#its kind of busted but its FINE it just needs to be done

[anxiously-awaiting]

crawling on my hands and knees. one ref out of a billion done and it only took like a month

[familyvideostevie]

a kind of hunger | chapter 2

joel miller x fem!reader

series masterlist

an offer from your employer sets your life on track and throws it into a new kind of chaos at the same time. where does joel miller fit into it all?

length: 5.9k

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem!reader, unspecified age gap, heavy petting, joel having a moment with r's tits, hand stuff, dirty talk, painful sex for a second, riding (p in v sex), like a really small smidge of breeding kink, emotional turmoil from r cause what else is she gonna do, some plot! wow! a/n: finally! another chapter. it’s short but i think we’re getting somewhere. Let me know what you think! huge thank you to @macfrog for your eyes and for keeping my sanity in check and @bageldaddy for teaching me how to use commas, letting me borrow your bar, and telling me to just “slutty hallmark it.” this is for you guys. 

navigation | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

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Bill’s offer costs you one night of sleep and that’s all.

Taking over the bar goes against every rule you've had for yourself up until now, everything that’s kept you going and on your feet.

You lose when you stick around. You get hurt when you get attached. Always keep moving. 

But your night with Joel seems to have shaken something loose. You’ve got a pit in your stomach, a hunger set alight by his eyes and his hands and his attention. It’s like he reminded you how to want, how to stop letting the world turn under your feet and dig in your heels instead.

And there’s what Bill said, the thing that won't leave you alone. You think no one notices, but I notice. We all notice.

It’s easy to lie to yourself about a lot of things: that you don’t mind this life, its constant movement and instability. That it’s made you crafty. That if you picked up and left right now, you’d be fine. No one would miss you, no one would notice. The names and faces you’ve learned would fade as soon as you found new ones somewhere else. 

You’ve been a tight fist your whole life, only hanging onto what can fit into your rough and weathered palm, half-moon crescents bleeding that damn desperate hope you can never seem to scrub off. It means a whole lot of avoiding things that could matter so you can’t lose them, can’t let them slip through your fingers. A family who saw your need for space and control and turned it into isolation and disinterest, who drove you away as soon as you were able to leave. College was a bust. Relationships gone sour have taught you not to rely on anyone. Failed experiment after failed experiment, just looking for something to stick. It’s better to be alone, right?

That tight fist keeps anyone out, anyway. It’s carefully rolled bills in plastic bags in the toe of a pair of sneakers just in case. It’s talking just enough to get you a place to stay, a job, a ride, but not enough that anyone remembers your face, even if you wish they would. 

It’s not one big thing. It’s a million small ones. And nothing ever lasts. You never last; always cutting and running before it can get real, before they can see the truth of you and find it lacking.

You’ve been looking for the missing piece for years now, the thing that will make you feel like you’ve finally made it somewhere where you’re needed enough to stick around. Where you can stop quitting, where you can put down roots. Where you can be wanted.

You just aren’t sure it’s possible. You’ve done so many things, seen so much, that you feel like it’s too late to be anything other than this.

It’s easy to believe all of that until someone like Joel sees through it – until someone like Bill tells you none of it is true. 

Fuck it. 

You call Bill the next morning and tell him you'll take over Frank's. 

According to him, the turnaround will be quick. He'll have someone "official" draw up the paperwork. You tell him you won't change the name. You tell him you will make some repairs, fix the cracked vinyl booths, and give the floors a refinish, and –

"Do whatever the fuck you want," he grumbles over the phone. "It's your bar."

It sure is. 

You own something, now. You belong somewhere – even if it’s just because you have payslips to sign and counters to clean. But maybe this time, if you try hard enough, you can get it right.

You have a meeting to tell the staff that you’re taking over. There are only five of you – two college kids from a town over, the guy who works part-time at the garage by the highway, and an old butch called Pat you find vaguely frightening who’s been working here longer than you care to ask. 

It’s probably the first time all five of you have been in the same room. None of them seem disappointed in Bill’s retirement, and they’re on board with your plan for renovations. Especially after you assure them they’ll be paid even if you close for a bit to get it all done.

Joel doesn't come in. You notice, but don’t spare it too much thought. You can’t because the bar is a fucking nightmare all week.

The keg lines keep blocking, the jukebox dies a sudden staticky death, and some asshole scratches the pool table hard enough to tear up the felt. Everyone and everything is pissing you off. It’s an effort not to spend all of your breaks on that milk crate in the alley with your head in your hands. 

It feels like Frank’s is hazing you. After all you’ve done for it, you feel a little betrayed.

“Why the hell do you think I’m retiring?” Bill says when you call to bitch about it. “This shit is a fuck ton of work.” 

By Friday, you're at your wit's end. 

The rush has come and gone, and now it’s slow. Slow enough that you might be worried, but Pat has told you before that this is just how it is in small towns, sometimes. 

That, or maybe your bad mood scared everyone off. Maybe they're tired of the shitty atmosphere, of the cloudy glasses and squeaking stools, maybe they –

You pop an olive into your mouth.

“Chill the fuck out,” you mutter to yourself. No one is around to hear.

The only patrons left are some bikers at one of the back tables playing cards. Their laughter is too loud without the music going. The mats behind the bar are sticky under your boots, and your temple has started to throb. You feel like locking yourself in the office just for the silence.

The air shifts when Joel steps inside.

The hunger you feel is a familiar fire, coals that stoke themselves and never go out. Lust, infatuation as you take in his broad shoulders and grey-streaked hair. You’re strung out and a fuck might help.

But there’s also a weight in your chest at the sight of him, one you haven’t felt in a while. It sits heavy above that smoldering flame in your belly, a bruise you can’t stop yourself from pressing on.

Maybe part of you expected him to stop coming in after you fucked. Regardless of how it made you feel, you’re just some woman who serves him two fingers of liquor when he wants to run away from his life. Just someone who gave him one good night and nothing more.

But this weight – this big, thorny emotion that looks like affection and attachment and something real – you don’t know what to do with it. 

It’s never been this way with a one-night stand. Yeah, you know the weight of him above you, inside you. You know the taste of his sweat on your tongue, the feel of his head between your thighs. That kind of shit usually doesn’t change anything with you, but Joel is…different. 

Careful, that voice inside you says. 

Joel peels off his jacket and tosses it on the otherwise empty bar, pushing up his sleeves to reveal his tanned forearms. The stool creaks under him and his gaze is heated as it travels over you. He doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s looking. 

He shakes his head when you hold up the bottle of whiskey. 

"Water's fine," he says.

You blink. If he’s not here to drink then what is he here for?

He seems like he always does. Relaxed, like the room was made to have him in it. But you look a little closer, now that you figure you can. The deep scar on the bridge of his nose stands out and his cheeks are a little pink. The temperature must have dropped once the sun went down. His jaw isn’t tense so much as set, determined. He rubs his chin with a flat palm as you fill a glass using the soda gun.

“Whatever you want,” you say. 

He looks around the bar. You figure he's taking in the out-of-order signs on the beer pulls, the flickering light pointing to the restroom, maybe even the goddamn ruined pool table. 

You pick up a rag and start to clean to keep your hands busy. 

 “Quiet for a Friday,” he says. "Things goin’ alright?��

You bristle at the implication. It’s been a shitty week, and you don’t need anyone reminding you that you’re probably not cut out for this.

“Fucking peachy,” you snap.

Joel raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t rise to it. "Seems like things are a little tense.”

You swallow a flash of genuine annoyance. 

"All it takes is a roll in the sack and now you're a talker?"

Joel isn't phased. He takes a small sip of his drink, rolls the glass between his hands. Nice hands, you think. Hands that felt so good between your --

"Just makin’ conversation," he says lightly.

You’ve always thought you were hard to read – hell, you’ve been told that many times. One of your flaws, people always say, but it makes it easier to slide in and out of places without too much damage. And yet, Joel, a man who has been in your bed once and sits at your bar when it suits him, sees right through you.

Your shoulders slump.

“I’m just tired,” you tell him.

Joel rubs his beard with one wide palm. He moves his jaw back and forth like he's giving you the chance to shut him down, like he’s chewing on the silence.

"Heard somethin'," he says. "Wondered if it was true. Thought I'd ask." 

"Are you asking?"

He eyes you, takes another sip of his water like it's a tumbler of amber liquid instead. Like anything you pour him is something to be savored.

"Guess so." 

You set the glass down and put your hands on the wood, leaning towards him with your head cocked. 

“Are you keeping tabs on me, Joel Miller?”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flashing before they slide down to your lips. “Ran into Frank in the frozen aisle at the store.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

The corner of his mouth tugs up. "Known him and Bill a long time." 

That explains why he looks like he belongs here. He's probably been in this room more times than you have. All of the things you don't know about Joel hang in the air between you.

"Does Bill...?" 

Does your buddy know you fucked me in the apartment I rent from him?

Joel shakes his head. "Frank told me Bill was giving the place to one of his employees. Figured it was you."

And that’s that. But it sounds like a compliment.

“Well, it’s me alright,” you sigh, slumping a bit. “And there's a lot of shit to do.”

Joel puts a hand on your forearm. It's a light touch, a quick one, but it sends sparks along your skin. A moth to a flame.

“Ain’t no small thing. Ownin’ a bar. Big deal, if you ask me.”

You roll your eyes but pride swells in your chest. He’s right. It is a big deal. 

And here you are in your bar.

With Joel, who fits into all of this somehow. You just don’t know where yet.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you,” you say with a smirk.

You want to draw it out of him, make him flirt with you for the answers he seems to want. You want something to sink your teeth into after this week, something to play with.

Something to make you feel in control. And that’s what Joel gave you, last time you saw him. He pushed when you pulled, met your touches and your quips with attitude and hands of his own. You felt alive, you felt present. You felt wanted. And it was fun.

If you’re not careful, you might forget what sex was like without that – his attention, his touch. Your name in his mouth. But now that you’re giving staying here a shot, maybe it’s time to indulge. To reach out and take.

Joel snorts. He leans forward and raps his knuckles on the wood. “Should we toast to it?”

You laugh. “I don’t drink on the job.”

He raises his water glass.

“Alright,” you scoff. “Fine.” 

You pour yourself some water and clink your glasses together. Joel’s eyes never leave yours, not when he takes a long sip, not when he sets the glass down. He keeps looking at you with that heavy, unshakable gaze. 

It’s unnerving, the way he makes you feel. You’re still tired, still annoyed, but there's electricity at the base of your spine, the embers in your belly. You want to talk to him. 

You clench your hands around your glass. You want to touch him, too.

“So,” you say. He’s wearing a henley this time, the buttons at the top undone just enough to give you a glimpse of a peak of chest hair. You swallow and flick your eyes back to his. He’s smirking. 

“So,” Joel echoes. “Why’d you take it? The bar.”

You shrug. “Seemed like a good deal.”

“Bill ain’t in the habit of good deals,” he huffs. “He must like you.”

It’s an effort to squash your smile. “I don’t think Bill likes anyone much.”

“Real asshole, ain’t he?” 

That gets a laugh out of you. “Well, he’s your friend.”

“Not much choice in a small town.”

You hum.

The noisy group from the back stumble their way to the door, waving at you as they file out into the night.

“Those idiots ruined my pool table on Tuesday,” you hiss, though you smile at them.

“Gotta be pretty fuckin’ bad at pool to do that.” He looks around and realizes he’s the last one in the bar. “You closin’?”

“It’s only eleven, Joel.” 

His eyes rake up and down your body. Is he thinking about how he touched you, how you fell apart under him? Heat curls lazily in your belly. He runs his finger around the rim of his glass.

“Damn shame,” he says. 

Normally you wouldn’t shut for a few hours, but it’s pretty dead for a Friday and…

And Joel is looking at you like that and you want to touch him.

You don’t mess around with regulars.

You’re already breaking your rules by taking over Frank’s. What’s one more?

The pulse between your legs agrees with you.

