#-to the kind of pointed shape now . not sure when or why it happened but. it has been given some grandeur. some flavor

[tacomanarrows]

Between the Sea and the Sky!

Hi everybody! Meet the TWO new guys I made between last night and today! Their names are Tarmac (an Aeromorph dog) and Soda (a pooltoy fox), and they've filled a desire for these two specific kinds of OCs I've had in mind for MONTHS lol. They were super fun to design and draw and I'm super excited to do more with them soon!! This piece is relatively simple but more so serves as their introduction hehe

See more about them, including refs and some additional pieces/information below the cut :] (it kind of turns into a huge braindump lmao)

Tarmac is an aeromorph, although a bit more towards the furry side of things rather than the plane side lol. His design is influenced primarily by the Concorde and the Space Shuttle! I couldn't decide for the life of me which of those two things I wanted to use so I thought "why not use both?" and here we are lol. I'm super happy with his design, with the black/dark gray markings mean to emulate the look of the Space Shuttle's thermal insulation tiles and then I really like how the red and blue stand out against the gray. I really like his icon too! I wanted to make it look like a stylized depiction of a plane (mainly a Concorde hehe) breaking through the sound barrier with a sonic boon! In terms of personality, I don't have a whole lot in mind yet. Mostly that he'd be the brave, adventurous type and since he can fly both in the air and through space, he's gonna be friends with Astro too :3

Soda is a pooltoy fox! I have wanted to make a pooltoy OC FOREVER (blame my mutuals for always posting/reblogging so many cool pooltoy OCs hehe). I finally got brave enough to actually give it a shot, and I love how he came out! I was mainly just thinking about summery themes and as I was just trying out different colors and stuff, I thought about orange soda, and that's the direction I ended up going! He's got a big stupid tail [affectionate] and can have either rounded bappy hands or have actual fingers, you're free to stylize that either way! I've only ever drawn a pooltoy character once ever before, so this was something way out of my realm of familiarity, but I'm so happy with how he came out! He's so shaped I love him so much already <33

So those are my two new guys! Making two new OCs at the same time is already a rarity for me lol. The only time it's happened before was when I made Rye and Pumpernickel back in August of 2021. And then making these guys when I had only gotten Astro about two and a half weeks ago means this is an exceedingly rare event for me lmao. My friends know how infrequently I make/get new OCs, so this just goes to show how much these guys have been bouncing around in my brain lately lol.

They are definitely gonna have some sort of connection to each other, but I'm not sure how I wanna go about that yet. Since I made them back to back, they are already connected in my brain, but I'm not sure how I wanna express that in a meaningful way. I don't wanna make them siblings bc, well, they're obv very different from each other lol, but they're kinda parallels (with one being in the sky and the other being in the water yknow), so as of right now they're definitely good friends with each other. I might upgrade that to bfs at some point in the future, but we'll see how things go hehe.

Anyways huge braindump of a post lmao, thank u for reading if u did! I'd love to hear your thoughts on these guys since they're so different from all my other characters! Also if anyone may wanna do an art trade of either of these guys (or Astro as well! I'd like to get more art of him too!) let me know hehe

[ichatake]

im curious since in ur request rules you have that you write yandere characters. What is your definition of yandere? How do you write them and what do you think about them? btw I really love your work.

and since we're on the topic, what characters would you see being a little yandere? What type of yandere would they be?

Hi Anon! I appreciate the question! Many people have different ideas of what a yandere is and how they should be portrayed. I’d like to start off by giving you the definition of what most people see a yandere:

Now, my definition of a yandere is a person who is completely devoted to another, to the point where they develop unhealthy tendencies. I tend to write my Yandere characters in a more realistic way. (I tend to stay away from the whole ‘oh gosh you just killed this person because they looked at me weird’ kind of writing style. It’s just not my cup of tea)

Since I’ve always been a big fan of psychological horror and dark romance, I portray yanderes as narcissistic, manipulative, and simply not safe to be around. They might have stalkerish tendencies, yes, but I like to focus more on how they would affect the person they like. (I know it kinda takes away from the whole definition of yandere) Basically, I just like turning the usual lovestruck, insane yandere into a more realistic version of themselves (as realistic as they could get in the ninja world. I hate completely altering a character’s personality into something they’re not).

What do I think of yanderes? Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to meet one in real life. I like reading and writing them in fiction, but in no way shape or form do I romanticize or agree with whatever the Yandere does. I do not condone any type abuse because it’s absolutely vile that someone might go out their way to hurt others. Having said that, I think many people might not find the way I write yanderes very pleasing, because it’s not what they’re used to seeing, and that’s totally okay!

Now to answer you final questions:

I believe there are a few characters that might have the possibilities of becoming a Yandere or having Yandere tendencies:

Obito (way too obsessive):

I know a lot of people think the same way as I do. I believe that Obito is a man with serious problems.

He technically grew up alone, just with his grandmother. He almost succeeded in putting everyone in an infinite genjutsu, where he could distort reality to his liking and be with the girl he loved.

It’s safe to say that he would be a yandere where if push comes to shove, he will do whatever it takes to have you near him.

He is obsessive (he had a lot of pictures of Rin when he was young, so…). He needs to remember your face clearly, even when he’s away from you. You’re the reason why he breathes. He lives because you allow him to. That’s what he thinks.

Madara(protective and controlling):

Hear me out, this man is complicated.

Sometimes he would put his desires over you, but if we’re going to be honest, he’d shred down the world for you.

If something ever happened to you, Madara would take no time in avenging you. He’s a little different to Obito. Although he’s obsessive, he doesn’t completely revolve his life around you.

He likes feeling possessive over you, but he can leave at any time that he needs to. You have to wait for him. He’ll be a protective yandere, looking out for you and making sure you understand that he’ll be the only one there for you.

Kakashi (protective, pathological liar) :

Whoa? Kakashi? Really? Yes really. This man has grown up alone. He made friends, they died. They left. Anytime he got close to someone, they’d disappear. It’s only logical that if he were to fall for someone, he’d like to protect them.

However, this protectiveness can get overwhelming. He knows you’re capable of protecting yourself, he simply doesn’t want you to. If one thing he’s done wrong in life, it’s protecting those around him. This was his time to make up for all those times he failed.

He isn’t used to affection, but when he has it, he craves it. Badly. You need to remind him that you love him too, or else he might just think you’re ready to leave him at any time.

He isn’t above lying to get you to do something. He’s lied before, so why not lie again? If it gets things going his way, he won’t care. A little harmless lie can turn into a bunch of them.

Sasuke (distant, but protective) :

If he likes you, he definitely won’t show it. If he genuinely cares, he won’t be above doing anything inhumane. He’s already done a lot of things in this world that got him hate, adding another one to his list wouldn’t be a problem.

He’ll work from the shadows. He’ll love you from far away. He isn’t really affectionate and doesn’t know how to show it.

One things certain though, you’re his lover. He will give his life for you or take another.

You ask him for the moon and he will serve it in a silver platter before leaving.

Do I think other character could be Yandere? Well yes, this is fiction after all, but these are the best that fit that description. Anyways, thank you for your questions! I’d love to answer more if anyone else is curious or wants to request some Yandere content!

[404-art-found]

Buddy ref sheet NOW!!!!

FUN LOOSE REFERENCE SHEET

mask can be on the helmet or under it. any body type. any suit color. varying amounts of blood on it if ya want. go ham be free

[bettsfic]

one of the best decisions i've ever made was to stop arguing.

i'd always been an arguer. i was defensive about everything and mindlessly contrary. it wasn't all my fault; i was (and still am) talked down to and patronized a lot, and when you live your life that way, you become kind of a raw nerve and dedicate a lot of energy to trying to prove yourself. someone even told me once, "it's just fun messing with you. you get so upset."

at 23, i was working in an environment where about a half dozen middle aged conservative men were always telling me what to do and explaining things to me. i either argued with them when they said heinous things or stewed about it for hours or even days. and so my new year's resolution one year was simply: no arguing.

it felt a little like defeat at first, like i was no longer standing up for what i believed in, even though no matter how right i was or how much proof i had for my claims, no one had ever been swayed by anything i told them. part of that was because they had no respect for me and didn't take me seriously; the other part was the simple truth that arguments are almost never productive. when someone says something and you immediately reply with, "you're wrong and here's why," a wall goes up and nothing can go over it.

i couldn't just let these men talk at me though, so i started asking questions. not leading questions, not with an intention to prove a point or walk them into a corner. i genuinely wanted to understand how they came to shape the opinions they held. i realized that understanding and agreeing are two different things, and just because i seek to understand doesn't mean i condone.

a truly fascinating thing happened: these men walked into corners all by themselves. it turns out nobody had ever actually tasked them with speaking their opinions aloud to a neutral audience. no one had ever been sincerely curious about them and their views. sure, their loved ones probably asked, "how are you doing?" all the time as a show of affection, but that's much different than, "what do you think?"

knowing what i know now, i think that's true of everyone. how many people ask you for your opinion and listen to what you have to say without speaking their opinion back to you? without judging you? how many people actively and intentionally try to understand you?

it's been over ten years since my resolution and i think i can count the arguments i've gotten into on one hand. one finger, even. it's amazing what happens when someone tries to rile you up, pick a fight with you, and your only response is, "can you elaborate on that?"

you can work someone into a very open and vulnerable state when you ask questions. they eventually run out of their usual talking points and move into the personal. when i do this, it's not like therapy; i'm not trying to help anyone. and it's not like teaching; i'm not trying to educate anyone. i just want to understand how people reach the conclusions they've come to. even after all these years of asking questions and not arguing, it still amazes me how few people in this world feel understood, and how easy it is to get them to open up when you say, "i want to know what you think."

[schrodingerscougar]

Part two for this one. I'm sorry for the cliffhanger in the first part. The illustration is from the amazing @ave661 .

--

Four months. That’s how much time it took Simon to get out of that hazy fugue state. He didn’t really remember what he had gone through during that time, his brain switched to autopilot after the breakup. He often wondered why it affected him this much when he didn’t even love you. You were just someone he spent time with, someone he tried to play house with for a short while to feel normal.

Still, now as he lay on his bed, watching the ceiling fan rotate to stir up the hot air in the room, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He even found himself opening a social media app to search for your name from a fake account he had set up a long time ago, and he was shocked to see the most recent photo of you. It was impossible to miss the unmistakable shape of a baby bump under your shirt, and based on its size, you got pregnant long months ago.

When he was finally allowed to go home for a short while, Simon went to see you. He knew he had hurt you, he knew you were probably still mad at him, but he had to know if it was his child. It only happened one time. One night when he tried to fix things by giving you what you wanted, hoping sex could make him see you in another light. Maybe he would finally want you the way you always wanted him to want you. But it didn’t work, and it was after that night he made the final decision to end things with you.

“What do you want?” you asked him when you opened the door.

Simon nodded as he bit the inside of his cheek. This cold welcome was fair enough, he deserved this kind of treatment. Normally, he would have left you alone. But normally, you would have told him you were pregnant.

So he silently pointed at your belly and waited for you to realize what he wanted. He knew you weren't dumb, the pieces would fall into place in a second. And sure enough, you let out a sigh then opened the door wider to let him in.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked you as he stood in the kitchen next to you with his arms crossed.

You were busy making him a cup of tea, but you took the time to silently shrug. When he let out a heavy sigh, you looked over at him and said, “I didn't think you'd care, Si. Simple as that.”

You were right. He didn't care. Even now that he was looking at you, his eyes occasionally moving to the bump that hid his own blood, his mind was somewhere else. He was a soldier, he knew how to take responsibility for his actions. You getting pregnant was his fault too. He couldn't just ignore the problem.

“I’ll pay child support,” he assured you.

“No need.”

Simon reached out to put a hand on the base of your neck, but you quickly pushed his hand away before he could touch your skin. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

You inhaled through your nose and held your breath in for a few seconds before finally exhaling. “So what? You’re gonna be around and help us? Take her to a doctor’s appointment or for a stroll around the block?” When you saw him looking down at his shoes, you couldn’t help but snort. “Thought so,” you said.

“I’ll better get going. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Months flew by, but Simon barely noticed. He was on a mission again far from home, risking his life as usual. You never called and he didn’t force it. He accepted that he would have to live with the guilt of making this happen. Since you didn’t want to accept child support, he opened a bank account where he stored that money, hoping that one day he could give it to you or his daughter when she became old enough.

One day he checked your social media accounts like he had done a few times before, just to see how you were. This is when he saw the post in which you announced the arrival of your baby girl. He didn’t make a big deal out of it at first. She was born and she would probably ask about her father one day. If he was still alive then, he would gladly give her a toned down explanation. If not… Well, he left everything to her in his will.

Eventually he began to save the photos of his daughter and he often found himself looking at them. She was adorable, some of her features resembling his own. Her big brown eyes were definitely his; the color and the shape were both so familiar to him.

No one from the team knew about this part of his life. He had never told anyone, because why would he? They were close, they were his brothers, but you and your daughter were carefully guarded secrets in his life. Simon knew the real reason why he never talked about you; he was afraid of the judgmental looks and words.

Two months later, when he entered his apartment again after another round of deployment, Simon didn't really know what to do with himself. He ended up looking at his daughter's photos more and more often and eventually he made up his mind to give her a visit. It had absolutely nothing to do with you. He was doing this for the little girl.

You weren't welcoming but, once again, he couldn't blame you. “I just want to see my daughter,” he said softly, hoping the two of you could avoid fighting.

For long moments you were cautiously watching him, as if you were trying to decide if he could be trusted or not. But then your eyes fell on the big teddy bear he was holding with one hand and you let out a sigh of defeat.

On the way to the nursery, you didn't talk at all. The silence didn't bother him, but still he would have appreciated some words about the little girl he was about to meet. Was he allowed to pick her up? Did she like to be held? How was she? Did she have stomach ache often? Were she teething?

“Be quick,” you warned him when you stopped by her crib.

Simon let out a sigh. “Come on, don't be like that.”

You just rolled your eyes at him before taking a step back to lean your shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded over your chest, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. He found it a little too much, he hated that you didn't trust him. Sure, he hadn't given you many reasons to trust him, but for the sake of your daughter you should have tried.

With a sigh, he rested an elbow on the side of the crib and reached out to touch the baby as gently as he could with his other hand. His own flesh and blood. It was amazing, really. Without asking for permission, he picked her up and couldn't help but smile when the baby smiled at him.

Now that he was holding her close to his body, placing soft kisses on her head every so often, Simon couldn't deny that he already loved his daughter. There was an invisible string between them, something that brought her closer to him that anyone has ever been.

The baby giggled suddenly and it brought an even wider smile to Simon’s face. He could only hope you would let him see her as often as he could visit, but something told him it wouldn't be easy to convince you.

“She likes you,” you suddenly noted.

He put down the little girl then turned to you. “The feeling's mutual.” A faint smile appeared on your lips. “Can I see her some other time?” You nodded. “Thank you. If I can help with anything, just give me a call or send a message. I'll get back to you as soon as I can,” he offered.

You been to walk out of the room and he quietly followed you, waiting for you to say something. He didn't really know what he was expecting to hear, but he had a feeling you were holding back something. And sure enough, after a few minutes of silence you began to talk, scolding him for not even bothering to send at least a text to ask about her before suddenly showing up.

“I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd read them.”

“I'm mad at you, that's true,” you agreed.

Simon leaned against the doorframe as he watched you pace in the living room like a caged animal. He remembered those nights he had spent thinking about on deployment, the moment he saw that photo of you, and he realized that maybe he was missing you.

But how could he miss someone he didn't even love? Or had he developed feelings for you, feelings he tried to hide even from himself? It was way too confusing for him, and he didn't like to be confused. It was a weakness on the field and in his civilian life.

“I should go. If you need anything–”

You came to a halt, turned to him and nodded. “I know where to find you. But can I ask you something?” Simon motioned you to go on. “Why now? Why did you become interested in her all of a sudden?”

He let out a thoughtful hum as he put his hand on the back of his neck. “I saw the photos, how much she looks like me, and… I don't know.” You took a few steps closer to him, but you still kept a comfortable distance. “I've been saving money for her. I want to give you access to that bank account.”

“I don't need your money,” you were quick to say.

“It's for her. Please, accept it.”

You became mad at him, accusing him of assuming you couldn't take care of your daughter you'd been raising on your own from day one. He knew there was no point in defending himself, you were too lost in the hate you felt for him. So he just waited there in silence, letting you finish your speech.

Then, the moment you seemingly finished, he closed the gap between the two of you. He didn't know what he was doing, he just followed his instinct when he leaned down and kissed you. This was probably the first time he truly enjoyed kissing you, and it helped a lot that you were quick to return it.

Maybe this was why he wanted to come here today. To fix things. To try to get a family he'd been craving ever since he lost his own.

(part three)

[moonstruckme]

hmmm how about james potter and shy reader’s first kiss? 💘

Idk how this sat so long in my inbox, thank you for requesting (and for your patience) angel!

James Potter x shy!reader ♡ 998 words

You know James has been holding back on your account. He’s still a thousand times braver than you are, always with a hand cast over your shoulders or resting on your back or clasped around yours and compliments dropping from his lips like they’re nothing. You find it easier to reciprocate when he makes the first move like that. To lean into his side, tighten your fingers around his, smile and tell him he looks lovely, too. 

Tonight he seems to be taking things further, and you suspect you know why. He’s seemed reluctant to let you out of arm’s reach all night. Instead of just holding your hand, he’d played with your fingers while you’d sat in the cinema. He’d pushed your hair out of your face when you turned to talk to him, and a couple of times he’d wiped chocolate from the corner of your mouth that you suspect wasn’t really there. Now, as you’re walking home, he’s rubbing a slow, absentminded back-and-forth across the back of your hand with his thumb. It feels like he’s testing the waters. 

You’ve been dating for a while now. You’d wondered when it would come. 

James walks you up your front steps, every smile he beams your way worsening the bone-thuddering beat of your heart. It’s not necessarily James that scares you. He’s perfect and lovely and kind, and you want him close so badly it’s humiliating. 

He squeezes your hand in his, and your nerves misfire, the toe of your shoe catching on the top step. You gasp as you pitch forward, but James is quick. He grabs you around the middle and you save yourself with your other foot. 

“Whoa,” he laughs. “You alright, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Sorry, I don’t know how that happened.” 

“They are your own front steps,” James points out. There’s a knowing in his eyes, in the soft curl of his bottom lip, that makes your cheeks warm and your stomach flutter. “I hate to think of what unfamiliar steps do to you if you’re falling right outside your own home.” 

“I know.” You look down, pretending you need to check your shoelaces or brush off your pants or some other ruse he won’t believe, and try not to be so acutely aware of how he hasn’t let you go. “It’s humiliating. The neighbors will talk.” 

“Let me know if they do. I’ll set them straight.” 

You grin up at him, and James’ expression is as warm as his voice. His eyes go molten as they meet yours, a look now familiar and yet newly thrilling every time. It makes your spine feel rubbery. 

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he says, voice gone a bit softer than usual. “I had a really great time.” 

“I did, too,” you reply earnestly. “Thanks for inviting me.” 

“You’re always invited, sweetheart.” His touch slips from around your middle, taking your hand again. “See you Friday, then?” 

When you’d told James how busy you’d be this week, he’d penciled himself into your schedule for Friday, when the pandemonium will have ceased. He wants to cook you dinner. You think you’ll likely deliquesce into a heart-shaped puddle when he does. 

“See you then.” You smile, and he smiles back, and then intention solidifies in his gaze.

You hold your breath. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. 

“Please.” The word leaves you on a sigh, and then James is stepping closer to you, your fingers tightening on his. 

The first soft press of his mouth is gentle and chaste. Warm, like the rest of him, like sunlight given form. His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, and you lean into the touch on instinct, slotting your nose alongside his to get him closer. It starts so slow and lovely you’re not sure you can handle anything more, but then James parts his lips and you mirror him reflexively and his sunlight is pouring into you. 

