#test family: flores

[strawberry-nia]

Lupe and Nalin decided to explore the town's crypt their own way...

[gutsby]

Wants and Needs

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Joel x Reader

Summary: Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Warnings: 18+. Protected piv. Explicit power imbalance in an exchange of sex for money, so dubcon, technically. Soft dom!Joel. Sex toys. Squirting. Oral (f!receiving). Overstimulation. Daddy kink. Age gap. Praise kink.

Note: Bohanan’s is a steakhouse in San Antonio, TX.

Word count: 8.4k

You wanted a car. Joel needed to cum.

It wasn’t the arrangement a girl your age should’ve made, but what could you do? Your dad drank half of your college funds away, and your mom was long gone.

The next best thing was Mr. Miller, your father’s boss. He’d understood better than anyone what money could buy. What it might do. For him, it was pleasure. For you, it was a future—or what little remained after bills and loans and exorbitantly-priced car repairs bled you dry.

You took the job at the firm on a whim. You didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore, though your dad and Joel were. You didn’t want to be done with law school, though 3L had already long since ended, and that dreaded so-called ‘minimum competency’ test was drawing close on the horizon. In short, you couldn’t afford to pay for bar prep.

With Joel, you could.

It was true that tax law paid pretty well, but a part-time job would never really be enough when your family was treading water at all times. Your dad liked to gamble and drink, and your brothers got all of their brains from him.

You got the short end of the stick, plus the receiving end of another. Lucky for you, Joel’s felt pretty good going in.

Today you were somewhere south of Austin. Your truck wouldn’t start last week, so you’d agreed to come along on this business trip knowing full well what you planned on asking your boss as soon as you had a moment alone.

“CDP hearing at…9:45.” You checked the itinerary twice.

“Alright.” Joel nodded.

“Lunch with Javier, Ezra, and Dave at twelve.”

“Mhmm.”

“Phone call with Revenue Officer Acacius at 3:30.”

“For the…?”

“Martells.”

“Okay.”

“I finished Lucien Flores’ Form 433-F for your review and left notes—” You stopped to tap your finger on a short white pile of papers between you and Joel on the desk, “—in the margins. Still need bank statements from him.”

“Lovely.”

Joel eyed the stack at first, but his gaze strayed a little.

“You should probably plan to talk strategy with my dad before Mayor Garcia’s audit tomorrow, too. Looks like a couple non-cash contributions are being disputed now.”

For a second, your eyes flitted up to him, too. It was brief.

“Sure. When’s your daddy free?” he said.

You blinked, then scanned the schedule.

“Looks like five…or six, maybe. He’s got a consult with—”

“I wasn’t talking about your father.”

You looked back up. Joel was smirking, of course. His hand had drifted a comfortable, innocent distance past the papers and across the table, to you. The pair of you happened to be in one of the glass-paneled conference rooms nearest the hotel lobby, so he had to be discreet.

He never let his fingers stray too long on yours in public. Presently, his thumb grazed your knuckles extra slow.

Posing a question, maybe.

You didn’t have the time to be tactful now, unfortunately.

“I need $2,700.”

Joel, your boss, your daddy, whatever, had to pause at that. He didn’t move his hand immediately, but he did stare harder. Longer. He searched your face for the joke.

“$2,700?” he repeated.

“Yes sir,” you answered out of habit, wincing only a little, “My truck stopped running last week, and it’s just…a lot.”

The cost. For Joel, it wasn’t even a drop in the bucket, but in your world, it was a make-or-break, fuck-your-whole-budget-for-the-next-six-months kind of bad. Suddenly, your cheeks felt warmer than they did before, and you forced yourself to look away. Peering out across the wide and gently rolling terrain of San Antonio and trying to pretend there was something thrilling to see. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated asking this.

“I can make the deposit tonight—” Joel started.

“No,” you interrupted. You wanted to turn but couldn’t. You just shook your head and kept staring out there, “Not now, I mean…I need to earn it over time, I just…”

You stumbled over the words. It was like your lips, your tongue, and your teeth were all suffering from the same sort of embarrassment pervading the brain, and you couldn’t bring your mouth to form the sentences right.

I’m not asking for a handout. I need to earn the money.

However ‘earning’ may have been grossly misconstrued in the context, it was a labor all the same. You didn’t love it, but you didn’t hate him, either. Joel was nice, albeit old enough to be your father, and it didn’t seem that he was nearly as predatory or perverse as he could’ve been. You’d been working for him for two months now, and the idea had been your own when the cash had gotten tight.

Back in April, you’d explained to him, calmly, that you couldn’t take the bar exam unless you got some extra money quick. That you wouldn’t accept his charity, but you’d pay him back in other ways. Joel had been against it at first—you were the daughter of his best friend, after all—but eventually, his carnal needs won out over his sense, as every other man would’ve done, you guessed.

At first, you’d started slow, but that hadn’t lasted very long. You fucked him regularly now, though never had you asked for an amount of cash this big out of nowhere.

Joel blinked and put a hand on his hip, like he always did when he wasn’t sure what to say. The silver in his soft, dark locks shone more in this light. He’d lost the smirk.

“You’ve done…plenty.” Now sounding sheepish.

You tried to protest again; Joel stopped you.

“I mean it. Hey, look at me,” he said next.

You did, hesitatingly. You turned from the window, and out of instinct, folded your arms over your chest. Joel paced closer to you and then he was watching. Pausing.

Brushing your arm with his and glancing once over your shoulder to make sure no one else was around to see.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

When he pulled away, your skin was practically ablaze.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Joel,” he corrected, quiet, “And you’ve done enough. Let me cover the car just this once, okay? Sweetheart?”

You didn’t realize you were pivoting again. That your gut was doing somersaults and your heart was ready to climb up and out of your throat. Your neck was burning.

It wasn’t even anger you sensed was simmering under the skin until you turned back to him, and your eyes flashed with ire before the words were even spoken.

“I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller. I said I want to pay.”

“It’s Joel. And I said you’ve done enough, so—”

Ire morphed to something more in a blink.

You didn’t mean to say it, but you did.

“Fine,” you huffed, suddenly exasperated, “If you’re so fucking opposed to me paying my way for this one simple thing, I’ll get another guy. Forget I asked.”

It was a low blow, for sure. Joel knew how badly you’d wanted this to stay between just you and him—and he would never dream of seeing you ‘earning your keep’ with anyone else. His expression said as much as soon as he’d heard your words; his whole face hardened at once.

But then you’d turned to leave. You didn’t care what he wanted to tell you, and if you did, you certainly weren’t brave enough to stick around to hear Joel say it then.

So you left. He had a full, busy day ahead of him anyway.

You woke up wet.

In an effort to avoid your boss, you’d run errands all day. Buried your nose in a sea of Civil Procedure notes as soon as you got a second alone, almost vomited seeing the Erie Doctrine, and went back to your hotel room to try and study there. Once you had, you napped instead.

Now your clothes stuck to your skin; the sheets around you were soaked. You peered over the big white duvet holding your body interred and saw smoke overhead.

Or steam.

Yes, definitely steam. It was drifting from the bathroom, where the door was thrown open. You shifted up to sit.

“Tess!” you yelled, “Shut the goddamn door, I’m boiling.”

As a law clerk, you weren’t afforded the luxury of a suite to yourself, so you shared it with the other new grads on work trips like these. Tess Servopoulos loved long, hot showers and never closed the fucking door. You groaned.

And, feeling depleted of all energy from your studies and the stress and the steam searing every inch of your skin, you flopped back in the bed. You kicked the covers off your legs. You’d just lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead, when an awful, fresh realization dawned.

You glanced at the clock—3:37.

“Fucking hell,” you hissed.

You were supposed to meet your dad at two to get some paperwork signed. You needed to have that filed with the court by four. He was probably engaged somewhere else by now, whether it be a client, a conference, or a couple white lines in the bathroom of a partners-only club downtown, and you wouldn’t have a hope of reaching him here. You rubbed your face and groaned again.

You’d set an alarm for 1:30—you knew you had.

Where the hell was your phone? Why was it so warm? What if he’d called? Aw fuck, he’s probably blown that thing up to hell and back by now. Maybe he was drunk. He had to be. Where was Tess? Where were your pants?

You’d made it up to your feet, clumsily, and faced a full-length mirror. Your bottoms were gone. You closed your eyes and screamed inside, remembering why they were.

“Glad you’re getting some use out of this.”

The second you heard it, your lids flew open. You turned.

And, standing in the warm yellow glow of the bathroom light—holding the culprit, your vibrator, like a prize—was Joel. Naked as the day he was born, save for one thin towel around his hips, and grinning. Moisture glistened on his chest and pooled about his feet, and his hair was smooth, tamed, and combed back neatly from his face.

He waved your silicone toy in the air, and immediately, you regretted giving him your room key the other day.

“I thought we agreed you’d wait for me—”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice was thick with sleep. Joel’s own was slow, dulcet, and kind as it always was, even when teasing. When you grit your teeth, he just set the toy aside.

“I’m sorry. Bad timing. I saw your—”

“No.” You threw up both hands at once, suddenly out of breath and fucks to give, “You know what? I don’t care. You need to go. I have to be down at the courthouse—”

In twenty minutes. You cut yourself short and hurried off to find shoes. You could wear other pants. Ask another attorney to sign the forms if you couldn’t reach your dad. Forget that his boss and yours had just caught you with the vibrator he’d bought you last month and try not to feel too humiliated knowing he knew what you’d been doing. It didn’t matter—Joel didn’t matter. You slid on a mismatched pair of slacks and set off toward the door.

Then you had to stop. Joel beat you there, quick as ever.

“Listen. Hey.”

“Will you stop?!”

You pushed at his big and wet, stupidly broad chest. You felt the small grey hairs on his pecs tickle your palms, and for a second, you thought you heard a chuckle.

“You’re gonna make me late—”

“Hey, hey,” Joel said again. Of course it sounded fatherly, “I already signed the POA for Morales, hon, you’re good.”

You’re good.

“You what?” You stared at him in disbelief. How did he even know you needed Frankie’s power of attorney signed in the first place? You figured your dad would’ve mentioned it, but still, it wasn’t really Joel’s form to sign.

“The case is mine now,” he clarified, reading that look, “Wasn’t my first pick, but it is what it is. And your dad—”

Your dad was probably lagging wildly behind on his own caseload, so he’d pushed one off on his friend. Again.

“You can’t keep picking up his slack,” you gritted out, “One of these days it’s gonna bite you both in the ass. You know he shouldn’t be forcing these jobs on you.”

“I offered.”

“You caved.”

“He’s my best friend, what do you expect me to do?”

“Not let him use you! He’s making you feel bad for him.”

“And what if I did? What if I did pity the bastard?”

You scoffed. Then winced, inwardly.

I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller.

From the look on Joel’s face, he seemed to be remembering the same. He shook his head.

“That’s not…” he trailed off. He rubbed his jaw with his hand and started to move from the door, deflating some.

His other arm extended to you, wordlessly, and already anticipated what was sure to follow. You swatted him off, then walked to the bed. You considered sitting but didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms like you always did and turned away, facing the window with a cool, flat affect.

By now, Joel knew better than to take that for what it seemed. He crossed the room to you, treading softly.

