticed you're trying to mold me into a model citizen. Why bother if I never get a chance to act like one?"

Mabel looked at him thoughtfully. "You know what? Okay. I guess not wanting people to be mad at you is a good enough reason to apologize." She'd been hoping he'd land on genuine remorse, but she'd take what she could get.

"Great! Fisherman's out, Questiony's working, Sixer's gonna be in his cave til dinner, Dolores doesn't care—" Bill gestured toward the door, "so let's get the bracelets and get to the kid's house while the adults are distracted."

Mabel grimaced. "Oough. Right. We have to actually visit him."

"Unless you want me to mail an apology letter—"

"Definitely not." She sighed. "Well, if it's for the greater good... put on something other than a hoodie and let's go."

"You got it." Bill hopped off the couch and swung with one hand around the doorframe as he headed to the stairs.

####

Dipper tried to protest, but he'd missed his window to talk Mabel out of it; and so Bill and Mabel headed out, with Bill in a loose smiley face-covered Hawaiian shirt—Mabel approved of the friendly message—an undershirt, the leggings that looked like jeans, and his dress shoes. In other words, about as disarmingly unthreateningly un-Bill-like as he could get. He seemed to get bouncier and more energetic the longer they walked outside, until by the time they were turning onto Gideon's street he was cartwheeling up the sidewalk.

Bill waited for Mabel to open the gate in front of Gideon's house; but while Bill blithely passed through, Mabel lingered behind a few steps. Bill paused and glanced back. "Hey. All good, star girl?"

"Yeah." Mabel laughed nervously and caught up. "Just... haven't been to his house since before he got weird. Kinda gives me the willies now."

"Can't blame you. This is the guy who agreed to be my sheriff in exchange for custody of your bubble key."

Mabel cringed. "Did he really?"

"Oh yeah. Think he was planning to visit you in there until he wooed you? I never asked him. I didn't want the details."

"Ugh." Mabel shuddered.

Bill paused. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that ten feet from his front door."

"It's... it's fine." She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "Greater good. Right?"

He didn't answer immediately, tapping a foot as he thought. "Listen. Once we're in there, do you want me to go somewhere private to talk with him? So you don't have to worry about him leering at you the whole time?"

"Would you?" Mabel's shoulders slumped as a little tension eased up, relief obvious on her face. "But how will I know if you've apologized properly?"

"That little tattle will tell you if I do an awful job." Bill laughed. "Come on! I don't need you grading me on a rubric! Gimme a chance to prove I can say 'I'm sorry' without my life coach telling me how to behave."

"Thanks, Bill." She gave him a quick hug.

"Sure, any time kid. I'm not about to let any creeps get to you on my watch." Bill stretched his arms out, fingers laced together. "Ready?" When Mabel nodded, Bill knocked on the door.

After a long moment, a worried-looking, gray-haired woman opened the door. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Gleeful!" Bill offered a partial bow. "We're here to visit Gideon, he should be expecting us. Would you let him know we're here?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." Her voice was a hushed murmur, as though she were talking to herself—or perpetually concerned about being overheard. She didn't raise her voice much as she called into the house, "Gideon? You have visitors."

Voice muffled, Gideon shouted from upstairs, "Who is it!"

Joy glanced over Bill and Mabel, but her gaze lingered on Mabel's face. "Oh. Aren't you that girl he...?"

"It's Mabel."

Joy said, "It's Mabel, and—"

Gideon let out an alarmed squawk. "Ohmygoodness. JUST A MINUUUTE! Where did I leave my cologne—"

Joy watched the ceiling nervously, listening to the subtle thuds.

Bill glanced her up and down, as though sizing up what he had to work with; and then he smiled brightly and said, "Well, I'm sure the little star's preparing a big entrance! Shall we wait inside?"

Joy started a little. "Oh—yes, of course. Please, come in." She pulled the door open wider and gestured to the sitting area.

Bill and Mabel took a seat on the couch. Bill crossed one ankle over his knee in a casual figure 4, and gestured to the armchair as though he were the host giving his guest permission to sit. Joy hesitated, but took the seat, sitting straight up without touching the back of the seat, feet together and hands laced over her knees.

"And how has Gideon been lately?" Bill asked. "We haven't had a chance to catch up since last summer!"

"Oh—I'm sure he's probably fine," Joy said, eyes darting around—to the clean carpet, to the framed pictures hanging straight on the wall, to the doorway into the kitchen.

"'Probably'?" Bill echoed.

"Well. He's really closer to his father, you see..."

"Nonsense." Bill lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I trust a woman's intuition on this sort of thing." He paused. "I'd wink here, but uh..." He gestured at his eye patch and shrugged with a helpless grin.

Joy curled her lips into her mouth and, for the first time since she'd opened the door, for a fraction of a second, nearly almost smiled. But it faded quickly; and when she spoke, her voice was low enough that Mabel had to lean halfway across the coffee table to hear her. (Bill didn't even move.) "You should probably know before you see him: he... has seemed a little bit cranky, recently."

"Oh?" Bill prompted.

(Mabel mumbled, "'Recently'?" and Bill nudged her.)

"Nothing like he was when he—" Joy faltered and quickly course corrected, "before his arrest. But, a bit. But then he's going through so much—reintegrating into life on the outside, trying to make friends at school..."

"Say, that's nice to hear! Has he made many?"

Joy hesitated. "He's always been... such a precocious child. It makes it hard for him to relate to other... And honestly, I think most of the children are jealous of his talents."

Bill nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure they are. Kids can be so cruel when they notice someone special. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down."

Joy nodded. "Yes—exactly. And he's so... sensitive."

Bill gave Mabel a warning glance. She pursed her lips tightly and puffed out her cheeks. Satisfied she wasn't about to weigh in on why Gideon wasn't making friends, Bill turned back to Joy. "Do you think that's what's been bothering him lately?"

"Well, yes, there's that."

Voice a tad lower, Bill prompted, "And...?"

Joy paused. She twisted her hands together. "And—I think he might be concerned about his father's business."

"Oh, the auto dealership?" Bill sat up a little. "I hope it hasn't been struggling lately?"

"It's... been a slow few months," Joy said. "It must be weighing on him—"

"He doesn't feel responsible, does he?"

Joy quickly shook her head. "Of course not. It isn't his fault. But he's just a little boy, there's not much he can do to help. Besides perform in a commercial, maybe—and he doesn't like that, we don't make him do that anymore—or..." She trailed off. "Well. Not knowing how to help or what to do... I can imagine he must feel... guilty." She stared down at her hands as she spoke.

Bill's gaze never wavered from her face. He nodded slowly. "I'm sure the business must be weighing on the whole family. It can't be easy for you, Joy—keeping a household running during such a difficult time." He gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll see what I can do to help you all."

Joy stared at his face, eyes shining. "I'm, sorry—did I catch your name?"

"Mr. Locke is fine, thanks. I was in business talks with your son before his incarceration."

Mabel leaned against Bill and whispered, "You mean he hired you to invade my grunkle's brain—"

Bill elbowed her.

Footsteps scurried down the stairs. "I'm coming!" Gideon rushed into the room, tugging his sleeves down his wrists, all gussied up and reeking of three separate hair products. "Hi Mabel my honey pie! What a pleasant surprise, what brings you by so s—" His gaze fixed on Bill, and his sweet smile twisted into fury. "You!"

Joy quickly stood up. "I should be—vacuuming the dining room." She hurried from the room, giving Gideon a wide berth as she went. The sound of vacuuming quickly filled the house.

Gideon never looked away from Bill. "Just what do you think y—"

Bill was on his feet and sweeping across the room before Gideon could get more out. "Hello again! I don't think we were properly introduced. The name's Goldie Locke." He blinked. "Wink."

Gideon grimaced. "You serious? Goldilocks? That's the best you could do?"

"I thought it was funny!"

Mabel scooted up onto the arm of the sofa, took a leap off, and landed next to Bill. "I came up with it!"

Gideon smiled uncomfortably. "Oh—sure, sure. Real cute."

"We came by so Goldie here," Mabel poked Bill's arm with both hands, "could give you a proper apology for his... 'prank.'" She got behind Bill and poked him in the back, directing him toward the stairs. "So you two go off somewhere private and do that! Go! Go on!"

"Wh— private?" Gideon leaned around Bill to give Mabel a pleading look. "M-Mabel, aren't you coming too?"

Mabel laughed nervously. "No, definitely not. I'm staying right here."

"But—but—"

"It's fine! If he tries any—" her voice dropped to a whisper, "—weird space demon magic—you can just scream. But he's basically harmless! I promise."

"But... I don't wanna be alone with..."

Bill put a hand on Gideon's back, turned him around, and practically dragged him toward the stairs. "And she doesn't want to be alone with you, and I'm going to respect her wishes."

Gideon hissed at Bill. He wasn't quite sure what to do when Bill hissed back. No one had ever done that before.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Bill said, giving Gideon a very worrying smile. "I just want an opportunity to show you the sincerity of my remorse. A little heart-to-heart! And anyway, you and I have a lot of catching up to do."

####

The moment Gideon's bedroom door shut, Bill said, in an exaggeratedly innocent golly-gee-whiz voice, "'Well, Mabel, the thing is, I was just cranky because I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in days, because Gideon's been broadcasting mind control dreams to the town multiple times a week! Yeah, you know how you've been waking up feeling hypnotically compelled to buy a car? Good ol' Gideon! But you're right, bullying isn't the solution! I should have just asked him to cast his brainwashing spell a little further from the Mystery Shack—'" Bill cut off with a laugh. "I take it you get the picture! Your flesh is as white as your hair! It's—it's creepy. Stop it."

Gideon was already on the far side of the room, holding a floating arm desk lamp toward Bill like a sword. Voice shaking, he asked, "How do you know about that spell? H-how are you even alive? And here like... like this?"

"Does it matter?" Bill meandered around the room, looking at Gideon's matching nightstands, his TV, the floppy teddy bear on his bed. "Here's the only important question: what's it worth to you for me not to spill the beans to your sweetheart?"

Gideon swallowed hard.

As Bill rounded the bed, Gideon backed away from him until his back was pressed against the wall between his vanity and his dresser. Bill leaned over to look under the bed and nudged a rolled-up tarp with his foot. It unrolled across the floor, revealing Gideon's magic circle. "Uh-huh."

"Please stop looking around my room."

"Relax, I just want to see what's changed! This is hardly the first time I've seen your room." He glanced down at the subtle depiction of his face woven into the pattern on Gideon's carpet. "I've had eyes in here since you were a baby."

He leaned over Gideon's bed, studying his knit zodiac blanket. "Although this eye is new. You went with red, white, and blue? How patriotic." He tugged at the blanket's edges, straightening it out. "Lots of pilling on the yarn, this thing's been very well loved. Does it still smell like Shooting Star, you cretin?"

"You keep your hands off of Mabel's blanket, you—!" Gideon swung his lamp toward Bill. It missed by a foot.

Bill didn't even flinch. "You're very lucky that you missed." For a moment, his voice was inhumanly low.

Gideon's blood ran cold. He clutched the lamp against his chest. "W-what do you want from me? I'm sorry I disturbed your sleep, all right? Is that what you want to hear?!"

"It's a good start!" Bill sat on Gideon's bed and made himself comfortable, propping himself up on his elbows, ankles crossed casually, resting in the center of his own zodiac. "Now, promise you'll stop advertising in people's dreams, and everything's forgiven!"

"I..." Gideon bit his lip.

Bill grinned a little wider. "What's the problem, kid? It's not like your daddy needs you running his advertising campaign! The family finances aren't resting on your shoulders!" He laughed.

Gideon just bit his lip harder.

"Oh wait. Maybe they are. Are they?"

He looked down at the tarp. "Mrrng."

Bill sat up, leaning forward until he caught Gideon's gaze again. "So sorry, Star Boy! I didn't realize how serious your situation is!" His wicked smile said otherwise. "Wow, that must be so hard for you—the family breadwinner, at such a young age. Knowing your family needs you to keep them afloat. And it's not like you can just go out and get a job! So what can you do, except... well, whatever it is you already know how to do? Putting on a good show, right?"

"It's not like that," Gideon snapped, ignoring the weight in the pit of his stomach. He looked down at his lamp weapon and tugged anxiously at one of his sleeves. "It—it's not as though we're broke! We just... might have to tighten our belts a little bit, that's all. It's normal, most businesses have their ups and downs."

"Of course. Just no big shopping trips for a while! Pity you're about to need a whole new wardrobe, though." Bill casually pushed himself off Gideon's bed, taking a step closer. "Hey, wanna know when your next growth spurt starts?"

Gideon shrank down. "No."

"It costs a lot to keep a growing kid clothed. And fed, and stocked with school supplies... If father asks for a little help, how can you refuse? If you don't, you could lose the business, lose your house, lose everything... all that, plus knowing it'd be your fault for not doing what you can? It's heartbreaking."

Bill leaned over Gideon, propping himself up with a hand on his dresser, trapping him in his shadow. Gideon cringed; but Bill asked, voice unexpectedly low and almost gentle, "You're so important. There's a helplessness that comes from wielding that kind of power, isn't there?"

The weight in Gideon's stomach grew heavier. Bill must have been watching his life ever since last fall; that was the only way he could have understood what Gideon was feeling so well. And yet—hearing someone else put it into words was a strange relief. He'd cut to the bleeding core of the issue. Gideon was the only one with the power to do anything, so he had to do something. It was a helplessness.

"Yeah." Gideon put his lamp back on his dresser, defeated. "Yeah, there is."

Bill crouched in front of Gideon, meeting him at eye level. "It just so happens that I'm sympathetic to your situation, kid. I get it." It was hard to read the mood in Bill's alien gaze; but for a moment, Gideon was sure he really did see a glimmer of sympathy in his slit pupil. "So how about this: I could help you out. Make some calls, pull some strings... give the family business a little boost," he said. "If you do me a couple small favors first."

