#yeah four arcs more or less

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also like speaking of season four giving winston more of that serious arc of an episode's plotline than it ever would again, it's also made funnier by knowing that was Before they had more actor availability and that they Did actually want to have more like oh boy now we can give you material unhindered....and it being like, what, that they treated winston as more of [as much a character as the others] in season four b/c they couldn't give him the screentime for an episode or two per season to really get to go harder than usual on winston as punching bag & sprinkling in more of that generally in addition to [winston exposits info plot devicely] which he also got in season four? but like yeah. yeah i think that was it

[gutsby]

Hating Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.

Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"

You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.

Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.

An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.

A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.

A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would’ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.

Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.

Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.

You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.

That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.

Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.

“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.

Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.

Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.

“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.

You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.

There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.

You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.

Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.

“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.

“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.

You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater’ was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.

You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.

The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.

Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.

A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.

You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.

You did well at first.

Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.

Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.

Vomit-inducing.

Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.

You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.

And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.

Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.

“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.

“You first,” he said, chuckling.

You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.

You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.

“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”

Then, when the cup didn’t waver:

“Can they change the fucking song already?!”

Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.

“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.

You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.

Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.

“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.

You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.

“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”

Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.

You shrugged instead.

“Some guy from school.”

Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.

“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”

You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.

“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”

The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.

Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.

“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.

You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.

Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.

Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.

Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.

You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.

“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.

Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.

“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”

Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.

If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.

Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.

That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.

“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.

Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.

“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”

“Can you spike it with bleach?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.

“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.

“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”

“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”

You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.

Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.

“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.

You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.

“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.

“Weird how?”

Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.

“Weird like…I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”

He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.

“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.

You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.

“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.

“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”

You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.

You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.

At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.

“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.

Ain’t that the truth.

Then, after a minute:

“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”

You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.

It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.

“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.

You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.

You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.

“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.

“Tweaking,” you corrected him.

“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”

“In what way?”

“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”

You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.

“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”

Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.

You raised both eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”

“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.

“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”

Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.

“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”

When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?

Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.

Good times.

You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.

“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”

“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.

The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.

“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.

You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.

He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?

What if Joel tells Tommy?

What if Tommy tells dad?

Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.

Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.

Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.

When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.

“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.

You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.

“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.

You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.

Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.

Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.

You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.

You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.

The only thing that followed were footsteps.

Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.

“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”

“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”

That made you pivot.

Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.

You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.

Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”

Joel didn’t flinch.

In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.

He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.

“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”

Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.

Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.

Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.

“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”

Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.

“My shorts, too?!”

You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.

“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”

Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.

Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.

You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.

“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”

“FUCK you!”

“Already DID!”

You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.

Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.

“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”

You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.

“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.

“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”

Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.

“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.

“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”

“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”

Joel was good.

He was an insufferable ass and he was good.

Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.

“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.

“What did I do?” he said, curious.

Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.

“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.

Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.

“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.

���Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”

Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.

Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.

“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”

Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”

You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.

“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.

“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”

“Fucker.” That was your word.

And it worked well enough for Joel.

In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.

He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.

“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.

Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.

“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.

He what?

You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.

You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.

Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.

He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.

“Joel.”

He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.

“Joel, I—”

“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”

You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.

“You fucked her didn’t you?”

Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”

“You brought her here.”

“Had to.”

Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.

“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”

“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”

Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.

“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”

Oh.

“And you—” you started.

“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.

Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.

“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.

You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.

At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.

“Happy?” he said, after a beat.

You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.

At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.

Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.

“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.

“Uh-huh.”

Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.

Good that he could fuck you.

Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.

Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.

He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.

“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”

Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.

He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.

“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”

Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.

You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.

“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.

“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.

“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”

You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.

Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.

“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”

Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.

You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.

Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.

You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.

Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.

“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,

“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”

Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.

“That’s my sweet girl.”

Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.

He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.

He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.

“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.

You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.

The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.

“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”

You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.

Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.

“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.

In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.

“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”

“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”

Evidently, he’d found your G spot.

Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.

You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.

“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.

“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.

You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’

Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.

You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.

Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.

So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.

He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.

Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,

“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”

“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”

He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.

“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”

You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.

“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”

You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.

“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”

“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”

The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.

“Want you to…cum on me, please.”

“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”

“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”

That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.

Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.

By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.

Must be fucking nice.

When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.

“Open,” Joel commanded.

You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.

He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’

You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.

Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.

There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.

“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.

You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.

Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.

He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.

With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.

You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.

Almost.

When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.

“Honey—”

“Don’t.”

