#I hope I tagged you right for this big thing

[strang3lov3]

Jingled Balls

What has four paws and ruins not only Joel’s Christmas, but his orgasm, too?

Alternatively, you and your cat stay with your dad’s best friend over Christmas.

Tags - dbf!joel, smut, age gap, unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, JOEL JORKS IT IN THE SHOWER, sexual tension, blow jobs, rough/angry sex, first aid, Joel is all grumpy and the target of all sorts of misadventures including but not limited to cat claws in Joel's balls and his butt cheeks, cats pushing shit off of Joel's counter, destroying Joel's house, etc. Some mentions of blood and injury but it’s not bad, I promise. 6.8k words. A/N - this fic is based on a true story of real crimes that have been committed by my dear Gizmo. Names have been changed out of respect for the victims. @endlessthxxghts thank you for editing babyyy i'd be lost without ya

My submission for @beefrobeefcal’s festive failure! I hope everyone has a safe holiday!!

December 20

Joel twiddles his fingers as he waits by a row of empty seats at the baggage claim area of the Austin airport, trying not to pace. He got here too early, been waiting a couple hours for your flight to land. He just couldn’t sit still at home. Already twice cleaned the house top to bottom, fluffed the guest room pillows three times each. 

You. You’re staying with Joel this Christmas. It was a last minute thing; your family, well…they forgot about you. It wasn’t intentional, all accidental. Your parents offered up every and any extra amount of room they have to extended family and in doing so, gave away your old room. Whoops. 

And so Joel got a call from your dad, his best friend. Joel was supposed to spend Christmas with your family anyway, so your dad reached out to Joel to ask if he’d be willing to take you in while you visit Austin for the week. Joel, of course, didn’t hesitate to say yes. He’d do anything for you, the sweet little girl he watched grow up. He’s missed you a lot since you left home. 

Finally, there you are. He’d recognize your smile anywhere. You wave excitedly at Joel, doing your little jog to greet him. Joel takes long steps to meet you halfway, in total disbelief at how grown up you are. Where did the time go? It was only yesterday that you were barely tall enough to reach Joel’s waist, and that was standing on your toes. He remembers teaching you to ride a bike and cleaning up your scraped knees with hydrogen peroxide, and after he bandaged you up he’d let you punch him in the arm as hard as you could to make it square. Look at you now - a beautiful woman, all grown up. 

You set your carry-on on the ground and wrap your arms around Joel, squeezing him so fucking tight it steals the oxygen right from his lungs, not that he minds. But the way you kiss his cheek makes his skin burn and his heart pound harder.

“Joel,” you whisper excitedly, hugging him tighter.

Joel lets out a wheezy chuckle. “Hey, kiddo. I missed ya,” he tells you. “S’been too fuckin’ long.” 

“Indeed,” you agree. 

Joel notices the suitcases from your flight begin to come out on the conveyor belt and squeezes your side twice to alert you, “Better go grab your suitcase, hm?”

“Oh, yeah. Duh. Here–” you laugh, pulling away from Joel to bend down. You pick up your carry on and put it in Joel’s arms, and he grunts at the surprising weight. “Hold this. Be right back.”

Joel inspects the boxy bag you placed in his hands. He turns it to the side and behind a mesh screen are two big green eyes, all wide and untrusting. “Uhhh…” Joel murmurs, further inspecting as he raises an eyebrow. It’s a cat - black fur all puffed up, growling at Joel as its eyes dart left and right. The cat hisses at Joel, causing him to nearly drop the carrier. 

You greet Joel once more, this time with your suitcase rolling behind you. “Uh, hey. Who’s this?” Joel asks, suspicion lacing his tone. 

“Gizmo!”

“Huh. Gizmo.” The cat hisses again at Joel, startling him. “You didn’t tell me that Gizmo here would be a guest of mine.” 

“Oh, I know. I’m so sorry, Joel. It was all so last minute - I found out I was staying with you and then I called kitty daycare,” you begin explaining, Joel leading the way out of the airport and to his truck. He takes your suitcase and carries both that and the carrier. “And get this - they told me they wouldn’t allow me to board Gizmo because he was too bad the last time. Can you believe that?”

“Yeah, how ‘bout that,” Joel mumbles, not so surprised.

“I know. It’s bullshit. But don’t worry about Gizmo, Joel. You won’t even know he’s there.”

“M’not really a cat person, you know,” Joel says. “Pretty sure I’m allergic to the bastards, actually.” 

Joel puts your luggage in the backseat of his truck, then opens the door for you to get in the passenger side. “Watch your step,” he warns, giving you his hand as you slide in. Joel closes the door, rounds the front of his truck and joins you, promptly starting the vehicle. The loud engine makes Gizmo cry. 

“So…” Joel begins, turning onto the busy highway. “How’s it all going? How’s work and whatnot?”

“Good,” you answer. “I don’t know. You know - work’s work. You?”

“Yeah, I hear that,” Joel replies. “Work’s work and Tommy’s…Tommy.” His joke earns him a little giggle from you. “What else is new? Got a boyfriend?” You give Joel a look, and he shrugs. “What?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, old man?” you tease, talking over Gizmo’s crying. “No, I do not. What about you, Joel, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Cute. Yeah, I do actually. Your father.” Another giggle. Joel laughs too, and he has to fight himself to keep his eyes on the road. You just look so fucking beautiful. 

Gizmo whines some more, and Joel looks both irritated and concerned. “It’s okay, Gizmo,” you coo, reaching back to touch his carrier, though the effort does little to soothe him. Joel’s truck chimes when you unbuckle your seatbelt and throw your torso over the front seat, your ass right next to Joel’s head makes him cough and clear his throat. 

“What the f-”

Thump. You land in the backseat and open Gizmo’s carrier to pet him and calm him. “It’s alright, Giz- oh, Gizmo, did you have an accident?” Joel’s mouth drops as his eyes dart frantically between the road ahead and the rearview mirror to watch you in the backseat. He’s got a bad taste in his mouth about this.  

Now at home, Joel listens to the awful sounds of Gizmo wailing and your shrieks as you bathe the cat after his accident. He had to clean the backseat of his truck, but he didn’t tell you that. When you’re done washing Gizmo, you wrap him in one of Joel’s nicer towels, the one he set aside for you. 

It’s evening when you come downstairs, clutching your soggy cat in his towel. You’re already in your pajamas, and Joel’s at the door paying the delivery person for the pizza he took the liberty of ordering. 

“Ooh, is that pizza?”

“Sure is. Plain cheese and pepperoni. Sit down, I’ll serve ya,” Joel says. “What would you like?”

“Cheese. Please and thank you.”

You smile as you sit down on Joel’s couch, scratching Gizmo’s damp little head as he purrs happily in your arms. With hands full with plates and cans of pop, Joel makes a disgusted sort of face as you kiss Gizmo’s nose. “Here,” he says, handing you a plate. Gizmo hops off of your lap. 

“Thank you.” You take a can of pop from Joel as well, cracking it open as Joel sits right next to you. He turns the TV on, Die Hard already a quarter through on whatever channel his TV was set to. It’ll do. 

You and Joel eat pizza together, talking here and there until the conversation fades away and only pizza crust remains on your plates, which are haphazardly set on the coffee table in front of you. At some point, you’ve slid closer to Joel, now pressed against his side with your head resting on his shoulder, dozing off to sleep. He smiles warmly, you poor thing. All worn out after a long day of travel. He doesn’t mind being your pillow.

Scrrraatchk, skrecht. Joel hears the odd, rhythmic noise of…something. “Hey, hon–” Joel wiggles his shoulder. “What’s that noise?”

“Mm?”

“That sound, it’s–”

Out of the corner of his eye, Joel catches Gizmo scratching on his leather recliner - his favorite recliner ever. La-Z-Boy just doesn't make them like they used to. “Oh, god bless it. The fuckin’ cat’s scratchin’ on my chair.”

“Oh, shit. Psst,” you whisper, patting the couch to get Gizmo’s attention, who gives you and Joel that deer in the headlights look. “Knock it off. You know better than that, baby,” you scold in the sweetest, most indulgent tone. Joel rolls his eyes. This is getting old already. “Sorry, Joel. He’s just nervous, trying to make himself feel at home.” 

“Mm,” Joel grumbles. “You know, this is exactly why people get their cats declawed. You never considered that for Heathcliff there?”

“No,” you deadpan. “It’s inhumane.” 

Joel raises his hands in surrender, then eyes Gizmo as he walks around the perimeter of the living room, stopping to sniff and bat at Joel’s Christmas tree. “Watch him,” he warns, voice dripping with irritation. 

You smack his arm. “Oh, relax, old man. He’s not gonna do anything. Pretty tree, though.” 

“Thanks. Decorated it myself.” 

“I can tell. It’s missing ornaments in the back,” you tease. Joel rolls his eyes, though unoffended. “Still. It’s nice to be around a Christmas tree. I don’t have one this year.” 

“You don’t?”

“Mm-mm. Gizmo’s too naughty.” 

Joel turns to look at you, baffled by your cognitive dissonance. He just shakes his head, and you go right back to almost-snuggling him. 

Gizmo loses interest in Joel’s Christmas tree and continues making his rounds, checking out the window and pawing at the blinds, which makes Joel cringe. Before Joel can say anything you shiver, tucking yourself closer into his side. “You cold, kiddo?”

“A little. But I’m fine.” 

“Bullshit.” Joel nudges you away from him so he can get up, then pulls a blanket from a basket on the floor. It’s one of those fleece tie blankets, with the repeated logo of the Dallas Cowboys patterned on one side, plain navy on the other. You made this blanket for him, actually. Years and years ago. It’s his favorite - used to be soft at one point, but it’s all scratchy and worn now, well-loved by Joel. He drapes it over his lap and holds one end up, inviting you to get cozy underneath it. But before you do, Gizmo jumps on Joel’s lap. “Awwwh,” you murmur, smiling warmly at your cat. “He stole the blanket.” 

“Yeah, but s’alright. We’ll jus’ move him,” Joel says, reaching for Gizmo. 

“No, no, he’s fine,” you insist, petting Gizmo’s back. “I think he likes you.” 

“Oh, great,” Joel says sarcastically. Gizmo curls up happily on Joel’s lap, kneading the blanket right over Joel’s crotch, which is an uncomfortable sensation. Joel winces and grunts when Gizmo paws his balls. “Watch it, you little shit.” 

“Be nice,” you scold, swatting Joel in the arm.

“Uh-huh.”

You and Joel finish the movie and start another, all with Gizmo sleeping happily on Joel’s lap. At some point, you’ve curled yourself up and are now sleeping on your side, feet pressed against Joel’s thigh. “Alright. Time for you to fuck off.” Joel pushes Gizmo off his lap, earning a disgruntled meow from the cat. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, shooing him away before pulling the fleece blanket over your sleeping form. “If it were up to me, you’d be sleepin’ in the garage. So don’t you wake her,” he warns, wagging a finger in Gizmo’s direction. “Asshole.” 

December 21

A bit of golden light peeks through Joel’s curtain, gently waking him up. He yawns and checks his digital alarm clock, though he can barely make out the time. Meh. It’s sunrise, whenever that is. 

You’re probably still sleeping, Joel guesses, so he’ll grab the first shower. If you’re anything like when you were younger - and you are - if Joel doesn’t shower first, he’ll never get any hot water. He doesn't understand your unique inability to ever shower under 45 minutes, but he can work around it. 

Groaning, springs squeaking with his shifting weight, Joel gets out of bed. He takes lazy, heavy steps toward the bathroom, hair sticking up in six different directions with bags under his deep brown eyes. He turns on the water and lets it warm up for a moment, grunting as he tugs his boxers down his thighs, erection slapping against his tummy. He’s hard as a fucking rock - morning wood. 

You. You shouldn’t be in his head, but you are. Joel dreamed of you all last night, doing all sorts of filthy things with you, to you. It’s probably nothing - you’re a pretty girl, and Joel’s not gotten laid in however long. Biology. Inappropriate. Wrong. But biology, nonetheless. 

Joel steps into the tub, facing the showerhead. He wets his hair, water trickling down his broad, freckled shoulders. He first scrubs his hair using some 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, tangling his fingers in the sudsy strands, then rinses and finger-combs his hair back. Next, he grabs a bar of soap and lathers it in a rag, washing over the broad planes of his chest, his soft tummy, all down his legs, then rinses and wrings out the rag. 

His left hand on the wall, right hand palms his cock. Joel wraps his fingers around himself, sliding his hand all the way down, squeezing the base of his shaft. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, dragging his hand back up. 

Joel fucks his fist with abandon, and in his head, he’s picturing you. “Oh goddamn, kiddo,” he moans, eyes squeezed shut. Your eyes are all big and wide with your mouth full of his cock, drooling down his shaft and onto his balls. Or you’re on top of him, hands on his chest as you fuck yourself on his cock. He’s behind you, big hands gripping your waist as he pounds against your ass, leaning over you to lick and taste the skin between your shoulder blades. 

With his eyes closed as he pumps his cock, what Joel doesn’t see is Gizmo. Gizmo, wedged between the shower curtain and the liner, sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, tail swinging wildly back and forth. His pupils are big as droplets of water roll down the clear liner. 

Joel’s dick is red and throbbing, his cheeks are flushed pink as he approaches orgasm. “Fu- oh,” he pants, quickly reaching for his damp washrag. He bites the fabric to quiet his noises of pleasure. His brow knits together, the wrinkles on his face handsomely defined as he grimaces when his cock begins to throb. He’s about to fall over the edge when it’s all ruined - a sharp pain in his ass cheek, dragging down his flesh. “AHHH!” Joel screams in both shock and agony, looking for the source of his pain. 

