#this dawned on me and I’m like gahhh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frannyzooey · 1 year ago

Text

Omg, the imagery in this is something ELSE 😍

Idk what it is, but I’m obsessed with this description:

You’re following his tall figure as it sways down the hallway, his strides longer and considerably smoother than your flurrying shadow in his wake.

It’s so perfect and simple, yet not and says so much about his steady character and GAHHH

And this — the domestic warmth described so well:

You pass over the messy trail of your jeans and Joel’s pajama bottoms, your underwear and his leading in a trail to the unmade bed – sheets like a rippled wave painted golden by the dawn.

“Painted golden by the dawn” are you KIDDING ME

The thing that really fucking shines in this though are the character descriptions — I mean, what the FUCK. They are so inspired, so perfect and brilliant, so soothing and fleshed out and beautiful:

Each part of him like a pebble stolen on a hike; some more jagged, a little more weathered than others, some well-rounded and smooth to the touch. Each one turned and turned and turned between your fingers until you’re fluent in every pore and vein, then dropped into your pocket alongside the others you’ve collected.

I love every single thing about this. It’s ingenious. The metaphor, the images, the collection of his pieces, the description of the pieces themselves — you’re amazing.

And this:

It’s in him like it’s in you. A fever which broke at the first touch of his hand and yours, the first meeting of his warmth and your chill. Two opposites – cooling the painful sear in his heart, warming the barren frost in yours. Something sewn deep into your flesh, carved right through to the hollow of your bones.

END me this is so beautiful and raw and filled with emotion and intimacy and reverence. Good lord it’s gorgeous.

The sound I made when I read this though, was not:

It’s a little rushed, a tad rough, the way he presses his lips back to yours.

Something about that “tad rough” is SENDING ME

I loved everything about this. OH, and before I forget — I am such an incredible sucker for dialogue done without the tags and inserted into the text like you did it. It’s so immersive and I love your style!!

Thank you so much for writing and sharing! ❤️

psyche and cupid | one shot

happy valentine's, beautiful people. i love you with all of my heart. xx shoutout to @familyvideostevie for putting joel's slutty little thigh holster into my head and, well. yeah. pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader summary: valentine's day with joel doesn't go to plan. warnings: part two never happened!!!!! abby who!!!, established relationship, cursing, half joel pov, unspecified age gap, hints to reader having a sliver of ptsd, jesse is alive and well because he is my prince and i said so, reader has dark pubic hair, masturbation, somnophilia (not discussed in this fic but she is a-ok with it) and therefore dubcon, sprinkle of praise kink, oral (f!receiving), someone comes in his underwear, these two goofballs are big in love word count: 5.5k

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It’s not in his nightstand.

Not hung over the newel post, either.

He said he left it on the kitchen counter yesterday, right after he got home; said he woke up this morning and it was gone. And then he muttered something of an accusation that someone had tidied it away and forgotten where, and that started a whole new argument.

You know what, Joel? You’re following his tall figure as it sways down the hallway, his strides longer and considerably smoother than your flurrying shadow in his wake. Maybe if you weren’t going out today, we wouldn’t be having this problem.

His chin tilts upward, salt and pepper scruff angled to the ceiling with a ha slung from his throat. Yeah, he tosses a glance over his shoulder, we’d just be havin’ it tomorrow, instead.

You scoff in response, stepping where his boots lift off from, following the heavy thud thud thud like a cat at his heels until he’s rounding the corner towards your bedroom.

You pass over the messy trail of your jeans and Joel’s pajama bottoms, your underwear and his leading in a trail to the unmade bed – sheets like a rippled wave painted golden by the dawn.

The two of you split off – Joel lifts the cotton and watches it float back down over the flat of your mattress. Nothing.

You take the closet – the squeal of metal on metal harsh in your sleepy ears as you shove the hanging clothes aside, swiping around at the floor. Also, unsurprisingly, nothing.

Deflated, you straighten, stars peppering your vision and a tatty sleepshirt pinched in your fingers. Led Zeppelin – some band Joel was into before everything went to shit. You’ve listened to him out on the porch before, plucking strings in time with the record wobbling on the turntable inside.

The collar torn, sleeves pecked with holes, print lost to the years and the dryer – but each time you drape it over your shoulders, he smiles and hums some song from a world you’ll never know.

It’s sweet, when you’re in the mood to be wooed.

Which, incidentally, is not right fucking now.

His eyes flit down to the peeling, grayscale image – and that same smile attempts to bloom on his lips. That’s cute, but it ain’t my holster, pretty bird.

His smirk dampens quickly when he looks back up, snuffed by your stony expression.

You whip the tee down to the foot of the bed. You are a piece of fuckin’ work sometimes, do you know that? you growl, storming by him for the en suite.

Joel’s rough hand slips around your wrist, tugging gently but letting you drag him through to the bathroom.

Just go, Joel, you groan, the chill of the room prickling goosebumps on your naked legs. Give me some peace and quiet. ‘s not like I’m gonna be seein’ much of you today, anyways.

Is that what this is about? His voice echoes in the morning blue, round in your ears as you hang your head over the sink. Pickin’ a fight ‘cause you’re pissed I’m goin’ out?

I didn’t start the fight, you protest. You’re the one who lost his holster.

Didn’t lose it… he mumbles, lips closing around the sentence when he catches your glare in the mirror. He crosses one ankle over the other, toe of his dusty boot on the cracked tile, and sighs. What do you want me to do, baby? I gotta do my job.

On Valentine’s Day? When I worked extra to get it off, and you can’t even get your brother to swap one shift?

Joel’s expression seems to stiffen, tense with a realization that you know, and now he knows, too – he should’ve had days ago. A weighty breath falls from his nostrils, admitting some kind of defeat, and then he’s wandering carefully over to you, two hands curved over your shoulders.

He lowers his forehead onto the nape of your neck, a slow breath which flutters the loose collar of the flannel you’re wearing and sweeps down your spine. I’m sorry, pretty bird. I didn’t know it meant that much to ya.

It doesn’t, you admit, adding, usually. I just thought we could have a day to ourselves, for once.

He’s nodding, sweep of his fringe tickling the slope of your skin. It’d be a lot more romantic than spendin’ it with Jesse, that’s for sure.

Your bodies fall together with a shared laugh, a bright and charming thing in the dull bathroom light. Joel kisses the soft cushion of your shoulder and hooks his chin over, beard grazing your skin.

I’ll be back before you know it. ‘n then we can do whatever the hell you got planned for us, hm?

He’s steady behind you when you lean back, turning to place a damp kiss to the hinge of his jaw. A reply, a plea – a promise.

In the echoing dripdripdrip from the faucet, Joel pulls apart from you, two fingers pinching the hem of your shirt to pull you back into the bedroom.

You wanna walk me to the gate? he asks, pulling the zipper on his jacket.

What about your holster?

He smiles. I’m sure I’ll survive without it. C’mon. Put some pants on.

February is bitter even by Jackson’s standards – a bite of ice in the air which numbs the tip of your nose and stings the helix of your ears. The chill slips a long, sharp finger down the collar of your – Joel’s jacket, and you wrap the baggy canvas tighter around yourself.

Told you to wear som’ thicker. Joel sighs, grip light around the strap of his shotgun. His elbow nudges into yours, a wide arm wraps around your shoulder and draws you flush against his side. Head on back if you’re cold, he says, rubbing until the friction warms your upper arm.

I’m fine, you lie, eyeing the line of horses up ahead. The eager crunch of their hooves in the frozen ground, the pinkish light on their backs from the sky flooded crimson overhead – a warning from the horizon, you think.

