#I don't really know what I'm doing here tbh

[catmask]

meowdy! looks like our move to a new apartment is not going to be so peaceful after all - our old apartment is currently leaking sewage water and we have to evacuate four people and two cats! donations are appreciated, but im opening an emergency sale + commissions too! (more under the cut)

KO-FI SHOP SALE + EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

DISCOUNT CODE IS 'LEAK' IN ALL CAPS

so for this section, i'm going to break down everything thats happening + when things will come off hiatus! i'm hoping that everything will be set up in the new place by JUNE 1st, so that is the hard deadline i'm setting to start all functions up again as usual.

WHAT'S HAPPENING?

two years ago, my fiance and i were offered emergency housing when we (very suddenly and tragically) became the parents to his orphaned little sister. both of us are only 26 and had to move 8 hours from where we had been living at the time, so the housing we had was the best 2 people with few connections and no established jobs could find within a single weeks notice.

since then, we have been saving up and working to finally have a proper place to live. and we did so! at the beginning of this month we found an apartment where all of us can move to. we have a friend staying with us who is helping with the move as well.

i really wanted this move to be seamless - basically, you wouldn't have had to know it was happening. we were going to pay double rent for two months while i would stream and work from the old place, and begin sleeping at the new one. its expensive, but i didn't want my real life to trouble anyone here.

unfortunately this is no longer possible. the old building we were staying at had a pipe begin to leak, then eventually flood our entire apartment. this has been a reoccurring problem the landlord hasn't seemed to find a solution for, and it's led to a biohazard where we were planning on slowly moving from - leading to an immediate and emergency evacuation for the safety of everyone in our family.

SO... STREAMING?

will be back online as soon as possible! we moved out our tech as soon as we could due to fear of water damage, and it seems like everything is A-OK. we just need to rebuild my desk and sound proof the new room, so this will probaaabbly be back online within a week? im just going to take the week off to make sure everything is set up and there are no bugs. (digital. digital bugs.)

LAIKA'S COMET?

for the sake of not losing my buffer crazystyle, i'm pausing laika's until JUNE 1st. but i'm going to post one more page right now to leave you guys on a cliffhanger because i think it's funny. (the ko-fi will still update as regular as i finish pages! tbh, in between moving i am going to be drawing.... a LOT... it's like my only self soothing activity i have access to right now </3)

SHOP STUFF?

you basically won't notice a difference. orders go out every 2 weeks anyway, and literally the day before this happened we completely caught up to date. that + all of the goods we had were already moved over because (similar to the tech) we were worried about water damage, so nothing will be yucky... (i dont know if i can say the same about our furniture or clothes ; _ ; )

FINAL NOTES

while we did manage to get out with emergency bags and a weeks worth of outfits + things to sleep on + cook with, we have no real means of knowing the extent of damage until we bring things out of the apartment and clean them here. thankfully *most* things appear undamaged, its largely the flooring and the smell that are unliveable... walking through puddles of sewage water and having to wear a mask to breathe is not really liveable conditions.

however, considering this move is sped up way faster than planned, and i wont be able to work during it - any sales or donations are hugely appreciated. ; w ;

i'm sorry to ask for help like this, and its only if you are comfortable to do so!!! i can work hard, so i don't mind doing a little extra art to make money, this is just if you feel okay to help out and would like to.

if you read this far, thank you so much - hopefully next time i will return with good news - and maybe a new apartment tour...?

[playingplayer2]

Back when I started world building for a writing thing (that I actually need to write for) and I got to the "hmm... Needs a language" point of it I was actually starting to genuinely think about things like "do I actually like/want to use she/her?" and "how do I feel when someone calls me a girl/woman?"

So I took both my language shit and my gender shit and just went "I'll make options for myself then."

(This actually kinda made me spiral towards making uhm... Like. Seven languages to work on for my world building but I digress)

So, sidenote, mixed race/biracial/third culture kid here. I grew up around multiple languages, ended up with English as my only language, but know a number of words in Mandarin and Cantonese. So. Mama and Baba are Parent Words™, even if I've never personally used baba for my father ("deadbeat" is the nicest word I could use).

Figured out early on that... Well if I ever have kids I really, really, don't want to be either "mama" or "baba" to them so...

In Tyrnic (my language baby, child of my soul, accidentally becoming my life's work, etc), mom is Amma/Amo'ae, dad is Tato/Tata'o, and gn parent is Atam/Atam'a. The cute/diminutive/etc versions are B'ama, B'ato, and B'tam, respectively.

So whenever/if I ever have kids, I'd be Atam/Atama/B'tam. Just, whichever one works best for the hypothetical kid/s. And I'd get the bonus of anytime someone asked about what my kids called me I could immediately begin to ramble about my world building.

(tho tbh I'm pretty sure I accidentally just yoinked "amma" from Cantonese because I probably heard it when I was little and it just stuck somewhere in my head)

suggestions for gender neutral version of mom/dad? something less formal than just ‘parent’

[toxicanonymity]

Mama's Boy, 18+

slasher Joel masterlist | problematic playlist | AO3

PAIRING: Slasher!Joel x f!reader LENGTH: 7.2k words and none wasted tbh SUMMARY: Dinner at his mom's house, mostly. WARNINGS: 18+ dark, unsafe PinV, gunplay, degradation, a bit of angst, a whiff of incest, choking-adjacent, dark!reader, major revelations (!), feelings maybe? (god help us), mommy and daddy issues, slasher Joel needs a hug. NOTES: Today is not only mother's day, but also the 2nd anniversary of his first fic. This is packed. @flawssy-227 ty for your activism. And @thesummerpetrichor, I thought of you 🖤. Joel can carry reader.

It's Sunday. He lets himself in. 

“Still in bed? Must’ve been ass up face down pretty late last night, huh? Told ya i'd pick ya up… ”

You squint at him as your eyes adjust. “What are you talking about?” He has something draped over his shoulder.

Too much talking. Not enough fucking. 

He scoffs, “Really? Sunday dinner, slut.” He marches over to your nightstand with a snarl, picks up a folded piece of paper, and tosses it at you like a frisbee. 

Oh yeah. 

You unfold it as if it's the first time you've read it: “pick u up sunday.” There's a sketch of his fat cock and a thinner outline of what's presumably a dong next to it. “p.s. u need a real toy.” 

Well, here he is. Picking you up on Sunday, and he's even kinda cleaned himself up. A plaid shirt and jeans tighter than his work uniform. Looks like a normal guy you could pass in the supermarket, none the wiser that he’d shove a huge tool up your cunt.

He stands by your bed holding up one dress in each hand. Neither of them yours. 

“Now put on somethin’ decent.”  

He throws them onto the bed, then pulls a gun out of the back of his pants.  “What do you think? ” He gestures between them with the gun. 

One of the dresses is simple, clean lines, not far off from something you might normally wear. But it has a brown stain and a frayed edge. It doesn't feel right. 

The other dress is a strawberry plant pattern with short sleeves that puff out. It's faded and outdated, but clean and in decent shape–from what you can tell, at least.

“Got my own clothes,” you tell him.

But he insists, “This ain't the street corner, sugar. You're gonna pick one of these.”

“I'm too tired for this,” you complain, then add, “I dunno what makes you think I wanna go to your mom's house.” 

“Come on, baby…” He looks at the gun. “I don't wanna use this… unless I'm stuffin’ your muff with it later ”

After looking at both the dresses, you can't bear to put on the stained one and choose the strawberry print. You feel unexpectedly cute in what could have been plucked from a mid century catalogue for housewives, although it’s probably from modcloth circa 2015.

Turning around in the mirror, it’s actually really flattering, and there’s something kinda sexy about dressing up like this degenerate's pretty little wife…Yep, you're really doing this. 

Maybe it’s partly out of morbid curiosity, wanting to know where he came from. 

How he…. happened. 

He brings you a pair of your own shoes and puts them down for you to step into. 

“Yeah, that's my girl,” looking over your right shoulder at the bathroom mirror, he grabs your ass, then sticks his hand between your legs from behind, hooking his hand under you to reach your clit. Your feet spread reflexively, giving him more room. Still holding the gun in his right hand, the hand between your legs tents the dress as he strokes you, and your gut begins to swell with need. He spreads his feet and angles himself slightly toward you, getting close enough to press himself against you, letting you feel the warm log in those tight jeans, gun held against his meaty thigh. Your chest heats up and you adjust your tits in the dress, copping a feel of yourself while you’re at it. 

“Good girl ” he mutters. With a glint of affection in his eyes, he says, “You were born to wear this dress, kitten.” Now that he’s got you dripping, his fingers slip into the crotch of your panties and he shoves one, then two, inside. “Mm,” he grinds against you as he stuffs you with his fingers. Then he pulls them out and squats down. He lifts the skirt of the dress and yanks the panties down to your ankles. You lean forward and brace yourself on the sink. He stands up, slides the gun between your legs and the smooth, cool metal of the top of the barrel rubs through your slippery seam. Your hips tilt and he slides it forward one last time, before taking it away.

He pats your ass, and says, “Now c’mon, let's go.”

Not even the decency to fuck you first. Not even with the gun.

You scowl at him in the mirror. 

He asks, “Am I gonna have to drag you, kickin’ and screamin’?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply. 

“Alright,” he agrees, all too happy to oblige. He puts the sticky gun in the back of his pants, bends his knees. and lifts you over his shoulder with a grunt. 

He steps through your open back door and slams it behind him with one hand, his other arm braced over the bare backs of your knees. 

You yoink the gun from the back of his pants and he says, “God damnit, be careful with that,” without putting you down. 

“You seem pretty sure I won't shoot you,” you observe. 

“Course ya won't. Be like a … like a drug addict shootin’ their dealer… nah, shootin’ the drug cooker. Yeah. And he's the only cooker.”

He's getting slightly out of breath as he walks. Or maybe it’s the effort of all that thinking. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” You ask.

“Cock hungry whore ain't gonna kill off the biggest cock she's got.” 

You press the edge of the barrel against the small of his back and nudge it into his jeans, then demand, “Put me down.” 

He groans in exasperation, stops, and sets you down in the side yard. 

You almost forget to point the firearm at him. Almost. With the gun raised, you ask, “What’s with the gun anyway? Thought knives were your thing.” 

He shrugs. “Special occasion?”

“Why do you want me to come to dinner so bad?”

“Cause I told her we were comin’, okay? Told her ya liked the casserole.”

For the first time, you notice his hair is a little bit combed. You ask, “What'd you tell her about me?”

“Uh,” He scratches the back of his neck. “She knows we met when I was workin’. Knows I gave ya a ride….knows ya ain't like other girls.” 

“What’s that mean?” You ask, adjusting your grip. 

“I dunno… ” He shrugs, then gets frustrated.  “I ain't brought home a girl home in a long time, okay? And she's gettin’ old, and…” 

When you've lowered the gun, he lunges forward, muttering, “Gimme that,” as he disarms you with ease that makes your heart skip a beat. He grabs you by the arm and marches you to the Volvo. He opens the passenger door and manhandles you into the seat. 

When he gets in the car, he leans over and buckles your seatbelt for you. He smells clean and minty. 

As he puts the car in drive, you ask, “What else did you tell her?”

“Uh…. She knows we ain't been on many dates.”

“Not many?” You ask with a laugh. “You mean none?”

He glances at you twice, suppressing a flattered smile at the implication he perceives. He wets his bottom lip. “That mean ya want to?” 

He holds the gun against his thigh and steers with one hand.

-

-

When you get to his Mom's house, he warns, “Just don't talk about all your whorin’ around, okay? She won't like it.” He checks his hair in the rear view mirror.  

