#i hesitated whether or not to post this on here but then i realized this is my blog so let the cringe run wild weeeeeeeeee

[cobraonthecob]

i'm just. going to sneeze out some thoughts regarding junior drivers being arrogant enough to publicly like tweets regarding lance. the tl;dr is that everyone should get off of lance's back for being a pay driver and that every single celebrity should reduce the time they spend on social media interacting with fans and fan content, because as we have just seen with bianca, it turns into a very, very ugly situation and a reputation set on fire and thrown away

drugovich makes sense since he is aston martin's reserve driver would be called up to drive for the team should anything happen to fernando or lance. this is not to excuse him, and he should not be taking out his frustration on any driver (if i'm going to be spicy, maybe turn your ire to the driver who retired a few years ago and then came back), especially when said driver is in the same team as him and technically higher in rank. if anything, if he really wants to play his cards right, then he should wait until fernando finally retires, get the seat, and try to prove why he thinks he's better than lance (and then he makes rookie mistakes and the fans turn on him. that's just how it all goes for most rookies. do really well in feeder series and f1 throws lemons at you. george russell was a victim of this, as was mick. yes, horrendous cars, but fans are quick in changing their opinions on young drivers)

bianca however, makes no sense on why she would be frustrated about lance's presence in f1 unless there was a valid point to make about how financially inaccessible this sport is becoming (which none of the tweets from what i heard, did not talk about and only insulted lance). if we are to ignore everything else for a minute and put it in a vacuum, then bianca's frustration at lance having a seat at aston martin makes zero sense. bianca is currently in an f4 equivalent series and a midfield driver who should be focusing on becoming a better driver and a contender for top three, not liking tweets talking shit about a driver in a series way above her and in a team she is not backed by. like, let's say bianca does well next year, gets into an f4 series, does well there, rinse, repeat, and rise to the top, 2027 rolls around, she would be up against whether or not lando or oscar are still with mclaren or if they've moved to other teams or left f1 (let's just assume both of them are still there). she, as a rookie, would be going up against the talents of two drivers who have been with mclaren since 2019 and 2023, respectively. her concern should not be to a driver who is in a completely different team, but to proving that she is a capable driver

now back to actual context, there is no excuse for either drugovich or bianca liking anti lance tweets. that is extremely disrespectful from both of them, and i hope that this situation becomes a lesson to all junior drivers that the fans' eyes are on you and you have to distance yourself from the fandom. if aston martin or the fia really had a problem with lance, they can deal with it on their own.

[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.”

[pippin-katz]

Alex & Being Bisexual 🩷💜💙

I've seen a lot of people complaining about Alex not having as big of a crisis over being bisexual as he did in the books, but I feel like a lot of people are overlooking the development he does go through.

Henry is the first guy he has felt attracted to that he actually knew prior to getting physically involved.

Alex & Miguel

Nora's asks specifically about men Alex has "been with", not men he's liked or interested him. She means physically, and he knows that too. Alex doesn't even bother with giving any context or details for his high school hook up. His description of his hook up with Miguel is straightforward, direct, and factual, because he doesn't have an emotional attachment to that moment or Miguel.

This, and his interactions with Miguel, gives the impression that they don't really know each other that well. It seems like they met during the campaign, made out in a hot tub, and now occasionally they talk at school.

They don't seem like friends, rather acquaintances after a one night stand, which is pretty much what they did. Their first conversation is mostly Miguel trying to get quotes for his journal and flirting with him rather than any kind of real discussion.

Gifs courtesy of @phakphumm from this post

Alex isn't stupid; he knows Miguel is flirting with him, however he chooses not to acknowledge it. He doesn't discourage him, but he does not encourage him either.

He avoids saying anything about it at all. His expressions after the eyelashes comment show him at a bit of a loss for how to respond. Alex seems flattered by the compliment, but doesn't seem to have any real desire to hook up again.

Everything Miguel says, he says in an attempt to get something out of him, whether it be flirting to hook up and/or get quotes for his journal.

Same thing at the state dinner; Alex isn't fully paying attention cause he's busy staring at Henry, but Miguel opens with compliments, specifically about his memo, which is definitely an attempt to flatter him. Then he starts asking direct questions about the campaign, Alex doesn't answer, and he walks away. They're not really friends.

New Territory

It's one thing to admit being somewhat attracted to the same sex, under limited, physical circumstances. Lots of people often joke about "being straight/gay but I would sleep with this person".

It's another thing to develop an attraction to a person you know of the same sex when you've never had those feelings before. It's not just physical anymore, because you know and like this person outside of that context, and the physical intimacy gains a new meaning.

Alex VS Feelings

This is a new feeling for Alex. This man practically makes out with two women he barely knows without any qualms, but when he's waiting to see Henry? His close friend who he knows and plans to kiss?

He is nervous; not just a little nervous either:

Alex is a pretty confident guy, able to host massive parties and dance without any reservations about it, unlike Henry who awkwardly bounces. He's a fantastic public speaker. Excluding the wedding, which were extreme circumstances, he's able to navigate a room comfortably. We know from the closet conversation that he used to get scared, but it's clear based on his campaign efforts, the DNC speech, and so on that he's grown into his role and can play it well.

Here, Alex can't sit still. He doesn't know how to stand. He's shifting around, almost pacing. He visibly tries to muster up the confidence we know he has, but can't. He's trying to pose, or look confident, and almost gets there, but the second the door opens, he panics and just stands there.

"But that's just cause he really likes Henry!"

Yes, exactly; Henry is his first step towards fully realizing his identity.

Once the tension is broken, Alex is confident again and doesn't hesitate anymore. He may not be completely sure of his identity, but he is completely sure that he wants Henry. Those thoughts take priority when he kisses him. He knows physical intimacy. He knows how to kiss with someone regardless of who they are. He has been with a couple men, and is a man himself, so he knows what feels good. His confidence stays intact during their exchange when they get to his bedroom.

There are very small moments where you can see his nerves poke through.

When Henry pushes Alex over the couch, not only is it surprising to him, it also disconnects them for a few seconds. He has a chance to look at Henry while they're not touching or kissing, no direct distraction.

When Henry starts undoing his pants, he looks up, inhales quickly, blinks a couple times, and swallows; it's almost like he's thinking "okay this is actually happening now". Again, no direct distraction, as Henry isn't doing anything yet, and Alex isn't touching or kissing him.

Both moments go by fast though because he's focused on what he knows, the physical part. He knows he wants Henry physically, so he can focus on that, and deal with the other feelings later.

Alex is aware that he has feelings toward Henry that are new to him. He doesn't know what they mean, and it's nothing even close to what he feels later in Paris and at the lake house, but they're starting to form. He's the one who suggests that he and Henry see each other again, and you would have to be blind not to see the brief disappointment on his face when Henry says it has to be very casual. It's also important to note that this is right after Alex comes out.

The Bisexual Label

While his feelings make Alex nervous, Henry is still his friend and he feels comfortable around him. He's the first person he comes out to; he was unable to say anything definitive about his identity during his conversation with Nora, despite her best efforts to help him.

Henry is the first person he tells and he distinctly shows uncertainty when he first uses the bisexual label:

He's serious about it; not overly serious, but he's coming out very formally. He's nervous, even though he's telling Henry, who he literally hooked up with five minutes ago. Henry already knows he's attracted to men. Alex is not nervous about that; it is clearly the label that he's uncertain about.

Confidence

A lot of people get taken by surprise when they start questioning their identity because they had simply never thought about it before.

The uncertainty Alex has about his identity was initiated by his feelings for Henry. Alex clearly never considered the idea of being in an actual relationship with a man. Without Henry, he may have never figured out that he was fully bisexual. He may have continued fooling around occasionally with guys, never giving serious thought to the other possibilities, unless/until he met someone like Henry who basically smacks him in the face with a mirror.

Being with Henry makes him truly think about himself, and come to the conclusion that he's bisexual. Seeing/dating Henry also makes him more comfortable and confident in his identity over time.

While Alex hadn't acknowledged Miguel's advances before, after he sleeps with Henry, he actively calls him out on it and refuses without hesitation as soon as Miguel puts the suggestion out there. Miguel even says "Well, I don't anymore", confirming that had been his intention in earlier scenes.

He had been trying to hook up with him again, and because Alex never addressed it, Miguel thought that it was possible. Alex may not have addressed his comments, but Miguel could see for himself that they had a positive reaction; he felt flattered and bashful. That response coupled with the fact that Alex did not outright tell him to stop was enough reason for Miguel to think it could happen again.

Also, Alex told Nora that he got the feeling Miguel wanted to hook up again, but that he was a journalist, which does not say he wouldn't be down. He never says he wouldn't want to; instead he expresses his apprehension to the idea due to his job. So for all intents and purposes, before Henry came along, Miguel was correct to think it was a possibility.

This seems to be the first time Alex has ever actually addressed their tension, and it occurs after he starts seeing Henry and using the bisexual label.

Owning The Bi Label

Then Zahra finds him and Henry the next morning. She is kind enough not to tell Ellen immediately, because even if she won't admit it, she does care about Alex a lot and recognizes the importance of something like this. However, she makes it very clear that he needs to tell her ASAP or she will.

When he comes out to his mom, he is significantly more sure of himself when he uses the bisexual label. He laughs and uses the shorten term "bi" which is a small detail but indicates his confidence, compared to how he cautiously said "bisexual" when coming out to Henry. He's not at all nervous to use the term, and says it grinning.

This is also indicative of his confidence in his label because Alex doesn't lead with his sexuality. He leads with meeting someone, and clarifying that it's a man, and that it's Henry. So once they're on the couch talking, Ellen is also already aware that he is attracted to men, but this time, he's prompted about his label and he shows zero nerves about using the term "bi".

Queer Identity

By the end of the movie, Alex is able to publicly refer to himself as having a queer identity. Obviously, he was outed against his will, but he is still able to stand up and acknowledge who he is without nerves about it. He has been with Henry for a year, and he knows who he is, and he’s not ashamed of it. As he says, the leaks were an issue of privacy, not shame. Alex is not afraid to say who he is, and he is queer, he is bisexual. He’s a different person than he was before Henry. He’s learned about himself because of him.

Does he have a complete, computer-error-noise breakdown over it? No, he doesn’t, but he does not immediately start waving a bi flag around either.

Okay, that’s all! This took so freaking long to put together, but I hope it helps people understand how his bisexuality is addressed in the movie. Just because he has a different journey than he did in the book does not mean he did not have a journey at all, and I hope this allows people to see it more clearly! Thank you for reading!

[thatonepeppi]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧gale dekarios head canons✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊

I CANNOT stop thinking about this man, so I'm going to dump all of my thoughts here, enjoy :)

the format is odd, I have not written in some time, excuse me :3

☾ after the final battle

⋆ after the final battle, the two of you go back to your own room in the Elf Song Tavern, not before a very much needed shower that is. You two care for each other, chatting slowly and longingly at what your next moves are like the two of you have all the time in the world -and now you do.

⋆ Gale tiptoes around the subject of Waterdeep. He longs to be home, he's been picturing you this entire time in his home, doing everything. Making love, cooking for you, having tea in the mornings, how you would look in his bed as the sunlight and the moonlight creep in. Gale wants that life with you desperately, something simple and cozy, and with love in every action.

"Are you still there?" Tav asks, "My hair feels very clean now, especially in that particular spot."

In the midst of his reverie, a subtle "Hmm?" escaped from Gale's lips, abruptly awakened from a trance, "Oh, apologies, Dearest. A lot on my mind -- well I guess not so much anymore," He laughs quietly, rinsing off the bubbles in their hair, fingering through their strands of hair. Wherever Tav was needed, he would be sure to follow, he was certain of it. But still, he was homesick.

Tav frowns, "What's wrong, Love?" They lean into Gale, "You can talk to me, about anything."

Minutes slipped by like grains of sand in an hourglass until Gale finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tav," he began, hesitating as if unsure of his own words, "I... I miss home. Waterdeep," He looks away, "Wherever you go, know that I will follow and happily too. Whether it be another adventure, here in Baldur's Gate, your own home. For you, I would sleep on the ground again, as long as your warm presence is there with me," He looks at them, nothing but warmth and sincerity in his words and in his eyes, "I love you, wherever we go, or wherever you are."

Tav's heart ached at the confession, the weight of Gale's homesickness palpable in the steam-filled air. Without hesitation, they reached out, clasping Gale's sun kissed and freckled hands in a gentle reassurance, giving them a gentle kiss.

"I know, my love," Tav murmured, their voice soft as a caress. "We can go home whenever you're ready. I'll be right here, by your side, every step of the way."

In that moment, as Gale's eyes met theirs with a mixture of gratitude and relief, Tav realized that home wasn't just a place—it was the warmth of their shared love, cocooned in the sanctuary of the bath, and where they found solace in each other's embrace. And though Gale longed for the familiar sights and sounds of Waterdeep, Tav knew that their love would be their anchor, no matter where their adventures took them in the realms.

☾ home

⋆ Gale is giddy from the start of the morning hopping off the massive ship the two of you took to get to Waterdeep. He takes your hand in his as he guides you down his city, excitingly pointing out all the areas he promises to take you once the two of you are settled.

⋆ Stepping into Gale's tower, you are immediately embraced by a whimsical antiquity, the cozy allure of a bygone era evident in every corner. Soft candlelight bathes the space, casting dancing shadows that whisper tales of adventure. Books adorn every surface, their well-loved pages holding secrets and enchantments, while antique treasures dot the shelves, each one a nostalgic relic of older times. Through the grand balcony, the endless expanse of the ocean stretches out, its rhythmic waves a soothing melody. Ships setting sail, the grunts of the dockhands as they tie these giant ships to their posts. In this enchanting haven, amidst the warmth of history and the timeless beauty of the sea, you find a sanctuary unlike any other. Home.