“Colin,” you call over your shoulder, stepping back from Joel’s hot gaze. The barback appears immediately.

“Yeah?”

“I’m shutting early. Go home. Tonight’s tips are yours.”

He sputters. “Are you sure?” His gaze flicks to the stacks of glasses behind the bar, the tables that still need wiping down.

“I’ll take care of it. See you next week.” 

He just shrugs and turns on his heel. A minute later the back door slams and you know the kid is gone.

You lift the bridge and slide out from behind the bar. Your boots are loud on the shitty floors with no one in here and each step to the door feels longer than it should because of his damn stare. You feel Joel’s eyes on you as you lock the door and flick off the neon BAR sign that hangs outside.

When you turn around, his eyes are dark.

Joel stays on his stool, one foot on the ground so that his knees are spread wide, watching you. One hand rests on his thigh, thick fingers tapping to a tune only he hears. His other arm is on the wood of the bar, stretching his shirt across his broad chest. 

When Joel looks at you, sometimes it feels like he’s the first person to ever see you.

“Gotta settle up,” he drawls.

“What, you gonna tip me for water?”

“Not exactly,” he says, words dragging in his mouth. “Got somethin’ else in mind.”

The air in the bar sparks and crackles like one of those long Texas summer days when a thunderstorm looms like a threat. The electricity of it crackles down your spine, turns it molten, turns you dangerous. It’s never felt like this before with someone you’ve slept with. Just being close to him is enough to kick your pulse into gear. You feel hyper aware of every part of your body as he looks at you like you’re offering him something better than what you can pour.

Which, you guess, you are. 

“And what would that be?” 

He hums.

“C’mere.”

You can see his cock straining against the front of his jeans. 

“Bossy,” you say. “That for me?” You jerk your chin towards his lap and take your time walking back to him.

He smirks. “You wanna go upstairs?”

As soon as you step between his knees, the hand on his leg moves to your hip. Two fingers sneak under the waistband of your jeans to find bare skin. You brace yourself with one palm on his thigh, another on his neck, and thread his soft hair through your fingers.

“I don’t see why we have to,” you say slowly, watching him carefully. “No one’s here. And I know the owner. She won’t mind.”

The hand on your hip slides further back and his fingers press hard into the swell of your ass. 

“Oh, that right?” he chuckles. “Well, as long as we ain’t breakin’ any rules.”

You’re not sure who moves first. You’ve got a few inches on him by being on your feet so you pull him towards you just as he surges up and your mouths meet sloppily, hungrily. Joel tugs you closer and you dig your fingers into his thigh as he swallows your giddy laugh, his beard scratching your skin deliciously.

You’re going to fuck him. In your bar. 

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks, lips trailing over your jaw. He’s got both hands on you now, one on your ass and the other on your hip, holding you like he expects you to disappear.

“No, not really–” You cut yourself off with a gasp when he nips your pulse point. “Joel.”

He kisses you again, licking into your mouth. You remember the sounds he made in your apartment and tug on his hair. Joel’s moan is your reward. You press close and grind your hips against the hardness in his jeans and he growls.

“Hard as a rock the second I step in this damn place,” he says, holding you there. You pull back to see his lips spit-slick, his pupils blown. Seeing him undone like this by your touch is just as thrilling as it was last time. His teeth scrape down your neck and he unbuttons your jeans.

“Sounds like a – ah – you problem.”

Joel’s fingers drag through the curls above your cunt before he goes where you really want him. You gasp against his temple when he circles your clit.

“Seems to me I’m not the only one,” he rasps.

The fingertips on his thigh become nails digging in even harder when he slips one finger inside you.

“Gonna leave bruises, sweetheart,” Joel says. Your cunt clenches around him. “You like that? Markin’ me?”

“Maybe I do,” you groan. “You left some last time.”

The angle can’t be ideal but Joel fucks you as best as he can with one finger, then two. You drag his face back to yours and suck on his bottom lip, tugging his hair all the while. Every part of you feels like it’s on fire, like you’re burning up from the inside. 

His other hand rucks up your shirt until you tug it all the way off. He pulls down the cup of your bra with one hand and rolls your nipple between his fingers. 

You could come like this, Joel’s hands everywhere. 

Gripping him through his clothes isn’t enough. You scramble to undo his belt and get your hand in his jeans, button popped and fly down. 

He grunts your name when you spit into your palm and take him in hand, velvety soft and tip leaking. 

“Careful,” he hisses. “Don’t want to stop this before it starts.”

“I’ll be gentle,” you say. He thumbs your clit in response and you gasp.

Time blurs with his fingers inside you. Your strokes are lazy but he hisses each time you drag your thumb over his tip. Is it going to be this, you two pawing at each other against the bar until someone bursts?

“Joel,” you gasp. “Joel, I want –”

He finally returns to your clit with a strained smirk. The veins in his neck are visible, telling you it’s getting to him, too. 

“You remember what I said last time?”

Ask for what you want, you hear me? You ask and I'll do my damn best.

You could have him bend you over the bar. You imagine it, quick and dirty, the wood digging into your waist as he slams into you, flesh on flesh. It would be better than last time, you know it. But you want to see him.

You want Joel’s face in your neck, your hands in his hair as he fills you up. You want to watch him fall apart under you.

You dig your nails into him again and he hisses. You lean forward so your lips drag along the shell of his ear.

“I want to ride you, Joel,” you say. 

His eyes flash. He kisses you hard, swirls your clit one more time, and pulls his hand from your cunt. Your knees feel a little weak so you keep your hands on his shoulders. 

Joel brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

“Gotta get at least a taste,” he says. “Just as sweet as I remember.” You surge forward to kiss him. You can taste yourself on his tongue and he groans into your mouth.

“Alright, baby,” he says, breath a little ragged. He thumbs your nipple again. “Where’re you gonna ride me?”

“Booth,” you manage. “Over there.” You jerk your head back towards the cracked vinyl seats he’s never once sat in since you met him. He pats your hips and you step back. The stool scrapes loudly on the floor as he stands. 

He cups your cheek with one callused palm and just looks. His hair is a mess from your hands, lips swollen from your kisses. And yet he’s looking at you like you’re the answer to all his problems. 

“So damn pretty,” he says.

Somehow you make it to the booth, a tangle of lips and hands, shedding pieces of clothing as you go. Your bra, his shirt, his belt. Shoes toed off and left in a pile, Joel shoves the table between the vinyl benches to the other side so there’s enough room for him to sit, for him to drag down his jeans and boxers and take his cock in one hand. 

Your mouth waters at the sight of it. God, he’s thicker than you remember. One of these days you’re going to take him apart with your tongue.

You could just stand there and admire him but you’re so wet you think you’re going to drip onto the floor. His solid thighs, the dark hair gathered into curls at the base of him trailing up to his navel. If you were a painter you’d put him to a canvas.

Joel spreads his legs wide, and you run a hand down his bare chest before balancing on his shoulder as you step out of your bottoms. It’s almost funny – the two of you naked but for your socks, Joel’s pants around his ankles.

You want him too badly to spare a thought for laughter.

A condom comes from somewhere – his wallet, maybe, or his pocket, you don’t much care – and he slides it on with a hiss. 

It’s different than last time. More desperate but in a fun way – and you know this won’t be the last time. You know each other’s bodies, now, and this can be quick, can be dirty, because you’ll be doing it again.

So you don’t waste any time straddling him. Joel lines his cock up with your entrance, his other hand on your hip.

“You ready?” he asks. You lean in to kiss him and sink down at the same time in response.

You moan in tandem as he fills you, the angle different from when you were on your back, so different. The stretch is deeper, and somehow you feel fuller than last time. It’s overwhelming, it’s all-consuming, it’s a little painful.

“Fuck,” Joel groans. “So tight. I ain’t gonna last long.” 

It really is a tight fit, so tight you think maybe he was right to ask if you could take him without at least one orgasm to prepare you. The girth of him is splitting you in half, stretching you so much you whimper against his mouth.

Joel’s hands cup your face. “Y’okay?” he says, strained. “Hey, talk to me.”

Your eyes are shut tight, knees pressing hard into his solid thighs as you breathe.

“Need a sec,” you say. “It’s different like this, it’s –”

“I know, baby,” Joel murmurs. “Doin’ so good so far.” 

He shifts his hold on you just a little and you whine. The vinyl cracks underneath his shifted weight as he whispers an apology into your shoulder.

The pain of the stretch dulls to an ache and you know what’s just on the other side. You roll your hips and the head of his cock presses exactly where you want it. It sends a shock wave of pleasure through you so intense that you fall forward a little, Joel’s face pressed to your chest.

He presses a kiss to your breastbone, so light you almost miss it as you start to ride him in earnest. Your knees press into the rough vinyl and Joel’s lips find your nipple. 

“Didn’t give these ‘nough attention last time,” he says. “My mistake.”

His tongue laves at your breasts, one after the other as you swirl your hips over and over. You tug on his hair as your thighs start to burn but you keep going. 

Joel’s teeth scrape against your nipples, the skin of your chest as he nips and soothes, nips and soothes. You’re going to be covered in marks tomorrow. 

Maybe it’s the thrill of that, of just seeing him again, maybe it’s how bad you want him, who fucking knows – you’re already so close.

Everything fades away but this. Joel is everywhere, on you, around you, inside you…It’s just the two of you, limbs tangled and sweaty, panting each other’s name.

The smoldering in your belly is a fire climbing higher and higher and you’re going to explode with the heat of it.

Firm, rough-skinned hands hold you steady as you lift and sink, gasping every time he hits that spot inside you. 

“Joel, I –”

His grip turns bruising as he starts to fuck you on his own, the wet smack of his balls filling the bar.

“I know, baby,” he pants. “I know. You hear that? You hear me fuckin’ you? You’re takin’ my cock so good.”

You plant your hands on his shoulders and try to meet his thrusts.

“Swear I dreamed ‘bout this,” he growls. “How wet you were. Those fuckin’ noises you make when I –” He circles your clit with his thumb and you keen. “There we go. Just like that.”

“Joel –

“Gonna ruin this booth,” he says with a rough chuckle. His forehead is tacky when you press yours against it.

“I – fuck – need new ones anyway, don’t I?” 

Joel grins, all teeth as he pounds into you. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, breath hot on your lips. “Soak my cock. Know you can, so tight and –”

Your orgasm rips through you, a broken litany of Joel and yes and god knows what else torn from your throat as he fucks you through it. His thrusts become erratic and you try to keep your seat as he finishes with a deep groan. 

Joel presses more of those light kisses to your collarbones, the base of your throat, so like the one he left on the back of your hand that first night. You drag your fingers through his slightly sweaty hair.

“I’ll move in a second,” you say, catching your breath. 

“Take your time,” he says. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

His grip on you is practically gentle, fingers lazily stroking patterns into your skin. You drag a hand up and down his chest. 

It’s tender. It’s…something it maybe shouldn’t be. Something that doesn’t belong in whatever you’re doing. 

You get out of his lap as carefully as you can and stand in front of him, naked. Fucking with a condom is smart and all, but you wonder what it would feel like to have him dripping between your thighs.

He doesn’t hide his stare, though it’s not as charged as before. He’s looking just to look.

“Put your pants on,” you grumble at him. He laughs. 

You scoop your clothes off the floor and head for the bathroom. The tarnished mirror displays your sated smile and bright eyes. You run a hand over the bruises he left on your neck, your hips. Well-fucked is a good look on you. You look exhausted but happy.

Joel is dressed and back at the tabletop when you return. He’s got his usual bottle of whiskey on the wood, two glasses already sporting a pour each. 

“Not workin’ anymore, are you?” he asks you. 

You laugh. “No.”

The soreness starts to settle into your thighs when you take the stool next to him.

The momentary silence isn’t uncomfortable. It is comfortable, which is the strange part. Sitting here with him at your bar after he fucked you a few feet away and sipping at your drinks. 

Joel, for his part, seems unbothered. You can’t figure him out. It makes you feel a little unsteady to know that he sees right through you, but you don’t know what he’s thinking. Would he tell you if you asked?