It seems to agitate the animals as much as it does you, their heavy heads tossing nervously, ears flicking and inky eyes blinking.

Jesse meets you by the paddock, slipping Joel the reins of his horse with a curt nod, before hoisting himself atop his own.

It bleats from your lips before you can hold it back. Be careful.

Your frozen fingers claw around the zipper of his coat, tugging it upwards until it brushes against his bottom lip. The weather gets bad, you turn back. Okay?

He’s nodding, paying half his attention to your words, the other half to the little crease between your brows. Sure could use my holster against the cold, baby, he mutters, smirk lifting his cheeks and folding similar creases at the corners of his eyes.

Your eyes narrow, palms landing flat against his strong chest. Home soon?

He hums a little laugh, lips ghosting across your temple as he shifts by. Home soon, he mutters, breath steaming against your cold skin, and he leads the mare off towards the gate.

There’s a lot about Joel you admire.

Clacking against one another until you arrive home, coat heavier with the happy burden of how much you love him. The same weight you feel behind your ribcage when you think too much about it.

He takes good care of you – has done since you first happened across one another. As if hanging his hunting jacket over your frail body was a wing over your shoulders; as if, from then on, you would never make a single move again without your grizzly bear of a man making it first.

Quiet about it, sure. Subtle. Opens the crook of his elbow for you to hook your wrist around as you wander through town together, and waits until you’re under the cover of nightfall or behind the close of your front door to do much else.

Asks with little more than a fleeting glance if you’re okay; a squeeze of your knee under the table in the dining hall. A conversation shared between closed lips and the meeting of his honey-flecked gaze, and yours. A language which lives and dies with the pair of you.

He’s guarded – and for all that he’s been through, you figure you can allow him that. Allow him his private peace. For all that he says without saying, all he does without making some big song and dance of it – there hasn’t been a second since you arrived here on the back of his horse, that you haven’t known he loves you.

And Jesus, if it doesn’t drive you fucking insane.

The front yard needs tidied up after winter, you notice, as you scuff your way up the path towards the porch. Once the last of the snow dries up, you two can get to repairing the damage done by the blizzards and the gales: fitting new shutters, planting new bulbs.

A cycle you’re still getting used to: the upkeep of a place called home. The strange feeling of having someone you call the same thing.

Your extra shifts at the stables and Joel’s long mornings out on the trails mean your home has gone neglected for a few days. Dishes and cutlery left in the sink, a pile of laundry slowly sprouting to new heights like a wild plant each time you cast a wary glance at it.

It’s not like you’ve much else to do, given Joel won’t be home for at least another couple hours. So you shuck off your jeans, letting the tail of his shirt dangle from your behind, and pick your way around each room – wiping counters and dusting corners, humming along to the crooning old records as they spin in the background.

Playing house at the end of the world. Pretending to listen for the tired exhale of a yellow school bus, mimicking the electrified babble of radio presenters between each track.

The bedroom is arguably the worst offender. Bedsheets used a few days too long, clothes strung across the floor – the relics of a late one at the Tipsy Bison. It’s no wonder you’re so fucking tired.

Echoes of stumbling footsteps and hushed, drunken giggles loop your ears, the groaning bedsprings and blunt thud of the headboard. You pluck the underwear and socks one by one, your body wincing around a satisfied ache still lingering, and shuffle over to the laundry hamper, lifting the lid to –

The dopey smile on your lips dissolves instantly. You gotta be fucking…

The buckle glints in the light, silver blinking up at you from its bed of dirty laundry. The tan strap coiled and neatly slung through its fastener; the pouch empty. Awkward and ashamed, lying there in front of you. Apologetic, almost.

Your eyes roll closed; a short, hot breath seeping past your lips. A silent promise embedding beneath your tongue to take him by the sleeve as soon as he crosses the threshold, force him to lift the lid himself. An I told you so already brewing in the pit of your stomach.

The holster’s actually pretty heavy when you lift it up in the light. Leather a little worn, stitching frayed where it should clip around his belt.

It’s the size and width of him: a thick, toned thigh slotted inside the loop of leather, fixed by fingers long void of feeling when he’s been riding to the outpost, chasing infected, plunging his knife deep into their necks.

Patrol was never your thing. Joel took you out just once – but there are cracks in your past which threaten to split you in two, it seems, the longer you spend outside the settlement walls. Phantoms which follow close behind in the form of snapping twigs, of the wind rustling in the trees overhead. Shadows living in your periphery with curled sneers and spits of filth.

You lasted twenty minutes, that first and only day, before Joel had your horses tied together and your body shelled in his own, taking you straight back home.

But the thought of this around his thigh, the thought of him adjusting it to the waistband of his jeans; his hand floating down to settle gently atop it when he’s listening for danger approaching, two fingers slipping into the trigger guard.

It…stirs something.

You pad over to the bathroom, hopping as you step into the strap. He wears it on his right leg, right? You pull it past your ankle, ball of your foot slamming clumsily back down on the tile.

Adjusting it to fit your thigh, you bunch the hem of his shirt in one fist and stare back at your reflection. Her nervous stance, hips swaying left to right as she peruses the figure opposite.

Who is she, this mirage – naked thigh decorated with her man’s leather, fingernails tracing the messy stitching and imagining the weight of his gun, keen in the pouch?

A strange aura of possession about it, like a part of him locked firm around a part of you, from however many miles away. You swear you can feel the ghost of his warmth on the inside of the strap, wrapped around your sensitive skin.

Yeah.

Stirs something, alright.

Joel’s been gone little over an hour. He’s probably at the outpost by now, logging All clear and pretending to let Jesse take the lead. Wide shoulders swaying as he wanders from room to room, a careful scope of the valley from each window, tongue tracing the bottom of his teeth.

Ridges of his knuckles white around the grip of his shotgun, squinting down the barrel. Lines drawn between his brows and at the corners of his eyes like scores on parchment, focus and concentration tight on his face.

You sink back into the cradle of your bed, that divot where his body and yours meet each night. Each part of you intertwining with a part of him: the place where you become one. His smell and your touch, your giggle and his teeth.

A sudden, powerful thing which hammers through your veins and jumps your body for a few seconds – you pull the first orgasm from between your legs within a matter of minutes. The sight of his shirt disturbed over your stomach, the feeling of blood squeezing past taut leather enough to throw you under by itself, never mind the fast snap of your fingers deep inside your body.

Another – slower, lazier, still vibrating from the first – then almost a third, but the crinkle of sheets at your ears, the pillow-soft landscape beneath your heavy body, begins to sweep you off somewhere.

And in as little time as it took to entice you into the water in the first place, you slip beneath the waves.

The house is quiet when he finally makes it home.

Jesus, Joel thinks, what a shift.

Not one infected the entire run, he can’t quite believe – but Jesse caught his palm on some warped sheet of chain link fence, then almost passed out when he looked down and saw the scarlet seeping from his shredded skin.

The pair sat for half an hour, unsheltered in the unforgiving wind, waiting for the kid’s head to stop spinning and the cold to rob the feeling from his hand.

All Joel wanted was to get home to you. You, and your hips swaying as you stand by the stove, and his hands kneading into the velvet plush of your waist, and the smell of burnt sausages and spatter of angry oil from the pan.

He’s so late. He said he’d be as quick as he could, said you’d barely know he was gone, and he’s so fucking late.

But he’s here now, at least.

He’s home.