⋆ After settling in, you experience a life like no other. Gale is incessant on cooking you breakfast almost every morning. He knows how to prepare your morning coffees and afternoon teas by heart. Mornings are for the two of you to lounge in bed, holding each other, listening to the crashing waves, feeling that cool—salty breeze caress your warm bodies.

⋆ Breakfast is eaten over the occasional game of lance board on the grand mahogany table. The two of you recounting your adventures, encounters and memories. Gentle caresses and soft laughter are a welcome guest at breakfast. Even at the dinner table it seems like the two of you can't keep your hands off of each other.

⋆ Tara finds her way back home not long after. Its the very early morning, and a rare day where Gale is still in bed. You walk over to the tressym pawing at the large window, demanding to be let in. You smile as you let her in, and her furry body hurriedly makes her way inside.

"About time you let me in, I've been howling for hours, Darling, I feel parched!" The winged cat says, "I was not told that the two of you made it back, what a journey. Luckily for you, I am quite the magical tresseym, a simple spell like the one I invented is no match for miles and miles of road and walking," Tara trails off, making herself at home and out of earshot, you can still hear her grumpy rambling however, "Tav Dekarios!" She yells and you hurry over to see her sitting, licking herself next to an elegant white bowl on the floor, "My dish needs water."

You fill her dish with cold water, making sure to also refill her food bowl, you smile at the thought of you taking Gales last name already, hopefully you and Tara can foster a good relationship.

"And where is Mr. Dekarios currently?," Tara says stretching.

"Still in bed, and very warm if you would like to snuggle up to him."

Tara meows excitingly, "Oh, that sounds divine, Dear. Thank you ever so kindly for keeping him warm," She says as you start to get up, "But before you go Ms/Mr/Mx Dekarios, there is something very important that you must learn. Something that will quickly earn your favor with me."

"And what would that be Ms. Tara?" You question, facing down at the tressym, still at ground level with her.

She looks at you with widened pupils, "A good scratch behind this tressyms ears would be delightful, I will show you how but only once! This is known as my 'Due' and it's been made clear to me that you are quite the capable person to be entrusted with such a delicate procedure," Tara leans her head down and closes her little eyes. She rubs her ears with her paws to show you exactly how she wants to be pet, but to you, it looks like she's just cleaning herself, "You see? Like this, Dear, gently but also with some vigor." She looks back at you, "Your turn, but you must remember the technique."

You smile at the tressym, before going to scratch her behind the ears, silently praying that you are doing something right. She purrs and leans into your hand, making a sweet little content face as it looks like she's getting lost in the scratch.

Tara abruptly stops and clears her throat, "That will have to do, thank you," She trails off into you and Gales shared room. You hear a faint, "Mr. Dekarios! I have arrived!" in a little sing-song voice, and then a groan from a very sleepy Gale.

⋆ Some of your items find their way into the house, Gale is sure to make space for you to fit you into his home. Your shirts sometimes get mixed up, "Is this my book or yours?" is a common question.

⋆ He loves seeing your personality fill his house, items depending on your class are scattered around the tower. If you are a druid, house plants are hung from the ceiling, there is a small succulent on Gale's desk (It replaces Mystra's statue.).

⋆ If you are a bard, he loves to hear your music throughout the house. Gale loves to hear your song from the balcony as he's reading. He buys you sheet music, new strings, equipment. He could listen to you for hours, and most days he does.

⋆ Gale is interested in your interests and makes sure to make time for you to listen to you about your favorite topics. Being seen and heard is very important to him.

⋆ Over time, he does lose the earring. He finds one that reminds him of you. A music note, a sword, a small plant stud, or just about anything that he would relate to you.

⋆Gale loves you more than anything and he wants to make that very clear, even if you feel like these small reminders of Mystra don't bother you, he would rather having something that would make him think of you rather than her.

--

Thank you sm for reading, friends!! its been very long since ive written something and this isn't proof read >.< hope it was okay. Love you!!

[misc-obeyme]

hello o/ anon who requested the brothers turning into cats forever ago here!!

can i request mc turning into a cat this time?? whether the brothers already had the experience and know what the cure is is up to you!!

Welcome back, anon!

I'm sorry it took me so long to get to this! I got it right in the middle of my prompt event so I had to sit on it for a few days.

Anyway, that cat request was so fun, I definitely wanted to do this one, too! I can only assume it's because I'm totally a cat person that I find these so enjoyable to write lol. And someone has also requested the dateables turning into cats, so I will be posting that part two soon as well.

the brothers react to GN!MC turning into a cat and breaking the curse with true love's kiss

Warnings: none!

Lucifer

Recognizes you right away. He can probably sense the magic that turned you into a cat to begin with. If you seek him out for assistance, he's going to be the one who knows exactly what to do. If he's alone when you first find him, he's going to be struck by just how cute you are as a cat. Picks you up and holds you tucked against his chest. Start purring to really make his cuteness tolerance overload.

He's not going to let you go anywhere. Depending on how long you're in cat form, he's going to want to make sure you're taken care of. Keeps you in his lap while he does research into what needs to be done to restore you back to normal.

If he finds out that this was a result of something you did - such as a prank gone wrong or a messed up potion - he is going to lecture you the entire time you're a cat. You can't talk back or leave, so he's taking full advantage. You should be more careful, MC. You're just lucky you have him around to help you when you get into this kind of trouble.

Doesn't even hesitate upon discovering the cure is true love's kiss. Picks you up from his lap and kisses your nose. You turn back still in his arms. He's going to smirk and put you down on his lap again. You'll have to stay there for a while because he's not going to let you go.

Mammon

He's confused at first. He probably went looking for you only to find a cat where he thought you would be. As soon as it clicks that you are the cat, he panics. Freaks right out, scooping you up into his arms and running around the house to find any brother who can help him turn you back.

MC! MC, can ya hear him?! You better meow or something so he knows you're okay. He'll calm down eventually, especially when everybody starts trying to find the cure. He'll sit down with you, but the worry will be evident in his expression. Make him feel better by kneading at him and purring. Butt your head into him to demand pets. Your cuteness will be enough to get him to settle down.

The others are probably the ones who figure out what's going on. Not that he couldn't, just that he's too busy stressing out about you. If you're a cat for a while, you become his bag cat - kinda like those tiny purse dogs. He's gonna keep you with him all the time and that includes RAD. So into the book bag you go!

Someone finally tells him that the only way to bring you back is true love's kiss. If he thinks about this too much, he gets too flustered to even try it. Does it mean that it has to be your true love? Or is it enough that you're his true love? Forces himself not to think about that too much. It doesn't matter, as long as you're back to normal! Kisses your fuzzy head. Melts in relief when you change back. He's more traumatized by this experience than you are. Please hold him for a while.

Leviathan

Doesn't realize it's you at first. Most likely you are the one who came looking for him and now he's just worried about this random cat that got into the House of Lamentation. What if it tries to eat Henry 2.0? Might try to shoo you out of his room. You might have to do something like use his computer to type out a message to let him know that it's actually you. If you do this, he might just think you're an amazingly smart cat until he reads the message. Then he's like ohhhh wow okay duh.

He's going to apologize for not recognizing you. But then he's going get a little nervous about the fact that you are a cat?! How did this happen? How does he change you back? Oh, but MC, you are a really cute cat. If you stay a cat for a little while, he's going to make cat cosplay outfits for you. Famous anime cat? That's you now.

Won't let you leave his room. Too protective of you and he doesn't want you to get lost or hurt. Doesn't go back to RAD so he can make sure you stay safe. If you really want to watch him get all flustered, curl up in his lap and start purring while he's playing video games.

After much online research, Levi figures out that the only thing that will bring you back is true love's kiss. His first thought is to bring you to Lucifer so you might have to meow in protest until he realizes what you want. He's going to be blushing like crazy, but he'll force himself to kiss your cute kitty cheek. When you're back to normal, go ahead and kiss him again.

Satan

The instant he sees you, you're in his arms and he's taking you to his room. The House of Lamentation has a strict no cats rule and he doesn't want Lucifer to see you. Doesn't realize it's you until he gets you in his room and actually looks at you more closely. Satan is pretty observant and he's a smart demon, so he puts it all together pretty quickly.

Blushes because he's embarrassed by how cute he thinks you are. MC. He's sure you want to be back to your usual self. But he would like you stay a cat for a little while. Won't you indulge him? You can express how you feel about this by either purring or hissing. If you purr at him, he's going to keep you in his room and pamper you. If you hiss, though, he's going to get to work on finding out how to fix you.

Won't let anyone else in the House of Lamentation know what's going on. Keeps you hidden in his room the entire time you're in cat form. Tells his brothers that you went to the human world for a few days. Comes up with some bizarre reason for this. Like you need to bathe in human world rain for three days or else you get really sick, that's just a fact. Didn't they know that about humans? Gets Solomon to back him up because everyone is suspicious of this.

Since Solomon now also knows the truth, Satan gets him to help with research into the cure. Eventually they figure out it's true love's kiss that will do it. He's a little sad that you'll no longer be a cat. He takes a lot of pictures of you so he can remember this forever. But in the end, Satan does want you back to normal. He kisses your head. When you're back to your usual self, you get to decide if you get annoyed with him for making up that bogus story about humans. Either way, you end up kissing him again.

Asmodeus

MC, darling. Did you know you are a cat currently? Meow. Ah, so you are aware. Did you need him to help you with that? Meoow! Don't worry, Asmo's got this! But hang on, first let him brush out your fur, it's looking a little matted. And you know, while he's at it, why doesn't he add some cute little bows behind your sweet little ears? You know, your claws look like they need a trim, let him take care of that. He can paint them, too!

You end up in adorable kitty clothes. You can't complain really because you look fabulous. And being brushed feels good, so you can't help but purr in his lap while he does it. You might have to meow in protest eventually, though, so that he remembers that he needs to help you get back to normal.

Shows you off to everyone in the house. Gets angry at anyone who messes up your look. Gives you a new outfit every day that you're in cat form. Has you do a little cat fashion show, takes a bunch of pictures and videos. Can't stop himself from posting a video of you on Devilgram with some kind of cat walk pun as the caption.

He actually knew how to fix this from the start. He's heard of this particular curse before. And anyway, everyone knows that true love's kiss is a pretty standard curse breaker. He sits cross legged on his bed with you, holding you carefully in his arms. Then he kisses your head sweetly. You change back to your usual self, half sitting in his lap, half laying against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, letting you know that he prefers you in this form, after all.

Beelzebub

Doesn't recognize you at first. Thinks you must be a stray that Satan tried to sneak into the house behind Lucifer's back. He doesn't want to get involved in that. Might just turn right around and walk away, pretending he didn't see anything. Get his attention by stealing his snacks. Now you're a problem he can't ignore. Get him to chase you to your own room and start meowing at him. He's going to realize your room is empty at which point he figures it out.

He picks you up gently. Due to his height and size, you find this is actually better than being on the ground. Climb up onto his shoulder and perch there so you can see the world at more human-like height. He's content to let you stay there as long as you like as long as you don't get cat hair in his food. Likes to listen to you purr in his ear.

He's probably going to need some assistance figuring out how to bring you back to normal. Goes around asking everybody. Won't let them near you, though. You're clinging to his shirt with your claws, anyway. If he tried to dislodge you, he'd end up with many little holes in the shoulder.

Upon being told the remedy is true love's kiss, Beel takes you into the kitchen. You allow him to remove you from his shoulder and he puts you on the counter. Then he kisses your furry head. You return to your usual form, sitting on the kitchen counter. You might be a little disoriented at first, but he's there to hold onto you while you reorient yourself. He has a slight blush on his cheeks. He's glad your back, MC. Please be more careful. Kiss him for real to make him feel better.

Belphegor

Wakes up to find you snoozing on his head, curled up in a little fluffy ball. Just like Beel, he thinks you're one of Satan's strays at first. But then when you wake up and yawn, he knows it's you. He'd recognize your yawn anywhere. He's amazed that it's the same even when you're in cat form. But he's also going to sigh about the fact that you've somehow managed to turn yourself into a cat. Really, MC? How did you even do this?

Don't worry. He's lazy, but he cares too much about you to let you stay like this. You're certainly still an excellent napping buddy in cat form, but there's just something missing. He gets really protective of you, holding you in his arms the whole time. Never lets anyone else touch you. Makes everyone else figure out how to turn you back. He's too busy taking care of you to do it.

Of course that involves quite a bit of napping. Didn't you know that cats sleep for fifteen hours a day? He has to make sure you're getting the rest you need. You get to decide if you try to keep him awake or if you give in and curl up beside him. If you do sleep with him, all you've got to do is purr a little bit and Belphie will be so content he'll fall asleep before you do.

When he finds out that it's true love's kiss that will bring you back, he decides to take one last nap with you in cat form. It's when you're curled up beside him fast asleep that he kisses your whiskered cheek. When you wake up, you're back in human form and Belphie's arms are around you. He's out cold and you have no idea how long you've been back to normal. You can wake him up or you can snuggle closer to him and go back to sleep.

masterlist | part 2 with the side characters | Thank you for reading!

