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munson-blurbs · 2 years ago

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Thinking about Rockstar!Eddie meeting you at an autograph signing and getting off to the thought of you after his show...

“Here ya go,” Eddie says, forcing a tired smile as he hands a freshly-autographed CD to a beaming fan. Pre-show merch signings were part of the deal, and they certainly brought in the extra cash, but after five months on the road, the members of Corroded Coffin are tired. Eddie scratches at the five o’clock shadow dotting his face, glancing at his watch. Just another ten minutes until they can wrap this up and start soundcheck. Then they’ll be back on the bus, shipping off to whatever city’s up next.

The security guard lets the next two people up to the table. Eddie reaches over to the pile of CDs, giving an exasperated sigh as he asks, “Name?”

That’s when he hears your voice.

His head snaps up, and he relaxes as he takes in your shy demeanor. You’re holding the hand of your friend–girlfriend?--hey, it’s the ‘90s; anything is possible. Your eyes sparkle as you say and spell your first name, biting your lower lip and averting your gaze from the gorgeous rockstar in front of you. “Pretty name,” he murmurs, writing a short message and swirling the Sharpie over the CD cover to make his exaggerated signature. “Pretty name for a pretty girl, yeah?”

You just giggle, and the girl next to you squeezes your hand. “She’s, like, completely in love with you,” she blabbers. “Every damn day since we got these tickets, it’s been, ‘What should I wear? Do you think Eddie will notice me?’”

You free your hand to elbow her, a little harsher than you’d intended. “Dianna!” you hiss, burying your face in your palms in a feeble attempt to hide your humiliation.

But Eddie just cocks his head, checking you out from head to toe. “Oh, he definitely noticed you,” he muses, handing you the CD with two lanyards. “You ladies wanna watch backstage? ‘Course you do; Charlie will bring you where you gotta go and, uh,” he looks directly at you, sending an excited shiver down your spine, “maybe we can notice each other a bit more later.”

You and Dianna nod vigorously as the beefy security guard leads you to the backstage VIP suite. A waiter comes around and takes your drink orders. You ask for a vodka soda, and Dianna gets a Long Island iced tea.

“You sure about that?” you whisper as the waiter walks away. “Those are really strong.”

Dianna shrugs. “It’s not every day we get free drinks. Might as well drink as much as we can.”

Meanwhile, Eddie’s fumbling his way through soundcheck, thinking about the way your breasts peeked out the top of your Corroded Coffin tank top, how your denim shorts perfectly cupped your ass, the shiny gloss that emphasized your lips. God, he wants those lips wrapped around his hard, throbbing–

“Munson? You wanna get your head out of your ass so we can put on a show?” Jeff’s voice booms through his mic.

“He’s thinking about that hot chick he gave backstage passes to,” Gareth teases, and Simon makes kissy noises at their lead singer.

Eddie launches his guitar pick in Gareth’s direction, narrowly missing his head. “Shut the fuck up, all of you,” he grumbles, but he knows that they’re right. Just get through the show and she’s all yours. He palms himself over his pants discreetly. He’s never been more grateful for his guitar, since his tight leather pants do nothing to hide his burgeoning erection.

Corroded Coffin puts on a hell of a show, as usual. They close with “Rock Hard,” their hit single about hooking up with a groupie after a concert, and Eddie thanks every celestial being that it’s the last song of the night. As soon as the band thanks the audience and says their goodbyes, Eddie dashes offstage. He bolts into your suite, all sweat and smiles. “How’d you like the–” He stops, frowning when he sees an empty room, save for Charlie, who’s smoking a cigarette in a lounge chair. “Where is she?”

“Sorry, Casanova,” Charlie drawls. “Her little friend drank too much, got sick all over the bathroom. Had to get them outta here before she ruined anything else.”

Eddie groans, throwing his head back as his bandmates laugh at his misfortune. “Goddammit,” he hisses, pushing his perspiration-soaked hair from his eyes.

“C’mon, man,” Simon claps a hand on Eddie’s back. “There’s a bar down the street; plenty of the girls from the show will be there…” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Nah, I’m just gonna head back to the bus. ‘M pretty beat.”

“Oh, something’s getting beat tonight,” Gareth jokes. Eddie flips him off, but once again, he’s right.

He’s barely closed the curtain to his makeshift bedroom before he’s hastily unbuttoning his leather pants, shoving his ringed hand into his boxer briefs. Just the sensation of his own touch has him bucking his hips. He runs his thumb over the bead of pre-cum pearling at his tip, using it to lubricate his palm. He uses his free hand to tug his pants down to his knees, sitting on the bed. He imagines you on your knees in front of him.

“S’big, isn’t it, baby?” Eddie coos. He leans over, letting a trail of saliva drip from his mouth to his shaft. “Thas’ right, spit on it. Such a dirty fuckin’ girl.” He grips the bedsheet with his left hand, dragging his right from base to tip.

“What’s that? You want it in your mouth? Oh, pretty girl; you don’t have to ask twice.”

He fucks into his fist harder, feeling himself grow in his own grasp. “Mmm, let me make a mess of that face. Ruin that fuckin’ makeup you worked so hard on. Wanted me to notice you; well, I sure fuckin’ did. Knew I had to have you, sweet thing.” If you were actually here, you’d be gagging on his dick as your nose grazes the thatch of curls on his pevlis, tears reflexively gathering at the corners of your eyes. Your mascara would start to run; the telltale sign of a good blowjob.

He loosens his hold on the sheet, cupping his balls. “If you do that, ‘m gonna bust in that sinful mouth of yours, fuckin’ swear.” A harsh chuckle escapes his throat. “Bet you’d like that. Bet you’d take my whole load down your throat, swallow it all, yeah?”

Eddie brings himself right to the edge before forcing himself to slow down. “I know, baby. I know you wanna keep sucking me off. But I wanna–no, I gotta be in that perfect little pussy. Now, come sit on my cock. Nice and slow–thassit.” He tightens his grip on his length, keeping a slow rhythm to mimic the feeling of gradually filling you up. “You can take it, don’t worry. I’ve got you, baby girl.”

He bites his lower lip so hard that he swears it might bleed. “Oh, angel. Y’feel even better than I ever imagined, holy fuck.” He increases his pace, choking out a pathetic moan. “What’s that? You want me to come inside you? So desperate f��me, aren’t you?” He whimpers at the mental image of you bouncing on his cock, tits pressed up against the dusting of hair on his chest. “Come with me, fuck, wanna make you come. Want you to cream my cock while I fuckin’ fill you up.” Eddie lets out one last pornographic moan as thick, hot ropes of cum spurt out onto his thick fingers. He pants, trying to catch his breath as he comes down from the high of his orgasm.

Cleaning himself up, Eddie grumbles to himself about your stupid drunk friend and how he’s so tired of fucking his own hand. He falls asleep quickly, worn out from the combination of the concert and his own post-show escapades.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up and wipes the sleep from his eyes. The bus driver has already set out for their next destination, somewhere in Bumblefuck. Eddie doesn’t care, he just wants you. Real you, not the fantasy he’d conjured up last night.

“Hey, boss,” Charlie says when Eddie pads out to the bus’s common space. “Forgot to give this to you after the show.” He hands him a folded piece of paper, which reads:

Eddie:

Had to get Dianna home before she puked on the carpet. I was not paying for that to be replaced–the tickets for your autograph already bankrupted me…

But if you wanna stop by my hotel room later, just give me a call. I don’t think you were done noticing me. I certainly wasn’t done noticing you.

You signed your name with a glossy lip print and your hotel room extension.

“Charlie,” Eddie starts through gritted teeth, “if you can convince the driver to turn this bus around, I won’t fire you.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson stranger things

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laurenairay · 29 days ago

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Baking traditions - Q.Hughes

Summary: Noticing that you’re homesick, Quinn makes sure to include some of your autumn traditions.

The second of my Autumn & Halloween blurbs! How could I resist this slice of domestic life with Quinn?

Word Count: 778 words

Tagging: @fallinallincurls @starshine-hockey-girl @lam-ila @kurlyteuvo @tonyspep

@cixrosie

“Babe? What’s all this?”

When you’d gotten home from work that evening, you hadn’t expected your kitchen counters to be covered with ingredients.

Your boyfriend just smiled a little sheepishly, but shrugged innocently.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Quinn said simply.

“When congratulations, I’m surprised,” you mused.

Quinn just laughed, cheeks a little pink with blush as he leaned down to kiss you in greeting.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey yourself,” you murmured back.

He smiled sweetly, pecking your lips in another kiss before standing upright again.

“I know you’ve been missing home…”

Well that was blunt. Quinn wasn’t wrong though. You’d moved to Vancouver to live with Quinn and take your relationship to the next level only six months ago – and while everything had been fairytale-levels of amazing, that didn’t mean there weren’t stumbling blocks. Like your homesickness, that you’d thought you’d done a good job of hiding.

“…and I just wanted to do something to cheer you up. I called your mom, and she said that you love baking in the Autumn, like all the spices and stuff are your favourite, so I thought maybe we could bake together?”

His voice trailed off in a hopeful embarrassment, but it was all you could do not to cry. This man. How were you gifted a man like this? Quinn noticed the tears in your eyes and immediately groaned.

“You hate it. This is making your homesickness even worse. I’m so dumb, I’m sorry, I-”

“Quinn, no, you’re not dumb at all. You’re the sweetest man ever. I love this idea,” you interrupted, laughing a little watery with a big smile.

The relief that spread across his face was immediate and dramatic.

“Really?” he asked.

“Really really,” you nodded, “What are we making?”

“I thought we’d try something easy? Chocolate chip pumpkin banana bread?” he said, “I found a recipe online that looked okay and I double checked with your mom too.”

So sweet.

“That sounds amazing, Quinn. Are we baking now?”

“It takes an hour to bake in the oven so I figured we could order take out now and eat dinner while we wait for the banana bread to cook?” he suggested.

Your man with a plan.

“That sounds great to me, baby, thank you. I’ll get changed out of my work clothes and we can start?”

“I’ll order dinner while you get changed,” he added, smiling.

In no time at all you were back in the kitchen in comfy sweats and an old t-shirt, take-out order being processed, while Quinn scrolled through his ipad for the recipe he saved.

“Okay, so first off, we’ve got to mash all these bananas. Shall I do that while you measure out the dry ingredients?”

You nodded, smiling up at him as you reached for a mixing bowl he’d already put on the kitchen counter. You whisked together the flour, pumpkin pie spice, cinnamon, dark chocolate chips, baking soda, baking powder & salt, and after mashing the bananas, in a separate mixing bowl Quinn whisked together the oil, sugars, eggs & vanilla extract until no lumps remained.

“That’s lump free, right?” he frowned, peering down into his bowl.

You glanced over and nodded. “Yeah that looks great baby.”

Quinn beamed back at you.

“Now we’ve just to combine the bananas into my bowl with a cup of pumpkin puree, before carefully stirring your dry ingredients mix into my bowl too,” he explained.

Somehow the two of you managed all of that without making too much mess.

“Last step is pouring it into the lined loaf cake tin and baking it for an hour. I already pre-heated the oven so we should be good to go?”

