#Pride Junkie

[bruceoutridgeproductions]

Caricaturing Amanda and Dan’s Hamilton Wedding

[melljam]

oh my god the unimpressed stare that shingen and gitae give when an opponent tries to attack them with something that fails miserably

shingen’s depressed little glance down at the blade that has just pathetically embedded itself into his skin as if that even does anything because his bones are genuinely impenetrable since he is quite literally built different

gitae’s mildly annoyed side eye at the officers for daring to believe that tasing him would work when they should have somehow known that he’s also just built different and would not even be stopped from committing axe murder if lightning struck him ten times over

ALSO these two are the type that gets excited over something/someone that can actually threaten their lives because of how used to being The Strongest™ they are

its such a shounen villain problem to have. sigh, another entirely boring and unfulfilling day of being the Strongest Guy Ever. when will someone who can actually contend with me come along to usurp my position as The Strongest™ :(

and shingen has experienced That with gap … now he longs for it again because he’s 1. depressed that he lost and 2. depressed that no one else can measure up to gap

their fight truly was the most important part of shingen’s life … unlike the birth of his many sons (or the very existence of one gun), which comparatively means Nothing to shingen

and gitae??? well, it could be argued that he might have just been annoyed at the officers for interrupting his fight, but that also means that he was enjoying his fight with jichang at least a little

but not in the same sense that shingen enjoyed his fight with gap. it was more like gitae was toying with jichang, and he found it amusing because of how easy it was

he’s so strong that he doesn’t even have to try with the strongest king. gitae can just mess with the poor guy until he decides to put him out of his weak misery when it stops being fun (which was when jichang rejected his offer to be his very own Smart Guy and it seemed to hurt gitae’s ego lol)

and after cop interruption, making jichang promise to let gitae be the one to kill him later on??? such a hilariously emasculating thing to do, like, we already know who’s winning our fight and it’s me so don’t even bother trying. just reserve yourself to die by my hand later, kthxbye <3

(jichang would not be able to uphold that promise, so i guess he was able to defy gitae in another way of his own …?)

or gitae’s teased fight with sinu. sinu went all out because he wasn’t taking any chances with another threat to big deal’s existence, and gitae got DISTRACTED in the middle of it. like, yeah your speed is cool and all but is that my dead father? oh, wait no! it’s my half-brother!

both jichang and sinu gave it their all to fight against someone who threatened themselves and their people, and gitae easily brushed them off but gave them an A for Effort !!!

shingen and gitae* must be somewhat bored with fighting when there are so few opponents that could actually compare to them in terms of strength. winning so easily almost makes it a menial chore for them. its the epitome of suffering from success lol

*it applies more to shingen than gitae though, gitae seems like he has the time of his life effortlessly messing around with weaker opponents, a predator playing with its prey

are they seeking something exciting, to flirt with the adrenaline rush of death because the safety of life has just gotten too dull for them?

to bring it back to the original point of the post: the ease of fighting must make the activity so underwhelming now. it becomes disappointing enough to produce such unconcerned expressions to injuries/attacks that would threaten an average person’s life

[mysticalmindshop1]

🚌🦭🔵

[virginreprise]

okay i found you today after someone reblogged junky pride and holy motherfucking shit you are a brilliant writer of both plot and smut... there are a lot of incredible authors in this fandom but for real i am truly blown away! your style is really distinct and captivating and i hope this series gets more attention as it circulates on here because the people need to become acquainted with trailer park joel ffs! oyur note after pt 2 about a tentative depressing ending already hurts too much and i want to refute it lmao. i hope that changes but i do get how that hurt is really interesting in fiction. i fear i will not recover though, my benevolent author. i am on the edge of my seat and i look forward to all future parts - truly truly not in the weird pressure-y way because i'm just happy to have come across this at all and excited to re-read. p.s. not to be super dramatic but i am morbidly curious if you write for your job or if you study english or writing because i'm like "this bitch (affectionately ofc) is a fucking poet!!!!!!"

i am done being a crazy bitch on main but thank you for sharing your work, for real.

i was just about to go to bed but I caught this in my inbox and no joke, it made me cry 😭 this is the sweetest ask I've ever received!!

complimenting my style is truly one of the highest honours. a lot of the time, (and I'm sure many writers can relate) i get awfully insecure about the way i write - feeling it comes across as messy or too diverted from the main idea so to hear something like this is really special to me. also yeah...depressing endings. they've kinda been my brand over my writing journey lmao. idk i get wrapped up in the melancholia and find it so much more interesting to write than simple fluff, although i do love that too.

howeverrrrr, i do want to continue with junky pride, if only slowly. deadlines stress me out so I never want to promise anything and then not act on it. i constantly have unfinished works in my google docs so i wanted to kinda leave part two of junky pride with somewhat of a conclusion. again, for my own peace of mind i won't tell you for sure that i'll get part three out but we'll see where it goes!!

