#also reblogging for the useful armor facts

[the-very-darcy]

So the thing is, practically everything in movies and television is wrong. The illusion of realism relies on the majority of the audience having expertise in, at most, one or two of the subjects in question. To the hypothetical universal expert, most movies and TV shows would be borderline unwatchable. Just distractingly incorrect.

Things I've heard knowledgeable people complain about being portrayed inaccurately almost across the board:

Wounds

Internal anatomy

Martial arts

Weapons and armor

Playing musical instruments or singing

Historical clothing, especially undergarments

Historical hairstyles and makeup

Acoustics

Guns

Geography

Horses

The Klingon language

Also lots of normal human languages

Archery

Sewing

The police

I'm sure there are more, these are just the ones I remember off the top of my head.

IDK if this is always a problem, per se. You don't necessarily need perfect realism to tell a good story.

It is pretty funny, though.

[fanfictilltheend]

❤️‍🔥Violent Heart Part 2:  ♪Remember when I moved in you, and the holy dove was moving too ♫ (or the VERY DARK Stepdad!Mechanic!Covict!Joel x Afab!you one)❤️‍🔥

Hi I apologize that a lot of these reference pics are just of white girls. I tried to find "aesthetic" images that go with the story but so many of them are just of white people and I want to call myself out for this because in the fic's only descriptors are that she has hair and is AFAB -- nothing about race. I also realize that all of the girls in this are skinny too and Y/N's body type is never specified. Sorry fam!! These images are just to get the creative juices flowing and don't truly depict anything from the fic!!

A/n: It’s here!!!!!! 18+ Only. This took me 7 freaking months so you mofos better like, reblog, and comment. This is both my most and least personal fic I’ve ever written and it is dark and relies heavily on plot (smut this time tho!!) READ ALL OF THE TAGS DO NOT COME FOR ME UNLESS YOU DID THIS FR FR. This ones for my dark joel fangirlies(guys and NBies) and the daddy issues fam ily ❤️‍🔥 (also not me naming my fic in part after hallelujah by leonard cohen but there is a reason!!!!!!!!!!)

Summary: Part 2 picks up with Y/N at age 20 and how her relationship with Joel has changed and gets steamier.  SMUT and feelings <3 Also check out this playlist of music that’s in the fic!!!!

Tags (PLEASE READ): Afab!you, pov change, Infidelity, threats, age gap, dressing Joel up (swear I wrote this before he wore that outfit to the SAG awards — the mr.Darcy-core one), racist comment (from Y/N’s douchey boyfriend), douchey boyfriend, confidence issues, feelings, voyeurism, masturbation (m and f), kissing, penis in vagina sex — unprotected (wear a condom), lightest hint of ass play, scar worship?? kinda??, daddy issues, daddy kink, using music lyrics to move the plot, multiple orgasms (m and f), religion and god discussions, stepcest (kinda bc technically he is divorced from her mother), tagging psuedo-incest just to be safe!!, use of y/n

Word Count: ~13k

PART 1

AO3 Link

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

If you’re being honest, you’ve always had a little crush on Joel Miller. How could you not have? The first day you’d met him had been like some kind of fucked up yet extremely satisfying whirlwind of a daydream. He’d come in, broad and tall and strong, and saved you from your evil (though you do love him somewhere deep, deep down) older brother’s onslaught. Protected you like a knight in shining armor from his punching, beating fists. Treated and touched you so tenderly, so many miles different from how your own father did that you’d been hit with whatever the pleasant opposite of whiplash is. And the way he finally punished Aiden after years of his reign of terror, the violence of it, the justice of it. You didn’t have words for it then, but the way you looked into Joel’s eyes when he was doling out that righteous punishment became some kind of strange secret understanding between the two of you. Maybe it was the first sign of love? You aren’t sure.

As a kid, he’d given you what you like to think of as quiet butterflies. They were always there when he spoke to you, looked at you, touched you, beat the shit out of your father and brother for you, but they were faint enough that you could ignore them. It was a comforting, fluttering kind of love, a gradual understanding of your loyalty to one another. But then puberty hit and the insects became incessantly loud when you thought of, wrote to, or talked to him. They ate at your heart day after day while Joel was in prison – the longing, the missing. Aiden told you that you were obsessed with him. Your mother told you to forget him, that he would forget you. But somehow, he didn’t. You wonder if those bugs live in him too. You wonder if they are quiet or loud and if they gnaw .

You think that they are probably loud. You think this for a few reasons. The first is that you know for a fact, you can feel it in the lining of your soul, and from the evidence of his constant correspondence and care for you, that he is just as obsessed with you as you are with him. The second reason is the fact that you think but aren’t one hundred percent sure is that the last time you’d hugged him he’d gotten a little hard (you don’t want to think too much into that because he is only a man who had been deprived of touch for a long time – but still you wonder…). And the third is the way he looks at you like you are the universe like you are the last drop of nectar and he is the last butterfly left on Earth in a famine. 

That’s how he’s looking at you now in the passenger seat of his old, clunky pickup. You know that he wanted to drive, but you wanted to show him how well you could because he had never seen. Never had the chance to see how well you had fixed, maintained, and took care of his baby and of course he gave into you like he always does. He's smiling at you quietly, but his eyes contain multitudes. Right now mostly pride at your driving.

Joel is a bit different than how you remember sitting near him in the truck the last time you were together, him as a free man, you as a little girl. Somehow, even though you are obviously bigger now, he still seems massive and broad and stronger than ever. His biceps are huge – probably from all the time he had to work out in prison – and peeking out under his blue t-shirt that you brought for him, you think you see the outlines of some tattoos. You look a little closer. On his right arm is text in curvy black ink. You think it reads, “Sarah.” You smile softly at that. On his other arm is a strange orange shape that you have to squint at to understand. The edges of the object are jagged but they form a shape like a badge – and then you know what it is! It is the guitar pick you made for Joel as a child. The one that had pricked his finger and drawn blood and he stuck it in his wallet. You can’t articulate how honored you feel that Joel loved you enough to tattoo something you made for him on his body, permanently, forever. 

“ Well , the light only turned green damn near eons ago,” he complains about your driving, but you know he is just teasing.

There is hardly anything wrong you can ever do in Joel’s eyes. He grins at you a bit lopsidedly and you smile back. You also can’t help but notice the greying of his brown hair. It’s a bit longer than it used to be too and the length gives it a little bit less of a shaggy look. You think it suits him, makes him look a bit older and more distinguished than when he first came into your life twelve years ago. 

Objectively, you know it’s weird to think that your ex-stepdad who is a convicted felon is hot, but it’s just something you’ve always known and thought like that the sky is blue or that orange is your favorite color. You know it’s weird to think of someone who was? – is? – supposed to be a father figure to you that way, but it’s already second nature at this point. You’ve had a few boyfriends (luckily all of them had treated you right), but none of the feelings you’ve ever had for them have compared to the cosmic-sized love and affection you have for Joel and you’ve never known anything different. The years you spent longing, missing, loving, obsessing over, and aching for him in every way under the sun, can’t be healthy, you know this, but they have eclipsed practically every other relationship in your life. No one has ever made you feel as safe and protected and loved as Joel has. No one else has ever looked at you the way he does. No one else’s entire existence has revolved around you the way his has. The sheer devotion in his gaze is enough to make the butterflies inside you scream and beat their wings against your insides like hungry bats. 

And you especially know you shouldn’t have these feelings about another human being violent enough to be capable of taking a life – inebriated or not. You’re grown now and know the man he killed was a scum-of-the-Earth child predator, and secretly you’ve always wondered if there was more to the story than Joel told the police in the official court transcripts you’d read as an adult, maybe even something to do with you since you had been there that day in the repair shop when they met , but you haven’t pressed because you’re sure the whole thing is quite traumatic for Joel and if he ever wants to tell you, you know he will. And more importantly, you don’t really care. Drunken, violent idiot or not, you were already deeply invested and never intended on wavering in that. You’re not sure there’s anything Joel could do to get you to stop loving him and that both terrifies and excites you. 

“Okay, whatcha wanna eat?” you ask, reaching out to rub Joel’s shoulder gently. “Now that you’re free you can have whatever you want! On my mom’s credit card of course. Swear I won’t tell her.”

Joel grins.

“Deal,” he tells you. “I was thinking of a nice steak dinner.”

***

You pull into the fanciest restaurant you can find in the tri-state area and sit down to order a regal, all-American, full three-course steak dinner (though you’re both woefully underdressed – not that you care – though the host gives you a dirty look). All the while, you tell Joel about your major (psychology) and how you want to become a counselor for abused children.

“That’s sort of beautiful, sweetheart,” he tells you with a genuine smile that used to be so hard to coax from him, but now seems to float over to you so easily and gently like a kiss from something as soft as the wings of a butterfly. “Wanting to help defenseless children. You’re kinda like a guardian angel for them, ya know? Damn proud of ya! Also, these mashed potatoes are goddamn delectable!” he exclaims after taking an experimental bite. “Have I mentioned that prison food is shit?”

You smile bashfully and want to tell him that he is your guardian angel (you wonder if he thinks the same of you) and inspiration in a backward sort of way for wanting to help kids in the first place since he was so good at protecting you for the most part (though you obviously don’t believe violence is the correct answer in your line of future work). But kids need protectors. Somehow you know that deep down you forgive him for all of the violence he caused because you would forgive him for anything. And him being proud of you? You don’t think there’s a better feeling in the world than that! You burst with pride. Your real father never said that to you, but Joel doesn’t feel like your father now. He is something different entirely. Something that entirely belongs to you.

“And you’ll meet my boyfriend, Max, tomorrow,” you nod as Joel moves onto the steak and lets out a soft moan at how good it tastes. “He’s heard a lot about you.”

Joel’s face flattens.

“And who is this kid exactly?” he sneers a little, attacking the steak with his knife. 

You smile internally at the obvious jealousy he’s trying to hide from his voice.

“Hey, Max is a decent guy!” you insist in his defense. “He’s pre-law. Real smart. He’s gonna be an important person someday, I know it. You’ll get on.”

That last part is a bit of a lie since you’re not sure the two will actually like each other. 

Joel examines your face, looks deep into your eyes.

“All I know is, just because someone is important, don’t mean they’re good to you or for you for that matter.” 

You can’t help but think of your father, the most “important” man you know and how much of a degenerate he is compared to someone ostensibly average like Joel who didn’t even have a status symbol like a college degree and how perfect of a man you think he is, despite his obvious flaws. You blush a little, scrunching up your nose. 

“Just lookin’ out for you, sweetheart,” he continues, smiling at the way you do. “He ever fuck with you – he ever break your heart, you know just where to send him, alright?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you grin. “Don’t need you getting any more jail time though, alright?” “You may have made a valid point,” he concedes with a smirk. 

***

When you two enter your shitty, one-bedroom apartment it’s already dark outside. Joel actually grins when he notices his and your guitars have both been mounted on the wall. 

“We can play ‘em tomorrow,” you tell him excitedly. “If you want to, I mean…”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Joel smiles. “Wanna hear ya singing for me, honey. I missed that.”

You smile to yourself.

“You can have my bed, and I’ll take the couch,” you decide, getting back to business. 

“No way, babygirl. I ain’t taking your bed.”

“Joel, you’ve literally been on a prison mattress for eight fucking years! Can’t imagine that’s been very comfortable.”

“That’s exactly why I won’t mind the couch. That’ll feel like heaven to me. Don’t want you messin’ up your back, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth, but Joel beats you.

“And that’s that,” he insists. 

“Alright, alright,” you concede, knowing by the look on his face he’s not budging. If one thing, Joel has always been stubborn, but you like that about him. “D’you wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Actually, baby, if ya don’t mind, I’d like a quick shower. Been dreaming about taking a real, private one for ages.”

“Yeah, of course!” you nod, motioning toward your bathroom door. “Towels are under the sink.”

Joel makes his way inside and soon steam is billowing out the bottom of the door. 

You busy yourself with some homework, but just as you walk past the door to grab a glass of water, you think you hear Joel singing.

You listen more closely over the fall of the running water and make out him singing the chorus of an old ABBA song with a deeper, sadder tone to it,

♪ “ Slipping through my fingers all the time / I try to capture every minute / The feeling in it / Slipping through my fingers all the time / Do I really see what's in her mind? / Each time I think I'm close to knowing / She keeps on growing / Slipping through my fingers all the time…” ♫

You feel like such a sap, but you feel a tear forming in your eye at the way Joel must be thinking about his and your relationship and everything he missed in your life. You aren’t mad at him, but his absence hurt in a way you didn’t know you could feel. And you’ve never blamed him, really, but the lack of him for eight years of milestones really did kill a piece of you. You can’t help but imagine a butterfly at the bottom of your stomach with its wings pulled off. That’s how you felt all that time without Joel – like a butterfly without wings. A writhing worm of a human being, senseless and lost in a giant world full of forces you couldn’t control. 

You listen to Joel’s beautiful, deep voice until you hear him turn off the tap and you scurry away and act innocent. 

Joel emerges from the bathroom then with nothing but a white towel around his waist, steam from the shower floating lazily into the room behind him like precession. And oh, wow, is he ever a sight to behold. His hair is wet, dark brown flecked with grey, and starting to get curly from the moisture. You also can’t help but notice his broad chest, the expanse of it, the dark curls of hair, his bulking, muscular tattooed arms, his soft, hairy tummy, the V-shape of muscle that descends beneath the towel, his happy trail. You are overwhelmed by the soaking beauty of him. You’d seen Joel shirtless before, sure, but it had never felt like this . 

“Gon’ grab some of those clothes you bought for me and then maybe we could watch something?” Joel asks as you try so fucking hard not to stare at him.

“Sure!” you squeak, staring down at your notebook at the kitchen counter. 

You think you see a smirk from Joel, but you're not sure because your gaze is averted as he grabs some clothes to change into and disappears back into the bathroom.

When he reemerges, dressed in a wifebeater and shorts that accentuate his form, you two sit next to each other on your cushy sofa and surf the TV for something to watch. You feel Joel’s hairy knees against your jean-clad one and your heart flutters.

“Can’t believe I’m really here,” Joel says softly as you pass re-runs of Full House, a dog show. “Like I gotta fuckin’ pinch myself to know it’s not a dream.”

Suddenly you feel a large, weathered hand on your cheek.

“Missed you so much, babygirl,” he murmurs, looking into your eyes, massaging the line of your jaw ever so lightly, trying to hold your skittish gaze. “More than I even have words for.”

First, you avoid looking at him a bit bashfully, but then you stare up cautiously into those big brown eyes that feel like a familiar kind of home and you’re such a goner. You lean into his warmth, the warmth of his hand.

“Missed you too, Joel. So much,” you admit, never wanting this moment to end or him to let go of you. “More than anything.”

He leans forward a little and for a second you think…but then he’s leaning in and planting a heavy kiss on your forehead. A kiss that has weight to it – not those soft, weak ones that Max gives you haphazardly when he’s drunk or high – the only time he’s brave enough to be vulnerable with you. This kiss says something, means it so sincerely too. 

“Love you, honey,” he tells you. Then his face falls. “Sorry I…wasn’t quite there to say that to you enough in person.”

“It’s okay, Joel. I forgive you,” you insist. “I love you so much, dummy. More than you even know!”

But you truly do appreciate the sentiment. 

***

You settle on an old, black and white classic, Paper Moon, that’s playing on the TV Land channel.

Joel wraps a big arm around you and you snuggle close. You’re pretty sure there isn’t a better feeling in the world than being this close to him. Even after all these years he still smells like Joel; like home (and, if you’re being honest, a bit like your vanilla shampoo) .

You lean against him, your cheek pressing into one of his firm pecs. You begin to feel sleepy, drunk on the steady sound of his heartbeat, alive and beating against you and really here . 

You nod off.

***

At first, you don’t believe it, but you feel someone with strong, firm arms lifting you into the air, cradling your back and the insides of your knees in a bridal-style carry. The movement wakes you, but you don’t open your eyes because the safety and security you feel is too good to give up. Joel carries you to your bedroom and lays you down gently in your bed. You’re still in day clothes and shoes so Joel takes off your worn sneakers with a feather-light touch and places them at the foot of the bed – you can tell from the soft thumps it makes. He maneuvers you so tenderly under the covers and tucks you in with love and care. You wonder the last time someone did that for you and pull up a blank. If anyone ever did that for you it was probably Joel. Maybe your mom did when you were really young. Certainly your father nor Aiden ever did – your father hadn’t liked to touch you except out of anger – kind of like you had some kind of weird, contagious disease. Aiden’s hands had almost always hurt too, but not Joel’s – never his. 

He breaks you from your thoughts by pressing another kiss to your forehead. Your eyes are still closed so you aren’t sure, but you think he watches you for a second and lets out a long sigh. 

Then you hear your bedroom door close softly so as not to disturb you. You smile, you can’t help it, and drift back off into a peaceful sleep.

***

You wake up to a mumbling, grunting sort of sound. You look over at your clock and read 3:42 a.m. You sit up. You can kind of hear some muffled noises coming from outside your room. At first, you feel a little concerned – like maybe Joel is in pain or something as he is the only one who could be making the noises. The walls in your apartment are paper-thin. Like you could hear him sneeze clear as day if he were to because sound travels through the shitty walls so easily. You should have told him that. But what the fuck is he doing up at 3 a.m.? 