After you’d combined all the ingredients, Quinn’s face was as serious as you’d ever seen it as he carefully carried the loaf tin over to your oven, and you tried to hide your smile as you opened the oven for him.

He really cared, didn’t he? He cared so much.

“I’ll set a timer for an hour. I don’t want it to get burnt,” he frowned.

“It’s going to be amazing, I already know,” you said softly, resting a hand on his chest.

His frown softened to a sweet smile. “I just want this to be good for you.”

“The fact that we did this together is what made this good for me. The cake itself is an added bonus,” you said, smiling up at him.

A light blush spread across his cheeks and he nodded, sliding his arms around your waist to hold you closer to him.

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy,” he said warmly.

“With you, how can I not be?”

#my writing #lauren's autumn and halloween blurbs #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 3 months ago

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thinking about ivy who runs hot but polyvessels !!! iii gets a cramp in his leg? he gets ivy to massage it out with his warm hands. vessel who has frog hands (hands that are always cold)? hes holding ivys hand or slipping his hands under his shirt at any given opportunity. ii who cant seem to get warm in the winter? finds ivy immediately and is cuddling with him naked to get as much warmth as possible. you have bad cramps? youre getting ivy to rub your stomach and back.

just thinking (i have an ivy bias)

All the sleep token x ivy x reader

Warm hands

Look, sharing is caring. And what kind of friend would Ivy be if he didn’t share a gift of warm hands with the ones closest to him? It started as a joke at first. It was Vessel who had been blowing at his palms for as long as you all sat around ii’s garage writing music. “Fucking freezing”, he had mused in frustration. “It’s not that bad”, Ivy chuckled but once he was met with all of you glaring at him, he simply lifted his hands in defense, “My bad, balls are shivering in my underwear”.

He watched III wrapping both of his arms around you and II, bringing you closer to his chest. All seeking that extra warmth. That left him and Vessel, Vessel whose hands were nearly turning blue. Ivy put down his guitar and stepped closer to him. Vessel let out a little hiss once the warm hands touched his freezing ones. “Should have said you were that cold”, Ivy muttered, rubbing both of Vessel’s palms between his. “It’s nothing”, the lead singer grunted, watching as Ivy reached for the hem of his hoodie, slowly moving Vessel’s hands to lay alongside his lower stomach. The two males let the eye contact linger as Vessel slowly let his fingers trace shapes on Ivy’s skin.

iii never asked for help. That was just how he was. He handled it all by himself. iii thought that no one noticed when something was wrong with him but he couldn’t be more wrong. “What did you do this time?”, Ivy muttered, stepping out of the shower after watching iii limping across the bedroom the whole time. “What do you mean?”, iii frowned turning to face his bandmate. “Don’t bullshit me, long John. I have two working eyes, while you have only one working leg” Ivy sassed back, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “Well, you should see a doctor 'cause you are blind, mate”, iii grunted, turning away from him. “Iii, make it easier for both of us”, ivy cut in, walking closer to him, “sit”, he gestured to the bed. iii hesitated before following the orders. Ivy watched him trying not to frown as he sat down. Hands instantly reaching for the waistband of iii pants. “Hey”, iii grunted, wrapping his fingers over Ivy’s wrist. “Don’t be dramatic, I want to feel your thigh”, ivy rolled his eyes, fingers digging into the knots forming in the upper leg. “Fuck”, iii let out a deep sigh once Ivy’s warm fingers pressed into his flesh, “shit, that feels nice”, he whined, letting himself fall backward into the sheets. “Could have done it sooner if you weren’t acting like a little bitch”, Ivy snorted, making iii flip him off.

ii was a regular in Ivy’s bed. Just like iii he would go all mean about it. Bickering with ivy until he dragged him beneath the covers. Feral street cat ivy called him at times. Desperate for attention but not knowing how to ask for it. That’s how the two were now. With Ivy pulling the blanket higher up my shoulders. His cold feet pressed against Ivy’s warm skin. “Fuck you”, ii grunted, cuddling deeper into Ivy. “For what now?”, Ivy chuckled, rubbing his fingers through my hair. “For being so warm when we all are freezing all the time”, the drummer grunted, making Ivy chuckle, “I apologize, truly”.

You were as much of a regular as ii. Especially on your periods. By now Ivy knew your cycle to the tea so for most times even the pre-period cramps were chased away by his hands. But he was especially vital when it all got bad. He would slip into your room after you would miss dinner. And the sight of the dim room would tell him all that he needed to know. Making his way to you Ivy would slip into the bed, trying to disturb you as little as possible. Slowly letting his hands dig into your back at first, putting pressure on the lowest points.

“Ivy”, you would whine, face all scrunched up. “I know, gorgeous, I will make it all better”, he would breathe against your ear, slowly letting his fingers trail towards your stomach. Pulling the semi-warm water pouch away before replacing it with his palms. “Circles”, you mutter, leaning into him. “I know, baby”, he would do just that, putting that sweet pressure onto your lower stomach. “You try to sleep and I will be here”, kissing the side of your head, he would nuzzle closer, “No cramps will find you when I’m near”, and he would keep his promise, warming you up through the night.

#sleep token imagine #sleep token x reader #sleep token ivy imagine #sleep token ivy x reader #sleep token ivy x you #sleep token ii imagine #sleep token iii imagine #sleep token vessel imagine

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loquaciousferret · 2 years ago

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Country Lovin’

Summary: Pre-outbreak AU, you let yourself get picked up by a handsome stranger after your set playing at a local country bar. After giving you the night of your life, Joel Miller might just be your new muse.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, alcohol consumption, drink driving. sex whilst intoxicated, use of pet names, unspecified age gap, unprotected sex. As always- maybe more! Read at own risk

A/N: I’m on a roll with Joel content at the minute, I don’t know why this specific scenario came to mind, but reader is a country singer performing at a bar where tommy and joel are drinking and joel flirts his way into bed with you… ahh! It’s also definitely the type of story I could see myself writing a part 2 for…! Enjoy…

P.S. count the Taylor Swift references throughout haha.

You finished your set to a healthy round of applause and a few cheers and whoops from the more intoxicated patrons of the bar. It wasn’t your first time playing in this particular bar, but it was your first time being invited to play a Saturday, and the feeling of playing to such a packed venue was incredible.

You lifted your guitar from your neck by the strap and placed it carefully in it’s case at the side of the small stage, before making your way over to the bar. As you stood there waiting to catch a bartenders attention and order something, you noticed a presence hovering close to your left side. You turned to face it and found yourself looking up into the eyes of a man, a handsome man. One who you had noticed had made eye contact with you numerous times throughout your set, whilst he had been throwing back glasses of scotch with another guy at a table close to the front of the stage.

“I’d hate to be the guy you wrote that last one about.” He smirked. “Sounds like he really fucked it up.”

You smiled, it wasn’t a compliment so you didn’t know what to say in return. Thanks wasn’t the right word. “Uh, yeah, um..” You mumbled, unable to find a suitable response.

“You’re incredible.” He said. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“Oh… Uh.” You blushed, so he had been flirting with his opening line?

“What’s your poison?” He asked, persistent.

“Something fruity.” You said back, which made him roll his eyes.

“Of course.” He remarked, but there was no hint of anything mean behind his words.

He attracted the barkeeps attention faster than you had, ��Another scotch,” he pointed at his own glass. “And something fruity for the lady.”

You were distracted, your attention drifting around the bar. It was busy tonight with a crowd of all ages, a few groups of young people roughly your age, the majority middle-aged like the man you stood with, and some even older than that, some real old school guys. Similar to most country bars you would play at, but this one was special, one of the busiest in the city and the previous stomping ground of a number of major stars. Lots of people told you it was a stupid dream, but it was one you were holding onto well into your twenties whilst you finished college.

You realised you might be coming across as rude to the man who had bought you the drink you were waiting for, so you returned your attention to him, and found his gaze had never left you, he was staring down at you intently. You took in his features, a strong brow-bone, nose and sharp jaw. Dark brown messy hair with eyes to match, stubble and a defined moustache to top it off. Handsome in a rugged, properly Southern way.

“I haven’t seen you around.” He says. “I’m Joel.”

“It ain’t my first time, but it’s for sure my busiest night so far.” You said.

“You’re really incredible.” He said, repeating his words from before. Something about his eyes told you that he was genuine in his compliments, and that they weren’t just an attempt at flattery. But you sensed he was working that angle too.

You considered him carefully, and the sight from his perspective of you gazing up at him innocently through thick lashes, plump lips slightly parted, was enough to turn him on.

The bartender interrupted your intense staring contest, sliding you a drink that was a startling shade of crimson, with sugar round the rim, and for him, a rich amber liquid over rocks of ice.

“Cheers,” You offered, holding your glass out to him, and he returned the gesture, clinking the edges of the glasses. Some of the sugar from the edge of your glass transferred onto the rim of his scotch, offending his taste buds when he brought it to his lips, shuddering dramatically.

You giggled at his display and savoured the sweetness as you took your first sip.

“What you need drinks like that for anyway, darlin’? You’re already sweet enough to give some of us guys toothache.”

You rolled your eyes but gave him a laugh. These practiced lines must serve him well with most women in these establishments, and his gorgeous chocolate brown puppy dog eyes that hold your gaze as he delivers them certainly didn’t hurt either.

You found that the conversation flowed easily with Joel. He had the southern gentleman act perfected to a point, flirtation innocent enough to be plausibly deniable but certainly noticeable if you chose to lean into it. And you did find yourself doing so, loosening up with cocktail after cocktail, him knocking back scotches at an equally dizzying pace.

You weren’t sure how long you had been engrossed in his company when eventually you recognised the man he had been with earlier, approaching him from behind and putting a hand on Joel’s shoulder.

“Is that it, have I been subbed out as tonight’s company, Joel?” His cheeky tone suggested to you that Joel made a habit of this.

“Tommy,” Joel put an arm round him. He was a good few inches taller than the other man, Tommy, but they shared facial similarities, the same moustache, and dress sense. “Let me introduce you to my good friend here,” he said, turning to you.

Tommy grasped one of your hands in both of his, shaking it politely. “Pleasure to meet you, how do you do?” He shared Joel’s cheeky grin. “Helluva show you put on tonight.” He praised.

“You’re too kind.” You waved a hand bashfully. Most people assume that performers thrive on attention and praise but you have never quite gotten used to accepting the compliments that came your way during and after your shows, constantly a blushing mess whenever people congratulated you and fussed over how well you did.

“Make sure my brother takes care of you, alright? I’m gonna hit the road.” He said, offering you a wink before turning round to shake Joel’s hand. “I’ll catch you in the morning, buddy.”

A gesture of his head, indicating over his shoulder to a beautiful blonde who was stood a few metres away, twirling her curls between her fingers and watching Tommy with a smile on her face and a set of “Fuck-me” eyes if you had ever seen them. You laughed a little as you watched the brothers exchange a look. Joel’s eyebrows seemed to say well done.

