#strikes me as someone who would hang them on the wall. At least one of them is signed

[coachbeards]

You know i KNOW beard can play guitar, but they never showed us him playing the guitar bc then every other character would want to [redacted] him

#I watched the 3x09 press room scene and also saw him dressed up as piggy stardust #ziggy is a GUITARIST !!! #Also them having beard dress up as a canonical bisexual androgynous alien was for ME #No but beard plays the guitar. I bet he has guitars in his Kansas home he just didn’t bring to Richmond #strikes me as someone who would hang them on the wall. At least one of them is signed

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. i

purely just some fun and games putting big grumpy joel miller slap bang in the middle of a romcom. i hope you guys enjoy. dedicated to big sis @mrsmando, who is the light of my life, let herself be completely swept away by this idea into unhinged, whimsical mania with me, and who inspired so many lil details for this story. love u, zhort x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you strike up a deal to attend a wedding with your neighbor as his date. what could go wrong?

warnings: age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), grumpy!joel initially finds reader mildly infuriating, cursing, alcohol consumption, discussion of a car accident (non-graphic) & dead parents, softdom!joel as per, fingering, handjob, comeplay, spitting, drunk unprotected one night stand, creampie, praise kink, one mention of nausea (but nothing happens, my little emetophobic angels), someone falls pregnant and it's not joel miller i'll tell you that much. honk if you love cats!!!

word count: 9.8k 

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

It’s just gone seven on a Saturday night when his knuckles rap on your door.

The sun casts tall, angled shapes on your living room wall. Lights the pages before you in a glow of tangerine. Refracts through the glass tumbler on your coffee table and bleeds the amber liquid onto the pale wood surface. Everything lit in some variation of gold, everything bowing its head quietly as the day begins to turn its back.

The house is still. The world feels still, as though transitioning. Like you’re sat in a waiting room, leg bouncing, anticipating something you don’t know to look for yet.

Perfect, comfortable, still – until he’s on your porch. And he knocks again.

You snap your book shut and slide it across the table, nudging the heavy glass. The ice clinks, irritated.

“You mind fastenin’ your…delicates to your clothesline a little better?”

His voice shoulders its way into your hallway before you’ve even pulled the door back enough to see him. Not that you need to see him to know who it is. You’ve lived in Austin three years now and met only one person with a voice as low and toneless as Joel Miller’s. Slung in sarcasm, dripping with disdain. All that.

You cross your arms and slant against the doorframe, unable to mask your amusement. “Excuse me?”

He answers by lifting his left hand. From his pointer finger hang a tiny pair of white panties, lace pattern fluttering in the late summer breeze. You glance over his shoulder as you steal them from his grasp, balling them in your fist.

“Uhuh. They were sitting on my back lawn. I have company tonight, y’know. I can’t have women’s underwear just – lyin’ in my damn yard.”

Your head tilts. Ears prick. “Company? You hostin’ somethin’?”

His shoulders drop with a sigh. “No. I am not hostin’ anythin’.”

“Good. ‘cause I’d want an invite.”

“If I were hostin’, you’d be the last person I would invite. And you know that.”

“Ouch,” you pout, “that hurts, Miller. I watered your plants while you were off visiting your brother last month. They woulda died without me there.”

“And I am grateful to you,” Joel grumbles, “but that doesn’t mean I need those anywhere in view of my kitchen window.” He throws a pointed finger to your elbow, where your panties sit scrunched in your fist.

You look down to the froth of frill spilling between your knuckles, and back up to his dark features – his glower casting a shadow over the hazel eyes and deepening the creases between his brows. You smirk, a realization dawning.

Company – that he doesn’t want seeing a pair of someone else’s underwear.

“You have a date.”

Joel’s tongue flicks across the inside of his cheek. He glances over his shoulder and speaks through his teeth. “No, not a date,” he quietly tells the street.

“But you have a lady comin’ over. Or at least – someone you don’t want seeing these.” You unfold your arms and twirl your fist. The gentle wind lifts the lace.

He grunts. A low hmph. Agreement, you think.

“Sounds like a date.”

He hisses, “’s not a date.”

Your stare doesn’t slip from his. Not when his brows tighten, not when his jaw does, too. Not even when he sucks a breath between gritted teeth. Your smile widens.

Finally, with a sigh, he concedes. “It’s…it’s somebody Tommy ‘n Maria are tryna set me up with. Alright?”

“So – a date.”

“If you don’t –” Joel’s head flicks over to his own driveway at the same time his hand lifts, a pointed gesture you read as – shut the fuck up. “We’re just having a few drinks. Just – hangin’ out.”

“Just hangin’ out,” you repeat, eyes widening. “One-on-one. With some woman who – Wait, Tommy’s in Wyoming. How the hell do he and his wife know someone way the hell down here?”

“From before they moved. And – Maria ain’t his wife. Yet. They’re getting married next month.”

Suddenly the sun reappears over the dark horizon. The evening begins to clear up, make sense again. You lift your chin, nodding.

“Right, right. So, she gonna be your plus one, or…?”

The understanding raises his heckles again. Exasperated, he asks, “How many damn questions are you gonna –? I’m only here to – to return your –” He nods once more to the pale fabric in your hand.

A laugh shoots from your nostrils. “What’s the matter? You don’t like – whatever her name is?”

“Laura.”

“Laura,” you breathe.

“And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with her. She just – she…”

“She…?”

“She has, like, five cats, and it’s just…hair, everywhere. And at their engagement party, she spilled an entire margarita down me. Right down my –” He sweeps a hand down his front, balling his fists again once they reach the hem of his shirt.

Your lips turn, amused. “Five cats. Cat lady Laura. Well. Have fun, I guess. Thanks for these.”

He acknowledges your raised fist with a bashful glance. He’s already halfway down your front steps when he says, “Keep an eye on your laundry from now on,” and strides off back to his own place.

Joel has lived here his whole life. In Austin. You’ve no idea when he moved in next door, just that he was here when you did. You don’t know much about him at all – the fact he even filled you in enough to tell you about his date is shocking enough.

The day you first arrived, U-Haul truck squealing to a halt by the curb, he found himself unlucky enough to be stood in his front yard watering the blond patches of his grass. He saw you struggling to open the rear door of the truck, and with a grumble and a glance across the street for a more eager rescuer, he tossed his hose and came over to help.

He unclicked the heavy latch and pushed the door up with enough ease to put you to shame. And he seemed to feel some obligation when he saw the mass of belongings stuffed in the back, to help you unload them. Didn’t seem overjoyed by the thought, mind you, what with the sigh he let slip when you hopped up and held out the first box.

He indulged you for no more than one hour. Answered every question you had about the neighborhood, dodged every one about himself. He told you about the couple across the street with the newborn baby, told you about your neighbor on the other side who pretends to garden just so she can snoop on everyone else’s business. And as soon as the last box thudded down on your gleaming living room floor, he nodded, and paced back over to his own property.

He's a good guy. You know this much. He’s a dick to you most days, but he’s honest, and he’s kind when you catch him in the right light. He takes deliveries for you when you’re not home; he once drove Diane to the vets when she showed up on his doorstep in the dead of night, Fred the Jack Russell ailing in her arms.

He’s observant. Noticed just this summer the three different plumbers who showed up to your house in the space of two days, and came over as the third guy was leaving – his shining bald head low between his shoulders.

‘s the matter? Joel asked, watching the navy overalls sink into the rusted vehicle.

Kitchen sink’s leakin’. Fuckin’ – nobody can fix it.

He shouldered you out of the way with his then-trademark sigh and left twenty minutes later, your kitchen finally free of the dripdripdrip you’d been plagued with for a week straight.

He’s good. He’s a good neighbor. But, man, is he private.

You’ve never seen the inside of his place. His body blocks it anytime you’re on his doorstep. He has a brother, you know that – though, only since last month, when he asked you to keep an eye on his garden – and you know, now, that the brother is getting married.

You know that he likes country music, know he plays guitar – accidentally. You heard him one day in the spring, when he left his window open and you were lounging by your pool. When he looked out and noticed how you’d angled your sunbed to listen, really listen, he slammed it shut.

You know he’s single and childless and has been for at least the three years you’ve lived next door to him.

You know little fucking else.

The words on the curled pages seep into one another. You’re staring through the book now back in your hands, the shape of your living room blurring around you: the brick fireplace, the still, red light of the TV. The lulling sway of the sheer curtains, pushed like the tides by the air through the open window.

You cross your ankles on the coffee table. Your lips purse. Tongue dabs at the smoky-sweet singe of whiskey on the flesh of your cheeks. From here, you can see the street outside Joel’s house. If – when – Laura pulls up, you’ll know. And you’ll be here to watch. Survey. Observe.

See what kind of woman a guy like Joel Miller takes to his brother’s wedding.

It’s nine fifty-two when she eventually leaves.

She’s been in there two hours and seventeen minutes. Her car – a kind of rotten green Chevrolet with one tail light out – sits patiently out front, like even it can’t wait to help her fucking disappear.

You’re hoisting a swollen black bag down your drive when his porch light flickers on and his front door opens. The glossy plastic exhales as it slumps against the trashcan. You dust your hands. Joel hasn’t noticed you yet.

“…so nice gettin’ to properly know you,” Laura’s crooning, sidestepping as Joel walks calmly down to her car. Ushering her. You hold back a laugh.

“Thanks for comin’,” he says, his voice falling flat in the windless evening. He’s a step ahead of her, like a parent leading their child away from the park. She’s still babbling about his six-string.

“Maybe next time I can hear a little somethin’…” she says, and you know from the way he halts that Joel hears the same questioning tone you do, the way somethin’ curls up at its end.

“Maybe,” he says, curtly. His words curl down. And then nothing else, and Laura – who, now that she’s a little closer, stood on the curb by her car door, you notice has sweeping golden hair which flicks away from her plump cheeks, and bright eyes which dazzle in the dusky glow – is forced to cough up one last chance.

“I gave you my number,” she says, then, “I didn’t get yours?” and this time, it’s definitely a question.

Joel pretends to pat down his pockets. “I musta left my phone in the house.”

You can’t help it. A scoff bursts from your lips. But he still doesn’t look over.

“Well,” Laura tugs on the handle, “thank you for a lovely evenin’. I’ll hear from ya.”

Joel smiles but puts a hand on the door, like he might slam it shut for her if she tried to backtrack. But she doesn’t. She swings both legs in, pulls it closed, and the engine spurts to life.

As she pulls off, Chevrolet jolting a little, you notice the bright yellow bumper sticker plastered squint beneath the license plate. You walk silently over to Joel, grass prickly under your socks.

“Honk If You Love…Cats,” you murmur, shoulder brushing off his bicep.

He sniffs. Tightens the grip his arms have on his chest. His eyes are fixed on the one red light, slowly shrinking into the distance. “Don’t even.”

“Good date?”

“I said don’t.”

“She talk much about her cats?”

“Goodnight.”

“Did you ask their names, at least?”

He’s backing up, crossing the dark lawn towards his front steps. He looks you up and down, his lips a flat line. Your sweat shorts. Your bare legs. The tight vest top molded around your breasts. His eyes shoot back up. “No more questions. No more pesterin’ me.”

“Nothin’ about the cats? Seriously, dude?” You lift your arms, grinning after his dark figure, swaggering up the porch steps.

Joel ignores you. He disappears through his front door and the light is snuffed. You slink back up to your house, grateful for the blanket of darkness covering the skip in your step.

Eleven hours later, you’re stood in front of your bedroom mirror.

The day melts against your window. Brilliant blue sky, cradling soft puffs of snow-white clouds. Crows on Diane’s roof cawing, slowly yellowing trees rustling. The bright, hot square across your front where the sun forces her way in.

You turn, taking the loose hem of your sleepshirt in your fingers, and pull it over your body, tossing it to the foot of the bed as you examine the pattern of colors hanging from inside your closet.

You take them one by one, tug them free, slot them back in. Eventually you settle for a gray hoodie, cropped and loose. As you haul it from its hanger, there’s a whine from the wooden cabinet. A squeal. The top shelf rips from either side, dropping to the closet floor and taking the pole with it.

“What the f–? You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you growl, stepping forward to run your fingers along the splintered wood where the nails have ripped themselves free. Four black holes, jagged insides of the closet pricking your fingertips.

The crumple of clothes and hangers sulks up at you pathetically. You fall back onto your bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirs slowly, scooping your gaze and throwing it in lazy circles.

The closet was old, anyways. Was here when you moved. It’s probably about time you had some new ones built. But fuck, that’s gonna cost. Ripping the old ones out, building them from scratch. The fan pulls your eyes back around to twelve o’clock.

Joel’s a contractor. He could do ‘em. Might give you a discounted rate, too, for all the times you move his newspaper from his front lawn to his doorstep for him. Either that, or he’d want something in return. And what handy skills do you have? You once knitted a scarf for you grandma for Christmas. Maybe not Joel’s thing. You can cook mac ‘n cheese – though one lousy meal isn’t payment enough for an entire wall of solid wood, two panes of glass and two days’ labor.

A favor, maybe. An IOU. What the fuck kinda favor does Joel Miller need–?

You’re hopping over the tiny burst of hedge between his yard and yours before the thought is finished, bending to scoop his newspaper up and slotting it under your arm. He answers just as you lift your fist to pound on his door for a second time.

You slap the rolled paper into his chest. “I have an idea.”

He squints at you in the summer light. “Wh–? Didn’t I tell you not to p–?”

“I’ll be your date.”

Joel blinks.

“I’ll be your date,” you repeat. “I got a wardrobe needs replacing. You do it, for free, and I’ll be your date.”

“Your wardrobe?”

“Crapped out on me this mornin’. I don’t want to pay for some stranger who’ll overcharge me ‘n do a half-assed job. Fix it, ‘n you don’t have to take cat lady Laura to Tommy’s wedding. And you can fix my kitchen sink, too.”

“I already fixed your kitchen sink.”

“It’s back at it. Drippin’ all through the damn night. Drip drip drip –”

“Alright.” Joel’s palm is up again. He does that a lot when he’s talking to you. “Alright. Wardrobe ‘n sink.”

“We have a deal?” you ask, extending your hand.

His chest fills with a thoughtful breath. His eyes scan you up and down, lingering somewhere a little lower than your jaw for a second. And then, the heavy weight of his palm against yours. The tightening of his fingers around your wrist. One sure shake.

Deal.

Two weeks before the wedding, you’re at Joel’s door again.

He’s in a black tee, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, fringe still dripping onto his forehead. He runs a hand through the gray-singed brown and stares at the tangle of fabric slung over your arm. “The hell is this?”

“Do you know what you’re wearin’?”

His eyes roll up to meet yours. “Do I know what I’m wearin’?”

You nod. “You’re the best man. Guessing Tommy has you covered?”

“Black suit,” he says, after a beat.

“That’s it? He ain’t got no theme?”

Joel’s head cocks. “I don’t do themes.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under his arm fixed against the doorpost. He manages three words of protest and then shuts the door in resignation, turning to watch as you take his stairs two at a time.

“You are so damn annoyin’, you know that?” his voice echoes behind you.

“You want this date or not, Miller?” you call over your shoulder, following the route through the identical house to your own bedroom – thankful when you nudge the door and it opens to reveal his bland, colorless decor. “Very…gray,” you note, feeling the shadow of him over your shoulder.

You throw the dresses down on his bed, satin and lace and pink and green swimming between one another on his sheets.

“I’m not wearin’ a dress.”

You glower at him. “Ha. We have to match.”

He rubs the towel against the back of his head, drying the dark hair. “Match how?”

“Y’know, your suit ‘n my dress. If I’m your date, we have to match.”

“Already told you. I’m wearin’ a black suit.”

“Right. But, like – what color tie? And can it be any of these colors?” You hold your hands out, surfing over the sea of shades. “Maybe,” you lift your eyebrows, eyes darting to the pale teal color, “this one?”

Joel entertains you for all of five seconds, lifting his cheeks in a false grin before they deflate. “No. Black.”

“Joel.”

He slings the towel over his folded arms, and looks at you plainly. “Black,” he says again, in a tone of voice which sounds something like a door being slammed shut.

Your eyes thin, and you gather your dresses up in one swipe. “Can you just –? Will you make sure that you match my corsage, at least?”

“Why the hell are you so hung up on this?”

“I’m not. I’m just tryna make it believable. You turned down cat lady Laura, this is what you get.”

He sighs, tossing the towel over to his laundry basket. “I will make sure I match your corsage. Happy?”

“Happy. Are you ready?”

“Give me five minutes.”

You huff, head rolling back. “You are so prima-donna, Joel Miller.”

With a sarcastic chuckle, he shoves you out of his bedroom to get dressed. You saunter down his stairs, drinking in every detail of his home as though it’s the only chance you’ll get to see it.

It probably is, when you think about it. You don’t imagine he’ll be inviting you over for drinks anytime soon.

