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cursedcola · 3 months

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Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?"- Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia (Pt.1 !) (Pt.2 Here!) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. ALSO SLIGHT SPOILER FOR CHAPTER 7 IN SILVER Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. Also, I went overboard. I had to break Diasomnia into 2 parts because I exceeded tumblr's character limit. I have favorites I guess :/

This man is a child masquerading as an adult. As in to say that he resists any illogical emotions until they bottle up and explode. The traditional pathway for finding a life partner typically follows: stranger -> acquaintance -> friend -> crush -> lover ->partner. You know, as it normally goes when bonds form.

Sebek....is not a textbook case in this regard. His path is a bit more customizable

stranger -> person he is forced to interact with -> acquaintance of Lord Malleus -> Acquaintance of Lord Malleus that Sebek approves of -> Friend that Lord Malleus approves of -> Repressed Crush -> Acquaintance that Sebek avoids at all costs -> Acknowledged crush -> Acknowledged crush that Lord Malleus approves of -> Respected individual with mitigated interactions -> Courting -> awkward situationship -> lover -> awkward situationship (with better communication) -> spouse

Enough said.

This process isn’t as complicated as it may seem on paper. While there are many steps, Sebek is fortunate enough to have people in his life willing to force commitments onto him. It also helps that he has blind trust in a select few. This makes him a bit naive and easily influenced. A boon in the right hands, and a bane in others.

In short, Sebek is emotionally constipated and only acts when there’s a driving force. Otherwise he just gets frustrated. This is extremely apparent at two stages: ‘repressed crush’ and ‘awkward situationship’. Scratch that. Three stages.

Beginning at ‘repressed crush’ - Sebek realizes that he likes you when you ask about how his training is going. He happened by your dorm during his morning jog, and was more than happy to go off on a tangent of the strict regimen developed to forge a perfect knight.

Except that’s not what you wanted to hear. You were more interested in his health and how he was enjoying himself rather than how his work was benefitting Malleus.

His heart fluttered, as if a shock of electricity thrummed through his body. Having never felt this before, Sebek mistakes it for a lapse in his strength and runs off at a much faster speed than before. Forget a light jog, he had enough energy to run 500 laps around the school track.

Don’t you get it human?! You were distracting him! His body was at rest too long. Now shoo, you’re hindering him from doing his duty.

He represses these budding romantic feelings and ‘misinterprets’ them as deviant behavior. He even goes so far as to blame it on ‘useless hormones’ and convinces himself that it’ll pass. He spares it no thought until his pining becomes apparent to everyone except for himself

Que the driving force. Despite Sebek believing otherwise, he does have friends and his entire love-life can be credited to their affectionate stupidity.

Simply put, Ace takes every chance to seamlessly flirt with you whenever Sebek is around. Not in a subtle way either - he's making some risky comments and trying to eat up every moment of your time. The others in your year are well aware of what he's doing too. Deuce thinks he's being unnecessary, but also agrees that Sebek needs a push so he lets it happen. Epel has his gripes with Sebek, but admires him for his manly tenacity. So he's 100% in support of giving an extra push and even tries to copy Ace. Except... yeah, he's pretty bad at flirting so he gives up after one try. Jack is against it at first, not wanting to hurt your feelings in the process but gets talked into it after seeing you get salty over Sebek being distant. Ortho, bless his innocent soul, thinks of it as a fun experiment. Lil guy just wants everyone to be happy.

You have no idea though, which is great because all of Ace's attempts fail hardcore. Sebek and his chivalrous ways (jealousy) won't stand by if you're being constantly bombarded with 'unwanted' romantic affections.

Nevermind that you don't seem to be taking Ace seriously at all. It is still not proper behavior! It would be a stain to his Lord's image if Sebek knowingly let Malleus' beloved friend endure such a hardship.

Every time Ace makes an attempt, Sebek shuts him down faster than you ever could. You have no idea how he does it, but Sebek is always around when it happens. The timing is honestly creepy....until you catch on to what's happening because the Ramshackle prefect isn't a dumdum.

"So....prefect, how about we go get dinner together tomorrow? Just you and me, what do ya say?" Ace slides into the seat to your right during breakfast. He leans in on his fist, eyeing you with a mischievous grin that crinkles the heart on his cheek. Just as he does, Sebek occupies the seat at your left and pushes Ace back with his palm.

"Do you ever rest?! They will do no such thing, now eat your meal before it runs cold. The chefs worked too hard for their efforts to be wasted by a delinquent!" Sebek answers on your behalf like clockwork. This event was not an uncommon sight to anyone, neither was Sebek failing to control his volume, so no other student paid the show any mind.

Normally you'd let them spit a few words at each other before returning to their own devices. Yet letting this continue just felt cruel, especially knowing that Ace was doing it to get a rise from your friend. Although Sebek wasn't innocent in the matter either

"Alright - Ace, would you knock it off? You don't even like me that way so quit messing with my head. I thought you were better than this," you say in between bites, side-eyeing your friend with a disapproving glare "And you!" you turn to Sebek, "I can answer for myself. Why do you even care? It's not like you're in charge of my love life. Just because someone wants to date me doesn't make them a delinquent...sheesh"

Why...why does he care? Sebek short circuits at your scolding, opening and closing his mouth to rebuttal yet coming up with nothing. Angered by his own turmoil, he grabs his meal and goes to sit with others from his dorm.

Stupid human. How dare you be so haughty and ungrateful? He was just protecting you from....from, what exactly? It's not like you going out with Ace would impact him in any way. It's not like you were in danger or upset with his advances. If anything. he was doing a good job at keeping your relationship professional for the sake of his liege!

Go ahead and date that childish hooligan for all he cares! Sebek won't be there to protect you when you're lost, or lend you a scarf on cold winter days. Ace can be the one to call you before bed every night, and keep your yearbook photo on his desk. Possibly keep his favorite candid photo as a bookmark for his diary, not that Sebek would know anyone that keeps a journal. He can have your birthday written in his calendar with a heart drawn around it, and have your picture in his wristwatch. He can set alarms to know when your classes end and walk you home. He can worry when you're sick and listen to your obnoxious prying....he can receive all your affections, and have your loyalty. Listen to your silly ramblings and receive those random 'i just thought of you' presents that Sebek always has a dilemma over what their purpose serves

You can be Ace's headache, and Sebek's heart will be lighter for it. These attachments he's formed were a lapse in judgement and will never be allowed again.

...

Sebek asks his lord for permission to court you. The next morning Malleus wakes to find the devotee bowed outside his bedroom, forehead attached to the floor and hands laid flat on the ground in reverence. Sebek proceeds to begin a long rant about how he's succumbed to his inner demons, and that he has sinned for letting another in his heart - Malleus cuts him off, happy to see love blossoming and interested to watch it all play out. He tells Sebek to take good care of you, before leaving. Meanwhile Sebek is sobbing at his lord's blessing

Once he's gathered himself, Sebek runs to your dorm and pounds on the door with fervor despite the early hour

Grim shakes you out of sleep, grumbling something about an 'annoying bastard' at the door before flopping back in bed. He shoves two pillows over his ears and tells you to fix the problem. That's when you hear the thumping, it's relentless and somehow sours your mood beyond what you thought possible. Mornings were not meant to exist on the weekend. So with an irritated groan, you slip on a robe over your pajamas and answer the door. A fist pauses in the air, moments from striking you. Sebek freezes momentarily, his body going ridged before coughing into his fist. A light blush dusts his cheeks.

“G-good morning, human. I apologize if I've disturbed your sleep, but I have an important announcement that cannot wait any longer" Sebeck studders, focusing on the door pane instead of your disheveled morning appearance.

“Alright" you sigh, resigning yourself to his whims, "what is it?"

Sebeck bows at the waist. "I am in love with you. Please accept my affections."

And so the motions continued on. A most unconventional pairing - possibly the hottest topic of the school year, in the words of Cater Diamond - was formed. Sebek was cautious of Ace at first, their previous spats leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. When he found out the truth, he was both appalled and grateful. So much that he scorned all his friends for weeks on end for pulling a stunt like that - but also thanking them. He apologizes for calling Ace a delinquent, and his heart changes a bit in response to their 'unique' display of care. Their intentions were good, and in the end it worked out. So he can pardon the indiscretion.

Life goes on until your relationship forms an 'awkward situationship'. The first time is brief. As it is with most cases of young love, the binding force that ties you to them crumbles. On earth it is highschool. In Twisted Wonderland it is NRC. Sebek knows where he's going - to serve the Draconias . The grey area is what you plan to do...because as much as his affections have grown, Sebek isn't willing to give up his dreams for you.

He's astonished when you decide to follow him to Briar Valley. He doesn't even have to breech the topic - arrangements were already being made without his input. You wouldn't be staying at the palace against his Lord's wishes. Instead a small cottage was built at a safe distance from the main city. Close enough for you to visit the castle, and far enough for you to feel comfortable and not out of place.

Seeing you taking his wants into consideration alters Sebek's perception of your relationship. You truly were lovers, and not a passing 'hormonal induced fling'. You loved him, and it's here when he truly begins to consider a forever. It was like the time when he first called your name, no longer calling you by 'prefect' or 'human'. He had done it many times in private, yet doing so to your face altered his brain chemistry. He loved the way your name rolled off his tongue, and the way your attention became his at the call.

Which leads us to the third and final major block-aid. Years have passed, and Sebek's well grown as an established knight for the Draconia family. He works alongside Silver, and many other comrades in arms. Everything is exactly as he dreamed. Malleus has become a beloved, strong king. Sebek is respected, and you are thriving as well. He didn't have much faith in your ability to last alone - it's not that he doubts your abilities, but he did doubt his people. When you first moved to Briar Valley Sebek was well aware that there were many like his past self - fae with a hatred for humans. He worried you would struggle to fit in.

Yet you surprised him. The tensions did exist against your kind, but you managed to card a space for yourself in Briar Valley with ease. You didn't even work in the palace, instead choosing to work towards becoming a children's teacher and work towards helping future generations of fae feel comfortable around humans.

His family adored you - with his mother in particular fawning over how Sebek fell down the same pipeline she did. His father offers you both advice on being an interspecies couple - and Sebek actually found himself listening.

Huh. Character growth. Is this what it's like to mature?

All is perfect, yet not. Sebek is forced to confront this when news travels that a human was attacked on their way to the palace. The dread that coursed through his veins was unlike anything Sebek's felt in his entire life. Under Malleus' rule, humans were slowly becoming more prevalent in Briar Valley. They hadn't mentioned your name specifically, but he jumped the gun.

Against his better judgement, Sebek abandons his post and rushed to the city's clinic. The injured human wasn't you, thank the seven, but the dread lingered. So he ran to the school you taught at and practically barged into your classroom. Luckily it was empty as the day was near end. Sebek hadn't known that yet still behaved recklessly.

He rushed to your side, talking faster than your brain could keep up with while checking over your body. He flipped topics like a teen trying to pick a college major - scolding you for worrying him, blubbering gibberish about how you'd no longer be allowed to walk alone, and myriad of other things.

Sebek was so shook, that he completely forgot about his knightly station. Malleus didn't punish him for abandoning his post. Not like it mattered, considering Sebek was already doing ample damage on his own. The realization hit him like a stone punch to the gut - there was a threat to his liege, and instead of focusing on apprehending the criminal he chose to find you.

Malleus' power or his dismissal of the matter meant little in the overall picture. Sebek failed. He's ashamed beyond belief.

and yet, he can't help but wonder what ight have been. What if you were the one attacked and he chose to stay? He would have failed you in that scenario.

He's surprised to find that the prospect his failure hurts just as much - if not more. His lord is powerful, and there are many to serve him. Your last moments could have been spent in a cold medical bed, surrounded by strangers. Fading away and taking Sebek's dreams with you.

............

Ah. Since when had that word become plural? His dream was always to serve Lord Malleus. Now there are more - he wants a family, and he wants to go to that play you were organizing with the valley's children next weekend. He wants to become a greater knight to protect the city that houses all the people he cares about. Again, plural. Lilia, Silver, his siblings and parents, all the human and fae who are loyal subjects to his most revered. You, and your decedents to come.

It's frightening. How valuable one's life can become. His always belonged to the Draconia bloodline to do with at they pleased - now Sebek's in pieces. Is he truly worthy of being a knight if he cannot give his whole heart?

He doesn't blame you for this. In his youth Sebek might have tossed your relationship aside in a heartbeat - that, or he might've demanded Malleus dismiss him and send him to repent in exile or whatever. Sebek has a problem with embellishing with dramatics.

BUT... he's more mature now. Mature enough to realize that maybe he can have his cake and eat it too.

So, he asks Lilia for advice. At this time the general merely lazes around the castle like a bat on the wall - acting as an advisor and observer. Surely he'd know what to do.

"There is nothing wrong with sharing a heart amongst many. If anything, the toughest decisions make us stronger. The more you have to lose, the stronger you will become to protect"

Preach it grandpappy. Lilia wants to see his grandkids so stop the slow burn already.

It's deja vu because Sebek wants to propose as quick as possible. Just like when he confessed, the man nearly runs to your home on impulse. You can thank Lilia for your proposal not taking place at 3am with your door being broke in two (Sebek is much stronger than he was in his teens, and sometimes miscalculates his strength).

Instead, Sebek finds himself anxiously clutching a ring in his pocket the following week. It was the night of a school play you were hosting - one he was looking forward to since you were so proud in your work. Ergo, Sebek felt pride as well by default.

How unfortunate that he can't focus on the show. With his mind reeling so much, it's taking all he has to sit quietly in the audience. His eyes follow your movements as you direct the kids, and for a brief moment you smile at him from the stage.

Zap. Alright. Don't clutch metal when you're a living thunderbolt. Duly noted. If anything the jolt of pain brings him back to reality.

When the play ends, and all the children have gone home with their families, he finds you back stage sweeping confetti. His plan was to congratulate you, and take you to a nice restaurant where he could do this properly.

Except he can't wait. When you turn around from putting the broom away, he's already taken a knee and holding the ring out. Those diligent gold iris' not pulling away for one moment, as he holds the ring out between two fingers and his other hand placed over his heart as if taking an oath.

"Before you say anything - You have sacrificed time and time again for my happiness - my efforts are insignificant in comparison. I have taken your patience for granted like a spoiled juvenile. There was a time when I found this kindness of yours unnecessary. I thought it a distraction - a test of my strength to fulfill my destiny. I see now that I was foolish”

Sebek pauses, grinding his teeth together in regret and anguish.

“I had not known fear until you. I have more to lose now than ever before. Last week I abandoned my post - my purpose- In that moment, all I could think about was if you’d been attacked, then my life would be over. You make me lose all sense of logic and reason…so I demand that you take responsibility and marry me!”

{A gold band with an obsidian base. Gold and silver flakes are sealed atop the obsidian plate using resin. Very practical, yet charming nonetheless. Humans typically wear matching bands, yes? Sebek sees no purpose in getting separate designs since the point is to show proof of partnership. He needs a practical shape that will not interfere with combat, yet also wants it to be an aesthetic choice. Sebek could care less about looks, but if he’s going to give you a ring then it will be the best possible option to match to your worth}

Silver is beautiful like still ocean waters. He's breathtaking - literally and figuratively. With the beauty of a fairytale prince, personality of a wise knight, and deadliness of the deep sea. It's easy to be sucked in when Silver seemingly has no flaws. So easy that at one point there were rumors of him being a living doll, created by the fae to be a perfect solider.

These perceptions all rely on his outward appearance: the knight in shining armor. Albeit so, being so perfect almost makes him unnoticeable. Compared to his rowdy peers with quirks and notable personalities - Silver truly is a doll. Like the complacent child praised for being more mature than their siblings. He is as easily forgotten as he is admired.

Some would say that this is a flaw in itself - because no one is naturally perfect. No one is so complacent and calm at birth. It's simply a desirable flaw. One that hurts him, yet has ben praised by others.

Silver is strong. Silver is diligent. Silver is beautiful. Silver is breathtaking and yet not the showstopper - like gold. Gold brings warmth while silver is cold. Imperfections in gold give it character, and can be seen as art. Imperfections in silver are seen as unsightly scratches.

Silver knows this, yet doesn't want to be gold. He doesn't deserve to be gold.

Silver doesn't deserve anything. He has already taken so much simply by living. He has a world to be grateful for, and not enough time to repay his debts.

He is content being Silver - if he could then he'd be copper. Lesser. Yet he is Silver, a reminder of the blood he carries.

He will remain unremarkable yet dedicated. He will dedicate everything to his family and friends - do whatever he can to break free of his sleeping curse and help others. He will give until he cannot give anymore. Then he will give more, to repay all he has received.

....For as much as he is content with this life, Silver still envies gold.

You are beautiful like a new dawn. Ushering in each day with a vibrant display that commands attention. People instinctively admire you despite the risk of hurting their eyes. You heal the world naturally, and help others simply by existing. People take you for granted, because inevitably the moon will rise, and the cold will inevitably return.

You were bathed in golden light. This Silver noticed the moment he laid eyes on you. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

Silver envies gold.

........

You envy Silver. His calm, his family, his dedication despite being limited by his crippling drowsiness. Out of the students from Diasomnia, he was the one you lingered towards more often than not. The freshmen revered him for his skills, and he was a true gentle soul. You at first couldn't believe that he was Lilia's son - how did such a kind boy come from a rambunctious tease? Revelations of his past brought much to light, and now you couldn't think of him being anyone else.

Silver was loved like the first snowfall. He had a family that loved him dearly, no matter how short his time with them would be. He was raised to bring happiness to others, and protect their hearts using his demure temperament.

Silver was modest, and silver glistened when you'd expect him to the least. As the wind caressed his hair during an afternoon siesta, or sparks lit in his eyes while swinging his sword. How the horses nuzzle his side after equestrian practice, showing full trust and affection. Even in the sweat dripping from his brow, shining as he easily finishes a set of push ups.

Yet nothing struck your heart more than the melancholy he'd emit when no one was looking. How quickly he'd fade into the background, only popping in when necessary or if someone gave him note. In these moments Silver gleamed brilliantly, yet a shadow put out his shine.

You thought the melancholy inviting. It felt so natural, so real. Except you believed it balanced dangerously between despair and serene. The larger question being which side would he evidently fall towards.

.........

Silver admires gold.