“So,” he says. “What’re your plans for the place?”

You sigh. A piece of his hair is sticking up and you tuck your hand between your thighs so you don’t smooth it. It’s different with your clothes on.

“There’s a lot to do,” you tell him. “Jukebox is broken. Neon signs need replacing. Plumbing could do with a refresh. I want to refinish the floors, maybe tear off this ugly wallpaper –”

“Make sure you get a good gel for that,” he says. “Shit’s old and won’t come off easy.”

You lean your chin in your hand and shoot him an amused look. 

“Do a lot of wallpaper removal in your spare time?” you ask.

He fiddles with his watch, jaw working around whatever it is he wants to say. 

“I’m a contractor.” 

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he grumbles. “You think I sit on my ass all day?”

Honestly, you don’t know. Most of the thoughts you have about Joel aren’t to do with his job. You have no idea what he does when he isn’t here.

You shrug. Joel rolls his eyes.

“Well, I am,” he drawls. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “And I know the folks around here who you’ll need. Materials, all that.” 

“Are you offering to help me, Joel?” You keep your voice neutral.

He looks at you head-on. It feels like he’s seeing through you again. “If you want it.”

“If we do that, it has nothing to do with…” You gesture between you. “With this.”

Joel just looks at you, letting you sort out what you want to say. 

“I mean, I don’t want charity, okay?”

He shakes his head. “Ain’t charity. I owe Bill some favors. This’ll square us up. You’ll cover all the other shit, I guess.”

“It’s not his bar, anymore,” you remind him, but it’s a weak protest. 

Joel knocks back the rest of his drink.

You’ve been working out how to finance the renovations all week. All that cash you’ve squirreled away over the years finally has a purpose, other than a cushion in case something really bad happens. It’s looking tight between paying the staff and sourcing the work. You’d only be able to close a week at a time and any delays will fuck the whole thing. 

But if Joel’s offering discounted labor, materials on the cheap? You could get it all done faster, get it done right.

“Why do you want to help me?” you ask. 

Joel huffs and if you knew him better you’d say it was in offense. 

“Let’s just say I’m invested in the state of this place,” he says. “And you really gotta replace those booths.”

Your face feels hot. “Asshole.”

“So,” he says. “You interested?”

It’s not a bad idea. Hell, it might even be a good one. Money aside, Joel, whatever his story is, is connected in this town, and if you’re staying it would do you some good to start making some connections of your own. Start settling.

The fist in your chest, your heart, your mind – it loosens just a little bit. 

“I’m interested.”

Joel knocks on the bar once, twice, and stands. He digs in his back pocket for his wallet and hands you a business card with his phone number. 

“I’ll be here Monday morning,” he says. “We can start goin’ over stuff, figure out when you wanna close. All that. Call me anytime. Sound good?”

You just nod. The fatigue is starting to hit and Joel must be able to tell because he just smiles at you.

“Goodnight, boss lady,” he says. “Put the whiskey on my tab.”

Joel grabs his jacket and unlocks the door, sliding into the cool night with a wave. 

“You don’t have a tab, asshole,” you mutter, but you’re smiling a little. 

It feels like pieces are falling into place.

You know you could get the bar fixed up on your own. But with Joel’s help, it’ll get done faster and you might even have some money left over at the end of it. 

It’s a lot all at once. But for some reason, it feels different this time. It’s not another job about to fall through, not another relationship going south because you got spooked. It’s not you getting bored and cutting your losses. 

You want this. You want it to work. Usually, you’d have left by now, before you got too attached, but it’s too late so you’re going to make it work. 

This thing with Joel, though – you’re going to have to be careful. If you’re not, it’ll run away from you and – well. You don’t want to lose control of it.

You look around the bar and sigh. Unwiped tables, a booth that no one should sit in, floors to clean. A few hours of work before bed. 

You know you’re going to spend them trying not to think about the man who just left. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback!

[moodymisty]

(really sorry if this is sent more than once, firefox crashed right when I hit Ask so im re-sending it just in case)

Local Konrad apologist here to request a continuation to your 'Sevatar hunting you' oneshot you posted awhile back. sfw or nsfw, either is fine

(if you dont want to continue that plotline, np!! Just literally any Sev content would be hype as fuck, not gonna lie. love that man sm)

and i hope you and your pidges have a wonderful day❤

Soft continuation of this request

Author's note: Hell yeah I’ll continue that one! I love Sevatar <3 I hope this is ok! It didn’t quite flow the way I like but I don’t want to hold it up forever

Relationships: Sevatar/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lewd kind of, Violence and gore warning, Pet play technically? Sev calls you his little pet, Dubcon, Biting

When Sevatar had captured his prey, he made sure not to let it go. He dragged you back between his teeth to his den aboard the Nightfall, and you haven’t seen a Salamander since.

Sevatar has done much work in making sure your base needs are tended to- such as food and water to keep you healthy and soft - while on the Nightfall.

You are most likely the most well kept baseline aboard the ship, and many others refer to you snidely, jokingly, as Sevatar’s prized little pet.

He does a lot of prowling around to keep other Night Lords away from his catch, predator proofing his quarters.

While most Night Lords would hesitate to disobey him, or tread in quarters not their own or of their stature, Sevatar knows that his little pet is worth the risk.

You’re soft, clean and fragile, and unlike many of the serfs aboard who know how to hide and not be interesting enough to toy with, you whimper and cry and beg enough to make an Astartes mouth wet with drool and his hearts pump faster.

You don’t do as much anymore- With the Salamanders long gone that wound has faded, and you know despite his demeanor, Sevatar doesn’t break his toys. He seems to take quite good care of them actually, and despite the wounds he leaves in your body, the food he gets for you and the quarters you live in is almost comparable to life with the Salamanders.

Sevatar is returning to his quarters, looking downward at his knife when he feels as if something is off. He puts his knife back in its sheath, turning the corner to finish his trip to his quarters.

His body goes rigid when he notices the door is open, locks busted and completely torn apart. Only one glance inside confirms you’re gone. Your scent is fresh still however- this only just happened.

Sevatar runs down the halls, slamming into the shoulders of other marines who quickly try to give way to him, and halfway through the hall a singular Night Lord yells:

“If you’re looking for your pet, the idiot is taking her towards the barracks.”

He also hears the same man mumble about how he warned the thief, and that he wants to see his how Sevatar will display his guts for being a blackhand.

He catches up with the thief in the halls, spotting him carrying you with a hand clamped over your mouth. The other arm is around your waist, legs dangling and kicking uselessly.

Sevatar approaches him from behind and pulls out his knife and closes the distance lightning quick, slicing the wrist around your mouth so he doesn't crush your head. The Night Lord instinctively drops you- Sevatar hears your yelp as you crumble to the metal floor and presumably twist something - trying to defend himself first and foremost. Sevatar had the advantage however both in surprise and sheer strength, and within moments manages to get the slightly smaller Night Lord on the ground.

You can only watch as the two throw punches and tear at each other, eyes wide.

You hear the crunch as Sevatar’s knife drives through ceramite armor, reaching the black armoring suit underneath. The younger Night Lord attempts to clamp onto Sevatar's body but his one wrist is mangled and won't listen, while the other attempts to grab his neck in a desperate last ditch effort.

The first stab managed to crack ceramite armor like the outer shell of a bug, it takes a second blow for him to stab through his black carapace, and reach his organs. The marine lets out a shout as Sevatar's gauntlet gets covered in bright red blood, and you can only watch in a frozen stare as he mangles the younger night lord's body into a crushed, bloody mess.

Sevatar finishes by standing up, and grinding his head into the floor with his boot, splattering blood all over the floor.

A few Night Lords pass by, rolling their eyes at the mess and speaking along the lines that he had it coming, for disobeying Sevatar.

One also mentions that Sevatar wasted a meal by crushing the Astartes like that, and even just the implications of him feasting on the man’s brain matter has bile rising in your throat.

Blood is still on your face from his initial attack, alongside whatever splattered your way as you laid on the floor and watch him crush your kidnapper. Sevatar leans closer, and he laughs when he smears it across your face with his gauntlet.

He’s examining you for any damage, and other than a sprained wrist from when the Night Lord dropped you to the floor, you’re unharmed.

“Messy.”

You say nothing, but instead lean forward and wrap your arms tightly around his neck. Sevatar noticeably stiffens.

He supposes in your mind he is your savior. The Night Lord who had broken into his quarters more than likely wanted to toy with you for a bit until you broke, then throwing you into the garbage.

It’s good to know that you’re attached to him. That you know he is your best option, and that you won’t consider trying to sneak off. While he loves it when you cry, when you beg him to stop, there’s also a part of him that loves that you want him. How lately, some of your begging has turned into cute little whimpers.

Picking you up off the ground to return to his quarters you latch to him like he’s going to drop you as well, arms around his neck.

He likes the feeling.

Perhaps some of the other Night Lords would prefer it if you ran, if you hated him, but Sevatar wants you to want him. He wants to feel that rush.

He hasn't had his armor off in about it a week, but they're safe enough in Imperium space; He can take it off for a bit.

He won't let you out of his sight while he does so however, setting you down right in front of the armoring platform as he has the serfs and mechanical arms take away piece after piece of ceramite. It can sometimes take almost a half hour to armor up a marine, removing the pieces is significantly shorter. He leaves his black armoring suit on to take off in his quarters, and pushes you back there like he’s herding an animal.

He looks briefly and notices how that Night Lord broken open the lock; He'll remember that.

He watches you quickly scurry inside of his quarters, his den, sitting on the bed and trying to pick at the astartes blood coagulating on your face. You look so small on the massive bed, and the way you curl your legs up exaggerates the difference.

"I was asleep when he broke in... I didn't have time to hide or find you."

Sevatar laughs at the idea of you being able to hide or run from an astartes.

"Just shows that I need to keep a closer eye on you. You make a lot of trouble for me."

The way you look at him is concerned. You think he's considering getting rid of you. That you cause too much trouble for him. That couldn't be less of the case. He knew what he was getting into when he stole from the Salamanders.

Walking closer he stands and towers over you, seeing the hesitation and fear in your eyes when his hand comes close to your face. Instead of your neck however, it wraps around your jaw, and he forces your mouth to open with his thumb.

"But you're a good little pet, aren’t you.”

He loves the way your mouth wraps around his thumb- warm, wet, like the inside of a wound. Your hands rise up to wrap around his wrist, while he pushes you down laying on the bed.

“I should get you one of those tattoos.”

Sevatar removes his thumb from your mouth and grips your hair, pulling your neck to the side and exposing you vein. He can see your heartbeat through your skin, along with the myriad of old scars and healing bites he’s left there.

It’s his favorite part of you; Nothing else is like the feeling of your life and soul between his teeth.

He drags his teeth down your neck and feels the way your hands clamber at his shoulders, until he finds a spot he likes and sinks his teeth in.

Your hands slap at his shoulders and you whimper, gasping in pain as his dull teeth pierce your skin. His tongue is coated in that tangy, iron taste, the salt of your skin mixing. You taste delicious- the feeling of your soft flesh underneath his hands and in his mouth makes his cock throb.

A part of him imagines biting down harder, drawing more blood and ripping your skin. The crunch of vein and bone. But he doesn’t want to damage you that much, and risk loosing his catch.

“W-what tattoo?”

You breathlessly speak. Sevatar knows some of the other- usually older - Night Lords have been tattooing their favorite serfs; Staking a claim on them.

He doesn’t need to stake claim on what everyone already knows is his, but the idea of his name, or his variation of the Night Lords symbol adorning your delicate skin rouses a part of him.

He bites again, and you take a sharp inhale- heels digging into the bed. Your thighs are forcibly spread apart to make room for his massive body, weight holding you down. He feels your heartbeat in his mouth, your very life is so close.

“You’ll see.”