Of fucking course - Gizmo. Gizmo, with his little, fuzzy arm raised high, claws poking through the shower liner and right into Joel’s ass. He’s squirming, stuck like that of course, go figure. “Get the fuck out of here you fuck-” Joel yells, violently shaking the shower curtain. Gizmo sprints out of the shower and around the bathroom in circles, anxiously pawing for any way out. “God fuckin’ - SHIT,” he rages, stomping out of the tub sopping wet and inadvertently kicking Gizmo with every step he takes. Joel frantically opens the bathroom door, wet hands slipping on the handle. “Scram, you fuckin’ asshole,” he spits, watching Gizmo slip out of the bathroom. 

“JOEL?!” 

Gizmo jumps right into your arms, and Joel gawks at you. 

“What did you fucking do to my cat?”

“What did I do?” Joel seethes. “He clawed my fuckin’ ass cheek!” 

Joel can’t believe his eyes. You’re shooting him dirty looks as you kiss Gizmo’s little head, and Gizmo’s headbutting your face in return. He rubs his cheeks on your nose and curls his furry little body into yours, and you pout as you soothe him. “Yeah, sure. Worry about the cat. I’m fuckin’ fine, I guess,” Joel bites, catching a glimpse of a small amount of blood running down his thigh from his ass. 

Joel shuts the door then, and gets back into the shower. He washes the scratch with soap and water, wincing at the sting. When he’s done with his shower - and only his shower, as it’s now too late for him to make himself come, Joel apologizes to you for losing his temper. 

“Well, don’t apologize to me, Joel. Apologize to him.”

Joel pauses, jaw twitching, balling his hands into fists as he glares at Gizmo purring contentedly in your lap. “Sorry.” It’s the most painful, undeserved apology he’s ever had to make.

Between the holidays and your cat, Joel can already tell it’s gonna be a long fucking week. 

December 22

Joel’s current job site isn’t too far from home, so instead of eating a packed sandwich in his truck, he decides to come home one afternoon to make himself something for lunch.

He enters his house through the garage and sees you napping peacefully on his couch, snoring ever so quietly. Your lips are pouting, drooling a little onto his leather couch as the TV plays at a low volume. Joel chuckles quietly, shaking his head. It makes Joel happy to see you comfortable like that, so at home at his house. 

He strolls into the kitchen and opens his refrigerator, grabbing some lunch meat and cheese. He tosses them onto the counter, then grabs a jar of mayonnaise and a loaf of bread sitting on top of the refrigerator, sets those down too. Joel grabs a plate, and when he turns back around, Gizmo’s on the counter. 

“Get down from there,” Joel hisses, shooing away the cat. “Go on, git.” 

Gizmo blinks at him nonchalantly, which pisses Joel off. He knows that fucking cat speaks English. So Joel takes the liberty to shove Gizmo off of the counter, Gizmo landing on all fours with a thump and a discontent meow. “Yeah, shut up. Overgrown fuckin’ rodent.” 

Joel pulls two slices of bread from the loaf and opens the jar of mayonnaise, spreading a thin layer on each piece. He moves the jar out of the way and begins assembling his sandwich, and Gizmo hops right back onto his spot on the counter to stare at Joel.

“Oh, you little…” Joel whispers, trailing off and shaking his head. Joel cuts his sandwich on the diagonal, then begins making another - for you, of course. You always told Joel sandwiches taste better when he makes them. You’re a master fucking manipulator, with Joel wrapped tightly around your finger. 

Gizmo reaches for the cheese. “Don’t even think about it, shithead,” Joel gruffs, swatting his paw away. “The sandwich is for her. Not. You.” 

Joel puts your sandwich in a little baggy and places it in the refrigerator before writing a note for you on a post-it. When he returns to the counter, Gizmo’s surreptitiously dipping his paw into the mayonnaise. “Hey!” Joel snaps, “Get yer filthy goddamn mitts outta there.” 

December 23

It’s late at night when Joel wakes up to a horrible suffocation. His eyes fly open and his heart pounds with the heavy weight on his chest, and in his hypnagogic state, he begins to panic. Fuck, he’s having a heart attack. Confused and scared, he tosses his body with the little strength he has, and that’s when he feels it - two paws rhythmically pressing into his chest, a low purr. 

Gizmo. 

“Get the fuck off of me,” Joel whispers, pushing Gizmo off his chest. 

Gizmo makes a little mrrp noise on the floor, then leaves. Joel rolls his eyes and tosses onto his stomach, then tries to drift off to sleep. 

But he can’t. Joel’s up now, as there’s nothing like a middle of the night panic to jolt the nervous system wide awake. So Joel groans softly as he sits up in bed, yanking the blankets off his body. He takes slow, sleepy steps out of his room and down the stairs, grabbing himself a glass from the cabinet above the sink. “Fuckin’ cat,” he mumbles quietly as he fills the glass with some water. Joel takes a few sips, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of his house. In his living room, he can see some ornaments are strewn across the floor, lights pulled off the branches of his Christmas tree. As if on cue, Gizmo brushes up against Joel’s leg. “I know what you did, you motherfucker,” Joel grumbles, gently pushing Gizmo away with his foot. Joel sets the glass of water down, then makes his way to the living room. 

He first puts the lights back on the tree, and then he gathers the ornaments and places them back on the branches. 

Skrrrch.

Joel looks back to see Gizmo on the counter, nudging Joel’s glass along the surface with a gentle bat of his paw, inching it closer and closer to the edge. “HEY,” Joel whisper-yells, warning the cat, “I fuckin’ dare ya, cat. Jus’ watch what happens.” 

Gizmo makes direct eye contact with Joel as he pushes it off, and it lands with that signature, awful sound of broken glass.

“God bless it.” 

Joel stomps over to Gizmo, who frantically jumps down off the counter and skitters off into another room. Joel chases him down and turns on a light, then corners him and grabs his little body. He cradles the squirming, whining cat and inspects all four paws to make sure he didn’t step on any glass, then tosses him back onto the floor, where Gizmo then runs up the stairs and into Joel’s guest room to join you in a peaceful slumber. 

Joel sweeps up the broken glass, defeated. 

December 24

Joel’s off work for both Christmas Eve and Christmas day, so finally, he gets to spend some time with you. He’s in his pajamas making eggs and toast for you at the stove, and you’re at the kitchen table, sipping on the orange juice Joel poured for you. “Vitamin C,” he’d said. “S’good for ya.” 

Joel plates your eggs, done just how you like them, and butters your toast. “Here ya are, darlin’,” he murmurs, setting down both yours and his plates at the table. 

“Thank you, Joel,” you smile. Gizmo’s weaving in and out between your feet on the ground. With the side of your fork, you cut off a small bite of your eggs and drop it on the ground, smiling at the way Gizmo darts out to eat it. Joel just watches, completely dumbfounded. 

“You and that cat,” he sighs. “You know, he’s has been causin’ me all sorts ‘a trouble all week.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” you argue, leaning down to scratch Gizmo between his ears. 

“Well, you should, ‘cause he’s the fuckin’ devil. Broke a glass last night.” 

“Did not.”

“Did too. An’ he’s been fuckin’ with my tree,” Joel adds.

You roll your eyes. “It’s just a little cat, Joel. Are you being bullied by a tiny little cat?”

“As a matter ‘a fact, yes. I am.” 

You and Joel spend the rest of the day relaxing and watching Christmas episodes of sitcoms together. Joel has you wrap his presents, claiming it’s what you owe him for allowing you and your devil cat to stay. 

In the late afternoon, you and Joel get ready to go to your parents’ house for Christmas Eve dinner. Joel wears a dark green flannel and runs a comb through his hair, and you put on a nice dress, one that hugs your curves beautifully. 

You knock twice on his bedroom door. “Joel?”  

“Yeah, kiddo. C’mon in.” 

“Just wondering if you can zip me,” you ask quietly, spinning around for Joel to pull the zipper up your dress. 

“Can do,” he answers. He puts a hand on your waist and tugs the zipper all the way up, then smoothes out the fabric. “Y’look beautiful,” he tells you. “Know that?”

“Joooel,” you murmur bashfully, elongating his name. 

“I mean it,” Joel says, spinning you around and pushing a bit of hair out of your eyes with his pinky finger and smiling at you, which makes you all flustered. Joel clears his throat then, ushering you out of his room and down the stairs. “M’nervous about leavin’ that cat of yours all alone, you know. If we get home from this and that asshole destroyed my fuckin’–”

You squeeze Joel’s arm. “Relax,” you tell him, but your words do little to soothe the man. The whole time at dinner, all Joel can talk with your parents about is how awful Gizmo is. All the trouble he’s caused, and how you think the little bastard can do no wrong. “Your daughter feeds him,” Joel tells your dad, watching your reaction. You scoff and roll your eyes. “Right from her plate.” 

The night comes and goes, much like it always does. Christmas comes so much faster than it ever used to, and it doesn’t last as long. Joel drives you both home and to Joel’s surprise, his house is in one piece. But not the present he got you. 

“Goddamn it,” Joel grumbles, seeing the gift bag he left under his tree for you in shreds. He picked out a little black cat ornament for you, and thought you’d like it. He put some cat treats in the bag too. Go fucking figure that Gizmo ruins it. 

You help Joel clean up the mess of shredded paper and plastic, all the cat treats are, of course, eaten. “Fuckin’ cat’s probably pukin’ in my bed,” Joel gruffs. 

You put your ornament on Joel’s tree and squeeze his shoulder sympathetically. “You’re thoughtful,” you tell him. 

Joel smiles with his lips pressed together. He’s so ready for this week to be over. He’ll miss you - god, will he miss you when you’re gone, but he will not miss your asshole fucking cat. “How ‘bout another Christmas movie, hm?”

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling. 

“M’takin’ requests. Got any?” Joel opens his entertainment center cabinet to show you his array of DVD’s, the Christmas movies all already set out. 

“This one.” You tap the Bad Santa DVD case. “‘Cause he’s hot.” 

“Who is? Billy Bob Thornton?”

“Mhm,” you nod, smirking. 

Joel makes a disgusted face and gives you a look, but puts the movie in the DVD player anyway. Some of the vulgar jokes make Joel blush, which is uncomfortable for him and entertaining for you. 

When the movie’s over, it’s time to go to bed. For real, too. You and Joel have to be at your parents’ house again in the morning and will likely spend the entire day there, getting no alone time or space from anyone. Joel bids you goodnight and kisses you on the cheek, then heads to the bathroom for a night time shower. He doesn’t wanna fight you for it in the morning. 

Joel keeps only the night light on in the bathroom. He’s exhausted, eyes are dry and stinging with tiredness. He pulls off his t-shirt, unbuckles his belt and slides his jeans and boxers down his legs together, then toes off his socks, yawning as he scratches his balls. In a sleepy haze, Joel gets into the tub and turns on the shower. 

He’s met with that sharp, awful, excruciating pain of claws in his skin, only it’s not in his thighs. Not in his ass. 

His fucking balls. Your cat’s claws are in Joel’s balls, and dragging down his sack. Joel feels like puking as it happens, and at the same time he’s being blasted with cold water as Gizmo panics and scratches his body further. It’s like a cartoon, when two characters fight and it’s just pure chaos - a cloud of screaming and other concerning noises, concerning noises that startle you awake.

“FUUUUUUCK!!” Joel yells, scrambling to get out of the tub. He clutches his scrotum and wraps a towel haphazardly around his waist, feeling dizzy as he bleeds into his palm. “Fuck - y–” 

You fly out of bed and sprint to the bathroom, where Gizmo is clawing at the bottom of the door. “Joel?” you knock frantically. “Joel!”

Joel unlocks the door and Gizmo sprints out, soaking wet and leaving a path of water droplets in his wake. Joel’s white as a fucking ghost. “Joel?”

“H- he-” Joel can’t even get the words out. Still holding his towel in place, Joel checks the palm of his hand and sees a mess of crimson. “Oh my god,” he says with a weakened voice. 

“Joel, what the fuck? What happened?!” 

Joel shakes his head, vision going spotty as he waddles to his bedroom and sits on the bed. You follow him, shutting the door behind you and turning the light on in his room. “Joel.” 

Joel says nothing, only peeks slightly at his crotch. He does his best to protect his modesty with you there but fuck, he’s gonna faint. And unfortunately, you might see more than you should, should that happen.

“Did he scratch you?” Joel only nods, swallowing thickly. “Okay, alright. Where’s your first aid stuff?”

“Bathroom vanity,” Joel chokes out. 

You hurry to the bathroom and grab Joel’s first aid kit, then return quickly to him. 

Joel has a strong stomach, however, the sight of his mangled scrotum is too much for his heart to take. If he looks, he might puke and faint and that’ll make everything worse. “You gotta do it,” he tells you, urgency in his voice. “I can’t look. Cat fuckin’ butchered me. I’m a eunuch.”

“Okay, okay,” you whisper, sitting beside Joel. You take his hand in yours, the one that’s clutching his towel shut. He’s shaking, trembling, and you move it to the side so you can open his towel. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” Joel says. 

“You’re fine,” you reply calmly, though in all honesty you’re pretty nervous too. “I’m gonna open up your towel, okay?”

“Yeah, go ‘head and do it. M’so sorry, kid. Jesus christ,” Joel groans. He leans back so that he’s laying flat on the bed, palms pressed into his eyes as his tummy rises and falls with panicked breaths. 

You open the towel and asses the injuries. 

It’s not bad. 

Really. 

It’s not. But you still wouldn’t trade places with Joel, right now. There’s quite a few scratches here and there, some deeper and longer than others. Nothing a little cleanup and some antibiotic ointment can’t fix. “Okay, Joel. I’m gonna be right back, I need to get a soapy rag.” Joel gives you a weak thumbs up. 

You run the water on warm and lather a clean rag with some soap, then return to Joel to wash the scratches. “Might sting,” you tell him, dragging the rag gently over his sack. You do your best to remain professional or something of the sort, to ignore how Joel’s cock thickens at your touch. His thick thatch of hair spattered around the base of his dick, gray, wiry hairs sprinkled amongst the brown. He’s thicker than you would have guessed, longer too, curved so beautifully. And his thighs - gorgeous, toned. Belly is soft, arms are strong. He’s gorgeous, all laid out like this.