He couldn't stop the pull. He just couldn't. Not with how you seemingly watch him when no one else does. Who wouldn't feel special? With the way you take note of things he normally wouldn't think of, and recklessly delve into helping others with no regard for yourself. Whether you desire the trouble is beyond him - the matter is that you see every issue through. There isn't a soul who doesn't know of the ramshackle prefect.

Perhaps this is his torment to endure. To get a taste for what he could have been, and willingly be tied to it.

Silver stares into a vanity mirror, his expression neutral despite the growing emotions inside. A slightly tattered sheet is tied around his neck like a bib, covering his front and part of his back. A shiver runs down his spine as you comb through his hair, deftly trimming the edges with a pair of kitchen scissors with the precision of a professional. A shiver runs down his spine every time your fingers linger against his scalp, either from tucking stray strands or combing through layers with your fingertips.

Your expression is stern, eyes intensely focused as you cut around his ear, afraid to nick him in the process. He finds the expression adorable yet bites his tongue. Silver couldn't think those thoughts. Not when you offered to do this out of the kindness of your heart.

Nonetheless, his heart thrums. If it were possible he'd think the organ about to pop out at any moment.

"Finished!" you smile in satisfaction and tussle Silver's soft locks for good measure. In one fell swoop, you undo the knot around his neck and pull the makeshift apron off of him. Silver nods, a slight smile teasing the edge of his lips. He stands from the chair and steps over any hair on the floor, reaching for the broom to clean before you could think to. "Thank you. I no longer need to schedule with a barber. This will save much time," In truth he had no intentions for a haircut. You were the one to notice how his bangs hindered his vision, and offered to help. Silver couldn't bring himself to deny your kindness. "You really like it? Hehe. Y'know, maybe I should start a shop on campus? I only started doing this since there aren't any affordable salons....maybe with it I can finally afford to fix the guest room!" you cheer and prattle on about all the different possibilities. Occasionally you'll ask for Silver's input, or even give an off hand compliment about how he was the perfect 'test subject'. Your company is intoxicating, he realizes. Talking with you is as easy as drinking water. Before Silver realizes, night has fallen and you've fallen asleep on the couch. Despite his better judgement, he finds himself wandering the Ramshackle door. He compulsively cleans up the mess you'd both left behind during his visit, doing the dishes from dinner and rearranging things here and there. As he does so, Silver notes all the little improvements around the dorm. It feels more like a home than a school building. Then again you do live alone. He wonders how often you host visitors, and if you unknowingly ensnared them just as you've done to him. He covers your shoulders with a blanket and steps outside under the moonlight.

It’s cold.

...............

You wake up the following day to find all the windows shut, your living room clean, and a warm blanket covering your shoulders. Your eyes peer around for silver, yet turn up empty.

Of course. Silver has a dorm to return to and people that would miss him if he returned late.

Shuffling around the silent dorm, the rickey old floorboards creek underneath your weight. In manufactured motions, you brew a cup of tea and pour it into the only well-used cup from the cabinet.

As your cup brews, you sit at the table with the blanket still clutched tight over your shoulders.

The tea goes cold, yet you are warm.

................

Silver loves gold.

but silver and gold don't mix. The question always is: silver or gold? When deciding a piece of jewelry to match your skin tone, people will ask 'silver or gold'? The metals are not meant to mix because they clash. It's an outfit catastrophe.

Yet, Silver cannot help but wonder. As he lays with his head in your lap and the sun and silence coaxing him to slumber - what if an outfit existed to compliment both silver and gold?

"Silver..are you sleeping again?" you tap his cheek with one hand, and his eyes open instinctively. Despite his drowsiness he will always look for you. Yet right now he's never regretted the magnetic pull more. With the sun casting a golden overcast, you peer down at him from above with tender eyes typically reserved for one's child. Your glow is breathtaking, and he cannot help the sinking feeling in his stomach that he is unworthy. With such gentle hands combing across his scalp and eyes that look upon him so tenderly - he is afraid to steal your warmth. And yet… "You are beautiful," Silver lets it slip, his hand reaching to brush against your jaw as if under a spell. He feels unnervingly calm. Not in his usual way, where he is constantly observing and playing a game of mental chess. This is a true calm, and he knows now that this is a point of no return.

Silver is beautiful like a still ocean. You are beautiful like the rising sun. When combined, a perfect image is formed just waiting for an artist to stumble upon it.

Against his wishes, the world has granted the child of dawn another gift. The gift of true love. 'True love's kiss will break the curse' and while it is childish to believe so in this case, Silver does so wholeheartedly.

When with you, the days pass like minutes. He wants nothing more than to forgo need for sleep, if only to work harder towards becoming a man worthy.

Silver envies gold for it's effortless demand for love, yet he no longer wants to be gold. He no longer wishes he were born copper.

Gold loves silver, so Silver he will be.

And with time, both Silver and Gold will be ground to dust regardless.

He thinks of this on a winter evening while holding a ring up into the moonlight. It's cold outside, yet he doesn't mind. The chill atop his nose does nothing but tinge it a lovely rosy color.

He looks through the windowpane into a home masquerading as a school building. His reflection is familiar yet changing rapidly in comparison to his family. The years have aged him, yet not by much. Silver is stronger, his soft jaw a bit sharper. His bangs have grown long again, it would soon be time for a cut. Perhaps he'd enlist a 'barber' after relocating back to the castle in briar valley.

Inside you sit at the couch, sipping from a well-used mug with Grim on your lap and watching cartoons. Silver's bag rests on the armchair, unzipped with nightly necessities spilling out the side. A slightly newer baby blue mug sits on the coffee table, with steam evaporating into the air as it waits to be used.

Silver smiles, walking towards the door and walking inside. Heat warms his cheeks and he is calm.

"I know I am unworthy of you, the thought plagues me to this very moment. Yet I cannot help but love you - like wishing on a star yet knowing deep in the depths of your heart that miracles are made not granted. I've received many, so I would know. My father gifted me life through love - and with you I understand how it is possible. I cannot imagine life without you. I promise this, I will cherish you and protect you for as long as you allow it. Would you marry me?"

Months later a ceremony is held in a secluded forest, in the yard of a cottage where a child first learned love. As an adult, he joins his most precious in matrimony, offering his sword to be sworn faithful.

You are beautiful like the first breech of daylight - and for once, Silver is happy to be a man of dawn.

Silver and gold.

Everyone wishes for silver and gold.

How do you measure it's worth?

Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.

{A ring forged from a silver band, gold leaf embellishments, and a moss agate core. Enough said.}

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #diasomnia #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #silver x reader #twst silver x reader #silver vanrouge #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst imagines #I FREAKIN FINALLYT FINISHED THIS SERIES

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lesbxdyke · 10 months

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Decided to steal my own tags from This Post because I didn't want to detract from the very good points being made about wheelchair accessibility in the art

So I'm disabled. And I often have to use crutches as a mobility aid. Sometimes one, sometimes two. And even with that, I still sometimes can't get around.

There have been numerable occasions in my life where something has been marked as 'accessible' that is not accessible to me, because it was made with ONLY wheelchair users in mind.

And like I said in my tags, it's a genuinely great thing that things are now being made with wheelchair users in mind! I am genuinely heartened and happy that wheelchairs users are being recognised in public spaces and accommodated for!

But they are not the be all and end all of physically disabled people.

I need the extra space of a disabled bathroom. Especially as another physical disability of mine causes me to often require space to change underwear or clothing.

However, if I'm having a bad pain day, I can't wash my hands. Because the only sink is at the height for a wheelchair user. So my options are to eschew hygiene and pray that a cleaner wipes down the door handle regularly so others aren't interacting with a thing that I have touched without washing my hands, OR risk furthering my own pain by bending to reach the sink, which could end in me stuck in the bathroom as my back seizes and I cannot move.

As I'm sure you can imagine from reading that, neither option is a good option, but one is a safer one for me. And I hate it. I'm 'lucky' in that I have to always carry baby wipes with me anyway so I'm somewhat able to mitigate the hygiene issue, but what if I didn't? What if I didn't have the extra disability and just had the back problems that required the extra space of the disabled bathroom for my mobility aids? What then?

I also have a radar key (for those not in the UK: disabled bathrooms are often locked. A radar key is a skeleton key for disabled bathrooms all around the UK) so I can always gain access to the disabled bathrooms. Except... I often have to find staff to help me open them anyway because the door handles are low and I can't bend to press them.

Now this post isn't me saying that the world should be built only to cater to me in particular (tho gods it would be nice!)

This post is talking about competing support needs and how my experience as a disabled person, struggling with how so much 'accessible' stuff is only designed for wheelchair users is just as valid as a wheelchair user celebrating that they can use an ATM and a public bathroom without needing the aid of a stranger or a carer.

I've seen quite a lot of people, in real life and elsewhere on the internet, want to call it Ableist when people ask for there to be a different option that would be inaccessible for a wheelchair user to use within an accessible area like a bathroom. They think it's able bodied people, or parents (since often in the UK, disabled bathrooms also double as baby changing, which is a whole different kettle of fish) demanding we take away the accessibility that the bathrooms are there for. They don't think about people on crutches, or canes, or with mobility that changes by day, or who can walk unaided but cannot bend, or, or, or.

Two sinks in a disabled bathroom would change my life. One wheelchair accessible, one not. I could wash my hands. Other people who needed the bathroom could wash their hands. Everyone could be hygienic in an accessible way!

Two ATMs, side by side. One lower, one higher. I can access my money. Wheelchair users can access their money. Everyone can withdraw their money safely in an accessible way!

Maybe there's no solution for some (like the door handle) but if others were solved, then the remaining ones would bother me a lot less. It's a lot less frustration and humiliation inducing to say "Hey, can you open the bathroom for me?" When you know you'll be able to wash your damn hands once inside, yknow?

#disability #disabled #physically disabled #competing support needs #personal #okay to reblog

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azzandra · 8 months

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Recent commenters remarked on something I included in a fic, about the underlying reasons that Yue Qingyuan never tells Shen Qingqiu the truth, and why Shen Qingqiu never defends himself against false accusations. And the thing about that is that I think it comes from the same place. I think it's just a demonstration of the adage that the coping mechanisms that help you survive don't always help you thrive.

Because YQY and SQQ share the same trauma that causes them to be like this, frustratingly silent when it comes to speaking in their own defense. They both spent the entirety of their formative years being so completely under the power of other people, that they must have inevitably learned at some point that trying to defend themselves would be not only pointless, but probably invite even greater punishment from their masters.

We can see this most clearly with SQQ, because we know the kind of miserable life he had as a slave and then later as Wu Yanzi's accomplice/apprentice, so I think he gets more sympathy than YQY. But YQY was also a street urchin, was also a slave, and even after he joined Cang Qiong, it doesn't seem like he got a lot support or sympathy. He was imprisoned in a cave for a whole year, and that's like... obviously not something you do to a child you genuinely care for.

So being at the mercy of other people, all SQQ and YQY could do for the most part was just mitigate the amount of suffering they brought down on themselves. Endure and try not to provoke the people abusing them into coming down on them even harder.

But the thing is that both SQQ and YQY both developed this, like, survival instinct where any time they have an opportunity to defend or explain themselves, there's a blaring alarm in their brain that goes 'DANGER DANGER' stopping them from even considering it. And I doubt they're even aware of it, I doubt if you asked them they'd even be able to articulate why they stay silent even when it's to their detriment. It's become steeped into their personality that it just feels like the natural reaction to them. If they spoke they'd just make it worse.

So, I don't really feel the same anger or frustration at YQY for never telling SQQ the truth. I think on some level, he might have genuinely felt that explaining himself would make everything much worse.

#svsss #yue qingyuan #shen jiu

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cripplecharacters · 3 months

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Hey! Hope I can word this question right, and I do want to give as much details as I can. I've written a character with a facial deformity that's fallen into a couple of the more tired tropes before I knew better (wearing a mask, and the 'someone bad did this to me' - if you need the specific ones) and though she's a character I'm very attached to development wise, is there anything I can do to mitigate the harm possibly done by having her fall into said tropes? She does have a set personality and a lot of interests outside of her disability, but I still want to balance it out more if I can. Are there any subversions to tropes like those you wish you've seen more of in media?

Hi!

My preferred solution would be for the mask to go. I don't mean completely (although it would be nice, but I'm just a massive hater of this trope) but progressively within the story - maybe as your character warms up to others or becomes friends with them, she stops wearing the mask around them. Maybe she finds a community that supports her and doesn't feel the need to wear it anymore; maybe she finds someone with a similar facial difference to her and wants to embrace it. Maybe there's a younger character that looks up to her and she wants to make them feel better about their own facial difference (and show that they don't need to be ashamed of it). She doesn't need to feel confident right away, of course, but having a character progress and stop being embarrassed of their body is cool in general.

A second solution that I encourage in any story featuring characters with facial differences is to have multiple of them. So ok, your character wears a mask - but someone else with a similar difference doesn't. Perhaps there's a whole community of people similar to her (there probably would be in real life) and she is the odd one out for hiding it; maybe it makes her rethink why she covers it. It's not perfect, but significantly better than having one character with a facial difference and having them hide it.

Absolute bottom line for the mask trope is to not make it seem like it's glued to her face. People eat, drink, sleep and do a billion things where wearing a mask is inconvenient. Show/describe her face in a neutral or positive way when she doesn't have it on.

I don't think that there is a subversion to this awful trope - at this point in media representation, a subversion is when there's a positive character with FD that doesn't hide it. Or for the general mask-wearer trope, when a character wearing a mask turns out to not have a visible difference, I guess.

For having "someone bad do it (FD) to her" - this is a much less problematic trope, but a frustrating one nonetheless - I would go with the second solution again. Maybe your character has burns or a scar or nerve damage because the evilest guy in the world did it but people get facial differences in a hundred different ways. There's accidents, surgeries, illnesses, congenital conditions. Your character got hers because Evil Causes Facial Difference, but there's someone else that was born with a cleft lip and now has a similar scar to her (or had cancer; or poured boiling water on themselves by accident; etc.). Try to dilute the trope and make it just one of the possible ways that someone can get a facial difference, not make it seem like there's a 1-to-1 correlation between "cause of FD" and "evil people".

I hope this helps!

Mod Sasza

#anonymous #mod sasza #face difference #mask trope #writing advice #writing resources #writing disabled characters #writeblr

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plotsignificanthaircut555 · 2 months

Text

Heatwave

Hiromi Higuruma x Reader SMUT, 18+ only, MDNI ao3

The power is out in your apartment, a record heatwave has been raging for three days. You're hot, you're exhausted, you're miserable. Your husband has the perfect plan to help you sleep.

This was inspired by the other night when my power went out and I was miserable sweating in bed and wasn’t the nicest to my partner, sorry baby, I love you. Thanks for understanding. <3 enjoy y’all.

It was hot. Too fucking hot. Skin meltingly hot. Brain boiling-ly hot. The heatwave had been going on for two days already, and previously it had been a nuisance that you could escape from in the chill of your air conditioned apartment. But this evening the power went out, plunging the small two bedroom into not only darkness, but slowly rising heat that was now becoming unbearable.

It was past midnight, the window in your and Hiromi’s bedroom was open, allowing some air to circulate, but did next to nothing to mitigate the heat. You couldn’t sleep if you wanted to, you had kicked off the covers, leaving your body exposed, you had forgone pajamas and desperately craved the icy blow of your bedroom fan, sitting impotently at your bedside. Your husband, Hiromi, was asleep next to you, or you assumed he was asleep. He hadn’t been moving, he was turned on his side, facing away from you. He too, had opted to sleep naked, the heat bothering him just as much. You were so envious of him right now, all you wanted to do was sleep. You had to work in a few hours, and you knew the longer you were up sweating, the more irritable you would be tomorrow. You huffed in frustration, feeling angry tears stinging your eyes. You just wanted to sleep.

“Still awake?” Hiromi’s sleep-thickened voice erased the silence of the bedroom.

“Yes.” You hissed miserably, turning your head to face him as he rolled over to lay on his other side toward you.

The covers were bunched around his legs, one of his long legs above the comforter, one tucked underneath. He was sweating too, his tan skin glistening in the faint moonbeams that streaked through the bedroom window. He looked like he was shimmering, small droplets of sweat peppering every inch of him. You looked at his sleepy eyes, focused closely on you in the dark. His heart ached seeing your brows furrowed and your frowning lips. His large, wiry hand touched your cheek lightly, his fingertips cool against your skin. For once his poor circulation was coming in handy.

“My love…” his tone was apologetic, as though he had turned off the power himself, and imposed this misery upon you.

Hiromi’s cold fingers felt so nice against your flushed cheek, a moan slipped through your lips, coaxing a smile from him. He trailed his fingertips down your cheek bone and across your lips, the feverish heat of your body soon robbing his fingers of their chill. You once again were too hot and too sweaty, altogether too uncomfortable to sleep.

You sat up frustrated, burying your head in your hands, finishing your hair wet with sweat. Hiromi sat up scooted closer to you, he wanted desperately to hold you, cuddle you back to sleep and help you rest. But he knew touching you would only make you both hotter so he opted to rest against one of his arms and watch you closely.

“Maybe I should just get in the shower, it’ll cool me off for a little while.” You mumbled into your knees, already dreading the idea of showing in the pitch dark of your bathroom.

You had no window in the bathroom so even the moonlight couldn’t penetrate that darkness. You weren’t afraid of the dark, no one liked the dark. Especially not being naked and vulnerable in the dark. This sparked an idea in Higuruma’s mind. He slipped out of bed, standing to his full height, and sliding on his discarded boxer shorts from the previous day. He crossed around the bed and kissed your forehead.

“One second.” His voice was giddy with excitement as he padded through the dark into the kitchen.

You could hear the opening and shutting of the refrigerator, some cupboards, followed by the sound of Hiromi giggling to himself. How he could manage to be so happy while you were so miserable, you had no idea, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be upset with him. He was usually so serious, so sullen and focused all the time from overwork and his own battle with depression. Whatever he was up to was clearly bringing out the smiley and excitable man you had fallen in love with.

“Close your eyes,” his voice came from the otherside of the bedroom door, you obliged.

