#as always feel free to ask anything in my inbox!

[writingquestionsanswered]

I've got all the writing structure/craft books, watched tons of advice videos and have been checking out novels to learn by example. But just because I can write doesn't mean I can write a book. This is hard. At what point should any writer consider taking writing courses or hiring a book coach?

When to Consider a Course or Book Coach

Reading books, reading craft books, and watching advice videos isn't enough to teach you how to write a book. You also have to practice...

Imagine if you'd never sewn anything before, had never pieced together and hand sewn or machine sewn anything in your life. You could spend years reading books about sewing and garment construction and could watch hours upon hours of sewing videos on the internet, but that doesn't mean the first time you sit down to actually sew a garment, you're going to end up with a garment worthy of a ritzy department store...

Writing books IS hard, even if you've written a lot of them. I've written a dozen books (though they're not all published), and I still don't find writing a book to be a piece of cake. Part of that is just because different books present different challenges--and where you are in life can also play a big role--but the point is, no amount of learning or practice is going to make it easy.

There's an unfortunate myth among aspiring authors that being an author looks like this: spending some time learning to write, writing your book, and voila! You have a book to publish! The truth is very few authors publish the first book they ever wrote, and if they did, they probably have mountains of short stories and/or fan-fiction or other writing behind them. Most writers write two or three books before their skills are honed enough to write a publishable book. Which doesn't mean you can't write a publishable book on your first try, it just doesn't happen a lot.

So... writing courses... there's not a lot you're going to learn in a writing course that you haven't probably learned from reading, reading a lot of craft books, and watching a lot of advice videos. Certainly, anything you would learn in a writing course you can learn online for free. The main benefit of a writing course is the interaction with others, but even that is really dependent upon the teacher and your classmates. You really have to go into it with a thick skin, knowing that the opinions of your teacher and classmates are not the end all be all.

Writing coaches can be great but they're expensive, and you get more out of the experience if you go into it with a complete or near complete WIP that you want to query or publish, but can't quite get where you want it to be.

So, having said all of that, before pursuing either a writing course or coach, I would recommend trying to finish one or two WIPs to at least first draft stage, but preferably second draft stage, and see how you feel. They don't have to be good. In fact, if you haven't completed a WIP before, they're not going to be your best work (because that comes much later), but remember that part of the writing process is taking the "rough draft" and improving it, and revision is where you really start learning things.

Ultimately, though, follow your gut and follow the path that feels right to you. ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

#wqaadvice

[random-chaotic-bitch]

Siren's Song - Chapter 4

Three months of peace had passed since the team had recovered the Golden Weapons. Alisha could be found training in the courtyard, running the training course as quickly as possible. Nya kept time, watching the siren gracefully slide through the course. Wu stepped outside, looking for the ninjas. Alisha took no notice, but Nya shook her head, pointing to another room inside the monastery. Wu shook his head in disappointment, closing the door as he left to chew out the ninja. 

Nya turned her attention back to Alisha, who was wrapping up the course. "Whew! What's my time?"

The dark-haired girl grinned, checking the stopwatch. "Uh, forty-five seconds! Maintaining the same average as the last few rounds. Stamina seems to be holding out, and you've barely broken a sweat."

Alisha smirked. "Sounds great. I'm gonna go clean up, 'cause I was thinking about running into town and rescuing the rest of my stuff from my apartment. Need anything?"

Nya nodded. "Actually, yeah. I think we need to get more laundry supplies, and I have some stuff to get for myself as well."

The girls made their way inside. Alisha quickly changed from her blue sports jacket and matching leggings to a pair of ripped black jeans and a coral zip-up sweatshirt with a loose tie-dyed tank top underneath. The tank top read "This never happened" in black letters, a contrast to the blue-green dye job over the white fabric. She pulled her hair from its braid, keeping it in a simple loose ponytail. The siren grabbed a pair of soft-soled white sneakers, doing an awkward hop-walk as she pulled them on her feet. She made her way to the game room, where the boys sat playing video games. She made it in time to hear Cole say, "Well, I was gonna eat this pizza tomorrow, so if that's the case..."

Wu swiftly kicked the pizza slice out of Cole's hand. "Ow!"

The older man quickly snapped at the ninja. "No pizza for you! In order to reach your full potential, you must train."

Kai leaned back on his forearms, video game console on his lap. "Uh, remember when we did a little thing called the Tornado of Creation? I thought that was pretty insane."

Alisha stifled a giggle, continuing to sneak up behind the ninjas. Wu sighed. "Oh. You four have merely scratched the surface of your full potential. There are still so many secrets you have yet to unlock. You haven't even begun to tap into what powers your golden weapons hold."

Cole laughed. "You wanna talk secret powers? Check this out," he replied, using the Scythe of Quakes to plug in the TV, starting up the video game. Alisha readied herself to jump at them as Zane tried to comfort Wu. "Don't worry, Master. We will be ready when Lord Garmadon returns."

The siren crept up behind the boys, yelling, "BLEAH!"

The reactions of the ninjas made Alisha break down in giggles. Cole jumped, Kai shrieked, Jay fell over, and Zane yelled. Wu, upon seeing the chaos, had to stifle a laugh despite knowing the disappointing state the team was in. 

The boys turned around to see Alisha sitting on the floor in a fit of giggles. "You- your faces," she managed to gasp out. "You look- ridiculous!"

Nya burst in, out of breath. "Guys, Lord Garmadon, he's returned! He was spotted approaching Jamanakai Village!"

Alisha leaped to her feet, laughter being replaced with shock. "Shit! Come on, let's go!"

She sprinted outside, opting to jump up and over the wall of the courtyard rather than go through the gates. As she free-fell down to the dragon stables, she used her Siren abilities to make her clothes shift from normal to her combat suit. Landing lightly on her toes she rose to her feet between doors to the separate stable stalls. As the doors opened, Alisha climbed onto Shard's back with ease and grace, compared to Zane, who struggled. She settled behind Zane's seat, laughing as they finally leaped into flight. 

Alisha watched the conversation between the ninjas with a small smile. Her eyes widened when Jay asked, "Race you there?"

The rest of the team spurred their dragons faster. Alisha yelped at the change in pace but after a moment, recovered and whooped as Zane prompted Shard to move faster. "Come on, Zane! We'll beat them there!"

As they landed, Alisha hopped off first with a laugh, watching the others bicker over who arrived first. "Ladies, ladies, you're all equally pretty. Mission now, bickering later," she reminded them, grinning beneath her mask. Kai turned towards where the shadow of their enemy reflected off a wall. Evil laughter echoed around them. "Stay sharp, team. Whatever happens, never let your guard down."

The laughing shadow rounded the wall to reveal... a little kid in a black hoodie. Alisha rolled her eyes. "Oh, great," she commented. The kid laughed. "It is I, Lloyd Garmadon! I demand all the candy in town, or else!"

Jay's defensive position went slack as he stood normally. "Lloyd Garmadon? I thought we were gonna face Lord Garmadon."

Cole groaned, turning to Kai to explain. "It's his son."

Jay groaned. "Ugh."

Cole continued, addressing everyone. "Looks like he escaped his boarding school for bad boys again. And to think we could've been doing Spinjitzu already."

Alisha groaned. "Again? The last time was bad enough, with that two-week-long mission-turned-manhunt. This kid is gonna be the death of me."

Lloyd, getting no response, tried to make more threats. "Uh... gimmie your candy, or I'll release the Serpentine on you!"

The villagers of Jamanakai Village started booing. Lloyd pulled out a prank can of rubber snakes, unleashing them into the crowd. Alisha snickered as the villagers started throwing vegetables at the child. "No way! I asked for candy, not vegetables! I hate vegetables!"

Kai picked up one of the rubber snakes, slingshotting it out of the way as he spoke. "He's gonna have to do a lot better than use an old bedtime story to scare people."

Zane shook his head. "The Serpentine are real, Kai. They're not something to joke about."

Kai scoffed. "Serpentine? Real? We're talking about the ancient race of snake people who once ruled Ninjago and were supposedly locked underground."

Jay chuckled nervously. "Sealed in five different tombs to separate the warring tribes and ensure they don't unify to exact their revenge upon those who put them there."

Kai threw his hands in the air. "It was an old wive's tale to teach kids not to poke their noses where they don't belong. Don't you think it's a little suspicious no one's ever found one of their tombs?"

Cole sighed, approaching the kid standing on the fountain ledge. "Well, that's because you'd be a fool to look for one. If there was anything I hated more than dragons, it was snakes. Rubber or not."

The rest of the team joined Cole in getting the kid out of the main space. Jay got waffled in the head with the snake can, earning a stifled laugh from Alisha. "Eh, at least it isn't spider people. That would be bad," she commented. Cole waved off the people, saying, "Don't worry, folks. We'll take care of this. Nothing to see here."

The kid, fighting to get out of the team's grasp, started spewing nonsense. "Bow down to me or suffer my wrath! I'll give you to the count of three! One! Two!"

Kai butted in as they carried the gremlin child around the corner. "What are we supposed to do? Spank him?"

Alisha swatted his shoulder, scolding him. "Kai!"

The little kid got nervous. "Two and a half!"

A few minutes later, Lloyd was hanging off a sign by the back of his shirt, with food and mud all over him. Alisha snickered as the kid yelled, "You just made me your nemesis! Mark my words, you'll pay for this!"

Zane walked over to the candy stand nearby, purchasing candy for the rest of the team. The others each got some candy of their own from Zane, and Alisha ended up with a few lollipops. "Next time, try paying for your candy," Cole commented. Alisha shook her head with a grin, looking up at Lloyd. "Crime doesn't pay, niño. Trust me. It's not worth it."

Jay made a show of eating his cotton candy, taunting the ten-year-old. "Mmm... cotton candy."

The kid lost it at that, causing Kai to start laughing as the team walked away. As they walked back to the dragons, Cole wrapped an arm around Alisha's shoulders. "See? Nowhere near as bad as last time!"

The siren scoffed, face souring at the memory. "Yeah. Do you recall how we got that little gremlin to stop stealing our shit? Because I certainly do. Trust me, lullabies barely worked on that little demon child."

The team started to mount the dragons, Cole giving Alisha a boost onto Rocky. A scroll fell out of Kai's saddlebag. "Huh? I don't remember putting this here."

Zane examined the bag. "That Sensei's bag. You must've accidentally taken it in the rush."

Jay peeked over Kai's shoulder. "What is it?"

Kai turned to him in annoyance. "It's a scroll, windbag," he deadpanned. Alisha cracked a grin as Jay turned back with a matching look. "I know it's a scroll, but what does it say? It's written in chicken scratch."

Zane shook his head. "Not chicken scratch. The ancient language of our ancestors."

Alisha's eyes widened. Oh shit, she realized. Only Sensei's important and very secret scrolls are in the Old Tongue, like the-

"Uh, can you read it?" "Well, I can try. This symbol means 'prophecy'."

Ohhh no.

"Prophecy?" "It means it tells the future." "Of course. Ha-ha. I knew that."

Oh fuck no, I swear if this is what I think it is-

"'One ninja will rise above the others and become the Green Ninja, the ninja destined to defeat the Dark Lord,'."

Shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck shit!

"Oh, look, a picture!" "Dark Lord? Hold on... you think they mean Lord Garmadon?"

Oh gods, please, no!

"Wait a minute! Is that us? Is anyone else thinking what I'm thinking?"

Shit! Oh, we're so screwed. Screwed.

The bickering of the others faded into the background as Alisha continued to panic. Oh gods, Sensei's plan is going to fall apart! The whole point of the team was that it wouldn't be any of them! I have to tell Sensei before the plan crumbles-

"Everyone, stop it! Remember why Sensei brought us together in the first place. We're a team. We weren't meant to see this, and probably for good reason. Come on, let's head back home. We have training to do," Cole's voice broke into the siren's thoughts, dispelling the panic. She registered a black blur in front of her. "Hey, you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost," Cole commented, meeting Alisha's panic-stricken eyes. She let out a shaky breath. "Yeah, just got caught up in my head," she replied, readying herself for the ride home. "Don't fly rough this time, I don't want to get sick like I almost did the last time I rode with you."

Cole laughed in front of Alisha. "That was one time! You can't let that go?"

The blonde scoffed. "Never," she replied with a playful jab to Cole's side. 

About minutes later, the team returned to the Monastery of Spinjitzu with lively chatter between the boys. Alisha flicked her wrists, alighting her hands with the purple-pink glow of her siren powers. She quickly crossed them over her front and dropped them quickly. As she did so, her combat suit shifted back to her regular clothes, relaxing in her more comfortable day clothes. 

As the team entered the monastery's courtyard, Alisha noticed Nya running the training course. She noticed the team and lost focus, getting knocked off of the course. Jay went and shyly offered her a hand. "Hey, Nya. Closer to beating your brother's speed record?"

The black-haired girl nodded with a grin, running a hand through her bangs and de-sticking them from her forehead. "I'm getting there. Heard what happened in town. Just a false alarm?"

Kai nodded. "Yeah. Uh, but we're gonna need the space. Sorry, sis."

As the boys set up the space, Alisha rolled her eyes. "Men. Always thinking with their fists."

Cole started laying down some rules. "Two matches. Then the winners of each face off for the title. The armor is for our own protection. It's time to see what these babies can do."

Kai turned back to the girls. "Hey, Nya. Wanna stay and watch me mop the floor with them?"

Nya shook her head. "No, thanks. Alisha and I have to get some stuff from Jamanakai Village. Knock yourselves out."

The girls turned and left, walking down past the dragon stables to the hidden driveway. Alisha guided the younger girl to her motorbike, passing Nya a spare helmet. "You might have to adjust it a little, Cole was the last one to use it."

