#dammit all to heck

[daphne-dreamcatcher]

Okay

Okay

Okay

Okay

Now that's I've SEEN IT I cant NOT say anything

What Liu Kang and Kitana's son would've looked like:

[foolsfrogg]

Draw your favorite creecher from Hilda but only the ones from early in the show (s1 early s2) pls :3

I also wanna say ur art looks like the texture is wax which may sound like not a compliment but it is bc I love the texture of wax

I don’t think you realize..

they’re ALL my favorite creecher

and I have made up lore FOR THEM ALL MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I was gonna just give a giant post with all of them- before realizing I wouldn’t have enough space to tag them all..

ALSO THANK YOU I LOVE WAX

[deus-ex-mona]

pretty minor thing to think about, but i find it interesting how chapter 7 is the first chapter illustration to show chizuutan as chizuru (instead of chuutan)

like, i get it’s a flashback chapter, but we hardly got to see her as chizuru in the previous few chapters thus far… maybe we’ll get to see more of her as her true self after the hiyori fight/make up? only future chapters may tell, i guess…

[quillyfied]

Just gonna sit here face-down and think about how I’m fairly certain nobody but Stolas knows in full how horrific Stella is, leave me to my misery puddle.

[wordycheeseblob]

Prompt idea

Emma gets an aristocratic friend that does not have any ulterior motives. That does NOT try to get to another character through her. That is NOT ACTIVELY TRYING TO KILL HER.

[dragonink13]

BECAUSE AUTHORS PROMOTE THEIR WORK, DAMMIT.

Just because it's not a physical printed book, and just because it IS fanfiction, doesn't mean that authors can't promote their hard work.

Why do you reblog your own fics so much?

Because someone might as well!? And look at this. Look. At. This.

Does this look right to you??

These are just the last three fics I wrote. I appreciate the likes, believe me I do, but you have to understand. Likes do nothing for content creators. It’s the reblogs. Because that’s how you find shit on your dashboard. Through reblogs. Not likes. This isn’t twitter or tiktok or instagram. This is a website that’s run by the reblog system.

Reblogging helps content creators put their stuff out there. Why do you think so many people stopped writing fanfic and creating beautiful fanart and edits? It’s because they put in hours of work and don’t get nearly enough notes for their masterpieces. Yes we do this because we enjoy it but like...some validation won’t hurt. A boost of confidence here and there might be all someone needs to finish whatever thing they started and left.

Anyway, I’m still going to reblog my shit...

[brucewaynehater101]

Imagine Tim holding Brucequest over the Justice League & even Dick & Jason's heads 💀💀💀💀

Heck Tim holding the Timestream incident over Bruce's head because Tim was the only person to actually do anything to save him

((Damian gets a pass because 1. He's a KID whose cult leading gramps was involved, how about No?))

((And 2. The priority for him at the time should have been unlearning the cult teachings of the LOA))

((and also all his other siblings. Alfred too since he has a job dammit))

Tw: Violence

I love petty Tim Drake so much. He deserves to be able to hold his trauma over the people who caused it.

Jason takes the last cookie? "You might as well take me back to Titan's Tower and slit my throat again."

Dick tells Tim he needs to go to bed? "Oh. I see how it is. I thought we talked about you questioning my judgements again, but I see I was wrong."

Alfred lectures Tim about his health? "Now you're concerned about my health? You should have thought about that before putting my mental health in peril for my sixteenth birthday."

Bruce is concerned with Tim's workload? "Maybe the next time you want me to take on less work you'll write a fucking letter instead of spreading vague clues no one else believes is actually from you."

As for Damian? They exchange verbal barbs for fun and take notes from each other. It confuses the hell out of the others because do they hate each other, or are they bonding?

Steph and Tim like to get into screaming fights with each other in public. It's never about their actual fights, but they like how Gotham reacts to it (bonus points if they end up in the news).

Tim and Babs try to sabotage each other's unimportant technology. That fifth tablet Babs hardly uses? Bam! Tim's made it so it plays music whenever it's on and the music can't be turned off.

Cass and Tim just make faces at each other. Bruce has been confused as hell when one of them randomly shouts in outrage due to the other twitching their eyelids wrong.

Tim likes confusing and horrifying Duke by telling him fun facts about the family. He'll tell them in the most damning way to watch the chaos. "The scar on Jason's neck is from Bruce choosing the Joker over Jason."

And that is Tim taking it easy on the Bats because he loves and cares about them (and because it's funny).

The JL?

Red Robin terrifies all of the members who doubted him. The terror doubles when they see him happily chatting with YJ or the Bats. The version of Tim the JL gets is a scarily competent and cold persona. They thought he lost the ability to smile until Red Hood (and who let a crime lord into the Watchtower???) grabbed Red Robin a peace offering Zesti.

[tathrin]

The next story I am Definitely Not Writing: a fic where Legolas and Gimli make it all the way to the Undying Lands before they realize that in addition to loving each other more than anything else in all of Arda, they are also in love with one another (this is less a realization on their part and more an assumption that just about everyone else in Aman makes on sight, and eventually they hear about it and go oh...dang...maybe...? and Legolas's mom facepalms forever) and hey what if they got married, then...?

Only the thing is, while an elvish marriage is very simple and requires literally nothing but the folks involved deciding to do it (and no, Thranduil is not allowed to demand that Gimli fetch some priceless jewel from the Fëanorian section of Tirion in order to prove himself worthy of Legolas's hand, although he tried very very hard to convince everyone that it was a great idea) a dwarven marriage is an elaborate ceremony, requiring the participation of both a dwarven officiant and several members of one's kin to perform the various elements of the ceremony.

...all of which are in short supply in this land of elves and valar.

Except. well. there aren't any other dwarves in Aman...but what there is, is the guy who made the dwarves. And he is VERY fond of Gimli. So when he learns that Gimli is kind of moping about the fact that he can't marry Legolas in dwarven-fashion, Aulë ENTHUSIASTICALLY volunteers to be the officiant and to set everything up and arrange just the BEST DWARVEN WEDDING EVER...

Because, you know. he's never actually been to one?

Gimli is stricken with horrified shock to realize just how much his own Maker has missed out on interactions with his beloved dwarves over the years, and immediately agrees to this plan (even though he knows it won't be a real dwarven wedding without his family there; but he'll swim back to Middle-earth before he says one word about that anywhere that Mahal can hear! he is going to do everything in his power to make this the best wedding ever for the sake of his Maker, dammit!).

So he gets to work crafting all the necessary accoutrements (with enthusiastic help from Celebrimbor and all his other elf-smith friends that Gimli has acquired since coming to these shores which is, let's be honest, quite a few) and carefully teaching Legolas all the necessary Khuzdul phrases and ceremonial steps that they can do to mimic as much of a proper wedding as they can without anyone else to help...

And when the big day comes, Aulë is vibrating so hard he's on the verge of setting off seventeen different earthquakes across the island, and not even Yavanna can get him to relax. Gimli and Legolas arrive to the appointed place, and find that they aren't alone: Aulë has invited Celebrimbor, too, seeing as he's the only elf in Aman who has actually participated in a dwarven wedding before with makes him the local expert as well as the closest thing to "kin" that Gimli is going to find on these shores...except.

Well, Mandos might be in charge of elvish souls, but dwarves? They belong to their Maker. And if Mahal decides he wants to...well, who is going to stop him from waking some of them up early, before the breaking of the world? Especially if he doesn't ask permission first. So when Gimli and Legolas hesitantly walk into this foreboding stone chamber, eerily close to the Halls of Mandos, wondering wtf is going on and have they offended the valar somehow and are they in trouble and if so how bad is it...?

Well, turns out Gimli will have kin at his wedding after all.

Mahal can't bring any of them back to life, not without the intervention and permission of Eru and probably Mandos too; but as long as they're in his halls, he can wake anybody he wants. So soon there is a great crowd of bewildered but enthusiastic dwarves gathered around Gimli, as he tries to explain what the heck is going on to a whole passel of relatives and friends, some of whom died even before the Lonely Mountain was reclaimed and don't even know how the Battle of Five Armies ended, let alone the whole thing with the Ring and the Fellowship...

And Legolas and Celebrimbor are standing near the entrance watching fondly, Legolas weeping around a great big smile and Celebrimbor torn between joy for Gimli and his own ever-bitter sorrows and then...

"Khelebrrimbor?" calls a deep dwarven voice, in a thick Khuzdul accent, and Celebrimbor stiffens like he's just been shot.

Suddenly there's a ruckus as a very burly dwarf is shouldering through the crowd, and Celebrimbor stumbles forward and throws himself at Narvi with a wail, and it's at least ten minutes before anyone can get a coherent word out of either of them (although it takes considerably less time to catch the gist of Narvi's lecture about how dare you and lucky he's already dead, or I'd have a gift for him he wouldn't forget in a hurry and what were you thinking???).

Legolas gives Aulë a very pointed raise of his eyebrows, and Aulë shrugs around an unabashed grin. "Who in all the ages of the world is more of an expert on marriages between elves and dwarves than the two of them? I am a craftsman, Greenleaf; of course I would want to make use of their skills and experience in this endeavor. Nothing more to it than that."

Legolas hums noncommittally, but his eyes are dancing.

Mahal ignores him and steps forward to start the wedding. It takes even him three tries before he can shout loud enough to be heard over the tumult and get everyone's attention, but eventually he gets them all to quiet down enough for the ceremony to begin. Not everyone in attendance is entirely thrilled by the prospect of Gimli marrying an elf (that elf) but no one is so cross that they walk back into their dreams of stone to avoid it, which Gimli chalks up as a victory.

