#(i will be falling back into cat mania)

[sometimes-rendog]

day 57, theres a dog licking my birthday cake right now

tbh ren + other frames under cut

[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 

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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.

[wolfsteax]

Grief is such a weird feeling.

It's been 3 days since we had to put Smokey down and I still can't put a finger on what I'm feeling.

At times, the broken routine and absence are so loud. I'll go to put food in his dish or call him onto the couch and then flinch when I remember he's not there. I see him everywhere, and nowhere at all. He exists in empty spaces where I can't touch him and I start to cry. Suddenly, I feel the day we adopted him feel like yesterday. How could 5 years ever be enough? He was meant to die elderly on his favorite spot, body healthy and simply old. I crave what I didn't get to see. I mourn memories I didn't have. Not only are his places here empty, but all his places in the future are as well. The absence is screaming.

Sometimes, I feel it's already been years since he passed. It was this week it happened, but i feel like it was ages ago. I feel so far ahead with the pain becoming a dull ache. I almost feel I start to forget him, like feeling so far away has put me in a fog. I feel I've drifted so far away I'm able to fake cheerfulness riddled with guilt. It's like a mania, a twisted joy fueled by a constant hurt.

Then, I feel a bittersweet comfort. Smokey is all around me. I believe in his little spirit still being here, relaxing in the sun. I swear I see him at his food bowl out of the corner of my eye or sitting on the back of the couch. I have dreams of him laying on me, purring deeply and warming me. They're so vivid and tangible. We saw a cat-shaped cloud in the sky the day we said goodbye. It was there when he got home from the vet. It looked so happy on that cloud, a sign of peace. I feel a sad relief knowing we prevented a miserable death from his end-stage cancer. I feel his thanks and freedom all around the home, radiating off the places he would sleep.

Grief feels like the epitome of "will happen, happening, happened". I cry, laugh, hurt, and yearn. No matter what, my heart aches. I know it always will. I'm glad it always will. It's the mark of intense love. The deep scar of surrendering your heart to another soul.

I don't regret listening to Smokey's needs. I don't regret letting him fall asleep surrounded by us, before cardiac arrest took him. I would do it all over again, all 5 years, in every life. He was worth it. He will always be worth it.

I know I'll slowly accept what happened. It's just really hard and confusing right now.

So, I'll continue to walk the road. And, everyday, I'll put a bit of food in an empty dish. The one where a fat, grey cat sits purring. Unseen, but not absent.

[silverpetrichor]

My Love Is Mine All Mine

A/N: I know I’ve been MIA but the mania surrounding Gravity Falls right now has awoken me from my slumber. I’ve had a huge crush on Ford since I got into the series during the pandemic and I just had to write this.(I've also never written smut before so please forgive me if it's cringe.) I’ve never written him before, so forgive me if he’s a little (or a lot) OOC. As always constructive criticism is welcome and please enjoy! 

Last Summer. . .

You were helping your brother cook dinner for his heavily pregnant wife and 2 kids. Laughing and joking as your younger brother arrived with his husband, wine and dessert. It was shaping up to be another ordinary evening hanging out with your family when you got the call. 

Next thing you know you’re hugging your loved ones goodbye before opening a portal to the outskirts of Gravity Falls, Oregon. Staring up at the darkness enveloping the town that you’d only heard of in passing, watching on in horror before assisting the others in reinforcing the natural barriers around the town to keep it from spreading…  

“—Y/n! Earth to Y/n! Are you okay?” Your coworker asked as you looked up from where you had zoned out while shelving the new books.  

“Yeah? I um, I’m fine really. Just lost in thought for a second.” you respond. 

“Oh, okay. Well, I was just trying to tell you that it’s lunch time,” Tracy said, smiling up at you. 

You tilted your head to the side, brows furrowing “Geez, already?” you looked at your watch, and low and behold it was noon already.  

You cast one more glance to the book still in your hand, a post apocalyptic romance who’s cover had evoked memories of the centralized apocalypse that had taken place last summer in the seemingly innocuous town. You recall arguing with the council about actually getting involved and helping the town instead of just doing damage control. You didn’t like the stances they often took, and were preparing to go in despite their decision when all of a sudden the oppressive feeling of Bill’s presence vanished and with it your need to be there, standing sentry. 

Or, so you thought. Now, you have moved from the hustle and bustle of New York City to the quiet and peculiar little town of Gravity Falls. All because you dared to go against the council and nearly disobeyed them, you were now stuck as a librarian here indefinitely. Merely monitoring the situation and living in a cottage not too far from the Mystery Shack, hidden by magic and finally inhabited again after decades of going unused after the last council assigned witch moved.

You shook your head as if shaking off your thoughts, shelving the book in your hand and heading to the breakroom in the back where your homemade lunch sat in the fridge. 

You ate your lunch with Tracy in relative silence letting her do most of the talking. She was a sweet woman who was a few years older than you, in her early forties married with three rambunctious kids. She was also very talkative, which you didn’t mind despite being more introverted yourself. 

You never liked the quiet anyway, ironically enough even though you had moved out to a cottage in the woods, you always had music or something playing. You’d even gotten a fluffy pet cat a week before who moved out here who you dubbed Lady Arson the III. 

You’d actually grown fond of this little town despite being a city girl, this town had its own unique charm. Even though you had to chase some gnomes out and renew the old wards on the old cottage. (Thank the stars you had a magical ingredients supplier for the unicorn hair you needed. Unicorns are such stuck up assholes and if you never had to interact with one again it’d be too soon) You had redecorated the cottage and made it your own. You also found a nearby lake to go swimming in relative peace during the spring and summer.  

You talked for a while with Tracy as you found yourself having a bit of fun. While you missed the city there were plenty of things and people that made it worth it. Like your crush on your friend Ford Pines. . . 

He came to the library every other day or so in the afternoon sitting in the back alcove reading and writing in a journal with weathered pages. You’d actually managed to strike up a rapport with the man instead of hopelessly pining after him in silence. (Which you still did but you felt less pathetic when your hands would wander late at night when you couldn’t sleep)  

And, speaking of the devil, Ford was present with his teenage niece and nephew Mabel and Dipper. You found them in the back of the library searching the shelves for a book as you came around the corner to reshelve the last of the book on your cart. 

“Good afternoon Y/n!” Mabel excitedly stated, having noticed you first as her brother and grunkle were absorbed in searching the shelves. 

“Afternoon Pines family, what trouble have you gotten into today?” You greeted and asked, taking in their disheveled appearances as you raised a brow. 

“We were exercising a category five ghost in the woods near Fiddleford’s mansion when we encountered a hostile gremloblin!” Mable replied as her and Dipper shuddered in unison. 

You scanned them for injuries upon hearing this, before asking if they were okay. They nodded their assent before Mabel leaned in and whispered “But I’m pretty sure Grunkle Ford has a concussion or something.” 

Your eyebrows raise as you release your hold on the cart you’d been pushing. You tap Ford’s shoulder and he turns around, rather quickly almost stumbling. As he does you notice the gash on his forehead covered in Hello Kitty bandaids, that are clearly Mable’s work. But despite that you still see some red on the gauze the two bandaids are holding down. 

“Hello, beaut—I mean Y/n!” clears throat, while rubbing his head with his free hand, “How are you doing today?” Ford asks awkwardly, blushing. 

“Certainly better than you, you’re bleeding! Come with me.” You say, grabbing Ford’s hand after seeing the slightly dazed and unfocused look in his eyes and the bloody gauze on his hand. 

You pull him to the breakroom, the twins following. Ford huffing and blushing even harder at you holding his hand. You sit him at the table as the twins walk over to the vending machine drawn to the candy and chips in it respectively. 

You wash your hands quickly before going to bend and look under the sink and after a minute or two of rummaging around, pull out the new first aid kit that you’d brought to replace the old barely full one. Ford’s head tilts and his eyebrows raise as he mentally thanks the infinite cosmos for pencil skirts and the fact that you seem to love to wear them. 

When you stand straight he guiltily turns his head to the side, finding interest in the fake foliage and book themed posters hanging about. You raise a brow at his odd behavior, chalking it up to his concussion and head over after smoothing out your black pencil skirt. You walk over, heels clicking on the linoleum floor as you take off your colorful blazer before rolling up your white blouse sleeves.  

You open up the first aid kit with practiced efficiency after laying out a piece of paper towel from the roll in the middle of the table. You sanitize your hands quickly with an alcohol wipe before you gently pull the Hello Kitty bandages and gauze off his forehead. Apologizing quietly as Ford winces still, you move to grab the alcohol. You end up muttering another apology as he winces whilst you dab at the slightly deep cut with a soaked cotton ball.  

Ford’s face stays flushed as he realizes how close your chest is to his face. Trying his best to not make it obvious that he’s staring at you in that way. His eyes flicker to your face, focusing on how cute you look with your face scrunched up in concentration as you gently dab.   

While Ford struggles to be covert about his feelings you seem to be fairing slightly better with a barely there flush to your face. You place butterfly bandages on his forehead after dropping the alcohol soaked cotton ball onto the paper towel. 

You then gently grab his hand before unraveling the gauze, and dabbing at the cut with another alcohol soaked cotton ball. 

Mabel looks over, noticing the look in each other's eyes and Ford’s blushing face. A smirk falling over her face as she realizes what is happening, nodding to herself.

“Matchmaking time!” she whispers under breath before choking on a gummy kola. 

Dipper rolls his eyes as he slaps her back, the gummy kola flying out her mouth. Of which, she promptly picks up off the floor and eats much to Dipper's disgust. 

“So…Y/n huh? Do you. . .like her?” Mabel asks Ford as they leave the library, raising her eyebrows and smirking. 

Ford chuckles nervously, blushing furiously “What? I, I uh. . I have no idea what you’re talking about!!” He says, eyes shifting about nervously. 

“ Oh my gosh! Yes you do!! You love her! Love, love, love her!!” Mabel yelled, jumping up and down around him as the trio walked back to the Mystery Shack.   

“And I thought I sucked at hiding my feelings.” Dipper nudged Ford, laughing. 

Ford sighed, scratching the back of his neck as he nodded in defeat before telling Mabel to quiet herself despite no one being near. 

