#it's either my dad shutting the fuck up forever or me just going for the *** he's got hidden at home lol i can't even try to pretend like +

[apathyfairy]

.

[silverdoe]

not that i'm ever gonna do it, but right now i actually feel like killing myself

[macfrog]

the sweetest con cowboy like me chapter fifteen

well. this is it. we made it, kids. thank you so, so much for reading for all this time. for all your patience, and kindness, and loyalty. i will carry this pair, their story, and all of your love for them with me forever. love you guys. xx

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: every cowboy deserves his ride off into the sunset.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), lotsa guilt from reader, dreamy love sequence & mention of unprotected piv/creampie, more greys anatomy spoilers, reader's dad is either Bald or has a Receding Hairline (you choose), more sex - this time reader and joel sixty-nine, face sitting, oral (f and m receiving), more (inferred) unprotected piv, making dirty, hot love ALLAT, cursing, a little smut n a lotta fluff n a droplet of angst at the end

word count: 10.8k

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“How the fuck did this take you three minutes? Three?”

“I’m telling you. I’m a genius.”

You snort. “Shut up. You only passed Math ‘cause you were fooling around with that nerd – Thomas? Was it Thomas?”

“Timothy. And you don’t need math to do a sudoku puzzle, loser. You just need brains. Logic.” Anna taps two fingers against her temple, tilting her head.

“Logic,” you murmur, shaking your head.

Sal’s is quiet today. He’s out of town for his father-in-law’s funeral and made the genius decision to leave the two of you in charge. Since opening at nine, you’ve had four customers. The to-do list left for you was completed by ten, and since then, you’ve been hunched over your phone at the cash register, messing around on some puzzle app Anna made you download.

It's a Wednesday. Nothing exciting ever happens on Wednesdays.

Anna’s behind you, tearing apart and flattening the cardboard boxes you spent all morning emptying. “That level,” she clicks her chewing gum wetly between her teeth, scent of mint over your shoulder, “that ain’t even the hardest one. Ooh, no, babe. Three goes –”

“Shh!” You bat her arm away, curving your hand over your phone screen. She snorts and wanders off through the back, wad of cardboard under her arm.

Anna wasn’t your closest friend in high school, and you sure didn’t stay much in touch past the odd Facebook post update when you left. But working with her, and her dad being your dad’s buddy – she’s sort of become one of those people you just can’t shake.

Like a stray puppy. Or…an annoying hangnail.

She’s nice enough – talks a lot of crap sometimes, but she cares for you. You’d go as far as saying you two have grown pretty close since you came home. Still, the acidic sting of resentment sits on your tongue, anytime you think of her involvement in the unravelling of your little lie. Think of your dad calling hers, Hank asking her where you were.

Think of the fact that, if she hadn’t been honest with him – I don’t know where she is, Dad – nothing would’ve gone wrong.

That’s not fair. If you’d never touched Joel in the first place, nothing would’ve gone wrong.

It’s just – she had a hand in pushing the first domino.

The bell above the door jingles and you lift your eyes from tiny numbers and blank squares to meet a familiar pair of hazel. An Alanis Morissette T-shirt under a denim jacket. She tucks her thick, soft hair behind her ears and smiles, then skips around the counter and links her hands at your tummy; her ear flat against the nape of your neck.

“Why so clingy?” you ask, and Sarah straightens up.

“Just excited to spend some time with my favorite person. That allowed?”

Your eyes scan her up and down as she leans against the counter, stealing a gummy from a jar beside the register. “Been staying with you for nearly three weeks now, you ain’t sick of me yet?”

She shakes her head, jaw chewing, cheeks swollen with a grin. “Are you done yet? I wanna make sure we get good seats.”

“We will,” you assure her. “It’s only, like, three p.m.”

“But it’s Barbie,” she says, “and I wanna get some snacks before we head in.” She holds the decapitated gummy worm up, eyebrows high, before pulling it between her teeth until it snaps. She drags the withered red tail over her tongue.

“That thing you just mauled,” you gesture to the masticated shape in her fingers, “candy. Snacks. Just take some of that.”

“You won’t even buy your date movie theater candy? Damn. Mom’s a cheapskate. Wish I could say my dad’s a lucky guy.”

You shove her off, disguising your laugh with a shake of your head. “You are on thin ice, I’m not even kidding.”

Sarah’s laughing, reaching for another worm. “You know what that sounds like?”

“Hm?”

“What you just said.”

“What’s it sound like, Sarah Miller?”

“Something a mom would say.”

“Alright,” you stand, “get out. Get outta my store.”

The door opens when you point to it, Texan heat sweeping in to swarm the one rickety fan you have in here. The brass bell trembles, and beneath it, a man in a tucked shirt and jeans, glum face and tired eyes.

You blink at him and he blinks back, and no words are spoken between you, but your dad understands to move, to keep walking – and you understand to let him.

“Shoot,” Sarah whispers, twisting her gummy around her finger. “That was awkward.”

Three weeks of staying with them – Sarah and Joel – also means three weeks of zero contact with your dad. The most you’ve heard from – or, rather, about him is that, last week, Joel bumped into Hank at the gas station, and the old man mentioned that he and your dad had grabbed a beer the night before.

What’d he say? you asked Joel, dragging a dish towel around the rim of a glass.

He shrugged, flicking his hands dry over the sink. Said the Rangers aren’t doin’ too good. I said, Yeah, that’s cause a’ –

No, Joel. What did he say about me ‘n my dad?

He waited a second to let the offense of your interruption soak in. Took the towel from your hand, replaced the glass on the draining board. Nothing, he said, I don’t think he knows.

It sat with you the entire night. The three of you watched a movie, occupying either side of Joel’s couch, though you’re sure you don’t remember a word of it. The image of him sat center-stage in your mind until you pulled yourself against Joel’s body in bed that night. Sat in his recliner, flicking through TV channels, the only sounds in the house that of Ice Road Truckers, the ticking of the kitchen clock, and his own fucking breathing.

Alone. Not even Hank to talk to about – well.

You’ve done your best not to think about him. And it works, most days, when you’re with Joel. Helps to go do stuff: ride shotgun while he picks up supplies for work or grabs groceries. Helps to play pretend like his house is yours, too. Tidying when he’s not home, lighting candles and sinking into a bubble bath for him to find you in when he finishes. Helps to be at Sal’s, with Anna. Sudoku and her fucking Tinder account to keep you both occupied.

Most days, you forget to consider the lonely shape of your dad at all – but that seems to hurt all the more. Like forgetting to tend to an open wound; instead, letting the infection blister and bubble so that, when you do bump it again, the pain feels sharper. Hissing at you, poison seeping from flesh.

His showing up, waltzing straight into the store – feels less like a bump, and more like a pair of hands diving straight into the gash, tearing it wide open again. Blood and poison gushing all over the checkered floor.

Anna materializes between two aisles, hands on her hips when she stands behind you. “Y’all still not really talkin’?” she asks.

You and Sarah shake your heads. The three of you watch the shape of your dad’s skull over the shelves, bobbing from bay to bay. Door hinges to fence paint. He painted the fence last summer. He doesn’t need fucking fence paint.

“Nope,” you reply. “’s been, what, two and a half weeks now?”

“Yeah,” Anna mutters, the slope of sympathy in her voice. “My dad’s been talkin’ to him about it. They’ve spoken, like, almost every night on the phone.”

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, head falling into your hands. “Are you serious?”

“Not about you and Joel. Just about the fight.”

Your jaw slowly slackens, eyes thinning as your gaze slides over to your friend, a saddened expression on her face.

Sarah nods, like an accessory sat on the dash of a car. Bobbing bobbing bobbing, until her brows drop and she turns to you, finally realizing. “Wait, what?”

Anna blinks between the two of you. “What?” she asks, lips pressing together.

“You know?” Sarah asks, glaring at her.

Anna snorts. Neither of you break. She quickly quietens and clears her throat, bending to stuff more cardboard under her arm. “Well…” She sucks in a deep breath. “At rodeo night, when you left your phone on the table, me ‘n Kara wanted to leave a bunch of selfies for you to find later. But when I went to grab your phone, you had a text from him. Joel. Something about someone winning you over like he did, or something. I can’t remember. But that was the first thing.”

Sarah’s face sours at the mention of her dad’s flirty text, scoffing as she swipes another gummy from the jar. “Real fuckin’ subtle, Dad,” she murmurs.

You sharpen your gaze at Anna, blurring the brown curls and low brows from your peripheral. “Uhuh…?”

“Then, there was the lying to your dad about where you were. That Monday – you said you were at mine. You weren’t. Your dad called my dad to ask, ‘n my dad asked me why the hell you’d lie. I figured, What a weird coincidence, right?”

You slip off your stool, legs feeling more liquid than bone. “Oh, Jesus…”

“But then…then, I saw how you were when he called on the way to Frank’s. In the car. You were…fucking weird. And then Joel punched that dude – that basically confirmed it. I don’t think either of your dads would do that for me. It felt…it felt personal. He took your hand ‘n dragged you outta there, and it felt like…somethin’ else.”

You’re leaning against the counter, head in your hands. Struggling to even listen to her piece it all together. Were you this fucking obvious, the whole time?

Anna answers for you. “Yeah,” she says, nodding, “I didn’t catch two fucking boyfriends cheating on me, and not pick up some detective skills, babe.”

You stand straight, composure slowly building over shame. “And your dad doesn’t know? My –” you flick your head across the store, lowering your voice, “– my dad hasn’t told him?”

A laugh spurts from somewhere deep in her chest. “Hell, no. Are you tryna give him a second heart attack? No. He just thinks you were somewhere you didn’t want your dad to know – a boy’s or something. Which – well, I guess you were.”

You nod, half-appreciation, half-resignation. Alright. Now shut up about it, would you?

“But listen,” Anna says, apparently not as good at mindreading as she is at secret-revealing, “y’all gotta work on being sneaky. You’re, like, really bad at it.”

“Yeah,” you sniff, “thanks, Anna.”

You grip the edge of the counter and try to draw your eye away from your dad; a little angry that he’s here, and yet, a little more thankful that you’ve had at least a tiny glimpse of him. Desperate for him to come over, to acknowledge your mutual existence in the same room, and yet – petrified that he does.

He keeps his back to you, though you notice him turning every so often, looking at you from his peripheral. Nope – your black shirt and blue jeans are still behind the counter. He turns back to the shelf.

“Hi, sweetie.” A woman in a pink blouse approaches the counter. She lays down a couple pairs of plyers and you ring her up, asking if she found everything okay. Choking a little when you inhale the scent of her perfume.

“Beautiful day for you to be in here workin’, huh?” Her rosy cheeks fill as she hands you the cash.

Oh, yeah. It’s a beautiful day to be stuck selling plyers to pink women in pink blouses smelling of pink perfume, while my dad – still reeling from the revelation that I’ve been sleeping with his best friend, by the way – pretends to peruse the store.

“I’m almost done,” you reply, blunt enough to deflate her expression only a little, sliding the paper bag stamped Sal’s back across the counter.

She nods in thanks and slinks off, suffocating aroma following her. And like a magician, when she disappears off to the side, your dad stands in her wake. A few feet from you, keeping his distance, watching carefully before he dares to move. Waiting for your go-ahead.

When you lift your chin, beckoning him forward, Anna takes Sarah’s arm and yanks her away, shoving some shredded boxes into her arms. “You wanna help me?” she asks the nosy Miller, tossing something of an alarmed glance back at you and your dad.

There’s a funny feeling behind your eyes when he steps up, empty hand resting hesitantly on the counter. “She coverin’ up the smell of a dead body or som’?” he asks.

The air pushes from your lungs, a laugh barreling with it. Your hands clasp on the surface opposite his. A scorch of white heat at the nape of your neck. “Very vibrant, huh?”

“Very.” He clears his throat, shakes his head a little, and takes a deep breath. “I figured this might be as good a place as any to find you. I didn’t want you to think I was…cornering you, or anything, if I showed up at Joel’s.”

“I wouldn’t – I mean, maybe. But, y’know…this is fine.” Your arms cross defensively, the baggy material of Joel’s shirt wrapping snug around you.

Your dad seems to know. Evidence being that it’s you, in a shirt all too big – a shirt he’d likely see his best friend in, too. It forces your arms tighter, sucking in the scent of Joel to combat the dizzying feeling of nerves.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he says eventually, fingers drumming awkwardly. “I just wanted to know you were fine.”

“I am fine. I promise. Just – working a lot.”

He nods, looking down to his feet. Twists the toe of his boot into the linoleum.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, too,” you offer, the words fluid and spilling from one to the next – something forceful in their nature.

Your dad’s eyes lift at the same time that his cheeks do. Relief. “Thanks, kiddo. I actually – I was hopin’ that maybe we could talk. If you’re free. I don’t know what time you get off today.”

“I finish in ten minutes,” you say, and hope seems to paint across his face – washing away instantly when you add, “but I’m going to the movies with Sarah.”

He’s nodding again, eyes fixed back on his boots. “Right, right.”

“…But maybe once we’re done I can swing by?”

“Oh, well – I’m workin’ late again. I’ll be out by the time…Yeah. Sorry, hon.”

“That’s okay.”

“Late one again tonight.”

“This, uh – what’s his name again? Kel–?”

“Kelman, yeah. Yeah. How ‘bout I call you tomorrow ‘n we can work somethin’ out? You and Sarah, you enjoy your night.”

You lean back from the counter, slowly more confident in your ability to hold yourself upright. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

His lips press together in a flat attempt at a smile. “I’ll leave you to it. You mind if I…give you a hug?”

And then you’re the one awkwardly, forcedly smiling. Your teeth gritting behind taut lips. “Not at all,” you whisper, and wander carefully around the counter to where he stands.

He opens his arms and pulls you against his chest, your head tilting to rest your ear on his shoulder. You hook your arms under his, feeling his wrists crossing at your spine. Like two statues, two figures of stone fixing their crumbling bodies in an embrace, suddenly disjointed and ill-fitting. Your heart hurts beneath layers of rock, swelling in attempt to reach for his, shrinking back crestfallen when he feels too far.

He kisses the side of your head, pulls away, and taps your cheek once. “You know,” he says, letting you withdraw from his grasp, “I really miss you.”

You nod. “Miss you, too.”

“Let’s talk soon, alright?”

“Yeah.”

And then he’s leaving, drifting back out into the summer sun, rock disintegrating as the light catches him again. More human, less monster-under-your-bed. He’s just your dad again, just that swaying, bumbling man who used to sprinkle rainbow flakes over your ice cream and double-knot your laces.

The shadows of Sarah and Anna appear at your elbows, the three of you watching your dad sink into his car. You still feel made of rock, splitting somewhere down the middle as you stare at his figure.

“Well?” Sarah asks.

He turns right out of the parking lot, disappears behind a hedgerow.

“Yeah,” you reply, turning in a daze. “We’re gonna…gonna talk.”

“That’s good, right? That sounds…promising.”

You shrug. “I guess.”

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm, drawing your attention to her kind eyes and infectious smile. “We should probably get goin’,” she says, and you agree.

“What movie are you seeing?” Anna asks, filling your spot behind the counter as you turn, making for the back of the store.

“Barbie,” Sarah tells her.

“Nice. She paying?”

“Obviously. Mom duties.”

You kick the door closed on their giggles.

Two days pass without a word from your dad. No text, no call, no visit to Sal’s when you’re on shift the following day. By Monday, you’ve convinced yourself that the entire thing was a dream, a hallucination conjured up by your imagination in attempt to rid you of some of the guilt still chewing at your heart. Bat it out of your brain, like swatting the rear end of a wild animal let loose indoors.

Guilt which is only remedied, only soothed by Joel. By the feeling which overcomes your chest when you look at him – lungs faltering, heart leaping. The peace of falling asleep in his safe embrace, the heat from his body enough to keep you comfortable all night, and then waking up tangled in his sheets – the smell of bacon and eggs twirling through the house, the distant sound of his humming drawing you downstairs to his side.

Late nights on the porch, watching the sun bleed heavily into the sky. Your ankles in his lap, a guitar over his thigh. Thumb gentle on the strings, soft timbre of song lulling you to some place far from reality: the same rosy, dreamlike state you’ve mostly occupied since he dragged you through his front door, kicked your shoes and all of your worries to the side, and made you forget that anything bad had ever happened.

The most comfortable you’ve ever felt in your life, the most loved – a world where your every word is heard and weighed, rolling around Joel’s palms and slotting carefully into his back pocket. A world where his lips on your neck as you make dinner, where the crook of his arm catching you as you pass by, is all normal. Where I love you and I love you, too become the last words your sleepy ears hear at night, right before you sink into a shared sleep.

All of it becoming as natural as the pale moon switching for her golden sister at dawn. As instinctive as breathing.

“Have you ever made love to anyone?” you ask him one night, the aftershock of an orgasm still soaking into your skin.

Joel pauses, hips slowing between yours. “Yeah,” after a couple beats, “sure.”

“What’s it feel like?” you ask, honestly. Combing his dark hair through your fingers. “I’ve never…No one’s ever…”

“Baby,” he says. “We’ve done it. I’ve done it to you.”

Your body tenses and then melts around him. One blink and suddenly the world softens, seems to bow into the background – the only sharp object Joel, the twinkle in his eye piercing through the haze like blinking white stars in thick, dark clouds.

You whisper, “Can you do it again? So I can feel what it’s like?”

He pushes himself up, one elbow planted by your ear, the other hand lifting your thigh. Hooking it over his waist, lowering his arm again to cage you under his body. He nudges your chin with his nose, lifting it to line your lips with his, hold every part of your body as close to his as he can.

Deeper, in every sense of the word. Slow, hard. Eyes on you the entire time, watching the way your face contorts and your jaw slackens, holding the shape of your head in his hands, swallowing his own moans and grunts to make space between you for yours.

“Look at me, baby, eyes on me,” he says, and by instinct, your eyes roll forward, focusing or half-focusing on the slick hair at his forehead, the red flush climbing his neck, seeping into the skin under his beard. “You feel it? Feel where I’m goin’?”

