#i think i'll think about it for the rest of my life

[myownwholewildworld]

losing my mind over your old man!joel... i need him and his broken dick so bad... drools.

anyways, thinking about running out of viagra but you're both insatiable- you just need joel to fuck you, it's real bad. and ofc joel is hung like a horse, so you get the idea for him to fuck you with his limp dick. it's not perfect but it works well enough for the both of you and joel ends up cumming, completely soft, inside you :3

lowkey would be hot as hell if that's the time the ends up getting you pregnant

OH MY FUCKING GOD GOOB, this made my pussy throb what the ffffffffffffffffuck 🫠 this is so fucking hot i honestly am gnawing at the walls of my enclosure. everyone knows that old man!joel miller has a big ass breeding kink, his only purpose in life, his dying wish if you will, is to have your belly round with his kid... fuck fuck fuck fuck

so i reckon it would be something like this...... if people would like to see this as a fleshed out idea, let me know 🫡

a very quick oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader drabble, where you both deal with a limp dick situation... 18+ mdni

“Honey, I don't think it's working...” Joel mouthed, sweat gathering on his prominent brows. You were laying on his bed, fully naked and with your legs parted. Joel was kneeling between your thighs, his flaccid dick stuffed in your panties, rubbing your throbbing clit with his cockhead under the garment. “No luck?” you asked breathlessly, propping yourself up on your elbows to glance up at him. “Let me suck you then, I'm hungry.” “Nuh-uh,” he tutted with a heavy huff, dragging his limp dick along your slick folds.

You whimpered, eyes focused on how the outline of his gifted cock moved below your underwear. You couldn't see how he was humping your drenched slit, but you could feel his girth snugly slotted between your swollen pussy lips.

“We can make it work, baby,” you promised, eyes fluttering shut when his mushroom head brushed your writhing clit again. “Just stuff me full, there's more than enough of you for the both of us.”

Joel's pinched brow suddenly relaxed, his darkened eyes searching for yours. He looked at you in disbelief, as if his old man's hearing was betraying him.

“What? With... with my limp dick?” Joel husked out shakily.

“Mhm, yeah... Trust me, I'll be gentle, it won't hurt. I promise,” you mumbled reassuringly, your warm hands lovingly caressing his forearms.

Joel warred with himself. He didn't think you'd hurt him at all, you never could. But this was humiliating enough as it was. What if he didn't get hard once inside your pussy? What if he could never get it up again without the blue pill?

“I... I dunno, sweetheart. Don't wanna disappoint you anymore than what I already have,” he admitted in a hush, embarrassed, guilt eating him up from the inside out.

Joel sat back on his heels, his cock sliding out of your damp panties. His dick was as soft as twenty minutes ago, not even an incipient erection in sight.

You quickly sat up, getting closer to him. You lifted your legs over his thighs, wrapping them around his waist, so your pussy was flush with his cock.

“Hey, I am not disappointed at all, alright?” You pecked his lips, a soft smile curling the corners of your mouth. “I am horny as fuck right now. Look,” you grabbed his right hand and slithered it down your belly, dipping it below your panties. You guided his fingers to your slick seam and gasped when you forced his ring finger to flick your clit. “Feel how wet I am? It's all for you, because of you. I love you. Please, I will make it good for both of us, I swear.”

Joel's balls grew heavier and warmer, the feel of your tacky arousal slipping through his fingers making him feel lightheaded. He didn't deserve you, your patience. Your love. But he was damn grateful for whatever put you in his way. He would spend the rest of his life proving to you that he was worth it, worth the effort.

Joel gave you a soft nod.

“Okay,” he conceded, kissing the tip of your nose.

You squealed in excitement, but your little giggle mutated into a muted sob when he pressed a tight, lazy circle on your nub. Eager to have your pussy swallowing his limp cock, you pushed your panties aside for him, while Joel lead the tip of his cock to your gushing entrance with his free hand, the other still stimulating your clit.

He pushed in ever so slightly, and your soft, velvety cunt engulfing his mushroom head.

Joel groaned, feeling how you squeezed your inner walls tightly to then release the hold, making room for him.

“You good? No pain?” you checked in on him. Joel shook his head no. “If it hurts let me know, we can stop whenever you want.”

Joel's heart contracted in his chest, your love like a blanket around his old loving muscle. Slowly he kept on going, pushing in as your legs hugged him tighter, your abundant slick the best lube. There was no painful friction—despite how soft he was, his cock was furrowing it's way down your cunt smoothly, with ease. Until he was fully seated inside your sweet pussy, feeling warm and cozy.

You gasped, your expression so blissful it tugged at his heart, and teased him a little with a soft squeeze.

“Oh, fuck... I am so full right now...” you mewled, leaning forward to kiss him, his fingertips still working your clit raw. “You're so big, even if you're limp, baby... Is it... is it okay if I clench?”

“Yes, please,” he mumbled, mind fuzzy with pleasure.

You gradually clutched around him, compressing his flaccid cock until you were extremely tight around him. Then you relaxed your walls fully before you slowly squashed him again, gently pumping him, cockwarming him.

“There's no rush, baby. Even if you don't get hard, it's okay. This is... fuck, this is more than enough,” you mewled, draping one arm around his neck to kiss him gently.

“Love you, sweetheart. You're so good to me, for me,” Joel muttered, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth while his fingers lovingly stroked your soft, palpitating bundle of nerves.

[pyroeater]

"ALRIGHT ALREADY, I'LL WRITE IT." I yell to the mob of writers in the back of my head.

---

Danny watches as Batman, Superman, Zatanna, and Constantine walk into his throne room. They had come, finally ((it was three hours after he thought they'd be here) he thinks john stalled as long as possible), in various emotional states.

Batman is stone-faced, but his proto-core (Batman dies a lot in the comics, don't be surprised he has one) is emoting scared, angry, confused, and protective. Danny can respect that considering what Damian shared/warned about his family's relationship with death, and as a protection spirit.

Superman looks like he is fighting to keep calm and is emoting (Superman also dies a lot) about the same as Batman, save for hurt. Which he can, again respect, as he also missed the wedding. ((Clockwork won't help me make the wedding, something about keeping the Realm's on the justice league's good side.) Danny thinks C.W. wants to use it as a bargaining chip for later.)

Zatanna looks calm and collected. She's emoting (a lot of people die and come back to life in the DC realms) about the same, plus excited and proud. Considering she was announced as the main spokeswoman and diplomat for this meeting (Wonder Woman is busy fighting something.)

John Constantine looks like he is about to faint. The piece of core (John plays Russian roulette with demons, angels, spirits, gods, forces of nature, etc, and dies in almost every adventure he goes on) that's still his, is somehow repeatedly saying "fuck." It's pretty calm about it too. Considering Danny owns a little over three-quarters of his soul ((and can get the rest at any time) a lot of Realm's residents still own back taxes, it's been five earth years, pay up) he can understands the panic induced soul swearing. He can almost hear other echos of swear word, might be the other pieces. Food for thought.

Danny observed their emoting too much, and missed Fright Knight's title rant. ... Whoops.

"High King Phantom, forever may you rean, we come to the Infinite Realm's to learn of the whereabouts and condition of Damian Wayne, Jon Kent, and Danielle Nightingale." Zatanna announces to the floor.

Right, I have to give them permission to stand and to stop bowing. (Note to self, fix though rules.)

"You may rise. As to where the freshly married group is, I can not tell you." Danny says a pompous as he can. I have to sell this, my reputationas a ruler depends on it. (And, as this is their wedding present) "They have wronged not only the Realm's with their union" (more specifically doing it outside of the main Realm's) I, Jazz, Dan, Sam, and Tucker wanted to be there. We're her family dammit.) "As such, they are going through trials to prove their union to said Realm's. None may interfere, as the Realm's themselves have spoken." (Ladies Gotham, Earth, and Sir Smallville agree that the newlyweds deserves a fun honeymoon.)

"May we be privy to the trials they face, our lord." Zatanna intreated.

"You may, but be warned, Zatanna Zatara, Bruce Thomas Wayne, Clark Joseph Kent/Kal-el, and John Constantine, none from your world may interfere in this. The dead have our ways, and they will be respected. A Choas Lord by the name of Klarion has already tried and is currently being ... delt with." (One witch child in a fear realm, and a "cat?" being chased by cujo, till the end of the honeymoon)

Quick dp x dc prompt:

The BatFam finds out via getting tagged a million times on any and all social media sites that Damian apparently got drunkenly married to Jon & Elle while the three were in Las Vegas.

And that alone is making them all lose their collective minds, but somehow there's yet still more on top of that punch in the face because apparently the three didn't get married as Damian Wayne, Jon Kent and Elle Nightingale.

Oh no, that'd be way too easy to handle when it came to how the press and wider world reacted to the youngest son and until very recently one of the most eligible bachelors in the world getting married at three in the morning in a haunted-house themed 24-hour Vegas chapel by a guy dressed up like Zombie Elvis.

No, instead the three of them got married as civilian Damian Wayne and very much not civilians Superboy/Jon-El the Son of Superman and Nomad/Stella Phantom the Crown Princess of the Infinite Realms.

-

also bonus meme stuff, this is absolutely how Damian, Jon and Elle greet the paparazzi upon stumbling out of the chapel and the images being shared absolutely everywhere. Steph frames them and hangs them up as the three's "Wedding Photos" because she finds it absolutely hilarious:

[whoevenisjavier]

EROTICA

part 1 | part 2

pairing: no outbreak!joel x reader

The plan was to finish your thesis. You didn’t actually want to meet a neighbor with a past you can google and a history caught on tape. Or did you?

a/n: the adult content t-shit gave me ideas. btw, my first story here and I swear this is not a TED talk about morality. critical thinking? yes, bc the story needs it. moral lectures? absolutely not. porn? you'll see. this is just for fun — enjoy, i guess. the storys finished already, so I'll post the next chapter soon.

additional tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. reader is 26, joel is 50ish. no outbreak. joel is a dad. conversations about porn. inaccuracies about joel miller (I know his parents aren't chilean but bear with me). javier peña is there too. do I have to add anything else here? I don't know how to do these things.

wc: 9k

This time, your parents aren’t waiting for you at the bus terminal like they’ve done every year for the past three. It’s a good thing, a sign you’re standing on your own now, with your own car, but you still miss seeing their smiles through the fogged-up bus windows.

That moment always made you feel like you belonged somewhere.

Driving through the streets of Lake Placid on your way home feels like walking through your childhood memories. The stores look almost the same — sometimes with a fresh coat of paint — and the people, though not exactly familiar, are the daughters and grandsons of the adults you grew up around before moving to New York. Their faces carry just enough resemblance to make you do a double take.

When you park in your parents’ driveway and pick up your phone for the first time in two hours, there’s a message from your mother.

“We’re in the backyard having a welcome barbecue for the new neighbor! You can go up to your room and rest if you want some time alone or come eat. Can’t wait to see you. X.”

You smile as you step out of the Jeep, the door creaking behind you, and breathe in the cold, clean air rolling down from the mountains and the lake that wraps around the village where you were born. Your parents’ house sits above Mirror Lake Drive, right at the edge of the hill on the northeast side of the village, and from your bedroom window on the second floor, you can see the lake and the distant peaks of the High Peaks.

A far cry from the view outside your New York apartment: nothing but gray swallowed up by buildings. It’s the perfect setting to finally finish your thesis.

As you grab your two suitcases from the back seat, your eyes wander to the house next door, which had been empty for the past three years, mostly because the previous owners were asking too much for it.

Buying real estate in Lake Placid takes careful thought, since turning a profit is unlikely even with upgrades and expansions – the village is just too isolated. So if you’re buying here, it’s not for the money. It’s because you want a life far away from the city.

The house in question is a larger and more luxurious version of your parents’, made of gray stone, with cute white-framed windows, and for the first time in months, you see the lawn freshly trimmed and a new pickup truck parked in the driveway.

Probably the new family your mom mentioned.

The house is empty when you walk in, but you can hear laughter and voices drifting up from the backyard. You head the opposite way, climb the stairs to your room, drop your bags, take a shower, and spend a good while debating whether to sink into sheets that smell like home for the first time in ten months or go downstairs and find something to eat.

Hunger wins.

You throw on a warm sweater and go down. When you open the back doors, six pairs of eyes turn toward you, but it’s your mother’s squeal that makes you smile, followed by the tight hug she and your father give you.

“There’s our girl,” your father says to the others, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he says your name. You give a small wave. “She always comes home for the holidays.”

The couple sitting together you recognize. They’ve been friends with your parents for years.

But you don’t know the woman who smiles sweetly at you, and you definitely don’t recognize the man, at least twenty-five years older than you, who keeps a neutral expression as he sips from a beer can. He doesn’t seem particularly friendly, but maybe that’s just the impression left by the slightly graying mustache and broad shoulders.