(Legolas's terrible Khuzdul pronunciation doesn't help, but the very enthusiastic way he praises Gimli when the ceremony reaches that point makes up for a lot. By the time he finally runs out of words, a few of the more recalcitrant attendees have changed their tune about him. The fact that he's so good at weaving the required braids doesn't hurt, either.)

There aren't nearly enough refreshments for a crowd that size afterwards, of course, since Gimli and Legolas weren't expecting anyone but themselves and Aulë to be there; but that doesn't much matter, because 90% of those in attendance don't have the sort of corporealness that would allow them to eat the dwarven delicacies that Gimli spent all morning fussing over anyway. (That doesn't stop some of his more elderly relatives from scolding him for not following their recipes better.) They're solid enough that you can hug them or kiss them, in the case of a certain former smithlord of Eregion or get half-knocked off your feet by their congratulatory backslaps, but they aren't alive. They're still the dreaming dead...it's just that for the moment, they're dreaming in a bit more wakefulness than usual.

In the end it's not what one would call an orthodox dwarven wedding, no; but it's a lot closer than Gimli thought he would get, and since he's hardly an orthodox dwarf, the small tweaks and oddities of their strange situation don't bother him in the slightest.

As for Aulë, he's never been happier.

And if it takes a long, long time for Celebrimbor to finally leave (and if he tries to devise a way to prop the door open on his way out)...well, Aulë is enjoying himself far too much to do anything but pretend not to notice. Even when Námo clears his throat at him very pointedly.

Twice.

And then again. And again.

"Aulë...!"

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐒

pairing: joel miller x webcam model!f!reader

genre: no outbreak AU, explicit smut (like very explicit), minors dni

word count: 7k

summary: you and joel continue to see one another, no matter the distance. And finally, you two breach the subject of "what are we".

warnings: joel is still bi in this, minor angst in the beginning, live stream sex, piv, messy titjob, dirty talk, possesive!joel, squirting, a hint of jealous joel, good girl/sir, praise kink

a/n: this work was commissioned by the lovely @trauma-dol 💜 thank you so much for commissioning me, I appreciate it lots!

part two of ravish

There are a lot of things you don’t like. The smell of roasted chickpeas, for instance. While others might find it inviting, it's just an odd scent that doesn't sit right with you. Then there's that annoying feeling of needing to pee right after you've gotten all cozy in bed. The list just goes on. You can think of a million things that annoy the heck out of you. 

However, waiting for someone that you’ve been eager to see for months to arrive at your doorstep might be the thing you hate the most. 

Worry bubbles up within you, and you can't help but sigh as you reach for the phone. Joel was supposed to arrive a good thirty minutes ago. 

Excited to see him, you had spent time chopping up an assortment of fresh vegetables – plump tomatoes, vibrant bell peppers sliced into perfect rings, and red onions thinly shaved and ready to caramelize into sweet perfection.

Besides the cutting board, a bowl of freshly shredded mozzarella cheese sits in fluffy mounds, ready to meld and melt into gooey goodness. Fragrant basil leaves are waiting to be scattered over the final creation. The pizza dough had been carefully prepped and now resting. 

But alas, there’s still no sign of him. 

“Dammit Joel, where are you?” 

You knew you should’ve just picked him up from the airport. You should’ve just ignored his protests and gone. New York is a big city; he could’ve gotten himself lost. Or worse, someone might’ve tried to kidnap him, rob him—sure, he’s a big man, but this is New York City.

It had been a hectic month. After you moved back from your family home, the issue of whether or not the relationship should continue had been a hot topic of sorts. For a while, you both decided to embrace the idea of "not putting a label" and simply being together during your visits. However, that proved to be too complicated. Losing yourselves in each other during every visit didn’t really allow for anyone else to come in between.

Not that you were complaining. You really liked Joel and didn’t really have any desire to date anyone else. Joel had enamored you completely. It was hard to keep it casual when all you wanted was him. But clearly, Joel didn’t want anything serious. He was content with how things were. 

The thought made your heart sink painfully in your chest. 

You tried to visit each other once a month, although most of the time it ended up being once every two months. He still joined your live streams. And when your viewers realized you were more than happy to indulge in JMiller’s requests, they started to get suspicious, commenting and teasing relentlessly. That meant you had to ignore him for a bit, which you hated doing. 

You did enjoy the punishments that followed though. 

A sudden buzz pulls you away from memory lane. Looking down you see a text from Joel, prompting your smile. 

Almost there, honey. You weren’t kidding about the traffic. 

“Dork,” you grin. Your head falls back against the back of the couch. You’ve missed him and now that he’ll be here soon makes you all giddy. Dormant butterflies erupt in your chest. Just the thought of him is enough to excite you. For an entire week, Joel Miller is yours. You had planned out everything. Not a minute will be wasted. Not on your watch. 

Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. You practically jump off the couch and run toward the sound. When you open it, you’re breathless, the tiny hairs at the back of your neck standing with attention. 

It’s him. 

He’s here. 

His eyes are tired, the crinkles you love to kiss deepening with his wide smile, “Hey there, sweetheart,” he says. “Miss me?” 

You jump towards him and wrap your arms around his neck. You hear the “oomf” that vibrates from his chest as you tug him impossibly close, forcing him to lean over you. Joel’s hands find the dip of your waist, squeezing tenderly, his nose bumps affectionally into the crook of your neck, and heat gathers under your skin. 

“God I missed you,” you say, voice trembling. Desperately you hold his face and bring him to your lips. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth, the movement dripping with a need for authority and control. You happily give it to him, opening wide. He sucks the air from your lungs and swallows your moans. Slick gathers between your legs, the fabric of your underwear clinging to your cunt and asking for the stretch of his cock. 

Joel guides the roll of your hips, chuckling darkly into your mouth when you desperately rub yourself against the denim. A shudder rolls up your spine. His cock firming under his jeans, “Honey,” he rasps. “Maybe we should close the door first?” 

“Why?” you say with a hitch of your breath. You drag your lips down his neck, nip at his racing pulse. “I know the neighbor wouldn’t mind. He watches my streams.” 

You’d said it without a second thought, which might’ve been a mistake on your part. His muscles grow rigid under your palms, the heat melting quickly like ice under the hot summer sun. “Is everything okay?” you ask, cupping his cheeks and forcing his gaze up. 

His gaze stays on you only for a moment before he drops his eyes to your lips. Your brows furrow at the reaction. His eyes are clear like a sky before a storm. Obviously, he has the question he wants to ask already locked and loaded but refusing to pull the trigger. He lifts his hands, the width of them blanketing yours as he pulls them down. 

“Just tired,” he sighs. He’s saved by the loud grumble of his stomach, the tension breaking. “And hungry,” he adds with a crooked smile. You force a smile and ignore the trembling of your bottom lip. Joel’s tone might be playful but it does little in calming your nerves. Moving away, the chill you feel on your skin is instant. 

“I prepared most of the ingredients,” you say. “I thought pizza and wine?” 

“We’re in the birthplace of the dollar pizza and you made it homemade?” 

You giggle at how comically wide his eyes are. “Well forgive me for not wanting to feed you the cheapest thing available,” Joel’s lips touch your temple, warmth blossoming where his mouth brushes against. “And I thought it would be fun.” 

“It will,” he murmurs. “I’m not used to bein’ pampered I guess. Only Sarah cares about what goes down my gullet.” 

“Hmm I don’t recall saying it was due to the consideration of your health,” you tease, fingers tiptoeing from his arm to his shoulder. He shivers at the touch. “Maybe, I just want to see what these strong hands can do with some dough.” 

His mere grin manages to send ripples of pleasure down your spine. Something dark and wicked crosses his face and you let out a shaky sigh. “Brat,” he teases. 

With a cat-like grin of your own, you close the door. 

Joel stands before the kitchen counter, the soft glow of the overhead light accentuating the contours of his figure. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing sinewy forearms that glisten with a slight sheen of flour. The muscles beneath his sun-kissed skin ripple as he reaches for the dough, his biceps forming a subtle bulge with each purposeful movement.

With a focused expression, he takes the smooth, slightly elastic dough in his hands. The material yields to his touch, supple yet resilient. As his strong fingers sink into the dough's yielding embrace, you can't help but admire the way he handles it. His touch is both firm and gentle, his hands a testament to years of construction work that have endowed him with strength and dexterity.

The dough stretches and folds, responding to his guidance with grace. His hands move with an almost mesmerizing rhythm, kneading and pressing, coaxing the dough into a state of perfection. The occasional wisp of flour dances in the air as he works.

You watch, entranced, as Joel's fingers work their magic. The concentration etched on his face, the way his lips quirk up in a faint smile as he loses himself while doing so makes your heart race.

As he works, you find your own fingers involuntarily tracing the outline of your wine glass.

"Enjoyin' the view, honey?" Joel's voice rumbles, breaking through the silence. You quickly set the wine glass down and begin to babble something in response, your words stumbling over each other. But before you can complete your sentence, Joel grips your wrist, pulling you toward him. Your back is flush against his solid chest.

His scent of pine and undeniable masculinity, surrounds you, intoxicating your senses as effectively as the wine you had been sipping. The shift in the atmosphere is palpable, charged with an electricity that sends shivers down your spine.

