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#of how she got booted out of girls generation with like changed names

chrollohearttags · 9 months

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bake it

reiner can’t get enough of you or your sweet treats. Regardless of what anyone thinks.

themes: food play, reiner and reader both being nasty af, (and both have super country accents), lots of old southern colloquialisms, food play, oral (m. receiving), spit play, pet names (sugar, poundcake, daddy, pumpkin, sweet girl), spanking, backshots, squirting

📝: this may or may not be a lil series based off my fav album at the moment. I think it fits the cowboy!reiner x reader headcanon very well.

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“Chile, did you hear about what (y/n) did down at the Hole this weekend?”

“Girl yes. Being fast and actin’ all loose. Hanging over every man that’ll look her way.” “I’m tellin’ ya, honey. She ain’t nothing like her mama or her cousins. Girl’s a handful, I tell ya. Never seen a thang’ like it.”

“She was with that Braun boy from what I heard. Lord knows what she was doing..”

rumblings and rumors had spread like wildfire among about what took place at the infamous hang out spot and saloon in the small town in which you’d grown up. It seemed that not much had changed from the time you were a tiny child from now being a grown woman, returning to your stomping grounds after a couple years of higher education. Pearl clutching church ladies and snobby debutants with their noses in the air, disapproving of any woman who hadn’t settled down and popped out ten kids before the age of twenty five. It was how the customary traditions went in the south and sadly, wasn’t going to change any time soon. However…

“Yes and did you hear that I had him calling to the good lord after I fucked him seven ways to Sunday? He was a lot of fun. Boy’s got a third leg and a tongue like a serpent. Might have to keep him around.”

the very bold proclamation of your supposed actions had your coworkers of the Sweetie Pie Bakery; owned by the ladies in your family and had been a staple in the city for ten years, gasping and glaring at you disgust. The ones working there currently were a few new hires from the local church. The types to be sleeping with other people’s husbands by Saturday and running in and out of the pew on Sunday. Blatant hypocrites. Hence why you so casually admitted to your affairs and boasted about them. You didn’t give a damn what those uppity bitches thought of you! Especially when the man in question was all but obsessed with you…sneaking away at any opportune moment to have you since the first night you gave him a taste of your proverbial sweetness. Slurping you up, tonguing you down and pounding that little pussy sideways..letting him have a slice of you anyway he liked. It was no secret to anyone that you weren’t some innocent saint but if it’s gossip they wanted, you’d give those mouth breathing heifers something to bump their gums about. They’d feel how they want to about you regardless so it didn’t matter. Might as well have a little fun..

“Now if you ladies will excuse me, I have a delivery to make.”

“In that outfit?!” Referring to the very short, denim miniskirt wrapping your thick backside and halter top hoisting your ample breasts.“It’s ninety two degrees outside besides, a wretched jezebel like me has to look the part, right?” Mocking them with an overly done accent and a fake smile before waving and turning on the heels of your boots.

and where you were headed, you wouldn’t have it on long anyways..not once he spotted you…

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

halfway across the tracks was a small office residing on the outskirts of town, right before you’d reach the dozen mile long stretch of fields and farmland. The moniker atop the building read ‘Braun Farms, Inc.’ owned and operated by the prominent family for several years and generations. Providing fresh vegetables, poultry, cattle and everything else to many local diners and families. The hardest working man in the entire company may have been the next line to take it over, Reiner Braun. A young, handsome, determined guy who was always about his business before any sort of pleasures. Of course, that all changed when his new fling came around..a girl by the name of (y/n) (l/n) who had a grip on him in more ways than one. After some whisperings, he discovered that you too had grown up in this area but was carted off to school elsewhere in your adolescence. You at sone private Christian academy and him homeschooled, hence why your paths never crossed. But that was a thing of the past and so was hiding the promiscuity you both harbored.

“Damn, poundcake. You keep suckin’ on me like that and I might hafta’ give you my credit card and last name.”

the words escaping in a guttural groan from Reiner’s half parted lips. His chest was heaving, so much so, it looked as if it were about to pop from his chest. Going mad with pure unadulterated lust as you licked on his shaft from underneath the desk. He had been assigned to records keeping today so you decided to pay him a little visit on his lunch break. And what was a better meal than your delicious cupcake and the chance to eat his dick up?

“Don’t say that too loud, pumpkin. Someone might get the wrong idea about me..think I’m trying to take ya’ money.”

“To hell with them. Only thing I want right now is to fuck that pretty lil’ throat.”

and he did just that. Bobbing your head up and down with a spread palm resting atop your freshly done lace front; feeding you every inch feasible of that long, erect cock. Gliding it to the back of your mouth until it damn near reached your esophagus and drummed up strings of spit. Loud gurgling noises filled the room and Reiner nearly lost his shit. Clawing at the arms of the chair and cursing like a sailor. You had this man doing and behaving in ways unbecoming of his character but he could give a damn less. As long as you kept letting him use you like this. Sticking your tongue out, you’d smile and request that he spit into your mouth..adding to the pre existing strings saliva and cum covering your face. It didn’t help matters any when you decided to take some of that frosting and place it on his sensitive tip before slurping it off. “W-whatever you want, sugar. I’ll give you whatever you want just keep —oh shit!” Earning yourself another warm load of his nut all over your exposed tits and pretty face. “You taste so good..” Those deviant eyes and sultry voice luring him in. By now, you had to be dripping so he’d tug you out from under there and place you at the edge of the desk before saddling up behind you with that hard dick. Hoisting that mini skirt to your waist, letting it bunch up around that soft, pudgy tummy, he was pleased to find that you wearing no panties but was wetter than the lake he frequented.

“Want you to fuck this pussy so good…stretch it out f’r me, Rei…” begging with your decorated nails placed on your round cheeks as you pulled them apart to reveal that puckering hole and soaking entrance…making him hungry for both. Wasting no time, he’d grab a handful of that thin top and your waist to reign you in. With his teeth grimaced, he’d whisper in your ear with growls; feeding you heavy handed smacks to your ass in the process. Spanking you like a bad kid but doing so because you enjoyed every second. “That’s what you want, sugar? For me to fuck ya’ like a lil’ slut? Make you come all over this dick? That right, baby?” To which you’d nod profusely, never craving something so badly before in your life. Of course, he was happy to oblige..but you’d have to beg a bit, just because that sexy voice turned him on so bad. “Yes, daddy. Need you to fill my shit up too..nut all in this pussy. I ain’t come all this way for nothin.” And of course, that all but sold him. So with your inviting heat waiting for him and those Wranglers ruffled around his waist, Reiner pulled you in close before impaling you on his cock.

“Damn right, baby..so take all this dick.” Pressing a thumb to your tight little asshole as he pumped you full..one long, deep stroke after the next, coaxing out sticky cream and soft cries as you scratched at the wooden surface he had you planked across. Sliding in and out of that warmth like a perfectly fitting puzzle piece. The tight clutch you put around his shaft had him mesmerized. It didn’t help your case any when you constantly doted and bragged on how good he fucked you. “I swear you’re the only one who can get this pussy wet like this..” “..right there, daddy. You in my fucking spot..gonna make me come.” Of course, Reiner was loving every bit and only wanted to please his lady so as that big ass bounced against his pelvis and rippled like waves, he’d give you more slaps and try to maintain his pace. Even going as far as to make that tip kiss the inner corner of your cervix.“Give it to me then…nut f’r me, sweet girl. Let it all go.” And the second you did, juices flooded the floor as you squirted all over him. “Shitttt! That’s what I’m talking about, pretty girl. Make a mess of me..” grinning from ear to ear before housing his own seed inside of you. That pulsating cock still inside of you minutes later. Turning you around, he’d mark your lips with a sloppy kiss and look down at the aftermath.

“I swear, I ain’t never gonna be able to quit you, sugar. Just too damn sweet..”

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pupcuck · 4 months

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JINGLE BELL COCK !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, uncle/niece incest, somno

notes. MERRY CHRISTMAS!! this is very messy and rushed i haven’t been able to write properly lately so forgive me for the repetitiveness and clunkiness!! ignore typos as always :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated !!! this is reallyyy sloppy and I’m embarrassed so I may go back and delete and rewrite in a few days time 😭

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

“Woah,” Leon's knees almost buckle when you barrel into him, “Pumpkin, wow,” He takes you in, settles his hands on your hips, and it might be inappropriate ‘cause your mother glares at him over your shoulder. What did she want him to do? Grab your ass? Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve. Just doesn’t wanna get put on a list of some kind. “You’re so big now.”

“Yeah?” Your cheeks split with a sweet smile, “I missed you, uncle.”

“God, you’re so big I can’t believe it,” He gives you a once over, he’d like to catcall you to show you how he feels, Leon refrains from doing so. “I remember when you were a kid, always sat in my lap ‘n said you wanted to marry me.”

“Awww,” A gloved hand comes to pat his cheek, you take the tip of the fabric between your teeth, taking it off finger by finger, “I can do that again if you’d really like, uncle.” Your nails scratch his scruffy chin, press your finger into the divot he hates so much, then you stare right at it. Don’t look at that, god. Totally messed him over. Shit fucked up his golden ratio.

“What're you lookin’ at, pumpkin?” He shifts from foot to foot, moves his flight bag from one shoulder to the other.

“Just never seen you with a beard,” You shrug, beaming at him once more. Okay, not the chin then, thank fuck. “It’s cute, uncle, makes you look older.” Leon doesn’t know if that’s good or bad, though he feels his spinal disk shrink with each passing second.

You turn on your heels when his sister-in-law, fine as ever, says your name, “We should go before she gets pissy.” You tell him cheekily, taking his hand in yours, and you’re so big now he can’t believe it. A whole lot of tit, hip, and your ass ain’t too shabby either. Leon’s justification is that he’s only a man, can't help himself when he sees a pretty girl, even if said girl is his niece. He’s an honest guy, gotta give his brother props for marrying such a smokeshow, even more credit for knocking her up. ‘Cause she popped out an even hotter girl, younger, brighter, and your tits sit prettier.

Their family stands on crumbling foundations, when he’s around his brother, Leon’s five seconds away from blowing his brains out at any given moment. He doesn’t know why people question his suicidal tendencies, he’s more than willing to show them. Snow crunches under his boots as he navigates the path leading up to the front door. The layer of glossy red paint has chipped away to reveal the mahogany beneath. It’s been that long, huh?

“I’m in college now, I have my licence and everything, uncle, I wanted to visit you in D.C. but I couldn’t get ahold of you,” You chatter to him, tugging at your laces and propping your shoes up on the shelf near the door, make the move to grab his suitcase, but Leon swiftly moves it aside. “I can carry it, I’m a big girl now.”

“No, you’re not,” Leon frowns, to him you’re a baby. An undeveloped prefrontal cortex and a soft spot on the top of your head. Yeah, you got a rack now, sure, he wants to fuck you now - doesn’t change a thing.

“Okay, well did you bring me a present?” You trail after him, and you really are still a baby.

“Yeah, you’re my favourite girl, I bought you lots.” He’s not sure if you’ll like it. Colouring books, dolls, plastic jewellery. He’s a bit of an idiot. Didn’t think about how long it’s been.

“Can I open them now?” You seat yourself next to him on the couch, knee bumping his.

“Later, pumpkin, I promise.”

“I want to transfer to Washington.” Wine trickles over the edge of your cup, Leon soaks it up with a napkin, dabs at your face when a rivulet dribbles down your chin.

His brother’s knocked out in their dad’s old armchair, it’s beyond saving, but he’s cheap. Your mom retired to bed a while back, they argued over something trivial, a cheeseboard or some shit, and with that it leaves the two of you.

“Yeah? You got friends out there or what?”

“No, but you’re there, uncle.” You grin, batting your lashes so pretty he gets without popping a viagra or two. Three. He needs three minimum. “I could come stay with you, right?”

Fuck no, under no circumstance should he be allowed within fifty feet of you. And here Leon is, bumping knees, brushing fingers like you’re lovesick teens on a first date. That’s just not right, is it? He’s a decrepit old man on his way to getting a senior bus pass, and he’s your uncle and all. Can’t really go around popping boners over family members.

“I work too much.” Leon says coolly, sweat dripping from his temple, drumming his fingers against the table. “Hey, you wanna open your presents?”

“Yes!” You nod with wild enthusiasm, like a bobblehead, cute ones you keep on the dashboard. Leon would love to take you home with him, display you on the mantle like a China doll, show you off like some rare artefact. Just can’t, he’d end up doing something awful, peeking in on you showering— or worse he’d start sleepwalking, get into your room- “Go get them then, uncle.”

The paper is pink, the shade you used to adore as a young girl, the colour you’ve since painted over in your room. He got that professionally wrapped, big bow on it and all. Leon’s not good at making things look pretty. It’s easier to assemble a gun than it is to wrap presents. Your name is scrawled on the tag in cursive writing that belongs to none other than Claire, she insisted on doing so, felt inclined after seeing his chicken-scratch.

“It’s for me, you shouldn’t have, uncle!” You snatch it out of his hands, Jesus, had more manners when you were a kid. Once you tear through the paper, you blink down at the plastic princess costume jewellery. Clip-on earrings, fluffy mules that are much too tiny, the whole lot. “Oh, wow, well, it sure is nice.”

“Pumpkin,” Leon starts, “It slipped my mind that you’re a big girl now, I wasn’t thinkin’ and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You placate him with your smile, “I’m just glad you’re here.” Cheesy, still makes him swoon.

“We can go shopping ‘fore I go back, I’ll buy you whatever, yeah?”

“I don’t need that,” You shake your head, eyes flitting from his lower half then to his lips. He’s making shit up in his head now. It’s late, Leon should go to sleep, doesn’t wanna start kissing on you and end up in court. “Oh, you’re going already?”

“I’m tired, pumpkin.” My dick is so hard it’s cutting off all blood flow to my brain, my pants are squeezing it so tight I’m gonna contract sepsis and that shit will fall straight off, I don’t want my dick to fall off, pumpkin, hope you can understand my reasoning. Leon hopes you can see the desperation in his eyes, that you can see the sentiment he’s trying to get across.

The bed creaks with his weight, and it’s the same dusty, bed-bug ridden shit his brother’s had for years. He jerks off, blows his load on his stomach, too worn out to clean it up. Falls asleep with his hand down his pants. Then Leon starts having wet dreams like he’s twenty-one again, of your petal lips, of your hands on his dick, your tits, how your thighs look when you sit. Warmth engulfs his cock, and it’s so real, he’s so sure you’re right there, sucking him off like a good girl. You’re cute like a sex doll, and it’s unfair that he has to put on this uncle act. Used to come natural to him when you were a kid, but it’s just different.

Only when Leon lifts his hand does he come into contact with skin, with hair, and a human. At first, he thinks it’s the dog, one of the three. Then he feels small hands parting his thighs further, the familiarity of your smile warming his skin.

“Pumpkin.” Leon rasps, and it’s not quite warning, just a tone that says keep going, but this is fucked up, doesn’t mean I don’t want it though. He thanks you for making the first move.

You pull off with a wet pop, kissing along his Apollo’s belt. “I want to come to D.C. and stay with you,” You say between fervid kisses, “I want to be with you, uncle, you’re handsome and I like you.” Your confession is feverish, he wonders if you realise the weight of your words. Can’t go around telling lonely old men that you like ‘em.

“I’m your uncle, pumpkin.” Leon states simply, ‘cause he’s an adult and he’s collected, but you can keep pumping his dick like that, he really don’t mind.

“No one would know,” You kiss the sticky tip, pre smeared over your lips like lip gloss, tongue poking out to taste him, dipping into his leaky slit. “I could be your girlfriend.” Leon doesn’t even know you, he knows the little girl you once were.

Leon’s too old for that shit. Girlfriend boyfriend talk. “I’m too old to be dating, pumpkin.” He cradles the back of your head with his calloused hand, guides you to base of his shaft, your tongue tracing the vein that runs along the underside of his cock.

“Yeah, but you’re not too old to marry me, are you?” You’re a clever girl, giving him a cheeky smile as you sit up and clamber into his lap.

“What’s gotten into you, pumpkin?” Don’t stop, pumpkin. Same thing. He hopes his dick says enough, standing proud as you lift your hips, wet hole stretching to accommodate his fat tip. Leon can’t see your face, but he shuts his eyes and thinks about it, how your lips would part so pretty, and you’d toss your head back, sweat making your skin all shiny.

“I just really like you, uncle.” One way ticket out of this shitty town, away from his shitry brother, away from your narc bitch of a mom, free food, free housing - Leon understands your motive. Truly, he does, and he can’t find it in himself to give a damn. If you pretend to love then it matters all the same.

“Okay, then sit on it, pumpkin.” Leon urges, firm hands finding purchase on your hips, forcing you down on his cock till you take all of him to the hilt. The head bumps your cervix, and Leon is in love with you. Thank fuck he came back home, thank god, thank Claire for pushing him to the point of booking a flight. “You wanna marry me?”

“I told you, didn’t I? Promised I was gonna marry you when I was a kid.” You press your tits flush to his chest, lips ghosting Leon’s. “I wanna marry you so bad, uncle, you’re all I want.” And Leon can’t help himself, doesn’t mean to let go so early, the coils of heat in his belly turn searing, and he empties himself into you with a groan. The quiet noise of disappointing you let out as his cock softens inside of you is adorable.

