#whether all of these points actually end up in said chapter. well! that's another thing entirely

[velkyr]

taking my chapter note groupings Very Seriously for this Very Serious chapter

#whether all of these points actually end up in said chapter. well! that's another thing entirely #I Do Not Control The Word Production #writing.txt #🌊🦂

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 32: Promises

Joel adjusts to life in Jackson after his brush with death. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-31 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: References to canon-typical violence. Smut :). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 9.5k

A/N: Hi y'all. If you're still looking at this fic but have skipped the last few chapters because of spoilers, this is a pretty safe chapter to jump back in at. You do need to understand that Joel was nearly killed in an encounter with an unnamed person while on patrol and that someone was looking for him in particular to have the context for this chapter. If you have any questions, feel free to DM me.

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

December, 2027

“No.” 

“Baby…” 

“I said no, Joel.” 

You stalked off to another room and Joel could feel your frustration from where he sat on the couch. 

He sighed, debating whether or not to follow you or if he should stay where he was and let you cool off.

It wasn’t the first time the two of you had had this discussion over the last six weeks. 

Joel had made significant recovery since the incident in November. His leg had mostly healed, though he still walked with a slight limp. But he could breathe deeply without feeling the burning pain of broken ribs now. And the parts of him the doctors had to cut away so he would survive - part of his liver, part of his intestine, one of his kidneys - no longer constantly hurt to the point of occasional agony. Everything was tolerable now, if not necessarily what it was before. 

As a result, he was starting to go a little stir crazy. Admittedly, the doctors hadn’t cleared him for anything too strenuous - though he wondered how much of that was your doing versus theirs - but he wanted to start preparing to go back to the life he had in Jackson. One where he felt fulfilled, like he had his place in the community and a way to contribute. 

You, however, weren’t too happy with that plan. 

Joel sighed and got up from the couch, the muscle in his leg burning as he did. Things still hurt and pulled at first - and he was sure getting on a horse would be uncomfortable at best - but it would pass. Or he’d get used to it. 

Either way, he wasn’t content with continuing to sit in his house and rot. 

“Sweetheart,” he said, finding you in the kitchen. 

You closed the fridge door with too much force, making the jars of canned produce inside rattle. 

“No,” you said, adding milk to a cup of tea on the counter. “Find a place to sit, I don’t want you spilling hot tea all over yourself.” 

“I’m not a kid,” he said, a little defensive. “I know perfectly well what I’m capable of…” 

“No, you don’t,” you said, leveling him with a glare before returning the milk to the fridge and pointing to his spot at the table. “Now sit.” 

Joel squared his jaw for a moment before going for the kitchen table - trying to walk with as little a limp as he could manage even though it fucking hurt - and sitting down there. He took a deep breath as you got the mugs of tea and carried them to the table, setting one in front of him and the other in front of the seat he’d come to think of as yours. You settled in beside him, holding the mug with both hands, seemingly determined to not actually look at him. 

“We need to talk about it,” he said gently. 

“I’m not going to discuss you going out there to get yourself fucking killed, Joel,” you snapped. “I’m not doing it, I’m not going through that again. End of story.” 

Joel tried to remind himself that he wouldn’t feel any differently if he were in your position. He couldn’t blame you for it.

You’d been a mess when he woke up. It had just taken him a few minutes to really realize it. 

It was like you couldn’t get close enough to him once you were against him, clinging to him as you tried to not disturb him or put any weight on him. But once he got you settled, you fell asleep quickly. 

Joel, however, was wide awake. Part of him was afraid to go to sleep again. He didn’t want to not wake up, he wasn’t confident enough that he would. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious but it felt like he’d slept enough for a lifetime. 

So he just held onto you. He soaked up the feel of you in his arms, a sensation he thought he’d never have again. He tried to pick through the fog of his mind, remember what had happened before, but it felt so far away, nothing but a haze of blood and hurt before your voice was there. After a while, he left it alone. 

But you didn’t sleep the way you normally did. At first, you seemed stiff, like you were still conscious enough to be worried about hurting him. That didn’t last too long. Your whole body relaxed, as limp and pliant as you were when he’d just made you come again and again. But you almost never actually found rest that way. Even with Joel beside you, there was part of you that was always tense and ready to defend yourself. A byproduct, he was sure, of years of torment that could strike at any time. You only slept that way when you were at the point of total exhaustion, when your body physically couldn’t be on guard anymore. 

As much as he wanted to talk to you - ask you what happened, how you were feeling, how long he’d been like this - he wanted you to rest more. You needed it, your whole body desperate for it. So when his door opened just as the light in the room shifted to the pink and orange of dawn, his hold on you tightened ever so slightly. 

Carol, one of the doctors, didn’t even notice him watching her come in at first, nearly jumping out of her skin when she realized that his eyes were open. 

“Joel!” She yelped and you stirred ever so slightly against him. He held you tighter. 

“Shhh,” he hushed her before whispering, soft and low. “She needs her rest. Don’t think she’s had much of that lately.” 

“But…” 

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he said. “Let ‘er sleep. Can look me over in a bit.” 

She rolled her eyes but left all the same and he watched you, lost in you. You’d survived. He remembered being afraid that you wouldn’t but you had, and so had he. He trailed his fingers gently over your exposed skin, marveling at the softness of you, that you loved and trusted him enough to let your softness be this close. 

The sun was high when the door opened again, not easing open this time but flying, Ellie tearing into the room in a blur of wild hair and disheveled clothes. The door smacking into the wall made you wake with a jolt and he held you close as he felt that tension shock back into your limbs. 

“Joel!” Ellie barreled over to him and he couldn’t help but smile as she skidded to a stop at his bedside as you sat up. 

“Hey baby girl.” 

“You’re awake,” her voice was thick as she sat down near you at the edge of the bed. “Fuck, I didn’t…” 

“Are you OK?” He asked, trying to look her over. 

“I’m fine,” she waved him off. “You scared the shit out of me but I’m fine. The doc said I needed to get you to let her look you over? What the fuck, Joel?” 

“Joel!” You looked down at him, wide awake now, his head propped up on pillows. 

“You needed rest,” he shrugged. 

“You needed to be examined by a doctor!” You snapped, unfolding yourself from your place at his side. He tried to hold onto you but you leveled him with a glare. “After everything we did to get you here alive, don’t even start.” 

He tried very hard not to laugh. 

“Whatever you say, baby.” 

He seemed to frustrate you a lot after that. You talked to the doctors more than he did, never leaving his side and listening to everything they said with a hard look on your face. He tried to ask more about what happened to you - he remembered you bleeding and your face was still damaged but healing - but you changed the subject back to him immediately every time. 

Joel was ready for things to go back to normal as quickly as he could manage but you were nervous, hesitant. The first time you dared leave him at the clinic, something happened with a horse and Olivia came to get you. It was the third day he was awake and you were gone long enough that he was able to get out of bed and try to walk on his own. He didn’t make it very far, all but falling into a chair near the door after using the wall to haphazardly balance as he went. The chair smacked into the wall and Joel heard scrambling from the hall before Carol threw open the door, her eyes wide and panicky before she saw where Joel had ended up. 

“Are you trying to get yourself hurt?” She demanded as she helped him back to bed. 

“No,” he said, defensive. “I’m tryin’ to get myself back to normal…” 

“Joel, you’re 60 years old…” 

“Don’t remind me.” 

“…And injuries take time to recover from. You’re not a young man anymore, you can’t push yourself the way you used to.” 

“I’m not a young man anymore,” he agreed as she helped lower him to the bed, his body seeming so hulking and large beside hers. “I can’t afford to waste time bein’ useless.” 

“Recovery isn’t useless,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “If you’re not going to listen to me then you need to listen to that woman of yours, Joel. Take it easy and don’t do things like get up without someone there to help if you need it.” 

Carol was nice enough to not tell you about the fact that he got out of bed and walked to the chair, at least. But she had distinctly sided with you in all matters related to his recovery after that, as had Tommy, Ellie, Maria and Savvy. 

It didn’t help that there were clearly conversations happening that no one wanted to tell him about. He heard raised voices from the front room of the clinic one day, you and Ellie going back and forth about something he couldn’t quite make out until there was the sharp boom of Tommy’s voice ending the conversation. 

“Care to tell me what that was this afternoon?” He asked as you settled into his side to sleep after Ellie and Tommy had gone home for the night. 

“Depends on how pissed off you want to be,” you replied, draping your arm gingerly over his chest and settling in with your head on his shoulder. 

“Not gonna piss me off,” he said gently. You had shrugged out of the button down of his that you’d worn that day before climbing in bed, stripped down to the tank top below and he could feel your skin so easily like this, his hand skimming over your bared arm. You pressed yourself closer. 

“Yes it is,” you said quietly, stretching and kissing his throat before settling at his side again. 

“Can’t go the rest of our lives without shit pissin’ me off, baby,” he said gently. “Don’t think I can handle you treatin’ me like glass the whole time, either.” 

“I just worry,” you said softly. “I don’t want to do this without you, can’t give you a damn heart attack because Ellie has some scheme…” 

“So it’s Ellie that’s causin’ the trouble,” he said. 

You groaned. 

“Fine,” you said. “Better not get all worked up and just let me handle it. Trust me when I say I have it, Joel, I really do…” 

“Baby.” 

You sighed again. 

“From what Tommy was conscious for and what little you remember,” you said slowly. “The people who… those people. They were after you. Specifically you. And Ellie… she hasn’t taken kindly to that.” 

“Alright…” 

“She wants to go find them,” you sighed. “She thinks she can handle it…” 

“No,” he said, already moving to get up but you held him down. 

“Joel.” 

“She’s not doin’ that…” 

“I know she’s not,” you said, still holding him in place. “I told you, Tommy and I have it handled.” 

“I don’t want her to go after them,” Joel said, letting himself relax back into the mattress and your hold on him eased. “Don’t want any of you putting yourself at risk on some damn fool mission…” 

“I know.” 

“She needs to get that shit outta her head…”

“I know, Joel.” 

He sighed. 

“This is such a fuckin’ mess. All of it.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” you said quietly, nuzzling in closer to him. “All that matters is you’re alive and you’re here. We’ll figure it out.” 

You figuring it out, apparently, just meant keeping Joel under lock and key for the foreseeable future. Your jaw was set tight across the table and you fidgeted with your mug, your thumb tapping out a stuttering rhythm on the handle. 

“I need to contribute,” Joel said gently. You glared at him. “Sweetheart…” 

“You can contribute without leaving Jackson,” you said. “Your value here isn’t limited to going on fucking patrol…” 

“It’s a big part of my value, Baby, yeah,” he said. “I don’t got a lot of skills…” 

“You were a contractor before,” you snapped. “You think buildings here don’t need to be repaired? That things don’t need to be constructed? Do that, let them take you out of the patrol rotation.” 

“I’m not gonna hide,” he said, trying to get you to look at him even as you seemed bound and determined not to. “I want to get back out there, I want to do my part…” 

“Your part doesn’t include getting fucking murdered, Joel!” 

“I sure hope it doesn’t,” he reached out and took your hand, his thumb running over your knuckles. “I want to be here, with you, for a good, long time, baby. But I can’t… I can’t be something I’m not. And I’m not someone who just lets other people take on all the risk while he sits at home, on his ass…” 

“Joel.” 

“You say you love me,” he said. You actually met his eyes with that, glassy and wet at the edges. 

“Of course I love you,” you said, not as harsh now. “I love you so goddamn much, I can’t lose you, I can’t, do you understand me?” 

“I know, Baby,” he reached out, his large hand cupping your face. “And I’m not planning on going anywhere. But I can’t be the man you love by hidin’ away and waitin’ for trouble to come to someone else. I need to be the one to handle it. Me. I need to take care of my own business, need to look after you, need to take care of our girls. I can’t do that here, acting like I’m not capable of doing my part. I’m going back out there, Baby, and I’d like to do it knowin’ that you’ll still be speaking to me when I get back.” 

“You don’t get to ask me to watch you hurt yourself,” your voice was thick. “I will not watch you die, Joel. I’m not going to do it and you don’t get to ask me to.” 

“I’m not,” he said gently. “But, Sweetheart, if I am gonna go? I’d like to go out as myself. And that means going back out on patrol.” 

Your eyes searched his for a moment before you all but collapsed against his shoulder, your arms snaking up around his neck, a sob cracking through you. He put his arms around you, rocking you gently. 

Part of him had been waiting for this to happen. Beyond when he caught you off guard when he first woke up, you’d been nothing but strong and stoic. The only time there was a hint of anything else was when the two of you went to bed at night. You clung to him then, Joel swallowing any hint of hurt you accidentally caused when you held him tight. You breathed him in deep, pressed as much skin to him as you could manage. Sometimes, those deep breaths were shaky ones, like you were trying not to cry. He just held onto you, wishing you’d say something - anything - so he’d know how you were feeling. But you didn’t. So he took care of you the best way he could while you were focused on taking care of him. 

“It’s alright,” his hand spread wide over your back, keeping a slow and steady rhythm as it ran up and down your spine. Your tears were racking, choking, making your whole body shake. “You’re OK, I’ve got you, s’alright…” 

“I can’t,” you sobbed against him. “I can’t, I can’t… you can’t leave me, Joel, you can’t.” 

“M’not gonna leave you, Baby,” he said softly. “I promise you. I’ll always come home to you.” 

“You can’t know that,” you sniffed, your sobs calming to sniffles. “Seeing you like that…” 

“I know,” he said quietly. He’d seen you nearly dead enough times, he knew. He understood it. “I’m sorry, Baby, I’m so sorry…” 

“Then why are you insisting on trying to go back out there,” you sat back from him. “If you understood it, you’d stay here with me and with Ellie and Savvy, you wouldn’t do this. Not to yourself, not to me, not to them…” 

“I know,” he said again, looking in your eyes, begging you to understand. “But that girl… she took a lot from me, baby. A few organs, more time than I really want. Almost took my future with you and the girls. Not gonna let her take who I am, too. And I need to go back out there. Not gonna just hide in here, afraid, for the rest of my life.” 

Your eyes searched his, wide and wet, and then you sighed. 

“I have conditions. If you expect me to be OK with this…” 

“Of course,” he said quickly. “What are they?” 

“You go out with Tommy or me,” you said. “No one else. I don’t trust you out there with Jesse or fucking Gene…” 

“They were tryin’ to do the right thing…” 

“The right thing was saving you,” you snapped. “You go out with Tommy or with me or not at all.” 

“Alright,” he said. “You or Tommy. At least to start.” 

You glared at him for a moment but you pressed on. 

“You don’t even think about going out until you’re fully cleared by both doctors,” you said. “None of this second opinion bullshit, they’re both on board or you don’t go.” 

“I can do that,” he nodded slowly. “You’re being very reasonable, Baby, I’m impressed…” 

“Oh, fuck off.” 

He laughed a little and tugged you closer to press a kiss to your temple. You melted into his chest, head nestling against his shoulder so that your nose brushed his neck. 

“I promise, I don’t have a death wish,” he said, thumb tracing a path over your arm. “I always want to come home to you. I just need to do this, too.” 

“I know,” you said softly. “I’m just… I’m so scared with you. All the time, I’m so afraid. It’s different than with Savvy, I’ve always been afraid with her. Scared I was gonna drop her or accidentally hurt her or not teach her the right thing or teach her too much. Scared I couldn’t save her. She’s my heart just walking around outside my body, I’m used to being afraid with her. But it’s different than how I feel about you and I just… I’ve never loved someone the way I love you and I don’t know how to live with being afraid of losing that.” 

He took a deep breath and held you a little tighter. 

“Know the feeling.” 

It was just a few days to Christmas and preparations were in full swing. The tree was up in the middle of town, lights lined the buildings, Julie had been hoarding supplies for some kind of holiday cocktail that she claimed was a surprise that you were highly skeptical of. You, Ellie and Savvy had picked a tree for his living room just the week before and set it up, Savvy standing back with a slight frown on her face the whole time. 

“What’s up, baby girl?” Joel asked, sitting in an arm chair as he watched you and Ellie decorate. His leg wasn’t quite up for standing that much yet. 

“It’s just…” She looked at him for a moment and perched on the arm of the chair before looking back at you. “People really did this before? Put trees in their houses?” 

“Yeah,” Joel smiled up at her. “They did. Biggest holiday of the year for a lot of the world, trees inside stores and offices and shit, too.” 

She crossed her arms, her brows knitting together as she frowned.  

“She never did this with me,” she said quietly. “I read about Christmas in a book once but it didn’t talk about this part and she didn’t talk about it much when I asked and… I don’t get it.” 

Joel nodded slowly. Savvy was still warming up to you. She seemed skeptical of your motivations, of your intentions, of everything you said. It was hard to tell how much of it was teenaged cynicism and how much was rooted in her feelings of abandonment. But since you’d all but moved into Joel’s house, she’d been around you more and more and you did your best to let her guide it. He could tell how much it was killing you, though. He knew the feeling well, remembering back to the days when Ellie wouldn’t even look at him. He could tell how badly you wanted to cling to her. He saw how much you wanted her to stay close and tell you everything in the way you hung on her every word, the way you watched the door for a full minute after she left to go back to Ellie’s. But you needed her to be OK with it more. That just didn’t make things any easier. 

“What did she tell you?” Joel asked, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn’t rise over the Christmas carols you’d put on the stereo. 

“Stuff she did with her parents,” she shrugged. “That her brothers would tease her about being bad… None of this stuff.” 

“Well,” Joel said slowly. “Think she told you the important stuff.” 

She looked at him, skeptical. 

“The important stuff ain’t the decorations, it’s the people,” he said. “She couldn’t give you the other things so she told you about your family. Don’t think she was trying to hide anything from you. She shared with you what mattered.” 

She nodded slowly and looked toward the tree again until Ellie turned around and called her over to put an ornament on the tree. You bit your lip as you watched her do it, your eyes wide and soft and you hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze when she stepped back to look at her handiwork. 

Joel was steadfastly trying to focus on the holiday instead of the tension that had settled over the town since his attack. Patrols had been ramped up, sending people out in small groups instead of pairs. There were growing signs of people present in the wilderness, more xes on trees and remains of fires. Tommy had told Joel - much to your chagrin - that the prevailing theory was they were marking Jackson territory, the signs always found at the edges of where patrols ran. As though someone was watching for where they could seize power. Everyone was on tenterhooks, waiting for something worse to happen.

But the build up to Christmas seemed to have taken everyone’s minds off the looming threat. Joel was thankful for it. It seemed to have lightened your mood some, too - part of why he decided to bring up the patrol issue yet again. 

He didn’t tell you that he was set to see Carol the next day to hopefully get cleared for patrol. And… other activities. 

The cruelty of the timing of the attack hadn’t been lost on Joel. He’d just gotten you back, hadn’t even had 12 damn hours with you before he had to leave for patrol and then almost never came back. But he’d lived and, while you’d been close ever since, you weren’t close enough. 

He wanted you. 

That wasn’t quite right, he always wanted you. He was pretty sure he’d wanted you since the moment he first saw you. He was beyond that now. He needed you so bad he ached with it, his whole fucking body hurt with it sometimes. But you wouldn’t touch him without the doctors saying it was OK. Even though, at this point, he was starting to think it was medically dangerous to be so fucking wanting. 

“Are you goin’ to the stables today?” Joel asked, holding you close. You nodded against him. “You think you’ll be done in time for the movie?” 

“Definitely,” you said. “Savvy’s never seen a Christmas movie, not missing that.” 

He kissed your forehead. 

“Been meanin’ to ask you something,” he said. 

“Hm.” 

“Think you’ll be my date for the dance tomorrow night?” He asked. You pulled back from him and glared, your eyes still red. He smiled a little. “Know I left it to last minute but I’m hoping…” 

“Of course I’ll be your date,” you shoved him ever so lightly. “Who else am I gonna go with? Been cooped up here with you for the last month, all my other prospects have given up on me…” 

He laughed and kissed you. 

“Guess you’ll just have to be my girl, then.” 

“Guess so.” 

He kissed you again, deeply, firmly. But it was different than so many other kisses he’d shared with you over the past few weeks. There was heat behind it. A twinge of need and want that tasted so familiar on your tongue. You moaned and adjusted so you were closer to him, your body curving, leg hitching up over his so you could press your mound against his thigh. He gripped you tighter, pulled you closer, but you pulled back with a groan. 

“Baby,” he breathed but you shook your head. 

“Not going to risk hurting you,” you panted. 

“Not gonna hurt me…” 

“Not sure I trust your judgement,” you gave him a final, chaste, peck on the lips. “I’ll see you tonight, walk over with you and the girls.” 

“Have a good day,” he said. 

“I will if you take it easy,” you replied, extracting yourself gently from his grip and heading out the door. 

He watched you leave and waited for a few minutes to make sure you were gone before he got up, too. It was almost Christmas and there were things he wanted to do. 

*** 

Joel looked far too pleased with himself, his hand on your thigh as you sat beside him at the Tipsy Bison. You had one of Julie’s special cocktails - something she called the Grinch and tasted like mint - and were well on your way to being tipsy for the first time in months. 

Savvy and Ellie were sitting with some friends - Dina, Jesse, the boy from school you suspected Savvy had a crush on named Kyle - and looked to be having fun. You hoped Savvy would talk to you about it later. She’d been opening up a little bit more, never fully pulling away like she had for so long. You took what you could get, thankful that she was willing to speak to you at all. 

She’d gone with you, Joel and Ellie to the movie the night before. It was Miracle on 34th Street. She seemed to enjoy it, smiling and watching the screen in wonder, soaking it all in. It was bittersweet to see. You’d always wanted to be able to give her these things, the kinds of things you remembered loving as a girl at the holidays. But there was a certain cruelty in it, too. She’d never see a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, never visit a mall Santa. Jackson brought her closer to the life you’d led as a girl but it was still so far away and it was hard, not being able to share it with her.

But Ellie had talked her into spending Christmas Day with you and Joel. You’d damn near kissed her when she told you and you felt a little like you had as a child on Christmas Eve, the greatest gift you could have ever asked for, spending the day with Savvy, Joel and Ellie all together. 

But Joel seemed as excited as you were, a small smile tugging at his lips as you sat across from Tommy and Maria. 

“Can’t believe it’s Christmas again,” Maria said, taking a drink of his beer. “Swear, time goes by faster and faster every damn year.” 

“I’ll take time goin’ faster as long as that means it’s still goin’,” Joel replied. 

“Know that’s right,” Tommy shook his head a little, half smile on his face. “We’re all still standing and after the last year, seems like the best I can ask for.” 

“Y’all doing anything special for William this year?” You asked, turning your cocktail glass slowly in your fingers. “He’s getting big enough to know what’s going on now.” 

“Santa’s planning to make a visit,” Tommy smiled a little. “He’s been pretty good lately, figure that should be rewarded.” 

You smiled back, looking toward Savvy. She was facing the boy on the bench next to her and his fingers traced the outside of her knee and she smiled. 

The music changed, the strains of the song familiar. Hallelujah. You looked toward Joel and he smiled a little wider, the change so subtle you doubted anyone but you would notice. 

“This is hardly a Christmas song.” 

“There’s an argument to be made,” he said. “Heard it on the radio sometimes at Christmastime, it counts.” 

He took his hand off your thigh and held it out to you. An offering. 

“C’mon, baby,” his eyes were hot on you. “Call it an early Christmas present.” 

You put your hand in his and let him lead you to the dance floor. You draped your arms over his shoulders, fingers trailing through his hair as he tugged your body close to his. 

“See?” He said, tracing your nose with his. “Not so bad.” 

“Helps when you’ve got a good partner,” you smiled a little. “How’s that leg of yours doing?” 

“Good as new,” he said. “Definitely isn’t gonna keep me from dancing with you, that’s for damn sure.” 

You laughed a little before you nestled your head against his chest, sighing contentedly. 

“I’m so glad you’re still here to dance with,” you said quietly as you swayed with him. He gave you a gentle squeeze. 

“Me too,” he said softly, almost sadly. 

“I feel like I wasted so much time,” you whispered, tears pricking the corners of your eyes and making your throat tight. You got like this a lot lately, this haze of what almost was hanging over you. “I should have known better and…” 

“Hey,” he said, pulling back from you just enough to look in your eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, didn’t waste anything. I gave you a lot of shit to work through, more than you ever should have had to deal with. You did what you needed to do, s’not a waste.” 

“What if I’d lost you?” You asked softly. “What if I never came over that night, what if…” 

“What if a lot of things,” he cut you off. “Doesn’t matter. We got here. That’s the important thing.” 

He pulled you back against him and you pressed your ear to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. 

“Gotta ask,” he said, tone lighter after a moment. “Never had any of those fancy dance classes you had. How do I hold up compared to the guys who did?” 

You laughed once, burying your face in his chest for a moment. 

“Best partner I ever had,” you said. 

He chuckled a little, his lips brushing your forehead. 

“Good.” 

You held him closer, moving with him slowly on the dance floor for a while. You weren’t sure how long. You let yourself get lost in him. The way he swayed in time to a rhythm your body was more in tune with than your mind, the way he felt so warm as he wrapped around you, the way his heart beat and the rise and fall of his chest were constant and stable. The way he was whole in your arms. It was like you could finally relax into that reality, you’d reached a point that you weren’t just scared anymore. He was here, he wasn’t going to fade away to nothing in the night. His heart would keep beating, his chest would keep rising, you wouldn’t need to find a way to do this without him. 

“Ready to go?” He asked softly after what felt like a while. “Want to get you home.” 

“Yeah,” you said, separating from him enough to look at him. “Let’s go.” 

You went and said your goodbyes to Tommy and Maria and Joel stopped by the girls’ table - scaring the shit out of Kyle by the look of it, Kyle’s eyes wide and terrified - before lacing his fingers with yours for the walk home. 

“What did you say to them?” You asked, walking close enough to him that you could feel the slight limp he had now. 

“Told ‘em to get home at a reasonable time,” he shrugged. “And no boys behind closed doors. Don’t want that Kyle kid gettin’ any ideas…” 

You snorted. 

“It looked like you threatened to castrate the boy,” you said. “I don’t want anyone taking advantage of Savvy but I don’t want everyone terrified to date her, either.” 

“Didn’t get that specific with it,” Joel said, a little defensive. “Just made it clear that someone was watchin’. And that someone was me.” 