You laugh, “What whoring around?” 

“All those skinny dicks in your phone,” he mutters, getting out of the car.

“Excuse me?” You ask, still sitting. 

“Just tell her about your day job instead,” he says, as if you genuinely don't think or talk about anything other than cock without prompting.

Wait--skinny dicks in your phone? Your train of thought dies when he puts the gun in the back of his pants, and in doing so exposes a few inches of skin, and the tail end of a scar. After he shuts the driver side door, you open yours while he hurries around to help you out. 

“Come on,” His big hand wraps around your inner elbow again. “We're gonna be late.”  He's slightly in front of you 

“Bringing a gun into your mother's house?” you ask as he pulls you along.

He freezes, then mumbles, “You're right. Don't want her to think you're a bad influence. Even if ya are.” 

What a gentleman. 

He goes and puts it in the glovebox, then jogs to catch up with you again. 

-

-

When she opens the door, Joel's mother beams at the sight of her son. She steps outside, frail and slow moving. She's pretty, with silky white hair that looks older than her face. The storm door creaks to a stuttering close behind her.  

At first, it's like you're invisible. He lets go of you, and they embrace. She reaches for the back of his neck and says,  “C'mere, baby,” pulling his face to hers. He kisses her on the cheek, then she kisses him, and then, as they separate, Joel gestures toward you. Her eyes are curious when they meet yours, then her face comes to life as her gaze falls down your body. She puts a hand on her hip as she checks you out, her other hand rising to her mouth for a moment, then resting on her chest, fingers centered in the hollow of her collar bone. 

“Joel,” she half-laughs in flirtatious accusation, then narrates, “Well, there she is…”

“Don't she look nice? ” Joel asks with a subtle smile and blush. 

His mom admires you with an air of disbelief, then goes in for a hug. Her fragrance isn't entirely new to your nostrils, and the sensory recall brings an unsettling tingle to your loins: The night Joel brought the leftovers.

She holds you close, pressing her body all the way against yours without fully relaxing. Firm and in control, and yet , she feels softer than she looks. Her bosom is like a warm pillow. Like a relic of young motherhood, reaching through time, tickling your inner child awake. 

As the hug ends, she gently pinches the puffed sleeves of your dress and says to Joel without looking at him, “Yes, baby. She looks real pretty.”  Then, glancing up from your dress, she tells you with a smile, “Can't promise strawberries, but I do have cherry pie. Come on in.”

“Thank you, ma’am” you nod. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she chuckles, “You can just call me Mama.” 

It sounds like you should know better. Like ‘Mama’ is the most obvious option. You glance at Joel, and he nods with a little smile of permission, as if that's what you’re looking for, and he's glad to give it.

Might as well rip the bandaid off: “Okay… Mama… well, it's nice of you to have me over.” In the back of your mind, you hope Joel doesn't think this is any special effort on your part. It's more like, your job requires manners, and this is your default setting with older folks. 

She holds the door open with her body and you have to graze past her. “Smells delicious,” you observe with genuine hunger, having slept through the first two meals of the day.

She straightens her frilled apron with a smile and suggests, “Joel, why don't you give your girl a tour while I finish up?” 

This is a relief - you hadn't been consciously dreading it, but worst case scenario, she would've asked you to help in the kitchen. She seems like that type. 

–

It’s a humble brick ranch. Dimly lit. Everything is out of style, but tidy.  There are a few bedroom doors, but he doesn’t open any of them, and you don’t pry. The paint in the hall is disrupted over a poorly repaired dent in the wall. You try not to look at the stains on the ceiling. 

One of the living room walls has a fireplace, and one wall is lined with pictures. There's a bare corner with nothing but a crochet rug – a rounded  rectangle, with raised crosses. The paint is newer over there. Bubbling and wanting to peel as the wall approaches the perpendicular wall, the one with the fireplace.

Before you can get a good look at anything, Joel steers you outside. In the small backyard, a wooden garden bed has overgrown with weeds. The lawn is nice and trim. “You help out with the yard?” You ask.

“Uh, sometimes,” he answers. “ She's got somebody else too .”

He rocks forward on his feet, arms crossed. 

“So... you gonna fuck me in your boyhood bedroom?” You ask, and he clears his throat with a forced smile, brows knitted.

“What?” you ask. “Why the hell else would you take my panties?” 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, allowing himself only a brief glance at you, until he does a double take and admits, “Fuck, you look good.” He seems more distressed by it than anything.

No such luck, you guess, raising your eyebrows at the visible outline against his thigh. Never would've pictured him in jeans. 

He runs his hand through his hair, puffs out his cheeks with an exhale, and adjusts himself with effort before leading you back inside. His boot grazes the side of a metal bowl, sloshing water into dark spots on the cement.

-

-

She pours Joel a glass of milk with dinner, and when you politely decline, Joel says, “One glass won't hurt ya, baby .” Mama seems pleased to bring over the old fashioned bottle of milk. She rests her free arm on the back of your chair, with the fine lines of her cleavage near your eyes as she fills your glass. 

The meatloaf is delicious, with sauce that reminds you of barbecue. The mashed potatoes are over-buttered, but they hit the spot. She smiles to herself, satisfied to watch you eat. 

“So tell me about yourself,” she says. “Do you work?” 

You swallow your food, nod, and tell her which clinic you work at. 

“Oh,” she recognizes the name. “The one over on Main Street?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“That's nice,” she says. “Joel's going to own his own business one day. Do you ever want to own your own practice?” 

“Oh, no, I don't think so,” you answer, then ask Joel, “What kind of business?”

“Joel, I'm surprised you haven't told her,” his Mom says, then lowers her voice to a conspiratorial volume to tell you, “He’s too modest.” 

“Ya know, I guess a tow and repair one-stop shop,” Joel says. “Not a lot of guys do both, but I can really take care of ya. Same night, even. Late hours, too.” 

His mom nods. “I always knew he'd be successful,”  she says. “Even in the darker days.” 

Joel tenses and begins to tap his heel. “ How about you, Mama? ” he asks, “ What have you been up to? ”

“Oh, you know, this and that,” she says. “Crossword was a doozie today!” she laughs. “What are you two gonna do this week? Anything special?” 

You shrug and look at Joel. 

He starts, “Uh… ”

His Mom bails him out, “You oughta take her to the drive-in like I said, baby,”  then she asks you, "Would you like that, honey? You like the drive-in? We used to go, it was so nice.”

“Sure, I like movies,” you answer. 

“See, Joel? She likes movies.”

-

Joel finishes his meatloaf relatively quickly, and his mother puts another generous slice on his plate. 

“I don't need any more, Ma,” he says, but she doesn't listen, and he digs into it anyway. By his third slice, he’s pushed back in his chair, adjusting his belt. He pats his tummy and says, “There's nothin’ she makes that ain't good.”

“Only the best for my boy,” she agrees, then asks you, “Ain’t that right?” 

“Of course,” you agree.

“Oh! I saw Randall Junior earlier,” she says. “He came by and did the lawn.”

“Randy,” Joel corrects her. 

“Yeah, Randall’s son.”

“Randy,” Joel repeats. “He ain’t even a Junior, Ma. He’s the third.”

“Well, it was nice to see him,” she reminisces, fiddling with the corner of her placemat. She catches herself, smooths it down, then brings her hands together, fiddling with her left ring finger. “I swear, that boy’s an inch taller every time I see him.” 

“He’s in his thirties,” Joel tells you, drawing a genuine smile to your lips. One that brings a sparkle to his eyes. 

“Well, anyway,” she goes on, “A face like that belongs in the movies,” she chuckles to herself.  “Of course, he’s nowhere near as handsome as my Joel,” she looks at you reassuringly as she says it. Lest you pine after Randy the third . 

A silence stretches on until you say, “Well, this was delicious. I’d love the recipe…” You dab the corners of your mouth and put down your napkin. 

“Oh, it’s not a recipe, honey,” she boasts, “It’s somethin’ ya do from the heart.” After a moment, she adds, “But I can write down the ingredients! Now, how about some cherry pie?” 

She stands up, puts her apron back on, and you help her clear the table. “Go on Joel, we’ve got it,”  Mama tells him, and he goes to sit in the living room.

“Okay,” Mama whispers to herself as she plates the first slice, a generous one. “This one’s for him.” You take it to Joel and he sits up from the couch to accept it with a thank you, reading your face for signs of how things are going. You flash him a small, unrevealing smile.

“Gonna take a piss,” he mumbles, and his eyes ask if that’s okay. “Sure,” you say with a little curtsy, trying not to smirk as you turn and head back to the kitchen.

Mama’s about to plate the other slices of pie when she lifts a finger in the air and says, “Oh, let me write this down before I forget,” then retrieves a notecard and pencil from a drawer. She puts on a pair of glasses and smiles to herself as she jots down the ingredients. You dwell in the threshold of the living room.

She looks up like she’s trying to remember something, then looks down and keeps writing on the notecard. 

You begin to look at the pictures on the wall. Some are of Joel, and he’s straight-faced. Some are of cats. Charmingly, a blurry photo of a black cat has been deemed frame-worthy. It sits within a bigger rectangle, the shadow of where a different frame used to be. There are a few spots like this. There are a few relatively recent photos of Joel and his Mom. None with his father, as far as you can tell. None now, and none then. But when you look closer at the older ones, it’s clear some of them have been trimmed. 

“He hates having his picture made,” Mama startles you from less than a foot away. 

“You two seem really close,” you offer. “Just the two of you?” 

She raises her eyebrows in amusement and lowers her volume. “Oh, Joel made sure of that .” 

A chill in her voice hardens your nipples and dries your mouth. You search her face for more, but her eyes have wandered, and her face has fallen. “Been about thirty years, just the two of us—well, just me for a while…” You follow her eyes to the corner with the crochet rug, and she squeezes your arm.  

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

She eases her grip and manages a little smile. “Yes, dear.” She hands you the notecard.

Her handwriting is beautiful. Captivating. 

You stay there, eyes scanning the photo wall, while she finishes plating your pie and hers. 

One of the frames catches your eye. It’s the first one you’ve really zeroed in on, looking at the faces and not just the context. The picture is faded and yellowed.  

Joel is young and smiling, with a pin-up looking woman hanging all over him.

A rush of begruding jealousy begs the question, who is that?

And then, your stomach turns before the realization sets in. 

It’s a much younger Mama, with dark, loose curls befitting of a centerfold. All dolled up and glowing, with her arm around his middle. And god damn, her tits are swelling up out of her neckline. She looks…. Hot. Your lungs go hollow, then your chest expands with a deep breath. Something's stirring in your gut. Arousal? Attraction?  

Your eyes pan down to her Mary Jane heels, but the swell of her breasts, those bouncy curls… your eyes are pulled back up her body. The dress is cute, and proper. Innocent, even. But the way she wears it… Sweetheart neckline, puffed sleeves… You squint for a closer look, and your breath hitches.  Heat rises to your face, to the tips of your ears. Your heart races. You pull your eyes away, chest burning, and pretend you don't notice anything.  

Something soft brushes your calf and you gasp and jump as you look down to see a black cat thread between your legs. 

“Oh, it’s Daniel!” Mama says. “He must’ve come in behind you. Not allergic, are you? Here’s your pie, honey.” She sets down your plate on the coffee table.

“You good, baby?” Joel asks. 

-

Taking your place on the sofa next to Joel, you sit like a lady, one foot tucked behind the other ankle, minding your lack of panties. The dress is just long enough to cover your knees. 

The three of you finish dessert in silence aside from forks scraping good china and Daniel purring from that rug in the corner. Joel finishes first, and stretches his arm behind you on the sofa. When you finish, you sit back with him, knee brushing his. You will yourself to relax. You will yourself not to ogle his mother in trying to reconcile her fragile frame of today with those curves of yesteryear. 

