#have to make some posts before I can @ this blog from my other blog

[minijenn]

The Ultimate Universe Falls Starter Guide!

Hey, you! You, reading this post! Have you heard about a fun little Gravity Falls/Steven Universe crossover fanfiction known as Universe Falls? Well now you have! Welcome to the club! This post is meant to introduce you to all things there is to know Universe Falls in one conscise place. Keep in mind that this post assues that you already are fully familiar with the plot and characters of each show individually, and will only really cover fic-specific things.

Now those of you who are already familiar with UF may be wondering, Jen, what is this post? Well, its mostly meant to be an introductory guide to help folks who stumble across my blog and may be interested in checking UF out, but are initially indimidated by it for whatever reason. It'll broadly introduce terms and concepts and characters unique to the fic, as well as connect you with valuable rescources to get the most out of all of the UF content there is to consume. So with that intro out of the way, let's get started!

What the Heck Is a Universe Falls Anyway?

Universe Falls is a silly idea I had back in 2015 (that's right, 10 years ago!) that aimed to combine the plots of Gravity Falls and Steven Universe into one narrative. The basic gist is that instead of settling in Beach City back in the day, the Crystal Gems make their base in Gravity Falls, intruiged by all of the strange creatures that live there. Hence we have Steven and Connie, who already live there, meeting and befriending Dipper and Mabel (who are spending the summer with their Grunkle Stan) to form a group fondly referred to as the Mystery Kids. Throughout the summer, they experience plenty of adventures, perils, life-lessons, and maybe even save the world a few times. You know, normal kid stuff. Mix in all of your favorite GF and SU characters, and you have a unique blend of the stories of both shows, melded together to create something that's both a little familiar and a little new, with plenty of unexpected twists along the way.

Vibe Check Time! What Can I expect?

When it comes to UF, you can expect... pretty much anything tbh. From tooth rotting fluff to the most devestating angst you've ever read, UF kinda covers it all. It has plenty of lighthearted, fun moments towards the beginning, but as we go along, things start to gradually get darker (much like they do in the canon of both shows). I will say, this fic is rated T for a reason, and its tags on Ao3 are fairly accurate. The main ones I should point out are harm to children, blood/violence, and emotional trauma. Generally though, I do try to keep to the vibes of both of the shows UF is based on, so that's mostly what you can expect.

Wait, Didn't You Already Write This Fic?

I did, again ten years ago. I stopped working on it around 4 years ago, largely due to burnout and a variety of other factors. But with the revival of the GF fandom thanks to the Book of Bill, I was struck with the inspiration to pick the fic up again last year! Hence we have what I refer to as "New UF". New UF is a revised version of the OG fic, rewritten from the ground up with a lot of the fat trimmed from it. I'm trying to get to major plot and character points as quickly as possible, so some might feel it has something of a quick pace, but I think it's just right, really, to keep the fic from feeling like its dragging its feet the same way it used to. New UF has frequent updates, each with their own accompanying artwork, so you can not only expect new content to read, but new content to feast your eyes upon too! A win win for everyone! (BTW before you ask, the original UF is still up; you can read it if you want, but I wouldn't encourage it. It's kind of a mess writing-style wise).

UF? UF2? UFF? Why so many UFs?

If you stick around my blog for any extent of time, you may hear the terms UF2 and UFF thrown around. UF2 stands for Universe Falls 2, UF's eventual sequel covering the second summer after UF. As UF1 ends after the events of Weirdmageddon on the GF side and roughly around the beginning of season 4 on the SU side, we still actually have a lot of ground to cover, and that's where UF2 comes in. Granted, since I'll be out of GF content to adapt by then, there's going to be a lot of really interesting original content that comes into play to look forward too, along with the rest of SU. UFF stands for Universe Falls Future, a sequel series set two years after the events of UF2 which covers the events of Steven Universe Future, but again, has plenty of original content of its own to balance things out. At the time of this writing, neither UF2 or UFF have been written yet, but rest assured I have both pretty much planned out completely from beginning to end because I'm just unhinged like that.

"Seasons"? Bitch, this is a fanfic, not a TV show.

I know lol. So let me explain. I categorize chunks of UF into what I like to call "seasons", mostly to keep myself on track. They don't really mean anything outside of various bundles of chapters that are close together. For instance, Season 1 or S1 of UF is everything from the start of the fic up to Mirror Gem and Waterfall Gem. S2 is everything from Irrational Treasure to Gideon Rises. And so on and so fourth. You can check out the full season list, and a full (semi correct bc its kinda always changing) UF chapter list here on the official UF wiki (btw, we have a Wiki).

Who are all these Blorbos?

So while UF mainly focuses on actual canon characters from both shows, it does have a small handful of original characters in more minor roles to flesh things out. You'll likely hear some of their names thrown out from time to time, so here are the major ones you need to remember:

Stepper and Maven: My babies! These two are probably pretty obvious, but Stepper is the fusion of Steven and Dipper and Maven is the fusion of Steven and Mabel. They both show up a handful of times throughout UF and I love them both dearly.

Dipevebel, Convenper, and Mabonnven: The "trifusions" as I like to call them. They're vairious combo fusions of our four Mystery kids (or MK): Dipevebel is Steven, Dipper, and Mabel; Convenber is Steven, Dipper, and Connie, and Mabonnven is Steven, Connie, and Mabel. We also have Stonipbel, who is the fusion between all four of them.

Aaron and Allison Pines: Dipper and Mabel's parents. We know nothing about these characters in canon, but fuck it, this is my house and I do what I want with them, so we have Aaron, who is kind of a bit of an anxious loser and a bit emotionally absent (while still caring about his kids) and Allison, who is super strict and kind of not the nicest person in the world. They're mentioned a handful of times in UF, but they don't actually show up until towards the end of UF2.

Stonemason: OK so this one requires a bit of an explaination and a bit of UF2 spoilers, so feel free to skip if you need to. The best way I can sum him up is to quote the UF wiki: Stonemason is a cybernetically enhanced human assassin created by Yellow Diamond with assistance from Bill Cipher. The first and only successful product of the Human Bioweapon Operation, Stonemason is a separate entity that is implanted in Dipper's mind, taking control of his body to undertake his orders to shatter "Rose Quartz" (aka). Stonemason makes his debut in Universe Falls 2, where he is a major antagonist for a majority of the fic." So yeah that's a lot, and if you have any questions about that, feel free to ask. Also, all that ^^^ is why Dipper has a yellow metal arm following the halfway point of UF2 in all art I draw post that point, basically his arm was amputated and replaced with a shapeshifting metal one. Ya know, like ya do.

Amber: Amber is a Gem who is related to the whole Stonemason arc mentioned above. She's created to basically be a nurse to humans in Yellow Diamond's human bioweapon program, and eventually ends up developing a close bond with Dipper, despite her assignment.

You mean these MK Poly? I sure do

Ok, so shipping is dumb. I think we can all agree on that right? Buuuuut it does lead to some pretty interesting character dynamics, hence why we see a little of it in UF. Namely between our starring kiddos. Before I continue let me make it extremely clear that there is no incestuous content of any kind in Universe Falls, that shit is fucking gross and I won't tolerate anyone claiming that I engage in that, cause I don't. As for the actual poly MK ship, essentially, its that all these kids (save for the twins, obviously) are in love with each other. So we get Steven x Connie, but also Steven x Dipper (Stedip), Steven x Mabel (Stebel), Connie x Mabel (Conbel), Connie x Dipper (Conper) and eventually even Pacifica joins the polycule too so there's really a lot of fun dynamics to be explored in there. Idk ya'll don't get too hung up on the shipping element here. Love is love.

AUs of AUs? That's a Bit Redundant don't ya think?

Maybe so. But Universe Falls does have a whole host of Alternate Universes to its made, some made by me, some made by fans and my friends. The main UF AUS are Reverse/Diamond, Swap AU, and Relativity/Gem Kids, but there's plenty more you can read up on here on the AU page over on the wiki.

Nice Art, you ask a fuckass AI to make it?

Absolutely not. All my art is drawn by yours truly. You can look through my past works here on my blog using the tag "Jen Draws" or check out my DeviantArt page.

How do I solve those Goddamn Codes?

Each chapter of UF has a cryptogram to accompany it, mostly just meant to carry the spirit of Gravity Falls and do some fun references and foreshadowing. Every code in new UF can be decoded using a keyword that's found somewhere in the author's notes at the start of each chapter, usually the word relates back to the chapter itself. As a bonus hint, this is the website I use to create all my codes, and you can decode them there as well: https://themysteryofgravityfalls.com/

Cool stuff. Where can I read this thing/learn more?

This is the part where I mostly just list off a bunch of helpful links and such for folks who want to read/explore UF. Starting with, where you can read it! I post all new chapters here on tumblr, but UF's main home is on Ao3 (though I do still crosspost to FanFiction.net for some goddamn reason). The links to the fic itself are listed below:

Universe Falls on Ao3

Universe Falls on FanFiction.net

You can also read up on all of the hot UF lore on the official wiki! Please note that this wiki is still very much a work in progress, and if you want to help us build it, please feel free to!