As he kicks off his boots, snow sprinkling from the soles onto the doormat, he notices the absence of your arms around his waist. The missing weight at the back of him, no ear flat against his spine and hands interlocked above his belt. No relieved, I missed you, no nuzzle of your head under his arm.

The house is still and dim. The turntable spins in the corner, a dead crackle playing nothing for no one. Joel sniffs, eyeing the room and its new, orderly form: the books slotted neatly on their shelves, the rings of coffee wiped clean from the table.

Lifting the needle from the record, Joel calls out, Baby?

Maybe you’re in town somewhere. Maybe you’ve gone to spend the morning with the horses. But then, you would’ve been watching for his arrival. Would’ve skipped out from the stables and swung around his body, a gleeful smile and an outstretched hand. Take me home, cowboy.

And you wouldn’t have left the lights still burning, the player still turning. Your coat is still on its hook, smaller and brighter and where it belongs on the right of Joel’s. The cushions on the couch are fluffed and smooth, perched contentedly in place; the curtains draped in their tie backs.

You’re home. You’ve been home all morning.

So where the fuck are you?

Joel crosses over to the bottom of the stairs, blinking up at the painted cowboys and horses staring down from the landing. Calls your name, a faint singsong as he slowly ascends the stairs. You up there?

Down the wintery dull hallway to the bedroom door, figuring he knows the answer. And he’s right, isn’t he, when he nudges the door open and peers inside, spots the tiny lump of you in your double bed. Sunk deep into the mattress – covers you’d come in here to change, swallowing you whole.

A crooked, exhausted smile pulls across his lips; his thumb hooks around a belt loop, knee cocking.

You’re so…perfect. So heavenly, so still like this – stretched out on your front, breathing in the scent of his pillow and breathing out little puffs of air.

Joel leans over you, a heavy hand pushing into the mattress above your shoulder, and runs a featherlight knuckle over your cheek.

Pretty bird? he whispers, lighter than the long breaths from your sleep-swollen lips.

You don’t stir. No movement, save for the rise and fall of your shoulders wrapped up in his flannel.

Joel feels a pang of guilt, numbed only by the chill still through his body: he woke you this morning, before even the sun had lifted her head. Had you hunting all over the house with him, for some dumb holster that he wound up not even n–

His eyes trail down the shape of your body, draped in the sheets like white marble carved into the round shape of something beautiful, hands following the curve of your thigh. His wrist freezes when it meets the odd bulge of something, an awkward bump beneath the cotton.

He peels the sheet back, lifting it from your shoulders, your waist, your hips – until your angled thigh lies on full display for his feasting eyes.

His fucking holster…wrapped tight around your fucking thigh.

A disbelieving laugh at first – a She told me so, before he notices the indents in your skin, the stretched leather snug around your leg, riding higher than it should at the doing of your slumber.

Christ, baby, he breathes, stare glued to the folds of plaid hooked around the belt loop. Following the tatty hem down past your hip, along the underside of your ass – riding up some, right where your legs part.

And between them, all sheer and thin, twisted around itself and slipping between: your underwear. The threading of pubic hair peeking over the frilled hem of it; the sight filling Joel’s mouth with saliva.

A heavy heat forms in his jeans, an irritable weight which aches when he moves; which hardens when he pictures the image of you in his bed, his shirt, his holster wrapped around your thigh – playing with yourself while he’s been gone.

Fuck. Fuckin’…shit.

He lowers, running lips he knows are freezing cold along the burning surface of your skin, tongue slipping past his teeth to drag a wet trail along your thigh.

Your leg shifts under his touch, the startle of his chilled fingertips behind your knee, nuzzling of his nose where the holster sits smugly on your thigh. Smelling like leather and salt, the sticky sheen of sweat still glowing on your skin.

Joel takes your waist in two hands – he can’t fucking help himself, can he? – and turns you, patiently, watching as you roll onto your back so he can drag you further down the bed. Tongue flicking at the corners of his lips, thirsty for something he only wants you to feed him.

Slow, slowly. Every effort put into not waking you, to keeping you in this peachy haze between asleep and awake; your movements long and staggered, held firm against the mattress by the weight of your doze.

With a sigh, your jaw turns to one side. Joel pulls you in, kneeling at the edge of the bed with your socked feet resting on his shoulders. His shirt gathers around your waist; your hips and the thin twine of your underwear spotlighted by stripes of weakened sunlight spilling in through the blinds.

Oh, pretty bird, he groans, slipping his open palms under your ass, rough and squeezing the pillows of flesh in his hands. This all for me?

A moan wrapped in a hefty breath twists from your lips. Your knees fall limp; legs open almost eagerly, like your body inviting him in. And he accepts, takes it with eyes blown black and hungry lips parted – leans in and nestles his nose against the thrumming heartbeat pounding through your clit.

Such a good girl, he whispers, closing his lips in a kiss over your clothed mound, and your hips jolt.

You’re so fucking warm. So wet; sticky and so ready for him. He kisses your folds, suckling gently and letting his tongue dart along the inseam of your lips in flicking movements – collecting the taste of salt and feeling his cock throb against rough denim.

Off? he asks – you and the room and himself – fingers hooking around the underwear rolled on your hips.

When your back arches, body feeling the loss of his tender kiss, rolling like a wave seeking to crash against the steady rock form of his – he smirks to himself.

Joel nods. Off.

He takes his time peeling them from your body, watching as more and more of his paradise is revealed. The waves of your folds, the sheer glisten of arousal along them; the dark hair peppering either side as damp and slick as the skin beneath it.

Your panties drop from a hooked finger without a sound and he turns back, hovering over your waiting cunt with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Out front, voices call back and forth to one another – some neighborly greeting and affable conversation – but Joel doesn’t hear. Deafened to anything but the sound of your sighs and his own blood hammering through his ears.

It’s a little rushed, a tad rough, the way he presses his lips back to yours. The way his beard grazes against your most sensitive spot, and the gasp he swears he hears lift from your tongue.

But fuck, he’s missed this, the way he always does – without knowing, without actively thinking about it, without knowing it was even at home waiting for him. If his mind weren’t on an entirely different planet right now, he’d curse that goddamn chain link for holding him up, for keeping him away longer than thirty seconds from the sweet little angel resting in his bed, and the sweet little pussy between her legs.

He parts your thighs wider, tongue dipping lower and deeper as he laps at your core, almost fucking panting against it.

You squirm lazily beneath him, shoulders tensing and untensing, a half-limp wrist lifting to pet his hair and an attempt at his name between your lips. Joel, you whimper, thick with sleep and something more dangerous.

I know, baby, he’s telling you, I know, and his tongue slips inside again. His hips grind into the mattress, cock an agonizing stiff against the sturdy edge. He can feel the wet in his boxers, the precome sticking to the inside of the cotton.

Fuck, he wants to be inside you so badly, so desperately.

Another gasp sputters across your lips, cut short in your throat when his teeth bump against your clit.

Too hungry, too brash, he thinks. You’re too soft, too open for him to let it go to waste. Not like this.

He pulls back, a filthy thread of arousal and saliva between his open lips and yours, and places a sodden kiss to the inside of your thigh.

But you whine, you poor little thing – your head twisting to the other side, a second hand now blindly surfing across his shoulder, past the brush of his beard and sifting through his still-chilly hair. The loss of attention to your pussy aching between your legs; your hips lifting weakly to meet the scratch of his chin again.

And that same sound – that same Jo-oel – a sound like song, like saccharine dripping over his shoulders.

So, he lifts a hand – two middle fingers coming together to push open your cunt, instantly sliding in knuckle-deep. Sucked in by the wet mess left behind by his lips, stretching you out with slow, round movements.