You could tell he was a womaniser, a trait him and his brother clearly shared, and they didn’t mean to conceal it in any way, either. But as he had pointed out so astutely in his opening line, the heartbreak that was the inspiration behind your latest tracks had done quite a number on you, and so whilst it wasn’t in your usual nature… you were considering taking a risk on this devilishly handsome stranger tonight.

You laughed at his jokes and fluttered your eyelashes, more for your own fun as you knew he was already sold on you. But he was trying hard to chat you up and you had to give something in return to let him know he was getting somewhere.

You both kept up the pretence of waiting until it was polite to move closer together, for you to tease a light touch on his bicep and him on your upper thigh in return. His flirtations became more overt and eventually he was whispering them directly into your ear, his hot breath tickling you, his hands playing with your hair and pushing it back behind your shoulders to get a better view of your face.

He timed it perfectly right when you finished your 5th (or was it 6th?) drink, asking, “You got anyone waitin’ up for you at home?”

“No, Sir.” You blushed, happy with the subtext to his question.

“What do ya say you come home with me for a nightcap then, sweetness? Hm?” He brushed your cheek with his thumb and it took concentration to stay upright on your barstool and not melt into a puddle under his touch.

“Y-Yeah.” You stuttered, taking a deep breath as nerves hit despite having known all along the night was leading up to this point.

“I’m just a few blocks away, won’t take us long, beautiful.”

As you stepped out of the still crowded bar into the night air, you felt the alcohol dizzying you more. You stumbled slightly and Joel’s strong arms found their way around your waist, steadying you but then remaining there longer than necessary to guide you down the street, holding you close to his side.

You found yourself giggling at his jokes like a love-struck schoolgirl, constantly bashful under the compliments and affections that rolled off his tongue so naturally. He was certainly a charmer, there was no doubt about that.

After walking about a block, a small breeze hit and you found yourself shivering. He jumped back from you quickly to remove his jacket and drape it over your shoulders before slinging an arm around you again.

“I’m sorry beautiful, forgot to do that sooner.”

“Joel, you certainly have this gentleman act practiced to perfection don’t you now?” You teased.

“It ain’t an act,” He chuckled. “I am a proper southern gentleman.”

“A proper gentleman would never invite a lady home the night they meet.” You joked back.

“And a proper lady wouldn’t say yes.” He raised an eyebrow at you.

You gasped, pretending to be offended before shooting back. “I never claimed to be a proper lady, Joel. Don’t feel the need to treat me like one once you get me home.”

His smirk grew to a full on grin, he seemed pleasantly surprised at the confidence with which you delivered this remark. You had surprised yourself, too. Those drinks were stronger than you thought. Or maybe you were just drunk on him.

Before long you he was leading you up to a nice home, with a perfectly laid path, a well-tended lawn, and a sturdy wrap-around porch. You should have known, Joel was no boy leading you back to a crumby apartment, he was all man.

He fumbled with the keys in the darkness and got the door open after a few seconds, turning a light on and you took in the space. A fairly large open-plan layout, homey decor, family photos on the walls. You noticed lots of photos of a young teenager, a daughter? He hadn’t mentioned it. He followed your gaze and interrupted your thoughts, “Yeah, thats… That’s my daughter, Sarah.”

Your eyes must have widened in surprise and he reassured you, “She’s not here. She’s at my mother’s. And her mother, well… I ain’t seen her for over ten years.”

“O-Oh.” You stuttered, frowning. “I wasn’t- I.”

“No, it’s alright.” He scratched the back of his neck and chuckled awkwardly. “I just usually don’t lead with the fact I’m a single dad. Puts some women off.”

“It would take a good bit more than that to put me off you, Joel.” You stepped towards him, closing the gap between you, and he exhaled in relief.

“You need that nightcap, sweetheart?” He asked, voice low and breathless.

You shook your head slightly and he quickly acted, putting a hand under your chin, tilting your lips up towards his and connecting you in a kiss. It was sweet and gentle for a good few seconds before he reached up and removed his jacket from your shoulders, throwing it onto the kitchen island beside you and deepening the kiss, flicking his tongue against your lips. You opened your mouth and one of his hands held you by the back of the head, the other making its way to your waist.

He pushed you softly, leading you backwards down a corridor, breaking the hungry kiss only a few times to get the lights as you traveled through the house. Your hands explored his broad shoulders, his muscular chest, and his defined back. You wondered what he did for work. You imagined it had to be something physical for his body to be in such good shape, plus he seemed the type.

He reached out to open a door behind you and guided you in, kicking it closed again behind the two of you. He continued to guide you backwards until your legs hit against the foot of the bed and you sat down. He remained standing, his hand cupping your jaw and tilting it upwards to keep eye contact. His eyes were dark with lust and the sight of him above you like this was enough to make you squirm, pressing your thighs together, although the short dress you wore meant there was no friction between your legs to relieve the tension you felt. He smirked, watching you.

“Pretty dress.” He remarked, reaching behind you to unzip it. You reached up to him simultaneously, working at the buttons on his flannel shirt. As you undid them, it revealed tanned skin, a strong chest and core that wasn’t perfectly chiseled, rather he was clearly muscular but still soft. Dark hair trailed from his lower stomach into his jeans and you frantically tried to unbuckle his belt as he slipped the straps of your dress down your shoulders.

You were breathing heavily, the house was silent except for a clock ticking and the bed creaking with every moment.

His fingers toyed with the skirt of your dress and you reached down to grasp the hem, taking the initiative and pulling it over your head, leaving you in a white matching lingerie set. You thanked yourself for your choice of underwear despite it genuinely not having been your intention to put it on display tonight.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He breathed, leaning his head down to kiss you again. You blushed and threw your head back, and he continued to kiss, your throat, your collarbones, and the curve of your cleavage peaking out of your lace bra.

He unzipped his jeans and pushed them down his legs. His erect cock, pressing against his boxers, was level with your face. You made a concentrated effort not to open your mouth involuntarily at the sight. He must have caught the hungry expression in your eyes as he chuckled, “Patience, sweetheart.”

He discarded the jeans on the floor followed by his socks and pushed you until you lay back on his comfortable bed. As you breathed deeply you inhaled his rich musky scent that surrounded you. His mouth found its way to your neck again, peppering it with open mouthed kisses and applying light suction now and then. You rubbed your thighs together again, desperate for attention on the aching that grew in intensity between your legs. He was in tune with your body, noticing this and spreading them with a large, warm hand.

He pressed on you lightly through your underwear, cupping you and squeezing gently. You moaned a little and you could hear him exhale a breath of amusement. He liked the effect he was having on you.

You were fairly experienced but something about this handsome stranger had you writhing under him like a touch-starved virgin. This powerful, commanding, and dominant partner in bed was something you were yet to experience and you knew Joel would provide it.

He put a hand into your underwear and his fingers slipped through your wet folds. He let out a sigh at the sensation, “You’re soaked for me, gorgeous.”

You whined and lightly thrusted your hips up, grinding into his touch. This earned you a chuckle from him. Your eagerness turned him on like nothing else.

His exploration of you was painstakingly slow and you couldn’t help but plead “J-Joel.”

He obliged immediately, thrusting two fingers inside your wet hole. You moaned instantly at the sensation you had been waiting for.

“Y-Yes.” You gasped, and he picked up his speed, thrusting his fingers in and out of you, curling and scissoring inside of you to hit every spot of your tight walls.

“Oh, god. Yes, god, Oh m-“

“That’s not my name, baby.”

Joel and his one liners. You giggled but were quickly cut off into a gasping mess when he began hammering his fingers inside you at speed, inserting a 3rd one too. You felt his large erection pressing into you and felt grateful he wasn’t rushing through the foreplay.

“Will you let me taste you, baby?” He groaned quietly into your ear.

You released a strangled moan, utterly turned on by his request. It felt intimate for a one-night stand but you found yourself nodding eagerly, keen to please him and let him take whatever he likes from your body.

He quickly moves downwards, hooking a finger into each side of your panties and dragging them down your hips. Freeing them from your legs, and reaching up above your head, tucking them safely under the pillow.

He spreads your legs apart with two strong hands and you gasp in anticipation as he closes in on you, connecting his lips to your clit, softly sucking, kissing, dragging his tongue through your folds down to your leaking entrance and back up again to repeat. His stubble and moustache rubbed pleasantly against you, tickling you as he worked at you with his mouth.

After a while, he added his hand, intensifying the sensations he was giving you. He curled his fingers lazily inside of you, slowly torturing your sensitive insides and not reducing any of the attention he was giving your clit, continuing to flick his tongue against it violently, strong hands forcing your hips down to keep still on the bed where your body was naturally writhing and grinding up against him.

As he continued, your string of helpless moans increased in volume and became less words and more garbled curses and sounds.

“Oh, Joel.” A strangled moan left you and he hummed back in response, sending a vibration through your clit where his mouth was attached to you, making you shudder and gasp. The intensity of the pleasure he was giving you had tears welling in the corner of your eyes.

His prowess allowed him to sense when your orgasm was coming when you did, gripping the curls at the back of his head and pulling him closer to you- if that was possible.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded enthusiastically, panting his name and as he increased the pressure on your clit, sucking slightly harder and fucking you with his fingers slightly faster, you felt your orgasm building, hot ropes of tension in your stomach, and down each limb.

After a few more seconds you snapped, practically screaming his name. He slowed down his fingers but didn’t stop as he licked wide stripes up and down your entire pussy as if he was cleaning you up. You shivered as the overstimulation was sending you crazy, his stubble tickling you and giving you goosebumps on your thighs.

“Please,” You begged him, pushing his head away slightly. You looked down at him through hazy eyes and saw something erotic; the sight of his mouth and moustache glistening wet with your juices, and him looking back up at you grinning like a devil.

You had never slept with a man who had prioritised your pleasure in this way, making you orgasm before you had even touched him. This was intoxicating, and you felt as though what should have been a simple one night stand with Joel may lead to you becoming hooked on him.

As your sensitive parts took time to recover, he was slipping out of his boxers. A large and hard erection stood up , slapping his lower stomach and leaking pre-cum from its pinkish red tip. Your jaw dropped at the size.

“Close that mouth sugar before I fill it up.” He growled.

The gentleman act was over. As you had requested, Joel wasn’t going to treat you like a lady in the sheets. Your eyes still widened in surprise and you saw him smirk at the effect his words had on you.

“You ready to take this cock, hm?” He asked, grasping it and dragging the tip through your wet folds, circling your clit before taking it back down to nudge at your entrance.

You nodded and pushed your hips up towards him but this earned you a light slap on your upper thigh. “Uhuh,” He scolded. “Use your words, darlin’. Tell me what you want.”

You moaned as he slowly tortured you by continuing to grind the head of his hard cock against you, giving you pleasurable friction but nothing close to what you desired which was his cock buried deep inside you.

“Please, Joel.” You begged in an erotic tone that you were surprised to hear coming from yourself. It practically sounded fake and exaggerated the way you were panting and pleading for him. “Need you to fuck me Joel need you to fill me up, please, ah-”

He cut off your speech by pressing the tip into your entrance slowly, earning a gasp from you. It hadn’t even been that long since you last got laid but his sheer size would take some getting used to.

“Good girl. Thank you for asking so politely.” He continued to push into you, his own breathing faltering as he did so.

