#love me some blocking buffer

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Hi!! I love ttou so much and I was wondering how far in advance you plan/write chapters? I think uve said u know the ending but do you know the specifics of the journey to getting there? u have the vibes of someone who would frantically write each chapter 30 minutes before they're supposed to be released but also that can't possibly be the case because it is so well written and it would not be sustainable. And how do you always manage to end them on the most devastating cliffhanger ever?

also please continue to torture me biweekly with your words :))

I try to maintain a buffer of at least 3 months ahead of the Patreon releases but I've had some serious writer's block recently so it's only 1 month right now. We're very close to the end so I have a pretty good idea of all the remaining specifics.

Glad you're enjoying the story! Basically all my ideas for the next story are more fucked up.

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Lightning Bug - Chapter 27

Masterlist

Warnings: nightmare, mention of death and cannon typical violence, grief, lots of grief, Wanda needs a hug and she gets one lol

Note: there is a point in the story where the reader speaks Sokovian, those words are italicized

Word count: 4.8k

“Cooper!” You shirked as the eldest Barton wrapped his arms around you. It was the perfect setup for Nate to tag you and declare you were it. Cooper was quick to let you go and run off. You huffed, wiped the sweat off your forehead, and chased after him. Being back at the Barton homestead was refreshing. You were worried about being there without the buffer of Kate or Yelena, but when you hugged Laura and Clint, you fell into an easy routine. You were quick to jump into a game with the three Barton kids. Nate decided on a game of tag, which you’ve never played, and watched the other kids. Their laughter and smiles made you jealous. Now, it was your laughter that echoed on the Barton’s land while you chased after Cooper. He was fast, but you were faster, especially with the training Maria put you through. You tagged him with ease. The momentum caused you to tag him a little hard, and he fell to the ground. Cooper flipped onto his back. “Oops,” you said. “Sorry.” His chest was heaving, and he used his forearm to block out the sun.

“I forgot,” he took a deep breath and let it out. “I forgot Dad said you were training with Maria and Yelena. This game is unfair.” You giggled and held out your hand to help him, but he refused and stood up alone. There were pieces of grass in his hair.

“Blame it on Nate then,” you smiled. “This was his ideal.” He shook his hair to remove the grass and put his arm over your shoulders.

“You are different than the last time you were here,” you kicked a rock on the ground and nodded. You were different, but it was good. Sometimes, you liked to sit and compare who you were when Natasha found you to who you are now. You felt stronger, more confident in your ability, and happier to be alive. You were in a dark mindset when you first lived on the streets. The crushing guilt of what happened to your parents lay heavy on your chest. The scars left by your father made you feel ugly. You were desperate to feel anything but pain. “It’s a good different,” Cooper continued. “It seems like I’m seeing the real you.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I feel free.”

“Good. Now,” he smiled. “Want to help me tag Nat?”

“Oh, 100%”

*

Natasha loved Iowa. Every time she visited the Barton Homestead, she found another reason to love this place. This beautiful place she was lucky to call a second home. This time, it was Y/n’s laughter. The sound seemed to travel for miles and miles. It was unguarded, light, and beautiful. She sipped on some lemonade Laura made and sat on the porch. It’s the perfect spot to watch the Barton kids and her own. Her kid. The blue-eyed, terrified teen she met at Annie’s was her and Wanda’s. Finally, it would be a few more weeks as the courts proceed with the paperwork. The lawyers Tony hired said the process would be smooth sailing, especially with the lack of documentation her biological parents failed to submit. They did advise that a court appearance may be necessary, but she wasn’t worried about that. Natasha didn’t need a judge to declare Y/n as her daughter. She was without the legal bullshit.

“It’s like a complete 180 with her,” Clint said. “I know you said she’s opened up more, but I almost had a heart attack when she hugged me,” Natasha chuckled.

“You are so dramatic,” Laura said. She and Wanda were sitting in the rocking chairs on the porch. “She gives perfect hugs. I was surprised by that.” Natasha glanced over her shoulder to see Wanda smile.

“She does, and she puts her whole body into it,” there were moments that took Natasha by surprise—these moments made her heart flutter and her stomach drop as she fell more in love with Wanda. Watching her care so intensely for the young girl repeatedly made her fall in love with her.

“Cooper!” The sound of Y/n’s shirk brought her back to the game of tag. The eldest Barton wrapped his arms around her so Nate could easily tag her.

“I think that’s my cue to start dinner,” Laura said.

“I’ll help you,” Wanda followed her into the house. Natasha leaned back on her hands and watched Y/n chase down Cooper until Clint gently slapped her leg.

“The way you look at Wanda makes me sick. Like your eyes turn into hearts,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, feeling her cheeks flush. “Now you know how Maria and I felt all those years watching you pin over Laura,” she flicked the man’s forehead. “Now that was disgusting.”

“You’re an asshole,” the Black Widow shrugged. Clint glanced at the house to make sure no one was around. “When are you going to ask her to marry you?” The question, though simple, caused the Black Widow to freeze as if someone injected ice through her veins. “I mean, come on, Nat, you guys have a kid together, and I know you’ve been looking at properties away from the city. What’s stopping you?” Again, it was a simple question, but it scared her. They had years together and faced more dangers than an average couple would face. Maybe it was fear that she would say no. Rationally, Natasha knew that was ridiculous, but she held back.

“I don’t know,” she ran her hand through her head. She was on the fence about dying it again. “What if she says no?” Her voice was so soft and sounded so small that she barely recognized it. It sounded stupid to say aloud, and she expected Clint to laugh, but he didn’t. Instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder; there was a look of understanding in his eyes.

“Then I’ll slap her,” he deadpanned. “Witchy powers or not, you were my friend first,” the mental image of Clint trying to fight Wanda pulled a laugh out of the Black Widow. “I know this won’t ease your anxiety overnight, but she won’t say. Hell, whoever is patient enough to put up with your stubborn ass deserves the biggest diamond,” Natasha punched him on the shoulder.

When the Sokovian first joined the team, Natasha only interacted with her during training. She was still shaken up by what she was forced to relive. A part of her wanted never to trust Wanda again. She was too dangerous and unpredictable, and her powers were out of control. One night, Natasha made her way to the roof of the compound; she needed fresh air to clear her mind from the nightmare. It seemed that nightmares weren’t only affecting her. Wanda was up there, wrapped in a blanket, and her feet dangled off the roof’s edge. Natasha could have left, never walked over to her, and started a conversation, but she sat beside her. They talked about nothing and everything until the sun came up.

Still, she kept her feelings for her to herself, never crossing that line from friends to something more. Everything came unrevealing until Ross went to the compound and threatened Wanda’s safety. The fear of losing Wanda pushed her to tell her everything. It was messy; she stumbled over her words, and Wanda kissed her to force her to stop talking.

“Hi,” Y/n’s sudden appearance broke her out of her thoughts. The girl’s face was bright red from running around, beads of sweat dripped down her forehead, but the smile on her face was the best part.

“Hi, sweetheart. Are you having fun?” She nodded her head.

“I am,” she said. “I was wondering if you knew when dinner would be ready or if I could grab a snack. I’m a little hungry,” she scratched her head awkwardly. Natasha smiled. It was a nice change of pace, especially when she knew how avoidant the teen was asking for help, even food.

“Laura and Wanda are in the kitchen right now, but I bet if you go in there and ask, they’ll give you something small,” the young girl said, bouncing on her feet and hugging Natasha. No matter how many hugs Natasha received from the teen, they’ll always be special. Wanda was right. She hugged with her whole body. It ended when Natasha felt a hand on her back, and the girl jumped out of her arms.

“Tag,” she spun around to see Cooper running off. “You’re it, Nat!” The Black Widow turned back to face Y/n, who was backing away with a smile.

“Your senses could use some work, all Mighty Black Widow,” she teased. It took a moment for Natasha’s brain to catch up and piece together what happened. She was set up, and Y/n was the bait. She was never tagged in all her years of playing tag with the Bartons. Some may say it was ridiculous, but she had a reputation to protect.

“Get back here, you traitor!” Natasha jumped up and raced after the teen. Maria was doing a great job at training her. She was fast, but Natasha was the Black Widow she wouldn’t lose to a kid. One final sprint, she trapped the girl in a hug. “That was smart,” Natasha admitted. “Using a hug to distract me, whose idea was that?” She began to tickle her sides.

“M-mine!” The teen laughed. “Nat, stop! Stop!” Natasha almost refused, loving the sound of her laughter, but she did. Y/n fell to the ground, rolling onto her back. “You are fast.”

“I got a few years on you, kid,” she held out her hand, and Y/n took it to stand up. “Keep training, and you’ll be faster than me.” She smiled and leaned against Natasha.

“I like it here,” she said.

“Yeah?” The teen nodded. “Would you like a house like the Barton’s one day?” Natasha watched her look around the land.

“Maybe one day. I like living in the tower. Everyone is there, you know?” Natasha nodded. She understood that. Her sister and the rest of the team that became her family were there. It would be hard not to see them all the time.

*

You woke up with a start. It felt like you were falling, and you woke up before you hit the ground. You were having a sleepover with Lila, sleeping on an air mattress on her floor. Slowly, you sat up and tried not to wake her as you stood up and left her room. You were thirsty, but your legs and arms shook as you walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. But the downstairs wasn’t empty; Natasha was sitting at the counter with a laptop and a glass of whiskey. She took her eyes off the screen when she heard you. “Hey, dorogoy, are you okay?” Were you shaking that much that she could notice?

“Uh yeah,” you cleared your throat. “I had a weird dream and came down for some water.”

“Here sit. I’ll grab you some,” you nodded and sat in the empty seat next to hers. It was hard not to glance at what she was looking at on her computer. Rings. Engagement rings. Your eyes widened quickly, and you looked forward. Natasha placed a glass of water and a chocolate chip cookie before you. “Do you want to talk about your dream?” You downed the glass of water and waited for Natasha to refill it.

“I don’t remember it,” you whispered, picking at the cookie. “I just felt like I was falling and woke up before hitting the ground.” You glanced at Natasha; her green eyes, full of kindness and understanding, were staring at you. “Do you have nightmares?” She nodded, gently taking your hand in hers. You liked the feeling of them, rough and covered in callouses.

“I do,” she admitted. “They aren’t as frequent, but every now and again, one will sneak up on me.”

“How do you get them to stop?” You questioned, your voice cracked at the end of the sentence.

“Time,” Natasha answered. “It’s a cliche line, but as time passes, we are able to cope with the things we did in our past - the people we’ve hurt and those who’ve hurt us,” Time. It was always time. Even Yelena said the same thing to you. But you were tired of your past hurting you. You wanted it to stop. Sighing, you sat back in the chair and glanced at the computer again.

“Are you going to ask Wanda to marry you?” The sudden change in conversation caused Natasha’s eyes to widen. “I mean, unless you have another girlfriend, I don’t know about,” a smile tugged at her lips. “I’m guessing the rings you are looking at are for her.” The Black Widow slowly nodded. A warm feeling filled your body and pushed away the dark thoughts of your nightmare. “Oh my god!” you slammed your hands down on the countertop and cringed slightly at the noise. “When are you going to ask her? Holy shit! This is so exciting!” You were vibrating in your seat. Natasha laughed.

“I haven’t even picked out a ring yet.”

“Can I help?” You asked slowly. Natasha smiled but nodded her head. It was how you found yourself next to Natasha on the couch, scrolling through various ring websites. None stood out to you. You hadn’t known Wanda for long, but a few things came to mind when you thought about her. She wasn’t one to wear a lot of jewelry so that she might prefer something on the smaller side. You knew she cared deeply about her family and the team. Wanda was kind, caring, and compassionate. Maybe she would like something that represents all those things.

“Wait,” you said suddenly. “Go back up.” Natasha scrolled up, and you pointed to a diamond ring. It was a three-stone diamond engagement ring. The description said that the two smaller pear-shaped diamonds framed the center gem. The center diamond was shaped like a square, but the website called it a Princess Diamond. You weren’t sure why it was called that, but you weren’t a professional. “I like that one.”

“Yeah? Why is that?” Natasha questioned. Your head rested on her shoulder, and you shrugged. You weren’t sure why you were drawn to it.

“I don’t know,” you said. “But there are three diamonds and three of us, so I think that’s why I like it.”

*

Now it was your turn to be up at night with Natasha’s laptop and the missing people’s name folder. It was another long day with the Bartons, playing Just Dance with Lila and a session of archer practice with Clint. However, your mind had yet to stop thinking about these people. So you brought the notebook you got from Lucia’s and wanted to write down everything you could find on them then…well, you weren’t sure. That part of the plan was still to be determined. There wasn’t much on them. No one cared to keep a record of who these people were after they became homeless.

But you found an article from 2012 published a few months after the Battle of New York. The article mentioned Ava Davis and Noah Rodriquez - childhood best friends turned business partners. They opened a fitness center that created personalized plans tailored to each individual’s needs. However, when Loki invaded the city, they lost everything. The fitness center was destroyed in the fight, and Ava’s girlfriend (recently turned fiance) was killed. They fell off the map until Lucia reported them missing.

You chewed on the end of your pen as you stared at the article and the summary you wrote. It was sad; your heart hurt for them. The city was in shambles after the battle; businesses were destroyed, and countless lives were lost. You remembered your father talking about it, saying the Avengers were working with the Devil. Sighing, you took a sip of the tea you made. It was no longer warm. “What are you doing up?” You yelped at the sudden voice. “Oops, sorry,” Clint laughed and poured himself a cup of coffee from the cold pot.

“You,” you placed a hand over your heart. “You gave me a heart attack.” You were taking a few deep breaths to calm the organ beating against your ribs.

“It’s my house. I didn’t expect to see you up!” He defended. That was fair, but you shrugged and returned to typing on the computer. “So what are you doing at this hour? You need sleep.” You were leaving tomorrow, which made you sad. But telling Clint wouldn’t hurt, right? Maybe.

“Someone I used to know before I moved into the tower told me a few people have missing people who have lived on the streets,” you clarified. “She’s reported it to the police, but they don’t care about people like me,” you saw a flash of anger pass through Clint’s eyes. “So I thought I’d use Avenger resources to find them.”

“Does the team know about this case you are working on?” You nodded.

“Tony got me the list of names from NYPD, and I told Pepper.”

“Any luck?” He moved around the counter and sat down next to you.

“Nothing on current whereabouts. It’s not like we can get our hands on cellphones, so tracking them through cellphone towers is out of the question,” you bite the end of your pen. “I thought about using facial recognition through Overwatch when I get back,” you looked at Clint, and he was looking at you. You couldn’t place the emotion on his face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You are just really good at this,” he said. “I’m just surprised.” You shrugged.