Joel’s…Joel is feeling every emotion. Embarrassment, because his best friend’s daughter is between his thighs and carefully tending to his lacerated balls. Rage, because her fucking shithead cat is the reason he’s in this predicament. Aroused, because he’s only a man, and you’re too fucking pretty for him to not get hard from your touch. 

“Are you doing okay, Joel?” you whisper.  

“Ask me later.” Joel wipes some sweat from his brow. “Sorry about the…my…uh…”

“It’s fine,” you assure him. “Didn’t know you were hung like that, Joel.” 

“Jesus Christ, kid, don’t say shit like that.” 

You stifle your laughter as you toss the rag to the side, the bleeding now stopped. You unscrew the cap of some Neosporin, then squeeze a generous amount onto your fingertip. 

“I’m gonna touch you,” you warn. “Just some Neosporin. Okay?”

Joel nods. “Go for it.” He clears his throat when you touch his shaft, moving it slightly out of the way so you can dab the ointment on his scratches. Fuck, he’s struggling to conceal his moans and his stuttered breathing. 

Gizmo hops on the couch then, and headbutts Joel’s bicep. 

“Get that goddamn cat away from me before I put him through the fuckin’ wall,” Joel seethes. 

You don’t push. You know Joel means business, and Gizmo really did fuck up this time. “Psst, Gizmo. Get down. Leave Joel alone,” you whisper, swatting Gizmo onto the floor. “Gizmo’s really sorry,” you murmur, still rubbing ointment onto Joel’s balls. “He didn’t mean to, Joel. He must’ve thought—”

Joel holds up a hand to stop you. “Don’t. Jus’ don’t.”

“Okay,” you whisper. You lift Joel’s ballsack to see if you missed any scratches, but you didn’t. “You’re all done, Joel.”

Joel scoffs, and you stroke his thigh soothingly to calm him. He says nothing, only collects his breathing. His cock is still achingly hard, a pearly, pretty bead of precum at the tip. 

It’s a risk, but you take it anyway. You lean down and press a kiss right against his ballsack, conscious to avoid any scratches inflicted by Gizmo. 

“Woah, woah, woah-”

“Shhh,” you whisper. “Do you want this?”

“Yeah, but-”

“But nothing.” You kiss Joel’s sack all over as much as you can, and once you’ve exhausted that, you kiss up his hard shaft. “I’m kissing it better.” 

You lick up the length of Joel’s shaft, then circle your tongue a few times around the tip. With one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, you rest the other on his tummy. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel sighs, voice dripping with relief as his hips thrust up, almost as if to chase your mouth. He sits up and reaches for your head, softly dragging his nails over your scalp rhythmically. “You’re a good girl.”

You take his tip into your mouth, working your way down his cock to take him fully inside. Joel tastes salty, sweaty, heady and so masculine, just like you always imagined, and it makes you wet. And you, with your warm and wet and inviting mouth, Joel’s imagination didn’t come close to mimicking this. You bob your head up and down his shaft, bouncing your nose into his pubic hair. 

“Jus’ like that,” Joel grunts. “Attagirl.” 

His words only worsen your growing arousal, and you can feel yourself making a mess of your panties. You fuck Joel’s cock with your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and spitting down his shaft and your knuckles. 

Joel pulls your head away from his cock. “Wait a second,” he tells you. “Wanna look at the mess you’re makin’,” he mumbles, admiring the slick, wet mess of your saliva on his cock. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he murmurs, then pushes you back down onto his cock. 

Joel thrusts into your mouth a bit harshly, though maintaining a certain gentleness to it. He ruts into your mouth, grunting your name as you drool on him, just as he pictured before. 

You reach into your skirt and pull your panties to the side, the cotton is all but soaked with your wetness. Dragging a finger up and down your folds, you moan onto Joel’s cock, sending vibrations down his shaft. 

“Whatcha doin’ there, kiddo?” he rasps. 

“Nothing,” you murmur, pressing kisses against his dick. 

“Sure don’t look like nothin’. C’mere.” Joel pulls you close to him and tugs the zipper of your back down your dress, then helps you out of it. He unclasps your bra and pulls your soaked panties down your legs, clutching them in his fist before shoving them behind his pillow. 

In a swift motion that has you yelping excitedly, Joel flips you on your back, the bed beneath you warm with his body heat. Joel settles between your thighs and pushes your knees back toward your chest. “Yeah, s’it. This what you wanted, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, settling into his pillows. Joel’s hot breath fans over your hot, pulsing sex as he places his large, meaty hands on the backs of your thighs. Fuck, the way you smell has Joel’s head spinning, dizzy with lust. He presses kisses against your inner thighs first, working his way toward your center where he kisses sloppily over your clit. 

“Makin’ a mess of my sheets, y’know that, kid?” Joel teases, admiring the puddle of arousal you’re dripping onto his bed. He feels the heat of your cunt radiating against his face, inviting him in. He squeezes the meat of your thighs as he licks one long stripe up your pussy, then rubs your skin in circles with his thumbs. 

With a flattened tongue, Joel continues licking, rounding your clit before repeating the motion. He memorizes your folds, your taste, your scent. You moan his name and clutch his head against your cunt, your wordless plea for more. 

“I’ll give ya more, sweetheart. I know what you want,” he says, tongue now circling your entrance before dipping inside to taste you. He drags his tongue back up and flicks it up and down over your clit. Urgently, you tug on his graying, dark curls, pleasure blooming in your gut. You’re soaking his face as your climax approaches, thighs twitching beneath his palms. “Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant. 

“Let go, darlin’.”

You’re about to come when -

CRASH

It’s a loud, thundering crash, the sound of broken glass and heavy objects hitting the floor. Joel growls against your pussy and violently punches the bed on either side of you before tearing himself away from your cunt and stomping downstairs with a renewed anger for your cat. 

“I swear to fuckin’ Christ,” he fumes, seeing the mess Gizmo, of course, made. You’re right behind Joel, your jaw dropped in shock. 

Ornaments all over the floor, some shattered and others still in one piece. The Christmas tree is somehow in two pieces - god only knows how gizmo managed to do that. The Christmas lights are strewn all over the place and there’s your precious cat, tangled up in the mess. Joel seethes as he makes his way toward Gizmo to free him of the lights, “You get the fuck outta here,” he hisses. 

“It was an accident!”

Joel turns around, chest heaving with his angry breaths. “Not another fuckin’ word,” he says, grabbing you by the arm and forcing you over the leather recliner. Joel laughs without humor when he sees that it’s been further scratched by Gizmo.

He parts your legs with his foot, then lines up with your slick hole and enters you in one swift thrust, the action both mind-splittingly painful and pleasurable. 

“Joel,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to grab at his thigh as he sets a quick, brutal pace. 

“You are…” he starts, “Never…bringing…that fucking cat…here…ever again,” Joel pants, fucking you with anger. “Do you fuckin’ understand me?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper, voice muffled with your face pressed into the chair. 

Joel draws out of you all the way, admiring your milky arousal glistening on his cock underneath the glow of the ruined Christmas lights. He plunges back in, then fucks you harshly. He draws in and out of you so quickly and steadily, the head of his cock brushing over your g-spot with each of his thrusts. “Fuck,” he grunts, pulling you by your hips onto his cock repeatedly. 

He breathes loudly through his nose, fucking fuming with rage as he uses your cunt to relieve himself of the stress you - yes, you caused him. That cat may be Satan’s spawn but he’s still yours. You are responsible for this.

Pleasure builds quickly in you, and Joel can tell. He leans over you to press his fingers against your clit; he doesn’t even have to move them to make you come. Just the pressure and the motion of his rough fucking is enough to send you over the edge, pussy pulsing and gushing on Joel’s stiff cock, making a mess of him.

Joel pulls you against his chest and bites your ear as he pounds into you, chasing his own orgasm. His balls tighten and his body tenses before release, and then he’s spilling into you, spurting milky white ropes of his hot come inside you. “Fuck, goddamn,” he grunts, fucking himself through his climax. When he’s finished, he pulls out of you unceremoniously, your combined arousal spilling onto the ground. What’s another fucking mess to clean up.

Joel rounds the chair and plops onto the couch, pulling you down with him. You yelp as you fall but he catches you in his strong arms and hugs you close against his body, kissing your forehead and cheeks. “I fuckin’ hate that cat,” he tells you, panting. 

Gizmo mrrps then and jumps onto Joel’s lap with you, walking over both of your bodies to greet Joel specifically, bunting Joel’s face as he purrs. 

“He’s really sorry,” you giggle. 

“Yeah, m’sure.” Joel surprises you both and brings a hand to Gizmo’s face, gently petting his head. “I mean it,” Joel warns. “Never. Again.” 

IF YOU ENJOYED!!! Please leave me a comment or say something nice in your reblog, or send me an ask ♡ i love when you make this blog feel like a community ily. ty so much <3 <3 <3

[weltraum-vaquero]

cariño (eres un amor)

Jayce Talis x GN Reader

Synopsis: Jayce wakes up with feverish, and with a sore throat.

Tags: SFW, established relationship, fluff, tenderness, Jayce being a big baby about being sick, comfort, Jayce being a human furnace

Word count: 2.3k

Notes: Just another little something to tide you guys over while I work on my bigger projects. I don’t usually do fluff, but I hope it’s not terribly obvious and that you’ll enjoy this little sickfic!

It’s about three AM when the heaping mountain of warmth beside you clears his throat, and shifts around sluggishly. The mattress creaks uncomfortably under his moving weight as he moves to the opposite side of your shared bed.

You can hear plastic soles sliding against the floor when he slips into his fuzzy pink slippers (an old Christmas gift from you — mainly a joke, but now an indispensable part of his cozy wardrobe), and, with a suppressed little huff, moves to stand.

“Uh oh.”

His voice is raspy when he mutters it, and you hear him stumbling, and vaguely see him bracing himself against the nearest wall when you turn to look.

You rush to flick on the bedside lamp.

“Jayce?”

He’s set a hand over his throat, breathing labored, and his loose T-shirt is soaked through with sweat — between his shoulder blades, under his arms, even at his collarbone.

“I don’t… feel so good.” He croaks.

You’re up on your feet before he can finish saying it, rushing to his side to offer your help. He watches you with dizzy, weary eyes, and by the time you reach his side, you realize he’s trembling a little.

“You don’t look good either,” you mutter, brushing your fingers to his clammy forehead. 

Hot. Too hot.

“Hey.” He fake pouts, cracking a tired smile at his own attempt at a joke a moment later.

“You’re burning up a nasty fever, Jayce,” you conclude. It must be getting to his muscles, too, because his thighs are shaking a little. “What do you need, hm?”

“Was gonna go pee,” he says. You cannot, for the life of you, get used to how worn his voice sounds — like he’s just chewed and swallowed a handful of gravel. “And, uh, probably chug water from the sink. I’m so thirsty.”

“Let’s get you to the bathroom, and I’ll get you a big glass of water and make you tea in the meantime. Chamomile?”

He nods. “And an aspirin?”

“And an aspirin.”

His smile turns sappy.

“I love you so much.”

—

He manages to get himself back to the bedroom without you. By the time you get there with a tray of everything you’ve promised and more, he’s pathetically crawling under the sheets like he’s just lost a physical fight, curling up like a kicked puppy once he reaches the pillow.

“Got you some toast, too.” You tell him, setting the small tray on the night stand and sitting next to his curled up form.

Even his hair’s damp with sweat, you realize when you brush a gentle hand through it.

“Not hungry,” Jayce mutters. 

“I know, but you shouldn’t take the aspirin on an empty stomach. Do you wanna sit up?”

“Uuughhhh… okay.” Jayce groans like he has been cursed with the world’s most terrible predicament. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“Which is often,” you tease, propping up his pillow against the headboard to help him sit up a little better. You give him his water first — he sounds like he needs it.

He grips the glass with two hands, unusual for Jayce, strength personified. Brings the glass to his lips with shaky hands before he exhales with bliss and starts chugging the damn thing.

He’s done with it in record time.

“Mmh. Thank you.” You take it from him, set it on the nightstand, before you take the tray and set it in his lap. Full, steaming teacup, a sad plate with an even sadder toast and an aspirin right next to it. “Breakfast of champions,” Jayce mutters, more to himself than to you, before he takes the toast.

At about three bites in, he looks at you with wide eyes.

“Shit, the gala. It’s—“ he stops to cough into his sleeve, “in two days…” Jayce looks down at himself, drenched in sweat, then at you. “And you have work tomorrow—“

“Viktor will have to take one for the team,” you counter. Another coughing fit takes him, you hold the tray steady for him as he does, and cradle the side of his face when he starts to calm. “And I’d rather have a shitty day at work than not be there when you need it most, Jayce.”

”I’m sorry,” he mutters anyway. 

“You didn’t ask for this,” you assure. Jayce closes his eyes and leans into the cup of your palm like a tired pup. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s just get you taken care of first.”

He nods weakly, before he pulls the blanket up a little higher over himself, settles into the pillows a little deeper and makes quick work of what remains of the toast. He takes his aspirin with the tea, which, judging by his sour expression when he sips some, is way too hot for his liking.

“Do you want me to blow on it for you?” you offer.

“ ‘m not a baby.”

“You are my baby.”

That makes him crack a wide, boyish grin — and it makes your heart soar. 

“Okay,” he mutters, before he lets you have it and sinks further into the sheets, until it reaches well above his lips, and it’s just his droopy, tired eyes peeking at you. 

You hold the cup with one hand, and the other comes to pet his sweat-damp scalp. He’s running hot, terribly so, but after a minute or so, you swear you can feel him starting to tremble under your palm.

It starts at just his neck first, but you can see the way it shakes him even under the thick blanket, can see the way it makes him nuzzle and hide further down. 

“C-can you get… another blanket?” He asks. “‘m starting to get really cold.”