You moaned loudly at the sensation of his wide cock spreading you open, stretching your tight hole around him. “Please, Joel.”

“Jesus christ baby girl,” he groaned. “I’d give you the world if you asked like that.”

You pulled him close to you by wrapping your hands around his back and the back of his neck, kissing him messily as he began to slowly thrust in and out of you. It was a welcome sensation but the aching inside of you was craving more. You wiggled your hips against his to increase the tension and he chuckled.

“So greedy.” He taunted, slapping your breast lightly with a hand he has been using to toy with your nipple.

He gave in to your silent demands, increasing the force of his thrusts, and you moaned loudly every time he bottomed out, reaching the perfect spot inside you and stretching you out so pleasurably. His hands came down to wrap around your hips and, gently at first, he pulled you towards himself in sync with each thrust. This earned louder moans from you, and your expressions as he watched you from above could have made him spill inside you right then and there. You were absolutely gorgeous and the tortured but positively blissed out look on your face as he had his way with you was awakening a primal level of desire inside him.

“Play with those tits for me, gorgeous.” He asked, and you reached out both hands to cup each tit, pinching your nipples between your thumb and forefinger, rolling them. Pushing your tits together and moaning, biting your lip and releasing strangled moans as he fucked you at a relentless pace.

You were certainly a performer, he noted, whilst he was in control here, there was nothing passive about your role, putting on an erotic display for his eyes only. A thought intruded into his mind that he tried hard to push away- I never want any other man to see her like this again.

He pulled out unexpectedly and you looked up at him questioningly, but he quickly answered by grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your front, dragging your body up so you were on your hands and knees. So, he would play dirty. You wiggled your ass for him in anticipation and he groaned at the sight, grasping one cheek hard with his large hand.

He guided his cock into you and wasted no time slamming himself fully in. This angle helped you appreciate his size and was hitting something impossibly deep within you. He set an aggressive pace that had you nearly screaming, and you struggled to keep yourself upright and steady on your hands. Your back arched and his view was perfect of your tanned skin, light tanlines visible on your lower back.

He grunted loudly, the sounds of both of you vocalising, skin slapping, and the bed creaking violently, filled the once silent house.

“I can’t get enough of you, baby.” He praised. You couldn’t respond, intense pleasure rendering you speechless, only able to produce strings of moans.

“I’m gonna come,” He announced, his thrusts remained forceful but his rhythm faltered and with a grunt he pulled out. Your pussy clenched, the feeling of emptiness with the absence of his cock was unwelcome.

With a few strokes of his fist, you heard him groan loudly as he released a warm load of his cum onto your ass and lower back. He stayed still for a moment, catching his breath as well as appreciating the sight of you beneath him, covered in his seed. He let out a loud sigh and you felt him move away from his position behind and eventually, felt the weight on the mattress shift as he stood up. He proceeded to open a door and came out with tissues and a wet towel, cleaning you off with both. You allowed yourself to relax into the intimate moment, the weight of you sinking into the comfortable mattress as he took care of you.

He reached up under the pillow, grabbing your underwear where he had stashed it before and gently lifting your legs to guide it back up your body. He crawled into the bed too, pulling the covers from beneath you and tucking you both in.

“I’d like you to stay.” He whispered into the space between you.

You hummed. He seemed so genuine, it wasn’t an offer he was giving out of obligation, or an I guess you can stay if you have to- Joel was open and honest and told you what he wanted.

“And I’d like it if you would give me your number.” He added.

You nuzzled your face closer into his chest, feeling comforted by his strong, warm body.

“I was afraid you’d never ask.” You muttered, kissing his neck softly as he tightened his grip around you, holding you close to him.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller #tlou show #tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfic #tlou smut #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal smut #the last of us smut #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction

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reachexceedinggrasp · 2 months ago

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I have a feeling you might relate to this or you might have even related this on your blog already, but I was just thinking of that Ghoul quotation water water everywhere and not a drop to drink

I think probably my favourite, maybe ever, quiet point of characterisation in a sort of villainous or Beast love interest is his or her having a poet's soul... whether that is conscious or unconscious romantic meditation. It's like Kylo musing to Rey when he says 'You have that look in your eyes. From the forest. When you called me a monster' I love that sort of wistful observation, especially because it evokes such potent imagery ('when we fought together in the forest and then you marked yourself on my face'). Or more literally something like Ghoul citing a line of literature, even when none around except for Lucy would know what he's referencing, it's for his own arrestment and amusement, this is how he sees/interacts with the world

I guess in that way, it reveals something new about their perspective on the world, even when they're somebody seemingly cut off from it - monstrous, othered, repellent, ugly - when they're able to articulate a certain beauty which other characters may not remark upon. It's sort of covetous in that sense, but I think it also sort of helps explain what might interest them about a Beauty, after all, there's something they long for and value (spiritual, aesthetic, existential beauty).

I thought you might be able to relate 🥰

Oh, totally. And with Cooper and Ben, specifically, which is a parallel I hadn't actually noticed until you've just pointed it out, we're being shown their sensitivity as characters. Not in the sense of being considerate, but that they're aware and alert to beauty and meaning in the world despite currently occupying a narrative role which might make us think they're simply destructive or nihilistic figures. And despite the cynicism they're both ostensibly espousing.

Cooper quotes or alludes to literature practically constantly relative to how little he speaks, always knowing people almost certainly won't understand him, and that's especially fascinating because he didn't make those kinds of references in the flashbacks. We could take this in a whole direction about how he created the Ghoul as a character to shield himself from the things he had to do to survive and is living within a meta-narrative deconstructing the reactionary anti-hero who overtook the white hat sheriff he used to play in his movies. The anti-hero he never wanted to be. He makes allusions because his life has become a story he's telling himself to stay sane. He's his own wry Dickensian narrator making asides to an imagined audience about dramatic irony and social commentary.

And an important part of his presentation to others before the war was painting himself as not sophisticated. Just a cowboy and then just a guy who plays a cowboy in the movies. He wants nothing to do with politics either in an interpersonal or broader sense, and disclaims any pretensions to being savvy despite being in a theoretically powerful position as a rich, well-connected major film star. I think he was genuinely naive, but I also think he often played dumb to avoid social conflict. He was complacent and his image helped him remain complacent. Obviously he was very willing to be confrontational when he saw wrong or injustice right in front of him (he goes after Bud Askins directly to his face about marines getting killed by shitty equipment, he challenges Moldaver when she calls him out), but pre-bombs he mostly uses his empathic perceptiveness and charisma to keep everyone around him happy.

In the wasteland we often see him doing the opposite and deliberately riling people up in order to gather information and assess or eliminate them as threats, but he's also only gotten better at disarming people when he wants to. As a handsome charming film star he pretended not to know anything, as a scary intimidating monster he pretends he knows everything.

What I'm wondering about as far as all this goes is whether Cooper always had a secret nerdy side and read all the classics as a teenager or perhaps while waiting between shots when he was working as a stuntman, or whether he wanted to fit in when he started to make it in Hollywood so tried to become cultured before realising that wasn't what anyone wanted from him. Or if he just spent 200 years alone and read anything he could find as a way to cling to his humanity. We know he was at least a bit intellectually curious before the war, because of his reading and retaining some article about studies on torture.

But YES, him quoting poetry and being so interested and insightful about Lucy, specifically is a huge part of how he's framed as a romantic figure. And he's already by far the most romantic figure in the show. If it were solely about his tragedy, you'd think they would emphasise the contrast between his pre-fallen and post-fallen state by stripping him of his heroic trappings, but they don't. He's actually more romantic post-'curse'.

It also gets me because he's an extremely smart, socially adept person who doesn't let others see him for who he really is both consciously and unconsciously on multiple levels and that layers of identity shit is my crack. He was a profoundly honest man who thought he was simple, but actually he was a glorious maze of contradiction and complexity waiting to happen who has now come into his own as a master manipulator.

#sorry I went off on a bit of a tangent there anon #fallout #cooper howard #but I too love that he won't stop doing this #solely for his own benefit #ghoulcy #season two we need Lucy to be unable to help herself but acknowledge one of his allusions and/or argue with him about a book #imagine if that's how they start talking lol #people have mined this a little in fic but it's such a deep well #the potential dialogue is simply incredible #Ben on the other hand is an out and proud lifelong nerd and academic #complete swot #there is no mystery on that front

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eekshade · 1 year ago

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Muse

Steve Rogers x m!reader

Word Count: 1605

Warnings/Info: pre-serum Steve, art school Steve, no pronouns used so could be read as a gn!reader, flustered Steve <3, reader goes through Steve’s sketchbook w/out permission but Steve’s okay with it (just embarrassed), was slightly inspired by that one scene in atsv

Steve was currently anxiously pacing around your apartment, looping through the kitchen to wrap around the couches in a large figure eight path. He was in a deranged panic as he ranted about his upcoming finals, not only were finals a stressful time in general but Steve was also in, according to him, the worst art block he’s ever been cursed with.

“Steve.” You try to gently call out to him for the second time, he (again) doesn’t seem to hear you because he continues to make his way to the kitchen in order to restart his pathway.

“Steven, just-,” you grab his shoulders as he walks by where you were standing; forcing him to look at you, “stop for a second.” It came out a bit harsher than you meant but at the very least he was finally still.

“What?” He says, his voice a fine mix between annoyance and embarrassment, as he attempts to shrug off your hands, a blush dancing across his cheeks. You pull your hands back and mutter an apology.

“Instead of storming around, how about we sit down and take this step by step.” You offer and he quickly walks to the main couch while nodding softly, mostly to himself.

You sit down next to him, placing a hand on his knee, ”How much time do you have before it's due?” You ask in a tone one would take when talking to a crying child, soft and quiet; almost a whisper.

“Around three weeks.” He sighs, scooting closer to you (silently praying you won’t notice).

“Alright…” You break eye contact in favor of looking around the surfaces of the furniture, “That’s enough time, I believe.” You stand having found what you were looking for.

“Here’s the plan, let's try and get you some motivation before anything.” You grab his sketchbook off of the small dining table that sat across the room.

“What do you mean?” He asks cautiously, watching the way your hands grip the book when you walk back over to him.

“I think you should start with something you find easy, to lull yourself back into it.” You sit beside him once again, closer than before, “What do you find easy to draw?”

“I don’t really know…” He laughs sadly, “Everything sounds too hard right now.”

“That’s fine, we could just flip through and see what you draw the most.” You smile at him, causing his heart to melt; distracting him from what you had just said.

“Wait, god no, birds!” He yelped the second he processed what you had just said, “I could draw birds.” He tried to reason, but it was a moment too late.

You opened the book to a random page only to be met with a portrait of you cooking a stew for him while in his kitchen, presumably from when he was sick. He nervously watched your face, the fear of you hurting him (emotionally and/or physically) left as fast as it came, once he saw the small smile that was etched on your face as you gently traced your fingers along his pencil strokes.

You turned to look at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, but any plan on saying something was abruptly taken from you at the sight of him, his face was mere inches from yours, biting his lower lip rather harshly, blush burned onto his cheeks, already staring at you. You try not to linger on the butterflies going on a mini rampage in your stomach, you quickly turn back to the sketchbook and flip the page. The next page only makes you smile more, it shows you again on both pages, this time you seem to be from his memory.