You felt him approach you, feeling the energy of his body closing in on yours. You couldn’t fight the smile on your lips as he stopped in front of you, you wanted to reach out and hold onto his hips in anticipation. But before you could move, you felt something against your mouth, gloriously cold, so perfectly, soothingly numbing that you gasped. Your eyes snapped open to see Higuruma kneeling before you, a bowl of ice resting next to him. He was sliding one ice cube against your bottom lip, cool water dripping down your chin as it melted.

“Oh Hiro…” you mewled out, grateful tears picking at your eyes, full and wet looking at him with so much love.

“Let me help you cool down, love. Lay back,” he leaned over you, standing again, encouraging you to lie on your back.

You let your back hit the sheets, already feeling some relief from the ice cube he slid down your neck. Goosebumps appeared in their wake, he was hypnotized by watching you change. Watching the ice melt so quickly against your burning skin, watching you release the tension that had been building since the heatwave began. Once the cube in his hand had melted completely, he splayed his icy, wet fingers on your stomach, opting to get the next cube with his mouth, using you for support to lean down. Grabbing the ice between his teeth he started lower this time, dragging it up your shin, water dripping down your calf muscle as he did. Contented moans slipped from your lips as you watched him. Your hands found his hair, expressing your gratitude with your nails against his scalp.

“Hiromi,” you cooed down to him, “ thank you, thank you.”

He was feeling pretty pleased with himself, pulling such beautiful praises from you with his little improvisation. The ice in his mouth was near melting and he sucked it in quickly, cooling his mouth, and kissed the juncture of your hip and your leg. Your hips twitched up barely at the chilled contact, but he noticed.

Higuruma wished he could say this was an entirely selfless pursuit, but the heat wasn’t the only thing keeping him awake tonight, he had roused himself near an hour ago now sporting a massive erection that hadn’t left him since. It had been too hot to fuck the last two nights and he was desperate for you. You were too, but tonight’s frustration had driven you mad before you had time to consider sex.

This time he held one cube in his mouth, and another in between his fingers. His hand held the cube to your lips, which you quickly began sucking at, suddenly noticing your dehydration. Proud of how well you could read his mind, he chuckled to himself, ice still in his mouth and leaned over you. He was kneeling between your legs, body caging you into the bed, as he dipped his head down to your collarbone, sliding the ice against the bone, and up your neck. Your satisfied sounds grew shaky, feeling a whole new form of stimuli. His fingers pushed the ice between your lips, then followed closely into the cavern of your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his middle and index fingers, sliding your tongue along where surface tension held the melted line of water.

He trailed the ice cube in his mouth down, between your breasts, marveling at how quickly your nipples erected themselves. His free hand wrapped around your right breast and he brought the ice across to circle the mound itself. You whimpered around his fingers. Hiromi smiled like a cat. He was so painfully hard, but not even his own pleasure could tempt him away from you right now. You sounded so beautiful under his touch, gasping as he added new ice, tongue slurping around his fingers, your back arching off the mattress as he circled your nipples.

“They’re melting right off of you, faster than I can replace.” He noted, catching your eye from his place between your breasts, “are you feeling cooler?”

You nodded helplessly, he looked so delicious to you like this. Mouth dripping, eyes blown out, his strong nose, his sharp features, his inky hair messy from your tugging.

He couldn’t help himself, he slithered back up to your face, kissing you desperately. Higuruma had always been an excellent kisser, but there were times like tonight where his passion was overwhelming. He kissed you like he was trying to spill all the love trapped in his chest directly into your open mouth. His tongue was like a creature of its own, exploring every texture of your mouth like he was studying you. The ice had cooled his mouth, yours too, so the kiss was creating its own hurricane. Chilled saliva mixing with hot, panting breaths.

You reached down, trying to reach the waistband of his boxers and slide them away, but his torso was so long you were coming up short. You grasped fruitlessly between your bodies, whimpering against his kisses.

“Off, baby, off, please. I need you.” You crooned against his lips, arching your chest into his own, your hands grabbing at his back.

You needed him so bad. He had already helped you so much, but he had fogged your mind completely. You weren’t sure how long you two had been playing his little ice game, but you were sure that it was enough time to have your pussy pulsating in desire. Hiromi chuckled at your pained pleas.

“You need some help, baby?” He slid his tongue against yours again so you couldn’t answer, “you need me to take care of you, is that it?”

You hated (loved) when he got cocky like this. Clearly so happy with himself for finding the solution to your ailments, you were sure that if the lights were on you could see him beaming with pride. You nodded again, hoping he wouldn’t do exactly what he did next.

“Say it.”

“Hiiiiiro…please it’s too hot…please.”

“Not until you say it.” He continued his kisses against your chin and neck, your body starting to heat itself again.

“Hiromi please, I need it so bad. I need you so bad. Please help me, Hiro.” You folded.

You rarely asked for help, in your marriage, in your personal life, at work. The phrase help me existed very rarely in your life, and you liked it that way. You were a capable woman, you didn’t like having to rely on anyone else. Even Higuruma, especially Higuruma. You loved him, and you did need him, but you hated admitting it. You hated the idea that one day the help you required from him would be too much, and he would resent you. But he loved it. He needed you to lean on him, he craved being needed by you. Times where you had fallen sick, and he had been able to wait on you hand and foot were some of his favorites. Obviously he hated when you were uncomfortable, but you so rarely asked anything of him. He wanted so badly to be there to help you. And here it was, a perfect opportunity for him to do just that, and he had. And he had heard you ask him, really ask him, for help. He nearly came untouched right then.

Hiromi quickly shed his underpants and kissed you again, deep and hard, his teeth clinking yours as he could no longer restrain himself. Your hands flew to his neck, pulling him closer to you. You hooked your legs up over his hips and released him for a moment so he could align himself at your core. His dark eyes met yours and you thought his pupils had turned to little hearts as he sheathed himself inside of you.

Everything about Hiromi Higuruma was long. His hands, his fingers, his legs, his nose, his body, and his cock was no exception. It seemed to go on forever as he penetrated you, pushing against your cervix and angling upwards to kiss the spot inside of you that sent stars into your vision. He let out a low howl, his eyes rolling back in his head, hands bruising your hips as he bottomed out.

“Fuck…” he cursed against the skin of your neck.

You whined, turning your head to the side and allowing him more access to your neck, you loved the feeling of his mouth kissing and biting you. The skin of your neck so sensitive, his teeth just barely scraping against the thin, taught skin. He pulled your thigh higher up on his hip, holding it back and allowing him to thrust deeper into you. The sounds of his balls slapping against your ass blended so perfectly with his low, throaty groans, and your choppy whimpers. His body shuddered as your walls clenched around him.

“Baby I’ll cum if you do that, stop.” His voice broke as he moved himself up into his hands, hips jerking into you uncontrollably.

“I want you to cum,” you moved your hands up his torso and chest, then up to his neck, you mewled against him once more, arching off the bed again, “cum inside me, Hiro. Please baby. You feel so good.”

He did, he filled you so completely, he always had, he knew exactly what you needed. He moved one of his hands to yours, bringing it to his mouth and kissing your fingers, regaining control over his thrusts and his breath. His other hand moved over your knee on his hip and down your thigh, bringing his thumb to your throbbing clitoris. You let out a shaky squeal, your jaw dropping in surprise.

“Then you’ll cum too.” He circled your clit perfectly, knowing your body maybe even better than you did.

Hiromi was an excellent, generous lover. He wanted to make you cum again and again before he did. In usual circumstances he would have pulled your orgasm from you with his fingers, then again with his tongue, then once more alongside him as he fucked you. But this was not a usual circumstance, his sweat dripped down his nose, your velvet walls felt so perfect around him, as though you were crafted just for him. Maybe you were? Maybe you and he were created just for one another, to please and love one another forever.

Your eyes fluttered closed as his efforts had your orgasm quickly approaching. Your hands gripped at his back and shoulders, loving the feeling of his lean muscle under your trembling fingers. The only thing leaving your lips was his name chanted over and over again. He could stop his hips from punishing your cervix more and more, his own voice croaking and moaning intelligibly.

“Baby please…I…oh fuck.” Hiromi was teetering on the edge of climax.

“I know. Me too. I love you.” You brought your hand to his face guiding it down to press your foreheads together.

His thrust became slower and more direct toward your g spot, his thumb continuing to rub your clit, your orgasm bubbling up inside of you.

“Kiss me.” Your voice was barely audible, but Hiromi connected your lips instantly.

That was the perfect, final push you both needed to climax together. He pumped twice more, deep inside of you, you could feel the stream of cum painting your insides. He could feel you fluttering around him. You kept your lips connected, panting into each other’s mouths. He stayed inside of you, making sure to keep his cum as deep as he could. The intimacy of being engulfed by you, and you being filled to the brim with him, bodies as close as two people can be, sweat and spit and cum combining together, it had you delirious.

“I love you.” You both breathed out, giggling afterwards at your moment of synchronization.

You clenched up around him once again as he pulled out.

“You tease” he shook his head before moving to lay next to you, catching his breath.

You lay side by side panting together, the endorphins flooding both of your bodies, slowly fading, and the heat returning to your bedroom. You reached over to hold his hand, turning to face him. He looked up at the ceiling, eyes closed, his hooked nose angled up, mouth open. He was playing the evening back in his mind, luxuriating in the warmth of your love and the celebration of that love that you two shared. He intertwined his fingers with yours and turned to face you, his eyes softening as soon as they locked with yours. He took in a breath to profess his love to you once more, but cutting him off the lights suddenly came back on. The whirring of your air conditioner started again, and your bedroom fan began humming. You both smiled in awe. Already feeling the change in the air of your bedroom, you sighed happily, snuggling into Hiromi’s side. He quickly wrapped his arms around you and pulled the comforter over the pair of you.

“One of us has to get up and turn the lights off, you realize.” He kissed your forehead.

You groaned before peeling yourself from his side and starting to migrate to the wall switch. He pulled you back down by your arm making you bounce against the mattress.

“Oh stop, you know you’re not doing it.” He rolled his eyes and stood, his long legs needing only a few strides before he could flip the switch and darken the room again.

You were completely spoiled by him. You were so lucky to be with him, to be loved by him. He had gone so far out of his way tonight to help you feel comfortable. Hiromi slipped back into bed next to you, pulling you back into his embrace, burying his face in your neck.

“I love you, Hiromi.” You kissed his temple. “Thank you.”

“I love you too.” He kissed your cheek, you felt your eyes start to droop as cool air finally curl over your body.

——————————————————————————

Tag request!

@buttercupbitches I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for being my first person to ask for a tag request!!

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futureman · 2 months

Text

love like you

pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader

summary: mike helps you through a rough patch by reminding you of the many, many reasons he loves you

warnings: established relationship, angst, comfort, mentions of depression, anxiety & panic attacks, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts

word count: 2.1k

"Why do you love me?"

You ask the question so quietly, Mike almost misses it over the movie playing in the background. At first, he's not sure how to respond—or at the very least, where to begin.

You've never asked him that before, and he'd never given it much thought if he's being totally honest. He assumed you hadn't, either. It's just something he feels.

It's something he's always felt, gradually building since the day you led his sister back to him after she'd wandered off in the supermarket. He took one look at you, your kind eyes and patient smile, and asked you on a date without a second thought. That's what it's like to love you—instinctual.

He glances away from the TV and looks down at you curiously. Your head is nestled on his lap, eyes already locked on his and filled with apprehension he can't even begin to understand. There are a thousand and one reasons to love you; don't you realize that? He'd tell you every one if you asked.

He loves you because you're always there, through the late-night shifts and nightmares, helping him parent a child you shouldn't have to be responsible for at such a young age. You confiscate his controller every time he tries to smash it in a fit of rage, beating whatever boss he'd been fighting for hours like a champ. He thinks you're so fucking cool.

And you understand him like no one else ever has, so attentive and always willing to try. You kiss away his fears, strip him bare, unmask him. Allow him to seek shelter inside you, ride him to a mind-numbing release when his darkest thoughts threaten to consume him.

You hold him when he wants to give up, when the weight of the world is too much and persevering is too hard. The familiar, soothing tone of your voice reminds him to breathe, to tune out the little things and remember that there's still good to be found in life.

It's everything you do and everything you are. That's why he loves you.

But before he can say anything at all, your face screws up and your bottom lip begins to tremble. His chest immediately tightens.

"Woah, hey. It's okay," he murmurs, keeping you grounded in the present despite his rising panic. "You're okay."

You're prone to spiraling, but after years together, he knows the best way to mitigate it is to stay calm. Regardless of the raging storm in your head, you're safe with him, warm and dry at home on your couch.

He caresses your cheek, then trails up to scrub at the crinkle in your forehead. "What's going on up there?"

"Nothing. It's—really, it's nothing. I'm sorry, I don't know why I asked you that," you shake your head, averting your gaze elsewhere. But after a moment, your eyes snap back to his, and there's so much pain there, he can almost feel it.

"No, it's...it's everything. My brain won't shut up, and it's mean and loud, and I just—," you pause, clenching your jaw in frustration. "I just don't get it. Of everyone you could've been with, why me? I can't understand why you chose me."

The question feels like a slap in the face. Like he had so many choices and only picked you based on some predetermined criteria of what someone should want in a partner. He didn't just pull your name out of a bowl, either. You chose each other.

He wracks his brain to figure out what he could've said or done to make you believe otherwise, but then remembers this isn't about him. He tries again to explain all of the reasons he wanted to before, to tell you that the unrelenting thoughts ping-ponging in your head are wrong, but you continue on, unraveling before his eyes.

"I'm a shitty person. I'm selfish and useless, and all I do is make everyone around me unhappy. There's always a crisis, I'm always sad. And I always make everything about me," you tell him, getting angrier by the second. "Ugly, worthless, selfish, selfish. I’m a fucking burden. You know, I—I just keep waiting for you to figure it out and leave. To get sick of this...of me."

He listens helplessly as you tear yourself apart, the ache in his chest intensifying the worse your verbal barrage becomes. He knows he can't just reassure away your insecurities or magically heal your trauma, no matter how badly he wants to. But he also can't let this go on any longer.

"Stop," he says softly, cutting you off. Hearing the full extent of your criticism is agonizing, and if it's hurting him this much, he hates to think what you must be feeling. "None of that is true. I think...I hope, deep down, you know that."

The broken look you give him tells him you don't, or maybe that you can't, at least not right now. You open your mouth to retort, but he shakes his head and hauls you up into his arms. He holds you close as you start to tremble, guiding you to rest your cheek on his shoulder.

"There's nothing shitty about you, alright? You're the least selfish person I've ever met. Kinda wish you were so you'd stop prioritizing us over yourself all the time," he murmurs into your hair. "And you're fucking gorgeous. I don't want to hear you say any of that ever again."

He tilts his head to meet your eyes. "Got it?"

You shake your head, turning to hide your face in the crook of his neck. He sighs. He just can't fathom how you could possibly look at yourself and not see what he and Abby do. But then again, he might understand more than he'd like to admit.

Everything you've told him tonight feels jarringly familiar. The self-hatred, the unending criticism—he wallows in those thoughts all the time and knows better than anyone that they'll eat you alive if you bottle them up for too long.

He hates that you have to suffer through this just because brain chemistry is indiscriminately cruel. It's unfair. He, at the very least, deserves it.

Except, that's not actually true, is it? And if your roles were reversed, you'd remind him as many times as it takes for him to believe it. You'd tell him that he's perfect exactly the way he is. That he's a good parent, brother, and partner, and regardless of all of the shit life has thrown his way, he's still a good person that isn't defined by his lowest moments.

So, he'll do the same for you.

He shifts you on his lap so you're face-to-face, your legs bracketing his thighs, and cups your cheeks to keep your attention on him. He's not letting you hide anymore. He needs you to hear what he has to say and trust that he'd never lie to you.

"You're not worthless or useless or anything else your brain is telling you right now. Okay? You're perfect," he says quietly, stroking your cheek. "I've always thought you were perfect, from the moment I met you."

Doubt clouds your expression. "I don't believe you."

"Why would I lie to you?"

"B-because that's what you're supposed to say when you're trying to make someone feel better," you reply shakily.

Ouch. He hadn’t expected that answer. It stings that you'd think so little of him, especially after all this time. He feels like he’s grasping at straws now, but everything he wants to say is just a variation of how highly he sees you. It’s all equally true, but if you can’t accept that, then what else can he do?

"Then, tell me what you need to hear right now. Tell me how to help you through this, because I love you so fucking much, and I will do anything," he pleads, his frustration bleeding through despite how hard he tries to suppress it.

It’s starting to affect you. You’re shaking like a leaf, and he can tell you want to run away, but instead of letting you go, he wraps his arms around you as carefully as he can to keep you from leaving. He doesn't want to force you to face this. He just needs you to stop hurting yourself. Your face crumples, and he feels his own do the same.

"I don't know. Probably nothing," you tell him, voice cracking. "Look, we don't have to talk about it anymore. I'm sorry for bringing it up in the first place. Can we just go back to watching the movie? I’ll rewind it—“

But Mike doesn't want to let this go. Even if he should, even though you're asking—he's determined to make sure you go to bed tonight knowing how loved you are. His next words come out harsher than he wants them to, but he’s getting desperate. He’s only human.

"Fine. You want the truth? Being with you is hard. It's one of the hardest things I've ever done, and sometimes, it hurts like hell," he starts. Your expression morphs from sad to devastated, and he feels terrible for upsetting you, but he has to say this for both of your sakes.

"But that's what makes it worth it. I've never felt this way about anyone, probably never will again. Not because it's easy; because it's you. Sure, no one's perfect, but you're about as close as it gets. You're it for me.”

He truly believes that. Maybe you do, too. The tension in your body is beginning to bleed away, and you slowly sag against him, tucking yourself into his chest. He catches a glimpse of your face as you melt into him, and for the first time tonight, you look hopeful. Nuzzling into your hair, he continues.

"I can't imagine a life without you anymore. It's like you're part of me now, maybe even the best parts, and I fill in the gaps in between. We just…figured it out at some point. Together.” He’s starting to ramble, but he’s too invested to stop. Judging by the fact that you haven’t interrupted him or tried to intervene, it doesn’t seem like you want him to, either.

“Even the small shit other couples fight about. Like the dishes—you hate doing those because digging the silverware out of the sink grosses you out, so I do it. And you fold the laundry because I always burn myself taking the clothes out of the dryer. We talk shit out. We try."

