#i. i feel better i feel a lot better than i have in months

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Shaking (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have an anxiety attack in a public setting, but luckily, the doctor is there to help you through it.

Word Count: 2450

Warnings: Anxiety attack, mild cursing, mostly just ANGST and then comforting FLUFF

A/N: Wanted to write Spence comforting the reader during a panic attack. Fanfiction is better than therapy, right? At least, it’s cheaper! Also not my GIF

——

“You don’t want to just order it online?” Spencer asked as you walked beside him down the sidewalk. His longer legs would typically mean that he’d be several steps ahead of you, but he always slowed his pace so you wouldn’t have to strain to keep up with him. He also walked on the outside of the path because, let’s face it, he was a gentleman.

You shook your head. “No, I want the whole experience,” you said excitedly as you walked, your face lighting up in anticipation. You were on your way towards a local bookstore, where the third book in your favorite series was being released today. The bookstore was going to be packed, but you were so excited to be one of the first ones in the door, to get your hands on a physical copy. “I don’t ever do things like this, but it’ll be something I think about every time I look at the book sitting on my shelf.”

Spencer nodded, lifting his hand, his thumb and forefinger in an O-shape as he spoke. “Ah, the age-old concept of symbolic treasures. One of the main reasons why souvenirs are such a prevalent part of going on vacation. Did you know the tradition dates back to Ancient Egypt?”

You shook your head as you continued to walk with him. Your boyfriend carried on without fault. “As far back as 2200 B.C, Egyptian Prince Harkhuf traveled to what is now known as Sudan and returned with all sorts of objects to present to his father, the pharaoh,” Spencer explained. His words spat out quickly, compulsively, as though they had to exit his encyclopedic brain. “He brought back items such as incense, ivory, even the skins of leopards to show off to his father.”

“I had no idea,” you told Spencer as you neared the bookstore, smiling sideways at him. You loved it when he spouted off facts like that, like he had to get the information out or else he’d explode. He had confessed to you more than once before that most people found it weird or off-putting or even annoying, but not you. Rather, you loved learning new things. Whatever information he had to share with you was always relevant in one way or another, and it was just one of the reasons why you loved spending time with him - he made you a more knowledgeable, well-rounded person.

Before either of you could say much else, you’d reached the back of the line of the bookstore. You checked the time on your phone. The store would open in about fifteen minutes. The line stretched down at least a full block, from what you could see. Lots of people dressed like characters from the books, shuffling their feet in excited anticipation.

There were at least a hundred people in the line, and after a minute or two, a couple dozen more had filed in behind where you stood. You pursed your lips for a moment, scanning the crowd until your eyes met Spencer’s.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, inclining his head to the side.

You shook your head. “Nothing,” you said. “Just… lot of people.”

Spencer nodded understandingly, then reached down to take your hand. Your fingers twined with his and he squeezed his palm against yours. “I’m right here,” he reminded you. You didn’t love crowds. They always made you feel anxious, perhaps even a little claustrophobic. You and Spencer had gone to a fairly crowded French film festival a few months ago and there hadn’t been an organized line to enter; rather, it had been a cluster of people, all pressed together. And you had felt like you couldn’t breathe. Spencer’d had to pull you to a seat off to the side so you could catch your breath, and you’d missed getting a seat up front like you’d been hoping for.

Right now, you were okay, though. There were people in front of you and behind you, but they weren’t flush against you like they had been waiting for the film festival to open. And Spencer was holding your hand, and you were outside, with the cool, spring morning breeze hitting your face. It was fine. You were going to be fine. You inhaled deeply and exhaled, then nodded your head, feeling the anxiety dissipate. “I’m good,” you told Spencer, looking up at him.

Spencer nodded. He squeezed your hand once again before letting go, only so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders and tug you so you leaned against his chest. He kissed the top of your hair. “It’s going to be just fine,” he promised you, and you just smiled to yourself.

About ten minutes later, the store opened. You only knew that because the line started moving, and more quickly than you thought. You squealed in delight and matched the pace of the people in front of you, Spencer by your side with an amused grin on his face. He loved books just as much as you did, if not more, but this outing was definitely just for you. He’d read the other preceding books in this series (literally just because you asked him to and it took him an hour, tops), but he wasn’t a total geek for it like you were.

You finally made it inside the bookstore, a small business, a local place. You’d been inside several times before, but you hadn’t realized just how small the building actually was until you stepped in now. It was two stories, but everyone was tightly packed, with the people and the bookshelves crowding around you as you made it fully inside the store. There was even a line to go up to the second floor, like a queue at an amusement park.

There was little to no breathing room. Everyone was talking as they waited their turn to grab a copy of the new book, and the sound seemed to bounce off the walls and the ceiling and smack you right in the ear. The air felt thick despite the front door and handful of windows being opened, allowing the cool spring breeze to ruffle the pages of the paperbacks on display.

But it wasn’t refreshing. Rather, it was another stimulant that caused the neurons in your brain to fire even faster. You felt your palms get slick. You felt your heart start to pound, and your knees wobble as you shuffled forward in the line. What were you even waiting in line for? You momentarily forgot, blinking a few times before looking up at the man beside you. Spencer was engrossed in looking around the bookstore, the corners of his mouth quirking upward as he seemed to find something amusing. But when his eyes came full circle back to you, they were immediately filled with concern. “Y/N?” He asked softly, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You couldn’t even hear him. The sound of his voice just bounced off your brain, like you were trapped inside of cellophane. All you could think was trapped. I’m trapped. No way out. Stuck. Caged. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.

You felt your breathing go heavy, and your eyes fill up with tears. Your cheeks were red, bright red, judging from how hot you suddenly felt. “Leave,” you managed to choke out, your voice coming out from your throat. It felt like your throat was lined with thorns, like the words you wanted to say kept getting caught.

Spencer nodded. “Leave? Yeah. Yeah, baby, we can leave,” Spencer grabbed your hand, tugging you along behind him as he murmured “excuse me, pardon me,” to the other patrons, to get through the crowd. Moving against the crowd was so much worse than standing still. All those eyes on you, seeing your red face and the anxious tears trickling down your cheeks. It was so embarrassing, freaking out like this is such a public space. Everyone thinks I’m a freak, you thought. Your anxiety became not about the crowd, but about your anxiety, about how you were being perceived. Your breathing picked up, quickened, and by the time Spencer led you out into the morning sun, you were fully hyperventilating.

The thoughts in your head were racing at the speed of light. You hated feeling nervous like this, but moreover, you hated that Spencer had to take care of you because of it. You felt like you had ruined the day because your head wasn’t on straight, because you couldn’t stand in a crowd of people and hear the cacophony of voices and tamp down your panic.

Spencer led you down the block, about twenty feet from the store, away from the crowd, and your breath was still coming out staccato, unstable as you looked down at your shaking hands. You were crying and hyperventilating and the whole world felt like it was spinning. Spencer kept his hold on your hand and stood in front of you, squeezing his palm against yours. His eyes, those light brown irises with little flecks of green, stared into yours. “Hey, Y/N,” he said, bending his knees so his face was level with yours. “Breathe with me, okay?”

You shook your head, your eyes clamping shut. You were so mad at yourself in that moment. You didn’t want to have Spencer take care of you, to have to drag you out of a bookstore because you were having a panic attack. “Baby, you’re trembling,” you heard Spencer’s voice laced with concern. “Look at me. We’ll get through this together.”

You opened your eyes slowly, and that’s when you realized your entire body was shaking. You looked into Spencer’s eyes and he released your hand so he could cup your face. His fingers anchored under your jaw, his thumbs rested on your cheeks, and his eyes were wide, full of worry, but his voice managed to stay soothing and calm. “Follow my breath, Y/N. Do what I’m doing, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four.”

He inhaled for 4 seconds, and you tried to follow his lead, but you just couldn’t control your lungs. “It’s okay,” he assured you as your brows furrowed, presenting frustration. “C’mon, try again.” He inhaled for 4 seconds, and you managed to match him this time. “Hold for four,” you held your breath while Spencer counted. “And out for four,” you exhaled deeply. “Good, okay, let’s do it again.”

Spencer guided your breath for a few minutes, until you finally felt like you could do it on your own. And when you finally felt yourself coming down from the rush of panic that had sent you into fight-or-flight, you wiped at your wet eyes. “I’m sorry,” you croaked, and Spencer just shook his head.

“No,” he insisted, taking your hand and placing it on his heart. You could feel it beating through his long-sleeved t-shirt. “No, you don’t have to be sorry.” You rubbed your hand against his chest, finding it comforting as you hung your head. “Baby, look at me,” he requested, and you met his eyes.

“Please don’t ever apologize for having an anxiety attack, okay? For one thing, it’s not your fault. You can’t control the chemicals and waves in your brain and how your body reacts to situations,” Spencer began, his hand on top of yours that rested on his chest. You nodded, using the heel of your free hand to wipe away your tears. The crying was over, you were fairly certain, but god, did this suck. “You also should never feel ashamed for having a panic attack, Y/N. It happened, and we’re working through it. It’s a lot like boiling a pot of water, isn’t it?”

You let out a garbled sounding laugh and your brows furrowed. “How so?” You stammered out.

“Well, you set the pot of water on the stove, right?” Spencer began, and you nodded. “And then when it starts to bubble, that’s your anxiety. Some sort of external stimulant - the stove, or, in your case, the overwhelming feeling of being in a crowd - is causing the water to bubble. And when the external stimulant increases in intensity, so too does your anxiety. And sometimes, yeah, the pot boils over.” Spencer shrugged like it was no big deal. “But then you just turn the stove off, grab a dishtowel, and clean up the mess. Problem solved.”

You cracked a half-hearted smile. “So in this metaphor, you’re a dishtowel?” You asked, curling your fingers around the fabric of his shirt.

“Technically, I think it’s a simile, but yes,” Spencer grinned as he looked in your eyes.

“But the book,” you sighed, looking back at the bookstore, which was still filtering people in and out slowly. The patrons leaving the store clutched their new copies of the book in their hands, grinning and taking pictures with their phones, laughing with their friends excitedly.

“Do you want to get back in line and try again?” Spencer asked, and you bit your cheek pensively.

“I don’t think so,” you said softly, defeatedly.

“That’s okay,” Spencer said. You loved that he wasn’t coddling you, he was just feeling it out, seeing what you were up for. “Do you want to get brunch somewhere and come back? Maybe the line will have died down by then?”

You nodded, your lips curling into a small smile. “Yeah,” you agreed. You realized your hand was still over his heart, rubbing at his chest. Your movement halted and you retracted your hand, but before your arm could fall completely at your side, Spencer scooped your hand up and kissed the back of your palm. “What if we come back and they’ve sold out of the book, though?” You asked as Spencer walked with you in the direction of one of your favorite brunch places, just a short walk from the bookstore.

“There are twenty-two independent bookstores in the D.C. metropolitan area alone,” Spencer rattled off. “If this one doesn’t have it, we’ll drive around until we find one that does.”

“What article did you read that told you how many bookstores were in D.C?” You asked. You often liked to challenge him by asking him to cite his sources.

“No article. I did a search on Google Maps last night,” Spencer explained.

“What, because you knew I’d freak out when we walked into this one?” You asked him.

Spencer shook his head. “No, just wanted to have a contingency plan in case our first stop sold out before we got there.”

“Always thinking ahead, huh, Boy Wonder?”

“Damn straight.” A smirk formed across Spencer’s lips.

You shook your head. “You’re the best dishtowel a girl could ask for.”

#spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfics #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff

[gay-dorito-dust]

hi, i love your works❤

can i request hurt comfort hcs with reader that have been down and empty for a long time with gallagher, blade, jing yuan and dan heng? ty!