Nya laughed, clipping on the helmet. The two girls soon arrived at Jamanakai Village and split up to run their separate errands. "You pick up what you need, and I'll get the groceries we need."

About an hour later, the girls had what they came for. As they packed up Alisha's bike, villagers started screaming and running. Nya sighed. "What now?"

Alisha took a look, seeing Lloyd Garmadon with a cart of candy. "Ugh. Mini Garmadon. Again. I'll handle him, you finish loading up the bike."

The siren stepped out into the street just in time to see a horde of snake figures marching in formation behind the kid. She just as quickly darted back behind the building next to Nya. "I would like to retract my previous statement," she stated with wide eyes. 

They stayed hidden in the alleyway, watching the Serpentine mind-control the innocent villagers. Eventually, the rest of the team showed up and attempted to deal with the wayward child. But, when they realized they were outnumbered, they turned and ran. Alisha caught them with the Force, pulling them back into the alley with herself and Nya. "Guys!"

Jay laughed. "Ha! You guys are okay!"

Nya sighed. "Barely. They've hypnotized everyone in town."

"Mind control? How is this possible?"

The black-haired girl held up a hand. "When you hear them rattle their tails, don't look them in the eyes. That's how they get you."

Jay groaned. "Well, what are we supposed to do? We can't use our weapons, and now we gotta fight with our eyes closed? Ha, perfect."

Alisha nudged Nya in the side, pointing to the only snake with a real tail. "The snake with the staff is the General. He's the one in charge. If we can get the staff from him, it holds the anti-venom. If we get that, we can save everyone," Nya explained. Kai butted in, pointing out, "Look, guys. Forget about the whole Green Ninja thing. Let's make Sensei proud. The four of us. We're a team."

Cole laughed. "Now you're talking!"

Jay turned to Nya. "Oh, and Nya, you can be our honorary member."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks," she commented sarcastically. Alisha knocked Jay in the back of the head as she strode past him. "Ow!"

The siren peeked out around the corner. "It's a good thing I don't have to ruin these clothes," she commented nonchalantly. "I like this outfit a lot."

She opened her mind to the Force, feeling the familiar hum of her siren powers. A purple-pink glow engulfed her, and when it faded, she was now wearing her combat suit, cape and all. Strapped to her back was her spear, tucked safely in a small slit along the cape seams. A familiar call came from the Force, a plea from an old weapon to be brought back once more. She frowned, tuning out the call. 

Alisha grabbed her spear, spinning it in her hands for a moment. "Let's see how those snakes like a taste of their own medicine."

She stepped into the street, hitting her spear against the ground to catch the Serpentine's attention. "Hey, snakes!"

Her eyes widened as a bunch of snakes turned to attack her. "Please work," she muttered as she sheathed her spear. Crossing her wrists in front of her torso, she grinned as her hands lit aglow with purple-pink tendrils of siren magic. 

The tendrils poured from her hands, eyes, and heart down into the streets, creeping along the ground until they caught the leg or tail of a Serpentine warrior. Once she had a sufficient catch, Alisha started softly singing a dark, simple melody. 

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree?

Where they strung up a man

They say who murdered three.

Strange things did happen here,

No stranger would it be

If we met at midnight

In the Hanging Tree

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree?

Where the dead man called out

For his love to flee

Strange things did happen here,

No stranger would it be

If we met at midnight

In that Hanging Tree.

Alisha opened her eyes to see a crowd of Serpentine, eyes glowing the same purple-pink as her siren magic. They were under her control, completely unable to do anything other than what she willed them to. A dark smile crept across her face. "Sleep."

The Serpentine dropped to the ground unconscious, some snoring as they went down. Alisha released her hold on the snake beings before the whispers invaded her mind. She brought a hand to her head, holding back a gasp of pain from the sudden headache. "There's that karma," she groaned. 

She noticed Zane confronting Lloyd. "Sensei was right. Never put off until tomorrow what can be done today. We should've dealt with you the first time around."

Lloyd shrieked. "Retreat!"

As the snakes turned to escape, Cole tackled the general, stealing his staff. But another snake tried to hypnotize him. Alisha tried to run to him but fell to her knees, still weakened from controlling so many beings at once. Nya saw everything and kicked the snake in the head. "Cole! You have the anti-venom!"

Cole shouted something back, but Alisha missed it when her ears started ringing. The siren's head drooped, forehead brushing against the ground. A red-clad figure entered her vision, but she couldn't tell if they were Kai or Nya. The figure picked her up, yelling something the siren couldn't quite understand. Through blurry vision, she saw the figure look her in the eyes. "Hang on, Alisha," they pleaded in a muffled voice. "Don't pass out."

Alisha started feeling lightheaded and floaty as her vision cut to black. The last thing she heard before passing out was her ringing ears.

#random chaotic bitch #ninjago #siren's song random chaotic bitch #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago star wars crossover #alisha kade #we're officially starting rise of the snakes! #i lowkey feel bad for all the times I've gotten alisha hurt #it only gets worse from here lmao #as always feel free to ask anything in my inbox! #yes the idea for alisha's non-battle outfit may have been inspired by that fit check picture from the other day #if yall don't know what i'm talking about go back and find that picture #its somewhere on my profile lmao

[time-slink]

of you're still doing requests, may we have an etho? the way you draw him is so very based and skrunkly

him n his. sugar.. roommate?

#poor iskall #slinky’s sketches #art asks #ethoslab #iskall85 #there’s like 5 asks in my inbox rn asking for etho so there WILL be another more detailed etho soon >:) #also no need to say things like ‘if you don’t mind’ ‘if your requests are still open’ etc etc they’re always open and i never mind! #i am not forced to draw anything i don’t want to and i enjoy people talking at me #i also sometimes have trouble finding ideas to draw sometimes so having a repository of requests really he #lps me sometimes (line break not intended but i ain’t retyping that) #on that topic- if anyone wants to see any specific pride related art for this month feel free to ask that too :D

[nirvaneurysm]

How did you do the text effect in your description?

which one ? like this ? :

・ drew starkey + dancing .

i just used one of the symbols from the macbook "emojis and symbols" area and then bold , italics and i double space out of habit. if you need any more help or anything like that you can dm me and i'll get back to you ! i'm sorry this is probably so late ! thanks for the question ! i hope this was at least a little bit of help.

#inbox #anonymous #i really hope this was helpful ! #if you don't wanna dm my inbox is always open ! #feel free to ask me anything at all!!

[justmeinadaze]

To the anonymous person that sent that ask, I'm going to answer you here without putting it on my page just because one it is a little long and my answer to it may be just as and two because I felt like some of what you put in there...may be triggering to some and you'll understand why when I answer it here.

The person asked me if its uncomfortable for someone in their thirties to write about young characters for people who are younger than me. They also asked about writing through a younger characters eyes, the process, and if it makes me miss being a teen or in my early twenties. They also mentioned how there are concepts as we get older that we understand more that we can't quiet comprehend when we are younger (certain emotions, etc.)

Short answer does it make me uncomfortable? No. For awhile writing in general made me uncomfortable because I was made to believe by my abuser from an early age that my voice didn't matter. I'm still learning how to express myself and writing the fics I write have actually helped a lot with that.

When I write I like to build...that's usually why I have multiple chapters for character growth because like with Unattainable (which is actually pretty close to a lot of my own experiences) the reader didn't understand what she was going through. This was just meant to be her life but as she grew internally and with Eddie she was able to become who she needed and wanted to be.

Some history about me (I have mentioned before but I know I have a lot of new faces <3) I have PTSD mostly from my abuse from biological mother growing up and the sudden passing of my father in my early twenties. Because of my abuse...I grew up quickly. My therapist once asked me when I truly felt like I became an adult and my answer was 8. I've always felt more grown up than I had to be and I learned about complex concepts like grief, love, sex all of that WAY before I should have.

Did I understand them? To a point... I would say as someone in their thirties... I understand more now...WHY I experienced those those things and how it molded me as a person in my thirties. Does that make sense? Does it make me miss those times? No. More than anything it makes me think of...what I could have had. I think the biggest love letter to a life I wish I had is In The Eye of the Beholder. I wish I had grown up with an Eddie to spend time with and marry. As an adult I'd give anything to have Good Neighbors.

I genuinely believe that the people that read my stories resonate with a lot of the themes and more than anything I just want people to know that it's okay to feel what you're feeling. It ok if you don't have all the pieces. Its ok to be confused about some things. It's ok to not be ok. You aren't alone.

I really hope I answered your questions clearly lol Again, I struggle with voicing and organizing my thoughts. I've gotten better but lol and I know you stated that your question wasn't meant to offend. I assure you I didn't take them that way :)

#anon ask #my inbox is always open #feel free to talk to me #or ask me anything #you matter

[shotani]

Man, I haven't read the third beartown book yet cause I know it'll rip out my heart and I need to be prepared for that but just reading those posts is making me feel some sort of way.

Every single Frederik Backman book is so good, and the way he humanizes his characters, his prose, just seem designed to people feel and cry. A man called ove is my personal favourite.

im so excited for you to read the winners! it made me cry to the point where i had to put the book down because i couldnt see through my tears anymore LOL

i hope you love love love it. beartown is truly the only series i can think of where every book was a 5/5, i was just as invested at the end of the last book as i was at the start of the first book.

backman has such a beautiful way of writing people because they feel so utterly human. i appreciate that across all his writing there isn’t a single ‘flawless’ character. you see characters at their strongest and at their weakest, you see them for the way they are and the way they want to be, you see them at their lowest. you see every single characters dreams and regrets and most intimate moments and it makes them feel so much more realistic and there’s something so raw about it.

please please please feel free to talk to me and to keep me updated whenever you read the third book! i love beartown so much and no one ik irl has read any of them lol i dont think i’ll ever get over this series

#definitely my favorite author #also i’m sorry i didn’t add spoiler warnings! i hope i didn’t spoil anything for u! #but yes pls feel free to keep coming back to me! i love backman and i’ll never turn down a chance to talk about him or beartown! #this series was all i thought about for a year before i finally read it #now it’s all i’ve thought about in the two weeks since i finished it #i waited for the third book to come out to read them for the first time so i could read them all back to back #and lemme tell you lol ya girl felt like she lived in beartown by the end #also a man called ove had my heart Shattering it was so good oh my god #i loved seeing how oves personality shaped over the years and when he put the kids drawings on his fridge? bro i was done for #the winners crushed me inside but it’s been two weeks and i haven’t stopped thinking about it #im so serious when i say beartown ruined other books for me because i don’t see how anything could come close #a piece of my heart stayed in beartown and i hope you love the last book! #also tytyty for this ask! #i was so genuinely excited to a) see an ask and b)get the chance to talk about beartown and backman and his writing #i’ll never get sick of talking about backman/beartown/books in general #my inbox and messages are always open!

[rayllumoon]

m a s t e r l i s t

four part series of playlists for rayla and callum. each can be listened to on its own, but all connect in a thematic way... mostly centered around the events of ttm and rayla leaving callum.

01. | 02. | 03. | 04.

listen ☾ | notes [✧]

『other links』

playlists (under construction)

edits

questions or requests? -> [ask]

*i can put playlists on youtube as well if requested

#rayllum #tdp rayllum #rayla x callum #callum x rayla #tdp #through the moon #tdp ttm #tdp s4 speculation #tdp edit #my edit #my edits #rayllum playlist #my playlist #playlist masterlist #masterlist #i put a lot of work into this so hopefully you like it!! #feel free to tell me what you think #inbox is always open if you wanna talk #or ask anything #or request something #will be updated #curse tumblr for not letting me have more links #dear love playlist #dear love masterlist #dear love

[starrywangxian]

As a new fan... That hasn't interacted with the Fandom™️...

I'm curious: what are the main points considered discourse? Like... Just to know and to avoid that kind of post to have the most peaceful experience. It's OK if you prefer not to explain, tho. Just curious.

first of all, welcome to the Fandom™️!! despite all what i'm going to say next, this fandom is largely nice with brilliant fan creators... now into the nitty critty...

i won't lie, i don't interact with the discourse a lot (because i just block people or ignore it lol) so i don't see most of it and instead hear of it, if that makes sense??

as most fandoms go a lot of the discourse is very petty and silly but some of the points are quite interesting...

so you have some people creating discourse over the top/bottom dynamics (which can easily solved by just minding your own business).

there's a lot of discouse around jiang cheng and his relationship with wei wuxian, some people claiming that jiang cheng acts homophobic towards wei wuxian ??? for some reason ???

you also have discourse about lan wangji's speaking behaviours in fanfiction because some authors make him speak like a cave man or a two-year old (which is very far from how he canonically speaks)

one of my favourites is people hating wei wuxian for the things he did as yiling laozu which has never made sense to me because it's in the literal title of the book and why are you hating the main character??? if you hate him that much just read a different book??? because he's pretty unavoidable...

you also have discourse about feminising wei wuxian and/or lan wangji (but it's usally wei wuxian) because apparently that means you're applying hetereonormative relationship dymanics on a mlm couple ??? as if fem gay men don't exist ???

that's all the major ones i can think of but ultimately, most of the discourse can come down to fanon getting in the way of canon and mistranslations or western/non-chinese fans misunderstanding (or not knowing) the cultural context

as an fyi i'm not chinese and i would 100% advise other non-chinese fans to listen to chinese fans and research the cultural points in the book. for 1) so you can understand and not create discourse but also becasue 2) it's really interesting!

anyway, thank you for the ask and i hoped that answered your question!! i hope you enjoy your time in the Fandom™️ <33

#i only really talked about the book here but it applies to all adaptations ig #i wrote this from the top of my head so if there's anything missing feel free to add! #but as i said i tend to ignore discourse so i'm not always aware of what happens #mdzs #mdzs fandom #mxtx mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #cql #fandom #fandom discourse #fandom things #asks #answered #anon #inbox #i loved the Fandom™️sm #i hope that isn't annoying #i may have overused it lmao #starrywangxian #Fandom ™️

[wwwkissu]

Winx as a series is awful with continuity, like from seasons 1-5 the continuity I think is pretty solid, is starts out with the girls starting at alfea, the magical fairy school and we watch them grow as people and as fairies. We see them reach milestones such as becoming Graduating, becoming Guardian Fairies, opening up their own business on earth, etc. Bloom especially gets a lot of development with her relationship with Sky that goes nowhere. Like Sky proposes to her like 3 seperate times and it goes nowhere.