Two minutes later, you’re settled into a lounge chair with everyone in the backyard, a warm burger on your plate and a cold beer in your hand.

“I told Joel he’d have trouble with the house,” says the sweet-smiling woman to your parents, continuing the conversation they were having. “But he really wanted a place here, so I just supported him.”

“What kind of trouble are you having with the house?” your mom asks Joel — the mustached man, now officially identified.

“Nothing major,” Joel replies in a deep, firm, polite voice. “Had to redo the plumbing in two of the bathrooms and fix the heating in the kitchen sink, but it’s all fine now.”

“And are you liking it here?” you venture. You glance at the woman. “You and... your wife?”

Joel gives a faint smile.

“Tess isn’t my wife. And yeah, I’m liking it. It’s peaceful. Not too many teenagers. Feels like paradise.”

“What’s with the teenage hate?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious, silently filing away the Tess isn’t his wife detail.

“Fewer teenagers means fewer cell phones.”

Your response is a light laugh that earns a slight eyebrow raise from Joel, but you go back to your burger and let him be.

The conversation between the adults shifts to Fleetwood Mac, Lake Placid families, suggestions for places Joel should check out, and gossip about someone’s daughter who apparently got knocked up by the neighbor’s grandson, or something like that. You listen in, partly because you’re curious about the latest news (true or not) in the town you grew up in.

Your parents mention that you’re staying longer this time to get a change of scenery and finally work on your thesis, and that’s when the dreaded question comes. From Tess.

“And what’s your thesis about?”

Your mother holds back a laugh, because despite the seriousness of the topic, the initial reactions are always the same.

“I study anthropology,” you say. “My thesis is about the influence of pornography on male behavior over the years.”

That’s because the way men acted around you had always bothered you. When you were ten, wearing a cute chiffon skirt to the grocery store, they stared. When you were fifteen, walking home from school in your uniform, you heard disgusting things shouted at you on the street.

It wasn’t until you got older and realized that behavior like that isn’t natural (and why would it be, if women don’t do it?) that all your anger turned into the foundation for your research.

Tess raises her eyebrows and smiles slightly while the older couple gasps in surprise. Joel doesn’t react at all, except for rubbing the condensation on his beer can with his thumb.

“That’s a very interesting topic,” Tess comments, glancing at Joel, who briefly looks at her, then back at you. “Do you have any conclusions yet?”

“A few,” you say, though you already know the core of your research is the objectification of women’s bodies for the industry’s gain. “But I don’t want to bore you—”

“What’s your research method?” Joel cuts in before you can finish.

“Sorry?”

“Your research method. The system you’re using for the thesis.”

“Mixed methods,” you say, but you sense something more behind the question. Something slightly aggressive that you can’t fully pin down. “I did some fieldwork in New York.”

“Did you interview anyone from the industry?”

You shake your head.

“No one agreed. At least not the newer actors and actresses. The more established ones charged absurd fees just to answer ten questions.”

Joel says nothing, and the silence is broken when your father makes a joke about the topic. Everyone laughs—including you.

The barbecue lasts another hour at most before people start saying their goodbyes. Your mom wraps up two burgers for Joel, and he thanks her sincerely.

Then he turns to you and says:

“Good luck with the thesis, sweetheart.”

You nod, and you could swear you catch a faint smirk at the corner of his lips before he waves goodbye and walks off.

You run into Joel again at the market three blocks from home, standing in front of the fruit display, looking stuck between red grapes, green grapes, and oranges.

Joel’s voice comes suddenly from your left.

“What deep philosophical truth are you hoping those grapes will reveal to you?”

You startle, turning toward him with your hand over your heart as if that could slow it down. Joel raises one eyebrow as he begins placing seedless green grapes into a plastic bag.

He’s wearing worn jeans and a plaid flannel shirt over a white T-shirt. Thin-rimmed glasses rest on the strong bridge of his nose.

He smells like pine and something expensive—you guess it’s aftershave.

“Hi,” you say first, then quickly add, “I was trying to decide between grapes and oranges.”

“Grapes are sweeter this time of year.”

“But I like sour fruit.”

“Then go for the oranges.”

“But grapes are easier to eat. More practical.”

Joel gives you an impatient look, and you answer with a laugh. You grab a plastic bag and start selecting oranges.

After a short silence, while Joel ties off his grape bag and begins picking oranges too, you ask:

“Are you liking it here?”

Joel murmurs:

“There are some interesting things. Sarah likes it.”

“Your wife?” you ask quickly. Too quickly.

“My daughter. Just turned fifteen.”

Oh. Great. He’s a dad. You glance at his hand but see no ring. Joel notices.

“What’s with the marriage obsession?” he asks, although not rudely.

You shrug.

“I’m just curious. And you’d better brace yourself. The older ladies in Lake Placid are going to eat you alive with questions about your relationship status.”

“Really? Why do you think that?”

You freeze with your fingers wrapped around a particularly juicy orange. Without meaning to, you basically confessed that you think he’s a catch: attractive, polite, middle-aged, apparently wealthy, and tall. What other reason would the ladies have to shift their attention from their knitting?

You avoid his eyes.

“You bought the house that had been on the market for years. They’ll want to know who the buyer is,” you say, a half-truth.

He grunts, as if to say he doesn’t care about any of that, ties his orange bag, and places it in the cart. He glances at your basket, scanning the hygiene items (specifically the pads) and the chocolate bars.

“Did you drive here?” he asks.

You shake your head. He does too.

“Then let’s go. I’ll give you a ride home. It’s raining.”

His tone doesn’t invite objection and you don’t want to argue. Silently, and after grabbing a bag of green grapes too, you follow him through the market. He picks up a box of chocolate cereal, milk, kale, and oats, and then you both head to the checkout line.

You pay for your items first, so you end up waiting under the automatic doors, arms crossed beneath the blasting air conditioner.

People come in shaking umbrellas, mumbling about how unexpected the rain is or how cold the drops feel.

Older women walk in, spot Joel, and start whispering to each other with that smile every woman — no matter her age — immediately recognizes. The universal woman-smile.

He, seemingly unaware to all of it, pays with his card, grabs the bags with one hand, and walks over to you.

“Need help?” he asks, motioning toward your three bags.

You shake your head. He nods once and tilts his head toward the door, signaling for you to follow him across the crowded parking lot.

His pickup truck is parked near the exit—big and sturdy. You both get in at the same time. The inside smells good but feels stuffy from the rain, so he turns on the A/C and runs his hand through his graying hair to shake off the water.

“It rains a lot here,” he mutters as he starts the engine and buckles his seatbelt. You do the same. “Not sure I like this humidity.”

“Where were you living before?”

“Los Angeles.”

Your eyebrows rise. You can’t picture him with the stereotypical California vibe. It doesn’t fit.

So you ask the million-dollar question:

“What did you do there?”

The sound of the windshield wipers is your only response for a few seconds. Long enough for you to wonder if you crossed a line.

“A bit of everything,” he finally says, and you understand that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Yeah. You were being nosy.

Weird. Joel is weird, and everything about him makes you feel like you should think he’s an assassin, or a retired California mobster, anything that would kick your survival instincts into gear. You probably shouldn’t be sitting in a closed space with him like you’ve known him for years.

“Nothing illegal,” Joel adds when your silence starts to stretch.

That makes you laugh.

“Very reassuring.”

He smirks. At a red light, his fingers tap lightly on the leather steering wheel.

“How’s the thesis going?” he asks.

“Honestly? I haven’t opened the file since I got here.”

“Procrastinating?”

You hum in agreement, resting your head against the seat.

“I think I’m stuck.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“I need to watch some films to move forward.”

He freezes. Then he lets out a low chuckle. You defend yourself:

“I’m serious. I need to understand which narratives work best and why, and connect that to how they influence real-life behavior.”

“Makes sense,” Joel says.

“It does,” you reply, a little proud. You glance at him. The shape of his nose, the mustache, the gray-streaked beard. Then you add, “But it feels weird watching porn in my parents’ house, even if it’s for educational purposes.”

“Porn isn’t always for educational purposes?”

You gasp in horror.

“No!” you exclaim. “Porn is not educational. People don’t have sex like that in real life.”

“Hm…”

“You disagree?”

“I do,” he says plainly. “People do have sex like that.”

“I didn’t mean physically, Joel. Sex is easy: a good position, one thing inside the other, and done.” You catch yourself, because not all sex involves penetration, and something about Joel makes you think he wouldn’t mind sitting through a lecture on inclusivity if it came to that, but you add: “What I meant is that sex doesn’t happen like that. It’s not normal to open the door for the pizza guy and two seconds later be bent over the couch.”

“Says who?”

The frustrated growl that escapes you seems to amuse him. You know he’s teasing, and his grin proves it, but you can’t resist continuing.

“Not to mention the incest plots or the underage fantasies. Do you really think sex happens like that?”

His smile disappears instantly.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“No, I’m not. You can’t separate porn genres like some are less harmful than others, because even the ones that seem ‘harmless’ fuel the same industry that writes those sick scripts.”

“We’re here.”

He cuts you off with that simple phrase, and when you look out the window, you realize he’s right — you’re in front of your house. You turn your gaze back to him, and he meets it firmly, returning all the intensity you just threw his way.

You swallow and reach for your bags.

As if you hadn’t just delivered a monologue on the ethics of pornography, you simply say:

“Thanks for the ride.”

He doesn’t respond. You step out of the truck and walk to the door of your house, feeling like a kid who just got scolded, which is ridiculous. But even more ridiculous is the fact that Joel only drives away after he sees you walk safely inside, even though he literally lives next door.

You meet Sarah — Joel’s fifteen-year-old daughter — the next day.

After running along Mirror Lake Drive, you get home with your lungs burning and your body drenched in sweat, the elastic band of your pink sports bra stuck to your back. As you’re kicking off your sneakers at the door, you spot a pair of pink Converse, way smaller than anything anyone in your family would wear.

In the kitchen, there’s a skinny, unfamiliar girl sitting at the counter, two open books spread across the marble, her curly hair pulled up into two puffs.

She lifts her head, and her brown eyes hit you with a soft echo of familiarity.

“Hi,” you say, as if it’s totally normal to have a stranger in your house.

She waves back. Before you can ask “who are you?”, your mom walks into the kitchen and calls your name.

“This is Sarah, Joel’s daughter. Sarah, this is my daughter I was telling you about.”

Sarah gives you a shy little smile, and you smile back, a bit frozen by the fact that you’re standing face-to-face with Joel’s daughter. You’re not even sure why it freezes you.

“Joel had to spend the night out because he needed to go to New York, and he asked if Sarah could stay with us,” your mom explains.

“I’m old enough to stay alone, but my dad’s crazy,” Sarah chimes in, and you laugh.

You don’t think she’s old enough to stay alone, especially in a new town, but you don’t say that.

What you do say is:

“So, Sarah... what are you studying?”

Sarah needs help with her social studies homework, so after you shower and change into something comfortable, you sit down next to her and go over the assignments together. That’s when you realize she’s ridiculously smart and funny, slipping little jokes into the conversation, blending internet memes with historical facts, and talking to her turns out to be genuinely easy and fun.

Your mom serves dinner, you both eat, and then you settle onto the couch with your Kindles, each of you leaning against an end and your feet meeting in the middle of the cushions.

You’re in the third chapter of Ghost Radio when she calls you.

You peek over the top of your Kindle to let her know you’re listening.

“How old are you?” she asks.

“Twenty-six.”

She looks up at the ceiling as if doing mental math. Then, reaching some conclusion, she raises her eyebrows.

“Why?” you ask.

“No reason,” she shrugs, turning back to the book she was reading. Another question follows, this time without looking at you. “Are you dating anyone?”

“No. I ended my last relationship six months ago.”

“Was he older?”

“No,” you say with a laugh. “I mean, yes, but only by about three years. Why do you ask?”

Sarah wiggles her feet like she’s a little too excited about something.

“Just scientific curiosity,” she says, but her tone sounds more like a villain plotting something mischievous.

The next morning, Joel comes to pick her up at eight o’clock. You’re the one who opens the door since your parents left early to go to the farmers’ market to buy honey and vegetables.

He’s standing on the porch, wearing a thick leather jacket, jeans, and heavy boots. He looks exhausted, and the two-day beard growth makes him even more intimidating.

“Good morning,” you say.

Joel looks you up and down in your pajamas: heart-printed pants and a tank top. You realize too late that you’re not wearing a bra.

“Good morning,” he replies, lifting his eyes back to your face. “I’m here to get Sarah.”

“She’s finishing breakfast. Come in.”