[flynnriderishot]

wanted to come say that i truly so adore you and your work and whether or not people agree, your opinion is valid and you shouldn’t be getting hate for it ☺️❤️ i love you and everyone else loves you too. you are one of the best sturniolo writers on this app and i would hate to see you leave just because people are mean

onto a better note: WHERE IS CUTE PT4 BABE??

cute pt.4 - m.s

a/n: thank you so much for the kind words, you have no idea how much it means to me, truly 😭. i’ve been a bit hesitant to continue posting since the comments being made about my opinions and knowing that i have at least one person that’s on my side means a lot 🫶🏾 thank you. here’s part 4 :)

you rolled over in bed, only to be met with a chunk of hair in your face. it didn’t take long for you to realize that y/f/n crashed in your bed the night before. there was also no doubt in your mind that she would have a hangover.

whilst you didn’t tend to drink much, y/f/n didn’t turn down a cup of alcohol or five.

you knew she’d have a headache when she woke up, so you made quick work to tend to her before she woke up complaining.

you made sure that she had her aspirin and water near the bedside before you grabbed your phone and walked off to the kitchen to make breakfast.

grabbing what you needed to make fried potatoes, you got distracted by your phone vibrating.

matthew sturniolo :)

hey

not sure if you’re up yet but i had fun last night

8:23 am

not that we did anything because we didn’t aside from exchange phone numbers

i don’t wanna make this awkward…

text me when you’re up?

9:24 am

vinnie 🤠

i saw you leave with y/f/n and those sturniolo triplets

lemme know if you got home safe

2:35 am

yn 🗣️

made it home safely !!

alls good, thanks for checking in

10:38 am

matthew sturniolo :)

you up?

10:39 am

yn ln :)

good morning

sorry i didn’t answer sooner, i just woke up and y/f/n and i crashed as soon as we made it home

matthew sturniolo :)

it’s all good. just wanted to make sure her excessive singing last night didn’t leave you with a headache 😭

yn ln :)

god no 💀

i’m used to it

matthew sturniolo :)

have you checked instagram?

we’re trending 😉

yn ln :)

how fun 🙄

how bad is it?

matthew sturniolo :)

i kinda it’s kinda cute🤷‍♂️

tap to open link

instagram

comments

hardlyasturniolo the way they were in the back of vinnie’s video that he posted on his story 😭

pepsicolachris meetcute is CRAZY 💀😭

>>> larraysloosecurl IM PEEING 💀

ynsgirlfriend THEY MET ?!?!?

>>> happilysturn is that not what the post says ?

>>> ynsgirlfriend don’t get smart with me.

naileasheart the way i just know yn was freaking out 💀

liked by yn.ln and 3,597 others

tap to view more comments

messages

yn ln :)

i’m getting a lot less hate than i thought i’d be getting 🙌

that’s good

matthew sturniolo :)

it’s perfect actually

that makes it so much easier for me to ask

your brows furrowed as you read the text. of course you had an idea of what he may have wanted to ask you, but it was so hard not to think otherwise. he so bold when speaking to you, nothing like how he is on his youtube channel.

yn ln :)

ask me what…

matthew sturniolo :)

what are you doing today?

taglist: @hearts4chris @timmyandsturniolo @mayhem-72 @luvsturns @knowingnothingnoel @mrsmattyb @itzdarling @julliaaaaaaaaaaaaa @dracoflaco @heartsforchrisandmatt @lily-strnlo

tags for this fic: @3kslav @annamcdonalds67 @strnsblog @lexxxiii-iix @patscorner @lemon-criminal @safara05 @sturniplofab @somewhere91 @maddisqnx @sturniolho @1201pm @sturniolossss @mattswrld @marieslife123 @kiera324

[nyxiswrites1200]

⛥𝑺𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒚 𝑩𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒓𝒐𝒕⛥

Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFT, MDNI, Supernatural Spoilers, Me self indulging

An: Hey babes, this is just a literal simp post because I'm so insane over Sam Winchester. I just have to get these thoughts out here :) I'm sorry I'm indulging

----

Sam smiles into kisses. He loves kissing you, he smiles and sometimes lets out little laughs against your lips.

Sam can't help but smile a little when you call him Sammy. You were a bit hesitant to try and use it out of respect for the brothers. However, Sam was okay with it. He even liked it, making you feel even more special to him. It was also fun to watch Dean get all dramatic and tease you two about it.

Sam gets all puppy-eyed when you pull away from his kisses. How dare you deprive him of affection. He tries to pull you back in and won't stop kissing you.

Sam loves all body types but I think he would love chubby girlies. Just being able to grab onto the fat of your thighs and hips would awaken some urge in him.

Sam is a pussy eater king. We all saw that dream with Bela. He definitely loves eating you out. Having his face buried between your thighs, he'd be so pleasingly mean about it. Holding your thighs down as he absolutely devours you, your slick covering his face as he laps it up with his tongue.

He'd get so pussy drunk that he wouldn't even realize that he's overstimulating you or he's covered his boxers in his cum, until you roughly tug his head up (not that you're mad at all, but any more and you'd squirt on his face).

Sam would love to do research with you. I think he would love telling you about something he's working on. Especially if you have more well educated interests like he does. Whether it's the books he reads or poetry, maybe even art. But! I also firmly believe he'd love exposing stuff to you. Reading his favorite books to you or introducing you to his thoughts on something.

Fluffy moments! I could make a whole list of these alone. Having a pillow fight with him in the motel room/tickling each other (Dean getting caught in the cross fire of your antics) and it always ends in soft kisses with Sam.

[kindasleepywriter]

An Unexpected Visit (Cal Kestis x Mechanic!Reader)

Summary: You find a little metal friend in your lonely workshop on Koboh and you have no idea where he came from. The answer to that question brings you more hope than you thought it would.

Warnings: Small blood mention.

Words: 3.8k

Note: Thought I'd post a little something while I work on the next few chapter of BoP! Pretty sure this is gender neutral, but if im wrong don't hesitate to point it out!!

Koboh was a hot planet to live on even on its coldest days. There was no such thing as frost here, and snow was out of the question. The native population of the planet was used to it, buildings designed to keep out the sweltering air and clothes made of the thinnest materials.

You, however, hated it.

You’d been warned the planet was warm, but no one had quite mentioned how high the temperature really was. You regretted trusting the Ihi Tib that had brought you here more than anything, but you’d used up all your credits on that trip and there was no way in hell to make that money again to leave, not while working here.

You longed for Habo, the little planet you’d decided against in favor of this one. No raiders, no empire soldiers, just nature and its shy inhabitants. No droids either, but there wasn’t any here either, so you didn’t care. Sometimes, you dreamt of reaching its lush forests and mountains and feeling cold drops of rain on your skin.

The metal roofing of your shop did you no good either, heat waves often visible above it. Its only room felt like a furnace even at the best of times, and you weren’t a stranger to the feeling of sweat-soaked clothes sticking to you uncomfortably anymore.

You tinkered with a metal detector that some prospector had brought to you, taking the opportunity of the night’s barely detectable coolness to work on a project. Apparently, it had stopped functioning properly after it’d been dropped into a chasm. By the looks of it, you were surprised it even was in one piece. Well, mostly in one piece. Maybe the revenue you’d make from this might be able to pay for new boot soles, yours having almost completely disintegrated because of the burning sand that covered the entire region.

The only sound in your workshop was the harsh grating of your screwdriver against the detector’s metal, as you tried to pry open its chassis. The thing just wouldn’t budge, and you considered whether the boots were even worth it.

A whistling sound startled you, the old screwdriver slipping and taking a chunk out of your palm. You swore and tugged a rare oil-free cloth from the toolbox beside you, hitting your head on your work lamp in the process and swearing again. You pressed the cloth against the wound to stop the bleeding and looked towards the open room to determine where the whistling had come from. The door to the shop was locked, you’d triple-checked it while closing. Was this one of the raider lackeys trying to draw you outside again? You’d fallen for it exactly once and promptly learned not to investigate strange noises you might hear outside, but this sounded like a mechanical whistle, not a breathing being.

The strange whistling sounded again, this time from behind you. You spun on your heels, tied the cloth around your hand, and reached for the rusty rebar you kept by your workstation. Nothing seemed amiss at first glance. Had you imagined the sound? Maybe the heat was getting to you, you hadn’t refilled your water canister since this morning. Dehydration hallucinations were rare for you, but you’d still had your fair share, especially when you’d just arrived to Koboh. Getting used to this planet had been a challenge.

Suddenly a flash of red and white crossed the room, hiding behind a wooden bin you used to store your own unfinished projects. The whistle came again, followed by a few beeps. A droid, you realized. He’d been speaking binary! You’d hardly recognized it, not having heard it since your arrival. Lots of droids, the Ihi Tib had assured you, the bastard.

“Hey little buddy, can I help you?” you called, slightly lowering the rebar but still holding it tightly with your free hand. A series of beeps followed in response. It was mostly unintelligible, but you could make out the meaning of some of it.

“Yeah, I’m the mechanic here, do you need something fixed?”

A scared whistle. You crouched, putting down the rebar at reaching distance from your hands.

“I’ve let go of the iron, I won’t hurt you as long as you don’t hurt me, deal?”

You received no response, but the droid tentatively stepped out from its hideout. It was a cute one, you thought, a little flat head and cubical body supported by its two lanky legs. You could see his eyes focusing and zooming on you, no doubt examining you for any sign of aggression. You raised your hands as a peace gesture, and he stepped closer. He emitted a green light from his position. You laughed at the sudden scan but didn’t move.

From up close, you could see the damage he carried. The side of his left leg was blackened as if burnt, and its small body had a gaping hole that revealed his inner components. No wonder he’d been scared, one more hit and he’d be fried. He looked mostly intact on the inside, but you’d need him in your hands to determine if that was the case. You went to speak but got cut off by the loud noise of your door slamming shut behind you.

“Beedee, I told you to wait while I left to find a spare-”

You squealed at the man’s voice, grabbing the piece of rebar again, wincing as it rubbed against your clothed palm, and jumped to your feet.

A man stood at the entrance of your shop, only a few feet from you. You shakily held up the rebar between the two of you as a threat, the droid incoherently beeping behind you and hitting you with his little leg. You ignored him, and the intruder raised his hands, showing you that they were empty. You could see a metal baton at his side and a pistol strapped to his thigh, but he wasn’t reaching for them despite the threat of your rebar.

“Whoa, easy,” he exclaimed rapidly, “I’m not here to attack you!”

“What do you want?” you called, “Shop’s closed at this hour.” It was fairly late in the night, and not many people were still up at this time apart from you. No one with good intentions, at least.

He took a less defensive stance, increasingly unimpressed at your choice of weapon, or your unsteady hold of it. “My name’s Cal, I’m just here for beedee.” He gestured to the droid. “Come on buddy, we’ve got to get back to Greez.”

The cantina’s owner?

“How do you know Greez?” you asked with narrowed eyes. You’d never seen this man, and he’d never been around here. News spread fast in a village this small, you would’ve heard about it in less than a day. The cantina sometimes welcomed suspicious or dangerous individuals, and you wondered if this new guy was one of them.

“It’s a… long story. I’m just visiting. Beedee, let’s go.”

You examined the man closer, as he was clearly only interested in the droid. Now that the adrenaline had mostly run its course, your mind pointed out how attractive the man was. Sure, his armor-looking leather garments looked like they had seen better days, but it was hard to ignore his soft-swept hair, scatter of freckles and sharp jawline that his stubble didn’t quite manage to hide, not to mention his lean yet muscled build.

The droid, beedee, didn’t make a move to leave. Instead, he pushed into your leg again and emitted a series of noises you couldn’t understand.

“Is he always this unclear or is my binary just rusty?” you asked the man hesitantly, keeping the rebar in hand and taking a few steps back to put space in between the two of you.

“He got shot in the middle of a fight, his vocabulator got damaged,” he said. Your grip on the metal tightened. A fight? “I was going to fly to a relay point to find him a new one, but this guy,” he shot a reproachful look at the droid, “Won’t stay put long enough for me to go.”

The droid continued his monologue. The only word you could make out was ‘Mechanic’.

“I’m a mechanic, beedee, is that why you came to see me?”

He near-violently nodded his head.

“I’m sorry he disturbed you, like I said, we need the new component to fix it.” Cal said, shrugging.

You crouched and took a closer look. You could view the injured piece now, its main area intact but its outer edge clearly burnt out. You shook your head. “You don’t need a new one, actually.”

Cal looked at you like you’d grown a third head. “Have you seen the chip? That thing is as good as dead.”

“Not if you reroute the circuit towards his internal commlink instead.”

He blinked. “You’ve worked on droids before?” he asked cautiously.

You nodded. “It’s what I trained for as a teen on my home planet, but I had the great luck of finding a dishonest pilot who promised me there were a lot of droids here.” You gestured to your near empty workshop, embarrassed. “As you can see, not quite the reality of the area. The only ones here are those the raiders keep, and I’ve made it quite clear to them on multiple occasions that they could shove it. Being on their bad side isn’t the greatest, but at least I’m not helping them loot and kill people. Used to work on ships too and loved that, but those are also lacking here.”

He looked at you as if evaluating your body language. You weren’t exactly hard to read; you wore your emotions quite visibly. “Why haven’t you left?” he asked.

“A droid mechanic on a droid-less planet doesn’t exactly have the revenue to jump on a hyperspace voyage. Maybe in a couple years, but at this rate the raiders will have found any stash of money I could keep. Anyways! what I’m trying to say is I can fix beedee if you want.” The droid beeped approvingly from where he stood, jumping up and down in triumph.

Cal seemed to weigh the risks. You didn’t blame him, some unknown mechanic on a near empty outer rim planet didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you knew you could make the repairs easily.

“Alright,” he said defeatedly, “but if a single electrical filament is damaged, I’ll know, and you won’t get a cent.”

You shrugged, his threat not scaring you. The droid already had enough injuries as is, you weren’t planning on adding to them.

