#cos i do look at through that lens

[parkers-gal]

promise J.B.

summary: bucky is protective over reader, the new lab assistant and resident doctor at the compound

wc: 2k

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

a/n: no warnings (lmk if i missed anything). barely proof read. requests are open!

═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════

the first time he met you, he was expecting dr. cho’s usual lab assistant. it was meant to be a brief check in after his latest mission with sam, just a minor tweak to a piece of tech on his uniform. 

“hey, do you thin-” bucky strides in to dr. miller’s office, full tactical suit still on. he’d came straight from the quinjet, but glancing up from his arm holster he notices that dr. miller’s office is now replaced by your office. 

you look up from your lab report, a pile of open wires laying beside it as you twiddle with the machinery. “oh, i’m sorry. i think dr. banner forgot to notify you: dr. miller transferred to shield co-op missions. i’m his replacement.” you wipe the sweat from your hand onto your white lab coat and stand from your chair. “i’m y/n.”

bucky reads the nametag on your labcoat, dr. l/n. “oh.” his eyes move from the tag to your eyes. “sorry.” 

your smile immediately shifts whatever emotions he just had about the situation. your expression is soft and for a moment, bucky thinks you’re too innocent to be working in a business surrounded by violence. it provokes something deep in his stomach, something he can’t quite place.

“i’d be happy to assist you with whatever you need, though!” you smile again, this one giving bucky an even warmer feeling through his chest. “i already read all of dr. miller’s previous lab reports, and i’m just as good with needles as i am with technology.” you shift your head towards the mutilated hardware on your desk, then smile back at bucky.

he almost chuckles. almost. instead, he adorns a smirk, so subtle you might not have caught it had you not been staring at him, waiting for a reply. hesitantly, he steps forward, holding his arm out to show you what he needs changed.

that was four months ago. now, bucky looks for any excuse to head to your office, whether it be a slightly twisted wrist, a broken button on his suit, or even a question about a new weapon for his next mission. 

“what can i do for you today, james?” your back is turned to him. you’re busy fiddling with a microscope, but bucky can hear the smile on your face.

“bucky,” he corrects. “are you going to tony’s gala this saturday?”

you stop squinting and stand upright, turning to face him. you have a quizzical look on your face. “do doctors usually go to those sorts of things?”

bucky shrugs. “i think dr. cho has before.”

you hum, turning back to the microscope. “well, i do need to catch up with natasha…” you turn the knob for the lens. “is that why you came to see me?”

he pauses. you hear his feet shuffling and smile to yourself. “i just wanted to ask about… my… belt.”

you suppress a laugh and face him again “really?” you grin. “your belt?”

he hums, a tint spreading on his cheeks. 

“well, i haven’t had lunch yet, if you would like to get something for us, we can talk about your belt during my break.”

his head perks up at that. “okay, i’ll be back in twenty.”

he’s out of the room so quick and it makes you smile again. as you turn back to the microscope, somebody else enters.

“back alread- oh.” 

john walker. 

you have never been particularly fond of him, especially after a heated argument he had with sam and steve a couple months back. he works for shield, but sometimes they send him to the avenger’s compound to retrieve specific types of upgrades or get intel about an overlapping mission. 

“aw, don’t seem too disappointed, sweets.” he smiles, the image disgusting you. 

you walk away from the microscope towards a centrifuge sitting on the opposite counter. 

“what can i help you with?”

“what, i come all this way and i can’t just talk to you?”

you bite your lip. “i’m afraid i don’t understand.”

he laughs. “i want to get to know you.”

“like right now?”

“right now… over dinner…” he smiles again, the same disgusting one. “whichever you prefer.”

unsure on how to reply, you turn back to the machine. “i don’t know if that’s appropriate.”

“but it’s okay if you do it with bucky?”

“what about me?” bucky steps through the door with a bag of food in one hand. once noticing john, his jaw clicks. “what are you doing here?”

“just wanted to talk to the lady, that’s all.” he shrugs his shoulders. “is that against the law?”

“it is if she doesn’t want that.”

your gaze shifts to bucky. his blue eyes are piercing, and his gaze is colder than any he’s ever given you. you sense the tension growing the longer he stares at john. 

john interrupts the silence. “what’s the issue, man?” he steps towards bucky. it’s a small step, but it has bucky rigid. “it’s not like she’s taken. she’s free game.”

bucky scoffs. “if you speak about women like they’re prizes to win then you don’t deserve to speak to them.”

your heart flutters. after all he’s been through, bucky still chooses to be an amazing guy. your admiration for him only grows. 

“nobody said anything about that.” john raises his hands in surrender. “don’t get jealous… it’s not like she’s yours…”

his jaw clenches again. you can see his hands are balled into fists at his side. faintly, you hear the whirring of the metal plates in his arm. 

“i think you should leave.”

bucky steps aside, clearing a space for john to walk out the door. reluctantly, he leaves, but not before sparing you another glance and whispering a “call me.”

when he’s finally left the room, you exhale, glancing back to bucky and his tense shoulders. 

“thank you… for that.”

he blinks. his eyes finally find you and he blinks away the tension. 

“of course. you shouldn’t have to put up with that, especially in your place of work.”

you nod and a shy smile takes over your face. you move a strand of hair to behind your ear and turn back to the machine so bucky doesn’t notice your face. he does anyway.

“so, lunch?”

═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════

saturday evening rolls around and, after having double checked with tony and natasha about the validity of your invitation, you get dressed for the gala. the dress fits your form and drapes down to just below your knees. you pair it with a simple pair of heels and your favorite necklace. 

you hope bucky likes it.

stop. that’s inappropriate. we’re work colleagues. he would’ve helped out any girl that needed it, he-

oh fuck.

you notice him immediately. he’s sat at the bar talking to steve, legs draped off the bar seat, thighs thick even in his dress pants. his long hair is neatly swept back, and the glass of bourbon in his metal hand clinks from the ice. 

natasha spots you first. she was just by the entrance, and she immediately greets you.

“how are you?”

you smile at her, happy to be with her after having not had the chance lately. “good, busy in the lab as always.”

she chuckles understandingly. “seems like tony has everyone working overtime.”

she goes on about one thing or another, but at some point you tune her out because bucky has finally noticed you. you can tell he’s tuned steve out too. 

he can’t stop staring. granted, he always stares at everyone, but the way he looks at you differs from that so much. it has your knees weak and you can feel your heart pound a little harder in your chest. his tongue darts out to wet his lips and the faintest smirk appears on his face.

steve turns around to see what his best friend is staring at. noticing you, he leans his head back at the sudden enlightenment and faces bucky. he speaks lowly, “why don’t you ask her out?”

bucky jerks his head towards steve. “what?” he’s defensive at having just been caught. “why would i do that?”

steve rolls his eyes. “because visiting her office everyday is totally normal…” his tone is laced with sarcasm.

you’ve been spending too much time with sam.

“shut up.”

“so you don’t like her, then?”

“i-” bucky huffs. “i never said that.”

“well, i’d act fast.”

his brows furrow. “Why?”

steve points towards you and bucky’s gaze shifts from his best friend to you. there, john walker attempts to offer you a drink, and bucky can tell even from his distant spot at the bar that you’re smiling to be polite.

he doesn’t reply to steve, abandoning his drink and his friend at the bar as he makes his way over to you. 

“can i help you?”

john has to turn to look at bucky, his smile dropping. you can tell he’s aggravated by the presence of the former winter soldier.

“no, i think we’re good.” he doesn’t even attempt to make his smile look genuine.

“i don’t think we are.” bucky steps closer to you. his head dips down, lips close to your ear as he speaks in a low whisper. “you okay, peaches?”

you smile, giddy at the sudden pet name. you nod gently, grateful for bucky’s care, and try not to bite your lip from the interaction. 

“why don’t you go somewhere else?” bucky’s gentle tone is replaced with a stoic one, his annoyance for john returning.

“why can’t i just talk to the girl?” he looks at you expecting your defense.

bucky’s left hand wraps around your waist. his fingers rub your side softly, gracing your hip. your stomach flips in a fit of butterflies. the sudden act of affection has your knees buckling. you want him to pull you closer in case you collapse.

“she’s not interested.” 

john’s eyes widen slightly and he backs away, muttering something under his breath. you feel bucky’s metal fingers squeeze your side slightly. he turns to look at you. 

“i’m sorry about him.”

you can barely hold eye contact. “it’s not your fault.” a sudden boost in courage has you pulling your hand up to smooth out the lapel of his suit. “besides, you’re my hero.”

his eyes flicker with appreciation at having been called that. “yeah?”

you hum in agreement. his other hand reaches towards your face, tracing the hair that sits behind your ear, pinned up in the updo you’ve done for the gala. another stomach flip.

“in that case, does your hero get any reward?” he has a playful smirk, his tone light.

“i suppose…” you smile back. “got anything in mind?”

he pulls you until you're facing him directly. his other hand sits at your waist, too. now you can’t look away, forced to look into his eyes as he undresses you with them. he hums as if the answer sits on his tongue. his metal hand pulls you forward, forcing you to take a step closer to him. his flesh hand moves from your waist to your cheek, nose brushing against yours, delicate, like a dance. his breath fans against your face and your eyelids flutter shut. you exhale, a bundle of nerves leaving too.

his lips ghost against yours, waiting to see if you’d pull back or say you’re crossing a line. you don’t dare stop him. you feel his lips curve slightly; he’s smirking against you. before it grows anymore, his lips connect with yours, warm and supple and tender. he kisses you like every second is a promise, like he wants the world to know you’ll never be anyone else’s.

and now, you know it’s a promise he’ll never break. 

[lianella-artist]

Dad!Ren and his daughter Shayla (My OC fankid!!!)

FINALLY, after some hard work i represent to you.. My OC Shayla! Shayla is based on the official cutiesigh artwork with AU Dad!Ren. This post will have all the basic info about her so far + some headcanons about Ren's family life and his relationship with Shayla. So it's going to be a kinda? long post! I've put a lot of work and love into these arts. Enjoy :3

Redacted holding Shayla!! and their very different reactions

They're just having a bit of a nap on the sofa after Shayla painted Ren's face... and Shayla is drooling on dad's soft chest😭 (kind of inspired?? by this post!)

Her reference:

BASIC INFO

Clarification: in my AU, where there is Shayla, Redacted doesn't pretend to be Ren, but acts naturally! But I use both names in the text

Shayla is a kind, naive, sincere, energetic and cheerful girl who is always looking for adventure. But often, due to her age, her trusting nature and her curiosity, she doesn't always understand the risks and ends up in various messes. The girl is very friendly to everyone she meets! She believes that the world is a kind and beautiful place! Some kids think that Shayla is strange and weird (at least because of her "weird" family), which is why she gets mocked, but she doesn't read social cues (she's kinda autistic coded).

Likes: creative activities (drawing, needlework, sewing (not very wearable yet), making different outfits, daddy's jewelry, laughing, getting up early, climbing trees.

Dislikes: being controlled and restricted, rudeness, social games (she doesn't understand them).

She is the only and most wanted child for Ren and Angel, they had her when they were 30-35 years old. They love her very much!! Thanks to Ren, the family is very wealthy! Redacted spoils her a lot, fulfills all her wishes (well, as much as possible, since it's all after Angel, of course). In Shayla's family, both parents work, but Ren does it from home like he used to. So while Angel is at work, Redacted spends most of his time with their daughter. He picks her up from school, takes her to classes, goes for walks with her + does the housework, cooks, etc (basically he's a stay-at-home dad, because I don't think he needs to spend half a day on hacking; a couple of three hours is enough). With the birth of Shayla, Ren has begun to keep an eye not only on Angel, but also on their daughter, though not as closely. Thanks to this, he manages to get the girl out of trouble in time, but he often arrives at the very last moment.

Shayla is very attached to her father, she thinks he is the coolest dad in the world!!! She loves spending time with him, as well as his dark style and tattoos! She is a daddy's girl :))

While Angel is undoubtedly still Ren's top priority, Redacted genuinely loves his daughter both as an affirmation/continuation of their love with Angel AND for who she is. Her cheerful nature often lifts his spirits. Now, he has another person in his life who helps him see the world through a different, less apathetic and indifferent lens. Ren sees how naive and kind his daughter is and protects her to keep that light in her. And when Shayla comes up with questionable ideas… He supports her! He even suggests something himself😭 BUT even he has limits. He will not do anything that might harm her.

(pretty much everything canon about how Sai describes Dad!Ren)

RANDOM FACTS AND HEADCANONS:

I named her after that meme OOHH MY SHAYLAAA😭 (I didn't have a name for her at first, so I just called her that in my mind for a while. It was actually quite funny to me… but eventually it started to grow on me, ngl, so I kept it)

You know those stories where a kid goes into their mom's makeup bag, purse, or closet and tries on something? In this case, mom is Ren💀 Shayla loves to find all kinds of alt stuff from Redacted, ask what it is, and then try it on herself! Redacted gave her some - a spiked bracelet and a silver chain!

Ren agrees to paint Shayla's nails. She wears all the colors of the rainbow, but she likes to keep all her nails black on one hand, though!

Thanks to the creative atmosphere in the family and Redacted's alternative style, Shayla will be a goth in the future! She's also going to become an alt-clothing designer.

She is wearing three of the five gold hairpins that Ren used to wear! When Redacted and Angel got married, he started wearing only two hairpins - a symbol of their relationship. Years later, when Shayla was born and grew up, the rest of the hairpins were inherited to her, and she wears them with great pride, just like the rest of her dad's jewelry.

