#Okay this is just a little disclaimer post but!!

[kckt88]

A Heartbeat Between Us VII

Summary:

Y.N and Aemond settle into the joy of parenthood until the reapperance of an ex causes trouble between them.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Fluff, Tension, Small Time Skips, Swearing, Idiocy, Miscommunication, Misunderstanding, Jealousy, Mild Violence, Kissing, Smut, P in V.

AEMOND x Y.N

Word Count:

A.N - Most of the story is already written, as I start a new job on Saturday :-)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @toodlesxcuddles @mamawiggers1980 @minttea07 @nommingonfood

Y.N. let out a deep sigh of relief as she stepped into the familiar space of the penthouse, the soft lighting and comfortable surroundings immediately making her feel at ease.

“It feels good to be home,” she said, smiling as she gently laid Jack in his moses basket.

Aemond came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

Together, they gazed down at their son.

“He’s perfect, isn’t he?” Y.N. whispered, the awe in her voice unmistakable.

Aemond hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “He really is,” he said softly, his voice filled with tenderness.

Their moment of quiet bliss was quickly shattered by the sound of the front door swinging open. Aegon burst in with their suitcase, dumping it carelessly in the hallway.

Aemond shot him a glare. “Could you keep it down?”

But before Aegon could reply, Daeron appeared in the doorway, holding up a pizza box with a grin. “Didn’t think you’d be up for cooking, so I figured pizza would be ok”

Aemond glanced at Y.N., silently asking if she was okay with this sudden invasion. Y.N, smiling despite her tiredness, nodded.

“The more the merrier,” she said, making Daeron grin even wider.

“Impromptu game night!” Aegon cheered, clearly excited by the idea.

Aemond leaned in close to Y.N. and whispered, “I can tell them to leave if it’s too much.”

Y.N. shook her head. “No, it’s fine. Let them stay.”

The four of them gathered around the dining table, the pizza quickly being passed around. Y.N. laughed as Daeron recounted Aegon’s failed attempt to ask Ellyn Baratheon out on a date.

“I just don’t know what her problem is,” Aegon complained, dramatically throwing his hands up.

Aemond scoffed. “You slept with both of her sisters.”

Aegon waved him off. “Actually, that was you.”

Y.N. choked on her water, her eyes wide in surprise.

Aemond’s cheeks flushed pink as he cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze. “I-went through a bit of a phase before I got with Alys.”

Aegon smirked, enjoying his brother’s embarrassment. “Yeah, it’s called being a slut.”

Aemond shot him a look. “We don’t need to be talking about this in front of the mother of my son.”

“Oh no, we do,” Y.N. chimed in, her amusement clear.

Aegon leaned back in his chair, clearly relishing the chance to tell tales.

“So, this was when you were off at your artsy college,” he said to Y.N., “Aemond went through his little phase. He slept with Maris and Floris Baratheon in the same week and then ghosted them both. After that, there was some Tully girl, a Massey chick, and a bunch of randoms from clubs before he got with Alys.”

Aemond clenched his jaw. “That’s enough, Aegon.”

But Aegon wasn’t finished. “What about you, Y.N.? What’s your dating history?”

Y.N. raised an eyebrow at the question but answered easily. “I dated Cregan.”

“Cregan Stark?” Daeron asked, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Yeah, he was my first boyfriend,” Y.N. said with a smile. “After him, I dated Davos Blackwood for a while, then I was single for a bit, then got involved with Jacaerys-and then Aemond.”

Aegon took a long sip of his beer, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Interesting,” he mused.

Y.N. turned to Daeron. “How do you know Cregan?”

Daeron shrugged casually. “Met him a few times when I had a brief thing with his sister.”

Y.N. laughed. “Sara? Yeah, she had a thing with Jace too.”

Aemond, sensing the conversation getting too personal, reached for Y.N.’s hand. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Y.N. smiled at him, squeezing his hand. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Everyone has a past.”

Before Aemond could respond, the sound of Jack’s cries filled the room. Y.N. stood, giving Aemond a quick peck on the cheek.

“I’ll go feed and change him.”

As soon as Y.N picked up Jack and left the room, Aemond turned to Aegon, glaring. “You didn’t need to tell her all that, you fucking idiot.”

Aegon shrugged, unfazed by his brother’s anger. “She asked.”

Y.N. returned to the room after tending to Jack, her movements a bit slower than usual, but her smile as bright as ever. She rejoined the group at the table, where the impromptu poker game was in full swing.

They played a few rounds, the banter light and playful, with Aegon predictably losing most hands while Daeron remained surprisingly good at keeping a poker face.

As the game went on, Aemond noticed Y.N. fidgeting in her seat, shifting uncomfortably every few minutes.

Concern furrowed his brow as he glanced over at her. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his voice filled with genuine care.

Y.N. put her cards down and sighed softly. “I think I’m going to go for a warm bath. I’m a bit sore-you know-down there.” Her cheeks tinged pink as she admitted it, the awkwardness of postpartum recovery suddenly apparent.

Aemond, ever attentive, leaned in closer. “Do you want one of the pads I put in the freezer?”

Aegon wrinkled his nose in exaggerated disgust. “You have what in the freezer?”

Aemond rolled his eye, unbothered by his brother’s antics. “I read it in one of the baby books. Putting pads in the freezer helps with the soreness after giving birth. It’s supposed to be soothing.”

Y.N. smiled at Aemond's thoughtfulness. “I’ll just go have a bath for now, but could you bring me one when I shout for you?”

Aemond nodded. “Of course, I’ll also bring you painkillers if you need them-”

As she made her way to the bathroom, Daeron looked genuinely surprised. “I honestly didn’t know that.”

Aegon, predictably, shuddered in his chair. “And I don’t want to know that.”

Aemond shot him a pointed look. “No one’s forcing you to stay.”

Aegon leaned back in his chair, folding his arms stubbornly. “I’m not leaving until I win at least one game.”

Aemond smirked, clearly unfazed. “Good luck with that.”

Almost eight weeks after Jack's birth, living with Aemond had quickly become intolerable for Y.N., not because of his behaviour, but because she couldn’t ignore how much she craved him.

Every day, it felt like a battle to keep her hands off him, and her frustration only grew. His tailored suits drove her mad with desire, and the sight of him in sweatpants while working out? It was unbearable.

But the worst part was lying in bed beside him, feeling the heat of his body, and his hard cock pressed up against her in the mornings.

She couldn’t take it any longer. Tonight, she decided, she would act.

After bathing and feeding Jack, she cooked Aemond his favourite meal, dressing in something far less comfortable and far more revealing—a tight black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places.

The plan was simple: seduce him, and finally tell him that she was in love with him.

Just as she was setting the roasted lamb on the table, she heard the sound of Aemond’s keys in the door.

When he walked in, his eye widened, stunned by both the smell of the delicious meal and the sight of Y.N. in the dress.

His gaze lingered on her long, smooth legs, the way the fabric clung to her figure, and—oh gods—her breasts.

He swallowed hard, feeling his body react immediately, and he was sure his mouth was watering for more than just the lamb.

“Hi,” Y.N. greeted him with a breathy hello. “Come sit down. Dinner’s ready.”

Aemond, still dazed, shrugged off his jacket and hung it up before taking a seat at the table. The lamb, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and gravy were all perfectly laid out before him—his favourite meal, no less.

As Y.N. poured him a glass of wine and filled her own with orange juice, he couldn’t help but watch her every move, completely entranced by her appearance.

Y.N. sat beside him and gestured toward the food. “Eat.”

He didn’t need to be told twice—he was starving. As Y.N. slowly picked at her food, Aemond practically inhaled his, hardly taking a breath between bites.

He’d barely finished his plate when Y.N. finally spoke up, a little more serious.

“I’ve been thinking about going back to work soon,” she said softly, taking a sip of her drink. “We’ll need to figure out what’s happening with Jack. I can manage when I work from home, but when I’m at the bookstore-”

Aemond nodded between mouthfuls, his attention split between his plate and her words. “Sure, we could ask my mother to help or—Aegon, maybe? He doesn’t work.”

Y.N. took a deep breath.

Now or never.

“Aemond, I wanted to talk about—"

But before she could finish, his phone rang, cutting through the tension in the air.

Aemond quickly stood, glancing apologetically at her. “I’ll get it. Don’t want to wake Jack.”

He left the room, and Y.N. could only sit in frustration, the moment she had been building up to slipping through her fingers.

When he returned a few minutes later, his expression was odd, distant.

“Who was that?” she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Aemond hesitated for a beat too long. “It was Alys.”

Y.N.’s heart sank. “What did she want?”

“She’s in town-wanted to know if I fancied meeting up.”

Y.N. rose to her feet, struggling to keep her voice calm. “I guess you should, then.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed. “I don’t have to go.”

“I’m not your keeper, Aemond,” she said, her tone colder than she intended. “You can do whatever you like.”

Without waiting for a response, she began clearing the plates from the table, stacking them into the dishwasher with a rigid, practiced efficiency.

Her mind whirled, frustration mounting. Before he could say anything else, Y.N. excused herself, claiming she needed to check on Jack.

That night, she didn’t return to their shared bed. Instead, she quietly slipped into the spare room, leaving Aemond alone to grapple with what had just happened.

The next morning, Aemond rose early, careful not to disturb Y.N. or Jack as he prepared for work. Before leaving, he quietly peeked into Jack’s room.

The baby was nestled peacefully in his blankets, his small chest rising and falling with each breath. Aemond couldn't help but smile softly at the sight.

Then, he made his way to check on Y.N., who was still asleep, her hair spread across the pillow. He stood there for a moment, torn between the warmth of his home and the unresolved tension from the night before.

With a deep sigh, he left for work.

As he sat at his desk that morning, Aemond couldn’t stop thinking about Alys.

Part of him believed that he owed her closure, or at least an explanation. He wasn’t a complete arse.

After deliberating for hours, he decided he would meet her for dinner—just to talk.

Nothing more. He picked up his phone and called her. She answered almost immediately, her voice smooth and familiar.

They arranged to meet at a local restaurant for dinner at 6 p.m.

When he arrived home later that afternoon, ready to tell Y.N. about his plans, he found the penthouse empty.

A scribbled note on the counter caught his eye: Gone to spend the day with Helaena.

Aemond frowned, a wave of unease settling over him. After a quick shower and shave, he dressed in one of his best suits, fixing his tie in front of the mirror, mentally preparing for the dinner ahead.

Just as he stepped into the living room, adjusting his cufflinks, he stopped in his tracks. There, on the sofa, was Y.N., back from her day out, quietly breastfeeding Jack.

Aemond hadn’t even heard her come in. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her—tender, beautiful, motherly. He walked over and pressed a gentle kiss to Jack’s forehead.

Y.N. glanced up from her son, her eyes lingering on Aemond’s suit. “Where are you going?” she asked, her tone neutral but her eyes wary.

Aemond hesitated, then took a deep breath. “I’m meeting Alys for dinner.”

Y.N. didn't look at him as she burped Jack, her voice soft but strained. “That sounds nice.”

Aemond noticed the sheen of tears gathering in her eyes, and guilt tugged at his chest. “I can stay,” he offered quietly, “If you want me to.”

The sadness on Y.N.’s face suddenly turned sharp, her words snapping out like a whip. “Why would I want you to stay?”

Aemond sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he grabbed his phone and wallet from the table. “Fine,” he muttered. “I won’t be gone long. Call me if you need anything.”

Y.N. looked up, her expression hardened as she clutched Jack tighter to her chest. “What, and interrupt your date with your grandma? No thanks.”

Aemond stiffened. “It’s not a date.”

Y.N. shrugged, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business anyway. Not like I’m anyone important.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel, walking off to Jack’s room to settle him into his cot.

She heard the front door open and close with a soft click, the sound of Aemond leaving twisting something deep inside her.

But instead of letting the sadness linger, Y.N. steeled herself.

With a deep breath, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found Aegon’s name. She hit call, and after just a couple of rings, his familiar voice greeted her on the other end.

"Hey, you busy?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

“For you? Never,” Aegon replied with a chuckle. “What’s up?”

“I need some company,” Y.N. said, glancing at Jack’s sleeping form in the cot. “Think you can come over?”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

After hanging up the phone, Y.N. smiled to herself, feeling a strange sense of determination settle over her.

If Aemond wanted to play games, fine. She could play too.

Aemond arrived at the restaurant, scanning the elegant room until he spotted Alys already waiting for him.

Dressed in a striking red dress, she stood as he approached, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek.

“You look good,” she said, her red lips curving into a familiar smile.

“Thanks,” Aemond replied, pulling out his chair and sitting across from her. The tension in his shoulders was unmistakable, though he tried to relax as they began their conversation.

“How’s work?” Alys asked, leaning in slightly.

Aemond sighed. “It’s been a bit hectic. I took some time off when Jack was born, and now Rhaenyra’s gone off on holiday with her uncle.” He emphasized the last word with a slight sneer.

Alys chuckled. “He’s your uncle too.”

Aemond shrugged, dismissing the thought. They ordered an expensive bottle of wine, and after the waiter poured them each a glass, Alys surprised him by raising hers.

“To your son,” she toasted.

Aemond smiled, raising his glass. “To Jack.”

They clinked glasses, and Alys watched him as she sipped her wine. “What’s it like being a father?” she asked, a soft curiosity in her tone.

Aemond's expression softened, his guard briefly dropping. “It’s tiring, but I love it. He’s-everything.”

He reached for his phone, unlocking it and eagerly showing her the countless photos, he had taken of Jack—sleeping, yawning, bundled in tiny blankets.

Alys smiled as she looked at the images. “He’s beautiful. Looks a lot like you.”

Aemond nodded, his pride showing before he tucked the phone away.

They moved into casual conversation as Alys mentioned her future plans. “I’ve been thinking about starting my own business in America,” she said, swirling her wine glass. “I’m grateful to Larys for all he’s done, but I think I’m ready to go out on my own. I’m flying out this weekend to look at properties.”

Aemond nodded. “If anyone can do it, you can.”

As the food arrived, Alys glanced at Aemond before asking, “How is Y.N?”

“Oh, she’s good, she’s been talking about going back to work-” replied Aemond.

“Already. Isn’t Jack a little young?” asked Alys taking a sip of wine.

“She can work from home if she wants to-but she enjoys being at the bookstore, so I think I’ll ask Aegon if he’ll watch Jack if Y.N does go back to Howlett’s” replied Aemond.

“You trust Aegon with your son?”

“Yes, actually I do-even though he’s a momentous pain in my arse, he adores Jack and he’s really good with him, I was actually thinking of asking him to be godfather” said Aemond.

“Does Y.N get on with him? as I recall he didn’t like me very much” muttered Alys.

“Yeah, they get on-a little too well sometimes, although I’m sure Aegon just does it deliberately to wind me up” muttered Aemond.

“Oh-so are you and Y.N in a relationship now then?”

Aemond paused, cutting into his meal before responding. “Not exactly. But there is-something between us.”

Alys raised an eyebrow, her voice lowering. “Do you love her?”

Aemond didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I love her”

The simple admission hung in the air, leaving Alys momentarily silent.

They ate in relative quiet for a few minutes before Alys spoke again, her voice softer now. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, I know it can’t have been an easy decision to make”

“No-I mean it’s ok. I just don’t want there to be any bad feelings. Were both adults, right?”

“Yes, we are.” said Alys as she took a small sip of wine.

“I’m glad-” replied Aemond as he took out his phone and sending a quick text to Y.N who responded by sending him a picture of Jack fast asleep all snuggled up in his blanket.

“Seeing you today has made me realise how much I’ve missed you, Aemond. These past few months, it’s been-different without you” whispered Alys.

Aemond put his phone back in his pocket and shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.

He tried to steer it back to something safer, talking about work, but Alys’s mind was elsewhere.

As he spoke, she watched him, thinking about how much she had missed the attention she once received when she was with him.

His sharp features and lithe body, and the looks of envy she would receive from other women for being the one on Aemond’s arm had been a delicious bonus.

They finished their meal, and ever the gentleman, Aemond helped Alys with her coat.

When his fingers accidentally brushed her skin, she shivered. The memories of their time together rushed back—and the nights they spent tangled in sheets.

She missed that, too. Especially with him. The others she had been with since their break up had failed to measure up to Aemond’s prowess in the bedroom.

As they walked toward her car, Alys glanced up at him. “I had a good time. Maybe when I get back from America, we could do this again?”

Aemond gave a noncommittal smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

He bid her farewell, watching as she drove away. Once Alys was out of sight, Aemond let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He looked at his watch to check the time before deciding to make a quick stop at the bakery around the corner.

Inside, he picked up a lemon love cake—Y.N.’s favourite. He knew she had been upset with him for meeting Alys, and he hoped this small gesture would help smooth things over.

Cake in hand, he walked back to his car, eager to get home and make amends.

Aemond arrived home, the click of the door announcing his return. The first thing he noticed was the unmistakable scent of fried chicken.

His eye immediately landed on the KFC buckets scattered on the kitchen counter. Glancing towards the living room, he saw Aegon sprawled out on the sofa, a half-empty beer in his hand, and the movie Lake Placid playing on the TV.

“I see we have a visitor,” Aemond said dryly, tossing the box containing the lemon love cake onto the counter.

It landed with a dull thud, and he realized with a sinking feeling that this was Y.N.’s way of getting back at him for going to dinner with Alys.

Y.N., lounging on the armchair as she breast fed Jack, gave him a casual shrug before turning her attention back to the film, seemingly unbothered.