Your eyes move along the wall as you slowly thump down his stairs, thrown from framed photo to framed photo – a black and white photo of a man with a tousle-haired boy on his lap, the kid’s tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he wraps his small hand around the neck of a guitar; an out-of-focus Christmas photo, a family of four sat in front of a million multicolored orbs dotted along the branches of a tree; a kid with skinned knees crouched by a German shepherd, his lanky arms hooked around the dog’s thick neck.

One brown suede jacket hangs from a coat peg at the bottom, Joel’s boots sat loose and unlaced beneath. A dark blue blanket draped over the back of his couch. A painting of a moose over his fireplace. Shelves lining one entire wall decorated with carved-wood animals, with more photographs of times gone and memories made, with books and DVDs that lend your fingertip with a heap of white dust as you drag it across their spines.

Enough to paint a picture, not quite enough to show you the colors. The tones, the depth. Despite your best efforts, the man remains a mystery. You settle with the fact he will never be fully revealed.

The creak of his stairs turns your attention from the guitar on the wall around to his tall figure, fixing the collar of the loose flannel over his shoulders.

“You ready?” Joel asks, bending with a groan to reach for his boots.

“Yep,” you reply, leaning forward to glance into his kitchen while his head’s down. The most you manage to observe are the light drapes, the sunlight shooting through and bouncing off of a white-topped island.

“’s go,” he says, keys dangling from his finger.

It takes twenty minutes to drive to Home Depot.

You chitter in Joel’s ear the entire time, reading from his handwritten list of measurements and supplies needed for your new closet. ‘n how do you know this is all enough? Because I know. What if you get started and it’s not? I won’t; it’s enough. You sound so sure. That’s ‘cause I’ve done it before, kid. You take many closetless girls out on fake wedding dates, Joel?

“What’s our story, then?” you ask in the store, fiddling with hanging packets of door hinges while Joel reads thrice over his note. Your hand dives into the bag of M&M’s he begrudgingly bought you at a gas station on the way.

“Our story?” he mumbles back, the words slipping under the mental math you can see going on behind his eyes.

“Like, when people ask how we met. What’s our meet-cute? Both reached for the same door hinge, our hands touched and lit aflame? That kinda thing?”

He doesn’t laugh. Your smile dampens instantly. You kick his boot. “Joel.”

“’sec,” he frowns, “I’m focusing.”

You lean close, pushing on your toes to study the folded slip. His scrawled numbers, the pencil lines blunt and smudged in the creases of the paper.

“Twentytwofortysixeightyninetyfivesixhundredelevenfourtwelvenineteen–”

Joel’s lips seep a maddened sigh; he glances down the aisle like a store attendant might separate you from him if he demanded with enough passion, or maybe if he slipped them a twenty.

“Do you mind?” he barks, his expression a brick wall for your giggles to fall flat to the floor against.

“Home Depot’s your stomping ground. Why the hell do I gotta come watch you pick hinges and timber?”

“Because it’s your damn closet I’m fittin’. Just –” he swipes two packets from their peg, tossing them into the shopping cart, “– come on.”

Joel makes off down the muck-colored floor, the overhead lights reflecting harshly in the shiny surface. The front right wheel of the cart trembles as it rolls, nervously leading the two of you down an aisle lined with cylinder tins and pamphlets on Choosing the right finish.

“So, are your parents gonna be at this wedding?” you ask, taking the cart from Joel’s hands when he drifts off to study a shelf of wood varnish.

His jaw turns towards you, and then back to the tin in his hand. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do I get to meet ‘em?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not gonna introduce your date to your mom and dad?”

He scoffs, stealing a handful of candy. “My fake date?”

“They don’t know that. Let me meet Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”

He holds two tins up, offering them to you like answer to your question. “Matt or gloss? Guess it don’t really matter if I’m painting ‘em after.”

“Stop fuckin’ ignoring me. I hate when you do that.”

He leans in close, lowering the matt varnish into the cart. “You think I’m gonna introduce you ‘n your potty mouth to my mom?”

You smirk, eyes narrow. “Dick.”

“Funny. What color paint you want? You said something about duck egg?”

“Planning on repainting my room that color, yeah. Hey, you could –”

He swats your pointed finger away, taking the cart back. “We shook on new wardrobe. No changin’ the deal,” he mutters, wandering over to the rainbow of paint tins on the opposite side of the aisle.

You follow him over, eyes moving from blue over to green, the tins plastered with the fake smiles of families and fluffy pet dogs on the front. “Where are your mom and dad from?” you ask.

“Austin,” he replies, eyes squinting to read the small print on the back of one vibrant shade. You shake your head and guide his wrist back to the shelf, where he obediently sets the heavy tin back. “Never known anywhere else,” he adds. “What about you? Where’s Mr. and Mrs. Potty Mouth?”

“Uh,” you swipe at your nose awkwardly, “they’re up in Allandale. That’s where I grew up.”

“That so? I got a cousin who used to live that way. Used to take my bike up every Saturday. He lived right by this old car shop, all these old classics they used to fix up ‘n resell.”

“Yeah,” you say, “right next to the cemetery, right?”

“That’s the one,” Joel says, lifting paint tins to the light and setting them down again. “They live nearby?”

Your breathing shifts, starts to claw its way up your throat. Your chest heats, skin lighting with an irritating anxiety. “They’re, um,” you gulp, “they’re in the cemetery.”

Joel pauses, letting the tin slip from his grasp with an echoing thud against the wooden shelf which reverberates in your ears a second too long. “Oh,” he says, set on your expression.

“It’s okay – I don’t mind. It’s – it was a car accident, back when I was eight. I wasn’t in it, or anything. I grew up with my grandma. Really, Joel, I don’t mind,” you add, when his face falls and he begins to apologize.

“I had no idea,” he says, and you break the eye contact before you break a fucking sweat.

“’s all good,” you murmur, lifting paint tins of your own now, focusing on deblurring your glossy vision, “I got to buy a big house with the money they left.”

It thaws him a little. He snorts, and taps the lid of the tin you’re holding. “That one’s nice. You, uh – you okay?”

You finally turn back, the world clearer, colors no longer bleeding into one another through sharp tears. “Yeah. I’m fine. We got everything?”

Joel nods, and wheels the cart around. “You can meet her, if you want. My mom. She’s a little full on, but I reckon you can handle her.”

You smile, following him down the aisle.

A month after he delivered your underwear back to you, you’re back on Joel’s doorstep.

Your hand flicks nervously at your side as you wait for him to answer, petals of your corsage quivering. The clip of his footsteps echoes down the stairs, a deep sound growing louder and louder until the door clinks open and you’re separated only by air.

Joel’s eyes scan down your body at the same time yours scan down his. Black suit, sure enough, just without the jacket, and with his tie slung around his loose collar. You both freeze when your eyes meet again, your lips silently forming the shape of an avalanche of words that refuse to sound until Joel’s do.

“Wow, you –”

“– look great, I –”

“– nice dress, is that –? Sorry –”

“– no, I’m sorry, you were – sorry.” A laugh pushes from your throat. “You look – you look good. Scrub up well, ‘n all that.”

“You too. You – Yeah. That’s a nice color, after all. You suit it.” His eyes linger on your chest, your breasts draped in lustrous silk, decorated with the glint of golden jewelry. You notice.

“Thanks. After all?” You snort, and Joel’s exterior seems to crack a little.

He steps back, ushering you in. “Alright,” he says, taking the tote with your change of clothes from your wrist. He watches across the street as you step over the threshold, his fingertips light on your back as you pass by, like little shocks of lightning up your spine. “You know what I meant.”

Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heels clicking along his varnished floor. Your arms lock around your torso, holding your pashmina in place while Joel totters around, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. His shirt stretches from his tight waistband, fabric flattening against his tummy. Your eyes shoot north again when he speaks.

“You mind doin’ my tie? It’ll end up squint if I do.”

“Sure,” you reply, stepping forward.

He buttons the top of his shirt and lifts his chin, staring at the wall behind you as you tug on the black fabric, the silk slipping through your fingers. You steal glances at the trim of his beard, his pink lips beneath the dark bristles; the slope of his nose, the lines on his worn skin.

He’s rough around the edges, sure, a man in his late forties. But there’s something soft about him, something familiar and…comfortable. The pages of a used sketchbook, the lived-in material of a favorite dress.

You pull the knot higher until it’s sitting in the notch below his Adam’s apple, smoothing it down and giving his chest a light pat before stepping back again.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he mumbles, and a spark lights in your chest. “Oh,” he says, holding a finger up and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a little white box, holding it out for you to see.

Your cheeks swell, eyes flitting up to acknowledge the proud look on his face. “Very nice. Good job.”

“You can do the honors,” Joel says, handing you the boutonniere by the stem.

You pin it through his lapel, straightening it with a focused glance. Joel’s eyes are on you, watching the flutter of your eyelashes, the tilt of your head. “There,” you whisper, leaning back.

He extends his elbow, something of a smile on his lips. You don’t see it often. It beckons a mirrored expression.

Arm in arm, Joel leads you out to the truck, where he helps you up and waits for you to scoop your dress into the footwell before closing the door. You watch patiently as he locks the front door, slings both your bags over his shoulder and jogs back to the truck, tossing them in the backseat before joining you in the front.

“How come he didn’t send a limousine? Or a Jag, or somethin’?”

“You think we’re made a’ money?” Joel asks, smirking.

You return the smile, wrapping your shawl over your body. “Can I pick the music?” you ask, earnestly, a tinge of sweetness to your voice.

Joel glances over again, reaches behind your headrest to reverse out of the drive. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. “No,” he says.

Three hours later, Tommy and Maria are married.

The wedding is…big. Joel’s family is big. The venue – a rustic hotel suite, fairy lights draped from the rafters, blooming flowers sprouting from crystal vases, lace tablecloths and tied chair cushions and wax dripping from thick, naked candles – is big.

Joel’s been good about it – that friendly neighbor you see all too little has been kicked into high gear. He delivered you by hand straight to his mom – a small woman with silver hair neatly twisted into an updo at the back of her head – who took your hand and held it tightly all the way to your seats.

Kind and warm, she asked where you were from, how you met Joel, how long you’d been dating. She offered you some tissues before the ceremony started, then winked and nodded in Joel’s direction as the bridesmaids swept down the aisle.

You lingered behind the photographer while he took photos of the wedding party, instructing them to shuffle a little closer, that’s it; ma’am, with the red hair, lower your bouquet a little; alright, now, everyone: big smiles!

You worried that Joel had kept the same placated smile frozen on his face for so long that it might never melt away, might never return to the stoic scowl you’re so used to seeing on him. You didn’t even realize you were staring at him, until he waved you down, flicked his hand, and beckoned you over to the group.

You hesitated. I don’t know if I –

Get over here, girl, Tommy had called, grinning alongside his big brother.

The two Millers slotted you in like a jigsaw piece between their bodies, two arms wrapped around your back – Tommy’s, loose on your shoulders, and Joel’s, tight around your waist. He held you close, squeezing you into his side while the photographer praised the party and snapped photo after photo, the flash burning into your eyes by the time he clapped his hands and thanked you all for your patience.

Drink? Joel had asked, and you’d responded with one thumb up, the other massaging your eyelids. He squeezed your shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of bodies.

He’s still over there – by the bar, a wooden structure draped in ivy and studded by steel bolts. His beer in one hand and your wine in the other. A lean, poised figure stood opposite him – her dress a royal purple, her hair a wave of brown spilling over her bare shoulders.

She’s beautiful – a striking charm which draws your eye to her like an arrow directly through the sea of bodies between here and there. Her languid movements, the slow roll of her neck to sweep the hair from one side of her body to the other.

Her head falls back in laugher, her bejeweled hand falls softly on his arm. Your throat closes sharply. Joel nods, angling as if to make off, but she holds onto him and leans in. He laughs, then, at whatever her full lips whisper into his ear, and he finally breaks off from her and returns to you.

He pushes the glass by its base across the smooth tablecloth. Your fingers brush over one another as you trade, the stem sitting between your index and middle. He’s warm, his knuckles kissing yours.

“How was it, then, talkin’ to my mom?” Joel asks.

You smile, propping your chin on the heel of your palm. “I like her. She’s funny.” And then, when he tosses his head in response, “Who were you talkin’ to?”

Joel follows your eyeline over to the woman in the purple dress. The glint of white crystal on her neck. The drama of dark hair on pale skin. “Uh,” he wanders around your back to his chair, “we used to work together.”

Your nails tap against the glass. “Oh, yeah?”

He sniffs. Doesn’t meet your eye. “Yep.”

“You were talking to her for a long time.”

He watches a blue orb dance over your head on the wall, a spot of light from the disco ball over the dancefloor. “Lotta memories.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

His eyes plummet. Fall from the string bulbs straight to your face, sparkling in the rainbow lights. “You want me to look at you? There.”

You grin. “’s better. If you stare up there long enough, they might stick.”

“Safer to have ‘em stuck on you, is it?”

“Mhm,” your voice echoes around the curve of your wine glass, “better view. So, who is she?”

Joel shifts uncomfortably. He twirls the bottle in his fingers. “We…we were together for some time. A few years.”

“An ex,” you muse, stain of lipstick left on the rim of your glass. “How many years?”

“Eight.”

You almost choke on your drink. “Eight – eight years?”

Joel nods, waiting for you to catch your breath. Expression never changing. Bottle still twirling. “Haven’t seen her in a while. We were just catchin’ up.”

“Eight fucking years. Why the fuck aren’t you married?”

He scoffs. “That’s a fifth-date question.” He lifts the bottle to his lips, tongue pushes against the glass.

“I don’t need five fuckin’ wardrobes,” you quip, and he laughs. Like, genuinely laughs. His head tips back, his teeth show. Your chest swells, confidence and relief blooming there. She didn’t make him laugh like that – not from where you were watching.

It becomes something of a mission in the back of your mind – tallying up how many times you can make his chest shudder, his shoulders jerk. How many times he leans in closer and repeats whatever you said, eyes closing over and hand hitting his thigh. How many times he looks at you and your stomach flutters, the blood cartwheels through your veins, the bones of your ribcage readjust and make room for the swelling of your heart.

Within four rounds, you’ve lost count.

The thudding beat of the music muffles in your drunken ears, like it’s coming from the next room. Your gaze fixes on the vase in the center of the table, the bouquet spilling over the glass. The wide burst of speckled lilies, the humble blush of tulips between. The colors soften and blur the longer you stare at them.

The jerk of Joel’s shoulders stirs you from your daydream. That’s one more.

“What?” you ask, head rolling to look over to him.

“You still in there?” he asks, one word slurring into the next like waves lapping.

You scoff, looking back to the pink flowers. “You know who has tulips?” you ask him.

He lifts his eyebrows. Who?

“Alice.”

“Brown?”

Your head nods heavily. “One time, she was out getting her mail, and I had just pulled up in my car on the phone to my best friend – he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, it was a whole thing…” You bat your hand. “Anyway. She pretended to tend to her tulips for forty-five minutes while I sat talkin’ to him in the driveway.”

Joel’s head tilts back with a burst of laughter. “She hear every word?”

“Every – damn – word. Stood by the fence listenin’.”

“That woman is som’ else,” Joel says, shaking his head. He stares down at the bottle between his fingers. His thumbs play with the curled corner of the label. “Didn’t I warn you about her?”

“Mhm.” You smile, realizing he has the same memory that you do, locked up somewhere in his mind. The sweat running down his temple, the dark patch between his shoulder blades. His hands gripping the heavier boxes, leaving you to carry the linen, the base of a lamp. Nodding as he wandered back over to his own porch, calling back for you to Holler if you need anythin’.

The high squeal of the Sweet Child O’ Mine intro snaps you back to the wedding reception. Tommy and Maria are playing air guitar on the dancefloor over Joel’s shoulder. You unstick your gaze from his white shirt, unsure how long you’ve been fucking staring.

Joel sits forward, drags his chair across the polished floor closer to you. He fixes the strap on your dress, untwisting it before settling back again. Your eyes follow his fingers as they leave your shoulder and sit back on the curve of his thigh, lifting when his voice breaks through to your eardrums.

“What room number did you say you were, again?”

Your shoulders roll. “Thirty-four, I think.”

Joel nods. Points to himself. “Thirty-six.” And then he glances over his shoulder, watches as Tommy kneels before Maria and rocks his head, his messy mop of hair tossed across his shoulders. The older Miller brother turns back. “Think they’ll miss us if we call it a night?”

“We’re callin’ it a night?”

“Figure if I’m headin’ off then you won’t wanna be sat here by yourself,” Joel says, and he’s right. He stands up, sets the half-empty bottle on the tablecloth and stares down at you. “I’m callin’ it a night,” he tells you. “You comin’?”

The colors in the room spin like the reels of a slot machine. Your fingers sit lightly in his outstretched palm, and you pull yourself up alongside him.

“’s a good girl,” he mutters, looking over your shoulder to the doorway, and your eyes sober up long enough to catch the flicker in his eye.