[talaok]

An idea for pedro and reader

They are in a relationship and live together. The reader is also an actress. She asks pedro to practice her lines with her. In the play, she is having a really long line, breaking up with the person ans leaving them... pedro can't continue... at night in bed they are cuddling and pedro talks about how he hated the feeling or the thought of the reader ever leaving

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

a/n: ahh this is amazing how do you come up with stuff like this

"I know that face," he said, busting you immediately as you emerged from the bedroom.

He was sat on the couch, lazily half-reading something on his phone.

"what is it sweetheart?" he asked, as with a soft click, his phone went black

You bit back a smile "How do you know there is something?"

"Because you're very easy to read" he explained "Now tell me what you need"

"Excuse me? I'm not easy to read" you gasped

"No?" he asked rhetorically "Then what's up with the script in your hand?"

You glanced down at the papers between your fingers, feeling a soft veil of defeat land on top of you.

"Fine" you gave up, "Can you help with a scene?"

It wasn't unusual for you to run lines with each other, god only knows how many times he made you go through that scene from The Last of Us...

"of course" he nodded "What's it about?"

"Break up scene," you told him as you joined him on the sofa "I just feel like I'm missing something" 

"What?"

"well I don't know" you laughed "That's why you're here"

"All right," he said, as you handed him the script.

"You just have to read the ones not underlined" you pointed to the paper

"Can do" he smiled, watching as you stood from the couch and ran your hands soothingly down your jeans.

"ok" you breathed closing your eyes for a moment to get in character.

Pedro took it as his cue to start

"baby I love you" he murmured as written.

"And I-" you stopped, your forehead creasing as if your next words physically pained you "I... I don't know if I do anymore" you spoke "I don't think so"

"what are you saying?" Pedro read again, his tone more clipped now, but you were too focused on your performance to notice the way his eyes had changed, had... saddened.

"I'm saying I don't feel that spark anymore, that-that I miss walking faster when I come home because I know that's where you are, that I can't remember the last time my heart swelled like it did on our first date"

Three long beats passed, before Pedro realized that was his cue

Something was happening inside of him.

He knew this all was fake, but a part of him couldn't help but wander on its own... sure it's just a scene now, but it's so real, people fall out of love constantly, and you- well, Pedro realized for an interminable, terrifying moment, that you weren't immune to it, that what was happening to Jeff in this scene could very well happen to him any day now.

He had always known he didn't deserve you, that you were too much, too perfect, too good, too kind to be with him.

And for the first time in a while, a dreaded thought crossed his mind.

What happens when she realizes it?

"Rose" he called, pulling himself out of his own thoughts

"I know" you sniffled, your eyes filled with tears now "I'm sorry jeff-I really am- I don't know what happened, I don't know what's wrong with me, I just know... I just know I don't love you anymore... I can't bring myself to anymore"

And that was it.

Pedro had to glance out the window to take his mind off of whatever was happening.

"It's perfect" he said, after taking a lungful of air "There's nothing missing sweetheart, you nailed it"

"but" you stuttered "the scene is not done baby, there's still-"

"I know" he shook his head, closing the script.

He didn't want that thing in his hands anymore

"But trust me it's perfect, you don't need any more practice"

"a-are you sure?" you asked, wiping away a leftover tear  

"I am" he nodded "don't worry, you were incredible" he forced a smile "as always"

You grinned now "Oh well, if the Emmy nominee says so..." you considered, sitting back next to him "I guess I'm gonna have to believe you"

__ __ __

the rhythmic thumps of his heartbeat were the only sound you could hear from your place on the bed.

You were curled up against him, your head on his chest, and his fingers playing with your hair as his ability to emanate warmth better than any thermostat ever could, proved itself once again even on such a cold winter night.

"You've been quiet today" you finally spoke the thought that had been eating at you for hours.

He really had been.

When he didn't answer, you looked up at him, stopping drawing circles on his belly.

"Is something wrong?" you asked, wishing you could have had a clearer image of his face than the one the soft streetlamp from outside the window granted.

"No sweetheart, nothing's wrong," he said... but there was something in his tone that felt off.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze.

"You know, I'm not the only one who's easy to read..." you murmured gently, as your right hand went to stroke his pecs soothingly "You can tell me whatever it is, you know?"

A beat passed, and then two, as silence spread around the darkness of the room

"I know baby, it's just" he sighed "it's stupid"

"I'm sure it's not" you reassured him "and it's not like I haven't told you my fair share of stupid things" 

He let out a weak chuckle.

"c'mon" you urged sweetly

He looked at you for a moment, before finally making up his mind.

"it's just- " he breathed "the scene you wanted my help with..."

"what about it?" you asked, after he didn't finish the sentence.

"I-It made me think"

Oh shit, your heart faltered, was he about to break up with you?

"That that could happen in real life too, you know?" he swallowed thickly "that one day you could stop loving me"

Oh

"oh"

"and the thought of you leaving... of- of not having you by my side anymore... it just- I wouldn't know how to do it"

"Baby" you whispered, "what are you talking about?" 

"you're too good for me y/n, and I guess I'm just scared that one day you'll realize it and just... leave"

"stop" You placed a hand on his lips to silence his nonsense "Baby, that was just a scene from a play"

"Yeah but stuff like that happens"

"well not to us" you promised "You're stuck with me forever, pretty boy, whether you want it or not"

"but-"

"no" you stopped him "no but. Pedro I love you" you breathed "I love you so much it actually hurts sometimes. So no, I'm not leaving"

You could now hear his heartbeat even if your ear wasn't placed above it anymore.

he looked at you, really looked at you, and slowly you watched the doubts melt from his irids.

"thank you" he said simply, leaning closer to you "and baby…I love you more"

[neverlookatthisblog]

Bad for business

A/n: I was very inspired hope you enjoyed this let me know what you think I haven’t wrote anything smut related in a while so I was very excited to write this 🥴🥴

GIF from @harlowgifs

Smut

Scalvo x reader the instigators

Life in Boston wasn’t how you expected it to be when you planned to move there with a couple of friends just for a few years later not to even be in touch with them anymore

With your Family back in Chicago you had no one yes you could always go back home but you knew you had to make a life of your own now

You were a successful lawyer working on cases sleepless nights Ironically enough this is how you met Scalvo you’re off and on boyfriend

“I’ve got another case for you” Amanda said handing you the file yawning taking the file ‘Another one’ you thought it never ends with your job you reading the file you wanted to know more about him who he was

“Scalvo” you asked Amanda

“Yup I heard he’s a tough one” she said

“Great” but it only made you more curious about him

You’ve worked for lots of people,Scalvo was different to you in your eyes you loved the way he looked at you even though it felt like he hated everything and everyone

To say the least you were stressed

Turns out Scalvo got himself into some trouble beating up some guy and needed a lawyer and it happened to be you,you took the case

“Why why why” you said to yourself as you made your way inside the building

You approached a tall man sitting down with fluffy hair,jacket,with a hat

“Are u Scalvo??” you asked holding his folder

“Yea let’s just get this over with “ he said getting up

“Hold on wait you can’t just get this over with this takes time especially after what u did” I said making him raise his eyebrow

He groaned sitting back down

“So tell me how you go yourself in this situation” I said taking out my note pad

“Are you really about to write this down” he snickered

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m serious about my job” you said

“Fine” he said

You ended winning case got him out of that shit hole you guys started talking getting to know each other he wasn’t someone you’d date usually it was date nights for you but with Scalvo it was joining him on robberies and much more……

•••

(Present day)

You had the day off spending time at home you made yourself comfortable on the couch seeking into the cushion but that didn’t last it wasn’t for long until Scalvo busted through the doors straddling you

“Hey we need to talk” he said

“Talk about???”

“I know you don’t like this next heist but I have to do it there’s money involved” he said you shook your head

He hurried around the house grabbing his bag

“No… scalvo you’re not doing that” you said eagerly following Scalvo around the house as he gathers things in his bag him doing this kind of stuff was normal to you even when it shouldn’t be

“Are you fucking serious scalvo” you said

You knew he was bad for you but that’s what made it exciting for you loving the thrill and you loved him you knew it wasn’t safe being with someone like Scalvo but you couldn’t resist it

“Y/n please just shut the fuck up I have to do this I made a promise !!!”he said continuing to put stuff in the bag

“No..,Promise to who??? I’m not letting you do this! And if you walk out that door that’s it” you said stopping him he gave you a glare dropping his bag

“The fuck did you just say” he said backing you up until your back hit the wall

“You heard me I said we’re fucking done I’m tired of your shit” you said

“You don’t mean that….” he said making eye contact with you

“Yes I do I’m tired of your shit we’re done” you said pushing him but he wouldn’t move

“And I want you to be done with me too scalvo I’m seri-“before you could say anything he crashed his lips onto yours fighting it you eventually gave in pulling away

“Well I’m not” he said before He picks you up eagerly entering your shared bedroom throwing you on the bed kissing your neck his hands made its way to your button up shirt roughly ripping it

“Scal” you said

“Shut the fuck up” he said kissing your lips his right hand roaming your body until it made its way inside your pants his fingers lightly rubbing circles around your clit

“If you meant that then you wouldn’t be letting me do this to you” he said

“Oh my god” you moaned gripping on to his arm gasping as he continued his movements

“Right??? But your not shit talking now are you?” He said you moaned as he continued on with his movements

“Answer me” lightly chocking you feeling two of his fingers push in and out of you

But you knew you couldn’t You could barely answer mumbling words

He kissed you knowing that you were on edge

You kissed him harshly gripping his tightly

“I can’t….im gonna-“ you cut off by his movements as his fingers repeatedly pushed against your spot

“I know”he said kissing you until you came

Slipping his hands out your pants licking his fingers he hummed as he sucked them clean

“You taste good” he said

“ I’ll be back” he said making his way to the bathroom

He finally came back you wasted no time flipping him over now on top of him you kissed him your hands roamed his around his body but before you could continue he stopped you for a second looking into your eyes you smiled at him

“I know you don’t want me to do this but….”

“Yeah but what??” You said your smiled faded getting off of him

“I’m sorry y/n but I have to do this” he said turning to you both laying on your side

“I knew you would still do it anyways”you rolled your eyes

“Well what did you expect”

“I expected you to not go through with it” you said

“What you thought just because you said we might be done that was gonna scare me” he snickered

“I’m not bluffing scalvo If you do this….” you said shaking your head

“I’m doing this whether you like it or not” he said looking at you

you knew you couldn’t trust him because no matter what you said or did he would’ve did what he wanted to do anyways

that’s just the part that hurt the most was knowing that he may not come back…

[slytherinshua]

COOKING WITH PRINCE

genre. fluff. crack. warnings. obv this wouldn't happen irl it's all just for fun <3 i tried to emulate prince's captions in his videos as best i could, as well as his overall vibe but i am just a new ghostie so sry if its a bit inaccurate :( pairing. prince x fem!reader. wc. 720. request. requested by @haecien, here: cooking w prince even if he doesn't get the recipe a/n. mwahaha so ofc i had to start writing for ghost9 babies someday and prince was a good place to start esp since his cooking videos are absolutely amazing (go show them a lot of love if you haven't already as well as prince's (and all of ghost9's) instagram!!!) and stan ghost9 obv

you didn’t plan on crashing your boyfriend’s solo baking fest in the practice room on a random tuesday afternoon

you weren’t even used to the prospect of your boyfriend cooking

for the years you’ve been dating Prince, you have done 100% of the baking in the relationship (though you had always urged him to try it out since it was fun)

ever since his videos have been doing better than anyone could have predicted, he’s been excited to make something with whatever he had on his hands

from the usual baking ingredients along with several very overripe bananas, you could easily tell what he was planning to bake today: banana bread, one of your favourites 

but also knowing your boyfriend, you knew things would probably turn into a disaster if he didn’t have a recipe

so naturally the first thing you asked was to see the recipe he was following

“I swear I had one somewhere when I was gathering the ingredients, but I literally can’t find it.”

he just brushed off your concerns about him possibly poisoning himself, you, and the ghost9 members