His voice turned gentle again, like an apology: “Honey…”

But your gaze was already fixed outside. You frowned.

“Darlin’,” Joel continued, undeterred, “Come on.”

And you didn’t need to see his face to hear the rest: ‘Look at me, please,’ with eyes all comfort and warmth.

“Don’t you have a phone call with an R.O. or something?” Briefly, you recalled Acacius and a stream of other items from the checklist you’d covered that morning, and you had to stop yourself then from straying too far. You blinked once, just as Joel was approaching from behind.

“I cancelled,” he said.

You sighed, “Mr. Miller…”

You knew he hated doing that.

“Joel,” he pressed. Adding, “Something came up.”

You wouldn’t even ask. You shouldn’t care. You felt him standing there, fanning hot breaths across the nape of your neck, and you really couldn’t have taken that worse. You visibly tensed, hands balling into fists at your sides, and—hell, he wouldn’t quit moving now, would he?—Joel bent down. He hesitated, as if gauging your reaction in time, then descended further. He kissed your shoulder.

You cracked; it never took much from him.

For all your inane, ancillary plays at feigning indifference, one movement of Joel’s mouth and your resolve was lost. You clung to words, weakly, but all the rest fell away.

“We don’t…want your charity. Me or my dad. Alright?”

“I know.”

Joel kissed your skin again, then pulled at the strap of your blouse. It fell limply away, and his lips reattached.

Exactly when he’d walked you back to the bed, you couldn’t be sure. By the third or fourth kiss, your stomach was tight, knees weak, and your eyes drawing closed; it didn’t matter to you or to him what had passed before. Your bodies found the bed and blended together.

Tangling, in a way. Tearing blindly at clothes and not saying too much apart from Joel’s soft, sweet words:

“That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Good girl.”

Good girl when he kissed you. Good girl when he stripped you bare. Good girl when his hands roamed the broad, naked expanse of your body and let your own do the same to him. Good girl when your fingers hooked the outline of the towel and tugged it away, your vision filled with a sight you’d come to like more and more each day.

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmured. He cradled your head while you gripped his base, “‘S’yours, baby. All yours.”

Yours. Mine. You weren’t sure you had the sense or self-possession to even know what that meant, especially here. Joel wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t a lover, at least not in the traditional sense. He wore dark wool suits like your father and worked from dawn until dusk every day, practicing law for longer than you’d been alive. Still, the smile above you was sweet. It coaxed you gently as you slid your hand up and down his length, like he sensed this was more like a lesson for you. Learning experience.

“Remember, spit a little first,” he instructed. Then, to demonstrate this point, he brought his fingers to his mouth and wet them quickly. He slipped his touch down to yours and met your gaze while he joined you there.

He rubbed and slicked himself up and he did it with ease. You followed his lead and watched his face contort—crow’s feet pinching even tighter at the sides of his eyes as pleasure began to pool in his gut. He looked pretty. You’d never thought to tell him this, but Joel really had an unparalleled face. It was an old and beautiful thing. For this reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away, maybe to wet your own fingers. Instead, you slipped your hand between your legs, where his hips had come to rest. You worked a slow, light touch against your folds; you were drenched, and it didn’t take long for your fingers to be, too. You moved them back to Joel’s cock.

“Like this?” you ventured.

The man answered with a grunt, at first. Then a grin.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Joel nodded, quiet but emphatic. Trying not to smile too big as he let your touch take over for his, “Just like that, sweet pea. Get it nice an’ wet for daddy.”

You wanted to whimper at that. Something must’ve flashed in your eyes at the intonation of the last word, and the look must’ve suffused your whole expression, because the next thing you knew, Joel was lowering his body to yours. Petting your hair, letting you rub on his shaft as fast as your soft, lithe hands could manage.

“Feel that, baby? Feel how much daddy missed you?”

You did.

Your brow pinched, and you wanted more of that. More from him: those tender, edifying words of praise being mumbled your way while your touch worked him over. Maybe you could’ve helped it, but then again, in this state, maybe you couldn’t—you whimpered for him.

Wriggling your hips against the bed to get your warmth pressed flush with his own, and squeezing him tighter:

“In me, daddy. Please.”

You angled his cock in your trembling grip to plead as much. You knew he liked being the one to push in the first time, so you didn’t move too far with that push, but you begged him with your gaze. You felt him tense a bit.

And just when you sensed he might let you have your way, he moved off. Down. Sliding his torso away from your own, to go lower on the bed, and smirking again.

“I think she needs my tongue first, doesn’t she?”

You wanted to nod. Instead, you flinched. You crawled away from his hold before it could secure itself firmly on either one of your legs, and you had to snag your bottom lip between your teeth to contain that blossoming need. It almost spilled from your mouth in a moan before Joel’s could reach your lower half. Then you scrambled to sit up

“No,” you choked out.

This wasn’t new. While you shook your head, Joel lifted a brow and stood from the bed. He reached behind him.

The night stand.

You closed your eyes.

“This isn’t…supposed to be for me.” you sighed.

In a second, Joel was back where he started, and you didn’t have to steal a glance through your lids to know what he was holding. Slotting himself gently into place.

“Don’t,” he started, sharp, “—say that. I mean it.”

You knew he meant it, but you also knew better than to accept at face value what he said, moving down on you.

This wasn’t part of the deal. Joel’s money was meant to serve his pleasure, not yours. Letting him take you any other way seemed to blur the lines between transaction and affection, and though you’d done this before, it still didn’t feel right. You couldn’t bear having his focus here.

Evidently, though, he could. He’d snatched your vibrator from the night table and lowered his torso to your legs, lips twitching the tiniest bit. ‘Open up. Let me see her.’

Joel was on his stomach, eyes glowing with intrigue.

“Let me see how much she’s missed me, baby.”

The grey matter in your brain might’ve trickled through your ears—the whole thing went to mush at his words. You pushed at his hands, then the top of his head, but clearly, your will was weak. You wanted this. Needed it.

“That’s a good girl. Let daddy have it,” Joel drawled.

You wanted to cry. Or maybe hide. His index and middle fingers prodded at your folds, pulling them apart, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you’d stopped breathing. Joel kissed the slope of your mound with a quiet kind of reverence. The salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin brushed your clit, and your back arched reflexively. Then, remembering why you’d come to this arrangement in the first place, you felt a wave of guilt supplant that pleasure.

You clawed at his head and shook your own, weakly.

“No. W-wanna make you feel good,” you choked out.

Not me.

Not here.

Just let it—

“Fuck,” you keened through your teeth. Joel’s lips made contact with your slick, drooling cunt and, in a second, sucked your nub in between them. He flicked his tongue.

Joel groaned, then pulled away to meet your gaze.

“Feels plenty good f’me,” he assured you in a murmur. Eyes glossy, “She’s so fuckin’ sweet, honey. So pretty.”

Then, as if to punctuate his point, he slid his tongue down the whole wet mess of your slit, and he moaned. He curled the muscle and invaded your sticky, sensitive, precious warm flesh with vigor and force—maybe a little desperation—and you whined at the feeling. Your toes curled tight. It was doubtlessly a sight to see: Joel’s old and weathered head against your young and supple skin, the wiry greys of his chin rubbing your cunt like no man’s his age should’ve been. He took you gently. Forked his fingers over your folds to hold you open for him and then, over and over and over again, just licking stripes. Squelching noises only seemed to goad him on while he buried his nose and savored your taste without reserve. Your stomach clenched with that pleasure, then swelled.

“That’s my girl—so good for me,” Joel said, as though reminding you, gently, it was okay to relish the feeling.

Once more, he suckled your clit in his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue in a quick back-and-forth motion, and the next sensation hit without a breath of warning.

Your belly twisted again, then flushed with hot pleasure.

“My— fuck,” you cried, shuddering with a climax you didn’t know was coming. You held his head and whined.

Joel’s tongue didn’t stop. Your vision blurred. Whatever reprieve you might’ve hoped to find came in the form of his lips drawing back, momentarily, only to sponge little kisses on your still-pulsing heat. Your body jolted back.

“I c— I’m done. I’m done,” you blurted out.

Joel nodded against you. Humming through his kisses:

“I know. Keep going.”

Keep going.

So simple.

Still, you couldn’t breathe. Your sight was inundated with stars. You felt Joel’s stubble on your slit again, only this time, the pleasure was tripled. Your legs trembled, and your hands made fists in his hair. Joel kept on kissing.

And kissed again, again, and again, until your fingers in his locks pulled taut to the roots and your hips were bucking up in his face: ‘Too much, t—oh fuckfuckfuck.’

Then came a buzz. Skirting your legs in a blink, before diving to meet Joel’s mouth on your clit. You shrieked.

“I know, I know,” Joel joined, as though soothing a wound while he maneuvered the vibrator. Lifting his head and then kissing your thigh, “I know. You’re alright.”

You wanted to sob; you felt ready to burst. You trusted Joel’s judgment but had never been subjected to this sort of pleasure. What if it was more than you could take?

“I’m here.”

Joel’s words were slow to crawl off his tongue, but their intent was clear. You writhed once more, and he was kissing your skin, rubbing your thighs, and taking the toy to your clit with a warm, devoted touch. He wasn’t cruel.

He had a glint in his gaze when you met it, like he knew you wouldn’t accept this feeling alone—but he wanted you to. He wanted the indulgence to be your own and an end in itself. There was care in his touch, tender praise with every caress, and you guessed this was intentional. Joel needed you to know this was more than only his.

You felt more naked than you’d ever been: soaking the sheets with your last release, fresh arousal trickling out, Joel’s spit mixing with your nectar and sweat and pressing you down in the bed. And nudging you, gently.

“‘S’okay, baby. You’re alright. That feels nice, doesn’t i—”

“Kiss me.”

It came out faster than you could even try and stop it. You weren’t sure why you said it. The words were acerbic on your tongue—you hated ever sounding needy—but then your mind and your mouth and your worries were all silenced at once when Joel came clambering up for you.

His lips were wet and grinning as he kissed you. He held the vibrator hostage between your legs while his body pressed tight against yours. His movements slowed.

Then, as if he’d crawled in your head and read your mind:

“It’s okay to need me, baby. It’s okay to want this.”

His hips made that assurance even clearer. Joel reached down and took the vibrator again, increasing the friction between your groin and his while he pressed the buzzing toy to your clit. You whined into his mouth at the feeling.

Your eyes rolled back, and the pleasure soared. This morning, you might’ve bristled at the words he’d just spoken, but here, in this bed, it felt okay. It felt safe.

Joel felt safe, for once, and you weren’t sure how to keep that idea from sticking—how to reconcile the notion of swapping sex for cash with a man for months on end, and then this. Your stomach churned. He held your face and kissed you more, and your clit throbbed and ached. Before you could ponder your thoughts a second longer, a white-hot pleasure washed over, and you came again.

“Good girl,” Joel cooed.

Throbbing even more this time.

“That’s a sweet girl. That’s my baby.”

All but aching with desire. Feeling it double.

“Cum for daddy, that’s it. Keep going.”

Feeling it trickle down your legs.

“She’s feelin’ real good, huh?”

You could barely breathe.