Joel's hands find yours, and he guides them to rest above the dough, his touch sending a jolt of awareness through you. “I’m the guest why the hell am I doin’ all the work?” His fingers intertwine with yours, his calloused skin brushing against your more delicate touch. Your heart beats in sync with the rhythm of his kneading.

Kneading the dough together, you feel a growing pressure against your lower back. It takes a moment for you to realize – his erection, firm and unmistakable, pressing against you. The realization sends a rush of heat to your cheeks, and your breath catches in your throat.

His hand drops to your waist, guiding the grind of your hips. You feel him as the dress you’re wearing dips between your asscheeks, clothed cock parting the two gently. A soft growl rumbles in his chest, the tremble of it felt against your back. Your focus has shifted. The dough forgotten entirely. 

“You’re makin’ cookin’ really hard, sweetheart.” 

You manage a breathless chuckle, "Oh, and whose fault might that be, Mr. Master Dough Kneader?"

He snarls into your ear, hot breath causing goosebumps. “You really are bein’ a brat today. Is there a special occasion for that?” 

Honestly, being a brat really wasn’t your objective. It just. . . sorta came out. You reveled when Joel took control, be it face-to-face or during streams. There’s always something primal lingering under his touches, his words. You roll your hips, cutting his breath short, you feel the length of him being dragged down between the plump flesh of your ass. 

“I just want to make you happy,” you say surprisingly soft. When you attempt to rub against him once more, he stops you, both hands now on your waist, squeezing you in warning. 

“You do make me happy,” he breathes out. His voice is deep, slivering down your back. Heat pools between your legs and you lean into his warmth. “Why would you say that?” 

“Forget it,” You hadn’t expected him to take it so seriously. Worry begins to inflate your chest, heat rising to the tips of your ears and making you short of sight. You attempt to reach for the tomato sauce, making sure to drag the plumpness of your behind against the heft of his cock in order to eradicate the moment. You don’t want him to think too much about it. Or decide that what you have—whatever it is—isn’t worth it. 

The pads of your fingers brush against the smooth surface of the bowl but you can’t reach it. Not quite. Joel turns you over, hands between your waist and the sharp edge of the counter. Frustrated, you fill your cheeks with air and shoot him a glare. “Seriously, it’s nothing, Joel.” 

“No it ain’t,” he snaps silently. “Why would you stress about makin’ me happy?” 

He scoffs at your silence, “What? You think I’m just passin’ the time by comin’ here? That if it’s not worth my time I’ll just leave?” he asks, baffled. Your gaze drops to the granite floor, bottom lip sucked between your teeth. Joel’s eyes go wide, bushy eyebrows almost touching his hairline. “Wait you actually think that?” 

You remain silent. 

“Sweetheart. . .” he shakes his head and pinches your chin, pulling your gaze back up. He looks concerned. Remorseful. You try not to think about your pulse skyrocketing under your skin, try to ignore the skip of your heart. “You really think I’m that shallow?” 

“No,” you answer suddenly, the need to defend him to himself burrowing in your chest. “It’s not that. I just. . . I don’t know. I’m confused I guess.” 

“‘bout what?” 

His thumb draws slow circles on your cheek, you close your eyes, heart and chest suddenly light as air. You could float if you had the capability. You nuzzle his hand like a hurt animal, begging for more of his touch. 

“I really really like you, you know.” 

“I really like you too, honey,” you ignore the way his words and smile make your skin prickle with delight. “But that doesn’t really answer my question.” 

You sigh, you’re stuck between the constant worry and the comfort he’s providing. Despite being known as a chatterbox, you’re having trouble finding the words. 

“I know that me streaming isn’t. . . conventional but I’m not seeing anyone else. I don’t even do private streams anymore,” your eyes flit between his eyes, trying to get a read of whiskey-colored eyes. Fear coats your tongue upon noticing his lips are a thin line—definitely not a good sign. “And well. . . I don’t plan on seeing anyone else either because. . .” 

You melt in relief when his lips finally crack into a small smile, “Because you really really like me?” 

“Precisely,” you say a bit loud and excited. “And of course, I don’t want you to feel pressure but. . . are you seeing anyone?” you clear your throat. “B—Besides me, that is.” 

“Well. .  . sometimes I watch CammingBravo when he’s streamin’.” 

“Joel!” you huff out a laugh and playfully smack his chest. “You know that’s not what I meant.” 

Adoration dots over his face, the corner of his eyes wrinkling with his smile. You love it when he teases you. Love it even more when he just stares at you with blatant amusement. The expression doesn’t linger long though. Like a small flame under rain, it sizzles out, his demeanor changing suddenly. 

His brows furrow, a crease you so desperately want to kiss away forming between them. Joel’s jaw ticks, the muscle above it twitching. He inches closer until your foreheads are pressed together, snug. Your heart is beating with rapid thumps, your breath caught in your throat.  

“I’m not seein’ anyone else either,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not planin’ on seein’ anyone else either.” 

“R-Really?” 

He nods, “I want you, sweetheart. Completely. I don’t care what you do on your streams as long as you’re mine when the camera shuts off.” 

Your smile is instantaneous. It’s not like you planned on streaming for the rest of your life, arrangements could be made to make him more comfortable. And you had stopped collabing with Dieter ever since Joel came into the picture—though, now that you knew Joel watched the fallen-from-grace actor’s streams. . . you were getting ideas. 

Joel nudges you with the tip of his nose, smiling, yet still hesitant, “Say somethin’ will you?” 

“So, we both want to be exclusive?” you grin. “That’s what you’re saying?” 

“Reckon, I am,” he answers with a snort. He parts his lips to say more but you beat him to it, covering his mouth with your own. The kiss is long and sweet. It feels like a first kiss in a way, even though you have kissed Joel many many times before.

“Come on now, let’s get these ready and pop them into the oven,” his grin is wide as he pinches your ass, you jump with a yelp and he laughs. When you fix him a half-hearted glare, he only winks. The simple action makes your insides clench. “I’m starvin’.” 

The next day, you take Joel to your favorite coffee shop. They make the best bagel sandwiches and you’re eager for him to try them out. He gets the classic bacon, egg, and cheese, and you order the avocado BLT. You offer to pay, but Joel being Joel, he quickly distracts you by dragging his lips from your temple to your cheek, swiftly taking out his wallet.

You give him a look of pure betrayal. If you were wearing pearls, you’d be clutching them by now. “Joel Miller,” you say, aghast. “How dare you use your charm for evil?” 

His laughter fills the air as he hands his credit card to the barista, his broad chest rising and falling with each boisterous sound. Your lips twitch into a smile as he cups your waist, pulling you close. His lips touch your ear and heat warms your cheeks. “Sorry, honey. I can’t always use my powers for good.” 

All you can manage is a short nod. Your senses narrow on the way his breath ghosts your skin, warm and soft like a summer breeze. For a second you forget about the bagels and the coffee shop, all you can think of is him; his body, his voice, his scent—arousal pulses between your legs. If you were positive the two of you wouldn’t get arrested for public indecency, you’d let him take you against this very counter for everyone to see. 

“Come on now,” he teases, reading your expression easily. “I got the goods, let’s find ourselves a good table.” 

Alas, he really was holding a tray in his hands. You have no idea when the barista finished making your order. Either you’d been fantasizing for too long or you had one hell of a barista. 

The two of you stand awkwardly in the middle of the coffee shop and look around. You notice a couple of people staring you down, their gazes fixed on you, some of them even being bold enough to do the old-fashioned up-and-down. You quickly divert your gaze and point toward a table right next to the large windows. Frankly, you’re used to the staring. They rarely came up to you since no one wanted to be the one known for enjoying porn. Especially in public. Most of the time they’re harmless. 

Walking towards your table, you cheat a glance at Joel. If he did notice the looks, he didn't say anything. He made no indication of discomfort or anything of the sort. Relief sprinkles over you, maybe the looks weren’t as obvious as you initially had thought. 

Joel took a seat and you sat across from him, he shot you a look before reaching for his black coffee, “Everythin’ alright?” 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, trying to keep your nerves in check. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Just as he opens his mouth, you notice someone approaching in your peripheral. You hold your breath, eyes dropping to the bagels. The person, whoever it was, just stands at the end of the table. You feel the stranger’s eyes eating you up. Fuck, of all the times why now? 

“May we help you?” you hear Joel say, his tone the complete opposite of his words. When you look up at him from between your lashes, he’s staring at the stranger, the look dancing on the line of being a full-on glare. You take a slow breath and turn. 

It’s a young-ish man with blonde hair and brown eyes. Your first expression of him is that he seems kind. He doesn’t acknowledge Joel’s presence at all which you find impressive. Even across from him, you can feel the heat of his stare. 

“Hi,” the man says kindly. “S-Sorry to bother you but are you Honeysuckle? On Ravish?” 

Joel visibly bristles at that. And, despite your better judgment, it turns you on. 

“Yup, that’s me,” you let out an awkward chuckle. He extends a hand and you quickly take it, wanting this to be done as soon as possible. 

“I love your streams!” 

“Thank you,” you smile with tight lips. “I appreciate your support.” 

“Can I get a picture?” 

Briefly, your gaze flits to Joel, a shadow crosses his face, eyes dark in warning. Your breath hitches a bit, skin prickling, some part of you wishes the hardened gaze was directed at you instead. 

You turn back to the man, “Sorry I don’t do pictures,” he seems visibly heartbroken by that so you quickly add. “But I can give you an autograph if it’s all the same to you.” 