He squeezes you a little tighter. “Maybe those seem like shitty reasons to love someone, but they’re real. Just as real as what I told you before," he says softly, pausing to kiss the top of your head. "You're beautiful. You're kind and passionate, and I’m just the lucky guy that gets to be with you. I’ll be here as long as you want me.”

When he finally finishes, he’s all but gasping for air. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, and he’s breathing so heavily, he feels like he just ran a marathon. But it’s worth it to see the look on your face as you peer up at him, cautious but peaceful.

“How could I not want you?” you whisper, splaying your hand across his chest, just below his collarbone. You're feeling his heartbeat.

"I've been asking you that all damn night," he chuckles. Cradling your head in his palm, he swipes away a few stray tears that fall with the next flutter of your lashes. "So, did I answer your question or should I keep going? Because seriously, I can keep going—"

You snort, effectively cutting him off, then give him a wry smile. The relief he feels is palpable.

“You know, I really don’t deserve you," you murmur as you lean up to kiss the underside of his jaw. When your lips linger, he ducks down to press his against yours, kissing you deeply and pouring in everything left unsaid.

"Sure, you do," he says kindly, but with finality. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, you're both starting to look as tired as you feel. But more than that, he's grateful; to have you in his life and to be able to comfort you when you need it most. You taught him that. "And I think we both deserve some sleepytime tea and a really soft blanket...if Abby didn't already steal it off our bed."

Your face lights up, and it's as if he solved all of the world's problems with that one simple offering. It's the same look you give him when he tells you he loves you. The corners of your eyes crinkle as you say it back.

"I love you, too."

thanks for reading!

divider by @saradika-graphics

a/n: this was a homework assignment from my therapist 💀 oops

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt angst #mike schmidt #fnaf fanfic #fnaf imagine #fnaf movie #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson #jhutch

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keesdarlin · 5 months

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☆// mine, yours (MDNI 18+)

info! 141 / fluff, established relationship (sort of) + gender neutral reader

cw! implied past self hatred, negative self image, mental health recovery, healing vibes

prompt! "i wanna be mine, wanna be yours" Mine / Yours by Wilbur Soot

notes! god i'm Really trying to not make it a habit to use wilbur soot lyrics as prompts but it's hard when they're so good please forgive me. also just as a disclaimer, the whole "you have to love yourself before you can be loved by someone else" thing is bullshit. date who you want when you want. the only thing that matters is that you actually want to get there with yourself

PRICE:

honestly, john is the king of praise and reassurance. he sees how much you struggle sometimes, especially with your faith in your skills. as a solution, he finds ways to give you lots of praise for your hard work on the side. it’s hardly in front of other recruits or, god forbid, the rest of the 141 guys, but only because he doesn’t feel like getting accused of picking favorites (even though everyone already knows anyways). besides, that praise isn’t for everyone else. it’s for you. he never gives you pointers unprompted because he doesn’t want you to feel like he’s rushing you along. he tries his best to give you the room to take things at your own pace. always asks if he can give you an idea to maybe make things easier or if he should explain something in a different way. every once in a while you have a day where whatever you’re doing is just a little bit… more than usual. a little bit more difficult, taking a little bit more time, requiring a little bit more focus than you’re used to. john spends a little bit more time with you on those days, not to babysit you or coddle you, but just to make sure that you’re feeling alright about things. when you finally get it right, he can’t help but break out in a grin with a quiet, “good job, sergeant.”

GAZ:

gaz is huge on compliments. he’s always the first one to tell you how amazing you look every day. it’s easy to struggle with loving the way you look, he knows, so he does his best to try and mitigate that. don’t get him wrong; he’s not complimenting you out of obligation or pity. he compliments you because he believes it and he wants you to believe it too. will compliment anything from your makeup (if you wear any) to your outfit to your new shoes. he just thinks you’re the shit.

kyle also puts a lot of focus on acts of service. although you’re on a journey of self love and learning how to be healthily independent rather than hyper-independent, there’s a lot of skill to build in areas where it comes to when and if you should be leaning on other people. it’s hard, he knows, but he wants to help you practice! so he watches you, surprisingly in tune with your needs, and tries to meet you halfway. it’s not that he doesn’t think that you can do it yourself. in fact, he’s certain that you can. it’s more that this is his way of helping teach you that it’s alright to accept help. he doesn’t always ask first, but he’ll do a little something when he knows you’ve had a rough day. when he sees the exhaustion that hides in the way that you roll your neck, or the way that your shoulders hike up to your ears with anxiety, or the tired sigh that leaves your lips when you finally get a chance to sit down. and it’s not always something big. usually him doing your dishes “on accident” or because he had the extra time, or making a little extra dinner for you so that you don’t have to make your own, or bringing you a glass of water even though you didn’t ask for one. he knows he doesn’t have to, he knows that you’re capable of doing all this stuff yourself, but he wants you to know that you’re not going it alone. not as long as he’s there.

SOAP:

johnny uses a lot of patience and encouragement with you, mostly in moments of frustration, and sometimes a little instruction. an aspect of the self care journey that you find yourself struggling a lot with is remembering to be patient with yourself. you can sometimes find yourself going off the rails a little bit, but soap is here to help reel you back in. without sounding patronizing, he’ll remind you to take a step back from the situation for a second, take a breath, go for a walk, whatever you need to do to zone in, and then come back after.

one day you’re down at the shooting range when the frustration hits. normally, you’re a pretty good shot, but for some reason today you can’t hit near the middle of the target for the life of you. another shot missed and you sigh sharply, barely managing to stifle the groan and curses that threaten to escape you.

“you doing alright?” soap asks from somewhere behind you.

“fine, thanks,” you mutter through clenched teeth. you don’t bother to look back at him, closing one eye as you try to focus your aim.

soap hums. steps forward, sets a gentle hand on your shoulder. you take the hint and lower your gun, huffing as you turn to look at him. “alright. you’re doing pretty well so far, but let’s take a deep breath and try it all again, aye bonnie? i’ll help.”

you roll your eyes but inhale deep anyways. soap nods as he watches your shoulders fall with the exhale. “good job, lamb. now come ‘ere. ‘m gonna help you adjust to this gun.”

GHOST:

simon doesn’t tolerate negative self-talk. you guys talked about it once, how you want to be better about being kind to yourself. sure, sometimes that can mean taking a self care day or going out for a night with some friends or sitting down and taking some time to do something intentional. but those all have the potential to be pretty time consuming. something you can do every day, all the time no matter what you might be up to is saying something nice about yourself. it’s definitely weird the first few times; you didn’t realize before how much shit you talk about yourself every day, so the new hyper-awareness is a little bit anxiety-inducing. but once you adjust to the strangeness of it, it actually starts to feel kind of nice. every time you say something kind about yourself and find yourself meaning it, a spot of pride pulses warmly in your chest. it can still be difficult sometimes. some days, when things feel a little bit darker, a little bit heavier, you find yourself insulting your mistakes and talking down to yourself. but simon is right there with you to remind you. “you wanna try that again?” he asks nonchalantly when he hears you utter a quiet ‘oof, i’m dumb.’

you blush, but nod. “yeah, sorry. uhm… i’m not dumb, i’m just distracted and i’ll do better.”

he never gives a verbal response to your self-compliments, just a nod and, if you’re lucky, a little smile.

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renphousa · 4 months

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How to Test Your Bathroom Scale for Accuracy

When it comes to tracking weight loss progress or monitoring our overall well-being, we rely on bathroom scales to provide accurate readings. However, have you ever questioned yourself if you have an accurate scale? After all, it's not uncommon for them to gradually lose their precision over time, potentially leading to misleading measurements and frustration. Thankfully, there's no need to second-guess the reliability of your bathroom scale any longer. Let's go through the step-by-step process of testing one for accuracy. By following these simple yet effective methods, you can ensure that the numbers displayed on your scale truly reflect your weight, empowering you to make informed decisions about your health and fitness journey.

How Do Digital Bathroom Scales Work?

Digital bathroom scales work by utilizing a strain gauge and load cell to accurately measure weight. When weight is applied to the scale, the load cell deforms, a change detected by the strain gauge. The strain gauge then translates this physical deformation into an electrical signal processed and displayed as weight on the digital screen. Compared to analog scales, these scales are generally more reliable and accurate, providing consistent and precise weight measurements. However, common points of failure can include issues with the strain gauge or load cell, leading to inaccurate readings. Environmental factors such as temperature or humidity can also impact the accuracy of the scale. Additionally, improper calibration or damage to the scale can lead to unreliable measurements. Regular maintenance, calibration, and care can help mitigate these potential points of failure and ensure the accuracy of digital bathroom scales. Overall, when functioning properly, these scales provide a convenient and accurate way to monitor weight.

Why is Scale Calibration Important?

Scale calibration is important for several reasons. Firstly, it ensures accuracy in the measurements provided by the scale. Factors like regular use, temperature changes, and mechanical stress can affect a scale's performance over time, leading to inaccuracies. Calibration helps identify any discrepancies and ensures that the scale provides precise readings. Secondly, calibration helps maintain consistency in measurements, which is crucial when tracking health and fitness goals. By regularly calibrating the scale, you can rely on consistent and accurate readings, allowing for reliable comparisons over time. This is essential for making informed decisions and effectively tracking progress. Lastly, regular calibration can extend the lifespan of the scale. By identifying potential issues or malfunctions early on, timely repairs or adjustments can be made, preventing further damage and saving costs on replacements. Recalibrating your scale regularly also allows you to maintain accuracy.

If you don't know how to recalibrate your RENPHO Smart Body Scale, here's a link guide to help you

#health & fitness #wellness #health #healthy lifestyle #renpho scale #scale #digital scale

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kalfui · 4 months

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been thinking about aroace alastor a lot, in the sense that ofc this is simply canon and i wouldnt even BE thinking about it beyond a simple "woohoo this is fun, let's think about how that might have affected him and his relationships both whilst alive and after his death and fic and art and the usual joy of character analysis" if it weren't for the fact that it seems to be a flipping fight to just. Have that canon be acknowledged, which is taking up so much energy that it's honestly hard for me to enjoy him as much as I wish, considering this rep is supposed to be For people like me

and I think that's so much of my frustration around all of this, which IS mitigated by just finding a few chill people to follow and focusing on that -- but even then most of my "suggested for you" for this show is alastor x [insert any random main character] shipping/sexual content -- is that this is an offering for people to learn something new and delve into experiences that they may not have thought much about and the ones who know what aroace means, and in particular within the realms of how this character is being written within this particular very-sex-heavy universe (so, not so different from real life), by and large decided to just go "nah." people aren't interested in aroace experiences, and it's weird from a "so you just don't like a large part of this character's canon traits then, do you like the actual character, or just the OC you've made up in your head that happens to look like them?" perspective, but mostly for me it's that a lot of the way people talk/write about this it's like aroaceness is something that needs to be Fixed Somehow, and thank Goodness there's a neat little loophole that we can utilise in the form of "well sooooome aroace people do want to have sex and be in a relationship"

so many of the things I can't help but see, block, move on from, and in the ao3 alastor tag (which, it's frankly wild to me that aroace alastor has to be a specific tag, because so much of it ISN'T that, and even then we have to sift) is either just the equivalent of going "lalalala if I don't think about the aroaceness it's not real" or the even more disturbing "now how do we fix this so that the ace character can still fuck somehow." it's really creepy, and very much how people talk about aspec people irl. it's just incredibly poor taste and shows that this community is still so invisible

people really ought to think more about why this is such an important hill for them to die on that they want to Fix aroaceness in one of the only genre-fiction characters to be canonically such, ON a show where every other character enthusiastically enjoys sex and most of them are in established relationships or various slowburns -- why is the character that is not interested the one that is shipped with every other character to such an extreme?

I feel like anyone writing an aroace alastor that mysteriously can be compelled into sex and a romantic relationship needs to give me a 3000 page essay on the history and philosophy of aspec identities with a special section on aroace representation in media

but ultimately it's just a "look. please be kinder. if you look in our sandbox we have barely any toys, why are you coming into this sandbox to take more of them and then rubbing our faces in it and THEN being rude to aspec people when we say it makes many of us uncomfortable to be sidelined like this?"

I keep thinking of that one screenshot that was going around tumblr of the person who wrote straight brokeback mountain fic that everyone was going WTF about. why is it alright to "headcanon" away canon aroaceness (and mock people who point out its canonicity), but it's largely agreed to be in poor taste to do so with other canonically established queer identities?

I get fandom's not activism, but it sure sometimes can be a yardstick for how much I'd trust people to respect me irl, when I cannot enjoy aroace escapism without being talked over/mocked/yelled at AND having aspec theories appropriated without any understanding of what they actually mean or how they apply -- this history and community is a part of my life, and it's like people are just traipsing mud through it with the lack of respect for it (as lucifer would say "you come into MY house bitch???")

(apologies this got long. you don't have to post if you don't want to, I get that it could be inflammatory and don't want to put that on you, I've just been needing to vent. I just feel like I'm going a bit crazy with how nigh-impossible it is to avoid this -- why am I the one who's having to make all that extra effort to enjoy a character written with my community in mind? don't y'all have enough toys???)

Don't apologize, I absolutely love reading how others feel about this situation, and I completely agree.

I think it's sad how people don't want to think about a characters aroaceness and how it affects them and instead just throw that part of them out of the window. I think it's even more interesting since Alastor canonically thinks that he's straight, but hasn't found the right one yet.

"Headcanoning" a canonically aroace character a different sexuality is so.. I don't even have a word it. Many people "headcanon" Alastor a different sexuality, but keep it canon when it's Angel Dust or Vaggie. Personally, I think it stems from aphobia. Just like you mentioned, people feel the need to "fix" aroace characters, like their sexuality is a messed up or broken part of them. It reminds me of when I used to hear teachers talk about how everyone will someday find love, and the ones who don't will have a huge gap in their heart and be empty. It's quite terrifying just how similar it is. The fact that he, as the only confirmed aroace character, is shipped the most, too, is quite saddening.

It's disturbing how they search and search for stuff to use as excuses when they ship aroace characters. "Aroace people can still date," "It's just headcanons," "Alastor is not canonically aro," and so on.

Ao3 scares me, especially with characters like Alastor. You don't even wanna know how many times I've seen people say, "I know Alastor is aroace, but we'll just ignore that" in fics. Most of the time, they even change his character completely, and he's so out of character.

It also kinda disgusts me with the stuff people say about Alastor, I can be scrolling on Tumblr and a post comes up saying how Alastor would fuck the living shit out of you and it's so fucking disturbing and graphic, I guess this is just how it is generally when people talk about fan favorite characters, but when it's an aroace character too, like.. no, he wouldn't do any of that.. It's so weird. This is what people care about, sexualizing. They don't even seem to care how much of a complex character he actually is, but only how he would be during sex, and it's quite disturbing that most of the time he is the victim to these type of comments.

And, with the amount of hate I've gotten from tiktokers in my comment replies saying how either Alastor isn't aro, how he's just fictional and it's not erasing any representation by shipping him, how aroace people can still date, how Viv allowed them to ship him, and even saying that it's okay to ship him because he's a stereotype and bad rep (???) and whatever else they have to say, I quite literally do not care. I'm not gonna be humiliated into silence, I'm not ashamed about the fact I'm trying to keep these crumbs of representation we have left. "Boohoo, you talk too much about Alastor being aroace," and I'll continue, I think that's a lovely and very interesting part about his character, especially from the time period is from, and the fact he's unaware too.

it's kinda sad how a lot of people don't even know that he's aro, I wouldn't either since all the fandom does with him is ship him. There are so many other relationships people could dive into, Husk and Angel Dust, Charlie and Vaggie, Vox and Valentino, and many more, but yet they go for the aroace character.. Also the fact that since the pilot the character he's mostly been shipped with is Angel, a character who makes a lot of sexual remarks towards Alastor which he very obviously feels repulsed and disgusted by, is kinda just.. where's the appeal when he's clearly disgusted? Is that part of it? I'm glad that there is a side of this fandom where people actually love him for his character and not just because he's attractive.

Other than that, I'm very glad the show itself knows how to show he can have meaningful friendships and platonic relationships with people, such as Rosie, and didn't make him an edgelord that hates everyone and doesn't have friends for some random reason.

Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts with me, I enjoyed reading through it, and again, I completely agree. I just hope the fandom could realize he's a lovely character and that him being aroace is just a part of him like it is of us.

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 2 months

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𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝙸𝙸𝙸. 𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: trauma responses disguised as life skills, angst, fluff, pining, soft!Joel, protective!Joel, girldad!Joel, lots of flirting, inherent power imbalance due to boss/employee dynamic, financial/mental/emotional/physical abuse, mentions/depictions of childhood trauma, high functioning alcoholism | WORD COUNT: 9.7k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: All the progress you've made is jeopardized by a chance meeting. Joel begins to worry the nagging feeling he has about your home life might just have more truth to it than he knows.

Joel had a good feeling about you even before you started helping out Miller Contracting, but he’d never been so optimistic to think you’d be this quick on your feet with pivoting. He hesitated to call it embellishment or outright lying because it was never an ill-intentioned or malicious thing from what he’d seen. It was more along the lines of a finely tuned social skill, something that could be implemented to mitigate a client’s frustration or labile moods. It was a mastery of sorts that might be used by somebody to change the energy of a room or quell fits of chaos into a more orderly, civil atmosphere.

You’d surprised him with that line to Mr. Dillard about Jennifer having some mystery health concern that required a sudden departure. It was such a simple explanation – and not entirely false. Her mental health had taken quite a hit, and she’d made the decision to preserve what was left of it when she stepped away from the job. It was an understated but effective approach on your part, and possibly the best thing about it all was that it put the ball right back into the client’s court. They really only had two choices then: keep kicking up dust and silently admit you were an asshole or show a little empathy and save face.

Much to his delight and seemingly your relief, most clients chose the latter. After all, it didn’t require much mental capacity to understand that sometimes bad things often happen at the best times. It let Miller Contracting off the hook a little bit as to why there was a sudden hiccup in the daily operations. Even some of the more irascible clients had asked for general updates or news on if there’d be any improvements to Jennifer’s condition. Yet again you handled the conversation with devastating perfection by falling back on not going into much detail to “respect her medical privacy during this difficult time.”

Joel had picked up a few gems from you and used them himself. His go to’s were “it’s one day at a time” and “the prayers really keep her spirits up.” It addresses the situation without saying much of anything, and he gets to move on with his day swiftly.