You whined. Felt something splinter between your thighs and then more of it, more of you and that slick, oozing pleasure and Joel’s groans, overjoyed—‘Making a fucking mess’a daddy, isn’t she? She feel that good?’—and by ‘that good’ you guessed it was more than normal.

This was more warmth than usual. Somewhere in the midst of your own mind-numbing pleasure, you’d let out a spurt, sticky and wet. It now coated the hairs on Joel’s tummy, and while his skin shone, his eyes were brighter. He flitted a look to you, gaze flaring, and slid down. Low.

Back to where he was before. Moving the buzzing pink bullet aside and letting his mouth assume its place.

Of course, you yelped.

“Joel!”

You winced, both from saying his name and feeling so raw. Joel grinned at the sound and suckled your clit.

It was drenched. You and Joel, too, were doused all over and practically gleaming under the rays of late afternoon sun then pouring through the window. For a second, you cast a look outside like you had before, but it was only to brace your body for the bliss at hand. You stared and felt a crude, carnal shockwave seize you head to toe. It traveled fast and made you release, again, or else just continue the same flow as before—and this time, into Joel’s waiting mouth. He lapped at you feverishly now.

He squeezed your legs and licked you dry. He worked in merciless circles, like his life might have depended on making you stay at this peak. All the while, you were tearing at his hair. Riding his face as your body fell apart.

That was alright. This pleasure was yours for now, but there was still time yet to make it worth his while, you reasoned in a half-intoxicated state. Your legs vibrated as you started to crawl—limp—back up in the bed and, numb with elation and a desperate need to please, you stretched your arm toward the night stand. You huffed.

You reached blindly but got it. The box. Weak fingers found the first plastic strip and tore yourself a square. Then, lifting it to Joel, you ignored the last stabs of pleasure between your legs. This was fun, but still his.

“Go on,” you told him, breathless, “Fuck me.”

Joel quirked a brow. He took the condom, still panting himself. He brought the latex to his tip out of habit, then:

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Your head was swimming. Somewhere entrenched in the furthest recesses of your brain you could feel it, that dizzying, self-centered pleasure. You pushed it back.

You suffocated it, and you spread your legs wide for him. You let him lay you down and tug the rubber over his cock, then nudge at your hips to situate himself in just the right way. How he liked it. He seemed to be content, and your heart swelled. In this airy, buoyant state, you felt more at ease to speak, sure that he’d understand.

“This should cover some of it, right?” you panted out.

Joel slowed.

“What?”

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eager to keep going. But you steeled yourself, just barely, then.

“Sex. Now,” you said, “It’ll cover some of my car repairs.”

Instead of nodding like you’d expected, Joel only blinked. Then you opened your mouth to speak again, and his body stopped you cold. He planted a hand beside your head on the pillow and raised his hips; you felt his heat leave with it. You reached for his backside immediately, to try and pull him back into that pre-missionary position he’d held, when Joel brushed you off. His face was hard.

“Money?” he quipped.

“Yeah,” you started, then remembered how you talked outside of the bedroom, when he seemed more serious, “We’ll go again. All week. You can even put it in my—”

Joel balked, like you’d just slapped him across the face.

“No,” he said, sharp.

“No,” he repeated, more to himself this second time. Almost as though he couldn’t believe what you were suggesting—and making him guilty by association.

Joel clenched your pillow like a vice and shook his head.

“You’re not getting paid for this,” he finished, and when your gaze penetrated his, confused, he squeezed harder.

“Thought you wanted it.” Joel added, almost shamefully.

“I do! I do…I just—” you sputtered.

“What? Think you need to offer up a week and a half of fucking to make it worth my time? Is that what this is?”

Well, in a way, maybe.

You weren’t sure what to say. Former dizzying bliss was dwindling fast, and now you were facing him cold. Sober.

Increasingly irritated, again.

“I just need money, Mr. Miller—”

“It’s Joel, hon,” he bit back, for the fourth time that day. His eyes flared with something more, maybe annoyance, but then he was tempering it just as fast. He ran a hand through his damp grey hair and shook his head, pausing, “It’s Joel. I know you need the money, baby, but it’s—”

“It’s what we agreed,” you protested, “What I need—”

“Well it’s not what I want!” Joel barked.

Anger surged again, and this time, evidently, the feeling was harder to keep at bay. He was scarcely able to rein in his features, settling on a grave little scowl instead of a frown, and he sucked in shorter, shallower breaths through his nose. You felt him let your pillow go.

“Forget it—the cash.” Joel grit his teeth even tighter, “Forget these payments and the goddamn allowance I’ve had you on. I can’t do that anymore. It’s not right.”

Your heart sank.

You didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Joel’s voice resumed on its own.

“Whatever you want, whatever you need, sweetheart…”

He stopped. Silence followed, then stretched on for one full, terrible minute. In that interim, you could see his chest rise and fall fast. He was trying to slow it down.

“Whatever you need paid off, I’ll do it. Anything. You don’t have to touch me again. It was wrong of me to allow that in the first place,” he rejoined, tone cooling.

Sounding guilty, too.

Above you, Joel didn’t seem keen on holding your gaze, so he fixed his stare someplace on the headboard instead. Then he moved off your body, slowly.

In spite of the distance he attempted to give, he was still crowding your space. Looming large and bare and weary as you’d ever seen him, knees shuffling back awkwardly through a mass of cotton sheets while his eyes shifted low. Away. The rest of him filled your lungs with a heady cologne scent and your stomach with a thousand tiny blades—you were hurt that he wasn’t sticking to his end of the bargain. You were mad that he was trying to claim the moral high ground now, after everything you’d done.

Mostly, though, you were just upset that you felt like you were losing someone close. That Joel Miller was more of a confidant, friend, and father figure than your own dad had ever been, and that got all fucked up over money. Your lips pursed, and something stung behind your eyes when you reached for him again. Your throat stung, too.

“The reason I agreed to do this,” Joel went on, and the ache in your head worsened when he winced from your touch, “was ‘cause I didn’t want you getting ‘help’ from anyone else. I was selfish. And that’s not an excuse…”

He started to move off, hand dropping from yours.

“…but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

At length, Joel found your gaze, and the eyes said it all over again: I’m sorry. You might’ve believed them, too.

But you were you, and you couldn’t help but press:

“Why?”

Your voice was small. Joel was trying to stand from the bed, but you grabbed at his hand again and made him meet your eyes. Confusion was painted across his own.

Kneeling in front of him, curious, you tried to clarify.

“Why’d it have to be you?”

Judging from Joel’s expression as soon as you did, you got the sense that this question made him feel dumb. He frowned, but he held your stare and answered anyway.

“Because I wanted you first,” he replied, “Before all this.”

Your stomach twisted. He did?

You didn’t need to ask twice to know what that meant. What he’d said, in words and with a look, was enough. Still, it was always in you to know more, to be sure, so you crept a little closer. You let your hands roam up and—

“No,” Joel said, as soon as your fingers reached his side.

You’d just wanted to feel him, maybe prod him further on what he’d just said through acts that didn’t require verbal articulation, but he refused. He backed up in bed.

“This isn’t about—” he started, low.

“Sex. I know,” you answered for him. Then your touch grazed his thigh, and you were dying to have more. To be told in a way you both knew and understood. To touch, “You want me to believe you really…liked me before?”

“More than you know.”

There was that blunt, open pragmatism in the Joel you’d always known. Perhaps guided by natural inclinations, or else your hand on his leg, drawing higher. Moving closer.

Showing skepticism through your eyes and the hint of a playful, disbelieving smile starting to curl at your lips.

“When you met me?” you teased.

You’d known of Joel for years, and had met him a couple times as a teenager at various firm holiday functions. You probably hadn’t exchanged more than ten words altogether before starting law school a few years back.

“Hell no,” Joel answered, fast, “When you started work.”

His gaze was timid again. It was fixed on his thigh where you’d started to slide your index up the warm, muscled expanse of his skin, and though you could tell he was more than hesitant, you wanted to know. Wanted to feel.

It wasn’t so easy convincing a man you’d been working for—and fucking, largely without feeling—to pay bills that you wanted him here and now. But you needed to try.

That maybe, somewhere along the way, you’d come to want him, too. That cash wasn’t the only thing at stake.

You crawled between his legs, then straddled his hips.

Your lips smiling still as you did: “How much?”

Joel blinked back. Dazed.

“What do you m—”

“How much did you like me? When did it start?”

Joel sighed when your heat rubbed his. He tried grabbing ahold of your hips, when you glanced down and saw he’d already discarded the last condom. You couldn’t have that if you wanted to continue this talk.

You reached back and grabbed another.

“Darlin’,” Joel said, strained, “We shouldn’t…”

“Says who?”

You’d already worked the rubber halfway down his length when his heavy-lidded gaze locked with yours. You saw lust there, mixed with worry. Curiosity. You kept going.

“Says your dad, if he ever finds out what I’ve done to his little girl,” Joel replied, closing his eyes at the feeling.

You had the latex worked down to the base of him when you smiled. Felt him seize your hips, lids fluttering open to find you in their soft, glossy stare, and you felt better. Like clockwork, you went together and joined, at last. You felt Joel squeeze your backside and groan when you first sank down to take him whole. You shuddered, too.

But you tried to steady your voice as you spoke.

“Semantics, Miller,” you told him, only faltering a little, “Things you are ‘doing’ to his little girl. Not just ‘done.’”

There, you had a point. Surely your father would have had some choice words for his business partner and best friend if he knew how far Joel’s cock was currently stuffed inside your tight, wet cunt. It might even piss him off, if he weren’t too drunk to receive the news himself.

Joel blinked hard, signaling that he knew this too, and presently watched your body swallow all eight inches at once, after you’d raised yourself up to just the tip and sank back. Your ass fell to his groin with an obscene sort of squelch, and your walls involuntarily clenched. You both let out sounds of pleasure, and held on tighter.

Your hands on his chest for stability, while one of his own held your hip and the other fumbled around for your clit, gliding through the sheen of your arousal on his front. You rocked your hips and felt how much it really was—how you’d drenched his whole abdomen with your last release. You smiled at this and stared, pleased with the pretty, sticky display you’d laid bare all over Joel’s belly.

When Joel wasn’t watching you ride, he stared there too.

“Not so ‘little’ anymore,” he mused quietly. Then he looked up to find your eyes, seeing them as glazed as his, “And I ‘like’ you, hon. Present tense. Not just…‘liked.’”

Alright.

“How much?”

You wanted to say it with some confidence. Nonchalance. Then Joel’s cock nicked a particularly sensitive ridge inside your walls, and that thought was gone as quick as it had come. You gripped the flesh of his upper chest and rolled your hips harder. Let out your breaths in little fractured whimpers while you rode him more. Another sweet feeling twisted low in your gut.

With just a glimpse of that, Joel moved his hand from your heat up past your hips and waist, to squeeze one of your breasts. His fingers were wet. You could feel them, equal parts warmth and wanton yearning as the pads pinched your nipple and gave it a firm tug. He grunted.

Clearly, there was more to it than just the touching and feeling for him—Joel’s eyes drank in the sight of your skin as it glistened with the arousal he’d just smeared. He thumbed at the wet, stiff peak and swallowed. And, just as you were about to adjust the rhythm of your hips bouncing on him, his free hand joined the first and pulled you down. You cried feeling his cock wedge deep; your hands fell to either side of his body when he yanked your face down to his. He fucked up into you from underneath

You squealed, soft, “Joel!”