You let go of his hand to wrap both your arms around his neck, and James smiles against your lips as you press closer to him, his hand gentle on your face as he slows you both down again with sweet, soft kisses to your bottom lip. 

“Easy,” he says, his own voice slightly hoarse now. It sends shivers down your spine, light as a feather’s touch. “Let’s give the neighbors one headline at a time, yeah? Don’t want to overwhelm the presses.” 

You’re lost for words. You let your forehead rest against his, eyes still closed, savoring the warmth emanating from your lips. 

“Sweetheart, you with me?” James tilts his head up so his nose bumps into yours. You feel your lips curve of their own volition. “Was that okay?” 

You hum. “You’re right,” you say, impressed with how normal you manage to sound. “I think we should go inside so they’re left to wonder.” 

That earns you a hearty laugh, James grasping your shoulders when you’re forced away from him by the raucousness of it. 

“You said you were tired just a few minutes ago,” he reminds you. 

“I feel awake now.” 

He laughs again, delighted, and your face warms at your own brazenness. James lets his touch slip down your arms to your hands again, taking them in his and squeezing reassuringly. 

“As much as I’d like to,” he says, “you’ve got a big week. I should let you get to bed. Plus—” he gives you a roguish grin “—keeping you wanting more is how I get you to let me in here on Friday.”

You grin down at your shoes. “That’s very conniving of you.” 

“Oh, yeah, I’m nefarious that way. But one more.” 

James tilts your face up with a hand, pressing one quick, sweet kiss to your lips before pulling out of your reach. You know you look as surprised as you feel, because his eyes dance with amusement as he backs down the stairs, his smile poorly repressed. 

“See you Friday, sweetheart.” 

[n0t-y0ur-piece-0f-cake]

The study of human social behaviour

Summary: you get kidnapped by Yautja, as well as some other people. You try to escape but in a twisted turn of events, you end up being an aliens mate for life.

Fem reader x male yautja

Warnings: NSFW, kidnapping, non-con/rape, violence, death, swearing, metion of forced pregnancy

MDNI / MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

For everyone else: read at own risk

Not proof read, English is not my first language

---------- <3 ----------

"I remembered how I was sitting at my dining table, eating.

Just minding my business and trying to calm down from my stressful day at work. But everything changed with a sudden white light illuminating my surroundings completely." I said, looking into everyone's faces. We sat in a circle. On the cold white ground. What seemed to be LED lights shone so bright, it hurt my eyes at the beginning. Now my eyes didn't mind anymore. The walls were empty and cold.

I turned to look behind me. Looked at the big glass where these aliens are probably observing us. "And that's how I ended up here, in this room. That's all I know." My glance shifted right back at the group. We were three women and three men. Some acknowledged my story by nodding, others by just looking at me wide eyed. I was last to tell. Their stories weren't any diffrent. All of them experienced that white illuminating light. And then they were waking up in here.

I have no idea how long we've already been here. But probably not even a day. Neither do I have any idea what these aliens want from us. Or if they would be happy to tell us, if they even know our tongue.

For now we just sat around. Trying to wrap our mind around what we should do. What THEY would do. One guy threw in a idiotic plan on how he would try to escape, which was quickly shut down and discouraged by us. Why? Because we already saw these aliens. We saw how they were built and could easily lift a out of hand human, to throw them out. The guy they threw out was here again, but he was now quiet. I don't know what they did to him. He doesn't tell either.

After a while our conversations got more quiet, less frequent. I personally was frustrated there was nothing to pass time here. Frustrated I still don't know what the fuck they want. I was laying on the ground for a while now. Others laying too, or sitting against the wall. Suddenly the lights dimmed. I jump up and look around. See if I can spot any differences. Nothing. After a few seconds a big plate from underneath the viewing window was brought into the room. On it were various kind of fruits and vegetables from earth. We all looked at each other. Confused. Should we eat it? Is it poisoned? A woman took the first step. "I'm hungry!", she exclaimed. She took a Mango and bit right in it, peeling the skin then, when she punctured the Mango.

Everyone else followed. I did so too, grabbing an apple, inspecting it. I stood close to the viewing window. Out of curiosity I pressed my forehead against it, I could see the shape of these aliens. They stared at me. Noting something in their, what seemed to be, computers. I sat down on the ground. Just like everyone else. We were now gathered around the plate containing food.

After what seemed to be another hour, the light turned even more dim. Enough to see, but significantly more darker. "I have to use the toilet. Real bad", one of the guys said. "Use the corner?" The other guy said. One girl got mad and made a gagging sound "Are you crazy?" "Well where else is he supposed to go? There's nothing here!"

I look up at the window, and point at it. "Maybe we can ask them?" "Oh sure. Please mister or misses alien, give us a toilet." The guy who had to pee said mockingly. The girl that was still quiet since the beginning sighed and said we should give it a try. She stood up. She looked at all of us, unsure if she should really do it. I nodded. The pee guy nodded too. "Toilet! We need a toilet!" She screamed at the window. Nothing happened. I look through the window again making sure someone is even on the other side. Which yes they are. I look at the girl. "Do it again", I said. She screamed again. This time I joined in and banged my fist against the window. The guy who had to pee chuckled and mocked us again.

Suddenly the big plate was taken back. The sound of a motor made us all go quiet. We looked at where the sound came from. We all starred in awe as a new small room in a corner was build. The new walls including a door came out of the big walls. The motor kept whirring until it seemed to lock in. The guy who had to pee stood up and bolted for that room. As he opened the door he screamed out in ecstasy. "It's an actual fucking bathroom!" He slammed the door, locking it and doing his thing. We could hear muffled yelling. "It has a shower and everything, holy shit!"

The girl who was screaming at the window to get a toilet sat down again. We were all still in our spot. And the rest of the room was still empty. We were all in that corner as if the rest of the room is bad. The guy came back from his bathroom break. Sat down with us as well. I didn't know anyone. Not even their names. Would it be awkward to ask now? Whatever. I'll do it. "I'm Y/N."

They looked up at me. Silence.

"I'm Dave", said the pee guy. "Rachel." The girl that screamed but was always silent.

"Maria", she smiled as she said her name. The girl that was disgusted by the 'pee in the corner suggestion'. "Alexander. But Alex is cool too" said the guy who had lost his temper at the start and was taken by these aliens to god knows where but brought back.

The guy who suggested Dave to pee in the corner sighed. "Nick."

"Is that short for anything?" Maria asked. "Nicklas." Silence again. So now we know each others names. I was tired. I layed down. Some others followed soon after. Motor whirring came up again. We jumped up to look. Out of the wall came beds. For everyone one. They were lined up next to each other on one wall, next to the bathroom. We looked at each other again. We slowly stood up and went over. A fight soon came to ensue. No one wanted to sleep right next to the window. "One of the men have to go on that bed!" Rachel stood her ground. "Nuh uh", said Nick, "I won't let them grab me first!"

"There's not even a door there! To be frank the door is over there!", Dave pointed at the other wall, the door was disguised. The wall plate was over it, covering the door. We all know. Because Alex was taken through it. "Nick, they're always gonna be watching us, everyone of us. It doesn't matter." I said. Nick turned to me. "Then go ahead and sleep on this bed. It's all yours."

I rolled my eyes. I looked at it. At all of them. None of them had blankets. Only pillows and a matress. I nodded. "Fine." Since this discussing was over we all just laid down. Alex still sat on the foot end of his bed. Starring at the opposite wall and where the door is. I was too tired to hold more conversation today. And I don't want to push him. So I just fell asleep.

The next day was more of the same. Our day was started by being woken up by motor whirring sound. Another plate with the same food being brought in. But instead of grabbing something everyone groaned and made a run for the bathroom. Some were faster some slower. I stood up slowly. I didn't have to pee that badly. I passed Alex bed. He was still laying in it. Eyes closed. Snoring. He's a deep sleeper. The line became smaller and smaller. And at last we were all gathered around the table and eating. Except for Alex.

"What did he see?" Maria asked. Everyone shrugged their shoulders. Silence. Maybe no one wanted to keep talking about it because maybe these aliens will get mad. Understandable. We left some food for Alex on the plate. As we stood up and went back to our respective beds to sit down on soft ground the motor starter whirring again. The plate with Alex's food was taken back. Since I was closest to the window and the plate I jumped up and grabbed the left overs before it was fully gone.

I placed it at the foot end of my bed. Waiting on my bed for anything to happen. Dave stood up and banged his fist at the window. "We're bored!" Maria rolled her eyes. There was no reaction even after a while. "Ask for something specific." Rachel said. I nod. "Oh! Like a PC or something." We all looked at Maria's comment. "A PC? What would you want with that? I doubt they have earth Internet access or would allow us to use theirs. If they even have that." Dave said.

"Well they do have PCs so I think they might have Internet? But... yeah. Ask for something else maybe?" I said. Dave resumed banging on the window. "Give us paper and pen! Paper! Pen!" Alex was awoken by the comotion. He grunted. "Shut the fuck up!" Motor started whirring again. A table with a chair like thing appeared. Right in the middle. On it, was nothing. Dave turned to the window again. "For gods sake, Pen! Paper!" Another whirring. This time the plate where usually the food was, came with several pencils and a stack of paper.

Dave grabbed a pen and paper. "If you're up for it, let's play some paper games." Not even a minute later we all gathered on the ground playing 'Town, Country, River'.

It's been days now. Painted and written paper was scattered underneath our beds. We requested a few more things. Like music, but it was a Walkman or whatever you called them from the 80s. We tried requesting a movie, all we got was a Disc, but no TV or anything. It doesn't even say what kind of movie or other media it contains. We requested a flashlight because Maria started to freak out when the lights dimmed for the night, which they granted. We requested actual cooked meals. But all that came was questionable looking things. They tried their best but... didn't look to edible. We did taste it. Either it was bland or not cooked through. So we kept eating fruits and vegetables. Yes. We did try to request raw foods, even going as far as to write and draw the ingredients and what tools we'd need, but they didn't do anything. None of them ever came in since Alex little incident. Not until this day.

We weren't sure if they had cameras in this room or not. Or where their blindspots are. So we came up with something. Nick, who had suggested before that we should try and escape, 'invented' the human pile. We would throw ourselves on a pile, laying on the ground with our stomach, basically. So our heads would be looking down at the same spot in the middle and our heads would be so close together we'd maybe have the chance of a camera not catching what we write on a piece of paper. We'd also be stacked upon each other, and someone would have to hold Maria's flashlight so we could see what was written on the paper. Because that's how close our heads had to be. Of course these aliens must wonder and get suspicious what we'd do. So we started out with drawing really weird things like memes. Of course we'd laugh about it. We all hoped the aliens would think we were just doing some stupid human bonding stuff drawing these pictures.

And only in-between we wrote the plans and discussions for escaping. We'd black them out or overdraw them with memes. Just to make sure. Our plan so far? The strongest must pretend that he has a heart attack or something. Everyone else needs to back up against the empty wall and pretend to be scared, where the door is. So when they open it the second strongest and strongest can distract them aliens. But why try to escape? We were here since days. Pretty sure we're on a planet. Not ours but a planet. We can hear no big motor sound that made us think that we were still in space or something. Also the fruits and vegetables changed in shape, size and color that it made us think that these ones are not from earth anymore. They looked more alien yet earthly. Like they've ran out of earth veggies and fruits and now only have their similar stuff left.

Maybe we'd have a chance of surviving out there. But we won't stay here forever. We asked them on how long they plan on keeping us here. What they want. But no answer ever came. They just starred back at us through the window. We're not gonna die here.

The day of the plan finally came. We all kept acting as always. Wake up. Eat. Do something. Nick and Dave worked out, push ups, squats, whatever, trying go get more pumped up for later. Alex was still in bed, not yet getting up, but due to the circumstances fully awake. Maria, me and Rachel on the ground playing or drawing. Rachel then got up. She took some tomatoes from under her bed that she kept there from this morning and started screaming and acting weirdly. The plan has started.

Maria and I got up. Looking at her. The men turned to look at her. We all pretend to be in shock. She started throwing the tomatoes on the window. Taking the table and throwing it against the window. Dave shoved the table to the wall, where he ordered us to go and stay safe away from Rachel. Still the plan.

I felt my heart pumping hard. I am so nervous. This could go so wrong. Suddenly the plates were moved and the door was opened. An alien came in and headed towards Rachel. Dave immediately grabbed the table and smashed it down on the alien. They got into a fight, the table broke so Dave took a piece and hit it over and over again. The alien groaned. We ran towards the door. It was closed. There were buttons tho. Alex pressed the one he remembered the most from the day he was taken. It opened. Just as wanted to slip through the door closed on me and Dave. Dave got stuck between the door. It didn't do much. But the wall plates started moving to shut close. We heard the others scream from the other side. Nick and Rachel quickly taking over and running away with the other two.

The wall plates didn't stop. Dave screamed for help. I grabbed his arm and started to pull him, but his other arm was stuck in the door. He flexed it, twisted and turned it, but it was stuck. The wall finally came to a close. I screamed and looked away as a crunching noise emitted the room. I shut my eyes and held my ears with my hands that quickly let go of Dave. I looked at the ground. My back was turned to Dave. A puddle of blood came close to my shoes. I took away my hands from my ears. Listening if I could hear Dave speak or breath. Nothing. Silence.

I felt nauseous. I felt like I was about to drop dead myself. I couldn't bear looking back at him now. I dont want to see his crushed body. The alien that has been hit layed in front of me. Seemingly unconscious as he was still breathing. Defeated I sat down next to it. I couldn't even bear to sit on the bed now. I heard commotion behind me. The wall plates and door moving to open. Daves body hit the ground, before he was dragged out. When I was sure he was gone, I turned as well. Ther was no alien standing guard. So I jumped up and ran- but the unconscious alien grabbed my arm and jerked me right back down with one motion. He wasn't unconscious. He was pretending like we were. "Please let me go." I said, still trying to pull away but the alien was just too strong.

It got up. Its large frame hovering over me. It was wider than me too. His muscles seemed so large and its grip... two things that showed me that it could crush my skull easily if it wanted to. I was as well lifted up to stand. Another alien, unlike the one holding me, wore white instead of silver armor. The one now standing in the doorframe also seemed to wear more fabric. Was more covered. The one holding me seemed to wear the more basic armor or clothes. So I thought. They communicated in a tongue I couldn't understand. When they were done, the one holding me looked down to me, looking deeply into my eyes. I looked at it back. It's eyes shone yellow, against his dark, almost black and brown shades of reptile like skin.

I couldn't read its emotions. Out of no where it yanked me with it, dragging me god knows where. Are they going to put me down, out of my misery like the experiment animals that we maybe were? I was dragged out of the room, I jumped over the puddle of Daves blood. Feeling disgusted and being reminded about these sounds his body made. I'd never forget that. Hallways and hallways without end. We seemed to get into another testing facility. As it still dragged me, we passed embryos of various types of unrecognisable creatures kept in large tubes.

I didn't fully understand, couldn't grasp on it that quickly. Until we reached a empty room. It wasn't large. Maybe 10 feet in every direction. "Are you going to kill me?" I asked. The alien looked at me. It shook its head no. It could understand me. "What will you do then?" It tilted its head to the side. A deep voice, growling animalistic, started to speak. "Experiment." "Experiment?", I looked at it shocked. It could speak. But what does it mean? "What were you planning with my group?" It took a while until it could form another sentence, like as if it was trying to make sure it was using the right words. "Ooman social Experiment. But now they dead." It said in broken English.

I looked at it wide eyed. "You just wanted to observe our behaviour?" It nodded. "When ooman is entrapped, yes." "And then?"

"Let ooman free again, but oomans tried escape, now dead." My eyes widened even more. "You would have let us go??" A tear ran down my face, knowing we would have made it out alive anyways. "They're dead? I saw them run out!" "We killed." It said almost confident. I looked at it now with confusion. "So why not kill me, huh!?"

"Other experiment. I decide." I tilted my head now too. "Other experiment?" "Yes, but ooman will not get out of this." It said stepping closer to me. I took a step back, trying to create distance, it tried to grab my arms but I quickly turned and tried to get to the door. It did reach it, but I didn't know which button to press, neither did pressing all of them help. Or all of them at the same time, before it grabbed me by the waist, to slam me onto his frontal body. "No escape, ooman", it growled above my head. Not long after it placed its hands on my pants colar. I placed my hands on its arms, trying to get these arms away from there, knowing where this will go. My pants buttons were ripped right off, didn't matter how much I tried to get it away. It then pulled down all of that I wore underneath my waist. Now my bare ass and vagina were exposed to the cold air. One hand was placed right between my legs, cupping my vagina, while it's middle finger started working on my clit. It send out signals to my brain I didn't want. I yelped like a puppy. I saw how it threw a cloth to the side of us. I remember it, it was the cloth between its legs. That was seemingly worn as a type of pants.

I grabbed its arms, that was still cupping and working on my vagina, still trying to push it away, I clenched my legs together, making the feeling and every movement even more intense unwillingly. My yelps have turned into small gasps of air. I leaned back on its chest, looking up on it. "Please stop" I begged. It leaned down, so much so that I was made to bend over in the process. Its hand stopped cupping me. And the other was on my neck, its pressure on my neck and now waist made me arch my back. "Stay." It demanded. I whimpered, but I obeyed. Pleased that I stood still, I felt it part my fold with its fingers. If I wasn't sure if this alien was male before I was sure enough now.

Before I knew he placed the tip of his cock into my vagina, before grabbing my hips and slamming his length into me. A scream left my mouth. A pained one. It was something I never felt before. A girth what felt like almost 4 fingers wide and a length that hit my cervix on the first slam. And from what I could feel, he still had more, that just couldn't fit in. He leaned down back to me, so my back and his chest weren't ever to part. "Mate." He said. He started with a slow pace, i could feel more of his cocks texture. It seemed to have some kind of small knobs on it, on its shaft. My face felt hot. Almost burning. I didn't know where to place my hands, so i placed them on top of his. Almost grabbing him. "My mate." He growled even more as his breath seemed to picked up with his pace. Him hitting my cervix now harder made me squirm in pain, but at the same time it felt good. His pace got even more faster. My right hand traveled to his right side of his hip, trying to push him away, or at least to make him slow down. It was too much for me, as I let my head drop, my eyes roll back and soft moans now escaping my mouth, his pace dropped but his thrusts became more violent, as well as his grunts. Not long after he buried his cock as deep as he could, standing up straight and letting me feel his warm cum fill me, as he still held me in place with his hands on my hips.

I saw it drip down along my thighs, it was a glowing greenish substance. "My mate." It repeatedly muttered. My heart pace calmed down after a while. As well as my body seemed to as well. So he pulled out. "Ah'kun", he said, pointing to himself, before he put back on his cloth covering his dick. He left the room without a word.

I stood there trembling, unsure what to do now. How to even process what just happened or throughout the whole day to be exact. Ah'kun did come back after a while. Bringing another cloth, almost looking like fancy panties, with sumo like cloth in the front and back. He held it infrong of my feet. He wanted me to step in so he could make me wear it? I guess so. So i did. He pulled it up. It was almost a bit too tight. But it should do for now. In the same motion as he pulled up my new panties or pants, he undid my shirt and bra. Of course I tried to go against it, but he just didn't bother. He was still stronger. He disposed all of my clothes with a trashcan that came out by pressing something on an empty wall. Right after he dragged me out. I was now wearing nothing but these weird panties. "Forgot..." He said. Taking a necklace of his neck and binding it around mine. "What is that?" I asked, looking at the necklace seemingly made out of bones. "Shows everyone your mate. My mate."