She looks back and forth at the two of you sitting side by side and smiles. She puts down her plate, crosses her legs toward you, and clasps her hands. A smile rises through her pretty cheekbones as she looks directly at you. 

“Ya know, Joel was top of his class.” 

You raise your eyebrows. 

Joel takes his hand off the back of the sofa and leans forward, forearms on his knees, full belly filling out the plaid against his lap as he wrings his hands.  “Mama.” Joel’s tone is cautionary, but his face is more pleading. He shakes his head ever so slightly. 

Ignoring him, she smiles proudly at you.

You try not to sound as skeptical as you are when you ask, “Really?”

She nods. 

“Mama,” he whispers. 

“Mm-hmm,” she smiles. 

He sits up straight, wipes his hand down his whole face and sits back in defeat. His arm doesn't return behind you. 

She continues, “There were a couple other boys, went in ‘round the same time – took’em three tries to get their GED. Three tries, at least. Not my Joel. He got his on the first try,” she beams. “The warden shook his hand.” 

“Okay,” Joel mutters. 

The Warden. Your heart skips a beat and your face goes cold, but you pray it doesn't show. 

You turn and congratulate him, “That’s great, Joel.”

He doesn't meet your eyes. He’s looking at the carpet with a defeated scowl, jaw flexing, chest heaving, arms crossed limply over his stomach.  He tries to manage a smile of acknowledgement. You can see the effort, but humiliation prevails.

You feel for him and add, “Really, babe.” 

His face softens, but his posture doesn't change. After a moment, without looking up, he mumbles, “Long time ago.” 

“Yeah,” his mother nods. “He's always been a smart boy.” She starts talking about his favorite subjects, and how he could have gotten his bachelor's too, three times over, if the program was worth a damn, and state funding, and blah blah blah, riots, and understaffing, and shanks hidden in law library books, and a few bad apples spoil it for everyone…

Your eyes are on him, tuning her out, best you can, despite your curiosity. You rest your hand on his knee, and he relaxes a little. And then, once your face turns toward his mom again, Joel looks at your face, assessing the damage. 

You want to hear it all– how long he was locked up, how he ended up in juvie. You're afraid you already know that part. 

Daniel purrs loudly from the crochet rug, and you will yourself not to look in that direction. 

Joel's Mom looks at Daniel and gets quiet as her eyes wander up that wall that must've been painted over, God how many times in the past thirty years? She idly caresses her ring finger. 

You squeeze Joel's knee, slide your hand up his jeans a couple inches, and squeeze again. You tap your thumb, and his hand joins yours.

“We oughta get goin’, Ma,” he announces. 

“Oh,” she frowns, slumping in defeat. 

“I'm workin’ tonight, and she's gotta work early.” 

“Okay,” she whispers to herself, stands up, and smooths her dress. 

—---

“It's nice to know there's a good woman looking after my son,” she says as she bids you goodbye with another hug. 

Your heart swells at the praise, you can't help it. Her apparent sincerity weakens your eyes, makes you shake away your own memories and steel yourself as she says goodbye to Joel. 

“Chin up, baby.” She holds Joel's face, makes him look at her. “Give your mama some sugar.” She gives him a smack on the lips. He doesn't kiss back, but he does accept her hug. 

He pulls up his jeans on the way to the car. Almost forgets to open the door for you. 

He doesn't look at you, even when he buckles you in, which you would have done yourself if you hadn’t froze.

He swallows more thickly. His posture is less proud.

For the first few minutes of the drive, you ride in silence. Then you ask, “Are you okay?” 

“Why wouldn't I be?” He grumbles. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, tummy tickling with a pang of sympathy for the man. 

“No,” he answers flatly with no hesitation. 

“You don't have to,” you reassure him. 

“I know I don't have to,” He snaps. “God, it's all anybody ever wants to talk about.” 

You watch him scowl at the road, clenching his strong jaw.  His gaze is so dark. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. As if noticing this himself, he stretches one hand out, spreading his fingers before assuming a more relaxed grip.

You wonder… was he born a killer? 

He's got this tough, violent shell about him, and now you know there's something else under there. Is he sorry he brought you to dinner, you wonder? You don't want him to be. 

“Well, it was nice meeting your mom,” you remark. “Meatloaf was fantastic…. The pie, too.” You cradle the Tupperware stacked in your lap. “You wanna hang out for awhile?” you ask. 

“Gotta work,” he answers flatly and swallows with his eyes still on the road. 

“Well, that's too bad.” It really is. 'Cause you're not any less horny than he got you in your bathroom two hours ago. Wetter, if anything, you realize, and warmth blooms in your cheeks. Now the sun is going down. You reach back and put the Tupperware on the back seat, then shamelessly turn toward him. You lean your temple against the headrest and watch him drive. 

He’s hard-working. Complicated. Private. And his mom’s right, he is successful, all things considered.

You wonder where his dad is buried. Whether he was handsome, like Joel. Maybe . But with or without him, Joel got those looks from Mama. 

Joel glances over and shoots you a dark look. A warning.

“You don't gotta play nice,” he says.

“I'm not playing anything,” you protest. 

He lets out a dismissive chuckle.

“Pull over,” you tell him. 

“For what?” He asks.

His meaty thighs are spread, swelling in those tight jeans. He follows your eyes and squints at you, then slides his hand under his belly and adjusts his belt, annoyed. 

“Just pull over Joel,” you repeat.

“Ain't in the mood for your games, sweetheart,” he says.

You open the glove box, then close it with the gun in your hand.  You point it at him. “Pull over, god damn it,” you tell him.

He squints and looks at you up and down before dismissing you with a silent, condescending laugh. 

Keeping the gun trained on him, your free hand unbuckles your seatbelt, then slides between your legs. You pull the skirt of the dress all the way up to expose your cunt.

“You serious?” He asks. 

“Serious as a heart attack,” you confirm. 

And that's not what killed his dad, you think. 

It must've been messy. 

He must've deserved it, by the looks of Joel's back. The way the moonlight skidded over his scars, that night in your bedroom.

Joel shakes his head, keeps driving, and you lift the gun to his temple. “Pull over right now,” you repeat, quieter.

“Jesus, FUCK,” he relents, neck vein bulging as he veers toward the shoulder. 

It's close to dusk now, on a suburban road, and you're half way out of the seat before the car's in park.

Stretching your leg over the center console, you help yourself into his lap, straddling him, still holding the gun. With your free hand, you begin to unbutton his shirt. 

For a moment, all he does is stare at you and breathe heavier. “You're fuckin’ with me,” he tells himself out loud, not wanting to fall for a joke. He has his elbows back and out of the way, one arm on the door, one on the center console, but he’s itching to have you. You can see it in the way his biceps twitch. His stomach rises and falls with heavier breaths under his white tee. 

“I’m not,” you assure him. 

He lets you pick up his hand, and you guide it between your legs so he can feel how wet you are. 

His face darkens, and his hand reflexively grabs your cunt. 

“Somethin’ wrong with you?” he asks.

“That’d make two of us,” you answer.

You glance at the gun to make sure the safety's still on, then point the barrel at his chest and reach down to grab the massive bulge in his jeans. The largest you could imagine, for a cock that’s not quite hard. And he chubs up quick under the lustful pressure of your palm. 

“You're into this shit,” he says. “ Like some kinda kink.” 

Ya think?, you manage not to say out loud.

But you get the subtext: He’s a real person... With a real big cock that swells harder in your palm as you massage him slow with your breasts heaving. He cups your bare ass cheeks. You slide your hand up the front of his jeans, and his hips lift under you, chasing your palm. The heel of your palm presses into his gut as you unbuckle his belt. You rest your wrist on the seat, gun pointed toward the back of the car as your hand continues its work between your bodies.

With his belt buckle out of the way, you grope at his cock through the denim again, then unzip his jeans and rest your hand on the curve of his belly, splaying your fingers out before sliding your hand down into his jeans. As your hand engulfs the mushroom shape of his cockhead, then his swollen shaft, you moan at the girth. “Yeah,” you breathe, “You gonna fuck me in your mother’s dress?” You end the question with a firm grab of his package, and he grunts, nearly breathless, then sighs as you palm his cock hungrily through the cotton of his boxer briefs. 

“Looks really fuckin’ good on you,” he answers with a nod.

Blood’s still rushing to his cock, responding to its need to stiffen up and plug whatever gaping hole appears in front of it. 

“Looks good on her too,” you note. 

“Fuck,” he breathes under your slow but aggressive massage. His eyes pour over your chest and he says, “Looks better on you.” If he’s not lying–and it feels like he’s not–-it’s quite a fucking compliment. His shaft plumps with as much as blood as it can hold, stiff as a rod, fat and juicy, hard as hell, spilling precum in his boxers. 

“Ohh, fuck,” he moans. His hips lift and his abs tense and his belly swells against your forearm. 

You slide your hand up again, and under his waistband. You brace your wrist on his shoulder, pointing the gun toward his neck as your hand slides into his warm boxer briefs to feel the smooth skin of his aching manhood. 

“You wanna put that down?” he asks. 

“No,” You reply, unable to connect your thumb fingers around his girth. 

“Man, when ya need it ya need it, huh?,” he murmurs, eyelids heavy. “Need this cock real bad, don’t ya? ” 

“Yeah,” you answer.

“Need to pack that droolin’ gash,” he says. “ Pack it full. ” 

“Yeah,” you nod and raise yourself a few inches. You get his tip at your entrance, then slide it through your dripping pussy.

"Oh, fuck,” he moans, “God damn sex kitten.. . FUCK, youre hot” 

He breathes audibly, watching you with forced patience as you notch his broad tip at your hole. You start to sink down on him with some difficulty, face scrunching, biting your lip in frustration, eyes watering with need. 

“What's the matter, sweetheart? Forget how to take a cock all the sudden?” 

You lift yourself up and sink down a little more, swallowing the tip. 

“Oh fuck,” he moans. He puts his hands on your hips and pulls you down with an upward thrust, spearing you on his monster girth.

“Yeah…oh, fuck,” he breathes, not quite bottomed out. “Ugghh,” he groans, pulling you down more with an upward thrust to the hilt, fully seated in you at last. 

“God, you're filthy.” He wets his bottom lip, admiring what a mess you’ve become in his lap. “Hot little slut like you…. Oh, you're trouble,” he says. 

You begin to lift yourself, letting most of his meat out of you, tip dragging thick and tight through your walls, your slick beading under the crown and sliding down his shaft. Then you sink back down, splitting yourself open on his girth with a sigh. 

The sky has erupted into shades of pink and purple as it begins to sink past the horizon. 

Electricity runs through your blood. Your skin hums. His neck glistens with goosebumps and the hues of his shirt look brighter in the almost-dark. 

He grabs your hips as you ride him, then moves his big hands to your waist. Each time you slide up his cock, it’s easier to sink back down. Your body’s hungry for more each time. You can feel it pulsing wider around him, welcoming his girth, hungry for more. 

“Yeah,” he encourages you as you find a rhythm. “Like that.”  

You seize one of his wrists to move his hand to your neck.

“You're a real freak, baby,” he taunts you, brushing his thumb against the delicate skin of your neck before carefully positioning it and raising his eyebrows at you. He closes his eyes as you sink down on him again and his girth slides easily through your soft walls. When he opens his eyes, his massive hand gives your neck a little squeeze, and you moan in appreciation. 

“Guess it takes a freak to fuck a guy like you,” you spit back.  

He scowls, and his nose twitches. 