You smiled and shook your head a little. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you said. “But… thank you. For taking care of my daughter.” 

He looked at you, his face serious as you came to a stop at his front walk.

“Course,” he said. “She’s an amazing kid, Bambi. You did a great job with her. And… might not deserve it but… feels like she’s mine, too. Love her like she’s mine. Hope that’s OK.” 

You looked at him for a moment, his eyes soft and warm, the lines of his face familiar landscapes. For a moment, it was as though your heart had broken open with him, cracked down to the center because the love you had for him couldn’t be held there anymore. You pulled him close to you, kissing him soft and deep. 

Or it started that way, at least. But his body against yours, the sharpness of your love in your chest, the taste of him on your tongue pushed you into desire. It didn’t take much to spark it - it had been so long since you’d had him - but once it was there, it burned hot and fast, swallowing the reminder that you should keep yourself under control quickly. 

“C’mon,” Joel said against your lips, breathless. “Let’s go inside.” 

You nodded and followed him inside, using the short walk from the street to his front door as a chance to try to get the want that was flaring inside you under control. It was too soon, it had to be too soon and you weren’t going to risk Joel’s health just because you were aching to have him as close as possible. 

Joel pulled you back against him as he he closed the door behind the two of you, tilting your head to give him better access to your mouth, his fingertips sinking into your skin as he gripped you tight. You swallowed a moan and tried to keep yourself from giving in even as you pressed yourself closer to him. 

“Joel,” you breathed, pulling your lips from his, his hands still holding you against him. “We… we should stop…” 

“Don’t need to,” he said, kissing you gently again. 

“Joel…” 

“Went to the doctor today,” he kissed over the line of your jaw, following the curve of your bones up to your temple where his lips lingered. “Said there’s a lot I’m allowed to do now. Including everything I want to do to you.” 

He trailed kisses down to your neck and you moaned as his lips pressed into the sensitive skin there. 

“I’ll beg if I have to,” he whispered. “But I need you, baby. Need to have you close, need to be inside of you.” 

“Fuck,” you panted, eyes closed, fighting to focus. “Are…” his mouth found a particularly sensitive spot, kissing and sucking you gently and sending goosebumps spreading over your skin. “Jesus… are you… are you sure? I don’t want you gettin’ hurt…”

“I’m sure,” he said softly, finally pulling his lips from your skin to look in your eyes again, your body cradled against his. “Bein’ apart from you has damn near killed me. Need to feel you.” 

“Need you, too,” you breathed, caving to your baser instincts. “Please, Joel.” 

He kissed you again and you could taste the desperation on his tongue, heat pooling between your hips. He guided you toward the stairs as he shrugged out of his coat and pushed yours off your shoulders and down your arms. He left both in a heap on the floor, keeping his mouth against your own until the two of you were at the base of the stairs. You only separated long enough to go up them, Joel pulling you back against him on the second story landing. 

You let him guide you, tried to focus on being gentle with him instead of pulling him to you and pressing him against you the way you wanted. 

But you could only resist so long. You tugged at his shirt, pulling at the buttons until you could shove it down his arms and toss it to the floor, too. He did the same with yours, discarding it in the hall before pulling you into his bedroom, nudging the door closed with his foot. It wasn’t long before you were both naked next to his bed, bodies pressed close and tight, his cock thick and hard and weeping against your stomach.

You took control then, turning him in your arms so that he was against the bed. He lowered himself back onto it slowly, his grip on you gentle but secure so you were on his lap, straddling him as you kissed him. 

“Really fucking missed you,” he whispered, kissing down your jaw to your neck to your chest. He rocked his hips up against you, his thick shaft nestled against your clit, the motion making you moan. “Goddamn, missed you so much.” 

His hands slipped over your skin to your breasts, cupping and cradling them before lavishing his hot, wet mouth over the soft swell of flesh there. He sucked a nipple into his mouth with a needy groan and you couldn’t help but roll your hips against him as he did, your tight, hot center clenching and gripping at nothing, desperate for something to pull deep inside. Joel’s tongue teased the firm nub between his lips, licking and sucking you, making you moan and rock yourself against him on his lap before moving to the other breast, giving you the same treatment there. 

“Joel,” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his curls. He pulled his mouth from your chest to look in your eyes, his gaze soft and hot like starlight. 

“Think you can come like this for me?” He asked softly. “Want you to come for me, want you to be so wet and soft inside for me, think you can do that?” 

You just nodded and his hands slid around to your back as he buried his face in your throat before going back to your breasts as he rutted his thick, dripping length up against your clit, the silken firmness of him pressing close and tight against your wet heat. You ground your hips down against him, desperate for more, to be as close as you could be to him, his body determinedly angled to keep you from working him into you. There was a tightening ache in you, the burn of need for something that was just out of reach making your head spin and pleasure spool.

“Just gotta come for me,” his voice was hot and needy. “Just come for me, all you gotta do. Just come, just come, please baby, just come, want to feel you come like this, you can give me that, know you can…” 

His desperate words were what you needed, the tension in you rising until you felt like you were going to break with wanting before your orgasm hit you hard, a wave of pleasure rolling over you. It was sharp, you hadn’t come in weeks, and you could feel all of it. How your clit throbbed against his cock, how your entranced pulsed and grasped at the root of him, how it seemed like your entire being was trying to pull him into yourself. 

“Oh fuck,” he held you tight to him, his cock pressed tight against you, so firm that you could feel him against your pubic bone. “Fuck, just like that. Gonna feel so good inside you baby, gonna be so goddamn good, just get all that come all over me, feel so good drippin’ all over me.” 

You dropped your head to his shoulder, body going limp for a moment as your orgasm finished. Joel cradled you to him before going to adjust you on the bed but you stopped him, sitting up again and pressing back on his shoulders. 

“Baby,” he groaned but you took his face in your hands and tilted his head so you could kiss him, really kiss him, the kind of kiss that was more hungry and consuming and claiming than anything else. 

“Let me,” you whispered when you pulled your lips from his just enough to speak. He let you adjust him then, until he was flat on his back in the middle of the bed, your folded legs bracketing his thighs. You stroked his cock - wet with your come and leaking his own arousal - before rising onto your knees to notch his thick head at your entrance. Joel’s hands went to your thighs, his thumb tracing the scar there, the one from the knife you’d taken to the leg when trying to save him. His eyes were trained on it, his fingertips digging into your flesh more sharply there than your other leg. His eyes traced up your body to the scar at your stomach, just as harsh and red and raw as the one at your leg. 

“Not tonight,” you said quietly. His eyes found yours. “It’s not about that tonight.” 

He didn’t say anything. Instead, his callused hands slid up your thighs to your hips and you eased down onto his hard length. You moaned as you took him into yourself, his thick cock sinking into your soft heat. He felt so good inside of you, your body remembering just how to make him a part of you. It had been weeks but it didn’t matter, he was built into you now, he fit into you the way no one else ever could, filling and stretching you totally. His breaths stuttered as more and more of him entered you, his fingertips clutching onto the soft flesh of your hips and ass harder and harder with every inch of him that worked its way into you. Just as the ridge of his head ghosted against the back wall of your channel, your hips met his and you let yourself adjust for a moment, savoring the feel of him inside you that way. 

Joel was panting for breath below you, his eyes tracing over your body again and again as your channel gripped him. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he looked in your eyes as he said it. “Most beautiful goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.” 

You just moaned a little, your hands coming to rest on the broad expanse of his chest, fingers splaying wide over his skin. But you didn’t move otherwise. He felt too good like this, so deep inside you. You almost didn’t want to move, didn’t care if you didn’t make yourself come with him in you. He was deep inside and he was secure there. You could feel how whole and alive he was, the way his cock throbbed, the pulse of him, the comforting heat. Like this, he was yours. Unquestionably, undoubtedly yours and no one could take him away from you. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” his fingers tightened on you. “I… fuck… I need you to move, baby… I can’t keep goin’ like this, I need… I need you to move, need to feel you, please baby, please.” 

You didn’t respond. You just started to rise on his cock, moving your hips slow and shaky over him, making him groan. When just his head was left barely inside your entrance, you thrust back down, his cock splitting you open again, his head falling back, mouth open in a desperate gasp. 

You rode him like that for a while, you weren’t sure how long. The slow and aching lift, the devastating reclaiming as you took him again and again almost meditative. You watched each other, lost in the feeling of your bodies together, working in tandem to become something more than just yourselves. 

Eventually, Joel tugged you closer, tilting you down until he could reach your face, his large palm curving over your jaw, his thumb pressing into your cheek. 

“C’mere,” he whispered in the dim light of the moon on the snow outside his window. “Want to feel more of you.” 

You folded yourself into him, your bodies aligned, his cock still buried deep but your chest now against his, your lips overing over his own, noses against each other. Even in the night, you could see the different shades of brown in his iris like this, all of them soft and full of love for you. 

His hand slid to the small of your back, tilting your hips just so and holding you there as he started thrusting up into you and making you whimper. 

“Let me,” he said softly. 

You just nodded, letting him gently work himself into you again and again. The strokes were aching and smooth, almost rocking as he moved inside of you. The deep, full press of his thick cock into all the soft parts of you that existed because of him, the brief moment of feeling so full and whole before the tender rhythm he set within you pulled him back again. 

“Joel,” you whimpered, so desperate. You weren’t sure you could even say anything else, every other word you’d ever learned reduced down to the only one that mattered in that moment. 

“Together,” he said quietly, never breaking his rhythm. “OK baby? Together.” 

You just nodded quickly. Your body was getting tighter and tighter and you kept your eyes on his, breathing the same air, feeling the press of his warm, soft skin into yours as your orgasm built alongside his. 

“You’re close,” he said. It wasn’t a question and you didn’t need to answer. He could feel you and you could feel him, too. “I’m gonna come, want you to come with me. Going to fill you up so deep, baby, going to feel me so deep and I need to feel you, too.” 

His hand that was on your back pressed into you firmer, taking root at the base of your spine and pushing your hips lower so his cock was deeper longer, his hips pressed against your clit with more heat and tension and, for a moment, it felt as though your entire body was on fire with need before the band of pleasure that had been winding tight inside you snapped. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, rushing out from your core and flooding through the rest of your being just as Joel pressed your hips down and flush with his, holding himself deep as he came with a strangled moan. Your channel fluttered around him, rippling and pulling him into you as he pulsed deep inside. You could feel him so clearly against and inside you, every inch of his skin, every throb of his cock, every gasping breath. You kissed him then, bodies connected in every way, until your orgasms eased and you went limp on top of him. Your head nuzzled against the side of his neck and you breathed in the scent of his skin as you came back down to earth, his arms keeping you flush against him as his cock softened inside of you, the combination of his come and yours already dripping out of you. 

“Never goin’ that long without you again,” he said softly, his fingers tracing slow and easy abstract patterns over your skin. You hummed in agreement. “I’m gettin’ to be too old to be so deprived.” 

You laughed a little. 

“Should start being more careful then,” you said, reaching out to card your fingers through his hair. 

“Well now that I have the proper motivation…” 

You laughed again and closed your eyes. He held you like that for a while, until goosebumps from the winter air started prickling over your skin. He took you more firmly then, slipping his soft cock from the safe, soft warmth of you and slipping you down beside him on the bed. He pulled a blanket over the two of you and you sighed contentedly. He tugged you closer and you happily obliged, your legs tanging with his as he brushed your hair back before holding your face gently in his large hand. You just smiled a little, eyes on his. He smiled back, just enough that his cheek dimpled. 

“You’re still feeling OK?” You asked quietly after a few minutes. 

He laughed lightly. 

“Whole lot better than OK,” he replied. “I’m amazing. Always amazing when I’m with you.” 

You smiled a little wider. 

“You know,” he said slowly. “I had a lot of time to think when I thought I was about to die.” 

Your smile shifted to a frown but his didn’t, not really. His gaze was just soft, gentle. Like he was trying to leave himself as open as he could to take as much of you in as possible. 

“I remember more of that than anything that actually happened in that room. Didn’t have much in the way of regrets,” he continued. “Had you to thank for most of that. Ellie and I had made things right, I was thankful for that. I was thankful you’d come back to me, even if it was just for a night. Thankful I got to tell you I loved you one last time…” 

“Joel,” you whispered. His thumb stroked your cheek. 

“I saw Sarah,” he said quietly. Your eyes went wide but you stayed silent. “When I was unconscious, I saw her. She was someplace good, somewhere that was bright and warm like her. And there was part of me that wanted to stay with her, take care of her and make sure she was OK. But… most of me wanted to come back here and be with you and the girls. And Sarah… she told me that it wasn’t my time yet. Told me I still had things to do here, that I needed to take care of you and Ellie and Savvy and I just… I knew she was right. I felt it, more than I’d felt so many other things, I felt that. I belong here, next to you. I don’t want to have any regrets when it comes to you but right now… well, I got one big one.” 

“What?” You asked quietly, your heart beating faster. 

“That I almost died before having the chance to live as your husband,” he said. Your breath caught. “But you saved me, gave me a chance to do it right. And I don’t think I deserve to ask you for a damn thing but I’m hopin’ you’ll let me, anyway. Will you give me that chance? Will you be my wife, will you marry me?” 

Your heart was beating so fast that you could hear your blood in your ears. You reached out, hand trembling, and cupped his cheek. 

“Of course I will,” you said softly, voice thick and wet. Joel smiled, tears glistening in his eyes, and he kissed you, gentle and deep and lovely, a kiss empty of expectation and full of promise. 

When you separated, you just looked at him for a moment, taking him in, the man who would be your husband. The whole concept made you laugh, the sound bubbling up in you. 

He just smiled. 

“What, baby?” 

“I just…” you paused, still laughing a little. “It’s the end of the world, how do you even get married now? Not like there’s a courthouse…” 

“Well,” he said, rolling away from you for a moment and reaching into the drawer of his nightstand. You propped yourself up on your elbow and frowned, watching as he rolled back with a small wooden box in his hand. “Figure since the paperwork part don’t exist anymore, we can do it whatever way you want to but…” he opened the box. Inside was two rings, both dark metal, one band slender, the other thick. “Thought I’d make sure this part was covered.” 

“Oh Joel,” you sat up all the way, letting the blanket pool around your hips. You took the smaller ring from the box and held it up, looking at it up close. “Where did you find these?” 

“Made ‘em,” he said, sitting up, too. “They’re from one of Ares’ old horseshoes. Figured it was only appropriate…” 

“They’re perfect,” you breathed, turning it over in your fingers for a moment before looking at him. “Could we… I mean, I know it’s fast but… would you be OK if we just did it now?” 

“Did what?” 

“Got married,” you said, watching him. “I understand if you want to wait or want the girls there but…” 

“How do you want to do it?” He cut you off. 

You smiled a little. 

“How about we just make promises to each other.” 

He smiled back. 

“I like it,” he took his ring out and set the box aside. He held it out toward you and you took it before putting your ring in his palm. The two of you faced each other, blankets in your laps, knees brushing under the covers. 

He took a deep breath. 

“I promise I’ll love you with every part of me,” he said. “And I promise I’ll keep lovin’ you until there’s none of me left.” 

“I promise to love you every second of the rest of my life,” you replied. “And every second of whatever comes after, too.” 

“I promise to protect you,” he said. “Promise to never let anything hurt you.” 

“I promise to take care of you,” you said. “And look out for you and protect you because where you go, I go.” 

“I promise to love your girl like she’s my own,” he continued. “And I promise to take care of her and do everything I can to make sure she’s safe and happy.” 

“I promise to love Ellie like you do,” you said. “I promise to help guide her and protect her and give her the life she deserves to have.” 

You looked at each other for a moment, tears in your eyes, before Joel gently took your left hand in his. 

“Think they used to say ‘with this ring, I thee wed,’ or something like that,” he said, thumb tracing your knuckles. 

“That sounds right,” you smiled a little. 

“Alright then,” he said, lining the ring up with your finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.” 

He slipped it into place. It fit perfectly, settling at the base of your finger with a soothing sense of finality. Joel lifted your hand to his mouth and kissed you there, his lips lingering on your skin for a moment before releasing you. You held his ring tight in your palm for a second, warming the metal, before taking Joel’s left hand. You lined the ring up with his finger and took a deep breath before looking him in the eye. 

“With this ring, I thee wed.” 

You slipped it into place, lacing your fingers with his once it settled where it belonged. You smiled, looking down and seeing his ring on your finger before looking back at him again. 

“Think I get to kiss the bride now,” he said. 

You laughed. 

“I think so, too.” 

He pulled you against him gently and kissed you all soft and deep, his lips holding every promise he’d made to you and, for the first time since the end of the world, you knew what it was to feel secure.

Next Chapter

A/N: ❤️

And that's all I have to say about that.

And that there's a lot more story to come. We're not quite to the end yet, I promise.

Thank you for being here and for reading. Love you!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust@ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost@beccerjune@mumma-moonchild@netonetoneto@mellymbee@purplelye@n7cje@flugazi@evyiione@randomhoex@aliengirl99@orcasoul@reds-ramblings@pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel@jenispunk@panda-pascal@sarap-77@flugazi@your-slutty-gf@daniegraceg@partyofone3413@cumberpegg@noisynightmarepoetry.@fifia-writes@grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123@ashleyfilm

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #yearling #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #smut fic

[ninzied]

his hands are in my hair, his

in which henry’s hand in his hair just does things to him, okay?

He’s not the big spoon all the time.

When they’re pressed for space (the limo in Berlin, for example), he somehow ends up with his head tucked into Henry’s shoulder—blissed out, fuckstruck, arm draped over Henry’s torso, Henry’s fingers in his hair.

Or when Alex falls asleep in other places Henry would call inopportune (listen—the Met Gala ran late and it’s a long train ride back to their brownstone), it’s always to Henry’s body wrapped warmly around his, the soothing feel of Henry’s fingers lightly dragging through his curls, against his scalp down to his nape, and…mmm…Alex can’t help but nod right off.

All right, so, maybe he’s starting to see a pattern form here.

Henry has a thing for his hair. Alex knows it. Alex likes it. (More than likes it—can be very vocal about it in fact—and it’s not not partly because of the way Henry flushes pretty pink when they’re dancing in front of a statue of Venus and Alex makes how much he enjoys it known directly into Henry’s ear.)

Alex is also learning that under the right circumstances, he likes it to the point where his brain short-circuits by shutting off altogether—which, whether it happens while they’re at June and Nora’s or on the couch in their own home, so entirely not his own doing.

Alex can’t help if his boyfriend’s obsessed with touching his hair.

Anyway, case in point: tonight they’re sprawled out on said couch, Alex with a textbook, Henry with David curled up on his other side, the two of them engrossed in their third episode of Bake Off. Alex is so content that he feels warm with it, even halfway to drowsy, even though he still has another chapter or four to get through before bed.

It’s a valiant effort, staying awake, considering Henry’s wound his hand through Alex’s hair yet again, his elbow resting on Alex’s shoulder, and he smells like home when Alex buries his face into his chest, just breathing him in, breathing in this, and—wait. Wait a minute.

Alex leans back, though not far enough to pull Henry’s hand away from his hair. Not that, never that. “How dare you try to lull me to sleep with your hand in my hair right in the middle of biscuit week?” he demands, suitably indignant for someone who’s just yawned so loudly that even David looked reproachful.

Henry levels him with a bemused expression. “Darling,” he says, like Alex is being a little bit slow. “You’re the one who put my hand there.”

“What?”

“You put my hand there,” Henry repeats. The corner of his mouth twitches up in the slightest hint of a smirk, which Alex resolves to do something about momentarily. “You literally reached over about five minutes ago, wormed your way beneath my arm and then bodily forced my hand in your hair.” Almost a full-blown smirk now, and yep, Alex is definitely going to kiss it right off his face in a second. “Wouldn’t be the first time, either, in case you happened to wonder.”

Lies, Alex thinks.

“Lies,” Alex tells him. “That is not a thing.” At Henry’s look, which is altogether too smug for his liking (another lie, thinks Alex again, he actually likes it a hell of a lot), he leans back in, pressing his nose against Henry’s jawline. “But I do like it when you talk dirty to me.”

Henry’s breath gives the tiniest hitch, fingers tightening almost reflexively in Alex’s hair. It sends a full-body shudder down his spine, driving all rational thought from his mind as he presses even closer, and, well—even if it is a thing that he does (it isn’t (oh, it so, so is)), Alex can hardly be held accountable when this is the state it leaves him in, can he?

also on ao3 because why not.

#rwrb #firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrbedit #rwrbsource #i wrote a little instead of giffing today and it was nice #probs going to write a morning sex followup feat. alex's hands in henry's hair this time #henry's hair deserves some lovin' too #(the venus that's at the met btw) #(just realized the gif makes it confusing) #red white and royal blue

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 24

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

“He asked me to move in with him.” I couldn't keep the word vomit from leaving my mouth as I settled into a little booth across from Tori with a coffee between my hands.

Her eyebrows seemed to raise about three inches and she didn't say anything at first.

“It's crazy, I know.” I shook my head.

“How long have you been with him?”

“A month.” I made a face.

“Does he, like, ejaculate gold coins or something?” Tori asked, laughing as she spoke.

I laughed with her and shook my head, looking down. “I don't know. I've never been like this. He's just got this way about him.”

“What's his house like?”

A small smile crept onto my face and she cut in before I could answer.

“He's rich, isn't he?”

“He lives in this, like, mini castle.”

“A castle?”

“Well, that's what it looks like. It's really cool.”

“Okay, so my suspicions are correct.”

I swallowed hard, eager to hear her theories. “What suspicions?”

“He ejacs gold coins.”

I laughed again, actually pleased she hadn't said something serious. I wasn't in the mood for sinister scenarios that would only heighten my internal anxiety over the situation.

“I don't even care about the house or whatever. I just.. I'm falling way too fast for this guy.” My eyes met here across the table. “Do you think I'm crazy?”

Tori gave a half smile and a shrug. “A little.” She smiled fully and sipped her coffee. “It is a little fast.”

“It's very fast.”

“Okay, it's very fast,” she agreed. “But, it's your call. What's your gut telling you? I'd ask what your heart’s telling you but I'm pretty sure I already know that. And the heart can be misleading.” Tori motioned to me with her drink as she emphasized the last part.

“Yeah.” I sighed and reached into a small paper bag for the muffin I’d ordered with my coffee.

“Well, how about this?” Tori went on when I broke off a piece of the muffin top. “If things work out with Mr. “Joel Gold Coins”,” she used her fingers to do the air quotes and I snickered, “Then I better be the maid of honor. And if it ends up not being what you thought, then there's always a room for you at 355 Ellie Drive.”

I looked toward my friend and let out another exhale through my nose. She was so understanding and not judgmental. I had disappeared off the face of the earth for a month since meeting Dr. Miller and she never questioned a thing.

“I'm sorry if I've been a bad friend,” I started but she reached for my hand and wagged a finger.

“You haven't been a bad friend,” she disagreed. “We’re at pivotal points in our lives. And I guess the lucky part is that we've kind of both found the same thing in the same time frame.” Tori shrugged, “It happens. We’re.. growing up.”

I smiled, “Adulting?”

“Ugh, you know I hate that word.”

I laughed and then sighed again with a more serious expression. “Thank you, Tori.”

“You're welcome.”

“I mean it. Thank you.” I sipped my coffee again. “Now, I'm done making this all about me. Tell me about Derek.”

My friend bit her bottom lip and spilled all the recent tea about her beau. I knew Derek. I liked him. The fact that he would be there with her full time took away some of the guilt I was experiencing. Tori appeared excited and happy and light as air. Getting a chance to sit and talk was rejuvenating. As much as I enjoyed the intensity of my time with Dr. Miller, I appreciated the lighthearted feeling I had being in Tori’s company.

“Once a week,” my friend pointed at me as we finally left the little coffee shop, “And that's nonnegotiable.”

“Once a week. And I'll be back soon to get my clothes and stuff.” I nodded and we exchanged a hug. “I'm going to head into LL Bean,” I said motioning to the store a few doors down on the little street.

“I have to go to work or I'd gladly spend a good hundred bucks in there with you.”

“Okay, be safe. I miss you.”

Tori blew a kiss. “See you soon.”

I waved goodbye and headed into the store, mostly in search of a good pair of winter boots.

If I happen to walk out with a sweater or two, so be it, I thought internally with a smile. Or maybe a hat for our ski wedding weekend.

An older man greeted me with a friendly, “Hello,” from behind a cash register off to the left. I smiled and waved before making the trek up a flight of stairs to the second floor where I knew the women's shoe section was.

A rack of on-sale sweaters and shirts conveniently greeted me near the top of the stairs and I gave it a lengthy browse. A knee length blue and white sweater dress caught my eye and I draped it over my arm before moving on toward the shoes.

“(Y/N)?” A female voiced my name quietly and I turned my attention away from the wall of boots in front of me.

When I glanced over my left shoulder I froze. Christine, Dr. Miller’s ex-wife, had just exited the dressing room. She was dressed more casually than our first meeting, sporting jeans and a sweater with a winter hat.

“Hi,” I said awkwardly.

“How are you doing?” She asked, as if we were friends or acquaintances that hadn't seen one another for awhile.

“I'm fine.” I forced a smile. “How are you?”

“Good.” Christine smiled back and bluntly asked, “Are you still seeing Joel?”

I gave a little nod, hoping that would be the end of that. Of course it wasn't.

“Look, woman to woman,” she said, beginning to pace in my direction. “I don't want to see you get hurt the way I did. Just.. be careful. Joel has this charisma that can really be..” She took a few seconds as she searched for the correct word, “Blinding.”

“I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean by that.” I didn't want to have this conversation. People broke up all the time and could easily list off the reasons why their former partner was terrible. It didn't mean those two people couldn't move on and find someone more compatible for them. Everyone has flaws.

“I fell for him,” Christine nodded and stared at me, “Fast. Hard.” She shook her head and maintained eye contact, “He has secrets, (Y/N).”

“Don't we all?” I tried to sound casual and glanced down at the sweater on my arm.

“Not these kind of secrets.”

“Well, what are these kind of secrets?” I asked.

Christine sighed, looking around as she did before finding my eyes again. “That's something I'll take to my grave.. but also something I couldn't live with.”