You’re slowly stirring, blossoming from your sleep and turning slowly back into this world. The cold edges seeping in, the warm flush of pleasure sharpening at their meeting. He’d do anything, he thinks, to keep you here; keep you teetering on the edge, tangled up between your world and his.

J– oh, fu-uck, you whine, and he can tell you’re still blinkered by sleep. But you grind on him again – a long, languid movement which seems to spatter out at its end when the coarse hair of his beard catches against your clit.

The breath stops in your throat, punching out in a shuddered moan. Joel could come just from the sound of it.

You gonna give me one, baby girl? he pleads, forearms clamping down on the underside of your thighs. Desperate – desperate to feel you, hear you, taste you as you come undone. Just one.

You’re writhing around beneath him, as needy as he is. A winding which matches his, coiling at the bottom of your stomach; a feeling which pulls at the corners of your lips and shocks them into a smutty, half-conscious smile. Your eyes roll back, fluttering open and then snapping shut when the light floods in.

There, you say, clearest so far, movements the strongest he’s felt. Your fingers root in his hair, rough over his scalp. Keep – keep doin’ that.

Joel smiles against your mound; a cocky thing, emboldened by the sound of that little Texan twang, the curl of an accent which doesn’t belong to you. Rather, a result of your years spent with him, watching the way his mouth shapes the words, learning the low swing and swirling melody of his tongue.

As if he’s as alive within you as he is within himself; every little thing Joel knows is him, injected into your bloodstream – his dry wit, his blunt honesty, his thick fingers and his insatiable tongue.

He slips in a third, flicking them perfectly inside of you. Beckoning your release; tongue sitting in wait, a resting point for you to grind your clit against.

And he wants it as much as you do: wants to feel the clamping of your body around him, wants to taste the flood of your orgasm as it shocks through every bone in your body.

Wants to pull three soaked, pruned fingers from your pussy and slip them over your tongue, letting you clasp your fingers around his wrist; watching the half-dozing flutter of your eyelashes as you suckle on them and make those pretty little sounds for him.

Your hand knots tighter in his hair, pelvis circling steady against his suckling lips. He can smell it on you: smell the need seeping from your pores. The sleep spilling from the corners of your mouth, the happy whimpers and quiet cries for more, more, Joel, more.

And – Shit, he breathes against you, feeling a sudden rush of electricity he knows all too well between his hips. Not now, not now not before he’s been inside – Shit, baby, gotta let me go.

You whine in refusal – a petulant sound, all stubborn and greedy. ‘m so close, I –

Pretty bird, he groans, lifting his jaw. He places a messy kiss to the crease between your core and your thigh, wrist stammering with his sudden movements. You gotta – you gotta let go, you’re gonna make me come –

You’re echoing him, mumbling the words gonna, gonna come – fuck, Joel, ‘m gonna –

Shit.

Not – Fuck – not right n– Christ, baby girl, you’re gonna – you’re –

Your walls spasm, clamping and relaxing, squeezing around his huge fingers. But it’s not that – it’s not the gush of warm fluid which seeps from between your legs, coating his knuckles and dripping into his palm.

It’s not the arch of your back, the way your breasts lift to the ceiling and his shirt slips below one nipple. Not the way your head rolls back against the mattress, a broken moan tearing in shards from your throat.

No.

It’s the way your hands leave his hair in an instant, and grip around the leather on your thigh. Skin stretching thin over your knuckles, thumbs between the strap and your sticky skin; hips still riding out your high as you ground yourself, holding onto his holster.

And it makes Joel come. Hard.

Harder than he knew possible, grinding against a mattress and the inside of his fucking jeans.

He falls forward, breathing a guttural moan into the soft swell of your stomach below your navel, fingers hooking into the baggy shirt around your arms.

Shitshitshit, he pants, feeling the warm ejaculate spurt from his cock and all over the inside of his boxers. Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck me.

His hips shudder a few more times, pressing hard into the edge of the mattress before he’s coming down, slowing to a stop – still a leaden weight on your stomach. His cock almost painful, overstimulated and oversensitive.

But then – something gently tittering. A bird singing, cooing above his head. The ground beneath his temple shakes, tremors with laughter. The dust twinkles in the sunlight, now brighter, golden, streaming through the window.

You’re awake.

Joel drags his gaze upwards, bleary and glazed with sex, and catches your eye.

Feel good? you ask, sifting hair away from his damp forehead. When was the last time that happened? Fourteen?

I don’t wanna talk about it, he mumbles into your belly.

Your chest jumps, a laugh which echoes into Joel’s ear. Tastes that good, huh?

It takes a mighty effort for him to push up on his palms, slowly crawling up the length of your body until his elbows plant firm into the mattress either side of your head. He groans as he lowers his lips, parting them to let you slip your tongue inside.

The kiss is slow, tender. Your bodies melding together, teeth clacking and jaws moving in sync. A sharp taste, sweet with a singe of bitterness to it. Perfect, you think, smirking against Joel’s cool lips.

He pulls away, lips tickling the tip of your nose deliberately.

With a giggle, you push on his chest. You should shower. You smell like patrol.

Joel cocks an eyebrow. You comin’ in with me?

Nope. I got even more laundry to do now, old man.

He entertains the quip with a subtle smile, a thing which softens the creases on his face and lights a twinkle in his eyes. Quietly, genuinely, in a way which makes your heart ache a little, he whispers, Sorry I was workin’, pretty bird.

You shrug. ‘s okay. You made up for it. And – I found your holster. You lift your knee, letting the buckle shine in the sunlight.

You did that, Joel agrees, nodding and glancing down at the thing. He hooks a finger around the strap, giving it a little shake. Maybe I oughta lose it more often.

Hm, you shrug, or I can just keep it safe for ya. Looks good, don’t it?

He feigns a disappointed smile, a resigned sigh before he looks back up.

Better ‘n when I wear it, he admits, and his lips crash down to yours again.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller x you

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neo--queen--serenity · 4 years ago

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Broadway Survey!

I got this from @katylikecherbutkaty, and I thought it would be fun to do! Anyone else who wants to do the survey, feel free, but make sure you’re reposting instead of making a long reblog chain.

Name 10 of your favorite Broadway shows (in no order)

The Phantom of the Opera

The Fantasticks

Les Misérables

Cats

RENT

Sweeney Todd

Le Roi Soleil

Notre Dame de Paris

All Shook Up

Oliver!

Have you ever seen these shows live? If so, where?

I have seen almost all of these shows live. I’ve seen Phantom of the Opera, The Fantasticks, Cats, Sweeney Todd, and Oliver! in St. Louis, Missouri, Les Misérables in London, RENT in Norfolk, Virginia, and All Shook Up in my hometown of Alton, Illinois. The two French musicals are the only ones I haven’t seen live, and it’s due to me not being in Paris at the right times of their tours. 😭

What’s your favorite song from #2?

Buhhh there’s too many. It’s a tie between Soon It’s Gonna Rain, They Were You, and It Depends On What You Pay (don’t hate me). 😅

Who’s your favorite character from #4?

Jemima: I actually cosplayed as her when I was 17, and I was so proud of it!! She’s a minor character, but she’s always been my fave.

What’s your favorite scene from #5?

LA!! VIE!! BOHÈME!!

What’s your favorite lyric from #8?