also, i wish i wrote for my job lol. i don't study creative writing which is my true passion but I do study english literature, and i've read a lot of books in my time. also lots of fanfiction. there were two arthur morgan fics i read a year ago that i hold very dear to my heart and have been a major source of inspiration for transforming my writing from something simplistic to something much more well-rounded and substantial. i've also been writing fanfiction on and off for about two years now, so i've had a lot of practice!!

either way, i thank you again. you really made my night, anon!! tbh, seeing lots of my fave blogs like and reblog junky pride (and indebted to you which I think has gained me more traction on this app lmao) has truly made me so happy!! i can't describe how appreciative i am towards anyone who liked, or even just read my work ♡

[transpornpays]

Our first Trans artist La Femme Nikita 🔥🔥

[fearwasalwaysanoption]

Breaking Balls

[blusheedane]

🌈Rainbow makeup!🌈

[souljahwwitch]

and now you closin’ the door because you don’t want me coming in

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ hc’s about having an argument with best friend! thanos

(no squid game in this!)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ the fight, stupidly enough, started because you were mad at him for doing too much drugs—you two were little junkies, for sure—but he went too far with it all.

“y’know you’re gonna die if you continue fucking around like this, it isn’t some joke—just because you have the money doesn’t mean you have to do all this stupid stuff-“ you yelled as he looked up at you, his pupils blown, smirk wide—it scared you and annoyed you ro no end

“says the girl who can’t sleep or eat without smoking, please—sweetheart we are the same.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ the fight basically evolved from there—who is he to talk to you like that when you wanted to help him?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ but he didn’t care, he was high even now—mocking you, making jokes out of this, so you just left him alone.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ it took some days for him to finally swallow his pride and knock on your door, he knew you were home, he could sense the faint smell of weed and that honey perfume of yours

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ it took him some courage to knock, and when he did—he waited for two minutes before you opened the door—he immediately started talking but the second he did, you just shut the door

“c’mon angel—open the door i wanna talk.”

“nope.”

“doll, please”

“nope.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ he sighed, he was infuriated-and he started leaving before he heard you open the door, you just stood there—looking down

“you gonna come in or make me wait like this?” you mumbled, hating yourself for giving in, but you cared about him afterall

“knew you had it in you, princess” he said, walking in your apartment, he couldn’t lose you, especially over aome stupid high—weed was enough, and he planned on never touching those stupid colorful pills if it made you unhappy.

[mashagaze]

[airytaurus]

the placements and their best qualities

aries rising/1st house: adrenaline junkies , assertive , fun and daring not afraid to take risk or do something extreme to have fun

taurus rising/2nd house: mellow and generous these people are chill and love luxuries , beauty and to feel comfortable even secure

gemini rising/3rd house: witty and changeable these people love conversations and can fit in with any group/people or environment and super friendly

cancer rising/4th house: nurturing , empathic and caring these people will do anything and everything for the people they love the most no matter what

Leo rising/5th house: bold , artistic and creative these people love and take pride in what they do and their hobbies

Virgo rising/6th house: helpful and observant people love to give people the facts and resources/advice or any help someone might need

Libra rising/7th house: beautiful and social people to be around these people can make superficial friendships with anyone and can give good recommendations for smell goods , music etc.

Scorpio rising/8th house: these people are loyal and trustworthy and they will listen to you and be very sympathetic to what you are feeling/thinking

Sagittarius rising/9th house: lots of enthusiasm and and the BEST storytellers these people can have some pessimism but for the most part optimistic of most things

Capricorn rising/10th house: reliable and hardworking these people are people you can depend on and FUNNY

Aquarius rising/11th house: they just don’t care even if they do they don’t try to let what their feeling affect them or get too intense

Pisces rising/12th house: creative minds and empathy these people are the ones who you can cry with or do artistic expression with

[astro-rainbow777]

💐🌸 𝓣𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓼 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓼 🧸🌱

♉︎ - Happy Taurus Season Everyone!!! In honor of Taurus season, I am continuing the signs through the houses series. I hope y’all enjoy my findings & this post serves you well. Thanks so much for all of the support! Happy Spring & Upcoming Beltane to the Pagan Community <3

🌸 Taurus in the First House ~ Taurus on the ascendant is the embodiment of peace, calm and pleasure. These natives aren’t the most outgoing but leave such a comfortable and cozy first impression. They don’t say more than needs to be said, however they are unlikely to turn down a conversation. They have a soft and natural beauty about them and strong familial values. They enjoy the finer things, have a clean aesthetic and a “rich” aura. Many of them are shorter or more petitie in size, have a pleasing and smooth voice and kind eyes. However, if you mess with the bull, you’ll get the horns! Being on the opposing end of Scorpio, when they cut you off, it is completely. Good luck getting back into their lives because they are a closed book. Why y’all always smell good? Fr tho