You creep (and you mean creep) silently to the door of your bedroom and open it the tiniest crack. The way your apartment is laid out, the back of the sofa is the first thing you see and the back of Joel’s head about six feet away. He doesn’t sound in pain the way he’s groaning and then you understand exactly what he’s doing. Of course the man is jerking off! After being in prison, stuck around people for so long of course he wanted a good, private wank. He isn’t looking at anything from what you can tell, no magazines or anything. Must be using his imagination. You wonder what he’s thinking about, if he’s gotten good at that over the years.

You should turn around, slink back into bed, and cover your ears with a pillow so the man can have some privacy. But, fuck, the way he’s grunting. His voice is so fucking deep and sexy and then he lets out a soft, vulnerable moan and you feel heat envelope your whole body. You think you hear a soft fuck roll off his tongue and your heart almost beats right out of your chest. You can hear the lewd slapping of his fist on skin getting louder and more intense. Then you hear a soft take it, fuck. And Jesus, you are so fucking wet between your thighs. You ought to be ashamed. Instead, you reach down your hand feverishly beneath the band of your jeans and soaking underwear instinctively to stroke yourself ever so slightly. You sigh in relief, but you are fucking gushing, your fingers covered in your slick. You can’t see anything besides the back of Joel’s head, technically, so this couldn’t be that wrong, could it? He lets out a soft groan, you can tell he’s holding back so as not to be heard, but the desperation in the pathetic little noises this hulking man is making is turning on every switch inside you. Oh how you want to go over there and take him in your mouth, to taste him. God you are so fucked up! You’re still touching yourself gently, not really fully going at it yet, considering the possibilities that could follow if you went over there. But before you can decide to do anything, Joel positively whines, moans, and grunts fuck, unh, and you think but aren’t sure, babygirl, and finishes.

You stop dead still in what you’re doing. Did he really say “babygirl” or was that just your horny-ass imagination playing tricks on you? You’ve never heard Joel call anyone babygirl except you. Was he really thinking of you? On the one hand, if true, mega fucked up. On the other, wow, incredibly hot. You think about going over there and asking him to finish you off or something as crazy as in all those dumb romance novels you used to read in middle school, but just as quickly as the idea comes to you, you hear another noise: loud snoring. Joel is asleep.

Typical.

You snort to yourself. That was so quintessentially Joel. You don’t want to disturb him now. The moment has passed. And only then is when you remember you have a fucking boyfriend. 

That doesn’t stop you from closing your door softly, crawling back into bed, and reaching your hand down beneath your panties to touch yourself. You stroke your clit, imagining it is Joel’s rough hand rubbing against you. Holy fuck. You haven’t been this wet since you used to touch yourself thinking about him in the past. It’s like he can reach every part of you, every layer in a way that no one else can. You know the whole thing is so fundamentally fucked up, but you can resist sinking into your favorite fantasy. The smell, the touch, the feel of him. You imagine the noises he was making so beautifully on the couch, feel heat coil through your entire body, and immediately cum hard without even sticking a finger inside yourself. 

The pleasure you feel is so unparalleled and real you have to cover your hand with your mouth not to scream out your powerful orgasm. 

Sweat drenches your whole body as you come down. 

God, you are so fucked.

***

The next morning you wake up to the wafting smell of someone cooking eggs. You emerge from your room a little sheepishly from last night’s events to find Joel behind the kitchen counter making eggs and toast. 

“Mornin’, babygirl,” he grins, his eyes shining like he’s excited about something.

And then you realize: that something is you.

You grin back.

“Good morning, Joel,” you beam at him.

You were so afraid things would feel awkward after what you heard last night, but nothing ever feels awkward with Joel. In some ways, he’s still just your average dorky, friendly old ex-stepdad, convicted felon. In other ways, everything about him sets your heart on fire, but it would be stupid to ruin what you have with him because you think it’s remotely possible he might be interested back. You know this is dramatic, but if he flat-out rejected you, you think you might die. Truly. Like those butterflies inside you would beat their wings so hard they’d burst your heart.

“‘Membered you liked ‘em poached,” he nods, breaking you from your thoughts. 

He scoops two poached eggs onto one of your plates and grabs a piece of toast from the toaster which he smears with butter like how you used to eat toast as a kid. You can’t believe he remembered.

“Thanks so much,” you tell him.

He grabs a few eggs and toast for himself and sits beside you at the counter. 

“Nice to be able to cook me ‘n you some real food,” he remarks. “If I eat one more cup o’ noodles in my lifetime I swear to God Almighty…” he trais off.

He’s looking at you like you put the goddamned sun in the sky. Your heart melts as you stare at his features, the faint curls in his hair. Oh, how you want to reach out and touch him. But that just isn’t how you operate. You won’t ruin what you already have.

The butterflies in your chest howl. 

***

` You lay out the day’s schedule to Joel. You have plenty of time to hang about (you see him eyeing the guitars), and then you need to go shopping for some actual clothes for Joel since the things you brought for him don’t constitute a proper wardrobe. Then you will go out to dinner and meet Max. 

Joel grunts a nod at that last part. He doesn’t seem too thrilled.

“Wanna show me what you’ve been playing?” he asks hopefully as he gets up to put both of your plates in the sink,

“‘Course!” you nod enthusiastically. “Max says I need to work on my fingerpicking so I can’t promise it’ll be all that good.”

Joel rolls his eyes.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

***

You sit down on the couch right next to Joel, each of you holding your respective guitars in hand, across your laps. 

Joel looks ecstatic to have his guitar back in his hands. He fiddles with the tuning and finger-picks a faint melody.

“Haven’t played one since the prison band. But then some dumb motherfucker clobbered another sorry son of a bitch to death with a saxophone so that ended our music privileges,” Joel explains. 

“Jeez,” you reply.

Joel is sitting so close you can feel his body heat. You just want to hear him sing, but he insists on hearing you.

“Joel,” you try as innocently as possible. “D’you remember how to do an A-flat? I forget and I need it for my song.”

“Sure, baby. Lemme help ya. Now put one finger on this bit of the 4th fret here,” he begins, snaking a big arm around your shoulders so he can maneuver your fingers to the correct position. 

His touch is electric. He feels so good and warm. You feel the intense urge to climb into his lap and embrace and stay there forever. His big caloused hand full of scars places your fingers correctly for the chord. The same hand that must have jerked himself to completion last night…You can’t help but wonder how much cum there was…The truth is, you know how to make an A-flat. You just wanted to feel him.

He backs away and you whine internally at the loss.

“There we go,” he says soothingly, reaching out to rub your shoulder. “That one can be tricky. Now where is my performance?”

Your nerves are squirming around inside you but you begin to play and sing to the best of your ability. 

You look into Joel’s eyes.

♪“ You've got a heart on fire / It's bursting with desire / You've got a heart filled with passion /  Will you let it burn for hate or compassion?” ♫ you sing. 

Joel watches you intently, sitting up straighter. 

♪ “What's the point with a love / That makes you hate and kill for? ♪

You sing as best and as seriously as you can. You look up and think you maybe see a tear in Joel’s eye.

When you finish, it’s clear Joel is finding it hard to select the right words to convey what he’s feeling. 

“I–” he tries. “That was…well, let me just show you how I can answer that if anyone ever could to a performance as beautiful as that.”

You blush. 

He begins to finger-pick a familiar tune, Instantly, you are transported back to eight years old in the back of Joel’s old pickup truck, listening to one of his many cassette tapes. It’s “I’ll Never Find Another You” by The Seekers. The original version of the song is pretty happy and upbeat, but the way Joel sings it slowly in his deep and weathered voice makes you feel sad and achy inside. The emotion behind his voice is palpable.

♪ “But if I should lose your love, dear / I don't know what I'd do / For I know I'll never find another you / Another you / Another you…” ♫ he trails off.

It’s your turn to tear up a little. It’s crazy to know he means every word he’s singing too. He sings like every word is his last breath. When he finishes you are crying a little.

“You oughta record an album,” you sniffle, leaning into his shoulder, throwing him a side hug.

“Wanted to be a singer,” he replies with a small grin, leaning his head against yours. “Back when I was young.” 

You sit back up straight.

“You did? I never knew that.”

“Don’t tell nobody really,” Joel replies, looking a bit sad you left his immediate proximity. “Just a stupid dream ‘n all that crap.”

“‘S not stupid,” you tell him. “You really have a beautiful voice, Joel. It’s like if I could take it, hold on to it, and keep it forever in my chest pocket next to my heart, I would.”

“That’s where I keep you, baby,” he tells you honestly.

He reaches up a big hand to yours and guides your own to place it right on his heart over his plaid shirt. You can feel it beating steadily below your palm to the rhythm of something as delicate and ferocious as the beating of butterfly wings.

“Right here.”

***

You take Joel shopping. At his insistence it is nothing fancy, just the local department store. That doesn’t stop you from dressing Joel up in ridiculous outfits of your choosing. You make him try on a Hawaiian shirt, some golf polos like your dad liked to wear, a pinstripe suit and he lets you because saying no to you has never been in his vocabulary. He acts grumpy on the outside, but you can tell he is amused. You know in the end, you’ll just end up buying every flannel shirt and jeans combo they have in the store, but it’s just fun anyway. You watch the fabric hug his torso, his tummy, the slight bulge at his waist. At one point he comes out shirtless and you try very hard not to swoon as you stare at the hair lining his chest and his adorable little tummy that you for some reason have the urge to bite. The band of his Hanes boxers sticks up past his jeans and he looks so good. He even lets out a genuine smile. The middle-aged sales attendant who is helping you even takes a good look at him which makes the butterflies inside you swarm possessively. 

Finally, you make him try on a proper white-collared button-down shirt and black dress pants with matching black shoes and he looks so good you’re actually at a loss for words when he asks you what you think. They hug the curves and lines and planes of his body so nicely. All you can do is ask him to put on a black tie to match and he does at your behest following some customary griping that he would never wear such a monkey suit in the first place. The effect that a fully dressed-up Joel has on you is not one to be reckoned with. He might as well be wearing the men’s version of lingerie for how it makes you throb and ache between your legs. He looks like a force of nature, commanding and tall. It makes you weak. All you say is,

“Looking good, old-timer.”

He snorts.

When you finally ditch all the fun clothes and grab the essentials, Joel offers to go pick up the car while you pay. He tries to give you his eight-year-old credit card, but you insist on treating him on the condition he buys the “monkey suit.” After a bit of prodding, he gives in and you go to the sales attendant to pay at the counter. 

“Your dad is really cute,” the sales attendant giggles to you as she rings up the pile of clothes. 

Your cheeks go a bit red. You don’t really care enough to correct her.

“He’s my guy,” is all you say absentmindedly as you fish out your wallet from your purse.

The sales attendant hands you the receipt and on it, you see a scrawled phone number.

“For If he’s single,” she explains. “I’m Barb from sales.”

You look her over. She’s close to Joel’s age and conventionally pretty with long brown hair. The exact kind of woman Joel should be dating should he choose to get back in the game. Your stomach twists and the butterflies howl inside you.

You take the receipt, thank her, and join Joel back in the car (who is more than happy to be driving this time). 

“What took so long?” he asks casually. “You two writing a novel in there?”

You think seriously about what you should do. You consider letting the bugs have their way and tearing the receipt with Barb’s number on it to shreds. But you want good things for Joel. The chance of you two ever being together the way you wish is so far-fetched that you know you shouldn’t even be thinking it. A literal pipe dream. He was your stepdad for christsakes. He literally fucked your mother! (Gross!). Barb is exactly the kind of woman Joel should be going after if he’s up to dating right now. You hand him the receipt begrudgingly. 

“Sales Lady likes you,” you sat flatly. “Name is Barb.”

“Oh,” he says softly like he’s a bit flattered. 

He looks back at her through the glass door of the store and she waves at him. He waves back politely. You feel your stomach twisting into knots. 

“You think…you think you’re gonna call her?” you finally ask as casually as humanly possible, dreading the answer. 

Joel looks over at you, his gaze sweeping over you. Then looks back at Barb through the window. He looks her up and down.

“Nah,” he says with a smirk, looking back at you. “She ain’t my type. Only need one girl in my life right now anyways,” he winks.

Was that Joel flirting? With you?

Regardless, you smile back and then sigh in relief and grin to yourself as you two drive away. 

Much to your satisfaction, Joel crumples up the receipt and throws it out the window for good measure. 

***

You get ready for dinner, to go to a nice Mexican-Japanese fusion restaurant that Max picked out. You wear a red dress that accentuates your figure and matching heels and to your shock, Joel reemerges from the bathroom in the white button-down shirt and black dress pants you picked out for him (you had been sure flannel would be part of his ensemble). God, he looks good. A part of you wants to ditch Max and just stay here with Joel forever. He looks you over, his dark eyes sweeping over your frame. You think there is a tinge of possessiveness in his voice when he says,

“ Christ, you look beautiful, babygirl.”

***

You arrive before Max and sit down at the fancy white table-cloth-covered table next to Joel, a booth facing you. Max finally makes an appearance a half hour late and sits down across from you, sweeping his hair out of his face, sliding into the booth. Joel is frowning and the butterflies beat their wings inside you nervously.

“Sorry I’m late,” Max announces, puffing out his chest a little and smoothing out his collared shirt as he looks down at his watch and then over at Joel. “Hey, baby,” he says to you. Then, “And, uh, nice to meet you. Joe, was it? Heard a lot about you.”

“Joel,” Joel replies flatly, eyeing Max.

Max is a good-looking guy, everyone says so, but he looks more like a little boy than you’ve ever thought as he squirms uneasily in his seat under Joel’s unrelenting gaze and launches into a tirade about his frat’s inter-mural lacrosse team practice and how his team should have totally won the scrimmage and that’s why he’s late. And of course, he was the one to score the most goals.

“And the taxi cab driver was a nightmare. Only spoke Spanish. It’s like, if you come to this country speak fucking English, am I right?”

You notice Joel’s jaw tighten and his fingers clench. 

“Max, that’s so rude!” you tell him, frowning. “We’re at a fucking Mexican restaurant!”

“Anyway,” Max continues, rolling his eyes at the interruption like he barely even heard you, smirking. “Where’d you go to school? What do you do for work, Joel?  Besides making license plates, I mean. Kidding!” he insists as you stare daggers at him. 

Joel leans forward ever so slightly but you slip your leg over his to hold him back and he calms down a fraction. It’s like when you touch him, everything tense in him melts away. 

Joel sits up straighter in his chair and looks at you, stretching his arm across the back of your seat protectively like it’s a casual thing and not an unconscious sign of possessiveness.

“I’m a mechanic,” he grunts unceremoniously to Max. “I mean, I was anyways…Didn’t go to school.”

Max frowns ever so slightly. 

“You didn’t go to college? You must’ve gone to trade school at least?”

“Nope. Picked up what I know over the years. Not everyone gets a free ride from their parents,” Joel smirks.

“Free ride?” Max snaps. “I’ll have you know I spend every summer interning at a law firm!”

“Yeah, your dad’s,” you can’t help but snicker.

Max’s cheeks turn a bit pink.

“At least I’m not a psych major,” he shoots back. “I mean, no offense, babe!”

“What’s wrong with psychology?” Joel snarls, his eyes darkening. “You ought to be proud to have such a thoughtful and intelligent girl like Y/N studying such a topic.”

It’s your turn for your cheeks to go pink. 

“Joel–”

“Who said I wasn’t?” Max sneers. 

That makes you feel a bit better. 

“I’m just saying, she could have inherited the second-best law firm in the tri-state area from her pops if she was pre-law like me,” he smirks.

Your smile fades, used to hearing this kind of shit from him. He knows you and your father don’t get along at all, but not the full extent of it. He also knows you don’t have an interest in pre-law. But you swallow down how you really feel.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you tell him, placing a hand down on his thigh.

It’s not that you enjoy the way Max has been talking to you, but you are so used to it from the men in your life that it feels like the common denominator must be you. And sometimes it feels like maybe they have some kind of point. And fighting back only makes things worse. You’ve learned that over the years the hard way.

“It’s not fine!” he snaps like he’s trying to get you to see sense, looking deeply insulted on your behalf. Your heart thunders in your chest. “This boy has never worked an honest day in his life and he’s telling you what you ought to be doing? Bet his hands are soft as a baby’s ass. He doesn’t know shit about you, babygirl.”

You may not know the hardship of labor that Joel has taken on in his life, but your hands are not smooth. They are full of scars. And Joel is right. Max’s are soft like silk. You look down at the most prominent, ugly scar on your middle finger. You don’t even know which man in your life gave it to you. But you do know it means something. Shows you survived something. Survived your stupid father too, not that Max seems to care.

But Max never loses. 

“Whatever,” he smirks dismissively. “Sorry I’m not some, like, common blue-collar worker. But I guess I should be taking advice from someone who became a fucking convicted felon ‘cause they drank too much one night,” he shrugs with a terrible sneer.  

You know it’s over then.

But Joel surprises you. Doesn’t immediately strangle Max like you thought he might. Simply stands up tall and silent over Max’s frame which has suddenly begun to shake ever so slightly in obvious fear, his blue eyes widening. Joel’s fists are clenched tightly at his sides. 

“Wouldn’t mind them sendin’ me right back in, ” Joel growls low. “Drunk or not.”