This show is so fucking good I can’t even start. But picking ONE favorite lyric is hard enough, so I’ll just use my favorite line from Florence:

“Les petites choses toujours viennent à bout des grandes / Et la littérature tuera l'architecture / Les livres des écoles tueront les cathédrales / La Bible tuera l'Eglise et l'homme tuera Dieu / Ceci tuera cela / et Des bateaux sont partis déjà sur l'océan / Pour y chercher la porte de la route des Indes / Luther va réécrire le Nouveau Testament / Et nous sommes à l'aube d'un monde qui se scinde.” In French it always sounds more poetic, but to translate: “The little things will always come before the greater ones / And thus literature will kill architecture / The schoolbooks will kill the cathedrals / The Bible will kill the Church, and Man will kill God / This will always kill that / and the boats have already left across the ocean / To search for the gateway to the route of the Indies / Luther will rewrite the New Testament / And we’re at the dawn of a world that is splitting in half.”

From #9, which character are you most like?

Hahahahaha for some reason I always found myself relating to Miss Sandra. Maybe it’s because I’ve always wanted to perform all the songs she sings, primarily “Let Yourself Go,” because it’s SPICY and a total bop.

Can you quote every line from #1?

Absofuckinglutely. It’s Phantom of the FUCKING Opera, what do you expect?? 😂

How many times have you seen #3?

I have only seen it once! In London. But my bf is dying to see it live, so as soon as it comes to DC you know we’re going.

If you could play anyone from #6, who would it be? Why?

I would play Johanna, for a multitude of reasons. For one, I’m a soprano, and I’ve actually performed “Greenfinch and Linnet Bird” before (it’s a super fun and oddly complicated song, but it’s great for warm-ups when you’re really tryna stretch out your voice). Secondly, I have long curly blonde hair, so people have made the comparisons more than once whether I wanted them to or not. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What’s your favorite song from #7?

Gahhh there’s several: Où ça Mène Quand on S'aime, Je Fais de Toi Mon Essentiel (obvi), & Pour Arriver à Moi.

What’s your favorite quote from #10?

“Shut up and drink your gin!”

Out of all the ones you listed, which one is your absolute favorite?

In all honesty, I have so many favorites it’s hard to really prioritize them all, but I know the answer is gonna be Phantom of the Opera at the end of the day, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What’s the best musical they turned into a movie?

RENT, imo. Not only did the film look exactly the way I imagined it would, but they got almost the ENTIRE original Broadway cast to reprise their roles in this film, so I always feel like nothing was lost in translation when I watch it.

Is there a musical you DON’T like?

Yeah

If so, which one? Why?

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Disgusting piece of sexist bullshit. Hard pass.

#the phantom of the opera #the fantasticks #les misérables #cats #RENT #sweeney todd #le roi soleil #notre dame de paris #all shook up #oliver!#broadway musicals #personal

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onelastfic · 5 years ago

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Future AU Basteta x Junji Kids Quotes

Nenet

“Has anybody seen my roller skates I got roller derby today?”

“How dare you. HOW DARE YOU! Listen here, you scaly asshole. Just because you’re a prince with seven hearts, a big sword, and a bunch of powers doesn’t mean you get to bully my bros! You do NOT. I REPEAT. YOU. DO. NOT. HURT. MY. FAMILY!!!”

“You know, I'm noticing a complete lack of balls in this room. No basketballs, no soccer balls, no baseballs - no balls.”

“Don't think I'm about to lose! 'Cause I'm not! I’m just turning up the heat!”

“Lars?! I don’t like Lars?! He’s a reckless, arrogant perv who thinks he’s all that?! I just hang around that dummy to make sure his ego doesn’t get too big?!”

“The key to parkour is momentum! Never stop moving!”

“You know what’s good about being this size? It easier to punch you in dick?!”

“Hey, Cindy. Wanna kiss? The chocolate, I mean! Not kiss the chocolate, but ‘Kiss, the chocolate.’ Like, a chocolate kiss. Not-“

“Morning, fam. What’s for break—Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!!!………I’m ok! Also I found Netty’s other roller skate!”

“Time to dragon up!”

“Please tell me that breeze I’m feeling isn’t because I lost my pants…again.”

“Oooo, peanut brittle! GAH! Dammit Dylan?! Enough with the pranks?!”

“Ok, mom said it’s two streets down and to the left. Or was it 4 streets down and to the right? Hold on, let me get my phone.”

Nico

“I might not be a monster, but I’m hardly weak. The Te Xuan Ze chose me for a reason. Dattebayo!”

“I don’t understand why dad and mom won’t let me dye my hair. How else can I go full Super Saiyan?!”

“Look at me! I’m gonna smash ya stupid faces—Dylan! Stop laughing when I’m trying to be intimidating?!“

“Yeah, I’m watching Sailor Moon. What? It’s a good show.”

“Wait, guys! Don’t touch that monster or—Gahhh!…Or it’ll explode…Why do I even bother?”

“I am but a hand. I am but a vessel. I am the stone that balances the worlds.”

Mei

“Auntie D! Will ya help me run my lines? You’re the only one besides me with real acting skills.”

“Shhhhhhh! Listen to the K-Pop. K-Pop makes everything better.”

“Ya see this picture right here? Ya don’t want this getting out. If ya want me to stay quiet than I think a trip to the toy store is in order.”

“I am going to that audition! I’ve invested too much time and glitter not to!”

“I’m noticing a distinct lack of pink in this room. I’m gonna have to change that.”

“Dusk! Dawn! Come back here, ya wimps! I know ya ate the imported Japanese snacks that Auntie D got me! Now get back here so I can strike oil with ya heads!”

———

Junji belongs to @japanda-draws

Lars, Dusk, & Dawn belongs to @kururu418

Dylan & Cindy belongs to @laylaylamode

#callyieverse #next gen #oc #future au #nenet #junji junior #jj #nico #mei #junji lee long #basteta

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thecloserkin · 5 years ago

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fell down an éomer/éowyn rabbithole, 100% @spookyshai’s fault, have a grab bag of recs

I rewatched The Two Towers and it’s clear to me Karl Urban has chemistry with everyone up to and including lampposts. Just a reminder everyone make sure you watch the extended cut not the theatrical cut, it’s worth it just for Éowyn’s face when she finds out Aragorn is 87 years old.

I am a slut for angst but even so these fics hurt me. The “darkest before the dawn” vibe is strong with this pairing, half the fic is them fucking before he rides off to patrol, and they’ve got that unhealthily-codepdenedent-orphan-children angle going for them too.

Care by Halrloprillalar (1k)— literally the platonic ideal of a bedsharing fic, @spookyshai calls the prose “disgustingly beautiful” and i could not agree more: “Éomer learned her body, intent upon each curve, as though he were a skald and Éowyn a verse that he was making.”

Hope by elceri (1.2k)—whatever you think of the one-sidedness of Éowyn’s attraction to Aragorn that chemistry was through the fucking roof (there was zero chemistry with Faramir). i loved how this fic drew on the parallels between Éowyn and Aragorn’s plights: they are both profoundly lonely people looking over the horizon for their beloved’s return (Éomer, Arwen—well Aragorn has mixed feelings about Arwen returning since it would mean she chose mortality but ykwim). Y’all know by now that the seamless progression of platonic affection to romantic attachment is my kryptonite, so this is the line that gutted me: “the soft kisses and caresses that had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember and the heated lovemaking that had come with age. She could not fathom a life without him, for as long as she had known life, there had been him. Only him. Only Éomer.” And headcanoning Théodred as gay so he promised to marry Éowyn as a beard and then her and Éomer could continue as they were??? i swear my soul ascended on the spot

My Own by Rainchilde (2.7k, warning for noncon)—one of the most shippable aspects of their relationship has always been Grima Wormtongue lurking in the shadows, because you have on the one hand A STALKER and otoh the person whom she trusts and values most in the world. the contrast is plain. i’m all for scenarios where the stalker’s unwanted attentions drive the girl into her brother’s arms (see Dante’s Stars) but this fic actually examines what Éomer has in common with Grima, viz. he wants to make Éowyn his yet she is just as unattainable to him as to Grima

Made Bare by Dana (0.4k)—I am always here for horny swordplay: “He licks his lips, watching her, parted lips and parted legs, and the pounding of his heart is a dull roar in his ears.”