And if there is one thing Jayce cannot stand, it’s being cold and damp. You know, because he’s always rushing to towel himself dry after his warm showers, you know, because he runs from any snowfall like it could make him melt. You know, because Ximena misses two fingers because of frostbite. You know Jayce was there when it happened. You know.

“That and a dry shirt,” you promise with a kiss to his clammy forehead. It leaves your lips a little sticky, but you don’t mind.

You’ve set the tea on the nightstand before he can finish asking, and you make your way to your shared closet fast. In one of the drawers, you find a thick fuzzy blanket, usually only reserved for the occasional power outage during winter. Which, granted, it is winter, Jayce’s least favorite season, but the heat is cranked up comfortably, as it always is. You can see his eyes smiling when he spots it in your arms, and smiling wider when you pick one of his loose, big shirts next. Whatever’s in reach first just so happens to be one with a drawing of his favorite cartoon dog and red hearts — a little V-day gift from last year.  

With both at your side, you sit down next to him and wait for him to finish his tea. Both hands cupped around it to soak up the warmth, Jayce sips on it in silence, as the both of you watch the street light outside your window, and the thick snowflakes visible in the flickering light below.

“At least I won’t have to wade through that to go to work tomorrow,” he muses.

“Well, I will.”

“Ha.” Jayce grins, curling up closer to his near empty mug in anticipated joy. He’s still watching the snow outside when he says it. “Sucker.”

If he weren’t in such a precarious state right now, you’d be blowing a raspberry on whatever’s closest til he begged for mercy. Right now, you settle for a smaller, gentler form of retaliation— peeling his blanket up and off of him when he least expects it.

“Okay. Let’s get your shirt changed.”

He frowns and makes a displeased little sound at that, but dutifully sits up regardless, and tiredly pulls the shirt up and above his head. To little avail, he also tries to dab himself dry using the damp shirt where he’s sweatiest — at the back of his neck and his underarms, before he tosses it near the laundry basket in your bedroom and turns to you.

“Arms up,” you tell him. “I’ve got you.”

It should be illegal to look this good while feverish and dazed. You can’t help the eyeful of him you get, not when his skin’s sweat slick and glistening, fuzz stuck to himself between his pecs and right below, the fuzz on the rolls of his tummy.

The second it’s on, Jayce wastes no time disappearing under the blanket once more, and you take the hint. The second, fluffy one is quickly unfolded and draped over him as well, before you climb atop him and begin to tuck him in nice and tight, the way he likes it when he gets like this.

Except — Jayce won’t stop staring.

He looks at you with pleading, puppy dog eyes and finally a pout when you don’t seem to take the hint.

“What is it?” You ask. You bring up one of your hands to cradle his soft, sleepy face, brushing through the scruff at his jaw. “D’you want a kiss?”

“Not just a kiss…”

He tilts his head and flashes you one of those sickeningly sweet, winning smiles of his. And he’s right to do it, because you know he’s about to ask something very difficult from you.

“Cuddle me?”

If he weren’t a living, breathing pile of hot coal right now, you might have said yes.

“I barely make it out alive and unscorched out of sharing a blanket with you on a normal day,” you remind.

“Please?”

It should be worrying how effective his tone is, worn and sore as it’s gotten. 

“You’re going to boil me alive under there.”

And that all seems pretty insignificant in spite of it all when he smiles drowsily and shrugs with a little hum.

“Mm. With love.” His raspy voice cracks on the second word.

It’s with much annoyance that you realize that if Jayce begged nicely enough, you would gladly do just about most things on this wretched earth. And that unfortunately includes this certain death sentence.

“Alright.”

From under the blankets, Jayce gives a tired, but victorious little yes.

You hardly make it far when you lift the blankets to join him. The heat is below overwhelming, even by his standards, envelops you suffocatingly, before warmth personified practically pounces on you. Jayce crawls to you the moment he can, nestling up against your side like he weighs nothing (except that he very much does, but it’s a familiar, comforting heaviness), before he drapes himself on top of you. Head on your chest, tired arm slung over your middle, the leg that’s closest to the mattress stays stretched out next to yours, and the other one he brings closer to himself, almost in a fetal position, his thigh atop your hips.

It’s already too much, but Jayce cuddles closer, rubs his face against you like an enamored little pet. If he had a tail it’d be wagging, or if he had the means for it, he’d be purring — either way, you can’t help a smile of your own, in spite of how smothered you are. You cradle the back of his head closer, until you can comfortably rest your cheek atop his hair.

Until… he shifts, and you can feel the tip of his nose nudging your jaw.

“And my kiss?” Jayce croaks.

He will be the death of you.

And yet, you’re very content with the notion as you pull back to look at him. You find him lazily lying on your chest, face tipped towards you in expectation, eyes lidded with sleepiness but still trained on you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“Where do you want it, baby?”

“Mmm…” Jayce lets his eyes drift shut and sniffles a little. “Dealer’s choice.”

You go for the space between his brows — messed up from sleep and how he’s been rubbing his face against you, instead of neatly tamed into place with his beloved brow wax.

You can hear his smile widen the second your lips brush his skin. And you don’t get to smooch him properly, before he’s already asking: “Another?”

You indulge. One more at his brow bone. One at his cheekbone. One on his closed eyelids, lashes tickling your lip, one at the strong bridge of his nose, one at the tip of it, a last one—

“Hey, no.” Jayce hides his face before you make it to his lips. “Don’t risk it.”

You can’t help a little laugh. This is where he draws the line?

“If there’s anything to catch, I’ve most likely caught it already,” you assure. “Unless you don’t want a kiss.”

That gets to him.

“Hmmm… I do want one,” he replies before you can hope to taunt him any further. He ponders it for just a moment, before he’s already tilting his face back up towards you in invitation, nose brushing under your cheek. “Okay. Please?”

You give him what he wants. A tender little nudge of your soft lips to his smiling ones, a swipe of your tongue at his bottom lip. Jayce purrs with delight at that, voice coming out in a low, gravelly hum, before he licks back, not ravenously, much more like a kitten. Basking in your comfort, in your presence.

When you pull back, Jayce inhales a fragile little breath before his eyes flutter open just barely. 

“Are you a little warmer now?” You ask. 

He nods. “And you?”

You chuckle. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find my bones in the morning. The rest of me will probably melt off and soak into the mattress.”

“So dramatic.”

“I learned from the best.”

[the-kr8tor]

Y’know that one scene in 10 Things I Hate About You where Heath Ledger serenades the main girl with a love song at the football stadium, only to be chased by security guards?

May I request Hobie doing the same thing for a spider!R at the Spider Society as a surprise Christmas present? 💀🥹

- 😅 (don’t worry about writing this if you have a lot of requests, take your time ❤️)

I had to google the scene and it was so adorable what?! I need to watch this movie! Thank you for requesting, I hope you like it ❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, spider-woman! Reader, spider trio appearance, lovestruck! Hobie, fluff!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You huff, heart beating wildly in your chest just as when the fighting simulation ends with you standing victoriously. Wheezing, but still the victor of the fight against a Mysterio ai. The said hologram fades, pained groans turning into a digital whirr of pixels until the orange glow is gone from its prone position on the cold tiles.

Hands on your knees, sweat dribbles off your brows, making you take off the sticky and uncomfortable mask off your face. Hobie and the others were supposed to train with you today, hence why you almost got beaten into a pulp by a fake Mysterio because you cranked the level up a notch on the difficulty. You're patting yourself on the back for even surviving it that long.

Looking around, you gather your bearings, finding the training grounds void of your friends and partner. Your nose scrunches up, still heaving in place.

“Where in the world are they?” You scratch your head, stretching your throbbing wrists and walking towards the water cooler to grab a cup. They can't be out on a mission without you, right?

The door hisses open, hope blossoms in your chest but when you see a different group of spiders stride in, your smile wavers. Huffing, you gulp down your drink, already feeling better now that you're hydrated.

The group waves to you all friendly, beckoning you to join them. They probably saw you alone in the big training room and felt bad. With a polite smile, you jog towards them.

“Hey!” They say in chorus. There's a couple of Peters in their group, together with a spider-rabbit chirping to you in greeting, a spider-woman with horns protruding from her mask, and a robotic spider-man with one eye.

“Hi,” you smile, wiping away the sweat off your forehead as best as you can. “Have you seen Hobie?”

“Spike or no spike Hobie?” A Peter asks.

“Spiky Hobie— Wait, all Hobies are spiky.” You shake your head. “With a Gwen probably tagging along with him? Maybe with Miles and Pavitr?” You reply, and they shake their head, earning a disappointed groan from you. “Thanks, they're probably in the cafeteria—”

The speakers suddenly squeak awake, the sound of someone tapping on the mic echoes throughout the entire society. Knowing Miguel, it's bad news.

Gulping, fists closing, you wait for his gruff voice to announce the said news. But the sound of the ever familiar voice echoes out. You blink in surprise, fists unfurling and smile slowly curling around the corner of your lips.

“This is for my girl. Saw you beat the shit out of that mysterio, love, felt bloody inspired after that knockout.” With a chuckle, Hobie sings, belting out a tune.

“Found him!” The Peter next to you chuckles, “man, he's not very good at that huh?”

You shake your head with a smile whilst he continues to sing a pop love song that you didn't even know he knew existed. You're probably rubbing off on him.

“No, he's brilliant at it.” With a nudge at Peter, You bolt off outside the training grounds and into the expansive hallways that's always filled to the brim with fellow spider people.

Grinning from ear to ear, you find that everyone else has paused in place to listen in on Hobie singing in the PA system. They stare at you, knowing that the ‘you’ he's singing about is standing right in the middle of the crowd.

“Always the showstopper, Hobie.” You whisper to yourself, hearing the singing get louder.

The crowd parts, and you tilt your head at the approaching figure swinging towards you. You gotta hand it to him, he's keeping the song's pitch right even when he's swinging.

Biting your lip to stop a giggle from escaping, you watch him gracefully drop down on the same hallway as you. He saunters towards you, boots thumping softly against the floors. His hair is windswept, probably from swinging away from a particular spider from 2099.

Hobie stops a few steps away from you, mask tucked in his pocket, pointing at you whilst he stares at you lovingly as if you're the only person in the crowd of spider suits.

“...you.” He sings, winking at you. You wink back, flusteredness hiding underneath your flirty wink.

Music suddenly plays from within the crowd, then a few spider people make way for the marching band that is composed of Gwen playing a drum, Miles on the xylophone, and Pavitr, who's lugging around a boombox playing the actual music. They're led by Lyla in front who's twirling around a baton. Wait, Lyla?

“What's happening?!” You laugh, shock written on your face.

The crowd start to clap to the iconic song, some even join in on the impromptu marching band, forming some sort of conga line around you.

“It's your gift!” Pav excitedly says, carrying the boombox over his head whilst dancing to the beat. “I don't know this song!” He laughs, inviting in more people to join in on the dancing.

Hobie shrugs, smiling and continuing to sing his heart out. He slowly makes his way towards you, making a full show of his love for you. Hips wiggling, shoulders rolling, and foot stomping to the beat, he dances as he makes his way to you. His attention is on you and only you.

Opening your arms to receive him, you stop when you see Miguel's figure quickly swinging his way towards the commotion. Your eyes widen, pointing at him.

“Watch out, the fun police is here!” You warn Hobie, chuckling as he swings away just in time before Miguel could land on him.

“Hobie!” The disheveled Miguel yells, pushing himself off the floor to chase after him. “Give me back the mic! It's for important announcements only!”

Most of the spider people cheer for Hobie as he dodges Miguel and his claws. Hobie backflips away, hops over spider-cat, swings over everyone's heads and Miguel still can't catch him. All the while he never missed a lyric or a beat.

Scarlet Spider suddenly appears from the sidelines, exaggeratedly swinging his way to help Miguel. “I'm here to help!”

With a subtle aim at the guy's foot, you web him up, pulling him down to meet with the cold hard ground. “Whoops.” You feign innocence, ignoring Ben's groans, and listening intently to Hobie's singing while looking out for him.

The song is just about to end with Hobie swinging his way towards you. Understanding his plan, you open your arms for him. He lifts you off your feet, snatching you away from the scene.

“Hi.” You hold onto him as he grins at you, still holding onto the microphone. “I'm guessing this was the surprise you told me about earlier?” He smirks at you in reply. Miguel's frustrated groans follow you with Hobie still managing to escape his grasps.

Hobie ends the song with a flourish, eyes shining brightly as he belts out the last lyric. You see the flicker of the portal's glow right behind you. Your escape route.

“Surprise number one, love.” Your mouth opens in absolute happiness, hands holding onto him tighter. He nudges your nose lovingly, lips brushing along your cheek. “One out of five.” He tilts his head, dodging Miguel's hand last minute. The sound of your giggling irks Miguel as he lunges at the two of you but fails at grabbing him from your grasp.

Leaning closer, you look over his shoulder to aim at Miguel. You web Miguel's hands together, causing him to fall backwards, staggering before ripping off the webs and immediately swings back into action.

You ignore his yelling. “Good thing I've also got a surprise for you planned for later.” You whisper against the shell of his ear, sending goosebumps to appear on his neck, making you blow on his skin just to tease him. “But we have to go home first.”

Hobie glances at you, eyes flirting back as he beams at you. “I think I know what it is.”

“You do, huh—?”

“Hurry, Hobie! Stop flirting, man!” Miles yells behind you before jumping inside the whirring portal.

“Happy Christmas, love.” With a kiss on your cheek, he tosses the mic behind him. The mic hits Miguel’s face directly, the high pitched sound reverberating around the society. He falls on his back, cradling his throbbing forehead, preventing him from following after you.

Cupping Hobie's cheek tenderly, you peck the corner of his lips with the promise of a proper one later as he escapes into the portal with you.

[herecirmsims]

My 𝐓𝐨𝐩 24 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 from 2024🎉

Thank you @theplottdump for the tag! I'm tagging @southernsimmin, @sansabirdanne, @lynzishell, @nefaricussims, @raspberrywhimss and anyone else who wants to! I'm also just using story screenshots because that's easier haha.