Before he can protest, you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him no choice but to step inside and follow you to the kitchen. You hear his slow, hesitant footsteps as he returns to the room filled with the smell of butter and coffee.

Sarah is sitting at the counter, devouring pancakes. Joel walks over, presses a kiss to the top of her head, and they exchange a few quiet words before he says something that makes her nod and hop down from the stool, leaving the kitchen.

You hear her going upstairs, probably to grab her things.

“How was the trip?” you ask, filling a mug with coffee and placing it in front of him on the marble.

Joel stares at the pink mug like it’s a threat but eventually wraps his big hands around it. You take a sip from your own cup and look at him over the rim, just the counter between you two.

“Good,” he says simply. He gestures toward the coffee. “Thanks. I needed that. Drove back and forth without stopping to rest.”

“Just thinking about it makes my back hurt.”

“I want my bed.”

You watch him over your cup, blowing on the surface of the coffee. You imagine him in the silence of his own house, in his bedroom, in his own bed. You wonder what color the walls are, what the sheets look like, and whether he sleeps clothed or not.

“Sarah’s really smart,” you say, pushing away the mental images.

That earns a small smile from him.

“She’s fantastic, my girl. But she’s cocky, so don’t tell her that.”

“She takes after someone.”

“I’m not cocky.”

“I’m joking,” you say lightly, offering peace because you don’t want to relive the animosity from the last time you saw him. “Is the coffee good?”

“Very.”

“Want to take some pancakes? Bet you’re hungry. I’ve eaten, Sarah’s eaten, and my parents always grab breakfast out when they leave early.”

Joel drums his fingers against the ceramic, looking like he’s fighting an internal battle, as if accepting food from you would be a terrible crime. Still, you take his silence as a yes and start stacking the remaining pancakes into a thermal container.

When you’re done, you walk around the counter and hand him the container with both hands.

“Here.”

Joel takes it with his left hand. With his right, he reaches out and gently pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says quietly, and you freeze.

He walks past you, saying something to Sarah, who apparently has come back downstairs. Feeling a warm flutter deep in your belly, you turn and follow them to the living room. You hug Sarah goodbye, promise to send her books for her Kindle, and then walk them to the door.

You smile when Joel thanks you for looking after Sarah and asks you to pass his thanks to your parents as well.

You watch them cross the lawn between your gardens, and just before Joel enters his house, he turns to look back at you.

You could swear he deliberately and slowly sweeps his gaze over your body—from your feet to your head.

And then he goes inside.

And you have to mechanically force yourself to close the door.

That same night, you start watching the films.

As you work through your research, you put together a report listing the names of the ten most famous stars from each decade between 1970 and 2020, five male, five female.

You already have a pretty clear idea of what defined the main point of pornography in the ’70s: the start of structured scripts and absurd, fantastical narratives that, one way or another, tied a woman’s pleasure directly to a man’s. Like in Deep Throat, where they came up with a story about a woman whose clitoris is located at the back of her throat. You can already guess what the most "effective" method of stimulation would be.

Porno chic was created to make adult content more palatable to the general public, especially as debates about the legality and morality of filming started to gain traction during that decade.

Sitting on your bed with your laptop open in front of you and your tablet resting on your lap for notes, you watch the films at 1.5x speed while eating green grapes.

You knew you might get aroused watching them, because dopamine responses are inevitable, but apparently there's nothing about '70s pornography that even remotely stirs your body. It feels like you're watching a National Geographic documentary.

You can't push away what Linda Lovelace wrote in her autobiography about the most famous film of that time, the one that made millions of dollars: There was a gun pointed at my head the entire time, she said.

You swallow hard and return to your notes.

By the end of the first week of this stage of your thesis, you finish watching the films from the '90s. You note the radical shift in the female body ideal — all the actresses with breast implants — and the peculiar aesthetic of VHS tapes, since this was the era when films started being widely distributed in that format.

What stands out most, though, is the shift in perspective. Gonzo-style pornography centers the camera exclusively on the man, making him the sole focus, and by extension, reducing women to mere tools for male pleasure. The camera's focus on women's bodies is restricted almost entirely to their genitals, which explains a lot about the birth of violent pornography during that time.

If women exist solely for male pleasure, then it’s no problem if they’re violated, right?

And just like that, the normalization of male domination in pornography begins, which, of course, spills over into social behavior.

You shut the laptop in front of you and lie down on the bed, closing your eyes. You doubt even a sixteen-year-old boy has seen as much porn as you have in the past few days, and there’s still so much left to do.

You reach for your tablet and pull up the list of male stars from the 2000s.

Tyler Cross, Javier Peña, Max Thunder, Ryder Grey, and Clint Fury.

Is there someone in the industry whose only job is coming up with these ridiculous pseudonyms?

You get up, leaving everything behind, and head toward the kitchen to find something to eat. It's already past eleven at night, your parents are asleep, and the only light in the living room comes from the lamp. On tiptoe, you’re halfway to the kitchen when the doorbell rings.

You freeze like you're in the middle of a crime scene.

A doorbell ringing at eleven at night in Lake Placid? Something must be on fire.

When you open the door, it’s Joel standing there on your parents' porch, looking anxious.

“Hi,” he says. Another meeting where you're in pajamas and he's fully dressed. “It's dangerous to open the door in the middle of the night like that.”

“Great way to start a conversation. I'm calculating how many seconds it'll take me to get to the kitchen and grab a knife.”

You get a somewhat tense smile.

“I’m still not used to these small-town habits.”

“I get it. I would never open the door for anyone after eight p.m. in New York, but here it’s normal.”

He nods, then asks,

“Were you sleeping?”

You wrap your arms around yourself as a cold breeze sweeps by.

“No, I was studying. Is everything okay?”

“I need a favor,” he says bluntly. “Sarah’s asleep, and I have to head back to New York. Can you stay at the house tonight?”

“Is everything okay?” you repeat.

“My brother’s wife just went into labor. He asked me to be there. I should be back tomorrow night.”

Your eyes widen, and Joel nods as if to say, “Exactly, got it?” You hold up a finger to ask for a minute, then run upstairs to grab your slippers, your robe, and your phone. When you come back, Joel is still on a call but waits patiently until you close the door before leading you to his house.

He lets you step inside first, and even with the urgency of the situation, it feels a little like you’re a twenty-year-old girl walking into a guy’s house for the first time, especially when Joel shuts the door behind you, finishing up his call.

The house is warm, clearly lived in by a family. There’s a big rug in the living room, a brown leather couch, and pictures of Sarah hanging in the hallway: lifting a soccer trophy, carrying a skateboard, the two of them at the beach. A line of photos shows her growing up, from a baby all the way to now.

The last photo is of her at Jewtraw Park, right here in Lake Placid.

“You can sleep in my room if you want. If that’s too weird, the couch is really good too. I left some blankets and a pillow right there,” he says, pointing to the armchair. Then he adds, “Everything’s clean. The guest rooms aren’t ready yet.”

You roll your eyes.

“I know, Miller. Relax. I’ll manage.”

“Okay. Give me your number. I’ll text you so you have mine. And if you need anything, call me.”

You say your number, and he types it into his old, barely-hanging-on iPhone.

“Thanks,” Joel says, genuine. “Really.”

You smile and give his arm a quick rub without even thinking about it.

“No problem. Just let me know if you need anything.”

After showing you where Sarah’s room is, where the extra blankets are, and telling you about ten times you can eat whatever you want, he leaves. You quickly text your mom, explaining the situation and letting her know you’re staying at Joel’s, then settle down on the couch.

Little signs of Joel are scattered around the house. The reading glasses forgotten on the coffee table, the suede jacket hanging by the door, the boots by the entryway, the faint smell of the same lotion you caught on him at the store.

You feel a little like a criminal as you get up and start quietly wandering through the rooms.

The kitchen is beautiful and organized, but there are a few dishes left in the sink. Since you’re still awake, you start washing them.

You move on to the dining room, all wood furniture and a classic chandelier, and then to a small office off to the side. It feels almost too empty except for the bookshelves. Just a desk with a laptop sitting on it, making you think it doesn’t get much use.

You head upstairs.

Sarah’s door is closed, but you walk softly down the carpeted hallway to the room at the end.

You push the door open, heart pounding like you’re about to find a monster—or Joel sitting on the bed saying, “Snooping where you shouldn’t be?”

Instead, you find a huge bed neatly made with gray sheets, dark curtains, and matching desks on either side. There’s a closet and a door leading, you assume, to a bathroom.

It’s empty in the way you’d expect a fifty-year-old man’s bedroom to be.

You almost give in and crawl into his bed but force yourself back downstairs, turn off the main lights, and curl up on the couch, which really is pretty comfortable.

It takes a while to fall asleep in a strange house, but when you finally do, your dreams are filled with gray beards and gray sheets.

You wake in the middle of the night to the ping of your phone. You rub your eyes, still dazed from sleep, and grab the phone from the pillow beside you.

4:47 a.m.

It’s a text from an unknown number:

“Hi. Joel here. Sorry for the hour, I hope you’re sleeping. I just got to New York. Please let me know when Sarah wakes up. I’ll need to call her.”

A sleepy smile tugs at your lips at how formally he writes, no abbreviations at all. You save his contact as Miller.

You type back:

“hey. don’t worry. I’ll let you know. everything ok over there?”

“Why are you awake?”

You don’t tell him it was his text that woke you.

“New place… light sleeper.”

“I see.”

An “I see” with a period and everything. Then another message:

“Yes, everything’s fine. I’m in the waiting room, and Tommy’s with his wife. She’s been in labor for seven hours.”

You type: “ouch. hoping all goes well. lmk if u need sth”

“What kind of vocabulary is that?”

“don’t you have bigger things to worry about, grumpy?”

The impossible happens: Joel Miller sends you a smiling emoji.

You reply with one sticking its tongue out.

His next message comes in text again:

“Tell me about your thesis.

“you’re really curious about it.”

“It’s an interesting topic.”

“sure… men and their obsession with porn.”

“I’m not obsessed with porn. I don’t even remember the last time I watched it.”

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard—it sounds way too intimate.

You type back:

“last time I watched was this afternoon.”

You get a single question mark in response: “?”

You clarify:

“for my thesis. I’m at the stage where I have to watch films.”

“Oh. How are you doing that?”

“picking stars from each decade and watching two movies for each. starting with the 2000s tomorrow.”

Joel reads your message but doesn’t reply right away, which is odd. He had been responding immediately. You wonder if something’s happened at the hospital, if everything’s okay with his sister-in-law.

You stare at the screen until it goes black. Three minutes later, his reply pops up:

“Who are the stars from the 2000s?”

“looking for suggestions?”

“No.”

You open your report from iCloud and copy the list of male and female stars from the 2000s. You send it over.

He reads it. Another little pause.

“I see.”

Then another question:

“And how are you watching? Like a documentary?”

“yeah, pretty much. I put on the films, watch them critically, and take notes.”

“And they don’t affect you?”

“in what way?”

He reads the message but doesn’t answer. After ten minutes of staring at the ceiling, you take a deep breath and type courageously:

“are you asking if I get turned on?”

Again, no response.

Still, you type back:

“i do. it’s inevitable and natural. but only starting with the '90s films. the ones from the '70s and '80s were way too gross for that.”

This time, a reply comes.

“Gross?”

“yeah. the men were really disgusting. it’s obvious they had no idea how to have sex to actually please a woman.”

“I see.”

You picture Joel Miller, tall and broad-shouldered, sitting in a sterile hospital hallway, texting you about porn while waiting for his nephew to be born.

The thought makes you smile to yourself. You burrow deeper under the blanket and decide to be a little bolder.

“do you have a favorite genre of those movies?”

“To watch?”

You frown. What else would it be for?

“yeah”

“I don’t watch them.”

“okay, but if you were going to watch one today, what type would you choose? one with a storyline, straight to the point… what? help me out for the research.”

You almost chew on your lower lip as you watch the little “typing” bubble appear and disappear three times. Finally, he sends a simple response:

“No storyline, not a lot of talking. Something filmed in the morning, in bed, right after waking up.”

“morning sex?”

“Yes.”

Before you can stop yourself, your mind fills with images of Joel’s bed, the same gray sheets now rumpled and tossed aside. The cold morning light pouring through the window, the scent of him still on the fabric, the warmth of sleepy skin, the scratch of his beard against the sensitive part of your neck.

A big hand adjusting and lifting your leg into the right position, low, sleepy moans filling the space.

You snap your eyes open wide.

“got it,” you type back, heart racing.

“Do you have a favorite genre?”

“i hate porn,” you reply.

“Okay. But if you were going to watch one today, what would you pick?”

He’s throwing your own question back at you, meaning you can’t dodge it.