Beedee jumped up to the worktable you’d been working at earlier and you pushed aside the metal detector with a wince. The movement pulled on your palm painfully. The droid didn’t miss your reaction and pushed on your injured hand with a foot.

“Just a cut, little guy, nothing to worry about.” You said, perhaps unconvincingly. The screwdriver you’d used was a bit rusty, and you knew you should get a bacta patch to keep an infection from spreading, but you couldn’t afford one. You’d wash it out with water later and hope for the best.

The droid didn’t miss a beat at words and a little vial was suddenly flung up in the air. You didn’t manage to catch it, not having the reaction time you might have with more rest and water in you, but a calloused hand caught it before it could hit the ground. Cal stood next to you, offering the tube in an open hand

“A stim?” you exclaimed, picking it up and examining it, “I haven’t seen one of those in years, they cost a fortune.” You glanced towards Cal.  “I’m not sure the cut warrants using one.” you added.

The man just folded his arms and leaned against the table. “If beedee says you need one, I wouldn’t argue, or else you’ll be arguing with him all night.” he said.

You mumbled a soft thank you as you injected the stim, your hands already feeling much better after only a few seconds. You took off the cloth and despite the dark red that coated your hand, the cut had all but disappeared, leaving only a thin pink line behind. You scrubbed the dry blood off as best you could and turned towards the droid again.

He sat in front of you, presenting his exposed wiring. You picked up your smallest welder and started working, self-conscious of your beat-up tools. You could feel Cal leaning in with each detailed movement you made, unquestionably watching the process to learn how to do it himself. You worked as diligently as you could despite your focus trailing occasionally to the man that held close to your side. The slight reprieve the night air provided seemed gone, his warmth seeping into your skin.

It wasn’t a complicated job, you just needed to reroute the processor to the commlink to translate the droid’s processes into clear binary code to then bypass the burnt translator located on the edge of the vocabulator. It was a trick that was specific to this type of vocabulator though, so it wasn’t a well-known process.

You finished with the rerouting, satisfied by the clear binary beedee could now emit as he properly introduced himself to you. And idea shot through you and you slipped out from Cal’s side to reach for your spare parts bin. You rummaged through it for a moment, the droid sending you a questioning whistle.

“Wait a minute! I know I’ve got it somewhere here…” you grumbled. “Ah-ah! Here it is.”

You held out a grey piece of thin durasteel as you sauntered back to the waiting duo, grabbing your heat gun along the way. “I think I can give you a temporary fix for your casing, let me just… There! It doesn’t match your colors, but it should do the trick.” You slid a newly shaped metal plate over the spot where the casing had melted away, grinning at its sturdiness. “This won’t fix it forever; I’d need a little more time to make an entirely new one and to make it the right color, but this should keep your components safe for a while!”

BD-1, as you now knew him, spun around in circles as he tried to check out his new part. You took out a small mirror from a drawer and held it up to him so he could see. He let out a string of excited beeps and whistles, repeatedly asking Cal to look at his ‘cool looking patch’. You glanced to the man on your side and discovered him watching you intently with a small smile. You felt your cheeks heating under his stare and scuttled back a few steps.

“Uhm, I hope this all works out until you’re able to find new parts, you guys! I could get started on a new custom permanent case too, so beedee doesn’t lose his usual flair.” BD-1 whistled in approval. “Shouldn’t take me more than a few days, maybe 5 at most, if you’re interested.”

Cal nodded, his intense gaze not faltering. “I think that’d be perfect. How much for today’s work?”

“Oh no, consider it as a repayment for that stim and for the opportunity to work on a droid again. Honestly, I had forgotten how much more interesting it is than working on the prospectors’ tools. As for the pickup, if I’m not here when you come back to get it, that means I’ve gone out to trade for parts. I’ll leave the finished casing in this drawer here,” you pointed to the right one, “and you seem to know how to get past the locks. Just close it back up when you leave!”

He laughed at the remark and thanked you for your work on BD-1. The droid gave you a sharp farewell whistle despite its clear disappointment at having to leave already. He climbed onto Cal’s back as the man moved toward your shop’s door.

“Hey,” you called, “if you come around this corner of the galaxy again after picking up beedee’s casing, don’t hesitate to swing by! It’s always nice seeing someone new.”

He turned on his feet, walking backwards for a few steps. “I have a feeling we’ll see each other again, don’t worry.” He winked at you, leaving you at a loss for words, and turned back to walk through the door.

After you calmed your elevated heartbeat, you locked up after him, deciding the two unexpected guests were enough for one night. You leaned back against the door and sighed. Maybe you should’ve accepted the money. Cal seemed like a nice guy, but Koboh was getting harder every day. Habo was still on your mind, but you’d settle for anything other than this damn planet. Kriff, you’d even be willing to join a crew of wandering space pirates if that meant you actually got to do something other than retrieve and fix the same old tools over and over again. Maybe one day luck would favor you, you thought, or maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

-- 9 days later ---

The walk back from trading was always exhausting. The prospectors that held the best materials were currently residing on a high cliff that hid a cave’s opening. Getting up there was arduous, but if you left early enough it was manageable despite the climbing you had to do. By the time you made the trek back, however, there was no escaping the sun’s rays, and the only thing keeping your hands from the burning rocks as you scaled down the cliff was an almost ruined pair of leather gloves. They wouldn’t last another climb, you thought, and neither would your boots.

You’d have to find something to barter with the one villager who made most of the prospectors’ equipment. You didn’t even have money for food this week, but you’d make do, like you always did. Maybe you’d go back to the cantina tonight to offer maintenance on Greez’s bartender droid. His cantina was apparently bringing in more customers this week, so maybe you could find some other work there too.

You were also looking forward to hearing more of the village gossip. You’d heard rumors of a Jedi taking down raiders all over the region when you’d gone for a drink the night before but given that the source of that information was Turgle, you were far from convinced. A Jedi would be hunted down in a minute by the Empire, especially if they used their famed weapon and left witnesses. The fisherman you sometimes saw hanging around the streams, Skoova, had however confirmed that there was indeed a newcomer hunting down raiders for sport.

He hadn’t been very talkative, only describing him as a short-haired man of average height that fought in a poncho. You didn’t know how you felt about someone wearing a poncho on a desert planet, though you did find humor at the idea of the raiders getting their ass kicked by some new guy in a raincoat. Either way, if there was a chance that this not-a-Jedi-even-though-Turgle-says-he-is guy had arrived here by ship, you wanted to find out more no matter his unusual taste in clothing.

You entered your workshop after the long walk back from the prospectors, bracing for the intolerable heat of your metal cage. You stored what little you’d brought back in its rightful place and dragged your feet to your worktable, ready to start working on another tool a prospector had given you to fix. You remembered distantly that Cal still hadn’t swung by to pick up BD-1’s new case.

You peeked inside the drawer and found it empty of the custom case. There were a few credits in there, thankfully enough to cover the material you’d used for the case, plus a couple more. Despite the much-needed money, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Of course, the one day you left your workshop had to be the one when he decided to come here. You sighed and pushed the drawer away, rubbing your eyes with your palms, hoping (and doubting) that he would visit again. You didn’t even know what region of Koboh he was from, you didn’t recognize his accent at all.

A glimpse of white caught your eye before the drawer shut completely. You reached towards the unknown object and found a folded note that you were sure hadn’t been in therebefore you left. You opened it and didn’t immediately recognize the handwriting.

-

Thank you for the case, BD-1 is practically begging for a couple more designs (to match my ‘rizz’ - I have no idea what that means. He convinced me to wear an old grey poncho I had just so we matched and I fear giving in to the different colored cases will be the start of a slippery slope, but how could I say no to the little guy?)

I’ve gone off-track – What I mean to tell you is that if you still want to leave Koboh, there will be a ship (it’s mine) at the landing pad until 1500 tomorrow. Bring what you need, but I have all the essentials on board. Food and water I mean, and maybe I have a spare toothbrush somewhere too?

Anyway. We’ll figure it out.

I can drop you off somewhere if you want, but I wouldn’t mind a mechanic on board if you’re interested. Can’t guarantee regular hours or absolute safety but hey, still more interesting than metal detectors, right?

This might be my last visit to Koboh in a while.

P.S.: BD-1 wants you to know you’re the only one allowed to fix his leg, and that he ‘requires you on board’. His words, not mine. He shot an electric dart at the last person who tried to repair it (me).

Cal

-

You couldn’t help but let out a loud celebratory shout as you read. He had a ship, and you were finally getting out of here! No more prospectors whining at the time it took to fix their tools, no bedlam raiders trying to kick through your door in the middle of the night, no need to refill your water supply from the well that stood well over a mile away.

You’d happily make BD-1 a thousand little metal outfits to match Cal’s ponchos if he wanted-

Your mind screeched to a stop. Hadn't that been the outfit Skoova mentioned?

You remembered what Turgle said about the second newcomer, the one he had called a Jedi. You didn’t remember ever reading about that order using guns, but… Cal had been carrying another weapon. The metal handle, you now realized, that was hanging at his side.

Oh kriff.

Had the idea while building the BD-1 Lego set. I meant for this to be just a little 1k meet-cute oneshot, Of course, me being me, i wrote 5k. Edited it a little, and it's as short as I can tolerate lmao

My first time posting for Star Wars! Still not over Survivor despite having played it more than 100 hour in the first two weeks i got it, and having done reruns since. The double-bladed stance has me in a chokehold.

Tell me what you think, and check out my masterlist!

[yumeka-sxf]

A chronological analysis on Twilight and Yor - Part 20

*This is part of an ongoing post series. If you missed the Introduction/Part 1, click here*

----------

After Yor meets Yuri on the train, she's reminded of the fact that he's "all grown up" and doesn't need her to take care of him anymore.

As I described in Part 8, earning enough money to support Yuri was the main reason Yor became an assassin. Since she didn't have the luxury to pursue anything worthwhile for herself, taking care of and being useful to others became her main focus in life. But since Loid and Anya don't benefit from her assassin work, and now Yuri doesn't either, she begins wondering why she needs to continue doing it. This question is reinforced a few times later: first, when they're on the train and she realizes how much she enjoys being with Loid and Anya as a family, without having to worry about work. And again, during her initial meeting with Olka.

When Olka tells her that she wants to get away from the dangerous life of a gangster to a peaceful, quiet life, Yor takes a moment to reflect on those words, as they were the same thoughts she had on the train earlier – thoughts of what it would be like to live a normal life with your family without all the fears and dangers that come along with being involved in the underworld.

Olka asks Yor why she's so worried about her family discovering her identity since they're just a cover-up family, which leads to a softly emphasized scene of Yor with a noticeably sad expression, as she reluctantly admits that, yes, they are a family just for show.

We know from previous episodes, like the cooking lesson and post-Fiona date, that Yor has since realized that being in the Forger family makes her happy, despite the fact that they're a "fake" family. However, she doesn't know if Loid and Anya feel the same way, especially Loid. For all she knows, he's letting her live with him as his wife more as a favor to her, and because it's convenient for their front at Eden, and not because he personally finds happiness in the arrangement. While he did tell her during their previous date that he wants her to continue playing the role of Anya's mother and his wife, Yor doesn't know whether he feels the same happiness being together as a family like she does.

Yor becomes even more motivated to help Olka when the latter mentions that she's left so much of her old life behind her now.

Perhaps her eagerness to help Olka comes from her sad resignation to the fact that she herself can't attain the kind of life Olka is heading towards, so at the very least, she wants to make sure Olka can attain it.

Meanwhile, we see just how much Twilight's spy work has "traumatized" him, to the point of being on total high alert on the ship even though Sylvia specifically ordered him to relax. Not only was he immediately suspicious of the lottery for the cruise ticket, but even after he's on the ship, his ever-calculating mind can't help but imagine the worst scenarios. He begins looking out for any signs of terrorism and dubious behavior, much to Anya's dismay.

However, thanks to her coaxing, he catches himself and makes a conscious effort to turn off the "spy mode" in his brain (as much as he can anyway).

Later, we see Yor being nervous when having dinner with the executives, obviously not comfortable in such a formal situation and still afraid that she'll be spotted by Loid and Anya. However, when given a task she knows best – assassination work – we get to see a side of Yor that has yet to be fully highlighted in the series…a side that's serious and confident, without her usual doubts and hesitations.

Her social awkwardness and uncertainties disappear as she takes on a total "in-charge" demeanor when guiding Olka and company back to the room. But Olka has spent enough time with the underworld crowd to see that, while Yor is very good at her work, it doesn't suit the sweet, gentle person that she really is. Even before the real danger starts, Olka tells her that she doesn't seem like the underworld type, and even suggests that she spend time with her family when the ship stops at the resort. Olka must have sensed from Yor's hesitation and sad expression in their previous conversation that she truly cares about them.

It's unfortunate that Yor doesn't have a permanent confidant like Olka – someone who not only knows her true identity as an assassin, but also senses that she has real feelings for what should be a "fake" family…and is supportive of that in her own subtle way. Twilight has Franky, and Sylvia somewhat, as people who know him as both a spy and as a (fake) family man. But even though they're not openly supportive of the fact that he's catching feelings for his family, they're still people he can not only confide in without having to hide his true identity, but they care about Anya's well being too. Yor doesn't have anyone like that. While Shopkeeper and McMahon know her true identity, her relationship with them seems to be strictly business. So, as brief as her time with Olka is, it was good for Yor to finally converse with someone who understands her inner feelings that she herself is having trouble realizing.

While Anya and Twilight are having dinner later, Anya mentions that it's been a while since they've eaten dinner without Yor, to which Twilight comments that it does seem lonely without her. He could have replied with any number of less melancholic responses ("It does feel weird" or "She must be very busy" to name a few). So the fact that his first thought was how lonely it felt does seem to indicate a momentary lapse in his spy facade, to which Anya rightfully calls him out and he immediately tries to deny it (with a slight but telling blush).

