#I feel like this is the kind of thing Neil would still just go to Andrew with

[mothandpidgeon]

Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)

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pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E 18+MDNI

summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.

contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 9k

a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.

Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young

You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you. 

You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller. 

Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely. 

Her words still ring in your ears. 

“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”

“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life. 

“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said. 

You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.

So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you. 

But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart. 

“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder. 

“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says. 

“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask. 

She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room. 

“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”

It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid. 

You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you. 

You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better. 

It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now. 

“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say. 

That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture. 

“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say. 

Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”

“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”

You both laugh. 

“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles. 

You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell her. 

“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”

Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.

You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there. 

At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time. 

Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face. 

“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy. 

She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen. 

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach. 

“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself. 

A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze. 

“Mercy?” Sarah asks. 

You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass. 

Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air. 

“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.  

“Where’s your dad?” you ask her. 

You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around. 

“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.” 

Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night. 

The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller. 

Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away. 

You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.  

“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper. 

You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands. 

What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor. 

You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.

“Help me,” he rasps. 

He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something. 

But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood…and more bodies. 

As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral. 

Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break. 

Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster. 

When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk. 

Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground. 

With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence. 

This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you. 

“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged. 

Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete. 

For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her. 

“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.

There’s a thud and then quiet. 

You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill. 

Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway. 

Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers. 

“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says. 

“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her. 

“But she’s hurt!”

She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle. 

Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck. 

“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”

You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away. 

You wait for a long time. 

As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now. 

You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes. 

Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine. 

For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare. 

No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you. 

He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family. 

But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope. 

The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning. 

You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday. 

You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt. 

They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you. 

He left you to die but you just go on living.  

It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night. 

You’re on your own. 

A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.

At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone. 

On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her. 

You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.

Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead. 

When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head. 

It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk. 

You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north. 

You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival. 

By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you. 

They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal. 

It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.  

Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven. 

You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached. 

Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall. 

It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table. 

You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home. 

Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you. 

He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright. 

“Uncle Tommy?” you manage. 

“That really you?” he asks. 

Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.  

You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope. 

“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”

He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife? 

“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner. 

And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller. 

He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.

It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up. 

He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become. 

“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up. 

He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel. 

You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival. 

“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago. 

You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath. 

“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall. 

There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened. 

At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. 

You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes. 

“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says. 

It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you. 

But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious. 

“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself. 

“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder. 

“You should’ve saved her,” you bark. 

Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back. 

“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say. 

You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing. 

You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall. 

The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel. 

Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today. 

It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine. 

“You okay?” Ellie asks. 

She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much. 

He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall. 

“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers. 

It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken. 

“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says. 

She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out. 

Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache. 

Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted. 

He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you. 

The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded. 

So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves. 

“Want some company?” you ask. 

He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in. 

Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Surprised you remember,” he says. 

“My best friend’s birthday?”

He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”

“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.” 

You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living. 

You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything. 

You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down. 

“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.” 

“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him. 

“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says. 

He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.

“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.

Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.

“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”

“Shit,” Joel says. 

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”

“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”

You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear. 

“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him. 

A thick knot forms in his throat. 

There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment. 

He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch. 

The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end. 

“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”

You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out. 

It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky. 

The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen. 

“How’d…”

“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”

You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well. 

“You sure?” he asks. 

You nod. “I know where to find it.”

He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect. 

“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask. 

“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains. 

You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates. 

You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since. 

“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes. 

He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile. 

“How’s she look?” you ask. 

He can’t help but chuckle. He nods. 

You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair. 

You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.

Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library. 

Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor. 

He’s still Mr. Miller, after all. 

Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”. 

He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved. 

Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.

“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly. 

You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.  

You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”

“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink. 

He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy. 

“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze. 

He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing. 

You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.  

You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet. 

You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago. 

It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek. 

“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours. 

It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it. 

“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say. 

He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went. 

You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night. 

That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.

He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.   

He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning. 

And then you kissed him. 

Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing. 

You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone. 

The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you. 

That’s when he heard it. 

It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong. 

She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you. 

He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again. 

If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself. 

He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you. 

Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you. 

“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon. 

Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth. 

“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table. 

“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.  

“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”

“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs. 

“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says. 

“Dentment is not a word,” you reply. 

“Neither is thoard,” Joel says. 

“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.

This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life. 

But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.  

When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.   

The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there. 

Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips. 

He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open. 

“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers. 

“Stay,” you murmur. 

He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back. 

But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?  

He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress. 

Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well. 

When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further. 

You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could. 

It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.  

After a while, though, it happens. 

Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them. 

He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light. 

You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment. 

The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him. 

You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper. 

You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up. 

It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. 

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever. 

You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want. 

You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul. 

When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass. 

You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him. 

Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him. 

Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply. 

You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this. 

You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories. 

Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.

Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before. 

But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.

You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back. 

It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.  

Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?” 

You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft. 

“Pretty,” he says almost to himself. 

He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all. 

Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart. 

You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection. 

Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years. 

In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you. 

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Comments and reblogs always appreciated.

[hmmm-shesucks]

Once the foxes become more comfortable with each other, they begin to nag. Mostly little things, usually humorous things. They nag on Nicky for being too forward sometimes. They nag on Neil for his horrible life habits. They nag on Dan for her mother henning. They nag on Kevin for everything. It's fun, it's what families do. They all just pick on each other for fun.

It takes a little longer for them to feel comfortable nagging Andrew though, which, is understandable, but one of the first things they start picking on him for is his lack of communication in general. He NEVER talks. They just want him to participate sometimes.

Renee and Neil find this funny because Andrew talks A LOT just not around the foxes. He's not comfortable.

See, Andrew is fucking weird. Everyone knows this, but the foxes think he's weird in a “mysterious, murder you in your sleep, was totally the kid everyone thought was going to shoot up the school” kind of weird.

Andrew is not that kind of weird. He's a different breed entirely. He plans out how he'd survive the apocalypse, any of them. He is constantly fighting back the most wild intrusive thoughts. He is 24/7 existential crisis. His head is a wild fucking place.

But he is trying. Making progress. Trying to be more open and approachable, as Bee says. So he talks. Out Loud.

And the foxes hate him.

In the most monotonous voice ever

“Do you ever feel like your bones are dirty? Like, I could totally strip my meat suit and just give my ribs a good bleaching.”

“If that light fell out of the ceiling it would kill at least three of you and seriously injure the rest of us.”

“Nothing is stopping me from buying five ice cream flavors at once, but I'm learning self-control and Bee would be disappointed.”

“Currently having a manic episode. Should I A.) call Bee, tell her I'm not doing too great, and talk about my symptoms and how to best cope? B.) find the nearest mall and spend every dime I have in less than thirty minutes. Or C.) go apeshit and try to fight anyone and everyone who looks at me in a less-than-kind way. Children included.

*stage whisper* there's a secret fourth option but I'm saving it for later ;) (pronounced Semicolon left facing open parentheses. Yes he says this out loud)”

disappears for less than five minutes and comes back with three furrbies and a corndog, one that is obviously not from the mall's food court.

He's so fucking weird. Like, weirder than Neil, and it's awful (so good dude, the foxes eat it up)

And it's not the manic Andrew on meds. It's just Andrew. He's still Andrew. He's still quiet most of the time and he is still grumpy and apathetic, but he's also comfortable enoughto just blurt random shit out and have fun watching everyone figure out how to respond. He's found safety in his new family and he can openly be who he is without fear of judgment or rejection. He's happy in a way he's never felt nor ever thought he'd get to experience. He's just Andrew.

[les4elliewilliams]

Syrup.

making pancakes with Ellie ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) 

cw/wc: 3.5k ! loser!ellie, dry humping, fingering + oral (e!receiving), kind of sub!ellie? oilin' her up 'cause pretty girls deserve special treatment. [not really mentioned because I rushed it towards the end.]

!!mdni!!

daily click・palestine masterpost・neil druckmann is a zionist・more daily clicks.

Skipping classes with Ellie usually meant sleeping in and cuddling the whole morning, basking in the soft glow of your favorite movie or TV show. But not when she was ovulating and going feral over you. Ellie was perfect, such a fucking good girlfriend, never pressuring you into anything you didn’t feel like doing—but there were times when all you needed to do was hide from her. Especially when she was ovulating, it was as if she were reliving the raging hormones of puberty all over again.

What kind of girlfriend would you be if you didn’t help your girl when she most needed you? Letting her ride your fingers whenever she needed, her moans filling the room as you praised her sweetly, or letting her sit on your face for an hour straight until her body couldn’t take it anymore and you could barely breathe. You didn’t mind; in fact, you loved it.

She tasted so fucking good, and knowing she had gotten all wet over something as simple as a few words you’d said or some dumb shit she found utterly irresistible—even when you thought it was stupid—only made it better.

That particular morning, she woke up much earlier than you, her body already humming with need. The poor loser tried to wake you up for cuddles before classes, something you usually did daily before parting ways, but you didn’t budge. Her soft whispers and gentle shakes eventually turned into hungry kisses and wandering hands. Her breath was hot against your ear as she murmured how much she needed you, her fingers tracing the curve of your jawline. 

But you still shooed her away, “Five more minutes,” you mumbled, but five minutes turned into an hour and then two. You were so sleep-deprived, burning the midnight oil on your schoolwork, that you wouldn’t even hear your alarm in the morning if it weren’t for Ellie. Patiently, she took time out of her morning to shake you like a cocktail until you finally woke up.

You could hear her sigh and huff, shifting around uncomfortably, perhaps bored. “So, you don’t want cuddles before class?” she asked, her voice tinged with disappointment. But you ignored her, too exhausted to respond. “Fine, whatever,” she muttered, slipping into a slightly pissy mood because you pushed her away every time she wrapped her arms around you and planted soft kisses on your neck to rouse or wake you.

“Ellie,” you grumbled, still half-asleep, “Let me sleep.”

“Wake upppp,” she drawled into the crook of your neck, her warm breath caressing your soft skin. “I wanna cuddle,” she repeated, pouting, though you couldn’t see it because your eyes remained stubbornly closed. Her desperation and neediness grew as she clung to you.

“Nooo—’s too hot for that,” you whined, scooting away from your girlfriend once again.

When you finally woke up on your own and suggested skipping classes together, she was more than excited at the idea. Of course, she didn’t complain. Why would she when she’d get to spend the whole morning with you?

Let’s say she had different intentions from yours. While you just wanted to sleep in and spend the whole day in your cozy apartment to relax, she stayed home with you hoping for morning sex—but she didn’t get it.

“Skip classes? Fuck yeah, I’m in,” she exclaimed excitedly, her arm hooking around your waist to drag you closer to her. “There are maaany more fun things we could do instead...” Her voice shifted from excited to teasingly sultry, her lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Hmm... like what?” you mumbled sleepily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Well, I could give you a massage,” she whispered, planting soft kisses into the crook of your neck, making their way up to your jawline. “Or we could make pancakes.”

She was a little disappointed when you picked pancakes over a massage, but you were so hungry that you didn’t even notice. You padded to the kitchen with her walking closely behind, her green eyes glued to your ass as she let out a sigh. 

She was starving. 