The page is flipped again to show you and Bucky laughing while playing cards with his sisters, you flip the page once more to reveal you reading with a dog laying on your legs. Laughing under your breath; the realization finally hitting you. You go to try and flip the page one more time, you wore a knowing smirk, that only grew when Steve snatched the book from your lap. You look at him but he won’t look back at you, his eyes glued to the sketchbook that sat on his lap, you laugh at his bashful demeanor.

“I’m sorry, this is weird - you just - sorry.” He fumbles over his words, after a small moment of consideration he leans forward and shoves the book into his bag, which sat on top of the coffee table.

“Wait Steve, it's okay.” You softly take his hands into your own, gently dragging him back down to where he was before.

He looks at you sadly, “God, I really am sorry.” You look at him with pure admiration and slight pity for making him so panicked.

“Please don’t look at me like that.” He whines, he breathlessly looks down at your lips for a second so brief you almost missed it.

“Like what?” You ask, eyes drilling into his.

“Like it's okay.” He whispers.

“It is.” You smile at him, “You're an artist, I can’t get mad at you for making art.” Your voice gets louder (although you're still not talking at full volume) and you lean back an inch or two at most and let go of his hands; trying to make sure you aren’t misreading the situation.

You laugh and run a hand through your hair, trying to make him comfortable again, “So, what, do you want me to pose?” You laugh at your own joke, which causes him to laugh along with you.

“Alright so, what’s it really about though?” You ask calmly while fidgeting with your hands not knowing where to put them.

He quickly stops laughing and gets flustered - not nearly as much as before, “Oh well y'know, it's kind of hard to explain without sounding like a creep.” He averts his eyes from you.

“I give you my permission to sound like a creep.” You smirk at his eye roll.

“That means so much, thank you.” He replied sarcastically, finally meeting your eyes.

“Anytime, Rogers.” You say with a wink, you notice he blushes a bit at that. “Well, go ahead.”

“You really wanna know?” He appears to have gotten more comfortable with the conversation.

“Yes! Of course I do.” You exclaimed exasperated.

“Okay - well, I think you have a good…like body.” He sounds unsure, he pauses for a few seconds to think, you open your mouth to make a joke but he cuts you off, “No, wait! Just please let me finish before you say anything, okay?” You nod.

He takes a deep breath, “You’re like my muse, I don’t think I’m using that right.” He laughs, “I mean, before I do an actual piece I need to warm up, and in order to do that, I typically draw you and sometimes Bucky.” He seems to throw that last part in half-heartedly.

“I think it's because I’m around you so much, it's just easy to properly capture you, you and Bucky.” He added.

You stare at him quietly with a smug smile.

“I’m done. Please say something.” He whines out nervously.

You lean forward, your foreheads now touching, “And Bucky?”

“Yeah, of course, you just ended up on a bad few pages is all.” He defends himself very quietly, you smile at the attempt.

His eyes keep flickering between your eyes, lips, and hands, not bothering to hide it anymore. “Steve,” you say, making his eyes stop moving for a moment to keep them on yours. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?” He whispers so quietly you almost miss it.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask breathlessly.

“Yes, god, please.” He quietly whimpered.

You grab his jaw and finally push your lips against his, you bring one of your hands to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging, this pulls out a soft moan from him, your teeth clashing together. It’s a bit of a mess but neither of you care. He whines as you pull away from him to catch your breath, you look at him as he sits beside you; lips red and wet, soft pants coming out from behind them, eyes glossed over, cheeks dusted pink. He looks back at you, with an almost sad look on his beautiful face.

“Are you okay?” You rest your forehead on his once again.

“No.” He admits, “I don’t think I am.”

“Why?” You look down and take his hands into yours, playing with his fingers slightly, before locking them together.

“Because I don’t know what this means.” He sighs and his eyes are glued onto your interlocked fingers.

“It can mean whatever you want.” You look into his eyes, “I’ll be right here with you.”

He smiles warmly at you while keeping those sad puppy dog eyes, he leans in and pecks your lips. It was short but long enough to feel his emotions vividly through it. He lets go of your hands and leans back, for a second you fear he didn’t mean it, but he then grabs his bag off the table and pulls the sketchbook and a pencil back out of it, then flipping to a new page.

He turns to you, “Is your pose offer still open?” He looks at you brightly.

“Of course it is.” You laugh and strike the most dramatic pose you could pull off.

“I love it.” He laughs warmly, he hesitates briefly before grabbing your limbs and face, posing you how he pleases. “You're perfect.” He mutters as he starts his rough draft.

| MARVEL MASTERLIST |

#steve rogers x m reader #male reader #steve rogers x male reader #40s steve rogers x male reader #captain america x male reader #mlm fanfic #marvel x male reader #pre serum steve #pre serum steve x male reader

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for-yoongi0309 · 5 months ago

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[NOTICE] Release Information for Jimin’s Second Solo Album, “MUSE”

We are excited to share details about the release of BTS member Jimin’s second solo album, “MUSE.” Following his first solo album, “FACE,” where he sought to explore his true identity, “MUSE” documents his journey in search of the source of his inspiration. Showcasing Jimin’s expanded musical spectrum, “MUSE” includes seven tracks, including the fan song “Closer Than This,” released in December 2023. We ask for your continued love and support for Jimin’s second solo album, “MUSE.”

Pre-Order Period: Starts 11 AM, Tuesday, June 18, 2024 (KST) Release Date and Time: 1 PM, Friday, July 19, 2024 (KST)

#ultkpopnetwork #mgroupsedit #idolsincedits #maleidolsedit #jimin #park jimin #bts #bangtan

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dreamerfms · 3 months ago

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[ … ] ❀ you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed { NOA BRAUNSTEIN } walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who { SHE } is? they kind of look like { ANTONIA GENTRY } and i could be wrong but i think that they might be { TWENTY-SEVEN } years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last { TWENTY-ONE YEARS }. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of { CHER HOROWITZ } from { CLUELESS }. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at { - } as a { MATCHMAKER }. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the { THE SHOPAHOLIC } of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumour has it they can pretty { MATERIALISTIC } at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty { SWEET } to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that { THREE ROOM } apartment beside me over in { CORAL COVE }. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you!

full name : noa yael braunstein birthplace : san francisco, california date of birth : 03 / 13 / 1997 parentage : solomon braunstein & talia foster braunstein ( adoptive ) sibling(s) : ronen braunstein ( adoptive brother ) + other adoptive sibling tba pets : two blue russian cats named coco & donatella occupation : founder and ceo of cupid's heartstrings, an multi-award winning matchmaking business relationship status : single gender identity : cis female ( she/her ) sexual orientation : heterosexual ( maybe, probably not idk how to write a fully str8 muse honestly ) faceclaim : antonia gentry.

BACKGROUND:

from the very beginning, noa’s family dynamic was quite different from the others. her parents met on tv through a dating show in the 90s and were lucky enough to find something that lasted. their romance was a whirlwind, and within a year they were looking into adoption. luck would have it, they'd end up with three babies instead of one.

going from a family of two to five is never easy, and the braunstein's didn't find the transition any easier. they tried their best to split the work, but naturally some dynamics felt stronger than most.

so, it's no surprise when noa is bonded to their dad. she'd sit with him often, watch him work, ramble about all of her big future plans. he'd later be the one she credits for her strong business mind, and for encouraging her to reach for every goal, even if they sound unrealistic to others.

noa never took full notice of how distant she was from her mother until her pre-teen years, a time when a girl needs her mother most. but every interaction felt like she was burdening her mother with questions, almost like she didn't care much for her daughter at all despite the clear love they held for one another. noa simply put it down to the fact that they were two very different people with very different interests, and instead would cling to her father, who had no issue handing over his credit card in order to cheer her up, and who seemed to find her over the top ideas for future ventures endearing rather than unrealistic.

at the age of six, their dad got a new job and the family relocated to florida. it came with more money, and the family was already pretty well off.

at this point, the siblings were inseparable. the definition of frenemies. they'd fight and fight, but ten minutes later would be snuggled up on the couch watching tv. if someone were to pick on ronen, noa would say something and vice versa.

noa thrived in high school, popular and pretty, and keeping her grades afloat despite often being deemed as an airhead with one too many distractions. but home life was strained, clear tension between she and her brother and the bonds with their parents, and by this point every interaction with her mother would end in upset or annoyance.

leaving for college was a breath of fresh air, eyes opened to other ways of life and learning to stand on her own two feet. majoring in business while her minor was fashion. but it wasn't too long before she began to feel the ache of missing the person who knew her best, her brother.

the summer before their junior year, they're able to have a conversation about their parents and all their feelings. it's too late to get her to chicago for the fall semester, but they do all they can and can successfully get her there for the spring.

once they graduated, they actually wanted to come back to florida. chicago was fun and nice, but damn, it was cold. and noa had greatly missed her father and wanted to attempt building bridges with her mother, still to not much avail. some people are simply meant to love each other without actually enjoying one another's solo company.

noa would spend a few years interning for some fashion brands before deciding that she wanted to work for herself, took the risk of setting up her childhood dream of finding peoples perfect match. soon her business was booming, and she still found the time to show off her fashion sense online, building up a following in all aspects of social media.

however, her own love life isn't where she would like it to be. parents setting a high standard of how love is supposed to be that she's found herself very particular. due to this she's been intimate with only two people, both of whom she had great feelings for.

random bits : loves to scrapbook and make vision boards, will use any excuse to go on a shopping spree or have a pamper night, owns way too many pairs of shoes and definitely starts getting ready hours before she has to be somewhere, with multiple outfit changes. has a very strict no kissing until the third date rules. more tba.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

a best friend, someone who not only indulges all her ideas but partakes. lots of pamper nights with wine too, and fashion shows galore ( the real kind and also the at home kind too )

first time/high school sweetheart, maybe they even tried to make it work when college rolled around but it was difficult to keep up with.

a more recent ex. perhaps it was a bit of a whirlwind and only lasted a year, maybe two. we can play around with why it ended.

a will they/won't they with someone so opposite/far from what she thinks she wants, yet behind the constant bickering there is clearly a spark.

a frenemy, they like each other but there's definitely some tension there.

clients.

that's all i've got for now ... but so much more.

#palmviewintro #noa.#also big credit to sunny bc she wrote 99% of this ... <3

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moonpetrichors-blog · 2 years ago

Text

Mutual Pining w AOT Boys

Tags: Headcanons, Eren x Reader, Jean x Reader, Armin x Reader, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Dumbasses in Love, Angry Love Confession, Pre Season 4 (Because I Miss Their Innocent Selves)

Warnings: None

Characters: Eren, Jean, Armin

How Eren, Jean, and Armin would act when they’re crushing on you, and how they react to discovering you like them too.

* ˚ ✦ Read below the cut

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [22/12/22] ❞

Eren

I think Eren would be the type of person to brush off his feelings for you at first.

He has a goal of killing all titans, and most of the time he’s just frustrated or angry because he wants to be able to achieve this.