He wonders where on earth you learned to be so quick on your feet with the perfect thing to say at the perfect time with the perfect delivery. He wonders what sort of life experiences you’ve had that gave you enough practice to hone such a skill. Maybe one day he’ll learn enough about you to fill in the blanks, but for now he’s just grateful you’re here to help him.

Your heart slams into your stomach when you round the corner to your street. Your dad’s car is parked in the driveway. He’s home early. You were going to get all the housework done with the couple of hours you had ahead of you before he got off work. His unannounced, premature arrival meant you had to think of something to tell him about why you were out somewhere on your day off instead at home tending to things. You park your bike and keep a steady pace to the door in case he’s looking through a window somewhere. If you acted out of sorts, he was going to wring you for every last detail. You slip inside the front door and gently close it. You flick the lock just as his voice breaks through the dead silence.

“Where were you?” The question comes out calm like a snowdrift creeping along the edge of an avalanche.

“Just around the neighborhood,” you reply plainly. You can’t sound too evasive, but you most definitely can’t sound too indifferent. He has to know you aren’t just carefree and lazy on your days off. You earn your keep around here and then some. You can’t give him a reason to think you’re not taking things seriously.

“Just around the neighborhood?” he parrots. “You have friends in the neighborhood?” The dubious slant in his tone is meant to be cutting, but the knowledge of that doesn’t stop it from being hurtful. You hear what he’s really saying: you don’t have friends in the neighborhood or anywhere else for that matter.

“Well, sort of. You’re home early. Is everything okay?” Maybe directing the conversation to him and his day will nimbly refocus the attention off of you, your whereabouts, your comings and goings . . .

He sighs and stands from his irritated slump in the plush living room recliner. The nearly empty bottle of beer sways in his hand. “Denise got into a fender bender. Called me in fucking hysterics. You’d think the whole front end had come off her car.” He pauses to take a swig of beer and shake his head with a derisive tut. “Typical woman driver, though. At least you know it’s better to stick with the bike instead of terrorizing the road with your driving.”

You swallow past the words in your throat and ignore the flood of thoughts about why you actually have anxieties about driving. One too many times of getting into his car as a kid while your mom turned a blind eye or was just altogether out for the night. Your legs were barely long enough to reach the pedals from where you sat on his lap, and it was nerve-wracking to help him “keep the wheel steady” while he drove to get himself something else to drink because he’d run out. All those times he’d run into the store and tell you to sit tight and wait felt like centuries. Being alone with your thoughts meant your mind wandered into full blown paranoia, making you feel so sure you could hear sirens and that the police were going to catch you.

The cadence of your inhales would outpace your exhales, and soon enough you were in tears trying to strain your ears to hear all the impending catastrophes coming your way. Your brain would race to formulate an explanation you could offer law enforcement so you wouldn’t get in trouble or your dad wouldn’t get arrested or they wouldn’t think a home visit was warranted. You were always so, so afraid that you and Calum would get separated, and then who would he have to protect him?

“You didn’t answer my question,” he points out in a deceptively collected tone. “Where were you?”

You freeze up. Oh god, you can’t freeze up. Not now. He’ll know something is different. He’ll know you’re lying. He’ll—

The steely grip of his fingers across your lower jaw anchors you in place for closer inspection. “You keeping something from me?” His nostrils flare at the mere idea of you having the gall to lie to him. You try to shake your head, but his hold tightens on you. “Don’t. Lie. To. Me,” he seethes.

You try to speak, but it’s garbled around the cage of his hand. He lets up just enough for you to form words. “I-I didn’t want to get your hopes up yet until I–until I knew I had gotten the job,” you plead.

His eyes narrow with interest. “What job?” he demands.

“It’s–It’s a customer at the store. Their secretary quit, and I’ve been helping. I’m trying to get the full time maybe, but I didn’t—”

He covers your mouth with his hand. It reeks of beer. “You quit your job at the grocery store?”

You shake your head, and he drops his hand. “No! No, of course not!”

“Well how THE FUCK am I supposed to know what bullshit you’re getting up to when you’re running around hiding it from me?” he bellows. You flinch when he raises his voice and his arms to the side in a gesture of righteous anger.

Tears start to pool at the corners of your vision. “I wanted to surprise you when I got good news. I wanted to try to get this job, but I didn’t want to get anybody’s hopes up yet!”

He stares at you with empty, cold eyes. “So, what? You’re doing secretary stuff? How much are you making?”

Of course that’s his first concern: how much more money could you be feeding into the joint account? You lie and tell him it’s a dollar less than the grocery store. Before he can lash out too much, you emphasize the long term growth an opportunity like this could offer. There’s more room to go up, and the experience is something that could translate to a lot more stable, higher paying jobs. His brain isn’t wet enough with alcohol to keep him from considering the validity of your statement.

“I want to see your pay stubs.”

“I-I don’t have it set up yet. I’m not in their system yet. I don’t technically have the job yet.”

His eyes thin into scrutinizing slits. “Fine. Write down your hours so I can compare it to your pay. The last thing we need is you getting swindled because you’re too fucking stupid to keep track of your finances.”

“Okay,” you choke.

He juts a finger out and pokes your shoulder with it. “Next time you want to make a big choice like that, you come to me first for permission.” He leans in closer to tower over you. You drop your gaze to the floor. “Do you understand?” Each word is accentuated with a stabbing finger to your shoulder.

“Yes, sir,” you utter. “I’m sorry.”

“Now quit your crying and get the hell outta my face,” he snaps.

Without a word you turn on your heel and rush to your bedroom. You fumble with your door, hands trembling so hard you feel like they’re not even a part of you. You still and listen to your dad go into the garage for another beer.

“Oh, I got somethin’ for ya,” Joel announces as he stands and starts rooting through a desk drawer. His home office is a mess as he’s transitioning everything back into the actual office now that things are back on track for the most part. “Forgot to charge it, but Jenn finally returned her work phone. Figured you might have some use for it since you’ve sorta taken over her duties.” He hands you the nicest phone you’ve ever held in your possession. You look up at him, thinking of how you should turn it down because you couldn’t possibly accept such a nice thing, could you? You don’t even have Jennifer’s old job, so what would make you entitled to Jennifer's old phone?

“I–Are you sure, Joel?”

“Yeah, of course. It just makes your life easier, really. You can forward calls from the office to it if you need to. You know, like if you’re working from home or somethin’ one day. And then if I’m texting you I’m not usin’ up all your personal data plan, you know? Work related things means the company should cover it.”

He explains it simply enough, but you still feel uncertain about him entrusting you with it.

“I mean, I know it ain’t the newest on the block, but–”

“What? Are you serious? This phone is amazing.” You barely hold back a laugh as you pluck your dingy old flip phone from your bag. “Literally, this thing is, like, a million times nicer than this thing.”

“What’d you lose a bet or something?” Joel snorts as he takes your phone and turns it in his hand. You are distracted for just long enough by the difference of how small the phone looks in his hand compared to when you hold it that Joel clears his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t— it’s a fine phone, is what I meant. Perfectly functional.”

Oh. He thinks he said something to make you feel bad. “It’s a piece of shit, I know.” Your lopsided smile and shrug probably aren’t enough to entirely convince him that you aren’t embarrassed about your ancient phone, but it would have to do. There’s no way you’re explaining to him that it’s all you’re allowed and that your dad won’t let you get anything nicer because it would “just be a waste of time and money.”

“Well, it’s…. Yeah, it’s a piece of shit. Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so rude about it.”

“Not rude. Just stating the obvious.”

“Well, still.”

“Besides, it’s nice of you to let me use this phone anyway seeing as I don’t even have the job to justify it. Doing some real charity work there, boss man.” Your cheeks plump up in a self-deprecating smile.

“Yeah, about that….” Joel clears his throat again, but this time it’s a more hopeful sound. “What if you did have the job?”

“Ppffftttt yeah. Real funny.”

“No, I’m bein’ serious. Would you– Are you interested in it? You’ve taken to it like crazy, and you’re already gettin’ things closer to how they were. I mean, I know it’d mean stepping away from the grocery store, but—”

“You can’t be serious.” You sit there, staring at him like he’s grown a third ear on his chin.

“Well, I know it’s a bit of a leap, but I mean… I don’t wanna pressure you, and if you need time to think–”

“You want me to have the job? Jennifer’s job?”

“It’d be your job if you say yes, but, yeah, Jenn’s job.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Joel laughs.

“Oh my god! I– Are you sure? You’re sure? Tommy’s okay with– you really — you mean–” You jump to your feet with a burst of energy and try not to get too ahead of yourself. Maybe you heard him wrong. Maybe he’s playing an elaborate joke on you. So many other things would make more sense right now than what you think he’s saying.

“So is that a yes?”

“I– Of course! I would – oh.” Your shoulders slump in disappointment. Of course this was too good to be true. “I just remembered that I don’t exactly have a, um, have a way to get– I mean, I have my bike, but–”

Joel waves you off like it’s no issue at all that you don’t have a way to get to the office except for biking a long commute. “I’ll take ya with me. I live just around the way. It would actually be kinda silly if we didn’t carpool.”

“You mean you’d take me to work?” You can’t imagine why someone would go out of their way to be so kind to you. “You’d drive me every day?”

“M’already goin’ that way anyway,” Joel points out. “It’s not like I’m goin’ outta my way.”

“It just doesn’t seem…. Are you sure? I don’t want to put anything on you. It’s still a big commitment. You don’t have to, um, you know – I was sorta joking about you doing charity, but I don’t want you feeling like you have to—”

Joel holds up a hand to stop your running dialogue. “It ain’t a big deal, and even if it was, I’d still do it. You’re good at the work, good with the customers, a fast learner. You’re reliable and a hard worker. Seems like a pretty fair exchange to me.”

You practically strain your eyes trying to keep the hot pinching feeling from blooming into full on tears. “Joel, this is so– I can’t thank you enough for — this is so… thank you. Yes, I would love to have the job. And thank you for taking a chance on me. I won’t let you down.”

Joel grins at you and shakes his head like he’s thinking through some inside joke with himself. “Same to you, sweetheart. Took a chance on me when you agreed to help out, so I think we’re in the same boat here.”

“Here’s to taking chances then, I guess,” you giggle after a loud sniffle.

“Here’s to taking a chance on each other,” he agrees with a wink.

The more downtime Joel has, the more opportunities he has to sit and think about you. It’s one of the reasons he’s been trying to keep himself busy, to keep himself from blurring that line between professional and personal with you. He’s your boss for chrissakes – officially now that you accepted the job offer. Not to mention he’s much older than you but apparently missing the wisdom that was supposed to come with that.

It was his responsibility to set clear boundaries and make sure he was fostering professional relationships with his employees. The problem when it came to you was it felt personal no matter what he tried to do. The more you two got to know each other, the more you eased into conversation and opened up. The more you opened up, the more greedy he got to unravel some other tangled string about who you were and what made you tick and what things you liked and what he could do to make you smile.

It was a death knell in his delusions that he didn’t feel anything for you when it became clear that you shared the same dumb brand of humor, taking delight in the small, nonsensical things that cropped up everywhere and anytime. You’d surprised him a few times when you’d have some smartass little quip out of the blue, looking nervous for a moment that it would be taken the wrong way, but of course it never was. He loved those random moments where you’d come out of left field with something and make him laugh in the sort of carefree way kids do when they’ve stayed up too late and had too much sugary soda and junk food.

And just when he’d gorge himself on those little moments, there was an undeniable, unsettling feeling he got sometimes when you’d talk about things. Carrying yourself in a way that seemed like you anticipated censure even when you’d done nothing wrong. Acting surprised when he’d compliment something you did, even if it was simple. You had a hard time accepting and believing all the good things but no difficulty whatsoever in assuming the worst about yourself. He couldn’t understand it, especially when you were so easy to get along with and so good with people.

Sure, your old boss Jeremy was a jerkoff, but you hadn’t seemed fazed too much the handful of times Joel was aware of his mistreatment towards you. There was something else going on there, but he wasn’t sure what. He wasn’t exactly close enough to you to ask about your mom leaving all those years ago. He’s wondered more than once if you struggle with feelings of being unwanted or not good enough – things that Sarah had struggled with when her mom up and left without so much as a backwards glance.

It was painful enough to see Sarah go through it, and he wasn’t sure watching it happen to someone else would be much easier to witness. You seem sensitive and ironclad all at once, but he’s not sure if that’s just the protective shell you’ve built up over the years. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to contribute to any notions you have about low self-worth or lack of talent.

And then even after all that, the more he learned about your home life, the more muddy the waters became. You’d mentioned your brother – Colin? Calum? Calvin? – had moved out several months ago with stars in his eyes and dreams of living a bigger life than what he could ever make here. It all sounded a bit too much like those perfectly curated responses you always had – like the one you’d skillfully delivered to Mr. Dillard to get him to warm up to you. Joel didn’t like to press you too much about your brother, and you didn’t say much about if you two had a good relationship or a relationship at all. But you always seemed a little sad whenever it came up.

He knew your dad still lived in the house with you, and that was maybe the most perplexing piece of the puzzle yet. Joel had seen his newer car parked in the driveway before, knew from what you’d told him about his job title and where he worked that he must have a pretty decent salary and selection of suits and ties, and he had a house in the same neighborhood as Joel. All signs pointed to doing pretty well in life, at least enough to be financially comfortable, but then why didn’t you seem to have those things?

You didn’t have a car. Maybe you didn’t have any interest in driving? But it didn’t seem that way. And regardless, your bike had certainly seen better days. At the very least you and your dad could pool finances together for a newer bike? And you wore a lot of the same clothes over and over again. He hadn’t said anything about the business casual that was loosely encouraged for the job you just accepted. Maybe you just had a few clothing choices that made you feel the most comfortable? He didn’t want to risk stepping in it by mentioning something other than the plan t-shirts and jeans you often sported.

Joel glances at the clock on the wall of the car shop – 11:30. His mechanic buddy was supposed to be done with the company truck by now. Not wanting to sit and mull over every tiny tidbit about you and your life, he got up and headed for the front desk to check with Susan about how much longer she thought it might be. Before he got there, she called out for someone else. A someone else with your last name. It was a unique enough name to make him wonder if there was some relation, but the man’s face confirmed it. There was that stony, cold face Joel had conjured in his mind’s eye a few months back. He hadn’t just imagined that distinct lack of warmth after all.

The woman with him seemed impatient and jumpy, following behind him like a petulant shadow. The cut of your dad’s voice to Susan made Joel’s head clock to the side. He hadn’t said anything rude, but he didn’t need to. The tone there expressed all the disdain and irritation left unspoken. Susan responded with something about the cars getting backed up because someone called out sick, and your dad’s companion rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“I can’t attest to the reliability of your staff, but I hope your work on her car is more promising,” he says plainly. His posture was so rigid and lax all at once. Everything about him was a bit of a contradiction. Joel noted the clean, shiny watch on his wrist where his pressed dress shirt grazed against it in a crisp, starched line. His hair was groomed without a single strand out of place. His shoes looked freshly polished. Between the attire and his demeanor, he certainly commanded respect and attention.

“Again, I apologize for the inconvenience,” Susan replied in a bored tone. She had never been one to take anybody’s bullshit in all the years Joel knew her. “If you would like the mechanic to review the work with you, I would be more than happy to call him in.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, but I appreciate the offer,” your dad says without sounding much like he means it.

“Alright then. I’ll call you up shortly once I print out the paperwork and detail. You can take a seat. And you can come on over, Joel.”

Susan waves him to the desk. Your dad meets his eye and seems to vaguely recognize the name and the face together. Joel puts his hand out for a shake. “Yeah, hi there. Joel Miller with Miller Contracting. Unless I’m mistaken, your daughter has been helping us out these past few weeks.”

Your dad gives him an up and down before offering a tight handshake. “Mr. Miller, yes. Joel. Nice to meet you. I’ve been wondering who this mysterious side job had come from.”

“You’re lookin’ at him,” Joel laughs low with a shrug. He waits for him to introduce his companion, but he doesn’t. “And, uh, nice to meet you….?”

“Denise,” she sniffs. She takes his hand in an awkwardly pinching grasp before tucking her arms across her chest again.

“Denise, nice to meet you.” The insincerity in his voice came through, but thankfully Denise didn’t really seem to care regardless.

“So Miller Contracting is doing pretty well these days?” your dad asks.

“Yeah, can’t complain. Projects are steady. Customers are good.” Joel tucks his hands into his pockets, calm and friendly.

“Good, good. Maybe a bit more growth and that starting pay could get bumped up a little, huh?” your dad chuckles. His tone is light, but the underscoring message is clear that he’s serious.

“Uh, definitely like to share the success of the business with our employees, for sure,” Joel answers back stiffly. How did your dad know exactly what you made? Had you talked to him about it? Were you upset at the amount? Did you think it wasn’t enough? It was more than the grocery store, and you didn’t have any experience in the field. He was covering transportation for you and setting you up with a better work situation than what you’d had before, right? And he and Tommy always did their best to show appreciation to their staff with things like holiday or hire date anniversary bonuses.

Most of all, you hadn’t ever seemed concerned or upset about your pay. Was this just another example of you tamping down a reaction or thought to something just to keep the waters smooth?

“She’ll never ask for it. Probably wouldn’t occur to her,” your dad laughs at your expense. “Never been too financially savvy. Takes after her mother, unfortunately.”

Joel doesn’t know your mother and doesn’t know the circumstances of her leaving, but it’s clear a comparison to her is not in any way intended with kindness. A burning hot impulse to stick up for you rolls in his gut.

“Well I don’t know about not bein’ savvy. She’s been doin’ a knockout job so far. Got a good head on her shoulders for sure.” It’s a harmless enough claim to vouch for you, but Joel feels a bit at odds with himself trying to balance the instinct to defend you with the logical, benefit of the doubt sort of way he usually handled things. After all, your dad was a finance and economics guy. He probably thought most everyone was lacking in that area of finesse and knowledge. He probably didn’t mean to single you out specifically.

“We’ll say that’s where she takes after me then,” he laughs with a tight smile. “Well, it was nice talking to you, Joel. We’re gonna go take our seats now.” He glances back at Denise, who immediately turns to sit down.

Joel shakes your dad’s hand again and waves at Denise when she makes no move to interact with him again. He doesn’t miss the unimpressed yawn that Susan does while watching them go sit back down.