You go on, “Mighta picked the only freak in town who’d fuck you by choice,” you tell him. “Lucky call,” you say. “Lucky you have such a fat fucking cock,” you taunt him and study his face, hopeful for a sign that he could snap.  “What else do you have?” You ask, and it feels almost too cruel. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lot to have… fuck,” you breathe. “Mmm,” fully stuffed by his girth. 

“Quit runnin’ your damn mouth,”  he snaps and grabs the gun by both ends at once, smoothly disarming you with an effortless twist of his hands. He places the barrel against the hollow of your neck and asks, Is “That what ya want, ya dumb slut? Tryna get yourself killed?” 

You freeze, half-way on his cock, getting lost in his eyes. 

“Well God damn, if you're gonna ride it, ride it. I'm gonna lose my goddamn patience” he warns. 

When you don’t sink down fast enough, he gets rougher, putting you in a bruising grip, one arm wrapped around you, tightening like an anaconda. 

He fucks up into you from the bottom, both arms behind you, with the gun held vaguely to your neck.

“Yeah,” you moan. 

He growls, pushes his back against the seat, and his stomach pushes against your front, pushes and rubs as he fucks you harder, rocking the car. 

The windows fog up.

He unzips the back of the dress and tears it down to reveal your breasts. 

He watches them move as you’re bounced on his thick manhood. He snarls and grunts like an animal possessing his prey. 

“I see you,” you whisper, intoxicated by the rhythmic stroke of him up in your guts.

“Fuck you,” he rasps.

“Fuck me ,” you retort,  “Fuck me,” you repeat, “Fuck me, killer,” your cunt spasms with the word. 

“Knew what I was, don’t act fuckin’ surprised.” 

"Fuck," you moan, swallowing up his cock. “I'm -mmm- m’not,” you say. “I'm turned on.”

“You’re sick,” he says, burying his cock in you fully, once again.  

Your nipples harden, you moan, and he looks at you skeptically, even as he feels your walls twitch around his absurd girth. 

“Know that pussy's hungry for something bigger,” he says. 

“Like what?”  you ask and feel the gun leave your neck. 

“Get up.” He checks the safety.

When you rise up, he holds the gun near his dick, making the barrel of it look like a twig. 

“Best I got here,” he says with your gummy walls clinging to his shaft as you let out all but the tip. 

“Think she can take it?” he asks. “Shit, we know she can.” 

You lift all the way up onto your knees, letting his cock fall out. It bounces, bringing a string of slick with it, and stands stiff at attention. 

He works three fingers into you with ease. 

“Gimme your hand,” you ask.

“Hand's fuckin’ busy,” he says, referring to the one holding the gun. 

“No, gimme your whole hand,” you demand greedily, and grab his wrist with his fingers still buried in your cunt. 

“Attagirl,” he says, then works a fourth finger into you.  “Best I can do here, sweetheart,” he winces as he fucks you with four clustered fingers. 

“Fuck this,” he decides, unable to stand his throbbing cock growing ever colder outside your cunt. 

He positions you over his dick and the gun, uses his fingers to spread your pussy around both, then pulls you down. 

“Uh–ughh,” your mouth is agape as you sink down the shaft and barrel, taking them both. 

You’re a quivering mess. 

He holds the handle steady and says, “Good girl.”

You don't go all the way down. The cool barrel slides against one side of your walls. 

“God damn, this hungry pussy,” he pants, cock stiff against the gun.  “God damn, i know she can take more,” he says, frustrated without much more to give you.  

“How do you know?” you ask 

“Cause I've seen ya gapin’ wide open, sweetheart.” 

You moan at his words, pussy quivering around his cock and gun. 

“Wide fuckin’ open,” he repeats. “Ya take my fist… take two dicks…fuck ,” he twitches inside you. “ Took my goddamn wrench…. greedy fuckin’ cunt,” he goes on. 

Then you're seized by a swell in your lower belly…. The pressure that’s been simmering quickly boils over, and you whimper as you come on his cock and the gun. 

“Yeah,” he pants as your walls flutter and your thighs quiver. 

He lifts you up with one arm, and takes out the gun, putting it aside. Then he slams you all the way down on his cock. “Oh god, yeah,” he pants, “Freak nasty whore ” 

You moan and let it ride, clenching around his cock, your walls hugging it tighter each time, with the girth of the gun no longer holding you open.  

Your climax wanes and your legs are weak. “Oh fuck,” he pants, “Gonna fill this dirty snatch,”  He sweats and grunts. “Gonna stuff her with my load,” he warns, “Bout to fill this gash right up .”  

“Fuck,” he breathes heavier and grunts with each thrust up into you, then slams you down, and with an upward jolt of his hips begins to drain his massive balls. “Fuck,” he sighs as he comes inside. “Fuck, you're crazy,” he says with another rope, warm and sticky, hitting your womb. 

“Tryna get knocked up by some psycho killer ya picked up on the side of the road,” he says. “ Fuck, you goddamn freak .” 

Still milking his cock, something possesses you to cradle his face as he slows down. Another burst of warmth in your core, as your face approaches his. He starts to turn his cheek, but your hands become forceful. “C’mere, asshole,”  you demand, grinding into him with his cock pulsing deep inside again. His neck begins to relax, and he sighs with his eyes closed. You hold his face steady and bring your face to his. When your lips meet his are limp and open. 

Another warm spurt into your womb, and when you moan against his mouth, he moans back. His lips soften, then cradle yours. Your tongue slips into your mouth, and his pushes into yours. He grabs the back of your head, pulling you into his face as he kisses you, releasing a final burst of hot seed. “Mm,” he grunts into your mouth, hands holding each other’s faces. Glued together, consuming each other in the dark. The passion simmers to something gentler as your loins twitch with aftershocks, becoming over-sensitive. 

You break away to breathe, gasping for humid air in the fogged-up car. 

He pants, looks up at the ceiling. His neck vein pulses. His skin is clammy looking, dewy with cold sweat, 

“Fuck,” sighs, his chest heaving, “Still got your goddamn tits out.” He admires them, then feeds himself one. He tongues your nipple, and when your cunt squeezes him, he winces, letting it out of his mouth. 

A tractor trailer whizzes by, shaking the whole car. 

“Alright,” he says, and nudges you off his lap. “Now pull yourself together.” 

He takes the gun, wet with your juices, puts it on the dashboard near him. He looks over at you skeptically when you've climbed back over the center console into your seat.

“You better stuff that dress between your legs,” he warns. “Don’t want ya leakin’ all over the goddamn place.”

-

-

-

THANK YOU FOR READING.

Believe it or not, I cut two scenes from this lol so I might put them in a little bonus visit between Joel and his mom soon.

Look, this took me a year and I feel like I've finally done my mental vision justice lol. So, please interact 🧎‍♀️🥺🖤

[queermasculine]

"i'm always like i guess this is kind of a sexy kink to have i don't mind it and then i see straight men are really drawn to it because they hate women and i'm like actually nevermind" - can you name a "good" "untouched" kink to have, or are they all tainted? What defines what is ok to have and what isn't? What if it's all affected by misogyny, racism, etc? Then no kinks allowed? Where's the line? I'm genuinely curious where you stand here

i find it kind of annoying to be faced with this "Okay name something pure then, or is nothing allowed?" type of questioning just for voicing an experience where i was personally turned off by a type of bigotry that affects me directly – i don't know exactly where our collective lines should be drawn nor do i particularly care to be the one to enforce them, i only know where my own lines are. you just saw me draw one with misogyny – and your first reaction was to push. i don't know that that's a good thing. like i don't think we need to be debating people into being more lenient about misogyny or racism in kink or in porn or in anything else really like i think the problem is still very much the opposite tbh

[gayofthefae]

I posted this like 3 hours ago but I'm saying it again:

Eddie going to his married couple friends for advice on his relationship with Buck.

Because they wrote it so he didn't just go to Hen, he went to Hen and Karen.

I'm just saying she could have walked in in the end for just the captain part of the conversation.

But that scene started, I saw them both, and my brain immediately went "he went to a married couple for advice on his relationship with Buck, who he is newly living with".

And tbh that's it too like. It really is giving couple who don't know how to live together yet asking their married friends for advice, even if that wasn't actually the topic here. They're back to that domestic level that was there even without living together, that unspoken collectively agreed upon "I know him in ways you don't". All those moments of him telling stories about Buck from a position of authority to know them, jokes about Buck's mannerisms ("that's how Buck looks when he's gassy" about Jee Yun) as if/that they wouldn't know.

And I just realized what it is: he came to them about his HOME life. His home life.

This is not his job plot, he is not at his job, he only has a personal plot, and that personal plot is Buck. But specifically in a way that it is like his "home life", just more emphasized, of course, by the simple setting showing that he had to go to Hen and Karen because his own home has Buck in it.

And they exchange. We're back to this dynamic of "the couples" like we had in season 4 when it comes to this. Eddie's home life is tough because he and Buck are struggling to bridge the gap between their grief. Karen and Hen are going through weighing different sides of accepting the captain position. It's just like "where's Karen?" "Running late, where's Eddie?" It's "Buck is going through this, what should we do?" "Hen is going through this, what should we do?"

Eddie came to Hen and Karen's to talk to them as a couple about his home life. Buck is his home life now.

And just like Karen called out his "Freudian slip", even if he claims it's temporary, he does think of it that way.

[khaoala]

so... tumblr just decided to go bye bye on one of the asks i was replying to. it's not in my inbox anymore, and it's not in the drafts or queue either, so here i am going something about it because i had already replied to it fully.

you just know that when this happened:

first was most definitely laughing that loud laugh of his that khaotung seems so satisfied to hear because he's the one who unlocks it from his bf. i'm actually so convinced that khaotung has been doing some wacky stuff [ 1 2 ] just bc first's reaction is worth the trouble.

i'd argue that most of fk's moments are quite subtle tbh. they aren't as loud as some other cps, but that's also part of the charm (like leaving us a month by ourselves and giving us little glimpses from time to time).

personally, i adored when they made merits with earthmix in the new year [ #ทำบุญร่วมชาติกับพิรพัฒน์ ]. idk if you can call it subtle, but it was just them in their everyday clothes with their best friends praying to have good fortune in their next lives [ 1 2 3 4 ].

most recently, this silly thing they did where khaotung was teasing to undo first's shoelaces but didn't do it, just for first go there himself and undo his own shoelaces which made khaotung chuckle. as we always say, a happy spouse is the one that complies.

again gonna mention them, but i gotta say, too, them going to hong kong just to support earthmix and then going to disneyland together was actually the sweetest most darling thing. them taking pictures and filming videos during the event was great. the domesticity was nice.

this video came back to my tl just the other day, and i'll say it again, khaotung looks the most adorable with his shirt and newly cut hair, but obsessive spirit first kanaphan outside the window with his arms crossed remains one of the best things jojo has ever posted for us.

there's also the fact they have a bf store [ 1 2 3 4 5 ] as in what is mine is yours kind of fashion. seriously, the number of times we've seen them using a fan gift that was intended for the other is just something else.

khaotung's birthday, but not bc of firstkhao, but because of khaotung's mom [ 1 ] and bc i find it so cute that she adores him like every mother adores their son-in-law from my experience.

these silly little things too [ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 ].

again, i don't know if you can call these subtle exactly, but they are quieter moments of them just being something really. this also made me crave for more fk content, why is lol so far?

[jessxxxfwd]

ׄ ͡˙༅ೄྀ♥︎ �Just another love song, about you !