“The last time I baked, I didn’t even follow the recipe because it was in cups. It’ll be fine, baby, you just need to have faith.”

you were planning to leave and let him film in peace, but your boyfriend was persistent that you stay especially because he was making one of your favourite baked goods

you relented easily, really it was hard to say no to him, plus the prospect of baking together seemed kind of fun!

more like a chaotic disaster…

most of it was spent playfully arguing over how much of each ingredient to put in

Prince seemed insistent that you should remember exactly how much of every ingredient for him to measure down to the gram

obviously, you didn't, and eventually you stopped trying to help completely and just let him do his thing

though you did stay behind him to supervise, and your hands were visible in the final video messing with his hair and occasionally giving him a loving slap tap on the cheek when he messed something up

once the banana bread was finally in the oven, the two of you joked about what the voiceover should be

you didn't have the highest expectations for how it tasted, but you knew it would at least be pretty good

all the things your boyfriend had cooked in the past had been decently delicious

it turned out pretty well, and you were happy you were there to annoy him help him with it

bonus: what I think the voiceover would be like

welcome back to cooking in the practice room 🧑‍🍳 until I get busted by my manager 🚨👮 today we have a very special guest joining us 👀🥁✨my girlfriend✨ that’s right 😍 us idols 🧑‍🎤🎤 are actually in relationships 😘 despite what most people want to believe! tbh my girlfriend was not 🙅‍♂️ supposed to be joining me today 😔 but we’re making banana bread 🍌🍞 which happens to be her favourite 😍‼️ so I just had to let her join 🤷‍♂️ as you probably know if you watched my chocolate stuffed coffee bun 🍫☕ video, I don’t bake… but my girlfriend does 🎉 I had a recipe for this, but I think peter got hungry 😋 and ate it or something, so no recipe 📄🚫 but again, at least I have my girlfriend 💃 so it should be fine, right? she’s made this hundreds 👩‍🏫 of times 🧑‍🍳🍞 (she’s literally a minion guys idk why she loves bananas so much 🍌⁉️) but despite that she is still somehow clueless 🤓 as to how much flour I should be measuring 😍 but it’s fine 👌 we just dumped sugar 🍭 flour ❕ butter 🧈 bananas 🍌 eggs 🥚 and baking powder into a bowl 🥣 and hoped that they would magically ✨🧙 turn into banana bread 🤔 and guess what 🧐 they did ✨😍 I also added chocolate 🍫 because my girlfriend materialized it out of nowhere 💁‍♀️🍫 I have no one but my girlfriend to thank 😚 for distracting me by pulling on my hair 💆‍♂️ and telling me I was doing it wrong every 2 minutes 😘 but jokes 👎 on her because this banana bread was delicious even without a recipe 😏 10/10 would bake again 🥸

↳ ghost9 taglist: @haecien,, @eternalgyu,, @weird-bookworm,,

[dcdreamblog]

@thrakaboom

US: Considering "Sam" is not my surname, and that the idea of me having a surname is pretty much moot, Uncle Sam is fine. Me: It is a bit strange that your only real name at this point contains a familial title. US: I would like to remind the good people that I did not come up with it. The name "Uncle Sam" as a title for the American idea was, of course, made up by you folks out there. Not you specifically but you know what I mean. Me: In many contemporary documents, many of your comrades just call you "Sam" US: Oh they've all called me worse than that, I'm sure of it. Sandra Knight was the one who got attached to calling me an old Billy Goat. Me: Privileges of comradery? US: Privileges of that woman being stubborn enough to stop a steam train with her forehead.

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US: Changing with the American ideal is ALL I do. The only reason I've stuck with this image for so long is because my superhero work stuck me in it in a lot of minds. Me: You said something about that earlier. About people perceiving you as the superhero named Uncle Sam when they're aware of you. US: Right. An object changed by observation I suppose. When I'm milling about on my lonesome, on the off days I end up with free time, I've found I'm changing a lot these days. Me: In what ways, if you don't mind doxxing yourself. US: I find myself coming out Black, female, latin, Asian, androgynous, piercings, hairstyles. Everything about the changing face of America getting tossed in a blender. It's interesting to see. Me: And these changes just...happen? US: It's natural when I'm not focusing on it. When I'm taking a mosey down in San Francisco, sitting by the shore in Boston, napping in the shade in Austin. When I'm not being observed I turn into all kinds of mosaics of the American image. Mentally? Who could say, we all feel the like the same mind as we go along, don't we? Me: Paradox of Continuity, something like that.

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US: Every time I think I've found one, it gets busted when I really need it. Me: Well your size changing, like all your powers, is tied directly to the "American spirit" isn't it? US: *He nods* On the money. The more of that spirit I'm feeling, the taller and stronger I can get. The basic, workaday heights I use are my regular 6'5", then around 8-10' for general scrapping, and 2-5 stories when I really wanna cause some damages. Me: You've done much greater than that on numerous occasions. US: When called on. More than once in the war I had fighters zipping around my ears. One time I even had to sprout up high enough grab two ICBMs out of the air before they landed. I wouldn't do that twice. Me: Do you think that kind of power is harder to come by these days? US: No, not as much as you'd think. Even people who are fighting the power, as they like to call it, are doing so in my boots in one way or another. If I needed some emergency rations right now, I could make it happen.

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US: Not a cruel question at all. It's a question that would be on a lot of people's minds just thinking about me. Me: You've never shied away from America's past US: Nor will I. America, like any other nation on this Earth, has committed terrible crimes in its own interest or simply in its own imperfect nature. But while I make no defense for that, it's not who or what *I* am. Me: The American Ideal US: The first sound I ever heard was a shot around the world. But that was hazy, just floating about like smoke. The moment I remember becoming. Well, becoming is the best word for it, the words I heard were "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." Me: Imperfectly applied. US: To say the least! But those words are what I am. I gained power from Manifest Destiny in a roundabout sense but for every inch of newfound pride that pumped me up, one of those crimes would chop me back down that same inch. I'm more powerful now than I've ever been for that reason. Me: What do you mean? US: Well because those words are better applied now than they've ever been! And in 10 years, 20, 100 it'll be the same again, god willing. I didn't put a gun to anybody's head and make them do something. Every monstrous act was done in their own name, or the name of their own ideals. But more people in my America are freer now than they've ever been. That next upward step is the only way TO reconcile the past. We make our peace, we uplift the victims NOW, in the present, and we close the door on it ever happening again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

US: Yes but its not exactly a helpful skill Me: Not exactly on demand? US: If it was I would have donated a LOT more sports betting money to charity over the years. No I only get visions of national tragedy, and even then it tends to be in the measure of hours before it happens, sometimes less. Me: From description it sounds sound like a pleasant experience either. US: I would go back to drinking backwoods Kentucky moonshine from a still made out of a horse trough before I ever did it again.

[return-to-ravenbrooks]

Return to Ravenbrooks:

Biography

Entry 8

Name: Finch [REDACTED]

Date of Birth: 1996

Gender: F

Current Address: 910 Friendly Court

Height: 5'0

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Black

Key features: Dyed hair, grey pink lipgloss, lip piercing

Role: Scout

Abilities: Eyesight, accuracy, flexibility

Occupation: "Wouldn't you like to know"

Status: Fair

Biography:

"Dude!" Delroy jumped back.

"What the hell Nicky?!" Maritza was staring, dumbfounded. I let out a long 'impressed' whistle. He was already reeling from the impact before Aaron even hit the floor. I think he might've broken something.

"Mmmppphhhh- Holy aliens-" he exhaled through gritted teeth.

"Nice shot, first time throwing a punch?" I smirked.

"Not the time Finch." Trin shot me a glare, I don't know when she managed to learn such a mean look, but it always caught me off guard. I pursed my lips impatiently. Sure enough, he busted a knuckle and probably fractured something from the way he was now babying his hand. We couldn't find the will to care though, or at least were too busy recovering from the shock. "I thought you guys were best friends?"

Nicky didn't respond, but the two exchanged a look. God I hate when they do that. Looks like that are how we got here in the first place.

"Delroy, do you have any rope on you?" She asked. Delroy looked completely off put by this, but there was that look again.

"What kind?"

"What're you got?"

I leaned my head back and sighed, rubbing my forehead. "Please tell me we're not doing what I think we're doing..." I felt Maritza's arm rest on my shoulder.

"No way, we're 'just taking a quick look' remember?" She smirked and stifling the laugh it gave me was difficult at best. Jabbing her however, was much easier.

"I mean, we were going to question him anyways- eventually. Right?" Enzo tried to reason while helping lift Aaron.

I don't know why I of all of us was given the camera for this. Or why we needed a camera for it. I mean sure we took pictures all the time while investigating but this felt- creepy.

"This is like CIA kinda shit guys."

"He'll be fine. He can deal with a little interrogation after what he did." Nicky shook his head. He's still nursing his hand, even in its loose bandage.

I don't blame Aaron for his freak-out when he wakes up. I suppose being tied to a chair in your kitchen while the kid who tried to break your face stands over you.

"Nicky?" What the hell?" He looked around frantically. Or as much as possible when someone grabs your face. It's borderline weird how grabby he got. Checking his nostrils, the underside of his chin, his cheeks, inside his ears, pupils. Finally when he was done looking for- whatever that was he took a step back and cupped his hands over his face.

"Why couldn't you have just been a changeling or something?!" He yelled into his hands.

"Wha- did you actually punch me over more alien nonsense?!" He wiggled under the knots. Nicky rubbed his temples and paced heavily.

"No! But- You're not supposed to be here! You're dead!" He stopped to gesture towards him. Maybe he thought it would make him not be here. "I mean- they looked through the whole house! The town! You were just gone!"

Aaron's face scrunched, a mix of pain, and what I could only assume was embarrassed regret. Like a dog caught chewing the remote.

"Besides!" He rubbed his bangs back, "You must be dead! I can't imagine any other reason that you'd go 12 years without calling or sending a letter or just doing, I dunno, anything to tell your best friend you're not dead!" He threw his hands in the air, and like a cue, Aaron's expression worsened.

"Look I wanted to, I really did just-"

"Just what Aaron? You can go get a fancy degree and put your life together so perfectly, but you can't bother to find a way to tell me you were okay? I went nuts trying to find you! I went through school a laughing stock because no one believed me that you needed help!"

"And because you broke your window with a chair and acted like a total asylum patient," I added. His shoulder's scrunched, and I could almost feel his want to turn his scolding to me next. But he stayed facing Aaron. Clearly, this was more intense than I'd realized. And, suddenly holding the camera didn't seem so bad. Wish I had popcorn, though.

"I just- ugh. Aliens, forgive me..." he buried his face in his hands again, dragging them slowly down his cheeks. "I would've been fine if you simply really never wanted to see me again, but I needed something! I was so sure that- that you were just waiting for me to stop messing around and do what I was supposed to!"

"Nick, I-" Aaron paused, shifting under his ropes again. "For god's sake, can you guys untie me?!"

"No, you had a strong dead arm when we were kids. I'm not testing your shots now that you're-" Nicky gestured madly at him again. "I dunno, a football player? A wrestler?"

"An architect."

"Seriously?" He looked him over several times. "Whatever, point is, I'm not testing the structural integrity of my bones today"

"Any more than you already have," I added. This time, he did look back, I met his eyes with a flashing grin.

"I'm not going to punch you," Aaron promised with a sigh, letting his head drop. The way his hair fell around his face, I almost would've thrown model in with that list of job guesses.

Nicky folded his arms, jerking his head away in a "hmph." Aaron accepted this solid, 'no' with another sigh.

"Look, I couldn't say anything because I-" he paused and grumbled. "I was busy, okay?"

Nicky looked ready to try and break his other hand. Instead, he just ran it through his bangs again. "Busy... right. Right... well, am I going to meet the wife 'n kids?"

Aaron choked on the air, "What?!"

"Well I can only assume a perfect family came with your busy-ness"

"Dude- Gross! No!" He spat the words like he was still a middle schooler. Ready to talk about how kissing girls gave you cooties. Nicky chorted, stifling giggles, which slowly turned to laughter.