Shayla also has her dad's features. She has pale, dry skin and black hair. However, her eyes are a unique combination of Ren's color (blue) + my Angel's (red) = creating a beautiful purple color for her.(I know that's not how gynetics works lmaoo I just think it's cute!!!)

aaaand also, @yzumimenu drew some amazing fanart of Shayla, LOOK AT HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND TY SO MUCH AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[ingravinoveritas]

Lovely new article about Michael in Paste magazine. Article is behind a paywall, so here is a transcription (with thanks to the person on FB who transcribed it, and the parts in bold are my own emphasis).

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

I love this so much. The thoroughly well-deserved praise for Michael's incredible performance as Aziraphale, but also that Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is specifically described as a "romance." And of course, the first sentence of the last paragraph that acknowledges how much Michael and David are indeed a "matched set" that cannot (and should not) be separated...

[honeyryewhiskey]

. . . director!jensen x starlet!reader

synopsis ୨ৎ jensen’s magnum opus is finally coming to life after years of meticulous crafting—his first directorial film, the one that will define his legacy. he’s sifted through countless headshots, sat through audition after audition, searching for the perfect lead. then you walk in—soft, a little shy, but with a quiet sweetness that lingers, something he can’t shake. and just like that, he knows. he’s found his girl.

warnings ୨ৎ 18+ mdni, age gap relationship, the artist and his muse, powerful older man and the rising star, obsession disguised as guidance, you belong to me energy, indulgence, claiming through praise

chronological parts ! audition files off the record

Jensen takes you under his wing, molding you into the perfect starlet.

He’s obsessed with every little thing about you. Your expressions. Your voice. The way you move on camera. You’re his muse, and he doesn’t hide it.

During late-night script readings in his private studio, he sits too close, his voice smooth as he murmurs directions. His fingers trail over your wrist when he adjusts the way you hold a prop. His hands linger on your waist when he blocks a scene with you.

"That’s my girl," he praises, voice warm, approving. "You’re perfect, sweetheart. Just like that."

No one knows just how far Jensen’s gone in his obsession.

No one knows how his hands skim over your bare back during a costume fitting, how his breath tickles your ear as he murmurs between kisses, "you’re gonna look so perfect for me on that screen."

No one knows about the way he pulls you into a dark corner after a long day of filming, his praises beginning with words and ending with his head between your thighs, making sure his little muse knows just how proud he is. "You did so good for me today."

No one knows about the late nights in his private trailer, the door locked, your script abandoned somewhere on the floor with your clothes and his. Jensen’s hands hold your hips like he owns them, like he was made to be between them, fucking you into the sheets until you’re whimpering. His mouth claims the expanse of your chest, “you’re doing so well for me, pretty baby,” he praises, “you’re always so good for me.” 

He’s protective, possessive. He knows how quickly Hollywood can dim the light of something so new and vibrant. He’s determined to keep you safe from all of that. And to show the world your essence through his carefully crafted lens. 

"They don’t get to see you the way I do, doll. Only I get that."

But people are starting to talk.

The way he looks at you during press interviews, the way his hand always finds the small of your back, the way you practically glow under his praise.

They suspect.

But no one really knows.

And as long as Jensen has a say in it? They never will.

sneak peek into the story. . .

Jensen watches you from behind the camera, eyes locked on the monitor, completely still. The hum of the set—the murmur of producers, the shuffle of the crew, the faint scratch of a pen against a clipboard—fades to static in the background. None of it matters.

Only you.

Your face fills the frame, bathed in soft lighting, every flicker of emotion playing across your features like a symphony only he can hear. He watches the way your brows furrow, how your lips part just slightly on the inhale before delivering your lines. The intensity in your eyes—for him—steals his breath.

It’s his vision, the one he’s obsessed over for years, coming to life before him. Through you.

"Cut." His voice is calm, controlled, but there’s a heat beneath it, just enough to make you shiver. The smallest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You turn to him immediately, searching for approval. He doesn’t hesitate. He pushes up from his chair, stepping between you and your co-star with quiet confidence, his presence commanding without a single word. Around you, the set moves like clockwork—makeup dabs at your cheeks, the props team resets the scene—but you don’t notice any of it.

All you see is him.

The crinkle by his eyes. The weight of his gaze, steady and unreadable. How he looms just a little closer than necessary.

"That was perfect, Peach." His voice is low, intimate, meant for you alone.

His hand lifts, fingertips grazing the collar of your dress, adjusting it with deliberate slowness. You stand frozen, pulse quickening at the soft drag of his fingers against your throat.

"I can do a few more takes if you need me to," you offer, voice steady except for the slight quiver at the end. "Maybe try it with a different emotion?"

He chuckles, a sound that rolls through you like smoke, and nods.

"Sure, sweetheart, we can roll it again."

His fingers brush beneath your chin, tilting your face up, capturing your gaze in his. He holds it, long enough that your breath stutters in your chest.

"Always looking for a way to please me, aren’t you?"

Your stomach flips at the teasing edge in his tone. You barely hear yourself whisper, "Of course, sir. I want it to be perfect."

Something flickers behind his eyes. Approval. Possession. The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s holding something back.

He lets the moment stretch until you feel lightheaded, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll squirm under the weight of his stare. You swallow hard, pressing your feet into the floor to steady yourself.

"Good girl." It’s quiet enough for only you to hear.

Then he steps away, claps his hands once, snapping the rest of the room back into focus.

"Again, from the top."

It’s well past dark, but here you are, in Jensen’s trailer, reading lines despite the hour. He promised from the beginning that he’d help no matter the time, that he’d always answer your call.

“Again.” His voice is soft—patient, yet firm. That tone leaves no room for argument, a steady command that seems to seep into your bones. He stands before you, arms crossed, his posture strong but relaxed. His brow furrows, the familiar, focused crease settling deep into his face.

You let out a slow breath, shifting slightly on the couch. The script is loose in your hands, but it feels heavy—heavy with expectation, heavy with the weight of his gaze on you. You’ve read this line a dozen times already, trying to make it right, trying to please him. But it's still not right. Not for him.

Jensen doesn’t speak, but you feel his eyes on you, sharp, intense. His gaze cuts through the silence like a knife, and just when the pressure starts to suffocate you, he moves.

His fingers skim over your wrist, soft, deliberate, like he’s taking control without even trying. The script slips from your hands, landing beside you with a soft thud.

“Not like that, baby. Here—”

His voice is low, barely above a whisper. He crouches in front of you, leaning in so close that his breath brushes the side of your face, sending a shiver down your spine. The heat of his body presses against you, his presence filling the space between you both. You instinctively shift, thighs pressing together.

He doesn’t look at you like he’s just guiding you; it feels deeper than that. His hand hovers above yours for a moment before settling there, his fingers curling around yours with a deliberate slowness. There’s strength in his touch, but also a quiet command—he’s guiding, but he’s controlling. Every inch of his touch molds you, like he’s shaping you to fit his vision.

“You know the lines,” he murmurs, voice rough with something you can’t place. “Just give it to me straight. I don’t want you to just read the words, I wanna feel it come from here.” His fingers reach up, pressing into the center of your chest. 

You nod, but the nerves that always seem to creep up around him are impossible to mask. The script’s words are in your head, but your throat feels tight, your heart pounding.

He sees it. He always does.

“Relax,” he whispers, his tone gentler now with the ghost of a laugh, coaxing you in a way only he can. The edges of his eyes soften as he picks up on the hesitation. It’s just you, and him, and the work he’s watching flow from your being into reality.

“You can do it,” he assures, his voice a soothing balm against your racing pulse. “I know you can.”

j's note ୨ৎ this is my first jensen fic i want to hide under the covers rn bc this is so horny but i've been bit by the old man jensen bug—kudos to @figthoughts bc i probably would not have been daydreaming about him in this way without u <3

tags ୨ৎ @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @daylighted @jollyhunter @soldiersgirl @bejeweledinterludes @bluemerakis @cowboysandcigarettes @littlesoulshine @couturewinx @ultravi0lence14 @snowluvvie @flow33didontsmoke comment to be added / removed !

[verdantwyrm]

On the topic of Mouthwashing though, I really do wish we got more time as Curly's POV to get a better understanding of the rest of the crew and their personalities.

Jimmy's pov he views Anya as weak, constantly fawning, a nervous wreck, incapable of thinking for herself. He views Swansea as this drunken, fat oaf who's never spent a day in his life being successful at anything other than one bottle down the drain away from complete spiral. He views Daisuke as his rich boy who's never had to work a day in his life and has absolutely everything— including the internship, handed to him on a silver platter. And he views Curly as this absolute. A thing to idolise, a thing to destroy, a stepping stone but also a helping hand. He utterly loves hating Curly, and he loves the hate that comes from it.

Jimmy rarely talks bad about Curly, only ever swapping the blame off himself but he never once talks badly about him the same way he does to the other crew members. Curly is his paragon, something he spent years and years of chasing, being so far and yet so close to, and when he finally feels like he could finally surpass him, or even simply be equals for once, Curly gets the opportunity of a lifetime at a job he hates. How selfish, how utterly pathetic and selfish for Curly to hate a job that makes Jimmy feel powerful. He likes it there, he is in control. And that resentment starts to truly build when Jimmy realises how selfish Curly is for wanting to escape from something that enables Jimmy so much.

But when we finally see through Curly's eyes, Anya is fun, she is enthusiastic, she loves to make jokes, she loves to draw, read, and even has what seems to be an budding relationship with Curly himself, taking to his comment about being fit to fly in her eyes like it's a common exchange of flirting between the both of them. She is at ease around him, her walls have dropped, and she feels safe to talk to him, and even attempts to try and get him to open up more to her.

Daisuke is capable, he is enthusiastic, a hard working Intern who really enjoys what he does, engineering. Curly is receptive of this, and isn't even the one to reprimanded him when he sets off the sealant foam because he can see the good in him, because he can see that he was genuinely trying to help. He never once comments about him being stupid, or lacking, or in any light that could implicate that he hasn't worked hard to get where he is, even if he did have assistance from his parents, he still met that mark of passing for internship.

And although not much is expressed with Swansea, we know that they're capable of being honest with eachother, and allow themselves to joke between the both of them. And when Curly does have to step in and act like a Captain, he even goes as far to trust the axe directly to Swansea himself. In a ship where absolutely everything has to go through him, everything needs clearance and everything needs to be triple double checked, he trusts Swansea with the axe.

And onto Jimmy, Curly can see his faults, the cracks and the damage Jimmy has on the surface, but insists on seeing something deeper within him too. Constantly reminding him that "They'll figure it out" and just to take "One day at a time" because he is genuinely reaching out to Jimmy and attempting to give him support. Despite the ugliness, he is looking at Jimmy with a lens of the bigger picture, his overall achievement of being his co-pilot, his friend. Curly was genuinely proud of Jimmy for accomplishing what he has, and acknowledges that it wouldn't have been wasted considering he has had it rough back on earth.

We can see both of their stark personalities in also how we see the ship itself. Everytime we are through Jimmy's perspective, the ship is destroyed, blanketed in a red hue constantly, it is crowded, suffocating, rusting and breaking apart at the seams. Even right before the ship is actually crashed, it is not long before his entire senses are overloaded with the red flashing lights of an emergency warning. He lives in that sunset, in that firey essence of destruction and death.

But through Curly's eyes? We see sun, clouds, happiness, warmth, we see the moon, the twinkling stars. The beauty of a lived space, the calmness and the comfort of the Tulpar. Celebrating birthdays, playing board games, reading books, enjoying life to their fullest on the ship. We know he enjoys simple food, trucker food. That caffeine keeps him up, that he refers to Polle with joy, referring to the statue as "Ponyboy", mentioning that he loves Anya's and Swansea's music choices on the radio.

And then suddenly his whole life is utterly consumed by that red, firey inferno. Constantly blaring in his eyes, burning away at his skin and even more constant reminder of the white, hot death that awaits him.

Everything in this game is through the lense of a cynical, self absorbed unreliable narrator who sees kindness as a weakness and lashes out accordingly. I would kill to have seen and experienced more as Curly, but I think the lack thereof is intentional. A nod to just how truly empty and vulnerable he has become, stripped away of all things that made him, him. Both in appearance and personality, all taken from him by the one person he thought he could trust.

[stariikis]

trust myself

desc ; sitting in with riki as he films his en-note and accompanying him through the multitude of emotions that follow.

pairing ; idol!nishimura riki x gf!reader genre ; fluff, established rs wc ; 1228 notes ; understand that i love riki because i see a version of myself in him...

When your boyfriend sits down at the hotel table, a singular lamp illuminating his screen with a yellow warmth, your heart aches at just the thought of what he might say next. Though Riki’s always been very skilled at switching between seriously honest and teasingly goofy, he becomes a completely different person when he’s filming en-notes. 

He becomes so vulnerable to the invisible crowd that it hurts you more than it irks you. And sometimes, when confesses struggles even you have never heard from his mouth before, you wonder if you’re not enough for him. Not good enough a listener. Not trustworthy enough for him to confide in. 

How come he only opens up under the pressure of the camera lens?

“Don’t stress out,” you mumble quickly before he presses the red record button on his phone screen. Three simple words and yet they have Riki pausing for a long moment, digesting your words. 

After a while, he nods curtly. “I won’t.” He’s lying through his teeth. But he beckons you closer and as you lean in, he kisses your eyelid. Pulling away, he seems to smile slightly in an effort to coax you into relaxing. As if he wants you to give it up. 