He doesn’t mention meeting your dad at the auto shop. He wants to see if you bring it up first or at all. He wasn’t sure he’d do very well communicating all of his thoughts and feelings about it, anyway. It bothered him to imagine you being upset, feeling taken advantage of, and then not feeling comfortable enough with him to say anything about it. Every imagining of it always ends up with some saddened version of you badmouthing him to your dad. Now your dad thinks you’re being underpaid by some random asshole, and Joel knows how he’d feel if Sarah was ever in a situation like that.

But then he couldn’t stop thinking about how there was something peculiar about your dad. Maybe it was the stress of haggling for a fair price over the repairs? Maybe he was feeling like he had to act like a strong, stand up guy for Denise and handle business? Maybe maybe maybe. There was still something so detached in the way he spoke about you.

His plan to not bring it up falls through halfway through the week. He can’t take the idea of you seeing him as unfair or cheap or deceitful. “Hey, uh, so I ran into your old man a coupla days ago.” He clocks the way your entire body freezes for a moment before stiffly sitting up straight and chewing hard around your bite of sandwich in the break room.

“Oh?”

His brow pulls together at your forced casual inflection. “Yeah. Yeah, he was, uh, he was giving my mechanic friend’s shop a bit of a hard time. Think he was just tryna impress his, er, lady friend that was with him? Denise?” Joel cringes at his bumbling explanation, but your split second sneer tells him he’s probably on the right track thinking it was a girlfriend. Maybe one day you’d get to know each other well enough for him to ask about whatever happened with your mom. When the neighborhood gossip had made the rounds about her abrupt departure, leaving behind two teenaged kids with her husband of 16 years, he’d been so curious to know what had happened there.

“Yeah, I guess she was getting her car repaired. She was in an accident a little bit ago. My dad is helping her out with it.”

“That’s nice of him,” Joel supplies with a pleasant but neutral tone, searching your body language or expressions for any tells or clues.

“It is,” you agree. Your answers always veered into this curt, factual sort of expression whenever your dad or family came up.

“And, uh, well he mentioned somethin’ to me that’s been sorta buggin’ me if I’m bein’ honest.”

Your eyes snap up to his, panic swelling and being forced back so quickly he almost misses it. “What did he say?”

“Just somethin’ about the pay, and I guess– well, I’ll just come out with it. Do you feel like you’re not bein’ paid fairly?”

That quelled panic now cannonballs back into the picture. “What?! No! Of course not! I’m very happy!”

“Now listen, it’s okay if you don’t. I want you to be honest with me. I want you to know you can talk to me about that sorta stuff, and—”

“I’M VERY HAPPY!” You say it like you’re begging him to believe you, so he does.

“Okay, alright alright. It’s okay. I’m not upset with ya,” he assures you. That seems to take some of the edge off. He hated whenever he got you into these little destabilized whirlwinds. You had several tripwires of interaction that he’d come to learn and try to maneuver, but he was trying to get better at figuring out what made you feel calm again, too.

“Listen, my dad is just— he’s protective or whatever, okay? He’s just very— he takes— he wants to make sure the money goes into the account like it should,” you flounder. “He keeps tabs on it because I’m just–I’m just not good with that stuff. I’m not— I just make stupid choices. I’m stupid about stuff a lot, so he just– he wasn’t—”

“Hey now, whoa whoa hold on,” Joel interrupts with a partially raised hand. He turns to face you at the table and makes the bold choice to cradle your bicep in his hand. A part of him sings and swells with delight when you don’t pull away and actually look a bit comforted by it. “You aren’t stupid. You’ve got to quit with that shit.”

You stare back with a deer in headlights look. “I’m– what I meant to say was that he’s– I’m not a finance person like him, is what I meant. So, in comparison or whatever, you know? That’s what I meant.”

“Well then say that instead. Don’t call yourself stupid because it’s not true. Okay? You hear me?”

You nod, eyes dropping down to your lap, and fiddle with the fabric of his jeans taut against his knee. “Okay.”

Your deliberate choice to make physical contact with him overwhelms him with a sense of pride he doesn’t fully understand but recognizes nonetheless.

“Listen, I gotta head out in a few minutes to meet with a client, but I’m gonna call to check in on you after when I’m on my way back, alright?”

You smile a little at that. “Okay.”

He can’t shake the strange feeling about your dad and your pay and why he’s apparently managing your money for you. His words come out before he’s really even thought about what he’s saying. “I think if you’re okay with it, we’re gonna keep doin’ the cash payroll for the time being. Might switch over after tax season is done.” He doesn’t even know if that’s a thing or what it even means, but it’s all he can concoct on the spot to keep your finances in a gray area until he gets a better hold on what the dynamic is between you and your dad.

Your face brightens and relaxes. “Oh, okay. Yeah. No, that’s fine. I’m fine with that.”

Way to fucking go, you idiot.

You’re practically seething at yourself after Joel leaves to meet with a client. Why why why had you given your dad such a low number? You got greedy, that’s why. You could’ve just said it was a 50 cent pay cut instead of a whole dollar. Now Joel thinks you’re an ungrateful employee after he hired you even though you weren’t qualified whatsoever, and now your dad has made some point of contact with Joel. What if they run into each other again and your dad confronts him with the number you gave him? What would he do when Joel corrected that he in fact did pay you a whole two dollars more than what you were claiming.

You can imagine it now, the way your dad would go back through every timelog and bank statement to calculate how much you’d diverted. A cold snap runs up your spine when your mind starts to wander into the “how would he reprimand you for your dishonesty and disregard for his rules?” territory. You grab your flip phone to distract yourself for a moment in the hopes you can shove all this mental disequilibrium to the side until you have time to process and deal with it.

You mindlessly read through Kenzie’s texts about meeting up with a classmate last night to study, only for it to end up with “lots of not studying oops lol” and a winky text emoji. She goes through her usual Dicking Down Rubric as she liked to call it, and ultimately gives her “study buddy” a 2.9 out of 5. Any hopes of getting your mind to a clearer spot have gone out the window. You wish your biggest life issues right now were how to grade someone’s sexual presence and prowess. You hadn’t been laid in forever, and you briefly wonder if your pussy could wither away permanently if the dry spell was long enough.

Maybe you could still become a nun or something one day if things don’t work out.

You sigh and shake your head. This wasn’t helpful, and it was keeping you from getting your work done. So, you force yourself to open an email, return a voicemail, open another email, double check the calendar for next week, open another email…..

Joel’s picture is taking up your phone screen before you know it. Your heart does a little leap just seeing it. “Hey,” you answer in an unbothered, collected sort of way. You hope, at least.

“Hey, just checkin’ in,” he says.

He remembered to check in on you after he said he was going to. The notion is enough to make you feel a tad too emotional for a work setting. Pathetic. Get it together.

“What a good boss,” you hum – light, bubbly, playful. Definitely not still reeling from your earlier conversation. Definitely not spiraling into the abyss. Definitely not panicking. Definitely not wishing you could feel him wrap his hand around your arm again or anywhere else he pleased.

“Just a perk of the job,” he chimes in with a hearty chuckle. He clears his throat. “So, uh, you’re doin’ alright? You feelin’ okay from earlier?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you exhale.

“You’re doin’ it again,” he gently chides.

You aren’t sure what he means at first, but then you realize you must’ve apologized. At this rate you were downright curious as to what he deemed apology worthy because anything you’ve ever felt bad for thus far hasn’t met the criteria. “I guess I shouldn’t say sorry for saying sorry, huh?”

He breathes a little laugh over the receiver, and you want to melt into your seat. “And you have the nerve to call yourself stupid?”

Ever since that afternoon discussing his run in with your dad, Joel has been doing his little check ins more frequently. Chats in the car. Calls to and from clients or job sites. Little texts here and there over the weekend when he didn’t see you. You’d always regarded attention on you as a harbinger of corrections and judgements, but this sort of attention was different. It was nice. It made your chest feel more open, like you could breathe a little easier. It inserted a strange sort of hard stop to your day no matter what was going on, and it provided a clear moment of pause for you to check in with yourself.

You’d never been good at checking in on yourself. You were always too consumed with taking the temperature of everyone else around you. It was always harder to gauge your own thoughts and feelings without someone else’s mood and mindset acting as the measuring stick.

The entire month passes with these threads of outreach and gentleness and concern and support. Before you know it, the threads have woven into a tapestry of care and a true connection with somebody you might’ve never expected it from. How is he so soft and solid at the same time? How is he so commanding and comforting at the same time? How is he so steadfast and sympathetic at the same time? How is he so action oriented and receptive at the same time?

How was he so many things that your whole life you thought you had to pick one or the other when apparently you could be both without contradiction?

“You keep starin’ at me like I got barbecue sauce on my mouth or somethin’,” he laughs. His eyes stay fixed on the road, but his grin is so broad it bleeds into his entire side profile.

“Maybe you do,” you laugh back with a nonchalant shrug. You fix your eyes ahead now, too. Caught red-handed.

“I told you after y’all let me walk around with that booger in my nose for pretty much the entire day last week you’re required to tell me if I got somethin’ goin’ on.”

“I didn’t even see the booger,” you giggle.

“Liar,” he huffs. “Kept lookin’ at me so much I got to thinkin’ I musta looked real nice that day. Then I go to the bathroom and see that giant bat in the cave. Crushed my heart. Ego up in flames.”

“If you want me to say that you’re handsome even with a booger hanging out of your nose, you’re gonna have to promote me to CEO.”

He chuckles at that and fake pinches your leg. “Better read your contract again, ma’am. It’s right in there: employees must lie to Joel about how handsome he is.”

“Hm, sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen,” you muse.

“The only crime bein’ committed is y’all hurting my feelings by letting me walk around with delusions of grandeur,” he charges. “And I think that deserves jail time, honestly. County jail. None of that cushy stuff.”

You whistle low and cock an eyebrow. “Judge, jury, and executioner?”

Joel pulls into your neighborhood, and your heart sinks a little bit. It was always too short of a drive, always too short of a day. It wasn’t fair.

“Shame, isn’t it? And all you had to do was lie and tell me I’m handsome,” he tuts.

You angle your body towards the driver’s side and prop your elbow into the headrest. You rest your head against your hand and prop one leg on the seat. “So you go out of your way to hire liars then?”

He glances at you now with an impish little grin. “Sweetheart, if they’re as good as you are, I don’t care if they’re a liar or not.”

“Well in that case, you are devastatingly handsome.” You bite back a smile and pray to god he can’t feel the heat in your cheeks radiating off you.

“Knew it,” he declares in mock vindication.

You pretend pinch his leg back, and he grabs you before you can pull it away. His hand is so warm and big and safe.

“You better quit it,” he warns. You have a moment of internal shock when his words – words you’d heard spoken a million times in a million different variations, all intended to elicit compliance out of fear – don’t make you afraid. Nervous? Yes. Nervous in the stage fright sort of way. Nervous in the first day of school jitters sort of way. Nervous in the first kiss on a first date kind of way. But there’s no fear here. Just heady anticipation.

He drops your hand to make the turn onto your street, and your heart plummets through the floor. Everything with him always ended too soon.

Joel: Paul Revere here to tell you the trick-or-treaters are out and about.

Joel: The kids are coming! The kids are coming! 🐎🕯️Ready the candy bowls!

You: what’s with the horse and the candle lol

Joel: Paul Revere’s midnight ride. It’s not midnight, but you get the idea.

You: wow I’ve never met an emoji artist before

Joel: Ha ha very funny.

Joel: You get any trick-or-treaters yet? I don’t know what half of these costumes are.

You aren’t sure you want to tell him you’re currently sitting by yourself in a pitch black house so no kids come to your door thinking you have candy. Because of course your dad was out with Denise and her two kids, so of course he didn’t give a shit about putting out candy or what your plans were. He hadn’t even bothered to invite you, but you suppose that’s fair because you probably would’ve declined anyway. He was just saving you the extra step, really.

You: yeah funny enough we didn’t get any candy so I’m hiding out in a dark house so the kids don’t get mad at us

Joel: You’re by yourself?

Your heart did little flips every time he showed a modicum of protectiveness and thoughtfulness.

You: yeah it’s no biggie though I can just live vicariously thru you

You: you can tell me about the best costumes tomorrow morning and I can try to guess what the character is based off your terrible descriptions 🥲

Joel: Or you could just pass out candy with me? Unless you like sitting in the dark by yourself.

You: lol you tryna con me into passing out your candy for you?

Joel: Yes. 😎

Joel: Is it working?

You: be there in 5

His heart leaps into his throat when you cruise around the corner on your bike. God he hadn’t in his wildest dreams expected that texting you that stupid Paul Revere joke would result in you spending the evening with him. In truth, he’d just wanted to talk to you again. He couldn’t count how many times over the past several weeks he’d picked up his phone to send you a message and thought better of it at the last second. Can’t cross another line when he’s already crossed too many.

He’d usually just stare at your contact picture for more time than was appropriate – a little consolation prize for barring himself from sending inane messages and calls your way – before shoving his phone back into his pocket. But now he didn’t have to settle for a static image of you. Now you were here in the flesh and going to spend a couple more precious hours together. He knew he shouldn’t make his giddiness too obvious, but christ was that becoming harder and harder the longer he knew you.

He takes your bike and props it against the porch railing. He makes a mental note about getting you a new one or at least letting him fix this one up for you. You settle onto the bench where he has the candy bowl already set up. He kicks himself for not knowing your favorite candy so he could’ve dumped a few bags of it into the mix.

“You want a beer or anything?”

You scrunch your nose and wave him off. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

He settles onto the bench and can’t quite muster enough genuine regret about the tight fit it is for you both to share. You don’t lean away or adjust in your seat, so he takes it as good a sign as any that you don’t mind your thighs touching. You draw your legs up and place them criss-cross, apologizing for how your knee rests against his leg, and he takes a deep gulping swallow. Nope. Certainly no regrets about not building this bench bigger in the first place.

The first few trick-or-treaters come springing up onto the porch with their sights set on candy acquisition. You keep laughing at him trying to ask the kids what their costume is or who they’re supposed to be, only to have them flying off the porch in search of the next house.

“Quit it,” he laughs with a prod to your side. You squeak and nearly fold in on yourself towards him. “Oh, ticklish, huh?”

“Don’t you dare,” you warn. You sound like you might really mean it.

“I would never,” he huffs. “I’m the handsome gentleman boss, remember?”

“You’re just adding adjectives now, huh?”

“Caught me,” he concedes with a wink.

You’re icy when he asks about why you were holed up at your house by yourself. You tell him your dad is out with Denise and her two kids. There was that same odd energy from you whenever your dad cropped up in conversation. Trying to change the subject and lighten your mood, he asks about what sort of costumes you wore as a kid. You give him generic, vague answers — princess, witch, princess again, witch princess — and don’t seem all that nostalgic about any of it.

“What about Sarah? What sort of costumes did she have?”

He loves talking about Sarah and all the things she’s done in her life and all the places she’s going next, but other people weren’t always as invested so he kept it simple. He laughs as he recalls the one year she insisted on being a hot dog for some reason but ended up stomping around and crying when all the other kids kept calling her a wiener. “It wasn’t funny, but shit… I mean….” He breaks into another round of laughter, and you join in.

“You’re a really good dad.” It’s a gentle remark, a tender observation. It makes Joel’s throat feel tight how delicately you share the sentiment, how soft it is on your tongue. It almost sounds wistful the way you say it. You reach over and squeeze the hand not holding onto the candy bowl. “Sarah’s really lucky.”

He squeezes your hand back. “Well, I’d say the same about her. Hard to not try for a kid like her, you know? She was better to me than I deserved most of the time. The least I could do was show up for her.”

Your sad smile goes tight as you look off into the front yard at the dwindling number of kids. It’s almost time for you to go home, and Joel knows it. He hates it. Every time he’s with you, the clock goes too fast and the time is up too soon. It’s always over too soon.

“Well, I’d better head out,” you announce. Your eyes drop back to your hand in his. He nearly slots his fingers into yours when you gently rub his hand with your thumb before standing up.

“Let me drive you,” he blurts out. Anything to make this last longer. Anything to spend more time with you.

“Oh, that’s silly. It’s just around the corner. That’s really sweet, but I—”

Joel hops up and abandons the nearly empty bowl of candy on the bench. He’s grabbing your bike and putting it into the bed of his truck before you can talk him out of it. “Just grabbin’ my keys,” he says as he skirts around you to the front door and swipes them from the console table.

“C’mon,” he insists. He places a hand on the small of your back. Your lashes flutter in a syrupy haze at the contact. He ushers you to the passenger door. He opens it for you and shuts it behind you.

“You really don’t have to,” you contend. It’s a weak appeal. He knows you don’t mean it. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up that maybe you like spending any spare second possible with him, too.

“It’s dark out, and who knows what kinda weird pranks some teenagers are tryna play. Gonna get yourself hit with a water balloon full of pee or somethin’ if you bike home.”

You exhale a shocked laugh through your nose. “A what? Is that the sorta thing you and Tommy got up to as kids?” You lean closer to him in the front seat.

He laughs and swears he never did more than TP a house or two or play ding dong doorbell ditch. He drives as slow as he can to your house, but it’s not very far. He’s helping you out of the car and unloading your bike for you before he knows it. Your dad’s car isn’t in the driveway. He hates thinking about you being in the house by yourself late at night like this. You walk him into the backyard where you store your bike in the shed.

You walk so close to him side by side that he can feel the heat coming off you. He jokes that he really just wanted you to come over because he’s a big scaredy cat on Halloween. You snort and give him a light bump with your body. He gives you one back, and you grab onto his arm with the claim that he “could knock you flat on your ass” if he wasn’t careful. Joel lets himself be delusional and believe that you just want to hold onto him the way he wants to hold onto you.

“Ya know, talkin’ about being scared of things. I’m so fuckin’ glad I didn’t scare you off when I came with that offer to work in my house out of the blue.” He shakes his head and chuckles at how odd it probably was for you to be approached with it. “It was a weird situation, but I’m glad you don’t spook easy.”

You shoot him a soft, wistful smile from the porch steps where you turn to meet him almost eye level. “Spook me? No, hardly. Not when it’s more like you’re the one keeping The Scaries away.” Your eyes glance down to where your hand eases into his. You look up at him again and give his hand a little squeeze. “Get home safe. Don’t get yourself pelted with piss balloons.”