He kissed your open mouth. Made you lay flat overtop him while he fucked your dripping hole. You whimpered.

“Joel—” Again.

“I like you so much, sweetheart,” he said, in answer to your last question, lips close, “Does she like me too?”

As if to save him the trouble of a swift reply in words, your body told him instead. You squeezed around his cock, and with another desperate cry, bit his shoulder. He hammered your poor, aching pussy with a groan of his own, and he held your body down to his. Grinning.

Kissing the side of your head while he pounded away. Stroking your hair, “Is that a ‘yes’? She like her daddy?”

Drool was bound to slip out of your mouth any second. Your lips were locked in a permanent ‘o’ while he drilled from under you on the bed. Still, you managed to nod.

“Uh-huh—oh, fuck, fuck, da-ddy. Yes, daddy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as another blistering wave seared your insides. Joel was relentless with his thrusts now, driving himself in and out without stopping or slowing. He must’ve known you were close. He was too, judging by the sounds of his grunts and hushed tone.

“Let daddy take care of her then, baby. All of her. OK?”

His words trickled through your ear as sweet as honey. His cock was less kind, but that was okay—you liked it.

You loved him here. Taking care of you. Her. Everything.

And, in this half-coherent state of fuckdrunk pleasure, you were tempted to give in to whatever he begged.

It would be so easy. Joel cradled your face in his hand, practically beaming with pride while he fucked you over and over, and your legs were spread, walls were stretched, eyes practically rolling back, and you felt more secure than you’d been in ages. Joel could care for you.

He rubbed his thumb over your cheek and hummed.

“Daddy’s got you,” he said, voice all warm assurance.

Nudging you closer and closer to your peak—and perhaps some other form of surrender. Release.

Submission?

Joel wouldn’t be so bad for that.

He could fuck you well and leave you content. Make you forget what it meant to be strapped for cash and saddled with guilt and worry over bills every month. Joel could provide, for now. His eyes said as much; his fingers threaded through your hair and rubbed your scalp. He cupped your face, all fifty-six years in his own looking as handsome as they’d ever been. He felt good. He felt safe.

You were hot. Your legs trembled and ached.

“Is that something you’d want?” he pressed.

And, still holding Joel’s gaze with a heavy-lidded, fucked out look of your own, you surprised yourself by nodding, slowly. Your body was spent, but the curve on your lips, then his, was sincere; Joel nodded back as he grinned.

“Yeah? You mean it, sweetheart?”

He flipped you both over and got on top, never breaking apart. You wound your legs around his back and let him cup your cheeks again, and from this angle, you felt it. You wouldn’t try and fight it now; you just kissed him.

Then you came for a third time, walls clenching and squeezing and gushing again, smearing Joel’s front as he fucked you right through it. His groans were a little more subdued than yours, but in their timbre, you could hear his desperation. He emptied himself inside you, in the condom, and kept holding your face all the while.

You felt a low pulse between your legs. Then another. And another. And another. Joel’s hips began to still, his hefty greying belly bumping lightly against your skin while he drained what was left in his balls, and you swore that his bones might’ve creaked from the sheer force of those final thrusts. He seemed exhausted. Somehow, though, the man looked even better in this state—haggard and worn as he was, the face above your own was soft. Smiling, faintly, and kissing you constantly.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it; you were far too tired and fucked out of your mind to protest right now.

Joel trailed a path with his lips from your chin to your ear. He kissed the hinge of your jaw and sank himself deeper.

“Mr.—” But you caught yourself, shortly, “…Joel.”

He lifted his head, not apologetic in the least.

“Maybe just one more—” he started.

“No,” you finished for him, sharp.

Still smiling, but with your eyes on him in a thinly veiled threat. Joel accepted that and kept his dick where it was.

What followed was gradual but natural enough. A little awkward as you broached that uncharted territory of remaining in the other’s presence after the deed was done, but Joel didn’t seem like he wanted to leave the bed, and you had nowhere else to go until dinner with your dad at eight. There was a moment you wanted to separate your body from Joel’s, if only to slip off to the bathroom by yourself, but the man just held you closer.

“You think your old man will mind if I joined tonight?”

Here the fuck we go.

“He’ll kill you.”

You pushed hard against his hold without getting so much as an inch of give. Joel had to fight back a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because,” you began in a huff. Wriggling with very little success in his arms, while you were pinned in missionary, “I smell like you. You smell like me. My dad’s a drunk, but he can sniff stuff like that out in a heartbeat. Too risky.”

You punctuated those words with a still more serious look, but before you could nudge at his chest again or say something more, you were forced to swallow a scream. Joel’s grip tightened even more, and he moved to stand up from the bed—with you still in his arms and impaled on his cock. He started to walk to the bathroom.

“Great. Shower’s got plenty of room for the two of us.”

“Joel!”

“Glad I don’t have to keep reminding you of my name.”

His voice was smug. Your gaze was hard. Joel was still hard himself, amazingly, and you almost groaned when you felt the head of his cock bump somewhere soft and sensitive inside. He toted you into the big, bright room.

“If not tonight, how ‘bout tomorrow? Just you and me.”

He would never stop this shit. He reached for the faucet.

“Still too dangerous. You know that,” you chided. Your resolve only wavered a little when you felt the hot water start to pelt at your back. Joel closed the glass door, “Besides…I need to focus on figuring my shit out right now. Work and bills and getting myself a rental car soon.”

Joel paused. He turned, still holding you.

Then, just as swiftly as he’d stepped inside, he carried you right back out of the shower. You whined in protest.

He took you over to the bed and set you down. He left to find his wallet and keys. You might’ve been tempted to voice your displeasure in some other way—namely, by marching back to the bathroom, locking the door, and bathing alone—but before you could speak a word, Joel was back. He looked down at you and held out his fist.

“What’s—”

“Your dad and me’ll be up to our eyeballs in bullshit working the Garcia audit tomorrow—and I know you don’t want him seeing us leave together anywhere—so we can meet at Bohanan’s at six. How does that sound?”

You blinked.

“I don’t…have a car.”

Joel opened his hand. Keys dropped out.

In a single glance, you could see they weren’t his.

Joel drove a garish Super Duty F-450, not an Audi. The cogs were quick to turn in your head, but clearly not fast enough, because Joel was closing your fingers over the keys before you could breathe so much as a syllable to him. When you did, it came out more like a stutter. Palpably mad but far too rattled to get much out:

“Joel, I-I can’t—”

“I’ve been meaning to buy one anyw—”

“You’re insane,” you started to push the keys back, and for some reason, your heart was thudding extra hard as you did. You went on, unblinking, “You don’t…need to.”

“I want to.”

Joel’s hands were warm when he pressed both of his palms to secure yours between them. He could probably feel the way it shook a little, but he didn’t seem to care. His gaze was too busy trying to find, and hold, your own while you swallowed and stared and racked your numb brain for any words of defiance. At length, nothing came.

All you could do was meet that look. In the soft brown irises above, you could see it all—the need to comfort, and care, and provide where he could, offer better than the hand you’d been dealt and maybe, interspersed with those feelings somewhere, a simpler need in him to give.

For once, you wanted to believe it.

Fun fact: This fic was inspired by true events‼️💯 My life 😫🤪😤😈 Like reader, my truck is also busted as SHIT and needs $2,700 in repairs!!!! Unlike reader, I will not be sucking and fucking Joel Miller to recoup my losses (not asking for donations, just wanted to give y’all a giggle at my misfortune LOL)

[oc-tournaments]

ROUND FOUR - MATCH 3

TAMARA vs LOTTIE

TAMARA: @wokeuptraveledstraightintothesun

LOTTIE: @a1sart

VOTE BASED ON THE INFORMATION BELOW CUT!!

Propaganda Content Warnings: Abandonment, experimenting, cult mentions for TAMARA, parental abuse for LOTTIE.

TAMARA:

PROPAGANDA: let’s see, lost her family at 7 years old (none of them died there was just a house fire where she was put inside an iron stove to “protect” her by her father (her father doesn’t like her can you tell) and they left her there (the rest of her family thought she’d left already)), (un)fortunately picked up by a guy who took her to a very ethical lab where she was healed! And then forced through many painful experiments. Also she was the executioner for a Lot of people later in the lab time and she’s not even 16 yet. So she escapes at age 16 and spends a year with her girlfriend just existing and processing (poorly) what she had to live through and trying to acclimate to life outside of The Lab. Then her girlfriend (who is a cyborg fun fact) got a virus and so she had to be decommissioned which was not a good time for Tamara.

Other physical details: One of the experiments was a test in how high someone’s empathy can get and. Tamara’s the highest Kyne (the one guy who loves experimenting on her) got. So she’s having a Time. She has lost sensation in her extremities, her bones are weak as Fuck due to being part bird (because of very little bone marrow and airy bones), and she just always looks soggy regardless. Also she’s trans

So she just can Not catch a break and she unfortunately gets exploited by her need for parental love and general guidance in her life and joins a cult :( Like can you see the fact that she just cannot stop being kicked while she is down. (I love her to bits and she is my favorite oc I promise)

THEME SONG:

LOTTIE:

PROPAGANDA: "Lucky" Lottie is a 28 year old woman working as a waitress in the year 1987. Her mother, who is literally a goddess, wants to kill her <3 Every time she succeeds Lottie comes back to life and the Goddess has to try again. Lottie's nickname "Lucky" is ironic because she has the worst luck EVER, entirely because her mother is trying to kill her all the time. All Lottie wants to do is make enough money to move out of the small town she was born in but her mother's constant attempts on her life are really complicating the matter. She keeps having to dig into her savings to pay her hospital bills every time she's in an accident :( Lottie does make some friends eventually though! Too bad her mother decides she wants to kill them too, and they don't come back when they die so now Lottie has to protect them and it's REALLY HARD. The Goddess has decided to make a game of it and she is having an absolute BLAST trying to off them permanently <3

THEME SONG:

[hummingbird-of-light]

In Our Favor

Part 327

McCoy

McCoy crossed campus towards the simulator building. Part of the building was still closed for repairs from the fire, most simulator classes had transitioned to classes on real shuttles, in the hangar bay, continuing to learn the more in depth functions.

But not this day.

The prince only had a few final exams left, but the one he was heading towards had his chest tightening with worry.

The weeks since the fire had been much easier on McCoy’s fear of flying; they hadn’t practiced in the simulators. Today they would be in one of the few still open halls, taking their final exam.

For a moment as he entered the building he could swear he smelled a whiff of smoke. Looking around, McCoy knew it was all in his head and continued down to his exam.

“It’s strange to be in here,” McCoy said quietly to Uhura as they waited for Lt. Flores to send them into the simulators.

“I don’t want to imagine what it must have been like in the rooms where the fire was.” Uhura shuddered.

McCoy nodded in agreement. “There’s Jaylah. Wonder what kept her.”

Jaylah hurried over to the other two just as Flores began to speak.

“This will be just like our other exams,” the instructor said. “Everyone’s flight will be different, so don’t expect what the first person does will be what you will get.”