You type the whole answer at once but hesitate a dozen times before finally pressing send, knowing Joel will understand exactly what you mean and exactly what you like. It’s probably not right to tell your parents’ neighbor, who’s at least twenty years older, but you don’t take it back.

“in the car. an age gap where he looks a little older than her, slightly graying, and he’s desperate for her, desperate to do things to her in the backseat.”

“Things?”

“you know what I mean.”

“Say it clearly.”

“desperate to go down on her.”

And again, he responds:

“I see.”

Your cheeks burning, you turn off your phone screen.

But another message buzzes through:

“Good choice.”

You cross your legs and lock your phone again.

The next time you wake up, it’s to Sarah poking your cheek with an insistent little finger. She’s standing over you by the couch, looking at you like you’re a science experiment.

The sunlight pouring through the living room windows makes you wonder if it’s already past ten.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, still poking your cheek.

Yawning, you answer,

“You’re about to have a baby cousin.”

Sarah squeals.

Joel calls her twenty minutes later, right after you text him—carefully avoiding rereading the messages you sent each other during the night—that she’s awake.

Afterward, you eat breakfast together, and Sarah gets ready for school, where she’ll stay until six in the evening. You wait until the bus picks her up before going back to your house, crawling into bed, and sleeping a little more.

When you wake up again, it’s time to log onto a video call with your boss, even though you’re technically on vacation.

You help your mom with some work in the garden, bake muffins, and by late afternoon, you lock the door to your bedroom, find a cozy spot in bed and open your laptop again.

2000s.

Now all the actresses definitely have implants, bleached hair, heavy makeup, thin eyebrows, and elaborate hairstyles: exactly the fantasy for any guy with a DVD player and one hand free.

But it’s also the beginning of the internet era, meaning access to all of it is even easier than it ever was with VHS tapes.

Roleplay everywhere. Boss and secretary, student and teacher, best friend's mom, best friend's dad. A fantasy world that definitely fried a lot of men’s brain circuits.

You start with the male stars.

First up is Tyler Cross. He's a tall actor with spiky, gelled hair, a tribal tattoo on his left bicep, and a defined six-pack.

You watch a POV movie, new at the time, and another where he plays the older brother’s best friend. It’s set in a girl’s pink-walled bedroom, teddy bears thrown to the side, and it’s all absolutely disgusting.

You glance at the clock after finishing Tyler Cross’s films. 5:55 p.m. You figure you’ve got about fifteen minutes before Sarah gets home, so you decide to at least start Javier Peña’s movies.

You type his name into the search bar.

The results flood in. One of the first titles you see: No Overtime for the Babysitter: Daddy Comes Home Early!

You roll your eyes. Great, now they’re coming for babysitters’ labor rights too.

You click the movie. It takes a moment to load.

The cover stares back at you while the loading icon spins.

The actress is gorgeous, with breasts you immediately envy and long black hair. Her lips, glossy and slightly open, look like she’s mid-moan. She’s one of the first actresses you’ve seen who isn’t drowning under a pound of makeup.

The scene starts with her dusting some furniture in the living room.

She’s wearing a mini-skirt and a light blue crop top made of thin fabric that shows her stomach. Definitely very appropriate attire for her job.

The sound of a door unlocking fills the room, and then it swings open.

The actress sighs:

“Oh! Mr. Peña! You’re home early!”

The camera pans to Mr. Peña. You blink at the screen.

Javier Peña has that classic '80s kind of handsomeness. He’s tall, lean but broad-shouldered, his dark hair messy in a way that somehow suits him. The thick mustache above his tight lips and the long sideburns give him the look of an old-school movie star, and you have to double-check the release date of the film. 2002.

He’s wearing a button-down shirt and a loose tie, his gray blazer slung over his left shoulder. But it’s his brown eyes that catch you — because they’re familiar. It feels like you know them.

“The meeting was canceled,” Peña says, tossing the blazer onto the couch. “My daughter’s asleep? You can go now.”

The gasp that escapes your mouth is quickly muffled by your hand when Javier Peña’s voice fills your ears through the headphones, because you immediately realize where you know it from.

The voice is a little softer, younger, with more of an accent — but it’s the same voice.

Joel Miller’s voice.

“She is,” the actress says sweetly, crossing the room. Javier looks her up and down — from her bubblegum-pink painted toes to the way her chest strains against her top. “Are you sure, Mr. Peña? You seem really stressed out. Can’t I help you with something?”

You freeze where you are, heart hammering against your ribs. Holy shit.

“Help how?” Javier asks, raising an eyebrow, pretending to be disinterested.

She smiles, grabs his hand, and leads him to the couch, urging him to sit.

You’re almost ready for her to drop to her knees in front of him, because that would be the obvious next step, but that’s not what happens. The actress — Mila, her name — circles behind the couch, leaning over him to start unbuttoning his shirt.

“You’re so tense, Mr. Peña,” she says, pouting as she undoes each button. “Taking care of the house by yourself, your daughter…”

The shirt falls open, revealing a firm, broad chest.

“So responsible… No one to help you out…” She leans in and whispers against his ear: “No one to suck your cock.”

The shocked laugh that bursts out of you is immediately covered by your hand again.

Javier’s shirt falls completely open, and he takes Mila’s hand, guiding it straight to his pants, her long red nails vivid against the gray fabric.

“I’ve got you for that.”

“Mmm…” the actress moans, massaging him through the fabric. She runs her hands back up his shoulders. “That’s right. You do.”

She moves to kneel in front of him, but Javier clicks his tongue and says:

“Take off your clothes.”

You feel a pulse low in your stomach. The actress smiles and obeys.

Once she’s fully naked, she starts to kneel again, and Javier spreads his legs wider, tossing his shirt aside.

She massages him through his pants for a few more seconds before tugging the zipper down and pulling his pants down with both hands. He’s not wearing underwear, of course he isn’t, and suddenly, you’re staring straight at Joel Miller’s cock.

Large, hard, slightly veiny, every inch of it.

Javier shifts on the couch, gathers all of Mila’s soft hair into one hand, and with the other, guides himself to her mouth, and—

Someone knocks on your bedroom door and you nearly slap the laptop closed.

“Honey, I think Sarah’s getting home from school. Aren’t you going to greet her?” your mom asks.

“I am,” you say, but your voice comes out too soft. You clear your throat and try again: “I’m going, Mom. Just a second.”

“Okay!”

Your mom leaves you sitting there, staring at the wall with wide eyes and a racing heart, so much slick between your legs you have to stand up, clean yourself, and change panties before going downstairs to greet Sarah.

She gets home, you both go into Joel’s house, you make her a sandwich, and she heads upstairs to shower. You stay on autopilot, your head still completely full of Javier Peña... and Joel Miller.

Holy shit.

The man was a porn actor.

And apparently, a very successful one, because you distinctly remember seeing that his films topped the charts for years. Is he still doing it?

You rub your eyes and fight the urge to shove your fist in your mouth and scream.

The irony is almost too much. Fate is throwing a former porn star into your lap when it knows all too well the thesis you’re writing, and all your hatred for the industry.

You order pizza for you and Sarah. You eat while watching a cheesy teenage romance movie that keeps her glued to the TV. When she’s yawning hard, you ask if she has any homework (she doesn’t) and send her off to brush her teeth and get into bed.

She hugs you goodnight and heads upstairs. You hear her brushing her teeth, then the door to her room closing.

You take a deep breath. Pull your phone out of your pocket. You type in the search bar: Javier Peña. The image results flood the screen.

Joel Miller in a thousand different styles. At industry parties in clothes that scream early 2000s, at photoshoots with other actresses, even holding up a trophy that reads—

You lean in closer to make sure you’re not misreading it.

Longest Orgasm of 2006.

Wow. Congratulations.

The Google summary confirms it: Joel Miller, born in 1981 in Arlington, Texas, to Chilean parents. Porn actor, best known as Javier Peña. Joel Miller became an advocate for porn actresses’ rights, one of the main reasons he left the industry in 2010.

One of his last public appearances as Javier Peña was in 2016, co-hosting an adult film awards show alongside Tess Servopoulos, his former career agent. Since then, very little is known about Joel Miller, though several producers have tried to lure him back with massive paychecks, even for solo work.

You hear the key turning in the lock.

You lock your phone at record speed and sit up straight on the couch, eyes wide open. Joel will probably think that you’ve been doing cocaine on his coffee table.

He walks in, shrugging out of his coat, and looks at you.

“Hey,” he says, kicking off his boots. “Everything okay?”

You nod, then try to use words:

“Hey. Yeah.”

Joel gives you a strange look, glancing up the stairs.

“Sarah’s asleep?”

You nod again.

Oh, Mr. Peña. You must be so tired. Can I help you? My God. You’re the babysitter working overtime.

“Are you really okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Um… I…” you rub your hands over your thighs. “I’m just tired. That’s all. Is everything okay with your sister-in-law?”

“She’s fine. I’ve got a nephew now,” Joel murmurs, collapsing onto the couch across from you, legs spread, hands over his eyes. “And he’s so small. I almost didn’t have the nerve to hold him. I don’t even remember Sarah being that tiny.”

“Ha ha.”

At your awkward laugh, Joel drops his hands and studies you carefully, narrowing his eyes. He watches you for a moment, like he’s seeing right through you.

Joel says,

“You found out who Javier Peña is.”

You freeze, hands clenched in your lap. Joel rubs his temple with a heavy sigh and sits up straighter.

“Which one did you watch?”

You swallow hard.

“The babysitter one.”

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that, sweetheart.”

“The film’s from 2002. I think the actress’s name was Mila? She was trying to comfort you about being a single dad.”

Joel raises both eyebrows.

“I know the one,” he says with a dry, humorless laugh. “Right. Here it is. I was Javier Peña for ten years. I guess I still am, when the paycheck’s good enough. I made porn movies. They’re out there.”

“Still are?”

“Not for films. Just for appearances or special gigs at awards shows.”

“Oh.”

He says your name firmly.

“That industry — it’s your thesis. You know those actors and actresses are real people. I’m one of them. Are you going to stop treating me like a normal person now?”

“It’s weird,” you say softly. “Sorry, Joel, but it’s weird seeing you like… that… and then coming here and seeing you being Sarah’s dad, being… Joel Miller.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not,” he sighs, collapsing back onto the couch. “I’m way too tired to be mad, honestly. We can talk more about it later if you want. I’ll even help you with your thesis if you need. But not tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks for staying with Sarah, seriously,” he says, shifting back into Dad mode. “Let me pay you.”

“No way,” you say quickly.

He opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off:

“You said you’d help me with my thesis, right?”

He just looks at you. You explain,

“I’ll take that as payment.”

Slowly, he nods. And just like that, you have a deal.

That night, you head upstairs again and lock the door.

You open your laptop, type Javier Peña into the search bar, and scroll through the films. One title catches your eye: Neighbors: The Lust Lives Next Door.

The irony.

The title is ridiculous, sure, but the movie isn’t. He’s the married woman’s neighbor, and when her husband goes out of town, Javier shows up at the door asking if everything’s alright because he heard a noise and got worried.

He’s wearing tight jeans and a short-sleeve, light pink button-down shirt.

They head upstairs to check the bedroom.

She sits at the edge of the bed while Javier kneels down to look under it, but when he straightens up again, he sees the actress isn’t wearing any panties. Of course.

Two minutes later, Javier spreads her legs and goes down on her for a good while, his dark eyes locked on hers. And you could swear the moans are real. Either that, or she’s a damn good actress.

It’s when Javier starts whispering in her ear — loud enough to be picked up by the mic, but low enough to sound private — that your own fingers hover at the waistband of your pajama shorts.

He grips her thigh firmly, legs wide open, about to sink into her, both of them watching where they meet.

“Like this?” Javier asks.

She nods.

He licks his fingers and touches her clit. Her left leg trembles slightly.

“Sensitive? You’re not gonna come again for me?”

You swallow your shame and remind yourself that no one will ever know about this.

You slip your hand into your panties.

You close your eyes, listen to Javier whispering filthy things into the actress’s ear, and feel your pulse thudding in your ears and the slickness between your fingers.

[reashot]

The Temptation of Ruby Rose... 🌹

Ruby: Dad guess what? I got accepted into beacon!

Tai: That's great Ruby. I don't know what happened to get you accepted into Beacon but you must have done something great.

Yang: Way to go little sister.

Ruby: Thanks guys. Now if you all excuse me I'm going to get all my stuff ready for school.

Tai: ...

Yang, you need to keep her safe.

Yang: I mean, that goes without saying. But okay.

Tai: NO!!!

I mean keep her safe from boys!

Yang: Don't you think you're over reacting? This is Ruby after all. The only way she's going to be interested in boys is if they're made out of gun parts.

Tai: Do not underestimate Beacon, Yang. There's no boys in Beacon. They're all predators and they will not hesitate in devouring a cute girl like Ruby.