Aegon stood up from the sofa, making his way over to Aemond. “So-Y.N. told me you’re dating Alys again. Please tell me that isn’t true.”

Aemond shot him a look of disgust. “Unlike you, Aegon, I can actually keep it in my pants.”

Aegon let out a sharp laugh. “Errr, remind me again how Y.N. got pregnant? Because she might’ve been single, but you sure as shit weren’t. So don’t try that righteous act with me, little brother.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t argue back because, on some level, Aegon was right. His past decisions had been messy, reckless even.

But it didn’t make this any easier to swallow. He unbuttoned his jacket, trying to steady his breathing.

Aegon took a long swig from his beer and shook his head. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Alys only contacted you because she’s after something. The woman’s a snake, and it’s about time you realized that.”

Aemond’s patience was thinning, the tension in the room palpable. “Thanks for the advice,” he muttered, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over a chair. “It’s been noted. Now get out—and don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

Before Aegon could respond, Y.N. called out Aemond’s name, her voice soft yet filled with unspoken hurt.

But Aemond, still seething, cut her off sharply. “Don’t. We’ll discuss this later.”

Aegon sighed and glanced between them before walking over to Y.N. “Take care, okay?” he said softly, giving her a warm smile before making his way toward the door.

She waved sadly in response, her eyes lingering on him as he left.

Once Aegon was gone, Y.N. wordlessly turned off the film, her earlier playful mood vanishing. She stood up, holding Jack close as she retreated to her room, leaving Aemond standing alone in the kitchen.

The next morning, the tension between Aemond and Y.N. was unbearable, a heavy silence that weighed down every moment.

As Aemond sat at the kitchen table, he watched Y.N. breastfeeding Jack on the sofa, her focus entirely on their son. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, and he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I'm glad you get on with my brother," he said, his voice tight, "-But does he have to come over when I'm not here?"

Y.N. looked up, confusion crossing her face. "I don't understand what the big deal is."

After Jack finished feeding, Aemond took him from Y.N., rubbing his back until a small burp escaped.

He gently placed Jack in his bouncy chair, the little boy gurgling happily. Y.N., her eyes weary, got up to get dressed. But before she could leave the room, Aemond was suddenly looming over her.

"You know," he said quietly, though his voice was laced with intensity, "-It would sincerely piss me off if you started dating my brother."

Y.N. wrinkled her nose, taken aback. "Dating Aegon? I don’t see him that way, Aemond. He's nothing more than a friend."

"Good," Aemond muttered as Y.N. turned and walked away from him, leaving him standing in the kitchen, a mixture of frustration and relief swirling in his chest.

Days passed, and they both avoided the real issue between them. They were cordial when it came to taking care of Jack—splitting the responsibilities, making sure their son was always cared for—but their interactions were minimal.

The tension between them only seemed to grow with every word left unsaid.

Nights were the worst. They didn’t share the same bed anymore, and the absence of Y.N. beside him was gnawing at Aemond’s heart.

He would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the moments he’d held her close and simply listened to the sound of her breathing.

One night, while Aemond was sitting in bed with a book, the silence of the room only amplified by his lonely thoughts, he saw Y.N. hovering by the door.

She stood there, lingering, like she had something on her mind, something important to say. Aemond’s heart leapt in his chest, his breath catching as he waited for her to speak.

But then, she hesitated, her eyes flickering with doubt. And just like that, whatever courage she’d gathered seemed to vanish. She turned and walked back to her own room.

Aemond let out a long breath, setting down his book and pressing his palms into his eyes. He let out a muffled scream into his pillow, frustration and longing coursing through him.

He missed her—missed the warmth of her beside him, the softness of her touch. He wanted her back in his bed, back in his life the way she had been before. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let her go.

But now, they were both trapped in this limbo, unwilling or unable to break through the wall that had built up between them.

Aemond carefully changed Jack’s nappy, talking to his son in soft murmurs as he worked. After ensuring everything was secure, he lifted Jack onto his shoulder, rubbing his back in soothing circles. The baby let out a small burp, and Aemond smiled, feeling a surge of affection as Jack relaxed against him.

Just then, Y.N. emerged from her bedroom, dressed nicely with her hair and makeup done. Aemond looked up, momentarily taken aback by how beautiful she looked.

“Where are you going?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Y.N. adjusted her handbag. “The museum called. They have another piece they want restored. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’ve pumped enough breast milk for Jack. You just need to heat it up.”

Aemond nodded, his breath catching in his throat when Y.N. leaned over him to kiss Jack on the top of his head.

She lingered for a moment, then pressed a soft kiss to Aemond’s cheek. The simple gesture sent warmth through him, and he found himself struggling for words.

As she straightened up and headed for the door, Aemond called out, “Wait.”

She turned, raising an eyebrow. He tossed her his car keys. “Take my car. It’ll be easier for you.”

Y.N. smiled, a brief but genuine expression of gratitude, before she turned and left the penthouse.

Aemond stood there for a moment, holding Jack and watching the door close behind her.

Not long after she left, there was a knock at the door. Aemond, holding Jack in the crook of his arm, opened it to find Alys standing on the threshold.

She was dressed in her usual sharp attire, and Aemond frowned in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone more curt than he intended.

Alys smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I was hoping to have a word with you.”

Aemond hesitated, glancing down at Jack, but against his better judgment, he stepped aside and let her in.

Alys removed her coat, her eyes scanning the penthouse. It looked different from the last time she’d been there—baby accessories scattered across the living room, toys tucked into corners, and the once pristine reading area replaced by Y.N.'s workbench.

“Y.N. is a restoration artist,” Aemond explained, noting her gaze. “Remember I said she works from home sometimes.”

Alys nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “So, you two live together?” she asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

“We have a child,” Aemond replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “Why wouldn’t we?”

Alys’s lips curled slightly. “Is Y.N. home right now?”

“No,” Aemond said, “-She’s got a meeting at the museum. So, it’s just me and Jack”

At the mention of Jack, Alys's eyes softened as she asked, “Can I hold him?”

Aemond hesitated for a second before nodding. He carefully placed Jack in her arms.

Alys cooed at the baby, her voice a bit too sweet for Aemond's liking. "Oh, Aemond, he’s so precious.”

But as if on cue, Jack suddenly threw up on her, causing Alys to shriek in surprise.

Immediately, Jack began to cry, and Aemond took him back, cradling him in his arms and gently rocking him.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, rubbing Jack’s back until the crying subsided.

Alys, meanwhile, stood awkwardly with the mess on her clothes.

Aemond handed her a towel with a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not his fault,” Alys muttered, dabbing at the sick on her dress as best she could.

Aemond quickly changed Jack into fresh clothes and placed him in his bouncy chair, where the baby gurgled happily.

 “You’re a good father,” Alys remarked as she sat down.

“I try,” Aemond replied, still feeling the remnants of frustration from her sudden appearance. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A coffee would be nice,” Alys said with a smile.

Aemond made her a coffee and sat across from her once she had the cup in hand. “So, what did you want to discuss?”

Alys took a sip of her drink before explaining, “I’ve found a couple of properties, both residential and commercial, but I’m having a little trouble securing contacts for my business. I was wondering if you could help me out, just to get started.”

Aemond leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Alys raised an eyebrow. “Because of Y.N.?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want to complicate matters. Things between us are-strained enough as it is.”

Alys leaned forward smiling, her tone soft but insistent. “It’s just business, Aemond. I’m not here to come between the two of you.”

Aemond considered her words for a moment. “Maybe I can recommend some clients, but I can’t get involved beyond that.”

Alys smiled, satisfied for the moment. “That would be more than enough. Thank you.”

Aemond was on edge the moment Alys left. He paced around the penthouse, wondering how he could possibly tell Y.N. that Alys had been there.

He didn’t want to deceive her, but he knew she wouldn’t be happy once she found out. His thoughts raced as he bathed Jack, making sure he was fed, burped, and finally laid down in his cot.

The baby was swaddled in the soft blanket Helaena had gifted him, with the gentle melody of the dragon mobile filling the room.

Aemond whispered, "Goodnight," kissed his son's forehead, and quietly left, turning on the baby monitor before heading into the living room.

He sat there, nerves eating at him. Every sound made him jump, anticipating Y.N.'s return.

When she finally walked through the door an hour later, her arms laden with files and the brightest smile on her face, it only made Aemond feel worse.

“How was the meeting?” he asked, his voice betraying his tension.

Y.N. placed the files on her workbench, her smile widening. “It went brilliantly! They were so impressed with my work on the statue that they’ve asked me to restore two more pieces.”

“That’s amazing,” Aemond said, his tone genuine despite the knot in his stomach.

“It means I won’t be able to go back to working for Mr. Howlett, though. This commission takes priority, but it’ll make me some good money—and hopefully, lead to more business.”

Aemond nodded, trying to focus on her good news. “You should get business cards made. That way, anyone who wants to hire you can easily get in touch.”

Y.N. smiled, nodding. “That’s a good idea. I’ll look into that.” She paused and glanced around. “How’s Jack been?”

“He’s been fine,” Aemond replied, shifting in his seat. “He’s already down for the night.”

Y.N. seemed pleased. “Good. I think I fancy a drink. I’ll have to pump and dump, but I could really use a glass of wine.” She turned toward the kitchen, her mood light as she reached for a bottle of wine. “Want one?”

Aemond nodded, though his mind was preoccupied. He needed to tell her. The longer he waited, the worse it would be.

But just as he gathered the courage, Y.N. stopped mid-search for the corkscrew, her gaze falling on the sink. A cup sat there with red lipstick on the rim.

She straightened, her voice tight as she asked, “Who was here?”

Aemond swallowed hard. “Now, don’t get mad—”

“Why would I get mad?” she interrupted, already knowing where this was going.

“Alys popped by-”

The bottle of wine hit the counter with a thud as Y.N. turned to face him, her expression shifting from disbelief to fury.

She walked toward him; each step deliberate as Aemond instinctively took a step back.

“That woman was in here?” she demanded, her voice rising.

Aemond nodded, his throat dry. He barely had time to react when Y.N. reached down, pulled off one of her heels, and hurled it at him.

He dodged it, but the second heel came flying at him immediately after.

“How could you let that woman in here?” Y.N. shouted, her face flushed with anger. “You know how I feel about her, Aemond! How could you?!”

Aemond raised his hands, trying to calm her down, but it was no use.

She spotted a folded newspaper on the table, grabbed it, and began swatting him with it.

“You let her in our home, after everything?”

“She wasn’t here for long!” Aemond protested as he managed to snatch the newspaper from Y.N. “She held Jack and—”

“WHAT? You let her hold my son?” screamed Y.N in disbelief.

Aemond sighed in defeat as he handed the newspaper back to her and stood still as she resumed hitting him.

He didn’t try to stop her, knowing he deserved her anger.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally stopped, her breathing ragged as she threw the newspaper onto the floor.

“I’m done,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of finality. “I’m moving out. And I’m taking Jack.”

Aemond’s stomach dropped, his heart hammering in his chest. He stepped forward, his voice trembling with desperation. “Y.N., wait—”

“No,” she cut him off, her eyes filled with pain. “I can’t do this anymore. I won’t have her anywhere near my son.”

“She’s not a threat to you or to Jack,” Aemond said, his voice pleading. “It was just business. I—”

“It’s never just business with her, Aemond!” Y.N. snapped, her hands shaking as she brushed her hair out of her face. “She’s after something, and you’re obviously too blind to see it.”

Aemond watched in stunned silence as Y.N stormed into her bedroom, yanking open her drawers and throwing clothes haphazardly into a suitcase.

Panic surged through him, and he followed her, hovering near the doorway, unsure of what to say.

His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice strained.

Y.N. rounded on him, her eyes blazing with fury. "What does it look like, Aemond? I’m leaving. You can be free to be with your precious Alys now."

His heart dropped at her words. "I don’t want Alys," he said, his voice soft but firm.

Y.N. scoffed, not even bothering to look at him as she continued to shove her things into the suitcase.

"Could’ve fooled me," she muttered bitterly, her movements jerky as she threw more clothes into the pile.

Aemond moved closer, watching helplessly as she angrily packed her belongings. "Stop," he pleaded. "We can talk this out."

Y.N. froze for a moment, her back to him, before she whipped around, her face contorted with a mixture of anger and hurt.

"Talk this out?" she repeated, incredulous. "I’m not playing second fiddle to some old arse geriatric who should be on a register. I refuse to be disrespected like this."

Her words stung, but Aemond tried to keep his composure. "It’s not like that—" he started, but she cut him off.

"Not like that?" she scoffed, yanking another drawer open with so much force it nearly came off the track. "You let her saggy arse into our home, Aemond. You let her hold our son. And now you’re standing here, telling me it’s 'not like that?'"

He reached for her, trying to calm her down, but she brushed past him, throwing more clothes into the suitcase with furious abandon.

"Y.N., it’s late," he said, hoping to appeal to her reason. "You don’t have to do this now. Please, just—"

"I don’t care!" she snapped, her hands trembling as she continued packing. "I’ll get a hotel for the night if I have to. I just need to get out of here."

Aemond ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt swirling inside him. "I’m sorry," he said quietly. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t mean to hurt you."

“-Your apologise mean shit to me, because as soon as Alys whistles, her loyal dog will come,” said Y.N

“Do not speak to me in that way” snapped Aemond.

“I shall speak to you anyway I please-I’m not afraid of you”.

“Oh really” challenged Aemond, drawing himself to his full height.

“Yes-really, now do yourself a favour, and fuck off back to your grandma-” said Y.N.

“No” replied Aemond sternly.

“Fine. I will take Jack and leave you to your fucking old hag”.

“YOUR NOT FUCKING GOING ANYWHERE” snarled Aemond viciously.

“Going to stop me, are you? How exactly are you going to do that” balled Y.N.

“You will not leave me. You will not take my son” ordered Aemond his lip curling.

"I will and you will never see either of us again" threatened Y.N as she stood against Aemond, her body pressed against his.

"NO, YOU WON'T!"

“What are you going to do about it” snapped Y.N.

“You will not leave me” ordered Aemond.

“Oh, really and why not“ snapped Y.N

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU-”

“What?” squeaked Y.N.

“I FUCKING LOVE YOU” balled Aemond as he lunged forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Y.N ripped herself away from Aemond.

Staring at him in disbelief as she put a hand to her mouth.

The resentment swirling in the pit of her stomach was now morphing into something else. The dormant fire of their relationship was roaring to life once more. Coursing through her body.

One kiss, that was all it took. She needed more. She needed him.

Suddenly Y.N wrapped her arms around Aemond's neck and drew him in back in.

Their kiss was rough and vicious. Consisting of teeth and tongue.

It had been so long since they’d shared any form of intimacy.

Aemond backed Y.N towards the bed, his hands tearing off her clothes until they were a ragged mess on the floor.

It was an eruption of frustration and passion. Hands everywhere, grabbing, scratching, and pulling at one another.

Aemond took a brief minute to yank off his t-shirt before he shoved Y.N on the bed, her back colliding with the mattress with a soft thump.

His body covered hers as he sucked and licked the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Y.N moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Aemond pulled away to push down his sweatpants and boxers, freeing his hard cock.

Y.N lay back on the bed, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

Aemond runs his hand up and down the length of himself, eyeing Y.N with an animalistic hunger, a smirk on his lips as she parted her legs for him.

As he guides himself to her entrance, she barely has a moment to adjust before he is quickly pressing his cock inside and stretching her, causing her to cry out.

“FUCKING TAKE IT!” spits Aemond, wrapping a hand around her throat while the other digs into her hip, pulling her aggressively against him to meet each one of his hard thrusts.

Y.N can’t think of anything but the intense pounding thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond sets a brutal pace, his hips crashing into hers, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“YES! YES! AEMOND!” screams Y.N.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond as he feels her cunny clenching around his cock.

As Aemond’s hips begins to falter in their movements, Aemond snakes a hand between their joined bodies, his long fingers expertly circling her pearl, causing heat to bloom across her stomach.

He presses down more firmly, making faster movements against her bud making her shudder, as a sudden warmth crashes over her in waves making her cry out.

“AEMOND!!” screams Y.N as her hands claw at his back.

“Fuck!! baby, that’s it come all over my cock!” growls Aemond as he moves to grab the headboard, bracing himself as he continues to pound his hips against hers.

“I love you. Aemond” gasped Y.N.

With a loud animalistic groan, Aemond stills, his cock pulsating as he spills his seed deep inside her.

TBC

[thecoolerliauditore]

Pls tell me about Scott's views on women in general pls I'm begging you

o7 and I'm sorry

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

fyi, the post itself isn't NSFW, but I'll be getting all gender theory in this bitch so I'll be referencing a lot of things and putting in pictures of naked ppl sometimes. maybe skip this one if you don't like that

(long post)

Disclaimers

An explanation for the tweet up there

I usually don't write these because I assume the people on my blog have enough sense to realise when I'm talking about the characters vs the CCs or are comfortable enough being a little confused, but I feel the need to extra-clarify here and expand on how I specifically view C vs CC because I think it differs a little from the average person.

To me, C and CC are two separate entities but not entirely disconnected. What differs (e.g. the exclusion of irl relationships -- their wives, kids, etc.) is poignant enough to severely detach them from the people they originated from, at least in my eyes, but there's also the fact that these are not scripted characters, just creators being themselves with a hint of behind the scenes drama-adding and improv thrown in.