***introducing!... Enhypen as Beabadoobee songs, oneshots (I love bea so so much!)

Heeseung - you're here that's the thing

I feel like this just suits him so so well. The soft melody and the emotional words, a song about not knowing what you are to someone. What the relationship is. But being okay with just being, being theirs. Being so hopelessly in love that you take what ever the person gives you, even if they don't truly care.

And I think a sweet sad song like this suits him. He's friendly and warm, normally a perfectionist but with love? He's just so in love that he doesn't see the bad.

He strikes me as a receiving gifts and words of affirmation kind of guy, tell him you love him, call him handsome and he'll be all over you, gifts and kisses. He's just in love, let him be ><

Something tells me he knows this song, like bros trying to be nonchalant and I know he likes bea!.. But he's just a silly little guy (23yr and 6ft...)

I think he's a hopeless romantic but definitely has a realistic romantic in him. He's hopeless for his partner and so in love but he knows how the world works, he won't be so romantic always if it isn't reciprocated, he isn't the kind of guy to look at the world through rose tinted glasses. He does love the thought of romance though.

Jay - 10:36

Another harshly relatable song!!... Yippee! The opposite of the last, where it was about desperately wanting and needing love. This one? He doesn't need love. He wants it sure but he doesn't need it. It's a nice concept but sometimes love is just about wanting human connections. Not a real person who you love desperately.

As the song explains sometimes we just need human connections. Someone to hold us as we sleep, someone to tell us we're a good person yk? And I think he needs and deserves that. To me I think it would take a lot for him to start an actual relationship, especially with his career. He just needs a person, maybe more friends than romance.

He's definitelyyyyy a physical contact and quality time kind of guy. He just needs comfort and soft romance, a kiss on the cheek or head. A hug or hand holding. Nothing too passionate.

He's definitely a realistic romantic and a guarded romantic, he's so stuck in his ways of not needing that when he does he's too scared to opened up to people who really love him. But he's working on it. One step at a time and one kiss at a time.

Trust me when he finds someone he's crazy for he'll be locked IN. No more random calls at night, no more acting like a friends with benefits situationship. He's asking you out immediately!!

Jake - beaches (or cologne)

A literally sunshine but has a almost sexy (ew ew ew I hate writing that) side to him. Like a more masculine hot side, but he's a golden retriever through and through. Beaches is all about feelings and not being afraid to take that step. And it is him!!

But I had to add cologne because like... It's literally about sex, which I hate to sexualize him but have you seen his photoshoots?... He's doing it on purpose officer I'm innocent I swear :(

I like to think of cologne as a more... Passionate song 🤗 it's raw and straightforward about well.. Passion! And he's a very passionate guy, in his career, in everything.

I seriously love him sm to me he is every love song :) he's definitely a hopeless romantic like... Look at himmmm!! He's just a guy who falls and falls FAST. He just loves to spread joy and love!

I don't think he's very picky either tbh, he loves who he loves! Looks don't matter much to him (even though he's a Greek statue???) obviously he has to be attracted to you, kinda how a relationship works!!... But yeah, he's not gonna have a list of standards, as long as you both love each other and you're okay with the long distance you're gonna work :)

Sunghoon - ever seen

Eeeeee I love this song and I love him, I love all these guys but likeeeeee!! My little baby, trust me he is the compliment KING. Likeee this song. He is the embodiment of it frrr. " said I had the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen " is soo him.

This song is literally about compliments and lovey dovey almost like the honeymoon stage of a relationship. And this boy is always gonna be in the honeymoon stage. Just so in love and amazing and handsome and adorable and flirty and talented and suave. Very suave.

He gives me such words of affirmation and acts of service. He needs to know you love him, and believe me he will definitely let you know he loves you.

He's like... A hopeless romantic to me, very affectionate. He's on tour? He'll call you CONSTANTLY. You're at work? Yup. Calling. Constantly. He's sending photos, buying you dumb tiny gifts, thousands of texts. He's so desperate and adorable despite his normally nonchalant act.

Just love him. He's like a little shy kitty, love him and he'll soften up to your warmth and kisses!! ><

Sunoo - glue song

Angel. Literally a living angel. Tis him my Lord. My babyyyy eeee! He's the embodiment of this song!!! The soft loving lyrics and the gentle tune, if he wasn't cosplaying a vampire all the time this would be his solo career TRUST.

He loves love. Kissing and holding, living in each other's warmth. Simple moments too. Hand holding or cuddles on the couch. Laying in bed as the sun filters through the blinds or curling up on the floor and crying together. All the raw emotion from love. He's that kinda lover. Raw, romantic and real.

Glue is so him. The attachment and bond to a new kind of love that you don't want to lose. A real true lovely wonderful fairy tale love. The joy and new emotions when finding new love like this. That is this song. That is him!!

He's just a ball of love. Definitely a hopeless romantic but also an adventurous romantic. He wants to explore new love and new things but he's so devoted to the love and fostering it.

Obviously there's ups and downs but he's a rock through it all. He's really just an amazing guy, a amazing silly guy who is just loving life and romance. (And he needs to release music like this or I will flip.)

Jungwon - apple cider

A song about small crushes and innocent love, denial and confusion with crushes and matched with its soft upbeat guitar and melody that makes it sound youthful and almost nostalgic to young crushes. And lots of denial.

And he is in denial. Completely. He refuses to believe that it isn't just a small one time crush. He isn't the biggest romantic in my eyes. He likes love but isn't constantly striving for it always. He isn't that kind of guy to me. He has crushes but not partners.

So when he does.. It's weird and different. Amazing to have this love but he's so lost. Kisses on the cheek and hand holding are all he can do for the first while but give him time to improve!! From soft gracing touches to long kisses and waist holding, all baby needed was some time to learn.

He's a more practical romantic and a bit cynical at first. He loves you really! He's just.. Worried and nervous. About messing up or hurting feelings.

But he's taking it day by day and with love and support? He's got it, he'll be an expert in no time trust me >< trust meeee!!

Ni-ki - dance with me

(I wanna dance with him </3 I just want him one chance please) this song is kinda similar to some of the others but it's a underrated gem soooo!!! with her young vocals and indie pop melody this song is all about the intimacy of human touch and connection, dance being the metaphor, finding comfort in moving together on the dancefloor and the carefree feeling of it all.

It's so whimsical and youthful like lots of her older music (this is from the " patched up " ep!!) And it really suits Riki, especially the dancing metaphors. The coolness of her vocals and the flow of the song really have that smoothness that he carries himself with. Confidence and suave but such a little weirdo under it all.

To me?? Boys a mess at romance. Not that he's bad with feelings but bad at telling them, expressing them. He tries truly but he's young and clueless to love really.

almost... Old school romance vibes? Hand written notes and letters, it's easier from him to express his feelings really... Once he opens up though? Full on quirky weirdo!! Literally the goofiest guy on earth. Silly weird pickup lines and constant kisses, he's falling hardddd.

He's probably got Beabadoobee in one of his playlists... Though he strikes me as more of a " This is how tomorrow moves " or " Beatopia " guy rather than her older eps (no hate to these albums though beatopia is my CHILD).

Aaaaa yayayaya god bea is my everything!!! (@eunwonji it's out ><)

[pensthoughts]

plus-one | v.p

part 3 of home turf pairing: adult!van palmer x reader summary: what starts as a rainy-day coffee date with van turns into sideline tension, stolen glances, and a big game that leaves your heart racing for more reasons than one. word count: 4k a/n: hi guys i'm alive!!! sorry for not posting in like ten years i've been super busy with lacrosse and school and just life in general. i think of home turf basically every day of my life so after a lot of hoping for free time, i decided to not study for a final so that i could write this because tbh i care about this a lot more and studying is overrated anyways. also!!! i did not proofread this yet so please don't mind typos bc there definitely are a few in here lol

it starts with a gray sky and the smell of rain on pavement. that kind of drizzle that barely counts, soft enough to ignore but persistent enough to hang in the air, humid and clinging. you're staring out the front window, arms crossed, a tiny knot of nerves forming in your stomach. not from the weather, obviously. from her.

you've changed shirts three times.

and now you're standing barefoot in your sister's hallway, tugging gently at the hem of the one you finally settled on—light blue, casual enough to pass for effortless, even though there's nothing effortless about the way your heart keeps racing.

you pull your hair up. then down. then half-up. then sigh and start over.

it's just a coffee. a cup of coffee with your niece's soccer coach. the one with the quick wit and even quicker smile, who keeps looking at you like she knows somethign you don't. the one who asked you out in your own kitchen.

you smooth your hands over your jeans and catch your reflection in the hallway mirror. "get it together," you whisper, then immediately cringe.

the house is quiet. sophia's already out—some team thing at one of the other girls' houses before the game, leaving you alone to spiral.

you drift into the kitchen and start fidgeting with the fridge magnets. you open the freezer, close it again. you think about texting someone, then remember you don't really have anyone here to text.

the clock on the microwave blinks. you've got maybe ten minutes before she shows up.

you reach for your jacket. then stop. then reach again.

you're pulling it on when you hear a car engine outside—low and distinct—and your heart skips.

you rush to the window like you're not already waiting. then pause, tug the curtain back an inch.

she's here.

of course she is.

and of course she's driving the coolest car you've ever seen.

you open the front door too fast and regret it, like maybe you should've waited a few seconds, made her knock, done something cooler. but then she looks up from where she's leaning against the side of her car—hands in her jacket pockets, head tilted—and grins like you've just made her day by stepping outside.

and honestly? that grin makes your stomach flutter.

"hey," she says, pushing off the car with one sneakered foot.

"hey," you echo, then freeze. "sorry, i didn't—um. you didn't have to get out."

"i didn't," van says, "just wanted to lean dramatically. like in a movie."

you blink. "did it work?"

she smirks. "well, you're here, aren't you?"

you try not to smile, but it's already happening. she opens the passenger door for you and waits, one eyebrow raised, like she's daring you to comment on the car.

you do. "okay, wait. this is yours?"

"it's an '87 trans am," she says, like it's obvious. "got her for cheap and fixed her up myself. be honest—are you impressed or intimidated?"

you pause, "honestly? a little bit of both."

van's eyes flash. "noted."

you slide into the seat and immediately notice how the interior smells faintly like cinnamon and leather. there's a mixtape playing really softly—real cassette, not just a playlist—with mazzy star humming low in the background.

when she gets in on the driver's side, you pretend to look out the window instead of watching the way she tugs her sleeves up and adjusts the rearview mirror like she's done it a thousand times before.

"you good?" she asks, starting the car.

"yeah," you say. "you?"

van shrugs. "can't complain. taking a pretty girl to get coffee. got a game in a few hours. feeling kind of lucky."

you blink. "you always say stuff like that?"

"only when i mean it."

you're quiet for a second, staring at your hands in your lap, fingers picking at the hem of your sleeve.

"you don't have to be nervous," she says, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

"i'm not nervous," you lie.

she smiles without calling you out. "okay."

the rain's eased up by the time you hit the main road, just misty now, making the streets shine. van drives like someone who doesn't rush unless she has to—careful, one hand on the wheel, the other draped loosely over the gearshift. every once in a while, she hums along to the music like she forgot you were there, and honestly, you don't mind it. it's oddly comforting.

"so," you say, breaking the quiet. "you always take your dates out before games?"

van glances at you. "you think this is a date?"

you freeze. "isn't it?"

she grins. "i was hoping you'd say that."

you roll your eyes, but you're smiling. you can't help it.

a minute later, she pulls into a spot in front of a little brick-walled café with a painted wooden sign and fairy lights still twinkling under the awning, even in daylight.