McCoy balled his hands up to stop the trembling he could feel starting. He could do this. He had passed their other tests well enough. Their time in the real shuttles had helped.

He followed behind Uhura and Jaylah as they entered the simulator.

“Do you want to go first?” Uhura turned back and asked gently.

Did he? Would it be easier to get it over with and be done? Or would it benefit him to watch her test first and have more time to prepare himself mentally?

“Second,” McCoy answered firmly, and sat down behind Jaylah.

Uhura hesitated, looking at him for a moment, then sat down in the pilot’s seat. McCoy took a deep breath as Uhura began.

The prince settled into the pilot’s seat with a shaky breath. Uhura’s test program had not seemed very challenging. McCoy prayed his wouldn’t be either.

As his hands moved across the controls to start the shuttle he pictured Scotty behind him, whispering encouragement. His fingers remembered where to go, even after a couple weeks break. He drew another deep breath as the shuttle lifted off. A few obstacles to avoid, a few landings and take offs and he could be done. McCoy breathed slowly and filled his mind with thoughts of going to the stars with his husband.

Uhura and Jaylah walked with him to lunch. For once he could be certain he had passed, by how much he wasn't sure. But, no one would have exams results until the next day, for any of their classes. And he still had one more exam in the afternoon with Eugene.

“I thought that would be harder,” Jaylah said.

“Maybe he took pity on us because of what happened,” Uhura said thoughtfully.

“Maybe.”

“You did well,” Uhura looked at McCoy.

“I tried,” he shrugged. “Guess we’ll see tomorrow.”

“I’m more worried about my other classes,” Jaylah said anxiously. “But it will be nice to have a break.”

McCoy and Uhura both agreed quickly about that. The next evening he and Scotty would be heading to Aberdeen. They’d spend the weekend in Scotland, then on Monday would head to Georgiares with Francine and Granddad. A few weeks to relax with their families and their first semester of Starfleet behind them; McCoy couldn’t wait.

Part 328

Scotty

"We've finally made it!" The friends hugged each other jubilantly. They had all just received their final exam results and were now saying goodbye to each other to head off on vacation. They would all be flying home to their families to spend a few relaxing weeks at home. There was only one person who didn't.

Jim. He would be flying to Vulcan with Spock and his parents to spend the semester break there. At first he had said that he would definitely miss a winter without snow, but the fact that he could spend the weeks together with Spock seemed to make up for it. At least he didn't seem to be moping during the farewell.

"Say hello to Francine and Granddad for me, will ya?" the blond said as he hugged Scotty, who nodded.

"Aye, I will."

The Scotsman knew that his friend would have liked to come with them to Scotland and Georgiares, but getting to know Vulcan properly was very important to Jim. He wanted to make a good impression on Sarek and Amanda.

"And call us at Christmas. I know Vulcans find these holidays illogical, but Spock and I look forward to hear from you."

Even Spock nodded in agreement.

"We will. I promise," Leonard replied with a smile.

Scotty turned to Aporal, who was just saying goodbye to Keenser, Chekov and Sulu.

"Are ye flying home too?"

The Andorian nodded.

"At first I thought about staying here, but the last visit to my parents showed me that we can get along. Maybe now we'll have time to talk properly."

A smile crossed Scotty's lips. A while ago, he would never have dreamed that Aporal would ever be able to maintain good contact with his family again. It was good to hear that he wanted to take this step.

"That sounds good. I hope ye have a good time."

Even Aporal seemed to smile softly as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe. We'll see. Thanks, Scottish boy."

Scotty couldn't help but grin as Aporal walked over to Jaylah after their goodbyes. They exchanged a hug and didn't even seem to be trying to keep it a secret from the rest of the group. Whatever it was between them, it obviously did them both good. And Scotty really hoped that it would help Aporal become a more relaxed and happy person after everything he had been through.

Leonard closed his eyes and sighed as Scotty and he finally leaned back in their seats in the shuttle.

"I can't wait to finally arrive in Scotland and enjoy Francine's great food. Canteen food just isn't the same as a good home-cooked meal."

Scotty smiled as he grabbed Leonard's hand to hold onto as they took off.

"Aye. Mum's food is simply the best. And I'm very sure she's already prepared quite a lot for our arrival."

Leonard grunted with a laugh.

"I'm sure she has."

Scotty was very surprised when the flight took off and Leonard barely flinched or made a face. Even the Scotsman's hand was not crushed.

"Hey, ye're really relaxed, mo ghràdh."

The prince just smiled at his husband.

"When you've flown a shuttle yourself as often as I have in the simulator, it's much easier to stay relaxed when you know a professional is at the controls. If I can even manage it, then surely nothing can go wrong."

Scotty's heart leapt with joy when he heard those words. Never would he have believed for Leonard to be able to be calm during a flight one day.

The Scotsman leaned over and pressed a kiss onto his love's lips.

"Well then... let's get some sleep before we arrive."

[mochiwrites]

I was thinking about songs that fits specific songbird's blood characters and I've given all of them a song I think they would relate to. (I might add more to this as time goes by!)

Taurtis-

spiderweb melanie martinez

Arms Tonite Mother Mother

Things to do Alex G

Money the drums

Scott-

Mama boy Dominic fike (Scott has mom boy vibes I don't know why but he does)

Runs in the family Amanda Palmer

Haunted Laura Les

People eater Sodikken

Blue hair TV girl

Impulse

Campus Vanpire Weekend

Fine Lemon demon

Pearl

Void Melanie martinez

Ribs Crane wives

Portrait of a blank state lovejoy

The way things go beabadoobee

Grian

Lovers rock TV girl

it's alright mother mother test me

melanie martinez

Solider Poet King The Hellos (Poet)

Cool about it boygenuis

I know it's the end Phoebe bridges

Pretty little things Crane wives

Charlie Infero that handsome devil

Sarah Alex G

Fool cavetown

Scar

I don't think it will ever end Wilbur soot

Solider Poet King The Hellos (Solider)

glided lily Cults

mine / yours Wilbur Soot

Icarus Luvbug

Fall in love with a girl cavetown

If I killed someone for you Alec Benjamin

Mumbo

When she loved me lyn lapid

Christmas kids ROAR

Lemon boy cavetown

Solider Poet King The Hellos (King)

Motion sickness Pheobe Bridges

Rises on the moon liana flores

Grum

Juilet Cavetown

Clay Pigeons Michael Cera

Rises on the moon liana flores

Jrum

Boys will be bugging cavetown

Clay Pigeons Michael Cera

Rises on the moon liana flores

Pope is a Rockstar SALES

Joel

sleeping giants crane wives,

Sarah Alex G

Etho

The Garden Crane wives

Bdubs

Lovefool the cardigans

Apocalypse Cigarettes after sex

Tubbo

Hayloft Mother Mother

Sandy Alex G

Things to do Alex G

Icarus Luvbug

Ren

Allies or enemies Crane wives

Martyn

Pretty little things Crane wives

Bad idea girl in red

Tango

Looking out for you joy again

Jimmy

Ribs Crane wives

Taroko Augest greenwood

The plot line

Digital silence Peter Mcploand

Exitlude the killers

Youth Daughter

Dark red Steve Lacy

Moment vierre cloud

Lotta true crime Penelope Scott

Pork soda glass animals

OOOOOOOOOO

I know maybe 5% of these songs 👀👀👀

[likeakiss]

licking blood from your teeth. a raised scar. the old east end. testing the cut on your lip with your tongue. a loud bang from somewhere in the distance. ringing in your ears. refusing to change. slicking back your hair. whiskey and cigarillos. shoot first, ask questions later. remembering where you came from. having to fight for everything you’ve got. violence as a language that everyone understands. exit wounds. the pig-headed belief that you’re always right. struggling to let things go.

statistics.

full name:  joaquin vidal nickname(s)/alias(es):  keen, the crooked hand name meaning:  established by god age:  fifty-seven date of birth:  april 16th star sign:  aries place of birth:  poplar, london (now tower hamlets) current location:  lambeth, london gender:  cis-male pronouns:  he/him sexual orientation:  bisexual religion:  raised catholic (not a very good catholic) occupation:  mob boss family:  david flores (father, estranged), alejandra franklin (n��e vidal, mother), bernard “bernie” franklin (step-father, estranged), ricardo “ricky” franklin and antonio “tony” franklin (half-brothers, estranged), emilia franklin (half-sister, estranged) “sweeney todd” (ex-wife) education level:  didn’t even get his o levels (old man equivalent to gcses) living arrangements:  a modern warehouse conversion in stockwell financial status:  wealthy spoken languages:  english, spanish

inspirations.

reggie kray (legend) harry (in bruges) tyler durden (fight club) euron greyjoy (game of thrones) maxwell roth (assassin’s creed: syndicate) reyes vidal (mass effect: andromeda) bill sykes (oliver twist)

biography. (tws for poverty, xenophobia, violence, unhealthy relationship dynamics)

A third generation Peruvian immigrant, Joaquin Vidal has never known any home but London. Born and raised in Poplar (a notoriously impoverished area of the city) life was always going to be a struggle for his family - for stability, for money, for respect - but struggle they did. Joaquin’s grandparents went about things the old fashioned way, sacrificing every last shred of their dignity to scrape together enough money to take over the lease on the local newsagent after the previous owner passed away. They managed it, just barely, but even at the tail-end of the sixties, Poplar wasn’t the most tolerant of places, and the shopfront was regularly graffitied or worse.

By the time Joaquin was born, the Vidals had come to realise that London’s streets weren’t paved with gold, as they had hoped they would be when they arrived in England. They had their shop, true, but it wasn’t enough - the family was still living on top of each other, three generations packed into two rooms, living hand-to-mouth. His mother, Alejandra, was only sixteen when she discovered she was expecting, and a wedding was quickly organised in a desperate attempt to hang on to the precious little respectability the Vidals had garnered within their community. It was only two years before Joaquin's father vanished into the night, never to be seen again.

Joaquin was still young when he started looking for trouble (or when trouble started looking for him, as he’d always insist). He was a handsome, charismatic teenager, with a swagger in his step and an appetite for violence that only comes from feeling like you’ve got something to prove. It seemed as if he was destined for gang life from the get go, smoothly transitioning from playground bust-ups and brawling in the streets to the well-paid world of underground fighting. Joaquin was a workhorse in the ring, a surprisingly lithe figure that categorically refused to stay down, and it made him a hugely valuable commodity as a prize fighter. He would do whatever it took to win, and then some.

It was around this time that he set his sights on a woman known to the Jolly Rogers as Sweeney Todd. The former Crooked Hand, a man by the name of Alistair Winchester, had heard of Joaquin’s success on the underground fighting circuit, and was actively trying to recruit him to his cause. Sweeney was Alistair’s niece, and had been embroiled in the workings of the gang since she was very young, meaning she was already well established as a career assassin. Joaquin was drawn to her immediately - he knew they were made for each other.

As his relationship with Sweeney developed, Joaquin became as assimilated into the Jolly Roger lifestyle as she was, working his way up from pit fighter to contract killer in a matter of years. He would always prefer working with his hands (or, rather, his fists), but he learnt to wield a gun with precision and deadly force. As a rule, Joaquin and Sweeney were not supposed to work contracts together - they were both experts in their craft, but their dynamic was volatile and unpredictable, entirely inexplicable to anyone but themselves. People used to say that one day they’d either kill each other, or end up married - they chose the latter.