“I read a lot,” you mumbled. “I like a good crime novel.” Clint smiled. “So, do you have any ideas?” He pulled the file before him and flipped through the few pages.

“Well, if you can’t find them now, find the connection in their pass. If you believe these people are being taken, the answer is there. Find the connection between the individuals, which may lead you to who took them,” Clint explained.

“Find the connection,” you repeated. “Thank you! I’ll see what I can find.”

“Be careful,” he said, finishing his drink. “Don’t search for these people by yourself if it comes to that,” you nodded. “I’m serious,” he stood up and cleaned the mug he used. “What you are doing is honorable, but it can turn dangerous, and the last thing I need is an angry Black Widow and Scarlet Witch to come knocking on my door because you got hurt from my advice.” You laughed.

“I promise,” you said. “If I get a lead, I’ll hand it to the professionals.” He ruffled your hair.

“Smart kid. Get some sleep. From what I’ve heard, you have a bus for a couple of days,” you frowned. Natasha and Wanda refused to tell you the rest of the plans for the trip. “Night kiddo.”

“Night, Clint, and thank you again,” he gave you a salute and walked in the direction of his room. Find the connection. Find the connection. You began searching for other news articles, employment records, and rental leases. Every name you researched sent you down a rabbit hole that you followed. They were all different, all coming from different walks of life. One person spent some time in Lagos. Another was a teacher from California. But the one thing they had in common was the Avengers destroyed their livelihood. They lost businesses, family members, and loved ones in battles that the Avengers fought in. What was going on?

*

Saying goodbye to the Bartons was more complicated the second time than the first. A part of you was reluctant to leave, but you left with Cooper and Lila’s phone number in the new phone you got as a birthday present and a promise to text them all the time. So you loaded back onto the small jet and waved goodbye to them through the window. When you were at a safe altitude, you unbuckled your seat belt and walked over to the cockpit, standing between Natasha and Wanda. “So,” you dragged out the word. “Where are we going?” Natasha chuckled and shook her head.

“We are going to St. Petersburg to visit my parents. They’ve been very excited to meet you,” your eyebrows shot up to your hairline. No one was excited to meet you. You saw Natasha glance at Wanda, who was oddly quiet. She seemed lost in her head, a million miles away. Natasha placed a hand on her thigh. “They are eccentric,” she continued. “Just letting you know.” You hummed, but your attention was on the witch.

“Hey, Wands,” your voice pulled her out of her head. “Can you do my hair? Lila gave me some beads to put in it.”

“Yeah,” she forced a smile. “Of course I can.” You moved to the side so she could walk past you.

“Thank you,” Natasha whispered. You nodded and squeezed her shoulder. Wanda was sitting down with a hairbrush already, and you grabbed the beads from your bag. You sat between her legs and felt the brush move through your hair. It was soothing.

“Where are we going before St. Petersburg?” You questioned softly. Her hands stuttered slightly. “I know we are going somewhere that has you upset unless her parents are that bad.” Wanda chuckled.

“They are great,” you turned to face her when her voice cracked. Her eyes were glossy with tears. “I’m sorry,” she wiped her tears away. “You asked me to do something, and here I am crying.” You placed a hand on top of hers.

“It can wait,” you smiled. “Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?” You sat down next to her with your legs crossed. She faced forward, running her fingers across the bristles of the brush.

“I asked Nat if we could stop at what’s left of Sokovia. Once it was cleared of the rubble, the neighboring countries took the land. Completely erased it from the map,” her accent was thicker the more she spoke. “But a memorial was built in memory of the victims.”

“Like your brother?” You watched her body shake, but she quickly nodded her head. She placed the brush down and gripped the bench you both sat on. You saw the signs of her powers looking for an outlet. She told you that her powers were connected to her emotions. Her body was tense. The red glow of her magic danced on her fingers. Without hesitation, you grabbed her hand and hid away everything you didn’t want her to see. Her magic died down, and she turned to face you. A few tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Can you tell me about them? Your parents, your brother, your home before the battle.”

“Why do you want to know?” You shrugged, opening up her palm and tracing the lines.

“Because it’s important to you, and I want to know about your life,” you said. “I want to know how I can help you.” Wanda smiled, squeezing your hand.

“Sokovia was,” she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “Messy.” You weren’t expecting her to use that word. “It was messy to the outside world, but those living there found it beautiful. There was a lot of political turmoil, which resulted in the United States trying to fix it. I would fall asleep to the sound of bombs.”

“And you found that beautiful?” You thought living on the streets was hard enough. Wanda smiled, laughing slightly.

“Maybe that wasn’t beautiful, but we weren’t involved in the political nonsense as regular citizens. We had to rely on each other. I met some of the kindest people during those times. My parents tried very hard to provide for us to ensure we had food and a roof over our heads. We would watch sitcoms every night, and the laugh track would black out the war,” Wanda chuckled. “It sounds crazy when I say it out loud. You must think I’m insane,” you would never. “But I had to find the beautiful moments during the darkness.” You understood that. You found yourself doing the same thing: listening to your mother sing Caleb a song, finding a good book, and when your parents left you alone.

“I did the same,” you smiled. “Tell me more about your parents.” You could listen to Wanda talk about her home country for hours and hours. With every story she told, her eyes would light up, and her smile was so big. You hoped her smile would never fade away.

*

When the jet landed, Natasha and you allowed Wanda to visit the memorial without the two of you hovering. However, the Black Widow was passing back and forth - 5 steps one way, then turned around and walked back the other way. You sat on the ground, knees bent to rest your forearms on them. The memorial depicted an average Sokovian family - a mother, father, daughter, and son. Flowers and the Sokovian flag surrounded the family. “Who built it?” You asked. Natasha stopped her pacing and hummed in question. “Who built the memorial? It’s not like it appeared out of nowhere.” She faced the monument with her arms crossed. Wanda fell to her knees, and you knew Natasha was fighting the instinct to rush over to be with her.

“It kind of did,” she sat down next to you. “Stark has a relief foundation that helps with the messes we make, and they were on the scene before we made it back to the States,” Natasha sighed. “Stark says he didn’t do it, but you know Tony likes to take credit for everything,” you smiled, but the redhead sighed again. “Sokovia was a mess on and off the battlefield.”

“What happened?” You questioned. Natasha was quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

“There was a lot of talk about dismantling the Avengers,” she started. “Many people thought we were dangerous, especially with what happened in New York, DC, and Lagos. Ross was trying to pass the Accords,” the Accords? You weren’t sure what that was. You looked at her, confused. “It was a document that would allow the UN to be in control of us and have all enhanced individuals would have to be registered and monitored,” she explained. Enhanced? So, people like you, Wanda, and America.

“Why didn’t it get passed?”

“We refused to sign it,” Natasha bent one of her knees and leaned back. “I think it was the first time I saw the team stand together,” she admitted. “With us banding together, the Accords made no traction. We were left to make our own choices, but we try to limit the damage we cause and help those affected.” You nodded and focused back on Wanda. You could feel her energy. There was an uptick in her heart rate. Her breathing was becoming uneven. She was grieving, alone. Natasha told you the Accords weren’t signed because the Avengers came together. You weren’t going to let her face this alone.

You stood up and walked over to her, ignoring the way Natasha called after you. You tiptoed, not wanting to scare her. “You can join me,” she invited you. Nodding, you knelt next to her. “It’s so quiet,” Wanda looked around. “Sokovia was never this quiet.” She ran her hand across the ground. “I can’t believe it’s gone.”

“It’s not gone,” you whispered. “Just because the place is gone, Sokovia is still alive. It’s alive because of you and everyone else who survived that day,” you placed your hand on the monument. “Now it lives through me because you are keeping its memory and culture alive.” She placed her hand on top of yours. “Can you sign that lullaby your mom used to sing? I’d love to learn it.”

“It’s in Sokovian,” you smiled.

“I’d love to have another language under my belt.” Wanda laughed and used the back of her hand to clear the tears from her face. She taught you the song. Some words felt heavy on your tongue, but you managed to muddle your way through it. As you learned it, you heard Natasha’s footsteps behind you. She kissed the top of Wanda’s head, and the witch leaned her weight against her. You smiled, closed your eyes, and began to hum the tune Wanda shared with you.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you sang. “Now you are here. More perfect than I imagined,” the Sokovian words were hard to pronounce, and your voice shook. “Our house is now a home. No matter where you go. Sunlight shines on you,” you open your eyes. “Sunlight shines on you.”

_

taglist: @aestruvx, @toouncreativeforausername, @modedddd, @julilamoment, @mythixmagic, @yourmamacom, @vicmc624, @cherlenovix, @liliesandrosies, @whitewidowsbite, @clintsbigtoe,   @blackbirdv98 @arualdcg@yoyo-w​  @natbelovasblog, @johnnyhulu, @blackwidow-3, @theenglishswiftie, @faith-olsen

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Seek

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Divorcee! Reader

Summary: You are forced to share your hiding spot with one incorrigible cretin—Joel Miller. But, maybe that’s not so bad.

Word Count: 8,369

Warnings: 18+ Only, Fluff, Comedy, Shameless Smut, Breeding, Pre-Outbreak, Intoxication, Fluff, MINORS DNI!

A/N: a little peek at the night Joel and the Reader first got together. AKA that time Sarah played matchmaker with two grown adults. 😂 enjoy! divider is by @firefly-graphics​

“Hello, neighbor.” The low, sultry drawl, makes you swallow tightly. Oh God. You’re glad your hands are stuck wrist deep in the dirt, otherwise they’d be shaking. You take a few tries to school your features into what you hope is a casual smile, and not a grimace of abject panic as you glance over your shoulder at him. 

 “Hey, Joel.” Your ruggedly handsome neighbor leans against the fence, folding his thickly corded forearms over the pickets. You offer him the sincerest smile you can muster. God his fucking sleeves are rolled up—you fight the urge to ruin it by sinking your teeth into your lower lip. His eyes flick down, and then back up to your face. 

 “You doin’ some gardenin’?” You don’t know why, but the quirk of his lips makes your stomach knot.  

“Y-yeah. W-well, you know. I thought I’d get outside today, since it’s been raining so much.” You say, sticking the spade into the dirt as you turn to face him. You’re acutely aware of the mud on the hem of your yellow sundress now, and you know he must see it too. Goddammit. You feel like every time you talk to him you embarrass yourself—especially now. Nervously and out of habit, you touch your thumb to your ring finger through the gloves, feeling its absence. 

 Before, at least, you’d had Howard as a buffer, though Joel had never much seemed to like your husband. Ex-husband.

  “Mm, yeah. Hopin’ it stays nice, you know Sarah’s birthday’s on Saturday,” He says, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the pickets. “Comin’ up fast.” 

 “Oh yeah,” you say, nodding with a smile. “I’ll have to bring something over. Wait—she doesn’t do dolls anymore, right? She’s too old for that now.” 

 “Dolls? Damn kid’s asking me for a phone,” Joel mutters darkly, smoothing a frustrated hand down his face. “A phone.” You can’t help but laugh. “Anyway, I wanted to, you know, let you know you’re invited. Whole neighborhood is, we’ll have games and food. The works.” 

 “Oh, sure!” You’re not sure why you’re nervous. It’s not a special invitation, it’s open to the entire block. Still, you feel an apprehensive sort of giddiness growing in your tight stomach when he smiles at you encouragingly. 

“I’d love to come, I’ll um, I’ll bake something.” You pass your tongue over your lips, and Joel’s eyes follow the movement,  lingering before his eyes dart back up to yours. Imagining things. You’re definitely imagining things. You’d have to be—you’re a thirty-something year old divorcee with little to show for it other than the fixer-upper Howard had been glad to leave you. You’re not hot-single-neighbor material. 

 “That’ll be great.” He fixes you with another boyish smile and you hate the way your stupid stomach tightens when he does. “Sarah loves your apple crumble.” You try to hide your bashful smile behind one of your gardening gloves. 

 “Joel Miller, you know better than to lie to me over my own fence,” you chide, and he chuckles. 

 “Yes ma’am I do,” he says, winking at you as the corners of his full lips turn up underneath the mustache. “That’s why I told the truth.” You cluck your tongue at him, and begin gathering your gardening tools into the wide wicker basket you keep them in. You heft them up with a grunt, and he shakes his head. 

“Looks heavy. Let me give you a hand.” Before you can protest, he’s jogging around to the spot where your fences meet, and slipping in through the open gate. 

 “I-I can handle it,” you protest meekly as he holds out one calloused hand, beckoning with his fingers. You step back a little defensively, hesitating. “I carried it all the way out here from the shed by myself.” Joel merely raises an eyebrow and lifts his hand a little higher.  

 “I know, Sugar. You’re a big girl, you can do it all by yourself,” he says in that filthy smooth baritone. “Doesn’t mean you have to.” Flustered, you let him have the basket, brushing hopelessly at your dress as you follow him to the backyard shed. 

 “Well, it’s just me, so,” you scurry forward to pull open the door, and you watch him place the basket on the dusty work table. You’re not much of a crafts person, beyond the occasional gardening DIY, so it’s gone mostly unused since Howard moved out. 

 “I’m real sorry about that, by the way,” Joel says, dusting his hands off on his jeans. The look of pity on his face makes you shift uncomfortably. “But I can’t exactly say that I’m sorry he’s gone.” You laugh. The sound is brittle. Like my marriage was.

 “Don’t be.” Joel’s fingers trail across Howard’s old work-bench, leaving lines in the dust as he inspects it. 

 “Oh, hey,” Joel says, leaning over. He reaches underneath bench and pulls something bright yellow out from underneath it. “Speak of the devil,” he mutters. After a confused second of squinting, you realize it’s a staple-gun. “Knew he never returned this.” Your face burns with embarrassment as you pinch the bridge of your nose. The result, no doubt, of one of Howards many unfinished DIY projects, the ones you always seemed to end up cleaning up and finding space for in the basement. 

 “God, he’s not even here and Howard’s still embarrassing me,” you say. “I’m sorry, I would have given it back if I’d known.” You watch Joel shake his head.

 “That’s not on you. Besides, I’ve got it back now, so. No harm, no foul.” He tucks it into the waistband of his jeans before stepping out of the little shed and closing the door behind him. He smiles at you again, and you swear the only thing keeping you from melting into a puddle of jelly is the force of your will alone. 

“You let me know if there’s anything around the house that needs doing. You cleaned your gutters since Howard left?” He asks, and your face burns again as you hurriedly shake your head. 

 “N-no,” you admit. “But you really—I don’t want to put you to the trouble, Joel.”

 “S’no trouble.” He says with a wink, heading for the back gate. “I’ll be by tomorrow. You’ve got a ladder, don’t you, Sugar?”