Because by Season 6, the writers of Winx wanted to deage the girls and bring them back to high school age, so from owning a small business and graduating the girls are suddenly attending school again.

Sorry for the rant

-Winx anon

hi winx anon!!! 🥺 i love youu so much thank you so much for your patience; i wanted to grasp some more knowledge before actually answering you so i decided to watch through most of season one 😭💗!!!!!! and some sparse viewings of the other seasons just so i may get a rudimentary idea. from what i've seen and read- it's soo unfortunate that this is the case omg :(

i like season 1 a lot and i appreciate how quickly it found its footing if that makes sense!! like by episode 5 the animation and voices were doted upon in a timely manner- side note, i adore the art style/vas evocative of season 1 because its its most 2000s and dulcet by then i feel. flora is such a sweet girl and i adore her nature powers :(((( she's my fave for sure, yet i like all the girls and how deeply they care for one another 🫂 bloom giving up the ring to save stella's life and rid them of a pointless battle, that was gratifyingly sweet

most shows like winx will fall victim to continuity issues one way or another, but it's pretty sad to see poor writing decisions affect so many of the characters like that. not even with just the specialists. i don't know what's up with the current remake (like are they still continuing it or? 😭) but if they're going to retell it in live action, i wish they'd done a better job, the source material is very glimmery, adorable, and euphoric, it definitely has more to be expanded upon :( sad to see the random writing pitfalls befall the girls

#THANK UU WINX ANON I AM SOO SORRY 😭💗💗💗💗 #by the way please do not ever feel sorry for talking to me in my inbox :( i swear #i always want to hear more and talk to u so please feel free to talk about whatever youd like okay? #i actually liked the early show a lot- the transformation scenes were really nice too #i just love the feel of the show!! the ambience everything #again i didnt grow up on it so its nice to see *-* #thank u for everything im sorry for taking a while to answer :( i love you #again #always feel free to talk to me about ANYTHING i love u sm #u deserve the world #ask #BTW when those girls said to the specialists #'what are you specializing in? botchery?' and giggled and ran away #I LOSTNIT 😭

[sseastar]

hello ! are your requests open ? i would love to make a request but i don’t want to overwhelm you or ask for one if you aren’t taking them :)

hi! i don’t normally do requests but i would love to hear your ideas!! if i happen to be inspired by your idea, i might write a small blurb if i’m feeling it! thank you for asking as well, you’re so sweet anon!

#this goes for anyone too! like if you just have some trope idea for any of the groups i write for #just feel free to drop it in my inbox bc i’m always curious what people are interested in reading #i won’t guarantee i’ll end up writing anything for it but i love getting inspo and new ideas! #t: message in a bottle #a: low tide #asks

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iv

to @mrsmando - without whom this insane story would never have happened in the first place. i love you i love you i love you thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me - it has been a blast. i hope you like where we turn out! love you guys always n forever x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're a mom. it's time to get your shit together.

warnings: bon jovi mention straight out the gate, labor/delivery [i have never given birth. those of you who have are nothing short of remarkable. please forgive if some of this is a little inaccurate or vague], use of pain medication during birth, description of pain and post-birth recovery, super emotional reader, unprotected piv, oral, alcohol consumption. DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 12k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s September twenty-third.

Well, by now, it’s probably the twenty-fourth. You’ve been a little distracted, rolling between the sheets with your next-door neighbor for the last couple hours.

The wedding’s still going strong downstairs. The same Bon Jovi song has played three times over. Tommy has called Joel to ask where he is so much that Joel’s phone is now switched off and shoved to the bottom of his bag.

You’re slouched on the toilet in a sliver of moonlight. A fistful of tissue, panties loose around your ankles. Rolling your forehead side to side along the cool tile, heartbeat hammering between your temples.

Joel Miller – Joel fucking Miller – is in your bed. Naked, sweating, cock probably still half-hard.

This morning, the very idea of the man was an eyeroll. Stood in your mirror, promising yourself that this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over with.

This time in a month, it’ll be a foggy memory.

This time in a year, it –

His voice is muffled through the bathroom door. “Did you fall in, or somethin’?”

You snort. The milky moon blurs across your vision when you pull yourself upright. You swipe between your legs and stand, flushing the toilet.

“I needed a fucking breather,” you tease, tiptoeing back across the room.

Joel’s stretched out; a worked arm draped along the headboard. Sun-kissed to the middle of his bicep, paler across his shoulder. One leg bare on the mattress, the other under the sheets. They only just cover his modesty – dark hair trailing beneath light silk just in time.

He’s so big. It’s like you never really noticed until now. He takes up half the bed, laying like this. And sure, you’re halfway to fucked, but – has he always been so handsome?

You flop down beside him with a sigh, curling up in the burrow of sheets at his side. Your eyes trail up his body – the sheen of sweat up his side, the dark, damp hair under his arm. All the parts of him you’ve never seen before, will never see again.

You gulp. Quit fucking staring.

He doesn’t notice, anyway. He’s rubbing circles into his temples, grumbling. “How many goddamn times are they gonna play It’s My Life?”

“…for Tommy and Gina…” you nudge him, “…who never backed down…”

Joel chuckles, pulling his hand down his beard. “Twenty bucks says he’s changing that to Maria.”

“Oh, for sure. I ain’t going back down to listen to it, though.”

He hums in agreement, reaching over for his beer. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks.

“You owe me, by the way. This is my room, remember? My fucking minibar.”

He pauses, the bottle against his bottom lip. His eyes linger south of your chin before he answers, “I’m paying for the damn room.”

“Then I want a drink from yours. Make it even.”

He clicks his teeth and drinks again. “It’s one beer. Call it an early birthday gift.”

You frown. “When the hell’s your birthday?”

“Tuesday.”

“Bullshit.”

“Serious. The twenty-sixth.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows; chest bare and on display. And it’s a strange feeling, how little you care. Twelve hours ago, you didn’t know how close to sit next to him at the ceremony. How many times you could accidentally bump knees or brush elbows and it not be weird.

But in the last two hours, he’s made you come more times than you can count. More times than anyone you’ve ever been with before – that’s for sure. And you’ve repaid the favor: the proof is still dribbling out of you. Still dripping between your legs, all pearlescent and warm. You’re soaked, swollen, still sore from the size of him.

It’s a fucking strange feeling, that you don’t mind at all.

“How old are you turning?” you ask.

Joel swallows. He settles the beer on his sternum, thumbing the corner of the label. Sucks in a deep breath and says, “Forty-eight.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, eyes wide.

He turns slowly, glaring at you. “Hilarious,” he drawls, bumping the bottle against your tummy.

You hiss at the sudden chill. Wiping cold droplets from your skin, you swipe it from his grasp.

Joel pushes himself from the bed with a quiet groan and pads across the room. His cock sways with each step, an arrowhead of thick hair at its base.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either.

You tip your chin back, taking a hefty swig.

The pulsing bass is heavier, guitar squeal sharper, when he cracks open the window. Cool air sweeps past the scent of sex and settles softly on your skin.

The mattress dips again as Joel settles back into bed. He pulls the sheet over himself, silk falling over the stubborn shape against his thigh.

“Well,” you pass him the bottle, “happy birthday, old man. Here’s to forty-eight.”

“Here’s to forty-eight,” Joel echoes, staring off into space, “and whatever the hell it has in store.”

1:29. 1:29. 1:30.

It’s blurring across your vision. The pain and the panic and the blinking of your fucking alarm clock.

Your stomach is still tensed in the aftermath of the contraction; an ache like the slow sway of the ocean, a wave rolling off into the distance. You’re hunched over the edge of the bed – knee bouncing, palms kneading your round belly.

“We’re okay,” you whisper, blowing into the still night. “We’re fine. Maybe it isn’t labor, right? Maybe it’s just those…Braxton…shit…Hicks.”

The cicadas laugh as your uterus swings again.

Another kick of pain; a bolt that winds you, piercing from your stomach down between your legs. So slow it feels fucking personal.

Your back curls, nails digging into the mattress. You grit your teeth until it passes, then push yourself to your feet, reaching for your phone.

You think of Joel: the flecks of gold in his eyes, the rough surface of his palms. The fresh, woodsy scent woven into every thread on his shirt, seeping from every pore on his skin.

The way he’d pull you under his arm and walk you to his truck. Play more Eagles or whatever shit he has to take your mind off the pain – tell you he knows, he knows as you whimper in agony. The way he’d hold your thigh the entire ride, loosening it only to weave his fingers through yours.

He’s in Houston, though. He’s something like three hours away. There’s nothing he could do, even if you did call – even if he did pick up. Even if he got in his truck right this second.

Shit. Shit fuck shit. How are you in labor right now, on this fucking night? All your teasing, all your taunting the universe. You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?

Yeah. They’re half you.

You’re on your own. It’s nothing new; you’ve been on your own for most of your life. You drove yourself to college, worked your ass off, and sold your graduation guest tickets to your roommate. You found a job by yourself, moved back to Austin and turned it into home by yourself.

You haven’t needed anyone or anything, since you were eighteen.

But – oh, Jesus, fuck it. This was a two-man job from the start. Some things you figure you can let slide – and having a kid seems like a pretty decent excuse.

Fuck it.

You move, hunched and hobbling, to the bathroom door. Slumped against the wooden frame, you cup a hand between your legs.

Sure enough, your underwear is soaked. The fluid trickles down the seam of your thigh, warm and thin. It glistens in the moonlight when you lift your fingers.

“Shit,” you whisper. “Goddamn it, Duck.”

Body tingling and almost numb with pain, you scroll through your contacts to J. You stumble into the bathroom, wet fingers slipping around the sink. A weight begins to pull low between your hips.

Two rings and the tone cuts, his voice instantly spilling a cool comfort down your spine.

There’s no hello, no double checking that you haven’t accidentally dialed him in your sleep. Only that trademark drawl, that flat tone you’d swear sounded bored, if it weren’t for the haste with which Joel asks, “You okay?” the second he answers.

As if he were awake anyway, just waiting for your call.

“Yeah,” you choke, rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just called at one in the morning to…to say hi.”

He sighs, the crackle of breath echoed by the tinkle of wind chimes. The creak of wood as he settles into a chair on Vanessa’s parents’ porch. “Alright, smartass. What is it?”

“I’m…I’m in labor.”

“Mhm. That sure is funny, baby. Good one.”

You groan. “No, Joel, I swear – I swear, I just went into labor.”

He pauses. The chimes titter in the background. “You’re…You ain’t kidding me?”

The sharp peak of pain swipes the air clean from your lungs. The phone hits the sink with a clatter, drowning out your cry.

This kid is beating the ever-loving shit out of you. You’d be embarrassed if you had the energy to think about it.

“Baby?” Joel yells, loud enough that the sound loops around the bowl. His voice lifts to an octave you didn’t know it could reach. “Talk to me. Please, talk to me.”

Your fingers clamp around the phone. “I’m f-fine. It’s fine. I just gotta…gotta change my fuckin’ sheets, Joel, my waters broke while I was sleeping –”

“Oh, Christ,” he growls. The door squeals as he storms back into Vanessa’s family home. “The sh…Change the goddamn sheets? You gotta get to a hospital, darlin’!”

You laugh, head tipping back. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Feels like the kid’s trying to kill me, but I can – shit, I can take ‘em.”

There’s the jangle of keys, the ruffle of a shirt being thrown over his head. “Yeah?” Joel says.“You can take childbirth, all on your own? Do me a favor and call a damn ambulance, baby.”

“An ambulance,” you repeat, laughing again.

“Yes, an ambulance. Call 9-1-1 right now. You want me to call ‘em? Let me go grab the landline –”

“Joel, do not call an ambulance –”

And if you thought you’d heard him at breaking point before – plucking your underwear from his lawn, dragging you around Home Depot, paling in your room with a pregnancy test in his hands – you know you have, now.

“You gotta get to a goddamn hospital now, baby!”

His voice trembles at its end, quivers like the pluck of a guitar string. A high-pitched echo, a nervous vibration.

Joel’s panicking.

It’s the second thing in less than five minutes that you never knew he could do.

“I can’t afford a f-fucking ambulance, Joel,” you yelp, sitting back on the edge of the bathtub.

“I will pay for it,” he pleads, “I’ll pay. Just – you gotta call them. You gotta…” He sighs again, breath wavering. “You’re in labor, and you’re alone. If anything happened to you, I –”

A hushed voice interrupts him. Follows him through the house, knotting her nightgown around her waist and twisting her dark tresses into a ponytail.

“She’s in labor,” Joel tells her. “I can’t stay. I’m going back for her.”

The porch door slams shut before Vanessa can reply, and Joel’s back outside again. Gravel crunching beneath his boots, crickets screaming in the background. “Still with me?” he asks.

“Still here,” you breathe, tracing your nails along your leg. “Duckie says hi, I guess.”

He hums. “Hi, Duckie. You little shit.”

You rock back and forth, eyes closed. Breathing between contractions, your head low between your shoulders. “How long will you be?”

The truck door creaks open. “I’m leaving right now. I’ll be…Fuck, I’ll be a couple hours, at least. I’m on my way, alright?”