You can also check out my Discord server for more exclusive UF content and conversations! This is honestly the best place to check out all things UF, especially to get a pulse on what fans are creating surrounding the fic. I won't post the link here bc Discord links expire, but if you're interested in joining up, please PM for an invite!

Aw, we're already done? But I got even more questions!

Then feel free to hit up my inbox! It's always open and I'm always down to discuss UF with ya'll. With all that said, if you do decide to check UF out, I sincerely, wholeheartedly hope you enjoy it (and I hope it overtakes your every waking thought the same way it has mine lmao)

[unsolicited-opinions]

Hi ! I’m lurking through your blog and you seem very mature, like in a way that’s rare to find. I naively had similar beliefs as a teen but now feel like I’m never radical enough or useless, I felt like I lost myself and I wanted to ask how do you stay confident in your mindset.

Old, Anon.

The word you're looking for is old.

Aging is weird.

The truth is that I don't stay confident in my mindset.

I think that's mostly a good thing, because the reflex to defend a mindset can drive you to bypass genuine listening and reconsideration when presented with new information or new ideas.

Mindsets can get tangled up in feelings, fallacies, and cognitive biases.

I try instead to stay open and skeptical, especially of myself. That uncertainty keeps me checking in with my beliefs. It helps me pause before posting, read people I disagree with, and listen when people disagree in good faith.

Maybe you're really asking something deeper, Anon.

You mentioned feeling like you're never radical enough, or that maybe you've lost yourself.

That disorientation, that sense of being not enough for the tribe you're supposed to belong to is real.

It's especially brutal when you actually care about justice...but your community starts measuring morality by loyalty, shibboleths and performed tribal rituals instead of by integrity.

You're not alone in feeling this way.

____

I've been trying to understand what's happening when a wide variety of people get angry at me.

In the past week alone, no shit, I've had each of the following spit at me as contemptuous invective by someone on Tumblr in Replies, Asks, or Reblogs:

Communist!

Liberal!

Centrist!

Nazi!

Boot-licking Fascist!

I've been trying to figure out what it is I'm doing which is so upsetting to so many people across so many ideological camps.

My working hypothesis:

Consistency is a strangely radical trait to display publicly in a polarized society and it is deeply offensive to people on either end of the horseshoe.

Below are moral principles which I think always apply.

These aren't slogans or moral flexes.

I often want to check and re-calibrate my own internal tools for moral navigation, and that's what this sort of thing does for me.

They're guardrails which help me avoid going off the road of human decency or straying from my core moral beliefs. They're also not comprehensive or universal - they're just some examples which are useful and meaningful for me.

Every People Has a Right to Exist

All of them.

You don't have to love every culture. You don't have to endorse every political entity, but no group deserves to be erased.

If your activism involves erasing a people physically, culturally, or symbolically, you're not doing liberation work.

Oppression Doesn't Excuse Oppression

Being hurt doesn't give you a free pass to hurt others. Nothing justifies massacres. Bigotry and violence don't become righteous when they're flipped upside down.

If we cheer atrocities when "our side" commits them, we're not opposing violence, we're promoting it.

Human Rights Are Universal

Women's rights matter in Afghanistan and in the US.

LGBTQ+ rights matter in Iran and in Florida. The right to protest matters in Gaza, Georgia, and Tehran.

Free speech matters even when it protects people you disagree with.

If we bring up human rights to attack our enemies but excuse our allies when they do the same, we're making human rights which should be universal into something selective and tribal.

Targeting Civilians is Never Acceptable

Drone strikes. Suicide bombings. School shootings. Pogroms. Doesn't matter who's doing it or why. Targeting civilians is always wrong.

Moral Agency Applies to Everyone

People and movements must be judged by what they do, not by the story they tell about themselves.

This includes the US, Hamas, Russia, MAGA, antifa, the IDF, radical feminists, the Ayatollah, and your favorite TikToker.

If you treat any group as too victimized to be morally responsible, you're infantilzing and dehumanizing them. It's not compassion, it's condescension.

Oppressed ≠ pure.

Powerful ≠ evil.

The Ends Don't Justify Inhumane Means

If a "revolution" regularly promotes torture, genocide, authoritarianism, or child soldiers...it's not a liberation movement.

If a cause requires mass deception or mass suffering to work, the cause should be revised or abandoned.

"By any means necessary" can go very wrong very quickly and this phrase should not be used often, casually, or as an abdication of moral responsibility.

Peace and Justice Require Listening

You don't build a better future by eradicating your enemies. You build it by figuring out how to share space with people you may never fully agree with.

Justice requires truth and accountability...then forgiveness and coexistence.

When movements start purging dissent, silencing disagreement, and chasing utopias through destruction...that's when they start becoming the thing they claimed to fight.

Right now:

Identity is treated as morality, and power is treated as sin.

Being "on the right side" means never having to check yourself.

Rage/outrage is mistaken for moral clarity.

Empathy is weaponized against an enemy, not leveraged to relieve suffering.

The loudest performers are drowning out those who are working meaningfully and materially for peace.

A large number of us have abandoned consistent principles and ended up cheering for monsters...mostly because the monsters hate the same people we do.

So I try to hold onto moral principles that don't change based on who's in power, or who's claiming victimhood. Moral principles which focus on alleviation of suffering and promotion of justice, not on revenge or the balancing of scales. Principles which prioritize action over performance, and rational universalism over tribalism.

To be clear, I don't think doing this makes me neutral or right.

But I do hope it makes me trustworthy.

---

Anon, if you're feeling lost or like you're not "radical enough," maybe ask yourself:

Are you anxious about being faithful to your values...or just to your group?

Are you sacrificing thought for belonging? Are you sacrificing your own moral principles for social acceptance?

Where did you get the idea that there's some threshold of being "radical enough," and that other people can set that threshold without your consent?

Solidarity without principle isn't justice. It's just one's preferred (or socially acceptable) flavor and direction of selective injustice.

So...what beliefs/principles/values you hold as sacred no matter what group they're applied to?

---

The quiet moments when you're alone with your conscience are the ones which will tell you who you are.

So don't worry about falling short of perfection, Anon- everyone falls short of that.

And maybe don't worry about falling short of other people's standards either - because it'll never be possible to satisfy them, and you don't owe them a performance or allegiance to their standards.

You owe yourself consistent commitment to your standards.

___

If you feel like you're "never radical enough" or that you've lost yourself somewhere along the way, consider the possibility that you're just experiencing the natural results of trying to be honest and true to yourself in a dishonest, inconsistent, polarized, tribal, performative, reactionary, dangerous time.

Managing that can be difficult and unpleasant, but even just making the attempt takes courage...and you're already working on it.

That's more than most people ever manage.

[marvelthunderbolts]

hey friend! i love your blog already lol. i was hoping you could elaborate on your recent post about bob and how he likely hasn’t had any meaningful relationships due to his drug use in the past.

id love to see some smut with just all out whiney and animalistic bob. just full of desperation. as nasty and filthy as you want!!

diva thank you ! of course i will elaborate on my thoughts about bob from this post.

bob has a kind heart, despite the addiction and the underlying issues that he has yet to address with a proper therapist. if sentry never happened, if thunderbolts never happened, he absolutely would have continued using. most likely until he died in some tragic way. i highly doubt that when he was actively using, he would want to pursue a relationship with anyone, not wanting someone to get caught up in what he was dealing with. he, as the thunderbolts saw in the infamous chicken suit, dealt with the side effects of aggression and paranoia. that, paired with the withdrawals he was most likely going through and actively probably losing his mind because of the drug, did not pair well for anything romantic.

even his friends that he could have had during that time, i like to imagine they were other drug users. some let him crash at their place, but they would just be continuing to use drugs. you can’t make a meaningful relationship like that, especially since his parents weren’t very heart-to-heart with him.

so when the thunderbolts came along and he didn’t have access to the stuff that made him a paranoid or violent person, he was able to form connections with a level head. while the drug ( at the time ) could have increased his sex drive, the come down and lack thereof afterwards was probably fucking with his head when it came to all things sex. because now, for the first time in his life, he was getting horny while completely sober.

and bob has never had sex sober, or any sex at all, depending on how you feel about it. like i said, he was an addict, he would have done anything to get his hands on something ( he went to malaysia with what i assume was the remainder of his money at the time where one can assume what the end goal was going to be if he didn’t find a purpose and/or more drugs ). he’s experienced, but he either doesn’t remember it or the thought of it now makes his stomach twist into a dark pit.

when he does get into a relationship, it’s like a second puberty for bob. he was literally addicted to drugs while still in middle school so i DOUBT he has a normal time with puberty in the first place. and you can be experienced or not on your end, but you still probably know more about real intimacy than he does.

but bob can’t even watch porn after knowing what it feels like to be touched in a way that isn’t harmful. your hands always feel so soft against his skin, the tips of your fingers brushing against the dark curls atop his head in a way that makes his eyes turn soft and legs feel like mush. it can’t be recreated outside of what you guys have together. which means that when bob is horny . . . he needs you.

his need for you is carnal and desperate and hungry, nothing like he has ever experienced before. it’s very reminiscent to him of an actual drug, but there’s no pain attached to those gross memories ( however faint they could be, they tend to blend together ). it doesn’t make him feel gross, but the way that he wants you should be considered gross. he knows you’re a busy person, whether or not you are a part of the new avengers, you have a life outside of him.

but he can’t help it when he watches you do anything, even something as mundane as just reading a book, which you are supposed to be doing with bob. a couple's activity that should be sweet and innocent, but his mind is drawn to the way that your fingers brush against the pages, how sometimes he lick your finger to turn the page properly. how your mouth looks when you take a drink of something. bob has never wanted to be an inanimate object so bad in his life, only so he could be touched by you in the same way.

and you always feel his eyes on you, it doesn’t take long before you pick your head up to finally look at him, to which he is quick to look away. “are you alright ?” you ask, even though you know the answer. he’s squirming in his seat, tugging at a sleeve or the collar of his shirt because suddenly it feels like a thousand degrees in the room you’re in.