You totter along the hallway, arm in arm, anchoring yourselves together. Whichever way one sways, the other inevitably follows. You’re laughing, and Joel’s hushing you, warning that there are folks tryna – tryna sleep, we’re in a fancy place, hey, da-rlin’, no – you gotta shhhut up.

“Great party,” you decide, finally docking against your door.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, leaning a little on the wall. The gentle glow of the hallway lights him perfectly; the strong angle of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. The hazel pools that make up his irises, the swollen circles of black in the middle. And the twinkle in them, like the moon reflecting on dark water, every time his gaze lifts to you.

He’s different tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol. The way it colors everything in a peachy film, all objects softened and rosy and shapeless. But he feels different, too. You suddenly realize, shoulder pressed hard against the cold doorframe, that you’ve never touched one another more than you have today. His elbow in yours, his arm around your waist, his hand through yours as you danced together.

“Are you tired?” you ask, head rolling.

“Tired? No. Drunk, yeah. Not tired.” He laughs again. It’s infectious.

“You wanna come inside?” you ask, words leaping from your giggle.

He takes ten seconds to consider it. Slumps into the wall, steadied only by his forearm pushing him back upright. His watch face catches the light behind him.

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, I do.”

Your hand fumbles in your clutch for the keycard, swiping the handle and pushing down heavily. You spill into the dark room, light sneaking in from the sconce outside your window, and spin back to face him, his hand locked tight with yours.

Joel follows you slowly as you back towards the bed, kicking your heels off and tripping over the skirt of your dress. When your legs hit the plush mattress, his body leans into yours. Your lips ghost across his, your words pushing them apart one by one.

“This ain’t – part of the – agreement,” you murmur, the coarse hair of his beard scratching your chin. You pull apart his tie, loosening the knot.

“Changed my mind,” he replies, collapsing on top of you on the bed.

Your head rolls back when his lips suck into your neck. You wrestle with his belt, with the waist of his suit trousers. “No changin’ the deal, remember?”

“Tell me to stop.”

If you had any intention of answering him, your body overrides it. Words lassoed and dragged back down where they came from, your throat opening only to gasp when Joel’s teeth graze the flesh of your breast. His fingers tug on the straps of your dress, letting them fall from your shoulders until your chest sits exposed.

He drags his tongue along your skin, dipping between your tits while his hands massage them, fingers pinching your nipples. Your back lifts and his hands move beneath, following the curve of your spine to where your dress pools loose around your waist. He pushes down, slinking the smooth fabric from your body.

“You fuckin’…” He clicks his teeth, laughing behind them. Another flush of heat washes over your skin.

You giggle, bending your knees to cover the lace panties he knows all too fucking well. Joel stops you, pushes your legs back down with two heavy hands.

“Don’t get shy now, baby,” he murmurs, opening your body up again. “You were so happy about me seein’ ‘em a few weeks ago, no?”

“’s different,” you reply, tang of alcohol fueling your words, “now I just want you to take them off me.”

He cocks his head, drinking every word you’re handing over like it’s water from an oasis. “Such a dirty girl, ain’t you?”

You pull him closer by the collar and line your mouth against his, the tip of your tongue wetting the inside of his lips. “You got no fucking idea,” you whisper, whipping the shirt from his torso.

Joel growls, flipping you over and pulling you by the shoulders flush against his chest. You hook an arm around his neck, turn to grant him access to your lips. He kisses you like a starved animal, savoring every taste, teeth nipping at your tingling lips.

His hand curves around your hips, pushing beneath your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger pushing on the spongey hood of your clit. Your head falls limp against his collarbone, back arching as Joel holds you steady with an arm around your waist.

“’s alright, baby,” he coos, his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “I’m gonna take good care of ya. Gonna give you what you need, alright?”

A strangled moan unravels across your tongue, echoing into Joel’s mouth. Your hips begin to gyrate, meeting the rhythm of his hand, his finger massaging rough circles into your clit. He smirks, peeling the panties down your thighs.

“Attagirl,” he breathes, “you want it bad, huh? Gettin’ so worked up so fast. Here.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, ignoring your moan of protest and replacing it with two fingers on your bottom lip. “Open,” he instructs, and you obey like a fucking dog. He slips them in, thick and heavy, and waits for you to coat them with your wine-stained tongue.

Joel pushes down, forcing a muffled gag from your throat which lifts the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head lightly, whispering, “You got it, ‘s okay.”

A thread of saliva strings between his fingers and your lips when he lowers his hand again, trailing his fingers through your folds until he’s dancing along the seam of your cunt. You jolt forward; Joel hauls you back.

“Just fucking – do it,” you whimper, your walls clenching around nothing.

He holds his fingers together, curling and inserting them in a painfully slow motion. Your knees widen on the mattress, body sinking down by instinct to meet his fist, to feel his thick fingers and wide knuckles as deep as they’ll go.

You gasp when Joel begins hooking them inside you, nudging against your walls like your heartbeat against your clit. Your hand lowers, slipping beneath his loose waistband, beneath the elastic of his boxers and around his already solid cock.

Joel groans, fucking you harder on his hand. “Fuck, just like that, baby. You feel what you do to me?”

“Uhuh,” you reply, voice wanton and broken.

You squeeze him, your fist moving up and down, his warm skin following the movements of your tight grip. His tip is already soaked, precome staining his underwear, dribbling down your thumb.

Joel uses his free hand to shove his pants down, crumpling on the floor at his feet when they free his cock. You carve your mouth around his, the two of you exchanging breath and flicking your tongues together as you fuck one another’s hands, the room slowly filling with the hot, muggy smell of sex.

Joel’s the first to cave. With a jerk of his hips, he takes you by the wrist and frees himself from your clutches.

“You’re gonna make me come, darlin’,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers from your cunt.

“That’s kinda the point here,” you reply, teeth bumping into his in a grin.

Joel shakes his head, lifting his hand, glistening with your arousal. “Gotta feel this fucking pussy first.”

You smile, parting your lips for him for the second time, suckling on his fingers and licking them clean of your own salty slick. His cock draws sticky trails on the seam of your thigh.

“Yeah,” Joel breathes, eyes fixed on the place where you close around him, “that good, baby? You gonna let me taste you?”

You release his fingers and he pulls you in, tongue slipping against yours with a groan which vibrates against your jaw. When your lips part, you hold your mouth open, your tongue sat on your bottom lip.

Joel reacts instantly, collecting a bead of saliva in front of his teeth and letting it drop into your mouth. You moan and swallow it, a cocktail of beer and whiskey and slick. Joel watches as you lick your lips, the stained-pink coated in a thick, white shine.

“Alright,” he says, letting you fall forward onto the bed. He jacks himself a few times, spitting into his hand and using it to coat his cock.

“Want you to come in it,” you whine, wiggling your ass for him as he lines up at your slit. You can feel the arousal gathered on his tip, dripping down your cunt.

“Yeah, baby,” Joel growls, a smirk on his lips as he watches himself slowly disappear inside you. And then –

You both fall silent, mouths hanging wide open as you each feel the width of his cock and the tightness of your cunt. The way your body opens up to accommodate his size, the direct pain and ethereal pleasure of Joel pushing into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, your pussy drawing him in with a sweet, wet sound. “Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. So damn gorgeous in that dress.”

You slowly move your hips back to meet him at the base of his cock; dark, trimmed hair bristling against your lips. Joel’s hands lock around your waist, holding you steady with his entirety buried inside, letting you adjust to him.

He’s so fucking big, so wide and deep that your breath tears rugged from your lungs, barreling up your windpipe. Your walls squeeze tight as he pulls out like your body refuses to let him go, like your cells understand better than you do that you were made for this – made for him. Like the only place in the world that he belongs, is somewhere deep inside you.

So big that it hurts, each time he fills you up and stretches you wide open. The pain an eye-rolling, lung-closing, limb-shaking sensation.

Your elbows give, falling chest-first onto the mattress while Joel fucks you hard, his hands gripping your hips. Your cheek and breasts flat against the sheets, your back arched. He slams into you, edging you closer and closer with each meeting of his warm skin against yours, each sopping slap of come and saliva.

The mattress shifts above your head, two valleys where his palms push down heavily, then the weight of his body at the back of your thighs. He towers over you, hips hammering so hard that you’re forced to hook your fingers around his wrists just to stay on the same fucking planet.

“Gonna – fuckin’ – come – baby,” he spits, his jaw locked tight. “You want it in this little pussy? You think she can take it all?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, the edges of your words rounded by the silk sheets. “Joel, I – fuck –”

“Yeah, she can,” he agrees, playing with the hair spilling across your shoulders and taking it in a fistful.

The hazy drunken blur begins to turn over in favor of something sharper, something electric pulsing through your veins. Every part of your body alive, everything rising to meet the same high, the same release. You cling onto him, body beginning to melt beneath his.

Joel’s lips press between your shoulder blades. “Don’t fight it, baby, let go. I got you.”

You moan his name in one last pathetic attempt before the world whitens. You clench around him as a deafening orgasm shocks through your body, curling your back and forcing your nails deep into Joel’s wrists.

“Fuck, baby, fuck me,” Joel gasps. He slams into you one final time before you feel the staggered pump of his come flooding between your walls. “Ahh,” he groans, pushing apart your ass cheeks to watch the trickle seep from your cunt. “Good fucking girl. Take it, baby. That’s my girl.”

He turns you over onto your back and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against your body as he thrusts into you again, tenderly pushing his spend deeper inside. It draws a strained moan from your throat.

“’s alright,” he coos, hips slowing against yours, “just feel it, baby. You feel how deep I am?”

“Uhuh,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, damp with sweat.

“So fuckin’ full of me,” he says, more to himself, before collapsing alongside you, holding your thigh on his hip, his tip still sheathed inside you.

You lie like that for a while, listening to the distant hum of music from downstairs, the party still raving in the belly of the hotel while you two lay in content bliss somewhere in its ribcage. Tracing one another’s features, learning the lines on Joel’s face, the flecks of gray in his eyebrows – all the parts you’re never close nor brave enough to get to know.

His right hand massages your plush waist, his left arm a pillow to rest your heavy, dizzy, drunk head on.

“I wanna do it again,” you whisper, the words sneaking out between heavy breaths.

Joel nods. His bottom lip sticks with sweat to yours. His hips push a little neater into you. “I wanna do it again, too.”

“I wanna do it all night.”

He hasn’t stopped nodding. He shrugs, tightens his grip around your shoulders, and tilts his head. “Then let’s do it all fucking night,” he says, and his lips slam back into yours.

The morning after the wedding, Joel drives you home. The truck soars down the highway, the two of you an uncomfortable distance apart. The same sobering distance you’ve kept all morning – the unreal aftermath of sex.

The rolling waves of bedsheets between your bodies; the sun sifting her long fingers through his hair as she peered through the curtains. The way you’d silently pushed yourself from the mattress, fragmenting your movements and allowing the spring to dip a fraction at a time so not to wake him. The spongey feel of the hotel carpet under the balls of your feet as you’d tottered to the bathroom. The sharp shot of the lock sliding into place, echoing like a bullet.

He waited until you finished showering to get ready himself. Sat on the edge of the bed patiently and watched your shadow beneath the door, the to-and-fro of your silhouette breaking the sliver of golden light as you dressed your sticky body. When you pulled on the metal lock again, he was sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bare shoulders were curved, and tanned. You blinked twice to store the image and turned away as he stood.

He says he feels hungover. You say you do, too. It’s the closest you come to talking about it. You hop out of the truck in his drive, your tote bag hooked on your shoulder. The canvas gnawing at the silk inside. Joel tells you he’ll see his end of the deal through in a couple weeks.

“Real busy with work,” he mutters apologetically, his wrists still balancing on the steering wheel.

“That’s good,” you tell him, nodding. “I ain’t in any rush. I know where you live, so.”

A relieved laugh pushes from his lips. “I will get to it,” he assures you.

You shrug casually. “Whenever, Joel.”

You don’t talk for a few days. A few days bleeds into three weeks. You find yourself stood by his front tires, throwing his newspaper onto the porch and scampering when it lands. The noise like a bomb dropping.

Slowly, as the month draws on, you become braver and braver – daring closer and closer to his front door, until you’re back to marching up the steps like you own the place, depositing the roll on his doormat. Rubbing your thumbs against your fingers to feel the ink like satin.

The door cracks open as you make your way back down his steps one bright morning.

“Hey, kid,” Joel murmurs, reaching down for the paper with a groan.

“Hey.”

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, leaning his forearm against the door.

Your head tilts back and forth, your hand lifting to shield your eyes from the sun. “Think I ate som’ bad, maybe. Weird stomach this mornin’.”

Joel’s chin angles. “Hope it ain’t contagious. Was thinkin’ I could get that closet started for you, maybe tomorrow?”

The offer takes you off guard. You buffer for a few seconds before answering, “Sure. Sure, just, uh – just come over whenever, I guess.”

“Nine work for you?”

You nod. “Nine’s good. See ya then.”

It’s something like nine when you find out.

You wake feeling groggy. Tired, sluggish. A heavy ache pulling on your breasts as you rise from bed, tender and swollen. You stand in the bathroom, milky morning light filtering in through the doorway, and your stomach lurches. Waves of nausea deep in your belly, rocking back and forth, swirling and spiraling.

You’ve a box under your sink. It makes sense. Before Joel was some date from Hinge, who fucked you against the wall of his living room and who snored so loud that you left before the sun came up. Negative. Like always.

But it never hurts to be sure.

The pack tears like it’s liquid in your hands. Peels back to reveal the plastic white test, the bubblegum pink cap – like it’s something fun and sweet to place the direction of your future into this little device. A clinical compass needle.

Three to five minutes. You set it down on the counter and drag yourself back through to your room, lifting your bedsheets, tucking them under the mattress, heaving your pillows back into place against the headboard. An uncomfortable heat boiling under the surface of your skin, a prickle of sweat clinging to the nape of your neck.

A sickly taste harboring on your tongue, you pad back to the bathroom and swipe the test up. Your eyes scan past the result window to the counter as you reach for your toothbrush – and then snap abruptly back to the tiny oval. Your outstretched hand freezes in midair. There’s no fucking w–

Your arm swings back to reach for the light cord. The bulb hesitates – flickers, like it’s unsure whether to reveal the truth to you. It knows something you don’t. It’s seen something it doesn’t want to show you. You stare at the pregnancy test.

Two little pink lines stare back. And Joel knocks at your door.

#forgive me for it not being clm or sof #they're coming very soon i promise #this was too fun an idea not to chase #i have the attention span of my labrador retrievers (nil) #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #neighbor!joel #babydaddy!joel miller

[sharkorok]

heeseung w/ an inexperienced s/o

cw/genre: this is fluff!!! fluff!!, headcanon format, cursing, fboi au, campus au ig…(?), like one dirty joke or whatnot teeheehoohoo, informal writing, that should be it (I think)

requested: X

a/n: this grown man has me so delulu so take this 😋

•-•-•-•

-u are well known for being notoriously bad at expressing affection or being in relationships

-you can’t do casual relationships this man once said “hey baby” and you were like “so I think we should lowk end things cuz why u calling me bby…kinda weird dawg…”

-UR JUST SO AWKWARDDDD ITS EMBARRASSING (I’ll write ur character development soon dw)

-anyways so you go to a party and you see heeseung who is notorious for being the craziest charmer ever like he could see an acorn on the ground and seduce it

-he strikes up conversation with you to see what the fuss is all about, he saw a person once talk about how ur so hot w a cold heart but he immediately realized you’re just awkward skssksksks

-he realizes he literally fell in love with you the second he tried to flirt and you were just …? while laughing awkwardly

-so after a month of you flitting around his charming gestures, looking down shyly or avoiding eye contact when he tries to rizz u up, he gets the courage to just straight up ask, “do you like me?”

-and when you explain that u don’t rlly know and u don’t really get into relationships he’s like OKKK LETS TRY THEN!! because he’s so madly in lov w you cuz ur so cute to him

-ok so boom dating!

-he purposely pushes your buttons to see just how much you can squirm, watching you stammer when he has you pressed against a wall gives him a power trip he didn’t think anyone could be this adorable

-and also u as a person…he’s so in love (dreamily)

-no one understands your relationship like, “how does y/n survive heeseung they can’t even say the word baby without cringing”

-ur not innocent or anything ur just new to affection and stuff so it freaks u out a little!!

-he always asks about boundaries before hand or makes sure you’re comfortable when you two are hanging out. the first time you two were cuddling he would ask every now and then if you were alright

-“you just make me nervous, hee” “don’t be nervous baby, it’s just me.”

-you didn’t realize how nice it felt to be loved within your comfort zone, and how nice it was to have someone hold your hand when it was pushed a little

-he’s gonna tease u tho sorry “loser virgin s/o and popular fboi boyfriend what wattpad story are we coming from”

-defends you to death if anyone criticizes the way you two date, he’s happy with you and if anyone tries to say otherwise he’s all up for arguing with them in a parking lot (￣▽￣)

-he loves you so so much and he dgaf about how slow he has to take it!!