“Yes, I am very fond of Y/n. I find her to be endearing and enchanting in everything she does,” Ford muttered as he nervously laughed. 

“Well then Grunkle Ford, you should ask her out!! All the other blind dates I've tried to set her up on went nowhere!!” Mabel said as she skipped backwards in front of him and Dipper.  

“I don't know, I mean, aren't I too old for her? And I haven't really had any sort of  relationship in a while.” Ford muttered as the Mystery Shack came into view.  

“Trust me, Grunkle Ford! You got this! She's into nerd stuff like DD&MD! She's a librarian and she’s a historian!! And she likes listening to you rant about your research! Plus she's beautiful! It doesn't get any better than her!!” Mabel yelled as they sat on the couch outside the shack. 

“Yeah, in fact I know just what I need to do!!” Ford declared as he grabbed a graph journal full of blueprints for inventions out of one of his trenchcoat inner pockets.  

****** 

“This was a terrible idea,” Ford whispered as he hid from Flirt B0t 3000.  

“Wow, really who would've thought a robot built for romance would've been a terrible idea? Let's see, uh everyone!” Dipper harshly whispered back. 

“This is Giffany all over again,” Mabel sighs as she hands Ford her compact so he can check around the corner for Flirt B0t 3000. 

As he did so, the robot's half melted face snapped in their direction, its intact eye rolling to look at him through the mirror. 

“When I say run, you run as far and fast as your legs can take you and don’t look back,” Ford harshly whispers, tightening his grip on his gun. 

“But Grunkle Ford!! We can help!” Dipper responds as he clutches a crossbow in his hand. After Weirdmageddon, he’d asked Wendy to teach him how to use one. 

Before Ford could argue further, Stan came around the corner baseball bat in hand. “Take this you stupid robot!!” He screamed swinging his baseball bat, just as Flirt B0t 3000’s head turned to face him. 

It’s head flies clear off, Dipper shooting it with his crossbow as it flies in front of him. Stan beat the headless body repeatedly until it stopped twitching and was nothing but a pile of mangled metal and wires. 

“Grunkle Stan!! How’d you know we needed help?” Mabel asked as she ran up to him, hugging him. 

Stan let out a small “oof” upon impact before explaining “Well, when Ford mentioned making a robot to practice asking out Y/n with and then none of you picked up the phone when I called, I figured it went horribly wrong. And would you look at that, I was right!” Stan kicked the robot's remains once more.   

“Thank you Grunkle Stan!! But did you see that shot!?” Dipper asked, laughing. 

“Sure did kid! Wendy's one hel-heck of a teacher ain't she?” He asked, giving Dipper a noogie. 

“Yeah!” Dipper agreed, grunting as he tried to get out of his head lock.

Stan released him before walking over to Ford and popping him upside the head. 

“What was that for Stanley?” Ford cried out rubbing the back of his head. 

“You know for someone so smart you sure can be a real dumbass sometimes. I may not be the best at romance or reading signals but even I can tell that you and her like each other. So for God's sake just ask her out already!” Stan harshly whispered to Ford as he gave him a hug. 

“Yeah, you're right. I mean the worst she can say is no right? Oh God what if she says no? I don't think I can do this!” Ford panicked, pacing. 

“Look Poindexter! You got this, you're the total package, even with those sideburns! Just take a deep breath and go ask her out before you lose your nerve,” Stan said, nudging Ford.

Ford ran out of his laboratory in the basement and headed for the library. 

“Ten bucks says he chickens out,” Stan says, waving at Ford's retreating figure. 

The young twins sigh in unison, shaking their heads at Stan's antics. 

******

Since Ford had awkwardly asked you out that first time a little over a month ago, you’d been spending almost all of your time together. Flowers from Ford littered your cottage and desk at work, and Ford would often have smudges of your dark red lipstick on his face. Even Lady Arson the III approved of him, and she never seemed to like any of your dates. You were both falling hard and fast for one another. 

But you still hadn’t told him about the whole you being a witch thing. Afraid of losing him, even if he was a lover of the supernatural you didn’t know if he still would, once you tell him the truth. You haven’t felt this way about someone since college. But every time you thought about telling him, you chickened out. 

Tonight though, you were going to have a picnic on the hill near your cottage and Ford was going to bring a telescope so you could stargaze. After mentioning to him how you loved astronomy but only ever got to see the stars in textbooks and online since you grew up in New York.  

You hoped nothing paranormal would interrupt your date, seeing as you were planning on finally telling him about your powers maybe. But of course, you just had to say it out loud. 

And well, now here you are in your cute floral sundress and cardigan fighting a very hostile spirit after it had attacked you and Ford while you were skipping stones at the nearby lake. Ford almost cracked his head on the rocks when he stumbled back in shock, at hearing the haunting childlike laughter reaching into his trench coat for holy water.  The category four spirit took this as an opportunity to attack, its cute face morphing into that of horror as it rushed towards the two of you.   

But then much to his surprise, you shoved him behind you before raising your hands and suddenly it slammed against a forcefield you had seemingly created if your glowing hands were any indication. Then a blast of blue light emanated from your open raised palms and the spirit froze before evaporating into thin air.

You sighed in relief before lowering your hands and wiping your brow. You then turned and began kissing Ford's face, pecking all about after you checked him over for injuries.You finally pull away when you feel satisfied with Ford’s blushing disposition. 

“Thank the stars you're okay! I can't believe we stumbled upon a hostile spirit all the way out here. My wards and presence usually keep stuff like this from happening,” you said sighing deeply. 

Ford stuttered his brain attempting to reboot after seeing you use your powers and you kissing his face so much,”Your wards, as in magic? Magic that I just saw you use. Why didn’t you tell me?” he questioned as she paced in front of him, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Well, I—” you cut yourself off sighing deeply. “My being a witch isn’t exactly an ice breaker that I bring up on dates. You know how I haven’t had a serious relationship since college? It ended when she found out I was a witch and since then I just have gotten used to hiding that side of myself from anyone that didn’t already know. So yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I just didn’t want to scare you off because I’m falling for you and I think I might actually even be in love with yo—” Ford cuts you off, grabbing you by the back of your neck and kissing you passionately. 

You stutter, before humming into the kiss. Cupping his face in your hands as one of his hands makes its way to your waist.  You have matching goofy smiles as you pull away for breath resting your foreheads against one another. 

“You could never scare me off because in case you couldn’t tell, I’m in love with you too, darling.” he whispered softly to you, staring into your eyes as you bit your lip bashfully. 

You could feel the heat flushing your face as you felt him pull you closer. In the moonlight, you could see that he was blushing fiercely. You kiss him deeply, opening a portal behind you as you pull him backwards. 

You trip and fall right onto your bed at the cottage, much to Ford’s shock as he pulls away from you. He looks around baffled. 

“Fascinating! You can create portals? I knew that witches existed but I didn't know you could do that!! What else can you do?” Ford asked excitedly as he began to sit up reaching for his journal.  

You followed, grabbing his trench coat lapels, kissing him and flipping him to his back. Ford’s hands went slack, his focus recentered on you as you pulled away with a self satisfied smirk.   

“We can have a Q & A later, right now I’m more interested in other things,” Y/n breathed out before grinding on Ford's lap, feeling his hardness grow underneath you. 

Ford blinked, swallowing as he let out a whine at your continued movement. You kissed his lips again before muttering a soft “Off,” lifting the hem of his turtleneck. He eagerly obliged–almost knocking you in the face if not for your quick reflexes–practically ripping off his trench coat and turtleneck and flinging them across the room. You pulled your cardigan off as you admired his slightly pudgy and hairy physique before running your hands up his hairy yet muscular arms.  

He moaned as you ground down on him again, gripping the back of his neck as you clung to him. You giggled into his mouth, kissing him before standing to remove your sundress and flats. Ford followed suit, kicking off his combat boots and damn near ripping his pants and underwear as he pulled them off. Almost tumbling to the ground as he did so, causing you to both giggle. Until he looked up at you, breath catching at the sight of you still in your matching black lace bra and panty set.

He surges forward, kissing you like a man possessed and kneading your ass. You moan into his mouth, as you feel your panties dampen with your arousal. You feel his hard cock standing at attention, smearing precum onto your stomach. 

Before you know it, Ford has you lying on the bed kissing a trail down to the apex of your thighs. He lingers at your chest, sucking at your nipples through the lace before removing the barrier entirely. You shudder at the attention he gives your nipples, sucking one and rolling the other in his hand. 

You whine as he releases his grip on your chest and his mouth moves south. He teasingly kisses your aching clit and nips at your thighs before slowly pulling down your underwear. 

You buck your hips slightly at the feeling of his breath on your now exposed cunt. 

“Gorgeous,” you hear him whisper before diving in and eating you out like you were his last meal.  

You mewl as he laps at your folds before latching onto your clit and sucking. You buck your hips and whimper as you attempt to shut your legs. Ford pins your right thigh with one hand before moving to open you up with his other. 

You gasp and grasp at his hair roughly when you feel his index finger at your entrance before slowly sinking into you. You moan loudly, whining as he thrusts his finger in and out before adding another. Your eyes slam shut as your back arches at the feeling. 

He scissors his fingers briefly before he makes a come hither motion with his fingers. You begin to shake, your heels digging into his back from where your legs have been perched over Ford's shoulders. 

You whimper out a soft “oh fuck,” the only warning Ford receives before you're cumming all over his face. Whining and moaning as he fingers you and sucks at your clit through your high, moaning into your cunt. Which triggers another harsher orgasm as you sob out, pushing Ford's face away. 

You look down at him between your thighs, his face flushed and glasses askew as he kisses your thighs. As if to apologize for the accidental overstimulation, your chest heaving and thighs twitching still as you smooth out his messy hair. 

You sit up and pull Ford's mouth to yours by the nape of his neck. Kissing and licking into his mouth roughly, tasting yourself on his tongue. He moans into your mouth cupping your face gently. 

You both pull away to breathe, foreheads pressed together. “Are you sure you're up for more?” Ford questions against your lips. 

You smirk as you reach down to grab his cock, stroking its ruddy head. “Oh, I'm just getting started baby boy” you whisper in his ear as he whimpers in yours. 