Though the tender action does send a wave of serenity through you, you can’t help but to feel a lingering sense of dread, with questions unanswered running through your mind. When will I get to find out something about him that the fans won’t? Or does he think he should just be honest with everyone at the same time? Is he not conscious of the world being familiar with the very depths of his soul?

Or are you just envious that somebody who isn’t exclusive to him is able to understand him like you do? 

“27 June 2024.” Before you can get lost in your thoughts, Riki starts speaking. You hate with all your heart and soul the exhausted, subdued shadow over his features. He starts talking about their recent concert in Hiroshima — how they hold their Japanese single, ‘Blossom’, close to their hearts; how he’s proud of Jay for pressing through their performance even with an injured knee. 

Then he gets to the hard stuff. 

It’s like he already has one foot out the door when you send him a glare and he ignores it out the corner of his eye. As soon as he opens his mouth again, gaze trailing off to the bottom of the screen, you know it’s coming. The same phrase he likes to repeat over and over again, and then cover up with a ‘but you know, I just love performing in front of you guys.’ 

“I do have some regrets.” 

You hope your glare is like a slap in the face to him. If it’s not, you don’t know what you’re going to do with him. All his following words just seep down the drain. Why does it pain you more than it pains him, to hear the words, ‘I need to work harder’ come out his mouth? Like he genuinely doesn’t see that he’s pushing himself to the limit already? This is exactly why you despise concert season. Coupled with jetlag, the mental form of fatigue seems to strike around these times as does physical, and it’s never good for Riki. 

His words fall on deaf ears. You’re boiling with an inexplicable rage, but it’s the most tame version of the concept of anger.

You just don’t understand, as he stops the recording and turns back to you. You can’t tell if he plain doesn’t get the weight of the situation, or is trying to avoid your gaze solely due to that reason. 

So before he returns to his usual playful self – you can see the light slowly returning to his eyes; he’s about to shove you to the other side of the bed with a snide quip – you grab his wrist and look at him scrutinisingly. 

“Do you mean all those things you said?” You stare at him imploringly in the dim lighting. “Every single one of them?” 

“Do you wish you could say more?” You say breathlessly, desperately looking from eye to eye like they’ll provide all the answers. 

Clearly taken aback, your boyfriend gently pulls his hand from your vice grip. “I mean it,” he murmurs sincerely. “I mean it all. How could I not?” 

Your gaze travels down his neck to the safety-pin necklace he refuses to take off. The meaning behind it is special to him, and likewise, he can’t be seen a day without it. His dedication and sincerity will never be deniable. So why do you feel as if there’s something he’s holding back, not telling you… a truth that he’s altered? 

“There’s nothing more to say?” You press, slightly disappointed because there’s two explanations for this. One, he’s really got nothing left in him to spill, especially not to you. Or two, he just doesn’t want you to know what more he has to say. You can’t decide which’d be worse. 

“...” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He reaches up to fiddle with his necklace as he climbs into bed beside you. “I know. You’re concerned because I hardly open up to you one-on-one. Rather, you have to hear it second-hand when I have ‘conversation’ with the fans.” 

Right. He’s extremely insightful too. How did I forget that about him? 

You just nod, taking care not to look too upset by the situation. 

“Would it be a lame excuse to say that it’s because I don’t trust myself enough?” He whispers as he unzips his patchy blue jacket and unclips his earrings. “To come clean to you, that is.” 

“Yes,” you say instantly, lightheartedly. ‘Okay but seriously, why don’t you trust yourself? Is that the truth, or do you not trust me enough? They’re different, you know.” 

“I know…” he scoots closer to you and lies down on his side, facing you. “To put it simply, I’m scared that what comes out is a sugarcoated version of the truth. When I face you, I don’t want to worry you with… everything. When I face the camera… it’s different. Because what are they going to do about it? There’s nothing they can do to help.” 

You make eye contact with him, and finally a sliver of anxiety crosses his orbs right before your eyes. 

“I don’t like it when you put up a front with me though,” you say. “It worries me even more than you think.” 

“Well, I know now,” he scoffs, moving the hair out your face and looking at you with such a tender look of love that the surroundings all fade away to dust. “I’m sorry. I’ll confide in you better next time… wow that sounds so…” 

He cringes and buries his head into the pillows cutely. A mixture of affection and relief floods over you at this, and you touch his hands in silence. 

When he lifts his face from the pillow, he pouts endearingly and intertwines your fingers together. “Seriously, there’s nobody I trust more than you, okay? Sorry if it didn’t feel that way.” 

So, even though he’s supposed to be getting rest for their upcoming activities, he spends the rest of the night telling you the full, honest truth — and of course he pairs this with a bunch of kisses, teasing remarks and cuddles.

more of my works >

[prettypinkpuddles]

P ⭐️ R N S T A R Y / N

alright, since there is an influx of girl characters, i’m going to be adding to the of Cam Girl Y/N, which you can read by clicking just above! ⇡⇡⇡

characters include Furina, Xilonen, Charlotte, Chiori, Arlechinno, Xianyun

modern AUs for some characters (indicated with☕️), voyerism/exhibition, spanking, zhongli cameo(with Xianyun), blowjob, cuninnlingus, duh, dom and sub dynamics, filming and pictures, toy usage, audio recording, stripping

please enjoy ⭐️

🎭𝔏𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔲𝔡𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢

having lots of eyes on Furina was something she was used to. when she was clothed and prepared for everything because she rehearsed for it. not when she was stripping and drinking with you as a full house of patrons watched in their seats. she squirmed as you unhooked her black bra and a giggle pulled itself from your lips.

“the first to drop 25,000 mora will get to keep her bra for the rest of the performance.” you teased, sending a great deal of people scrambling from their seats to show you pouches of mora. you strutted to the end of the stage taking each bag and weighing them in your hands before you decided one was hefty enough, exchanging it for the bra to a tall woman with navy blue and green accents on her jeweled masquerade mask.

she smiled wickedly as the fabric touched her, unable to read her expression as excitement or mischief due to the anonymity rule, but Furina still whimpered as you walked back to her

“i… i thought we were going to be quick with my performance…!” she said nervously with a giggle as her fingers came over her own facial covering. you nodded and pushed her down on the chair, announcing that Madam Bleu was going to leave in 3 minutes. those two minutes were spent completely ruining her.

you tweaked her nipples, smothered her tits with kisses, bruised her neck in a beautiful mosiac of purples and reds. then her cunt, swirling over her clit, prodding her hole with the tip of your tongue, spreading her folds and kissing the entire thing. it drove her crazy, she bucked and twitched, singing out a melody for the leering crowd, begging to be allowed to make a grand exit.

you pulled away, “i thought you wanted to keep things simple, just light teasing.” a twisted grin tugged your lips up and she nearly growled, the tears bubbled at the corners of her big eyes spilling out. you laughed and turned, “what do you think? should Madam Bleu give you all a departure you’ll never forget?”

nobody could really answer, they were far to busy stroking their dumb dick or petting their pussies. you turned back and Furina took her hair, shoved her cunt into your mouth and just abused you. she rode you like a cowgirl, gasping and fluttering as her face contorted with the sudden flicks of your tongue.

“gods…” she shivered, hunching her back as her breathing grew more ragged with each chant to Celestia. then she arched back and nearly screamed, her legs shook erratically, her lungs stopped taking in air, her eyes twitched and her mouth was locked in an O.

“my, my…” you mused when her grip loosened. “that was wonderful, Madam.”

📸 𝙻𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜, 𝙲𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊, 𝙲𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶 ☕️

charlotte was watching you through her lens with deep sexual energy building in her. you were completely nude on a casting couch, a sweet smile on your face and your hair done nicely. you were filming a stupid porno as suggested by your subscribers, who had pleaded recommended that you work with Wriothesley, but he wasn’t here. you looked a bit past the camera, “would you like to fill in?”

charlotte blurred out a noise of shock and looked at you, “pardon?”

“you would like to indulge me in sex?” you teased.

“i… i couldn’t.” she excused, “the camera, and your co-star-!”

you rolled your neck at the door he was supposed to come through, “who isn’t here. and i’m so tired of waiting to be fucked roughly for a bunch of limp dicks.” she wanted to laugh at that.

you were referring to the 40k people who watched your content, no matter how to raked the prices, they were always going to pay to see your tits. “come on, set the camera over there. and let me make you stop thinking.”

she looked over to the dresser behind her, taking a few cautious steps to it, “i’m sure your fans wouldn’t want to see me.”

she was a stark contrast to you, a plucky, pink haired girl with excitement at everything. and you, a beautiful, snarky-worded lady who was more than willing to show her feet for 300 bucks. it was perfect porn plot.

Charlotte took a few steps to you and settled on the green cushion, nervously squishing at her thighs. “can i kiss you?”

you nodded

“like, everywhere?”

another nod, this time a giggling grin crept over your face

“like… this?” her lips found your nervously, a sneaky peck before you initiated a deeper kiss, pulling her over your lap as she feverishly sighed, “can i-?”

you slide your thumb down her lips, shushing her sweetly, “don’t ask, love. just do it.” you tugged at her burgundy jacket on her shoulders, unbuttoning the tauple curling lining her top and completely exposed her skin to the cool air and the camera, “see how i doing? just like this~” you said before popping one of her little boobs in your mouth, suckling and licking her nipple like it was going to give you a reward. she mewled and cracked a broken smile as she shakily breathed. your touch was the scorching fire to her sizzling ice, her fingers roamed over your body aimlessly as you continued to kiss her chest, finding a spot that made you gasp and slightly pause

this time she was grinning, crawling below to sit in front of the couch and peel open your legs, gasping at the near nothing you were wearing

it was a simple pink lace, supposed to be ripped by your late ass co-star but now Charlotte was pulling them back and giving your lips a hesitant lick. you let out a high pitched moan at the new action, and it seemed to spur her on to start licking it in broad strokes. more moans pulled out of you as her fingers wormed inside of you, her free hand inching up to roughly palm and pinch your boobs.

“just like that, darling~” you encouraged and let your eyes fall shut, stewing in the immense deep pleasure she was feeding you. her fingers twisted and her mouth attached over your clit and her throat began to pull the nub toward it. she was like a vacuum, suckling and grunting obnoxiously but you couldn’t care less, fuck she felt good, her hand messily playing with your chest and her fingers expertly rubbing your gummy insides made you melt in her mouth.

👥𝒫ℯ𝓇𝒻ℴ𝓇𝓂𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ ℐ𝓂𝓂ℴ𝓇𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓈

this is heavily inspired by some art from Kinkymation, please check her out, she doesn’t amazing art of all hoyo games and more

It was torture, why did you agree to this? being used by Zhongli and Xianyun…. you don’t never know why or how you got into this predicament but you weren’t complaining. especially when Xianqyun plucked you right off of the lord’s cock and laid you down on the edge of the bed, your head just over it.

“relax, Y/N; one shall provide proper pleasures to your sensitive body.” she looked at Zhongli’s stirring dick as she said that and leaned forward. her tits squished on top of yours and you nearly died. her tongue plugged you up immediately, swirling and sliding around your canal as though she was trying to imitate his fucking. but it was different, her tongue was more slender and pointed, maybe like a bird’s, and it keep scrapping against your sensitive spot.

you choked on your spit as her knees caged your head in, “oh gods, stars above, please!” words oozed out of your mouth as you tried to not say Rex Lapis, privy on the fact that he was in the room, you didn’t want to upset the woman who was lavishing over your body and the man who was now watching gracefully as he desperately fucked his fist.

“does one wish to have a release?” she teased and you nodded, heaving out yeses that made her chuckle and kiss your pussy loudly, “very well. one shall allow herself to be covered in your essence. for it pleases me so to-”

you rocked your knees and whined as though you were in pain, “please, Madam Xianyun, please make me cum! i can’t take it any longer!”

Zhongli chuckled deeply and you felt your cunt pulse from the low octave, “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’ve got her rather… frustrated.”

“you clearly don’t!” Xianyun declared, “speaking when one did not speak to you first!” she pulled her arms around your thighs and flipped, putting you on top and her on the bottom. her patter your cheeks and you inched forward, then lowered onto her face for her to latch onto your lips.

you cried out in pleasure, becoming lost in the way she swirled and flicked over your clit, slurped and tongued your hole, drinking your juices as though you were life itself. “oh, thank you! thank you so much, Miss Xianyun!”

a growl bubbled from Zhongli and he was suddenly in front of you, “Bend Down.” he commanded and you slowly followed, your face now right in front of his balls.

“suck.”

you opened your mouth and pressed your tongue to his tip. Zhongli hissed and slammed up into you, digging his fingers in your hair. he began to facefuck you, completely ruin your makeup and throat, not caring that you were choking, gagging and welling up with tears. his thrust slowed to the sound of the elongated moans you soon let out, praising your skill and ability to hold his cock in as Xianyun abused your swollen cunt

🎶 𝙵𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝 ☕️

if you want to follow the beat too, please listen to

yknow those sex toys you can hook up to your phone? yeah, Xilonen bought that, and it was one that followed the beat of the music she was playing.

“hey guys,” she spoke into the microphone, then explained to her audience that she was going to be using a toy on you and recording the sounds you made for your 1 million follower special. using the two on you, not with. but here you were both rubbing against the toy, Xilonen panting above your shaking body.

a new song began to play, the low beat causing the vibrator to pulsate against the opening of your pussy deliciously, “fuck, i love this song.” Xilonen purred and you chuckled as your hands came up to cup her tits. “just as much as i’m loving this.” she pulled her hips back as the woman began to sing and began to swing them back and forth slowly

“you’ve said that for the past three songs.” you groaned and pulled your hips up to hers, the toy settling nicely between you two.