Oh god, you hate when you have to put it like that. It makes you sound so full of yourself. You’re not a movie star. 

His eyes sparkle, “Thank you!” he pulls out a small notebook and hands it to you. “Can you make it out for Alex?” 

“Sure.” you quickly sign your name—well, not your name name but your stream name; Honeysuckle. You add a little heart next to the name and return the notebook. 

“Thank you!” he repeats, his genuine glee spreading in the air and caressing your skin. Your stomach does a small somersault as he walks away, clutching the notebook close to his chest. 

“Well, at least he was nice about it,” Joel grunts, finally taking a sip of his coffee. You’re not sure what to take from his response, or expression for that matter. Is he mad? You don’t think he is. You nearly jump out of your skin when his focused gaze suddenly snaps to you. “You alright?” 

“U-Uh, yeah,” you wave your hand in dismissal. “This kinda stuff happens. Most of the time they don’t say hi though.”

“So they just stare at you like a piece of meat?” 

“Pretty much, yeah.” your voice is uncaring. Honestly, you’re used to it by now. It’s not like you had the most respectable job, at least, not according to most people. You can only imagine the comments you would get if you had Instagram, or if Ravish didn’t have a tight-proof system that allowed you to ban people on sight. You reach for your sandwich and take a bite, you chew slowly. 

Joel snarls, “Assholes.” 

“I was hoping you didn’t notice,” you smile around your second bite. He seems almost offended by what you said, crossing his arms over the expanse of his chest. 

“Of course I did,” he huffed. “And why wouldn’t you want me to notice?” 

“I don’t know,” you truly didn’t. “I guess I didn’t want any hiccups to happen right after we decided to be. . . exclusive.” 

“Honey. . .” he gives you the tiniest smile, eyes full of care. “Don’t worry, people starin’ ain’t gonna get me packin’. Don’t you. . . don’t you know my feelings run deeper than that?” 

Joel's words hang in the air, his gaze searching your eyes for any sign of reassurance. The last thing you ever wanted was to make him feel like he was the source of your worry, the reason for your unease. Yet, here he was, looking like he believed he was to blame for your discomfort.

You lower your gaze to your sandwich, suddenly feeling a weight on your chest that has nothing to do with the bagel. It's not that you doubt his feelings for you, but you've carried the weight of your own insecurities for years, and it's hard to let go of them all at once.

Tears threaten to well up, and you quickly blink them away, not wanting to appear vulnerable in the middle of the coffee shop. You take another bite of your sandwich, chewing mechanically as you try to compose yourself. The flavors of avocado and bacon mix on your tongue, but they seem tasteless compared to the swirl of emotions within you.

Joel's hand finds yours on the table, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. When you finally muster the courage to meet his gaze, you're met with eyes that hold a storm of emotions. Concern, understanding, and a vulnerability that mirrors your own.

"You're not alone in this, you know?" he murmurs. 

You let out a shaky breath. You're not used to showing this side of yourself, not after so many years of self-preservation and guarding your heart and yourself.

"I guess I’m still not used to this yet" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "It’s not your fault at all, it’s just been so long since I’ve been with anyone. . . emotionally. I'm sorry if I made you feel responsible."

He leans across the table, his warm hand cradling your cheek. His touch is gentle, his thumb caressing your skin. "I get it, sweetheart. And you don’t need to apologize. We’re the same in that aspect, I haven’t been with anyone for a long time either. Just. . .  know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We'll figure this out together."

You lean into his hand, you’re feeling lighter already. 

Joel's lips curve into a tender smile, and he leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Besides," he mutters, sitting back. “I don’t run away from what’s mine.” 

Mine. 

One simple word. A noun of all things, is what makes you melt in your seat. It’s sobering. Waking you in a way that no amount of coffee ever could. Mine. He said that. You heard the possessive lilt laced with the word, almost daring you to object. You nearly do if you’re honest, shadows dance in his eyes, draw you in like a bunny rabbit sniffing a tempting trap. You want to take the bate. Sink your teeth into that carrot to see how he’ll react, the things he’ll do to prove just how true his words were. 

Instead, you clench your thighs together and propose something else instead. 

“Let me prove to you that I’m yours then,” you say. Eagerness caused Joel's eyes to widen, his jaw betraying his emotions with a subtle twitch. “In fact, let’s show the world.” 

No matter how vivid your imagination was, no matter how long you prepared and checked the equipment over and over again, nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for Joel walking through your bedroom door.

You had picked out a form-fitting black button-up shirt for him to wear. The fabric hugged his biceps, the seams barely holding on. The shirt stretched over the expanse of his chest, the buttons doing a better job compared to the seams in holding everything together. However, you were certain if he stretched even a little, the shirt would rip with a satisfying pop. 

That isn't all, though. Your eyes move up from the shirt, your gaze tracing the lines of his body until they land on the striking green mask he's wearing.

The mask is a deep shade of forest green, with intricate gold detailing that seems to dance in the light. Swirls and patterns weave across the surface, accentuating the gilded flakes in his eyes. 

His brown eyes peer out from behind the mask, a slight awkwardness to his gaze that seems to lessen with the hunger of your stare. The contrast between the vibrant green and the warmth of his gaze draws you in like a moth to a flame. The mask frames his face perfectly,  showcasing his strong jawline and the facial hair that clings to his skin.

"I feel dumb," he mutters, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. “Isn’t there a way you can just make it so that my face is out of frame?” 

The mask had been his idea, he didn’t want to be recognized—rightfully so— and since he still wanted to stream. . . he bought himself a mask. 

Too bad he doesn’t realize the effect it has on you. Only if he could feel how wet you were for him, that’ll surely put him in a better mood. 

“Not really, we are going to be moving after all,” you answer. His gaze drops. “Joel, you look devastatingly hot right now.” 

His ears perk at that, eyes lifting to meet yours instantly. “Really?” 

"Come here," you manage to murmur, your voice laced with a mix of playfulness and longing. He obeys without hesitation, closing the distance between you in a matter of heartbeats. His hand reaches out, fingers curling beneath your chin as he tilts your head up. His eyes, those deep pools of honey, lock onto yours with an intensity that steals your breath away.

"Tell me," he whispers, his thumb brushing lightly over your lower lip. "What's on your mind?"

You swallow, your words catching in your throat for a moment before you manage to answer, your voice barely more than a breath. "You... the mask... everything. I can’t wait to feel you deep inside. Can’t wait for you to ruin me for everyone to see."

His lips curve into a smile, and he leans in, his breath mingling with yours as he murmurs against your lips, "Oh, don’t worry. I don’t plan on leavin’ an inch of you not clingin’ with my come, darlin’.” 

Oh, fuck. 

Fuck fuck fuck. 

Your lips part with a soft gasp and he slips his thumb into your mouth. Your tongue eagerly laps at his thumb, drawing circles, begging for him to press deeper. Heat radiates off of him, suffocating you in the best way possible. Your eyes drop to his crotch, the outline of his cock visible despite the dark blue denim.

Joel grins and shifts his hips closer, teasing you with a promise of more. You close your lips around his thumb and swallow. You’re in a trance. Body and soul bewitched by his presence. Your breasts feel full and heavy, nipples tingling. 

“Go and start the stream, honey.” 

Tingles. All you feel are tingles as you get up and desperately head toward your setup. Your legs are shaking. His eyes burning holes into your bare back. A second later his palm is on your ass, stroking the plump flesh and teasing the elastic of your panties. You sigh, the fabric sticking to your folds. 

With practiced efficiency, you start up the stream, the familiar hum of your equipment filling the room. Almost immediately, comments begin flooding in, your "hive" eagerly joining the live broadcast. The chat scrolls rapidly, filled with excited greetings and bee-themed emojis, a testament to the unique community you've cultivated.

"Hey there, my busy bees!" you greet, your voice filled with enthusiasm. "I hope you're all buzzing with excitement, because tonight we've got a special guest joining us."

You let a mischievous smile tug at the corner of your lips as your eyes flicker to the monitor. There he is, Joel, standing just behind you, his presence towering and captivating even though his head isn't visible on screen. The comments explode with excitement, the chat inundated with messages about how good he looks, how lucky you are, and playful exclamations about your "hunk of a guest” and how they can’t wait for him to “pump you full of his come”. A bit crass, but you can’t say you disagree. 

You continue, "But first, let's give a warm welcome to our newbies! Welcome to the hive, where we celebrate all things sweet and sticky." you wink at the camera and bend slightly over, wiggling your ass. Joel doesn’t waste any time moving directly behind you, hands on your waist as he pushes forward, making you feel the heft of his cock between your cheeks. A small moan escapes you, breasts swaying with his shallow grinds. 

“And now, without further ado,” you say breathless. “Let’s start the show. Our guest is an impatient one,” you hear Joel scoff behind you, the voice making your pussy bottom out. “Am I wrong, sir?” 

His nails bite into your flesh, showing you just how much he enjoys being called that. You smile as you stand up, giving one last look to the monitor to check everything is in place, you face Joel. You lean closer for a kiss, hoping that it’ll soothe his nerves. He must be nervous. 

But before you can close the distance, he grabs your chin and pushes you back, just proving how wrong you are. Your eyes widen, the pressure he applies to hallow your cheeks emptying the oxygen in your lungs. “Not so fast,” he grunts. “On your knees, honey. Only good girls get kisses.” 