I wasn't typically one to speak up, but I couldn't help myself now. “So, woman to woman you came here to warn me, but you can't tell me about what? You just want me to be careful because of Joel's secrets but you won't tell me what those secrets are?” I shook my head, “If you were actually looking out for me, you'd tell me.” I wandered away from the boots section back toward the staircase.

“It's the least I can do,” Christine called out.

I took the stairs back to the bottom floor. All the life that Tori had breathed into me, Christine had sucked out. I was so taken aback that I almost walked out with the sweater without paying for it. Hell, I hadn't even tried it on.

I stopped myself before closing in on the door and made a hard right toward the register.

“Find everything you were looking for?” The old man asked with a friendly grin.

I wanted to match his cheeriness but I just couldn't. Still, I managed a smile. “Yes, thank you.” He scanned the tag, I swiped my card and then headed back out onto the street.

I was going to tell Dr. Miller about bumping into Christine. I wasn't about to accuse him of anything but I needed to at least ask what she was referring to. Of course he had secrets - or at least some unknowns he promised to tell in due time. As much as I needed to know, I wasn't going to bombard him simply because his ex-wife bombarded me.

She hated me, Dr. Miller had claimed. I was sure at least part of her approaching me had something to do with sabotaging him.

I shook my head and hurried across the street to an ATM. Having a little cash on me at all times was something my parents had always advised me to do, and it was a habit I'd carried into adulthood.

I looked around the immediate area and then back to the doors of LL Bean to see if Christine had come out. I wanted to get out of the area as soon as possible and cozy up by a warm fire, as Dr. Miller had promised.

As I slipped my card into the machine, I envisioned it for a moment, trying to push away the negative thoughts that had been bestowed upon me. It worked - sort of.

I punched in my four digit code and selected to remove sixty dollars. Again, I looked over my shoulder as the ATM worked its magic. When the screen instructed me to remove my card, I did just that and then tucked it away back into my purse.

The money dispensed and upon collecting it, I looked at the screen again. If it had been a cartoon I swear my eyes would have popped right out of my head.

This has to be a mistake. I looked at the balance. It was all wrong.

“What the hell?”

The receipt shot out next as the screen switched to a simple, THANK YOU, in bold letters. I ripped the receipt from its place and studied the numbers. The balance on the thin piece of white paper matched that of the balance on the screen.

This has to be a mistake.

As I stood in disbelief, staring at the fifty-seven thousand dollars that was now said to be in my account, my eyes glanced up and I saw Christine staring at me from across the street. I felt like she knew exactly what I was staring at on that money slip.

When she shook her head, I crumpled the paper and forced it into my coat pocket before rushing to my car and driving away from that quaint, little street in the center of town.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @jiminstinypinky @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @acciowolfstar1

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!oc #joel miller x fem reader #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal x ofc #pedro pascal x oc #joel miller professor #professor joel #protective joel #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #tlou x reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel x reader #joel x y/n

[midnightcrw]

Running away

Chapter 4

Kadota

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader

Summary: Life really had it in for you. Just moving to a new apartment seemed to unleash a brand new hell

Warnings: non (please, tell me if there actually is anything triggering)

a/n: For this chapter, I tried to write a bit differently, but I hope you all will still like it. The reader is implied to be bisexual

Your heart was pounding against your chest like crazy. It wasn't normal, none of this was normal anymore.

You thought things were going well, and once again you were proven wrong. At this point, you didn't even know why you thought a fresh start would have helped.

You even slammed the door shut infront of Simon's face even though he hadn't done anything wrong.

You longed to unleash your pent-up frustration, to scream, to cry – anything to alleviate the overwhelming pressure within you.

Seeing Simon now seemed like an insurmountable challenge. How could you ever face him after he had witnessed your panic attack, an intimate glimpse into the turmoil you desperately tried to hide?

With a weary sigh, you tossed your phone onto the sofa, powering it down in an attempt to silence the chaos around you.

It had been years since you'd received a message from the person you despised so deeply.

The tangled web of your past was inescapable, a suffocating embrace with no way out, no matter how far you moved.

There would be no escape.

"Did something happen?" Grace's voice, gentle and concerned, cut through the thoughts that held you captive. Her hand, a comforting presence on your shoulder, triggered a reflexive flinch.

You turned around and looked at her with wide eyes as you exhaled in relief to see that it was only the twenty year old woman.

Her hand was still raised when you turned around, and she slowly lowered it as she looked at you with a mixture of confusion and slight hurt.

She probably felt guilty for scaring you, but it also looked like she was hurt by the way you reacted so abruptly to her innocent gesture.

You were pathetic. Just like they used to tell you.

Attempting to banish such thoughts, you mustered a meager apology. Your gaze, however, remained fixed on the list before you – a flimsy shield against the torrent of emotions.

In fact, you couldn't concentrate at all. Your attention was taken by your thoughts as you just stared at the list mindlessly.

Normally you would try to hide it when you were distracted, but it was inevitable. You were paranoid and scared.

Biting your lip, your fingers found solace in a familiar habit, idly fiddling with your fingers.

It was an old habit that stuck with you to this day, but on days like this, it was far more intense.

Family members and friends would always notice this habit of yours. They would ask you if you were nervous, and you would just nod, not wanting to explain anything.

It was a sign of weakness, a glaring display of your fragile nerves.

That's what they said. That's what they always criticized you for.

Memories of that dusty, small room resurfaced – a place that had once suffocated you with its insidious dust, clawing at your throat as it slowly choked you.

Grace's confusion was evident as she settled beside you, her eyes darting your way with curiosity. Uncertain of whether to breach the silence or let it linger, she hesitated.

Her clothes contrasted with yours. Yours were in dark shades, not wanting to wear anything colourful as hers popped off next to yours.

Her blonde hair was braided this time, tied at the ends with pink ribbons. She wore a light blue skirt and a sweater that was striped in all sorts of colours.

For another try, she lowered her hand to rest on yours. Her touch enveloped your moving fingers, and her soft voice pierced the silence. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You didn't want to talk about it. Never again, not after what had happened. But at the same time, you longed for it.

You longed for a conversation, an honest one, a vulnerable one, where you could finally let it all out.

Grace's hand clasped yours tighter. She wanted you to feel safe. She wanted you to know you could be honest with her.

"It's nothing," it wasn't, and she knew it. But she nodded anyway.

She squeezed your hand and said, "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm always here for you." Her voice was sweet, it was kind. There was not a single note of judgment laced in it.

It was as if she was the older one here. Even though Grace was naive and had her shenanigans, she was still smart. She was smart enough to know that there was more and that you needed time, and she respected that.

Feeling overwhelmed that she was so close, you stood up. The chair made a grinding noise as it dragged across the floor.

With the cart as your flimsy shield, you retreated to the library shelves. Not even a single apology for the noise was spoken from your lips.

From this vantage point, no one could see you unless they walked to the back of the library, and that made you feel a little relieved.

You couldn't help but feel guilty for pushing Grace away, she was your only friend. But the struggle to open up, to unveil your vulnerabilities, remained.

Grace had watched you walk away, she sighed to herself in defeat as she leaned back on the chair she was sitting on.

She wanted you to talk to her, to finally tell her what was bothering you. Hours had passed and nothing had changed.

You hadn't smiled, hadn't even tried to fake it, and that worried her.

Sighing to herself once again, she rubbed her temple. Grace actually wanted to tell you about Jack since he asked her out, but seeing the way you were acting today, she didn't want to bother you with it.

She spun around in the swivel chair and put her hands on the desk to come to a stop. It would probably take you a while to open up.

Hours had passed since your shift ended, and now you sat on your bed, legs drawn close to your chest, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself.

It had been a while since your last nightmare, and it was just as unpleasant as you remembered.

It was in the middle of the night, and you knew that most people were deep in slumber. You, however, remained wide awake, consumed by an overwhelming fear.

At work, Grace had not pressed you further to talk. Instead, she had been a constant presence, her proximity a source of both comfort and unease.

It was a paradox – the yearning for human contact, yet the fear of it.

Years had passed and it still hadn't changed. You couldn't enjoy being too close to someone's body because it made you feel weird.

Whenever someone got too close to you, you wanted to run away. Feeling another person's hand or body made you feel like you were being suffocated.

You didn't mind if it was a brief touch, but the moment it lasted too long, you felt uncomfortable.

But it wasn't always like that.

You sighed deeply, surveying your room. It had been far too long since you had felt at home. The closest you had come to that sense of belonging was during your time with your parents and your first apartment.

Vivid memories flooded your mind. The walls adorned with photographs, moments frozen in time with friends who had once brought joy and laughter into your life.

Everything seemed so much easier then. You hung out with your friends and actually had fun.

Your roommate back then also never made you feel lonely. She was always there for you when you needed her. It was like an unspoken rule to make sure the other person was at ease before you both went to bed.

Having her around never made you feel uncomfortable or even the slightest bit annoyed. You used to take so many pictures of each other.

Your friends and family members used to joke that the two of you were glued together at this point, a two-in-one deal, and so on.

You spent many nights between the sheets with her. Many things were left unspoken, but it didn't matter.

The two of you never had to clarify the situation, you both knew.

Until you didn't.

Your fists clenched as you squeezed your eyes shut, the memories threatening to overwhelm you. You had buried these thoughts for a reason, and it had been for the best.

Slowly standing up, you made your way towards your door. You didn't even think of wearing a jacket as you only wanted to leave your apartment.

The landlord had mentioned a rooftop accessible to residents. Most people ventured up there for a smoke, but you sought the crisp night air to clear your mind.

Your footsteps were soundless as you ascended the staircase, finally reaching the metal door that led to the rooftop.

The night air enveloped you as you stepped onto the roof. It wasn't bone-chillingly cold, but a shiver still coursed through your body.

Walking towards the railings, you steadied yourself, the cold metal cool beneath your palms. Standing on the rooftop at night definitely felt a lot more freeing than sitting inside of your small bedroom.

"Need a smoke?" The gruff voice snapped you out of your thoughts as your hand instinctively clutched your chest in shock.

You hadn't even noticed that someone was already there and you turned to the side to face the person.

And it was Simon.

Embarrassment from the previous day still lingered, your cheeks burning with humiliation. Yet, your thoughts vanished as you met his gaze, a gaze that ignited a fire within you.

His hood was drawn up as usual, but this time his mask was pulled down, granting you an unhindered view.

For the first time, you saw his features in their entirety and it made you feel hot inside, almost wanting to undress because of the sudden heat.

His eyebrows were dark blonde, just as you remembered them. The eyebrow slit from his scar was also visible.

His deep brown eyes were piercing. Eyes that seemed to see straight through you. His gaze was intense, captivating, a bottomless abyss that threatened to consume you.

Your gaze descended, observing the subtle imperfections that only added to his allure. A slight, crooked nose that you probably wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't stared.

Now your eyes were on his lips. His lips were a bit down-turned and adorned a pale rose hue that beckoned your attention. A pale pink scar, like a delicate brushstroke, ran from the left upper corner of his lip to its lower counterpart, adding an intriguing dimension to his face.

His jawline, sharp and commanding, spoke of a life marked by experiences both untold and captivating.

Every aspect of his countenance was a paradox, simultaneously intimidating and enchanting, a visage that would haunt your thoughts for eternity.

You were ensnared, unable to look away as your heart quickened and your breath caught in your throat.

Realizing that he had actually asked you a question, you shook your head, "I don't smoke," your voice emerged timidly.

It was the truth. You had never even taken a puff of a cigarette, the smell was enough to drive you away from it.

Simon nodded, his eyes still on you as he put the cigarette between his lips. You never thought that smoking could look so appealing, but he made you want to try it.

An awkward silence settled between you, but the intensity of his gaze and the weight of the moment left you strangely unbothered.

But you felt bad. You felt bad for slamming the door on him when all he did was help you. And you wanted to apologize.

So that's what you did.

"I'm sorry," you finally found the courage to speak, the words tumbling out hesitantly. You fiddled with your fingers again as you looked down, too scared of his reaction.

Simon paused, taking a final drag of his cigarette before extinguishing it. He regarded you with a level of understanding that surprised you. "Shouldn't apologize," he rasped, his voice both gruff and strangely soothing. His actions spoke louder than words, as he had turned away to prevent the smoke from reaching you, an act of consideration that warmed your heart.

And it was quiet again. You didn't know what to say as you remained on the same place. You weren't sure if you felt uncomfortable because of his glaring eyes or because of the awkward silence between you.

"You okay?" Simon asked when you looked up again. You weren't sure if he was just trying to break the silence or if he was actually concerned.

But there was something in his eyes that told you it might be the latter. Just like yesterday, his eyes showed you more than you probably should have known.

"I'm okay," you told him with a sullen voice. You knew that your voice was wavering, but no matter how much you forced yourself to sound monotonous, there was no way you could really succeed.

Simon seemed to sense your reluctance to share further, and rather than pressing you, he began removing his jacket. And suddenly he stretched out his arm with the hand that held his jacket towards you, the warmth of his gesture melting through your uncertainty. "You're cold. Take it," he said.

You opened your mouth to protest, to decline the offer, but he shook his head softly, his eyes adopting a softer, more empathetic quality. It was as if he actually understood what you were going through.

With a reluctant nod, you accepted the oversized jacket, feeling the comforting weight of it around your shoulders. It was large, enveloping you completely, but it radiated warmth.

As you inhaled, his earthy and smoky scent surrounded you, soothing your frayed nerves. It was a scent that felt oddly comforting, grounding you in the moment just like it had yesterday.

His scent made you relax a little as you looked up at him. "Don't stay out too long," he said, and with that, he left.

The night stretched before you, and for a brief moment, the world seemed a little less daunting as you stood on the rooftop, cloaked in Simon's jacket.

And even though you knew you had to give it back, you wanted to keep it.

Taglist:

@ghostlythots

@kittyoonsstuff

@poohkie90

@gothgirl6-6-6

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #ghost x y/n #simon ghost x you

[losergender]

masterpost of solangelo + others fic recommendations

absolutely no one asked for these but i need them all storaged in one place.

[ list goes from solangelo multi-chaptered fics to one-shots + other ships at the end ! will be updated from time to time ! ]

MULTICHAPTERED SOLANGELO FICS !

just an animal, looking for a home - ikeasharksss (https://archiveofourown.org/works/44264458)

Mortal 1987 AU. Nico is running away from his home in Washington, DC to find his sister, Bianca, at UCLA. Will is running away from his home in rural Texas to find his long-lost father, Lester Apollo Papadopoulos, in Hollywood. The two of them meet on the road and become runaway buddies, going on a journey together to survive Greyhound buses, amateur punk bands, Pizza Huts, pretentious music tastes, and their own pasts, tooth and nail.

can't see you, im losing my mind this time? - rabbit_soup (https://archiveofourown.org/works/38765766)

“You’ve got micro-pieces of glass in your skin, and I can’t in my right mind let that stuff just fester in there.” “Glass…? Where—?” He racked his brain, slowly glancing up at Will. He didn’t remember breaking any glass on the quest. “Strangest thing,” Will said, pulling an orange container out of the box. On its side, it read Arm and Hammer, Baking Soda in thick white lettering. “Both Annabeth and Percy swung by a few minutes ago, talking about the exact same thing—glass in their hands! The both of ‘em! Isn’t that interesting?” The glass beaches in Tartarus... Nico thought.

The Rose of Paphos - Tundras_and_Taigas (https://archiveofourown.org/works/30327402)

During a trip up to the Big House’s attic, Will, Valentina, and Mitchell stumble across an old relic of Aphrodite’s: the Rose of Paphos. Created by Hephaestus as a courting gift, the ancient metal rose blooms whenever it's held by someone who harbours romantic love for another. When the rose reveals Will's hidden feelings for an unnamed camper, Nico isn't sure whether to hold out hope or try to move on. OR: Nico and Will need a little nudge. Aphrodite is happy to oblige.

peach tea - ghosttotheparty (https://archiveofourown.org/works/48987730)

He sits up after a moment, but Nico doesn’t let go of his fingers, so he lifts the arm that’s awkward between them and sets it behind Nico, leaning back to rest on it. Nico just looks at the tapestry. Will brushes his thumb over the side of Nico’s hand gently. His skin is soft. Nico’s fingers tighten on Will’s. It kind of feels like neither of them wants to move. Will doesn’t mind. or; Will falls in love with the new kid.

Opportunity Knocks - nikkiRa (https://archiveofourown.org/works/5690698)

Two years after the war with Gaia, Nico tries to run away again, but on the way he is ambushed by Aphrodite, who has decided to take a personal interest in him - lucky him. Nico finds himself stuck in a Groundhog Day situation, reliving the same day over and over until he can figure out what the hell Aphrodite wants from him.

SOLANGELO ONE-SHOTS !

Bigger 'n Texas - notalotgoingonatthisinstant (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27217360)

The accent. The accent was his problem. Well, it wasn’t his only problem. There were a lot of other things that drew Nico to the son of Apollo, to the point of him actually considering if he returned his feelings. All he knew was that he was going crazy and one of them would have to speak soon. . . . "'I’ll be back real quick with lunch,' Will told him. 'Don’t go anywhere. Unless I’m not back in twenty minutes, then you can hunt down my siblings until you find the culprit,' he winked. Nico told the skeletal butterflies in his stomach to quiet down and managed to keep a smile on his face until the door closed behind Will. Then he smacked himself in the forehead for being so stupid stupid stupid, again. First, get a crush on the live version of his childhood game hero. Then get a crush on the caring healer who was nursing him back to life. What was his problem?"

carving through the dark (to get so far) - doeheart (https://archiveofourown.org/works/51640546)

"Your soulmate wears all the bad things you believe about yourself on their skin. They hold it for you so you don't have to. When you look at the things you don’t like about yourself, you also have to face someone who loves you. It’s like feeling whole again. Apollo’s the god of truth, you know. So there are no lies between soulmates." Will got his first soulmark at night. Coiled around his bicep like a snake, the word 'cursed' hissed in jet-black letters. The marks kept coming after that. An au where all the worst things your soulmate believes about themselves show up on your skin. Will wants to know why his soulmate hates himself.

Those walls I built didn't even put up a fight - sazandorable (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482184)

"Is it morally okay to stab a medic with their own scissors?" Nico asked Cecil. (Not that he usually cared about morally okay, as Octavian might demonstrate.) Nico's three days in the infirmary go by faster than he'd thought, and Will just won't stop flirting.

i could be your hero - sundaysabotage (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24528247)

“I just don’t get it,” he huffs to Will as they put up holiday decorations in the unusually quiet infirmary, “they talk to me like I’m supposed to know stuff. Like I’m the new Percy or something.” Nico expects Will to laugh at this, shrug off his concerns as unfounded and tell him he’s being over-dramatic like usual. He is wrong. “Okay, babe, don’t take this the wrong way. But, you kind of are the new Percy.”

OTHERS !

Like a New Yorker - notalotgoingonatthisinstant (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25231837)

Annabeth knew Percy was from New York City. Born and raised. She was very aware of that fact whenever she couldn’t understand what he’d said because he’d spoken so fast that there were barely any words. She had gotten used to it, having lived in New York for a while. What she hadn’t exactly gotten used to yet was… well. How many times he could let f*** slip in front of the little kids at Camp. // OR Percy curses like a true New Yorker and son of Poseidon, Annabeth's trying to keep things flowing, and Piper makes fun of him so he makes fun of her. Because, really, sometimes she sounds like a Kardashian and he sounds like he's not even speaking English.

King-sized Candy Bars - liktetolaugh (https://archiveofourown.org/works/44380360)

It takes a week or two for Percy and Grover to actually become friends, even after they're roomed together. Because Percy, twelve years old, pragmatic, and hostile, is about as easy to make friends with as Thalia was. Hopefully, Grover will pull it off in the end.

Stars on the Water - liketolaugh (https://archiveofourown.org/works/38319247) i love this one so much

"I dunno, I just think it would make a lot of things easier for a lot of people," Percy said to Thalia, when she just stared at him. His cheek rested in his hand, a rare pensive look leaving his eyes distant and unfocused. "Mom has Paul now, so it’ll be easier on her if she doesn’t have to worry about me mucking things up. Dad won’t have to keep threatening war every time Zeus gets his toga twisted. The prophecy’s done, so I won’t be bringing it down on Nico. And no one will have to worry about me blowing up another volcano."

#nico di angelo #will solace #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #solangelo #fic rec #fanfic recommendations #alternative universes #Ao3 #pjo fanfiction #pjo hoo toa #hoo #toa #pjo nico #nico pjo #will pjo #pjo will

[overshelter]

A very simple explanation of why SV, The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System, doesn't contain Noncon or any of that shit

WARNING: It's full of SPOILERS, so CAUTION!

I decided to come and waste my time making this thread/post because I've seen a lot of discussions about it. I'm even doing it in English and not in my official language for the simple reason that I've seen more foreigners talking about it than Brazilians.

Well, let's start by making something clear. SV is a BIG, HUGE, SCANDALOUS satire on novels with harem in which EVERYTHING can be solved with SEX.

Did we get that point? Good.

Moving on.

SV, for having this as a central point, often brings criticism and scenes that prove it. I could easily take several, but at the moment I only have the novel in Portuguese with me, and I'm not going to go after the English version just for a thread/post. So you can go and get it for me if you think I'm talking shit. We'll discuss it if necessary.

Back to the point... These parts are scattered throughout the reading and are easily found if you just pay the slightest bit of attention.

Now, you might be asking yourself: "Why the fuck is this crazy woman bringing up all this talk?"

Context, my dear. Context.

Context to talk about the problem I've been seeing: the issue of noncon, lack of consent and 500 other issues.

It's been said that Shen Qingqiu says no and asks Binghe to stop at various points in the novel. And, indeed, he does.

Only he does it at moments that don't involve ANY, I REPEAT, ANY SEXUAL RELATIONSHIP! In fact, if you go back and read it again, and if I'm not remembering wrongly, in their first kiss, he pushes Binghe away and Binghe himself doesn't insist, he just complains a bit, saying that it was unfair that he couldn't do something like that even in a dream. In other words, he basically RESPECTED and didn't FORCE Shen!

Another part to comment on is that, most of the times when Shen scolds or pushes Binghe away, these are times when they are fighting like two primary school children. Their actions, words and everything else carry an incredible childishness.

That scene of them fighting in the demon realm shortly after Binghe finds out that Shen is alive is one of them. (bonus: in it we also have the narrative of Shen UNILATERALLY hitting Binghe, and at NO point does he hit back. He just threatens, trying to scare, but always without actually doing anything.)

The second kiss I honestly don't remember very well when it happened, but I do know that Shen didn't say no or even push Binghe away completely. I vaguely remember him scolding a little, but not explicitly denying it. Which, in my opinion, shows that he himself was perhaps confused by this possible new dynamic in their relationship and was a little afraid of how such uncertain feelings could end up affecting them both.

Now let's move on to the central point: Maigu Mountain.

My novelistic trauma and also SV's most suffocating chapters, where you see just how human, broken and entirely unstable Binghe is. Both thanks to his own mind and Xin Mo's corruption.

The whole Maigu Mountain scene is made to be uncomfortable. It's not supposed to be something nice, something memorable or even enjoyable, whether for Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu or anyone reading.

This scene is the pinnacle of satire and criticism, making it clear how unrealistic it is to expect sex to magically solve all problems. But the important thing here is the fact that Shen Qingqiu KNEW what was going to happen and was WILLING to go through it. Only because he BELIEVED it would work and also because the system pushed the whole situation in that direction.

And please don't even bring Luo Binghe into this discussion. He is one of the biggest victims in this scene. He has NO conscience whatsoever and is completely screwed up and lost in Xin Mo's corruption, even going so far as to ask Shen why he didn't kill him, drive him away or something. In fact, he was completely willing to die, both because of this and because he thought Shen would sacrifice himself for him again.

Apart from that, we also have an extra where the author brings back The Resentments of Spring Mountain and the fanfiction made by the three sisters, making BingQiu read it and bringing us a scene where Luo Binghe himself and Shen Qingqiu themselves read it and say that it's TOTALLY OOC and impossible for Luo Binghe to force Shen Qingqiu to have sex with him. Luo Binghe even makes it clear that he would walk away or kill himself at any sign of discomfort or denial that Shen Qingqiu showed, in whatever form it came.

So, in short... NO NONCON IN SV, RAPE OR ANY OF THAT SHIT! LUO BINGHE IS A CHUNNY WITH TRAUMA AND A BEAUTIFUL CRYING LADY! NOTHING BUT THAT!

I believe we're clear? (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

#mxtx #mxtx novels #novel #danmei #gay #luo binghe #novel recommendation #novel review #the scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #svsss #mxtx svsss #luo bingmei #shen qingqiu #bingqiu #shen yuan #book recommendations #book review #books #books & libraries #yaoi #yaoi bl

[gwyns]

E/riel’s like to use fawn a lot (death and his lovely fawn), but the first time fawn is used, isn’t it actually connected to Lucien?😂 sounds more like Elucien than E/riel to me.

i went through my ebooks searching for the first use of fawn and it seems to be in acomaf when describing a fawn legged faerie however the first use of it outside of elain was indeed in relation to lucien and his iconic fawn brown jacket. so i will put it firmly in the elucien pile because what do you mean lucien has a jacket the same color as elain's eyes?? i'm going feral

i truly don't understand that death and his lovely fawn quote and since i currently have acowar open here's the exact quote:

"I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two."

so not only is that quote a straight up lie, i've always seen it as feyre remarking on just how much of a contrast they are, it doesn't have anything to do with ships in my opinion. like yeah it may look pretty but once you actually look, is it good for either of them? also it ends with this, my personal favorite part:

"The only bridge of that connection... the knife."

truth-teller was the only connection they shared and guess what elain did after hybern was dead? she gave it back, ending their connection

also! since they like to discredit elucien so much how about we look at their interactions at the end of this book?

"Are you hurt?" he asked, coming toward us. Spying the blood speckling Elain's hands.

"I'm fine," Elain said quietly, And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, "Are you--"

"Well I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but... yes, I'm in one piece."

A faint smile bloomed on Elain's lips.

huh how interesting that elain was concerned for lucien and how he was the first person to make her smile since being made. moving on...

I spared Lucien the torment of debating whether to touch her, and linked my arm through his as I began to walk away, letting my sisters decide to follow or remain--if they wanted a moment alone with that burnt grass.

Elain came.

Nesta stayed.

very curious that elain made the choice to go with feyre and lucien instead of staying at the grave of her beloved father, but oh yeah she absolutely hates lucien

Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien. He noticed it. "I heard you made the killing blow," he said.

