#The craftsman interacts

[vaguely-concerned]

just going about my day idly contemplating how some of the ways hawke can interact with a romanced anders are not at all unlike how they interact with leandra (and a bit of carver too, especially with a purple hawke), and then thought about my hawke in the timeline where he romances anders and was hit straight in the face with 'was he ever actually in love, or was he just desperately trying to renegotiate with his mother's ghost in any way he could' and now i need to lie down. this is the power of dragon age 2

[reallyrandomtj]

reallyrandomtj said HERE: My Jing Yuan: feels called out @xianzhou-craftsman replied: as he should!

Pretend Jing Yuan is holding up a piece of tomato ~

"Hey Yingxing ~ Pspspspsps!"

[fragmentedblade]

Blade compared the relief from pain death brought him to the moments spent with his friends drinking together.

His desire for death as both a release from pain and from the condition of existence in which he finds himself now, so similar to that which he most hated (hated so much as to dedicate his entire life and self to fight, up to the point of crossing unthinkable barriers for shortlife species); but death also almost like a returning to the time that was, the joy and pride it brought him, and the friends and self he lost

[the-craftsman-and-mover]

We understand. Not fully, I will not even pretend. We lost ourselves for a time when purpose was removed. You are not nothing without power. You are still all parts of yourself left, which is more than anyone else.

I'm getting the feeling that you genuinely do not understand the suffering you have inflicted. How could you understand? Have you ever been small or weak or violated? Maybe people are overestimating your malice. Maybe it's just a sort of incompatibility of experiences

Dont fucking talk to me about being weak, about being VIOLATED. Do you know, what it's like, to have something that is so ingrained in your being, that you literally cannot function without it, ripped away in the most painful way possible? Of having all that power, and then in an instant be reduced to nothing? Just because you were BORN with that power?

No. I didn't fucking think so.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

title: in a feud with her neighbor

bonus scenes now available

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5621

summary:

Five times you think Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever, and the one time he isn’t.

author’s note: this is so self-indulgent. i hope you guys enjoy it! if you like this work, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment because they make my day 💕

special thanks to the angels who helped with ideas: @dreamingofdaddydin @jksprincess10 @mydailyhyperfixations @funnygirlthatgab

additional warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no use of y/n, story contains visual graphics, everyone pretend the 12 ft skeleton was available in 2003 and you could stream TV shows, no sarah, no outbreak, neighbor feuds, enemies to lovers, oral (explicit f receiving, non-explicit m receiving), semi-public sex, making out in a pool, reader is a menace and arguably the bad neighbor here, unprotected p in v, use of sex toys, praise kink, pet names, dirty talk. let me know if any are missing!

Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever. 

Your issues with him started on your first Halloween in the neighborhood. You had moved into your new home a few months prior, thrilled that you finally managed to escape the horrors of apartment living. You were now the proud owner of a little single story two bedroom craftsman style home, complete with fenced in backyard and a pool. 

You loved your little house and the neighborhood was ideal, quiet but tight knit. The neighbor to your left, an elderly woman named Betty, had invited you over for tea and cookies and given you the lowdown on the neighborhood gossip.

The neighbor to your right, Joel Miller, she said, was a wonderful man. Polite, kind, and not too hard on the eyes either. You hadn’t met him yet, but with a glowing review like that, you couldn’t wait until you did.

She had also mentioned that the neighborhood goes all out for Halloween. They even hosted a contest for the best decorated house. Your mind already raced with the possibilities.

You loved Halloween. In Texas, the stifling heat finally eased around that time, dropping to a slightly more tolerable range in the 80s with cooler nights. You loved seeing all the displays in the stores and how abandoned storefronts would be overtaken by whole companies dedicated to Halloween. You watched all the horror movies you could and on the weekends you’d seek out local fall festivals because you’re a sucker for candy apples and funnel cake.

No one ever decorated at the apartment complex you previously lived in, so you were extra excited to decorate your house and yard. You bought fake tombstones and plastic skeletons for the yard, spider webs and little ghosts to hang in the trees. You carved two pumpkins to set on either side of the steps leading up to your front door and made little ghost statues out of tomato cages, foam balls, and white fabric. You even strung purple lights through your hedges. 

You were totally going to win the decorating contest. You were confident that you would.

Until you woke up Halloween morning and Joel Miller had somehow decorated his entire home in the time that you had been sleeping, blissfully unaware.

The man had somehow managed to set up an entire army of skeletons, including a handmade wooden jail stuffed with ones trying to escape. There were some posed on the house itself, climbing up the sides and the roof. He had some coming out of the ground, red spotlights fixed on them for an eerie glow. But perhaps most impressive of all was the twelve foot skeleton with glowing red eyes that was posed near the makeshift jail, holding the door open like it was releasing the trapped undead soldiers.

Joel Miller had the motherfucking twelve foot skeleton. You wanted one of those so bad but it was always sold out. You checked every nearby Home Depot for months trying to find one and here Joel Miller has one, taunting you.

He won the decorating contest, sweeping the victory from right under your feet.

It may seem silly, but that was the moment you decided Joel Miller was the worst neighbor ever.

When you were buying your first home, you had been meticulous in calculating your finances in order to comfortably afford the purchase. You did not, however, account for having to repair your air conditioning system within less than a year of moving in. This made a significant dent in your savings, which led you to cut your expenses elsewhere.

One such expense was your internet. Why? Because it turns out Joel Miller, asshole neighbor, doesn’t password protect his router and you can just use his.

It’s not like he would notice.

_________________

Joel stares at his internet bill in confusion. This is the third month in a row that he’s been charged for going over his data allowance. That doesn’t even make sense. He’s the only person in his house and he only uses the internet on his phone to check the news and sometimes play Candy Crush. It’s why he got the lowest data plan in the first place.

He tries to think of what he could be doing differently, but comes up short. Hell, he’s not even home most of the day. He works long hours at different contracting jobs, so his free time is spent watching TV (cable, not connected to the internet), and sleeping.

But then it hits him. The overage charges never happened until you moved in. 

Joel powers up his ancient laptop and has to Google search what a router is. Turns out, he doesn’t have a password set on his. Which means, if his hunch is correct, you’ve just had free access to his internet this whole time.

He learns how to set a password and, more importantly, he learns how to change the name of his router. 

He needs to send a message, after all.

_________________

You’re about to start another episode of Grey’s Anatomy, courtesy of your friend generously sharing her Netflix password, when you receive an error message. 

No internet connectivity. Try again?

The little WiFi connection icon is missing from your toolbar. You investigate further, opening the list of options and scanning them for Joel’s, conveniently titled Miller.

But instead you find a new name.

GetYourOwnWiFi. And it’s password protected.

“Son of a bitch,” you hiss.

Joel Miller’s tree is always dropping debris in your yard. The limbs have grown over your shared fence line and on windy days you have to deal with extra pool clean up on top of the usual mess it makes of your yard, twigs and leaves ruining your perfectly manicured backyard oasis. 

You’ve asked him to trim the branches. Left him notes on his door and in his mailbox, but he still hasn’t done it.

Today you’re sending a new kind of message.

He’s going to wish he’d listened when you asked nicely. 

_________________

“What the fuck,” Joel growls when he gets home just after sunset. There’s piles of leaves and twigs littering his front porch, almost to the point that he can’t see the concrete slab beneath. 

There’s no way this just happened through the force of nature. It’s been a perfectly clear day in Austin and besides, there’s no trees at the front of his house for this kind of mess to fall from.

Which can only mean…

His eyes spot the bright pink Post-It note stuck to his door and he curses under his breath as he stomps up the porch steps and rips it down.

Here. Clean your own mess up for once. 

xoxo

Joel crumbles the note in his fist, taking deep breaths as he heads for the garage to grab a broom and a trash bag.

He’ll get you back.

He always does. 

You love animals, especially cats. Unfortunately, being allergic, you don’t have the option to have one of your own all the time. 

When you spot the first neighborhood stray, your heart lights up with excitement. It’s a little black and white cat with bright green eyes that walks right up to you while you’re getting your mail, winding its lithe body between your legs and purring against you. You stoop to pet it, mentally reminding yourself to wash your hands before you touch your face, otherwise your eyes would be itchy for hours.

“Hello, little baby,” you murmur, rubbing a hand down the length of its back. “How are you?” The cat gives a strong meow in response. “Oh, are you hungry? Let’s go see if I have anything I can give you as a treat.”