"Yeah, right, sorry. You probably couldn't even manage to kiss a girl"

"I could too!" Aaron started to laugh as well. "Dude, shut up! Stop laughing!"

"You stop! I'm pissed at you!" There's something about watching two grown men giggling uncontrollably that's just, boring.

I stopped the recording, "Are you two gonna keep at this for much longer?" The louder laughter occasionally intertwined with 'dude' drowned out my question almost entirely. "...Whatever. Have fun weirdos."

I'd be willing to bet good money they didn't even hear the door shut behind me.

[venturelovebot]

Like I stated before: I'm full of butter chicken and feeling very sentimental. As a result, this tiny piece got written. It's just a short little fic about them fixing your torn stuffed animal friend!

The nicknames I use imply that you're feminine presenting, but you can change them if you'd like! There's no other indications other than that.

No warnings, except a mention of needles.

"[Y/N]–" Sloan's voice is comforting. "It's okay if you need to cry."

A hand lovingly pats your head as you continue to sniffle and wipe your eyes with your oversized sleeves. You didn't want to show your full raw emotions to them, but it seems that they always know when something's off and come to the rescue anyway. Every inhale is tainted with hitches on your breath, every exhale full of sobs and dismay. Upset is scrawled all across your delicate face as you hold back the worst of it with crumbling stability. Their tattooed arms wrap affectionately around your midsection and pull you into their lap for even more comfort.

"Princesa." They state. "I'm here."

You nestle into their neck and let more tears soak into their tank top. Your own arms now firmly latch around their neck as they begin to softly rock you back and forth to soothe the oncoming storm. The torn stuffed animal litters cotton all across the floor– you're not entirely sure how it even happened. It was fine when you went to bed last night. This morning it was abysmally mangled beyond comprehension.

"You did such a good job loving and taking care of him." They assure you. "He's not mad or upset that he's torn."

You sniffle one more time.

"He's not?" You ask.

They shake their head.

"No, patita. He can be fixed!" They add.

Sloan reaches out for your torn stuffed animal and watches as it sadly flops over with a busted neck. The outcome looks dreary– but the good news is that they do, in fact, remember how to sew after all these years. The next thing they do is rifle around various living room drawers until they find what they're looking for: the sewing kit. Then, they disappear around the corner into the closet for a minute or two digging around a little more before exiting with a package of extra stuffing. Everything was coming together in the end.

"I knew this would come in handy someday!" They grin.

They sit down on the couch to begin working their fingers between the needle and the fabric of your stuffed animal.

"When did you learn how to sew?" You wonder, nudging up against their leg.

"I can't tell you how many times I've had to fix my own clothing because mi mama got tired of doing it!" They laugh.

You continue drying off your precious face for a while longer as they weave the life back into your stuffed friend. Every minute that ticks by the anxiety lessens as its appearance improves. More white cotton stuffing is stored inside as they work to mend the artificial wound created from last night. Stitch after stitch after stitch is tightly shut and tied off before the last one is finally done. Finally, you are handed your friend once more and reunited with it in one whole piece.

"There we are!" Sloan exclaims. "All done!"

You give your inanimate friend the biggest hug it's ever received. Their hand once again comes down to lightly pet the top of your head, smoothing down your hair with every gentle caress. Sparkling lights fill your eyes as you look up at your beloved with the upmost appreciation.

"Thank you, dearest." You thank them with upmost gratitude.

"'Twas nothing, mi pollita." They graciously accept your kind words.

"You saved the day!" You correct them.

You plop down on the couch next to them as they finish cleaning up the sewing kit and placing it back into its proper place. Your face presses up against their chest as you nestle into their fit form, warmth radiating off of them like a personal heater. They laugh as you nuzzle their neck and bury yourself in their figure, once more wrapping their toned arms around you and pulling you close alongside your stuffed animal.

"Alright, alright!" They cry out from your affection. "I don't doubt you!"

You fall on top of them and they support your body with ease. A hand serenely rubs your back in tiny circles as you relax further and further into them. The flush in your face is gone; your pretty eyes now white instead of puffy and red.

"Aye– you're a good baby, mi princesa. Let me get you some juice and a snack after all that crying." They offer.

You shoot up on the spot almost immediately and it causes a laugh to stir from their chest.

"Alright! Let's get you fed, then." They add.

[prismatoxic]

talking about my art journey as of late, or more specifically how relying on 3d models actually worked out in my favor

so back in 2023, i started relying on 3d models for poses and proportions. i hated how my art looked and i was frustrated with trying to put something together, taking forever on it, and having it just turn out like ass in the end. the 3d models removed a ton of guesswork from the process and helped me focus on the things i was good at while gently training skills i was less capable of. i'd already been using 3d models sporadically before then, but it was around when i started drawing nate and ken together that i switched to using them all the time.

it's hard to find comparisons around the right timeframe... but here's a nate drawing (with a friend's oc) i did just before i made the switch, when art was so frustrating for me that i wasn't fully lining or rendering anymore, and then the first nateken i ever did, which was when i started using the models in earnest.

it gave me my confidence back. i drew nateken CONSTANTLY, and they overtook my present fandom interest (mgs) before too long.

i did lose some things, though... fluidity, namely. and i've spent a lot of time trying to make my art feel dynamic, make it flow even with the models underneath, but even when other people can't tell, i can. it's been bothering me for a long time. my art is better now, yes, but cursory attempts to not use 3d models were all the more devastating for it. i was scared. i'd grown too reliant.

i tried a handful of times to sketch simple things without models and every time i hated it so bad that i didn't finish it. the past year, time and time again, i've found the prospect of drawing freehand far too daunting to attempt.

some jokey sketches of animal characters came out recently-ish that read fine, and that was good, but... i knew the humans and humanoids i draw all the time were still beyond me.

this anniversary drawing for me and devot back in the summer made me think... maybe... just maybe... i might actually have some skill in conveying what i want in simple shapes while freehanding. not what i'd like to do in full, but i love these little doodles. it was a start. (the main part was in fact based on models.)

more recently, this joke comic i did based on something max said gave me a similar feeling. like yeah it's a sketchy mess, but it does the job. it's silly. you know what you're looking at.

a few weeks ago, i had a silly malix idea that i didn't want to bust out the models for. so i made a loose freehand sketch. and... it seemed okay. so i refined it. and honestly? i really like how it came out.

it has that fluid charm i always wanted my doodles to have. i started to wonder... has this year+ of using the models actually helped me improve my sense of anatomy and proportions? did i actually get something out of this?

the answer might be yes. here's all the things i freehanded recently:

aside from the lineless one, these were all just quick silly things, and ultimately i still intend to use the 3d models for "serious" work or things i just want to make sure have a certain refined quality to them.

idk, i'm just... excited? happy? i thought my skill to just sketch something and refine it all by myself had surely atrophied. i thought my reliance on 3d models had ruined my art potential. turns out it's just been training wheels and i'm actually doing kind of okay taking them off sometimes.

i'll keep making silly simple things this way for a while. the lineless damien one was me having a bad night and needing a major distraction, and it served its purpose alright. i'm just happy i was able to actually finish it. i don't even hate it!

i guess this is me saying, yeah, it's fine to use tools and shortcuts. i know the fear of "cheating" but here i am, having done this for ages, and i'm doing better for it. i will say i think a lot of my ability to learn has been my willingness to compensate for what the 3d models can't do (like joints and muscles) and tweak things once those layers are hidden, but i've still been relying heavily on these shortcuts. it's just nice to realize it wasn't all a waste, in a skill sense.

[dmwrites]

“Hey.”

“Evil, I have to tell you some bad news…” Impulse ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “We lost… the others. We went to do that backrooms job you were telling us about and… the gang all died. Except for me. I don’t know how I got away with my life, but…”

EvilNotion looked up from his computer. “I have a haunted house I need you to check out. I was hoping there would be more of you alive, but… you seem like a main character, plot armor kind of guy. You’ll be fine. Probably.” He slid a file across the desk towards Impulse.

“I- what? Did you hear me? I said they died!” Impulse said in confusion. “Skizz and… Tango and Joker.” he kind of coughed out that last part- technically, Grian and Scar weren’t employed by EvilNotion Paranormal Investigators Company, but Tango and Joker had to go out of town, and Grian and Scar had asked to come along, and they all thought it was going to be such an easy job…

“Yeah, I heard you. But ghosts won’t bust themselves- ha, get it, bust, because cu- you get it, I know you do. But regardless, I still have this job, and someone has to do it. So go. I’ll send the bodies and condolences to the families- do you have the bodies?” Evil looked over Impulse, like he had the head of Skizz in his pocket or something.

“Uh, no, unfortunately not, they were kind of… in pieces.” Impulse said awkwardly.

“Just condolences then.” Evil muttered. “Okay, so the truck’s all loaded up- see you later.” He looked back at his computer, the conversation clearly over.

Impulse stared at Evil in confusion. “No- Evil, I don’t know if you’re understanding me. It’s just… me… just me left here. We need to mourn! We need to… I dunno, plan funerals. And block Skizz and Joker and Tango’s numbers just in case a telemarketer tries to take it over or something, I dunno.”

Evil looked back up from his computer reluctantly, wearily, like he was the victim in this conversation. “No, I get that they’re dead, man. But work’s still gotta get done. I already booked this job while you guys were gone. I’ll hire some new guys, it’ll be fine. It can’t be too hard to find a couple of idiots with nouns and verbs for names. Get going, now, we’ll discuss things when you get back.”

——

It felt weird to be preparing to go into a haunted location alone, with no chatter or jokes slung about the truck. But Impulse had always been pretty competent at this whole ghost-hunting thing, and the motions were easy to him. He figured he should be mourning right now, but frankly he was still baffled by Evil’s indifference to the whole situation. Maybe he wasn’t such a great boss after all. They did always have a lot of pizza parties, but Impulse was beginning to wonder if that was worth not having healthcare. And weird indifference to employees dying, apparently.

But, regardless of the thoughts in his head, Impulse found himself at a small little woodland cottage that claimed to have a “malicious ghost” haunting it, just as the sun set.

“Right.” Impulse muttered, scanning through the file. “Ghost name… Vincent Goldstein. Easy, simple, okay.” He grabbed some equipment, as well as the keys to the house and headed outside. Almost immediately, he almost slipped on a half-drank can of soda, which was laying on its side and actively spilling out of the can.

“Wha- hello?” Impulse looked all around, the deepening shadows playing tricks with his mind, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. No one seemed to be around. “That’s… odd.”

Impulse went into the house, listening carefully at the doorstep for any footsteps or odd noises. There was nothing, so he continued inside, shining his flashlight around and making mental notes of anything that seemed odd. It wasn’t too long before he discovered an area that seemed colder and mistier then the rest of the house. He would normally have relied more on his EMF reader, but the thing seemed to have broken at some point, stuck on EMF five and making that annoying beeping noise. Either way, Impulse trusted his own capabilities enough to garner a guess that this might be the spot of the haunting problems, so he went to go get a camera and set up a few things. There were some items in his way as he went back outside, like a mug and a hammer, so he marked it down in his notes as a sign of paranormal activity. There was also a monkey’s paw in a desk drawer that he gave a wide berth to as soon as he saw it- he did not need such trouble on this mission, and plus, he didn’t have anyone to bother with it besides himself.

The monkey’s paw bothered him- it reminded him of his lost friends. He didn’t like the quiet they’d left behind, that’s for sure. Usually he had Skizz saying some silly little thing, Joker and Tango arguing, Grian singing, or Scar being scared down the radio. He tried to push down those feelings again, focus on his work. After, like Evil said, he could process all of this. But he had to do his work first.