Elain studied the trees ahead. "Nesta did. I just stabbed him."

then we have elain peering at him, clearly she's not that uncomfortable around him if she not only chose to stay close to him but also openly stare. and look at that! lucien giving his mate credit and recognizing she's capable of more than other, more broody bats, seem to think

then of course we end the chapter with elain asking him to stay in velaris, with a bit of a push from feyre yes but realistically... she didn't have to say a thing lol. the text says she blurted it out and that typically means saying the first thing that comes to your mind, it's not your filtered thoughts

anyway what was the point of all of this? not sure other than me showing canon proof that supports elain not hating lucien and him actively showing an interest and displaying "mate like" behavior so... antis can kiss my ass

#antielriel #anti e/riel #elucien #asks #anonymous #hope nobody gets upset with me for putting this in the elucien tag lol

[abybweisse]

hello! i hope you are well ☺️

after this chapter i am genuinely so confused as to why the undertaker (who i presume revived doll as a bd since he was present when sebastian killed her) would allow her to attempt revenge on ociel and the servants. doesn’t he not want any more phantomhives lost? even if no harm could ever reach ociel because of sebastian, doll does still pose somewhat of a threat to him as he is only human and she is this enhanced creature with potential abilities to harm him. also why is doll referring to the servants as ‘phantomhives’, i mean sure they work for the master of house phantomhive, but they aren’t; why is she calling them that when her master who is rciel (i think) is also a phantomhive? last but not least, who do you think will leave victorious, doll and the maids or finny and the kids.

thanks in advance for your reply and have a wonderful day😊

Conflict of interests

Undertaker does a lot of things that seem to go against his own interests. He's been figuratively shooting himself in the foot. I guess it's because if he told our earl what he really wanted to do, ultimately, then our earl would not agree. Instead, Undertaker has decided to try to force our earl into a situation where he's more willing to accept his terms, whenever he eventually gets around to stating them; that would be whenever our earl is most vulnerable. That would definitely hold true, if, say... Undertaker wants to transplant our earl's soul into real Ciel's body, as some last ditch effort to "save" them both. Our earl (or Sebastian) would likely only agree to that if our earl's body were severely damaged in a fight or something. Until the contract is fulfilled, Sebastian can't let him die.

I can envision scenarios in which our earl is injured to the point that the only way to keep his soul from departing would be to place it into another vessel. Sebastian previously offered to place him entirely, soul and body, within himself to keep him safe, but our earl declined. That would be separate from devouring him, but if his body is too injured to survive, then putting him inside Sebastian might be the same as devouring him. Can't do that until the contract is up. Undertaker would step in saying something like "What to do? What to do?! Oh, I have an idea! Hihi!" Removing our earl's soul and placing it into real Ciel's body could break the contract, because real Ciel doesn't have a contract seal. This became an issue in s1, when the contract temporarily breaks because Ash/Angela cuts off Sebastian's left arm, which has the contract seal on that hand. That's how Claude steals his soul before Sebastian can devour it. Undertaker is a tricky fellow, and I'm sure he's looking at every opportunity he can find, even if it risks lives he wants to protect.

Doll sees anyone associated with our earl as a "Phantomhive", which is seriously ironic, because she's working for a Phantomhive and Undertaker, who wishes to not lose Phantomhives. If Polaris was once a Phantomhive butler, as I theorize, then he's another. Tanaka would count, too, regardless of which brother he serves. Doll herself is a "Phantomhive", in the same way that Finny and Snake are.

In a recent post, I said that I hope Snake and Finny point out to her that she's working for her enemy's twin, the real Ciel Phantomhive. I don't know whether she's actually met him. Would she mistake him for the younger twin who had her and her family killed? Or does she have some sort of doublethink going on, where she refuses to accept the obvious; it's all just a feud within the same family. She's being duped and used by the Phantomhives, either way.

I do expect Finny and most of the kids to survive, but there might be some casualties on Finny's side. We could lose some kids, besides the candidates that have already "fledged", because that's how dark the series has become. Snake could lose a snake. Even Snake could end up dying, but I sure hope not. We have to remember that Yana-san has no qualms with killing off a beloved character that's been in the story for many years. I can't even promise that Finny makes it out; I just think he probably will. Mother3 theory says Finny should survive, but 🤷🏻‍♀️.

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #ch205 #doll #finny #finnian #snake #undertaker #earl phantomhive #our earl #ciel phantomhive #real ciel #phantomhive ​servants #revenge #anon asks #i answer #answered asks #fol orphanage #orphans #oct 18 2023 #mother3

[acourtofthought]

It genuinely made me laugh out loud! “Shadows disappearing is confirmed good by HOFAS!” I was confused at first thinking when tf did that happen.. and then had a chuckle when I realized they were talking about Ruhn.

I typically stay out of the subreddit, and have their tags blocked on here, but I was curious to see what theories or hints they gathered from HOFAS. Seems like the bulk of it is:

- ruhnlidia “parallel” confirms mate language for e/riel from the bonus (or something like that, I’ve forgotten which precise passage they warped).

- stone mother song is about elain (vast stretch, seems punitive to focus on the song and not everything else that happened in that scene). And is so fucking interesting because that’s a bonus chapter and they’re still claiming BC aren’t canon/down voting when you point out they are. Can’t seem to make up their minds !

- today show article & interview about fans expecting the story to be Az & Elain, and SJM saying there’s a lot to explore in a rejected bond. The first is whatever imo, and the second they seem convinced is about them but I’m more convinced it’ll be Eris & Mor. Admittedly, Helion & LoA is another possibility more likely than e/riel, but their story breaks my heart already and I desperately want them to have HEA

Are there any other arguments you’ve seen/heard of? I’m curious what you think of these three as well!

🧼💖

The Stone Mother argument being about E/riel is just bonkers to me. First off, we have no idea if the song itself is actually based off Native American legend or whether SJM just liked the name. But to take a Paiute legend and claim it about a white women's love story is very cringe to me. I agree with you, I think the rejected bond is going to be Eris and Mor and the effects of an unaccepted bond will be Helion and the LoA. I could see them eventually getting together but for the last however many centuries, they do seem to be an example of a "rejected" bond. And you're right, they have selected very specific lines from the interviews and articles while ignoring the rest. First SJM said she only asks herself those same questions when writing. Is there choice? Is it destiny? What if it's wrong? But she's already written that into the series, where the characters wonder how it happens, is there choice, etc. And every time, the characters have said that it doesn't matter because at the end of the day they still chose one another. Bryce confirms that it didn't matter where her bond with Hunt came from or who it was determined by because it's what she wanted. Nesta struggled with the mating bond because it meant giving up her humanity but in the end she decided she wanted Cassian as her mate. They take that to mean SJM is proving to the reader that she's definitely going to write a rejected bond for two main characters when all she's saying is she makes sure to have the characters ask themselves the important questions so in the end they know without a doubt it's what they wanted and not just something decided by fate. But they ignore SJM saying that characters end up with who they need to be with for the most growth. How her MMC cheer on the FMC and encourage her. These things clearly go against the E/riel narrative but they conveniently leave those quotes out of their arguments. The one big argument I heard going around during the release was how the Cauldron was corrupted therefore Elucien's bond is. So basically.....an event that happened 15,000 years ago and in all that time the ONLY corrupted bond to come out of it was Elucien's? That's quite convenient, don't you think? There is also zero proof that the Cauldron or the Daglan were responsible for mating bonds. So yeah, I imagine all these theories will end up in the graveyard of E/riel theories along with Bread and Roses meaning that E/riel are living together and pregnant in CC3.

[chronic-ghost]

Chapter 10 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 31K (part 1: 14K + part 2: 17K)

chapter summary: how they find each other again . . . and everything else

chapter warnings/tags: discussions of mental health, medication discussions, therapy (so much therapy), everything about theater and theatre production is nothing but fake lies, and yes lots of smut

a/n: there's a longer, sappy-er reblog coming but i just wanted to say thank you to everyone who came along with me on this journey. this wouldn't have been possible without you and i hope to see you again soon!

▲ Series Masterlist | Previous | Part 2 + Epilogue

▲ AO3 Link (posted there as a single chapter if you like to read it all at once)

▲ Taglist Form

“Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.” - Jane Austen, Persuasion 

SEPTEMBER 

“And so we can see that with the abstract paintings, color theory, as well as a fundamental understanding of color under light, is more important than ever. We can have a more immediate reaction to abstract art precisely because it digs at our unconscious thought. We see what we want to see and that can give us perspective on our own lives as well as that of the artist.” 

One hand jumps up from the back of the crowd. 

“Yes?”

“Is it true that Van Gogh ate yellow paint because he thought it would make him happier?”

You nod. “He did. But Van Gogh was a deeply disturbed man and while many of his best works come from his Yellow period, art historians have debated for decades about whether or not the madness was worth the beauty.”

The same boy in the back, blonde, lanky, frowns out of frustration, not boredom. 

“So he ate yellow paint and then painted yellow things?” 

“It could be said that he wanted to literally take what he was feeling inside and put it on the canvas.” 

Another boy, bigger than the first and clearly used to all eyes on him, snickers. He points to a frame at the end of the salon wall. 

“So, what, the artist who did that one wanted to get their blood all over everything?” 

You cross your arms, unphased by yet another teenage smartass. “What does color theory tell us about the color red?”

“It’s associated with anger,” a young girl at the front says with confidence. “Or more often, love. Intense emotions.”

The same jokester in the back chuckles, louder this time. “Wow, so that guy must have really been in luuuurve to paint that.” He pinches the waist of a girl next to him and she wriggles away, giggling. 

“Actually,” you say, straightening up, “I had just come out of a horrific break up and was trying to process grief, trauma, and heartbreak unlike anything I’d experienced before.” 

That successfully manages to silence them all. It usually does.

“You painted that, miss?” The girl at the front asks again, her eyes wide in awe. 

You smile at her. You remember being her age, fourteen, and thinking the world of art, theater was all so exciting. 

“I did. Am I a vain bitch for putting my own paintings in my gallery? Probably, but for some reason, people like to buy them and I’m not going to turn down an opportunity to fund another kitchen renovation in my home.” 

There’s a surprised chuckle amongst the students. Nothing endeared you faster to teenagers by some light cursing. 

“What other paintings are yours, miss?” The blonde boy asks, eyes suddenly leaping from wall to wall, trying to spot similar brush strokes. You don’t miss when the girl looks at him, her cheeks red. 

“Miss Lorraine only has a handful of her paintings in this gallery.” Marie steps forward from around one of the salon walls, her trusty iPad clutched against her chest. “If you are really interested in her work, I highly recommend going to see her charcoal sketches upfront. But this is the end of the tour. Your teacher has given you fifteen more minutes to view any last pieces or purchase a souvenir, but then it’s back on the bus. ” 

The gaggle of high school students disperses, an excitement buzzing as a few surge towards the charcoal exhibit. 

You roll your eyes, as bodies flow around you, and flick your best friend of the past ten years on her earlobe.

“That was supposed to be a secret.” 

“Oh, whatever.” Marie bats your hand away. “It’s honestly some of your best work. You should be proud.” 

“This is meant to be a business, not a housing facility for my ego.”

“Well, the second your ego starts to suck money out of this place, I’ll let you know.” She taps her iPad with her stylus. “Speaking of which, Andrew should be by in about ten minutes to discuss that piece he wants for his new show.” 

You groan, falling behind Marie as she leads you to the front desk, where some of the students are purchasing posters of the art they liked. You watch as the sales girl rings up a few posters and some postcards, as Marie continues to scroll through her tablet, always thinking of the next thing, the next move. 

“This had better be the last one,” you sigh, particularly pleased when you see someone buy a postcard of your red painting. “Why am I starting to think this damn show is going to be the death of me?”

Marie scoffs as she leans forward onto the corner of the sales counter, your bark always worse than your bite. “If you’re so concerned, think about what the notoriety of designing a set for an off-broadway production will do for this gallery.” 

“Does it always have to come back to this dump?” You smile at her, knowing you are the only one who is allowed to tease her precious child. 

“Duh.” Marie sticks out her tongue at you. 

Despite the absolute horror you felt about starting your own gallery three years ago, you can’t say it hasn’t been a success. A reasonably-priced gallery in Brooklyn, you worked to showcase small local artists who needed a leg-up in the industry. Not that breaking into the art world yourself had come easy, but with your old connections in Hollywood and Marie’s in the music scene, you recognized the sheer number of doors open and available to the both of you. The community received the opening of the gallery better than expected, given that it was occasionally used as a center and study hall. It was small, quiet, and unassuming, but it was yours. Yours and Marie’s. You wouldn’t be here without her. Quite literally.

“Once you’re done sulking, we have a meeting with a local council member about expanding the property at two, then that new artist from the Bronx is coming by to measure his space.” She scrolls through your day, with the sharp eye of someone who never missed a beat. You told her she didn’t have to wear that crisp white shirt and pleated black pants, but she rolled her eyes at that: “I’m going to be thirty-three in two weeks. I cannot wear plaid shirts to work every day.”

Same old Marie. Using any small excuse to dress up. Unlike her, you had zero compunctions against wearing old concert shirts and paint-splattered jeans to “the office”. Except, you conceded, on days like this where it was tour after tour, client after client. You attempted something “professional” for her sake, but these heels pinched your feet and the emerald green top seemed to draw the eye of every teenage boy who walked by you. 

“Ah, shoot,” Marie says suddenly, standing up right from her iPad. She glances at her watch. “Andrew asked to see a print of King Square and I totally forgot to grab it.”

“Want me to get it?”

She waves you away. “Nah, mingle. I’ll be out in a second.”

You smile as she struts away. Again you wonder what you possibly did to earn a friend like her, what you did to earn her devotion for a decade of friendship. It was as if the universe had been steering you away from all other friendships, keeping you a friend-virgin, until you met Marie. The One. The girl, now woman, who had saved your life more times than you could count, even before she became the manager of the gallery. You hoped to spend the rest of your life proving to her that she had chosen well. 

The class of teenagers has thinned. Only a few remain to chat with friends, or check out one last piece they might have missed, a plastic bag with a rolled-up poster in their hands. The noise in the gallery dulls, as the patter of feet against the wood grain and the sound of eager voices falls away. You hear the front door swing close and the room goes silent. You inhale, the saw-dust smell of the space always soothing to you, even before you turned it into a gallery.

This place felt like a destination, a culmination, a breakthrough after so many dark nights. You poured your heart and soul and nearly every dime you had into building this space and its community. You could wander through the salon walls, easily identifying the artwork done from different points in your life, what each of them meant to you, by the colors or mediums used. You experimented a lot after rehab, trying every creative outlet you could find until something stuck. Hell, you even attempted cross-stitching – Marie still laughed herself silly every time it was brought up. 

Early on, you processed a lot through clay, through sculpture. It wasn’t very good, but it gave you somewhere to put your rage, your frustration, those hot emotions that made you want to squish warm goo. You could never make bowls or vases – instead just absurd creations with teeth and wide eyes. 

Next came the paintings that covered entire walls. You’d come home after spending hours in a rented workspace, covered in paint, hot and tired and teary, but relieved. The scratchy ball in your chest loosened after those hours of working yourself into exhaustion. That was also around the time when you had started to process decade old feelings and memories regarding your parents with your therapist. It all went hand in hand. 

It was only recently that you’d turned to charcoal and your canvases shrunk. There was something hypnotic about charcoal as a medium, the stark contrast of black and white, of the delicate shading required to give depth and offer light, the way it stuck to your palms, your forearms as if the subject you sketched lingered on you. 

You turn a corner and are welcomed by the sketchings of dozens of artists who also worked in charcoal. The exhibit is called The After Effects of Flame and the artists had completely risen to the challenge. The soft paper, the light etching, it makes the space beautiful, quiet, warm. 

But your eyes fall to a single piece across the room, your heart thrumming in your chest. 

He had shown up in your work in prior years, of course, as much as you tried to swallow him and the memories down. A flash of the curve of his chin, the sharp angle of his nose, the endless brown of his eyes – they were there as you sorted through the cracked pieces of your life in rehab and continued on in therapy. As you moved on from that night in the hospital. 

As you moved away from him.

But you still found slivers of him, splinters that dug into your skin against the wood grain. Marie said it wasn’t noticeable, that only you saw those flashes because of what you had been through, what he had meant to you. But he was there, inside you somewhere, after ten years, and he became a different sort of ache. What he had been to you was never clear, never given structure or form, and perhaps that was why closure had been so hard to find: there was no road map to moving past whatever Dieter Bravo had meant to you. What he had become. What he still, in the fitful state between dreaming and awake, was to you. 

He wasn’t haunting you; you had never known a silent ghost. But he lingered, like the remnants of last night’s perfume or the body warmth of a loved one after they’ve left the bed. You saw him in everyone and in everything and, simply put, Dieter wasn’t going away. 

Much like with grief, you learn to hold this part of you that held him and let the memories, the good and the bad, pass over you without judgment. 

The world is hard enough on you as it is, your therapist told you, don’t add to it by beating yourself up.

So you let him stop by, hang around if he wanted to. He kept you company as you sketched and drew and created in a way you had never experienced as an actress. This is what you were meant to do. It just took you twenty-two years and a decade of heartbreak to get here. 

You stepped closer to the centerpiece of the exhibit. 

A simple sketch, nothing outwardly advanced or difficult, but it is detailed. Thoughtful, introspective. It comes from an image that appears to you in the morning light of your empty bed, or as you fade into the welcoming arms of sleep. It feels like it should be a memory, but if it is, you don’t know when or where it sits in your history. Sometimes, it doesn’t even feel real. Other times, it’s too real, the added weight in your bed almost palpable – you can smell him in the air, you could reach out and touch the curve of his shoulder – and you blink, the image is gone and you’re alone. Your outstretched hand floats through empty air, the tears stinging so sharply in your throat you can’t breathe for a moment. 

To anyone else, the sketch is that of a man, naked, sleeping partially on his stomach, partially on his side, turned away from the viewer. His arm curls beneath his head, under the pillow, and the sheet slips low on his hips, the turn of the light dictating whether or not the exposure is playful or sensual. The waves of his hair fan out across the pillow, tuck around the back of his neck in a way that begs to be teased, tugged on. To everyone else, it’s a loving image of relaxation, of peace, of quiet, joy. 

To you, it’s the image of Dieter that visits you most frequently.

You stand before it now and try to find that solace, that imaginary morning where domesticity dripped into your bed with him, the tension it takes from your bones. But you can’t find it. The day is coming up again, the first blush of fall breathing down the New York streets, and like a thready hangnail you forget to cut, you find pain with every movement. 

He sits, melancholic, in your heart. I know, darling, I know. 

Unconsciously, you rub a hand up your shoulder, unease mounting. You rub again, and something catches in the corner of your eye.

Someone is still here. 

Tan coat nearly the same color as the floorboards, the man somehow blended in amongst the cream paper of the charcoal sketches. His knee-length coat looks expensive, the white Converse do not. His head is tilted back, looking up, inspecting one of the pieces. 

Okay, yes, you saw him in passing on the streets – a flash there, a blur here – but this is getting ridiculous. 

You stare, immobile and silent, at the dark curls that catch against his collar. At the broad shoulders that curl inwards. This is not a ghost, a specter. This is not a haunting. He even stands, holds his weight, just like – no, no, this is just desperation, you’re overworked and tired and – 

Oh, fuck, the black rings –

“Darling!”

Your head snaps to the front of the gallery, seconds before you are nearly tackled to the ground by your friend and long-time benefactor Andrew Young. He had started to go gray at twenty-five, and never to be outdone by the ravages of time, he dyed his entire head silver. It’s been this color for years, blinding and shining, the only thing he changed was how it was styled. Nearly forty, he’s shaved the sides and let the top grow long. It flops in his face as he pulls back, grinning from ear to ear. 

“This looks fantastic!” He beams around your latest exhibit. “Baby girl, I am so proud of you!” 

You drag out a smile, your lips catching on your teeth, the buzzing in the back of your mind at a low hum.

“T-thank you, Andrew. I– uh,” you blink up at him, “sorry, it’s been a day and I haven’t eaten. I’m just a little dizzy.”

Andrew frowns and throws an arm over you. “You work too hard – has anyone told you that? And that, quite frankly, I simply cannot have. You see, I can’t do the set without you, and then I can’t do blocking and stage production, and then the damn thing itself is off the rails. Do you see my problem?” The designs you had been planning are back in your office, some initial sketches drawn up and laid out based on Andrew’s requests over the phone. You smile, settle, that gnawing sense of panic easing. Andrew watches you visibly relax in his arms and he taps your nose with a bright blue nail. “Besides, it’s up to you, you New York native, to help me show my star a good time around town.”

He steps back, arm thrown out wide, and your heart plummets. 

You know who he is before he turns that thick head of hair, before you see that aquiline nose in his profile, before you are swallowed up by those endless, warm brown eyes that flicker in the corners of your heart. 

“My dear, I’d like you to meet –,”

“Natalie?”

The noise is barely human, a punched out groan from a hit that maybe broke a rib, popped an organ loose. 

The gallery has gone silent, or maybe it’s just you’re so suddenly stuffed full of memories, of rage and joy, grief and giddiness, that there’s no room for any sound. 

He’s not a ghost, not a haunting, but he is pale, the whites of his eyes bright and round and staring. 

He is not the Dieter that curls up against your neck at three in the morning when you can’t sleep, no, this one’s different. The lines marking his eyes are deeper, more pronounced – laugh lines, you remember, he’s clearly laughed a lot in the time that he’s been gone. His beard is speckled with gray, here and there, drawing your gaze to that lovely bare spot where the hair refuses to grow. His hair is longer, unkempt, and wild, and in his ear sits a small silver ring. This is not the Dieter you remember. 

He’s older and so are you. 

The coffee cup drops from his loose fingers and splatters against the ground, light brown liquid splashing everywhere. It rolls towards his shoes, but he doesn’t move. Neither do you. You couldn’t, really, even if you wanted to. 

To cope, in the beginning, in the cold, sick days in the hospital, you told yourself that he had died. That’s why he left you, why he abandoned you to get the drugs out of your system alone. To get him out of your system. It was childish and petty and completely irrational, but it soothed you in a way that made living manageable. You could walk around those long white hallways, talk, eat, exist without a giant gaping bloody hole in your chest. 

Consciously, you knew he was out there, somewhere, but in all the chunks inside of you that made up his lingering presence, the old idea, the old comfort, embedded itself. 

Seeing him now, seeing him ten years older, it’s like he had come back from the dead. You could not have made up a more surreal dream.

“Oh, hey, Andrew, I got your print and I –,”

Marie stiffens the instant she sees who’s in your line of sight. Her mouth drops open and the poster joins the spilled coffee on the ground.

“Holy fucking shit.”

Andrew’s perfectly manicured eyebrows eject into his hair. “What? You’ve met before?”

“W-we . . .” the rest of the sentence dies in your mouth, catches fire and turns to ash. “We – I . . .”

“We used to . . .” his voice is raspy, deep, as though scraping through a wet crevice. “We used to work together.”

It doesn’t sting, the casual distance in his words, because he’s right. All of you met a decade ago for work.

Marie swallows as her eyes slide to you. 

His have traced every line of your body, once, twice, and three times over. They stay on the bridge of your nose, the crook of your neck, the arch of your cheek. He’s not looked at Marie once. Given the circumstances of your last meeting, perhaps it should have been you to appear as a ghost from beyond the grave. 

“Uh, Andrew, do you mind if we give Dieter and Natalie some time alone to –,”

“No!” You both bark, a sufficient reason to tear your gaze away from the other. 

He sounds genuinely frightened. Your stomach twists. Your gaze flickers to the spill at Dieter’s feet. 

“Marie, would you get some towels for that?” She nods, completely forgetting the print and nearly sprinting for the bathroom. You swallow, set your shoulders, and turn to Andrew. “I’ve got the designs in my office. If you’d – if you’d both – like to–,”

“Natalie.” He tries again and you flinch as though his voice is a physical force that has pressed roughly against an internal bruise. At his side his hands clench over and over, mouth opening and closing, brow furrowed as if he’s scrambling through every word he knows and can’t find the right one.

Your chest suddenly squeezes so tightly you have to put a hand over your sternum to keep your ribs from collapsing into your spine. You can feel the blush breakout across your cheeks, down your chest, and you’re so confused as to why, a hot bloom of anger overwhelms everything else. 

Andrew’s eyebrows are in danger of falling off his forehead. Dieter still hasn’t looked away. 

“Okay, what am I missing here?”

“We dated.” You say. You keep your gaze on Andrew, knowing your knees would buckle if you look anywhere else. “While we worked together. We dated about ten years ago on the set of one of our movies. But,” you swallow, your knees shaking in these stupid fucking slacks, “that was a long time a-ago.” Your voice cracks and you hate it. You want to hear him say your name again, just to make sure he got it right.

“Are you sure you don’t want a second?” You nod. “Then, uh, let’s see this design.”

Dieter doesn’t follow you and Andrew. Small miracles, you suppose. As you walk Andrew through the designs, you can see out the clear office door that Dieter had taken off that rich tan coat and is using it to soak up the spill. You can’t tell by the twist in his mouth if he’s regretting that particular decision, or regretting something else, but Marie appears a moment later with a rag. His expression changes as she hands it to him, softens, that wind-swept, knocked-back-on-his-ass surprise creeping into the opening of his mouth. She says something to him – her back is to you – and his mouth flatlines. He nods and Marie turns on her heel towards the office. 

You avert your eyes from her and look back at Andrew.

“So what do you think?” 

He grins, completely obvious to the exchange outside, as he shuffles through a few papers. “As always, darling, you’ve managed to somehow crawl into my brain and recreate exactly what I’ve been looking for.” 

You won’t be designing the actual set pieces, but more of the backdrop, what the audience will see through the open windows and around stairs. Most productions use lights to fill in their backdrop, but Andrew described wanting to make the stage feel as claustrophobic as possible. “Nothing breathes in here,” he had said over the phone. “We need something sturdier than lights.” 

You have never felt claustrophobic in your office, but staring at Dieter, an older Dieter, a different Dieter, absurdly scrubbing your gallery floor spotless, the walls nestle tighter, the air stagnant and stale. You feel like you’re seeing the entire place with new eyes and you realize how dingy it is. You can’t look Marie in the eye as she opens the office door. 