Gallagher:

‘It’s okay to feel like down every now and then. No one is expecting you to constantly be happy and smiles all the time, that’s just not healthy.’ Gallagher would say as he sat himself next to you in bed. ‘So don’t blame yourself for feeling sad or feeling as though you’re running on empty because you shouldn’t, you’ll get back up in due time but until then let ol’ Gallagher pamper you a little bit. Okay?’

He knows how difficult it was for you during these times and so he would do anything and everything in his power to make things a lot more easier for you.

Making you food, help you in shower, making sure you’re hydrated, adjusting the blankets, anything Gallagher could possibly think of that could make your day better, he would do it in a heart beat.

He loves spoiling you rotten anyway he could and if you only needed him to cuddle you until you fell asleep, then he’ll take his job as your personal pillow with the upmost seriousness.

He may even playfully bite you but that depends on whether or not that was okay with you because if it was, then he’d nibble anywhere he could reach until he got you to let out a little chuckle, all the while keeping a strong grip on you as not to let you leave his embrace.

He just wants you to feel loved even if you were sad or feeling particularly empty because that’s what you deserve and be reminded of your worth as Gallagher would be damned if you forgot the person you were in the midst of everything else.

Dan heng:

‘I’ve found a book that you might like, mind if I read it to you?’

Dan Heng would do anything to make you feel comfortable in your current situation.

And one of the things he would do was read to you a book that he thought that you might like as you’d lay on him.

Sure he was a tad flustered but he reminded himself that he was doing this for you and would ease into it by having an arm pressed to your lower back as he read each passage of the book with ease.

He’d make sure you were well fed, hydrated and just cared for in general as he presses kisses into your face.

‘You’re going to be okay.’ He presses a kiss to your forehead.

‘You’re not a burden.’ He says as he presses a kiss against your nose.

‘You’ll get back up in your own time, no one else’s.’ He then presses a kiss to your chin.

He’d even reach out to the likes of Welt and March 7th on what else he could do to better help you during these times and use them in practice.

Dan heng would do anything to ensure that you were going to be okay.

He doesn’t want you to feel alone during these times that he’d decline going anywhere if he knew you were going to be left behind. For he’d rather be with you doing absolutely nothing than get into heap loads of trouble through no fault of his own.

Dan Heng prioritises you and your well-being above all else and will do everything in his power to make sure that you’d be okay.

Jing yuan:

He understands wholeheartedly of what you’re going through and will try his best in being whatever you may need during that time.

Whether it’d be a shoulder to cry on, a reassuring presence or just someone for you to open up to in due time. Jing Yuan was more than willing despite his hectic schedule as General.

However it didn’t matter how hectic his schedule may get because he’d always make time for you, or make up for the lack of time spent with you, regardless of whichever it was Jing Yuan was dedicated to put in time out of his day just so you knew he was thinking of you.

He also impeaches a bit of wisdom into you in hopes that it would help you navigate your emotions and understand them better as he takes you on small journeys.

‘Don’t feel ashamed for how you feel, for it’ll pass in due time whether that be today, next week, next month, it’ll pass regardless.’ Jing yuan would say softly as he cradles you against his chest. ‘So please don’t feel as though you are on some nonsensical timer to feel better and push all your ailments to one side because you’re not. I don’t know where you get this notion that you have to be okay all of the time because it’s just not inherently true.’ He adds as he rubs your back reassuringly and pressing a few simple kisses against your forehead and face.

‘I would much rather you feel your emotions and become acquainted with them rather then disregard them in general. As I believe all emotions have stories to tell for you to learn from as to prevent yourself from perpetuating your own hurt, pain and suffering.’ Jing yuan tells you as he walks with you through the bustling streets, making sure to keep you close to him when kids ran past without a care.

He would take you to special spots where it would be just the two of you enjoying everything and anything in its natural state.

Jing yuan would go above and beyond if it meant knowing that you were going to be okay.

Blade:

He would sit by your side in solidarity in hopes that his presence would bring you at least some form of comfort, knowing that someone would be ready and waiting for you no matter what.

Blade knew sympathy wasn’t what you were looking for as it would surely only make you feel worse than before. So he forgoes that straight away as more often the not Blade believes that sympathy does more harm then many people think, depending on the situation of course, but still it’s a statement he firmly stands by.

Words of comfort aren’t his forte but he makes an attempt just for you.

‘You’re not weak for wanting respite.’ He would say as he holds your hand.

‘You’re not weak for feeling upset or empty, it’s natural for you to feel negative emotions as well as the positive ones, otherwise it becomes unbalanced.’ He would say as his fingertips traced your features with unnatural gentleness. ‘For example you’re meant to be happy, but you’re also meant to feel sad. You’re meant to be excited, but you’re also meant to feel scared.’ He adds as he lets you play with his long silky hair however you pleased.

Do whatever you want to him, Blade didn’t care if it meant making you feel even remotely better.

Play with his fingers, toy with his clothes, boop him on the nose, it didn’t matter as he’d sit there and take it with the patience of a saint.

Anyone who dare took the piss out of you when you’re most vulnerable better be ready to run as Blade was more then ready to withdraw his sword within a moments notice.

#hsr blade x reader #hsr x you #hsr imagines #hsr imagine #hsr x reader #hsr blade x you #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #Honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail imagine #blade x reader #blade imagines #blade imagine #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan imagine #jing yuan imagines #hsr dan heng x reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #dan heng imagines #Dan heng imagine #gallagher x you #gallagher x reader #gallagher imagine #gallagher imagines #hsr gallagher x reader

[angelltheninth]

Goblin Boyfriend Goes Into a Mating Frenzy

Pairing: Male!Goblin x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, creampie, breeding kink, height differance, mating season, gift giving, courting

A/N: Whoever decided goblins needed to be the bad guys does not know the appeal of short partners.

As horny as he is for you he'd rather settle for jerking off all day long then make a move before you accept him as your boyfriend

You've been fucking for a long time with no strings attatched but mating is different

Mating is special to his kind and he wants to do it right

Could just pump and dump if he didn't like you so much, yet you wormed your way into his heart

To win you over he visits every morning and brings you flowers, food, sweets and different types of bounties he's gotten over his years of fighting and work

Every morning you offer to take care of his hard cock that left a stain in the front of his pants and every morning he says no

For someone with such a high libito it's odd that he's refusing so much

"Can't gave sex with you yet. There are... things that you don't know about my kind. We breed like rabbits yes but such a time is special. One full month of non-stop sex, that's a lot for a human." His cheeks blush dark green while he sits on your bed, his feet kicking nervously. "I can't ask for that commitment from you until you accept me as your mate."

A full month of... oh. He wanted you to be his mate. That explains his weird behavior lately. The gifts suddenly have a lot more meaning than you first thought.

You suddenly felt like you were the one pressuring him. "I don't know if I could handle a full month if I'm being honest." His long ears dropped down, he nodded in understanding but stopped short of an apology when you cupped his cock, "But if you can keep yourself busy for a few days in-between I could give this my best shot." His ears perked back up immedietly and he grinned with a sharp smile.

"You would? Truly?" Hardly able to contain himself he launched his short, lanky body onto yours, landing face first into your tits. "I'll do my best then too, for you."

You exoected him to be rougher then normal but he wasn't, more impatient to get naked but he didn't treat you harshly

Couldn't stop hugging your thighs, using them to better shove his cock into your already creampied pussy

Never before has he made such deep, gutteral noises, his laugh getting louder every time he shot his cum into your womb with sopping, dirty fucking sounds

Due to his short height he had to cling onto you when you cuddled him sideways, telling him it was okay, to let it out, to use you like you wanted to be used

Made sure you were well fed but it was difficult to be apart, he had sex with you every time he came back from a hunt

Constantly hard so you offer him your mouth, ass and tits when your pussy needs rest

And when you need rest he does as you ask and jerks off instead

He keeps growling and snarling from the foot of the bed, his hand working his hard dick for the nth time that day. A full day of not fucking you. A full gods damn day.

"Can I? It feels so uncomfortable like this." His teeth grind against each other as your eyes meet his and you open your legs, pussy naked and wet from watching him all day. "Yes? Is that a yes from my mate?" He's been calling you that for days, almost as if he's forgotten your real name.

But as he approaches you push him away with your foot. "Sorry. You look cute when you're needy." The position of his ears tells you he did not take that as a compliment. "What? Don't you think our kids will be cute too?"

"K-kids... yes... I need to breed you and make you pregnant. Your womb will be full of my seed. It already is, you will give me lots of kids." He walks closer, cock leaking and pulsing. As he pushes it inside he leans down to press over your stomach. "My mate will look beautiful when she's pregnant. Won't you? Won't you?!"

You hug him close to yourself, so close to coming and this round just began. A human body wasn't made for so much sex but you were nothing if not a determined species. "Yes. You're gonna make me pregnant tonight, I can feel it. You're gonna be a dad soon, so please, keep taking care o- ah! Ye-yes! Fuck, just keep fucking me with your dick!" Perhaps you were going into a bit of a breeding frenzy too.

#monster x reader #monster x human #monster x you #monster x girl #monster x female #monster imagine #monster headcanons #monster smut #monster boyfriend #monster bf #monster love #goblin x reader #goblin imagine #goblin headcanons #goblin smut #x female reader

[tnsophiaonly]

Uh just a thought:

cw: yandere, cussing, bad grammar, scara being scara, Childe is Childe, fatui, blood is mentioned at least 1 time

Imagine a Y/N\Reader who does everything for their family, so like your brother/sister/mother/father anyone you love!! got super sick and the cure for it is expensive as hell! (8,765,432,765 mora)

So you work for the fatui to get better expenses, you were skilled enough to immediately be recognized by your superiors—ahem, harbingers— and the first one to recognize you was Childe. Childe is just so down bad for you, he loves fighting with you, anything that gets your attention, if he could, he'd always have you by his side when he does missions.

And there's this thing, your fellow friend (who's been to the fatui far longer than you) in the fatui had a gambling habit and would make bets. One time they talked about giving away millions of mora to whoever gets to be The Balladeer's secretary and survive for 3 months.

You, eager for the mora, you immediately did too well, acted like you were obsessed with him to amuse him, did so many things to the point of getting Scaramouche's attention, he finally made you his assistant.

Of course Childe is pissed as fuck. How dare this midget get you before him??!!

At first Scara was just humoring your fake obsessive behavior just for entertainment, telling himself he'd throw you away soon and laugh at your fake reactions.

3 months passed and Scaramouche started humoring another fatui agent in an attempt to get you to break and snap and make you jealous, you used that opportunity to slowly part ways from him. He took a whole week to notice how you were basically disappearing from his life. You didn't leave the work though, you did the remaining paperwork and missions before disappearing.

Scaramouche who slowly notices the difference in his life when you left, you left a great impact in his life. This new fatui agent he humors doesn't do as well as you do, they keep fucking up to the point that Scara doesn't find it funny anymore. Yeah, he admits, your perfectionist personality helped a lot in his work, you were boring yeah, but at least you got the work done! After yelling and punishing the fatui agent for fucking up again, Scara grits his teeth and walks out to cool himself down.

But that's where he saw you sparring with Childe. Childe is out here feeling gleeful that you were finally back to him, while you just went back to him because you are an agent under him.

The sparring ended with Childe winning, you almost won, but Childe was stronger as expected, he walked up to you and almost gave you a kiss before you pushed him away, shocked. Childe frowns, he keeps you caged in his arms, he doesn't care about the dirt, blood, snow, and sweat that mixes when he has you in his arms, what matters is you.

Scaramouche, gritting his teeth in anger and getting more frustrated and annoyed than ever—why is that obedient pet of his with Tartaglia?— he's mad.

You felt that cold and electric glares sent to you, you nudge your head and saw Scaramouche watching the both of you hug with a blank face, fffuck. You were not supposed to be seen by Scaramouche.

And Childe notices it too, he smirks and holds you closer, nuzzling his cheek on your hair.

Scaramouche was about to rush into both of you and demand an explanation, but why does he care? He isn't supposed to care about something like this! He always said he could replace you anytime, but he never said you could replace him.