Back inside your house, you locate a can of tuna and dump it into a small plastic bowl. The cat sits patiently on the porch, tail flicking in anticipation. It hops down and shoves its little face into the bowl as soon as it’s within reach.��

“So cute,” you say, giving it one last pat on its back before returning inside.

_________________

There’s a cat sitting on Joel’s porch, watching him as he parks his truck. It’s the second time this week there’s been a cat lurking around his property. The first one he found out in the backyard, tearing up his flower beds.

The neighborhood had never had an issue with cats before, so he has a sneaking suspicion that you’re, once again, the root cause of his suffering. 

His suspicions are confirmed when he sees you on the porch one day, laying out a row of plastic bowls filled with what he assumes is cat food. At first he’s annoyed that he’s right, it is you feeding the cats, which is why they’ve been terrorizing his yard, but then you turn around and he’s struck by how utterly gorgeous you are. 

This is the first time Joel’s ever actually seen you. He’s usually out of the house before dawn and back after sunset, which must not coincide with your schedule since you’ve never run into each other. He remembers Betty, the older woman who lives to your left, telling him about meeting you.

“Gorgeous girl, that one. You two would probably hit it off,” she said as he hung a picture frame for her.

“Don’t go playin’ matchmaker, Betty,” he replied. 

But damn, seeing you now in a pair of little shorts that hug your hips and ass just right and a tight white t-shirt that shows off the tiniest bit of skin above the waist of your shorts is making him think he should have taken Betty up on her word.

Joel’s so distracted that he almost misses the way the cat on his porch hits one of his planters with his paw, knocking the ceramic over and spilling dirt all over the ground.

“Fuck!”

_________________

There’s a note on your door the next morning, a torn piece of paper with a familiar scrawl of messy handwriting that could only belong to one person.

Stop feeding the cats or you owe me new plants.

-Joel

The note actually makes you giggle. Betty sees you on your porch and beckons you over to hers.

“What’s got you gigglin’ like a schoolgirl?” The older woman asks.

“What? Nothing,” you reply too quickly.

“Wouldn’t happen to be a note from a certain tall, strong, and handsome young neighbor of yours?”

“No, definitely not.” 

She smirks at you. “You better quit terrorizin’ that poor man, honey.”

“Now, Betty, where would the fun be in that?” You say brightly as you head back to your house, the sound of her laughter following you through the door. 

There’s a package on Joel’s porch when he gets home from work. He doesn’t remember ordering anything, but he wouldn’t put it past himself.

He brings it inside without thinking twice or checking the label, chucking it on the counter with the rest of his mail as he searches for a box cutter in his junk drawer.

Joel cuts through the packing tape, lifting the flaps and rifling through the packing paper to pull out the contents.

It’s another box, light pink with the image of a hot pink u-shaped device on the top. The text across the top reads REMOTE VIBRATOR in black script.

He nearly drops the box in surprise, fumbling it in his hands. He’s certain he didn’t order this. 

Joel pulls the shipping box back towards him, keeping an eye on the vibrator like it might grow legs and run away. He flips the lid over to inspect the shipping label, his eyebrows rising as he reads your name and home address instead of his.

He looks at the toy again, mind whirling with images of you on your back, remote in hand as you bring yourself pleasure. He coughs, clearing his head and adjusts himself in his jeans.

He searches the junk drawer for a sheet of paper and a pen.

_________________

You’re staring at the delivery confirmation email from Lovelies, panic creeping down your spine. It says that your new toy has been delivered but there’s no package in your mailbox or on your porch. You’ve checked everywhere.

Which means it was either delivered to one of your neighbors or someone stole it.

If you’re being honest, you’d rather someone stole it than to have to go knock on Betty or, god forbid, Joel’s door to ask if they accidentally received your sex toy delivery. Your cheeks heat at even the thought of Joel knowing what you ordered. You head back inside empty handed.

Later, when you open your door to feed the cats, you’re surprised to find a box on your welcome mat. You set the bowls of food down and carry it inside, your excitement mounting. 

But when you open the box, you’re mortified to find a torn piece of paper on top of the packing material, Joel Miller’s familiar handwriting on the sheet.

Interesting choice

-Joel

“Fucking asshole,” you mumble, crumbling the note and tossing it to the side. You pull your new toy from its box and turn it on. “Huh. Fully charged.”

Your jerk of a neighbor won’t ruin your night if this little gadget has anything to say about it.

It’s Joel’s one day to sleep in and you’ve been blasting your music all fucking morning. He’s already got his head shoved under his pillow but the sound still filters through, ruining his chances of any extra hours of sleep to make up for his lack of it during the week.

He rolls out of bed with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand across his beard. He heads downstairs to make coffee, the heavy beat of your music chasing him through the house. He can feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind his eyes.

Joel tries to tune it out. Really. He does. As much as the two of you butt heads, he doesn’t mean anything by it, not really. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, nor is he trying to be one. 

But if you don’t turn your music down soon he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

He gives you another hour. He’s feeling generous. But when the music just keeps playing, he finally snaps. 

Joel shoves his feet into the work boots beside the door, paying little mind to the fact that he’s not wearing socks. In fact, he’s still in his sleep pants and ratty old t-shirt but he’s too far gone to care.

Once he’s in front of your door, he bangs on the wood with his fists. He waits for a response and when he doesn’t get one, probably since you can’t fucking hear him, he bangs again. There’s movement from the corner of his eye and he turns his head to find Betty watching him, lips tilted in a smirk.

“You okay with this?” Joel asks, gesturing vaguely to your house to indicate the noise level inside. 

“Don’t be such a party pooper,” she replies before shuffling inside. He turns back to the door to pummel it with his fists again but he’s surprised to find it open.

“Howdy, neighbor,” you say, eyebrow raised and arms crossed beneath your breasts.

Which were currently covered by the tiniest bikini top he’s ever seen. His eyes trail lower, over the expanse of your stomach to the matching bikini bottoms that peek out past the folded waist of your denim shorts.

“Uh,” he says, followed by a strained cough. “Hi.”

_________________

Joel Miller is standing on your porch dressed in a threadbare t-shirt and gray pajama bottoms that sit low on his hips, a strip of soft tan belly peeking out from above the waistband when he stretches an arm up to run his fingers through his dark, messy curls.

Christ, you think. The man is prettier than Betty gave him credit for.

“Can I help you?” You ask. His eyes snap from where they’d been lingering on your chest and you straighten your back just the slightest bit at the knowledge he’d been checking you out. 

Joel clears his throat. “Your music is way too loud.”

You roll your eyes. “Does it hurt?”

“Does…what hurt?”

“Always having a stick up your ass.” 

Betty barks a laugh from her porch and Joel’s head turns so fast you have whiplash just watching him. He throws his hands up.

“Who’s side are you on, Betty?!” He shouts. 

You’re bent over, laughing so hard your stomach hurts and tears form at the corners of your eyes. When you finally catch your breath and return your attention to Joel, he’s got his hands on his hips and an impressive furrow between his brows.

“Listen, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m about to go out by the pool and have a drink. Wanna join?” You ask. 

“I don’t have my suit with me.”

“Well good thing you’re just right next door, huh? Go get it. I’ll leave the door unlocked,” you tell him before shutting the door in his face.

_________________

Joel returns to your house thirty minutes later, showered and wearing his swim trunks and a new t-shirt. He wipes his sweaty hands against his chest, not entirely sure why he’s nervous. He’s just having a drink with his annoying neighbor to hash out all the issues. No big deal.

Your music is still playing when he enters your house, giving the door a courtesy knock before letting himself in. The front door opens directly into the main living space, a large sectional couch facing a TV mounted between two windows to his right and a dining nook to his left. Your kitchen is nestled in the corner, just past an opening to a hallway that he assumes leads to the bedrooms. Your place is bursting with colors and textures and patterns, from the floral blanket draped over your velvet couch to the leaf patterned wallpaper and natural stone backsplash in your kitchen. You have tea towels hanging from your stove that say “ANOTHER ONE BITES THE CRUST” with a picture of a pizza, and an impressive looking bar cart that houses a variety of liquor bottles and glassware.