“But I—”

“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”

You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.

You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.

You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.

Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.

You hated it.

“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.

Hated him.

“How’s my baby been, huh?”

Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.

“I missed you.” Gently. Again.

You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.

Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.

You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.

Joel slowly descended your body.

“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.

“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.

You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.

“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.

Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.

You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.

Love it you could—and would. Without shame.

Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.

“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”

“Joel.”

You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.

You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.

Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.

In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.

“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.

Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.

You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.

Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.

You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.

When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.

Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.

When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.

You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.

Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.

He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.

Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.

With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.

You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.

“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.

“Hm?”

He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.

“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.

“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.

No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.

He could do this.

He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.

Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.

He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.

“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”

“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.

Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.

Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.

“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.

He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.

Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.

“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”

Wait—the fuck?

That came out wrong.

You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.

Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.

“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”

“Miller. Spit it out.”

Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?

Joel winced.

Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.

NO! No. No. Just…fuck. Stay hard. Please, stay hard.

He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.

“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.

Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.

“Texted you back?” you scoffed.

“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”

Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.

“You never texted me, Joel!”

What?

Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.

“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”

“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”

Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.

“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.

At last, your expression dropped.

From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.

“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”

“Huh?”

“5 at the end, not a 9.”

“…No.”

“Yeah…”

Shit.

Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.

“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.

You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.

“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”

‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.

“What’s’at mean?” he asked.

You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.

“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”

‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.

Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.

A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.

“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.

You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.

“Mhmm.”

Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.

“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”

In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.

He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.

“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.

Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’

He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.

Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.

You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.

For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.

He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.

Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.

Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.

“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.

You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.

“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”

The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.

Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.

You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.

With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.

“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”

You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,

“So— so close, daddy.”

Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.

Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.

Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.

Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.

To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.

Thank fuck.

Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.

You grinned.

Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.

You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.

“Wanna try something fun?”

He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.

Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.

Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.

This was your idea of ‘fun.’

Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That would come later.

No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.

You froze.

Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.

One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.

“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.

“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.

And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.

Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You needed him whole.

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.

No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.

There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.

You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,

“—to the realization—”

“—that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”

Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.

Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

You thought you might like to see him that way forever.

Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.

You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.

You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.

[tizeline]

Some snippets into Donnie's relationship to his brothers in the Separated AU

So after having figured out that Donnie is in fact their Long Lost Brother, the Drax Trio obviously want him back, and while Donnie is initially excited to find out that he has a bunch of siblings, he's less excited to find out that they're a bit, uh, evil. And they keep insulting April!! How dare they!!! Not to mention, he already has a dad, he doesn't need a new one! So no, Donnie isn't planning on just leaving his current family behind for this new one, and his brothers react to this in various different ways.

As much as Mikey wants Donnie back, Dr. Feelings understands that this is quite the adjustment for Donnie and that he may need some time to come to terms with the fact that he actually belongs with them and not with the humans. Mikey doesn't wanna force his brother to reunite with them, so instead he tries to convince Donnie to come home willingly through various ways. I mentioned this in an earlier post, but AU Mikey is essentially trying to give Donnie a redemption arc like Canon Mikey did with Draxum

Raph, however, sees Donnie and immedietly goes full Protective Big Brother Mode. He thinks the best course of action is to "forcefully rescue" (kidnap) him and and then convince him to stay and be apart of their family. He's can't help catastrophizing about all the way his baby brother is definitely being mistreated by Lou Jitsu and April and all the other evil humans oh NO they have to SAVE HIM!! The only reason he doesn't is because no one else in the Draxum family thinks it's a good idea

And then Leo. I'll go more into detail about Leo's character in this AU at a later dat cuz hhhhhhh but basically, he's still dealing with pretty intense Middle Child Syndrome and the LAST thing he need is another middle child joining the family! Why are all his family members so obsessed with getting Donnie back anyway? He's already clearly chosen the human side so why waste their time on him! .....Now that's not entirely the whole truth, he's kinda ecstatic when he first meets Donnie, except Donnie doesn't seem to care about them any, which... ouch.

Another way to describe their dynamic would be similar to their canon dynamic, a lot of friendly bickering.... except they don't really know each other and are also enemies here so like.... UNfriendly bickering.... which is just bickering lol. They fight a lot, is what I'm getting at.