Ellie was usually never that blunt when it came to these kinds of things. You’d usually pick up on her body language, or she’d let you know subtly, always careful not to make you feel pressured. She was a gentlewoman, after all.

“Get the flour and the eggs. I’ll get the rest.” You instructed her quickly, bringing her back to reality and pulling her out of her thoughts. She quietly complied, gathering all the necessary ingredients and placing them on the white countertop in front of her. Meanwhile, you grabbed a bowl from one of the nearby cabinets.

“Okay,” You scooped up a handful of the fine white powder, your fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface as you measured the exact amount needed. The powdery substance was light and fluffy, and its scent was faintly sweet as you poured it into the bowl. “Dry ingredients first,” you said out loud, mostly speaking to yourself. 

You’ve always been terrible in the kitchen, managing to burn everything you touched or getting the ingredients completely wrong. Thankfully, Ellie had been there to help you improve over the years, guiding you through the basics and teaching you little tricks to make your cooking less disastrous. 

“Mhm,” she hummed back almost proudly. You could feel her presence lingering behind you, her breath warm against your neck. Her hands rested on your hips, fingers tracing small, lazy circles. The intimacy of the moment was palpable, each touch sending a shiver down your spine. You could sense her frustration; her body pressed a little closer, making her need evident in every movement. 

You started by pouring the powders into the bowl, but as you did, she began to tease you, planting soft, innocent kisses on all your sweet spots, making your breath hitch each time her lips met your skin. 

“And then we add the wet ones…” 

“Yeah, I know, I remember,” you said casually, trying to focus on mixing the different powders in the bowl. But Ellie’s attentions made concentrating difficult, her teasing kisses and soft touches getting the desired effect; she knew what she was doing.

“Can’t wait to taste your syrup on my tongue.” Her whispered words made your breath catch in your throat, and your stirring motions slowed in response. Her mouth was right by your ear, her breath warm and teasing against your flesh. 

“Ellie.” With a frustrated huff, you scolded her, your wispy brows furrowing together as you tried to appear stern. You could feel her lips twitching in satisfaction at your reaction against your epidermis.

“What?” she asked, her voice full of false innocence. She pulled away from your neck, resting her chin on your shoulder as she watched you work on the pancake mix. “I meant the syrup that comes with pancakes.” Her voice shifted back to its usual playful tone as she spoke, her words casual and light-hearted. Her hands rested gently on your hips as she leaned against you from behind.

“Yeah, obviously.” You responded sarcastically, rolling your eyes at her comment. But you couldn’t help but suppress a small smirk that threatened to form on your face, grateful she couldn’t see your expression.

“We’ve gotta mix the dry and wet together, and then we’ve got the perfect…consistency,” The last word was an alluring melody whispered directly into your ear, her soft lips brushing against your neck ever so gently. One of her arms moved from your waist, her fingers trailing softly along your arm until they wrapped around the handle of the whisk in your hand, bringing your motion to a halt.

More kisses were pressed to the side of your neck, making you tilt your head to give her better access. Her tattooed arm was still wrapped around your waist, holding you close and rocking you slightly from side to side.

“Hmm—you’re distracting me.” You couldn’t help but sigh softly, surrendering to her damp smooches and touches. Despite your best efforts to maintain your composure, you felt your body melt like butter against hers, your muscles relaxing in response to her gentle ministrations.

“Still want to make pancakes instead of getting that massage? ’m good with my hands, y’know.” Her husky voice was like silk in your ear, rich and smooth. Every word that left her lips was soothing and comforting, her tone gentle and seductive, making your heart skip a beat. “You might need my touch more than you think…” Her hips ground gently against the plushness of your ass, a subtle motion that made your clit twitch. 

You could feel the heat of her body pressing against you from behind as she continued to kiss and nibble on your neck. The sensation was soothing and arousing, making you lean into her embrace, your eyes closing blissfully as you surrendered to her attention. Lost in her kisses and nibbles on your neck, you suddenly remembered the pancakes you were mixing,

The whisk still clutched in your hand. With a reluctant huff, you shook yourself back to reality, forcing yourself out of the trance she had put you in.

“You’re such a fucking horndog.” you jokingly chided her, swatting at her hand as it crept toward your chest, but truth be told, you loved the attention. It was comforting knowing how much she wanted you, how much she needed you.

“Like you’re any better,” She let out an exaggerated scoff, her hand returned to your waist, joining the other one. 

You added eggs and milk, intently stirring and mixing the pancake batter, when you suddenly felt her grind against you again. The sensation sent a thrill through you, and almost instinctively, you pushed your ass slightly into her, making her breath hitch.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, her hands gripping your hips as she guided your ass against her crotch.

“We’re supposed to be making pancakes,” you mumbled incoherently, letting her use your body to get off.

Ellie’s hands roamed your body with a growing urgency, her touch both gentle and demanding. She pressed herself closer, her breath hot against the back of your neck, the mixing bowl almost forgotten in your hands.

“But you feel so good,” she whispered, her voice low and husky, sending waves of desire coursing through your very core. Her lips brushed against your ear, planting soft kisses along your jawline, her fingers tracing the curve of your waist. “And I’m hungry for something else,” she purred, her cold hands slipping under your shirt, her touch making your nipples harden almost immediately. She moved against you, her hips creating a rhythm that left you yearning for more.

Despite your best efforts to focus on the bowl in your hands, you found yourself pressing into her embrace, “Ellie,” you uttered, barely recognizing your own voice, “we should really  finish making breakfast.”

She scoffed, her voice tinged with a playful defensiveness. “You’re the one pushing your butt into me like a cat in heat!” Her breath was already starting to come in labored gasps. Her cheeks were a beautiful sight, flushed with a delicate rosy pink hue that complemented her complexion, although hidden from your view.

“That’s because you sound pretty,” you argued with a pout on your face, making her whimper at your words. She was so sensitive it was ridiculous; she could feel herself getting wetter with each passing moment, the dampness in her boxers becoming impossible to ignore. Your ass pushed into her again, intensifying her need.

“And I’m the distracting one?” she quipped, her breath catching. “God, you’re just as distracting.” She added, her head dropping onto your shoulder as she continued to roll her hips against you, her hands squeezing your boobs from underneath her your shirt.

You snorted at her words and at the whole situation, finding it amusing. “What’s gotten into you today? You woke up horny or something?” you taunted her, your voice dripping with sarcasm, though the answer was obvious.

“You’ve got me all riled up,” she mumbled softly, a groan slipping past her plump lips. Her rough hands pushed your ass further into her as she began to suck purple marks on your neck, her eyes closing as her movements became more desperate and rushed.

“You’re a fucking loser, El,” you teased her, yet still letting her do as she pleased with your body. 

Her whimpers turned into soft mewls as she ground against you, the friction sending jolts through her and making your pussy ache agonizingly. Her breath felt like the sea breeze against your skin; her soft lips left a trail of moist, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. She was losing herself in the moment, her body responding to every push and pull, every tease and taunt. Ellie’s hands roamed all over your body, her fingers digging into your flesh as if she couldn’t get enough of you.

“Need you right here, baby.” She uttered as she guided your hips, her breath hot and ragged as she pressed her forehead against your shoulder. The fabric of her boxers clung to her wet folds, every movement making the dampness more pronounced. It was as if her walls were pulsing your name in Morse code, each beat a desperate plea for you, for your fingers. “God… feels so good.” her voice barely a whisper.

“Does it?” Her hands gripped your hips, guiding you with a desperate urgency that made your pulse race and your head spin. The smooth and unyielding countertop offered a reassuring stability for the both of you as you leaned into it, your fingers splayed wide, seeking purchase on the slick surface. Her movements were frantic. The dampness of her boxers pressed against your unfortunately still-clothed ass, and you could feel your own slickness seeping through. 

“Yeah… so… so good,” she breathed out, humping against the fat of your butt as she held you tightly in place, afraid that you might vanish at any moment. “My brain stops working around you.” You could feel her body tensing against you, her movements becoming more erratic and rushed as her orgasm approached.

“Does that little brain of yours ever work?” you shot back, a sly smirk playing on your lips—one she couldn’t see, but knowing you, she could sense it. She hated how easily you could turn her into this desperate, needy creature, and she hated even more how you always made fun of her when she got this weak for you.

“I swear to-” She released a frustrated huff, her voice strained and tinged with annoyance as she spoke through clenched teeth. Her nails dig into the soft skin of your hips, leaving imprints of crescent moons behind.

Her reaction only fueled your playful cruelty. “Aww… what? Is my baby mad?” you crooned, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. “So fucking pathetic.” you hissed.

“Shut up,” she muttered quietly, her voice low and uneven, her clit throbbing madly at each word that came out of your mouth, “I’m-’m close,” she whimpered into your ear, burying her face between your neck and shoulder, feeling the cold tip of her freckled nose press against your skin.

“That’s it? Gonna cum in your boxers from a little friction?” you chuckled, her grasp tightening on your hips, your eyes darting to the bowl of pancake batter, lying there, forgotten and abandoned.

At your small chuckle, her head rose from your shoulder, and she shot you a look that you would’ve missed if you hadn’t turned your head ever so slightly at her sudden shift in position. She gazed intently at you, her brows drawn together in a slight frown. Her mesmerizing green crystalline eyes seemed unusually dark, while a rosy flush adorned her face.

“What are you… what are you gonna do about it?” A valiant effort was made to gather her composure, but her attempts were in vain as she struggled to stifle the whimpers that involuntarily slipped from her trembling lips. The muscles in her abdomen tensed beneath the gentle fabric of the oversized shirt.

“Hmm… I could move and not let you finish.”

Ellie let out a shaky exhale at your playful threat, her pace becoming desperate, and she could feel her legs starting to give up. “Don’t you dare,” she warned, trying to sound intimidating.

You smirked at her words and slowly moved away from her grasp, making her whine like a lost puppy.

“No, no, no,” she repeated frantically, her mind and body instantly going into panic mode as she reached for your arm again, yanking your body back against her. “Please, please, I’m so sorry. So sorry,” she muttered out a series of apologies and sweet nothings, kissing your neck pleadingly, trying to get what she wanted.

You clicked your tongue and shook your head, a taunting chuckle slipping away as you edged just out of reach of your girlfriend’s frantic kisses. Her kisses, fervent and pleading, missed their mark, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the power you held over her at that moment. You had her wrapped around your fingers when all she wanted was to ride your fingers. 

“Only good girls get to cum,” she groaned at your words, “Now, how ’bout you help me make pancakes?” Your question was accompanied by a lively and playful tone, which starkly contrasted her frustrated mood. Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you gazed at her, fully aware of the turmoil you were causing within her and enjoying every second of it. She was desperate for touch, for release, but you denied it to her. So fucking cruel.

Ellie looked at you through dark, full lashes, her face a canvas of desperate need, adorned with a constellation of freckles that dusted her pale skin. “Whatever, be that way,” She grumbled and scowled as she moved out of your personal space, giving you attitude.

“Get to work, slave,” You joked, watching her saunter over to the stove. She turned the fire on, her movements smooth and practiced as she reached for the pan, the soft clatter of metal on metal filling the kitchen. As she poured some oil, its golden stream glistening in the morning light, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander to what was to come.

In your mind’s eye, you saw her back on your bed, her skin slick and glistening, her breath coming in quick, heated pants as she begged you to fuck her hard, just as she needed.