Tears drip onto your bare thighs, the salt spilling into your mouth. “Joel,” you shake your head, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he says. “Are you kidding? Got us this far ‘n now you want to bail? That ain’t you, baby. Come on, now.”

“I wanna bail,” you insist. You slump to the floor, head lolling over the rim of the bathtub. Weeping like a little kid. “I’m scared, Joel. I’m so scared.”

“I know you are. Lord knows I’m scared, too – scared as hell. But –” the engine roars to life, “– I can’t wait to finally meet this kid. Our kid. Can’t wait to hold ‘em. Can’t wait to see you become a mom, and me become a dad.”

“Mom and Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.

“Mom and Dad, right? Yeah. You can do this. I know you can.”

The bathroom blurs behind your tears. You close your eyes, replacing the pale night with warmer dawn. Replacing it with images of tiny hands and feet; missing front teeth and a love-worn teddy tucked safely into bed.

Joel’s voice is softer, kinder. Calmer, now that he’s closing the hundred and fifty miles between the two of you.

“Just – don’t let the kid give you any shit, alright?”

The fear boils into determination. Something more irritating than it is terrifying. You inhale, blowing a heavy, shuddered breath to the ceiling. “Whatever, Miller.”

“Attagirl,” he says. “That’s the spirit. Now, call a damn ambulance.”

With a scoff, you push yourself to your feet, waddling towards the foot of your bed. You sway back and forth, holding your bump and listening to the hum of Joel’s truck.

And then you hear it.

Three sharp raps, from downstairs.

You wander to the hallway, squinting in the dark. “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“Are you…?”

The sound grows louder the nearer you draw. Quick knuckles against your front door.

“Am I what, darlin’?”

You lower yourself down the stairs, fist tight around the rail.

It’s August again. Sun’s encore blazing through your kitchen windows, bleeding golden through your living room. Everything shining, everything new and untouched.

Knock knock knock.

Light satin, duck egg blue; string lights and a diamond-encrusted necklace. The bones of your wardrobe propped against your porch. A rattling toolbox hanging from his fist, a positive pregnancy test in yours.

The knocking halts when you flick the porch light on. She calls your name once, old voice quivering.

Your phone is still glued to your ear as you pull the door open. “Al…?”

She squints at you and lifts a hand to shield from the light. She’s still in her pajamas – green dressing gown loose and lifting in the breeze.

Her eyes drop to the tee draped over your bump, the silver stream of fluid down the inside of your thigh. As she opens her mouth to speak, your hand slams into the doorpost.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, and Alice Brown steps straight over the threshold.

“Are you in labor? Oh, sweetie. Sit down, sit.”

She backs you towards the stairs. One bony, trembling hand around yours – squeezing as tight as you are. She rubs up and down your spine, shushing until the pain subsides.

You blink up at her glowing figure, haloed by the porch light outside. “How did you…?”

She hushes you with a finger in the air. “I’m up most nights. I heard you from the window. Have you called 9-1-1?”

You shake your head, beginning to cry again.

Alice just nods, dismissing your bullshit. “Where’s your overnight bag, sweetheart?”

You toss a thumb over your shoulder. “It’s up in the nursery. I can go grab it –”

She holds you still with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay.” Another curt nod, then, “Get your shoes, get yourself over to my car. Do you need pants? You need pants. My car, right now.”

“Alice, you really don’t have to –”

“Get in the car,” she insists, climbing past you. “I’m right behind you!”

You watch her figure dissolve into the dim upstairs, and lift the phone back to your ear. “Did you…hear all that?”

“Alice Brown,” Joel replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “What’d I tell ya? That woman doesn’t miss a goddamn thing in this neighborhood.”

“Three centimeters,” the obstetrician says, covering your legs with the sheet. “Still a little ways to go.”

The suite is hushed and still. Walls an unoffending shade of oatmeal; decorated only with oak paneling and a framed painting of some lilies.

A nurse tilts the shades, averting the twinkling city lights in the distance. She turns and smiles – the same fucking smile everyone’s been giving you since you set foot in the place. Head tilted, brows arched.

Sympathy that you want to chew up and spit back out at their feet.

You force yourself to smile in return, and she floats back out to the bustling reception.

“Will he make it?” Alice asks. She’s still in her pajamas; the floral print goes well with the interior of the room. “The father, I mean. Joel.”

The obstetrician peels the gloves from her hands. She shrugs as she drops them into a wastebin. “I don’t see why not,” she says. “Things are moving a little quickly, but I don’t see you having your baby in the next couple hours.”

“You don’t know this kid like I do,” you groan, shifting in the bed.

She lifts the cardiotocograph reading, scanning the jagged lines. “You’re doing great,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just holler if you need anything.” She strolls off, letting the door sweep shut behind her.

Alice adjusts your pillow and squeezes your shoulder. She holds out a cup of water, guiding the straw to your lips. “He’ll be here,” she whispers.

You take a sip and settle back. “I don’t think I’m that lucky. I told him I hoped he’d get a flat on the ride there. This feels like karma.”

“Well, if it’s anyone’s karma –” she wiggles her fingers, “– it’s his. Going to Houston was ridiculous in the first place. Hell, you two not being together is ridiculous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Just because we’re having a kid doesn’t mean we should be together. You shouldn’t be with someone for the sake of a baby who won’t even know any different.”

“Right, right,” Alice agrees, turning away. “You should only be with someone if you love them.”

“Exactly. And me and Joel – we’re not in love.”

She murmurs to herself. She lowers into a chair by the window, crossing her arms. “I’m seventy-three,” she says. “I’m not a damn fool.”

Something twists awkwardly between your hips. You wince, clutching your bump.

Duckie’s heartbeat pulses through the room. Muffled little bubbles of noise, popping one after the other. Strong and steady as hell – a determined little thing, the doctor said.

Don’t I fucking know it, you thought.

You reach for the silicone mask and cup it over your mouth. The gas is cold and funny when you inhale, feeling it shoot straight for the back of your skull. It does little more than dull the spiking pain, but still – you tip your head back, eyes rolling closed.

You let yourself fade from the suite – its yellow lamplight and hushed chatter outside – to somewhere warmer. Somewhere brighter.

Birdsong high overhead, and the whispering leaves on the oak trees in your yard. The sweet breeze on your skin, soothing the sting of the sun. Prickling wood on your fingertips, the gentle strum of a guitar somewhere beyond the fence.

Peering between the slats, catching glimpses of him like watching a film reel. His head nodding, his foot tapping. The concentration tight on his face; the perfect pick and pluck of his fingers on each string.

Half-hoping that he’ll spot you, scold you for spying and storm back into his house. That he might bring it up later – And another thing, while he whips his newspaper from your grasp, ignoring your cackling.

Half-hoping that he won’t. That he’ll sit there at his back door, bottle of beer at his feet, playing to his audience of sparrows.

And you’ll stand here, wishing you could ask the name of each song he hums.

The contraction splits your daydream in two.

In two hours, you dilate almost three centimeters.

You pace back and forth across the suite, pausing only when your womb clenches like a fist. The contractions are lasting longer, swinging lower, and punching harder. They’re giving you less recovery time; less of a chance to get back on your feet.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Joel’s still not here. Last you heard, he’d just hit Travis County. Twenty minutes, baby, I promise. That was half an hour ago.

It might be for the better that he hasn’t gotten here. You’ve warned Alice three times already that you might just beat the shit out of him, whenever he walks through that door.

And you know what, sweetheart? She chuckled. I bet you could beat the shit out of him, sore as you are.

“Fuck,” you cry out, collapsing onto the bed. You stretch out forward, head hanging between your shoulders, and gulp back more of the laughing gas. The ache barrels from your stomach to your hips, peaking in the very center.

Alice rubs circles into the small of your back. It’s not helping, but you let her do it anyways. Gives her something to tell the neighbors that isn’t damaging to your reputation.

“That’s it,” she coos. “A little longer, just a little…”

The door clicks open just as the tense band begins to loosen.

Your head is spinning. The mask slips from your fingers.

Alice’s hand pauses. “…a little longer…” she repeats, voice drifting. Her weight leaves your back, replaced by something heavier, stronger.

Safer.

Someone grounding, someone smelling of pine and sweet spice.

He sits on the bed at your back and curves around your body. Lips to your shoulder like the sun in your backyard. His beard scratches against your hot skin.

You blink your eyes open.

Joel’s watch face winks back at you. His hands are over yours – bigger, wider. His fists swallow yours whole. They turn, slipping beneath your palms, and your fingers lace together.

“Joel…” you breathe, face turning in to his neck.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, wiping sweat from your brow.

You fall limp against his chest. “Holy shit.”

He looks exhausted. Gray, almost translucent. Looks like he’s just driven a couple hundred miles, half asleep and wholly panicked.

But – he’s here. He made it.

The sight of him, the feel of him holding you upright, melts away any anger or resolve to fight back. For now, at least. Picking an argument can wait until there isn’t a human splitting you in two.

He’s here. You’re not doing this alone.

“Holy shit,” Joel repeats. “You okay?”

“How did you get here so –?”

“Ninety-five the entire way.”

You frown. “Only ninety-five?”

“Trunk’s a hunk a’ shit,” he admits. “Couldn’t break a hundred.”

Alice scoffs, somewhere across the room.

He cradles you, his lips to your forehead. “Where we at?” he asks, staring at the paper churning from the cardiotocograph.

“Five, almost s–shit – six centimeters.” You clamp down on his hands, your uterus winding again.

Joel holds the mask back to your lips and you suck another chemical breath in. “Six? Jesus,” he gapes at Alice, “ain’t that…ain’t that real fast? For – for your first?”

Your fingers are weak and shaky, resting on his knuckles. “Your kid has a sick sense of humor,” you mutter into the silicone.

“That ain’t from me,” he says. “That’s all you, maestro.”

You turn closer into his shirt with a groan. He’s solid as a rock, swaying you through it. He’s here.

Alice swipes her coat from a hook by the door. She shakes her head, pulling it over her shoulders. “Ninety-five, Joel? Sweet Lord.”

He rolls his eyes. His hand curves around your bump. “Had a little bit of an emergency, Alice,” he says, watching your face twist with pain.

“And what if you’d had an accident?”

“I didn’t, Alice.”

“You could’ve, goin’ that damn fast. You’re lucky you’re even here.”

Joel finally looks up. “It’s four in the mornin’,” he protests, like a teenager. “Lucky if I passed five cars.”

You give him a weak smile, lowering the mask. You won’t win, you mouth.

He presses his lips to your head. “’s too much fun,” he murmurs, and you snort.

“Oh!” Alice throws a hand up. “I’m glad you find it funny!” She buttons her coat and glares back at both of you, hands on her hips.

She’s a busybody – has been since before you even moved in. She showed up on your doorstep on your first night with a casserole in hand, and made sure to get a good look at your living room before she shuffled back to her own place.

Always watching, always listening.

You never thought you’d see the day when you’d actually be thankful for her snoopiness.

“Thank you, Alice,” you say, head tilting. “For getting me here, for holding my hand…Thank you.”

Her expression thaws, eyes gleaming. With a sniff, she composes herself – and then points to Joel. “You call me as soon as that baby arrives. I won’t sleep, Joel, until you call.”

“I’ll call,” he assures.

She looks back at you. Balls her crepe paper fists, gives them a hearty shake. “Good luck, Mom,” she says, and with one last glance, slips out of the room.

Joel turns back to you, an eyebrow raised. “Take it she was out tendin’ to her tulips again?”

“Yeah,” you snicker, “one in the morning, those fuckers had to be watered.”

He chuckles. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better now,” you tell him.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he says, shaking his head. “I should’ve been here. A goddamn idiot, headin’ off like that. So damn stupid.”

“Shh, you’re here now.” You wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I just needed you to be here.”

He nods. “I’m here, whatever you need. Tell me what I can do.”

You take a deep breath. “I need…”

Joel straightens – bracing, ready to jump at your first request.

“…I need a fucking break, Joel. I’m so tired, and this fucking kid –”

“Alright,” he sighs, shifting from behind you. “You and your goddamn jokes.”

You smirk, looking over your shoulder. “You missed me.”

“Hm,” he fixes the neckline of your gown, “I missed you. I really did.”

Born at 07:43. It’s a girl.

It’s like being broken open. Like splitting at the seams; your old self falling from you like shards of fruit. Separating, rolling apart; making way for someone older, wiser. Someone with all of the answers in the palm of her hand.

Mom.

You finally get it. She turns to you, finally glances over her shoulder. And she’s no stranger – no one you haven’t known your entire life. I know you, you whisper, nail trailing her smile lines and the pimples along her jaw.

I see you every time I look in the mirror.

Duckie is pulled from your body with a scream like bloody murder – a scream which matches the whimper you let out in shock, if not in volume.

The kid can scream. Jesus Christ, she can scream. It pierces the dull room; deafens you for a couple seconds the first time you hear it.

You’ve never heard a sound so fucking beautiful.

She wails as they lift her from your body. All curled-up, wriggling in the midwife’s arms. She wails as they slot her beneath your chin, as they wipe the blood and amniotic fluid from her.

She wails until the moment her skin meets yours, and as though it’s all you’ve ever known, you begin shushing her cries. Your arms close around her body, rocking her until she settles.

Her tiny hand grabs for something, for someone, for –

You.

Her mom.

“Joel,” you gasp, watching her tiny, pruned fingers clasp tight around just one of yours. “She’s…she’s so small…”

He sniffs in reply, lifting his hand from your shoulder to wipe his face.

You turn to look up at him.

He looks as broken open as you feel. Eyes bloodshot and soaking, tears streaming into his thick beard. A sob in his throat which chokes and silences him, until he catches your eye and he can’t help but laugh with elation.

“Look at her,” he weeps, all torn up by the little girl in your arms. He presses his lips to your forehead in a crash of a kiss: wet, soaking wet on your skin.