I look at him. At this point, I wasn't a experiment to him anymore, wasn't I? He took my silence for an answer, that was good enough for him. As we stepped outside into the daylight, we were right. We were on a planet. A tropical one. With what almost looked like aztec pyramids. And it seemed to be normal that these aliens wore only these panties. Even the female ones. Only few wore armor. "Why don't they all have armor?" I looked at him, as he held my hand. "No hunters or warrior" he pointed at the majority that didn't wear armor. "And you?" I said, I looked back and forth at them and him. "I, elite hunter. You have luck, my mate." He started to get confident again.

"Why luck?" "Elite hunter, high status." He said even more confident. His ego definitely stroked. He dragged me down the stairs of the pyramid we were in. The lab pyramid I'm taking. As we stepped out of the shadow, it was even a smart idea of him to remove my warm clothing. Because the sun here was brutally hot.

We were walking for a bit, the other aliens looked at us, specifically me. Some talked with Ah'kun, in their native tongue of course. Giving him proud pats on the back. Was a human mate an achievement? A trophy? Who knows. I don't. We finally reached another pyramid, one of those many. "My home, you live now too, here."

He closed the door behind me. In here, the air was cool again. The decorations and furniture style felt similar to several antique human civilisations, but yet held their advanced alien touch. I looked everywhere. There was even an armor room. Where his helmets and other armor were displayed. A trophy room with several heads of all kinds of creatures.

I kept looking. I found everything you'd expect from an house. Bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, living room. And empty or barely filled rooms. "What's all the empty rooms for?" "Storage. And little ones." I tilted my head. "Little ones?" He nodded. Did he mean kids? Was I even able to give that to him? What was I thinking. When did I start to be okay with this? This isn't my planet. In that moment it dawned on me. Was this my life now? I started crying. Not just because of the fact that I was here, but because of all of this.

Ah'kun patted me caringly on the back. "You will be good mom, no worry."

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART 8.5 (JOEL'S POV)

previous chapters | so after the last chapter there were SO many people who really wanted to understand joel's actions, and i thought instead of him simply explaining to reader what happened, why don't i just write a chapter entirely from his point of view instead? hopefully this answers some questions, enjoy! and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: you're not the only one who has a busy weekend ahead of them. one text changes the trajectory of joel's relationship with you - for better or worse. (this is essentially chapter seven and eight from joel's pov) rating: 18+ explicit warnings for this chapter: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, discussions of child abandonment, mental health & cheating, alcohol, allusions to past sexual encounters between joel and his ex, brief flashbacks to smut from previous chapters word count: 13k ao3

He thinks about you so much more often than he should.

Your soft skin, your smile, your eyes, your hair, your little giggles, your shy and breathless whimpers.... your body, pliant and sweet beneath his touch, open and willing and waiting.

You're so perfect. You're so young.

He's never been with someone so much younger than him before. He's not sure you realize that. But that day on his doorstep when you'd wandered down the sidewalk looking like a bit of a lost puppy, that little frown line prominent between your eyebrows that he's come to adore, something clicked. You brought out a side of him he'd long since buried; he knew he had to have you. He just knew. Could feel it in the pit of his stomach when those gorgeous eyes had come to rest on him. Wide and innocent and sad. Something he saw there that made him pause.

He'd have had you that day if you'd let him, a fact that he's still grappling with. Long gone are the days where he'd meet a woman and take her home within a twenty four hour span - long gone are the days where he's so much as been interested in a woman he didn't know well enough, someone safe and secure and familiar. But he hoped you'd be back, almost knew you would, could see it in the way you shivered under his gaze, the way your eyes lingered on his face, on his fingers. He hadn't felt like being charming in a long time; he'd genuinely surprised himself with the flirtatious comments, the sly smiles, double meanings. But he couldn't help himself.

He'd wanted you so bad. The moment you'd disappeared down the street he'd gotten in the shower and fucked his fist for only a few minutes before coming all over the tiled wall at the very thought of you. He didn't even know your name but had already memorized the curves of your body, the shape of your lips, the smell of your skin when he'd gotten close enough. He'd practically limped back to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed in a heap, staring up at the ceiling with nothing but shock and confusion. Where the fuck had that come from?

He's such a dirty old man.

Old being the operative word. He turns fifty seven in a few months and the thought makes him feel physically ill. It's not that he necessarily hates the thought of getting older, of being one step closer to knocking on death's door, but more-so the fact that he's almost fifty seven and has almost nothing to show for it. His life is a mess, has been a mess for as long as he can remember.

But now... you.

You... full of life and eagerness and kindness. A soft and gentle angel in his bed, on his couch, in his kitchen. So shy and quiet, telling him what you think about, what you worry about. Letting him whisper the filthiest things in your ear while you whimper and moan, letting him touch you the way you deserve to be touched, the way you've never been touched before.

You bring something out in him he can't explain. He'd invited you inside that first day looking for a quick fuck and he admits it was a moment of weakness, the whole thing. He knows Sarah and Mish would kill him for even considering treating you that way, like an object, something to be conquered. The past version of himself who briefly felt that way about you makes him angry now.

Because now he really wants you. Not just a fuck - he wants you. He thinks about you all the fucking time and it scares the shit out of him. What started as something dirty and frivolous quickly turned into something tender and sweet the moment you told him you were a virgin, and he doesn't know how to handle it. You're so fucking lovely but so fucking sad and unsure, full of apprehension, regrets, insecurities, things he sees in himself. You remind him so much of himself at that age and he just wants to take care of you, be the person for you that he didn't have.

But you're so fucking young.

He tries to push the feelings down. He's purposely distant to you, especially during the week. You send him sweet little messages, tell him about your day, ask him about his. He stares at them for so long without answering them, and when he does answer his replies are short and vague. Because how can he say what he really wants to say? I think about you so much, angel. I want you to be mine. I don't want you to chase after any college boys or have any college boys chasin' after you. I wanna be your first and I wanna be your only.

How can he put you in that position? You're having fun, you're learning things, but there's absolutely no way you see any sort of future with him. The fact that he can already see one with you is the biggest red flag in itself - what the fuck is wrong with him?

But you're just so fucking sweet. So lovely. So gorgeous. He wants you in his bed and he wants you to stay there. He knows he'll be the first person to ever fuck you and that thought is enough to keep him going, yet he can't help but want more. But it's so selfish - you're young and bright-eyed and pretty and perfect, the promise of an incredible future ahead of you. And he's just... him.

He's old. He's grumpy. He's washed up. Became a father in high school. Got married. Got divorced. Has had more failed relationships than successful ones. Has been working the same job since he was twenty years old, a job he fucking hates. Loathes it with his entire being. Still doing the same work for the majority of his life with almost no breaks, no stops. He knows he should retire, should have done it years ago, but he's afraid.

He's always been fucking terrified of change. Earlier this year he'd moved into a new neighborhood. He'd gotten sick of the house he'd once shared with Mish, then Mish and Sarah, then just Sarah - the one she'd lived in sporadically 'til she was twenty six and finally felt financially stable enough to go out on her own. He'd stayed there about ten more years out of convenience, had another failed relationship with a woman who deserved far better than what he could give her, then finally pulled the plug and got something new for himself a few hours away, hoping it'd change his perspective. He'd picked a place with privacy, good acoustics, thought maybe he'd play his guitar more - focus on his music and slowly phase himself out of the contracting business.

But months later, he's still working it. The thought of being unemployed after working this hard his entire life, just ending up sad and alone in this new house, still not even properly furnished or decorated, makes him want to throw up. What the fuck would he do with all that free time? He's always wondered exactly how he'd spend it, how life could be enjoyable without the structure of his livelihood, but then he shakes it off and just keeps going because he knows the alternative has to be worse. But now... you.

You - who if you truly knew what a fucking failure he is, the boring bag of bones he pretends he's not when he's with you - would leave his bed and never come back.

You - who if you found out about his ex wife, his daughter, both of whom live adventurous and exciting lives while he's done nothing but stay still in the comforts of familiarity - would probably find him beyond pathetic.

You - who can do so much better.

He just knows that it can't last.

--

He gets the text from Sarah on Wednesday morning:

Hey Dad!! Me and Mom are doing our annual road trip, thought we'd stop down there for a bit and have a look at your new house!!

He tries not to notice the excitement of seeing his daughter being slightly dulled by the promise of being accompanied by her mother. In a way it makes him sad, because he loves Mish, has loved her since he was seventeen years old. He cares deeply about her and has always wanted nothing but the best for her, has always enjoyed her visits in the past - for more than one reason. But now...

No. He has to shake the thought away before he freaks himself out.

Kiddo!!!! That's exciting, when were you thinkin?

We'll be there by Friday afternoon!! Sorry for the short notice but we weren't sure if it'd be possible til today. We're actually trying to stick to a schedule this time believe it or not.

That's ok, you know it doesn't matter to me. Wanna see you any time. Miss you a lot.

Aw Dad I miss you too, I can't wait to see you!!! We'll text when we're getting close. Gonna check into a motel that night and we'll be leaving again the next morning, gotta stay on track.

He almost offers his guest room. Almost. But then thinks better of it.

Sounds good kiddo, see you then :)

Mish texts him later that afternoon. He'd been expecting it, knew she would want to double check that the visit was alright, but her name popping up in his notifications sends a jab of anxiety to the pit of his stomach. It's one thing for Sarah to visit on her own, but both of them together always adds a... different layer to the situation. A layer that needs addressing. A layer that he'd usually have more than a little excitement for, some anticipation - but not this time.

Sarah's got me roadtrippin again

She loves to make you suffer.

Don't I know it

He can't help but chuckle to himself, but his smile fades quickly as soon as the next message comes in:

Gonna be stopping by on Friday. You good for our usual?

He stalls.

Thought you were still with Elvis.

ALVIN. And no that's over

Sorry about that.

Like hell you are

He purposely doesn't answer her question, and she doesn't send anything else. The anxiety doesn't go away though - it spreads throughout his body until he's an absolute mess, shaky hands and ringing ears at the job site as he tries to stay focused, but ultimately fails to. His crew flits here and there around him without much direction and they end up going overtime, leading to an angry call from the boss, a call that leaves his hands clenched into fists by the time he gets to the bar with the crew. Fuck. This. Job.

He drinks too much, tries to calm himself, keep his thoughts steady. He pretends he doesn't know why he's feeling like this, pushes down all the reasons he wishes Sarah was traveling by herself this time. But deep down, he knows.

He gets a ride home with one of his buddies, limbs aching in a way that they haven't for a while. He always has days like this, days where the physical labor catches up to his aging body and reminds him that he really shouldn't be doing this job anymore, but somehow it's worse this time; the mental load from Mish's texts are giving him a discomfort he can't really describe.

He remembers only as he crosses the threshold that he promised he'd call you. Shit.

He does, but he can't remember much of what he said the next morning, only that he vented a bit. He hopes with every bone in his body that he didn't mention Mish, that his complaints focused solely on work.

Your texts that afternoon from the church bathroom prove this to be the case, and he breathes a sigh of relief when you agree to come see him that night. He knows he'll feel calm in your company, that the anxiety will ebb away in your presence.

He tries not to think about the implications of that.

God, he's fucked.

--

You had a horrible day.

You show up on his doorstep with tears shining in your eyes and that soft little line furrowed deep between your brows, the line he adores, wants to smooth with his thumb. He pulls you in close and breathes you in and finds that the anxiety, the worry, the uncertainty, all of it disappears in your embrace. You tell him you don't want to do anything, just want to be with him.

You have no idea how much it means to hear you say that to him.

He lays you in his bed and holds you for a while, listens as you tell him about what happened, confide in him. You tell him more about your upbringing and your family, your school years and friends, the pressure and scrutiny you've felt suffocated by your whole life. And god if you're not describing him. You have no idea how fucking similar the two of you are, how much he wants to wrap you up and protect you from the world and from all the people who threaten to dull the light in your eyes. Don't become like me, he wants to whisper, you deserve so much better.

He could listen to you talk for hours. That soft voice lulls him into a state of nirvana he's never experienced, body practically going numb with how in tune it is with your words, like he's become some kind of plant absorbing all your emotions, thoughts, feelings, as you bare yourself to him. You're so lovely. Please never stop talking.

It all culminates in the removal of your crucifix. He barely even thinks about it, just knows exactly what he has to do to calm you, to make you feel better, to steal back some of those worries from you and lock them away for a little bit where they can't hurt you. It's the least he can do. He wants to do it.

It's a gesture he doesn't fully realize the importance of, the magnitude - not yet, anyway.

He backtracks while you shower. It's just sex. This is not going any further than you showing her how it's done, preparing her for the real world, for the future men who actually stand a chance with her. The thought makes him dig his nails deep into his duvet as he settles under the sheets and takes a deep breath. She's not yours. She doesn't want you the way she thinks she does. She doesn't know the real you.

He can't help but picture you in his shower, standing naked under the hot water, in the exact spot he's gotten himself off to your very image. His dick twitches in his pajama pants and he has to adjust himself, cursing softly at his dirty thoughts and reminding himself that nothing is happening tonight, that you don't want to. He's not even disappointed, doesn't care that the sexting from earlier isn't coming to fruition tonight; just laying with you is enough for him. And he hates himself because he knows exactly what that means.

His phone vibrates while he's waiting and he picks it up from the nightstand - a text from Sarah:

Gettin closer! We should be there tomorrow, probably late afternoon. Do you work Fridays?

Yep, he wants to say, Monday to Friday, every week of my entire life since before you were born, but of course he doesn't. Would never.

I do but I'll be back around 5:30 or so. I'll give you a call when I'm home.

Sounds good!!!

Also:

An image comes in and he taps it, squinting his eyes to figure out exactly what he's looking at. He can make out Sarah and Mish sitting atop some statue of a bull they must have encountered outside a gas station. Sarah's arm is thrown back as she poses with her signature killer smile, while Mish grips the bullhorns and sticks her tongue out, braids peeking out from under a cowboy hat. There's something about it that's familiar, something he can't quite place as his eyes strain without the aid of his glasses - the ones he never wears. He pushes his phone away from his eyes, brings it back and hopes to bring the image into focus a little bit.

Oh. It's his hat.

And fuck, if he doesn't know how that makes him feel.

"You need glasses," he hears you say softly, and he looks up from the image of his daughter and ex wife to see you standing at the edge of the bed, clad in nothing but a towel.

He locks his phone and hopes you weren't standing there too long.

--

He doesn't know how to tell you that he won't be able to see you tonight.

He spends the morning in complete and utter bliss, waking up to your bashful request to give him a blowjob. You're so fucking sweet, even when asking for something so filthy. Your mouth is soft and warm around his cock and he feels like he's died and gone to heaven, wants desperately to spill inside and watch you swallow but knows it's not the right time, not yet.

He wonders what your face would look like covered in his come.

Dirty. Old. Man.

You burn his breakfast and furiously apologize, cursing under your breath as you soak the freshly burnt pan under the faucet and frown at your failure. But he doesn't view it as a failure; for him it's just another thing to add to the mental list of reasons he thinks you're adorable.

You ride his thigh. He makes you come, the most beautiful little sounds escaping your lips as you ride it out. He loves how that little worry line between your brows always returns when he's making you feel good, like he really is taking some of that worry away and replacing it with pleasure. He only wants to see that line when he's making you come. He never wants to see you sad again like you'd been last night, just wants to hold you in his arms and protect you from the world.

But then it's time to go and he still hasn't told you about tonight. He does not want to lie to you. He refuses to. But what else can he say? Just that he'll be out late? What if you ask him why? And god, it's not like he's gonna do anything. He's not gonna entertain Mish's offer, not this time. He shouldn't. He won't.

You save him the trouble. Your friend from college is visiting, a girl named Tasha - she's taking you out for the first time ever. He supposes that makes things much easier; no explaining or giving excuses, no revealing things he's not ready to reveal. He dodged a bullet.

Right?

So why does he still feel like such a prick?

--

He gets home from work and calls Sarah, just like he said he would. He only has a short window of time to do a bit of sprucing - fluff the couch pillows a bit, do a quick wipe down of the bathroom - before the doorbell is ringing and he's jogging to the door with excitement coursing through his veins. The anxiety has dulled at the mere promise of seeing his daughter on the other side of that door.

"DAD!" she squeals excitedly as he thrusts it open, and he's immediately enveloped in the warmth of Sarah's embrace, sweet and familiar.

"Kiddo," he breathes into her hair, feeling tears prick in his eyes like they always do, "Missed ya."

"Missed you too," she says into his shoulder, muffled and quiet, "So much, Dad, you have no idea."

They have their moment together, eyes closed as they sway on the spot and smile tearfully - it's been almost a year since her last visit. It didn't used to feel as palpable, those long periods of time between seeing each other, but as he's gotten older he finds that he misses her a lot; his little pal, not so little anymore. Thirty eight now, a full blown woman with a loving husband and a freshly solid career as an author, the life he always wanted for her.

"How're things?" he asks softly, "You doin' okay? Need any money?"

She laughs, "Things are good. I'm good, I promise."

"How's Jude, he good?"

"He's great, and the book's been doin' really well."

"I'm so happy to hear that, kiddo, really. Happy for both of you."

"Thanks, Dad," she murmurs, sniffling a little bit, "Couldn't have done it without you, hope you know that."

And then she's pulling away, wiping the tears from her eyes and waving to the purple convertible behind her, gesturing for Mish to get out of the car.

Here we go.

She steps out and god, she's gorgeous. Age has done nothing but enhance her beauty. She's never not been the most stunning woman in a room, soft skin a glowing deep umber, supple long legs and playful smile and those dark brown - almost black - eyes that practically sparkle when she looks at him. Like the way she's looking at him now... fuck.

"Hey," she says with a sly grin, shutting the car door behind her and making her way up the front steps.

"Hey," he echoes back, "How was the drive?"

"Long," she groans, reaching him and going in for a hug. It's nowhere near as long or as intimate as Sarah's, but the feeling of her body against his feels just as familiar and comforting. It's so easy to fall back into their rhythm. Too easy. "You been good?" she asks as they part.

He nods quickly, "Yeah, you?"

"Can't complain," she replies with a smile.

"Oh please," Sarah scoffs beside her, "All you've done is complain," she looks to Joel with a grimace, "Alvin's out of the picture."

"Sarah," Mish admonishes quickly, brows narrowing.

"Yeah, I heard somethin' about that," he says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, "Uh - that's too bad, Mish. He was, um... he was a good guy."

"No, he wasn't," she sighs, rolling her eyes and giving Sarah another look, "But that's a conversation for another time, right?"

Sarah puts her hands up in defense, "Sorry, sorry, my bad. We've been in the car too fuckin' long," she peeks past him with a curious expression on her face, "Can we come in? I wanna see your new house."

He shows them around, though there's not much to see, something which Mish points out almost immediately.

"Where's the character?" she asks, raising an eyebrow as she assesses the living room, "Like where's your stuff, Joel?"

"There's not even pictures of us anywhere," Sarah adds with a frown, scanning one of the bookshelves, "It's like we don't even exist."

He grimaces, hands on his hips, "I know, I'm sorry. I still have a few boxes up in the guest room but," he sighs, "You know me, I hate gettin' emotional over shit from the past. And half those boxes got your old school stuff, and-"

"Your Dad's a sentimental guy," Mish interjects with a soft smile, giving him those eyes again, "It's okay, we'll unpack 'em for you."

He scoffs, "We ain't got time for that, Mish."

"I always have time to be sentimental," her smile grows wider and she throws him a wink - his heart stutters.

"Well I always have time for a movie marathon," Sarah suddenly says, turning from the shelves with an array of DVDs in her hands, "Whaddaya say, Dad? Curtis and Viper? After the bar?"

He cocks an eyebrow, "The bar?"

"Oh? Didn't you hear? We're takin' you out, cowboy," Mish says with a smirk, "Or - I guess you're takin' us out. Whatever, either way we're goin' for dinner and drinks like the well adjusted wholesome family we are."

"And then we're gonna eat too much junk food and pass out on the couch like the good old days," Sarah adds, tossing the DVDs onto the coffee table, "Miller family fun."