The thought of her beneath you, oiled up and ready for you, brought a sly grin to your face and a flutter in your pussy stomach.

Breakfast was just the beginning, after all.

She gave you a constant onslaught of attitude throughout the breakfast. She pouted and glowered, her sour mood a bitter blend of disappointment and indignation. Occasionally, she huffed or muttered something under her breath, her annoyance growing with each passing moment. She gobbled down the fluffy pancakes as she shot you glares. Poor thing, all flustered and needy, sitting there, denied of something she craved so desperately.

It was more than obvious that you would satisfy her urgent needs right after satisfying your own appetite. After all, you were starving and would need all the energy you could get for the intense workout in store for the two of you. 

You pulled as many moans and gasps from her as you could, your manicured nails slipping on the soft, slippery skin of her thighs as you eagerly lapped at her folds.

You kept taking and taking, relentless and insatiable. Ellie was a fucked-out mess, babbling nonsense as she teetered on the edge of yet another release. You were fucking her dumb, and you weren’t even close to being finished with her.

“Another one, Els. C’mon, be a good girl for me,” you pleaded with a breathy voice, coaxing her with every word until she gave you precisely what you wanted. She was that good of a slut for you, and you loved every second of it. 

“I know, babe,” you cooed sweetly, your fingers knuckles-deep inside her, her moist and abused walls pulsing around them.

She was a whiny mess, squirming so much that you had to pin her down, her teeth harshly biting her bottom lip, her green eyes teary from the overwhelming pleasure you were giving her. “I know, I know- but it’s gonna make you feel better,” you murmured, knowing her mind was too far gone to focus on your words.

“Just need to cum on my fingers, ’s all.” and all she needed to do was just lay there and take it. Take what she had wished for the whole morning like a needy brat.

Only after about ten orgasms did you decide it was time to let your poor girlfriend recover. Her skin was flushed, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened in the golden light that tiptoed through the window, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Her whole body trembled like a leaf, and the sheets beneath her were damp, ready to be thrown into the washing machine. Your thumb trailed down her happy auburn trail, her bush glistening with her own juices; her pearlescent sweetness dripping down onto the mattress, just like syrup.

daily click・palestine masterpost・neil druckmann is a zionist・more daily clicks.

[alargehunkofdebris]

Aziraphale’s reaction to the kiss: A Breakdown (that’s it that’s the reaction.)

A lot of people say that this anguish Aziraphale feels after the kiss is due to this feeling of “Why now? Why didn’t you do this before, when I wanted you to?” And I think that can be part of it, for sure. But man, that’s just one part of this gigantic, writhing ball of emotions in Aziraphale in that moment, all of them fighting each other, all of them painful. I’m going to breakdown the breakdown, because writing essays analyzing the minds of fictional characters is apparently all I want to do these days. Also, judging by this absolute nutball of a season that confirmed literally multiple “bit of a stretch” deep dives, I feel I can ignore that little voice whispering “this is silly” into my ear. I can dive as deep as I want, because there goes Neil Gaiman with an aqualung, swimming deeper.  

So. The kiss, and why Aziraphale looks so gosh darned sad about it. 

First of all, there’s shock. Major shock. Because despite everything, he still likely never thought this would ever actually happen. (Him and me both.) Or maybe – a small maybe, but a maybe that I might put a dollar on, if the odds were good – the idea of kissing Crowley never occurred to his conscious brain before at all. He’s so good at compartmentalizing and denying that it’s very possible he’s managed to nip every intrusive thought before it went far enough to be fully conscious.

Then, there’s fear of being seen. (“Who is watching? Will the Metatron see? He only allowed me to work with Crowley after he regained angelic status – if he sees me and Crowley now –”) Then, a layer deeper, there’s his ever-present fear response to things going too fast, because despite how we all know he feels, he’s still not sure he’s ready for any kind of partnership, let alone one this intimate and close. Because even for humans, this is a really, really big jump – we typically don’t kiss when we haven’t even been on a date (officially) yet, and usually not before both parties admit to their feelings.

Then, even deeper, is that anguished, heartbroken “Why now? My God, why now?” response, because his subconscious has always wanted this, but also knows that this is the worst possible time for it to happen, and now he’s lost that first kiss with Crowley—the one he wanted, anyway. The one that was supposed to be filled with joy, and is instead marked with the worst pain he’s ever felt.

Then there’s the second “Why now” response, and this is where I might be dipping a toe into the Hot Take puddle. Because I think there’s that knee-jerk fear response he’s yet to shake, and which overtakes his rational thinking whenever he’s terrified of Heaven or unsure of himself. It’s the suspicion he’s always held of Crowley. He’s thinking “Why now?” as in, “Is this the temptation that God and Heaven warned me about? Is this Crowley the Serpent, fulfilling his duty? Is this the true proffered apple, a kiss that’s meant to keep me from serving Heaven? Is he tempting me, knowing how I feel, knowing I’m weak?”

That’s the true anguish of this scene, I think. He’s fighting all these feelings, but on top is this old fear, this old anger and suspicion of Crowley, assuming he’s lying. Demons lie, Crowley admitted it himself. Crowley is the original Serpent of Eden, designed to tempt people away from God. And this feeling is what’s on top, because the alternative is…what? That Crowley actually feels this way? That Crowley, a demon, loves him, Aziraphale, enough to be this vulnerable, with no wicked ulterior motive? Aziraphale is a lot of things, but he’s certainly not a being who thinks he’s desirable. He sees himself as opposite to Crowley, and if Crowley is temptation personified, Aziraphale is then the personification of undesirableness. Deep down, this idea of the Serpent of Eden being tempted by him, Aziraphale, is simply ludicrous.

And then there’s self-hatred that he even thinks this thought of his friend, then suspicion, then fear again, then confusion, then anguish, then fear, then pain, and so on. All of this happens in a few seconds, and all of it coalesces into a singular takeaway: “This is the worst.” And because the one who technically caused it is Crowley, Aziraphale does what he does very well: he forgives Crowley, because he’s too prim and angelic to say “Goddamn you,” which is what he truly means. Goddamn you for making me feel this way. Goddamn you for making me doubt you. Goddamn you for forcing this option on me, when I can no longer take it, and when I don’t even know if it’s real. Goddamn you for putting this apple in my hands when we both know I can’t eat it. Goddamn you for reminding me that no matter what, it is not in my stars to live a happy life. 

[drchucktingle]

favorite author i have never read

hey there buckaroos thank you for all the DEEP DISCUSSIONS we are having a great time here on tumblr. thought today i could make a post that is slightly more difficult its not all sunshine days ahead and requires a little introspection. LOOK AT US we have all arrived here together through trust and love and i think we can keep this going. chuck made this post on other platforms years ago and i think it was said very well then and led to some good discussion, so i am going to repost here. okay lets go deep bud here we go:

i would like to spend moment today talking about common joke i hear online (and even too my face at conventions). this is jokerman way i hear ALL the dang time: 'chuck tingle is my favorite author i have never read' or less jokerman way but of ‘i have never read his books but i love chuck tingle'.

first of all, THANK YOU buds. this is not way of call out post to make you feel bad, i appreciate your way and understand you are trying to support. this is not attack on your message and from bottom of chucks heart THANK YOU.

BUT i have to say something about this. please consider what you are saying when you post this. would you send this as message to STEPHEN KING or NEIL GAIMAN or NK JEMISIN? i doubt this. it would seem VERY RUDE to message other authors. just imagine trotting up to a writer and saying ‘i would NEVER read your books haha’ but it is sent to chuck all the dang time.

obvious reason buds say it to chuck is that i am queer author with a unique way. yes i write in realm of wild fantasy and erotic pairings, but by saying ‘i have never read chuck BUT' you are really saying 'i am posting my support of this but PLEASE DONT THINK I AM REALLY INTERESTED IN THIS PERSONALLY.' there are similar distasteful jokes that i will not repeat involving saying 'no bud on bud pounds' after a sentence that works in similar way.

is sexual art really that bad? is queer art really that embarrassing? is unusual outsider art really that funny?

it is one thing if your preferred pound is not one of chucks tinglers, that is TOTALLY FINE BUD, but if you are an adult i would say 'is it REALLY that scary to read a book about a way of sex that is not yours? is it that difficult to think that something that seems silly to you could actually MOVE YOU in an important way? do you HAVE to disconnect yourself from lgtbqia art with a 'but i don't read this myself?'

keep in mind, there are gay tinglers, there are asexual tinglers, there are trans tinglers, there are select your own timeline tinglers, there are horror tinglers. TINGLERS FOR EVERY TASTE. the thing that buds are often REALLY saying with ‘favorite author i have never read’ is ‘this is WEIRD and dont be confused because im NOT WEIRD IM COOL DONT THINK I ACTUALLY LIKE THIS’. funny enough even the proudly fun and wild and unique buckaroos will STILL say this line, maybe without taking time to think of what it means or how rude it is?

WHY would you never read a chuck book? because my way is queer? because it is neurodivergent? even if that is not there reason or even if YOUR ARE ALSO PERSONALLY QUEER AND NEURODIVERGENT TOO, think about what the joke is IMPLYING.

is sincerely enjoying something thats kind of unusual that difficult? do we really have to slather it in irony and ‘so bad its good?’ before reposting?

in closing as man name of chuck i will say you can still make this joke if you want buckaroos i know you are just having a good time proving love in your own way. i am not upset with you bud and i appreciate your support in any way you give it. there are some buckaroos who just CANT AFFORD tinglers and that is an important way i understand as well. obviously this conversation does not apply to those buds. but for the rest of us trotting along, MAYBE think about what you are really saying with this jokerman way first, and MAYBE try cracking open a tingler because you might be surprised. its not that scary bud. thank you for listening

being sincere is VERY COOL and VERY PUNK ROCK. i encourage all buckaroos out there to give it a try.

LOVE IS REAL

[rookiesbookies]

Pregnant brat reader here with a sfw req this time with the same cod men from before bc that was scrumptious

The men are in the nursery, cradling their newborn to soothe them. Reader walks behind them, kissing their cheek (or wherever she can reach) and she whispers “I just fell in love with you all over again.”

Can you tell I have severe baby fever atm

Oh its ok I get baby fever too. If I wasn’t still too young and trying to get a degree first, oh boy. I also get it every time I look at Neil Ellice’s face (Soap’s va/reference).

Lowkey you’re making me fall more in love with these boys, hope this is all you hoped for my loving anon.

To all my readers and anons- Keep requesting this account is my hobby LMAO

Price

Price is already softly crying but now you’ve made this man want to sob. He puts the baby down since it’s late, poor thing basically just got cleared to go home.

He kneels by the crib, finger still in the baby’s grasp as it sleeps and Price is just done for. He’s doing everything possible not to wake this baby. He’s so grateful he got this chance, and he’s not going to waste it.

Now Price is going to need soothing because his heart can’t take this moment. His hand is over his mouth to help him choke down sobs. Just you and him and now the kid he always dreamed of? He’s going to be the best dad and there’s nothing that can stop him.

Soap

It’s crazy how forgetting to put on a condom once can change your whole life.

He immediately plants a kiss back on your head, telling you to go get rest. He’s going to spend the first months of this baby’s life sleeping in the room with it. The faintest cry or struggle has him up. He’s already got it all planned.