Big Windows Era: I had a lot of fun with lighting during the medieval arc. Did it make sense? Rarely. But there were big windows and bright sunlight everywhere.

The rest below a cut. CW for blood and censored NSFW!

2. I Love Castles: this is such a basic shot of Elidyr climbing the stairs, but I really liked it lmao. Poor kid was trying to find the garderobe and instead they found a depressed vampire.

3. Beautiful Amari: getting to have @southernsimmin 's beautiful boy play the role of court mage during this arc was the coolest. I think this is my favourite photo of him though. Those eyelashes are so delicate. Plus he looks so elegant laid back like that, while Sax is just slumped on the floor behind him hahahah.

4. I Really Love Castles: big rooms, big windows... it was big. The biggest. I loved building these little movie set style locations (they were all just bland boxes on the outside!).

5. Take A Shot Every Time Sax Passes Out: Fen trying to get some kind of sense out of Sax after the portal yeeted him and Idris back into our world. I just really loved the vibes of this shot, with the focus on Saxen's hand trying to steady himself, while his face is hidden.

6. That Was The Moment He Realised, He Fucked Up: these aren't good shots, but they were very funny to me. Jasper accidentally teleporting himself outside of a skyscraper, and then teleporting in and out of increasingly low altitudes because his magic was malfunctioning lmao.

7. Rudeys: I just really liked this shot hahah. I like the shadows and the soft winter light through the windows.

8. Puppies Are Loud: Sax taking a nap - and then waking to discover that his fiance and kid-he-stole-as-a-baby-and-now-raises-as-his-own have managed to acquire a puppy during that time - was very funny to me. I was really pleased with his expression here hahah.

9. Cute Family Shot, Unless: I was soooo pleased with how this shot came out too, because it is a sweet family portrait of Sax with the people he cares about most in the world (plus puppy) and El and Fen are very happy... but the way his eyes are hidden in shadow give it a slightly darker vibe. He would do terrible things to keep them safe.

10. Sax Try Not To Ruin Christmas By Dying Challenge: I just think they're cute.

11. Creepy: I spent aaaages decorating this room full of illicitly obtained occult goods, because where else do billionaires hold their Christmas parties (my story had Christmas back in July btw). I really liked this shot of Vlad being sinister.

12. Creepy But Now Underwater: also from the Christmas party, this shot from inside the mermaid tank.

13. Boss Fight: Sax walking out to meet Vlad.

14. Fen Saves The Day: to be honest... neither the pose nor the picture turned out how I'd hoped. But I still really like this moment hahah.

15. Idris: it's just a random reaction shot but I really liked this picture of Idris calling her parents! This was before I had relight so it was purely from in game lighting. I liked the softness.

16. Burger King: again, a random scene setting shot, but I really liked how it came out.

17. Idris vs. Vlad: this whole scene contained deeply uncomfortable mind games, so saying I like this shot feels very wrong... but I felt like it got the tension across.

18. The Only Competent Person Here: I looove her focus.

19. Gently Folding Tissue: Sax trying to regain control of his emotions by ignoring everyone and just slowly folding the tissue he'd used to wipe his own tears was iconic behaviour tbh.

20. Jasper Gets Yeeted Again: Jasper trying to attack Sax and being repelled by the cottage's boundary protection. I was really pleased that I managed to get the camera in the right angle to show Jasper flying backwards, Fen reacting in shock, and Sax just standing there calmly because he knew what would happen.

21. Rudey II: I was so pleased and disgusted with myself for putting this conch shell in the foreground of my most NSFW pose hahahaah. Take that IG censors.

22. Shadows: the shadows were a paid actor.

23. I Love Landscapes: help I'm obsessed with snowy landscape shots. I really liked this one of Sax and Fen on either side of the boundary.

24. A Normal Reaction When Being Handed To Saxen: baby boy's already working on his side-eye game.

Oki... now I've said that I actually liked 24 things I made and I feel weird about it, so I'm gonna post before my brain makes me hit delete. 🥲

[allpiesforourown]

Hey, so sorry to be using your inbox like a fuckin confessional, but getting that dream thing off my chest literally cleared my skin and I've just got this itch that needs to be addressed so I'm taking it out on you again. Reflecting on this thought the second after I had it made me think, "Oh, I get what Shen Yuan was on about now," and so here I am, typing this shit out ig. fucking embarrassing, anyway.

So, like. I watch those gacha react videos on youtube. Like a concerning amount of those gacha react videos, man. I fuckin love them so much, even if I wouldn't admit to it under pain of death to anyone I know or love. I have a seperate youtube channel I made under a fake email that I made specifically to watch them. It's bad. I remember back when it was just me and the FF.net filter system before they added the 'Without' section at the bottom and trying to find crossover content in the LoZ tag between games. 10th circle of hell; my 13th reason. Gacha react videos in concept are heavensent for my inner child, and on the rare occasion I find one of those 'fandom react' series that are active or complete and well done, it grants me joy on par with nigh nothing else.

This being said, I understand that the main demographic for this content tends to be a handful of years younger than me. I've seen community posts on some channels mentioning their time in college, but these are few and far between in my experience. I appreciate these teen's artistry in putting these all together, because god knows I'm not, but like,,, --and I know I sound like an ass right now but bare with me-- it feels like with the conclusion of Arcane came a flood of reaction videos with no real substance. I've watched upward of what feels like thirty seperate videos --at least,-- on the show and its the same ten to twenty edits I've seen on repeat and I'm watching them by pressing the skip key and catching half the dialouge only to come out the other side tired and a little miffed. Then I feel bad, because they created something and all I did was mindlessly consume and feel entitled to complain. Ugh.

Now, Because I've been cycling through these almost cookie cutter videos for ages --I used Arcane vids as an example before because its recent and relevant, but I do have this take for a whole slew of the fandoms I watch react videos on, and I picked this addiction up in 2021 so it's been a minute-- I've begun predicting the dialouge before it's come up and projecting what I hope the author will say. If I see a video with, for example, Giyuu from kny seeing Sabito in a video, I hope to see shock, yes, but also to see him comment or think about how he hasn't seen his face in so long, you know? Just... things that aren't just "OMG!!" or making the characters eyes widen. I've found now that I seek out these videos for the slim chance that they'll provide me with the satisfaction I get from these moments of true understanding with the presented characters.

Yes, I know that there really isn't any "true" way to understand a character, and that while we are all entitled to our own interpretations of media, the insistence that mine alone is more "right" or "correct" is bullshit, but I'm not saying that my preference has to be law, only that I get a rush of happiness whenever something I like happens to pop up in a video that I was already checking out of because it failed to really,,,,wow me. This is my bias speaking, of course, but its also the reality of my situation borne from overconsumption of this genre.

But anyway, onto the main point of how this relates to svsss. I was watching a video just a minute ago --an Arcane video, big shocker I know-- where there was a line from the creator's Vander character about how he wasn't ready to see Vi so grown up, because to him she's still his little girl. I thought, "Yes!!! This!! He's a father! He's showing realistic reactions to seeing your child suddenly grown up, and while he's proud of the woman she became, he still loves her as she is in the moment!!" ....I then watched the rest of the reaction, and was left cold and disappointed in the end. I'd clicked for Viktor, got three videos of him in a twenty minute reaction when the rest was the same four edits of jinx on repeat. Love you Jinx, but holy fuck. I thought then, "God, what a waste of potential." The creator of the video had insightful dialouge, clearly a decent grasp on character interaction, and the drive to create the video in the first place, but settled for pumping out another copy of the same video they've released three times previous on the same channel.

Then I thought, "Oh, like PIDW."

I need to get a life, Tumblr user allpiesforourown. If your blog wasn't so damn entertaining, I might even go out and touch grass one day. Take responsibility, damn.

(ty for reading my rant, if you did. have a good day regardless.)

I think you watching gacha react videos for characterization might be the one and only thing more baffling than Shen Yuan reading porn for plot. Hope you find gacha videos of Vander teaching his daughter how to ride a bike

[fairy-writes]

I read your 'Young Prodigies' fic I could help feeling softie reading this. Could I request what if the twins have a baby sister? The baby inherited her father's a cheerful personality.

How would the twins and papa soshiro interact with the little girl?

LITTLE HANDS, BIG HEART

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

Word Count: 0.6k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Original Child Characters, Fluff, 

Notes: So this starts in the hospital when the little girl is born. This implies that a: reader gave birth or, b: you adopted her, or c: you had a surrogate and picked her up at the hospital. Either way, I tried keeping this gender-neutral. 

The names I picked and their meanings are as follows (pls lmk if I got any meanings wrong, I’m using a website for said names)

Katsuo: Victory and/or hero

Osamu: Discipline/study

Sachie: Happiness and/or good luck

The twins call you “Poppy” in this :)

__________________________________________________________________________

The hospital nursery was quiet this time of night. 

Soshiro held Katsuo and Osamu’s hands in his as the little trio made their way down the hall where you were waiting. 

“Dad? Where’s our baby sister?” Katsuo asked and tugged on his father’s hand. It was a cute gesture for the ten-year-old. One he had never quite grown out of since he was still a toddler. Holding their hands was also a habit that Soshiro never grew out of. 

“In the nursery. We’re almost there.” He said simply, spotting you outside the window to what he assumed was the nursery.

“Poppy!” The twins shout in unison, letting go of their father’s hand and scampering to your side. You turn and spot them, your face breaking out in a grin, and you kneel to give them both a tight hug. 

“I hope traffic wasn’t too bad?” You direct your question to your husband as he approaches at a more leisurely pace. 

“Not at all. It’s like midnight. How’s the little tyke?” He said, leaning in to kiss your temple as you stood up. You hum and pull his lips in to meet yours in a quick kiss. 

“She’s wonderful, sleeping right now, but she’s good.” You say against his mouth, only pulling away when Osamu gets your attention by waving a hand in your general direction. 

“Which one is she?” He asks, face pressed against the glass separating the sleeping babies from the rest of the world. Katsuo joined his twin, and together, they squinted at the names written on the little bassinets. You approach the boys, your hand in Soshiro’s, and you point to one on the second row away from you. 

“Second row back, third one from the left.” You say gently. Soshiro looks and sees a little pink blob swaddled in a pastel pink blanket and a matching hat over a soft head of curls. 

The twins chatter eagerly and babble excitedly about all the things they want to teach their little sister when they get to bring her home. You smile warmly as you watch your sons and ruffle their hair. 

“Do you want to go in and see her?” You ask, and it’s like a record screeched to a stop. They stop dead in their tracks and stare at you with wide eyes. Soshiro can’t help but grin as he flags down a nursery doctor. 

“Can we go in and see our little one?” He asked, and the nursery doctor nodded happily. Your little family is given instructions and overgowns to wear before entering the nursery. The gowns drown Katsuo and Osamu, but they’re practically bouncing in excitement, so they don’t mind much. 

Inside the nursery was even quieter than outside. Inside was filled with the quiet cooing of babies or sleeping noises. There wasn’t a crying infant in sight. 

You lead the way, talking in soft tones to your boys as Soshiro watches on fondly. The gowns rustle as you arrive at the bassinet containing their baby sister. 

Her eyes are open now, and she’s cooing up at them with a wide and curious gaze. Her arms are swaddled to her sides, but Soshiro bet she’d be reaching up if she could. With the okay from the watching attending nurse, you picked up the little girl. You handed her gently to Soshiro as Katsuo and Osamu coo happily at their new baby sister. 

Surprisingly, Soshiro feels a pinprick of tears in his eyes. 

“Are you crying?” You ask and he turns his head away to scrub it on his shoulders. 

“‘Course I am. She’s adorable.” He said, turning his watery smile back to the cooing newborn in his arms. 

“Welcome to the family, Sachie.” He whispered, and she squealed in delight. 

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 21: Heartfelt Confessions [A6]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Continuation of: Prompt 1. December Moon [A1], Prompt 5. Open Doors [A2], Prompt 11. Out Of Reach [A3], Prompt 17. Truthful Longing [A4], Prompt 20. Wrongful Perceptions [A5]

A/N: WE HAVE OUR FIRST BIG ENDING! Today, we’re wrapping up Colonel Brandon’s story and I am so happy for this man, and for Calliope of course. They are so good together and I hope you’ll absolutely love this!

We've been hosting the first of two Christmas celebrations today and I'm here with about 30 minutes left of today - I MADE IT 😂😂😂

Tags/TW’s: Declarations Of Love, JUSTICE FOR BRANDON, Marriage, Christmas Wedding, Love Wins, Explicit Smut, WE GET OUR FIRST HEA OF RICKMAS2024

Word Count: 3.8k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Heartfelt Confessions

Once again I was bolting out of a room — only this time, I did not come far. Christopher stood right by the stairs, a few steps from me. His eyes were alight with warmth and the depth of them seemed endless.

“Christopher, please,” I whispered as my throat got snagged by the beauty he was in the shimmering light of candles and lanterns granting a warm glow to the hallway and landing.

He smiled softly, his shoulders relaxed. “You find me wonderful and kind?” he asked.

I nodded. “I do…”

“And you are falling in love with me?” he continued, the rumble of his voice a caress to my senses.

“I am…” My voice was weak compared to his, yet it held the same volume.

“And you will marry only me?” he asked quietly, gently, softly, while taking a step toward me.

Tears blurred my vision as I nodded. I could not stand the distance between us and in a flurry of red fabric, I ran toward him. He caught me in those strong arms and held me tightly against his wide chest. His heart beat harshly under my cheek, in tune with my rapid pulse. Flashes of Delaford mingled with flashes of him in my head. The bookcases, the soothing energy, the welcoming colours and the warmth that seemed to permeate all who lived and worked at the estate under him — all things told of how wonderful he was.