You shiver and Max positively cowers. 

“Got something to say? Don’t wanna take it outside?” Joel leers, smirking ever so slightly at the trembling boy before him. “I’d even let a little boy like you take the first swing.”

“Your stepdad’s a freak, Y/N,” Max stammers, not taking his eyes off of Joel. 

“Joel, it’s fine, okay?” you growl, not wanting him to actually hurt your boyfriend. Let alone in public! “Shouldn’t talk about Joel like that though, Max! Jesus!”

“Babe, I’m sorry, okay?” Max tries, eyeing back and forth between you and Joel. “I’m just trying to look out for you. I don’t get what you see in him with a real Dad like yours! Your dad has so much to give you!”

Look out for you? So much to give you? What could he possibly give besides a stupid law firm and two black eyes? 

Max looks a bit desperate. Him apologizing for anything is actually a new concept for you. Your heart twitches ever so slightly. He must actually like you a lot. But Joel would never do anything to hurt you if it was in his power. At least not intentionally, unlike your real father. 

“That’s it. I’m leaving,” Joel snarls moodily, turning around. “Don’t want to do things I might regret to Mr.Future-Corporate-Lawyer over here. Have fun with him .”

Joel looks deeply hurt. Like you are choosing Max over him or something. That’s never what this has been about, has it? Doesn’t Joel know you’d do anything for him? That the hurt on his face hurts you more than anything you’ve ever felt. Ever.

“Joel, wait!” you decide and disappear after him, leaving Max behind at the table.

“Babe, what the fuck!?” Max yells, but you don’t care. “Come back here!”

***

You ride back in silence, Joel’s hands turning white against his grip on the steering wheel. 

When you break through to the front door of your apartment, Joel finally snaps, the anger on his face directed at something that feels like you for the first time in your life.

“You really love that little son of a bitch, don’t you?” he sneers, uncharacteristically harshly towards you. 

“So what if I did?” you shoot back, a little shocked. “It’s none of your business, Joel. What the fuck?”

“It is so my business,” he snaps back. “That kid is no good for you, Y/N. He doesn’t understand you. You deserve someone much better than that who will actually go to the ends of the earth for you. He wouldn’t do anything for you.”

There is a desperation and vulnerability in Joel’s words and tone that you’re not sure you’ve heard before. He sounds like he had been waiting the whole car ride to say this, maybe even his whole life. You aren’t sure.

“Max does give a shit about me,” you try to convince yourself, getting angrier. “I mean at least he was there for me while you were gone.”

Joel flinches.

“How do you know what’s so good for me and what’s not when you dipped out of my life for eight years?” you continue harshly. “Because why? It wasn’t because you were drunk, was it? It was because you couldn’t control your anger. You never could.”

He stares at you.

“I controlled it for you,” Joel says so quietly you almost miss it. “ You are the only reason I did any of it.”

“What?” you stammer, not sure you want to hear more. “W-what do you mean, Joel? Any of what?”

A million thoughts begin to run through your mind, but you push them aside. Theories about the case and your ideas of Joel’s true nature all threaten to drown you but you push them away.

“Do you want to know why I really killed that sick son of a bitch?” Joel asks dangerously after a long moment of silence. You stare at him, your body frozen. He looks down at his hands, flexing them like he can still feel them punching or around that disgusting man’s throat. “Why I killed him all those years ago? It was no accident, I’ll give you that. Manslaughter, my ass. I killed that scum of the Earth because he threatened you . To do terrible things to you with those disgusting hands of his. So I broke each one, but it wasn’t enough. I killed him because I didn’t want you to get hurt and because I didn’t want you to live in fear of him. I was tired, Y/N. Tired of being afraid for you in a world that doesn’t let you do shit except fight back. I loved you so much, Y/N, it hurt me. It scared me, but I couldn’t let him hurt you. I’d die before I let anyone hurt you again, not him, not your father, not Max, not anyone. You have to understand. I love –” 

And then it’s all over. You’re not sure who moves first, but you think it might be you. The butterflies are rustling and thundering and screeching inside you and you kiss him. And Joel kisses back, devouring your mouth in his. You grab the back of his graying brown hair and pull him as close to you as you think is humanly possible. He cradles the back of your head so gently you almost lose your breath. And you are kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing. There is nothing else in the universe except this kiss. You have never felt anything like this in your life. It is like every butterfly inside you has gone silent. It is like the world has stopped just for you and something new is forming inside you.

Joel killed that vile man for you. To keep you safe. Like he always said or showed that he would. He gave his life away for you. He did the unspeakable for you.

He bites down on your bottom lip and all your brain can manage to coherently think is: more, harder .

But then Joel is breaking away from you slowly.

NO! your heart cries out, the delicious pleasure and pain draining away from you. The butterflies swarm dangerously inside your chest, worse with every inch he travels from your lips.

“Joel,” you whine. “What? You…you don’t want–”

“Don’t even say that, Y/N,” he growls dangerously. “Of course I want you. How could I not? I have spent my entire life wanting you in some capacity, baby, but I ain’t no good for you either, alright? I…” he says slowly like it takes every inch of his body to agree to say this. “I am not a good man, Y/N. I never have been. I’ve done wrong in every chapter of my life. You deserve someone much better. I don’t want to hurt you. Physically or mentally. Our history… The damage I’ve done…” he trails off.

“You don’t understand,” you swallow, tears forming in your eyes. “You have already loved and hurt me more than any human being on planet Earth. And yet somehow there is nothing you could do that would keep me away from you, don’t you get that? The Joel Miller I love is not a good man and I don’t care. I want all of you. All of the pretty and crooked pieces you try to hide away from me. You killed a man with your bare hands, arguably one of the worst things a human can do, and I don’t care. I still want you, Joel. Maybe even more because of it. No one has ever loved me the way you do and that is the love I want and it terrifies me.”

A single tear falls down Joel’s right cheek. You reach up to wipe it away, but Joel grabs your hand on the way reflexively, so you help him wipe his own tears away. 

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I would move the Earth for you,” Joel whispers back.

“I know,” you nod. “I’ve always known. I–”

But he is kissing you again before you can say another word, like a man starved. You hold onto his cheeks, your fingers caressing his stubbly beard. 

“ Joel,” you whine when you break for air.

“I wanted this so badly,” he says softly, grinning a lopsided grin. “Can’t believe this is real.”

“Me too,” you giggle.

You have to lean up a bit, but you press your forehead to his gently.

“Oh, baby,” Joel smirks. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive, ya know that? You like

it when I go a little rough, honey?” he smirks down at you in satisfaction, reading your mind.

You have to stop yourself from getting lost in the warm pools of his brown eyes, your panties soaked.

He reaches an affectionate hand down to rub your side softly.

“This okay, babygirl?” he coos, massaging his hand down your torso.

“I’d let you do anything to me, don’t you know?” you snicker. “Pain or pleasure, it’s all the same to me. I like all of that. I just want you so bad.”

“Think a safe word is in order,” Joel grins, leaning down to kiss your neck. “How about ‘butterflies?’” you suggest. 

“Sounds good to me, baby,” he grins, looking genuinely happy for the first time in hours. 

He leans down and places a calloused hand around your throat, not squeezing (yet – you hope) and plants soft kisses and bites down your expanse of skin. 

“All mine,” he mutters into your skin. “My beautiful babygirl.”

You feel his erection pressing against you through his black dress pants which makes you moan softly.

His hand trails over your crotch and he starts rubbing over the tight fabric of your red dress.

“That okay?”

“Yes,” you whine. “Want more, Daddy.”

Oh shit. You don’t mean to say it like that! You know it is about ten levels of fucked up to call Joel that, but how is it your fault that in every fantasy that’s how you think of him? You figure you’re probably past the point of weird and every other standard of decency, but you’re still afraid.

“Sorry…” you mumble. “I–”

“No, no, baby,” Joel says quickly. “It’s alright, you can call me whatever you want. I don’t mind, sweetheart.”

“You think it’s weird,” you mumble again, further stupid tears forming in your eyes.

He snickers. 

“Baby, I think we’re beyond weird at this point. Let me show you how turned on it makes me.”

Joel takes your hand and places it on his crotch. He takes your left hand, the one with the scar and you cringe a little, but he is rock-hard.

That’s good because you’re positively drenched.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. Daddy likes that more than you know, alright?”

You take your hand back, smiling, but you cover your scarred finger, shocked he will allow this fantasy for you.

“Whatcha hidin’ from me, baby?” he asks, noticing the positioning of your hands.

“I hate that scar on my finger. ‘S so ugly,” you admit.

Joel looks flabbergasted. 

“That’s the last damn thing I think of when I look at you. Ugly? Who in the fuck told you that?”

“How it got there is ugly. It’s marred skin, looks gross,” you mumble.

Joel moves to take out his cock, and when you nod he unzips and unbuttons his dress pants, pulling out his length. You have fantasized about his cock for god knows how long so you are more than excited to see it. He reaches to place your left hand with the scarred fingers around the length of his dick, which is thick, but longer than you expected. The leaking head is almost purple and your mouth begins to water as you stroke him gently.

“It’s part of you,” Joel tells you, his eyes connecting with yours. “I love it. It shows you survived. Gonna jerk off to it, Daddy loves it so much. And when I’m done you’re gonna love it too. Swear I’ve got so many over the years I can barely even count ‘em. Even got a few on my middle finger. Maybe even one from a certain guitar pick you made me. Nothing like that could ever make me stop wanting you, ya know that, right?”

You smile and take your time stroking him, wanting to show him how much you love and care for him, scars and all.

He grunts softly, closing his eyes, but then shoos your hand away with a feverish kind of want. 

“Yeah, touch yourself now, baby. Daddy wants to see how wet you are for him. With that scarred finger. C’mon, now. ‘S gonna make you feel so good.”

You do as you’re told and reach down underneath your dress and begin to touch yourself, especially with your middle finger. You stroke your clit and then your dripping wet slit. You moan softly as Joel’s eyes rake over you, taking in every sigh and groan you emit. The butterflies are forming something big inside you, which presses against the inside of your tummy and ribcage.

“Daddy,” you whine.

“Enough, little one,” Joel whispers. 

He takes out your hand and begins to suck the slick off of each of your fingers, groaning deeply, making intense eye contact the whole time.

“Fuck, angel,” he moans, having a tough time keeping himself together, you can tell. “Taste and smell better than like how I pictured. Like you were fuckin’ made for me, I swear.”

He reaches a hand of his own down to stroke himself and his moans become more desperate. Finally, he sucks on your middle finger covered in your slick and groans so deeply you feel like you might cum untouched. He stares into your eyes. 

“ Mine, ” he growls possessively. “Oh, shit! Gonna–”

Then he takes your left hand and leads it to meet his throbbing cock. You stroke him, harder this time, fisting his thick length, moaning softly and that does it for him.

Joel cums all over your hand, oozing white globs of cum over your fingers, once, twice, three times. 

“Fuuuuuck, babygirl,” he groans. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry! Couldn’t help it. Yeah, suck it off, baby. That’s it,” he commands, and you do, licking up all of his cum, even the part that got on your middle finger. 

When Joel comes down he still looks half-crazed with desire.

“Sorry about the, uh, early release. It’s been a while since anyone touched me,” he babbles in embarrassment, his cheeks flushed pink. “But I don’t wanna hear shit about your gorgeous hands ever again, you hear me, babygirl?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you nod, snickering. 

He looks like that one word has set his entire universe back in order again. You honestly don’t care at how fast Joel came. You love how much it shows he wants you. And his heady taste is making you weak. You could taste him for days and days and never get tired, you’re sure.

“Can still get you off though, don’t worry. Shoulda let you cum first, but I couldn’t help it with the things you do to me. Goddamn. Can Daddy eat your pussy, baby?”

You grin, but then your face falls. 

“Didn’t shave,” you admit, feeling dirty. 

Max hates your hair down there.

Joel looks at you in confusion.

He laughs, his face scrunching up.

“Oh, sweetheart. You think I care about that? Only little boys give a shit about things like that. Not men.”

You shiver.

“Really?”

“Of course I don’t care. Didn’t ya hear what I just said? C’mon now. You can lie down on the couch.”

You follow instructions, pulling your dress over your head to reveal white lace panties and no bra. 

You move to take the panties off, but Joel stops you, staring at the lines and curves of your body. 

“Jesus, fuck,” he growls, taking you in.

You think you see his cock twitch ever so slightly. He palms his softening length instinctively.

“Beautiful,” he snarls, pushing you back on the sofa. 

You happily fall backward. 

He lies on top of you, his white button-down shirt pressing against your naked body tantalizingly. 

He bites your lips roughly and you groan against him.

“Daddy’s mouth,” he commands against you.

“Yeah, duh, Daddy,” you snicker.

As if he even needs to say it! 

He kisses down your neck expertly and you begin to shiver and whine, your pussy aching with need and neglect.

He stops at your breasts, sucking and biting each one.

“Daddy’s tits,” he declares, snaking a finger over the lace panties that protect your clit. “Of course,” you respond, moaning softly, grinding needily against him.

He continues lower, licking down your breasts and over your tummy which he plants with kisses that tickle and then one hard bite on your hip that leaves behind teeth marks.

“Daddy’s body,” he impresses upon you.

“Yes, Daddy. Only yours.”

“No more of that little shithead, Max,” he snarls, an inch above your clit.

“No more Max,” you repeat as he presses kisses down your pussy, still covered by soaked white lace panties. 

“Only Daddy.”

“Only you.”

“Good girl,” he growls.

He finally removes your panties and begins to eat and suck your clit and pussy so hard and enthusiastically, swirling his tongue around your bundles of nerves that you grow exponentially closer by the second.

“Joel,” you whine. “Oh my God.”

It doesn’t take long. The second his calloused hand is pressing a finger and then two inside of you it’s over. You were so needy for him that you could have even cum from just his mouth alone, but his hands are what send you over the edge. And something different happens as orgasm crashes down upon you. The butterflies all join together and transform into something bigger and softer, caressing your insides, cooing. It feels like a breathing white dove is spreading its wings inside you, the tips of its feathers brushing against your rib cage. And you cum harder than you ever have in your life. 

Pleasure engulfs you in currents, facilitated by the gentle flapping from deep

inside your body.

“ Joel,” you moan. “Oh my God. Daddy, pleaseee–”

“Please what, baby? Make my princess cum again? I would eat that pretty little clit and

pussy every day for the rest of my life if I could, fuck. God, so perfect and you’re so fuckin’ tight. Look how fucking hard you make me, angel.”

He takes one of your hands and places it on his half-hardening cock. Not going to lie, you are partially shocked at his recovery, but another part of you seems to know that if there was anyone in the universe that could do that to him it had to be you. 

“Never got hard again from anyone I’ve ever fucked before…” he trails off dreamily like he can read your thoughts. “You’re so gorgeous, babygirl.”

“Not so bad yourself, handsome,” you tell him lazily, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth as you pull him closer to you. 

The heat from his body keeps you so warm and tender and for a moment you lie on the couch, Joel’s still-clothed body pressed to yours.

“Can you fuck me, Joel?” you ask, squirming against him needily.

“You can’t say that shit to me, baby,” Joel groans, his cock getting harder. “Not quite ready yet.”

“Lemme help you out,” you offer, pouting. 

You reach down and stroke his half-hard length and then bend over and press a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock.

Joel swears, staring down at you with so much adoration it pours off his face. No man has ever looked at you like that before. You’re certain. Perhaps no man ever will again? Not like that.

“Shit, baby,” Joel babbles stupidly, his eyes threatening to swallow you up in that beautiful shade of umber. “Never gonna forget this moment,” he grunts as you begin to suck his cock properly, feeling it slowly get hard enough to throb between your lips with each thrust of your head and gluck of your throat. 

You stare up at him, your eyes wide and wanting and Joel lets out a soft, vulnerable moan as you begin to really suck him and take him down the walls of your throat.

“ Unh , babygirl, fuck,” he whines and you have never quite heard Joel so desperate before. “Gotta pull out or I’m gonna cum. Holy fuck.” 

It sounds just like it did the night you accidentally spied on him jerking off. 

“You’ve been thinking about me a lot, huh, Daddy?” you ask, releasing Joel from your mouth like he wanted, though his hips buck forward ever so slightly with desire, the tip of his cock just barely scraping against your mouth. He grunts.

“Maybe so,” he replies, looking a little guilty. “Don’t know how not to these days.”

“Heard you on the couch last night,” you whine yourself. “Had to touch myself ‘cuz of it, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

Joel reaches out a hand to cup your crotch and rub against your slick pussy.

“That’s so fuckin’ naughty, baby,” he groans. “Look how wet that made you. All for me.”

You steal a glance at his cock and find that the tip is weeping too. And he is so fucking big compared to the size of your hand. Fuck!

“You were thinking about me, weren’t you?” you whisper.

“All about you, baby,” Joel nods in agreement, his hips twitching ever so slightly. “‘Bout touching you just like this.”

He slinks two big fingers inside you and you moan deliciously, the feathery wings of the newly-formed dove fluttering against your insides. 

“Gotta stretch you a bit more,” he grunts into your throat, pushing in a third finger. “Daddy’s so big and you’re so tight, angel. Don’t wanna hurt ya. Not too bad at least. Not yet…That’s it, pretty girl, fuck,” he grins when you slide back on his thumb in pleasure which had traveled to the rim of your asshole “Good girl, so good for Daddy. So naughty too. Don’t think Daddy won’t punish you.”