“y-yeah ! so good.” he’ll nod, very unconvincingly. he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it, which is a very obvious sign that he is lying. like he feels guilty about it, which he does, but the flush of his cheeks from the guilt mixes with the arousal that is coursing through him. it’s hard to tell what he feels more bad about.

you put the book down to go over to him, gently lowering yourself onto his lap. the warmth from your body is already enough to send him into overdrive. he’s always hesitant to touch you at first, even if he’s looking at you like some kind of living god ( funny coming from the man who is a god when he’s sentry ). you have to place your hands on him, usually starting at your waist so he can get used to it.

noises happen fast from bob, gentle sighs as he squeezes your waist and hips. he can’t believe how lucky he is to get to touch you in this way. you’re his. bob has never had anything that was just his; there was always a limit to something that he had, or he never owned it in the first place. but he knew there was no limit with you, at least, he wouldn’t let there be a limit.

“just look so pretty sitting there.” he murmured out, fingers slowly slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to feel your skin against his hand.

worship. that’s how bob views touching you, absolute worship.

“i’m just reading.” you’d hum out, but bob is barely listening. his eyes are trained on the plush of your lips, his own practically trembling with need. you indulge him, as you always do. he responds to your affection with an intensity always found in him. he always kisses you like it’s the first time. hesitant at first, before he finds where he should put his hands. they’ll eventually move to your face as he cradles it within his palms.

but the heat turns up the more you kiss, because eventually you start tugging on his chestnut curls. or you grip his bicep. or your chest presses against his and he will ALWAYS groan when he feels that. bob is a boob guy, no matter the shape or size. just something so plush and comforting about them that makes his throat feel a bit tighter. “sooo pretty.” he’ll repeat against your lips, because you are. but he has to repeat it, he’ll repeat it every time.

and the more you kiss the needier he becomes. your hands suddenly feel hotter than hell against his and he’s already trying to concentrate on not bucking his hips into yours to relieve the ache in his loins. he wants to be better at not cumming before you, doesn’t want to keep embarrassing himself. you can tell a part of him relishes in that humiliation, though, the way you coo and pet his face like he’s some kind of dog. he always makes it up to you in the end.

and i think because he has never had a relationship like this, because you aren’t just using him and he isn’t using you. he fucks reverently. you aren’t giving him meth after this, you’re just giving him YOU.

which to bob, means more to him than any high he’s ever had in his life.

[thattimdrakeguy]

Some REALLY Good Examples of Some GREAT Character Writing, and Even ART!

Hi, if you follow my blog, you'll notice I already posted some of these panels. Sadly, I was comparing them to another ongoing comic book series adjacent to this series that had some triggering elements in it.

I'm not joking, you'll actually learn a great lesson in writing from this post. You'll just have to trust me on this.

And I wanted more people to be able to see how much I adore this kind of writing, and to help, maybe even inspire other upcoming writers or amateurs how to do something right, instead of sitting on my butt complaining and pointing out when people don't do something right.

What we have here is a set-up.

This may seem obvious, but you'd be surprise how many writers, especially professional current writers avoid the things that make this good. It's only three panels, but they're excellent, both in writing, and art.

First thing I want you to take notice of is the unique voice Tim has here. Now it's not unique like Yoda is unique, but you wouldn't write Batman to talk like this, or Damian Wayne, or Cassandra Cain, or even Dick Grayson who talks in more ordinary fashion as well.

It's a very boyish and almost dorky tone to it. Very youthful, and anxious with a dash of confidence. It's very specific to the character of Tim. So in a well-written comic, if you didn't see who was talking, you'd still be able to tell who was talking.

It's hard to see this nowadays, because, well, people are lazy and write everyone the same way.

Second thing I want to point out is the art, that's Tim Drake.

Obvious statement I assume. But notice how you can recognize instantly without worry how that's Tim Drake? I don't even let you see his costume here, you see a cape and mask. But yet odds are you still could tell that's Tim Drake.

This is why I go on and on about character appearances so much. It adds a lot when you can immediately recognize a character. That is specifically Tim's nose (look back to his origin story to see what i mean, it's a button nose very similar to this one), with Tim's babyface, with Tim's middle part, and Tim's small stature.

Now, both the writing, and art can only belong to Tim. STRENGTHENING how identifiable he is as an individual.

This is amazing work, because easy identification makes a character stand out more. And the more a character stands out, the more recognizable they are. And the more recognizable the better, because that means the reader is more likely to have an attachment to them! Which is fantastic, because now they have a new thing they love, and if you're writing it, you get money from their love! How wonderful!

I put this here to break up the text, and because it's another great Tim moment, and shows some of the build up to the set-up I talked about. Also shows how you can keep the fun up by including elements of your characters personality in the process! The more you can do it the better! Just think of Indiana Jones, and he's totally different from Tim Drake.

(This is why I'll yell into the void about how auctioning off Tim's traits to other Robins has been such a faulty thing that does none of them any good. Now people will be constantly confused in art as to who is who, because no one's unique anymore. It's a lottery if Tim himself will even look like himself, because thanks to some bad writers and talented--but misguided artists I'll say (because they are talented) gave some of Tim's physical traits to Damian. Which I'm sure is ridiculous to you too if you've read enough of these characters, and become aware how they're sort of purposely the exact opposite of one another, made all the more weird because they're also betraying what Damian's meant to look like. So nobody even gains anything. Others will wonder what the F I'm talking about. But you'll just have to trust me on this. This comic came out before Damian even debuted for crying out loud. You really can't argue against what I'm saying.)

But point three: THE CHARACTER WORK--

Basic good character work is putting a character in a position to show off either their personality traits, or skill traits. And what makes this in particular, a really good example is because it's also in a suspense/action scene, the best kind of action scene.

He's stuck in a hard place and as a reader, you're wondering how he's gonna get out of it! That's tricky for a comic book!

Made all the more suspenseful when this is the next page

So you don't even get to cheat and flip ahead right away to see what's going on!

And the fun part is, when you look back at the page before... the answer is right there in front of you. Go back to the set-up at the top of the post. It's not in the foreground, Tim is so you're focused on him more so, but in front of him clearly highlighted by doorway...is the answer, and you might miss that on your first go.

So when you see this--

FOUR PAGES AFTER, may I add. It skips to a whole subplot in between to keep the tension up.

You'll go back to see how Tim got this clever plan of his, and you can see that you could figure it out on your own too!

It's engaging the audience! And making them interact with the comic! It's magnificent! And super simple too.

And as character work, not just writing, the best part is it highlights one of Tim's biggest strengths, how clever he is.

This isn't Teen Titans (2003) coming out at the same time, randomly making him a super genius out of no where, because they weren't clever in their own right to think of character worthy stuff like this.

It's just using the established character to give you a great moment, that you'll have fond memories of and want to reread again.

Which is ultimately one of the main goals of any writer, comic or not!

I mean look at plucky young dweeb Timothy Wayne here. He seems pleased with all of it.

With any luck, I hope you've learned something from this post, and I hope you've also had/will have a good day. <3

Remember, anybody can write--well, almost anybody. But what makes a good writer, is someone that can look deep in themselves and find some creativity and wit to add to their tale.

A weak writer has to overcompensate and odds are will leave an unsatisfactory or even lousy taste in people's mouths.

So don't always think big!

'Cause sometimes it's the small, that makes things truly great!