For example, CC Pearl is a car nerd. So I assume her character is too.

This is where I state very clearly that yes, a lot of these thoughts come from things I've seen on Scott's twitter, which is undoubtedly the CC and not the C. However I, to me, am still talking about the C because any observations/judgments I could make on actual irl youtuber CC guy Scott Major would be tabloid at best and slightly invasive at worst. I'm seeing these statements within the context of "the death game guy would say this too and I'm writing this based on that", not "this is the inner psychological workings of the youtuber because I, as a fan, can totally tell".

TLDR I don't consider this post RPF but you might. This is a little more RPF-y than my usual stuff. If you don't rock with it we cool.

Everyone is weird about women, and that's okay

One short-hand I've used in the past to talk about Scott and women is just by saying that he's "weird about women" which I'm sure isn't exclusive to him.

(shitpost I made awhile back)

I see a lot of people now who love "villains" and "evil" but when it comes to any traits resembling real life evil (e.g. misogyny in this case) they suddenly become insecure. Just a couple of days back a saw a post on twitter essentially asking for permission to continue liking CC Scott in spite of the "bad things" he did.

And I think, in order to present an analysis like this, I must address that mindset first.

This is not a judgment on Scott's morality, nor is it trying to dissuade you from liking him. This is not saying that he is any more misogynistic than any other player in the series. This is just me pointing out Scott's attitude towards women and what I read it as, nothing less or more.

The feelings that me pointing these things out - be they apathy, disgust, anger or, what I would hope to see most, interest - are your own. I'm not here to tell anyone how to feel and never will try to police that on my blog.

Scott's Relationships with Women

aka. oh yeah this is about minecraft.

Scott and Cleo || "Yeah, you can kill me."

Scott and Cleo's alliance is arguably the strongest in the entire series, spanning through all five seasons and remaining unbroken with no (serious) drama attached. You'd expect from this that they two have a very settled and stable understanding of eachother, yet this isn't a case.

Their power dynamic shifts dramatically from one season to the next.

3L's initial Widows Alliance began on fairly equal footing, built on the mutual agreement that they were waiting for their respective partners to die. Both understood they were eachothers' "plan B" and felt comfortable in that arrangement.

Come LL, Cleo does what she couldn't in 3L, and initiates that plan, going to Scott after her last alliance, the fairy fort, fell apart. Scott requests nothing from her in return.

DL is the longest the two spent as eachothers main ally. Cleo is the one who initially proposes teaming up to spite their "cheating" soulmates and Scott agrees. Cleo admits to Martyn in private that she's aware she's taking advantage of Scott (which I've always interpreted as her talking about all seasons, not just DL). Due to the time they spend together, it's here where it becomes apparent that their initial assumptions during 3L were not entirely accurate, as Scott shows a level of gameplay competency much higher than Cleo's (e.g. teaching her how to axe-crit) but despite this Scott never berates her or thinks any less of her value as his ally.

LimL is probably this pairing at their most unhinged, as Scott, despite once again asking for nothing (or very little -- I'll be honest I'm a bit fuzzy on this) in return from Cleo, allows them and their allies to butcher him repeatedly for time. He gives more time to the Clockers than he does to Martyn, his closest ally that season. Despite this, Scott is never ever considered as a "family member" by the Clockers, despite them giving that title to even temporary allies (like the Bad Boys being their cousins) -- even Martyn gets a title with Scott completely unattached.

SL is relatively more chill, but shows that the two inevitably end up teaming together even despite their oath to avoid eachother that season.

The point being -- again and again, we see Scott literally and metaphorically making sacrifices for Cleo, with the only real transaction he requires from her being that she continues having his back when times get rough. This is despite that he's aware she isn't any more capable than he is and the fact that so far it has only been Cleo in rough times (LL, LimL and SL) and never Scott.

Speaking from a purely transactional perspective, Scott is not getting a bargain here -- and even Cleo seems acutely aware of it, judging by her comment during DL as well as the way she tends to speak of her survival capabilities very lowly in general ("rubbish pvp skills and spiffy one-liners"). I'm speaking in this sense because I've seen discussions in the past about the transactional way Scott views relationships but rarely does Cleo get brought up.

This is at stark contrast to how he treats Jimmy, whose predicted death was what spurred on Scott and Cleo's alliance in the first place.

Scott assumes Jimmy is "incompetent", where he assumes Cleo is capable. When Jimmy messes up, he reprimands him, when Cleo struggles to crit him, he patiently teaches her. When LL begins, Scott's first instinct was to look at Jimmy's lives and note that he was "useless to (him)", but holds no objections to Cleo joining his alliance despite her already having enemies being a potential liability. In SL, he jokes about how Cleo and him being allied is a given and pretty much expected of them, whereas in LimL he explicitly requests from Jimmy a recognition that he still cares ("say love you back!") before he will help him.

Scott and Gem || "You HAVE TO kill me, Gem,"

In SL, Gem settles in very easily in a leadership position within Gem and the Scotts due to her trying to live up to her reputation but also due to Scott and Impulse's more laid back, passive playstyles.

Both Scott and Impulse let Gem kill them for extra health this season, although Scott is arguably much more subservient than Impulse is, with him not only insisting that she kill him in the final episode but also not fighting back (and only yelling for her to stop) when she starts hitting him with a sword during the episode where her task was to literally kill everyone on the server.

Once again comparing her to Jimmy, Scott in 3L had a tendency to brush aside Jimmy's concerns over alliances (e.g. Jimmy questioning if they could trust Cleo) while in SL Scott runs his plans by Gem (and Pearl and Impulse) in terms of who he wanted to team up with (specifically excluding Joel from the potential mounders alliance) implying he held her opinion in some form of regard.

Before this becomes less of an analysis of Scott's treatment of men vs women and more of Scott's treatment of Jimmy vs everyone else, I think it's notable enough to mention that he and Martyn also lacked this sort of communication in LimL. He would inform Martyn of his plans, but rarely was it ever framed as a request.

SL almost feels as if Scott has slid Gem into the slot he had previously designated for Cleo in 3L (his girlboss ally) as he provides her and pretty much forces onto her by the end the acts of service he'd become accustomed to performing for Cleo.

Scott and Lizzie || "You killed her! I don't.. I don't know what to even say!"

Relatively shorter section because this is the one woman he hasn't teamed with, but there's still some interesting stuff I wanted to touch on.

In LL, one of the first thing Scott does is yell at Pearl to revenge-kill Joel for boogey-killing him. Pearl does as she's told and Joel's wet miserable pathetic LL life gets worse from there.

Several episodes later, the roles are reversed -- Lizzie lies to both of them and manages to isolate and boogey-kill Pearl. Scott, instead of reacting with the anger he had for Joel, is almost in a state of shock as he asks Lizzie to let him down so he could collect Pearl's belongings. He doesn't act aggressively towards Lizzie at all, with his most antagonizing act against her being to lie about his intentions when giving her a wither skull.

In SL, he's the only one aware of her early permadeath, but keeps quiet about it almost as if he's in a state of shock akin to when he saw Lizzie kill Pearl in LL. It's not until the others have noticed when he finally brings it up.

Scott and Pearl || "Tilly death do us 'part"

I wrote a whole post just for their relationship alone so for the sake of my sanity I'll be leaving this here.

So now I get to dedicate this section to the meat of this post -- how the way Scott treats women in general impacts his relationship with Pearl and how I view his heel-turn on her as seeping with relevance to Pearl's perceived gender.

In all three of the previous sections, the running theme is that Scott is 1. kinder and more patient with women, regardless of their competency and 2. someone who likes to be in a supporting role to women, occasionally aiding them more than he aids himself and his closer male allies (e.g. Jimmy and Martyn). As shown with Cleo, he assumes that girls have it together, but even if they don't it's not a big deal. When a girl's actions are truly disastrous, such as with Lizzie's, he goes into a state of shock and doesn't really react, preferring to swallow it down and not acknowledge it.

With the amount of times he sacrifices himself, I don't think it's a reach to say that Scott values his own life less than he values the lives of his (female) allies. This specific point actually does extend to his male allies too, shown when he's happy when Martyn literally backstabs him in LimL, but just as with the Martyn post where I point out his victim status-ing doesn't end at only women but includes all the women, Scott has pedastal-ed all the women he's teamed with.

Lizzie is, once again, the exception here due to his limited interactions with her. However that's actually somewhat patched over if you look at adjacent series (such as x-life) where he definitely shows her a level of admiration and respect.

Back to Scott and Pearl.

Their relationship during LL is very standard of how Scott treats women. While the power dynamic between them is obviously more caused by the initial life trade agreement, I don't think it's a far reach to say that Scott is somewhat comfortable in the arrangement.

However, this is also the first thing that sets their relationship apart from Scott with Cleo or Gem -- Pearl is the one making sacrifices, not Scott. She is the one "sacrificing" her lives to him, just in a more non-violent way as allowed by the season's mechanics.

When viewed through this lens, Scott trying to make it up to her and wanting his effort acknowledged makes even more sense. This is suddenly uncharted waters for him. His assuming that Pearl doesn't value him as a person goes hand in hand with him valuing himself less than her.

What Scott has with Cleo or Gem, situations where the other party is clearly uncomfortable with how he treats himself (Gem) or actively aware they are taking advantage of him (Cleo), is equalized to him because he is inherently worth less. What he has with Pearl, on the other hand, looks more equal to most people (lives vs labour) but is wildly imbalanced to him.

It's one of the many factors I see going into Scott's weird decision to abandon her in DL.

An Interlude, Before We Get to DL

La Pieta, Michelangelo

So this has been a lot of words so far and some of you might be wondering at this point: why say Scott is "weird" about women when so far this has been describing how he values women more, is kinder to them, is more patient with them, etc.? How is any of this behaviour remotely misogynistic?

And I would feel horrible if I forced you to read through all of my DL thoughts before I clarified this -- Scott is not your classic wifebeater "women are lesser" misogynist, Scott is someone who subscribes to misogynistic schools of thought and probably considers himself an ally to women, when in reality his beliefs are still rooted in dehumanizing them and these beliefs end up harming the women around him as well as himself.

After all, seeing women are your superiors is still not seeing them as your equals.

I know it's a bit of a meme on this blog at this point. But. Sigmund Freud identified what we know refer to as the "madonna/whore complex", which he described as a pattern of behaviour in men who separated women into being madonnas (pure, holy and admirable) and whores (debased, sexual, deviant). We'll be focusing on the former, the madonna, as it is more relevant to Scott's character.

Freud proposed that the madonna figure was something men projected onto women as a replacement for maternal love. These women are sacred and untouchable, literally as the projection of the maternal role onto them also makes it so that the sufferer cannot feel any sexual attraction towards her (keep this in mind for later).

Scott projects the madonna figure onto his female compatriots -- they are to be protected, served and supported. They are goddesses, queens, but they are never human. The madonna role in of itself is not inherently harmful to the woman, as seen with Cleo who takes control and advantage of it. However, it is enforced, as seen with Gem who at first revels in the superiority but almost breaks down when Scott offers him up as her sacrificial lamb one last time.

I linked this Utena AMV awhile back when vaguely talking about Scott and women, and this was the point I was alluding to.

Girls are beautiful and pure. They don't spit on the street, they don't piss on the street, they don't build hierarchies -- they subvert all the expectations of masculinity that I hate having to deal with. They are my escape.

But what about the girls who do spit on the street? The girls who piss on seats? Who build social hierarchies, who size up their competition?

The girls Scott interacts with are all painfully human. Cleo weaponizes his beliefs and take advantage of him. Scott is smart enough to know and accept this. Gem's playing into a role she has been assigned into by not only Scott but everyone around her. Scott supports the character she plays. Lizzie reflects traits he hates in Joel and Jimmy, but for her, he looks the other way.

Are they "demons", as the song says, or are they no longer girls at all?

(demons, gods, but never humans)

Weaponized Femininity and Women In Total Control of Themselves ;)

Hylas and the Nymphs, John William Waterhouse

Historically, weaponized femininity I'd argue is one of the oldest tropes in storytelling. Whether it's nymphs or sirens or witches or succubi or even more roundabout cases like Helen of Troy, there's countless stories of men's sexual attraction to women leading them to disaster.

One way to view these stories is to see them as warnings, don't let womens allure be the end of you.

There's a lot of good writing done on the femme fatale trope both in the context of weaponizing femininity and as a sexist way to argue against victims of sexual assault, as these stories often say that men who experience attraction to these "evil" women no longer have agency over their own actions.

Look at the painting above, for example - is it the nymphs who are responsible for drowning Hylas, or is Hylas climbing into the lake of his own accord?

Despite the fact we all know sirens, nymphs and succubi aren't real, the belief that men will simply lose control of themselves when encountering a particularly alluring woman persists to the modern consciousness. That there's something inherently dangerous about women and attraction to them.

(this is not 100% applicable to Ninja saying he won't stream with women, but it's the real life example I felt most comfortable putting in here)

Now, let's combine this with what's been said so far -- let's say you don't hate women. You love women, in fact, and you hate the way men treat women. You hate men, in fact.

Yet, you still believe in this inherent power women hold by being female and the loss of agency that men experience when attracted to them -- how disgusting.

It quickly becomes easily to not only demonize men for sullying the holiness of women, but also men, masculinity and attraction to women as a whole.

(apologies for using twt discourse in the meta post but this flew by my TL and i had to grab the irl example of mens non-violent attraction to women being used to frame them as misogynistic before the stupid app refreshed and i lose everything forever)

"To Venner" is a student film exploring a world set within this belief, where all the women have vanished and the men have become monstrous figures as a result of their pent up sexual frustration. fyi this is one of my favourite student films (and ive watched a bunch), but I do think its messaging is worth breaking down (especially its juxtaposition of dirty horrible monstrous sexuality vs pure and beautiful romantic love)

NOTE: this film is super graphic, lots of violence and nudity. have fun. or not

I admit this section is a bit hard to gauge as everyone in the series is gay as fuck. The closest in-series example I can think of is Scott reacting to Martyn's antics in DL with a sort of indigence but otherwise I can't really think of an example of a man expressing attraction to a woman at all, let alone one Scott reacted to. However, I do think it's still worth talking about because it opens up some interesting trains of thought in regard to Scott and Pearl.

For Scott, he himself has never been part of the picture. He's gay, after all, which gives him an edge over the bad straight men who objectify and assault women. Likewise, there's little evidence to suggest he finds the expectations of masculinity frustrating, but I don't think it's too far a reach considering how common of an experience that is for gay men and his adapting of more feminine mannerisms.

Double Life and Corruption

As mentioned in my previously linked post about Scott and Pearl's relationship, I do think Scott experiences what he would name as attraction towards Pearl, so my writing will reflect that.

Pearl is. ahem. not like other girls.

Not actually. But to Scott, she probably isn't like other girls.

She remains unaware of his different standards for her (how could she when she had nothing to compare them to), she acts out, sometimes violently, against Scott's urging (such as when she stole from Scar's wagon). She maintains their already irregular dynamic, and while she appreciates his care for her, she never quite falls into seeing him as a source of subservience the way Cleo or Gem do.

At the end of LL, right before the 1v1v1v1, she monologues to herself that she no longer has to feel bad for killing Scott. Which, in turn, implies she expected Scott to give it his all against her as well.

She entirely fails to embody the madonna with her immature naivete and her questionable morals. She is unpredictable, she doesn't take what she is owed, she is a monster in a lot of ways.

Scott, too, is a monster, to himself, for how he feels about her.

The very foundations of your understanding of yourself being ripped apart aside, let's rewind to the madonna/whore complex. To sexualise the madonna is to corrupt her and make a monster of yourself. Suddenly, you are no better than the men around you, the ones you've grown to hate. Suddenly, you are the grotesque figures in films like To Venner. You are Hylas and she is the nymph. And you are so stupid. Your worldview crumbles around its flawed foundations.

Scott is, however, immune to this corruption. This is a theme that appears in Empires as well, but throughout the traffic series he's prided himself on being loyal and kind and good. His monologue leading up to LL's 1v1v1v1 summarizes it quite well.

He can't let himself or anyone else see this side of him, but the energy needs to go somewhere. To defy fate, abandon your soulmate, is to admit you had a fate in the first place, is to acknowledge that she was your soulmate in the first place.

I've previously talked about how fate and romance are very ingrained in Scott's belief system, if it was anyone else it would've been amazing. He could've been like Bdubs and Impulse or Ren and Bigb, diving into domestic life and performative romance with a stranger. Or the world could've made his happy ending from 3L real, as he got to be Jimmy's husband all over again. I think it says something that he accepts Cleo as a "soulmate" before Pearl.

So what do you do with all that energy and tension, clearly apparent to yourself and everyone else, when you can't let them observe your feelings?

You project them.

Shout-outs to @/legally-allowed-to-slime for pointing out Pearl's comment early on in DL that she "feels like (she's) been broken up with" confirms she never saw Scott in a romantic sense. The "crazy ex-girlfriend" and "this is why I'm gay" comments really did come out of thin air, or perhaps insecurity.

Pearl is the crazy one. She's insane, because she wants me. She wants to be with me, so she does all this crazy stuff. She's lost control of herself because she wants me. She's disgusting.

I mentioned before that Scott is not your classic misogynist, but this is where the gears start turning. Scott's views of Pearl echo that of other players, most prominently Ren and Martyn, that Pearl has been overcome with some sort of corruption. She has become the witch, the demoness, the whore, in their eyes. Scott does not want to be the same as these men and I think his overcorrecting his behaviour in SL makes sense when you view it from this angle, but for now he has to rely on more traditional misogyny in order to navigate this new obstacle.