Xilonen chuckled and brought her head back, “that’s because the songs are so good.” a second woman began to sing and your girlfriends hand wrapped around your throat and pulled you up, “i mean, look just beneath us; a complete fucking mess.”

a chuckle of agreement came from you as your hands slid down her back, wrapping her to your body. your fingers pinched her nipples as her hand found a place in your hair; the toy began to change, following the higher knocks of the song, vibing in hard motions as the song swelled, the two women singing in tandem as you and Xilo began to play with each other, grinding over one another.

“well is it?” she whispered into your ear with a sneak in her tone.

you shivered and let out a moan before responding, “is what, silly?”

the vibrator stated shaking spontaneously, following the electric notes of the melody before wafting into a slower rhythm. a sudden orgasm washed over you, compounded by Xilonen grabbing the handle of the toy and pushing it up and down between you two. that broke you; her hands let you go and you crashed into the bed and an overstimulating frenzy, gasping frantically as little groans made their way out from your throat.

“oh, that’s it~!” she cheered darkly, “squirt for me, Y/N-sweetie!” she roughly dug the vibration into your clit and kissed your skin to soothe you through the straining action of nerves breaking pleasure.

🪩 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒮ℯ𝒶𝓂𝓈𝓉𝓇ℯ𝓈𝓈 ☕️

it was perhaps the strangest bit of irony you had come across; working in this strip club was full of surprises. you had seen Lyney stroll in and fall apart in the plushness of one girl, Navia was constantly wrapped with Clorinde, but this. oh this was the cherry on top of the gossip cake.

Chiori of Chioriya Boutique was paying you top dollar to see you strip from her custom made lingerie.

her crimson eyes pierced you and it was like a spotlight was on you to perform. you slowly pulled the underwear down your thighs, plucking them from one foot then the other with a carefull stretch to them before you brought your hands up to your breasts.

the bra was beautiful no doubt, a perfect mulberry that blended perfectly into the lights. you squished your chest and tugged the first strap to your arm.

“stop.”

you froze, hearing Chiori stand up and walk to you, her hand grabbed your chin, for softer than expected but she still forced you to look at her.

“i asked for a strip tease, not a cosmetic commerical.” she corrected and you swallowed as you glued your eyes to the floor

“i’m sorry, Miss Chi,” you excused, “i just thought this was pure business.”

“it is,” she said, stepping back to the leather chair she was on previously. “but business for you. so do your job and make me feel something.”

you instinctively followed her, finally seeing her as another client of the club and slowly straddled her. you plopped your center of gravity right on Chiori’s lap, grinding over her as your lips kissed her neck.

“yes,” she shuddered into your touches, feeling up and down your body. “just like that, girl.”

you worked your way down her body, kissing and licking, suckling and even biting her skin. all the way down until you wear on your knees in front of her legs. “what do you want me to do?”

her head tilted and you reformed the question, “do you want to use my head like a decorative pillow, or make me dig it out of you?”

she let out a little groan at that, probable at the idea of them. she lowered herself, settling deeper into the seat and her knees came up and nestled over your shoulders, “both. please?”

you looked down at her, seeing her twitch reflexively. your mouth open and cupped her mood, starting to kick and worm through her lips and tease her folds. she gasped and held a moan back as you let out a moan through your nose, burying yourself deeper between her thighs.

“good girl.” she praised as she put her hand in your hair, gripping it gently. you pulled your head up and licked a long strip up to her pubis.

“are you going to start?” you asked.

her eyes met yours as she let out a few heavy breaths, “start what?”

“fucking my face like a vibrator?”

🔴 𝙲𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊𝙾𝚗

maybe Alrechinno just liked her face buried in a woman’s legs. or maybe the Knave liked you, the noises you made and how sweetly you were singing for her.

“keeping tweeting, birdie.” she instructed, using her tongue to conduct a symphony from you, “i’m sure our viewer will love the way you sound.”

moans pulled out of you like an endless string from one of Lyney’s magic tricks, some shaky gasps, a few screaming cries but they were all please for her to keep her mouth on your pussy. she lavished over you, licking your clit like it was ice cream, then delving deep inside of your cunt, rubbing against your spongy walls until you fluttered around her like a vice.

a deep groan came out of her and she brought her hand up and across your ass. you squeaked and look down at her.

“get up, birdie.” she ordered and you immediately moved away from her face.

the camera was observed from her head and your eyes were hidden with a blindfold, concealing your identity from the people who were going to pay millions for this video and letting your mind wander to all of the things she could be getting. you squirmed as your hand crawled down your stomach to between your thighs, tickling your clit as you thought of what dildo she was going to use on you.

the idea of the green one with the fat base came to mind, how it’d plug you so full when she’d bottom out. or the deep blue one with the upwards curve, it even had a cum feature that’s bloat your tummy in the best way. the magenta and pink one with the stubby ribs over it, the textured black one, the slender. yellow one; all the different option made your head spin.

you suddenly cried out, feeling something bulbous shove into you. you gasped and realized you had bent yourself down and was ready for Arlechinno to take you doggy, which she now was. her hand found your throat and ripped you to her, feeling her manicured nails poke your skin as her lips tickled your ear, “such a slut you couldn’t wait?” she dropped and you let let out a groan, “i’ll show you what an impatient slut gets.”

she slapped her ass maybe three, four times before she benga to thrust in roughly, “what does an impatient slut get, bird?”

she yanked your hips down on her, not bothering to listen to your pathetic cries for her to slow down or stop spanking you.

“tell me, Y/N.” she ordered. “what do they get?” she grabbed you hair and brought you to sit up, arching your back she she pounded into you.

moans and weak attempts at speech chirped out of you, “p…. p-pu… oh fuck, they… they get…” your hand mindlessly came down circle your clit, making her spank you hard this time. “punished…”

“good Y/N.” she purred and slammed into you, “punished. now make a mess.” her nails pierced your hip as she ruined you, ripping a shuddering orgasm out of your body. your nerves screamed and punched your skin, sending you falling over the bed with a weak cry. she pulled the dildo out and you sighed, feeling a dull emptiness for a few minutes before it was stuffed with a new feeling.

it was curved slightly with a fuller underside at the base. then it shook.

“fuck…! wait, wait! oh god!” you begged and it pulled out and slammed back into with a little clap, “please, please- fu… f..” the Knave smacked your ass, gripping to the cheek and you whimpered out, “Daddy!” the toy was make your see Celestia, completely unraveling the quiet persona you were supposed to be playing for the camera, but Alrechinno didn’t mind, and something was telling you that the viewers weren’t going to either.

that became your little mantra, prayer, chant, whatever the fuck. pleading for Daddy to slow down, give you a little break but she want going to give it to you, using you relentless, forcing you to keep playing with yourself, even fuck yourself on the vibrating dildo.

i hope you enjoyed this, i might make bigger or continuations to certain girls depending on if my brain can pump out a full idea

if you want to read more of my content, click here!

[mrs-delaney]

Hi my love!! Hope you are doing well I was hoping to get a Joe burrow imagine where he is planning a surprise dinner for his gf whose birthday is coming up on Tuesday (May 20th) but has another surprise up his sleeve where he invited all her friends and family ❤️

Author’s Note: I know I need to be working on Hide, Behind the Lens, and the other requests in my inbox, but this one felt a little too perfect to pass up. Someone sent in a request for a Joe Imagine where he plans a surprise birthday dinner on May 20th… which just so happens to be my partner’s birthday, too. So yeah, I had to do it.

It’s short but sweet. Hope you like it 💛

Warnings: Some light emotional damage, Joe acting weird on purpose, and Y/N spiraling just a little. It works out, trust me.

The Planning

Saturday, May 17th

"So her parents' flight gets in at 2:15 on Tuesday, and her sister arrives at noon," Joe said, scrolling through the detailed itinerary on his laptop. "They're both confirmed at the Kinley downtown."

Across from him at his home office desk, Melissa nodded, making notes in her planner. After three months of coordinating this surprise, the event planner had become something of a co-conspirator.

"And her college roommate?" Melissa asked, not looking up from her notes.

"Lands tomorrow. Staying with her cousin so Y/N won't accidentally run into her." Joe leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he mentally checked another item off his list. "I still can't believe we're pulling this off."

"I appreciate the detailed notes," Melissa said, acknowledging his thoughtfulness.

Joe shrugged, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "I pay attention."

The laptop screen illuminated his face in the afternoon light filtering through the office blinds. The room was minimal but warm, his style was balanced with touches of Y/N throughout. There were photos of them together over their three years, a small plant she'd given him that he'd somehow managed to keep alive, and her notebook still open on the corner of his desk from when she'd been working there the evening before.

"Pepp & Dolores confirmed the chef is preparing that custom menu we discussed," Joe continued, clicking through the email confirmations. "And they'll have those Aperol spritzes she loves ready when everyone arrives."

Melissa nodded approvingly. "The florist will deliver the arrangements directly to the restaurant at 3:00. Lilies and roses, just as you requested."

"Great, those are her favorites," Joe said quietly, almost to himself. He glanced at the clock on his desk. Y/N wouldn't be back from her Saturday yoga class for at least another hour. Plenty of time to finalize the remaining details.

"Let's go through the seating chart one more time," he said, pulling up another document. "I want her parents and sister at the table with us, then—"

The sound of the front door opening made Joe freeze mid-sentence. His eyes darted to the hallway, then back to Melissa and the papers spread across his desk, pages clearly labeled "Y/N's Surprise Birthday" and diagrams of the restaurant layout.

"Joe?" Y/N's voice called from the entryway. "You home?"

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, quickly closing his laptop. "Office!" he called back, his voice impressively casual despite the panic flashing in his eyes.

He hurriedly gathered the papers, shoving them into a folder while motioning for Melissa to follow his lead.

"So anyway, as I was saying about the charity golf tournament," Joe said loudly as footsteps approached the office door. "The team really appreciates your help coordinating."

Melissa caught on immediately, smoothly tucking her planner with "Y/N BIRTHDAY SURPRISE" written in bold letters on the tab into her bag.

"Of course, I'm happy to help organize the auction items," she replied with practiced ease. "The food bank will be grateful for the support."

Y/N appeared in the doorway, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, still in her workout clothes. Joe's heart did that familiar flip it always did when he saw her, even after three years. Even in the middle of a covert operation.

"Hey," she said, a little breathless, glancing curiously between Joe and the woman sitting across from him. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. Yoga got canceled instructor has a stomach bug."

Joe stood up, crossing the room to greet her with a kiss on the temple. His thumb brushed a strand of hair from her face with an ease that belied the adrenaline coursing through him.

"Not interrupting at all," he said, his voice warm and steady despite his racing thoughts. "Y/N, this is Melissa. She's helping with that charity thing for the foundation."

Melissa stood and extended her hand with a smile. "Joe's been telling me about the work you do. It's nice to finally meet you."

Y/N smiled, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you too. What charity thing?" she asked, turning to Joe with a raised eyebrow. "You didn't mention anything."

For a split second, Joe's mind went blank. His eyes darted to the desk where, thankfully, all evidence of birthday planning was now hidden from view.

"Just that, uh, foundation thing," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "For the food bank. Sorry, meant to mention it earlier. It's still in early planning stages."

"In December," Melissa added smoothly. "We're securing venues now since they book up fast for the holiday season."

"Right," Joe nodded, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "December. Gotta plan ahead."

Y/N's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than usual, and Joe felt a twinge of guilt at the lie. In their three years together, he'd never been anything but honest with her. The past few weeks of pretending to forget her birthday went against every instinct he had.

"Well, don't let me interrupt," Y/N said, stepping back toward the door. "I'm going to grab some water. Nice to meet you, Melissa."

"You too," Melissa replied with a warm smile that revealed nothing.

Once Y/N was out of earshot, Joe exhaled heavily and dropped back into his chair.

"That was close," he whispered, running a hand over his face.

Melissa suppressed a laugh. "You're really not used to lying to her, are you?"

"Is it that obvious?" Joe asked, grimacing slightly.

"A little," she admitted. "But it's sweet. Not many people would go to these lengths and be this uncomfortable just to give someone a perfect surprise."

Joe's expression softened as he glanced toward the doorway where Y/N had been standing. "She deserves it. She loves her birthday, always goes all out for everyone else's celebrations." He paused, a flicker of worry crossing his face. "She already thinks I've forgotten. I saw her checking her phone yesterday, probably looking for early birthday messages or hints I might leave."

"Two more days," Melissa reassured him, gathering her things. "And judging by all this planning, it'll be worth every moment of her thinking you're the worst boyfriend ever."

Joe winced. "Is that what she's going to think?"

Melissa smiled knowingly. "Probably. But imagine her face when she walks into that restaurant on Tuesday and sees everyone there."

Joe could picture it: Y/N's surprised expression, the moment of realization, the joy that would light up her eyes. All the planning, the secrecy, the uncomfortable deception would be worth it just to see that look on her face.

"Oh, before I forget," Melissa said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small velvet box. "The jeweler dropped this off at my office this morning, as requested."

Joe took the box, opening it carefully to reveal the ring inside, elegant, unique, and perfectly Y/N. He'd spent months working with the designer to create something that captured her essence.