Back in the house again, Impulse noticed a few more misplaced items, and wondered to himself if he’d missed a haunting. He was just setting up the camera when there was a sudden chill on his arm, like something ice-cold was touching him. Impulse looked all around. There was nothing there, but he was starting to hear what was either the wind or whispers. He stayed still, camera in hand, straining to listen-

Impulse’s phone suddenly rang, like a gunshot in the silence. Impulse screamed, both feet leaving the ground as he jumped, and dropping the camera he was holding. He scrambled for his cell phone and answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Impy. So I was thinking about Skizz’s gravestone. Something like ‘he lived how he died: screaming. Also-“

“EVIL!” Impulse shouted, leaning against a chest of drawers weakly. “I am in the haunted house right now, you can’t just call a man out of the blue like that- I dropped my camera! Dang it!”

Evil clicked his tongue. “Does it sound like I care? Anyway, I was looking at the, uh, roster of who went on that backrooms mission… who are Grian and Scar? Last time I checked, Tango and Joker were not spelled that way.”

“I- uh- oh no, I think the ghost is messing with the cell phone service!” Impulse made some whooshing and static noises into the receiver. “Gotta go, see you later!” He hung up. “Yikes.” He said to the empty room.

He finished setting up the camera with no more distractions, although he was distressed to find the camera lens cracked right down the middle. He headed back to the truck and looked at the camera- it was placed great, but there was another mug covering up most of the lens.

“Darn it!” Impulse cursed, then paused. He’d done a lot of jobs, knew a thing or two about ghosts… he’d never seen a paranormal entity be purposeful in throwing household items around. Entities weren’t ever so purposefully annoying, just destructive.

Something was brewing in Impulse’s head, a thought he dare not get too excited about yet. He grabbed a spirit box and dashed back into the house. He stood, not in the hallway, but the middle of the living room and turned on the box.

“Is anyone there?” He asked, eyes fixed on the box. For a moment, there was the familiar heavy static. And then, clear as day-

“Dippledop?”

“SKIZZ!” Impulse shouted, almost dropping the spirit box. “Is that you?”

“Hey homie-buddy! It is me!”

“I’m here too, Impulse!”

“Where are youuuuu!”

“Scar? Grian? Oh my god!” Impulse sat down hard on the couch, holding onto the spirit box like it was the only thing in the world. “You’re here! You’re all ghosts?”

“Yeah, buddy!” Skizz said.

“We’ve been following you since we died in those backrooms.” Grian said.

“You scratch your butt a lot when you think no one’s noticing.” Scar remarked.

“Scar!” Grian chided him while Skizz laughed. Impulse laughed too.

“So, okay, you’re dead? All of you? And you’re all ghosts… man, I missed hearing your voices so much.” Impulse felt a tear sliding down his face. “I miss you.”

“We miss you too, buddy”. Skizz said, and he felt that cold sensation on his shoulder. They must be standing around him, but he still couldn’t see a thing.

“How- what can I do? How can I help you guys?” Impulse asked.

“We’re dead, Impy. You can’t help us.” Grian said.

“We just wanted to say that we’re here with you.” Scar chimed in.

“I wish I could save you.” Impulse sniffed and wiped his eyes. “I wish… oh.” He went silent, the only noise coming from the static of the radio. “I know what I have to do.” He stood up and walked over to the desk nearby.

“What’s he doing?”

“Impulse?”

“Woah, woah, Impulse, hang on, hang on, let’s t-”

Impulse shut off the spirit box and set it down on the desktop. He opened the drawer he’d opened before, and there it was, waiting for him with three fingers raised.

Impulse took the monkey paw in his hand and laughed, although it sounded hollow. He took a deep breath, and then another. His heart was beating so fast in his chest, but he savored the feeling, savored every sensation he could possibly have in this moment. Then, he licked his lips.

“I wish for life.”

Gashes appeared on his body at once, bloody and deep.

“I wish for life.”

Across his back and arms, he could feel gouges in his skin, his muscle.

“I wish for life.”

He gasped out one final time, and blood poured from his mouth. He fell to his knees, choking and coughing. He felt a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, and looked up to three figures looking down at him. He smiled, something desperate and sad and happy all at the same time.

He collapsed to the ground, dead, just as his cell phone started to ring. Skizz reached down, blood dripping from his fingertips and tap-tap-tapping onto the phone screen, and picked it up.

“Impulse, it’s Evil again, do you care to explain why the fuck Tango just called me, sounding very much alive, and asked when the next ghost hunting job was? Did you seriously, actually have randos working the fucking job with you? Impulse? Impulse, answer me god damn it!”

“Impulse can’t come to the phone right now, he’s a bit of a sacrificial lamb. Oh, and it’s an shade, by the way.” Skizz rasped down the line, and hung up.

——

You may be asking, why EvilNotion? Well, this whole fic spawned from Impulse’s solo phasmo stream a little while ago, where he was waiting for the spirit to appear and Evil kept sending donos to scare him. That’s what the phone scene came from, and the rest of the fic followed from there. I feel bad that I made him a bad boss, but it did make it funnier lol

[cinemaocd]

The Mirror and the Light stream of concsciousness ramble on Wreckage....GO!

So the opening works really works for me I think the new footage is seamless and even the aging works because the tone shift is dramatic at the end of season one...the lighting the excessively bright lighting in the wedding scene and I'm wondering dear god Peter I hope you haven't taken to heart all our bitching about the brightness levels in season one??? Surely this is an aesthetic/artistic choice and then I remember that it matches the discordantly sunny scene at the end of season one when Henry embraces cromwell after Anne is killed. I love that Rafe and Crom just exchange one word "done" and Rafe wishing it weren't bloody and being a tad accusatory and I remember those scenes in the book when Anne flirted with Rafe in order to tease him ...So much of the dialog is very um not in the book but I like the ax quote it probably has a precedent. Love that we are diving straight into the plot and Call me is a different person but the same clothes and the dialog has to be too on the nose to help newcomers, which is a choice and I guess I'm fine with it because it's ep one. Still. Keep up people. The ambiguity continues when we don't actually know what the letter is though its implied its from Mary and if so in the next scene Crom fully lies to the king's face about it. Love the lightning in the tower scene with Chapuy, kinda wanted it to be a folly outside under the open sky like in the book but I guess they couldn't just conjure up a sunny day. the hilarious chapuy cromwell frenemy banter continues...OMG seeing Richard, even from behind I knew it was him and he looks more like historical Crom every minute and is probably closer to his age than mark but oh look Crom's wee knife. I love that we are getting bad ass crom and his knives and his bully boy moves with the poles and calling himself a dog (*dies) and especially the scene in the privy chamber when he practically tackles fitz...The scene with mary was letter perfect to the book but somehow missed the tone of the book which was funny but also tragic...and the mouse bones embrace was entirely great and lilith lesser is KILLING it and she'll pray for him and dear god he needs it...oh the cap thing was sexy when it should have been awkward but I forgive because when they are busted by lady shelton and she says "unhand the lord privy seal" it kills me...love crom and lady shelton they are another great pair of flirts. Oh and then the triumph of the signing and lording it over the other lords and norfolk having to eat shit was golden. Henry gets scarier/weirder in every scene and I love it. Margaret Douglas making the most of her two lines and being HBIC throughout was golden: FORESHADOWING. Jane continuing to be awkward as well as flirtatious with cromwell...also love the scene where they walked through a dark hallway and he leads her into the light of the dance...the light of Henry's love. Oh and the lovely reunion between Mary and her father only marred by the weirdness of Henry saying "you've loved and done as much for her as my kin" and then qualifying it...TACKY, but then jovial crom at the cheerless picnic with his boys where he is telling them all smiles about the white rose promise to Katharine and they all total bitches about it except Richard. I love you Richard. I don't remember Ghost!Wolsey having this many lines in the book but I can never get enough JP in a red Cardinal's gown so I don't care. Cromwell's orange jacket is amazing but I think Mark is actually having some kind of asthma attack in some scenes because he's wheezy, maybe they should build a fan into his suit. Same thing with Damien, though I think his breathlessness might be character work as Henry is getting progressively less fit as it goes on.

[creepedverse]

What is up with the mafia drawings from magma 👁👁🗣 may we know more

OK CUZ I WAS THE ONE WHO DREW THEM... it happened cuz i made everyone watch The Godfather with me cuz i had to write an essay on it. LMFAOOOOOOO

we're working on more lore for it but its just a CRV AU !!! there are two families, one run by bonnies grandparents and one run by slenderman. ty for asking meat >.o -sucker

bonnie's role is... she's supposed to be entirely uninvolved with the mafia, her grandparents try VERY hard to keep her away from that life, but she accidentally got tangled up in debt with the other family and is trying very hard to put on a brave face.

Mafia au Dia is a Capo within the Slender family. She’d also be the communications person. She makes connections for the family. Very friendly but scary person. Think Shinobu from Demon Slayer. She starts off very nice and sweet but lives life like she’s playing chess. She thinks everything 10 steps in advance. Plus she’s skilled in guns and knives although she prefers knives and can easily handle gore and blood… she’s the go to person for when the family need to extract info from a particular person who’s very tight lipped. She’s fine w killing and will actively find out other families dirty secrets as a way to blackmail them into not doing anything to the family she’s apart of.

Nico's slender's second in command, his right hand girl, his underboss. She gives orders to the rest of the family, they go from slender directly to her, then to the rest of the family on a need to know basis. She doesn't get her own hands dirty unless it's necessary, delegates most of the violence to Tommie or Tali. But she's brutal, almost inhumanly cruel. Has given the order for countless hits, mass killings, poisoned entire weddings, eradicated families, widows, orphans, as she sees fit. All to further the interests of the family.

Tobin works as a capo for Bonnie's grandparents mafia family. He's mainly involved in arms and narcotics dealing, and mostly hangs around the chop shop fixing up busted cars when hes not making deals. Tobin is fiercely loyal, and has pretty much no moral boundaries so he's the one people go to when they need dirty work done, like putting hits on people, debt collecting, protection, etc. He's very good with guns, is a sharp shooter, but he's a troublemaker who tends to push limits too far

Tali works as an assassin for Slenders mafia family. She doesn't have any friends or connections to people, and she likes to keep it that way. She does the job, gets her pay, and isn't seen again. Tali is very good at what she does, and she's familiar with all sorts of knives and poisons. She's to the point, and a nasty bitch who doesn't take disrespect from anyone. Mostly hangs around the bar or in casinos, making sure that nobody steps out of line, or that her target doesn't go out of sight.

A side plot is that Tali and Tobin, being from different crime families, are both given a job to kill each other. Its like a game of cat and mouse between them. Yet despite being some of the best hitters out there, the two can't seem to get the job done

I haven't put too much thought about it, other than Shannon being some kind of Boss or at least high up position would be funny as hell, imagine you're being told you're meeting the boss of a mafia and its this shaking girl that just stares at you.

[excalculus]

I've been told I should in fact flame Pokémon characters for PPE violations, so let's go.

Specifically I'll stick to the professors and use their appearance from the main game they first appeared in, because I've played almost all of those. Most if not all of them are implied to be biologists or bio-adjacent. I've done my time in academia on top of my current job still being in bio labwork so I know how this is supposed to go.

As for criteria, let's say basic bench science PPE standards (close-toed shoes, long pants, and no long dangling hair or accessories), and in the interest of fairness I'll only go after people who are at least attempting to dress for lab by wearing a lab coat or other obvious PPE item. I also won't worry about things that can be fixed up in a minute or two before going into the lab itself, like buttoning up the lab coat, putting on gloves, etc. Honestly wearing a lab coat outside the lab isn't really supposed to happen, but it's not the end of the world and also if I stuck to that I'd have to cancel everyone.

(Am I being a horrible pedant? Maybe, but I've also never had to fill out lab accident paperwork, so I think I'm still winning.)

Oak

This is normal except for his shoes looking alarmingly like slippers. I suspect that's an issue with this specific piece of art though, since later versions do clearly show normal shoes. Do not wear slippers in lab.

Elm

Really short labcoat, possibly just a weird art choice? Also more or less normal. Looks amusingly like my cell bio professor if you squint a little.