“How goes it in here?” She says, surprisingly breathless. 

“Fantastic!” Andrew claps his hands together. “The theater has given us access to the space starting Monday, so I’d like to get to building this as soon as possible. The back lot is huge so I’m hoping to do all painting onsite.”

You nod, the request somewhat expected – Andrew was a bit of a micromanager. 

Behind you, Marie is humming with unfocused energy, but only in a way you can pick up on after ten years of knowing her. To Andrew, she calmly asks,

“Would you like us to bring out those other pieces you won at the fundraiser? We can have them loaded up, if you’d like.”

Andrew’s eyes widen. “Oh god, yes, please. I’m so sorry – I told you I’d pick those up weeks ago! I’ll go get the car.” 

Marie’s gaze latches onto you as he jogs past her. 

“What do you want me to do with . . .” 

You can’t find him through the window, but the floor is spotless. 

You shake your head, that slightly dizzy feeling returning. “Go help Andrew. I’ll . . .” you shrug. “Actually, I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to be alone with him if you don’t want to.”

You feel your back muscles tighten. “No, no – I want – I mean, it’s fine. If I’m going to help Andrew with the designs, then we’ll have to see each other, right?”

Her look is apprehensive but she gives in. “Alright. I’ll be just a minute.”

The second the door closes, you push your palms into your eyes and groan. What the fuck is happening?

You spot him again in the charcoal exhibit, as if this is the area he is confined to. He holds his coat over his arm, the bottom half of it damp and a different color, as he slowly roves from piece to piece. He’s on the opposite side of the room from your contribution, but a part of you wants to yank it down and shove it under the floorboards. A very large part of you.

“Dieter,” you say, hands up, but your voice startles him anyway. His stark white t-shirt matches his converse, and you vaguely think, he’s going to be cold without a jacket. 

He physically steps back the closer you come. You don’t know if that hurts or if you feel relieved.

“Andrew went to get the car,” you say, your focus going in and out as you stare at his earring. “He has some paintings he won at an auction here and he hasn’t picked them up so Marie is bringing them out to the curb to load up.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

“Yeah.” You lose track of the earring as you meet his gaze. Terror, in his eyes. Concern, worry. 

Sadness. Yeah, you definitely know that one. 

Without a single coherent thought in your head, you head for the front doors, feeling him fall in step behind you. 

You can almost hear the storm brewing in his head.

“Natalie, wait.” 

Just in front of the glass doors, you stop. On the other side, Marie and another backend worker load wrapped canvases into a Black Escalade. Even without the faint howl of wind, it looks cold outside. 

He stands in front of you, older after ten years, but no less beautiful. He’s thickened over the years, more solid, an oak instead of a stretchy willow. The thought of what it would be like to wrap yourself around his chest, feel the warmth of his stomach against yours, comes crashing down on you. The inclination is to yank it back, submerge it, but you don’t do that anymore. 

You look into his eyes and the old ache hums. You thought it was gone, despite the many times you think about him, the many versions of him that live in your memory. But it’s there. You’ve missed him.

“Look, I’m sorry – for, um, the surprise visit.” Voice low and quiet, like trying to pass on a secret, his thumb spins through his rings distractedly. “Andrew said he had some errands to run around the city a-and the names didn’t register with me . . . a-after all this time.” He swallows, glancing at your shoulder for a second before finding your eyes again. “Had I known it was yours, I would have . . . I’d . . .” 

“You’d what?” You want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Shake him until he speaks, until he explains himself for showing up and cracking your world in half. 

His mouth crumbles, stricken with regret, and he shakes his head. “I – I –,”

Someone taps on the glass beside you and it’s your turn to jump ten feet in the air. Marie waves to you and Dieter, her arms wrapped around her chest to stave off the cold. On the street, Andrew gets into the Escalade as the worker heads for the warehouse around back. 

“For what it’s worth, it was really, really good to see you.”

Your head snaps back to him. No stutter, no unease. Confidence. This is what he feels. This is what he means to say. 

And then Dieter Bravo smiles at you. Genuinely, gently, full of wonder. He is . . . relieved.

You nod, dumbstruck, as he pushes through the glass doors and you’re following him before you know what you’re doing. The air has a bite to it, the threat of winter swirling in the gray clouds above the city streets. A particularly rough gust of wind barrels down and Marie staggers into you. Wrapping her up in your arms, you watch as he climbs into the Escalade and the passenger window rolls down.

Of course Andrew hired a driver. He leans out, his silver flop fluttering in the wind. 

“We’re having a party tomorrow, my place. A little kick-off party before production and rehearsals begin. You two should come.” 

You can’t see Dieter behind the tinted glass but you know for a fact he just tensed up. Beside you, Marie is shivering, the little thing.

“Maybe, you know? We’ve got a lot to do around the gallery before the weekend,” you say as you rub her shoulders. “It’s kind of a bad time.”

“Well, the art director is going to be there, so it might be nice to get to know him before we get started.” Andrew shrugs, seriously, unaware of the consequences of his simple request. 

Nothing about this feels like a good idea. You nod. “Lemme get Marie here back inside before her lips go blue. I’ll text you tonight about it.” 

You both step back from the curb as the Escalade eases its way into New York traffic. Your eyes stay pinned to the window until you can no longer see it in the distance. Holding her close, you kiss Marie’s cold forehead. 

“C’mon, Frosty, I think we both deserve the biggest cup of coffee our Kerig can make.” 

The hum of the potter’s wheel is loud in your concrete basement. Cold air curls in from the small open window at ground level, chilling the floor and the walls. It stings your bare toes just a bit to keep you awake and focused, your arms and hands already chilled by wet clay. You pump the wheel a bit faster as you try to thin the edge of this bowl – or what may be a bowl. This rarely ever works out, but at least the concentration forces out everything else in your brain. And, as an added bonus, the sound of the wheel also blocks the incessant buzzing of your phone.

Andrew and Marie had not stopped trying to call or text you since the gallery closed. Marie was not above simply barging into your brownstone if you had been quiet for too long, but this was a special case and she knew it. 

Hands wet, back aching from your hunched position, fingers as steady as they’ll ever be, you smooth the rippling clay as it spins. You pump the pedal steadily – too fast and the clay will spin off, but too slow and you’re basically playing with playdough. 

To your enormous surprise, the clay curves, molds between your finger tips. With every rotation, there comes a clear, distinct solid edge to this unfinished ceramic. 

Yes! Okay, just a little bit to round things out and –

Your phone alarm goes off, you jump, and the maybe-bowl deflates into a pile of squishy goo. 

“Damn it,” you mutter, even though you have only yourself to blame. You set this alarm because you needed two extra minutes to clean off before accepting the incoming Facetime. 

You just finish rinsing clay out of your nails when you hear the familiar chimes from your phone. Switching between your phone and a dry rag, you accept the call and smile into the face of a sixty-five year old woman. Blue tips on the edges of her gray hair, oversized cat-wing glasses, Dr. Carla Holstein always reminded you of Ms. Frizzle’s evil twin sister, in appearance only.

“Natalie, how the fuck are you doing?” 

Her non-existent brain-to-mouth filter was one of the things that initially endeared you to her. Talking to a shrink about your childhood trauma felt less embarrassing when the woman taking notes had electric blue nails. 

“I’d say I’m good, doc,” you smirk at her as you head up the wooden stairs of your basement, “but then I probably wouldn’t be calling you.”

“It’s like you only wanna talk about the bad things with your therapist,” she shakes her head mockingly. “As if I wouldn’t appreciate you calling with good news.” 

You chuckle as you drop onto the floor of the living room, mindful of any furniture that might get smeared with errant clay from you overalls. “I’ll save those for our weekly meetings, alright?”

“Which brings me to my next question – what the fuck is going on? You haven’t made an emergency appointment in years. What gives?” 

You set your phone up against a stack of books on the wooden table you lugged here all the way from 42nd street. Frowning, you lean against the redbrick fireplace, in a home you decorated with ugly little trinkets and overused furniture. Tidy and messy, this place holds everything that over-spilled from your brain, a place that feels like what the inside of your heart might look like, if you could see it.

“Seriously, Natalie, what is it? You’re kinda freakin’ me out.” 

“It’s Dieter.” 

Those perfectly drawn on eyebrows arch into that silvery hairline. “What? He called you?”

“He showed up at the gallery this morning.” A motormouth when left unchecked, Carla is a fantastic therapist, first and foremost. She knows exactly when to shut up and let everything pour out of you. And you hated when she did that. You scrubbed your face with your hands, groaning. “Not like that, but he’s the lead role in Andrew’s new production. I don’t know how the fuck he even found out about the part in the first place, but he swears he didn’t know that Andrew and I know each other. I know it wasn’t an intentional ambush but . . .”

“But it still feels like one?” You nod, your bottom lip snagged between your teeth.  

“It’s just . . . it doesn’t feel real, you know? Like, what are the fucking chances that everything has to line up perfectly in the universe for him to come stumbling into my gallery after ten years?”

I really thought I’d never see him again. 

“Was he actually stumbling? Is he sober?”

“No to the stumbling part, but I have no idea. I mean, I don’t think Andrew would hire someone so coked out they couldn’t remember their lines . . . but he was always so good at hiding it.”

The desperate anger in your voice makes you cringe. Even after all these years, you hate when you confess something you didn’t mean to. Dieter’s ability to mask how high or drunk he was used to scare you. Like you were never quite sure which version of him you were going to get. But then again, you were also so high and drunk you never really cared. Which was entirely the point.

“Well, that’s his shit to work out,” Carla scoffs. “I wanna talk about you. What did you feel at the time?”

“Nervous. Shocked. Surprised. Angry.” 

“Talk to me about the anger.” 

“I’m angry that I couldn’t think of a single fucking thing to say to him. Not even a good ol’ ‘fuck you’ or a ‘hello’. I’m angry that he’s back in my life in a way where I’ll have to see him again and again. And I’m fucking pissed that after all these years, after all this work, I see my ex for thirty minutes and I’m running scared to my therapist.”

Carla’s face softens. If you were in person with her, this would be the part where she lowers her clipboard and looks at you with warmth you are barely accustomed to. 

“But did you run for a drink?”

“No.”

“Did you run to the nearest street corner and pick up a bag of coke?”

“No.” 

“Then the process is working. The tools we built to manage your anxiety, to find healthy outlets for your emotions, they held up under scrutiny. You can be pissed all you want but you should also be fucking proud as hell.” 

Something hot and sharp threatens to choke you, your cheeks flushing. The word “pride” and you in the same sentence always fucking did that to you. You cough, clearing your throat.

“Okay, then what do I do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how do I act around him? Do I treat him like a stranger? A friend? Can I be his friend? Should I?”

“Is that what you want? Don’t forget you always get to set the boundaries of any relationship you have. He doesn’t get to decide that for you.” 

Your toes squeeze into the plush forest green carpet beneath you, thumb pressed into your palm. 

“I . . . don’t know.” The truth of what you want sears the back of your throat, a vomit-burn on your tongue, but you keep it to yourself. “But I shouldn’t be around him, at the very least, right? Isn’t rule number one for ex-addicts to keep away from contacts in their past lives?”

“Sure,” Carla nods sagely. “Old friends can bring back old patterns. But are you saying that because you are genuinely concerned about what would happen if you reconnect or because you feel like it’s what’s expected of you as a recovering addict?”

You bite your lip harder. “I don’t know, Carla. It just seems stupid to willingly let someone like Dieter back into my life.”

“And I’m saying you don’t have to. This is a hard case because not only is he an ex, but he was also your dealer and fellow addict.” Carla leans into the camera – this is the part where she put away her clipboard entirely. “But whether or not you let Dieter back in is irrelevant. I want you to go through life with the security in yourself that your past doesn’t have to own you. You have come so far and done so well. You’re on medication and in therapy. You’ve built a great life for yourself, in spite of everything. There will always be temptations, cravings to go back, and I’m not saying you should be overconfident and assume nothing can go wrong, because it absolutely can. But you are not the old Natalie anymore, have faith in yourself. You get to decide your life.”

Once again, you are reminded of all the people who let you forget that. The anger, the hurt, decades in the making, it’s still there. But its bite is no longer cruel. 

You nod. “Thank you, Carla. I needed to hear that.”

“I know that,” she smirks. “I’m a damn good therapist.” 

“As if you’d let me forget.”

You thank her and end the call. With a sigh you lean back, staring into your living room. Back then, you grew spikes to keep back a world intent on consuming you. Dieter had been the only one to not mind the spikes, even mold around them. 

If he’s still a fuckhead, I’m gonna kick his ass.

Your stomach makes a displeased noise, irritated at being empty for so long, so you stand, taking your phone with you as you head for the kitchen.

You bring up his contact and type out your message:

Hey Andrew! Would love to come to your party. What time?

Marie did not want to go to the party for a variety of reasons.

Too busy at the gallery. Invoicing. Nothing to wear. Straight up tired. 

All valid reasons. Except they weren’t and it was bullshit and you made her go anyway. 

Groaning all the way on the subway, she won’t even look at you as the elevator doors open to Andrew’s hallway. She’s gone uncharacteristically silent as you near the party. This is not her usual “I’d rather be in my Snuggie” scowl, but something else. Her eyes are sharp, hard. 

“What?” You bump her with your elbow. “You look like you’re plotting murder.”

“Maybe I am.”

You still and she does too. It’s like you can see inside her brain. “This is about Dieter?”

“Andrew’s a good guy,” she huffs, waving at the shut door. “He doesn’t deserve Dieter’s drama and bullshit . . . and neither do you.” 

About a foot shorter than you, Marie carries enough spitfire to fill someone twice her size. You’ve never actually seen her in a fight, but you really don’t want to. Her cold pink nose from the wind outside does nothing to deter her rage.

“If it makes you feel any better, I was cleared by my therapist to be around him.” 

She harumphs. 

“Look, if I can make this much progress, this much change, shouldn’t we give him the benefit of the doubt? Maybe he can too?” 

Her scowl deepens, but the murderous glint in her eyes fade as she knocks on Andrew’s door. “You are too nice for your own good.”

You mock-gasp. “You take that back!”

Just like every other party you’ve ever been to hosted by Andrew, the vibe is intimate, warm, and friendly. You run into and greet a few of the costume designers and lighting techs he’s used in the past, ones you’ve met before by way of just hanging around Andrew during rehearsals. Andrew is very fond of adopting creatives like pets and if he likes your work, chances are he’ll use you again – something uncommon in the industry, but very welcome to those whose paychecks are never steady. However, you notice how small the gathering is. You’ve seen this open-floor plan apartment full of people, partygoers nearly stacked on top of each other during Halloween parties or on New Years Eve. But this production team is a fraction of that size. 

Private. That was the other word Andrew mentioned over the phone for the backdrop design. He wanted the space to feel private, as though you were staring into something that was none of your business. 

That feeling doesn’t persist here. Here, everyone is welcome. 

Everyone, including –

“So, are you going to tell me what the fuck is up with you and him, or am I going to have to think up a very elaborate con to get you to confess?” Andrew snakes an arm over your shoulder, a glass of sparkling water in his hand. His green eyes are full of mischief, the faint lines around his eyes crinkled with glee, as he watches for any change in your expression. Dieter sits on a chair across the room from you, leaning in to listen to a story a man on the center couch cushion is animatedly telling with his hands. To his right, and nearly touching Dieter, is a blonde, beautiful, twenty-year old actress who everyone is telling you will be on Broadway any day now. You know someone told her your name, but you can’t remember it. You swat away your annoyance.

“C’mon, I’ve never seen you look at someone like that. I’m dying to know –,”

“Is he sober?” Your frown falls on Andrew who takes a step back, his own thick eyebrows scrunched together.

“Who, Dieter?”

“No, the man on the moon.”

Andrew shrugs, the lilac pullover he wears looking soft enough to eat. “As far as I know, yeah. We met when Toby and I went to that yoga retreat in Oregon last year. It was a substance-free commune so unless he was getting drunk off the atmosphere –,”

“You’ve known him for a year?” You gape at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why would I tell you about some actor guy I met out on a co-op in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere? I didn’t know you knew him! We didn’t reconnect until I asked him to come read for the part.”

“And why did you ask him?”

“I . . . dunno,” Andrew says, clearly ruffled. “I liked his vibe. Matched what I had in my head for the role of Sam. And he’s got the best puppy dog eyes of anyone I’ve ever seen.” 

It’s not like you can disagree so you turn away from him, scowl on the verge of pouting. 

“Oh, no, the conversation does not end here, not after you’ve given me the third degree. Who the fuck was this guy to you?”

Across the room, the blonde’s knee knocks against Dieter’s and something acidic like bile claws the back of your stomach. You take the cup of water from Andrew, other hand digging into your purse.

“We dated. It didn’t end well. In fact, just watch Recovery Road – kinda says the whole thing.” You know Andrew doesn’t deserve your ire and you’ll apologize with coffee and a biscuit from his favorite bakery, but right now, if you don’t leave right now, you’re liable to pop something. “I heard it even won an Oscar.”

It’s stupid and childish and wrong to get jealous every time he talks to a woman. 

Okay, notice the thought. Observe it. And let it go. 

You inhale, the orange ring immolating the paper around the tobacco, and exhale smoke over the railing of Andrew’s balcony. It’s a nice balcony, as far as metal balconies go in New York. It’s private, sturdy, and a perfect place to contemplate the insanity of your own life. The sunset bleeds rapturous colors, bright and loud, across the city, light reflecting like stars in the glass windows of the buildings. The sight and the smoke is enough to ease the burden in your chest, just for a moment.

It’s not like you are even really jealous. You know that feeling and this isn’t it. The pain is farther away than the immediate nip of jealousy. You follow the feeling, careful not to nick yourself too hard on old memories as you use your toolbox to sort through the undulating waves of feeling. 

But therein lies the problem. You remember.

You remember when that girl curled up next to Dieter, eyes full of adoration, used to be you. 

You tap the ash against the metal railing, feeling terribly sorry for yourself, when the door to the balcony slides back. A few people had come and gone, shared a smoke, then went back inside. You know you are probably being a party pooper, gazing alone and wistful at the sunset, and you promise yourself this is the last one. It’s officially getting cold the lower the sun falls. But then you turn to the person who just came outside. 

“Ah, shit.” He blinks at you as the noise from the party inside is muffled behind the closing door.  “I mean, uh. Hi. Um. I didn’t know . . . look, I’ll just come back later –,”

“Andrew says you’re sober. Have been for at least a year. Is that true?”

Maybe you should have just brought a police hat and badge if you were going to grill everyone like this. You lean your hips back against the rail, the burn of the smoke forcing you to breathe slowly. 

The autumn wind tugs at his hair, threatens to pull that black sweater out of his pants, as he stares, a lighter and a packet of cigarettes in his clenched fists. 

“Um, yeah. He’s right. I’m . . . I’m sober. Have been, for a while.” 

You nod, reeling in that invisible electric fence you kept him at the edge of. He senses it and hesitantly, cautiously, he takes a few steps forward and joins you at the railing, but at least two arms lengths away. Eying you, he taps out a cigarette and lights it. He smokes, a full inhale and exhale, before continuing.

“Going on about ten years now.” 

The way he says it knots your stomach. His tone of voice. You know exactly what he means. How could you not?

You sip slowly, unable to look at him. 

“You haven’t had a drop of alcohol or smoked a single joint in ten years?”

He shrugs. “Doc says weed’s actually good for unfucking my brain.” He swallows and props himself up against the railing. “But, uh, I did go to therapy in rehab again and for the first time, I continued going after I got out. Turns out risk taking behaviors and mood swings are not things normal people experience. Looked lot at my anxiety around self-acceptance too. Triggers included feelings of inadequacy. I even got a new syndrome named after me in the DSM. Baffled my therapist for months.” 

“Really?” You stand up right, mouth parted. 

“No.” And there’s that Dieter grin. After a decade, it blooms across his face without any hesitation. Your heartbeat pounds rough against your throat for a second. But then his expression grows heavy. “But, uh, I was serious about the therapy part. It’s helped with the depression and anxiety attacks.” 

You roll your cigarette between your forefinger and thumb as another wind blows by. You nip at your lower lip. 

“Personally, I found Buspar was really good at keeping me from wanting to claw my skin off. Anxiety’s never been better.”

His eyebrows jump and he shuffles a bit closer. 

“Oh, yeah? Used to give me the worst headaches, but we fucked around with the dosage and it helped.”

You nod, remembering those weeks of trial and error. You don’t know what to say, what else to admit. His gaze flutters up your shoulder to the side of your jaw and he leans forward with you.

“Did they, uh, put you on Campral too? Wish they had that the first time I went to rehab.”

You shift your weight as you glance over your shoulder. “Yeah. Makes coming to shit like this easier. I, um, don’t feel so overwhelmed to fight the urges, you know?”

“Yeah. I fuckin’ do.” 

You blame the catch in your breath on a particular rough gust of smoke. He taps out that cigarette and eagerly lights another one. Yours is barely holding on. He must think of something, remember a joke, because he smirks again. 

“They also tried to put me on Metoprolol, but I told them to fuck off.”

You frown at him. “What’s that for?”

Dieter shakes his head, barely containing the smile on his face. “Fucking blood pressure medication. You turn forty-five and they wanna put you on Centrum fucking Silver.”

“Centrum? Isn’t that for –?”

His look dares you to tease him for it, all low eyes and curling lips, but you can’t swallow the fit of giggles. You snort, which makes him laugh, and then you do too. 

You laugh with him, until you remember you shouldn’t. You swallow your giggles, sipping more fervently on your cigarette, hoping your abrupt end wasn’t too obvious. 

But if Dieter notices, he doesn’t say. He watches the city skyline, contemplative.

“But of all that, therapy seems to be the thing that sticks the best.” 

You groan, smacking your palm against the railing, hunching your shoulders. “God, doesn’t that fucking suck? The one thing that actually helps is talking about your stupid fucking feelings?” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “yeah, it really does.”

Grinning, you flick your cigarette into the concrete pot Andrew has specifically out here for that sort of thing and go to light another one, but your packet is empty. You both stare at the empty box and then each other. 

Dieter pulls on his cigarette, with a big inhale. “Well, I guess you, um, gotta go back –,”

Your past does not own you. You decide what you want. 

“Do you wanna get lunch sometime?” That is not how you should have asked that question. His eyes go wide and he’s consumed by a coughing fit. You realize your mistake only seconds too late. “That’s not a line, I swear–,”

He bats your concern away, eyes watering, shaking his head. 

“No, I know–,” he croaks. “Yes, I’d like — to catch up. No – I didn’t think it was – a line.” 

He barely gets his breathing right, your own hands knotted together, as the balcony door opens for a second time. 

“There you are!” Marie tsks. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere and –,” 

She frowns at the hunched-over coughing man in the shadows. He tries to smile at her, cheeks red, eyes wet. 

“Hi, Marie, how are–,”

“Andrew wants to make a speech.” She talks like she didn’t hear him. “Come on.” 

She all but takes you by the scruff of your neck and hauls you back inside. You wave over your shoulder to Dieter and realize you don’t have his number anymore. Haven’t had it for years. You no longer have any way of contacting him, even if you wanted to.

As speeches go, Andrew was always very good at them. Short, sweet, and to the point. He thanks everyone for coming as he stands on his dining room table, thanks the caterers and the staff. You stand in the corner with Marie, chatting with the art director you finally met until Andrew started his speech. You focus entirely on Andrew, resolutely not searching the crowd or the balcony, as he continues to welcome everyone to New York, cracking a few jokes here and there. But then the perfunctory part of his speech is over, when something thoughtful comes over his face. 

“I know you’ve all got better things to do than listen to me rant and rave, but I know each of you personally, and I’d like to say I’m so happy you’re in my life. I’d like to think everyone touches each other’s lives for a purpose. Not to sound utilitarian, because those purposes can be healing an emotional wound, or filling a hole you didn’t know was there. Or, in Jack’s case, the best damn audio technician I’ve ever seen. Thanks, Jack.” He holds up his glass as the crowd laughs. Andrew smiles and shifts his weight. He had never done any sort of acting himself, always more content to be the conductor of the chaos, but you always think he would have done well. He has a presence and it’s comforting. “Every day we interact with each other in ways that we can’t foresee and leave lasting consequences we can’t explain. That’s what’s at the heart of this story, this play we’re about to create. The effects we have on each other, how those chance meetings can have lasting consequences.” He grins across the crowd, to where you know his husband, Toby, stands. “How love is the only thing that matters in this fucking world. I really hope you remember that as we start production. If nothing we do matters, then love is the most important thing we’ll ever do.” He holds his glass high and everyone follows. “To love.”

“To love,” the chorus chants.

You’ve never been good at sitting still but this is getting ridiculous. Beneath the table, your toes curl and uncurl in your boots, rubbing blisters with your thick socks. Your teeth nibble the thinnest piece of skin behind your lip, chomping constantly like an uneasy horse chewing at its bit. You stare at the menu and read absolutely nothing. It could be written in French for all that you retain. 

This is such a dumb fucking idea. 

The restaurant is nice. Too nice for something like this. They have glass cups and plates that clink together when stacked on top of each other. The lighting feels low, even for the middle of the day. The paneled wooden walls are too stuffy, too old money. When you asked Andrew for a brunch suggestion, you never should have trusted the recommendation of someone whose idea of loungewear is a pair of hot pink Puma track pants. You loosen your grip on the leather-bound menu out of fear of breaking it in half. 

“This is so weird.” 

Your eyes snap across the table to your lunch companion. Sunglasses pushed up and nestled inside his long hair, Dieter distractedly tugs at his earring, frowning at the cream-colored menu. Everything about this is wrong. The location. The vibe. The white fucking table cloth. The fact that he’s here, sitting with you, like this is some chat with a business acquaintance –

“This is so fucking weird,” he says again, slowly. “Not a single thing on this menu looks good.”

He pauses for a moment, letting it settle, before he grins up at you. With a sigh, all the air rushes out of your chest. You smile back.

“There’s this really good hot dog cart down the road.”

He snaps his menu shut with glee. “Lead the fucking way.”

Ten minutes later, Dieter groans into a steaming chili cheese dog. You’ve found a concrete bench overlooking a small nearby park. It’s Saturday so the park is full of children and their parents, dogs and their owners. It’s . . . normal. 