Yang: Still dad, I mean this is Ruby. I'm more afraid for the boys that are dumb enough to get close to her without her permission. With me at least they can leave with a few bruises and broken bones. But with Ruby she's going to cut 'em all into small pieces.

Tai: Y-yeah... You're right, Yang. This is my Ruby we're talking about. She's going to stay cute, pure, innocent and virginal for the rest of her life. She would never throw it all away and become a tainted slut for some boy...

A few moments later...

Tai: (I bet that the girls will be pleasantly surprised with a surprise visit from their old man.)

Ruby, Yang surprise...

*Tai seeing his innocent girl in bed with another boy*

Tai: ....

Ruby: 😁

Jaune: I-I'm sorry Mr. Xiao long. I was not in the right mind.... Oh. I won't make excuses. What done is done . I promise I will make it up to your entire family. I will even take responsibility for this...

Tai:

Bonus round:

Tai: I'll kill you! You blonde bastard, you daughter defiler, you!!!

Ruby: No dad. Please don't kill him. I love him. And I want to have many, many children with Jaune.

Tai:

Yang: *emerge from the same bed Jaune and Ruby made love in*

Can you guys keep it down? I'm trying to sleep here.

Tai: 👀

Yang: Oh... Shoot. Well let's just say this is not how I want you to find out. But I can guarantee for certain that Jaune is a fine boy for Ruby. He got my seal of approval to date Ruby.

Jaune: Not helping!

Tai: *continues with the beating*

Ruby:

[r3ynah]

Landlord Jason, with runaway Danny shenanigans:

I like to headcanon that Jason is afraid of dating due to his anger issues that came from the Lazarus waters, so he acts out the persona of a serious landlord who tries his best to play the part of being hard to get (his doing a shit job at it, he has read too many romantic books). And Danny who ran away from Amity Park, because he got nothing to lose, is just looking at him with hearts for eyes and flirts with him at every opportunity.

Danny: I think I just figured something out. I got to go. Jason: Aren't you forgetting something? Danny: Uuh…hesitantly kisses Jason's forehead before running out. Jason: No, pay your bill! Damn, who raised you?

Danny : Jason is playing hard to get. Danny : Little do they know, I'm a master at playing hard to get rid of.

Danny : This date is boring! Jason: This isn't a date. I said I was going to the store. Danny : Then why did you invite me? Jason: I didnt, I specifically said "don't come with me," then you said, "fuck you Jason I'll do whatever I want!

Danny : Crushes are the worst. Whenever I’m near mine, I start acting stupid. Jason: You always act stupid. Jason: Jason: Wait…

Danny : How do I tell Jason that I want them to yell at me like they're Gordon Ramsay and I'm a poor little chef who just ruined a crème brûlée? Jason, who was about to enter the entrance of the lobby: ....

Danny : I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Jason: Damn, that sounds like a marriage proposal. Danny , getting down on one knee: That's 'cause it is.

Jason: Are you trying to seduce me? Danny : Why, are you seducible?

Danny : Are we fighting or flirting? Jason: I'm pinning you against a wall with my hand around your neck- Danny : Your point?

Jason: I feel like doing something stupid. Danny : I’m stupid, do me.

Danny, trying to flirt with Jason: I think both of our families suck.

[slytherinshua]

꒱　BRUISE YOU BLACK AND BLUE　( 서준태 )

genre hurt/comfort , juntae x fem!reader   cw spoilers for weak hero class 2 ep 8 (takes place during ep 8 events) , bruises , fighting , crying   wc 977   request no   note juntae broke the writers block let us all rejoice, i'll always come out of hibernation for my cinnamon roll boys. i've been listening to the weak hero osts since i finished watching last night this morning and i've never been so destroyed   net @kstrucknet

Your heart always faltered whenever it took more than two rings for Juntae to pick up. For someone as organized and smart as him, it never meant that he simply forgot to charge his phone. Something must have happened. Whenever he didn’t pick up, you knew he wasn’t okay.

You worried about him more than he would’ve liked you to. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him or his friends, or thought he couldn’t handle himself or was weak. He was stronger mentally than you could ever be and his quick thinking was admirable by anyone. But physically, he was always bested. He didn’t have Humin’s strong punch or Hyuntak’s agility. When combat arose and the options were fight or flight, his body picked freeze. 

Today was the day Eunjang would fight against the Union. There was fear, anticipation, and something akin to excitement in the students’ minds. They had the chance to end it once and for all. It was now or never. 

You had Juntae’s location on your phone. When he didn’t pick up the first time, you tried texting him. When he didn’t pick up the second time, alarms were ringing louder than ever in your head. He wasn’t with the rest of the boys. Why the hell was his location showing the bowling alley?

You swore you had never ran faster in your life. Your legs carried you on adrenaline while your shaky hands dialled your boyfriend’s number every 5 minutes. You remembered weeks ago how Juntae had made you swear to not get involved, how Hyuntak warned you that the risk was too high for you to get entangled in it. You were breaking those promises now, feet aching in your sneakers as you ran faster, the alley soon coming into view. 

You’d have to ask for Juntae’s forgiveness later. 

The building was quiet when you walked in. Bowling balls were scattered on the floor and one of the Union guys was knocked unconscious in the middle of the room. Your eyes locked onto Juntae’s tattered shoes sticking out from behind a shelf of balls. You heard his shaky breaths, his soft grunts of pain. You saw the uncomfortable shift of his legs, trembling and weak. You didn’t take anymore time to rush to his side. 

“Juntae, are you okay? What happened?” Your voice quivered. Hands instinctively reaching to hold him, your touch gentle and held back. It was different. You would always run into his arms, throwing yourself onto him with full force, knowing he would catch you and hold you tightly, laughter escaping both your lips. But right now, you were scared to hurt him, scared to cause anymore stress or concern. You were scared that he wouldn’t want you there. 

“Why are you here? You should leave. You’ll get hurt.” He sounded exhausted— murmurs coming out amidst pained gasps. Tears filled both your eyes, yours escaping to slowly fall down your cheek while Juntae held his back. 

“I’m not leaving. Not without you,” you said firmly. 

Juntae knew you better than to think you would change your mind, even if he begged you. He gave a solemn nod, accepting it without further discussion. You let out a sigh of relief. 

“How badly are you hurt? Can you stand on your own?” 

He shook his head, “Everything hurts. I can’t walk well.” 

“Shit, it’s gonna be alright. We’re gonna get out of here, okay?”

He could only muster a few nods, holding back laboured breaths and stinging gasps. You got him to his feet, managing to hold him steady although he couldn’t support himself. You gripped his waist tightly and guided his feet up the stairs. You caught every stumble, hushed every whimper, held him tight as if he would disappear if you didn’t. You reached the bus stop on the sidewalk after a few stumbling minutes, and gently lowered him onto the bench. He wouldn’t let go of your hand. 

“W-we should meet the others. It’s not too far from here,” he gasped, still clutching his side. 

“Not until you can walk on your own,” you uttered. “Hold still.” 

You slipped his jacket off his left arm and lifted his shirt over the area he held in pain. The entire side of his stomach trailing up to his ribs was covered in fresh bruises, his skin agitated and reddish purple. You winced at the sight, imagining how violently he must’ve been thrown across the room to form them.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” you said, meeting his tearful eyes. Juntae watched you rush down the street, disappearing into the convenience store. Time seemed to slow as soon as you were out of his sight. He was alone with his thoughts to picture all the possibilities that scared him so much. Would the plan really work? 

You came back with a cup of ice in your hands and a box of pain medication— the same kind Juntae had insisted you take the last time you had a cold. He was worried sick about you back then, even though you swore you were fine. It was your turn to do the same for him. 

“Here, take this. It’s good to ice bruises as quickly as possible.” 

“Thank you,” he whispered. You pressed the ice to his side as he swallowed one of the pills. His head fell to your shoulder and you spoke in soft murmurs. 

“Do you think they’ll really beat Baekjin and the Union?” 

“We have to. It’s our only chance,” he said softly. “Baku will do it. I know he will.” 

“I’m proud of you, Juntae. You’re stronger than you think.”

“Really?” 

You looked down, noticing the small smile on his face, one that you simply adored. 

“Really. I’ve seen it for weeks now,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his forehead. “It’ll all be over soon.”

k-drama taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @cha3w0n-hearts,, @candewlsy,, @cosmicwintr,, @blossominghunnie,, @parkjennykim,, @seunghancore,, @emmylksblog,, @bananabubble,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @hrtsvivis,, @hursheys,, @lexeees,, @cupidslovearrows

[xxgalaxyprime]

EARTHSPARK AU!!!!!

"hot rod? no I am not him. he DIED in megatrons hands. my name is Rodimus, Rodimus Unicron"

okey so am bad at writing and its my confuse you dont wory its olsa confuse me to

since it's not a full AU, i'll write what i'm thinking right now

the reason why hot rodimus' eyes are purple wasn't a design choice, as you know, those who use dark energone mostly become dead zombies while those who are alive become stronger and more aggressive

hot rod is killed by megatron in this universe as in the idw series.

and matrix of chaos is a thing that exists in this universe

galvatron finds hot rod's dead body (it may change) and for some reason gives him matrix of chaos (the reason for giving it is because hot rod is the "chosen one", i could do it but i don't know) and rodimus comes back to life, not hot rod, rodimus returns

something happens, he meets bumblebee etc. i haven't thought about the rest, the scene you see right now is rodimus meeting megatron (after hot rod's death)

btw I used translate, have nice day a guess

If you have an idea for this AU, I would be very happy if you shared it with me.

[somethingg5]

Chapter 2: Gross

“Az! Y-You're pregnant?” Paige yelled with heavy emotion. Azzi stepped into the doorway of the bedroom. Paige turned around to face Azzi and started crying. Azzi ran into Paige's arms and they stayed there for a while. Azzi whispers to Paige about how she's so excited. “Az baby it's real! You're going to be a mom. No, we are going to be moms.” Paige says, her face buried into Azzi’s neck placing kisses along it. This was everything they ever wanted. “How are you feeling?” Paige questioned looking deep into Azzi’s eyes. “I am excited but honestly I'm scared.” Paige smiled. “Don't be scared, we are in this together.” That night Paige and Azzi slept peacefully, something that didn't happen often. And when Paige woke up that morning she found her hard gently laying protectively over Azzis stomach. Even though it was so early on and there was no change in her stomach Paige found herself protecting Azzi even more. Azzi slept soundly next to Paige. 

“Hey there little one, I know you can't hear me because well you can't, I just want to say I love you and please treat your mommy well these next few months.” Paige whispered to Azzi’s stomach. Azzi, who was fast asleep, woke up to Paige speaking. Azzi looked down at Paige and smiled at her. Paige had no idea that Azzi was awake. Paige was kissing all over Azzis stomach at this point which made Azzi start giggling. “Paige. Paige! What are you doing?” Azzi said laughing. “I- just- love- you.” Paige said through kisses. “Paige, you know that it's like 6 am?” “Yeah well you need to rest baby and i'll make you some breakfast.” Paige gets up and makes her way to the kitchen where she makes Azzi some eggs, bacon, and pancakes. 

Azzi was listening to Paige making breakfast in the kitchen. She smiled to herself wondering how she got so lucky to live this life. 

2 months pregnant

Azzi was now 2 months pregnant and things had been easy, for now. Her and Paige had been soaking up the early stages of pregnancy together. Today she was 2 months, her clothing was slightly tighter and her stomach was slightly firmer. Other than that you couldn't tell from the outside that she was pregnant so they decided to keep the news to themselves. “Do you think anyone suspects that we are pregnant?” Azzi asked Paige while they were catching up on emails. “I mean we haven't really been around people much and you haven't popped yet so I don't think so… Why?” Azzi looked at her stomach. She felt like she was changing; she could barely recognize herself in the mirror even though she physically wasn't much “larger”. Paige saw a look in Azzis eyes and knew that she was thinking about something important. “Hey, what are you thinking about Az?” Paige said as she grabbed her hand she brushed her thumb over her hand. “I just feel like a lot. Physically and mentally. I just- what if I get so ugly and so gross that you fall out of love with me.?” Paige looked at Azzi like she has 5 heads. Why would Azzi think that Paige would fall out of love with her? “Az, baby, I fell in love with you because of your personality, your kindness, laughter, smile, care for others, your voice… Az I just got lucky that you are literally the hottest person to walk this earth. You are growing our baby, your body will change, you will get sick. I will be with you through it all. I love you.” Azzi stared at Paige. Tears formed in her eyes and she broke down. Paige got up and held her. “Why are you so sweet to me?” “Because you are the love of my life Azzi you know that, now let's get you to bed.”