And yeah, you whine, you do feel it. Feel him dragging you further away from this world and into the next – somewhere a plain away, somewhere new and different to anything you’ve ever known before. Where physicality is a language, a fluid conversation between the melding of his body and yours; where there are a million words swirling around his pupils, hypnotizing and entrancing and drawing you in until you’re tumbling headfirst into the inky pools.

Where I love you sounds like the groan Joel can’t hold back, feels like the pulsing flood as he snaps between your legs. Where making love is as simple as the squeeze of his hand around yours; the shove of his plate over the kitchen table, offering you the last bite of grilled cheese or simply admitting that it was yours before he’d even taken the first. That addictive laugh of his when you stall the fucking truck for the fifth time: You asked me to teach you, baby, I’m tryna teach you. Foot on the gas, c’mon. You got it. That’s it – now, slow. Slower. Try to feel it. No, really feel it.

Feel it. Really, try to feel it. Can you feel it? Do you know the difference yet? The difference between everyone who was before, and the one who is now? Do you finally get it?

“I feel it,” you cry out, and his frame holds yours together as you fall apart.

It feels like – you.

How did I ever know anything before I knew you?

“That one’s nice,” Joel says, his voice jumping the short distance between his lips and your ear.

You tilt your head, body moving with his when he lifts his hand to swipe through some more of the images. The spacious living room, newly refurbed kitchen, the view of downtown Los Angeles.

He adjusts the blanket draped over your legs. “Washer dryer, walk-in closet,” and then, leaning in closer, whispers, “a balcony. That’s cool.”

“Hm,” you turn to face him, your body shelled by his in the corner of his couch, “I bet you like the balcony, cowboy.”

He smiles plainly in response, squeezing your nose between two knuckles. Yeah. Lots you can do with a balcony.

A sharp gasp from across the room pierces the sweet moment. You and Joel turn in its direction, its owner wide-eyed and blinking at the TV.

“Wait a second,” Sarah yelps. “George is the John Doe?” She gasps again when Meredith announces the same news to her friends onscreen. “Shut – the fuck – up!”

“Language,” Joel clips, chest rumbling between your shoulder blades.

“Oh, like you didn’t have the exact same reaction. George is the…Oh, that sucks. Are you kidding me?” She fishes her phone from the waves of blanket surrounding her, thumbs rapidly typing, eyes shooting from screen to screen.

You snort, turning back to your own phone in your hand, when a text appears at the top of the screen.

Dad: Hey kiddo. Sorry to keep you waiting, work been hectic. Off the rest of today if you’re free to come over.

Your thumb latches onto the message, holding it for Joel to read, too, before letting it disappear off into your notifications.

He tightens his hold on you, burying his nose into the cotton of his own hoodie over your shoulders. His breath pushes heavy and thoughtful across the material. “Still seems as calm as the other day.”

“Too calm,” you admit, “it’s freaking me out.”

“What can he do, you know? You’re here, he’s there. Your dad ain’t an idiot, baby. He knows stayin’ angry about it’s only gonna push you further away.”

“Sure made ‘im feel like an idiot…”

Joel catches the comment and pockets it before it gathers enough weight to bruise. “Well,” he clears his throat, “it’s up to you. I ain’t letting you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Mhm,” you reply, and wait for more words to fall to your tongue. An answer, a response. A decision that you know you don’t feel equipped or even rightful to make.

“Do you want to go talk to him?” Joel asks.

“I…I want to make things right. I wanna fix it.”

“Okay. And will talking to him do that?”

You turn to face him, frowning. “I don’t fucking know,” you mutter. “Will it?”

He smiles sympathetically. “Wish I knew, darlin’. Would it help if I came? Sat outside in the truck, waited for you? It gets too much, you decide you wanna leave – we leave.”

“You ain’t scared to be near him again?”

He gulps back a laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing awkwardly before he allows himself to answer. “Only thing scary about your dad is the sunlight reflectin’ off his damn head. No, I ain’t scared.”

You study him a minute longer, eyes roaming from the lips you could sketch every score of from memory, the beard you’re sure has forever altered your prints from the number of times you’ve run your fingers over the bristles. The eyes which know every secret, every whisper, every thought behind your own.

You sigh, smiling dumbly as he wraps his arms tighter around you. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Joel pulls up by the curb, parking politely at the end of your driveway rather than alongside your dad’s car, like he usually would. Like he used to.

You crane your head, looking past the shape of him to survey the unassuming house. Quiet, still. No sign of hurricane or earthquake, no tremors of rage or words like rocks raining down on the truck roof. Your thumb plunges into the buckle of your seatbelt, the webbing whipping over your shoulder.

“Sure you’re okay?” Joel asks, watching your fingers lift to the door handle.

“Mhm,” you reply, distant. “’s just my dad, right? What’s the worst that could happen?”

His eyebrows lift, agreeing. He takes your hand in his and holds it to his lips. “Whatever it is,” he mumbles into your fingers, “if it happens, you come straight back out here, you hear? I ain’t moving.”

The urge to stay exactly where you are and let him carry you off back to his place overwhelms you for a brief second. To stay in the safety of the truck cabin, stay within touching distance of Joel. And as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone. Overcome by the memory of that stony hug in Sal’s, the vacant, lonely eyes boring into late-night TV.

A sharp chap over your shoulder shocks you back to life. You twist in your seat, looking down at a face wrinkled by curiosity and wisdom, sheen of lipstick curved in a mischievous grin. You roll the window down, mirroring her smile.

“Joel Miller,” Rita calls, lowering her ring-adorned fist and pointing over to her car. “Help me with these groceries.”

“Afternoon to you, too, Rita,” he calls back, and she raises two thin, penciled eyebrows. His sigh trickles into a chuckle as he snaps the door open, leaning into you. “I ain’t moving,” he mutters, swinging out of the truck.

“Sure looks like you’re movin’,” you call back, letting Rita pull on your door to let you out.

“How are you, darlin’?” she asks. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

You hop down beside her, helping her tug the shawl around her arms back over her shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve, uh…I’ve been busy.”

She nods, and then her eyes drift to somewhere behind you. “They go in the kitchen, son.” She points to her house. “I’ll come help you unpack ‘em.”

Joel’s face twists, eyes wide, hands outstretched. You swallow back a laugh when he looks to you, an almost teenage expression which asks, You seein’ this? as he turns back to the Nissan.

“I better go,” Rita says then, giving your arms one last squeeze. “You take care, now. Tell your dad I’m askin’ after ‘im.”

“I will, Rita.” You turn on your heel and saunter around Joel’s truck, giving him one last twirl as he hoists two bags under his muscled arms, rolling his eyes as you spin.

You pull the weight of yourself up your drive, passing past versions of yourself as you near the front door. She’s stumbling towards her dad’s car, a bucket of soapy water sloshing around between her knees. She’s sat on the curb, waiting for Joel’s truck to roll up, praying she never hears another Marty Robbins song again.

She’s naïve, still. Knows no better, knows no worse. Chasing a high, chasing the thrill of being caught and the thrill of nobody ever knowing. A relationship built entirely on lies and deceit. A love woven with dark threads of shame and anger, a tattered mess in one corner where the edges fray and loosen.

And you think: you’ve never felt more jealous of anybody your whole life.

The front door clicks open easily, like the building welcomes you home with a relieved sigh. You follow sunlight into the hallway, feeling it easier to walk through than before – less dense, less suffocating. Less guilty. An honest thief, back to return the bleeding heart she dragged out the door with her.

Secrets like shards of broken glass on the floor, debris from that day. And as if he hears the crunch of your footsteps, your dad appears at the bottom of the hall.

“Hi, hon.”

Eyes wide with a misplaced shock, you say, “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“’m good.”

“Good. Come in, come through.” He beckons you forward, a smile only half-forced on his lips. “You want a drink or anything?”

You follow him into the kitchen, politely accepting a glass of water when he offers it.

He turns with two steady palms on the island, watching as you drag a chair free and sit at the table. “How’s Joel?” he asks, swallowing roughly.

The words come delayed, your open mouth lying in wait. Your body selfishly trying to hoard the information, protective the second the image of that six-foot, two-hundred-pound man crosses your mind. “He’s fine. He’s out front.”

It sounds like a warning, though you don’t mean for it to. Just conversation. He’s helping Rita with her groceries. She’s asking after you, by the way. But your dad seems to sense the natural amber tone of it – the sparking of a flame, daring to catch. He’s waiting for this to go south.

He nods, accepting the fact of it. His own failed attempt to separate the two of you only drove you closer together. Only made you want Joel more.

But then he’s nearing you again, pulling out the chair opposite yours. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, settling with a sigh. “Glad we’re…we’re talkin’ again, at least.”

Your head angles. “Are we?”

His body jerks, flinching from the sting of the question. “Well,” his head wobbles, jowls quivering, “I sure hope so. I was takin’ it as a good sign that you’re here.”

“I’m here,” you repeat, “but that doesn’t mean I’m staying.”

“No, I know. I know. Joel’s out front, ‘n all that.” He looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap. Holds his tongue behind his front teeth, waiting for the next turn of conversation.

You lean forward, elbows on the table, softening your voice. “Dad?” you say, and he looks up. “This whole entire thing – I think…I think we oughta try and understand each other, a little better. Hear each other out.”

“I am tryin’, hon. I’m really tryin’. You dealt me an awful lot to hear out ‘n understand.”

You rock back, sinking against the hard chair. Tracing the wood grains in the table, nails digging between. Shame coiling like a snake beneath your tongue, taking up too much space in your mouth. Its venom dripping between your teeth, acrid and sour; tendons in your neck jumping with the bitterness of your dad’s tone.

He sighs. “Be honest with me a second.”

“Huh?”

He waits a beat, watching you carefully. Opens his mouth, pauses, and then speaks. “Who instigated it?”

Your finger pushes harder into the surface. Digging new divots. “Um…kinda both of us. Was sort of a two-way thing from the get-go.”

His lips twist, almost imperceptible. He looks behind you to the patio outside. You can’t read what’s in his eyes. It makes you say more, say things you reckon you’ll regret later – but something to fill the silence between you. Something to let him sink his teeth into.

“There was flirting. Lotta flirting. And then it…it just sort of snowballed.”

“Snowballed.” He looks uncomfortable, lifting his hands to cup over his face. “I just didn’t take him as the type,” he says, muffled into his palms.

“As what type?”

He drops his hands, hitting his thighs with a slap, and looks you dead in the eye. Sad, almost. “Arthur Kennedy type.”

“He’s not.”

You say it instinctively. Your ears hear it at the same time your dad does. He looks at you blankly.

“He’s not,” you repeat, a little looser. Less hasty. “Look,” you sigh, “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but…everything that we ever did, I wanted to do. I already told you. There ain’t nothing we did that I didn’t ask him to. I swear to you.”

You think back to the cookout, how angry Joel was at the thought of Arthur Kennedy hanging over you. How pissed he’d be, hearing your dad line him up against that old leather boot of a man. Comparing, contrasting. Here’s how you measure up, son. How much of a phantom Arthur Kennedy has been, your whole life, and how much of a sanctuary Joel is in comparison.

Your stomach twists at the thought. A tight knot, wound by a desperation to clear the name of a man whose worst offense was doing exactly what your dad would’ve told him to: leave.

“This whole thing,” you go on, “it’s a mess, alright? It’s – totally fucked. And we shouldn’t’ve lied, shouldn’t’ve been keeping things from you, but then…what did you expect?”

Your dad cuts in like a bullet: “I expect the two of you not to do what you were doin’.”

“No, I know that. But we did it, right? It’s done now. I meant, did you really want us to sit you down in the living room ‘n say, Hey, Dad – guess what?”

He grimaces at the thought.

“Didn’t think so. We didn’t even know what it was. We had no idea what it’d turn into. But you gotta hear me out: it wasn’t just…some fling, or whatever you’re thinkin’. I swear, Dad, it wasn’t.”

He still doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t lift his stare from the table. You feel like a little kid, desperate to make him love you again. Desperate to make him listen. The space between you fills with the bored tick tick tick of the kitchen clock. Each second hurting a little more than the last.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry I let you down, but…I’m not sorry that I did it. If I could go back, knowing everything I know – I’d do it all over again.”

The words roll across the table to him like billiards. You lean back again, watching them as they rattle from his side to yours – your sentence delivered back into your ears. You nod, a sure thought in your mind.

I’d do it all over again. All the covering, all the hiding. The aching, the wishing and wanting. Staring at Joel’s empty hand, dying to slot yours into it. Dying to put any part of yourself near him; your head under his chin, your arms linked around his waist. Knowing you two would feel, knowing everyone else would see, just how perfectly you fit together.

The chasing your own tails: Did you lie well enough? Do they suspect anything? Did we leave any evidence? Disturbed sheets, a collar still upturned. Can they hear us? Have they noticed we’re missing? We’re always fucking missing.

You’d do it all over again. You know what it cost, now, sat directly opposite the price. His polite smiles like veneers over rotten teeth. The tremble in his lip when he opens his mouth to speak.

And it was worth it. Joel. He was worth it all, in the end.

All over again.

“Do you know that every time I look at you, there are…probably four versions that I see?”

You frown. Did he hear what you just said? All ov–? “What?”

Your dad laughs to himself. “When you walk outta that door, I see a little pink backpack over your shoulders. Gym bag in your hand, maybe. I see missin’ front teeth, I see those little clip-on earrings you used to love so much.

“And – and when you’re mad at me, when we fight, I see you at fourteen. Growing pains, y’know? I still remember you slamming your bedroom door in my face, all ‘cause I wouldn’t let you go to that girl Molly’s birthday party.” He looks up, smiling at your perplexed expression.

“I don’t even…remember that, hardly.”

“Long time ago now. My point is,” he continues, “you’re twenty-three. You’re grown. And I just can’t figure out how to make those other versions…grow with you. You still feel like my kid. Still that little girl with the pink backpack.”

“But,” you clear your throat, trying to swipe her from your own memory, “I’m not. I’m not her anymore, Dad. And I think maybe you gotta give me the space to be someone different, now.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding. “I know, I know. I just didn’t think this new version of you would…y’know. Be with Joel, ‘n all. That is something I did not see comin’.”

“You think I did?” You spit a laugh. “If you told me when I came home that this is what was waiting for me…that I was gonna fall…”

Your teeth close around the sentence, dropping your dad’s eye. But it’s too late.

He stares back at you like the sun. “…Fall in love with ‘im?”

And you cower. You wince, almost. The last secret. The last thing he doesn’t know. “I don’t…I don’t know, I –”

“You love him. You do, don’t you?”

Your thumbs run circles around one another, fingers locking until your knuckles hurt. “I don’t know,” you mumble, wishing for the tenth time since you sat down that Joel was beside you, in front of you, around you.

“’s what Anna seems to reckon.”

Your eyes flit up. “Anna?”

He hums. “She is her father’s daughter. A damn meddler. She called here, last night.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you groan, head falling into your hands. “Ignore her, please. Ignore all of it. She doesn’t –”

He holds a palm up. “Now, hold on. You don’t even know what it was she said.”

You huff a sigh, twisting your hand in the air. Go on.

“She reckons you do love him. Reckons he loves you back. More, if that’s even possible, she said. Told me all about the way he stepped in front a’ that boy at Frank’s. About your face when he picked you up from rodeo night, how ecstatic you were. The difference she sees in you.”

“Difference,” you scoff, glancing out to the backyard. “What difference?”

“Same difference I see, probably. Same difference Bill said he saw, too: you’re happier. Even I can’t deny it, hon. It’s damn hard – you never make nothin’ easy on your old man – but…but I am willing to try.”

The hurt begins to slowly fizzle away. Cooling, washing from your skin like foamy waves. Curiosity left to shine through.

“You may not understand this ‘til you have kids of your own – if you have kids of your own – but there ain’t a thing in this world that I love more than I love you. And when you love somethin’ that much, you’ll do anything to stop it from getting hurt. Anything. That’s all I want you to know.”

A silence falls between you, thoughtful and waiting. The clock’s ticking grows sharper again. It seems to consider the same as you: there should be more to this. More to be said, to be convinced. More yelling, even.

But you arrive at the same conclusion, at near enough the same time: there is nothing more. Cards flat on the table, eyes pouring all over them. To question it, to second-guess any of it, would be to tempt fate.

“Anyway,” your dad sits forward, clasping his hands on the table, “tell me what’s goin’ on. What’s been happening in your world?”

You shrug. A little, shy thing. “Work. Been hanging with Sarah a lot. And I, uh, I had a job interview last week.”

“Oh, yeah? Where?”

You shift awkwardly in your chair. “For, uh…that one in LA. They called to offer it a couple days ago.”

A smile pulls across his lips. Growing, growing, growing until he’s grinning back at you. Pride, little bit of surprise. Whole lot of amusement and joy. “You take it?” he asks, figuring he knows the answer already.

“Not yet,” you reply. “Think I’m going to, though. ‘s too good to say no.”

He lifts his eyebrows in agreement, looking down at his hands. Shoulders lurch some under the weight of your news. “There goes that little backpack,” he mutters to himself, and you smirk.

“Can’t hold her back forever.”

“I never had a hold on her in the first place. You were walkin’ on outta that door the minute you found your own two feet.”

You snort. “Good! Good for me. Let me go out into the big ol’ world; let me go fuck it all up ‘n come home for dinner once I’m done.”

“I intend to,” your dad says, nodding along to every passionate word you say. And then he asks, “How’s Joel feelin’ about it all? About LA?”

Your shoulder jerks in a half-shrug. “He’s fine, I guess. Says he’ll miss me, but then – we haven’t exactly had the most typical relationship up until now. Survived a lot I reckon would break any normal couple…”

It’s the first time you think you’ve ever said it. Couple. You’ve thought of it – flicked through the words you might use to describe him. Your boyfriend, your partner. None of them seem to fit exactly who he is to you. None of them strong enough to carry the weight of what’s shared between you. He’s Joel. He’s your Joel. Nothing will ever come close.

Your dad hears it, too. The newness of it. The crisp shape of the word, not yet thawed to this new world. Your tongue still learning how to pronounce it, how to pair it with the image of Joel.