Outraged, Gideon shouted, "You're blackmailing me into working for you again?! You—!" With a furious grunt, Gideon shoved Bill away from him.

To his surprise (and immediate horror), Bill lost balance, toppling onto his back with a yelp. But he just rolled onto his side and hopped back to his feet, laughing. "No no no! I'm blackmailing you into knocking off the annoying dream spell. That's all! Cut it out, or I'm telling Mabel. And—heck, how about the police while I'm at it?"

"You wouldn't—"

"I am pals with the sheriff and the mayor. Mind control happens to already be illegal in Gravity Falls, you can thank Quentin Trembley for that—such a forward thinker! I don't think there are any state-level laws yet, but I bet they'll wriiite ooone just for yoo-oou." The last sentence came out as a singsong taunt. "Anyway: drop the mind control. That's all I'm asking for. Okay?"

Gideon had circled around Bill to his bed, where he pulled off his zodiac blanket and bundled it against his chest. He wasn't sure which sounded worse. Prison probably should, but the thought of giving Mabel a fresh reason to hate him... He looked down at the blanket, and heaved a shaky sigh. "Okay."

"So? We're agreed? No more dream advertisements?"

"No more dream advertisements. You win."

"Great!" Bill beamed at Gideon. "But then, completely separately, if you want help saving the family business... well, offer's on the table! In fact, I'd happily offer to help without asking anything in return—"

"—you should, it's mostly your fault—"

"—except that, with my own situation being like it is, what with the limited access to my usual resources... I need you to help me help you." He spread his hands apologetically. "Nothing I can do about it."

Gideon pressed his lips together, looking down at his zodiac blanket. A fold in the fabric displayed part of the ripped heart. Gideon plucked out the blanket until he could glimpse the top of the shooting star.

He swallowed hard. "No. Absolutely not."

Bill blinked. "'Scuse me?"

"I can't accept your help," Gideon said. "I lead a support group of ex-cons—the very same ones I stupidly led into battle for you—and what would they say if they heard I was working for you again?"

The indulgent smile on Bill's face vanished. Rage flashed in his eye. "What would they say if they learned you're the first among them to reoffend?" He pointed at Gideon's magic circle. "Wouldn't they be disappointed. Aren't they your followers these days?"

Gideon squirmed under Bill's glare, backing away until he bumped into one of his nightstands. "F... 'followers'?"

"Your devotees—now that your Tent of Telepathy audience has abandoned you." The new smile that twisted across Bill's face now was hard and cruel, and his eye fixed like a prison searchlight on Gideon made Bill seem much closer than he was. "Isn't being worshiped sublime, Star Boy? That unconditional love? A worshiper will always be more reliable than some girl's fickle heart. But even the most 'unconditional' love always comes with fine print. How far are you willing to go to remain worthy of their love?"

Bill pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and waved it in the air. "We both know you'll help your daddy's business. The only question is if you'll do it your way, or mine." He placed the paper on Gideon's dresser and tapped it with his finger. "My way doesn't even involve breaking the law."

Gideon shook his head. "I won't..."

"I'll leave it with you anyway."

Bill strolled around the bed. "Well! I think we're finished here, how about you?" He stopped in front of the door.

He turned back. "Gideon, you're gonna have to get the door, I can't..."

"What?" Gideon asked. "Y'can't what?"

Bill huffed. "I'm sort of under this curse? So. If you could just—"

Gideon burst out laughing in disbelief. "The Amnesia Limina curse? You can't open doors?! Are you kidding me!"

"I can still ruin the rest of your embarrassingly short mortal life, you twit. Just—just get over here—"

Still laughing, Gideon crossed the room and got the door.

"Yeah. Thanks. Great."

As they came downstairs, Mabel hopped off the sofa. "Sooo? How'd the apology go?"

"Great!" Bill got in front before Gideon had a chance to speak. "I think we really understand each other better. Isn't that right, Gideon?"

Gideon grumped, "I think it's the worst 'apology' I've ever heard."

Bill gave him a dirty look powerful enough to kill a skittish horse; but he flinched under the weight of Mabel's disappointed frown. He laughed nervously, "Okay, so I still need some practice with my delivery! Human tones are finicky." He stared at Gideon. "But you accept the overall content of it, right?"

Bill was giving Gideon the creepiest smile he'd ever seen. But Mabel, on the other hand, was giving him this hopeful look—like she wanted this to go well so badly, and only Gideon could make or ruin her day. There's a helplessness that comes with wielding that kind of power.

In the world Gideon had been raised in, if someone who has transgressed against you apologizes, you don't have the right to withhold their forgiveness—it makes you as bad as the transgressor. The only way he could refuse was if he told Mabel he hadn't even gotten any apology; but there was no way to say that without admitting what they'd really discussed. "Yeah," Gideon muttered at his shoes. "I s'pose I accept it."

"Yes!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air so enthusiastically she lifted a few inches off the floor. "Great work! Happy face stickers for everybody!" She smacked a sticker on Bill's shirt and Gideon's lapel.

They tugged out their clothes to inspect their stickers. Bill's had a giant yellow smiley face over the words "Good job!" Gideon's had a smiling whale surrounded by the words "WHALE DONE". They were both disproportionately elated by their prizes.

"So can we go now?" Mabel whispered, "I feel like Mr. Gleeful's new clown painting is staring at me."

"Just one second. I should have a word with the missus of the house." Bill waved back at the kids as he trotted from the room. "Be right back!"

Mabel eyed Gideon warily.

Gideon smiled winningly. "So, Mabel. As long as you're already over here, would you like to stay for dinner��?"

"Nuh-uh." She turned and headed for the door. "Goodbye forever!"

"Aw."

Bill followed the sound of vacuuming through the kitchen into the dining room, and rapped on the doorframe. "Knock knock."

Joy flinched and spun around. "Oh." She turned off her vacuum. "Yes, Mr. Locke?"

"Just wanted to thank you for your hospitality before we leave!"

"Oh—yes, of course. You're welcome."

He lowered his voice, "And I also wanted to tell you not to worry about a thing. I'm sure everything will turn out fine for your family—and for you." He flashed her a winning smile.

She hesitantly nodded. "Thank you."

####

As they walked to the gate around the Gleeful property, Mabel said, "You weren't just all talk with Gideon's mom, were you? You actually are planning to help her."

Bill gave her a surprised look. "Something like that. How'd you know?"

"You told her to call you Mister. That means you mean business!"

A crooked smile stretched across his face. "Hey! No fair, you know too much. You're figuring out all my secrets."

Out on the sidewalk, Bill did a cartwheel, attempted to turn it into a handstand, and fell on the sidewalk. He brushed off a scraped elbow with a grumble and got back up. Well, it matched his burn on the other side.

"4 out of 10."

"I didn't ask."

Mabel snickered. "You know—your conversation with Gideon might not have gone perfectly. But you realized you did something wrong, you apologized for it, and you're gonna do better." She patted his arm. "I'm really proud of you, Bill. That's some serious growth."

"Really?"

"Really."

He beamed. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had been proud of him. (Granted, he didn't generally tolerate relationships in which somebody felt like they had enough superiority over him to feel "pride" toward his actions. Generally "awe" or "admiration" were more common.) He was basking in the praise. He was over the moon. He was euphoric. He was the best person to ever exist.

The fact that the praise was horribly misplaced didn't faze him in the least.

####

Gideon had spent the past minute picking peas out of his pot pie and scooting them to the edge of his plate.

Bud cleared his throat. "Son, you really ought to eat your vegetables. And they'll taste better mixed in with the rest of your food than all by themselves."

"I don't want my peas."

"But they're good for you! Don't you want to grow up big and strong—?"

Gideon flinched. He pounded the table. "I said I don't WANT my peas!"

"All right, okay, that's fine! Just thought I'd suggest it."

Gideon grumpily scooped up a forkful of chicken, carrots, and corn, eyed the carrots skeptically, and took a bite. It was fine. "So, father. How was work?"

Bud sighed. "Oh, it would've made more sense just to close for the day. At least then I wouldn't be wasting money on air conditioning the office."

"Oh." Gideon stabbed at a lone piece of corn with his fork. "Maybe we oughta... stop with the nighttime ads. It doesn't sound like they're helping."

"Ahh, you might be right."

Gideon heaved a sigh of relief.

"I just don't know what else to try." Bud shook his head. "I've tried newspaper ads, TV ads, radio ads, billboards, fliers, sales, cutting brake lines..." He settled his hand near Gideon's spot at the table. "Son, you know I know you're doing the best you can to help our family, and it means more to me than I can say. But, if there's anything else you can think of...?"

Gideon tried to avoid his father's gaze—and instead, spotted his mother. She usually kept to herself during dinner, wholly focused on her own plate when she wasn't setting out dishes or cleaning them up. But tonight, she was looking right at Gideon. Like she expected something out of him, too.

He shrank into his seat. "Well. I've got one other idea I could try."

####

Gideon shut the door to his room—and, just to be safe, stuck his chair under the doorknob. Then he gingerly picked up the paper on the dresser and unfolded it.

The same tall, thin handwriting as on the letter he'd received—but even more cramped, cramming as much text on one torn-out book page as possible. A terse paragraph of instructions, a phone number, a numbered list of questions, a prepared statement.

Gideon got his mobile phone and a notebook, set up to take notes at his vanity, took a deep breath, let it out, and dialed the number. As the phone rang, he looked at himself in the mirror and muttered, "Heaven help me if I'm facilitating the start of Armageddon."

Then someone picked up, and he held the phone up to his ear. "Hello? Oh, right, er—" He read off the paper Bill had given him, "'But rises gold over the pyramid.' ... Yes. Mhm, I'm calling on behalf of... of Bill Cipher. ... My name's not important, I'm just the messenger—oh, oh you recognize my voice! Haha!" He mopped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "A-always nice to meet a fan! Yeah, we know each other. Small world. N... no, he didn't give me my... I was—was psychic before I met him, actually. Sorry, I didn't catch your name—who'm I speaking to?"

Gideon looked at Bill's list of questions, wrote a 1. in his notebook, and beside it wrote "Sue Blime." One question down. "I have a message to pass on."

####

He pushed harder.

Her skin fractured and peeled off, strand after strand. It filled the spaces between his fingertips, wrapped up his arms. He could shut his eye but he still saw it through his eyelid, still felt it tickling at the corners of his mouth. He let out an angry, hysterical, broken laugh.

And then he laughed louder, and louder—higher, shriller, echoing all the way to the distant stars. "What am I doing?" He opened his eye and looked at his hands, tangled with gold threads and soaked in blood. He laughed again, gleeful. "What am I doing! None of this is real! This is a dream! We're in my dreamscape. None of this matters! I control all of you!"

Bill controlled all of them.

He effortlessly peeled his arm off the plane of his dimension into the third, still tangled in gore, and spun his finger. The golden shreds of skin let go of his hand, rotating around his hand in a loose tornado. Cackling again, he rose up into space, looping like a paper airplane on a breeze, telekinetically twirling the countless golden shreds with him like he was doing a ribbon dance. And wasn't it beautiful? He was changing their color—yellow green blue violet red orange yellow—he was melting them down to floating drops of liquid gold, he was making them vanish into thin air. There was no blood on his hands. There never had been. He had never killed. His mother did not exist.

He glanced toward the stars. "Am I gonna have any meddling from you? Want to sell me any cars tonight?"

The stars didn't answer. Good. He didn't want his show interrupted by a commercial break.

"I control you," Bill announced to the crowd of assembled worshipers below, numb and thoughtless and unmoving while the god of this dream had no use for them to live. "You answer to me!" He jabbed his thumb against his golden face—not the internal organs exposed to the third dimension the rest of the shapes had, but the exoskeleton he wouldn't start wearing until centuries after this memory. "The only life you have is in my head! All of you, all of you have been burned away for a trillion years!" He paused, then flashed two finger guns at a red hexagon in the crowd. "All except you, Hect. Always great to see a long-time fan!"

In the field of frozen shapes, Bill's memory of Hectorgon hesitantly waved.

"But..." Beneath Bill, still as aghast as he'd been so many eons ago, still playing his part to move this dream along, his father said, "But... what are we going to tell your followers?"

"Ugh, you're such a downer. Give it a rest, you old square!" Bill did something no prisoner of the second dimension had ever been capable of doing: he snapped his fingers. His father silently dissolved into origami butterflies and fluttered into space. "You barely even liked her."

He floated back down to the plane, lacing his fingers together to stretch his arms in front of him. "I don't need you," he muttered. "I've got this handled. I've always been the one who had this handled. Now let's end this dream the right way."

Time to sucker his suckers.

He swooped through the open doors to speak to his assembled worshipers as effortlessly as though he'd been doing this a trillion years: "My beautiful, loving believers! I have wonderful news. Your high priestess—my mother—has passed on; but, you should be celebrating! Because she hasn't abandoned us! Her spirit's just ascended—not up, but out of our dimension and into the third, where the spirits of all departed shapes live on! Her spirit's formed a bridge from there to me, and through me to you! She's revealed the true nature of the third dimension—a sublime realm of color and life—and I'll reveal it to you, too!"

The black starry void of the third dimension above Bill mutated as he spoke; now, it was raucous colors, beams of light, and glittery gold. Faraway neon-colored shapes danced deliriously through nebulas and clouds.

"I'll teach you the secrets passed down to us from the enlightened third-dimensional spirits; I'll show you how to see it all for yourself... and if you follow me, if you devote yourself entirely to my teachings, if you trust me blindly—blindly, for I can see what others can't—then I'll guide you INTO the third dimension! I will be your teacher, your divine guide, your muse! So tell me: do you trust me?"

The worshipers cheered.

"Do you worship me?!"

The worshipers screamed.

"Do you love me!"