Never going to make this life feel like an accident, no this child is an accomplishment of good sex and a wonderful choice to keep it. Maybe it wasn’t an accident after all, maybe it was meant to be.

He mumbles all kinds of thanks to the universe. He’s already named Simon and the rest of the 141 the godfathers, he couldn’t stop making mafia jokes. But now he has no jokes or witty comments, just love for his wife and his baby.

Ghost

Simon is scared shitless.

He lost his last family, he can’t lose this one too. He’s already updated the house’s security. But maybe he should upgrade it more. There’s so much more he can do, he can feel his heart rate rising.

He mumbled endless promises of safety. You have to remind him the live in the moment, that those are all things that he can do tomorrow.

Thats when he starts to get emotional. You can see it in how he squints before he pulled off his baklava.

This is one of two days that’s proven Simon Riley still exists somewhere in Ghost. This proves that Simon Riley didn’t die. This proves what Price told you when you married him, that Ghost was a fortress built to protect Simon.

Gaz

He’s been crying since the baby was born. It’s not sobs but to him this child is the ultimate testimony of your love. Of your marriage even. He still doesn’t believe it. His world now revolves around this baby.

He still doesn’t believe its his child. Sure it looks like him but would an angel like you truly grace him with this? After all the terrible things he’s done and seen in the midst of battle?

He plants a kiss right back, running his thumb over the cheek of the baby. He knows he has to put it to bed but can't he hold his kid a little longer?

He may just stay here, just for one night. Just with his kid. He has so many stories to tell. He has to introduce the baby to his team and his family.

He knows he has to wait, but he cant help it.

Konig

He still doesn’t believe it. His anxiety tells him it’s a trap set by the enemy, that he couldn’t be loved, that a woman wouldn’t want to have his offspring.

But that all melts away when he turns to see you. He’s holding a baby he was surprised your body could push out, he knows this child is his without a doubt because of its sheer size and weight.

He places fluttering kisses all over your face.

He mentions keeping the baby in your shared room, just so he can keep an eye on it he swears. Oh he promises it won’t disturb you he swears.

It wasn’t even an option to tell him no, he was already carrying the baby in on arm with a secure hold and the crib in another. He hasn’t taken his eyes off your baby for even a second and getting him to sleep will be another struggle.

Krueger

Sebastian isn’t crying, you’re crying. What do you mean there’s tears coming down his face? No, that's sweat, it’s really warm.

He never needed you to tell him you loved him at the start, but when you started to he realized his heart wasn’t made of stone after all.

Now he’s holding this little creature thats half you and half him and he’s just breaking down.

This is a second chance at life for him and he swears he’s going to do better than he started off with.

In your eyes, this murderer looks like an angel with the light seeping softly through the windows against him as he holds your sweet baby.

For the first time in a long time, he prays. He prays to not mess up and for protection for his family. Its soft, under his breath and you would barely hear it, but he prays.

Keegan

When the baby was born the whole team of ghosts showed up. It was a moment of pride.

He turns to kiss your lips right back as he walks over to the rocking chair. Oh he could get the baby a little mask and armor. Could be a mini ghost.

The team fell straight in love but none could love this baby more than Keegan.

And how he looks at you? Its like you hung the stars… which you did help him do, there’s lots of stars hanging from the nursery ceiling, but you gave him a baby. He would trade the sun for his little family, unafraid of turning nocturnal if it meant keeping this moment.

He mumbled about this meaning worth all the fighting. Promises to always come home falling from his mouth so easily.

Edit: im dropping this incase you havent seen it tol

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

[alightelixe]

If there's one thing I love about dps, it's that everything's done right- everything the characters do or say makes sense in reference to their backstory. And I mean everything, even the smallest/unimportant details.

I thought of this when I saw a clip of the birthday scene on youtube, specifically this part:

Neil: "Todd, I think you're underestimating the value of this desk set. I mean, who would want a football or a baseball or-"

Todd: "or a car..."

Neil: "or a car, if they can have a desk set as wonderful as this one."

Something I hadn't ever noticed before, is the difference in the kind of gift they're talking about.

Neil talks about a football or a baseball, two gifts that are not very expensive (generally speaking, this is different for everyone ofc)

Todd on the other hand, talks about a car as a gift. A car. Sure, it depends on what type of car and whether or not it's new how expensive it's going to be. But it's still (in my opinion) a very expensive gift to just get for your birthday.

Both of them are talking from their own perspective. We know from the movie that Neil's family isn't particularly wealthy ("we're not a rich family like Charlie's"). Neil suggests less expensive gifts because he probably never received very expensive ones.

Todd's family we don't really know much about, but I think it's safe to say that most kids at Welton are well off, so Todd's family is probably pretty wealthy. Being wealthy means more money to spend on gifts.

I like to think Todd's brother Jeffrey got a car for his birthday when he turned 17, so Todd probably expected to get one too and was terribly disappointed when all he got was a desk set (again). It just makes sense in the context of the scene and it makes it even more sad☺️

Anyway, my point is that this movie pays such incredible attention to detail, that it results in great, well-rounded characters that act and feel real. It's one of the reasons I adore this movie so much.

[most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer]

Good Omens: Lockdown and Crowley not mentioning his living situation in S2*

*till S2E6 when he asks if he can have his apartment back bc he's bored of living in his car but Aziraphale doesn’t hear bc mentally he’s in Alpha Centauri.

Having read the 'Crowley doesn't tell him' Neil Gaiman ask close to when I first listened to Lockdown (I lived under a rock until recently), my initial thought was HAS HE BEEN LIVING IN HIS CAR FOR YEARS?! but I think he was still in his apartment in 2020:

as far as Hell knows, Crowley just had a pool party in holy water (the holiest) so the higher-ups are probably willing to give him some space (plus Beelzebub is busy going on pub dates w Gabriel)

while there should be ~8 months between the end of Season 1 events (The Very First Day of the Rest of Their Lives on Sunday, Aug 25, 2019) and the Lockdown phonecall (on or near the 30 year anniversary on May 1, 2020), I can't imagine that's a very long time for Hell, especially if you're understaffed and busy dealing with fallout from Almostgeddon / going on pub dates

Shax dropping off mail and asking about the boiler seems like something one does in the first few months of living somewhere, not ~3 years in (if S2 is in 2023)

That said, I think the phone call underlines why Crowley never directly tells Aziraphale that he is living in the Bentley in S2, and it's just a great conversation (all hail Gaiman) sooo I wrote about it:

***Note: This post analyzes the Lockdown phonecall from Crowley's perspective only. Our heroine is feeling quite emotionally vulnerable at this point in time so things are going to hit him harder than they normally would.

I do not think Aziraphale meant to cause him pain (!!) but Crowley can't see that yet and I've written this post in a way that reflects that missing insight. (I explain in more detail in this reblog if you are interested) I am working on a companion post for Aziraphale's side of this conversation and how I think it affects his behavior in S2 because if we know anything about these two, it's that their exactlys are different exactlys.***

Crowley’s habit of sleeping to skip time like an RPG character by a campfire amuses me to no end, but in this context it feels heavy. Crowley already worries about losing time with what he loves and he probably hoped things would be different between him and Aziraphale after the events of S1. But things don’t change much. Then lockdowns start, and Crowley is trapped in his apartment alone, transcendentally bored, and unable to make his brain shut up. Sleeping a month away starts to sound less awful.

But Crowley hasn’t given up yet; he’s still awake when Aziraphale calls, and he’s even giving it two more days. Was he waiting for Aziraphale to call? Is it even possible not to at least kind of wait for someone’s call when you are cut off from everything and the caller has been your only friend and crush for millennia?

Aziraphale asks why Crowley isn't "out and about" tempting people or setting a bad example and he responds:

C: Everyone's so miserable and cooped up right now anyway, and I just… well… don't have the heart for it. A: *glowing audibly* I'm not miserable~ C: Really?

Crowley sounds genuinely surprised at Aziraphale's happiness and quickly assumes it's because the angel has been around people. He's so lonely/depressed/in his own head that he hadn't even considered someone enjoying being 'cooped up'. *sob*

Aziraphale goes No actually I put the closed sign up in the window and I'm having the Time of My Life, never had so few customers, not in 200 years!, etc. Although, he says:

A: …There were a few young lads a couple of nights ago who broke in through the back and tried to steal the cashbox! But they soon saw the error of their ways~ C: *clearly amused* Did you smite them with your wroth? A: Well I certainly gave them a good talking to, and I sent each of them home with cake~ C: *annoyed, swooning* Cake? A: Quite a lot of cake, actually. C: *physically ill from having such a giant crush on this dumbass baker/security guard* eeeekkkgghhh I'm gonna regret asking but.. ...rrgh.. *30 seconds of Aziraphale joyfully describing his baking while Crowley probably tries very hard not to imagine the angel eating each item in sensual slow motion* I stg you can hear him struggling in the background once or twice

A: …And once I've baked them, I have to eat them all myself, which was why I was so delighted— C: To send your burglars home laden with baked goods, yes, nnyeaayeah I follow…

Crowley interrupts, finishing Aziraphale's sentence in his nervous hurry to say the next bit:

C: *loud inhale* You know, I could.. hunker down at your place. … Slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle--a case of… something… drinkable…?

He's trying to sound so casual about it but this is someone who was rejected/abandoned by actual literal God after asking what he thought were welcome, uncontroversial questions. Asking makes him vulnerable. He's supposed to be the rescuer, not a demon in distress. He does not feel casual about asking.

Crowley knows it's unlikely but he's so miserable and desperate for company that he can't help but ask, just in case. Even the smallest chance of spending time trapped indoors with Aziraphale—with nothing to do but drink, watch him eat, and talk about things they'd normally avoid—is too tempting.

A: *panicking* Oh I— I— I— I— I'm afraid that would be Breaking All The Rules! *nervous breathing* Out of the question! I'll see you… when this is over. C: Right. gnnehh. I'm setting the alarm clock for July. Good night, angel. *dial tone*

And just like that, Crowley doesn't need two days to decide. The depression nap doubles in length. He doesn't hear how badly Aziraphale wants to say yes behind the fear, or maybe he does and it hurts worse because why isn't Crowley enough for him? You can almost hear the spiralling:

SHOCKING, asking made it worse. It always does doesn’t it? Why even bother? you just embarrass yourself.. SLITHER over? why did I say that *grumble grumble* of COURSE His Holy Holiness, your only friend in the universe, would rather eat cake by himself while everything goes to shit than ~deign~ to have you in his presence. "AsK aND yE sHaLl ReCeIvE" bugger this for a lark im going to bed

(a bit dramatic but we've all been there)

I imagine sleep doesn't come right away. Maybe his thoughts drift to when he sat beside the angel at a dark Tadfield bus stop after a rather eventful Saturday. Crowley must've felt a tiny bit hopeful when he invited Aziraphale to stay with him: Heaven had withdrawn its favor and the bookshop was gone; Aziraphale was like him now. Didn't that mean things would change?

"I don't think my side would like that." Apparently not.

In the end, Aziraphale did ride the bus back to Crowley's apartment and stayed till the next morning when he caught a cab, but only to sell the illusion. Crowley understood that as far as sides went, the angel was still on Heaven's, even if Heaven wasn't on his.