“Guess he can fly out ‘n visit whenever, right?”

“Yeah,” you swallow, “and I’ll be back here, too. Christmas ‘n all.”

Your dad smiles. Relieved, assured. Light slowly returning to his eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” your chest swells, “so Joel says. I trust ‘im.”

You both quieten, sitting back in your chairs. What once felt like a room ablaze, flames tearing the skin from your body as you dragged your heels through it – now feels like a gentle warmth. Waves wrought with enough power and force to destroy you, now seeping off with the change of the tide. Bumps on the horizon.

“Speaking of,” you say, making to stand, “I should probably get goin’.”

“Yeah. Yeah, hon.” Your dad follows, arm on your shoulder as he walks you down the hall.

The sun intrudes, tosses herself into your arms as you pull the front door open. In her golden-rayed wake sits that dark truck, same as always. The same dark tee, the same dark-speckled-gray hair. Arms folded, stood against the body, waiting. Eyes on the house, on your figure as you step down onto the doormat. Joel straightens when your dad follows you out, chest sucking in a ragged breath.

They look at one another, and that’s about it. Something of a nod from Joel – not quite returned by your dad. You figure that might take some time to come back around. And that’s okay. You can make peace with it.

You turn back. Your dad’s looking down at you, hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“You know,” you take a deep breath, “the only times he’s ever hurt me, are the times he’s left. The times I haven’t had him around.”

And then you step back, the magnet in your chest telling you it’s time to return to its partner.

In high school, your English teacher tasked the class with writing a short story. Any genre you wanted, any word count up to two thousand. The boys mostly dicked around, wrote action-packed, blood-and-guts garbage. One girl wrote something you’re sure you’d seen in a Hallmark movie before.

But you – you spent two weeks straight, writing. Awake until all hours of the night, hunched over your laptop, sunbathing in the blue hue of an open document. Fingers hammering rapidly into your keyboard.

A man and a woman meet in Central Park. She – hair the color of rust, spilling down her shoulders and lifting at the ends, twisting around the fingers of the blustery wind. A red glow around her third finger where gold once lived. Sat on a bench, alone. Hiding, perhaps. And he – sharp suit and tie, clean-shaven, a steel-blue gaze that might cut glass. Missing the city traffic by taking a walk through the park on his way home. Fleeing, perhaps.

He notices her trench coat first. Bright red, a poppy swaying in the breeze. A little hopeless, a solemn wilt to it. The quickly dampening fire of her hair in the rain, the opaque sheen of polish chipping from her nails. And he thinks he recognizes the constellation of freckles painted across her cheeks. Thinks he might’ve mapped them, once, in some kind of past-life.

She looks up and realizes she recognizes the cut of his gaze. Piercing through her, splitting her in two. Thinks she might’ve felt it before, the opening of her soul to someone who looked just like him – a little more baby-faced, a little more spirited. In some kind of past-life, too.

She stands, and he slows, and they meet somewhere in the middle. Words exchanged; body heat transferred through hugs. Is that really you? You look so different. It’s been years. He doesn’t ask about the lack of jewelry on her third finger. She doesn’t ask about the gray circles beneath his eyes. Just, You wanna grab a coffee? and, Yeah. Yeah, I do.

They sit at the window, watch the yellow taxis and the black umbrellas and the trembling traffic lights. They talk about life then, life now, and silently agree to forget about the part in the middle. They look at each other the same way they must have before they lost one another, before life and love and everything else got between them.

They agree to meet again in a week. They swear that they will not fall back in love.

They know as well as each other that they’re really promising to do just that.

Love – twisted and turned over and over, until it’s a different shape altogether. We started as one thing, and we watched it shift into something completely different. Clay in the potter’s hands. Didn’t you think it might fall apart? There was a moment I thought the heat of the kiln might break us. I’m glad it didn’t. I’m glad we’re made of tough stuff.

I’m glad I found you again, in that park. The pissing rain and the wind so strong I felt it lifting the sense from my mind. In that hardware store, in that bar filled with weed and bad intentions. I’m glad you split me open, glad you could see the good that was still inside. I thought I’d lost her for a minute. Thought she’d forgotten her way home.

Let’s go get a coffee. Let’s pretend it’s always been this way.

Let’s fall in love. The rest will take care of itself.

It takes three weeks in total to properly pack up your things. Two days after you accepted the job, you bought boxes and tape, and began to dismantle the identity you’d spent twenty-three years creating for yourself, a little bit at a time. Taking apart the pink-walled museum of your life, artefact by artefact.

Joel has helped as much as you’ve let him. Laid back on your bed when you’ve dismissed him one too many times, raised his eyebrows and laughed with you whenever you come across some old, forgotten piece of memorabilia. Something ceremonial to it, something innocent and fun. Like a little graduation for all the parts of yourself.

Soon, as the last of the summer sun dampens outside, your room lies vacant. Empty of any real evidence of your being here. Bedsheets and pillows folded, packed away; framed photos and posters unpinned from the wall and wrapped up safely. Drawers and closets barren, left with a selection of your less-loved, less-worn clothes. A wardrobe built from stuff you’ll only ever wear when you come back home to visit, if even then.

Joel’s sat on the bare mattress, looking around your room. You’re stood opposite, leaning against your half-empty dresser. The sun filters feebly through your turned shades, averting her eyes.

You look over at him. Golden, like the sunlight outside. Warm, like the breeze through the trees. Yours. Yours yours yours.

“What?” Joel asks, his eyes having finally found their way back to you. He smiles at your focused expression.

“Nothing. I don’t know. Just…”

“Talk to me. Tell me.”

“You are – this is…” You sigh. “This is good. I think it’s good. Not just all the stuff we did. But you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you tell him. “You’re good for me.” You grip the wooden lip tighter, swaying nervously when you add, “But I think it was always gonna go this way, wasn’t it?”

He sniffs. Shoulders jerk in a weak shrug. “Yeah, I think so, baby.”

Your eyelashes flutter, soothing the prickling feeling of tears forming. “I don’t – I don’t know if I want it to.”

“Yeah,” Joel says through a groan, pushing himself up, “you do.”

You shake your head as he approaches, and his hands cup your cheeks.

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling your body tight against his. Your face buries in his chest; your tears wet on his shirt. He shushes you, rocks you gently back and forth with a hand on the back of your head. “Listen to me.”

“Joel –”

“Listen to me.” He pulls you back, swipes the tears from your cheeks as quickly as they fall. “We’re fine. We are going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you –”

“I know, I know. But you want to go do this. And that’s okay. Both of ‘em, at once.”

Your head shakes again. Like an instinctive reaction to the thought of being separated from him.

Joel smiles softly. “I am going to miss you like hell. You got no idea. But,” he pulls your head back to face his, tucks your hair behind your ear, “I want you to go. You gotta go after this. Right?”

“I know,” you whisper, lungs lurching for breath. “I just – wish it didn’t mean leavin’ you.”

“Darlin’…” Joel coos, pulling you in again. “You know how much I love you? What do I keep tellin’ you? We’ll be alright. It’s you ‘n me, right?”

You nod, salty tears slipping between your lips onto your tongue. When you look up, you notice the same expression on Joel’s face. He blinks his own away before they fall.

“’s you ‘n me,” you repeat, and he pulls your lips together.

You roll your tongue onto his, letting him taste you – all of you. Your mouth, and your thoughts, and your tears, and your pain. You let him take it all, let him hold it for this moment as you breathe him in, let his body fill yours in every way.

Your hands are in his hair, your chest pressed against his; he’s every thought on your mind and every beat in your heart. He’s the blood thrumming through your veins, he’s the oxygen filling your lungs; he’s the words between your teeth and the flesh around your bones.

And he pulls you, and you follow, his shirt in your fist, over to the bed where he lays you gently and falls on top.

“When’s he get back?” he asks, taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Later,” you mumble, your fingers picking at the hem of his shirt.

He pushes back, letting you tug it up up up over his shoulders at the same rate he peels your tee from yours, both tossing each other’s clothes to somewhere else in the room. Jeans undone, shorts dragged from your hips, underwear discarded until you’re naked under him, and he’s naked over you, and there’s nothing and no one between.

Joel cradles you, holds you close as he presses a palm roughly against the underside of your thigh, opening your body to him in a way only he’s mastered. In a way you only would, for him.

His hand cups your sex, fingers nudging between your folds, pushing in when your jaw slackens and a wanton moan echoes from your throat across Joel’s tongue.

“Yeah,” he coos, wrist jacking between your legs, “’s my girl. Gotta get you warmed up, huh? Get you nice ‘n wet.”

Your back arches, arms linking around his neck to pull him closer, pull him deeper. Hold him tight enough to you that your bodies feel one, feel connected at the meeting of Joel’s hand and the most intimate part of you; the meeting of your tongues between teeth.

And you gasp, the nudging of his fingers against the deepest part of your body, the messy circles of his thumb on your clit. The shape of him, solid and warm against the seam of your thigh.

You reach down for him, wrapping your fingers around his cock, and his breath hitches. Teeth bump into yours. You’re fucking irresistible to him.

“Darlin’,” his voice is low, daring you to keep going, “you wanna cut this short ‘fore we’re even started?”

You breathe a laugh into his jaw, hot and needy. “You get to play with me,” you whine, “I wanna play with you, too.”

Joel growls, seizing his movements, leaning back in what you take as him granting full access to his body. But then he says, “Turn around,” in a strict voice you’ve come to know as meaning one thing, and you pause.

You peel your eyes from his dick to blink up at him. “Turn –?”

“– around, now.” He takes your waist, hoisting you up until you’re straddling him, holding you inches above his body. “Turn.”

“What the fuck are you –?”

“Many times do I gotta tell you? You said you wanted to play.” He twists your waist until you follow his movements, swinging one leg over the other. He grabs your hips, tugging you back towards his face. “So, play,” he mutters, lowering your cunt down to his lips.

You gasp, falling forward and hitting the mattress between his legs. “J– fuck me. Are you s-serious?” You moan, hips rocking against the feeling of his bearded chin at your clit. “You’re like – a fucking – horny teenager. Oh, fuck.”

Your head falls forward, hands splaying out over his thighs, before your eyes refocus and you notice the hardened shape of him, tip oozing precome all over the hair-spattered plain of his groin. Your hand lifts, shakily taking hold of him again, and you lean down.

Elbows hooked over his thighs, you bring his tip to your lips, letting a thick bead of saliva fall and drip down the length of him, meeting your closed fist to be dragged up and down.

Joel’s hips almost buck. He holds it, manages to catch it, but you spot it. You’ve done this too many fucking times not to notice the reaction you draw from him.

“’s good,” you whisper, circling your hips on his face, tongue slipping across his cherry-red tip. “Feels so good.”

He responds in the form of a deep groan, rattling from his chest through your clit, shocking like lightning up your spine until the very same noise is thrown from your lips. You push down, tongue molding around every vein and the slow curve of his cock until your lips meet the thick brush of hair at his base, his tip kissing the very back of your throat.

Your throat which jumps, jolts at the feeling of something intruding – before you’re retreating again, pulling him from your body, warm, wet spit linking the two of you when you come up for air. And then you sink back down, head moving up down up down up down as his stomach tenses beneath your chest.

Joel’s palms keep a heavy hold on your ass, his tongue lapping between your folds like they’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted – like he might die if he doesn’t get his fix of you. And you think, they are, and he might, as your cheeks hollow and you bow down over him again.

You establish a rhythm, two waves swirling between one another: your hips rocking, Joel’s lifting ever so slightly as you suckle on one another. Your hand fisting the parts of him you can’t quite reach, not without choking; Joel holding you fixed to his jaw, letting the tip of his tongue hook around your swollen clit, then dragging it down until he’s letting you ride the wet muscle.

The approach of your first orgasm, a tiny spark catching to life in the pit of your belly, incites you with a need to open up further for him. Your throat taking more of him, your thighs slackening as you drive your cunt harder against his mouth.

“’m so close,” you whimper, lips curving around his cock. “So – fucking – ah, keep doin’ that. Right th-there.”

His hands hook around your thighs, tongue darting across your clit. His nose nudges somewhere between your folds, quickly becoming coated in the slick you’re leaking all over him.

“Joel,” you say, fists pumping his cock. Your voice a warning: it’s coming. You’re gonna – Fuck, you’re gonna come.

His voice is looser, more of a shrug of the shoulders when he pulls away from you. He inserts two fingers, curls them like before, like he knows drives you fucking insane. “Let go, babygirl,” he murmurs, lips immediately returning to position. And then, muffled and rough: “Come all over me.”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, hands squeezing around his cock, feeling that same spark ignite into flame, your entire body bursting with heat.

Your high rips through you, battering through each vein in your system, each nerve electrified. You collapse between his legs, his rough pubic hair sticking to the sweat on your chest, hips rutting wildly against the sharp cut of his jaw.

The mattress absorbs most of the desperate moan which streaks across your tongue, nails digging hard into the flesh of Joel’s thighs. And you hear the deep sound of his voice, the thud thud thud of a chuckle against your clit: the cocky fucker laughing to himself as he unravels you for what feels like the thousandth time.

“Alright,” Joel says, more to himself than to the fucked-out shape of you between his legs. He sits up and shifts you carefully down the bed, settling you face-down on the mattress and lifting your ass to meet his hips. “Okay?” he asks, kneeling behind you.

You feel his tip between your legs, slotting happily somewhere in your opening. Waiting for your response. A response you don’t feel able to give, as much as you’d like to; your lips puffy and confused, words jumbling behind them in a tangle of bliss and love.

“Baby,” Joel says, hand slinking down your back, pressing gentle circles into the nape of your neck. “You okay?”

Your head lifts, glancing over your shoulder to see his hairy torso, his thick arms caging over you. He lifts your chin with two fingers, cranes your neck up until you’re looking into his eyes, heavy lids blinking dumbly.

“Just fuck me,” you whisper, and Joel slips his tongue into your mouth.

You used to dream of coming back home. A few years away, doing whatever you wanted, wherever you wanted. Dreaming things up and then chasing them until they happened. Tiring yourself out, lungs gasping for breath and eyes always searching, always looking for a new target to pin up. But always coming back.

Austin, Texas. Its jagged skyline, the streets lined with a vibrant glow and star-spangled bunting. The river like a silver-bellied snake slithering through. Home.

You dreamt of living out your days here, once your blood had slowed and your mind settled. A quiet life in the country, a big wooden house with a wraparound porch. Two little rocking chairs, so you and whoever your husband turned out to be could sit and watch the sky fade from red into orange into white and then dull gray into deep blue.

Breeze kissing your cheek, his lips kissing your knuckles.

Joel.

Home.

You tell him, and he smirks. “That so?” he asks, wrapping his arms a little tighter around your naked body.

You nuzzle your cheek into the palm of his hand, breathing in the sweet scent of sweat and sex sitting in the air. “Mhm. You could play guitar until the stars come out.”

He hums in agreement. “Sounds like a pretty good dream. Tell you what: you go to LA, do what you gotta do. By the time you come back, there’ll be a big ol’ farmhouse, wraparound porch, rollin’ fields for the dogs. Coffee ‘n sunsets. How’s that sound?”

“And you’ll be there?”

He smiles. Scoops you in one arm and rolls you onto your front, chest to chest with him. His fingers ghost down the curve of your shoulder. “Baby,” he whispers, “I built the damn thing.”

It forces a laugh from your chest, something you’ve gotten used to by now. Joel and his ability to steal a giggle from you, the dumbest moments seeming the funniest. “You’re gonna build me a damn house?” you ask, chin resting between his pecs.

“That what you want?”

Your head rocks left to right, considering. “I just want you. That’s all.”

“Then you got me. I’m all yours.”

In his hazel eyes lives every moment you’ve ever shared. Every conversation, every kiss, every fight. Every minute he’s spent looking for you or at you, every minute you’ve spent looking back at him. It’s all in there. You see it like a movie reel, frame by frame.

It lands like a slot machine on that first night. Cleaning up after pizza. Shoulder to shoulder by your kitchen sink. You wish you’d just kissed him. Even with your dad right there. Wish you’d lifted your heels and put your lips on his, just for the fucking hell of it. Just to condense all of it, every second of longing and hurt and pain into one fleeting moment.

Wish you’d pulled him into you, against you, the weight of his body like an old friend. Welcomed it with open arms, like you’d spent your entire life missing it, waiting for it to come back to you. Let yourself feel your own heart, peeling between the cage of your ribs, reaching out for his. Always reaching for him.

Wish you’d looked him in the eye, tears softening the tufts of graying hair, vignetting the smirk only you can tell is there. Looked at him in that knowing way, that language only you two know; the glint in your eyes translating a thousand messy words into three. Just three – the simplest, lightest words you’ve ever known.

I love you. Let’s skip to the good part.

[wosoamazing]

Too Late To Be Fair

Warnings: death (caused by drunk driver), mentions of emotional abuse (R as a child), mentions of drinking and drunks, implications of self doubt and associated things, wishing someone would die. Please let me know if anything else.

Note: Grace is a fake player, due to previous ideas and maybe future ideas I had to make a player up... she does some things none of the girls would ever do....

A/N: Story inspired by Pray (Jessie Murph) & Mansion (NF) - and other things but I listened to these songs and I was like ooo good story idea. There probs will be a part 2. I hope you like it - also I know I said one of the McFoord fics would be out next but um yeah...

“Y/N We’re sorry to inform you but your Dad was in a car accident he was hit by a drunk driver” you couldn’t help but laugh at the irony, you dad the drunk being hit by a drunk driver. Everyone looked at you in disbelief.

“Y/N that’s not very appropriate,” Grace said, before others death stared her, clearly not knowing your situation, of course you were going to blow, especially at her, the thing you had wished for, for so long, finally happened, yet just after you cut him off, so it didn’t matter, it didn’t mean you could have an easier childhood, it was just another way of the universe punishing you. Waiting until you had moved out, cut your ties and in the spotlight, to finally kill him. Almost exactly a year since you cut him off, won the trial, got the restraining order, the one which he protested, causing the gruelling 3 day trial, to decide whether it was needed or not.