“You gotta get used to that if you marry me, I’m old now.” He strokes your head, holds you tight, refuses to let go now that he’s got you.

“I can deal with it, uncle, as long as I get to be your wife.”

#leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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wintrwinchestr · 26 days

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kiss it better

the killer & the sound - chapter 2

summary: you’re with the band, officially. you’ve met them, rehearsed with them all of two times, and now it’s the tour’s opening night. pretty nerve-wracking, but nothing you can’t handle, right? that is, until Joel asks you last-minute to perform their suggestive hit single Kiss it Better with them, live on stage. before you know it, your teenage dreams are coming true, in more ways than one.

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), heavy flirting, pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, babygirl, etc), shy/anxious reader, a little dub-con bc reader has a couple drinks but is alert and consenting, joel refers to reader’s pussy as she/her, smoking, power imbalance & joel using it to his advantage, exhibitionism (suggestive performance onstage but no sexual activity), lapsitting, praise kink, finger sucking, tummy bulge, unprotected p in v sex, some angst, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 11.5k (i’m sorry or you’re welcome)

a/n: thank you so much for your patience and interest in this story!! i’m sorry i took so long, but i hope you enjoy another chapter of rockstar!joel that somehow turned out longer than the first one. thank you as always to my best girl kiers i love you so much and i’m so happy our baby rockstar brought us together <3 thank you for reading, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

divider by @saradika-graphics

It was only a handful of days ago that you had received the life changing invitation to open for Death’s Head on their sold out national tour. And it was only a handful of years ago that something like this was an unachievable fever dream, something you could pantomime in the shower or in the car, but still unsure if your hard work and commitment would ever pay off.

It’s been a complete whirlwind, your teenage dreams coming true in the span of less than a week. And now here you sit, shut away in your dressing room, leg bouncing up and down like a jackhammer as you add a final coat of mascara and one last sticky swipe of lip gloss. Meeting your own gaze in the vanity mirror, you fidget with your necklace, eyes wide and unblinking as you try to suppress a complete freakout.

A sudden knock on the door startles you from your daze, followed by a familiar gravelly voice asking your name. It’s Joel. You invite him in, and although you had seen him at soundcheck earlier in the day, it’s the first time you’re seeing him in the clothes he’s chosen to perform in tonight: black button-down shirt with western-style embroidery on the pockets, generously opened at the top to expose his tattooed chest. He pairs it with his signature black leather jacket, black jeans, and black boots with a pointed silver toe. He’s got various chains and metalwork adorning his ensemble, making him jingle and clink as he moves.

“Jus’ wanted to drop by before you go on, tell ya to ‘break a leg’ and everythin’...” He stands in the doorway, the thumb of one hand hooked on a belt loop while the other rests above his head against the doorframe. He looks you up and down quickly. “Look real pretty, darlin’, ‘s a nice dress.”

You look down at yourself, so flustered and not in your own head that you have to remind yourself of what you’re wearing. “Oh, th-thanks. Just bought it yesterday, got it special for tonight.”

“Certainly is special…” He muses, shutting the door behind him before taking a few long strides in your direction. “You feelin’ okay, sweetheart, feelin’ good?” He pulls up an extra chair from the corner of the room as he speaks, setting it down next to where you sit in front of your vanity. He spins it around in his grip to sit on it backwards, dark denim-clad thighs straddling the backrest of the chair. You resist the urge to stare at how his strong body stretches the material.

You opt to answer him with a lie, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”

He drops his chin, looking at you from underneath his dark lashes. “Now why don’t I believe you? We've been over this, darlin’. Nothin’ to be scared of, yeah?” He places a large hand on your knee in an attempt to halt its incessant movement.

“‘S just a lotta people… never played in front of crowds this big before. Mostly just did a bunch of bars before now, maybe a community center or somethin’ every so often, but never a crowd bigger than a thousand. And there’s gonna be, like, ten thousand people out there.”

“Try doublin’ that.”

Your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline, and it feels like your heart just dropped into your stomach, a red hot piece of iron ore sinking into freezing water.

“Shit, shouldn’t’a said nothin’.” Joel shakes his head, pinching between his brows before lightly gripping your chin so that you stay focused on him. “Look at me. Remember our talk in the car the other day, don’tcha?” You nod your head in his grasp. “Said all about how good you are. Believe force o’ nature is the term I used, wasn’t it?” You can’t help but crack a smile at his compliment, and he returns one in the form of that canine-like grin of his. “You can do this, babygirl, yeah?”

Oh, that’s a new one. You decide you like the sound of it already, how it rolls off his tongue coated in his gravelly drawl.

You nod again in understanding, but he seems dissatisfied. “Say it back to me, sweetheart,” he instructs.

“I-I can do this,” you reply, your voice quiet, embarrassed of having to reassure yourself to his face.

“One more time, lil’ louder, like you mean it.”

You try again, attempting to infuse the sentence with a little more confidence. “I can do this.”

He seems content with your second try, and swipes at your chin before rising from his seat. “Fuck yeah, y’ can. Gonna knock ‘em dead, baby.”

He takes one last look at you before he leaves the room, and reminds you that you’re ‘Sposed to be on in fifteen, darlin’. See ya out there. He winks at you before closing the door, and then you’re alone again. Savoring your last few minutes to yourself, you decide to pace a few laps around the small room, running through a few more vocal warmups in an effort to drown out the sound of babygirl, babygirl, babygirl echoing around in your thoughts. Jesus Christ. It’s like he finds it impossible to comfort you without throwing in a little something extra to work you back up again. Though, you suppose you’d rather have your nervous energy redirected to him than to keep it focused on the endless expanse of people you’re about to be introduced to for the first time.

What if they hate your music? What if you forget your own lyrics? What if they think you’re not good enough?

You take a guess that they’ve hit the lights in the venue now, judging by the cacophonous roar of voices that just erupted from somewhere sounding altogether too close and too far away at the same time. Too late to back out now. Not that he’d let you.

You brace your hands on the vanity counter, looking yourself in the eye one last time before you make your way to the stage. “I can do this,” you repeat the little mantra to your reflection. “I can do this, I can do this, Joel said I can do this.” A final deep breath and a tousle of your hair before you’re swinging the dressing room door open, heavy lace-up boots carrying you to the wings of the stage where your band members are already waiting to go on. It’s dark backstage, and it takes your eyes a second to adjust before they land on Joel. The accents of silver decorating his face and scattered throughout the clothing he wears catch some of the light from the stage, helping you to identify his form. You acknowledge him, but keep your feet planted where they are, flexing your hands and then clenching them into little fists as you try to peek at the audience, relishing your final moments of being a relative nobody. Your chords, your lyrics, your innermost thoughts are still only known to you and a few handfuls of others, for the next few minutes at least. Your life, your career, begins tonight, there, on that daunting and expansive stage. Angel is already out there waiting for you, beckoning to you, if only you could just push off the balls of your feet and go to her. You wish Cat were here.

A rough hand perches itself on your shoulder, and a low voice begins to speak close to your ear. “Everythin’s all set, show starts whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” you half-whisper, giving a swift nod of your head, swallowing hard and worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. His hand applies some pressure to the slope of skin between your neck and shoulder, massaging the muscle.

“Gotta relax, sweetheart, c’mon. Breathe with me. In…” He inhales deeply, and you mimic the action, holding your breath until he permits you to let it go. “And out…”

He moves his hand to your upper back, course calluses scratching against the patch of soft skin exposed by the low back of your dress. “Gonna be back here the whole time. You start gettin’ nervous, you look at me, ‘kay?” He speaks the phrase slowly, like he’s trying not to spook a newborn animal. You suppose he’s validated in that, the way you do feel a little like a fawn about to walk out onto a frozen lake.

You turn your head to face him over your shoulder. “Okay. Um… wish me luck, I guess.”

“Don’t need it, babygirl.”

The both of you share a knowing smile once more, and it makes enough of your nerves melt away that you don’t even realize that Angel is becoming closer and clearer in your vision. Your feet had started carrying you out onto the stage before you had given them permission to, it seems, and now the embroidered luna moths are wrapped around your body. The hot lights are shining brightly in your eyes, and you’re suddenly enveloped in a dense cloud of white noise that sounds like cheering and screaming.

You look behind you, and your band members have each taken their positions. They all give you a nod or a thumbs up, and now it’s up to you to kick off the tour’s opening night. When you turn your head toward the wings one last time, Joel is still standing where you left him, arms crossed in the darkness. He juts his chin upwards and mouths something to you, the shapes of his lips forming the phrase you can do this. You whisper the affirmative phrase back to him, the same way he had you do in your dressing room.

After you’ve introduced yourself into the mic using the steadiest voice you can muster, you shut your eyes, take a final stabilizing inhale, and then a metallic chord reverberates around the venue as you begin your set.

Instincts and muscle memory carry you most of the way through the first half of your songs. You can worry about building up your confidence and stage presence after you’ve come out the other side of this first night in one piece, you resolve. Right now, you’re just trying to work up the courage to unstick your eyes from the setlist taped to the floor in front of you. Those titles printed in bold black ink are the only familiar things you can see, and you wish someone else covered in black ink were standing in front of you for you to rest your gaze on. Someone to use his tattooed fingers and devilish grin to charm you like a snake, prevent you from curling up and hiding from him, from the tens of thousands of people who traveled and paid good money to see you. You can’t let them down, let him down. You won’t.

One of the songs toward the end of your set requires Angel to be the sole performer for the first few measures before your voice and your band come in behind her. The song starts with a repetitive, hypnotic strum pattern, one you’ve practiced hundreds of times by now. But, it’s easy to get lost in it, lose track of your place if you allow your mind to get distracted or your fingers to be on autopilot for too long.

That’s exactly what’s happened, you realize, when the first verse starts without its igniting lyric. You come in just in time to sing the second line, hoping your voice isn’t coming out too shaky as you try to cover up your mitsake. Your face feels hot, fingers struggling to grip your guitar pick as they become sweaty with embarrassment.

You start gettin’ nervous, you look at me, he had told you, what seems like hours ago now.

When you feel you’ve got a better handle on the song, you turn your head toward the wings to find him already looking at you. If he had noticed the slip-up, his face doesn’t let onto it, which helps to relax you. He wears a proud smile, and holds eye contact until you’re ready to let it go.

His reassuring presence allows you to finish strong, and the remainder of your set is over before you know it. When the drums and bass have faded behind you, and the remaining tones of your closing chord have dissipated into the air, you start to come back into your own body as the white noise filling your ears turns into voices. They’re cheering, whistling, screaming. You raise a hand above your brows, blocking the harsh spotlights so you can get a better look at the crowd, at the thousands of people you had been too scared to acknowledge the reality of earlier this evening. You break into a laugh, eyes becoming wet when you realize Joel was right, you could do it. You did do it. And the crowd fucking loves you.

Unable to contain your elation, you step back from your mic to do a little spin in place, strumming out some final nonsense chords with your nose all scrunched up as the skirt of your dress flutters around you. You take a bashful bow and wave to the crowd, your cheeks burning with the stretch of your smile. Stepping forward again, your voice echoes around the venue as you extend some final “thank you”s to your incredible audience, reminding them of your name one last time before skipping offstage, your band following close behind.

Although your vision is still recovering from the blinding lights, you don’t find Joel in your quick scan of the dark backstage area, and you figure he must be doing some last-minute warm ups or pre-show rituals with the rest of Death’s Head. You share a quick celebration with your bandmates, and then head your separate ways for the night, realizing when you go to change your clothes in your dressing room that you’ve still got Angel draped across your body. It’s going to take a few shows to get used to leaving her onstage for a roadie to pack up for you, you suppose. It’s difficult to remember that you’re not the only one taking care of yourself anymore. But if this was what the rest of your life was going to be like, what your years of hard work and trying and failing and rejection and acceptance had gotten you, you could certainly learn to get used to it.

For now, you detach yourself from Angel and lay her down gently on the couch in your dressing room, setting a mental reminder to find a stagehand later to surrender her to. You know it’s strange to feel such fondness toward an instrument, but she’s like a close friend to you now, a partner. “We did it,” you say to her quietly, smiling to yourself.

Your sentimental little moment is interrupted by another knock at the door.

“You in there, darlin’?” Joel calls from the other side of the wall.

“Oh, yeah! You can come in,” you permit, and he pushes the door open as you turn to him. “What’re you still doin’ back here?”

He scoffs and makes a face in mock disgust. “Damn, could act a lil’ happy to see me.”

“Sorry,” you giggle as he steps fully inside the room, shutting the door behind him. For a beat, you just stand facing each other in silence. You bounce on your heels and fiddle with the hem of your dress, waiting for him to say something.

“Fuckin’ incredible out there, babygirl. ‘Bout knocked me on my ass, I swear.” He steps closer to you, taking your face in both of his large hands. It makes your breath hitch, your eyes widening as they look into his. “Goddamn superstar, you are. They fuckin’ loved you.”

You break into a grin, swollen cheeks pushing into his calloused fingers. “Thank you… Took me a while to get it going, slipped up a little towards the end, but it was fun. Can’t believe I did it.”

“Well shit, I can. You should be proud of yourself, baby.”

“I am.”

“Good.” He studies your face for a moment, and for a split second, you think he might kiss you, and that you might want him to. You try to knock the thought from your head swiftly, and he drops his hands from your face as you do.

“So listen, came back here to ask you somethin’ actually. I know it’s pretty short notice and all, but the guys and I were wonderin’ if you’d wanna come back out and open our set with us.”

Your lips part in surprise, blinking quickly as you process his request. “Oh, um… That’d be really cool, but–”

“But what? C’mon, sweetheart, they loved you. They’ll go crazy for it.” He almost sounds like he’s getting impatient, the way he cuts you off.

You try to justify your hesitation, hoping he’ll understand. “We just didn’t rehearse it together, I don’t really know the chords–” He interrupts you again. “Don’t matter, we’re changin’ the opener, anyway. Gonna play Kiss it Better instead. Gotta know that one, right? Since you’re such a huge fan and all.”

He’s caught you, and he knows it. Of course you’re familiar with Death’s Head’s biggest hit. When you first fell in love with their music, it was one of the first songs you taught yourself to play. He had probably heard you absentmindedly plucking out the chorus during your soundcheck. You know you can’t lie to him now.

You take a moment to consider, then nod. “Okay, yeah. I’ll do it.”

The stern look on his face melts into one of smug satisfaction. “Good girl. Now c’mon.”

You lean over to grab Angel from the couch, but Joel stops you with a hand on your arm. “Won’t need her.”

You pause, turning your head to look at him with your brows furrowed. “I won’t?”

“Thought you just said you knew the song, baby. You forget how it starts?”

Oh.

He wants you to perform that part of the song with him. You wish you had remembered how the intro goes before agreeing to go back out there.

Shit.

Joel jerks his head toward the hallway with a “c’mon”, and you follow him out of your dressing room and back to the side of the stage. The rest of Death’s Head is already waiting, looking exasperated by Joel’s tardy appearance. Tommy gives you a double take, a brief look of confusion washing over his face before adjusting his expression to offer you a friendly smile instead. He and Joel exchange a few hushed words, and it doesn’t take much for you to gather that the guys weren’t in on this at all. This last minute switch up had all been Joel’s idea.

When the brothers are done speaking, Tommy nods in understanding, then passes the change in plans along to Eugene and Jesse. Joel must hear the erratic metallic scrape of your crucifix dragging across its silver chain as you fidget with it, and he turns his attention to the thousand yard stare you’re wearing.

He nudges one of your shoulders with his own to jostle you back to reality. “Where’d my confident girl go, hm?”

“Nowhere. Just… wasn’t really prepared to do this.”

“Just follow my lead, sweetheart. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on his face in the dark.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Joel grins down at you in satisfaction, then turns to face the band. “Whaddya say we get this show on the road then, boys?”

Tommy claps him on the back with a “Let’s do it, brother,” and then Joel is taking your hand in one of his big paws, leading you back out onto the stage you thought you’d already seen the last of.

An explosion of screams and cheers even louder than the one you’d received nearly knocks you over where you stand next to Joel, unsure of what to do with yourself while you await his instruction. He lets go of you briefly to pick up his guitar and situate the strap across his broad chest, then replaces his hand against the small of your back. It feels a little grounding, reassuring, and prevents you from being consumed by too many questions of what the fuck you’re doing out here. You’re pleasing him, that’s what. Not letting him down, right? Doing what he asks, because you’d do anything he asks, and he knows that.

He introduces himself and the band to the crowd, not that they need reminding of who they shelled out a couple hundred each to see tonight, and then you realize he’s talking about you.

“Remember her? Beautiful, ain’t she? Hell of a performer, too,” he speaks into his mic. You turn to smile at Joel while the sea of voices threatens to swallow you up, and the way he’s looking back at you is doing much the same. His expression is hungry, almost, and it reminds you of what it is you’re about to do.

He turns to face the crowd again. “Y’all seemed to like her so much, thought she could be my lil’ helper for our first song this evenin’. That alright with y’all?” Another ground-shaking response from the audience, and he leans closer into the mic to huff a laugh and say, “Thought so.”