"here we are," van says, cutting the engine. "the finest slightly pretentious coffee shop this side of the county line."

you lean back in your seat and look out at the café. "looks cute."

van unbuckles her seatbelt and opens her door, then pauses and looks at you again. "hey."

you look over. "yeah?"

her voice softens just slightly. "thanks for saying yes."

your heart does a weird little thing in your chest, a twist you weren't expecting.

"thanks for asking," you say, and this time you mean it.

the bell over the door chimes softly as you step into the little coffee shop, the sound swallowed up by the low hum of conversation and the indie playlist spilling from an old speaker in the corner. rain dots your jacket and clings to your sleeves, the damp smell of the sidewalk following you in. van's hand brushes your lower back as she steps in behind you, a warm, brief touch that she doesn't comment on.

she looks around once, taking in the mismatched chairs, the tiny potted plants on the windowsills, and the art student paintings tacked crookedly to the walls.

"this place is so you," she says, already grinning.

you raise an eyebrow. "how would you know what's 'so me'?"

van gestures vaguely. "i mean, come on. indie playlists? handmade mugs? this screams 'i went to school in a city and had a mental breakdown sophomore year.'"

you snort. "i'll have you know, my breakdown happened senior year, and i'm very emotionally mature now."

"ah," she says, "that explains the iced matcha obsession."

"it's not an obsession," you protest, stepping up to the counter. "it's a personality trait."

van squints up at the menu behind the counter. "alright, hit me. what's the move?"

you already know what you're getting. "iced matcha latte. oat milk. no sweetener."

she looks at you like you just said you eat soap.

"no sweetener?"

"i like to taste the grass," you say, sarcastic.

that makes her laugh, and she steps up when it's her turn. "i'll have one too," she tells the barista. "exactly what she's having."

you blink. "wait, really?"

van shrugs. "i wanna know what the fuss is about. plus..." she leans a little closer, voice lower. "you looked cute ordering it."

you look down suddenly, your fingers twisting the strap of your bag as the warmth rises to your cheeks. "it's just a drink."

"mhm," she says, lips twitching like she knows exactly what she's doing. "so, what makes it so good? or am i about to hate my life for the next twenty minutes?"

you smirk. "it's earthy. subtle. also good for your brain." she pretends to take notes. "earthy, subtle, green sludge. got it."

you both grab your drinks and find a table near the window, where the rain has tapered into a soft mist. you stir your drink with the straw as van sits opposite you and gives her cup a suspicious glance.

she lifts it to her lips and sips slowly. pauses. looks down. sips again.

"well?" you ask, watching her.

"it tastes like..." she makes a face. "someone put oat milk in a garden."

you try not to laugh. "you're ridiculous."

"you're drinking pond water on purpose," she says. "i'm allowed to judge."

"you grew up in jersey," you shoot back. "your opinion on taste is invalid."

van gasps, mock offended. "wow. anti-jersey bias. typical new yorker."

you smirk. "guilty. i've been judging diners and bagels since birth."

van grins, "yeah, i remember. didn't your kindergarten have a french teacher and yoga twice a week?"

"don't forget fencing," you add, sipping your drink.

van puts a hand over her heart. "god forbid."

"i was an upper west side menace," you say, almost proud.

"oh, i can tell. you definitely wore a headband with your name on it and got in trouble for correcting your teachers."

"i did not—" you pause. "okay. maybe once. but it was mr. goldman and he mispronounced degas."

van fake gasps. "tragic."

you lean back in your chair, laughing. "you're just jealous your elementary school didn't have a gluten-free bake sale."

"oh, totally. meanwhile, i was eating cafeteria pizza off a paper towel."

you smile at her over the rim of your cup. "explains so much."

van lifts her cup in a mock toast. "to matcha, mental stability, and girls who peak in tiny coffee shops."

you clink your plastic lid against hers. "cheers."

there's a pause, but it's easy. comfortable, even with the electricity himming between you. you sip your drink and watch the rain mist the outside world into a watercolor blur.

"thanks for picking me up, by the way," you say after a beat. "i know you didn't have to."

"i wanted to," she says, watching you over her cup. "besides, it gave me an excuse to see you before the chaos."

you smile. "still. appreciate it."

"you say that now," van says. "but you do know i can't drive you to the game, right?

you frown. "wait. what?"

she tilts her head. "i have to ride the bus with the team. like, legally. school policy."

your eyes go wide. "hold on. i have to go on the bus?"

van grins. "you thought i was your personal chauffer for the night?"

"i didn't think—i just assumed—"

she laughts so hard she nearly spills her drink. "oh no. this is even better than i imagined."

"van."

"yes?"

"i don't do buses."

"oh, you do now."

you groan and drop your head to the table. "this is actually hell."

"come on," she says, nudging your ankle with hers. "could be worse. you get a free drink, a spot next to me, and all the orange slices you can eat."

"i didn't realize i signed up for summer camp."

"hey, some of us take our chaperone roles very seriously."

you lok up at her, hair falling slightly in your face. "do you really?"

she meets your gaze and—just for a second—there's something quiet in her expression. something a little more serious.

"i do when it comes to you," she says.

you're quiet for a second too long. then you look away, flustered, fiddling with your straw again.

"okay," you say softly. "i'll brave the bus."

van grins and stands, stretching. "good. you'll live."

"barely," you mutter.

she holds the door open for you again, the wind catching the bottom of her jacket. as you step out into the drizzle together, she glances sideways at you and says, "for the record, i still think this drink tastes like lawn clippings."

"and yet," you say, sipping it proudly, "you finished it."

van pauses, then tosses the empty cup in the trash. "yeah, well. i'm full of surprises."

you glance up at her, rain misting in your lashes. "so am i."

she smirks. "good. that'll make this bus ride way more fun."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you pull into the school parking lot five minutes before call time, van drumming her fingers on the wheel to the beat of a pixies song playing low on the radio. she parks in her usual reserved spot by the athletic enterance and shuts off the ignition like it's any other day—but the glance she sends your way lingers.

the drizzle hasn't let up, but it's light now—just enough to mist the windshield. you can see the yellow bus already idling behind the gym, a cluster of girls dragging gear bags and kicking around a soccer ball like it's just another game day.

she glances at you. "ready for your chaperone debut?"

you snort. "is there a training manual?"

"i think it's mostly snacks and staying out of their way."

you smirk and unbuckle, grabbing your drink from the center console. the last of your matcha, mostly melted now, but still sweet and comforting. as you open the door, van waits a second like the wants to say something—then just grabs her keys and steps out too.

the second you round the back of her car, sophia spots you from the bus steps.

"well, well," she calls. "good afternoon, coach. good afternoon... guest."

you raise an eyebrow. "that's what i am?"

she grins, shrugging. "i dunno. coffee shop pal? coach's plus-one?"

you blink. "sophia."

"i'm kidding," she says, holding up her hands. "kind of."

van doesn't even flinch. "get on the bus."

sophia disappears with a laugh, and you shoot van a sideways look.

"she's bold."

van chuckles. "she's fifteen."

"fifteen with great comedic timing."

you both walk toward the bus in comfortable rhythm, close enough that your hands brush once by accident—and then not-so-accidentally again. van doesn't say anything, but she lets it happen.

the bus door creaks open as you climb up behind her, and a few heads turn when they realize you're not just dropping her off. you give a small wave—half "hi," half "yes, i know this is weird"—and slide into a seat in the front. van plops down beside you like it's the most casual thing in the world, one knee bouncing gently.

there's a low hum of conversation from the rest of the team, and even though no one says anything out loud, you can feel it—the curious glances, the slight uptick in whispering.

you lean toward van, voice quiet. "i think we're being observed."

she nods. "i'm aware."

"they're totally talking about us."

"they're teenagers. they talk about everything." she turns her head, gives you a small, private smile. "besides, we're not doing anything wrong."

your heart flips at the softness in her tone. "yeah," you say, staring straight ahead, willing your cheeks to cool down. "just two adults... on a bus."

van smirks. "you're so good at playing it cool."

you roll your eyes and take a long sip of your drink just to give your hands something to do. "okay, what if i told you you're the one making it hard to play it cool?"

her eyebrows lift slightly. "am i?'

"you know you are."

she leans back in the seat, smug. "interesting."

you kick her foot lightly and try not to smile too hard.

a few rows up, sophia glances over her shoulder, eyes sharp and amused. you catch her watching and quickly look out the window. van doesn't react—but her knee presses just slightly closer to yours.

the rest of the ride is smooth. there's music from someone's speaker playing low, some rhythmic tapping of cleats against seats, and murmured reminders about plays and formations. but mostly, you and van just sit there, side by side, not saying much but not needing to.

it feels like the kind of quiet that means something.

by the time the bus pulls into the school lot, the rain has gone from a lazy mist to something steadier. nothing dramatic, just enough to dampen the air and make the field look darker around the edges. the players are already pulling up their hoods, tugging drawstrings tight. chatter getting sharper with nerves. you step off behind van, your sneakers hitting the pavement with that soft wet slap that says fall has offically arrived.

the girls scatter—some heading straight for the locker room, some toward the field to check the turf. you start veering toward the bleachers out of habit, tugging your hoodie tighter around you.

but van catches your sleeve.

"where do you think you're going, city girl?"

you blink at her, then glance toward the stands. "to sit?"

"wrong." she grins, knowing the effect she has on you. "you're on sideline duty today."

your eyebrows lift. "oh, i am?"

"unless you want to look useless in front of a bunch of teenage girls. didn't you almost go D1?"

you scoff, bumping her shoulder. "wow. so you do keep tabs."

"i keep receipts," she says, smug. "and i need someone who can read a press without panicking. like an assistant coach."

you glance toward the bench. "so you're just using me."

"obviously." van's eyes flick up and down your frame. "i mean, you already look like a soaked varsity captain. you're halfway there."

you roll your eyes but follow her anyway, past the rusted fencing along the edge of the field. the team is huddling now, cleats clacking against wet turf, the pregame energy thick with nerves and excitement. it's the kind of buzz you used to live for—that moment when the world narrows to ninety minutes and white lines and the ache in your calves. you hadn't realized how much you missed it until now.

van tosses you a spare windbreaker from the team bag. it's a little big, smells like turf and detergent, but it's a good swap for your soaked jacket. she's already moving into coach mode—adjusting the roster sheet, scanning the other team's warmup. but she doesn't miss a beat when she says:

"you good with the midfielders?"

you glance up, surprised. "you trust me with the middle line?"

"i trust you not to screw it up. or at least to look hot while doing it."

you snort. "so professional."

van shrugs. "we can't all be preppy new york prodigies."

you raise an eyebrow. "will you ever let go of that?"

van just laughs. "bet your team had a private trainer."

you roll your eyes, but you're smiling now. "grew up in the city doesn't mean i was in a vogue spread, you know."

"didn't say it was a bad thing," she says, softer. "you just carry yourself different. confident. or maybe just used to pretending to be."

you glance at her, caught off guard. but before you can say anything, the whistle blows to call the girls in.

pregame huddle.

van pulls her cap down tighter and steps up beside them, voice raised and steady.