You beam up at him when he pulls away. “We did it,” you whisper.

Joel shakes his head. He runs a thumb across the damp print left on your head. “You did it, honey,” he mutters. “I was nothin’ but a spectator.”

“You almost missed the game,” you quip, and he laughs again.

Your body throbs; nearly numb with pain, heavy with fatigue and emotion. But as long as she’s here, this tiny tornado of a girl, you don’t feel a thing.

Clenching and then unclenching her fist around your finger – so delicate compared to the punches she was throwing at your ribs just six hours ago. She’s worth every fucking second of it.

You finally fucking get it.

She fits so perfectly in the crook of your arm. It feels as though your body was made just to hold her – the very shape of you, designed especially for the very shape of her.

You wonder whether it was the same for your mom. Whether you came along and made her feel whole, for the first time in her life.

Duckie’s eyes open – all glossy and brand new, blinking up at the both of you like she needed no introduction. She already knows you, from the inside out. Her dad’s graying beard, the threads of silver around his temples. Her mom’s tear-stained cheeks, eyes red and bleary with sleeplessness and pure love.

You’re Mom, you’re Dad.

It’s all she’s ever known.

The pillow sighs as you lean back into it. The doctor begins repairing the damage done between your legs; threading and knitting your body back together.

You’re caught between a state of bliss and shock. Your brain is doing much the same work to itself as the woman between your knees is. Patching over all the bloody parts: the screams which tore your skin, the pain which cracked your teeth.

None of it holds a candle to the weight of her in your arms. No matter how tired you are, you can’t take your eyes off her. Her puffy cheeks, the little creases between her brows. No matter how sore, you never want to let go of her.

Joel runs a finger down Duckie’s cheek. “Ain’t she the most beautiful thing in the world?”

“I love her,” you say, bubbling again. “I love her more than anything.”

An hour old, and she’s already a daddy’s girl.

Joel ambles back and forth at the foot of your bed in the recovery suite, bouncing Duck in his arms. He’s never looked so relaxed, so natural at something. He’s never seemed so content, so peaceful.

Everything he’s ever made with his hands – structures and framework and your goddamn closet – and yet this, this tiny accident, this baby girl you were so sure you’d dreamt up right up until an hour ago –

This is the thing he’s proudest of.

Morning lifts through the windows, all soft and vanilla. It floats around him, sunlight spilling across his skin and breathing life and color into him.

Sunlight – or his daughter. They’re the same thing, anyway.

You pull apart a slice of toast, watching. Just watching. Sweet strawberry jam on your tongue, the flavor of everything sharper, fresher. The colors brighter, more vivid.

The world makes more sense like this, you think. Painted in shades of honey and ochre; a room in a corner of the world where time slows to a halt. A soft lullaby from his lips, and the little coos from hers.

The ache of love and labor lingers deep inside you, and nothing has ever made more sense.

You suck the sticky sweet from your fingertips.

Joel looks up, toying with Duckie’s hand. “You want her back?” he asks, a dumb grin on his face.

You shake your head. “I like watching you.”

He scrunches his nose, nuzzling it against his daughter’s, and whispers, “I wasn’t gonna give you back, anyways.” He sways in the early light, staring down at her. “Jesus,” he mutters, swiping at his eyes again, “I didn’t…I didn’t know I could love somethin’ this much.”

“Me, either.”

He drifts over, lowering himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. He extends his elbow, still cradling the baby, and helps you pull yourself upright.

You hiss, a not-so-subtle sting between your legs.

“You, uh…you think of a name yet?” Joel asks.

“Not yet,” you reply, hooked onto his shoulder. Duck blows a bubble and you wipe it with your knuckle. “I thought we were sticking with Duckie?”

His cheeks swell. The sun kisses the edges of his beard. “I thought of one,” he says softly. “Maybe. It’s your call.”

You yawn into his shirt, the warmth of him calm and soothing. “Alright, Miller. Hit me.”

He looks down at the baby nestled in his safe hands. The smallest thing either of you have ever seen.

The name must roll around his head a few times, the way he tilts to-and-fro – looking at her from one angle, then the next. Deciding, when he pulls back, that she suits it from every direction. Like it was her name long before he or even you knew it.

You watch his lips shape the name before you hear it.

Sarah.

And for what feels like forever, you just stare at him. The syllables lingering in the air like glistening specks of dust in a sunbeam. Your eyes follow them down to your daughter, now sleeping peacefully with two hands around one of her dad’s thumbs.

“Sarah,” you repeat, remembering whose name it was, whose name it is – whose name it has always been. “Sarah Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders lift. “What do you think? She look worthy of bein’ a Sarah?”

The rustle of tissue paper. Blue and green and purple tearing between your fingers. The funny fuzz of pom poms as your hands rummaged through the bag. Her hand swimming towards you, an orange foam fish riding the waves between her fingers. Bubbly sounds erupting from her lips.

Your girlish giggle. Her silly grin. Hopscotch along the sidewalk; stopping to look for cars before she’d walk you across the street. How much do I love you, baby girl?

More than the whole world, Mama.

“I love it,” you breathe, tears running to the corners of your mouth. “Sarah fucking Miller.”

“Sarah fuckin’ Miller,” Joel echoes; two wet lines the same as yours, curving down his cheeks. He shifts her into the crook of his arm.

You’re impossibly close. Your chin rests on his shoulder, foreheads brushing when you lean in to each other. His breath is hot on your lips, closer and closer and closer until –

He tastes like salt, rich with emotion. Salt, and then sweet when your tongue meets his. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, and your fingers link around his wrist.

And you know you shouldn’t be doing it – know this isn’t your man to be kissing. But in this room, where no one else can see – where it’s just you, him, and all the best parts of yourselves shaped into someone better – he feels like yours.

Just for a moment.

Joel takes the first week of Sarah’s life off work.

He spends a good twenty minutes on the phone to the contractor, talking more about the kid than he does the job. Her eyelashes, her fingernails, the way her legs scrunch anytime he lifts her up.

He’s besotted with the entire thing. And he tells everybody so.

He moves in with you both, stays in your guestroom. It’s a week of no sleep, no peace, and a total of three showers between you. Wearing the same clothes covered in spit-up and drool until one of you has the time or energy to do laundry.

It’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. By your count, you’ve already cried three times to Joel – terrified you’re getting it all wrong.

But you’re doing it. Jesus God, you’re doing it.

You order takeout most nights. You can’t stand long enough to cook just yet, and you don’t trust Joel not to burn your fucking kitchen down – despite his protests. And it feels like, after everything your body’s given you, it deserves a greasy pizza and some chicken wings.

You rot on the couch together, watching shitty TV and arguing over reruns of Jeopardy! – until Sarah wakes and the whole thing begins again.

Joel loses the game of rock, paper, scissors tonight.

“Shh, baby girl. ‘s alright now, I gotcha,” he lulls, tucking her back in to her bassinet.

She fusses and stretches out; arms over her head, legs curled up. Her onesie is still a little too big – the socked feet all baggy, the sleeves rolled up her wrists.

He lingers for a moment as she drifts off, a hand stroking her tummy. Watching, always watching her. The rise and fall of her stomach, the puffs of breath from her nostrils, her lips still suckling away in her sleep.

“I swear I have a baby photo that looks just like her,” you say. “Same nose and everything.”

Joel clicks his teeth. “Got her looks from her mom. Lucky thing.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you snort.

He drifts back over, sinking into the couch at your side. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, and you nod.

Every muscle in your body still feels like a ton weight. Your stomach is still swollen; there are still stitches between your legs. There are moments you can’t tell if you’re crying because of hormones, exhaustion, or joy.

Every time, it’s a combination of all three.

Life before feels so long ago – and it hasn’t even been a fortnight. But then you held her for the first time, and now – your arm misses the weight of her when she’s not in it. Your house feels eerily quiet when she’s not laughing, or whimpering, or screaming the fucking roof down.

You can feel your daughter growing up already, and she’s only ten days old.

On the mantelpiece, safe in a stippled gold frame, your mom beams down over her. The photo at least twenty years old, the memory even older. Laughing, the way she always was; nothing quite so funny as a joke frozen in time.

Joel prods you with his elbow. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Your mom.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “no, she’d be like, Holy shit. This kid totally kicked your ass.”

He chuckles. “Sure she did,” he shrugs, “she’s your kid.”

The TV babbles to itself across the room. In its glow, Joel meets your eye. A tiny, pearly fleck swimming in deep honey.

It’s familiar – each shade of bronze in his eyes, each thread of silver through his hair. Like you’ve mapped each and every line on his skin, collecting them like the sleepless hours between you.

Everything about him feels so normal. Burnt toast in the morning, a spoon clinking around a mug of coffee. The rustle of the newspaper, the sizzle of eggs in the pan, the baby snoring on your chest.

Everything – and yet nothing you’ve ever known.

“I miss her,” you whisper. “I miss my mom.”

His hand finds yours instantly. “I know, baby. I know you do.”

You slouch down, leaning on his shoulder, and close your eyes. Joel presses his lips to the crown of your head, his thumb looping around your knuckles.

Sarah gurgles in her sleep. She sighs – a satisfied little sound. Nothing has ever made more sense.

His voice rumbles against your skull. “Who sent the lilies?”

Your eyes flutter open. “Hm?”

Joel flicks his finger towards the window, towards a sprawl of speckled, cream flowers. “The lilies? They weren’t there this morning.”

“Oh…” You turn to look up at him, cringing.

He sees the flicker of her behind your eyes. Her lustrous curtain of hair, her perfect almond nails.

“Really?” Joel asks, mirroring your expression.

You nod, trying not to laugh. “From her and Kate. You were upstairs with Sarah when she came by. I offered to call you down, but – she just wanted to drop ‘em and go.”

“What did she…? Did she say anything?”

Your head shakes. “She just…she said congratulations, said she hoped we were okay. Then she got in her car and she left. I kinda figured things weren’t sunshine and roses, anyway. You haven’t fuckin’ seen her since Houston.”

He snorts, fingers massaging his eyes. “I was goin’ to tell you,” he mumbles into his palms, “I just…Honey, I don’t even know what day of the week it is right now. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you mutter.

“Yes, I do,” he insists. His eyes flit over to Sarah, then back to you. “We haven’t really talked it through yet, me ‘n her. I called her a few days ago, we agreed it’s time. It – it’s past time. I shoulda called it months ago.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s brow furrows. “’course I am. I got the most beautiful baby girl in the world,” and then, rolling his eyes, “you’re here.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you clip, batting his arm. “Vanessa could do way better, anyways.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

You squeeze his fingers, softly adding, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Joel.”

He stares down at your clasped hands. He looks tired, worn out. You figure it’s not just from the newborn. But he takes a deep breath, something the color of relief dawning on his skin, and looks you dead in the eye.

“I’m not.”

­“Hey, Duckie – can you say, Happy birthday, Daddy?”

A vinyl wobbles on the turntable – some acoustic record from when Joel was a teenager. There’s wrapping paper still crumpled beneath the coffee table; four plates with more crumbs than cake left, dotted around the room.

Tommy leans in, a lopsided party hat on his head, and tickles Sarah’s chin.

She blinks at him, unamused, then scrunches her little nose and turns back into your chest.

He sighs, straightening. “She don’t like her uncle Tommy all that much,” he grumbles, sulking back over to the couch. Maria puts a consoling arm around his shoulder.

You rest your lips on Sarah’s head, breathing in her sweet scent. Swaying back and forth, you tease, “She don’t like anyone all that much, not unless they’re her daddy.”

Joel’s head lifts and he smiles, eyes glistening. He watches you and Sarah dance; laughs when you twirl her around and she tips her head back, flashing a gummy grin.

“She’ll come around to ya,” he tells Tommy, wandering over to your side. “We all learned to, eventually.”

Tommy scoffs. “Very funny, old man. Jesus.”

Joel stoops down to let Sarah run her small hands through his beard. He catches her fingertips between his lips and pretends to nibble on them.

She giggles, squirming in your arms. Her fingers find the sweeps of hair on his forehead and, taking a fistful, she tugs.

“Christ,” Joel hisses, pulling back.

“That was on you this time,” you chuckle, pointing a finger. “You know she does that, and you still fall for it.”

Maria glances down at her watch. “Is that the time?” she asks, turning to Tommy. “We should really turn in.”

“Oh – right, right.” Tommy tips the last of his beer into his mouth. “We’re takin’ Mom to brunch tomorrow. Better get some goddamn rest.”

Joel hums, still massaging his hairline. “Hey,” he whispers, elbowing you. “Maybe I should take her over. She’s getting sleepy – ain’t you, little Duck?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tommy stands and holds a hand out. “Why don’t you let Maria and I take her? We’ll tuck her in, keep an eye on her. We weren’t half bad the other day, while y’all were at work. And if she’s stayin’ at Joel’s tonight anyway…”

You glance to Joel, who shrugs. Something shaped like Sure.

“As long as you don’t mind,” you reply, bouncing the baby slowly. “Let me go grab her things.”

Joel’s hand slips across the small of your back as you pass, making for the stairs. He lingers at the bottom, watching until you turn into the nursery with Sarah in the crook of your arm.

You set her down in her crib and gather some of her favorites: a yellow blanket, a duck comforter, a rattle shaped like an elephant. She watches contentedly as you shuffle back and forth, staring when you lean over the wooden rail.

“You know how much I love you?” you whisper, curling a finger inside her fist. She squeezes, and you say, “More than the whole world.”

She grabs at the chain dangling from your neck, the letter S catching the light. Instead, she lifts your finger to her mouth. Her nails scratch light as a feather across your skin. Her gums are tiny and soft around your knuckle.

Everything about her is tiny and soft. Her sweeping eyelashes, her plushy cheeks. Her round tummy, and the squeals she lets free as you dot kisses and blow raspberries all over it. No matter how much she’s grown in three months, she’s still so tiny.