Anyway you know the family dinner scene with Draxum in season 2 of the show? Yeah, Mikey tries that tactic here too. Like I said, Mikey wants to be patient with Donnie, but he does eventually get a bit tired of Donnie acting so hostile all the time so he starts organizing hangouts for the four of them (attendence is mandatory!)

And poor Donnie, this whole situation is a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for him, as you might imagine. Reuniting with your secret lost family is fun for all of five seconds before you find out that they're actually kinda messed up uh oh. A big reason why Donnie acts so hostile towards his brothers is because it's easier for him to just dismiss them as mere enemies that he feels no attatchment to. He's basically being made to pick between this new family and his old one is Not Fun.

[arc-misadventures]

The Dragon Goddess

Weiss: I am the, God Dragon, Weiss Schnee. The Dragon Goddess of the Winter. Tell me foolish little mortal boy; What brings a child to my domain?

The Dragon Goddess, appearing no bigger then a normal human stared down at a four year old boy armed with a wooden sword.

: I am Jaune Arc! The Hero, and I... and, I am here to slay you! Ahhhhhhhhh!

Weiss saw the young boy charge at him, she raised an inquisitive eyebrow as she watch him charged her as he drew closer, preparing to land a, ‘killing blow.’

Jaune: Ooph!

That was until, Weiss saw the you boy trip, and fall on his face. She was about to rush over, and pick the boy back up, but he quickly got back up on his feet, and charged, her once more.

Jaune: Yaaaaa-AH! ("Bonk!")

Weiss stared at the boy as his wooden sword harmlessly bounced off her leg. She stared at the boy for a moment before she collpased to her knees, and cupped her head in her hands, and squealed, saying.

Weiss: THAT'S THE CUTEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN~!

The Dragon Goddess soon keeled over, and huddled up into the fettle position, and stared cry from cuteness overloaded.

Weiss: Soooo... precious...!

(Thud!)

Jaune: I have done it! I have defeated the evil dragon, I am a hero! Hahahaha!

: What the…?! What’s going on here?!

~~~

Juniper: Okay let me get this straight... My son 'attacked' the, Dragon Goddess of the Winter, Weiss Schnee. And, she found his attempt to 'slay' the 'evil dragon' so cute, that she wants to… marry my son. And if we do this, you, the Godly Dragons will accept this as an apology from the humans to dare ‘attack’ a Godly Dragon. Am I getting this right, cause this is just crazy.

Willow: More, or less. My daughter wants your son… apparently she wants to marry him… something about never losing this cute boy. Honestly, I’m her mother, and I’m just as lost as you are.

Juniper: Okay...?

Juniper: There are many things I’m concerned about. More things I’m thoroughly confused about. But, as a mother I must ask: If I accept this deal, is there the possibility of grandchildren at the end of it all?

Willow: There sure as hell better be!

Juniper: Alright then, Mrs. Schnee, you have yourself a deal!