[thirteenheavens]

Can you please write the 5 year old daughter but now asking Vernon for a sibling pleaseeee?

Sun is Shining|| Chwe Vernon x Reader

Notes: mostly a fluff with suggestive themes hehe enjoy

The sun is shining brightly as you and Vernon play catch with your daughter, Sophia, in the backyard. Laughter fills the air as Sophia chases after the ball, her little legs pumping with all her might.

"Daddy, catch me!" she squeals, giggling as Vernon pretends to stumble and fall dramatically. You watch the scene with a smile, enjoying the carefree happiness on their faces. Sophia finally tires out and comes running back to you, plopping down on the grass beside you. "Mommy, can I ask you something?" she says, looking up at you with her big brown eyes.

"Of course, sweetheart," you reply, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "What is it?" Sophia fidgets with the hem of her dress for a moment before speaking. "Can I have a little brother or sister?" she asks shyly, her voice barely above a whisper. Vernon, who had been listening nearby, chuckles and ruffles Sophia's hair. "You want a sibling, huh?" he says, smiling at her enthusiasm. "Well, that's up to your mommy."

You look at Vernon and then back at Sophia, touched by her request. "I think it's a wonderful idea," you say, hugging her tightly. "Maybe we can start trying soon." Sophia's face lights up with joy, and she throws her arms around both of you. "Yay!" she exclaims, bouncing up and down. "I'm going to be the best big sister ever!"

Vernon's eyes widen in surprise at your response, and he looks at you with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. "Wait, really?" he asks, his voice a little higher than usual. You nod, grinning at his reaction. "Yes, really. I think we're ready for another baby," you say, taking his hand in yours.

Sophia squeals with delight and jumps up and down again. "I can help take care of them!" she exclaims, clapping her hands together. "I'll be so good, I promise!" Vernon chuckles and pulls both you and Sophia into a tight hug. "We know you will, sweetheart," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "We're going to be a family of four soon."

"Whoa, whoa," you say, holding up your hands to slow the conversation down. "Let's not get too ahead of ourselves. We still need to talk about it and plan things out." Vernon nods in agreement, realizing that you're right. "Of course, you're right," he says, squeezing your hand gently. "We need to make sure we're ready for this."

Sophia looks a little disappointed but understands that this is a serious decision. "Can we at least start trying soon?" she asks, giving you her best puppy-dog eyes. You smile at her eagerness and ruffle her hair again. "We'll start talking about it and see how things go," you say, looking at Vernon for confirmation.

"She's so excited," you laugh, watching Sophia skip away to continue playing. "I can't believe she's going to be a big sister." Vernon watches her too, a fond smile on his face. "Neither can I," he says, wrapping an arm around your waist. "She's growing up so fast." He pulls you closer to him and kisses your temple. "Are you really okay with having another baby?" he asks softly, his voice laced with concern.

You lean into his embrace and nod, feeling reassured by his presence. "I am," you say, looking up at him. "With you by my side, I know we can handle it." Vernon's lips meet yours in a sweet, gentle kiss, filled with love and tenderness. You melt into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

He deepens the kiss, his hands cupping your face as he pulls you closer. You can feel the love and passion in every touch, every movement of his lips against yours. When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless and smiling. "I love you," he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. "And I'm so grateful to have you and Sophia in my life."

Vernon's lips move to your neck, trailing soft kisses along your sensitive skin. "Maybe we can start practicing tonight," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. You shiver at the sensation of his breath against your ear, your heart rate quickening at his words. "I like the sound of that," you reply, your hands sliding up his chest.

Vernon nips at your earlobe playfully, his hands roaming down to your hips. "We should probably make sure Sophia is in bed first," he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. You nod, trying to focus on the task at hand despite the heat building between you. "Right," you say, reluctantly pulling away from him. "Later then."

Vernon smirks slightly giving a light tap to your ass. You let out a surprised yelp at the sudden slap, your face flushing red. "Vernon!" you scold, trying to suppress a smile. He grins at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself. "Sorry, I couldn't resist," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "You just look so good right now."

As you glare at Vernon playfully, he steps closer and whispers in your ear. "Maybe I'll have to spank you later too." Your breath hitches at his words, a mixture of excitement and anticipation coursing through you. You bite your lip, trying to regain your composure.

"You're such a tease," you whisper back, giving him a gentle shove. "Come on, let's go check on Sophia." Vernon laughs and takes your hand, leading you towards the house. "You know you love it," he says, squeezing your hand.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM THE ITALIAN JOB *  assorted dialogue from the 2003 movie, adjust as necessary

still don't trust me?

i trust everyone. it's the devil inside them i don't trust.

that's an interesting saying.

i had a real bad experience, man.

i feel so optimistic. how do you feel?

you know what "fine" stands for? freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.

are you kidding me? how does he do that?

i'm gonna need your shirt and your truck.

you're not too bright, are you?

what did you do to your hand?

don't talk about right or wrong with me, because i don't give a shit.

we made our play, and i came out on top.

what is your play here, really?

come on, what do you think?

there are two kinds of thieves in this world: the ones who steal to enrich their lives, and those who steal to define their lives. don't be the latter.

what are you talking about?

find somebody you want to spend the rest of your life with, and hold onto them forever.

just give me a minute.

take all the time you need.

why don't you just come by? we'll have some breakfast.

you blew the best thing you had going for you. you blew the element of surprise.

it would be nice if it was true.

how do you know that?

why are you encouraging this?

where do we want it to go?

we can't have a shoot up without guns. we'd lose.

you know this was never about the gold.

whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.

damn, that was cool.

how did you do that?

don't you want to see what's inside?

i'm sending you something.

does it smell nice?

say it again, man.

do not be messing with me right now. i will kick your ass.

i think it's time to move on.

where's my truck? what the fuck happened to my truck?

i never look inside.

i thought you'd never ask.

don't worry, i'm not going to shoot you.

you've got no imagination.

we didn't get a chance to meet!

wow, that is a nice car.

turn in your badge and your weapon.

it's a big stereo. speakers so loud, they blow women's clothes off!

unlike you, my friend, i don't need a guide book.

the gang's all here.

do you always work in the dark?

how long to crack it?

can you change it back?

you are clear for ninety seconds.

i don't go out with strange men.

[name], how we looking?

this is it, guys, moment of truth.

it's over when i say it's over.

you're out of moves. the game is over. just give it up already.

hey, what's your problem, man?

i want to propose a toast. to us!

stop them before they hit the street.

i'll do it, [name]. i'm in all the way, whatever it takes.

take your hands off the wheel!

it doesn't quite do it for me.

you don't really seem like the adventurous type.

i wasn't making assumptions.

he touched my hand.

[braindeadvenus]

usually i get too terrified to post on social media (once i commented on someones post on here and my body started physically shaking until they answered), and when a situation like Joel leaving Blind Channel comes up I'll rant to friends who know generally know nothing about this band apart from what i tell them.

however i have some very strong feelings about this situation, and it was not enough to do what i normally do so excuse me as i give my opinion based off of all my observations whilst lurking in the shadows (trust me i know more about this band than it would seem based off of my tiny levels of interaction with the fandom) and then proceed to slither back under the rock whence i came.

ive seen many peoples responses to the situation, and i do think it is in fact a weird one. im not going off of how it was worded, which is what many people seem to be doing. i think that from the snippet we see of how Joel's health was being affected by the momentum of the band's success after eurovision is enough to tell us that it was too much for him. he mentioned at one point having had hallucinations such as "the ground pumping" (quoted - i think is how he said it) on road to rotterdam so there was definitely more going on behind the scenes which we will never know.

however this seemed like a very out of character thing for joel to do at this period in time. he has always loved the band and has given all of his energy to it. i do not for one second believe that he would leave unless he absolutely had to. however the timing of this is uncanny to me. on a hiatus, when they are meant to be getting all of their energy back whilst working on whatever side projects they would want to pursue, i would not expect health to be the underlying cause of joel leaving. i'd think it would be a thing taken into consideration for sure, but not the main reason. i'd think that it would be more like him to leave after they came back and had had a tour, or maybe even during a tour itself, or just in the midst of some very tiring work, when he had the time to realise just how draining the band is for him.

it seems like the decision is too logical for him to make for his health, and too illogical for him to make for his happiness. going off of the fact that he has adhd, it's a fucking miracle when you have adhd that theres something that you can do 24/7 without getting bored and it would arguably be MORE important to someone w/ adhd than their own health, success & basically everything else, especially if its the ONE thing you wanted to do with your life. despite how exhausted he was, it's so untimely for him especially and just doesnt make sense with the hiatus having been a time for rest

there's been references to the clip in their documentary, which seems to have made MANY people in the fandom, me included, extremely uncomfortable, where joel and niko disagree over lines in wolves. i feel like it's an odd situation, because its not just about how the lines were divided. the fact that they are rap means they were literally tailored towards niko's strengths, and not joel's, and when you have two vocalists it's important to keep a balance of that in each album, yet in exit emotions it seems to be completely unbalanced throughout the whole album, which is something that they MUST have noticed in their recording process and therefore done it deliberately. there was no logical reason why joel couldn't sing 5 more words, which is what kind of annoyed me. on top of that, it feels very much as if niko is talking down to joel, and feels more like joel is a 5 year old asking for a piece of candy after having been told no numerous times, rather than being an equal to niko, an adult who can logically look at some lyrics and think 'hey, i have less lines'. it would be more out of place if it was the only/ one of few songs on the album, however wolves isnt the only song, its seemed like that for phobia, xoxo, happy doomsday, etc.

and it feels like that atmosphere wasn't completely new to them, especially with how quickly joel drops the subject, and how preplanned niko's words and tone feel. the songs on this album also seem as if they really were not written to joel's strengths, and the uneven divide of lines is just weird. when niko says "rap always has more lines" it seems pretty valid, however when you think about it, niko has had more lines on songs from previous albums, taking Another Sun as an example, yet it still doesn't feel as so much of an uneven divide. it's not as if joel does this too, either, as i do not think i can name as many instances where he would have more vocals (in Balboa he does but apart from that theres nothing i can think of off of the top of my head where ive thought that niko seems weirdly like more of a backing singer, unlike with joel).

at a certain point it felt as if he was simply a selling point for the band, as someone who is undeniably good looking (not saying the others arent by the way as that would be a flatout LIE), has a massive hand in running social media AND having a great understanding of how it works and how to portray himself in it to get the most engagement, it would be no surprise if it was in fact this way.

he was trying his hardest despite his health situation, and pulling himself together in certain situations was simply not possible. i understand the band's annoyance at this in certain situations, however he literally could not control it. the band meant everything to him from the moment he founded it and i don't believe he would leave on a hiatus if he had literally no choice, which is why i don't think that the causes mentioned in the instagram post are anywhere near the full story. he always involved himself in the creative processes (writing, recording, producing) of each song as much as he personally could, and you could see the very essence of the band will not be the same without him.

there was many situations when i felt an annoyance radiating from the others, which they always tried to keep down, at the fact that joel can be too much sometimes. it feels like they just want him to pull himself together, in a way, and act like a "normal adult" which is something that could be almost impossible for joel as someone with mental issues that would stand in his way of doing that. it always felt like they gave up on being understanding too quickly, especially niko, because they felt like there simply wasn't time to deal with something any neurotypicals would view as arbitrarily insufficient and lamentable. it feels as if no one was willing to understand him without him getting a grip on life first, which isn't easily done when his whole life has been dedicated to the band for so long that he's unable to all of a sudden be able to understand his own brain and how to control it enough to be a convenient person to be around for the others. in reality he just seems like someone who is in need of extensive comfort, and after being told he's too much for so much of his life he needs to be told it'll be okay, not to tone it down. he's spoken about being expected to act tough because of his appearance, and he genuinely seems in need of someone to simply care for him.

do i think this is the end of blind channel? no of course not. this isn't some situation where the whole band will fall apart, nor do i think joel leaving was surprising whatsoever, however the timing of it was uncanny enough for me think that something probably unpleasant happened behind the scenes, and there was simply a massive role played by his health and creative differences, which is why they have been used as reasoning, however i think that they cannot be the sole cause of him leaving so soon. i think that he would have left for those reasons at some point, but just not at a time like this.

it has left me very bitter because it was something he was so passionate for, and no matter the cause it's so fucking unfair on him that he has been driven out of a large part of his life which he had such a love for. although he seems happy now, he also seems like the sort of person to struggle with such change, no matter how hard he might try to hide it, and i just hope he can cope with leaving it all behind. hopefully media and radio will be a much better and healthier thing for him. i'm absolutely devastated that i never had the chance to see him sing live, and will forever hate that everything could have gone so much smoother for him, however i'm excited to see how this new chapter of his life will play out and hope he has a better time in the future than he did in the previous years.

and no disrespect to the band either, i can't wait to see what new things they'll come out with together after the hiatus and individually during it.