Realistically, it was never going to last between them - in fact, it’s some kind of miracle (or maybe a curse) that their marriage survived the eleven years it did. After one, final, explosive argument, the Vidals separated for good, but angry as they were, they couldn’t stay away from each other for long. Joaquin started taking contracts abroad, furthering his reputation with the Rogers while doing his best to forget about Sweeney. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t move on from her. He’s never been good at letting go.

When Alistair Winchester shit the bed and got himself nicked, it was only a matter of time before someone was called in to clean up his mess. Following the customary vote between senior members of the gang, Joaquin was compelled to return from his work overseas, not so much stepping into Alistair's shoes as kicking them out of his way. He never sought the title of the Crooked Hand, and his election came as a surprise, but who is he to spit in the face of democracy? If the Jolly Rogers wanted a show of force, Joaquin Vidal would be the one to give it to them.

He's been the head honcho for coming up on four years now, driving the Jolly Rogers into an era of prosperity that puts old man Winchester's legacy to shame. The treaty is starting to chafe at him, though, his patience for niceties running dangerously thin. No, he thinks its high time his people start making some more aggressive plays - show the Jabberwocks and everyone else who really runs the streets of London.

other things.

Before he was the Crooked Hand, Joaquin was known as Sykes, after the character from Oliver Twist. Not the most flattering of code names, but he’s never been much of a reader, and didn’t understand the connotations until much later on. 

Joaquin calls in on his mother approximately once every six months. They didn’t have the best of relationships after she remarried and started a new better family, but she’s old now, and the only surviving relative he’s still in touch with.

He's not usually much of a gambler, but he goes out of his way to attend the Royal Ascot every year, delighting both in betting on the horse races and terrorising the unfortunate toffs forced to share space with him for the duration of the event.

He’s a passionate West Ham supporter, and will thank you not to remind him how poorly they’ve been performing in the premiere league.

To date, Joaquin has never seen a cow in real life.

There isn’t a single event that could convince Joaquin to wear a tie. He didn’t even wear one to his wedding.

[bittcrsweetsfm]

[ … ]     ❀     you’re  not  from  around  here,  are  you?  i  figured  because  you  totally  just  missed  francesca  flores  walking  by.  don’t  tell  me  you  don’t  know  who  she  is?  they  kind  of  look  like  fiona  palomo  and  i  could  be  wrong  but  i  think  that  they  might  be  twenty  five  years  old  right  now.  they’ve  been  living  in  palmview  for  the  last  twenty  six  years.  and  i  don’t  know  if  anyone  has  ever  told  them  this  before  but  they  kind  of  remind  me  of  lexie  grey  from  grey's  anatomy.  if  you  stick  around  the  town  long  enough  you  might  catch  them  in  action  working  at  seaglass  heights  elementary  school  as  a  kindergarten  teacher.  you  see  this  town  isn't  really  that  big  of  a  place,  some  folks  like  to  call  them  the  benevolent  of  palmview!  they  took  a  liking  to  the  name  too  after  a  while,  go  figure.  oh  crap,  they  must  have  heard  me  yapping.  they're  coming  this  way.  i  got  to  warn  you  though,  rumour  has  it  they  can  be  pretty  naive  at  times.  i  wouldn't  take  it  too  seriously  though,  from  the  times  i've  spoken  to  them  they  seem  pretty  open  minded.  we  see  each  other  all  the  time  since  they  live  in  that  two  bedroom  apartment  beside  me  over  in  seaglass  heights.  i  better  leave  you  to  it.  it  was  nice  meeting  you!

✗     𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢𝖲

full  name  :  francesca  rosalind  flores.  age  :  twenty  six.  birthday  :  may  2nd,  1997.  astrology  :  taurus  sun,  scorpio  moon  +  gemini  rising.  gender  +  pronouns  :  ciswoman  /  she  +  her.  sexual  orientation  :  bisexual  +  biromantic.  spoken  languages  :  english.  height  :  5'6.  tattoos  +  piercings  :  a  couple  small  ones  along  her  body  that  are  usually  hidden  by  clothing  or  accessories  +  lobes,  tragus,  cartilage  and  belly  button.  allergies  :  bees  +  seafood.  addictions  :  n/a.  drug  /  alcohol  use  :  both  socially  but  rarely  both  both.  family  tree  :  carlos  flores  (father),  isabella  'bella'  flores  (mother).  character  inspo  :  lexie  grey,  cassie  howard,  aimee  gibbs.

✗     𝖡𝖨𝖮𝖦𝖱𝖠𝖯𝖧𝖸

living  in  the  moment  and  looking  back  provide  vastly  different  stories  regarding  francescas  upbringing  —  unable  to  fully  grasp  or  understand  the  hardships  her  family  had  gone  through  to  make  sure  she  could  succeed;  the  sacrifices  made.  but  if  asked  at  a  young  age,  franny  would  say  her  home  life  was  beautiful. 

growing  up  in a  low-income  area,  franny  was  born  to  a  dotting  mother  and  absent  father;  him  not  wanting  a  child  in  his  early  twenties  and  leaving  once  isabella  stated  she  would  be  keeping  the  child.  despite  this,  there  was  rarely  an  absence  in  her  life  —  although  many  crinkled  their  nose  to  the  area  she  grew  up  in;  the  strong  sense  of  community  provided  her  with  an  unforgettable  childhood.

frannys  personality  solidified  the  moment  she  entered  school  and  never  wavered.  fitting  in  with  those  deemed  “popular”  due  to  looks  and  extracurricular  activities  but  never  succumbing  to  the  meanness  that  some  individuals  would  strive  for.  having  a  friendship  with  almost  every  type  of  group  and  making  sure  she  had  talking  points.  running  through  topics  of  the  best  hair  dye  or  black  eyeliner  to  the  most  authentic  musicals  and  even  joining  heated  arguments  regarding  football  teams.  to  say  she  was  overall  liked  was  an  understatement.

regardless  of  peoples  enjoyment  in  her  company,  it  was  easy  for  francescas  soul  to  become  wounded  and  heart  to  be  ripped  in  half.  an  overly  trusting  and  naive  teenage  girl  with  her  heart  on  her  sleeve  was  the  perfect  prey  for  those  who  wanted  to  test  out  manipulation.  heartbreak  after  heartbreak  came  to  the  spencer  woman;  finding  comfort  in  the  darkness  of  her  bedroom  and  the  sad  playlists  downloaded  on  her  laptop.

college  seemed  less  intimidating  to  the  woman;  finding  her  place  and  her  set  of  friends  while  juggling  a  double  major  and  with  minors.  despite  the  busy  life,  she  was  able  to  keep  herself  occupied  enough  that  her  ever  longing  need  and  craving  for  love  had  to  be  silenced  for  her  to  focus.  dates  were  accepted  but  rarely  went  anywhere,  supplying  a  quick  fix  to  her  dreams  while  focusing  on  her  future.

finding  a  job  was  shockingly  simple  for  the  young  woman  post  graduation.  not  only  was  she  likeable  to  adults,  but  it  was  refreshing  to  see  how  easily  she  managed  to  get  onto  the  ground  with  the  kids  in  the  classroom  and  try  to  be  as  fun,  silly  and  messy  as  possible  while  also  incorporating  learned  lessons  into  the  conversations.  

being  around  kids  remained  a  safe  space  for  franny,  watching  them  grow  into  amazing  children  and  having  the  comfort  of  them  visiting  on  lunch  hours  as  they  grew  up  and  moved  onto  higher  class  statuses.  however,  it  doesn't  stop  the  internal  turmoil  within  her  mind  ...  sure,  she  was  an  amazing  teacher,  but  would  she  never  become  an  amazing  mother?  would  someone  find  her  lovable  enough  to  want  to  spend  the  rest  of  their  lives  with  her?  whoever  said  heartache  was  a  life  lesson  ...  never  met  francesca  flores.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

The Rise of Flamebird

by Blue_Daffodils Ever since he was a child, Dick Grayson has wanted to help others. That's why he created the Haven Community Center—a safety net for the people of Blüdhaven. But when children start disappearing one by one, what was meant to be a place of safety turns into a place of deceit and danger. As Dick dives deeper into the investigation, he’ll be tested like never before, forcing him to answer the question: What good is a safety net if it’s riddled with holes? Words: 1613, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Flamebird Fandoms: Nightwing (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Characters: Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Bruce Wayne, Original Child(ren) of Dick Grayson, Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character(s) of Color, Catalina Flores, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake (DCU), Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Haley | Dick Grayson's Dog Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Catalina Flores/Dick Grayson Additional Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Systemic Inequality, Police Brutality, Corruption, Blüdhaven (DCU), Blüdhaven Police Department (DCU), Comic: Nightwing: Blüdhaven, Therapy, Adoption, Found Family, CSA, No graphic scenes of assault but it is mentioned and is a core element of the story, billionaire Dick Grayson, Romani Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson-centric, Fixing the Tom Taylor run to bring me peace via https://ift.tt/rHJUIFo

[one-thousand-and-one-fandoms]

I don't want to be there when you cry (new tears over old lovers)

Keith fell in love with Lance when he was fourteen and Lance stayed up with him all night to help him cram for a Spanish test that he really couldn't afford to fail. Keith didn't want to fall in love with his best friend; it just happened! The realization terrified him and he resolved never to tell Lance about it.

Lance fell in love with Nyma when he was sixteen and they dated for two years. In Keith's opinion, Nyma was a bitch. No, he wasn't jealous, he was simply observant. Nyma always asked Lance to buy her stuff and take her to fancy places while she belittled and insulted Lance's language, heritage, family and everything in between. Lance gradually lost the spark in his eyes and Keith hated seeing him so sad all the time. Then Nyma cheated on Lance with Rolo and didn't even bother to hide it. Lance was devastated.

When Lance turned nineteen, just a few months after his heart was thoroughly shattered by Nyma, Lance kissed Keith on the lips. Keith wanted to say it was sweet, but he only felt grossed out. He still loved Lance, but Lance didn't love him and was still hung up on Nyma.

Keith abruptly ended the kiss and he must have looked horrified because Lance immediately looked sorry and began apologizing. Keith wanted to cry, but not in front of Lance, so he just up and left. Lance tried to come after him, but Keith was sneaky when he wanted to be.

That night Keith sent his application to the Garrison Galaxy which his foster brother Shiro also attended. He was accepted. He began to pack his bags immediately and wrote a long letter to Lance:

Dear Lance,

I know what you're doing, but I can't play along this time and pretend it's fine. I like you, a lot, and I have for years. I would like for you to fall in love with me for me, and not because you're trying to get over your ex. I wouldn't mind taking you out on a nice date or two.

I got accepted into the Galaxy Garrison and will be leaving in a month. I think we both need some space. But I will come back, and if you're ready then, and willing, I'll take you out on a real date and show you that you can fall in love with me for me.

Love,

Keith.

This is one of my favorie bands, and I wanted to write a fic to this song. Essentially, for those who don't know Spanish, in the song the guy is telling the girl that he doesn't want to be used to get over her ex. He tells her he'll wait until she's ready and that it can be love at second sight.