I want to add more harbingers to this thought, imagine Columbina and Arlecchino 😻

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #reader #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers #genshin impact fatui #yandere scaramouche #yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #genshin yandere #yandere thoughts #genshin thoughts #yandere genshin imagines #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #childe x reader #childe #scaramouche #scara #scara x reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia #childe tartagalia #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact

[meruz]

i hope this hasn't been asked before. what size do you make your canvas? and do you crop it to fit other socials (like Instagram for example)? i hear that 300 dpi is standard. i never know if it's good to make my canvas big or not.

hi i think this ask is like at least 4 months old but i was scanning my sketchbooks from last year and i abruptly remembered i had gotten this ask because i had made a little chart in my sketchbook trying to figure out how to answer it

anyways theres pros and cons. and the size of your canvas is really going to depend on personal needs + preference. how good ur computer is, how complicated ur art style, how comfortable drawing feels, how much disk space you have to spare, what youre gonna end up using the art for in the end...300dpi is standard for PRINTING specifically, if you only plan to ever post things online then 72dpi works great and will save you space (fun fact a lot of professional animation files i deal with are 72dpi. and those eventually go on your tv screen). but personally i make everything i draw 300dpi because i am always printing stuff for cons, zines, etc and its nice to have the option even if i dont end up printing.

when I was a teen I used to draw on a rly shitty laptop and i made everything 800x800px 300dpi because big canvases would cause a lot of lag and also the resolution on this laptop was pretty small so 800px was a lot of the screen already. now i have a slightly better laptop with a bigger resolution and i sketch on giant 10000px-40000px canvases with the hard round brush and no shape dynamics or transfer whatsoever to minimize lag. when it comes to making a final illustration when i know ill be using a bunch of layer effects/blending modes/colors/mixing brushes etc etc ill generally crop the canvas down to the 6000px range. most illustrations i try to make sure are comfortably printable on tabloid size paper so thats pretty much anything hovering around or above 3000x5000px w 300dpi (so 11x17in). HOPE THIS HELPS?

EDIT: OH ALSO re: socials. i always ALWAYS size down my art to post on the internet. i think its crazy when other artists dont. because why would i ever let the internet have my hi-res file for free. also in general i think it looks better if you do the resizing yourself because if you don't then many social media sites will compress your file for you! a lot of people will post a hi-res file to twitter and then go "Wow twitter killed the quality of this img!!!" UH YEAH because they have an automatic image compressor. because they need to save space too lol and they dont want your image to take 248263895 years to load. same with instagram and to a lesser extent tumblr. when i post anything on social media i resize it down to 1200px-1600px on the longest side... its a little arbitrary but im kind of basing it on the smallest resolution of widely available screens. mostly because i think it looks stupid when u open up an image file fullsize and u have to scroll to see the whole thing... also iirc instagram only takes images up to 1080px before it resizes them? granted if you upload something smaller than that itll also resize it up which will look worse so I think bumping the numbers just over 1080px is pretty safe.

I should really be bringing the dpi down to 72 too when i post online but often im too lazy to do that. but it will technically help ur image load faster and stuff. and make it less likely for people to yoink it off the web and print it themselves.

#ask

[angelicsoka]

THE MOVE, l. hughes

part one <3

word count | 0.8k

pairings | luke hughes x best friend!reader, platonic!jack & quinn hughes x reader

summary | its time for you to leave for college, and time for feelings to be revealed

warnings | not proofread. no use of “y/n”. lowercase intended. this is a work of fiction, i am by no means saying this is how they act in real life.

a/n | and here is the highly requested part two to prom night!

the day you had been dreading for months was approaching, leaving you strung up with anxiety. it was the day you were set to move from michigan to indiana to attend the university of notre dame. you had spent the last week packing everything you had planned on taking with you, going through clothes and pictures. you had spent a lot of that time, crying and reminiscing. you were beginning to regret committing to the university, your nerves taking over. 

when you weren't packing, you were spending time with luke and your mutual friends, hoping to settle the pit in your stomach. luke was not doing any better than you, only he hid it better. he had been plucking up the courage to admit his feelings, only to be brought down by the thoughts of you being so far away from him, surrounded by fraternity brothers and sorority sisters. he feared the rejection that may come and he feared having to see you with somebody who wasn't him. 

it was the night before you were set to leave; luke had brought over take out, the two of you set to have a movie night. you two were no longer paying attention to the movie, too focused on chatting, reminiscing. “lukey, can i tell you something?” luke nodded, his attention entirely on you.  “i’m not sure i want to leave. this last month all i have felt when i think about leaving is anxiety. what if i’m making a mistake?” she tried to ignore the quiver in her voice, willing the tears to not fall. luke, who was the king of being oblivious, noted the quiver and tears, pulling you into a hug.

“it’ll be okay.” the dam broke, tears silently streaming down your cheeks. “you’ll have the time of your life! plus, if you don't like it, you can always transfer to umich!” luke felt you laugh; he had been trying to get you to go to umich since you had gotten the acceptance letter but notre dame was your dream school. “i’m always a call away.”

you smiled, coming to rest against luke’s chest. you didn't even try to fight off the sleep, finding comfort in your best friend’s arms. luke, however, was not able to sleep that night. instead he laid there, trying to hold onto the content he felt with you in his arms. trying to get the courage to tell you the truth, preferably while you were awake. 

luke helped your father carry your boxes to the car as you fought jack who was attempting to steal one of your many funko pops. “jackson rowden hughes! that is my funko pop! put it down!” you gave chase when he took off running, grabbing the water hose, aiming and firing at him. he shrieked, dropping the figurine, a shocked look on his face.

“how dare you!” you could hear ellen and your mom laughing, jack stalking toward you with a cheshire smile on his face. you held the hose up again in defense, but jack still ran at you. you dropped the hose, barely dodging jack as you ran to luke for protection. luke stood in front of you protectively, jack standing with his hands on hips when he realized he wouldn't be able to get past luke. “of course! running to your boyfriend to protect you.” he smirked devilishly, heat spreading to your cheeks. your mouth was agape, shocked at jack’s words. you began to stutter out a response, backing away from luke. 

“well, someone has to protect her from your dumbass.” luke stated simply, turning to put another box in your car. by now, it was just you, luke, and jack outside, leaving you to be openly shocked. he didn't deny it. you didn’t see jack sneak away to grab quinn. 

“lu?” you questioned, luke avoiding your gaze. “luke warren hughes, look at me damnit!” luke sighed, turning to face you. “tell me that was nothing. tell me that you didn’t deny it because it was just a stupid comment.”

“well, then i’d be lying.” you looked at him with confusion. luke stepped toward you, closing the gap between the two of you with a feverish kiss. as quick as it started, it was over. luke went to apologize, but you simply gripped his collar, pulling him back into the kiss.

“goddamnit!” you broke the kiss, turning to see quinn pulling out his wallet and handing jack a hundred dollars. “i’m disappointed in you.” quinn pointed to you.

“you were betting on us?”

“we weren’t the only ones.” jack motioned to you parents who were receiving money from jim and ellen. luke laughed at your shocked look, turning your head to kiss you once more.

“okay, okay, that's enough! get a room!”    

#angelicsoka #nhl imagine #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #jack hughes #quinn hughes #jack hughes x platonic!reader #quinn hughes x platonic!reader #luke hughes x best friend!reader

[ponett]

Do you think the Sonic franchise should memory hole certain characters? Like, Chaos Gamma, Elise, Mephiles for example (I would’ve put Black Doom here but uh, he’s a bit more around now huh)

I mean, lots of one-off Sonic characters like these already ARE memory holed. They only really exist in the games they originate from. (Ian Flynn bringing up the thought of using them in a podcast does not count as them being relevant again)

I get the desire to play with all the toys in the toy box and give old ideas a second chance that fans (and Ian) have, and there are definitely a handful of currently unused or underused characters I'd like to see come back. (We REALLY need Sticks back, and the Classic comics desperately need more Honey.) And I'm glad we're in this era where the Sonic series is less ashamed of its weird history. But also, like. Some of those were genuine missteps, and we've moved on for a reason

It feels like every month I see more and more Gen Z Sonic fans who weren't even old enough to have played the games when they were new reminisce about how "cool" it was to give Shadow a gun, or how "awesome" 06's story was, and how we should go back to that "peak" era for Sonic, and I just cannot get on board with that. It was called the Dark Age of Sonic at the time for a reason. I had to actually play those games when they came out. I was hyped for them and really, REALLY wanted to love them. But they were janky, ugly, unfun games with terrible stories that abandoned so much of Sonic's identity in favor of chasing contemporary trends. They were Sonic games that wanted to be anything BUT a Sonic game. There may have been some stuff I liked in that era (the Rush games, and honestly I always liked Black Knight), but it was miserable not knowing if we'd ever get another truly good 3D Sonic platformer again

Maybe it's easier to look back on certain elements of those games fondly now that time has passed and we know we did, in fact, get more Sonic games after them that were actually good. But Sonic is in a WAAAAAYYYYY better place now than it was when I was in middle school. I do not yearn for Mephiles and Elise to come back. It would be funny if they did, but I don't think we need them

#anon #ask

[scientia-rex]

I got home from work today sneezing my head off with a right eye that won’t stop watering, took a hot shower, climbed into bed, and I haven’t climbed out since. I’m grumpy and I have a headache and if I’m not testing positive for COVID or debilitated by symptoms tomorrow I’ll still need to go to work because that’s twenty patient visits that would need to be rescheduled, usually with someone else, and that’s twenty people I’m letting down. Today I did one of my patented 45-second Pap smears (if it takes longer than that, your doctor needs to get better!) for someone with vaginal atrophy from menopause (it is both very common and very treatable) and she was in disbelief. (This time it was more like 30 seconds.) I saw a suicidally depressed patient who’s clinging to life with both hands and I changed their meds last week and I am not making them wait to see me. I cleaned a wound no one else gave a shit about and I saw a bitter pissy Republican Party bigwig who has terrible anxiety and depression she doesn’t tell anyone about, who’s alienated everyone but who I can still convince to try treatment.

I do my job on hard mode on purpose. I like being important—who doesn’t? I like being legendary, I like that when people move to town and ask for doctor recommendations on Facebook so many people mention me that other patients feel compelled to tell me about it. I got nominated for best doctor in our local region last year. (I didn’t win, out of 5 nominees.) But when I’m sick, when I’m the kind of sick that can be hidden easily, the kind of sick I was always expected to go to school and rotations and residency with, it’s so hard. I hate exposing patients, even to a cold, but the benefits of receiving care are probably enough to outweigh the chance of transmission. I wrestle with myself: if I call in, it starts a ripple effect. Can they get a per diem from their “pool” (of three) to come in? Can they reschedule my patients with me? I don’t have any open spots for five weeks. Can they open same days? None available for three weeks. Can they open blocked spots? That’s going to make my life hell when I come back from being sick. That’s clinic staff calling twenty patients, trying to reach them. That’s twenty patients who feel abandoned. They can know intellectually that doctors get sick too, but they don’t believe it. They take it personally. I have seen this over and over again, until I had to believe it.

It is so EASY for people who don’t do this job to tell me how I’m doing it wrong. “Just stay home!” Oh, okay, you want to tell the person whose chronic opioids I’m supposed to write for that I can’t? You want to put the nurses through getting the on-call to write a bridge prescription? I write more ADHD meds than most of my peers—usually a lot more. You want to tell my colleagues to write meds they’re uncomfortable with? How about tell my suicidal patients (which is a lot of them!) that the provider they know and trust after months or years will be replaced today by a 70-year-old white man who still thinks they should pull themselves up by their bootstraps? Tell my queer patients that they have to wait until I’m better and back to get their hormones and their STI screenings, reschedule a Pap someone was dreading. Every day is a kaleidoscope of opportunities to make a real connection with “difficult” patients. I’m good at it. I may be the best at it at my clinic.