Where would he have the time for love in his life?

Initially, he confused his feelings towards you as irritation. Why were there always butterflies in his stomach when you were near, or why would his palms get sweaty when you’d touch his shoulder?

Eren computed this emotion of ‘romantic attraction’ as hatred.

Hate and love were always two sides of the same coin.

Which, honestly, just makes him more angry, because he can’t control his behavior around you.

He’ll stutter or slip around you, which causes him to blush like the goofy idiot he is. In turn, his flustered expression causes the blush on his cheeks to deepen as he becomes increasingly annoyed about why he can’t be normal around you.

You always found him cool and endearing, despite him (constantly) yelling.

He had his own charm I guess?

After Eren accepted that maybe his feelings towards you weren’t about irritation, he would train to sweat out his feelings.

He honestly wasn’t sure if you were into him, which kind of made his heart ache because he wouldn’t be able to have you.

So, he puts his attention on getting better at combat, ODM gear, or whatever.

Eren has zero clue you like him back.

At first you thought he wasn’t that into you, but you noticed that every time he’d leave after talking to you, the tips of his ears would be tinged pink.

He doesn’t pick up on any of your hints, since his mind is usually going a mile a minute during his interactions with you.

So, the way he becomes aware of your feelings is when you have to force the situation to make his feelings come out.

On purpose, you made him agitated.

You two were in the middle of an argument, and accidentally, he let it slip that he does this and that because he likes you.

Ensue silence.

Now Eren is sweating, because he didn’t mean to blurt that out, but it was part of your plan.

His mind couldn’t process the fact that you had just jumped into his arms and pulled him into a searing kiss.

“I like you too.”

… … … … … . . ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ,, ⌲˘͈ᵕ˘͈

Jean

The minute he saw you, Jean knew you were his dream girl.

He doesn’t shy away from his feelings for you; in fact, he’ll try and be as smug and flirty as possible every chance he gets.

But the thing is, even when you give back the same energy, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t.

Are you flirting back as a joke? In a playful, best friend way?

Or, is there something deeper hidden behind your words?

Jean really can’t figure it out, and it drives him insane.

And neither can you.

He loves to just observe you in the dining area.

He thinks that you always look so serene and pretty, no matter where you are.

When he has the chance to, he’ll sneak away and draw sketches of you in his mini notepad from what he observed.

You’re kind of like his muse?

His notepad is something he keeps extremely protected; lest someone find it, he’s done for.

He’s written incredibly embarrassing entries about you in it too.

Jean will also go out of his way to do things for you in order for you to notice him.

When Captain Levi puts you on cleaning duty, he’ll always be there to lend an extra hand so you get your chores done faster.

You think that this is extremely sweet of him, and you’ll try to do the same thing for him in return.

You’re both honestly stupid because everyone around you can sense something between you, except for you two.

Jean doesn’t really know how to express his feelings in a genuine way without making a joke or comment about it.

But don’t be offended by this!

He’s just using humor to cover up his vulnerability.

On one specific day, you were walking back to Jean’s dorm after combat training, just talking about what you did.

Jean leaves for a moment to go do something.

Remember how I just said he uses humor to cover up his vulnerability?

Yeah. You learn this the hard way when you find his notepad peeking out of a raised floorboard.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you were pleasantly surprised to find that it was filled with sketches of you, and entries about how beautiful you are and how badly he wishes he could make you his.

Soon enough you’re bawling.

Jean runs back to see what’s happening, because why are you crying?

Then, he sees the notepad in his hands, and he turns into stone.

You hug him and cry into his shirt about how you really like him too.

All he can do is make a goofy, sarcastic comment about it, but secretly knows his heart is about to explode from joy.

… … … … … . . ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ,, ⌲˘͈ᵕ˘͈

Armin

Armin is easily the one on this list who recognizes his feelings for you first, and takes it the best.

However, he’s really shy and nervous in general, so that get’s doubled when he’s around you.

Although Armin accepts the fact that he has a crush on you and wants to be yours, he’ll try and ignore you when he can.

Of course he’ll be cordial and polite in your interactions, but if he can help it, he’ll slip away somewhere so you don’t see him.

Mans is a bit of an overthinker so he’ll be laying in his dorm room at night, staring up at the ceiling, thinking of everything he could have said or done differently that day.

Armin isn’t confident in himself at all about your feelings towards him.

He’s a smart dude and can pick up social cues very well, but with you, it’s like nothing is there at all?

Where is the telltale tension?

Unfortunately for Armin, you’re very good at hiding your feelings.

Because just like him, you don’t know if he likes you back, and you wouldn’t be able to handle that rejection if he doesn’t.

Coupled with the fact that you’re also a bit of a shy overthinker yourself, it’s hard to flirt with Armin.

The only reason why you two would ever find out that you like each other is because your friends had to force it out of you both.

Kind of like Jean, it seems like everybody but you two can sense there’s something going on.

The only difference is, the both of you have literally told everyone and their mother about your crushes except to each other.

So like... 💀

Eren and Mikasa shoved you guys in a room together and forced you to talk.

You were stubborn at first, but eventually broke the ice.

When Armin finds out you like him back, he is ecstatic!

Don’t be fooled though. He’s still kind of shy and reserved.

You kiss his cheek, and he flushes bright red.

Okay, you flush bright red too.

Maybe reaching first base is gonna have to wait?

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faejilly · 1 year ago

Note

hello!! absolutely adore your writing <3 no worries at all it not, but may i request an alternate pre-series meeting in canon / canon-adjacent where valentine is actually dead? always very curious about how malec’s relationship might change if they met and started dating Not in the middle of a really intense war lmao, so i thought maybe their first meeting would be a good starting point? but don’t sweat it if this doesn’t strike the fic muse <33

asdfjklgh thank you! so this MORE THAN struck the fic muse, but I got distracted by a tangent as to how it all Got Very Different™️and have not actually introduced Malec to each other as of yet but if you'd like some Magnus going what the fuck? at the Clave actually being competent this will hopefully be entertaining. AND ISTG I will get to Malec meeting! Eventually?

A familiar flare lit up his apothecary, and Magnus reached out to catch the fire message. The flames sparked brighter, and he blinked away the after-images as something heavier than he'd expected solidified between his fingers.

A single sheet of paper, cleverly folded up to resemble an envelope and keep the message inside; there was the unfortunately familiar black curl of a rune along the edges.

Magnus grimaced.

It was probably some horrifying form letter designed to intimidate him into something that was not remotely his problem, but he was going to have to clean up regardless. Shadowhunters didn't request things, they ordered, and brow-beat, and the only reason they got away with it was because they treated everyone equally terribly, including themselves, and to be quite fair to their militaristic grand-standing, the world was continuing to not be overrun by demons, so it seemed to be working for them.

Even Valentine hadn’t made much of a dent in their self-righteous arrogance. The Lightwoods hadn’t lost possession of the Institute they’d killed to get, buying clemency with their children, from what he’d heard, which was even worse than typical nephilim parenting. Despicable, ev–

He blinked. That wasn't the New York Institute's watermark, it was the Inquisitor's.

He tilted it to let the light from the windows spill across it, but that was very clearly the silhouette of a Demon Tower behind two crossed blades, not the broken stone the Clave had required the New York Institute to use after the Uprising to signify its failure to uphold their so-called sacred duties.

He huffed out a breath in not quite a sigh, and felt a frown starting to form between his brows. It was easier to deal with Inquisitor Herondale and her people than the Lightwoods. (She at least hated Valentine as much as the downworld.) But that didn't mean a formal letter was likely to be a good thing. Whatever had happened in the aftermath of Valentine's attempted coup had been kept very quiet behind Alicante's borders, and everything the downworld got to see had returned to business-as-usual.

He rolled his eyes, because nephilim, but ignoring one of their summons made them even more petty and obnoxious, so he turned it over to unfold.

And stopped again upon seeing how it was addressed.

High Warlock of Brooklyn Senior Scholar of the Spiral Labyrinth Ambassador of the Accords The Right Hon. Magnus Bane

They'd used a fountain pen and written in proper uncial calligraphy and if he hadn't known that the magic for fire messages didn't work on animal skin, he might have thought they'd used actual parchment rather than what must instead be a very high quality paper stock.

"Huh." He peered down at the letters, trying to think if he'd ever seen a nephilim address a notice to a downworlder in the same formal terms they used amongst themselves. And then almost dropped the whole damn thing when he realized that the initials scribbled across the fold in lieu of the wax seal that would have prevented the fire message from activating properly were IWH. And in the exact same calligraphy as the address.

"What the fuck." He spoke aloud, louder than he'd expected or intended, almost loud enough to startle himself even as he flung the whole thing out and away.

He watched as it fell to the floor, and he stared at it.

It still just looked like paper.

It had to just be paper, the rune to send it wouldn't have worked otherwise, but High Inquisitor Imogen Whitelaw Herondale had written on that with her own hand and sent it to Magnus as if he was an equal and what in all seven hells was that about?

He stepped sideways, unable to convince himself to look away from those initials even as his fingers scrabbled across his desk in search of normal paper and pen to send a message of his own.

Ragnor, could you please indulge me with your thoughts for a moment?

He'd half expected he wouldn't get an answer, not even another fire message or a call on the phone in the other room; Ragnor had been even more of a hermit than usual since the Uprising. (Not that Magnus could fault him for that. If he wasn't a High Warlock he probably would have disappeared into the countryside somewhere as well.) But instead he felt the familiar press of Ragnor's magic against his wards as a portal opened almost immediately in the foyer.

"Apothecary!" Magnus called out, still staring at the paper on his floor.

He heard footsteps, felt Ragnor's magic approach, could even see the shadow stretching towards him when Ragnor paused in the doorway. "Ah, you got it too?"

That finally made Magnus blink, the hold of the strange message broken. He turned his head and lifted his eyebrows.

Ragnor shook his head. "I think you need to experience it for yourself."

Magnus snorted, but stepped forward, picked up the paper, and this time he unfolded it and began to read.

And then read it again.

And again, even as Ragnor came to stand beside him.

"What the fuck," he repeated.

Ragnor grunted, apparently not having any more idea than he did.

"Do you think it's real?" Magnus asked, and he could hear the almost plaintive whisper of something he couldn't pretend wasn't hope in his own voice.

"Only one way to find out." Ragnor's voice was dry, but gentle. There was hope hiding in his voice, too. "Shall we?"

It seemed real the next evening.

They arrived in front of the New York Institute to find Theo and Gretel from the closest Werewolf pack already there. A pair of fae nobles Magnus didn't recognize, both in full Court regalia, one Seelie and the other Unseelie, arrived a few minutes later, just after the last lingering blush of daylight faded, escorting Raphael and Lily who were here for their Clan.

Magnus almost asked if any of them knew what the fuck was really going on, but did in fact retain his composure and instead just lifted his chin to wait. (He had to admit, even if just to himself, that he was glad Camille was off somewhere being Camille rather than here in New York to represent the vampires and make this whole situation even more uncomfortable.)

They didn't wait long.