"It's perfect," he said quietly, a mixture of nervousness and certainty washing over him. "You're sure everything's set for that part of the evening?"

"Just like we discussed," Melissa assured him. "No big production, just like you wanted."

Joe nodded, closing the box and slipping it into his desk drawer. "Thank you. For everything."

As Melissa gathered the last of her materials, the sound of Y/N moving around in the kitchen filtered down the hallway. Joe could picture her there, probably wondering why he hadn't mentioned this charity event before, maybe already suspecting something was off.

"Just two more days of pretending," Melissa said, reading his thoughts. "Then you never have to lie to her again."

Joe nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Can't wait for this to be over."

"Something tells me you might be off the hook for surprise planning for a while after this," Melissa laughed softly. "I'll text you when her parents' flight lands on Tuesday."

As Joe walked Melissa to the door, he could feel Y/N watching them from the kitchen. He caught her eye and smiled, the genuine, soft smile he reserved just for her. She returned it, though he noticed the slight furrow in her brow, the subtle hint of confusion.

Two more days, he reminded himself. Two more days of keeping the biggest secret he'd ever kept from her. Two more days until he could finally ask the question he'd been wanting to ask for months.

Two more days until he never had to pretend to forget anything important to her ever again.

The Hints

Monday, May 19th

The kitchen smelled of garlic and herbs as Y/N stirred the pasta sauce, occasionally glancing at Joe who sat at the island scrolling through his phone. She'd spent the day waiting for some acknowledgment, some hint that he remembered tomorrow was her birthday. So far, nothing.

"I was thinking," she said casually, tapping the wooden spoon against the pot, "we haven't gone out in a while. Might be nice to do something this week."

Joe looked up, his expression perfectly neutral. "Actually, I was thinking maybe tomorrow night we could try that place you mentioned a while back. Pepp & Dolores. Unless you've got plans?"

Y/N's heart sank a little. So he really had forgotten. Tomorrow was her birthday, and he was suggesting dinner as if it was just any other Tuesday. "Tomorrow?" she repeated, giving him one last chance to catch on.

He hadn't mentioned any meeting. She'd checked their shared calendar twice, finding Tuesday conspicuously empty. Three years together, and suddenly he had plans on her birthday that he'd never bothered to tell her about?

Her phone lit up on the counter, another birthday eve text from her college roommate. Joe's eyes flicked to it before Y/N could reach it, and for a split second, she thought she saw something like guilt cross his face. But when she looked more closely, his expression was impassive again, focused on whatever was on his screen.

"My mom called earlier," she tried again, stirring the sauce with more vigor than it required. "She was just checking in, seeing what we were up to this week."

"Yeah?" Joe responded, the perfect picture of casual interest. "What'd you tell her?"

Y/N's spoon stilled. He really didn't remember. Three birthdays together, and this year, it had simply slipped his mind. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat.

"Nothing special, apparently," she said quietly.

Joe's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then quickly turned it face-down on the counter. That was the third time he'd done that tonight. Usually, he had no issue checking messages in front of her.

"Everything okay?" she asked, nodding toward his phone.

"Just work stuff," he said with a shrug, turning his phone face down.

Y/N nodded, stirring the sauce even though it didn’t really need it. She didn’t look at him when she spoke again, trying to keep her tone casual.

“Have you been looking at new restaurants or something?” she asked, eyes still on the pot. “Pepp & Dolores isn’t really something you’d normally be into.”

He shrugged. "No specific reason. You mentioned wanting to go not to long ago and I’ve been meaning to take you, and my schedule's clear tomorrow night. Thought it might be nice."

She turned back to the sauce, adding a pinch more oregano with more force than necessary. "Sure," she said, keeping her voice even. "Tomorrow works."

"The sauce is almost ready," she said, her voice carefully steady. "Can you grab the plates?"

Joe stood, moving around the island to the cabinet. As he passed behind her, his hand brushed her waist—a casual touch, the kind she normally leaned into. Tonight, she remained stiff, and his hand fell away.

"You okay?" he asked, reaching for the plates.

Y/N considered confronting him directly. Do you know what tomorrow is? But the thought of having to remind him, of seeing the realization and hasty apology on his face, was too humiliating.

"Fine," she said instead. "Just tired."

Joe set the plates on the counter beside her, lingering a moment longer than necessary. She could feel him watching her face, and she kept her expression carefully neutral as she served the pasta.

"This looks great," he said as they sat at the table. "Thanks for cooking."

"No problem." She twirled pasta around her fork without enthusiasm. "So how was your day?"

"Good. Productive." Joe took a bite, then reached for his water. "Yours?"

Well, I spent most of it wondering if my boyfriend of three years has forgotten my birthday. "Fine," she said instead. 

They ate in a silence that grew increasingly uncomfortable, punctuated only by the occasional clink of cutlery against plates. Y/N found herself unable to enjoy the meal she'd prepared, each bite tasteless as her mind churned with confusion and hurt.

Joe studied her face a moment longer, then nodded. "I'm going to grab a shower, then. Been a long day."

"Of course," she said, turning back to the dishes. "Goodnight."

She listened to his footsteps retreat down the hallway, waiting for the sound of the bathroom door closing before she let out a deep sigh. Part of her still couldn't believe he'd forgotten. Joe remembered the exact date they'd met, knew her coffee order down to the extra half-pump of vanilla, and had never missed an important moment until now.

Y/N finished the dishes with a heaviness in her chest, trying to remind herself that it was just a birthday. Just one day. It shouldn't matter this much.

But it did.

Once he was out of sight, Y/N let her fork drop to her plate with a clatter. She pulled out her own phone, checking again to see if there was anything from Joe—a scheduled delivery for tomorrow, a hidden calendar item, any evidence that he hadn't completely forgotten.

Nothing.

A text from her best friend lit up the screen: Has he said anything about tomorrow yet?

Y/N hesitated, then typed back: We're going to dinner at Pepp & Dolores. But he hasn't mentioned my birthday at all. I think he genuinely forgot.

Three dots appeared immediately: No way. Joe wouldn't forget.

Y/N wished she could believe that. But Joe was many things: thoughtful, loyal, steady—but he wasn't deceptive. If he'd remembered her birthday, he would have said something by now. He wouldn't let her spend the entire day feeling forgotten.

She began clearing the dishes, the cheerful clinking of plates a stark contrast to the heaviness in her chest. From down the hall, she could hear Joe's voice, too muffled to make out words. He was speaking quietly, which was unusual for his work calls.

She tried not to let it bother her. Joe was entitled to his privacy, and just because they'd been together for three years didn't mean he had to remember every important date. Still, the disappointment sat like a stone in her stomach.

The Joe who had orchestrated her perfect birthday last year, the one who had remembered her offhand comment about wanting to see that band and surprised her with tickets, seemed far away tonight. She rinsed the plates more aggressively than necessary, trying to drown out her thoughts with the sound of running water.

Once she finished up in the kitchen, she headed to the bedroom. She noticed his side of the closet looked the same as always: no special outfit laid out, no gift hidden away. Whatever was happening at Pepp & Dolores, it certainly wasn't any kind of birthday celebration.

She crawled into bed, telling herself it didn't matter. It was just a birthday, after all. There would be others.

But as she reached to set her alarm, her gaze fell on the framed photo of their trip to Italy last year, the one where Joe had surprised her with a gondola ride, she'd mentioned wanting months before. The Joe who remembered every little detail, who planned thoughtful surprises, who made her feel like the most important person in his world.

The Surprise

Tuesday, May 20th - Y/N's birthday

Y/N woke to the soft chime of her phone. She blinked sleepily, reaching for it on the nightstand. The screen illuminated with a string of notification texts from her college roommate, her sister, and her coworkers. All wishing her a happy birthday.

She glanced over at Joe's side of the bed. Empty. The sound of the shower running down the hall told her where he was.

For a moment, she let herself hope. Maybe he'd been playing an elaborate game. Maybe there was breakfast waiting in the kitchen, or flowers, or some small gift wrapped in her favorite paper.

When she padded into the kitchen in her slippers, she found none of those things. Just a clean counter, the coffee maker running its cycle, and Joe's protein shake in the blender.

Her phone chimed again. Her mom this time: Happy birthday, sweetheart! Hope Joe has something special planned.

Y/N typed back a quick "Thanks!" and left it at that.

By the time Joe emerged from the bathroom, hair damp, hoodie on, joggers that fit just right, she’d already resigned herself to the reality. He’d forgotten. The man who remembered every snap count from his rookie season, who once brought her the exact lip balm she’d mentioned in passing, had somehow forgotten her birthday.

"Morning," he said, dropping a casual kiss on the top of her head as he passed. "Sleep okay?"

"Fine," she managed, watching as he poured his coffee and checked something on his phone.

"So, dinner tonight," he said, not looking up from his screen. "Seven work for you? I made the reservation."

"Seven's fine," she said, forcing brightness into her voice. "Looking forward to it."

Joe glanced up then, his expression unreadable. "You sure you're okay?"

She nodded, wrapping her hands around her mug. "Yeah, just..." She hesitated, giving him one last chance. "Just tired."

"Well, get some rest today," he said, finishing his coffee. "I've got a few things to take care of, but I'll be back to get ready for dinner."

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Just errands," he said, already heading for the door. "Stuff for the foundation, gonna get a workout in. I’ll be back in time for dinner."

Before she could respond, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Y/N sat alone at the kitchen island, scrolling through the birthday messages on her phone. Friends asking about her plans. Family hoping she'd have a wonderful day. Only Joe, the person she loved most, seemed to have no idea what today was.

She spent the day in a haze of halfhearted productivity. Her sister called, and Y/N found herself making excuses for Joe. "He's probably just waiting for tonight," she said, not believing it herself. "We're going to Pepp & Dolores."

"That's nice," her sister said, though her tone suggested it wasn't nearly enough. "Well, happy birthday anyway. Love you."

"Love you too," Y/N replied, ending the call with a sigh.

By six, she was getting ready, though her enthusiasm had dimmed considerably. Still, she pulled out the new dress she'd bought last month, deep burgundy, fitted, with a subtle shimmer when she moved. She'd been saving it for a special occasion. And birthday or not, dinner at Pepp & Dolores was still a night out.

She was applying her lipstick when Joe returned, calling her name from the hallway.

"In here," she called back.

He appeared in the doorway of their bathroom, and something in his expression shifted when he saw her, a warmth in his eyes as he took in the dress, her carefully styled hair, the extra effort she'd made.

"You look beautiful," he said quietly.

Despite everything, her heart fluttered a little. "Thanks."

"I should get changed," he said, checking his watch. "Reservations in forty minutes."

Y/N nodded, turning back to the mirror to finish her makeup. Even if he'd forgotten, even if this was just another Tuesday to him, she was determined to make the best of it. Twenty-nine was going to be a good year, birthday celebration or not.

The drive to Pepp & Dolores was quiet, though almost uncomfortably so. Joe seemed preoccupied, checking his mirrors more often than usual and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel at red lights.

"Parking might be tough downtown," he said as they neared the restaurant. "Tuesday night and all."

Y/N just nodded, watching the city lights blur past the window. Tuesday night. Not her birthday. Not any special occasion. Just Tuesday.

When they finally pulled up to the restaurant, Joe handed his keys to the valet with a quiet word that Y/N couldn't quite catch. He seemed almost nervous as he took her hand, leading her toward the entrance.

"Go ahead," he said, his voice oddly tight.

"Mmm," she replied, distracted by the darkened windows of the restaurant. It looked almost empty inside. Was it closed? Had he gotten the reservation wrong?

But Joe pushed open the door confidently, gesturing for her to go in first.

Y/N stepped into the dimly lit entryway, confused by the silence. And then—

"SURPRISE!"

The lights blazed on, revealing a restaurant packed with people, her people. Her parents, her sister, her college roommates, her cousins from home, coworkers, friends—all grinning at her with delight.

Y/N froze, her mouth falling open. The restaurant was transformed, flowers cascading from every surface, candles flickering on the tables, and a banner hanging above the bar said, "Happy Birthday Y/N!"

She turned to Joe, who was watching her with a soft smile, his eyes bright with barely contained joy.

"You didn't..." she breathed, unable to form a complete thought.

"I did," he replied simply.

Her eyes filled with tears as the realization washed over her. He hadn't forgotten. He'd been planning this, all of this, for who knew how long. The fake obliviousness, the casual dinner suggestion, all of it had been leading to this moment.

"Joe," she whispered, her voice catching.

Before she could say more, her parents were there, enveloping her in a hug. Then her sister, her friends, a whirlwind of familiar faces and birthday wishes and exclamations over how surprised she looked.

"We flew in yesterday," her mom explained, squeezing her hand. "Joe arranged everything."

"He's been planning this for months," her college roommate added. "Made us all swear to secrecy."

Y/N looked around in wonder. The entire restaurant had been transformed, decorated with her favorite flowers, strings of lights casting a warm glow over everything. And at the center of it all was Joe, hanging back slightly, watching her reaction with quiet satisfaction.

She made her way back to him through the crowd, her heart so full she thought it might burst.

"I thought you forgot," she admitted, her voice thick with emotion.

Joe shook his head, reaching out to brush a tear from her cheek. "Baby, I'd never forget your birthday," he said softly.

The simple words, delivered in his steady, matter-of-fact way, broke something open inside her. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck as tears flowed freely now.

"Thank you," she murmured against his skin. "For all of this. For everyone being here."

Joe's arms tightened around her, solid and warm and real. "Happy birthday," he said simply. "I love you so much."