And now this: the entire world is shut down; there is nothing for Aziraphale to do but stay in and read and bake in his magically reconstituted bookshop and he still won't invite Crowley in. Burglars and un-fallen angels only—nobody who asks questions.

So... of course Crowley doesn't tell Aziraphale when he loses his apartment. He already knows what answer he would get; the angel has told him so many times. Aziraphale is a company man first, a companion to one very sad owl when convenient.

If Crowley works up the courage to say 'please take me in, I have nowhere else to go' and Aziraphale goes 'sorry, no, far too political, but I WILL risk being erased from the Book of Life to protect this nude amnesiac former coworker who always hated me,' it's going to be too much. You can't sleep long enough for that type of hurt to go away. Better not to say anything.

"Then nothing has to change, does it?"

[currently-evil]

Raven!Neil Au where Andrew and Neil meet for the first time at a banquet.

They sit across from each other and Neil smart-mouth Josten can't help but go off at Kevin, still angry about being abandoned by him.

To his surprise it's Andrew who answers him. It's a bit of a match. Cutting remark after cutting remark, but.... it's unexpectedly fun.

Both Ravens and Foxes watched in shock as Neil and Andrew somehow moved from insults to genuine conversation.

They lean closer to each other, no longer raising voices. Neil practically showed everything on the table to the side so he can lean almost half of his body across the table just so he and Andrew can talk freely.

Everybody moves subtly closer just to overhear even a snippet of what they are talking...

... they plan an apocalypse plan. Arguing about cons and pros of bunkering in the supermarket.

And they look like they’re having fun... or as much as they would let themselves show any kind of enjoyment in the environment they are in.

They lean close, talking in hushed voices... looking almost like they are flirting.

Or rather they are flirting, thinks NIcky, watching as his usually emotionless cousin lean closer to the redhead rolling his eyes with a shadow of a sarcastic smile on his lips, and he promptly shoves his entire fist into his mouth to muffle a squeal.

I just love to think that it infuriated Riko, that he isn't the center of attention in the 100%. Riko trying to stop their conversion, to butt it, interrupt, only to be ushered by Neil or Andrew everytime.

Neil remembering how in Ferdinand’s show Andrew played with Riko by pretending to not remember his name and doing the same thing, looking straight into Andrew eyes, ignoring his captain having a furious meltdown at his side.

Andrew watches it all with his eyes burning into Neil.

(All of the foxes and Ravens stimulatingly wondering how the heck the most meddling one from their team suddenly found the most meddling one from the opposing team. What kind of cosmic justice is this?)

In the end Neil just takes a napkin and doodles something quickly on, His eyes smile with a fire that could only promise a disaster (Andrew knows better not to let himself get burned, and yet...) and before Riko has enough and pulls all the Ravens away, he slides it towards Andrew. 

All the foxes are gapping.

Did... Did that Raven just propositioned Andrew? Like in the middle of a banquet??? did he just casually give him his number??? What is going on???

Andrew refuses to feed their curiosity in any way.

But when they are safe in the bus, Kevin drunk into oblivion, rest of the foxes bored with his silence…

He lets himself unwind the napkin.

There is a letter inside. Neatly folded multiple times so it doesn't even look like it was hidden inside the napkin until Andrew could feel it in his hands.

Letter describing how Kevin is the son of Wymack.

And a little note on the napkin....

"Have fun with it.”

And Andrew can't help but feel his interest stir inside him.

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

If anybody is interested i wrote short fic about this :) Here is link

[ninyard]

Thoughts on Kevin ending up nonverbal after Baltimore and everyone’s reaction

God. I love this.

Neil comes back, everyone - even Andrew, especially Andrew - is focusing on him, and listening to him talk, and Kevin kind of... sinks off into the background.

He doesn't mind it, really. Yeah, it's weird that Andrew has hardly looked at him, it's weird that Neil hasn't said much to him at all yet, but it's okay. He sits back, and listens. But the more time that passes, the more this feeling creeps its way up into his chest, around his heart, around his throat.

What will the Moriyama's do now that the Butcher is dead? Has Neil implicated them in it all, did he rat them out to the FBI? If the Moriyama's name finds itself involved in the investigation, how long is it until Day is mentioned? How long is it until someone starts questioning the hand, and the nest, and how long is it until all of these loose ends and messy leads find their way right up to Riko's feet?

There's a hundred questions in his head, but all he can do is sit and stare at a drink in his hand as the stories about Nathaniel Wesninski find their way around the room. Usually at this point Andrew would turn to him, and look between his eyes, and send him some sort of comfort, but he was too involved to care. But that's okay.

Kevin isn't sure he would be of much comfort right now, anyway - he thinks of his hands around his throat, he thinks about how scared he was to lose Neil, how quickly he turned on Kevin to keep Neil safe. Kevin doesn't blame him. But he doesn't forget about it. He knows what it means.

He sleeps that night without saying anything, he's not even sure anybody noticed him leaving early the next morning. He goes for a run as the sun comes up, and the dorm room is still empty when he returns. He makes a coffee. He sits by the broken window. He thinks of all the things he could say to Neil, the things he wants to say to Neil, but nothing feels right. Everything is half formed, and worthless, and when he imagines the words leaving his mouth, they lose their meaning. They lose their purpose.

Andrew texts him sometime before 10, later than Kevin expected him to text, but earlier than he expected him to be awake. It's not much, but something that doesn't require much effort to answer - you good? Kevin doesn't respond. Instead he takes a shower, pulling on the most comfortable and loose fitting clothes he can find afterwards, and he finds himself under the covers of his bed before he could find the energy to convince himself to be productive. He pulls the sheets tight around his head, hugging himself to keep the fabric from loosening.

He thought Neil was dead. He knew Neil should be dead. But he wasn't. And somehow, for some reason, it felt like he was next.

It felt like Neil had dodged certain death time and time and time again, and Kevin had just gotten off lucky. How could he explain that? How could he explain to anyone that he was glad Neil had survived, but he didn't understand it at all? How could he explain to anyone that he was afraid he was next - perhaps if he'd spent more time listening to what Neil was saying the night beforehand, he'd know more about what he'd told the FBI. Instead he'd spent most of that time exhausted and anxious.

He tried to tell himself it was jealousy, for a while, to shame himself into stopping this selfish feeling, but that wasn't true. Jealous that the attention wasn't on him, jealous that everyone cared so much about Neil. He wasn't jealous of anything Neil had been through. For a minute he wondered if it was the attention, but Kevin had never cared much for the attention of his teammates. He'd lost most of their desire to be his friend quite quickly into his arrival to South Carolina, and Andrew was the only one who seemed in anyway interested in dealing with his bullshit. Even then Kevin knew it was a chore, an obligation. Was Andrew his friend? Was he his friend anymore?

Do I keep going? Do I keep thinking about Kevin going into this hole of not knowing what to say, not knowing who cares, not knowing what matters? There probably isn't much of a reaction at all - the only reason people notice being that it's been suspiciously long since Kevin has bitched to them. Neil notices as quick as Andrew does, but he has so much recovery to do, so much mental energy to recoup.

I just picture the trip to the cabins, and Kevin still hasn't said much at all, but nobody really notices. Andrew can't be bothered trying to pull it out of him, so he just accepts that Kevin's gone quiet, and he doesn't say anything about it. It's not that he doesn't care, he just doesn't see a point of trying, because when Kevin goes quiet, he has to come out of it himself. So Andrew knows there's nothing he can do. Neil notices it too, but Andrew just tells him that he's fine.

Then them telling him about Kengo? About Jean? Him finding out where Renee has gone?

[ihni]

Bro, my first thought was that this would be HORRIBLE for Billy and Steve because the second Billy shoulder-checked Steve during basketball they would've hit the ground in front of EVERYONE. But then like. I thought more about it and it got worse.

Because Billy would kinda know that his soulmate is gonna be a guy, right. And he'd be doing everything he could to prevent anyone from ever finding out, so

He's been getting into massive arguments with Neil his whole life, every time his dad tries to get him into sports. When he's a kid his dad accuses him of being a pussy for shying away from really engaging with the team, never wanting to make contact with anyone, thinking that Billy's afraid of getting hurt while playing. Billy tries to push back as much as he can, he hates not being able to do anything to prove his dad wrong because he can't tell him the TRUTH, and he gets too angry to come up with a convincing lie.

He gets so paranoid about physical contact that he develops a reputation for beating the shit out of guys who so much as bump into him in the hallway at school. It happens a couple times. Some kid in his class will brush past him, not realizing who he is, and it scares him so much he lashes out.

Once he gets a little older he starts dating (girls) as much as possible. It's for his safety, he tells himself, and ignores the part where he just misses being touched so much he'll settle for whatever he can get. Which is not as much as he'd like, considering most of the girls his age are fucking terrified of him. (Moving to Indiana doesn't help much, he might have the advantage of being a relative unknown, but there's fewer girls who are willing to cozy up with a guy who isn't their soulmate.)

In short. Touch-starved Billy

And that fight at the Byers would go soooo differently....As in it probably would not happen at all, because up until this point they have not touched at all, and have barely interacted because they don't have basketball together and Billy's just been obsessed with Steve from a distance.

Then like. He shows up and Steve is being weird and Billy wants to touch him for all kinds of reasons, but he's also firmly against touching him for just as many. He's wound up and stressed and he can't lash out like he wants to, so he just ignores Steve and walks right into the Byers' house to take it out on the kids. He doesn't have the same hangups about pushing Max around, or Lucas. He knows neither of them could be his soulmate, so they're fair game.

But he's barely said two words to Max before Steve (who in this scenario has NOT been shoved to the ground and kicked, so was right behind Billy as he walked into the house) grabs his shoulder to get his attention, and they both hit the floor.

Which would be so interesting because it's technically the same result as the fight, both of them passed out (thought Max doesn't get to stand up to Billy), so the plot could continue as normal from there, except. Like. The kids are freaking out for entirely different reasons, Max is swearing them all to secrecy and worrying about what Billy's gonna do when he wakes up, and half of them are yelling about how much this does not matter right now because there's monsters to set on fire. Dustin's having a mild crisis about getting advice about girls a couple hours ago from a guy who might be gay now?? There's a debate about whether they should bring Steve with them after Max steals Billy's keys. Mike is uncomfortable with the idea and won't admit why. Dustin gets pissed at him. Lucas tries to breeze past the whole weird soulmate thing and focus on the fact that they'll need all the help they can get if they're gonna do this.

They do still bring him along, and leave Billy behind.

I feel like it would be so interesting for Steve to be trying to concentrate on fighting monsters and protecting the kids but there's this weird new soulmate bond thing distracting him, and he's so incredibly confused by it because it's with BILLY.

Meanwhile Billy wakes up alone in the Byers' house, and has a panic attack when he realizes what happened. His first instinct is to just get in his car and leave town because now this group of shithead kids know his secret and Neil was ALREADY pissed at him for losing Max, this is just gonna make things so much worse and he doesn't know how to deal with any of it. Except his car is GONE, and he has no idea where anyone is or why they took the Camaro. All he does know is that he can't go home right now, and he has nowhere else to go, but he just wants to run SOMEWHERE.