When they visit the gift shop, we see that Twilight is still having trouble learning how to find enjoyment on the trip, despite the fact that Sylvia made it an official mission. It's tragic to think that even when given orders to have a relaxing family vacation, he simply can't turn off the suspicions and anxiety in his mind. But his anxiousness about people potentially eavesdropping on him soon changes to concern about Anya's mental health. Similar to when he took her to work and had her play in the sandbox, he completely misinterprets her actions as displays of emotional trauma.

I love the interpretation from @sunfoxfic about this side of Twilight's character, to quote:

"His trauma really grounds every action he takes - everything he does is to protect others from experiencing the same trauma. Loid is a highly pragmatic and sympathetic man, and in that way, he's unwaveringly kind to everyone but himself."

Just like the sandbox incident, the scene with Anya at the gift shop is a prime example of Twilight's empathetic side that he keeps hidden from everyone else. Only we as the audience know how much he agonizes about the well-being of those who may have experienced similar trauma as he did. Since Anya's reactions make no sense to him, he can't help but conclude that she has her own share of deep-rooted trauma as well. And, as I've reiterated many times before, rather than express anger or blame her for anything, he puts responsibility on himself to do a better job at trying to understand her. And all of this relates back to what he told Desmond during their first encounter…that he won't stop trying to understand others.

While Yor is keeping watch that night, she has plenty of time to reflect on what happened the day before. As she sits there for hours in silence, we see that her expression has taken on the "robotic" look she had at the very beginning of the series "pre-family," back when her assassination work was all she focused on in her life. This is probably the longest amount of time she's had to continually concentrate on work since meeting Loid and Anya, so it makes sense that her eyes would start to harden like that.

However, when she realizes that she never tried to contact them, her eyes immediately light up as she imagines a scenario where she meets up with them on the ship.

She then starts to wonder why she was hesitating so much when fighting Barnaby. She thinks it could be because she was afraid, not of death or pain, but the fact that if she had gotten seriously injured, she may have had to leave the Forger family. This makes her think back to when Olka asked her why she was so concerned about them since they're just a cover-up family. As I've previously mentioned, Yor has come to realize that being with Loid and Anya makes her happy, but she's also resigned herself to the fact that that happiness can be taken away from her at any minute. So far the biggest threat to her place in the Forgers has been Fiona, but she was able to remedy that by talking with Loid. But this time the threat comes from something where talking isn't an option: an important job from Garden. This is why she tells herself that she needs to keep her priorities straight – as far as she's concerned, her personal happiness is secondary compared to the importance of the job at hand. As she continues to think about the people whose happiness she strives for – Yuri, Loid, and Anya – the same thought she had upon meeting Yuri on the train comes back to her…if none of the people she loves benefit from her assassin work, then why does she need to keep it up?

Continue to Part 21 ->

<- Return to Part 19

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers pt. 1

Gif not mine

A/N: Title subject to change, not sure how I feel about it. This is my first published fic here so pls be gentle. Also I'm terrible at summaries.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Trigger warnings (let me know if I forgot to tag anything): Mentions of past child abuse, ongoing adult child abuse, stalking, horror, dubcon, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, angst, smut. There will be bits of fluff tho.

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Summary: For the most part swap Vision with mutant Y/N whose powers were enhanced by the Mind stone embedded in her forehead courtesy of Hydra. Takes place post Multiverse of Madness, only instead of trying to kill America Chavez, Wanda taught the teen how to control her powers and in doing so, learned how said powers worked herself, becoming able to copy them.

With her newfound powers, Wanda searches the multiverse for her lost spouse and children. She discovers a universe where Y/N exists but she and their sons do not. This aligns with her plans, allowing her to avoid dealing with another version of herself. Using her powers, Wanda intends to make Y/N love her in an attempt to rebuild their family. Whether she does so willingly, or the Scarlet Witch makes her, both are acceptable to Wanda.

Masterlist here

Chapter One

A silent scream escapes your lips as you gasp for breath. Another nightmare. Damn, that's the third one this week, and it's only Monday. Weary, you wipe the sweat from your forehead and head to the bathroom to splash water on your face. It's finals week, and you have an exam in a few hours. A quick glance at the clock shows that it's already 3AM and you groan. Maybe you can manage to get a couple more hours of sleep before the rest of the night slips away.

Lately, for some unknown reason, your troubled mind has been subjecting you to night terrors that make you question your entire reality. These nightmares have been unusually realistic, and you frequently experience more than one per night. At times, you are haunted by so many consecutive nightmares, causing your friends to wonder if you are getting any sleep at all.

The sound of your footsteps padding across the floor is the only thing you hear as you walk from your bedroom to the adjoining bathroom to wash your face. You don't bother turning on the lights since you have a nightlight in the bathroom. You've never been a fan of the pitch black darkness in the bathroom, but the bright overhead lights give you a migraine at the best of times. As a result, your bathroom is mostly covered in shadows, usually just enough for you to do what you need to do and then go back to bed. However, tonight is different. As you accidentally glance up at your reflection, your eyes nearly pop out of your head as you see a pair of glowing red eyes staring back at you from behind, causing your heart to race.

As you spin around, you raise a fist to defend yourself against the intruder, only to realize that you are alone in your bathroom. You turn back to your mirror and find yourself alone once again. It must have been remnants of the nightmare. In a hurry, you turn on the faucet's cold water tap, run your hands under it, and splash your face. Although hesitant to fully look away from your reflection for fear of the 'intruder' returning, you still want to wipe the sweat from your clammy face.

It was just a bad dream. However realistic, it wasn’t actually real. Shaking it off, you quickly close the bathroom door and head back to bed, intent on getting as much of your remaining night’s sleep as you can before your exam tomorrow. Or rather, later today. 

A few hours later, you find yourself in your usual study spot at the university. The library is your safe haven, and it's definitely your favorite place to be. Even if you didn't have to study (which you absolutely did - you were so far behind if you had any hope of graduating with honors, you needed to spend every available moment here), you would often be found here simply reading a book. Your friends and professors are well aware of your voracious appetite for reading, so if anyone ever wonders where to find you, the answer is likely to be here.

Your first exam was in an hour, and you were cramming every last bit of knowledge you could before taking said exam. You needed the highest grade possible. Your future, your escape, depended on it. It could be argued that this desperation was why you initially didn't notice the sound of children's voices reverberating through the library. While the library was usually empty, it was not uncommon for adult students to bring their children with them to study when their own childcare plans fell through. It was inconvenient, but you tried to be considerate and simply tuning it out. Another day, another distraction, and you didn't have time for it.

Eventually, the disruptive sound became impossible to ignore, and despite your desire to not be rude, you needed to focus and get your work done. With more force than strictly necessary, you slammed your book shut, preparing to find a quieter place to study. However, just as you were about to stand up, two twin boys, around ten years old, came running down the library hall, filled with laughter and giggles, heading straight towards you. Your eyes widened as you realized they had no intention of changing their course - they were definitely going to collide with you.

Opening your arms to catch them, and hopefully prevent all of you from careening onto the ground, you found yourself asking “Hey what’s all this? Where’s your mother, you guys?”

The boys looked at you, confused. “What are you talking about, Momma?”

Your eyes turned the size of saucers. “Momma”? That was new. Someone must be playing a trick on you. How ~delightful~ you thought, annoyed. As if you weren’t already stressed out enough, someone had roped in a couple of kids to play a game of fuck around and find out. Well, whomever had put them up to this, when you found them, they were about to find out. 

The library's main door swung open, revealing the presence of an incredibly beautiful woman you estimated to be in her mid thirties, with fiery red hair and the most mesmerizing emerald eyes you had ever seen. Her appearance headed straight towards you left you speechless, immediately taking all the wind out of your sails. Oh well, you were always more bark than bite, you supposed. If you thought her looks were stunning, though, they paled in comparison to the melodic sound of her angelic voice.

“Billy, Tommy, come here boys!”

"Mommy!" the twins shouted at the same time before running into her arms. Part of you wanted to scold them for clearly breaking the library's code of conduct, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it when all three of them just looked so happy. You couldn't explain why your heart clenched at the sight of them either, but for some reason, now that the initial surprise had faded, you were soothed by their presence.

You observe their interaction, not wanting to interrupt their intimate moment. Your heart ached at how comfortable the family appeared to be with one another. Once the stunning woman appears reassured about her children’s well-being, she instructs them to go play and shooing them away before redirecting her attention towards you. You feel a pleasant tightening in your chest as her warm gaze focuses on you.

Even though the children have clearly disrupted your valuable study time, you find yourself dismissing it as if it were insignificant. "Oh, it's no problem, I understand how children can be." You don't, you have never had a sibling nor a child of your own, and you have never babysat a day in your life. 

"It's just that they missed you so much, darling," she whispered, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

“Huh?”

She takes a step closer, invading your personal space, and begins adjusting your shirt. One of the buttons had come undone at some point, and she seems determined to fix it. Part of you wants to point out that she, a complete stranger, should not be in your personal space, let alone touching your clothing. And what did she mean by saying that her children "missed" you? You didn't know them. You didn't even know her. Warning bells start ringing in your head, as you are pretty sure this is the plot of some horror movie. You should leave. This is not a level of crazy you can deal with right now. 

"The boys missed you, Detka. It's been a long time since you've been home, so we decided to come see you!" The woman finally finishes fixing your shirt and looks up at you. Though there is warmth in her expression, there's also a hint of madness, her once green eyes tinged with red.

“I-ah… that’s great, and all but I uhh.. I have an exam coming up, I need to get going.”

“Going?”

The warmth in the woman's voice is gone, replaced by a raspy iciness that sends a chill down your spine.

"My love, the only place you need to go is home, with us, your family."

You turn to face the woman and immediately regret it. Standing before you is no longer the woman in mom jeans and a plaid shirt. Instead, she appears to be dressed in some expensive sorceress cosplay that you estimate would cost thousands of dollars to create or purchase. When... when could she have possibly changed? Just a second ago she was dressed like a normal person, right?

Slowly, you take in the sight of her. Not only has her outfit changed, but her overall appearance as well. Her cheeks hollowed, the sockets of her eyes are sunken as if she hasn't slept in weeks, and her eyes are a glowing crimson. The same shade from your nightmares.

This isn’t real. This is another nightmare. One you need to wake up from. 

“Oh absolutely fucking not.” You whisper, as you turn and run.

Unbeknownst to you, the Scarlet Witch allows you to flee. With a flick of her wrist, she could have immobilized you, could have compelled you to accompany her, whether willingly or not, but she chooses not to. The pursuit begins, and she intends to enjoy herself. You will succumb to her, and do so quite prettily. She starts walking down the hallway after you, taking her time. After all, now that she has found you, she has all the time in the world to play with you.

Grace has never been a quality that you possess. In fact, you remember a song your mother made up when you were a child specifically to remind you just how graceless you were. Not that it helps you now, as your brain never finds the appropriate time to recall useless facts. Cursing your ineptitude, you rush out of the library as fast as your legs can carry you.

 Moments later, you’re throwing yourself into every door along the hall, however, none of them open. What is wrong with this place? Why is everything locked? You don't remember the university being so fond of locking everything, but then again, you only go to about the same four places. Variety might be the spice of life, but your stomach (anxiety) prefers a milder taste.

As you run, you hear the clicking of the woman's heels, hot on your trail. Or is she really hot on your trail? It sounds as if... you tilt your head, listening. She's walking? You think to yourself that surely you can outrun a woman walking in heels. Surely. (Your asthma would suggest otherwise). Abandoning yet another locked door, you rush further down the hallway. Maybe you don't need to outrun her or find a room to hide in; after all, barricading yourself would only delay the inevitable. Your goal is to reach civilization, to find other people. Speaking of which, where is everyone? Usually, this wing of the university is bustling with activity at this hour.

Exhausted, you pause to catch your breath, hands resting on your knees, hoping that you have managed to buy yourself some time. Unfortunately, your hopes are dashed as her low, raspy voice fills the corridors, humming what sounds like a lullaby in an unfamiliar language. The eerie sound sends chills down your spine, making it painfully clear that luck is not on your side. Where could she be? She is not next to you, nor ahead, yet her voice continues to echo, sounding almost...

Almost the same moment you realize the source of the danger, a hand reaches through the mirror from behind you and grabs your shirt with an unnatural strength. You scream loudly, hoping to alert someone in the building for help, but no one comes to your aid. "What the- LET GO OF ME!" You forcefully pull your shirt from her grip, tearing it in the process, and hastily retreat down the hallway.

To your horror, you see the woman's arm brace against the wall and begin to pull herself out through the mirror. You scramble to your feet, desperate to flee once again, with only one thought repeating in your mind: "What the fuck?!" None of this could be real.

"Y/N," a low voice said in a saccharine tone. "Where do you think you're going? Don't you know that I will always find you? I have crossed thousands of universes to find you, and now that I have you, I will never let you go." In any other context, this would probably be incredibly sweet. Currently however, it only fuels your fear, sending you into a blind panic. You have to escape whatever the hell this is.

Navigating through corridor after corridor you eventually  spot one of your classmates at the end, entering the exact exam room you needed to be in that morning. It's a desperate situation, but maybe they can buy you some time while you make your escape through a window or something. It’s not a brave thought, you’re not proud of it, but survival instincts have already kicked in. 

You quickly catch up to your classmate, despite initially being so much farther behind, managing to slide into the room just after them. The proctor promptly closes the door behind you. You're breathing heavily, and in your haste, you embarrassingly just slid into the backside of your classmate, with your shirt heavily torn. You must look ridiculous, but unsurprisingly no one questions you about it, your classmate simply looking miffed and whispering an insult as they move out of your personal space. The situation would be comical if you hadn't just been running for your life.