“Want you to hurt me, Daddy,” you moan. “When you fuck me. Please fuck me hard. I want all of you – pain and pleasure. One hundred percent Joel. Joel, please, I need–” 

And Joel does stop for a moment.

“Never hurt you in a way you didn’t beg for,” he tells you seriously. “You know that right, baby?”

You stop your rutting against him and look into his eyes.

“Are you kidding? You would protect me with your dying breath. I know that, Joel. Never been afraid of you since I’ve really known you. Not once. I mean: fuck; you gave up your whole life for me. To keep me safe, for fuckssake. In every word you say and don’t say to me I can feel how much you love me.”

 “I do love you so much, babygirl,” he whispers, nuzzling your forehead. “If I had to, I’d do all of it all over again if it meant I’d get you. I’ve made mistakes, big ones, but protecting you, loving you was never one of them.” 

Warm tears trail down your cheeks, but Joel licks and kisses them away. 

“Wanna feel me inside you?” he asks. “Don’t wanna go too fast, but I need you, baby. Needed you for so long…Sweet little pussy’s just cryin’ for Daddy, huh? Gonna fit me just like a glove, I just know it — if you wanna…”

“Yes, please, fuck me, Daddy! Please, Joel Wanna feel you—ah!” you moan as Joel shoves his entire length into your pussy in one hard thrust eagerly. “Oh my God, please fuck me harder!” you moan, reeling from the deep blend of pain and pleasure of him sinking inside you, clenching down around the thickness of him. “Joel, please!”

He pauses, sweat glistening on his brow, sneering.

“You really want harder?”

You shiver. The way he says that makes your heart beat wildly in your ears.

“Because babygirl, I would treat you like porcelain if you want it so. I will never hurt you, my angel, my gift from god, my goddamn sweetest heart please know I will break my fucking hands before they would hurt you, before I would ever hurt you in a way that you didn’t want, no matter how much it hurt me. Do you understand me?”

“Of course, Joel. But you want it too,” you smirk. “You aren’t innocent in this, are you?”

“Fuck, of course i’m not innocent. I want you, babygirl. In every way there is to want another. Want every inch of you, inside and out. Wanna mark you up so the world knows you’re mine, honey. Want everyone to smell me on you and know I marked you, moved in you, darlin’, please, see, I’m no fucking Hemingway, I didn’t go to college, I’m not like you with words, but I need you to understand that I mean this with my whole chest and heart. Really, I’m not a big talker, never was, babygirl, but I need you to understand I—”

  “I do, you dumbass fucking fool!” you shout, giggling at his desperation. “I’d understand you even if you were speaking another language. You’ve made your intentions loud and clear. I don’t want a Hemingway, I want Joel Miller!”

You pull him in for a kiss and he thrusts in you again a second time and you end up moaning clumsily in his mouth, but you can feel him smiling , smiling like some dumb idiot against you and maybe you called him the correct insult because he is a dumbass fucking fool for you. And it turns out you must be one as well because you are smiling like an idiot for him too.

“ Joel,” you moan as he begins to move inside you, hitting deep places that Max or any of your previous exes never went. Pleasure is tracing itself along the line of your stomach. “Oh my god, I love you so much,” you babble and you’ve never meant that more than you do now.

You can feel Joel coming apart above you, plowing into you, sighing deeply. His grunts and moans and thrusts spur on the intense pleasure. 

“More!” you moan. “Oh my god. Harder, please, I need–”

Joel plants rough bites on your neck and kisses too like he’s trying to consume every inch of you. 

He places a large hand around your throat questioningly and you nod.

“Beg for it,” he commands in his deep, sexy voice — the voice that’s been in every wet dream you’ve ever had. You think you might just pass out from the sound alone. 

“Choke me, Daddy,” you whine as pathetically as you possibly can, batting your eyes. “Oh, please, I could cum from just this, but I want more. More of you. All of you.”

“As you fuckin’ wish, baby,” he snickers in amusement. “Bet no little boy ever fucked you like this, huh?” he growls, continuing his rough pace, slamming against your walls, his eyes growing wild.

“They don’t compare to you, Joel. It’s always been you. In every orgasm. Fuck, never felt like this! Shit! Shit!”

Joel reaches out his large scarred hand and applies gentle delicious pressure to your throat. You know even something like this can be dangerous, but you crave that feral look of violence in his eyes and the power that comes with it. You want him to own you completely – every inch of you. You want him to mark you just like he said he wanted to because he is yours and you are his and has it ever really been any other way? You can’t remember properly from the pleasure rushing through you, the white dove inside you spreading and fluttering its wings, cooing softly. You think it’s only ever been what you feel now.

“Joel, Joel, fuck!” you scream, orgasm building in you.

“I know, babygirl. I know,” he coos himself into your mouth.

He pulls you closer, presses his nose to yours, his lips to yours, biting and kissing like a starving man possessed. He looks into your eyes and it’s there! That look of pure predator closing in on its prey, that look of ownership but also the most intense love you think you’ve ever witnessed. You would recognize that look anywhere. Your starved brain cries out for oxygen beneath his iron grip. 

“Gonna cum again, angel,” Joel growls. “Gonna make you cum so hard you’re never gonna forget who you belong to. Whose pretty pussy this is.”

He is pounding so hard against your cervix and his dick is so big inside you and the pressure of his hand squeezing around you is so overwhelming and the scent of him could make you faint straight then and there, but you let go and feel yourself cumming in enormous waves as you squeeze down around Joel’s prick, the pleasure more intense than any single bodily experience you’ve had.

“ Daddy ,” you whine breathlessly, tears trickling out of your eyes. “Oh my god!”

“You’re mine, babygirl, always have been–FUCK!” he shouts into your throat, collapsing on top of you.

And then you feel him starting to empty himself inside you, painting your sensitive insides with trustful after trustful of hot cum. You’ve never felt so helplessly full and sticky in your life, the brilliant pleasure billowing through every inch of you. You want to feel like this every day, stuffed full of Joel’s cock, so close to him you can feel his heartbeat against yours, the one true place you belong. 

“So beautiful, babygirl,” he whispers in an exhausted type of awe.

When your words come back you reply,

“Shut up, you’re the hot one,” through a snicker. 

You look down at your body, covered in purple bite marks and bruises forming like galaxies across your body. 

Joel snorts. Then he sits up on the couch and you lean your cheek against him. You lean up to kiss his cheek and he blushes ever so slightly.

“I said a lot of stuff, Y/N, but I want you to know that I meant all of it,”

“Yeah, you probably said more in the last hour than you’ve ever uttered in your entire life,” you tease, sitting up.

“I’m serious,” he snickers.

“I am and was too,” you nod. “I’m so glad that you’re here with me — that we did this. I know that our…origin story is weird and unconventional and some might argue straight up wrong, but I need you, Joel. I don’t care about that or think I could go back to pretending to be what we were.”

“You think I’d want you to act like that?” he asks incredulously. “You think I want this to just be a one-time thing?”

“Of course not,” you smirk. “But as close as we are I can’t actually read your mind. I mean…how are we going to be together realistically?”

“I’m not sure,” Joel admits, frowning a little. “For now it has to be a secret unless you want your mother or brother in jail for murdering me this time around. But someday, I dunno. It’s dumb…”

“What?”

“I just have these thoughts sometimes about you ‘n me. I…” Joel’s cheeks turn a bit pink. “Had a lot of time to think in prison, you know? And I’d Imagine us living on a ranch somewhere quiet out in the country with a flock of sheep. I could work at the tractor and auto-body repair shop that’d be out there, you know, in this dream of mine, and you could be a counselor at a local school if that’s what ya wanted. I don’t know, l know it sounds silly, but nobody would know or bother us there. But I want you to finish school and have the best life possible, babygirl. I’d wait a thousand years for you, but if you didn’t want me anymore the way we are now, I’d respect that. And if you’d allow it, I’d still be there for you just in a platonic sense — or just there for you however you want because I can’t imagine my life with you in it. I’d do whatever it takes, brokenhearted or not. I just can’t be separated from you like that again. A day longer in prison and I could’ve keeled over and died. And it’s crazy how much I mean that.”

“I don’t ever want to be separated from you again, Joel,” you agree. “I know the original plan was for you to find work and get an apartment of your own and I would love for that to still happen, but with you being intimate with me in every way – even if it has to be a secret. I don’t pretend to know what the future holds, but I need you in mine. I’ve never needed something more than I need that. Understand?”

Joel pulls you into a hug and leans his chin on the top of your head. He kisses it then your forehead. You lean up and plant a kiss on his throat and then his Adam’s apple.

“Don’t mean to get too ahead of ourselves now. We can take things a day at a time,” he mumbles into your skin.

You yawn contentedly, the tiredness clawing at your eyes, so unbelievably spent.  

“I like hearing about your dreams and I’d go anywhere with you, Joel. But I am kinda dead from how good you just fucked me. Take me to bed?” You ask exhaustedly into his chest.

“Of course, babygirl,” he smirks down at you.

***

You don’t let go of Joel all night long, burrowed up against his chest, his heartbeat against your ear. And he doesn’t let go of you either. After the most intimate night of cuddles and snuggling you’ve ever experienced as well as the deepest and most restful sleep you’ve had in ages, you wake up to Joel gone from the bed. You frown, having wanted more than anything to wake up in his strong arms. Fear grips your insides as you wonder if he finally realized last night was a mistake and that you were never meant to be together in the first place (what you fear more than anything). A stupid vulnerable tear comes to your eye, but then you cock your head and hear music playing. Guitar music. 

You think of your apartment as shitty, but truthfully you care deeply about your little private space and one of the things you do actually love the most about it is the tiny balcony that overlooks a measly courtyard and part of the city. That’s where you find Joel in the deck chair holding his guitar, strumming it lazily.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he says, fingerpicking a melody that scratches at the back of your mind with familiarity. 

“Morning, handsome,” you tell him softly, plopping your smaller hand down on his shoulder. 

The city hasn’t woken up yet, the soft glow of morning shining beams of light onto you and Joel, filling you with warmth. You sit down in the deck chair next to him, bathing in the sunlight.

“Whatcha playing?” you ask curiously, crouching to sit up on your knees.

“You know the song ‘Hallelujah’ by Leonard Cohen?” Joel asks in that beautifully deep voice of his. 

He isn’t even singing yet but you could listen to him forever. 

“‘Course,” you nod. “It’s a classic. You used to play it for me once in a blue moon.”

“Know what the word ‘Hallelujah’ actually means?” he asks. 

You think about it for a second.

“It’s about praising god and all that, right? Why d’you ask?”

He pauses, both his words and fingerpicking. 

“Babygirl,” he begins and you can tell he’s about to say something serious. “You know I’m not too good with words, but I need you to know this: I’ve never had much to thank god for in my life, except for Sarah, you know? But then He took her away…”

You place your hand on Joel’s and he looks at you sadly, but appreciatively. He flips it over and holds it in his giant paw of his own marked-up hand. 

“And I was so fucking angry. Nothing left in me. The only good part of me gone. I was a broken man. And I hated Him. But then He, despite the shit I’ve done…He gave me you . And I know our road hasn’t been easy or fair, and the pain you’ve felt and I have felt but…I guess what I’m trying to say is you are the reason I believe that any type of…goodness— of holiness— can exist in this universe. And I’m not a religious man, I don’t believe in most of that dogmatic type of shit, and I don’t think you do either, but I do think someone or something is up there and I wanna thank them for you. Does that make sense? Do you wanna hear what I mean? I just feel so damn grateful.”

A tear you hadn’t noticed was there rolls down your cheek. 

“Of course it does and of course I do,” you tell him.

You think perhaps this is the closest thing he can do to bearing his soul to you. 

And then he leans over and kisses the tear away and begins to fingerpick the familiar melody.

♪ “I heard there was a secret chord…”♫

You listen to his deep weathered voice as the sun grows higher in the morning sky, casting both light and shadow over Joel’s wrinkled, handsome face. The light trails over you too. You feel the dove inside you cooing contentedly, dusting its wings gently against the edges of your insides. 

♪There's a blaze of light in every word / It doesn't matter which you heard / The holy or the broken Hallelujah…”♫

When he finishes he places his large, scarred, calloused hand in yours and you hold it between your own scarred fingers.

“Thank you, Joel,” you tell him, meaning every word. “I think there’s hope for us, you know? I don’t believe in hippie-dippie type stuff, but something in this universe did bring us together. And I’ll be forever grateful for that too, ya know?”

Joel squeezes your smaller hand, his big fingers engulfing yours as the dove coos louder inside you.

“Babygirl, you know that I ain’t a good man, or a rich and educated one like maybe you thought you’d end up with, but I am less of a broken one because of you and I’m never letting you go. If we’re together, I think we have a chance.”

A/n:PLEASE COMMENT LIKE REBLOG IM BEGGING IM PLEADING IM CRYING DID THE SMUT LIVE UP TO YOUR DREAMS????

PART 1

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[musings-of-a-rose]

A New Life - Part 2

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x ofc Cornelia

Word Count: 3200+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Summary: After her husband's quick death, Cornelia finds herself back in her childhood home. But when her father passes, her cruel brother Cato becomes Lord of the city. She feels trapped, hopeless, destined for nothing as her brother tortures her day in and out. Until one day, a certain renowned General comes to claim her city in the name of Rome. When her brother hastily offers her up in surrender to the stoic General, Cornelia happily complies. Anything to get away from her brother. But will the General accept her? What fate lies in store for her in the hands of General who has never lost a battle? And will she be able to survive Rome itself?

Notes: sigh. look, I had one scene idea and it became this. If you've ever read anything by me, you know this happens. And just look at Acacius. How could I not? Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for tolerating my existence in general for this fic.

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General Marcus Acacius Masterlist

A New Life Masterlist

The next morning, Marcus wakes early and I help him slide him armor on. I step back and watch him tighten the latches on the side before looking at me, his arms outstretched to his sides. 

“Looks good? All latched?”

“Mmhmm,” I tap my chin with my finger. Quickly, I reach up and take the leather barrette from my hair, sliding it under his armor over his chest. I gently place my hand over his armor where it lays and look up at him, his eyes already on me. 

“Be safe,” I whisper.

“You as well. Remember what I said.” He reaches out, hesitating a moment before cupping my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone, his eyes searching my face. But then he blinks, dropping his hand from me. He turns and strides away, disappearing through the flaps of the tent. 

Within the hour, all of the troops move out. 

It’s quiet. Every sound in the forest making me jump with anticipation. I try to keep busy, cleaning Marcus’s tent, making sure his clothes are cleaned in the washbin, whatever I can find to keep my mind busy and off the fact that Marcus is out there somewhere, having arrows fired at him, swords swung at his head. 

Eventually, I can’t take it anymore and I pop outside, walking straight over to Caius as soon as I did a quick scan of the area. We walk to the edge of the camp, waiting by the back end just in case we need to make a quick getaway. I sing and talk to Caius, trying to calm his nerves as he kicks at the ground. What feels like an eternity later, and somehow, no time at all, we hear voices and footsteps, horses pounding the ground on the other side of camp. I slink back, trying to blend in with Caius as I watch the makeshift gate open, soldiers and horses storming through it. 

I breathe a sigh of relief at their armor, immediately knowing it was ours. Rome’s? Whatever country I belong to now. As the soldiers move throughout the camp, I can see many wounds, some soldiers bringing back goods and others just trying to make it to their beds. A very familiar chestnut mount strides through the crowd and my breath catches in my  throat as I see him.

Marcus, sitting atop his horse, his hand clutching his arm as blood drips down him. 

I take Caius and steer him towards our tent, quickly navigating the ground between us and toss his reins over a low tree branch. I turn and see Marcus sliding off his horse, his eyes full of pain but his expression not betraying it, aside from a slightly awkward landing. He heads straight into the tent.

“Cornelia?” He yells, worry in his tone. Concern. 

I run, flinging open the flaps and Marcus spins, relief washing over him at the sight of me. I run to him, but stop just short of his massive frame. 

“You’re hurt.”

Marcus shrugs. “A flesh wound. It will heal.” The medic comes into the tent then, a simple sewing kit in his hands. I extend my hand, telling him to give it to me. The soldier hesitates and looks at Marcus, who gives him a nod of consent. The soldier passes me the kit and a jug of wine and leaves the tent. 

I turn to Marcus. “Can I help you from your armor?”

“Please.”

We manage to get the armor off without disturbing his gash and I can see just how dirty he is. Mud and dried blood cake his body, his hair matted with it and sweat. He’s still so gorgeous. I grab a small bowl and fill it with water, taking a cloth to clean away the area around the gash. It’s deep but not too bad. A simple stitch should suffice.

“I..I’ve never sewn skin before,” I confess to him as I thread my needle.

“How are your sewing skills?”

“I used to make my own togas and pallas. Embroidery too.”

He nods. “You’ll be fine. Make sure to pour the wine over it first.”

I do as he says and he hisses, his arm flexing in pain. Somehow, I manage to stitch him up, distracting him with random questions to keep the pain at bay. I finish and wrap his arm, watching as he circles his shoulder a couple times to make sure it stays in place. He looks up at me, his eyes big and dark. Unable to help myself, I cup his face, brushing some dirt from his cheek. 