[violetvines]

okay, so new theory:

disclaimer: i haven't reread the books in a long time, so i might have some facts wrong, and some of this may not make sense but it's been in my head for a while

what if everything tobias hawthorne did to his grandsons (the saturday morning games, training them to be better, faster, stronger) had a bigger reason? we all think that he did it because he was crazy and he basically made grayson a living robot and jameson a masochistic ticking time-bomb – but what if everything he did to them was warranted? (i am not defending him in any way, just thinking of possibilities)

we know that tobias hawthorne's game is finished... but it looks like alice hawthorne's game is just beginning

in the brothers hawthorne, tobias was asked if they would ever get to meet alice, and he replied "you're not ready to meet her yet" or something along the lines of them needing to be ready to meet her

we also know that tobias knew that alice had been alive this whole time but she never returned to live at the house and she never even attended the funeral as far as we know

which makes me believe that alice hates tobias – but why?

it could be because of odette – maybe she found out about their r/s or... it could be how tobias seemed to favour toby (not their son by blood) over his own children (skye and zara) – who knows how petty alice is...

alice seems to want to cut herself off from being a hawthorne and she doesn't seem to care about her grandsons (she nearly killed jameson and threatened to hurt anyone else he told which, if he did do, would definitely include his brothers)

let's go back to the part where tobias said that "they weren't ready to meet her yet"

what if it wasn't meant to be a cordial family occasion? what if they were supposed to meet her in a different way, aka now? what if "ready" meant that the day she sought them out?

jameson saw her in prague (and idk it's just so weird she happened to be in that street at the time he was, so she probably planned it as a warning of some sorts)

and i think this connects to tobias because she might hate him, but seeing how unhinged she is, she might be like "i love you so i won't hurt you, but i'll be after your legacy, i'll be after your grandsons"

so the reason why tobias needed to prepare them in that way (basically do what he did), was because he needed to prepare them for what would be alice's game – and this time, it wouldn't be a saturday morning game – it would be a game of life or death, because that woman doesn't seem afraid of hurting people

one more thing in the brothers hawthorne – tobias told grayson "some day it's going to be you" – and all of us, and grayson, thought it was the inheritance... but he never did specify what it was about

what if it was never about the inheritance?

what if it was something related to alice's game? what if he meant that someday, it was going to be grayson who would put a stop to this, and free them from alice?

grayson is part of the grandest game rn and it seems like alice's influences are on that island too – so he's a key player in this and would have the opportunity to face down with whatever alice has in mind (not to say the rest of them like nash, jameson, xander and avery won't but...)

idk but to me, it seems like alice is far more dangerous than tobias... and he always did say that there is nothing frivolous about a way a hawthorne man loves and he said "if she is the one, she will destroy you"

i honestly don't know where this is coming from but here it is anyway~

[melpomenelamusa]

A Happy (Not Yet) Ending - Chimeras

~Original story~

Previous

CW: Mention of past captivity, mention of past pet whump.

A/N: Season One Finale is here!!! More like an epilogue, actually, and also a bit long. I´m so happy to have finally written it!!!

"I hope everyone’s hungry for bacon and eggs."

It was past eleven in the morning, but no one cared about having breakfast at that hour, after all, they had all slept in.

Warrick served the plates. The dining table had never been so full; they had even dragged a wooden stool from the shed to squeeze the five bodies around the small rectangular table so they could eat comfortably.

Tigri's hair was messy, and his eyes were still squinty from sleep. Fidi had gotten up earlier and, along with Warrick, was one of the only ones who’d taken the time to shower, not just change clothes. Elafi stayed seated, his ears twitching, never taking his eyes off Tigri. It was clear he was waiting for the right moment to talk to him. At the other end of the table, Patrick tried to hide his constant yawning while sipping coffee and glancing at his phone.

After escaping the hotel the previous night, Warrick and Patrick had carried the unconscious teenagers into the cabin. The kids had woken up about half an hour later, confused and restless, apparently without clear memories of the details of their escape. Warrick gave them a summary of events, leaving out certain details he considered too disturbing and not worth mentioning just yet.

Since everyone was so exhausted, they all went to sleep almost immediately. Alarm clocks were ignored the following morning.

"I want to say something," Tigri said suddenly, putting down the utensils he had been eating with. His ears drooped, and his tail swished nervously behind the chair. "I know I barely know most of you, you just told me your names, but... I just wanted to say thank you for saving me. If you hadn’t come yesterday, I... I don’t know what would have happened to me..."

"Of course we were going to rescue you," said Fidi reassuringly.

"We weren’t going to just stand by if there was something we could do," added Elafi.

Tigri smiled. Even with the large dark circles under his eyes, his expression radiated happiness.

"Thank you so much... I owe you my life."

Patrick then handed the teenager his phone. On the screen was a photo of a Missing Person poster.

"Your family’s been looking for you all this time. My brother and I thought it was best to give you a day to rest and recover, but if you want, we can take you to them right now. We'll contact them and bring you home."

Tigri’s eyes stayed fixed on the phone screen for several long seconds. After a moment, they began to water.

"T-thank you so much," he said, wiping away tears with one hand. "But... I think I'll stay today to rest. I'm not... I'm not ready yet... for them to see me like this."

Although he didn’t elaborate, it was clear what he meant. Tigri looked very different from before his captivity. He had lost muscle mass, his claws were dirty and stained with traces of dried blood; his curls had lost definition, long and tangled; the skin around his neck, wrists, and ankles was irritated and bruised, and even some facial hair had started to grow. It was clear he wasn't in the best of shapes.

"We understand," Warrick assured him. "You can stay as long as you need. When you're ready, we’ll take you home."

The rest of the day passed without major worries. Patrick either slept or spent time on his phone, Warrick focused on the regular chores around the cabin, and the three chimeras spent hours talking at the dining table, catching up from the moment Fidi and Tigri were separated during their escape attempt.

"You bit Madame Lavenza?" Tigri leaned forward, his golden eyes shining. "Wow... You’re seriously amazing, Fidi, I admire you! By the way, your new haircut is awesome. Makes you look way more badass."

Tigri was a cheerful, talkative boy, with loud laughter and a sweet gaze. He and Elafi quickly bonded and slipped easily into a lively conversation, talking and laughing like old friends.

"Hey, not to be nosy, but your dad is super hot," Tigri commented at one point as they watched Warrick chopping wood in the yard through the window. The man had taken off his shirt, revealing a tank top and his muscular arms. "Totally my type."

"He's not actually my dad," Elafi replied, although his tone sounded a bit unsure, as if he himself doubted it.

"He's way too old for you," Fidi teased. "Besides, he already has a girlfriend, even if he won’t admit it."

By evening, Tigri told Patrick he was ready to return to the city the next day. Patrick wasted no time contacting Tigri’s family using one of the numbers listed on the missing person poster. Tigri’s mother answered the call, and although she initially seemed suspicious, the sound of Tigri’s voice on the other end of the line was enough to make her realize the miracle they had been praying for had finally come true.

The tiger boy couldn’t help crying during the video call with his mother. The others had moved to a different part of the cabin to give him privacy in the living room. Elafi and Fidi headed to the deer boy’s bedroom.

"I admit I feel a little jealous," Fidi said quietly. "If I ever reunited with my parents... I'm sure they wouldn’t react like that. They might even be angry to see me again, like a curse coming back after they thought they had gotten rid of it. But I'm really happy for Tigri. This is something he’s been wishing for a long time. He deserves to go back to his life, to a family that loves him."

"I know you’ll find people who love and care for you too," Elafi replied. "I still miss my parents a lot, but Warrick has helped me not to feel so alone. And you’ve helped me too. You're my friend, Fidi. We'll be there for you whenever you need us."

The snake girl gave him a small smile.

"Thank you, Elafi." She let out a sigh. "I still don't know what I’ll do with my life after... all this. I never had dreams or wishes beyond not ending up dead, homeless, or in the black market. But I know whatever I do, this time it’ll be on my own terms. I’ll find my own path."

"I know you will."

The next day, Warrick, Patrick, Elafi, Fidi, and Tigri set out for the city. During the couple of hours the trip lasted, anxiety hung thick in the air. Tigri felt his palms sweating and the fur on his tail standing on end.

"Is it bad if I say I’m nervous?" he asked quietly from the back of the pickup, where he rode with Fidi and Elafi.

"It’s normal to be nervous," Fidi replied. "You haven’t seen your family in months... but I’m sure everything will turn out fine."

"I’m a little... scared, you know? So much time has passed... and so many things have happened..."

Tigri instinctively touched his neck, where Madame Lavenza’s metal collar used to be.

"They’ve been waiting for you," Elafi said. "You being back is what matters most. It doesn’t matter if you look or feel a little different. You’re still Tigri."

Tigri threw his arms around the other chimeras and hugged them tightly.

"You guys are the best."

Once in the city, it didn’t take long to find Tigri’s family home. After parking in front, Warrick got out and rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, a dark-skinned woman with long curls tied up in a high bun came out of the house. She eyed Warrick a bit suspiciously, but the moment her gaze fell on Tigri, standing a few meters behind him, her expression completely changed.

"H-hi, Mom," Tigri said shyly. "I-I'm back."

"My baby!" the woman cried, running to her son and wrapping him in her plump arms. Tigri hugged her back, tears immediately pouring from his eyes. Before long, a little girl with wild hair peeked out from the door.

"Big Bro!" she shouted, joining the hug. "I knew you’d come back!"

Tigri easily lifted the little girl in his arms.

"Zuri! I missed you so much! Are you taller now?"

The last to leave the house was a tall man wearing glasses. His stern eyes quickly softened as he rushed to pull his son into a tight hug, drawing soothing circles on his back.

"I have no words to thank you for what you've done for this family," Tigri’s father said after pulling away from the rest of his family, shaking Warrick’s hand warmly. "What�� what can we do to repay you for what you've done?"

"You owe us nothing, sir..."

"Raj. My wife Amara and my little daughter Zuri."

"You don't have to repay us anything," Warrick explained calmly. "We just did what we believed was right."

Despite Warrick’s words, Tigri’s family insisted they stay for dinner. Except for Patrick, who had to leave because he had work the next day, no one objected. They squeezed into the dining room as best they could and ate spaghetti and meatballs.

Tigri’s family was just as cheerful and talkative as he was. During dinner, they chatted about happy and funny things, filling the house with an atmosphere almost like a celebration. Zuri, Tigri’s younger sister, was the most excited of all, openly and enchantedly watching the newly arrived chimeras. Elafi allowed her to touch his antlers, and Fidi drew little animal sketches for her on a paper napkin.

When the clock struck a late hour, Warrick announced it was time to leave.

"Do you have a place to stay, Fidi?" Tigri asked the snake girl. "My offer still stands—you can stay here. Mom, can Fidi stay?"

The woman smiled.

"Well, we could set up the inflatable mattress in Zuri’s room, of course, if she agrees…"

"Of course!" the little girl exclaimed, slapping her hands on the wooden table. "She's just like Tigri, she’s cool, she has fangs and a weird tongue and she draws really well!" Zuri grabbed Fidi’s hand, admiring her pearly scales, and began shaking it. "Stay, stay, stay, stay, pleaaase, pleaaase, pleaaaaase!"

"It’s up to you," Warrick said, placing a hand on the snake girl's shoulder. "You're always welcome at the cabin, but it's fine if you want to stay here in the city. Elafi and I could come visit you from time to time."

Fidi stayed silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on her hands in her lap. Her forked tongue briefly flicked out between her lips, a sign that she was deep in thought. After a few seconds, she looked up.

"If it’s alright… I would like to stay."

No one objected.

~

Fidi moved in with Tigri’s family while she, in her own words, "got what she needed to start her own life." Considering she had been locked away in Madame Lavenza’s mansion for ten years, had never finished school, and had certainly never gone to college, it would be a tough road—but not an impossible one.

Tigri reapplied for his scholarship so he could return to university the following semester, and reunited with his friend Joshi, who almost broke into tears upon seeing his best friend again. Zuri, for her part, was delighted to have a "new Big Sis" at home—someone she could finally talk to about "girl things" like fashion and social revolution. She also often demanded that her "deer friend" come visit, so it became common to see Warrick and Elafi come over on weekends for lunch with the family.

Elafi continued living with Warrick in the cabin in the woods. Though they had offered, the deer boy admitted he wasn’t interested in moving back to the city. Still, thanks to Tigri’s family’s support, he began visiting the town and city more often, despite Warrick’s lingering distrust of taking the chimera boy to crowded places.

Patrick also began visiting them at the cabin with some regularity, and they often held movie and popcorn nights in the living room.