“Holy shit, this is good.” He licks melted cheese off the space between his thumb and forefinger and goes back in for seconds.

You suck a drop of chili off your thumb and grin. “Found this place when Marie and I first moved here. We lived just down the road and Tony with his cart became our guardian angel. And even now, even though I live across town, I’ll still come by just for his hot dogs.”

The man, round as he was tall, waves over his shoulder, heat rising from his chunky yellow cart, and you both wave back. 

“Can Tony adopt me? Please? I clean the dishes every time, I swear.” 

You chuckle as Dieter continues to slurp every errant stream of meat juice careening down his wrist. 

“I think his other kids would object, but you can try.” 

He chews slowly, suddenly thoughtful, glancing over the cold autumn air at the vendor. “You told me once you felt like it was hard to make friends. Guess that’s not the case anymore.”

He glances at you and you finish off your hot dog in two bites, your mouth dry. You shrug. “I do a lot of things now that I didn’t back then.” 

He nods – rather, moves his head up and down rigidly – and finishes his lunch as well. You hand him a napkin and he takes it gratefully.

“But, uh, speaking of friends, how’s Heidi? Do you still keep in touch?” 

Dieter’s eyes light up. He tosses away the napkin as he takes out his phone. “They just adopted another little kid.” He scrolls through his pictures before handing it off to you.

And once again you’re struck with the weight of memories that had been at the bottom of the box for years. Heidi’s older too, her hair now completely sheared off, cut shorter even than Dieter’s, but she’s smiling. She and another woman hold up a boy who looks to be about six, while two others, another boy and a girl, sit in front of the couch. All of them smile up happily for the camera. It tugs at a soft place inside of you. 

The thing that’s been circling your mind for days lifts its head out of the churning mixture of your thoughts, sniffing the air, knowing it’s almost time. 

“Oh wow! He’s adorable!” You grin genuinely. 

Dieter smirks as he closes his phone. “Carlos. Heidi asked me to help him practice his Spanish, but I’m pretty sure he knows more English than I do.” 

“So they’re happy?”

His brown eyes fall on you like autumn leaves and your toes curl again. “Yeah, they’re happy.” 

“And Mark? Do you still keep up with him?”

Dieter glances away, biting his lip. “Um, no, actually. It’s kind of hard to hang out with someone after you’ve punched them in the face and called them a liar while being so coked out you’re hallucinating.” He picks at a callus on his palm. “Wouldn’t be the first time I lost a friend because I did dumb shit while I was high.”

You nod, the shame and embarrassment all too familiar. Plus, every memory you have of that hotel you handle with radiation tongs and chemical-resistant gloves. 

“But, uh, what about you?” He leans back against the bench, hands in his lap. Behind him, children run and scream in the cool sunlight. “Were you and Marie always friends, even back then?”

“That’s a complicated question.” You sigh and tuck your hands up into your jacket pocket, matching his position on the bench. His legs sprawl out far longer than yours. “I wanted to be her friend back then, and I tried, but then things got . . . intense, with you, and the drugs, and I stopped responding to her calls and texts. For weeks at a time.” His gaze flickers to you as you talk, between your face and your pockets. “But she was also there for me . . . afterwards. She says Heidi called her and told her what happened and she immediately came to the hospital. She just fucking forgave me. Forgave all the shitty things I had done to her, just like that. To this day, she doesn’t hold it over me and I don’t know why but I’m so grateful for her . . .” Your voice cracks and you squeeze your eyes shut for a second. You can feel the wind on your cheeks, your unspilled tears sitting in your eyes. 

You have to get this thing off your chest.

“Dieter, I’m so sorry.” With a gasp to stifle your tears, you turn to him to look him in the eyes. “For the first two years of my rehab, I thought about writing to you, or calling you. Just to say how sorry I was. I had no idea what it was like on the other side of sobriety, how every day is a such a fucking struggle, and I rubbed that in your face, over and over again until you snapped. I’m so sorry.” 

He studies you for a moment, arms crossed, dark eyes almost black in the thin light. You can hear children yelling and shrieking with glee. Faint, distant. He taps his teeth together twice before finding his answer, his jaw tight.

“That’s not why I snapped and you know it.” 

His voice holds like iron in the wispy wind. Everything blurs around you but not that. Not him. He shakes his head gently, eyes falling to the scarf around your neck. 

“And please don’t apologize to me. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it.” 

He meets your eyes and you swear they’re damp. A shade brighter than they were before. You stare at each other, on that park bench in Brooklyn, on a cold autumn day, for a long, long time.

You have to ask it now. You can’t avoid it any longer.

“You wanna get coffee?” You pass the tremble in your hands off as a shiver. He nods, still chewing on his mouth, and you gather your trash. 

It slips out of you as casually as you slip your napkins into the trash bin. 

“How’s Chloe?”

You barely have turned around when his hand seizes your upper arm. His grip is almost too tight, his eyes wide and manic.

“Oh, shit.” He blinks as though he’d been slapped. “Natalie, I never told you – I didn’t even think – fuck –,”

“What, Dieter?” You want to pull away, but the touch around your arm is warm, thick. You peer up at him from furrowed eyebrows. “What didn’t you tell me?”

He swallows.

“The baby – it’s not – it wasn’t mine.” 

Your entire body goes slack as your mouth drops open. The hold he has on you is welcomed; the entire park is in danger of spinning sideways. 

Somehow he has the good sense to pull you both back onto the bench. Your knees buckle the second you move and you all but collapse into the concrete. Dieter releases you and rubs his hands together, leaning forward on his elbows, eyes still wide and blank. 

“How do I say this?” He murmurs and that old hurt turns to panic, to anger. 

“How to say what, Dieter?” You snap, hotly. “Just start at the beginning. Please.”

He shakes his head, tongue up against his molars, finally turning to look at you. “Chloe and I got divorced. Years ago.” He takes a steadying breath, thumbnail absent-mindedly against the black ring on his third finger on his left hand, as if to remind himself what was there. This is why no one over the age of twenty-five needs to wear this many rings, Dieter!

“Look, Chloe and I – our marriage was shit from the get-go. I didn’t want to admit it back then, but it’s true,” he says, still soothing himself with gentle strokes. “I used Chloe, like all the people in my life, like a crutch and she felt it. I was smothering her and she couldn’t get far enough away from me, even halfway around the world. She started seeing someone in Portugal and I think she was happy there. I hope so. But, uh, she didn’t want it to get to the papers that she’d cheated on her movie-star husband and got knocked up as a result, so she passed the baby off as mine. We were about seven months in when she finally told me. I don’t know if she could tell I was coming apart at the seams or she was finally ready to be happy, but she confessed. And I confessed to her – the drugs, the affair with you – all of it. I think I just wanted it to be over, done. We weren’t going to come back from something like that and I think we were both okay with it.” He stops spinning the ring and, against all expectations, grins. “This is probably kind of fucked up of me but we kept in touch for a while. She married the baby’s dad about a month after we divorced. He’s actually a really nice guy. I was even invited to the wedding, if you can imagine.” 

There must be something wrong with your hearing. He’s stopped speaking but there’s a high pitched whine nestled between your ears. 

“So you don’t . . . you aren’t . . .”

“No, I don’t have some ten year old kid running around out there,” he huffs, shaking his head. “And no, I’m not a father. Or a husband. Not anymore.” 

You say the first thing you think of. 

“Dee, that’s fucking crazy.” His old nickname slips out while your brain is offline. “That’s, like, soap opera levels of insane. That’s . . . I can’t believe . . .” 

With a massive inhale, where you can see the hot steam of breath enter into his mouth and nostrils, he sits back, hands limp in his lap. 

“I don’t blame her, you know. After what I had done, to her, to you, I didn’t have the right to be angry that she cheated on me. In some fucked up way, it made sense and it wasn’t just my paranoid, druggy brain telling me something was off. I was never a good husband, was never going to be a good father. When I think about it, the kindest thing she ever did was agree to leave me, even when that seemed impossible.” 

His massive palms smooth across his thighs, his soft hair tugged on by the wind. His fingertips stop just short of touching yours, inches from your own lap. 

“Natalie, I’m sorry I never reached out after that night. Or even years later. I lost hours of sleep thinking about what I was going to say to you if you ever let me see you again. I had all these grand plans of finding you and showing you how sorry I was. But then,” he swallows, “I realized what damage that would do and I . . . I thought it would be better if we just never saw each other again.” 

Your ribs expand out into your chest, just once, just enough for it to hurt, before everything settles.

“I didn’t try and find you for the same reasons. I wanted to, though.”

If that counts for anything.

Back then, Dieter always had a fascination with your hands. Holding them, inspecting them, drawing invisible artwork across your palms and over your veins. He even sketched them on notebook paper and post-it notes from time to time, when you sat still long enough to let him. 

You can see it in his eyes that he wants to touch you, to hold your hand, but he doesn’t. Instead, he puts his own back into his pockets. 

Anxiety churns in your stomach. There’s more he wants to say and so do you, but for now, you’re content to let the confessions of the day settle. 

It’s funny, the little things that you pull together in your mind to create an image of someone. You didn’t think of it often, but when you did, you tried to imagine him happy, with his wife and child. And now you know that’s all they were, imaginings. You wonder if you thought about it more than he did. 

The label of father for Dieter was gone, after ten long, insufferable years. You had no idea what would take its place.

“Can I ask you something?” 

When you look at him, the intensity in his gaze is lifted. Something lighter has taken its place.

“Sure.”

“Why were they called The Sixers?” 

The whiplash between conversation topics is colder and sharper than the air around you. You suddenly remember you’re in a park full of children with Dieter Bravo inches from you.

You grin at him.

“Because it sounds like the sex-ers. Like sex-havers but said fast.”

That press of skin, the dimple on his right cheek, deepens and he smiles. “Nick came up with that one, didn’t he?”

You giggle. “Yeah, but the rest of them signed off on it.”

He nods, eyebrows arching as he shrugs. “But I actually meant why are they called The Sixers when there’s only five of them?”

Not once, after a decade, after millions of memories you shifted through, pulled out and examined and held up to the light – after shifting weight and blame and shame, putting your entire life under scrutiny – after sobriety and founding the gallery and finding Marie as the best friend in your whole world – 

Not once, had you ever stopped to consider that. 

It starts low in your stomach, expanding rapidly, arching up your spine, pulling your lips open, your head back until it bursts out of your mouth so absurdly loud, you clap a hand over your lips to keep from drawing attention.

You laugh so hard, you cry. 

Dieter is bent over, howling alongside you.

When he orders your coffee, he remembers how you take it.

“Cream, no sugar, right?” He smiles as he hands you the steaming cup.

What else of you still lives inside of him? You hesitate to wonder.

You nod, thanking him, and follow him down the street. 

A brisk evening settles between the high rises and rows of brownstones. The air has a mean bite to it now, a chill that nips at the bone. But you don’t really notice it. Not with his warm shoulder pressed up against yours, the warm styrofoam keeping your fingers from numbing. You’d brought up Andrew and the discussion quickly turned to the play. Dieter gestures wildly, chatting about this role, something so different from Hollywood.

Not that he had done much in the way of the public eye after Recovery Road. Smaller stuff, indie films, a few local LA plays. Then when all that became insufferable, he wrote a few treatments for some films, scripts to movies that never saw the light of day, and sold off the rights of those scripts to keep himself busy. He even directed a short film or two, but still felt a restlessness you were all too familiar with.

“So when Andrew called, I got the next flight out. This is the first part I’ve been excited about in years.” 

You smile at him as you sip your coffee. “I’m really glad to hear that. Andrew’s a great director, I think you’ll have fun with him.”

As you led him near and nearer to your street, the conversation wove between artistic inclinations, production management, set design, character work – things you thought you’d forgotten about for the most part, but came back all too easily. You laughed easily too. 

You were laughing when you stopped in front of your brownstone, but then instantly sobered when you saw who was waiting for you on the steps. Which was intentional because she absolutely had a set of keys.

“Oh, uh, hey, Marie.” 

“Dieter.” But she’s looking at you, her jaw set and eyes blazing. “I just came by to get those invoices. Did I interrupt something?”

The back of your neck warms and you put more space between your shoulder and his. “No, i-it’s fine. Dieter was just walking me home. The invoices are in my kitchen.”

The chill of the air settles around you, tapping against the bubble you’d found yourself in after the park. You have him at arm’s length and you don’t know whether to shake his hand or give him a hug. You go with neither.

“It was good catching up. I’ll see you Monday?” 

He nods, grinning in that silly way that makes him look like a fourteen year old dumbass. “For sure. See you Monday.”

It’s not the way you wanted your afternoon with him to go, but in honesty, it was probably the best way it could have gone. Dieter waves at Marie as he heads back the way you came, towards the subway station. 

He’s not entirely out of earshot when Marie turns on you.

“So, what the fuck was that?”

You don’t meet her eyes as you fumble for your keys, your fingers numb from the cold. The door to your brownstone creaks as you stumble inside, as if irritated with you that you’re letting all the warm air out. 

“What are you talking about? We were just catching up.” 

She’s hot on your heels as you slide off your jacket, almost running for the kitchen. 

“You don’t just catch up with someone like Dieter Bravo. He knows all your weaknesses, Nat.” 

You scowl as you toss your purse onto the kitchen island. You face off with her, your hands on your hips. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means he’s your blindspot,” she says, carefully watching your face. “Always has been. He’s not just some guy and you know it. He broke your fucking heart.” 

It had been all smiles and laughing and remembering the good this afternoon. But she isn’t wrong. She rarely was. 

She can see the understanding cross over your face. 

“Where’s his wife anyway? Chloe?”

“They’re divorced, okay?”

Marie’s mouth falls open in disgust and you cringe. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. 

“So he’s back in your life for five minutes, single, and you’re getting coffee with him?” 

“I didn’t know he was single when I asked him — you know what, it’s fine. I asked if he wanted to get lunch and that turned into coffee and we spent a lot of time talking about the play. That’s it.”  

She crosses her arms, reading every line in your body for secrets, as if he might have slipped you a bag of Oxy. You stare back. You have done nothing wrong and neither did he. 

(You store away the fact that this was the first time you hung out with Dieter Bravo in a capacity that didn’t have you both hiding in shadows, ready to examine later alone in bed.)

“And you can honestly say you didn’t feel anything for him?” Marie arches an eyebrow, waiting for your stony face to crack. “No flicker? Nothing after ten years of radio silence?

“It’s not like it was before,” you answer as honestly as you can. “Even if it was, I can’t imagine he feels anything but guilt over me, which isn’t a great starting point for a relationship. You saw his face in the gallery – he looked petrified, not in love.”

When she nods, it stings, just a bit. She eyes the paperwork, knowing the income and good word coming from Andrew’s production would benefit the gallery for years to come. And of course she knew – she was the one who came up with it. Would she have said yes if she knew Dieter was attached to it? Would you have?

“Are you going to see him again?” 

You wave a sweeping hand at the invoices, as if to show how the gallery and Andrew’s show are completely intertwined. 

“I have to, right?” 

Marie frowns at you, angry but not at you, and then her face softens, all fight gone, and she goes around the island to hug you. This is what saved you. This is what kept you going. 

“I know my boundaries, Marie,” you say to the crook of her neck, unwilling to look her in the eyes while you say this. “And I know what happened in the past. I’m not going to make the same mistakes.” 

She kisses your cheek. “Good because I really can’t run the gallery by myself.”

You laugh, pulling apart, and you shuffle the invoices together. “Yeah, who would you have to cart all this paperwork around?” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

You wave her goodbye from your porch, locking the door after her. 

You want to google his name and “divorce” to see if it’s true. If anything he told you today was real. You want to curl up in bed, with your head under the sheets and try and piece his life without you together. But you don’t. 

That was the thing with Dieter. You want things, but you can’t have them. You have this indescribable urge, but it must be tempered. The obsession is lesser, a blindspot more than anything, now that you know your next hit and how you felt about him had been horrifically tied up into one, incessant, painful need. It would never be as bad, you assure yourself because now that you don’t have that overwhelming urge to get high; whatever you would be feeling is just good plain old human brain chemicals. And if you survived being coked out for nearly a year straight, you’d probably survive your own stupid emotions. 

You would survive Dieter Bravo. All you have to do now is be his friend.

OCTOBER

A sharp chill had descended over the city, bringing with it an explosion of color. A consolation prize for the painful nip in the air. It was too early in the season for snow, or anything to prevent the wind from being so cruel, so everyone had to bustle from one structure to the next, careful to avoid the cold that hounded them like dogs. Teeth clenched, hands clutching scarves, the streets were filled with scowls and pink cheeks, raw knuckles and frozen ears. The crowds moved faster, eager to get where they’re going, out of this cold, out of this wind that pressed unsuspecting bodies together with the force of it. It made getting out of bed, leaving the cozy warmth of duvets and covers, planting your feet on the freezing wood, almost a monumentally impossible task. Especially for those who hated mornings anyway. 

As much as you tried – really, truly, desperately tried as you sorted through the mosaic of your life, shining up as much as you could – you simply could not turn yourself into a morning person. Yawning widely, you stirred the cup of terrible coffee aimlessly, as if with enough glaring it would not only taste better, but startle you awake. 

No such luck. 

“Hey, miss, where would you like us to put these?” 

You grimace as you choke down the black sludge, pointing the workman to a far wall at the back of the stage. Six in the morning and you already know it was going to be a long day. There are supplies to organize, materials to sort out, work to delegate, but you can’t seem to climb out of that sleepy haze. It had been a while since you’d been on the set of a production but if you don’t plant your feet now, you are liable to get swept up into the chaos. 

You shake your head and blink. Focus. 

Your designs had mapped out six separate moveable pieces of extra thick balsa wood. Attached to wheels, stage hands could rearrange the pieces as needed, depending on the scene. The “walls” are light enough for Andrew’s skeleton crew, but with some shadows and shading, you could give them depth and visual weight. You just had to build the damn things first, but Andrew assured you that all of his stagehands are basically master carpenters. By the confused but eager looks on their faces, you doubt that’s entirely true. Maybe by the end of this you’ll all be master carpenters. 

Smiling to yourself, you go to help them unpack the planks of wood, but freeze when you hear Andrew’s voice unexpectedly. Assuming he’d come by when most of the work is nearly done, you poke your head around the thick black curtains. 

Andrew stands facing the house, his arms wide and mobile. You smirk at the Lululemon sweats – his version of dressing down – as he addresses the small crowd in front of him. It’s the cast, you realize, only about seven of them and in the center is, of course, Dieter, with dark circles under his eyes. He’d never been a morning person either. He has his arms crossed over a thin black shirt and he’s focused entirely on Andrew, thick brows furrowed. 

And focused entirely on him, is Emily (you finally remember her name), the cute blonde twenty-something. 

Friends help friends get dates, right? Maybe this would be a good first step.

Getting Dieter Bravo laid.

Lunch arrives well past noon, leaving everyone tired, hungry, and a little irritable. Cast and crew go off into their separate corners, looking for peace and quiet and somewhere the pounding of hammers isn’t audible. 

You’re deciding between a ham or turkey sandwich when he sidles up next to you. His plate is half a sandwich, three strawberries, and four cookies. Good to see his voracious sweet tooth hadn’t dulled even a little bit. 

You glance over your shoulder. Emily sits on the edge of the stage, munching on a bag of chips and reading over her script. With your elbow, you nudge Dieter and he turns to look. 

“She likes you,” you grin. 

He frowns, glancing back between you and the girl on stage. “Who? Emily?”

“Duh. She has eyes, doesn’t she?” 

Dieter’s mouth goes tight and he turns back to the craft’s table, suddenly interested in adding something healthy to his plate. 

“She flirts with everyone. Besides, I’m kind of out of practice.”

“What do you mean?”

He picks at a melon, noses through the box of chips. “Rehab makes dating kinda hard. Unless . . .” he pauses and puts down his plate, “unless you’ve figured out the secret to dating in rehab.”

Your neck heats again. “Um, no, definitely not. It’s been a while, for me too.”

“How long is a while?” His eyes darken as he asks. 

You are completely baffled at how quickly this conversation spiraled out of your control. 

“Dieter – I – it’s been – you —,” 

He spares you and bites the corner of his cheek. He glances over to Emily as she swings a long, bare leg over the edge of the stage. 

“I’m not sleeping with her.” You nod, dumbstruck by this complete and total opposite reaction you thought he’d have. He works his jaw before looking back at you. “Her or anyone else. Okay?”

Andrew calls the cast to the stage to review blocking before the buzz saws start up again, so Dieter is pulled away before you can sputter incoherent consonants at him. He leaves his plate with you.

“Don’t let anyone steal my cookies,” he says very seriously before wiping his hands on his jeans and heading back to work. 

What you said is true. You didn’t date anyone in rehab, the practice actually rather forbidden, and didn’t really have the inclination once you got out. It had been years before you actually tried to date anyone, but most of them ended after the first awkward hug goodbye or when he tried to put his hand up your skirt at dinner. 

You hadn’t been a nun this whole time – you weren’t a fucking saint – but there hadn’t been anyone, anyone who really mattered in, years. For the first time, that struck you as odd. There wasn’t time, you reason with yourself as you watch him cross the stage on Andrew’s direction and jot notes in his script, his hair sticking up in all directions as if a cat’s tongue had licked him up the back of his neck. With moving to New York and starting the gallery and then running it, expanding it, there just simply wasn’t time to find something to fill that giant, gaping hole in your life. A hole you didn’t seem to mind or even notice, until Dieter came back. 

Okay, maybe, friends didn’t need to help friends pick up dates. He didn’t seem interested anyway. 

You pick up his plate, careful to not spill his precious sweets, only vaguely aware that his first inclination after loading up his lunch was to come find you.

🤍 Next: Part 2 + Epilogue

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #the bubble fanfic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble 2016 #dieter bravo/f!reader #dieter bravo/you #dieter bravo/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 25

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Just as things are starting to look up- spiders. So many spiders. Will everything be okay, or will Reader crumble under the pressure?

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: By gods, I've been writing this chapter since MAY of 2022!! Also, for my records this chapter ends on day 72 of the Guardians living with reader. Enjoy!

Word Count: 7,668

Your little chat with Yondu had actually made you feel better, to your surprise.

Sure, you still had bouts of post-vulnerability-embarrassment, but you found that a weight had been lifted somewhat when you went to bed that night, and you couldn't deny that you actually did feel better in the morning, enough so that you actually got right back into using the remote to prank Peter, though you of course now refrained from using it when Yondu was also watching the television for fear of prompting him to tell Peter what he knew out of spite.

The next couple days your mood improved even further.

You decided to join another sparing round with the others, though you did avoid matching with Peter out of paranoia that he'd pull another stunt like the last time. You were teased for this, mostly because when it happened you had turned to see he was your next match only to audibly state, "Nope!" and motioned him on to pair with Mantis instead. This made the others laugh, but you simply rolled your eyes with half a light-hearted smirk and brushed it off.

The day after that you decided to finally show Yondu some "Terran Archery" as you had said you would some time ago. He actually caught on really well, though he didn't deny that he preferred his own arrow. Then, seemingly just to show off, he whistled to command his arrow circle you three times before taking off to shoot clear through your target and then come back to rest in his holster.

Pretending not to be impressed, you start to head back toward the shed to put your bow and quiver away. "You know, you still never really said how Fury allowed you to keep that arrow."

Yondu just grinned and shrugged as he followed your lead to return. "Like I said. That's for me to know."

"Come on now!" You scoff. "Surely after making me spill my life story the other night you can at least tell me that."

Yondu pretended to think, smirking all the while. "Hmm… Nah. Pretty sure we never came to any such agreement."

"Seriously?!"

"Yup."

You sigh, letting it go for now. "Well, can you at least tell me how it works?"

"Whatcha wanna know that for? Ain't like ya'd be able to use it." He grinned teasingly at you.

Whether he meant he wouldn't dream of letting you try it, or that it literally only worked for him, you weren't sure- though you had a suspicion it was the latter. "Just curious," you respond, "I mean, I showed you how humans do archery, figured maybe you'd at least tell me a little something about your space arrow?"

Yondu appeared slightly annoyed, rolling his eyes and stopping to turn to you. He realized he was going to have to give you the same talk he gave Quill shortly after he brought him aboard the Eclector as a boy. "Let's get one thing straight. I know you Terrans ain't know a lot, so it ain't fully yer fault, but here's a lesson. You and me?" He gestured back and forth between you. "We're both 'human-' Got it?"

Confusion prompted you to look back at him. Both human? That couldn't be right. You were from Earth. He was from a different planet- an alien. Did people on his planet call themselves 'humans' too?

He continued. "You Terrans might think you're the only ones in the universe, but that don't make everyone else less than human."

Oh.

The guilt must have shown on your face because he sighed and tried to curb his annoyance. Slightly. "You? Me? Both human." He points at you again. "You and Quill, ya'll are Terran." He points to himself. "I'm Centaurian. Different races, both still 'human.' Got it?"

You nod. "Yes. Sorry-"

He waved you off, seeming satisfied enough and wishing to change the subject. The two of you begin walking again as he spoke. "Anyway, the fin picks up my whistle and sends it to the arrow. Arrow gets the whistle and goes where -and through who- I want it to."

"Uh, that's it? It's that simple? Do a lot of people use that in space?" you ask, deciding to move forward in the conversation with him.

Yondu laughed out his nose. "It's the best explanation yer gonna get, and no, it's actually not simple at all, and no- I'm sure I'm the only one with something like this."

Your eyebrows raised. "Oh. Why's that?"

"That's enough questions about the arrow for now," he replied flatly. His expression was just as flat, and you couldn't get a read on the reason for his reluctance to talk much about his arrow. He didn't seem upset or uncomfortable. Was he was just a "keep to himself" type of person, or was he just good at keeping up a mask?

You relented, slightly disappointed, but deciding to push forward with another question as you neared the shed. "Alright then. Um, what is your planet like?"

Out of nowhere Yondu's hand connects with your side to give it a couple quick squeezes, which results in you jumping with a startled giggly shriek. He hadn't even looked at you before doing it, which only made it all the more unexpected.

It was over in an instant but you still glared at him indignantly, feeling your face heat up. "What was that for!?"

Yondu shrugged with a grin. "To change the subject. Worked, didn't it?" With that he continued off towards the house, leaving you alone at the shed.

