#hell i can imagine them mid fuck saying shit like that

[hellonerf]

i love crazy contrasting 1p2p in every way(not every way). so i always subconsciously have 2P rusame be friends. unlikely friends etc. in whatever weird school au theyre friends. meri was probably bullied until he started hissing at other kids or something while rus2 was just like huhh okay yeah okay what fine. rus2 found him in a broom closet and it was as awkward as it sounds. in the weird stuckin1Pcoldwar au i have theyre friends also in the torturous existence. 1P rusame is too weird life is too short lets tomodachi✌️

[tojisun]

sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au)

hockey player simon x f!reader’s relationship through the eyes of their fans but like smau - sorta like this!!

simon has never really used his socials properly before. hell, he probably still gets his gossip from the grapevine (being their locker room) or something. of course their goaltender, price, isn’t any better, but at least the man is active online. riley? a fucking ghost.

until, of course, his girl starts popping up in people’s posts.

.

emory @.emowysg

just found out that simon riley’s WAG doesn’t know hockey but she still flies to see him play 😭🙏

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41 to @.emowysg she’s the sweetest

STREAM TASTE @.bosseysnumber1 to @.riley41 AINT NO WAY YOURE LURKINJ

emory @.emowysg to @.riley41 WHAT IS BRO DOING HERE 😭

bry @.strobrymilf to @.emowysg The way you didn’t even tag them but he still saw this IJBOL

emory @.emowysg to @.strobrymilf IM SAYING 💀

.

sandra @.nightwingsgf

oomf was telling me that simon riley the type to overexplain the sport to his gf (tisming, if you will) and i fucked w that hard

icarizz @.brycelims to @.nightwingsgf tisming 💀

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41 to @.nightwingsgf haha no i go caveman when i try explaining it to her but she’s so patient with me anyway

papillon @.breedthatginger to @.riley41 i saw this comment, scrolled away, then audibly went, “PAUSE” yo king what thenrufk 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

sandra @.nightwingsgf to @.riley41 trying to stay nonchalant about simon fucking riley shirsey #41 forward and alternate captain of specgru just casually being in my replies (girl im failing)

.

cigarettes after shrek @.autumnblooms

can simon fight

[it’s a screenshot from simon’s instagram story—the phone is being jostled, leaving people looking like pixelated streaks, but the screenshot does a good job at capturing your wide smile as you hold up a puppy in the air]

huggy @.hghsbros to @.autumnblooms she is so so pretty ����

ouroboros @.ayacchi to @.autumnblooms heavy on the caption lmao

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41 to @.autumnblooms and win

marie @.mariejayp to @.riley41 what being in love does to a mf

౨ৎ @.persephonessin to @.riley41 shounen ahh reply 😭

jonah @.jonathanmllr to @.persephonessin bro said [image of gojo’s infamous ‘nah. i’d win’ quote/meme]

.

🍂 @.zeekewin

YALL LOOKIT RILEY AND GARRICKS GIRLFRIENDS CHEERING AFTER THAT LAST GOAL

[the first image is a blurry shot of you in the box, your mouth open as you yelled. the background is a mess of specgru’s colours, showing that the rest of the WAGs came in with this season’s WAG jackets.

the second image includes kyle’s girlfriend who is holding your hand while the two of you are mid-jump in celebration.]

hime @.peaxhespie to @.zeekewin are we.. seeing the formation of a new polycule

🍂 @.zeekewin to @.peaxhespie cant even be like “dont ship real ppl!!” bc theyre too cute 🥹

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41 to @.zeekewin is that the clearest picture you have?

🍂 @.zeekewin to @.riley41 KING?????? also, yeah. sorry :(

char-les @.charlatron to @.riley41 shit it’s not a myth - bro really /does/ pop up like bloody mary 😭

.

eren truther @.aotsucks

yall are we about to censor his fucking name because hows he always in our replies 😭

🎀 @.ttius_overkill to @.aotsucks no because he’s so in love on g 😭 “she’s the sweetest” sir stand up!!

eren truther @.aotsucks to @.ttius_overkill NOT STANDIP LMAJDHS

momo @.mrdawcy to @.aotsucks not us knowing who you mean right away 😅

.

louis @.lovingtomlinson

idek who simon riley is or the lore with his girl but that man is smitten as hell. good for him good for him

good luck babe @.stellastic to @.lovingtomlinson one of us one of us one- [screenshot of simon riley’s ‘likes’ on his page, with this post at the current top]

louis @.lovingtomlinson to @.stellastic it hasn’t even been five minutes 💀

.

John Mactavish ✓⃝ @.jmactavish_91

Okay but imagine hearing him in person

[video is of drunk simon, nuzzling his face on kyle’s shoulder, murmuring something too faint for the camera to pick up. there’s a muffled laughter from the person recording, probably johnny from the sounds of it, before they shuffle forward and stick the phone close to simon.

simon blinks at it, looks at the person from behind the screen, and goes, “s’at m’girl?”

video cuts with johnny and kyle laughing at their friend, fond and teasing at the same time.]

samson @.zachob to @.jmactavish_91 GIVE THAT MAN HIS GIRL 😭

susana @.sewswan to @.jmactavish_91 PLEASE WHY’S HE ACTING LIKE THEY ONLY SEE EACH OTHER ONCE EVERY 10 YEARS

baron @.mlawdy to @.jmactavish_91 bro must be winning in life if he’s that in love. lord me when

.

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41

Me and my baby

[image is of the two of you in the lake house, enjoying the last days of summer. the puppy is curled on your lap, sleeping, while you angled your head up to smile into the camera. simon has his arm looped around your waist, his head resting atop yours.]

sandra @.nightwingsgf to @.riley41 TEARS WERE SHED

emory @.emowysg to @.riley41 GOOD SOUP

cigarettes after shrek @.autumnblooms to @.riley41 TWO PRETTY BEST FRIENDS

i laughed making this fhjefjefw. idk just thinking about how simon fr the type to show off his partner if he can - and he could so here we are!! i also just love making outsider’s pov through SMAU <33

[amastarxoxo]

ㅤ        ㅤ            ⠀ꕀ⠀𝆹⠀⠀ׄ⠀⠀ִ⠀ worthless talking ⠀ּ ּ    ✧

Arguments with various characters

S1! jinx , S2! vi , S2! caitlyn , and ekko x fem! reader

arguing , mention of having a crush ( vi ) , hurt/no comfort , cursing , mentions of marriage ( caitlyn ) , drinking ( vi ) , mention of reader working in the brothel ( not prostitute ( vi ) ) , suspected cheating ( caitlyn ) , injured reader ( ekko )

not proofread or requested

masterlist ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა navigation

love is my curse ( part 2 )