 —

 You’re in your pajamas when Joel shows up, bright and early. The sound of the doorbell jolts you up from the kitchen table, where you’d positioned yourself so that you could see the television through the doorway. Watching the morning news rather mindlessly while you had your coffee was your new morning routine, and though it felt a little lonely and empty, it was certainly better than screaming matches with Howard about how inadequate of a wife you were to him, so you relished it. 

 You realize belatedly that the tie for your robe is upstairs as you’re fumbling with the locks, pulling open the door with an exasperated Hello before you realize exactly who’s on the other side of your front door. 

 “Howdy, neighbor.” That southern twang—the one you don’t have—is like syrup, each syllable running smoothly into the next as it slides pleasurably into your ears. You’re sure the heat rising in your chest and neck is due to your own embarrassment as you unsuccessfully try to tug the flaps of your robe shut with one hand. It’s definitely not because Joel is looking at me funny. 

 “J-Joel, I—morning,” you say, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears self consciously as you offer him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t, um. I didn’t know you’d be over so early. I thought you, um. Liked to get a, a late start in the mornings.” 

 “That’s true,” he says, nodding as he tucks his thumbs into his belt loops. “But I can get up for the important things.” He rocks forward on to the balls of his feet, the leather on his boots creaking. “So, Sugar, where’s that ladder?” You feel warm when he looks at you, so warm you’re surprised steam isn’t whistling out of your ears like a kettle. 

 “In the, um, in the shed.” You turn to head back into the house, but stop. “Do you need me to—” He meets the glance you shoot him over your shoulder with a stern lift of his brow. 

 “I got it. You go on and enjoy your coffee, now.” Joel tips his head at you, and then reaches forward to pat you just above your hip. “Go on. Scoot.” 

 The screen door swings shut behind you as you turn smartly to do as you’re told, and it’s only when you’re two steps into the kitchen that you realize your hip is still warm from where he touched you. You shiver. 

 Joel’s just friendly.

 You repeat that back to yourself dozens of times as you shower, dress, and ready yourself for the day. It’s embarrassing, but you don’t have much to do now that you don’t have Howard to pick up after. Stay-at-home-wife was just another word for nanny to him, and now, five years into your marriage and ten months post divorce, you’re still struggling to find a way to fill your time. You can live off the alimony, sure, but you want something more meaningful to do, even if it doesn’t pay much. 

 Joel is still up on the roof by the time you come back downstairs, but you aren’t down there long before you hear him tapping at the kitchen window. You unlock the back door, and the sight of Joel leaned up against your doorframe greets you when you open it. He’s busy toeing off his muddy workboots, but he glances up at you with a lopsided smile. 

 “Mind if I clean off? I’ve got to head to the site after this.” 

 “Totally, sure, um, you remember where the bathroom is?” You ask, and he nods. 

 “Down the hall to the right, innit?” He asks over his shoulder, and you nod. His arms and cheek are splattered with the same muck that you assume has been clogging your gutters, and you feel even guiltier knowing he has to head to his actual job after this. Where are my manners? You ask yourself guiltily, hurrying to fetch a glass from the cabinet. You don’t have any food you can offer him, but you go for the peach iced tea in the fridge and pour him a tall glass. He’d come over and done hard work for you, and you hadn���t even offered him something to drink. 

 Shameful, your grandmother’s shrill voice hisses at you through your memories. Just shameful. No wonder you couldn’t keep a man. With your teeth set into your bottom lip, you head for the hallway, intending to head Joel off before he gets to the front door. 

 You aren’t expecting to crash headlong into him.

 “Shit!” You curse as cold tea splashes against your chest and the glass in your fingers tumbles to the rug. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t get you, did I?” You look guiltily up at Joel and your heart seizes in your chest. He’s shirtless in your hallway, his face and chest damp and his t-shirt balled up in one fist. Logically, you know it’s because he obviously can’t go to work covered in gutter-crap, but you can’t think about that now, not when you’re following the happy trail starting at his belly button all the way down the waistband of his pants and God fucking dammit I’m staring like a creep—

 “No, Sugar. All dry,” he laughs, interrupting the rambling chain of your thoughts. “Can’t say the same for you.” He gestures down at your shirt before shrugging into his own. “Was that sweet tea?” Joel asks, a mournful note in his voice. 

 “Yes—let me get you another glass,” you say quickly, bending over to pick up the fallen glass before you rush back into the kitchen. Clumsy, stupid—you put it carefully in the sink before fetching a fresh cup from the cabinet, and you fill that one too. “Joel, I—oh.” You turn to call him into the kitchen, only to find him right behind you. His smile is slow syrup the way his voice is, and you find yourself feeling like a knock-kneed teenager at the sight of it. 

 “That for me?” Joel asks, and you nod wordlessly, unable to form words around the hot lump of embarrassment that forms in your throat. “Thank you, Sugar,” he purrs, plucking the glass from your limp fingers. “I was powerful thirsty.” He tips his head back, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob beneath the scruff of his beard as he swallows. 

You’re grateful for the refrigerator against your back, because you know you’d slide right down to your tasteful linoleum tiles in a heap without it when he lets out a satisfied moan. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and then chases the stray droplets with his tongue. 

 “Should bring a whole pitcher of that by the house when you come by on Saturday. Folks’ll go crazy for it.” 

 Your brain is still short circuiting from his closeness, the smell of his cologne,       the sight of his tanned, perfect chest—so you just nod dumbly, your lips slightly parted as you stare. Closing mouth in three, two, one—

 “Uh, um. Yeah. Tea.” Jesus fuck, why is my mouth so dry? You stumble over the words, feeling like there are a hundred glass marbles in your mouth as you try to pronounce them properly. “So, um. Saturday?”

 “Saturday.” Joel hands you back the glass, and winks. “Don’t drop it this time.” He pauses in the doorway, tapping his hand against the frame a few times. “And you’ll let me know when I can come by to cut that grass, wontcha, Sugar? Needs mowin’.” 

 I absolutely will not. “Sure thing. I-I mean, you don’t have to, really—”

 “Just bein’ neighborly is all,” he calls over his shoulder as the screen door swings shut behind him. You watch the top of his head go by the kitchen window before you slump against the refrigerator. 

 “Neighborly.” You mutter in disbelief, pinching the bridge of your nose. You make your way back upstairs to change your shirt—the tea is starting to get sticky against your skin. 

 —

 By the time Saturday rolls around, you’ve almost talked yourself completely out of attending. 

 You should not be this nervous about am eleven year old’s birthday party, you chastise yourself, shifting from foot to foot as you wait for someone to answer the door. There’s music coming from the backyard, and you can smell food, and the charcoal from the grill. You step back a little as the door opens, and you’re both surprised and relieved to see it isn’t Joel. And you’re glad for it, considering you’ve been studiously avoiding him. 

 Sarah greets you with a friendly smile, waving you inside. “Mrs. Leeman, hi!” She closes the door behind you. “Thank you for coming! You didn’t have to do that,” she says, gesturing at the covered apple crumble and sealed jug of peach tea in your hands. Sarah moves to take one from you, and you hand over the jug gratefully. “But this is way better than the cake uncle Tommy got. He went to Penny Saver.” 

 You laugh. “You’re welcome. I wasn’t exactly sure what to get you,” you admit, “but your dad said you’ve been wanting a phone?” You ask, and she rolls her eyes, starting towards the kitchen. You’ve only been here once or twice, to use the bathroom the few times Howard had deigned to take part in any neighborhood festivities. She sets the jug on the table. 

 “Ugh, yeah. But he says I’m too young.” 

 You lean in conspiratorially. “Well, how about I join team get Sarah a phone and try to help convince him, huh?” Carefully, you place the crumble on the table. “I’ll pay for your first month.” 

 Sarah’s eyes brighten. “Really? Yeah, oh my God that might actually work! Thanks, um, Mrs. Leeman. And for the crumble too, I asked special.” 

 “Just ‘Ms’, now,” you say with a little laugh. Sarah’s smile widens a little, turning up at the corners like she knows something you don’t know. And it isn’t Leeman anymore, either.  

 “Oh, right. I’m sorry,” she says, and you can tell she’s really trying to pour on the sincerity. She’s good—but she’s not that good. “I forgot you’re single now.” You quirk an eyebrow.

 “Yeah?” You answer slowly. “Kind of a weird way to put it, but yes?” You chalk it up to teenage awkwardness, watching amusedly as Sarah plucks the candles out of the admittedly generic cake Tommy bought, and presses them into the crumble instead. 

 “Everybody’s outside,” she chirps, wiping her hands off on her jeans. “Uncle Tommy, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, my dad,” she adds. “You should totally go say hi.” Casting another suspicious glance at Sarah, you make your way over to the back door. Once your eyes adjust to the bright summer sun, you see that Joel’s backyard is chaos; every kid in the neighborhood is there, along with most of the families in your corner of the cul-de-sac.

 You pretend you don’t immediately spot Joel on the grill, his sleeves rolled up as he chats with his brother. You’ve only met Tommy once or twice and only in passing, but you remember him just fine. Your eyes meet, and he leans over, elbowing Joel. He says something too, but you’re too far away to hear it. Joel begins to turn around, and you hurriedly busy yourself at the punch bowl. 

 God, this is pathetic. You berate yourself as you spoon out punch into a little paper cup. Just say hi, you stupid idiot. You feel stupid and giddy around Joel, like a middle-schooler with her first crush only worse, because you’re two decades past the expiration date on this behavior. Not to mention he’s your neighbor. 

And God knows you aren’t the best at reading signals—it had taken you years to realize that your marriage, your relationship, was dead in the water. Joel isn’t interested, he can’t be. At most, you assume he feels a sort of half hearted pity for you. I’m like the one-eyed cat at the shelter.

 “Hey there Judy, thanks for comin’.” You hear Joel’s voice behind you, and you tense—He’s coming this way. You chance a glance over your shoulder and swallow audibly. He’s making a beeline right for you. Is it too late to go back inside? You know the thought is futile, it’s most certainly far too late for that. 

 “Hi, I mean, you know, welcome to the party,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets after an awkward moment of holding them out, almost like he was going to hug you and then thought better of it. 

 “Yeah, Sarah was…enthusiastic about the cake.” You’re trying to think of a word to describe her weird behavior. “Maybe a little too much,” you laugh a little. Joel shakes his head and mutters something under his breath you can’t quite make out—“damn kid sticking her nose in where it doesn’t—” Before he shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. 

 “Kid’s a mystery to me sometimes,” he replies with a huff. He squints, like he’s looking for her in the crowd. You follow his line of sight right to Sarah, laughing with her friends. 

 “She’s a good one.”

 “Lord knows,” Joel sighs. “I was raising hell at her age.” He turns back to you. “I’m really glad you could make it.” His smile is so bright you’re forced to look somewhere else, for fear of going weak in the knees. 

 “N-no problem. I’m, um, I’m happy to get out of the house,” you admit. “I’ve been kind of… I don’t know. Bored? Since Howard left.” You look down at the punch cup in your hands. “Is that weird? I don’t miss him or anything, I just… I guess I never realized how much time he was taking. Wasting.” You shake your head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t—”

 “No, no, please,” Joel looks at you almost imploringly. “I don’t mind.” He leans against the table behind you. “I’ve been there. Losing yourself is surprisingly easy. It’s the finding yourself after that’s hard.” 

 “Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, exactly.” 

 “Listen I—”

 “Joel, you wanna serve burnt burgers or what?” Tommy calls from the grill, pointing at the thick smoke curling up from it. Joel curses.

 “Dammit, Tommy—I’ll be right back.” 

 He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, and you swallow back the unexpected disappointment at the interruption. It’s probably a good thing though, you think to yourself as you spy Tricia Gibbins, also newly divorced, eyeing you with a scowl. 

 You offer her a weak smile in response, before turning back to your drink. Joel’s a hot commodity, and you know you’re not the only single woman in the neighborhood with eyes. Joel has an easy sort of confidence about him, the kind that comes from working with your hands and being good at it. The kind that isn’t unearned. 

 As Joel averts the crisis at the grill, you mingle. Chatting up the neighbors you haven’t really seen since the divorce. It’s awkward at first, but you get over that quickly enough. It’s oddly comforting, feeling like you’re part of the community at large again, instead of the weird shut-in with the mean husband. Oddly, Joel keeps finding reasons to be close to you, joining in the conversations you’re having as he sidles up next to you, offering to refresh your drink each time you finish it. And when he brings out the crumble from the kitchen—much to Tommy’s chagrin—he thanks you specifically for providing it, and your cheeks heat as you duck your head, embarrassedly enduring the round of applause that follows. 

 If Gibbins didn’t hate me already, she definitely does now.

 You help cut and serve it, trying to ensure each partygoer at least has the option of having a piece. As Sarah wolfs down her piece after blowing out her candles, she and her friends share a conspiratorial look. 

 “We were thinking of playing a party game, dad,” she says, cocking her head at him. “Kids versus grown-ups.” Joel takes a sip of his beer, cocking his head skeptically. 

 “And what game would that be, young lady?”

 “Manhunt! Come on, dad, please? Everyone really wants to play!” Sarah gestures eagerly at the gaggle of kids behind her, pushing and shoving and giggling nervously as the adults look them over. Sarah rocks excitedly back and forth on her tip-toes as her father debates it. Sarah looks at you imploringly. 

“Please? Last game of the night, I promise! You’ll play, won’t you?” 

 “Ah hell,” Tommy curses, finishing his beer before slinging the empty bottle into the trash-can by the picnic table. “Why not? Used to play this all the time growin’ up.” He casts a nostalgic look at Joel before elbowing Sarah conspiratorially. “Every summer I used to whoop your daddy’s—”

 “No lying to the girl on her birthday, Tommy,” Joel replies with a chuckle, and you laugh too. “Fine then. Who all’s playin’?” Hands go up, all across the yard, and Joel nods as he takes stock of them. Howard would have insisted on leaving right about now, your charitable appearance over and done with. But Howard isn’t here to make the decision for you, and you find yourself raising your own hand, too. Perhaps it’s the warm buzz of the beer settling into your stomach making you foolish, but it’s a warm summer evening and you feel… good. 

 “Ground rules—nobody leaves the block, understand? No hidin’ in strangers yards.” Joel delivers the rules sternly. “

 “We were thinking… we’ll seek. Time limit?” Sarah asks, suddenly all business as she leans back to consult her friends, now apparently her war-council. 

 “Thirty minutes.” Joel replies, holding out his hand. Sarah shakes it exaggeratedly, grinning at him. She holds up two fingers, gesturing between the two of them. “And you’ve got to find everybody to win.” 

 “Yeah, yeah, old man,” She calls over her shoulder as she jogs toward her friends. “You’re going down!” They’re all clustered around the side of the house, some of them already counting. You’re already thinking of the perfect hiding place, where the rosebushes meet on the left side of your porch—it’s impossible to see from the sidewalk. The participating adults are already splitting up, heading in different directions to try and outlast their children. 