A man who was kind to those below him was a good man. A man with bookcases filled with arts of the heart and soul was a warm man. A man who would care for a stranger and ride through the harsh winter for one was a caring man. A man, like Christopher, was always what my heart had desired — that he was grander and warmer, kinder and more caring than any man I could ever dream up had made my heart his without my saying being needed.

He kissed the top of my head, dragging a deep breath through that hooked nose of his I wished to trail my finger along the ridge of. I shivered, goosebumps travelling along my spine, and he chuckled against my scalp.

“I have travelled the world, yet the one I have searched for was but a horse ride away. How… poetic.”

“You ought to have listened to Mrs Hatchfield,” I commented while leaning my head back to find him arching a brow at me. “She said as much this morning.”

“To you, I assume. I do not listen in on private conversations.”

“You did just now.”

“No, my dear. You screamed the words for all to hear, had I been at the end of the stairs I would still have been privy to them,” he said with a smile as his hand came up to stroke away a strand of hair from my cheek.

“Calliope!” Father called and the sound of footsteps came after. I turned but refused to part from Christopher even as he made to step back out of decency — or propriety, perhaps.

“Calli—” Father halted in the doorway “—is this what you truly want?” he asked while his eyes went all over us. From the hands at my waist to my own atop Christopher’s shoulders.

“Yes. This is the man, the only man that shall ever be prevailed upon me to marry.”

Father sighed and then smiled. “Well, I shall see to it happening, then.” I smiled at that. Seeing my father’s eyes turn happy while feeling Christopher's hands tighten around my waist had me suffocating a squeal of joy. I would marry, but I would marry the man my heart had been captured by — not out of necessity, not to a man seeking only my looks, not to a man without depth, and not to a man who would leave me loveless.

I would marry out of love. I would marry one whom I loved and was loved by in return.

“Well, I better start preparations, a Christmas wedding…” Father mused. “You hear that, my love? Just like us,” he continued quietly while looking toward the sky beyond the ceiling above. I followed and thought of my mother, her smile and kindness ever-present in my mind. Just as you wished, I will live a life of love and poetry, Mother.

⁛•⁛

It had been sixteen days since we declared our wedding to be impending. Sixteen hectic, bustling, manic days with not a spare moment for thought or calmness. I had not thought Father serious when he had declared we would have a Christmas wedding, but I was quickly proven wrong.

Waking up on my wedding day with nothing but longing in my heart and warmth in my gut must have been a miracle of some sort. Wedding jitters did not rear their head, doubt did not spread its wings, and no wish for time to slow down presented itself. I only wished for it to move quicker, so I could be with the man who had captured me so fully.

The door glided open, and Mrs Marble along with Miss Abel strolled in while wishing me a good morning — their faces were bright with smiles as I had confessed to them how my heart pounded for the colonel they had worried was forced upon me.

“Good morning,” I replied and flung the cover of myself. “Is he here?” I asked, dragging on my robe.

“Oh, look at you, miss. A bundle of joy today,” Mrs Marble said happily while opening up the drapes. “We shall have breakfast and then it is time to prepare for the ceremony. Oh, to think, in a few hours you shall be a colonel’s wife.”

“Mrs Brandon… It has a nice ring, miss,” Miss Abel said brightly.

“It does, doesn’t it?” I smiled and tied the sash around my waist while Mrs Marble went through my closet for a dress to wear during the morning.

It did not take long before I was dressed, prepared, and seated by the table with freshly baked bread on my plate and a soothing tea in my cup.

“Ah, Calliope, good morning!” Father positively beamed as he entered the breakfast room.

“Good morning, Father.”

“Wonderful day, wonderful day,” he said while sitting down and grabbing the morning paper. “Now, let us hope nothing goes amiss today. My daughter, getting married, to a colonel whom she loves. Ah, wonderful day indeed!” he exclaimed and I smiled at him.

It had been a long time since I saw him so happy, not since Mother lived had he beamed in such a manner during the morning hours — or any hours of the day for that matter. I was perhaps too occupied with my own thoughts and feelings at that moment to truly appreciate it, but I did enjoy the warmth it filled the air with as I ate and drank despite wanting nothing but to get ready to become Christopher’s wife.

⁛•⁛

I held the white flowers wrapped in a green silky string along the stems. My enormous dress flared all around me, it was not exactly my choice, but a pre-made dress that had been fitted to me. There had not been enough time for the traditional planning, or shopping, or anything of the sort with just above two weeks of time. I did not mind. It was beautiful, despite not being perfect. The only thing that needed to be perfect was the man at the end of the aisle beyond the chapel's doors — and that he was.

I drew a deep breath as Miss Abel fluffed my dress and then flipped the veil over my face. My hands shook with excitement.

“Ready, miss?” she asked and I nodded. “I’ll tell them.” With that, I was left alone to wait for the music to play and the doors to open. Hurry up, my mind whined as I felt as if I had waited an eternity for this day. I had waited all my life, I just never really knew it before this moment came.

The music began and the doors swung open. The crowd gathered rose from the benches as I began my walk down the aisle. None of the decorations or faces around me mattered when my heart soared at the sight of Christopher. He wore his colonel attire — complete with gleaming sword and all the extra decorations in gold attached to the coat — and I swooned. He was perfect, proud and strong, but with a kind heart and gentle soul I would spend the rest of my life finding harmony with.

He smiled as I took my place next to him, taking my free hand in his before we turned toward the pastor who indicated for all to sit. I barely heard a word the old man droned out. My pulse raced, my heart hammered, my fingers were squeezed by Christopher’s and through it all I had to force myself not to giggle with jubilant glee at the luck I had found — or, rode into perhaps.

One minute I was Miss Haymnick, and the next, I was Mrs Brandon. Mrs Brandon. Mrs Brandon, wife of Colonel Christopher Brandon… I may have to pinch myself at some point. And then the veil was lifted, stopping my thoughts and arresting my breath as the man who was now my husband leaned in to seal our commitment with a kiss before all who witnessed our union.

I kissed him, leaning into him and stalling the departure of our lips as the crowd broke out in shouts and claps. Warmth swirled in my gut, heat pooled in indecent places and a flush crept along my cheeks like a warm summer breeze.

“Mrs Brandon,” he whispered against my lips and I finally allowed the giggle to escape. It made him smile in the warmest, most adoring of ways — I giggled again as he took my hand and then I beamed at him. A smile so wide my cheeks hurt bloomed, but the joy was too great to diminish even when I attempted it.

We walked, hand in hand, down the aisle and out to the waiting sleigh pulled by two white horses. The sleigh and animals were adorned by green ribbons and golden bells — in the white landscape, it could not have been more Christmas-like. As Christopher helped me into the sleigh with a sturdy grip on my hand, snow began to fall in a soft sprinkle. I laughed and he smiled as he elegantly climbed up and sat down next to me, drawing a fur across our legs before I looked back at the crowd.

Father had tears in his eyes and a great smile across his lips, he seemed younger at that moment and more relaxed than I’d seen him in the past six months. You worried about me, my future…

“Toss it!” came the shout of Miss Able, whose smile was another great one. I laughed, looked ahead, and flung the bouquet up in the air to a chorus of female shouts of excitement. When I looked back as the sleigh pulled forward, it had landed in the hands of Mr Hilliard — who looked frightened as the women glared at him. I laughed again and cuddled up to Christopher, his wide biceps nice to wrap my hands and arms around.

“Let us head home, Mrs Brandon,” he murmured, kissing the top of my head.

“Home,” I whispered. Our home.

It only took a few minutes for the sleigh to arrive at the gates, and when we came to a halt the doors opened wide and smiling faces met us as Christopher climbed out of the sleigh and offered his hand. As soon as my feet hit the ground he swept me up in his arms. I laughed and wrapped my arms around his neck as he marched us up the steps and inside the estate.

The servants all said their congratulations, but he did not stop to allow me to greet each of them. No, he headed up two flights of stairs and eventually stepped into what I could only assume to be the master bedroom.

My throat worked on a swallow, my nerves entangled themselves at the sight of the massive bed dressed in white linens. The room was beautiful, the bed an incredible piece of craftsmanship and the man it belonged to the picture of perfection for me. Yet, now, it frightened me to know what this room would become. I was innocent. I had kissed none but my husband, had been with none until he came into my life and now this masterpiece of a man would be the one I’d share everything with — body and mind. At the moment, the body part worried me.

He sat me down, not having broken a sweat carrying me so far, and turned me to stand face-to-face with him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered and the compliment had never before sounded so wonderful.

“Christopher,” I whispered.

“I cannot wait to wake up each day to you,” he confessed, his ears taking on a reddish hue to my complete enjoyment.

“And I you,” I replied, placing a hand atop his chest where his heart thumped steadily for me. “You are a dream come true, darling,” I continued in earnest.

“My summer sky,” he whispered, grabbing my hand and lifting it so he could kiss my warm palm.

“The wedding party shall commence in a mere hour. The crowd will begin to arrive soon, yet…” he began, his voice darker than ever and deeper than I could remember as he watched my eyes intently.

“And yet..?”

“I cannot stand the thought of not having you fully, before I take another breath I wish to have you, my Calliope…”

I blinked, heat coursing through my veins and muting me. I could feel his longing, his want, his love and it was reflected in my own core. I nodded, unable to say a word when the tension rose and my fear of the unknown mingled with the desperation to know him in every manner possible.

He kissed me. Softly, at first, and then ardently as his hands moved to grasp each side of my head. I moaned into his mouth, surprised by my own sounds and desperate move to grasp at his coat. Something inside me pushed and prodded, had me wanting something I couldn’t term.

“Christopher,” I whispered against his lips and he groaned, and he deepened the kiss.

“You—” kiss “—are—” kiss “—everything,” he said as my body seemed to catch fire in my thick dress.

“Too warm,” I murmured before whimpering as his lips abandoned me.

“Say yes to me,” he urged. “Please, Calliope, I cannot hold off a minute longer, my dearest,” he pleaded with honesty in his voice and eyes.

“Yes, please, please, yes,” I said, almost begging myself.

We clashed. He turned quick and rushed, turned desperate. Strings were tugged, buttons jerked free, fabric ripped off, and skin revealed. I gasped as he tore off my last remaining garment, I was bared for him as he was bared to me. In the early afternoon light and only the fire sparkling in its hearth the light cast a wondrous glow on our bodies.

My mouth watered while my throat dried. His wide shoulders that tapered off to a narrowed waist connected by a chest dusted with soft-looking hair had me gulping. My legs shook as my body refused to bend my neck to look further down. I found his eyes roaming all over my body with a yearning so visceral it stole my remaining breath.

He took a steady step toward me and I took half a step back, I wanted him yet I was frightened of the overload of emotions and sensations coursing through me at the sight of him — at the sight of his yearning for me in those deep eyes.

“My summer sky,” he murmured as he stepped up to me. “You are more than I ever dreamt of.

“C-Christopher,” I whispered. “I…”

“Allow me to adore you,” he said, kissing me once more and my worry dwindled.

He moved me to the bed, laying me down gently. The soft linen beneath and the warmth of his flesh above had me pinned in an influx of sensations. Then I felt his manhood against my pelvis. I gasped at the heat it emitted.

“I will not harm you,” he whispered into my mouth. “Discomfort may arise at first, but I beg of you to trust in me, my wife…” His words were softly spoken, a caress to my ears much like the caress his hand offered my ribs and then my hip before he grabbed my thigh and moved my leg to the side.

I gasped as he repeated the movement on the other side and suddenly he lay snuggled between my legs, his cock pressed against my core — I pulsed and warmed, tension strung itself through my body while an unknown need flowed through my veins.

“Please, I-, I-, please,” I whimpered as he kissed my throat and caressed my side with one hand — holding his weight with the other next to my head.

“Slowly, I will not take you too swiftly,” he said before his hand slipped up and toward my breast. I gasped as his thumb smoothly flicked over my hardened nipple only to return and circle the bud most gently. His lips never left my skin and my legs folded around him instinctively.

He moved his hips, my back arched as his cock pressed against a most sensitive spot at my core.

“That’s it, my darling wife. Soften for me, warm for me,” he murmured in a rumble that vibrated from his chest to mine. “I need you soft and pliable, so I may be gentle with you.”

“Christopher, p-please…” I gasped and grabbed at his back when his lips stroked along my neck, his cock sliding along my slicked core, and his thumb kept rolling my nipple in the most sensational manner.

I hissed a moan as he pressed himself harder against me, forcing my legs wider and the contact against that spot to be heightened. Moisture pooled inside of me, I could feel it lubricate him as he moved back and forth at a measured pace. His grunts and breaths turned harder by my ear and he whispered of his love for me as I ached for him.

“You are beautiful, my wonder of a wife,” he praised with a deep groan as I moaned his name. “I will be gentle, I beg of you to trust me in this,” he said before rising and kissing me deeply. The hand at my breast disappeared and I savoured the taste of him.

Then I felt him prod at my entrance and I stiffened. He broke the kiss only long enough to ask me to relax and trust in him. I did. I did trust him, with my heart and body. He kissed me again while the head of his cock pressed against my entrance. I moaned as my body pulsed, wanting the connection he offered yet still feeling trepidation about the unknown.

He pushed, and I whimpered against his lips. He began slipping inside and my body both wanted and fought the intrusion.

“Breathe with me,” he urged. “Breathe with me, my dearest.”

I looked up at him hovering above. “I— Christopher, love, please,” I moaned, nearly whining as he pushed further into me.

“I love you,” he said and my breath faltered. “I will only ever love and care for you,” he continued and our eyes locked. Our breaths mingled and he jerked forward. I gasped and tensed as he slipped all the way in.

“Calliope,” he groaned and stilled. Then his hand kneaded my breast and his thumb flicked my nipple as his mouth found mine.

I whimpered and he groaned before he began to move. Each pull and push had my body yielding a bit more to the intrusion and he offered soft encouragement and gentle compliments as he slowly upped the pace and my body fully caved to him. I felt full and warm, the sting had lessened and my insides shaped themselves to accommodate him.