“Oh, sorry we don’t all have perfect little lives with perfect Mummies and Daddies, some of us actually had a shit childhood, faced real world problems, no rich bitch problems, oh Mummy and Daddy told me to pick up some rubbish, oh my life is shit they abuse me” you were dragged out of the locker room and into an empty physio room by Leah, Beth, Katie, Caitlin, and Steph who all sent you a glare when the door had shut, “Oh like she didn’t deserve it,” they all couldn’t but help let out a smile. There was an awkwardness in the room, as the girls all looked between each other not knowing how to approach this.

“You guys can all go, I’ve got this, thank you though,” Leah spoke, breaking the silence, everyone left except Beth, but Leah didn’t mind. You and Beth had a very close relationship, you had been close friends since your grassroots team, Beth helped you through the year of your life you realised you were gay, and then when you crushed on your now girlfriend, your then national Captain. Beth felt bad the year you told her about your Dad, she knew something was off but you never told anyone, barely anyone stills knows the full story, but that day Beth and you promised that you would be there for each other forever, and that was true, she had been there during your trial and so much more, and you were there for her when Dan broke up with her, Beth was really your rock and you were hers. Beth moved to sit in the chair on the opposite side of the room, giving you both space, whilst also being there in case you needed it. 

“Are you okay?” Leah couldn't find the right words, but she knew deep down the wrong words were what you needed her to say, you weren’t going to break, and release it all otherwise.

“Of course I’m not fucking okay Leah,” you looked up at her, she hadn’t even flinch at your words, instead she pulled you in for a hug. Which caused hot angry tears to fall from your eyes “Why now, why couldn’t it have been a year ago, 3 years, hell any time after I was 12. It’s unfair, its fucking unfair,” you paused, and Leah slowly slid her back down against the wall, bringing you down with her, your legs either side of hers as you sat in her lap. Your eyes connected with her soft kind caring blue eyes, and you could see how her lips formed a soft kind reassuring smile. You broke, big fat tears streamed down your face, as you sobbed, Leah gently pulled your body forward, so you were no longer sitting up, but leaning on her, she placed your head into the crock of her neck, before moving her arm to wrap around you lower body, her other hand was placed on your back, her thumb moving up and down, as she whispered reassuring words in your ear. 

“W-why now, when I’ve already lived the hard life, when I’ve been through all that shit. When I’m already screwed up, when I already have trust issues, when I already doubt myself everyday, so much so that I do it unconsciously” you sobbed into her neck.

“I know baby, it's not fair, and it's not right. But I’m here now, and I’ve got you.”

“I-I I used to wish he would die, I used to imagine cops showing up at the door when it was later than he used to come home, them telling me and me not being upset. I used to hope he just wouldn't come back from work trips. I used to imagine people asking me why I wasn’t upset when he died. I used to think of the fact that he was an alcoholic so he wouldn't get a kidney or liver transplant, unless it was a directed donation. I had to say yes, how could I say no if I was a match, but how could I say yes. You know how fucked up you feel when you think that stuff, you know how messed up I thought I was, but that was all his doing. It's just unfair.”

___

You had calmed back down and decided to go see all the girls again, the only problem was that no one had realised what song was playing in the locker room, too deep in conversation to be aware of it.

Waking up but wishing that you don’t. It’s something that I pray you’ll never know.

A song that connected with you so deeply sent you back over the edge, and you quickly spun on your feet and speed walked away, Beth followed behind you.

“What the actual fuck were you thinking McCabe” you girlfriend yelled.

“Wha?” the room had gone quiet and attention was drawn to the music, “Oh fuck, shit, sorry, we werent listening to it, its just automatically come on. I promise, I wasn't trying to be funny, I wouldn't do anything like that to Y/N”

Leah just turned around packing your bag and hers, “Tell Jonas we’re going home.”

“Sorry” Katie yelled as Leah went down the hall.

Leah found you sitting in the middle of one of the side hallways. Beth’s arms were wrapped around you and your body was shaking.

“Come on baby, let's go home.” She said as she placed a hand on your back, Beth slowly released her arms around you, which Leah quickly replaced with hers.

_____

“What’s on your mind? I know it's something more than your Dad” your girlfriend said as she sat down on the bed next to you, legs crossed and leaning back against the headboard. You had just arrived home.

“It's stupid.” you sighed, looking away from her eyes.

“I promise you, it's not stupid, it's your feelings, and your feelings are valid” she said, voice unwavering before pulling you into her lap.

“I don't know, I just feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” “What do you mean baby?” “I don't know, I just feel like something is going to happen, like something is going to happen and you’re going to realise that this was all a mistake and leave. You’re going to get sick of constantly being second guessed for no reason just because I’m messed up, because I don’t believe someone could actually love me this much. You’re going to get sick of me, and all my insecurities, ” she pulled your body into hers, your head finding a place in the crock of her neck, tears started to fall from your eyes, causing her neck to become wet.

“Y/N, baby, I love you so much, and I promise, there is not another shoe that will drop, we have been through so much together, we got through those 9 months together, we got through the trial together, and I promise we will get through whatever life throws at us together, forever, we will go through the highs and lows together. I love you so much, and I wouldn't want to spend my life with anyone else. I will never hurt you, I promise.” 

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

blue butterflies

pairing: jackson! joel miller x reader

cws/tags: 1st person pov joel, angst, discussions of sex trafficking/sexual assault, death, mild smut, au where nothing bad happens between ellie and joel, author has not played tlou 2 yet (donate to kofi lmao), guns, alcohol consumption, light enemies to lovers, cordyceps works different in this one (more predictable and slower-acting)

summary: joel's letter to reader

a/n: i watched the beginning of tlou (joel playing guitar) and it made me cry so hard. so, this is inspired by that, but also i listened to funeral by arcade fire and for emma, forever ago by bon iver while writing this. neighborhood #4 (7 kettles) by arcade fire makes me cry so hard.

wc: 5.7k

taglist: @gothcsz @harriedandharassed @withonly-sweetheart

thank you to @jennaispunk for beta reading/proofreading !

join my taglist | purchase a commission

divider is from @danowh0re

playlist for fic: required listening!!

I thought therapy was a bunch of bullshit - a scam at worst, a waste of my time at best. But, since you left us, Tommy’s been making me go. He keeps saying, ‘it’s what she would’ve wanted’, and I think it is. But, that doesn’t mean I like it. 

My therapist told me if I’m not gonna talk to her about my past, I should at least talk to someone. I told her I’d talk to you, if you were here. She told me it was a good idea, that I should write it out in a letter. She told me I could write to you, or to Sarah, but I figured I’d better write to you ‘cause there’s some things a daughter shouldn’t hear about her dad. Even - especially - the most fun times he’s had. I’ll get to those later. 

Did you know I hated you when we first met? I never told you, but I think you knew. I thought you were a self-important, entitled bitch who acted like she’d been through hell when I knew she hadn’t because of how well-adjusted she seemed. I thought you had some sort of unearned valor. I know that’s not the right way to put it. I think the word I’m looking for is ‘respect’. Tommy, Maria, even Ellie were so quick to respect you when I had to earn it. 

“The reason people don’t like you is because you’re an asshole,” you told me. “You’re fucking scary when you’re mad, too.”

“What’s that saying? It’s better to be feared than to be loved?”

“That’s what Machiavelli said, but that doesn’t mean he’s right.”

I think he was wrong. I was jealous of how much everyone loved you, and they didn’t love me because they feared me. You were so fucking right, and that was one of the things that I hated most about you. 

I used to think about how young you were in comparison to an old man like me, how you were only a little younger than Sarah would’ve been, and how stupid I would’ve felt if Sarah was always outsmarting me. Until I remembered all the times that Sarah did just that, and how much I loved her for it, rather than in spite of it. (Note to self: tell Sarah this in your letter to her). 

That’s not to say I loved you, not yet. I did love you, but I realized that a little later. I had to learn to like you first. 

Do you remember our first day out on patrol together? I begged Tommy to change my schedule. I would rather have spent my time with anyone else in the community -- Hell, I would’ve asked Tommy to give you a day off if it’d get me out of having to work alongside you. 

You overheard me talking to Tommy, and said to me, “You could at least wait until I’m out of earshot to bitch about me, you know?”

“I know,” I said. 

And we didn’t talk for almost the whole shift. Well, I didn’t talk, but you kept on talking, almost like you were talking to yourself. You didn’t even care that I was ignoring you. 

“It’s okay. I don’t like people either.”

“Who says I don’t like people?”

“Your face, your voice, basically your whole demeanor.”

You were so honest, and you had every right to be. It shut me right back up again. I don’t know if that’s what you wanted. Maybe you thought provoking me would make me talk, but I’m a stubborn, old asshole. I don’t think you need me to tell you that.  

“What did I do to piss you off?” You asked, after I gave you what you viewed as the silent treatment, and what I saw as peace and quiet. 

“Nothing. I just think you’re a little bit... egotistical.”

“So are you. You think you know everything.”

“No, but I know more than you. You haven’t got half the experience I have, and believe me, kid, you don’t want it.”

“You’re so melodramatic. And for what? Has the brooding bad boy behavior gotten you laid yet?”

For your information, yes, it had absolutely gotten me laid.  

But before I could tell you that, you stopped me, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “and by the way, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Tell me, then.”

“Tell you what?”

“About all the horrors you’ve experienced. If I’m so wrong, then prove it.” I challenged you because I thought you wouldn’t be able to come up with anything. I wouldn’t have said that if I’d known what I do now. 

You were so angry that you laughed at me. “Fuck you. You don’t deserve to know shit about me.”

A couple weeks later we knew each other’s whole life stories. I told you more than I’ve ever told anyone else, more than I think I ever will tell anyone else. It started when we got lost in the woods together. We were arguing as usual, and we only got ourselves even more lost. The sun was starting to go down, and I could see it in your eyes - you were getting scared. Maybe, for a second, I took some sort of satisfaction in knowing that you were the one who couldn’t handle it, but I’m still human - it feels a little cruel saying that now - so I wasn’t gonna let you suffer. 

“It’s not gonna do us any good to keep arguing, so can we agree to drop it?”

“Truce,” you said, holding out your hand, and when I shook it, you added, “but let it be known that you surrendered.”

“Don’t push it. You know if we stay out here long enough that we have to resort to eating each other’s flesh, you’re gonna be my dinner, not the other way around.”

“I hope I taste good.” 

You did, baby. You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. 

I think we had our first date that night. Sort of. It was late when we got back. Most people were asleep, and the bar was closed, but you had the key. 

“Tommy gave you a spare key?”

“Uh-huh. I assumed you had one too, but I guess I’m the favorite.”

“You’re prettier than me. Of course, you are.” 

I still can’t believe I said that -- I wasn’t even drinking yet. I can be a real idiot when I’m talking to a beautiful woman. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You looked very pretty when you bothered to wash your hair last week.”

“I wash my hair, okay? Sorry I’m old and don’t wake up looking like a supermodel.”

“Who does?”

“I know you want me to say ‘you’, but I’m not taking the bait.”

“That’s okay. I know you’re thinking it, and that’s what matters.”

I was thinking much more than that, darling. 

You walked behind the counter, and asked me, “what do you drink?”, and I think that was the moment I knew I liked you. You could’ve --should’ve -- told me to fuck off. You had other friends (not that we were quite ‘friends’), but you chose me that night. I was a real fixer-upper of a companion, but maybe you liked a challenge. 

“Whiskey. Neat.”

You gave me that look -- that fuckin’ look -- that raised eyebrow and a tiny smirk. And it made me feel like a teenager caught staring at his crush. 

“Please and thank you," I added. 

You got up on the stool behind the bar, grabbed the bottle on the top shelf, and said, “you deserve it.”

“No, I don’t,” I said. “But I’ll take it.”

You sat beside me, and sipped your whiskey. (And you looked pretty hot doing it.) After a good minute of silence you said, “thank you for not killing me and eating me in the woods.”

“I’d get pretty goddamn bored if I didn’t have you yapping in my ear constantly.”

“I thought you hated it.”

“Only sometimes.”

“Then, why don’t you ever talk to me?”

“I’m talking to you right now.”

“Barely.”

So, I turned to you, put my elbow on the counter, laid my head in my hand, and gave you the same face you were giving me. I tried to pretend I was mocking you, but I think you knew I was trying to practice being more likable, being more like you. 

“Tell me something,” you said.

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“Tell me about you.”

“My name is Joel Miller-”

“We’re not at AA.”

“You’re goddamn right we’re not. This would be the shittiest AA meeting ever.”

“Okay, okay. How about you tell me when your birthday is?”

“September 26th, 1981.”

“So, you’re a Libra.”

“Oh c’mon, tell me you’re not into that shit. I was finally starting to tolerate you.”

“I’m a Cancer.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Cancer like the crab, not like the disease!”

“Mm-hmm. I’m sure you’re familiar with crabs as well.”

I got a laugh and a smack on the arm in return, and the laugh was worth the smack. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know you can’t help being an asshole, so at least you’re making me laugh.”

I didn’t realize your hand was still on my arm until you asked me, “What’d you do before this? You’ve got nice arm muscles.”

“I worked in construction, I was a contractor.”

“Like a carpenter?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what Jesus was. I bet he had good arm muscles.”

“I don’t think that’s his most notable feature, but sure, why not?”

Despite the fact that we were talking all things Jesus, you were feeling me up. And you weren’t subtle about it at all. 

“Do you wanna play darts?” you asked, breaking the tension.

“Okay.”

You walked up to the dartboard all confident, and I expected an instant bullseye. You’d only had one drink and you were focusing so hard, practicing the swing of your arm like a golfer would. The first shot missed the board entirely.

And that’s when I learned you were awful at darts. 

“You’re terrible at this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then, why’d you ask me to play?”

“For fun. Plus, how else am I gonna get better?”

You weren’t even close to the bullseye. You weren’t even hitting the board at all half the time. Over the next couple of years, you got better, not a lot better -- I still won every game we ever played -- but you got closer. But, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, as they say. It probably counts in terms of people too -- I like to think our closeness counted for something, even if it couldn't last forever.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty," I said.

“You’re lucky you’re good at darts," you fired back.

“Is that an insult? Because I’m holding a sharp object and I’ve got good aim.” And with that, I threw the final dart, hit the bullseye, and won. “What do I get?”

“For what?”

“Winning.”

“You get to keep your pride.”

I was happy with that, but you turned back to me, stepped closer and whispered, “and this,” before you kissed me. 

I don’t know which one of us was more nervous. All I knew was that I liked you a lot more when you were quiet. All I heard from you was a little gasp when I lifted you onto the counter so I could keep kissing you without having to lean down and hurt my back ‘cause I’m an old man. I really thought my brooding bad boy look was gonna get me laid again that night, but you stopped me before I could get your top off. 

“Uh-uh,” you said. “You’re gonna have to do more than beat me at darts if you want more than a kiss.”

“Fair enough. What’s your price?”

“I’m not a hooker.”

I didn’t understand why you looked so upset until that day by the water when you told me. I’m sorry I said that, I really am.

“Sorry. What I should’ve said is, ‘Can I take you to dinner on Friday?’”

You gave me a nonchalant ‘sure’, and I assumed you’d keep it hush-hush, but you bragged about getting asked out. Why would you brag about me? That's something I still don't understand.

The next day, I went and asked Tommy for advice because I hadn’t dated in a long time, and he’s more of the romantic type. I thought our dinner date would be news to him, but you’d already told him. 

“Yeah, I know. She came in here asking for advice too actually.” 

He’s got a bigger mouth than you do. That’s why you two got along so well -- you were like those little old ladies gossiping at the hair salon. 

“What’d she say?”

“I’m sworn to secrecy.”

But Tommy always had a certain loyalty to you. He keeps your secrets to this day -- some of ‘em. 

“Give me some advice, please.”

“You were married once. You won a woman’s heart. Just do what you did back then.”

“I think you’re forgetting the fact that my marriage ended in divorce.”

“Just be yourself.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah, it is. How about smiling for once?”

I tried, but I’d almost forgotten how to over the years. 

Tommy feigned disgust and said, “I take it back. Keep your usual pissed-off look.”

You taught me how to smile again. I don’t know that you meant to do it, but you did. Tommy says he knows when I’m thinking about you because of the way I smile. 

When I came over to pick you up for dinner, you opened the door wearing a bathrobe with your hair in curlers. I guess I was looking at you funny because you made sure to tell me, “Don’t worry, I’m not wearing this out. Go sit in the living room.”

“I’m not worried. You look beautiful already.”

“I do not. I look like my grandmother.”

“I imagine she must’ve been a hot commodity then.”

“She was actually -- or at least, that’s the story she used to tell us. She was Prom Queen and all that jazz.”

You could talk for hours, about anything. I could say one word and you could give me a tangentially related 20 minute long monologue. You were a good storyteller. I don’t think I ever told you this, but I used to think about how you’d be great at making up stories for our kids one day -- if we ever had them. I know I told you I didn’t want to have any, but that’s one of the few lies I told you. I was too scared to imagine that kind of a future with you. 

I had you in the present, and that’s what I cared about. I don’t remember what you wore that night because I spent most of our date looking at your face, trying to memorize every dimple, freckle or scar I could see. All the details.

I’m sure your dress fit perfectly, but what I cared about was how your hand felt when I took it in mine as we walked to the restaurant -- it felt right, more so with our fingers intertwined on the way home. 

It was one of the longest dinner dates in my not-so-long history of dating as it took you quite a while to finish your meal because you don’t talk with your mouth full (usually). I think our waitress was mad that we were there for so long. They were cleaning up by the time you were done eating. 

I don’t remember all the things you said. Even if I did, I don’t have enough paper to write it all down. But I do remember when you asked me, “Can I tell you a secret?” 

“Sure.” 

“This is my first date.”

I would’ve been less surprised if you’d told me you’d killed someone.

“Mine too,” I said. 

“Liar! Tommy said you were married... before all of this.”

“Does Tommy tell you everything about me?”

“No. He wouldn’t tell me when your birthday was. That’s why I asked you.”

“That’s ‘cause he forgot it.”

