#idk if its like. a pots situation

[mothmanns]

im gonna have to start cracking down on this low sodium shit, had to drink soooo much soy sauce at work today ://

[dykedvonte]

I keep seeing fanarts of ppl's OC's being on the ship, so do you think that if there was 6st crewmember (specifically, another woman) Anya would've been more safe? Like, someone to actually call Jimmy's begaviour out, someone Anya might wanna trust? Is there a possibility something might have changed (even if a little) or it would not have mattered at all?

-💀

I feel like the game would make it part of the commentary on where she would believe and help Anya but still be sort of dismissive? Like the whole “don’t waste time crying and being scared keep going and move on, don’t let him win”. It’s supposed to be positive and reinforcing but sometimes it does more damage in those times of mourning and grief, it feels patronizing, like you don’t understand what you’re going through but they do. Even if they did call out his behavior it’s still on Curly to act and while another voice would help, it’s still 4 against 2 on guys that don’t get it until they have to vs women who always have to.

I don’t mind mouthwashing OCs but I do get a bit bored as they tend to be borderline saviors or like Jimmy aligned. They are either more complicit than Curly or just Jimmy haters for no reason, outside of what the creators know about what he did to Anya. I am never irked by OCs but in a story like mouthwashing you really need to think about what your character adds to the commentary, especially if they are there during the crash. It’s nice to have like characters on Anya’s side more whole heartedly and interesting to see characters who placate Jimmy but sometimes it’s one note.

I can’t and don’t want to police peoples OCs it’s never my intention when I comment on trends I notice, but I do feel like the way people make their OCs interact with these two characters and especially Curly, really show a grave misunderstanding of the narrative and these characters as people vs roles in the story. Still, I know people just make up characters for fun and that’s fine. Great even, but I guys I’m focusing more on OCs that are supposed to have those serious dynamics. My favs tend to be pretty-Tulpar or post-Tulpar au OCs.

The inevitably of the crash is on Jimmy. He did that not because he wasn’t stopped but because all his means to kill Anya were taken. The gun, the axe. Even if Curly did strip him of his co-pilot privileges and try to keep him contained there’s only so many people. An extra body helps but they have jobs they have to do, he’s the only one steering the whole ship and Jimmy would likely have an out: food, bathroom, etc. He’s not new and if he couldn’t crash the ship directly, who’s to say he wouldn’t sabotage something else? A clunker like the Tulpar wouldn’t take much. An extra person helps but it’s just another thing that prolongs what a person like Jimmy is willing to do to shirk responsibility.

It’s more than just needing someone to stand up to him and think that’s what is missing when it comes to inserting a character into the mouthwashing setting.

[chipjrwibignaturals]

you see the way my brain works is that if you make a crossover big and self-indulgent enough it will always be cool. humanity peaked with subspace emissary

[claytonia]

Pearly everlasting (transplant), few flowered shooting star (nursery) and fine-leaved lomatium (from seed!!!) all sprouting ! Lets effing go.

[juuuulez]

mikey is such a cutie patootie!! i imagine that his family all really love you (and maybe pin too much hope on you to ‘save’ him) so at holidays everyone’s just so sweet to you. everyone knows they can joke or make snide comments at mikey, but god forbid anyone goes after you (uncle lee made the mistake of accusing you of drugs too. it’s a good thing donna totaled her car because otherwise lee would be fucked up)

and idk mikey can be so sweet i know he can!! you’re kind of the pete to his sugar in a way

literally agree like he just needs HIS person and he would be so proud to show you off

a berzatto christmas is chaotic but you’ll quickly learn how to handle that energy, knowing it’s just common for them. everyone (or at least most of them) treat you well, and sometimes you’re even enough to diffuse the tensest of situations.

“hey! your hookers here!” uncle lee will shout when you walk through the door, not so much an announcement to mikey as it is to the room, something to gain a reaction. thankfully he isn’t around right now, for that would be the beat-down of the century.

you offer lee a thin smile, knowing by this point not to engage. “merry christmas to you, too.”

the house is warm and alive with energy, everyone you pass throwing a greeting your way. natalie stops you for a hug, her hands smoothing down your dress and making a comment about how nice it looks, but “aren’t you cold, sweetheart? did you drive here? we’ll get you a coat for later, okay?”

on the way to the kitchen, you have to physically evade richie’s hand coming to mess with your hair. it’s been perfectly done up for the occasion and his big hand serves as an obstacle, wanting to ruffle it like usual.

you huff and swat his arm away, ducking quickly through the door and missing the glare it earns him from tiff.

finally, you make it into the kitchen. it’s disorganised and messy, pots overflowing, spoons left on the counter. carmy is trying to reign in the situation, in his own silent way, not wanting to cause any additional tension.

“hey, d.” you greet donna from behind, who was too caught up in whatever to notice your arrival. she turns around with an exasperated noise, both her hands finding your shoulders before moving to your cheeks.

“how are you?” she asks, but is talking before you can get a response in. “i was reading this magazine, and there was this model, and i swear, it looked— hey! hands off!”

whatever tangent donna was on is interrupted as carmy goes to stir a pot, to which she bats his hands away, going on about its contents and how it needs to simmer.

“it smells good in here!” you chirp, a smile on your face as you open the fridge.

“wine,” donna continues, “did you want some wine? here, sweetheart. let me pour you a glass.”

“no, no, i’m okay!” you quickly interject, already having found a cold bottle from the fridge. “beer is good, beer will be fine.”

she makes an offhanded comment about needing to “treat yourself to something nice” and not drinking “cheap garbage.” meanwhile, donna continues pouring the aforementioned glass, only to sip from it herself while she cooks.

you take about three gulps of the beverage before footsteps bring another presence to attention. it’s always easy to hear mikey before seeing him, for he’s often already yelling to you from the other room. this time it’s a call of your name, loud and warm, so you flutter closer to the doorway to meet him.

“hey,” you greet with a smile, hands reaching for the fabric of his sweater while his find your hips. “you look good. like this colour on you.”

“says you,” mikey will quip back. “this fuckin’ dress on you, jesus. tryna’ kill a man, huh?”

it gets a giggle out of you, cheeks flushing red at the blatant compliments despite the others in the room. it was something you were still adjusting to: showing love so casually and shamelessly no matter the circumstances, like it was the only thing that mattered.

“merry christmas, bear.” you coo, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

it earns a squeeze of your hips, mikey moving to kiss back. “merry christmas, baby.”

“can you guys please fuckin’ move.” carmy snaps suddenly.

the peace is again broken, with donna scolding him and going on and on about something you pay no mind to. it onto causes carmy to heat up further, complaining about how you’re both in the way in that usual overwhelmed sense.

mikey doesn’t help, chiming in with his own remark. “oh, is our affection ruining your flow? you know what your problem is, you gotta chill out. it’s christmas, and you’re fuckin’ wound up—”

“okay, okay. we will move. let carmy have his peace.” you interrupt him, trying to save the conversation by giving mikey a little push to usher him out of the kitchen. it works, thankfully, for the second that he spots richie he’s going on again about some other story you’re sure you’ve already heard, but is somehow relevant right now.

[joshusten]

kiss and make up

In which Honey wants a makeover and Guy gladly helps. (lots of kisses, fluff, makeover time!!!)

2.7k+ words [ao3 will be added when im not lazy lmao] [masterlist]

[CW and notes: typical guy innuendoes, honey doesn't know how to do makeup and they get a lil insecure about that fact, that being said i'm not really a makeup expert too LMAO, theres also lots of grammar mistakes probably ;--; and since like, makeup styles and visuals vary between people i tried to make it as vague and gender neutral as possible but idk if i really achieved that so keep that in mind and please let me know if i should change some wordings etc. ! oh and lmk about typos too hehe tysm!]

thank you so so much to my dearest friend @slushiepizza !! this wip is literally a year long and they've been a HUGE HUGE (x1000) help to me finishing (and convincing to post) this fic!! this fic's also inspired by fanart they made before and this yt short from that one anthony padilla interview. also yes theres a lil 2024 hbs guy AAAND jin (his gamer friend in that second hoodie video i think) reference too lmao HAHAHAH hope you enjoy!! :D "Ugh! Why can't I fucking–" 

“Piece of—!”

“Fuck!”

Another frustrated groan cuts Honey off. For the past few minutes, Guy had been hearing his partner's muffled frustrations from their room all the way to their humble kitchenette and he was seriously starting to get worried about what could possibly be troubling their usually well-composed lover.

He quickly turned off the stove, wiping his hands on the piercingly hot pink apron with the words "Please Do More than Kiss the Chef" embroidered on its body (a joke gift, courtesy of Rosa being his Secret Santa last year, that Guy legitimately used in his every day, much to his friend’s amusement). Fortunately, the lunch he was making was done by the time he decided to check up on them (and, really, it was just a simple one-pot pasta recipe he stumbled on Tiktok at 3 AM.)

Guy haphazardly hung the apron by a chair nearby—future Guy can worry about all of the mess later—and made his way to the hallway that led to their small shared bedroom.

He gently knocked a little melody on the door,  announcing his presence through the painted wood. "Honey?”

A thump was heard, as if something suddenly dropped out of surprise, followed by a faint “Shit!”

The man knocked again, this time with a furrowed brow.

“Honey dearest? Lover of mine? Is someone botherin’ you? Need to kick someone’s ass?” He joked, clearing his throat afterward for a more sincere tone. “But for real, do you need any help there, baby?”

The silence that followed almost tempted Guy to ask again before a loud sigh came from the other side.

"Yeah…It's unlocked. You can come in..." 

They almost sounded embarrassed. A little shy even. The man couldn’t help but grin at how comfortable Honey had become showing him their more vulnerable sides throughout their time together. 

Guy opened the door slowly to reveal their usual semi-tidy bedroom save for the mess that seemed only to be contained around Honey, whose head was currently hanging low in shame. Alarms went off in his mind once he processed the potential severity of the situation with how distressed his partner looked.

He rushed to where Honey sat, in front of the vanity where a variety of make-up products were strewn across the dark oak wood. Upon closer inspection, he could see that—

Oh. Uhm. This was interesting.

His partner’s frustrated face seemed to be an amalgamation of different cosmetics that looked like they were hastily smeared on and rubbed off multiple times. 

Patchy foundation, unblended blush, shaky eyeliner. 

Guy can practically feel the heat coming off their tinted face, furrowing their brows and averting their glare to the side.

“Look, I know what this looks like but—" Honey was never able to finish their sentence as a very, very poor attempt of stifled giggles reached their burning ears. Oh my god, he's never gonna let them live this down, is he? 

“Guy.”

“Wh-whaaaat? N-no, you look f-fine Honey! Pfft–” A snort interrupted the man's words of reassurance. 

“Guy, stop laughing, you asshole!” They groaned, sending a flurry of light slaps to Guy's shoulders, snickering along to indicate that they weren’t actually mad at him because, yeah, they did look a little silly (and his laugh was too damn cute to distract them from their predicament) but that still didn't make them any less self-conscious about it.