"Corruption" also implies that she had to have been pure (or at least pure-er) beforehand, something Scott personally knows is not true, but it falls in line with defaulting women to being "madonnas".

This is a Scott post but. shout outs to Ren for being all of this about Pearl but without the complexity of Scott like he literally accuses Pearl of seducing Bigb what the fuck man.

Pearl is, of course, none of that. But she plays into the role of being the witch much better than she fared playing into the role of the madonna.

Sidenote: I know I'm looking at this from a Scott/Pearl POV but I do feel like you can omit Scott's attraction if you look at it from a purely "pearl not performing to standards of femininity I expect and she makes me realise I don't view women as a whole as human which makes me feel weird so now we have to do this" POV. Like idk I think the exact reason he abandoned Pearl is going to be lost on everyone forever so any analysis I could perform is going to suffer at least a little bit of making-shit-up-itis.

I do also think there's something to be said about Pearl being pushed until she performed a role, any role and generally failing at Being A Girl tm but that's another post i think. yknow shes um. a bit. 🏳️‍⚧️ (but also very much not at the same time idk that's gonna need its own post)

anyway yeah uh the minecraft movie looks crazy huh

[beauty-and-passion]

CCCC Vol.1 - Cacophony: the beginning (2/5)

And finally, after a long time, welcome back to the Cacophony act.

Mucka Blucka gave us a good summary of the current situation and an interesting foreshadowing of what will happen along the way. All we know (for now) is:

Heart is the leader when the story starts

There was an initial attempt at compromise among the three sides

Mind doesn’t accept Heart as leader and tries to appoint himself as the new leader instead

Something happens, a fixed event on the time loop that changes the status quo (the Juno incident)

The consequences of this event will lead to Heart’s apathy and Mind taking full control

Oh and let’s not forget that these things should still happen, but have already happened too, because we’re stuck in a loop.

So, in order to better understand the whole thing, it’s time for us to “enter” the loop, by its starting point - or, well, the “peaceful period” prior to the big incident. And this “beginning phase” is developed through the next three songs.

<- Previous post - First post

_______________________________

Never Meant to Know: introduction from Chonny

Never Meant to Know is a song about the mysteries of life. Many things are unexplained, and many questions will never have an answer. This evokes a sense of uncertainty, of insignificance in comparison to such huge enigmas, but also a sense of communion, since we are part of these enigmas and live alongside them.

And now, I can hear your questions:

Why is this an introduction from Chonny?

In the Q&A, Chonny said that he made this album because he wanted to explore the mysteries of duality and mental dissonance. In his words:

“The idea that the same brain can produce completely separate and juxtaposed conclusions from a single input is strange, and something I’ve noticed fairly frequently throughout my currently short life. CCCC is a manifestation of those dissonances from an extremely personal and biased perspective, in song form.”

Our brains and the complex mechanisms behind our reasoning are a mystery still mostly unknown. And Chonny knows that, considering it’s one of his interests. Hence, with this song it’s a bit as if he’s trying to make us understand that too: we are facing something mysterious and we will do it through Chonny’s lenses - specifically, through the characters he made, to talk about the themes he wanted to explore.

Does that mean this is an introduction from Chonny as an author?

It’s very possible and I kinda like the idea. But it can also be an introduction from Chonny as a character.

Why? Well, everything will be clearer in the Concord act, but if this is a loop, that means all we will see already happened - so it’s not just events, but memories too. And a Chonny who already saw and experienced all of them has a higher awareness of himself and his mental processes.

So this introduction can easily come from a Chonny who, right after the Concord act, starts the new loop, while still retaining the awareness he developed by already experiencing it.

Okay, but why is the introduction here and not in the Calamity act?

As we saw in the previous post, the Calamity act served to close the previous time loop and connect to the new one.

Think of it as raising the curtain on a show or turning the screen on: the story hasn’t started yet, but the preparations are made. You get a little glimpse of what has to come (Mucka Blucka) and now, the story can finally start after a little “prologue/disclaimer” (Never Meant to Know).

And who can make the introduction of the story, if not the character who is closer to Chonny’s reasoning?

_______________________________

Spring and a Storm: introduction from the Soul

Of course it was Soul who introduced us to the story: he was the last and first voice in the previous loop (Dream), it makes sense he opens the story too. After all, he’s the one closer to Chonny.

Soul’s introduction has some elements already hinted at in Mucka Blucka: a romance, the concept of writing songs for himself, but also writing a specific song and feeling good about it (we’ll get references about it in Haiku and Hidden in the Sand).

He also hints at conversations with a mysterious “she”: weather, religious beliefs, life mysteries. But instead of simple, plain answers, there are dark undertones and twisted, complicated thoughts. All hints that Chonny’s mind is a lot darker and complicated than it seems.

And we’re about to see it.

_______________________________

Night: the starting point

This song is just one huge metaphor so follow me.

Under Soul’s suggestion, Heart leaves a light on “underneath the moon”.

Since the moon and the night are both associated with Heart, they can easily serve as metaphors to identify Heart’s leadership.

On the other hand, the sun and the light are associated with Mind. So by leaving a light on underneath the moon, Heart is implying that, while he’s being in charge, he’s still leaving a door open/he’s giving Mind a chance to come closer.

Please notice: the idea of leaving the light on (aka giving Mind a chance to come closer) wasn’t Heart’s. It was Soul who suggested it. Why, you may ask? Because Soul has one goal and one goal only: to unify. And they can’t do it, if they do not stand together.

As soon as Heart leaves this chance on, Mind comes closer. And despite what we might think, he doesn’t immediately start bickering with Heart. On the contrary: they sing the chorus together and confirm their intention to cooperate and become one again.

I want to see your eyes Looking back and out through mine

There is still harmony, at least for now. The three characters are working together (“Tonight, all the black, and the grey and the white”).

But the more the song progresses, the more a sense of confusion and incomprehension starts to grow.

Why? Well, Chonny said to us from the start: it’s because of the contrasting nature of Heart and Mind. It’s because they are opposites that can “produce completely separate and juxtaposed conclusions from a single input” (Q&A).

But what are those conclusions? And when were they drawn?

The conclusions are drawn here:

Something is here Only thought

And in order to understand what are the conclusions, we need to see the entire song from Heart’s and Mind’s different perspectives.

From Heart’s perspective:

He’s the current leader, he “controls” Soul (read: Soul is siding with him). Soul tells him that hey, let’s welcome the other side. This way, we’ll become one again.

Heart follows his advice and welcomes Mind. They all reconfirm they want to become one, they try to work together into being one again.

But Heart’s and Mind’s nature are too contrasting. And the more time they spend together, the more Heart starts to worry about Mind. It’s a feeling, so it’s confusing and cannot be logically explained, but Heart fears Mind’s growing influence.

So, a thought takes shape in his mind: he must intervene before it’s too late. He must do something to stop Mind.

From Mind’s perspective:

Heart is the current leader, he’s controlling the Soul (read: Soul is siding with him). Mind approaches them and they welcome him. They all share the same goal: to become one again. They reconfirm it, they try to work together.

But Heart’s and Mind’s nature are too contrasting. And the more time they spend together, the more Mind notices Heart’s inability to be a leader. He’s not doing his job well. He’s too confused, because feelings are not as clear as logical thinking.

So, a thought takes shape in his mind: he can be a better leader than Heart. He can control the Soul too. He can do his job better than him.

What do you want? Everything else will fade away

Mind doesn’t reply to Heart’s question, but he doesn’t need to. They already reached their own conclusions.

Heart now is sure: Mind is dangerous, he must do something.

Mind now is sure: he can be a better leader, he will become that leader.

And with that, the line “everything else will fade away” seals the conclusion of the “peaceful period” and the beginning of the story. No more understanding, no more common goal to pursue now: Heart and Mind are drifting away, following their own goals.

And the gap between them will soon become wider.

-> Next post

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

📌TAGLIST: @mudpuddlenl @allmycrushesaredead @aquatedia @whatishappeningrightnow @effortiswhatmatters @bella-in-a-bag @doydoune @forever-third-wheeling @payte @hypnossanders @idontreallyknow24   @imcrushedbyarainbowoffical @patton-cake-and-crofters​  @hereissananxiousmess @purplebronzeandblue​ @cynicalandsarcastic​ @lost-in-thought-20 @andtheyreonfire @riseofthewerewolf @rosesandlove44 ​​@arya-skywalker @csi-baker-street-babes @reesiereads @dracayd-universe @starlightnyx​ @stubbornness-and-spite @averykedavra @joyrose-fandomer @mihaela-tbg @igonnatalknothing @thatoneloudowl @grayson-22 @softangryfuckingdepressed @theotherella @nevenastark @coldbookworm @boopypastaissalty @varthandiveturinn @roses-bubbles @cuter-on-the-inside @snixxxsmythe @charmingcritter @analogical-mess @emphasis-on-the-oopsie @selfdestructivecat @yangwalkerao3 @the3rddenialist

[crivalsduo]

what is the most cringefail fantasy hh!techno has about their first date/hand holding/kiss that he will never admit to having about 'rabbit' (and when will he admit to hh!dream?) (and if you like, how do those things all go with hh!dream, when they finally get the chance?)

*disclaimer: in asks/meta posts, i use he/him/his for ''rabbit'' despite the fact that in canon, all the characters are under the impression that ''rabbit'' is a woman. but since we know, i'll just use proper pronouns.

man, hh!techno is so hyper aware of ''rabbit'''s very recent past that he tries not to even think about that sort of thing.

he does, though. ''rabbit'' cuddled up to him and now techno is really struggling not think about how soft his hair is or giving him a little kiss on his furry nose. it's so lame, okay, he knows, chat. but ''rabbit'' is funny despite it all and techno can't help it. ''rabbit'' twitches his nose all the time and all techno wants to do is kiss it.

hh!dream is the one who kisses techno first and pretty soon afterwards, techno does kiss him on his nose. and dream is like ??? and techno just grins and says he's always wanted to do that and after the initial blush and 'oh my GOD', dream asks what he means and techno has to admit that he's been crushing for longer than dream even realized.

[jessiesjaded]

:)

[torchickentacos]

[psalmsofpsychosis]

I dont think at this point i can even start on classic literature if i tried, like, i have absolutely zero patience for stories that take their goddamn time "building up" to things. "give exposition talk and show your characters doing everyday things" girl only if the everyday things contribute to the theme of the story! I dont have an ounce of interest in traditional idle starting points, "this story takes awhile to warm up and nothing happens for 45 pages" lmao bye

[toytulini]

Disclaimer im just processing some thoughts im not cancelling the show

have almost thoughts about how i find the like....narrative on here that if you have chronic "zebra" conditions youd want a doctor like House and wouldnt sue for malpractice bc at least youd have a doctor that cares about whats wrong with you but lets take it one step further. so often he does NOT give a shit about the patient and actively endangers them frequently with his god damn heoric era of medicine approach? non zero amount of times he gets a diagnosis but it comes too late, or he gets a diagnosis after their first wrong 3 guesses of the episode shut down the patients kidneys and they either have to get a transplant or they are just, doomed due to other preexisting conditions etc? idk. i know ppl are almost certainly exaggerating and just letting off steam about the very real failures of our current medical systems and the ableism baked in and All That Shit. i just think its weird how ppl romanticize House who STILL, FREQUENTLY, MULTIPLE EPISODES will actively dismiss shit in the exact way that is a problem in our current system, especially when hes being Forced Against His Will To See Clinic Parients, he loves to be dismissive as fuck of symptoms and if he was a real doctor i think he'd be fucking 50/50 on cases he Notices Something To Dig Into vs cases he dismisses as an Anxious Hysterical Woman Who Wants Attention, the only reason he's Right so frequently in his snap judgements is cos it reinforces the narrative. its like a crime drama that has the mastermind serial killer masterfully using "loopholes" and lawyering up all sneaky and dodging Justice and if only our poor little cop protags were allowed to do A TEENY BIT of Justified Police Brutality, they could Save Lives!

and like sometimes in the show they will have a patient die despite his efforts to narratively punish him. not to mention, i think its been at least mildly brought up and glossed over how much they absolutely do not think about insurance costs for these ppl for the insane amount of tests that find nothing and Wrong Medications To Force A Diagnosis they use? i think it was brought up once in the episode following a day in the life of cuddy where she had to fight a lawsuit bc a guys insurance like didnt cover his thumb being reattached but chase reattached it anyway while in surgery cos it was The Right Thing To Do and the guy didnt have the money to cover it and the insurance wouldnt pay unless he sued the hospital or whatever. thats like the only time its come up. whereas like frequently the doctor I go to for osteopathic manipulation tries to check in with me and make sure im covered by insurance etc and that im not going to go broke or get buried in medical debt seeing her.

idk. just some Thoughts. not a defense of our current system and all the flaws it enables and enforces etc. his approach to medicine is really reminiscent to me of what I know of the Heroic Era Of Medicine which i dont...love? and hes framed on here as being an asshole but would kill for his patients to get them a diagnosis etc. but hes definitely extremely paternalistic to patients ? and despite some good clippable lines about ableism and being against eugenics, it honestly feels like his stance on that is kind of a toss up.

[girlfox]

-

[kishimotomasashi]

Oh yeah I forgot how heterosexual a lot of y'all are about liking Madara

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. ii

hi. this is max's lawyer speaking. please don't get mad at her for this part. she asked me to let you know that she loves you all and hopes that you trust her. sincerely, jimmy mcgill

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're pregnant with joel miller's kid. he's dating someone else. you deal with it.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy stuff like nausea (none of the v word, y'all are safe with me), ultrasound scene set in a hospital, anxiety and guilt surrounding pregnancy, description of body change/growth, brief and i mean brief discussion of abortion, joel is dating someone who isn't reader, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), reader has no physical description save for hair, cursing, genderless use of buddy when referring to baby, joel kisses someone who is not his partner, mention of alcohol, disturbing & semi-graphic nightmare about being involved in car accident, reader has a panic attack, discussion of dead parents, fluff and the beginnings of angst DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there's ever anything you feel i've missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 9.2k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

“I know, I know,” Joel holds a palm up, “it’s nine thirty. I know. But I had to lug all this wood over here, and it – You okay?”

You realize when he pauses that you’re gaping at him, wide-eyed and frozen in place behind your front door. Your jaw hinges shut, a gulp like carpet burn down your throat. You didn’t hear a word he just said.

How does he know? He can’t possibly. Did he sense it, from two lawns away? Dream about the binding of cells, the furnace left lit in your body from that night? The embers still floating, just waiting to catch to life again?

Did he do the fucking math, the way you probably should’ve? How does he fucking know?

The minute the question leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Joel’s eyebrows drop. “How did I know what, kid? That you need new closets? Like you ain’t been nipping my ear about ‘em for weeks?”

Your eyes unlock from his and shift to the slats of wood leaning against the balustrade. The toolbox hanging from his fist. The worn jeans and the white dust marks on his thighs. He doesn’t fucking know, you idiot.

Joel steps forward. Takes your wrist. One grounding, steady hand around your thrashing pulse. “You’re freaking me out. What the hell’s –?”

“Nothing,” you chirp, remembering. The closet. The deal. The fucking – the deal. You withdraw your arm. Hidden up your sleeve, quickly slipping out of his grasp, is the news that his life is about to change forever.

Maybe. You don’t fucking know.

“No,” you continue, blinking the burn of sunlight from your vision, “I just – I forgot. Sorry. Come in. Sorry.”

“Quit sayin’ sorry,” he mutters, eyeing you suspiciously. He lifts a foot and hovers it over the threshold, hesitating. Like the first step across a minefield; instinct telling him to tread carefully.

And you swear an oath to yourself, swear it on your own life: if he doesn’t put the heel of his boot in your hallway, if he turns around right now whether because his instinct is razor sharp, or because he forgot his lucky screwdriver, or purely because he needs to take a fucking leak before he gets started – you will never tell him. He will never know.

If his intuition is that good, he’ll turn around and never show up on your porch again. If he has any sense, he’ll forget any of this ever happened. Deal off.

“How’s the stomach?” Joel asks, sole still three inches from wood.

“What?” you bleat, your heel knocking against the bottom stair. It’s a little more panicked than you intended.

“Yesterday,” a crease forms between his brows, “you said you had a weird stomach. That any better?”

Oh, you think, and as you open your mouth to reply, his foot hits the ground. No answer needed. He was coming in whether you tried to deter him or not.

“Oh, yeah. It’s – Well, it’s better than it was. I think I worked it out,” you grimace, tongue curling under the tinge of anxiety and – well. “Thanks,” you add, noticing the brisk cut of your replies.

The heavy thud of his footsteps follows you upstairs, blunt on the carpet as you lead him up. Joel sets the toolbox down and casts your room a quick glance, snapping back to you as soon as you notice him.

You tug on the corner of the bedsheets, a heat bubbling beneath your cheeks. Something shy and self-conscious, all of a sudden. The reality that you don’t feel close enough to this man to share the anatomy of your room with him, mixed with the knowledge that the two of you are, now and forever, bound by the anatomy of something a little more significant than dirty laundry and dusty wardrobes.

A little closer than most humans get, let’s say.

“You want a coffee or something?” you ask, crossing your arms and leaning back against the window sill.

“You havin’ one?”