I don’t hate calling in sick just because the clinic manager is a judgy bitch, though that doesn’t help. I hate it because of what it does to my patients. And it’s not simple. Pretending it is does all of us a disservice. I am not a widget. I am not easily replaceable. You can’t plug any of our per diems (all men, 2/3 white, 2/3 old, 1/3 a Bitcoin bro) into my place and call it an equivalent, and my schedule is already so packed that if I call in sick, patients will be guilt-tripping me about it for months. I’m not kidding. That happens every single time.

Christ alive, I wish it was true that doctors never got sick.

#the attending dr. kristophine

[rojacatmisa]

Hey, I'm going for it ! This is the start of my Misa fic. I planned it to be quite long in several short chapters. Also, I'm not personally feeling the Y/N + you kind of writing, so I've written the story at the first personne and chosen a nickname that you can pretend to be yours if you like.

No warning at the moment, but there'll be sex in the further episodes. I'll put the warning when needed.

Sorry again for any grammar and voc mistakes, english is not my mother tongue.

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

Starting over in Madrid

Chapter 1 :  A harder job than I thought

I was never really interested in football before getting employed at Real Madrid. Of course, I used to watch a few games on TV during the main championships. But I never intended to work for a football club, least of all, in Spain. But here I was, late twenty, speaking a few words of Spanish, entering the Cuidad Real Madrid for day one of my new job as the new official photographer.

Introductions went well. Staff was nice. Work seemed interesting, with quite a lot to do on the creative side. I felt great. My office was located on the seconde floor on the west side of the building, a bit appart from the training grounds. I took time to settle a few minutes in my chair, gazed through the window at the Alfredo di Stephano stadium and saw the tiny silhouettes of the footballers training. My manager, Ana, came back to have me introduced to the girls. I quickly grabbed my camera and followed her to the pitch. 

The sun blinded me as I came out. My eyes took a moment to ajuste. Shouts of trainers and players echoed all around. They were many. Ana spoke with some guys and training slowly stopped. The Real Madrid players came toward us and gathered, some of them still panting. Ana spoke again. 

« Hello everyone, let me introduce you our new photographer Y/N. But you can call her Nicky as she likes it better. 

- Hi, I never liked my name, I said nervously. 

The girls stared at me, smiling. I couldn’t help to notice their muscular arms and thighs. Strength oozed from their bodies. There were pretty faces too. Ana spoked the name of each players. One very tanned girl was looking away, looking slightly bored. 

« And finally, this is Misa » She said pointing at her. Misa looked at me, her eyes rested on my face just a moment while quickly waving her hand in a welcoming gesture and then looked away again. I felt my face grew hot. I was a professional photographer. It was explicitly written in my employment contract that dating the team members was prohibited. I shook of my inappropriate feelings as the introducing part ended. 

A few days passed as I settled in my new life. I had found in a tiny appartement in Lavapies. Got everything I needed. I was rather happy to start over. I had quitted my toxic ex girlfriend a few month ago and my very boring previous job. Each day, I went to the pitch to film the team arriving and to take pictures of the footballers training in order to post on the social networks. They all seemed nice, thought some of them looked bothered to be photographed all the time. Linda, Naomi, Sofie and Hayley clearly enjoyed being in front of the camera while Ivana, Olga and Misa tried to avoid it most of the time. We chatted very little, everyone focused on their respective work. 

***

Then, arrived the day of the brand new kits big photoshoot. It was a very busy day. Adidas had designed a specific set with a moss background and real plants around. It was a bit to much for my tastes but I didn’t had my word to say as the campagne was managed by the brand. I was assisting the Adidas photographer by giving pose instructions to the girls. I took some shoots too. We were shooting for nearly five hours when came Misa’s turn. I couldn’t say I didn’t noticed how pretty she was in her new pale purple kit. Her tan skin contrasted frankly with the fabric. She had a piercing on her left nostril I’d never seen before. Her long hair was taken down, falling on her broad shoulders. She took her place, clearly used to being a model.

« Misa, face the camera » I said, her dark eyes crossed mine before she looked straight at the camera and composed a smile. I could tell she was feeling confident, but I wasn’t sure she really was enjoying it. « switch to profile, please. » « strike a pose » « now put your gloves on ». Misa obediently took all the poses shoot after shoot. 

« Are we done ? She asked, looking at me patiently. 

- I think we are thank you. Thanks god you’re the last one ! 

- I find it long already, so I can’t imagine how it must be for you, she said her brows frowning. She walked aside from the set. I started to put away the equipment next to her. 

- It’s okay, I like my job. Today is just a bit repetitive, I replied. 

- Are we cool models ? 

I looked up at her. Her face was relaxing since the photoshoot ended. A shy smile appeared on her lips as she suddenly seemed to think her question was embarrassing. 

- In fact yes, indeed. Like, as a photographer, they’re is everything to ajuste. When you’re training, you’re moving fast so I have to increase shutter speed. When you’re posing like today, shutter can be slower but you have to have good exposure… » My voice trailed off as I took a glimpse of her perplex expression. « Sorry I have never known how to talk about my job. You see, technic plays a huge part in photography. 

- Don’t worry, I haven’t a clue of what you are taking about but it actually got me interested. » She was smiling frankly now and that made her ever more beautiful. I tried to focus one folding the spotlights back in there bags. 

« Those lights make you very warm and sweaty, she said, I’m sorry I’ll go and change. See you Nicky. 

- Bye Misa. »

I was feeling both disappointed by her departure and relieved to be able to finish tidying thinks up more serenely when I heard Misa’s embarrassed voice rise from the backroom. 

« Hum… please can someone help me ? »

I dropped the camera I was packing and went there thinking to myself that fucking day would never end. I suppressed a laugh when I saw Misa struggling with her jersey up her head. The collar was picked up somewhere around her nose. I forced myself to look away from her well shaped abs and the low-cut of her sports bra.

« Misa, I’m there, what’s happening ? 

- the jersey… in my nosering. I can’t take it off !

- hold still, I’do it. »

I slowly came close to Misa and delicately hold the jersey’s collar while looking for where her piercing had gotten stuck. A fabric fiber had indeed been taken inside the small golden ring. I tried hard to concentrate. Her mouth was twitching nervously. I was so close to her face I could feel her breath. She pursed her luscious lips as I finally removed the string, let out a sight and took off the jersey. Her eyes met mine again as I took a step back. 

« Thanks, I thought I’d lose my nose on this one… ». 

- you did well to ask for help, you could have hurt yourself. 

- I’m glad it was you and not some random Adidas guy, all my friends are gone by now. 

- anytime ! »

I shrugged, feeling hot again. She gathered her clothes and started taking off her short. Footballers really weren’t modest. I turned around, ready to leave. I felt I was unable to take anymore glimpse of Misa’s body parts.

« bye then, I said softy.

- bye, and Nicky, you definitely have to teach me some photo stuff ! I’m serious. 

I slowly turned back to her. She had already put her trousers and T shirt on. 

- Yes, sure… after tomorrow’s training if you’d like. 

- Yeah, count on me. 

She gathered her stuff, gestured goodbye and left. My job was turning out to be harder than I expected.

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

That's it for chapter 1, hope you enjoyed it. Drop a like if you're hyped !

#woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso blurbs #woso imagine #misa rodriguez #misa rodriguez x reader #woso #woso soccer #espwnt #spainwnt #fanfic #fanfic art #real madrid femenino

[hubbvrd]

Helpful words | Travis Kelce

In which y/n is afraid of becoming a bad mother. She reveals these doubts to Travis, who does everything he can to prove to y/n that she will be a good mother

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

After the last baby things have been stowed away in the closet, your gaze wanders once again through the finally finished baby room.

A smile forms on your lips as your hand rests on your round belly.

Over the last two months, Travis and you had done a lot of work in the nursery to create a beautiful room for your unborn daughter.

Now the room with the light pink walls and white furniture was finally finished and it couldn't be more perfect.

Even all the clothes that you had just sorted into the wardrobe were already waiting to be worn by your little Peanut.

Peanut was the nickname Travis had given your daughter as soon as he found out you were pregnant.

Since then, the nickname has been used by both of you whenever you address the little one.

You already had a name for your daughter, but you didn't want to announce it to your families until she was born, so it was still Peanut.

Your finger gently stroked the many different items of clothing that not only you and Travis had bought, but had also received as gifts at the baby shower.

It was about time to pick out the first outfit for Peanut, as it could be any day now.

Your hospital bag had been in the trunk of your car for weeks, but you hadn't yet been able to decide between all the cute outfits which one you should take to the hospital and dress your daughter in first.

"Honey?" Travis, who had just come back from running a few errands at the supermarket, called out because you were hungry for ice cream and your husband had run straight out to get it.

"Baby room!" you shouted back as you pulled out a hanger or two to look at the outfit on the hanger.

There was too much choice and each outfit seemed to get cuter so you just couldn't decide.

Why was that so damn hard? Even with your daughter's name or the design of the nursery, it hadn't even been that difficult.

A loud sigh left your lips as you closed the closet doors louder than you intended.

"Everything okay?" Travis asked directly as he stumbled into the baby's room, looking at himself with a worried and anxious look at the same time.

"I can't find a suitable hospital outfit for Peanut!" you sobbed as countless tears began to roll down your cheeks.

"Hey," Travis began as he crossed the last few feet over to you and then pulled you into his strong arms. "We'll find a suitable one."

His hand gently stroked your back as a few more tears soaked Travis' shirt slightly.

"How am I supposed to be a good mother if I can't find anything suitable for the hospital?" A loud sob left your lips.

The pregnancy hormones once again had you completely in their grip and you began to doubt yourself.

"Hey, sweetheart," Travis' voice rang out softly as he pushed you back a little so you could look at him.

"Huh?" you sniffled as you lifted your gaze and looked into your husband's eyes.

His eyes radiated calm and warmth, making you feel a little better, but despite all this, your hormones were still on a rollercoaster.

"You'd be a great mom." Travis wiped his thumb across your face to wipe away the tears that were still rolling down your cheeks. "You're going to do amazing, darling. I can already see how much love and security you give Peanut, even though she's not even here yet. You talk to her every day, sing or read to her. And just because you can't decide what to wear right now doesn't mean you'll be a bad mom."

The tears slowly began to dry as Travis' hand placed itself on your stomach and gently stroked over.

"Your mom is going to be a great mom, isn't she Peanut?" As Travis spoke, he squatted down to be more or less on the same level as your daughter.

It took a few seconds for your daughter to kick your belly like she was saying yes.

"See, even Peanut agrees with me." Travis looked up at you and gave you a soft smile.

And this situation once again caused new tears to roll down her cheeks. But not out of desperation, but out of love.

Those words from Travis and the light kick from your daughter caused you to become quite emotional now and once again you were clearly shown how much you loved your husband and your unborn daughter.

"Thank you," You whispered, while Travis wrapped his arms around you again and buried his face in your hair.

"The truth," he replied gently as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you stood there for a few minutes just enjoying each other's closeness and affection.

"And now let's pick out an outfit for Peanut together. With all your super cute stuff, it's going to be hard even for me to pick just one." 

Travis took your hand while he opened your daughter's closet with his other hand and looked through all the clothes.

And indeed, your husband felt the same way as you did. He couldn't decide either, so you both picked out your top two favorites and in the end, after a long back and forth, you finally decided on an outfit that your little Peanut would wear first.

And it shouldn't be too much longer before that day finally comes.

#travis kelce #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce x y/n #travis kelce x reader #travis kelce x you #nfl imagines #nfl fic #nfl #nfl imagine

[my-roman-empiree]

A TWIST OF FATE (R.R one shot)

Pairing: Joe Anoa’i x Reader

Warning: Angst, Language, bad English

Word Count: 1.6k

Content: Joe is in love with his best friend and he finally confesses his feelings to her.