"And do I get any say in this?"

They both turn to him at the same time with almost the same expression on their faces, and he knows he's already lost.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

--

They have dinner at their favorite chain, practically inhale their burgers and fries as Sarah and Mish catch Joel up on the trip so far, where they've been, what they've seen. He's grateful that the conversation is still on them by the time they get the check and start heading to the bar; he really doesn't want to answer any questions about himself tonight unless he has to.

The bar is louder than usual, much more packed than he's ever seen it. He grumbles this to Sarah and Mish but they just roll their eyes and order their drinks, cozying up together on their barstools and laughing hysterically over things that certainly aren't that funny. They're exhausted from their road trip and he can tell, tries to urge them to head back to the house after about fifteen minutes of being at the bar, but they resist.

"I like this place better than your old joint," Mish calls to him over the chatter, "Smells better too."

"Am I supposed to say thank you?" he calls back with a grin, and she just rolls her eyes and orders him another whiskey.

They don't stay too long, just enough for the girls to get their fill and toss back a few beers, continuing to tell Joel about their trip. Sarah scrolls through the pictures on her phone and shows him the tourist traps, the stops they've made here and there, the food they've eaten. Mish chimes in every so often to add her own anecdotes, bouncing off Sarah's stories naturally like she always has.

He loves how easy it feels to be with them, how comfortable, how safe. He's missed them so much. He wishes things could just stay like this for the rest of the night, simple and light, but every so often he catches Mish looking at him from under her lashes, those dark eyes searching his for something in particular, and he remembers there's still something they haven't addressed.

"Oh my god, Mom," Sarah suddenly says with wide eyes, pointing toward the front of the bar, "Do you see that girl's hat?"

"Where?"

"Those girls over there, look at that purple cowboy hat. Fuuuck, we should be wearing ours!"

Joel rolls his eyes, not bothering to look in the direction Sarah's pointing to and instead focusing on his whiskey, trying to think of ways he can get them out of this bar. Curtis & Viper is suddenly calling his name.

"They're still in the car if you wanna grab 'em," Mish says with a laugh, tossing Sarah the keys, "If you can walk straight."

"Oh please, I've had one beer. We're not all lightweights in this family, ya know," she presses a kiss to her mother's cheek before sliding past to head back to the front of the bar.

"Well, now that we have a moment alone..." she leans forward a bit on her elbow, hand cupping her chin as she tilts her head, "You didn't answer my question the other day, cowboy."

Here it is, the conversation he's been dreading, the one thing he's been putting off talking about the most. And why has he been dreading it? Why has he been filled with so much discomfort and anxiety at the thought of telling Mish that even though he's technically single, he can't be with her this time? It's not like she'd be angry with him, like she'd misunderstand or throw a fit over it. So why can't he just say it?

He knows why. It's because he doesn't want to tell Mish about you. It's because the second he says no, she'll see right through him; she'll know. She'll know immediately that there's somebody else, and she'll clock his feelings - the feelings he's been forcing himself to bury - and then he'll have to confront them, what they really mean.

And as usual, he's terrified.

He plays dumb, "What question?"

She inches the stool forward with a smirk, eyeing him pointedly as he feels her bare leg touch his jeans, slowly drifting up and down along his calf. Fuck. She tilts her head, eyes falling to his lips and then going back up to meet his gaze.

"Playin' coy, are we?" she asks softly, "Need me to say it out loud, huh?"

He feels goosebumps rise all over his arms at the sound of her voice like that, low and sultry; it's the voice she reserves just for these private moments together, fully aware of the effect she has over him.

"You gonna fuck me, cowboy?" she continues, eyes falling to his lips again, "Huh? You been missin' me in your bed?"

Fuck.

He doesn't say anything, just watches as her face moves a little closer to his, the hint of his favorite sly smile puling at the corner of her mouth. She assesses him quietly, gaze raking over his features.

"You're shy tonight, aren't you?" she says, fluttering her lashes, "You need me to take care of you, baby boy? You need your mommy?"

Only Mish could get away with saying something like that to him. He can't help but let a grin cross his own face as he shakes his head at the words, feeling his cheeks flush. He's still unsure what to say, what to think, how to feel. Under any other circumstance they would already be fucking in a bathroom stall at this point, and in a few seconds she's gonna realize that and wonder why the fuck he won't give in.

She kisses him then. Softly.

And it's right. It's so fucking right in all the ways it's always been. Her mouth is warm, lips plump and wet and sweet against his, capturing his bottom lip between hers in that seductive fashion she's oh so good at. Without any thought, as if on instinct, his hand comes up to cup her face, holding her there for a moment as he breathes her in. He realizes how easy it would be to just fall back into this rhythm, this old habit they've been indulging themselves in for years. It just feels so right.

But it's also so fucking wrong.

It's wrong. It's so wrong. This is not the mouth he wants to be kissing. For years, he's always found comfort and safety in Mish's kiss, never once felt like what they were doing was incorrect or some kind of mistake. But now it's like every fiber of his being is telling him to stop. To pull away. To end this as soon as possible.

So he does.

He takes a deep breath as they separate, pulls back from her on his stool a bit and takes another sip of whiskey. No, this can't happen. It's not going to happen. But he's gonna have to tell her that, otherwise she'll take the next step and he's not sure he'll be able to reign it in after that. The thought of her naked body underneath him in his bed is admittedly a tantalizing offer, the thought of being inside her again after so many years apart...

But she won't be the first naked woman in that bed. In that house. Someone else has already staked their claim, regardless of whether what he shares with you is real or not. And that thought is what pulls him out of it.

"Sarah's right," he says with a smile, "You are a lightweight."

She cocks her brow, "You think I'm drunk?"

He chuckles and takes another sip, "I think you're only here for one night and we should be spendin' that one night with our daughter."

She doesn't say anything for a second, just watches him thoughtfully until he finally meets her gaze again.

"Joel Miller, are you gettin' laid?"

He almost chokes on his whiskey, unable to stop himself from snorting as he shakes his head and peers at her with that fond look he's always given her, the one that lets her know that despite everything, he fucking adores her. She leans a bit closer, tilting her head a bit more with intrigue.

"Seriously, you seein' anyone?" she seems genuinely interested, eyes alight with curiosity, "You got someone new?"

Before he can say anything - before he even really knows what to say - Sarah has reappeared at the bar, hats in hand. He looks down at them and raises an eyebrow as Mish grabs hers, or rather his, the ratty old brown one he used to wear sometimes in the eighties. She grins and winks as if to say yeah, I stole it, so what?

"Okay well, purple cowboy hat girl is currently holding her friend's hair while she throws up on the sidewalk," Sarah sighs, placing her own atop her head.

Joel and Mish groan simultaneously, "Been there," they both say at the same time, catching each other's eye before Joel turns his attention back to his drink, almost gone now. She doesn't ask him anything else, but he knows this conversation is far from over.

--

Sarah drops them off at his place, promising to be back in a bit with the much anticipated junk food - no point in them all going together. Joel almost tells her not to go, his heart in his throat as he and Mish climb out of the car. He can't believe how desperate he suddenly is to not be alone with her. But he can't bring himself to say anything.

Coward.

She walks into the house first, almost like she's leading him into the lion's den. There's no escaping her questions now, no more running away from the inevitable. He has to tell her before it's too late. The front door closes behind them and they stand frozen for a moment, not speaking, not even really looking at each other. He could cut the tension with a knife.

"So how 'bout showin' me those boxes?" she finally asks, turning to give him a smile.

They make their way up the stairs to the guest room, Joel's anxiety reaching new levels when they pass by his bedroom. He not so subtly grabs the knob and pulls the door closed, tries to pretend he doesn't notice Mish eyeing him as he does it.

The guest room is still pretty bare bones, only a bed and dresser occupying the space, along with about half a dozen cardboard boxes. He's been meaning to do it up for when Sarah comes to stay, do some decorating, but he's never been good at that kind of stuff - Mish and Sarah were always the creative ones.

They crouch on the floor together and Joel watches as Mish pops open the first box, digging her hand inside and immediately coming out with a framed photo of Sarah's kindergarten graduation.

"Aw, look," she murmurs, thumbing the glass lightly and turning it toward him, "Little bean."

"She was so excited you came," he says with a smile, "It was all she talked about for months."

Mish smiles back sadly, eyeing the photograph one more time before placing it on the floor. She reaches in again and comes out with another framed photo, this one of an even younger Sarah being pushed on a swing by Joel. She's probably almost two, chubby legs poking out through the holes of the swing as she giggles in wonder, Joel standing behind, squinting against the sun.

"I've always loved this one," she says quietly, showing it to him, "Always wanted a copy to keep."

"We can make that happen," he takes it from her and looks down at it himself, feeling a mixture of emotions flutter in his heart at his much younger self - freshly twenty - pushing his little girl. He'd been on his own for a while at that point; he can see the tiredness in his expression, the loneliness.

"Still mad I missed all that," she murmurs, sitting back on her heels and sighing deeply, "Hate myself so much sometimes."

He's not sure what to say, just puts the picture back down and reaches in for another one - Sarah's high school graduation this time. It's a backyard photo, one taken at the barbecue they'd had with about thirty people all crammed into one frame. There are smiles all around, beer bottles raised, and Sarah in the center wearing that beautiful purple dress she'd spent almost a year working on. Mish and Joel stand on either side of her, frozen in a moment of laughter.

What the camera didn't catch was that behind that purple dress, they were holding hands.

"What a party that was, huh?" Mish glances up at him from under her lashes, those dark eyes sparkling with nostalgia, "You remember?"

He smiles softly, "I remember."

--

The arrangement started in '03.

They hadn't seen each other in about three years when she showed up on his doorstep in the summer of '96. She'd been in and out of their lives before then, usually called every other week to check in and talk to Sarah but rarely ever showed her face. Sarah barely knew her but had a love for her that burned so deep that Joel couldn't say half the things he wanted to. Couldn't tell his daughter that her mother was unpredictable and unreliable, that she'd disappeared for almost two years after Sarah had been born, hadn't checked in once, had only begun to show up again in 1988 when Sarah was almost three. And then one day the calls just stopped coming and he had no other choice but to tell her the truth. She was only eight.

Mish showing up again out of the blue when Sarah was eleven was not something they could have ever predicted. He was angry. She was sorry. She'd been to a facility, had been seeing a psychiatrist and a therapist for a solid chunk of time and was on medication. Sarah slapped her across the face and sprinted barefoot down the street until her toes were bloody and she couldn't run anymore. Joel found her and cradled her in his arms like he'd done when she was a baby, promised he'd make Mish go away if that's what Sarah wanted.

It was not what she wanted. She wanted a mom. She wanted her mom. She wanted them to be together.

After that, all they could do was try and heal.

And Mish tried. She did. She was ready. Joel was willing to listen. Sarah forgave, slowly. By Christmas of '97 they were living together again. They'd put their wedding rings back on.

But it couldn't last.

"Maybe this just isn't meant to work," she'd whispered to him tearfully on their back patio on a rainy day in March of '98, head in her hands, "I'm better in some ways but worse in others. I'm not meant for this kinda life, Joel. I just can't stay still anymore."

"Maybe we aren't meant to work," he'd told her firmly, "But Sarah needs you, Michelle. You can't just keep coming back into her life and then disappearing. If you do, you're never gonna see her again."

"I know," she'd whispered, quiet and scared, "I know, Joel. And I won't, I'll never do that to her ever again. But I just..." she'd hung her head, tears streaming down her face, "I just don't know what to do."

He'd suddenly felt a flash of deja vu, a reminder of a moment similar to this one twelve years earlier, when he'd held her just like this while she'd cried in his arms, hopelessness raking through both their trembling forms in the downpour.

"They'll kill me, Joel. They're gonna kill me. How am I supposed to be a mom? This can't be real. This isn't happening. What are we gonna do?"

"I don't know, Mish. But I'm with you, okay? I'm not goin' anywhere. You got me. I don't care what they think, what they wanna do. It's just you and me, you hear me?"

"You and me, Joel. Just you and me."

She left Joel and the life they'd cultivated in the year since she came back, but she didn't leave Sarah, not this time. She kept up with regular visits, called often, tried her best to be a mother in the only ways she knew how. Eventually Joel stopped worrying she'd disappear again, and she didn't. Sarah and Mish's relationship wasn't an easy one, especially during those first few years of being reconnected, but eventually they were mother and daughter again. The way it always should have been. They'd go on adventures together, road trips and concerts and trips to amusement parks, everything they could to make up for lost time.

As for she and Joel, they became friends. For the first time in a long time they talked again, really talked. They got to know each other from scratch without the pressures of trying to be people they weren't; she'd come to stay every so often and she'd be more than welcome in their home, a reassuring presence to Sarah and a comforting one for him. There were times he almost kissed her again, almost embraced her the way they used to embrace, but then he'd remind himself that they didn't work. Couldn't work. He'd push the feelings down and love her from a distance, the only way he could.

She came to stay for Sarah's graduation in '03. They had a big party, invited everyone they knew, got very drunk. The inevitable finally happened, something they'd been skirting around for the past few years every time they saw each other, the attraction and tension building and building the longer they went without admitting that they still wanted one another. They'd been through the ringer together and came out the other side and still looked at each other like they had in high school. It was only a matter of time.

They fucked all night and into the morning.

"Oh my god," he'd groaned into her ear, naked bodies splayed against each other in bed, entwined together for the first time in almost seven years, "I missed that. Jesus fuck, I missed that."

It was only meant to be that one time, a celebration of some sort that happened unexpectedly but never again. That was the case until she came back in '06, still single, still beautiful, and he couldn't help himself. They both couldn't help themselves.

The arrangement was simple: whenever they reunited with each other and they were both single, both wanted it, they'd have sex.

It worked. And it was good, so fucking good. Every time. They were wild with it, felt younger than they'd ever been whenever they were tangled up in Joel's bed, on the couch, in the shower. They tried new things together and had more fun than they'd ever had when they were actually in a relationship. Each time it was like they were playing pretend; pretending for a short while that their everyday problems didn't exist, nothing else existed but them. Just them - just this moment.

The last time he saw Mish was four years ago. He'd been fresh out of his last relationship, the only relationship that had really meant something to him since his marriage. Tess was lovely, beautiful and funny and exactly the person he'd needed after those tumultuous years with Mish; someone calm and collected, stable and secure. They were just friends first, for a while, but eventually developed a sexual relationship that was only ever meant to be casual. After about a year she'd confessed her feelings and he'd thought, what the hell, I might as well try. Unfortunately, his what the hell attitude had been a steady feature of their entire relationship, and he'd never been able to fully be what she'd needed.

It was his fault it ended, but that hadn't stopped him from feeling heartbroken over it. And when Sarah and Mish had visited she'd dressed his wounds in the only way she really knew how - sex. The sex was always good with Mish, regardless of the situation. It was always what they needed. But it could only ever be sex because their personalities were never meant to blend; she was flighty and wild and needed space - he was steady and serious and enjoyed the comforts of home. And those early years were something he'd never get back, something he still blamed her for, and she knew it. It could never work, as much as they may have tried early on.

She'd been on the cusp of a new relationship, this guy Alvin who she'd met in Philadelphia, but nothing was set in stone yet and she wanted Joel to feel good.

"Nothing else matters right now," she'd whispered in the darkness of their old bedroom, the one he'd shared with her countless times over the past twenty years, "It's just you and me, Joel. It's always been you and me."

"You and me, Mish," he'd repeated, hands firm against her bare back as she slowly began to ride him, "Just us, just you and me."

--

He's still staring at the picture of their younger selves when her hand slowly comes down to touch one of his. He swallows tightly, feels her eyes on him, senses her moving closer.

"Mish," he whispers; an acknowledgement? A warning?

He feels a finger on his chin, tilting his head up to meet her gaze, and then she's kissing him again. It's different than it was at the bar, much less soft, less reserved. She moans into his mouth as the picture falls to the floor, pushes him down so he's laying flat and then throws a leg over his thighs. She situates herself in his lap in the span of about five seconds and he barely has any time to register what's even happening.

But when he does... he's not happy.

"Stop," he mumbles against her mouth, bringing his hands down to grab her hips and carefully pull her off of him. Her brows furrow in confusion as he slides her away and sits back up, kneels and then stands with a groan. His fucking knees.

"Why?" she asks, peering up at him from the floor.

"'Cause... 'cause nothin'," he lies, shaking his head and sitting down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, wincing as his bones crack from being on the floor in such an odd position, "Nothin', I'm just tired."

She follows him up from the floor and onto the bed, seats herself beside him and leans in to mouth gently against his neck, hot and wet, "That's okay, baby. I can do all the work."

"I said no, Mish," he repeats, standing up again and walking away from the bed, "I don't want to."

"Why?" she repeats, adamant now.

He splutters, kicking his feet and not meeting her gaze, "Sarah'll be back soon, there's no time."

"Time has never been an issue before, you know that more than anybody."

"I just don't want you right now, alright?" it comes out much louder and angrier than he'd intended, "Jesus Christ, Mish."

That stops her short, the room plunging into silence as she stares at him from her place on the edge of the bed. Her lips begin to tremble, hands coming to wring together in her lap uncomfortably. She shakes her head slowly, tears welling in her wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, voice shaky, "I'm sorry, Joel."

God dammit. He hadn't meant to make her cry.

With a sigh he walks back over to the bed, sitting down beside her again - but not as close this time. She continues to stare forward, still tugging at her hands as tears slowly start to make their way down her cheeks. He feels a familiar pang of pity in his heart, the urge to comfort her like he always has, hold her close and kiss her softly. But he doesn't do that; instead, he places a hand on hers to halt her movements, squeezes them gently.

"You wanna know why it didn't work out with Alvin, Joel?" she asks quietly.

"Why?"

She takes a shaky breath, "He had a wife. A fuckin' wife and three kids. Young kids, still in school, still livin' at home."

"Jesus," he mutters.

"And you wanna know how I found out? Because one night he was sayin' her name when he was fuckin' me; Sharon. Fuckin' Sharon. Repeatin' it over and over without even realizing. And then he had the audacity to act like he didn't know what the hell I was talkin' about." The tears are flowing steadily now, staining her cheeks and dripping down onto their locked hands, "I did some diggin', found out his real name, found his whole other life. I've been a fuckin' mistress for four years and had no clue."

"Michelle..." he breathes.

"Don't call me that," she snaps, turning her face away from him and trying to reign the tears back in but failing miserably, voice coming out in sobs now, "You know how long it's been since someone wanted me, Joel? Actually wanted me? I get that I'm a shitty person. I know I fucked up a lot in my life. I mean, maybe I don't deserve love, 'cause why the hell can't I fuckin' find it? Why does nobody want me?"

"Stop," he says firmly, squeezing her hands tighter, "Don't say shit like that, don't think that way."

"But it's true," she cries, pulling her hands away and bringing them up to her face, "I just needed to be wanted again, Joel. Just for a night, and now you don't even want me."

"That's- that's not true, Mish, come on."

"You literally just said the words two minutes ago," she's suddenly inconsolable, tears streaming down her face as she sobs beside him, "You don't want me, no one wants me."

His arms come up to wrap around her, pull her close to him as she cries harder. He doesn't know what the fuck to do, how to be what she needs without being what she needs. It's an impossible position to be in; how can he just walk out the door and leave her sitting there like this? Leave her so sad, so broken?

"Joel, I need this," she whispers, peering up at him through her wet lashes and leaning her head forward to rest against his shoulder, "Please. I need you."

God. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. What the fuck is he supposed to do? How the fuck can he say no when she's looking at him like that, begging for him?

"Please," she repeats, turning her head and pressing a wet kiss to the skin of his collarbone, "Please, Joel, please," her kisses slowly move up to his neck, warm and safe and familiar. His eyes start to close, lips parting as she keeps going, "It's just us, it's you and me."

Just us, you and me.