“Sure. Wait – actually –” Can you have coffee whilst pregnant? A woman at work quit it altogether when she fell pregnant with her son. Fuck. “I’m – No. I’m good. But let me go make you one.”

Joel shakes his head, amused. Screwdriver burrowing into a door hinge already. He flashes you a tickled grin. “I’m good just now, kid. Wait until you’re makin’ one. Thanks.”

You lift a shoulder. “Welcome.”

His eyes flit from the twist of silver to your hunched shoulders, your arms crossed protectively over your chest. “You gonna stand there ‘n watch me all day? You my foreman now?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he laughs. You sniff, twisting your foot into the carpet. The plastic test itches against your skin; you can feel the two lines ripping into your wrist like tiny burns. “I can go, if you want.”

His lip turns, musing. A quick flick of his jaw. “You’re good company, all in all.”

Metal clanking against metal; fingers knuckle-deep in the toolbox. You can hear the harsh sound across your body, like the point of screws and bite of rust are actually scoring your skin. The groan of a near-fifty-year-old man rising to rip a decades-old door from its home. The creak of wood as it splits.

Everything so heightened that it’s actually painful.

Joel straightens up and pauses, turning his screwdriver between his fingers. “Are we –? We’re good, right?”

“Good?”

“Yeah. You’d tell me if things were weird?”

“Why would things be weird?”

His answer scrawls itself across his face. Your response scoffs from your lips.

“I just,” Joel sighs, “I feel like something might be off with ya. Maybe you just ain’t feelin’ too hot. But you’re quiet.”

“Quiet,” you whisper, palms locking heavily against your biceps. More defensive than convincing.

“Yeah. You usually annoy the hell outta me.”

Over your shoulder, Alice Brown waddles down her driveway, eyeing her flowerbeds. She pauses when Diane’s station wagon pulls up across the street; stands motionless as she watches the round figure climb out and totter to her own front door.

“Just – not in a very annoying mood, I guess,” you offer, staring at the white head of hair fluttering in the breeze. The glint of a trowel in her hand.

Joel’s chin lifts. He studies you, tongue tracing the ridges of his teeth. And then he’s nearing you, turning until you’re shoulder to shoulder, two silhouettes stood against the bright square of blue sky inside your window frame. His arms crossed; his stare fixed.

The words begin to boil in your stomach. Violent bubbles against the wall of your midriff. Rising like steam, fading into nothingness over your tongue, the sting of heat where your voice won’t collect them.

Joel moves from foot to foot. It feels like some kind of merry dance, some choreographed moment between you – like a skit in a comedy show. I know something you don’t know.

“What happened – at the wedding,” he murmurs, addressing the polished gold of your bedframe.

Some small sound passes your lips. An affirmative. You’re on the same page.

“We didn’t use – you know. And with you not feelin’ well, it’s…” A deep breath. Chest full of a ghostly bravery. And then he asks, “Are you –?”

Silence swallows the end of his question whole. You didn’t need it, anyway. The stiffness of his frame, his stare shooting straight ahead. The lack of oxygen between you – both holding your breath for fear that something might tear loose from your lungs. He knows. He knows he knows he knows.

You gulp. “…If I was?”

His head cranes upwards, focusing on the cracked plaster of your ceiling. The realization slowly trickling down over his skin. It hasn’t seeped through, hasn’t bled into his brain yet. “Then,” another breath, “then it’d be a conversation…” His voice is halved, split somewhere between knowing and – what is it? Hoping?

Your eyes slip over to the worn sleeve of his T-shirt, stretched around the swell of his bicep; scaling up to his shoulder, the tight set of his jaw. He’s so much taller, he’s so much older. There’s so much life lived and so many lessons learned behind his eyes that you wonder how much the news I’m pregnant would actually crack him.

Your eyes meet. You whisper, “Then – talk,” and his expression softens.

He blinks away whatever’s left of his trying, his polite attempts to skirt around it. He sheds probably a good three decades – turns back into some doe-eyed boy, wonderstruck and terrified. His voice is quiet, and at the same time, the heaviest with emotion you’ve ever heard it. “Are you?” he asks, and immediately, he blurs behind a wall of tears.

Your sentence gets caught in your teeth. It made no sense to begin with. Tangled between your molars, latching at the back of your tongue. Your hand slowly pulls free from your sleeve, the little white test between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes instantly drop, staring at the pale stick with a fraught expression you understand to mean the message has finally reached his brain. The same words now ringing between his ears: She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. I got her pregnant.

You hold the test out, quivering in the daylight. He takes it in his thumbs, instantly soothing its tremble. Everything muted, every movement steady and considered. And suddenly the sight of that positive test feels less scary, in his hands. Feels like a smaller problem, if that were ever possible.

And he says nothing, and it’s almost unbearable to watch the shape of his lips thin, the shadow beneath his brows darken. Agonizing to stand here and wonder what the next words over his tongue will be.

He stares at it a moment longer. You count the beats of your pulse in your throat. You wrap your arms tighter around your body, holding your skeleton together.

Joel’s lips part. Your breath freezes. Whatever he says, you don’t want to miss a syllable.

“Are you –” he blinks, “– are you feelin’ okay?”

You stare blankly. His eyes finally lift.

“What?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Your head jerks. “I’m – I’m fine. I mean, I’m fucking shocked.”

He nods. “How long have you known?”

“Took that right before you showed up,” you say, eyes diving to his hands. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

He’s still switching between you and the test. Checking those two lines are still there, as if they might fade to nothing, and then checking you’re still there – as if you might, too. Might be swept off if he’s not keeping an eye on you.

His face pales. He sinks back against the window ledge. “Jesus,” he breathes, a hand down the scruff of his chin.

And it feels like relief, like a mirror sat before you, presenting the honest truth: you’re fucked, and Joel thinks so, too. It embeds the shock into the cushion of your brain, the weight of it absorbed and laid bare for every particle in your body to pay it a visit. What the fuck do we do now?

“Yeah,” you sniff, “Jesus.”

But then his arm wraps around your shoulder, reminding you you’re still solid. Still whole. He holds you to his side, and when you turn into him, he takes you in the other and pulls you flat against his chest. His lips to your hair. His breathing slowing yours.

“We’re gonna work it out,” he says into your hair. “We’re gonna – Jesus, I did not expect…We are goin’ to be fine, alright? You are goin’ to be fine.”

You’re nodding, the prickle of tears flooding across your eyes again. They’re doing nothing, his words – blunt against your skin and insignificant to the fear swelling around your heart – but it feels better to be afraid with someone. Feels better to hold onto something stronger, something bigger, while you feel yourself beginning to shrink.

“What do we do?” you ask into his shirt.

Joel loosens his grip, pulls away until you’re staring at one another. “What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t…” Your head’s shaking, lips moving quicker than your voice will offer the words over. “I don’t think I want to get rid of it.”

He nods, a hand coming up to hold your cheek. “Alright. Then you don’t have to. You don’t gotta do anythin’ you’re not comfortable with.”

“But,” you sniff, guiltily averting his gaze, “this fucks everything up. Everything’s about to change.”

Joel takes a long, slow breath. “It complicates some things, that’s for sure.” He looks out to the street; Alice Brown now hauling weeds from the edge of her lawn. In his exhale, he breathes a name.

“V…What?”

He looks down. Eyes dance around your damp cheeks. “Vanessa,” he says, clearer now.

“Vanessa?”

A nod. His nose wriggles with an awkward sniff. You push off from his chest.

“Who the hell is Vanessa?”

Joel lets you go; lets you step back. He watches as you brace yourself against the ledge. Runs a hand through his hair while he fixes the right order of words. He’s thinking. Carefully.

Too fucking carefully. He’s taking too long.

“Joel. Who’s Vanessa?”

“She’s…” He sighs. “She’s my ex. From Tommy’s wedding. Vanessa Hart.”

Your jaw slackens. The purple dress. The hair like silk, a halo around her head where the light kissed her perfectly. Her plump lips; the way her head tipped back to laugh. The amount of air you felt her take up the second you laid eyes on her, the second you saw her, arm on top of Joel’s.

“Vanessa,” you whisper, your eyes descending his frame. The memory feels menacing now: her sweet giggle a sneering cackle, and you’ve no idea why. The bulky jewels around her neck, her clawed fingers on his arm.

Joel’s hand sits inches from yours on the wooden sill. Alice is walking back inside.

“We, uh…we swapped numbers the morning after the wedding, at breakfast. I didn’t think much of it, but we’ve seen each other a couple times since.”

This isn’t the time for another it’s a date, it’s not a date argument. What the fuck does he mean by –

“Seen each other?”

“Mhm.” He owes you better than that. He reckons so, too. “Dates,” he clarifies. “We’ve been on a couple dates.”

“Oh.”

Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. Plummets, dragging with it your breath and your nerve and any other words you can think of. Your chest gnaws at the edges of the cavity left behind. It hurts. It stings.

Though you’ve no right for it to hurt or sting: as far as you were concerned, as far as you think Joel was concerned, that night was a one-off. It meant as little as the alcohol draining from your glasses, the vacant buzz of love and hope loose in the air. Equally as intoxicating as each other.

Cataclysmic, for the first little while. So heavily awkward that you would wait to watch Joel head out in the morning, clear of your path, before you’d set off for work. It felt like the aftermath of some natural disaster – the cleanup of debris and mistake.

But oh, it feels like a punch to the gut. Low, unexpected; a foul move by someone who never meant to hurt or not hurt you. Someone ignorant to every move he made, right up to this moment.

Your arms wrap around your body again, as though tending to the bruise left by the sucker punch shaped something like that tall woman named Vanessa.

Joel scratches the back of his neck. “We were…we were seein’ about starting things up again. Me ‘n her.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I got you. That’s – I mean, I’m – I’m sorry, Joel, I –”

“Woah, woah,” he’s stepping forward now, “hey, no. No way. This wasn’t you. Well, shoot – it kinda was you. But it was just as much me, right?”

You smile, your face back in the safe hold of his hands. Tears roll down your cheeks, collecting in the corners of your mouth. His thumbs swipe them away.

“This was just as much me,” he repeats, voice soft and soothing.

“But, you know – if you wanted to – just ‘cause I don’t want to get – so if you didn’t wanna have to – that’d be okay, you know that, right?”

His head snaps back, brows low. It’s the first time he looks like his cool has broken all morning. It’s the first time he looks…downright offended. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, and then, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I just – I know this ain’t ideal. It’s even worse if you’re tryna make it work with Vanessa. So if you felt like it was too much, then…”

Joel shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says, edged with some kind of groan. “Stop talking, right now. Stop. You gotta take a deep breath, alright? I’m here, ‘n I mean I’m here. We’re in this together. I am not running out on you.”

“Joel –”

What was a mere crack in his cool before, rips through it now like lightning spreading across the sky. He closes his eyes, a sigh escaping between his teeth. “If you think I would leave you right now, to deal with this on your own –”

“I don’t,” you tell him, his vexation powering your sudden animation. You wipe your tears away, shaking your head. “I’m just saying, it’s a fucking lot. I don’t want you to feel trapped. I’m giving you an out, man.”

“I am not interested in taking it. Enough. Conversation over.”

“And what about Vanessa?”

“What about her?” he asks, the question dripping in something akin to anger. He catches himself, draws it back in. “She’ll just – We’ll talk, I’ll explain it. The hell else can we do? One thing at a time, okay?”

“Right,” you nod, “okay. One thing at a time.”

“Let’s just build these damn wardrobes. I sure as hell didn’t lug all that timber over here to not do ‘em.”

“Okay,” you repeat, making for the door.

“Ah.” He clicks, and you turn back. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“To get the timber.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, pointing to your bed. “Sit down. Relax. You ain’t getting a damn thing.”

Joel calls it a day at six o’clock.

The skeleton of the closet is up: a smooth, tan frame lining one wall of your room. Much bigger, much sturdier than its predecessor.

You’re in the same spot he left you in: lying across your bed, admiring his handiwork. He’s good at what he does. You told him twice, and the two of you almost heaved both times. Compliments aren’t something you’re used to handing one another.

He left, maybe, three hours ago. Said he had to shower; said he’d be back first thing to finish the job. You sat up to see him out, got struck by a wave of nausea so bad that you fell back to the bed with one hand on your stomach and the other over your lips, and Joel had insisted – demanded – that you stay where you were.

I’ll be back later to check on ya, he assured, setting a glass of water at your bedside. And then he told you to call him if you felt even remotely off – sick, or panicked, or had a tickle in your throat that you couldn’t clear – and that’s when the two of you realized that you don’t even have one another’s numbers.

And you laughed, the both of you; laughed at the absurdity of you carrying his child when you don’t even carry his contact details in your phone. Laughed at how quickly everything has turned one hundred and eighty degrees in the few hours since you woke up. It felt like some form of release, the only way to clear the blockage of tension in both your throats. So, you laughed, until you felt sick again, and Joel swept the hair from your shoulders to cool you down.

The attentiveness is…new. It’s interesting. It’s kind, in the same way that being told to say hi to whoever your grandma is talking to in the grocery store, is kind. Sweet, the same way that answering the door on Halloween to a bunch of kids you don’t know from a street you don’t recognize the name of, is sweet.

Whatever. It’s fucking weird, alright?

You’ve never seen this side of Joel. You didn’t know or even think, in your wildest dreams, that he existed. Let’s face it: you two have spent the entirety of your inhabitance next door to one another, antagonizing each other. Your favorite hobby has always been pissing Joel off – teasing him for having backache, seeing how far down his porch you can launch his newspaper and he’ll still go get it. Playing the same kind of music you heard him playing on his guitar that one time, full-volume from your kitchen window just to fuck with him.

And, likewise: his favorite hobby has always been…well, ignoring you. Doing everything he can not to engage. If it weren’t for that fucking cat lady and her jittery green Chevrolet, none of this would’ve ever happened. She was a catalyst where one was neither needed nor wanted. You would’ve gone about your life, pinning your underwear only slightly more carefully to your clothesline, and Joel would’ve gone about his, doing – whatever the fuck he does.

Sure, it’s weird. But it’s nice. It’s nice to have him on your side, turning to check on you rather than snap at you for something. Nice to have him talk – actual, rounded words in place of grumbles and mumbles and groans and sighs. Nice to hang out with him and watch him work and ask questions about screws and power tools and pretend to be interested just to distract from the weight of queasiness in your stomach.

Your hands trail down, cupping around your navel. Your stomach still feels like your stomach: still soft, still spongey under your touch. If not for the two more tests you’d taken this afternoon, perched on the bathroom counter waiting for Joel to unstick his gaze from his watch and announce, That’s three minutes – both also positive, by the way – you’d have no fucking clue.

You hold the bottom half of your tummy, fingers rubbing gently over the skin that will soon enough grow and swell and protect.

“Hey,” you whisper, staring at the stationary ceiling fan overhead. A pause. An awkward inhale. “…hey, little buddy. I don’t – know you very well, yet. I figure you can’t even fucking hear me, but whatever. Just wanted to say hi. I’m – Ew, no. I’m not Mom, yet. What the fuck. I don’t know who I am right now, so just…maybe go easy on me until I figure that part out. And after, too. Alright? Are we…we cool?

“You can’t tell me, I know. I just have to assume we’re cool. Okay. Well. Keep growin’. Keep…doing your thing. You’re doing great. We’re doing – we’re doing alright.

“Good job, kid. Good job.”

Joel tells Vanessa two days later. She takes it…about as well as you might hope.

He says they talked for four hours. Three cups of coffee and a drive to Taco Bell later, she agreed to meet you. Properly. Not across the cluttered dancefloor of Tommy’s wedding.

She –? Is – is that a good idea?

I don’t know, kid. It’s the best I’ve got.

Meet me? Like, come kick my ass for sleeping with her boyfriend?

Joel had sighed and deadened his eyes on yours. Not her boyfriend, he corrected, passing you a sweater folded a little slapdash for your liking, and wasn’t her boyfriend when we slept together.

You shook the sweater straight again and fixed his work, muttering to yourself that at least he’s a better builder than he is a folder.

Joel heard you, and let it go. Passed you another – unfolded – sweater to sit in your wardrobe. Let’s just see how it goes, alright?

Alright.

We’re really trying this again. It’s only been a couple weeks.

Okay.

And neither of us have had much luck in that department since we broke it off, y’know?

Joel. I said okay.

He held your gaze a moment too long. Okay.

You’re on your porch when he strolls over, wrist blocking the six o’clock sun from his eyes. Newspaper in his fist, wind licking the corners. “Forget somethin’ today?” he asks, meeting you at the top of the steps.

“Came out to get it,” you brace yourself on the railing, “felt sick. This is me workin’ up to it.”

“You want me to toss it back onto my lawn so you can go fetch me it?”

You smile, eyes screwing shut. “Was coming over to ask what time for tomorrow.”

The reminder snaps him from his happy daydream. He says, “I was comin’ to ask you the same thing. Seven work?”

“Seven’s good. Are we getting food?”

“You wanna get food? I figured maybe you wouldn’t be up for it, what with the, uh…” Joel gestures to your hunched position, your head low between your shoulders, your deep, deliberate breaths.

“Maybe just drinks,” you utter, gulping back the sharp taste of bile.

He nods. “Drinks it is. You okay? You need anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks. See you guys at seven.”

Four minutes early, there’s a knock at your door. You pull it open, and there they are. Picture-perfect, like they might be posing for a holiday card. A bottle in his arm, a bunch of flowers in hers. A timid but genial smile between her cheeks, a twinkle in her eye. That same circle of shining light around her head, brunette tresses curled into bouncing waves.