There’s a splash from outside and Joel sees that the sliding glass door to your patio is open. He steps onto the concrete deck, surveying the backyard oasis you’ve created for yourself. The pool is on the smaller side but still, it’s a pool, and Joel’s a little jealous of it. You’ve got chaise loungers lined near the edge and matching chairs that surround a little fire pit further out in the yard. There’s string lights hung from the shade canopy that extends from your house. 

You pop up from beneath the surface, your hair slicked back from your face and little droplets of water clinging to your skin. Joel stands there, unsure of what to do, until you swim to the ledge closest to him and drape your arms over it, regarding him with keen eyes.

“Hi,” you say. He swallows, the nerves returning as he tries desperately to not let his gaze fall below your neck.

“Hey,” he replies. 

“There’s beer in the cooler. Grab me one?” You ask before ducking back beneath the surface. He can see you swim towards the edge of the pool that the loungers face. He grabs two beers as instructed, popping the tops with the bottle opener fixed to the lid of the cooler. You break the surface once more, swimming over to where he sits on the end of one loungers.

Joel passes you the beer and you tip it towards him in thanks before taking a deep pull, your lips wrapped around the lip of the bottle and distracting him monumentally. 

“So, you’re the Joel Miller, huh?” You ask. “Tell me about yourself.”

The two of you talk for what feels like ages. He learns that you’re a software engineer and you work a typical 9-5 schedule, which is why he’s never caught you around the neighborhood before. You don’t like to be outdoors much, preferring reading and catching up on your Netflix shows. You have two brothers, both of whom are older than you and live on the opposite side of the country, but you visit them around Christmas. You love animals, but have major allergies so you settle for fleeting moments with the neighborhood strays and occasionally watching your best friend’s dog when she goes out of town. 

He tells you about his work as a contractor, which he’s been doing since he was fresh out of high school and had no idea what to do with his life. He talks about his brother Tommy, how they work together on most projects and they want to start their own contracting business, but that’s a dream for another day. He mentions he’s more of a dog person than a cat person, especially because he has a grudge against the orange neighborhood cat that is still tearing up his flowerbeds. 

Joel loves the way you laugh, bright and full bodied as you toss your head back and bring a hand to your chest each time. You talk with your hands a lot, which is funny because you keep letting go of the pool ledge and scrambling to grab it again when gravity pulls you down in the water. If he doesn’t give enough detail in an answer, you’re not shy about asking him for more information, like when he said his favorite color was blue.

“Okay, but what shade of blue?” You asked.

“Just…blue?” Joel asked, clearly not understanding your question.

You rolled your eyes. “Men. I like lavender. Not just purple. Purple is a range of shades.”

“I guess…navy?”

“Now you’re getting somewhere, big guy!”

The conversation lulls as you share your drinks in companionable silence. The Texas sun bears down on his back, his t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his sweat slick skin. He bites the bullet and reaches behind his head to tug the damp fabric off, leaving him in just his swim trunks. He doesn’t miss the appreciative once-over you give him.

You extend a hand to him. “Help me out?””

Joel grasps your hand in his, marveling for a moment how small it is in his broad palm. He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice the michievous look on your face, or the way you plant your feet to the pool wall for leverage.

You give a sharp tug with both hands and he goes toppling into the pool with a surprised shout.

_________________

You’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The look on Joel’s face as you tugged him into the pool will be burned into your memory for years to come. You’d been waiting all afternoon for the man to take his shirt off, not only because you were admittedly dying to see what was hiding beneath the fabric, but also because you wanted exact a little neighborly revenge for stomping over to your house to tell you your music was too loud.

You’re feeling mighty accomplished, right up until you feel a hand wrap around your ankle and you get pulled beneath the surface with no warning. 

You open your eyes, chlorine stinging them as you see Joel torpedo towards the shallow end of the pool. You give chase, breaking the surface with a gasp.

“You asshole–”

Joel cuts you off by wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you close and tipping his head down to capture your lips with his. He kisses like a man starved and he tastes like sunshine and chlorine and the beer he’d been drinking as his tongue slides hungrily against yours. He uses his arm to press your body to his, but it’s not close enough.

You wrap your arms around his neck and lift your legs to circle his waist, your center grinding against his rapidly hardening length. Joel trails his hands up and down your back, stopping to grab rough handfuls of your ass as he groans against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he curses. “This little fuckin’ bikini has been torturin’ me all day.”

“Why don’t you just take it off then?” You offer. He pulls back to watch your face as his fingers find the strings of your bottoms beneath the water, giving both sides a quick tug until you feel the material fall away. His hand creeps up your back, pulling at the strings holding your top together around your back and neck until they, too, fall away.

Joel walks the two of you forward until your back collides with the rough stone of the pool wall.  He presses a muscular thigh between your legs, boxing you in with his body. Your hips jerk at the sudden pressure and friction against your bare pussy, a moan slipping from your lips as Joel presses kisses to your jaw and neck, nipping the delicate skin with his teeth.

“You gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, the deep timbre of his voice making a shiver dance down your spine despite the Texas heat. “Those sounds are just for me, isn’t that right?”

You nod your head quickly and he rewards you with another toe curling kiss. Your hips rock against his thigh and he swallows every little whimper as his hands explore your body.

“Joel,” you whine. His fingers pinch and pull your nipples before he soothes them with sweet circles of his calloused thumb.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks. One of his hands slides across your thigh and your breath hitches as he brings it dangerously close to your pussy before trailing it back down. “You need somethin’?”

“Need you to touch me.”

“That right? You want me to take care of that pretty little pussy?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Please.”

“So polite. Where’s all that attitude from earlier, hm?” Joel asks, sarcasm dripping from every word. You narrow your eyes at him.

“I can be rude, Miller. You want that instead?”

“Trust me, I know, but I think I like you better when you’re beggin’ for me,” he replies with a grin. 

Joel’s hands grab onto your waist and he hoists you up onto the ledge. His broad shoulders press against the back of your thighs and his arms drape across your hips. He smiles at you, mouth tauntingly close to where you’re desperate for relief. You lean back on your elbows, the concrete warm against your bare skin and the sun washing over you.

“How about you show me those nice manners one more time?” He asks. 

You grit your teeth. “Joel, I swear to god I will go inside and lock you out–”

Your threats are cut off by your startled moan as he licks through your folds, broad swipes of his tongue from your fluttering entrance to your aching clit. His sweet brown eyes are sinful as he looks up at you from between your thighs, devouring your pussy like his last meal. His nose rubs against your clit each time his tongue dips inside of you and you’re quickly reduced to a writhing mess.

You shift your weight to one arm and reach down with the other to tangle your fingers into his hair. He moans appreciatively against your cunt, the vibrations making you keen. When your hips start to fight against his hold, his lips wrap around your clit, sucking and rolling it with his tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, just like that,” you babble, trying to keep your voice down as you balance right on the edge of your orgasm. He hums again, tongue swirling over your clit until that final thread snaps and you free fall into oblivion, fingers curling tightly against his scalp and making him groan as he works you through your release.

Your limbs go boneless in the aftermath and you collapse against the ground, an arm over your eyes to block out the sun. You hear the sound of water sloshing before Joel lays beside you on his back, arms beneath his head. He turns to look at you, his bright smile making your heart flutter in your chest. 

And when he extends an arm out for you to snuggle up against him, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Joel Miller isn’t such a bad neighbor after all.

“What do you mean you thought I was the asshole?!” Joel asks indignantly as he leaves your bathroom. He’s got a towel held up around his waist and you’re finding it hard to concentrate on his words at this exact moment.

You’ve just finished showering together after your outdoor activities, where you returned his poolside favor with some attention of your own. Now, you’re laying on the bed in your own towel, tired from the sun and the sex. 

You’ve also just admitted that you thought he was the worst neighbor. An asshole even. And now he’s looking at you like you’re insane.

“You stole my internet!” He exclaims. 

“You can’t prove that,” you reply, maybe a bit too quickly. He raises an eyebrow at you, but you refuse to back down.

“Fine, but you put all those twigs and shit on my porch.”

“They were from your tree, I was simply…returning your property.”

“And the cats?” He crosses his arms. “Because of you, my flowerbeds look like shit and I’ve lost two planters.”

“Not my fault they can sense you’re the weak link. They’re asserting their dominance. Hiss at them or something,” you say with a shrug.

Joel gapes at you. “You can’t be serious.”

“Look, it’s water under the bridge now, right? What can I do to make it up to you?”

He’s silent for a moment before a mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“Where’s that toy you bought, sweetheart?”