Joel covers the head of the device with his hand, so that he’s only speaking to you now. “C’mere, sweetheart. Stand in front o’ me.” His other hand tightens against your lower back, moving you to where he wants you. “Want you to kneel for me now, baby.” He moves his hand up to your shoulder, applying downward pressure and helping you sink to the floor. Your eyes are doe-like and sparkling as you look up at him, heart pounding and breath quickening as you settle at his feet. The sound of your own blood rushing through your skull almost drowns out the fit of ecstasy erupting behind you, the band’s most loyal fans already knowing where this is going. And so do you.

Joel removes the mic from its stand, holding it to his lips and speaking a final “You know what I wanna hear, go ahead, now,” before lowering it to your mouth, his hand now level with the growing bulge in his jeans. The other one begins to strum a steady rhythm against steel strings, building up to the crescendo into the crash of the song’s first verse.

You hesitate, opening and closing your mouth once as you reach a wavering hand towards the microphone. Joel shakes his head in disapproval, and his lips form shapes that look like “hands to yourself”. He smirks down at you when you quickly snatch your hand away, pleased with your obedience. His silver brow piercing catches the light when he jerks his chin upward, the bright lights making his eyes appear to flash like a cat as he encourages you to speak.

“Please…” you squeak out, your voice providing the queue for Tommy’s thrumming bassline to come in.

Joel swings the mic back up to his mouth to speak into it once more, initiating this depraved little game of give and take. “Please, who?” he challenges, and then it’s your turn again.

You swallow, knowing what he wants to hear. “Please… Please Da– Daddy…” The title catches in your throat, this being the first time you’ve ever spoken it aloud the way you’ve always fantasized about. What a debauched sight you must be, pretty young thing on her knees for her teenage rock idol, calling him Daddy in front of thousands and thousands of strangers. If only your mother could see you now.

A kick drum comes to life somewhere behind Joel’s towering form. It vibrates your already sore knees, the feeling traveling to the apex of your thighs. “Tha’s it. Now please, what? Use your fuckin’ words, baby.” His demanding tone prompts a soft whimper to escape your lips, and you shift on your heels. His eyes flick down to where the hem of your dress just barely conceals your panties, licking his lips before focusing on your face again.

“Please kiss it better, Daddy,” you plead, and a warm, fluttery sensation begins to wash over you. Your eyelids feel a little heavier, your brain feels a little cloudy, and he knocks the underside of your chin with the mic once to bring you back to him.

“Hm, I dunno… Still think you can beg a lil’ prettier than that. Try one more time for Daddy...” He flashes his canines as he watches your hips rock back and forth, unsure if you even know how your body is reacting to him. He’s got you exactly where he wants you now, making a mess of yourself for him, shedding the skin of that shy little girl he first met not so long ago.

“Mmh, please, Daddy, need you to kiss it better, please…” Your voice sounds fucking wrecked, and you almost don’t recognize it as your own. It takes you a second or two to realize that Jesse’s guitar has joined in over top of the drums, and you know your little performance is over now.

Joel steals the mic from your panting mouth for a final time, slotting it back into its stand. With lips pressed against the device, he growls, “A’right, good girl, tha’s enough, baby,” and his shrieking guitar resounds all around you as your reward.

You stay kneeling for the remainder of the song, recovering from the whiplash of sinking into such a soft, unfamiliar headspace for the first time only to have nothing come of it. Attempting to recenter and distract yourself, you study Joel’s fingers up close as he plays, trying not to think too hard about those gothic letters adorning his knuckles. It’s no use, of course it is, and you shift around on your sore knees as the memory of that title leaving your lips, being commanded of you by him, replays itself like a skipping record. You’re a little ashamed at the feeling of how soaked your panties are, only being made worse when you chance a look up at Joel to find him already staring down at you, singing the suggestive lyrics of the song to you.

The final chords ring out a few minutes later, and then he’s reaching an inked hand down for you to take. You use it as leverage to push yourself back up to your feet on shaky legs, and you attempt to smooth out the bottom of your dress while Joel maneuvers you to face the crowd again.

“What a performance, huh? God damn,” he praises, making your cheeks burn as he drinks you in again. “‘S all I need from you for now, sweetheart, catch up with you later, yeah?”

You nod, doing an uncoordinated little curtsy toward the roaring crowd, cheering voices peppered with a few lewd-sounding whistles and hollers. “A’right, you run along, beautiful thing,” and he sends you offstage with a wink and what seemed like an unspoken promise for more, later.

–

Earlier in the day, you had been looking forward to watching the band from the wings after you were done performing, realizing how cool it was going to be that your first time seeing them live would be from somewhere even better than the front row. You can’t even bear the thought of that now.

You make a beeline from the stage to your dressing room, searching frantically for the lighter and pack of cigarettes in your bag. God damn, you need a fucking smoke right now, and some fresh air. It’s like striking gold when you find them buried underneath receipts and gum wrappers and makeup, guarding them with your life as you head out the venue’s back door.

You let it slam behind you as you press your exposed back up against the cold exterior wall, shaky fingers trying desperately to flick the lighter on and ignite the cigarette between your lips. Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a deep inhale of smoke, letting the cool night air wash over your heated skin. It’s impossible to escape him entirely, even all the way on the other side of the amphitheater, his muffled timbre still audible as the breeze carries it across the dark sky. You let your gaze rest on nothing in particular as you puff through your cigarette, trying to process what the hell just happened out there.

The problem isn’t so much what you did, it’s that you liked it, the evidence of which is still smeared along your aching cunt and between your thighs. The light wind flutters the skirt of your dress, and the sensation on the cooling moisture at your core sends a shiver up your spine, igniting goosebumps all along your exposed skin.

When your cigarette is almost burned down to a nub, you’re tempted to put it out on your arm, just to see if the burn might wake you up from whatever insane erotic dream you seem to be having.

‘S all I need from you for now, sweetheart, catch up with you later, yeah?

For now. Catch up with you later.

You’re sure he meant nothing by it, the “catching up” most likely referring to a conversation where he tells you not to look too far into what happened tonight, that it was just a performance, all a part of his act. You had played your part, it was a one time, spur-of-the-moment thing, and now you navigate the rest of the tour pretending it never happened.

You toss the smoldering butt of your smoke onto the pavement, stomping it out before heading back inside, the majority of your racing thoughts now slowed by a dense cloud of tobacco. You feel a little more stable than you did twenty or so minutes ago, letting your heavy boots lead you to the venue’s green room. You plant yourself on one of the large couches upholstered in tacky paisley fabric, preparing yourself for the awkward but professional talk you’re bound to have with Joel once the show is over.

Eyeing the bar cart in the corner of the room, you decide to get up and pour yourself a drink to pass the time. You don’t typically go for brown liquor, but it’s what’s in front of you, likely at the band’s request. Joel certainly strikes you as a whiskey kind of guy, at least. You hope he won’t mind if you help yourself to some of his share, pouring a finger into a short glass with ice and filling the rest with half a can of Coke from the ice bucket on the cart.

There’s a small, square television in the room, which you notice is playing a live feed of what’s happening on stage. You spot its accompanying remote on the lacquered coffee table in front of you, and grab it to turn the volume up as you begin to sip on your drink.

It’s not the most high-definition feed you’ve ever seen, and you can tell the television is a few years outdated. But it’s good enough for you to use to pass the rest of the time. You could woman-up and just watch from the side of the stage like you had planned on, but it’s nice to have this little room to yourself for now. The combination of watching Joel through the shabby screen and the sagging couch you’re practically sinking into reminds you of home, in a way, of the first time you’d ever seen his face aside from album covers and posters ripped from magazines. It’s still hard to believe you’ve met him now, performed with him, been on your knees for him. The memory makes you squirm uncomfortably, both from arousal and humiliation.

You allow your focus to be shifted to the small pile of Rolling Stone copies on the coffee table instead of your little performance, and flip through the pages while the crackling sound of the rest of Death’s Head’s set plays in the background. You’d always had a knack for finding ways to keep yourself distracted, and you’re thankful for that skill now.

After another hour or so, your attention is pulled back to the television when you hear the words “thank you” and “goodnight” in the mix of what Joel is shouting to the crowd, and you realize the show must be over now. A glance at the clock on the wall lets you know it’s almost eleven thirty, and a yawn takes over the muscles of your jaw on instinct. Between all you’ve been through tonight and what ended up being two Jack and Cokes, you’re looking forward to finally changing out of your clothes and tucking yourself into your tour bus bed. You hope it’s at least somewhat comfortable, having not had a chance to lie down on it yet.

But before you can succumb to the temptation of sleep, you have to catch up with Joel first. You’ve already gone over what he might say to you a dozen times in your head, prepared for any and all possibilities when he pulls you aside tonight to set the record straight between the two of you.

The stage is dark and empty now on the square little screen, the sound of screams and applause replaced by baritone laughter and heavy footfalls approaching the green room door. When Joel pushes inside with the other men in tow, you sit up a little straighter and offer him a friendly smile as he heads straight for the bar cart. You were right in your assumption of his alcohol preferences, watching as he pours himself a generous glass of the same whiskey now working its way through your bloodstream.

“You stealin’ some of my good liquor, darlin’?” he jokes, noticing that the cap on the bottle had already been unscrewed and spotting the glass on the table in front of you.

“Yeah, sorry, was hoping you wouldn’t mind.”

“Nah, ‘s fine by me. Want me to top off your glass?” He asks as Tommy relaxes into the other end of the couch you’re perched on. Jesse and Eugene sit down together in a creaking loveseat to your left, already engaged in a conversation of their own.

“I’ve already had two, I probably shouldn’t–” you protest.

Joel interrupts you, reaching a hand out and making a grabbing gesture towards your quarter-full drink. “We’re celebratin’, baby. C’mon, hand it over.”

You oblige, surrendering your glass, and it becomes more and more true with each interaction with Joel that he really doesn’t ever take ‘no’ for an answer. At first, you had thought Tommy’s warning was because Joel was just stubborn, which does seem to be the case. But he doesn’t have to argue much to get his way, he gets it just because his charm and demeanor warrant it. It’s like he cast a spell on you the moment you first met him, and now you can’t help but to say ‘yes’ to whatever he asks of you, even if it might be against your better judgment.

Joel hands your glass back to you, a little more Jack and a little less Coke than you would’ve poured for yourself, but you only have to sip on it long enough to get through the “catching up”. Maybe the extra helping will make the whole thing a little easier, anyway. Joel plants himself on the black leather chair across from the couch you’re sitting on, groaning as he spreads his legs and relaxes his forearms on top of the chair’s wide armrests. There’s a lamp that sits in the corner of the room, and the warm glow illuminates the back of his head of curls, still damp and sticking in odd directions from the sweat he worked up while performing. The slight golden halo almost makes him look like a king sat atop his throne.

He catches you staring, studying him, and his lips tug into a smirk. He chooses not to taunt you about it, instead turning his attention to Tommy to talk about the show. That’s what you assume they’re talking about, at least. You feel a little awkward, out of place among the group of men, and your eyelids are getting heavier with each passing minute despite their gruff voices and sharp bursts of laughter. You let yourself shrink into the couch's worn fabric, swirling your glass around and taking an occasional sip just to look like you’re doing something. You’re half tempted to reread one of the magazines you had already looked through.

Eventually, after each of the men have gotten a drink or two in them, Tommy is the first to rise from his seat. You had been playing with the lace hem of your dress, tracing the patterns with your finger, so engrossed in it you had almost forgotten you were sharing the couch with him.

“Well, you ready to head out, boys? Keep the party goin’ a lil’ bit longer?” he proposes. “You’re welcome to come too, sweetheart, if you wanna. Just not sure it’d be your kinda scene,” he adds, turning to you.

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ll probably just head to bed soon. Thank you for offering, though.”

Tommy smiles at you and nods in understanding. Jesse and Eugene accept his invitation, and then there’s only one member of Death’s Head whose plans you’re unsure of. “You comin’, brother?” Tommy asks him.

“Nah, I’ll stay here. Make sure our special guest gets to her bus alright ‘n all.”

“Good idea... Well, see y’all later, then. You were great tonight, darlin’, by the way,” Tommy compliments, and you smile politely as you thank him.

The three men leave the room, closing the door behind them, and now you’re alone with Joel again. It’s mostly silent, save for the squeak of the leather and light jingling of metal chains when he decides to get up from his chair, replacing Tommy in the empty spot beside you on the couch. He crosses one leg over the other, resting a calf atop the opposite thick thigh. You can feel his gaze on you as he stretches his arms across the back of the couch, not quite sitting close enough to you for his arm to reach across your shoulders. You fidget with your fingernails, avoiding acknowledging his presence until you have to. Please just get it over with.

“Said it once, said it a million times, but you really were amazin’ out there tonight. Appreciate you bein’ so willin’ to do that for me last minute.”

“Oh, um… yeah. I mean, the crowd seemed to like it, so–”

“And how’d you like it?”

His question takes you by surprise, and it finally makes you turn your head to look at him. Why does it matter if you liked it or not? You’re sure nothing like it will ever happen again as far as you’re concerned, as far as you’re sure he’s concerned.

“How’d I like what…?” You question, just to make sure he’s asking you what it seems like he is.

“You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about, sweetheart,” he speaks lowly, those carnivorous eyes of his scanning over your body, coming to rest on where white lace just barely conceals the tops of your thighs.

“Oh… I, um… I liked it, I guess,” you admit sheepishly.

“‘S okay if you did, I could tell.”

And there he goes again, always being fucking right about you. You should know by now that there’s no use in trying to skirt around the truth with him.

You continue to try, anyway. “I just haven’t really done something like that before, wasn’t sure if I was doing a good job.”

“Did a perfect job, babygirl. Looked so pretty on your knees for me, sounded so sweet when you were beggin’ for Daddy.”

Oh.

You aren’t sure what you were expecting him to say next, but it certainly wasn’t that. The room starts to spin a little, either from the alcohol still floating through your veins or from the sharp turn your catching up has taken, you can’t say for certain. Joel huffs lightly through his nose, and you think he must have noticed your breath catch in your throat and the shift of your hips in response to his filthy compliment, punctuated by the title he used so casually.

“C’mere, sweet thing. Sittin’ so far away, you scared o’ me or somethin’?” He teases.

“N-no…”

“Didn’t think so. Now don’t make me ask again, sweetheart.” He pats the empty cushion beside him as he speaks, brows raised at you expectantly.

You obey, of course you do, and your heart hammers against your ribcage as you slide closer to his side of the couch. Your eyelids start to flutter against their own volition, and that candy-sweet, far away feeling from earlier on stage begins to make its second appearance of the night.

“Good girl… So beautiful, baby, you know that?” he praises softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before lightly rubbing his thumb across your pouty bottom lip. He presses it downward against the pillowy skin, and pushes the digit inside with ease when your mouth parts for him so eagerly. You close your lips around him and swirl your tongue along the calloused skin a few times, and he looks like he wants to eat you alive as he watches you fall apart for him so easily.

Joel pulls his thumb from your mouth, dragging it down your spit-slick lip so that it bounces back into place when his finger leaves your skin. He wears a satisfied grin at the way he has you completely at his mercy now, looking up at him with your glazed-over doll eyes. They scan back and forth between his glowing amber ones, awaiting your next direction.

“Gave you a compliment. What do you say, babygirl, hm?”

“Thank you, Da– unh…” The word starts to come out before you can catch it in time, shove it back into his cage. Your face runs hot immediately at your slip-up.

“‘S okay, sweetheart. You can call me that, if you wanna, say it real pretty for me. Don’t got it tattooed on me for nothin’,” Joel soothes, still-wet thumb rubbing across your cheekbone in placating strokes. “C’mon, finish your sentence, baby.”

“Th– thank you, Daddy,” you repeat, so lost in this saccharine headspace he’s coaxed out of you that you can’t even feel ashamed anymore.

“There we go, good girl… Y’know why I got that special word tattooed on me, hm?” He asks, already knowing you’re too far gone to come up with an answer. But it’s fun to watch those little gears behind your eyes struggle to turn. If you did ever know the reason, it’s long gone now. You shake your head, humming an mm-mm.

“Figured if it was part of the song that made me famous, might as well own it. Don’t you think, sweet girl? Think it belongs to me, that it should always be there to remind you who I am?”

You manage a weak sounding noise and nod in response, cheek brushing up and down against the skin of his palm.

“And who am I, sweetheart? Wanna hear you say it again…”

“D-Daddy…”

He smirks, enjoying how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into nothing more than a wet, pliant puddle of a girl. “Yeah, tha’s right… c’mere, baby. Lemme feel you.” He uncrosses his legs, returning them to their trademark spread so that he can pull you into his lap and situate you into straddling his hips. The position makes your dress ride up so far that your panties are exposed to him now, soaked-through gusset and all. His fingers make to tease the wet spot there, but change course to pay attention to something else first instead. Something scrawled in uneven black linework, peeking out from underneath your dress’ hemline. He pushes the fabric further up your bare thigh to fully unveil the shoddy little illustration, tracing around it with a roughened finger.