He'd end up avoiding Steve for as long as he can, and quite possibly just would not return home either. I feel like it would be incredibly awkward when Steve drives the kids back to the Byers' and Billy's sitting on the porch, chain-smoking and all hunched over like he's trying not to puke. No one knows what to say for a long moment, and then Billy just shoves past everyone, flees to his car, and drives off alone. I can see him trying to live out of his car for a good couple weeks, completely shutting everyone out, until Steve tracks him down and they actually talk.

(also side note, once they work their shit out and are actually settled into a relationship, Billy would be just. The clingiest. He spent so long avoiding touching people and now that he's allowing himself to he cannot get enough. He WILL be wrapped around Steve at all times.)

First of all, I love you. Just want to get that out of the way. Thank you for blessing my inbox thusly.

Second of all, this hits like half of all my buttons. Touch-starved, posing, secretly gay Billy who's hiding his fear behind a mask of anger? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP.

You got the kids' reactions exactly right, I could picture them so clearly in my mind. And Steve too, fighting monsters while trying to understand this new soul bond (which, how would that show? How would it feel and affect them?), and Billy freaking out and just ... "step one: need car. step two: who the fuck knows" and living out of his car because he's too afraid to go home. What would Neil do? Would he find out about it or would he just be angry that Billy ... left, and didn't come back? How does the soul bond affect Billy and Steve when it is new and they are avoiding each other, is that why Billy doesn't leave Hawkins? I suppose Billy would eventually have to go home since he's underage, how would that go? AAA SO MANY QUESTIONS, MY BRAIN IS ALIGHT WITH DELIGHT

In short; I'd like to order 80K of this please. Future clinginess on the side (to be enjoyed as a dessert <3)

Also thank you for this.

[bullet-prooflove]

Happy Anniversary: Richie Jerimovich x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @rita-lean @yousigned-upforthis @factualfic @ayeeeee-ayeeeeeeeeeeee

Companion piece to:

One Night Stand (NSFW) - It was never meant to be more than a one night stand.

Old School - Richie and you prefer to do things old school.

Safe With You - Richie still has nightmares about how he found Michael.

Joy - The stabbing leads Richie to confront some of the doubts he has about himself.

All The Good Ones Are (NSFW) - Richie has never thought of himself as one of the good ones.

Gift (NSFW) - Richie has always thought of you as a gift.

For your first wedding anniversary you tell Richie you’d like to experience dinner at The Bear. Richie would do anything to make your dreams come true so he books out the best table in the house months in advance.

Things start to go wrong from the second he wakes up. The two of you are supposed to be sleeping in because you’re both off for the day but Richie’s phone is ringing at God knows what time, because there’s issues at the restaurant and Carmy needs him to come down there and help out. It starts a fight between the two of them that goes on for five minutes before you roll over to face him.

“It’s fine.” You say, kissing the tip of his nose. “If you need to go, just go.”

Carmen’s still talking as you slip out from the sheets completely naked and head into the bathroom to shower, three hours earlier than you originally intended to and Richie sighs because this is not the way he wants to start his anniversary.

“I fucking hate you right now.” He tells his cousin.

“Love you too Cuz.” Carmen rings off leaving Richie to stare at the closed bathroom door, with a heaviness in his chest.

He ends up staying at The Bear the entire day because there’s not just one problem, there’s a heap of them and Richie’s the one with the connections to fix them. When Selina, the server calls in sick with food poisoning Sugar begs him to help out with the service.

“Just for an hour or two before my wife gets here.” He bargains with her. “Then I’m off the clock.”

When you get to The Bear that night, you look stunning, so fucking stunning that for a minute Richie’s speechless. You’re wearing a little black dress that clings to every inch of you and your hair is pinned away from your features in an elegant style. He wants to take you back home and ravage you but he promised you dinner and his baby, she gets what she wants.

“You look gorgeous.” He tells you, his hand coming to rest on your lower back as he guides you towards the table. “Absolutely fucking gorgeous, I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off you.”

You blush then and he loves seeing that flush of colour in your cheeks. You’re not used to compliments, the man before him wasn’t kind to you so Richie, he makes up for that in abundance.

“I’m sorry about today, it’s just been manic.” He says as the two of you sit down. He reaches for your hand, clasping it in his. “But we’re here now…”

That’s when the Neil drops an entire tray of glassware onto the floor. Richie’s entire body tenses at the sound, but he keeps eyes front and tries to ignore it. He flinches when he hears Neil yelp, his jaw clenching and you know that every single part of him wants to help.

“Go ahead.” You say, your thumb chasing over the hollow of his wrist. “I’ll wait.”

It’s just meant to be a minute, just one minute while he sweeps up the glass but Neil’s tables need covering while Sugar patches him up in the back and before he knows it almost two hours have passed and your seat is empty.

“She said she’d see you at home.” Sugar tells him apologetically and Richie, he just feels like the biggest piece of shit in the world because it’s your wedding anniversary and he hasn’t spent a single second of the day with you.

He’s no better then your ex, the man who used to stand you up, who forgot about your birthday…

Fuck Richie hates that guy, he hates being that fucking guy.

The house is quiet when he gets home that night, there’s a plate and a wineglass on the draining board and it tears him up inside to imagine you sitting here at the kitchen island eating alone.

You’re already sleep when Richie crawls into bed alongside you. Your dress is hung up back in the wardrobe, your shoes in the rack, your hair is still damp from the shower you must have taken when you got in. All of that effort, he thinks, all of it for nothing.

He draws you into his arms and you mumble something incoherent burying your face into his chest as his lips brush over your hairline.

“I’m sorry baby.” He whispers, his thumb tracing over the curve of your cheek. “I’m going to find a way to make it up to you, I promise you I will.”

The next day that Richie pulls out all the stops. You wake up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and pain au chocolat from the bakery down the street. There’s a vase of fresh flowers in the centre of the table, a starburst of brilliant beautiful colours.

“Richie, honey you didn’t have to…” You begin as you stand there in his The Beef t-shirt but he’s already cutting you off with the most ferocious fucking kiss you’ve ever experience.

“I did.” He tells you fiercely  his forehead coming to rest upon yours. “I really fucking did. I don’t want to be that man, the one that makes you feel you aren’t something truly spectacular because you are. You’re wonderful and perfect…”

It’s your turn to shut him up with a kiss because this man, he makes you feel like you’re all of those things and more.

“We’re having a do over tonight.” He tells you, those beautiful blue eyes of his staring into yours. “We’re both going to dress up and we’re going to have that dinner you wanted.”

“The Bear’s closed today.” You remind him and he shakes his head, his thumb chasing along the line of your jaw.

“Not to us.” He tells you. “Not tonight”

When you get to The Bear that evening, Sugar has pulled out all of the stops. The place is bathed with candlelight, the warm glow creating a soft, romantic atmosphere. There’s a trail of white rose petals leading to your table where two glasses of champagne await, already poured. From the speakers above the sound of Richie and Joy’s Mixed Tape serenades the empty restaurant.

Richie pulls out your chair for you, waiting for you to sit down before he takes his own place opposite you. His hand reaches for yours and you entwine your fingers as you look at him as if he’s hung the moon and the stars up in the sky.

“Happy anniversary baby.” He says, picking up his champagne glass and raising to toast. “May every single one of them be better than the last.”

Love Richie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[amysgiantbees]

I just find it strange that the developers chose to rewrite Wyll. I love new Wyll I think he's fantastic and I don't necessarily want the previous version. But I find it bizarre that there was somehow so much negative feedback about old Wyll that they risked completely rewriting him.

Now I love all the companions. This is not Dragon Age Orgins where I debate recruiting Ogrun every time. But I just find it strange that the reason given was Wyll's negative feedback when most of the other characters have been unpopular too. Like Lae'zel is infamously unlikable to a great many people.

People love to bully Gale and there's even lines in game that call him pathetic. The DEV's in the IGN interview even agreed that Gale killing himself can be a good ending, " I really liked Gale setting off the bomb with the brain, and actually that felt like the right ending to me.

AS: In many ways it is, yeah." Which feels problematic to say the least, like I get supporting player choices but suicide is never the "right" way to do things.

Or even I'm pretty sure I remember Neil Newbon talking about how he was sure a lot of players had killed Astarion permanently in their playthroughs.

Then there are people being absolute freaks on the internet about Halsin all because he's polyamorous.

Like these characters are wildly popular too but they certainly have their haters. So why did they lack such confidence with Wyll? The best source I could find on early access Wyll is this article https://gamerant.com/baldurs-gate-3-wyll-early-access-story-change-karlach-explained/. It says that this change was made to make his story stronger, make him more unique, and give him more complicated emotional ties. Unless he was really basic before they did not accomplish this. He has less content so his story lacks the depth the other's do. It's also inconsistent, with you being able to put him off being a duke by telling him he'll be too power hungry which he has never been. His emotional ties are rushed. He never really confronts his father, having the tadpole do most of the work and never hashing out his feelings beyond that he's fine.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. According to the article he was meant to have a dark side like Shadowheart "According to the panel, depending on whether players allow him to go through with killing Karlach, he will become a radically different companion instead of if she is recruited." Which would have been cool but if they didn't have enough time to do that maybe they should have tweaked what they had.

Plus, according to the article in early access he was "a straightforward hero who develops a violent side regarding his patron or goblins." This article too show's that his early approval matches current Wyll pretty well except for dealing with Aunty Ethel and more goblin hate https://fextralife.com/baldurs-gate-3-early-access-companions-guide-wyll/.

I just don't know I just find it so frustrating that it was the black main character they chose to tweak and ran out of time to complete his story and still haven't fixed it with a patch. And in the IGN interview the devs kind of sounded like there wouldn't be anymore patches and it's just frustrating. Wyll deserves just as much content as any one else.

[undead-moth]

I gotta say I forgot until rewatching The Bear recently how much I hate Claire. I don't mean as a character. I understand why her character was introduced and the purpose it served and she's an integral part of the overarching story being told -

But as a person, if she were a real person, I hate her so much.

She bumped into a childhood friend she hadn't spoken to in years, right? From what I can tell, she and Carmy were never close friends. They went to the same school. Their social circles were in close proximity, maybe even overlapped to a degree - but the two of them, specifically, were not close friends. Not even close enough to be friends.

And she bumps into him after years without speaking to him, and basically asks for Carmy's number. Carmy's in a social situation where it would be somewhat rude, and very awkward, to deny her, and Claire is aware that's the case, and purposefully exploits it.

Then later, she finds out he gave her a fake number. She's an intelligent person. She knows it wasn't by mistake. And what does she do? She goes to fucking Fak and gets his real number, which she knows Carmy doesn't want her to have, and then calls Carmy and asks him why he gave her a fake number as if that isn't? Self-explanatory? Why do people usually give fake numbers, Claire?

And once again, she's putting him in this position where it would be very rude, and very awkward, to say, "I didn't give you my real number because I didn't want you to have my real number." She's already aware that he wasn't able to bring himself to do the rude and awkward thing the first time - she knows he won't be able to this time either. And then she has the audacity to tell him not to "make it weird," and ask him if he's actually okay with her having his number, when she knows he wouldn't feel comfortable telling her the truth!

What is wrong with her? If she were a male character we would all rightfully hate her. We would all readily recognize that this behavior is inappropriate, stalker-like behavior. And what's most infuriating about it is most women have been in this situation before, where a guy has asked them for their number and they didn't feel safe or comfortable outright saying, "No." Most women have given fake numbers, especially young, conventionally attractive women like Claire. You can't tell me that Claire has never given a fake number before.