JINX

arguments with her are usually light and can easily be dismissed or solved quickly but this is very different. silco has been pressuring her as of late about her weapon for the hex gemstone; which has been stressing her out and getting more irritated by everything little thing. “jinx baby?” you spoke softly, trying to not make her anymore irritated. “yes toots?” she frantically looking back and forth at her parts and blueprints for her fishbones, “are you doing okay? do you eat?”

she shrugged her shoulders, continuing to screw the screws in. you silently gulped and walked closer to her. “listen baby…can you take a break or something? i don’t remember the last time you slept or even eat and—” “shut up.” you immediately looked her way like you misheard her. “i-im sorry what..?” she kissed her teeth, “ i said shut up! all you ever do is nag and nag around me! do ever shut up? i’m trying to work so i can hurry up and finish this project, but no you just can’t seem to leave me alone while you’re—” she stops mid sentence, looking to see where you were last standing, “y/n?” she asked to absolutely nothing. she rolled her eyes, not bothering to think about you anymore, too focused on the hexgem project.

walking through the streets of Zaun, tears blurring your vision as you do your best to wipe them away but if anything you made your mind clear as day in Piltover; she doesn’t need you there anymore. continuing to walk through the lanes until you reached your home.

VI

pitfights. you hate no—loath them. so imagine your reaction to hearing that your crush becamea pitfighter after that massive fall out with the stupid top side girl. you watched as a friend of hers drag her up the stairs then she starts pushing him off and telling him to fuck off. you watch as the friend just walked away; already tired of her bullshit.

you breathe, mentally preparing yourself and your lecture of what you want to say as you head up the stairs slowly until you reached the door. out of curiosity, you reached for the doorknob, and its unlocked. ‘of course this idiot wouldn’t lock the door.’ you thought, twisting it and slowly pushing the door, seeing vi collapsed on the bed but still awake. you clear your throat loudly, catching her attention as you stand close to the now closed door. “vi.” your voice cautious but fed up. watching her destroy herself over a top side is so pathetic, even jinx powder would laugh in her face. vi groaned tiredly, “can’t seem to catch a fucking break anymore.”

“fuck a break! what do you think you’re doing?!” you wave your hand around, as you often talk with your hands. “what the hell are you talking about…!?” vi retorted back. “look around you vi, and your hair! your outfit! you’re a damn pitfighter.” you pointed at everything you mentioned, “why?! is it because of that fall out you had with that stupid top side girl..?!” vi abruptly gets up and stands in front of you. the smell of strong beer and whiskey clog your nose, in her breath, her clothes, everywhere, “don’t you dare bring her up.” you scoffed, “why not? she treats you like shit but now you’re a floor licking puppy for her..?” you stare at her, raised eyebrow, “at least she was better than you in many ways than one.” “excuse me?” “get the fuck out y/n. go back to being a fucking prostitute or something.” “i’m not a prosti—” she punched the wall next to your head, you flinch, hard. “out.” her voice threatening. your hands and feet quickly move as you open the door and fumble out of the apartment was vi was was.

CAITLYN

a lot has happened in a short amount of time, well, caitlyn proposed to you, then jinx blew up the council and killed her mother, then your fiancée became a damn Dictator and has been worked and training nonstop with Ambessa, and you’re starting to worry. she has been looking burned out a lot more and tired to even notice you sitting next to her on her desk as she stresses over paperwork.

“dear?” you twirled your finger around her loose hair. she jumps a bit, snapping out her thoughts and looking up to see her fiancée, you, “sorry darling, do you need something?” she fidgets with her pen and fingers, you smile at her weakly, “your dinner is cold.” you point to the cold dinner plate, nothing eaten on the side table next to her. caitlyn sighs heavily. “right, i apologize my dear, ill…make sure to eat.” “this is the fourth time dear. you can’t be a commander with zero energy.” you cross your arms over your chest, “i know know i’m just” “i’m starting to think ambessa was a bad idea again. i worried about all this pressure and process. like especially after your mother died, this isn’t good..” caitlyn’s fist banged against the desk, stopping you mid sentence.

“i don’t need your pity or concerns right now.” you stare at her, confused. “what are you talking about right now dear?” “i’m saying you talk too damn much.” she stood up, the chair scratches against the floor and walks away from the desk, “where are you going?” you asked while sliding off the desk, “out. i need some fresh air.” you tilt your head to the side and keep your arms crossed, “fresh air? or maddie?” the blued hair commander stopped dead in her tracks, “what…what did you just say?” you scoffed, as you walked past her, bumping her shoulder. you open the door, revealing maddie with paper works in her hands, “i’ll take my leave.”

EKKO

patrolling the area around the safe area, but your mind consumed with the thoughts of your boyfriend, he’s starting to overworking again. and that’s pissing you off. months of you guys dating and he still doesn’t get the memo. you sat on top of the tunnel entrance towards the hideout. staring up at the stars, wishing ekko was here with you.

suddenly, you feel a long cold metal jabbed into your side. you immediately clutch it to stop it from entering further until the culprit kicked you in the back, causing you to roll off the top and your body thudding against the cold concrete then you saw black. you wake up, the knife removed and you’re wrapped in bandages around your stomach and your arm is in a cast. your eyes adjust to the light shining down upon you, you wince as a headache rises and you hear muffled sounds of someone screaming your name. once your mind finally adjusts to everything, you hear ekko,

“hey hey hey! firebug! what happened?” his hands placing everywhere patting you down. you wince again, “ekko…that hurts..” you fully open your eyes. “what happened? why did someone find you outside of the base, bleeding out?” he raised his voice, not scary but scared. “i…i was patrolling around the entrance and—” “patrolling? didn’t i say you’re not allowed to patrol unless i’m there?” his voice switch to low. “i can take care of myself ekko.” he gritted his teeth, “well clearly you can not! look at you now! you don’t ever listen huh?” he started pacing back and forth, “it’s like you’re deaf or something, i said no! and you do the entire fucking opposite!” he grabs his mask and hoverboard, stops to say something but rejected that idea and just left.

ekko was so hard to do ngl cause what has he done for to cause an argument🧍‍♀️and you notice how short-ish jinx is? yea cause i can never actually be mad at jinx.