It’s fine. This is fine. Everything’s fine. 

Steadying your breathing, you make your way to the back of the classroom, nearest the window and stare apprehensively at the door. You’re expecting any second now for that woman to come barging in, but she doesn’t, and now here you are ready for your exam. Wow you must really be losing it. Stress induced hallucinations, that has to be it.

Although you were hesitant to simply continue with your day, the world doesn't wait for anyone. Whether you actively participated or not, your proctor would still grade your exam, which your future still depended on. You made an effort to push the hallucination from your mind and concentrate on the information you had retained for the exam, aiming to achieve the highest score possible.

Once you have completed the exam, you hand it in and cautiously enter the hallway. The grades wouldn't be posted until the end of the term, but you were confident enough in your answers to believe that you had earned at least an A. Whether it was an A+ or A- was still uncertain, but you were hoping for the former. So focused were you on your test that you had almost forgotten about the incident earlier that morning. For a moment, you wondered if you should visit the university's nurse. Although she was not an actual doctor, it was a free service, and perhaps she could recommend something. On the other hand, at worst, she would suggest getting more sleep, and at best, she would advise you to see a doctor, which you couldn't afford. Not to mention the argument your parents would start regarding the doctor’s bill (as if they were above opening your mail). Perhaps not. 

You had no more exams for the day, so it was time to go home. There were chores to do for your parents, and then you had to study for tomorrow's exam. If you were lucky, you could finish everything early and get a few extra hours of sleep, hopefully avoiding another hallucination like today. Rubbing the exhaustion from your face, you head towards the bus stop. It was early enough that the bus should arrive within the next fifteen minutes, and you would be home in about an hour. Everything was going according to plan. Tomorrow was going to be a great day, you just had a feeling.

Once on the bus, your exhaustion started to overwhelm you, your headphones doing little to drown out the ambient noise. Before long, you were fast asleep. Even if you were awake, you probably wouldn't have noticed the viridian eyes in the reflection of the bus window watching over you. Unlike before, these eyes didn't appear to be of malicious intent. If anything, they seemed to observe you with care and empathy. If the volume of your headphones spontaneously happened to outweigh that of the alarm you had set for yourself to awaken you for your stop, that was just a coincidence.

A/N 2: sorry but the writers of the M.o.M. butchered her character just to have her shoehorned into a villain role so Strange would have an adversary already established in the MCU as a powerful magic user - I'm still salty about it. However Ms. Olsen's performance was phenomenal. Anyway lmk if this is absolutely trash or if you wanna maybe read more? I have a couple of chapters pre-written but not the entire thing.

Many thanks to my editors @flowers-shouldnt-die, and Brooke for helping me through this and providing valuable feedback! Especially @flowers-shouldnt-die for her assistance with translations in helping me learn both Hungarian and Russian for this. Wouldn't have made it this far in the story without you :3

[chiffon-and-spice]

RE HC's: Attachment Style, Love Languages

(Keep in mind these are literally all HC's and if you disagree, it's not cannon so don't get your dick in a twist. This is literally just how I see the characters. Most are bisexual because… it just feels fitting to me. Idk. If you don't see a character here that you'd like me to do, please let me know.)

Characters in this Post: Rebecca Chambers, Billy Coen, Albert Wesker, Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, Leon Kennedy, Claire Redfield, Ada Wong, and Carlos Oliveira. (if you'd like a character not mentioned here done, feel free to ask <3)

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

Rebecca Chambers-

Sexuality: Bi/Demi-sexual

Zodiac: Virgo

Love Language: Becca definitely expresses her love through acts of service. She may not be all that great at expressing herself through words, and being busy with work allows her little time to be close to you in person. She will do little things like fold your clothes if they're still in the dryer, make your bed, do those chores you aren't looking forward to, and so much more. She loves the idea of helping make your life a little more easier. When it comes to being shown love however, Rebecca loves words of affirmation. She thrives best when you give her hella love and reassurance. Not being good with words, she admires how freely you can talk about your feelings for her. It literally lights up her soul.

Attachment Style: Despite a lot of the struggles Rebecca has been through, she's pretty secure in herself and the relationships she gets in. Even though she struggles with her words, she's super effective at communicating her feelings when it comes to issues. Rebecca is also really good at self-reflection and will work on herself in all the places she falters, to ensure you two have the most healthy dynamic. She's super trusting of you, and does not hesitate to give out reassurance if you ask.

Billy Coen-

Sexuality: Bisexual

Zodiac: Taurus

Love Language: Billy expresses his love through physical touch. Whether it be through gentle caresses or playful pokes and punches, he lovesss touching you in any way. He can't seem to keep his hands off of you. You go out, he will kick you playfully under the table, and in the morning he's the one to cling to you and not want you to get out of bed. Morning sex is a given with him. He loves to make you feel good, and he feels best when he's touching you. When it comes to being shown love, Billy is a big fan of quality time. He doesn't care what it is you're doing, he wants to be close. You have to go to the grocery store to do some mundane task, nothing makes him more excited than you inviting him to go. He especially loves when you take time off of work or other things to be with him. Knowing you took time out of your day and your life to make room for him makes his day.

Attachment Style: Billy hasn't had the best of luck in the relationship department, especially with his past, and it makes him weary of who to trust. He's got an anxious attachment style, and while he craves love he's also terrified it isn't genuine. Billy can be super clingy at points, and sometimes struggles when you don't seem to have time for him. He needs constant reassurance, that you're for him and only him. He realizes this about himself, and always makes sure to tell you before you start dating. When given reassurance, he is the happiest boy, and he will never tire of you showing him just how much you love him.

Albert Wesker-

Sexuality: Pansexual (this is actually not a stretch as his VA played him as a queer man Link

Zodiac: Aries

Love Language: Albert expresses his love through giving gifts. Bro is not good with words and not a fan of being touched. But if he's sees something that reminds him of you, he will absolutely get it. He will shower you in gifts. You mention needing a new set of pens to take notes, he's already half-way to the store, buying the specific ball-point or gel pens you require. Working late, he's stopping by your workplace with food from your favorite place. Have a favorite show or little obession, he will buy anything for you that relates to said thing. When it comes to being given love, Albert loves acts of service. When you do things for him, it makes his life a lot easier. Especially if it's something he's not looking forward to. Nothing impresses him more than you doing something for him, when he didn't even have to ask for it.

Attachment Style: Albert 1,000% has disorganized attachment. One minute you think he's absolutely into you, and the next he is running for the hills. He's terrified of rejection, but also craves acceptance. Albert sometimes completely shuts down and doesn't talk to you about his concerns with the relationship. A lot of the time, even he doesn't know why he's being distant. It doesn't seem to matter how good you treat him, he always has anxiety about your relationship, but if you're super patient with him he can be the most tender and loving soul you can have. Often the relationship may be confusing, and Albert doesn't really talk about his feelings. Sometimes, he can even be a little aggressive and lash out, but he always apologizes and begs for you to stay.

Chris Redfield-

Sexuality: Bisexual/Demiromantic (takes bro a lot to be romantically into you)

Zodiac: Scorpio

Love Language: Chris expresses his love through acts of service, man struggles with words like Wesker and physical touch can be too much for him sometimes. But occupying himself with things to do that'll make you happy is how he loves showing you his love. He can get physical every once in awhile, but he kinda does that with a lot of people, so it isn't exactly how he expresses his love. Doing things for you also allows him to express his love for you in a way that makes him feel comfortable. Like your coffee a certain way? Chris is working his ass off to make sure you get it. When it comes to being shown love Chris surprisingly likes words of affirmation. He can't speak for himself, so when you talk about how you feel it makes him weak. He wants more than anything to be able to speak the way you do, and that's why he appreciates when you do it so well. Using your words sometimes can be a bit much for him, and makes him want to pull away, but in the long run he does find comfort in them.

Attachment Style: Chris has an avoidant attachment style. He feels like he has to go through everything on his own, and if he isn't strong enough to do it by himself then it makes him feel weak. He can seem extremely emotionally closed off at points, which makes it difficult to communicate effectively with him. He has a bit of a negative mentality, that relationships aren't necessary and he does best on his own. Good luck getting him to talk about his feelings, because this man is closed up tighter than a shell. Most of his relationships have been in the casual/one-night stand area. Chris is the first to walk off during an argument, and can definitely hold a grudge. Being patient with him is pretty rewarding however, as he apologizes after awhile. This is very hard for him, but when he cares about you, he will try to better himself.

Jill Valentine-

Sexuality: Bi/Greysexual

Zodiac: Libra

Love Language: When it comes to expressing her love, Jill loves spending time with you. She will take breaks from work, and when she works from home she will seek you out in the house. Even if it's sitting in silence, she wants to be by your side. She's very dedicated to her job, so she can't think of a better way to show you how much she cares than to distance herself from work. She loves physical touch, and nothing makes her feel more appreciated than when you touch her. Especially on the thighs or arms. It drives her wild. Underneath that badass exterior, she's a cuddly bunny. When walking around in public, and you throw your arm around her shoulders, she never feels more loved and secure. Even if she knows she can take care of herself, having you around makes her feel secure and comfortable.

Attachment Style: Despite being a bit obsessive with Umbrella, Jill has a bit more of a secure attachment style. The most issues you may have is maybe not getting her full attention at times, but she will quickly rectify it if you point it out. She's effective at communicating her wants and needs and really appreciates when her partner does the same thing. Like Rebecca, she is also kind of patient, but she won't tolerate certain behavior past a point. If she's making a big effort, she expects you to do the same. She's super understanding of your traumas and past however, and will do her best to help you. She also encourages you not to be codependent and overall just wants you both to grow as people.

Leon Kennedy-

Sexuality: Bisexual (bro fucks a ton after RE2)

Zodiac: Leo

Love Language: Leon expresses his love through physical touch. Bro is so touch starved, he gets his cuddles in any time he can. Practically clinging to you like a koala. He loves running his hands through your hair and being big spoon to you. He covers you in kisses to, if the skin is exposed, he's going for it. Big fan of hickeys to, and loves marking you in easy to see spots. He also loves recieving love this way. When you hold his hand in public, he still gets little butterflies. Pressing yourself a little more into him, when you guys are sleeping, is the hottest thing you can do for him. Practically melts from it. He loves rougher touches to. Like you running your nails down his back or biting his lips when you kiss.

Attachment Style: Leon has an anxious attachment style, and is terrified of getting close to people. Like most of the RE men it seems. 😭 Probably cause he's seen so much death. When he does start getting close, he struggles to let go. He can be suffocating at points, with how much he wants to be around you. He wants to take every second in, because he's so paranoid about it being your last together. While Leon doesn't communicate his feelings verbally, you can easily read when things are off and after a bit of work he may reluctantly open a little. He's very hard to crack. Leon is very efficient at asking about your feelings however, and will gladly hear all of your problems. Somehow, despite not knowing how to fix his only problems, he always seems to have solutions for yours.

Claire Redfield-

Sexuality: Lesbian (cry about it)

Zodiac: Aquarius

Love Language: Claire is surprisingly great with words, and loves to show it. She expresses how she loves you through words of affirmation. She will tell you she loves you every single day, and she means it with all her heart. Claire is the type of partner to send you loving paragraphs before bed, and makes sure you get a goodmorning text every morning. She leaves sticky notes everywhere to when she thinks about it, with little things she loves about you. When it comes to being shown love however, Claire really enjoys quality time. Expressing that you want to actually spend time with her whenever you can means the world to her. Growing up with Chris, who's been very busy since she was a kid, she's always valued the little time she gets to spend with her loved ones.

Attachment Style: Claire learned a lot from Chris, which made her have the exact opposite attachment style as him. Being practically raised by him and having a good relationship with him, she's pretty secure in her attachments. Even when things get rough, she's always understanding and holds out hope. Claire has always been good at being self-sufficient, so she doesn't need to be around you 24/7 or hear from you constantly. Doubts don't really get a hold of her in your relationship, and she's super easy to connect and be vulnerable with. She'll even talk about her own personal experiences just to make you feel more comfortable.

Ada Wong-

Sexuality: Bisexual

Zodiac: Gemini

Love Language: Ada never explicitly states what or how she's feeling, she's very much a woman of action. This is why she expresses her love through physical touch. Though she's not entirely clingy with it. If you're around, it could be as simple as her feet across your lap, while you watch tv. When it comes to physical touch for her, it's not the soft little gently caresses you're used to. She likes to be rough, and she will not hesitate to pounce on you. When it comes to being shown love, Ada enjoys receiving gifts. Not being given things too frequently, it means the world to her when her partners comes to her with something they bought specifically because it reminded them of her. Hell, even if it's not something she quite understands or likes, she will try to play it cool while freaking out on the inside. Despite Ada's distant exterior, she's definitely an absolute softie.

Attachment Style: Girl has got disorganized attachment style, one hundo percent. She's hot and cold with anyone she's with, and you always second guess just how she feels about you. You convince yourself that it's part of the fun, and the second you start to distance yourself as well, she's showing right back up. Ada feels undeserving of a healthy relationship, so when she gets a good thing her first instinct is to flee. Being that she isn't entirely true to herself and is always putting up a mask, it's hard for her to make genuine connections. Ada is sick of the mask however, and is so desperately ready to let it drop and be loved. Once you have her, even if it feels like you don't, you're stuck with her. She will harass you for the rest of your life, and play it off as anything but an interest in you.