“I was so worried about you, Marcus. I was afraid I’d lose you.”

He places his hand over mine, his warmth seeping through me. “It will take more than a sword to my arm to take me from this world. Especially since you saved my life.”

My eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?” I cock my head to the side. 

He points to his chest, where I just now realize there’s a nasty tear in the fabric. “An arrow came for me. Tried to take my life. But the metal and leather from your barrette stopped the tip from piercing my skin.” He pulls down his tunic enough for me to see the bruise, but no cut. “If you had not put it there, I would not be here.” He stands up, my hand falling to his broad chest as he looks down at me, a heat spreading throughout me. “Thank you.” He cups his large hand to my cheek, his eyes moving between mine for a moment before he moves in slowly, giving me time to protest. 

Like I would.

His lips press to mine, soft and gentle, but an urgency behind their movement. His hand slides around the back of my head, holding me to him as he pushes his tongue in my mouth. A small moan escapes me and he deepens the kiss. My fingers twist in his tunic, desperately trying to get him closer to me. I can feel him pressing against my stomach, hard and wanting, and my body lights with an electricity I hadn’t felt in years. 

Even though it kills me to do so, I break the kiss, lingering for a moment before I look at him, his eyes dark, a fire brimming in them. I take his hand and guide him towards our mat. Before I can lay down, he pulls me to him, kissing me with such sweetness and care. He pulls back this time, looking down at me as he brushes a strand of hair from my face. His hand continues down my neck and to my shoulder. Gently, he tugs my palla from my shoulder, letting it drop to the floor. 

“Lift your arms.”

I do as he says, my entire body alight with anticipation of his touch. He grips my tunic at my hips and pulls it over my head, letting it follow my palla. He takes a step back, letting his eyes slowly roam down my bare body. Not even my late husband took such time for me, almost reverence in his gaze. 

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” his voice is low, a slight rasp to it. I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. Then he reaches behind him and yanks his tunic over his body in one swift motion, his underwear quickly following. 

Gods he’s gorgeous. Strong and toned from his many years of battle, his body has many scars and marks littering it, some new from this most recent battle and others faded to white lines. A single curl falls across his forehead, his eyes soft but full of desire. He pulls me to him, the warmth from his body spreading over mine, an excited tingling firing throughout me as he kisses me. His hand roams down, stopping to squeeze and touch my breast. I gasp when he pinches my nipple, the sensation zapping straight between my thighs. 

He gently guides me to the mat, helping me to lay on my back before he lays his body over mine, my legs falling open to give him more space. He kisses me, his lips trailing down my neck to suck on a spot that has me gasping again. He pulls back, shoulder muscles flexing, his eyes on my face as he presses into me. 

“Oh!” Is all I can manage. He’s larger than my husband was, but he’s taking care, slowly moving his hips to allow me to adjust. 

Once his hips are flush against mine, he studies my face. “Are you alright?”

I nod. “Yes, just…you feel so good, Marcus.”

He smiles, a soft smile, tucking some hair behind my ear again. He moves, pressing deep into me before hitching my leg over his hip. Our grunts and moans fill the tent, Marcus’s hand sliding up to hold mind, our fingers linking together. The warmth in my body builds fast and then explodes, his name rolling off my tongue in praise. Another press of his hips and he grunts, eyes closed in bliss. He drops his head to my chest for several moments, practically purring when I run my fingers through his hair, something I had been dying to do since the moment I first saw him. He rolls off me with a hiss, pulling the blanket over us. His hand settles on my stomach and I turn my head to watch him in the darkness. 

“No regrets?” He asks me, worry in his voice.

I cup his cheek. “Just that it took us this long to get here.”

As we continue to travel, Marcus and I spend as much time as is possible together. Sometimes that’s in the form of him waking me as he presses into me, a hand clamped over my mouth so I don’t wake the camp. Other times it’s simply a meal, chatting about anything and everything. He has so many amazing stories, some sad and others happy or fantastical. He also rides by me, sometimes racing ahead of his troops, our adrenaline taking us behind the closest tree as I lift my tunic for him. 

He has also taken to teaching me archery, or expanding on my limited knowledge. My father had snuck me a bow and arrows when I was little and I practiced in secret where I could. My deceased husband had even built a little private range for me and hired a tutor. But once he passed, those things went away and I had to hide my skill.

I’ll admit some of my favorite times are when he comes back from battle, covered in blood and dirt, fueled by fighting. The first time he did this, he came into the tent where I had prepared a meal. I turned, only managing to get his name out as he stomped across the tent, eyes dark and full of fire. He kissed me hard, gripping my hips roughly and spun me around, bending me over the table as he pulled himself free, pounding into me hard enough that everything on the table clattered to the floor. He wound his fingers in my hair and yanked me up, holding me to his chest as he fucked me, whispering dark and dirty things in my ear, grunting as I clenched around him, his own release just behind mine. He had apologized profusely once he saw how sore I was, a few bruises left behind. But I begged him to do it again, and he definitely has delivered. 

But today is different. He’s on his horse next to me, quiet. Pensive. I haven’t been able to get more than a few words from him the entire ride. It’s not until we’ve made camp and were sitting at his table eating that he speaks. He sets down his fork and clears his throat. 

“I have something to discuss with you.”

I set my fork down as well, dabbing my mouth with a napkin before turning all of my attention to him. He looks…nervous. “What is it?”

He takes a deep breath. “We are nearing the end of our campaign.”

My eyebrows raise. “Oh? That’s good news, right?”

He nods. “Yes. But it’s more than that. We all get to go home. Some will return, others may not. But home for me, is the capital. Rome.”

“You live in the capital? That makes sense. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

He places his upturned hand on the table, bending his fingers to ask for mine. I acquiesce, his skin always feeling warm and comforting. His eyes bore into mine and I feel like he’s reading me again.

“I want to give you another chance to leave.”

I can feel the color drain from my face. “You…you want me to leave?”

“No! No, I do not. But the capital is not…it is a great city to be sure, but it is also very dangerous. I want to give you a chance to go and live a life away from it.”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not. My place is by your side. If…if you’ll have me.” My throat feels tight as I choke back tears.

With his free hand, Marcus leans closer and cups my face. “I would love nothing more than to have you by my side. Is that what you truly want? You do not owe me anything.”

“It is. I…I love you, Marcus.”

His eyes start to water, but then he swallows hard to stop them. “You do?”

I nod furiously. “I have for some time, I think.”

With the hand on my cheek, he pulls me to him, kissing me softly. “I love you too.”

We make out for a few minutes before he pulls back, taking my hand again. “As much as I want to have you, we have something else to discuss.”

“Oh?”

“Since you have decided to stay with me, I…just know this is not the way I would have done it, but your safety is everything to me, and the capital is dangerous. The Emperors-”

“Marcus?”

He takes another deep breath. “I think we should be married before we reach Rome.”

Marriage. That is what’s causing him to not quite look me in the eye? Like he’s afraid I’ll say no? Or afraid I’ll say yes?

“Why is it important we do it before Rome?”

He leans in to my ear, pretending like he’s going to kiss me there, but instead whispers. “The Emperors can be…dangerous. They like to play games and they like to take spoils of war. If you are not married, they may command you to join them.”

“Oh.”

He pulls back, keeping his face only inches from mine, his eyes large and wide. “If this were not so, I would court you, ask you to marry me in a romantic way. But our time is running out and I need to keep you safe. So..what is your answer?”

I look into his eyes, a small smile on my lips. “Marcus, I would’ve married you the day you rescued me. But now? After getting to know you, falling in love with you? I would marry you behind the latrine.”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling. “So that’s a yes?”

“Yes!”

We had a simple wedding ceremony, his trusted captain marrying us. Marcus slides a hastily made iron ring onto my finger and I do the same for him. 

“It’s not much, but I promise to get you something nice when we reach Rome.”

I don’t care about the ring personally, but I can see it means a lot to him. Also, he is the General of Rome, so I’m sure he has to have a certain appearance. The closer we get to the city, the more anxious his eyes get, and the closer by his side he keeps me. We stop in the Port of Ostia, and Marcus escorts me to a room at a nearby inn. It’s been what feels like ages since I slept in an actual bed and not a roll. This one isn’t the best but it’s better than the ground for sure. The next day while we’re eating breakfast, a soft knock raps on the door. I look at Marcus who has a small smile on his face as he gets up to answer it. A person enters in a hooded cloak, hesitating just inside the room while Marcus closes the door. As soon as he does, the hood comes back and reveals an absolutely stunning woman, her golden hair twisted half up on her head in gorgeous braids, her golden tunic forming to her body. 

“General Acacius. I am happy to see you alive.”

“Likewise, Princess Lucilla.” He takes her hand and kisses the back of it and I’m not a tiny bit jealous about it. Nope. Not me. Marcus crosses the room and offers me his hand and I take it, standing up from my chair.

“Princess Lucilla, may I introduce Cornelia, my wife.” 

Lucilla glances at Marcus for a moment before looking at me, her eyes scanning down my body and back up. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?”

Pretty thing? What am I, 14? Marcus squeezes my hand ever so slightly, my signal to be nice. “Thank you, Princess, but I’m sure that title belongs to you.” To my utter surprise, she laughs, her head falling back with it. 

“You didn’t tell me she was witty? You’ll fit right in at court. Just..be careful, with your carefully worded insults, yes?”

I nod. “Understood.”

She pulls a lavender spring from somewhere and holds it beneath her nose, taking a small sniff as she studies me. “I think my seamstress can have her new tunic sewn fast enough. It may not be perfect but it will be fine for the ceremony.”

I turn to look at Marcus. “What celebration? What’s going on?”

Marcus sighs. “When I return to the city after a campaign, the Emperors like to make a..spectacle. I wish they wouldn’t, but they request I ride through the city on a chariot, in my finest armor, and receive my laurels.”

Lucilla turns to him. “General Acacius here sent for me to help you prepare.”

I turn to Lucilla now. “Help me? For what? And why would he ask you?”

She looks at Marcus again. “Have you never spoken of me?”

Marcus shrugs. “Never saw the need to.”

Lucilla turns back to me. “Your husband and I have known each other for a long time. I trust him fully and he me.” She glances at Marcus who nods. She leans in a little closer to me, speaking quietly. “We are both for a free Rome.”

“Is Rome not already free?”

She chuckles, but not in a mean way. “My dear, you have a lot to learn. Which is why he asked me here. To dress you for this ceremony, yes, but to tell you more about what to do or say, or what not to do or say in the capital. Especially as a woman. It is a beautiful city, but it is dangerous.”

I look at Marcus who takes my hands, giving them a little squeeze. “I’m sorry I did not tell you. I was afraid someone would hear me. The world is full of spies. The Princess isn’t technically allowed outside of the city.”

I look at Lucilla, who is smirking slightly. “Oh? So you’re a rebel?”

She chuckles. “In the eyes of the Emperors, I was born one. As my father was Marcus Aurelius.”

Now that name I had heard of and my eyes go wide. “Well I can see why they’d feel…threatened.”

She nods and then claps her hands together. “Now, shall we begin?”

General Taglist:

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[prismatoxic]

okay, shipping brainrot from my last post aside, i'm still thinking about the shapeshifter arc. the other sites i use don't have inline posting or do but it's clunky, so i guess i'm theorizing here. some of this may seem obvious; bear with me, i'm not trying to be patronizing, just working through things. this will probably be long.

(edit: i've since learned there's canon explanations for all of this. regrettably i don't like them. enjoy my ideas of what would be better maybe? but keep in mind i wrote this before i knew it had been explained anywhere else.)

(edit again: i've done a 180 and come fully around on the canon explanations! i have a lot of thoughts about them but this isn't the post for that. anyway i'm disabling reblogs, sorry. you can still look at this if you want)

laios reveals what he knows of shapeshifters, and that they function on memory:

no one ever really suggests in chapters 39 or 40 who thought of which fake except in the case of which ones laios must have thought of, but i want to posit who i think each one came from, and what it means narratively if i'm right. so, mostly a thought experiment/character study that i could be wrong about or that was never meant to be clearly defined in the first place. but maybe fun to think about? (i'm sure other people have done this before too, but i think it'll be fun to write up.)

from the outset, i think it's worth mentioning that chilchuck knows all three laios fakes are, in fact, fakes. two chilchucks say this, but the one on the right is the real one. senshi and marcille immediately corroborate this, though we can't tell which of them it is except that it's not any of the really obvious fakes.

what i think this suggests is that, brought to the surface, the warped perceptions of the rest of the party that chilchuck, senshi, and marcille have can be easily discerned when compared with the real thing. each of these laioses is from one of them, but they immediately figure out none of them are right with the real laios right there in the room. this is important.

as for who's who...

i think it's fair to assume that giant laios is from chilchuck. laios is the tallest member of their party, at six feet; while chilchuck sees marcille and senshi as their correct heights, laios is a giant to him, and his bulky armor doesn't help. that's why, even if this is his perception, it's glaringly obvious that it's wrong as soon as it's made physical. it's the only big one, and easily falls into the camp of "doesn't seem to know much about monsters" that the others also do.

stupid laios is, i think, from marcille. because the giant one is so likely chilchuck's and i don't think senshi sees laios as someone who stupidly wants to eat everything (even if senshi's opinion of him isn't stellar right now, "i have to eat it" wouldn't be paired with being an idiot to senshi), it tracks that marcille would be the one to remember him this way. to someone who doesn't appreciate their monster eating and otherwise thinks he's an idiot just as much as the others do, dumbly muttering about eating things seems like a reasonable portrayal of laios.

feminine laios, then, is from senshi. i think his physical perception of the other party members is the most off-base; this is likely because he's known them for the least amount of time, and his idea of what they look like is based more on their races than anything else. i think the resemblance to falin might not be intentional--someone suggested to me the other day that the dwarf perception of tall-men is probably more feminine in contrast to how Macho dwarfs are. i think that makes sense (if it ever comes up canonically, i haven't seen it yet). laios and falin do just... look like gender-swapped versions of each other, also. so if senshi sees laios as a feminine person, well... that just winds up looking like falin.

so this leaves us with only the real laios. confronted with their perceptions of him, his friends can immediately tell all three are incorrect.

moving on, we eliminate the three most obvious fakes from the rest of the party, starting with marcille:

if we take into account what i just said about senshi, i think this is his. racial stereotypes about elves being what they are, him not knowing the party as well as the other members do... she stands out, and that's why.

now this is where things start to get interesting.

the next two fakes to be eliminated aren't so blatantly incorrect that they can be struck right out at a glance, but it's not hard to notice the flaws when you look closer, and chilchucks A and B are the ones to point it out. chilchuck is naturally observant; most of his fakes seem to emulate this. (the one who addresses the fakes is A, the real one, but B is proving himself able to pick up on the things A notices. this is important.)

notably, chilchuck and senshi assume these must be laios's versions of them.

we can assume this is correct, if we want to. we can take the framing of this as being an intentional reflection of the truth.

or... or... we can look a little deeper. we can wonder if, perhaps, this isn't a reflection of laios, but a reflection of his friends and what they think of him. laios may not immediately notice the problems, but i don't think it's because he doesn't remember these details. i don't think laios sees much of anything in vague terms; he's observant in his own right, but in ways he doesn't really recognize, nor does anyone else. i think he was so focused on their faces and mannerisms that he didn't notice the bigger picture, glossing over something because so many other factors are at play.

senshi and chilchuck think laios doesn't take notice of things, but the vast majority of the shapeshifter arc is about them and marcille not trusting laios's judgement as it is, given how things went recently. is it possible there's more to their assumptions here than what the text explicitly says? i think so!

so then who do these two belong to? marcille, i think.

if we assume dumb laios is hers, then we can also assume her perceptions of the others are kind of broad and vague. she doesn't think poorly of them, necessarily (at least not in as obvious a way as she does with laios, who, i'll remind you, she's currently upset with), but she doesn't commit unimportant details to memory, like chilchuck's neck band or the damage to senshi's helmet.

we've got three more "obvious" fakes to get through, and laios offers another lore tidbit on how the shapeshifters work:

anyway, the first of the next round is marcille again, setting the stage for how these three next fakes are eliminated.

marcille changes her hairstyle all the time, so this isn't a surprise. the last one pictured here winds up being our next fake, as indicated by her grimoire:

so the fake marcille in this section is the one with the most visibly different hair texture (who even draws attention to this), and the spellbook that's woefully incompetent. i think she's from chilchuck.

he's observant, as i said before; even if he didn't commit her hair to memory, he did remember the stuff she's said about how important hair is to magic. maybe that's why the texture is so striking. more importantly, chilchuck isn't wary of magic quite the way senshi is, but he also doesn't understand it. the general tone of the low-quality grimoire also just... sounds like the way he'd frame something like that. (plus, the "how to turn back time" bit is a thing he specifically called her on when she suggested it a few chapters ago.)

so the next fake chilchuck and senshi are revealed via their tools:

i think the chubby-cheeked chilchuck with the simple lockpicks is from senshi, and i think the ordinary-looking senshi with the simple cookware is from chilchuck. the former speaks for itself--senshi sees chilchuck as a child, and knows absolutely nothing about picking locks. as for the fake senshi, chilchuck has a decent mental image of him but knows nothing about cookware.

so now we're down to the final three fakes, and there's only one person left who they could be from: laios. nobody thinks this, not even laios himself, but i want to explore the concept because i think it has extreme merit. the three remaining fakes have some key similarities between them, namely in that they're all close enough interpretations that making a distinction is difficult. they look a tiny bit different, but both the real people and their fakes make plausible cases for why they're the actual person. i want to talk about why i think laios is the one who made that so, and what that means about him.

chapter 39 ends with all his companions--real and fake--doubting his skills. seeing a pattern?

chapter 40 opens with laios determined to regain his friends' trust in him...