 Giggling, you hurry back across the street, casting a suspicious glance around before you duck down behind your rosebushes. It’s silly, you know, but… it feels good too. Like you’re actually enjoying yourself instead of pretending to. Howard never would have approved of this—These are children’s games, come on—but he isn’t here, and you don’t need him to. The thought makes you practically giddy; Howard is gone, gone! 

 And he isn’t coming back.

 You lean back against the porch, ducking lower as you hear the sound of approaching voices. As you reach back to steady yourself, your hand brushes against another. You gasp, loudly, and whirl around to see Joel, looking equally surprised. It looks like he’s come around from the opposite side of the house, staying low underneath the roses, just like you. You open your mouth to speak, but he holds up a finger, pointing behind you. 

 “I heard something! I think one of the grown-ups is hiding over here.” You wait with baited breath to be discovered, but the gangly teenager on the other side of the bush doesn’t come all the way up the porch steps, stopping halfway. 

“Whatever, I don’t see anybody. Let’s look by the Simmons’ place!”

 The sound of your gravel crunching under sneakers gradually recedes, and you let out a heavy sigh of relief. 

 “Sorry. I didn’t know you were there,” you whisper apologetically, and Joel laughs. 

 “Well you know. Great minds, and all that.” He scoots closer. “Do you mind? I can risk finding another spot if you do.” 

 “No, no,” you say, shaking your head. Maybe it’s the beers, making you foolishly confident, but you… want him to stay. “There’s room enough for the two of us.” 

 “You’re damn right there is,” Joel replies. “Grass is tall enough that we could stand in it.” You pretend to be shocked, raising a cartoonishly offended hand over your heart. 

 “Oh, is that how it is, Miller?” You ask. “You come over here, barge into my hiding spot, and then insult my grass? I’m pretty sure them’s fighting words, around here at least.” He edges closer, close enough that when he settles down into a sitting position, his thigh presses against yours. 

 “It’s almost calf high, Sugar,” he says seriously. “That’s dangerous.” You try to look sufficiently scared, and Joel smothers a laugh behind one hand. 

 “Danger? Here?” You bring a hand to your cheek. “How dangerous are we talking?” He fixes you with a serious look, brows knitting together as he presses his full lips into a tight line. 

 “Very dangerous. Trip and falls, termites, biting ants—you know. Just to name a few things.” Joel is handsome, not a fact you’re unfamiliar with. But up this close… You can see the beginnings of salt and in his thick black hair, how his warm brown eyes are flecked with gold and green, the cinnamon spice of his breath—Fireball, he was drinking Fireball—

 And how soft his lips are when they brush against yours. 

 You’re not sure how long it takes you to realize that you’re kissing Joel Miller. Later, when you look back, you’ll realize there’s a gap in your memory, a skip, a blank space spanning from the moment his hip pressed against yours until you feel the warmth of his hand on your hip through your jeans. It’s a chaste thing, a simple press of his mouth to yours, but the realization of what’s happening makes you gasp, pulling away. For once, you’re speechless, the nervous ramble that usually accompanies these moments is notoriously absent. 

 Of course it’s Joel that speaks first. 

 “I been waitin’ to do that for six months.” He breathes. And then he leans forward, gently brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, and does it again. You release your death-grip on the latticework beneath the porch, and instead tangle your fingers in Joel’s t-shirt. He mumbles something against your lips that you don’t understand before deepening the kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth as you sigh against him. Joel tastes like cinnamon whiskey, hops, and faintly of tobacco—likely from the cigarette you’d seen him bum from Tommy in secret earlier. 

 He tastes so good you could cry. Like beer and warm summer evenings, like catching lightning bugs in jars. He tastes exactly like you thought he would. 

 When you part, you’re both panting, staring wild-eyed at one another as the rest of the world filters back in. Joel lets out a little laugh, resting his forehead against yours. You like how he smells, too, sandalwood and leather. 

 “Six months is a long time,” you say after a minute, and he laughs. Somehow, you feel both validated and incredibly stupid at the same time. “And here I thought you felt sorry for me.”

 “I did, being married to that prick,” he scoffs. “I hung over that fence every other day for six months, and you never thought—?”

 “No! I thought, you know, you… really wanted to mow my grass.” You answer defeatedly, and this time Joel’s booms in your ears so loud you fear the children will discover you. You laugh too, and when he pulls you close to kiss you a third time, you lean into it, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as he pulls you practically into his lap. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you card fingers through his thick hair. You’re glad you’re sitting down, because the answering husky moan he releases would have brought you to your knees. 

 “Dad! Thirty-minutes!” The sound of Sarah’s voice shocks the two of you apart, and you scramble off of Joel, your cheeks burning. You peek through the rose bushes, pulling aside a bud to see Sarah, standing in the middle of the street. You snicker at the sight of her. She and her friends seem to have already rounded up the other adults, and, armed with water-guns, are escorting them back to the party. You can see that Tommy’s wet, and you wonder if he tried to outrun them. 

 “Time’s up,” she calls. “You guys win!” 

 “You stay here. I’ll go first.” Joel says with a wink. “I’ll see you back at the party, okay? And we’ll finish this… discussion.” He licks his lips. 

 You nod, not trusting your voice not to give out on you. You watch as Joel gets a very rules-illegal squirting with Sarah’s supersoaker, and you’re glad he took the bullet for both of you as they head into the backyard. Once you’re sure no one else is really watching, you creep out, brushing stray bits of grass and twigs from your clothes. Your face still feels warm, your lips tingling where Joel’s had met them. 

 There isn’t much “party” left when you let yourself in through the side gate, people cleaning up with trash bags. You begin helping, clearing the tables of plastic cutlery and paper plates. There isn’t really time to talk, not really. Every time he begins to, something, someone, needs his attention. As you’re tossing bags into the trash bin, Tommy comes up behind you with another load. You hold the lid open for him, and he ducks his head gratefully. 

 “Thanks. So, you and my brother, huh? Manhunt neighborhood champs.” He grins at you, and you feel your face heat. 

 “In my defense, it was my hiding spot first.” 

 “That tracks.” He laughs. ”And I’m not mad, even though you dethroned my cake.” 

 You grin. “Sorry. I was asked.” It’s easy to see that Tommy and Joel are related, you think as you chat. They have the same easy way of moving, the same slow drawl. You think of the way his lips felt against yours again and your face warms. It had felt so right to do in that moment, but now you can’t help but wonder if it had been a mistake. 

 “He’s droppin’ Sarah off at her friend’s place,” Tommy says suddenly. “In  case you were wonderin’.” His knowing look makes you wish the earth would open right up and swallow you into the resulting abyss. It doesn’t though, and you are forced to shoot Tommy a painfully embarrassed smile instead. 

 “I, um. Thanks.” You tuck your hands into your pockets to stop their nervous twitching. Somehow, this feels like a higher-stakes interaction than any of the others you’ve ever had with Tommy, and you aren’t sure why. 

 “No problem.” Tommy dusts his hands off of his jeans. “And he’s… Stupid. My brother. But he means well.” 

 “I think that makes two of us.” 

 You finish helping clean up, hanging around the yard awkwardly until Tommy asks you if you want to wait inside. You shake your head. Joel’s probably realized his mistake by now, you think to yourself, shaking your head as you make your way back across the street. Keys in hand, you head up the steps and unlock the door. As it swings open, the blast of a car-horn makes you yelp, jumping as you press yourself against the doorframe. 

 Joels truck swings haphazardly into your driveway, and he’s half out of it before it even stops. He hops the little gate in front of your porch steps, taking them two at a time as he strides towards you with purpose. 

 “Sugar.” 

 “Joel, I—” There are a thousand thoughts, all jumping to reach your mouth first. You want to kiss him again, you want to run inside and hide until he leaves, you really want to kiss him again—

 “I thought I told you to wait for me,” Joel says lowly, his fingers sliding through the belt loops on your jeans to tug you close against his chest. “Weren’t finished talkin’.” His mouth is against yours before you can answer, and he gratefully swallows your gasp of surprise as his tongue presses insistently at the seam of your lips. You are aware, on some level, that you’re standing on your porch, in full view of every watchful eye on your end of the street. However, your concern for your reputation is kept well in check by the feel of Joel’s hands passing hungrily over your hips.

 His fingers skate up underneath the hem of your t-shirt, and you gasp at the feel of them trailing up your sides and over your belly. 

 “I-inside,” you say, the word muffled by his lips. You feel the corners of his mouth curl up against your cheek as Joel loops his arms underneath your thighs. You gasp as he hoists you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you inside. Joel kicks the door shut behind him before pressing you against the wall, fitting the hard planes of his body against the softness of yours. He fits so well in between your thighs, his jean-clad hips slotting against you perfectly. 

 You want to be ashamed at the way your hips roll into his, your heels digging into the backs of his thighs. His hand fists in your hair, tugging your head back so that he can trail his teeth and tongue down the side of your throat.  

 “Fuck,” he mutters, teeth catching at the shell of your ear as one hand cups your swollen cunt through your jeans. You feel like you’re on fire, heat running underneath your skin, sparking where Joel touches you. Your head is swimming, like you’re drunk on more than just a couple of beers. Your fingers tangle in the short hair at the nape of his neck, and the throaty moan Joel releases makes your pussy clench down hard around nothing. 

 You drop your feet to the floor as his fingers play at the button of your jeans. He’s breathing heavy, hair askew from your attentions and eyes hungry. 

 “We can stop if you want to,” he says, his voice strained and husky. “You say stop, we stop.” You can tell he wants to do anything but stop, his thigh wedged between yours, and the half hard weight of his cock throbbing against you through his jeans. But you can also see he means it, that he’ll turn around and walk right back to his truck if you tell him to. 

 You hesitate, feeling Joel’s steady breaths against your lips as he waits for your decision. This is crazy, you reason. We’ll both regret this, and it’ll be awkward and we’ll never be able to talk to each other again—But what’s crazier is that you know you want him to stay. That you’re willing to risk it. 

 Maybe you’ll just be crazy for tonight. 

 “Stay.” 

 Joel surges, crashing over you like a wave. His hands—God, his hands—are everywhere, tugging up the rumpled hem of your t-shirt to cup your breasts through your bra, wiggling down under the waistband of your jeans to touch whatever skin he can—

 “Y’know, Sugar,” Joel’s voice is simmering honey, is burnt sugar—“I don’t think we’re gonna make it upstairs.” You don’t think so either, not with his eager fingers tugging open the button on your jeans. Not to mention that you’re pretty sure that if he stops touching you, you might actually die. You’ve never felt this before, the all encompassing need that drives you to grind down against his proffered thigh, your hands fisting in his shirt. 

 Definitely not making it to the bed. He kisses you again, sucking on your tongue as you feverishly work at the buttons on his shirt. You push them apart to touch his bare skin and he hums with pleasure. 

 He grunts frustratedly when there isn’t enough room for his huge hands in your tight jeans, tugging at them until they stick fast about halfway down your thighs. He anchors his hands underneath your hips, and you gasp as he hoists you up, taking a few wobbly steps towards the stairs.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

 He only makes it up three of them before he abandons the effort, setting you down. You let out a little giggle as your ass makes contact with the wood, and  Joel sucks his teeth. 

 “Goddamn house. S’got too many stairs,” he mumbles against the side of your throat. The raspy burn of his beard against your skin is delicious as he trails kisses down your neck until he meets the collar of your shirt. “Take this fuckin’ thing off, Sugar.” Joel’s teeth tug at the fabric. He chuckles lowly when your breath catches. “Or d’you want me to do it for you?” You hurriedly tug your shirt up over your head—with Joel’s eager assistance—and his mouth crashes against yours as before it’s even cleared your hair.

 Joel’s cinnamon and whiskey spiced kisses leave heat in their wake as he presses them between your breasts, pulling down the cups of your bra. He releases a pleased hum when your puffy nipples spill lewdly over the lace. The way he grins at the sight of them makes you want to combust, heat creeping up your chest and neck as he pinches them softly between his fingers. You whine, and he clucks his tongue at you, fixing you with a serious look. 

 “Don’t you rush me, Sugar,” he says, flicking his thumb against your nipple, and he grins when you wriggle. “Haven’t I been patient?” You’re hard pressed to disagree. His heavy lidded eyes go even darker as he laves his tongue across your nipple, and you whimper pathetically when he rolls it between his teeth. 

 “Yeah,” you pant as Joel taps his very patient fingers against the fleshy curve of your hip. You lift for him, and he hums with approval as he tugs them down your legs and flings them to the floor. “Practically a saint—ah, Joel!” Joel cups your pussy, clapping his hand against the fatty curve of it with a groan. 

 “If I were a saint, Sugar,” he drawls, pulling your panties tight until the puffy lips of your cunt pop out lewdly around them, “You know I’d never miss a day at this fuckin’ church.” He traces the shape of your swollen clit through the fabric with the rough pad of his thumb. “A-fuckin’-men.” The elastic band snaps against your skin as he pulls them off completely, your panties joining your jeans in an undignified heap at the bottom of the stairs. 

 Joel delivers a stinging little slap to your thigh that makes you yelp. 

 “Open.” You do, your cheeks burning as you spread your legs apart and let him see. He cards his fingers through his hair as a low “fuck” falls from his lips. He drags a thick, calloused finger up your slit, swirling the tip through your sopping folds. “Christ, Sugar,” he says, holding up his fingers so that you can see your own slick shining on them. You can’t look away as he lowers his head, his breath puffing across your heated skin. It’s only when he drags his tongue up your slit that your head falls back, and you curse at the ceiling. 

 “S’right,” he mumbles against your cunt, wrenching your legs further open. “Fuck, you taste good, baby.” Your fingers tangle in his hair, and you feel him chuckle against you before his tongue finds your clit and you loose a stream of curses and his name—

 “Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck, Joel—”

 “Say it, Sugar,” his beard rasps deliciously against your inner thighs. “Let ‘em hear my fuckin’ name.” 

 It’s impossible to think. You’re fairly certain the amount of electricity currently thrumming through you would be enough to light up a whole goddamn city. Your thighs tremble in his grip and you can’t stop the shameful push of your hips against his face. And then you’re cumming with a pitiful little whine, tears gathering in the corners of your wide eyes. Joel pulls away from you slowly, wiping at his glistening mouth with the back of his hand as he looks at you with dark, lidded eyes. 

 “Don’t cry yet, Sugar,” he rasps. You can’t help but stare as he looses the buttons on his jeans with nimble fingers. The heavy weight of his cock pushes insistently against the plaid fabric of his briefs before he hooks his thumb under the elastic and tugs it down too. “Oughta wait till the good part, at least.” 

 Oh my fucking God. 