This is my favorite verse: "Porque no quiero estar ahí cuando tu llores/ Lágrimas nuevas pero de viejos amores/ Y que el recuerdo de alguien más riegue mis flores."

(Translation: Because I don't want want to be there when you cry/ new tears over old lovers / and that another's memories water my flowers. [ugh,this translation doesn't sound right but it's 1 am and this is the best I can do atm])

[vollmond-laboratory]

The Enigmatic Tale of the Flowers and the Moon — In-Depth Character Introduction Profiles

Riquet: A kitsune who awoke to divine powers at a young age, he was treated as a child prodigy in the village where he was born and raised. He met Murr just as he was beginning to desire the freedom to help as many yōkai as possible in the wider world, who then introduced him to Shylock. Now renting his own space in Shylock’s bar, Riquet uses his powers to help bring guidance to any troubled yōkai who hear rumour of his existence.

Faust: A tengu who lives a secluded life on the mountain. Though he used to live in Ōun-gai, as time went by the population grew and he left for the mountain instead, possibly because he felt as though it’d be too uninhabitable for anyone else. It is rumoured that Faust was once the student of a certain knowledgeable yōkai, skilled in the art of magic. He usually spends his time making medicine out of herbs.

Oz: One of the dragons living in the castle, he is the strongest yōkai in all of Ōun-gai. Having been in possession of this power from a young age, he was taken in by the castle residents and taught the ways of the world, including how to harness his magic. The twins, who wish to retire, are planning on forcing Oz to take on their role as leader of the dragon clan.

Shylock: A kitsune, and the owner of a bar in Ōun-gai. Incredibly smart and well-connected, he was introduced to Riquet through Murr, one of his oldest acquaintances. Though Shylock rents out a part of his bar for Riquet to use, he only allows people he personally approves of to see the young fox, not wanting Riquet’s powers to be taken advantage of.

Mitile: A young kitsune who lives on Nagaya-dōri with his brother Rutile. Though he spends most of his time in lessons at the local temple school, he also makes the effort to take care of the cherry blossom trees and help Rutile with his work, wanting to be useful to the people around him. Once when he was very young, Mitile fell ill and was taken care of by Lennox, who carried him to the local town doctor. He met and befriended Riquet on a visit to Shylock’s bar while helping Lennox with his job.

Lennox: A tengu who lives in Ōun-gai. When he was young, his life was saved by a certain other yōkai. Now that this benefactor has secluded himself away up on the mountain, Lennox worries after and attempts to take care of him. He also watches over the Flores brothers, two kitsune who live on Nagaya-dōri like he does. Though he usually uses his ability to fly to work as a mailman, he’s so naturally caring and sincere that he’ll take on almost any job if asked to do so.

White: A dragon who lives in the castle with his twin, Snow. Although he looks young, he’s actually one of the oldest of his kind, and it is said even the most powerful of the dragons find it difficult to disobey him. He wants Oz, the strongest dragon in Ōun-gai, to be his and Snow’s successor after they retire as leaders, but White can’t help but be worried about his communication skills. It is rumoured that he has no reflection when passing by surfaces of water.

Figaro: One of the dragons living in the castle. The twins are both his teachers and leaders. A long time ago, he watched over and took care of a certain yōkai as his student. Though he’d been planning on living the rest of his life at a leisurely pace, he keeps getting questioned on his potential as the next leader of the dragon clan, forcing him to continually find ways to dodge the issue. Figaro is also rather skilled when it comes to shapeshifting, a rare talent for dragons to have.

Heathcliff: A kitsune and the only son of the Blanchett family, who run Ōun-gai’s largest medicine wholesaler. It’s rumoured that just having him smile at you will bring you happiness, so many customers come for that reason alone. He has a talent for handicrafts, particularly when it comes to making karakuri puppets. As a test, Heathcliff once made one of these puppets in Shino’s image, though he’s been embarrassed about it ever since because Shino takes it out almost every day to brag to whoever will listen.

Shino: A young kamaitachi who works as both an apprentice and bodyguard at the Blanchett wholesaler. Upon being separated from his pack, he was determined to survive on his own somehow before being found by Heathcliff’s family. Currently, he’s trying to come up with a title people will recognise him by, while still sounding cool and kamaitachi-esque. He keeps trying to get Cain, another bodyguard who is older than Shino but has been working at the wholesaler’s for less than a year, to call him “Shino-senpai”, but the likelihood of that is never very high.

Cain: A kitsune who works as a bodyguard at the Blanchett wholesaler. Before settling down where he is now, he served apprenticeships in a variety of different places while travelling the world as part of his warrior training, even once working as a bodyguard for the head of a tengu clan. Cain's heterochromia is a genetic trait, though rarely he’ll see flashes of an unfamiliar forest, and even more rarely flashes of a far more familiar townscape – almost as though he’s seeing through someone else’s eyes…

Rutile: A kitsune who works as a children’s kawaraban journalist. An enjoyable read, his cheerful and relaxed reporting style is popular with yōkai of all ages and species. When he was a child, he attempted to scale the mountain without telling anyone where he was going, rescued by a certain dragon when he ended up getting caught in a trap – a story he’s now summarised in a picture scroll of his own design. A regular at Shylock’s bar, Rutile loves to listen to Murr tell his outlandish stories, hoping to one day get an interview with him.

Chloe: A tanuki currently travelling around with his teacher, Rustica, who he happened to meet after finding it difficult to fit in with his friends due to their love for playing tricks on others. Spending time with him has helped Chloe realise that pranks don’t always need to be malicious and can even make people happy, reconciling his relationship with his fellow tanuki. He loves fashionable kimonos and kanzashi, and was even the one who made Rustica’s outfit.

Rustica: A tanuki currently travelling around with his apprentice, Chloe. He often does various types of street performances in order to be able to fund their travels. Whenever he transforms into another type of yōkai, Chloe is often the one who has to point out that he forgot to hide his obvious tanuki tail. Having quickly grown fond of Ōun-gai, the two of them have taken up temporary residence in the town. Rustica believes it would be nice to open a tea shop with Chloe someday, under the name of… Bunbuku Chagama.

Bradley: A tengu who was once the leader of his own gang of bandits. After spending a consecutive three days and nights fistfighting with Nero, they ended up opening a restaurant together. At Bradley’s suggestion, the concept of fast food delivery quickly became popular in Ōun-gai thanks to the characteristic speed of tengu flight. He gets to enjoy Nero’s meals day in and day out, which is likely why he’s always getting in trouble for pinching food when he isn’t supposed to. Despite claiming to have given up on the bandit lifestyle, sometimes he disappears at night to help with thefts without Nero’s knowledge.

Nero: A tengu, and a former bandit. After spending a consecutive three days and nights fistfighting with Bradley, they ended up opening a restaurant together. Despite how pleased he is with Bradley’s proficiency in running a business, he’s desperate to hire some new employees as he’s currently the only one capable enough to work in the kitchen. Nero gives second helpings of food to any of the younger yōkai free of charge, showing them a little more generosity compared to his usual service. The bodyguards who work for Blanchett wholesaler are frequent patrons to the restaurant.

Snow: A dragon who lives in the castle with his twin, White. Although he looks young, he’s actually the oldest of his kind, and it is said even the most powerful of the dragons find it difficult to disobey him. He’s having a hard time deciding on a true successor, and believes Arthur would be a good choice… if he were a dragon, that is. He and White have a habit of fighting bitterly with each other every 150 years or so, leaving the castle together in a huff. A few months later they always make up and return, though they refuse to share the details of how or why with anyone else.

Arthur: The son of a tengu clan chief. As a young child, he once ran too far away from home while chasing after a rabbit he had spotted, only managing to avoid getting lost forever when Oz found him and returned him to his parents. With his father’s permission, Arthur now lives with Oz in the dragons’ castle while also keeping in touch with his family. He loves to hear Oz tell stories of the outside world, and hopes to someday befriend someone from an alternate universe himself.

Mithra: A dragon who lives alone by a river, deep in the mountain. Formerly one of the castle dragons, he was excommunicated from the clan for his poor cooperation skills and lack of respect for anyone who wasn’t himself. Despite this, the twins and Figaro have a habit of secretly paying him to subjugate anything they can’t deal with themselves, though Mithra won’t accept these requests without being given considerable compensation in return. A long time ago he rescued a young kitsune from a trap he himself had set up, doing it mostly on a whim.

Owen: A kitsune who lives alone in the forest, and has a habit of appearing and disappearing as he pleases. His specialty is illusion magic, and although his power is incomparable to that of a dragon, he’s grown skilful in the art of making a quick escape. Occasionally he’ll come into town to visit the local bookstore, and the protagonist of the picture scroll he recently bought reminds Owen of an old acquaintance of his… if he squints and tilts his head, at least. Though his heterochromia is a genetic trait, occasionally he’ll see flashes of a familiar townscape – almost as though he’s seeing through someone else’s eyes…

Murr: A yōkai rumoured to be a prodigy in the art of shapeshifting. He created a bell for Shylock's bar, which alerts him when troublesome customers have arrived. He’s a vagabond at heart, and when he happened to meet Riquet while wandering around told him that "I can see a future where you are taken care of by a kitsune I know", bringing him to Shylock shortly afterward. Though Murr usually appears to others as a kitsune, whether or not that’s his true form is a mystery. Only Shylock knows what he really looks like.

---

Glossary

-gai – Town

-dōri – Street

Karakuri puppets – Traditional Japanese mechanical dolls.

Kawaraban – A type of Japanese newspaper common in the Edo period, that reported on interesting events through artwork as well as text. They were known for being cheap and easy to make, more for getting interesting stories out fast and being entertaining than genuinely reporting on news. Kind of like an early tabloid.

Kanzashi – A traditional type of ornamental hairpin.

Bunbuku Chagama – An old Japanese folktale about a tanuki who uses its shapeshifting powers to transform into a tea kettle, doing street performances for its master in exchange for warm food and care, eventually bringing wealth to the man.

[ofswordandcrowns]

Here ye, here ye, for (BANE) of HOUSE (COLASSO), the (LORD COMMANDER) of (ONDERA) has just arrived. They are (FIFTY-FOUR), and look a great deal like (DWAYNE JOHNSON). Their vassals have described them as (DEPENDABLE & PROTECTIVE) but they also claim that they can be a bit (STOIC & UNFORGIVING).

basic info

full name — Bane Kyros Colasso

nickname - Big Bane, Bane The Beastslayer, Ser Bane, Lord Commander

age — Fifty-Four

kingdom — Ondera

gender — cis male, (he/ him/ his pronouns)

religion —not particularly religious, but if he had to chose someone to pray to, it would be Aznas

occupation — Knight of Ondera, Lord Commander of the Onderan Army, Protector of Queen Tanio

living arrangements — The Lord Commander's tower at Castille Flores

physical info

face claim — Dwayne Johnson

hair — dark brown / eyes — brown

height — six foot & eleven inches

clothing style — despite coming from a colder climate, Bane tends to wear light leather armor as he finds it makes it easier for him to move and fight in the way that he excels at. Now that he's Lord Commander and thus is now considered a noble, however, he knows that he needs to start to take more thought into his outfits if he wants to impress. He always, though, tends to wear his prized trophy of the Smilodon pelt as a cloak.

sexual preference — versatile with a top lean; though he prefers to top, he will bottom - but no matter what he does, he is very dominant.