©︎ A M A T E R A S U. all rights reserved. please don't plazarize, copy, or steal any of my works without my permission, thank you !

[wintrwinchestr]

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

read this chapter on ao3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that? 

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway? 

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol. 

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has. 

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night. 

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out. 

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought. 

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you. 

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away. 

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge. 

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears. 

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need. 

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still. 

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans. 

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue. 

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour. 

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—” 

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” 

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already. 

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some. 

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise. 

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that. 

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why. 

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything. 

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.” 

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. 

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now. 

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up. 

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.” 

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers. 

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough. 

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band. 

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight. 

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary. 

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet. 

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

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[gunnrblze]

Keep thinking about unhinged Walker boys. Not even after Rorke took Logan, just in general.

Like, their late teen years were very tumultuous because of ODIN/joining the army, they are 26 and 28 during the game, they’re still YOUNG.

Mid-late 20s and they’re fighting an intense war for their country, fighting on their father’s behalf, fighting a grudge from HIS past, etc. I absolutely believe, aside from their training keeping them in line (and the other Ghosts), that they’d understandably be a little manic at times.

I think you can mostly see it in the way Hesh acts sometimes in the game. Not to say he didn’t have every reason to lol, but he did act bratty and defiant at multiple points, and I think that’d be multiplied in a way we didn’t even see.

Before Elias died, he knew exactly how to keep them in line, being their father and all, but after he was gone, I see the rest of the Ghosts (especially new Captain Merrick) having to reign them in more than anticipated. With Elias being dead and Rorke still being a flaming cunt, they would struggle even more.

Keegan, Kick, hell even Neptune would have to participate in Operation: Keep The Boys Sanity Intact, because they certainly don’t have the mental bandwidth to do it themselves all the time (their brains are very FRESHLY fully developed…)

And I love that in game, Hesh has a specific monologue after Elias dies where he’s all calmly and solemnly stating that they’ll take over for their dad, finish the mission, etc. And yes they are grown ass men, been through a fuck ton of training…but let’s be so for real lmfao, that’s a lot to have on your plate for two dudes that are hardly cresting 30 years old.

I just think, aside from the few moments we see in game where they (Hesh lol) are loosing their shit a little, it’d be much more chaotic on a personal level than was shown.

I wrote something about the mentor/mentee dynamic I think Merrick would have with Hesh AFTER Logan’s taken, but I like to think he’d literally have double on his plate before Rorke snatched the baby off the beach.

I just like looking at both sides of the same coin. They grew up too fast, they’re no doubt traumatized, have been through extensive military training, and all the personal experience we see them gain….that definitely sobered them up real quick and knocked their maturity levels up several pegs.

But at the same time, I just don’t believe they’d always be that put together in the ways that we see, especially not compared to the more experienced elder Ghosts. Perhaps a sort of “we’re mature but you guys are seasoned” type of vibe.

And despite the only real description of Logan’s personality being that he’s a quiet, cold blooded killer, and an excellent soldier…bro is quite literally 26 years old and in the damn trenches, you can’t tell me he wasn’t routinely being a brat when he was able to be lol (babies of the family lock in!).

Even more interesting on Logan’s part, who would really be keeping him in line primarily when he acts up, pre or post Elias death…? Davey poo I’m afraid. And I think Hesh would get to a point where the weight of it all, plus keeping Logan in line and on the general right life path would have him tweaking.

Imagine having all that on top of you, then your dad dies, and your only surviving family is your clingy little brother…lmfao. Of course Logan is more than capable on his own as we can see in the game, but, and it’s been said before and will continue to be said, Hesh was parentified to the max. And it only becomes more clear when you read between the lines.

I just think in similar, but also their own separate ways, they’d be a little off their rocker sometimes. I like to imagine Keegan having the common fanon agreed bond with Logan, and helping him keep his eye on the prize, and I feel like Hesh would attach himself to Merrick (even older male authority figure, he lives and breathes the slivers of validation he’d get…)

And then there’s Kick…lol. In an unforeseen way, I imagine him being like a sort of glue in this scenario honestly. We don’t get much info on him, he’s hardly even in the damn game very much, but I think of him as being oddly very wise (not too far off since he’s not younger like the Walkers, but he’s probably not a whole lot older than Keegan/Ajax either) despite his nervous system being just as shot from fighting a war. He’d be like the cousin with some randomly sage advice for Hesh and Logan.

TLDR; the Walker brothers are frazzled, they need an Ativan, therapy, and a long winters nap

[olderthannetfic]

I'm still peeved to the fucking moon and back that people legit feels like it's controversial to say "I wish we'd focus on NON-white fairytales when starring POC, because other cultures that Europen ones exist." and "It's annoying that already existing fairytales redone despite still holding up, to be an expensive cashgrab with no soul." Like, be honest, even if the poc starring in the movie is a fantastic actor, they're still basically going to be used as a shield by execs afraid of real criticism, they're going to receive hate by racist assholes, all to be then forgotten because they'll never live up to the original OR the movie is just so shit it'll sink into nothingness for being so mid to begin with, as most of them have.

"OmG what about an Asian Snow white?" "What about a Native American Red beauty and the beast?" "What about a black Rapunzel." Or... OR! We actually look at a specific culture, and then we get a cool fucking story that isn't the same set of European fairytales all over again? Maybe it's because I'm from Europe, but in my childhood I've read and watched hundreds of movies, shows, and books that are just different versions of the same European fairytales. That doesn't mean they're bad, but that any "new" version is just another log on an already burning pyre. It won't change anything, that fire already burns.

But imagine a story from a place and culture that hasn't really been presented to the West? How about the story of "The Palm oil girl" from Nigeria? Hell, there ARE fairytales from other countries that are like European fairytales in some aspect, but are clearly from a different country and culture. Yet people always rigidly stick to the European telling of these stories. The Vietnamese story "The Tale of Tấm and Cám" is a story that shares a lot of similarities with Cinderella, but is in its essence Vietnamese. You can find so many cool fairytales, and focusing on even just a few of them could kickstart a persons journey to exploring more cultures.

I don't believe in the "Western burden" to tell the tales of other cultures, many can do that on their own. But I also believe that it always felt like a serious case of pussy footing and cowardice not to just straight up do POC fairytales to begin with. Come on, be the first log for a fire to create the pyre.

--

[itslouisan]

Time to have C!Techno headcannons!!!

Heyo, seems like finally I reached my 2nd favorite cc ever! I think techno's character is REALLY interesting, with great writing and details and I can definitely add some hc of my own in there, so without further ado, let's go!