Joel grins and shakes his head instead of what his body is compelling him to do because he knows it wouldn’t be right to snatch you up right now into a kiss. “I’ll text you when I get home to let you know my fate.” He reluctantly drops his hand before he does something stupid that he can’t take back. You wave him off and head inside.

Joel’s tail lights disappear around the corner, and your entire body feels like it could collapse under the taut band of whatever your relationship with him was turning into — or had already turned into weeks ago.

No. No. This isn’t a relationship. It’s a work relationship. It’s professional.

He’s your boss.

The house is empty. Your dad is still trick-or-treating with his ready made, play pretend family. You thought you’d be used to it by now, the nauseating sensation of someone else always being picked instead of you, but it still feels like a scab being ripped up every time. Even during his love bombing phases, he never showed up for you like that as a kid. He was almost always putting most of his energy into keeping your mom complacent enough to stay.

There wasn’t ever any leftover energy or motivation after he charmed and conned your mom into believing this time would be different. You’d always felt even as a child that she’d been the one who wanted to have kids and that he obliged but resented her for it, even all these years later. Kids were a means to an end, a bandaid on a broken relationship, and you wonder if it ever occurred to him that you and Calum were actual people with actual feelings and individual hopes and dreams and thoughts and aspirations. More often it felt as though he regarded you much the same as some household pet or other dependent thing that was more trouble than it was worth.

It always seemed so obvious that he cared mostly about the projection of family life rather than the actual family unit. Appearances were something him and your mom could actually agree on, and they both exacted their demands to fit the mold in different but equally excruciating measures.

You feel like crying, but you aren’t sure why. You don’t want your mom to choose you. You don’t want your dad to choose you. Not when all the destructive, dysfunctional aspects come with it. It’s a package deal you never truly want, even if sometimes your heart tried to tell you maybe it was okay if you did want to be chosen by your parents just once to know what it felt like.

The gleam of light from your work phone illuminates your room. It’s Joel.

Joel: Made it home dry. Didn’t get hit by any pee balloons either.

You: is that a double pee joke??? 😭

Joel: Yes.

You: wow all I can say is that urine luck that I like you so much because otherwise 😐

Joel: Please never tell Sarah I was bested in a toilet humor joke-off. I have so little, and I can’t lose this.

You: oh you want my silence huh what’s in it for me?

Joel: My undying love and gratitude.

Your heart swells at his words, and you allow yourself to slip into the fantasy of it. The alternate universe where Joel Miller truly does wish to give you his undying love and gratitude. In text land, though, you play it cool. Or try to.

You: hmmm idk anything else on the table?

Joel: Breakfast tomorrow morning on me?

You: ok now we’re talking

Joel: See you bright and early. 😎

You: lol ok see you in the am

Joel: Night. 🎃💤🧸

You: what’s the bear doing?

Joel: That’s his favorite stuffed animal, thank you very much!

You: the pumpkin??

Joel: Yeah. Because it’s Halloween. Get it? Goodnight? Jack-o-lantern with his favorite teddy bear going to sleep?

You: wow you should write books

You feel a rush of excitement and nerves when his contact picture takes up the entire screen. You answer almost immediately, eyes fluttering closed at the sound of his breathy chuckle on the other end.

“Well, hello, Joel,” you hum.

“You makin’ fun of me?” he demands in feigned indignation.

“No, not at all. In fact, if you wrote that book I’d read it one hundred percent,” you assure him in an over the top sweet voice. “I’d be first in line at the signing and everything. I’d have on my jack-o-lantern and bear t-shirt with my matching wristband and baseball cap. I’d be decked out. Totally. Your number one fan.”

He scoffs and fakes offense. “You mean you aren’t already my number one fan?”

“I dunno, where are you buying me breakfast?”

He laughs hard now and mutters under his breath about you being a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You tug your lower lip under your teeth and stifle a giggle. “Wherever you want, princess.”

“Oh, now who’s brown nosing who, huh?” you lob back with a tiny titter, trying with all your might to not scream into your pillow and the way his voice dropped with that last line.

“So what if I am?”

Maybe he hadn’t meant to come across so charged and weighted, but it landed like a lead brick in your lap. A beat of nervous silence and then–

“Well, then I’d say it’s working,” you tease. He breathes a little laugh, a relieved exhale more than anything. “And I don’t care where we get it. Just some random drive-thru would be fine with me, honestly.”

Joel tuts in disapproval. “C’mon now, you can do better’n that.”

“I’ve never been a huge breakfast person, so I don’t know all the good spots. I mean, why don’t you just pick whatever your favorite spot is, and we’ll do that?”

He considers this for a moment before agreeing. “Yeah, alright. I’ll figure somethin’ out. I’ll pick you up about 30 minutes earlier tomorrow. You get some rest now and don’t let me keep you from it, alright?”

“You’re not keeping me from anything,” you softly correct. When the quiet passes between you two again in that weighted, charged energy, you add, “Tonight was really nice. Thanks for letting me pass out candy with you.”

“It was nice,” he agrees. “And I enjoyed the company and conversation. Brought up lots of good memories for me all while makin’ some new ones.”

Your heart feels like it could burst at any moment.

“Definitely some wholesome piss balloon memories made,” you joke.

He laughs again, a sound you’ll never tire of hearing. “Absolutely. Now on that wonderful note, I’ll let you get some sleep. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Joel.”

trying to do the tags even tho they didn't work last time:

@witchy-and-persnickity @tuquoquebrute @ellenmunn @akah565 @goodwithcheese @koshkaj-blog @umnitsa @jupiter-soups @pastelnap @fadajnaoqkzalq @confusedpuffin @zooty-and-fruity @drunk-and-capable @cumberpegg @persephone-girl @lovelyjess69 @verybigvag @nutterbitter @sunshinehaze1 @beelzebeth87 @bizarrelove-triangle

#fic: chrysalism #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #hurt/comfort #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller au #joel miller fluff

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 5 months

Text

Living in My Head

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact. Specific Warnings: Male masturbation, inability to come, Allusions to childhood abuse, Mommy issues, Parental abuse, Coersion, drinking, alcoholism/alcohol abuse, angst, heartbreak, stepcest(in bold, this is *again* heavy on the issues around this),Manipulation/gaslighting, traumatic childhood, parental neglect, angst, grief, regret, depression, Allusion to violence/past SA, abusive relationships, Strained parent-adult child relationship. Let us know if we missed anything! Thank you again, as always to my co-author, @angelofsmalldeath-codeine - This would not be the series it is without you.

6.7k words.

AO3 link <- Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

Nancy returned from helping Danielle to an empty home. Dave’s car is gone and you’re not picking up your phone, but she’s already over it by her second glass of wine. She sits at the kitchen island, brightly manicured fingers drumming on the polished countertops as she looks over the glossy photographs the PI sent across.

She’s pouring her third glass of wine as the frustration prickles under her skin. She knows it can’t be later than six, but she doesn’t care. She needs this drink, and the two that came before.

“So,” she asks, annoyance clear in her tone as she looks them over, “What am I looking at?”

“My guess? A lover’s spat, maybe he forced himself on her and she bolted? But there’s some high emotions there. Poor girl’s crying her eyes out.”

“Well, it’s a start,” Nancy sighs, she was expecting something a bit more titillating than this, “Keep up the good work, Philip. Let me know if you get anything good.”

“Yes, Ma’am, happy to help.”

The line goes dead and Nancy lifts one of the photographs to study it closer. Your eyes are red and puffy as you scream something from the passenger side of a car Nancy doesn’t recognize. Your cheeks are wet and you’re angry.

There’s a small, quiet part of her brain that pities you, makes her feel bad for whatever it was Dave did to upset you. But it’s quickly glossed over, forgotten, as she hears the front door open and close. Her lips curl up as she hears Dave’s voice from the hall.

“Hey, honey, I’m home.”

“Hey, babe, I’m in the kitchen.”

Dave saunters in, perfectly practiced smile on his face as he approaches her. Immediately he senses something is off, from the photographs on the table to the smirk on Nancy’s face. It’s obvious something big is going to go down.

“Care to explain these?”

~*~

You pace the small length of Ash’s spare room frantically as you wait for her to come home from work. It’s been a month since she took you in, and you realize you really need to come clean to her. About everything. You’d told her about the cam work the morning after she’d picked you up. Like the super star she is, she’d taken it incredibly well. So, you’d kept working, making more content than ever.

Yet there’s another reason you need to have a chat. You’ve finalized the rental of an apartment in the city, so you’re moving out. But you feel like you owe Ash an explanation, she hasn’t so much as pushed the issue since you arrived. Besides the initial ‘Did someone touch you?’ ‘Are you hurt?’ ‘Do I need to call the police?’ Ash had let you grieve, wallow, and recover at your own pace.

She only had to make you shower once, and that was in the first week, when everything was just too much.

You hear Ash before she’s even through the door, singing Wham!’s ‘Last Christmas’ at the top of her lungs as she struts through the apartment building. You roll your eyes, it’s not December for another week, but there’s no arguing with Ash over it being too early.

Your phone vibrates and you snatch it up, a small part of you hoping to hear from Dave, but you’re glad it’s not. As much as you can’t admit it out loud, you miss him, and you’re regretting the call for radio silence now. The fact that he’s still respecting your boundaries only makes you ache even more for him.

Mom: Hey, sweetheart, I’m just checking in again. I’m worried about you, please just let me know you’re alive.

You shake your head as you pocket the phone, you’ve been posting on your socials, and she follows you on every platform she knows about. She knows you’re alive, she just wants you to cave, to give in to her pestering. You focus back on the issue at hand as you hear Ashleigh announce herself from the front door.

“Hey, bitch, I’m home!”

“Hey, good day?”

You ask as you take a steadying breath, trying to quell your nerves as you step out into the modest open plan space of the kitchen-diner-living room. Ash is mid-flop onto the sofa as she looks up at you, whatever she was going to say lost to the way she’s now frowning at you.

“It was fine, what’s wrong?”

You wince as you take your place next to her on the threadbare sofa, you’ve never been able to hide your feelings from Ash.

“I’ve got something I need to tell you,” you start, knee bobbing up and down as you try – and fail – to get comfortable, “about Dave, my stepdad.”

“I know who Dave is,” Ash’s tone is guarded, you can almost hear the gears grinding away in her mind as she stares you down, “What did he do?”

“He didn’t- I mean, that’s not how it went down-,” you fumble, caught off guard by the judgement in Ash’s tone.

“So, what did happen?”

“We fucked.”

You blurt it out, covering your eyes as you wait for the verbal abuse to start flowing. You feel your gut twist in knots as you brace yourself for the shame, the disappointment you know is coming.

“Well, shit, that explains a lot.”

Ash says finally and you look up to see an incredulous look on her face. No anger, not even a hint of disgust. She just looks like Ash always does when she’s figured something out. A satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“What do you mean?” you ask, lips pinched together as you track every move Ash makes, watching for sudden movements, changes in body language.

“That night, the one where you went home with that douchebag, was it then?”

“God, no! He’s NOT like that, Ash, he was just doing what any good guy would do,” you shrug, knowing how unconvincing a statement that is.

“Hey, chill, it was just a question,” Ash raises an eyebrow at you, “So he picked you up, and he just took you home?”

You nod slowly, chewing your lip as you take a beat to compose yourself.

“Did he at least kick that guy's ass?”

Ash’s tone is a little defensive and you look up to see her jaw clenched.

“I think he beat the ever-living shit out of him,” you smile despite yourself, “but I was pretty out of it, the guy did a number on me and I’m pretty sure his friends would have helped themselves if I’d stayed.”

“He beat on them too?”

You shake your head, you hadn’t really thought about it until now, but Dave must have really fucked Tristan up for the other two to have stayed put.

“No, they backed off when Dave carried me out of there.”

It’s still so fuzzy but you remember flashes of Tristan’s crumpled form on the floor. The way his friends looked like they’d seen something horrific.

Maybe they had.

“Jesus! Is he some kind of James Bourne?” Ash says with a scoff and you both laugh at the ridiculous nature of it. Dave, a super soldier government assassin.

“So, he’s been looking out for you, when did you guys fuck? Was it just one time?”

“Three times,” you say as heat prickles under your skin, from embarrassment but also from the memory, “and it’s been almost two months since the last time.”

“Is it more than sex?”

You hesitate, too long really to deny it, but you still can’t say it aloud.

“It can’t be,” you mutter as you look down at your shoes.

“So, that’s a yes,” Ash says with a sigh as she grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you in for a tight hug. You flinch at the contact initially, but you lean into her strong embrace.

“It’s so fucked up, Ash,” you shudder as you weep into her shoulder.

“Yeah,” she hums as she continues to hold you, her tone musing, “but we don’t always get dealt the best hand, right? I mean, this is probably one of your healthiest relationships to date.”

“Ash!”

You pull back, trying to sound angry as you know she’s not wrong. You can’t even recall a single stable, remotely healthy relationship.

“If you could remove your mom – figuratively – from the situation,” Ash asks as she rubs the edge of her jaw, her thinking face on, “Would you pursue him?”

“Yes.”

The word is out of your mouth before you can stop it and the realization sinks in. You finally allow yourself to admit to the feelings you’ve been shunning for weeks.

I have feelings for him.

“I like him, Ash, more than just for the sex. I asked him to halt contact, and he has, and he even stopped watching my streams.”

“He watched your streams?” Ash is back on offence now, concern twisting her face into a scowl.

“He didn’t know it was me,” you say, and you cringe as you hear it aloud, “He’d been watching for months before he found out.”

“He let you keep streaming after you fucked?”

“Let me? Come on Ash, I thought you’d be more open minded than that,” You can’t help but scoff at the notion of Dave letting you do anything, “Dave has been nothing but supportive, he made sure I knew it too.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to get a read on this man. This is a man who jumped at the chance to fuck his stepdaughter,” you cringe at how blunt she’s being, but Ash keeps going, “You can’t expect me not to think there’s some coercion here, some manipulation or shitty attitudes towards this kind of work.”

“I love that you care about me to worry so much, I really do,” you shake your head, “But Dave isn’t like that, he respects me, my boundaries. I hate to say it, it’s so fucking cliché, but he’s not like anyone that came before, Ash. He actually gives a damn about me beyond sex. He’s not once tried to control or dictate my actions. In fact, he goes out of his way to make sure this is on my terms, always.” You take a long-overdue breath and Ash looks at you, eyebrow raised as she waits for you to continue.

“The stepdad thing is just,” you pause, trying to find the right word, “unfortunate.”

“It’s more than unfortunate, you idiot, it’s a fucking Greek Tragedy. God, you really are into him, aren’t you?” Ash smiles, her face softening as she shakes her head.

“Yeah,” you feel your shoulders slump, a tension you hadn’t realized was there finally easing.

“What a shitshow.”

“Yeah, and you’re right, it still ranks up there as one of the healthiest relationships I’ve ever had.”

You meant it as a joke, but it hangs in the air between you. Ash knows everything, she’s been there through everything. There’s a pregnant pause as you both mull over the conversation, neither of you quite knowing what to say.

“So, what are you going to do?”

You go to answer when your phone buzzes continually and you know who the caller is going to be before you even look.

“Let me guess,” Ash sighs, “The Wicked Witch of Central Texas?”

“Of course it is,” you sigh, declining the call, “I need to at least text her back, she’s becoming more persistent.”

“Just don’t say anything you’ll regret,” Ash shrugs.

“I’ll answer it later, there’s something else I needed to tell you.”

You throw your phone back down and take a deep breath.

“Fuck, please don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

“No!” You say panicking, the mere thought of it making your insides twist.

“Nothing like that, I’m moving out.”

“Ah shit,” Ash sounds genuinely disappointed, “I kind of liked having you around.”

“I love living with you, your shitty singing aside, but I need to do this, for me.”

Ash sneers at the singing comment but you can see the genuine sadness in her eyes at the news.

“When do you get the keys?”

“Monday, going to need some help getting my shit from Nancy’s,” you say, hoping that Ash gets the hint.

“That’s the first time you’ve called her by her first name,” Ash says, nothing but observation in her statement but you realize it’s a big deal.

“I guess it is.”

You sit on that for a moment, not sure how to feel about it when your phone buzzes again. This time another text. You look down to see one from your dad too and a twist of guilt in your gut makes you bite your lip.

“I gotta look at this or she’s going to be calling me all night.”

“Alright, well I’m hitting the shower, don’t let her sink her claws back into you or get you involved in whatever current MLM she’s pedaling.”

Ash kisses you on the top of the head before getting up from the sofa and stretching out dramatically.

“Is there a difference?”

Ashleigh doesn’t respond as she heads into the bathroom at the other end of the room, the door clicking shut behind her as you hear her start to sing once more. This time it’s Mariah Carey’s ‘All I want for Christmas is You.’

You open the text from your dad, and you roll your eyes. Your guilt is assuaged as you see the clear evidence of your mom making him text you.

Dad: hey, your mom told me you’re not returning her calls. She said you left the house, no note, nothing. What’s going on? Are you ok?

You’re just surprised it’s taken this long for her to enlist him to her cause. Usually, she’s under his skin much sooner than this. You open your mom’s conversation thread and sigh. There are over thirty messages there. Ranging from guilt tripping sob stories, to angry ‘Where Are You?’s’ and incoherent gibberish from where she was clearly drunk at 8pm and desperate.

Mom: Hey darling, I’m really sorry you felt you needed to leave the house. Dave won’t tell me what he did, he says you just needed space. Space from what, honey? What did he do? Do you need me to come and get you? I’m just so worried about you, please just let me know where you are and that you’re safe. Just a text would be enough, please?

I love you, honey, and I would do anything for you, you know that right? Xxx

You sit for a while, trying to convince yourself to ignore her but you’re tired of the incessant messaging, the constant pressure to respond. Then you think of Dave, of how he’s not contacted you once, not logged into Cam Dolls for the whole time. You bite your lip as you make the decision to call her.

You pad back into Ash’s spare room and shut the door. She answers on the second ring. You sit down at the foot of the bed as you brace yourself for the spiel you know too well by now.

“Oh, baby is that you? Are you ok? Where are you?”

“Hey, mom,” you sigh, already pinching the bridge of your nose as you try not to sigh outwardly at the fake concern lacing her tone, “I’m fine, I’m with Ash, I’m safe.”