...while his friends (and their fakes) talk about how he's liable to like the fakes more, because they're monsters.

this is a needlessly cruel interpretation of laios, but after how things went post-falin-rescue, it's not a surprise. they see him as reckless and single-minded, more interested in the things he's weird about than in the people around him.

laios is really bad at talking about what he's thinking--not because he's hiding it, but because it doesn't occur to him that it's important. meeting the lunatic magician in the paintings is a prime example of this, but he does it a lot. they likely have no idea why he told toshiro about falin and the black magic; to them, laios was being flippant with sensitive information, not worrying about their safety. to laios? he was trying to get help. he trusted toshiro, and his perception of their friendship made him think the information would help them gain an ally who cared about falin as much as they do. he wasn't trying to put falin or marcille in danger--far from it, in fact. but he didn't tell his friends about his thought process. he didn't think it was important to share.

(he's autistic but we all know this. moving on)

so, we have laios's plan: the pairs cook together, while he watches for behavioral differences to discern who's who. it doesn't occur to him, or anyone else, that the people he's watching for mistakes are his own perceptions of his friends. and now we get into the meat of why i wanted to write this post.

assuming i'm correct... let's talk about laios's view of his friends, and how he challenges those perceptions.

starting with my favorite, chilchuck:

chilchuck A, of course, is in fact the real one. this is a pretty significant character moment for him too, in my opinion; we know he has difficulty expressing his emotions, and that a lot of his conflicts so far have stemmed from that. the fact that "chilchuck B asked for help with a menial task" is a gotcha moment to him is... telling. not only because it's so obvious to him, but because it's not obvious to any of his companions. he thinks they know this about him, but he's never openly expressed anything to make them think this is an issue he'd have, in addition to having sought help in the past.

his "convictions and pride and all that" seems to them like someone trying to convince them of something, not someone reminding them of facts he assumes they know.

anyway, back to laios. if we accept that chilchuck B is made from his memories, this suggests several things. first of all, chilchuck B is, despite his softer eyes and willingness to ask for help, still a fairly accurate portrayal of chilchuck. he's easily annoyed and he's observant, two traits chilchuck is known for. i think the reason chilchuck B has the kinder eyes and the more gentle disposition is because to laios, those things are indicative of someone being a good person, and he very much thinks chilchuck is a good person.

we know laios isn't especially good at reading people in general. thus, his idea of who his friends are is skewed in broad strokes, but not in the ways they think. he knows who chilchuck is, but he also associates chilchuck with his own ideas of what makes someone "good", which results in a chilchuck who's less rough around the edges. confronted with this--the real chilchuck asking him if he can tell--laios compares the two and thinks, reasonably speaking, the nicer one who trusts him has to be the friend he respects so much.

senshi and marcille also want to accept this chilchuck, likely for similar reasons. they also respect and care for him; they've seen him go through a lot. laios's ideal of him is just that, ideal. in a roundabout way, it's only their deep fondness for who chilchuck really is that makes them want to see him this way.

next up, we have marcille.

the fake, marcille A, is a radical departure from what makes chilchuck B a fake. laios notes that the real marcille is exactly the same as she always is. the reason, then, that marcille A confuses him--and the others--is that after everything they've been through, their perception of her has changed radically.

if we look back to senshi and chilchuck's marcilles, it's readily apparent when they're eliminated that both interpretations hinge on the knowledge that she performs black magic. senshi's tries to use it to prove herself; chilchuck's has a grimoire loudly proclaiming it's what she does. contrast this to marcille A: she doesn't mention black magic at all, and her grimoire looks strikingly similar to the real one.

that's because laios doesn't think her performing black magic changes anything about who she is. her doing so proved her to be just as dedicated to falin as he himself is, and the knowledge that her goals involve it doesn't faze him. (additionally, marcille has been teaching him magic, and falin had tried in the past. though his image of a grimoire is flawed to someone experienced, to anyone else it looks fine.) thus, marcille A isn't a flagrant black magic wielder; she's someone who's been fundamentally changed by what they--and falin--went through.

let's go back to chapter 27:

chilchuck and senshi are appalled, and will continue to be. while they ultimately don't prevent marcille from doing this, and care enough about both her and laios (and in chilchuck's case, falin as well) to be in tentative support, this changes their view of her in a negative way. she's dangerous now, in a way she wasn't before, but she's still marcille--goofy and a little reckless. thus, their views of her, and the illusions that result.

laios's opinion of her changes for the better.

she is, all at once, both competent and loyally dedicated. she will stop at nothing to help falin. whatever goofiness she exhibited before now is gone, replaced by the cold demeanor of someone who is doing something extremely dangerous for reasons that are inherently selfish, but ultimately too important to reject.

thus, we return to marcille A: cold, sharp, dedicated. not reckless or goofy, but methodical and haunted. she may have returned to "normal" since they left the castle town, but laios's opinion of her, and understanding of her love for falin, has been forever changed.

so faced with the real marcille--still silly, still whining, still frequently annoyed with him--he's confused, because that's deeply familiar, but it doesn't line up with what he knows about her now.

the truth, of course, is nuanced--these things are true about marcille, but only under duress; it's similar to how laios becomes a competent leader when the going gets tough. she has this within her, but it's not her default state of being. still, the shapeshifter picks up on the strongest memories laios has of her, this new interpretation of someone he thought he knew.

now then--onto senshi, the punchline of this particular joke about the differences between the copies. i still think it says a lot.

i think this one speaks for itself, though i find chilchuck's agreement interesting. senshi is the newest member of the team; little is known about him. laios happily notes that senshi "always looks cool" while chilchuck says he looks normal (and chilchuck B insults the real one). laios sees senshi this way because he thinks senshi is cool as hell, and this manifests in an idealized version of a face he's not as familiar with as he is with chilchuck and marcille.

this is clearly comedy, but it also speaks to the same desire to see the best in the rest of the party. marcille is the only one who notices likely because her opinion of senshi isn't so romanticized. chilchuck's senshi, of note, wasn't a perfect replica: we don't see much of him after the obvious fakes are hauled off, but he's a little squashed (he's the top one):

which indicates that chilchuck's visual memory of senshi is already flawed. if we compare this to giant laios and the marcille with the unique hair texture, it tells us chilchuck's attention to detail is more specific than the others'; he can remember the hole in the helmet, the importance of hair, but he doesn't quite see the bigger picture. giant laios is also surprisingly... rugged? which i imagine has to do with chilchuck's perception of him as a tall-man. (or maybe how he clearly has trouble seeing laios's face half the time, lmao...)

anyway. laios thinks senshi is super cool and chilchuck has an imperfect idea of what senshi look like as it is. (i wonder if chilchuck is some degree of faceblind? not enough to not recognize someone at all, but can't pinpoint specifics.)

and so, we arrive at the moment of truth.

so let's go over what i'm theorizing here... all the remaining fakes are illusions based on how laios sees his friends. the illusions manage to make mistakes that reveal the truth to him, but i think the reason for that harkens back to what laios said earlier... the illusions are being updated over time.

laios isn't considering any of the things that give the fakes away until this moment. if it had taken a little longer to resolve things, maybe they'd have started course-correcting, but they aren't given the chance. laios makes sure they aren't--he acts very quickly. even as he presents the three pairs with his findings, he's aware that everything will fall apart as soon as he does... and he's banking on that. while the shapeshifter illusions defend themselves from being killed, he gets right to the heart of the matter in the only way he knows how: confronting the actual monster involved.

when all's said and done, laios reveals how he figured it out:

potentially of note, all of these details happened before the red dragon fight. chilchuck fighting a mimic and revealing his history with them, senshi gushing about the dungeon's ecosystem, and marcille being attacked by the undine weren't super recent memories. when laios brought them forth in his mind, he had a delay before the shapeshifter updated its illusions.

well... except with marcille. marcille A actually didn't show her hand so easily; it was the real marcille's carelessness that proved her identity.

but what this suggests is that, when confronted with the realities of marcille versus his idealized version of her, laios had to make a choice: did it make more sense for her to have been radically changed by the revival and subsequent loss of falin, or was the presence of a marcille he knew so well proof of an illusion? she was the one who was the most different, and as such, the contrast was the same one that eliminated all three laioses at the start: with the real thing in the room, the fake became apparent.

so, to reach a conclusion: one again, laios has proven he's not as scatterbrained as his companions think, but this time he did so on a more personal level than usual. to them, he reveals that he knows their quirks enough to define them by such when they're otherwise faced with convincing copies. to us, the readers, if we accept what i've suggested here... he's revealed a lot more. he respects, admires, and idolizes his friends, all out of fondness: he wants to see them in an ideal way, whatever that means for each of them as individuals.

anyway thanks for coming to my TED talk

[queenendless]

Chase (Darth Vader x Fem!Adult!Reader)

A/n: Tales of the Empire gave me ideas. Particularly on a snowy chilly planet ... it's a very open setting as to what is going on in this so bare with me. First time writing SW stuff on here.

So AU with unburnt Vader who's also kinda OOC in this, some fluff and steamy romance with some Anakin at the end, but it's a short ass piece cause of short notice for today.

PLEASE DONT REPOST, EDIT, COPY, PLAGARIZE, TRANSLATE AND OR STEAL MY FANFIC WORK. RATHER IF YOU DO ENJOY IT THEN LIKE REBLOG AND FOLLOW ME PLS N THNX.

And May The 4th be with you.

Your cloak blew from the chilly winds.

Your hood covered head raised up to meet at the top of the snowy hill.

Climbing up with the darkening gray storm clouds piling up, heighting the anxious tension filling you up inside, the helmeted figure coming into view struck through your core.

He had pursued after your wandering lost self.

You wanted to see how far he would go, as selfish as that was.

Your fear of the cold blooded, brutal Sith Lord becomes mingled with how you are lustful of his imposing presence.

Your cape fluttered in the blowing cold winds as you hurried away, straight to the ice cave entrance.

He knew you thrive off the chase.

And you knew he was relentless in playing along.

“You cannot run forever, Y/n."

His deep modulated voice bounced off the towering crystal ice walls, using the light shining from the high cracked ceiling to guide you.

“I've come this far.” Your tepid sweet voice echoing back at him had him growling a bit.

“You cannot hide from me.”

You didn't need to be Force sensitive to feel that he was honing in on you quickly.

Your flushed nervous face met your eyes as your bumpy reflection followed your side, his heavy footsteps sounding that much closer. “Doing good so far, all things considered.”

You should have figured uttering those words into existence would jinx your ongoing streak. The moment you stepped back from the dead end and spun around on your heel, you bumped into that armored chest.

You screamed a bit as his leather black gloves grabbed your forearms and pinned you to the wall gently but firmly.

His red lenses hid his eyes boring into your very soul, his giant frame enveloping you, pressing you carefully against the alien texture. His heavy breathing made your breathing go silent like a scared mouse, caught by the big bad beast.

“The game is over.” For some reason, he sounded so smug about it.

“You're unbelievable.” You pouted up at that obsidian face.

“You're foolish.” He scoffed.

“Says the man wearing the robot suit.”

The fact that he released his grip on you and leaned back a bit to actually take off that intimidating helmet still took your breath away.

“It helps with the image.” To hear that warm enriching amused voice again already had you giggling as your hands cupped his sculpted cheeks to pull his face down to peck those tempting lips.

His helmet clanked along the ground as his arms slithered around your waist to lift you off the ground, grinning slyly to you hugging his waist in response.

“It's working, my Lord.” You shakily spoke, weaving through that shoulder length darkened hair to tug him closer, pecking many a time quite desperately.

“This little ploy of yours has gotten us completely off track.” His husky tone was sheer evidence that he did not give a damn. Not one bit.

“Forgive me, Lord Vader, for my teasing.”

You squeaked as those giant leather hands of his cupped and squeezed your ass.

“I shall have to punish you, my dear. Quite thoroughly~” Those blue eyes were riddled with devious intention, marking your neck with ferocious bites along your delectable skin.

Your fevered gasps and lecherous cries traveled the caves as you became a mess under his wet steamy mouth. “A – Ani~!”

The former Jedi turned Sith Lord smirked, devouring your mouth with that needy tongue of his.

“Hush, my love. We're just getting started.”

[newkatzkafe2023]

@lara-legomonkiekid

What If Y/N was in a Bad mood that end up getting jealous fast And don't Let Go of Wukong(Female) and Even Kiss Or Mark Wukong's neck Making Wukong Chirp in front of others?

[Monkey Queen's→Wukong(Female)😁☺️]

She's all yours, as far as she's concerned she belongs to you😈

(Lmk Wukong) She used to your bad moods most of the time, but she never expected it to cause jealousy. She was being bothered by another male demon, and unfortunately, you happened to see that, and before she knew it, she was impulsively grabbed, and marked up. Kissing and licking her up as she chirped and scream for everyone to hear, she was blushing, moaning, and chirping excessively, feeling your teeth and lips on her little neck, and she's loved it.

(MKR Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhhh, she'll love your savage nature. We already established how possessive and easily jealous she is, so the fact that your the same is so hot to have her. You have her chirping when pigsy tried to make a move on her, now normally she would put him in a crater but this time you beat her to it. Then you turned around and rough her up and marked her up and kissed her neck making her chirp like crazy smiling and blushing in a haze.

(NR Wukong) SHE DID THIS ON PURPOSE!!!!!! You're rarely ever in a bad mood because you're quite passive and calm. So she had to pull out the big guns and make you jealous. Which is handy because some losers decided to flirt and mess with her, and you were already pissed and now your out for blood. The only one who can take her and that's exactly what you do and when you marked her up, she did more then chirp you made her moan, scream and drooling on both ends as you kiss and took her.

(HIB Wukong) She would find your jealousy ridiculous, like seriously what man other than you would freely want her. Then there are those obvious morons who would flirt for fun or as a dare, and that's what pissed you off. It's bad enough that you're in a terrible mood, but some scrubs try to take what's yours. You pull her close and kiss her neck, making her chirp and blush so sweetly. Then you marked her up, making her get louder as you pin her and remind everyone about who she truly belongs too.

(Netflix Wukong) She was blushing, chirping, and making all kinds of noise. She gets attention from all kinds of fans of the monkey queen, but the second you realize that she now has male fans, you get angry and jealous. You growled and marked her neck, making her chirp and blush and you also distract her long enough to strip her of her armor. To get more fur and neck to claim as her heart eyes cross and drooled all over herself, and you better not stop making her gush🤤

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG

[moodymisty]

“He was always heavier than his brothers. His armor had to be adjusted three different times to fit him as he outgrew it.”

“His armor might be cold, but astartes run hot; Like their blood is boiling, so beneath that metal chill is the heat from the skin visible on his face and neck. You think if the cathedral was any colder, his hot breath would be visible.”

Our black templar bf is large and warm??? Everyone in the reblogs is talking about sleeping with him, while I’m thinking about how nice it must be to sleep (nap, rest, snooze) with him. That man is a human version of a heated weighted blanket! The cuddle sessions with him must be astonishingly good!!

You're thinking good thoughts, anon. Honestly other than the interface ports, a big ol' space marine would be a fantastic cuddle partner in the cold. But maybe that's just me deluluing.

Also I know writing requests are closed because of my backlog, but I just really wanted to do this. So enjoy.

Warnings: Unnamed Black Templar from this fic/Fem!Reader, Possessiveness, Size difference, General 40kness, A very rough drabble so plz forgib

The wind outside howls, battering against walls much less suited for keeping heat comfortably indoors.

To think, you would now very much prefer to return to the Sigismund's Oath instead of having to face weather significantly more severe than just the cold hollowness of the ship. At least he is of a high enough rank that he's allowed a barracks of his own; You don't know how you'd feel in a hall with ten other astartes.

If you already feel like some sort of prized animal in the brief moments you're around them, you can't imagine how that would feel. Particularly if your only protector had to leave you alone.

Suddenly you look up as the only door opens, teeth clattering against each other. You neck hurts from how tense it's been, toes curled in worn shoes as your body desperately tries to keep the most important parts warm.

He enters, no longer in his armor and now sports the loose cloth trousers and robing astartes usually do when out of their ceramite gear. You can see the scars that are scattered over his skin; An untold amount from both battle and his creation.

You rub your hands together fast to try and warm them, before sticking them between your thighs. He watches with that same stoic, unreadable expression.

"You're cold." He says it so matter of fact, you can't help but purse your lips to avoid smiling. You nod and try to hold back the clattering of your teeth.

"I'll be fine. I just need to get used to it." You'll be here awhile is the assumption, so 'getting used to it' is going to be a necessity.

He walks closer to where you sit on his temporary bed. Important enough that he couldn't remain stationed on the ship until needed, but not enough that he couldn't be relieved of duty a moment of actual rest. For a brief moment, you wonder what he's like in battle.

Coming closer to you he in one fell swoop sits down onto the bed, making you to wobble.