(btw @syndicatedsystem you might like some of my headcannons involving Jschlatt and Techno I talk about here so yeah! Also feel free to discuss em' with me or make asks abt it, hell your blog inspires me a lot)

(I lost the name of the artist if anyone knows please tell me)

• Techno has some braids in his hair, the longer, the more he values the person

Longest: Philza, it's braided with gold details

2nd longest: Ranboo, has a amethyst crystal for purple

Mid-term: Wilbur, he braided it in consideration of a battle friend and some good times with Will, he doesn't hate or likes Wilbur, but still can't deny they do have a connection

Shortest: Tommy.

• Techno prepared a space in the cabin for Tommy in case some day, his demons and the hell he was looking for, finally was found, he'd welcome Tommy with open arms, since he'd view that the kid suffered enough and had the time to change and face any consequences he'd need to face, the space is safe, always available, but, he'd never tell Tommy that, he keeps it hidden, he's not ready to be vulnerable to the demon child again and openly say Tommy could count on him, not until Tommy makes the first step.

• Keeps the pickaxe that blinded Quackity as a trophy, this and keeps all weapons from powerful enemies with him as a reminder of a great battle he won once again

• Likes to write poetry about people and events, he'd never give them to the person, but keep it in a dusty small box in his room in the attic of the cabin

• OKAY, LET'S ALL AGREE TECHNO IS ARO/ACE? GOOD.

• Techno was friends with Jschlatt before everything went to hell, they liked to talk about random bs while watching the fire crack at night and drink some cheap booze for Jschlatt and coffee for Techno

• I view Techno also having some boar traits, so yeah territorial as FUCK don't mess with his stuff or house, also he chases pray like crazy and can eat almost anything without a problem due to that

• Doesn't CARE for alcohol, just doesn't like the idea of having a hangover afterwards since he'd be unable to fight the next day

• Would gossip with Jschlatt, Tommy and the syndicate like, ABOUT EVERYTHING, I imagine him and Jschlatt favorite hobby is shit talking people they hate

• Techno being aro/ace also means if you flirt with him, he'll just stare at your soul and bully the shit out of you, sometimes calls Phil and/or Jschlatt to roast the shit out of the person, also WILL defend himself from any creeps and defend his friends from ANY strange people since for him touch is STRICTLY a death sentence and something that takes time

• Techno smokes when stressed or in the syndicate room, making Phil always carry an extra lighter for him just in case, the 2 used to be smoking buddies before Phil quit when he adopted Chayanne and Tallulah

• Techno in the QSMP is an entity, a god watching above everyone but never leaving Phil side and the eggs side, sometimes he'd talk to Tallulah directly, or influence Phil like a voice in his head to do the right thing in his vision or appear to Chayanne in his dreams to have a chat

• Can and will drink blood from the enemies

• Loves to talk about skulls and anatomy of the body in general, a dark fact, due to respect to Jschlatt, after he died (not considering revival, I view revival as either the decomposed body coming back to life in a LESS but STILL fucked up state or a kind of new body that is the users body in the afterlife coming to the alive realm, if you guys want, I can make a post about this) picked and kept Jschlatt sheep skull, with horns and everything

(art by sadist)

• Would talk about historical wars and battles with his own analysis and commentaries on it, making a great history teacher

• totally collects greek mythology stuff, books, items, anything.

• Has a couple of tattoos but one that is pretty badass is a wither skull with red smoke on his ribs in the right, a tattoo of a emerald in the inside of his left wrist, a tattoo of a squid with a fork on it's head in reference to the potato war on his right wrist really tiny and "everything starts with blood" and "the voices demand blood" written in his tights

• My boy 100% has piercings due to piglin culture, around 75% of them being made of gold

[ryuseibutgayer]

I’m hopping on the yamagishi agenda.. Yamagishi watching in awe as his girlfriend kicks ASS to protect him(and maybe mizo mid in general)

HIII thank you for your request!! <3 so sorry for the late reply :v I tried my best to provide the envisioning I thinnnnk you want? Hope I did :v let's beat some ASS, anon 😤

TW: beating up, Swearing, Makoto theft, blood mentions, Makoto pervy, Takuya future job reference

ꜱᴍᴀᴄᴋ ᴀ ʙɪᴛᴄʜ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛᴍᴀꜱ ᴇᴠᴇ

YAMAGISHI

• He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all. Then some assholes decided that he looked funny.

• The second he spoke up to try and defend himself even the tiniest sliver, he immediately regretted it as the tallest one stood closer to him with that ugly stretched neck look.

• The thing that Yamagishi wasn't clenched and prepared for was you to come flying out from behind him- landing your foot square on that ugly bitch's face

• Yamagishi thought he'd been hit actually, so he'd flinched and dropped his ass back against the pavement- you can imagine his face when he looked up and it was y o u kicking ass

• This boy would immediately get right back up and start trying to find the best angle to watch

• He would start SCREAMING cheers and supporting you kicking ass

• God knows he can't do it himself

• Once you come back over to him after handing them back their last ass, he'd hold your face in his hands and start saying the most self-berative thanks to you💀💀 he'd also question how the fuck you did that

• expect ice cream later, constant bowing for the next week, and maybe a little hesitation he has with you when horse playing

AKKUN

• Oh God not the pretty boy

• Why him

• 😭 people were makin fun of his clean looks n shit like they could look half as good

• They were right out at the front of the school (exhibitionist jackassed punks)

• Akkun was ready to fucking take it just to get it over with with a gritted face as the brown haired assholw held him up by his collar

• AND THEN BAMMO YOU COME IN FUCKIN UP THAT BASTARDS ARM, LETS GO (nice job)

• Akkun just fell and got dust in his eyes 😭 after he rubbed his scratched butt and rubbed the dirt out of his vision, you were on top of the guy?? Goddamn you rabid freak, girl go off beatin his ass like that

• Yeah Akkun was worried tho so he shouted a tiny bit after he figured the guy had enough and trieda pullya off a tad

• Once you were back on your feet, the both of you were standing there out of breath just looking at each other all bewildered like 😧

• Then akkun would speak up and ask you "where the hell did you learn that, y/n-"

• He'd end up barely listening to your explanation and drag you off to the school nurse for your little scratches and knuckles

• He's gonna make sure he walks you home that day to make sure you both have the time to talk about- alla that

• He'll ask you to try and keep it in check, but he'll definitely thank you- he's STILL shocked at that