“Wha’s this, sweetheart, hm? This for me?” He prompts, hooking a knuckle of the opposite hand into the little dip in your chin, guiding your head downward to look at his discovery. A death’s-head hawkmoth, bearing a striking resemblance to the band’s logo, with its scribbled wings made of bleeding ink spread out across your skin.

You hum in confirmation, not trusting your own voice anymore. He squeezes at the plush skin of your upper thigh, massaging around the tattoo. A faint growl rumbles from deep in his chest. “Tha’s cute, babygirl. ‘S real cute.”

“Th-thank you,” you return, politely accepting his compliment the way he likes you to.

His large hand migrates from the moth to your dampened core, nudging at your clothed clit with a tattooed knuckle. “All this for me too?”

You’re so sensitive there, his touch sending a shock through your nervous system that makes your hips rock into his hand. You nod, your affirming noise sounding more like a whimper. He pinches the swollen nub between two knuckles, and you let out a pained little yelp. “Yeah?” he taunts.

“Yeah, yes, Daddy,” you squeak out, so fucking gone for him already as his other hand guides your hips to move along his covered crotch. Even through his tight jeans, you can feel how hard he is, his cock straining against the thick material.

“Fuck, need to feel this lil’ pussy, baby. You gonna let me?”

“Uh huh, please,” you whine, ready for him to see you, touch you however he wants right here on the worn-down couch cushions. You’ve never felt anything quite like the hazy little cloud he’s got you floating in, shyness and inhibitions suddenly gone, replaced with unabashed submission.

Joel glances at the watch on his wrist, then over your shoulder to the door you’ve got your back to as you continue to unconsciously roll your hips in his lap.

“Reckon someone’ll be back here pretty soon to clean up for the night, don’t want no one walkin’ in on what I’m about to do to you, do we?” You barely register what he’s saying, making some unintelligible sound in response as you fight to keep your eyes open. “Well, maybe you do… Had you whimperin’ and whinin’ for me in front of all those people pretty quick, didn’t I? Hardly even put up a fight, just wanna be good for me so bad, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Yes, Daddy, wanna be good.” Another wave of wetness seeps from your aching core, staining your panties a shade darker and making the fabric adhere to the shape of your swollen pussy.

“Yeah, fuck, know you do. Hang onto me babygirl, gonna take this somewhere else, let you prove it to me.” He stands up as he speaks, and you wrap your limbs around him as he carries you out the back door of the venue and onto the Death’s Head tour bus.

When he steps onto it with you clutched tightly against him, you can see the bus is spacious enough to have a bedroom in the back, which of course gets to belong to Joel for the next several weeks as opposed to a cramped bunk. You’re not sure there’s ever been a time in his life when he hasn’t gotten exactly what he wants, what he deserves, it seems, and tonight is no exception.

He tosses you onto the bed, and you don’t even have time to unlace your boots before he’s gripping your ankles and yanking you down toward the edge of the mattress. The movement hikes up your dress all the way up to your tummy, and you attempt to pull it back over yourself before his hands are replacing yours on the hem. “Nuh uh, way past that, sweetheart. Off,” he orders, and helps you sit up enough to shimmy it over your head and discard it onto the floor. “Get these off too.” His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips to help him rid you of the ruined fabric. “Now lay down, baby, spread ‘em. Lemme see her.”

You pull your knees in towards you, and Joel places two rough hands on your inner thighs, pushing them apart to slowly reveal your glistening cunt to him as he crouches down to face her. “Oh, she’s pretty, ain’t she?” He marvels, collecting the slick pooling at your entrance with a calloused thumb and using it to circle your sensitive clit. All you can do is whine and let him play with you, so entirely blissed out that you can’t be sure if any of this is real. “Knew you’d have such a pretty lil’ cunt like this.” The sensation of his warm breath ghosting against your sensitive bud combined with his touch and his praise makes you squirm, shifting your hips into his hand and silently begging for more. He uses his thumb to tease your dripping entrance a few times, and laughs when it makes you whine a little louder, a little more pathetic-sounding, before abandoning it to pay attention to your clit again.

“What’re you makin’ all those pretty sounds for, sweetheart, hm? She feelin’ empty, ‘s that it?” He goads, fingers leaving your core entirely as he stands up to finally free his cock from his jeans, hard and angry and leaking. He taps the head against your hole, enjoying the sight of it constricting around nothing. “This what you want, baby? Need me to fuck you full?”

“Unh, uh huh,” you cry, still desperately bucking toward what he’s so close to giving you.

“Might be a lil’ selfish of me, but I think I wanna hear you beg for it again. Just sounded so sweet tonight, can’t help if I wanna hear it some more... Look at me,” he barks, and you hadn’t realized your eyes were closed until he demanded you to open them. He towers over you, sliding a thick hand up and down his shaft, the wet sound of it making you salivate. “You want this cock?”

“Yeah, yes, Daddy, please…”

“Please, what?”

“P-please gimme your c-cock, Daddy, please… Please f-fuck me.” It almost sounds like you’re crying, the way you’re hiccuping and sobbing through your words, one slurring into the next as you beg him.

“So fuckin’ eager, Christ. Such a good girl for me,” he praises, moving to line himself up with where you’re aching for him the most. You’re probably dripping onto his nice sheets, so soaked that he’ll barely have to put in any effort to fully slip inside you. “I’ll give it to ya, babygirl, fuck. So goddamn desperate.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him before he spears into you, and you let out an involuntary little mewl at how big his cock is. You only have the one experience to go off of for comparison, but Joel is fucking huge. He’s thick and long, with a blushing mushroom tip and a prominent vein running down the length of him. Your reaction to him makes him refocus on your face, noticing how wide your eyes are as you take him in.

“Can’t promise I’m gonna be gentle, don’t got it in me. Say somethin’ if you can’t handle it, I’ll put your pretty mouth to use instead, ‘kay?”

“O-okay,” you promise, continuing to watch as he begins to push inside with a groan, just the tip at first, until he quickly loses his patience and sheaths the rest of himself inside you.

“Tight lil’ cunt, suckin’ me in already, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good…” He releases a strained breath once he bottoms out, and you swear that swollen tip of his is kissing your fucking cervix. You feel so full, letting out a debauched sound as you adjust to the burn and stretch of him. He lets himself sit inside you for just a second before he slides out almost completely, growling again when he pushes back inside.

“Oh fuck, look at that,” he muses, trailing a hand from your entrance to the expanse of skin just under your belly button. His touch tickles, making you shiver, and you direct your attention from where the two of you meet to whatever it is he’s suddenly become fascinated with. “So big inside you, huh? Tummy’s tryin’ to push me out, can’t hardly take it, Christ… You’re gonna, though, huh sweet girl? Gonna take it for me?”

“Y-yes, Daddy…” you cry.

“Yeah, y’ are, good girl,” Joel says through gritted teeth, and you let your back fall flat against the bed once more as he quickens his pace, rough hands gripped onto the underside of your thighs as he pistons in and out of you. Each slap, slap, slap of skin on skin is accompanied by obscene wet squelching, the sounds becoming more distant in your ears as you let yourself drift away into some dreamy, filthy space. God, you almost wish that stupid bartender you unfortunately gave your virginity to were here to take notes on how to actually fuck a girl. Joel’s got a dirty mouth, and he knows exactly how to use it to push and pull you, mold you into exactly what he wants you to be, at least for tonight. And you’re more than willing to give in.

You’re not sure how much time has passed before you feel a thumb and fingers squeezing either side of your face, forcing your lips into a pout as he jostles your head to bring you back to reality. When your fluttering eyes finally focus on Joel’s face hovering over yours, you can see that his lips are moving, teeth bared as he speaks. He’s looking at you expectantly, his pierced brow twitching into an arch, and you assume he must have asked you a question.

“Hm?” You mumble, and he gives your jaw another little shake.

“Asked you if it feels good, sweetheart. Tell me it feels fuckin’ good, need to hear it, babygirl. C’mon,” he spits through gritted teeth, that rockstar ego of his taking over in its need to be aroused. He punctuates his request with a particularly sharp thrust, one that makes you yelp.

“F-feels… feels good, Daddy. Feel so… so– unh,” you cry out, unable to finish your string of nonsense reassurance, the jumbled mess of sounds only spurring him on to fuck into you even harder. He returns his thumb to your clit, using your slick to rub quick circles around it. It’s all too much, too fast, too hard, too big, but it’s just the right amount of overstimulation to launch you to the edge of your orgasm. You can feel yourself constrict around him, abdominal muscles contracting as you shut your eyes so tight you start seeing stars.

“Oh fuck, gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my fuckin’ cock, huh? C’mon, pretty girl, come for me, can feel you chokin’ me.” All it takes is a few more rubs around your aching clit, a few more of his filthy words, few more stuttering pulses of his cock inside your walls so deep and powerful you know you’ll be sore tomorrow, and then you’re howling, spasming on the sheets as he groans above you. Fireworks are exploding on the backs of your eyelids, so vivid you swear you can really hear them. The imaginary booms muffle Joel’s voice as he floods you with his come only a moment later, grumbling good girl, such a good fuckin’ girl, so god damn perfect.

Falling forward to brace his hands on either side of your head, he stays inside you for a couple of minutes, still rock hard as his cock finishes out its last few shudders. He pulls out all too soon, and you let out an involuntary little whine as soon as he does, your subconscious’ way of protesting the loss.

“I know, babygirl, I know. She misses me already, don’t she?” he placates, thumbing some of his spend still dripping from your fucked out hole and smearing it around your pussy. Not to provide any more pleasure, just to play with you, enjoying the sight of what he did to you. “Did so well for me, sweetheart.”

As you half-whisper a “thank you, Daddy,” you hear what sounds like the bus door open and close, followed by boisterous laughter and clumsy footsteps getting louder and closer. You’re quickly snapped back to the reality of your situation, and panic begins to set in when you fully realize where you are and what you’ve just done, and with who. You’d been so lost in arousal and pleasure you’d lost track of how much time had passed. Joel hears them too, and notices the fear in your expression as he sucks his finger clean from your shared release.

“Oh, shit... It’s fine, sweetheart, it’s okay. Listen to me.” You lock your eyes onto his, your brows knit together in worry as you push yourself up to a more alert sitting position. “Just stay put, alright? You can… just sleep here tonight, I guess. Not gonna sneak you out like a fuckin’ teenager.”

“Okay,” you reply, wrapping your arms around your body as you start to shiver. For some reason, you feel the need to apologize.

He looks around the room, quickly shoving himself back into his jeans and running his hands through his damp hair. He reaches into a still half-packed suitcase and tosses you one of his t-shirts, black with a fading whiskey brand logo printed across the chest. “Here, uh… put this on. I’ll bring you somethin’ to clean up with, just try to relax.”

You make quick work of slipping it over your head, enjoying the comforting feeling of the soft cotton on your skin, providing some warmth on your chilled skin as its thin layer of perspiration begins to dry.

Joel slips out of the bedroom in the second that the dark fabric covers your eyes, closing the door behind him. You can hear the men’s voices erupt at the sight of him, greetings coated in their slowly dissipating inebriation. Thankfully, it doesn’t sound like they’re asking him any questions, mostly just laughing at themselves as they talk over each other, struggling to recount some apparently hilarious story from earlier in the evening. From the sounds of it, you just had to be there, you guess. Tommy says something to Joel of a similar effect, and then the commotion seems to quiet down as they each collapse onto their bunks.

The bedroom door opens again a minute later, and you lean back where you sit in an attempt to duck out of the sight of the other band members.

He lets out a light chuckle at your stealthy movement. “They ain’t gonna see ya, darlin’. Wouldn’t remember it tomorrow even if they did. Here, brought you these–” He sets a glass of water down onto a nightstand with one hand, the other occupied with a damp washcloth. You extend your arm to take it from him, and he tuts. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Lemme do it. Lay down again, like I had ya before.”

You obey him wordlessly, resuming the same position he had just fucked you in a few minutes prior. His touch is much softer, gentler this time, as he uses the warm cloth to pet at your still-sensitive pussy, cleaning her of your shared fluids. It’s such a striking difference, the two sides of him you’ve seen tonight, and you’re surprised when he completes the task without so much as a suggestive praise or filthy remark. It makes you start to think that he might actually care about you, that maybe he could see you as something more than a plaything, something fun to tease. But he makes it so goddamn difficult to tell for sure.

“There we are, she’s all cleaned up.” He discards the cloth into a pile of laundry, then bends down to retrieve something else from his suitcase. “Why don’t you cover up with these tonight, too. Since the pair you came in here with is a lil’... outta commission, for the time bein’.”

You gather that he’s referring to your panties, how they wouldn’t be very comfortable to put back on again, what with how they’re still soaked through with your arousal. He seems to smile at the notion of that being his doing.

“Lift up,” he commands softly, and you raise your feet off the bed, still laid flat on your back with your knees bent. He slides a clean pair of his briefs up your legs, situating them around your waist, before applying light pressure to the tops of your feet to help you lower them once more.

“Alright… Just, uh, make yourself comfortable, then,” he says, laughing quietly when a yawn overtakes your face before he can even finish his sentence. “Think I’m gonna rinse off quick, so… ‘night, I guess.”

“Okay, yeah. ‘Night, Joel,” you reply, and he offers a quick nod as he slips out the bedroom door again. You infer that he’s expecting you to fall asleep before he comes back, which is fine, you suppose. You’re not sure you could force yourself to stay awake much longer to wait for him, anyway. Reaching over to the glass on the nightstand to take a few sips of the water he brought you, you let your mind wander to what he could be thinking right now, what any part of tonight could mean. He cleaned you up, he’s letting you sleep over, he didn’t sell you out to his bandmates. That means he cares about you, right? He didn’t kiss you, but everything happened so fast, and you could’ve been the one to kiss him if you had enough wherewithal to do so. Maybe he’s just not much of a romantic guy. But he cares about you, you’re sure of it now.

You pull back the sheets and curl yourself into a ball underneath them, then extend a hand up to turn off the bedside lamp. Now shrouded in darkness, the muffled sound of the bus shower running nearby prompts your heavy eyelids to pull further and further over your eyes. It only takes a few minutes for you to finally succumb to the temptation of sleep, feeling sore but satisfied, hoping that tonight will be the first of many spent like this with him.

–

You wake up several hours later to an empty bed, having been so exhausted last night that you don’t have any recollection of if Joel had ever joined you there in the first place. You don’t even remember hearing the shower turn off, or feeling his big, warm body slide into bed beside you, or even noticing the bus lurch into motion at some point to transport you to the next city. You wonder if he had pulled you close to him, let you nuzzle into his chest, if he had scratched the top of your head to soothe you after you had made some little noise in your sleep. You think at least one of those things might have happened, you’re just not sure which one. You smile to yourself at the dreamy memory.

Sitting up, you rub the sleep from your eyes, then reach out a hand to feel where the sheets are mussed on his side of the bed. The fitted sheet feels cool, indicating that he must have gotten up a while ago, but let you sleep as long as you wanted. The digital clock on the nightstand reads a little past 10 AM.

You peel back the comforter, swinging your legs around and letting your bare toes touch down on the carpet. You carefully pad your way to the bedroom door, staying quiet in case any of the other band members are out there. Cracking the door open ever so slightly, you check if the coast is clear. The men’s bunks look empty, but you can see the boots of someone sitting on a couch near the front of the bus. The silver tips make them unmistakably Joel’s.

When you make your way over to him, it almost looks like he’s just been sitting there waiting for you to finally wake up, the way he’s hunched forward over last month’s issue of a guitar magazine. He’s fully dressed, and you feel a little embarrassed to still be wearing his shirt and briefs.

He flicks his eyes up to you quickly before returning them to his reading, and greets you with a curt “Mornin’”. Not spoken playfully, not punctuated with one of his charming little names for you or a scan of his eyes over your bare legs, just “mornin’”. You repeat the word back to him, taking a seat on the couch opposite him. You’re not really sure what else to say or do, the air feeling tense and thick for a reason he hasn’t let on to yet. You decide to be brave and break the silence first, but he cuts you off, closing his magazine and tossing it onto the coffee table between you.

“Listen, last night was a mistake, alright? I shouldn’t’ve let myself get carried away like that, should’a shown you some more respect, treated you like a professional. That’s what this is gonna be from now on, okay? Professional. Tell me you understand that.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach at his words, and you try not to let your face reflect the cocktail of confusion and disappointment and hurt you feel. You take a deep inhale and nod your head. “I understand.”

He looks like he wants to say more, something with some actual emotion behind it, maybe, but he pushes it down. “Already dropped your clothes from last night back onto your bus. Best go on before the boys get back, get yourself somethin’ to eat before soundcheck this afternoon.”

“Okay,” you reply quietly, eyes glued to the floor so he doesn’t see the whites of your eyes turn pink and the shine begin to well up in them. “Um, see you later, then, I guess.”

“Yeah,” is all Joel says back to you, but you hardly hear it as you swiftly exit the Death’s Head bus and slam the door behind you. You don’t have far to go, you and your band’s bus being parked right behind theirs, but it feels like the longest, most shameful sprint of your life. You allow your tears to fall once you’re safely cocooned inside your own bunk bed, thankful to be alone. You figure your band must be out for a late breakfast or exploring the city together, and you’re grateful that even if they did notice you missing last night, they probably won’t ask any questions about it.