🐂 Taurus in the Second House ~ Here the sign is in its ruling house, they do very well in saving their money, are picky about what they eat and indulge in the material pleasures of life. They value loyalty, commitment, stability and security - not to mention their love fashion & the arts. They will tell you they have the most exquisite taste, you would find it very difficult to change their mind. They hold up strong values and morales, what they know to be right and wrong is the truth. This is a very secure personality, they are very comfortable with their bodies, and have a healthy sense of worth and self love. Honestly such a healthy placement - as someone with NO earth in their chart - muhbenaaaace

💰 Taurus in the Third House ~ These natives find security and peace in their childhood homes, where they grew up, the memories of their cousins and siblings. They could be the most stable or the least stable out of their siblings. The way they think, learn and communicate is slow and methodical. They take their time in studying new topics, preferring to stay on the surface of a topic. They may have an artistic and beautiful singing voice, or maybe the way they speak is just very polite and sweet. They were raised with manners and this makes them very charming. They can have a liking for music that moves at a slower pace, classical music, or just a more elegant taste in art.

🥘 Taurus in the Fourth House ~ Their family could be a source of stability and security for them. The mom, mother figure or more feminine role model can be the bread winner in the family, her love language could be gifts, an amazing cook, and give a lot of hugs 🫂 They have stable emotions, it takes a lot to emotionally sway them. It may end up bothering people who try to get an emotional reaction from them because of this. They can be the most grounded one in their family. Their family may view them as realistic, practical and reliable. Family is what gives them sanction from the world.

💝 Taurus in the Fifth House ~ They express them selves in a very material type of way, their flex is their finances. These natives take a lot of pride in what they have...this usually comes from a place of having to work really hard for their things. They love the natural look, minimalist, they like long lasting, high quality, practical fashion. To them that is the best statement to make. They don’t like that trash to treasure look their tastes are refined. They will shower their kids with the finer things and really enjoy providing for them - this will be their love language. They aren’t huge adrenaline junkies and enjoy more grounded, chill hobbies. They definitely don’t mind being alone and love their down time at home…on the couch…snacks…naps…repeat.

🐻 Taurus in the 6th ~ These natives prefer a slow start to their daily routine, and enjoy a slow paced job, with chill yet organized coworkers. The workplace must be something that they don’t hate… because if they hate it and it stresses them out just thinking of going, they won’t work there. Period. They need low maintenance pets as these individuals are very independent in nature. It’s important for their day job to be a place of peace and pleasure for them, and once they are comfortable, it’s gonna be hard to get them to leave. Their job can provide them with sooooo much stability if they have a good one.

🍨 Taurus in the 7th ~ Wining and Dining with your loved ones! Shopping sprees, luxurious and high quality partners. With the ones they love the most, they spoil, eat and they just want to be lazy with them honestly. They want their relationships to be a place of peace for them. It’s important that their partner can support themselves and is stable on their own. It will just cause them stress if they are constantly worrying about having to take care or mommy their partner. It’s possible that they can stay with someone out of fear of the unknown/change, even tho they don’t like them or it’s not working anymore.

🌷 Taurus in the Eighth House ~ Cycles related to self esteem, self worth, and supporting themselves. Honestly, this is a really hard placement to have- they may have times where they stay in ab*sive relationships because they can’t support themselves financially or they are too uncomfortable alone. However, the eighth house is notorious for taking your greatest fear/weakness and turning it into their super power. You just have to get through those lessons and take those leaps of faith to unlock that power and hidden potential! They like to engage in their senses when they’re intimate with their partners and prefer slow love making rather than the raw primal stuff.

🪴 Taurus in the Ninth House ~ These people can be a little fixed in their beliefs, their spiritual beliefs/religion can be a source stability and sanction for them. If they aren’t necessarily spiritual- they could just have a specific philosophy or lifestyle that they stick to. What I admire about these individuals, is they know exactly what they want. When they travel, it has to be somewhere where they know exactly what to expect, somewhere that won’t give them anxiety, and probably a more luxurious staycation type of experience. They could also enjoy a nice nature walk with their loved ones.

👛 Taurus in the Tenth House ~ Every single person I have met with this placement neeeeeed a stable job, they will not leave a job if it provides them with the type of lifestyle they desire. It doesn’t really matter what they are doing for their career as long as it aligns with their values. Their dad/father figure could have been the sole provider and could have made a huge impact on their reputation. This is definitely a daddies money placement 💀 - sorry if that’s triggering for anyone lol. The father figure could be super down to earth and chill, enjoy cooking or just be way too overly indulgent in a negative manifestation.