[nagidrip]

pairing. s. nagi x reader note. been going thru it recently. had a diff chara planned but have a nagi theme going so why not, esp for my first post on my new blog

nagi looks up from his game for a brief moment when you enter the apartment. his eyes are on you as you peel off your shoes and hang your bag up.

there’s no greeting from you, just a blank expression on your face as you walk past him on the couch and into the kitchen. his thumbs are suspended in air, twitching to return to his game, but something’s off.

something’s wrong.

he waits another moment, you’re out of view, so he listens once again. listens to the sound of you opening the fridge and retrieving the pitcher of water, listens to how you grab a glass from the cabinet, and listens to the small sob that you let out before it’s quiet again.

then you’re heading for your bedroom, still not a glance at him, not a single mention of what happened in the kitchen—no, instead you just walk past him like he’s not even there.

nagi gives it a moment, lets the silence sit for just a beat longer before he places his phone down and stands. his back pops when he stands to his full height, stretching his limbs, and then he’s heading through the small hallway to your bedroom.

you’re there, sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes staring at nothing in particular on the floor while your fingers twist into the comforter. then it happens—your lips twist, bottom lip trembling—nagi can see the tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

next thing he knows, you’re looking up at him with those defeated eyes of yours, like you’re just done with the world for today. it’s like you’re just over everything.

he says nothing when he steps closer, fingers encircling your wrist as he pulls you towards the bathroom. he leaves you by the vanity for just a moment, bending down by the tub to turn the water on, getting it to a cool temperature, and letting it fill up.

neither of you has said anything when nagi tugs you closer, fingers careful as they help you out of your clothing. the sound of running water drowns out the soft rustle of fabric, your clothes quickly forming a small pile on the floor.

when both of you are bare in front of each other, nagi notices the way you shiver, how you avoid eye contact, how the tears gather in your eyes again.

still the two of you say nothing.

he grabs your wrist, fingers sliding down over your palm to slip through yours as he guides you to the bath and helps you in.

immediately you draw your knees to your chest, arms circling them as you try to curl in on yourself. nagi’s quick to shut the water off and move to join you in the tub.

you move up just enough to allow him to squeeze in behind you, his long limbs stretching out, feet hitting the end of the small tub, and arms resting over the edges.

it’s a tight fit, but a comforting one that you’re both used to.

water sloshes out and around when he pulls you back against him, making you sink into his embrace as he wraps his arms around your waist. he tucks his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, the scent of something that’s so uniquely you makes him shudder a bit, and his arms instinctively tighten.

the dam breaks after that, your body shaking as quiet sobs wrack your form. nosing at your pulse, a quiet “let it out” is whispered through his lips, a soft kiss pressed into your skin to let you know he’s got you.

“i’m so tired, seishiro.”

those are the first words you say when you stop crying, spoken between small hiccups and quiet sniffles.

“i know.”

you had been having a hard time recently. some personal things had been bothering you, some things you haven’t brought up with him just yet, which is fine, others he’s aware of. add work and school into the mix, and it was a recipe for disaster.

he never pushes you to talk about what’s bothering you unless you want to first. then the two of you would be on the couch or in bed, you crying or quietly explaining what the problem is while he sits and listens, offering soft words to soothe you if you welcome them.

this is one of those times, and he waits to see if you say more.

and when you don’t, he pulls away to press his lips to your temple. his fingers splay open, resting against your ribcage, feeling it expand with every inhale.

the two of you sit like that til the water turns tepid, his cheek resting against the top of your head, your fingers drawing random patterns into his thighs under the water.

others might call him a bad boyfriend for not doing more to comfort you. but he knows you best. he knows the way you work and what things you prefer. and while he may not be able to show it the way that he wants to, you mean the world to him.

so for now, you’ll sit in the bath together, holding each other while his heart beats a soft rhythm against your back, nearly lulling you to sleep. then you’ll dry off, put on a pair of soft pajamas, and settle in for bed early. when tomorrow comes and you’re ready to talk, nagi will be there to listen.

[sixtysomethingtenyearold]

Introduction.

Greetings! Stanford Pines, here, and I seem to be in a.. situation. It is complicated.

My body has been reverted to exactly the way it was at the age of ten, and, well, to say the least I'm against it.

Questions and comments are welcome, as well as suggestions to remedy this. I am currently grounded from "lab time" and cannot research my own solution. I miss lab time.

(Please read the provided "O.O.C." message underneath the cut before interacting.)

okay ooc time. hello! my name is connor (@kittynugg) im the guy who runs this blog, created the au, writes the fic does all the art. yeah im pretty talented and amazing i think.

so let's get all the unfun stuff out of the way real quick-- shit i don't want mentioned on here.

-ships involving ford (ESPECIALLY billf*rd), ford here is aroace! fidd*uthor is iffy i think its a cute ship and im only really censoring that so this post doesn't come up in searches for it but keep in mind ford's orientation if you do want to mention it -the mpr*g ford poll. pregnancy is like really triggering to me just. just dont talk about it just the mention of it has ruined my entire day before -sexual/suggestive shit. must i reiterate that ford is aroace

don't make me have to add more shit to here okay? okay! now here are some things you CAN do

-talk about alcohol, drugs, yk fun stuff (not fun NOT FUN i just think its fun from an interest standpoint. my ford's been an alcoholic before and im genuinely not sure if that's canon) -bring in other aus! he's talked to two alternate fords so far and it's been very fun for me!! -tag him in tag games! he'll respond :]

here's the fic on ao3 and tumblr, and here's the TON of art i've made of minified!ford. you might get art too if you sent in an ask!!! maybe!! is that a good incentive please interact

oh btw!!! sorry the blog theme is shit its. very difficult. if anyone's good at coding and wants to help dm me !!

*if tags aren't capitalized properly, they're ooc!

[9w1ft]

Hello, sorry I came here to bitch and moan but I don't understand what's going on. Taylor didn't acknowledge pride month?? Like... I understand that it should mean something but what? What stopped her from writing three words "happy pride month"? It's so hard to keep hoping tbh because there were too many empty Easter eggs and too much stunting.

I have two things that still help me not give up:

1. A photo of old "dead" Taylor with 11 cats representing her albums in Anti-Hero, and ttpd being 11th album, so it supposed to mean her 12th album should be a brand new era from a brand new Taylor

2. She has been burning down Lover House every show for 1,5 years, that also represented her whole life.

These two things don't let me become desperate. Also a little bonus:

In may of 2023 she said that her life has a meaning now and that she's so happy. I see it this way: she had released before and still release albums, she had tours before the Eras Tour, she broke up (two months prior saying) with a guy who she was 6 years with - and she tells that she's happy and her life has meaning? For me her words meant that in her life was (amd is) happening something that we don't know and don't see (saying "we" I mean all fans and GP, gaylors of course see and understand everything). And I like to think she feels that her life finally has meaning because she is preparing to come out of the closet and see the Daylight (and maybe lead the others, mass coming out truther here 👋)

But sometimes it's so hard to be positive. Idk I think if coming out was close, she would get rid of Travis already. Sometimes I wish she wouldn't give us hope and wouldn't give so many Easter eggs for us to notice and to keep our hope high, because it's getting exhausting. I'm a gaylor since 2023, I have no idea how do you guys still have hope since 2014/2016/2019...

aw anon, i’m sorry you feel this way about things! maybe you are here for commiseration and not answers but i’m gonna go ahead and give you some constructive ideas. and sorry that this post got long!! but hopefully there are one or two things you can pick up that work for you. alright well, for context, i’m a kaylor that has been blogging since early 2018.

firstly, a couple of quick notes..

i forget if it was 2020 or 2021 but there was a year where taylor posted one (1) instagram story on june 1st saying happy pride and then did Nothing Else and people were up in arms about it the whole month and months after. so i get the sense that taylor has come to the personal conclusion that half measures are simply unacceptable for ‘us’ and so she would rather not say anything.

and there is a weird fandom tension around these parts sometimes where people will be asking for her to do more and do nothing at the same time. i think you closed off you message as well with a similar refrain, that your hope that if she’s stunting that she would do nothing. i have some unexpressed thoughts regarding easter eggs and the state of the fandom at large but setting that a side for a second, i think that, if the themes of ttpd are any indication, she’s taken off the mantle and isn’t putting as much energy into pleasing people who show displeasure at attempts she makes. this is just my take, but.

here’s a post i recently wrote that will convey my thoughts about the “too much stunting” of it all. please read it!

i think for me, what helped me transition to where i am today is that along the way i stopped seeing “taylor coming out” as taylor’s end goal, and i reoriented my personal goals as well!

nowadays, probably for the past couple of years, i see taylor’s main goal as prioritizing her loved ones, and my personal goal for taylor has been that she finds a way to live happily with the love of her life. maybe in the past taylor had different goals taking top priority, maybe one of them was coming out, but i do think that a key theme of her discography has always been finding the love of her life and living happily ever after and i dont think that’s just to sell albums (think about how the lover music video begins and ends) and so i don’t think it’s that wild to think that right now taylor’s priorities lie here, in building something. and, speaking as a kaylor, being a kaylor makes a lot of what is happening just make a lot more sense. not total sense! but a greater amount of sense than all things comingoutlor. i do not speak on behalf of all kaylors but speaking for myself, i haven’t felt the need to give up and i haven’t felt let down because there’s nothing to give up nor a theorized end date or start date that i was looking forward to. to me, taylor has already reached the goal that ive perceived.

when you reorient things and look at it this way, that she’s prioritizing her loved ones and her private life, where you see taylor’s decisions and actions as being self interested and not for ‘us’ the fans, it becomes easier to not see things as hints or promises towards the future. taylor doing gay things during pride month are then not easter eggs for us, they are rather her expressing her queerness during pride month as a queer person who is closeted.