Steadfast by hesychasm (3.3k) — they get it on in the stables asdfdfkdjfdkf it’s extra sexy bc of their shared history, they’re children of Rohan they were practically born in the saddle and it’s just. so hot. This is the eve of her official engagement to Faramir and Éomer has left the banquet hall early for Reasons; we get nuggets of internal monologue from him like: “I judged the mare a good enough gift for my sister, though Gondor-bred.” The subtext being no man or beast in all of Gondor is good enough for Éowyn lmaooo. "Can I not love you both?” she protests, and he says, ”I do not believe even your heart is so great." Ouch ouch ouch. On the subject of her husband-to-be: “He knows already who is first in my heart."

Blood Remembers by musesfool (2.4k) — So many shared memories, moments, milestones! For instance, it’s she who comforts him after he has to give a comrade the mercy stroke. Losing their virginity to each other is such a logical extension & culmination of all that history: “’I dreamt you were dead,’ she whispered … She ran her fingers over the arch of his cheek, the bow of his lips, and followed her hand with her mouth … His hands touched her in places no man had ever touched before. His lips sought hers and the gentle good night kisses they'd shared over the years transmuted into something harder, darker, more urgent.” AND THEN: “The years have passed swiftly since that night, and no other man has yet stirred her blood to such passion. She believes none ever will, and is reconciled to a life alone.” KILL ME NOW GAHHH

Dirt and Gold by Empyreus (1k)—outsider POV Gríma, i’m pretty sure this fic was written specifically FOR ME jesus fucking christ so Éomer and Éowyn are lowkey banging and Gríma apparently lingers at keyholes to listen???: “‘You reek of him, of your brother the wild rider,’ he had wanted to say. "I can feel the sweat that surely slicked your skin.’” Also this: "Is there anything you will deny him? For all your ice, you too burn when the heat is too fierce. When your brother tells you to burn."

Hammer and Tongs by Halrloprillalar (1.6k) —she forges him a blade!!! which is only the most romantic gesture of all time. i’m LIVING for the amount of sneaking around that happens: “All know the Lady of Rohan has a great love for her brother …They do not know that she goes to him at night, walking the halls without a candle, carrying a posset for him, lest she need an excuse.”

In My Darkest Hour by elceri (3k)—Plottier than some of the pornier fics I’ve rounded up here but this conversation is EVERYTHING: “Éomer! The last thing Rohan needs at this time is a martyr!" "I would rather be a martyr than a hypocrite … It will not come to that, my sister, I promise you. My willingness to make the sacrifice does not mean I invite it, or would accept it willingly." "So said Theodred.” ”I am not Theodred." “Then why do you come to me? To prophesy your own death? I am not accustomed to such ominous words from you, brother." "I come to you for strength, Éowyn … Dark have been my days and nights, and dark will they be, and you have been my only light. If I am never to see you again, by that villain's hand, then I want to carry some of that light with me to whatever end may come."

Survivors by CanonIsRelative (1k)—omg they are having messy quickies in the stables??? Éomer and Éowyn have evidently been practicing the pull-out method of contraception up until this one time on the eve of battle and then they’re like fuck it. This is Éowyn’s Return to me victorious: “I await you, my lord, and a year shall I endure for every day that passes until your return. Come back with your helm upon your brow, or resting in state upon your breast.”

Swordplay by elceri (1k)—outsider POV, Théoden and Gríma watch the boys show Éowyn the ropes down in the practice yard: ”She has her brother's talent with the sword—see how quickly she learns!" "If your words are true, Sire, then when she is twenty you will have two strong-willed, hot-headed warriors in your house, aided and abetted by an older cousin who seems to think that life is indeed one long game!"

#desperately wish i could read german so i could devour this 63K FIC CHILLIN HERE IN THE TAG #eowyn x eomer #Eomer x Eowyn #fic rec #fic roundup

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thatgirlintheaudience · 5 years ago

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Hadestown

Hadestown- August 8, 2019

I really enjoyed the opening of this show. The whole cast just comes on stage and Andre De Shields just commands attention with his presence. He holds the audience in the palm of his hands. The introductions of each character is really fun and the audience was really responsive. The whole cast just looks at Andre and it’s just a really unique way to begin a show, similar to Rent.

When Orpheus was introduced and the spotlight shone on Reeve and he sang lala, my heart was like ahhh! Orpheus and Hermes’ relationship is so cute and Reeve does such a good job of displaying Orpheus’ optimism and innocence.

I just love Orpheus and Eurydice’s relationship and Reeve and Eva so just get ready for me to gush over them, but, when Eurydice questions why she should marry Orpheus and Hermes goes “he’ll make you feel alive”, and Eurydice says, “that’s worth a lot” -that is one of my favorite lines for some reason. I just love how Eurydice has had this hard life and she’s kind of jaded because of it and doesn't see the way the world could be like Orpheus does and they’re just so cute together because of it.

Wedding Song is so catchy and is just an amazing song that shows the contrast in Orpheus and Eurydice’s characters. Eurydice questions how they could ever have a wedding while Orpheus explains how it could be possible and once Orpheus creates the flower, Eurydice begins to believe and joins in singing with him. And then when Orpheus sings the song and he walks over these tables and then all of a sudden the carnation (I think) appears, like wow. This show just makes me believe in love.

All the Epics are beautiful and uh yeah Reeve’s voice is otherworldly. I think that’s the one word I would use. I find his voice so unique and just so haunting and enchanting.

Livin’ it Up on Top was so amazing. Amber Gray is such a star. Her acting and attitude and dancing was just so effortless. Plus she had the best costumes. The dancing in this number was also great and I’m so glad the ensemble of this show is getting the recognition they deserve because they really are an integral part. They were lifted up from the bottom to the top of the stage and they were all curled up in a ball and it took me a minute to realize it was actual people. And when it’s Orpheus’ turn and he goes “To the world we dream about and the one we live in now” and there’s a moment of silence and the he stomps his foot in silence and goes, “right now we’re livin it” and the chorus and band joins in, WOW.

I could write an essay about All I’ve Ever Known. This is definitely one of my favorite Broadway love duets. It’s nice to see the transformation in Eurydice as she grapples with these feelings and grapples with having to need someone besides herself. And Eva’s handstand over Reeve, wow. When Orpheus holds Eurydice and sings “and suddenly I’m holding the world in my arms” that moment is beautiful and honestly breathtaking.

Patrick Page’s entrance as Hades and his first line just makes me laugh because of that Live w/Kelly and Ryan performance. Anyway, when Eurydice sings “kind of makes you wonder how it feels” and Orpheus runs and wraps his arms around her. There’s also another part where Orpheus puts himself in between Hades and Eurydice. He’s just so protective of her! Then at the the end of Way Down Hadestown, Eva belts “way down” and it was great.