_________________

Joel’s got you on your back, your wireless vibrator placed snugly inside of your and against your clit. You’re glaring at him because he’s stopped you from another orgasm. He’s quickly becoming obsessed with that fire in your eyes and the curl of your lip when you’re mad at him.

He presses a trail of kisses from your ankle to the inside of your thighs, nipping the sensitive skin close to your pussy just to hear you gasp. He continues across your abdomen and your breasts, stopping to lavish attention to each sensitive nipple, your back arching against him for more.

“Joel,” you whine, squirming beneath him. He stretches up to capture your lips in a kiss, your lips dragging across his in the most addicting way. His cock slides against the smooth skin of your hip, making him groan. With a flick of his thumb, he turns the toy back on. “Oh, fuck!”

“Want you to come for me this time, baby,” Joel tells you. “Then I want you to come all over my cock, okay?”

You nod, back bowing and muscles straining as your writhe against the vibrations. Joel sits back on his heels to watch you, the way your mouth is dropped open in a silent shout and how your eyes find his at the exact moment you start to come undone.

“Oh my god,” you pant as Joel swiftly removes the toy, the pink silicone shiny with your release. He tosses it to the side and presses his cock to your fluttering hole, sinking inside of you with a deep groan. Your walls are still clenching with the aftershocks of your orgasm as he begins to thrust, slow and deep.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he growls. He uses a hand to press one of your knees closer to your chest, his fingers wrapped tightly beneath your knee. 

The change in angle gets him deeper and his pace grows faster in response to your moans. He can feel you start to pulse around him, each drag of his cock out of your cunt getting harder as your walls squeeze, desperately trying to keep him inside. 

“Touch yourself,” Joel commands. “Wanna see you come for me again, pretty girl, come on.”

Your fingers find your clit, swirling through the mess of slick coating your folds. Your eyes are glued to him as you work yourself to the same rhythm of his thrusts. He knows you’re close when your eyes start to flutter, your head dropping back against the mattress and your thighs going tight against his hips.

“That’s it, good fuckin’ girl, just like that,” he growls as you come with a shout of his name. “Christ, you look so damn good.”

You blink at him, your eyes hazy and your smile languid as he chases his own release, using your sensitive cunt for his pleasure. When it gets to be too much, too close, he withdraws, fisting his cock with rough strokes until he comes in thick splashes against your belly.

He collapses on the bed beside you, both of your chests heaving with deep breaths. After a moment, he uses one of the towels to wipe you clean, tossing it to the floor. You glare at him. 

“You better put that in the hamper later,” you admonish. He pulls you into his side. 

“So, why exactly did you think I was an asshole neighbor?” He asks. To his surprise, you blush, mumbling something he can’t make out. “What?”

“I said because you beat me at the Halloween decorating contest.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. You have the twelve foot skeleton and I’m jealous.”

“I’ll get you as many skeletons as you want,” Joel laughs. You smile at him.

“Sounds good to me, big guy.”

_________________

The following Halloween, there are two twelve foot skeletons in the neighborhood, and they live right next door to each other.

Joel Miller taglist: 

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727  @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo @bigboiseason123 @bean-is-reading @darlingpedro @silkiers @pascals-cat @bbyanarchist @therealcap @pedrosgrogu @dreamingofdaddydin

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist.

[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | Prologue | Bradley Bradshaw

masterlist | next chapter

Six days after Maverick’s disappearance, Bradley isn’t quite whole anymore. But, there isn’t time to crumble.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc! avery mitchell : age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, extra warnings to be added chapter by chapter. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

“Rooster, those bandits are closing. We can’t go back.”

“Rooster, he’s gone. Maverick’s gone.”

It’s a stomach-sick, sweat inducing kind of fever that lingers now on this mild morning. Breeze blowing across his skin, patterned and rhythmic, reminding him every now and again to breathe.

It has been exactly six days since Pete Mitchell was declared missing in action. Six days since a missile meant for Bradley hit Pete’s plane and sent the sixty-five million dollar aircraft spiraling into miles and miles of desolate, freezing forest. Bradley has slept four times in those six days, and each time he has, his subconscious reminds him of exactly what he is responsible for

Today is a relatively chilly morning in May, and Bradley is sitting on the front step of a cottage near Bird Rock in northern San Diego. Today is the first day since he got home three and a half days ago that he has left his apartment. Natasha stayed over last night. She has stayed over every night. She slept by his side, on top of his covers, just holding his hand. When he was in the shower this morning, she laid out his clothes for him. She hasn’t ever known him to be this quiet. Ever.

He hasn’t said much at all since they got back. Natasha knows that he’s picturing himself alone in that forest. Dead, or worse.

Now, she sits at his side and rubs soft circles on his shoulder over the black fabric of his t-shirt. He would do it for her, if she was the one going through this. She would be too stubborn to listen to him too. They have known each other since flight school. Natasha got so drunk the first Friday that Bradley spent his entire first Friday holding her hair back while she threw up.

The next day, Bradley had embarrassed himself so badly in front of a girl he liked that he almost quit just so that they wouldn't have to see each other again.

That kind of thing bonds you for life: After that, they have remained pretty close. Especially now, when they need each other.

“Rooster, no one expects you to be here right now — you went through something awful out there.” She says it one last time anyway, even though she knows that it won’t change a single thing.

That’s one of the reasons that their friendship is so strong — sometimes a person just has to do what they have to do, Bradley and Natasha respect that sentiment. Even if it means texting back a no-good ex, or staying out a little too late on a work night now and again. Each other’s best interests are always at heart, but it’s human to not put yourself first now and again.

Bradley hasn’t sat on the steps of Maverick’s two bedroom beach cottage since he was thirteen. Right before Maverick pissed off an admiral and got shipped out somewhere crazy, somewhere cold — he can’t remember exactly where anymore, he never wrote a letter there.

That was all right before he started only seeing Maverick on holidays and special occasions, the occasional baseball game.

Pete bought this place back in the eighties.

He got it for a steal. A craftsman bungalow three blocks from the beach, with two bedrooms and a small yard. He had wanted to be close to Carole, and he had just gotten married.

Bradley’s memories of Charlie are faint, but he knows that her father helped Pete with the down payment. Maverick hated him for that. His first and, as it happened, only marriage hadn’t lasted very long. Two or three years, maximum. She was gone before Bradley finished second grade, anyway.

He remembers that she always made sure they had the ice-cream that he liked when he came to stay here — Mav had always been a little bit more forgetful when it came to that stuff.

The spare room here used to be Bradley’s. Back when his mom worked weekends at a hotel in La Jolla, and he and Pete would take Friday night trips to Blockbuster every week.

He hasn’t even been inside yet. He can’t imagine how much the interior would have changed since those weekends back in the nineties.

Glancing down at the IWC clock face on his wrist, the big hand has been creeping up on ten o’ clock for what feels like hours by now.

Breeze sweeps a strand of Natasha’s hair off of her face. She leans against her best friend, her palm trailing to the middle of his back.

Natasha has two parents. They definitely don’t see eye-to-eye often, but she knows where they are. It’s a Sunday, they’ll be at Costco. She has a sister who gets on her nerves but adores her nonetheless, Leona will be at a spin class this morning. None of the people she loves are missing. If one of them were, she would have others to lean on.

For Bradley, it’s just her now.

“I can’t let her turn up to an empty house.” Bradley’s voice comes out more hoarse than either of them is expecting it to. He hasn’t cried yet. He keeps thinking he might, the urge is there, but the tears just don’t come.

Bradley doesn’t even know her. Not really. Not even when he was a kid. It’s been sixteen years since Bradley was even on speaking terms with Maverick. Even when he still was, the news about Maverick’s accidental bundle of joy had been quite hush-hush.

He saw her a couple of times, the wriggling infant with perpetually sticky hands in an out of place looking car seat in one of Mav’s sports cars.

It doesn’t matter now that he never got to know her. Because of him, her life will be different forever. He’s got a debt to her father that he’ll never repay. For the sake of that, he’s willing to wait hours for her to turn up.

It has been six days. If Maverick survived the initial hit, and the ejection, then he has still been out in the snow for six days.

Probably injured. Alone. Being hunted. He’s gone. And yet, Bradley just can’t — or won’t — grieve him. Moving on isn’t an option.

So, he just sits here and waits. He doesn’t even know who, really, he’s looking for. He never met the mother, hasn’t really seen any pictures of you ever.