Birch

If this is supposed to be for lab you need long pants, and something that isn't sandals/flip flops. If this is supposed to be for the field, better shoes and pants are probably still a good idea, and the lab coat is useless - it can't protect you from basically anything out there, and if you're worried about contaminating the environment it's also woefully inadequate. To be honest though, the fact that he couldn't deal with a level 2 Zigzagoon makes me think he isn't a field biologist at all. I've met those people at conferences and they'll casually do things like run back towards a probable tornado when their data or equipment is on the line. I heard two (2) angry jaguar stories at the same dinner and in both cases the reaction was basically "If I die, I die". In conclusion I think this is a really bad lab outfit and not a kind of suspect fieldwork outfit, and the only thing I can say in its defense is that I did in fact see someone try to do cell culture while wearing shorts back when I was in SoCal. More accurately, I heard him getting busted by the lab manager from the other side of the lab.

Rowan

Not dressed for lab at all, so no comment. Looks like a math professor.

Juniper

The miniskirt is very bad. Credit where credit is due though, good job on the comfortable nonslip footwear - you'd be surprised how easy it is to go flying if someone's gotten a bit of water on the floor. I've also decided at this point that I'm not going to worry about interesting style/art choices on the lab coats themselves, like whatever is up with that collar.

Sycamore

Roll down your coat sleeves before you go in and this is fine. On a real person I'd say that length of hair likely needs to be secured somehow, but if we assume it stays in position via anime physics instead of falling into things we can ignore that.

Kukui

No shirt, short pants, open shoes, no science. +1 for safety glasses -1000 for everything else. EH&S is coming for your ass.

Magnolia

Some places are okay with a long skirt or dress instead of pants, given that the main idea there is to not have exposed skin that can either get hit by a chemical spill/dropped object or shed contaminants. The dress, shoes, and no socks combo here is... maybe not the greatest? However if I remember right she's basically retired when we see her in game, so it may not be an issue if she's not doing lab work anymore.

Turo

I hate to say it, but technically this passes. The only immediate issue I see is that in the rare case that you do spill something bad on yourself you need to yeet both your coat and any affected item of clothing as fast as you can, which might be challenging with the space onesie. If it's impermeable to whatever got spilled that's theoretically okay, but I've seen the chemical compatibility charts. Nothing is immune to all possible spills even if you stay away from the nasty shit the chemists have.

Sada

[EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER]

[nfumbewalk]

About Ritual With Muertos

Rodolfo's vessel. 💀

There's one practice I'd like to note first because it is not the best. Most muertos don't like it. It has to do with libations. Do not pour into a dish on the floor or sprinkle on the floor. Why? Some muertos think its demeaning and they think you are treating them like an animal. I got this from my muerto, Rodolfo, who felt way disrespected. I completely stopped that practice, except when I studied Ifá and Yoruba and for ancestors its required. Now if you want to do libations, keep them on your altar. This is just for muertos.

Orishas and other deities are fine with libations poured on the floor or ground outside. The only thing that's okay with muertos is the liquor offerings at their graves when you collect dirt or an actual muerto from the graveyard. Copious amounts of water on the muerto shrine is good, just do not pour on the ground or the floor.

Pouring a lot of liquid (any) on a grave is disrespectful, so do not do this either. The 1/2 oz of liquor is enough and should be poured on the left side of the tombstone. The left side is receptive, so emotions, psychic sensitivity and the like are open to the muerto and you can feel them better. As well as them feeling you better. It shows your true intentions. The right side is the active or positive principle activates the muerto and makes them want to work. But sometimes the muerto needs reminding if you don't work with them often.

Muerteria requires daily practice. Even if you don't have a muerto yet, simple things can be done. I will outline what students can do easily when learning Muerteria. And none of it has to with "vulture culture," hoarding animal bones for so called "art," doing shadow work, going to liminal spaces because in Muerteria - you are always in a liminal place or at liminal time. The muertos are always present.

One thing - I keep seeing stuff about a ersatz "guardian" in graveyards. Dunno, never sensed one, anywhere. I have a lot of graveyard work behind my belt. There is the 💖 heart💖 of the graveyard. The only guardians are the muertos that act as sentinels. There is no strange "keeper." Sorry, I know this busts up ppls romantic thoughts about the muertos and death. But we're not in the Victorian days anymore. Get real.

Do I know a lot about the muertos? Yes. I'm well connected. I learned a lot from Palo and the rest is through direct experience. Channeling is now challenging because of fraud. Etsy, Tik Tok, tumblr, and YouTube are all rife with fakery. Makes real ppl with real gifts frustrated beyond belief. I don't understand how places like Etsy let this unethical behavior happen. But ppl can easily be fooled and that's why these frauds exist. As long as customers give a five star ***** review, everything is just fine!

I don't get a lot of reviews but I get a lot of personal messages with praise about many things. Accuracy is the top, prediction is up there too. Past information and advice from muertos are also mentioned to me. I just channel my information and share. But now, channeling doesn't look good. There are too many fakes out there. Makes my job look totally invalid.

There is so much clap trap with these modern witchy folks. I'm not one to stand it. Anyone comes to me, prepare to have your foundation checked! Yes, I'm that kind of person. I won't just stand by and let anyone spew bullshit. Not for long.

The things that I saw suggested for death witch's to do was so light and boringly pagan. It is the opposite of what I do. So much was missing from what these "death witches" are doing. Their "practice" is what I would call weak and very incomplete. Shallow. Very on the surface, nothing very deep or meaningful.

Muerteria is about a love of the muertos. That love is part of every thing. It brings a seriousness and a devotion to the muertos. If there is no love of the muertos, then there isn't a point to doing the practice. Ask yourself first, "Do I love the muertos?" "Can I practice this daily?" And Muerteria is not just about "death energy." It is a real connection to muertos.

And expect muertos to be at your house, watching you. No, they don't spy on you, but they see how you run things. They decide if they want to stay or not. It is best not to banish the muertos because then, they may all leave and that's lame.

If you do want to get rid of spirits, I suggest Espanta Muerto mixed with Heather flowers. Great mixture and the muertos hate it. Heather flower discourages spirits. Espanta Muerto frightens them and chases them away. Also add some salt. Salt is inimical to muertos.

Well, I have more to write on a different subject, so I'll finish up here.

M.M. <skullheartskull>

[kivaember]

👀!! but also, 🎯?

🎯 Have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? Care to share which?

Interestingly, not many people have made in depth guesses about major major plot points for APV! I am curious to hear people's theories though, if only to see if the foreshadowing I lay down it getting picked up...

Otherwise, on my P5 fic To Know Your Target, quite a few people correctly guessed major plot points, which I found really cool! I like it when people can sorta guess where the story is heading, bc it means I'm building it in a coherent kind of way. There's no better feeling for when you guess something will happen and it does!

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

Oh man I have so many!!! Okay, I have one wip that's like two thirds done... it's a oneshot (a big one rip) that's post LoR. It follows 621 hunting amongst the wreckage of the Xylem for Walter's AC, mostly because he's kinda lost on what to do with himself and also bc he wants to give it a funeral. Rusty, still horribly injured from his fall fromthe Xylem, hijacks an RLF MT and follows him there...

The fic's most about discussing 621 and Rusty's different approaches to grief and moving on and the like... and hilariously, as I was writing it, 621 ended up being a lot more emotionally intelligent than Rusty was...

Have a snippet :) as a treat!

He rounded a collapsed pile of masonry and shattered glass, some sort of towering roof structure that had caved in on the deck below. STALKER was standing in the near distance on the very edge of the deck, staring at the slowly approaching supercell. 

Carefully, Rusty piloted his MT to stand beside STALKER, and directed his visual sensors towards the incoming storm. His wipers were going a little crazy now, frantically whipping back and forth to try and outpace the heavy downpour. Beside him, STALKER moved fractionally, its half-rusted joints creaking loudly. 

“...hey,” Rusty murmured. “Aren’t you tired, Raven?”

STALKER’s head angled towards him. 

«Aren’t you tired, Rusty?»

Rusty felt his mouth quirk into a smile. A response, even if it was a mocking (he assumed). He’d take it. “Yeah. I’m pretty exhausted, to be honest.” 

«…then why are you here.»

“Like I said, I came to get you. You’ve been out here for two days. Uncle was getting worried.”

Raven took his time in replying and Rusty patiently waited, ignoring the various aches and pains lancing through his body like razor sharp glass. It was fine. So long as he didn’t bust the stitches from his spleen repair surgery, he should be okay. 

«I’m fine.»

“Sure,” Rusty said. “Just like I’m fine.”

«I wasn’t in a coma for two days after breaking half my bones.»

no, you were just tortured for weeks on end instead, Rusty did not say with some effort. “You still need to eat, right? You’re augmented, but you’re still human.”

Raven didn’t seem to have a ready response for that, so he just didn’t say anything.

“...what’re you even out here for anyways?” Rusty asked, genuinely curious. The Xylem was a marvel of Institute tech, yeah, but most of it was completely ruined from its violent re-entry. Aside from getting blown up and ransacked by invading corporate and Liberation Front forces alike, the seawater filling up half the ship would’ve eaten away at most of the technology by now. 

«…I’m looking for something.» 

“Well… if you’re looking so hard for it, I guess it must be important…” Rusty said slowly. “Maybe I can help?”

«You’re injured and should be resting.»

“You’re injured too.” Rusty’s tone grew solemn. “I know what they do in those re-education camps, Raven.” 

«…»

“You’ve been flat out since you escaped,” Rusty said softly. “Uncle said you only swung by for a day at our base before running off again. If you don’t stop to rest, your body’s just going to give out on you. It’s a pointless way to go.” 

«…»

“Unless that’s what you want?” Rusty asked, and made sure his voice was dispassionately blunt when he added: “Are you just waiting to die?”

The question lingered between them like an ominous shroud. The supercell moved close enough that its thick cloud wall blocked out the sun, dousing them in deep, dark shadow. 

«…no.»

Raven paused, and STALKER kept shifting its weight back and forth, rusted joints screeching and groaning, the AC not built to spend so much time along the seashore, getting sprayed with saltwater and blasted with coastal gusts. It looked like a corpse just barely moving, skeletal, where chunks of its ablative armour had been stripped off from its own re-entry, and the inner hull torn from the tremendous forces it had been under (had never been designed to endure, but had endured anyways). 

There was even a gaping crack in the Core, a sliver where Rusty could peer past the protective armour and see a bit of the Core block that contained the pilot’s cockpit. Red-tinged rainwater was collecting in that crack, pouring out of it like a miniature stream.

«I don’t know what to do.»

It was unexpectedly honest. Vulnerable. Completely out of nowhere. 

“What do you mean?”  

«Before everything went wrong in Institute City, Handler Walter told me what to do. I knew what to expect with each day. I knew what my objectives were. Now, I know nothing. I’m a mercenary with no money or clients, and I have no idea how to get those things myself. I got my life back, like Walter wanted, but there’s nothing in it.»

STALKER’s head bowed. 

«…I have nothing.»

“That’s not true, Raven,” Rusty said gently, taken aback by Raven’s raw honesty, and cursing the awkwardness of having this talk while they were in two separate mechs. Raven was as expressionless as they came, but he could still gauge his human face better than just staring at the side of STALKER’s cracked Core. 

“After saving Rubicon, you’ve definitely got the Liberation Front on your side,” he continued. “And, for what it’s worth, I’ve got your back too. I know you won’t trust that, considering what happened before Institute City but, I mean it. I was-”

He drew in a slow breath, before admitting quietly: “I was wrong about you. You weren’t a threat to be eliminated, and I acted too hastily in my judgement of you. I’m sorry.”

«It’s fine. You weren’t exactly wrong. I was a threat.»

“...? What do you-”

A flash of scarlet lightning lit up the horizon, followed by a booming thunder that rattled Rusty’s very bones and briefly deafened him. He couldn’t help but wince. 

«I’m looking for Walter,» Raven said in an unexpected non-sequitur, forcibly dropping the last topic. «His corpse is on this ship somewhere.»