“I-I–OW! I don’t know what you mean, baby!”

Honey crossed their arms and made a face, looking away in a pretend-but-not-really sulk. 

“Fine, so I’m horrible at makeup ha-ha! Pack it up, jackass!”

To that, their boyfriend's laughter slowly died down, leaving him with a soft, sympathetic smile. 

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry! C’mere,” He apologized, beckoning them to come closer to which Honey begrudgingly complied. His smile brightened, pressing numerous quick kisses against his partner’s grumpy face, pulling away with a string of giddy giggles.

“Ew, I got your foundation on my lips.”

“Serves you right,” Honey huffed, unable to hold in a chuckle as they saw the faint splotches of the coating in their skin color on their boyfriend’s stubbled chin and pouted lips.

“So, uh, mind telling me what actually happened over here? ‘Cuz, Honey, you’re as pretty as a painting…given that it’s a painting my baby cousin can do, which I’m assuming isn’t what you were going for?” Guy asked, his full attention to his partner's make-up Frankenstein of a face.

The embarrassment rushed back to Honey tenfold but they masked it up with a shrug that looked timid regardless. “I dunno…there’s this event in the evening with my company and I just…wanted to try something new with my look. I-it's stupid. I started a lot earlier because I knew I’d need some time to learn but…I just can't get the hang of it!”

Sure, they know make-up isn’t all that easy to do but managing to tremendously fuck up something as seemingly simple as putting color on their face despite the amount of tutorials they’ve watched was just embarrassing to admit (especially to someone they’ve grown to care about what he thinks of them). They braced themself for more mocking laughter yet the teasing never came. Instead, they heard an excited gasp.

"Oh, I can do your makeup for you!"

…What?

"Uhm– I– You–?"

Guy picked up the wiped near Honey and started pulling a few from the already-opened plastic pack. The subtle clean scent of aloe vera wafted into their nostrils.

"I can do your make-up!" The man repeated happily, oblivious to Honey's quizzical stare. He gently grabbed their chin with one hand while the other one held the cleanser-soaked napkin inches closer to their cheek before he stopped and gazed into their eyes, "Can I?"

"Uh…Y-yeah. Sure." They felt their breath hitch at the sudden intimacy of the distance between them.

Guy beamed at that and started removing the product on their face but the confused expression never leaves it. He discarded the used wipes in the trash can under the vanity table and started sifting through their shopping spree's worth of cosmetics.

“I suggest you buy micellar water or cleansers instead of those wipes. They do a better job!”

“Uh, Guy?”

"Oh, you got this one! Yeah, I really like their formula, it doesn't feel too heavy on the skin. Well at least on my skin. Let me know if it doesn't feel comfy and–"

"Guy…"

"Woah, you got your shade just right with this one! Ah, but I think this brand oxidizes so the color might change–"

"Guy."

"Ooh, I haven’t seen this product before! Is this newly released or—”

"Guy!” Honey exclaimed, finally capturing their boyfriend’s ever-so-dwindling attention. “Babe. How…I mean, not that I'm doubting your skills or anything but–" 

By this time, Guy had already cleaned all of the makeup off from his partner and was now left with the face he was more used to seeing (and admiring).

"It's just…I've never seen you wear makeup. At all. Besides Halloween, I guess?”

The man simply grinned at that and continued rummaging through the cases of eyeshadows and face creams. “If you must know, a performer was moi!” 

“Oh, trust me, I'm familiar with your theatrics.”

“I’m just gonna pretend you meant that as a compliment,” He huffed, averting his gaze to the products that lay between them both. “Anyway, I did a lot of shows back then and, well, with constantly getting your face painted on, you pick up a few techniques, y'know? I even get to do my own makeup!”

The click and clatter of glass and plastic fills the room as Guy carefully examines each container with the same look he gets when he proofreads a revision of a script he made. It was almost weird to see how his eyes scanned the text of the labels and his habit of biting the inside of his cheek while focusing on the context other than the familiar blue light of his laptop.

“Got interested, asked my friends, then watched a few vids. I got to…’secretly borrow’ some of my mom's makeup to test out some looks.” The image of a teenage Guy experimenting with makeup much like what Honey was doing a while ago tickled their mind.

“But eh, college got in the way and I never really got the time to play around with some flashier makeup styles between delivering greasy ass pizzas and delivering exquisite screenplays that excite the mind and bewitch the heart.”

He held up a circular blush pot near a dumbfounded Honey. His eyes squinted with focus until he finally determined the blush matched their skin tone just fine. 

“Anyway, let's get some moisturizer to prep that cute face of yours!”

After Honey described what they wanted for their look, scrolled through Pinterest to get some inspiration, and watched a few more tutorials, the pair eventually got started with the process.

Guy put on an even layer of foundation, and concealer that he tried his best to match their skin, added contour, eyeshadow and blush according to the style they had requested, and painstakingly drew on some eyeliner (“Because everybody looks hotter with eyeliner!”). He had even let them try a few brush strokes of their own to get the feel of it.

Honey, on the other hand, felt like they were going to explode from the attention they’d been getting from him. Granted, they were no stranger to his affections yet something about the way he was so close—to the point where they could feel the warmth emanating from him, where the way his breath ghosts their neck made them tremble—it was a whole different experience.

The man added some finishing details to Honey’s face before announcing the final step: lipstick.

“Hm, let’s try these colors. Maybe it’s more your style.” He brought up a few plastic tubes with one hand closer to them, awaiting their input on his selection.

“Have you tried these brands before?”

“Uh, not really…I don’t think I’ve actually tried the liquid ones or the twisty ones. What’s the difference anyway? They both color your lips, right?”

Guy laughed at the sheer creativity of the nickname his partner had appointed to the lipsticks in his hand.  “Ah well, I’m glad you asked, Honey!”

He twisted up the matte tube and swiped the creamy formula on his lips, smacking them to spread it evenly. The color on his lips only emphasizes the smirk it formed, amused by the hitched breath Honey lets out as he gently cradled their face and brought it closer to his.

“Solid lipstick doesn't last long. See?” 

He demonstrated this by pressing his mouth on the back of his hand a few times to reveal pigmented marks against his skin. The man even gestured toward his face to show that the tint of the lipstick had significantly faded.

“Huh.” 

Honey was definitely studying his lips, alright. It formed into the same old smile they never got tired of, this time with its edges slightly smeared from what he had done moments ago. They were so entranced that they didn't even notice Guy reaching for a clear tube, this time twisting it to reveal an application wand with a different hue of the lipstick before, quickly applying it on his lightened lips.

“While liquid lipstick—” His quip breaks Honey’s lip-centered daydream and with a sudden movement, Guy pressed his colored lips gently against Honey's bare ones,  the latter letting out a quiet squeak that made the man eagerly press down harder. He slowly pulled away, close enough to have just an inch of space between their mouths.

“...Is kissproof!” 

He was right. Honey could see that Guy’s lips still looked the same with no sign of smudging or transferring of the product. Not that the efficiency of the lipstick is what’s on the forefront of their mind at the moment.

“O-oh,” their voice cracked rather pathetically but Guy only let out a laugh, holding up the twisted-up tube of the lipstick he first used near the other’s visibly quivering lips.

“Hm…now that I see it, I think the shade on the ‘twisty one’ fits your look better. Let’s use that!” 

A wide-eyed Honey simply nodded in response.

—

“...And then here’s your make-up bag, just in case you need to retouch! So, what do ya think? Stunning? Iconic? Gorgeous? Oh, oh! Pulchritudinous? Ehh?”

Honey turned to the vanity mirror for the first time in a while and gaped in the reflection. 

“It's…” They raised their hand, opting to feel their face before deciding otherwise as they realized it might waste all of their boyfriend’s hard work. Honey racked in every corner of their brain for a word to encompass the awe they’re in right now, wishing they had even just a fraction of Guy’s mind to express it in words. 

But for now, they’re just Honey—who isn’t particularly known for their expertise in saying what they mean and they settle for the answer they weren’t satisfied with at all.

“It’s pretty.” 

The person staring back at them looked so different yet still the same. It felt like looking at themselves from a different perspective. Pretty was hardly an adequate descriptor for what they were looking at but it’s all they could think about in their dazed state (the way their partner beamed at their compliment told them he didn’t mind).

“You’re the pretty one, hon! With or without make-up! I mean, c’mon! Look at that smile!”

That earned a wider smile from Honey with Guy giddily matching it.

“I’d have to thank my handsome make-up artist for that. He did such a wonderful job after all.” 

“How do you suppose you’ll do that then, Honey?”

This time, Honey was the one to surprise their lover with a kiss.

BONUS SCENE:

“Do you really have to go?” Guy whined though he already knew the answer. That didn’t stop him from snaking a hand around Honey’s waist, who was just leaving through the door of their shared apartment.

“Yes, Guy. I really have to, especially with how long you’ve been painting on my face, there’s a possibility I might get late,” they explained, giving him an apologetic look despite the scolding tone of their voice. 

“Well, who can blame me when my Honey’s looking absolutely ravishing,” He pulls Honey closer with his usual goofy smile, though this time they notice a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Besides, just a while ago it seems like you wanted your face to be painted with something else, ehh—mmph!”

Honey had cut him off by pressing their lips tenderly against his once more, eliciting a relaxed sigh from him. They pulled back to see a pouty expression plastered on Guy’s face.

“Fuck. Y-you’re enjoying that stunt way too much, it’s not fair!”

“I wasn’t the one that started it!”

“Fine, whatever!” Guy lamented loudly, complete with his hand clutching overdramatically on his chest. “Be like that, go to your party, then! See if I care!”

Honey just rolled their eyes with a smile. “One last goodbye kiss?” 

And how could he ever say no to that?

So after a quick peck on Guy’s cheek (maybe two or three more), Honey finally made their way out the door, leaving him a bit lightheaded than before. 

Despite his lovesick state, he was quick to make his way over to the couch and started setting up his game console connected to their T.V. Since his Honey would be out for most of the night, he decided to invite a friend over to play video games and kill some time.

Knock, knock. Ah, speak of the devil. “Jin! Come in, man!”

Guy swung the door open to reveal a man his age, carrying a paper bag full of chips on one arm and a game controller on the other. He set down the snacks on the second-hand coffee table before settling himself on the couch his friend was sitting on. 

“Sorry for being a little late, just had to do a few things. So, what game are we…Oh.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” “Dude. I think you should look at a mirror.” --

yes jin like one of guys friends that he plays with in that one hoodie video. with no voice line or anything at all. that jin. LMAO

anyway i rlly hope u enjoy this :")) i honestly dont think its my best work LMAO but eh! im here 2 have fun man,,, and this probably would be my last fic (atleast in a while but aughh idk if i'll be active again here HAHAJHAD) so yeah!! hope u liked it tysm have a good night/day!!

[ttulipwritezz]

This Is Our Place.~ S.Black

Ootp! Sirius Black x gn! Reader

Synopsis: After azkaban, Sirius falls for his best friend's colleague, who just so happens to return his feelings. They find their place within the confines of a war. Perhaps they'll leave the Christmas lights up till January.