“Howdy,” Joel says, stepping into the space you create. He dips his head, kisses your cheek, whispers a brief, Y’okay? in your ear. You nod quickly, gently shifting him out of the way.

Vanessa lingers for a moment in the doorway. She glances from Joel to you again, blinking in the porch light. Her pale skin lit in an ethereal glow. She’s prettier up close.

Joel addresses you, hand brushing the small of your back, “…this is Vanessa.”

“Hi,” she says, and pushes the flowers towards you – a small bouquet of gypsophila and eucalyptus. Bright, polite. Each sprig laden with the burden of appearing simpatico, but important. Meaningful, in the airiest sense of the word. “Hi,” again.

“Hi,” you echo, and then feel stupid for having nothing more to offer. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, hot on your shoulder.

But Vanessa takes the weight from your chest. “It’s nice to meet you – officially. I saw you at Tommy and Maria’s wedding. You looked so beautiful.”

“Thanks,” springs from your tongue sooner than the rest of the sentence. Your brain scrams to find more words. “You looked – you looked great, too. Do you wanna –? I mean – Sorry. Come in. Obviously.”

She clicks over the threshold, her pale dress floating into your hallway like she’s part of a dream. She’s just as beautiful in this light, relaxed form – pastel blue and the glimmer of golden jewelry – as she was in the sleeker, more dramatic form you saw her in before. An aura about her which captures and tends to your attention. Intense, captivating, but not intimidating.

You usher them to the living room, offer them a space on the couch while you take Vanessa’s flowers to the kitchen. Joel follows you through, sets the bottle on the counter.

“Nonalcoholic,” he says, unscrewing the cap.

Your eyebrows jump. “Great. Thanks.”

“She’s nervous,” he murmurs, leaning in. “I know you are, too. Y’all are similar like that.”

You slot the stems into a vase of water one by one, carefully organizing a display. “She seems sweet,” you assure him. “She shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Neither should you.”

“Is this…totally weird for you?”

Joel breathes in deep, filling three glasses. “Yeah,” he says, eyes never lifting from the sparkling peach.

“Sorry.”

He angles his jaw. “Stop sayin’ you're sorry. I’ll kick your ass.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, eyes lifting only to his elbows. “Sorry.”

He scoffs, swiping the glasses and stepping back to let you out first.

“I’m trying not to make it weird,” you offer, slipping by.

“I don’t want you to try anything.” He kicks your ankle lightly and follows you back into the living room.

Vanessa sits forward and clasps her hands around her knee when you sit back down, shifting as though to reach for you before she stops herself. “How are you feeling? Joel said you’re a little…worse for wear, right now.”

“I’ve been better,” you say, smiling. “Just morning sickness. Which lasts – all day.”

She nods sympathetically. “My sister had it rough with her first. I actually…” She twists around, reaches for her purse, fishes out an orange packet. “I brought you some ginger tea. Kate told me it helped her a lot, so.”

She holds it out in almost trembling fingers. Likewise, you steady yours to take it from her, thanking her with a shy nod of the head. “That’s so kind,” you reply quietly, eyes darting to Joel. He’s staring at the pack in your hands, watching as you turn it over to read the back.

“And – listen,” Vanessa continues, the acceptance of her offering clearly fueling her assuredness, “I don’t want anything to be weird – between you and I, between you and Joel. I know this situation is…new. It’s, um…”

“It’s kinda weird,” you say, humoring. “It’s okay. I know.”

She breathes a relieved laugh. “It is. Thank God you said it.” She glances back at Joel, who smiles at her, slips his hand onto her knee. “But I guess,” a deep breath, “I guess it is what it is. And we’re all adults, you know? We can make it work, right?”

Your head switches rapidly between nodding enthusiastically and shaking enthusiastically. “Yeah. Yes. No, absolutely. And, you know, me and Joel – there isn’t – we’re not at all…”

“Oh,” she bats the idea away, “I know. I know that. He told me everything. It’s – You know, it’s just a timing thing.”

Joel’s staring down at his hand locked around her leg. Unblinking. Unmoving. His expression doesn’t shift until the two of you settle back into your seats; until Vanessa asks if he’d mind making you a cup of ginger tea.

You barely notice his absence, the way she takes you up in conversation. Like twirling you off in some kind of dance, each sentence strung safely to the next. There are no lulls, no awkward pauses. She asks about work, asks about your family. She tells you stories about her niece, who’s three now, and compares how you’re feeling to how she remembers her sister feeling.

Then her work, and the IT guy her friend hooked up with, and her class at the gym which she’s trying to convince Joel to come along to, and Kate’s hot yoga class every Thursday night, and the new sushi place which just opened downtown and You gotta try it some day; the nigiri is divine.

And you nod along, and you laugh at her anecdotes and tell your own, and Joel tells her to tell you about the jazz band who were playing at the restaurant they visited a couple weeks ago, and you offer to top her drink up and she says she’ll do it herself and she leaves you and Joel alone for the first time all evening, and – it’s weird.

Because – behind the veil of conversation you’re doing your best to uphold, sits an image of this very night – only, in Joel’s house. In Joel’s house, on Joel’s couch, drinking nonalcoholic wine with Joel’s brother. Joel and Vanessa leant against one another on one couch, Tommy and Maria on the other.

You can’t help it – you’re wondering what Maria thinks of Vanessa. How long they knew each other, if at all, before the breakup. Whether they hung out, whether they discussed sushi and yoga, or the housing market, or their Miller boyfriends and their annoying Miller habits.

Maria would’ve liked her, you think. Would’ve found her as lovely as you do. And the idea, the image of them giggling together at family parties and being Tommy’s Maria and Joel’s Vanessa – presses a firm, bullying finger into the bruise you thought had faded some from the other day.

And once they’re gone, once you’re left alone again – lying in still silence, closed in on yourself by the thick darkness of your room, nothing but you and your thoughts and your unborn child for company – it slips out.

“Fuck her, right?” You hold your hands out, addressing your stomach. “She was so fucking nice. Did you like her? Fuck me, I liked her. I hope they break up.”

And then, realizing who you’re talking to: “No. Sorry, baby, no. I don’t hope they break up. I want your dad to be really happy. But – Goddamn. She was so sweet. I thought she was gonna slap me, and she just – she brought ginger tea! Fuck. They look good together, don’t they?”

It’s just hormones. Just the emotional trip that is being four weeks pregnant. Everybody feels like this when they fall pregnant – sensitive, vulnerable, clingy. Right? Right?

Your words sit stagnant in midair. You swear you can see them, heavy and intruding. Awkwardly lingering someplace they don’t belong. Because none of it even matters – the hormones, the emotions. The weird knot burning a hole in your chest, shaped like a clenched fist, knuckles branded by the heat of longing. It can’t matter.

You’re where you are, he’s where he is. A pillow in your arm, Vanessa in his. Feet apart, bricks and mortar and something like twenty years and two dates too late separating you.

Both staring up at the ceiling, wondering who the other’s thinking of.

“At eight weeks, your baby is roughly the size of a raspberry.”

Your knee bounces, breath coming and going in shaky ripples. The rubber sole of your shoe cries against the sterilized hospital floor. Your chest hums anxiously and your throat catches when you swallow and are the lights too bright? The room too hot? You’re sweating. Why are you sweating? Can you breathe right now?

Joel nudges your arm and your eyes roll to the pamphlet in his hand, his finger tracing the words. “C’mon,” he utters, leaning in, “how can anything the size of a raspberry be scary?”

You squint under fluorescent white. “A raspberry that grows into the size of a watermelon, can break my ribs, make me throw up, make me lose hair, and then tear my vagina apart on its way out? That’s pretty scary.”

He smirks. “Not to me it ain’t. My vagina stays perfectly intact the entire time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you reply, whacking him.

He laughs, swatting your palm away, keeping ahold of your fingers inside his own. “Speaking of – we gotta talk.” He elbows you, waiting until you’re looking again to speak. “We gotta cut the language.”

“Cut the language?”

“Uhuh. Rein it in. And by we, I mean you.”

“Uh,” you scoff, “I don’t think so. When you do the growing, then you can rein your own swearing in. Leave me alone, asshole.”

“Charming,” Joel says. “You know the baby can hear you? You want it to come out swearin’ like a trooper?”

You grin, tipping your head to him. “If it comes out and says anything, we’re rich. So – yeah. Let it.”

He opens his mouth to reply when a nurse emerges from a nearby room and calls your name.

“You’re up, kid,” Joel says, standing beside you.

You turn back, speaking before your brain settles on words. “I’m scared.”

“Hey,” he says, taking your hand. He squeezes it gently, uses the other to keep you facing him. “This is the easy part, right? We’re just going to meet them.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, and wander over to meet the nurse. Joel’s hand a vice grip around yours.

She leads you into a similarly washed-out clinic room, only slightly dimmer with the lights turned out, and yanks a roll of paper across the bed. Tapping it twice, she smiles. “Hop up, darlin’.”

You settle into the crinkly paper, leaning back until you’re blinking up at the speckled ceiling. Another door opens and a woman in a white coat floats in, and you swear that if it weren’t for Joel’s Evenin’, ma’am when she greets the two of you, you’d believe she were a figment of your imagination. Another character in this fucking insane dream.

“Not often I do these past five o’clock,” she says, clicking her mouse and typing on her keyboard and fixing a hair grip back into her bun. Casual. It’s not even a thing to her, introducing parents and children. She does this all fucking day.

Joel tosses half a glance to you and then realizes you’re not currently in the room. He pinches your hand again. It grounds you for all of two seconds.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat, “work commitment. I couldn’t get away any earlier, so we’re havin’ to do this a little late.”

“What do you do?” she asks, staring at her screen. Her glossy brown eyes and rich, dark skin.

“I’m a contractor,” Joel replies, thumb stroking your shoulder.

Something bubbles in your stomach, something akin to jealousy, an urgency to tell her that right now, in this room, he’s mine. No more questions. Something which quickly dissipates when you remind yourself to quit being fucking ridiculous and that right now, in this room, he’s someone else’s, and the thumb on your shoulder is merely to hold you back from fleeing. Nothing more.

The sonographer nods. Her name badge reads Freya. Pretty name. Stop picturing what your kid would look like as a Freya. You are not naming them after the first sonographer you meet.

“Shouldn’t be too long, then y’all can get home for the night. You live nearby?”

“Twenty minutes’ drive. Not far, are we?” Joel asks you.

Your eyes shoot down to his. “No,” you push your cheeks up, telling Freya, “not far.”

She flattens her lips against one another, lending you a sympathetic smile. “You got nothing to worry about, honey. Promise. Gel might be a little cold, that’s about as scary as this gets. We’re just gonna make sure everything’s looking good, check your dates, check your measurements. You’re doing great.”

“You hear that?” Joel murmurs, settling down into the chair by your side. His hand hasn’t left yours. His voice is low, meant just for you, when he repeats, “You’re doin’ great.”

You huff a laugh, some nervous release from your lungs.

Freya smiles, face lit by the faint glow of the screen in front of her. “We ready?”

You roll the hem of your tee up when she motions, bunching it under the wire of your bra. She squeezes a bottle over your stomach, which tenses solid when the frozen bite of gel curls right below your belly button. Freya smiles apologetically when you wince. Told you, she murmurs, and your breath escapes in a slightly more comfortable laugh. Lighter, easier. Scariest part over.

She presses the probe to your skin and spreads the gel, coating the bottom of your tummy in a slippery slick which tickles with each inch she covers. Two buttons pressed, and a dark image appears on a screen opposite you.

A gray fan, speckled like the ceiling above your head. Dark, black shapes growing and shrinking at the turn of Freya’s wrist. She pauses, two blobs onscreen: the larger, black, round, home to a smaller, misshapen one. Flecked with white and silver and moving slowly, gently, but – right there.

“Mom, Dad,” she grins, “meet your baby.”

You and Joel move forward at the same time, drawn closer to the crunchy image as if by some kind of natural magnetism. Eyes never blinking, lips agape. The shapes flutter, the smaller dipping in and out of view.

“You see right here, right in the center?” A white cross appears over the blob’s middle. “That little movement? The kinda – pulsing?”

You each nod. Your nails dig so deep into Joel’s hand that you risk drawing blood.

“That’s the heart. Ticking away.”

“The heart?” you ask, watching the rhythmic flicker in the center of the screen.

“Yep. Perfect, too.”

She hits another key and suddenly the room is filled with a muffled thudding; a steady, energetic pulse in your ears. It matches the movements onscreen, the tiny throb of the baby’s chest, the shape of your womb moving like waves before you.

And suddenly, it's real – all of it: the screen and the room and the sonographer and you, and Joel’s hand encasing yours, holding your knuckles to his lips, and –

And the heartbeat. Right there, right in front of you. Shy, probably as nervous as you are to introduce themselves. Feeling your eyes on them, curled up somewhere safe inside you. Right there.

You turn to Joel, and his illuminated face is staring straight at the screen. Eyes soaked with tears, blinking as they form, cheeks dappled with wet. He draws his eyes from his child only to look back at you, only to mirror your stunned smile, your disbelieving laugh, more tears dripping down into his beard. He sits up, presses his damp lips firmly to your forehead.

Freya mutes the heartbeat, pauses the scan where the image is clearest, and sits back. “I’ll give you guys a moment to yourselves,” she says, wheeling back in her chair. “Take all the time you need. I’m right outside.”

“Thanks,” Joel mumbles for the both of you, sweeping hair from your face.

The door closes on your little bubble – you, Joel, and the grainy image of your baby. The evidence that – yeah, that night happened, and yeah, you’re forever changed because of it. The evidence that you’re about to become a mom, for real, no matter how much the thought makes you feel like your stomach is kicking around at your ankles.

And the evidence that, no matter how scared you might be, how unprepared and unworthy you feel – you fucking adore that little blob already.

Love it as much as Joel does, stood over you, kissing your hair and whispering words you’re only half-listening to. A quiet thank you, a shaky I can’t believe it. Something about showing his brother. And when you look up at him, blinking at one another, inches apart – he takes your jaw in his hands and lowers his lips to yours.

Different. Softer. No want laced through. No urgency. Nothing needed, nor requested, that isn’t already right here in this little bubble of yours.

He kisses you slowly, eyes closed, holding you until you pull away for breath. His nose bumps against yours and you laugh, heads together, eyes low.

“Still scared?” he whispers.

“Terrified,” you tell him.

“Me, too,” he says, and kisses you again.

You lean back against the bed, relief settling your bones and soothing your heartbeat. The notion washes over you that, if you could, you’d stay in this room forever. Staring at the screen, holding Joel’s hand. Whispering fears into his mouth and letting him swallow them in a kiss.

He hands you some paper towel and helps you drag it across your stomach, your eyes still fixed on the little shape opposite. He hooks his chin over your head – the fresh, woody smell of his cologne infiltrating your lungs and throwing you under the haze of something you’re not quite sure how to define.

“Duck,” he says, voice vibrating into your skull.

“Huh?”

“Start saying duck. Make the baby think we’re saying that, then you can say –” he lowers his voice, “– fuck, all you want.”

“The hell would I have to say duck for?”

Joel stands upright and shrugs. “I don’t know. Think of somethin’. A nickname, maybe.”

“Duck?”

He nods plainly, glancing over to the screen.

The pillow beneath your head sighs as you turn from Joel back to the ultrasound. “Baby Duck,” you offer, and he smiles.

Smiles in a way you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile. Eyes glistening, cheeks swollen. Something innocent and earnest about it. Something pure.

He agrees. “Baby Duck it is.”

Joel insists that you spend the night at his place.

“It’s been a big day,” he reasons, fixing the bed in his guestroom. “Just – let me run around after you for a little bit.”

You fight your corner as much as you can be bothered – I gotta maintain my independence, I’m gonna be a single mom soon enough, you know – but, truthfully, you’ll take any excuse to have him rush around at your beck and call. Some days you open your mouth and he hears the wet click of saliva between your lips, and grabs a glass of water for you before you’ve even voiced the request.

He orders takeout, settles shoulder-to-shoulder with you on the couch, and lets you pick whichever movie you feel like putting him through until the food’s gone, he’s out of beer, and you’ve abandoned Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles for an argument about the best part of pizza.

You don’t like the crust?

Nope.

What fuckin’ age are you?

If it ain’t stuffed, it’s just not worth it.

At eleven, you bid him goodnight and wander upstairs, falling into a sea of navy-blue sheets to be delivered to sleep by the serene silence of Joel’s home. It takes no time for your eyes to flutter closed, the soft sheen of moonlight painted across the wall, sweeping from your view to be replaced in a whir by –

Lights. Overhead and all around and so bright and so close that you swear they’re etched on the inside of your eyelids.

You’re in the backseat, watching them soar by in blurs of white and red and amber and green, and your pulse is rattling through your veins and throbbing between your temples and you can’t focus on any one object for longer than three seconds, before your eyes roll and your head dizzies.

A word, slung from your lips in a half-wakened attempt to stop it. A word you barely recognize at first, don’t understand the meaning of. It’s been years. Why now? Mom.

You’re not sure why, or who you’re even reaching out to. There are two figures in the front seats, heads facing forward. She’s not turning around. She’s not even fucking moving, not reacting to the speed or the lights or your voice. Mom.

You scream it, the syllable ripping violently from your throat, and your tiny fingers reach for her swirls of hair. You pause, staring at the chipped polish on your stubby, kiddy nails. Mom, I’m scared.