You flip your positions again, spreading your thighs over his as you position yourself over his cock. Grasping his cock and guiding it towards your entrance, your other hand gripping the sheets by Ford's head. You moan in unison as you sink down his thick cock, gasping when you're fully seated. 

Ford whines as you begin to ride him, slowly at first before gaining a rough rhythm. You pin his hands above his head as he gasps at the sudden move.  Moaning loudly as you nip and lick at his neck, his eyes rolling back. 

You giggle sinfully in his ear, before moaning as he flips you onto your back. Ford grips your hips “My turn,” he growls out before beginning a punishing rhythm that has you crying out once more, tears streaming down your face. 

Your hands grip the sheets before clawing at Ford's back, causing him to moan, and move a hand to grip at the bedspread. 

“Fuck!! I'm close, are you there yet darling?” Ford pants out. 

It takes you a minute to speak coherently, gasping out “Inside, cum inside me! I need it, please” you manage to babble out through your tears.  

“Shit,” Ford hisses, moving to rub at your clit in rough circles. 

You whine and cry out Ford’s name as you writhe, your grip on Ford adjusts as you pull him in for a rough kiss. 

You both moan into the kiss as your walls flutter around his twitching cock. He groans at the feeling, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against yours. You pant into each other's mouths as he breathes out “Cum for me, darling.” 

You let out a silent scream as you cum for a third time, Ford groans as he feels your wetness drench yours and his thighs as you squirt on his cock. His head drops to your neck as he bites your shoulder, shuddering as he thrusts deeply, his spend coating your walls as you pant and sigh. 

You lock your feet together around his waist as he collapses onto you. You play with his hair as the smell of sex and sweat permeates the air in the afterglow. 

You wince as you feel his softening cock slowly pull out. He groans at the sight of his cum dripping out of your wet cunt. You feel your combined cum drip down to the crack of your ass as you sit up. 

“So, I'm a mess. Wanna help me clean up?” You smirk up at him, eyes glinting deviously. 

He laughs before pulling you up, “I thought you'd never ask,” you both smile into the kiss you share as you grab his hand, kissing it and leading him to your bathroom.  

You might just send the council a thank you basket for sending you to Gravity Falls after all. . . 

******

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I had fun writing this!

[deconstructthesoup]

Okay, I had thoughts on forming a legit DBD Hadestown AU, and seeing as they kept me up literally all last night, it seemed only fitting that I actually write them down. So:

Charles and Edwin are, obviously, Orpheus and Eurydice respectively. However, rather than having just met and falling into a whirlwind romance, I decided that they're childhood friends who've met again and rediscovered feelings that they'd both been ignoring for a long time. Edwin is dedicated soley to figuring out why the world is dying and if he can help people while he can, and he hasn't really let himself rest, or even feel happy, in years---to the point where he feels that any good thing is too good to be true, even falling in love. Charles, on the other hand, has long since made the decision that someone has to be happy and keep spirits up in the trying times, and it might as well be him... even at the cost of his own health, as he works tirelessly on a song that he knows, despite all logic and understanding, will bring back spring again.

Crystal is Hermes, but she is also Hecate---she is the goddess of the in-between, magic, trickery, the crossroads, and restless souls... and that last part refers not only to the dead that she guides to Hadestown, but to anyone who chooses a life of wandering the road, from the honest messenger to the thieving highwayman. And yet, since the world has begun to die, she's been slowly slipping away from her role, choosing to spend her time among the mortals. This decision, of course, is helped by the fact that not only is Crystal one of the few gods who thinks there's more to the world dying than it just being "a reflection of mortal hubris," but that she's managed to make a friend in Charles. She's seen the way that music can change the world, after all, and knowing that there's at least one mortal who still has hope means that she can still believe.

Niko is a combination of Aphrodite and Dionysus---she's the goddess of love, revelries, happiness, and abundance, yes, but she's also the goddess of the mania that comes when all of those things are taken too far, and she's been dipping more and more into that side of herself as the world gets worse and worse. She wants to forget all the pain and suffering, and she gives herself and others the means to do so, even if it's all temporary. And while Niko does care for the mortals, and wishes that things could get better... deep down, she's lost a lot of her old hope, and even she can't disguise the fact that she's living with a broken heart.

Monty is Persephone, but he's also Apollo---he's the god of rebirth, prophecies, the stars and the earth, and new beginnings... and for what should be half of the year, he rules over the dead. He used to find just as much joy in watching over the souls as he did creating spring with Niko and charting the stars to bring prophecies to the mortals, but as Hadestown gets more punishing, more people die up above, and the world just gets worse, Monty grows even more bitter and closed off. He's unable to even properly enjoy his time on the surface, knowing full well that he won't stay for six months like he should... and the man he loves is wearing his patience thin.

The Cat King is Hades---and yes, somebody did make a very compelling argument for him being the Fates, but it works for the story, so just hang on. Once upon a time, he was happy just ruling over souls and managing the afterlife, and he cherished the time he spent with Monty as much as he could. But over time, wealth became added to his already vast domain, and his fascination for making and collecting things became an obsession... in no small part due to the fact that those six months spent away from Monty started to weigh incredibly heavy on him, and he eventually loses himself in his effort to replicate everything his husband loves about the upper world as it dies along with the way they used to feel about each other. Not to mention, his old empathy and compassion for the souls has hardened into cold indifference at best and a sick enjoyment of their suffering at worst. And all this change is making one person in particular very happy...

Esther is the Fates, but she's also a version of Demeter---the goddess of nature and all of its love and cruelties, and the one who spins everyone's path on her loom, punishing those who dare to stray from what she has determined for them. She's despised the Cat King for years, ever since he whisked Monty away to Hadestown, and she wholeheartedly believes that the reason the world is dying is only because he's been keeping Monty down there for too long, not because they've begun to fall out of love. So, when Esther spins a tale of a pair of lovers who are destined to end tragically, she sees it as an opportunity to finally push the Cat King and Monty to the breaking point---to save her son and the world, she tells herself, but mostly for revenge.

[cupidsdescendant]

Hey, may I request a TF2 smut shot where a female reader gets cornered by the enemy BLU Engineer and has the reader hog ties before take advantage of her?

If it isn't your thing you can make it more consensual. :)

hello beautiful! I hope you're doing well, thank you so much for your requests. questioners like you always make my day so i hope your day is lovely. I can gladly do that. <3

BLU! ENGI X Y/N - AZURE DAZE

"Damnit, Engi just tell me what the fuck is wrong!" Y/N yelled out, small voice cracks peppering in her frustration. Her legs followed behind with her flaring arms as she darted to him. "Why are you acting like such a bitch!"

"Nothing is wrong! Now leave me alone." The space crackled with palpable electricity. With each step he took, she followed behind. They were playing cat-and-mouse—something Engi wasn't anticipating.

"No, something is up and I'm not going in circles, for Christ, stop acting like a child."

"Me, a child?"

"Yes! A damn child." She said, barked back. The last thing the man wanted to be referred to was something inferior to him and his intelligence.

Engineer stopped in his tracks and his head spun behind. The clanking of his buckles that wrapped around his uniform stopped jingling and everything fell silent. Like a thunderclap without warning, Y/N was stupefied to see Engineer without his goggles, revealing a look of frustration on his face.

"Ya listen now and ya listen well. I ain't gonna wanna talk to you if you're spewing all over my face. You don't wanna deal with me when I'm at my wits' end, and I reckon you stop this commotion and let me be on my way."

She's never seen him without them. Admittedly, she believed it was glued down to his head, (citing the rumors spread around by RED), but his revealing look of unmistakable frustration spoke otherwise. Standing there with furrowed eyebrows, the intensity of his expression told her that he was not just irritated, but deeply irked by the situation.

"You know what they'd do to you? If they found out the opposing team was screwing around with their teammate?" Her mouth felt dry. Her heart was pulled, tender, and sore from his words. "I don't care," she said sheepishly, her anxious lips forming words Engi didn't dare to say.

"It's not about what they want, Dell. It's about what you want."

"Choose me."

Silence filled the room that had once been filled with anger and hurt, now, a warm feeling of lust pulsed between them. Y/N's hand gently brushed against his chest. She curled her index finger around the strap of his overalls, tugging it playfully before letting it snap back against his chest.

Y/N tilted her head to the side, her nose nearly touching his as she leaned closer. Their lips played with banter, edging one another to make the first move. She closed her eyes and puckered, the heat of Engineer's breath falling onto her.

But nothing came. She opened her eyes to see Engi smiling animalistically. It unnerved her to her core. The mere look of mania triggered her natural instincts, and a rush of anxiety ran its course through her body. His pupils drowned in the whites in his eyes, appearing smaller than usual. An intense grip tightened around both Y/N's forearms. He tugged her down onto the floor and her head slammed down. "Engi-?! What the hell are you doing??" Her mouth being squished into the floor blabbered her protest.

"Gotcha."

In her blurred vision, she saw Engi pull out a 5ml syringe. A gasp escaped her lips and a stinging pinch of the needle was injected into the vein in her neck. He asserted his body onto hers while a stream of the mystery fluids flowed throughout her. She groaned out, unable to form coherent words, and her eyes gave out, fluttering into the abyss of her mind.

Despite the blackout, Y/N's subconscious overheard what occurred. The shuffling of Engi's feet and her body being towed around woke her body from faint slumber. The static of a radio would turn on and off erratically. A low, muddy voice would respond back each time the clicking of the button turned on, Engi following after them. Abruptly, something tight had suffocated her wrists, along with her ankles. It was itchy and the material was hard to determine.

His cold, firm hand snatched her cheeks and she awoke.

She was in the air hogtied together. Her body curled into a "C" shape due to the pressure put on her hands being tied to her ankles. Remnants of her garments were spread on the floor. Faint scratches crept around her chest, running down to her thighs. She dangled, her breast exposed. Though her blurred vision couldn't make out everything, it was clear his goggles were back on.

"The thing is, Y/N, BLU knows. And they'd had given me the task of fetching you back to our base for... let’s just say, the pleasure of the rest of the team." His thumb slid against the disc on the corner of the walkie-talkie, the constant rhythmic clicking continuing. "However, there’s something you should know about me- I don’t like to share." The same masochistic grin was smeared on his face as before. Her body shivered from being exposed to the cold, quickly shaking involuntarily. She tried to scream, but when she did nothing came out. Her focus shifted as she looked down, discovering her lips encircled on a silicon gag, the bottom and top of her lips protruding out forcibly. "Shame on you for thinking I was a fool. Am much smarter than you perceived me as, is'how i got you to follow me here."