She’ll always be the smallest, sweetest thing you’ve ever known. And she’s all yours.

“Jesus, kid,” you sniff, swiping at your tears. You slip your hands around her back and prop her on your hip. “Alright, let’s go. Quit making your mom cry.”

The bag over your shoulder, you carry her out of the room and into the dark hallway. It’s quiet downstairs; nothing but the crackle of the record player, the distant chink of dishes in the kitchen.

That – and hushed voices in the living room.

“Joel,” Tommy says, over and over again. He’s trying to cut in between his brother’s rambling. Joel – listen to me. Just listen, for one second –”

You linger on the bottom step, trying to split Joel’s voice from Tommy’s. Trying to pluck the words out, over Maria’s humming from the next room.

“…and it ain’t that simple, Tommy it’s –”

“What ain’t simple about it? You have a –” Tommy says it through his teeth, “– you have a kid together, Joel. You really think she’s gonna –”

Sarah grabs the charm around your neck and shakes suddenly, rattling the chain.

You close your hand around hers, losing your balance. “Shhhhit, Duckie, you –”

Joel’s eyes snap to your figure as you step down. He clears his throat, leaning away from Tommy. “Hey – hey, darlin’.”

“Hey,” you reply. Bright. Chipper. Unclenching your fist to let your daughter shake your necklace some more.

She squeals with delight when she spots Joel across the room.

“She ready to go?” he asks, slinging a quick – telling – look at Tommy.

You look between the brothers, browns quirking. They look as guilty as each other: scratching their beards, staring at the furniture instead of you. “Uhuh,” you reply, tongue against your teeth. “Everything…everything okay?”

Tommy slaps his thighs as he stands. “Everything’s great, sweetheart. Sure as shit. Joel – you, uh…you got a key on ya?”

“Oh, yep.” Joel reaches into his pocket. He unhooks a silver key from the chain and drops it into his brother’s open palm.

Tommy calls for Maria. He sidesteps around you, face flushed and smiling.

She floats through from the kitchen, drying her palms on her jeans. “Where’s my baby duck?” she sings, reaching for Sarah.

You pass her over and she melts into her aunt’s arms, curling up into a little pink lump on her chest. “She just had a feed, like, twenty minutes ago, so – she should go down pretty well. And there are more bottles in Joel’s fridge, if you need ‘em.”

Maria nods, wrapping Sarah’s blanket around her. She lifts the bag strap from your shoulder and hands it to Tommy. “I’ll text you as soon as she’s down. Come on, Duckie, let’s get you to bed.”

Tommy leans over and squeezes your arm, winking as he follows his wife. He calls goodnight to Joel, lifting a pointed finger over his head, and closes the door behind them.

Things could not have gone smoother.

It’s suspicious as shit.

You turn when you hear Joel shifting.

“C’mon,” he utters, a pile of plates in one hand. “I ain’t leavin’ you with this mess.” He heads through to the kitchen, broad figure swaying.

The plates spill into the sink, water trickling over them. Joel hums to himself as he gets to work with a sponge in hand.

You linger in the living room.

Things have been good lately – peaceful. You’re in as much of a routine as Sarah will allow: a steady pattern of dropping her off and picking her back up, patchwork family dinners, daytrips whenever both of you can make them.

Your body is healing, pulling itself back together. You don’t have to think about being Mom anymore – she walks in stride with you. The world is painted a new shade of normal – one where you can do anything with a baby on your hip, one where love becomes your first language.

One where you swallow back the ache in your heart, for better or for worse. The only piece of you still fractured. The only wound left open.

Joel’s birthday cards lie flat on the coffee table. You pluck them up one by one – his parents’, Tommy and Maria’s, yours – and Sarah’s.

A messy splotch of a handprint, bright yellow paint smeared across half the fucking card (she hasn’t quite mastered self-control yet). A googly eye plastered to the bird’s chest; orange crayon for the beak and legs.

Sure, you took charge for most of the project – but when he opened it and saw his daughter’s little masterpiece, you caught him swiping his knuckle at the corner of his eye. He snuggled into her, perched on his lap, and whispered, Thank you, little Duckie.

You prop them along your mantelpiece, dotted around your mom’s photo. When you step back, looking from son to brother to…a good friend, you could almost pretend.

Almost pretend that they belong here, on this mantelpiece. There is no yours and his. Just one of everything; nothing doubled nor halved.

Almost pretend that he won’t collect them as he leaves, break into another teary laugh at the sight of the duck painting, and then kiss your cheek goodnight. Promise to have your daughter back in time to go swimming tomorrow morning.

Almost.

“Hey,” Joel calls, “did you, uh – did you hear Tommy talkin’ about Jackson?”

You slip into the kitchen, side by side with him at the sink. “Uh, yeah,” you reply, lifting a towel. “Moose, pine trees. Yep.”

“It sounds beautiful. You think we should take a trip up there sometime? Could be Sarah’s first vacation.”

“You mean the three of us?”

He shrugs, scrubbing a bowl in the water. “Sure. I don’t think Duckie would let one of us stay behind, do you? She’d scream the damn airport down,” he chuckles, looking back to the twinkling bubbles.

You hum. “Maybe.”

“You don’t feel like it?”

“No, I do. I just – I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

“Okay,” Joel says, nodding. “Put a pin in it.”

He passes you a dripping plate and you drag the towel over it, circling the pattern until the suds are wiped clean. And another, and another.

It feels awkward. It feels stiff. There’s something hanging between you, heavy on both your shoulders. A weight you haven’t felt around Joel in over a year.

You turn to him as he stacks the last plate on the draining board. “Is that what you were talking to Tommy about?”

Joel pauses. “You heard that, huh?”

“Only the part about having a kid. It’s none of my business, I know, I just –”

“Actually,” he clears his throat, “it’s plenty your business.”

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. A deep breath, cheeks puffing as he exhales. His grip on the dish towel whitens his knuckles.

He’s…nervous. The same shade of gray he wore the night you went into labor.

He takes another unsteady breath.

“Joel?” you ask, head tilting. “Whatever it is, you can say it. I got whiskey, if that’ll make it easier. Probably tastes like shit, but…”

His expression cracks. His eyes twinkle, and he smiles. Only a little, but enough. Enough to let the words slip through.

“You know, that night at Tommy’s wedding was one of the best nights of my life.”

Your heartbeat thuds a bassline in your ears; the rush of your blood the squealing guitar. Skin tacky, moans caught between teeth. Laughter and lust tangling together in the air.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Yeah. Lying there – talking, laughing, messin’ around. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in all my life. I could’ve stayed in that room with you forever.”

Your eyes start to sting. You look away.

“I thought I would regret it. I thought I should regret it. And I never did. But then,” he takes a deep breath, “the next day, I look out front, and my newspaper’s sittin’ on my lawn. And for two weeks straight, I kept checking – and there it was. I thought, Sure as shit, she regrets the whole thing. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You shake your head. “I wanted to see you again. I missed – I missed you. Missed pissin’ you off.”

He laughs. “I missed you pissin’ me off. Missed that annoying as hell thud on my porch.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to – you know,” you admit, and Joel nods.

“We got pretty good at avoidin’ each other,” he grumbles. “And then – with Vanessa, I thought I’d be doin’ you a favor. Letting you off light.”

“You…you took her number to do me a favor?”

“Naw,” Joel says. “I took her number ‘cause her brother in-law has a lumber company, and I had a closet to build. I was drunk, I was an idiot, and I brought it up to her at the wedding. By the time I thought it through, you ‘n I weren’t speakin’.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shakes his head. He edges closer to you. Voice low, he says, “I shouldn’t’ve gone out on that first date with her. I shouldn’t’ve done any of it. I should’ve talked to you about what I was feeling.”

“Well, maybe we both should’ve,” you mutter, wringing your hands. “I wasn’t exactly the best at it, either.”

His head tips, considering. “Can I tell you now?”

You glance over to him. “Tell me what, Miller?”

“Tell you…tell you that I love you,” he whispers.

It steals the breath from your lungs. One clean swipe.

He nods to himself, then – certain of it – and says it again. “I do, darlin’. I love you.”

Your heart begins to hammer. Tears spill over onto your cheeks, dripping from your jaw.

“And, look –” Joel takes your wrists, “– I got no right to say any of that, I know. I put you through a hell of a lot, these last few months – and that kills me. But if you’ll let me, I swear to you – I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”

You look up. His cheeks are dappled, too – glistening with tears. “Joel…” you weep.

He cups your jaw. “Listen to me. What we’ve had, the last three months – I want it all the time. I want you, and I want Duck. I want the three of us under one roof. I want to sleep in the same bed as you.”

You breathe a shuddered laugh. Your hands fall over his wrists. Keep talking, you mouth, bottom lip trembling.

“I want to get married, or not,” Joel says. “I want to show up to Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party late, ‘cause Duck couldn’t pick which shoes she wanted to wear. I want to have more kids, take ‘em on vacation.”

“Wyoming?” you sniff.

“Wyoming,” he repeats. “I want…I want all of it, baby. You ‘n me. I want you ‘n me, more than anything in the world. And if I’m too late, then you can tell me. Tell me, and I swear on my life I will never mention it again.”

Your hands curve over his. His strong knuckles, worked and weathered and worn by his years. Down to his wrists – the tatty strap on his ages-old watch, the dark hair peppered along his arms.

“I love you so much, baby. So much that it drives me insane. You drive me…fuckin’ insane.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you whisper, balling your fists against his chest.

Joel laughs, nose brushing against yours. “Yeah,” he sniffs, “I figured you’d say som’ like that.”

“I love you, too,” you mumble, linking your arms around his neck. “Shit, I love you.”

“Ain’t that a thing?” he says, and his lips are on yours.

It’s been a year. A year since the first time you felt him – lips soft as velvet, sweet with alcohol and something stronger. His tongue and yours, his teeth and yours. Every part of you clashing with every part of him.

And goddamn, you’ve missed it.

Joel follows you upstairs, pinning you to the wall by your bedroom door. White heat flooding through your veins, he kneels before you and pulls you onto his tongue.

He’s hungry.

He laps at you as though you’ll be gone in the morning. As though he won’t wake up tangled in you, breathing in your scent, lips on your skin.

Dusk seeps in at the edges of your vision; daylight draining from the sky. It’s dark, too dark to see him clearly, but you feel him fucking everywhere.

His beard grazes the inside of your thigh. He kisses where he scratches your skin. He holds your hips steady, tongue dipping in and out.

“You know how fuckin’ sweet you taste?” he growls, slipping inside again.

He looks so good between your legs. Like he was made for it – made for you. All yours, in ways you never really understood until now.

He brings you to the edge with his tongue flat against your clit. Holding your hips firm against his mouth, groaning with you as you fall.

You come with a broken moan. Hips stutter to a halt, legs fall wide open. The warmth in your belly spills over and rushes to every corner of your body.

Joel moans, tongue still lapping as your cunt pulses all over him. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he slurs, watching you come undone.

He stands, a chaste kiss to your lips, and then parts them with his tongue. “Taste good?” he mumbles, kissing you gently.

Yeah, you think, moaning against him, it tastes fucking good.

He spreads you out on your mattress and kisses what feels like every square inch of your body. You giggle at the feeling of his lips behind your ear; moan when they close around your nipple.

Your back arches; little lightning bolts as he pulls the buds to a peak. Your fingers knot through his hair; hissing at the meeting of pain and pleasure between Joel’s lips.

“I love you,” you whisper, when he settles between your legs. You don’t know that you’ve felt something so true in all your life.

He smiles. Your fingers trace the lines at his eyes.

“Come here,” he says, and pulls your hips to meet his.

You curve a hand around his neck, glancing down at your open legs. “Looks a little different to the last time you saw her.”

Joel shakes his head, licking his lips. “Beautiful, baby. She looks so goddamn beautiful.”

Each movement is careful, deliberate. He notches his tip at your hole and pauses until you’re looking at him again.

And then he pushes in.

He slips an arm under your head; the other holding your thigh on his waist. He kisses you as you stretch around him. He still tastes like salt and slick.

You gasp, teeth gritting around a hiss. “Fuck,” you whimper, turning in to his chest.

“Easy, easy,” Joel coos, voice rumbling against your temple. ��Catch your breath. Doin’ so good.”

“It’s not sore,” you tell him, nodding for him to move again. “It’s…it’s just…different.”

“Tighter,” he groans, eyes on your cunt as it draws his cock in.

You agree, “Tighter.”

He catches you in another kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips. “Feel so good, sweet girl. Breathe. ‘m right here.”

It’s never felt like this before. This gentle, this tender.

You have never felt like this before. Broken open, stitched back together. Your heart split into two – whole again each time his body meets yours.

Joel catches your moans on his tongue. He steadies his pace; rocking into you over and over. Laughing against your lips; your fingers intertwined with his.

“Feel good?” he pants.

Your head rolls back. “Mhm.”

“Take it, baby. Such a tight little thing.”

“Joel,” you cry, “I’m close.”

His teeth nip at your neck. “Shit,” his hips jump, “attagirl. Just like that.” He thrusts into you harder, bleeding the color from your vision.

You pull his lips to yours, foreheads tacky. Joel’s eyes gloss over.

I love you, he breathes.

And the world whitens.

He pulls you against his chest when you come back around. Shifts up the headboard, skin all sticky and warm. He kisses your temples, kisses your shoulders, kisses your knuckles.

You melt into his grasp, turning to look up at him. You run your fingers over his lips, through his damp hair. Just staring. Drinking him all in.

“You were right next door, the entire time,” you whisper.

He runs a thumb across your cheek. “Yep.”

“Do you think we wasted too much time?”

Joel’s lip turns. “Nah,” he says. “We found our way.”