The double doors to the Cathedral swung wide open, rather than the main entrance that led to the central hub of the Institute and the Heads' Office. The High Inquisitor herself stepped out, and fucking bowed to them, and Magnus made a small noise of disbelief that he would deny to his dying day if anyone ever asked. (He didn't think anyone would, however, as he had not been the only one. In fact he was pretty sure the only one who hadn't betrayed their surprise was Ragnor, though the fae had managed no more than a slight shift in posture or positioning.)

"We have set up precautions so all may enter." Herondale paused, and tilted her chin towards Ragnor and Magnus. "I understand if you wish to verify before anyone tests my word?"

Magnus stared at her. She'd just admitted that they had no reason to believe her. She'd admitted it out loud and didn't even sound upset about it.

Ragnor bumped his elbow, and Magnus tucked it all back behind his High Warlock mask. He nodded back as formally as he could manage before lifting his arms and letting his magical senses expand.

There was something inside that was still warded enough to prevent him from being able to tell what it was, but its power was passive rather than active, so it wouldn't be able to be turned against them without warning.

There was also an echo of banked power that felt suspiciously like Silent Brother -and- Iron Sister -and- Soul Sword which was a thing the letter had mentioned but he hadn't been sure he'd believed; (especially that it was only there for Herondale to swear on rather than to be used against the rest of them, somehow). Beyond either of those, it was also very clear the resonance from the Angelic Core had been banked, somehow, the blessing to make the ground hallowed had been covered and muted, and it was entirely safe for any downworlder to enter, regardless of age or power level or wards.

He couldn't quite resist a glance at Ragnor, whose expression indicated he was right there with Magnus and his inexplicable conclusion. Ragnor managed to imply a shrug with the shift of his eyes, and Magnus turned to their fellow downworlders. "She's correct, the building is completely safe for us to enter."

He refrained from suggesting that the nephilim in the building were trustworthy, as they'd all already decided to take that risk when they'd shown up in response to Herondale's summons.

He supposed the fae might not have decided so much as been ordered, but regardless. They were already here. And it was time to see if the rest of it was true.

The rows of pews were nearly full of nephilim in mourning white, more than Magnus suspected usually served in New York, all of them eerily silent, heads politely bowed just enough to lessen the weight of their attention on the entering downworlders.

Behind the chancel, in the raised choir stands, there were additionally about a half-a-dozen black-clad guards, an Iron Sister in gleaming white, a Silent Brother in his bone-dull robe, and the Soul Sword itself, the ruby glinting in its hilt.

To the left of the altar were half-a-dozen nephilim children roughly equivalent to elementary school aged Mundanes, only one of whom had the steady glow to Magnus' senses of a runed Shadowhunter rather than the flickering eldritch taste of angelic potential that the young ones carried before they received their first Mark.

Except for one small red-head just under ten who was familiarly blank, and he realized that the Inquisitor must have found the Fairchilds because that was young Clarissa, still under the power of the wards her mother had paid him to build for her.

He hoped Dorothea was safe, wherever she was. He hadn't felt her magic break, so at least he was reasonably sure she was still alive.

He swallowed, let his gaze skip over the draped stand centered on the aisle in front of him, and focused instead on the dozen adults opposite the children, each with a visibly red Circle on their neck, their shoulders all stiff in the distinctive posture of prisoners whose hands were chained behind their backs. Some of them he didn't know at all, a few were only vaguely familiar, but then there was Jocelyn herself, and Starkweather, and both Lightwoods, and someone who looked eerily similar to the Consul himself.

There was one man beside the rest with his hands cuffed in front of him instead of behind, his Circle rune dark and quiescent rather than inflamed, a Chinese Shadowhunter standing next to him, close enough the white of her sleeves brushed against his arm, with neither a Circle rune nor any restraints on her at all.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice." Herondale spoke up after giving them all a moment to look around, and without another word she turned her back to eight potentially hostile downworlders and knelt before the Sword.

The Silent Brother lifted his hands, the pressure of his attention clear even when he didn't say anything. The Iron Sister lifted the sword, balancing it gracefully in such a way that it tilted gently down from her grip until the tip almost rested on Herondale's forehead. The ruby glowed, and the flare of angelic power was strong enough to sizzle against Magnus' skin. Carried along with the magic was the Silent Brother's intent, and the Inquisitor's voice filled the Cathedral, both inside and outside his head, resonating in his bones and his blood.

"The traitor Valentine Morgenstern has been killed, and the only surviving nephilim members of his Circle are here to face their final sentencing, as witnessed by the Downworld Leaders of New York City, in this the soul of the New York Institute, a place most wounded by his actions. This truth I swear, upon the Angel Raziel and His Mortal and Immortal Instruments, as High Inquisitor of Alicante and Idris, Commander of the Gard, Elder of the Clave and Council, Head of the Herondale Family, Blooded Shadowhunter and Mother of Soldiers, Lady Imogen Whitelaw Herondale."

Magnus swallowed, ignoring the burn in his eyes and the faint taste of copper down his throat.

The Soul Sword compelled the truth from the nephilim, but all it required when they swore upon it was that they believed in whatever truth they spoke.

This ritual was something else entirely. The balance of the magic he'd just witnessed, a trio of complementary powers braided together, Brother and Sister and relic, knowledge and skill and power, secrets and vows and faith, with each separate piece enhancing the other two, meant that Herondale couldn't have sworn on something that was untrue at any level, even if she'd personally believed it all the way down to her bones.

"Well, fuck me."

Magnus snorted, barely stopping himself from giggling (possibly slightly hysterically) at Ragnor's sotto voce reaction. Not that he'd been thinking anything any more eloquent.

It was real.

The rest of the meeting was less dramatic. Even whipping the cover off the stand in the middle to reveal Valentine’s head encased in silver-edged glass had been less shocking. (Well, to the warlocks and fae, at least. Vampires and werewolves weren’t quite as able to feel the way the ritual had invoked truth magic against the nephilim, so being able to examine (and presumably scent) proof that Valentine was dead was a bigger deal for them.)

The former Circle members were all going to be deruned, exiled, and imprisoned, each alone at a different Institute so they couldn’t work together and their status could be verified by downworlders whenever they wished, unlike traditional prisoners kept in Alicante at the Gard.

There were two exceptions. One: Lucian Graymark, now Luke Garroway, was a werewolf, and the nephilim abdicated their authority and explicitly left his punishment up to the downworld itself. Second: the man who’d been standing slightly separate from the other prisoners, Patrick Penhallow, who had avoided participating in any of the Circle’s true atrocities and was the one who had discovered Valentine was alive and hiding with the presumed dead Herondale heir and promptly informed Imogen personally. He was still to be exiled from the Clave and Council for punishment, but would be allowed to continue as a Shadowhunter and would, in fact, be staying in New York City where he would be an official liaison to the downworld.

But only if the downworld representatives summoned agreed.

Magnus wasn’t complete sure which part of that was supposed to be mercy and which part was punishment, but he was surprised enough at the validation offered to himself and the other representatives that he did, in fact, agree to it along with everyone else.

That wasn’t even the last surprise though.

No, it got better.

Worse?

Magnus wasn’t sure anymore. He was going to tell Catarina about this and she wasn’t going to believe a single damn word he said.

Instead of re-opening their Academy in Alicante, the nephilim were going to train their children at the Institutes, and would include exposure to and lessons from former mundanes and current downworlders. The children there in the chapel for this meeting were the orphans of the Circle, whose parents were all formally being removed from their bloodlines, and this new generation would be raised in New York City.

Imogen Herondale herself was going to be acting as Head of the New York Institute with Jia Penhallow (Patrick’s wife, who had not ever been part of the Circle) as her Co-Head until such time as as the downworld agreed that the next generation of nephilim seemed sufficiently un-Circle-like and one of them could be appointed.

(That wasn’t, of course, how she’d said it, but it was clear enough.)

Magnus was mostly in shock and just nodding along at that point.

When she’d confirmed that the downworld was reasonably accepting of all of that, and had even told them how to contact Patrick directly with any questions or concerns, she slipped into something that looked like parade rest, and without a bit of warning that Magnus could recognize, the entire chapel-full of nephilim all stood at the same time, chanted “ante faciem Angelus” all together, and then they bowed, too. All of them, each with a hand over their heart, respect and responsibility and something that felt like an apology ringing through the air. From nephilim. To downworlders.

“Fiat justicia!” Herondale called out in response, and the nephilim filed back into their institute, and the black-clad guards very politely escorted the downworlders the other direction and shut the big fancy doors behind them, and Magnus was blinking at Ragnor in the street outside the Institute again.

“What the actual fuck.” Gretel broke the silence first.

Magnus started laughing, and nodded in agreement. That absolutely covered it.

The Clave had said they’d dealt with the Circle, and requested the downworld’s input, and claimed that things were going to be different this time, and it was all really, truly, completely, real.

#tangential tuesday #hopeswept #jilly writes #shadowhunters #magnus bane #fantasy politics and lore oh my!#I need a series tag but idk #wtf the clave is competent #lol #no beta we die like valentine #I should probably proofread this before I post it on ao3 but #not on ao3 #as of yet #so this is a problem for tomorrow!jilly #jilly answers

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azsazz · 4 months ago

Note

Hi!! Do you have a playlist for MM? I’ve noticed a lot of authors using them lately and just needed to know what songs make you think of this series! Congrats babes, I’ve already pre ordered it and plan to snag a paperback when it’s available! 🩵🩵

this is actually funny because i've. been posting lil snippets into Quinn and Knox's story on my insta and they each have specific playlists they listen to. I'm still working through a playlist for the full book, but just made a spotify for my author prof and hopefully these can be public without premium so someone lmk if they work plzz

Midnight Muse Official Playlist (currently empty, but working on it)

Quinn's Retaliation Anthems // Knox's Shit to Blast at 2am

I'll prob add more songs to these eventually haha.

#midnight muse #ask azsazz

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behind-the-screen-of-bangtan · 5 months ago

Text

MUSE

Release date : 19 July 2024

Official page

Announcement

Pre-order notice

Teaser

Promotion Schedule

Highlight medley

Recording Behind

Official YouTube playlist

Official Merch

Thanks to Eng translation

Jimin's second release after this first solo album FACE. Several parts of the concept reference the smeraldo flower, a fictional plant from the Bangtan Universe (BU)

Right before the announcement, a discussion channel was opened on the official BTS account on Instagram to tease it. It featured a picture of a music sheet titled "La Lettra", that ended up being "전하지 못한 진심" (the truth untold) (src #1, src #2, src #3) from the album Love Yourself 轉 Tear. As for the "You will always find the first letter" hint, it was implying to check the first letter of each circled word to get "Closer Than This", a track of the album released in December 2023. The last picture sent on the channel is of a handwritten letter (eng trans).

It seems Jimin worked on MUSE and FACE at the same time since in the documentary Jimin's Production Diary that followed Jimin during FACE conception, he has the same nails as in the MUSE teaser (see this Bangtan Bomb at 0:13, cr.). In addition, there was a handwritten letter in the documentary that was titled 전하지 못한 진심(The Truth Untold) (src).

People also pointed out that in his Festa letter, released just a few days before the announcement, Jimin promised to come back with a letter, possibly hinting at the "La Lettra" music sheet (src).