• He'll ask you try and not get involved with his bs affairs, just to make sure you'll be safe and not get in trouble for anything he dragged you into

• Sweet pomp boy <3

TAKUYA

• Mr future drug dealer

• IM KIDDING, ITS OVER THE COUNTER LAXATIVES TFYM, COOL IT Y/N

• Anyways

• Yeahhhh he was approached by some cunty punk that heard he was getting good grades in his science classes and started pushing onto Takuya with his "will you tutor me?? 🥺" bullshit

• Takuya obviously just flat out tried to express he didn't wanna be associated with this guy and his grunts, even if it meant helping him out

• Guess what set the idiot off

• y/n I can't imagine how mad you must've been going around the school looking for your boyfriend just to find him shoved onto the floor by someone that wasn't you

• "Only I sexualize bullying my boyfriend you bitch" vibes

• so of course you knocked that low grade asshole in the side of the head

• Once you got that punk just dazzled and walking in a dumb little circle, Takuya got up in time to slug him in the jaw for the final pinch and bwoof, suddenly there's a punk on the floor

• Takuya just was so grateful and physically affectionate after that

• He'd check ya all around to make sure you're all set, give you a hug or a noogie, then you'd both walk to the infirmary (his favorite place <3) ew takuya

• expect giggles and shits in the nurse's office like two little psychos until you both went home to watch a movie together

MAKOTO

• Yeah he's a thief, so what? B)

• Makoto kinda stole some cash from this unattended wallllleeeeeet..

• It kinda belonged to a big bad guyyyy....

• And he was kind offff being held against the wall of the alley outside a grocery store you two planned to meet at that day to grab snackkkkks, soooo

• BWAM SLAM HIS FACE IN THE GLASS

• GET 'IM IN THE SPINE Y/N, GRAHHH

• You absolutely got that guy's blood all over the pavement, look at you go

•Makoto practically shit himself when he got approached by in the first place

• THEN he almost shit himself when someone kicked him in the head

• Makoto was this . close to leaking that shit down his pant leg when he realized the person beating up that delinquent was you.

•......girl.

• Imma be dead ass with you, Makoto is horrified, but from that point on it's an immediate turn-on.

• He's gonna suggest some weird ass service in order to thank you, but ofc what else

• HE'LL BUY YOU DINNER FIRST, DONT DISCARD HIS CLASS MK

• speaking of, he bought all the snacks you breathed on in that grocery store after.

[the5thcellar]

The only reason why people are against the perspective of Luke and Nicola having it, it's the internal fat phobia for me. Same thing for the group 'no chemistry' in the series. Anons wouldn't say all that shit about one sided crush from her, if she was indeed a woman with a skinny body, not a mid size one. The thing is she doesn't need it, cause she is ethereal and perfect in her way. She is a beautiful woman. She is gorgeous, while people project much of their own insecurities on her. Luke, though, is just the other typical male celebrity. If they'll ever jump on the train, it will certainly be him asking her out, not her following him. I don't see this woman in her golden retriever stage for anyone. She knows her worth and is sure to be aware of impulsive decisions of his.

OH CLOCK IT OMGGGGGGG. 193829293912% !!!!!!!!!!

I would like this post a hundred times if I could. I've been pretty much silent about the issue of fatphobia in the fandom because the arguments I've witnessed / been involved in on twitter ALWAYS get the same dead end responses - "not everything is fatphobia they just have no chemistry" / "you have to admit that Nicola isn't that attractive it has nothing to do with her weight".

It's LITERALLY fatphobia. Most of the times it's not even internalised - people are literally saying the quiet part out loud by insisting Nicola doesn't look good enough to warrant attraction from a "hot guy" like Luke.

LIKE BE SO FUCKING FR RN OMG ??? I've had to sit through people shipping SO many weird ass pairings that I personally felt were completely absurd - pairings that the mainstream audience ate up just because it was a skinny girl with a hot guy.

(Truth be told - and on a more relevant note - I literally felt like Phoebe and Regé had no chemistry. both of them were so absolutely compelling and gorgeous as individual characters but they didn't work together for me)

Isn't it strange how no one really said much about the previous two Bridgerton pairings where aesthetics were concerned... and were lauding the couples for all having such GREAT chemistry with one another ... but when it came to Luke and Nicola they were all suddenly so insistent that there was no chemistry at all and that their views are completely objective? Nah. Pack it the fuck up. All these people are fatphobic as hell.

What's made it worse is the bloody ozempic obsession that has swept over Hollywood in the past year. Suddenly celebs who used to advocate for body positivity are all skinny - doing a hypocritical 180 on the self love ethos they were preaching.

But anyway that's diving more into social commentary and I don't want to veer too far from the original content on this post.

So 100% yes - a HEFTY MAJORITY of polin antis and lukola antis are blatantly fatphobic. If you cannot imagine Luke Newton can EVER have feelings for Nicola but think him and A are obviously a great fit - you're fatphobic. You can pretend you're objective all you want ... but think about why you're so FUCKING QUICK to defend Antonia and say she'll be together with Luke forever / she's totally his type when 1) she's barely been in the spotlight - she's done no interviews or anything for y'all to even get enough of an idea of her personality to stan her or bat for her 2) y'all don't fucking KNOW his type you just assume it's skinny women because his celeb crush is dua lipa and everyone loves hot and skinny women right? newsflash guys my celeb crushes are Zac Efron and Mads Mikkelsen and HELL YEAH I'd fall over myself to date either of them... but in a fuck marry kill contest I'd still choose to marry Jack Black.

What you think is attractive as a fantasy is not always what you find attractive in a long term partner.

You're here on my page defending Antonia and insisting she's a better fit for Luke not because you know her, or like her, or even because you respect Luke. You're here on my page because you're using her as an excuse to come for Lukola. You're here on my page because you cannot imagine that a fat girl can be together with a "hot man."

Now check that.