“Baby what happened? What did he do to you?”

You clench your jaw at the insinuation, but you try not to let it bleed into your voice as you respond.

“Nothing, mom, I just needed space, things with you and Dave are too weird for me right now.”

“What do you mean weird?”

The fact that you keep pushing the angle that he forced himself on me for one. Doesn’t exactly scream marital bliss.

You think to yourself as you flop back down onto the modest single bed. You’re already exhausted by her shit, less than two minutes into the call.

“I know there’s something going on between you, it’s been clear since I moved in.”

You confer if you’ve been too forward as your mom goes uncharacteristically silent on the other end.

“We’re having issues yes, but we’re working on them.”

You fight the urge to scoff as you nod along.

“I think me being there makes it awkward,” you say as you nod to yourself, “You and Dave need your home to be yours, especially if you’re working on stuff.”

“You’re always too selfless. You know that, kiddo?”

“I’ve been told.”

There’s a silence as you have genuinely run out of things to say, you’re bored by the predictability of your mom’s behavior.

“I was thinking,” your mom breaks the silence, uncertainty clear in her voice, “Would you come to dinner tomorrow night, just so we can talk about all of this, so I can make things right?”

Your first thought is whether Dave will be there, but you don’t press the issue, there’s no point raising suspicion now.

“Sure.”

You agree too quickly, but you know it’ll buy you her goodwill. She’ll back off if you can survive one evening in her home. Eating her food, being provided for.

“Really?” Your mom cries out, clearly expecting you to decline.

“I said yes, didn’t I?”

“Don’t be like that,” your mother’s tone changes to scolding, “You don’t have to be a bitch about it, don’t come if you don’t want to-,”

“Mom,” you snap, not willing to put up with her speaking to you like this, “I said yes, I’ll be there. What time?”

It’s almost comical how quickly she changes her tone, brightening up like she hadn’t just flipped her lid on you.

“Come round for six, I’m cooking a roast.”

“Wonderful, see you then.”

You remove the phone from your ear and as you’re hovering over the End Call icon you hear it:

“I love you, darling.”

You hang up quickly, not wanting to say it back, but you hope you can play it off as having hung up just as you heard her. You drop your phone onto the bed, not bothering to look at the message that comes through, nor the next. You’re already emotionally spent as it is. Your thoughts drift to Dave and you realize you need to let him know you’re coming. You know for sure Nancy won’t tell him.

~*~

Dave bolts wide awake, the sounds of Panama City’s nightlife weaving through the humid air. He looks down at his cock as it tents his sweatpants, and he groans. He frees his throbbing length and slowly jerks himself off. Trying so hard to just reach climax but like every other time, something holds him back.

He’s covered in sweat and panting profusely by the time he finally gives up. His dick leaking and sore as he lets it flop against his bare abs. He can’t stop thinking about you, and it is making him distracted. In his line of work, it could get him killed. But he’s worried about you, worried that he’s hurt you and jeopardized any chances of something ever happening between you two. He just needs to know you’re ok, safe, happy.

He pulls out his phone and opens your contact, no photo, just your number and the contact's name: Princess🌙.

He sighs, locking his phone before tossing it on the nightstand. You told him not to contact you, so that’s what he’s doing.

He rolls out of bed and pads into the shitty hotel bathroom to turn on the faucet. He can’t even count on a cold shower here, so a lukewarm one will have to do. Eventually he manages to calm down enough to try and sleep. He flops back on the bed, and he crosses his arms over his head as he stares without looking at the impotent ceiling fan as it idly rotates above him. His head throbs and his chest aches as he tries and fails to get some sleep. It’s not the first time this has happened.

Every time he dreams about you, which is painfully often, he wakes up with a raging hard-on and a guilty conscience.

It’s been almost four weeks since he last saw you fleeing from his home. Fleeing from him. He can’t get you out of his head. He’s plagued by the grilling Nancy gave him after she got the photos back from Resnik, or Philip, as she knows him.

“What did you do to her, Dave?”

Nancy had cornered him on the Wednesday following your departure. He was still dazed from the concussion and fumbled through excuses.

“I didn’t do anything, Nancy. She was upset, I tried to make her stay. Have you talked to her?”

Nancy paused, shock on her face at the question. Clearly the answer was no.

“Did you touch her? Force yourself on her? Is that why she left?”

“Jesus Christ, Nancy, no! Of course not!”

“Then what was she yelling at you about huh?”

“She told me not to call her, to leave her alone, that she needed space!”

Dave hadn’t even tried to keep his temper in check. His head still burned from the concussion, his mood sour from the mission he had just been assigned. He just wanted to come home, have a beer and go to bed. Not this shit.

“And why does she need that, huh?” Nancy was up in his space again, just like that night when she struck him. Dave could feel the rage simmering under the surface as the smell of rosé invaded his senses.

“I don’t know, Nancy, maybe because she heard you hanging our prenup over my head? She is a lawyer; she knows how serious of a threat that is. But maybe, just maybe, it’s because you forgot her birthday, because you rushed off to spend time with Danielle on her birthday weekend. Maybe because every time you’ve addressed her since she’s been home it’s like you’ve been speaking to a child. She’s thirty years old, Nancy, she deserves some goddamned respect. Or could it be that she had to drag me, bleeding and unconscious, to the hospital after you hit me? Maybe she just needed to be away from this broken fucking home.”

It all came out in a surge of bitter hatred, so unlike him, so unlike the man he wants to be. But everyone has their breaking point.

“How dare you?” Nancy spits and Dave stands his ground as she tries to square up with him.

“She covered for you that day, she took me to the hospital and lied for you.”

That shuts Nancy up, her eyes wide as she takes a step back.

“Yeah, she made up a fake cat, said I fell down the stairs tripping over it.”

“She’s a good daughter, of course she’d defend me,” Nancy mumbles but Dave’s heard enough. He’s already walking away, heading down into the one room in his house that still feels like his own. Not another beige, soulless room. Nancy calls something after him as he goes but he’s just not paying any attention to her anymore.

He locks the bedroom door behind him, the cramped space is practically the only place he sleeps now, sleeping beside Nancy was out of the question. Hell, she might even try to smother him in his sleep if he did.

He opens his safe, checking the temperature controls are correct as he makes sure the candlestick is still there. Wrapped up in a sandwich bag and kept at the right temperature. The first thing he had done before stumbling into your arms was secure the evidence. Later he made a copy of the security camera footage, which sits in another safe in the garage. He wasn’t going to take any chances with this.

The moment Nancy comes for him – legally speaking – as he knows she will, he’ll be ready.

The buzz of his phone on the nightstand brings him back to the present as he rolls over and picks up his phone. He’s waiting on a lead for the hit he’s pulling down here, but what he’s greeted with makes his mouth curve up into a fond smile.

Princess🌙: Hey, sorry it’s late, or early? Not sure if you’re home? Mom’s having me over for dinner tomorrow, just wanted to let you know.

Dave groans, he needs to talk to you properly before you see your mom again. To his luck another text comes through, details of an address two streets over followed by a message from Ari.

A: Target is enroute to airport, will be at location in twenty minutes. We Green?

Dave texts back “Green” as he springs out of bed, throwing on his clothes as he snatches up his go bag. Before he leaves the room, he texts you back.

Duke🎷: I’ll be touching down in Houston in a few hours, can we talk then?

To his surprise you start to text back straight away, but he doesn’t look, stowing his phone as he storms out of his dingy hotel. He fastens the silencer to the end of his pistol and pulls on his lucky black beanie. He has a job to do.

~*~

You’re getting dressed for dinner when Dave’s call comes through. You’d agreed to talk beforehand and as much as you had been anticipating it, you feel nerves jostling around in your chest.

“Hey,” you say, your voice breathy and full of unwelcome unease as you try – and fail – to keep your cool.

“Thanks for reaching out, I appreciate it,” Dave says with a softness to his voice you’ve only ever heard a handful of times before. It’s calming and scintillating all at the same time. You want to feel his breath on your skin as he talks to you like this. You shake yourself mentally as you focus on the reason you agreed to talk.

“Thought we should be on the same page for tonight,” you say with a shrug, even if you know he can’t see you.

“So,” Dave takes a deep exhale on the other end of the line, and you hold your breath waiting for what comes next, “I told your mom that you left because you needed space.”

“I mean, that’s pretty much it.”

“Yeah,” Dave chuckles low over the line and you find yourself smiling despite yourself, “She asked if I touched you.”

“Fuck,” you wheeze down the phone as you look at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your makeup for the millionth time tonight, “You denied it, right?”

You almost laugh, finally seeing the angle your mom has been trying to play the whole time. She knows that if you so much as confess that Dave harmed you, prenup or not, he’ll be screwed if she files for divorce. You never thought she was looking out for you; you just assumed it was some weird jealousy thing. But now you see it clear as day.

“Of course, and the way she framed it, it didn’t come across like she was asking me to admit anything shy of me outright assaulting you.”

You actually laugh now. Humorless and bitter as you try not to think about your mother’s previous partners. About how they could flirt and eye-fuck you, how they would linger a little too long in their hugs and kisses. As long as Nancy never caught them doing it outright. As long as it was never obvious enough to bring out her jealous streak.

Where was this probing inquisition then?

“I’m not surprised, but I have your back Dave, always.”

“Hey?”

“What?”

“I didn’t do that, right? I didn’t force myself on you?”

You take a moment to reflect, searching your feelings before you speak.

“Never,” you say in a hushed whisper as you feel a tension easing in your chest, “I never felt that way with you Dave, not for a second.”

“Not even when I fucked you on stream? Threatened you with outing you to your mom?”

You pause at that, really considering the scenario in your head before answering.

“It wasn’t an ideal way to start things, but you were playing to the scene,” you sigh, “But no, you didn’t take advantage of me Dave. I knew what I was doing, and I keep private recordings of all my streams, for posterity and for when I need to plug content. If I wanted to fuck you over, I could have.”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“If you had made me do anything I didn’t want, you’d be fucked Dave. Fucked so hard.”

There’s a pause before Dave laughs aloud on the other end of the line and you can’t help but smile at his reaction. You’ve missed that sound. Missed him.

“You’re a fucking clever woman and I’m glad you’re looking after yourself.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. You want to take the praise, take the win, but there’s an unease to it all. You’ve only learned to protect yourself because you’d done it all on instinct. You know that no-one else will look out for you if things go wrong.

“It’s all I know,” you say as you take a deep breath, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes, “But I need to finish getting ready.”

“Of course, I won’t keep you.”

You almost hang up then and there, sever the connection before it has chance to take root once more. But there’s something you can’t continue to ignore.

“Thanks for giving me space, Dave. It meant the world to me.”

“No need to thank me.”

“Yeah, ok. See you soon?” you say, hesitation making you linger on the line, you don’t want to stop talking to him, not after so long with no contact.

“Yeah, see you soon.”

The call drops and you feel a hollowness to your bones. Like hearing Dave’s voice after so long had ripped open a half-healed wound. Your fingertips burn and your chest heaves as you set your phone down on the bed. You look at yourself in the mirror and try to hype yourself up a little.

You’re in a loose sweater and jeans, low heeled boots, nothing fancy. You just want to get through the night with as little drama as possible. Turning up in anything but something comfy would only set your mother off, you just know it.

“You ready to go?”

Ash asks as she leans against the doorframe, arms folded across her chest as she looks at you. You know she wants to say something, disapproval written all over her face.

“Yeah, let me just get my purse,” you respond, stowing your phone and slinging your bag over your shoulder. You check that you’ve got your key to the apartment and your wallet before nodding feebly to Ash.

~*~

Dave jumps up from the sofa as he hears the doorbell, his heart thundering in his chest as he hears Nancy open the door. He stops himself at the bottom of the basement stairs when he hears a masculine voice in place of your own.

“Hey there, Nance,” Dave bristles at the nickname, Nancy never lets him call her anything but her given name. Something about the stranger at his door immediately has him on edge. He heads back into his office to check the porch camera.

A mousey looking man, maybe ten years his senior stands at the front door, wringing his hands before stepping in to hug Nancy just out of frame. He immediately checks the rest of the security cameras are working as expected, tracking Nancy and the mystery man into the kitchen before making sure the feed is being recorded and backed up to the cloud.

“Oh Andy, you know I hate that nickname,” Nancy giggles and Dave almost scoffs at the playful flirtatious tone.

“And you know I hate Andy just as much. Kiddo here yet?”

“No, she’s due any minute. Dave, stop sulking and help us lay the table,” Nancy hollers down the hall.

Dave rolls his eyes and does as he’s told, even if he already feels like something is amiss. He doesn’t like surprises and he pulls out his phone. He tries to call you, but it goes straight to voicemail. He types out a quick text.

Duke 🎷: Some guy called Andy’s here. Just wanted you to know.

The doorbell rings a second time just as he hits send. His stomach drops when he hears Nancy ask Andy to answer the door. He’s taking the stairs two at a time in an attempt to cut him off, but he knows he’s too late as he hears the door open.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” Andy’s voice is softer when speaking to you, more familiar.

Then Dave hears it, a word that takes his breath away like he’s been winded.

“Dad?”

~*~

The whole ride to Dave’s house had been filled with tense silence, your stomach doing flips as you tried to mentally prepare yourself. But what you hadn’t anticipated was your father being the first person you see. He looks good, short hair a shade lighter, fewer greys and more white hairs streaking through.

“What are you doing here?”

Ash is still parked at the end of the drive, waiting for the signal for her to leave. You turn over your shoulder and you see her peering out of the window to assess the situation.

“Good to see you too, sweetheart,” he chuckles as he tries to pull you into a hug. You step back, throwing your hands up defensively as you shake your head.

“I think I made a mistake, I’m sorry.”

You’re already backing up, mouth dry and heart threatening to burst from your chest when you hear Dave say your name. Your eyes dart up to see him, standing at the top of the stairs to the basement, he’s deathly pale as he lingers there. His dark eyes are wide, filled with horror laced with compassion. A ghost in his own home.

“Shut the damned door, you’re letting the heat out,” your mom huffs as she comes to see what the fuss is all about.

“Oh honey, come on in, you’ll catch your death standing out there like that.”

She pushes your father out of the way, and you feel like your body isn’t your own as she ushers you inside. The hollowness inside you grows, a dark, dank maw threatening to tear you apart as you hear the door shut with a thud behind you.

“What can I get you to drink? Some wine?”

Your mother guides you to the kitchen, practically pushing you into the stool as she heads to the fridge. She pours you a glass of rosé and you take it without thinking. Your ears are filled with a droning buzz, saliva pools in your mouth as you feel panic rising in your throat. You want to scream, to get the fuck out of there. But all you can do is comply.

“Sorry, I need to hit the bathroom,” you mumble as you get up on shaky legs, your wine untouched as you practically run upstairs.

“Dave,” your mother’s voice grates on you as you hear him screech at him, “Where is that man?”

You know where he is, you’re looking at him, leaning back on the wall. Eyes locked with you as he shakes his phone at you. You nod slowly as you ascend the stairs, fishing out your phone as you hurry towards the room you once called your own.

You unlock your phone as you close the door behind you. Three unread messages from Dave.

Duke 🎷: Some guy called Andy’s here. Just wanted you to know.

Duke 🎷: I didn’t know, I’m sorry.

Duke 🎷: Are you ok?

You bring up his contact and hit call. You don’t care about anything else right now, you just need to vent, and texting just won’t cut it. You lock the door and sit down at your desk, logging in by sheer habit as you wait for Dave to pick up. You hear him shout something about a work call to your mom and you allow yourself to smirk. You know she’ll hate that he’s taken a work call in the middle of her all-important dinner.

“This is risky,” you hear Dave growl down the line, but you don’t care about the risk, not right now.

“What the fuck is going on, Dave?”

You hiss down the line as you pull up your browser out of instinct and the homepage is all wrong. You should have saved folders on the bookmarks bar, links to your online banking, your social media links. But it’s all gone.

“I told you I didn’t know,” Dave grunts as you hear him flop down with a sigh, presumably at his desk.

You’re only half-listening to him now, your fingers typing furiously as you bring up an app on your computer. You��d installed it back when you started cam work, a tamper-proof software that tracked logins, provided antivirus protection amongst other things.

“I can drive you home if this is too-,”

“That fucking bitch,” you snap, not listening to Dave anymore as you read through the logs. Over the last four weeks your computer has had over twelve incidents of failed login attempts. Next to every failed attempt there’s an attached image. Every time it’s a picture of your mom, brow pinched, thin lips set in a hard line.

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s been trying to access my computer, Dave.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call, too long for it to mean nothing but you’re already taking screenshots and attaching them to emails. You’re documenting everything you can, yet another learned behavior kicking in, protecting yourself from her.

“She’s been snooping in your room a lot lately,” he says, guilt evident in his tone.

“You knew? How?”

“I have motion sensors and security cameras all over the house, my job makes it necessary.”

“You’ve been spying on me?”

“What? No,” it’s Dave’s turn to get defensive, “I only have them on main access points, the kitchen, hallways, the kind of stuff to make sure no-one is intruding without being… Intrusive.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was doing this?” You snap, shutting down your computer before turning to look around your room. If she’s been on your computer she must have been snooping around the rest of your space.

“You asked me to not contact you,” Dave reminds you with a sigh, but you’ve already moved on, you’re not really mad at him.

“She’s been through my prop box,” you groan as you pull out the plastic container from under the bed, two of your masks are missing, along with your favorite vibrator.

“How’d you know?”

“My vibe is missing, two masks too.”

Dave hisses down the phone in anger as you hear your mom hollering downstairs and you know you’re on borrowed time already.

“Your mom is calling me.”

“Go, I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Hey,” Dave’s tone softens and makes your heart ache, “I’ve got your back tonight, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” you want to say more, but you stop yourself. You don’t need to make tonight any more awkward than it already is. But it’s there, the treacherous thought, the ghost of a word you can’t dare think, let alone say aloud.

The call ends and you gain your composure with a cough and a roll of your shoulders. Your emotions are threatening to spill over, hemorrhaging from the gaping hole in your chest. Anger, betrayal, sorrow, love, loss, despair. They strain like water assaulting a sluicegate after a flood.

But it’s time to face the music, so you stand up, smooth down your sweater, and prepare yourself for whatever hell awaits you downstairs.

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