and it’s not that i don’t think taylor will never come out, it’s just that i think she’ll do it on her own time and when it makes sense for herself, not for ‘us’ or anyone else. and it’s contingent on it being something that’s beneficial to her life and the life of her loved ones.

this next part i’m hesitant to write out because it feels like i’m talking down and i don’t want to be talking down on anyone 😢 please understand it’s not my intention to be. sometimes i write similar things but im always dancing around it because its really hard to find a kind way of saying it. it’s just that.. i don’t think taylor or her loved ones should rearrange their lives around the feelings of her fans.

for example, to circle back to easter eggs for a second.. is it a good thing to see them quietly expressing their queerness or affection for one another as an empty promise to the fans? something to be upset about or offended by? i just am not sure if that is the best way to go about things. should closeted people not flag during pride month? is taylor’s situation somehow different, maybe? if so, in what other ways is her situation unique? i feel like it would be a lot easier on ourselves if we de-centered ourselves from their actions or from things we see as easter eggs, and instead just observed and followed along to the extent that we find it interesting or meaningful to ourselves, and find other guiding lights if that feels necessary, you know?

to touch on my easter egg thoughts.. since the advent of tiktok, the expansion of the gaylor fandom, and the exponential growth of her fandom through midnights and the eras tour, we have reached a volume of fans which will statistically speaking be able to notice and point out several times more things that look like easter eggs, than was the case in the past. there are so many things you can find out there and i just think it’s important to remember that some number of things that you’ll end up noticing or seeing people put together just won’t come true. and it’s not even people being ‘delusional’ it’s just a matter of the sheer number of eyes on taylor’s actions looking specifically for easter eggs. some amount of things might pan out to be true. but statistically, the vast majority simply won’t be and i think it’s important to be Okay with that. or maybe it’s like.. you know how the old queen of england pretty famously would pick out clothes and jewelry that had meaning or for her to like express her thoughts or to convey feelings when attending public events? (there’s historical documentation on this). well she wasn’t ever like… hinting at the future 😂 like maybe taylor is just most of the time doing things in a similar way. things have meaning but not all things are pointing to something, you know? maybe that’s a different way to try thinking about it.

speaking in theory, it would be a huge benefit to queer people everywhere, and society at large, for a bunch of public figures to come out en masse. or even just for taylor to. i don’t want to sound dismissive of this. i was really invested in this back in like 2018-2019. in theory, it is undeniable and i don’t intend to refute it. it’s simply that, speaking contemporarily, i am firmly unconvinced that taylor is about that life and i think it’s important to recognize that. think about songs like anti hero, sweet nothing, or dear reader. really listen to those lyrics. “did you hear my covert narcissism disguised as altruism” “and the voices that implore you should be doing more, to you i can admit, that im just too soft for all of it” “i prefer hiding in plain sight” “spilling out to you for free, but darling darling please, you wouldn’t take my word for it if you knew who was talking, if you knew where i was walking” and there’s some other stuff on ttpd as well but i think midnights is written out much more softly and might be easier to consider.

now as a kaylor, when she gives speeches where she’s saying she feels her life has meaning, like how she did throughout tour, i would offer the idea that it’s because she has entered a new stage in life that is very rewarding. from a kaylor perspective, statements like this from taylor make plenty of sense separate from a conversation of if she’s coming out or not. because there have been one or two …or three, happy things that have theoretically newly entered her life in recent years. i know you’re a gaylor and probably not a kaylor but i hope you can understand the rationale that a lot of kaylors have here. one last thing that i wanted to add my thoughts on, if you would allow me.. i don’t know how exactly to put this but i do think it is important to respond to: your life can have meaning without being out of the closet. i am not sure of your personal orientation or identity but for anyone out there: please, please do not hinge your self worth on coming out, especially when we all live in such a hostile society. you are worthy of love and your life has meaning regardless of if you divulge it to people, some of whom might harm you for doing so. you don’t owe your personal truth to a hostile public. find your people. celebrate with your chosen family. and take pride in your identity. but please do not sacrifice your personal safety in pursuit of an ideal or think that your are incomplete for not being open and out. you are already complete! your life already has meaning.

[onesnoopyaday]

I AM AT MY LIMIT

Snoopy #90

30/12/2024

description under the cut

[description: a cartoon-style drawing of Snoopy's head. Snoopy is a white dog with black ears. His eyes are shut and his mouth is a horizontal line. There are two large blue teardrops, one under each eye. The text "I am at my limit" is handwritten across the top of the image.]

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Just saw this comment on a story posted a month ago.

*cries in Eddie Munson Solo Series no one wanted to read, interact with or request for*

No shade to the person that commented this on their own fic if you recognize it. It's not their fault. I'm not mad at them. More crying in the tags.

[amplexadversary]

Completely self indulgent post but here's one of the post-canon scenarios I have in my head for G Gundam.

Maybe skip this post if you don't like dark themes. Not all of what I've outlined is dark (most of it isn't), but I do cross the line past what appears in the show in regards to DG cells and abduction.

The shuffles all get roped into restoration projects on Earth between the 13th and 14th gundam fights, partially to have something to do alongside their training, partially out of inspiration by the common points of the Kasshus' and Master Asia's goals, and partially because netting their countries some decent publicity is likely to earn them favors during the Gundam Fight's off-years.

Sai is contacted by Kyral about an effort to clear out the infamous buildup of trash and cadavers on Everest; he wants Sai to leverage Neo China's help as something of a reparation kind of deal and Sai goes sure why not.

Sai recruits Argo because Bolt Gundam is built to withstand the cold, and he thinks Argo and Nastasha could help reverse engineer that quality to enable the use of their Gundams as both heavy work equipment and protection from the harsh environmental conditions that normally prevent this kind of operation.

George gets involved because someone he knows has a distant relative who died on the mountain a century ago, and they wanted him to check in with the forensics team on the project. This detail is important because eventually it becomes clear that there is a mystery to solve (that I myself haven't figured out all the details of yet but broadly know the setup and conclusion); DG-infected people are disappearing and not being investigated due to stigma. Our heroes are naturally going to be pissed about this, and will need an "in" with the field if they want to do anything about it.

First massively self-indulgent element: The forensics/body identification team inexplicably includes the real-world author Kathy Reichs, who somehow exists in this universe, and there's a little side bit about her having written a Bones book right before the 12th fight that featured a cooked cadaver found inside a gundam after entry into the Earth's atmosphere. There are a lot of weird coincidences in the book that parallel the DG incident, which creeps everyone out, but the similarities are merely born of the writer threading the needle of being believable and interesting in a way that became very true to life.

What does become relevant is when the Shuffles eventually meet up, she's able to explain the implications of a bunch of weird shit the fighters discovered (also Marie Louise read her book, and one of the in-universe liberties Reichs took writing about the gundams' black boxes that she explains in the afterword leads to ML realizing something important; that Neo Germany does not have its gundam's remains.)

While the Everest project is happening, Domon, Chibodee, and Allenby all want to continue their training somewhere on Earth, and receive a proposal from (an OC of mine who is) a historic preservationist (and an acquaintance of Allenby's): she has acquired the grounds of an abandoned castle in Europe* after submitting a plan to restore it, and needs to hire people to help with the labor.

*the castle is probably somewhere in Germany because I also want this pitch to have drama over Schwarz (pre-13th fight), Schwarz (Kyoji), and Schwarz (the next guy who was supposed to inherit the mask when the older ninja retired). Also Germany is fucking pretty.

In exchange for the help of the three gundam fighters, they and Rain get paid, plus room and board anywhere on the grounds, plus full access to the grounds and miles of sparsely-inhabited countryside for training purposes, and the privacy and ability to practice with their gundams that comes with being in the middle of fucking nowhere. Rain sets herself up to work a clinic in the next town over as well as practicing pro re nata wilderness medicine (I'm convinced every medic supporting the gundam fight would need to be able to do this.)

The group involved in the Castle project sticks around for a time, makes some good progress, and engage in occasional Shenanigans that come up when you put a bunch of weirdos in a Situation.

They aren't in town a lot save for Rain, but when they are they eventually start to pick up on gossip and news about the Mysterious Disappearances correlated with DG cell infection (as well as details that turn out to be important later). Eventually Rain brings this to Domon and Chibodees' attention and they decide that, yeah, this is tied to the DG, this is their problem, they should convene with the rest of the Shuffle Alliance about it.

Also of course Schwarz is involved because I'm the one writing this; the culprits' DG-tissue harvesting operation relies on having him captured and helpless, using cells from his body to "update" other victims' DG infections to a less aggressive strain. One thing I haven't decided is whether I want a reinstantiated Wong to head this shit, or make up my own morally bankrupt opportunistic asshole looking to twist the DG to their own benefits. I also need to decide where on the planet the center of all this insanity is, and it needs to be a place that isn't going to have any unfortunate implications (because that's a genuine risk with dark story elements)

... That's about as much as I have that is thought-out enough for me to explain. I return to thinking about this scenario a lot because it puts most of the characters way out of their element (and has a bunch of details that appeal to me specifically), and it kind of evolved into an incomplete plot outline that I don't currently have any plans to flesh out.