-he takes you on lots of different dates to see what you like and what you don’t like, slowly initiates PDA to see if you’re okay w it or what freaks you out, he’s okay w taking the lead

-got him proud when you explain yourself tho, it means he’s doing a good job as your boyfriend if you’re comfortable explaining your boundaries and understanding them!! (in the least patronizing way possible)

-one time you two were making out and you put your hands on his chest, looking up at him and shaking your head, “I don’t think I want to continue yet.”

-and like a good boyfriend he is he reassured you he dgaf and that you two can just cuddle on the couch for the rest of the night or he could sit five feet away from you and not speak!!! whatever you say he listens bae

-never pushes you for affection, it pisses him off when people say the relationship is one sided, he doesn’t get insecure about whether or not you love him dw

-you say “I love you” every now and again later in your relationship to reassure him just in case tho, which is always super special to him and makes him fly over the moon *bawls eyes out*

-I did not mean for this to be this long ok anyways he’s yours and he knows it and your his and he knows that too <3

#enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen reactions #enhypen drabbles #enhypen headcanons #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung fluff #lee heeseung imagines

[jester089]

(Romantic) Tadc cast x reader who's tail wag hard when near them pls

Puppy of a person

Autism brain strikes againnnn! I wasn't sure if you wanted just the tail or not soooo. I did just tail. Can be read with other animal features though.

Caine

He initially wouldn't get it. I mean I seriously doubt he has ever seen an animal in his life. It confuses him. Every time you realize he's in the room your pupils grow and your tail starts wagging. He patted you once and it was a blur. After enough time he brings it up with someone (hopefully not Jax. For your sake.) That's when he realizes what that means. And nothing changes. He might intentionally fluster you now but past that nothing is different. He still has a circus to run and a very loose grasp on emotions. But he at least knows it's a positive reaction so it brightens up his days a bit. And if he's had an extra bad day he'll do something nice for you just to see your tail turn into a blur behind you.

Gangle

She'll know what it means but outright ignore it. She's got some self worth problems and seeing your body start doing, that when she doesn't even do anything. It makes her all blush-y. So she tries to avoid thinking about it. Now if your talking to her that's another story. She can't just act like you don't exist. And all her ignored/bottled up thoughts pop up then. If you're able to get through a convo without her going pink, then start worrying cause that means she's had an abnormally awful day. If anyone can cheer her up thought it's you. Honestly just you giving her some attention and affection will brighten her right up. Do watch your tail though cause if it baps it it'll probably knock her over.

Zooble

Their are two ways this could go. 1. It annoys her because of the sounds it makes or how distracting it is so she'll ask if you can stop. All you need to do to make her take it back is pull some puppy dog eyes and she'll feel bad. 2. She finds it cute and uses it to tease you a bit. Only a bit though, she still cares about you. For this I'm going to focus on the second one cause it's cuter. You and her would be sitting in one of your rooms doing something chill when she hears the telltale sound of you staring at her. The little whap whap whap she hears behind her. She turns around and isn't surprised by your giant eyes staring at her. She's let out a little sigh then join you on the bed knowing she's going to be covered in fur and not let go for at least the next hour.

Kinger

Kinger would find it really cute. I doubt you're taller then him though so prepare to be at least a little condescended. He never means to. Your just too cute for your own good. He's also never startled by you. It's hard to be when you have a constant noise maker attached to you. He out of everyone would be the one to find all your little spots. You know when you scratch a cat at the base of it's tail and it gets incredibly overstimulated. Those. He'll find every single one. He also keeps a lint roller on hand now cause his impenetrable fortress and his robe always need them whenever you visit.

Ragatha

She strikes me as the kind of person who will try and hold your tail still. Then the physical touch and attention makes it wag even more. And you end up with her hair messy proudly holding your tail. She's still be gentle though, she doesn't want to mess up your fur. If she does mess it up without a doubt she'll brush it to help. She knows it wont stay brushed for long while you're with her but she's going to try. Overall she would love it. It's a little strange sure but she's a walking talking rag doll, this place isn't exactly normal. Every time she walks into a room, is relaxing in a room, or hanging out with you and she hears your tail beating against your legs or a wall it makes her smile giving her a little dopamine burst.

Jax

Oh poor you. Having a tail is basically just an easy target for Jax. But for this I'll chill him out a bit. He'll never admit it but it does make him happy. He's always thinking about how you deserve someone better or how you're going to leave him. But when he lightly yanks your tail as a joke and to get your attention. You spin around to yell at whoever it was but stop when you realize it was him. Then he gets to watch in real time your pupils expand and your tail start. It reassures him that you love him. He wont in public, but I unironically see him tying little bows around you tail then commenting on how pretty you look before switching back to usual. If you pay attention you'll notice he's kind of always staring at your tail. This can be for many reasons, wanting to mess with you, thinks it's cute, thinking about what it's like to have one. Up to you to decide which it is at any given time.

Pomni

Their isn't a universe where she doesn't find it at least a little annoying. I mean their's a good chance she's face level with it and gets whapped in the face every time you're together. Moving past that though because of her smaller height she can and will lay on it whenever she can. It's always all warm and soft, and she knows that it's connected to you. Makes her feel nice. I can 100% see her having a rough day and breaking into your room and without a single word flopping onto your bed and either you or your tail. I feel like she's one of those people who will half sneak up behind a cat or dog and start petting them freaking the animal out. She of course will do that with you too. She feels a little bad when you jump but gets over it when you turn around and realize it's her. Then she gets smacked in the face by your tail again and gets annoyed. She doesn't blame you though.

(Writing this used up my burst of energy so this is it for today. Hope you enjoyed it.)

xoxo, Jester

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #caine x reader #gangle x reader #zooble x reader #kinger x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #pomni x reader #noob author #not beta'd

[ugh-yoongi]

Congratulations on the milestone!✨✨

I wanted to request a bts headcanon! There was this one trend on tiktok last year that was like “you’re not dating but you’re not just friends either” lol so I guess like a bts in a situation type of thing? Thank you thank you! 💕

tysm!

i know exactly what trend you're talking about and i was never sure if that was supposed to be, like, an actual situationship or like that more cutesy in-between crush & dating stage so i'll try to do both.

once again tag teamed this with @hot-soop bc i have no original thoughts.

come tell me how wrong i am :)

headcanons: bts in a situationship

seokjin —

has the least situationship energy out of all of them imo. mr. domestic king of commitment probably wouldn't be able to handle the uncertainty of it, but could be convinced if the other party wasn't ready/didn't want to commit.

(let's be real, it's impossible to not be in love with him, so [rihanna voice] good luck with booking that situationship u speak of.)

thinks he's being chill and in actuality is being the least chill person alive. red ears & neck 25/8.

does the "let's just play one more round of mario kart" con until the next thing you know it's 2am and the only way you're getting home is an overpriced rideshare, so whoops, might as well stay over, what would you like for breakfast?

strikes me as the type that'd be similar in that in-between stage, too, but way more acts of service.

picnics in the park, polaroid pictures of things that remind him of you, beats that video game level you're stuck on without you even having to ask, rambles on and on about his webtoons, chill weekends spent together at home.

yoongi —

completely down for a situationship. might be made for it, actually. you don't even need to ask.

however. realizes he's Emotionally Compromised and has his "oh shit wait what the fuck" moment months in. good luck sorting that mess out!

yoongi: it is very obvious i have feelings for this person and it is very obvious where we stand with one another.

also yoongi: disappears for a week bc of work and doesn't say a word.

also also yoongi: casually shows up at 3am and wants to hang out like disappearing without a word wasn't at all weird and confusing as fuck.

also also also yoongi: has the nerve to be confused when you call it off because he doesn't seem interested.

spends the next few months overthinking literally everything and reappears with a wall of text detailing everything he likes about you.

in that more cutesy in-between: playlists, "do you wanna hear what i've been working on?", open the door please it's 1am and yoongi's outside with takeout, absolutely giddy when he gets to teach you about his interests.

hobi —

can't see him being all that different from the way he'd be in an actual relationship, tbh, which is both a blessing and a curse.

a f f e c t i o n a t e

(but is it "i like you and want to be with you" affection or "i do this with literally everyone there is no way to tell if it's something more" affection?)

king of overcommunicating! good morning texts, phone calls before bed, memes and silly pictures throughout the day.

wants to trade ootd pics. sends you one everyday even if you don't reciprocate. pouts for days if you playfully roast his fit, but sometimes he needs someone to be honest about those questionable shoes he wears.

somehow knows literally every person to exist. has a friend who works at that cool new club downtown. the gallery with that hot new exhibit. knows someone who knows someone who works with that band you can never get tickets to see.

ensures you will never want for anything while you're with him.

namjoon —

ooh boy.

quiet. a lil obsessive. observant. can definitely be jealous. the kind of guy who loves to think he's good at situationships until he's in one and realizes very quickly he's not.

has a natural urge to play games to test you then have an existential crisis about whether that makes him a bad person.

wants to have all of your attention but will not ask for it. wants intensity but questions whether that’s sustainable long term.

ghosts when he’s in his feelings but writes you long, thoughtful paragraphs when he’s drunk. "that one guy who jerked you around in college" vibes.

will break your back and your heart at the same time.

in that cute in-between: museum dates. meetups in the park in the middle of the night to stare at the stars and get all philosophical. let's go try out that new distillery and catch that new arthouse film after. does this guy even have friends? because it's been 8 years and you still haven't met them.

jimin —

fun until it isn't.

lively and sweet and easy until it isn't.

flirts with literally everyone but gets real petty and kinda mean if you do the same.

thinks he isn't good enough. wants compliments and validation. another chronic overthinker. playful banter until he takes it too seriously and needs reassurance that you do actually like him.

not a ghoster but also not good at ending things so just lets it go stale and wither away.

dates? drinking and dancing. maybe one of those sip and paints. tickets to the ballet. competition shows at his place with takeout.

cuddly and affectionate but why does he call all of his friends his soulmate?

in the in-between: loves showing you off. would probably love to do your makeup. sickeningly sweet comments on all your ig selfies. always holding your hand.

taehyung —

intense. has a tendency to get a lil self-centered and disappear in that big noggin of his.

physical rather than emotional. will blow your back out in 10 different ways before he tells you he likes you.

(and only does this at 5am when he's drunk and just spent the last half hour crying to jimin on the phone.)

insecure so he plays it carefree and silly, but, dear reader, it was not, in fact, carefree and silly.

golden hour. takes the best photos of you on film. paints you silly things and nearly cries when you actually display them. can't cook but tries making a date of cooking together anyway; cons you into paying for the takeout after it inevitably fails. record stores. red wine.

jungkook —

either a major fuckboy or the most sensitive man on the planet there is really no in between here.

either never commits or is ready to get married the second time you hang out.

no chill. someone please remind him to be normal about this.

j e a l o u s !

facetimes you in the middle of the night just because.

learns all your favorite songs on guitar. loves a photobooth; keeps the film strip in his wallet. teaches you how to play video games but gets really pouty when you wind up being better than him. diners at 2am; a milkshake with two straws. obnoxious gym selfies. pretends he doesn't want to sing your girl group songs at noraebang yet suspiciously knows all the choreography.

shy shy shy

#work: 1kfm #bts headcanons #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts x reader #jewel answers #jewel writes

[jelliezellie]

So surprised you don’t have requests, your writing is so soft and fine!! Gonna think of more requests and submit them one by one, but for now how about some sweet sweet angsty pining with Levi x reader with some (actually requited) unrequited love (reader mayhaps thinks Levi has a secret relationship with one of his charges like Petra or maybe even Hange, considering how close they are with him bathing them according to Isayama and what not, but he’s just friends with them and cares for his comrades, nothing romantic about it) with either a happy or hopeful ending?

A/N: I love this!! Here you go! So sorry about it being late. 

Jumping to Conclusions

You watched Levi and Hange walk away together and huffed, picking at your food. It had been like this for a while. Levi would mutter something to an excited Hange, followed by the two going into the washrooms. You frowned, rolling your eyes as you turned to Erwin, who was still going on about mission plans for a few minutes. But you couldn’t focus. Your legs bounced beneath the table and your fingers tapped methodically on your plate.

“Are you listening, Y/n?”

“Hm?” You looked up. 

Erwin’s eyes narrowed. “The battle plans. About retaking the walls. What’s gotten you so bothered?”

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

He sighed. “You’re dismissed, then.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he raised his hand in front of you. “There’s no use in speaking to a scout who can’t listen.”

You sighed in defeat and stood, leaving your plate at the table. Erwin didn’t notice—or didn’t care—as you walked away, staring at the floor. On your way to the living quarters, a door opened and you saw Levi leaving the washrooms. You both stared into each other’s eyes before you scoffed and hurried off. 

You heard him grunt as if he was going to try to say something, but nothing came out. Or, at least, you didn’t listen as you ran to your room, slamming the door behind you, and closing your eyes. 

Just get over him, you told yourself as you made your way toward your bed. It’s not a big deal. 

But as your door opened and you saw Levi peek in, you couldn’t stop your heart from racing. “What do you want?” You grumbled.

“I want you to eat.” Your brow rose as you sat up in bed. Levi had your discarded plate in his hands. “You left this at the table. Erwin is worried about you.” He handed you the plate. “I’m worried about you.”

You stared at him, frowning. “You’re just saying that because you used to be my captain.”

“I’m saying it because you keep running away from me every time you see me, and I just learned that I’m the only one you’re running from.” He sat on your bed. “So, what’s the matter? Did I yell at you? Did I strike a nerve? Did I say something?”

You took a bite of your food, unsure if it would stay down as your heart pounded. “No.”

He scoffed and shrugged, standing. “Okay. Sure.”

“No, you didn’t really do anything wrong. I’m the one who’s wrong.”

He looked back at you. “What?”

Your breath hastened as you looked at him. His silver eyes. His clean-cut hair. His sharp, deceptively youthful features. They all drove you wild and what made his heart flutter? Hange, you thought.

You thought. 

But your cloudy thoughts blinded you from the way his steel eyes studied your features. He knew something was wrong. He bit his lip to keep himself from telling you that he could see it on your face. That he could see the misery every time you looked at him.

This wasn’t typical shellshock and it sure as hell wasn’t because you were intimidated by him.

He sat on your bed again. “Y/n, look at me.” You did just that. In fact, you couldn’t stop doing that. Levi, who wasn’t seen touching anybody or anything with even the slightest bit of filth, cupped your year-stained cheek. “What’s really bothering you, Y/n?”

“You’re in love with someone else.”

Levi seemed taken aback; his fingers tensed. “Who told you that?”

“Why else would you and Hange go to the washrooms together?!” Your words were supposed to come out accusatory and angry, but your cracked lips betrayed you as they left in a broken sob.

His face scrunched in confusion before he understood. “If you keep jumping to conclusions, you’re going to ruin your legs. And you need those to run away from me, right?” He murmured, the slightest teasing tone in his voice. “I’m not in love with Hange.”

“Then why do you bathe with them?”

“I don’t bathe with them. I bathe them. They’re disgusting. Every day. You’d think that one of the brightest minds in the Scout Regiment would know how to smell better than shit, but they fail at that.”

You laughed softly. “So, you don’t love them?”

“Not like that. I do like someone, though,” he said, his eyes flickering to you. “And, my God, they’re an idiot.”

You tilted your head as hope and despair battled for your heart. “Who?”

“See? They’re an idiot.” He patted your cheek and let go. “They care too much and when they realize that they care too much, they run away. Or they jump to conclusions. No matter what, though, they’re cursed to be an idiot.”

Hope won. 

You grinned at him. “Would I be jumping to conclusions if I thought it was me?”

“I don’t think you’re jumping to conclusions by saying you’re an idiot. Now, finish your food. Maybe I’ll bathe you next.”

#levi ackerman drabble #levi ackerman x reader #levi attack on titan #levi x reader #aot x reader #levi aot #levi ackerman fanfiction #aot fanfic #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman fluff #levi request #levi fluff #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #aot levi

[decayedgloria]

obey me characters and their visions

Or what I think are their visions idk it’s 3 am and I just found out I failed my pathology exam so here’s a crossover of two games that provides me an escape from this putrid reality 😁

also just trying to get rid of drafts rn

Tags: sfw, pure crack speculation, I’m going insane, obey me demon brothers and undateables and luke, genshin impact visions, everything here is MY OPINION and should not be taken seriously, feel free to disagree with me

Lucifer

-He strikes me as the type to either have a hydro vision or a geo vision

-more leaning towards hydro

-hydro vision holders tend to be dedicated to their work and uphold their own view of justice, more often than not being protectors of some sort i.e Candace and Aaru village, Ayato with the Kamisato Clan

-I draw parallels between him and Ayato because they both have gone through hell and back for their families (often literally) and have had to salvage tarnished reputations in order to protect said family

-also very rich and elegant men who have a “dark side” that most aren’t aware of

-It’s also just every hydro character being really sophisticated and elegant tbh he fits the vibe I think (minus Childe but he has his moments)

-Geo because, well… look at him. He’s prime geo vision material. Like a rock solid wall holding up the HOL but like he’s also hanging by a thread lol.