The worshipers howled, mad with love for Bill, ripping each other apart in a spontaneous outpouring of zealotry.

Bill's shrieking laughter rose up above the roar of his imaginary crowd.

####

For the first time since his death, Bill woke fully rested. Dawn streamed in through the attic window, shining golden on the cloud of curly hair dangling in front of his eyes. And wasn't it beautiful? He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothed it back, and pushed it into the right shape.

He checked to make sure no humans were coming for a while, slid Journal 4 out of its hiding place, and flipped to the page where he'd stuck his "Good Job!" sticker. He'd used his stolen half-dried marker to blacken the sides of the yellow smiley face, turning it from a circle into a triangle, draining the last of its ink in the process. He wasted four pages with every detail he could recollect from this dream, going on and on about how easy it had been to assert his rightful control, how effortless to control time and space. If he ever found the human who wrote that lucid dreaming guide, he was giving 'em a planet.

At the end, he wrote in English, "You'll regret turning me down as your teacher, Stanford. You can't even imagine how many people would have committed murder to get that kind of attention. But I gave it to you."

He tried to remember how that sermon had really gone.

What did he need to remember the truth for? It must have gone something like that. He wouldn't still be here if it hadn't, would he?

####

(Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate a comment!! Next week we kick off with more of Bill's history—and then start ramping up for the biggest, longest plot arc so far.)

#bill cipher #(for the art)#human bill cipher #gideon gleeful #(for the chapter)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #(I'm disappointed i didn't get to draw Bill menacing Gideon; but i only had time for one illustration and i picked Lots Of Colors.)#(plus it's nice every once in a while to get a reminder of what Bill actually looks like)

538 notes · View notes

themoonsbeloved · 10 months ago

Text

I still need help

Its now the 8th of January and despite being told by my friend who spoke with her boss 3 weeks ago during their meeting that he was to hire me in the beginning of January and would reach out to me, he hasn't. I'm hoping somehow, eventually, when this man finally bothers to, he will contact me for a job offer since he reassured me back in november that he still intends to hire me. But since I have no idea when that will be, that means I'm left hanging completely.

long story short I am mentally ill and disabled who was dismissed from my last and only job that I struggled 2 years to get, only to be fired in 2 months in June because of my chronic fatigue and abusive managers. I rely a lot on my henna but bookings are not consistent enough to make regular income, and majority of the money ends up going to contributing to house bills for my family.

My therapy picks up again this week, very honestly been the only thing keeping me from harming myself at this point with how painful life has been and I want to be able to continue getting it low cost (£25 per session), my therapist is so amazing and we recently came to the understanding that I have complex-PTSD, and plan to look into it more this year. I'm too mentally ill to try and look for jobs right now and am basically doing 3 jobs already (one being joint caring duties with family members for my grandparents since I live with them, which I'm not paid for obviously) with inconsistent money coming in/sessional work that I will be paid for once completed further into the year.

I have so many other costs that are coming in the near future, like paying for more medication, and for more lazer hair removal sessions for my severe hirsutism, which usually is around £300 if I'm lucky to catch offers. This is another I thing I mentally can't afford to stop doing, struggling with severe hirsutism and the trauma of it all my life means its important I can feel and live somewhat comfortably in my body. Lazer hair isn't permanent and I'm looking into electrolysis, but again, I don't have that money yet and would prefer to not leave a huge gap where I don't do lazer and the mental torture of watching my body hair grow back. I also haven't gotten my eyes checked in over 3 years, and know I will need a change in perscription and need new glasses. I hate nothing more than what its come to. I'm just exhausted and burnt out from the constant anxiety and depressive episodes, I'm barely eating or sleeping, I'm sick of everything and everyone and I just wish god would give me a break.

With all of the above in mind I'm aiming for about £600. This is all basically to help me just function and continue getting the things that help me not succumb to my mental health issues. If anything, my birthday's coming up in feb so I would appreciate it if folks gave some money if they have the means to. Anything is fine at this point.

Thank you so much

https://paypal.me/iffiia?country.x=GB&locale.x=en_GB

£0/£600

#help

437 notes · View notes

marlenesluv · 10 months ago

Text

Lovers to Strangers to Friends. (CL)

summary: Y/n and Charles have been an iconic paddock couple since 2019, everyone loves them, but what happens when a rumor spreads that Y/n is cheating? (ends in friendship, dw)

note: pls note that this smau does not end with y/n being with charles or any driver, it’s only angst lol

fc: greta gabriella kazaren

warnings: angst, cussing

masterlist here -> masterlist link

^ check my list for all posts! ^

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

twitter:

F1 Drama Blog @f1dramaa1 • 2hrs ago

This morning, we have some big F1 Wag need to cover for you guys. Let’s do some background for new fans here: Y/n Y/l/n and Charles Leclerc have been dating since 2019, that’s 4 years! Fans love them, they love how they bring out the best in each other and how Y/n always goes to races and is so kind with the fans! But we have bad news….

Last night, Y/n was seen in New York with none other than Jacob Elordi. We might have glossed over this, but she missed the Monaco Grand Prix to be with Jacob?? And, she wasn’t wearing the iconic necklace that Charles got her, one that she has said, “I will never take this off!”

Let’s not even get into how Y/n didn’t go to the last two Leclerc dinners…. things are suspicious, possibly cheating?

Comments have been turned off for respect of privacy for Charles! Please refrain from gossiping unless you know facts!

*comments have been disabled*

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Charles, you have got be joking?!” you said, following Charles out of his bedroom and to the living room as he had all of your bags packed when you got back to his house from New York.

“I’m not joking, Y/n. Get out. I cant do this.” he shook his head, your eyes filling with tears.

You knew that going to see Jacob last minute wasn’t the best idea, but you were there in order to plan a surprise for Charles, running into Jacob at the store was truly random. You weren’t a cheater either, in your last relationships, actually, you were the one being cheated on.

“You’re breaking up with me because of what Twitter says? This is ridiculous, Cha-“

“You don’t get to tell me what’s ridiculous. I mean, it makes sense! The random phone calls that you wont tell me who they are with? Leaving Monaco to go to New York randomly, also not telling me why. The last two family dinners?” Charles was mad, beyond mad, but he really didn’t need to be.

“The dinners? Oh, fuck you. You knows why I missed those. You seriously think that I can just call off work whenever you want me to? My work is unpredictable, I work late sometimes, I have clients that need things when they text or call, that’s how I get paid!”

“I could just pay for you-“

“No. No, no, no. You know this has been my dream job since I was little. Its not even about the money, it’s about me doing something I love. And you can’t support that. I have supported you during every race, Charles. I have always cancelled my plans to go to your races, yet you never even visit me at work! You wanna talk about our ‘issues’? Okay, here’s one: Why don’t you let me ever explain something before you get mad. Or, the fact that you think the world revolves around you? Or-“ he cut you off with a scoff.

You stared at him and grabbed your bags, “Fine, you want to just throw four years away over a fucking rumor, cool with me. Should have seen this coming.” You slammed his door and cried down the elevator to your car. This sucked, but at least you had a clean conscious since you did nothing wrong.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: isahernaez, lilymhe, and 527,043 others

y/n.user: moved in with my bsf this week! spain is beautiful ❤️‍🔥🇪🇸

view comments…

isahernaez: 🇪🇸❤️‍🔥

*liked by creator*

fpforcha: oh good, the cheater left

↳ f1fp8: right, cause we know for a fact that she did?

f1wags: aw :( even if she is now considered an ex wag, i will still love her posts. hope her and isa have fun

carmenmmundt: stunninggg!!! so happy you’re with isa, you guys will have sm fun

francisca.cgomes: pretty girls!!

user3: hate to see them broken up, but she is glowing

lewishamilton: have fun in spain!! 🇪🇸

↳ y/n.user: thank you lewis!

brocedes4: lewis picked his side of this divorce fr

f1gal9: i love how i came with carlos and charles, but i’m staying with isa and y/n

exwagsf1page: soo, do i start posting y/n now…

*liked by creator*

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

charles’ instagram story:

seen by: arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 1,262,023 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

your instagram story:

seen by: charles_leclerc, kellypiquet, and 587,017 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

text messages with charles:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: lailahasanovic, logansargeant, and 538,119 others

tagged: isahernaez and aricason

y/n.user: protecting my peace with my girls, puzzles, and wine 🎀

view comments…

user2: awe, we all love you sm!! so glad you spoke out about the rumors

isahernaez: best trio of the decade

↳ aricason: century

↳ y/n.user: that ever existed

*liked by isahernaez and aricason*

logansargeant: miss doing puzzles together, glad you’re doing well in spain!

↳ y/n.user: come to spain!! i miss you and the puzzles

lsediits: logan + y/n still being friends is iconic

user6: ex wags are the bestttt, they slay (so do current ones dgmw)

f1fp81: angellllllll

lilymhe: miss you, pretty

↳ y/n.user: i miss you too!

user3: red wine >

y/nfp1: charles really dropped the ball with y/n

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Isa! Oh my god, you spilt the marinara-“ you laughed, gripping the island as Isa stared at the floor where she had just dropped the dish that was holding said marinara.

As Isa ran to the counter to grab paper towel, you took a picture of the pile of red sauce, still laughing as Isa ripped some paper towel off the roll.

Living with Isa was a blessing in disguise. The breakup was difficult, yes, and you’re sure it sucked for Charles as well, but now you were happier than you ever were.

You loved Charles, really, you did, but his constant lack of enthusiasm and support for your job was horrible. Being there for him all the time was never a question, sure, it was draining trying to make flights right after work, but you wanted to be there for him. But he was never there for you.

Moving in with Isa made you realize, fully, how much more you deserve. When you explained, in full detail, about how Charles’ behavior and the breakup, she was fuming. Cussing in spanish as she stomped around the house.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Isa said, as she continued to laugh and wipe up her mess, you joined her to clean as well.

“Sorry sorry. Be careful of the glass. I’ll grab the broom.” you got up, jogging over to the cleaning closet and grabbed the broom and pan, going back and cleaning up the glass.

Living with Isa was also messy, and chaotic, but you really wouldn’t trade it for the world.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, and 1,104,824 others

charles_leclerc: 📸

view comments…

f1wags: hmph 😒

cl16: photographer charles!

arthur_leclerc: ❤️

user7: okk…..

y/nsfp7: missing him and y/n together, but she’s better off

lorenzotl: photographer, pianist, and f1 driver

*liked by charles_leclerc*

ferrarifriends: love these pictures!

user3: ferrari men 🤝 being the biggest red flags 🚩

exwagsf1: miss y/n in these photos, but she seems happier, idkk

boomvroom11: these pictures are so cool!!!

joris_trouche: hes the photo man

*liked by charles_leclerc*

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

text messages with charles:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

F1 News Article on Google:

Good Morning, Formula 1 Fans! Today, we have some coverage on Ex-Wag, Y/n Y/l/n, and F1 Driver, Charles Leclerc. If you are not interested in the Wag+Driver world, I would skip this article. Now, let’s debrief!

Charles and Y/n broke up about two months ago, both of them posted on their Instagram stories. Now, they still follow each other on Instagram, Twitter, and Tik Tok, so we know they have public ally remained friendly.

Yesterday, multiple fans have spotted and taken pictures of the broken up couple hanging out with Isa Hernáez, ex of Carlos Sainz, and Joris Trouche, friends with Charles and Y/n.

They were seen getting coffee at a local Madrid Cafe, then some shopping, and all seen getting in Charles’ Ferrari, Y/n in the passenger with Charles driving, Isa and Joris in the back.

We do not think this means the two will get back together, but seeing them as friends makes us all very happy, I’m sure.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: charles_leclerc, joris_trouche, and 612,024 others

tagged: isahernaez, charles_leclerc, joris_trouche

y/n.user: double date night (me+isa and joris+cha)

view comments…

f1wags: isa and y/n=power couple (deadass)

charles_leclerc: had so much fun!!

↳ joris_trouche: i did too!!

↳ isahernaez: cutest couple ever the two of you!

↳ charles_leclerc: 😒

↳ y/n.user: so true, isa!!!

user3: this actually healed my heart :’)

ferraripics7: loveeee thissssss

dr3edits: i thought they broke up!?

↳ f1wags: they did!! they are friends tho!

↳ dr3edits: ohh ok ty!

lilymhe: cutest

↳ y/n.user: you are

user8: logan rn: 🧍

↳ f1fans: her and logan hung out a few weeks ago and did a live stream on insta LOL

y/nfp123: ICONNNNN

user1: so glad they are friends now!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

431 notes · View notes

emhm · 5 months ago

Text

Coffee? Please?

Let me preface this by saying; I am not disabled and this is not about 'urgent' vet bills.

[I have an outstanding debt to pay in that regard, but the monthly payment is small and the service was already done. It was the amputation for our kitten Lucky's dead front leg.]

I do have a job and the pay is too good to quit. I work 40 hours a week and I spend almost 13 more hours just driving to and from work because our boss 'can't find a work assignment closer to where I live.' Up until about two weeks ago my partner was also working 40 hours a week on an opposing shift. We were just starting to get on top of our crushing pile of monthly bills. Then she lost her work assignment [not her fault] and he couldn't find anything else for her to do. So she lost a whole weeks pay. He found her a place, but now she's only getting 24 hours a week instead of 40. And we were already struggling to pay for the bare essentials. I was hoping so hard to just have something left when the bills were paid. But my entire tax return was used to pay for overdue bills and it still wasn't all of them.

-We have not had a working washing machine since September. Almost all of my ancient towels have rotted and ripped apart from trying to hang dry them to avoid killing the dryer too.

-Our house does not have central heat or air so we've been freezing for months with no money to buy wood for the stove. [It's warmer now but still in the low 40s at night where I am.]

-We have been flushing the toilet with buckets of water for almost a year because hiring a plumber is not happening.