Really, I wanted to know if he told you about Sarah, or if I’d have to do it myself. Both. As it turned out, he told you before we ever really met. I told you by the river, but that came later. 

When I walked you home, we lingered by your door, and when I leaned in to kiss you goodnight, you turned your head, and I should’ve realized how special you were to me ‘cause I felt my heart sink. But, you asked me to come inside. You were always shy about kissing in public, but not on your living room couch. 

When we were inside, you let me take off your dress, but only after I agreed to take off my shirt. 

“Jesus,” you said when you watched me undress. 

“We talked enough about Jesus last time. It’s about you and me now, baby.”

I learned to be a gentleman growing up in Texas, that wining and dining a lady includes putting her first in the bedroom too. But you called the shots -- that night and all of the others we had together. You got down on your knees and gave me the most irresistible face. It was embarrassing how quickly I came. It’s still embarrassing, and you’re not even here to tease me about it anymore. I thought I’d get the chance to prove myself to you that night, but you stopped me. I remembered what you said, ‘this is my first date’, and I assumed you were a virgin. 

It was about a week later when I was trying to teach you how to skip rocks in the river that I asked you if you were one. 

“It’s not a big deal if you are -- not to me, I mean. I just figured maybe because you said that was your first date.”

“It’s kind of a long story, so take a seat if you want the answer.”

I don’t know what I expected you to say, but I already felt like I’d fucked up by asking. I didn’t want to make this mess I’d gotten myself into worse than it already was, so I sat next to you and waited for you to speak. 

“It’s not actually a long story, I guess. Just a sad one.”

It was the first sad story you told me, and you told me more stories than I’d ever been told by anyone else at this point. It was impressive how many happy ones you held onto, especially after everything that you told me that day. 

You didn’t look at me while you spoke. You mumbled and picked at the grass beneath you. Like a child. 

“I’m not a virgin, but I wasn’t lying when I said that was my first date. There’s just some stuff that you don’t know about me... ‘cause I didn’t want you to know these things about me. But it’s not like I was ever gonna get away with not telling you. It’s better that it happens now anyway.”

You started to cry, so I put my hand on your shoulder, but you shrugged it off. I was so used to the one doing the pushing away that being pushed away was jarring. 

“Before I came to Jackson, I used to do things for money. Those sorts of things. It’s not like I wanted to, ‘cause I’m not like that, you know.”

You explained how you’d lost both your parents by the time you were 16 and didn’t have any siblings, so you ended up with whatever friends you could find. Some of the few good people that were left. 

“There was a group of men who killed my friends just to loot their pockets, but they realized that it’d be more profitable to keep me alive.”

“So they forced you to...”

“Have sex for supplies, yeah. One of them was my first time, I guess. They did that stuff for a while, but once I’d been with a decent amount of men, they decided I was too ‘used up’ or something to be worth having sex with. I can’t decide if that made me feel better or worse. On the one hand, I didn’t have to have sex with them anymore, but I was also too gross to be wanted.”

“’Used up’ is bullshit. Back when the world was a little more civilized, those bastards could’ve gone to jail.”

“They’re dead.”

“Did you kill ‘em?”

“No, but I thought about it all the time. I remember thinking about strangling a man once. He was alone, so no one would’ve seen me do it, and the guys could’ve taken all of his shit too. They probably would’ve been happy if I had. I think that’s why I didn’t.”

“If you didn’t kill them, then how did they die?”

It probably wasn’t appropriate for me to pry, but the sadistic part of me needed to know that they got what was coming for them. I needed to know there was some justice left in this world. 

“They wanted food from some guy who’d gone hunting and they tried to sell me to him, but he said ‘no’. He looked so offended that I thought I was pissed off ‘cause they’d given him a bad deal... but he shot the one standing in front of him. Then, he yelled at me to turn around and I was sure I was gonna die, but I heard him walk into the other room, another shot, and when the third walked in from outside, another shot. He walked over to me, and I started crying and begging him not to kill me. He told me he wasn’t going to, but he made me close my eyes while he led me out of the house.”

“’Cause he didn’t want you to see the bodies.”

“Yeah... and I still thought he was going to kill me, even when he took me with him on his horse, and said he was taking me back to some place called ‘Jackson’.” 

I don’t know if I would say you got a happy ending, at least, not the one you deserved, but I saw a hint of a smile when you mentioned Jackson. And you didn’t have to tell me who the man was -- I know him well. 

“Tommy,” I said, confident in my guess.

“Yeah.”

After I dropped you off at home, I went by his place and thanked him. And then I went home and cried. For the first time in a decade.

“You know it doesn’t change how I feel about you, right?”

“How do you feel about me?”

“I like you… most of the time.” 

What I meant was, I love you. I just didn’t know it yet. 

“I guess I owe you a story too, then.”

“You don’t owe me anything... but you can tell me whatever you want.”

I think part of me wanted to tell you, or at least, part of me wanted you to know. “I had a daughter.”

“I know.”

I should’ve known, considering how close you and Tommy were.

“Tommy told you, didn’t he?”

“To be fair to him, he told me he had a niece.”

“Yeah, he did. She’d be a little older than you. It’s crazy to think that she’d be in her 30s when the last time I saw her she was 13.”

“I know saying ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t really do anything, but I’m still sorry”

“In a way, I’m glad she doesn’t have to see all these things. All the infected. She died before we ever had to go to a QZ.”

When you told me about the first QZ you lived in as a kid, it confirmed that for me. It pained me to hear about you watching your dad get bitten and leaving him behind, saying goodbye without knowing he was dying -- in one way or another. 

You told me later about how the only person you’d ever killed was your own mother, how she used to sell herself like you did, how you missed the first shot and you saw how scared she was to die. I think you had it worse than I did. 

“I think she was mostly scared because she knew I couldn’t do shit with a gun, and that I’d end up surviving the way that she did... and she was right.”

“Neither of you deserved it, and I bet she’d be proud of you now.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I’m proud of you.”

You cried, but you finally let me hold you. You cried so long that I thought you’d never stop. 

Do you remember your last day? I told you I wanted to be with you until the end, but you reminded me about your mother. You told me that even if a shot to the head had to be the way you went out, I wasn’t going to be there to give it to you. We had two choices: either wait until that day came or let you go before then. I said I wanted to go with you. I wanted to ask Tommy to give me the same cocktail he was gonna cook up for you. You said no. It was your last wish that I stayed. 

“I don’t wanna live without you.”

“I don’t wanna die, but I don’t get to choose. If I could live longer, I would. But just because I’m dying doesn’t mean you get to leave everyone else behind.”

Yeah, you brought Ellie into it. I wanted to tell you not to bring her up. I’m glad you did because as much as it hurt to think about her watching me die the way that I watched you die, it made me stay. I’m glad I stayed. Things are okay, but our last day is still my favorite day. 

We got up early and watched the sunrise, and I told you I loved you for the first time.

“I know,” you said with a smile on your face. 

“How?” 

You just lifted your coffee cup. When you moved in -- something I didn’t realize was happening ‘till it had already happened -- I started making coffee every morning before you woke up, and I started buying that French Vanilla bullshit creamer. I hated it. It was so sweet it made me nauseous. I could’ve gone and bought my own, but I’m still stubborn, I’m still a cheapskate, I’m still me -- even without you (which is something I thought I’d never be able to say). But that wasn’t why I started taking my coffee the same way you took yours.

It was one day when you’d already left for work but my shift didn’t start until later. I hadn’t slept at all the night before -- and not for any good reason, not for more time with you -- so I was tired when I woke up. I made myself some coffee, but I wasn’t even thinking straight, so I hadn’t noticed that I had put that creamer in my mug until I tasted it. But I wasn’t disgusted. I thought maybe you’d left yours behind and I’d absent-mindedly picked the wrong one up off the counter -- I very well could’ve gotten caught up in putting the toaster on the right settings (that’s something we could never agree on) -- but when I looked down, it was my mug. Yours was dirty in the sink. You were gone for the day. I was stupid to think otherwise. I was fantasizing. That was new. 

So, just as I am right now, I take my morning coffee like you took yours. It tastes like you, like you kissing me. 

I waited anxiously for you to say you loved me too. 

“Are you not gonna say it back? Do you not-- do you feel the same?”

“What do you think?”

“I hope so.”

You gestured for me to come closer so you could whisper in my ear and I thought maybe you’d give me a wet willy. But you said, “Joel Miller, I have loved you for a long time.”

I didn’t say anything. I don’t think I’ve ever been very good with words -- talking was your thing. I grabbed your hand and squeezed. We went out onto the porch and sat in silence. I wonder what you were thinking about. 

“Will you sing me something?”

You know I don’t take requests, and you know I don’t like an audience, no matter how small that audience is. 

No one would refuse the wish of a dying woman, but I couldn’t refuse you even if I knew you’d be there tomorrow and every day after. I only protest because you look cute when you beg. Not in that way -- you look hot when you beg like that. 

“What song do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

I sang Peaceful Easy Feeling because, as much as a part of me felt a sense of urgency, knowing our time was running out, most of me was just thinking about you, and I love you. Simple as that. 

You gave me a standing ovation just to see me blush. 

We all planned something special for your last dinner. I know you like simple things, so I tried to make it as simple as I could while still making it special for you. Maybe it was selfish to make it a night to remember when I’m the one who gets to remember it. 

Tommy and Maria were chef and sous-chef (you can guess who was who in that scenario), and Ellie was the waitress. 

“What are your specials tonight?” you asked. 

“We have either the steak and baked potato or the steak without the baked potato.”

“In that case, I’d like it with the baked potato.”

We probably lit a hundred candles to fill the room with enough light to see each other -- we had time while you were getting ready, since you’re a bit of a slowpoke. We picked flowers from the garden and put them in an empty wine bottle because we couldn’t find a vase, and conjured up a decent tablecloth. We had ice cream sundaes for dessert -- or at least, you did. You know what I had for dessert. 

“How about you, sir, would you like anything for dessert?” Ellie asked. 

“No, I think I’ll be having dessert when we get home.” I tried to subtly wink at you. 

“Ew! That’s disgusting. I don’t wanna hear about your sex life.”

“You’re the one assuming I was talking about sex. How do you know I don’t have a tub of ice cream waiting for me in the freezer at home?”

There was ice cream in the freezer, but the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted was between your legs. The moment we got home I picked you up bridal style and carried you up to our bedroom. 

“Baby, I know how long you spent getting ready, and I’m sorry to do this to you, but this needs to come off,” I said before I yanked down the zipper of your dress. You laughed as I ripped off your clothes. 

You gently undid my tie and when I watched you fumble with the buttons on my shirt, I said, “Just rip it, baby.”

“I don’t wanna ruin your clothes.”

“I don’t want you to worry about me or my clothes tonight. I want you to have me however you want me.”

“You’ll do whatever I want?”

“Within reason.”

“How do you feel about roleplay?”

“I suppose it depends -- what are the roles?”

“Husband and wife.”

“As long as I can be the husband.”

And then you kissed me -- with your typical tenderness but a new level of dedication. Slow and passionate, showing me what our lives could’ve been like. 

“I’m an impatient husband, and I want my beautiful wife to lie down because I think I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t get to taste her.”

My mouth is useless when it comes to talking, but we both know I have other uses for it. I tried to go slowly, but I couldn't help myself. I swear your pussy was so perfect it made me reconsider my views on God. Though, I don’t think I am a man deserving of an angel. I think I just got lucky. 

That night I couldn’t care less about how loud you were. “Joel- fuck- you’re gonna have to slow down, or, or, put your hand over my mouth ‘cause - oh!”

“’Cause you don’t want anyone to hear? What’s the problem with them hearing, darlin’? Married couples make love all the time, it’s what we’re supposed to do.”

Without a condom, too. We weren’t worried about you getting pregnant, so we went out with the best bang of ‘em all. I think the last time I’d done it like that was when Sarah was conceived, and based on how easy that was, I was always cautious. 

Husband and wife roleplay wasn’t very different from the sex we typically had. I guess we were really only a piece of paper and wedding bands away from being those ‘characters’. 

Earlier that day, I was worried I wouldn’t sleep that night. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to savor every moment with you but when you curled up in my arms I fell asleep before I could even consider staying awake. 

Waking up next to you was my last clear image, even our goodbye kiss was a little blurry ‘cause I was already a little teary-eyed. 

But before that, over breakfast, you mentioned something that I’ve thought about every day since. 

“You know how sometimes people see a bird or something and they’re like ‘oh, that’s my dead relative’?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll come back as a butterfly. One of the blue ones. You don’t see those too often. I don’t want to be something too common, like a bird, then you’ll probably mistake someone else for me.”

I don’t think I had seen a blue butterfly in Jackson until after you’d left us, but there’s one outside my window right now. 

In case it’s you, I’ll read this all aloud. 

Forever yours, 

Joel 

[gor3-hound]

Hi pookie bear… its ur favorite anon again..

Hear me out, Step brother! Leon whos dear innocent little step sister gets stuck somewhere (interesting position..) and leon cant help himself when he sees her predicament so he takes advantage of the situation and the fact that she asked him to help her get unstuck. (maybe a threat of leaving her stuck at some point, its up 2 u bbg)

ily snoogle 😍🫶

hello to... my favourite anon omg. if you say so it must be true :3

i'm hearing you out!! idk why but silly porn tropes make me giggle sometimes... listen don't analyse the logistics of acc being able to get stuck like this. i see how much space there is under the dumb beds girlies get stuck under in porn we all know it doesn't make sense

ILY EVEN MORE POOKIE... here's a drabble for you :3

nsfw below the cut - tw: stepcest, brief dub-con, leon is a little mean :((

"What the-" Leon's footsteps falter as he walks past you, stopping to take in the predicament you've gotten yourself into. He snorts out a laugh as he sees you, and you can practically sense that dumb smirk plastered on his face despite not being able to see him.

Having an ottoman bed was usually great. Your room was the smallest(Leon had promised to make your life a living hell if you took the bigger one) so having the extra space was nice. You just had to lift the slats and mattress up and boom! Free storage unit.

Of course, you're not that lucky, so the stupid thing failed on you and snapped shut with you still leaning over to look for stuff, trapping you inside. Your whole upper body was incased, and the angle was so awkward you couldn't get any leverage to push the damn thing open again.

"Leon!" You breathe out, feeling relief that someone had found you. You thought you'd be stuck under here forever. "Jesus, thank fuck. Can you help me get out of here?"

"You know, as much as I'd love to help you," He starts, steeping closer until he's right behind you. His hands settle on your hips, giving them a little squeeze. Your breath hitches at the contact, and you try to squirm away from his touch.

"I think you could stand to stay there a little longer." He finishes, his fingers brushing the waistband of your shorts.

"Leon... dude." You hiss, trying to squirm away from his touch. His hands have your cheeks burning up, your brows furrowed in confusion. "This isn't funny! What the hell are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" He repeats, letting out another laugh as he starts to slowly tug your shorts down. You can feel his gaze locked onto you as he slips them down so they pool at your knees. "I'm taking advantage of the situation. It'd be a shame to let this... opportunity go to waste."

"Oppur... wait. Leon, you can't be serious! Come on, this is messed up! Just help me out!"

"No can do, sis." He hums, brushing his thumb against your panties. Damp. Looks like you were enjoying this more than you let on. "Mom and dad have gone out, so... either you stay here for the next few hours, hell... maybe even the rest of the day, or you let me have my fun, and I'll getcha out."

You pause at his words, biting your lip. You didn't really have much of a choice. Your abdomen was already aching from being pressed so harshly against the bedframe by the part of the bed that lifts. You didn't want to be here for hours.

"I-I guess... just... I don't know, Leon, I haven't..." You mumble, your voice a lot less snappy than before.

"Aww, princess... where'd your attitude go?" He coos teasingly, rubbing circles onto your clit through your panties. You jolt at the sensation, moaning softly. "My baby sis is a virgin? That's cute."

He tugs at your panties, letting them drop down with your shorts. You hear him take a sharp intake of breath in as he looks at you, his fingers spreading your puffy lips.

"Don't worry. I'm not a complete asshole. Just a small one." He says cheekily, and then you hear the dostinct sound of a belt buckle and the zipper of his jeans. A moment passes when you can hear the rustling of fabric, and then his hands are on you again.

"I won't fuck you. Yet. But I'll make us both feel good, sweetheart." He says, giving you a few light smacks to your ass.

"Okay..." You breathe out, your heart rabbiting in your chest. You swallow hard, brows furrowing as you hear him shift.

"That's a good girl." He grunts, slotting his cock between your folds. That's where he keeps it, just rutting his cock against you. You coat him in your arousal, the slick sounds of your pussy echoing in the room as you drip all over his cock. His tip brushes your clit every time his hips jerk forward, making you whine.

"You do owe me now, sweetheart." He groans, forcing your legs together so the fat of your thighs keeps his cock secure as he humps your cunt. "I better be the one to break you in. Want my cute step-sister's pussy all to myself."

"Y-yeah... all yours..." You breathe out, trying to rock your hips back to get more friction against your sensitive nub. You whimper as the change in angle has his length dragging along your folds deliciously.

"Think I watched a video like this once." He says with a huff of laughter, gripping your hips right as he chases his orgasm using your body. "Must've drained all the step-sibling content on PornHub... couldn't help myself seein' you stuck like this."

His thrusts start to grow a little sloppy, his breathing becoming more shallow. He's close already, and you're not far behind. He rolls his hips, angling himself to make sure he's giving you the friction you need.

Your body tenses as you cum with a loud moan of his name, twitching from the aftershocks. He groans and pulls away when you start whimpering from oversensitivity. You hear a few wet schlick sounds as he jerks himself off, flinching slightly when you feel his cum costing your ass and pussy.

He pulls up your shorts and panties without cleaning you off, making you cringe as they press the cum into your skin, a grimace crossing your face. You hear the sounds of him redressing before he's lifting the top of the bed, looking down at you with a cocky smirk.

"C'mon, princess. Up you get." He says, grabbing your wrist to pull you up. "And don't forget... I'll be back for more."

[crushedsweets]

I loved the ask about ticciwork what it would be like if they were able to date! Now I was wondering what that would be like with Jack and Toby!