Mammon

-Geo Vision, Hear me out on this.

-Not only does it suit his color palette, but if you think about it, Mammon places a lot of responsibility on himself to be a good older brother to his siblings (despite falling short most times), we see this especially during Nightbringer

-Geo’s thing is literally responsibility. Every geo user has some sort of responsibility that they themselves have chosen to undertake, whether or not they can handle it

-They’re all also quite stubborn. Once they’re dead set on something they will never let it go, and on top of that they also protect either someone or something

-Every geo user has a goal relating to something to do with material or status: Ningguang and the Tianqiu, Noelle wanting to be in the KOF, Zhongli wanting to retire (lmfao). Mammon wanting to be rich (and wanting him and his brothers to be at the top of the Devildom in Nightbringer) literally fits.

-Mammon, despite being a goofy character, fits into geo so perfectly it’s actually insane.

-Mammon and Itto are the same person. I’m not elaborating.

Levi

-Electro vision all the way.

-It’s no surprise. Canonically he’s seen as a weirdo, even by his brothers (not me tho I love my men a little pathetic) and he doesn’t spend much time mingling with others, so of course he’s gonna be singled out

-almost every single electro vision holder is outcasted by at least one society; Beidou being cast out of her village, Fischl being thought of as eccentric because of her personality, the literal electro archon becoming a shut-in

-He would absolutely get the vision probably in like the early part of Nightbringer when we got stuck in the TSL universe and he had to make a decision

-(if you’re wondering why I keep bringing up Nightbringer it’s bc it’s the one I’m currently playing ok)

-Levi also passes the “I have a scary animal that helps me fight” thing. Henry’s quite formidable when he’s back to normal size :)

Satan

-Hm, thinking about it and at first I’d say dendro is the obvious answer but there’s also quite a few other contenders actually.

-Pyro is one of them, and when drawing parallels Diluc comes to mind (obvs grumpy men stick together always.) As the avatar of wrath, he’s like mad 80% of the time and I can imagine him raining hellfire upon everything (and he has, best believe).

-But also he’d fit the “passionate” description, he’s so passionate about books and magic that he’d literally kill for a book that he wanted (and did I’m pretty sure). He’d also be considered passionate for hating Lucifer so much I think

-he also has quite the past to fit with a pyro user, especially during Nightbringer when he’s still coming into terms about being basically a baby demon and learning to confront his brothers and finally accept them

-Dendro is quite obvious for him. He craves knowledge from books, and I’m sure if he were in Teyvat he’d find his way in the Akademiya just to get into the House of Daena’s restricted section

-I think either or could be his vision, depends on which Satan you’re talking about (Nightbringer Satan and main timeline Satan are two vastly different individuals)

-if you really wanna get into it tho, cryo/electro's pretty... fitting. Especially for nightbringer Satan. Even if his brothers try not to make him feel like it, he will always be different from them; the fact that he basically was made to replace Lillith in a sense, and he distances himself away from them because he just doesn't fit in.

-all in all he's so versatile realistically he could have like 4/7 visions since his character is so dynamic between the two games

Asmodeus

-Now this was harder to come up with, but after giving it some thought I think he’d have an Anemo vision

-think of it this way. In Nightbringer take a shot everytime I bring that game up his whole arc in the beginning was learning to let go of the celestial realm and accepting the fact that he was a demon now, effectively granting himself the freedom to love himself once more

-Anemo is the element of freedom right? He fought himself and his inner demons for freedom like that, which happens to a lot of those who are granted this vision (Wanderer and Xiao moment)

-Thats really all I have for him. Tbh, the only other vision I could see him wielding his pyro, but I couldn’t think of anything else I can say that hasn’t already been said

-another short anemo king go figure (he and heizou would get along I think)

Beelzebub

-another one I had to really think of, but upon further deliberation with myself I'm thinking pyro again (the default vision lmfao)

-Yes. Passion for food, he'd get along with Xiangling quite well (too well, imagine her in the devildom holy shit)

-Also pretty passionate about working out and protecting his brothers, so there's that lol

-I am stumped on him bc he's like lowkey just there bro like

-how would he even get his vision idk man

-but imo pyro is the default vision so he gets it (feel free to disagree with me)

Belphegor

-If you think this guy does not have an anemo vision you are wrong

-like dead mf wrong he is anemo all the goddamn way

-he lost his sister and still blames himself for it, but he also wants to be free with his brothers in the devildom

-the other vision i would give him is electro because he does tend to like, shut himself off or whatever so there's that

-but he's 100% anemo I don't make the rules sorry

-first tall male anemo user?? (surprisingly he's 5'10 guys it's probably all that sleep he does lmfao)

Diavolo

-hmmmm, such a hard decision I wonder what vision I would give to the literal prince of hell- pyro.

-jk jk let me explain

-Pyro, because as I've stated before, it is both the default vision imo and also the vision for those who are passionate IMO (I cannot stress this enough)

-Diavolo is very passionate about RAD, and the whole "demons getting along with other species" concept is something he has been working very hard on (man is trying to end specieism in the obey me verse)

-on top of his outgoing and friendly personality, pyro really does fit him like a glove. I could make an argument for geo because he shoulders a fuck ton of responsibility for the devildom (esp in nightbringer) but like

-he is warm and friendly and strong, perfect pyro material

Barbatos

-I needed to think about this one for a bit, but after further deliberation with the screams that echo in my head, I am confident in saying that this man has an anemo vision

-if he were in the genshin universe he'd def be one of the shady people from celestia (bro is literally istaroth but i digress)

-as much as anemo fits him aesthetically, I also want to point out that he just... gives people freedom? Like the first half of nightbringer was him finally fulfilling someone's wish to go to heaven to see their lover

-he also just parallels a lot with venti, idk i just see him being very fitting with an anemo vision

-like, he's immortal yet does not look it (Scara, Xiao, Venti), downplays his power to appear "normal" in a sense that he won't be an immediate threat to those perceiving him (Venti), saw a pyro kid and decided to adopt them and begrudgingly take care of them no matter how annoying they are (Xiao and Hu Tao though I may be reaching)

Luke

-bro does not have a vision yet (jk its cryo)

-I feel like he'd be given a hydro vision solely for the fact that he is changing his, quite frankly specie-ist, ways lol (like eula hello?)

-he is quite shy when mc first met him, the only reason why he didn't immediately get mad at them is because they weren't a demon and that's saying something

-he tends to be very guarded around said demons, often becoming aggressive when interacting with them but he's warming up. It's like a wall of ice slowly melting through the mc and simeon's guidance

-he also reminds me of mika for some reason

Solomon

-he has an electro vision and yes, it's exactly the same situation as Lisa

-though he doesn't need one (none of them do tbh), I feel like he wanted one just for shits and giggles like I definitely see him being a descender on Teyvat

-he's literally the most powerful human in the obey me verse, of course he's going to be viewed differently from others even though he "tries" to not be too overt about it (very, very big emphasis on tries. I think he only does it for mc atp)

-I feel like he'd get along well with the electro ladies as well, particularly Miko and Lisa (Gorou and Luke need to hide like asap)

-in all seriousness though, he just fits into electro so well given all the character traits present in electro wielders

-another vision I could see him having is dendro, partly because he's always down to have more knowledge about magic that he doesn't know yet and is in constant pursuit of creating pacts with the demon brothers

Simeon

-another hydro wielder :)

-calm, collected, elegant, sticks to their principles- classic hydro archetype tbh I love him so much

-again, very similar to Lucifer's reasoning but he leans more towards hydro wielders like Nilou and Candace I think, who are quite relaxed but won't hesitate to protect what they love and fight for what they deem is right

-spoiler warning: he literally got cast out of heaven for the mc.

-as I've said before, there really isn't anything I can add that I haven't said before, other than the fact that Simeon would definitely enjoy Xinqiu's company and possibly get along with Furina when discussing acting and the arts

-other than hydro, I don't think any other vision suits him tbh (big maybe on anemo but like, it doesn't really fit tbh)

I am so fucking bad at character analysis but here you guys go

the labor of my sleepless night while i gather more motivation to write the second chapter of madame neuvillette

also i am so very tempted to start writing for other fandoms but this blog is enough for now tbh

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me nightbringer #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #obey me luke #obey me simeon #omswd #obey me crack #obey me crossover #genshin impact crossover #obey me spoilers

[bigmeatbro]

By now, when you've discovered yourself to be a cockpred for at least a decade, you start to easily recognize when that feeling of hunger down there begins, and your cock wants something to swallow. But with practice you can control that hunger for a little while if you have to, like if you aren't able to swallow someone in that moment. Hell, some preds prefer to wait for the right moment to strike, not to rush having a meal, and can wait a long time for a good prey. Regardless of how a pred eats however, just like hunger for food, sometimes you can go from 0 to 100 in terms of needing prey. And you'll become desperate to satisfy that craving, you can't ignore those pred instincts forever. It's very dangerous for a pred to tone down that side of them for too long of a time. Well, at least dangerous for any unlucky soul who meets a starved pred.

I was hitting up my best friend Rick at our usual pub hangout this evening. We first met as teens in school and we've been tight since day one. Love that dude, he always got me. Still, even if he was my bro I could never bring myself to tell him what my cock does. I never even once thought of eating him before, he was that close to me. Anyway, tonight was supposed to a normal night out, and it's been a while since we met up, about a week ago. We normally hang out every day. He's been incredibly busy with work and so have I. Coincidentally, my last cock meal was also about a week ago, and it has been needing prey badly. A week with no prey is roughly my limit. My cock has never gone a full week with no meal, there's always a few at the minimum per week. I only have so much reserves before it would just swallow the first guy it senses, no matter who it is, and no matter where we are. I'd love to have shoved a guy down my shaft by then, I just haven't had the time to properly hunt this week. I knew it was a risk to meet up with Rick without a good meal in me, but with how our schedules are, it had to be like this. I thought that once he left I'd immediately find a different guy right after and swallow the bastard in private, but my hunger had other plans.

Rick and I had a few beers at the bar already, and I had to break the seal, and went to take a leak. He had to go as well and joined me in the washroom. It was just us in there. Suddenly, I feel an incredible hunger form just as I'm about to finish my piss. I've been neglecting my pred instincts for so long. I feel a bit dazed and really warm. Fuck... my nuts need to churn someone badly. My cock maw is drooling for food, my pre already spewing a bit. I need cock food!! I went into pred mode, and instantly I was wanting to go for Rick since it was just us. Sure he's been a good friend... but I could get other friends, right? At this point, Rick is still taking a leak as my cock is starting to expand. Then I have a quick relapse; should I really take away my best friend like this?... No, I need to eat. This is how it is. Plus, this way he can get to know the real me, even if it will be brief.

Just then, this other dude comes in and takes the spot inbetween me and Rick. Boy did he pick a bad time to piss, he became a shield to Rick. With my hunger being so extreme in that moment plus knowing that I might not eat my best friend, I said fuck it. I finally let go of everything and I was nothing more than a starved cock pred in that moment. I didn't even care to see if this dude was my type of cock food I would go for normally. I didn't care how Rick would think of me after he saw what I do. I grabbed my prey on the back of his neck just as my cock grew to a few foot long, then longer, and it went right for his head. I shoved him even deeper in my shaft, my dick slit slurping him in further. He was wailing inside and freaking out as the shaft walls closed in on him, which got wide on the outsider when his whole torso got in. I know my cock was especially hungry after waiting all this time because usually mine likes taking a minute to enjoy the feeling of a meal go down, but this guy was already knees deep in my cock in a matter of seconds, a personal record for me. Even his clothes felt amazing being swallowed in the shaft instead of being a bit chaffing inside. I was that hungry. Fuck, it felt good to let my cock go to town. The only piece of clothing that didn't get in were his shoes, with his clean high tops falling to the floor from the tip of my cock, which was several feet tall at its apex with this guy fully in it. Now that my cock was satisfied, I took a second to see just who I ate. Judging by what I felt inside, along with the outline of him, it was some tall broad fella, probably a gym bro. Damm, he felt fantastic each time his big body tried to escape, but my precum let him slide down to my nuts in no time. Once that happened and he fell in, I took a bit of a breather and my cock started to slowly go back to its normal-big shape.

Through all of that, I get a jolt of memory... Rick! Did I swallow him too, or did I not? I turn my head to see Rick looking shocked as hell from the ordeal. I don't think he will ever realize just how close he was to being in my balls right now. "Bro, the fuck did you just do?" he uttered in only a semi-concerned voice. I explained that I gotta eat. As this guy was squirming in my nuts thrashing for help while being turned to ball batter, I told Rick about me being a cockpred and what that means. Maybe he was more tipsy than I thought, but after explaining all of that, all he did was just laugh and said "That's downright insane man. Damm you're wild!" and patted me on the back with a smirk. I chuckle. That's why I love this guy, nothing fazes Rick, even when making a guy some snack for my dick in front of him. By now, I knew that I already digested this dude based on how he stopped moving in my balls suddenly, and they looked more smooth and a bit smaller now. That surprised me, I never have churned someone this fast before. I was beyond hungry. Rick asked me then what happens after my cock ate someone. Knowing that I need to unload badly, I paused and said "Just watch".

It only takes a few strokes when I'm hard to blast this churned up guy out. I was already quite turned on by the whole situation since it was so spontaneous, but this sent me over the edge. I barely had enough time to tell Rick to stand back before I was shooting so much cum everywhere. It shot out super fast and went on for a long time. It was peeling paint off tiles, splattered back off the wall and hitting us in recoil, cracking and denting the metal in the urinals... my churned loads being powerful (even by normal pred standards) are one of my favourite parts of being a cock pred. Makes me feel like a god. I already blasted gallons but there was more. I shot out some of my meal's clothes towards the end. Baseball cap, tank top, gold chain, basketball shorts... totally drenched and soaked in this thick bro cum, firing out of me one after the other. After a whole minute of gushing out like a broken fire hydrant, my cock relaxes and I manage to finally get my junk back in my shorts. It's a snug fit, but that's how it is if you eat someone in public rapidly. The whole time, Rick was in pure awe. Once it was all done, he yelled "You're a fucking beast! Had no idea you could do that, you gotta teach me that shit!" like he just watched a freakshow. I just laughed and reminded him that nobody is truly safe from a cockpred, dropping him a hint. All in all, it was a good night. I managed to get a good meal in, and Rick not only knows about my pred status but seems cool with my secret life. Maybe I should introduce him to more aspects of it...

#cock vore #long #pic #mine

[maccreadysbaby]

Make me like Deacon 🔫

ooooooooooohhhhkay?

the bottom line is, i can’t make anybody like a character, and i don’t intend or expect this post to blast through the web and change tons of minds. these are just things i can point out to maybe shift some of the ways they see him. personally, i love deacon, but i totally get if someone thinks his build is boring, or he’s a douchebag, or whatever. everyone is entitled to their own opinions and i actually couldn’t care less who likes him or not, they’re opinion doesn’t effect me. IM JUST ANSWERING MY ASKS AND BEING A GOOD LITTLE CONTENT CREATOR.

Lets Make You (maybe) Like Deacon🔫: A Rant

Let’s debunk the top three reasons everyone hates Deacon, shall we?

(these are all legit arguments i’ve heard against him)

1) He’s a liar

okay, well, i get where you’re coming from. liars ain’t fun people to hang around irl.

don’t think about it so much as “he doesn’t want to tell me the truth” and think about it more as “the truth hurts so he hides from it”

whether what we know about him is true, it’s obvious deacon has been through lots of crap. everyone in the commonwealth has. the number one way humans seem to deal with trauma, at least in the beginning, is to freaking ignore it. hide it. shove it away until it’s far enough that you forget about it for now. that’s way easier than getting help, or spilling it to someone else.

deacon is a lot of things, but one of the largest is scared. no matter what happened to him in the past, whether it was barbara or not, it clearly messed him up enough to make him insanely careful about who he trusts. plus, if he wanted to deceive you, why would he give you the recall code and then pester you about it until you look at it? if he so openly wanted to twist your mind, why would he so easily say “ah, you got me” after confronting him in a lie? why would he lie about these ridiculous, absolutely could-not-happen things instead of being cunning and using small, believable lies to build his front?

it’s because the whole thing is a wall to hide his pain, the truth of his trauma, and trauma is universal. everybody deals with it differently. playing as the sole survivor, who definitely has some canon trauma, it’s kinda hypocritical to go around murdering and killing to find your son, to ease your pain, then turn around and shame deacon for lying to try and ease his. after all, isn’t everyone in the commonwealth just trying to stop pain to some degree? why should deacon get shamed for the way he does it but not sole?

hating deacon for things sole canonically does? strike one.