[justcallmeskylar]

I haven't been into mid since 2020 but its always been in the back of mimd so these are just a few of my headcanons (and when Im calling the group itself, with Ava included, im calling it nook, cause appreantly that's the word for a groups of imps (yes im considering the deamons?, demons? as imps cause imps will have a little place in my spine)

-leif is very fond of children or anyone he considers a child. Like when he said that it was brothers taking care of brothers i felt that he really cares for his old family and honestly i think it would be sweet if he was extremely doting towards those younger then him

-Pierce is so autism

-We love our adhd rhys here. Like i just imagined him constantly shaking his leg and all and asch just putting his hand on rhys' thigh to stop him (Lil rhys/asch shipper here)

-I feel like calling them demons is a little bit on the nose considering (from my personal opinion) that demons at least are from hell or some really disliked place. And we saw that the 'demons' actually came from another planet. If anyone thinks they have a better name for them plz do say

-speaking of their planet:

it has an atmosphere

it has gravity

and its likely a miniscule smaller then earth

Which would explain all of them sudden collapsing but being able to adapt to the planet's gravity as their owns planet's gravity is likely weaker then earths

and also fucking hate the air pollution cause they were coughing as soon as they stepped to earth.

-outside of the nook, the deamons hates physical touch or are greatly uncomfortable by it. However when its eachother then its rather comforting and familiar

-they did my boy Noi dirty geez. He deserves a formal apology from his nook

-Ava's bed is so damn big im sure they all cuddle together there

-when the deamons first came to earth, they kinda had to borrow atleast a few clothes from ava. After that Ava had to go out and buy a bunch of new clothes, but every now and then they will choose to wear her clothes, wether for comfort or just to be a piece of shit

-they wear eachothers clothes too, although pierce has limited option since he's the physically biggest in the group

-Pierce is massive cuddler, like if you have the misfortune of being within his grasp, its very hard to escape depending on who you are.

-we also being a multishiper here because asch has two hands and rhys has two and i think they should hold hands with pierce.

-leif has c-ptsd from the time his old family exiled him to asch sparing him and will have continues nightmare about which is why de doesn't exactly like to sleep

-pierce can sleep anywhere anytime as long as he has his nook around.

-Rhys is also an insomniack and stays up reading books that ava got for him at the library and ends up often having really deep late night conversations with leif (shhhhhhhhhh their bonding)

-Rhys is more chemistry/science/magic smart while Asch is actually the one who's more laguange smart since I feel that as he's the prince and likely to be the next king he was constantly interacting and having to speak different dialects from people of other nations

That's all the energy I have I'm kinda sleepy

[flockoff-featherface]

i just. sometimes i think back about devil may cry again. and. damn. like dante and vergil barely got to be actual children, vergil's obsession with power comes from his insecurity about being supposedly unable to save his mum and dante and. they were so young, they should've been able to play around as kids and enjoy their childhood. the fact that both of them just. lost their parents so quickly and had to find their ways in this godforsaken world alone.

it's so interesting to me how dante uses his taunts to like. lower his anxiety. he runs through fights making jokes because he's always scared. and i'd go as far as saying that on the other hand, vergil is just scared for his brother. the whole "im better than you" thing? it's always read (to me) as "i gotta make you strong enough but also i gotta unlock all my power so i can protect everything i love" but just gone too far. like he's taken it really to an extreme, obviously, but i do think it started out as genuine fear that he wasn't enough. these men for real just need therapy. all of them need therapy someone get the dmc gang THERAPY.

OH. AND ANOTHER THING. THAT FINAL FUCKING FIGHT IN DMC3 BETWEEN VERGIL AND DANTE. i like to think it's always been dante trying to bring vergil back from "POWER". like the "we are the sons of sparda" part is very much a "fucking wake up and look around you can do so much better" and vergil is so far gone that genuinely his response is "our souls are at opposites, brother. i need more power." which is such a personality defining statement from him. But the part that hurts most? When Vergil cuts Dante's hand on his way down to hell. He reaches out for his brother.

AND OOH. BEFORE I FORGET. lady saying to nero (not an exact quote bc i cannoooooot remember it) "you'll never be able to recover from killing your dad don't do it" isn't just a "no dont do it nero". DMC3. SHE'S SPEAKING FROM EXPERIENCE. she knows what it's like to be in neros place on dmc5, and. i just feel like sometimes we look over lady and her past. she went through so much too, like imagine being like 16/17 (?) and having your dad be like "yeah holup lemme go open the gate to hell come here daughter lemme k word you so i can open the gate to hell" and have to actually go out and stop him. and like i guess even with dante and vergil there's an element of "oh they're half demon they. kinda. expect this shit in their lives" LADY ISN'T. she's 100% human and has been through so much.

and like when that's put in perspective, it really makes me enjoy the games more. like, growing up playing the games it was all "wahoo haha pizza haha motivated haha gun-trick-sword-trick-gun-trick" and now it's all "man. more of my favourite characters are just. traumatised people who have really gone through the worst shit ever."

anyway. ro lore dumps about devil may cry again. maybe if i get time mid coursework i'll add more lmao we'll see 😔

But yeah. Sometimes even a Devil May Cry. Ouch.

[those70scomics]

Fictober Day 9: "don't listen to me, listen to them"

That '70s Show Fanfiction

Hyde paced W.B.'s office at Grooves's headquarters. Angie was present, as was Jackie. She'd taken time off from her busy-as-hell schedule for this meeting.

"It's a dumb idea," he said. "I shouldn't have even brought it up."

"It's not dumb, and I'm happy that you told us about it." W.B. grasped Hyde's arm, stopping him near W.B.'s desk. "You're turning twenty-nine in less than two months. You're engaged. You should want more."

Angie's facial expression showed that she'd been waiting for this day. "I dreamt of running a record store since I was a kid. Then of running all of Grooves someday, and now I'm the company's senior VP of operations. You're allowed to pursue your dreams, too."

"I've already got more than I ever freakin' dreamed." Hyde glanced back at Jackie, who'd remained silent so far. "It ain't fair to to risk it all."

"You don't think creating Grooves was a risk?" W.B. said. I was married to Angie's mother, who was pregnant with Angie. We needed the security of a regular paycheck, but her mom wanted me to be happy. And my risk eventually paid off more than anybody could've imagined."

Hyde gestured in defeat. "I can't imagine this workin'."

Jackie stepped toward him and touched his hand. "Neither can I."

"Exactly."

"But don't listen to me. Listen to them."

Hyde stared at her. "Who the hell are you, and what've you done with my chick."

"Steven." She jostled his hand. "I'm redesigning my whole spring collection. I can't imagine that working either, but I'm doing it anyway. This time next year on October ninth, 1990, you'll have put out your first record on your own label."

"A sub label of Grooves Records, of course," Angie said with a smirk.

Hyde bowed his head and hunched his shoulders. "That's nepotism."

"That's expanding the family business." W.B. patted Hyde's back. "I'm not taking an opportunity away from anyone else. You've earned this. The demos you've played me, you have the ear, son."