"alright—heads in. this team isn't gonna hand you the win. you have to work for every play. i want communication, tight spacing, and no hero ball. we play smart, we play together."

she gives the floor the the captain, a senior named harper who says something about pride and grit, and you hang back, arms crossed, eyes scanning the starting lineup. you can already tell where the holes are—the left back is too shaky, too hesitant, and the forwards are too close together.

you lean over to van. "if they keep bunching like that, they're gonna lose the lanes. you want me to say something?"

van doesn't even look up from her clipboard. "why do you think you're here?" the rain is picking up again. not heavy, but colder. a reminder that summer's over for good. you step closer to the field, the smell of wet turf curling in your lungs, and suddenly it's like you're sixteen again—not hurt, not haunted by what could've been. just here. with cleats underfoot and sky overhead and the pulse of a game about to begin.

van gives a short whistle. "positions!"

you watch as the girls jog into place, their ponytails whipping, their voices overlapping in last-second calls.

you don't say it out loud, but you feel it as the ball rolls into play:

you missed this.

and maybe—just maybe—van knew that all along.

once the game starts, the first goal comes fast.

barely ten minutes into the game, harper makes a clean steal at midfield and sends a pass spiraling down the right wing. sophia takes off like she's weightless, a blur of yellow cleats and sharp instincts. one touch, two, and then she cuts inside—sells the defender with a feint so smooth is almost cruel. a perfect finish. back of the net.

van throws her fist up in triumph, grinning as she turns toward you. "that's my girl."

you can't help it—you cheer, heart pounding like you just scored. "she's incredible."

"try coaching her," van says, half-laughing, already watching the field again. "you tell her one thing and she turns it into five."

sophia jogs back to the huddle, soaked from the rain but glowing under the lights. the team's electric. the yellowjackets settle into a rhythm, each pass sharper than the last, energy buzzing through every sideline shout. the field belongs to them.

until it doesn't.

the shift is so fast you don't see it coming. sophia's cutting inside again—same footwork, same burst—but the defender this time is late a clumsy. sophia plants too hard and slips. you hear the impact before you see it.

that sound—cleats scraping, a sharp thud, the short cry that escapes her—slices through you.

your stomach turns.

she doesn't get up.

van's already moving. you don't think; your feet are carring you before your mind catches up, the pounding rain suddenly deafening.

sophia's gripping her ankle, face pale, blinking hard. "i'm fine," she says too quickly. "coach, i'm fine."

but you're already kneeling beside her. and your heart is racing.

because what if it's not just a sprain.

you know that motion. that angle. that twist.

it's exactly how it happened to you.

your hands go cold.

you feel like you're seventeen again, lying on the turf, everything slowing down while the future you thought was guaranteed slips right out from under you.

van's voice is steady beside you. "you're not fine. you're out. let me see."

sophia protests, of course she does. because that's what you did too. pretended. pushed through. tried.

you know how dangerous that is now.

she lets them help her off the field. van jogs alongside her, jaw clenched, rain streaking down her neck. you stay where you are for a second longer, watching the spot where sophia fell.

you breathe in. out. again.

then you follow.

back on the sideline, it's like the energy drained from the field with her.

you call instructions, help with formations, try to anchor the midfield with your voice—but everything's off now. they're scattered. the momentum's gone.

and when the other team scores—clean, efficient, bottoms corner—you're not surprised.

1-1.

van mutters something under her breath and throws her cap off in frustration.

you glance toward sophia on the bench. her cleat's off, ankle wrapped, lips tight like she's trying not to cry.

van looks at you. "we need her back."

you hesitate.

"do we risk it?"

van watches you, really watches you. "you tell me."

you walk over and kneel in front of sophia. "hey. how's it feel?"

"tight. but stable."

"stable enough for ten minutes?"

sophia meets your eyes. "i've got five. five good ones."

you nod. "alright. let's make them count."

she jogs back on with under two minutes to go. the team roars. you and van stand side by side, barely breathing.

she takes the ball from midfield, slices through pressure, fakes one defender and slips past another. she's limping, but she's fighting.

the clock winds down.

five seconds.

sophia steps, plants—your stomach tightens—and fires.

it hits the back of the net just as the buzzer blares.

2-1.

van screams. you do too. the bench clears.

sophia collapses into her teammates. they lift her like she won the whole damn state.

you turn to van. she's soaked, beaming.

"told you," she says breathlessly.

you shake your head. "she's insane."

van's voice drops. "she's brave."

you watch the field, heart still hammering, something thick behind your ribs.

so is she, you think.

so were you.

van glances at you sideways. "you okay?"

you nod, slow. "yeah. just...took me back."

she bumps her shoulder into yours, gentle. "thanks for getting her back in."

you look down at the wet turf, then up again.

"she reminded me why i loved this."

van's eyes soften. "then don't walk away from it again."

💌 taglist: @taurtel, @nothoughtsonlyvan, @callsignwidow, @freakyjorker, @imlike-so-gaydude, @yellowjacketsslvt69, @moonwateraura, @gracynparsons, @casualclamturkey, @crainalley0227, @auroraseddie, @brielease

[dandysworld-meh-imagines]

Can I have a angst to fluff when you're having a bad day and so the toons have a plan to cheer you up

Btw can I have some chocolate milk please?

Reader Having A Bad Day And The Toons Try Cheering Them Up!

Chocolate milk for everyone!! Also I'm sorry this took longer, funnily enough, my day today is very meh- but I still pushed through to write something for today! I don't know if I did this right cuz it's hard to fit everyone (I also tried to come up with things but idk if I did a good job tbh with you-) but sksks here you go, dear! Thank you for requesting! <3

-Anna

-Having bad days in Gardenview was quite rare for most of the toons. A lot of things could go wrong but not THIS many! It really made you pissed off, it can be the way a kid interacted with you quite brutally, breakfast tasting quite awful or a mess happened, maybe a staff was moody and it got to you and more! Normally you would brush off small things, you know your days can't always be good or at least decent enough but today in particular? It bothered you greatly. Honestly, almost anything else you saw or this and that annoyed you. You wouldn't be like this usually so it was quite obvious for toons to pick up on your mood, especially when they saw the whole thing with their eyes.

-You were so upset you didn't even talk much and even walked past some toons who tried greeting you, only for them to lower their arms or get very concerned about you brushing them off. This was very unlikely of you to do, you always waved back but you just went to your room to retreat for the day. You didn't care about anything and staff had to make excuses for you if a kid wanted to visit you, saying that you just weren't feeling well today. You stayed in bed, overthinking whatever had just happened to you, not even caring enough to get up or go out to eat for lunch or dinner, that was supposed to be the plan, just staying in your room all day.

-There was a knock on the door and you groaned softly when it became persistent. You dragged your legs off the bed before going and opening it, not in the mood. Sprout and Cosmo offered you some delicious food as they invited you to make sweets with them. You didn't have an appetite but smelling it instantly made your stomach growl, making those two shoot you a soft smile as they gave it to you and told you to think about it. Sprout would always make sure everyone was fed no matter what, always having that side of him and making sure everyone is taking care of themselves. If you went along with their invite, they would give you a big cookie or two as thanks for coming and for your help.

-It wasn't just them, honestly, while kinda clouded for you, the toons would do things for you or even offer you things for you to take. Maybe Yatta offering you some candy from the mountain of candy she was holding, Looey offering some funny tricks, Finn with his jokes and many more from others. Some even invited you to things to maybe help take your mind off the whole thing. Like Teagan inviting you for some tea, Astro and the others to the book club if you wanted to do something quietly, maybe Pebble offering you a throwing disk to play fetch with him or more things like that. It did help.. for the most part. You definitely do feel your anger going away.

-It doesn't need to be activities that make you work, even. Sometimes it feels nice to vent about it and have someone listening. Maybe Brightney offers you company and it isn't her only, it can be Glisten who feels bad for you, Flutter who can relate to you feeling so down, Cosmo who listens to you and more. It really did surprise them to see you like that but even they know that things sometimes can really suck a lot! They can just happen like that and leave you feeling awful and upset in the end, wondering just where it started going all wrong. They just hope they can help you in any way they can.

-Eventually the anger and everything else does slowly leave you and it really is thanks to your precious friends in Gardenview who stay by your side. You have helped them a lot during their own hard times so they want to do the same for you and besides.. everyone is friends here, right? They do things for each other! It makes sense they would do things for you, too! Thankfully they know you well enough to know what you like, dislike and all that important information so they don't make you even more upset. They even bring you things related to your interests or something that made them think of you as a small gift. They will feel more relieved once they see that you feel better.

-If you are the quiet type, you will like those that offer quiet comfort like Astro, Dazzle, Tisha, Scraps and more toons. You don't have to do much in their presence and their company feels nice. They hear you out when you vent and stay by your side, listening. You don't even have to say anything, you can read with them or even just stick close together, they don't pressure you to talk and give you space to breathe after the overwhelming events today. You can hang out with them in their room or even in quiet spots around Gardenview to forget about things for a while. It's never too overwhelming and it does make you feel more calm as time goes on, the idea that someone is there for you quietly can help.

-If you want other types of comfort, the others definitely got what you need, where it's getting hugged for a long time by Goob, Toodles inviting you to explore around the map, letting Glisten gently put make up on your face, getting excited together with Poppy and more toons, all those do offer you some type of peace you needed. Maybe walking around Gardenview could be just what you need, maybe having a friendly competition with Gigi about who can find the most stuff to put in a collection or more. Those might help keep the bad thoughts away from your mind with physical activities that also aren't too much.

-But if you really prefer to spend time alone, I'm sure the toons will understand and respect your wishes. Sometimes it's not bad to lie down and take a good break from everything for a while, just letting the soft mattress underneath you hold you up well as you lay on your pillow. While you are away resting, some toons do like to leave little notes or small gifts they think you will like. Seeing you upset makes them feel bad but they hope you like their gifts! Even if some might try to convince you to come outside or invite you to things, at the end, they still respect your boundaries and leave you to recharge after a bad day.

-No matter what, you know your friends have your side in many things. They will be here to give you a steady hand when you are struggling and help cheer you up in their own ways, depending on their personalities as well! Other toons might do more calm things and others might do activities that require some work yet aren't making you feel worse. A lot of the methods do tend to work as they also make sure to consider what you are interested in as well and your boundaries. Don't be afraid to ask for any help from them, you know you can always count on them as they can also count on you during difficult times.

Thank you for reading! <3

[hearts-hunger]

okay, mixed feelings on this episode

pros:

FUCK YEAH TOMMY MENTION??? i genuinely had written off seatle tommy so i screamed when jesse said they came together. there's a lot of things that will have to happen to make tommy's seattle arc hit like it does in the game (tbh i don't trust them not to fuck it up) but for now i'm just glad he's gonna be there!!!

jesse coming in to save the girls was like...... swoon. and it's not even a game thing so that proves i can like changes from the game. take that, all of you who think i'm a mega hater.

the stalkers were scary as fuck!!!! very good use of them!!!! the scars are pretty cool and scary too!!!

i'm not mad at the way they condensed this episode, to a certain extent. i know you have to do that for tv, and it's not bad.

JOEL :(

cons:

ellie's incurably stupid, apparently. dina is 100% leading and orchestrating and planning this whole mission, and the writers insist on having another character call ellie stupid or having her call herself stupid at every turn. i'm not sure what the payoff of that is.

along with getting all of ellie's competence and skill, dina is also getting all of ellie's emotional development. like, her speech about why she's here getting revenge - why didn't ellie say that? why isn't ellie as angry as dina, as driven to get revenge? dina's getting all of ellie's most important character traits, and by comparison, ellie comes across as the dimwitted sidekick who doesn't really care if they're here or not.

in the same vein, i know they had to get us to the hospital to kill nora this episode timeline-wise, but they haven't given us ANY emotional buildup to this moment. ellie beating nora to death comes out of the clear blue sky. they keep hammering in this "ellie is happy about the baby and protective of dina" thing (which, as i've said, is not my favorite change to the story, but i digress) - but all of a sudden, knowing dina is wounded and she and jesse are being hunted down, ellie decides to take a quick detour to torture nora. what??? in the game, this moment is inevitable - ellie is spiraling, consumed by revenge, not caring about anything other than killing abby's crew. of course she abandons her friends to kill nora. in the show, though, she's gone from dad of the year to unfeeling torture machine in 0.001 seconds. i'm curious to know how show-only people are taking this, because it's giving me whiplash. the emotional pacing in this season is really weird.

bella ramsey isn't really intimidating imo. and i didn't love the change from the game where we just see ellie's face when she's torturing nora. it just didn't hit as hard. but that's also a product of no emotional buildup in this entire season and dumbed-down ellie. it's hard to buy ellie as a raging revenge-driven killer in this episode when she........ hasn't been. at all.

come talk to me about it on my sideblog @ellies-miller!!