2) He doesn’t have morals

okay, well, if you’ve traveled with deacon in any capacity, you’ll learn that he has very strong morals. i really dont even know how this argument can stand, but i’ll debunk it anyways.

first and most obvious is his loyalty to the railroad. if you strip deacon’s morals down to the core, it’s just “protect the innocent from those who want to harm them”. whether he’s making up for being in the deathclaws or not, he’s protecting the synths who want to live a normal, peaceful life. and if you’re thinking “yeah he protects them by MURDERING” well, yeah, but sole ends up murdering at least one or two factions at the end of each game to protect another, so… strike two.

secondly, he will leave you if you go off the rails. if he didn’t have morals, he wouldn’t. he leaves if you harm the innocent, if you murder. if you willingly attack those who don’t deserve it. and he isn’t even a jerk about it! he’s just like “our styles are opposite” and “i’ll have to fly solo again” opposed to maccready who curses at you at lowest affinity. which is also a sign of his very tangible morals.

3) He’s the same as every other dead wife man

yes, he is. but you can’t hate the character for a writers screw up. the dead wife build is a common one with bethesda. the one thing that separates him from the rest is the fact that we don’t actually know if his is true or not, but if you hold his last affinity dialogue to be true, than yes. he’s just another dead wife man running from his past. so, hate the stereotype, not the character. he didn’t ask to be a dead wife man.

in terms of him, in game — the dead wife thing is probably common in the wasteland. dead spouses and significant others would, unfortunately, be very common in a post-apocalyptic situation. as much as it sucks to come across the same bad character build every five minutes, you can’t fault them for accuracy. it would be extraordinarily easy to walk into any bar in the commonwealth and come across handfuls of people whose spouses are dead. the sole survivors spouse is dead. strike three, you’re out.

#fallout four #fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 deacon #fo4 #deacon fallout 4 #fallout deacon #deacon fo4 #railroad #sole survivor #sosu

[my-own-walker]

Someone You've Never Seen Before

A Kyle Spencer Fan Fiction

frat!kyle AU, fem!main character, sexual themes, mature language, use of drugs and alcohol, frat boy antics

9.

I'd never thought of myself as pretty. In fact, I'd never really thought of myself at all. Sure, I took pride in what I wore, but that was just about where the vanity stopped. My looks were the least of my worries.

But I seemed to care so much more about them suddenly. It felt like my skin didn't sit right over my bones. I found myself staring in the mirror, scrutinizing every detail on my face. The pores, the size of my lips, the bags that seemed to crop up overnight under my eyes. It was new to me to feel this way. To feel, I guess, not pretty.

In the week after the party (and my overnight stay), I kept mostly to myself. Despite not wanting to show up to Calculus class, I knew I had to. I sat quietly next to Kyle and took notes diligently, not saying a word to him.

I couldn't shake this disgusting feeling of both guilt and anxiety when I was near him. It was, in short, a rough few days. I would wake up, scrutinize my appearance, try in vain to dress myself, go to class, feel awful, then go back home and lay in agonizing silence, trying to quiet my thoughts.

That was, until Wednesday night. My phone lit up and buzzed on my nightstand. I sat across the room at my desk, reading a book for one of my other classes when the noise distracted me. Determined to finish the chapter I was on before checking it, I put my head back down and re-focused. Until another text alert came through. And another.

"Damn, chill," I spoke, thinking aloud. I strode across the room and stooped down to look at the screen, my stomach dropping when I saw who was multi-texting me.

Kyle: Hey Hannah.

Kyle: Just reminding you. Meeting tomorrow at mine.

Kyle: See you soon!

"Aw fuck," I groaned. I flopped, face-first onto my bed, which was thankfully right next to where my phone lay. "Motherfucker," I mumbled into the fabric of my duvet. For one, I didn't want to see Kyle in an intimate setting, such as his room, ever again. I also did not want to return to the KLG house, fearing that someone had seen me fleeing on Saturday morning.

Our weekly meeting for our Calculus project snuck up on me. While I would have much preferred for us to meet at my place, I knew that wouldn't do.

The inside of my shared apartment with Lily was pretty strangely decorated. Lily and I were lovers of all things fun and odd, and our interior design choices reflected it. Our couch was royal purple, and decorated with several random throw pillows and stuffed animals. We placed billiard balls in a decorative bowl on the cowboy-themed coffee table we found at an estate sale.

I refused to use overhead lighting, which drove Lily crazy. She yielded to me, though, a person who commonly got migraines, so everything was lit a warm yellow and striking pink, thanks to the miscellaneous strings of light I hung everywhere.

It was a small place, but it did the trick for the two of us. It wasn't great for entertaining, and the way we decorated it didn't help. It overwhelmed the space. We understood that. 

Because of how small the place was, there would be no way to avoid Lily, who simply couldn't help but either flirt or mess with any frat guy in her sight. She also couldn't help but bust my balls, so if her flirting went nowhere, she would accuse Kyle of being my boyfriend and insist upon making him super uncomfortable. With Lily set on bugging us, we'd never get anything done. 

My room was not exactly an option either. It sat right across from Lily's bedroom. It was small, dark, and plastered with posters. I had no issue keeping it clean enough, but it wasn't suited for people to hang out in there, let alone a frat boy. I assumed he probably wouldn't enjoy members of The Smiths or The Rolling Stones staring at him from the walls.

I digress, Kyle's place was the only option. And at that moment, it felt like an impossible mountain to climb, an incredible obstacle to overcome. 

+

The time came, much before I would have liked for it to, to head over to meet Kyle. Except, I stood in my room, surrounded by discarded outfits on the floor, staring at myself in the mirror, frustrated. Why was it that I couldn't seem to piece together the right articles of clothing? No matter what I put on, I managed to see something I didn't like about myself.

With little-to-no time left to pick, I settled on a tee with a black skirt and knee-high socks. I felt like shit, but I needed to jet if I was going to make it on time. 

The walk there was quick and painless. I arrived at exactly 7 pm, our agreed time. Kyle stood waiting for me on the stoop again, knowing I'd need ushering through the house.

"Hey Hannah," he called to me as I walked up the drive.

"Hi," I said, simply. I met him on the porch, waiting for him to lead the way. He opened the door and led me through the house, heading straight for the stairs and to his room. In the upstairs hallway, this time, though, stood Archie Brenner, the other KLG guy in mine and Kyle's Calc class. He paused and looked at me with an unreadable expression. I cast my eyes down and continued on.

"Hey," Archie called after us. We both spun to face him, surprised. "Are you seriously meeting for the project now? And this often?"

"Yes," Kyle replied lowly. "Strictly business."

"You two fuckin' try-hards," he laughed, shaking his head as he walked away. I sighed inwardly, having expected way worse.

We made it the rest of the way unscathed and settled in his room, I on the couch and he on the ground. The center of the room was a mess, the small area on the floor covered with books and papers. He sat in the center of it all, a spot he'd likely carved out for himself in the chaos.

"Sorry," he chuckled bashfully. "Lot of makeup work and current work."

"Did you miss a lot of school?" I asked, pulling my Calculus materials out of my bag. Kyle sighed and ran a hand through his curly blonde hair.

"I missed Friday and a couple of classes on Monday," he answered. "It all just piled up so fast." He laughed, scratching the back of his head while looking down at his mess.

"Do you need time to work on all of it? We can be quick so I can leave-"

"No, no," Kyle interrupted. "It's nice to have a break and actually speak with another human."

"Can I help?" I offered.

"I wish. I'll be okay," he smiled, setting a few books aside to make room for his Calculus materials. "I think we should decide what differentiation scenario we want to take on." He stuck his pen in his mouth and bit down, holding it in his teeth while flipping to the correct page in his notebook. My stomach twisted while watching him, almost as if I were homesick.

"Yeah, that makes sense."

+

"No, no, it is," Kyle argued, standing to join me on the couch. He flopped down next to me, scrolling through his phone frantically to prove his point.

"A number cannot possibly be lucky or unlucky," I protested, crossing my arms. "The stigma around the number 13 is ludicrous. And 7 isn't lucky either."

"Hannah," he spoke sternly, cocking his head to the side as he looked at me, lips tight. "You can't possibly be a non-believer. You look the part of a believer."

"I look the part?"

"Yeah with your, I guess, like weirdo style," he tried to clarify, looking back down at his phone.

"Weirdo?! Are you serious right now?" I cackled. 

"I meant, like, artsy, I don't know," he muttered, dismissing my feigned shock. "Here!" He held his phone out and showed me the door of a home, donning the number 66.

"Yes?"

"Like I said, 66 is my unlucky number," he explained, turning the phone back to himself. He stared at the image for a moment, lost in thought. I waited before interrupting his thought.

"Are you going to explain, or?" I tried, sarcastically.

"Uh, yeah," Kyle murmured, locking his phone. "That was my old house."

"Oh," I managed, sensing the shift in his tone. He put his phone down on the couch cushion next to him and looked back over at me, a strange look on his face.

"We lost it during Katrina. My dad had just cut out," he continued. "Nothing but bad things happened there."

"Gosh, I'm sorry Kyle," I whispered, not sure how to proceed.

"No, I brought it up, it's fine," he sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. "Brought it upon myself, I guess." He laughed sardonically.

"Doesn't make it any less shitty," I replied.

"Yeah, the situation was just, bad," he uttered, staring off over my left shoulder. "My mom isn't exactly all there, either. She's not right. Hard to live with." He shifted to face me better, resting his elbow on the back of the sofa.

I wasn't sure what to say, so I just nodded.

"After we lost our house, things got bad between my mom and me," Kyle went on, further spelling out a detail I didn't know about him. "I never had it good with my parents, but that year was the worst. Since then it's gotten even more bad. So I'm here."

"What do you mean?"

"I live pretty close to school but I live here because I can't live with her," he relayed. "It's okay because it's all on my dime. I'll be an engineer and make my money and be able to avoid her forever."

"Well, you have a plan at least," I returned."That's something."

"I got involved here so I don't have to go back there," he said. Kyle inhaled sharply as if he had broken out of a trance and smiled. "I'm sorry, I should stop."

I sat forward, putting a hand on his knee. "No, I'm sorry," I laughed. "I'm not good at finding things to say."

"It was nice that you listened," he hummed, looking down at my hand on his leg. I removed it quickly and crossed my arms, looking at him, almost pleading for him to change the subject with my eyes. "Do you want to get coffee or something this weekend?"

It was not the subject change I expected. In fact, words wouldn't even claw their way up my throat or fight through my lips. They sat in stunned silence in my head, frozen in shock. I mustered a nod, agreeing.

"Sunday?"

"Yeah, that works," I blurted, silently kicking myself that only those three words could muster the courage to leave the safety of my mouth.

Previous Part | Next Part

#evan peters #evan peters fic #ahs #kyle spencer fanfic #kyle spencer #ahs coven

[phoenix-rising-starbird-one]

Chapters: 27/? Fandom: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), star wars the last jedi, Star Wars Alternative Timeline Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: poe dameron x reader, Poe x reader Characters: Poe Dameron, Reader, Leia Organa, Resistance - Character, BB-8 (Star Wars), Kes Dameron, others - Character, Karé Kun, Iolo Arana, Muran, Caluan Ematt, Lonno Deso Additional Tags: Before TFA, Before TLJ, Written into story line, Rapier Squadron, Black Squadron - Freeform, New Republic Fleet, Love, Some hints at smut Series: Part 1 of Til the universe tears us apart Summary: Reader and Poe meet at New Republic Starfleet academy. A friendship that turns into more and is tested through the years.

Excerpt under the cut.

"Let me repeat one more time. This mission is voluntary." Poe's eyes cut to you at the word "voluntary" and you know exactly what he is trying to say, but you don't counter. At least not right now. Not with Karé and Iolo in the room. That would be -despite the unofficial nature of the mission- unprofessional. And uncomfortable.   All you offer is a curl of the lip and Poe's eyes redirect to the holographic projection on the wall, the words "Sabre Strike" and "Pinnacle-class" hanging above the picture of a luxury space yacht.   You watch on, the occasional glance from Poe to you at repeated words like "dangerous", "limited time", and "complete denial" not going past you. "Poe. We get it. It could go Bantha-shit." Karé points out while chewing through a bite of a Zeltros slider, and you chuckle at the captain's forwardness. And at the informality in her tone. But there's no reprimanding.   Karé and Iolo aren't just inferior officers. They're friends. They've been since before Muran. Terms like Commander and Sir have long been left behind. Only in front of Resistance command and new recruits is formality ever restored; and even then, it's not uncommon to fall into relaxed banter between the four of you. Poe continues on for a while. Specs of the ship. Specs of the Uvoss system. Specs of the New Republic squadrons stationed there. You watch him. You see his mouth move but the words are mere background noise. You've fazed out. The way his eyes had cut to you is still on your mind, and you already try to formulate a response for when Karé and Iolo leave.   "[Y/N], everything alright?" Iolo's voice snaps you back and you sit confused for a second. "What?" "I think, it's time to call it a night." Poe's eyes detail you sternly. "Let's regroup tomorrow evening. By then I should have an idea how we're going to get our hands on some Zee Ninety-fives." Poe's gaze stays fixed on you and you take another moment to process his words.   Your brows contract. "Zee Ninety-fives? I might be able to help with that." Karé rubs her hands together, smiling. "Alright, now we talking." "Hmmmm... we could actually leave tomorrow evening to pick them up." You explain and Iolo's eyes grow big. "You know someone who just happens to have four Zee Ninety-fives stashed in their backyard?" And here's a drawing of reader's droid. Made by yours truly... 🤭

#Star Wars #my art #Poe is calling... #Poe Dameron x reader #reader insert

[dubbidubbida]

Another one

I KNOW this chart is for OCs but I had to make one for Belial.

There is severe scarcity of Belial content on Tumblr.

Elaborating on my choices below 👇

⚠️Huge wall of text incoming!!⚠️

For aesthetics, I chose a picture of someone's back with those black hand markings. I interpret it as the taking of Belial's wings (I headcanon he originally had angel wings 🪽 but were ripped off by Lucilius🤬) and I also interpret it as sexual abuse. Just think about it bro. Like almost every aspect of a primal beast is chosen by its creator, at least the prominent aspects.

Belial was made to be a seductress, which is a charming part of himself imo but the bad part about it is that during the beginning of his existence, it was also his job to be one, for who? I'm thinking for the Astrals.

My impression of the astrals so far is that they're all psychopathic dipshits, which was even confirmed in Heart of the Sun ( GBF anniversary event), that they don't see primal beasts as anything other than tools (according to Raziel). Belial had a purpose that couldn't be shared with anybody else, which was to incite a rebellion. To cover up for it, he had to have another purpose. Which was 1) being Lucifer's adjunctant, and 2) being the Astrals' sex toy.

Belial was an exquisite creation, like a demo of Lucifer (cause they both are similar regarding power). And of course, a primal beast needs to be approved by the council of astrals before usage. Lucilius could've proposed both the functions of being Lucifer's adjunctant and tracking machine, and to make it more appealing, a toy with endless stamina that won't break after being used 😂👎👎 (I imagine the astrals like Greek gods who plucked humans and 'used' them, given their sadistic nature). So Belial, both visually appealing and with an alluring personality, would be the perfect unbreakable toy. A tool and a toy, 2 in 1! Approved!! Awful. A toy who won't fight back, a toy who can't say no, a toy who won't break... ughhh. Primal beasts are obviously sentient, despite their inability to reach human complexity. He was literally built to be unable to connect with others, to be sincere, or to just live a normal life like the other archangels have adapted to. That's cruel 😭

So yeah, I don't care if Belial was made to enjoy what they do to him no matter what, I still consider it sexual abuse because Belial is sentient.

Lmao ok that was for aesthetic picture #1 ☠️ Let's proceed with the rest. For the second aesthetic picture, I selected a white snake wrapped around an arm. The snake represents Belial, the serpent. And the arm represents Lucilius. If you're familiar with WMTSB, you are well aware of how tightly Belial is wrapped around Lucilius' finger, and only hangs on tighter and tighter to the man who named him "worthless" lol. (One of the meanings of "Belial" is worthless).

And the third aesthetic picture I've chosen is that of a snake in applussy. The image represents temptation and lust. Pretty much it. You know the drill, Belial serpent, and the apple of temptation.

Now, we have the favorites. By favorites, it means: favorite color, favorite movie/show, and favorite animal.

For his favorite color, I just went with purple cause that's one of his main colors. It's just a headcanon. He changed his white, gold, and red uniform for a black and purple one. He must like purple🤷‍♀️

Next, favorite movie, I didn't know honestly. But he strikes me as someone who'd like the absurdity of 1980s horror films. So I chose the Shining. Maybe he'd like it.

And for his favorite animal, I think he'd like cats. They probably remind him of Cilius. Same gaze, same personalities, meow. And it's just cute to imagine him with cats. 🐈‍⬛

Character inspirations. LMAO. So the first one is that dude Lucifel from El Shaddai. Let's face it, Belial is that guy but with a huge feather boa and huge tits chest and meaty thighs. Massive upgrade tbh

Next up is obviously, Belial the demon. I just put that cuz yk, the name. No need for more explanation.