-For over a year we have been fighting the flea infestation caused by the deadbeat trash-pit roommate we had to force to move out. They're biting me as well as the cats and I'm allergic to them. So I constantly have a rash on my feet and ankles. We never have money for flea drops consistently enough to get rid of them and I do not have a working vacuum to get rid of the flea eggs in the carpet.

-I just had to take on $1200 worth of debt because my tires were bald from my ungodly commute and they told me the brakes need replacing very soon.

-Our youngest cat Lucky will need to be fixed soon because she's almost old enough to go into heat. [She's indoors only but I don't want to deal with the screaming.]

Our predatory mortgage payment is almost $2000 a month with all their shitty add-on fees. My car payment is $334. The internet is $87. The power is usually $125. Car insurance is about $115. Garbage is $65. Our car is shared and I go through 1 tank +1/4 tank of gas EVERY WEEK. I owe both Sunbit AND Carecredit. We're both estranged from abusive parents and have no other family to turn to in an emergency.

I can't ask for money for fanfic. I know that's unethical and illegal.

But I can tell you that I write better/faster/more when I'm not distracted by gut-wrenching despair, crippling anxiety attacks and the bone-deep fear of quickly losing my home because I'm always two missed paychecks away from disaster. I know pretty much everyone is in the same boat, and my problems aren't unique or special.

But anything helps.

I have several hundred dollars in overdue bills from last month and it's already time for the next month's to start arriving. I feel so hopeless and I don't know what else to do besides resorting to begging.

I just set up a Ko-fi account - https://ko-fi.com/followmeontumblr

My Paypal is attached to this old email address - [email protected]

I have an Etsy shop with some things for sale - https://www.etsy.com/shop/PatchworkLaboratory

I also have a Spoonflower shop with fabric featuring my designs. [I only make $1.50 per yard that people buy though.] - https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/infamousdoctorf

And for anyone who was kind enough to read this whole thing- I do have some NSFW sketches I've drawn for "Eclipse Meets His Match" that I have nowhere safe to post. If you're bold enough to direct-message me with the line-

"I swear on all I hold holy that I am not a minor. Show me the art."

I'll let you see them. Thank you either way.

-Doc

#please help #eclipse meets his match #emhm #patchworklaboratory

185 notes · View notes

tiredofthehumanlife · 10 days ago

Text

Exquisite bedding and a loving married couple

Barbie dolls: husband! president!Coriolanus Snow x gn! Reader

Word: 3.4k

Summary: you grow closer to your husband (of who you were forced to marry 😱) also you have chronic pain/ a disability in that area it's left vague so everybody can enjoy and not just me

Warnings: I won't lie to you he's a good amount ooc but this is because I wrote this before I finished the book and before I watched the movie so I only knew academy coriolanus, so maybe just pretend like everything worked out for and became president nicely idk, you have chronic pain/ a disability that makes your body hurt idk just roll with me, forced marriages, you like art now it's like all you do, non sexual nudity, you make friends with the Avoxes that work for him, you cry, you say you're defective and coryo is like "hey hurumph dont do that🙅", yeah that's it really

Coriolanus didn’t exactly know what was expected of him during a forced marriage. He didn’t hate you, but he didn’t exactly like you very much either. He didn’t even know your favorite color and now you both shared a house, bed, and a last name. What is he supposed to do?

You didn’t seem to like him very much either. You barely spoke, only saying a few words to the Avoxes and even fewer to him. Sometimes he questioned if you were an avox yourself, and then you’d mutter to yourself and it was crossed from his mind.

You rarely looked at him, often just floating around the mansion like a ghost and glancing at him when he tried to ask you a question. Coriolanus doubted you even knew his name at this point.

Sometimes you’d leave him notes clipped to his hanger holding up his suit for the work day. They were never anything of substance just a question you had about the house or a question about the things you were allowed to do. Coriolanus had no idea why you were asking him if you could go on a walk, he didn’t really care what you did ever as long as you made it back to the mansion in one piece and didn’t spread rumors about him.

You did share a bed and that was about as close as you two got. You slept on either side of the quite large bed and pretended the other person didn’t exist.

As time passed you seemed to settle into the new house and new life. You had fluffy, useless conversations over dinner. It wasn’t much but it was better than the silent treatment. You learned every Avox’s name in the mansion. You started leaving notes asking for utensils that he assumed were for your hobbies.

He didn’t know any of the names but he still took the list to a craft store and let an employee handle it. Coriolanus left it in the sunroom you had claimed as your own. You spent all your time in there, staring out at the gardens in the backyard. He wondered why you didn’t just walk in the gardens but he wasn’t pushing it.

A small hint of a smile graced your features when you sat in that room and it was the happiest he’d seen you in the mansion so he wasn’t asking you any questions. He left the bags from the craft store on the rounded wooden coffee table. Coriolanus left a card with his initials on it in front of the bags. He hoped it’d give him some positive credit in your heart.

The next day when he came home from work he peaked into the sun room to see it had been taken over by your presence. Art supplies and half-finished works were scattered everywhere.

You were sat on the luxurious chaise with a pattern that reminded him of the Grandma’am’s dresses. You had color and white streaks on your face, your hands were filthy, and you were fanning yourself with a piece of paper like the excitement made you break a sweat. All that mess would’ve made him upset. Imagine if you got that paint on the furniture. All the negative thoughts he conjured up washed away the second he saw the happy and relaxed look on your face. You looked at home. Coriolanus left it and slipped away from the door without gaining your attention.

After that, he felt like you truly getting comfortable. Especially with him. He thought you might even like him more than an acquaintance. You started leaving compliments on his hangers instead of questions and lists.

Coriolanus still remembers reading the first one and blushing like a schoolboy. He shoved the note into the top drawer of his dresser and ignored the burning on his cheeks. Strangely enough, he started to find your art everywhere. He found a new small vase on his dresser one day. It was very small. It could hold maybe three or four flowers but it wasn’t the size that caught his attention. On the white background of the ceramic vase were little engraved roses. He thought of you being observant enough to notice him wearing them.

Coriolanus wasn’t sure how to thank you. He took a page from your metaphorical book and left a note to you on your dresser. He spoke of how he wanted to thank you but didn’t know what would bring his message across. Initially, he had thought of buying you some fancy jewelry on the ride home but it didn’t seem like something you would enjoy. He suggested an art thingy you really wanted.

You thanked him for the note over dinner and started rattling off all about the art supplies you loved and all the art facts you knew. He couldn’t understand a word of what you said but still nodded along and hummed. A smile and sparkle in your eye had found your face. Coriolanus didn’t realize your face could make that expression. Halfway through one of your sentences your face fell. You stopped speaking and looked down at your plate. Coriolanus stared at you, wondering what could’ve provoked you to lose all of your energy like that. You shook your head like you were disappointed in yourself.

“Sorry, I know you probably don’t want to listen to me talk all night. How was work?” You said, keeping your eyes on your plate. Coriolanus’ brain worked a thousand miles to catch up with yours. He sat back in his chair, wiping at the corners of his mouth.

“I was listening. I was quite enjoying it, actually. That French painter used to eat yellow paint? Right? And I’d rather not speak of my work. It’s draining enough there much less coming home to talk about it.” Coriolanus said, making you lift your head. Your smile hadn’t returned but your defeated shoulders left. You looked him up and down.

“He was actually Dutch. He just lived in France.” You muttered. He actually didn’t mean to mess his facts up but he was glad it got you talking again. You straightened up, a quarter of your spirits returning. “Also he didn’t eat the paint so he could ingest the happiness, as many believe. He tried to poison himself with it.” You said. Coriolanus scribbled down on his mental notes about you; you could not stand an incorrect art fact. He knew how to get you talking now.

He thought everything was going so well too. The day had been pretty good. There was a note on his suit that complimented the tie he set out. Work was work but today felt less grueling with your simple compliment stirring in his head all day. He found a tiny ceramic cat snoozing away on top of his dresser. That he quite enjoyed.

Coriolanus said so over dinner as well. Your energy was lower, only answering with short responses. He tried to raise your energy by asking about what art project you worked on today but even that couldn’t pull you out of your slump. He assumed you must’ve had a rough night. Though he didn’t remember you tossing and turning.

An Avox had ran you a warm bath after dinner. Though after you had slipped into the water, they started helping with the work in the kitchen. Coriolanus personally wouldn’t spend so much time in the bath but he wasn’t you so what did he know?

After he finished dressing for bed and setting out his suit, he maneuvered his way to your shared bathroom to brush his teeth. Sure he could’ve walked a few feet down the hallway to another unoccupied bathroom but strangely enough he missed your presence. He raised his hand to knock on the door but paused when he heard sniffling on the other side. Coriolanus wondered if the right thing to do was to go hide in the bedroom until you left the bathroom, go use the other bathroom and ignore your struggles, or knock.

He rapped his knuckles against the wood, leaning his ear towards the door. Coriolanus raised his voice so you could hear him, but his tone remained soft. He said he needed to use the sink and would be in and out in a few minutes. He waited for you to answer. You called for him to come in.

Coriolanus gently pushed open the door and tried to meet your eyes. You were sunken low into the bubbling water, only your face from the nose up present. You stared at the bathroom wall, avoiding his gaze. Coriolanus moved to the sink and brushed his teeth as fast as he could without disregarding their health. When he finished he turned back to the tub, feeling strange just standing there staring at you in the bath.

“Are you okay?” He whispered. You sniffed and splashed the bubbles against the bathtub wall. You nodded, making waves in the soapy water.

“Are you sure? I heard crying from outside the door.” He said, pointing over at the closed door. Your chin surfaced over the water. You turned to face him. Your eyes were red and it was entirely evident you had been crying for a long time.

“Nosey.” You said, just barely passing over a breath. Coriolanus sank to his knees next to the edge of the bathtub.

“I can help. Promise. I just don’t know what’s wrong.” He explained that like you didn’t get it. You fully understood without his help. You sighed and dropped your head back against the bathtub wall.

“Promise you won’t judge me?” You asked, peeking an eye at him. Coriolanus tried to think of something that would cause you to cry in the bath and make him judge you. He came up with nothing. He shook his head. Your hand splashed out from the bubbles, holding out your pinkie towards him. Coriolanus intertwined his pinkie with yours, shaking it slightly to signify the deal.

“Sometimes my body hurts. Really bad. So bad I stay up at night crying because it won’t stop. It makes just living really difficult. Sometimes I feel like I can’t move because I know if I do it will hurt more so I just plop myself into one spot and don’t move.” Coriolanus was shocked he hadn’t been able to deduce this before. No wonder you didn't walk in the gardens or meander about the mansion. You found a room and stayed there. He really wasn’t observant apparently. Coriolanus slipped his hand into the water, soaking his pajama shirt sleeve. Coriolanus’ hand found yours immediately. He intertwined his fingers with yours, running a thumb over the back of your hand soothingly. You sniffled again, glancing over at the wall before looking back at him.

“Earlier today it started to flare up but I thought it would be manageable. It started really hurting at dinner but I knew I just had a few more things to do and then the day would be over. But now I feel like I can’t move, it hurts so bad I can’t stand up. I can’t even call Mavvy because she's in the kitchen. It hurts, so much I don’t know how I can get out of this stupid bathtub.” You said. Your frustration boiled over and slapped your other hand against the water. It splashed Coriolanus on the cheek. He was going to say that was quite rude of you but you slumped against the side of the tub in such a pitiful way he couldn’t bear to say anything mean to you.

Coriolanus wasn’t sure who Mavvy was but he could assume she was one of the Avoxes that work in his mansion. He hummed and reached for your face. He gently brushed away a tear from your cheek though it didn’t matter much because all your skin was wet.

“Let me help you out,” Coriolanus said, squeezing your hand under the water. You straightened your head, staring at him with a strange expression.

“Are you sure? I can do it. I can. It will take me a long time and a lot of tears but I can do it. You don’t have to. You’d have to change your pajamas and everything.” You said. Coriolanus lifted your hand from the water and gently pressed his lips to the back of your hand.

“I don’t mind. Let me help, I want to.” Coriolanus said. You huffed and nodded. You slowly pulled yourself up into a sitting position. You clenched your teeth in the process. Coriolanus wondered how badly it burned just to sit up, but by the look on your face, he didn’t want to find out. Coriolanus slipped your intertwined hand over his head, pulling your arm over his shoulder. He pulled his arm around your waist and tugged you closer to his body. You’d need all the support you could get to leave the tub.

“Ready?” Coriolanus whispered. You sucked in a deep breath and nodded. Coriolanus counted down from three before pulling your body up. You groaned in the process and clutched his hand tighter. Your legs shuffled and you finally pressed your feet to the bottom of the tub. Coriolanus tried to pull you higher into a standing position. You gasped and flung your free hand out to brace against the wall.

“Stop. Stop. Just wait a second.” Pain pulled at your words and he wondered if you were going to cry again. It hurt holding his half-standing half-squatting position but he knew it couldn’t hold a candle flame to your pain. The way you were gasping like a fire was set to your skin every time he moved a centimeter made him wish he was a stone statue. You steadied your breathing and knocked your hand against his chest. He took it as a signal to continue. Coriolanus tugged you up onto your feet and you were finally standing in the tub. You let out a shaky breath and pressed your head against his shoulder.

It took a lot of time and effort but eventually, Coriolanus was able to pull your wet body into your shared bedroom. He helped you sit down on the edge of the bed, a few curses following after you. He skittered into the bathroom and brought a towel back to you. You tried to argue against it but he waved you off and sank to his knees in front of you. Coriolanus dried off your body. He tried his hardest to move your limbs slowly, to not cause more harm. Your body was dry after a few minutes and he flung the towel away, helping you shuffle up towards your spot on the bed. Coriolanus helped tuck you in, apologizing when his wrong move made you groan.