My phone starts ringing loudly, startling me from the deep state of sleep i was in. With my eyes half open i reach for it and answer with a sleepy “hello” not even bothering to look at the caller id. “Don’t tell me you fell asleep again” i hear his deep voice groan on the other end of the line. My eyes widen when I realize who the voice belonged to, my best friend Joe. And i was supposed to be on my way to his house for lunch. “No, no i’m on my way there.” i lie obviously as i get out of bed and go through my wardrobe to pick an outfit. “Bullshit, i can hear you shuffling through your clothes. What the hell were you doing all night that got you this tired?” he asks with a teasing voice. I roll my eyes, too drowsy to give him a sarcastic answer. “I will be there in 5 minutes.” i say as i hang up, lying again since our houses have a 15 minutes distance. I decided to wear some sweatpants with a white t shirt and i put on a bit of make up to at least look presentable enough. I get my handbag and rush out of the house towards my car. Joe and I have been friends since high school and we have managed to make our friendship last for almost 20 years. But in the last few years we haven’t been able to meet up as often as we used to for our schedules never align. Both our jobs involve lots of traveling so whenever i would be in town he would be in another city and vice versa.

I knock on his front door, excited to finally see him after nearly 8 months. Joe opens the door with a big smile plastered on his face, his pearly white teeth on display. He pulls me in for a bear hug, his perfume instantly giving me a sense of familiarity. “God i’ve missed you so much” he whispers in my ear still not letting go of me, if anything he tightens the grip on my waist. “I’ve missed you too big guy but let me go now before i pass out.” i joke and he lets go with a small laugh. We make our way inside his house and head to the living room, taking a seat in the comfortable couch. I take in his appearance, he has more grey hairs now than the last time i saw him but it definitely suits him, they actually make him look sexier if that is possible. His physique was not as bulky as i remember, he is much leaner now. I can see his abs and muscles under his white tank top, looking as prominent as ever. “Look at you, you’re gettin old man” i tell him with a sly smile. Joe chuckles lightly “you know how things have been, stress has taken its toll on me.” I nod at his words in understatement. The divorce from his ex wife has been anything but easy, the process lasting for almost a year and a half. “But look at YOU tho, you look even more gorgeous than the last time i saw you.” he compliments with a slight smirk on his face. I can’t help but blush a little, he always has a way with words. But i know i look good tho, i have added some caramel highlights to my dark hair and i’ve been working out regularly for almost 5 months now. “Thank you! I’ve been trying to prioritize myself lately. Now tell me how’s life been treating you as a single man?” He sighs, clearly not over the whole ordeal “it took me a while to get used to it you know. But i’m good now, still not ready to date yet tho. And what about you? You still with that jerk?” I can’t help but laugh at his remark about my now ex boyfriend. “We aren’t together anymore. It turns out you were right all along, he was a cheating asshole so i called things off a while ago.” It was unavoidable for Joe to not feel happiness about the news. He wasn’t happy about the fact that he had cheated on her, no, that motherfucker better pray to not cross paths with him but he’s pleased she’s not wasting any more of her time with him. “Do you want me to track him down and beat his ass?” he asks her, seemingly joking but his words held some truth to them. “There’s no need to, i already did.” i say chuckling at his wide-eyed expression. “Hold on, you for real? You beat that fucker?” Joe asks, his voice filled with amusement. She was never the one who would choose violence in any type of situation, her strongest quality being communication which might be one of the reasons why their friendship lasted this long. I nod while laughing uncontrollably “i did. And I wasn’t even that mad when he told me he had been cheating on me, i already knew that from one of my friends. I just saw the opportunity and I took it.” Joe shakes his head while chuckling, she never fails to leave him in awe every damn time she opens her mouth.

As she complains about one of her colleagues at work while eating the sushi he ordered, Joe can’t help but stare at her beautiful facial features, her plump lips that slightly pout when she’s eating and her big round eyes that aren’t afraid to hold eye contact with his. But her full lips might be his favorite and all he can think about is how they would feel on his own lips, all over his body or wrapped around his co- he shakes his head trying to get the sinful impulses out of his head. But now the thoughts appear to be much more inevitable and Joe can feel himself getting aroused. If he hadn’t had these thoughts before he would have blamed them on the wine they were drinking.

“Joe?” I call his name trying to get his attention but his mind seems to wander somewhere else. “Joe?” i call him a bit louder this time and it does the trick as he finally snaps out of it “damn am i that boring? Where’s your mind at?” He contemplates what to say, should he tell her the truth: that he never saw her only as a friend, that every time he sees her his heart skips a beat, that he’s been looking for her in every woman he’s dated even in his ex wife. Joe wanted to curse her out for setting his standards so high that he felt like no women would fit, only her. He takes a deep breath before he begins to speak, what he’s about to say might ruin their friendship forever but he cannot hold it back anymore, having suppressed his feelings long enough. “Do you know the real reason why Alissa and I divorced?” he asks me and i look at him in confusion. “Because she fell out of love?” i cite the reason he told me back then, not meaning for it to come out as a question. “That’s partially true but i was the one who fell out of love.” he confesses with a serious look on his face. I don’t get it, why would he lie about this? Just as i’m about to speak he raises his hand, signaling that he’s not done talking. “In fact i don’t think i was ever in love with her, I tried to convince myself that i was tho. But the moment i was wishing, longing that it was you by my side instead of her, i knew my marriage was doomed. That was the moment I realized i’ve been in love with you the entire time.” My breath gets caught in my throat, my heart starts to beat so fast and loud that i can hear it and i’m sure he can too. I’m trying to form a single sentence but my mind has gone blank. How the hell did i never noticed? I always thought i knew him better than i know myself but it appears that everything has been a lie. How could i be so naive? “Joe, is this a joke?” i ask with a trembling voice after a minute or two, hoping he would say yes. He can’t throw 20 years of friendship out of the window like that, he can’t be that selfish. Joe shakes his head slowly “i’m not. And i know this might be shock-“ i don’t let him finish as i abruptly get up from the dining chair “Are you fucking serious?” i shout in his face “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you saying this shit to me now after so many years?” Joe doesn’t even flinch, he was probably excepting my reaction. But the hurt that flashed in his eyes was so evident that for a split second i felt my heart break for him. “Please sit down, lets talk this out. I’m not expecting anything in return from you at all, i just want you to listen to what I have to say. ” he pleads but i can’t stay in this house for a second longer, i’ve already heard enough. I feel like I’m suffocating and if i don’t get out of here i will collapse from the lack of oxygen. “Not now please” my voice cracks, tears are starting to form and it’s taking everything in me to stop them from falling “i really need to get out of here.” i say as i go to the living room to take my belongings. Joe doesn’t bother to follow her, anything he would do or say would make the situation worse. He fucked up so bad that he was sure he had lost her forever. Joe runs his shaky hands down his face in distress as he hears the front door slam shut behind her.

Note: this is my very first one shot and i already have mixed feelings about it. And knowing me this will probably be taken down in a few days. Every comment and criticism is very much appreciated because i really wanna improve my writing so feel free ❤️

#roman reigns #joe anoa'i #wwe #roman reigns one shot #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fanfiction

[zialltops]

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Cowboy!Joel (41) X F!Reader (25) | 47.3k words | wip | explicit | 18+ minors dni | enemies to lovers | slow burn | au: no cordyceps outbreak | oral (f receiving) | (semi) public sex | vaginal fingering

masterlist | ao3 | spotify playlist

You chance a glance over at the outlaw in the driver's seat while he scans his surroundings like he’s done this before, the rear view mirror and the road ahead never leaving his sight. “What if they catch up to us? I don’t want to get arrested, Joel!”

a/n: howdy folks! I’m pulling my head out of my ass and getting back into writing. These last few weeks have been leveling put for me and I’ve been feeling a lot better compared to how my life HAS been. These two were the perfect break even though this took my two whole months for only a few thousand words. I’ll be back sooner than last time with an update, but you’ll see me before then for another wip. Much love, hayhay 🤍

Chapter 8: What Was I Thinkin?

Three hours ago, if you asked Joel how the night would come to its end, he’d tell you he’d probably be in the cabin, laying in his cold bed, staring up at his ceiling fan, alone—with his right hand working his dick to the tune of the farmer’s daughter. In fact, three hours ago, he’d told Tommy something similar.

“Joel, man—I promise It looks fine.”

He adjusts the buttons on his shirt another time, stuck between leaving one undone and letting the opening linger down his chest. “Fine ain’t gonna cover it, Tom—ain’t no way in hell I’m walkin’ up to her lookin jus’ fine.” Tommy huffs from behind him and starts to go through the closet beside Joel while he stares at himself in the body length mirror behind the door.

“What about this one?” Tommy beams, He’s holding up a black shirt on a hanger, slight dust on the shoulders from it’s lack of use. He’s half surprised the moths haven’t gotten to it yet. Its buttons are made of iridescent pearls that snap in place, labyrinthian embroidery adorning the breast pockets. “Ain’t worn it since before the accident.” He lifts one of the sleeves in his hands, lingering on the fitted cuff.

His mind takes him back to half forgotten nights under neon lights, long neck bottles and ropers calluses on his rodeo-worn hands. To money wasted on buckle bunnies and broncs, to years taken off his life under the sharp hooves of a one ton animal—years he’ll never get back. Years he wishes he’d never taken for granted.

He was a more confident man then, not cocky—but proud of his abilities in the arena, proud enough to walk tall, speak surly. He was a master in his sport because he trained religiously, fully immersed in the idea that this was his only shot at making it. He still believes that, even now. He wishes you could have met him then, when he was that Joel—Rodeo buckles and spurs, cowboy hats and stadium lights. When he was a white straw hat and chaps, an unsullied grin with a thirst for adrenaline and belt buckles.

He holds the black cotton between his well worked fingers and longs to be that man again—if only for one night. Would you like him? A cowboy in his prime with worked muscles, before his beer belly and the softness in his chest really set in? “This one’s good,” he huffs, brushing the dust off the shoulders before unbuttoning it enough to remove it from the hanger. “Lemme help you.” His brother offers. Joel’s not naive, he knows the fear is visible atop the surface of his flushed skin, in the deepened frown lines and the shake in his hands.

Tommy is a lot of things, but once in a while he softens around his selfish edges and he bends a little, reaching out for the weeping limbs of his brother, struggling with all his might to keep himself standing up straight in the storm, a resilient and irrepressible figure to look up to. Tommy sees the way the longing shines through the perforations in his irises, the way his shoulders slump with oppressive burden—and he takes pity on the older man. “I’ll wash it real quick while you shower. It’ll be good as new, fresh outta the dryer by the time you're done.” He looks up at Joel, who’s still transfixed in the forgotten token of his former youth, of the man who he used to be. Items he’d left in storage down in Austin that Hank had so graciously shipped to Jackson.

He almost wishes he’d never gotten it all back, it was easier then—to hide from who he was when he wasn’t reminded of his past every single day, but once in a while—that reckless, spotlight chasing cowboy grasps for the surface. And tonight? Tonight is your birthday, the town dance, where you’re going to be, probably looking like something Joel doesn’t have a shot in hell with. It’s your damn birthday and he wants to ask you to dance but he’s not sure the fee quick dance lessons he got will suffice. What if he stumbles? Steps on your pretty little feet? Drops you?

“Joel—“ there's a snap in front of his face and he pulls himself out of the chaos inside of his mind. “Man, you are loosin’ it. I’ve never seen you this wound up over some girl—“ his eyes snap up to his brothers and he huffs lowly. “She ain’t just—some girl. She’s Hank and Lou’s daughter, people I think of as family. She’s smart and resourceful, sometimes a little reckless but she makes me feel like…like I’m alive for once.” Tommy sets the black shirt down and sit on the side of Joel's bed. Beside him, Joel's weight sinks onto the mattress. “M’gettin’ old, Tom. I don’t have a lot of good years left in me and I don’t know if I’ll ever have a opportunity like this again.”