“Needed a little help, though.”

He scoffs, tongue between his teeth. “I’m sure she’ll hold it against us forever.”

You think of that evening in August. The last bow of the sun before your world changed forever. Of deals struck and promises made. Of satin on your fingertips – newspaper ink and duck egg silk.

You think of that photograph on your mantelpiece. Bright eyes watching every second of it. A smile on her face the entire time.

You laugh to yourself. Joel looks down and kisses your swollen cheek.

“We should go,” he taps your thigh, “got a little duck who’ll be wonderin’ where her mama and daddy are.”

The church tower rings out twice as the truck purrs between graves.

Joel pulls up under the shade of a sycamore, tires rolling to a halt. Sarah kicks her feet, her heels thudding against her car seat.

“Mama,” she presses a sticky finger to the back window, “flowers.”

“Yeah, baby,” you call over your shoulder, hugging your own graveside gift a little tighter in your arms. “Lots of ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah,” your daughter quietly considers, then kicks her seat again.

Joel waits patiently for you to give him the go ahead. He slips a hand around your knee, looking ahead at the rows of headstones. So patient, so gentle.

Your chest swells, a deep breath filling your lungs, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Sure?” he asks. “Take as long as you want, darlin’.”

But if you wait any longer, you’ll never leave. The paper wrap crinkles in your arms. “You take Duck,” you reply, “I’ll take…”

Joel lifts your hand, placing a soft kiss between your knuckles. “You got it. We’ll walk on.”

He leaves you in the truck to collect yourself. He unbuckles Sarah and sets her loose, following her across the grass with his hands in his pockets.

Her light-up sneakers flash as she sprints; head tossed back, toothless smile pointed to the sun. She turns back to her dad, her little hand fitting perfectly into his.

Made for each other.

You hook your fingers around the handle and leave the truck.

Their grave is a short walk down a grassy slope, sheltered by another towering tree. Its leaves flutter down around you as you near the stone; stray petals which catch in the breeze and lead the way.

You kneel down, the grass dry and prickly through your jeans. “Hi, Mom,” you whisper, sweeping some dust from the base of the grave. “Hi, Dad.”

Your grandma picked this spot. She’s long gone – laid to rest elsewhere with a grandfather you never met – so you try to visit as often as you can. Freshen the flowers, brighten up the stone.

It fucking sucks, but someone’s gotta do it.

You peel the brown paper from the bouquet, exposing the soft colors Sarah picked back in the florist. They fit perfectly on the stone, right beneath the words Devoted parents.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a feeling that wraps itself around your throat and steals any other words – until a flash of pink catches your attention.

“Duckie,” Joel calls, following her between graves. “Hey. This is a cem…Hey, Duck, listen – this is a cemetery, we gotta be – Sarah!”

You stifle a laugh, watching him jog after the hoodie tied around her waist. He swipes for her hand and she dodges him, ducking between graves faster than his mid-fifties joints can turn him.

There’s no one else here – it’s only you. And it’s a quiet enough place as it is, so – you let her laugh. Let him chase her, and let her sneakers light the place in pink. What else is there to do?

“Sorry it’s been a little while,” you tell your parents, eyes still on your man.

He’s kneeling now, Sarah on his thigh, in front of a tall, cross-shaped stone. They’re pointing at the words on the stone, her inquisitive eyes studying each one.

“I know I said I’d come visit for Dad’s birthday, but I guess things got busy – what with the move and all. We’re still living out of boxes. But the girls’ rooms are almost done – we just gotta paint ‘em.”

You look back down to the stone. Your mom’s name carved deep into spotted marble, your dad’s underneath. One awful date to tie them both together.

Dad probably heard Duck’s first squeal and turned away; gone back to whatever boring activity he might get up to in the afterlife. But your mom, you know for certain, is sat with her chin on the heel of her palm. Watching her mini-me trace the shapes of words, squirming when Joel presses his lips to her temple and whispers hints to her.

She’s probably smiling, making some comment about how big Sarah’s getting. How smart she is, how funny. How she must keep you and Joel on your toes – and goddamn, she’s right.

“Joel’s been working on the kitchen,” you continue. “I left my phone in the truck, but you should see it, Mom. He got these marble countertops, these little brushed-gold handles. He wrote our names on the wall before he tiled it, so whoever remodels after we’re gone will find that. The four of us.”

“M-meh-mem-orr-mem-or-ree?” Sarah tilts her head.

Joel nods. “Memory, yeah. Good job, Duck.”

“Duckie’s good,” you tell your mom. “She’s top of her class in – well, everything. Really wiping the floor with all the other first-graders. She’d have been your favorite – I know that much. And you’d have been hers.

“She’s gonna be some kind of lawyer, we think. Social justice and all that. She likes to be a woman of the people. Always talkin’ back to Joel – she hardly cuts him any slack, these days,” you laugh.

“He’s good, too – Joel. Working hard, as usual. Tommy and Maria visited last week – they brought Buckley, and now Duck won’t stop goin’ on about us getting a dog.”

You chance a glance over the stone, making sure the pair are out of earshot when you add, “Don’t tell her, but we called the pound last night. We’re heading there tomorrow while she’s at school to pick one out for her birthday. Joel’s giddier than I think Sarah’s gonna be.”

Joel’s carrying Duck now, wandering down a wobbly row of graves.

She halts him by pointing to one. “N-eh-v-eh-never…fff-or-g-for–”

He stares at her, a grin breaking across his lips. “Sound it out, that’s it. ‘s a big word, baby girl. You got it.”

The world seems to blur around them. The birds sing, a light melody from overhead. The green trees sway across the blue of the sky; the straight soar of cars on the highway. It all fades into the background, behind the two of them – wandering from shade into brilliant sun.

Your family. Your man, your blood – and everything in between. The little girl who brought it all together in the end – leading her dad by hand over knolls and broken stone, chasing butterflies, and asking what eh-teh-err-nal means.

“Means forever,” Joel says, kneeling beside her. “’s how long I’m gonna love you for.”

“And Nel?”

“And Nel.”

“And Mama?”

“And Mama.”

Sarah runs her hands through his beard, swaying side to side. “But me the most,” she concludes, nodding.

Joel hms, biting back a laugh. He lifts his chin, asks the little girl whether or not he’s going gray.

She has the same ridiculous laugh you do. The same snort you used to find so embarrassing, until you heard it come from her.

Just watching them stokes the already burning fire in your ribcage – the warmth flooding around your heart. He’s so good at it – being a dad.

Was he ever anything else, before he was a father? You can’t remember a time you didn’t wake up next to him, wrapped up in his arms, or with one of his kids burrowed between your bodies. It all feels so long ago, now.

He wanted to do everything. He’d lie with you between his legs, holding your half-sleeping form upright while you fed her. He’d race home after work specially to bathe her. He picked up any and every single duck-themed thing that he came across.

And what were you? Mom felt like such a fucking longshot. So out of your reach that you couldn’t understand the meaning of the word.

But there are days when she says it – Sarah, looking up at you with Joel’s twinkling eyes and a smirk which matches yours – and it’s like you’ve been waiting your whole life to hear it. Like you’ve been waiting your whole life for her.

Well. Her, and her little sister.

“And, uh – another thing,” you say, reaching for the plastic handle of a car seat. “I brought somebody for you to meet.”

A clumsy fist shoots up to shake a speckled dinosaur toy – the brown spheres of its eyes catching the sunlight. She squeals with delight when you unbuckle her, kicks her legs the same way her sister always did.

“She’s a little nervous, ain’t you, Nel?” you whisper, laughing at her gummy smile and tiny, socked feet. “She spit up on herself on the way here, but – I think you’re gonna love her.”

You perch the baby on your thigh, same as Joel did with Sarah, and she wraps her fingers around one of yours. You wiggle it – waving to your mom’s name, to the petals gently fluttering in the breeze.

“Mom,” you sniff, “this is Ellie.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel miller #tw pregnancy

[elliespassagerprincess]

house wife reader x mean ellie 👀 ellie works long hours on the weekdays and takes out all of her anger on her docile wife who cooks all her meals, does all of her laundry, cleans the entire house, and make sure ellie’s satisfied 24/7.

Satisfied - (ellie williams x housewife reader)

hi anon! mean ellie? hell yeah. I hope you don't mind, but I added my own twist. I hope you enjoy &lt;3

Pairing: mean ellie x housewife fem!reader

requests are open, feel free to leave one!

HUGE warnings: toxic relationships, murder, gore, violence

Summary: in which you were the perfect housewife

authors note: I'm literally trying to empty out my request inbox, so be ready because there's a bunch of fics coming your way!

"so when last have you seen her?" The police officer asked as he sat across you.

"well she went out yesterday and she never came back"

you saw him look at you and Ellie's house as he was taking notes.

"Any arguments?"

"No"

once again you saw the pen write something on some paper. You wanted to know what exactly he was writing about.

What was talking him so long? You wanted him to fucking leave.

"Thank you for answering these questions, we'll call if we need anything else" the officer said as he stood up.

"Thank you for your hard work! Do I need to walk you out?" You asked with smile

"no, I'll show myself out" was all he said as he walked towards the front door.

As soon as he was out of sight you got up and ran to window to check if he was gone. You watched his car pull out the driveway, and you let out a sigh of relief.

fucking finally.

You ran to you and Ellie's shared room, and between heavy breathes you said "she almost caught us baby".

You walked towards the bed, where Ellie's decomposing body lay. Flies circled her body, her skin was pale and cold to the touch.

You put some of her hair behind her ear "it's ok now, they'll never catch us" you whispered

You loved Ellie. And you would anything for you. Anything including quitting your job and becoming her housewife.

In the beginning you hated it, staying home, cooking, cleaning. But when Ellie praised you, you fucking loved it.

And soon after you became the stereotypical housewife. Cute outfits, aprons that matched whatever you wore. You always woke up before her, to prepare her favorite breakfast. You cooked her dinner.

You fucking did everything.

The two of you were happy. Until Ellie got a promotion. She got more work, the pressure was getting worse for the poor girl.

Ellie came home late and most nights she barley even slept. You tried supporting your wife as best you could. You tried cleaning the house before she came come. You did all her laundry, you even chose her outfits most days.

But it was never enough for her.

One night you cooked Ellie's favorite meal. A prideful smile was on your lips as you put the plate in front of her.

This would cheer her up. You knew it would.

Ellie glanced down at the plate, and she looked back at you. The dark circles under her eyes looked even darker than they did yesterday.

"You are so fucking pathetic" she started.

"I work all fucking day to come to this shit? And look, this table is dusty" she added.

Ellie got up from where she was sitting and she threw the plate filled with food onto the floor. "You have cleaning to do, and don't fucking serve this shit again" she walked out of the dining room and you sat there mouth agape.

This was the first time she's ever said anything like that to you. You sobbed in the kitchen that night. You felt sick to your stomach.

Everything you did was for Ellie and for the first time she wasn't satisfied with you.

Your main mission in life became to serve. To serve her. But what do you do when the one you did everything for, wasn't satisfied?

The next morning you woke up bright and early, and you cooked Ellie a widespread of breakfast. Fruit salad, bacon, eggs pancakes and so much more decorated the table.

You heard the bedroom door open and you saw her walk out, she glanced at the table

"I'm not hungry" was all she said and she walked out the front door.

You were shattered.

Since that day everything you did was wrong.

You couldn't clean right.

Her fingers ran along the cupboard, and she looked at you with a frown.

"Can you not clean right? Should i get a maid? Because you cant do shit"

you couldn't do the laundry right.

you stood in the doorway watching Ellie fit on her suit. She looked herself in the mirror before she made eye contact with you.

"It's still wrinkled and there's a stain" she pointed out.

"fix it" was all she said before she threw the clothes on the floor.

You couldn't even cook right.

Ellie only had one spoon of her food before she pushed her plate to the side

"what's wrong?" you asked

"this is disgusting"

it hurts. Every insult Ellie hurled at you hurt.

You knew she was stressed but it didn't give her the right to take her stress out on you.

One night you tried talking to Ellie. But she didn't want to. She didn't have energy for this.

"Don't you have a house to clean? Oh wait you can't even do that right" she said through a chuckle.

You snapped.

You let out a scream as you grabbed the lamp on your side of the bed. You jumped onto the bed, and you shit her over and over again.

"I"

*hit

"am"

*hit

"the perfect"

*hit

"housewife" you yelled.

Blood littered the walls, and your hands. Heavy breathes left your mouth as you looked at the scene.

"Oh Ellie I'm sorry! This room is filthy! I'll clean it"

you scrubbed the walls, you changed the bedding and you gave her a bath.

Everything was back to normal. It was all clean.

You looked at her decomposing body. She looked peaceful and she wasn't being mean anymore.

This was the girl you fell in love with.

You gave her a kiss on the forehead before you muttered "its time for breakfast" and you left the room to start making your girl breakfast.

You weren't sure how long you were going to get away with this, but for the time being you were happy.

She was better dead anyway.