👒 Taurus in the Eleventh House ~ Is the stay at home friend, doesn’t like to get out of their comfort zone to meet new people. Much likely to want to stay inside and bond with their community in a space that is familiar and inviting to them. Their community could be their sanction and be the most stable part of their lives. They enjoy cooking and creating art for their friends. Anything to bring peace to their homies senses! For their friends, the Taurus eleventh house native’s place is a home away from home. How special 🥹

👄 Taurus in the Twelfth House ~ When it comes to matters of the twelfth house, spirituality, isolation, ect. - these individuals may like to keep things light and on the surface. They are comfortable being alone, in fact they consider it to be comfortable and safe. Their spirituality isn’t something they spend time questioning, and they could be very comfortable with the unknown, they enjoy their own curious nature. They are endearing to their own selves, however sometimes their sense of worth could be confusing. They may have a hard time understanding their own values and morals, preferring to just go with the flow, everyday they are a new person trying on different personalities, hobbies and styles! The possibilities are endless! It’s quite an interesting placement. One more thing….secret indulgences…the silent snacker

Smell ya later!

[mysticalmindshop1]

🚌,Clonazepam,farmas

[virginreprise]

. ・. ゜. -: ✧ :- INDEBTED TO ✧ YOU

jackson!joel miller x reader ・゜゜・．

° : ⋆ₓ ₒ slight ddlg dynamics, smut, age gap, dirty talk, daddy kink, joel's perverted inner monologue, just pure filth whilst i try and get junky pride pt3 finished lmao

2.7k words ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧

˚ · • . ° . AO3 ˚ ·. • . ° .

Brief murmurs of Tommy’s chastising fumbled in the back of his mind, the harsh way he’d shook his head—told him you were far too young; that a man like Joel had no business talking to someone like you. Someone hardened and vulnerable, despairing and mutilated by life and every tribulation that had befallen you. 

“She was a child when all this happened,” he’d informed, almost caring as they shared a beer in the empty bar: the usual intensity and hubbub of Jackson’s population had dwindled to the few who dared venture into the snow when the moon hung high and the lanterns flickered off. Footsteps covered by the ever-falling white—lost to the prairie. “You had a child-“ 

Joel had cut him off with a stare, heat forming in his stomach that bubbled and raged—hard to keep down as he gripped the bottle, hand wet with condensation, and grabbed his jacket. Ready to take his leave. Tommy had known he’d gone too far and they’d never spoken of you again, Just Joel’s quiet, mumbled monologue and his little brother’s lingering disproval that seemed so irrational when you’d sunk on his lap and called him daddy. 

Surely it was natural: when denied something, there’d be an overwhelming intensity to have it. That when he was told “No,” he’d ignore every obstacle that conjured in his space. 

Maybe Joel was just stubborn. Or maybe you were just so sweet he couldn’t take his brother's advice and leave you alone. 

But you’d ended up in his bed, writhing underneath him whilst he held your wrists above your head and stretched you wide open—cooing at your pretty little whimpers as he nestled between your thighs. 

“There you go, baby.” He stroked the hair away from your forehead, eyes flickering down to gaze at the space between your legs—the way he disappeared inside of you as his balls pressed against your ass, slick dribbling down onto his bedsheets that he’d changed just hours before you’d come to him. He didn’t care, though. God, he’d be able to smell you all day, have the sweetness of you permeating throughout the room until the scent carried its way into his everyday life. 

Patrolling the surrounding area, you’d be there—dancing along his nose. In his workshop, as he sanded away the rough wood, making something for you as a Christmas present, he’d be able to feel you around him, taste you on his lips and hear the remnants of those staccato moans as you came around his fingers. 

“Daddy’s got you,” he mumbled as he breathed out a soft moan, the tightness of you around him causing him to pause—to contemplate his words that came so sinfully from his already tainted lips. 

Jackson should’ve been a new start, a new beginning where he could leave the horrors and the terror behind. But you: pretty little thing that barely spoke, who responded to every question with a quiet nod or a shake of your head and hoped that someone else would verbalise every feeling for you, had ruined those hopes for him—had shattered the image he’d created whilst hammering a nail into the wall, ready to hang his paintings on. 

You were sweet. So damn sweet. 

With a harshness in your eyes that hinted at similar pasts, at losses that neither of you could overcome. Why Tommy didn’t think you were fucking perfect for each other, Joel would never know. 

“Daddy’s here, darlin’, all for you.”

They were incoherent blabbers, things that Joel would never say if he wasn’t so drunk off pussy and the look on your pretty little face as he began slowly moving his hips. 

“D-daddy?” 

God, you sounded so fucking pretty. All glassy-eyes and fucked out with a little bit of drool pooling at the corner of your mouth. He lapped it up with a solid kiss, an arm wrapped around your waist as he tugged you close to him—wanting to feel every part of you, every soft piece of flesh, pressed against him. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Another kiss to your forehead, grinding his pubic bone into your clit—wanting to stay wrapped up like this forever; hoping that you’d stay with and warm his bed after all was said and done. Keep moaning that name of his, that filthy little name that would give Tommy an aneurysm if he heard it, until you came and cried all over his cock. 

“Hurts,” you managed to get out. “S’too big.” 

The pride that seized him was unlike any other, the light chuckle he let out unable to be prevented as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, one to both cheeks, your nose and then lips. 