“Oh, god,” I whimpered as he rose a little and upped the pace. Our bodies made sounds I’d never heard before.

“You are perfection,” he groaned, panting hard as his hips jerked forward and I was melting beneath him.

My eyes sought his and were met with an intensity incomparable to any I had seen before. It was the look spoken of in poems, in heartfelt romances, in fairytales and songs of love. He viewed me with all the love in the world, and I felt it well in me in return.

He strained, a vein popping in his neck and his muscles stiffening all around me. I moaned as he kept the pace and steadied himself on only one hand. The other slipped down my ribs, over my hipbone and found its way to my core where his thumb had me shrieking out a call of his name. Bolts shot through me as he circled the bud there, eliciting the most core-tensing and desperation-fuelled sensations through my entire body.

“I shall have you fully,” he groaned, switching his motions until I whimpered and tensed beneath him. “I need you,” he continued and the need to cry out overwhelmed me into silence with my mouth open as my back arched. Something was happening to me, I desperately climbed toward something and it terrified me. My body was rendered out of control under his ministrations.

“Let go, my darling,” he ground between clenched teeth. “Let go, let go, darling,” he urged and as my eyes closed stars flecked the blackened view. Something coiled inside me and as he flicked his thumb and upped the pace of his hips I spiralled.

I called his name in abandon as he groaned mine and praised the heavens. I convulsed, I shook, my body was shattering and mending all at the same time while I felt him still and pulse between my trembling legs. My hands had gripped his forearms, my nails embedding themselves in his skin as I cried out during the final wave of ecstasy.

I sank into the mattress, a heaving mess of uncoordinated limbs and sweat-misted skin. Then he lowered himself, leaning over me, and kissed me deeply while his nose had his breaths fanning over my cheek in harsh rushes.

“Perfect,” he whispered. “You are perfect, and I love you, Calliope.”

“I… I love you, Christopher,” I whispered as my heaving chest made it hard to speak. “You’ve stolen my breath, literally…”

He smiled cheekily. “I shall endeavour to do so every evening for the remainder of our lives, my darling.”

I cannot wait to live such a life with you… “Please do, my love,” I whispered as the sound of my own heart rejoicing filled me from within.

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: I LOVE THEM AND THEY ARE HAPPY!!! 😭👏

Oh I hope you loved the first ending of our long serials for this Rickmas, darlings 🥰 These two have been such a roller-coaster to write and I just adore how perfect they are together, how they value each other and are equally in love with one another ❤❤❤

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @dontwanttobeanamercanidiot @sunnylikesfrogs @dianilaws @snapesno1thighrider @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @cherihan @poetry-and-tea @evans23 @mamawolfsmith87 @snapesrn @severussimp @slyckman @liv2post @clawsthecactus @goldenglowwoman @sunset90 @meliabrandon @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @thatlittlefangirl @sanji-simp @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @daddythanatos

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[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Still very wild to me when people try to gotcha Jason with the whole "if you can kill other people for being evil why can't they kill you" when jason is like. One of the most passively suicidal characters I've ever seen. What if man

[lunarharp]

uhh another modern au agott follow-up. They've gotten progressively sillier

[swordmaid]

i am wide awake thinking about that post canon jb au again when I should be sleeping …!!! such is the nature of the jbrainrot…

[internetdruid]

Evening, ladies

[lemedstudent2021]

Where should Jews live? Where do they belong? Where do you consider their native land to be? Honest question.

an honest question deserves an honest answer so here ya go:

Anywhere and everywhere. Jews- the followers of the Abrahamic religion Judaism- along with Muslims, Christians, Atheists, Sikhs, Vegans, and literally any human being under the sun have the right to live wherever they please (given certain criteria are met like visas and that it isnt a military station/ off limits area etc).

Yes my dear reader(s) you read that right; ones faith or lack thereof shouldnt be an obstacle in any aspect of ones life, be it medical services, education, job opportunities, so on and so forth. How novel.

That answers where they 'should' live (although I dont by any means impose anything on anyone; y'all do whatever as long as its legal and harms no one including yourself. God bless). Could is more accurate.

As for where they 'belong', this in my opinion is one of the beauties of religion: people from all walks of life can belong to a religion. Diversity lies at the heart of our existence as human beings and denying it is like denying the existence of the sun. Tolerance is a must if we are ever going to get along with each other. And this belonging isn't irrevocabley tied to geography. But I digress :)

Quick aside just so we're all on the same page: converting to a religion renders you just as valid and equal as someone born into a religion. Most if not all religions preach equality between their followers regardless of background, so i wont hear anything of 'oh theyre not real xyz' or 'they dont count' or any of that bs.

By this logic (religious demographics are, generally speaking, very diverse), there is no 'this set of people belong here, and those over there' ...and proof of that in a sense would be atheists/ agnostics; where would they 'belong'? Antarctica? Outer space? alright ill stop XD

If that were the case, most of the planet would be crammed in the Middle East lol [Syria, Jordan, and Lebanon alone are home to 34M (as of 2023), and the followers of the 3 main Abrahamic religions are an estimated 3.4B (as of 2020) globally. We wouldnt fit even if we used one of these]. Yeah nationality/ race/ ethnicity/ background influence and maybe even dictate one's religious identity, but it isn't the all or nothing we may think it to be.

Which brings us nicely to the next point, and here if you'll allow me i'd like to correct it to native land of Judaism (where it originated/ flourished/ spread whatever) as opposed to native land of Jews because as i mentioned above, a religion doesnt (or shouldnt) differentiate nor discriminate between its followers. By restricting them to one geographical location (and for some using it as an indicator of their authenticity) we do them great disservice as well as contradict the teachings themselves. A demonstration:

Im Jordanian right, (dad's maternal side are from bilad al sham; Syria) and im a born Muslim alhamdulillah. My dads Malaysian roommates from his uni days are also born Muslims (and have the best food lol, my all time favourite is lemak cili padi) and seperating us on the basis of them not being Arab or Middle Eastern is unislamic, intolerant, xenophobic, and wrong on every level. Alternatively, im just as Muslim as someone from Mecca or Medina. We're all Muslim. we are the world...

Circling back, Judaism the religion is native to the Holy land (I guess you can say it started in Egypt till it moved there but idk. Regardless), and Jews (adherants of the faith) can't in my humble opinion be fairly categorised as one monolithic unit... just like any and every other faith out there.

Another quick aside; this is merely a tumblr post that cant do the history and culture and intricacies and so much more of this matter a portion of the justice it deserves. I am but a tired medical student answering to the best of my abilities a question I was asked with my limited knowledge in theology and perspective in general, so do me a favour and keep that in mind. And to anyone reading this if you have questions or corrections or resources or anything you want to mention be my guest :)

If you're still here, I'm both grateful and amused. Here's what you probably came for, the piece de resistance if you will: 🍉israel🍉

Disclaimer: thanks for reading this far, but if you disagree in any way shape or form with any of the 30 human rights articles, you may as well stop reading and put your device through the shredder. Bigots, racists, fascists, anti vaxxers etc. dni

So far ive seen this idea, call it what you will, two times (which isnt a lot but its weird that it happened to me twice consecutively), that claims the freedom of Palestine equals a genocide of the Jews.

Er, no? No ma'am. One does not solve a genocide by comitting another genocide. What part of 'never again' are we missing here?

Before we get into politcal nominations and factions and other territories i dont plan on invading (pun intended) but might accidentally cross anyway (I forgot where i was going with this) i want to remind everyone that Judaism is not synonymous with Israel nor zionism (if u disagree with this go ahead and shred ur device too).

A refresher: Judaism is a religion, Israel is an illegal-occupying-apartheid-state, and Zionism is a movement/ ideology

So 'genocide of the Jews' is both wrong (diction) and more wrong (factually incorrect) in that the liberation of Palestine means freedom from oppression, discrimination, settler colonialism... the whole nine yards. Enough bloodshed already its been nearly 76 years.

When Netenyahu is eventually drop kicked out of office (and hopefully hung, drawn, and quartered for his plentiful warcrimes) what happens to the (illegal) citizens of Israel? Well first off, return the stolen homes and land to their rightful owners who have the keys (and documents if they werent tampered with or erased) to prove it.

As for the illegal-under-international-law settlements and new also illegal establishments; I have no idea what international laws will decree (not that I have that much faith in the judiciary system), but I assume they will be seized and evicted of the illegal tenants (how you like me now?) and given to those who have been displaced or homes ruined etc. because its theirs and theirs alone and it was unlawfully and cruelly taken away from them and not because the (remaining lol) former Israeli citizens can't or shouldn't live in palestine. they can go live somewhere where its legal. the priority is Palestinians tho.

What about the indigenous everyone else? As long as their houses aren't stolen or illegal they can should stay because its legal and its theirs and thats that. you cannot kick someone out of their home to give it to another (which was the basis of the creation of Israel.) because its ✨i l l e g a l✨

And the people who dont belong so to speak? I think this one's case by case; like I said at the very, very beginning; people have the right to live wherever as long as its legal and ok to do so regardless of faith or background, and no one should be denied their right to live in Palestine as a country like any other, but they certainly must be denied living in homes stolen and given to them because thats, say it with me now, illegal <3

[sluckythewizard]

BUT IM NOT A WRITER. something strange possessed me to write my first proper fanfic in maybe a decade. be niceys to me but also grill me so i can get stronger. this one is a stupidly self indulgent bit between Soda and Emizel, a day or so after emizel was sired. CW for gore descriptions, but thats about it i think. image below is a snippet of the start. the rest of the whole dang thing will be under the cut. ive never posted fanfic ever in my life. read my tags for secret behind da scenes commentary

"Oh shit… I think hes dead…" It was another night, another patrol, another fight, and another win, for Emizel and Soda.

Under moonlight, under street light, under interwoven wires above, the two stood here in a quiet and damp alleyway. The air was drenched with the smell of a previous rain, and the puddles of said storm remain huddled in corners and pot holes.

One splashed as soda found himself stepping forwards into one. The residual adrenaline of the fight had left his body shaking, his heart still pounding, his wounds still throbbing. They had still won; or more-so, Emizel had won. A particularly nasty blow to the side had Soda reduced to the side lines for most of the fight, left to watch as his newly vampiric comrade had absolutely eviscerated the competition.

Emizel had only been turned a day ago, but it was impossible not to notice how it had changed him. He already acted so goddamn confident, so on top of the world, and this newfound power, newfound speed and strength, only built upon his insane ego.

The Fangs that they encountered here on this night stood no fucking chance. Emizel was too quick, too strong, and he easily chased off the rivals. It was only now, as the final unfortunate opponent had turned to flee, a clean clock in the jaw sent the human tumbling to the ground with a dull thump, and it did not move afterward.

Soda shifts his shoe out of the puddle, the cold seeping into his sock being one of the few things keeping his mind in his body in the moment. Is the guy breathing?

A low laugh bleeds from Emizel as he stretches his arms, licking his sharpened teeth as he stares off in the direction the remaining Fangs went. Soda knew that look on his face, the look of a tiger pondering on its next kill, he knew well that Emizel wanted to chase them.

But the guy on the ground.. It was one punch to the face, and the wicked crack sound that came from it had planted a seeding dread within Sodas chest.

As he steps forward, around the puddle, the resulting sound made Emizels attention click back over to Soda, the snap of his gaze making Soda flinch.

The two lock eyes, and Soda weakly gestures to the limp body on the floor. "The uh.. I think.. Is that guy dead?" He finally asks, having a hard time keeping contact with Emizels intensely red eyes.

Emizel turns his attention to said body, tilting his head as he goes to kick at the thing, turning it over. "Man no way hes dead, I punched him once." He mutters.

"Well, yeah, but his head almost twisted all the way around when you did.." Soda steps up to stand beside Emizel, the two boys standing with their hands in their pockets, down at this unfortunate, limp body.

"Should we hide it?" Soda asks, glancing back over at Emizel, who had.. An odd look on his face. He was clearly pondering something, but Soda could only guess whatever was going on in that brilliant head of his. He knew and trusted that Emizel was smart. If anyone could figure out what to do about this, it would be him.

But the lack of an answer had anxiety chewing at the back of Sodas rib cage, and after a second, he speaks up again, compelled to fill what he perceived as a tense silence. "Like.. I dunno, I've never uh... killed a guy..." He shrugs, prompting Emizel to let out a big sigh.

"He's not dead man, just out fuckin cold." Emizel kneels down next to the body, putting an ear up to its chest, and pondering on that for a moment. An uncertainty twists his expression, as he decides to instead place a hand on the victims throat, checking for a pulse. A moment passes, and seemingly finding nothing, he pulls back.

"Uh... Okay, so he might be dead."

Something about the confirmation from Emizel made a shiver run up Sodas spine. That, or maybe it was just the breeze agitating the cold water in his shoe.

"Huh… Damn.." Was all that Soda could really get to leave his mouth. Which was hardly a splash compared to the torrent that was slowly churning in his head. They just killed a guy. Or, Emizel just killed a guy. And it was so easy. They had to hide the body now, right? That was the usual progression here? Getting caught for murder was way more extreme than getting caught for breaking mailboxes with soda cans. It was so, so disturbingly easy. It really was just one punch. It's not like the Fangs are weak by any means, so just one punch? And this guy is dead? Forever?

Or, perhaps by human means, their rivals were fairly tough. But Emizel was on a whole other level. No mortal could stand up to him now...

"Hey, are you okay?"

The question had pulled Soda back from his head, his gaze flicking back over to Emizel, who was looking up at him with those eerie, piercing red eyes. Soda felt another shiver.

"Uh, ieah man, I'm all good." Soda nods, swallowing down whatever anxiety was bubbling up in his throat.

But Emizel didn't seem satisfied by his answer, standing back up and staring down his human comrade. Soda couldn't meet his eyes, his gaze instead traveling downward, and pausing on Emizels red, cut-up shirt. There was something off about the color, the way it seemed darker in some spots, brighter in others.. Wait, wasn't Emizel wearing a white shirt before all this?