Hyde sat in the closest chair. His legs were shaking from what was being said, being offered.

"You've been apprenticing under Frankie Branch to learn audio engineering, music production, for how long?" W.B. continued. "Picked up the guitar expertly in three years of lessons and learned as much by listening to songs. Taught yourself bass guitar. Became Cam's favorite drum student, and that's saying a lot."

Angie gazed at the high ceiling and shook her head. "Edna and Bud gave you no chance to realize you have perfect pitch. You didn't understand what you were capable of. You've had to play catch-up in your mid-twenties."

Jackie stood in front of Hyde and rubbed his arms over his long sleeves. "Your childhood was stolen from you. You once told me all the doors were locked for you but one. Your family, your true family, has unlocked so many. You've walked through a lot. Don't shut this door and walk away."

Hyde covered his face in his hands. His emotions were getting to him, breaking through his defenses. As a kid, Formans' folks signed Forman up for jazz guitar lessons, which he abandoned. Only the acoustic guitar remained, and Hyde played that thing every second he could at the Formans' house.

He used Forman's beginners' workbook to learn tabs that were printed alongside sheet music. Hyde couldn't read music for shit, but tabs he got. Songs on the radio, on records, stuck in his skull like recordings. He figured out how to play the guitar parts himself and, back then, had no clue why could do that.

He understood now.

"Son, are you all right?" W.B. said.

Hyde raised his head and wiped his eyes. "Yeah. Just ... when ya don't believe something's possible for you for so damn long -- and then it happens? Kind of a mind fuck."

"So you'll start your label?" Jackie smiled at him with such hope, such support, he would've fallen in love with her if he hadn't already fallen twelve years ago.

"Yup."

Jackie cheered, and W.B. congratulated him in a proud, fatherly way Hyde was still growing used to.

"What are you going to call it?" Angie said.

Hyde grinned. "Burn-Out Records."

[marcussour]

C3E114 random bits and thoughts

2025 - MAKE MORE SMUT

"Hey guys, we're saving the world again", "What would they do without us"

Oh, I love that Percy's going full tinkerer with wind up toys that are secretly weapons

Love that Vex's first attack with the explosive arrow was a nat20.

Fuck, the giant vidulch is something else. And of course it's the Sunder King's mount.

"That's the 20th count of the initiative", MATTHEW, WHAT ARE YOU DOING

Oh, thankfully it was both nat 1s

I love Ashley's "GOOSH" sound effect

"Scanlan, what does your horse eyes see?"

I love that now's officially "Scanlan's Hand"

Vorak!

"That's what the nuns told me sex was like"

I expected nothing them from them than to burst into singing Manfred Mann's Earth Band's "Blinded by the Light"

The holy aura spell really was a life saver, since every enemy has been attacking with disadvantage and avoiding all the nat 20s

And of course the moment after I wrote that, Lieve'tel dropped concentration

"Here's what I'm gonna do" by Ashley Johnson

TRINKET!

DIVINE INTERVENTION! Lieve'tel is just, clutch

"You take 14 points of acid damage"; "we'll buy you some Pink Floyd"

Over 100 points of damage in a single round. High level barbarians are something else.

So the beacon was somewhat related to the Luxon

So long bloody bridge!

Scanlan's (and Sam's) hate for Trinket, will never stop being funny

That frenzied wrath that Ozo's has is crazy

OH NO VEX

Look, I know they can revive her still, and it wouldn't be Vox Machina without at least someone dying, but shit, that one hurt

See, she's back thankfully

Love Percy's long ass turn, just, unloading anything on Ozo to avenge Vex

"He's inside of you one last time", "Balls deep"; the more things change... etc, etc

VAX'ILDAN!

Rest in pieces Malleus Key

Of course Vax's first roll is a nat20

If I had a nickel for every time in this campaign that a priced mount/companion of a big boss enemy turned against them due to the actions of the party

THAT WAS THE MOST GROG WAY TO JUST WRECKING UP AN ENEMY, AMAZING

What would Scanlan do

Make it Funny, Make it Cool, Make it Perverted!

"Hey, you look like diseased genitalia. Tell me, does it burn when you urinate?", Robbie's a gift

Look at Vax just being back and cool as fuck

NGL, I wanted Scalan to keep the vidulch and just, take him whenever he rejoins his mid-midlife crisis escapades.

One night. Let's pretend everything's alright for one night.

I didn't expected a happy ending, but that was bittersweet.

I do have to say, besides Vax getting one night along with the group, it did left me with some questions. Because the whole conversation with the Raven Queen sounded like, maybe Vax can/might serve her in the material plane?

Also, what is going on in Issylra? The angels told them that they needed to regroup, and plan the next stage of the attack, possible on Ruidus? Like, is it prepping in case both Bells Hells and the Mighty Nein fail? Is it related to if/when Predathos awakens? Or is something else going on? Like, maybe Ludinus or someone else attacked Vasselheim while everyone was away? I don't think it was the broadcast of the message from Aeor since I imagine Vox Machina would've gotten it too. Lots of things that might happen.

Anyway, loved this mini arc or whatever we want to call it. Having Vox Machina again was just, the best.

Also, did Lieve'tel went with them to Whitestone? I imagine she did, if only so she could visit Bertrand's grave.

[rikebe]

thoughts on x men evolution kurt?

i LOOOOVE evo kurt!!! i have a huge soft spot for evo in general (i love love love any animated version of the xmen and evo is so silly and whacky i cant help but adore it) and i think kurt is sooo adorable in that show.

i love how this version of kurt leans wayyy more into his mischevieous and silly pranky side than most other adaptations and i really appreciate that. i feel like its such an underutilized and underrepresented aspect of his character that it even kinda gets tossed to the wayside in the comics half the time, but it's one of the things that makes him such a fun, three-dimensional character. i think its awesome that evo chose to go with that side of him when other adaptations focus more on his melancholy, somber side (which i also love of course! but its not all there is to him!)

im also a huuuuge sucker for little brother and comic relief characters in general (bobby's always been my fave o5) and kurt rly kinda takes on his role of the silly team baby in evo. i adore a silly team baby. plus, kurt is ACTUALLY the youngest of three siblings in canon, so i can totally see him being the annoying kid brother who tags along with amanda and stephan and gets on their nerves.

i liked the more serious plot they did for him too with the whole thing with mystique. ill never get tired of that storyline i wont lie and i think evo manages to strike a good balance where kurt is funny and comedic relief, but you still care about him and when he has a more serious moment it works.