Wc: 2k

Warnings: lots of italics, probably grammatical mistakes, inconsistency, mentions of presents, Christmas, bad family (s.b), kiss(es), might be ooc idk.

The clouds began to form in delicate shapes, and the roar of thunder echoed through the gloomy room. The light from a candle illuminated the kitchen, in which you sat, your mind preoccupied with the thought of the incoming rain.

Preoccupied with the thought of having to take the clothes off the drying rack anytime soon or bringing all your potted plants indoors to avoid them drowning.

It was not an odd thing—rain—being that it was the end of August.

"Knock, knock."

You looked up from where a blank piece of parchment lay in front of you, curious to know the source of the words.

"You could just, you know, knock? Like a normal person,  Sirius."

You found yourself speaking before you could collect your thoughts. The said man glanced at the parchment once and looked back at your face, his lips curving up the tiniest bit at your attempt to lighten the mood.

"Who am I, if normal, love?" He chuckles with a crooked smile.

You let your eyes roam around his face, his hollowed-out cheeks, and his half-lidded eyes. He looks tired. You conclude.

"Do you want some tea? I was just about to make some.."

You weren't really, about to make tea, that is. Still, you found yourself speaking, wanting to comfort the man, even if just a little.

Sirius was, by no means, your friend. He was just a friend of your colleague, Remus. You'd joined Hogwarts the same year Remus did; being new, the two of you hit it off immediately.

It always amazed you how well of a grasp Remus had on DADA. And he returned the favor by complimenting your herbology. You were a couple years younger than Remus, at best, and had known of him and the infamous marauders during your time at Hogwarts. Sirius Black did intrigue you the most.

You knew he came from a wealthy family, a bad one—of course, by no means did you want to intrude on his family life, but the heart does what the heart wants—and that he found solace in the friends he called brothers.

When Remus introduced you to his falsely convicted friend, Sirius Black, You damn near fainted on the spot, not because of his (undeniable) handsomeness but because of the sheer fear of standing in front of a possible murderer.

Now, years later (two to be exact), you find yourself enamored by the faded gray of his eyes and the curved bridge of his nose, which, you reckon, has been broken at least once during his time at Hogwarts, noting the sudden halt in the curve that then sharply turns to the other side and resumes its path.

Maybe it is a little peculiar to be noting such details of his appearance that you can paint a picture of his past. Strange, they'd call it. But it's routine for you. A routine you find comfort in.

"Thank you, Love," he replies.

A mumbled "'course" leaves your lips as you put the kettle to boil on the stove.

Sure, you could use magic, but these mundane tasks that don't require it seem to bring a sort of normalcy to your life. Even if just for a moment, it stops feeling like you're in the midst of a war and that people aren't dying left and right.

You were only nineteen when the first wizarding war came to an end, when your friends lost their lives, and when the dark lord seemingly disappeared forever.

He hadn't; that much was evident from the current situation.

The tea was set in front of Sirius almost unknowingly. You had been a little into your head and had been going about the task with practiced ease.

"Thanks again, Love. When do you reckon the others will return?"

Remus, along with the other order members, had gone on yet another mission. They left Sirius, concluding he was too weak to fight right now, and you, as you'd offered to stay back.

"Any time now, and really, it's no problem,"

you replied, sort of bashful at both his gratitude and the endearment.

As if on cue, the door opened with a jingle of the keys, and numerous voices rang through the empty corridors of Grimmauld Place.

Remus stalked into the kitchen and put his left hand up, leaning against the doorway with his right for some sort of support, revealing a gash running from his middle finger to his wrist and a sheepish smile on his face as he looked at you. Immediately, wordlessly, you walked forward with your wand and began healing the wound.

Removing a tin of herbal paste from the drawer beside and handing it to Remus.

"How'd that happen? I thought this was a 'harmless' mission," you asked, quoting his reassuring words from earlier.

"I nicked myself on a broken shelf." As confident as he sounded, his lie didn't escape you.

All it needed was a 'really?' look on your face to get the truth out.

"Death eaters," he stated, defeated.

"You really ought to be more careful, Rem. It worries me."

You said that and guided him out of the kitchen to assess his other wounds, which included one on his arm and a twisted ankle.

Unaware that a certain raven head was watching you from the table, envious and defeated at failing at his attempts to talk to you. The rain began pouring down, and the clothes and plants still outside ran through your mind.

The rain mirrored the heart of the black, sitting at the table, gloomy as ever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You'd last seen Sirius when Harry and the kids stumbled through the door of Grimmauld Place, bringing an unconscious, but thankfully alive, Sirius with them.

Harry had told you that he was leaving to retrieve his godfather from the ministry, mentioning something about a dream, but you weren't paying much attention after you'd heard the news. With Dumbledore's permission and assistance, you'd returned to Grimmauld's place to help in case they ever needed it. Praying that Sirius made it back alive.

The kids, along with Remus and a few other order members, laid the unconscious Sirius on the couch and went to clean themselves up as you offered to take care of Sirius in the meantime.

Once conscious, you dragged Sirius to the bathroom on the ground floor of the house, squeezing through the thin hallways and sitting him on the counter as you retrieved a first-aid kit from the cupboard.

"Couldn't you use magic to fix my wounds?" came his distraught voice, cutting your thoughts short.

"Do you want me to inflict pain on them? Just sit still. Besides, it's not like I'm a healer."

As you cleaned each wound with precision, one thought roamed your head.

It's not like they don't have wands—the death eaters, that is—they injured him in a way that seems almost muggle.

"If you're wondering how, it was Bellatrix," Sirius said, trying to suppress a hiss at the particularly deep wound on his arm, as if reading your mind.

"Your cousin?" you answered, or rather, asked, continuing and moving onto the smaller cuts that littered his face.

Humming, he let you get the rest of the wound cleaned.

You glanced up at his face when opening the packet of cotton, only then realizing how close you had been. His breath was fanning your nose as he stared deep into your eyes, no trace of guilt or shame in them, as if he trusted you wholeheartedly.

You could have sworn you saw him glance at your lips in anticipation. The thought alone swarmed your stomach with butterflies.

Only now had you realized how intimate your shared moments were and how he had always tried to enlighten your mood with his jokes. You thought it was his defense, his coping mechanism.

Though now it seemed amidst the war, all he tried to do was hear you laugh. By pausing your movements as if in a trance, you maintained eye contact with him. He looked so stern and so soft all at once.

In his mind swam thoughts of the previous night, when you cradled Remus's hand with such grace and concern.

His lips parted, and you wanted to kiss him. You don't know why, but you did. All you had to do was move your face half an inch forward, and his lips would crash into yours. You wanted to do it so badly.

And so you did.

His eyes fluttered close, and the arm that wasn't injured came up to grip your neck, light as a feather.

His hands caressed the tiny hairs on your neck and sent a tingle down your spine. The kiss was phenomenal.

You didn't sleep that night; the thoughts were fluttering in your mind even hours later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I kissed him."

As soon as those words left your mouth, Remus choked on his tea and had to take a moment to steady himself.

"You kissed whom exactly!?" came his exasperated voice.

"Sirius," you said sheepishly, suddenly feeling small under his wide gaze.

"I didn't even know you liked him," Lupin said as he went to dry his clothes from the tea.

"It just…sort of happened..you know-"

"no, I don't know y/n..what were you thinking!?" Remus was confused, and a part of him felt betrayed.

You liked his best friend, but he had no clue.

The patter of the rain outside added to the deafening silence that you left. The sound brought you back to the first night in the house, the night when you shared tea with Sirius.

Your eyes flitted to the scar running along the Lycanthropes hand, and you grimaced at the angry red surrounding it as it healed.

"Did you put the balm on it today? your hand, I mean " Your words cut through the silence like a knife, and you moved your hand toward one of the many drawers housing your herbal balms.

"You're deflecting, love... If it's any help, Sirius would much rather pretend nothing happened than act on his own; you're best off confronting him first."

Remus's words were assuring, but the tone in which he said them made you scrunch up your brows and tilt your lip downward.

"Umm, I'll see what I can do." Your hesitance was evident in your voice.

You walked back to your room after handing Remus the green and silver tin, silently reminding him of his wound.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the other side of the house, Sirius lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the kiss.

His mind wandered to the feeling of your lips, his hands on on nape, and your gaze before it all.

Your lips. My lips.

"A Rubber Duck!" A shout came from the room beside him. Harry's room. They were playing a round of charades, he remembered.

Harry! Yes!

He should ask Harry. So he made his way towards their room.

"Harry, could I talk to you for a moment?" Just as Harry was getting up and ready to join his godfather,

"actually hold that-"

He turns to Hermione

"-Hermione!! You're a muggle. You'd know! of course" The hopeful tone of his voice sends Ron into a laughing fit, and Harry's mouth twitches into a grin as Hermione sits confused with a frown.

After discussing the matter with the kids, Sirius decides he's done with his stupid old ways. He wants to say something; make the first move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It happened on christmas eve.

Everyone had taken to opening presents under the large tree at the living room.

After watching Ron fawn over his new wizard chess set, you decided it was time for a much needed break.

"I think i'm going to go make some hot chocolate...anyone want some?" You asked, already getting up to yout feet.

Most of them nodded no and you only just realised all their mugs were rather full.

Making your way into the rather small kitchen of grimmauld place, you got out your wand to help make your hot chocolate.

"Knock knock" a familiar raspy voice came from the doorway.

An odd sense of deja vu enveloped you and you turned around to look at the source.

"you could just knock. Like a normal person" you repeated your words from the previous day.

The relationship between you and sirius had strained quite a bit after that shared kiss.

"sorry love, how's your day going so far?" He asked, seemingly trying to dissipate the awkwardness from the air.

"Alright...i suppose, what about you?" You replied with just as much hesitation.

"Good." And it stopped at that, the conversation.

Only now did you realise just how close he had gotten. You backed yourself away slightly, only to find your leg hitting the back of the counter.

The world seemed to be silent as the sound of your breaths mingled with one another, accompanied by the ticking clock.

The noises in the living room had become nothing but a blur and muffled by your thoughts.

"I really like you y/n. I truly do" Sirius spoke first, drawing your attention from the planes of his face

"Huh?" Your reply came meek and unsure.

You weren't even sure you'd heard it right.

"i like you." He reiterated.

You did hear it right.

Your knees felt weak but at the same time you were on cloud nine.

Before getting the chance to gather your thoughts you found yourself speaking..

"I really like you too sirius"

your voice came out just louder than a whisper, you're sure he wouldn't even have heard it.

His next words sent a flurry of butterfiles to your stomach.

"May i..?" You noticed him glancing down at your lips and back at your eyes.

You couldn't stop the smile that bloomed on your face as you nodded yes.

The kiss was diferent than the last, less desperate yet more passionate. It was slow, steady and loving.

You could feel his smile against your lips before you pulled apart.

"I've waited so long to do that" his voice came a mere whisper

Your eyes followed the movement of his lips, which were on yours moments ago.