Then there's the snake of Eden. Belial is the serpent luring others to take a bite out of the apple 🍎 we know this.

The songs are more like what I think of him rather than what I believe applies to him. But at the same time most of those apply to him imo. I don't needa explain just check out the songs yourself, you might like some😁 And that's it.

And finally, there's Lucifer. I know Satan was the snake as well but I'm separating them for the sake of interpretation. By that I mean, Belial is both the serpent and the fallen angel. If you know what I'm saying.

💕Thanks to everyone who read this wall of text💕

#belial gbf #belial granblue fantasy #granblue fantasy

[deepspacedukat]

Okay! 😄Thanks for being patient with me and here is part two😋

The scorching desert air started to cool off as the sun went down over the horizon, though that’s not saying much considering that its Vulcan. The reader grumbled to herself mildly regretting her empty canteen as she goes trudging along, it was still hot, unbearably dry, and sand filled her shoes plus now she knew hanging around civilization wasn’t an option not after the incident with what she could only assume was the equivalent to a police officer or maybe it was a city border patrol? That fact wasn’t entirely clear however the point was she had been chased leaving the city limits and it didn’t help that there were armed patrols on the lookout for the escaped gladiator.

The reader stopped briefly to throw a look over their shoulder, ever since she left the city limits, she felt that she was being followed though that could also be paranoia kicking in as they had never been one to get into trouble with the law.

The darker it got the more apparent the fact that Vulcan had no moon was. That and with the size of some of Vulcan’s nocturnal predators it would be good to find shelter for the night. Scanning the rocky sand dunes was proving to be a definite challenge in the dark and to make matters worse a really nasty wind had started to pick up blowing sand up into her eyes. Suddenly a bolt of lightning struck the sand close behind her, dangerously close, the reader looked back and saw a massive sea of roaring clouds flickering with electricity behind coming her way. So, the reader takes off into a run frantically looking for a cave, heck she’d take a rock overhang at this point. The storm caught up to her in a matter of seconds and the wind contained a searing heat to it, pushing on her threatening to make her fall as she was dodging stray lightning left and right. Stumbling she fell to her hands and knees, sand pelting her, feeling like shards of glass at this speed when a hand grabbed her on the shoulder and a masculine voice shouted over the wind speaking in old Vulcan

“Sandfire storm! Come, quickly!”

Losing patience or maybe having none to begin-with he snapped grabbing her by the upper arm and yanking her to her feet rushing them both to a crevasse in the rock. The opening was a tight squeeze but led into a decent sized cave, one that would’ve been nearly impossible to spot even in the daylight at least for someone who didn’t know what to look for. 

Once in the cave the Vulcan released her arm and whipped around, rushing to the entrance to stack up rocks to barricade the entrance while the reader stands there coughing up sand from the storm trying to catch her breath something the thinner Vulcan air doesn’t aid. A bolt of lightning strikes at the rock wall near the entrance, so she scrambled over to help the man stack rocks and barricade the cave opening.

 Now with the entrance blocked off the cave is pitch black; the reader gives up looking around trying to see anything it’s impossible. A few moments pass with the only sound being the turbulent winds of the violent storm raging just outside, then deeper into the cave the ting of two flint like rocks being stricken together caught her attention, though all she could see turning her head towards the sound and squinting into the darkness was the faint glittering of sparks. Suddenly the sparks ignited a now visible crisscrossed stack of kindling and in the dim light of the fire she could make out the figure of the Vulcan man who helped her, it was the gladiator she freed though she guessed she shouldn’t have been too surprised at that fact. 

Looking him over she almost huffed in discontent after noticing the bandages were soiled, dirt and sand mixed with the green blood stains bleeding through the wrappings. It figures though with the guy traveling through the desert and doubtlessly the reason she felt like as though she was being observed, not to mention the strain of him moving boulders to shelter them from the storm even with her help there was no question about him sooner or later aggravating the injuries. Her attention moved up from his injuries to meet his eyes.

The fire reflected in his amber eyes making it seem as if they were glowing, his stare cut through the dark of the cave with an intensity that felt predatory, scrutinizing her every move and never had there been a time in the readers life when she felt so much like a mouse frozen in place under a lion’s gaze.

Noticing how tense she was getting the gladiator’s expression seemed to momentarily soften and he tilted his head in a nodding motion inviting her to sit down by the fire with him. Making no sudden movement she sat across from him with the fire putting distance between them. She didn’t know if it was the same for him but the crackle of the fire and the sounds of the storm outside only did so much to quell the deafening silence in the cave not doing much to ease the tension she felt right then. Finally having enough, she racked her brain for something to start a conversation with then had to remember how to say it in Vulcan, eventually she spoke up.

“Thank you for getting me out of the storm back there. You saved me.” She smiled at the Vulcan gladiator but other than a brief glance from him, was met with silence. “I guess since we are somewhat aquatinted, introductions are in order.” She tried to start a conversation again but was met with more silence. “Hello, my name is (y/n). Nice to meet you.” Putting on the friendliest smile she could muster without it looking awkward and fake she had to stop herself from offering a hand to shake which the motion definitely caught his attention, a mixture of confusion and caution on his face. Quickly wanting to right her mistake she clumsily put up the live long and prosper hand signal in greeting.

“Avarak” He sighed sounding worn, almost grumbling when seeing her beam at him.

“Well Avarak-” He closed his eyes looking as if he already regretting sharing his name, regardless the reader continued in the same upbeat tone “Once again thank you for getting me to shelter from the storm. I don’t know where I am going but maybe we could figure that out together?” She asked him hopefully to which he reopened his eyes and paused thinking over his next choice of words carefully.

“I had a destination in mind and would have liked to be much further along by now.” Avarak was being as contemptuous as he was vague not wanting to give away any information.

“Well then you could’ve easily continued on if I was gonna slow you down.” She retorted mirroring his attitude.

“You would not have survived out there.” Avarak stated icily, words deathly serious, then rolled his eyes with his tone turning irritable “That was obvious.” He held herstare and without breaking it, took the time to toss another piece of timber into the fire. His gaze was forceful and unyielding like he was challenging her to disagree. 

“Well, you know what? If it where the other way around, you wouldn’t survive out in the wilds where I come from.” The reader crossed her arms smugly until she realized just what she had said when Avarak watched her intently, tilting his head in interest.

“And where might that be…y/n?” he paused to test the foreign name on his tongue.

“Nevermind.” There was finality to her tone and with that the silence returned, neither in much of a mood to talk, with the reader worried she’d accidently say too much and Avarak not having the interest at the moment, taking the time to mull over the day.

The past day had taken a toll on them both and as the fire started dying out the reader with a yawn moved to the wall opposite to Avarak to lay down. Closing her eyes to try to get some rest she thought back to all she had heard about Vulcans and remembered learning that they felt emotions much more to the extreme, that’s why modern Vulcans turned to logic. She remembered a Vulcan ambassador by the name of Soval who had mentioned it took Vulcan society a few thousand years to rebuild after nearly destroying itself almost to the brink of extinction many times before Surak’s teachings of logic. Early Vulcans where emotional, impulsive, and paranoid like Romulans but with a lot less of the rules and restrictions that helped stabilize the Romulan descendant’s society. Her mind drifted back to Avarak he seemed so guarded and stand offish on the surface, but she’d also seen other sides to the Vulcan. He was curious but she had seen a hesitance to it like it would open him up to getting hurt,furthermore whether he had followed her and watched over her in the desert just to repay some sort of a debt or was secretly a kind soul, Avarak had braved the sandfire storm just to save her…that train of thought put the reader more at ease, her thoughts fading off as she drifted off to sleep. 

Off on the opposite side of the cave the scarred gladiator kept watch as he struggled with an inner turmoil. Avarak came from a nomadic family who traveled the desert in quickly assembled tents with other nomadic family’s, they were all considered a clan, looking out for each other. But his family had been killed in a raid, a battalion put together by the very city state who enslaved him, under the cover of night all he ever had was ripped from his hands. After that Avarak hadn’t let anyone see anything else but this stone hard shell masked in fury nor did he ever utter a single word to anyone. A fact that often angered the guards, colosseum spectators, and even nobles that might have offered to sponsor him. The man nearly scoffed out loud at that thought, he didn’t want their money all he had ever wanted was gone now. Turning his thoughts back to the strange women who had set him free, he bristled as a wave of anxiety nearly overtook him. Who was this woman? This stranger seemed to be able to almost bring his walls crashing down, there was a warmth to her that made him feel safe but in a way unknown to him. Maybe the question should be what was she? He didn’t know but what he did know was not only did she not look or sound Vulcan, but he had known her for less than a day, letting his guard down around anyone much less a stranger was dangerous, a fact he had learned the hard way. Eventually he calmed but didn’t let himself relax enough for the possibility of drifting off into a light sleep until he heard that her breathing had evened out.

OOOOOH two parts in one night??? Azora, you're spoiling us!!!!

Part 2 of the Pre-Surak Vulcan Gladiator story!!! I love it!! 💙💙💙

#azorastarr #Avarak the Vulcan Gladiator #I love him your honor #he's a good confused boy

[gleekingdom]

I'm looking to rp with this oc I haven't really gotten a chance to be much yet. And my character isn't Darren, Darren Criss is just his faceclaim because I like to imgaine him portraying the character ( I know he won't actually do that though XD)

I usaully like to rp B X B Ships

That would cool to rp with someone who had a oc of the faceclaim grant gustin but I'm not picky as long the ship is B x B

I'm Autistic and dylexic so if your against that for some reason, okay don't roleplay with me then thanks. ^^

I'm not comfortable with NSFW so please keep this pg13 I am 20+ but I'm not comfortable with that stuff.

if you are interested to rp with him then dm me here and I'll give you my code so we can rp on Discord.

Name

Alex Spector, Alex

Nicknames

Alex, Spec, Specs (you can make up more in rp)

Age

20- 35

Birthday

April 6th

orientation

Bisexaul ( Male lean)

Zodiac

Taurus ♉️

Height

5'7

...Taits

 positive  . . . Laid back on the outside/ Friendly/ Deep thinker

 neutral  . . . Acts sure of himself even when hes 

not/ a bit of a hopeless romantic/ mysterious 

negative  . . . Doesn't go outta his way to meet new people/ Over thinks

•Personality in a bit more detail

- He acts very sure of himself and sure of what he's doing. And yes well at times he is sure sometimes it's much more of an act. He's not shy and infact can be rather bold. But he's not fully self-assured about himself and questions things deeply, like meaning behind simple things or just life, but at times that gets him to really overthink things and misread a situation.

I think in a way he wants the attention from other people too, but also doesn't want to be variable around them he wants to seem like he's always well rounded and good and doesn't have any problems or things that will worry others. He's kind and cares for people but doesn't usaully go out of his way to become close with other people and though bold can be rather quite especially when deep into his thoughts.

If your mean to him though he won't just take it, he'll stand up for himself, and might say something mean back but he usaully doesn't strike first.

And he is quite the bit of a hopeless romantic, but he's not sure if something like that could ever happen to him. Plus he kinda closes parts of himself off from his band, from people who want to be his friends and even his own family (( Emotionally damaged))

Don't read this part if you just wanna find out rping with him || He's Very Emotional so when he's happy he lights up, when he's sad he's really really down and when he's mad- I think you get it||

He's kinda complicated, at least to me so it's hard to explain his whole personality

And he might be austistic coded and if he is it wasn't intentional I'm just autistic so Idk ( I'm not against him being austistic that was just not my original intent for the character, but I do have other ocs that are austistic. I just like making my characters different from eachother)

Likes

•Space aesthetics

•the Theater/ like plays and musicals

•music/ his favorite kind is jazz pop and rokin roll

•getting his nails painted ( he's not girly he just likes his nails looking fancy)

•Fried chicken / organe chicken

•Favorite colors are red and purple 💜 ❤️

•Concerts

•Reading well mostly of anything

• likes to go to parties weather it's like dancing crazy parties/ or fancy parties

•Just hanging out

•Doing street or wall art

Dislikes

the way he overthinks sometimes

Being told he can only be one thing/ being put in a social latter box

people who whine for things but never work for it

the color organe thinks it looks unflattering

Fears

•Not being good enough at anything

•losing the things that are important to him

•Rodents

Hoddies

• Going to parties

• playing violin / gituare

• getting ready overly early for things like his jods/ interviews/ dates

• Reading

• Listening to music

ambitions• To be a famous singer with his band

occupation•  Singer of his band 'North star' ( he probably has side jods on the side)

Family realionships

Mother

Ellison Spector

His mother and who he is closest to in the family. She loves both of her sons treating them equal. He does many favors for his mom and loves her very Dearly.

Father

John Spector

John wasn't looking for another child after Arnold his oldest, so he never really cared much for Alex. But Alex still wants to win over his father in some way.

Older brother.

Arnold Specter- he's only three years older

His Dads favorite and in Alex's eyes the one who can do no wrong and who somehow wins every trophy and is skilled how can Alex compete with that. There realionship is well rocky at best, more so closed off on Alex's side then Arnold's side, Arnold tries to have a good realionship with his brother.

He lives in a apartment now but I just felt those realionships are kinda important and kinda is part of what made him who he is.

Thank you if you read all of that 😊

There still is a bit to tell about him but you'd find out if you rped with him.

#roleplay #bxb roleplay #my oc character #gleek #looking for roleplay #grant gustin #darren criss

[adelindschade]

A Thousand Vows (A Thousand Cuts, Part 9)

Nesta and Emerie centric. Valkyries First and Foremost. 

PART 9

“So much for being guests of honor,” Emerie grumbled.

They had trekked close to a mile in the bitterly cold mountain side, making up time as the sub descended sooner than they anticipated, and the only source of light they could muster to clear through the rough terrain stemmed from Nesta’s hand. Emerie clung close, acutely aware she was at a disadvantage should one of the native beasts investigate the commotion they made.

Emerie preferred to have a sword on hand – would’ve made slashing through the branches much easier – but she understood the circumstances were unique. Never in her lifetime would she have associated with a Lord closely enough to be granted an invitation to such a private affair. She also understood that the only females present were the domestics, blood relations, and guests of honor – besides the bride herself. None of them would be permitted any such weaponry unless Emerie wanted to stick out and volunteer to be a target of their already raging suspicions.

Nesta’s fire was already warranting enough talk throughout the camp. Had it not been for their intervention with Maude’s pregnancy, the Lords would’ve continued to avoid them like the plague and try their best to scheme a way to be rid of one less witch and her less than savory companion. As it was, the prophecy Nesta ‘predicted’ had not only elevated their reputation but earned them a seat close to the betrothed.  

Keep your friends close and enemies closer.

“Well, so much for wearing my best,” Nesta remorsefully commented as they eventually found a clearing – a road undoubtedly leading to the estate. Both the hem of her dress and her cloak had been tarnished with snags, leaves, and damp with brownish mud that ruined the color.

“You and me both,” Emerie observed, mourning her latest grown – her only one, truly. They sported green in honor of Lord Dion – as his crest favored the Night Court’s dignified black, which he interwove with green for whatever reason. Each warlord had their preference.

Green favored Emerie naturally while Nesta seemed sickly pale in the shade. They wore as much coverage as they could, with their shoulders decked in fur to keep the cold at bay. The journey was rather unpleasant, and their neat braids were all but demolished by low hanging branches. Nesta made the first move to undo them and smooth out her strands with her fingers, with Emerie following suit, and promptly attempting a single, looser braid to toss over her shoulders.

Nesta could get away with unbound hair. Emerie was Illyrian. She knew better. The Lords would admonish her, and she didn’t want to create a scene that’d set her apart and strike insult. Later, she promised herself. Teeth clattering, she cursed the bastards in her head.

“At least it’s hosted inside,” Nesta commented as they emerged into the main hall. Towering ceilings, stone walls, a large hearth, and three rows of elongated tables all equipped with benches to accommodate a hundred overall. The noise nearly deafened her words as males rejoiced with drinks, a few harassing some of the domestics who stopped to refill their mugs. Nesta scowled at the scene, but they couldn’t do much without arousing unnecessary trouble.

It wasn’t lavish by Rhys’ standards – with the food being devoured by hands, and manners lacking – but it was generous by the Lords’ standards, and Nesta had to respect the hospitality extended to her.

“The Witch!” someone shouted. All activity came to a slow halt as a row of eyes descended upon them. Emerie stopped short behind her, tense as she could be.

“Came to curse us, eh?” a highly ranked soldier remarked closely.

“Bless us, actually,” Lord Dion raised his accolades. Dark eyes pinned the pair as the towering male clad in his best leathers confront them. He toasted his mug, grinning. “Come forward. Take a seat here,” he beckoned forward.