"Come," He says, looking at you.

When you freeze for a moment, he speaks again with more words an a more exasperated tone. "Are you like my battle brothers from Inwit now, and prefer the cold?"

As of late he's becoming a bit more talkative around you- though you suppose 'talkative' might still be a bit of a stretch. Out of the many things, humor was not one of the skills bestowed upon them by his Primarch Dorn's genes. At least from the stories and scripture he's taught you as of yet.

Quickly you shuffle closer to him, and he grasps your arm tightly and pulls you against his chest. You quickly adjust in his lap with your legs pulled closed to you. He sleeps sitting- unsurprising to you given his history- with his dagger in arms reach. You suppose this is the most natural extension of that, curled in an almost upright fetal position.

Other than his interface ports pressing against your skin he is overwhelmingly warm, and within moments it feels like you're barely even cold anymore. Astartes and their blood, you swear it almost feels like it's boiling. No wonder he pays the cold no mind.

His massive hand covers good portion of your upper thigh, as he keeps you held close. His nearly inhuman amount of muscle isn't as uncomfortable as you'd thought it would be, as your shift your hands.

It's comfortable and snug, but you doubt you'd be able to leave now even if you'd wanted to.

Your shoulders relax a bit now that you're no longer shivering, and safely in the arms of your Black Templar, you finally feel like you can fall asleep. Even if you'd been warm, the idea of doing so in an unknown place with the one who'd brought you here no where in sight isn't a good one.

You know that unless they suddenly have need of him, he'll have five hours of sleep. You'll have the same, though unlike him you have to daily, whereas he can apparently stay awake for days at a time. Another odd quirk.

You don't know if he's asleep as it's impossible to tell, but you fall asleep not long after, finally warm and comfortable.

[askthatoneanacondraikaiguy]

Omg it's so random but Does Kai and Skylor still wear clothes to hide potential genitals from people ? If so, how Wu does get the clothes ? Because they're both pretty large and tall so they need extra sized clothe now.

Does Kai and Skylor still sleep in a bed ? You said they can pretty much curl on themselves and sleep anywhere but maybe they could sleep together in a king sized matress with a lot of warm blankets ?

Okay, yeah, that's definitely random! But, a reasonable question.

So, I'm gonna answer your ask in reverse, so that any snake people nudity can be included under a read more. Later, I'll post the illustration of Kai napping separately (with a matching Skylor art) too for people who wanna reblog that but not the rest of this answer.

As for beds, yeah, Kai and Skylor can still sleep in beds. They usually do. However, they are also very comfortable sleeping from suspended forms. Anacondrai would sleep in swamp trees and rainforest branches suspended over bodies of water for quick escapes and opportunistic hunting opportunities.

(I'm realizing now; considering how large Anacondrai can get, they almost definitely hunted gators at some point in history)

As for concern of nudity and clothes:

Skylor and Kai technically don't need to wear clothes, but it'd feel pretty weird if they didn't, like walking around in underwear but not pants; technically you're covered but Man It Feels Weird.

I personally HC that Skylor didn't get to pick out much of her wardrobe growing up with her father, so she's taking advantage of her new freedom to use it to express herself. She may have no control over being an Anacondrai or how that looks, but she has control over how she dresses now, and she embraces that.

in season 5, Wu apparently orders the Ninjas clothes? Not just the tea uniforms, it's suggested that their new ninja uniforms arrive that way too. He probably has a friend or something in textile and fashion work that he can call up for getting the clothes for his Ninja.

Skylor doesn't have that and I don't think she would have been taught how to alter clothes, but I figure she could go to Nya for help on that front. Nya designed her own Samurai suit (and also had more than a few hand-me-down outfits in her life), she definitely knows how to alter clothes to fit better. Kai is the one who suggests it when he sees Skylor struggling with, say, skirts designed for human waists and not Serpentine ones.

Further answer (including an illustration; not NSFW I don't think but there are no clothes) under the read more;

Snakes genitalia is internal, so, no, at any given point Kai and Skylor don't have to worry about it. The closest to that would be the pelvic spurs, but I HC those only occur on wild snakes and not on Serpentine. It's one of the ways you can tell a Serpentine newborn apart from a normal snake.

(Fun Fact: Anacondas are ovoviviparous, meaning they hatch their eggs internally and give birth to live young instead of laying eggs like Pythons)

(why'd I dedicate so much time to the lighting on the scales in this? No clue)

For some reason Aspheera canonically has breasts (or the implication of them in the contour of her clothing at least). But I refuse to think about what that implies for Serpentine as a whole. Skylor's transformation has basically just given her thicker scale armor across her chest.

I hope that answers your questions!

[gothgleek]

Spiderman!Spencer x Seamstress!Fem!Reader

Spencer finds out he’s got super powers and he’s got the brain, powers, and abilities to become a superhero. Now all he needs is a costume. That’s where you come in.

Outline for a Spiderman!Spencer fic I’m writing based this post by @reidcoffeemoon. Let me know if anyone would actually be interested in reading a full version of it. Also please like and reblog, it’s my birthday today💕💕💕

•The two of you met at a Halloween party thrown by Penelope. You are a seamstress and whenever someone complimented your costume, you would proudly ramble about of the type of fabric you used.

•Spencer was the only one who actually listened and responded with his own facts about the fabric’s history.

•You gasped and smiled, raising your left hand to your chest. “You are my new favorite person.” You declared.

•While talking, you both found out you’re from Vegas. You worked as a seamstress for a burlesque show off the strip and did cosplay part time while he was off at learning Caltech. The two of you bond over a restaurant that shut down five years ago.

•Now in DC, you worked as a seamstress for the local theater and managed a thrift store by the university he works at. Cosplay makes up most of your income but you dream of creating a lingerie line.

•The two of you agree to meet up for coffee but before that happens, Spencer gets bitten by a spider.

• Was he was bitten by a spider while investigating an unsub who killed his victims spider venoms or did he wander into the wrong room while touring a science facility?

•Derek convinces him to try out being a superhero. Derek is part of a secret superhero group (The Avengers) and would like his friend to join (once he knows Spencer can handle superhero work).

•Spencer calls you a few weeks later. “Hey, um, I wanted your opinion on something. What kind of materials do you recommend for a sort of… workout costume?”

•Thankfully, you’ve been asked weirder questions throughout your career so it didn’t even phase you.

•You respond in a rambling style that would’ve confused other people, but not Spencer.

•”They’ve actually done some test work on using spider webs for body armor but the tests didn’t yield the best results but I think…”

•He listened to you talk while he designed a web slinging contraption for his wrists, occasionally throwing in a comment or two.

•He visits your thrift store a few days later to discuss his little project a little more.

•When it becomes apparent his skills aren’t as advanced as yours, you offer your services and schedule him to come to your place over the weekend.

•It’s purely friendly… but you can’t help but if some less than platonic thoughts come up while looking at certain measurements.

•Those less than platonic feelings did make you blind to some of his questions.

But if anyone asked you would say you’ve had weirder requests.

•“Would it be possible to make it bullet proof? And um… do you know how to make the fingers more um… thin but not thin?”

•The two of you kept meeting up to discuss his costume and sometimes even other things.

You never met anyone who made Russian lit or etymology sound so exciting before.

•But all things come to an end and once his costume is done you don’t see him for another few weeks. It sucks but life goes on.

You ignore the hurt in your stomach when he doesn’t respond to your text about asking about the foreign film fest at the local theater.

•Then, one night after work, you find yourself being on the wrong end of a gun by a mugger.

•Before you can handover your wallet however, a dark figure jumps down and when you open your eyes, the mugger is stuck to the wall with a sort of strange white substance.

•The figure pulls you to the top of the roof and you can finally get a good look at him.

•Spandex that shined in the same weaving pattern as the combination of rayon and viscose? Hands that were 7.49 inches long and 3.60 inches wide? The mask you spent the last two weeks creating?

•You squinted at him.

•“Spencer?!?”

•One long conversation in Spencer’s apartment later, and you’re telling him to come back so you can modify his suit to actually be made for crime fighting.

[rexinasuperomnes]

Got a new theory about Solas and his identity, contains spoiler-ish stuff from the game informer article

So, I just reblogged a post by @arlathvhenan about solas being the Irish word for “light.” In Tevinter Nights, the story “Genitivi Dies at the End” by Lukas Kristjanson, Rasaan says, “The name given when [Solas] lied to us - and to your Inquisition - was chosen by a self-styled martyr. ‘Solas’ is also not true” (311).

So what if Solas’s true name means light?

Solas himself says, “I was Solas first. Fen’Harel came later.” But what if Solas isn’t his original name?

The Game Informer article revealed that the Lighthouse is actually his home, near the Crossroads. The house of Light.

What if his true, original name is the elven word for light, which could also be translated as the sun?

In the codex entries about Elgar’nan and Mythal that we find in Origins, we learn a creation myth featuring those two, the Sun, and the Earth. Link Link

To summarize those, the Sun grew jealous of the Earth’s love and attention toward Elgar’nan, and destroyed everything the Earth had created for him. Elgar’nan threw down the Sun in a rage into the depths of the Earth. The heat of the Sun cracked the Earth, and her tears filled those cracks to become the ocean. (“Elgar’nan’s pride was great”) Mythal was created by her tears and was able to reason with Elgar’nan to release the Sun from his prison. Elgar’nan, “humbled,” agreed, and Mythal created a sphere to house the Sun so his power would never burn the Earth again.

In those codices, there’s also some fun wordplay with pride and humility, as well as direct mention of the Sun feeling remorse, with regret supposedly being a major theme in Veilguard.

Many people have theorized that Solas was a servant of Mythal in some fashion, based on his armor, the placement of wolf statues around her temple, comparison to Ghilan’nain and Andruil, and the fact that he had vallaslin at one point. What if his service to Mythal, or fealty or loyalty or whatever it was, started when she bound the Sun? What if the Lighthouse is what remains of the space Mythal created for him?

I would like to offer visual evidence as well. These images are from the 2022 trailer that gave us the name “Dreadwolf”

Look at how prominently the sun features in these images, framing him. In the image on the left, the sun is embedded in the Dread Wolf.

I know that the legends and stories we have learned are echoes, changed drastically over thousands of years, but the names have been correct so far. I’m so excited to learn more with Veilguard coming out.

[gunsandspaceships]

Navigation v5 (Part 1)

(I will update this thing every month and highlight new stuff with blue color, but for the newest posts - please just scroll down).

Any activity is highly appreciated. If you'd like to reblog my posts - please do, this is my favorite (this way you give other people a chance to find out more about Tony and the MCU).

Some rules

So far we found out:

Which Tony is the real one: Good boy, Alter Ego, Kid, 16 years old, 17-18 years old, 21 years old, Big man in a suit of armor, Badass Motherfucker, Gryffindor 1, Gryffindor 2, Stealth mode, Sakaar, "Villain", Abuse, Revelation, Torture

That he is not a narcissist and his self-esteem is not high: Easy test, Lack of ambition, Not High Self-esteem, 616 Low Self-esteem, More of 616

His health condition: "I am Iron Man", Blast Injury, Shrapnel and heart damage, Torture, Arrhythmia, Important week, Reactor 1, Reactor 2, Surgeries p.1, Surgeries p.2, Surgeries p.3, List of his disabilities, Don't forget!, How Extremis works, Heart problems in CW

Psychiatry: PTSD, Death Wish

That he is an introvert: Jon Favreau commentary, MCU, 616, Socially awkward, Absent-minded

And didn't like to party: Big post, And he just said it himself

His natural habitat: a Lab

Details about his childhood: Facts, Own will, Inner child, Bravery, When he met Rhodey

He is a heavy sleeper: Proof, Nightmares, Best places to sleep

What makes him happy: Science, Being a father, Kids, Relationship

What he accomplished: Achievements, Saved the whole universe, Marksman, PhDs

He is actually a very strange billionaire: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Comfort, Food, Chores, Wallet, Not a businessman, Communism

That he cared for others: Compound owner, Barton's farm scenes, Useful person, What if, Peter's clothes

And had a special understanding of his role of the boss: Pepper

Who was a true friend: Steve, Bruce, Stane, Coulson, Nat and Clint, Pepper, Happy and Rhodey: Part 1 and Part 2, BFF

That Tony sometimes says things about himself that are the opposite of reality: "I'm fine", "Playboy", Joke about bathroom in the suit

That he doesn't have a drinking problem in the MCU: Conclusion with its own navigation

And his coffee addiction is also a myth: Proof

That Tony is bisexual: Proof, FrostIron

And submissive: Proof, Okay Man

MCU Timeline: IM1 part 1, IM1 part 2, IM1 part 3

Tumblr does not allow to add more than 100 links per post, so I had to make two more parts.

Part 2, Part 3

[rachelillustrates]

My top 7 Faerie stories/worlds atm 🦋

**Note, I am super dupes aware that I haven't read/watched everything, so please feel free to reblog/comment with recommendations!**

Faerie is the pulse of my heart, and my mind/spirit/etc. spends a LOT of time thinking about it, SO here's the most resonant of depictions of the realm/faeries themselves in my current opinion (and why).

(And not in any particular order:)

Elfhame, @hollyblack 's "Folk of the Air" series and all related books

Arda, Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" and all related adaptations

"Suitor Armor" by @thepurpah

Studio Ghibli's take on spirits in Japanese folklore

Brian and Wendy Froud's take on Faerie

"Fraggle Rock"

"Tock the Gnome," by myself!

Thoughts:

(Art by Rovina Cai, from "How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories")

I feel very much that Holly Black gets the lushness and richness of Faerie, plus the trickery of it, and that level of dangerous beauty - what attracts humanity to it, etc. How everything is in extremes, too, but also how parts of it echo the human experience - both in terms of courts, but also in terms of the heart, and the emotional impact of intense circumstances and intense feelings.

I am, admittedly, not all caught up yet since I haven't read her earlier works, but of course I recommend starting with "The Cruel Prince" and reading forward from there (the more recent "Stolen Heir Duology" having an extra special place in my esteem)!

(Also special shoutout to the fact that there are Nisse - Gnomes! - in the recent books, AND that her take on Redcaps is absolutely Orcish 💚)

(Also also, cw: Changelings. They can be a triggering/upsetting subject, considering how our concept of them as humans seems to have come about. She does make pretty heavy use of them, but not in the ways that one might expect, and always from a very emotionally-centered space - not a humans-abusing-potential-fae space.)

So, Tolkien - yes, I am including the world of his works in this because even though he considered them religious and specifically-denominational, he took SO MUCH inspiration from folklore and faerie tales (do not even get me started on what got edited out of "The Silmarillion" istg) that Arda is not wholly Christian, from my Faerie-worshiping queer-ass faerie perspective thankyouverymuch. Not to mention what is being done in fandom with the faerie-races, especially the Dwarves and the Hobbits, AND what recent adaptations are opening up with the Orcs!! Obviously, his take on Faerie is a much more literally-grounded reality - they exist in the Earth-based world (as if Faerie has bled into what we expect Earth to be), they have magic (at least the Elves and Dwarves do) but it's both somehow super ethereal and super physical at once. And divinely connected, since the biggest magic in Middle-earth (or any part of Arda) comes from the lesser Gods - the Valar, and the Maiar who serve under them as well as from Big Sky Daddy Eru, but we're not talking about him right now. So that, to me, really speaks to the spiritual nature of Faerie too - which is always always always personally interesting to me, and Jrrt's take on the fae was absolutely foundational in my budding concept of them, before I even really thought about who they are in a conscious way.

I don't know where to recommend starting, since I got into the world through the Jackson films, first, and I wouldn't change my experience for anything because it's given me SO much. But in fandom, shoutout to the works of @conkers-thecosy (read her fics here!) as well as "A Long List of Happy Endings" by vicious_summer and "The Mushroom Mine" series by @chrononautintraining for Dwarf Stuff - and "Splint" by HelenaMarkos for Orc Stuff. Plus, as much as I know it's divisive, "Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power" is - again - doing wonders about the Orcs AND doing very well by the Dwarves too, in my opinion, showing them as a fully realized and thriving people (though Dwarf women should still have beards, Amazon!! And there seems to be some confusion around how the name of Durin functions...)!! Available to stream on Prime, here.

"Suitor Armor" takes place in a world that appears very similar to medieval Earth, and as such the worldbuilding itself doesn't feel very specifically Faerie - yet. However, with the main character having significant ties to the fae, and with the story still having space to explore their culture once the tale takes the characters there, I have faith that we are gonna see more of this take on Faerie specifically soon. In the meantime, what we have seen so far - how faerie magic works, how they relate to each other, etc. - rings true for me, and is lovely to behold, especially in the face of the tragedy around their circumstances in the Big Plot.

Free to read here (and coming to bookshelves in 2025!!).

As for Studio Ghibli - Miyazaki's take on the spirits of Japanese folklore - which are absolutely Faerie - was SO formative for me growing up. I don't have anything else to say about that except that he's right!!

I recommend "Princess Mononoke," "Spirited Away" and "My Neighbor Totoro," particularly. All available to stream on Max right now (but buying physical media is better, and they're very likely available to rent other places, too).

Brian and Wendy Froud's work has, of course, also been absolutely formative for me - especially when I started getting into Faerie properly. Their work doesn't require much commentary either - they're just correct 💗 Nothing I've experienced has ever contradicted what I've read in their books, and I feel like their work really, really gets the energy of the fae and the liminality of their existence. And that there is kindness, and light, as well as danger.