The distorted blast of a horn scoops the car up in one motion, hurtling over itself along the freeway. You’re thrown to the roof of the car, plummet back down to your seat; the seatbelt throttles you, rips a burn deep into the skin of your neck. Back up again; your head hits the spongey roof of the car. Your stomach somersaults.

Mom, please, you wail, swiping for her hand. It’s lying limp by her thigh, dark droplets on her wrist. Mom Mom please Mom I’m scared Mom please I’m so scared I –

“Baby.”

His voice is low, earthy. It chews apart the high-pitched squeal of brakes and screaming. The glass smashing. The metal crunching.

You lift from the bed like it’s ice water, gasping when you finally surface back on Earth. Your chest heaves, it’s not sucking in enough breath; you can’t breathe you can’t breathe you can’t fucking breathe.

Joel whips the cover from your legs and you roll from the mattress, feet planting on the floor. You bend forward to grip onto the sheets, a choking rising up your throat, closer and closer until it tugs on your tongue.

“Icantbreathe,” you pant.

Joel’s body curves around yours. “You’re alright,” he’s telling you – urging you; one hand between your shoulder blades, the other holding your wrist for fear you might collapse. “I’m here, you’re okay. You’re at my place, you’re safe, but, kid – I need you to slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”

You work your breathing to the strokes of his hand up and down your spine: in out in out in and out and in and out and in, and out, and in, and…out…and in…and…out.

“That’s it. Keep doing that. You’re good, baby, I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

In – and out. In – and out again.

The room slowly desaturates back into boring, moonlit blue. Feeling sputters back into your hands, clawing at the sheets once the sharpness dissolves. The cotton pets back, smooth under your quivering touch. Your lips stop tingling, your ears stop ringing. One after another, until your blood settles back to a steady stream and you straighten up.

“Can you sit down for me?”

“No,” you whimper, and Joel nods.

“That’s alright,” he says. “I’m gonna get you a drink, that okay?”

You grab his T-shirt. “No. Don’t leave me. Please. Sorry.”

He cups your frozen cheeks. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Just downstairs. You can come.”

He settles you at his kitchen table and shuffles over to the cupboards, rubbing his eyes. You feel the heat of embarrassment and guilt, watching as he settles down with a groan minutes later.

“Ginger,” he tells you, voice rounded by his mug, sliding one of your own over to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, lifting it with two hands. The smell sharp, cutting up the remnants of gasoline and smoke.

“Many times do I gotta say it?” he asks dryly. “Quit sayin’ you’re sorry.”

You gulp nervously. “You got work in the morning. You’re gonna be exhausted.”

“And if I hadn’t let you keep me up watchin’ chick flicks, I’d be rested. That’s something I can deal with later. I got you to worry about right now.”

You shake your head; the ceramic hits the table with a sharp thud. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well,” Joel sniffs, “you’re carrying my child. I’ll always worry about you.”

You sit back, the curve of the chair cradling, your heart beating lamely against the wood. Joel’s jaw rests in the cushion of his palm, staring back at you.

“What time is it?” you ask, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Three. Take a sip.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sip.”

You obey, lifting the tea and swallowing harshly.

He watches every move, every shift reflected in his dark eyes, decorated by a tense, stony expression. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Never,” you say. “This never happens.”

Joel cranes his jaw, cracks his neck. “Alright,” he sighs, “that’s okay. Breathe again. You’re doing fine.”

But you don’t feel fine. The dregs of panic sizzle into something thicker, hotter. Anger. Frustration. “Why the fuck is this happening?” you hiss, fingers prodding into your eye sockets. “What the f–?”

“Easy. I don’t know. Hormones? Stress?”

“You sound like my fucking doctor.”

Joel smiles. Amusement, before concern wipes over it again. “Let’s just give it some time to pass, okay?”

You nod, hanging over your drink, the silhouette of your reflection staring back at you. The steam snakes up, seeping into your skin, bubbling under the surface. Wiping clean any memory of freeway or nail polish, like coating over a bathroom mirror. The shapes still visible behind, but blurred. Gone.

“How’s Vanessa?” you ask, an attempt to distract yourself.

Joel adjusts a little awkwardly in his chair. “She’s good. She loved the scan photo. Showed it to her sister. They’re sure it’s a boy.”

“Ha. Joel Jr.”

“Joel Jr.,” he agrees, and then attempts to distract himself. “So,” he says, “Allandale.”

“Mhm?”

“Wonder if I ever saw your mom or dad. When I was there visitin’ Sam.”

You shrug. “Doubt it. I mean, they always lived right next to the elementary school, if that helps. My mom was a first-grade teacher. The two of us used to walk there ‘n back together, every day.”

“First grade, huh? Best one.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and she was the best of the best. She used to go all out for her kids; used to go to Michaels and get all this crafty stuff so they could spend all afternoon making little houses or zoos, or – whatever she could think of. And she’d always keep some aside, bring some home for me to make one, too. One time, she came home with all this blue tissue paper and little foam fish, and we made an aquarium together.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Joel says.

“Yeah,” you say again, nodding eagerly. “She was so cool. And fun, y’know? I just remember her being so much fun. I always felt safe with her, felt loved. I actually used to think she hung the sun every morning, just for me.” You take a deep breath, replacing it with a broken sigh.

“What about your dad? What was he like?”

You frown. “He was…fine. Real quiet, reserved. A little grumpy, I guess. I always got the idea he couldn’t be bothered with me, young as I was. Always wanted to be left alone. I think my mom overcompensated a lot.”

Something flashes across Joel’s face that seems to say he knows – or, at least, he understands. Almost imperceptible, a quick flicker of annoyance. “You miss her?” he asks, switching back.

“My mom?” You almost laugh, gripping onto your mug. Staring at the slow swirl of ginger. A shrug which presents more like a flinch; an animal swatting a fly away. “I miss those parts, when I think of them. The aquarium, the walking to school. Miss the memories. But I don’t think I knew her well enough or long enough to miss her.

“I’ve lived way longer without her than I ever had her. Done everything without her, like –” gesturing down, “– this. But, sometimes…sometimes, I bundle the sheets up behind my back in bed, and I pretend it’s her. Pretend I have a mom, and she’s cuddling me to sleep. I dunno. Maybe that’s what missing her feels like.”

Joel soaks in every word you say, letting the shape of each one settle on the table between you before he speaks again. Letting them be spoken into the dead of night, collected by no one, and letting them fade into silence. Secrets sweeping off into starlight. Nothing you would admit in the daytime.

“What was her name?” he asks, voice timid and gentle in the dark kitchen.

You almost choke on your tea. “Shoot – I’m sorry. That was a lot. Sorry. She, uh – Her name?”

It brings the first genuine smile to your lips; the memory of your mom now clear behind your eyes. Her round cheeks, her fluttering earrings. The deep, dark curls of her hair, thick ringlets twisting and lighting in the sun. The gap between her front teeth, the purse of her lips as she kissed your cheeks, your hands, your tummy.

Her name like a melody in your head; a safe word, a calming mantra when the world becomes too noisy, too saturated, too sharp to bear. Two syllables. Two little beats, like a piece of her still lives in the sound of her name.

“Sarah,” you tell Joel. “Her name was Sarah.”

[1pepsiboy]

Car video with Matt Sturniolo - Fluff! (request)

Matt Sturniolo x reader!

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: swearing, a little kissing

A/N: This one got away from me and I had to reign it back in because it's not supposed to be smutty lmaooo But here it is!

***

It’s close to midnight as Matt parks the van in a random spot at the favorite lot. The two of you got fries, chicken nuggets with sweet n’ sour sauce (mostly for him), and a large milkshake to share. You plan to do a car video to post on his individual channel.

You have no idea what you were going to talk about. Matt had fans submit their own questions for you two to answer.

After setting up the camera, which included Matt going out to check it, you start recording and picking at the food.

Matt starts the video off. "Hey everyone, (y/n) and I are here. Uhm... basically we're going to do our own car video without Nick and Chris. We don't really have a topic, but you guys submitted questions on instagram. Babe, have anything to start us off?"

Now, he looks at you as you’re mid fry. You chew quickly as possible, wiping your hands on a napkin, as he giggles under his breath.

"Thanks for the warning," you remark with a laugh. "Uhm, not really... I'm just here for the vibes."

"For the vibes?" Matt crooks a brow and looks you up and down. Then he takes a nugget and dips in the sauce.

You roll your eyes. "Don't yuck my yum."

Matt stuffs the nugget in his mouth. "Okay, Chris."

All you do is flip him off and take a sip of the milkshake.

"Just ask the questions."

"Okay, okay." He laughs as he readjusts in his seat after grabbing his phone. It's quiet for a couple minutes while he gathers them. "Oh, let's start with this one. What's our favorite thing about each other?"

"Well-"

"Oh, quick disclaimer, sorry babe." Matt shoots you a nervous smile. "I will edit screenshots of the questions onto the screen so you can see who they're from. And uh.. if you'd like to get featured in videos, follow us on instagram to see the next time I ask for questions. I'll put the @s on the screen and in the description below."

You slowly chew on your straw after taking another sip, patiently waiting for him to be done. It's already been fifteen minutes and you are almost positive Matt forgot the extra battery pack. Granted, you could've asked Nick where it was and brought it; too late.

"Okay, what were you going to say?" Matt prompts.

You think about making another snarky remark in how it'd been so long since he asked the question that you don't remember it.

Tapping the straw on your pursed lips, you pretend to think. "Well... I have many favorite things so it's an unfair question."

Matt lightly rolls his eyes. "Look, I know you love everything about me, but what's your favorite?"

"Oh, everything?" You laugh. "You think so highly of yourself, don't you, Matty B? Let's go the different route then." You look directly into the camera. "Guys, this kid will not accept anything sort of unorganized or clean. Not for more than five minutes if he can help it."

Matt's jaw drops and he snatches the cup out of your hand. "Your least favorite thing is how organized I am?"

"Yeah, live a little! You won't die if there's like a wrapper or two on your desk, or if the toothbrush isn't in the holder."

"You are an absolute monster, (y/n)!" Matt cracks. He points between you and the camera. "Don't believe a single word she says. She leaves more than a wrapper or two, and her skincare is all over my bathroom counter after she does her morning routine."

You shrug. "I don't see a problem with that, and I don't think the fans will either."

"Guys, leave a comment if you're more like me or (y/n)." He barely scoffs under his breath, eating another fry. "You're lucky you have other amazing qualities that I overlook the messiness."

Now, you couldn't help blushing. “Such as?”

Matt shakes his head, a smile spreading on his lips. “You’re understanding about a lot going on, you know, like the channels, life, and stuff. So it’s easy to talk to you about it, like if I’m ever anxious or something.”

“Top fucking notch quality right there,” you say. “Anything else? I love the praise.”

“I thought this was reserved for in private, babe.”

Your eyes go wide and you almost spit out the fry you just put in your mouth. “Matthew! Stop!”

Matt giggles under his breath. “Sorry. Uhm… You can rock a men’s polo and make the best playlists for me… Obviously you have such a vibrant personality.” 

“That I do.” You nod in agreement. You reach out to brush back some of his hair, causing some pinkness to rouge on his cheeks. “I love how cautious you are about decisions, keeps me from letting impulsive thoughts win.”

“Which is a lot,” he shoots a look at the camera.

You can only roll your eyes in response. “Anyway… You’re the most caring person I know that will drop anything to help someone you love. The only time you won’t ask a lot of questions… Oh! You’re actually the best big spoon ever.”

He bites his bottom lip, failing to hold back a cheesy grin. “Really, babe?”

“Absolutely.” 

You close the space between you, and Matt instinctively rests his hand in the crook of your neck. You crawl over the center console onto his lap when you realize it wouldn’t be just a few kisses.

Time gets away and you sort of forget that you are filming. Your hands roam each other’s bodies over and under clothes. Both of you leave butterfly kisses on the other’s neck.

The lights in the van suddenly dim away.

“Shit. Fuck,” Matt says, his lips pink from yours and hair tousled more than usual. “I think the camera died.”

“And we technically only answered one question.” You bite your lip with a laugh. 

He laughs with you, running a hand through his hair. He lays back and looks you in the eyes. “I should’ve known not to start with that question.”

“Should we try doing this again on a different night?”

Matt sighs heavily. “Probably… It would suck to scrap all the footage though.”

A smirk rises on your lips as you move back to the passenger seat. “You want to include clips of us making out?”

“Obviously no.” He rolls his eyes. 

“Let’s just keep going then. Use my phone to record.”

Matt kisses the crook of your neck. “You’re the best, babe.”

You shoot him a look. “Be careful, Matthew.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He throws his hands up in defense. (He really wasn’t that sorry.)

*You can request others from this list or send me new ones!*

[two-white-butterflies]

★ — lights will guide you home | carlos sainz and multi

Description: Trying to find love after your ex-fiancee told you that his mistress makes him happier. How hard could it be?

part two of it was all yellow

Pairing: actress!singer!reader/multi (undecided), actress!singer!reader/carlos sainz (past).

Trope: Secret Baby Trope

Disclaimer: Everything written in this fanfic holds no truth about anyone's personality or actions. It is made purely for entertainment.

A/N: this part will mainly focus on the main character and her relationship with pablo, while setting things up with her future love interest + angst with carlos?🤔

carlossainz55: Everyday Magic! I love you baby.

liked by because.official and 712,923 others

>comments

ynnationlovebears: GIRL...

because.official: aww he looks so cute hubs 🥺 - carlossainz55: ❤️

iggyagaelabeef2: OH MY GOD SHE'S GOING TO KILL U

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The situation was awkward. Pablo was wise beyond his years, he understood the situation - but his difficulty understanding it was obvious. He wasn't comfortable around Carlos, who until yesterday didn't even exist in his little world.

"Give him time." you comforted the older man.

It felt strange, comforting a man who was the reason of your sorrow. He was the reason that you didn't feel confident in your own skin, in your own face, because he thought that someone was better.

You spent these past years trying to look for the faults that he found inside of you, because if he could cheat on you, the next one could.

"Until yesterday, he didn't even know that you existed." you scoffed, attempting to avoid his guilty stare. "I don't know what I'm looking for - or what he likes. Children are a tough crowd." he chuckled nervously, mentally cursing Kirkman for leaving the both of you.

There was a silence, only interrupted by the slight sound of rain on the background. It was obvious that you had nothing in common. You had no desire with being friends with him. "I posted him on instagram, is that fine?" he broke through the thick atmosphere.

You licked your chapped lips.

"Yeah."

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notdanielricciardopriv: this is so scary 😭

liked by 7 others

>comments

notmaxv33: Slendrina - notynln: a lotta nerve from someone singing gagadegadao with my son ??

landofanbasebutreallandonorris: IM SO SCARED RIGHT NOW PLEASE DON'T KIDNAP ME - notynln: 😭

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ynworldupdates: I literally don't understand why Carlos Sainz Jr. decided to cheat on the most beautiful woman in the whole universe 😭😭 like SHE LITERALLY PLAYS TARGARYENS FOR A LIVING MAN!!

liked by 829 others

>comments

birdsofafeather83: literally mother mary incarnate

holypoodlesticks: i want this woman to play a divine goddess

alex_lnc: that's why i love women, men will always CHEAT

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>comments

floppiana83: "that makes her a good friend" MAX YOU ARE NOT SLICK HAHAHAHAHAHA

arianabanana: And they get married and have kids

inchident01: go to 2:01 I'm sensing a crush

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"Charles told me that you were ignoring Carlos' messages." Daniel sits beside me, his face filled with concern.

"I didn't know how to react, okay." you groaned.

A few days ago Carlos posted a picture of Pablo. Your son's face was in full view, everyone began to critique his features - even the looksmaxxing community had a lot to say. It was a boy! A child!

"If you didn't want him posting P - then you should've told him in the first place." he responded, trying to play devil's advocate. It only added more to your fury. "The deed was done, someone probably already saved it - I couldn't just ask Carlos to delete the picture."

"- plus, you know how I get with confrontation." you breathed.

He was about to respond, but he sees your crestfallen face. The same curve of your lips that you miserably wore when you lost a game of UNO, or lost an acting role that you've been pining for.

"I hate him for what he did, but I miss him like a little kid. He makes me feel so stupid and useless."

" - when I'm around him, I can't help but think about my mistakes. I could've been better - maybe then, Pablo would have both of his parents." you sobbed, burying your face in his chest.

Daniel takes a deep breath.

"It shouldn't come from me ... but it's tough being a mother. Carlos can afford to make mistakes, no one will hate him for it - but it's unfair once you're the one who does." he comforted.

Between all your friends, Daniel was the only one who knew how to comfort another person. He was a blessing. A warm teddy bear.

"I-I just wanted to give Pablo the change of having privacy. His father and I never had that as kids. I know how tough it is being in the spotlight, I thought he'd understand." you sighed.

This was another lesson.

"I'll tell him next time." you nodded to yourself. A human being can make mistakes, but as a mother, it's best to not have any.

I've got to learn how to put my foot down.