Though I’m not sure if they have the same chemistry as ticciwork. 😭

Btw you have forever engraved ninakate to my soul LMAO I love them so much!! ❤️

I ABSOLUTELY CAN i think theyre super cute + i have a really sweet ticcijack ask i wanna draw soon. im gonna go off on a tangent about their upbringing and how that'd impact their sexuality tho, cuz i think that'd be relevant .

this was written more like notes for a one-shot of them getting together, rather than the format i did for ticciwork

ok. so for starters, toby has a huge wall to get over. i dont really have sexuality hcs for many of the creeps (jane and kate r lesbians, lius a gay man, ninas bi are my only concrete hcs) BUT i know toby's upbringing involved his dad constantly demeaning him for being 'feminine' (anytime he did something with lyra), a pussy, calling him slurs, telling him to man up, insulting any gay man he might see on tv, etc. and toby hates his dad, so he'd have an easy time being like 'ok whatever old man like i give a shit if a guy fucks a guy' BUT he would still feel a ton of guilt and shame if he were attracted to a guy.

jack might be a little similar, not because his dad was constantly berating him, but he still grew up in a pretty traditional house and his uncles/cousins would often tease him cuz he liked to cook and bake and had a lot of empathy. but he also went to university, and while it was still in alabama, a lot of colleges and stuff are a lot more progressive so it wasn't something he dwelled on much. live and let live, basically

AND AS A RESULT, it would be MUCH harder for either of them to make a move. toby would push any feelings down so fucking fast, and jack would just shrug it off and say he doesn't have like.. the "right" to have such emotions. after all he's done.

but they've also had a ton of intimate moments. the amount of times toby's been sat in his boxers while jack has to stitch up his stomach is kinda obnoxious. the amount of times jack checks toby's temperature and scolds him for dumb shit. toby scoffing and grabbing jacks wrist to pull his hand off, but his touch lingers

jack wears his mask a lot, but toby would make a comment. "i wanna see what you look like. it cant be THAT bad." and then jacks like ? asshole. so toby backtracks and is like "ok but if it is bad, thats kinda cool" and jacks like 'dude shut up'. but then toby would try and go on about 'im serious man you're over here stitching me up every other week and im practically the only person you talk to. let me see' and jack thinks about it. maybe not that day, but eventually he would.

if toby has already kinda come to terms with liking guys, OR he's so oblivious to his own feelings, he might say something stupid like "oh shit you're hot dude why do u wear that stupid ass mask" and jack would get embarrassed. and try to put it back on, but toby would snatch it and toss it on some counter and say "ok well now i know so stop wearing it" and jacks like. ok. fuck you. fine.

and toby stares a lot. like. a lot a lot. and jack kind of knows. the echolocation and thermavision helps him know toby's head is turned his way, but he can't exactly pinpoint where toby's eyes are. but he keeps turning away

toby would eventually just ask 'you gotta know im looking at you , right?' and jack is like ...well i thought so. thanks for confirmation. and toby laughs it off but jack is getting embarrassed

jacks feelings would develop slowly and he'd recognize every single moment he feels something. tobys would develop more rapidly, but he has no fucking idea what he's feeling is romantic. he thinks jacks attractive as fuck, he likes intelligent people, he likes how jack challenges tobys toxic ass mindset (only after the fact, hates it in the moment), and jack does a lot for him. patches him up, cooks him good meals.

the ask i mentioned said something about jack touching toby's lip and toby keeps looking at jacks lips and theres crazy tension etc etc etc. i genuinely dont know who would kiss who first.

if it were jack, toby would sit there kinda stunned, and jack would pull away and fumble out an apology. then toby tells him to do it again. and again, and again.

if it were toby, jack would immediately kiss back. he's had it on his mind for a long time, but genuinely didnt think anything would come.

toby would ask what now. he wants jack to set some sort of guidelines. he hates rules but holy shit does he not know how to navigate this, not with jack. jack would shrug it off and theyd try not to talk about it. toby might not come back to see jack for a while, but end up really hurt and dragged there to get his arm popped back into place. and jack would have to ask why he stopped visiting.

toby would admit it, finally. something about 'because i fucking like you and its really fucking weird and i dont wanna ruin the whole medic patient pal thing we got going on but this entire fucking time ive been avoiding you, im thinking about you a hundred times more'. and jack would ask why he thinks its weird. and theyd talk for a while

jack would ask toby if he could kiss him again, and toby would say yes.

[ashwhowrites]

Puppy love part 2

Part 1

Eddie was afraid to admit how hurt he was by Chrissy's actions. It almost felt like a personal attack. They were slightly friends and she ruined something that could have been really good for him. But why? That's where he was stuck.

Y/N wasn't doing the best either. But unlike Eddie, she knew why Chrissy got involved. She liked him in some sort of way. And she was a cheerleader. How was she supposed to compete with that? Her mind betrayed her the most. Flashing images of Eddie and Chrissy screwing each other for hours. She hated the perfect visuals her mind made. And she hates more than anything that she missed him

~~

Eddie spent all his time in bed. Refusing to talk to Wayne. He felt bad but he didn't want his uncle to see him so weak and sad like this.

"Eddie? Someone is here for you"

Eddie raced to his door. What if it was her?

He opened it, holding his breath. Only to exhale it with an annoyed sigh.

Chrissy fucking Cunningham.

Before she could even say a word, Eddie spoke first, “You shouldn’t have come, I don’t want you here.”

And slammed his door, but her foot caught it before it slammed on her.

"come on Eddie. Don't be like that." She sighed. Opening the door and walking into his room. Shutting the door behind her.

The room was a mess.

"don't be like that? Chrissy you just fucked everything up for me" he tried to stay calm. Not wanting to scream at a woman. He wasn't going to be like his dad. But he was so fucking pissed off.

"okay what did I do?" She asked. Arms crossed over her chest

Eddie took a deep breath

"what did you do? How about you tell me what the fuck you were thinking going up to Y/N and making it seemed like we fucked? Huh? " He snapped. Getting in her face. His deep breaths were barely working. He could feel how hot his skin was. Boiling underneath.

"I didn't tell her we fucked. If she assumed that and got herself hurt then it was her fault, not mine Eddie." She scoffed. Rolling her eyes

"don't fucking roll your eyes. We both know you knew exactly what you were doing. You could have easily come to me to give me my shirt back. But you went to her! How the hell did you even know about our date? You just perfectly knew I told her I was busy. Are you spying on me?" He accused. At this point he wouldn't be surprised.

"that's ridiculous. I do not care about you two and your little crushes that much." She glared

"that much right, so you care a little bit there" he huffed, hand scratching his chin.

She realized her mistake and sighed

"fine. I cared a little bit. I was jealous okay? We were having fun and you liked me. I haven't felt adored like that, in forever. So when she came in and you immediately dropped to her feet. I just felt ignored and forgotten. I acted out of revenge. It was fucked up, I know. I overheard you two make the date plans, I hated how excited you both were. And then you forgot about our deal. I overheard you talking with Wayne at the school so I lied to her. I told her I was with you Friday night. And a part of me really liked seeing her so upset which is so fucking wrong" Her bitchy act was breaking apart. All this time she saw Eddie as a pawn for her life. He was a real person who also had feelings. Her face was falling.

"don't do that. Don’t look at me like you’re sorry. You’re not sorry. You just got caught and now it's coming back to bite you in the ass. She didn't deserve that, hell I didn't deserve that. You used me. I made you feel good? Imagine how I felt Chrissy! Imagine how a loser felt getting noticed by a cheerleader. You made me feel seen. I mean fuck, you kissed me first. I thought the small attention you gave me was all I deserved. And then I met her. And she made me realize how much more I deserved. She likes me because I'm me! She likes that I'm nerdy, that I'm funny. She took time to know who I was, but you never did. You are a selfish, cold hearted bitch and I'll never forgive you for how you hurt her. It didn’t have to be like this, but now you’ve ruined everything. I never want to be near you again. And you better not think about talking to her again."

Chrissy nodded. She deserved every word

"you're right. I'm sorry for doing that to you guys. I really hope you work it out. She does really like you. Can you tell her I'm sorry?"

"no I won't. Because she doesn't need an apology from you. She needs the truth from me. Please leave." He sighed, turning his back to her.

Once he heard her walk out the door, he went back into bed.

Feeling slightly better that Chrissy was out of his life. But now he had to figure out how to make things work with Y/N.

Wayne can't say he knows what happened with Eddie and the girl he really seemed to like. All he knew was Eddie was upset and didn't seem to care to get out of bed. Wayne has been heartbroken before and he can see the similarities in his nephew.

Wayne may have asked around to get the girls address. Once he got it, he headed over. Eddie, still no doubt, sleeping his hours of daylight away.

He knocked politely on the door. Waiting as a teenage girl opened the door.

"can I help you?" She asked. Wayne could tell she was confused but still mannered and polite. He liked that about her.

"are you Y/N?" He asked. The girl nodded hesitantly. ( Maybe it wasn't the best idea to agree until she knew who was asking for her)

"can I ask who you are?"

"I'm Wayne. Eddie's uncle"

She froze hearing Eddie's name.

"is he okay?" She asked quickly.

Wayne could see the fear filling her eyes. Realizing that maybe showing up unannounced might cause her to panic.

"shit. Yes. Well kinda. Physically he is okay. He's safe! Just at home, emotionally destroyed. He won't tell me what exactly happened but I know he's very upset. And he won't talk to me. And as a very concerned guardian, I wanted to ask you for help." He stated. Watching as the girl went through many different emotions. Wayne can easily read people, something he wished Eddie learned from him. He's watched too many people use Eddie for their own gain.

"look I'm sorry that he's upset. But we aren't really on talking terms. If he won't get out of bed to talk to you then I'm not sure what I'm needed for" She apologized. She was upset too. She was hurt. She's the one who got ditched for someone else. Having to feel the embarrassment every time she thought of him.

"I understand that completely. But I was a teenage boy once. And there were times in my life that only one person could get me to roll out of bed." He smiled gently.

Her eyes flashed with warmth. He knew he got her there

"can I ask you something?" She asked

He nodded

"how do I know you are actually Wayne? Not some guy he hired to get me to go see him? Do you have baby pictures of him ?" She asked, cleaning her arms. She doesn't actually think Eddie would pay to lie to her. But she also believed that he liked her and she was proved wrong there.

Wayne laughed, "ah she's beautiful and skeptical. I see why he likes you." The thought of Eddie telling Wayne he liked her made her blush. But she was still questioning the situation.

"I carry one in my wallet I can show. But if you come with me, maybe try to talk to him, I will show you the endless photo albums of baby Eddie all the way to who you know today. Deal?" He asked, he knew he had her wanting to see Eddie the second she heard he was upset. He appreciated the fight she put up though. Someone stubborn and worked to get their way was exactly what Eddie needed in his life.

"depends. What were you doing Friday night?" She asked

"fixing an old car but the skills needed only Eddie knew how to do so worked with him, why?" He didn't know what that had to do with anything.

"let me grab my jacket."

~~

Eddie rolled his eyes as Wayne knocked on his door yet again

"STILL DON'T WANT TO TALK!" he yelled, throwing his face in his pillow

"I got her" he heard Wayne say calmly through the door.

Eddie sprung out of bed and threw open his bedroom door

Eyes widening as she stood behind him, a shy wave as she checked him over.

"oh shit. Come in" he said, moving over so she could pass through.

He mouthed a thank you to Wayne, in return, Wayne threw him a wink and thumbs up.

Eddie took a deep breath and sat on his bed. She stood across from him. Arms covering herself, like it was some sort of protection.

"Wayne was worried about you and asked me to come talk to you." She explained.

"you agreed, so you must still care about me?" He asked, hopeful

"still a good friend of mine Eddie but I can't tell who's telling the truth and who's lying to me" she sighed. She felt like she should trust Eddie. She knew who Eddie was, this Chrissy girl though? She just met her. But she's been too hurt in the past to ignore when her feelings get hurt. She deserved to question people's motives.

"can I explain? Maybe explain what my part of the story looks like and help paint a picture?" He asked.

She came to get answers and he would provide all the answers he has.

She nodded and gave him the floor.

"Chrissy and I used to hang out. We did deals. She paid for weed in money and sometimes with her tongue . But her and I have never once had sex or even done anything majorly sexual with each other. We weren't like that. She had my shirt because she came over for a deal and spilled water on her shirt. She asked if she could borrow a shirt and I said yes. That's why she had it. Not because of whatever lie she told you. " He explained. Praying that she would believe the truth in his words.

" do you like her Eddie?"

"I really thought I did. But I think I liked having someone's attention." He admitted. He knew now he never liked Chrissy, he liked that she saw him. Once he met Y/N, he realized what having real feelings felt like.

"is that why you like me?" She asked. She feared the cycle was repeating. She feared that a new girl would give him attention so he was occupied. What happens if another girl walks in the door?

"absolutely not. I like you because I actually adore you so much. We have a connection, we have something that makes me feel real things, and good things. The way I feel with you, I never felt with Chrissy. I can't even describe how disappointed I was in letting you drive off. Not explaining in enough time. Disappointed I sat here in bed, letting you think and ponder on the idea I slept with another girl. I just want you. And I want that date. And even more dates. I want to be with you."

"I really would like to be with you too. I should have given you time to explain before accusing you and leaving. I apologize for that." She apologized

"no need to apologize. Chrissy painted a pretty convincing picture and I'm sorry she put you through that because of her own issues. But she won't be around at all, I promise." His hand reached out to hers slowly. Still fearing rejection.

She noticed how he was hesitant to touch her so she laced their fingers together. Smiling at him as she sat next to him.

"can I please ask you on another date?" He asked, turning his head to look at her.

"absolutely Eddie"

~~

Eddie was getting ready for his do over date. This time he wasn't going to take her to a public place. He wanted it to be private. Somewhere he only would focus on her.

Wayne and him spent time in the kitchen. Making a pasta dinner with salad and garlic bread.

"holy shit Wayne, how did I not know you were a chef?' Eddie joked. Watching as Wayne made the most amazing looking pasta.

"used to do it a lot. And look at you. Never thought I'd see the day Eddie Munson cooked a meal for a girl." Wayne smirked as Eddie blushed. Packing the food in a picnic basket.

"you do crazy shit when you like someone right?"

"like someone? No Eddie. You are falling for that girl." Eddie smiled and shook his head

"don't plan the wedding yet uncle Wayne" he joked, laughing as he snuck a few beers when Wayne turned his back

"bet after this date, you'll be planning it yourself" Wayne said back.

He hugged Eddie on his way out. Wishing him luck.

~~

Eddie was nervous the whole way to her house. He wasn't sure if she even liked pasta or romantic gestures. But he was hopeful. He sighed and grabbed the flowers that Wayne picked out. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans and knocked on her door.

Breath taken right out of his body when she opened the door. She stood there with a huge smile. She was in blue jeans, white sneakers and a band tshirt but as he looked closer he realized, it was his. It was his band

"you like?" She giggled, giving a twirl. Her ponytail swinging as she spun

Her lips stretched with pink gloss. Eyes decorated with pink glitter and black mascara. Her outfit was simple and he wanted to fall on his knees.

"you are fucking gorgeous. Where did you get that shirt?" He laughed

"I may have made it" she shrugged. Now noticing the flowers in his hands.

"are those for me?' she asked shyly. He nodded fast and passed them over. Tingles shivering through his body as his fingers touched hers.

"they are beautiful. Come inside, I'll grab a vase!" She said. He followed her in the house. Smiling at photos of her as a child.

Together they headed to Eddie's mystery location.

"what do you have planned?" She asked as he parked his van at a park

"food and hopefully a steamy make out under the stars." He threw a wink at her and he got out of his van. Running to her side of the door, opening it.

"you have high hopes I see" she giggled. Blushing at the thought of kissing him for the first time. She thanked him for opening her door. Walking very close to him as he led her to an open spot in the park.

Eddie laid down a blanket and asked her to sit. Placing down a picnic basket and sitting next to her

"Wayne and I made pasta, salad, and bread. I also snuck a few beers but also have water" she smiled at how proud he looked taking out the dishes. Her heart was so warmed at the thought of him cooking in his kitchen just for her. She hated that she doubted him.

"all of it sounds amazing. Thank you Eddie" she said and kissed his cheek. He blushed and handed her a fork and together they dug in.

Talking about random shit as they cleared out the containers of food.

After they ate, they stayed for a little longer. The night grew a tad closer and Eddie noticed her shivering.

He quickly took off his leather jacket and placed it on her shoulders

"no you'll be cold" she said, trying to take it off

"nah. I'm fine. Please keep it. You look good in my clothes" she blushed again. It was like he knew exactly how to make her want to kick her feet and scream into a pillow.

She scooted closer to him as she sipped on the can of beer. He threw his arm around her as he stared at her. Watching as she looked up at the stars.

"I could just stare at you forever” he whispered.

Her head turned to face him. Realizing just how close he was. She could see every detail on his face.

"creep" she whispered. A small smile on her lips. He chuckled at her response.

"can I kiss you?" He asked. Eyes dropping to her glossy lips.

She nodded, staring right back at his pink lips. She watched as he wetted them with his tongue. Turning his head as his finger touched underneath her chin, pushing it up slightly. She turned her head in the opposite direction. Leaning in with him.

Closing her eyes as she felt his lip touch hers. She practically whined about how soft his lips were. He took control of the kiss. A hand on her neck as he kissed her harder. Her free hand, that wasn't holding her beer, laid on top of his hand on her neck. Kissing him even harder than he was.

He licked her bottom lip, begging to taste her. She opened her mouth immediately. Loving the sound of the growl that left his throat when his tongue made contact with hers. His tongue was warm and fighting with hers. His other hand wrapped itself around her. Pushing her body against his.

He hated that he needed to pull away for air.

His lips were sticky but he liked it. Her eyes were blown out and lips red.

"that was even better than I thought it would be" he admitted

Already missing her lips, going in to kiss her again. She kissed back just as fast. She thinks kissing him might be her new favorite thing.

~~

He stood outside her front door. Disappointed that the date had to end.