Carlos Oliveira-

Sexuality: Bisexual (he came out to me in character ai, so practically cannon)

Zodiac: Saggittarius

Love Language: Carlos loves spending time with his partner. When it comes to his work, he doesn't get a lot of free time, so the best way he expresses his love by using what little he does have with you. Hell, he'd take time off just to be with you. Despite being a massive flirt, when things get serious he isn't the best at expressing himself in a way that isn't lighthearted or teasing. So instead he shows it, by dropping everything just to be around you, if you so please. During his breaks, he stops by your workplace whether it be to give you a little kiss or something more. He checks up on you with facetime calls frequently, when he's away and can't stand when work pulls him away from you. When it comes to being shown love however, Carlos very much likes things to be physical. Anyone can say words, he knows this more than anyone being the huge flirty whore (affectionately) he is, but to actually act on these things sends his heart soaring. And not just sex, though Carlos is very fond of that aspect to, he's more into the careful and intimate touches. Being hugged from behind, soft kisses along his neck, you playing with his hair, he practically folds over it.

Attachment Style: Weirdly enough, Carlos is pretty secure in his attachments, though I think he's cautious about entering a committed relationship with someone. He doesn't just feel that kind of love with anyone, and when things do go beyond flirting and hook ups, you know you've got something special with him. Carlos might not be the best with words, but he's an amazing listener and will gladly listen to whatever possible issues that may arise between you two. Even if he struggles with how to put things into words, he tries his best to open up with you as well. Carlos's work has always kept him pretty occupied, so he's never really felt too wound up about being away from his partner or having to put some healthy distance between you to. If you can work with his pretty hectic schedule, he will gladly work with you. Carlos is also a super gentle lover when no one is looking. All his rough talk and flirts are definitely for show, and the second you start getting a little bit serious with him, he gets flustered.

[meowzfordayz]

stressed — zenitsu, kyojuro, sanemi

Author’s Note: you ARE enough❣️ You ARE loved❣️ You WILL be okay❣️

stressed — zenitsu, kyojuro, sanemi

Agatsuma Zenitsu x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader

Word Count: ~700

CW: none

Emergency Request Fulfilled: I started taking a lot harder classes this year and it’s killing me and my impostor syndrome because I’m so slow compared to everyone else. It’s making me depressed/stressed so I wanted to request a pick me up request.

stressed — enmu, genya, muichiro

~faqs~

Lowkey gets stressed too 🙃

Does his best to hide it, but Zenitsu’s an open book, so it doesn’t stay hidden for long

Sometimes he’ll even sense your stress before you do

“Are you okay Zeni? You seem stressed.”

“I’m fine!” ☺️

…

…

*realization hits*

Zenitsu: Are you stressed? 🥺

You: Nooo, you’re stressed! 😒

Zenitsu: But I’m not? 🥲

You: Well your stress is stressing me out! 😖

Zenitsu: But I’m not stressed?! 🫠

*insert Spiderman meme here*

Affirmations

Once you’ve determined that you’re both adequately stressed 💀😂

Zenitsu brings out ✨The Jar of Affirmation✨

Aka your equivalent of scrolling through cheesy, inspirational social media posts when you’re feeling low

Zenitsu: YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL! 😍

You: YOU ARE CAPABLE! 😎

Zenitsu: YOU ARE SMART! 🤓

You: YOU ARE DETERMINED! 😤

It’s kinda cathartic to yell/be yelled at, y’know? 🥰😆

Lovingly, ofc

Your stress hits close to home for Kyojuro (imposter syndrome, inadequacy), but he’s unsure how to support you

Which is not to say that he doesn’t try

Bc he does try, a lot and often 🥺

But a pin pricking feeling that he isn’t quite cut out for comforting you frequently surfaces

“I can order takeout and build a pillow fort for us to watch a movie in together? Would that be okay?”

Your stress fades to a gentle, manageable pulse as Kyojuro’s tender doubt gnaws at your chest, your arms hugging him into your warmth as you murmur softly

“That would be absolutely perfect. Thank you for taking care of me.”

—

He still questions his ability to ease your burdens as you snuggle into his side, plastic containers and utensils spread out on the fluffy blanket beneath you, a thin canopy of cotton sheet and fairy lights billowing above

Could I have decorated better? 😕

Why did I make us sit on the floor?! 😞

But he allows himself a lingering, adoring smile when you begin making airplane noises, happily opening his mouth to accept your forkful of pad Thai

“I love you!” you grin, darting in to peck his nose

“I wuv y’u too!” he declares, the tips of his ears as red as his heart

He’s convinced that pad Thai’s never tasted so delicious

Knows your favorite snacks better than he knows himself, and won’t hesitate to walk to the corner store to buy you a lil snick snack

“Kyo, it’s almost midnight. I’m fine.” 😝

“Your stomach rumbled.” ☹️

“I can eat in the morning.”

“Fine.” 

…

…

“I shall wait until midnight, at which point it will be morning.” 😎

“What if I fall asleep before you get back?”

“Then I guess you will most certainly eat in the morning.” 😌

Doesn’t let you lift a finger, sometimes to the extent that your stress morphs to anger 🤪

“I said I was stressed, not incapable.” 😐

“Me helping you is a testament of my love, not a commentary on your ability.” 🤨

“You aren’t helping me! You’re infantilizing me!” 😖

“I in fact have not put you in a diaper nor made you suck on a pacifier.” 😃

“I will dye your hair while you’re asleep.” 😒

“Would a spa day reduce your stress?”

“No, but watching your reaction to waking up with green hair would.” 😌

“If you somehow manage to dye my hair without waking me up, then I guess I deserve it.” 🙃

“Could you at least let me wash my dishes? Or put toothpaste on my own toothbrush?” 😕

“No and Yes. Okay?”

“I want to tie my shoelaces too.”

“You can do one shoe.” 😉

“Whatever.” 🙄🥰

Gets you out and about

Whether it’s joining him on a grocery run or just walking around the block

Sanemi knows a change of scenery can refresh and remove the monotony of stress

He’ll even coax you into photoshoots

“Stop. You need a picture underneath that tree.”

“Wait, the sunlight is framing your face so beautifully.”

“Let’s take a selfie together.”

Not bc he loves being your personal photographer 🥴, but bc he sees how much you brighten at his softness 🥺

Sees how happy his explicit (albeit occasionally disgruntled) affection makes you

… maybe selfies aren’t so bad after all 

[scarvain]

✶ STARGIRL — hamzahthefantastic x reader

006 ✶ Something Bout You

stargirl masterfile – next – previous

SUMMARY: hamzah has a crush on a youtuber who's always out and about and slushies see their relationship progress on social media! (smau)

DISCLAIMER: reader is a brown haired girl and for some pics that aren't faceless, i'll be using olivia rodrigo cause i love her and she’s filipino like me hehehe

A/N: not proofread! so sorry for taking so long to update this seriesss

liked by ynln and 10,819 others

slushynfan y/n and hamzah were at a bar in los angeles last night!

view comments

user792 theyre so cuteee

user018 i live for this account

user633 Are they dating noowww?????

user014 not y/n lurking and liking the post 😭

ynln posted on their story !

“i know you’re like upset over the coffee but i literally offered to get you another one and you said no.” hamzah teased as he looks up from his phone to the girl in front of him. you were looking down at your phone, your lower lip being bit as you try to stop herself from smiling.

you shut your phone off after looking at the story you posted one last time. you grin at him, taking a piece from the croissant he got you.

“it’s fine hamzah i swear,” your words muffled by the croissant.

this is usually how they spent their days in la. either one of them would oversleep and the other would go out to buy them coffee and breakfast but today, both of them surprisingly woke up late, about to leave to do the routine but caught each other.

the past days, it was you who overslept but hamzah didn’t mind, not wanting to disturb your sleep and at times he’d just admire your sleeping figure as you tossed and turned on the bed while he got ready to leave. though, every time he got out to get you coffee, the barista would always make a mistake with your order which you never told him until today.

the past few days also made you realize that your crush on hamzah was growing deeper and deeper. you didn’t know whether or not what you’ve been hearing about him liking you were true so you didn’t bother mentioning what you were feeling towards him but he was starting to notice that at times, you tend to be awkward and hesitant especially when he gets too close or your bodies touch the slightest bit.

he takes also piece from your croissant, larger than the one you took earlier which made your eyebrows knit and jaw slack open.

“hamzah, what the hell!” you said louder than usual, the other customers glancing to where the pair of you were sat.

a smile was on his face as he chewed. when he finished, he took a huge sip from the drink you haven’t touched since you took one sip from it, earning a confused look from you. he looked up at you with an innocent look, head tilted slightly. “what? said you didn’t like this right?”

you roll your eyes playfully, crossing your arms. “yeah, but i’d you know—still drink it!” you stuttered, shrugging a bit.

“sure y/n…” hamzah said before he took a sip from your drink again. “we’ve been here for almost 20 minutes, the ice is almost completely melted, would you actually still drink this?”

as you were about to answer, he continued speaking again. “and the fact they got your order completely wrong too, don’t lie to me now.” he smirked at you teasingly.

you narrowed your eyes at him as if you were testing him, trying to see if you’d win but seconds later, you let out a groan. “ugh fine, okay. yes i won’t drink it.” you roll your eyes, trying to hide the smile on your face.

“now, can you please let me get you another drink?” he asked with a smile.

“okay, but get me a matcha latte instead of the coffee.”

“yes ma’am!” he tells you, smile not leaving his face as he saluted to you like a little kid before going to the counter to order.

the interaction leaving butterflies fluttering in your stomach and a red tint on your cheeks.

✶ taglist — @cdbabymp3 @noturbabe22 @dabuggh3 @thatmartinkitten @tumb1rgir1z @mfcherry @ldrvinyl @certainfestivalnerdshepherd @seasidelily @jisyng @brucewayngfreal @beamuah @maybankfr LMK IF U WANNA BE ADDEDDD!!!

[itsclydebitches]

I know there's a lot to unpack in James' new interview but I am feral, FERAL I SAY, over this fucking line right here:

"His need was to be loved, and his tragic flaw was the belief that he was unlovable."

Back before Season 3 hit and Tedependent became ~trendy~ (not actually lol) I was heacanoning and writing Trent as a pretty anxious individual, someone with a ton of internalized self-loathing whose "whole vibe" was more of a mask than legitimate self-confidence. At the time I worried about him coming across as too OOC because really, what did we have to support this? Ted Lasso's prevailing theme of men discovering love and support when they previously had none? The lovely parallel of Trent struggling with many of Ted's own flaws, but presenting in opposite ways (cutting cynicism vs. endless optimism)? The then—far less developed—comments from James that Trent might have a rough relationship with his father? It felt unsubstantiated, unpersuasive, built more on my own interest in those kinds of characters and the occasional awkward moment from Trent than actual canon. Even into Season 3 I questioned whether my reading of him as struggling, significantly, with the care Ted offers wasn't just a result of my own, imagined inner life for him.

But NOW.

I'm sorry, hold up, can I just re-confirm that TRENT'S TRAGIC FLAW IS HIS BELIEF THAT HE'S UNLOVABLE? Unlovable??? Thank you, James Lance, for validating every reading I've had of this character since he first appeared on screen. Do people realize the depth this adds to every interaction Trent has? Particularly with Ted? Unlovable Trent Crimm starts off this relationship with a sincere compliment on his style ("I like your glasses"), something that Season 3 will present as a core part of his personality, something he's largely hidden away. Unlovable Trent Crimm grappling with the fact that yes, Ted enjoyed spending time with him. Him. WHILE he was playing the part of the asshole journalist. Unlovable Trent not being rejected when he admits, in moments of vulnerability, that he "Loves [their] chats." Unlovable Trent having his father's (likely snide) "Independent" comment reframed as a fun pun + advice to follow his "bliss": you have support, Trent, no matter what you choose to do. I don't care if you're successful covering a masculine-coded sport, I care if you're happy. Unlovable Trent committing the ultimate betrayal and being forgiven for it, immediately. Unlovable Trent being forcibly integrated into the Richmond family; actively accepted rather than passively tolerated: yes you should work here, yes you're a Diamond Dog, sit your butt down, Trenthouse Magazine, you will never be excluded again.

I'm sorry for the rambling post but I'm just so!! Insane about this!!! So much of Trent's hesitance could have been written off as a result of his career. That is, it might have been merely a learned reaction after decades of deliberately pissing people off. Of course they dislike him, but take him out of that environment and everything's fixed. Yet James has confirmed that he played Trent as intrinsically believing this. The career was a result of that unfounded fear—Might as well keep people at a distance before they hurt me first—as well as, simultaneously, a desire to somehow achieve the love that should have been unconditional from the start—Maybe my father will like me if I can be that "alpha male man's man" in print. Because this isn't just a flaw, it's a tragic flaw, a literary term that denotes a deficiency that leads to the character's downfall. This belief is so entrenched that it has led to Trent actively self-sabotaging his chances of being loved in the first place; a horrible self-fulfilling prophecy. He NEEDED someone like Ted—a fucking love sledgehammer that forces people to accept his care in the least subtle ways possible, even when they're acting as their own worst enemy—and by god, he got him!

Aside from Nate, Trent has always felt like the most isolated character to me at the start of the series (and even Nate has a good relationship with his mother and sister). What we've learned in Season 3 and James' interviews has only reinforced that reading for me: he was closeted in his marriage, unintentionally hurting his daughter, he's suffering under his father's expectations, he hates the press persona he's created to survive, he's bored at his job, footballers and other potential interviewees despise him—and not without reason (Roy). He has no friends that we see pre-Richmond and he's reached a point where the simple act of someone saying that they liked spending the day with him—again, while he's actively TRYING to piss them off and keep his distance—has him in such a state of shock he runs for the door, pens an uncharacteristically hopeful write-up, and is well on his way to upending his entire life for that man.