Waltzing behind her, a firm grip smack on her ass proceeded to awaken her to the event that was going to unfold. "How about we put that body to work before the team get their fixin's?". Y/N kicked her legs back continuously, dangling from front to back. Beads of sweat were rolling down her chaffed thighs, red from pitiably kicking around for an escape. Muffled cries fled her lips, stifled by the tight gag that silenced her begging. Engineer's fingers rolled her panties to the side, exposing her pussy. Distress filled her gaze as she watched the man unbuckle his belt. Her body trembled, the weight of her anguish undoubtedly upon her.

She anticipated when he'd insert himself, but when the time came, she gave into the man's power. A shudder crawled from her shoulders down to her hips when the tip of his dick penetrated her, his glans gliding against her clit beforehand. Saliva dribbled down from the gag, a sensation of pure ecstasy taking over what once was fear. His hands kept a firm grip, digging the index of his fingers into her hips. The middle and ring fingers of his hand held onto her femur. With each thrust, his stomach hit her ass forcibly.

Erratic moans poured from out of his throat. His hunger finally quenched, and Engineer couldn't help but feel satisfied. *plap plap plap* With each thrust, her vulva became hotter and drenched. The soreness trudged through, cramping tightly on his dick.

"Is that good, peaches?" He spat on her perineum and smeared his saliva from her anus down to her pussy. Their genitals were numbed by the lubricin and precum that mixed throughout. Y/N's eyes rolled back, her pupils touching her cornea and her bottom eye glands twitching. She caved into the situation, her lust for his cock more apparent, even if the situation was immoral.

Her cervix felt like it was going to pop, the tips of her feet coiled back, and the cries she let out became more rapid. "Now hold on there-" He grunted, his southern drawl sounding even more arousing than it did before. A powerful hand roughly grasped Y/N's hair, tugging with a sudden force that sent her wincing at the pain. It flooded her body with a wave of profound eros almost beyond comprehension, her orgasm quickly approaching. He let go, her head recoiling. and reached over in front, viciously rubbing her clit. "Cum."

Y/N's ankles jittered at the sensation, the concrete walls captured their cries, both falling into one another. The quick rhythm of his thrusts became more erratic until they both reached undoubtedly, the strongest orgasm they'd experienced. Y/N let out a muffled yelp through the gag. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her tear ducts red and puffy. When the tears did pour down, each one left a trail of glistening moisture on her cheeks.

Engi stopped. Palms drenched in sweat, his hips strung out, pushing deeper in her. He leaned himself back at a 90-degree angle as he sighed. She was filled to the brim, his semen dribbling out of her pussy, unable to squeeze a drop out. The tip of his cock hit the entrance of her pussy before he pulled out.

Engineer looked down and took a deep breath. Before attending to her, he zipped his pants and adjusted his goggles, swallowing a gulp of saliva.

He swiftly fetched a pocket knife from his overall pocket, severed the rope, and firmly caught her before she could crash onto the concrete floor. Y/N's eyelids flapped vigorously, trying to keep herself awake. Her pussy leaked both their cum. A hot sensation radiated through the lower half of her body, accompanied by a deep, persistent ache that made her legs feel heavy. Y/N tilted her head back without thought, her hair cascading like a waterfall into the air. The world around her began to swirl as Engineer hiked her into the bridal position.

He pulled the gag off exposing her mouth, which throbbed from the pressure.

In the daze of her climax, she succumbed to the warmth around her and fell into slumber.

"Lets get ya back to the base..." that familiar smirk creeping up once again.

thank you so much for reading -w-. I worked fairly hard on this one, though I'm not confident with the way i wrote the timeline...more updated in the future! thanks again to @69grandpa69 for the requests <3

[thechillsquid]

Ford x Bill? Nah

Fiddleford x Ford? Nah

What if I present to you… Fiddleford x Bill

What then, huh? Like think how toxic that would be, espically if it’s post- falling into the portal yet pre full on blind-eye

They’re both so desperate to erase the past and to pretend everything’s fine with a fun little dash of mania and lack of self-care

Like imagine how batshit of a duo!

Here’s a writing of their first official meeting:

Fiddleford didn’t know what to with himself, pacing a hole in the floor as he tried to calm his unraveling thoughts. It had been nearly a week since last he’d even see Ford and he just, he just didn’t know what to fucking do!

He’d helped him, God, he’d helped Ford build a goddamned doomsday device! Who knows what damage had been done!? What could come out of that damned hole in reality! What if Ford opened it again!? What if— if that… that thing came through!

He, he couldn’t go home! He didn’t have a fucking home to go back to anymore! He’d given so much, for so fucking much and— and look where it had gotten him! Fiddleford thought, oh how he’d thought, that this would work out, that maybe he could, could what? The divorce had already gone through, he’d essentially run off with so many damned promises he could have never kept even if he wanted to…

He crumbled to his knees, clutching at his hair with ragged breaths, he— he just wanted to forget—

So occupied with his own spiraling, he didn’t even realize as his body gave into the exhaustion driving him for the last few days. As the world went gray and still. As someone— or rather something— else entered the room.

“Well, well, well!”

Fiddleford jolted, mouth dry. “H-Hello…?” His voice was barely a whisper as his heart skipped a beat. He turned and was met with something odd, and he almost felt glad for the absurdity of it, if it wasn’t so damn familiar.

It was a golden, little triangle… in a top hat and bow tie of all things…?

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

The way this thing’s voice carried, the sugar-sweet wrongness of its tone, that one ever-watching eye. Something in his subconscious withered away from it, his eyes widening. “I know you,” he said, and he hated himself for it, to even give this thing the time of day.

“Is that so, wise guy!”

The… floating triangle (at least it didn’t have any horrid claws or fangs from what he could tell) drifted down to be face to… face (?) with him. That one cat-slit pupil never glancing away for even a second, burning that blank stare straight through his very soul.

He shriveled in on himself, this felt wrong. Wrong and dangerous and…

Triangles… triangles with. With. With one eye.

Fiddleford wanted to throw up. He knew where he’d seen this thing before. Glass stained windows, prisms, statues, murals with symbols and markings too damn neat and tidy, carvings and drawings and—

A portal.

A triangular portal. With that. That one staring eye. Endless screaming, fires burning, things that were strange and horrible and wrong.

“You…” He scrambled backwards, “You’re the one that helped him m-make that damned portal! You’re the one— you’re—“

“The names Bill, Bill Cipher! Just don’t go and wear it out!”

Bill Cipher. So that’s what it was called. “W-What, what do you want!? I— I, I ain’t helpin, helpin’ with that damn—!”

It cut him off with a laugh, and oh, he flinched. It was such a grating, shrill sound. Wrong and cruel and joyish.

“Now, now! Chill out, pal!”

It leaned an arm against his shoulder, that eye narrowing.

“Yeesh! Would you look at those bags, ha, whatcha been up to there, buddy? I thought you meat sacks needed to sleep!”

The man didn’t respond, watching its every move tensely. ‘Bill’ seemed to grow annoyed with that.

“Hello? Am I talking to thin air here, specs? I said, whatcha been up to pal.”

Bill’s voice dipped low and something in him told him to answer, otherwise, things would go very, very wrong.

“I-I, I— I’ve, it’s, it hasn’t been, uh, b-been easy to, to sleep…”

“Aw, what a bummer! Well, lookey-here, specs, but it seems your little chit-chat with my star-A pupil’s gone a little sour, so how’s about we talk about that, hm?”

Who… “F-Ford…?”

The entity brightened, quite literally. The darn thing glowed like a star.

“Well would you look at that! You do still have half a mind rolling around in there afterall, though who knows how much longer that’ll last you! Ha!”

“W-What?”

The demon waved him off, drifting off to kick back and relax.

“Don’t worry about it, specs! Let’s get back on topic, because it seems you’ve gone and made poor ole Sixer go a bit… off the rails. Honestly, it’s like you told him it would be the end of the world or something!”

He rose, feeling somewhat defensive, “W-Well if, if you’re the lunatic that, that h-helped him make that damned portal, t-then good riddance! Go, go and bother someone else!”

It laughed, it fucking laughed at him. Fiddleford bared his teeth, “The hell ya laughin’ at you damned varmint! Don’tcha understand English! G-Get out!”

It turned to him, suddenly inches from his face.

“You know, I’d choose your next words very, very carefully. I’m offering you an opportunity here! You haven’t even let me talk yet! Jeez!”

The thing drifted back, small and cheerful once again, it waving its hand about.

“Fordsey’s practically a mess without you around! And not to mention… difficult. So how’s about we go over there and cheer him up, how’s about it!”

Fiddleford quietly shook his head, stepping back. He couldn’t— he couldn’t go back there, he—

“Ugh, fine. Be like that, I’ll just have to find a snake then…”

“W-What—?” He blinked, and he was once more alone in his room, staring at nothing. One trembling hand came to clutch at his head. He was fucking losing it.

[sizzleissues]

Gift (Core 4 and Adrien thinks, writing exercise)

“You didn’t have to!” Marinette says, squealing as she turns the t-shirt over in her hands. On its front is the visualiser art for Jagged Stones obscure first release, faded now by years of love and soap. Alya beams, leaning forward to see the gift through Marinette’s ecstatic eyes.

“It really wasn’t that big of a deal. You just happened to mention you’d discovered Crocodile Mania on the phone as I passed the second-hand store. It was fate really.” She shrugs but her pleasure in a successful gifting is betrayed by her smile.

Adrien can’t but feel slightly envious of her fortune. Marinette had loved the various gifts he’d given her (for example the blanket draped across her knees. While he couldn’t knit or sew, he knew that she was in dire need of something to keep her warm during the night because she kept shivering and denying it. He’d ironed on a few cat themed patches to the front and she’d glowed upon receiving it.) But nothing had quite elicited the same reaction (well, nothing material at least…)

Marinette puts the t-shirt to her face, giggling and falling back. As Nino hands his gift to Alya, she slips it on, cradling her arms around her chest. It fits perfectly.