[pellowinksx]

hey pink, so ive been having some trouble with manifesting. yes, i know we're supposed to assume and persist, but idk why it just doesnt seem to work for me. i know it sounds like im reaffirming that it doesnt work, but honestly, i have persisted that i already have my dream life for days now, and the 3d still didnt reflect it. i wasnt even focused on the 3d, i was focused on the fact that its already mine, like i was ALL IN. but it still didnt show up. i dont want my desires to take time to conform, i want it to be fast to show up in my 3d. i dont know why that is and im really trying hard to understand why this is happening, and what i might be doing wrong. sorry if this is dumb or basic, i really hope you can help me 💕

heyy my love! you were doing great but you had to keep persisting! do not focus on the 3d, do not focus on "but its not here yet"

and tbh? for some tough love...stop bitching, whining, and crying about circumstances YOU created. All you need to do is change your thoughts and stick to those NO MATTER WHAT

(sorry that was my first time giving tough love and now I feel bad)

what you should do now:

1 stick to one affirmation eg; "I'm living my dream life"

2 repeat that affirmation whenever you want mindlessly. while washing dishes, watching tv, scrolling, etc

3 ignore the 3d and repeat until confirms.

how to ignore the 3d? Acknowledge but do not absorb. If its hard for you to accept you have it right now, you can remind yourself it will change and things are only temporary. Look at the 3d, sure. But don't reaffirm anything. Just keep saying over and over without feeling "I am in my dream life, I am in my dream life" I promise it will confirm it has no choice.

love you so much! <3

[throatsplit]

tiny psa, kinda?

this is mostly just me stressing on dash, honestly, but here we are anyway! i've been struggling like hell with some picky ass muse and my brain only wants to write things for louis and like, maybe the occasional fletcher every so often, which has led to me stressing out over the drafts i owe for everyone else... and they're in the double digits now. it's entirely a me issue because y'all have been so kind and so patient with me and this blog is (s)low activity. no one's pressed but me @ me probably lmfao, but i don't want to put out anything that's forced because it leeches the inspiration and the drive, so i think, at least for a bit, i'm gonna put them on hold indefinitely. i might get to some if i feel the inspiration, but for now i gotta forget they exist until i get the muse... because i'm just gonna keep hiding from here when i actually want to write.

some of them have been in drafts for a few weeks to a month, so like... i don't think it'll really make that much difference adding a few more weeks onto that, but if you want anything dropped and/or want to start something new with louis in the meantime so we're still actively writing, that's totally cool and i am never going to be upset. just let me know! if you don't say anything, i'll assume it's cool to keep our thread(s) cozy in the drafts until i've got what i need to continue them! i have every intention of replying to all of them when i'm able, but i understand not wanting to wait so long! it's all chill. again, just let me know!

also, ooc has been hit or miss for me lately. i've got the urge to write but zero energy to chat for too long tbh. this is not to say don't message me. i love being poked because i'm a forgetful fuck, i just don't want anyone to be disheartened if i don't reply right away or take days to do so. so... this is, yet again, just a tiny reminder that i love you, i'm never ignoring you, and i'm trying very hard to find the spoons. irl things are rough as fuck lately, i'm in my head way too much, the depression is Hitting, doc visits are coming, and it's just hard to hold an active conversation. i'm down for plotting and i'm hoping to get back to y'all waiting this weekend, but i need to stop holding myself to some imaginary fucking deadline i've created in my head lmao.

if you're not cool with either of these things, that's okay! i get it! just please remember to hardblock me if you're making a permanent exit so i don't make the mistake of following again. softblock me if you're intending to come back to me later! i will never approach you about a block and i will never hold a grudge or harbor hard feelings!

smooches babies!!! 😘💋

[mileysmil3y]

Hey chat do yall agree with my Miley Smiley re - design ( the Cometcare one tbh )

so... I'm not a big fan of her version after the trauma so I'll decide to give my opinion and what it would be like in my interpretation

so to start off.... I personally don't think she would wear the style of clothing she wears in Canon, it looks too cute for my taste honestly 🙏💔

But honestly my biggest problem with Cometcare's design is THE COLORS. I really don't know why but I think it's too light for MILEY, I Honestly don't think it fits ( the bows in the ear too )

feel free to disagree with me btw

So... in my opinion, even though she had recovered from the trauma, I still think she would have problems, like trusting people . In SparkleCare (V2) yall can see that it took her a lot of pages to trust the main cast . So I ended up insinuating that she doesn't trust people very much .

One of the characters I gave her was also a strong personality. I feel that she would be a very serious and angry person and would RARELY smile ( even though her name is Miley SMILEY ) . I also think that she would be very headstrong and would get frustrated quickly. 😭

I also feel like she would dress like a Punk ( or goth maybe ? ) but would still keep the trash style

and I also feel like she would still be carrying the same shovel she was carrying throughout V2 🙏

Ok my text ends here, thanks for reading ! , I know I said I wasn't going to touch this account anymore , but I personally wanted to post this 🙏

I also wanted to show my version of Miley in my original art style ! ( kinda rushed tbh )

That's all !

[combii-art]

hunter!watcher AU thoughts

Long textpost, not sure how this will show up since I haven't made one before. Anyway, some background on why I thought of this in the first place:

When the watcher released, I played it at the same time as two of my friends, one of whom said that they thought it was the hunter killing the watcher's family in the opening scene. Whether or not that is actually the case, it got me thinking about the two of them in the same sphere. Everything that followed was just typical insane person brainrot.

Obviously watcher is not hunter in canon (I used to think it was possible that the prince was NSH, but after learning a little more about outside inspiration and stardust and such I don't believe it's possible anymore) buuuutttttt.... it'd be fun if they were. So how do we explain everything that happens?

The intro cutscene would have hunter killing the watcher's family. When it becomes an echo from reaching the void sea after doing the typical hunter quests, due to rot interference and general "not ready to go" echo-y feelings, it enters a between-world purgatory state. In this purgatory, it takes on the visage of the child it remembers glimpsing out of the corner of its eye as it killed its family in front of it. Hunter just lost its own father in NSH - and now it's watched itself kill another slugcat's parent. I think it would be a little haunted, no?

Prior to meeting Spinning Top, the between-world follows a similar decline to what it witnessed happening to itself as it neared the void sea. Everything, lizards, the walls and floor, sprouting rot. Flies buzzing around everywhere as they did the hunter's own decaying flesh. Trapped in a small area, unable to visit either of the iterators it met for help. No relief from the rot this time.

Spinning Top meets the watcher and maybe sees another like itself. Abandoned (in some ways) by its family and unable to move on. They grant the watcher some control over its echo abilities that it did not have initially (due to aforementioned rot fuckery) and lets it warp into a different between-world. In canon, the watcher's stars appear after the first meeting with Spinning Top. In hunter!watcher they later morph into the "X"s that adorn the rot cysts, so I'm not sure how exactly that would tie in here - like, I can't really imagine, even in AU, as Spinning Top doing anything to further the watcher's rot. Anyone have any ideas?

Anyway, the watcher goes through the typical questline of helping Spinning Top pass on, its echo-y-ness and abilities grow alongside its rot. (I guess this could be used as the explanation to the prior question: due to the nature of its ascension, its rot and status as an echo are just permanently linked, so any gaining of echo abilities follow with growth of rot.)

After doing this, the watcher begins its own quest to return to the source of its attachment and find a way to go through the "white door". It encounters the prince, who calls its scent familiar (jury is still out on the reason for this in canon tbh, like why does bro say that. Maybe watcher/prince were some slug/iterator pair before, just... not hunter and NSH lol) during the several passes before they break out from the cyst. During each pass, the watcher begins to recognize the destroyed facility as the one belonging to NSH, and when it sees the prince, immediately recognizes it as what it's looking for, even if its memories are still clouded.

Something something I'm bad at writing sappy and coherent endings, after spending some time playing with the prince the watcher is able to pass on. I'm still very confused about what all happens with the ending, like... was it intentional? Did the prince want that to happen? Or are the karma flowers the influence of some oppositional force? Either way... we won't know until further updates which will most certainly disconnect with the AU even more than current canon lol.

Of course, the watcher's imagination of what happened to NSH as the rot progressed is only true in this between-world, and the prince only a stand-in built by the watcher's memories. In the "real" world, I think NSH's life went a lot like Pebbles'. Can eventually crashed, decaying back into the world as it freezes over. But of course the watcher is only a slugcat, one trapped in a phasmic world no less, and the difference between their fake NSH and the real one isn't noticeable. All that matters is the self-assurance to let go.

[katboykirby]

So I like to think that cigarettes exist in the Devildom, and that they have their own brands and everything. Smoking is also probably more common and less stigmatised/hated than it is in (many places of) the human world. Humans are actually the reason that demons learned about smoking in the first place, and Devildom cigarettes are functionally identical to human-world cigarettes (since demons have basically copied the production method 1:1 from humans)

Demons aren't negatively affected by tobacco, nicotine, and smoking in general like humans are. So it's a lot more socially acceptable - it's still not common, but without the horrible side effects like lung cancer, heart disease, etc, it's not seen or thought of as a "bad habit" like it is for many humans.

Lucifer smokes occasionally, mostly for stress relief when he's overworked. He'll usually only indulge when he's on his own, mostly whenever he needs to calm down and decompress. The only room in the HoL where he'll smoke is in his study. Even for something as small as a cigarette, he doesn't like to be seen "relying" on anything to help him, thanks to his Pride.

Mammon will sometimes smoke, and he mostly does it when he's out at the club or in the casino. He's a "social smoker" like someone might be a social drinker. He's unlikely to ever pick up a cigarette at home or at RAD, but if he's out in the city partying the night away or gambling with a bunch of the Devildom's high-rollers, then he's more likely to light one up. He's also been photographed with cigs for the odd magazine spread.

Satan used to smoke, and he used to be the heaviest smoker in the family. He has since "quit" however, and claims that he no longer indulges in the habit. This is because he mostly smoked when he was younger and still full of rage, struggling to handle his Wrath without losing control of himself. Smoking helped him calm down and reduced his anger, and he would smoke for similar reasons as Lucifer (stress relief)

Satan maintains that he's put this part of his life behind him, though, and that it's been a very long time since he needed a crutch like cigarettes to help him stay calm. This is mostly true, though when exam season rolls around at RAD (and when he's stressed out trying to tutor five of his brothers as well as study for his own finals) Satan will secretly smoke in his room.

Diavolo doesn't normally smoke, but he'll do so on the rare occasions he meets with the Devildom's House of Lords. Many of the sitting members of the House smoke cigars or pipes, and Diavolo is socially savvy enough to light up a smoke as well in order to make a good impression. He may also smoke with Lucifer, but only if the Avatar of Pride pulls out his cigarettes first.

Mephistopheles has tried, on many occasions, to smoke with Diavolo whenever the Prince has done so - but Mephisto just turns into a coughing, spluttering mess every time. He can't handle even the mildest of cigarettes, and since it embarrasses him that he always starts choking and wheezing, he usually pretends that he hates smoking and will shit talk the habit.

[welcometogrouchland]

(ID in alt) you guys even fuck w/ the flash on here???