The vampire boy seems to pick up on Sodas expression, following his eyes down to his shirt. "Oh, yeah! While you were on the floor, the knife guy got me a little" He says, a stupidly simple smile on his face. Soda was about to let out a laugh at how unbothered his friend seemed by it, but it gets caught in his throat when Emizel goes to pull his shirt up.

The sound of the bloodied fabric peeling away from skin made Sodas own skin crawl, but that wasn't nearly as bad as the sight of the intense gash running from his collar bone, down to his stomach.

"Oh, fuck dude!" Soda gasps, but Emizel laughs it off. Even despite knowing Emizel well, Soda was still surprised by just how much Emizel could shrug off. "Shit, doesn't that hurt, dude?"

"Oh yeah this fucking hurts!" he says with a laugh, his smile big and toothy and proud as he presents this egregious wound. Swollen and angry, pulsing with a slow heartbeat, and still oozing with thick, dark blood.

The sight of the split flesh, and the glints of bone beneath the dark, dark red all tugged at Sodas gag reflex, and yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. So Emizel's just been walking and talking so normally this whole time with his chest just cleaved wide open? Soda felt just as impressed as he felt horrified.

It wasn't until Emizel reaches down to poke at the abhorrent wound that Soda snaps out of it. Watching his friend press his fingers into the bloodied flesh, and slowly pulling it apart, allowing more ichor to seep from the gash, it was too much to watch at this point.

Soda reaches up to put a hand on Emizels wrist, the vampire boy stopping, and looking up at his friend.

Soda found himself freezing again when he locks eyes with Emizel. He was going to say something now, right? "U-uhm.." Is all he really chokes out, giving Emizels wrist a gentle tug. "D-do you. Uh. I suppose a hospital Isn't a place you can go anymore..?"

Emizel just smirks at that, letting Soda pull his hand away from the wound. "Oh, yeah no, but it's fine. I mean, I don't think it's gonna kill me" He shrugs. It was so, so impressive just how unphased Emizel was by all this. Fuck he's actually so cool.

"Well yeah man but it's like, still a bleeding hole. Like you're soaked in blood dude, I'm pretty sure that even a vampire needs that stuff on like, the inside." Soda rubs the back of his head, still unnerved by the sight of it all. "Vampires have like, super healing, don't they?"

"Oh yeah like, regeneration powers. I know I heal faster sometimes but I dunno how to just, activate it on command.." Emizel hums, his eyes narrowing down at his own injury, as if trying to will it into mending. Soda looks away, unable to watch that vile gash ooze any longer.

"I dunno man, how do they do it in like, video games?" Soda tosses the question out, trying to click together some sort of solution in his own head.

"Uhhh.. Huh, video games.." Emizel repeats to himself, chewing on the thought while idly poking at the laceration; until an idea audibly flickers to life in his head. "Oh, I just gotta refill my blood meter. Or whatever."

"Oooh yeah, blood meter!" Soda perks up, "Of course, see this is why you're the brains, man" Soda smiles, glancing back over to his cool friend, but immediately needing to look away again when the sight of that egregious gash tugs bile back into his throat.

While Soda averts his eyes, Emizels eyes wander back over to the body, and that classic 'Emizel has a bad idea' smile creeps across his face.

"Well, if this guys dead, I'm sure he's not gonna need all that blood.." He grins, kneeling down next to the body again.

The word 'wait' had hardly gotten the chance to crawl from Sodas mouth, before Emizel lifts up the arm of the unfortunate body, pulling the sleeve back, and immediately sinking his teeth into the exposed wrist.

The sound and the sight of blood gushing around Emizels teeth made Soda cringe, his hand impulsively coming up to aide his own wrist. An empathetic phantom pain made his wrist ache, his imagination simulating the feeling of shark teeth cutting into skin, sinking deep into the flesh, and clacking against bone. That was a lot of blood, that was streaming down the arm of this fodder.

A low growl bleeds from Emizel as he adjusts his teeth, cutting into more flesh, opening the wound further, and allowing a pulsing torrent of red to stream down his chin, onto his coat. It was an annoying thing, to clean blood out of clothing. Most of the Demons deemed it easier to just let the stains remain. But the night that Emizels throat was torn open, and liters upon liters were granted freedom from his human form, the unbelievable mess had practically changed half the color of Emizels iconic coat.

That was the first time Soda had ever seen that much blood from one person. And well. This would probably be the second.

The sight was unnerving, but it was impossible to look away. The alley was quiet, save for the distant bustle of a distant city, which made the noisy squish and squelch of teeth gnawing on flesh all the more apparent and nauseating.

Emizel had become a monster for sure, and watching it feed on something was… thrilling, in a way. It reminded Soda of feeding a pet spider, or lizard. A mouse for a snake.

It's a heavy thing to witness, the end of a human life. The fear of death is a primal thing, and Soda was no different from any other living thing. He figured everyone else feared death just as much as he does. Well, maybe except for Emizel, of course.

It made sense. Emizel was such a cocky and noisy kind of guy, but hes always had the power to back it up. Even when he lost, or seemed at his lowest, Soda still saw this sort of fire in him, one that Soda admired.

Of course Emizel would be the one to become something like a vampire. Something that Soda had always figured was just a fantasy creature thing. He wondered; if vampires were real, what else was real? Werewolves? Zombies? Unicorns? Are there real demons? Like from hell? Is hell real? Is he going to hell?

The sudden ttteeeeaaaaarrrr of flesh rips soda from his wandering thoughts. Emizel was tugging his head away from the arm of his kill, his teeth clamped down into the chewed meat, and pulling it apart. Soda had seldom seen so much of the inside of a human arm, and the sight of spilling threads and squirming veins was hardly something he ever wanted to stomach again.

"Oh fuck, dude, hey-" Soda steps forward, raising a hand, but the way Emizel snaps his head back over to him, twisting to an unnatural degree, Soda cant help jolting back.

Reddened teeth glint menacingly in the low light, a threatening growl thundering from its clenched, dripping jaws. Emizels eyes were focused, yet wild, glowing with whatever light they could reflect.

Sodas eyes were wide, and his body was frozen in the thick, electric tension within the air. It was like staring down an angry dog.. Suddenly a light bulb in his head flickers to life. It was kind of like an angry dog, right? One hunched over a meal it didn't want to give up. Memories of old encounters and unfortunate dog bites resurface in Sodas head, and with that experience, and with those lessons learned, he gathers the courage to react.

He shuts his eyes, keeping them closed for a few seconds, as he slowly pulls back his arm, and slowly steps back. It was an eye contact thing, wasn't it? Eye contact makes dogs angry, right? That was how you dealt with an angry dog? As he pulls back, and takes in a breath for composure, he finally dares to peek at the angry vampire before him again.

Its snarling had died down, but its eyes were still trained intently on Soda. After a tense, and agonizingly, slow pause... It blinks back, lowering its head back down to its meal, but keeping its anxious stare on this potential threat.

A relieved sigh falls from soda as the tension finally melts. He didnt realize he was holding in so much of his breath. "O-okay, man.. It's yours, you uh.. Earned it.." Soda mutters, stepping back further, until he was standing in a sufficiently dry enough space to sit down in. Now that he wasn't standing, he was finally taking into mind just how much his hands were shaking.

It's odd. Soda couldn't really describe this feeling thrumming in his chest as something like fear.. Nausea? For sure. Disturbed and rattled? Oh absolutely. This was certainly a sight he would have a hard time scrubbing from his eyelids when he sleeps tonight. But he wasn't scared. The memory of the night that Emizel was sired still coated the inside of his mind like an unwashable film. Even in that moment, when the unnatural teeth from the unnatural maw of an unnatural thing hovered over his throat, he couldn't say with confidence that he was scared.

Emizel really is his best friend in the world. And he knows with his whole heart that Emizel feels the same. He knew and trusted that his best friend would never hurt him. Not too badly at least. He loves Emizel, and would give anything to support him.

Like a mouse to a snake.

This really is an incredible power that his comrade had come across, and Soda especially felt a sort of pride in his friend. He felt it was worth it to help him feed it.

The bile in his throat had made its point, and Soda agreed, that watching someone die, and get torn apart and drained might be too much for him. Despite how much he hated the Fangs, the end of any human life seemed like such a jarring thing. To have such an intense fear finally get confronted. Would he go to hell?

Maybe he couldn't just feed people to his friend. So an alternative could be donated blood, right? Soda wouldn't mind giving up something like blood. His body makes it for free, after all. Maybe some other Demons would agree to give up some blood too. But they shouldn't have to take on such a burden. Soda wouldn't mind being the only one. The only one. The only one.

His hand comes up to rub at his neck, as his imagination conjures up what it might feel like to have teeth sink into his flesh. He's been stabbed before, is that sort of what it would feel like? Would he have to get stitches? He didn't really want to get stitches, so maybe there could be a more effective way to get the blood out of him. And there was so much vital stuff in his neck too. There's' a vein that's safe to cut into somewhere, right? He would have to look that up later.

A STARTLING RINGING;

Splits the moment,

Prompting both Soda and Emizel to jolt in shock,

As the phone in Emizels pocket rings away.

Acting as if nothing abnormal had taken place, Emizel pulls out his phone, and answers it.

"Heyy, Johnny! Yeah we chased em off, I don't think those bastards will be infesting this street again anytime soon. Yeah, ieah we'll be heading back soon. Oh fuck yeah dude, save us some!"

Emizel covers the speaker of his Nokia, turning back to Soda with a big smile on his violently bloodied face. "They got some pizza waiting for us back home, dude!" he whispers out to him.

Soda does his best to crack a smile, and to suppress the look of unease that probably stained his face, as he stares at the literal murder scene that's been splattered about in front of him.

"Oh, yeah, hell yeah man.." He swallows down the bile again. "What kind of uh.. Soda did they get?"

Emizel ponders that, before turning back to the phone to ask Sodas question.

"Sprite and a big pack of that one strawberry mountain dew" Emizel tosses the answer back over to Soda, who gives a nod, and thumbs up.

Mountain dew is so neat, Soda really liked all the wacky flavors those guys come up with. The thought of going home and opening a can of soda was certainly a comfort. After witnessing all this blood and gore and viscera, Soda absolutely needed to get back home and get a nice cold glass of something bright red .

As Sodas mind wanders off to soda, Emizel wraps up the conversation on the phone, before hanging up, and standing up.

The movement had pulled Sodas mind back into the moment, enough for him to timidly voice a concern he's had since the start of this debacle.

"Uh, hey, so.. The body, should we… Uh.." He gestures vaguely to it, and Emizel grants it a nonchalant glance.

"Eh, I can toss it into a dumpster or something, I dunno. I'm sure its fine. I'll handle it."

The vampire boy goes to pick up the corpse, the wound in its mangled arm no longer even dripping with blood, the flesh pale from the absolute absence of red in its veins.

"Go ahead and meet me by that one mailbox, the one with the bullet hole in it." Emizel casually instructs, tossing the drained body over his shoulder. "I'll catch up."

"Uh, yeah, okay.." Soda musters up a nod, and the strength to rise back up to his feet, wincing as that bruise on his side makes itself loudly known again. He still felt anxious, but even despite it all, he knew he could trust Emizel to take care of things. He always does. "Just stay safe man, I'll see you there." Soda assures with a smile, and Emizel matches it, tossing him a wink. And then suddenly- -He's gone! If Soda had blinked he would've missed it, but he was fortunate enough to just barely catch the glimpse of Emizel darting off at an inhuman speed, probably looking for a place to dump the body. Right, he would take care of it. Emizel always makes sure his crew is taken care of. Well... Guess all that's left for Soda is for him to walk back to that meeting spot. He looks around the alley for a moment, taking in the sight of that enormous pool of blood in the middle of the concrete. Or whatever the floor of this alley is made from. He ponders on the present moment a little longer than he meant to, the shock of it all leaving him aimless for just a few, soothing moments of just, decompression. The night is quiet, vast, and cold, but the stresses of just the past 5 hours had left his body radiating with fiery aches and pains, so the chill of the occasional clawing breeze was welcomed. Except for when said breeze agitated the cold water still soaked into his sock. He should step in another puddle on his way back to even it out. The smell of rain still rested heavy in the air, heralding another storm on the horizon. There was that, and then, well, there was also the blood. The stench of it felt far too intense to just ignore it, the metallic miasma making itself maliciously unmistakable. Maybe the impending storm will wash this mess away... He looked forward to putting this unfortunate night behind him. With one last rattled, but deep breath, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns away, strolling back over to the mailbox that Emizel had described.

He couldn't wait to get home and drink some soda with his friends.

[nightfal1n]

*Reads Galaxias (serialization) chapter 1*

"Hey we got dragon Hoshina here and he looks very sas"

*Dragon Hoshina got a 1st episode villain/future rival humiliated defeat treatment*

".....Well not exactly vice capt but glad you 'survived'"

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Applying to an apartment with little income and terrible credit score, in hopes that they'll be desperate enough to take me

[swiftadrift]

Ohhh my god I've rewatched Amphibia (not entirely; I was just rewatching True Colours 'cause I felt kind of bad and Amphibia was the fandom I chose to watch while I process those feelings which devolved into Reunion which devolved into The Beginning of the End and All In and The Hardest Thing)

AND. MY GOD.

I forgot why I called this my favourite show but I REMEMBER NOW.

I managed to forget the whole moral of Amphibia, my most beloved show

I need to stop closing myself off !!! I can do it I can stop overtly committing !!!

I was worried about my connections with my friend that I would've forwent everything to pursue them but that is how things go!!! I must not forget myself and I must not forget everyone else in the process !!!

I'm so motivated right now and this may not last til the next day but I'm gonna write this message to myself and everyone else!

I am okay !!! I am feeling okay !!! I will adapt and change with the world and the world will adapt and change with me and it'll all be okay!!!