Tommy takes a glance over at the distant look in his brothers eyes. “Opportunity?” Joel's eyes flick over and he sighs. He wishes Tommy had a little bit of what he had built inside of him, the innate goal of settling down, finding where he belongs and who he belongs with.

“At bein’ happy. Good memories for my restless nights.” If he fucked this up and missed his chance, he’s not sure he’ll have it in him again, if it will ever feel like this with anyone else. He thinks he’s done, thinks you’re it. He thinks he could give you forever if you’d let him.

“S’that why you’re so messed up in the head? What, do you think she’s going to shoot you down?” Tommy’s voice picks up in pitch, offense used like a weapon to get his point across and Joel appreciates the gusto. “Think I’m gonna go home alone tonight. Think it’s just gonna be me and the crickets and this damn hand again, dreamin’ bout how damn sweet she is.”

Tommy’s hand reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt and he retrieves a silver flask, offering it to his older brother who takes it with unsure fingers. “Just be yourself, man. Walk up to her like you belong there. Just need a little bit of confidence, don’t let her think you’re second guessing yourself. I don’t know her like you do—but I know that girl is more than willing when it comes to you.”

Joel takes a long swig of rot-gut whiskey, lets is sink into his bones and find the will to drag himself into the shower and wash away the saw dust lingering on his skin from the floor of the dance hall, ease some of the soreness in his knees and back from learning how to dance.

When he’s finished, there's a clean shirt and a flask laying on his bed. Joel finishes off the whiskey before he fastens the first button.

Liquid courage is the only thing that gets him to town.

He’s everywhere—everywhere. His hands burn on your thigh, on your hip where they dig in just a little too roughly when he pins you to the wall beside the back door. The second it closed behind you, there was a desperation clinging to the early spring air, perforating the slight chill until it shimmied beneath it and took life in the form of heat dripping across your exposed flesh. It was sticky and hot, sucking you in like a vortex straight to the center of what your world revolved around—Joel Miller and his touch that feels like fire.

He tastes like alcohol and tooth paste and part of you wonders if that’s what's changed about him, why he was so willing to let go of his reservations in-front of half of the town. He’s been drinking, drowning his insecurities enough to throw himself at you bravely.

Will he still be this Joel when you open your eyes in the morning? Will he regret it?

His teeth dig into your bottom lip and your brain goes fuzzy, stars forming behind your closed eyes. Insecurities can wait until tomorrow, you decide. His hips press forward ever so slightly and the outline of his cock can’t go unnoticed, not with the way it makes the fabric of your panties drag against your clit tantalizingly. Behind your closed eyes, the stars morph into crackles of fireworks, filling your senses with bright pleasure and desperate desire to chase those lights into the night.

You hike your legs higher, trying to drag him into the delicious delirium with you. The movement pulls a guttural groan out of the broad cowboy. “Joel—Joel,” you need his hands to leave brands on your skin where they’ve touched you, setting fire to your soul. “I know—fuck, baby, I know.” Is he crumbling like you, throwing himself into this very moment right here? Is he as desperate as you are? Does it feel like a travesty and a triumph? The yearning you’ve endured, for the victory of finally knowing what he feels like when he kisses the breath from your lungs.

It’s more than you know how to articulate—more devastating than you anticipated and yet—it’s still not enough. It won't be enough until his heart beats in time with your own and you feel him wrapped up in your body

His teeth dig into your jaw and your body reacts before you tell it to, searching for the release only he can bring you.

“Touch me, please—please, touch me.”

And suddenly, in the time it takes to flip on a light switch, he’s gluttonous, insatiable and voracious—a wild predator set loose just to turn on its careful handler. The only thing that comes to mind, in comparison, is a pack of wolves frenzied to sink their teeth into the supple flesh of their prey.

In your case—Joel is the starved pack—and you? You are but an unsuspecting doe, practically sacrificing yourself to his uncontrollable famine.

Those thick digits, adorned with callouses earned from laborious work, hastily push aside the fabric of your dress in search of your covered center. He feels so fucking good when those digits push their way past the hem of your panties and he gasps against the shell of your ear. Like it feels just as good to him, letting the pads of his index and middle finger tease the seam of your lips before slipping between and dragging those rough digits over your hardened clit. It’s all the built up want, longing, needing that makes him feel so other-worldly, you’ll never experience something like this, the rush of relief to finally be his.

His fingers dip lower, searching for the source of all this slick adorning his knuckles, when his thumb drags idly over your already sensitive clit. Its like an electric shock straight to your sternum, arching you forward in search of anchorage to this reality altering interaction. There's a hint of alcohol swimming behind your fluttering eyelids, but his shuddering groan is sickeningly sobering. You want to say something, tell him how good he makes you feel, but the words bubble up in your chest and hang in your throat in the form of a silent sob, your mouth hanging open and your toes curling against your shoes.

“There it is, huh? S’what finally gets you quiet? Just needed me to touch your pussy, didn’t you?” Where the hell has this Joel been hiding? He’s never been so vulgar, so vocal and confident in himself. His fingers tease the soft ring at your opening, smearing slick around on his fingers when he leans against your front to press his face against your heaving chest and neck. His fingers plunge in—and your body jerks against his solid form. He lets you shudder and tighten up against him while his thumb moves steadily, never coming off the peak of your nerve—locked on it with such perfected percussion that there is no jerky catch, just steady—drowning pleasure. His rough pant of breath paints your shoulder in sticky warmth and your thighs tighten around him, begging to draw him into your desperation.

“She’s just cryin’ for me, ain’t she, Honey?” His drawl sounds like sweet tea on a hot summer afternoon, like your sight set on the Austin sunset from the seat of an old saddle, driving cattle through tall grass and endless horizons.

Being touched by Joel Miller feels like coming home.

He finds a steady pace, working his fingers in and out, each drag punctuated by the ridges of his knuckles and the rough pads of his finger tips. Just faintly, you can make out the wet sound your sex makes every time he fucks his fingers into you intentionally. Its instantaneous the way heat blooms in your pelvis, knotting up in your stomach until you’re so overwhelmed, you’re trembling in his grip. “She’s so fuckin’ greedy, pretty little cunt needs to be stuffed, don’t she? G’damn, you’re quiverin’—you gonna cum f’me already?” His words are like a dirty secret, never meant to be revealed—knowing exactly what kind of storm that truth would bring. Let the rain pour down, let the thunder crack and the gusts rip the apprehension from your bones—because Joel Miller wants you and you’ve been waiting for this moment for two years.

You’ve imagined this a million times, slipped your fingers between your legs to the mere idea of this revered and dignified southern gentleman—more once you’d put a face to the elusive cowboy. No matter how deeply you lost yourself to your imagination, none of it will ever amount to the way cold brick feels against your exposed back, the way denim jeans ruffs up the insides of your smooth thighs, the way a felt Stetson bumps against your temple when his fingers curl against a spot inside of you no man has ever found, dragging the air from your lungs, robbing your vocal cords of their melody. With your eyes rolled back and your desire strung tight, you manage to string together enough sound to produce words.

“Yes-Yes, Joel—make me cum! Please!”

A third, assured finger slips in right beside the other two and slam forward, sending you spiraling down that one way path towards pure ecstasy. His fingers curl again and his thumb quickens, pushing you up and up until you’re sure you’re about to melt through his finger tips, a weeping puddle at his feet. “That’s it, pretty girl—cum on these fingers, let me feel her squeeze me.”

His command is your saving grace, the final twist that undoes the well wound rope holding you together. A variation of his name rips from your throat and consumes the space around you, invoking a bright euphoria that shrouds every nerve ending you possess. He doesn’t even know what he’s just subjected your body to—a life altering experience that you will never be able to recreate with another person. “S…s’the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” is the only thing your mind conjures up once you’ve come down enough to speak. He’s still holding onto you, slowly slipping his fingers out and letting you down with a satisfied chuckle.

“Wunna taste you,”

How will you handle another assault from that honed attention? How will you ever unsee that unruly tousle of curls between your thighs?

He doesn’t give you long enough to form a protest before he’s rushing you through the parking lot, a determination in his step that you’ve never seen. He’s surpassed the point of antsy when he yanks open the passenger door and finds leverage on your hips to hoist you up, then toss you down on the torn upholstery. You should say something—tell him to slow down before you pass out from the burn of his hands—but fuck you don’t want him to stop, consciousness be damned.

Instead, you watch him set his cowboy hat on the dusty dashboard, the silver trim of the band shimmering with luster in the golden street lamps. He drinks your body in visibly, relishing in every curve and inhale of breath. When his vision finds yours, they are nearly black with desire—his pupils having consumed every inch of bourbony brown. When his big hands find your thighs again, the resistance bleeds away and gives way to insurmountable, greedy hunger.

“C’mere, girl.” The hands on your thighs dig into the flesh, leaving finger shaped dimples in your sensitive skin. “Lemme see that fuckin’ pussy.” Jesus christ.

If your friends could see you now, they’d all laugh at how easy you are, but right now—it’s just you and your cowboy—you’ll never be anything but easy for him.

His hands move with fever, hastily pushing your dress up your hips. “I’m going to fucking ruin you, babygirl. Only word you’ll know is my name when I’m finished with you.” That same ferocious want consumes you, possessing your hands to work on their own accord, helping Joel shimmy your panties down your thighs and over your heels.

You have enough time to register the way he stuffs the black lace into the front pocket of his wranglers before that head of his is forcing its way under your dress. He spreads your legs easily, pushes and pulls with his hands until his mouth seals over your clit, drenching your nervous system in blinding heat.

He’s good, so good at this. His tongue slides through your dripping folds with a tedious, monotonous rhythm. He’s licking for a taste, for his own glutinous thirst based on the way he groans and sighs against the softness of your lips. His eyes flick up at the same time your body starts to quiver, trying to adjust to so much honed desire narrowed in on you. “J-Joel, please don’t st-top.” Your eyes start to leave his in favor of rolling back in your head when your chest arches out, searching for a breath of sobering air, for something to hold onto so you don’t crumble apart. “Feels so good—you feel so good.”

His mouth closes over you and he sucks, pulling your clit against the smoothness of his tongue as he flicks it over and over, soothing the sensitive bud, while actively robbing you of any coherent train of thought. The only sounds that leave your lungs are sharp gasps and whines, fueled by the low groaning sound he’s muffling between your thighs. He releases you and your body reels, drawing in breath after breath to catch up with your racing heart.

“Wunna split this little pussy open on me,”

Oh fuck, oh fuck fuck—fuck.

You have long enough to gaze down at him, watching as he slides the flat of his tongue through your lips, over the sensitive bud, before your head is dipping back again.

“I’ve been practicing—I got, oh, fuck Joel, like that,” you heave and he pulls away completely, shocking you into a mewling, whining mess. “You got what, baby, use your words.”

Your body bares down on nothing, /wish he would just give it up already, unbuckle that belt, push down those wranglers and fuck you like you deserve. Joel grunts while he watches, letting it rumble through his whole body. “Got a toy that’s as big as you so I could practice. So I'd be able to take you.”

His whole demeanor shifts, alternating from this brazen, confident cowboy to the man suddenly lost between your thighs, sucking and slurping, licking and moaning to himself. He’s gutless, starving and desperate, he whimpers when you squeeze your thighs and cry his name, holding on tight until the flash of blue and red and the sound of a loud voice rips him from his mission.

“Jackson Police department, step away from the vehicle!”

Joel rips himself away from your body before you even have a chance to cover yourself. “Fuck-fuck,” he looks around sharply, eying the lone officer in a tan blazer with flashing lights fastened to its hard top. The sheriff has a light in their hand, leaning over the side of the blazer. You manage to pull your dress down and scoot back, trying to hide yourself from the light shining on the two of you.