The name Colasso is a name that is synonymous with “warriors”. Though they were not a noble house, instead a knightly one that tended to produce the toughest knights and warriors for the kingdom of Ondera, they were still one that commanded a lot of respect among the higher houses. Born into this knightly house, it was expected that Bane would become a knight and eventually serve the Onderan royal family - and it was something he absolutely thrived at. A master in athletics, being taught all manners of combat - including those from foreign countries, as his mother had hailed from beyond Aladonian lands and was able to teach him the way that her people fought in addition to the traditional Colasso fighting standards - many knights clamored at the chance to have him squire for them and he managed to squire for none other than the Lord Commander of the Onderan royal court.

By the time he had finished with his squireship, he had stood at a massive height of nearly seven feet tall and was nearly as wide as a child was tall, all muscle and brawn. But his final test to prove that he was a knight worthy of House Colasso was to venture out into the Neetry Ice Plains to fight a Smilodon on his own. It took him a week to track one down, to find out where it lived and its sleeping patterns, but even then he couldn’t get the jump on it - it managed to tackle him in the middle of the night and left him with scars he still carries to this day, but that was not the end of his story. No, using his sheer strength he managed to break the beasts neck as he fought them off and when he returned home, it was with a trophy of the Smilodon’s fur for him to wear as a cloak and a title - Bane the Beastslayer.

With his new nickname and his knighthood, he devoted his life to serving the crown of Ondera and joined the Queensguard. From there, he grew to admire Queen Tanio from afar as he traveled by her side and protected her from any harm, loving just how poised and polished she was and her general beauty and generosity was enough to have him growing deep feelings for her. It was wrong, he knew, for a man of her Queensguard to feel that way about her, especially when she was married and set to give her husband children, but he couldn’t help but develop a deep love for her. He kept his feelings quiet, however, and instead continued to protect her.

It wasn’t until a visit to a Northern nobleman’s keep that things changed. With a party of Queensguard and the Queen, they traveled to the lands of the Northern most Onderan lord but had become attacked by a massive Mammoth in their wake. The Mammoth’s mate had just given birth and they had ventured too close to its babies and mate, so the beast was ready and willing to protect them at all costs. The mammoth killed all of the Queensguard but one - Bane - and using his mighty hammer, he used his strength and skill to cave the Mammoth’s head in. And when the Queen and Bane returned to Castille Flores, the King named him the Lord Commander in thanks for protecting his queen and the future of Ondera.

The new position that was given to him was one that had elevated House Colasso from just a knightly house to a Noble one, and while Bane had always yearned for the opportunity to become Lord Commander - as he had learned a bit when he had squired for the previous one when he had been a boy - he never thought it would happen. But, with the new position comes a new pressure to find someone to marry and have children with - not only to ensure the future of House Colasso, but to ensure that future generations would learn the unique fighting style that comes with his House, too.

[strawberry-nia]

Lupe's first friend in this town

[micah-weber]

Location: Opulence Historic Library With: @juandiego-flores

Micah had a few spell books in his arms that he was returning to the library, a frequent guest to the publicly available spell books as he was entirely self taught in his magicks and had no family grimoire of his own but he was creating one for himself. Had a notebook made specially for it and would test out his spells and all the tips and tricks he'd learned from reading the spell books of other greater witches. He just set the books down on the front counter where the 'drop-offs' were meant to go when he looked over to the side and noticed someone. It had been quite some time since the gala but he recognized the older man immediately. Micah had tried to find him and learn who he was so he could properly thank him for his help but had been told he'd gone on some trip and would return in the new year. Micah had almost entirely forgotten about his desire to find the man and then now he was here right before his eyes.

Not wasting this opportunity, Micah approached him and spoke to him softly because this was a library after all, and normal volume voices would surely get them chastised by the librarian on duty.

"Hi," the young male witch greeted the older man, "I don't know if you remember me or recognize me. I kind of had a broken nose last time we saw each other," he let out a nervous chuckle.

[oc-tournaments]

ROUND TWO - MATCH 10

IRIS vs TAMARA

IRIS: @emmetofthestars

TAMARA: @wokeuptraveledstraightintothesun

VOTE BASED ON THE INFORMATION BELOW CUT!!

Propaganda Content Warnings: War for IRIS, abandonment, experimenting and cult mentions for TAMARA.

IRIS:

PROPAGANDA: iris is doomed from the beginning, born a clone with no life experience besides violence and death in a pointless war. all the people in their team cannot help them either. in battle theyre often targeted and harrassed first of all their teammates because theyre the team's only spy, and they also spend a good chunk of time imprisoned and tortured by the other teams medic. theyre really vindictive and envious. also, god (me) likes to torture them for my own amusement its alot of fun. (their pronouns are any if thats important?)

THEME SONG:

TAMARA:

PROPAGANDA: let’s see, lost her family at 7 years old (none of them died there was just a house fire where she was put inside an iron stove to “protect” her by her father (her father doesn’t like her can you tell) and they left her there (the rest of her family thought she’d left already)), (un)fortunately picked up by a guy who took her to a very ethical lab where she was healed! And then forced through many painful experiments. Also she was the executioner for a Lot of people later in the lab time and she’s not even 16 yet. So she escapes at age 16 and spends a year with her girlfriend just existing and processing (poorly) what she had to live through and trying to acclimate to life outside of The Lab. Then her girlfriend (who is a cyborg fun fact) got a virus and so she had to be decommissioned which was not a good time for Tamara.

Other physical details: One of the experiments was a test in how high someone’s empathy can get and. Tamara’s the highest Kyne (the one guy who loves experimenting on her) got. So she’s having a Time. She has lost sensation in her extremities, her bones are weak as Fuck due to being part bird (because of very little bone marrow and airy bones), and she just always looks soggy regardless. Also she’s trans

So she just can Not catch a break and she unfortunately gets exploited by her need for parental love and general guidance in her life and joins a cult :( Like can you see the fact that she just cannot stop being kicked while she is down. (I love her to bits and she is my favorite oc I promise)

THEME SONG:

[matbenetti17]

Daisy Town: Roddy

🦊General Information🛫

Nickname: Roddy

Age: 25 (33)

Gender: Male

Species: Fox

State: Deceased

Birthday: April 25

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Height: 1.76m (5'7)

Hair: Red

Eyes: Green

Outfit: White shirt, military green jacket, gray pants and black boots

Accessories: Green tie and medal for valor

Affiliation(s): Daisy Town (formally)

Occupation(s): Cadet pilot 

Marital status: In a relationship (formally)

Family: Daniel James Parker (father), Martha Mulligan (late mother), Rosalind May Parker (younger sister), Samuel Roger Parker (paternal grandfather), Catherie Flores (late paternal grandmother), Connor O’Riley (late maternal grandfather), Sally Murphy (late maternal grandmother)

Relations: Dawn Redwood (fiancée), Alfred Jones (best friend), Jackson Randal (friend/rival), Pamela Ramirez (friend), Josephine Alcott (friend)

Roderich "Roddy" Samuel Parker was Ros' older brother. Since he was 6 he had to take care of his little sister after their parents died. He worked hard all his life to allow Ros to go to school, but he was always there for her, he was kind hearted and always ready to help.He did various jobs in the 23 years before joining the Air Force Academy to become a pilot: he was a carpenter, worked for a greengrocer, shoveled coal for the Daisy Town railway company and also worked in the Wonders textile factory. As soon as his sister got old enough she started working instead of him. By becoming a cadet pilot Roddy met his future best friends: Al and Jack but also the love of his life, Dawn. It was love at first sight, they were so much in love and after two years of engagement they decided to get married. Roddy had never told Ros about Dawn and his friends, he wanted to finish the three years of training and get his license first. But fate can be a pain in the ass.Towards the end of the last year, a flight test with a new model aircraft had to be done and Roddy volunteered. Due to a malfunction the plane crashed and Roddy was badly injured, there was nothing more to be done. He barely had time to say goodbye to his friends, his beloved Dawn and his sister before dying.Everyone was devastated, especially Ros. So much that, during the funeral, she fled the city with her brother's plane, the Liberty Bell, without showing up anymore.

🦊Some fun facts🛫

-He died when he was 25 years old in a plane accident

-He was training to become a pilot at the aeronautical academy of his city, Daisy Town

-He and Dawn had to get married, but then he died

-He and Al were best friends

-He could play the guitar -Roddy's mother had a fur color mutation which is called "cherry red", which he inherited by having his arms, feet and ear tips dark brown instead of black. Also he has the rest of the fur slightly redder than orange 

🦊Trivia🛫

Roddy is slightly inspired by the character of Tadashi Hamada from "Big Hero 6". And his name comes from the fanon name of Austria from "Hetalia.

[magic-quills]

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭

Hi, I'm Io. I'm in my 20s and my pronouns are she/her. This is a side blog for my Harry Potter fics and you can meet all my HP OCs here.

Main Blog - @random-writerings

AO3 - Random_Writerings // magic-quills

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

History Has Its Eye On Us

Summary to be added

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐄𝐫𝐚

Memento Mori

hominem te esse memento. memento mori.

Remember you are only a man. Remember you must die.

As a child, all Artemis Black wanted was for her parents to pay attention to her. Stuck between Sirius, the rebellious oldest son and heir, and Regulus, the youngest son who can do no wrong, Artemis is all but forgotten by her parents.

But after Sirius is sorted into Gryffindor, all hell breaks loose and Artemis quickly finds out the cost of her parents’ undivided attention.

And trying to navigate growing up as a violent war brews around her is not easy. As Voldemort's followers grow bolder, Artemis’ loyalties are tested. Pressured by her family, she chooses her side.

But after a dark secret leads to sacrifice and suffering, Artemis questions if she made the right decision.

𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐫𝐚

Flores series

Aimee Diggory has the perfect life. But when the death of her brother, Cedric, turns her world upside down, she finds herself lost and alone.

Drowning in her grief, Aimee tries to carry on as normal. She works hard in her classes, makes new friends, and finds new hobbies. Even a new relationship begins to blossom.

But this ultimately sets her on a path towards danger. Fighting alongside her friends means facing off against cruel teachers, dark magic, Death Eaters, and even Lord Voldemort himself.

As war looms over Hogwarts, Aimee knows whose side she's on. She just hopes that she won't have to lose anyone else before it's all over.

Troublemaker

Callie Scamander has always felt out of place. She's a loud, reckless Gryffindor who loves pranks and would rather fight than talk things out – she's the black sheep of her family, who are all introverted, cautious, and calm people. While she loves them dearly, she doesn't exactly fit in.

Until she meets the Weasley twins. For the first time, she doesn't feel the need to tone herself down – she fits in just the way she is.

But the fun and games quickly end after she leaves Hogwarts. As Voldemort’s rise to power casts a dark shadow over the wizarding world, it's up to Callie and her friends to stand their ground and make sure the light endures.

𝐀𝐔𝐬

Lightning Strikes Twice

Summary to be added

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜.

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Divider by @rookthornesartistry