You feel so fucking stupid, like such a naive little girl, for ever entertaining any of your childish hopes that some playful flirting and a one night stand might ever turn into something real. He’s made it very clear to you now that you’re nothing more than a little mouse for him to bat around, toying with your emotions and your cunt any way he pleases, just because he can. Because you’re so inexperienced, such an easy target, too good and too eager and too willing. And he knows you’ll do exactly as he asks now, keep it professional, because it’s what he commanded of you. And you want to please him, don’t you? Despite the hurt you feel now, you still can’t make yourself disobey him.

You feel drained all over again once your tears finally run dry, but decide you can’t let yourself wallow on your own shattered girlish dreams all afternoon. You turn over and pull the curtain back on your bunk to check the clock on the wall, and realize you have a good handful of hours until you have to be anywhere. You’ve done more with less, you think to yourself, springing out of bed to pull on some of your own clothes. You rush to locate a pen and a notepad, and retrieve Angel from the storage underneath the bus.

With all necessary items in your possession, you sit yourself down on your own bus’s couch, and let your tangled mess of feelings transform themselves into chords and lyrics. You’ve always used your music as an outlet to cope with what you’re dealing with, why should now be any different? He wants a goddamn professional, you’re going to show him one, and if he can spring a surprise on you as big as moaning for Daddy on stage in front of tens of thousands of people, you can certainly perform a brand new song just for him, tonight.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75

message/comment/ask if you'd like to be added!!

#my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #rockstar!joel #tk&ts

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dnpanimationstudioclone · 2 months

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Vaggie Redesign🦋

Made my own version of Vaggie for fun! Out of everyone so far, redesigning her was the funnest to play around with. There was a lot to consider!!! Spoiler alert for those who haven’t watched the show!

One big thing I had to consider about was her moth motif🦋. I redesigned her hair to be more moth like, the type that have eye patterns like the emperor moth! I think it’s super cool but also…Angels and Eyes👁️(I can imagine the eyes react with her main one) Plus Eyes in general have always been a big motif for her. I also made her feet more stubby, to give off how they were changed becoming a sinner. I def wanted to give off her coming off as unintentionally unsettling as moths can be lowkey scary lol, but also show a struggle of hers is being more down to earth and approachable to others.

Made her hair SUPER longer for the patterns but also give off how if makes up a lot of her, moths got big wings. I read sinners forms have a sorta punishment to them and I imagine for Vaggie, her hair can’t be cut. It can but it would grow back to the same length soon. So it’s def been a struggle for her along with her new feet to figure out how to deal with, especially for combat. Also replaced the bow with actual antennae and made her eyebrows have more hair too! At first I was gonna add the bow to show her using it some way to put up her hair but with how big it is and adding antennae I just got rid of it, making those allude to a bow instead 🎀

For my HH Gang, I’m going for a Rainbow Motif(I think we all know why), for Vaggie she’s more Indigo. Blue(color close to Heaven) but also a little mix of Red(Charlie & Hell). Also has a lot of different symbolisms that I think work well for Vaggie!!!!!!! And in her old looks she had a lot of blues(many such as navy blue belong in the indigo territory) that I decided to re-incorporate into her look. She’s the blue to Charlie’s Red❤️💙Also has a dark purplish red to show the uniforms she’s wearing is older but still connect her to the Hotel and Charlie❤️🌈.

Made her skin more purplish. I can imagine….back then it used to be gray or grayish blue but time in Hell added more color💜💜💜💜💜

ANOTHER really big thing was her fashion. For my Vaggie, she’s basically wearing an old Bellhop uniform from the Hotel’s past(moths may have done some damage prior, lol) hence the tatters, she likes it as it shows she’s part of the Hotel and protective enough but also not too stuffy to stop her from being active. I def was leaning into her being the Hotel’s security. She’s also wearing straps for putting her spear away, a hooded shawl, which I was inspired from one of her concept looks with ripped tights and boots. Def kept the long fingerless gloves with some protective wrap!!!!!!!!!

She’s also wearing a golden apple(HUGE motif with Charlie🍎) and also a huge symbol shown a lot through the hotel to show she’s part of it!…also added more hidden ❌ symbols.

I was def leaning towards business/subtle military/action girl for her. Talked about this with @a-sterling-rose that during development, she plays around with her look more, finding her identity more. I also wanted to give off a little mystery with the cloak. Show she’s someone with secrets…like being a former Top Exorcist. I REALLY WANT HER TO GET HER OWN PAIR OF ANGELIC BALLET SHOES FROM CAMILLE!!!!!🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰

Gave her bigger lips 👄

Made her X sharper, make it look more wing like. Made her lashes more wing like too🦋

Put more weight & muscle on her💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪 show she’s got muscle and fun fact, moths got stout builds!!!!!!

Also redesigned her staff a bit to look more Eye like and added a wrap for grip(and that it may have been broken in the past).

Gave her a line under her eye, show she’s someone who works herself too hard ant time… and also give off she’s bit on edge about something…

Also I know there’s been discussions about her name, just wanted to say, if I was to change her name, I’d make it Polilla! Spanish for Moth🦋 I like the idea of exorcists being once humans who became Angels! So Vaggie’s def still got her Salvadoran roots! 🇸🇻 I can imagine she HATES when people call her “Polly” for short.

Also done designs for Charlie & Angel🍎🕷️

What do u think? I’d love to know!💖

#Hazbin hotel #vaggie #vaggie redesign #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel redesigns #hh redesign #hh redesigns #my art #my redesigns #hazbin vaggie #vaggie fanart #Hazbin hotel fanart #hazbinhotel #hellaverse #Hazbin hotel vaggie #Vaggie redesign #vaggie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel rewrite

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dorminchu · 10 months

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wip wednesday -- Marley Reunion [Draft A]

Scene takes place during an alternate Marley Arc. NSFW below the cut. For context, Annie goes back to Marley and becomes Vice-Captain. Eren is still here for the reason he was in canon. After four years of not seeing each other and lots of unresolved tension (romantic? emotional? sexual? take your pick!) only NOW do these two get the opportunity to resolve anything w/o distractions. And there's only one week before Tybur declares war on Paradis, during the festival!

@lunarcrystal

"How long will you be staying in Liberio?"

"Only 'til the festival."

His voice neutral. Enemies did not look at each other this way. She always told herself the next time they spoke would be to the other's grave. How simple it was for him to rebel, when he made it his prerogative. He saw her cool veneer and the fear beneath it because of his simplicity.

"You don't look drunk," said Annie.

"The clerk at the general store calls me a heavyweight drinker," Krueger answered, shifting his weight on his good leg. "I suppose that's true."

Her image reflected in his working eye, drowning in his desolation. This hunger shared between them. In four years, the outspoken idealist into a man whose conviction sucked the life from him. The same vacancy in Braun's eyes, when he thought he was alone. Annie licked her lips, in a silent battle with herself over what to say. The responsible thing to do. The silence between them so thick a knife couldn't cut it.

"Vice-Captain," he said slowly. Like he was tasting it. His voice lowered. Eyes a little wider. "Annie. It’s you?"

The first hit caught him on the mouth, knocked his head back. She got on top of him, fist in his shirt, the well of blood where she'd cut her knuckles. This was less than what he deserved. To see him spitting up blood and unable to explode in on himself, designated to the same human frailty as anyone else. "You stupid son of a bitch," she hissed, tugging him up by the collar. "I thought you were dead."

His eyes hardened. Trickle of blood from his lip. "I thought you'd recognise me sooner."

The only Eldian who looked at her without hesitation. Always happy to train with her. That boy didn't exist. Civilians accepted her as the symbol of a dying military regime, and men like Krueger as the byproduct of that sacrifice in Marley's name. Eren Jaeger, the devil of Paradis, the latest pariah to pit all of Marley's unresolved hatred against.

She lowered her fist. Bowing her head, closing the distance and sinking her teeth into the wound. He took her face in his hands and answered with the rapacious fever of a man ready to die. Threading fingers through his oily hair, tongue against teeth—iron, cheap whiskey. They could only get so close without trying to devour one another.

Eren pushed her back. Inhaling, exhaling, as if he could redirect some blood to his brain. “That—wasn’t what I meant.”

"You still don't know how to talk to girls."

His eyes flickered to hers. "You could teach me."

She got to her feet. "You're out of your mind."

Eren studied her, impassive. A far cry from the cadet of fifteen who couldn't stop running his mouth. He pushed himself up to sit. "Most days I wake up and try to convince myself I've always lived in this tenement. Perhaps, in such a life, I could have met you. We'd take a train out of Liberio, somewhere nicer, where we could just—talk." His eyes glazed over, looking through her. "But it won't change anything, will it?"

Annie shrugged out of her jacket, folding it up and setting it aside on the dresser. Unfastening her wristlet, hairpin. Working on the buttons of her shirt, avoiding her eyes in the mirror to find his face. Wide-eyed, fixed on her. The slope of her back, bending down to have a seat in the rickety chair, unlacing her boots.

Rasping movement over floorboards. She watched him drag himself to sit before her feet. Easier to internalize him as Krueger. The serviceman from the pub, hiking her dress over her knees. His hands, slender like a poet's, caressing her legs in slow, measured strokes. One of life's ironies, that he insisted on using them to fight.

Tugging her underwear to her ankles, he left the cashmere stockings. Cheek to her thigh, scrape of day-old stubble. His eyes hooded. A little worshipful. She slid her leg across his shoulder and his mouth curled.

Time fell away. Distant bustle of traffic outside. His head between her legs, lapping without finesse but a unhurried easiness, as if they’d been shacking up for months.

This wasn't really about the letters, or Grice's choice in friends. Not Marley or Eldia or the war inherited. The wounded serviceman who'd trapped her heart between his teeth, sucking a bruise into her thigh. Annie dug her heel into his spine. Her fingers threading through oily hair, curled a fist.

Picturing him in hospice. Adjusting to the crutch, marching a path around the courtyard, a young orderly on his arm. The hospitals were flooded with Marleyan volunteers. Younger women turned relicts, with the death of so many men. Such a pity that Krueger was Eldian. Trapped in his façade of shellshock, unable to express any meaningful connection.

His nose bumped the pulse between her thighs. He took it in his mouth. Annie tamped her thighs over his head, moaning through her teeth. He was groping at her legs, pinning her to the armrests. She’d only confined herself. Muscles spasming. She took her hand off his head to muffle a shout.

He sat back on his haunches, blotting his mouth. He got to his knees.

Palms under her ass, hauling her from the chair. She threw her legs around his waist once she was close enough.

His lame leg gave out and they knocked over the chair. Sprawled on top of him, he grunted. Indifferent, aside from the tent in his chinos.

He had a little come on his nose. She thumbed it away, the way Dreyse used to correct her lipstick. Annie snorted. The look of confusion on his face made it very difficult to stay composed, so she pushed her thigh into his groin.

He inhaled sharply. Annie feigned indifference. Mouthing his carotid artery. If she were to sink her teeth into him, he'd bear that mark for a while. Unbuttoning his chinos, feeling over his thighs. No flaky, peeling skin. He'd been stifling his regeneration for a couple weeks, at least.

Palming him through the button-down underwear, his eyes fluttered shut. He could hide a flush, thanks to his complexion. She licked her palm, wrapped her hand around him. Thick enough to give her pause. She'd be the only Warrior in the board-room with an inexplicable limp.

His fingers pushed into her. Swiped over her slit like a kiss goodbye. Coating himself. Slick prints on her thighs.

Lowering onto him, it barely hurt. Impaling herself completely, it wasn't as comfortable. Thighs a bracket around his waist. Each thrust into her, there was a dull sting. She grit her teeth. She wouldn't ask him to be gentle or kind. In a week, they'd be on opposite sides.

Rolling her hips, taking pace. A Warrior could empathize, though it wasn't enough to spite the hollow in her chest. She planted one palm to his chest and to her clit.

"Like this," her voice a stranger's, soft and girlish. "Touch me."

His hand joined hers. Circling his fingers. His mouth to her shoulder. Cupping her ass and pivoting into her. His shaky breaths escalating into a choked-off groan.

Falling across him as if she'd just been shot. Her forehead to his shoulder, damp with sweat. Tracing the notches of her spine to nape, where skin met scar tissue.

Medical staff in Marley didn't talk specifics beyond venereal disease. Pregnancies were a faster path back to the fields, in wedlock or disgrace. Warriors were not encouraged to make families of their own—the women couldn't carry a child to term. Defying the odds, it would be an Eldian bastard.

#ereani #I'll probably tone this down somewhat #ereannie #fanfiction #WIP #smut #might be a little rusty #I hope this doesn't read like an intimacy coordinator wrote it #this is partly based off a meme #and partly from a scene in a film #as in the penultimate(?) scene from blue valentine #if ever there was a ride or die vibe for one's otp. it would be that film. no I won"t elaborate >:)

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awellreadmannequin · 8 months

Text

Gender in Games that Aren’t About Gender

Imagine for a moment that you’re ten years old. You’ve just got your hands on the latest Pokémon game and after loading it up, watching the animated intro sequence, and selecting “New Game,” you’re quickly confronted by a choice: are you a Boy or a Girl? Cut to, INTERIOR, DAY, FOUR YEARS LATER. You boot up a copy of Fallout New Vegas for the PS3 that you acquired for twenty of your hard earned Canadian dollars. You’re kinda bummed you couldn’t find a copy of Fallout 3 because you don’t yet understand how much better the game you’re about to play is than that one. You once again hit New Game, and this time you immediately get shot in the face before are once again presented with The Choice. Cut to, INTERIOR, DAY, SIX YEARS LATER (I think). You boot up a copy of Fire Emblem: Three Houses. You get the picture by this point. The cuts come faster now. A new Pokémon game. The Choice. An old Pokémon game on an emulator. The Choice. An old Fire Emblem Game. The Choice. Genshin Impact. The Choice. Honkai Star Rail. The Choice. Prey (2017) on three separate occasions. The Choice. In none of these games does the gender of the player character radically alter the narrative of the game. Yet, choosing a gender is both the first act of player agency as well as the first act of player expression in each game. In Pokémon, you pick your gender before you even pick a single one of the eponymous little creatures. Despite being largely irrelevant, gender is nonetheless there, right at the very beginning.

On its own, this probably says something about the importance of gender to us as players and to the societies which produced these games. The social conventions of gender are ones we navigate on a daily basis, regardless of how enthusiastic we are about them. Being gendered is the social default. We are not only forced to engage with gendered relations by circumstance, but expected to as a matter of course. Given this reality, it would probably feel odd to choose a gender at any other point in the narrative because that would then seemingly make gender contextually relevant to whatever circumstances prompt the choice. Get gender out of the way first and we can just move on from it. For the rest of the game, it becomes purely aesthetic.

This is, I think, a kind of escapism. In games that aren’t about gender that nonetheless allow you to choose the gender of your player character, gendered relations are largely disregarded in order to fulfill the fantasy of a world where gendered expectations are minimized or absent. Female Robin in FE: Awakening is just as competent a tactician, mage, and swordswoman as Male Robin. Playing as a woman in Fallout New Vegas doesn’t preclude you from the skills to role play a hard drinking boxer with a penchant for gambling. Your gender in a Pokémon game doesn’t preclude you from catching whichever Pokémon game you want nor will the NPCs generally judge you for your choice of little guys. Cynthia won’t scoff at a male Pokémon trainer with a team of exclusively adorable Pokémon nor will Saturn tell a female Pokémon trainer that guys would like her more if she didn’t only use scary Pokémon and smiled more. These worlds spare us from the worst gendered interactions of our own world. Or at least, they do so long as you’re cisgendered and heterosexual.

Let’s go back to Robin, the player character in FE: Awakening. Through the course of the story, you meet a character named Tharja who is obsessed with Robin. Tharja’s obsession has romantic overtones which do not change regardless of Robin’s gender. She seems just as interested in keeping Female Robin to herself as she does Male Robin. However, only Male Robin has the option to enter a romantic relationship with her. In fact, you cannot romance any of the female characters as the female version of the player character. Likewise, the Male protagonist is limited to only romancing female characters. While the player is given agency over Robin’s gender, they are denied agency over their sexuality. Robin is immutably heterosexual. Here, the escapist fantasy of a gender-lite world is utterly derailed if your romantic interests are not heteronormative. This leads me to question how much agency the player is actually being given when making The Choice. Am I expressing myself within the narrative and the play-space if I’m a lesbian being forced to play the role of a straight girl? That feels a little bit too close to the reality of being closeted to be escapism anymore. I love FE: Awakening, it’s easily one of my favourite games of all time. This has always left a bad taste in my mouth.