You huffed slightly and just went to put your quiver and bow back away.

* * *

Later that day you fancied yourself a glass of juice after switching the laundry you had just washed over to the dryer. The plan was to enjoy it in the sitting room while you re-read one of your favorite mystery books. After pouring yourself a glass and placing the bottle back in the fridge you grabbed said glass from the counter and turned to walk back towards the sitting room. It was then that you saw a shot of brown dart across the kitchen floor.

Recognizing it immediately as a house spider you jumped nearly out of your skin and dropped your glass, spilling your juice all over the tile floor, but fortunately not breaking the cup.

Unfortunately, Yondu and Kraglin had walked in around this same time and saw the whole thing, if Yondu's chuckling was any evidence to the fact.

Cheeks heating up, you quickly grabbed a towel to clean up your mess. You expected to be teased about the spider, but instead you heard, "Damn, I know Krags is funny-lookin', but we didn't expect to startle ya that much!"

You glance up, not intending to argue but grateful they didn't seem to notice the real cause of your startle. Kraglin jokingly put on a disgruntled face towards Yondu for the insult before turning to look in the pantry.

Then you saw Yondu throw you a wink before doing the same.

So he did see… and he was covering for you? Why? Never mind. You weren't going to argue or ask. But you did think you should consider making a special trip into town tomorrow to get some repellents or maybe some traps.

Once your mess was cleaned up you left the kitchen- no longer in the mood for juice, or to read. However, you thought maybe you were in the mood to watch something on TV, and upon seeing that nobody was occupying the television you decided to scroll through Netflix, finally settling on a familiar movie you had seen several times before.

Miraculously you got through the whole movie without anyone even coming into the sitting room, and you actually started to wonder where the others might be before you glanced at the clock and noticed how late it had gotten. They must all be in bed, and you should probably follow suit.

Doing your best to be quiet as to not wake anyone you went about getting ready for bed in the bathroom. It wasn't until you were about to shut off the light and retreat to your bed after brushing your teeth did you spot another spider. It was perhaps half the size of the one you had seen in the kitchen, but that didn't make you feel much better considering it was still about 3cm wide. You had almost touched it when you went for the switch and jerked your hand back at the last moment, catching an exclamation in your throat.

The spider quickly scurried away before you could act and somehow you lost sight of it. Unwilling to stay up to find it you quickly shut out the light and left the bathroom. That was a problem for anyone else. Tomorrow.

For now you were definitely sure you were going to the shops in the morning for both repellent and traps.

Fucking spider season.

* * *

Despite going to bed late you managed to wake early, and you would have tried to sleep-in if you hadn't reasoned with yourself that the sooner you left the sooner you would be back with stuff to get rid of the spiders and hopefully keep them away. Also you had to pee.

It seemed no one else was awake, which you became grateful for as it meant it was unlikely that anyone heard the very loud gasp you let out the moment you turned from closing the bathroom door towards the toilet and found the spider from last night sitting on the opened toilet lid, taunting you.

You considered for a moment nope-ing right out of there to go use the toilet downstairs, but you could hear the sounds of someone opening their door and started to feel self-conscious of someone possibly seeing you flee one toilet for the other due to a spider. It also wouldn't solve your problem as you'd need to come right back to this bathroom anyway because everything you needed to wash up and get ready with for the morning was in here.

Damn it.

Ok. What were your other options?

Maybe flick it off with a towel? But then you'd have to worry about where it would run to after. The thought of it crawling up your leg while you did your business made you shiver and you immediately threw that idea out.

Well, what if you closed the lid? Maybe it'd fall off into the bowl and you could flush it away? But that would require putting your hand way closer to the spider than you were willing. You weren't about to risk it crawling on you. Also you had a feeling you'd need to slam the lid for that to work and you weren't thrilled about drawing attention to yourself.

You needed to find a way to kill it somehow, a feat easier said than done considering you couldn't stand the thought of getting too close to it and the fact that you really just wanted to be able to use the toilet, get ready, and get on with your day.

You looked around for something you could maybe squish it with, because as much as you wanted to avoid it you sure as hell weren't going to go ask one of the others to come kill it for you. You'd use the bathtub as a toilet before you did that. Luckily for you, you weren't nearly that desperate.

Speaking of the bathtub though, you spotted a bottle of shampoo. Considering it a good enough weapon, you snatched it up and aimed the blunt cap towards your enemy. Moving slowly, sure the spider would run if you made any sudden movements, you inch closer… closer… until smack! You finally darted your weapon forward and crushed the spider between the toilet lid and the lid of the shampoo bottle, grateful the spider also hadn't decided to make any sudden movements before getting squished. It would be very likely that you would have dropped the bottle in the toilet if it had.

You pulled the bottle away and found the spider-guts had decided to stick to the cap, leaving little more than a slight smudge on the toilet lid.

Grabbing a sheet of toilet paper you sat the bottle with it's arachnid corpse on the sink, intent to remove any evidence of your enemy's unwanted prior existence from the toilet lid before finally relieving yourself- deciding to wait until after you had done so to give the spider it's "sea burial." It might be dead, but still- no. Ew. It could wait it's turn.

After finishing your business, flushing your friend, and cleaning off the shampoo cap, you were finally able finish getting ready for the day, and thought maybe you'd reward yourself for your bravery with a muffin for breakfast.

* * *

You had just finished up eating and were about to get ready to leave when Mantis came over to you from the pantry asking if you could help her get the jar of peanut butter open.

Little did you know this would be the start of a chain of events that would significantly delay your morning plans.

For what felt like several minutes you did your best to open the jar but didn't succeed, so you handed the jar off to Drax who had just happened to walk into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Rocket filed in behind him, ignoring everyone as he made his way to the washing machine and threw something inside.

Drax got the jar opened in nothing flat, but he apparently had news for you; Groot had decided to take some juice upstairs and had spilled it in their room.

You sigh, but grab the mop as you internally begrudged Drax for not just cleaning it up himself instead of coming to tell you about it. Though, it was probably just as well- he wasn't exactly the most thorough of cleaners and you didn't want his poor mopping to leave a sticky juice residue behind.

As you filled a bucket you wondered how the tiny tree child would have managed to get a glass of juice all the way up the stairs without spilling any only to then spill it in their bedroom.

It would turn out, as you saw when you reached the stairs, he hadn't. There were little puddles of juice over nearly every step on the staircase. Enough so that you wondered how there was even any left for him to spill in his room when you finally reached the door and located the glass overturned in a puddle of juice near Rocket's bed- which was missing it's blanket. There was, however, no sign of Groot. You'd worry about that later.

For now, you had just never been more glad that you didn't have carpeting in your home- and idly wondered as you cleaned if Groot had actually managed to drink any of his juice before spilling it everywhere.

When you finally finished mopping you grabbed the first person you could find- in this case Kraglin, before tracking down Groot and having Kraglin translate that the wooden child was no longer allowed to carry liquids upstairs.

You weren't totally sure the message got across, but there wasn't a whole lot more you could do so you just had to hope the kid actually understood when he nodded in response and ran off. You awkwardly thanked Kraglin and went to return your mop to the kitchen.

It was there you encountered Rocket again, who opened the dryer and then gave you grief about having left your clothes inside.

You roll your eyes at him but say nothing as you snatch your clothes out of the dryer and move to take them upstairs. Might as well fold them now so you don't need to worry about them later when you get back from town.

Once your clothes were folded and you were putting the last of them away you think you might finally be in the clear to be heading to town when Mantis startles you by running up to you crying and holding her hand.

You almost scold her for scaring you like that when you see that she only had a paper cut, but you held your tongue and instead helped calm her down and find a plaster in the medicine cabinet.

Once you had her settled you headed to leave before anyone else could manage to stop you again, once more being startled by a spider in the hall and cursing the creature.

Soon after, Gamora came across you as you were pulling on your jacket, keys in hand. It was then you realized you hadn't bothered to tell anyone you were leaving and you thought you might do so then, but Gamora actually beat you to it.

"Are you going into town?"

"Uh, yeah actually. Did you need anything?" you asked, pulling up your jacket zipper. Silently you hoped it wasn't something else that would delay your departure even further.

"Take Peter with you."

Taken aback, you let out a surprised half-laugh and looked at her. "What?"

"I need you to take Peter with you."

You blink at her. "…Is everything ok?"

She glanced down the hall before lowering her voice. "Yes- it's just-" She frowned. "Ok, he's driving me a little crazy today."

"It's not even noon?" You raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I know," she said pointedly.

You frowned. You hadn't intended to bring a passenger with you. "Won't he ask questions? I've never exactly brought him along willingly before."

"Somehow I doubt that will be a problem. I'm fully certain he's just being annoying because he's stuck here and bored."

You open your mouth to reply just in time for Peter to step out of the bathroom. To your surprise Gamora calls out to him and tells him that he's going to be accompanying you into town.

"Cool!" Peter says, going for his jacket as you blink at Gamora, who doesn't look at all apologetic.

Defeated, you sigh and just motion Peter toward the door, throwing one last glare over your shoulder at Gamora who finally mouths "sorry" just as you close the door behind you.

The ride into town was much less annoying than you expected. Instead of deliberately trying to annoy you, Peter seemed content with just listening to the radio the whole way into town, which wasn't at all unwelcome seeing as your thoughts were on what sprays or traps you might get this time around for the spiders, and considering how you weren't exactly looking forward to discussing the situation.

Eventually you reach the shop, where you manage to park, go inside, and grab a hand basket all before Peter tried making small talk.

"So, you're quiet today."

You glanced at him in puzzlement. "I could more say the same of you. Normally you never shut up. Maybe I was enjoying the quiet."

"Rude." Peter said, giving you a quick poke to the ribs.

You jumped and glared at him with narrowed eyes, to which he only grinned and mock held his hands up in defense as you walked past him and made your way toward the aisle where you knew the pest control items would be, trying to think of anything else you might need to pick up while you were in town, which wasn't a lot since you had just recently been in.

Unable to think of anything on your own, you glanced at Peter and asked him if he knew of anything he or the others might need. You knew the answer was likely also nothing, as Fury had just come a couple days prior with a restock, but it didn't hurt to ask.

"No, I can't think of anything. Wouldn't argue against some Oreos though."

This made you huff a laugh out your nose and as that aisle was coming up first you opted to detour and grab them on the way to your actual reason for coming to the shop.

As you were leaving that aisle Peter speaks up again. "So, I noticed you seem to be a little… less grumpy lately." In a joking tone he continued, "That mean you're finally starting to like us?"

"Don't read too much into it," was your reply. "Maybe you all have just gotten less annoying after a couple months. Or I'm suffering a weird form of reverse Stockholm Syndrome."

Sure, you could have said you had a sit down with Yondu where you spilled your guts. Could have mentioned how somehow you actually felt better afterward. Could have also mentioned how you had no idea why- since all that mandatory therapy SHIELD ordered you to take couldn't even do it. But you weren't going to. Just because that one talked helped didn't mean you were ready for a repeat of that vulnerability anytime soon. Besides, the more you thought about it the more you figured it was probably a fluke or something.

"Rude," Peter joked again, rolling his eyes and poking you in the ribs once more like before and jolting you out of your thoughts.

This time your reaction was to accidentally elbow him in the side, and you glared at him with wide eyes as he laughed and rubbed the sore spot. "That's what you get, now cut that out!"

There was a slight playfulness behind the scolding that didn't go unnoticed, but Peter once again held up his hands in mock-surrender. "Ok!" He could tell you were deflecting, but he wasn't going to push it.

By now you had reached the pest control aisle, only to find it wiped out of any kind of repellents or traps that might be useful against spiders. Perhaps if you had just gotten here earlier- but no. Everyone else in this area knew as well as you did that it was spider season, so you should have anticipated this. Better yet, you should have remembered to grab some stuff before the season came- though one couldn't blame you for being distracted the last couple months. Not like you had taken in a group of dysfunctional aliens or anything…

"Damn," you mutter under your breath.

"What?"

You shake your head. "Nothing." Ok. Think. Would there be anywhere else in town that might have anything still in stock?

"Aww naw!" came a voice from behind the two of you. Upon turning to look you saw there were a couple young men maybe in their early twenties. Clearly they had come looking for spider repellents too, and like you, were disappointed to find the supplies out of stock. Before they walked off the young man who had exclaimed could be heard saying to his friend, "This was the last place in town. Thought for sure they'd still have some in stock. Tough luck for us innit?"

Well, there went that idea.

Peter looked to you and caught you frowning. "Is there something I should know?" he asked.

"It's nothing, like I said," you reply, thinking to grab some juice on your way to checkout, realizing that much of what you did have at home had found it's way onto the floor. "It's just spider season… and I thought I'd grab some supplies before I had to listen to you scream like a little kid every time you saw one." Of course you were going to leave out the part that the real reason was that you really hated spiders. "Forgot about it until too late is all," you continued. "Been a little distracted lately." You throw him a pointed look as you said the last bit, knowing that he would know what you meant by it.

Peter frowned, offended. "First off- I would not scream like a little kid." He went to poke you again for the insult as the two of you approached a self checkout, but you smacked his hand away before it could make contact. "But that does explain so much," he added watching as you quickly scanned your small shopping haul and paid.

"What do you mean?"

"Why I've seen so many spiders lately." He replied, following you out of the store. "Saw three just this morning. Big suckers too- but I suppose that makes them easier targets to squish." He chuckled. What he wasn't about to say, however, was that he had actually called Gamora to come kill each one he saw.

"Oh," you reply, walking to the car. You did not like the sound of that. There had still been a part of you hoping that you wouldn't see much more than you already had. "Yeah- they come about this time of year- when it gets colder. I'm sure they'll have some more repellent in soon," you say, hoping he didn't notice the nervousness in you as the two of you reached the car. Once inside, however, you promptly dropped your keys before you could put them in the ignition. Nice. Real smooth. You continued talking as you reached down to grab them, "-or I can look into some home remedies. It's no big deal- they're harmless." That last bit was mostly a front to make you seem indifferent.

Harmless or not, you still hated them. It made you feel weak to admit it- not that you cared what they thought or anything- but showing vulnerability wasn't something you were used to. After all, you were still recovering from your talk with Yondu, and that was days ago.

Finally grasping your fallen keys you sit back up and insert the key into the ignition, but don't turn it just yet. You look to Peter now, trying to think of any other topic to switch to. Literally anything would be better than thinking about going back home to a house full of big-ass spiders.

Or so you thought.

You open your mouth to speak, intending to just pull a topic out of thin air, and then you hear it.

Blood turns icy in your veins as the awful wail creeps into your ears, and your chest tightens so that you can barely breathe. As your mouth closes, your eyes widen. However they do not focus on anything in particular- your vision beginning to cloud with images in your mind's eye. Broken glass. Twisted metal. Sickening yellow.

Peter sees the sudden change in you and speaks up in concern. "Agent?"

You don't even hear him, ears flooded with the terrible sound that's only getting louder. Turning away from him you begin to shake, now facing forward in your seat. No. No no no no. Please- Those words swim through your thoughts as horrific memories swim through your mind. Memories of pain… darkness… loss.

"Agent?" Peter says again, more concerned now. One moment you had been fine, and then you just froze- face falling into an expression of silent horror.

By now your breath is coming in an almost silent sob and you've brought one hand up to cover your mouth.

"Hey, hey- woah," Peter says gently, utterly confused about your sudden change in behavior but wanting to provide some sort of comfort. He reaches out to you and barely grazes your arm before you jerk away from him. Actually, he could tell it was less you pulling away, and more you had startled from the contact.

Terrible screeching. So much blood. Flashing lights. Please- No no no-

You seem to draw into yourself, and before long it starts to dawn on Peter what's happening. He had been too concerned with you to notice it before, but not only was it louder now, he caught a glimpse of it speeding on the road in the distance through the car window.

An ambulance, blaring it's siren. The sound he had played over and over that one night before realizing he really shouldn't have. Before he realized that sound had a dark effect on you he'd likely never understand. The sound that caused you to go out into the woods that night, the action that resulted in you getting shot.

Shit.

He looked at you, and could see you were barely with him anymore. Your gaze was distant and your waterline was flooded with yet unshed tears.

White sheets. Red stains. Darkness. Screeching. Pain. So much pain. Broken glass. Where are they- Blood. So much…

Peter felt he should do something, but he had no idea what to do. He knew of a couple guys on Yondu's crew that had PTSD, but he was never close to them. He had never witnessed anyone having a flashback before- if that's what this was. He had no idea how to help you. He couldn't mute the outside like he could the television.

Unless…

He knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try. He reached over to the radio and hit the buttons, and turned the knobs, trying to get any other sound to drown out the siren that only seemed to be getting closer.

Unfortunately, nothing happened.

Fuck.

He looked and saw the key you had left in the ignition, and reached over to turn it, realizing that nothing in this damn vehicle must work without it. Stupid Terran caveman tech.

The lights on the dash came on. So did the radio.

Jackpot.

He quickly turned the volume knob and the music blared out, drowning out the siren. Having come on so suddenly and loudly, it also actually seemed to startle you out of whatever dark place you had gone. Not instantly, of course, but the resulting jolt managed to nudge your breathing towards a better rhythm.

You take a couple shuddery breaths as you start to come back around.

You are safe. You're in your car- but everything's fine. At least, as fine as it can be all things considered-

A blink made the tears finally escape your waterline and you quickly wiped them away, turning your face towards your window and away from Peter. You realized what happened and you wished he hadn't seen. You felt weak. In a voice that you tried to keep strong, you say, "I'm sorry."

Peter frowned. "Hey- don't do that. It's ok. You're ok." He glanced between you and the center console, and in what was probably a hasty decision, he reached across and pulled you into a very awkward hug.

Luckily for him, instead of being cross, this action, combined with the fact that "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard-" was blaring on the radio actually made you let out a short laugh. "What- What are you doing?"

"You looked like you could use a hug, and I happened to have one ready."

You didn't know how to respond, so you just laughed again and tapped out, pointing out that the center console was digging into your ribs.

Peter released you and you each settled back into your respective seats, where you both sit in silence- aside from the radio- for a little while.

After spending that while staring at your lap, you think to turn the radio down to a more appropriate level. By now the siren was long gone. In reality it had likely only been present for a few minutes, but it felt much longer. Looking at Peter for a moment, you finally speak again. "Um, thanks. For uh, not making this any weirder than it had to be. Sorry you had to see that." 'So much for not showing vulnerability,' you thought bitterly.

Peter scoffed lightly. "Don't be sorry. Look- I know I might not understand, but I do know it's not your fault."

You returned your gaze to your lap and he speaks up again.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You let out a soft chuckle and smile sadly before meeting his gaze again. "Thanks, but I think I just want to go home now."

"Ok." He wasn't going to press it. He was just glad you hadn't had to go through that alone.

And so were you.

* * *

The ride home was mostly quiet. Peter could tell that while you might have been pulled from the bulk of that darkness with his radio trick, it wasn't a magic cure. It wasn't as if he had snapped his fingers and made you "instantly better." He knew better than that, and knew he should probably give you space.

You had made one request, however. That Peter not mention the incident to any of the others.

He agreed, and when the two of you finally returned to the house the two of you went about like nothing was wrong.

For Peter, it was easy.

For you, not so much.

After putting away the messages and grabbing something to eat you decided to go upstairs to try some breathing and meditation exercises you had learned a long time ago.

The last time you had a bad flashback like that was years ago, and you were shaken for several days afterward. Hopefully you could skip that this time -if that were even possible. You honestly thought you had gotten past the flashbacks. It's not like you still broke down like that every time you heard a siren "in the wild." Hell, you hadn't even had one that night Peter played it over and over again, so you didn't know why it happened today. Sure, you had lost it and screamed at him, but it didn't result in a flashback.

Was it stress? Sure you had more than enough to be stressed about lately... but surely none of that could make the flashbacks return, could it? You tried to remember what any of those therapists had said, but came up blank. Maybe you should have paid more attention during all that mandatory therapy... Maybe you should call- No. No you'd be fine. You don't need to be digging into old wounds. You just needed to 'mellow out' and take it easy for a bit. Everything will be fine if you just relax.

The exercises helped just enough that eventually you felt up to do something else, and you decided that something else would be to open your laptop and try searching some DIY spider repellent methods.

Unfortunately, once you got to your desk you were greeted with one of the little bastards sitting on top of your laptop before it skittered away to hide somewhere else on your desk when it noticed you.

Nope. No fecking way. You are not going to deal with this now. The last thing you needed right now was to have fecking spiders piled onto your nerves- more than they had already been that is. Not when you also were recovering from the incident in town.

But you also couldn't just leave it in your room…

Ok. Breathe. Just relax and you'll be fine.

Thinking quick you grab a cup with some pens from your desk, dump them out, and look to see if you can find where the spider had gone. Obviously your intent was to trap it under the glass, maybe leave it to suffocate. The spider however, had other plans, as the next time you saw it the fecker was bolting down the side of your desk and quickly scurried under the door and out of your room. Nearly gave you a heart attack too, but at least it had left your room.

Even though it was gone the whole event had sort of turned you off from sitting at your desk for the moment. Turning to grab your phone from the bed, you decide to do the research in the comfort of the sofa downstairs instead, but not before easing your door open to make sure the spider wasn't waiting right outside. Fortunately it was nowhere to be seen, and you made your way downstairs.

In the sitting room some of the others were watching TV, so you opted to sit in the rocking chair instead as you did your research.

The results were halfway promising, though did leave you wishing you had looked them up before you left the store. The most effective DIY it seemed was peppermint oil, of which you had none. The next best bets were citrus and white vinegar, which you luckily did technically have both, but the remedy called for "fresh squeezed lemons or citrus peels." Currently you only had a little bottle of lemon juice. Hopefully that would do, as you weren't looking forward to making your house smell like vinegar.

Just as you were getting up to to attempt the DIY repellent you saw two brown steaks cross the floor from under the couch. At first you were concerned they were more spiders, but you'd only be half right. One was a spider, the other was Groot- chasing the spider.

Speechless and restraining yourself from picking your feet up into the rocking chair, you witnessed the wooden child actually take a flying leap and land on the spider, which must have been nearly as wide as your hand. Then, in a move you could hardly comprehend, he shortly wrestles with the spider before putting the fecker in his mouth.

Groot looked up at you happily with half the spider hanging out of his mouth, it's legs kicking erratically as he chewed on it. All you could do is stare in disbelief- barely able to comprehend what you just saw with your own two eyes. He… ate it??? Alive??? How-??? The legs!? The thought made your stomach churn.

It didn't take long before Rocket came along and starting scolding Groot, telling him to spit it out, that he doesn't know where it's been.

Groot, apparently unwilling to part with his impromptu snack, attempted to make a face at Rocket (as his mouth was still overflowing with spider) and ran away from him, upon which Rocket gave chase, continuing to scold him as he did so.

You blinked and just sat there for a moment, processing what you had just seen. Eventually you finally decide to attempt that DIY spider repellent, and that you might like a drink while you did so.

According to the website, you needed the juice from half a lemon mixed with water and to put it in a spray bottle. Unfortunately, it didn't say how much water. You also weren't sure how much juice would equal 'half a lemon.' Come to think about it, you weren't even completely sure you had a spray bottle.

Well, might as well try to find one first before bothering with the rest.

So, first pouring yourself a drink from an opened whiskey bottle in the fridge, you set out to look under the sink to see if you had any empty spray bottles down there- only to witness a spider scurrying away inside the cabinet as soon as you opened the door.

You jolted right out of your skin and shut the cabinet. Nope. Not dealing with that. Looked like there probably wasn't an empty spray bottle in there anyway...

Taking a long swig from your glass you decided to check the bathroom closets instead.

The downstairs bathroom proved fruitless, as did the upstairs, so you tried to rack your brain on where else you might keep one, if you even had one. The only other logical place might be in the cellar, as you were fairly certain you wouldn't find one in the attic. Even so, you debated going down there as you had a feeling you just didn't have an empty spray bottle at all.

With a sigh and another sip of your whiskey you decide to go for a look.

There was no spray bottle to be found down there. There were, however, several spiders, most of them smaller than what you'd been seeing upstairs, nesting in the corners of each room in the cellar.

At this point you were starting to feel slightly nauseous. Today was just not being a good day. First you wake up to spiders, then you can't find any repellent in town, then 'the incident'-as you were calling it, and now everywhere you turned there just seemed to be more spiders. To make matters worse you couldn't even bring yourself to run up the stairs to get away from them, despite your instinct, in case someone heard you and got concerned- because there was no way in hell you were going to confess that you were running away from some damned spiders.

Upon returning to the kitchen you finished off your drink to calm your nerves and decided you'd try cooking dinner in an attempt to further settle yourself down. A simple task to put your mind elsewhere. You'd be fine. Just breathe, and focus on another task.

Fortunately, dinner went just fine. Spaghetti was the choice you made, along with the decision to cook dinner for the whole house, and you managed to do so without any unpleasantness. Everyone even got along without any bickering when it came time to sit down and eat as well.

After the dishes were done you thought you could try to top the day off by curling up in your room with the book you had intended to read the previous day. Try to end the day on a better note and then wake up to better day tomorrow.

As you obtained your book from the sitting room you noticed everyone else was either watching TV or playing cards at the table. This meant you'd likely have the upstairs to yourself for awhile, something you wouldn't argue against. Some peace and quiet was sure to help in your quest to 'mellow out.'

Thoughts of cozying up in your warm bed to read helped make you feel better as you opened the door to your room and walked inside. You weren't usually one to curl up under the covers unless you were going to bed, but you felt like you were probably overdue for a simple comfort like this.

Just as you were turning back your covers & preparing to snuggle-in your eye caught something by your pillow.

You tensed as you thought you recognized what looked suspiciously like a couple legs of a certain creature that you knew all too well and very much despised, but then you relaxed again. Took a breath. Tried to think rationally.

Surely it's not. It wouldn't be. You've never found one in your bed in your whole life of living in this house, you highly doubted they'd start now. Peter must have somehow gotten your fake spider back from Yondu and thought he'd play a prank. Probably hoping that if you were focused on a prank war your mind wouldn't be trapped in any bad thoughts or memories. That was the case, surely.

Denial is one hell of a drug.

You rolled your eyes as you reached down and lifted your pillow up, only to drop it just as quickly and jerk back from your bed.