Coriolanus sat next to you on the bed, caressing your face in hopes of it soothing you. You hummed and leaned into his touch. You opened your eyes and looked at him sadly.

“Sorry.” You whispered. He wondered if it hurt to talk louder but didn’t want to ask you questions about it. You had enough going on right now, evidently.

“For what?” Coriolanus asked, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. You shrugged, wincing after.

“Being defective, I guess. You should’ve gotten a better deal with this whole marriage thing.” You leaned your head against your pillow and stared at the sheets. Coriolanus felt his heart squeeze. It was preposterous. Truly. For you to think this way about yourself. He shook his head, leaning down to put his face in your line of sight.

“You are not defective. I wouldn’t want anyone else to marry. Just because you have any disability or health problems does not mean I’m itching to send you away. I know our marriage wasn’t exactly out of passion but I’ve grown to care for you. I want you to be happy and comfortable. I’ll carry you for the rest of my life if it brings a smile to your face.” Coriolanus brushed his knuckle against your temple. You leaned your face into his hand, closing your eyes. Coriolanus leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours for a moment.

“Thank you, Mr. Snow.” You whispered. Coriolanus pulled back and snorted. You glared at him, turning your head away from him.

“Please, Coriolanus.” He thought about telling you to call him Coryo but he decided he should let you warm up to him more. You nodded and slowly moved your hand towards his and held onto it.

That night he was sure that you two were sleeping closer. You were both on opposite sides of the bed but you were still latched onto his hand. In the large space between you two, that he once visualized as a brick wall, were your clasped hands. You didn’t move in your sleep, still in the position he helped you into last night when he woke up. Coriolanus wiggled around in his sleep but his hand was still with yours when his alarm went off.

He gently pulled his hand away from yours and slowly sat up. Coriolanus worried if he moved the mattress too much it would cause you more pain. It hurt so bad yesterday that just him moving your leg up from the floor made you wince. Coriolanus doubted one sleep would make it better.

Coriolanus turned off his alarm and sat still on the edge of the mattress with his back turned to you. He wished he could just fling himself back into bed and never leave again. He wondered if he could call in sick, his partner was sick.

Coriolanus sighed and rubbed his face, hoping it would brush away the fatigue. He was startled when a hand ran down his back. Coriolanus turned his head back and saw you staring at him. Your face was evidence enough of your long night. Your eyes were droopy and you looked at him in a way that made him sure you had plenty of struggles falling asleep with pain coursing through your body. Coriolanus leaned to the side, taking your hand away from his back and into his palm.

“Thank you.” You whispered, sleep still pulling your words into the sheets with you. Coriolanus shook his head and rubbed the back of your hand again.

“I don't need thanks. I wanted to help you.” He said. Coriolanus leaned over the bed next to you. Your eyebrows pinched when the mattress sank under his weight and he mentally smacked himself for it. You nodded in acceptance of his words. He gently brought your knuckles to his lips again. When he pulled back he found your eyes had shut. Coriolanus reached up and gently brushed your temple with his thumb. Your eyes opened and you stared at him.

“Take it easy today, okay? Don't push yourself.” He whispered, his lips still close enough to your hand that you could feel his breath. You nodded and slowly scooted further down the mattress. It didn't look like it caused too much pain but you squeezed your eyes shut all the same.

Coriolanus didn't get a note on his hanger today, though he wasn't surprised. Apparently, you couldn't let him leave the house without a compliment to think of during the day because your quiet voice called out to him as he reached for the bedroom door. Coriolanus turned back and raised an eyebrow at you in question. You complimented how the suit brought his eyes with your cheek pressed against your pillow and your eyes falling shut despite the fight you put up. He thanked you and headed for the front door.

On his path there he ran into an Avox. He told her Mavvy needed to be within calling distance of you at all times today. Her lips twitched for a second before she schooled it that told him he was talking to Mavvy. The Avox nodded in understanding and he left for work.

When he returned from work, you were still in bed. You had changed positions in bed, laying on your side with a book open. In the corner of the room was the Avox he spoke to this morning, sat in a wooden chair and reading her own book. You lifted your head when the door opened, smiling at Coriolanus brightly. It must've been a really boring day if you were this excited over seeing him.

Coriolanus spent the rest of the evening in bed with you. He asked Mavvy to tell the rest of the maids and butlers that dinner was going to be served in the bedroom that night. He liked eating dinner with you at the table, but he liked this much more. Coriolanus felt like you two were actually a loving married couple. You were more relaxed this way, laughing and cracking jokes that made him snort.

If he didn't know you barely liked him as a friend, he would've kissed you. Coriolanus was okay with this though, laughing with you and eating your dinner in the exquisite bedding.

A/n: so I've actually already written a like 5k part two but idk if y'all even want that quite frankly so lmk in the reposts or comments

#coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #tbosas #tbosbas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

72 notes · View notes

anamelessfool · 6 days ago

Text

A Naming

Rated Teen, Papa Emeritus II’s Son and Family

Tags: Halloween Hijinks, Eldest Kid Anxiety, Suburban Dad Secondo, Disabled Secondo, Post-Retirement Life, Magic Rituals, My AU

CW: Underage Drinking

Dedicated to @kissingghouls thanks for cheering me on you’re my little Hell Pumpkin🎃 I’m on AO3 with all my other fics but Tumblr gets mad at me when I post links

Part One

Oct 31, 2017

The Leider residence was the only one on the cheery suburban block that was bare of decoration. The house year round was neat, sensible; a single floor ranch with the occasional hearse out front. Neighbors thought the lack of decoration, especially during Halloween, was a choice made out of propriety. One would hope the family responsible for interring your loved ones would have a sober outlook on the macabre. Their entire modus seemed to be one of complete disregard for any happenings outside their own home. Unavailable, discreet, out of the way. A little fortress meant only for its occupants.

And in a way, it was. Its unassuming nature was by design. The patriarch of the house, known to his neighbors as Michael Leider, was a severe man in appearance and temper. His entire family was full of noise and cheer and life but he himself preferred to stay out of the way. The only completely peculiar thing about him was each morning just after sunrise he’d step out onto his back concrete patio and scowl at the sky. A journal would come out, he’d scrawl a few lines, and then return to his kitchen to make that morning’s coffee.

What his neighbors didn’t know was that the man had journaled daily about the weather for fifteen thousand one hundred and seventy-eight days so far, give or take a few due to illness or inconvenience. It wasn’t that neighbors didn’t know, it was more what they have not seen. Or were allowed to see. Mr. Leider’s life was carefully constructed, like the life of any true magician. He had been once the hub of arcane power as Papa Emeritus II, known as Secondo; master magician and the spiritual leader of the Satanic Church of the Void. The Void itself was closer to a true hell than any suburbanite could ever comprehend, but it had been a large part of most of his previous life. For over forty years Secondo had balanced this world and beyond this world. Spirits called to him, demons obeyed his commands. Now all that was left was the old practicum of documenting the weather, but this ordinariness was his choice.

Because a seasoned magician knows of the dangers of attracting attention.

“Yesterday…” Eden Leider’s eyes got wide. The half-nibbled pizza was abandoned on her plate as the eight year old regaled a tale slowly and with great reverence. “Yesterday…there was a kid…at my school…at recess…”

She was surrounded by her family, as always, in the kitchen strewn with handmade Halloween art projects. She had hurried home with her younger brother Sam from the bus and immediately wanted to try on her costume, only to be met with the torture of having to eat before she went out tonight. Pizza AND the green beans. If she was going to be doused in sugar later that night then at least some half-attempt at healthy food was a requirement. Her father Secondo had insisted on it.

“Oh I saw this!” hissed her younger brother Sam. “I saw this!”

“No you didn't you were in gym,” snapped Eden.

“No I saw, I saw the ambulance!”

“He fell…and his arm? His arm was like this!” Eden held out her arm crooked, a primal little grin stretching across her face. “There was his bone sticking out.”

“Bone sticking out?” Their mother Sandra lowered her pizza slice, her eyes wide in amused interest. There was nothing more she enjoyed than encouraging her younger children’s odd sense of wonder. It was like watching kittens attempt to navigate themselves out of a paper bag.

“His bone! Was sticking! Out!” shouted Sam.

The eldest brother Paul let out a too aggressive sigh, subtly glancing down at his phone on his lap. There was another message. He disguised his gasp as a cough.

Dana: u coming

Paul L: trying

Paul nervously cycled through his apps, arriving at Dana’s photo again. A perfect face, a winning smile adorned a photo of her in a theatrical costume. Below, her favorite quote that Paul recently decided was evidence of her profound understanding of reality: Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world! Let your soul take you where you long to be!

I will, Paul always thought.

His father didn’t even have to make a noise for Paul to know he was watching him. Paul looked up and met the Eye embedded in his father Secondo’s skull, white and shark-like. It was usually concealed behind a colored lens but still burned through all the same. Paul was not normally afraid of it, but in this circumstance he swore it could read his mind. It was something that existed beyond his father, an interloper perched on the man’s broad shoulder. The human eye beside it had its normal expression of cool assessment. While his father’s left eye expressed an understanding of the beyond, the rest of the body was that of an intelligent stoic. Someone not interested in seeing their son look at their phone at the dinner table. Paul smiled thinly back.

“We can't even have a jack-o'-lantern?” Eden’s whines came into focus once more. “Not even one?”

“I'm not encouraging anything or anyone to enter this house,” Secondo reminded her stiffly, releasing Paul from his gaze. “Our home is our domain and I keep it well tended.”

Secondo, known in the past as Papa Emeritus II and leader of the Satanic Church of the Void, had always been a serious man. Serious, but never humorless. His wife Sandra has gifted him a bright orange shirt that said “This is My Halloween Costume” and he wore it now as he cut his pizza slice with the grace of some sort of aristocrat. His younger children had dumped tribute drawings around him: scrawled images of him as a skeleton man surrounded by assortments of demons and pools of blood. Eden idolized him, and his youngest idolized his sister and so the two of them had become his most loyal cultists whether he liked it or not.

Paul took the chance to answer Dana back.

Paul L: my dad is

Dana: yeah

ill ask

Dana:🙂

“If you’ll excuse me,” Secondo muttered with a regal bow of his head. He unhooked his forearm crutch from the back of his chair and maneuvered himself to his feet, politely grabbing empty dishes to deliver them delicately to the sink as he left the kitchen.

Paul turned quickly to his mother. “There’s a party tonight and…”

Sandra smiled wryly. “I’m always happy when you want to be social. But your dad will have to drive you.”

Right. Secondo had retired to his study for an hour before taking the younger kids out. In Paul’s experience of suburban fathers, there was a seasonal quality to all of their domestic obsessions. Some dads fretted over lawns, or snowfall, or their collection of vehicles in various states of disrepair. Secondo’s special interest at this time of year was obscure arcane protections. Paul had never once experienced any sort of supernatural event in their home, but as he grew up he suddenly became responsible for helping his father with his weird chores. Burying recycled jars filled with nails and rat bones. Standing on ladders to hand specifically colored yarns around the outside perimeter of the house while Secondo commented on ideal placement. Collecting perfectly good specimens of mullein or rue from the side of the road with the shovel Secondo always kept in the backseat of the truck. In his mind’s eye Paul wondered what strangers thought of the impromptu highway gardening, or the digging, or all the rock arrangement. Maybe they assumed the teen was enduring some old time tough love father-son punishment.

Honestly that would be far less embarrassing.

Paul found Secondo in his office. The room was dimly lit, with scarves draped across the computer and all of his work things. There were more books and journals than wall space, and so some were stacked neatly in piles besides the shelves that went right to the ceiling. Said ceiling was stained with areas of candle soot, the walls doubly so. Secondo stood in the far corner of the room, the doors to an old TV hutch open to reveal the magical seat of his home: his altar place.

“Dad, can I go out tonight?”

Paul saw the familiar diagrams and charts taped on the inside walls, along with some twig and twine poppets right out of a horror film. Deeper into the hutch lay even more oddities: deer jawbones, rocks of Significance. Some desiccated bundles of herbs. A mason jar of old buttons.

Secondo was whispering something into a waterclear crystal skull. He lowered it and stared into Paul, the white Infernal Eye settling in to regard the teen like an old crow. “Hm?”

“Yeah uh…a party. It’s everyone from theater club. Tonight.”

“Parents will be there?”

Shit. Paul wrung his hands. “Uh…I think so?”

Secondo let out a puff of air through his nose, a wordless sign of him mulling over facts. He didn’t speak much, but his elegant movements and subtle expressions spoke more than any words could. He gently replaced the skull on his altar and closed the doors, tying a red ribbon across the knobs. Paul waited with bated breath.

“All your homework done?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain?”

“I—” The two little ones bounded into the office. Sam launched himself at his brother’s knees and squeezed.

“Put our facepaint on, Paul!” said his sister.

“Yes, please,” Sam added. Paul looked up to meet his father’s eyes once again.

Secondo was smiling.

“What did Daddy’s face look like? I want it to look like that,” Eden insisted. In the bathroom Paul applied the white makeup to the entirety of her face while she frowned and got into character.

“I dunno, some kinda…skull or something.” Paul was deeply indifferent to their father’s past life. He didn't remember the pageantry, or the tours he was dragged on as a young child. He barely understood nor cared that his father was someone who wandered the space between two worlds, who channeled dark powers through his body, who captivated thousands with twisted tales of death and demons.

All Paul really remembered was seeing his father decline. He saw his father have days of extreme pain he chose to conceal, watched his mother help her husband as good as any nurse or wife could. As the Void wracked his body Secondo couldn't do much anymore. Couldn't play with Paul or carry him or do anything more than preserve himself for when he was on stage. So Paul was indifferent to Papa Emeritus II. In some way his earliest thoughts were of happiness now that his father could be around.

And they could finally all be somewhat normal.