Now, I’m not trying to say that all games that allow you to choose the gender of your character are as, let’s say, limiting as FE: Awakening. Fallout New Vegas allows you an impressive amount of freedom expression regarding gender, sexuality, and presentation. Later FE games have reluctantly added some same-sex romance options, but generally fewer M/M options than F/F ones. Pokémon is, for the most part, utterly unconcerned with romance. No, the thing I’m trying to point out is that gender is always lurking in the background of these games. While we make The Choice at the very beginning, that choice continues to define our interactions with the game and the narrative outside of the text itself. For instance, imagine going to make The Choice only to find that… there’s no option to pick your gender. After all, The Choice is always Boy or Girl. If neither of those are you, then your agency and expression as a player are immediately hamstrung. Your avatar is no longer indexed to you. Of course, not every game will explicitly say, “THIS ONE IS A MAN THAT ONE IS A WOMAN.” But gender is so deeply ingrained in our social world that they don’t have to. You can decide that your Male Robin is actually a butch lesbian who uses he/him pronouns, but the gendered signifiers of the game are such most people would look at your avatar and decide that they’re man. That head canon cannot be represented through player expression. As far as the game is concerned, that Robin is a man.

I don’t want to claim I’m being particularly novel or offering new insight into the nature of gender and games. Rather, I want to highlight some ways in which gender reasserts itself during the interactions between player and game because they illustrate how important The Choice can actually be to the experience of the game. Gender is, to borrow a phrase, a spectre haunting these games. We do not experience them divorced from gender. Instead, the degree to which gender is part of our gaming experience depends on how attuned we are to gendered relations outside the play-space. Those who, for whatever reason (usually situatedness, let’s be honest), are more readily disposed to think critically about gendered relations are more likely to encounter friction in the supposedly frictionless fantasy. However, even in cases where the player character leans more heavily towards being a character with goals, beliefs, and relationships independent of the player, the spectre of gender still looms.

This whole essay is the result of a comment on another post of mine which argued that the gender of the player character in Prey (2017) was purely cosmetic because it doesn’t change the text of the game in a meaningful way. This is technically true. The player character does all the same things and has all the same relationships. Hell, gender doesn’t even change the character’s name. They are always Morgan Yu. This was, until pretty recently, also more or less the case in Genshin Impact, a game about which I’ve written before. The player can name their character whatever they want (though they do have a canonical name mentioned in-game) and the gender of the Traveller is irrelevant to just about every story beat and relationship, with one sort of notable exception. Both Morgan and the Traveller are characters in a more robust sense that the previous games we’ve discussed. Actions Morgan takes at the behest of the player that differ from their pre-established character are accounted for in the text. The Traveller gets to make very few meaningful choices, as the player’s expression and agency are limited to extra-canonical choices like team composition and character builds (in cutscenes, the Traveller literally uses to default ‘Dull Sword’ to fight literal gods). In both games, the player character is more character than player avatar, at least as far as the narrative is concerned. Yet, in both games we are still confronted with The Choice.

Why give the player agency over Morgan or the Traveller’s gender but not, say, their appearance? Or the kind of person they used to be? Why present this choice that is seemingly irrelevant to the play experience? The simple answer is player expression. Even if both characters lean towards being actual characters, they are still the avatar for the player’s action and the expectation many gamers have is that we should have some agency over that avatar. While there may be no textual meaning influenced by The Choice, it still allows players to express something within the dialogue between game and player. My choice to play Morgan Yu as a woman or the Traveller as Lumine means something to me even if not the game. What that meaning is depends on the player, but it is inevitably informed by our lived experiences of gendered relations. I pick the female player characters because, even if the contents of their character are identical to their male counterpart, I nonetheless see myself reflected better in them. Here, we need to introduce a technical concept: distraction. For the distracted player, this is as far this relationship might go. I pick girl because I’m girl, done. I aced The Choice. However, the attentive player may find that the rest of the game is actually coloured by The Choice.

What then, do I mean when I use the term ‘distraction?”

HA YOU THOUGHT YOU’D GET THROUGH THIS ENTIRE MESS OF AN ESSAY WITHOUT ME CITING PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIAL CRITICISM? YOU THOUGHT WRONG, PUNK.

In his essay on aesthetics, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” social critic Walter Benjamin offers an account of distraction. He describes distraction first with regards to architecture:

Architecture has never been idle. Its history is more ancient than that of any other art, and its claim to being a living force has significance in every attempt to comprehend the relationship of the masses to art. Buildings are appropriated in a twofold manner: by use and by perception-or rather, by touch and sight. Such appropriation cannot be understood in terms of the attentive concentration of a tourist before a famous building. On the tactile side there is no counterpart to contemplation on the optical side. Tactile appropriation is accomplished, not so much by attention as by habit. As regards architecture, habit determines to a large extent even optical reception. The latter, too, occurs much less through rapt attention than by noticing the object in incidental fashion. This mode of appropriation, developed with reference to architecture, in certain circumstances acquires canonical value. For the tasks which face the human apparatus of perception at the turning points of history cannot be solved by optical means, that is, by contemplation, alone. They are mastered gradually by habit, under the guidance of tactile appropriation. (Benjamin 2007, 240)

Here, he argues that architecture is consumed through our tactile use of it. Buildings, especially those we have to inhabit regularly, are too large to optically perceived. Between their sheer size and their multifaceted shape, it is impossible to perceive them in their entirety. However, by moving through them, we slowly gain a habitual understanding of them which informs, in turn, how we perceive them. As an example, I move through my apartment not so much by sight but rather by muscle memory. I know where everything is, so I can navigate from the living room to the bedroom while, say, watching a Youtube video. I can navigate the space while in a state of distraction. So when Benjamin, and thus I, use the term distraction, I am referring to the specific way in which habit allows us to move through a space without consciously navigating it, thereby freeing up cognitive capacity to be distracted with something else. Got it? Good, now let’s apply this analysis to video games.

Question: can you navigate the digital space within a video game in a state of distraction? Yes. I can navigate the Team Fortress 2 map ‘2Fort’ completely in a state of distraction because I spent hundreds of hours of my precious youth wandering around it while invisible as the Spy. However, I cannot navigate all virtual spaces by habit because, like real spaces, I first need to habituate myself too them. When I talk about consuming video games in a state of distraction, I want to make it clear that I do not mean virtual spaces. I am talking about the gestalt experience of playing a video game.

For instance, when I pick up my PS4 controller, I do not need to look at the face buttons to know where the button that opens and the button that closes are. I don’t need see the X on screen and then find the X on the controller to press X. I don’t need to even be told what X does because X always opens. I see X, I know I’m opening or selecting something. This is the kind of habitual action that I can preform in a state of distraction. However, the kinds of habits we form around games are not limited to input mechanisms. We can also form mechanical and interpretive habits. When I’m playing Genshin Impact, I don’t consciously think about whether I should use a normal attack, a skill, or an ultimate when I’m in the heat of battle. Instead, the mechanical habits I’ve formed kick in and my fingers react to whatever my eyes process. The more habitual those reactions are, the leeway I have to be distracted, which allows me to free up more cognitive capacity to process things like positioning and team rotation. Interpretive habits are a bit more difficult to grasp.

First off, what do I mean by an interpretive habit in the first place? Here, Genshin is again instructive. If you’re unfamiliar with the game, look through these character splashes and try to guess what element each character is associated with:

Left to right, top to bottom (hehe): Kokomi - Hydro, Nahida - Dendro, Shenhe - Cryo, Hu Tau - Pyro, Raiden Shogun - Electro

Even without me having told you that Genshin Impact has seven elements and each one is associated with a symbol and a colour, you could probably guess which element each character is associated with. This is an interpretive habit, or heuristic. It is a method through which we can offload cognitive capacity by reflexively interpreting a sign or symbol. This has mechanical utility in so far as it gives us an idea of what a character might be mechanically useful for. Hu Tao can probably set flammable things alight, Shenhe can probably freeze water, and Kokomi can probably douse flames. That we can use these interpretive habits to such great practical effect speaks volumes outside of video games as well, but that is a story for another time (a good friend and colleague actually wrote an entire thesis on heuristics and their effect on political polarization). What is more relevant to the argument I’m (slowly) making, is that interpretive habits allow us to engage with the text of a game in a state of distraction.

When the player presented with The Choice, it acts as a kind of assurance that they are entering the frictionless gender-lite world of fantasy. However, this illusion only works on those who are either willing to be taken in by it and on those who don’t know any different. If your experience of the gender in the social world is frictionless, you can easily slip into a fantasy world where gender is completely irrelevant. Likewise, if you want to be distracted, then simply accepting The Choice at face value allows you suspend disbelief. In both cases, interpretive habits are the mechanism by which the illusion goes unchallenged. For those who are privileged enough to be ignorant of gendered social experience, those habits are formed in the real world while for the rest of us they are formed through the consumption of media. The end result is the same: we can move through the text of the game unhindered by the cognitive burden of gender.

This interpretive ignorance, willful or not, offers a negative formulation of the argument I’m trying to make. By utilizing interpretive habits to distract ourselves from the real world implications of gender, we get to experience a game in a particular way. Recall this portion of the quote from Benjamin:

Tactile appropriation is accomplished, not so much by attention as habit. As regards architecture, habit determines to a large extent even optical reception. (Benjamin 2007, 240)

If we transpose this logic onto games, we can replace tactile habit with interpretive ones and optical reception with how we relate to the text of the game as a whole. This is to say, the interpretive habits we employ in the process of navigating the text of the game inform the impression that the game leaves on us. If you engage with the fantasy of a frictionless gender-lite world, the impression the game leaves will be likewise gender-lite. If we accept this as the negative formulation of the argument, then the positive one would suggest that suspending that interpretive habit will allow us to view the game through the lens of gendered relations. This isn’t to say that we’re reading into the text gendered relations that are not present, but rather that our reading of the text is informed by our understanding of gendered relations in the social world.

We could end things there and move on with our lives, but I think that an illustrative examples is necessary to really drive home the point. Consider the following passage (which I wrote myself):

“I don’t think you’re listening to me, Meyer.” I’m reaching my breaking point now. “This is unsustainable—we are unsustainable. I’m ending things.”

Picture the speaker as a woman and Meyer as a man. What does, “I don’t think you’re listening to me,” mean within the gendered context of this conversation? Now picture the roles are reversed. Does ‘listening’ necessarily mean the same thing? Try it with both speaker and listener as women and the listener is in tears. Try it with a female boss, face red with rage, speaking to her male subordinate. Try it with two men, sitting on the hood of a vintage car under a moonlit sky as they both weep. The words can mean different things in different contexts even though they do not change. If I really wanted to hurt you, the reader, and myself, I’d insert an entire section on Wittgenstein and language games here. But I don’t, so I won’t.

When we ignore our experience of gendered relations, we are unable to imagine new meanings for the text of a game that can only arise out of paying attention to the context gender provides. To say that Morgan’s relationship with the female Chief Engineer Ilyushin is the same regardless of which gender the player chooses for Morgan to embody is to ignore the reality that sapphic relationships are not the same as heterosexual ones. It also means rejecting the notion that a female employer entering a relationship with a female subordinate can mean something different from a male employer doing the same. Both Morgans are the same, but they are still different insofar as who we take them to be can be shaped by our understanding of gendered relations.

While it may come off as though I’m suggesting that it is somehow morally superior to be attentive to these kinds of relations, I want to emphasize that there’s nothing inherently wrong with escapism. It is everyone’s right to tune out things things which would ruin their leisure time. However, I also want to emphasize a notion I obliquely gestured at earlier: some people ignore these kind of contexts because they are generally ignorant. Art of all kinds present us with an opportunity to engage with new perspectives as well as to actively apply our perspectives to the act of interpretation. Giving up this opportunity in the name of leisure because you’re familiar enough already thank you is one thing. It’s a whole other to, say, get all bent out of shape when someone brings up gender in the context of a game that you don’t think has any gender in it because you don’t know better. Positions of privilege imply a level of ignorance regarding the experiences of marginalization. So if a person with experiences that do not occur for you says, ‘hey, i noticed a thing!’ you should probably listen to them and give their observation a fair shake because you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.

I’m not trying to take some moral high ground here, either. I am not immune to ignorance. Prey has a racially diverse cast of characters and Yu siblings who form the player character-primary antagonist dyad are both Chinese-Americans. Prey is also a game that drapes itself in an art-deco and mid-century modern aesthetic appropriate to its alternate timeline. These aesthetics are intrinsically bound up in periods of time and ideologies that were inherently racist. I’ve noticed this dissonance, but I don’t have the experience to make any meaningful observations about it. Instead, I mostly ignore it while I’m playing, allowing interpretive habits developed as a non-racialized person to guide me through the text. There is, no doubt, something that could be made of this dissonance as well as the general tendency of genre fiction to appropriate aesthetics from the past without much or any self-reflection. I am a queer woman and thus I do have relevant experiences of gendered relations that make me attentive to that aspect of the text. But, my whiteness further informs even these impression as race intersects with gender and sexuality in ways that I do not experience.

It is here that I think I want to wrap up this, uh, very long piece of writing. Where I to write a game, I probably would not force my players to make The Choice. I think its a bit of a cop out for having to deal with gender in any meaningful way and I don’t care for that as a feminist philosopher. It’s also exclusionary. My partner is non-binary and I’ve seen first hand how normative gendered expectations hurt them. However, since The Choice does exist and will continue to do so, I feel that interrogating how gender informs our readings of games that implement it can be both intellectually rewarding and fun. Doing so can help us understand our interpretive habits by consciously examining them, which is, I think, a good thing to do on occasion. It can also give us new ways of looking at characters which in turn can inform fan works and fan discussion. But at the end of the day, video games are a leisure activity for most and if you’re just looking for distraction, that’s fine too.

Works Cited

Benjamin, Walter. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” in Illuminations, translated by Harry Zohn, edited by Hannah Arendt. New York: Schoken Books, 2007.

#claire thoughts #games criticism #this isn’t copy edited because it’s late #sorry #i’m gonna eat dinner now

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whumpdrabbles · 2 years

Note

Could you write a scene with a usually stoic, medic whumpee guiding a younger caretaker, who is not used to seeing the medic whumpee in pain/vulnerable, through resetting the medic whumpee's dislocated shoulder? And the medic whumpee either passes out from pain during the reset or just generally screams, terrifying medic whumpee

Okay first off, THANK YOU! My first request, forever special in my heart.

Sorry it took a couple days, I had work and some other things to attend to outside of the ‘blr, so thank you for your patience! I hope it’s worth the wait :)

—

"Man, you gotta drop his ass! You can't keep letting that hipster-mustache, asshat, joke-of-a-boyfriend break your heart, Whumpee!"

"I know, I know..." Whumpee admitted, bending down to to grab another crate to carry to the medic facility on base. There had to be at least a hundred, fifty pound crates laying in the desert sun waiting to be inventoried, but for some god-forsaken reason, the Commanding Officer only assigned Whumpee and Ricky to the task. Probably payback for the uh... misconduct... they got into last week. But hey, what the hell were they supposed to do? They couldn't just pass up an opportunity to get under the CO's skin.

Whumpee grunted, heaving the next crate up to his hip. "Hey what about your girl, Ricky? What was her name again? Kath.. No. Kelly! Oh that's fuckin right, Kelly!"

"Bro, we talked about this. She's in Europe finding herself or some shit." Ricky huffed.

"Yeah, finding herself a dick with an accent." Whumpee teased, playfully smacking Ricky on the shoulder with his free hand as they made their way back to the med building.

Ricky had been in-country for so long the soles of his combat boots were damn near worn through. There was no way his girl was still with him. Whumpee had served his time in this hellhole a close second to Ricky, and the two were just about the best medics in Afghanistan, second only to the CO. Although most would argue that the commanding officer didn’t have nearly the balls on him as Ricky or Whumpee - those two were batshit.

Whumpee pressed his back into the clinic door, pushing it open. He grinned and nodded to the receptionist, leading Ricky towards the back of the clinic. It was a ghost town with the rest of the crew off training. The smell of alcohol and saline filled Whumpee’s nose, sterile and yet so familiar. This was his wheelhouse. He know this place inside and out.

“Ya know, Kelly was a damn bombshell.” Whumpee mused.

“Man, shut the hell up, she’s still my girl. And at least she didn’t cheat on me in my own house.” Ricky dug an elbow into Whumpee’s side, smirking.

Whumpee rolled his eyes and lazily stacked his millionth crate in the supply room.

“Hey, how long do you thing the crew’s gonna be out?” Whumpee asked, changing the subject from the sore spot that was his boyfriend back in the states.

“Long enough to get a good long break from your sorry a-“

One minute the clinic was empty and quiet, and the next, dust and glass were flying through the windows, ushered by a rush of hot air and a head-splitting boom.

Whumpee heard a ringing in his ears as his eyelids fluttered open, squinting painfully at the light streaming in from the hole blasted into the roof of the clinic. The entire west side of the building was collapsed, sending a cloud of dust and debris showering the rest of the building left standing. He saw someone outside the building sprinting towards the scene looking equally concerned and terrified.

“Hey! Hey! Does anyone need help?! Call Out!” The stranger hollered, nearing the blast zone.

Whumpee finally got his bearings and groaned as he lifted his head off the floor, rolling onto his side. As soon as the weight shifted onto his shoulder his vision went white, pain exploding from his arm, shooting like hot lighting down his arm and deep into his chest.

“FAaaa-!” Whumpee screamed, he felt as though his right arm had been torn from his body by a branding iron. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes, and he rolled onto his back, pressing the back of his head into the tile. He heaved, trying to control his breath, but the pain choked his lungs.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Are you okay? Please, oh my god, please be okay.” The stranger had found their way to Whumpee, and was kneeling over their writhing body, hands trembling, with not the slightest clue what to do next.