"Stay here," he finally breathes, thumbing the skin of her hip reassuringly, "Just - just stay here, okay? I'll be right back."

He finds himself thirty seconds later just standing in his bedroom, unmoving, unsure, thoughts going a mile a minute. He breathes in and out slowly, tries to calm the anxiety threatening to burst through the seams of his very being. What the fuck am I doing? What the actual fuck am I doing right now?

He goes through the motions without really feeling or understanding them. Goes to the bathroom and relieves himself, splashes cold water on his face and stares at his reflection for too long. Heads back to his bedroom and just stands there again, heart pounding. She's waiting for him. Time is passing and he's just standing there.

"Joel?" he hears her call out, voice still thick with tears.

He does not want her to follow him in here. He does not want to have sex in this bed.

With shaky steps he walks over to his nightstand and tugs it open, sees the box of condoms. Stares at them. Stares at them so long that she calls out again.

"Joel? You comin'?"

He feels like he's underwater, ears ringing as his hand trembles on the handle of the drawer, itching to just slam it closed again. What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?

And then he sees it.

He'd completely forgotten it was there, has been doing his best this entire night to not think about you that he's already managed to forget what happened last night. But he remembers now. He reaches down, hand suddenly completely steady, and pulls the gold chain to entwine around his fingers. It's like he's touching you in a way, feeling you, sensing you - your tears, your sadness, your anger, your insecurities - all wrapped up in this one little cross.

He thumbs it carefully, eyes softening, anxiety ebbing away as the seconds pass. He pictures your lovely face this morning, all sleepy and pretty and perfect in the glow of the early sunrise, the way your hair framed your face, the way you bit your lip shyly when you told him what was on your mind.

He hears footsteps in the hall, knows she's coming, but he doesn't care. Just keeps standing there with his hand curled around your crucifix and warmth filling his chest.

He hears the door open, hears her step inside.

"I can't," he says softly, before she can speak.

Silence. Then -

"What's that?"

"It's..." he closes his fist around the crucifix and then shuts the drawer slowly, still looking down at it. When he finally brings his head up he sees Mish standing near the side of the bed, looking at him with confusion in her eyes.

He swallows tightly, "There's someone else, Mish."

He watches the realization dawn on her face, the confusion fading and acceptance flooding her features. She nods slowly, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears still trickling down her cheeks. "You coulda just said that," she breathes, closing her eyes, "Why didn't you just say?"

He doesn't reply, doesn't know what to say. Or rather, knows what to say but can't say it because then it'll make it real. And he's still so fucking scared for it to be real.

Mish slowly walks forward and sits on the edge of the bed, taking a few steadying breaths to calm herself. "Feel like a fuckin' idiot," she mumbles; she seems okay now, nowhere near as hysterical as she'd been before.

"You're not an idiot," he murmurs. God, he should have just fucking told her. He should have said something.

"So, who is she?" she asks quietly.

"She's..." he swallows again, taking a seat on the other side of the bed, facing the opposite direction, "She's a girl I met a little while ago." A few weeks ago, he mentally corrects. Almost a month. Barely any time at all.

She clocks that. "Girl? Or woman?"

"....Girl."

"How old?"

"Twenty one."

"Jesus," he's not sure what she's thinking when he can't see her face, not sure if she's angry or disgusted or just surprised, "I mean, wow. That's... that's young, Joel."

"I know."

"Never known you to go even ten years lower."

"I know."

Silence again. He's waiting for her to ask the question, the one he knows is coming, the one he's been dreading every since he got that text from Sarah on Wednesday. The one that will force him to admit what he's so desperately been trying to bury.

"So... is it just sex? Or is it..." she trails off for a few seconds, "Is it more?"

There it is.

"I don't know," he murmurs, putting his face in his hands and hunching over the side of the bed with a groan, "I don't know what it is but she's... she's in my head, ya know? She's everywhere, can't stop fuckin' thinkin' about her." The crucifix digs into his cheek, probably making an imprint in his skin, "She's so fuckin' young but, God, Mish, she's so fuckin' sweet. I wanna... I wanna take care of her, ya know? But-" he feels the tears flooding his eyes, tries to swallow his feelings as best he can, "I'm just.. I can't..."

"You're in over your head," she acknowledges softly, "You don't know what you're doin'."

"I don't."

"And that scares the fuck outta you, huh?"

"Pretty much."

They don't say anything else for a few moments, both absorbing the revelation in silence and neither really knowing what else to say about it. This night has gone in a direction that neither were prepared for and he's not sure they'll be able to fix it before Sarah gets back. Which reminds him...

"You'd think Sarah woulda been back by now."

Mish snorts, a welcome sound in the middle of so much tension. He turns around to look at her, finds her doing the exact same thing.

"I told her to give us forty five minutes to an hour, tops," she says with a half smile.

Of course she did.

--

Mish decides to get a cab back to the motel she and Sarah booked. He doesn't argue. He knows it's for the best, knows there will be another, better conversation some time in the future and that despite everything, they'll see each other again.

"She's lucky to have you," she tells him softly at the front door, wrapping her arms around him in a warm embrace. He can hear the sincerity in her words, knows she means it. "You'll take care of her, Joel. Like you take care of everyone."

He just closes his eyes, pulls her in closer and lets the tears fall.

--

Sarah gets back with the food, doesn't question where Mish is; she must have texted her and told her she wouldn't be here. There's no awkwardness or questions, just the same old familiarity and love as Sarah pops the first DVD into the ancient player they've had forever and settles in beside him on the couch. They only half-watch it, continuously getting distracted by each other's dumb commentary and random anecdotes about the past. This is what he wanted tonight to be. Just this.

He tries his best to be present with Sarah, but by the time they're halfway through the second film he can't stop thinking about you. He'd spent so much of today trying to push thoughts of you away and now your face is suddenly all he can see whenever he blinks, your soft giggles and whimpers echoing in his ears. He wonders what you're doing, if you're having a nice time with your friend, if you're being careful like he'd told you to be. You'd said this was your first time going out and he just hopes you're safe. Your crucifix sits reassuringly in the pocket of his jeans, almost like a part of you is still here with him.

He excuses himself to use the bathroom and sends you a quick text:

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

He feels the urge to press a kiss to his phone and wonders when the hell he got so damn soft. He can practically hear Mish's voice telling him you've always been soft, dummy. She'd be right.

--

They both wake up the next morning still snuggled up on the couch, Sarah on one end and him on the other. He yawns and stretches, groans when he feels a searing pain in his lower back; fuck, he shouldn't have slept on the couch.

"Old man," Sarah mocks quietly with a glint in her eye, and he playfully slaps her leg.

He checks his phone when Sarah heads to the bathroom, hopes maybe you'll have replied to him when you got in last night, but there's nothing there. He frowns but lets logic soothe him, reminding himself that you were probably too tired when you got back and fell asleep right away. He sends you another text, just to be sure:

You get home ok? Let me know x

He'll see you soon for your lesson anyway.

After breakfast he walks Sarah out onto the front step, hand holding hers tightly, almost afraid to let go. She smiles up at him sadly and squeezes back, a silent promise.

"I'll visit again real soon, Dad," she says quietly, "Sooner than last time. I'll bring Jude too, y'all can watch football together."

He smiles with watery eyes, "I'm countin' on it, kiddo."

"You're not lonely, are you?" she suddenly asks, expression one of love and concern, "You got people here, right?"

Your face crosses his mind again, your lovely smile, that little line between your brows, "I'm not lonely," he reassures her softly, "Promise."

He means it.

They hug each other tenderly, basking in one last moment together before they inevitably have to pull away. She walks to her car and turns back with one final wave, tears glistening in her eyes. He waves back and then heads back inside the house quickly before she can see what a mess he is, hands coming up to cover his eyes on the other side of the door as he pulls himself together.

And then, just like that, he's alone again.

--

You don't show up to your lesson.

His first thought is that you're still asleep, probably hungover from last night and desperately in need of some rest. He doesn't blame you, has had more bad hangovers than he can even count. He checks in with you anyway, hoping he'll hear back soon when you wake up.

Another hour passes; he's already cleaned up the kitchen, vacuumed up the popcorn lining the couch and living room floor, rearranged the DVDs, and suddenly the boxes upstairs in the guest room are calling his name. Anything to make the time pass, anything to distract himself from the fact that he still hasn't heard from you.

He texts you again after two hours, after he's finished unpacking two boxes. He just sends some question marks this time. It's around noon now and he keeps trying to convince himself that you're just sleeping, probably still passed out in bed with leftover alcohol buzzing through your veins. The thought makes him wish he was there with you, taking care of you, bringing you glasses of water and cuddling with you until you feel better.

It's mid afternoon when he starts to question whether or not you even got home. He knows you're not home home, that you'd gone to an Airbnb with your friend for the weekend, but he has no idea where it is and if you're even there. What if something happened on the night out? What if you got lost or got too fucked up to figure out how to get back? What if someone you didn't know took you back with them?

He feels sick to his stomach. This time he does the only rational thing he feels he can do - he calls you. He sits on the edge of his bed, toes tapping against the hardwood floor as he waits for you to pick up, but you don't. It goes to voicemail. He hangs up and tries again. Same thing.

He texts you again, but something tells him you won't be reading them any time soon.

--

He leaves the house to clear his head, anxiously tapping on the wheel as he drives around the neighborhood. He passes by your parents' house a few times, eyeing the property and trying his best to see past the ridiculous fence they have blocking off the place. He makes out a police car in the driveway and almost has a panic attack before he remembers that your father is a cop and that's just the vehicle he drives.

He calls and texts you a few more times as the evening comes around. He pours himself some whiskey and tries to calm himself down, breathes in and out, practices the exercises he's had to depend on throughout most of his life. He's always had an anxiety problem, has been on and off medication for it for years. He briefly considers popping an Ativan before realizing that he probably shouldn't mix it with alcohol.

The alcohol messes with his head a bit as darkness falls. He starts to wonder if maybe you did get back safe, just with someone else, someone new. Maybe you met someone, had a connection, took them home and let them be the one to fuck you for the first time. Maybe the reason you're not reaching out is because you're afraid of what he'll say, afraid he'll be angry.

While the thought makes him feel sick and sad, he's even sicker and sadder about not knowing where the fuck you are. He sends you a text to reiterate this, hoping you'll read it and understand:

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

He's already unpacked all the boxes, peppered photographs and music memorabilia all over his house as the day came to a close, and now he has nothing else to do but just sit and wait. So he waits. And waits. And waits.

You still don't reply.

He calls you over and over again, wondering what the fuck he's going to do. He can't in good conscious just let this go on, just stop contacting you and let you come back to him on your own. What if something bad really did happen? What if you're really fucked up somewhere? What if someone took advantage of you? He can't just sit idly by and wait.

He lays in bed and stares at the ceiling, feels tears sting his eyes every time he comes up with a new concept as to where you are, what could have happened. All he wants is to have you here with him, warm and soft in his bed, close in all the ways he needs you.

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

He's scaring himself the longer he thinks about where you could be, knows he has to take action. He decides that if he still hasn't heard from you by tomorrow morning, he'll tell somebody. Whether it be the police or your parents, it doesn't really matter - they're one and the same.

He sends you one last text before the whiskey puts him to sleep:

Please.

--

The doorbell wakes him up. At first he thinks maybe he's hearing things, especially when he tiredly unlocks his phone and sees that it's three in the morning, but then it rings again. And again. Over and over like someone is pressing the button repeatedly. He sits up in bed with a jolt and swings his legs over the side, heart racing as he practically sprints down the stairs.

He turns on the light, squinting with tired and bleary eyes through the frosted glass along the side of the door. He can make out something pink and his eyes widen. He grabs the handle and tugs the door open, only for his body to immediately collide with someone else's, a beautiful girl in a pink dress.

It's you. His beautiful girl. His angel. Standing there almost completely unable to hold yourself upright as you lean against him, arms coming up to wrap around his middle. He holds you close, momentarily frozen in shock.

"Are you okay?"

You're so out of it. He takes you to the couch and you can barely open your eyes, can barely get words out as you flop drunkenly against the cushions. He can't tell if you're drunk or high or both, trying his best to get your attention, desperately asking what you took, where you've been. It's terrifying to see you like this, so completely not yourself, loose and uninhibited in the worst way. You tell him you came here with Tasha and he waves her inside, hoping she can help shed some light on what the fuck happened to you.

Tasha is something else. She stands her ground, doesn't back down when he clearly tries to intimidate her, consistently tries to get past him and reach for you despite his attempts to block her. He's angry, so fucking angry that she could let this happen to you. How long have you been like this? How long has this "night out" been going on? Did it turn into a fucking bender?

"She knows what you've been doing, you asshole." The words mean nothing to him, he has no idea what the fuck she's even talking about. They're clearly both wasted - you more than her - and have somehow wound up at his house at three in the morning by some miraculous volition. He's not letting you leave with her, that's for sure.

Then you say the same thing to him and he's beyond confused, waiting to be let in on whatever sick fucking joke is being played on him right now. What do they think he's been doing? What do they think they know? What have their intoxicated brains convinced themselves of?

And then the other shoe drops.

"We saw you kiss someone else."

That feeling he'd had yesterday - that sensation of being underwater - returns in full force. He stares at you; not Tasha, you. Because as soon as she says it your eyes tear away from him to stare at the floor, lips trembling in sadness, hands shaking beneath Tasha's arms. He can see it in your expression, in your body language despite the alcohol - you're fucking heartbroken. You can't even look at him.

He tries to explain but the words aren't coming out right; he's sure he sounds absolutely pathetic as he just stands there in the middle of the living room, stumbling over his words like the absolute fool he is. You still don't look at him. You don't say anything, and it kills him.

That's when he realizes that Tasha is not the one in the wrong here. It's him. He's the one who deserves to be shouted at, intimidated, made to feel small. He's the one who fucked up. It's him.

And then - if the situation hadn't already been bad enough - Tasha informs him that you'd seen Sarah leaving this morning. His eyes go wide, heart racing like a steam engine in his chest as he shakes his head and wonders how the fuck this could be happening right now. The past few days he's been so unsure about letting you know the real him, didn't know if he'd ever be able to tell you - and now he has no choice. No choice but to drop a bomb on you in this sad and drunken state, otherwise leave you believing that he's been doing god knows what with god knows who.

"That was my daughter."

You register the words and finally look at him, and his heart swells three sizes in his chest when your gazes meet. Just for a moment you don't look as sad, don't look as broken. You peer into his eyes and he thinks for a moment that maybe you see him, really see him, for the first time. It's both terrifying and incredible and he doesn't know how he manages to get the words out, but he does.

He knows now what he has to do.

He has to tell you. He has to tell you everything.

Tasha apologizes and helps you back out to the cab. He watches her place you carefully inside, watches as you turn your head to look out the back window, still peering at him with that look on your face that he can't really explain. He stands and waits until you've disappeared down the street before going back inside, where he immediately collapses onto the couch, exhausted.

He reaches inside his pocket and tugs out your crucifix, brings it up to his neck with trembling hands and manages to latch it around his neck. He palms the cross, presses it into the bare skin at his collarbone.

She's safe, he thinks to himself, she's safe and that's all that matters.

--

In the morning, as soon as he wakes up, he sends you a text:

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

He wants to cry, thinking about how much he hurt you. He wouldn't blame you for wanting this to just be over now, to move on and pretend like you never even met him that day on his front step. He feels so fucking ashamed of himself, angry for not telling Mish the truth from the beginning, horrified that you'd seen him in a moment of weakness like that, a moment of cowardice.

The crucifix stays on his neck throughout his shower and breakfast. He's never been one to wear jewelry, and god knows he's never been one to wear jewelry with religious imagery, but somehow it calms him to have it on, soothes him. His anxiety feels better despite the circumstances, and he's grateful.

His phone buzzes around eleven and the force at which he picks it up almost sends it flying across the room. His brow furrows when he sees a text from an unknown number:

hey it's tasha. sorry about last night. that was a shitshow. she's awake and feeling better, just wanted you to know.

She didn't have to do that and he knows it.

Thank you. I'm glad she has you. I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you, I was just really worried about her.

that's ok. i know you're a good guy. she knows it too.

Do you, though? Do you really still think of him as being someone you can trust, someone you can talk to? Someone you can give yourself to completely?

i'm gonna send you the address of the airbnb. i think you should come talk to her.

The address follows and he puts it into his maps app; it's not too far, he can make it there in about forty minutes.

Thank you so much Tasha

text when ur here, i'll let you in.

--

He sits in his truck for a lot longer than he needs to after pulling up to the house. He knows he has to tell you everything now, that you're going to want answers and that he'll give them to you. But he's made a discovery in the past twelve hours that has his head reeling:

He wants to tell you. He wants you to know all about him. Suddenly, he doesn't mind that he's old and washed up and pathetic. He wants you to know that, wants you to see the real him, who he really is. The unpretty, uncharming reality of his mediocre life. He isn't sure that you'll want it, that you'll want him, but what he's sure of is that he's tired of pretending.

What Mish had said on Friday night - "You know how long it's been since someone wanted me, Joel? Actually wanted me?" - it had resonated with him in a way he hadn't been expecting. He knows that feeling, has been feeling it for years without actually saying it aloud because admitting it was too painful, too scary.

He's been putting on a front for his entire life. First, to his parents, then to Mish, then Sarah, then the select few women who'd come in and out of his life, then Tess, and now you. And he's tired. He's so fucking tired of pretending to be someone else. For the first time in a long time, he actually wants to be him.

I'm here.

Tasha opens the door to let him inside. The house is pretty cozy, probably one of the more inexpensive ones you both could find. He notes the leftover snacks littering the table and couch, the empty wine glasses. He hopes you had fun here, at least for a little while. Before he fucking ruined it.

"She's asleep," Tasha says, closing the door behind him and ushering him inside, "I wanna talk to you for a sec, before you go in."

He nods and she gestures toward the couch for him to sit. He takes his place on the edge, knees together as he looks up at her and waits for her to speak.

"I'm her best friend," she says firmly, hands on her hips - she means business, "I've known her for three years now and I know her better than anyone."

He nods slowly.

"She's really coming into herself right now," Tasha continues, "She's making big discoveries, figuring out who she is and what she wants. You know that."

"I do."

"And... well, we both know that what she wants most is you."

He swallows then, feels his heart begin to pound, clenching his fists at his knees.

"This thing with your ex, is it over?"

"Yes," he says immediately, "She'll always be my daughter's mother, she'll always be my friend, but that part of our relationship is over."

"And you mean that?"

"I mean it."

She assesses him and slowly nods, then curls her finger and urges him to stand back up. He does, suddenly towering over her in the small living room.

"First door on the left," she tells him, then walks to the front door, "I'll give you some space."

She's gone before he has the chance to thank her.

He slowly makes his way down the hallway, step by step. He reaches the door, heart pounding in his chest as he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and lets the promises he made to himself flood through his mind. His past, his present, and his future... the future he sees with you.

He touches his pocket, feels for your crucifix.

I can do this, he thinks to himself. For her, I can do this.

[radiance1]

Vlad has wanted Danny to be his son for a while now, and he did, indeed, get what he wanted.

Not in the way he expected, however.

What was given was attached to the arms of tragedy, that fated day, in which the subject of his love and obsession, the man that was the focused point of his hatred, anger, and jealousy.

Died.

That day, marked in tragedy.

It was a rough time for Daniel as well, his friends, family, and teacher all died, and by his own hand yet not at the same time.

If Vlad wasn't feeling like he did, he would probably think it to be poetic in some way.

Yet, not even a full week later, when he was still processing his grief and whatever other feelings he felt, the boy in his care, who full of bite, snark, and ever increasingly growing hatred and helplessness.

Turned into a child.

This, was a chance.

A chance for him to mold and shape Daniel into his perfect, idealized version of himself.

A perfect boy.

A perfect halfa.

A perfect son.