"I wish I could spend every moment with you" he admitted

"me too eds"

"I'm so lucky to know you. Thank you for making me feel things I never thought I could" he whispered, forehead leaning against hers

"shut up. I was the new girl and I am so glad I got to meet you first" she said softly, pecking his lips slightly

"I'm usually not that kind of girl, especially on a first date, but would you want to come inside? Watch a movie or something?" She asked

"definitely" he smiled. Following behind her.

Now this is the love Eddie deserved.

Tags!

-@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @slightlyvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @audhd-dragonaut @eddiesluvt @marianita195 @cocok1ttie @skirting-punk @bibieddiesgf @tiannamortis @makingmunson94 @lail1010 @lightcommastix @magnificantmermaid @kellysimagines @tayhar811 @griffienn @amyo111 @cedricscoffin

[bbutterflies]

i was gonna request angst but oh my god . shadyclaw and taking care of the other after a fight.

SORRY THIS TOOK ME FOREVER!!!! here u go isa some emos just for u…

tw: blood

Claw Noir was only out because he was tired of being Adrien for today. After a grueling photoshoot where he’d been completely ignored by his dad, the last thing he wanted was to sit in his empty house and pretend things were fine. He was irritated to see Shadybug out, too, toying with her yo-yo as she wandered across rooftops.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you,” Claw sneered, hoping to get a rise out of her. It would at least be more fun than he’d had all day.

Shadybug rolled her eyes. “I’ve had a shit day, fleabag. I don’t need you to make it worse.”

Claw Noir scowled back at her. “Ever imagine my life might be worse than whatever stupid drama you have going on?”

“Fuck off!” Shadybug shoved him by the shoulders. “You think you’re so special, don’t you? No one could be as sad as you?”

“Maybe I do.” Claw shoved her back. “Definitely worse than you, roach. What could you possibly have going on? Not the prettiest girl in school?”

Shady threw a punch that Claw easily dodged. “You’re so pathetic.”

“You’re the one who can’t land a hit.”

“You’ll just go home and cry to mommy about it, won’t you?”

It flipped a switch. This wasn’t funny anymore. Claw lunged forward to try to strike back, but Shady caught his wrist. “Shut up!” he hissed.

“Oh, does mommy not love you?” she said, tightening her grip.

Claw grabbed her arm in both of his hands and used her own leverage to flip her over his shoulder. She landed on her back with a growl and wasted no time in kicking her legs up straight into Claw’s stomach. He didn’t let go. “You don’t get to talk about my mom!”

“Who’s gonna stop me?” Shadyclaw pulled down and Claw slammed into the rooftop next to her.

He didn’t give her an answer. She didn’t deserve it. He’d just have to show her.

She’d managed to get onto her knees, leaning over him with her first already made, but he wasn’t going to just take it. He needed the upper hand back. A kick to her side was enough to catch her off guard so he could jump back up to his own feet.

They knew each other well, for better or worse, and Claw predicted her next move of trying to knock his feet out from under him. He dodged, and she did the same when he tried to pin her back to the ground.

It was a familiar give and take, push and pull; they did this often. Claw would never admit it out loud, but he enjoyed it. Sometimes after a particularly bad day, the only thing he could count on was Shadybug being in just as bad a mood.

Claw wasn’t going to let her off easy, though. He was aiming for her shoulder, trying to knock her off balance, but she moved and his claws caught her face instead. She lunged forward, her shoulder catching Claw in his stomach and forcing him to double over. When he looked up again, something was wrong. Bright red and dripping down her cheek.

“Stop it!” Claw Noir grabbed her by the shoulders and pinned her back against the nearest wall.

Shady struggled in his grip. “Get your paws off of me!”

“You’re bleeding!” he hissed. “Sit still for one second!”

Shadybug glared back but did as he asked.

Claw Noir reached a hand out towards her cheek, gingerly brushing his fingers near the marks he’d left. She hissed in pain – he’d done a good job.

He didn’t apologize. He never did. But he could at least try to fix it.

“Just leave it,” Shadybug said. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do!” Claw Noir glared at her. “Shut up!”

Shadybug glared back at him but kept her mouth firmly shut.

Claw shrugged off his jacket (it’s not like they had much else in the way of first aid) and tore off part of a sleeve. He was pretty sure it’d fix itself the next time he transformed, anyway, but he didn’t really care either way. He pressed the fabric against the scratches in her cheek to try to stop the bleeding.

“Ow!”

“Do you want my help or not?”

Shadybug huffed. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Lucky Charm yourself a mirror, then, genius. It’s bleeding a lot.”

Shady reached up to where her suit met skin and pulled her hand away to look at the blood on her fingers. She didn’t say anything. She just looked so defeated.

“I didn’t mean it,” Claw Noir said.

“I know. It’s fine.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll get a cool scar out of it.”

“You’ll finally have something to thank me for.”

“Whatever, fleabag,” she said, but Claw was pretty sure he saw a hint of a smile on her face.

[gizkasparadise]

final leg of a journey to love thoughts!! (eps 35-40). this got so gd long so under a cut it goes. spoilers, of course:

PLOT STUFF/PACING

pacing for the plot definitely got shredded in the last chunk, which is a damn shame because otherwise i've been finding the pacing pretty much perfect. eps 35-37 in particular felt like they could have been like a 10 episode arc. ep 38, which mostly dealt with wu palace politics, should have been cut or streamlined imo and more time given to the characters we've actually been riding along with the whole story. by the time we get back to the pregnant empress, prince danyang, the first prince whose name i dont even remember, and the prime minister, i do not care about any of them and i think this subplot was simply just trying to fit too much shit into one bag

that said, this show still let the emotional moments hit and breathe and linger. i love the grief for the fallen liudao comrades as we go, as well as the less heavy but still emotionally important moments like yang ying and tongguan bonding over their upbringing. and we got a wedding /;3;/!!! for this show, the relationships and characters matter more than the storyline so im not mad about anything at all

side note: it's so gd millennial to have a story about a bunch of 30 something year olds who want to fake their deaths and retire into obscurity but instead they go and die for a boss they hate

CHARACTER STUFF

this show consistently brought a lot of depth to its side characters (and side side characters!!). i said it in an earlier post, but it bears repeating that even someone like deng hui i didnt expect anything from, but he got such good development and writing that he became a stealth fave. his dying words essentially being "dude, quit fucking around" ? iconic.

i didnt like tongguan as much as everyone else, so im pretty meh about everything regarding him. the attempt to force-wed ruyi was tonally really weird and didnt make sense (i assume there was some cuts made surrounding it). but LOL at him reusing all the outfits and decor immediately for his wedding to yang ying. baby duke, you tacky motherfucker. i ultimately think yang ying deserves better than him, but the good thing is that she knows this, so she'll be able to hold her own and then some entering into this partnership

shisan really was the heart in a lot of ways--the mom to yuanzhou's dad for the liudao. i was not expecting him to break my heart the way he did, but the fact that he held both qian zhao and sun lang as they died and then tried his best to remove yuan lu from harm and saved chu yue and was just very much a nurturer all the way through got me. his character couldve been cheap comic relief but the writing + performance really elevated him into one of the (imo) most memorable wuxia characters. his line wondering who would get to behead his beautiful skull!!! and how his mantra was always that he was going to drink the best wine, see the most beautiful women, and make the best of friends and he dies having lost the ability to see and having just had wine in memory of qian zhao, yuan lu, and sun lang. like. shut up!!

ruyi and yuanzhou were both so great and they're gonna be the drama OTP to beat forever. i loved the gender reversals, that they both were so respectful of each other, and that they also felt very mature in how they handled things and communicated. they were really interesting characters both together and apart and that's always a win-win. they had a schroedinger's ending where it's not super clear if they're alive or dead (i interpreted it as the latter), but what's kind of beautiful is that either option is satisfying to me. if they both died, they're reunited and with their comrades and the story is truly about the journey and the meaningful short connections we have. if they both survived, it's a bookend with the beginning where they each faked their deaths to escape. A+

COSTUMING

i gotta just separately mention the costuming for this show because it was 15/10. the textures, shisan's accessories, the way red became integrated with yuanzhou's wardrobe and blue with ruyi's. the details on the liudao name amulets!! SO GOOD. i love when characters' clothes tell a story on their own

overall i just really loved this drama it is probably my favorite wuxia ive seen so far! it's gonna be in my brain for awhile lol feel free to send fic prompts if you've made it this far :'D

[bleekay]

such a cinematic gayass dream…

family of four in hiding, dad mom daughter son, from dad’s old nemesis who is after them. he is paranoid and jumpy while his wife is trying to be the calm and rational one. the kids don’t know who they’re hiding from really, or that their dad used to be a hero and quietly retired, so this whole thing feels like a huge drag to them, and they’re both a little worried about their dad’s mental state. they move around every 6 months or so to a new location. to the man, every stranger is a potential threat, every sound a warning sign. the kids don’t even have time to properly make friends anywhere. his wife is patient but also trying to get him out of his extreme paranoia.

one evening the door knocks and he yells at everyone to hide and his wife is finally like. rolling her eyes, sick of the worry. she tells him it’s probably just a delivery person or a neighbor from this area. but just as she reaches the door a raspy singsong voice echoes through saying “where aaaare yooou? in here, love? is your darling wife here? your beautiful children? i think i fooound you” and then laughs, and the wife turns and runs for the kids and the man goes pale and freezes for a moment and then rushes for the door. to hold it closed. for a beat. and then he slams it open with his fists up ready to fight. and no one’s there. he does a full 360 and can’t see anyone, glances at his family through the open doorway. and then the guy comes flying down from above with a long skinny mallet hammer thing, and finally they start going at it. the man’s been retired for years, he’s not used to fighting anymore, and weirdly his enemy is giving him time to recover from hits, grinning maniacally the whole time, his eyes wide and excited like this is what he’s been waiting for forever. they go back and forth with some typical hero/villain chatter, you’re slow old man, i’ve stopped you a thousand times before and i’ll stop you again, etc. but when the man is knocked down the villain crouches and gets up his face and says lowly “do they know? the kind of man you are? do they know what you did? what you and i did together?” ex-hero’s eyes get wild and panicked. suddenly it all seemed to make sense why he’d been so paranoid. it wasn’t that he worried he wouldn’t be strong enough to protect his family if this guy came. it’s that he had a secret that only his nemesis knew.

(i’d like it to be known that i was an observer in the dream, and at this point was like “ohh maybe he did villainy or something and is worried his family will find out he’s bad” so the next part surprised me? don’t know why. it’s MY subconscious. fucks sake)

cue flashback. watching a fight they had many years ago, when they were much younger. it was in an abandoned school for some reason, old classrooms with chairs and desks knocked over and graffiti on the walls and broken windows. the villain’s hammer had been lost sometime earlier so they were fist fighting with a great deal of flair. throwing each other into walls and shit. eventually hero knocks the villain down and out. he’s won. usually at this point he’d leave, but for some reason he stays. stands over him for a while and looks conflicted. he kneels down and takes his hand and just holds it awkwardly for a while. except villain wakes up, grabs him, and switches their places. and hero is caught, embarrassed out of his mind, shoved against a dirty floor, with his nemesis grinning wildly like he just found a new toy, and before he can think to fight back he’s getting kissed hard.

the flashback ended but i gathered that wasn’t the last time it happened nor the most that happened. i assumed they had an ongoing physical relationship for years while they were still fighting. and this is the hero’s secret. and maybe not all of the secret either, because the hero could’ve kept the door shut. he didn’t have to open it. his family isn’t visible from the doorway anymore, hiding maybe, or escaping out the back. he doesn’t move to go follow them and he doesn’t put his fists back up to fight, and i’ve never seen a more defeated man in my life. mans looked like he wanted to Die.

the end, unfortunately. it didn’t go any further. villain was super horny in love with him idk maybe he should get straight hero divorced and then gay evil married. kids could use a cool fun stepdad i think, and that poor woman deserves better than a guy secretly chronically obsessed with his ex

[rottenmemes]

the front bottoms—various lyrics sentence starters.

some lines adjusted to fit; feel free to change pronouns, proper nouns, etc. as needed

am i getting into heaven? there’s no fucking way.

i would sleep better on your floor than i ever would in my bed.

learn to accept that the things we have now are the best we've had yet.

your friends are here and they miss you, but they’ll eventually move on.

i will always think about you, ‘cause you remind me of who i am.

i’ve tried and i gave everything i had, but i just gave up.

what we have is nowhere near as good as what we should have by now.

it's okay to give up, 'cause nobody here could care less.

time is running out and i need to choose, the clock is moving faster than it used to.

they say face your fears, but i can't stop running.

i'm scared i'm gonna die as lonely as i feel.

it's okay if you're unhappy—just take a look around. there's no one here that's happy either.

the only thing that'd shut me up now is your hands around my throat.

if i tell you all my secrets, would you tell me all your lies?

i have stitched a mask of confidence and i wear it like a glove.

no one's going to listen ‘til you mean every word you say, so if you can't find the feeling, you better learn to lie—and if you know we're gonna fail, then there's little point to try.

i can't get what i need, and you're all i need.

there are certain things you ask of me, but there are certain things i lack.

you say i'm changing—sorry, i didn't know i had to stay the same.

i think you're changing, but don't worry—you don't have to stay the same.

i shouldn't feel like i have to protect you.

at my funeral, don't lie. tell them i didn’t want to die.

i understand that everybody's got their problems, but you seem to have a little more than anybody.

there are things i think we'll come to regret, and the majority of them are dealing with me.

i used to love the taste, i'd do anything for it—now i'd do anything to get the taste out of my mouth.

what about your friends? don't you love them enough to stay?

it probably won't get easier, just easier to hide—prepare for an aching the rest of your life.

i have this dream that i am hitting my dad with a baseball bat, and he is screaming and crying for help—and maybe halfway through it has more to do with me killing him than it ever did protecting myself.

i believe that, yeah, maybe no one's perfect—but i believe that you're pushing your luck.

there's no doubt in my mind that if you could, then you would try to crack my ribcage open and pull my heart right through.

i've been around long enough now to know that the good things never last.

how low is your self esteem? how low could it possibly be?

i know you're in love with me, and i've been ignoring you.

i’m alone only half of the time, and the other half, i’m only hiding.

i got miles to go 'til i ever get home, but the sound of your laugh and your voice on the phone makes me feel like i’m already there.

hey man, i love you, but no fucking way.

make sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face.

the good thing about this cast is i can still hold a knife, so if you ever twist my arm again, i'll be sure to put up a fight.

the past few months were pretty rough; a couple times i wished we both were dead.

just try to appreciate what you got while you got it, so if it ever goes away, you can say you enjoyed it while it lasted.

i don't regret it—how could i? you were the best i ever had.

i wish i could pretend to be all of the things you think you see in me.

i don’t care if you’re not sorry; i forgive you.

the farther you go from where you start, the harder it is to get back.

just because something burns bright doesn't mean it's gonna burn forever.

don't feel bad for me, because i won't feel bad for you.

when i wake up, i think of you.

it doesn't get worse, and it doesn't get better; you just get old—it lasts forever.

no one saw me the way you did, and no one's seen me that way since.

i know that no news is good news, but that’s always felt backwards.

i’m bound by love, born to obey.

you are the truth i choose to bend myself around.

a long time ago i promised that if you were happy, then i was happy.

don't take it easy on the animal—i am the animal.

sometimes things work out perfectly when there's nothing to lose.

i don't know where i am, but i've been here before.

i'm sorry for your loss, there's not much i can do.

i could see myself dying for you.

we're both trying, you gotta give us that.

why don't you put your boxing gloves on and punch your punching bag, get some of this rage out you have deep inside of you—you’ll feel better, that's the point.

there was resentment built up that was never expressed properly.

you seem to see through whatever it is about me that's trying to be tough.

this is the fear i was born into, it somehow still affects me today.

it may or may not seem like you're leaving me behind, and it may or may not be always on my mind.

i don’t wanna put a curse on myself—i don’t wanna put a curse on you either.

you don't have to try so hard to not see me around.

the more you give, the worse it gets.

i wanna be good to the people that i love—i want them to think of me as someone that they can trust.

i wanna settle down—i want you to settle down with me.

[yakuzacasual]

Game of choice

Round of rapidfire late-night thoughts based entirely in my own gaming experience of a european, and things i've gotten through osmosis.

What kind of games they play with Yagami, Kaito, Sugiura, Higashi, Tsukumo, Mafuyu, Saori, Hoshino, Kuwana

Yagami needs his mental stimulation, with how many cases of his end up being a literal wild goose chase. He would totally be into Layton games and maybe even Ace Attorney if we feel a little on the nose. Eventually falls victim to the Spike Chunsoft pipeline from Danganronpa, through AI: Somnium Files, to Zero Escape series. 999 is now his favourite.

Kaito only cares about multiplayer shooting games with his buds. Rainbow Six Siege, Battlefield, PUGB you name it - he probably tried it. Aside from CS:GO, he was banned from ever trying CS:GO by Sugiura. Got roped into Fortnite along the way and although he clearly enjoys it, he keeps complaining it's clearly for kids.

Sugiura plays pretty much anything popular - Minecraft, Fortnite, GTA, Valorant - usually just to kill time. He doesn't care all that much about having "experiences that will change the trajectory of his life forever", as Tsukumo puts it. What only a handful of people know, however, is that he is absolutely INSANE about Mirror's Edge. Go figure.

Higashi will let his history nerd run wild and will put his hands on anything samurai period drama adjacent. He's been through things such as Ghost of Tsushima, Ishin and will brave the toughest of challenges in Sekiro and Nioh for his dose of the good shit. Recently he's been even caught trying out Katana Zero and despite not being his usual kind of setting, he ends up loving it.

Tsukumo is a League of Legends youth survivor and years clean of the cancer that enveloped him. These days he's neck deep into jrpgs and visual novels of all kinds. Most notably, he is THE Xenoblade Chronicles fan and has played literally every entry in and adjacent to the Megami Tensei series. Refuses to talk about Persona though, absolute SMT truther.