" I...umm got you a gift" he continued, his hesitation surprising you.

Forcing your eyes to look back at the grey irises you managed to let out a breathless

"what?"

Sirius pulled out a box, a small one of velvet, the kind that would normally house a ring, now held a singular locket that was shaped as a star.

"A star...for my star" he said

You couldn't stop the heat from spreading to your cheeks, eyes widening a touch and lips quirking up the slightest.

Two voices giggling could be heard from the kitchen that night.

The whole night.

A/n: I spent WAYY too long on this- and the ending is super rushed lmao i hope you enjoyed it and all reblogs help me reach more ppl! I had sm fun writing this. i'm v proud of this ❤️❤️

[motherjoel]

something special (part 2) (joel miller/reader)

part 2 to something special!! i recommend reading that first but tbh it doesn't matter too much

wc: 5.3k

warnings: fluffy and maybe a teensy bit angsty. uhhhh smut? oral f!receiving and pee pee in wee wee

a/n: omg like i wrote part one of this so long ago but I was struck with inspiration and horniness so I made a part 2!!! i hope you guys like this, it was really fun to write lmao BUT PLS don't be mad if its a little ooc and also ignore marias whole backstory cause reader is her sister and they didn't have parents so Jackson wasn't created by their dad idk the logistics just bear with me here.

PART ONE

-

His tongue skated lightly over your neck, his left hand resting firmly on the back of your head and his right on the sliver of bare skin between your t-shirt and pants. The kitchen counter was cold against your back, the granite digging into your spine. You let a soft moan escape your lips as he sucked a particularly sensitive part of your neck, prompting him to move his lips to your own with a growl. His hands migrated to your hips, tapping them to urge you to hop up onto the counter. As you move to slide up, his hands grip your waist and lift you the rest of the way. 

 You briefly break the kiss to situate yourself before diving back in, your core now warm against his stomach. You work to lift his shirt off, him returning the favor. Then, the doorbell rings. He doesn’t acknowledge it, but it doesn’t stop. You both try to ignore it, though it's persistent in its ringing.

You wake with a start, sweat now cooling on the back of your neck that makes you shiver. Your legs clench together in the aftermath of your dream, the telltale signs between your legs indicating what had just happened. You smile to yourself, noting that this is the first time you’ve dreamed in months. You’d much preferred this to the screaming and blood of your nightmares.

The doorbell continues to ring, and after a groan into your pillow, you stand and rub your eyes. You can’t tell if the dizziness you’re feeling is a consequence of the drinks you’d had or the dream you’d had. Either way, you push it aside to open the door.

“Jesus, you look like shit,” Maria chuckles as she pushes herself inside your house, carrying a heavily packed tote bag. 

“Thanks, it's a new look I'm trying,” you turn away from her to head to the kitchen for a glass of water as she makes herself comfortable.

“Well I’m sure Joel would love it,” she smirks, seating herself at the kitchen table. You blush at the thought of the man you’d been dreaming of moments before. 

“God, last night was…” you shake your head, “did I embarrass myself?” you ask with a wince. Maria snorts a laugh.

“Quite the opposite, actually. I think you made… quite the impression. Or at least, that's what Tommy said,” she begins to unpack the bag she brought. Inside is the biggest breakfast sandwich you’ve ever seen and some coffee grounds. You’d told Maria you needed more just yesterday, and her thoughtful ass just had to get you some. You almost rolled your eyes at the level of thoughtfulness.

“Wait… Tommy? Did he talk to Joel? What did Joel say? Does he… what does he think of me? Did I embarrass myself? Oh my god, Maria, he probably thinks i'm crazy,” you rant, waiting for her to interrupt you. She watches, almost too amused to stop you.

“Yes, yes. Tommy talked to Joel... which I’m not happy about, by the way!” she pauses to give you a look, but you groan, urging her to continue. “Okay, okay. He said… he said something about you being ‘special’. Tommy thinks he’s a goner,” Maria scoffs and moves to the old coffee pot you have on the counter to make a fresh pot. 

“Oh… thats… wow,” you can’t quite find the words you’re looking for. You feel like a blushing schoolgirl. 

“Yeah, well…” Maria pauses, both of her hands on the counter as she thinks. She turns back to you. “Just… be careful, yeah?” you furrow your brows at her words.

“What do you mean? I’m a grown adult, I think I can handle myself,” you feel yourself getting frustrated at her words, as if she doesn’t have any confidence in your own abilities.

“I know you can handle yourself. You’re an independant badass, we’re all aware,” she raises her hands in defense as you give her a small smile. “I just mean… It's Joel. Tommy told me some things about him… things he did before he came here, and-” you cut her off.

“Alright, I don’t need to hear this. Maria, seriously, we all did things to survive! I’m definitely not somebody to judge,” you lower your head, flashes of pre-Jackson floating through your head.

“I know, I’m just saying. Be careful, alright?” you nod before grabbing your sandwich and sitting at the table.

“Alright,” you take a bite of the sandwich and let out a moan. “Fuck that’s good. Okay, so what else did Tommy say?”

-

Joel forgot what a hangover felt like. He’d vaguely remembered the head-pounding nausea of his youth, but a memory is nothing like the real thing. The real thing was much, much worse.

As he lies in his bed, thumb and pointer finger pinching the bridge of his nose, he recounts the previous night. He remembers the vitriol spewing from that man's lips and he can't help but mentally thank him for facilitating your encounter. He remembers the bottle of pinot noir, particularly the way it tasted on your tongue. He smiles to himself, the unfamiliar butterflies in his stomach unsettling him as much as exciting him. He needed to see you, and soon. Maybe if he got the courage to leave the house.

Before he can make up his mind, his doorbell rings. With a groan, he stands from his bed. Damn knees. After taking a moment to steady himself, he makes his way down the stairs. He glances at his coffee pot, noting the lack of coffee grounds. He softly curses to himself, realizing he’ll have to figure out how to get some. Tommy had given him a tour of the town when he first arrived to officially settle in, but he’s realizing just how little he’d absorbed. 

Pulling himself from his thoughts, he swings open his door to see you. You, with your shy smile and your bright eyes. You wear a loose-fitting flannel, and jealousy tugs at his gut as he thinks about who’s flannel that could be. Butterflies soon replace the jealousy as he imagines that it’s his own. His own, meaning he could probably take it off himself. You open your mouth to speak, cutting him off from his thoughts.

“Here,” you stretch out your arm. Joel notices, for the first time, a mug of black coffee in your hand. His mouth opens a bit as he gasps softly, hoping that you didn't hear. “It’s a bitch trying to get coffee grounds around here, but I figured I’d share my stash,” you shrugged, still holding the mug out with an awkward smile. He reaches for it, your fingers grazing as he grabs the warm mug.

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, taking a small sip and rolling his eyes back into his head. “Jesus, that's good,” he chuckles softly before taking another sip.

You watch him drink, his throat bobbing as he sips. His lips glisten with the coffee, and it takes all of your willpower not to taste them yourself. You look down to the white t-shirt he’s wearing, tufts of hair poking out of the top. His flannel pajama pants make you giggle- he looks like someone's father. Someone's sexy father.

“Something funny?” he raises his eyebrow before taking another sip, savoring the bitterness he’d missed so dearly.

“No, nothing it's just… you look cute when you wake up,” you blush, eyeing the way his hand rests on his hip. His shirt rides up under his hand, the small sliver of skin like a car crash you can’t stop looking at.

“Cute? I look… cute?” Joel raises his eyebrows more, if even possible. He can’t recall a woman ever calling him cute. Certainly not a woman he was… interested in. 

“You know what I mean,” you nudge his arm before pulling your hand back, crossing your arms so as not to touch him more than you already had. Joel didn’t really know what you mean.

“Well, you do, too. Look cute, I mean,” he scratches the back of his neck, studying the freckles on your face. The way they move when you talk and smile. You’re gorgeous and it makes Joel realize just how out of his element he is. He feels himself grow cold, ice freezing over the warm puddle you turned his heart into. “I have to, uh,” he points his thumb inside, desperately thinking of an excuse to get away from you so he could calm the beating of his heart. He fails to think of one.

“Oh,” your face falls a bit but you quickly plaster a smile on your face. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” you turn on your heel, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up your neck and onto your cheeks. 

Jesus, what were you thinking? This man has a daughter and at least 10 years on you. Those things didn’t matter to you whatsoever, especially now, but they probably mattered to him, right? You shake your head as you approach the stables, ready for a day of work. As much as you love human interaction, you really loved working with the horses. They obviously can’t judge you, so you tell them all of your problems as a way of working things out. 

You approached Jessa, a filly born about a year ago. She was completely brown except for a few white spots on her head and around her ankles. You call them her boots. 

“What am I gonna do here, Jess?” you frown, opening her stall and taking a seat on a milk crate next to her. She whinnies softly. “I know, I know, I’m crazy, right?” Jessa huffs. “We were drunk, Jess. It was a mistake, I guess,” you stand, pet her head, and leave her to see Joel standing awkwardly at the front of the stables. Your heart drops at the possibility of him overhearing you. He fidgets before speaking up. 

“I’m supposed to meet Tommy,” he murmurs, looking anywhere but you.

“Oh. What for?” you ask, noting the accidental edge in your own voice. Joel's eyebrows pinch together at your tone.

“Uh, patrol. Training,” he clears his throat. “About, um, earlier,” he starts, taking a small step closer to you. Before he continues, Tommy enters. 

“Well, hello there, lovebirds,” Tommy strides through the stables confidently, a stark contrast to his brother. He ruffles the hair on your head and you swat his hand away, rolling your eyes at his brotherly nature. You choose to ignore his nickname for the two of you, opting to help them get their horses for patrol.

“So, you trainin’ him?” you ask, reaching to grab the saddles from the wall. Joel doesn’t miss the way your shirt rides up. 

“Yeah, gettin’ the old man ready to start pulling some weight around here,” he smirks when Joel visibly rolls his eyes. 

“Ah, well, good luck out there,” you smile and hand Tommy the reins, ignoring Joel completely. Tommy raises an eyebrow but chooses to stay silent, thanking you and leading Joel to the gates.

-

Joel was never a smooth man. Even in his prime, he didn’t date much. It's not like he had much of a prime, what with having Sarah so young. He wouldn’t have traded her for the world, but it's a simple fact. Joel was out of his element. He’s kicking himself from the second you walk away. How did he fuck up so badly?

As he shuts the door, he turns to see Ellie at the kitchen table, watching his every move.

“When the hell’d you get here?” he starts, eyeing down Ellie who is currently staring him down with wide eyes.

“Like 20 minutes ago, you walked right past me,” she shrugged and took a bite of the granola bar in front of her. She speaks before swallowing “the fuck was that, by the way?” she questions. Joel grimaces.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth. S’impolite,” he walks past her to sit on his couch, mug of coffee in his hands. He studies the mug, ceramic and plain for the most part, aside from the brown owl on the front. He wonders if he’s going to give it back to you. 

“That was Maria’s sister, right? The one from last night?” she smirks at the shock on his face.