“This is really nice Alya, I hope you didn’t spend too much. Memorabilia like this is usually-.”

Alya turns, her new set of earmuffs in her hands, and shakes her head. “It’s fine Marinette, it really wasn’t that much.”

“Alya,” she complains.

Adrien sighs internally. Always eager to give but chronically unable to receive, as Ladybug or as Marinette. At some point he’d figured out as Chat Noir that his roses weren’t rejected out of apathy or lack of feelings but by her inability to accept them. At first because she didn’t feel he was sincere, and then because she despised the money spent on it.

“It’s just too much,” she’d say. “Money better spent elsewhere.”

“It’s just too much,” she says to Alya now. “Money better spent elsewhere.”

“But for the look on your face? Priceless,” Alya assuages and partially convinces Marinette to relax her anxious frown. Adrien huffs, when he’d used that line last year she’d balked at him.

Money is it. The insecurity of it. The lack of it. Something he has in spades but his friends do not. That was the source.

The conversation moves on, the ‘friend exchange gifts in a circle with a STRICT spending limit’ over because none of them could agree what to call it. White elephant was too ostentatious according to Alya, sick of its results in her own family. She’d ended up with a bag of baby carrots, three golden Easter eggs the size of her head and a miniature chicken carved out of broccoli over the course of the years. Secret Santa deemed pointless by Nino because there were so little of them around they’d figure it out immediately. Finally Marinette vetoed grab bag for similar reasons to Nino. In the end, it mostly resembled regular gift giving.

“Speaking of Jagged Stone, did you see he’s performing in a few weeks. Tickets are crazy.” Nino lifts up his phone to show the dates and ticket price.

“That’s insane.”

“Who can afford that?”

“That’s not too bad-,” Adrien pauses, realising his response didn’t fit the other ones yelled out by the others. “That’s awful,” he corrects. Luckily, he only receives one odd glance from Marinette against his chest.

“Like maybe if it was later, but that’s so close. No one commissions me during January,” Marinette muses, playing with his arm as she speaks. Her hands make their way to his, intertwining and twisting until settling together. It’s quite distracting.

“Same here. Work doesn’t really pick back up until after they’ll be sold out. And then there’s definitely no getting them.” Alya groans and flops against the back of the couch. Balancing university and work had become the main struggle for many of them. To afford it they needed to work but to pass class they needed to study.

Notably not Adrien. The difference had become ever more starkly present since leaving collegé. While his friends took up odd jobs and dived for spare change, he continued modelling only because the evenings became incredibly boring with his friends often scattered across Paris, being more adult than him. He could quit, he should quit after everything, but then it was just be more obvious the free time his financial status afforded him. It wasn’t like he didn’t offer to help. But from there you ran into a different problem. Pride.

Case and point.

“I could get the tickets-,” he begins.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

“Adrien no. Bad.”

“Don’t even suggest it.”

“And you can pay it back once things pick up again.” He finishes. Marinette relaxes her sudden iron grip on his hand.

“Oh.” The let out collectively.

From under his head Marinette hums. “That could work. I usually get work in February anyway.”

“Exactly,” he says. “It has no downsides.”

-

Wow. I can write again. Unfortunately it’s the present tense calling to me which isn’t my usual. Forgive, I’m stretching my bones.

Anyway this is sort of based off the discussions I’ve been seeing about Adrien and gift giving. Idk if it really hits it but I had fun and it was nice to play around in these characters heads again after so long.

[fallenclan]

"I'm.. I'm what?" Otterslip feels sick.

Goldenstar narrows his eyes down at him, Maplethorn by his side. The deputy was far less composed than him, her tail lashing about and her tail puffed up.

"Yewberry brought concerns up to me, Otterslip," the leader explains. "He told me how you had snuck out the day Stormsight went to collect herbs, and didn't return late until the storm was raging."

Otterslip's throat feels dry and tight.

"He explained to me how your behavior lately hasn't been adding up. How you've been acting in a concerning matter." Goldenstar sighs. "Otterslip, what he explained to me fits together too much with what I've seen and heard. I know you did not have the best relationship with Stormsight, but to kill him? Your own clanmate?"

"He was NO clanmate of mine!" Otterslip shouts, fur bristling. The gathered cats all gasp, some stepping away. "He let Grassroot DIE! My daughter is dead because of him!"

"It was a dog attack!" Maplethorn hisses. "How can you blame him for an attack not even the most skilled warriors could defend again?"

"He's a healer!" Otterslip yowls. "It's his JOB to heal those that are injured! And he FAILED!" He whips around, glaring at the others in his clan with such ferocity that they all seem to cower. "How can you blame me for doing what's right?! Was the storm not evidence enough?!"

"Starclan didn't want me to be found out! You can't exile me!"

(You know that's not true, the voice deep inside whispers. You've known it's not true.)

"Unfortunately for you, I became this clan's leader by Starclan's will." Goldenstar flicks his tail, unwavering against Otterslip's growing mania. "Otterslip, I hereby exile you from Fallenclan. You are never to return to this camp or to this territory." The leader lifts his head, voice commanding and powerful. "After the next sunrise, any cat who sees you on our territory has my permission to chase you off."

Otterslip feels his body go slack. Whispers and murmers come from all around him, disgusted and shocked. Frightened and scared. Anxious and horrified.

But one stands out amongst his slowly ringing hearing.

"Like mother.. like son.."

His head whips around to Silverbelly, and the fur on his back raises. She seems to cower once she realizes he's looking at her, and in a moment, he's a simple brown blur and no one can hear his pawsteps.

Otterslip crashes into Silverbelly and pins her to the ground. The suddenness has several capable warriors scrambling away, eyes wide. He presses his claws against her throat, snarling. "You'll join your no-good brother in the PLACE OF NO STARS!"

He raises his paw and swing it down, ready to cut open her neck, one final retribution..

Before he's slammed into and sent flying.

For a moment, he envisions the cliffside as he colldies with the ground, groaning as he does. He hobbles to his feet before looking up, mouth falling agape when he sees Yewberry glaring at him with tears in his eyes.

"Leave," his son spits, words dripping with venom. "And never come back. We don't want you here."

Otterslip feels his heart shatter. Shakily, he raises a paw. "Yewberry, s-son-"

Gasps ring out as the tom's head jerks to the side, and he feels fresh blood dripping from scratch wounds on his cheek.

Yewberry exhales shakily, tears falling down his face as he holds up a paw, blood dripping from his claws. "I am NOT your son!" He shouts, voice cracking. "And Ivybounce isn't your daughter anymore, either! LEAVE!"

Otterslip cowers at the fury, and his eyes dart over to where Ivybounce was. She was staring at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. Sleepycloud was embracing her, and he was glarely fiercely at the former warrior.

Feeling the fresh blood dripping down his cheek, Otterslip turns, and silently, paw steps not making a sound, he leaves the camp.

Yewberry hangs his head and sets his paw on the ground, retracting his claws. Blood stains the fur of his paw, and he hiccups.

Above, the sky darkens, and rain begins to fall.

The clan falls silent, nearly everyone closing their eyes. From inside the nursery, the kits peer out, confused.

Their eyes drift up to the gray sky outside, and their ears pin back.

"Why is Starclan crying?" Hopekit murmers.

Hailcrash gently pulls her, and Cherrykit closes. Newtscar doing the same with Ripplekit and Pebblekit.

"Because Starclan is sharing Yewberry, Ivybounce's and Silverbelly's grief," is the soft answer Hailcrash gives, and the kits all fall quiet.

It doesn't stop raining for the rest of the day.

- 🐆

AUGHHH????? AUAUGAVHHHHH.??????? AUUGH???? the. jaguar anon you read my mind with yewberry being the one to figure him out. this is . ohhjhh my gd it's so good I'm chewing and biting and maiming and

this is so canon. whenever I drew otterslip now I will draw him with a clawmark scar on his cheek. oighfhhfh

can we please get a massive round of applause for jaguar anon . they deserve it so much

[beevean]

Sonic games described badly:

Sonic 1: Don’t harm nature kids!

Sonic 2: A Hedgehog and a Fox stop a fat man from breaking some copyright laws

Sonic CD: Don’t harm nature kids, but the timestream? Nah fuck that shit!

Sonic 3: Gaming’s first ever surprise Pikachu face moment, courtesy of Knuckles

Sonic Adventure: Violence creates more violence, so don’t do violence kids

Sonic Adventure 2: The government sucks

Sonic Heroes: I FFFFFUCKING LOVE TEAMWORK SO MUCH *slams head on pure concrete

Shadow the Hedgehog: “So instead of asking us about your past, even Rouge, you decided to trust an obviously evil alien!?” “Well in my defense I did drop my head by falling from outer space”

Sonic Rush: Local Hedgehog teaches a Cat a lesson on friendship by beating the snot out of her and throwing her off a platform

Sonic 06: Marty McFly:

Sonic Rush Adventure: “Hey Sonic do you think Oda will try to sue us for this?”

Sonic Unleashed: Chip: I have to go now, the planet needs me (Editor’s note: Chip’s Temple Megazord bonked its head on the last planetary piece as it made its way back into place)

Sonic and the Secret Rings: Don’t tell Amy that, unlike her, Shahra actually managed to put a ring on Sonic

Sonic and the Black Knight: Where literally everyone not named Sonic sucks!

Sonic Colors: Eggman “I have changed!” Tails “Has he changed?” Sonic “Lmao no”

Sonic Generations: Suck it Link, this is how you screw around with the timeline!

Sonic Lost World: Maybe the real Lost Hex was the lesson learned along the way

Sonic Forces: Do you think Eggman ever made some racist, WW2 era-style cartoons against Sonic and friends?

Sonic Mania: A game made with fan input for fans :D

Sonic Frontiers: A game made with fan input for fans D:

Sonic Superstars: The game that sucks because it has the worst bosses known to man and features uninspired level design and a monster final boss that comes out of nowhere. I’d rather play Sonic Rush, Sonic Frontiers and Sonic Adventure 2!

Sonic 4 Episode 3:

[chknbzkt]

Even more Ruin spoilers under the cut:

I had a massive brain moment about how Moon and Sun’s virus works, how it affects them both and how it’s managed to isolate them from the rest of the bots and each other!