Joel's gaze falls away from the officer, parked behind the truck, blocking it in. Instead, he looks forward, into the clearing in front of the parking lot, half lit by the street lamp. His jaw clicks and he looks set on whatever is going through that big brain of his. “Put a seat belt on.”

What?

Joel grabs his hat and slides across the bench seat quickly, slamming the door behind him. He makes it across you and throws himself in front of the steering wheel, finding the ignition quickly to turn the keys in the shaft.

The chevy roars to life at the same time that he slams the gear shifter into drive and plows over the parking block. Before you have a chance to register what's happening, the blue pickup is sliding through mud and grass, leaving tire tracks in the field as he cuts through it towards the highway.

“Joel, what in the—fuck!“ you shout, reaching up for the oh-shit handle, while the other hand reaches for the solid form beside you, grasping him by the bicep as he snorts nervously. “Just—calm down for a second, we’ll lose ‘em.”

Your heart races and your nerves radiate through your entire body. You’re a good kid, you’ve never ran from the cops before, never been in trouble for crying out loud. You did your best in school, tried to make your parents proud despite your small side of rebellion. And yet, here you are—trying your best to hang on while he cuts corners and runs stop signs, old alleyways and back roads through the thickets. The truck roars past speed limit signs, loosing rodeo flyers pinned to telephone poles when he slams the gears—orange papers fluttering in the settling dust.

You chance a glance over at the outlaw in the driver's seat while he scans his surroundings like he’s done this before, the rear view mirror and the road ahead never leaving his sight. “What if they catch up to us? I don’t want to get arrested, Joel!”

He snorts, taking another random left and speeding down the street. “Ain’t gonna get arrested, honey. Just trust me.”

Trust him? How could he even ask you that, like that wasn’t what this was all along. You trusted him like you trusted the sun to set and rise again, like you trusted the birds to sing and the rivers to run—you’d trusted Joel with your family’s dream and he never let you down.

Somewhere along the way, you lose the ability to fight off your grin, Joel manages to leave flashing red and blue in a cloud of dust. He cuts through a group of trees leading into a clearing and shuts off the lights. He drives by moonlight, effectively covering his tracks and making his way onto another road, leading up the mountain towards the ranch. He pulls off another dirt road that is cut out along the side of the hill, but he isn’t in as much of a hurry as he was before. He takes a last left, bringing the truck to the edge of the hillside that overlooks the entire town of jackson—from the dance hall—to the bar—to the red and blue set of lights on the south side of town, still looking for you and your cowboy.

The world grants you a few silent moments to catch your breath, before it completely robs you of tingling in your muscles, the conscious connection between the two of you. The reality of being truly alone with him is sobering, with nothing but the trees and the wildlife to offer a distraction.

Now that the air has cooled and your heart has finished pounding in your ears, you can make out the faint hum of the stereo, the FM dial lit up by the soft glow behind it. The station is still the same as it was when you were a girl, riding in your daddy’s pickup, playing old country music like it did in the days of your youth.

Now, it rings in your ears with the nerves seeping into your bones, settling into an uncomfortable dust. Right now, of all times? Anxiety has to claw up your chest and wrap around your throat while his saliva is still drying on the inside of your thighs?

Fuck, his beard is still glistening in the green-glow of the stereo.

“You’re starin’ at me.” He says almost quietly. You expected him to tease and flirt, maybe boast, but his voice waivers halfway through and you start to pick up on his slight nerve. Under all that charm and intensity is starting to give way to a much more vulnerable Joel—a man you know all too well.

“You’re just, uh—“ you swallow thickly and try to find the courage to meet his deep brown eyes. “Your beard is…wet.” When you do find his irises, his mouth picks up in a half smirk. If he’s as scared as you are right now, he’s doing a good job of hiding it. He’s giving it everything he’s got to hide it from you.

It’s been so long and you need this. Need to be touched, appreciated, worshipped.

The look in his eyes tells you that he’s eager to kneel.

“And who’s fault is that, hmm?” That sweet, sultry accent drags you in, sliding closer on the seat until you're nearly tucked into his side, leaned back against the seat while he looms over you. He’s still nervous, you can see it floating around in his dark eyes, but his jaw clicks like he’s trying to rein something in.

Silence falls upon you once more, but unbeknownst to the cicadas and the crickets, your dancing gazes say everything you need to hear. His eyes drop to your lips and yours to his. His tongue peaks out unconsciously, wetting his bottom lip ever so slightly—like he’s tasting you there.

His mouth clicks shut and it's then that you glance up. His eyes are back on yours, suddenly so much softer with a lulled arch to his eyebrows. In the depths of his eyes you find renewed hunger, fire burning in those pools of smooth chocolate. Your body relaxes, succumbs to the form of his plains of muscles adorning his body. When you tilt your head up to him in offering, you sink so deeply into those dark pools you can nearly taste the sweetness of him like velvety candy melting against your taste buds.

“Joel—“ you choke out, deciding then that if he waits a second longer you’ll suffocate.

There's things about this life that can never be stopped, inexorable phenomenons that are unavoidable. The seasons will always change. The storms will always come, lightning will always strike. The days will always end and the sun will rise again on the next.

And Joel Miller will always, always break when you say his name like that.

He falls into you with a sharp intake of breath, crashing his mouth against yours with surprising accuracy. It’s so easy to let him take over with the perfect combination of rush and savor he puts into the way he envelops you. His mouth is soft, but persistent, wrapping around your bottom lip when he sucks it between his teeth for a soft bite that makes you want to live in this moment forever.

You nearly do because you get absolutely lost in kissing him, you don’t protest when he leans you back on the bench seat, you don’t put up any sort of fight when he spreads your thighs with his wide hips. When his hands grip your knees, you know you’re completely done for.

He pulls away from your mouth and his eyes find yours in the low green glow and there, you find everything you’ve ever longed for.

“I…I think,” Joel shifts, looking down at his hands like he’s just woken up from sleep walking straight into your heart and soul. “I think I should get you home, s’gettin late.”

Late? Your poor muddled brain cannot keep up with how quickly he fades in and out of doing anything to have you, to be terrified to touch you. How quickly he slips into a starved desire to shaking in his boots.

Not for the first time, you wish you could reach right into his brain and pull out whatever it is that makes him think you don’t want those rough hands all over your bare body. He’s already had a taste of you, already kissed you—what more could be standing in his way?

“Home? Joel, we were just getting started—“ he clears his throat and sits up, trying to slide away from you but your heels dig into his tailbone and drag him back. “Started down a road we both know only leads to nothing but trouble and regret.”

What, the, fuck?

“I’m—you think this is a bad idea?”

The uncomfortable air settles back in between you and your legs around him loosen. “Think you're going to realize really quickly this ain’t what you want and this—I’ve got…too much on the line.”

He has too much on the line? What about the ranch? Your childhood home about to be lost to the bank? What about the dance hall where he’s built a new floor to make you smile? Does it all wash away with his assumed doom?

“What are you saying? This…this was a mistake? Joel I still have your fucking spit drying on my pussy and you—you regretted it already?” The realization feels like a dull blade straight to your gut, forcing it way in and twisting you from the inside out. It burns with shame and agony and you pull yourself out from under his sturdy build.

“I didn’t mean—I regret anything, fuck knows I don’t—“ no, no. You’ve given this man so much of yourself, committed so much to be thrown around and have your feelings stomped on.

“Then what the fuck does it mean, Joel! You—you made me cum while telling me you wanted to stuff my cunt but now you think this is…” you have a realization then, that maybe—just maybe, he does actually regret it. What does he think, you’d turn around and throw him out on his ass? If he truly thinks that low of you then maybe…

“This was a big fucking mistake.” You say coldly, making up your mind as you right your bunched up dress and adjust your fixed gaze on the passenger side window.

“Take me home.” It’s not a request.

It’s not an invitation, either, Joel understands as he watches you close the front door behind you later that night, settling his made up mind.

He presses his palm to his crotch twice and comes in his pants right there in the driveway, just like he knew he was going to.

And he feels like a fucking fool.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel the last of us #joel tlou #archive of our own #cowboy!joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut

[powerpuffobsession]

As much as I love Adam for a few fun parts of his character and for what he could have been at the hands of a competent writer (as shown by the fanfics where he gets properly developed)...

I feel like he (and the way he's characterised) is what broke Hazbin hotel season 1 pacing, Lucifer's character and the show's overall atmosphere.

(Long and packed rant under the cut, because I've been having these thoughts since I saw season 1, and I want to share them. Viewer discretion is adviced)

Before Adam existed (pilot era) it was all simple and worked more properly: a story about the hotel and its inhabitants, and most importanty, redemption. It was a small snuggly location with a few characters in the center of a plot

Heaven was in the background and kept as a mystery. Moreover, from what we've seen in the pilot, Lucifer was obviously a background villain or at least an anti hero, one of the real obstacles for Charlie to overcome on the way to her goal (instead of a minor inconveniece resolved in a single broadway song)

But when Adam and his weird obsession with murder broke into that perfectly cut out premise, everything just shattered. Too many themes got weaved into the short story of the 8 episodes: Heaven vs Hell politics, overlords, war, Charlie's conflict with Adam, the seraphims...

All of that pushed the hotel and the redemption to the background instead of Heaven.... in a cartoon that's named after the hotel. Because 8 episodes is not enough to talk about politics, a war and a 6 month redemption course (the latter even happened behind the screen with only some verbal hints given about the amazing secretive progress the hotel guests made that we were not allowed to see!)

(Had this cartoon stayed indie, there would have been a possibility of making more episodes and tackling more themes properly. But big name broadway actors are more important than that, it appears)

Back to Adam.

He is not even a good villain. He really should have been more of a background antihero. Give the man some sedatives, for f's sake! Where did all that rabidity even come from, after centuries of living in Heaven? Honestly, he'd be expected to act calmer and wiser than how he actually did, especially with how old he is (as old as the earth itself). But instead it's like he got frozen in a state of a dumb jock bully from high school

Imagine if Adam allowed Charlie and her hotel guests to prove that redemption is possible, out of principle, or curiosity. Hell, maybe even allow him to threaten to kill them, but not straight away! Later, after they fail to prove him wrong! If that's what Adam's role had been, the hotel part would have gotten time to breathe and more spotlight

All Adam did in the series, was:

1. make a lot of excessive noise

2. do dumbass things (and it wasn't even explained WHY he's the way he is, not even a single flashback or his own musings and thoughts shown, which makes all of his actions fall flat in every sense)

3. break the remains of logic (Heaven looks plain dumb because of him, not able to tell sinning from non sinning and to judge human souls properly. It's not even corruption, since Adam is not that important or benefitial to Heaven, an actual archangel like Michael could have been leading exorcists in his place and do a better job.... it's just stupidity)

And then Adam just died, for nothing and with no consequences.

I mean, straight after Adam's death Lucifer is immediately trying to divert the viewer's attention: "who wants pancakes? :D". It's like the cartoon itself doesn't care that the first human, one of the most mysterious beings in vivzieverse and someone who badly needed a second chance and therapy, just died. By a very stupid joke too (Niffty didn't even have to stab him).

In short, Adam's plotline is a huge waste of screen time...

And while his final smile to Lute may give us some hints that there's something good inside Adam, but it's more akin to mockery. Since we were never shown that there's more to Adam besides "the main character's opponent=ultimate bad"

And of course Lucifer was retconned into a pathetic uwu boi, who's depression and "silliness" have overshadowed the fact that he practically doomed humanity to a life full of pain, suffering and surviving and took away Adam and Eve's home. We don't even get the slightest glimpse of what exactly Lucifer DREAMED of that was so important to force him to do the humans dirty. Meaning it was something abstract and not thought-through anyway.

(Free will my ass.. Adam and Lilith did as they pleased in Eden without the free will, Adam ordering his wives around, Lilith being able to defy him and Eve being able to disobey God. What good did "free will" from that fruit even do them? If anything, it only did harm to everyone)

And so now this daft egotist is being portrayed as this selfless harmless character only for the sake of contrasting the painfully obvious bad evil that Adam is.