“How the hell’d you-” he starts before she cuts him off.

“Come on Joel. First of all, the front porch? Not exactly a private venue,” she starts, shoving more of the granola into her mouth. Joel groans in annoyance. “Second, my friend Dina told me she saw you guys at the Tipsy Bison. She said there was totally some chemistry,” she laughs.

“Friend? Who is she? Can I meet ‘er?” Joel perks up at her words, excited that she has a friend, but also trying to get out of the conversation they’re having.

“Yeah, she's really cool. I met her at movie night, she- wait, no you're not getting out of this!” She stands from the table to join him on the couch.

“There is no ‘this’. I’m pretty sure she wants nothing to do with me now,” Joel traces his fingers over the grooves in his mug. Your mug. Ellie rolls her eyes.

“What do you mean? Y’all were totally getting it on,” she laughs, as he shoves the side of her arm, trying to hide his smirk.

“Y’all? What’re you, a cowboy?” he huffs a laugh. 

“Learned from the best,” she gives him a cheeky grin. “I think… maybe you should talk to her. Adults are so dumb, like, half of the world's problems could be solved by just talking to each other,” she furrows her brows for a moment. “Well, except for the whole ‘infected’ thing. That’d probably take a bit more.” Joel can’t help but laugh at her train of thought. 

“Maybe I will,” Joel pats her knee and stands up, setting the mug in the sink. He’d probably give it to Maria to return to you. 

He didn’t plan on trying to talk to you again. He’d just screw it up, he thought. Images of you were scattered throughout his mind all morning, and he was kicking himself for his lack of social skills. Before he could kick himself anymore, he saw you. He’d had no idea you ran the stables. If he’d known, maybe he could have prepared himself. Maybe think of a few words to say. Instead, he was his usual, awkward self. 

The patrol goes how he’d expected it to. Tommy notices he’s quieter than usual, which is saying a lot. The route they took was empty except for a small group of runners that they took out with ease. Joel just wants to be in his bed, asleep. He doesn’t want to have to think. He’s afraid he won't be able to get back as soon as he’d hoped, Tommy leaving him alone at the stables to return the horses. Tommy had said something about ‘getting home to the old ball and chain’ that made Joel roll his eyes, but he relented nevertheless. 

His heart pinches in worry when he doesn’t immediately see you. He figures it's for the best- the horses are already in their stalls, and maybe he can just sneak out without checking in with you. He’s about to do just that when he hears raised voices coming from your small office. He quietly walks closer to the door, trying to listen in.

“I told you, I’m sorry!” he hears a male voice echo under the door, and it’s familiar. He wracks his brain to figure out who it was.

“Justin, I told you it’s fine! I don’t care! I’m sorry, but I’m not interested anyway,” he hears your voice now, smooth as silk. His heart skips a beat.

“You’re only saying that because you don’t know me, baby,” he feels disgust at the male voice now, recognizing it as the man from last night. He fights every urge inside of him to not burst inside that room right now. 

“Hey, get off me!” he hears you yell. His fight to suppress his urges is completely gone as he hears you in distress, slamming the door open to the sight of you pinned against your desk, this ‘Justin’ guy grabbing your wrist with a bruising pressure.

“The hells goin on here?” Joel asks, chest heaving.

“None of your business, old man. We were just… talking, right?” Justin smirks to you. Joel notices the fear in your eyes and his heart cracks a bit.

“Um… right, yeah. It’s fine, Joel,” you say, unconvincingly. You widen your eyes to urge him to leave. As if he ever would. 

“How bout we all go home, yeah?” Joel asks, taking a step closer. Justin takes this as a threat, releasing you to turn to face Joel.

“And what if we don’t want to, huh?” Justin crosses his arms. Joel looks down at him, grateful for the 2 or 3 inches he has on him.

“Oh, I think you want to,” Joel says sternly. Justin takes this as an opportunity to push his shoulders, slamming him into the wall behind him. Joel is taken off guard, but he can’t help but chuckle. “You didn’t want to do that, kid.”

“Seriously, man? All this for some bitch who doesn’t even put out?” Justin smirks as if he’d won the argument. Without skipping a beat, Joel's fist is in his face, knocking him to the ground. You yelp, jumping out of the way.

“Fuck, dude!” Justin yells from the ground grabbing his bleeding and possibly broken nose. Joel shakes his hand, stretching his fingers. His knuckles fucking hurt, but its hard to focus on that when he sees the way you’re looking at him.

“Get the fuck out,” you robotically say to Justin.

“But- h-he-” he tries to speak.

“I said get the fuck out!” you raise your voice, pulling him off of his feet and pushing him out the door. Joel watches him like a hawk as he leaves, ready to punch him a million more times if he needed to. The two of you stand in silence for a few moments  before you decide to speak up.

“How was patrol?” you ask, fidgeting with your hands. He huffs a laugh, taking you by surprise. “What?” you smile slightly.

“Nothing, it's just… after everything that just happened, you’re asking me about patrol?” he looks into your eyes, noticing the heat in them. He’s sure he has the same look in his own.

“Are you… okay?” you ask, ignoring his question. 

“You’re asking me if I’m okay?” he asks, incredulous. You nod, with an mmhmm. You bite your lip and Joel isn’t sure if it's the adrenaline or if he finally grew some balls, but he surges forward and in a single step, he has your face cradled in his hands. 

“I-is this… okay?” he whispers against your lips, feeling your hot breath on his own. You nod before reaching up to clutch his flannel in your hands, pulling his lips to your own. Joel unwittingly moans into the kiss. He fucking moans. He’s almost mortified. Almost. When you moan in response, he’s only urged on further, slowly walking you backwards until your ass is pressed against the desk. He taps the side of your hip, motioning for you to hop up. You separate for all of 3 seconds, settling  on the desk, when his lips are back on yours. 

You whine into his mouth, spurring him further. He fiddles with the bottom of your flannel, itching to rip it off but maintaining some restraint. Before he can think too deeply, you reach out to the bottom button of his own flannel. 

“S’this- this ok-kay?” you ask between breaths. 

“More’n okay, darling,” he smiles softly, leaning down to kiss your neck while you work on the buttons. You giggle at the sensation. “What?” Joel asks with a small smile.

“It’s hard to… focus… when… ahhh,” Joel reattaches his lips to your neck with a smile. He feels like a teenager again, kissing his crush in secret. It’s thrilling to him, really.

You’ve never been more turned on in your entire life. You thought that dream had made you insanely wet, but Jesus, this was something else. You do finally manage to get his shirt off, leaving him in a white t-shirt. He continues to fiddle with your shirt, causing you to pull back for a moment. He furrows his eyebrows, wondering if he did something wrong. You whip your shirt over your head, leaving you in only your plain black bra. You wish you’d worn something lacy and pretty, but considering there wasn't a Victoria’s Secret nearby, you weren’t that upset. 

It’s been a very long time for Joel. Though he was out of practice, he was pretty sure he remembered what to do. He certainly didn’t have a hard time showing how much he wanted you, his erection painfully strained against his pants. Women liked that, right? But, you weren’t just any woman. You were… something else. At the sight of you in just your bra and jeans, Joel knew he was done for. And your smile, that damned smile… it felt like worship in a world without faith. 

You wanted more, so you took it. Reaching to the hem of his white t-shirt, you lifted to pull his shirt off so that you’re skin to skin. The first thing you notice is how fucking warm he was. The next thing you noticed was his scar-riddled chest. You trace them softly with your fingers, the raised skin smooth against you. He looks down at you, his eyes softening as you observe his body. 

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, looking up to meet his eyes. He laughs softly.

“You’re one to talk,” he says before taking your lips against his again. He feels spurred on by your words and actions- he now has no doubt now that you want this as badly as him. 

“Take my pants off, Joel,” you smirk, unbuttoning them yourself to give him a head start. He laughs before pulling them down the rest of the way leaving you in your underwear and bra. He reaches his hand forward, mouth slack as he presses his hand against your core, palming you over your underwear.

“Mmmmmfuck,” you moan, head bobbing onto his shoulder.

“This alright?” he asks, restraining a moan at the dampness of your underwear.

“Please, keep going,” you grind into the palm of his hand.

Without hesitation, he traces his hand up your mound, purposely putting pressure on your clit, before reaching the hem of your underwear and sliding his fingers under, finally feeling you. He moans at the wetness collected between your legs, amazed at how turned on you are from him. He collects that wetness and brings it up to your clit where he rubs in painfully slow circles. You buck your hips into his hand, and he chuckles- its low and gravelly, his own arousal preventing him from putting on a steel front. 

“Fuck, darlin’ you’re so wet,” he whispers into your ear. You can barely hear him, your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears. As you’re about to speak, he slowly slips a finger inside you. You let out a loud moan, biting your lip to stifle the noise.

“S’okay baby, make some noise for me,” his movements maintain their place as he drops to his knees. You stiffen.

“J-Joel, what’re you doing?” you pull at his hair so he looks up at you. It gives him goosebumps. 

“What’s it look like I'm doin’, sweetheart? Need’ta taste ya,” he licks his lips as he looks at your core, knowing he’d never see anything as beautiful as this again in his life. You freeze at his words.

“Oh, you don't have to…” you look away from him shyly. He stands at this, hand still moving between your legs.

“Oh, I want to. Please, baby, I want to,” he says to you, pleads almost. Guys had never asked to go down on you before, and you’d never pushed for it. It was nerve wracking- you considered telling Joel this. But the look on his face was enough- you can’t help but relent. 

“Mmhm, okay,” you nod and he smiles, sinking to his knees again. 

He doesn’t even notice the way his knees creak or how uncomfortable the hardwood floor is on them. He just needs to taste you. The moment his mouth is on you, he moans. The vibrations cause a jolt of lightning up your spine. 

“Fuck, s’good,” he says against your thigh before kissing it and diving back in. This time he lifts one of his hands to slip a finger inside, the sensation causing you to lift your legs to rest on his shoulders. You hoped you weren’t squeezing too hard, but the thought was fleeting as his free arm shot up to wrap around your thigh and pull you closer.

The familiar sensation of your core tightening and your vision blurring hit you like a truck. No man had ever made you come before, and certainly not within less than 10 minutes of seeing each other. The orgasm swells to a peak, your thighs clenching on either side of Joel’s head as he moans into you. The aftershocks hit almost as hard as the initial shock, and you don’t realize it's over until the overstimulation of Joel sets in. He was still going absolutely crazy, drinking you in like his life depended on it.

“Ah, fuck,” you hiss at the oversensitivity and he immediately pulls away to ask if you’re okay. “I’m fine,” you laugh. “I’m perfect, actually. Jesus Christ,” you laugh again as he stands, pulling you to the edge of the desk so your clothed core is pressed against his jeans, leaving a dark spot over his crotch. “I’ve never… done that,” you confess shyly.

“Done what?” he asks, cocking his head.

“Been eaten out. And also, I guess, have a man give me an orgasm,” you giggle, mind loose. His expression hardens.

“Wait… what?” he looks at you, concern in your eyes.