On the day of the album release, the BT21 account posted a cute video of Chimmy (the character created by Jimin) with a smeraldo flower.

The album comes in two versions : BLOOMING and SERENADE. There is also an exclusive Weverse version. On the BLOOMING ver. the ME letters are bigger while on the SERENADE ver. the US letters are.

Tracklist

The pre-release track and the main track titles were teased through a crossword poster on the Instagram channel (archive).

Rebirth (intro)

Interlude : showtime

Smeraldo Garden Marching Band (feat. Loco)

Slow Dance (feat. Sofia Carson)

Be Mine

Who

Closer Than This (see this post)

You can find all the lyrics and their translation on Bangtan Subs website, here.

Colin made a thread with his lyrics translations.

Mood Photo, concept photo & concept clips

Release date: 21-22 June, 6-7 July 2024

Mood Photo - BLOOMING ver. (BTS💜ARMY Weverse post)

Mood Photo - SERENADE Ver.

Concept Photo & Concept Clip - SERENADE ver.

Photo Sketch

Jacket Shoot Sketch

Melon exclusive photos (archive)

Outfit and accessories : belt (cr. BangtanStyling)

Smeraldo Garden Marching Band video

Release date: 28 June 2024

Lyrics

Teaser clip

Behind

Photo Sketch

Outfits & accessories: black suit

youtube

Jimin mentioned this title in the Jimin's Production Diary documentary (src). It's also mentioned in the Weverse magazine article "When you look into Jimin’s heart, this is what you find".

The concept is inspired by Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, an album from the Beatles (src).

Like in the choreo for "Permission to Dance", the dance here features some sign language that says "love" (src #1, src #2).

Who

Release date: 19 July 2024

Teaser

Photo Sketch

Shoot Sketch

Dance analysis by JiminUncut

youtube

The MV was filmed on the New York backlot street at Korda Studio, in Hungary (src).

The Truth Untold : 전하지 못한 진심' 전시 개최 안내

Held on: 11 October - 3 November 2024

Announcement

Promotion, articles, and interviews

Nylon: "Jimin shares a new photo to go with his sunny, just-released single - exclusive"

Weverse Magazine: "Producers for Jimin’s album MUSE Pdogg and GHSTLOOP: “In that sense, love becomes his muse”"

NME: "Jimin – ‘Muse’ review: in the mood for love"

'Who' @ The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon (teaser, Instagram post with pictures of the set, the performance was filmed at Suanbo Waikiki Hotel (src))

#Jimin #MUSE #Youtube

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tdcloud · 11 months ago

Text

"Like oil and water," Piper mused. "I wonder what that makes?"

My new novel INFAUST launches 5.1.24. This one's dark, desolate, and for those of us who know that things can always, always, ALWAYS get worse--those who think otherwise simply lack imagination.

Check below for full summary and pre-order information, and mark your calendars to join us on this launch!

Summary:

Rehan Nadir is a witch with a dead familiar, an outlier in his profession and an ill-omen to every village he passes through. Consigned to a life of vagrant witching, he travels the land in search of dangerous, undesirable jobs to get by, but when he hears tell of the town of Hamelin’s plight, he sees an opportunity in their loss, not the curse the notice boards speak of. Stories of a malicious entity, a chaos god, have tormented the village for hundreds of years, and like clockwork tragedy has struck once more: while the adults gathered elsewhere, the children were spirited away. No trace of them has been seen since, and as Rehan soon learns, the town is desperate to bring them back. Very desperate. Finding and returning the lost children would be just the thing to give Rehan a new chance at the life he lost after the death of his familiar, and if all it takes is killing a god of chaos, then he’s more than ready to take the plunge and open that door. Unfortunately, he just didn’t anticipate opening a few more in the midst of dealing the finishing blow.

Cover art will be done by the incomparable @ambisun! We'll be revealing it March 1st, so get hyped!

Pre-order the ebook: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CRX5M7TX

Signed copies and paperback pre-orders will open towards the end of January. Subscribe to my newsletter to be alerted as soon as they go live: https://www.tdcloudofficial.com/

#queer novel #horror #queer horror #indie author #witch #pied piper #fantasy #dark fairytale

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llamamamarisen92 · 3 months ago

Text

The Wolf and the Lion

Chapter 3 - A Bottle of Wine Between Bedfellows

Chapter 2 link:

https://www.tumblr.com/llamamamarisen92/760433510540541952/the-wolf-and-the-lion?source=share

Named Dark Urge

Pre-BG3 Dark Urge/Gortash Head Canon

Warning: dangerous amounts of sweet, sweet villainous tension.

Characters: Johim (Durge), Gortash

Word Count: 1,400ish

By: Jesh Llamas

Gortash watched from his window as Bhaal's rumored son continued to serenade the crowd, staring directly at him. Filled with a little disbelief that his plan had worked.

There were many who talked in hushed tones about the current ruler of Bhaal's cult. A menacing white dragon. Humorlessly stalking around the streets in dark robes. There wasn't much deviation in their descriptions of him. He sent his spies out for anything he could grasp onto. A lead of some sort.

It had been a hot afternoon the day one of his spies slipped him a discreet note. It had a name on it. An idol merchant that set up shop near Candulhallow's Tombstones. He changed out of his oil stained clothes. Donning the robes he designed himself. Patterns subtly denoting symbols of Bane. To the untrained eye it was simply a beautifully ornate piece of clothing. But it was a signal to those who worked with him in the shadows.

When he arrived at the idol merchant he noticed the man had two idols of interest. One matching the dragon he recognized through his men's descriptions. But the other looked like no one in the pantheon he recognized. He picked it up scanning the features of what appeared to be a handsome half-elf. When he asked the merchant what god it was the man looked around nervously.

"A young woman came lookin’ at my stock. She was displeased by my Bhaal statues and claimed to have some authority on the matter. Sayin’ the dragon was all wrong." He watched as Gortash examined the bronzed features. Rubies set in the eye sockets.

"I never imagined Bhaal to care much about looking good while he ordered his cultists to stick a dagger through someone's heart." He mused.

The man snickered. "It's not Bhaal. It's his son."

He watched the man carefully, taking his measure.

"His son you say?"

"Yeah, the lady told me that Bhaal's big strong leader is none other than his own son. Believe me when I say I was just as surprised as you are now when she described him. A dazzling lion sitting upon his father's throne. Crowned with long flamin' hair."

Gortash examined the idol a bit more closely. "There hasn't been talk of a Bhaalspawn rising up since the days of Sarovek."

Gortash wasn't even alive at that time. Roughly 120 years ago. Could Bhaal really have a new scion out to play?

"Thank you for the information. Did you happen to catch the name of the woman who gave you the information."

He shook his head.

"If you should happen to come through with more information I will have a heavy purse readied with your name on it." He paid the idol merchant for the graven image of Bhaal's son. "Oh, and do not impart this information on anyone else. This statue can be... a limited edition..." He handed the merchant a few more coins to ensure there was an understanding between them.

The merchant did indeed come through with more information. Visited again by an unidentifiable woman.

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

He motioned his chin at the grinning man depicted by the idol that now sat upon his shelf. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship but in truth it did not do him justice. He was a truly dazzling specimen of a man. The left side of his hair tucked behind an ear that indicated half-elven heritage.

A few weeks ago when he felt the knife pressed against his back he thought his life was forfeit. But he was exhilarated when he read the note that was slipped in his pocket.

Johim looked away as he finished his song. In no rush to move from his place. When he was finished he bowed before the crowd and walked to the cobbler's shop.

Gortash turned around. Waiting expectantly as the other man climbed the stairs to his small study. He entered, dropping the fiddle carelessly on the ground. Leisurely he ran his hand along Gortash's desk, walking until he was just inches from him. Gortash noted the hint of excitement in his lazily hooded expression.

He swallowed. The energy and power radiating off of Johim was incredible. Something he only felt when Bane showed up in his dreams. Promising him power beyond his wildest imagination. Instructing him to reach out to the temple in the first place.

Johim’s hand lifted to Gortash's chin, tilting his head up until he gazed into radiant amber eyes. He was a bit surprised that they were not red as the statue depicted.

"Don't you know it's dangerous to leave a lion hungry." His voice was rich like velvet. He spoke softly but he may as well be shouting for all the world to hear.

Gortash didn't move. Standing his ground so as to not be swept away by the hurricane. A small amount of relief settled in his stomach when Johim let go of his chin, the threat replaced by amusement. He watched carefully as the tall, lean muscled man sat in one of the chairs near a few shoes that he was working on for some rich patrons.

"Tell me, how does a cobbler come into such knowledge?" He picked up one of the shoes on the table. Examining the intricate swirls of purple.

Gortash sat in the chair next to Johim, plucking the shoe away from him and setting it down. "A cobbler that aspires to rise far above his station."

Johim leaned back, his arms crossed. Head tilted as he waited for Gortash to continue.

"You were born into power. Born with the divine blood of the gods. I was born into nothing. Lower than nothing." Bitterness twinged his voice.

"And yet, it seems you have risen to something."

"Yes. I took what life gave me and instead of waiting around for luck to strike I seized every small opportunity I could. Slowly collecting knowledge until I was able to climb higher upon the ladder of success."

"And you desire to climb higher I take it?"

Gortash's expression grew in intensity. Locking upon Johim's face. "Don't you?"

How many people fell victim to that carelessly casual expression. Drawn in by the salacious nature of his speech. Gortash watched carefully. Johim didn't give away much. But his expression shifted a bit. He had his full attention now.

"I am the ruler of Bhaal's temple. Born of his flesh and blood. What more could you offer me that I don't already have?"

"You may be born to a god, but you are not a god yourself." He got up to grab a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses. "If you were as content as you say you are you wouldn't have responded to my note." He poured out the liquid, extending one of the glasses to Johim. "If you truly had everything you desired you wouldn't be sitting here in my humble cobblers shop."

Johim took the wine and drank deeply.

"I have lived many lifetimes. When one lives many lifetimes, eventually one gets bored. Restless." Johim tapped his fingers on the desk. Something unreadable crossed his face.

Gortash took a deep breath, carefully weighing his words. "What if... we were our own masters. Gods of our own right."

He expected Johim to roll his eyes or scoff in disgust. But instead he watched as his mind worked through their conversation.

"What does a mortal human know of becoming a god?"

"You know as much as I do, that it's been accomplished before. Plenty of gods in our current pantheon started out as mere mortals. Your father included." He poured more wine into Johim's now empty cup. "And gods have been removed from that pantheon, usurped. Just as Mighty Karsus attempted when he momentarily replaced Mystril. Only I don't intend on being struck from the sky."

Johim smirked. "Neither did Karsus."

He watched as Johim got up and began to pace in his unhurried way, chuckling a bit to himself as he caught sight of the idol on Gortash's shelf. After a time of silence he looked back at Gortash. That bright wild smile returned to his face.

"I hope you have more than one bottle of wine. Because we have a lot to discuss tonight."

#bg3 #durge #dark urge #gortash x durge #gortash #head canon #bg3 headcanon #fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #villianous sexy tension #just two men who might kiss in the future #plotting

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