Your insides pulse with a vicious throb. His voice takes on a tone you've never quite heard before. It's deep, a resonant rumble that seems to vibrate through the very core of your being. His voice, deep and resonant, like thunder during a storm and wraps around you like a velvet cloak, warming you. As you slowly sink to your knees, your pulse quickens in response. 

A desperate, hushed rustling fills the room as a zipper is lowered and briefly, you steal a quick glance at the streaming setup, ensuring that everything continues to run smoothly. Joel’s head is still out of view, which you regret because you want everyone to see how good he looks in his mask—

His touch is a sudden and deliberate pull, “Eyes on me,” he growls, the bulbous head of his cock pressing against your lips. His fingers are wrapped around his impressive length, and instead of notching the head between your lips, he smacks your parted lips with it. A drop of precome stains your bottom lip, a string of it following the tip as he holds it above your face. Your eyes are glued to the masked figure above you. Despite the tone and the roughness, they’re just pools of soft honey, internally searching your face for any discomfort. 

Joel begins to stroke himself and with a heavy gaze, you part your lips wider and stick your tongue out for him to use you however he pleases. 

His dark chuckle makes your skin prickle with need. You come closer, dragging your tongue between his balls, nuzzling him sweetly. Joel curses above you and grips your shoulder, holding you back. 

“Sir, please,” you gasp, attempting to get close but his hand keeps you at a small distance. 

He doesn’t acknowledge your pleas, “Push those pretty tits together, sweetheart.” 

Desperate and dripping, you press them together with your arms. His cock comes from under, the head piercing your tits as it pushes from between them. Joel hooks his thumb in your mouth and you obediently suck around the digit as he begins to thrust. Neither of you breaks eye contact. 

Joel pushes himself further into you, driving his hips forward. His cock slides between your tits, filling your already open mouth with vigor as he rocks in and out of your ample cleavage. You moan around his thumb, the warmth of his precum dripping over your tongue. 

Your body rocks with each stroke, the pleasure radiating through your chest with each thrust. Your nipples throb with arousal, hard like diamonds, as he slams his rigid cock into your tits. Sweat beads on his forehead and he grits his teeth, “Keep them together,” he grunts as he pulls out, with the head, he smears drops of himself over your heated skin. 

Your eyes roll back at how possessive it is, the fact that everyone is watching already forgotten. “Good,” he says, pleased. He pulls away his thumb and drags it over your bottom lip. “You’re already so dumb for my cock, aren’t you. Eager to show your viewers how badly you want to be good for me hmm?” 

God, the tremors in his voice, that southern drawl. He’s going to be the death of you. 

“Y-Yeah,” you pant, chest heaving. Ignoring the ache it causes in the back of your neck, you lean forward and manage to taste him on your skin. You moan as your eyes flutter closed, your own breath warm against you. “Want to be your good girl again, sir.” 

He pulls away from you completely, heading towards the bed. You stare at him blearily as he takes a seat, only coming to your senses when he hits his thigh, gesturing you to come over.  

Just as you’re about to sit, he stops you, clicking his tongue while lifting a hand. “First strip, darlin’. Turn to the camera,” you don’t miss the way he smiles as you turn on shaky legs, staring directly into the lens. “Have you already forgotten how to stream? My poor sweet dumb girl.” 

His words send you into a haze of submission. Needles stinging your back, you peel off your panties and bra, dropping them to the floor. “Good,” he hums. “Now sit on my lap, spread those legs so they can see how wet you got just from gettin’ her tits fucked.” 

Joel scoots further back and gives you space on the bed to place your feet. With heavy lids, you spread yourself for him—and the people who’re watching at home. Your front facing the camera. To expose yourself in such a way, it’s different compared to what you normally do. You have fun with Dieter but it’s never like this, never as intense. A shaky breath escapes you when Joel places a hand on the inside of your thigh, pushing your legs further apart. He’s staring at you through the monitor, jaw slack. Meanwhile, you’re just happy people can see his mask, those brown eyes. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he mutters, his role forgotten. “Look at you. Fuck,” his lips touch your ear, whispering the rest of the words so it’s only you that can hear. “You never stopped bein’ my good girl. Just sayin’.” 

Your vision blurs with tears and you nod, his lips now on your cheek. He drags his mouth to your forehead and lays another kiss. “Now let’s give them a show.” 

Joel cups your ass as he helps you lift yourself, aligning himself against your sopping core, he slowly lowers you, filling you inch by inch. Your head falls back, mouth agape, you’ve forgotten how big he is, how satisfying it is to take him so slowly. His breath is hot on your nape. “That’s it,” he purrs. “Just like that, show them how good you take cock, honey.” 

 “‘S big,” you slur. “S–So big, sir.” 

He shushes you, lips moving over your cheek. “I know, honey I know,” he licks the salt off your skin. “But you’re my good girl, aren’t you? You can take it.” 

Joel rears up, slowly pushing himself into you. His hands guide your hips to the right angle to let him slide deeper, your soft cries echoing through the air. 

“I am,” you gasp, delirious, his cock completely sheathed inside. “I am. I–I’m your good girl.” 

You twist around, straddling Joel as he takes both your hands and draws you close. His lips crash against yours, and you moan into his mouth as you grind your hips against him. Heaven help you, how can you take him like this with an audience? Images of all the people watching on your live stream dance in your mind, but it makes it all the hotter.

Your body rocks up and down as you ride him, your inner walls clenching around him. You’re panting and moaning, your body shaking as you pump harder.  You feel Joel shift beneath you, his grip tightening as you take him even deeper, arching your back and pushing your breasts out. You can feel his eyes on you, as well as the eyes of the viewers watching you live stream. His cock glistens with your slick, every time you lift yourself, the light catches against it, everyone watching seeing how worked up Joel gets you. 

You can feel Joel's warmth radiating throughout your body as he slides back and forth, gaining momentum as he thrusts harder. You stifle a moan, your eyes fluttering as pleasure overcomes you, your head humming with pleasure. Your body starts to slow, your muscles aching and trembling. 

Suddenly Joel grips your waist, fingertips leaving dents in your flesh. He growls in your ear, drops of spit hitting your neck. “Who told you to slow down?” he pulls your body against him, forcing himself deeper into you. Every inch of you is shaking as Joel's hips slam against yours. His fingers find your clit, drawing gentle, quick circles around the sensitive nub. You cry out, clenching around him. “Look into the camera,” he groans. “Want them to see your fucked out gaze when I make you squirt.” 

Your hands find purchase above his knees, the coil in your stomach tight, it’s too much. Too fucking much. Your head is swimming in a lavender haze, and before you know it, your cunt is pulsing around him, gushing and slowing his thrusts. You hear the faint pitter patters of a rain-like sound. 

You barely register the liquid spraying from you, your body hot and burning while Joel’s fingers continue to move. Your drip down his length and down the inside of his thighs, and he rips another, albeit calmer, orgasm from you.  

“Shiiiiiit,” he drawls. “Shit shit, honey, fuck, don’t move—” he makes a choked-out sound and spears you down flush on his cock. The sounds you make are completely debauched. A series of sir’s dropping from your lips, tongue aching to moan his name. You feel him spilling inside, so much, you think, so much of it filling you up. He’s still throbbing when he pulls out, gripping himself and ringing the last of it over your glistening cunt, drowning it in come. 

“Oh fuck,” you murmur as he pushes it back in with the head of his length, you shudder around him. “So full,” you say, eyes dropping where you two connect through the reflection in the monitor. 

“Not done,” he mutters and helps you lift yourself over him, cock slowly softening. “Push it out darlin’. Show them how much there is to keep you satisfied.” 

“F-Fuck,” you let out a whimper, eyelids fluttering as his seed trickles out of you and drips over his length. You feel faint of heart, this probably being one of the filthiest things you’ve done on camera. 

“Good girl,” he says, eyes glued to the camera. “My good girl,” he repeats, cupping your mound and slipping one finger inside with ease. 

Joel gently lays you down on the bed, your body too weak to do anything. He walks up to the stream set up, his eyes flashing toward the camera one last time. “See y’all next time.” he taunts before shutting the entire thing off. 

He throws the mask to the ground near your discarded clothes. 

You don’t know what to think when he climbs onto the bed, mattress dipping with his weight before he pulls you to his chest. He kisses you slowly, taking his time as he tastes you. “Sorry,” he whispers into your mouth. “I think I might’ve gone overboard.” 

“No,” you sigh dreamily, still in a haze. “That was perfect. I—I don’t think I can walk for a while.” 

You let out a low chuckle and he smiles, pressing his lips into your forehead. 

“Well, good thing I’m here then.”  

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

#somehow. it is not yet nettover

It is not! Yes, surprisingly Rhaena did not actually claim Sheepstealer this season, so there's still hope she won't, and maybe Nettles can come in, etc.

However... there may be another way.

We think the wild sheep-eating dragon Rhaena found must be Sheepstealer because. well. who else would it be? and there were rumors/leaks, etc etc. But, interestingly, this dragon has a weird patchy brown pattern. Some think it may have a form of dragon mange or maybe vitiligo.

But what if it's just mud? It looks like mud to me. And underneath is pink. Yes, pink. What if that mud can wash off? What if that dragon is not actually Sheepstealer?? What if it's Morning?!

Yes. It's morning in Westeros. 🙏🌄🩷

here’s how nettles can still win

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: ...

Yandere Malleus: *smiling*

MC: Your smile is creepy.

Yandere Malleus: However, you don't look scared at all.

MC: I just happen to be in the month of exhaustion when I wouldn't really care even if you tied my hands like this.