Whumpee stifled another yell of pain, and asked through gritted teeth, “Wh-, Who the fuck... are you?” He panted through his words, shooting a glare at the squeamish child hovering above him, a kid without the slightest clue of combat medicine.

“Uhm...” the kid muttered, still out of his element in the chaos, “M-my name is Caretaker... I just got here two days ago and I haven’t ever done anything like this before and really I hadn’t even been assigned a bu-“

“Kid.” Whumpee cut off, “Put your panties together. This is War. You’re gonna see some shit, now pull yourself together.” The pain in his shoulder was beginning to ease, so long as he didn’t move an inch. He knew it was dislocated, possibly also torn, and definitely had involvement in the surrounding muscles, but he needed it reset if he was going to find Ricky in the rubble.

Caretaker nodded and took a deep breath, “ok ok ok, sorry.” Another deep breath.

“Okay. Good. Now, I need you to reduce my shoulder.” Whumpee explained, staring Caretaker in the eyes to see if he would even have the nerve to try.

“No. No way. I’ve never done that before, what if I hurt you?”

“Kid, you can’t make this worse. This is as bad as it’s gonna get without getting blown off. Are you gonna accidentally blow my arm off?”

Caretaker shook his head, eyes wide.

“Good. Now, I’m gonna tell you what to do.”

Caretaker steeled himself.

“Okay, I need you to help me sit up, and please, for the love of God, don’t touch the shoulder.” Whumpee pleaded, watching Caretaker nod once again in response, and he wrapped their arms around his torso, helping Whumpee gently into a sitting position. The pain of moving was once again disorienting, but Whumpee swallowed down the nausea, breathing heavily through his nose. He braced himself for the next step.

“Perfect. Great job. Now, you see my shoulder, how it doesn’t look quite right?”

“Yeah, I see it.”

“I need you to pop that protruding bit back into the socket. It’s gonna suck for me, but you have to shove it hard.”

Caretaker cut his eyes to meet Whumpee’s, as if to ask, “are you sure?”

“Ok, place that hand...” Whumpee pointed with his good hand, “...here up near my neck, and grab firmly around the deltoi- my upper arm, with your other hand.” Whumpee grunted at the weight of caretakers hands now encompassing his bad arm. “Now-“ he groaned, “hold me still and shove that son-of-a-bitch back in.”

Whumpee panted, waiting. “Now!”

Whumpee’s pupils went to pinpoints as the white hot pain returned, threatening total darkness. Electricity tingled in his fingertips as he screamed.

“Oh god! OHMYGOD! Did I kill you? Oh please be okay! Please be okay!”

Whumpee’s chest shuttered with his heaving breaths as he clung to consciousness, blackness crept into the edges of his vision. “I’m okay.” He breathed, “I’m okay, you did it.”

#whump #whump prompt #whump writing #whump community #whump story #whump dialogue #whump tropes #unconcious #dislocation #dislocated shoulder #explosion #whump idea

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mysteryman-17 · 2 years

Audio

I honestly don't have the drive to write up the associated dialogue for this one right now (have been prepping some other stuff outta order,) but I'll try to come back to it at some point!

Time’s End is an AHIT/Undertale crossover AU of sorts, taking place in the aftermath of a timeline where you lose the final boss fight against Mustache Girl. You can find the write-up here! In addition to the AO3 link being updated with lots of new material, you can also find the write-ups for the Neutral Endings and TimeWarp Route requirements over on Google Docs! The logo for Time's End was designed by @bittybattybunny. She's an incredible artist, be sure to check out their work here on Tumblr and over on Twitter!!

Mustache Girl takes on a hybrid Asgore and Asriel role, and her Palace acts as the New Home replacement. Hat Kid also takes the role of Sans. Bow Kid has come a long way by this point in the story, and as she makes her way through the labyrinth to Mu and her Time Pieces (her final step to being able to go home,) many of the people of this world are there to greet our protagonist. We may know the basics of what got everyone in this mess, but much like UT itself, here is where the ill-fated clash between Mu and Hat Kid is unveiled to its full extent.

Motifs:

Get Lost (modified)

Main Theme/Title Screen

Time Rift Story Book (Synth Jam)

Alternate Death Wish Time Sphere Loop (scrapped AHIT track)

The End (chords)

So... my first ever Track 71 replacement, and it's the one for Time's End (and will prolly be the longest single track posted for this AU to boot!) Wish I'd been able to finish this in time for Undertale's 7th anniversary, but oh well. Consider this my late contribution to the party! XD Also ye, I didn't wanna just go with "haha track 71's name is the same as the AU name," so I came up with smth different lol. Anyhow. The variety of motifs for Mustache Girl and Hat Kid in AHIT proper are... well, rather lacking when it comes to building a track like this to say the least, especially as far as the latter is concerned. Judge Jury and Executioner also just wasn't gonna cut it as a melody this time though I did use some of its general stylings in the backing, so I had to REALLY play around with the motifs I used to get things to fit the vibe I wanted here - including another modification of Get Lost as the "Memory" stand-in. I even included an essentially original motif that I made a year ago from building on top of Time Rift Story Book's very basic chords. The results definitely paid off here though, and I'm incredibly happy with how this turned out! The particular key change I did on the final section was very much a happy accident, and so many things just wound up coming together far nicer than I first thought, especially where my most bonkers motif choices are concerned. (Btw yes, considering how simple it is, this means I'll try to do the Memory replacement fairly soon-ish.) All my ramblings aside though, I hope you guys enjoy! :)

You can also listen to this track in high quality on the AU’s SoundCloud here! (Recommend it with this one moreso than any other track I’ve posted so far. Had to REALLY squash the bitrate, in comparison to the raw WAV file on SC, to make Tumblr take it due to the sheer length XP)

#a hat in time au #ahit au #ahit mustache girl #mustache girl #ahit hat kid #hat kid #ahit time's end au #time's end au #AHIT:TE!AU #a hat in time music #ahit music #music #audio #Undertale (Track 71)

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noa-ciharu · 1 year

Note

Heh Heh

What about....

Yuna D. Kaito, Akira Ijyuin, Seishirou, and Best boi Clow? (I am kidding on the Clow part though)

I haven't read ccs2 so I'll skip Kaito. Ik who he is but idk anything about him. Also based on diversity of length of replies you'll clearly see my favoritism lol 😎

Akira:

Sexuality headcanon:

I guess he's straight? He had crush on a woman his whole life, married men and they're living happily together

Gender headcanon:

Cis male

OTP:

Probably him and that girl of his. Sorry I keep on forgetting her name, I'm rly bad with names

BROTP:

Suoh, Akira and Nokoru

NOTP:

Who is he paired with anyway? If someone is shipping Akira with Suoh or Nokoru that's fine with me really. So no ship I dislike

Random headcanon:

I'm 300% sure Akira met his dad by accident (from Akira's perspective) on street, on his bday to the boot, and just never figured out it's his dad. Comedy shojo style ofc

General opinion:

He was so adorable, I adore him. Also I like how Clamp draws his hair nowadays

It's cute and someday unique

Clow:

Sexuality headcanon:

I guess he's bi? He was too touchy with Yue and it got me like SUS

Gender headcanon:

His gender is magical bastard

OTP:

None really

BROTP:

Also none. We don't know anything about his past so we dont know who his friends were

NOTP:

I'm actually not opposed to Clow/Yuuko, I just like to joke about it. I don't ship it but I can see why some people do. Beside Yuuko, idk if Clow is shipped with anyone else

Random headcanon:

I literally can't come up with anything. Sorry :<

General opinion:

Actually this is where my problem lays, it's bc I read CCS hurriedly back in 2015 and all I know about Clow is that he was some powerful dude that acted nonchalant and managed to fuck up time and space somehow. Also that clamp somewhat used his as plot device (?). Ik he appeared in Tsubasa too but I feel like I'd have easier time getting college degree than understanding trc ending

So yea, I basically lack info on Clow to form an option that isn't based on jokes and what I've learned from fandom

Seishirou:

Sexuality headcanon:

Subaru-sexual he's gay af. His TB vet persona is literally campy older gay guy who preys on younger males. Chicken Hawk really. Because look. Sumeragi twins are bi bait. They look the same and are both beautiful af. We all know who Seishirou had eyes for during whole year. So yea, defo gay. Actually, let's just keep it as Subaru-sexual, yea that's the most fitting description

Gender headcanon:

Bastard babygirl cis male I guess

OTP:

Seisub ofc. If I had to sort them then X>TB>TRC versions. They're just so... written. Honestly in the end it doesn't even come to whether one ships them or not, bc their story altogether is a very powerful tragedy. Also I'm generally non-emotional person and extremely hard to emotional affect (literally over 95% of media I watch leaves no profound effect on me) but two of them (TB/X in general), damn did it cut. Damn does their story cut in deep, not just in terms of romance, but in terms of lonliness and isolation of modern cities; in terms of tragedy, character development and complexity of human nature and interpersonal relationships. Honestly I can go miles about seisub and how it fundamentally changed way I do and view shipping but I'm a bit sleepy rn. I've been chasing high I experienced with seisub and whilst I can recreate it with some other clamp ships at the moments, I can't with ships outside clamp fandoms.

BROTP:

In TB/X it absolutely has to be his relationship with Hokuto. Power duo they were unstopable, Subaru couldn't catch a break. In that manner TB trio too. But not just comedy moments, but ones like this:

At moments I wonder if Seishirou underestimated Hokuto. She is bubbly, seemingly has somewhat shallow interestes and such, but behind cheerful surface (maybe even front she puts up for Subaru's sake so she'd cheer him up), Hokuto is extremely sharp and mature girl for her age. There were few moments where Seishirou and Hokuto had serious convos, usually about Subaru's self sacrificial and sensitive nature. And Seishirou always had his smirk and inner 'quite observant out of you Hokuto-chan' moment.

In X he barely interacted with anyone beside Subaru. Ik we as fandom joke about Seishirou and Fuuma being bastard bffs but if we were to serious take X, then I'd say Seishirou would prefer to avoid Fuuma altogether. Ofc he'd never let Fuuma know that, it'll be considered vulnerability. He'd be unnerved not only by someone stronger than him, but also with ability to see what dwells in one's heart. Fuuma could hold a mirror reflecting his soul and Seishirou would rather stay blind to what he sees there

NOTP:

Ofc I saw some crack ships with Seishirou but I never saw a serious ship with fanbase that's not seisub. I guess I'd be a bit ?? if he's paired with a woman. Ofc unless said woman is Setsuka, because tbx fandom is still torn whether motherfucker is just an insult or description for Seishirou

Random headcanon:

He wears sunglasses to save eyesight and 'put distance between himself and world around him'. But I'm sure Seishirou keeps sunglasses on regularly to turn blind eye to reason behind his blind eye, so to speak. Deep down he knows he moved in front of knife on impulse to protect Subaru and that deeply unnerves him. Of course all subconsciously, thus he'd rather not be reminded of that inner turmoil. Still it's rather ironic Seishirou and Subaru parted in TB with both leaving marks of reminder on each other's body. Subaru remembers Seishirou whenever he looks at his hands and Seishirou sure as hell remembers Subaru from time to time when he looks at his blind eye

Also I think Seishirou made bet on impulse based on deeply rooted wish for connection with another human being. Ofc he never became aware of said wish because it's ego-dystonic to him. He views emotions as weakness, love included.

General opinion:

😎🦅🌸🌈🚬

#thanks for ask #akira ijyuin #clow reed #seishirou sakurazuka #😎🚬🌈🌸🦅#wait i forgot about the part where we headcanon Akira's dad has to be related to Seishirou #akira has new uncle i guess

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dreamstormdragon · 1 year

Text

Mila OVERHAUL

So, as I started writing the story for Mila, her... original model/design just didn’t suit her anymore. As her character developed and changed, so did how I felt like she could be presented.

So, a compilation of her looks above, from her work duds, to her date outfit, to her “Queen of the Dark Ages” attire to her casuals.

Mila was originally going to be a lot more “chill” honestly. She was supposed to be the cool voice of reason, a pseudo therapist of sorts...

And then I realized, as me and Aileen rewatched the series, that was gonna go out the window FAST. Then it was she’s not involved in TOO many of the shenanigans...

Then I started writing the story and she basically grabbed the steering wheel and rammed it into the foot of the robot, because she was driving now and there was no going back.

Mila at the start of her story, makes it VERY CLEAR, where her line is...

“You can train him... BUT YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME TOO!” As she gives NO F’s, absolutely none. She will respect the Hyper Force but she is also there to make sure no one forgets Chiro is still thirteen years old.

She’s a fiery young woman, with a passion for plants, flower language and wanting to do her best... but she’s also oh so stressed out, all the time. Her brother is everything to her and she tends to prioritize his happiness over her own, every single time. Even if it’s to her detriment.

As I’m finishing the first arc of the story, I’m excited to tell, I began to think...

“She needs a revamp.”

So...

It was time for a massive overhaul.

Behold the redone Mila Hanamura!!!

Mila grew up a goth teen and she never quite lost her passion for the look, she just dresses a little more casual. “Casual Goth” as she calls it. She has multiple piercings in her left ear, she loves her, her fishnet gloves and combat boots. Though, if you ask her, she’s calmer than she was as a teenager.

Her revised work attire.

Not much has really changed, in terms of the outfit, except adding her piercings and her green nails of course. This is generally what she’s wearing when she’s working at her store, Hanamura’s Botanicals, a store that specializes in plants exclusively from Earth, cultivated using techniques her parents developed.

And then you have the side, no one really expected out of her and honestly, I was happy I got to keep this as part her characterization.

Mila originally had a band in her late teens and early 20′s, called Cosmic Void, they were a symphonic metal cover band, for the most part, as Mila grew up on Earth a huuuge fan of many artists and pop culture from there. When the family migrated to Shuggazoom, she kept her love of metal through and through and started her own band. However, eventually these dreams were pushed aside for something, she felt was far more important.

She had a love and a talent for it she nurtured but now she only sings for herself in private, or to her brother. She doesn’t play in a band anymore, so these clothes are brought out now as formal wear, as outside of yukata, it’s the only nice outfit she owns.

It also brings back a lot of nice memories for her.

And of course, what’s Mila Hanamura, without her Queen of the Dark Ages attire? This, will not change, no matter what. It’s just gotten worse. During Evil Ages, she’s whisked away to a world of knights and magic, almost as if it’s some kind of otome game...

But as a former teen nerd, she’s very good at playing her part well.

“Ara, ara... It’s almost like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I also redid her expressions, to be far more expressive than they were before. My favorite are “Angry” and “Surprised” as these tend to be her two moods, the fastest in story lol.

Namely because “Angry” is almost always followed by:

“NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT! ARE YOU CRAZY!?”

Or...

“CHIRO!!!!!”

She swore, she used to be a lot calmer, before the whole “Waking up the ancient robotic monkeys from their slumber” incident. Her stress levels have not been kind to this girl.

“Chiro, you are so lucky, you are such a good kid. Does the team KNOW how lucky they have it?”

“Sis, did you look at the old pictures of your goth days again? Like the extreme goth?”

“I just remembered the time, I skipped town to go to a concert and made our parents worry. Oh I was TROUBLE.”

“So I’m told!”

And all together, to show how many sides this girl has to her.

Goodness, gracious it’s been wonderful to be back writing for SRMTHFG again, I’ve missed it a lot. It’s been so much fun developing this story and reimagining a story, that’s near and dear to my heart, to also include some new stories within it. I’m excited to share more of Mila and her bond with her brother and the other members of the team in due time.

#Super Robot Monkey Team Hyper Force Go #Super robot monkey team hyperforce go OC #Mila Hanamura #SRMTHFG Mila #Mila #SRMTHG Mila Hanamura #SRMTHFG #SRMTHFG OC

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onewomancitadel · 2 years

Text

Pyrrha

Is that---? The Chanel boots the Emily Wilson translation of Odyssey, yes.

I'm pretty sure Pyrrha is closest in tone to the Achilles depicted in Iliad. Generally with her character you've got a mix of Achillean sources (red hair for when Achilles is dressed as a girl by Thetis and hidden away from the Trojan War; the arrow to the ankle--- both Roman developments) but given the former of those is less well-known than the latter (which is a staple feature of Achilles in modern cultural consciousness) they clearly did a bit of homework.

The reason I say this is because Remnant is a dead world (a dying world, a remnant of the old world). So, Pyrrha being the Achilles of the underworld, or the shade of Achilles, makes a lot of sense, especially since she's so death-coded with the fading autumn leaf, and as embodying the theme of death in autumn. Her name even literally translates to 'fire victory'.

It makes sense to me to read Pyrrha as the lamenting Achilles of his glory rather than the Achilles of Iliad. I wondered why they had done that with her, but it makes sense now, especially as the events of the Trojan War (Briseis, Patroclus, Hektor, Agammenon) really don't play out in her conflict in the way I might expect them to. At most I read Ironwood as having a bit of Agamemnon influence, since he sacrifices his Iphigenias, but that's a stretch.

I also think it's worth noting that the Vault where Amber is kept and where Pyrrha is put is cold and dead, and she's literally inside a coffin. The chthonic theming can't really get more obvious.