Mafuyu is the absolute casual girly player, with hundreds of thousands of hours in between things like Fashion Dreamer, every Sims generation and a touch of Splatoon when nobody's watching. Was there back when Flash games were a thing, where she would spend all evenings on the dress-ups and Devillish Hairdresser. Probably played Stardoll or something.

Saori finds herself lured into the strange appeal of Cultist Simulator, which somehow escalated into her being insane about Lobotomy Company and Library of Ruina. I don't know either. Suffice to say, she enjoys card and management games, with a bit of weird fucking lore on the side. At times she emerges from her solo player cave to kick people's asses in Dead By Daylight - she can WRECK with any killer.

Hoshino was there for the Giant Dad phase and has, ever since, remained one of the greatest, most viscious Dark Souls PVPers. Bro used to have absolutely no mercy with his neigh beast skill in the game and if you squint, he might've won a DS speedrun competition once or twice. These days he only logs in to help in multi (think along the lines of Let Me Solo Her) and will not shut up about Disco Elysium.

Kuwana is yet to recover from Hotline Miami brainworms even though it has been literal years. He has tried his hand at similar recommendations like Superhot, Ruiner or Ultrakill but nothing has ever stuck quite the same way. Ends up replaying the games every year like a religious ritual. Might end up getting into Katana Zero, but ends up so pissed with the ending he vows never to give chances again.

[anarchycox]

Sanlu, for the holiday ficlet, please, and thank you

"Hey, Eggplant, why you chopping like it's your first time holding a knife?"

"Shut up you geezer, my skills are perfect unlike your damn eyes." Sanji looked down and okay fine, the dice wasn't exactly his best, sue him. But he added it to the pot, it was fine. "You read the rules I left you?"

There was a snort, "what do you think?"

"I think that I am going to drown you in this gazpacho," Sanji tried to breathe normally but it is hard. "Who even fucking orders gazpacho on solstice eve?"

"Idiots." His dad was at the station next to him, and they worked in harmony together, even as they traded insults and slowly Sanji's nerves eased away.

Carne burst in, "there is a guy out there saying he's Sanji's husband? And demanding meat and his babygirl? I am guessing he is on drugs and I should kick him out?"

Sanji sighed. Guess Luffy hadn't read the list of rules he had been left either.

"Eggplant, I swear to the All Blue, if you fucking got married without me there to cater the thing!" A paring knife was pointed at his face.

"No! Luffy just, I don't even know!" Sanji threw up his hands. "We aren't married! And if you ask about the babygirl thing-"

That just got Zeff stalking out of the kitchen and towards a table that had Luffy at it. He never should have shown his dad all those pictures of Luffy.

"So you are dating my son?" Zeff sat across from Luffy. So much for introductions.

"No, dating is stupid! If you are dating you might break up, and he can make a food that is like three birds stuffed into each other! So he is stuck with me. Forever and ever and ever." Luffy was nodding furiously. "Which means you are stuck with me for forever and ever and ever, because even though you are old and gonna die, you have to haunt Sanji because he'd miss you too much."

It was the longest night of the year, and somehow it had now been made even longer. Entire eons were passing, kingdoms rising and falling as Sanji stared at Zeff and Luffy.

"Welcome to the family," Zeff said. "I can get four birds stuffed together."

"I love you," Luffy shouted. "Sanji, I love your dad."

Sanji had to laugh, "Yeah, yeah, he ain't so bad." He sat down and kissed Luffy's temple. "Thanks for doing this."

"Can I have four meats right now? And you staying, or do you have to work more?"

"He'll stay with you," Zeff said. "And once we close we'll talk." It was a promise and a threat.

And the longest night of the year, was the longest night of Sanji's life.

[loiswasadevil]

This is my last straw I've been getting non stop asks from Smoleggon and his gang They just want to be my Catalyst by accusing me of having sex with my late brother and By being a pedophile all because I want to unite Family Guy fans. SMOLEGGON I DID NOT HAVE SEX WITH MY BROTHER AND I AM NOT A PEDOPHILE EITHER I DONT TALK TO ANYBODY OR HAVE ANY FRIENDS FOR A REASON. Everybody just wants to fuck with me and Laugh at me like I'm just some kind of fucking joke and I can't take it The only people who pretend to like me Only do it because they think it's funny when I hurt. I'm not a fucking joke I'm a Person I'm a living breathing Person with feelings and I am Effected by the things you say like when you tell me I am why my Brother died as if I don't think about that Every day and telling me I had Sex with my brother and telling me I'm a pedophile because Minors following me telling me I have to keep a tab on every single one of my followers it's so fucking stressful. SO SMOLEGGON AND HIS GANG NEEDS TO STOP SENDING ME THIS BULLSHIT TRYING TO BE MY CATALYST. I would never have sex with my brother that is Disgusting I have no interest in Anybody at all romantically or sexually EXCEPT PETER BECAUSE HE IS MY HUSBAND. SO SHUT THE FUCK UP. IM SICK OF YOU PERVERTS MAKING ME THINK ABOUT THIS DISGUSTING VILE THINGS I DON'T LIKE THIS. I DONT LIKE THIS I DONT LIKE BEING TALKED TO LIKE THIS I'M TIRED OF MY DEVIL HEART UNLOCKING BECAUSE OF DISGUSTING SHIT PEOPLE SEND INTO MY INBOX. CONSTANT DEATH THREATS FROM SMOLEGGON AND HIS GANG IN MY INBOX TELLING ME THEYLL FIND WHERE I LIVE AND HURT ME. I don't want to hurt anymore I'm so tired of my Devil's Heart. I wish I could be Normal like every body else but I'll just be Alone forever that's what connects me and Lois is nobody Understands her not even Peter the love of her life truly Understands how she feels inside and no matter how Many people she surrounds herself with she Will always be alone that's why I don't surround myself with Anybody anymore I tried with Joe and Bonnie but they were Fakers who pretended to be my friend Because they thought it was funny to make me hurt I try to keep Brian around but He never talks to me anymore I don't think he Cares about me I don't think he's faking like Bonnie and Joe but I do think he does not want to talk to me or watch cartoons like Family Guy and American Dad with me anymore even though he used to and Meg doesn't talk to me very often I'm glad when she does but we're not close she's just a Family Guy kin although I'm happy to have her around the only person who was ever close to me was Caleb and he was constantly my Catalyst just like Peter to Lois. But I miss Caleb I really do because even when he was Ignoring me I felt like I had somebody to talk to but now I'm Alone and after this slander Campaign by Smoleggon I'm scared that people will Believe these Lies they are obsessed with spreading because they're Obsessed with me. I just want to unite all Family Guy fans and I don't understand why I get this kind of hate I didn't do anything wrong no matter what Platform I go on I get hate even in real life when it was just me and Jonas I would get constant Hate from my Mom and Dad because of Family Guy they would beat me within an inch of my life because of Family Guy I would lay on my bedroom floor bleeding and crying and Jonas was the only one who was there for me and he would wash my Wounds and sing me the Family Guy theme song to calm me down I miss Jonas and I do feel like it's my fault he died because if I wasn't obsessed with Family Guy he would've moved on and we wouldn't have to Run Away to talk about Family Guy and play Family Guy outside or get sent to the Tent. Smoleggon when you send me asks about my brother and about being a horrible person it really effects me. I know you think it's funny to be my Catalyst but it Hurts. So I hope you see this post and realize I'm not that different from you and I hope you can sympathize and tell your minions to leave me alone and please Move on.

[babacontainsmultitudes]

always always thinking about your post that was like “normal has a very high threshold for being loved that is nearly impossible to meet and he will do *anything* to feel validated” and then today in the discord during the part where willy reveals it could’ve been either normal or scary, will said “willy fucked up normal would burn the entire world down for the tiniest crumb of validation” and just. screaming screaming forever about this boy’s inability to ever feel loved enough, he is every webweaving post about always devouring and never feeling full from love, this boy is RAVENOUS and it’s hard to understand how the oak good-boy morality can even supersede that, he has every trait imaginable to become a villain and it feels like the only thing preventing that is the desire to be good, bc tbh I don’t think he wants to be good more than he wants to be loved

SORRY FOR TAKING ALMOST TWO FUCKING WEEKS TO ANSWER THIS ANON!

Eheh, firstly *thank you* because this message is very sweet and made me extremely happy. The post you’re talking about took a good while to write and came with a lot of anxiety so it’s very nice to hear that you’ve kept fragments of it with you, I really do appreciate that!!! 💜

I’d debated for a bit on answering this privately to be honest with you, as not every fire I’ve sparked is one whose flames I wish to fan, so to speak, but everything you wrote is just so on-point and well-articulated that I couldn’t resist. Otherwise. *Ahem*. I know it's very very silly to respond to a response about an essay with what is essentially another essay, but you see, in thinking of how to answer your message, I got a little caught amongst many other things that have been on my mind... And I've seen some takes that have annoyed me for one reason or another and couldn't decide how to address those and. Well. Ultimately I decided that the stuff I wanted to talk about was connected *enough* to the stuff brought up in your message (as well as in my original post) that I could put it all together, soooooooo if you'll entertain me rambling once more~

Let's start by saying that, I recently saw a take going around stating that “Scary’s internal issues caused her external issues while Normal’s external issues caused his internal issues” (among a number of other statements that I frankly found pretty questionable), and I must say, for reasons that I hope to explain, I disagree with this assertion on both accounts!

In Scary’s case, this statement completely erases and undermines the trauma of her dad walking out, and what that does not only to her confidence and sense of self-worth, but to her relationship with her mother as well. And the degree of the impact of this external trauma on her internal view towards and treatment of herself is clear as day just by looking at the stark contrast between Terri and Scary. Scary (Terri) is someone who once had confidence in herself and could find validation and motivation internally, most recently evidenced by Terri's words of encouragement to Scary whilst under beacon of hope:

But then her dad leaves, and things get harder at home, and Scary starts to fight with her mom (her mom who she once called her best friend!!!), and she starts to feel worthless and unlovable- something that only gets worse with time as Willy alienates her from the rest of the group, case in point with this revealing exchange:  

No one’s told her they’re proud of her in a long time (sound familiar??),

her teachers at school shut her down when she tries to speak her mind or otherwise dismiss her behavior as “acting out” seemingly without any sort of intervention or attempt to actually check in with her,

[the above teen fact is from episode 31]

Only then, in response to her diminished sense of self-worth does she begin to cut herself off from the rest of the world and from her former self, most importantly quitting soccer (which we know matters a lot to her!),

and those things leave her even more vulnerable and supportless and ashamed. Not to mention all the mixed emotions she must feel when Terry walks into the picture, between actually liking him but not being able to see his love as genuine due to her relationship with her bio dad and all the frustration and shame she must feel as a result.

This is not to claim that Scary’s internal struggles do not inform a lot of what happens to her and the people around her over the run of the season- of course they do! (In fact some of the later things mentioned above are examples of that- I guess I got a bit carried away). But Scary’s major internal struggles that affect her throughout the course of the adventure are preceded by a slew of important external events that negatively affect her psyche and are in many cases out of her control. Scary’s internal struggles did not originate in a vacuum, and I absolutely would not say that they “caused” the bulk of what she has been through.

Unlike Scary, Norm’s excessive dependency on external validation to feel like he’s worth anything begins when he is very young. [Emphasis on “excessive” here, since obviously everyone requires validation from others to some degree, the point being just that this trait is so very pronounced in Normal and, as I argued a bit in the post anon is referring to, usually the most important factor informing his courses of action, superseding (but not implying the absence of) any desire to be good and help those around him. Will’s statement (the one which anon quotes) seems to corroborate this.] We know that things go so far back from Sparrow’s account in episode 17:

It’s important that this is about Normal’s kindergarten experiences too, because it tells us that Normal’s predominant internal issues go back farther than this and hence were not caused in and of themselves by his peers- instead being perhaps more fundamental to who he is as a person.

This is not to say that external events do not exacerbate the state of Normal’s psyche. In his youth most notably, we can infer that he interpreted Hero’s treatment (which of course he did not understand at the time to be her training) as favoritism, and I think it’s pretty clear by this point that his resentment of her is tied to the degradation of self-esteem that he experienced as a result.

Then of course there is the dance. Sparrow’s words to Normal during the dance obviously consist of a very pivotal moment for Norm within the context of the season, but I think it’s important to remember and not erase the fact that Normal’s internal issues with validation do not begin at the dance, as established in the kindergarten case but also further exemplified by Norm’s primary motive in becoming the school’s mascot in the first place (to get everybody to like him). I think it’s important to remember this in part since it informs so much of Normal’s reaction to what his father has to say, immediately afterwards but also throughout the whole rest of the season. No kid wants to hear that their parent isn’t proud of them, but the severity of the response to this sort of statement is going to vary drastically depending on the person, and in Norm’s case, given his natural disposition, it’s devastating. [and I swear there’s a teen talk moment where Will says basically this but I can’t find it for the life of me rn damn it lol maybe I’ll edit in the clip later if I do]

Of course in this specific case, one can still mostly say that the problem stems from outside of Normal, and that his preexisting issues exacerbate his response but are definitely not the cause of it. Outside of this instance, however, this is not always true! In fact, Normal’s excessive dependency on external validation and related rejection sensitivity (negatively) inform a large amount of his interactions with those around him, particularly Lincoln and Taylor (imagine me underlining “Taylor” several times as I say this). Truthfully that’s a whole ramble on its own, but with respect to more recent events, I have to admit that I was genuinely quite irked to find a lot of people blaming Taylor and Lincoln for Norm’s response to their uh. mech shenanigans in episode 37, choosing to frame this as an act of moral failing or even malice on their part, rather than a reflection of Normal’s own issues and room for growth. Lincoln and Taylor were simply focused on the mission at hand, and there was no good reason realistically speaking to have expected them to be aware of Normal’s emotional state at that point in time (or in general, to be aware of the jealousy their bonding moments evoke within Norm- particularly when Normal consistently fails to communicate and address those emotions with them in a manner that is direct and not passive-aggressive). Lincoln in particular is very clearly stated as not even having fun in that moment, very understandably being focused instead on the fact that his friend Scary is around his father, who he just witnessed, you know, murder someone. This is not an instance of the world going against Norm for no good reason other than to put him through it, this is a very clear example of Normal’s internal issues affecting the way he perceives external events in a manner that is not actually very reflective of the reality of the situation, and which of course feeds in further to his cycle of self-loathing (and I won’t go into it here since I sort of did in the post anon is responding to- but Normal’s negative reaction to Lincoln breaking the pick to gain Scary’s trust is another important example of this [tbh all the more so now coupled with the hypocrisy of how he handles the anchor in Goofs but that’s a tangent]). As aforementioned, Norm also struggles a good chunk of the time to actually explain his feelings in a manner that is direct and does not rely on blaming others for not picking up on his dejection, as exemplified in how this discussion goes with Lincoln in the most recent episode:

The treatment from fandom of this whole instance being reflective of a reoccurring issue I tend to have with a large chunk of the fandom, wherein the collective memory of canon tends towards getting warped to account for Norm’s mental state. Sometimes that’s hailing him as some morally-perfect, emotional reincarnate of Henry (as though the pride layer didn’t happen, as though Goofs didn’t happen, as though all of Norm’s relationship with Taylor isn’t what it is- …I feel like I should stop implying stuff about the significance Taylor and Norm’s relationship and not elaborating but it really is an essay in and of itself LOL), other times it’s just downright turning everyone around Normal into a villain, a persistent phenomenon which I sort of illustrated in the above example but also touched upon in an earlier essay (arguing that despite the fandom’s quick jump to villainize him- Lincoln breaking the guitar pick would prove to be an act of love). Sparrow also takes a good brunt of the damage from this. Sparrow saying he’s not proud of Normal gets turned into Sparrow not loving Normal (despite an abundance of proof in canon to the contrary), his apology for what he said and the support he shows for Norm in light of his alternative plan on dealing with the Doodler are completely ignored by most of the fandom, as are any other demonstrations of emotional availability and shows of growth that he displays throughout the course of the season, and the true motives behind Sparrow’s insistence on Normal living a “normal” life- to protect him from the childhood that he but also that Hero had to undergo- is somehow framed as Sparrow actually holding some kind of favoritism for Hero. It’s as though there is a complete inability on a larger scale within the fandom to see Sparrow as separate character outside of the filter of Norm’s emotions, and the other teens (including Hermie) get a similar if less pronounced treatment.

[Actually, I would argue that to some degree all of the kiddads except Terry (and Lark since he’s not officially a dad) tend to be perceived and criticized predominantly through the noise of their respective child’s emotions/behavior. In Grant’s case, Lincoln 1. spends a good part of the earlier half of the season asserting that his dads are the best dads in the world despite everything going on and 2. has a very unfortunate tendency to compartmentalize and push down his negative emotions as much as possible- in typical Wilson fashion- so the complexity and severity of Lincoln’s issues with his dad generally go understated, and only now that Lincoln has begun to be more vocal and upfront about his issues has some of Grant’s parenting finally begun to come under fire, and even then mostly only his more recent transgressions. In Taylor’s case, Taylor’s emotional security/stability and general fondness for his dad mean that Nicky is being hailed by many people as “the best dad” where in fact Nicky- while certainly helping the teens out in many ways and perhaps even acting as a friend to them- has done just about jack shit for Taylor as a *father*, and really if Taylor has anyone to thank for being as well-adjusted as he is now, it’s definitely his mom! But I digress.]

Normal and Scary are very similar, but the way fandom treats them is very different. People (mostly) seem to be able to acknowledge that Scary, in spite of her mistakes and flaws, is a scared, tired kid with a good heart who is capable and deserving of love. In Normal’s case, I just can’t seem to shake the impression that the fandom (in general) would rather strip Norm of all the things that make his character complex, and nuanced, and flawed, reducing him to an utterly uninteresting husk of a character before depicting him as anything other than a perfect goody-two-shoes who has never hurt anybody in his entire life or daring to acknowledge the fact that “Normal has been through a lot, is hurt, and deserves a good support system and emotional validation” and “Normal can at many times be his own worst enemy, sometimes makes mistakes that affect those around him, and has room to grow emotionally” are notions that can and should coexist. Or at least, that's my two cents on the matter.