And then? What does she do? She excuses her own inappropriate behavior by telling him that the only reason she's calling is to ask him to help her move? Are you fucking kidding me? First of all, "Can you help me move?" is the kind of question you generally only ask people who are pretty close to you, because you're aware it's a laborious and unenjoyable thing to do. But on top of that, she's supposedly asking Carmy because she knows that Carmy at one point owned a truck and might still own that truck. The same truck Neil Fak could just as easily drive! Why the fuck are you asking Carmy to help you move in case he still owns that truck, when you could ask Fak, who you are much closer to? Like? You're really going to ask someone you haven't spoken to in years, who you just happened to bump into, and who very obviously intentionally gave you a fake number, to help you move? When you already know he's not comfortable turning you down?! What is wrong with her? How fucking entitled is that?

And one thing that is frustrating is how even though we are meant to root against Carmy and Claire's relationship, and there's purposeful foreshadowing of its end, and even narrative hints that Claire isn't right for Carmy, and that she's an antagonist in this story - I don't think we're supposed to have a problem with her behavior. I don't think any of this was meant to contribute to us not liking her, or not wanting Carmy to be with her. I really think we were supposed to be endeared by all of this and think it's all perfectly normal flirtation, and not manipulative and predatory behavior.

What's more is that the heart of this story isn't about a man opening a restaurant, or a man falling in love - it's about a man learning to recover from trauma. If you found the lowest common denominator of this story and simplified it, that's what this story would be about. A mentally ill man healing.

I just rewatched the freezer scene. It is alarming - but all of it says more about how Carmy perceives himself, than how he sees Claire, or their relationship, or love. All of it is a neon sign advertising Carmy's severe mental state, and it is obvious this man needs help. He needs support. He needs reassurance from loved ones.

I understand why Claire hearing what Carmy said would be hurtful. I understand why she would be upset. I understand why she would be questioning their relationship.

And still, I think, you really just heard Carmy, this man you supposedly love, say all that - and you're just going to leave him like that? You're just going to leave and not reach out again at any point?

And especially with Claire, who is a medical professional working in the fucking emergency room. I would bet on a daily basis she gets people in the emergency room who are in a state of mental distress. Who are thinking about killing themselves, or have attempted to kill themselves. She knows what mental illness looks like, how it manifests, and the way it makes people think!

And she just left! She just left because she took it all personally and made it all about herself and how it affected her!

You can't tell me that woman ever loved Carmy. You can't even tell me that woman ever knew Carmy.

And if this was all it took - one single glimpse into Carmy's trauma - to make her leave, she was never, ever going to be right for Carmy. She was never, ever going to be what Carmy needed. She was never, ever going to be "healthy" for him, or "peace."

Sydney has glimpsed Carmy's trauma on multiple occasions now. She glimpsed it in season 1, when she and Carmy had only begun to have a mutual respect and investment in each other on an acquaintance shared-workspace level - and even though Syd left too, she came back. She came back even when Carmy's symptoms then were being purposefully directed at her and others - whereas Claire was never supposed to hear what Carmy was saying in the freezer. Syd came back even though they weren't committed in the same way, even though she wasn't supposedly in love with him, and even though what she got was worse. And she's been in that same position multiple times since, to different degrees - but nonetheless. She always knows her worth, and what she deserves - but it never means abandoning Carmy completely. It never means making his problems about her.

Fuck Claire so much, honestly. I'm so glad she's gone. This is just another way it is so obvious it was always, always going to be Sydney.

[vampire-scones]

His perm is hanging on for dear life at this point. It's been about eight or nine months since his last appointment and the curls were really fighting for their lives. Billy sighed as he looked in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't have that kind of money right now so he could do one of two things. He could start spending hours in the bathroom each morning curling his own hair, or he could just let his hair get in that weird in between of wavy and straight which he hated.

As he looked in the mirror the shine of one of his record sleeves caught his eye. It was Motley Crue's 'Shout at the Devil'. All the band members were on the front, done up in their stage make up and their hair teased to high heaven. His gaze immediately went to Vince Neil. Billy would be lying if he said he didn't think the lead singer was at least a little hot. But his hair...he'd never straightened his hair but he knew damn well he could pull off looking like Vince if he tired.

Billy found himself in the bathroom for the next hour and a bit, Susan's flat iron doing its work in taking the life out of the last of his curls. In one of his copies of Metal Edge he had been able to find a good photo of Vince Neil. His hair teased to hell but still framing that pretty boy face.

After Billy was finished with the flat iron he grabbed a comb, starting to tease and back brush his hair. It took a few tries before he had how he wanted it. All that was left was the hairspray. His new can was half empty by the time he was done with it. He looked in the mirror and couldn't help but grin. He looked fucking good. He looked like a rockstar. Sure this wasn't a style he was gonna be pulling off all the time, but as a little change before his next perm? Absolutely. Now the only thing left was to see how a certain someone would feel about it.

Billy cleaned up the bathroom, hid his magazine away again, and grabbed his keys. He put on a pair of boots and walked out to his Camaro. When he got in he cranked the volume of his 'Too Fast for Love' tap and drove off. With his sunglasses on and music blaring he drove way too fast down the back streets of Hawkins until he reached his destination. Harrington's house.

He pulled into the driveway and saw the door already starting to open. He guessed Steve knew it was him from the music. He leaned against the doorframe and raised an eyebrow as Billy shut off the music.

"Not even a call before you come over? You got something important to tell me?" He asked from his spot in the doorway.

Billy got out of his car and gave his hair a bit of a shake, making sure his hair caught Steve's attention. He took off his sunglasses and hung them on his shirt while he walked up to him.

"What? Can't I just pop by because I feel like it? Or do I have to have a formal invitation from the king?"

Steve stood there, just looking Billy over. His hair was so...different. Steve reached out to touch his hair. "Holy shit...you were busy in your bathroom today."

Billy let out a bark of a laugh and just grinned at Steve. "Like it, pretty boy?"

Steve couldn't help but nod. "Yeah...it looks good. Different. You look like a rockstar.."

"And I'm guessing your into rockstars?"

"I didn't say that! I just said you looked like one."

Billy smirked. He watched as Steve stayed mesmerized by his new look. He would take that as the approval from the masses he was looking for.

"Well you can't get your hands out of my hair, maybe we should go inside so you can pull it."

Steve didn't say anything to this and just grabbed Billy by his collar and pulled him inside, letting the door slam closed behind them.

(Inspired by some tags @flayedintheusa left on another one of my posts!)

[heliads]

LISA REQUESTS ARE OPEN AHHHH!!! I have been waiting for this moment!!

Could I pretty please request Steven Meeks (my beloved) with a female reader? The reader is a student at Welton who’s disguised herself and pretended to be a boy at her family’s request since Welton doesn’t accept girls but she was smart enough to get in and her family wanted her to have a good education. Since she’s friends with Neil and Charlie, she gets invited to be a part of the Dead Poets Society, and because of that she gets to know Meeks and gets closer to him, but she feels terrible about lying to him. So one night at a Dead Poets meeting, she stands up and admits to being a girl, and though she’s terrified about them reacting badly the other Dead Poets promise not to tell anyone because she’s their friend (except for Cameron, obvs, but the others kind of bully him into promising). And then afterwards she has a one-on-one conversation with Meeks where she tells him how she feels and he admits he feels the same (and maybe he even felt the same about her when he thought she was a boy but was scared to say anything) and it’s just really cute?

Of course, if you don’t wanna write this that’s totally cool!! Thanks in advance, and I hope you’re doing well, beloved!! <3

'the secrets that we keep' - steven meeks

masterlist

a/n: in the fic, b/n stands for boy name. since reader is pretending to be a boy, you need a boy name for Vibes and Plot

Although dutifully called on by schoolboys to change the age-old protocol, Welton Academy has never admitted a girl to their brilliant ranks. For reasons of religious purity, single-minded pursuit of study, and otherwise knowing how easily distracted teenage boys are by a pretty face, the doors of this bright school have shut in the face of willing and able female candidates for years. It is a long-standing rule, as familiar as not running in the halls or sneaking off campus to engage in underage drinking. Similarly, this rule is about to be ignored by yet another student, and this one is you.

Headmaster Nolan firmly intended to maintain this rule. Your parents wanted a good education for their daughter. Never before has such a violent clash rocked the hills of Vermont. Not in a while, at least. It took many, many heated arguments and a good deal of defensive letters, plus a promise to secure an internship at a nearby hospital for the son of Headmaster Nolan’s good friend, a certain Mr. Perry. Also, you would have to promise to keep the whole girl thing under wraps.

This may seem impossible, but they were the terms of your acceptance to the prestigious school, and you were willing to live by them. No doubt Headmaster Nolan would be watching you like a hawk for even the smallest of slip ups, but you don’t intend to give him even a second of victory over you. You’ll play according to his rules, and you’ll ace your classes at the same time. Wouldn’t it be funny if one of Welton’s brightest pupils was a girl?

These were the sorts of thoughts that helped tide you over the summer until your first day of school. When that inevitable day came around, though, you couldn’t help but feel paranoia wrap around your stomach with cold, digging claws. This whole idea seemed impossible. How could you possibly pretend to be a boy the whole time you were at the school? You could cut your hair short and deepen your voice, stomp around the halls and act as if you were just like the rest, but what a thing to do. Still, whenever you think about quitting, you think about the triumphant expression on the headmaster’s face, knowing he’d assigned you the one task he thought impossible. If you were going to do anything, you could at least prove him wrong.

With this mindset in place, you move your belongings into Welton. You’ve been given a single room, as the headmaster decided that having a roommate would only complicate things. Smart move there; it might be difficult to hide your evident lack of masculinity from someone who’d be with you around the clock.

There are plenty of singles in the Welton dorms, the students placed inside for various reasons. It’s nothing uncommon. Still, it does draw a fair amount of attention during move-in, as students pretend not to openly stare at you while you’re unpacking your luggage to see what kind of kid could manage to pull the lucky slot of a dorm room all to themselves.

One group of boys in particular seems keen on making your acquaintance, although their attention, unlike that of many of the other students coincidentally passing by your door, seems pleasant instead of demanding. Their apparent leader, Neil Perry, drops by to say hello. Always glad to see a new face, or so he’d claimed.

Neil was the first, quickly followed by his new roommate, Todd Anderson, plus Neil’s best friend, Charlie Dalton. An additional entourage of Gerard Pitts and Steven Meeks joined them soon enough, and a redheaded Richard Cameron followed up the tour, although judging by the not-so-subtle hostility in everyone’s glances his way, Cameron would be the least favored of the whole group.

At first, you’re terrified to have that much attention directed your way. Your goal was to skate under the radar, only making friends when you absolutely had to so you could both avoid detection and focus on your studies. Although it might make for a lonelier experience, staying undercover was far more important. Your parents were sacrificing a lot to keep you in Welton’s halls. You couldn’t afford to disappoint them by getting caught all because you started feeling alone.