I feel like I really understand Pyrrha now because she's already dead and she's dying. It's not a glorious sacrifice; the lesson is right there already. In terms of how I think this realises R/WBY's themes, it doesn't really change, because it's obvious that the cost of sacrifice and one person taking on a glorious destiny isn't something the show necessarily approves of (that's why Ozma fails at his one job). It does feel sort of obvious now I've said it, lol.

I also feel that this tonally links to Penny's death in V7, because its inevitability (she died, and came back, which is not right) is sort of part of its balm and narrative purpose.

#they are watching me roll and they are hating

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yunoteru4ever · 2 years

Note

What would you change in mirai Nikki if you could?

I'd change it so that the entire manga was released in English. :P

And y'know, given the number of followers this Tumblr has? I'm still hoping for a LOT more signatures on that petition...

...

But I know that's not what you mean.

So: Manga or Anime? Let's do both.

Anime:

In general, I actually wish the anime hewed a bit closer to the manga. It's a pretty faithful adaption, don't get me wrong. But there are some cut or alternate scenes that I like better in the manga. I prefer the manga's ending where they get to share control of the Third World and the final shot is our two leads running off to see the stars together. I wish we had some of the additional dialogue and internal thoughts from Minene around the climax. I wish we heard Yuki rebut Yuno's claims that they were just convenient for/using one other. I wish we saw Akise's visit to Yuno's orphanage.

Yuno’s literally killing a gaggle of orphans with a carving axe when her old caretaker says this.

And I wish we didn't have the extensions they made up for Seventh's flashback — whereas I think Tsubaki's horrific backstory at least serves the larger narrative, the introduction of some gang rape for Ai that was instigated by some Mean Girls is just gross without serving any purpose.

Which isn't to say that they didn't make some pretty clever additions/changes along the way, too. Like, adapting a chapter out of Mirai Nikki: Mosaic to provide context for Minene and Nishijima's connection? Extremely smart, very important.

Manga:

This is much tougher. I guess it did bug the crap out of me that Yuki's dad attempts to destroy Yuki's phone, and Yuki 100% believes that his father intends to kill him when it happens, which is NEVER REFUTED. This is something that the anime fixed, so it's probably an issue that Sakae Esuno is already aware of.

But no. The thing I most want to change isn’t even in the main series. I don’t have much there that I’d complain about, honestly.

No, the thing I most want to fix is the Paradox side series. I gave it a little review here long ago, and I’ve talked about one of its biggest missed opportunities. But just... we’ve got to do something about this thing.

1) We need a reason why Yuno is missing. Let’s say that... oh, how about her brain broke upon seeing Yuki die, being unable to resurrected him, coming to the Second World, killing her own self, and then having her memories blocked to boot. So she’s just wandering the countryside aimlessly while her mind tries to get ahold of itself, bc right now she barely knows her own fucking name or something. And maybe Murmur can’t find her because, y’know, we hint at the fact that there’s something supernatural blocking Murmur’s ability to do so. Because we don’t want to reveal that Yuno might have godly abilities squirreled away inside her just yet, because this was published and was read by people before the main series was wrapped up. So we can’t do those reveals in HERE< right?

But see, I think we can even do all this without revealing the events that made Yuno lose it explicitly. Maybe we just include a hint to that opening scene of the whole story where she was talking to Yuki’s corpse without explaining it further. When we finally find her near the end of the story, maybe we have her mumbling some things that don’t seem to make sense (like “I have to die?”) that hint at how we got here.

2) If Akise has to attack the Akashic Records (which I think is extremely debatable), let’s give voice to WHY he’d do something like that. Let Akise actually say to Murmur “Whatever god it is that you’re serving, he’s not mine. I control my own destiny - as should we all.” And boom, he suddenly has a major reason to attack the place where Deus keeps all records of the past AND the expected future, because it would be like a way to wipe the slate clean.

3) I’ll accept that Sakae Esuno probably didn’t want to leave another timeline (a “Fourth World”) hanging out there, so, fine — let’s say that he hit the reset button somehow. But let’s have the giant reset button make some sort of sense. Let’s say Akise figures out how to access the Cathedral of Causality and the Akashic Records; sure. And Yuno, finally getting a sense of who she is, ends up following him there. That’s where she sees Yuki in a comatose state and goes completely ballistic. As Akise is attacking the records and Murmur is attacking Akise to stop him (and silence him), Yuno is attacking EVERYTHING IN SIGHT. And then we finally let the threat that was hanging over Murmur the whole story (i.e., Deus finding out) actually come to fruition. Deus discovers what’s happening, he’s irritated/angry about it, and due to the important of the records and the fact that he wants the players in his game to play this thing out without direct interference from him and Murmur, he... does something. I don’t know. Maybe, in the instance that the records are damaged, there’s a “ONE TIME ONLY” failsafe that rewinds all events in the world by a few days, setting us back to where we came in, only now the players are in the right positions. Y’know? Just... SOMETHING. Hand-wave it at least a little.

#asks #anon #mirai nikki #future diary #the future diary #mirai nikki paradox #mirai nikki manga

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symphopan · 2 months

Text

Valentine's Blessings

Chapter 2/5: The Note

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day in class, everyone was talking about all the things that they were getting up to with their significant others after school. The teacher didn’t have anything planned for the day, as it being the last day of the week and Valentine’s day. Even she seemed to be longingly staring at a photo on her phone of her and 2 other women.

“Soon my lovelies.” She said, stroking her phone.

There were some people handing out some valentine's things to others, to spread the love to those who don’t have some for the day. Alex got a few of these himself. It felt nice even if most of them didn’t really know him. However, it didn’t help his ever present loneliness and wanting of someone special.

“Ha! Looks like the twerp still doesn’t have a girlfriend.” Walter Gloated, “As for me, I’ve a date later today. She’s totally into the gun show.”

He started flexing again. Alex wasn’t in the mood to retort the self-absorbed jock. He just started looking through the cards he got when saw something interesting. While most of the cards were pretty generic, one was written addressing him. As the lunch bell rang, he got up and pushed past the jock.

“Uh… Yeah, yeah Walter. I’m sure we’ll hear about your latest break up soon.” He said, a bit monotone.

He didn’t even hear Walter as he started trying to retort as well. As Alex walked through the halls he read the note.

Dear Alex, I’ve recently become smitten with you,

I know you’ve been wanting something to change your life,

something to break you out of your slump.

I can give you that change, a change that you need.

And with luck you’ll get that special someone you want.

If you want this change, I’ll be waiting at your locker after final bell.

See you there.

From,

Your admirer

He couldn’t believe it… Someone liked him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had reread the note 4 times since his second class ended. He had been sitting by himself in the lunch area thinking about the note. He had no clue what to make of it. Was it real? Was it a prank? It had his name on it so it couldn’t be a mistake.

“Wow you look like you’er in deep thought.” a voice said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

When he looked up it was Marina, Esther’s friend for yesterday. She looked fairly similar to yesterday, mostly cuz of her goth style. She was wearing a black spaghetti top under a cropped black hoodie with cat ears on it. She had a dark purple skirt on with white and black striped thigh highs on and high heel boots. Her black hair with purple streaks was styled in 2 pigtails with some of her covering her left eye.

“Huh… Oh, Yeah Marina. Just thinking about something.” He stammered, “Where’s Esther?”

“Oh uhm… She had something to take care of. So what were you thinking about?”

He looked at her and felt he could trust her a bit. “Well, there might be someone who likes me and I’m meeting them later.”

“Wow, Congrats.” she exclaimed.

“Thanks but, I feel like it might be someone messing with me. I don’t feel like someone would actually be into me.”

“What makes you think that? I think some definitely would.”

“I just don’t get what people see in… this.” He gestured to himself, ”I never really liked how I looked, and I just wished I was someone else.”

Seeing the distress in his body language, she reached her hand over the table and grabbed his hand.

“Hey, you deserve happiness like everyone else, and if you don’t like how you look then change for you.” She said.

She smiled at him, and felt a bit better. Something she said made him think, he could change for himself. The last bit of the note said something about giving him the change he needed. Maybe it would be good for him to see about that change.

“Thanks Marina.” He smiled.

Just then they heard a conversation to the left of them. When they looked over it was Walter talking with another girl, and didn’t seem like she was happy.

“Oh come on babe, I didn’t mean it.” Walter said.

“You didn’t mean to confuse me with another girl!?” she said, angrily.

“It was an accident, come let's just get to our date.” He said, trying to defuse the situation.

“Ok. If you can tell me my name.” She challenged.

“Uhh… S-Shara?” He said unsurely.

She just turned and walked away. He looked a little defeated. “Can’t be surprised that happened. Was quicker than I was expecting.” Alex commented.

Hearing him, Walter walked over to the table. Alex thought he was going to beat him up for the comment but Walter just sat next to Marina and flopped his head on the table.

“Y’all were right, I am too much of a muscle head.” He said muffled.

They were both taken aback by this.

“Well, I was a little harsh, you do seem to be able to self reflect and that’s better than most.” Alex said apologetically.

“You know I never wanted to be a big muscular jock, this is just what my dad told me that would get me girls.” Walter whimpered.

“Huh… That’s intriguing, you as well.” Marina said, kinda just staging at Walter. Alex could have sworn her eyes glowed for a second.

“What?” The jock was questioned.

“Oh nothing. I might be able to help you with your girl problems. You got any more classes for the day?”

“No?” He said curiously.

“Good then come with me.” She said taking the jock by hand, “Good luck with your mystery person Alex.”

She ran off with Walter, leaving Alex by himself. Well I guess I see if this note is for real or not? He thought.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The final bell had already rang and most people were starting to leave the building. Alex found himself still there, going to meet someone at his locker. He still had no idea what to expect, but he braced himself for the worst.

When he rounded the corner to where his locker was, what he saw shocked him. Not only was there actually someone there at his locker, it was none other than Esther.

“Ah, Alex, you showed up. I was worried you wouldn’t come. I hope you like my note.”

“You wrote this?” He said pointing to the card.

“Yeah, and like I said on the card, I’m here to get you that change you needed. So what do you say?”

He stopped and thought for a minute, “Will I feel better about myself?”

“Oh definitely think so.” She replied.

“Then yes I would like the change.”

“Very well.”

As she said this, she reached into her bag. She pulled something out but he couldn't tell what, as it was in her closed fist. She then brought her hand up to her face, opened it, and then blew a powder in Alex's face. He started coughing due to the sudden powder.

This is where things get fun. Esther thought to herself.

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Prev Next

This story was requested by the lovely @mistresskabooms. This are moving along and now we can start getting to the fun stuff. I got some other stuff to working some the next part might be take day to come out.

#mtf trans #tg #tgtf #transgender #lesbian #trans lesbian #What's up with sad jock boi

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theopenbookwigtown · 9 months

Text

Day 3: A Speaking Engagement and Tea Cakes

Visitors: 107 Books Found: 18 (3 fiction) Total Tally: 49 pounds

Another magical day in Wigtown. Foot traffic was slow to start. We shelved the books that Ruth from the bookshop next door had given us yesterday. Michael had time to replace the “boring” Scotland general window display that was in the far window when we came, with something he thought people might like. The Horses display, with the quote “Horses lend us the wings we lack.” Pam Brown, 1928. Yesterday a girl had asked for a horse book, but today no equestrians came in.

I fancied up the secret brown-wrapped books with lovely brown twine, and added a few for “foodies”. To the “how to” display I added “Shark Drunk: The Art of Catching a Large Shark from a Tiny Rubber Dingy”. Inside the shop, I was tickled pink to find a copy of the original “Colour Me Beautiful” by Carole Jackson circa 1980s. I remember attending home-parties based on her seasonal palette (for clothes and makeup). I was a Spring, Michael a Winter. This fashion theory is having a retro moment (along with Barbie).

Around noon things picked up. We sold 3 secret books, and I was thrilled to see a book I had pulled out and highlighted on the animal shelf “A Lion Called Christian” was bought by someone who’d also seen the documentary about the domesticated and then returned to the wild lion.

It was hard to lock up at 1:45 to walk down to The Smiddy, so I went alone and Michael joined me after he’d made some sales. We had been invited to have tea with the members of the Wigtown and District October Club, which started meeting there in May 2005. The ladies (it’s a mixed club but no men attended) have speakers in, and meet for cards and conversation and tea. They wanted to hear how we ended up at the Open Book. I told them about my love of reading, my first fav books being Heidi and Little Women, and then how I became a writer of short stories (Canadians love that format – I mean our Alice Munro won the Nobel for her short stories!) It was hard for me to understand all of them, and I know I was bastardizing their names in my Canadian accent (Marilyn, Cathy). I learned about a game called Beetle Drive and Marilyn gave me the rules and a few score sheets. They politely listened to me read my short creative non-fiction story Treachery published online in Gastropoda in July, 2022. Michael came and we got prizes in the raffle – I got Tea Cakes (traded with Cathy for the Licorice All Sorts) and Michael a jar of honey from The Isle of Colonsay. They sympathized with the effort of driving on the left, and taught us that a garage sale (where I buy many old books) is called a “car boot sale”.

We met Ben Please, a famous Book Shop musician and invited him to the author reading on Friday night. He suggested we make it later than 4 pm and have free red wine if we want Shaun B. to come. We popped into The Bookstore on our way back from The Smiddy (it was drizzling rain) to meet Shaun, get a signed copy of his new book and invite him to read. He was standing barefoot at the counter signing his books. He may not be able to come, but I told him we’d change the time to suit. So, fingers crossed.

The open Scrabble game was popular today and a crying wee little one played havoc with it. To Michael’s delight, it ended her tears completely. At the end of the day, a woman asked if we had a copy of The Kon-Tiki Expedition, published in English in 1950 by Thor Heyerdahl. After she left the store, I found a copy in the Travel section. Michael tried to find her, but she was gone.

We continue to enjoy fresh baked croissants from Co-op and from the reading window seat in the flat, we like watching people double park in front of it. How they leave the flashers on and the door open rather than park up the road. Today a double-parker’s car alarm was so loud we closed the shop door. Michael plays jazz funk music in the shop and I change it to classical music whenever I can.

#wigtown #theopenbook #books #scotland #wigtownbookfestival #booklover #bookstore #bookshop #theopenbookwigtown #openbook

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lunar-realms · 2 years

Note

How do they style their hair?

What kind of clothing do they wear?

Do they wear makeup? What kind?

Do they have any birthmarks?

Where were they born?

What do their parents do?

Where do they live?

What do they do for a living?

What is their greatest achievement?

What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to them? (You pick the muses! 💜)

Random number generator GOOO!

How do they style their hair? -Faelen Faelen keeps his hair just past his shoulders and ties it back in a low ponytail for the most part, keeping his bangs separated and up front to frame his face. Some may think he dyes his ends lavender, but it naturally turns that color as it grows out.

What kind of clothing do they wear? - Ian Ian wears servant garb fit for the demon king's prized servant. Usually, plain pants with his buckled leather tank top, arm bands and a collar decorated in silver chain. When he's on a mission or off on his own; however, he changes into more comfortable leather armor and sturdier boots. Bonus: Noble Ian wears fine silks in the color silver with dark green accents as well as a short, green cape. He will often also adorn his hair with small clear crystals that refract rainbows when the light hits it just right.

Do they wear makeup? What kind? - Azure Azure very rarely wears makeup. Usually just some concealer to hide the circles under his eyes, but he did like using some eyeliner when he was with Sebastian. He does really enjoy Halloween though and will go all out for that makeup if his costume calls for it.

Do they have any birthmarks? - Kuro Not really, no. Though Shiro claims there's a small mark on the nape of his neck just under his hairline that's in the shape of half a diamond, the other half being on his twin's neck in the same spot.

Where were they born? -Ashe As soon as I settle on a name for the land all these wonderful muses are from, Ashe will have a known birthplace. LoL He was born in a small village just outside the town surrounding the castle. Both his parents were a high ranking knights, after all and needed to be close by should their king need them.

What do their parents do? - Shiro Believe it or not Shiro and Kuro are part of Hell's nobility. Their parents are Lords and serve the crown by being informants and hired assassins.

Where do they live? - Aria Aria lives on the outskirts of France, running an adorable flower shop.

What do they do for a living? - Cerelia Cerelia is a hired assassin by trade and very very good at her job. She does settle down a little when she joins Ashe and Faelen's group, but she still keeps it as a side hustle.

What is their greatest achievement? - Ian Ian's greatest achievement will always be letting go of Lucifer and acknowledging that what he did was atrocious and accepting that he does deserve his happy ending with his soulmate (Be that Agate or Asriel depending on the verse ;) )

What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to them? - Faelen The most embarrassing thing that has happened to Faelen to date would probably be... getting mistaken for a lost noble girl when they visit the elven kingdoms and being too shy/softspoken to explain they got it wrong to the point he does find himself dressed for the part and standing before the family before he finally pipes up that he's not actually their runaway daughter. Ashe sent the dress to Faelen's mother who was beside herself with laughter and still reminds Faelen of this when he visits home.

#ooc #about the muse #musings;Azure #musings;Aria #musings;Ashe #musings;Cerelia #musings; Faelen #musings; Shiro #musings; Kuro #musings;Ian

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