 Joel Miller’s cock is thick. Like a fucking coke-can with veins. He palms it with one hand, and your traitorous cunt clenches wetly as you stare. The head is red, angry and leaking, and you find yourself with the sudden urge to swipe your tongue across it and see how he tastes. You can’t stop your eyes from following the movement as he strokes himself slowly, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. 

 “Want a taste, Sugar?” He purrs, the accent dripping down every vowel. You don’t have enough working neurons left to lie, and so you nod meekly, licking your lips. “Say aah for me, baby.” You open your mouth wide, sticking out your tongue a little and he groans, balancing one hand on the bannister and the other against the wall as he leans forward. You nurse at his head, wrapping your lips around it as he thrusts slowly. You work your way down his thick, throbbing shaft, stopping when his head taps the back of your throat.

 “—gotta be fucking kidding me,” you catch bits and pieces of his mumbled praise, his fingers tangling in your hair as he holds your head still, enjoying the sensation before pulling out. You wipe at the spit on your chin as Joel pumps his cock, squeezing as his head falls back. 

 “If I wasn’t so determined to make a mess of that pussy, Sugar, I’d let you finish.” Joel sinks down to his knees on the stairs, cupping your chin with sure fingers as he kisses you, and you taste yourself on his tongue. You’re sure that tomorrow, you will find the time to be appalled that you’re here, like this, with your neighbor—

 But there is no space in your head for it now. 

 Now, Joel is settling himself between your thighs, the head of his cock sliding deliciously against you. And then fuck, he’s pushing inside, making your head fuzzy with that blissful, burning stretch. 

 “G-God,” you whimper, pressing your face against his throat, tugging at the skin there with your teeth as he seats himself all the way inside. 

 “Sorry, Sugar,” he mumbles the words into your hair, groaning as his heavy balls come to rest against you. “Best you got is me.” Joel draws out, taking all your air with him, before slamming back down, his hips meeting yours with a lewd squelch. You let out a choked gasp as he sinks his cock in to the base, his eyes rolling to half mast. His slow, steady pace is enough to make you see stars while your eyes are open, bright spots tattooing themselves against your retinas. 

 You don’t notice the hard bite of the wooden stairs into your back and the curve of your ass as you wrap your thighs around Joel’s hips. It feels so good, you’re drowning in it. In Joel. He knots a fist in the curls at the nape of your neck, tugging your head back. You let him, and are rewarded with his teeth and tongue scraping deliciously down the line of your throat. 

 “Where’ve you been hidin’ this pussy, Sugar?” The words are breathed hotly against the shell of your ear, followed by his teeth. “Why’d you hide her from me?” He punctuates his questions with a hard thrust that makes you bury your fingernails in the meat of his shoulder and sob. “Coulda been givin’ you your dick months ago.” 

 You’re not paying attention, not really, not when the white hot pleasure building at your core is all you can think about. You whine out an apology, not because you mean it, but because you think it’s what he wants to hear—and at this point, you’d tell him anything just to be able to crest the wave he’s been building inside of you. Fuck and you’re so full—

 Every slow, heavy thrust punches the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping and whining as Joel takes you to pieces.

 “H-holy shit,” the words stick to your lips and tongue as you struggle to get them out around the moans you keep trying unsuccessfully to swallow. It was never like this with Howard, this dizzying rush of pleasure that leaves you aching for more—begging for more, even if you’re not sure you can take it. 

“P-please,” you keen, lifting your hips eagerly to meet his thrusts. “Please!”

 “Please what, Sugar?” Joel asks teasingly, before dropping lis lips to yours. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it. “I’d tell you to use your big girl words but I know you can’t right now, can you Sweetheart?” 

 You cum with a sob, your back arching as you dig your heels into the backs of Joel’s thighs. They buckle, and he sinks down to his knees as you feel his cock throb inside you. Joel curses into your hair, both hands gripping the lip of the stair next to your head hard enough to drive the blood from his knuckles. You lay like that for a minute, panting on the stairs as you luxuriate in the sticky, warm afterglow. 

 Thank God for the pill. 

 All you can smell is the piney scent of his aftershave, tucked against his chest like you are. For a moment, you allow yourself to bask in Joel, your face pressed against his sweat-damp skin, the feel of his pulse thrumming beneath your cheek. You don’t know why, but it makes you think of mornings. Of waking up like this, tangled up in each other, of hot coffee and quick goodbyes over rushed breakfasts, of long nights—

 “You okay?” Joel asks, leaning away from you. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s wearing a dopey smile underneath his scruffy beard. He cups your cheek, and you blink it all away, squashing those thoughts back down into your subconscious where they belong. He slips from between your thighs, and you pretend you don’t feel something like a suspicious cross between longing and disappointment. 

 “Yeah, I’m good.” You offer him a weak smile as you sit up, wincing. There’s an ache in your back from where you’d been pressed against the stairs, and as Joel tucks himself back into his pants, he grimaces, rubbing his knee. You let out a little embarrassed laugh. “Probably should have tried harder to make it to the bed, though.” 

 Joel fixes you with a sly smile. “There’s still time.” Your face heats and you sputter. 

 “I—”

 “We can just sleep,” he says, chuckling. “Scout’s honor.” 

 It feels too natural to lead him upstairs, dodging stray hands as you fish a towel out for him from the hall closet. He starts stripping before you’re even out of the bathroom, and when he holds out a hand to you from the shower, you take it. Joel tugs you against his chest, tucking you beneath his chin underneath the spray. 

 “I thought you said we could sleep?” You say, peeking up at him through your lashes, a smile playing at the edges of your lips. Joel laughs, nosing along your jawline and pressing wet kisses to the corners of your mouth. 

 “Well we’re not in bed yet, are we Sugar?” 

 the end.

 for now. 

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[ytsunodabrainrotbaybee]

The Crow

Once again, I am using a fictional Chicago Grand Prix street race. Vegas GP doesn’t exist.

There’s a superstition among AlphaTauri fans that involves a correlation between how often Yuki’s girlfriend is seen, and how well race day goes.

formulawhat

formulawhat Salem’s appeared twice in the paddock this weekend. It’s gonna be a good one.

yooooma Our very own cryptid

kikiyeah counting her appearances like Yuki’s weekends depend on it.

formulawhat He’s gotten points every time we’ve seen her twice.

kikiyeah Start luring her out with cheese or something every weekend to make sure Yuki has a good race

spooks.mcgoo That’s insulting. I hear she prefers little cut fruits.

yukitsunoda0511

yukitsunoda0511 starting P16, Ready Chicago!

spooks.mcgoo Blocked

formulawhat The most loving death glare I’ve ever seen

yeeheehee She’s like when you see a cat about to knock a glass off of the counter and tell it to stop.

eeehhhh She doesn’t even look happy with him

yeeheehee You’d be surprised

spooks.mcgoo

spooks.mcgoo good luck sweetheart

yukitsunoda0511 I don’t need it today 😏😏

spooks.mcgoo I am the luck. 🫡

zhouguanyu24 Can you come to our garages next week?

formulawhat Fr. man needs all the help he can get

Yeeheehoo Ferrari needs you next

Salem watches from the garages. Everyone rushes around her in the race start, before settling down for a moment to watch as Yuki climbs the grid from his p16 starting position. With Liam close on his tail the two seem almost unstoppable.

Or as unstoppable as an AlphaTauri team can be.

Like a pair of tractors they mow into the midfield and up into the top ten.

Radios from both drivers play in the set of headphones Salem has on her head. At 27 laps, yet to pit, Liam is the first to experience problems. He started with softs, while Yuki is on mediums. Salem never got what the strategy was initially, but she can only hope it was a good one.

“Box box, Liam, box for mediums.”

At only tenth place, wether or not Liam would recover was a toss up. But they have 45 laps left and the car has performed well so far in the weekend. Yuki is left to push harder into the top ten, creating a buffer so that as he pits he can quickly recover.

“Time to see if Salem’s good omens can cover me too,” Liam’s tone is unsure. A nervous laugh covered the anticipation for a potentially botched pitstop.

He’s in and on his way in record time. Mechanics rejoice, celebrating what is possible the smoothest pit stop of the season.

alphataurif1

alphataurif1 double points in Chicago. Looks like liamlawson30 is finding his own stride flawlessly.

spooks.mcgoo 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

formulawhat Get this woman some fruit alphataurif1

alphataurif1 formulawhat She already has plenty

formulawhat I am so fully intimidated by Salem.

Yeeheehee Imagine in nine-ish months we get a baby Tsunoda

spooks.mcgoo we will not be speaking this into existence.

Yeeheehee You right. That’s after a podium.

Salem makes herself busy. She left the paddock as soon as the race was over, planning some sort of homemade dinner. Her whole drive back to her hotel room was spent debating between picking up a pizza and putting together some pasta.

Her choice would be the Chicago style pizza. However, Yuki has been really into Italian lately.

However, there’s also a pizza place down the block from the hotel that’s known for their Chicago style pizza.

Salem sets the pizza box on the little hotel desk to the side of the bed. Yuki has already texted her a couple times, letting her know when he was done, asking why she left already, and letting her know that he’s on his way over.

She sits, cross legged, on the foot of the bed scrolling through Netflix as Yuki makes it back to the room and onto the bed beside her. Her attention doesn’t move from the tv.

“I got us pizza.”

Yuki takes her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her wrist, then her shoulder. “Not hungry,” he whispers in her ear.

If anything racing usually builds a ridiculous appetite. Even more than Yuki has. Salem doesn’t say anything. Nothing that her accusatory stare can’t say. His brown eyes are innocent. Kind of blank. But innocent.

“Not feeling pizza?”

“It looks great.”

He’s pulled her into his lap, his head on her shoulder and arms wrapped tight around her waist.

“You already ate,” Yuki avoids eye contact. Like a puppy that knows he’s done something wrong.

“Yeah,” he says, “Redbull had a lot of extra food.”

spooks.mcgoo

spooks.mcgoo that’s my guy

formulawhat Petition for a baby Tsunoda

spooks.mcgoo I will find you

formulawhat You said you wanted a baby Yuki. I’m just manifesting

Liked by yukitsunoda0511

spooks.mcgoo Manifesting my foot in your back

lilymhe Name her after me

spooks.mcgoo Blocked. The whole of yous

kikiyeah it should’ve been me

yonerd Get this woman some Fruits

[thesmpisonfire]

okay im here with actual headcanons this time, no misclicks fortunately

soulfire

bad is the pillow of the group because even while freezing cold he's still somehow the warmest, so he is buffered by the whole team. he's always got an arm around someone (usually pac), wings covering as many people as he can and tail wrapped around anyone farther away. pac, tubbo and tina are usually the ones situated close to him

tina and bad are usually the ones make food or drinks that aren't alchoholic. tina obviously brews a bunch of tea during the day and theres not a lot of food but they make do with the crops and resources they have. now that the greens have merged, forever helps out now too as well as fit!

since they couldn't go home before the bounty hunting nerfs, everybody still managed to flock to each other. or at least anyone who wasnt being tracked. and when it was finally time for every to rest, they all curled up in a hole and made it as warm as possible for the new wolves joining them

they have a specific corner for sleeping in and, once everyone is awake or those who aren't can be moved, tina always makes sure that the bedding is fixed. now she has bagi to help her :]

pachalo

because i can never stop thinking about it: bad's collar was handmade by pac but was originally a bit of a joke gift considering the joke about bad being soulfire's guard dog. unbeknownst to the rest of the team, bad wears it constantly underneath his bandanna, expertly hidden. pac's the only one who knows and teases bad lightly for it

before purgatory there were very few people who got to see bad's hair, much less be able to touch it. but now the list of people allowed to touch it has pac added to it

bad likes to rest his head on pac's chest to hear his heartbeat, to make sure he's alive and to pick up on nightmares. he's very careful of where he puts his horns

fitpachalo

fit sometimes, mostly when they've exhausted their energy, bridal carries bad or pac back to base to get proper rest. this happens less with bad cus he's cautious of his energy. the first time it happened though it spooked him completely awake because he was so flustered, pac laughed at him (albiet very sleepily)

considering bad and pac are the more teasing by nature, they make it just a tiiiny bit of a game to see who can fluster fit more. pac is usually the winner 9 times out of 10

when bad gets growly, fit is the only other team member aside from maybe tubbo who's allowed to come near pac. the downside of this is that bad proceeds to get growly over fit as well. -screamingallium

YEAAAA

Under read more bc it got long :]

About the soulfire one where they can't go back home and have to huddle together somewhere, there's actually a secret nook in Soulfires old farm!! Bad made some ghost dirt blocks and hid a small room with emergency chests and a fireplace in case of need. They all huddle there when they can't be safe at home <3

ALSO YEAAAA SLEEP CORNER. At first the new members from green find it weird that they're that rich but all sleep together on a bunch of mattresses and pillows, but soon they notice its because they feel safer and comfier and warmer (even if it's just an illusion) when they sleep on a pile <3

Now to pachalo.

Omg the fucking leash thingnsnfnekgsocksfm yesyes. They know this thing will only last 2 weeks and they're gonna get freaky with it‼️‼️ pac doesn't mind bad being the mad dog but he loves to tease and wait for when bad gets too blood thirsty and he goes "don't make me leash you, bad"

It usually makes bad worse :]

Hgghhhhhh okay so in brazil we have a word called cafuné, cafuné is when you caress/play/scritches someone's hair with lots of care. Pac making cafuné on Bad and listening to him purr <3

Also aaaa bad making sure pac is alive and he will stay alive the entire night... The fear something will take Pac away from him on his sleep bc nothing is sacred in Purgatory

FITPACHALO FITPACHALO

Bad being a flustered mess when Fit just YOINKS him is such an imagery. He immediately tries to squirm away like a cat but eventually gives up

Pac is the KING of making Fit flustered, but Bad and Fit tag team to make Pac a flustered mess

Those are HIS humans (or partially humans) NOW!!! GET AWAY!!!