Paul darked the hollows of her eyes with black face paint and added long lines across her mouth to simulate snagged teeth. He recalled the exaggerated lines across the jaw. Satisfied, he turned his sister around to show her in the mirror. She nearly jumped out of her skin the moment she saw the face that was no longer hers. But then she laughed wickedly.

“Oh I want to be a skull now!” crowed Sam, tugging at Paul’s clothes. “Make me a skull face!”

“No you're not allowed,” Eden said. “Pumpkin Skull? I'm the skull. Paul tell him I'm the skull!”

“Wouldn't make sense on you, Sammy,” Paul explained. “I'll give you a jack-o'-lantern face.”

“Yeah okay but make it scary,” Sam muttered.

Eden had worked for days on her costume. It was of course an homage to the towering glory of her father’s previous life, in miniature form. She had fashioned a cereal box into a decent miter. Secondo had coaxed her out of applying true upsidedown crucifixes to her outfit, and so wrathful skull heads scowled down the pillowcase chasuble and bats adorned the miter. “I'm a…Hell Priest.”

“She made it herself.” Sandra shrugged. “Turn around, honey, you're the cutest little hell priest I've ever seen since your father.”

Sam extended his little arms and wiggled his fingers, grinning. “And I'm a…Hell. Pumpkin.”

“My adorable little freaks,” said Sandra of her children, nudging Secondo next to her on the couch. Secondo had his usual severe frown as he watched the little ones scurry around the carpet and howl. Sandra addressed Paul. “And you're wearing that? To a Halloween party?”

Paul looked down at his jeans and band tee, old ratty hoodie and sneakers. “Halloween’s for kids, mom.”

“At least the shirt’s clean,” said Secondo.

“You two are really boring, you know that?” Sandra ribbed over the rim of her coffee mug. “But have fun? Extra fun for me.” Out of all of them she loved Halloween the most. It was a love of the macabre that drove her to join a Satanic Church, after all. Sandra held the work phone for the memorial home in her hand as her family got ready to leave for the night. She had selflessly volunteered to be on call so her brothers and husband could bring all their kids around the neighborhood. Then again, watching the goriest horror films at home without the prying eyes of her children was a decent consolation prize.

Sandra caught her youngest in her arms and brought his little body into a hug. “You know, you can die… but no one really stays dead on Halloween.” She immediately pretended to bite him all over, and Sam screamed and laughed.

“You're deeply unprofessional, dear,” muttered Secondo, yet a small rare smile hovered across his face. He gave his wife a peck on the cheek and pulled himself to his feet. “Let’s go. Paul, help me get your siblings in the car.” The younger ones let out shrill shrieks and jumped towards the door, grabbing their candy pails while already whining.

Sandra gave a soft chuckle, then reached out to gently touch her eldest son's hand. “Paul, have fun alright? You need it.”

Paul smiled faintly and returned her affection with a hug. “I’ll be fine. Thanks. I hope you…don't have to work tonight.”

“Same,” replied his mother. “But you got to take everything as it comes, right? Be always ready.”

“Paul,” said Secondo.

“Hm?” Paul had been staring out the window as they drove across town. Behind them in the backseat the younger kids were chatting wildly about all the candy they were going to eat later. By this time in his life Paul was used to drowning it out. Ever since Sam could talk, Paul finally got a break and Eden got a perfect little peon to hang on to her every word.

Secondo had both hands on the wheel as he drove sensibly. He never looked up from his task but he never had to do more than slight gestures or certain tones of his voice for Paul to know what came next. “Name it,” he said.

Secondo was talking about the feelings rolling around in Paul’s insides. From a young age this was a common ritual he shared with all of his children. Paul realized more and more that Secondo now didn’t demand a vocal response to this request anymore the way he did of the younger ones. After years of this, Paul had an automatic cool response to any sort of restlessness in his mind.

Paul let out a soft breath, imagining himself holding the feeling in his hands, like always. It felt prickly, hot. Torn right from his chest and squirming like an impatient puppy. So he looked down and named it. Apprehension. Worry.

The little feeling stopped jostling him. But there was something else tugging at him, gripping its sharp little teeth into his pant leg and pulling. Dana’s picture on his phone came to mind. He swallowed.

Crush.

The truck stopped, Secondo put it in park. High school kids idled out on the front porch of a large house cheerfully decorated with pumpkins and the warm glow of string lights. The little demons of feeling that tugged at him skittered away to wait in the shadows. Paul gave a weak goodbye utterance to his family and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Secondo spoke. “And Paul.”

“Yeah?”

The intensity of the whitened eye in his father’s skull never ceased, even when freed for an instant as he blinked. “You are a person of integrity.”

Paul gave a half-hearted nod, slamming the door. He watched the red lights of the truck veer slowly away and occasionally stop to avoid throngs of trick-or-treaters. Now before the house, before this strange new world, his nerves began to circle.

Like it? Reblog it! Thanks so much, see you in Part 2…..

#papa emeritus ii #ghost band headcanons #Halloween fic #domestic fic #my art #ghost scenes from the void #sfw fic #anamelessfool halloween #anamelessfool halloween start

68 notes · View notes

thornsent · 10 months ago

Text

oh so Everything everything is falling apart, huh

I didn't get my general assistance at all this month which is my only income, and I wasn't warned or anything it's just gone. tomorrow my phone plan ends and now I can't even afford the most basic of plans to keep it on, meaning I'm going to lose contact with my housing worker entirely as she refuses to communicate any way besides calling me (and not be able to get in touch with landlords),

and my internet subsidy isn't just being cancelled but reversed (so they're charging me, again, More) because my case manager somehow didn't do her research and the initial fix for the phone situation kicked me off of the ACP and had the last ACP payment reversed. so I can't afford my bills as it is but now the things that helped me stay just above water are gone and so is the tiny bit of income I have left and I have to just really, really hope they're not taking my food stamps away too or I will be left with nothing and utterly screwed

I just don't even have words anymore. I'm trying to stay hopeful and trying to keep fighting but this is a fucking nightmare and it's one I've lived before, I just can't believe I did all this work and it's still happening again. being disabled in america is torture it really really is

#mad scrawl

364 notes · View notes

drdemonprince · 5 months ago

Note

all the recent talk about not voting has me a bit worried, for lack of a better word.

on one hand, yes so much yes, stop throwing all your time and energy in the insatiable maw of electoral politics, 5/5, no notes.

but on the other hand, where does that time and energy go then? despite lots of talk about mutual aid it doesn't seem to progress much beyond the abstract (at least in the various leftist groups/communities/etc. in my neck of the woods). it's held up as an ideal and great big important thing, but when there's shit that needs doing, it's *crickets*.

maybe it's because so much mutual aid is care work and thus, and i very much disagree with even though i care not for the label, not real activism i guess? like, a while ago a disabled comrade had ran into housing issues because of their illness, so we rustled up some folks to help clean and unfuck their home. which, yet again, were the same (also disabled) people that always show for those things.

coming of four years and counting of pandemic, that's been a consistent pattern. at a time where mutual aid was so needed, such a vacuum left by a state that didn't and/or wanted to do shit, it still fell on the shoulders of disabled people to do all the actual work while the rest just talked about abstract shit. or, to name another thing, diy hrt initiative where it's just a bunch of poor ass trans people scrounging up money to pay for supplies for trans people who have fuck all access, while the rest debates in the abstract about a more better system or whether it's even something they need to concern themselves about.

and like, yes, not pissing away your energy pleading with assholes who don't give a fuck about you is good, but it should only be the start. it sometimes feels like the big plan is: 1) not vote, 2) ???, 3) glorious anarchism/communism/mutual-aidism. i'm not arguing that they need to have it all worked out, but with so much shit that needs doing in the here and now i get a little worried. because that's going to take real work, not talk, and they're not putting in any of it.

I mean, most people won't do (what gets viewed as) "real activism" either. They don't go to protests, smash windows, call jails to check on the status of incarcerated people, cut supply lines, or anything else. And they don't vote either.

We live in a highly individualistic, atomized society filled with people who have been conditioned into an abiding self-interested apathy, and everyone is overworked and broke as shit and juggling a bunch of disabilities while not having any experience with building genuine community and lacking most of the infrastructural and social tools to do so. The number of people who are avowed leftists is vanishingly small, and among them the people who actually walk the talk or have the education and community ties to even be able to is even smaller. Not disagreeing with your read of the situations you're dealing with here, just putting them within the broader context of many very similar problems that I see touch every single aspect of organizing today. even like the most tepid liberal get out the vote kind of organizing is plagued by this, and of course that is by design.

What gives me hope in the present moment is just how many people are completely fucking done with the prevailing system, and how many are refusing to play along with its rules. A lot of the people who aren't voting are not leftists. At least not yet. Just like many of the people who are quiet quitting and half-assing it at work or just vibing on unemployment for as long as they can are not communists. But they do know that the system is bunk and is failing them, and they are refusing to be compliant within it any longer. I believe that a lot of people's better natures do get inspired during a moment of collapse. I also think there is a profound rot at the heart of settler-colonial states that fills them with people who do not recognize themselves as having any responsibility to others. That's all the more reason for such an empire to fall.

I think you're right to worry for the future, though I don't think the reason to be worried is as simple as people not people caring about disabled folks, or any other group. I always wonder who the mythical abled people are who are abnegating their duty in such an understanding of the world. I sure haven't met any of them. I only meet people who are also disabled and don't realize it.

101 notes · View notes

purpleyoonn · 2 years ago

Text

baby (you complete us) 1

C H A P T E R O N E

Summary: Soulmates were a common occurrence, so common, in fact, that the world sought an easier way to find your other half: A bracelet that would scan your mark and match you with those who shared your mark. Within recent years, soul groups were becoming normal, and your own bracelet said you have seven matches.

Or where you wear your bracelet for ten years, and finally give up the hope you would find your soul group, only for BTS to put theirs on and see what they were missing.

Genre: soulmate au, idol au, angst, fluff, eventual smut,

Pairing: Idol BTS x Disabled MC

Warnings: angst, mentions of depression, disabled mc (Ehlers Danlos syndrome), eventual smut, fluff, lots of fluff, mentions of disability, simp bangtan

Chapter Warnings: drunk mc, drunk messaging, mentions of depression, insecurities, parental death, disability diagnosis, negative thoughts,

masterlist // chapter 2

taglist: @imnotlauriane @mageprincess7 @m1sss1mp @0funsite0 @strawberry-moonpies @this-isthe-way @singukieee @btsw1fe @gooooomz @fluffy-canada-pancakes @carolinexkpop @agusfree @sakurarukas @iamkookiesforyou @skyys-universe @toughbook @plutoneu @whisperssuga @welcometomyworld13 @yuzon3 @wittyreader @jnghs @cyd0129 @exfolitae @queen-in-the-shadows @nen-nyy @pandxthings @schniti-is-in-the-house @juju-227592 @jinseartharmysmoon @wooya1224 @ddaeng-angmoh @gratefullygrateful @rorythme

permanent taglist: @yourleftsock @cryingpages @strxwbloody @drissteele @dustyinkpages @crushedblackroses @blaaiissee @iiitsmaria @azazel-nyx @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i @knjkitten @kleirielk @foreverweareyoung7 @lachimolala22019 @namuficxs @94z-93 @kimgmzmc @thenaverse

---------------------------------------

Every morning for the past ten years, the first thing you did was open the Soul app. Each morning you hoped and wished to see a notification on the upper right corner of the app on your screen. And each morning you were once again left disappointed with the zero notifications. Each of your friends had already found theirs, had met up with them and felt the bond cement within their souls.

You couldn’t help but to grow envious and jealous of their happiness, even now, as you watch your closest friends pledge their lives and souls to each other. You were a bridesmaid, right behind her own sister, the maid of honor. You were like a sister to Anna, having grown up with her and her family. But you never felt so out of place, like you didn’t belong as you stood there.

You were beyond happy for Anna and Chris, love in your heart for them as you witness their love for each other. But you couldn’t help but to feel your own heart break at the sight.

Your soulmates didn’t want you; it was the only conclusion you could think of. Ten years, ten years of knowing that you have seven soulmates out there.

Your bracelet made the distinction of telling you that your soulmates already knew each other. Maybe it shouldn’t have. It left you feeling the way you do now, believing that they don’t want you.

And maybe you couldn’t blame them.

For every day, over the past ten years, since you first put on the gift from your parents, you had messaged your soulmates, introducing yourself, letting them know how your day went. Everything and anything you could think of. But once your mother passed away, you slowly started to taper off your messages.

The feeling of being alone had started to sink in.

You had family come in, say their condolences, and leave after a while. Even people you didn’t know were coming in to say their part, but nothing from your soulmates. You never once saw a ‘read’ notification underneath a message.

Then, not even a month after your mother’s passing, you were diagnosed with Hypermobile Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, a genetic connective tissue disorder that affects your entire body. You were diagnosed after your sister took you to the doctors, her concern for your hips and knees becoming too much after seeing you need a cane for walking assistance. The diagnosis took weeks of medical history research and a physical examination.

Apparently popping your wrists in and out of place isn’t as much of a party trick as you thought it was.

After that, you just sort of stopped the messages, only really messaging when you had no one else to talk to. You figured, if they aren’t going to read it, then why not use it as a sort of diary, writing the things you knew you couldn’t tell others.

Today, however, would be the last time you messaged them. You had decided mid ceremony that you weren’t going to continue wearing your bracelet. It was just becoming a reminder of how much your life was not going the way you wanted.

“Thank you so much for being here with me!” Anna spoke to you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. She had pulled you aside after bridal party pictures. You were having a good day, not needing your cane but having it sat by your assigned seat just in case. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be in the wedding when she asked you, but knowing how happy she was, you said yes.

“I’m glad I got to be a part of your special day.” You smiled back, hoping she didn’t see the small sadness in your eyes. Anna nodded in response; just glad you were happy. She knew how hard your life had been in the past couple years, and she loved seeing the smile on your face whenever it happened. She wanted you to be happy always, never having to feel pain again.