I’m thinking back on Moon’s dialogue, just how spiteful and angry at Sun he is, it’s far more obvious than in Security Breach because he’s too busy to playing cat and mouse with Gregory to really elaborate further. And of course Sun is obviously Not pleased at the idea of letting Moon out at all, Moon clearly has a reputation for doing… something. Perhaps many somethings, who knows

But god, “no more light, no more Sun,” that’s far more forthright when it comes to the pure resentment that seems to have considerably worsened since SB. And the tables have finally turned, with Sun out in the same position of helplessly watching as his counterpart runs the show, powerless to change much save for the occasional lapse in control when Moon is flashed with a sufficiently strong light source (alternatively, the VANNI mask lets you approach the DA as a whole even while unfettered so long as you don’t take it off, and Sun is clearly stuck in alternate reality while Moon is off his entire rocker).

That constant loop. The Daycare Attendant isn’t just one entity, it’s two (now THREE but that comes after the fact). The Vanny Virus can’t just aim for one at a time, the other can take over and possibly fix them both.

So it had to get creative. Turn them against each other.

First it chose Sun, actually.

I am fully in the ballpark that Sun is also infected, he’s just affected in a way that isn’t straight up aggressive physically, but rather behaviorally. It starts out subtle. Heightened awareness but with an added touch of robo-anxiety and a strange new penchant for poking and prodding at people out of mistrust. It’s a slippery slope that gives way to an avalanche further down the line, you’ll see.

It chose Moon’s head to gradually worm it’s way into next, seizing him at opportune moments during naptime all of a sudden and retreating just as fast so he couldn’t retaliate and right himself. Build Moon a reputation as the dark and scary one, which he sadly already had even before his infection. Lean into it. Make it worse.

It’s hard to explain yourself and your actions to the increasingly testy bestie that literally lives inside your head when the thing causing you to act this way falls away and leaves you wondering if you really did intend on dropping little Darla from the balcony into the ball pit. The virus weeds into your mind and makes you feel okay with doing things you never would have otherwise.

But of course, that’s when the virus starts really amping up and finding ways to make Sun feel justified in his flimsy convictions and eventually plunge off the deep end into a spiral of conspiracies and unhinged ramblings. It ends up being horrifyingly effective when coupled with Moon’s rapidly deteriorating mental state.

He’s a thousand times more volatile and very quick to sever trust, Gregory my guy didn’t even do anything and my man Sun is pointing fingers to find someone, something, ANYTHING to blame for things going wrong around him he’s just that paranoid and out of his gourd.

That’s how the virus got him. Severe mania and trust issues out the wazoo. He’ll be cordial and nice sure thing, but you Must. Obey. His Rules. No exceptions. Even if you don’t technically do a thing wrong, if anything bad happens, Sun is quick to jump to the corkboard laden with sticky notes in his brain and somehow find somebody to pin blame on, regardless if the justification has any weight 💀

There is no three strikes with Sun. You get one (1) ☝🏽 chance, that’s it.

I also realized something really sad… how long prior to Security Breach had Moon been locked away inside Sun’s head? And how much longer after we turn the lights back on, at least until he breaks free again come Ruin? Idc how far gone you are under the Vanny Virus, being held a prisoner inside your own mind cannot possibly be good for the brain box

But the thing is… Sun thought in his virus-addled state that what he was doing was good for both of them. It’s only a matter of time before Moon straight up kills someone acting more and more Like That, so at some point one of Moon’s ‘mishaps’ ends up being the straw that breaks the camel’s back and he goes out of his way to ensure Moon can’t hurt anyone anymore. Nevermind that Moon needs him more than anyone at that point in time.

That’s how the negative feedback loop started. The Vanny Virus made them hate each other, and slowly but surely enlarged the rift between them.

And things escalate the longer the DA goes unchecked.

Sun is terrified for his counterpart, but also for himself. The virus takes advantage of that by giving him this holier-than-thou complex that makes him feel absolutely sure things are better this way, he knows best, Trust No One, they could get scrapped after all! He’s protecting them. He’ll do anything to keep them safe.

Moon is further pressed upon by the virus, unmitigated by Sun’s former assurances and comforting presence as he recedes, ravaged by the virus and eventually becoming the monster the kids (and now Sun ffs) believes him to be. He’s so cripplingly lonely and antsy locked inside their mind. He yearns to be free, he’s angry he’s being pointedly ignored, and come Ruin he’s determined to show Sun how alone and isolated he’s felt for months (maybe longer!!!!)

I have Thoughts about Ruin’s portrayal of Eclipse, but it’s clear that they are brand spanking new to the DA’s shared body and mind, so they get a separate post,,

-

I hope this post reads well, I’ve cut and pasted things and moved so much shit around that I fear readability is out of the question, but this has been in my drafts for days and I neeeed somebody to see the inner machinations of my mind on that daycare bitch, ok

[fireproofphoenix]

So I've been playing Palworld and it's scratched that itch I had back when Ark was also new and wonky as all hell. I love finding wonky shit that will be patched soon enough that I otherwise would never had seen if it was a polished game already. That's not the point. The point is the day I reached 365 in-game days on my character, I was taken to Hell and God spoke to me.

This is a somewhat long tale because I can't seem to tell a story without lots of details but ehh.

Now I know it wasn't intended as such but I know what I know man. See I'm all about breaking games. I enjoy speed running and clipping objects, and let me tell you about unintended files stored as magic boxes behind a fireplace in Skyrim! Naturally then, I have used some less than authentic things in the year.

Have I maybe held a conversation about the pros and cons between two Chikipi in the inventory of a Black Marketeer while my Quivern roasted him alive in the background so I could loot his corpse of 35k gold? Perhaps.

Have I ever intentionally instigated a riot in one of the only civilized parts of this island of nightmares? Have I led that bloodthirsty mob then against the leaders of the cults and/or organizations that control the island with the intent of forcing their leaders and their partner creature into a sphere thanks to an exploit allowing me to catch them? It's possible.

But no, instead me and Immortal the Shadowbeak decided to visit his home realm. See I was doing the now-known trick of butchering a pal and then riding them to prevent them from dying. Didn't realize how it worked, really, i just knew to try riding him during the second loop of the animation. I'd discovered this from dropping the controller in a panic as my cat made a mad dash and knocked over my coffee.

I figured out the rhythm of it. I was killing and harvesting this beast endlessly! It refused to stay dead under my guiding hand. Sure it was eternally blurred out with that pixil-y cloud, but that's because we should not gaze directly upon the divine, as this death transcendent hippogriff clearly was. I explain this in a sleep deprived mania to my roommate. They suggest a nap. I disagree. Another coffee means I can continue the immortal butchering.

Then we Fell the first time. I'm no stranger to being out of bounds in a game mind you. Hell my favorite mining route meant clipping through a mountain in another game. This is Fine™ so I land in the water under the map. Recall people saying online that the dungeons and whatnot are just hidden pockets under the world. Maybe that's where I was? Didn't care. Immortal Shadowbeak was there with me still. I continued the butchering unimpeded. Must get technology books for unlocking more shelves.

Over time I have repeatedly entered the Undersea. Sometimes its from exploring, but no, I have a Rushoar and he is called Sæhrímnir and he will take me to the Undersea every time. No matter what. Every other Immortal has regenerated every reload of the save and lost their pixel cloud, but remains censored to this day. But a man needs bacon for his eggs so I butcher him like his namesake to feed the people.

Now, like every good casserole recipe, the backstory is finally set, so onto the tale. On the day of my character's 365th day I rolled out of my bed and walked out of my keep. I did a full tour, remembering my tiny three walls and a roof to how far I'd come with my Pals. It'd been a long year, but I decided a feast! We must celebrate! Not just me and my party, but all of us shall enjoy Sæhrímnir! No salads for breaks today!

So me and Sæhrímnir get into position on the Bloodstone. I'd read having one stone foundation away from everything helped with not falling through the ground and while it worked for everyone else, Sæhrímnir is more Divine and thus immune to that so once again I'm riding his not-a-corpse down to the Undersea. I figure I need more meat to fill everyone, what with food level 7s everywhere, so i continue meat making.

Sæhrímnir decided I'd been flaunting his immortality I guess because later at the party he suddenly burst from his palsphere and I was like "Weird, but okay" and decided I'd try "petting him and calming him down" before tossing him back into the sphere. I was still holding the butcher knife I guess and started disembowling him on the table in the center of the picnic area in front of everyone. Only the Immortals knew what they were, having been killed at the Bloodstone far from the eyes of the rest, and now they knew.

But I wasn't gonna let Sæhrímnir die, so I went through the rituals the same as always and down to the Undersea we went. I prepare to go back to base via the keep inventory option in conjunction with the die and respawn button in the menu. It's routine at this point.

"Come" I hear an older man and younger woman say at the same time. I just happened to be looking at Sæhrímnir, about to return him to his sphere. His pixilation ended at that one word and then we started falling through the Undersea. In that short fall, I wondered if we'd fallen somehow into one of those dungeon pockets. As we landed I knew this was truly not somewhere I was supposed to be.

See, the grass was much more gray than green, but there was grass and ground under my feet in every direction I could see. The issue was, I could not see that far, only about five to ten feet through the thick white mist that was static and yet animated. No wait, that part just moved, but the smoke texture wasn't animated. I cautiously begin moving through the mist, careful that the ground may end yet again. Try finding Sæhrímnir, but he's gone. My palspheres aren't working, my character not even trying to throw an empty hand.

On the side of the screen, I see my character has eaten another plate of bacon an eggs. I'm still alive and eating, so that's a bonus. Means this isn't unsalvagable, but curiosity has me. I check and I have all my weapons. The firearms shoot into the White Void and my ammo count went down, so they work. I reload and set off further and faster into the mist.

Even fully sprinting there's nothing but knee high gray grass and flowers and the mist that is everywhere. I opened the map and it says I haven't left my base. I know I've been running in the mist for easily five minutes. I encounter a tree. It's texture is on inside out and is more or less just a mass of spiky vectors in a dead tree shape. I continue. Minutes pass, more trees appearing in the fog. I saw a pal fragment node but it vanished as I approached.

eventually as I get bored, I notice the day is about to end and I consider respawning and going back. The Sun turns into a Moon in the dial and I hear a crashing sound like a felled tree. Everything flashes and the grass is suddenly green, but the mist is turning black like ink. Horror movie vibes as hell. I'm rooted in place watching this glitch and needing to know how it ends.