He knew this, and yet... he couldn't bring himself to do so. He didn't know why, but as he stared at the child, not looking even a day over 8, staring back at him full of curiosity, and an oh so painful lack of recognition, he couldn't go through with it.

It just... didn't feel right.

As wishy washy as that reasoning would be.

So he kept the boy in his care, and left Amity Park behind.

Being a father was... far harder than he expected, if he were to be honest. Yet he couldn't find himself hating it, perhaps it was the guilt, in not being there to prevent the accident, perhaps some kind of feeling to repay a debt to Maddie, or doing what she wanted, or perhaps, even to succeed where Jack Fenton failed.

Maybe even all four.

He tried his best to treat the boy as his own flesh and blood, giving him as much care as he was able to while also balancing work and trying to plan out a solid plan for Danny's education when he's older.

Though, that plan would perhaps be a backup plan, if Danny finds himself liking something... different.

One of these days, Vlad had to leave Daniel behind with a babysitter to attend a Gala held by one Bruice Wayne, and as much as he wanted to show Daniel off to the world he... wasn't ready yet.

He would need at least a few more years before making his official debut.

It was a fine party, in Vlad's opinion, though Brucie Wayne did arrive late to his own event, but he digresses.

It was while talking to said man, that he heard gasps behind him, and he was curious about it, going to turn around until he felt a few tugs at his leg, that he looked down.

Only to see Daniel, hovering off the ground with a leg that shouldn't be bent the way it was, blood leaking from it and onto the floor, with tears streaming down his face.

It was only after grabbing the boy into his chest, making sure he didn't do anything more against the wound, and a butler- Alfred he thinks the name was - appearing at his side and quickly leading him out of the room towards where they kept one of their medical equipment, that he questioned what happened, why was his leg broken, and where was his babysitter?

Distantly, in the back of his mind he went "Oh, his powers came in."

[greenfiend]

The Significance of Lover’s Lake and Byler (Theory) Part 2

Sequel to this post

(Warning: mentions of sex and drugs)

Okay so first of all, if you haven’t seen my previous post on my theory involving Lovers Lake and Byler, please read it first. I go over my theory and predictions for Byler and the heart shaped lake. This is a secondary post to it, outlining some VERY interesting details involving the owner of the lakeside house, the lakeside house itself, and all the romantic and sexual elements present. I’m saving the best for last here.

Let’s start with the owner of the lakeside house.

Reefer Rick

So I recently made a silly post arguing that the most queer coded character in Stranger Things is not Mike nor Will (nor Robin, Henry, Eddie etc), and I stand by this statement. The most queer coded character is: Reefer Rick. Now, I know we never see the guy, but literally all the information we have on him is either queer coding or drug references.

Synonyms of his name are literally f*g Dick, with a shared last name with the famous tea company founder who so happens to have been a homosexual: Lipton.

We know he doesn’t have a family, thus he’s a single man who occasionally has his buddy/fellow dealer Eddie stay over. Hm, not very heterosexual of him.

Then we have his movie list.

Now, as many of us know, the movie “Fast Times” is used within Stranger Things as a way to gage if someone is attracted to women or not. We have Steve, Dustin, Lucas, and Vickie all confirmed to have enjoyed this movie… specifically for that shot at 53 minutes and 5 seconds. Sure, Reefer Rick rented the film, but why is it the only movie he rented that was returned on time? For context, he’s the only character who had films listed as “late” returns. So, he obviously enjoyed Cheech & Chong a lot more. Two guys doing drugs is more interesting to him than a sexy lady. Okay, noted.

Now, how is he perceived by the people of Hawkins?

Oooof. Okay. He’s not well liked it seems. He apparently is causing some fear and anger amongst the Hawkins residents. Kind of similar of a reaction these people would have towards an openly gay man during the 1980s.

Also I have to include @/conflictofthemind ‘s excellent point that injectable drug use and unprotected sex (specifically between two men) were both commonly associated with HIV/AIDS… a major epidemic during the 80s and a major subtextual theme within the show.

Now, where’s this guy live while outside of jail?

I don’t blame the guy for “hiding” when the town is not too fond of him. Of course he is a drug dealer so there’s that as well. But interesting they used the word “hide”, which has been associated with queerness within the show already (plus this line was said by Robin (featured in the middle of the shot!!!) who is queer herself).

(Both of these screenshots are from 1x02 interestingly enough.)

Wouldn’t it make sense for these two “hiders” to hide out in “a perfect place to hide” together? Seeking refuge in a fellow gay man’s secluded house?

I will say it’s also worth noting that he does not have any women featured on the walls within his house. Also, he has a phallic shaped bong (we’ll get back to that soon).

Phew okay so that’s Reefer Rick. Are you still with me? Hopefully I didn’t bore any of you with this. I promise you this all leads back to Byler.

So, moving on to his house.

So as @/therainscene kindly pointed out, this poster with the smiley face can be related to rave culture and ecstasy in the 1980s. So a drug reference, in a drug dealer’s house… shocker I know. But I gotta say, ecstasy is also a term often related to sex. I also have to add this little tidbit from one of our favourite directors of Stranger Things, Shawn Levy. Keep in mind, he knows what’ll happen in the next season… and he’s directing episodes after 3 and 4…

Interesting word choice, no?

So, back to the symbolism within (and near) the house.

Let’s talk about the phallic symbolism that appears in pairs in these shots. It’s a choice, isn’t it? With two males in each shot. We know the Duffers love details and foreshadowing… I doubt it’s a coincidence. Also, anyone else notice that phone in the background? Just had to mention it, since our boys are frequently associated with phones and calls.

Then, of course, I gotta bring back this shot.

The bed. Blue meets yellow. You know it! We all heard it a thousand times by now. Let’s look at what else is in the shot. A closed closet. Another reference to our boys. To the right, you’ll see a toilet paper roll. Now, if you have a brother, you might see the same thing in his room. Sure it can be used as a tissue for your nose but let’s just say there’s usually another use for it. I’ll call it “self love”. So, basically, another sexual reference.

To sum up this house: lake/water, drugs, and ecstasy/smiley face. Now, let’s go back to a scene featuring our boys with all these elements in the background.

Makes you wonder doesn’t it?

I must also point out the “Paris” poster in the background. City of love, anyone? Plus the fireworks. They’re really trying to tell us something here.

Also, @/foodiewithdahoodie pointed out how Paris specifically was one of the first places to decriminalize sodomy.

You know, I also wouldn’t rule out every aspect of Murray’s prediction here.

Shout out to the Hylers out there!

Perhaps after a lot of stressful days of fighting interdimentional demons, these boys want to wind down and de-stress in their hiding spot. I can see Reefer Rick as a fellow Nintendo player, leaving his console behind, as well as his weed, for our boys to use. I also wouldn't be surprised if Eddie left a few of his beers behind. I mean… Murray has a pretty good track record for predictions. This would also really double down on the message that Mike and Will “aren’t kids anymore.”

Also, wouldn’t it be fun to look back at Murray’s predictions and realize that they’ve all come to be?

Okay, now let’s finally get to the romance elements!

First thing I want to start with is this shot:

So… they had to show us a mailbox, didn’t they? With that name “Lipton” which as I mentioned in my previous post… is associated with Thomas Lipton who had a lover named William Love.

1 point for #lettergate

And…

“Hope Our Love Lives/Lasts And Never Dies”

WWII solders used the acronym H.O.L.L.A.N.D. to convey a love message in a letter. The whole love letters association with Mike and Will never end, do they?

2 points for #lettergate!

As for the “2121”, I think it’s possible that it’s referencing multiple things… number references are tricky like that in my opinion. But I will say that @/thestrangestthing89 brought up the fact that “2121” could be a reference to “Twin Flames” which is yet another reference to romance.

Continuing on with the romance…

Let’s return back to the scene where Reefer Rick is first mentioned. After Max mentioned him, we are cut to Steve talking about a movie.

A movie filled with action and romance, you say?

So… Doctor Zhivago.

Basically a tale of two people in love during a difficult time (Russian Revolution) being separated, with other people, then finally reunited. Not completely unlike our boys. Notice how the “adult” sign is noticeable in the background. Not kids anymore.

He mentions action, which I’m sure there will be some of as well at the famous lake.

Okay enough with the silly details, let’s stop and look at the bigger picture.

Our beloved lake. Look how gorgeous it truly is. Plus the fact that it’s a literal heart? You can’t get more “on the nose” than that.

Now, who else is known as a heart? (Tough question I know…)

This boy is, without a doubt, narratively tied to the lake. He is “the heart”… he is THE LAKE (symbolically).

Thank you to @/everaster for bringing attention to the fact that after Mike was pushed to deliver that monologue to El by Will, Max “died”, then the gates opened WIDE. One of those gates, as we know, is located within Lover’s Lake… known was “watergate” (term coined by Dustin).

So, as of now in this story… Lover’s Lake is literally broken in two. A broken heart in need of mending.

Who better to accomplish that task than the boy who has known him for a decade and loves him completely and selflessly?

💌📬❤️‍🩹

Hope you enjoyed these posts as much as I enjoyed making them! It’s honestly so much fun looking for evidence and finding such interesting stuff. Some of it may be reaching, and that’s okay because it’s all in good fun! That’s what fandoms are all about.

The level of attention to detail in this show never ceases to amaze me! There’s so much depth and clues to look for and play around with. I hope to have sparked some inspiration and creativity for some people! 💛💙💚

As always, would love to know your thoughts!

[zarla-s]

i forget if you ever said before, but how much of handplates was planned from the beginning and what was added as you went?

Almost all of it pretty early on, haha. Well, at least the main plotpoints...

I knew Sans would push Gaster into the core (not exactly how but I knew it'd happen)

I knew the brothers would stay with Asgore for a while afterwards to adjust to normal life

Knew the brothers would slowly grow and mature into their canon forms while aligning with canon itself (befriending Undyne and Alphys etc) although not the specifics of it

Knew there'd be a murder run that'd get reset and a pacifist run after

Knew Gaster would come back (not exactly how) and the brothers would have a final confrontation where they'd show they were adults now with the strength to face and fight him/their trauma and they'd eventually convince him to come back and try again

I knew a lot of the main points but not how to tie them together exactly or their exact execution, that came as I went along. As an example, shots of Asgore with the brothers were VERY early in my sketchbook... you can see me sketching out some of the layouts for the one with Gaster trying to get Papyrus to kill something at the bottom.

I was drawing Asgore from memory, that's why he looks off, haha. There are also sketches both for Gaster facing off with the monster (although I hadn't worked out exactly what the monster would be at that point), them back in the lab/finding the drill in Gaster's house, and Sans sassing Gaster on the same page about ten pages later in my sketchbook. I also knew that World Revolution was set in the Handplates timeline when I did it but I didn't tell anyone since it'd be huge spoilers at the time lol.

So you can see I was working out multiple parts of the story at the same time, haha. Some of my one-shot ideas got scrapped or reworked, but the basic shape of it stayed intact throughout. A lot of sections had a lot of wiggle room as they came to me - them in the lab, them with Asgore, them in their house, them on the surface, that kind of thing. So what happened during those times and how long I'd spend there I didn't know for sure, I just knew the basic shape of the story and where I was going eventually. It was an interesting way to do it! I had a lot of freedom to run with any sudden idea for the most part, but I also always had a direction and plan for where I was going.

I had absolutely no idea it'd be this long or take this long to finish though lol.

[quartztwst]

The REAL Azul Ashengrotto x Reader

(Reader is GN and Azul is into morons)

(Also not a serious writing and not proofread im too lazy)

Once upon a time, in a prestigious school's classroom, there were two students; Azul Ashengrotto, the dormleader of Octavinelle, and the Ramshackle Prefect. Currently, you guys were sitting in the classroom playing chess.

The room was very quiet that you could probably hear footsteps from the hallway. Although, the quietness unsettled you since that meant Azul's focus in the game was intense. Your eyes looked at the chess board with nervousness as you know that he was going to win.

When you awkwardly observed the board, the white chess pieces were still on their starting places on your side.

You didn't even start the game yet.

The reason was because...

YOU DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY CHESS.

You just happened to agree at the moment since Azul looked so confident that you wanted to prove him wrong! NOW, LOOK AT WHERE THAT TOOK YOU! Your pride is on the line and you have no idea how to play chess!

As you were sweating balls, Azul's crystal sky blue orbs that change color depending on his emotions glanced at you. You could feel his confusion as he realized you weren't starting yet.

"Prefect?" He finally spoke up from the long silence.

"Y-Yeah, what's up?"

"You're taking so long. May I ask why?" When he asked that, you froze up, thinking about what to say.

You didn't want him to think you were stupid or anything. Hey, it's hard being a magicless student in a magic school where everyone is somehow talented in many ways and you're just average! You wanted to prove that you weren't just average and boring.

"You're taking so long to answer that too?" He sounded a bit sassy as he said that before sighing, "Prefect, do you not know how to pl-"

"Of course I know how to play!" You interrupted him to save your pride.

Azul looked at you awkwardly and confused, "Err.. Okay? Start then."

A long wait happened after that. Nothing moved before Azul got fed up.

"Okay, let's just switch the board-"

"Wait!" You quickly stopped his hands from turning the board around which caught him off guard. He pulled his hands back slowly, a bit of shyness appearing on his face from that one single touch.

"Prefect, I don't understand-"

"I can play chess!" You interrupted him again.

Sure you can.

Azul thought in his head.

He waited as you looked at the board, trying to figure out what move to make. Then, you finally moved your knight.

In the wrong spot.

"Prefect, that's not where the knight goes." Azul pointed out.

"Oh, shit.." You paused before putting the knight back from it's place, "Well, I knew that."

"Did you? Hm?" Azul raised his brow at you and proceeded to point to the right spot the knight was supposed to go, "Also that piece moves here. It usually moves in an L shape you see."

"Ohh, I see." You nodded which made Azul confirm that you didn't know how to play chess.

"You see, huh?" He quickly teased you, starting to smirk.

"Okay, maybe I don't know how to play."

---

"UNO!"

"Uno?" Azul raised his brow at you again, "Prefect, this is chess."

"Oh, shit."

During the whole time, Azul was teaching you how to play chess and so far...

"Prefect, that's not.. where the pawn.. Okay."

"Prefect, why do you have cards out?"

"Prefect, wh- what happened to my bishop? How did you-"

"Prefect, how did.. huh? I'm losing?"

"Prefect? PREFECT???"

It was going great! On the board, you were winning! Azul was only left with two pawns and a king! He also had no recollection of anything that led to that moment but that doesn't matter because you're winning!

Azul's turn was up as he struggled to move his pieces from yours. He has absolutely no idea how you're beating him. He's usually not that easy to beat but.. you happened to be doing exactly that! Are you secretly very smart? Smarter than him?

That's kind of.. attractive- I MEAN WHAT?! WHAT?! WHO SAID THAT?! NOT ME! OBVIOUSLY!

Azul thought in his head. Again.

Anyways, as he was distracted by his confusion, you were clearly strategizing in your head.

Strategizing how to distract him so you can sneakily take away his pieces.

OKAY, so maybe it's cheating but.. it's not cheating if you get caught and so far you haven't by him. Yet.

It was your turn to move and you purposely bump your hand under the table to knock one of the captured pieces onto the ground. This caught Azul's attention, although he was still facing the board.

As you leaned down to pick up the fallen piece with your left hand, your right hand was trying to take one of his pawns but Azul was swift to notice and grabbed your hand. You sat up fast when you felt his grab.

A looong stare was given from him that it made you nervous and even more nervous.

"W-Why are you holding my hand?" You suddenly asked.

Azul looked at their hands together before getting flustered, his cheeks turning red while he snatched his hand away.

"M-My apologies.. ahem.." He cleared his throat and calmed down, "But.. Your hand was.. Ah.. It was grabbing my piece. Care to explain?"

"Uh.. Well, uhhh.." You were sweating while you tried to decide to make an excuse or tell the truth.

You told the truth.

"Uhm.. So.. I was like.. taking your pieces everytime you were distracted or looking away.. because.. I kinda wanted to win?" You explained to him.

Azul sighed and smiled, "You do realize it's just a game, Prefect?"

"Yeah but like.. I just.. wanted to impress you." You replied.

Honestly, that's what you wanted to do. Impress people but it wasn't just specifically him. However, the way you said it made him think it was so his face quickly turned redder than before.

"I-Impress me?" Azul felt a bit happy but also shy after you said that, "W-Well, I-.. I think you're quite interesting in your own.. way.. You don't need to impress me since I'm.. already impressed by you."

"Oh." You were surprised by his compliment.

Azul paused and stared at you because of your dry answer, "HOW DRY! Don't you have anything else to say to me?"

"I love you?"

Azul froze.

You guys got married btw

---

Omg my first writing stuff hey guys I need criticism bc I'm actually trash at grammar and stuff 😭😭

Also I don't know how to write the mc in mc/reader x Azul without them being an ass to Azul HELRPFO like I think it's funny

messing with Azul is like instinct to me 😭😭😭😭😭 I'll try my best to make an nicer mc/reader or smth

Also this is just a test on my writing skills bc I wanna make something with my twst ocs but I wanna write it since I KINDA NEED TO WORK ON IT

[finntheehumaneater]

⭐️Radio Star⭐️ part 1

(Part two)

“I just don’t understand why I’m so nervous!” Robin was rambling, one of her hands flitting around her space in the passenger seat, the other gripping onto Steve’s arm as he tried to focus on driving through the swimming colors and shapes. It hurt, but he wasn’t going to complain. “I’ve been on dates with her before, it’s not like this is any different!” 

Steve squinted at the road slightly, trying to stay on the right side of the yellow lines. His vision was more blurry than normal, but it was fine. If he focused, they wouldn’t crash, and he would fine. He glanced over at her and tired to raise an eyebrow—and failed—which got a choked out laugh out of her. His eyes went back to the road. “I mean…it is your third date…”

He glanced over at Robin again as she squeezed his arm tighter, and through the cloudy-haze in front of him, he could still see the disappointment in her face. “Steve.”

“I’m just saying—,” He started, but she slapped him on the arm lightly and then grabbed onto it again.

“Ew, Steve, no no no. EW,” she said, moving her hands to press them against her face, looking like she wanted to claw her eyeballs out of their sockets, and she might have if Steve hadn’t reached over and gently moved them.

“I’m joking, Robs. You’ll be fine. Relax.” He was trying to sound cool and collected—calm, like he was supposed to be—but Robin could probably see the way that he was squinting, and the way that his voice was a bit strained as he tried to focus. She dropped her hand from his arm, but she had been holding on so hard that it still felt like it was there.

“But what if I start talking about…you know…that. And she gets weirded out and leaves?” Her voice was softer now, but still anxious.

“About—?”

“Don’t say it!” She cut in. “I don’t want to think about it.”

Steve sighed. He knew what she meant. He didn’t like thinking about it either, but still. It had to be talked about eventually, right? Come to think of it, they hadn’t really discussed it since they had gotten out. It was traumatic, and honestly? It felt kind of weird that they had stayed in contact afterwards—and that they had gotten this close, because he could still see that version of Robin sometimes when he looked at her. The one where she made herself smaller and her eyes got wide, and she stopped talking completely. She didn’t do that when she was anxious, she did it when she was scared. “I’ll help you then, alright? Make sure you don’t let slip about….you know.”

He deepened his voice at the end, trying to sound ominous, but voices were never his thing. Still, he heard Robin giggle slightly before she sighed, too. “Okay. Good. I just don’t want her to think that I’m weird for not being over this already. It happened two years ago, Steve.”

“I’m aware of how much time has passed, yes, but—some things are hard to get over. Especially what we’ve been through, okay? You’re not broken or anything for being mad at yourself over this. I am too. And it’s something we’re working on. Right?” He gave her a quick pointed look, and the car swerved slightly, so he looked back. Shit.

“I know, I know. But we’re also working on other things.” She muttered, poking him in the arm, which made him wince. He was going to have a bruise from all this.