Pete Mitchell’s only child. The last time he saw her was when she was three years old, staring at him from the backseat of her mother’s blue ford escort with a pacifier in her mouth while your parents argued a few feet away.

He’d been sitting on these same front porch steps, pissed off because Mav was making him late for his baseball game.

Admiral Simpson is the one that has been doing all of the correspondence. He did Bradley a favour by giving him a heads up that the girl was even coming. Bradley wouldn’t have even known how to contact her himself.

He doesn’t have Maverick’s number any more, much less a girl he met a handful of times.

Back when he knew her, she didn’t even know her numbers. And her mother lived up near Oregon. She was a waitress. Most of the time Pete drove up to see her, or the weekends that she visited him, Bradley would stay with a neighbour.

He bows his head just slightly, elbows rested on his parted knees. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn sweats. He hasn’t ever let Natasha dress him before. Today wasn’t a good day to start. Meeting Mav’s kid wouldn’t be a formal occasion, but under the circumstances he reconsiders.

His ears perk up at the sound of an engine misfire.

Natasha flinches against him. She’s not been feeling that great since they got home either. Her dreams are like his too. It doesn’t matter.

The car squeals around the corner at the far end of the street like its driver is trying to get it onto just two wheels. He lifts his head in time to see a steel blue ford escort hit the curb on the street just past Maverick’s property line.

Instantly, he pushes himself onto his feet. That kind of maniacal attitude to manning a vehicle must be hereditary.

Both he and Natasha watch as the driver slams their fists into the wheel in frustration. Then, the driver notices them for the first time.

Hair twisted up messily, her face stark and tired, with a caught expression like a scolded child. She swallows.

Avery Mitchell has seen Bradley Bradshaw periodically throughout her life. There is no escaping his image when Maverick’s around. But, none of those photos are recent. They’re all from at least twelve years ago now.

She blinks, vague recognition in her expression as the engine splutters to sleep and she gets out of the car with the keys in her hand.

While she thinks Bradley looks different, he can’t find any semblance of the way he remembers her in her face now at all. She’s not a little kid anymore.

Natasha pushes herself to her feet, brushing the dust from her palms onto her jeans. A brief look is sent towards her best friend, but he doesn’t reciprocate. He’s staring straight ahead as Avery starts off with one foot on the pavement, swinging the groaning car door shut behind her.

High top black converse. The other foot follows next. Jeans. Normal, appropriate for the early May weather before the heat really picks up. She exhales and her hand flies up to wring at the nape of her neck, sore from sitting all that way.

“Hi,” She forces out. “Bradley, right?”

That’s stupid. She knows who he is. He knows who she is. Both of them know why they’re here.

“Yeah.” Bradley agrees without a nod. His hands are neither in his pockets nor doing anything else that might be productive. He tells himself that he should maybe shake her hand, but he doesn’t. He tells himself that maybe he should say something more, but he doesn’t.

Towering over the pretty brunette at his side, Bradley doesn’t look anything like he had in his photos at high school graduation. His face is longer and wider at the same time, his cheeks have lost some of their roundness but they still have a youthful pink flush. His hair is shorter, auburn and tidy around the back and sides. Still trying to be curly on top.

He grew up near the beach and his skin tells the tale. Freckles and a golden glow to his skin that is an all year round kind of thing by now. Slight redness across his collarbones, the high points of his body where the sun hits most when he’s drying off after a swim.

In his eyes, Avery searches; she was hoping to find the boy from the pictures. The grinning blond in the baseball uniform. Something familiar down here, at least. Instead, there’s something else.

Whatever that look is, she hopes it isn’t pity. Just because his dad — no, she stops herself, she shouldn’t think that. It shouldn’t start out like this.

“How was the drive? — Not too bad, I hope?” The tiny brunette finally bursts through the wall of silence that Avery and Bradley have been competitively building up since her sneaker touched the pavement two minutes ago. “I’m Natasha. I work with… — I — I’m Bradley’s friend.”

“Hi.” Avery starts out, dropping her hands down to her sides and shifting on her feet. She glances back at the car — practically a smoking pile of crap on the road. “It wasn’t too bad. I need to see a mechanic while I’m here, but — I don’t know. I’ll find time.” Just from watching her, Natasha can see that Avery is a personal all over the place.

Neither here nor there. She doesn’t look like you’ve been crying, either. Mascara intact, lips glossed, her makeup looks pretty.

But, there’s a restlessness in her eyes that gives her away.

Bradley knows that it has been a long time since he and Maverick were on speaking terms. He knows that even before that, they didn’t talk much about the kid he had a couple hundred miles away.

But, shit — he wishes now that he had at least seen a picture first so that he could prepare himself.

He remembers footie pajamas and drool and chubby, perpetually sticky cheeks.

Now, there’s a belt looped through her blue jeans makes sure that the denim hugs her in all of the right places and that tank top is confirming to him that she’s absolutely nothing like the faint image he has in some of his oldest memories.

There’s got to be something wrong with him — that that’s one of the first things that sprung to his mind.

That Mav’s kid got hot in the twenty years since he saw her last. He shakes it from his head. Physically. He shakes his head and finally springs into action.

“What’s the matter with it?”

For the first time in five days, it’s the first time that someone hasn’t started a conversation by asking how she holding up. It catches Avery totally unprepared, and her knowledge of cars leaves her under qualified to answer anyway.

Bradley Bradshaw takes three long strides along the stone garden path and he has reached her already.

He’s on a course right for her, and he’s big when he’s not squished into one of those photo frames in Maverick’s house. She leans back slightly, starting to brace for the impact of him hitting her.

He’s aware of his size and has learned to grow careful with it, stepping around her narrowly and heading straight for her old shitbox of a car.

“I don’t know. The steering is loose and the engine is making a weird noise.”

Bradley twists his neck and shoots an incredulous look at her, back over one of his wide shoulders.

It’s a fourteen hour drive down from the Oregon coast, on a good day, and this car ran like shit when her mother bought it twenty something years ago.

Popping the hood, Bradley finds himself thinking of something other than those snowy peaks for the first time all week. He lets out a deep breath.

Ahead of her, Avery stands confronted with Mav’s place.

The cottage she was forced to spend the occasional weekend or weeks in during the summer a couple of times through her childhood.

Most of the times that she had seen Pete was in her hometown. He was always the one who travelled. It seemed fair. His job meant that it didn’t happen often.

Avery’s memories of this house are faint, but the same uncomfortable restless feeling it gives her remains. She remember quiet days sitting on the couch with her hands in your lap, waiting for that court-mandated forty-eight hours to be up.

Natasha is facing the other way. She watches Bradley step off of the curb and pop the hood. Bradley has a technical knowledge of engineering from his career, and a slightly broader scope from his interest in vintage cars — but he’s not a mechanic.

A quick glance to her right and she takes note of the way Avery’s frowning down at the weeds poking through the stone path pavers.

Like watching a storm roll in before a big surf, Natasha has a bad feeling about this arrangement. There’s a competitive nature to the way Bradley needs to be busy — given the right permission, he’d run himself into the ground with it.

Two people who should be coming to terms with their grief, and it's clear to her that they’re both planning on ignoring this problem for as long as they can.

She stares at you, already planning on tearing up all of those weeds for the week to come.

“You can’t drive this piece of shit.” Bradley decides from the street. He stands back and plants his hands firmly on his hips, shaking his head.

Avery turns slowly on the balls of her feet and pushes her hands into the pockets of her jeans, glancing back at Natasha for a little bit of help here.

He doesn’t even look up.

Crowding over the hood of the car, glaring down at it. Thick shoulders filling out a plain black t-shirt and long legs hidden under loose fitting grey sweats. An auburn curl dangles over his forehead.

“I… Kinda have to.” Avery points out. A recent graduate with no immediate career plans, who just quit her waitressing job to pick up the pieces of her presumably dead, semi-estranged father’s life. Buying a new car isn’t exactly in the budget right now.

Bradley opens his palms and braces them against the open hood. He turns his head and looks first at Natasha. His best friend. Then, the house. He learned to ride his bike on this street. Maverick lived on this street. Finally, his attention turns to her. He watches her watch him.

Leaning against her shitty, old car like it’s the only thing keeping him on his feet. Squinting at her because he left his sunglasses in work and the doctors won’t let him go back there for another couple weeks. Natasha’s going to pick them up for him later today.