[piganatur]

the eighth sense ep7-8 thoughts and impressions:

- those seniors did not give two shits about the club disbanding, they could go on a trip in their private time any day, but the prospect of blaming ‘some freshman’, and as a result, jaewon, for causing a mess got them so excited they almost pissed their panties. they are sad little creatures barking amongst themselves barely able to wait to tear into jaewon at the first opportunity they get

- yoonwon yelling at eunji to get out felt so satisfying

- actually what jaewon said in the photography shop cut x1000000 times deeper than the english translation of it

- jaewon all bundled up in his therapist’s office 😭😭😭😭😭

- jihyun my beloved, i never doubted u bae

- he tries so hard to be strong, truly a man who makes u believe he has no fear

- jaewon has shut down, he’s done w/ performing and now i feel like jihyun kinda puts on this overly confident idgaf act to seem more unbothered and brave than he actually feels ????????????? (another kind of parallel, of jihyun and jaewon swapping places in a sense) ((but then again, after what jihyun went through, his idgaf attitude is so valid))

- this constant mention of someone dying and the duality of its usage is sure interesting

- sajangnim ily 💞

- aeri ily 💞

- joonpyo ily 💞

- eunji is so embarrassing she’s kinda pitiful actually

- i get what they wanted to say w/ the presentation scene but i don’t get why they had to say it that way though

- some1 pls give park taehyung his daesang my lil meow meow has worked so hard (he feels so good to stand on the moral high ground, to be the victim it’s ridiculous)

- i just love that after 6 years of sincere friendship, he’s still ‘park taehyung’ in jaewon’s phone meanwhile i bet my two cents (so everything i have) that jihyun was just ‘jihyun’ from the get-go

- im in love with the disciplinary hearing scene’s blocking and colours, jaewon surrounded by deep blue from all sides and jihyun standing before him, standing up for him. he is the watershed, smack in the middle, being a buffer between jaewon and taehyung (from the side) but also between jaewon and the committee (from the front). jihyun wears earth colours, he’s like an island in that scene, a refuge and a destination for jaewon currently being tossed around in the middle of the sea

- the translation of jihyun saying he wants to fix jaewon’s wounds seemed off to me bc when does he even say wounds???? so i went back and checked it again and what he says can actually be interpreted differently: what jihyun wants to fix is jaewon always trying to look like a strong person (even when he’s hurting) and that makes much more sense than the i want to fix him kinda line in the translation

- joonpyo my boy 😚🦄🌸🌺💐🌈🎀💞💗💝💘💖

- everything about this shot

[666writingcafe]

Break It Up

MC

As Solomon and I are walking over to the castle to meet with Diavolo, we suddenly hear a whole lot of shouting. Seconds later, Mammon goes flying in the air and lands on his ass out in the middle of the street.

"What's the big idea?!" he yells, standing up and walking back towards the building he got thrown out of.

"Dammit," I mutter as I rush over to him, followed closely behind by Solomon.

"Mammon, no," I hear Asmo call out. He tries to pull his brother away, but he gets shoved hard. Solomon and I get on either side of Mammon and yank him back.

"Let me go!" he yells. "I have to teach them a lesson!"

"You're only going to provoke them more," Solomon tells them.

"Well, maybe they should be provoked! They have no right doing what they did to me, rotten sons of bitches!" Mammon starts walking forward again as he loudly threatens to kick the shop attendants out. Solomon loses his balance and lets go of Mammon. Somehow, I'm not only able to hold on to him, but also physically restrain him on my own merely by standing behind him and holding him against my chest.

"What the hell?!" Mammon screams.

"What did you do?" I hiss in his ear.

"I didn't do anything! They're the ones in the wrong! I just wanted to try on some clothes, and they're denying me service!"

"We don't sell to angel scum!" someone inside the shop hollers. Oh, so that's what this is about.

"We need to leave," I whisper to Mammon. "Now."

"But--"

"They're not going to listen to anything you have to say. The longer you push the issue, the more they're going to dig their heels in."

"It's wrong, Zephyr!"

"I agree, and I'll talk to them when they're in a calmer mood, but if we stay here any longer, they're going to end up calling the police, and they'll make these guys look cute in comparison." Mammon quits struggling in my arms, and I'm finally able to get him to walk away from the situation.

Once the four of us are a few blocks away, I ask the two brothers what they were even doing out there anyway.

"We just wanted to explore!" Asmo exclaims. "We've been cooped up in the castle for so long, and we just got our own place, so we figured we would see what the Devildom has to offer! Lucifer even gave Mammon his credit card!" His last statement causes me to stop and turn around to look sternly at Mammon.

"What?" he asks me.

"Don't play dumb."

"I-I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're a terrible liar. Hand over the card."

"But--"

"Would you rather Lucifer ask for it back personally? Because I'm sure he'd be so thrilled to find out that you took it without his permission." Asmo gasps.

"Mammon, you didn't!" he exclaims. Mammon tries to hide his expression by looking down at the ground, but I can see the guilt written all over his face.

"If you give it to me, I can at least act as a buffer against his anger," I tell him. Sheepishly, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out Lucifer's credit card. Once I have it, I stick it in my own pocket. I just have to remember that it's there so that I can give it back to its rightful owner.

"Solomon, let Lord Diavolo know that Mammon and Asmo will be joining us. I don't want him to be surprised by their presence."

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr

[beansidhebumbling]

An Examination of Cruelty and Other Such Failings

Nezriel Exes

Her dress was still crumpled where it had been thrown haphazardly the night before, the red silk a symbol of a passion that had burned in the wee hours of the morning with little regard for any sanctity her Mama upheld in Nesta once.

Before.

Before him. Before touches too hot, eyes too knowing, teeth too sharp; Before Nesta started to worship a different god, a crueller one, maybe. All gods were cruel but Azriel... he was a lesson in the what happened when one cared more about the sum than the parts; the breathing, human parts.

Her own breathing felt painful now, the beginning of a stress headache burning at her eyes and pulling tight on her skull. Az. No. Azriel. Not Az anymore, not to her, breathed deeply, steadily, like an innocent. Nesta snorted to herself, a liar even in his sleep.

How very him.

***

The light seeped in through gauzy, white curtains, Mor’s hand no doubt, and Nesta was stricken by how his face, beautiful in the age it was beginning to show, in crepey lines and hollowness, was softened by the dappled, yellow light. Maybe not all age she noted, on a closer look, comforted that her examination would remain a solitary pursuit by the metronomic movement of his chest. The purple shadows pressed into his eyelids, his naturally chiselled face looked just the wrong side of gaunt..

this was not quite the face she loved.

***

She was under no illusion that she had changed since they parted. An argument, a fracturing, a break-up. Words too small for a hurt so big. So explosive, and bitter, and brutal. Her frame softened and wider by the Gilmore Girls diet she’d been following, by the stress that’d been mounting. It was hard to mind herself the way he had.

Hard when three square meals had never been on a list short enough to receive attention, let alone fruit collected from markets in hemp net bags, prime rib-eye wrapped in grease paper, endless variations of nut butters organised on his ridiculous, Italian marble condiment station. Meals he plied her with, spoiled her with, until she allowed herself to grow comfortable with Az Azriel wanting to mind her in ways she could not, did not herself.

Stupid, stupid Nesta.

She should have known better. Comfort was yet another luxury she couldn't afford.

She never felt comfortable anymore.

***

He had not looked different in the dim hazy light of the bar. He had looked as well-maintained, manicured, and handsome as was expected when you had an extensive home gym, Peloton a given, and La Mer hand cream on tap. While his eyes burned from across the bar, the patrons gathered to celebrate Feyre and Cassian’s engagement utterly failed in their roles as buffers, he had looked as he always did.

Intense, consuming, heart-breakingly beautiful.

Even as some horrid part of herself noted with disdain that her thighs chafed against each other, rubbing in softness, in a way they hadn’t in the time before. That the women he’d surely slept with after she walked, probably blonde, probably charming, probably utterly lovely, would never dare to allow such a thing.

His hunger for her had thickened the air around her, had made her think of the unread texts sitting too heavy and tempting, weighing down her inbox, that had led to her blocking his number. Of the new Instagram account he had made. The man who was invisible to social media for so long, who had waxed lyrical to her time and time again of the black hole of energy it was made of. The man who huffed a laugh into her drying hair as she had pushed back,

‘Yeah, yeah, old man. Now let me scroll and fall into this hole in peace’.

The man who was now first to like any photo she was tagged in on Elaine’s, Eris's, even Rhysand’s account.

His request to follow her remained unanswered.

Even gods could change apparently.

Even gods could lose.

***

Her eyes caught the time on his digital clock, bringing her back to herself again. The red numbers flashed a warning,

Move...

Move.

Move!

Avoid confrontation.

Azriel had always risen before seven, one of the things bald men with podcasts attributed his success to. She couldn’t afford to stay any longer in reverie, to let him coax her back. Especially when no small part of her craved it. 

She turned away from him and his pretty, peaceful face, to wriggle her way out from the tanned arm laying on her hip, gripping at her, even through the thick coverlet. While doing the overly familiar dance of collecting strewn underwear, wriggling her way into the tight red slip, she looked at him and her chest tightened just a bit more. Because there he lay, half of a once-great love, vulnerable and searching, seeking her across the expanse of the mattress.

This was why she couldn’t even steal his shirt, an infinitely more comfortable walk of shame look. She couldn’t because she knew he’d take any reason to talk to her, to knock on her door. She couldn’t hand him a legitimate invitation in the form of a crisp Brioni shirt.

 She wasted no time brushing her teeth, with her toothbrush found in the sleek, mirrored cabinet. Her pink toothbrush still kept like some sad, weird shrine to their intimacy. She knew she'll dwell on that later.

She made her way to the door of his room, steps light and well-versed in their terrain, leather jacket thrown over her shoulders, purse, and thrifted, white, slingbacks in hand when the sound of his breathing changed.

Fuck.

***

She stilled on instinct, heart dancing, as he pushed himself upright in a way that was so fast it was almost comical if his dark eyes didn’t arrest on her, narrowing as he caught her red-handed in her escape.

Heart beating too fast, mind moving too slow she went to speak a few times before,

‘Sorry, didn't want to wake you. Keep our mistakes private, right?'

She was aiming for light but the awkward laugh at the end was undercut by how her voice cracked mid-sentence.

Was that hurt that flashed on his face before it was cold and shuttered once more?

He was out of the bed, brazen in his nakedness and upon her before she’d finished, his big hands, cupping her face, and a voice so rich, still gravelly from sleep, retorted,

‘Oh Nesta, not a fucking chance sweetheart. If you think you’re leaving this room after last night, after a mistake,’

the last two words sharpened and thrown back at her like arrows,

'you are being as delusional as I was five months ago. I was wrong. I was wrong to let you go. And believe me I've atoned for my sins, but I will not stand for you calling this a mistake. I won't watch you sneak away from a room we should share.'

Those brown eyes were deep pools of sincerity and regret. Gods repented in this strange, new world it seemed.

The next words were spoken so softly, almost to himself,

‘I can't. I can't. If you want to hurt me, at least let me hear your voice as you do so, let me look on your face as you break my heart once more. Stay with me and do as you will. I can tolerate anything but your absence.'

Shaking his head as if to refocus, he smiled, a pitiful, broken, best attempt at one, with eyes that roamed her face, gorging on all they had missed, before saying,

‘Come back Nes.'

'I thought I was a distraction.'

She sniped.

She remembered still.

He winced.

There, she thought, first blood in a new fight. Though God knew they'd spilled plenty here before.

***

The pulse of arousal that pierced her was sharp and strong and she hated that this was the most alive she’d felt in months. That she yearned for this fight, has been since she talked herself into approaching the bar last night, lying to herself that all she was doing was fulfilling a craving for bottom shelf vodka and coke.

She'd been to enough therapy since to know she was on shaky ground. She was envisioning the frenzied fighting and fucking to come, a sickening thrilling deja vu, when he kneeled.

Legs buckled like a broken puppet.

A script change.

Tears streamed from eyes filled with such anguish she felt her own swell in response as Azriel cried,

'Never a distraction. I was stupid, a liar and a fool. I kept telling myself that, telling you, because the truth terrified me. You were, are, and always will be everything to me.'

Tugging at his curly fringe, a nervous habit of his, he continued.

'I thought if I believed that, that you were a distraction, I'd find a way to survive even if you left me. Instead it drove you to walk and I found out none of it mattered. There were times in your presence I thought heaven might exist. Your absence, however, confirmed hell is real and it lives in the empty space you once filled beside me.'

Her skin felt like a live wire. Girls like Nesta Archeron didn't get love confessions from exes, they got bad credit and a therapy bill.

Or they had until now anyways.

'How do I know you've changed? All the time you made me feel full never compensated for what you took when you hid me from your friends, when you called me a...'

The word was too hard to say.

She resorted to examining the crown molding as Azriel waited a beat then answered carefully.

'You can't. I'm asking you to trust me knowing I have no right to. I love you Nesta. This is all too late. I know that. Believe me. I'm going to win you back. I swear it. You leave today and I'll find a way tomorrow or the next day. I had sworn to leave you be but looking at you now, I know you feel it too. I just hope someday you'll see it as a blessing too.'

***

When she leaves she feels his eyes following her to the taxi.

In the coming weeks he sends gifts - antique books, red dahlias, mix tapes of songs he thinks she'll like.

When she gets a text from a new number she does not block it.

When she visits next time, she brings her suitcase with her.

Because she understands.

The only craving she has ever had was for him.

As has been the case since she first started working for him, they were drawn together, they both knew this on some level.

That they were unbreakably bound to each other by gods so cruel.

Maybe crueller than him.

Maybe crueller than her.

Somehow.

[ghostinthegallery]

"Remember me." 💖

Drabble based on this lovely set of prompts. spoilers for Twice Dead King below, canon-typical 40k violence. Enjoy!

###

Immortality—it transpired—had been yet another lie by their cruel gods. Living metal was powerful, miraculous, but not untouchable. Nothing was. 

A fact Djoseras was painfully aware of as he parried the power sword wielded by the Astartes, a warped and empowered weapon of humanity. His own phaseblade crackled as the sword scraped down the weapon’s edge. He was growing weaker, less and less able to fend off the giant’s attacks. Djoseras had begun this fight damaged, burned from the inside out after channeling the energy of Antikef’s entire defensive array through his core. His silver carapace was charred black, giving him a strange, mottled appearance.

In the end neither of us managed to keep our silver, Oltyx, he mused. 

At the thought of his brother, power surged through Djosera’s flux. That was why he had chosen this doomed last stand. To give Oltyx time to reach the exodus fleet and leave these ancient, cursed stones behind. Leave the old ways behind.

Leave him behind.

Djoseras charged, a wordless cry bursting from his damaged vocal buffer. Dust-choked air swirling around him. The space marine captain paused for a fraction of a second, surprised by Djoseras’ sudden aggression. Their blades connected again in a flash. Djoseras did not believe in flashy swordsmanship. His weapon’s purpose was to kill, not entertain like some gilded court dancer. Every strike was precise, economical, rationing was little power Djoseras had left in his core. 

He managed to sink his phaseblade into the astartes’ pauldron, cutting into the droplet of blood painted there. Djoseras ripped the piece of armor free and flung it into the dust. He thought he had finally created an opening. 

It was his turn to be surprised. The space marine snarled through his helmet and barreled into Djoseras, exposed shoulder colliding with his chest. Djoseras thought he heard something crunch at the impact, but if the unclean warrior felt any pain he did not show it. They both toppled, the space marine’s bulk driving Djoseras into the rubble strewn ground.