Life started to feel new and wonderful, as if everything had finally settled after a long storm. Everything was falling into place.

However, there was still something lingering inside Elafi, a slippery idea at the back of his mind, like a dark satellite orbiting his thoughts without rest.

"Warrick," he said one day. "I need to tell you something important."

The man looked up from his phone, where he had been reading the morning news. The way Elafi’s ears moved told him this was serious.

"Go ahead," Warrick replied calmly.

"I... I need you to help me find out where I come from."

Warrick stayed silent, so the teenager continued:

"Do you remember that time Lupita told us I was different from other chimeras? That being born a chimera child made me different from the rest? Well… I need to find out why. I need to know why I was born like this. What my parents never told me. Why I... why I can do the things I can..."

Warrick opened his mouth to speak, but Elafi interrupted him, his voice strained.

"I’m not just talking about dreams and plants. The day we saved Tigri… I lied when I said I didn’t remember what happened. Fidi and Tigri didn’t attack those guards because they wanted to defend themselves. I ordered them to. I don’t know how I did it, but I know it was me. I was the one who told Fidi to attack those hunters back when we were captured in the woods. I made my friends attack those guards at the hotel and ki..."

Elafi pressed his lips together. His face was full of anguish, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes brimming with tears.

"I need to know what I am," he whispered.

Warrick stood up and gently placed both hands on the teenager’s shoulders.

"Hey, hey, breath. You’re a good kid," he said. "I understand your doubts, but never forget: you are a good person. You’ve never hurt anyone out of malice. I'm sure that one day you'll fully master your abilities. You’re not a monster—you’re just a scared boy trying to live."

Elafi immediately threw himself into Warrick’s arms, letting a few tears fall.

"Thank you, Warrick," he mumbled against his chest.

"You’re welcome, son," the man replied, hugging him back and stroking his hair. "Have you thought about how to... investigate?"

Elafi stepped back and wiped his face with his hands.

"I’ve been avoiding this out of fear, but I can't run anymore. I think… it’s time to reach out to someone from my biological family."

~~~

Roach was standing in front of the mirror.

He hated looking at himself.

He ran his fingertips over the many scars scattered across his abdomen, chest, and sides. The skin formed small lumps and thin lines over his body, reminders of what had been there, of every scream, insult, and blow he'd endured, filling him with disgust.

Disgust and fury.

"Fucking chimeras," he muttered.

He pulled on a high-collared shirt, threw on his lab coat, and set his dark goggles back over his eyes.

At the office, everything was normal and boring. His lab work for the day was done, and the silence was overwhelming without the constant screams and whimpers of his victims—or rather, his "patients."

He was typing up some reports on his computer when he suddenly received an email. It was a forwarded message from his secretary.

"Figured you’d want to see this," the woman wrote.

Roach opened the email and read it.

Every line, every paragraph made a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.

Finally, some good news.

"This is interesting," he said to himself, rocking back and forth in his chair. "Looks like someone just got me a new toy to play with..."

End of Season One.

To be continued…

Taglist: @scoundrelwithboba @morning-star-whump @lancedoncrimsonwings @3-2-whump. @whumped-by-glitter @string-of-broken-hearts @alyscat @oddsconvert @what-if-i-just-did @bacillusinfection @writinglittlepains @washing---machine @bilightningwhumper @enasolos @inhurtandincomfort

Finally!!! The first season of Chimeras has come to an end!!! I can't contain my excitement qwq. This little project, which started back in August 2024 as just an excuse to join the whump community and write some whump content, turned into a story that has earned a very special place in my heart. Diving deeper into the plot and creating characters became something that brought me so much joy and fun, and writing this story has been a process I've truly loved.

I'm so grateful to ALL the readers, to everyone who comments, reblogs, asks questions, and follows my OCs. Your support has truly kept this project going strong 💜.

I have so many ideas to continue expanding the Chimeras universe, so many things I would love to explore and discover. I don't know when I'll be able to write a second season, since there's a lot I need to think through, plan, and organize; but rest assured that in the coming months there will be some one-shots, as well as extra and special chapters for Chimeras, because I just can't say goodbye to these characters yet.

So if you have ideas on how to torture my OCs, don't hesitate to share them!!! Maybe I'll have a chance to write something about it ;)

Once again, thank you so much to everyone who read all the way here. I really hope we can keep sharing stories together.

With much love,

Melpómene.

[gowerhardcastle]

Hello, I'm a fellow IF fan waiting patiently for more updates atm. I'm wondering how you find the motivation to write so much and often?

Usually for even for creative writing, the best I can do is some paragraphs, then I just zone out for the rest of the day. Then I'll check my email then I realize it's actually late evening with only the same paragraphs.

---

I have a lot of answers to this question.  Specifically ten answers.

The first, biggest answer is that the words just well up in me, and if I don’t write, I feel antsy and malcontent.  I love writing, but if I have more than a few days where I’m not writing, I feel weird.  So this is definitely a weird-me-thing than anything I would advise anyone to acquire.

Second, when I write, I get in the zone and I just write and write for six or seven hours straight, and I’m having a great time the whole time.  I think my age does help me here because I didn’t grow up with the internet, and I have no real desire to keep checking stuff while I write.  I think that’s a huge benefit. 

I think if someone asked me if I recommend that they write like me, I would say hell no.  I know I’m a weird outlier.

Third, I blast music while I write.  This does a lot for my energy.

Fourth, coffee.  Lots of it.

Fifth, I type really, really fast.  I double space after periods because I learned to type on a typewriter.

Sixth, there’s a real cost to it.  I love playing computer games, and gaming in general, and writing just consumes that time, just devastates it.  If I’m not careful, it eats my reading time, but that I won’t allow.  But you have to be ok with the trade.

Seventh, I wake up quite early, before my family wakes up, just naturally.  I creep downstairs, take my iced latte from the fridge, which I made the night before, and write for hours while the world and the house is still.  This feels like time stolen.

Eighth, I have a really hard time resisting challenges I give myself.  I always have the urge to outdo myself, to make things more interesting, complex, bigger, fuller.  I see the perfect finished product, and I just want to get there, and I have a hard time saying “no!” to myself.  Quite the contrary.

Ninth, people who let me know that my games cheered them up on a hard day.  That they laughed so hard their gut hurts in spite of being on active deployment somewhere.  

That something I said helped them realize that they wanted to write, or that they could write and someone would read it.  That one of the relationships in my game helped them realize something really important about themself.  Or someone writes and says “I think about that one line from that game all the time,” or that they practiced and learned English from a story I wrote. 

I mean...that is unbearably humbling and kind of miraculous, and my impulse hearing that is to sit down and write more and connect with more people, because writing is very, deeply, an alone thing, and it requires that you sort of sequester yourself away from life for a long time.  It’s really hard! 

So making that connection with people is *incredibly* motivating.

Tenth, and this one is hard to articulate, so bear with me.  There’s a lot of junk in the world, and a lot of things masquerading as something wholesome and real that are quite the opposite.  A lot of this stuff is online, but also just out in the world.  I can’t do much about it, but to me, people who craft real words and read real words and care about good prose are maintaining some kind of small banner of resistance about what’s valuable and worth saving.  

When I sit down to write, I think about that. 

[otiksimr]

Hello, Bob-[Bob Beloved]-questions-having-anon back with another Bob [Bob Beloved] question

How often, if at all, does Bob [Bob Beloved] involve himself with human culture? Movies, books, malls, does he even have a job or a human residence? Without a great understanding of language or an incredibly complex range of emotions, I'm not sure how much he'd enjoy those things, but he's also not my OC, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Where does he sleep? Does he sleep? How does he spend his time? Are the babysitters or his mom(s) usually with him? Does he know about the Worm Killer? Am I asking too many questions-

Also, who's that big dragon and those cool bird-adjacent-looking ocs of urs??? I don't think it said their names in the posts 🤔 my interest has been piqued.

Alrght. Alright alright alright. Bob can't read so I don't think he'd know what the heck is going on when it comes to written media. I think he'd be interested with it but due to him not understanding it his enjoyment of it would be greatly limited. He'd like movies a lot! To him it'd probably be a lot like watching a movie in a different language without subtitles. But that's basically how he's been observing people from afar this entire time, so it'd be no different for him.

Bob is constantly interacting with human culture, after he figured out how to look human himself. Can't exactly go strolling in um. Worm. He's one of the worms that has the best grasp on human language, he's been around since they've appeared in the evolutionary timeline. He's heard a lot of crap and seen a lot of things.

Bpb can somewhat speak 'human language', but because he's heard so many languages and baby doesn't know that languages can die and that not everyone speaks the same language. So he be switching between like, ten languages, just talking to someone because he doesn't know that people tend to only know two languages on average.

Bob sleeps at the bottom of the ocean. [sniff]. As a worm they kind of, sleep float. Slowly drifting. Bob does the same thing, as a person it probably looks like sleep walking.

Bob spends his day eating and people watching. He baby. Okie? I think some time periods he just latches onto people and watch out their life spans. It's what's most fun to him. With that, he's probably the only World Eaters with a moral compass due to the sheer amount of time he spends with creatures with morality.

His babysitters are with him 24/7, they don't need to sleep so they can always keep an eye on him. They're usually the ones keeping him from eating anything that he can't eat. His moms do visit him! Just not very often and not for very long (in their time). They eat planets, they can't stay with him, because if they do there will be no solar system left for Bob to eat when he grows up.

Bob would not know about the Worm Killer, no. Even if he was told it wouldn't mean much to him, he's too young to understand what that could mean for him.

The 'big dragon' is Bayle (Named after Elden Ring boss). She's the same species as Rahuul, yada yada. She's Malice Incarnate. Basically, uh. An evil god. Hehe. A lot of them are female, not for any specific reason I just have an easier time drawing women so most of them end up as either a woman or just. Nonbinary or agender but feminine appearing.

I think I'll list off the rest of the 'gods' I've shown on this blog under cut. umu.

↑ That's Zyanth. She represents longing. ↑ Xercxes. She represents tenacity/determination (heh).

↑ I've shown her a few times. This is Haruna, Vengence Incarnate. She has a very nasty personality and despite her looks has a very rough way of speaking (like imagine gangster speech coming from a prim and proper lady).

Haruna's 'older sister' Yoru (they're twins but Yoru keeps calling herself the older sister just to mess with Haruna). She is Temptation Incarnate. In other words. Uh. She plays with peoples emotions in order to get them to succumb to their desires.

[sodaliteskull]

Gonna answer with the Silent Island for this one!

The Emperor Beluga tends to sound very grandiose, more ostentatious than prim and proper, though he tends to use words strangely. He will lapse into foul language when he's in one of his moods.

"I do love silk," he said, wrapping the scarf across his neck, "It is grand. Now at first, I thought you may have been pregnant. Though that is not the same kind of distress, now is it! Har har! I suppose we could help you sort out your misery. But," he gasped, "Are you talking of Cyprus... as in the island in Europa... in Grecia?! IN REALITY!?"

Ivanova is more informal, frequently peppering her speech with expletives. She also tends to use more slang than the others, coming off more modern than her companions.

"Right? Like how I've got all the shit from the Reality Anchors downloaded, so I'll be able to figure out countermeasures so that no one will be able to pull the same stunt on us again!" Ivanova pointed out, "So just chill, enjoy dinner, and celebrate with the rest of us, because Wardoh's fucking dead, and with the high schools from his district wiped out, they'll think twice about fucking with us again!"

Lady Syrenna grew up in Ireland, and then spent centuries travelling the world, which softened her accent. The more heated she gets, however, the more Irish she becomes, otherwise her dialect tends to lean more contemporary. She has a bit of a tendency towards rambling.

"Oh my philomena..." She gasped in a whisper, "Something is in there with the unicorn magic, it has taken the unicorn magic and wants out of the tree... It must be some kind of demon!" She closed her eyes fora moment and took a few deep breaths.

Yanna also spent much of her life travelling, so she tends to sound more formal to compensate, being as direct and blunt as possible, sometimes to the point of tactlessness. She prefers to let her actions do her talking for her, in most cases.

Yanna shook her head, "Physically, I'm not. But with my gifts, cunning, and experience I am. Now, I am willing to help you perfect any gift you have and any combat skills you want. But," she looked angry again, "I will not have you turning yourself into a testosterone-fuelled idiot."

Talk to me!

--

This is a live ask event!

What that means is I will be active for the hour, hopping into ask boxes with followup questions as I am able, while encouraging you to do the same.

Answering the questions tells me you are cool with this.

You may answer all questions via reblog, reply, hopping in my askbox or even reposting. Just remember the #writeblr and #writeblr live tags if reblogging/reposting so we can find ya.

We’re here to help rebuild interaction in the community, so get in there and have fun with it!