The double-voice says something again, but they're no longer saying the same thing. Too brief to comprehend what it was. Haywire audio files, no big thing. Happens a lot. Sæhrímnir then appears, or perhaps another boar like him. It squeals and does its death animation as the fog finishes becoming black. Night must've finished falling in the Overworld---

Lights start coming to life around me, brightening and dimming slowly. Lifmunk Statue green and data log/fast travel blue lights started pulsing in the void. I made the mistake of trying to run to one. The camera spins as I start running. Moving is controlling the camera now and the camera is moving the character now. No problem, lemme just unlearn decades of gaming muscle memory real quick.

"COME" the Twin Voices cried suddenly, static accompanying the word. Feel backdoor room vibes and get goosebumps. My nerves are suddenly both taught and shot at the same time. My character has fallen into the distortion world ffs. Time to abort. I select Respawn in the menu. My character doesn't die. Try several more times to no avail. Try double jumping and my Galeclaw still refuses to answer my summons. Palspheres are still not working.

As I get the idea to just hard-close out the game, the sun begins to rise. Like a disney movie, rays of gold and orange shoot through the black and dispel it....why are the rays of light twisting? They start bending around and twisting around invisible objects my character doesn't collide with. Wait, that thing over there kind of looks like part of the assembly machine---

The entire screen suddenly turns white and I hear a sound like a dozen digital demons as the game crashes. I reboot the game and I'm standing in the middle of the party, still in full swing around 4 in the afternoon on the 365th day. Nevermind my night going through the Shadowrealms like I'm mfing Ra crossing the Duat. Nevermind that I saw beyond the veil as many Islanders wish for and I found only horrors.

I prepare to log out when I check my party. Sæhrímnir is gone. He never returned with me.

The Immortal Pal Experiments have been halted at this time.

[valeriianz]

2, 3, 14, 19 for the concert asks?

yo! under the cut cos this got just a little long

2: Best concert you’ve ever been to

THE CAT EMPIRE AT HISTORY, TORONTO!

ahhhh every Cat Empire show is crazy. they are so fucking talented and you can tell they just love music. they do jam sessions on stage and the hype and positivity is so infectious. Felix does this thing that i love where he sticks the mic stand into the crowd and gets us singing. it's always such a fun time. and the fans, dude! we are all just music lovers and since i always go to shows alone, i love talking with them. they are the most down to earth, chill human beings.

and this show in particular, i got invited backstage to jam with the band 😭💖 we ate pizza and drank beer and it was the coolest experience of my life. i wish they toured N America more lmao

3: Worst concert you’ve ever been to

im very fortunate that most of my shows have been at least worth the money. but i can think of two right off the bat that i wasn't satisfied with. story time(s)!

Lindsey Stirling at the MET in Philly.

so, ive seen Lindsey Stirling three times. for those who don't know her, she's a violinist, but very poppy with dubstep mixed in. her shows focus very heavy on dance and theatrics. the first time was at a festival when she was suuuuper brand new (2015) and the crowd was alive. it was so fun. and it makes sense, her music is the type to dance to!

second time i saw her was another standing crowd situation in Manhattan circa 2016. when i say the crowd was dead, oh my god it was lifeless. i was embarrassed. New York City, what the hell?

then i saw her at the MET in 2022, which is a seated venue. and like, holy hell... everyone remained seated, even when Lindsey told the crowd to get up and dance multiple times. at one point i had put my phone up to record a certain part of the show and the girl sitting behind me immediately tapped me on the shoulder and told me to put my phone down. like, okay i get recording the show is annoying, but im not that guy. i just wanted to record a 10 second sequence she was doing but fine. i barely took my phone out during that performance.

but anyway, the stillness. listen, ive been to seated venues before (rock shows) and no one ever remains seated through the entire show. what the fuck is that? i was dancing in my seat while everyone around me looked at me like i was crazy. omg i just wanted to jam! and then my favorite song came up, Roundtable Rival (listen to this song and tell me how im not supposed to dance to this) and fuck it, i stood up and started to shake it.

to wrap up this long story, the girls behind me were so disgusted by my actions they full on left. there was only one other person in the floor seats that i could see who was also standing and dancing. and during the last song, Lindsey actually made everyone stand up and groove to the song (but even standing, these people were fucking dead).

i took my frustrations to reddit, asking if i was in the wrong, and got absolutely dog-piled with hate. even though Lindsey clearly said at least twice during the show to stand up. i haven't listened to her since. she's a talented musician, but the fans absolutely killed it for me.

Fall Out Boy at the Key Bank Center, Buffalo

this is gonna be a short one. this was in 2017-early 2018 i think. it was for their Mania tour. I had seen them the year before in Brooklyn and the show they put on was super fun, they really made use of the stage (this was an arena tour) and for that show, i had purchased nose-bleed seats. and for this one in Buffalo, i purchased floor tickets (it was significanly cheaper in Buffalo).

but they didn't utilize the stage at. all in Buffalo. all the theatrics i had seen in Brooklyn didn't exist here. the tracklist was pretty much the same, the graphics and pyro the same. but just a weak performance with no energy. i was so bored.

14: Moshpit, barricade, back, or rafters

i have sampled all these options, and 100% always prefer the barricade. i love being up close to the action and (usually) that up close is where the party is happening. (though i could go on a rant about how concert goers don't jump/dance at shows anymore, even some rock shows ive been to have just been. muted. i still dance my face off and make it a problem for the people around me).

tried one moshpit in my experience and the adrenaline is like nothing else. but i'd probably steer clear of it now. gotta protect my weary bones in my older age haha

19: Farthest traveled for concert/festival

before my trip in June, it was 400 miles (within the states). but after my last show, its now 560 miles (900 km)!

ive definitely thought about going to festivals overseas, especially since two of my favorite bands are English and Australian... but as much as i love traveling, i find it annoying to plan a trip around a concert so. traveling further than a few hundred miles just for a show is not something i typically do.

concert asks

[forthedancingandthethriving]

(Context! Takes place right after.)

"What am I doing..?"

Root frowns when she hears Bioluminescent. The Moderator seems almost resigned, guilty maybe.

The offshoot rounds the corner, and spots Bioluminescent with her head hung. "Uh.. Bioluminescent?"

"Huh?!" The cat quickly shoots up and turns around. She smiles at seeing Root and gently rubs her eyes. "Oh, hello, Root! It's good to see you!"

"Are.. Are you okay?" Root asks as she walks over to a coat hanger, which she then takes off her cloak and hangs it on a hook. "Were you..?"

"Just a tough day." Bioluminescent waves her off, smiling still. "Some rude Programs, nothing new." The Moderator floats over. "How have you been?"

The virus pauses before looking down. "I.. not good." She closes her eyes. "There was an outbreak of badgers today, and E. Gadd thought it'd be a good idea for me to get rid of them. Because, you know.. snake." She shrugs. "But then I.. I.."

She starts to shake, and Bioluminescent frowns. She floats over and gently places her paws on Root's shoulder. "Deep breaths. Tell me what happened."

"I was so violent." Root whispers. "I.. I was enjoying it. Tearing them all down, defeating them. And I.. Meggy, she.." Her breath hitches. "She was just checking on me and pointing out how excessive it was. And I snapped at her, told her to just mind her business, because she wasn't the one to get rid of all the badgers!" Her voice crescendoed before it softened. "And I.. I realized and said I was sorry, that I just got stressed from having to get rid of all those badgers but.."

"My training was supposed to make me less like Ozymandias, not more!" Root cries. "Am I not training enough?! What am I doing wrong?!"

Bioluminescent opens her mouth to say something, but of course, Coral walks over and kneels down.

"Oh, Root dear, it's alright." The Admin soothes her.

"Coral.." Root rubs her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell, I.."

"Sh, it's not your fault." Coral cuts her off. "Come now dear, I have some new moves I want to show you today. Maybe it'll help you blow off some steam?"

Root nods and follows Coral as the Admin gets up and walks, her horns, tail, and clawed hands forming.

Bioluminescent followed them until they began descending to the arena. Wave-Mania had closed just a few hours ago, so there was no one around. Instead, Bioluminescent heads on up to one of the many viewing areas.

There, her disguse falls, and Lumi hunches over.

"What am I doing..?" She whispers, her ears flat. "Root is a kid..! And I'm just.. oh god.."

Her eyes glance behind her, and her hackles raise.

The Purple One stares down at her, their expression one of pity.

Lumi turns her head away.

"You aren't real, you aren't real, you aren't real! I saw Leto throw you out, I saw it-" She mutters, clenching her teeth.

Lumi.

"No." Lumi lowers her head in shame. "Please."

Lumi, you can still fix this. You can get her out.

"No.. No I.." She drags her front paws down her face. "I can't, I can't. Leto.." She shudders out a breath. "Leto is helping me.. I can't.. I can't forget that."

Lumi..

"Go away..!" She hisses quietly, turning her head back to glare at The Purple One.

They're gone when she looks back.

She swallows thickly and walks back up to the railing, and assumes her Moderator disguise.

Bioluminescent watches the sparing match below, and exhales.

She couldn't forget. This was Leto helping them. This was Leto helping.

Leto knew what she was doing.

[jehans]

okay so look, one of my favorite tv shows of all time is The Flash, i have that shit on repeat frequently and a lot of the time i restart it as soon as i finish it or i'll wait like three months and then watch it again. it's fun and corny and earnest and great, and there's a storyline or two that are absolute nonsense, but i love it anyway and the ending payed off so well for me. it's pretty much my main comfort show. but so far, it's the only Arrowverse show i've actually watched all the way through, right? like, i've seen all the crossovers but really not interested in watching Arrow from start to finish and i've never really gotten around to Legends or Batwoman or anything. i watched most of the first season of Superman & Lois but then forgot to finish it.

WELL i'm finally watching Supergirl and i really like it a lot! Kara was always my favorite crossover character while watching The Flash so watching her show has been a delight. and then i got to s01e16 "Falling" and it hit me like a train how fucking GOOD that episode is as a metaphor for mental illness holy shit. especially when Kara comes back to herself and has to deal with the fallout from everything that evil!Kara said and did.