Avery’s staring back at him, wondering why he’s looking at her like that. Like he’s looking for something.

He pushes off of the car and stands, wiping his hands on his sweats. “I’ll take care of it. Whatever you need. I can drive you for a bit.”

As Bradley walks around to the back of the car and pops open the trunk to grab her bags, Natasha is struck with a numbing realization.

This really is a bad idea. She knows it’s more than him being nice, and it’s more than him owing Pete Mitchell.

Maverick put himself in an early grave trying to make up for a mistake he made when he was young, and she’s got a bad feeling that Bradley won’t stop until he does the same.

…

Tags: @ahoyyharrington @diorrfairy @just-a-harmless-potato @hangmanshoney @sgt-barnesveins @shanimallina87 @nykie-love-anime @lilyevanswhore @sammyrenae68 @moonlight-addisyn @pulisvertz @cherrycola27 @chxosunbound @tayygriffith @yuckosworld @callsign-magnolia @trickphotography2 @katieshook02 @atarmychick007 @sushiwriterhere @books-for-summer @thelonelyumbrella @angelbabyange @iwontshutuptilltheyaddgeckoemoji @stillreadingfantasy @casualhilarity @s-u-t @topguncortez @sweetwhispersofchaos @aaprilshowers @shadeds-library @bradswolfe @wishingwell-2 @roostersgirlfrxend @itsmytimetoodream

[thebarontheabyss]

Hey there, patrons of TBOTA! 👻 I thought I'd share one of the things I'm overhauling for the next game update :D

Introducing the new skill system:

Insight

Logic

Physique

Charm

Finesse

Creativity

These new skills will be MUCH more useful in the game and for your MC. More interactivity, basically.

I'm also revamping your MCs' career choices in the prologue. Instead of the usual 5 options plus a "write your own" choice, there will now be a total of 31 career options that will open up unique choices throughout the story. And because why not, here is the complete list:

Scientist, Astronaut, Lawyer, Surgeon, Architect, Psychologist, Professional Athlete, Firefighter, Outdoor Guide, Dancer, Detective, Stuntperson, Politician, Actor, Performer, Bartender, Salesperson, Repair Technician, Medic, Security Specialist, Chef, Martial Artist, Writer, Painter, Journalist, Wood Craftsman, Social Worker, Teacher, Advertiser, Nurse, Spirit Medium.

So, which will be your first choice?

[roachymochi]

Radagon get a lot of characterisation from Shadow of the Erdtree, especially for someone who is never talk about even once.

But we learn about Marika. About her origin, her motivation, and the nature of her flesh.

And we learn about Miquella, how i cast aside his love that was litterally an entire other person, that was also him.

This is actually the second time we see an empyrean discard a good part of themselves on the path to godhood. The other time is Millicent, who is implied to be Melania's honor, or courage, she left behind in Caelid.

So we can extrapolate about what part of Marika was Radagon before they were separated. And he was a good part too.

While Marika is characterized as a distant but good (long ago at least) ruler, she is also described as having committed many atrocity in the name of power, and casting aside her childrens.

Radagon may have started as a champion, but it stopped the war by falling in love with the Carian Queen. His interaction with his children seems much more loving than Marika's. He was a craftsman, and a tailor, which require a lot more finesse and patience than we ever see in Marika's reputation. He firmly believed in the golden order, but also expended his faith beyond it, merging the study of incantation and sorcery to reach a true understanding of the greater will.

Even after Marika broke the Elden Ring, hopeless that any good thing could come out of the current state of the world, Radagon reforged it because i could still see in it things worth preserving.

The most interesting part of his characterization I think his is builder aspect. He may bear traits reminiscent of the fire giants, but he add all the good aspects of their forge : the light, the warmth, the power and will to change and reshape things, to refine them and bring them to perfection.

Meanwhile, Marika's empire is eternal, unchanging, stagnating. Even her iconic poses reflect her struggle through time : in the shadow land, she is depicted has kind, arms spread in a tender embrace. In the lands between, she is depicted with her arm above her, like she is trapped in shackles, bearing an incredible weight on her shoulder's. In the Erdtree, when we actually meet her, she is straight up crucified.

I think Radagon used to be Marika's hope.

And by casting him aside, she lost any ability to move, to grow, to react and change with the world. She wanted to build an eternal unchanging kingdom, and she doomed it from the start.

[dylanndr]

The Character of Sauron

Just finished watching S2 of Rings of Power. As a fan of the Jackson LOTR trilogy, and lukewarm-to-negative on the Jackson Hobbit, I wasn't sure to what extent RoP was necessary [the TV series is intended to mesh visually with the Jackson LOTR trilogy but Jackson is not involved with RoP]. Do we really need the world-building backstory fleshed out in detail? But I've been watching, and enjoying, and I think it's doing one thing exceptionally well that does indeed add richness to the overall LOTR story: it's showing us why Sauron is scary as fuck, how he came to be the nearly-unstoppable force that he is.

[Caveat: I read the Appendices once, literal decades ago. They are not fresh in my mind, so I don't know how much liberty RoP is taking with them. Probably a lot, because they're building narrative out of what is functionally academic material. But the LOTR films took a lot of liberties with the books as well, it's just a thing that's going to happen in adaptations, and the real question is whether or not the liberties lend themselves to a good and cohesive story. Anyway.]

Big ol' Rings of Power spoilers to follow.

So, Sauron. In LOTR he is presented as this immensely powerful, mystical being who corrupts and consumes. But it's kinda abstract. He's a burning eye; he uses the palantir and the Ring to get into people's heads somehow or other; his One Ring is bad for you, don't use it.

What RoP is doing is showing how Sauron gets into people's heads and manipulates them. He figures out what your ambition is, what your desires are, and uses them against you to further his own goals. For Galadriel, it's revenge. For Celebrimbor, it's acclaim as a legendary craftsman. And at first, Sauron has to interact with someone personally to suss out what it is they want, and how he can use that for his own advantage.

But then he figures out that he can put his own essence into these exquisite rings that Celebrimbor is crafting, and then use the rings as conduits to manipulate people from afar: he's able to warp King Durin's mind remotely, pushing him into physically attacking his fellow dwarves. The more of Sauron's essence that goes into the rings, the more easily he can use them as vessels, and he escalates accordingly with the rings for men. The rings that will ultimately turn those men into his nazgul servants, their own will utterly subsumed into his.

I also appreciate how the writers have shown that Sauron can *appear* sympathetic, but are not actually portraying him as a Poor Misunderstood Villain in the narrative. In S1 we, like Galadriel, are fully led to believe Halbrand is basically a good guy, a bit of a rake with a mysterious past. Until we find out the truth about who Halbrand really is and, whoops! We were *deceived.*

The way Sauron shifts back and forth between kind and cruel indicates there's no underlying attempt to rehabilitate him as a character, but rather to show just how cunning manipulators can be at their craft. Even after the other characters *know* who he is, they still have a hard time resisting him. This persists for Galadriel for 3000 years, culminating in her immense relief when Frodo offers her the One Ring and she's able to turn him down, albeit with some effort. If the Hobbits have special resistance to his wiles, perhaps it's because their ambitions and desires tend to be "eat a food, drink an ale, smoke a blunt."

The actor playing Sauron (Charlie Vickers) is IMO doing a *fantastic* job of shifting from "I'm just a mostly-wholesome person who's here to help you do the thing you need to do" to "I'm absolutely using your desires to manipulate you into doing the thing *I* want to do," his expression gliding from warm to cold as Sauron shifts modes. The way a very slight twitch of a facial muscle conveys Sauron's anger without devolving into chewing scenery or over-the-top bombast. Sauron does commit acts of violence, but by far his preferred go-to is getting others to do his dirty work for him, and he almost always gets people to go along with him willingly, even against their own best interests. Far more scary than a guy who just yells a lot and stabs people.

[r0swells]

hello! take some designs for an after-game PMTOK au i've had rattling around in my brain for a bit. More explanation under the cut :]

Okay so the basic premise is that a couple of months after the game something something star spirits cause the legion of stationary + Olly and Olivia get reborn as toads (except for like, 1.5 of them) and are dropped off unceremoniously in Toad Craftsman's front yard for him to deal with.