Cassian had crash many parties in his life – and as the General, one would assume his presence would be a desired one in his base camp – but the welcome he received was a weary on. He was reluctantly admitted and given a curt greeting. Devlon accompanied Cassian and Azriel, lead to the back of the seating arrangements, and left to observe.

“They know where I lean,” Devlon proclaimed quietly, already aware he wasn’t favored amongst the rest of the leadership. “I’ve accepted the fact should the rebellion succeed, my head will be the first to roll, but I’d sooner depart with my honor intact than mingle with these miscreants who’d sooner run this place under the mountain.”

Cassian felt her presence, but he could not spy Nesta, much to his aggravation. She would’ve struck out like a sore thumb, but he spied no sign of her golden hair or pointed ears.

Azriel was fixed on the bride – no older than seventeen – and looking miserable in her most refined attire. A laurel had been place atop her head of black curls, and a frown settled on her young features as she had been relegated to nothing more than a prop at the wedding parties’ coveted table.

Gwyn would be introduced later in the evening, as Lord Dion preferred fewer knew of whom had access to his prized mare, or so he was informed by the eager redhead. She was at the shop with Corinne, keeping watch of the surrounding camp, and adopting the local fashion. It made his heart sing and squeeze painfully simultaneously.

If Azriel could have it his way, he’d tucked Gwyn and his mother far away from this horrendous place and keep them safe from harm’s way as long as his heartbeat. He still contemplated how to remove his mother from her sanctuary should the tides of war turn unfavorable. She did not have it in her to leave Illyria – or, rather, not quite able to leave the confines of the home Azriel provided either after escaping her tormenter.

It was because of his mother’s reluctance to move, and struggles to adopt change, Azriel had been grateful Nesta spitefully remained in Illyria, determined to change it for the better, or at least, on part for the vulnerable females of whom she’d grown fond of.

“I heard the little one is quite the pick pocket,” Devlon remarked.

“Corinne?” Azriel contributed, surveying the room. He nodded. “She’s good. If Nesta hadn’t claimed her as an apprentice, I would have.”

“As if you’d ever notice her,” Cassian chuckled. Azriel had his pockets cleaned out twice already, and he made sure to check them on his third visit – aware Corinne was skilled at her trade. It was only then Azriel made an adversary of the proud female, gleaming as she got the best of the spymaster.

“She doesn’t like me,” Devlon said with no attachment.

“Why would that matter?” Cassian pitched curiously.

“I’ve used younger waifs for other efforts. Carriers, mainly, but I might have a need for Corinne,” Devlon furrowed his brows. “We’ll need supplies. The Lords have hoarded theirs and numbers are divided. Corinne would be best for indiscretion. I have no use for females on the field, but the witch has made exceptional use of her.  I’d like to do the same.”

That surprised the two warriors. Devlon had no use for females – period – besides their assumed domestic role. To utilize any was out of character. Desperate times called for desperate measures, they supposed. With decimated numbers and dwindling supplies, even Devlon had reluctantly opened his mind to adopting more progressive, emergency actions.

“You want to utilize Corinne to smuggle supplies,” Cassian surmised, “but from where?”

“The Witch can winnow.”

“Only parcels,” Azriel shrugged off. Devlon furrowed his brows. Something was not being said but neither Azriel nor Cassian had Rhys’ ability to look into heads.

“When can she winnow like you?” Devlon demanded. It was an order – not a request.

“When she wants to learn,” Cassian followed, cutting off Azriel. He, of all people, would prefer it – just in case she needed to make a hasty retreat, although knowing Nesta’s stubborn nature, she’d never opt for such cowardice. He also knew forcing her to do something might as well put a stop to it altogether. It was a miracle she was even attempting magic given her earlier reservations – and for this cause, too.

He couldn’t mask his pride. She had adopted this place as her own, called it home, and defended it as if she were born on this soil, too. She did not resent it or forsake it like Rhys, or Azriel. She saw redemption in it. She recognized a chance to improve the conditions, with a willingness to lead by example. Illyria was broken but not beyond salvation. She saw in it what he did – and that gave him immense hope in not just salvaging Illyria but their future, too.

“We’ll need the skill to bypass the check-ins. The Lords are staking their claims and cutting some of us out of communication. I’m aware Lord Dion has hosted a handful of private dinners here and I was not in attendance,” Devlon nodded. “Without supplies, the chance of us suppressing the revolt are slim. The Witch,” he begrudgingly mulled over, “she has an ability to mitigate that hurdle. Do what you can to make that happen. I will send what I need with Corinne and The Witch can deliver them.”  

Nesta wasn’t sure how to approach the food. Utensils were scarce and she had been accustomed to pain from her mother’s hand if Nesta had dared to eat with her fingers. Her proper upbringing did not prepare her for what savagery surrounded her. Even Emerie was put off by some males, pulling meat off of bone and spitting as they spoke with no mind to the unfortunate females squeezed between them. Nesta winced when she felt the splatter of saliva, and that putrid drink Illyrians savored by the barrel, and undoubtedly grease douse her cheek.

There was no napkin to salvage, so she begrudgingly used her sleeve to wipe off the disgusting matter, and nearly gagged when she spied blood among the mix. She wasn’t surprised to see it – but it still churned her stomach, nonetheless. If they weren’t shouting, or manhandling the females in drunken stupor, they had to assert their dominance by throwing punches over the slightest insult.

Brutes – the lot of them.

“Can we please excuse ourselves?” Nesta hissed, struggling to push herself off the bench.

“Hey – watch where you’re going! Oh, Witch,” one of them quickly correct themselves. Granted, she didn’t mean to touch his wing, but it was in her way, and there wasn’t much room to maneuver anywhere. The male went from pissed to petrified, looking as if he had grazed death – which, pretty much, she was believed incarnated to be anyhow.

“My apologies,” she grit out, scowling as she nudged her way down the alley, and Emerie didn’t hesitate to take her lead.

“Really, Em? You brought that out there?” Nesta exasperated as she panted against the wall, embracing the cold as she desperately inhaled as much fresh air as she could.

It was too stuffy in that banquet hall. No music, no dancing, no polite conversation – not a trace of what she had been reared up to embrace. She felt like an outsider, treated as such, and she hated how out of sorts she felt in this foreign realm.

The overwhelming anxiety she was in over her head plagued her, but it didn’t seem to show as Emerie munched away, all but moaning as she filled her belly with delicacies that were denied to her for the whole stretch of her life.

“I’m starving,” Emerie muffled with a mouth full of torn boar, stripping the bone bear. “It’s cold,” she frowned. She held it out. “Want to do me a favor and warm it up?”

Nesta sighed but obliged, holding her hand under the large piece of meat, and encasing it with fire. Emerie shrilled a scream and it incinerated into ash before it could strike the ground. Emerie groaned and glared at a remorseful Nesta.

“I barely got a bite in!” Emerie crowed.

“Sorry, I’m still trying to control it,” Nesta meekly apologized, cupping her offending hand. Emerie shrugged, playing it off, and proving no harm was done.

She had been patient with Nesta throughout her process, matching her curiosity as they explored her abilities. The solidarity was comforting, opposed to the weariness she had seen amongst others. Rather than suppress it, or control, Emerie and Balthazar were the few who embraced it, and encouraged Nesta to go ahead on a whim to see what exactly Cauldron could do.

“It’s any consolation,” Nesta tried to appease with a nod beckoning towards the hall, “there’s still plenty left over.”

“I shouldn’t spoil myself. When will be the next time we ever get a taste of that?” Emerie laughed but the snide hint of bitterness couldn’t be missed. By then, both shared a deep frown, and clasped hands against the cold, stone outer wall.

“Hand cold?” Nesta asked, squeezing.

“It’ll only get colder,” Emerie mused quietly, forlorn. Her eyes met Nesta’s, deep with fraught. “I worry about the rest of us. War and winter in and of themselves are awful but together? A lot of Fae will die, Nessie. I’m petrified we will bury those we promised to liberate, and I don’t know how to stomach the loss, or live with the failure.”

Rhys would say it was inevitable – a necessary sacrifice – something that unfortunately came with the territory, but it didn’t settle well with Nesta either. Disappointment was something Emerie and Nesta took to heart, unable to make excuses for themselves.

She thought about the young faces who would not grow, or who’s innocence had been pried from their cold hands. She empathized with those who would be displaced and left to scavenge for scraps, unable to recognize the strewn mess of bones and riddled debris that they once called home. How many would be buried without markers? How many mothers would howl in despair? How many orphans would emerge into another hellish ordeal?

Nesta couldn’t accept that sort of devastation. She wasn’t desensitized or removed from it like Rhys, or her sister, or any of their privileged friends. Hadn’t Feyre remembered the bitter cold and ache of their bellies? Feyre might have forgotten but Nesta had not. Her anger towards those who looked the other way as they wallowed in destitution still ravaged her.

That’s what kept her alive in Illyria. She understood Emerie well, and those like her. She did not turn her cheek. Nesta had ignored her own hurt but could not deny the suffering of those around her. She could not sit idly by and permit that misery, not without a proper fight.

She had a purpose now – a sense of direction – and her anger resurged with a vengeance. At those who oppress with iron fists and to those who plead ignorance as they dine and wine in the finery Velaris offered. Everyone played a part but pretend to have their hands full of other matters.

The innocent were forgotten, deemed nothing more than collateral damage and a price to be paid for a bigger reward – but who would reap the riches of the seeds war sowed? Nesta recalled the massacre of children Rhys had been responsible for in another court; she remembered the carnage Feyre inflicted on the Spring Court to punish Tamlin – and all the lives she burned in blind revenge left forgotten in blissful ignorance. The females in Hewn city still suffered, as did those in Autumn, but Mor paid no heed to those she left behind as she enjoyed the fruits of the courtier role.  

Most of all, Nesta remembered the searing cold depths of the cauldron and blackened wall of its iron confines. Elain had been blessed with sight but never pressured to use it. Too fragile, too submissive, and too complacent to be seen as a threat, or worth exploiting for gain.

While Nesta mourned her sister and stayed true, Elain eagerly disowned her. Nesta had been condemned, punished thoroughly, and beaten to be an obedient pawn for Rhys to employ like a card in a high stakes game. He expected her to step in line with the rest of his loyal cronies, and to sacrifice herself when it benefited him.

Feyre thought this new life was a promising beginning, but Nesta could not see the world through her narrowed lens.

Selfish. It was all so shamelessly selfish. They all were so blatantly selfish that it made Nesta sick.

If she would employ her magic, she’d do so on her terms, and for her own convictions. She took something from the Cauldron after it stole everything from her. No matter how it manifested, this fire had already been in her soul, but now, it was potent, and deathly, and every bit worthy of the fear it garnered when she uncurled her hand to expose the flame.

Feyre had her revenge. It cost lives. Nesta took hers from the Cauldron, and she’d make sure to put her spoils to much better use. No more war, no more bloodshed, no more broken families, and no more shed tears. If she was to be seen as a threat, so be it, but she’d ensure she’d be a force to be reckoned with for a conviction she wholeheartedly believed in.

Some accused her of being cold, but it was far from the truth. Nesta burned hot, and it was unbearable how much of her every being had been encompassed by the feelings she was told not to show. She enacted her vengeance and now it manifested in front of her, all around her, and unable to be ignored much longer. Her newfound magic was just as glaring as her perfect skin and long ears. One forced her to come to terms with how much she grief, and the other manifested the wrath she harbored. Her cauldron carved powers she scraped with her bloodied fingers dared her to scar the earth with the very power she took to righteously lash out.

The Cauldron was still attempting to wield it’s final say but Nesta would not be its puppet. This was her flame now, keeping her path illuminated and her purpose bright. She played with the flame with her free hand, no longer frightened by its momentous power or it’s possible hold over her. That was no longer the case. It had no such influence.

Emerie watched with matching admiration, envying the magic Nesta yielded. She offered it to Emerie. The Illyrian balked and shied away but Nesta insisted. Reluctantly holding out both hands, Nesta dropped the fire in her palms, and Emerie gasped in astonishment when it did not burn.

“I didn’t trust many people in my lifetime, but I trust you with my life,” Nesta assured. “You’re my equal in every way. You saved my life and I’d lay down mine for yours.”

“Now is not the time to get gushy,” Emerie swallowed back emotion. Blue reflected in eyes as the flame danced contently. It acted almost like Azriel’s shadow, moving in tandem with Nesta’s mood.

“Your cause is my cause, and I won’t hold back if you won’t,” Nesta assured, meeting eyes. “We’re going to make Illyria a better place, even if we have to dismantle everything it stands on. Perhaps that’s exactly what we need to do but we will see it through.”

Illyria had become a home for her. It symbolized a place of promise and somewhere she discovered herself. She would not abandon it or the gentle, enduring Fae she had grown fond on. Feyre had her Velaris, but Illyria wasn’t beyond saving. Too many lives depended on it. Emerie called it home despite its injustices. Nesta knew it to be redeemable, appreciating how rugged it required its inhabitants. Even the weakest were enduring and strong, and that inspired Nesta tremendously.

Nesta nearly gave up on herself, but she would not give up on those who the world had left behind. They adopted her just as she had been taken in by them. She’d repay their kindness a thousand-fold.

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[eievuimemes]

LYRIC RP SENTENCE STARTERS

“ At least tell me just to move on. “

“ Be careful not to lose ourselves. “

“ Can someone tell me please ? “

“ Can’t take it anymore. “

“ Can’t you tell I think I’ve had enough ? “

“ Come tomorrow, this will all be in our past. “

“ Didn’t have a dime but I always had a vision. “

“ Every day it feels like seams are more than torn. “

“ Every time I dare to love, it hates me. “

“ Feels like I’m losing my mind. “

“ Get prepared to go. “

“ Here we stand, without a plan. “

“ How can I take the pain away ? “

“ How dare you. “

“ I believe the storybooks I read by candlelight. “

“ I don’t have to look at it. “

“ I don’t need you. “

“ I found a strength I’ve never known. “

“ I got one more run. “

“ I hope you find your peace. “

“ I just came to talk for a while. “

“ I keep making all the same mistakes. “

“ I know he’ll appear. “

“ I never had that perfect girl who somehow could see the good part of me. “

“ I never thought that it would go this far. “

“ I never thought there’d be someone like you who would want me. “

“ I never wanted anything so bad. “

“ I see such pretty things. “

“ I started to hear it again. “

“ I talk to absolutely no one. “

“ I think it’s maybe time for me to change the location. “

“ I will not accept your mercy. “

“ I wouldn’t change you. “

“ If I had the answers, I’d have written them out. “

“ Is that what devils do ? “

“ Is there any good still left in me ? “

“ It tells me I’m a freak. “

“ It wasn’t real. “

“ It’s all somehow getting better. “

“ It’s funny how much I feel like I’m looking in a mirror. “

“ It’s impossible to hide from yourself. “

“ I’ll chew you up and I’ll spit you out. “

“ I’ll never hug my girl to me. “

“ I’ll shine, but I’ll never be see through. “

“ I’m gonna disappear. “

“ I’m hanging by a thread. “

“ I’m just looking at the sky. “

“ I’m proud of who I am. “

“ I’m terrified of these four walls. “

“ I’ve been bending backwards. “

“ I’ve been here too many times before. “

“ I’ve been left out alone. “

“ I’ve got that lightning inside me. “

“ Know I’ve done wrong. “

“ Maybe I’m just one step over the edge. “

“ Maybe we should go. “

“ Memories inside my heart are there to grieve. “

“ Need you to guide us. “

“ Never thought you’d fall so far. “

“ No escaping death. “

“ Not one man, no, nor ten men nor a hundred can assuage me. “

“ Now it’s time I realize. “

“ Only one will take it all. “

“ Remember who you are. “

“ See you later, pal. “

“ Settle the scars with honour and blood. “

“ Some of you never learned to drop the act. “

“ Some people offered up answers. “

“ Step back, I’m going in. “

“ Strike a match and watch it burn. “

“ Teach me wrong from right. “

“ That’s who I’d be. “

“ The enemy is inside of me. “

“ The time for being sad is over. “

“ The world is full of super problems. “

“ There is beauty behind every tear you’ve cried. “

“ There is no way up ! “

“ There’s no place to hide us. “

“ These aren’t the colours I should see. “

“ They can’t help me make amends. “

“ This is how I disappear. “

“ This is what you wanted, right ? “

“ Truth be told, I never was yours. “

“ We can run away together. “

“ We knew it’d happen eventually. “

“ Well, I am here for you. “

“ Well, pity a woman alone ! “

“ We’ll be the change. “

“ We’ll wear our scars like medals of hope. “

“ What if it’s us and only us ? “

“ Wondering if everything I want is worth chasing. “

“ You broke all the laws. “

“ You do it all for my own protection. “

“ You just couldn’t fight for this. “

“ You left me long ago. “

“ You live a half-life. “

“ You won’t believe how far I’ll go. “

“ Your laughter haunts me. “

“ You’ll know I wasn’t joking. “

“ You’re just too perfect for my hands to hold. “

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