“I can’t wait until you get to marry your soulmates. I will be right here for you, doing everything I can to make your day just as special.” She hugged you again before being called away for more pictures of the family, the bridesmaids and groomsmen being dismissed. While you smiled at your friend, you could feel the tears building.

You wouldn’t get that day, and you knew it.

Fate was determined to see you cry, and this only cemented your decision.

By the time you were ready to message them for the last time, you were drunk for courage, and maybe for yourself as you tried to bury your negative thoughts. You sat on the floor in the bathroom stall, listening as women came in and out, talking about their own happiness with their soulmates, wishes for the bride in her own.

Grabbing your phone out of your bag, you clutched it in your hands, fingers slowing typing out the last message you would send before taking your bracelet off.

“If you do actually read this, just know that I am happy for you all. I hope that you feel the happiness that you wish for.

I have decided that this will be the last time I hope to see a notification from you, a message in return saying that you have signed into the app and would like to meet me.

I am sorry if my messages were annoying in any way. You do not need to read them. They probably wouldn’t mean anything to you anyways.

I understand that you don’t want me, and that is fine. I am used to that. You would know if you read any of the messages I’ve sent.

I am taking off my bracelet in the morning, the hope I have for the bracelet diminished by the time you read this. If you do ever read this.

I wish you all a lifetime of happiness.”

Despite your drunken state, you were proud of how sober you sounded, thanking spell check for keeping everything eligible.

Getting off the floor, you moved from the stall and over to the sink, using the tissues and water to help make your makeup neater than it was seconds ago. You could feel your leg shaking from the amount of time you sat on the floor, your position less than desirable as you tried to make yourself comfortable on the cold, hard ground.

Once you felt more presentable, you decided to say goodbye to your friends, your phone telling you it was past midnight at that point. You also knew you would need your cane soon, the slight limp you had as you walked and the weird feeling in your hip telling you it would shift soon.

It took you a couple of minutes to walk through the crowd of people in the reception hall, but you were glad when you finally spotted Anna and Chris.

“Hye guys. I’m gonna be heading home.” You were tugged into a bear hug by Chris, his hold comforting especially after your feelings for the night were less than good. When you pulled back, you pointed your finger at him, eyes narrowed.

“Congrats bro. Remember, this is my best friend and I will hurt you if you hurt her.” You joked around, reminding him of the first talk you gave him over six years ago. He just laughed, before hugging you again.

“I hope you guys have a fun time at your honeymoon! Don’t forget, my name is extremely cute for babies. Plus, I would be the best godmother slash auntie ever.” You grin again, before bringing Anna into your arms, hugging her tight before letting her go.

Once you finish your goodbye’s, you finally leave the building, get in your car and head home to your apartment.

Your apartment was small, but it was home. You managed to make the place look comfy and cozy, needing all the comfort you could get. You wanted a pet, but your apartment didn’t allow them, and you didn’t have the money to get a service animal like your doctor had once suggested.

It was cold when you walked inside, the heat off as you liked bundling up. You also didn’t want to spend the money on something when you were usually overheated anyways. Placing your keys on the little bowl your sister made you as a kid, you move around the couch and cozy recliner and make your way to your room.

You liked the color blue, and everyone would know by walking into your room. You had different shades of blue everyone, blankets, pillows, even your dresser was a dark navy blue. Placing your cane by your bedside table, you take your time changing into pajamas, just a simple pair of sweats and a large t-shirt you stole from your friend Michael years ago, the logo long faded and worn down.

Your bed consisted of many blankets, your very own comfort item. You loved the softness of them, and the warmth they provided. You had a weighted blanket, a gift from Anna last Christmas. You cherished it and always slept with it. It was a dark grey, standing out against the blues of your bed, but also tying the room together.

Pulling it over you, you let the weight of it rest against you, soothing the unknown and known tension in your body, helping you to be able to drift to sleep. However, the weight of the bracelet on your wrist was another issue.

It was familiar, but now unwelcome as you felt another rush of emotions hit you. You moved quickly, taking the bracelet off your wrist, moving over so you could reach your nightstand, placing the bracelet in the bottom drawer filled with other items you deemed as junk over the years.

The emptiness you felt once it was off your wrist was not a new feeling, but you felt it would be a permanent one.

Turning over, you faced the wall, remembering you had a work meeting in the morning and needed to wake up relatively early.

The last thing you think of was that damned bracelet, wondering if your parents knew the kind of resentment you would have towards it when they gave it to you.

-*-*-

“Now remember guys, this is a collaboration project. You may or may not receive any sort of notification when you put on your bracelet and it scans your mark.”

The man from Soul Connection spoke over the different Hybe groups in attendance. The CEO’s of Hybe chose to do the collaboration after the news that the population within South Korea was declining, and soul bonds were on the way to declining. They had made the announcement a couple days ago, the collaboration already sparking a boost in soul bracelet sales.

Everyone wanted to be bonded to one or more of the idols, especially to the bonded group BTS. Bangtan was a well-known bonded group, having come out to the public once public opinion on soulmates within the industry became better. While the boys may already be a bonded group, they were still under contract and were given their own bracelets.

“What if we receive a notification, hyung?” Jungkook looked up at Namjoon, his hands interlocked with his leaders.

They were all nervous, a small part of them wondering if they had another soulmate out there. It wasn’t a new feeling to them, having all thought this over the years. They had all felt some weird, empty spot within their souls, but ignored it as they became more well-known and more popular over the years, their lives becoming busier with the increasing amount of attention.

But now, they didn’t have an excuse to not wonder about a missing soulmate, not when they were having to wear the soul bracelets that would let them know once and for all.

“Now, once you put these on, they bracelet will take a couple minutes to scan your mark, and plug it into the server, looking for any matches. Once they have found a match, you will get a notification, and will be brought to your soulmates profile.” The small man explained, moving throughout the room as he explained how the bracelets worked.

“But also, you will only be notified if you have a soulmate, but you might not be brought to a profile. You may be given basics if their mark is found in any medical history and the person has allowed it to be disclosed to the company.” The man held the bracelet up, the room of idols growing quiet as the stipulations were said.

“If your soulmate has worn the bracelet, or is currently wearing it, their information will come up, and any messages they have sent will be available to you at the time of identification. Once you get the notifications, your soulmate will receive one as well, notifying them that you’ve been found.” At his words, Namjoon looked over to their main manager, Sejin, who nodded back over. His management team already had a plan in place for, the smallest percentage, if they were to have another soulmate.

Once they got the okay, Jimin was the first to put his bracelet on, extremely curious to know if they were a completed bond, or if they had any missing soulmates out in the world. Like the man said, it took a couple minutes, but his heart broke once he got the notification. Hearing similar dings from his mates, he looked at them, tears in his eyes.

They had another soulmate.

One who had been wearing theirs for ten years.

One who had been messaging them.

And their last message said they lost hope and were going to take the bracelet off.

Next Chapter

1K notes · View notes

animatorweirdo · 8 months ago

Text

Soundless

Your father discouraged you from seeking the elf, but since you were desperate to have your locket fixed -- you decided to let his words go soundless in your ears. Turns out, the ill-famed Feanor wasn't so bad after all.

[] = Sign language

Warnings: mentions of a dead mother, hearing loss, rumors, Feanor's reputation, softness, and Feanor not being bad after all.

(Note: I decided to take a softer turn for this guy,)

---------------------------------------------

Your life has not been an easy one. Despite being born into nobility as the child of a Telerin lord, you faced your share of hardships from a young age. Your mother passed away shortly after your birth, and then you lost your hearing to a strange illness.

Growing up without the ability to hear the sounds of nature or music was incredibly challenging. Many people looked at you with pity, and some even speculated that you were cursed, given the unfortunate circumstances surrounding both your mother's death and your hearing loss. This placed a heavy burden on your father, who was left to care for you alone.

You two shared a great bond, and he had been genuinely a good father to you, helping you adapt to your disability and trying to make sure you were happy. However, you knew how tired he was and how he held a look of longing in his eyes. He was most likely still waiting for your mother to return from the halls of Mandos.

Your mother had been born with a weak body thus the childbirth took a severe toll on her and her spirit. The Valar and the Maiar assured that she would heal over time, but it would take a long time. There was a high chance she would return when you had already grown into your teens.

Your father was deeply saddened by the news and carried a heavy burden of guilt, believing that he was responsible for your mother being stuck in a state of recovery. Despite any rumors or beliefs held by others, he never allowed you to bear the blame. Instead, he shielded you from such notions, ensuring that you understood it was not your fault and that you were not to blame for your mother's passing.

You didn't want your father to blame himself, so you always strived to be on your best behavior and do things that would make him happy. You also wanted to prove to him that he didn’t always need to worry about you and that you could handle yourself, even if you were deaf. That was one of the reasons why you were determined to learn how to read people’s lips and make communication easier for yourself.

One of the only things you had from your mother was a silver locket.

Your father allowed you to keep it, and you held on to it ever since. Unfortunately, the lock had gotten stuck, thus making you unable to open it.

Your father didn’t know what the locket held inside, so you pleaded with him to have someone fix it. However, since the locket was an older design from the First Age, none of the craftsmen knew how to repair it. They all advised you to dismantle the locket and salvage whatever was inside, but you were unwilling to do so. You were fond of the locket itself and didn't want to risk damaging whatever precious contents it held.

You began to lose hope when there were no more craftsmen to turn to, and even your father seemed less eager to save the locket. He eventually told you to simply keep the locket as a memory, assuring you that knowing what was inside was not important.

You valued your father's advice, but you also couldn't shake the desire to know what was inside the locket. Perhaps it contained a picture of your mother, since you had so few of them in the house, or maybe it held a cherished item she kept as a memory.

You then heard about an elf who was rumored to be one of the best craftsmen known in history: Feanor, King Finarfin’s older brother and the eldest of Finwe’s children. You heard that he had done troubling things in the past and nowadays lived in seclusion with his sons, rarely attending social events. Despite his reclusive nature, his reputation as a skilled craftsman persisted.

You felt hope for your mother’s locket, but when you asked your father if you two could meet him, he suddenly became angry and refused. You were startled as you had never seen him so angry before.

Your father apologized for snapping at you and then explained that Feanor was not someone who should even be spoken about. Despite the passing of many years, the wounds he had inflicted were still fresh in the hearts of many. He was not to be trusted, so it's only for the best that you forget the whole thing.

Normally, you would have listened to your father, but your stubbornness to have your locket fixed strived you forward.

During a celebration event with most noble houses and the city attending, you sneaked away from your father’s side and made your way to the workshop where you heard Feanor usually occupied alone with his gadgets.

You had visited many workshops while trying to get your locket fixed, so you had a good idea of what to look for. It didn’t take long for you to find the place and walk inside. The workshop was empty, as most of the people were attending the celebration. Although it was a bit eerie to be alone, you pressed on until you found a door with light emanating from the room beyond.

You quietly peered inside and observed a dark-haired elf seated beside a table, engrossed in some task beneath the flickering candlelight. For a moment, you were awestruck, realizing that this was the famed Feanor, the elf who had allegedly committed terrible deeds.

With cautious steps, you entered the room, mindful not to startle the elf, and pondered how to approach him without alarming him. Unbeknownst to you, the door behind you closed shut, causing the elf to startle and snap his head towards you.

You were frozen in your place when you locked your eyes with Feanor. His features were sharp and he frowned when he saw you. For a moment, he looked a bit terrifying.

“Child? What are you doing here alone? Where are your parents?” Feanor questioned, but you awkwardly remained quiet as you only managed to catch ‘here’ and ‘parents’ from his lips. Your lip reading skills weren’t the sharpest despite you having been trying to improve them.

You took a deep breath and then tried to explain in sign language why you were there and that you had hoped he could take a look at your locket and perhaps know how to fix it since no one else knew how to.

Feanor gazed intently at you as you signed, and then there was an awkward pause. You weren't sure if he understood sign language, and you mildly regretted not bringing a piece of paper and a pencil, which would have made explaining much easier.

Feanor’s eyes then softened, and to your surprise, he motioned his hand in sign language.

“[Come here…]” he said.

You then walked up to him and handed him your locket.

He inspected it carefully, taking in the design and the lock. After he tested it and tried to open it, he then laid it down on the table. He grabbed one of the vials and what seemed to be a small tool. You looked at him curiously as he started doing something.

He then glanced at you.

“[Take a seat. This might take a while…]” He signed.

You nodded and quietly sat on the opposite side of the table, watching as he gently poured drops on the lock.

“[What is that?] you curiously asked.

“[A type of acid. It can remove the rust that had locked the locket from the inside,]” he explained.

“[Wait! So you can really fix it without having to break it?!]” you asked excitedly.

“[Of course I can. I do need to take the lock apart to clean the excess rust from the inside,]” Feanor explained while dropping drops on the locket.

“[How do you know sign language?]” you asked.

“[I was the one who first developed it,]” he answered, making your eyes widen.

“[Did you or anyone in your family have hearing problems too? ]” you asked.

“[No. I just wanted a way to bad mouth my half-brother without him understanding anything. I was a bit of a drama seeker,]” he explained, making you giggle.

“[Then it was adopted by those who were unable to speak or hear words,]” he added.

“[How long have you been unable to hear words or sounds?]” he asked while cleaning your locket’s lock.

“[My whole life. I lost my hearing somewhere in my birth,]” you answered.

“[Do you want to talk about it?]” Feanor asked, and you became excited. No one else besides your father has spoken to you in sign language this long.

You then talked about your life. How your mother died during your birth, and how your father had taken care of you your whole life. You also talked about how your father seems to be blaming himself for your mother’s death and how you hated when others would look at you with pity and think you had been cursed.

Feanor listened attentively while fixing your locket.