MC: Though why? I still could walk around. This doesn't make sense.

Yandere Malleus: *laughs*

Yandere Malleus: I'm confident that you can never escape this place.

MC: ...

MC: Okay. Point taken.

MC: ...

MC: At least feed me while I'm here.

Yandere Malleus: Sure. ♡

Grim: My henchhuman... Where are they? *sniffles*

Malleus: Child of man...

Vil: Great. Everyone's depressed.

Leona: Hey, lizard. Stop this storm, will you?

Malleus: No.

*Storm intensifies*

Vil: Great job. Thank you for pissing him off.

Crowley: *appears* I've got news!

Lilia: *shows up as well* Ortho found where MC is!

Crowley: Er, Vanrouge? I should be the one telling the news-

Malleus: It's not the time for that! Where is the child of man, Lilia?!

Yandere Malleus: *cuddling MC*

MC: ...

MC: No offense. But you feel ominous.

Yandere Malleus: How so?

MC: ...

MC: You were building a cage.

MC: On top of a tree.

Yandere Malleus: Yes. That's where I'll put you.

MC: Dude, what the heck? I'm not even doing anything?

Yandere Malleus: *chuckles*

MC: ...

MC: I'll just do a free fall then.

Yandere Malleus: There'll be a net below.

MC: Dammit.

Malleus and the other housewardens: ...

Ortho: I found this mirror-like portal.

Ortho: Unfortunately, none of us could enter.

Leona: ...

Leona: Is that the herbivore... with the lizard?

Malleus: ...

Malleus: But they are not with me.

Vil: Obviously, it's a different person.

[katyawriteswhump]

mommy's girl

For @stevieweek day 4 (sorry I’m late!) Special Outfit and extra prompts, Scoops/uniform, lingerie & @steddiemicrofic July prompt, ‘one’.  Rating: M WC 1,111 words. CW: None.

Tags: trans-fem Stevie Harrington, steddie, no upside down au, angst and feels, platonic stobin, steve has an awesome mom and not-so-awesome dad (also, faintly based on some RL experiences belonging to my other half... used with permission and love ;)) All my ST fic on AO3

Summary: Stevie makes a new beginning, and it’s all super-overwhelming…

…

Stevie was fumbling in her purse for her car-keys. Her mom hurried from the porch with yesterday’s mascara bleeding from her eyes and her hair tumbling from its pins:

“Stevie! You forgot your name-badge.”

“Gotta love company policy,” griped Stevie. At least the dumb thing now said ‘Stevie.’ Her mom pinned it on her Scoops uniform above her padded bra—part of a slinky set Eddie gifted her last time he came home from tour. Eddie was next due back today, which was something to look forward to after the previous night’s trauma.

“You gonna be okay, mom?” asked Stevie. “If you need me, I’ll call in sick.”

“No. This is day one of the rest of our lives. Your father’s finally gone for good. I need to start untangling our affairs.”

“And I finally get to go to work in a miniskirt.” Stevie glanced at her thigh-kissing skirt. She loved it, but… Shit, too much was happening.

His mom had booted her father out for a billion reasons. However, his constant gaslighting of Stevie being Stevie—and her dating ‘that lowlife Munson punk’—had sparked last night’s apocalyptic standoff. “Look, I’m sorry it was me that—”

“Don’t you dare apologise.” Her mom placed her hands on Stevie’s shoulders. “I’m so proud of you, darling. You got a job you enjoy, a boyfriend who adores you, and you always look a billion dollars.”

“In this shitty uniform?”

“Even in that.”

“Still not wearing the lousy hat.”

Breaking the news about her father to Robin meant Scoops opened half an hour late. Then, when Stevie leaned down to pull up the shutter, Robin yelled: “Screw you, Shit-bird, that skirt looks too good, and your ass looks too pretty, and I despise you.”

“You wear a skirt then. You could start a douchey scoreboard for who gets more creepy stares.”

“You know I hate skirts.”

“Quit whining then.”

Bantering with Robin couldn’t distract Stevie from her tiredness and nerves. When her mind started screaming, she focussed on the cling of her skirt, the glide of the silk panties beneath. Eddie would be here soon. Eddie would go crazy for her…

Robin took the phone message. Eddie’s flight was cancelled. He wouldn’t be home till tomorrow.

Dammit, Stevie needed him now.

She was wiping down a table, when she heard a snicker. A devastating mean-girl stare slammed into her.

Right at crotch level.

Stevie glanced down. 

Oh. Shit.

Robin found her at the back of the store, slumped forward on the table, face pillowed in her arms. “Stevie? You okay?”

“No.” Stevie jumped up and pointed to the middle-front of her skirt. At the bulge. “Look.”

“Huh?”

 “You see? It’s Mr… Miss Pokey.” 

Robin shrugged. “Only if you squint.”

Stevie swiped her lank-feeling hair from her face. Her hands trembled. “I’ve not even gotten an erection or anything. Everyone’s staring.”

“They’re not.”

“They are! I loved these panties, but the silk triangle at the front bunches everything forward and…” Suddenly, it was all super-overwhelming. What the heck was she… HE… doing? He’d wrecked his parents’ marriage. Eddie was probably lying about the flight to avoid him. “Jesus, I look horrible. I’ll put the shorts back on.”

“Don’t you dare.” Robin shoved a banana across the table. “Eat that. You’re cranky when you’re hungry.”

“It doesn’t solve—”

“No, it doesn’t. I have an idea what will.”

…

“It’s too weird not having to shit myself about your Pa taking pot-shots at me,” said Eddie, when Stevie led him into her bedroom. It was stacked with boxes—her mom had already got the decorators in. “Got you a lil’ something, Babe.”

Eddie presented a crepe-paper parcel. Stevie smiled tightly and sat on the bed to unwrap. It was gonna be more underwear, but her confidence was so shattered that…

She held up the swathe of peachy cotton and white lace. “You got me granny pants?”

Eddie beamed and Stevie couldn’t help giggling.

“Jesus, did Robin call you? Or my mom?”

She stripped off and pulled them on, loving how Eddie lapped her up with his thirsty gaze. Stevie couldn’t keep her own eyes from the mirror. The panties pressed her in slightly in the front, perfect for a mini-skirt or figure-hugging dress. Eddie swept her hair from where it dusted her shoulders and hooked her matching bra. He trailed kisses down the sweep of her neck, each sending a delicious shimmer down her spine, then twirled her around.

“I love them, Eddie.”

“Me too, honey. You look amazing. I could’ve got ones that pad at the hips but with your teeny waist…” He traced it lightly. She shivered with pleasure. “Nah, don’t need it.”

“Can’t believe I’m feeling hot in big panties.” She leaned back into his embrace, dizzied by the weird relief of the moment. It was no way as epic as her father having finally gone, but… 

“Shall I order a dozen, Stevie?”

“Hell, yeah.”

They both tumbled sideways onto her bed. “Cool, Babe. Let’s get you outta them.”

They took it slow, kissing till he was wearing her lipstick. Then he set her squirming, her fists clenching his hair, as he nibbled around the cute lace at the trim of her panties, before slipping his fingertips teasingly beneath. Slowly, he peeled her free. Stevie hadn’t waxed today, but that was fine, because hairy was what she was sometimes, and Eddie, as he whispered again and again, worshipped her every way she was.

They made love, fixing deep in each other’s eyes. Stevie’s panties looped her thigh like a slinky garter.

…

It was a week later when Stevie, for the first time since her father left, found her mom crying. She was hanging out the washing on the line.

“Mom, what is it?”  She hurried over, and yes, her mom’s eyes were teary. And she was laughing. “Mom?”

Her mom reached up and brushed knuckles down Stevie’s cheek. “Don’t worry about me, darling. I’m happy.” She nodded at Stevie’s new panties. “They remind me of my gym kit. You know, the good old cheerleading days. Never marry a Jock, darling.”

“Wasn’t on planning on it.”

“Eddie really is the one, isn’t he?”

Stevie’s heart panged with happiness and sadness at once. “Still time for you to find your one and only, mom.”

They pegged the rest of the washing up together: “Gotta ask, mom—did you want a daughter?”

“I only ever wanted you, Stevie,” she said, then, slightly crossly: “But if your long-haired lover’s late for family dinner again, I’ll kick his ass back on tour.”

“Mom!” Stevie pitched a sock, which her mom neatly caught. “Don’t be mean.”

They were both laughing. Life felt pretty good.

[deus-ex-mona]

chapter 6 is now on episode 9 of the [redacted] anime… the hallway fight scene is close

[hazymoonlinh]

Open your heart and I shall open mine.

(After all, you’re only human.)

Aventurine

Ah.

You’re tired.

It’s that feeling again.

It’s eating you alive. You feel empty.

The air conditioner is at 16 degrees, you’re wearing nothing but a thin T-shirt and underwear.

You open your heavy eyelashes and blinks.

You haven’t eaten anything today, in fact, you don’t wanna eat anything at all. Your phone is out of battery, yet you don’t wanna charge it.

You inhaled. It’s cold. Very cold indeed. Your fingers and your feet feel numb. They’re blushing red and starting to hurt.

Oh but that’s what you wanted. You love the pain, it keeps your sanity at bay. On someday, you can’t help but feel like trash. It makes you wanna cry but no tears ever came out.

You’re lying on your bed, but nothing was draped over you. You can’t move, feeling like some invisible chains pin you down.

Oh how you hate yourself in this state so much, you can’t do anything at all but gnawing the pain in your heart, let the physical pain reminds you of being alive.