“Sorry, Bobby, I have a reputation to uphold—“

“Does that reputation involve crashing the car and killing us?”

He went silent at that. She had a point…

He could practically hear Robin smiling, even though he wasn’t looking at her—because for now he had decided to keep his eye solely on the road—when she said, “We’ll talk more about this after my date. Agreed?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

They were supposed to meet up with Vickie at this little coffee shop near the record store that Robin’s friend Chrissy worked at. It was little, with a lot of plants everywhere that were dying slightly in the October breeze, and a chubby black cat curled up on one of the tables. So of course that’s the one where Robin chose to sit, even though she knew Steve was allergic. 

“Seriously?” Steve whined, giving her fake pout, because now he would be banished to some other table and have to sit alone. 

“Sorry, Steven, but he’s just a baby,” Robin stated simply, shrugging and smoothing her hand over the cat’s fur, as if that made up for all of this. The cat lifted its head up and mewed, pushing its face into Robin’s hand, who giggled and kept petting it.

Steve huffed and sat down at the table next to her, sitting at the far chair. He didn’t want to be coughing and all red while Robin was on a date, because that would be embarrassing. People already thought that he was weird enough for accompanying his best friend on her dates—purposefully putting himself in the role of the awkward-third-wheel—but in truth? Robin was nervous and flighty, and if it were up to her, she would just leave the second things got slightly awkward, even if it didn’t mean the date was over yet.

That’s why Vickie was perfect for her, because she also never stopped talking, just like Robin, who was now cooing and murmuring to the cat, its little face squished between her palms as she kissed all over it, just to cough and spit out cat hair. Yeah, Steve wasn’t going to let her touch him until she had washed her hands. Thoroughly, at that. 

She looked over at him and grinned her hand fidgeting in the air slightly. “Steve, look.”

“I’m looking, Robs. It’s a cat.”

She gasped and covered the cat’s ears with her hands, kissing him on the nose again. “He is not just a cat, Stefan, he is a baby.”

“You do realize that ‘Steve’ isn’t short for anything, right? It’s just Steve,” He muttered, rolling his eyes and shrinking down slightly on his chair. It was a nice looking chair—kind of a soft, light green, with an out-of-date looking floral print. Little pink flowers. He liked little pink flowers, they were cool.

Standing up, and ignoring Robin as she was still talking to the cat and not him—“Where’s Stevie going, hm? Is he leaving? Where’s he going, baby? He’s abandoning us, you poor thing…”—he went up to the counter to get himself a drink. It was going to be a long day for him, with effectively two Robin’s babbling around him all afternoon. 

There was no-one behind the counter, so he waited there for a moment, looking around. The only other person here was a guy sitting in the corner with his head down, a book out in front of him, occasionally glancing over at Robin and the cat with a small smile on his face. It was a wonder Steve hadn’t noticed him before, and honestly, he was kind of happy that he hadn’t, because now he was just standing there and staring like an idiot. His hair was long and brown, curly, but not natural curly—like he had gotten a perm or something—and he had tattoos on his arms. Maybe more that Steve couldn’t see—which, no, he was not going to think about that, fuck, his face is so red now—

After a few more seconds of gawking, the guy's head snapped up and his eyes widened. “Shit—,” he rushed out, scrambling up and over to Steve, who stepped out of his way as he scrambled over the counter and nearly tripped as he stood up fully, his hair falling into his eyes. He didn’t look like he worked there—wearing a Metallica t-shirt (Steve had no idea what that was. A band, by the looks of it) and ripped black jeans, with a shit ton of chains and rings all over him. He looked a bit out of breath, but just cleared his throat and leaned on his elbows on the counter, smiling. “What do you want?”

“Oh, uh…I…a coffe?” Steve stuttered out, still a bit shocked and lost for words as to what the fuck just happened. 

The guy tilted his head and his smile got a bit wider. “Okay. What kind of coffee?”

“I—no, I don’t like coffee. Do you have, like…Hot Chocolate or something?” Why had he asked for coffee? Robin had coffee every morning (except today because he wouldn’t let her. She didn’t need more sugar since she was probably going to drink some here, with Vickie) not him. Fuck.

“You don’t like coffee? Are you sure? I think it tastes fine,” The guy said, shrugging and tugging on one of his curls like he was trying to hide behind it. 

“Well, that’s good for you.” Steve said, giving him a small smile. The guy looked at him for a few more seconds, just enough time for Steve’s face to get even more red, before straightening up with a nervous laugh and going to make his drink. 

It took him a while, because he kept fumbling with the cup and dropping things, tripping over his feet, while quietly singing under his breath and drumming on the counter with his fingers. This guy was a mess. But it was kind of cute. Wait, no, it wasn’t. Why would Steve think that? That was weird. It wasn’t cute, he was cute. No, that’s even worse.

Eventually, the guy spun around, looking Steve over with a stupid—yet sort of endearing?—grin on his face. “Name?”

Steve just stood there. “Hm?”

“For the order. I need your name, sweetheart.” 

And if that didn’t just make Steve want to run out of there and back into his car. But, alas, he couldn’t leave Robin alone or she might try to steal the cat she was still messing with. “I’m like—the only person here?”

The guy shrugged, spinning around a bit, his hands messing with the hem of his shirt as he faced Steve once again. “Still. Need to professional.”

Steve was pretty sure nothing this guy had done had been professional, but whatever. “Steve? Steve Harrington.”

“Aw, cute name. Okay—“ He rushed off to get the drink, but instead of just handing it to Steve, he walked over to the pick-up counter and pretended to look around the room. “Order for Steve?”

Steve laughed slightly, but it was more of a confused laugh than a happy one. He walked over and went to take the drink, but the guy pulled it to his chest, squinting at him, trying to be serious—although there was a small smile at the corner of his mouth. “Are you Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

Steve froze, his expression faltering slightly as he cleared his throat. That poked a sore spot that he didn’t like to think about. “Yeah,” He said quietly, looking away for a moment and clearing his throat. “I’m sure.” He knew that the guy was just messing around, but he couldn’t help it.

The guy handed him the drink and looked Steve over, his smile dropping slightly. “Sorry about that. I know I can be a bit much sometimes, so if I said something to offend you just know that I totally do not think before I talk. Ever. And it was an accident. Sorry.”

“It’s okay!” Steve said quickly, his face flushing as he looked down to where the guy had written ‘Steve :)’ on the side of the cup, and had checked off all of the boxes just to check them off, even if the things didn’t apply to the Hot Chocolate. “I’m just kind of tired today, sorry.” 

He was lying, and the guy probably knew. But he didn’t say anything. Steve really wished people would stop doing that to him—knowing that there was a problem but not pushing to know what it was, because he just needed someone to force him to talk about everything that had happened, or he was going to melt into a pile of bloody goop. Then again, this poor guy probably didn’t want to hear some stranger rant about his unfortunate and traumatic life. He was a barista, not a therapist. And Steve refused to see a therapist. For personal reasons that Robin despised (even though she didn’t want to see one, either).

“I’m Eddie.” The guy—Eddie, that’s a nice name—offered, shrugging slightly and messing with the thick silver rings on his fingers. Steve tried not to stare at his hands so much. They looked nice. Fuck, Steve, normal thoughts, think normal thoughts—, he chided himself internally, shaking his head slightly, which made Eddie give him a confused look. 

“I like that name. Eddie, it’s, uh, it’s nice.” Eddie nodded and his smile came back in full force as he bounced slightly on his feet. “Thanks! You go enjoy your drink, I’ll be okay over here all by my lonesome.” 

“Cool.” Steve said quietly, and then punched himself inside for that. Which technically could have killed him, because the doctor said if got any more blunt-force trauma,  he was likely to not survive, but right at this moment, he really wanted to shrivel up and rot in the corner.

He walked back and sat down. Fuck. This really was going to be a long day.

——

Pinterest board!

this wasn’t supposed to be all of part one, but I need to post something now just so that I can’t back out later and get in my head about all of this.

If you want to be tagged, comment and let me know, and if you have any questions or comments, feel free to send me an ask or tag me in a post, because I like getting asks :) (and if you want to be removed from the taglist at any point in the future, just DM me and lmk)

you can also follow the tag ‘Radio Star by Finn’ (or you could just follow me) if you don’t like being tagged in things.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED, AND IF YOU SEE A SPELLING MISTAKE OR SOMETHING NO YOU DIDN’T. I DON’T HAVE A BETA READER FOR THIS I JUST WRITE AND POST. THANKS. BYE.

Taglist:

@an-atlas-or-other (because I wrote this since you said I should post it before.)

@strangersteddierthings (because I showed you a snippet of it for the WIP Wednesday thing. If you want to be taken off the taglist lmk, but I thought you might like to see the full bit)

[comradekatara]

okay, so I did just spend the entire day watching NATLA. I had no choice but to watch this all in one sitting with my friends because I knew that if I attempted to watch it alone, or in increments, I would simply never get past episode 1. and I was right. it, of course, sucked so bad. I intend to write an actual, articulate review of the show as a whole when I have time, but for now, here is a list of the notes I jotted down on my phone (including some quotes from my friends as we watched), cinema sins style (pluses indicate details I actually liked, however minuses are far more frequent; points I considered especially significant are bolded).

– NO COLON to signify the central tension of the entire show!!!

Episode 1:

+ Love Aang’s eyebrows, just a very cute kid in general

+ opening fight scene kind of serves

– Sozin does NOT

– This clunky exposition is so strange considering they clearly already assume we are familiar with the entire show

– What’s going on with Kyoshi (ie, where is Roku)

– Where is Katara narrating????

– Hideous fonts

+ AANG SO CUTE <3 (he’s giving Dewey!)

– He can just fucking fly without his glider I guess?

– Airbenders saying wow at airbending (ding!)

– Aang’s uggs

– Sky bison…… L (update: I lowkey came around on Appa, but only bc Momo was so fucking busted he looked incredible by contrast)

– Gyatso’s mustache L (update: many such cases going forward)

– What’s going on with the accents???

– Aang cannot fucking act for shit I’m so sorry to this adorable baby boy

– Depicting a literal genocide as an action scene. Fucking awful

– Aang actually trying to head back during the storm defeats the whole point of the whole inciting incident of his entire arc????

+ Waterbending Avatar State sequence in the storm actually looks cool

– I hate White Sokka

– I hate shein Katara

– They do NOT act like siblings

– I hate White Sokka

– Where is Katara I miss you baby girl

– ZUKO’S SCAR IS AWFUL

– Katara has no agency or passion or rage or emotion whatsoever?!!?!?

– Acting is SO BAD

+ Clunky exposition works for Zuko because he does have a propensity for monologuing all his intentions

– Sokka, however, does NOT

– How can Sokka be “the last man” of the Southern Water Tribe if there are like. Dozens of other guys only ever so slightly younger than him just standing around.

– Kanna just saying Katara’s monologue because Katara is a nothing

– WHY DO FIREBENDERS KEEP ATTACKING AT NIGHT

– Clunky ass exposition “he had to grow up fast” give me a fucking break

– Who the fuck is this white guy

– Katara has no motivations at all?? She’s just chopped liver I guess

– The cadence of every actor is so bad

– They can’t decide whether they want to be the cartoon or their own thing and instead they’re just nothing

Episode 2:

– KANNA JUST GIVES HER THE SCROLL?!?!? KATARA DOESNT GET TO SHOPLIFT. OR DO ANYTHING

– MILF ALERT!!!!

– I hate you straight nepobaby suki

– She’s so fucking weird

– White Sokka has a bad face and a good body. He should have a strikingly beautiful face and a scrawny, malnourished body. L

– Aang being afraid to airbend makes no sense

– Where is Sokka’s fucking Kyoshi Warrior feminization!!!!

– Sexist ass show

– STOP IT KYOSHI STOOOOPPPPP #NotMyKyoshi

Episode 3:

– This one rebel leader guy is giving Katara more than Katara

– Why are the colors so bland

– Sokka being scientifically minded makes no sense bc that trait (which, um, is actually quite crucial to his character) hasn’t actually been established at all up until this point (or retained beyond this one episode)

– This guy is giving jock who happens to be good at engineering, when Sokka should be a NERD who HAPPENS to be good at FIGHTING

– Azula and Mai are NOT GIVING

– Azula should present as sure of herself and incredibly poised. It’s actual crucial to reflecting how she has been shaped by abuse

– And Mai should be razor sharp (both physically and figuratively) and not give a fuck about any of this!!!

+ Katara hitting herself in the face was funny

– Redemption for beautiful Jet (my friend: “I love seeing a beautiful man die”)

– Freedom Fighters are GIVINGGG

– How can Kya “watch the sun rise every day” if they literally live in the South Pole

– They don’t understand Sokka’s daddy issues AT ALL. The simple fact that he’s actually communicating them is egregious

– The first time Katara actually gets angry is for Jet. But not even for the right reasons.

– The first exchange that Katara and Sokka have that makes any sense is in ep THREE (of 8)

– “Sokka was right. You are the bad guy.” WHO WROTE THIS 😭😭

– Jet is only going after the corrupt and collaborators…. So, um… he’s literally right???

+ The fight between Aang and Zuko is actually SO GOOD and understands their dynamic (sidenote: they’re the only kids who are actually giving their original characters at all)

+ Aang reading Zuko’s diary is so fucking funny

+ I love you Danny Pudi <3

Episode 4:

+ I love the interior of Bumi’s palace. Statues of Flopsy

– Omashu is in India now I guess and also everyone in the world lives here

– Bumi’s hat!?!?

+ The nomads sound like Fleet Foxes

– Katara and Sokka are literally switching roles in this tunnel

+ This one Earth Kingdom soldier is really serving.

– The fact that he’s ostensibly framed as in the wrong here though is INSANE

– Zuko is supposed to be ten here 😭 that’s a grown ass man with a BA in Econ

– Sokka’s necklace is plastic

– Katara and Sokka being like “we never used to fight at home” ……. WTF!?!?

– KATARA WOULD NEVER SAY THAT TO SOKKA SHE WOULD BEAT HIS ASS INTO THE GROUND EVEN IF HE WAS RIGHT

– Adults keep being so mean to Aang :((

+ Zuko’s hair is great

+ I like that Bumi gave Aang his bison whistle(?)

– Bumi’s anger is….interesting

Episode 5:

– Canonically 13 year old Zuko is also a grown ass man

– “How was I supposed to know she was a Fire Nation soldier” ummmmmm maybe due to your INSTINCTS and CONSTANT PARANOIA

– They keep alluding to escapades offscreen without actually depicting any of their grounded bonding moments so we have no reason to care about any of these characters whatsoever or their relationships with one another

– Sokka good with kids and names??? Preposterous

– Zuko kinda gay asf

– Zuko calling someone an idiot and Sokka never once does . Sounds fake

– Oppressed peoples are just a mouthpiece for oppression instead of real human beings

– Instragram ass makeup

– Aang isn’t having any fun

– Aang feels like he has no agency whatsoever because he only ever does what the adults around him tell him to do and never does anything of his own accord. Let him have a sillygoofy time!!!

– Constant clunky exposition and no understanding of its own narrative… it’s truly like if ATLA … was LOK.

+ JUUUUNE

– Hitting on Iroh for #feminism

– “I always thought I was spiritually attuned. I don’t know how he got in here though” is actually so Katara. Finally an actual Katara moment

– Wan Shi Tong goofy asf Guardians of Ga’Hoole ass CGI monstrosity

– What is with Sokka’s fucking white people references (all you need is love, bye bye birdie, etc). White devil I need him dead

– Sexy Kitsune for the furries

– Fox accuses him of making jokes to deflect “What? I don’t do that” WELL. HE DOESNT IN THIS VERSION!!! (Alluding to a character trait that they don’t actually depict is crazy. He literally says everything he’s feeling at all times in this and barely ever says anything witty. It’s like they’re TAUNTING us.)

– Kya sounds like she’s from the Upper East Side

– Why won’t they let Katara DO anything!!!

– Too economical with their storytelling leads to no real depth whatsoever

– Putting Katara’s flashback in Book 1 undermines the whole point of TSR

– I HATE YOU WHITE HAKODA

– If Sokka is so bad at ice dodging in this then why did they give him the mark of the wise ??????? None of this scene makes sense

– Why is Sokka CRYING (he doesn’t DO that)

– Koh looks so bad

– Aang doesn’t actually know how to fight Koh he’s just such a wooden actor that he happens to get away with it

– First Roku mention????? Lmfao

– Gyatso talking to Aang is so wack but at least he’s being nice to him

Episode 6 (aka the best episode by far):

+ Zuko just drawing an eye on the page is so real actually

– Azula’s flames aren’t even blue

– And she’s not mysterious or imposing at all!

– I HATE the makeup in the show

– The pacing is AWFUL and STUPID, no consideration as to WHY information is revealed when it is narratively/thematically

+ Okay he’s really giving Zuko lmfao

+ Ken Leung has made Zhao feel like a real person (but no one else is doing that ???)

– Low-budget fantasy C-dramas have costumes one million times better than this.

– What is with Iroh’s obsession with boats

– Quirked up old man Roku

– Zuko flashbacks don’t read as significant because his scar is nothing and he’s the same age

+ Aang and Zhao scene is great

+ I’d follow Zhao into battle

– Other friend: “This is the best episode so far and it’s because Katara and Sokka aren’t in it”

+ Blue Spirit mask actually looks like a theater mask

+ Using the original Blue Spirit theme!!

+ This episode actually slays

– Their commentary on narrativization is solely relegated to Zhao and no one else gets to participate in this thematic conversation, not even KATARA

+ I love the sassy gay scribe

+ LADDERS SCENEEEEE

+ Zuko canonically having good handwriting is so real

+ Aang and Zuko conversation is great

– Why does Aang keep assuming Zuko is compassionate and wounded when he hasn’t displayed any compassion, remorse, or pain

– Iroh stepping into the Agni Kai goes against his whole character

+ Ozai kind of rules tho

– WHY IS ZUKO ACTIVELY FIGHTING OZAI!!!!!!!!

– Zuko’s backstory makes no sense

+ Zuko’s thotty little collarbone

– Ozai’s scene here undermines the whole point of Zuko’s banishment

– Such bad dialogue it’s crazy

– How do the 41st division not know why they’ve been on this boat for the past 3 years when every piece of dialogue in this show is otherwise expository as fuck

– What’s the point of Gyatso leaving. They don’t explain it at all

Episode 7:

– The NWT is so grey and underwhelming. My favorite location in the whole show. Can’t have shit in Netflixworld.

– BECAUSE AANG JUST HAS VISIONS OF THE FUTURE NOW I GUESS

– PAKKU AND YUE LOOK SOOOOO BAD

– Yue looks like a Euphoria character in a party city wig

– This isn’t how Azula fights!!!

– I hate what they’re doing with Azula so bad

– Mai sucks too

– Their journey doesn’t feel earned at all because they didn’t hang out or learn anything or do shit

– Why is Yue in the kitchens if she’s a princess

– And why is she WATERBENDING

– Why isn’t she repressed!!!!! She shouldn’t BE “ordinary”

– Why is Sokka explaining his duties!!!! He doesn’t SAY SHIT!

– Why isn’t the guy playing Hahn playing Sokka and vice versa (I’m so fucking serious)

– YUE’S A FOX????? WHAT

– All the offscreen battles where we’re supposed to assume character development actually happened. Sure.

– Hahn being nice and respectful to Sokka makes no sense

– MILF Yugoda! (How would she know Kanna. Update: I guess that doesn’t even matter here )

– THEY DONT UNDERSTAND YUE OR HAHN OR WHAT PATRIARCHY IS. AT ALL

– Kuruk is too serious and Roku is too playful. It should be the reverse. Playing into racist tropes :/

– His eyes are way too blue I’m sorry to this man

– They all look like they know what iPhones are.