When she pulled back to look at him, his eyes were suspiciously bright too, though he'd never admit it. He brushed her hair back from her face with gentle fingers.

"Now come on," he said, his voice returning to its usual calm steadiness. "Everyone's waiting to celebrate with you."

Y/N let him lead her into the crowd, to a table where her parents and sister sat. The night stretched ahead, full of food and laughter and love. She couldn't stop glancing at Joe throughout the evening—this man who had orchestrated all of this, who had maintained the most elaborate ruse, just to see the look of surprise on her face.

As the night went on, she found herself overwhelmed again and again by the friends who had traveled across the country to be there, by the custom menu featuring all her favorites, by the thoughtfulness behind every detail, but most of all by Joe, the one person who never made a big show of anything, and still managed to make her feel like the center of the world.

For a man of few words, it was the most beautiful expression of love she could imagine. As Y/N looked around at the faces of everyone she loved most in the world, gathered in one place because of him, she knew with absolute certainty that twenty-nine was going to be her best year yet.

The celebration was in full swing. The restaurant hummed with conversation and laughter, plates of food being passed around family-style as everyone shared stories and caught up. Y/N sat between her sister and Joe, her cheeks flushed with happiness as she took it all in.

Her favorite pasta arrived, the special one the chef had prepared just for tonight. As she took her first bite, she closed her eyes in appreciation. "This is amazing," she said to no one in particular.

Joe watched her quietly, a small smile playing at his lips. While she was distracted by her food and the conversation her sister was having with her cousin across the table, he reached into his pocket.

The small velvet box had been burning a hole there all night. He'd originally planned to wait until after dessert, maybe find a quieter moment, but sitting here watching her, surrounded by everyone who loved her, glowing with happiness, he suddenly couldn't wait another minute.

He pulled the ring out, keeping it hidden in his palm. Then, casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he reached for her left hand where it rested on the table.

Y/N glanced at him with a smile, assuming he was just holding her hand as he often did. But instead of interlacing their fingers, he slipped something cool and metal onto her ring finger.

She looked down, confused for a split second before her brain registered what was happening. There, catching the soft light of the restaurant, was a ring, elegant, brilliant, and unmistakably an engagement ring.

Her eyes widened, her fork clattering against her plate as she turned to Joe in shock.

He leaned in close, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "I had this whole thing planned for after dinner," he said, his eyes never leaving hers, "but I've been keeping so much from you these past few months planning all this. And I've known even longer that I wanted to do this. I can't wait anymore to ask."

Y/N's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes filling with fresh tears.

"What? What's happening?" her sister asked, suddenly noticing Y/N's expression.

But Y/N couldn't form words, just stared at Joe with her heart in her eyes.

Joe's smile grew a little, that confident half-smirk she'd fallen in love with. "So?" he prompted quietly.

That broke the spell. Y/N let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a squeal, loud enough that the conversations around them faltered.

"Everything okay over there?" her father called from across the table.

"Joe just asked me to marry him!" Y/N blurted out, holding up her hand where the ring now glittered.

A chorus of gasps and exclamations erupted around the table. "What?" "Just now?" "What did you say?"

Joe, normally so composed, looked almost nervous as he glanced around at her family before turning back to Y/N. "Yeah," he said, louder now so everyone could hear. "What do you say?"

Y/N laughed through her tears, throwing her arms around his neck. "Yes! Are you serious? Yes!"

The restaurant erupted in cheers and applause. Her mother was crying, her father beaming. Friends were on their feet, raising glasses in toasts.

But Y/N was only dimly aware of all that. Her world had narrowed to Joe, to his face so close to hers, to the warmth in his eyes that spoke volumes more than words ever could, to the smile that was no longer controlled but wide and genuine.

"I love you," she whispered against his lips, before kissing him deeply, not caring that they had an audience.

When they finally broke apart, she couldn't stop staring at the ring on her finger. "It's beautiful," she said, her voice filled with wonder.

“Glad you like it,” Joe said, his eyes not leaving hers. “Your sister helped me pick it out. I was overthinking it like crazy.”

As their friends and family surged around them with congratulations and demands to see the ring, Y/N found herself overwhelmed all over again. First the surprise party with everyone she loved, and now this a proposal so perfectly Joe in its quiet simplicity and genuine emotion.

She looked up at him, at this man who continued to surprise her in the best possible ways, and knew with absolute certainty that she'd just received the best birthday gift of all, a future with him.

[cextile]

what kind of muse are you? ✮˚.⋆

one → two → three

REVIEWS ☆ MASTERLIST ☆ FREE READING EVENTS

how to read this pick a pile reading? ♡ the images above are your pick a pile options - see which pile immediately pulls you in. If nothing stands out right away, take a moment to look at each pile/image. the one your attentions keeps coming back to is likely your pick. if more than one pile calls to you, trust that too. you can read both and take what resonates. and hey, if none of them feel like a match, no big deal. not every reading is meant for right now. come back another time — this reading isn’t going anywhere.

pile one

note : the they/them in this reading is the person considering you as their muse. slightly n f s w so take care plz

you’re not just the muse that lives in a painting.

you’re the muse that lives in a family photo, in bedtime stories, in the way they looks at their child and sees you.

so yeah, you are going to be more than a muse that exists to fulfill fantasies or inspire fleeting art. people will actually want to build a prosperous home, a life with you when you connect with them.

i'm imagining a scene where the elevator is opening and you being an absolute girl boss (btw u don't have to be a girl to be a girlboss) steps out, do you get what i mean?

you have the the energy of someone who stands still and the room tilts in their direction.

literal infinite aura.

also, you'll be destabilizing people's focus. this is the main point of this reading & you don't literally get the intensity of how intensely you are going to do that. out of the six cards I pulled, THREE of them were reversed knights, which is HUGE. like people on intense personal journeys - self discipline, no-nonsense, no-relationships, high-focus mindsets are going to be shaken by you. they'll sort of break their focus for you. they are going to re-orient their inner trajectory just to be aligned with you. you know, you're the kind of life partner that they had been working hard for, making themselves worthy of deserving. you're the person they've been working hard to achieve. your not just a muse, you are their dream.

i'm getting this story of how this guy was sailing the world on the sea all alone and suddenly he met an African girl. after meeting her, he gave up roaming the world everywhere for one place, and that place was her.

as a muse, you inspire them to build something that breathes, to make art in motion (make love) with you.

your co-creation creates the mess and magic of legacy.

pile two

ugh slight n f s w themes, uncomfortable themes. please do not read if you are the kind of person that can't do with dark romance and stuff.

also note : the they/them in this reading is the person considering you as their muse.

I am getting line's from this book I read;

.... yet his straightforward, uncompromising good looks were almost magical when repeated, with only slight variations, in her. She was a living reverie for me: the mere sight of her sparked an almost infinite range of fantasy, from Greek to Gothic, from vulgar to divine.

that's is going to be you, but here's the catch, you are going to be nothing more than that.

you are just going to be a living painting babe.

treasured peacocks in a garden.

you're the muse who is going to be elevated to near-divine status by others, admired like a gemstone.

a living jewel on display, admired but ultimately trapped, not free to just be themselves.

the person who considers you their muse will want you serve their need to possess and keep you frozen in a beautiful moment or image.

have you guys read 'the butterfly garden'? you know, there's this man who's sort of like unhealthily obsessed with these beautiful girls. he traps them in a garden. you're are those butterflies. it's a very dark macabre book.

or you know, a better example would be that story of the photographer named masahisa fukase, who only saw his wife through the lens of a camera, and not a person. ykwim? (she left him after a decade of marriage)

im sorry, this pile might be a little dissapointing for some of you to hear. some of you want such things for yourselves, but babe this is nothing to romanticise.

so yeah again, the person who considers you their muse will just want you to themselves in a very unhealthy way.

i'm getting that, you know, you won't be sort of allowed by them gather the wood sticks and make the fire to move forward. That's the analogy for how he's not gonna allow you to pick yourself up, and purposefully make you stay fragile, losing autonomy and your self-agency.

gah my cards literally sighed in relief after i moved on from you guys in pile 2 to pile 3.

pile three

MONA LISAAA.

you, your pain, your imperfections, your body, your soul, your way of thinking, everything about you is sort of an inspiration for art. when people are going to be in a slump, you guys are going to inspire them to create art, make art.

your very essence - pain, beauty, struggle, even silence - becomes the catalyst for others to create. there's so much love here, not necessarily in the traditional sense, but love that witnesses you, and transforms you into art.

oh btw, there is going to be such a healthy relationship between the artist and the muse. what a nice change of pace of things after the bullshit pile 2 & pile 1 were pulling. people will be very respectful of your boundaries. they won't try to woo you and make you their life partner, like pile 1. they aren't going to be unhealthily obsessed with you, like in pile 2.

also there's such a beautiful energy of co-creating and dependence here. it's so beautiful.. yeah. you're gonna intimately create art together.

you are gonna be the one that leaks into the trenches of the artist's mind, inspires them to pick up the brush again, and heal through creation, make them pour their energy into something that transcends the both of you.

i just had a realization, like i was just thinking about how I want to keep channeling pile 3 forever, and it suddenly hit me… that i am getting entangled in your ensnare too. ykwim?

pile 3, you echo so loudly, people have to reflect that back through creation.

that's it for this reading. take care of yourself.

with love, Ananya ♡

[hanahanumana]

From AnaMaria Abramovic on Fb

Paste magazine has done an article about Michael and how underrated he is in Good Omens and I found a transcript since it's behind a paywall. Here's the link if anyone wants to subscribe. 💙

https://www.pastemagazine.com/tv/amazon-prime-video/good-omens-michael-sheen-underrated-performance-explained-streaming

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

[becausegraf]

Stolas is not Blitz's first rodeo - the case for Blitz' potential history as a de facto sex worker

(Okay, whoop de doo, here we go, if I sit on this essay any longer I won't get around to having dinner.)

Imagine someone you're into knows you've been struggling to make ends meet, and they approach you with this:

"Hey there, I've been thinking, how about we meet once a week to get giggity and have a good time, and in exchange I'll pay your rent, no strings attached."

Since 'this is hell' and not real life, also try to imagine what for example Moxxie or Millie's reaction might be to something like this. How would you envision this might go?

'What the FUCK' would be a completely sensible response. Even if someone agreed to this, you'd expect some reluctance, unease, nervousness, internal conflict... from most people.

And yet, this is basically what Stolas offered Blitz, and even in a hurry, his reaction wasn't at all shocked or confused. We see no hint of awkwardness in his behaviour around or during his monthly visits, not a lick of it.

There's a simple explanation for this: Blitz has done this before plenty of times.

He's quite literally 'used to it' and accepts this as a fairly routine type of agreement, without even questioning the concept of 'that horny head-in-the-clouds dork of a prince had a good time with me, and wants me to keep servicing him enough to offer me precisely what I want'. Stolas is far from unattractive to him, sure, 'why the fuck not'. Of all the ways this situation could have played out, this is one of the less difficult ones to deal with - satisfying people using his body is pretty much a 'shrug' to him, as opposed to having to come up with some kind of manipulation, or negotiating a different agreement, or keeping the grimoire against Stolas' will and earning himself the wrath of a Goetia.

The premise:

There is a long, long list of clues, many of them hiding in plain sight as 'haha crude jokes oh Blitz u so silly' moments, that Blitz has a history of providing sex as a service.

I also believe this is something most of the fandom already implicitly expects or wouldn't be surprised at all if it were confirmed in the show, but a lot of the implications are entirely invisible, and the effects on Blitz' behaviour are VERY easy to read as 'it's a comedy show, they write him this way because it's supposed to be crude and funny'.

Parts:

1) A hoard of hints

2) How this contributes to the massive disconnect between Blitz and Stolas' understanding of their arrangement

3) Some notes regarding the 'stage persona' of a performer, and recognition of achievements - a connection to his VA and co-writer

1) So, let's look at some contextual evidence first. This list is mostly constrained by my limited capacity to rattle off more examples on the fly, I'm sure you can easily find more of these everywhere you look.

- 'It's your night', and other such flat dismissals

This can be read as him just being cold and apathetic towards Stolas, as obviously 'Blitz is an unempathetic jerk-ass boyfriend'. However, if you read this through the lens of Blitz truly handling this arrangement pretty much like a professional, it makes perfect sense.

'We can do what you want, you're the client here buddy. This isn't about my preferences or wants, my job is to please you and not the other way around.'

- 'You know, I'm not really fussed when stuff like this happens' about Stolas rescheduling

Kind of a funky thing to say about your lover asking you if you have time to meet a bit earlier than originally planned, isn't it? Again, this makes sense if you read this arrangement as Stolas being like a client with a monthly appointment, and Blitz as the accommodating professional. The customer is king, if Stolas wants to move their appointment date (for something Blitz can do during his off-hours that aren't likely to conflict with other plans) then sure, it's not like he's going to charge a damn cancellation fee.

- 'But I thought you like it when I talk all dirty and fucky and shit'

The start of Apology Tour is a rough one, but it reveals a lot about the hidden reasons behind Blitz behaving the way he does with Stolas, and why we shouldn't take everything at face-value.

During their encounters, Blitz is in work-mode: h's very deliberate about how he comports himself and how to play to Stolas' tastes, for as far as he thinks he understands them. Stolas responded well to the aggressive stuff upon their first meeting as adults, and from Stolas' POV he had no real reason to clock that as *not actually really what Blitz' own personal preferred style is*. For as far as the owl knows, Blitz truly is unforcedly, naturally just 'like that' - scathing, dominant, rogueish, confident, bold and brash and adventurous in bed.