I think it's an interesting enough direction to go, because it follows through with a lot of the themes present in G, but takes advantage of the genre shift to avoid DBZ-crazy power scaling and adjusts the conflict more to a matter of where the main characters' prowess is most effective (Both in and out of the gundams. I'm assuming there are a ton of guys similar to Michelo's gang that just need fighting interspersed with everything else I described. In fact, kicking Some Group of Douchebags out of their protection racket is probably how team Castle even gets ahold of evidence related to missing persons.)

[eternal-reverie]

got the posting anxiety bad tonight

[hundredowls]

silly oc doodle..... ballroom yuri

[peachlit]

so many people have told me to get a restraining order on my ex….

[mathmusicreading]

Blog(ger) Shift

I am, so weird and bad about original posting and about reblogging and about saving things on Tumblr and that's why my blog has been mostly inactive or the lurking consumer type. But I don't want my fears about putting myself out there, being seen and known, articulating myself well vs. having been told my whole life I'm too wordy and opinionated vs. not managing to articulate myself well enough to justify being verbose and passionate, etc. to continue to control me so much.

So for my new specific-interest sideblog that I'm not locking, I hope it being themed will help me with making more original posts and reblogging, and I'm publicizing that here to push myself and also welcome interaction.

RIP to my other public specific-interest sideblog and the fandom sideblog I took over for someone that I didn't take further and to my private sideblogs that were meant to make me reblog and save and say stuff because they would be personal and just for me. I still would like to make those happen and reblogging and posting things that matter to me here, and oh my heart for the content ideas I haven't been working on, but they're pipedreams with how I'm (not) managing my life and I keep kicking those cans down the road.

To the person who I developed a real relationship with as a beta but who by now I probably count as having disappeared on with how long it's been and my not coming back to explicitly say I still can't help and don't know when I can, I am so sorry. I'm being a coward languishing in hoping I can tell you soon that I can get back into beta-ing for you and talking, but that's turned into me not talking to you because I'm waiting to be able to say something positive. Hopefully my vaguing here can help push me into talking to you, or at least this is here for you to read if you happen to see it; and I want you to know you absolutely can talk to me, can call me out, and if you're so gracious as to still want to be friends with me and just chat despite my dropping being your beta, I'm here for you and still want to be your friend even if I don't know if I'll have the spoons to be a good one and I know my saying that preemptively isn't apology or justification enough.

Honest assessment, I'm going to curse and say my living situation and work have both become even more of a shitshow, and with those things in mind I can't begin to imagine handling a real project until basically literally a year from now.

Which segues back into the main topic of this post. My goal isn't to have my new sideblog be like an active mainblog nor to abandon this blog—people interested in that blog can and should still interact with me here given how primary vs. secondary blogs on Tumblr work, and in terms of using that blog to help make me be a better Tumblr user, I think I should make certain original posts here and reblog them there as opposed to them being original there. With my mental-emotional and time resources, I want that blog to be "active" for a given definition of active, but really I think I should see my objective as "clear out tabs and likes and photos and lists and notes and drafts, etc. from the last four months" by saving stuff there, as opposed to my goal being the original posts I want to make there, and actually my long-term goal should be to use that momentum to do the same for older digital and physical storage that hasn't been lost or stolen. In my failure to be an interesting person, do I at least manage to be fascinating as a basket-case? Ha. But, also, as expressed above the Read More, the exercise of my danmei/Chinese sideblog is supposed to be a foray into me allowing myself to be an interesting person.

[foxcassius]

wait also my tags on that post were about people i knew in freshman and sophomore year of college specifically. i mean some of them i knew after that and most of them i knew from high school but damn some people really made everything about themselves when i was being emotionally manipulated in my freshman year

[sceletaflores]

GIVE IT TO HER LIKE A MAN!

꩜ masterlist ꩜ update blog ꩜ requests ꩜ taglist ꩜

｡𖦹°‧➵ pair: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ wc: 5.1k

｡𖦹°‧➵ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, joel’s pov, swearing, age gap (52/23), semi-public sex (more of a semi-public ALMOST over the pants handjob?), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, spit kink, degradation, pussy spanking, creampie, fucking in your childhood bedroom RAAAHHH, one (1) single line about joel wanting to slap you, one (1) single use of the word daddy, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ nat’s note: hi babies! i'm back! did you miss me? cause i missed you and oh em gee i'm so excited to be rejoining the party. this actually wasn't what i planned on posting but the angsty joel fic is kicking my ass so hard that i had to take a break from it. i just needed to word vomit some raunchy, freak-nasty porn to cleanse my palate! i don’t normally go for the dbf trope but it's just so joel i couldn't not dip my feet in these waters. it's also more like dad's-close-but-distant-acquaintance-joel because in my head that man has little to no friends honestly. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel gives the best graduation gifts...

Joel isn’t the type to get invited to these kinds of things.

Graduation parties for Ivy League brats. Champagne in fancy crystal flutes and catered hors d'oeuvres getting passed around on silver trays. Men in loafers and pastel polos calling each other “old buddy” without any irony. It’s a far cry from his usual crowd—his mangy old t-shirt and stained blue jeans stick out in the place like a damn sore thumb.

The invitation came from a distant friend, someone he used to work with before his career took him in an entirely different, much shiner direction. He was here more as a favor than anything else. Tommy’s been worried about him, says he needs to get out more.

“Meet some new people, drink a few beers.” He’d said with his hand clasped on Joel’s shoulder. “It ain’t healthy to spend every weekend fixin’ shit around the house, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t see the problem. He’s fine the way he is. But somehow, he still got roped into going when he could have used any excuse to pull out at the last second. He could have faked sick, faked busy, faked like he had anything else to do besides sit at a fancy oak table on a back porch bigger than the whole first story of his house, decorated in Yale blue balloons and streamers. 

He regretted giving into Tommy the second he pulled up in the driveway—a too-big Craftsman style place in West Lake Hills, all clean laid brick and perfectly manicured lawns. Joel couldn’t for the life of him remember why he said yes in the first place. Maybe it was the guilt of worrying his brother. Maybe for the decent catered food and overpriced beers he knew would be there when he first got the address.

What he hadn’t expected—what hit him in the goddamn chest when the door swung open after he knocked—was you.

And Christ, did you look smug about it.

It had been months ago. The only reason Joel was even in Connecticut was to meet with a client, a big time East Coast entrepreneur who wanted a new add on to his ten car garage and was fine slinging around the money to pay for a round-trip flight and a cushy hotel room.

He hadn’t planned on going to the bar that night, but after hours of back-and-forth about permits and material costs, he needed a drink. Just one, maybe two—enough to take the edge off before heading back to the hotel.

It was a shitty little dive about ten minutes from where he was staying. The beer was cold, the lights were low, and he wasn’t supposed to be making decisions with his little head. But then he saw you across the way, right in the middle of the dancefloor.

You were in a circle with a few other girls, your dress riding up higher and higher each time you’d roll your hips to the heavy bass blaring from the overhead speakers.

Joel watched you like that for a while, leaned up against the bar lazily sipping at his beer. He hadn’t planned on doing anything about it, just sat there and enjoyed the view. But you’d caught him looking, and instead of turning away and pretending not to notice, you’d smirked.

Joel should have known right then that he was in trouble.

It wasn’t long before you left your little group and made your way over, slipping on the stool beside him like you belonged there, like you’d already made your mind up about what was going to happen next. You’d leaned in close, close enough for him to catch the scent of whatever perfume you’d rolled over your throat before heading out—something rich and heady that damn near made his head spin.

“Hey, cowboy.” You’d said with a tilt of your head, the long column of your neck dewy with a light sheen of sweat he wanted to feel under his tongue. “You’ve been watching me?”

There was no accusation in your voice, just a quiet sort of amusement, like you already knew the answer.

Joel had huffed a laugh, he didn’t see the point of denying it. He was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. “Yeah.” He’d admitted, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down. “What about it?”

Your eyes dropped down the length of his body, studying him, and he’d let you. Let you take your time looking, even as heat crawled up the back of his neck.

“Buy me a drink?” You’d asked, smiling up at him like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

That was all it took.

One drink turned into two, which turned into three, and then you were leaning into his space like you were made to be there. Your index finger teasingly tracing along the collar of his shirt as you whispered something filthy in his ear that had all the blood in his brain rushing down south.

Joel really shouldn’t have let it go any further than some goddamn footsie under the bar and a few dirty words whispered over the rims of shiny glasses, he was too old for shit like that. But you were just so damn tempting—confident and sharp and pretty as all hell.

Before Joel knew it he had you pressed up against the side of his truck, giggling into his mouth, fingers tugging at his belt like you couldn't get it off fast enough. You’d tasted like the fruity cocktails he bought you and something sweeter underneath, something distinctly you, and Joel had to have more.

You let him have it too—fisting his shirt and dragging him into the backseat without a care in the world, all eager hands and breathless laughter as you straddled his lap.