Not only was the spider real- and huge- it had a (slightly smaller) mate. Surprisingly they didn't seem phased by you uncovering them, or your sudden movements. They just laid still, as if asserting dominance.

No. No no no. Not ok. You couldn't handle this. Not in your bed. Nope. Nope nope.

Barely breathing, you didn't even have a chance to clear your head enough to think of a solution before one of them moved- and then you bolted.

There was a brick in your stomach and you needed air. Heart was thundering in your chest and your footsteps were coming a bit rushed as you descended the stairs, but you didn't care. You just needed out. You didn't even bother to grab your jacket and only moments passed before you cleared the back door and the cold night air hit you in the face.

It was only then that you realized you also hadn't bothered to throw on any shoes, and you had regained enough presence of mind to be grateful that at least the ground was dry as you made your way toward the shed.

Not really having a plan as to where you were headed, you stopped and rested against the backside of the shed. The wood was cold against your back as you took some deep breaths, attempting to keep yourself quiet and tell yourself not to scream. It was all you could do to keep the tears back.

Perhaps if the incident in town hadn't already taken a massive hit to your defenses you might be better able to deal with this, see that it wasn't actually a world-ending event, but you weren't exactly in a current position to think rationally. All you knew is that you were NOT okay.

Spiders were in your bed! How could you sleep knowing spiders were in your fucking bed?! The thought of them crawling on you while you slept was too much. Visions of giant-ass house spiders crawling over your face filled your head. As irrational as the images may be, you couldn't help but see spiders trying to crawl in your mouth- your eyes- You felt sick, and your shaking now had almost nothing to do with the cold. You didn't know what to do, so you tried to take deeper, slower breaths, trying to still your rapidly beating heart. You just needed a moment to pull yourself together and then you could think. But you couldn't think- all you wanted to do was scream-

"Bit cold to be wanderin' without a jacket on, don't ya think?"

A gruff voice had spoken up out of nowhere beside you, and they really shouldn't have done that. Sure, they couldn't have known your current state, or that because of it this startle would have triggered a fight response in you. But it did, and unfortunately for them, before you could even think you were already swinging out to deck whoever it was in the face.

#gotg fanfiction #gotg #gotg fic #x reader #yondu x reader #yondu udonta #marvel #peter quill #starlord #gamora #marvel fanfic #mcu #fanfiction #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 #guardians of the galaxy #spiders #hurt/comfort

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[2:03 am]

It was weird being on campus this late surrounded by other students. The library felt like it would at any other time of day with the sun out, but right now the sky was dark with only the moon and stars to serve as light. Finals week was just about to begin, stress and nerves on campus were at an all time high, including your own.

“If I read one more chapter of this stupid book I’m going to rip my hair out!” You whisper yelled. At this point, you didn’t care whether or not anybody at the adjacent tables heard you or not, they were probably in the same boat. 

Shotaro threw his head back with a laugh, “You said you wanted to stay here this late, now you’re telling me you can’t?”

You whined, putting your head on his shoulder, “Sho! My eyes burn, my brain hurts, I’m tired, I’m starving, and I never ever want to look at another book ever again in my life. I just really want some hot, crispy fries and an ice col drink, that would fix every problem I have right now.”

Shotaro hummed in acknowledgement, he knew staying at the library this late to study the whole time was a bad idea. This wasn’t how you both usually studied, so he had a feeling you just wanted to know what the university library was like this late at night. Well, it wasn’t just a feeling, he had actually heard you mumble something like this after you saw a flier up. Your usual study sessions consisted of your coffee table being filled with loose papers, index cards and highlighters to copy down important information while Shotaro’s lo-fi study mix played in the background. Reading textbooks and being organized just didn’t work.

Now, it was going on hour 5 of just reading the textbooks and he was starting to feel a bit stir crazy too. “Come on, let’s go,” Shotaro told you as he began putting his things away.

It didn’t take you too long to follow suit before you were both running out of the library, past your stressed, tired peers.

A short drive later you were both seated at one of the only restaurants open at this hour of the night for a cheap price, huddled together on one side of the booth to combine your warmth. You unconsciously brought a fry to your mouth, eyes staring blankly ahead out the window. Your brain felt completely fried and filled to the brim with information yet you couldn’t recall anything specific. Sitting in the cold and slightly sticky seat of the booth eating fries was just what you needed.

“Thank you, Sho,” you mumbled tiredly, “All that studying was making me go crazy. I think finals week will be the end of me.”

“No, you’ll be fine like every year. I think this is just your tired brain talking,” Shotaro smiled reassuringly.

“Can we just do our normal studying tomorrow, please? I’ll get us dinner and afterwards we can watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch. We can cuddle under that blanket you like and...” you trailed off.

Shotaro hummed in agreement, waiting for you to continue with your plan. The seconds ticked on but you remained quiet and your food untouched. Shotaro leaned over to see what the problem was only to find you peacefully asleep.

Next time you wanted to stay awake studying at this hour, let alone on cmapus, Shotaro was just going to remind you that you fell asleep in a restaurant with a fry in your hand.

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct timestamps #nct x reader #shotaro x reader #shotaro drabble #shotaro imagines #shotaro fluff #shotaro timestamps #shotaro blurb

[raxistaicho]

Fantasy Invader gets a disciple!

Recently @diaphin93​ went into it with @xenofan19​ in this post. I had a few points to add, though I refrained from just reblogging it because the post is already hella long.

Lonato was a minior lord who had mabey a couple hundred people who he multiplied into getting killed for his “revange” hardly a popular uprising but yay lie if you want.

He still quite clearly had the ardent support of his people on his march. I believe “multiplied” is meant to be “manipulated”, but there’s no evidence of this in the game.

Further down, Xeno says:

We actually see that he used and his people in his goal and gained surport from the westen church whitch was working with the Agarthans and Edelgard. Hell its impilled that Edelgard set this whole thing up just to have a look at Serios tomb showing how little she values the lifes of the common people.

The Western Church were working with the Agarthans? Where’s the evidence of that?

And yes, Edelgard did all that to get into the tomb of Seiros - to prove it’s empty. Edelgard knows Seiros is actually alive because she’s Rhea (she says that Thales that the bones not being there are “news”, suggesting that she allowed him to believe the plan was just to grab more Nabatean bones). The Sword of the Creator being there was what surprised her.

That said, we don’t know whether involving Lonato specifically was Edelgard’s intent. The WC Bishop takes credit for involving him in Ashe and Catherine’s paralogue,

In any case, the last point has been addressed many many times; Edelgard is killing a few now to spare another millennia of suffering in the future. The bandage has to be ripped off.

Edelgard ending shows that Hubert hunts down and get rid of uprisings and rebellions showing off Edelgard oppressive nature.

Wow, Elincia’s a fuckin’ tyrant then, isn’t she? Part 2 of Radiant Dawn is all about her getting rid of an uprising and a rebellion that unfortunately had support from the common people.

But seriously, suppressing rebellions before they can start is tyrannical? C’mon, snap out of it. Also,

Damn boy, VW Byleth’s such an oppressor.

Now I’m sure the defense here is going to be that Edelgard was suppressing civilian revolts against her while Byleth is stopping uprisings from Imperial nobility or the remnants of the military, but there’s no evidence for either. The Hubert ending that Edelgard’s detractors like to get upset about states,

In reality, their nights were filled with fierce combat against rebels, assassins, and those who slither in the dark.

Which is pretty vague, and really just seems to be a catch-all for various people who would want to break the post-war peace.

One member of the church thinks Dedue might be responsible not because of his race but because he is from a nation that was believed to have killed King Lambert. This in no way shows the church is xenophobic, just that one guy doesn’t trust Dudue because of past events. 

It’s not just one guy, and it’s not even just Duscur.

From chapter 4:

Also from chapter 4:

From Chapter 6:

Claude makes claims about the church that are never actually proven in game and he even says in VW that the teachings of the church are not xenophobic. Claude and Dimitri surport in Hopes makes no sense and is even disproved by the games own lore as well 90% of Claude claims come out of nowhere and have zero evidence. 

Yeah but here’s the thing, in VW it’s Lorenz, who knows Fodlan and the church better than Claude, who says it. Now yes, Claude disagrees with him, but the circumstances in VW are night and day from GW. In VW, Claude is rather brazenly looking to use the church’s influence and the Knights of Seiros, through Byleth, for his benefit. It’s natural then that he would be interested in brushing aside the worst of the church’s excesses: not only does he want them on his side, he has the perfect person to take over and fix the church’s problems.

Dimitri and Claude surport is poorly written in a secret chapter that ignores the canon all of the routes so sorry if I don’t take it with any facts definitely when Claude says nonsense that he never mentions before or after the event. 

Honestly this just reads to me like you don’t like what Hopes had to say about the church so you’re refusing to listen to it...

Edelgard  is willing working with that force and has shown a clear preference for the nobility system you claim she is trying to take down so much that Hopes shows she gives them special treatment and works ageist the common people.

Oh christ, don’t listen to Fantasy Invader. I mean it. Other sources of anti-Edelgard takes will say correct things on occasion, but he specifically doesn’t ever seem to have a clue what he’s talking about.

I’ve gone over his source on the point you’re making, he completely misinterpreted the line and forgot which character even said the offending sentence in question.

More here.

Like Edelgard own ending shows that she doesn’t make the changes you speak off 

What?

As the new Adrestian emperor, Edelgard dedicated her life to reshaping the delicate political structure of Fódlan. With tireless work and great sacrifice, she reformed the class system to ensure a free and independent society for all. In her later years, she entrusted her life's work to a worthy successor before finally vanishing from the public eye. 

It’s rather broadly spoken, yes, but it says she did the reforms.

Duscur was a flause flags operation carried out by Edelgard own allies and only the westen lords with most of the Kingdom not being involved.

It doesn’t matter that only a few of the Kingdom Lords were involved; they still conspired in regicide. The important point here is that since they did with it Lambert, they’d do it again with Dimitri if necessary.

Edelgard also never tried to help the people of Duscur and has zero plans or goals to help them simple because they are not form Fodlan so don’t matter to her.

Like Edelgard comes off worse in that situation then either the Kingdom or Church as unlike them she never even tries to help the people of Duscur.

How would she help the people of Duscur? She’s an Adrestian princess/emperor. It was the Faerghans who committed a genocide. To help the people of Duscur she’d have to take over the country first. You know, that thing you get mad at her about.

Or what, do you think she’d have any success by going, “actually, I know the people of Duscur didn’t kill King Lambert, and I know this because the actual perpetrator told me! N-no, I can’t actually support this claim...”

People didn’t listen to Dimitri when he said the people of Duscur were innocent, and he was there at the time. Who on earth is going to listen to the princess of another country who was on the other side of the continent at the time?

Lastly, on the point about her having no plans to help them, just because nothing is said of the people of Duscur in CF or SB doesn’t mean Edelgard has no plans for them. They, too, are part of the oppressed peoples she hopes to uplift. Only AM and AG focus on Duscur, because it’s intrinsically tied to Dimitri’s character plot. Much like how the Faerghan and Leicesterian routes don’t really have much to say about Brigid.

And lastly, yes, the Tragedy of Duscur was the assassination attempt planned by the Agarthans and instigated with the support of the Western lords. But the tragedy of Duscur was when the people of Faerghus went full Faerghan Revenge mode and launched a genocide of the people of Duscur. The Agarthans didn’t mind-control the people of Faerghus to do that, they did it on their own.

And yet neither Dimitri’s fans nor AM or AG seem interested in addressing the point. Dimitri only ever seeks to punish the nobles who were behind the Tragedy, but there’s never any word of any actual repentance from the Faerghan troops who did the tragedy. It’s bizarre how it seems like the two events cannot be decoupled in the minds of the writers or Edelgard’s detractors, as though the Faerghans going full Revenge Brain Mode and genociding an entire people because they think they killed their king was just the inevitable outcome of Lambert being assassinated. It was like mud slides just naturally following a fierce rainstorm due to the physics involved, rather than the result of Faerghus’s culture of honoring and avenging the dead over the living.

But then again AM, AG, and most of all Edelgard’s detractors, are not interested in criticizing the flaws of Faerghus’s culture.

Lol you do know it could be argued that Edelgard starts a war of faith in Hopes as she wants her new state church to become the main one whitch would grant her more religious power in Fodlan whitch is actually brought up in AG. 

Oh yeah, you’re definitely listening too much to Fantasy Invader...

Hey, did you know Fantasy Invader thinks this banner:

Is symbolic for this banner:

Despite them clearly looking completely different?

Anyways, yeah, the only thing we hear about the Southern Church in AG is that Gilbert and Gautier just vaguely don’t like the sounds of what they’re preaching, and seriously fuck both those men. If they think it’s bad, it can only be good. Their stopped clock had its minute hand ripped off.

She is even more obsessed over Byleth then Rhea but never actually opens up to them and right up to the end of the game lies to control Byleth. You can try and lie and claim how Dimitri and Rhea would be worse but the game shows how Edelgard is far more toxic partner. 

Yeah, get back to me when Edelgard steals an unconscious Byleth away into her room for an indeterminate period of time to give them a lap pillow treatment and then comes just shy of sexually assaulting them...

Edelgard doesn’t tell Byleth what to think or what to believe. In fact she frequently just asks questions of Byleth throughout White Clouds to try to get them to consider the world and their place in it more clearly.

Dimitri spent 5 years defending his people from being slaughtered by Edelgard as she was wiping out entire villages simple because they refuse to bow to her 

Gonna need evidence of that, chief.

#Fire Emblem Three Houses #fire emblem three hopes #Edelgard von Hresvelg #edelgard positive #edelgard discourse #Diaphin93 #xenofan19

[monkeydluffy19920]

More thoughts about Luffy vs. Usopp

In reference to [x]

A little late to the party since it’s been over a decade when Oda-sensei published these chapters (wtf where does the time go?) but the Luffy vs Usppp-amv inspired to re-read the arc and scribble about it.

So in general, one reason Water7/Enies Lobby is very interesting in my opinion is that for the first time there was a huge crisis inside the Straw Hat Pirates which they couldn’t solve and things start to get worse step by step (first Robin disappearing then this fight inside the crew).

Honestly, one could not expect that things could get so out of hand and escalate so quickly. I mean Luffy and Usopp have been best buddies since they met and they have never been so aggressive at each other before...

Luffy is mostly an easygoing guy but then there are times when he has proved that he can be smart and read the situations. First of all, Luffy  probably acknowledged that Usopp was upset about losing the money to the Water 7 bandits and that’s why the captain tried to be first gentle when telling the bad news because he knows Going Merry means a world to Usopp.

He knew the decision would hurt Usopp deeply but as a captain he is forced to announce it since it would've come in public anyway. He guessed right, Usopp wasn’t accepting the truth so Luffy even tried to give proper explanation why Merry’s is at the end of her journey. Eventually he gets frustrated because the message isn’t going through (Usopp is stuck insisting that Merry can be prepared) and that’s basically how the whole conflict started.

Another thing that tells that Luffy did read and understand the circumstances was that he didn’t allow the anyone from the rest of the crew to interrupt a any point. He didn’t listen when the others tried to convince that there is no need for yelling or taking the duel and he told them not to join the duel.

Perhaps Luffy realized that this bickering was about to turn into serious business and wanted to take responsibility as a captain. He didn’t want the other get involved in it more than necessary (i.e by taking sides).  in order to avoid more conflicts (inside the crew). 

By this behavior he wanted to highlight that he alone made the decision, he will stick to it and none of the others were featured (that Usopp should be only mad to him, not to others and so on) .

So, about the actual fight shortly. Back then it was impressive that Usopp was brave enough to face his captain although he probably knew deep inside his heart that there is no way he could win (because he was already weakened from the last battle) but he did it for Merry’s sake (and for himself).

Hard to say whether the crew is aware but Usopp’s speed is amazing.  Due to that, the first half of the battle he was  on top the game (although Luffy first said that the sniper should take this fight more seriously).  Also, Usopp is very good with gadgets and managed attack quickly but eventually he lost because well at that point they were wresting in whole different leagues despite Usopp’s improvement.

Now to think about it, this conflict could have easily avoided because Luffy even apologized in middle of it but Usopp kept on poking the ice. Luffy could have easily stopped the train by refusing the duel invitation.

However, the captain kept his head to the very end. He even got a chance to beat Usopp into pulp as a “punishment” for disobeying the captain but he used only one attack to finish the duel because he didn’t want to humiliate him more. 

When I first readed this arc a long time ago, it was quite hard to understand why they even ended up into this situation. Then later re-reading the whole arc after many years, I realized that this fight was partly about Usopp’s pride.

We’ve learnt from the beginning that Usopp tends to be very insecure (which partly explains why he is afraid in many situations and he tries to hide it with various ways) and since he is comparing himself to the others (especially the Monster Trio), he sees himself as a weakling and that’s what eats him inside.

Why? Because he is afraid of being not enough and that he won’t achieve  his dream, becoming a brave sea warrior because especially before Time Skip he was usually the opposite of his idols who are fearless and strong.

After the loss he was still too proud to admit it all that he was wrong. He still wanted to believe that he could fix Going Merry (despite Luffy tried to tell it’s impossible). On top of that he probably was aware that he stepped on his captain’s toes and this is why it was hard for him to face his crew even though he wanted to help with Robin’s case.

That’s how Sogeking was born. However, despite the confidence the alter ego brought he still faced the same difficulties and got overpowered by a CP9 member and needed his crew mates’ help which must’ve caused him frustration.

Eventually Usopp understands the reasons behind his behavior and was able to admit his mistakes and in Enies Lobby he finally learned that he does have his strengths too. He is a excellent sniper after all and incredibly smart and what’s most important: he is a valuable crewmate, not a burden.

After Robin was saved  he thought the dust would’ve landed and literally practiced  the “comeback scenarios”. When the SH were about to leave Water 7 it was then he realized that this might be the moment of department, set his pride aside

We shouldn’t forget that Luffy was struggling too because of this conflict. His leadership skills were suddenly put into a major test. So the other reason for the fight was that basically that Luffy was forced of choosing between being a friend or being a captain.

What’s also special in this arc and about this fight is that Luffy didn’t smile after the fight until chapter 346 after he manages to escape Lucci’s restraints. If something, the loss of smile tells about the distress he went trough.

The rest of the Straw Hats reacted in their own ways to the upcoming crisis. 

As we know, Nami is very emotional and compassion so she did not hesitate to show openly how she feels about the situation: she shed tears, she showed that she is upset about the quarrel and so on. 

Although greediness is Nami’s running gag, I don’t think she was really upset that they got robbed. Deep down she felt distress because of what happened to her nakama who got brutally beaten by local bandits and at the same time Robin’s disappeared  and  suddenly, now she witnesses how two best buddies are at their throats.  

It’s simply in her personality that if things get out of control she feels extremely stressed.  We saw in Arlong Park how her 10 years plan was about to go into waste and how she reacted strongly with burst of emotions. First she trashed her house then later she ended up stabbing her tattoo because she felt despair and helpless. 

Now suddenly the Straw Hats are facing a similar situation where emotions overwhelming and there is again no control. Nami tried tried to prevent it from going worse by reasoning both, first Usopp from leaving and then later Luffy from taking the duel but without wished results.

I think in this case she could relate a bit more to Usopp’s feelings because she also knows how it does feel to keep up with the others’ pace when you aren’t physically the strongest member and since their captain “let” things happen, she first struggled to understand the reasons from Luffy’s side.

Sanji tried also to calm things down too but ends up splitting the quarrelels from each other. It was a rough gesture but this was the only way to make them pay attention since he just wanted to warn the captain not to say anything he’d later regret (and it worked for a split second because as said, Luffy did apologize his reckless words).

When he sees that neither of them are willing or able to listen to the reasonings Sanji steps back because he realizes that it’s a fight only Luffy and Usopp can solve and that the others’ opinions don’t matter at this point.  What is interesting is that after that Sanji started to hold his emotions at this point and for example doesn’t shed tears after the duel (like Luffy, Nami and Chopper did).

When he argues with Zoro, he mentiones that they wouldn’t be here if Usopp didn’t lost his pride. It feels like Sanji understands what’s the problem at least in Usopp’s side and he tried to defend the sniper even after the battle by telling Chopper that giving pity might not be a good idea.

Now to think about these chapters and Whole Cake Island arc,  perhaps all the talks about “man’s pride” and holding the emotions was Oda foreshadowing Sanji’s past. He was after all rasied by Judge not to show any weaknesses and was bullied for being emotional.

Then there is Chopper who is quite close to Usopp and idolizes him (even before the duel he believed that Usopp would really have an army hiding somewhen when he said so). He is openly confused and distressed just like Nami was and he tries his best from cooling down the situation. 

However, his attempts gets also ignored and Usopp even told him not to follow him although he just wanted to treat his wounds after the battle. I think perhaps Chopper had the hardest time to understand what’s this argument was all about and he constantly carried worry about Usopp being badly wounded not only before the duel but during it and after.

What made the situation even worse for him was that all of his friends are not only fallen apart individually  and split but also that they started give him directions that are in a crash course with Chopper’s personal beliefs and ethics as a doctor.

As we know he has always considered his mates as the “cool guys” and usually follows their lead but now Chopper is suddenly fed with these overly masculine “No emotions. Don’t show pity or weakness. It’s all about pride”- thoughts and it’s are eating him inside because he just wants to help his fallen friend but at the same time he wants to admire his strong comrades so basically he is fored to choose.

However, what made me respect Chopper even more was that despite the warnings he ended up following his own heart. Eventually he was brave enough to not let the others affect on him.  Although he was pressured by the commandments of "the cool guys” he idolizes,  Chopper chose friendship kindness and what he thought was right at that moment. 

Zoro tried also first to calm the guys down but immediately understood the situation and moved to the background where he followed the situation without saying a word. He could’ve easily gone and punish Sanji for kicking his captain but he knew interrupting wouldn’t change anything.

What was remarkable that Zoro was the only one from the rest of the crew that decided to be fully Luffy’s support. Obviously he did feel sad about Usopp too but since he saw his captain’s pain, Zoro decided to be the voice of reason in general and didn’t let his emotions take over the situation.  He was the anchor Luffy needed while the captain was struggling.

It was him who reminded Luffy to be the captain and  that even though some decisions hurt, they need to be done. It was also Zoro who later reminds of Luffy that if Usopp wants to rejoin, he needs to apologize (and really mean it).

First Luffy was a bit surprised about this (because he was ready to welcome him back with open arms after Enies Lobby) but if something proves that the captain does listen (and understands) at times is that he really waited for Usopp to perform the proper apology before allowing him to return and until that pretended that he didn’t hear him. So Luffy did exactly what Zoro said. 

So all in all, Luffy's and Usopp’s fight was more about how burst of emotions can make people say things they don’t mean (Luffy basically showing the door to Usopp) and how words can trigger the others’ insecurities and lead to make reckless desicions (Usopp leaving).  Putting their nakamaship in such serious test was a painful but valuable lesson for the whole crew and eventually it offered some character/nakamaship development.

#one piece #luffy #usopp #luffy vs usopp #zoro #nami #sanji #chopper #nakama #water 7 #enies lobby #long post #//got carried away again *laughs*

[livlepretre]

I’m re-reading FE because I was really in a mood for this type of story by the way loved the update on chapter 62 can’t wait for the next one but I’m on chapter 39 right when Micheal explodes threw the front door of the abattoir and it’s right after the whole Hayley sacrifice and for the life of me I can’t remember if it’s mentioned after this because it’s bin so long

Is it mentioned about her resurrection or involvement with Klaus during the 3 year stint or do you plan on bringing her back possibly the make things a lil more complicated not the pregnancy part just the whole that maybe she got to be used by Klaus to make elena jelous or take out his frustration possibly by staying involved with Hayley to make himself feel better about her betrayal just curious knowing she would have hated it if she had found out

Also on another note I know you’ve mentioned before about not really using Kol to much in this story because your not used to writing with him as a character in general but you’ve bin mentioning him through the later chapters I was also curious if you planned on having him make an appearance possibly to help Elena albeit most likely not intentionally but to perhaps answer some of her questions of his journals and maybe cause a little miss tiff between them before he went to New Orleans Kol was the darker of them all all anger and misunderstanding just a thought in my head as I’m reading along sorry I rambled on but that’s what your writing does to me and most likely everyone lamellar is open up the possibilities of our deepest regrets of not getting to experience the full potential of these glorious characters on the actual show have a goon night hope all is well with you and your little one

"re-reading FE" jfaldjflakfjweoijhrasoihdfak THANK YOU

Literally Hayley has not come up in Elena's narrative thoughts since she participated in the sacrifice. I suppose it's fair to say, since Elena was taken out of the fray by Tyler and she has never thought to ask about Hayley's fate, that we actually don't know. Perhaps she rose a hybrid and perhaps she was destroyed by a witch's fireball during the battle before she awakened.

As for your question... I would say that while Klaus did like her on a personal level, his involvement with her was purely manipulative (of Hayley, but also of Elena). He doesn't even view what he was doing with Hayley as cheating on Elena the way he viewed her affair with Tyler as cheating, because in his mind, seducing her was just a means to an end. He wasn't going to offer her the turn because basically he is careless with the lives of those around him, and it didn't matter to him whether she lived or died. It just. didn't. matter. He only bothered to offer her the chance to survive because Elena interceded. Now, did he continue an affair with her during the 3 years? Personally, I don't think he did during the 3 years, because he had no intention of ever seeing Elena again, and Hayley herself would not bring him any solace. He would only use Hayley that way if it meant he could flaunt it in Elena's face. Instead, left to his own private devices, he returned to the comforting yet unsatisfying affair with Stefan and Rebekah.

That doesn't mean that Hayley might not come back into the story if she survived the battle in the Abattoir.

huh that's awkward if I said I didn't plan to include Kol (which: I might have. I have said so many things at this point), because he is definitely showing up in the next chapter, and I have definitely had that planned since around 2019 😂😂😂 (Did not understand it would take me this long to get here though) It was around that time that I realized that the fic had become an epic, of sorts, and that therefore I couldn't leave any stones unturned; Elijah would have to appear at the least, and as I worked on this plotline, I realized Kol did too, and Finn (but can you imagine if I had Finn get a special 2 chapter cameo and Kol just never showed up? if he had too much common sense to get involved at all?)

anyway, yes, Kol has a role in this fic. It's not a starring role, at this late turn, but it is a role.

#fairytale ending #anonymous