After half an hour of talking and watching him work, you took a break, but then you saw how the elf in front of you placed all the parts back in the locket and opened it.

You looked at him eagerly as he closed it and then opened it, making sure the lock worked properly before handing the locket back to you.

You grabbed the locket and took a look at what was inside. It was a small picture of your mother and father. They looked happy together, and there was also a small gem inside. It was most likely the gem your father gave your mother as a gift, and she had kept it inside the locket for safekeeping and carried it with her. You felt immeasurable joy looking at the picture and holding the gem.

Your father would be so happy when you showed these to him.

Feanor then caught your attention by tapping the table in front of you.

“[The locket should work fine for now, but make sure to take care of it and not leave it somewhere where it could rust again, ]” Feanor explained.

“[I will. Thank you,]” you signed.

“[Now come on. I take you back to the entrance. You shouldn’t be here,]” he said, then stood up.

You followed the elf out of the workshop, and you two then stood on the empty street while the celebration was still going in the distance.

“[Do you need me to escort you back there?]” Feanor asked.

“[No. My father is pretty easy to find, and I don’t think he even noticed that I’m gone. I’m pretty quiet after all, ]” you answered.

“[Very well, and by the way,]” he said, making you look at him curiously.

“[Your mother’s passing was not your fault. No matter how tragic it was, you are not at fault,]” he explained.

You looked down for a moment.

“[But others think differently,]” you said.

“[There will always be people who will judge you for what you don’t have. Don’t let their words get to you. Otherwise, your life will become difficult and harder to enjoy,]” he signed.

“[And remember, hearless or not, your mother would have loved you]” he added.

The thought made you smile. Your mother had a weak body, but it didn’t mean she did not want you. Your father and the rest of the relatives always explained how she was excited to have you.

She might be in Mandos, but she was going to return one day.

“[I won’t. Thank you, Mr. Feanor,]” you said, and he softly smiled.

“[Now get along now. Your father will notice your disappearance soon enough,]” he said.

You then suddenly hugged his legs, making him look at you surprised. He then patted your head as you freed him and began making your way back to the party. You waved at him, and he waved in return till he saw you disappear into the crowds.

Feanor returned to his workshop, feeling pleasant over the encounter.

#silmarillion x reader #middle earth x reader #silm fic #tolkien #silmarillion imagines #feanor #feanor x reader #feanor x child reader #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #middle earth #deaf reader

130 notes · View notes

notjustjavierpena · 1 year ago

Text

Three Times You Didn’t Kiss Joel - And One Time You Did - Part I: Introductions

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Enjoy the beginning of a four-chapter fic, where a cute summer romance starts! This is the same universe as Hurried Morning but before! Chapter two and three are just waiting to be posted.

Summary: Joel helps you restore your grandparents' house over the summer. He has big strong arms.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 no smut but mature thoughts (minors DNI), pining, summer romance, DILF Joel, sexual tension, idiots in love

Word count: 2.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47914783/chapters/120803500

Chapter One: Introductions

The house had been empty for a while when you had moved in. The location was good, somewhat quietly charming as the suburbs were, but the house’s neglect called desperately for a loving hand to bring out that charm again, which had been allowed to fade for too long. It wasn’t that the house had been willfully neglected by you, no you had wanted the house for a long time, but the whole scenario of you ending up here had been long and ridiculous: Your older brother had finally, out of the goodness of his heart, offered it to you, but only after a few years of having been in doubt about whether or not to move into it with his family. He had only gotten first say in the fate of the old place, because he was the oldest of the two of you, a thing that he liked to remind you of.

The house was overly suburban, missing only a wisteria bush and a fresh coat of paint, additionally, perhaps, a good amount of effort put into the garden as well. It was going to be a time-consuming summer project, but one that you were excited about because of its potential end result.

The house was all paid off by your grandparents, but after the passing of your grandfather some years ago, your grandmother had felt like the house was too overwhelming to live in all by herself, so she had found some place smaller and left the fight of inheritance to your mother, who had then passed it onto you and your sibling. The fact that you had now won that fight was ironic; you would end up alone in a house that your grandmother found too overwhelming to be alone in.

You step out of your car after parking it in the driveway, walking around its back to open the trunk and start unloading its contents. It is half your latest salary worth of a Home Depot haul.

You head to the garage door, knowing that your grandfather used to have a workbench inside and you need tools to assemble some of the things you have bought, amongst other a stepladder that you hope to build without too much trouble.

Though the lock at the bottom of the garage door is already doing its job of causing trouble, and you curse quietly as you have to put everything onto the ground at your feet to use both hands on it. The lock struggles for a moment but then clicks, and you finally pull up the garage door until you can duck underneath it with ease.

You get a feeling of someone watching you as you drag two buckets of white paint into the garage, following with a new set of brushes and paint rollers.

The feeling grows stronger as you reemerge from the garage and you start to hear muffled voices nearby too, but you ignore it due to how much you have scheduled for today. Additionally, you would admit in all honesty that you would be staring at the single woman neighbor too, if she was struggling with the garage door and making a fool of herself. You push your curiosity away and reach into the car trunk again.

“Hey,” it’s the voice of a teenage girl. You jump and nearly hit your head against the roof of the vehicle, and she chuckles a little in a way to seem cooler than she is, “Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you, but you just looked like you needed a little help and I wanted to offer. Well, my dad told me not to.”

“It’s alright, I’m grown. I can handle myself,” you stand up a little straighter to properly look at the teenager, giving her a smile to reassure her that you’re cool too. She’s around fifteen, kindest eyes you’ve ever seen in a girl her age, a mess of curls and her thumbs tucked into the belt loops on her jeans. She looks shy, but something tells you that she isn’t. You realize that you are staring, then hold out a hand and introduce yourself.

“I just moved in, inherited the place from my grandparents,” you add as the teen shakes your hand.

“I’m Sarah, we live just a house away. There,” she points to a nearby home, where a man is standing against one of the posts on the front porch. He has his arms crossed over his chest but you’re too far away to read his expression. Sarah continues, “Oh, right, that’s my dad. Yikes, that stance makes him look like a jerk.”

“Perhaps a little,” you laugh genuinely and Sarah beams at your approval. She raises her arm and waves her father over, who protests against it at first by waving his arms no, but then capitulates and walks over to you.

“Joel Miller,” he states as he approaches, holds out his hand and you repeat your name, trying to grab his hand for a shake, but it ends up the other way around with the size of his palm. Joel’s hands are huge and rough, calloused in a way that makes you guess that he doesn’t sit in an office all day. He has a firm grip, and you catch yourself watching the way that the muscles of his underarm flex when he holds your hand in what feels like an instant.

He doesn’t notice you staring at all, but you wonder if it’s because he is so used to it; Joel Miller is gorgeous, scruffy and sexy in his washed-out jeans and a simple army green t-shirt. You wish that you had worn something other than your dark blue t-shirt with a Batman logo, but a sundress would not have been practical for assembling stepladders and carrying tools.

“We were wonderin’ when we were gonna see someone move in,” he speaks with a Texan accent. It suits him very well, “I’ve wanted to paint the surface several times last summer, would be a shame to have it crack if you had the opportunity to save it.”

“I could use some help, honestly. My grandma moved somewhere smaller because it was too much work to be alone here,” you run a hand over your hair, brushing a strand behind your ear. Sarah looks from you to her father, and then back to you again.

“Maybe that’s our summer vacation!” She exclaims. Joel turns quickly towards her.

“Sarah, honey,” he warns but she just continues without a hint of hesitation, sporting childlike enthusiasm and innocence.

“But you said that we needed something to do together this summer, and we couldn’t afford a trip somewhere,” she reasons excitedly, “This is perfect. Very movie-esque, you know.”

“But it’s not our house,” Joel adds, smiles at you apologetically and makes your pulse spike.

“But she says she needs help,” she doesn’t let it go. It’s sort of sweet, “Come ooon, dad.”

“I do actually need help,” you back her up.

“You don’t have a boyfriend who knows how to swing a paint brush? Or who you’ll hurt by not letting him do the heavy lifting?” Joel asks casually. Sarah scrunches up her nose beside him.

“Nope, no boyfriend with a masculinity complex,” your cheeks blush a little as Joel chuckles, hidden by a smile as you shake your head no. You wish you did have a guy in your life, but right now only so you could see if there’d be any detectable disappointment on Joel’s face when you said yes.

Joel reaches up to scratch his beard. He looks like he is weighing the pros and cons, but a part of him also drags out the anticipation to tease his kid. He smirks, “Fine then, but you better be up early every day for a day’s hard work, Sarah Miller.”

“Oh, he used your whole name. You’re in trouble now,” you point out with a grin. Joel eyes you from beside you.

“Yes! Better than summer camp,” Sarah removes her fingers from the belt loops of her jeans to grab her father’s arm and press her forehead against it, “Thank you.”

“You’ve never been to summer camp,” Joel rolls his eyes but wraps an arm around his daughter.

“I sleep in though, so don’t come knocking at eight in the morning,” you point out.

“Dad sleeps in too, don’t worry,” Sarah keeps going.

“Sarah, what’s wrong with you?” Joel is the one who looks embarrassed now. He pushes her gently away, “Go back home, kid. Let the grown-ups sort out the details. You can call for pizza, yeah?”

“Ugh,” you hear her say to her father but she gives you a sweet smile, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Sarah,” you reply but she’s already walking away with her back towards you. Joel, on the other hand, doesn’t move from his spot in front of you, suddenly stuffing his hands in his pockets and almost entirely mirroring Sarah’s stance from moments before.

“Tell me what you need help with?” It’s meant more as a question or a suggestion than a command.

“Right,” you wonder how long you have been staring at his mouth. It’s been a while since you’ve been kissed, so you allow yourself the fantasy of Joel Miller being interested in kissing you. His beard tells you that it’s been a day too many since he would normally trim it, and you can almost imagine the feeling of the hairs tickling your chin and jaw as he kisses your mouth and neck—

Stop.

“Well, I have some work to do on the house facade,” you blurt out after the silence has gone on for too long.

“Clearly,” Joel nods in acknowledgement, crossing his arms over his chest and spreading his legs a little where he is standing. Like this, he looks like he is a good listener, “I should see if I can find some cheap but good wood protection, looks like it’s going to be more expensive in the long run if it doesn’t get some kind of coat.”

“That’s so nice of you,” you give him a soft smile. It is confirmed then; the man is clearly not the office-type with how he talks about restoring the construction of the house to its peak.

He goes on: “Don’t worry about it, yeah? I’m sure you can pay me with hot dinners for Sarah and I or something. I can do this, the work on the house, but I’m terrible at getting her to eat other things than takeout with my normal schedule.”

Suddenly very open. Interesting.

“I wouldn’t mind that, no. It’s going to be a lot of dinners though. I have a whole lot of ideas,” you reply, still trying to not drop your gaze to his mouth again as he talks, “Garden needs to be weeded out, replanted, lawn mowed— oh, you don’t have a lawnmower, do you?”

“Sure do,” he answers, nodding towards his house, “I can get it. You need help with that now?”

You blame the Texan sun for how breathless you feel as you have time to really look at him. He has his hands on the handle of his old lawnmower, gripping firmly to the point of unintentionally showing off his biceps in the form-fitted shirt that he wears as he pushes the lawnmower around the wild grass.

You are sitting on the back porch, legs crossed with a screwdriver in hand and the instructions to the, by now, stupid stepladder. You’re more creative than practical, and it shows in the way that you tighten one screw but the stepladder still wobbles as you test it out.

Frantically, you go through the instruction manual front to back and then back to front until you accidentally rip the thin paper, but you don’t feel any smarter about what you are doing. You throw the screwdriver onto the wooden boards beneath you, fighting the urge to scrape a bad word into the grayish wood.

You lean back on your arms and close your eyes almost all the way, soothing yourself by taking in the sun and letting yourself look at Joel work without him noticing too much. Your eyes travel down his frame, looking at the jeans that have green patches around the base of the legs before going upwards again. You try to convince yourself that looking at his clothes makes up for how you’re ogling him now.

Subconsciously, you stretch out your legs from underneath you, then cross one leg over the other and lean further back on your elbows instead. Joel’s knuckles are slightly white from gripping the lawnmower and his t-shirt has started to form a patch of sweat at the base of his spine, supposedly caused by sweat dripping from the back of his neck because the hair there is damp. You curl your toes a little, press your thighs together. You want to know how strong those hands are, how they work at his daytime job, which you guess by now has to do with construction work. It feels wrong to think these things, but you allow them as long as they don’t leave your head.

You close your eyes fully then, not needing to feel even more warmth prickle at your skin, radiating from your core instead of being caused by the sun. You lay like this until the lawnmower stops.

“Woah, what happened here?” Joel walks over and looks down at you and then to the crime scene you’ve left open on the back porch flooring. You stare at him with a sheepish expression on your face as he shields the sun from you with his body.

“It didn’t want to do it the way that I wanted,” you simply say.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he jokes and shifts where he stands until the sun hits your eyes again. You grin up at him, holding a hand over your eyes to not be forced to close them and miss how he looks as he smiles back.

“Thanks by the way,” you add a moment later, “I’m honestly happy that I don’t have to do it myself.”

“Yeah, no problem… Look, I’m gonna go back to Sarah, have a shower, then the pizza that’s probably cold by now,” he lingers for a moment before starting to move.

“Sorry about the pizza,” you say and start to get up again, leaving behind the mess of screws, ripped pages and stupid tools.

“All good, I think Sarah will forgive me. She likes you,” he waves back at you as he leaves. You wave after him too, something feeling like it’s about to implode inside of your stomach and you know what it is. It is butterflies. It is the beginning of a crush.

In the morning, you find the stepladder assembled to perfection on your back porch.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us #joel miller x you #my writing #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #dilf!joel

432 notes · View notes