It was supposed to be just that. A reckless decision with a pretty young thing as the cherry on top of his trip. A one-night deal he’d let himself have because, fuck, it had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

Joel tried his damndest to think how he should’ve, tried not to let some one off fuck turn him all sorts of ass backwards. He tried his damndest to boot you out of his mind the next morning when he was boarding the flight back to Austin—but you stuck anyway, like a burr in his goddamn brain. 

The way you’d looked sprawled out under him, eyes glazed over with pleasure, lips parted, or the way you’d moaned his name like it was a prayer you needed him to hear. The way you’d rode him nice and slow, dragging your nails down his chest just to watch him shudder. The way you’d kissed him after, lazy and sweet, before sneaking off into the night like a goddamn thief.

Joel could've sworn he saw God that night, a smudged silhouette in the fogged up windows of his truck.

And now you’re here, standing in the doorway of some polished, high society home, looking like sin wrapped up in tulle and pearls.

Joel wasn’t a man who spooked easy, but seeing you again, surrounded by people who had no goddamn idea what you’d let him do to you in the backseat of his truck all those months ago, knocked him on his ass harder than a sucker punch.

The recognition was damn near instant, your eyes shining just as much as the sparkly sash that read “GRAD!” in big glittery letters. The initial shock gave way to a tiny, secret smile as your gaze slid up and down his body shamelessly, like this was some kind of funny inside joke. 

Joel was seconds away from turning tail, walking back down your ridiculously long driveway and getting in his truck to get the hell out of there, but then your father was walking up behind you with a big grin on his face. He clapped Joel on the shoulder roughly and introduced his “Old buddy Joel Miller from his blue-collar days!”

You were all coy smiles and wide eyes. A sugared, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Thank you for coming…” passing through your glossy lips.

The same lips that left shiny red smudges along the skin of his cock when you slid him down your throat, peering up at him with glassy eyes. The memory alone was enough to get heat stirring deep in his gut, and the way you looked at him now—all demure and polished, like you were some angelic scholar fresh off a podium—only made it worse.

Joel is too damn old for this.

“Very top of her class,” your father boasts, swishing his beer bottle through the air towards you flippantly. “Can you believe it? Just think of what we were doing at her age, brother. She sure as hell didn’t get any brains from me, that’s all her mother.”

Joel tries to chuckle with him, but it sounds strained, forced. He keeps his eyes facing forward, knee bouncing restlessly under the table. You’re looking at him again, hot and persistent against the side of his face. The heavy weight of your gaze practically begging him to look back. He doesn’t.

This dinner is it’s own form of torture, because of course, you just had to sit in the empty seat next to Joel—close enough that he can feel your knee bump up against his every few minutes.

He’s done a good job avoiding you until now, always walking the other direction when you waltz into the same room, not making eye contact when your gaze would sweep over the crowd hoping to catch his, trying for once in his life to be a good man.

A good man that suffers through this damn party without doing something he'll regret, that leaves at the end of the night and never has to see you again.

“Yeah,” he says, nervously starting to pick at the label of his own beer. Some snobby, imported New England brewery, probably sixty bucks a six-pack. “Good times.”

Joel can see you lean forward out of the corner of his eye, the neckline of your dress sliding down an inch as you stare at him, attention rapt. “What were you like back then, Mr. Miller?”

Joel nearly winces, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer hard enough to turn the skin around his knuckles white.

‘Mr. Miller’ echoes in his ears lewdly, blaring like church bells. Your voice is nothing but a honey-sweet mockery, so syrupy he can nearly feel it trickling down his throat to add to the warmth settling low in his stomach. 

Your father snorts over the lip of his bottle, answering you before Joel could open his mouth. “Joel didn’t go to college, honey. He went into the trades right after graduation,” he takes a long sip, Joel feels your knee bump against his again. “That’s how we met.”

You hum, nodding your head languidly. “You’re an architect too?”

Joel shakes his head, not looking at you as he answers. “Carpenter.”

Your father launches into some story about his old work days with Joel, about how back in the day, they were “real men” with “real jobs,” but Joel can barely process any of it. He nods along absently, lets out some half-hearted chuckles when he needs to.

Joel nearly puts his knee through the table when he feels your barefoot brush up against his ankle, hiking his jeans up ever so slightly. He shoots you a glare as subtly as he can.

It’s a look so sharp, so warning, that it should be enough to make you back the hell off from whatever game you’re playing. You’re not even looking at him anymore, eyes glued to your father as you nod along to whatever story he’s telling now. 

But there’s a knowing little smile on your lips as your hand creeps beneath the table and falls into his lap, the pads of your fingers pressing against the inside of his thigh.

Joel goes still. Rigid as his breath catches on a sharp inhale.

Christ, you’re trying to kill him.

Your father’s voice pulls him out of the silent panic and heavy arousal waging a war inside of him. “How’s business, Joel?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “You and Tommy still running things at a hundred miles a minute?”

Joel barely registers the question as your hand inches higher and higher. He can hear his own pulse pounding in his throat, in his chest, in his cock, already half-hard in his boxers from some goddamn heavy petting like a wet behind the ears teenager. 

“Yeah, we–” Joel pauses, willing his voice to steady with a quick cough to clear his throat. “We’ve been pretty busy with Summer rollin' around.”

Your father hums in agreement, cracking open another beer. “Of course, my schedule’s been a killer too this season,” he brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Joel are in the same boat. Only your fathers boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing for blue-print meetings with big shot celebrities and architectural digest interviews. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow stroke, your palm grinding roughly over the tip through the tented denim.

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice has gone all light and airy around the edges, almost melodic as it buries itself in Joel’s ears. At first, Joel thinks you’re talking to your father, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re looking at him—your eyes half-lidded and sparkling with something dangerous as your fingers tug at the tab of his zipper.

Joel’s hand flies to your wrist, squeezing tight enough to stop your pawing at his now fully hard cock. “Alright if I use your bathroom?” he asks sharply, his voice a little too loud. He tosses your hand away and stands abruptly from his chair before he’s got an answer.

“Of course,” your father says easily, thankfully not noticing the tension at the table, or the way Joel’s trying to subtly hold his hands over his crotch. He turns his attention towards you, “Would you show Joel where the downstairs bathroom is, honey?”

Your smile only widens as you slip your sandal on and calmly stand from your own chair. “Sure,” you say breezily, but you’re not looking at your father, dark eyes still glued to Joel’s. “Follow me.”

The flowy fabric of your dress swishes behind you as you walk through the yard, Joel hot on your heels. He waits until you're both in the house, stepping through the open sliding glass door and out of view before his hand flies to your arm and squeezes hard.

Joel hears you wince softly, but you don’t try to fight your way out of his grip. He leans down closer, his lips inches away from your ear. His voice is low and rough as he grits out, “Take me to your room, now.”

You lead him through the kitchen and up the stairs silently, but Joel can still see the smug smile on your lips as you turn the corner. The need to slap that bratty shit right off your face wracks through him like thunder, anger burning hotter in his chest with every step.

You push the door to your bedroom open and step inside, barely turning to face him before Joel slams the door shut behind him and stalks past you. His eyes are dark, filled with a mix of rage and want as he stares you down.

“Do you think this is a goddamn game?” His voice is teeming with fury, the calm facade he scarcely maintained at dinner now entirely gone. “That you can do whatever the hell you please because your Daddy’s sittin' across from you?”

You bite your bottom lip, leaning against the door with your arms crossed behind your back coyly. “You didn’t bring me a present.”

It’s a taunt if Joel’s ever heard one, and it finally breaks him.

He crosses the room in three large strides, pinning you against the door. His hands on either side of your head, caging you in. Joel cranes his neck down, his face inches away from yours. He can smell your perfume this close, it’s different than what you wore at the bar—something soft and girly and sweet that has his cock straining in his boxer.

“You’re real fuckin' proud of yourself aren’t you?” he spits roughly, watching the way your pupils dilate, eyes going glossy under his intensity. “Does your old man know how much of a tramp his precious little baby girl is? That she’s got such a greedy fuckin' pussy she can’t help herself from rubbin' his buddy Joel’s cock under the table like a desperate slut.”

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly, all the attitude draining from you at the drop of a hat the second he gets a little mean. Your eyes are stuck on his lips and, after a beat, you start leaning in, like you’ll die if you don’t kiss him.

Joel stops you with a hand fisted in your hair, keeping you still a few centimeters away from his lips. A pitiful whine falls from your slack mouth, wide eyes flicking back up to meet his with a pleading look.

“You want me to kiss you, princess?” he asks, mean and condescending. Your breath puffs over his lips, hot and needy as you nod your head as best you can. Joel laughs, dark and cool as he shakes his head slowly. “Whores like you don’t get kissed baby, they get fucked.”

It does something to you—Joel can see it in the way your lashes flutter, in the way your thighs press together, like you can feel his words between your legs. He watches the rise and fall of your chest quicken, the way your lips part as a little breathless sound escapes them, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Desperate. Squirming. Ready to let him ruin you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, low and almost reverent, but the wicked curl of his lips betrays the softness in his tone. “Bet you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod, your chest rising up to press against his with every breath.