This was mostly an excuse so I could draw some Olivia interacting with everyone because we never got to see her hanging out with them and I plan to rectify that! Uh here are some design notes:

For all the LoS I really wanted to give them all different types of mushroom caps for fun so Colored pencils got a death-cap mushroom as theirs since I wanted something flat like their box. I wanted their design to be reminiscent of an art student since I thought it would be funny.

Rubber band's mushroom cap is a bunch of enoki mushrooms reminiscent of their little hair thing. I think they adjusted the best of the LoS to being a toad since they already took a pretty humanoid form when they were an office supply.

Hole punch's mushroom is a Morel mushroom since they have a bunch of holes and stuff. their hair is also supposed to look like cut up paper.

Tape has a button mushroom since I really didn't wanna distract from their hair and them having a really tiny hat seemed funny. Still the most loyal to Olly even though he literally has no powers anymore because its the FAMILY!

Scissors is an oyster mushroom since it looks kinda cut up. Also their Handaconda has been turned into one of the Underwhere hands from the river Stix. They're the one dealing the worst (besides Olly) with being a toad and keep trying to do flips and shit and failing.

Stapler is a chain chomp with really messed up teeth, thats it.

Olivia and Olly are just normal toads! Also Olivia is fine, she just spawned with the "cut" out on her cap, since she can't really wear her signature hat. Didn't really have to change much about their designs, they're already perfect. But as stated above, Olly is really not doing well being a toad, makes it really hard to make origami. I also think Olivia really doesn't like it either, she liked being who she was and this just feels wrong to her. it feels wrong to all of them tbh

I also tried my hand at an Origami craftsman design. I wanted him to kinda look like Olly and Olivia, having Olivia's hair texture, but Olly's color and shape. I've seen people head canon him to be really young and I totally agree, makes his mistake seem a little more driven by naivety then by deliberately going against what he should know. He's dealing...okay with having a bunch of people in his house.

+ some sketches

Yea the only ideas I have for plot is that Olly is trying to remake all the 1000 cranes again so he can turn them all back into their true forms and they can leave (the idea of taking over doesn't really appeal to him anymore) and go somewhere else. But there's also a time limit since the origami festival is happening soon and the Craftsman has to go to it and the others really don't know how everyone else might react to them. Also everyone only remembers up to when they die so colored pencils really has no context while Olivia knows mostly what happened. i like the idea that this creates some tension between Olly and the LoS who are questioning what happened to make him change his mind so drastically.

so yea if anyone has any ideas or questions send me an ask, I really like this au and really wanna talk about it :]

[girlfromthecrypt]

𝕊𝕦𝕔𝕙 ℍ𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕪 ℂ𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤

[Interactive fiction, Demo TBA]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪

You play as a counselor for the understaffed and underfunded Cloverleaf program. Your job is to organize and oversee a cabin camping holiday for children from troubled homes. Working hard alongside you are your four allies (and potential friends/lovers) Basil Laurier, Anita Merrick and the siblings Flo and Reem Malak.

Unfortunately, the campsite you're tasked with preparing is nothing short of decrepit. Still, you'll make the best of it, right? As you and your colleagues undertake repairs and cleaning efforts (and possibly get to know each other a little better), you keep finding yourself in increasingly unsettling situations.

But surely there's no reason to worry, right?

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

Welcome to Camp Solace!

This picturesque cabin campsite is situated in the middle of nowhere, directly next to the beautiful Lake Solace and flanked by acres of woodland, far removed from the bustle of civilization. In fact, it'd take you quite a while to reach the nearest town in case of an emergency. You'd best make sure nothing goes wrong.

Camp Solace was established in the 1980s. In 2022, the site was bought out by the wealthy Laurier family who plan to overturn it to appeal to “a higher class of customers”. But not before offering it to the Cloverleaf program for the season, free of charge. The things people do for their public image…

𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤

For the duration of the holiday as well as its lengthy preparations and follow-up work, you will be relying on the support of your four closest colleagues.

Basil Laurier (M, trans, late twenties): The eldest son of the Laurier family. He's volunteering at Cloverleaf. Wealthy, though he tries not to seem it. Van-lifer, nature lover and dedicated spiritualist. Skilled craftsman. Enjoys building things and blowing them up after. Harmonious, cheerful and snarky.

Anita Merrick (F, mid twenties): Student of psychology doing her internship with the Cloverleaf program. Has a bachelor's degree in information technology. Smart, kind and chronically sleep-deprived. Enjoys a good book and fancy coffee. Certified softie. Easily scared (she's in for a bad time, the poor thing).

Reem Malak (F, early thirties): Music teacher, band guitarist and vocalist. Volunteering at Cloverleaf. Flo’s older half-sister. Also plays drums and percussion, sax, piano, bass… and bagpipes. Impulsive, passionate and energetic. Enjoys doing yoga and lifting weights. The cool girl. Very tall.

Flo Malak (M, late twenties): Martial arts teacher who gives classes for both adults and children. Also volunteering at Cloverleaf. Taekwondo, Krav Maga. Silent, kind and not without his quirks. Reem calls him “socially challenged”. Enjoys obscure media and monster movies. Even taller than his sister.

𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕣 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣

Your player character's age will be kept ambiguous, though it’s implied that you’re in same age range as the romance options (meaning your twenties to thirties). 

Play as M, F or NB; gay, straight, bi, ace or keep your orientation undefined (Note: Such Happy Campers is very character-driven with a focus on romantic love and interpersonal connections).

Customize your looks and vibe; choose your strengths, personality and outfit!

[fragmentedblade]

Maybe they could have given Yingxing the craftmaster clothes in the Ichor of Two Dragons short

[normal-paldean-student]

.....Right, need to actually make this post.

There's a small incense shop in Lumiose City that recently had some Pokémon Eggs appear in it. Owner doesn't know where they came from, and can't take care of them herself, so I volunteered to help find trainers to take them in.

Since we don't know the parents of these eggs, we don't know what Pokémon might be inside them, though. Doesn't help that they look the same from the outside either.

.....There's one clue, though. If I hold one and concentrate, I can mostly guess what type it might be when it hatches. More sure of some than others but..... it's something.

Here's the list.

Fairly sure it's Grass type. Something about it feels..... old, sort of? Or maybe mysterious. Going to @the-craftsman-and-mover.

Probably Water type, might be Steel type. Feels royal. Going to @belamew.

Tentative Flying type. Whatever's in there definitely has feathers, though. Going to @kittsu-and-company.

Benefits of using psychic abilities to try to predict what's in the eggs are recognizing Psychic types for sure. Definitely a dual type too, but the other half is more mundane. Normal or Fighting? Coming back to Uva with me to go to @naranja-uva-librarians.

Another egg like the last one. Everything about these feels like it comes in twos. Going to @agardevoir.

.....Know I just said I could recognize Psychic types for sure. Definitely recognized it in the last two. This one only might be, though. Could also be Fire. Going to @rosemary-loves-pokemon.

Don't really feel any element to this one. Normal or Fighting? Feels lucky. Going to @en-j-neering.

Normal, or maybe Fire. The fire is faint, though. Given to @adventerousclownery.

Either Bug or Grass. Sort of... innocent? Probably going to @cutie-crawlies.

.......Definitely Poison. All I can get is "toxic." Going to @koffing-time.

Fire or Electric. Either way, it's full of energy. Going to @amperage-speedway.

Able to travel, so region isn't a barrier. Won't give them to evil teams or anything, but... as long as you're able to take care of the Pokémon and you'll be good to it, that's what matters. Just let me know you want one of the eggs and I'll come out to visit you.

//ooc info + rules under the cut

if you have a strict no fakemon rule, taking rene up on this isn't a good idea, because every pokémon in these eggs is a noncanon baby form. all designs are based on or inspired by scrapped baby pokémon.

your character doesn't have to be human to ask for one of the eggs. sapient pokémon who want to adopt are welcome.

your character doesn't need to be someone who otherwise interacts with rene to ask for one of the eggs.

some of the eggs have been reserved privately in advance, but besides that it's first come first serve. that said if you really want one that's already taken, let me know and another of that type can turn up.

when your character receives their egg, you will also be given a drawing of the pokémon inside, definitive information on its type, and possibly a species name suggestion.

once the egg is yours, it's out of my hands. you have full permissions to do whatever you want with the pokémon, even if we lose contact and/or one of us leaves the pokémon irl community. this includes gifting it to another person, though i'll ask that you don't sell it for money since you got it for free.