Biggest shout out to the turn table and the lift and the band. I swear to god, every show should add a turn table. It just adds so much drama, I love it. I believe they use the turntable during the Chant reprise. And they use the lift for transportation to the Underworld.

When Orpheus says “the gods have forgotten the song of their love” oh snap, that’s when stuff begins. I also did not even realize how relevant this show is to current times. I mean, Persephone complaining about the climate of Hadestown saying, “it ain’t right and it ain’t natural.” And Why We Build the Wall is pretty self explanatory. And just the power of art and music to change the ways of a powerful ruler, like wow.

Hey, Little Songbird is creepy and Hades knows that Eurydice will appreciate the things about Hadestown that Persephone hates about it.

THE FATES. When the Chips Are Down. These harmonies. Not to mention, they’re just so cool. Jewelle, Yvette and Kay are amazing. “You get a knife in the back” is my favorite part.

When Orpheus sings “til the end of time, til the end of the earth” that’s love. When Hermes begins Wait For Me, I was just like ahh it’s happening, I’m not ready. I also love the backing vocals in this song and the Fates’ part is so good and just dark. The lights swinging out over the audience was amazing and the ensemble has lights on their heads. And Reeve Carney did not get Tony nominated for this role, people! Why??? Just for this number alone.

The a capella part in Why We Build the Wall is powerful.

Act 2:

Persephone saying, “step into my office” is amazing. “There’s a crack in the WAAAALLLL.” Enough said.

Flowers was so sad and emotional. This song is lyrically brilliant: “Dreams are sweet until they're not/ Men are kind until they aren't/ Flowers bloom until they rot and fall apart.” Love this line.

If it’s True is sad as Orpheus feels despaired at losing Eurydice but it’s also powerful as the workers can hear Orpheus and agree to be on his side. I think the turn table was used for this.

Amber Gray was amazing in How Long? as her frustration builds up with Hades and she tries to fight for Orpheus. Chant reprise into Epic 3 was the highlight of the show along with Wait For Me. The use of the turn table in Chant reprise is absolutely amazing. I believe it was this part where Persephone was walking around the tun table looking exhausted and Hades looked at her, while Orpheus and Eurydice stared at each other.

In Epic 3, Orpheus stands in the middle and gets lifted up as the music builds up. I thought “where is the treasure inside of your chest?” a brilliant line. The room is absolutely silent as Hades and Persephone sing their lalalas. Hades and Persephone's dance was beautiful and the music they play just sounds like spring beginning, it sounds like sunshine.

Promises is so beautiful and Orpheus and Eurydice are just so trusting of each other which makes this ending so much sadder. When Eurydice says “take me home” it’s like wow, she has finally found a home where she feels happy and safe. Everything Orpheus says to Eurydice applies to her worries, especially when he says “I’ll walk beside you any way the wind blows.”

And again the Fates are so good in Word to the Wise.

Wait for Me reprise is amazing, especially when the Fates reprise their lines from Wait For Me to Orpheus. Eva’s belt is real and it’s brilliant.

Doubt Comes In is really sad because unlike in Wait For Me, Orpheus is insecure and doubtful about making it out. It’s really heartbreaking when he says, “I used to see the way the world could be, but now the way it is is all I see” because we love Orpheus because of his optimistic quality he has that very few posses. And it’s really sad when he compares himself to Hades because he doubts his ability to compete against someone with that much power when Orpheus has so many valuable qualities. And when Reeve sings “is this a trap?” oof. And it’s just a switch of personality because all of a sudden Orpheus is doubtful and Eurydice is optimistic about making it. So when Orpheus turns around it is devastating. The break and emotion in their voices as they say each others’ names is just gahhh. Eurydice literally drops to her knees and covers her face as she sobs and gets taken down to Hadestown. Orpheus drops to his knees and watches her go down and stays there with the saddest look on his face for a few minutes.

When Hermes says, “it’s a tragedy” woah. and then he says, “but we sing it anyway.” Wow! It’s such a full circle moment, this show. I don’t know what instrument it is, I wanna say a trumpet, but the trumpet in Road to Hell reprise gives it such a hopeful quality. It gives me a new dawn/ day vibe.

So they do curtain call and then they sing We Raise Our Cups. Amber looks straight ahead at the audience and says “good night brother” and then she raises her glass and goes “good night.” And just that moment was so good.

So if you can’t tell I really enjoyed this show and I hope you enjoyed reading this!

#hadestown #theater review #reeve carney #eva noblezada #amber gray #patrick page #andre de shields #orpheus #eurydice #persephone

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lilsherlockian1975 · 7 years ago

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Oh god Lil, I am.falling in love with your love story now... It's like I want to read your version of FIRST ILY story :)

Well, since you asked…So Mr Lil and I met in college. He was an art major and I was an art history major but we were both involved with the theater program as well (I was minoring in theater). He left after a year, transferred to a larger school about an hour away, but always came back during breaks (and always had a girlfriend or fiance, even). I instantly thought he was quite dishy and loved that he was taller than me - I'm 5’11”) when I did his hair for the first show I helped out with (I did hair and makeup). Ironically, it was Lillian Hellman’s The Little Foxes. When he graduated - three years later - he moved home and the first time I saw him was a cast party at my house for our production of Chicago. He had just found out that his fiance had cheated on him (the cow!) and he had broken off their engagement. We talked all night. It was magical! Corny as that sounds, it was. So, he doesn’t have my number and I didn’t know he was that interested (even though we had kissed) but I come home from work a couple of days later to find a note taped to my door: “I didn’t have you number, but I’d love to make you dinner. Call me.” How cute is that?

I honestly thought I was a ‘transition fling’, he had been a relationship (though long distance-ish) for like three years and was perfectly okay with this. Though I liked him… a lot, I really just wanted to have fun. He and I had a lot in common and were very compatable… physically (if you get my drift!).

I tell him early on - maybe our third date - about a nightmare ex of mine who claimed to be in love with me after knowing me a month. Gahhh… NOPE! I broke up with dude instantly but he sort of stalked me for a while. Unbeknownst to me, this scared the future Mr Lil quite badly. We’d been dating for about three months when a mutual friend of ours asks if he’s “Said IT” yet. I’m all NO!! And I hope he doesn’t… Ick! Love, not for me! She says that he’d told her that he’s in love with me and afraid to tell me. I tell her “Good. Fear is healthy!”Another month or so goes by and I’m at his apartment just about to fall asleep. He thinks I am, obviously, because he whispers, “I’m in love with you but if I tell you, you’ll leave me.”OUCH! That one was hard. But I tell myself it’s for the best. He doesn’t know that I know. We can keep things as they are: exclusive, but somewhat casual.

Ahh, that didn’t happen! Two weeks later, we’re lying in bed, talking and he wraps his arms and legs around me tightly. I laugh, saying “You know I don’t like to cuddle, you big ape!” and poke his in the ribs to try and tickle him away. He doesn’t react, just says, “I love you, Lillian. I’m sorry but I couldn’t not tell you. Please don’t leave.”

Well, I can’t! He’s got me trapped!Then the strangest thing happened… I opened my mouth to make some smart comment about ‘needing to breathe’ but instead “I love you too” comes out. WHAT THE HELL?! We didn’t talk much after that… far too busy with adult activities. I fall asleep ‘after’ and wake up a couple hours later, sweaty, nauseated and with one hell of a headache. I rush to his bathroom just in time to puke my guts up. I stayed there the rest of the night alternating between vomiting and, well, the other thing that happens when one’s sick. EWE! While I’m alone in my misery, sat on the floor of his bathroom - contemplating if I should just give it up and let this ‘illness’ take me home to meet my maker - I start to panic. My overactive (and slightly delirious) mind decided that I’m not sick… it’s… it’s… Oh my God, I’m having an adverse reaction to LOVE! My body is telling me that I made a mistake!Okay, Lillian, calm down. Just tell him you didn’t mean it! He’ll understand. It’s gonna be fine! This didn’t help much but got me through the night. Just after dawn, he opens the door to the bathroom, scaring the life out of me, a crazed look on his face. “Move!” he shouts. “Get out! NOW!”