You feel sleepy again, and you close your eyes again.

Aventurine has been worried sick. You haven’t answered his texts or calls for the past for the last few days. Why? You always answer so quickly when he press the sent button yet now it’s like a thousands text and nothing back. It’s like you just disappeared.

And he hates that. What if you got hurt ? What if you need his help ? He called your boss and knows that you haven’t been to work for at least 3 days now. What on Earth have happened to you?

This has never happened before, he miss you, he miss your warmth and he’s scared, scared that he might forgot how you look like or sounds like. It’s driving him crazy.

Aventurine throws the phone to the seat beside him, going on max speed to your house. He’s getting anxious, scratching his head and grunts angrily.

“Dammit…”

He slammed the door open, it’s pitched black inside, the usual homey atmosphere is nowhere to be found. Instead, the thing that responds him is a scary silent void. He rushes to your bedroom, open the door and chills immediately running up his spine.

“What the heck…?”

He saw you on the bed, lying there like you’re sleeping. If it’s not for the freezing temperature, he would sigh in relief knowing that you’re ok. He runs to you and shocked by how pale you are, your fingers nails turned purple and you’re so cold to the touch.

He held his breath, bringing a finger up to check your breathing. After confirmed you are breathing, he let out a sigh.

“Sweetheart, wake up. Please, wake up.”

He’s shaking you gently, then drapes the blanket over you after you open your eyes then swiftly turns off the air conditioner. You thought you’re dreaming until you feel his warm hand cup your cheek.

“Sweetheart…”

He pulls you close to him, arms holding you tightly as if he’s afraid. After feeling like eternity, long enough for you to aware what is going on, he finally whisper.

“Do you know how scared I am ? You’re driving me crazy…. I thought…. I thought something bad happened…”

His voice is shaking, and when you pull out and look at him, tears forming in his eyes, threatening to fall.

He looks like an abandoned puppy.

“You didn’t answer my text, phone calls for days…I missed you…”

You feel bad, but you can’t help yourself, you can’t be positive all the time for someone. You aren’t all mighty and powerful, so you drink and torture yourself.

You hesitated, but bring a finger up and wipe his tears. He close his eyes and leans to your touch even though it’s cold, neither of you muttered a word but it’s strangely comfortable.

How odd, you think. For two broken souls trying to heal each others but none knows what they’re doing. You try to say something, but nothing came out. Now you noticed, you feel thirsty.

As if he sensed that, Aventurine gets off the bed, wiping off his face and said :

“Stay still, I’ll bring you something warm to drink.”

And he’s gone to the kitchen. You look at your fingers, it’s still wet from his tears and your heart clenches, you hate seeing others got affected by your emotions, and you hate seeing him cry.

Oh gosh how much you despise yourself right now. Why do things happened this way ? You just want yourself to suffer alone, not him too…

So worthless… If only…if only…

You feel something touch your forehead. You snapped from your thoughts to find his hand, trying to measure your temperature, his other hand holding a cup of steaming hot tea.

“No high temperature, it appears. Here, drink up.”

He offered you the cup and you hold it with both hands. It has a nice fragrance, sweet, and warm. Then, he sits next to you, head lean onto your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” He says.

“Why..?” You speak barely like a whisper.

“For letting you feel like this. I know it’s hard, I’ve been through it, a lot of times actually.”

“Hmm.”

“And thank you for being there for me in those time too, my heart. And now, this is the least I can do for you.”

“You’re bad at comforting people.”

“I know, I think you know that better than anyone.”

“Yes, I do. Kakavasha.”

“…”

“I love you, you know.” He said again.

“Hmm…”

Maybe it was you were too thirsty and the tea taste so good, maybe because his comfort words sounds just enough as you want it to be, or maybe your emotions finally got up to you, tears streaming down your cheeks like waterfall, dampened the blanket, blurred your vision. Your shoulder slumped and your whole body shaking. Everything feels so overwhelming, and you didn’t even noticed he took the cup from your hand and placed it on the side, hugging you close and rubbing your back.

“I’m sorry…I don’t know what to do now…I’m just…too exhausted…”

You clung to him for dear life, and you cry in his chest, crying until there was no more tears to cry, until you fall back asleep because you’re too tired.

Aventurine lie you down to the bed, let you close to him while never letting go of you. He whispered:

“Good night, my love. I’ll be here with you.”

He will listen to you when you wake up and ready. Even if you’re not, he’s willing to wait.

[shelbgrey]

Gabriel Being your guardian angel and falling in love with you

Paring: Gabriel x Singer!Reader

Summary: the only thing gabe has ever tooken seriously is keeping you safe, but what he didn't expect is falling in love with you. -SMUT warning

🧡MasterList 🧡ML2 🧡Dating Moodboard

When he found out he didn't really care. Michael and Lucifer were desened to inhabit the Winchesters bodies and he got the boring job of being Bobby Singer's Nieces.

But it's the first and almost only thing he has ever taken seriously. He was the trickster after all and it was mostly deadly jokes to him, but when he saw you he immediately took the role of guardian angel seriously.

You didn't have an encounter intill years. You were an adult and a hunter. Your first case involving him, he was just known as the trickster. He left you untouched but screwed with Sam and Dean.

That pattern continued when with the mystery spot Fiasco. Gabe knew how much you cared for Dean so he didn't put you in the time loop with Sam.

He didn't bring Dean back till you asked.

During his TV land joke he purposely put you and the boys in shows you liked. Like Dr. Sex MD was based off Greys anatomy(a show you liked).

“it's him! It's Dr. Sexy” Dean said excided.

“McDreamy trumps Dr. Sexy” you said, rolling your eyes.

After you got out of TV land, you confronted him while he was in the holy fire.

“I'm always left untoched during your practical jokes, why is that?”

he just chuckled, crossing his arms. 'Dammit.' He thought, he couldnt get a rise out of you. It was time to see his more sincere side. “What? You dont think the big bad "Trickster" has a soft spot?”

His sarcasm to drop. He wanted you to know the real reason but was he supposed to be like "oh. I'm your angel. I dont like putting you in harms way when I can control it?"

“I don't know... Do you have a soft spot?”

For some reason you felt some kinda connection. You never looked into his eyes until this point, there was this feeling of safety you felt. Heck, looking back you never felt threatened by him. He was good at being your guardian angel.

“Not usually. But for you? Maybe a little” He just grinned and winked. He did have a soft spot for you and he felt a sense of overprotectiveness over you. he has to deal with you being in constant danger and being a hunter doesnt help.

“Why?” you looked down at the holy fire he was trapped on. “you ain't going anywhere any time soon... Might as well awnser”

“I'm your guardian angel, baby” he smirked, his his eye brows bouncing up and down like it was some big spectacle he just revealed.

“wow... I thought guardian angels was just bullshit”

He nodded, his normal goofy and sarcastic tone dropping to more sincere and gentle. He also hated that you picked up on the sarcasm quickly. “Yep. Most are. They are assigned randomly. But well, I was your guardian the second you were born... Now let me out- I dont like being in a holy fire” He teased, a smile creeping back on his face.

You chuckled sarcastically. “you think I'm just gonna let you out just like that? You're still the trickster”

“Pretty please?” He smirked and gave you an innocent look with wide puppy dog eyes. He knew he was playing dirty but hey, it's the only way he was getting out.

“Pretty please? Seriously?”

“Pretty. Please” He said the words slow and with exaggerated hand motions. He was pushing his luck now.

“If I do, you have to lay low for a while... No more tricks”

“For how long?” He groaned at the idea. He has been playing tricks on people for centuries. So he wasnt very keen to stop. But it was you. That's the only reason he would do it. Not that hes even admitted that to himself yet.

“Until I say so”

He groaned. “Fine. Fine”

You paid mercy on him and convinced the brothers to let him go. You also didn't speak to sam or Dean about him being your guardian angel.

After that he wouldn't leave you alone. It annoyed the hell out of the boys but you brushed it off.

“Gooooodd Morning miss. Y/n Singer. It's a beautiful day in Lawrence Kansas. The weather is gonna be sunny and dry. But better get ready because the forecast predicts a pesky Windego on the loose. I'm your host Gabriel the Trickster”

You groaned, rolling over on your stomach and hiding your head under your pillow to drown out the noises. This happened for weeks, he'd use his tricks to tap into your alarm and annoy you. Every morning.

“And now for music time! Because everyone loves moooousic!!” He spoke the last word, the music switched to Rick Astleys 'never gonna give you up'. Just another stupid prank to piss you off, because he was in denial about his growing feelings.

Guardian angels aren't supposed to fall in love with their person. It was just the rules.

Then again when did gabe ever follow the rules.

After yours and Dean's failed atempt at a relationship gabe flew in. It started off casual. You slept together once or twice but Never confermed anything.

Not wanting that in a relationship you told him how you felt. “everyday I'd wake up to your stupid music and your stupid voice. I feel in love deeper and deeper with you”

You kept it on the down low afraid of how the boys would react.

The boys didn't find out about you guys dating or the fact he was still alive until the boys walked in you guys fucking in the library in the bunker. They had gone on a hunt and you thought it was gonna be days before they came back, oh boy were you wrong. Gabe has no shame, he was balls deep inside you and had you seeing stars when the brothers walked back into the bunker because they forgot something.

“How long have you been alive!?” Sam asks, exasperated.

“How long have you been banging y/n?” Dean grumbles, with jealousy in his eyes.