I recommend "Trolls" and "Faeries' Tales," to start with, and of course the quintessential "Faeries" by Brian Froud and Alan Lee, which started it all.

(Also, considering what's below, special honorary shoutout to their work on "The Dark Crystal." Definite overlap there and absolutely counts.)

Obviously there's some crossover with The Muppets here, considering they come from the same studio, BUT if we're looking at just "Fraggle Rock" on its own - absolutely. Though a very different take than those mentioned above, if you're looking for the whimsy and delight at the heart of the fae, the Fraggles have it.

Both the original series and the reboot are currently available to stream on AppleTV.

Okay, and my own! What I'm doing with the world of "Tock the Gnome" is a little bit different - again, we're looking at a realm that isn't free from some of the physical bounds we find on Earth - but in its vast history there is Faerie at its purest, and the characters are on a Big Quest that will be instrumental in restoring the realm to what one would expect of Faerieland (all wrapped up in a body-positive, sapphic-presenting queer romance, btw). My focus is on Gnomes and Orcs, in particular, since the fact that they're also fae is a big part of my message. Recognizing that, as well as recognizing the importance of connectedness between people and the balance of that and personal sovereignty, and how damage to those things might impact the whole of a magical realm.

All pages available to read for free here, across several platforms (with print issues available here).

🦋💗🦋👏👏

[coffeegnomee]

Ok so, hi sorry for the ask but i saw your Kab theory and I wanted to add smth (but Im too shy to reblog and do it directly)

I think you're at least partially right, because yeah things do feel incredibly off, but it feels like you're not taking into account the fact that Kab is an unreliable narrator

the reason I say this is because surprisingly a lot of little details don't line up, the one that personally bugs me the most being how quick she was to drop the whole "tormenting Zam" to try being teammates and then being shocked he didn't just forget the previous week(s), because the whole time to me it felt like trying to make him depend on her whenever it be for armor, pots, gaps, to lower his guard around her and making sure that whenever she betrays he can't quickly bounce back... so she can have an upper hand

plus she could also be pulling the social equivalent to Zam's trap, by lying about some things in a more obvious manner, giving tells to be associated with her acting in order to catch them off guard about the actual manipulation

And also, the best of storytellers are those that not only fool other characters but also the audience :]

yknow i think my life would be a lot happier if i just took her as an unreliable narrator and let it be that. but me and my overactive brain just has to pick everything apart and try and figure out what is true and what is not.

but yea, i agree with everything else, it's been mad weird since her joker moment and there's a lot going on. I think zam is doomed whether or not im right with my manepear conspiracy, but also only time will tell if she decides to use her position with zam right now against him in the future or decides to put her care of him over her own gain and not betray him. and whether or not she's doing that right now.

but given how she said she can never team with squiddo bc squiddo knows her tells and therefore she could never betray squiddo is a quite telling moment where she Only teams with people in order to betray them. Classic scorpion and the frog moment.

[messylesb]

Fashion history nerd here, for the erect codpiece inquire :

The short answer is yes, they did walk around with it in full display

Long answer is it was in fashion for jousting/ceremonial armor as well as fancy breeches because it was a sign of virility, so while the shape was pretty much the same what changed was how big the piece was, depending on status but also where in the world the pants were being made and worn - fun fact, even noble male children used to wear it as children used to dress like mini-adults up to the early 1900s - Henry VIII was a big fan of it and english fashion favored bigger codpieces, possibly the biggest in europe

1) thank you for your valuable knowledge, fashion history nerd anon 🫂

2) this is still bonkers bc i can't imagine ppl taking this seriously. not saying they didn't take it seriously, just that it looks so fucking funny. or I'm just too unserious and immature to actually keep a straight face thinking about them walking around with this on display

3) the only vaguely serious scenario i can take this is, as i put on the tags of the reblog, butch knight wearing it. I'd like to elaborate but i don't have the time, so if anyone would like to write something with lesbians/butch knight wearing this and then tag me I'd be so grateful 🫶🏾🤲🏾✨

[draconixiaa]

dream's mask and symbolism

recently (or rather, some time ago, at this point) i saw a post on the symbolism over dreams mask but i felt awkward just putting my own opinions on a reblog so my spiel will appear here:

the purpose of a mask is to hide and/protect someone's face, whether it be about identity, physical image, or safety during a pandemic. thus, a person using a mask has something to protect: usually one of the three aforementioned concepts.

the mask: whole

cdream, his skin, obviously does not have a mask, but the characterization of him having a mask originates from cc!dream's facelessness. the popularity of that concept made it so that it is popularly accepted that cdream dons a mask wherever he goes, and the fact that his skin does not change much throughout the majority of the server also helps in the wide acceptance of this theme.

therefore, we establish that cdream wears a mask throughout the majority of the dsmp, up to ctommy unmasking dream during his disc confrontation and cquackity doing the same in prison, and then also after the prison arc until the very final lore stream.

physical image

cdream hiding his face means that he has something to hide & protect, and in literal terms, this would be his physical image. when someone wears a full face mask, no one would be able to know what they truly look like, and this gives them an element of mysteriousness, and in cdream's case with the simplicity of his mask, allows him to be even more terrifying. this also leads to my second point: by hiding his physical image, no one would be able to see how his appearance changes over the course of the storyline.

characterization

cdream's character changes drastically throughout the storyline of not just the disc saga but also with l'manburg/manburg/pogtopia/etc and the prison arc. he begins with pure intentions, ends with the same intentions, but all throughout, his method of reaching his ultimate goal changes: from manipulation, to war, destruction, and self-sacrifice, etc, etc. he becomes more and more desperate, more and more willing to do whatever he can to achieve his goal. he also initially refutes that he is a villain, but then changes to embrace that role more and more.

meanwhile, cdream is wearing a mask. his physical appearance does not change much; people are able to keep on easily believing that cdream is a powerful and ruthless character without much emotions. oh right, masks also hides someone's faces. literally and figuratively, as he further embraces his role as a villain, cdream dons a physical mask and a verbal one to distance himself from the server to be seen as such an evil character.

this image of a powerful and evil character is what the masks does for cdream. he (or this image of him) is everlasting, almost like a higher being, and a malicious one at that.

characterization II

but, in all truth, cdream is very vulnerable. for as much as he claims that he has destroyed his attachments, these very feelings of protection and homeliness are what drives him to do what he says and does, especially as revealed during the dsmp finale. he changes so much behind that mask.

the mask: destroyed

as mentioned above, this occurs arguably on two occasions: the disc confrontation or also in prison. both have similar but also different implications.

disc confrontation

it is at this finale that ctommy gets his moment; he shines by breaking away cdream's protective shell and getting his rightful vengeance by killing him twice before sending him to prison. he pressures cdream with the presence of the server to take off all of his armor, and proceeds to kill him. for some fans, the armor represents cdream's mask-- particularly the helmet-- since he is always seen with his armor on in the server. as is with almost every other pvp-oriented person on the server, but ive digressed. taking off the armor is part of taking off that which is hiding what is inside cdream: his physical body, and his well-being. perhaps in the scene where he is compelled to throw his armor into the hole is part of him letting go of his image of a tyrant, but personally, i'd disagree, since the disc confrontation was all planned and organized by cdream; the armor, perhaps, is just the first layer.

the confrontation was all supposed to be under control-- his control. the armor and hole scene, cdream probably would've predicted; he went along with ctommys commands without much resistance, and honestly, this moment is just as symbolic to ctommy as cdream. just as cdream is pretending to let go of his image, or his powerful image is forcefully shoved off of him: ctommy is doing to cdream what he did to ctommy. this is the retribution of the golden rule: treat others how you'd want them to treat you. just as how cdream stripped ctommy bare of all his friends and protection in exile, thus also ctommy to cdream of his items and the power that he held from having them, including both the advantage in pvp and his frightening image. dream probably knew this was going to happen, since thats what you do when you want to kill someone. but, after the armor and the hole scene, ctommy kills cdream-- once, which was alright, fine, he also knew this was going to happen, and then twice. by the time he came back after his first death, cdream was screaming for mercy.

the cdream deaths are also widely interpreted as him losing his mask. or at the very least, it cracks. maybe ctommy was merciful enough to leave the last bit on, or maybe it was all shaken off as cdream begged and pleaded to be let to live-- and then the reveal of the revive book in his hands. but before that, when cdream was being killed: this is the physical shaking off of his very precious lives, the two extra chances he has at living, something preciously irreplaceable. thus, cdream realizes that the situation is spiraling out of control. he has to time this very well, between satisfying ctommy's anger and the reveal of the revive book, as well as his life. this is a gamble on his life. at that moment, cdream is showing his own true desperation, freed from his mask out of fear of death, freed from his mask by ctommy (the very person he sought to control, and the very person seeking to destroy him). look at the irony!

prison & cquackity

perhaps the mask also represents the control the cdream believes that he has over his surroundings. in the prison, cdream is either maskless (going with the above scenario), or half-masked (for cquackity to finish destroying).

either way, cdream's maskless-ness represents how he has no protection, no outer image, nil, none. this protection manifests itself in cdreams mind as the perceived control he has over situations because of the image he believes he has created for himself, because with this villainy, he can control the movements and actions of others. in the prison, though, when he is fully unmasked, he is all open for his visitors to see and tear open and look for themselves: who cdream truly is. maybe this is a good thing, that people will be able to see his true self-- not a villain, but a man with hopes and dreams. thus, when cquackity comes around, what he does is tear cdream, already unmasked, further apart. there is no more armor to protect him, and inside the prison, all thats left of cdream is his real body, and his real mind. and by real i mean unmasked, and not faked.

i like the other interpretation better though: that cdream goes into the prison half-masked. he still has a semblance of control, because he has punz, and technoblade, right? he planned for himself to go to prison... but what he didn't plan for was cquackity's deal with the warden. this is when he loses the rest of his mask, because this is when he loses complete control over not just the situation, but what happens to his own body, and he also can no longer influence other people, because he has no more power. he's being starved, tortured, and confined in a box with no escape nor contact with anything outside the prison; when cquackity comes, csam shuts down the ability for anyone else other than cquackity to visit cdream. so this, the point when he loses the rest of his physical mask is the same as the point when loses the rest of anything, any thing else that he could possibly have control over.

the mask: re-made

after prison, what does cdream do?

cdream gets his armor again, and he puts his mask back on. this mask physically and symbolically hides the effects of the prison on his being: the scars of both the body and the mind. he goes back to being powerful, being a big bad end-game boss, hiding in his mighty prison of which no longer traps him but is his safe place (a whole analysis post on the prison can be made holy) but also to others, the evil villain's lair... cdream resumes his status quo from before the prison. but, he is Not Alright underneath the mask-- but who can tell? who would want to tell, and try to see underneath the mask?

because on the server, there aren't many people who are willing to uncover the mask that cdream has laid over himself, the act that he puts on to be a villain in order to achieve his goals. part of the reason why cdream's 'mask' never gets 'taken off' is because no one cares enough about the true him-- and funnily enough, the only four/five people on the server are: cpunz, ctechnoblade, ctommy, and cquackity. and chbomb lmao. but thats besides the point: half of the people care about his "true self" because they are friends and close allies, while the other half want to reveal it to be able to hurt and destroy him. everyone else only think too shallowly about him: to them, cdream is an evil character harboring evil intentions, and thus the reasons behind said intentions are also similarly evil-- because they need a face to despise.

but its important to note that it isnt just cdream aiming to make himself a villain; it is everyone else as much as he. it's like a negative feedback loop, and i also want to point out that it was all started by cwilbur, who was the first to antagonize cdream as a major villain.

so, both during and after the prison, this feedback loop is why the villainous image of cdream persists. during the disc confrontation, all that happened was that the people were shown that cdream is not strong but weak. yet, just because he's now weak and defeated doesn't mean that the shadow of his villainy won't haunt him or the other uninvolved server members.

the mask: the end

at the very last stream, what is known as the dsmp finale between cdream and ctommy: something shifts. at the very end of the stream, after they argue and argue and argue, trying to get the moral upper hand, tommy trying to gain sympathy, displaying to the world all their differences and oppositions as if they can never, ever agree... ctommy gets killed in the heat of the argument. he gets revived. and he undergoes a revelation.

here, ctommy is very crucial to the moment because he gets dream to take off his helmet, which, in that moment, likely represents cdream's mask. because it is only after that moment that cdream starts talking about the real reasons why he's doing stuff, that he wants everyone to be a happy family, just like how he did privately to punz on the night after the butcher army. here, cdream starts being genuine; he asks: "is it not too late?" to his greatest nemesis.

here, the mask represents all the false narratives that he put forth, and perhaps all the sins that came along with them, and it reveals him: he who did evil for the sake of good, he who sold his soul for the world, he who told his friends, showed his friends, that he is evil-- for the sake of all of his friends and their friendship. it reveals him, as a man, his true face and physical appearance, taking off a bit of the armor that protects him.

this moment where cdream takes off his mask and starts asking if its possible for change is a culmination of cdream and ctommy's character: mutual understanding and hope.

the mask is like a wall that prevents cdream from seeing eye-to-eye with anyone, from reaching mutual understanding from anyone (except for cpunz ig, who supports him no matter how evil he is). by getting cdream to taking off the mask, he gets cdream to reveal the truth, but also understand that there is hope for the future. a better future.

(we dont talk about the nuke)

cdream personally taking off his mask during this time also directly contrasts with how ctommy and cquackity forcibly takes it off of him. there, they are removing the illusion of control cdream has-- to the people of dsmp, and then to cdream himself; yet, despite having everything taken away from him, he still holds close to his heart his ultimate goals. but, at the nuke finale, it is cdream deciding to reveal his thoughts and feelings himself, and this is crucial to his character's growth. even with all his armor on and cpunz is with him, he takes off his mask, his emotional barrier of sorts, to be able to tell the truth: his truth.

Conclusion

cdream's mask has been crucial to his characterization throughout the different arcs and storylines. while in physical depictions, it is an object that hides and protects one's physical appearance, it also affects the image of his character by providing an element of mystery and notoriety.

through the disc confrontation with ctommy and the torture cdream experienced by the hands of cquackity and csam, we can see them forcibly remove cdream's mask and do away with whatever semblance of power and control cdream has-- both over the people of the server, as well as cdream himself.

when cdream returns from the prison, it's as if nothing had changed; this is because of how established his image already is, and this emphasizes his loneliness (with the exception of cpunz) and continues to cast shadows on the rest of the smp.

finally, in the dsmp nuke finale, cdream ultimately decides to take of his mask on his own and reveals his intentions, displaying strong character development and hope.

tldr: the mask protects cdream, assists in his spiral to evil, and is also a tool used to represent changes in his characterization and his situation.

[ronqueesha]

Coming at you guys again with another TMI post about my OCs, based on a reblog I recently did.

I have absolutely thought about the size of each of my character's tiddies, and have even ranked them for convenience (and smut writing purposes)

NO TITTY AT ALL CLUB:

Kallian Tabris and Nathan Bhatia

Both of them are very thin and have never been able to put much fat on their bodies. Kallian especially grew up malnourished due to growing up in the horrifically impoverished alienage, so as she grew into adulthood, her body simply didn't have the resources to bloom. Being an elf didn't help either.

Either way, both Kallian and Nathan are completely flat as a board, no titty at all.

ITTY BITTY TITTY COMMITTEE:

Sarit Ramesh, Jane Shepard, Saoirse, Zoe Iwasaki

Despite being on HRT for a decade, Sarit has never grown much titty. Possibly because of her own impoverished childhood like Kallian, and also just her body not predisposed to massive breast growth.

Jane is on the smaller side of painfully average. Fortunately, she has other attributes, like her well maintained physique and hips, to compensate. None of the women and asari Jane has slept with ever complained.

Saoirse is also in the slightly smaller than average club. Sometimes this proved beneficial when running scams, and she could disguise herself as a young man to hide her identity.

CAN'T COMPLAIN:

Iona and Keeran Trevelyan

Not much to say about Iona's boobs, other than the fact they're not her biggest or most defining feature. She's been able to push them up and emphasize them when needed, and none of her clients were unsatisfied during her time as a sex worker.

Keeran is a warrior who wields a giant 2-handed rainbow axe specifically because it makes him look good. He trains and bodybuilds specifically to have huge himbo titties.

(and I think it's great my two sluttiest ocs share the same category)

Sarah Hawke and Dairon Garrick

Remember at the start of DA2, and Varric's bullshit prologue story includes some heroically exaggerated proportions for Hawke and their sibling? In my headcanon, those are not exaggerations at all. All the women of the Hawke family are quite well endowed. And Sarah has been able to use that to her advantage when doing everything but using her magic to convince people to do what she wanted them to do.

Dairon Garrick grew quickly and bloomed very well. To the point that during her time as a soldier in the Stormwind military, it was sometimes difficult to get comfortable while wearing her standard-issue plate armor.

In more recent times, Dairon has found that she has quite a few fans on Gnomelyfans due to the spicy pictures she publishes to the magazine. And all of her partners have been quite happy with her.

And hey, if you were curious about dick sizes, I've also considered that too:

Sarit Ramesh -> Nathan Bhatia -> Keeran Trevelyan