“Words,” he demands, voice sharp as a needle. Your thighs twitch at the sound of it.

“Yes,” you breathe shakily. “I’ve been wet since you got here.”

That has Joel groaning, jaw ticking as his cock twitches heavily in his boxers, pre-come oozing into the cotton.

He doesn’t waste another second. He drops your hair to grab your shoulders, pulling and pushing until you’re tumbling onto your old bed. You let out a sharp gasp as your back hits the mattress, the force of it bouncing you a few times.

Joel looms over you, watching you, finally letting himself get a good look at the picture you make. Splayed across dainty floral sheets, chest heaving, staring up at him with need written all over your pretty face. It practically pumps off of you in waves, he can almost taste it.

Without another word, Joel reaches for his belt, his heavy gaze never leaving yours. The metal of his buckle clinks loudly in the quiet of the room, underscored by the quick pants of your breath. It snaps with how hard he yanks it out of his belt loops, the leather cracking in the air menacingly.

"You wanted this," Joel mutters, popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down with a sharp hiss. "You practically fuckin’ begged for it."

You make a desperate little sound at the sight of his cock finally being freed from the confines of his jeans—thick, heavy, and leaking when it slaps against his stomach. Your legs spread wider like an offering, like you need it in you now.

Joel huffs out a laugh, grabbing your ankle and yanking you down the bed, making you squeak in surprise. He climbs on the mattress, his body completely blanketing yours so you couldn’t move if you wanted to.

His hand drags down your body, over the swell of your breasts, over your ribs, the curve of your hip, until he’s gripping the hem of your dress. Joel slips his hand under the skirt, rough palms gliding up the soft skin of your thighs before gripping the meat of them hard enough to bruise.

The thought of you finding the marks tomorrow, pretty shades of purple and yellow branding your skin as a reminder of this moment, of what Joel did to you—it makes his stomach flip with a sick thrill.

It doesn’t take much for Joel to push the bunched fabric around your hips the rest of the way up, exposing the barely-there scrap of lace covering you.

He makes a sound low in his throat when he sees the little damp spot blooming along the powder blue fabric. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, tracing his middle finger along the wet seam of your pussy, featherlight, teasing. “Can’t even sit through one damn dinner without beggin’ for my attention like a two-bit truck stop whore.”

You nod frantically, lips trembling, pupils blown wide as you blink up at him.

Joel tsks mockingly, raising his palm to give your clothed pussy a sharp slap that has you crying out. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Joel.”

Your voice is so soft, so wrecked. And Joel feels himself get impossibly harder, his cock throbbing where it’s pressed against your stomach, blurting pre-come onto the delicate pink tulle of your dress. He can hardly wait any longer.

Joel hooks a finger into the leg of your panties, dragging them down hard enough that he hears a rip. He can’t find it in himself to care, he just pulls them far enough that they pool around your ankles uselessly.

He finally takes himself in his hand so he can drag his cock through the wet mess of your pussy, bumping it up against your hole but not giving you a damn inch. A devastating noise falls from your lips, slow and sweet as molasses, your hips buck up off the mattress, trying to take him in. He presses one heavy hand down on your stomach, keeping you still.

“Ask me for it,” Joel whispers darkly, slapping the head over your glistening clit. “Beg for my cock.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, frustration and desire burning in the inky black of your pupils. “Please, Joel. It’s all I can think about, can only think about you,” you ramble senseslessly, voice breathless. “About you fucking me. About your cock stretching me open. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

Fuck, he loves hearing you beg.

Joel grips your hips, holding you steady as he presses inside, slow at first, just enough to make you gasp, enough to let you feel how thick he is stretching you open. He curses, head falling forward as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.

Your hands scramble along the length of his back, nails scratching uselessly as you try to adjust to the sudden fullness. Joel knows he’s too big, the stretch too much all at once without prep. He knows it. He just doesn’t give a damn.

“I know, it’s a big stretch ain’t it?” Joel coos, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips. “You can still take it, darlin’. It’s what you wanted, wanted me to lose my goddamn mind and ruin this sweet little pussy.”

You nod desperately, a loud cry bursting from your chest as he pulls you back until his hips are flush with your ass. Your velvety heat feels scalding around him, snug and perfect, like it was made for him—made for his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he stays there for a beat, buried to the hilt—forcing you really feel the full, aching stretch before he starts to move. He drags his cock out to the tip, almost all the way, before slamming forward again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “That’s it—take it all, just like that.”

Joel sets a brutal pace, fucking you so deep he swears he must be in your goddamn guts. His grip is merciless, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses them to pull you back against him, meeting every punishing thrust. The dirty sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixing with the slick squelch of your pussy as it tries to suck him back in each time he pulls out, the pretty soft gasps and moans you’re struggling to keep quiet the cherry on top of it all.

It’s so loud, a symphony of lewd sounds bouncing off the walls enough that Joel would be worried that someone might overhear if your house wasn’t such a maze.

Joel watches you writhe beneath him, your back arching, hands grasping at his shoulders, his arms, his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucks into you with ruthless precision. Every thrust sends a shockwave through your body, makes your breath hitch, your legs trembling where they’re locked tight around his waist.

“Poor thing,” he mutters, voice a low rasp in your ear. “Too dumb to talk now, huh? Just layin’ here, takin’ it like a good little whore.”

Your eyes roll back in your head when he tilts his hips, the new angle forcing his cock to rub up against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Joel–”

Joel leans over you, breath hot against your ear as he mutters, “This what you needed, baby? Needed Daddy’s friend to hike your pretty dress up and fuck you good and hard like this?” He speeds his hips up fast enough to get the bed shaking on its frame. “Actin’ like a spoiled little brat all night just so I’d drag you up here and teach you some fuckin’ manners?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck—” Your words slur together, breathy and high-pitched, your fingers twisting in his hair as he keeps up that relentless pace.

Joel reaches up to snatch your jaw in a tight grip, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. “Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks meanly. When you don’t, too fucked out of your mind to listen, he shakes your head back and forth like a bad dog. “Open it.”

The command breaks through the pleasure filled haze clouding your mind, and your mouth falls open obediently. Your slick lips parting enough for Joel to see the enticing pink of your tongue. A groan claws its way out from deep in his chest, and he leans down close to spit into your mouth.

Your moan is a high, choked whine as your eyes flutter shut, your pussy squeezing around his cock impossibly tighter. 

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ swallow,” he says, fucking into your clenching heat harder. “Hold it right there.”

You open your eyes to stare up at him like he’s some kind of God, your lashes clumped together and glossy with unshed tears—gaze glazed over with a kind of bliss that makes something dark and satisfied wriggle to life in his chest.

“Good girl,” he mutters, barely above a whisper, but the words hit you like a sack of bricks. Your walls squeeze around him, and he groans low in his chest. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you even wider so he can watch the way his cock disappears into your puffy pussy, shining with your slick every time he pulls out. “Look at that. Fuckin’ made to take cock, aren’t you?”

You moan around closed lips, nails digging little crescent moons into his shoulders so hard that he can feel his shirt ripping under the force of it. Joel can tell you’re getting close, your whole body trembling violently as the coil of your orgasm winds tighter and tighter.

“Go ahead and swallow for me, baby girl.” Joel needs to hear you, needs to hear you say his name when you come on his cock. “Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

The sound of you swallowing is music to Joel’s ears, his hips stuttering as he watches your throat work.

“Please,” you gasp, fat crocodile tears rolling down your cheeks. “Need to come, need you to make me—”

“Yes,” he hisses, his thrusts turning sloppy for a beat before he regains his rhythm. “You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my cock nice and good?”

His words push you right over the edge. Your entire body tenses, pleasure rolling through you in a white-hot wave as your climax crashes over you, stealing your breath. You sob Joel’s name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, body shuddering beneath him as you clench down so fucking tight he can barely move.

Joel groans, his jaw going slack as he watches you fall apart, losing himself in the feel of your pussy milking his cock. He grits his teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chases his own release. 

“Fuck—gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Gonna fuck you full of me, make you mine.”

With one last thrust, Joel spills inside of you. He buries himself as deep as he can go, warmth flooding your core as spurt after spurt of come paints your insides, thick and hot. His body shakes with the force of it, a deep, guttural moan falling from his lips as he rides out his orgasm.

Joel just stays there, panting, his forehead resting against yours.

For a moment, both of you are too overwhelmed to move. You just lay on the mattress tangled together in the aftermath, breaths mingling, bodies slick with sweat. Joel smooths his hands up your sides, grounding himself as you both come down from the highs of ecstasy.

When you finally stop shaking, Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, to take in the wrecked, spent look on your face. He brushes his knuckles over your sweaty cheek, softer than before. “Still think I didn’t bring you a present?”

You let out an amused huff, pushing your hands up under the back of his shirt so you can trace the column of his spine with gentle fingers. “Trust me, it’s the only present I’m getting that’ll be worth a damn. Money can’t buy this, Miller.”

Joel chuckles, low and smooth as warmth blooms in his chest. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You earned it, baby.”

mini nat's note: thank you so much for reading! mwah.