I think it's likely that Blitz probably *isn't*, maybe partially but not entirely, but trial and error quickly showed him Stolas is into that so... sure, he can accommodate. Whatever the fancy man wants of him, he can stay 'in-character' in that kind of exaggerated role pretty effortlessly.

Blitz glomming to MnM is a pretty big tip-off that he does have a sense of what true close intimacy is like and he absolutely does have a yearning for that. His 'I'm just here for the sex' bad boy attitude does not truly convey who he is as a person in his entirety.

The rowdy sexy assassin-cowboy-imp is the role he plays for Stolas, under the assumption that that is what he's into, and as a way to shield off his own much more vulnerable and conflicted real feelings. When it seems as if Stolas is no longer satisfied, he tries to 'get his shit together' and dial up the intensity, taking the whole sexually aggressive act to a level where it majorly crosses Stolas' boundaries.

Blitz at that point is just SO confused, so in turmoil with himself, and so terrified of losing the one point of connection he has to Stolas (which at that point really is pretty much their sexual compatibility plus a dollop of mutual je-ne-sais-quoi) he gets frustrated and just slips into a blind defensive rage.

(...yeah, that sure went over well, didn't it. 'God damnit Blitz', thus spoke the entire fandom.)

- Blitz' encounter with Chaz

This is a very interesting one to me. This set of scenes shifts very rapidly from one impression of Blitz to another, a triple pile-up of 'lol gotcha'.

'Oh ok , Blitz gets that it's kinda iffy to bang your friends' shitty ex' immediately gets subverted to

'...welp I guess his weird fixation is enough to disregard that entirely', and shortly after to yet another twist:

'-aaaaand welp, he took advantage of the situation without even blinking, because his instinct made him catch a whiff of something, and he took the first opportunity to poke into it a bit more even if said opportunity is banging the airhead randy shark'.

Blitz 100% uses his body like a tool. Any personal pleasure or bonuses that suit his whims he gets out of it is only part of his motivation. His played-for-laughs fling with Chaz is really much more functionally motivated: diving into bed with someone is just one of the several items on his list of things you can do to slip past someone's guard, shmooze them up, get up-close and even have them dead-asleep to create the perfect moment.

Watching this unfold, I personally very much did have that moment of 'oh dear that's a little concerning', that he made it look like he's 'just kind of a morally questionable ass', so casually making it seem like he was having some fun for his own sake when he was clearly going into this with the plan to slink out as soon as he had the shark where he wanted him.

This example also shows that Blitz clearly understands that sex and intimacy and trust are connected, but for him personally, that's pretty much optional (or even explicitly to be avoided).

- 'I've spent too much of my time, energy and holes on getting us set up', (so maybe don't get lame about this Mills)

File under 'haha Blitz so crude' and the easy interpretation of this as referring ONLY to Stolas. This likely concerns all the work he's done over the many years, starting long before the short time he's had the grimoire at his disposal at the time he says this.

He also does note himself as a) business savvy and b) sexy as fuck as the two major assets he has that he thinks of first in this scene. Blitz knows he's capable of capturing 'that kind' of attention, and he's clearly willing to make use of that.

- Finding out later in the series that he has a whole slew of exes that are still upset with him

This 'reveal' aligns with the general impressions we have of Blitz by that point pretty well. I wasn't surprised at all about that one - 'Oh, of course he does'.

Blitz dodges truly close personal intimacy, but he hardly avoids getting into situations that most people would experience as explicitly intimate, vulnerable and personal. His idea of 'boundaries' are very different from those of most people he deals with, and it's truly no wonder he ended up attracting quite a number of people to him only to ditch out once it became clear they were expecting some kind of romantic commitment.

With his natural charisma and easy charm and his *actual* innate kindness, combined with his well-practiced capacity to flirt and fluster and flatter, people that get to know him may very well be tempted rather quickly. They then easily misread his intentions when he's not one to say no if they make a pass and he's passingly interested. Of course, as soon as they let it show they're falling for him in earnest, *WHAM* goes the door, with no warning and often a sound 'fuck you' to seal the deal and ensure they don't come back.

'Why would he go and get intimate with me, if he didn't want to be with me?!'

The sheer confusion only adds to the offense at that point, and it's that lack of a sensible explanation that contributes to the pattern of people struggling to 'get over it'. We want to know 'why', we need the story to make sense, but Blitz does not give people that closure easily.

'Sorry I have a warped relationship with sex and it doesn't mean to me what it means to you as a baseline, AND I have massive hangups about people getting the feefees for me because everyone who does gets torn to shreds, so if we get giggity that's all you're gonna get from me' isn't really the kind of thing Blitz tells people ahead of time or after the fact.

- I may add more later or in a reblog, I could go on for hours honestly...

2) All this is far, far removed from Stolas' entire world

We all understand pretty well that our beloved well-intentioned dork of an owl has had a pretty sheltered existence (albeit frought with its own problems), and has *very* little experience in the realm of actual sexual activities.

If someone more worldly were to encounter Blitz and regularly interact with him in the way Stolas does, I think it would very quickly begin to raise questions.

You know, if someone so consistently treated your 'sexy date nights' the way Blitz does, I think quite a few of us would start to catch on that maybe he's got some, eh, 'circumstances' that inform his behaviour. Stolas however has nothing to go off off - Blitz is the experienced one, and he certainly acts like everything they do is pretty par for the course. Blitz is the role model, the example Stolas learns from about 'how things work' and what the rules are.

The issue is that Stolas is trying to learn how to have a fulfilling intimate relationship with someone, while Blitz is, in some fashion, actually trying (rather frustratedly at times) to teach him the code of conduct around just-business sex work. Over and over and over we see Blitz try to remind him of these rules, and from our POV, this comes across as Blitz being kind of cruel and mean because he's bluntly brushing off every earnest attempt Stolas makes to forge a connection.

Stolas doesn't understand what's going on under the surface, and for the most part, *neither do we as the audience*. We're here for the fluffy love story, and the hilarious impish shenanigans of our kind-of-a-dick of a protagonist. *Neither we as the audience nor Stolas take Blitz' behaviour and push-back seriously* as we don't get to explicitly view things through his eyes with the full understanding of what the world works like for him. He's either acting like a douche, or being erratic and hilarious, all just meaningless funny bullshit - right up until the moment where he snaps and suddenly it's no longer charming.

Stolas hapless persistence with trying to move past these 'walls', as he truly does desire something very different, eventually leads to Blitz giving up on getting him to cut it out, and it really seems as if he desperately tries to interpret he situation as an unruly spoiled but harmless client getting way too into the 'playing boyfriends' roleplay.

After all, what else could it *possibly* be? Love? Ha ha ha fuck you, of course not. What kind of asshole would even suggest that, that's just hurtful, inconsiderate and stupid - don't play with his feelings like that, it's JUST BUSINESS and Blitz needs to keep his head on straight. He's got a job to do and if he fucks this up and lets himself get attached and it all gets too real holy fucking sh- just drop the sky on him while you're at it, why don't you.

NO.

3) There are some themes here, as per the person who plays a big role in shaping Blitz' character

As 'the sassy crass youtube dude' in reputation I wouldn't be surprised if Brandon Rogers himself might be kinda familiar with the effect of people mistaking your 'on stage persona' for who you really are. People at times approach performers like him under the assumption they're always 'like that', and they tailor their behaviour according to that, too, instead of taking a step back and treating them like a regular person with regular boundaries.

At some point Brandon also said one of the things he relates to the most with Blitz is how much it irks him when people low key look down on what he's achieved.

'Nobody just handed him stuff, he and the team put in a fuckton of hard work into getting to where they are now'

This echoes Blitz' derision towards Fizz as someone who seems as if he's being given privileges, resources and support on a silver platter, just for existing as the person Asmodeus has a special interest in.

I will let that lead into my concluding comment:

I'm pretty damn sure we don't officially know the first damn thing yet about everything Blitz has put himself through to make it out of his twenties alive, just for starters, and to then become successful and reliable enough to provide a stable home for Loona and get his business off the ground.

[scoobydoodean]

Hello<3

I was wondering if you had any thoughts on how fandom misconstrues Dean's relationship with alcohol?

There is so much emphasis on making him out to be a violent mean drunk, but I mostly remember that he drinks and like passes out when he's grieving or stressed (iirc) (s6 PTSD, Soulless sam, when Cas dies, etc.)? It's weird to me because Dean isn't the only character to go through this. Bobby relies on drinking too. He's exactly as gruff as Dean can be. He also had an abusive father. Yet I don't usually see people judging Bobby for that (if they exist, I haven't seen them at least thank God).

I get frustrated when people say things like the MoC was a direct metaphor for alcoholism just because it made Dean sooo violent and angry, etc. And, it's like an unrealistic understanding of alcoholism irl and also of Dean himself and his actual actions and context. I just get weirdly defensive of him over it lol.

If you've already hashed this out I'm sry! At the end of the day, it's all just interpretation ig, but I wanted to know your take on it cause ik you'd look at dean with a good faith lens.

<3

One could say I have had thoughts on how fandom misconstrues Dean's relationship with alcohol. One could even say I have spawned extremely funny multi-day fandom-wide disk horses on this subject simply by giving my opinion on my own blog when an anon asked me to.

I'm tracking Dean's relationship with alcohol (and other substances bc I was too lazy to make two separate tags) through #dean and drugs during my rewatch if you care to peruse, but I think you and I are of a similar mind on this.

Prior to season 4, Dean has a very average relationship with alcohol. In season 4, Dean starts using alcohol as a coping tool to help him fall asleep because he's having nightmares about hell. By season 6, alcohol is also a coping tool for depression and stress. He drinks to deal with nightmares, he drinks to cope with hell trauma, he drinks after soulless Sam watches his sexual assault with a smile, he drinks after Cas swallows all the souls and Death blames Dean for everything, he drinks throughout season 7 to cope with Cas's death and Bobby's death. I'm up to 8.01 and have yet to see a single occasion where Dean drinking and Dean being violent co-occurred. What I do see is Dean drinking when he is sad, alone, or scared.

I'll continue tracking—I'll eventually get back into the MoC arc where Dean is drinking heavily again, and obviously Dean + drinking + anger + violence are all going to happen at the same time in MoC seasons. However, correlation does not equal causation, and while someone can choose to believe that Dean's drinking causes him to be angry, I think the literal answer in season 9/10 is that Dean's been cursed by the father of murder, and on a more metaphorical level, the Mark of Cain quite overtly represents Dean's resentment toward Sam which Carver spends his entire run laying out in great detail. This is why the whole Carver run culminates in Amara (a Dean parallel) being unleashed to take revenge on her brother, and why the MoC is a brother murderer curse to begin with. Alcohol is set dressing. It shows us—just as it did in the past—that Dean feels sad, alone, and scared (in this case, of what the MoC could lead him to do—which also isn't dissimilar from the original reason Dean started drinking—after hell to cope with the trauma of not just being tortured but torturing others—the fear that he'd been made into a monster).

Looking at the matter holistically, I don't personally see Dean as an angry drunk. I see him as a sad drunk. If anything, I think he hopes that alcohol will drown his anger and violent urges in the MoC arc, or at least slow him down, while also being the traditional tool he uses during boughts of depression (which he is very much experiencing during the MoC arc to the point of suicide). I also think outside the outlier of season 9/10, the narrative supports sad drunk Dean far better than angry drunk Dean.

[magdalence]

A MYTH OF DEVOTION MASTERLIST

co-authored by @magdalence & @divineidolatry

pairing: sylus/mc | reader

rating: explicit (18+)

total word count: 6,189

summary:

“A complete and full resonance link comes at a steep price. Are you willing to pay it? Do you understand how much it will demand of you? How close you will have to get to me? I see how you look at me like I’m a nightmarish monster.” Sylus smirks, leaning in close enough that you can smell his perfume. Leather, metal, and gunpowder. At least, you think some of it is perfume and not just your attempt at his life.

You agree to try your best to resonate fully with Sylus. He agrees to let you go when you do. Both of you get more than you bargained for.

tags: second person pov, inspired by hades and persephone, eventual smut, enemies to lovers, BDSM, Dom/sub, dominant sylus/submissive reader, canon-typical violence, slightly canon divergent, consensual sex, aftercare, eventual romance

additional tags to be added as story progresses.

notes: This fic will be exploring the depth and dynamics through the lens a BDSM + dom/sub relationship between Sylus and MC, with a heavy emphasis on consent and aftercare. Each chapter will tag for its content at the top for your comfort.

(cross-posted to ao3)

chapters:

one

two

three

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ɪɴ ꜰʀᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴋɪꜱꜱᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴄʜᴇᴇᴋꜱ

…𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘴

It’s an off day. One of those soft, aimless afternoons that smells like sunscreen and strawberries and pollen. Matt’s recently gotten into film photography… he says he likes that you don’t get to see the picture right away. That it makes him pay attention.

He brings the camera everywhere now. Not in an influencer way. In a boy way. Slung around his neck, smudged viewfinder, thumbprints on the lens kind of way. He doesn’t know what he’s doing yet, but he doesn’t really care.

She’s sitting on the grass beside him, flipping through a used book she found at the flea market that morning. He’s barely reading the one he picked. Keeps glancing over at her instead.

“Stay there,” he says suddenly, lifting the camera. “Don’t move.”