Around them, the battle between Djoseras’ Immortals and the other space marines still raged. Djoseras watched one astartes’ head dissolve in a flash of green gauss fire. Heros had fired the shot. Djoseras remembered that he had been nearly as accurate as a deathmark in life. Djoseras’ tiny blade had inscribed hundreds of kills onto the Immortal’s living metal, each a clean shot to the head or heart.

To Djoseras’ left, Seroth fell, ripped to pieces by enemy fire. A natural teacher, who had taken new recruits under his wing. Qeret collapsed next, her leg blasted out from under her. Still she fired, taking down another Astartes before a knife pierced her ribs.

I promised to remember you. Djoseras’ phaseblade blocked the overhead strike from the astartes on top of him. The warrior pressed and the weapons drew closer and closer to Djoseras’ faceplate. I tried. I am sorry to fail you now.

That was when the seed of fear truly took root in his mind. When the unclean died it was not truly the end. It may not be pleasant, but their souls had somewhere to go, something to look forward to or to dread. Djoseras had no soul. There was no existence after this. And as Antikef crumbled around him, he understood that he would have no tomb to serve as a place of remembrance. The only afterlife the necrons could cling to was denied to him. 

The energy sparking from both energy blades burned his necrodermis. His motor actuators stuttered. Something in his shoulder joint was starting to melt. He was going to die here. In seconds he would cease to exist.

In the early years of their war, Djoseras had that Zultanekh would be the one to kill him. One good blow with the hammer and Djoseras would die, quickly if not necessarily cleanly. He almost wished that had come to pass, but of course then he could not have asked the crown prince of the Ogdobekh to watch over Oltyx now. A small comfort. Zultankeh would likely guide him better than Djoseras ever had. 

But will you think of me when I am gone? Djoseras wondered as the Astartes above him growled like a feral beast. Will you remember our schemes? Our battles? Those nights we met in secret and you reminded me that we still had so much to live for? 

The astartes cried something in its guttural, alien tongue. A chant that its comrades soon took up. Two more of Djoseras’ immortals died. The invaders were so maddeningly assured of their victory.

I asked you to remember us, Oltyx. Djoseras felt the broken stones of Antikef digging into his back. Let me give you something worthy of remembering.

Djoseras angled his blade, let the space marines sword slide down and sliced into his faceplate. It sheared through his ocular, into his neural hardware. Alarms blazed through Djoseras’ systems. Half the world simply vanished.

But not the marine, who had jerked off balance. Exposing the weaker armor around his throat.

Djoseras jammed the tip of his blade through the space marine’s flesh where neck met shoulder. He drove the blade deeper, showering himself with unclean blood. The revulsion he expected at this did not come. Probably because the power sword had cut off the part of his neural system that could feel disgust. At least he could still feel some relief. Antikef was far from safe, but this threat would not come for Djoseras’ little brother.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I taught you the wrong lessons. I could not protect you from our father or from yourself. Now I have placed the weight of our dynasty on your shoulders, and I cannot even help you bear it.”  

The astartes captain slumped and fell, staining the stones of Antikef red.

Djoseras’ remaining vision blurred. Went dark. He did not pray to any god. His kind were far beyond that. But it felt like prayer, facing the heavens and speaking to the two people who might be his tomb and monument where there could be no stone. 

“Please,” he said. “Remember me.”

[comicaurora]

If this is rude to ask please please ignore, this is from the perspective of someone in pre-planning stages of my own comic:

How long did it take you to shrink from the 30(?) page buffer I think you said you started with to 10 pages? I assume starting with that big buffer meant that this is less impactful to the comic and thus less stressful, but do you have breaks planned for yourself so you can re-up that backlog or do you intend to try to do it in-time with the comic? You're a powerhouse who I only ascribe to half the output of, but I'd love to know a little more about your backlog ethos. (When you have time of course!)

Heh, oh boy. The biggest bite got taken out of the buffer during Falst's intro arc. I had boarded something like a dozen pages when I decided I didn't like the direction they'd taken and I scrapped them back to blanks. I don't do this as a rule, but I could tell this one was a problem - I can't even remember why now, but there was something there that just wasn't working. I thus had a time-loss redoing those pages that made up the better part of a chapter, and my storyboard buffer shrank pretty significantly, though it's since recovered in a big way.

More of the buffer got worn down during the back half of the Zuurith arc and the Tynan fight, since every page was so complicated. Alongside the environmental fog and rain effects and the eight different kinds of glow, it was also a lot of characters on every page, and that increased the lineart and coloring time significantly. If I recall correctly, the buffer shrank to the low single digits a few times during that arc.

At some point I might take a break, but I kind of don't want to. I've kept up a solid pace this long and I don't wanna break my streak. I've been able to build the buffer back up to 20 pages before, but the problem is I tend to then take the following week or two off on the comic progress front because in my head I've made a good chunk of progress and thus should take a break. I'm getting better at incremental scene-by-scene progress, and I think chapter 20 is going to be good for rebuilding the buffer, because - spoiler alert - a lot of these scenes are one or two characters only, and most of them have fairly dark featureless backgrounds. I suspect I'll be able to get a healthy headstart just working through this chapter. This was my reward to myself for constantly making the Tynan fight increasingly complicated and ridiculous, and it's honestly a breath of fresh air to make these pages so much simpler.

My rule for comic-making is set a pace you can keep up. If you need to take a break, that's fine - my own unwillingness to do so is a me thing I'm working through. not a policy to emulate. I've been able to keep this up for three years with minimal buffer-loss, and as the story progresses my own art gets better and faster, making it easier for me to maintain this pace. That's why I made sure to start with such a hefty buffer - to give myself time to pick up speed and get better, time to have the occasional crash-and-burn week or even month where nothing gets done, and time to rewrite things that were being problems. Basically, the buffer is 100% working as intended so far, because all of those things have happened at least once.

The math is pretty favorable. With a three-page-a-week upload schedule, if I can finish three pages in under a week I'm guaranteed to keep the buffer going. At peak performance I can do five or six pages in one day, though that's dependent on complexity and that pace isn't sustainable for long - but of course it doesn't have to be, because that buys me two weeks to recover and do all the other stuff I couldn't do during the hellride. The block of pages I'm going to color tonight is five pages, which will buy me nearly two weeks. I lined and shaded those five pages on Friday, and I'd blocked out the backgrounds for this whole scene and the following one in one afternoon the previous week. It's not hellride-pace because it doesn't have to be, but if I needed to push it I could buy myself a week in under a day. Because of this, rebuilding the buffer back up to 20+ is a lower priority than keeping a steady pace that won't hurt my drawing hand or my writing brain.

But if I take too big of a hit I'll announce a two-week break or something. I have things arranged so hopefully I never have to, but ya never know, and it's important to be okay with taking the occasional unexpected hit!

[hidetothink]

How did you and the boyfriend met? <3

THANK YOU FOR FUCKING ASKING, OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS STORY

We set the scene:

I'm living in my no-bedroom studio made of cinder blocks. I literally bake in a brick oven every day. It's hell, and I have a lot of laundry from sweating like a very sweaty thing

Solution: L

L is this guy I knew and fooled around with from time to time. But he's noncommittal, a horrible communicator, and routinely passes out when I come over after the first 5 minutes through the door. But hey, I'm not riding his ability to text back in a timely manner

One day, I asked to do laundry at his place. My apartment complex hadn't fixed the ONE AND ONLY WASHER, so he says yes. I come over, start laundry, and we smoke. I decide to go hard since I'm stuck there with laundry anyway

Then...Player 3 enters

The FUCKER MADE A BOOTY CALL AND IM ZONKED OUT OF MY MIND ON HIS COUCH WITH GOD DAMN LAUNDRY IN THE MACHINE!? So I decided "honestly fuck both of you, I'm doing my laundry and smoking even more. Screw your hookup."

I smoke enough to see God and she is Mellisa McCarthy. Why? Because it turns out me and this complete stranger both like her movies. How do we know this?

BECAUSE GOD DAMN L HAS FALLEN ASLEEP BETWEEN ME AND THIS COMPLETE STRANGER!?!?!?!? I AM TRAPPED, HIGH AS HEAVEN, ON MY FWB'S COUCH WITH HIS UNCONSXIOUS BODY AND HIS BOOTY CALL. SO NOW WE HAVE TO ENTERTAIN OURSELVES, BECAUSE WE ARE IN HELL

Somehow, through 69 layers of high, we manage to communicate that we both like MC and decide to watch the one spy movie she was in. The movie plays, we talk, I come down some. He's chill about it and we laugh about having an unconscious L buffering us

At some point we put on another movie, talk through the whole thing, don't remember a thing outside being too high to shut up lol

Eventually, L wakes up and Player 3 says he really should get going. My laundry is done, so I'm getting out of this fever dream lmao. Before I leave tho, Player 3 gets my snapchat

The next day, Player 3 texts about having trouble building his new desk. He's just moved into the apartment, and everything is still packed. I offer to bring my tools and help

Our second anniversary is this Sep 😂

[forestthechonkykitty]

hi i just read your blog description and

how does one even begin to go about downloading an entire bootleg onto a Nintendo 3DS, of all things? what exactly prompted you to do this?

I am so glad you asked!

I enjoy the 3DS (and have an alt blog dedicated to my Nintendo shenanigans!) and I absolutely love having access to media entirely offline and without a buffering time! And to complete the trifecta, I had very bad writers block at the time. So uh there’s the why, the but how is chaos so do buckle in

First, I needed a bootleg as an MP4 as the 3DS no longer runs YouTube and I wanted to have it 100% offline. YouTube downloader and 5 minutes and that part was done. Next, actually getting it on the 3DS. A 3DS doesn’t tolerate MP4 files, and despite mine being homebrewed, I couldn’t find a program to play MP4 files. I, being me, tried to finagle it into working anyway. Unsurprisingly it didn’t, so back to the drawing board.

It took a few minutes of furious googling to remember that the 3DS had a pre-installed camera. That could take videos. However, there were some unfortunate limits..

- The filetype needed to be changed from MP4 to AVI.

- The videos could not exceed 10 minutes.

- The resolution is.. bad. 480x240. But if I wanted to watch Tanz with good resolution, why would I download it to a 3DS, eh? A grade-A viewing experience is clearly not the goal here.

Got to work chopping Tanz into 7-10 minute segments in the most sensible places I could. This is what took the longest, as I wanted the cuts to make some sort of sense. I tried to cut between songs or scenes, on top of an already present break in the music. Next, I ran all of these files through a converter to get them in the AVI that the 3DS can understand. Lastly, there was the small task of getting them onto the SD card and storing backup files in an organized manner on my computer so I can get Tanz onto my OTHER 3DS consoles at a later date. I also have a Switch Lite that I’d like to put it on, but my silly camera exploit won’t work because the Switch doesn’t have a camera. Shame.

Anyway I had to name the files so they would appear in order on the laptop and on the 3DS, and I had an AVI and MP4 for each portion. I think there were like 15 parts? I’ll check in the morning, I’m very tired and the system is dead at the moment. But there’s a folder in the applications section than I transferred the video files into, checking every so often to make sure they were working and uploading properly, and luckily they were so it was just a drag and drop operation from there. And that’s how I got Tanz on a 3DS.

I’ll proofread and add images (I think my blog banner is the Tanz credit screen on the 3DS) in the morning, and better explain some stuff. If you have any questions about this or other 3DS stuff please feel free to ask! I love to talk about it!

[goorehound]

if you get a chance could you maybe do some 'dating mary goore' headcannons?? so obsessed with your writing <3

Buckle up anon, here’s some random headcanons about dating the crusty dumpster man. I kept it SFW this time around.

If you guys want more shit like this just let me know (I can come up with more for sure, these were just whatever came to mind,) I’m happy to try and provide whatever content the Goore fans are craving lolol

Dating Mary Goore

Firstly, this man is emotionally constipated. Six months minimum before he says he loves you, and it’ll be either in the heat of the moment (if you catch my drift) or because he’s sloppy drunk.

Don’t get me wrong, that first one seems off putting, but he definitely shows his affection in other ways. From stupid small things like walking on the outside of the sidewalk to block you from traffic to bringing in random groceries whenever he decides he’s about to crash at your place for a week or so, making sure there’s coffee if he wakes up before you, coaxing you to drink water on nights out, shit the list goes on.

He is stupidly proud of the fact that you’re dating. If you’re out somewhere together and you’re down for PDA? He’s gonna have his hands on you. Around your waist, in your back pocket, arm over your shoulder, speaking quiet and nosed right up against your temple even if you could hear him clearly from a distance.

On that note, once things get a bit more serious and you both want to stick around, he’ll probably insist you write something on his vest. Just for a nice reminder of who he’s coming home to after tours. You both settle on “Y/N was here” with an arrow pointing down towards his ass , which he maybe laughed harder than was necessary about.

Mary is DIY or die to a fault. If you’ll allow it, he’ll tat you with a sewing needle and some black India ink. It will be janky, and it will not be pretty, but you’ll love it anyway.

Mary is a very independent guy, sometimes it’s a bit infuriating how he comes and goes like a stray cat before settling into your home (it could be his apartment you move into, but those roommates of his? Yikes.) but nothing could beat waking up to Mary curling up around you after not seeing him for a couple weeks.

He likes baking, shockingly. More importantly, he likes baking for or with you. A lot. Too much, sometimes. He likes providing you with snacks when you two can afford the supplies, even if you guys have to start pawning the baked goods off on friends when Mary’s stress baking gets out of hand.

He is protective as fuck. Not like he’s going to follow you around and dictate who you’re talking to, but as in he hones in on your discomfort, he’s aware of you when you guys are out. If someone’s being a dick at a party? He’ll be there. Wether it’s to be a buffer and get you out of the situation or break a nose is neither here nor there. If you start drinking too much, he knows how to cut you off and sober you up enough to get you home and snuggled in bed.

Get your fingers all up in his hair (especially after a shower) and see how big scary Mary turns into a puddle of goo. Frankly, you could probably convince him to do anything if you keep massaging his head just right. He’s a sucker for it, and if you start you might be stuck playing with his hair for the rest of the night.

He likes to do your makeup. If you’re wanting corpse paint, he kills it. He’ll try to do feminine shit and fail miserably, but it will keep you both amused.

Horror movie marathon date nights. When your schedules permit, he’d do it all day long. Wether or not you’re a fan of it is an entirely different story, but curled up and watching classics or shitty slashers with you? That’s Mary’s ideal date.

Banter is one of his favourite things about being with you. Random and especially bizarre insults thrown back and forth makes it all feel easy. Granted sometimes he can be a Grade A Dick and get himself benched on the couch for the night, but that’s rare, and almost all of his bickering is playful and downright adoring.