“I know, honey.” His fingers found their way between your thighs, stroking circles into your clit—attempting to appease the ache as he rolled his hips into you. “Deep breaths.” 

Kisses fell from your lips to your jaw, trailing to your neck where he sucked, smiling as you keened and bucked your hips. 

You took it so well. Took everything he gave with no complaints, writhing around in his bed, messing his covers and calling his name. 

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. 

It fell from your lips so perversely, but so pretty that he didn’t have it in him to tell you no. 

He’d be your daddy if that’s what you wanted. He was the right fucking age, silver in his hair—in his goddamn pubes too. His bones ached, knees cracking as he stood from the couch, back completely giving up on him after that one time a year ago when he’d held too much firewood in his arms and he’d gone tumbling down with the logs, crashing to the floor and having to crawl back inside his house. He hadn’t gone on patrol for a good few weeks after and he’d been careful with the damn fragile thing ever since. 

He was fragile. Fragile and old with a pudge to his tummy that never seemed to go away no matter how much he tried, wrinkles spidering near the corners of his eyes, and a pretty young thing in his bed that clenched around his dick whilst the adrenaline pumped around his body in seismic waves and made him forget all about the backache as he hovered over you. 

“You feel good?’ he asked softly, fingers still rubbing at your clit as you wrapped your legs around his hips. 

You nodded, nonverbal, unable to bring your thoughts to fruition as you mumbled incoherent things into the space between your lips. 

“C’mon baby, tell daddy how you feel.”

You whined, gripping his shoulders and digging your nails into the taut muscle. 

“S-s-s-so good, daddy.

God, he felt so fucking filthy, so depraved, so perverted. But, amongst all of that, he felt good. He felt undeniably euphoric with you wrapped around him, name echoing in the darkest corners of his mind and slipping from his throat so naturally it was like he was born to do this for you. To take care of you. Your sole vocation was to be his pretty baby for the rest of his life—not lift a goddamn finger as he did everything you asked him to. 

Get home after a long day patrolling to you in the kitchen, waiting for him eagerly and throwing yourself into his arms to give him a kiss. Tell him how much you missed him. That you’d been needing him all day. 

Joel just wanted someone to look after. And if that meant being labelled as a pervert by his brother and possibly by the entirety of Jackson, so what? 

“Yeah, I’ll make you feel good,” he murmured to himself, the words soft and delicate as he closed his eyes for a brief second, savouring the feeling of your heat around him and pulling you as tight to him as he possibly could. Breasts pressed against his chest, the softness of them against the wiry hairs: a contrast so delightful and thrilling. 

He brought his lips down to yours, tongue pressing into you—wanting to consume. To taste every single part of you. 

Hips began their movement, your mouth hanging open as he continued to lick at you; he pressed down on your stomach with intention, hand moving from your clit to the soft space above it and felt himself inside you, moving softly, scraping against every spot that had you shaking and twitching.

You gripped him tighter, whimpers and moans gracing the air, nuzzling into his touch when he stroked a hand down your cheek to admire the unmistakable and overwhelming beauty of you: all drunk off his cock and losing yourself to the feeling of him sinking deep inside you. 

“You like Daddy’s cock in you, huh?” His voice was strained with lust, dick jerking inside you when you clamped down on him—his words the biggest effect. He loved it: the way you’d start squirming and gaze at your shoes every time he spoke out of turn, every time something filthy fell from his lips. You loved hearing him talk, whisper dirty words that he daredn’t bring outside the four walls of his room. 

The left side of the bed that had been empty for so long, just waiting for you to warm it, to have your scent sink into the mattress and stay there for eternity. 

Understandably, you struggled to answer his question, just nodding slightly, almost imperceptible: the tiny little head jerk. 

“C’mon, baby, use your words.” 

You whined, digging your heels into his back, gripping tighter onto his shoulders; he was sure you’d leave marks, big long scratches down the expanse of already scarred skin. Decorating him with an ardent display of passion and desire—marking him as yours. 

He would be yours. 

Every breath, every cry, every laugh: yours alone.

In turn, he would get to keep you, locked away in his house, safe from every danger that crept outside the walls. 

“Love Daddy’s cock,” you mumbled, face heating in embarrassment at the crudeness, pressing your face as best you could into the pillows. Joel refused. He would not deny himself the pleasure of staring down at you as you took him, lips parted, eyes screwed up in pleasure with tears dripping to your temple. 

Fingers found your jaw, turning you to face him, enamoured by the way you clung and bucked—wishing for all of him. 

“Daddy,” you moaned, lips turned into a pout, a cry escaping you as his hips sped up—thrusts coming quicker. The arm around your waist tightened, tugging you upwards so he could reach deeper. Balls fucking deep. 

“There you go,” he encouraged, kissing softly at your collarbone, nipping slightly as he moved to your shoulder. “That feels good, don’t it, sweetheart?” 