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou x reader #ellie tlou2 x reader #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams imagine #ellie #ellie x you #dark! ellie williams #ellie miller #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams angst #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams hcs #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams one shot #ellie williams oneshot #ellie williams promlt #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader

[time-slink]

help me, how do i start watching hermitcraft... its so daunting and i tried starting at the last epsiode of season 9 and i find myself so confused and i feel like im missing stuff auhguhruhghgurhgurhurhguhghurhgurgh

if you really want to be filled in on everything from season 9 so far, i recommend binging the recap channel— you may recognize the voice of pixlriffs, also well known as an empires member, who was recently on the hc server himself! you could probably also skim the wiki if you want but also, season 9 has now been going for a solid ten months, so there is a lot of content to catch up on. thankfully, you dont need to! yeah, its confusing at first, but you could honestly just pick up with the latest episodes of like one or two hermits and after a couple weeks you should have a decent idea of what's going on :) i dropped in near the very end of season 7 myself, and while it took me a bit, i caught on! reminder that unlike a couple other popular smps, hermitcraft isnt really lore or story focused. its more about friends building and goofing off together! there are stories too (this season's king ren plot, season 8's ending, season 7's mayoral race and turf war, etc etc) but they arent the main focus, and you won't have a heavily diminished experience from not knowing much. tl;dr: just have fun with it! don't worry about lack of knowledge— ive never seen someone in the fan space make fun of another for not knowing the plot, we're all just here to watch our favorite mc personalities and have fun :]

#shush slinky #asks #a lot of people pick gr1an (censored so i dont fill the tag) as their first watch bc he interacts with so many other people #he's like a great launchpad to finding the person u like watching the most #he's also the most popular guy in most fandom work so you'll see a lot of content for him #theres a flowchart somewhere on the reddit i think. abt which styles of content u like and which hermits they fit #if u wanna go looking for that #also!! if you're ever curious about anything #feel free to ask me! my inbox is always open but also feel free to message me at any time #i like talking to people and i dont bite :)

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Half A Bed

No, this is not the "only one bed" trope I'm afraid, although if anyone has any ideas for a fic w that trope, do drop you ideas in the inbox!

Summary: You and Astarion share a bed

At this point, it has become a habit for Astarion to move and leave half his bed free for you to plop yourself on whenever you enter his tent, despite all his grumbling about needing to move from his comfortable position. You then accept the invitation and happily lie down next to him, stretching your arms above your head with a relaxed sigh.

Tonight, Astarion wraps his arms around you, nuzzling into your neck and deeply inhales your scent. He loves how you smell like him, bergamot filling his nose and he lets out a contented sigh. You exude a pleasant warmth as per usual, sharply contrasting his own cold body. He shifts a little so that you can wrap an arm around him, nestling him in a cocoon of your embrace. His cold slender finger draws random shapes on your stomach while he rests his head on your shoulder, enjoying the silence that has befallen his tent.

It wasn’t long ago when such silence would have made him uncomfortable, unsure of what to do, unsure of what you wanted to do, but you had explained yourself upon noticing his discomfort, telling him that sometimes you were just too tired to do anything but still wanted his company. He had agreed to allowing you to do that, despite his reservations about what he himself could do during that time but soon realised that you really didn’t mind what he did.

If he felt just as exhausted as you, he would simply lie next to you, cuddling in the bed. If he still had some energy to spend, he would play with your hair or trace doodles on your stomach. If he felt peckish, he would drink from your neck. The only thing he couldn’t quite bring himself to do was trance whilst you were still awake. He told himself it was because he wanted to watch over you, but in reality, it was because deep down, he still feared that one day you would leave him.

The comfortable silence washes over the both of you, save for the quiet sound of your breathing and the rustle of book pages as you read the book you had brought along with you.

You glance down to check on your vampire lover, a small smile on your face when you notice how relaxed he is and start running your hand through his hair with your free hand. He croons in response and leans into the rhythmic touch, letting the calm wash over him. Your smile only grows wider, a small chuckle slipping from your lips which causes Astarion to look up at you, eyebrows furrowed.

“What, may I ask, is so funny?”

“Nothing, Star. Don’t worry.” You press a kiss to his creased forehead. “Although, if you keep frowning like that, there will be permanent wrinkles on your forehead.”

“Excuse me? I am a vampire! Eternally young and beautiful, all thanks to my already handsome features from before I was turned.” He huffs, burrowing his face deeper into your shoulder.

“Mmhm, if you say so,” you hum, setting aside your book to fully focus on him. As you play with strands of his curly silver hair, he gives yet another exaggerated huff, wrapping his arms around you and lightly nips at your exposed shoulder. He gives you a pout as he has done many times before and at this point, you would think you’d be immune to it but something about the way he pouts makes your heart melt each and every time.

“Come here,” you groan, rolling over to wrap your arms around him. He grins, happily nuzzling into your shoulder and welcomes the familiar embrace, filled with warmth and love. He feels safest like this, knowing that whatever happens, he will always have you to return to, that you will always have his back just like he has yours. You’re also permanently warm, and while that was something you found annoying, Astarion thanked whoever it was that made you such. He never needed to worry about the cold, not when all he needed to do was snuggle against you whenever he started to get cold, or simply felt like it. Not once did you ever turn him down, and he doubted you would ever do so.

You bury your face into his soft curls, suppressing yet another chuckle when you hear him mutter something along the lines of being one of the most beautiful vampires in all of Faerun.

“My apologies, one of the most beautiful vampires in all of Faerun.” You snort.

“Apology accepted,” he crows, ego stroked.

You can’t help but laugh, holding him close and pressing more kisses to the top of his head.

“Simply calling you beautiful doesn’t do you justice, you know.” You ruffle his hair.

“Oh? Do go on, darling.” His eyes twinkle with amusement and happiness.

“You see,” you indulge him, “it’s really easy to call you beautiful because everyone does that, and the phrase ends up losing all meaning. Calling you…say…‘my entire world’ however, still holds a lot of meaning because nobody else calls you that.” You’re not sure why you’re being sappy tonight but you do know that you’re more than happy to give Astarion all the compliments in the world and more. He deserves at least that much.

Tears prick the edges of his eyes at your words and he quickly buries his tearing face in your shoulder, not wanting you to see how your words have affected him.

“It means everything, coming from you,” he whispers, the words struggling to leave his clogged up throat. He squeezes your hand tightly, hoping that the small gesture can convey everything he cannot say and from the look you give him, you’ve received the message.

He shifts to rest his head on your chest, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat and closes his eyes, letting the feeling he can’t qute describe wash over him. He sinks into the endless abyss of warmth that is you, barely aware of your arm moving to wrap around him to pull him closer but he likes the support that it brings. Even if he were to sink, he knows — no trusts — that you will be there to catch him. Maybe he could let his guard down for just a little while, a short respite from the exhausting day and trust that when he opens his eyes again, you’ll still be there, watching over him with that soft look in your eyes. You wouldn’t leave him when he’s at his most vulnerable, would you?

Ignoring the nagging feeling in his heart, he lets himself slip into a trance, lulled by the soothing sound of your heartbeat and the warmth of your body heat. It’s times like these where he misses being alive, he wishes he could feel his own heartbeat, feel the warmth of his body but when you still curl up against him even on the chilliest of nights, he thinks to himself that perhaps he is alright the way he is, with his cold undead body and sanguine hunger. You may have already told him such when he was confronted with the choice of ascending but while you may have accepted him as who he is, he still struggles with it from time to time. Doubts continue to claw at his thoughts, no matter how many times you drive them away, but if you will continue fighting against them for him, he will not give up.

Your heart flutters when you realise he’s drifting off into a trance. He subconsciously curls tighter into your side, fingers tightly grasping whatever they can reach.

“Rest well, my star.” You murmur, lips ghosting his forehead. It doesn’t take long for you to drift off as well, holding your world in your arms.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #astarion fluff #astarion fanfic #astarion fic

[angelltheninth]

Would you ever expand on Sukuna as a pornstar? Sorry I can't stop thinking about it after you mentioned in in you Yuuji fic.

Me too Anon, me too. I'm happy to write more about this au.

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, porn work, filmed, mutual masturbation, power play, marking, possessive sex

A/N: If you ever want to ask me questions about my fics/headcanons feel free to send them in my inbox, I'm always happy to talk to you guys.

Pornstar!Sukuna only does the really kinky movies, or the ones where he can be really rough. That's his style, that's what everyone wants to see him in, it's what he likes as well. He's been offered other roles before but has turned most of them down, it's not that he couldn't do it but he wants to be proud of what he films.

Pornstar!Sukuna has no problem telling people what he does for a living as he sees no shame in it. If someone tries to make fun of him for it he'll just direct them to one of his movies and dare them to make a woman come harder then he did.

Pornstar!Sukuna never wants you to fake your orgasm for the sake of the camera. Rest assured that with him you'll never need to either, he will make you come multiple times or else he didn't do his job properly. You better not try to fake it with him, if you do he'll switch things up and give you a real one, so hard, so good that you will actually pass out.

Pornstar!Sukuna wants you to keep your attention on him while you're doing a scene with him. Don't look at the camera, at anyone else, only at him. He's the one fucking you, his cock is inside of you, pounding hard at your insides and making your pussy feel better then any other co-star. So look at him, he wants to see the exact moment you come on his cock.

Pornstar!Sukuna loves leaving mark on you, ones that can't be covered up that easily. That way if you shoot a porno with someone else they'll know you've been with him before, they'll know they won't measure up and that the one you're thinking of the whole time is him.

Pornstar!Sukuna acted in a lot of roles that have him in the position of power. When he has roles like that he asks for you to be his co-star because according to him you follow his orders so naturally, it's just easier with you. The lines come out so easily for you both, him telling you what to do, you begging for more, calling him sir, boss, daddy, anything he wants.

Pornstar!Sukuna only masturbates to the movies you're in with him. It's how he gets ready for the next scene, the next role. Or the better alternative, having you there to masturbate with him. In secret of course cause the two of you are trying to keep things professional but when you spend so much time on screen together, fucking as much as you do, with that much chemistry it bleed over to your everyday life as well.

Pornstar!Sukuna fucks your brains out if you had a scene with someone else. He doesn't care who it was, if he was in the movie too or not but he won't just let someone fuck you when he didn't get to. No jealousy doesn't suit him well in his line of work, he is very aware of that but he can't help himself, he wants to make you come over and over, for every orgasm you've had with someone else he gives you a better one.

Pornstar!Sukuna shows off in front of the camera, not for anyone but himself. He can see everyone watching him fuck, almost mesmerizes by him, it feeds his already inflated ego like nothing else in the world. When he pulls out and his cock is still hard he's reeling to move onto the next scene, eager to show how much stamina he has.

Pornstar!Sukuna always brings the best refreshments to perk you up after filming is over. You eat them in his changing room where you can wind down and even cuddle with him if you want. But don't tell anyone, you know the kind of reputation he as around here, he has to keep it. But that doesn't mean he won't spoil his favorite co-star.

#ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna smut #sukuna thirst #jjk thirsts #jujutsu kaisen thirst #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk x fem!reader

[fashion-runways]

okay it's been over a year and i keep saying i'm going to make a new post and it's too exhausting to even think about the whole thing so i keep pushing it-- here's the link to the old post if you want a more detailed thing i wrote back then.

anyway, a year ago, out of the blue, our apartment got raided by the police, they broke our front door, they broke a bunch of shit inside, they took a bunch of our stuff, they barely gave us answers or an explanation, they took my dad and made it seem like he would have to sign some stuff and answer some questions and come back, but it's been over a year (since june 2022) and he hasn't come back, and his case is still up in the air. they're barely working on it. they didn't pay for all the shit they broke, they haven't returned all the shit they took, we had to spend a lot of money on that, i had to take a loan to buy a new computer so i could keep working and studying, on top of spending even more money on basic needs for my dad in jail and lawyers, plus blood pressure and anxiety medications, plus he's old and he was scheduled an eye surgery that he obviously couldn't go to so he's like, practically blind in one eye now, also new clothes for him to wear there (there's a bunch of rules for that), honestly i already lost track of how many things we had to pay for. it's been incredibly stressful and it still is even now that we've gotten used to it. he's been detained for a year for something that they still don't even know if he did and the case is barely moving, i don't know if they're like... i don't know, waiting for the man to die in there since he's already old so they don't have to admit they don't have enough proof for all the mess they made? i don't know. like i said back then, please don't ask me for details on the case or show up in my inbox trying to play tiktok true crime and guess what he did/didn't do. it happened a few times and it's extremely triggering, please don't. please.

this blog is basically my job. it's my primary source of income, i don't have anything else, no matter how many interviews i go to, in the country/city i live and in the state our economy is, if you don't have contacts it's impossible to get a job. i'm always signing up to free programs to learn new things while i don't have a job, try to make my cv bigger, but it doesn't matter. if you don't have someone saying “please hire my friend/family member” or you don't have 500 years of experience, they won't. so like i said, donations people make to this blog are how me and my mom (and my pets) stay afloat. it's what we use to pay for food, general groceries, transportation, electricity, wifi, water, gas, health insurance, stuff for my dad in jail, meds for my mom who has diabetes, food and meds for my pets. i don't go out much, i haven't gotten a haircut in a year, i barely spend money in anything that makes me happy except once in a blue moon when i stop feeling guilty lmao i had a redbubble account also that helped a little too, but last week it got suspended without an explanation as i was uploading new designs, so i don't even have that now. i made a new account on teepublic, but all my designs in high quality are locked behind redbubble and i can't even log into because of the suspension. it's... complicated, and it's a lot, but it is what it is.

i'm always keeping an eye out on new collections, new designers, new cool things. like i said, i love fashion, i studied fashion, and i know a lot of you use this blog as inspiration whether it's for yourselves or for your art, so i don't want to post all similar stuff all the time, i want to post all kinds of styles and brands as much as i can. which is why when i say if you like this blog, if you want to support me, sending even the smallest amount of money helps me keep going. living in latin america, the exchange rate is kind of insane, so truly any amount of money donated helps. unfortunately, i never stop needing money to survive and help keep my family afloat, but in the past year more than ever.

as usual, my kofi link is this one: https://ko-fi.com/fashionrunways and my (new) teepublic link is this one: https://www.teepublic.com/user/dinah-lance. if my redbubble account gets reinstated, i'll add that link eventually too. and as always, thanks for loving this blog and for loving fashion like i love fashion, even when i post crazy looking stuff, and thanks for helping. you have no idea how much your support helps, but it really does, i don't even know if i'd be alive right now if it wasn't for this blog.

#text posts #long post.