Because of course he is!!! From Trent's perspective Ted is a fucking impossibility shaped into human form. This is a man in his 40s whose greatest lifelong fear—now all but a certainty at his age—has been dismantled in a matter of hours. I'd write a book-length love letter to him too! And RIP to finale!Trent, but I would have run fucking Rom-Com style after the man who not only changed my life, but my entire sense of self-worth. (Ah fuck, but there's that tragic flaw again, keeping Trent hesitant. I now stand by my reading of the "I'll leave you be" scene as an unrequited goodbye.)

But finale aside, the man who'd convinced himself he was unlovable fell for the man who was love incarnate.

If that's not the most romantic shit you've ever heard idk what is!!!

[peachdues]

The Great War — Teaser

Giyuu x F!Shrine Maiden (Bundle of Joy — Giyuu’s version)

A/N: one more teaser, as a treat. I know y’all are frothing at the mouth for this one.

Below are several snippets of the ✨romance✨ that developed between Giyuu and the Reader leading up to their first night, as teased here. The last snippet is immediately following the events of the original teaser — in which Giyuu inadvertently strangles his newly-pregnant fiancé (only he doesn’t know she’s pregnant).

CW: post-strangulation description of injuries • panic • otherwise, Giyuu is one big Mr. Darcy.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

“I think you enjoy diverting my attention,” Giyuu said simply, though Y/N could see the rising annoyance in his eyes.

She felt his gaze bear into her as she flipped her loose hair behind her shoulder. “It’s not possible to distract someone unless they find the diversion in question captivating, Tomioka-sama.”

The Water Pillar almost looked amused. “And you are certainly that, Y/N.”

Y/N ducked her head to avoid that piercing gaze, so that the ravenette would not see the faint rosy blush creeping across her cheeks. “I did not think you had the constitution for teasing, Lord Hashira.”

Giyuu took a step towards her, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do not jest.” He hesitated for a moment, eyebrows furrowed as he scrutinized her. “Nor do I lie.”

—————————————————————————

“This is -“ Y/N said breathlessly, “A pomegranate!”

Giyuu nodded, arm still outstretched towards her as he waited to drop the ruby fruit into her hand.

The Miko shook her head. “No, Tomioka-sama, I cannot accept something so expensive-“

“I insist.” The Water Pillar withdrew a small knife and split the fruit in half, staining his hands crimson with the juice that spilled over its soft flesh.

Hesitantly, the young Miko accepted the half he offered her, and thumbed some of the fat, glistening jewels loose. The moment she brought them to her lips, Y/N sighed, contentedly, and for some reason, Giyuu found his cheeks heating as he watched her savor the sweet fruit.

Y/N lazily opened her eyes after swallowing her first mouthful, but was startled to see the Hashira staring at her, unwaveringly, and she realized he’d moved closer towards her than he had been only seconds earlier.

Giyuu’s azure eyes were fixed hard on her lips, as he leaned in close to her, Y/N flushing as he drew nearer.

Is he going to kiss me? Her traitorous heart thundered at the idea, and it caused her no short amount of grief to know she was uncertain whether she wanted him to do so.

As Y/N’s emotions warred with her logic, the Water Pillar’s gentle fingers cupped under her chin, and his thumb brushed delicately across her lower lip.

“Pomegranate juice,” he said, but Y/N could still feel the warmth of his breath still as his hand lingered under her chin. His eyes were wide as though he, too, could not believe what he’d just done.

————————————————————-

Y/N gingerly unfolded the furoshiki cloth and unveiled a long, but fragile metal and wood reed.

It was a hairpin, she realized with a soft gasp. Y/N could scarcely bring her fingers to run over the exquisitely crafted ridges of the leaves that adorned the top portion of the pin, afraid that even the slightest pressure from her touch would cause the Water Pillar’s precious gift to her to crumble.

I spend the year longing for autumn, she’d told him.

She hadn’t thought he’d been particularly interested in listening to her talk; but as Y/N cradled the delicate ornament between her palms, she felt a blush begin to creep across her cheeks.

As her fingers traced across the delicate ridges of a cluster of maple leaves, lacquered in a thick coat of scarlet paint — a perfect match to the hue of her traditional hakama pants — Y/N realized that perhaps Tomioka had been paying more attention to her than she’d realized.

For the Water Pillar had given her a piece of autumn to hold onto year-round.

“Tomioka-sama, you do not-“

“Giyuu.” The ravenette interrupted her. “Please, call me by my name; it’s Giyuu.”

Y/N’s mouth closed, but she smiled softly, considering. “Alright. Giyuu — please, you do not need to feel obligated to bring gifts for us — it was only salmon.”

But Giyuu shook his head. “I don’t bring gifts for everyone; just you.”

Y/N turned scarlet.

“Please, just-“ Giyuu frowned, and Y/N could have sworn she saw the faintest glow of pink coloring the Hashira’s cheeks. “Just take it.”

—————————————————————————

(Right before the events of the NSFW teaser 👀)

“Tomioka-San!” the young Sun-Breather called, waving to Giyuu as the latter departed from his estate. “Would you like to eat together?”

The Water Pillar did not stop his descent from the stairs leading to his manor, but he did acknowledge the boy who had been determined to befriend him. “I cannot; there is something I must do tonight.”

Tanjiro Kamado’s smile faltered slightly. “I see,” the boy then straightened and bowed, deeply. “Please, allow me to accompany you!”

Giyuu’s eyes widened slightly, and his knuckles briefly tightened around the hilt of his sword, as the young Miko’s face flashed before his eyes. “Er — no. This is something I must do on my own.” And, because the boy looked so crestfallen at his rejection, the Water Pillar added, “I shall return well before you awaken for training, Kamado.”

Without another word, Giyuu brushed last the young, eager slayer and made his way to the familiar forest path that led him to a certain shrine, where a certain Miko was undoubtedly cursing at the lazy drift of snowflakes from the sky.

As he watched the retreating back of the Water Pillar, Tanjiro noted the potent scent of sadness and longing that shrouded the man.

Tanjiro’s heard clenched, however, at the scent which lay beneath the Water Hashira’s sorrow, concealed like the bud of a flower beneath its petals.

It had been the unmistakable scent of love — deep, and reverent, and yet saddened, which clung to the ravenette like a fine perfume.

—————————————————————————

(Post-strangulation episode; Y/N is pregnant).

Y/N awoke and her body was immediately seized with panic.

Her head pounded, and the harsh, sterile light above her hurt her eyes. Nothing, however, could compare to the crushing fire in her throat, as though her neck had been snapped. Y/N breathed hard and fast through her nose, lashes of dizzying pain coursing through her as her hands flew to her neck, only to meet something cold and smooth rather than her own skin. Y/N’s fingers dug into the wood, clawing at it desperately in her alarm.

“Y/N, Y/N, shhh,” a calming voice soothed as a pair of cool, gentle hands came to meet her own, stilling them against whatever was enclosed around her neck. “Don’t touch that, it’s to keep your neck stable.”

Y/N’s eyes darted from side to side, unable to see anything but directly above her, due to whatever contraption she’d felt locked around her neck, restricting her movement.

A pair of ethereal violet eyes peered over her. Y/N had to blink a few times, adjusting to the harsh light above her, as Kanao Tsuyuri’s face swam into focus.

“You are okay, Y/N. You’re at the Butterfly Mansion. You’ve been out for a few hours, but you are safe.”

Y/N’s breath was still heavy, though she relaxed the grip she had against the thing around her neck. She opened her mouth, wanting to speak, but she was only able to make a raspy, strangled sound, so foreign to her ears.

“Don’t try and speak, Y/N. Your vocal cords sustained a great deal of damage.” Kanao gently raised her fingers to Y/N’s eyelids and peeled them back slightly, checking the status of the burst blood vessels in the Miko’s eyes.

Kanao pulled her hands away from Y/N’s face, her own expression neutral and clinical. “Are you able to blink on command?”

With far more effort than Y/N could have imagined, she managed to close her eyelids and reopen them.

Kanao nodded. “Good. I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I want you to blink your responses. One blink for yes, two for no, okay?”

Y/N blinked once.

Kanao gave her a small, encouraging smile. “Good. Do you know where you are?”

Y/N blinked again.

Kanao nodded. “And do you know who I am?”

Another blink and Kanao visibly relaxed. “Thank goodness. Do you know — do you remember — what happened to you?”

Y/N hesitated, her body tensing at the memory of Giyuu, moving so silently behind her, even in his sleep, as he brought her to the ground and wrapped his hand around her, unseeing and unfeeling as he nearly choked the life out of her.

Y/N slowly blinked once, tears stinging her eyes as her vision clouded.

“Oh Y/N, don’t cry,” Kanao soothed, taking Y/N’s limp hand in her own as the other raised to smooth her hair back. “Please, you can’t cry. You can’t strain your throat any more than it already is.”

Y/N closed her eyes to keep her tears sealed within, as her chest heaved with a strange, strangled sound that bubbled in her, unable to be released as Y/N worked to keep her mouth closed. The pain, however, only magnified.

Y/N’s eyes flew open and she gripped the doctor’s hands tightly in her own. Giyuu, she kept trying to mouth, though wincing at the twinge in her neck, Giyuu.

“Are you asking about Tomioka?” Kanao asked kindly, and Y/N blinked once in assent.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

[nghtwngs]

while you fall (i’ll be there to catch you in my arms)

description: dick grayson comforts you on a lonely night as you pour your heart out to him.

pairing: batman!dick grayson x vigilante!reader

genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers

word count: 0.8k

warnings: trauma dumping, loneliness, dick grayson is batman, minor reference to detective comics #877

a/n: i’ve been reading the black mirror and dick said something that made me go “i’m gonna write this”—i totally forgot this was in my drafts (it’s been a year), but i just reread it, and wow this is actually good enough to post, especially since the new season has started airing. i hope you find comfort in this as much as i did.

“I’ve always been a people-watcher, Dick,” you murmur. Your arms are curled around your knees as you stare blankly into the abyss of the city below from your room.

The midnight black buries the buildings, but the bright neons light up Gotham a little even at its darkest hour. It’s the only source of light in here, bathing both you and Dick in its glow. He’s taken the spot next to you on the floor where you’re both leaned against the side of your bed. It rains again, a soft pitter-patter against your windows.

“I watch people too,” he says, but you know he means it differently.

“Not the way I do.”

You feel his intrusive gaze on you and the way he tries not to analyze you like he does everyone else. He’s failing, but you appreciate it anyway. He tries to understand without seeing you as another case he has to solve. Like he’s still Detective Grayson even after his time in Blüdhaven became nothing more than a memory. It’s instinctual though, a habit that he couldn’t get rid of. Neither of you could after all these years jumping city skylines.

Your eyes never shift away from the little dots moving outside. “Analyzing people is one thing, watching them is another. And I’ve been watching them for as long as I can remember. I watched them play games with each other on the playground, laugh together at lunch, click in a way I never could.

“Then, I started watching them in a different way. We read them. We can calculate their every move. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized how different those two things were. I always watched people enjoy life instead of living it. I never say what I want to say. I hesitate. I always hesitate, but never when I’m wearing the mask. Never when I’m out jumping rooftops in Gotham. Those moments… you can’t hesitate.”

Dick is used to being watched. He’s always going to be one of the main acts of the show whether or not it was a circus performance. He always knows how to put on a good show. That’s what he does best. And you would always be the one watching from sidelines as the audience. Sometimes, in the back of your mind, you’d be wishing that it was you falling off that trapeze.

You exhale, rubbing your eyes. “You’ve always been in the middle of everything. I’m not sure if I’m jealous of that or what. I don’t think I am? It seems… like a lot. Sometimes though, I wonder what it’d be like to be the center of things for a while.” You blow out a shaky breath, blinking away the water in your eyes. “I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. It all sounds so stupid coming out.”

You realize your mistake now. You’re letting someone take a glimpse of you, the you behind all the sarcasm and blank eyes and silence. Your eyes squeeze shut. You are being too much. No one likes too much.

“No,” he answers softly. “It doesn’t.” A few moments of silence pass, followed by his voice again. “Can I… hug you?”

You stare at him like he’s just asked you if the moon is really made out of cheese. But his eyes are so earnest, so caring, and so warm that you find yourself landing in Dick’s arms right away, burying your head in his shoulder. His arms wrap around your torso. You don’t even realize you were shaking until his voice comes out in small whispers.

It’s okay. You’re doing great.

It only manages to make you cry harder, your sobs being muffled by his skin. It feels good to let go. Pretending is getting tiring.

Your throat is hoarse now. It sounds like sandpaper. Feels like it. Your eyes lock onto the wall behind him. All the emotion is being drained now, seeping through the cotton of Dick’s white t-shirt and into his warm skin.

The next words that escape your mouth are unexpected by the both of you. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt loved.” You feel him stiffen underneath you as you continue, “I want to feel seen, heard.”

“Can I love you then?” he murmurs without missing a beat, hand rubbing your back gently. “Can I make you feel loved? I’ll make you feel so loved.”

He makes it sound like such an honor. Like loving you is the single most important thing he could be doing, and you know that to not be true. But the way he’s holding you makes you feel differently. It makes you feel like everything would be okay with him.

You guess that it’s just the Dick Grayson effect. He could make you feel like falling out of the sky is completely safe because he’d be right there on the ground to catch you.

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t think I’ve been more sure of anything in my life,” he answers. Dick presses a chaste kiss to your temple.

“Never?”

“Nope. Never.” He holds you tighter and smiles at you. He looks like an angel. He looks like your savior. “I’ve always been sure about you.”