Confused, I get up on shaky legs and leave, only to hear him vomit as soon as the door shuts. Needless to say, it wasn’t ‘love sickness’ or a mistake. We both had a nasty flu bug. Lord, it was awful! We were sick for like five long days. I never doubted it again. Not for a second.

#jonarya786 #lil's first ily #personal story

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tumblunni · 7 years ago

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AWW C’MON FFXIV

one of the biggest barriers to me getting back into it is just how SLOW the beginning is when you don’t have any friends to help you out like it legit took me a whole week of constant grinding just to reach level 15! FIFTEEN! IUts really fuckin slow even by usual mmo standards! and like.. all that slow is supplimented by huge amounts of quests and story and being required to do that main story in order to access goddamn ANYTHING, such as (for example) the additional hairstyle customization options you get at level 15 which I KINDA GRINDED SIX DAYS FOR, ONLY TO FIND OUT I NEEDED TO FINISH 8 MAIN STORYLINE QUESTS FIRST.

Like normally i would be HAPPY for an MMO that has loads of well made story scenes and ties progression more to quests than to grinding. But its just.. so unappealing to me?? Its That One Style Of Storytelling That Turns Me Off Immediately. I fuckin hate pretentious fairytale stylings. like not even when its told in the nostalgic writing style of a kids’s story or has a fairytale art aesthetic, those are some of my FAVOURITE THINGS. Nah when its the nostalgic writing style of fuckin specifically shakespeare and the only aesthetic is fuckin tolkein AGAIN. Like its really fuckin noticeable that the entire FF series has a bazillion original species in every other game but as soon as they made an mmo its Now Only Elves And Dwarves And Giants. And like.. the one anime addition of catgirls, and also making orcs/demons fuckin boring bishounen people with ‘all men are dragony and all women are 12 year old lolis with hair decorations’ as a fuckin species trait.o r I guess maybe the roegadyn are both orcs and giants combined and the au’ra got all of the leftover terrible traits..? And that’s 80 times more obnoxious when everyone talks like YE OLDE FUCKIN LITERATURE CLASSE AYE MY BOY YONDER DAWN DOTH BREAK OVER BIGASS FUCKOFF MOUNTAIN, HERE TAKE A STICK AND KILL 5 SLIMES like they literally fuckin sub ‘nightsoil’ for ‘shit’. this is an actual thing that someone thought would sound clever and fantasy-ish, instead of like an internet parody... And as far as I know the japanese version doesn’t even do this?? And neither did japanese FF12?? I FEEL SO LIED TO! Like these two worlds are still the most simultaneously cliche and overdeveloped ever, but i would at least enjoy my experience marginally more if the wall of text didnt stretch out every word to its maximum syllable potential..

BUT YKNOW DESPITE THAT DESPITE THAT BEING MY PROBLEM I AM NOW SAD AT FFXIV MAKING EXACTLY THE FIX FOR ME

They added a REALLY interesting and Dear God Relief feature where you can literally buy your way to the start of the latest expansion, story-wise. Which is a really great idea tbh, it kinda sucks to see ‘level requirement 80 must have beaten main story’ on this entire separate thing that you just bought. Kid me was dumb and didnt read all the conditions on old FFXI stuff... And I mean, anyone who complains about this being pay to win is being a dumbass, since all it does is promote you to the base level required for that storyline. Like the maximum here is level 60 with the equivelant job quests finished, so like.. there’s at least One Thing that makes you less than horribly underprepared compared to everyone else, but you’re still just a newbie wearing big boy pants. You can never pay to win for any level anywhere near the cap, it’s just pay to skip the more boring beginner sections. And probably get your ass kicked after cos all u hav is base equipment and none of the optional sidequets content or learned experience from the actual story...

BUT STILL I’M MAD BECAUSE there’s no way to do this without skipping the story!! your 60 levels of beginner quests are flagged as complete and you can never even see what you missed unless you watch someone else’s lets play i guess

and I know I just said that the story is really cumbersome and slow and badly written and cliche and i have no investment in anything but like that’s only 99% true, I actually WAS interested in the job training plotlines! a smaller self-contained sidequest with a cast of mentor npcs and story directly tied to your combat strength, rather than having to mop up loads of way underlevelled quests arbitrarily just to unlock the ability to actually exceed that level. gahhh Also i have a soft spot for the thieves guild- umm i mean the ‘seamstresses’ (or what was the actual joke about it? i think that was the discworld version XD) Mostly because they don’t talk like overly fancy pricks but also dont have too much of an over the top fakey oliver twist poor person voice. have I mentioned how its double annoying playing this game as a brit and hearing EVERYONE as some american guy doing the most stereotypical accent? Its a japanese game, why did you even do this!! srsly, this and ff12 have so many of the same dub fail. Oh, but also i like the thieves guild cos their plot is actually somewhat interesting, with the secrecy and stuff, instead of just I Am Mentor Man I Am Good At Job But Probably Tsundere Or Something For Six Hours. Also nice that there’s a full cast of this piratey crew and you get to interact with bossman’s admin guys sometimes, and get a general sense that he’s the comedic bumbler that’s only kept alive by their competance. (I call it.. the Plumeria Principle..)

Oh and lol also even if i could skip the story bits I hated, i probably wouldnt cos this thing is so fuckin Lore that i’d be completely lost... T_T But aaaa its tempting!! Cos I picked a bad starting town that had a plot and mentor npc that I didnt really care for, and now i really wanna switch to (weirdly enough) the one for gridania the land of the most boring elves and none of the job classes I want to use. She was just a really cool character! I can’t remember the pirate town equivelant tho, I just think that was my fave town aesthetic and fave jobs and stuff but the npcs were boring. I want elf mom!!! But seriously after fuckin SO MUCH WORK getting to level 20 before i decided i wanted to restart AAAA and then i wasted a bunch of my money on appearance change coupons to try and sate the restart temptation but then i realised No It Was Elf Mom I Miss so now i have a bunch of that cash shop content on that character and its impossible to transfer or somethin?? i couldnt even figure out how to send money between your own characters, which sucks cos some really nice guy gave me 30000 gold for no reason when i first started up the game and i legit DID NOT KNOW HOW TO USE CHAT YET so i was like running after him all WAAAAIT LET ME FIND THE KEYBOARD TO SAY THANKS xD But then i was just using that character to check out some of the other intro towns, it wasnt my main so i never used the money :(

so yeah anyway now I’m stuck here grumpy and debating whether i should buy this aaaaa and i cant even remember the name of the clearly-a-thief-but-dont-call-it-that class so i can pick the right thing to buy... And also i dont know if this only skips job training quests and not main story quests? or if there’s any way to recap main story quests at least? so it might not be as bad as I think. And maybe i could just pick whatever class I hate most to get all the exp in, and then i can have the level requirement to use my damn expansion but still go back and restart another job questline. and it’d probably be easier lol with all the boosts of having some other job high levelled! wonder if there’s a job with a terrible plotline that jus coincidentally lines up as a great thief supporter...?

#blunni thoughts

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