The first time you watched him died hurt worse than any wound you got on the job. He lied there lifeless after saving you from Lucifer. The boys didn't know how to comfort you. It felt like part of you was missing.

He stayed 'dead' to keep you safe.

Then you found out Asmodeus had captured and torchored him, you were beyond furious. Gabe was beyond scared when he was in the bunker but he trusted you. It was your turn to protect him.

You were the one to convince him to take his grace and heal himself. “I need you gabe, I can't lose you again”

He took his grace then looked at you. “I love you...” that was the first time he ever said that.

He didn't leave your side after that and even helped you look after Jack who you took under your wing. He took the role of an uncle oddly seriously.

Then came your time in purgatory. You were determined to get jack back and Gabe wasn't gonna let you go alone. He loved you and by the laws of heaven he had no choice.

He never left your side during your time in purgatory. It angered Dean and Sam but Gabe could care less, you were his girl.

During that time Lucifer teased the both of you. It infuriated Gabe and he did his best to keep distance between the both of you. “lay one hand on her it'll be the last thing you ever do”

During the cold nights you lied awake next to gabe wrapped in his leather jacket.

When it was time for you to leave gabe didn't make it back. And he was gone for real this time. It took all Sam's power to pull you back as you screamed and cried his name. “Gabriel!”

While everyone celebrated their return home you stayed in your room in the bunker crying in his leather jacket he left with you.

The pockets of the jacket were filled with candy wrappers. you never took them out.

After he died your post hunt injuries hurt worse and they were more often. That proved gabe did his job well.

Dean nor Sam didn't know how to help you. He comforted you when you cried but Castile was the only one that willingly talked to you about it.

“he really did love you... In fact him being your guardian angel was the only thing he ever took seriously.”

NSFW headcanons:

He loves missionary, keeping eye contact while he fucks you. He loves how you dig your nails into his back and wrap your legs around his waist to bring him impossibly closer.

If he's had a rough day, he either needs one of two things. A rough fuck or he needs to curl up beside you and rest his head on your chest while you play with his hair.

He's not very vocal during sex. He mostly moan or grunt, but he's never not praising you. If your giving him head or ridding him he's a complete moaning mess though.

He's a boob guy. He'll bury his face into your boobs as he pounds into you. He loves it when you start moaning and tugging at his hair, He honestly can’t get enough.

Cock warming and usually he's a little shit about, conveniently gets in the mood for it during move night with the Winchesters and Cas. Usually it's dark and you're both under a blanket together in the back in the Dean cave. “Gotta be still for me. Can you do that?” He murmured, making your pajama bottoms disappear with a quiet snap of his fingers. You'll have to bite your lip to keep quiet as he helps you sink down on his cock while he litters your neck with kisses.

It'll be hard to keep your mind off the feeling of his hard cock inside you and not the movie you were supposed to be watching. Don't even try to roll your hips, Gabriel will stop it immediately by giving your hips a warning squeeze. “the movie is almost over, just a little longer Sugar”

He always wraps your legs around his waist so he can go faster and harder,hitting your g-spot every thrust, keeping control of every movement.

He loves the feeling of you wrapped around his cock. It's like a vice, and loud moans escaping your lips is just icying on the cake.

He has a huge wing kink, the feeling of your fingers running through his feather or gripping them is a feeling he'll never get tired of. Sometimes he'll thrust into harder because he knows you first thing you'll grab to ground yourself is his wings.

 The way your small hands grip his feathers hard, especially at the base of his back will have him losimg all common sense.

He'll lift himself up on his knees with you still wrapped around him and pound into you. This new position helps him sink deeper as he jerks your hips down as his spring forward.

When his tongue enters your mouth, you didn’t even try to fight for dominance, you never have a problem with him taking the lead.

He'll lap at your clit with so much hunger, circling his tounge over your swollen bud until you're a moaning mess. When he thinks he's teased you enough he'll take it into his mouth, eating you out like a starving man until you're cumming hard on his tongue.

Gabe doesn't let you off easily either, He'll have his arm over your pelvic bone keeping you on the bed bed and overstimulating with his tongue till you're begging. “G-gabe...t-too much, P-please”

“I’m sorry, sugar. You’re too damn sweet” he sat up, his face slick from your release.

[impishjesters]

Time out for Jax

warning(s): Jax, temper/anger issues, inappropriate reaction, unhealthy coping methods, suggestive/implied sexual content, cursing note(s): I'm at a loss for the correct words I wanted to use in the tags, but Jax's anger is a little overkill and the reader admits to him not having great coping methods when he's really pissed off and at a breaking point. I'm in no way saying that type of coping/behaviour is acceptable, just that it exists. I also want to state that the sexual implications at the end are completely consensual! A/N: I don't know why this popped into my head but the idea of Caine putting Jax in time out only for it to not really be effective is absolutely hilarious. Plus I told my mom about it and she agreed it'd be something Caine would do and fail at.

“That’s it!” Caine shouted. He raised a hand and gave a quick snap, summoning thick iron bars from the ground that formed a small jail cell around Jax. “You sir, are in time out!”

You and a few others let out a surprised gasp. Caine had never gone so far as to actually do something to punish Jax for his behaviour, if you could even really call it a punishment.

Even Jax seemed surprised if you could get past the obvious miffed expression coupled with a few censored curses being thrown at the AI. Caine did nothing in response to the words except fix his clothes that had seemingly gone astray amidst his anger.

If you could call it that.

Caine turned to the rest of you and rushed through a more dramatic rendition of what was basically I Spy meets hide and seek, the activity he initially had started explaining before Jax’s little stunt. As soon as he finished explaining he let out a huff and disappeared with a poof of smoke.

“God dammit Jax!”

“Holy shit, I’ve never seen Caine so upset.”

“Oh, that’s worrying…”

“He didn’t give us a list of what we’re looking for…”

“Oh, maybe this thing?”

Everyone spoke over one another the moment he left, except for Jax who was still irked at being put in time out like a child of all things. “Oh c’mon this is bullshit, he’s the one who wants to keep us entertained.”

“You tried to pants him, baby.” You approached the bars with arms crossed, staring up at your idiot of a boyfriend. “I don’t even think you can pants him.”

He scoffed and copied your stance, crossing his arms. “It’s his fault we’re stuck here, he wants to entertain us then that would’ve been fucking hilariously entertaining.”

Of course, Jax didn’t feel guilt for literally taunting the entity that was likely your captor. He barely found himself feeling guilty when you did something stupid enough to make him laugh. Entertainment was entertainment, no discrimination there.

“How long do you think Caine will keep you in there?” Gangle asked, slowly approaching the two of you.

“Knowing that bastard? Who knows.” he shrugged.

“Hold on a second..” You took a step back and let your eyes roam the little makeshift prison before letting out a laugh. The whole thing was as tall as Jax and had at least enough room for him to stretch, but that wasn’t what made it so hilarious.

“What? What’s so funny?” Jax sneered, this whole thing wasn’t funny in the slightest. Weren’t you supposed to be on his side, as his partner? He was fucking stuck in this thing until you guys either finished this dumb little activity or got his attention to let him out.

The laughter caught the attention of the rest, causing them to slowly inch closer. “What’re they laughing at?” Ragatha asked.

“Heck if I know.” Jax threw his arms up and stared you down. “You gonna tell the rest of the class angel?”

It took a few moments to compose yourself, but the faint giggle never left you. Rather than answer them out loud you simply walked closer to the cage before slipping yourself between the bars, joining Jax. Caine had been so focused on putting Jax in a cage that he didn’t even take into consideration the spacing between the bars. Sure the bars were thick but they were spaced too far to really matter.

“Baby, you were never trapped.”

You walked back through the bars with little difficulty and Jax’s eye twitched with irritation. “You’ve gotta be shitting me…” He slapped a hand over his face and growled, stepping between the bars and finding himself outside the very useless prison. “I’ll kill him…”

“No, you won’t.” A sigh left you, the giggle dying down completely. At least for you, the others were still varying levels of laughter and giggles accompanied by Kinger’s slightly confusing questioning as to what everyone was laughing about. You could hear someone try to explain it to him but focus your attention on the man before you.

Jax was still agitated and like this, he would be nothing but bad company for the others. You turned to Ragatha and asked if they’d be able to handle the activity for now. She agreed, telling the two of you to return before they finished and got Caine back. Who knew how he’d respond to finding Jax outside of his time out punishment?

The others left and you turned back to Jax before offering an open palm. “How about we go to our room and let the others handle the game? I’ll even help you plan a few pranks.” If only to make sure that none of the others suffered too harshly at Jax’s irritation.

Sometimes his outbursts could get particularly nasty and would often result in some less-than-ideal words or pranks aimed at others. You’ve been on the receiving end a few times and while the first few times hurt, you knew it wasn’t anything to take personally over time.

It wasn’t healthy but it beat letting him keep everything pent up. Plus it had its rewards, Jax would always make it up to you in some way or another when that happened. The worse it was, the better the reward, and boy were those rewards worth it.

“Oh angel I’ve already got a list of pranks planned, but what I want to do is blow off this steam in other ways.” He jabbed a thumb behind himself. “Get walkin’ sweetie.”

Oh, this kind of blowing off steam was your favourite. Double reward in your book.

“Yes sir.”

Jax let out a low growl before following close behind. He’d definitely make it up to you for getting him out of that, his own anger clouded his judgment, and had it not been for you he’d still be stuck there. No, he was going to blow your back out and then reward you with a long, tender round two.