This time, he didn’t mind when you didn’t reply, too focused on you gushing around him. Practically drooling from that tight little pussy as he snapped his hips upward and felt his head go funny—mind clouded by the heat of you. He was fucking burning up, everything on his mind spewing from his lips as he leant over you; ignoring the ache in his hips that served as a gentle reminder that he was old. That this was still wrong and that if anyone ever found out about what he did to you and what he let you call him, they’d exile him from Jackson and look back on the days of the pervert next door: Joel Miller. 

“Tommy says I’m too old for you,” he grunted, hand grabbing at your wrists when they fell from his back—too cock-drunk to keep them on him. “Says that I’ll ruin you.” The monologuing had been unintentional, the sentences that formed something that he was desperate to keep to himself. Too late now. All restraint had been lost as soon as you’d coaxed his fingers into your panties and shown him just how much you wanted him. “You like it, though, don’t you? You’d do whatever—fuck—whatever I tell you like a good little girl. Wouldn’t you, baby?”

You nodded enthusiastically. 

“Whatever you want, daddy.” 

He chuckled, eyes full of mirth as he kissed you softly, slipping his hands into yours and pushing them down into the pillows. He couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving, some part of him still thinking that this was all just a sick joke, that you didn’t actually want an old man like him and were going to run away the first chance you got. But, you called his name again, that fateful moniker that had his dick twitching in his pants, all doubts were lost. 

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, darlin’,” he said, pressing his pelvis purposefully against you, grinding down on your clit and watching your mouth hang open in ecstasy—eyes squeezed shut as you mumbled a high-pitched, whiny “Daddy.” The best one yet, as far as Joel was concerned. “You almost there, baby? You gonna cum all over Daddy’s cock? Gonna let all of them hear how much you want me? Huh?” 

You nodded vigorously, sharp gasps falling from your lips, body writhing underneath his as it built itself tall inside your stomach. Growing and growing until you were clamping down on him so tight he thought his dick would fall off. 

“C’mon, babydoll, let it out,” Joel coaxed, kissing all over your face, all down your chest and took a nipple in his mouth, sucked and grazed harshly until he felt you gushing—breath held as you soaked it in, and then a sharp cry falling from your lips as it washed over you. “There you go,” he murmured against your skin, hips slowing to guide you through, throat hoarse as he felt his own impending orgasm. 

Your head fell back onto the pillows, mouth dropped open as you tried to breathe through the sharp stabs of pleasure, Joel’s licentiousness overpowering his restraint as he pummeled into you as fast as his old bones would let him. He pushed his way through your stomach, almost coming apart right there when he looked down and saw the bulge. 

A choked groan forced its way out his throat, stomach tensing as his ears began ringing, not registering your soft whimpers and small sobs—the small daddy’s that you struggled to project above the beginning of Joel’s release. 

He outright moaned when he finally spilt inside you, cock twitching, arms shaking as he tried with all his might to keep himself balanced on his palms. 

“Daddy?” you were coming back into focus now, his bleary eyes regaining their vision and his chest heaving as he managed to breathe again—now able to fully take in the sight of you. Sweat on your brow, tears streaming from your eyes and lips full: evidence of his bruising kisses. 

“I’m here, baby,” he breathed out, indulging in your soft moan as he pulled out of you and collapsed onto the mattress beside you. He brought you with him, tugging at your waist and manoeuvring you so you lay close—warm body tucked under his arm. 

A soft kiss to your forehead, a repeated slew of “I’m here,” and “Daddy’s not goin’ anywhere,” leaving his lips as he held you as close as possible. 

Fuck Tommy, fuck Maria, fuck anyone who dared share their opinions of his choice in relations. You were his now, cum seeping from your legs—marking you. Claiming you. 

All he wanted was to take care of you, feed you, clothe you, bathe you, keep you happy, safe and warm and pray to God that you would never come to your senses one day and run far away. That you’d realise what you two had was…different. Not wrong, just different. 

He wouldn’t let you go. 

No, he’d keep you. 

Tucked into his side, a mumbled “G’night, daddy,” on your pretty lips, and the feel of you against him as your body grew heavy with sleep. 

He would stay up for hours after you’d finally fallen into slumber, watching the soft rise and fall of your chest, listening to the snores that he found overwhelmingly endearing. Kiss you a couple more times and breathe in your scent. Make sure that you wouldn’t escape in the middle of the night and go tell everyone what a disgusting, sleazy old man Joel Miller really was. 

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.

That word rested heavily on his shoulders, all night lying awake and waiting to hear it again. 

God, he was in fucking deep; he wouldn’t be letting you go for as long as you were still wet and willing.

© virginreprise

thanks for reading ! i wrote this whilst thinking of that one guy who was perfect for me. i hope you can feel my longing and desire projected through joel's thoughts. if anyone's wondering about junky pride, i hope to get it out soon. i really really just love jackson joel more than anything and want him in me so bad.