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yn.ln: a lot of you don't know this but me and @maxverstappen go way back.. i've seen the interview, thank you for calling me a good friend 🤣💚 ps. we first met each other when we were 5 and i'm pretty sure he forgot about me until we met again at 17 🤣

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen and 83,293 others

>comments

helaenaslawyer: OH MY GOD ?? SHE LOOKED LIKE RHAENYRA WHEN SHE WAS A KID...THE HOTD CASTING DEPARTMENT NEVER MISSED

emmadarcy: OMG 🔥

maxieworldf1: never beating the sibling allegations

maxverstappen: Have you always been that short? - yn.ln: uhuh mr. tall king? lols

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Carlos was taking snaps of Pablo on his new Kodak camera. The little boy seemed to enjoy being the subject of his father's photos. Daniel nudges your elbows, encouraging you to speak up. "Carlos, will you be posting that on social media?" you inquired.

He looked up with a smile - the smile that used to have you weak on your knees, now instead leaving you with neutral feelings. "If it's okay with you?" his eyebrows merged into each other.

"Uh I actually would prefer it if Pablo stays off the media for a few years, just until he's old enough to make his own decisions." the words slipped out of your mouth like a dam.

His eyebrows raised upwards, surprised.

"Oh I'm sorry that makes sense." his voice sounded defeated, but he quickly returns to playing with his son. You lean back on the sun-bed, flashing Daniel a winning smile. "That was surprisingly easy." you leaned back, watching as he takes a sip of his piña colada.

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yn.ln: this is so 2014 core 🕷 📸 shot by p

liked by maxverstappen and 821,239 others

>comments

helaenaworld: this awakened something within me

holdmybeer: pedro alonso, stephanie beatriz, cm punk, carlos sainz I GET YOU...

bandanaqueef: O M G O M G O M G

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formulaonewagsupdate: because and y/n l/n in one boat?

liked by 82,239 others

>comments

becausefanbase: i get it why carlos cheated HAHAHA

hotpotcentauri: Why does Y/N always look so awk? - ynlncloset: y/n l/n does not belong to you because, mainstream media and parties do... - callmeadefender: She's literally the most charming of all of the ladies in that boat 💀

babyohh: to be a fly on the wall during that yacht ride.

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next part>>

thanks for the support guys. pt. 3 will focus on the yacht ride.

IDEAS FOR THE FUTURE ENDGAME ARE STILL OPEN, JUST BECAUSE THIS CHAPTER IS MAX AND DAN CENTRIC DOESN'T 100% MEAN THAT THOSE DRIVERS ARE ENDGAME.

[wolverigrl]

The Red Carpet Confession

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

Here's another try! Please let me know in the comments if you liked it and if you'd like to have a part two? :)

Warnings: literally none, only some light fluff but nothing more!

!Disclaimer! The movie that the next parts are about is fictitious. It's a Marvel movie in which y/n plays one of the main roles as a Lady Deadpool variant.

Time period around 2015. Hugh's divorce fictitiously occurred here a year earlier.

Hugh is 46, and y/n is in her late 20s.

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

The energy at the movie premiere was electric—the buzz of the crowd, the flashing lights, and the excitement in the air. Hugh’s hand rested comfortably on the small of my back as we made our way down the red carpet. Every now and then, I found myself leaning into his touch, savoring the warmth and comfort that came so naturally between us. I glanced up at him, admiring the familiar crinkles around his eyes when he smiled and those laugh lines I adored so much.

We had come a long way since our first meeting at one of Ryan’s infamous dinner parties, where Blake introduced me to Hugh. Some months later I found out that my ex fiancé cheated on me. That night was a turning point for me. Blake, always the caring friend, had rallied Ryan and Hugh to come over with takeout and wine, determined to cheer me up. The four of us spent the evening in my living room, talking, laughing, and simply being there for each other.

Hugh had been a quiet comfort, sitting beside me as I cried, his arm around my shoulders. At one point, Ryan insisted on taking a selfie—our eyes a little red but smiles plastered on our faces. We posted it with the caption:

>>vancityreynolds: Friends who stick by you, no matter what ❤️<<

It was a moment that solidified our friendship, and from there, Hugh and I only grew closer.

Over time, our bond deepened. We started working out together, pushing each other to new limits. One day after an intense session, we snapped a photo—both of us sweaty, grinning, and flexing our biceps. I couldn’t resist adding a cheeky caption:

>>y/n instagram: Who needs a gym partner when you’ve got The Wolverine pushing you?<<

The post went viral, and the fans went wild. The comments were full of playful speculation, with people shipping us hard.

>>loganskittycat: You two should just get married already😩<<

One fan wrote, while another cheekily commented:

>>carllax03: Are we sure this is just a workout partnership? Because I’m seeing serious couple vibes here🔥<<

I remember laughing about it with Hugh, but the truth was, there was something between us—something neither of us had fully acknowledged.

Things got even more intense after Hugh's separation. I made sure to be there for him, offering whatever support I could. We spent a lot of time together during that period, just talking, laughing, and working out our frustrations at the gym. He was hurting, and I wanted to be the friend he could lean on. But every time we were together, those buried feelings would start to bubble up again, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore them.

There was that one time I posted a photo of us at the beach in Australia, where I had visited Hugh some days after he told me of his seperation. We were walking along the shore, deep in conversation about the breakup, his children, life and relationships, when the paparazzi caught us.

>>thehughjackman: The best view in Australia, and I'm not talking about the ocean 🌊<<

The next day, the headlines were full of speculation, but what really made the fans go crazy was Hugh's comment under a selfie of us at the beach:

The internet literally exploded with fans shipping us even harder than before.

>>catpool3000: Okay, if you two don't date, the universe is seriously broken😩<<

>>marvelboyx: He's flirting right in front of us! This is not a drill guys!<<

I found these fan comments so amusing and laughed it off, but the truth was, Hugh had become someone I couldn’t imagine my life without.

As we continued posing for photos on the red carpet, I couldn't help but remember the time we ran into a group of fans during another walk, this time back in New York.

Hugh and I had been grabbing coffee when a few fans approached us asking for photos. Hugh was, of course, his usual charming self, chatting with them, making them laugh, and posing for selfies.

One of the fans turned to me, a little shy, and said: "You're so awesome, y/n. You and Hugh are just the best! Your energy is amazing."

I smiled, touched by her words. "Thank you, sweetheart, that means a lot. Hugh makes it easy, though. He's got the charm down to an art."

Later, those fans posted the selfies on social media, gushing about how kind and down-to-earth we both were. The most comments were full of love and support, with many noting how natural Hugh and I seemed together, how much they 'shipped' us. It was sweet, even if it was a little overwhelming.

The speculation about us had been growing for months, especially after that interview with Jimmy Fallon, where Ryan and I were guests. We were there to promote the new movie, and naturally, the conversation turned to the camaraderie on set.

Jimmy Fallon, ever the curious host, leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So, y/n, what was it like joining such a big, well-established cast for the first time? Did you find it easy to get along with everyone?"

I nodded, smiling at the memory of my first days on set. "Honestly, I was a bit nervous at first. I mean, these guys are legends." I said, gesturing to Ryan.

"But they made me feel so welcome right from the start. It felt like I was joining a big. slightly dysfunctional, but very loving family."

I chuckled, trying to keep my cool. "I mean, Hugh and I did spend a lot of time together. We bonded over our love for fitness, and he's just such an easy person to get along with. But really, the whole cast was amazing."

Jimmy grinned. "And was there anyone you got particularly close to? I mean, everyone's shipping you with Hugh Jackman after those workout posts."

Fallon wasn't done yet. He leaned in closer, his tone playful. "But come on, Y/N, who was your favorite on set? Who was the person you looked forward to working with the most?"

Before I could answer, Ryan leaned over, placing his hand dramatically on his chest. "Oh, come on, Jimmy, we all know I'm her favorite," he said with a mock pout. Then, as if sharing a secret, he turned to him, cupping his hand around his mouth like he was about to whisper.

"But between us, it's the Aussie. It's always the Aussie."

The audience burst into laughter, and I playfully shoved Ryan's shoulder.

"You wish!" I said, unable to keep a straight face.

Ryan shot me a wink. "Hey, you don't have to deny it, y/n. We all know how much you love Hugh's, uhh workout routine."

I rolled my eyes, laughing along with the audience. But deep down, Ryan's joke hit a little too close to home. Because as much as I tried to brush it off, there was a growing part of me that knew he was right.

Now, as we walked the red carpet together, another interviewer caught up with us, asking the question we'd been dodging all night. "Hugh, y/n. The internet is buzzing with rumors about your relationship. Care to set the record straight?"

My heart skipped a beat. I glanced at Hugh, and he met my gaze with that familiar, playful glint in his eye. He leaned in, his voice low and teasing, as he spoke into the mic,

"We've certainly spent a lot of time, and we do get along really well."

Hugh and I exchanged a quick look, a silent understanding passing between us.

"We've had some pretty intense workouts together." I couldn't resist adding.

The double meaning wasn't lost on the interviewer or on Hugh, who shot me an amused look.

The interviewer pressed on. "So, is it safe to say you're more than just friends?"

Hugh grinned, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief. "I think we'll leave that up to your imagination."

The reporter laughed, realizing we weren't going to give a straight answer. "Fair enough. But you two certainly know how to keep us all guessing."

We thanked him shortly after, said our quick goodbyes, and moved along the red carpet to the next interview.

Another reporter greeted us, smiling, and started right with the conversation.

"Y/n? Hugh, you two have been quite the talk of the town with your workout posts. Can you tell us a little more about your training and diets while preparing for the movie?"

Hugh grinned and nudged me playfully. "Y/n here is a beast in the gym. She's got more discipline than anyone I know, and she doesn't let me slack off."

I laughed, nodding in agreement.

"Hugh's being modest. He's the one who keeps me on my toes. It's hard not to be motivated when you've got The Wolverine next to you, pushing you to do just one more set.

The interviewer chuckled before shifting the conversation to a more private topic.

"And y/n, with your costume being so form-fitting, what kind of uhh.. support did you have underneath?”

The question caught me off guard, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Before I could respond, though, Hugh stepped in, his expression turning serious.

"I think that’s enough for this interview. Thank you for your time." he said, his tone polite but firm, effectively ending the conversation.

The reporter looked taken aback but quickly recovered, thanking us for our time before moving on. As we walked away, I felt a surge of gratitude for Hugh’s quick intervention. Without thinking, I placed my hand on his chest, leaning in close to whisper in his ear.

"Thank you."

He smiled down at me, his eyes softening as he replied.

"Anytime, darling. Anytime."

As the last flashes of the cameras faded and the final questions from reporters dwindled, Hugh and I finally stepped off the red carpet. The air was buzzing with the excitement of the night, but it was the thought of the after-show party that truly had me giddy. Hugh could sense my anticipation and chuckled, his arm still comfortably wrapped around my waist as we made our way to the venue.

Inside, the party was already in full swing. The room was filled with a dazzling array of celebrities, all mingling and celebrating the movie. My eyes widened as I spotted a few of my own favorite celebrities across the room, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. Hugh noticed my reaction and gave me a teasing smile.

"Someone’s excited." he said. His voice was warm with amusement.

I laughed, unable to contain my enthusiasm.

"Can you blame me? This is like a dream come true! There are so many people here I’ve admired for years."

Hugh shook his head, his eyes crinkling with that familiar, affectionate smile. "It’s adorable seeing you like this, y/n. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself."

We made our way further into the party, the music and chatter surrounding us. It didn’t take long before we spotted Ryan and Blake, who waved us over from a corner where they were chatting with a few other familiar faces.

As we joined them, Blake greeted us with a warm hug.

"You two were fantastic out there." she said, beaming. "How many relationship questions did you get?"

Ryan grinned, leaning in with a playful glint in his eyes. "Yeah, did they finally get you to confess?"

I exchanged a quick glance with Hugh before we both laughed. "Oh, you know, we kept them guessing." I said, shrugging lightly. "It’s more fun that way."

Hugh nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "We might have let a few things slip here and there, just to keep them on their toes."

Blake raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You two really enjoy this, don’t you?"

"Maybe a little." I admitted with a grin, feeling a little mischievous. "But in the end, it’s our story to tell—or not."

Ryan lifted his glass, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, here’s to keeping the world guessing, then. And to the best workout partners in the business."

We all clinked our glasses together, the sound of crystal ringing out as we toasted to the night and everything that had led us to this moment. The conversation flowed easily, with laughter and banter filling the space between us. As I stood there, surrounded by friends who had become like family, I felt a deep sense of contentment.

As the night wore on, we mingled with other guests, and I let my inner fangirl come out to play, much to Hugh’s amusement. He watched with a fond smile as I excitedly chatted with some of my favorite stars, his laughter echoing in my ears when I returned to his side, gushing about the conversations I’d just had.

Blake nudged him playfully, a knowing look in her eyes. "You’ve got your hands full with this one, Hugh."

Hugh just laughed, looking over to me, while I was talking to Ryan. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

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

Next part

[lowkeyrobin]

Heyyy hope you’re having a wonderful day! I wanted to request a Sparrow Ben Hargreeves one shot where like Y/N is oblivious to his feelings while he’s trying to drop hints?? (but failing because something always happens)

If not that’s totally fine!!! No pressure :3

oooo okay okay I can definitely try!! ; thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy 🫶 ; alsonsorry this is so bad idk y I flopped on this 😔

SPARROW! BEN ; damnit

summary ; ben's always being cockblocked

warnings ; language, mentions of alcohol

disclaimers ; takes place post s3 - pre s4

word count ; 881

masterlist

You stand in the kitchen with Luther, making dinner with him for the family. Everyone, aka the Hargreeves and Lila plus their kids, had come over for a little reunion for their birthday. You weren't a Hargreeves, nor did you have powers, but they were your only friends, and they each saved your life at least once.

Ben approaches, leaning on the counter where you chop up some green onions, a pot and pan on the stove behind you.

"Hey" He smiles. "Whatcha up to?"

You shrug. "Chopping up some onions. What's up?"

"Nothing, really. Allison picked out a really dumb movie to watch and I can't stand it anymore" He answers.

You'd tuned out the family in the living room just a few feet away, focused on your meal prepping / creating. You look up at the TV, seeing the family sprawled around the furniture, kids playing with toys on the floor.

"Ben, stop, this movie is so good" You reply, turning back to your cutting board.

"It's some cheesey Hallmark movie?"

"Hush"

The two of you are silent for a moment before he speaks again.

"Your hair looks really nice today-"

"Fuck!"

The siblings quickly shoot up from their spots, Ben jumping a bit as you rush to the stove.

You'd accidently lit the chicken on fire. Somehow.

You quickly slam a lid over the pan of chicken, not wanting to fuel the grease fire any more than you had. You quickly shut off the burner, slowly looking back at Ben.

"Could you go get me more chicken from the store? I'll give you the money, I just need to look over all this stuff, sorry for asking on your birthday-"

"Yeah, sure!" He quickly replies. "Anything for you"

"Hey, Y/n" Ben smiles, "I brought you flowers"

"Awe, thank you!" You reply, accepting the gift as he enters your home.

"I kinda wanted to talk to you about something-"

Your phone rings, the number being the one of your workplace. You grab it, looking to him before accepting the call.

"I gotta take this really quick, sorry"

He nods, watching you trail into the other room, flowers still in hand. He stands by the door, unknowing of what to do in the moment. He soaks up his own silence, listening to your unintelligible speech behind the walls.

You return swiftly, a sorry expression on your face.

"I'm so sorry, Ben, I need to go in, it's urgent. Uhm, we'll talk later, yeah?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry. Be safe"

As he quickly exits your home, he mutters to himself.

"Damnit"

"I dunno, maybe I'm crazy," you chuckle, picking up another piece of food with your fork.

"I don't think you're crazy." Ben shrugs. "I think you're overworked and tired"

You both sit in a booth at a restaurant, a bright light shining over the table, warm food on your plates. You were eating out because you both didn't want to cook dinner at home tonight. Being alone sucked for both of you. If only you both had the balls to talk to each other.

But that's your problem, you oblivious fuck.

You shrug at his response. "I dunno, I think being alone, living alone, is slowly driving me insane."

"I mean, you could live with me," He mumbles, picking at his food.

"Hm?" You hum, having not heard him.

"Oh, nothing"

"...You sure?"

"Yeah"

The silence blankets you once more as you listen to the nearby commotion. The other families eating, the bustling workers, the music over the speakers.

You listened to everything but him, didn't you?

Today was the day. Ben was going to ask you out and he was not going to let himself or anything else get in his way.

Well, maybe red wine ruining his shirt would.

Why did he decide to take you to a bar in the first place is what we're all wondering. It didn't take much for him to get at least buzzed, which was his current state.

You decided to walk him back home, not wanting him to walk in the dark all by his lonesome. The walk is quiet, considering his slightly bruised ego. Jesus, he'd never get the chance to ask you at this point.

He slumps onto his bed as you lead him into his home, yelling into his mattress. You stand behind him, silent, finding this normal, because it was.

"What're you mad about now?" You sigh, throwing a pair of pajamas on him which you'd gotten from his dresser.

"I wanted to ask you out, and I have for a while, and every time I try it gets fucking ruined!" He slurs, yelling into his mattress once more.

You blink, confused. "What?"

"I like you, Y/n, Jesus," He groans, rolling over to look at you.

"Oh"

"'Oh' what?"

"I didn't realize" You shrug.

"I know. That's why I was trying to hint at it and even tell you, but you're oblivious, and things always have to go sideways at the wrong time," Ben speaks.

"I mean, I'd go out with you"

He raises an eyebrow. "Actually?"

"Yeah" You shrug. "Why not?"

"Oh my God, that took the biggest weight off my shoulders." He rolls off the bed on accident, landing on the floor.

You laugh.

"Damnit"