“I mean, no guy has ever wanted to before. It’s no big deal,” you shrug, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Baby, it is a big deal. Because how any man could deny that… there has to be something wrong with him. A big deal of something wrong with him,” Joel laughs with you, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Can you please fuck me, Joel?” you ask with a cock of your head and a pout on your lips. Joel almost trips in trying to take his pants off and you can't help but giggle.

“Oh, you won't be laughing soon, darlin’” he chuckles before pulling his cock out from his underwear. It’s huge, obviously, because why wouldn’t it be. It’s the biggest you’d ever seen, and you can't help but lift your hand up to grab it, stroking it to the tufts of hair at the base. “Won’t be lastin’ too long if you keep that up,” Joel grimaces with a hiss. You smirk as you grab him and lead him to your entrance, pressing the tip to you.

“Start slow, okay?” you ask, worry filling your gut. It had been awhile, and with a man as well endowed as Joel, you couldn’t help but have some worries. 

“I promise,” he chuckles before pushing it in, just the tip. The two of you gasp in harmony, your arms shooting to wrap around his shoulders. “Y’okay?” he asks, bringing his hand up to your cheek. 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, “keep going, please.”

“Okay, baby, I gotcha,” he pushes himself further, and before you know it, you can feel his tufts of hair against you as he bottoms out. He’s breathing heavy and ragged as you lean up to capture him in a kiss. He tries his best not to move, to let you adjust, but his restraint is like a rubber band about to snap. Before it does, he feels you move closer to him, urging him to start moving. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He begins slowly, moving his hips back and forth. You squeeze him perfectly, your wetness allowing him to move with ease. His hands moved to your hips, then your breasts, your face- he was all over you. It took everything in you to keep your eyes open, but the eye contact he was making was worth it. When he wasn’t kissing parts of you, he was watching you. Whether it was your eyes, your lips, or your breasts, he was watching you. He only closed his eyes when he blinked. You were used to guys digging their faces into your shoulder and finishing in 30 seconds. Everything about Joel was… so much more.

He flattens his palm on your stomach above your mound, feeling himself inside of you. Slowly, he moves his hand up your chest to squeeze your nipple. You unexpectedly gasp and arch your back, urging him to continue. His other hand snakes from your waist to your clit as he begins to rub in circles.

“Need’ya to finish with me, darlin’” he whispers in your ear.

“O-okay. M’close,” you manage to squeak out, his hands doing so much to you. 

“F-fuck,” Joel lets out a groan as he tries to maintain his pace to get you off. The second he feels you clenching around him, however, he speeds up. As he’s about to come, he quickly pulls out and spills onto your stomach, chest heaving as he leans over you. He wishes he’d had a camera to capture the view in front of him right now

You’re breathless and sweaty beneath him when you come to. His length lay on your stomach, twitching as he came down. The two of you remain this way for what feels like an eternity before he stands up fully, grabbing a box of tissues from your desk and proceeding to clean you up.

He reaches his hand out to you and you take it, hopping off of the desk. Grabbing the discarded clothes from the floor, he motions for you to lift your arms over your head so he can slide your flannel over you. Only it's not your flannel, but his. He doesn’t comment on this as he puts your flannel on himself, the usually oversized fit you’re used to fitting him perfectly

You reach up to fiddle with his hair, the curls messy atop his head. His lips part but he stays silent, watching you bite your lip in focus.

“There,” you smile. “Better.” 

Joel isn't sure what to do with his hands now, the soft ticking of a clock on your wall filling the noise. He feels heat creep up the back of his neck when he recounts what you’d just done. In public.

“Coffee?” you ask, playing with the hem of your new shirt.

“Hm?” he snaps his head to you, daze broken. 

“I said ‘coffee’? Like, the drink?” you giggle.

“What about coffee?” he asks. He knows you’re probably inviting him over, but he just wants to hear you talk. 

“Ugh, just come home with me, Miller,” you laugh and grab his hand, leading him out of the stables. 

He follows you to your house, your hands intertwined the whole walk. Neither of you acknowledge this as your conversation flows as easily as if you’d known each other for years. He stays at your house for hours, enjoying his coffee almost as much as he’s enjoying you. You both realize around the same time just how enamored you were with each other. Though neither of you are sure how to feel, Joel knows now that he can’t lose you. Ever.

[petshopbutch]

im in sort of a weird spot in my life right now because it is, quite legitimately, the most stable and content i have ever been. idk if anyone else who was raised in sort of perpetual radiation poisoning-type trauma knows what im talking about but ive spent a lot of time hopping from bad situation to bad situation and going "ok but i can handle it this time. i can handle it." but now im just IN an ok situation and its like all that motivation and perseverance dried up. everyone is sort of gently nudging me like "you're safe now, time to focus on having hobbies again, making connections, improving your life" but i just can't be assed. every day is a routine of going to work, sleeping on the floor of other people's houses, smoking pot, getting wine drunk and rewatching the same 3 tv shows and maybe that's not a particularly glamorous life but it's the best ive ever had. it feels like biting the hand that feeds me to try working harder for something better but i still want it. maybe this is just what being 25 is like though? or maybe i need an adderrall prescription again. i dunno.

[beetleviolet]

So uh... anyone remember this post? About rottmnt Raph and Leo post invasion?

@midwesternvibes i did it.

I didn't go super deep into it because like. What do you even do in that situation lmao. And I'm not sure I did the idea justice. Idk. Might do another draft before I post it on ao3. Super proud of all my metaphors and shit tho.

(Tw: PTSD, panic attacks, crying, negative self talk, suicidal thoughts (kind of?? Blink and you'll miss it. Its a hyperbole anyway but better safe then sorry))

meteor shower (quick, take cover)

The worst part about it was that Raph had seen it coming. 

They were all jumpy. Trigger-sad and still pulling themselves back together. The crashing of pots as they spilled out of the cupboard, and everyone in the kitchen jumped out of their skin. Leo flinched a second time as Raph landed from his (admittedly embarrassing) hop. His little brother's breath hitched and hitched and he ducked his head to the floor, staring staring staring. His cane clattered to the floor. 

“Oh buddy…” Raph dropped his voice soft. Leo's eyes locked onto him. He stumbled, arm reaching blindly behind to find its grip on the counter. He fell, frame shaking. His eyes didn't leave Raph's, Raph's right eye, droning up and down his arm. Hitch, hitch, hitch hitch hitch. 

Raph took a step forward. And Leo-

Leo

Leo raised his arms, taking himself to the floor without the support. He ducked his head, limbs already starting to retreat into his shell. And Leo looked up at him, eyes big and shaking and welled up tears and and and

Beside him, Mikey unfroze, bounding forward before Raph could stop him. 

“Mike, I don't think-” He trailed off as Leo peaked up, reaching for Mikey with unrestrained sobs. He held his little brother close, only looking up to watch Raph. Again, their eyes locked. 

Terror. Panic. Horror. Fear. The hitch hitch hitch when Raph raised a hand. So he stepped back instead. Back and back and back until he was running out of their kitchen, glancing over his shoulder in time to see Leo relax, just a little. Just enough. 

Raph punched his wall. His wall, this time. Not Leo's or Leo or anything else. He breathed, hard eyes roaming and landing on a pile of stuffies by his pillow. 

He'd like to say he did anything else, but Raph fell into bed, held a stuffed cat tight to his chest, and cried. 

The plushie's name was Kitty-Kitty. Once, when they were really little, Leo tore her arm off in a fit of rage and safety scissors. Raph cried and then Leo cried and then Mikey cried, overwhelmed with it all. Leo sewed the arm back on and even added a little heart on her sleeve. The clumsy stitches had long since fallen out, but Raph had sewn them back year after year and kept it and held it close, tight to his chest as he cried like a child. He cried and he cried. It seemed the world was constantly finding new and creative ways to break his heart. (Or maybe not so creative because)

(Well)

(He'd seen it all coming)

Raph let himself drown, let himself toss and turn and wallow in the salty leftovers on his cheeks. Like a beached whale, he let himself wallow, just a bit.

Donnie once said that dead whales could explode. Maybe Raph would explode. He wished he would, just a little, if only so he wouldn't have to get back up and see that look in Leo's eyes ever again. Ever, ever again. 

But he would, wouldn't he? The next panic attack, the next mission gone awry, the next the next the next… It kept going and going. The next… what if Raph got weird again? Leo had always been the best at calming him down, bringing him back. What if Leo couldn't do it? Got too scared, was hurt too bad? Decided that it just. Wasn't worth it. 

Raoh let another wave of tears wash over him. Usually after a good cry he felt cleaned out, hollowed chest and burning nostrils, insides sanded and painted with white wash, fresh and new. Maybe it was just a bad cry, because he still felt all stuffed and overwhelmed and big and heavy and gross, insides all slime and goo and and and

Raph picked up that train of thought, dragged it through his mind palace, and threw it in the moat. 

He took stock. 

Raph was tired. His nostrils burned and any emotion was still a messy, unnamable blarehorn, though his eyes had nothing left to produce but the liquid ache that flowed like a lava lamp behind them. 

Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock

That was Leo's knock. Raph tensed. Leo's knock was usually accompanied by a greeting or a yell or the sound of something breaking. It was odd to just…hear the knocks, all hesitant and lonely. 

“You there, big guy?” There it was. Leo's voice was still gravelly from earlier, still a little quiet. Raph's heart clenched. He stacked his courage and spoke,

“Hi.” Wow. Nice one, Raphie. 

“Hey.” Leo was close to the door. Raph could imagine him, shell against the wall, his arms crossed and head tilted back so he could speak without having to face the quiet subway car, a new dent on its side. 

Maybe he had his forehead up against the cold metal of the sliding door, condensation decorating its surface, staring at the floor. Staring, staring, just a little. 

Or maybe he was just standing there like normal. Raph doubted it, somehow. 

“Listen, Raph, I..” His voice broke, a lightning strike down the middle. Lightning actually does hit the same place twice, Raph remembered Donnie explaining, more likely to, even. “I'm so sorry.” 

“‘s not your fault.” His voice was a twin wobble. Leo chuckled, 

“Heh, snot…” Raph felt his mouth twitch up. 

“...do you wanna come in?” He asked, trying to keep his voice from being all nervous and weird. Like Raph was anything but nervous and weird. Super weird. 

Leo didn't answer, but Raph heard the jerk of the handle and the door slid open. And…

Post-panic attack Leo always made Raph want to scoop his brother up in his arms and never let him go. With red eyes, shaky and distant, quiet breaths before a quick deep one, like he suddenly remembered how. Everything about him was… dialed down. Like he was too tired to keep his brightness up all the way. 

It's not that he wanted Leo to pretend he was okay, but reminders that he wasn't hurt too. And Raph couldn't scoop his brother up and never let him go. Besides the obvious impracticality, he would just make everything worse. 

But his palms turned up without him meaning too, and Leo stumbled forward and wrapped his arms around Raph's neck. Not too tight, just there. Secure. Raph's hand hovered over his brother's shell, not daring to brush the cracks, almost trembling at the thought of falling anywhere near Leo's throat. So small. Leo was larger than life, but Raph's little brother was so, so small. 