[cloaksandcapes]

Here's something to dangle in front of your players with regrets of the past they'd like to change! :)

Scroll of Yesterday

Wondrous Item, legendary

“An elegant silver scroll case that was made with care and passion by a master craftsman. Etched into this case is a mural of countless historical moments of tragedy on a grand scale. Inside of the case is a single black piece of parchment.”

This powerful scroll can be used to travel back in time, up to the date of your birth. But the incantation to use it is hidden in celestial ink upon an infernal parchment. In order to read the incantation, you must spend an hour studying the scroll and make a DC 20 Religion or Arcana check, which you can attempt once a day. Every failed attempt decreases the DC by 1. In addition, each time you fail the check you gain 1 level of exhaustion.

Once the incantation is known, anyone may hold the scroll and use an action to speak it aloud. The text on the scroll glows and the scroll burns away. Whoever spoke the incantation is whisked away through time and space to a point of tragedy or regret in their past. They remain there for 10 minutes, and whatever they do may have an effect on the future. After 10 minutes, they are sent back to the point in time they left, taking 1d10 psychic damage for every 10 years into the past they traveled.

History Repeats. Once the scroll has been used, the case will create a new one in 1d100 years.

Divine Obfuscation. The true nature of this magic item cannot be discerned by the identify spell. Any attempt to do so only reveals a cloudy notion of regret, tragedy, and the heavy ticking of a clock. If the legend lore is used on this magic item, it shows memories of others interacting with versions of themselves at different ages.

If you enjoy our content, please support our team of four on Patreon. Get access to over 700+ Magic Items, monsters, tokens, subclasses and more.

[dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you]

best friends to lovers destiel au fic recs list for @thetiredstuff :D

A Tale of Two Tropes by Amelia_Clark (E, 7k)

 “Am I going to regret this?” Cas asked from the passenger seat.

 They’d just pulled up outside Dean’s grandmother’s house, a tidy Craftsman bungalow painted a cheerful yellow. It didn’t look threatening; there was a porch swing with crocheted cushions and a cement statue of a goose on the porch. The goose was wearing a rain slicker and hat the same color as the house.

In this fic: fake dating, bed-sharing, the doting grandmother Dean Winchester never had, a cement goose with a wardrobe, a contemptuous cat, and a lot of sexual tension that's unresolved until it isn't.

As You Walk On By by MercyBraavos (E, 23k)

Dean and Castiel grew up together. Fell in love together. Lost their virginity together. Made plans for the future, their future, together. There’s only one problem:

Castiel doesn’t remember any of it.

Are We Any Different? by LeviathanBlue, SerpentCountess (T, 41k)

Cas adopts (steals) a cow.  Dean helps.

“Cas… There’s a… There’s a cow.  In my room.” “Yes, Dean.” “Why?” “Because.” "Right."

More Than Kisses by  FriendofCarlotta  (E, 29k)

1996: Dean joins his high school’s pen pal program as a last-ditch effort to keep from repeating the eleventh grade. But soon, the letters he trades with Castiel, a fellow high schooler from Chicago, become the most important constant of his life.

2005: Castiel has been in love with his pen pal Dean for years now. But he’s reluctant to upset the balance of their relationship, so when a new work opportunity takes him to Dean’s city, he keeps it a secret. Will these two ever find their way to each other?

things i knew when i was young by stormwarnings  (T, 16k)

Ok, so Castiel's in love with his best friend.

Which is what puts them here, in Dean’s car, eight hours into a nine and a half hour drive up north to bury Castiel’s mother on the grounds that he grew up on. Because it’s been eight years since Castiel cut ties with his family and left, supposedly for college, and there hasn’t been a word of communication since. Because Dean is, at his core, a good person and a better friend, and when he heard that Castiel’s mother had died and that he would need to return to his childhood home over Thanksgiving break, he knew enough to say he’d go with him.

This is, for sure, not helping Castiel get over his inappropriately persistent feelings.

(more under the cut)

Alright  by  turningthepages  (T, 46k)

Dean is a good kid living in a good town surrounded by good friends and good family. Castiel is the new kid in town and has never truly had a friend before.

Dean comes along and starts to change things for him.

To Build a Home by intothesilentland  (M, 383k)

Twenty-three years of head-over-heels, devastating devotion and love, love, love for the man with bright eyes and dark hair. Fourteen years of friends, best friends, of always together. One moment of rejection.

Nine years of apart. Nine years of heartbreak, nine years of continents away, of not speaking, of no acknowledgement, no interaction, no closure, no peace. No happiness. Nine years of Dean’s life entering motions, going through them, constant, cold and mechanic, like clockwork. Nine years of alone.

God. Nine years. A lot has changed. And yet Dean still loves Cas just the same. Even if his heart hurts all kinds of different.

On the day of Jimmy Novak's funeral, Dean sees Cas for the first time in nine years. He adored Castiel the moment he met him, at only four years old. But after fourteen years of friendship destroyed by one moment of heartbreak, and after nine years of silence, Dean is convinced Cas will want nothing to do with him. And it's killing him.

When In Vegas  by  Dmsilvis, TobytheWise (E, 16k)

Dean has figured out the most perfect prank. The prank to top every other prank. Ever. Getting his best friend drunk and then convincing him they’d gotten married in their drunken stupor was easy. Dealing with Castiel telling him he’s been in love with Dean for years? Well, that’s a different thing entirely.

Castiel wakes up married to the love of his life who he’s been secretly pining over for years. Now he just has to convince Dean that he’ll be the best husband ever, making sure Dean will never regret the decision he made that night.

Things take a terrible turn when Castiel finds out everything was a lie in the name of a prank just as Dean realizes how much he truly loves Castiel back. Will they be able to overcome this misunderstanding or was their relationship doomed before it even started?

The Ocean Between Us  by  noxsoulmate  (E, 27k)

Living a hermit life, Dean Winchester didn’t need much. The only things important to him were his position in the business that was once owned by his family, his boat, and his friendship with Castiel, Charlie, and Gabriel. If only there wasn’t a whole ocean between them, then maybe he could even give his feelings for Castiel a chance …

Room for Two (The Mattress AU) by  almaasi  (E, 14k)

✔ College roommates ✔ Buying a mattress together ✔ Faking a relationship to get a discount ✔ Sharing a bed ✔ Roleplaying as a couple to "test the bed" ✔ Fake kissing becomes real kissing ✔ Fake sex is Way Too Real ✔ Cuddling ✔ Wet dreams ✔ "Oh no I thought I was dreaming but it was real life" ✔ Matchmakers Sam & Charlie ✔ Cas seems kinda clueless but actually understands everything ✔ Mutual respect, support, and understanding ✔ Friends to lovers ✔ Mutual pining ✔ Go౦ԁ sHit        

Honey-Baked  by  mishaminion69, sydkn3e (E,  89k)

There's no ifs, ands, or buts about it...Cas is a weird, tactless, ornery guy. His idea of a job is selling weed out of their shared cabin, his idea of fun is occasional orgies, and he has more creepy dolls and crystals than anyone of their age ever should.

But he's also Dean's childhood best friend, and now he's the star of all Dean's wildest fantasies.

Then there's the whole "being in love with him" thing.

The Ones We Choose  by  lightmyway  (E, 82k)

After telling his family he’s gay, Castiel winds up homeless.   With the help of his best friend, Cas finds himself a home and a new family.  He also finds himself in love with his best friend.  A love that endures no matter the circumstances of their lives, even in the wake of Dean’s rejection.

Despite knowing how Cas feels, Dean clings to his best friend through the years.  In high school and college.  As roommates.  Through Cas becoming a firefighter and his own journey to become a business owner.  With shared time and space, Dean begins to see Cas in a new light.  His attraction grows, along with his feelings.

Letting those feelings spill out one night, Dean changes the trajectory of their lives.  As their relationship grows, they are confronted by Cas’s past and must relive a painful and damaging event in Dean’s life.  But it is the life-changing fire, which is their greatest challenge, making them face their deepest fears and test the strength of their love.

[the-craftsman-and-mover]

The southern side of mt. Coronet, in Sinnoh of course. That is where we have our shit set up.

Regarding a previous post of yours, do you want to go home?

-Keeper.

@the-craftsman-and-mover

not really LOL my home universe sucked I'mma be real

its only redeeming qualities were the energy sources and the opponents that were fun to go against

other than that, though, it wasn't worth it