However, none of the boys seem to notice that you’re not what you claim. They take up your explanation of having recently moved there readily enough, as it would explain why they’d never heard of your boy name before. You picked that one out earlier that month as if it were a new notebook or yet another school supply: B/N. It’ll be tricky to remember to respond to that name, but no trickier than any other part of this little scheme.

Besides, once classes start to kick up, all of you have far bigger fish to fry than unraveling the precise identities of the latest addition to the friend group. Soon, questions about where you grew up and how you managed to get yourself cast down to Hellton are replaced with frantic trig study sessions and grievous Latin complaints.

If there’s one class none of you seem to mind at all, though, it would be English. The other boys heard rumors that you’d be getting a new teacher, but none of them knew a thing about this Mr. Keating. The general consensus is that English this term would be no different from English at any other time of year; plenty of assigned readings, loads of essays required to be written under short durations, and all of the other joys that a required literature course often brings.

This, however, was not to be the case. From the moment Mr. Keating opened his mouth, all of you knew you’d be in for a treat. Some of you were less hesitant to embrace Mr. Keating into your hearts, namely Cameron, but the rest of you have been quick to appreciate what you have. For once, you’re having fun in class. Who could have an issue with that?

And, when Neil swoops by your seat and asks you if you’d be willing to engage in the first meeting of the new Dead Poets Society out in the woods that evening, you know that the impact your new teacher has on his students is far more drastic than even you’d envisioned. You agree readily, and the rest of your friends look pleased with themselves for managing to boost their numbers with such an agreeable fellow.

If there was one boy who looked the happiest that you’d be joining them after hours, you’d have to say that it was Steven Meeks. Although he may not be the loudest of the set, Steven has quickly been rising through the ranks in your mind. He’s been working on this radio set almost nonstop with Pitts, but every time Steven accomplishes even the smallest of achievements, he immediately has to put everything aside to rush to your side and tell you all about it. It’s wonderful to watch him, how his eyes light up as he talks, hands waving wildly in the air while he talks about receiving signals and communication potential.

You should know better than to get attached. There is a significant chance that your whole ruse will be revealed sooner rather than later, and you’ll be unceremoniously removed from Welton, never to speak to any of these boys again. Still, watching Steven’s ginger curls fall messily about his bright eyes, tracing the path of his hand absentmindedly combing back the strands so he can focus on repeating the information he’s just learned, you can’t help but wonder if maybe this one connection wouldn’t be so bad. Your friends wouldn’t turn you in.

Besides, cutting yourself off from Steven sort of feels like chopping off a limb. When the lot of you sneak out from the dorms that evening, running and howling through the forest, Steven stays by your side the entire time. Dry leaves crunch underfoot, and the moon hangs low and bright overhead. Your heart beats erratically from its cage in your ribs, and you wonder how you could ever have been afraid of something like this. This is living, you decide. You and Steven in the endless night, laughing like crazy, more free than you’ve ever been even as you live your greatest lie.

The first meeting of the Dead Poets Society is a wild success. You take turns reading off various stanzas and prose, alternating between oohing appreciatively at a particularly good turn of phrase and teasing each other wholeheartedly whenever someone provides the opportunity. Despite the jokes, the atmosphere in the cave is reverential, almost. Everyone believes in the strange spirit that’s bewitched all of you, the knowledge that what you’re doing here will make you gods of men. It’s entrancing and awe-inspiring and the first thing you ask the next morning is when all of you will be meeting up to do it again.

Charlie breaks into raucous laughter. “See, that’s the spirit we want! Even B/N here wants more. We’re high off poetry, imagine that.”

You scowl at him, even as the others laugh along. “What do you mean, even B/N? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Nothing, honestly. Just that you didn’t seem all that inclined to hang out with us at the start of the semester, that’s all. We got worried you didn’t like us so much, but obviously that’s not so anymore.”

You arch a brow incredulously. “Of course I like you guys! Would I put up with Neil’s monologues if I didn’t? Or Cameron’s bullshit? Or all of you howling in a cave past midnight so we can pay homage to dead poets worldwide?”

Steven snorts, more at the disbelieving look on Cameron’s face than anything else. “Now that’s a vote of sympathy if you’ll ever get one. I, for one, never doubted you.”

Charlie scoffs loudly. “Of course you didn’t, Steven. Anyone who listens to you ramble on about the benefits of the modern radio as much as B/N would have to be your best friend. Honestly, I’m surprised that didn’t scare him off more than anything else.”

Steven’s face falls, and to cover up for it, you say quickly, “I don’t mind the radio talk. Honest. It’s interesting.”

“Sure it is,” Charlie says a little too loudly, “So’s the company. Anyway, B/N’s right. How about tomorrow night for another meeting? Bring your best limericks, I want to be entertained.”

Neil breaks into choking laughter. “Absolutely, your highness. All your jesters will do their best to make you crack a smile.”

“It’s an honor and a privilege, you know that,” Charlie defends himself.

As you watch the friend group devolve into cackling laughter, you can’t help but meet Steven’s eyes across the table. Instead of getting caught up in the mock argument between Charlie and Neil, he hasn’t lost focus on you for one instant. When he catches you looking, he smiles quietly and mouths, thank you. You smile back.

The meetings of the illustrious Dead Poets Society carry on for weeks. As they go, you realize that you’ve never had friends like these, and it feels as if you never will. They’re the best, brightest bunch of boys in the world. You trust them more than you do anyone else. Those sacred spaces in the caves off campus, baptized by moonlight and wild imagination, make you feel more like you than anything else.

Except, of course, for one secret that still hangs in your way.

You haven’t told anyone that you’re a girl. Your silence carries with it the weight of your studies at Welton. If you want to stay, no one can know. It’s as easy as that. Still, in the quiet, happy moments when the wild laughter fades and you’re left looking around at the faces of the boys who have become your brothers, you can’t help but wonder if maybe you could tell them after all. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they knew. Maybe they would even help you maintain your cover.

It would be nice to have a little bit of this burden off of your shoulders, after all. It feels as if every waking moment not spent studying is chained to making this lie work. Every time someone talks to you, you’re certain they’ve figured you out. This sort of paranoia is driving you mad, and being able to finally share the secret feels like a relief akin to offering a drink of water to a man dying of thirst.

The opportunity to share comes up sooner than you expected. At one of the Dead Poets Society’s meetings, Neil turns to you with a slight frown when they’re asking around for someone else to share a piece.

“B/N, do you want to go next? You’ve been quiet all meeting, I don’t want to speak over you accidentally.”

You shake your head a little too quickly. “No, no, I’m good. Just thinking.”

This, more than anything, attracts attention. Charlie grins, leaning over to you dramatically. “Thinking about what? World domination?”

You snort. “I’ll leave those plans to you, thanks.”

“Come on, B/N, talk to us,” Neil urges. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Your breath hitches in your throat. This is it, your chance. They’re all here, all willing to hear you out. If not now, then when?

“Alright,” you begin, “There is something I do need to say. I’ve, uh, been keeping a secret from you. A pretty big one.”

Charlie arches a brow. “A big secret? Let me guess, you’re secretly a teacher in disguise sent to keep an eye on us.”

This would usually elicit a laugh from you, but tonight you’re so worried about getting this right that you can’t even muster up a weak chuckle. “Not quite, Charlie. I’m–” The words dry up in your throat. How do you say this, after all this time?

The other boys stare at you expectantly. You’ve started now, you can’t back out anymore. “I’m a girl,” you say in a rush. “My parents wanted me to get a good education so they sent me to Welton. The headmaster really didn’t want to let me in, but he only allowed me to enroll if no one knew I was a girl. He said he didn’t want to mess with his pristine record of only letting boys inside or something. It’ll still show up on my college record that I went here, and he wouldn’t have to handle the difficulty of more girl students. I’ve been pretending to be a boy this whole time, but I’m not. I’m a girl.”

The words hang in the air. For once, the cave is absolutely silent. You can hear quiet breathing all around you, nothing more. Your eyes are fixed on the stone in front of you, resolutely refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. You’re certain that if you were to look up, you’d only see disgust or disbelief on their faces. This was their sacred space, and you’ve broken it to bits with your secret. You never should have told them. You never should have thought you could pull this off in the first place.

Just when you’re debating the merits of running for the dorms to get out of here, Charlie starts clapping loudly. You jerk up, expecting him to be mocking you, but instead his expression is celebratory. “Let’s go!” He says. “I’ve been waiting for a girl to go here forever. Of course Headmaster Nolan would be an asshole about it. Wow. Can you get more of your friends to enroll, too?”

You stare at him incredulously. “You’re not mad?”

Neil breaks in. “Why on earth would we be mad? That’s totally cool. You’re like a spy or something. We should write a poem about it. Maybe even a play.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “It would be an honor to be your muse, Neil. But seriously, you’re all fine with it?”

“Of course we are,” Charlie assures you. “Jesus, have you really been worried about that? What were we going to do, kick you out? Your secret’s safe with us. We’re not rats.”

“We’re not?” Cameron chooses this moment to pipe up.

Immediately, he’s hit with death glares from every other boy in the cave. “No, we’re not,” Neil says firmly. “And if anyone even hints to an administrator or other student that B/N’s not a boy, they’ll get their ass kicked. Is that understood?”

Cameron nods, not meeting your eyes. Still, you have a feeling he’ll keep your secret.

Pitts raises a hand. “If you’re not a boy, is B/N your real name?”

“No,” you answer him. “I’m actually Y/N.”

“Sick name,” Charlie comments.

You swat him on the shoulder. “Shut up, Charlie.”

“Nuwanda,” he says in a dramatically injured tone.

Just like that, the tension is diffused. Once you’ve been assured a few more times that no one will say a word about your inherent lack of boyhood, the agenda turns back to poetry more. It’s like nothing even happened, except everything did. Your friends still support you. You feel more free than you could have even imagined, knowing that everything worked out.

On the way back to the dorms, you hang back a little, wanting to take in the events of the past hour by yourself. Steven notices and joins you.

“So,” he says quietly, “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” you affirm. “It’s not too weird, is it?”

“Trust me, it’s not,” Steven says. “This actually answers a lot of questions for me.”

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

It’s hard to tell in the darkness of night, but you swear his cheeks have started to heat up. “Well, I realized– or, I thought, really, I was sort of still deciding that for myself, I mean– Well, Y/N, I think I love you.”

Silence in the forest. “You love me?” You ask cautiously.

Steven scratches his head. “Yeah, I do. Hadn’t really admitted it to myself yet because I thought you were a boy. There was a lot of reflection going on. This makes a lot more sense, though.”

You can’t help it, but break into laughter. “I’m fascinated by that. What have the past few weeks been like for you?”

“Very confusing,” he answers. “Still a lot of questions left unanswered.”

“Like what?” You ask.

“Like if you like me,” he says quietly.

You smile again. “Well, I thought that one was obvious. I love you too.”

Steven stops walking completely. “Really?”

“Really,” you laugh. “Now come on, we have to get back to our dorms before an administrator notices we’re gone.”

Steven sighs dramatically. “The administrators are the last thing I want to talk about right now.”

You think your smile might never fade. “Me too. We’ve got plenty of time for that, though.”

Plenty of time indeed. The rest of this term, then on and on until both you and Steven can sum up perfectly what it feels like to be absolutely happy. For now, though, you think you’ll let the sensation of him taking your hand for the first time to lead you back through the forest do the explaining for you.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

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