Rose looks up, startled. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. Just squints into the viewfinder, bites his lip, adjusts the focus. Click.

“You’re gonna waste your film,” she murmurs, face half turned away, pretending she’s not flustered.

“I don’t think it’s a waste,” he says.

He takes pictures of her chipped nail polish. Her sunglasses abandoned in the grass. The band-aid on her ankle from the sandal that failed her. Her reflection in a window. The shadow of her hand reaching for his. He won’t say it, but it’s all love notes.

She catches him taking one when she’s not paying attention, just staring out at the street. “You can’t keep doing that,” Rose tells him, kind of laughing.

“Doing what?”

“Catching me off guard. That’s not fair.”

He shrugs, lowering the camera. “That’s when you’re prettiest.”

She freezes, suddenly very aware of the fact that her tank top’s slipping off one shoulder. That her lips are dry. That Matt is still looking at her, camera hanging loose from his neck, lens cap in his palm.

He doesn’t look away.

Rose teases him, “You’re such an artist now.”

“Shut up,” he laughs, cheeks pink.

Later, when he drops off the roll to get developed, he’s fidgety. She asks why.

He says, “I just want them to come out right. Like, I hope it didn’t mess up the ones I really cared about.”

Heat crawls up her neck as she asks, “Which ones?”

Matt doesn’t look at her. 

Maybe he’ll forget everything else in a few months, but not this: her knee nudging against his, how the taste of lemonade would have tasted on her tongue, the way the light pooled around her like a secret he hadn’t yet figured out.

creds to rose for the dividers!! @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: i hope we like this,, i promise there will be some time jumps soon:>>

compromise!au taglist: @throatgoat4u @courta13 @snoopychris @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @lovesturni0l0s @chrisbratt333 @joanakaulitz @bernardsbendystraws @zenithsturniolo @chrisslut04 @mi-co-uk @shortnsweetsturnz 

till next time <3

[tunal0verr]

Recorded memories

Toge Inumaki x reader

Content: Wee bit of angst(mb chat) takes place after the shibuya incident so spoilers!! does use she/her pronouns mb chat人(_ _*) use of y/n

Summary: A glimpse into a few memory's with a certain curse speech caught on a gifted camera

A/N:not checked and i didnt clam to be a author team but inumaki nation was lowkey dry recently and if u cant find the art U GOTTAAA MAKE IT YOURSELF ＼（゜э゜）／

December 25th, 2017

“How do I know if it's on?” the voice was quiet as the focus of the video pointed down revealing shredded wrapping paper and an open box.

“Salmon” The camera shook before it pointed up at Y/N

“OH! It's on” She smiled at the boy behind the camera

 “Heyyy vlog it's your favorite y/nn” She took the camera from his hands and lifted it showing the mess of Christmas wrapping

“My super BFF Toge Inumaki got me this camera everybody say thank you Toge” She wiggled the camera up close to his face as he scrunched his nose.

March 13th, 2018

“Welcome back vlog” she whispered to the camera lens before moving the camera back swiftly 

“I am here with my co-host Inumaki and we are on the train going on a mission,” she said moving around in her seat to lay over into his lap blocking whatever game he was playing pointing the camera up at him at a very unflattering angle as he looked down

“Bonito flakes” he sighed as he looked down at her

“That's what I'm saying” she agreed laughing turning the camera to face herself before it fell cutting the recording short

October 31st, 2018

The camera was getting rustled around before it settled on her desk

“Um… do my makeup with me as my best friend is on a life-threatening mission while I have to stay back at the school” She gave the camera a small weak smile

“It's not like he's alone like our other friends are there but” she paused as she sighed

“He isn't  answering his text and I'm worried more because it's just different cause it Inumaki-not saying I don't care about our friends I love them to bits just” Her brows knotted as she looked down through the bag on her lap rambling 

“It's just different between me and Toge it's more comfortable- whatever this is stupid” She snatched the camera rolling her eyes before it turned off

December 31st, 2017

“It's almost midnight vlog” she giggled on the bed moving the camera to sit on pillows

“Are we gonna kiss tonight?” she joked nudging Toge with a smile as a blush crept up to decorate the tips of his ears

“Salmon roe” Toge shoved her back rolling his eyes before typing on his phone to show her

“Why would I kiss you you smell horrible” she fakes reading out with a gasp from his phone as he sat up shaking his head making an X with his arms

She looked up at the camera “he hates me guys my own best friend” she sighed looking down dramatically 

“Tuna mayo!” he groaned pouting at her pushing her shoulder again causing her to laugh and grab the camera 

 “stay tuned to find out if we actually kiss” she stuck her tounge out as she started to move the camera closer to Toge’s fake before he opened his mouth the camera cut 

April 10th, 2018

“And here we have a wild Toge Inumaki resting in the wild” The camera zoomed in on his sleeping face

 “Magnificent creature one of a kind,” she said mocking a fake Australian accent

 “Now we must be careful not to disturb the beast” She leaned the camera closer to his face before his eye peeked open and she gasped

“You're not even sleeping you're a faker!” she laughed as he smiled as it look like he charged at the camera before the recording abruptly ended

August 21st, 2018

The screen is covered with a sliver of the room being shown as a frustrated groan is heard at a distance 

“Like did you ever consider how I would feel? I get you and Yuuta are close and stuff but it doesn't mean ditch me to go and make the same plans with Yuuta” Y/n voice strained as she reprimanded him

“Fish flakes!” Toge’s voice sounded desperate 

“Put the phone down can you do that for once? Just listen to me! For someone who can't speak right you sure are a bad listener,” y/n yelled harshly “Wait no comeback” 

Toge pauses for a second before even considering what y/n just said to him her. Once he does he just stares at her with only a look that can be described as heartbreak before turning and walking out with a harsh slam of the door followed by y/n groans before everything where the camera sat was pushed causing the recording to stop.

Present

She paused and grimaced after watching the last video 

“I should probably delete that right?” she turned to him as there was still no reply from his part

“I didn't mean it you know” her words getting caught in her throat as her voice trembled “You don't have to fake no more Toge get up” She went to go grab his hand but she was only met with the empty bed space that was once occupied by his hand 

“Please wake up we can't just end as best friends I don't want to end just as best friends” She began to sob as she laid on top of his lap as his body rested in the infirmary bed her tears made the room go blurry as they clouded her vision as she poured her heart out in his lap. She moved her arms to wrap around her head blocking out the world. Blocking out the small smile that danced across Toge’s lips

He never was a good fake sleeper

A/N: if this is ass its not fault guys its 3am and a hoe is tired fr

[communistkenobi]

Hi, genuine good faith question if you'd like! How is TOS racist? It was my understanding that the OG Series was like, huge for equality in media?

I’m speaking primarily about the content of TOS itself, not its historical impact - I understand it had various historic firsts in terms of having characters of colour in respectable roles, which I’m not dismissing. My experience with the discourse on here surrounding the show is that people front-load these character representations as emblematic of the show’s progressive politics. Which, if we want to go that route, TOS was contemporary to the US civil rights movement, which provides us with a handy measuring stick to see how TOS actually grapples with race, not just the presence of characters of colour themselves. I'm going to be kind of defensive in this explanation, not towards you specifically, but because I have had this conversation with people online many, many, many times, and so any defensiveness on my part is in anticipation of arguments I know will come up as a result of making the basic claim that a show made in America in the 1960s is racist. I'm also going to be copy + pasting from an older post I've made on the subject since it's been a while now since I've watched TOS so some of the details are fuzzy.

Like okay, the premise of TOS is that the Enterprise, as an ambassador of Starfleet/the Federation, is seeking out new alien life to study. The Prime Directive prohibits the Enterprise crew from interfering with the development of any alien culture or people while they do this, so the research they collect needs to be done in an unobtrusive way. I think this is the first point at which people balk at the argument that TOS is racist or has a colonial conception of the world - the Enterprise’s mission is premised on non-interference, and I think when people hear ‘colonial’ as a descriptor they (understandably, obviously) assume it is describing active conquest, genocide, and dispossession. Even setting aside all the times where Kirk does directly interfere with the “development” of a people or culture (usually because they’ve “stagnated” culturally, because a culture "without conflict" cannot evolve or “develop” beyond its current presumed capacity - he is pretty explicitly imposing his own values onto another culture in order to force them to change in a particular way), or the times when the Enterprise is actually looking to extract resources from a given planet or people, I’m not exactly making this claim, or rather, that’s not the only thing I’m describing when calling TOS racist/colonial.

The show's presentation of scientific discovery and inquiry is anthropological - the “object” of analysis is alien/foreign culture, meaning that when the Enterprise crew comes into contact with a new being or person, this person is always read first and foremost through the level of (the Enterprise’s understanding of) culture. Their behaviour, beliefs, dress, way of speaking, appearance, and so on are always reflective of their culture as a whole, and more importantly, that their racial or phenotypic characteristics define the boundaries of their culture. Put another way, culture is interpreted, navigated, and bound racially - the show presents aliens as a Species, but these species are racially homogeneous, flattening race to a natural, biological difference that is always physically apparent and presented through the lens of scientific objectivity, as "species" is a unit of biological taxonomy. Basically species is a shorthand for race. This is the standard of most sci-fi/fantasy genre work, so this is not a sin unique to Star Trek.

Because of this however, Kirk and Co are never really interacting with individuals, they are interacting with components of a (foreign, exotic, fundamentally different) culture, the same way we understand that a biologist can generalize about a species using the example of an individual 'specimen'. And when the Enterprise interacts with these cultures, they very frequently measure them using a universalized scale of development - they have a teleological (which is to say, evolutionary) view of culture, ie, that all cultures go from savage to rational, primitive to advanced, economically simple to economically complex (ie, to capitalist modes of production). And the metrics they are judging these cultures by are fundamentally Western ones, always emphasising to the audience that the final destination of all cultures (that are worthy of advancing beyond their current limited/“primitive” stages) is a culture identical to the Federation, a culture that can itself engage in this anthropological mission to catalogue all life as fitting within a universal set of practices and racial similarities they call “culture.”

This is a western, colonial understanding of culture - racially and spatially homogeneous people comprise the organs of a social totality, ie, a society, which can then be analysed as an “object,” as a “phenomenon,” by the scientists in order to extract information from them to produce and advance state (ie Federation) knowledge. The Enterprise crew are allowed to be individuals, are allowed to be subjects with a capacity for reason, contradiction, emotion, compassion, and even moments of savagery or violence, without those things being assigned to their “race” or “culture” as a whole, but the people they interact with are only components of a whole which are “discovered” by the Enterprise as opportunities to expand and refine the Federation’s body of knowledge.

Spock is actually a good example of what I'm talking about, because he is an exception to this rule - unlike the others in the crew, his behaviour is always read as a symptom of his innate Vulcan-ness, where his human and Vulcan halves war for dominance in his mind and character. Bones (the doctor, one of the main cast) constantly comments on Spock's inability to feel things, that he is callous and unsympathetic, ruled by Vulcan logic to such an extreme that his rationality is a form of irrationality, as his Vulcan blood prohibits him from tempering logic with human emotion and intuition. Now you can argue that Bones is a stand-in for the racists of the world, that Spock proves Bones wrong in that he is able to feel but merely keeps it under wraps, that Vulcans are not biologically incapable of emotion but merely live in a socially repressive culture, but this still engages in the racial logic of the show - Vulcans are a racially-bound species with a single monolithic culture, and Spock's ability to express and feel 'human emotions' is the metric by which he is granted human subjectivity and sympathy.

And on the flip side you have the Klingons - a “race” that is uniformly savage, backward, violent, and dangerous. In the episode Day of the Dove, where Klingons board the Enterprise along with an alien cloud that makes everyone suddenly aggressive and racist (this show is insane lol), the Enterprise crew begins acting violent and racist, but the Klingons don’t change. They aren’t more violent than before (because they already were fundamentally violent and racist), and they don’t become less violent when the cloud eventually leaves (because they are never able to emerge from their violence and savagery as a social condition or external imposition - they simply are that way). Klingons are racially, behaviourally, psychologically, and culturally homogeneous, universally violent and immune to reason, and their racial characteristics are both physical manifestations of this universal violence as well as the origin of it. The writers and creators of TOS are explicitly invoking the orientalist idea of the “Mongolian horde,” representing both the American fear of Soviet global takeover as well as blatantly racist fears about “Asiatics” (a word used in the show, particularly in The Omega Glory where a fear of racialised communist takeover is made explicit) dominating the world.

This is colonial thinking! Like, fundamentally, at its core, this is colonial white supremacist thinking. Now this is not because TOS invents these tropes or is the origin of them, it is not individually responsible for these racial and colonial logics - these conceptions are endemic to Western thought, and I am not expecting a television show to navigate its way outside of this current colonial paradigm of scientific knowledge. I’m also not expecting an average person watching this to pick out all the intricacies of this and link it to the colonial history of Europe or the colonial history of western philosophy/thought. But this base premise of Star Trek is why the show is fundamentally colonial - even if it was the case that the crew never intervened in any alien conflict, never extracted any material resources from other people, this would still be colonial logic and colonial thinking. The show has a fundamentally colonial imagination when it comes to exploration, discovery, and culture.

I think a good place to end is the opening sequence. The show's first line is always "Space! The final frontier." I do not think the word frontier is meant metaphorically or poetically - I think the show is being honest about its conception of space as an infinitely vast, infinitely exotic frontier from which a globally Western civilisation (which the Enterprise is an emblem of) can extract resources, be they material or epistemic