– Yue is so annoying . L

– This whole Yue Sokka scene is the most annoying thing I’ve ever fucking seen in my life. And entirely antithetical to their whole deal

– “My friends” this “my friends” that, except they never actually hang out. They just keep calling each other friends but they never actually show it in a believable way.

– They want to be edgy but they actually never fucking shut up about the power of friendship like we are all five years old. I think when they said they were “appealing to a Game of Thrones audience” what they really meant was just that they are also bad, incredibly misogynistic writers who depict sensitive topics without any care or nuance.

– I actually like the Fire Nation boats

– Zhao is working with Azula??? She wouldn’t KILL THE MOON

– Azula would never ask Ozai to do things she would wait for his command at all times!!!

– Since when is Sokka wise and emotionally mature enough to hold this conversation with Katara, and why isn’t Katara being impulsive. This fight is so planned out; all the excitement is lost.

– Her completely blank expression as Pakku humiliates her. I hate you SHEIN KATARA!!!!!!

– This fight is so dull and lame whereas in the original that fight scene literally changed my life as a kid????? #NotMyKatara

– “The Legend of Aang” EW

– Why isn’t Aang waterbending at all. Book 1: “talking about water in completely abstract, hypothetical terms”

Episode 8:

– Iroh telling Zuko how to break into the North Pole is undermining the one moment where he actually demonstrates his intelligence as an independent person

– Stupid ass liberal feminism I hate you

– So they are sexist but also not. Makes sense

– What the fuck is with this moon backstory shit. Who needed that

– Zhao going to the Fire Temple instead of Wan Shi Tong’s Library for info on the moon completely undermines the point about the role of knowledge in imperialist conquest

– Kuruk looks like a Star Wars force ghost

+ THEY KILLED MOMO (kind of made me laugh a lot, so… points for that I guess)

– But they could only feature him for all of five seconds bc they don’t have the budget to constantly animate his mangy rat ass

– Why is Yue helping MOMO instead of ACTUAL HUMAN BEINGS

– They want me to believe that White Sokka has compassion for that little rat when I simply do not believe that this man cares for anyone or anything or even has a soul.

+ Zuko and Aang’s situationship/chemistry is crazy. They’re both kind of slaying actually

– That said, the kid who plays Aang is not a very good actor, he’s just adorable and has big ears and a Dewey voice. And the kid who plays Zuko has the easiest acting job in the show because Zuko is actually so over the top and dramatic that overacting feels authentic to this one character in particular (and no one else).

– Bending fights look stupid and feel thematically insignificant

– This red filter looks so bad

– Why do they keep dragging out fast paced scenes to explain everything so that they’re now boring af

– Hahn is just……. Okay go off woke feminist king. Sure. Why not

– All the exposition is so clunky and slow and undermining the actual point of the scene

– Not only is this not visually interesting, it also doesn’t translate tonally, and the primary actors can’t pull it off

– So NOW Iroh kills Zhao. Okay

– Zhao wouldn’t respect a teenage girl this much, even if she is the princess

– Koizilla looks bad :(

– RIP Ken Leung the Cunt Slayer. 5ever in our hearts </3

+ It’s actually so funny that Ken Leung apparently didn’t even know what he was auditioning for because he was by far the best actor in this show and nearly singlehandedly redeemed it. I love this guy so much.

– Me: “This isn’t a show. This is a farcical simulacrum of real art.” Friend, far more concisely: “This is a fucking joke.”

– Katara and Sokka barely even seem like they care about each other. Look at how they massacred by boy (and girl)

– Yue and Sokka alluding to fucking offscreen WOULD be a slay if they weren’t both annoying as fuck…

– Oh so NOW Katara talks Aang down from the Avatar State. Yeah. I buy that.

– “You’re not just the Avatar you’re my family” really? Because you’ve barely even talked

– The sequencing and pacing of the Siege of the Noth was nonsensical.

– “My daughter always made her own choices” NO SHE FUCKING DIDNT!!!!! THE WHOLE POINT OF HER CHARACTER. WAS THAT SHE COULDN’T!!! Shallow fucking libfem bullshit they MASSACRED my girl!!!!!!

– Why is Arnook comforting Sokka when Sokka should be comforting HIM

– Also Sokka would never express his insecurities to Arnook in the first place. NOT MY REPRESSED KING????

– Why is Sokka giving emotional support and Katara giving tactical support -_-

– They really think that “Gotta let go of the past to have a future” is such a fucking smart line they used it twice

– Conquering Omashu wasn’t a STRATEGY it just happened CONCURRENTLY because their imperialist regime is incredibly powerful … This show doesn’t understand its own politics at all.

– Azula has no poise or swag smh

– Aang doesn’t even know about Sozin’s comet because Roku didn’t tell him…

– It’s crazy that a show written in the 2020s is actually SO MUCH more sexist than a show written in the 2000s.

– TDLR; I hate you capitalism, I hate you Netflix, I hate you White Sokka, I hate you SHEIN Katara, I hate you heterosexual nepobaby Suki, I hate you girlboss Yue, I hate you visibly insecure Azula, I hate you whatever is going on with Mai, I hate you CGI Momo, I hate you wack ass pacing, I hate you clunky, idiotic dialogue, I hate you complete and utter lack of consideration into what made this show great in the first place, I love you Danny Pudi, I love you Ken Leung.

Which, in fairness, is all pretty much exactly what I expected this show would be. But at least actually watching it did indeed verify all my assumptions (although what they did to Katara specifically was even worse than what I had assumed, dear god), so I will be writing up a more in-depth review soon so that I can actually try to unpack why this show is such a dumpster fire, and how that reflects larger trends in media. But for now, all I can say is, I can’t believe I sat through 8 hours of this fucking garbage knowing it would be bad and it was. I’ve been saying this show would suck ass since the second it was announced, and yet it somehow managed to still prove worse than even my incredibly pessimistic expectations. A soulless, shallow, offensive work of profit that cannot even attempt to justify its own existence. I need to kill White Sokka with hammers.

[russellsppttemplates]

It shouldn't work but it does (George Russell)

George shouldn't feel so pulled to you

Note: english is not my first language. I have never written Norris!reader, so this is a first! Also tweaked the request a little, hopefully it's okay! I feel like this was a good request and me tweaking it made it lose the potential it had, I'm not sure how I feel about it...

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: mentions a secret relationship for a while

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

You were walking to the McLaren hospitality, greeting a few people on the way that greeted you back, a smile always on your lips while you did it. The day was miserable, grey and a little rain already threatening the race that would happen a few hours later, and yet you were a ray of sunshine. And George had trouble dealing with that.

His eyes would travel to you anytime you were on the paddock for race weekend, and now that you had finished university, it seemed to happen a lot more.

"George, we need to do a last seat fit", one of the Williams mechanics called him, his attention lingering on the way you almost skipped before entering the McLaren garage for a second longer before he walked back to this car, mumbling something no one could pick up quite right.

She's Lando's sister, who really is just a female copycat of him. Smiley, giggly, always cheering people up and spreading kindness wherever you went. George shouldn't feel the way he feels about you, no matter how much his heart raced whenever he spotted you or how he smiled when Lando spoke about you.

When he found himself on the podium after a three lap race, George allowed himself to enjoy it, spraying champagne on who he hoped he would be directly racing against and with the following season, as the call on his phone suggested.

Driving for Mercedes had been a goal George set himself very early on, and he was one step closer to that. Strutting out of the garage after taking a shower and getting dressed in his usual clothes, George was distracted on his phone as he waled to the Mercedes hospitality. On your end, you looked to retrieve the car key from your bag, Flo and Savannah walking in front of you and not preventing your collision.

"I'm so sorry", George let out, holding your shoulders to make sure you were okay, "Oh, hi, Y/N!", he greeted.

"It's fine, I wasn't looking either, sorry!", you giggled as you found the car key, flashing it to him, "by the way, Congratulations on your first podium, George!", you smiled at him before walking up to girls after waving at him.

Y/N Norris will be the death of him, and they wouldn't work. He shouldn't be attracted to her and yet...he is.

Getting in the car, leaving your sister to point out the interaction, "Since when do you talk to George Russell of all people?", Flo snickered, fastening her seatbelt.

"Why wouldn't I?", you defended yourself, "because him and Lando are not that close friends, like, Carlos is closer to him, for instance", she reasoned, "so I should only speak to people who my brother speaks to? George was on the podium, albeit from a questionable race, but it was questionable for everyone anyway, so why not be kind?", you attempted, knowing your sister wouldn't dwell much after that.

.

"You know", you broke the silence while you and George laid in his bed, the sun starting to rise in Monaco and softly illuminating his soft features, "I thought you were mean for the longest time-".

"And what got you to change your opinion?", he said, adjusting his head to look at you, eye to eye while you traced random shapes on his tummy. You were having a slow day before the season picked up again, opting to spend it in bed in the morning, followed by a hike in the afternoon.

"I found out you are the sweetest person I ever met", you cooed, kissing his cheek, "behind this posh, uptight english man thing you have on the surface, you will always get up with me to watch the sunrise.

"Where are you going?", George groaned, trying to grab your arm to pull you back into bed. It was the first night you spent together and he was unsure of how to react. Should he pull you back for a snuggle? Should he let you go because you figured out that you two shouldn't be in a relationship?

"The sunrise is so colourful today, look!", you whispered, mesmerised by the colours in the sky, knees tucked to your chest as you looked out the balcony. Your eyes were shiny, both from sleep and excitement at the scene in front of you, and as much as George thought that it was way too early to even consider opening his eyes, he got up, got the blanket at the end of the bed and sat next to you, watching the sky go from dark to a palette of orange and pink while drawing the blanket on your back.

"You can go back to bed", you reasoned, "I now you prefer the warmth of the sheets and covers", you whispered, "I want to be here with you".

"If Alex so much as dreams you are out of the bed at this hour to look at the sunrise with me but refuse to get up at eight am for your padel game with him, you are going to be teased about it until the end of time", you snickered, shaking your head when he nuzzled his nose on your neck.

"I'll do anything for you, darling", he smiled, kissing your lips. "Even when I wouldn't believe you had feelings for me and started yelling at you at the FIA dinner?", you chuckled, "even more then".

"You can't keep pulling me away, George, someone is going to notice-", you said as the British driver pulled you to the bathroom area, making sure no one was there to hear it.

It would be foolish to think that no one else would notice how beautiful you looked tonight. The dress you were to be the plus one for your brother at the FIA end of season dinner fit you like a glove, and George wasn't the only one to notice. Particularly, he focused on one of the sponsors representatives that had offered to escort you to the balcony a few times already. Luckily for George, you kept politely denying.

"I don't want him to think he has a shot with you, because he doesn't, right?", he questioned.

You thought about playing dumb about the situation, but after assessing the whole thing, you thought you better not, "I don't know, does he? I can't deal with this whole stealing kisses in the paddock and you and my brother gaming together like you're just two buddies who drive cars on the weekend? It was all fun and games when I was being a chatter box and defending Lando, but what now? Now that I care about you way more than I would've liked?", you let out.

Anger was an emotion everyone had, George knew that, but he thought yours was small, maybe non existent. Right now, you proved him otherwise as the tears pooled on your waterline.

"Didn't it even occur to you that I don't like that either? I don't want to have to look at you from afar in the paddock and wait until we're both stuck in a corner to steal a kiss or to know that you're secretly rooting for me! I like you, Y/N, and I want you to know that", he put it out. Done. For better or for worse, he came clear about his feelings to the person he thought he would never feel this way about.

"Oh my word, why are you crying? Does me liking you disgust you that much?", George added, afraid of touching you and getting a rightfully earner hit back, but the sight of your crying and upset was consuming him by the second. Happy, bubbly and giggly you was gone and he was the reason for it.

"No, you dumbass! It's because you like me back but I spent all of this time thinking you'd never like me that way", you hiccuped, grabbing a tissue from the skin to wipe under your eyes.

"Why? Why would you think that?", he questioned, "never mind, I'm missing the point - we're missing the point", he gulped, lacing your hand in his and rubbing the soft skin with his thumb, "we can work this out, can't we?", he pleaded.

"George Russell is begging?", you teased, going back to your usual self, "begging is a strong word, but it's an effort I'm willing to make", he smiled.

"Because you're so dedicated to the people around you", George mumbled against your forehead.

"I didn't know you were coming here, today!", your boyfriend spoke as he saw you enter the Mercedes hospitality, joining him, Lewis and Mick near the sofas.

"What? Did you want me to walk in here singing 'what a man?', love?", you joked, kissing George's forehead before pouring yourself some coffee and sitting down next to them.

"Your whole family is in the paddock this weekend, I thought you'd be with them", he reasoned.

"There's a lot of people in the McLaren already. Besides, I told Lando I would be here anyway, and he was fine with it", you smiled. Even though your brother had his first podium of the season in the last race in Singapore, an achievement you celebrated with your family in due course, but now you were back to supporting George closely. You noticed a small nudge on his confidence, so you stayed close, not only because you always wanted to be there for him, but also because you knew how this sport work. How easily drivers went from being the best to being the worst, how the critical persistent voices wouldn't shut up and how much of a toll it took.

"Are you not going to comment on the fact that I'm always joking about your brother not having a race win and what happened last week?", he wondered once you were alone in his driver's room. The question had been lingering on his mind whenever it got the best of him.

"I don't have much to say apart from what I've said to you already", you stated, resting your hands on either side of your body on the small sofa, "will I call you out anytime you went and go after Lando over something he fought to achieve? Yes, because I'm fair. But I won't let you be alone with your self doubts, nor will I allow that you think that I will ever think something and say the opposite to you", you sterned, stirring the conversation to what really mattered.

"I know you'll never do that, I'm just saying that if you want to pop over to McLaren, you can", George clarified, "I know I can", you didn't let him have one up, smirking as he shook his head, smile on his lips from your insistence and the attitude he loved so much.

"I love you, you know that?", he smiled as he walked up to you to kiss your lips, "I should hope so, I'm even wearing a Mercedes jacket today!".

"Even though I don't need protection, you're always there for me, even when Lando annoys me", you sighed.

The day Lando found out, you thought the world was ending. You were in Monaco for the last week of winter break before testing, and since you wanted this to be the season where you would finally were able to support your boyfriend from the paddock in the usual black and white Mercedes merch.

So, naturally, when your brother said he was going to play padel with some of the grid, you asked if you could join, knowing your boyfriend was planning to attend as well.

"You're more of a golf guy", you wondered when you arrived at the court, "why are we here?", questioning the change of heart and thinking how easily he was willing to go.

"Charles said it would only be him, Max and George and they needed an even number", he shrugged, "I told you to stay home if you didn't want to come, I-", he was interrupted by George parking next to him, "hey, man!".

"Hey!", George greeted as he got out of the car, "Charles just texted, he is inside already with Max", he urged, Lando walking in front of you as your boyfriend stole a squeeze of your waist quickly before you walked up to the stands, choosing a good spot to watch them.

Games were being well disputed and Max called for you to join them and substitute him for a while when he had to take a work call, "off to discuss technicals of this year's rocket ship?", you yelled from the little door to the court as he excused himself, shaking his head at your antics.

One of the balls Charles shot in your direction ended up under your feet, making you slip and fall on the floor.

"Darling!" and "Y/N!" were heard once your butt hit the ground, Charles seemingly the only one to notice what George called you until Lando checked you over and se you were fine.

"What did you call my sister?", he threatened, "is she by any chance the mysterious girlfriend you've been talking about?".

"Lando, please listen to me", you called him, holding his arm as he looked at George.

"Is he the guy you're dating?", he questioned again.

"Lando, c'mon! Y/N is a grown up, and it's not like I have some criminal record or anything like that!", George began as Charles stood there just watching the scene unfold, "and believe me, she's told me off everything I said about you, she didn't let any on that go!", your boyfriend tried.

"I guess there's worse", Lando mumbled, "still, he is the person you're being super secretive about?", Lando quirked a brow, "George? With three names instead of a surname?".

"How did you even know I was seeing someone?", you questioned, hissing as you grabbed the racket, "Flo had an inkling. At first I thought she was going insane, but I still supported her, you know?".

"Well, another reason why you should support me and George then!".

[nastasya--filippovna]

WHO IS CROWLEY AFTER THE FALL?

so there is a LOT of debate over who Crowley was before The Fall. I have seen a lot of headcanons going around the place saying he was Raphael or Kokabiel or Baraqiel.

I mean this is the Exhibit A for saying that Crowley is Baraqiel. I think NOT.

Because this is a handbook written by demons for demons. The title is literally (if my memory serves me right) a guide to angelic beings that walk the earth. SO Crowley is not That..

Other than the red hair thing, no other physical characteristic matches. This Baraqiel guy sounds like an absolute gremlin. grisly slug, occasionally damp. NOT CROWLEY. I mean she's the most dashing thing around.

NO. #3 It says CROWLEY one line above the name Baraqiel. If Crowley is Baraqiel then why would his demon name appear right under that?????

And I think somewhere Neil Gaiman refuted this theory (I'm not really sure but I think so plz don't come at me with pitchforks if I got it wrong). So.......

But this is all beside the point. What I'm trying to say is that too much has been said about who Crowley was before he fell. There is very little, if not none, that has been said about who he was After.

Some say that he's an insignificant demon or some loser guy in Hell or whatever the equivalent of an angel principality deputy on Earth is.

I BEG TO DIFFER.

He is Important. Just look at the kind of assignments he's given. Original Sin, Major Historical Temptations and Evil Acts, Delivering the Antichrist and bringing about Armageddidn't.

But who is he exactly??????????

So canonically we're never told what Crowley's rank in Hell is. But there are more that enough hints for us to figure that out for ourselves.

But where does one place him when the hierarchy is so complex and varying across different historical and theological sources.

Such as here:

I have been thinking about this and I have two current theories

Crowley is Astaroth

Crowley is The Leviathan

I'll discuss only one in this post. I'll save the other for the next post.

Now book!Omens clearly tells us that Crowley or Crawley is not his real demonic name. For those who haven't read the book this happens when Hastur Lavista and Ligur come to hand over the antichrist to Crowley in the churchyard and as he's about to sign his name as "Crowley" they tell him to sign his real demonic name.

Are you with me?!!!!!

NANNY ASHTORETH!

Why did she use this particular name for her nanny disguise. What if...... what if this IS her real demon name.

A lot of my real life friends are annoyed beyond measure by my constant ranting about etymologies, origin and construction of discourse and epistemology, especially when it comes to presenting my thesis over how all Abrahamic religions and their symbology and iconography is, how do I put it, inspired from pagan religions that they expunged. I mean the concept of angles, the man shaped being with wings that is actually just a ball of fire or eyes or hale discs or sth is a pagan Persian concept.

Back to the matter at hand.

Ashtoreth, Astaroth, Astarte, Ishtar, are all the same name in different dialects and languages. All of these refer to a certain Babylonian goddess. When the People of God probably cleansed off all the infidels they decided to literally demonize their god and name a demon after her. In Milton's Paradise Lost Astaroth is one of the three princes or Grand Dukes of Hell alongside Beelz and Lucifer. If this theory might be true Crowley is a Prince/Grand Duke of Hell.

Now this gets even more interesting. Ashtoreth, Astarte, whatever you may, is a goddess of fertility and is associated with childcare. I mean at this point I just stopped to marvel at the attention to detail that Mr. Gaiman's work hold, the smallest hidden meanings in the storytelling.

Another thing. The Babylonians built these temples called ziggurats to worship Astarte and they looked something like this

and this

they were also known as sky temples.

Because Astaroth was first and foremost the goddess of stars and the Babylonians were stargazers and the temples were constructed as a stairway to heaven to take them closer to the stars and functioned as an observatory at times.

I'm just imagining Crowley turning up in ancient Babylon and with her other-worldly looks, knowledge of the stars and compassion for children they just..... started to worship her.

Before the Christians came and declared them pagans and the rest is history.

Continued in next post for the second theory......