“This is lame,” Leo whined, “Hug me!” 

“You sure?” He asked. Whispered. Leo grumbled, tucking further into Raph's chest. 

“It was the Krang, not you.” Raph took a breath, a little shudder, 

“Then it was your brain juice, and not you.” Leo didn't answer for one beat, two, three,

“Then hug me, stupid.” 

“Aye, watch it!” But Leo didn't so much as flinch as Raph's arms wrapped around him, held him close. They breathed for a bit. It was the Krang, not you. Not you. Not Raph. 

Raph pressed his head down, tension whirlpooling down the drain. It was a little odd, wasn't it? Because, well,

 He hadn't seen this coming. 

[modelbus]

hiya!!

this is my first request on Tumblr (or suggestion ig)

how about... something like wilburxreader but with the plot of 'radar detector by darwin deez'? (i would think its like a best friend's to lover situation, yk?)

idk, but i think it'd be pretty fun to write!! even if you don't write this, i just wanted to get this idea out there lol.

- 🦡 anon

this is the first time I’ve ever heard Radar Detector by Darwin Deez and it’s so cute! The slightly bolded lines are lyrics from the song :)

Pairing: Cc!Wilbur x Gn!Reader

Radar Detector

You and I buy star maps and drive my car around Los Angeles

“No no, I think that star is this.” You point aggressively at the map, jabbing your finger at the star you’re talking about. Next to you, in the drivers seat, Wilbur squints down then looks up.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” You pause. “Well, no—“

“Exactly.”

Reaching over the center console, you playfully shove your best friend. Ever since you’ve met Wilbur, this has become your tradition. On clear nights, driving out to find constellations on the shittiest star maps that money can buy. He claims it’s more fun if the maps suck, you claim he likes torturing you.

“Look, if that star is that one, then where is this other star?” He asks, motioning along the map. You stare up at the sky, searching for the mystery star.

“…hidden.” You decide, refusing to be wrong.

Wilbur laughs, making you grin. “It’s not hidden, it’s just not there! Because it isn’t the right star!”

“It is too!” Neither of you are quite good at finding constellations, but that doesn’t really matter. Because nothing beat the feeling of just being with him, hanging around your best friend.

“At this rate we’re never going to find Cassiopeia.” He scolds playfully. “Get to work!”

“I am trying!”

“Try harder!”

He grabs a crumpled napkin, balling it up. It was from the McDonalds the two of you had bought, drinks with fresh condensation sitting in cup holders. Wilbur throws it at you, making you bat it away before it hits you in the face.

“Why don’t you try harder? Why is it always me?” You question, stuffing the napkin under your cup.

“I think I found it, actually.”

I drive a thousand miles an hour

Laughing to yourself, opening your door and leaning against the doorframe. Wilbur stands there, hands in his pocket, grinning widely at you.

“I asked you to come over five minutes ago, Wil.” You say, looking up at him.

“Yeah.” He nods nonchalantly.

He lives over five minutes from you. Way over five minutes.

“Please tell me you didn’t speed.”

“Then I won’t.”

With the certainly of someone you’ve known like they’re the other part of you, he walks past you into your living room. With an amused smile, you shut your door behind him and follow behind him.

“What did I say about speeding?”

“That it makes me cool.”

“Wha— no!”

“Yeah.”

From the cheeky look her throws over his shoulder at you, you know he’s only trying to mess with you.

“I told you not to speed because you’ll get hurt.” You deadpan.

“I know, but you asked me to come over. Who cares how fast I go, as long as I get here?”

You scoff, but give in to his argument. Like always.

But you are always looking out for me

“Careful.” Wilbur calls out, moving his hand to the top edge of the cabinet you just ducked your head into. You pull your head back, heading his hand, smiling victoriously with a pot.

“Got it!” You declare. He takes the pot from you, carefully placing it on the stone. “I could’ve done that.” Is your protest as he fills it with exactly two cups of water.

“Bullshit. We both know you’d splash yourself and burn yourself. Which you’d be complaining about for days.” Determinedly, he crosses his arms when he turns to face you.

After a pause, you nod. It was true, you’d probably burn the shit out of yourself. “Fine. Only because you’re right.”

“Darling, I’m always right.”

With an eye roll you decide to prep the part that wouldn’t mean getting burnt. Meanwhile, Wilbur stands over the pot like a man watching paint dry.

“Having fun?” You call out.

“Loads.”

You and I go shopping and find exactly what we're looking for

Picking your way through random thrift store belts, you grab an all-black one. It’s perfect for the outfit you’ve been trying to put together, practically made for you.

Beyond the rack, Wilbur holds up a jumper. You appraise the blue fabric, trying to find any flaws that Wilbur might’ve overlooked. The two of you came with very clear goals in mind. Yours? Find a black belt. His? Jumpers. Preferably one to go with the pants he recently bought.

Nodding your opinion, you head over to him with your black belt in hand. “Looks like all of your others.” You tease.

“But this one matches my shoes.” Is his argument. You know he’d get it anyways, matching shoes or not.

“Uh-huh.” You hum, passing by him to buy the belt.

“Buying that one?” He asks you, stepping up next to you. His hand settles on your lower back, guiding you through the aisles.

“It’s perfect.” You announce. “Successful trip, really.”

“Well worth the drive.” He agrees, looking down at you. With his head angled just a bit, his eyes are only on you, despite navigating you through aisles. “And I’m paying.”

“Hell no. I can pay for my own—“

“Two dollar belt?” Wilbur raises his eyebrows. “I’m buying it.”

You and I go shopping and fall asleep inside the mattress store.

“I still can’t believe you made Tommy sleep on the floor.”

Wilbur holds open the door to the mattress store, arm above you as you head in first.

“I gave him an air mattress! The kid is not as deprived as he says, I swear.”

The whole point of this trip was to buy an extra mattress so Wilbur could house Tommy whenever. And yes, you had teased him relentlessly about how brotherly the act was.

“For the record, I don’t know how to mattress shop.” You laugh, eyes roaming over the various white beds set up. “So bringing me was useless.”

“It’s never useless to have you around.” Wilbur immediately responds. “And I’ll teach you how. First, you have to walk up to a mattress like you know what you’re doing.”

You follow as Wilbur strides up to one of the mattresses, standing over it.

“Now what?” You ask, humoring him.

“Now we try it.”

He flops backwards, spreading out over the mattress. Arms and legs comically spaced out to take up the entire space, eyes falling shut.

For a second you just stand there, looking at him with a fond smile. Despite being in a public place, he looks completely relaxed.

After a moment he opens one eye to look at you. “You joining me?”

With a careful look around to check for workers—there are none—you give in and join him on the mattress. It’s not the biggest mattress, considering Wilbur’s only looking to buy a spare, but with a few adjustments the two of you manage to make it work.

His arm loops around your shoulders, pulling you close enough for your head to rest on him. Nobody comes to stop you so you relax into the position comfortably.

“Now what?” You ask, a lift to your voice that indicates you’re teasing.

“Now we close our eyes and try it out.”

You sigh, but let your eyes flutter shut obligingly.

“Hey! What are you— no sleeping on the mattresses!”

At the unfamiliar voice, you jerk up. Completely disoriented all you do is stare at the mattress store worker. Vaguely, you’re aware of Wilbur’s arm wrapping around your waist.

“Get out!” The worker shouts, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Huh?” Wilbur murmurs. “Oh, shit.” His hand wraps around yours, tugging you off the mattress. Before you can stumble, he’s already catching you while half-dragging you out of the store. “Sorry!” He yells over his shoulder.

“Did we—“

“Fall asleep.”

We cruise the neighborhood But it's not supposed to feel this good

Leaning your head against the window, you watch the trees speeding past the outside of the car.

Wilbur, as always, is driving silently through the night. A long trip meant moments like these, where there’s nothing but peace between the two of you. Radio humming out a random song from his playlist to fill the silence.

He convinced you to go to one of his Lovejoy shows, promising he’d drive you back home “no matter the length.” So, you went. Of course you did; you’d always be there for him.

Now you’re here, half asleep, hand in his over the center console. His thumb rubs lazy circles on the back of your head, steady and reassuring.

You flick your eyes over just to watch him, steal just a look. The sight of his silhouette, hair messy from performing, makes you smile before looking out the window again.

Neither of you talk, but you know anyways.

You are a radar detector

“Careful, Wil.” You nudge him, warning lacing your words.

“Always am, love.”

He leans into you, momentarily forgetting the knife he was using to chop peppers. Then closer, until his lips brush against yours—

“You’re burning the chicken.”

“SHIT!”

[hop-a-lot]

Just want to let you know (and maybe you know its me bc i always reblog your art or like it) that your bidwell and saxton changed my course of life *screaming fighting to take mic from stage hands* and its my fanfic au bedtime-story replay-in-head so much so that in my jogs from morning to hobbies at home I think of absolutely bidwell getting demolished emotionally or physically. His hole could be de atomized by saxton and re arranged his brain cells to be another au personality for god know whatever dice roll a man of flaws contains- but I will think of him almost without fail in your art style if fic or mental or trying to remember the og comics. I see them and im like ugh hell yeah.

If youve ever posted bidwell in a pose ive probably cinemagraphed already the trilogy for a bed time story. 🥲❤️The human lion of a man(hale) with ferocity of dominating the situation or endangered animal but inner integrity decency to not punch a little girl getting romantic with a man (biddy) detaining audience with the excitement of colgate toothpaste and sterilism of a white glove after a forensics crime scene taking up affection as his husband has my trope heart bang on pots and pans on the kitchen floor. Literally reborn with them. A delicacy Im never going to write so!! I mentally pass away lol!

I keep going back and forth on this ask after it dropped in my inbox bc this deserve a proper reply however here just me being delulu over these two lol, but this truly made my day.

Bidwell is like, an utter thrill-seeker although he might put a deadpan face but he knew he never get bored if he works with Saxton, lore-wise speaking he can just stand nearby a brawl between a muscle man and a yeti while holding his video camera filming his boss, since Bid can't bring himself to destroy all of Saxton's works after listening his (crime) confession when they supposed to return to the company hq during the robot assault. Then Bidwell came up an idea of an announcement film, for one he can *partially* solve the problem by sending it to Miss P and mercs, for two, at least he pampered Saxton and have yeti steak dinner with him (and if that's not gaylove then idk..)

[zeeverseconfession]

hello. it's me. (no, this is not fantasy au stuff.. i wish it was 🙁)

its just about the serious topics in zeeverse from the top of my head.. some of my stuff here might be wrong

Death & Grief: Seen when Box had died — their death affecting Globe, sending her into a sense of grief. From what we saw (or what i remember), it was like she had lost a piece of herself, and found it difficult to do certain things

Alcoholism: Debit Card. Recently just introduced, but we can see that Debit Card is a heavy drinker, supposedly due to stress? To get away from any memories of her (purse). It's used as a coping mechanism.