although i think he CAN be a little overexaggerated with his teen speak, i like to imagine that's due to his status as a non-native speaker so he awkwardly overuses slang to try and fit in. I gotta say that I think most of the time Kurt being a teen from germany coming to america is treated kinda weird (see: the reboot movies acting as if kurt doesnt know what a movie or a store is. like guys hes from berlin in the 80ies. hes not from fucking dorf schragensdiek mid-14th century he probably has done way wilder shit than suburban teen scott summers.) so i like to make up my own headcanons to make it make sense a little lmao. also as a german: we think american/english sayings are super funny and like repeating them as germanly as possible. its like a nationwide sport so kurt doing it for funsies would also be totally reasonable.

overall i tend to take a lot of inspiration from evo for my version of a teen kurt bc the way he's characterized could totally be a super young and immature version of the sweet calm fuzzy guy we all know n love. hes silly and pranky and kind of annoying, but he's also really caring and the way his relationship with kitty evolved from a silly crush to genuine friendship was SO sweet. i love when kurt is shown that way, flirty but ultimately completely unselfish when his affections aren't returned and totally glad to just be friends with someone he had a crush on. i do think it's really lame how he uses the image inducer all the time since kurt NOT using the inducer anymore is such a big part of his character arc, and him using it at HOME all the time too is really weird but... well, whatever. in total one hell of a lovable, great kurt.

plus his design is super cute. how can you not love that 90ies boyband middlepart??

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

Loki Episode 5 Coherent Thoughts

Spoilers for Episode 5. Once again, I have not rewatched before posting.

Most of this is lokius related because I'm still a damn fool.

I want the twist at the end to be that Loki gives Mobius (and the others) back his memories to give him the choice to go back to his life, and is just really sad about it, because he expects Mobius to want to go back to his kids who don't have a mother. But he gives him his memories of his past and they're... not what he saw when he found him. Like at all. I'm not gonna speculate on specifics (*cough* Theo Bell *cough*) but he doesn't have the responsibilities of being a single parent. And Loki's like 'No, but you had two boys,' and he tells Mobius about them and they both kind of realize at the same moment that they looked like Mobius but acted like Loki. None of that was real. Mobius made all that shit up and it somehow manifested. Because he's got it B-A-D for Loki, like a middle schooler with their first crush imagining an entire life with them.

Alternatively, I saw only one other post about this but maybe it's gotten some traction by now, but maybe Mobius's wife got Blipped four years prior. So the good thing is the boys are gonna have a parent in a year even if Mobius decides to stay with Loki.

Hi hello I'm still disturbed that these very young children have been possibly left home alone for eight hours (he says his shift is 9-5), and Mobius couldn't even answer the phone when they called. We don't see a babysitter. Mobius, this is neglect. For the children's sake, I fucking hope either A. they aren't real, or B. a more responsible parent is about to come back and take care of them in 2023. (Ugh, but Love having cousins who are about her age and just as chaotic as she is would be amazing.)

I've come up with the worst Dad joke and a way for Mobius to get out of his bribery with his kid he for sure cannot deliver on. He brings OB around for dinner. OB's timeline name (if I read the subtitles correctly) is A.D. Doug. ADDOUG=A DOG. And his TVA name is Ouroboros, the SNAKE eating its own tail. (Alternatively, you now know Loki, you can borrow his sons Fenrir and Jormungandr. Blended family.)

I know it hasn't been explicitly stated, but I thought the whole thing with Alioth in season one was meant to imply that Loki now knows how to restore memories. So why the fuck doesn't he try it in this episode? Even if he's pretty sure they're all where they were prior to the formation of the TVA, it's still after for him, so why wouldn't he at least try it? When he kept moving toward Mobius in the garage scene I thought he was gonna grab his head but he doesn't. (Maybe he was interrupted by OB, but he has ample opportunity later.)

It just needs to be said because I love history. I am obsessed with Casey being Frank Morris. Both he and Loki being central to these ongoing (technically) mysteries is amazing. Like unlike Cooper it is generally accepted that Frank and his co-escapees drowned during the attempt, but no bodies identified as the men were ever found (if my shallow dive into the wiki article immediately following the episode is to be believed). OB, your boyfriend's a convict lolololol!

AD Doug is still gender-neutral though. It's 1994 but my boi can still be enby. (I'm aware enby people existed well before this but, and the wiki is not being helpful, I think the specific term was coined in the mid to late 90s or possibly later, so OB may not have been aware of it.)

I don't think Marvel is moving toward Casey/OB (at least not before the end of this season, if we get another season it MIGHT be a different story), but fuck it would be so funny if they met so much later than lokius but were able to get their shit together faster than lokius. I think it'd check out for for everyone involved. Hell, maybe they're already together and it just hasn't come up yet to the group. That'd be funnier (bonus points if B-15 already knows though).

Loki for some fucking reason: Hold on, I gotta look cool and suave for this dork of a single dad who's already informed me at least three times of his own volition that he's single.

[watchmakermori]

I feel like nobody on this website gives a shit about obscure bbc tv drama Waterloo Road but I need to just say how emotional it is making me. this show first started in 2006. it's your basic school drama with mid writing and mid acting. I was 9 years old and i loved it. I watched every episode of this fuckin show, and it's important to bear in mind that the LARGE MAJORITY of them were eyewateringly bad. this show fucking sucked for about 60% of its run and i loved it. my whole family loved it.

the show ends in 2015 on the worst finale you can imagine. for years afterwards my family watches it again and again, mocking the shit out of it. It gets us through the pandemic. It's my ultimate shitty comfort show and I love it so much.

but this show is aggressively 2000s. it deals very much with Issues of the Moment - abortion, homophobia, racism, mental health issues, ableism - but it does it in the most graceless way possible. they decided to do a trans storyline at one point but then they freaked out and backpedaled and the character just decided they were cis actually, because committing would've been too much effort. that sort of thing

so eight years pass. they announce a new, fresh series of Waterloo Road and i am beside myself with joy. I can't wait to make fun of it again. imagine my surprise when it actually turns out to be kind of good. it's goofy as hell and hokey at times but the characters are likeable and the writing is way better on the whole. and it is fully 2023 Woke™ in a way that utterly delights me. the characters are diverse and the storylines deal again with Issues of the Day. but it just brings me so much joy that this shitty lightly homophobic show I loved as a kid is back, and this time the gay kids get to be cool. They get storylines that aren't just about being gay. I'm just happy for today's teens that they get representation like that now. Things really do get better