[transpornpays]

OverDose has nothing to do with anything Trans although i did get him to create one song with La Femme Nikita who is a Trans Female ..enough said

I Dont know if I wanna Change for " La Femme Nikita"

[arandomao3user]

(Directed at the third person to send me death threats in this fandom-–)

Die hard Batman comic junkies will be like: TIM IS A PLAYBOY, READ THE COMICS!!!! BRUCE IS A BAD DAD, READ THE COMICS!!! JASON WAS NEVER BRUCE'S SON, READ THE COMICS!!! ZBSIKABAOAMNAHAOANAUSOBSYWJSBS YOU CAN'T HEADCANON THAT!?M? WAYNE FAMILY ADVENTURES IS THE REASON I AM DIVORCED!!!! FANFIC!?!?!?!? YOU CAN'T LIKE BATMAN MEDIA!!! DENIED!!! I SHALL GATEKEEP THEE AS THE DUNGEON MASTER OF MY OWN FANTASY!!!!! THIS IS MY FANDOM >:((( MY MOM SAID NOOOOOO!!!!

Like. Sir. Clam the F-- down and get off TikTok? Sir. Sir. Sir. I read comics, I have read the comics, I owns several physical comics, I have big books. I have small boks. I have Hush, Death In The Family, Death Of The Family, the ultimate Under The Red Hood book, I have three pride month specials shut up I am the queer, I have seventeen Batman movies I have watched religiously, I have read Tim Drake: Robin twice and I have reread Batman #408-409 that I have several theories revolving Jason and Bruce's relationship and also I have an entire site where any Batman comic I want to read is at my finger tips and YOU KNOW WHAT!?!?

I STILL LOVE WRITING FANON, FANON HEADCANONS!!! But my thing is let people enjoy things how they want because if I get one more death threat for enjoying a media that has existed since the 30's than I'm gonna crash out and post a thirty part long series about Tim fighting through a caffeine addiction and being adopted by Jason to get through it, I'll make him sad, and I'll make him date Bernard the entire time. I won't hesitate.

Also, if we stick to JUST the source material of every comic ever than there's two Jason Todd's, one from the circus who's a ginger and dates a girl named Rena (bring her back DC you cowards), and another from Crime Alley who steals tires and dies. Oh, also Batman and Robin have guns but then they stop using them for whatever reason. Also there's like two or three different Talia Al Ghul's but they aren't ever in the same room and we aren't sure which exactly is Damian's Mother or if Damian exists or how many there are and the clones but there's so many Damian's it ain't even funny... Oh, and Tim may or may not exist sometimes or date Babs or be married to her or be insane but that happened in the movies so it doesn't count for whatever reason because we can not combine movies and comics because the LOF (Laws Of Fandom) say so. Also Dick was adopted both before and after Jason but another Jason, like a third one or variant of the second one, who didn't actually die but did die the specifics don't matter!

MY POINT IS THIS IS A SERIES ABOUT AN EVER EVOLVING STORY WITH ALTERNATE UNIVERSES AND DIFFERENT TAKES AND THESE ARE COMICS!?!? These characters were literally designed with a basic outline to be adapted to however the writer sees fit for telling their story. A DIRECT QUOTE FROM SOMEONE WHO WORKED ON THE VERY POPULAR "Under The Red Hood" STORY IS THAT THIS IS JUST FANFIC AND BRINGING JASON BACK WAS BASICALLY A FANFICTION! A "WHAT IF" HE GOT FROM HUSH!

I don't care how YOU enjoy Batman media, and if you care how I ENJOY IT then block me so I don't have to see you telling the world how much bad you wish on people who enjoy fanfiction and certain comics even though you tell us to read the comics but not specific comics because you don't like the characterisation in that comic..? Like. Dude. Don't gatekeep and let people enjoy things how they want, that's all I'm saying, the mindset of gatekeeping a fandom is so 2020 and also 2015 Steven Universe/ Undertale amino... I am not going back to arguing over the gender of Frisk and Chara.

Wayne Family Adventures is also bad a%# and I am not a fan of how the writers wrote Duke, but I can accept it because it's funny and cute and you can't take it from me ♥︎

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk—

[transformers-spike]

Hello ummm can I order a uhh wholesome Starscream x human!SO with the SO being into praising him and caring for him? And he of course is drinking it all up because he needs love and reassurance more than he could ever admit

Yet again my brain decided to go for a full length novel, so I had to pull back and came up with this. Think of this as them before they got together:

“Are you alright?” “Of course I am! Why would you think otherwise?” he snarks, puffing up like a disgruntled cockatiel. You squint and look him up and down with the most “dude, just admit it” expression you can muster. He glares at you for what feels like ages, ridiculous brow plates knitted into a “fucking try me” V. You sigh, take off the welding mask and put down the torch. “I’m worried about you.” Those very same brow plates shoot up to the sky. “Pah! I don’t need your worry!” he scoffs like he isn’t bleeding out in the middle of the woods. “Sure you don’t, but I’ll have you know there’s only so much I can do! We should call Ratchet.” His fist slams to the ground, you stumble but manage to catch yourself before falling face first into the deadly spikes adorning his stiletto. Death by high heel isn’t on your “appropriately ironic deaths” list, but you should add it. If your brain didn’t slosh inside your skull like a snowglobe in the hands of a petulant two year old, you could have sworn the mighty ex-commander of the Decepticons looked apologetic for a split second. “I would rather not deal with the likes of the Autobot medic,” he declares in a slightly softer voice, although not without his usual amount of scorn. “After all, you’re doing just fine,” he croons in a sly, buttering tone. Maybe you could have believed him if he hadn’t been constantly berating you for fucking up the impromptu surgery. You are not a medic, goddammit! Much less well-versed in the art of welding shut a metal alien from a planet light years away! You’re just some car junky with pyromaniac inclinations! But seeing him this way… covered in grime and energon, wings hanging low and servos shaking. You’re glad you didn’t send him to voicemail.

You pat his leg. “Thanks, but if this happens again I’m calling Bulkhead to haul your ass back to base whether you like it or not.” Putting on your welding mask, you keep working. Starscream stays oddly quiet, not even bothering to beep at you indignantly when your torch falls out of line. It’s no Picasso, but the bleeding has stopped. After you step back to give him some space, he tests out his leg, standing up and shifting his weight from side to side. The injured leg strains but does not collapse. “Good?” you ask. “Manageable,” he mumbles in his typical “it kinda sucks but I have to be grateful” way.

Pride fills you up like a single mom downing martinis during happy hour. Although not the best compliment, it’s a Ritz-Carlton coming from him.

“Do you want to go back to base? Or just… hang out here? In the middle of the woods?” He wrinkles his optical ridge at you but doesn’t answer.

“Okay,” you drawl out, taking a seat on possibly the most comfortable rock in Nevada. Years pass by – or so it feels like – waiting for the usually extremely bitchy (thus chatty) bot to break the silence. He does not. “I think I should go,” you sit up and thumb at your car, parked all the way across the woods on the main road, a good hike from where you’re currently at. “Don’t,” he hisses. His expression is almost… forlorn if not for his angry brows. Oh fuck off, the emotionally constipated airplane war criminal can’t ask you to hang out without hurting his pride. Which makes you the responsible adult of the situation compared to the billion year old metal chicken. And by God, you are the least responsible person you know (excluding Starscream).

So you sit your ass back down and lock eyes with said chicken. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what happened?” you ask, fully expecting him to shut you down by calling you fleshling and waving your humanity over your head like a shitty “begone” charm.

Instead, he thinks about it, averting his gaze from you and turning it to the vast wilderness beyond the trees. “Vehicons,” he states bitterly. “Either it was a purely coincidental dogfight or… Megatron is after me.” His whole frame shudders, wings sinking as low as they can go.

“I see.” You pause to take a deep breath. “Do you want to tell the Autobots?”

He shakes his helm and loosens a self-deprecating chuckle from his vocalizer. “Like they would listen to me.” You scrunch up your nose. “How about I tell them? Would that be easier for you?” His optics widen for a brief moment before returning to their perpetually conniving state. “I’m not delighted with the option, but it’s preferable considering their propensity for gathering unsolicited information.” The silence returns. “Hey, I know it’s not the best time to bring this up. But you don’t even have to answer, just please hear me out.” He peers at you wordlessly. “You’ve been through-” you gesture at dry neon blue energon adorning his frame “-a lot lately. I’m not asking you to talk about your feelings or anything like that, but if you ever need someone to just… be around, I’m here.” His expression hasn’t shifted one bit. It’s completely unreadable. You continue on with gritted teeth. “Personally, I’ve never defected from an extremely violent faction and been hunted down through the sky, but I find it’s easier to suffer around friends and family. They help shoulder the pain.”

He arches a metal brow. “Are you implying we’re friends?” “I mean-” you stammer, “I definitely consider you a friend. If you don’t, that’s fine, I’m not forcing you or anything. To each their own. But that’s beside the point-” A lengthy chuckle cuts you off. “Does a friend answer their comm in the middle of the night cycle and perform surgery with sub-optimal tools?” You’re not sure if he’s insulting you or trying to make a meaningful point. Maybe both. “If so,” he continues, lips quirking into an intimidating but somehow genuine smile, “we are friends.” Your brain flatlines. “Oh,” you whisper. “OH,” it hits you like an F-15 Fighting Falcon at full speed. “I… okay. So, um, if you want to hang out and stuff, I can stick around until five o’clock. Then I’ll have to leave and get ready for work.”

“Good enough,” he scoffs good-naturedly, having returned to his bitchy old self with slightly less bitchiness. But the smile he doesn’t bother hiding betrays something deeper. Starscream is your friend. Starscream called himself your friend. Holy shit, you think you’re going to have an aneurysm.