[xprojectrpg]

Moment of Awesome - Theresa Cassidy/Banshee:While she, Meggan Szardos and Sam Guthrie are assisting in evacuation during Behold A Pale Horse, Terry is pushed to her limits.

"Aye," Terry murmured, nodding a little dully. She'd let her own shield fall a little when Sam buffered them, relief zinging between her temples in the moment before he and Meggan settled on the plan to move the victims. "Actually, if you'll steady her upper body, I'll just lift from the bottom and if you're flyin' as well, I can keep the shield beneath all of us to block anything they might throw." She considered their situation, then wished she'd been involved in something that involved screaming and flinging things around. She could keep that up for hours without getting tired. Flying was nearly second nature at this point, and at least she'd had plenty of practise flying with Kyle. It was maintaining the shield whilst doing everything else that might do her in. But not until after she'd gotten this woman somewhere safe. "Let's get goin', loves."

Sam waited until he was sure that Terry and Meggan were far enough up that they wouldn't be hit before grabbing the other passenger from the car. He dropped his shield and then allowed the blasts to come from his feet, propelling him and his passenger through the air and after the others. As soon as they were all landed, he glanced between the women. "Everyone alright?"

“I think so? Yes,” Meggan confirmed as they landed with their cargo as carefully as possible. When it came to her, she mostly just had a few scratches from some of the broken glass when she was wielding the ski pole, but it was nothing major, and could easily be taken care of in a little while. Aside from that, she was doing okay. “Terry?”

"Mm... aye," Terry agreed, swaying a little on her feet. She sat down rather abruptly, still maintaining the soundwave keeping the woman from the crash floating just a bit. "Och. Maybe no'," she murmured, accent thickening. "I'll just stay here a mo'."

Sam kept an eye on Terry, hoping that she'd be good enough to fly out of here. "What else can I do? I'm not as tired as you two yet. How can I help?"

Meggan wasn’t sure what she could do for Terry, but she did still want to help; she crouched near the other woman. “Just let me know when you need an extra shoulder, and I’ll be right here for you to lean on.” If she went down, then Meggan wasn’t sure who to break the fall of, between Terry and the levitating crash lady—while she estimated it wasn’t that far of a drop for the latter, she couldn’t say what the effect of a sudden extra shock might do.

She shook her head in response to Sam’s question. Could just being there be enough? “I’m not sure. I half want to go back for the ski pole, or find something else that’s strong enough from the debris, so we can fashion a makeshift stretcher for her, and let Terry rest her powers.”

"You two," Terry said, waving her hand toward Sam and Meggan. "Y'go on. Help others. I'll keep watch o'er these ones here. I'll be fine, now I'm sittin'. Y'shouldn't waste time wi' me. I'll jus' call someone for a pick up."

Sam nodded, and helped the person in his arms lay down gently on the ground. Turning to Meggan he nodded his head slightly, deferring to her directions. “Lead the way.”

Meggan spared another concerned look at Terry before they started off. "If you're sure," she began, before she stopped. She didn't want to just leave her in this state.

Once this was done, she vowed that she would come back in a little while and make sure that someone had come to collect Terry. Meggan signaled to Sam that she was ready, and began to point a few things out. She had spotted a discarded baseball bat and assorted long items on the scene that could be put to good work. And if several people had torn off their shirts in the heat of things, then they could be tied together, just as she had said.

Terry waved the two of them off, watching as they took flight. Pulling her mobile from her pocket, she considered who she might be able to call for assistance - certainly none of the usual suspects, as they were all out helping people in the district. She shook herself a little, finally laying the woman she had hovering to the ground. The other passenger came to tend to her, so Terry let her powers rest a moment, once again feeling that immediate release of tension between her temples. She'd developed a certain sense of throbbing behind that, a sharp thing that almost seemed to stab at the backs of her eyes.

She was fine, though. It wasn't until she hit 'call' for one of her friends from the Community Centre that she felt the tell-tale trickle coming from her nose. Touching it out of pure, simple habit, Terry wasn't surprised to see blood on her fingers. "Shite," she muttered.

[silvernyxchariot]

Part I

More Genshin x La Squadra headcanons. It was only supposed to be about which weapon I'd give members of La Squadra, but then some little ideas started sprouting out.

*ﾟ ﾟ･ ✧.｡. *. • ･ ✧.｡. *. • ･ ✧.｡. *. • ･ ✧.｡. *. • ･ ✧.｡. *

🌈DNI: TERFs, Harassers, RadFems, racists, bigots, anti-LGBT+'s, trolls, haters, MAPs, anti self & OC shippers. If you don't like Genshin Impact, JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, or both and have the intention of commenting some complaints or about either "being cringe," block me, keep scrolling, or I will block you.🌈

¹ Sorbet & Gelato

Vision: Cryo & Pyro

Weapon: Catalyst

Role: Buffers

Origin: Liyue

They have unnamed Stands and gathered information on Diavolo without their teammates knowing, most likely making them the intel members of their team, before Illuso stepped in, and a duo who works best from a distance. The Cryo-Pyro elements came up with Sorbet's love of "cold hard cash" and the duo being called the "more psychopathic" members of the team. That is all. Since not much else is known about either of them, I have them as catalyst users just because.

I also put both of them in Liyue for Sorbet's love of money. They would most likely be a criminal couple that run scams together. Their victims usually being tourists and treasure hoarders alike.

² Risotto Nero

Vision: Cryo

Weapon: Claymore

Role: DPS

Origin: Inazuma

Don't get your hopes up. Despite being a stealthy and seasoned hitman, Risotto would be a Cryo CLAYMORE character rather than a sword user. Since he works best on his own, Risotto would essentially be a hyper-carry who needs a team that buffs and heals him. His stoic and no-nonsense attitude is more suited to the blunt, devastating damage of a claymore. Also, big, beefy, goth man. He don't need a tooth pick. Whether you'd build him as a Phy DMG or Cryo DMG unit would be up to you.

Regular swords also work in his favor if you keep the assassin theme with him. I considered a catalyst for him due to Metallica as a mid range Stand, but it seemed too "romantic" for someone like Risotto. He's the type of person to just punch you to get what he wants. Please refer to this scene from the anime. ⚠️TW for blood spatter.

As a Player: Became an Eula main by ✨️accident.✨️ He didn’t know what was going on because everyone was shouting at him to start playing. Wished on her first running banner. Got her 3x in one pull and C4 on a single. Got her signature weapon up to R3 without trying. All of his teammates who genuinely play Genshin are jealous. He wanted Diluc at first.

Has Ghiaccio and Pesci help him with his account.

³ Illuso

Vision: Electro

Weapon: Claymore

Role: sub-DPS

Origin: Fontaine

He's the kind of guy to panicccc and swing the nearest object to him at whatever was attacking. If you've seen this guy fight in the "Purple Haze vs Man in the Mirror" fight, he's Such A Babi. 🤧 You could consider catalyst or bow, something that keeps him out of immediate danger, but Illuso wouldn't have the patience for spellcraft or discipline for a bow. Although catalysts and bows give him the distance to attack and look down on others, they don't give Illuso the instant gratification of subduing his enemies.

I say he comes from Fontaine because he is a dramatic snob. 😤

As a Player: Yae Miko stan. No arguments against that. He's a sassy fucker, who would main another sass master. He also simps for her.

⁴ Prosciutto

Vision: Geo

Weapon: Bow

Role: sub-DPS

Origin: Snezhnaya

Also a character with a no-nonsense attitude, but instead of the blunt force of a claymore, Prosciutto would favor a bow because of its reliance on precision and speed. He's the type of person to get to the point and defeat his enemies with cold accuracy. It's all business afterall.

As a Player: 10/10 the type of guy to say "skill issue" if you cry to him about hating bow characters, especially because of the aiming feature. Subsequently, would main a mono Geo team with Zhongli, Gorou, or Albedo as the main piece. The last one or two slots are random... Prosciutto doesn't care about anyone else. He only cares about his mains. He regrets not starting Genshin when the Dragonspine/Albedo event happened because he can't get Albedo's signature weapon or learn more about Albedo, but he would never admit it.

⁵ Melone

Vision: Electro

Weapon: Polearm

Role: Buffer

Origin: Sumeru

This man looks flexible and agile. He's shown not to be afraid of physical damage or confronting the "mothers" of his Juniors, so I thought polearm would suit him best. A polearm also matches his flexibility and creativity because it's a weapon that can easily be used for stabbing and slashing at one point, but also blunt force trauma on the opposite. It gives him the distance he would need to observe his enemies or parry attacks.

Melone is from Sumeru for his curiosity and whimsical ideals. Although he graduated from Sumeru Akademiya, he was always on the verge of getting expelled because his peers thought he was "too outlandish and ambitious." Unlike a certain mad scientist though, Melone knew how to keep his real personality under wraps, lest he lose funding for his research projects. Unfortunately, his closest friend was not as disciplined as he was.

As a Player: Also a Yae Miko stan, but has the best Raiden out of everyone as f2p, C4R1, multiple weapons and artifact sets prepared for different occasions. Has also made a team of all short characters and called them the "Chibi Squad."

⁶ Ghiaccio

Vision: Pyro

Weapon: Catalyst

Role: DPS

Origin: Sumeru

He likes explosions. . ./hj It matches his overall personality, his analytical nature, and explosive temper. Unlike Risotto or Illuso, who don't have the patience for a catalyst or spellcraft, Ghiaccio is constantly learning and improving his battle capabilities even in the middle of combat.

He is also from Sumeru and is the friend that didn't graduate from the Akademiya because he could never cooperate with other students or pitch his research proposals. He never got anyone to understand the purpose of his research projects. Any form of criticism he got for his proposals, he would get into fights with the professor. And teacher's assistants. And his classmates. Melone could not salvage his reputation, so when Ghiaccio left Sumeru, Melone left too.

As a Player: He started as an Albedo main; slammed face first and head over heels for Ayaka, and now stans Wriothesley. He has spent money on this game, much to his friends' chagrin.

⁷ Pesci

Vision: Hydro

Weapon: Bow

Role: Buffer

Origin: Mondstadt

He wants to follow in the footsteps of his big brother, Prosciutto, but he's the superior choice if you want a bow character on your team. If you were to keep him on field, Pesci's unit would rely on normal attacks and his burst. Due to Beach Boy's influence, Pesci as a Genshin character would have tracking capabilities where his normal attacks will always hit their mark. Pesci is the only one to come from Mondstadt simply because he is the most insecure of the team, until he gets aggravated. With Mondstadt being the nation of freedom, he would find it peaceful, but boring. There wouldn't be any means of improving himself and with him being an Italian gangster in JJBA, the Knights would be out of the question for him; probably became a criminal in Mondstadt for a meager reason like petry theft.

As a Player: He doesn't know what he's doing, but he's doing his best. Pesci’s characters tend to have weak artifacts, and fully built weapons, but he forgot constellations existed. He is also the only player who genuinely enjoys the game. He and Melone have game nights, where Illuso and Formaggio sometimes join.

⁸ Formaggio

Vision: Anemo

Weapon: Sword

Role: sub-DPS

Origin: Liyue

Formaggio is a simple man. He likes to slash and strike fast. His added Anemo element just makes damage from elemental reactions easier. He would also be from Liyue, and much like Sorbet and Gelato, is very good at scamming or getting in-and-out of contracts whenever he wants. Yanfei and Yelan would despise him.

As a Player: He prefers swordsman because of how fast the damage output its. Formaggio would start as a Traveler main simply because they are the easiest character to build, but gradually started using his 5 stars more. Now he mains Kazuha but keeps a C6R5 Keqing unit on standby. He kept losing his 50/50 to her and he is now one of those people who will die on the hill that she is still one of the best units. He chose Lumine because he thought she was cute.

𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓵𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷

Genshin!La Squadra has no healer. So, if anyone is hurt, they just keep going until everyone dies or someone finishes the enemy.

Yea- I've been thinking about Genshin!LS for some time. They all somehow coalesced under Risotto due to being chased out of their own territories and gathered, forming a mercenary team. (We don't talk about how Risotto leaves and re-enters Inazuma. He just can. 💅) They still aren't happy with how things ended up because they're still working under someone of higher authority.

Thx for stopping by.

[optiwashere]

Saturday Mind Soup + Random Fandom Ravings

Not a new music kinda day for me. Instead, I'm about to get ready to do sadly normal adult things instead of writing.

But!

I did write over the course of the week. Here's what I've been working on the past few days. I also have a question at the end that I'd love to hear your answer to, just out of sheer curiosity.

I can now just fucking call it Nightsongs lmao. I edited down two of the chapters (they were legitimately bloated) but also bulked up the second chapter a bit, so six of one half-dozen of the other.

Chapter [redacted+1] is still in the works, but I have enough buffer time to work on it that I'm not worried. It's just... a lot, emotionally.

Wrote some silly rat fluff that, of course, turned into a fic about comfort in its own way. I am far too obvious.

I'm writing a second chapter for Blades in the Night because I like the idea too much to let it sit. It's going to sit in a sorta... "complete, but open for more" status basically forever at this rate. Also, it's an excuse for smut.

Everything else has been kinda blahhhhh in my head. I have a couple ideas that I rattle around, but nothing sticks on the page. It all ends up being unreadable gunk. This annoys me because I want to write these ideas, but I get a strange block about them.

Since the rant got longer than I expected, my question was: If you read other Shadowheart/OC writers, who are your favorites? I could use the recs, because I feel like I know a handful and that's all.

I think the last bullet of my working on list is related to the "era" of fandom we're in. The fandom hype is slowing down, at least the non-Astarion fandom. Additionally, people's headcanons are starting to solidify and fanon is coalescing around... something? I really don't know what, and it's weird being completely in the dark about it.

Either way, I find myself in that space where I'm suddenly and weirdly discomfited by it all. I worry about my characterization more than usual and dedicate less time to writing than I want to because of it.

To add onto that surreal feeling, there's the realization that I don't really... know anyone in the Shadowheart/OC sphere. Is it even a corner of fandom that exists? Are there "big" Shadowheart/OC writers? There's a fair amount of fanart, but the "big" fanartists have chosen their corners which is going to cause a certain element to form around them that will be interesting to see in the future.

I could name a few writers in my general corner whose fics are very popular, but I never hear from them or see them around. I have to assume they're not very active elsewhere. IDK, it's all so bizarre and makes the fairly popular category of Shadowheart/OC feel empty. I forgot how hollow fandom spaces feel when you ignore the corner that overshadows everything else.

Every week or so, I try to find writers whose works aren't getting a ton of comments/reach and read them, commenting on the ones that I enjoy. I'm always hopeful that I'll find a rapport with those people, but it doesn't always work out that way. There's a couple people here that I know follow me from those sorts of comments, so feel free to say hello! This is mostly a weird rant.

The feelings will pass. They always do. In the moment, however, they cause blocks that don't need to be there.