Stalking & Obsession: As much as you may like Globe, she's a stalker. Yeah, hate to break it to you — she's got an unhealthy obsession with a married man, and has stalked him.. creepy.

Depression: I think multiple characters have this, but the one that comes to mind in specific is Box (also because it's on their wiki). Depression can lead to things like suicidal tendencies, and that's been seen once before in them (when Azriel had offered for them to sell their soul, they agreed in a heartbeat.)

Along with her backstory, which could be part of the reason why he's depressed. Box is probably one of the.. few? many? characters who have depression.

Anxiety & Panic Attacks: .. not sure, possibly Grenade? When stressed, they seem to feel like their losing control over the situation, along with a tremble (voice or body, can differ). These two examples can be linked as symptoms of a panic attack.

From what we see, they struggle to put their thoughts into words. Making it hard to express what exactly they're feelings at the moment.

Crime: Literally, almost everyone in New County has committed some sort of crime.. I think. Can't think of any from the top of my head, but the only person I can think of who went to jail was Mug.. (pot & globe, almost)

ill do the rest when i FEEL like it

what about dynamite for crime…. :(

i feel personally attacked by grenades, not because it happens to me all the time, but because it never happens to me ever. yeah contrary to popular bwlief i have never had a panic or anxiety attack i think. im just a really nervous guy lol. i tend to exaggerate grenades nervousness a lot, its something i did in the beginning before the roleplay got more serious, and then i realize i didnt exactly characterize grenade right at all. or atleast not to my liking. whatever. :(

i feel personally attacked by the last part tho again not because it doesnt happen to me at all but because it happens to me all the time. okay giys class dismissed /j also anxiety like ACTUAL anxiety rapier i think bcuz it was in his bio…though its kinda puzzling cuz rapiers shown to be very nervous at times and then also really nonchalant and calm at others???? man. idk.

stalking and obsession is obviously globe shes basically the mascot of it all. mollie too but tbh compared to globe you could call mollies just an interest, or something. augh globes just like me fr i hate it

ive said this before but i NEVER ever couldve seen DC as an alcoholic coming. out of every unhealthy coping mechanism ever…drinking? it just doesnt seem so debit card-y. infact DC striked me as the type to be against this kind of stuff. so it just baffles me a lot.

ill tag this later im @ the beach and used my phone too much for this

[nerves-nebula]

Hi! Saw you posted about needing to look into the adaptations of flowers in the attic, I just wanted to say I really enjoyed the books! There's 4 in the Dollanganger series and each of them has incest in realistic and tragic ways.

There's the cycle of sins of the parents perpetuating on the children who, especially in the first book, are wholly resistant to incest until they are so isolated that it becomes fixed into their psyche and becomes the only option to keep themselves even slightly sane.

The prose is wonderful and evocative of the slow build of the horrific conclusion. The child neglect and abuse is a 'frogs in the boiling pot' type of situation but a savvy reader knows its going to go wrong by the end of the first chapter. And I've seen the first adaptation and it was JUST subtle enough that an untrained eye might be able to write it off, but I was glued to the screen in extremely entertained but also triggered rapt attention. I want to watch the newer ones because they covered a LOT more of the story and I've heard the actresses for the main character Cathy and her mother are perfect.

When I read the books it really reminded me of your tm(n)t writing so I think it'd be right up your alley, assuming you haven't read them all already, in which case this is a mostly useless ask!

Regardless I will be looking forward to your reactions to the adaptations if/when you watch them.

yea so idk i've heard about the series but never felt compelled to read it or watch those movies or anything. not really sure why.

the children who, especially in the first book, are wholly resistant to incest until they are so isolated that it becomes fixed into their psyche and becomes the only option to keep themselves even slightly sane.

now if you know about me or my childhood you might know that this is an idea i am unfortunately familiar with. haahhhhh. so that makes me maybe wanna read it more. its pretty famous so theres gotta be an audiobook of it, right?

When I read the books it really reminded me of your tm(n)t writing so I think it'd be right up your alley, assuming you haven't read them all already, in which case this is a mostly useless ask!

this is an interesting thing to note because I'm not exactly sure what you mean by this. I'm assuming you're referring to Caracal Carousel or something. but i didnt think my amateur prose had enough of a distinct style to be compared to like, published works haha. especially not something as famous (or infamous idk) as flowers in the attic. i guess I'll have to read it to find out!

IN CONCLUSION thank u for this write up it makes me wanna look into the series more

[lifenconcepts]

Y’all have no idea what you’re doing when you mess up a character. Sure, a bit of blood is nice, but if you REALLY loved them then you would put them in misery and anguish. here are some ideas :3

physical, emotional, mental distress, ill, harm..

Chop off a limb, their reaction can be plentiful expressive and entertaining.

Make an ordinary human quality an over abundance. there’s lots of opportunity here. Such as too much hunger (basic) or having enhanced vision (sensitive eyes too) or too much blood in the body or lots of one substance or limb like having 2000 eyelashes idk man. Make the consequences believable so it doesn’t resemble a superpower (like super hearing but their ears constantly are in pain and they get migraines from it and they ring).

Throw them into an unlucky situation where their vehicle messes up and if they’re on public transport then it just brings them somewhere wildly different than what they wanted would be nice if they also didn’t have a safe place.

Give them a sudden overwhelming emotion, play god, make them absolutely manic or depressive or unprompted hostile. It’s fun.

Give them a random delusion. There’s lots of possibilities here from commonly represented ones like feeling watch’s and what not but you can experiment! Make them afraid to take off their clothes, make them unable to walk through door frames, make them disconnected with their body (could be one on its own), make em irrationally afraid of pots, make them desire to destroy every slug in the world, there’s so much creativity to be unleashed!

Get rid of the most loved and prized thing in their life, this one’s a classic.

How would they respond to threats? Threats to their well being, to their home, to their belongings, to their financial stability, to their families, to their friends and pets, to their sanity, to their body, to their life?

Teach them a false belief and allow them to destroy themselves.

lead them into a false sense of security and rip it out of them at the very moment they need it most.

fuck it. Teleport them to a messed up place. Crumbling building, country without the language they speak, planet where there’s no air, they’re suddenly in the sky, no recollection how they got there.

Ruin their job or hobby for them.

The one thing that’s least likely to happen happens and what seems to be a one in a quadrillion chance actually happens (such as a bit of dust travelling so fast it blind them, or a sandwich causes them to slip and slide down the stairs and crash into a metal wall).

Make nobody able to understand them (interpret it however. Could be just language wise or just unable to comprehend their bodily cues and constantly misunderstand and misread their behaviours and thoughts).

Eh strip them away from their humanity or something. No more emotions, no more soul, no more love, no more morals. Only pain and suffering.

have them choose between two things equally dear to them (common trope but not common enough).

Make them a sad song personified, take Simon & Garfunkel’s Sound of Silence for example, or any of The Smith’s songs (incredible, really).

Make them suddenly have a desire to destroy themselves, an idealised fascination with something strange such as wanting to see red on themselves or want to feel the raw bones in their hand.

A tad bit of insanity is always wonderful. Truly.

ANYHOO if anyone needs help to think of a plot for their story or fanfic please feel free to request me, I have dozens of theories and ideas of how to not only make a believable thing but also an interesting character and truly effective hurt! I insist, I can help!

[nestastits]

Heyyyy!!!

I've got two questions

Favourite Nessian moment EVER

2. One thing you'd like to see in the next book

Have a good day 💕

Sorry it has taken me so long to answer this 😣.

1: Literally every scene 😭. There are so many. They are so special to me for so many reasons. But if I had to choose just one for this post I will have to go with the nightmare scene in acosf.

The nightmare was where we see the affect cassian has on Nesta and her power. Which I find very interesting. I sort of see Nesta’s power as more of its own thing. Like it has a mind of its own. I guess like a Venom type situation? If you’re a marvel fan you’ll understand my reference🤣. But Nesta can still tell it what to do. Anyways, in this scene Nesta is lost in her memories that have turned into nightmares and Rhys can’t break through her shields. He can’t contain her power either. It is Cassian who calms Nesta down with his voice and touch. And her power answers in return to him. It calls out when it hears him. And Nesta reaches out for him too. The morning after Nesta remarks on how it was Cassian’s voice that she followed to safety enough to let her mental shields down for Rhys to get her out of the nightmare. Then she talks about how Cassian looked like one of the warrior-princes from one of her childhood books which I thought was a very tender moment considering how harsh Nesta’s childhood was. And I’ve always seen Nesta as a romance reader (with some smut thrown in of course) dreaming of having her own warrior prince and now she finally has one. It’s also a scene where we first see Nesta allow herself to cry for how much someone else cares for her which is a breakthrough in her healing. Cassian also shows how much he cares for her during this scene and how uncomfortable he was seeing her in pain.

2: Honestly idk 😅. The next book could be an Elucien or Gwynriel book or potentially another Nesta book with the foreshadowing of hofas and sjm herself saying acosf was only Nesta’s happy beginning. But logically I think it will be an Elain/lucien book which I am all for!

As much as I love Night Court I’m hoping Elain will be the one to leave since she isn’t meant for that court anyways. Elain is definitely either a day court or spring court girly! I hope we see her really come into herself and see what’s in her mind. I think her story will be much different from her sisters’ because of her being the one who actually holds resentment towards being turned Fae. Elain loved her human life, she was content in marrying having children and growing old and dying. And now? Now she has to learn to live forever and what challenges come with it. She lost the only chance she had at happiness even if Graysen was yucky, she did love him and I think he loved her to an extent too. Or at least the idea of her. I’m also excited to be in Lucien’s pov finally! And I’m curious at how the bond between them will play out considering Elains wariness of it. I want a Elain x Eris brotp too😤.

I also think Elain is not a fan of the bond because she has a want to be seen by someone for who she is not because fate drives them together. I think it will be hard on her because she is already aware of the bond and it’s snapped in place. While I don’t think she is outright jealous of her sisters, maybe just a little envy? Imagine you and your sisters all getting mates but only you have the knowledge of knowing who yours is before you even actually meet them 😭 especially after being turned far through drowning in an oversized cooking pot. I’d be skeptical too. Plus Feyre and Nesta got the chance to know their mates without the pressure of the mating bond always being there, it didn’t snap in place for them until after becoming friends with their mates. But Elain and Lucien’s bond is already snapped in place, at least I think it is🤷🏼‍♀️. I understand how afraid and angry she probably is of having a Mating bond. Especially since she did excel at being human and wanting a human life. But like Feysands and Nessians bonds Elucien will fall in love with one another too. But I want Elain to live her life and go on her own journey before she jumps into a relationship with anyone.

Lastly, I need background Feysand as parents with baby nyx. I am not a fan of pregnancy trope but I’ll make an exception for cute bat baby nyxie. And of course my Nessian. I need all the soft background Nessian I can get. I need them sitting on the couch together laughing or eating chocolate cake of course. And I want to know how Elain feels about this and what goes on in her mind when she sees her sisters happy with their mates and fae life.

Hope this helps, and have an amazing day too 🫶🏻