[spoilers for an 8 year old episode from here.]

the scene when she's talking to Cat on the balcony and says that she knows it wasn't exactly her fault and her brain was altered, but that it brought something inside of her out that was horrible and scared people and now she's afraid she's never going to win people back was just...so real? also, the scene when she woke up and felt horrified at what she'd done and described it as terrifying. when you deal with mood-altering mental illness, sometimes you find yourself doing things that don't feel like you, whether that's a deep-down part of you in the moment, or how you feel once you're more yourself, but that you know have hurt people or changed their perspective of you, and that's so scary. to know that that can happen to you. and to know that it might not be entirely your fault, but you're still the one who's going to have to fix it once you're you again. that you're still responsible even if you're not completely to blame.

and i loved Cat's response about it not being easy, but also not being impossible, and how she personally doesn't believe in failure, "as long as you get back up and face the music."

just. what a wonderful message to those of us who struggle with any mental illness that causes bouts of depression, mania, delusion, paranoia, anything. how real and complicated it is, and how hopeful.

and to have Kara, the epitome of what is good and wholesome and optimistic, struggle with this. the message that sends to me, personally, about how your struggles do not make you a bad person, but facing the music, taking responsibility and building back that trust — that means more. just. ugh. it's good.

also, i'm not even reaching to make this a metaphor, it's clear from the text that this was INTENDED because of the scene where Cat says that Supergirl is having some kind of mental break and offers to get her an emergency appointment with her psychiatric provider for some lexapro. it's said in that semi-tongue-and-cheek way that Cat says things, but it's also clearly a genuine sentiment from her.

[insolitus-academy]

♚ //  Face Claim Full name Face Claim: Jung Yoonoh / Jaehyun. Group/Band/Occupation: NCT. Nationality: Korean. Faceclaim age: 26

♚ // Character ;  Basic information Quote: "No price is to great. No atrocity beyond my reach. For you ... I will do anything.”

Full name character: Akobel Rhee (Dead Name: Haesoo Rhee) Nickname: Ako Realm of birth: Homeless Age: 22 Date of Birth: November 7th, 2000 Gender: Cismale Preferred Pronouns: He/him Race: Fallen Angel Sexual Orientation: Pansexual What languages does your character speak?: Fluent in Korean and English but multilingual due to his previous background as an Angel. (Everything else is conversational.) What is the level of Korean and how did they learn to speak it (For non-Korean characters from other realms & other earth-countries): Fluent due to originating in South Korea.

♚ // Character ; Appearance Skin Color: Golden/Pale. Eye color: Dark brown – almost identical to black at times. Scars: None. Piercings: None. Tattoos: Large, black feather-like wings tattooed largely on his back – scaled life size. Hair color: Bleached blonde. Abnormalities: He still has his ethereal glow from being an angel despite never actually gaining his wings, radiates at most when he is sleeping and decipates whenever he has any unholy thoughts. Horns/wings/etc.: None. Transformed form: None.

♚ // Character ; Personality Six personality traits: Charming, rebellious, distrusting, facetious, dry, and quick-tempered.

Likes: Silk, heavy thunderstorms, tousled hair, strawberries, and the color ‘gold’. Dislikes: Optimism, biblical terms/references, cellos, cats, and Angels. Manias: He stares at people – Ako has this intense urge to learn about people and things but he doesn’t like talking to people so he constantly stares, using his own thoughts and feelings to judge characters. He will stare at people unwillingly and intensely, never wavering if caught staring. Phobias: None. Animal: Owl. Religion: Alatrism. Favorite song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-8pyVBvCPQ - No Blueberries Vice: Wrath. Virtue: Diligence.

Personality description: Akobel is something sort of undecipherable at first glance. He's the observer rather than converser, more to keep to himself than go out of his way to greet a stranger. He's long since lost trust in most beings – supernatural or not – but holds grudges against certain species such as Humans or Angels. Akobel is all sorts of manipulative and dry, not particularly caring about much of anything anymore since his fall from grace which shows through his words when he talks with a fellow student or teacher. He can try to be a somewhat decent person when he needs to be, using his observation skills as a tool to be decent at picking up social queues and can be charming at times, but he's very dry and sarcastic as a person overall.

Under the surface, Akobel is very sensitive. He's particular about who he's close with and how far he'd go in relations to someone as he's afraid he'd ultimately hurt anyone close to him as his penance from above.

He puts on a mask to cope as most people do – trying to show confidence while faking morality with due diligence as his position as an "Angel". He does not advertise freely that he is a Fallen Angel. Akobel will also snark back when talked down on and finds most humor not funny.

♚ // Character ; Powers Magical Powers: Minor Weak Powers (Light Manipulation) - Ako is able to create very weak shadows of what they once were able to do. Only at highly emotional times (which happens very rarely) lights flicker between his fingertips and in his irises as his control over light comes back in minuscule amounts. Non-magical Powers:

Very skilled at playing the piano – can play any music sheets at first glance as Ako has a very good understanding and handling of a piano. Weaknesses:

Human Injury – Any human pain exemplifies either largely or even just by a little bit more than it should. Ako is not used to getting headaches, migraines, paper cuts, and everything in between so the pain in which he suffers from humane things hurt a lot worse than typical humans would experience. Darkness – Ako, previously trained on light holding and light sharing, is very weak against the dark. Though, he is not afraid of it, he does feel helpless as it counters him in a way where he is not able to see so he is unable to function. Fear creeps up on him in the dark and he starts to go delirious. Anger – Ako had uncontrollable anger ever since he was stripped of his title of ‘Angel’ in which means anger is something new and foreign to him. When he gets angry, he is overfilled with rage and loses his senses in which becomes physically upset. He cannot overturn this quite yet in which deters him of thinking, feeling, and conversing.

♚ // Character ; The Student Study Style: He, outwardly, looks like a perfect student with perfect grades but cheats at every chance he gets, cutting corners to achieve top ranks at any costs. Favorite class: Sword Fighting Least Favorite class: Biology

classes (5-8) :

Magical Rituals Sword Fighting Human and Earth History Manipulation Biology Psychology

♚ // Character ; The Past Date of Birth: November 7th, 2000 Date of Death: N/A Crime Record: Fell in love with a human while on Earth and chose his love for humans over his need to be an Angel which went against the guidelines in which Angels held at the time – this is what stripped him of his title before he could become an official Angel.

Has your character attended Insolitus Academy in the past? No.

Background:

tw: Heavy mentions of religion, character death, & cancer.

Akobel, the (almost) Angel of Light.

Akobel was the Angel that never was – all because of a human.

There was careful planning in making Akobel into the Angel that he so desired; there was diligence, hard work, patience, and sacrifices in which made him the pure bred soul that God had chosen.

Akobel – real name Haesoo, was sixteen when he was hand-picked, a whisper within the church walls that blinded him with this intense light that Haesoo's never foresought. He attended church that day like he did every week, with his hands folded at his waist and head bowed low, and even his mother and father was seated tightly at his left and right, but no one saw the light except for him. When bought up, everyone called him crazy – that there was no way that a teen could have experienced that kind of connection within their holy walls. He was only sixteen.

But Haesoo heard the invitation: join God and become an Angel of Light.

And so Haesoo Rhee disappeared one day from Seoul, Korea on his seventeenth birthday. No one had a clue what had happened to Haesoo – kids just run away all the time – in which Haesoo became a long, forgotten memory.

Akobel joined God's plan at the mere age of seventeen. He was cautious and careful, always following his guidance from fellow Angels were deliberate steps. Ako was good at what he did, fluttering lights and suspending rays, but he was also so curious about anything and everything. He put his trust into his community around him and was left with little to few answers but he powered through and sought for any kind of end goal.

Akobel was twenty when he was sentenced his first walkthrough back on Earth as an Angel-to-be.

Humans were so different than he remembered them to be when he was sixteen – maybe he just grew more mature, indifferent, now that Haesoo was just a distant memory. He walked through humans for months and was treated to something close to a plastic bag left gliding through the streets. No one really cared for his existence as he watched from the sidelines and judged silently – his conclusion was that all humans were arrogant, ruthless, and mean.

All humans except one.

She was a college student sitting next to him on a park bench as Akobel sat there idly, palms perched on his thighs and eyes studying humans that passed by him unknowingly. She sought him out and at first, it was nonsensical, asking about his day and if he was from around the area. She sparked curiosity in him – always curious, that Akobel – so he conversed back as a kind gesture. But then, it reeled into something more than kind smiles exchanged and whispers of a touch, it became multiple days spent along on dates and dinners into brushes of lips against lips into intimate touches and promises of forever.

Akobel couldn't keep the secret, it was his duty as a warrior from above that he would respect his elders in which told them the truth, the whole truth. He was in love. But he never expected it to backlash so harshly and in his face – they made him pick: continue his duty as an Angel of Light interim or choose that ... that human.

Akobel fell from grace at the age of twenty.

He didn't even get his wings, ironically enough, but he found love in a human after all hope was lost in finding redemption on Earth. It was a bit humorous because Akobel thought happiness would've solidified after he made the biggest sacrifice he was deemed unholy for. He thought he would be left alone after the unbecoming of an Angel.

The love of his life, the human he had so fought for, gotten terminal cancer three months after his unbecoming.

It was his penance – not the five Hail Mary's and two Glory Be's that he was promised – but a much crueler sentence than "almost" being an Angel. He finally found peace on Earth only for it to be ripped away from him as soon as he could feel human again. It was cruel but that was reality. When his beloved passed, Akobel cried and cried and cried – nothing really mattered as he was never able to be the same again.

Akobel gave so much to everyone until he was a bare empty corpse of what he once was.

Insolitus Academy was a whispered place amongst his fellow Angels where lost souls go and with nothing left for him but bare bones, Akobel found himself on the grounds of the academy. He had nothing left for him – no Angels to call his own and no love to keep him upright. He truly did just run away like he was whispered of doing years ago.

At the age of twenty-two, Akobel enrolled in Insolitus Academy with no wings on his back and no love in his heart.

♚ // Roleplayer

Time zone: CST.

OOC! Triggers: None.

Themes/genres you like writing the most?: Angst, action, romance, drama, AUs, anything and everything honestly.