That comes off as black and white writing, fit more for a childrens cartoon, despite the show critisizing Adam for thinking in black and white terms. Not a good look

#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #anti lucifer

[niconeeks377]

I've seen so many things recently on Charlie x Emily, how Vaggie and Charlie have no chemistry, Emily is a better partner for Charlie. And now I want to rant about it

Personally I don't think Charlie x Emily is a good ship. Emily is basically Charlie but in Heaven, they are practically the same just in a different context. And not to mention, there is a chance that they are related.

I get it, for the main couple of the show, Vaggie and Charlie really don't get a lot of moments where you can look passingly at it and see they are dating. But also, they are an established relationship. From personal experience, after a few years of dating someone, even months depending on the relationship, you aren't all over each other all the time. It's a lot more tame than the honeymoon phase

Now I fully agree, Vaggie and Charlie have a LOT to work out, Viv needs to develop their relationship more in the series and actually make them feel like a couple like Angel and Husk.

But we also need to remember that the reason the first season was so fast paced is because of fear of cancelation and need for approval from Amazon (if my sources are correct). Viv has already said that there will be more episodes in a season and more filler episodes to help us develop these characters.

Back to what I was saying before, I personally find that Charlie and Vaggie have the potential to be an amazing couple and a really balanced relationship (personality wise). Charlie is optimistic and a dreamer while Vaggie is realistic and logical. Sure, Vaggie needs to get a backbone and be Charlie's voice of reason, but it's a really good start for her

#hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel rant #hazbin charlie #hazbin chaggie #hazbin vaggie

[zahri-melitor]

I think the oddest thing about my whole reading project is discovering as I go what I didn't know about storylines, about how many things are blown out of proportion and out of context, and about how, on average, stories are better and make more sense than people like to claim they are.

Because one of the interesting things when you read back catalogue is obviously that storylines are compressed. You see whole story arcs in just a day or two, rather than 6 months. You miss out on the speculation and elaboration as they are ongoing, but it also means you see situations resolve before you really have time to get worked up about them.

And that can have a really beneficial effect; you experience the story as it was plotted, rather than as it was first read. Weird gap moments are smoothed over rather than become niggling issues that you're waiting for pay off on. It gives proportion and perspective to events. And you can see structural goals a lot more clearly.

In any case, I am now up to 2017.

Recent thoughts on what I'm reading:-

Duke still does not have powers on page, and he's got a lot of character development; it's bizarre reading this when almost nothing going on here is known by the fandom, and the one thing the fandom DOES know is not yet canonical.

Steph and Harper have a better (and more interesting) relationship at this point on paper than Steph and Cass do.

Steph really does feel like Tynion picked up her character and tried to fix some of the issues that had her left on the shelf.

People hugely flatten how complex Kate Kane's background and canon as Batwoman is.

It's really interesting lining up Bruce's reaction to Tim's 'death' against Jason's and Damian's. Part of it is of course the contextual difference (in that Tynion knows Tim is alive and he'll be coming back) but Bruce feels a lot closer to the acceptance he reached after Jason, rather than the rage after Damian's. And there are definitely elements of how it is written that are specific reactions to the fandom's responses to Jason, Steph and Damian's deaths. It's interesting. Bruce doesn't appear quite ready to let go and get completely messy over this, and I wonder how much of it is a broader support network, and I wonder how much it is he doesn't trust himself if he gets messy without Tim there. (He's grieving! But on the scale of Bruce grieving so far it is incredibly tame and controlled and emotionally healthy)

I can't express how relieving it is to see situations recanonised and old dynamics put back into place unless you've worked through stories where they are just missing. A mid run that's reasonably on target is a fun thing to read, actually.

[kaylatoonz]

Evil grows in the dark and heroes bloom in the light

This idea feels more of an AU than a possibility of this happening in the SCU but it is fun to write/draw nonetheless.

This idea is inspired by the Sonic Fleetway comics, tangled, and Lion King 2: Simba’s Pride.

(I made this before I knew if Jim Carry was returning as Eggman in any future installment, just to let you know)

After the events of the third movie, Eggman is defeated once again this time at the cost of his life. Agent Stone is devastated at the loss of HIS doctor and wants vengeance against Sonic and his friends. Unfortunately, he would have to bide his time and lay low until the heat died down. With the ultimate weapon loss, he scavenges G.U.N base one last time in search of anything from Eggman or the government to use against Sonic in the future.

During the search, Stone discovers a brown hedgehog in a cryo-chamber similar to the one Shadow was found in. After looking into some files, he learns the subject, Project Rose seems to be a failed attempt at re-creating a more docile version of Project Shadow (to control better) years after Shadow was deemed too dangerous. At first, Stone was appalled by the idea of using another alien mutant to progress his plans for revenge, it hadn’t worked out the last two times! Not having a lot of options he took his chance with this creature, deciding that he would play his cards carefully this time and dispose of the beast as soon as possible if necessary.

Months later, Agent Stone, discovered like Shadow she has a connection to chaos energy, though a lot weaker and more unstable. Similar to when his doctor wielded the master emerald power, she can create anything from the material she’s offered. She also has supernatural strength, enhanced athletic/acrobatic, an unexplainable sixth sense, and cloaking abilities.

The only downside is that her powers are more limited compared to Shadow or Sonic and even seem to put a lot of strain on her body. He predicts that her body will expire in a matter of months or a year at best. Not that he cared as long as he got his revenge on Sonic, she would be one less problem to deal with once he was done, anyway.

Since Agent Stone doesn’t have the vast intelligence of his beloved doctor he settles with using Amy to create complex machinery. By night he causes trouble for Sonic heroes making sure they never forget the doctor (the team doesn’t know Agent Stone is the one causing trouble). By day he brings back material and blueprints he managed to scavenge during his nightly ventures.

Each day, Rose would create machinery, and weapons, unbeknownst to her that aided him in his conquest to destroy the blue pest and his friends. Unfortunately, for him, despite having many of the doctor's glorious blueprints and plans at hand, none have come close to destroying his foes.

Rose could easily see Mr. Stone’s frustration whenever he returned from his “night job”. Wanting to cheer her guardian up, she decided to sneak out and gather some material to make Mr. Stone happy. Rose, never having been outside, is quickly enamored by the luscious forest and flowers. So much so that she didn’t notice a blue blue until he was right on top of her.

Stone had relocated his base Of operation from the coffee shop to the depth of the forest of Greenhills. so it was a matter of time before Rose was at the “wrong” place at the “wrong” time resulting in her encountering the blue blur.

After untangling themselves they get a good look at each other and both are shocked. Sonic was in shock due to meeting another hedgehog who had hunted familiar eyes, leaving him gawking at the girl like an idiot. While Rose is shocked to meet another creature like herself but with such beautiful quills. Rose is quick to excitedly shoot questions out to the shell-shocked hedgehog. Before Rose could get a response from the blue hedgehog she sensed Agent Stone returning to the base so cut the meeting short. She quickly grabbed one of the daisies she dropped early and suggested they meet here again sometime to get to know each other better. Again before Sonic can respond the hedgehog girl disappears before his eyes (literally).

Upon returning to the base Rose decides to keep her meeting with the mysterious blue hedgehog secret for now, not wanting to get in trouble for sneaking out. She didn’t think a two-petal daisy would cheer up Mr. Stone or make up for running off. Things progress like usual with Mr. Stone, bringing in material and blueprints of bots to practice her creation ability. The session goes on like any other until Rose’s mind can’t help but wander back to the blue hedgehog. And unbeknownst to her it influences her powers to create the head of a metallic blue hedgehog head instead of a plain android like the blueprint. Noticing her mistake, roast quickly tries to apologize and explain herself though Stone calmly brushes it off. Stone smiles at Rose for the first time in a while (if ever) and tells her that she is on to something and this may be her best work yet. So before Rose could exhaust herself for today, he excused her from their session for today and sent Rose to her room.

Behind closed doors, Agent Stone was a bit furious that the insolent creature had shown its first sign of disobedience and interacted with the blue menace nonetheless! But that didn’t matter for now her day would be numbered soon enough. Now he had the perfect plan to destroy that hedgehog in the best way possible thanks to his little rose. He would build that robot in that blue rat likeness, using any information gathered from Rose and Sonic’s meetings ( assuming the ungrateful girl will sneak off to see the blue rat again). Then when the sonic bond with the rose reaches its highest stone it would tear it away from him(just as Sonic did to him) using Sonic's image. Then his friends and family before lastly the blue hedgehog who would most likely be more than broken when Stone strikes the final blow.

Unfortunately for Stone, his plans don’t go exactly as planned. With each meeting, sonic and Rose's bond grows stronger, and Rose learns and grows. Through Sonic she learns what real healthy love (familial, platonic, and romantic) looks like which eventually helps her realize something up with Mr. Stone. Sadly by the time she comes to this conclusion, Stone has initiated his plans leaving Sonic to believe that she betrayed him. Wanting to right this wrong Rose lends her aid to team Sonic to defeat the metal monster of her creation. With the chaos and Rose's help, they were able to defeat Metal Sonic and Agent Stone, but at the cost of Rose's life. The battle those have put herself through, pushed her body to the limit, exhausting all the chaos energy that was meant to keep her alive and stable. Devastated sonic kneels down to his rose, holding her close begging, her to wake up. Stone takes satisfaction in the fact that despite his failure he had given Sonic a taste of how he felt when he took his doctor away.

As Agent Stone is taken in by the G.U.N agents Sonic pays them no mind as he desperately tries to offer up as much chaos energy to Rose’s body in hopes of reviving her. It seemingly has some effect on the hedgehog girl as her quills go from brown to pink and when her eyes eventually open they are a bolder green compared to his own.

Bonus context:

Agent Stone is the type of man who would take satisfaction in a loss if it means, he leaves his enemy physically or mentally scarred. (in the IDW pre-quill comic. He was pretty intimidating so I wanted to go to extra step). he doesn’t care about ruling the world like Eggman (nothing matters if Eggman can’t be the one on top in the end). He just wants to hurt Sonic and his friends/family as much as he can.

In the beginning, Sonic keeps his meeting between him and Rose secret for selfish reasons. Sonic loved his brothers but sometimes he wanted some things or someone to himself (sonic still adjusting to sharing with his brothers). After the ordeal with Shadow, sonic also wanted some semblance of peace or escapism from the trauma. It isn’t until Sonic starts to notice that Rose’s home life might not be so great that Sonic starts to get his brothers and parents involved. Because of this sonic still feels guilty that he could’ve done something sooner.

After watching Disney’s Tangled with the Wachowskis, Amy teasingly calls Sonic her Rapunzel while Sonic insists that it’s the other way around.

Agent Stone is basically mother Gothel to Rose, so she has experienced a lot of gaslighting and guilt-tripping from Stone.

Rose takes up the name Amy as her first name a few months after she leaves Stone's custody. Despite her name coming from a dark place (Project Rose) she wants to keep it while adding something new to it representing the start of her new life as Amy Rose.

Sonic thinks Amy looks beautiful before and after her transformation.

After spending some time at the Wackowski‘s recovering, Amy takes off on her own leaving a note to Sonic explaining how she is going to explore the world for herself and promising that they’ll meet again. Sonic is a bit sad at first but lightens up in the hopes of meeting her again.

If Shadow is still alive and crosses paths with Amy, he would consider her his little sister and do anything to protect her after learning about her connection to him.

Agent Stone would be on Shadow’s kill list after finding out what that man put his sister through.

Shadow would probably gatekeep Amy from Sonic.

#amy rose #sonamy #sonic movie 3 #movie amy rose #sonic the hedgehog #procreate #shadow the hedgehog #sonic movie 2 #agent stone #doctor eggman #sonic movie au