~~~

Years Later

~~~

Yang: Wait… your mom sold you to a dragon god for grandchildren?!

Jaune: Yeah, pretty much.

Yang: And, you’re okay with this?

Jaune: Well… Have you met my wife, and our darling kids? Cause, arranged marriage, and all; it was pretty worth it to me.

Yang turns to see, Weiss playing with her golden platinum blond hair children. She watched as, Weiss playfully chased her children, catching one, and tormenting it to a barrage of kisses, before letting them get away, before chasing her next victim. She smiled as this continued, before she turned back to, Jaune, and said.

Yang: Damn, can’t argue against that.

Jaune: Neither can I.

[takes1]

p. 4 bratty tsukishima x manager!reader enemies to lovers

thank you so much @v15aexe for giving me that suggestion! i tried my best to honor it and make it feel as organic as possible! and thanks to everyone who's supported this little series :) next part should be heavy nsfw. lmk if ya'll want any other series/characters in my requests

warnings. sfw somehow again idk how this keeps happening to me. minors DNI

details. sfw? / build-up to nsfw / PDA / during: training camp arc / first kiss / jealous!tsukki / stupidshima / needyshima / suggestive petting / kuroo rizz / hand holding / unspoken feelings / communication / obsessed tanaka/nishinoya / 2k words

🤍 kei series. part one / part two / part three / final part / reply and get added to the taglist to get notifs for the last part!

more links. my ao3, my other stuff. request box. haikyuu collection

Tsukishima couldn't believe that it was so dark outside when he left the gym. This training camp would be the death of him.

Dreary and a bit dehydrated, he stepped to the doorway and looked at the surrounding gym-trailers, envious of all the ones that were dark and unoccupied.

His eyes naturally landed on one that was still in-use, though.

Kuroo, who had left early for unspecified reasons, was chatting you up with an unmistakable rizz charisma at the entrance.

You (the now-specified reason) looked downright delighted to be talking to him.

Tsukishima bit the inside of his cheek, heart racing, and barely noticed Bokuto's heavy shoulder slap on the way out of their gym.

"Yeah," He gave a half-cocked, hardly engaged smile and it fell right away.

Bokuto looked over his shoulder for a moment with a confused look- he said nothing to warrant a 'yeah,' but the thousand-yard stare across the kid's face was enough for even him to understand it was out of his paygrade to pry. He continued walking back to his own lodging, quickly becoming absentminded once more.

His immediate reaction at this discomfort was to roll his eyes, put his shoes on, and step out onto the concrete, facing the way back.

Your sweet laugh rang in his ears as he did this.

He looked back, and the older, better in now every way version of himself was brimming with pride that you found him funny.

His dignity couldn't take another beating today. He'd never be able to look you in the eye if he let this one go.

A newfound swiftness in his legs carried him three trailers down to where the light was pouring out into the dark night, blocked only by now: three shadows.

"-that was real sexy-- U-hum, admirable when you told your team off like that today," His fake 'slip-up' had you blushing from ear to ear, hands folded neatly in front of you.

The sly way he lowered his voice to just above a mutter was reminiscent of pillow-talk. He was undeniably smooth and radiated confidence. Even the successfully casual manner in which he leaned against the doorway to both get closer to you and to come across as more conversational.

You corrected him, pushing down his hand; he was about move some of your hair, so you moved it yourself.

You were keeping a polite distance both physically and verbally, "If this is your way of getting intel, you'd be barking up the wrong tree."

Unfazed, he took your hand in his effortlessly, "The only intel I need is your number."

When you took a breath to deny him that for the fourth time, you jumped at Tsukishima's haunted appearance just coming into the light.

Kuroo looked back and nearly jumped out of his skin with an uncool yelp- he quickly covered it with a, "Fuck--! Four-Eyes! You scared the absolute shit out of me."

He caught his breath, holding his chest, "You look like a damn ghost."

You laughed, sharing an entertained glance with Tsukishima, but saw that he was much less delighted to be standing there.

He crafted something on the spot, monotone and sounding just as disinterested as usual, "Coach needs you back at the dorm. It's getting late."

"Oh," You threw a look back to Hinata and Kageyama, who were still practicing, "I was just making sure these two got back in one piece. And- at a decent... time."

You checked your watch and realized it wasn't exactly a decent time anymore.

As you called out to the two still inside, Tsukishima and Kuroo stood in front of each other and crossed their arms with identical scowls.

Kuroo knew that face well. He'd seen it many times with other guys. The 'Go Away, Stop Talking to Her' stare. But he'd place good money on the fact that Tsukishima didn't even know it was a thing.

Even though he was just a freshman, and even though you were too damn good-looking to be Karasuno's manager, and even though he scared him- he took pity on him.

So he let up, but not without one last punch.

"I hope Bokuto grilled you enough while I was gone," He smirked, "You'll need to step it up for tomorrow's match, Tsukki."

There was a slight drop from the gym to the concrete. Tsukishima held his hand out for you to hop down with, and with a look he didn't return, you decided to take it and fixed your shoes.

"I plan to."

You felt a chill between them and had zero desire to intervene. Kuroo seemed to give a subtle, proud smile.

"Good."

The walk back was dead silent. It was slowly suffocating you, nagging at you like flies to just say something about what happened between you.

The pace wasn't fast, but it wasn't slow. And the accommodated lodging wasn't too far off from the lined-up gyms, so you both felt the opportunity growing smaller and smaller.

"It's nice seeing you stay for solo practice."

He said nothing.

"And- you've been getting better."

He scoffed, "Tell me that when we're not hitting penalty sprints after every match."

You smiled. It was quiet again.

"I will."

He looked down at you, brows raised, softer now. He realized how mean he sounded and couldn't take it back. There were a lot of things he couldn't take back.

That feeling helped him not shut down your candid question.

"So, what was that? Back there?"

His response was careful and slow. You were waiting on your toes for each following word.

"I guess-... I'm- surprised."

"What do you mean?"

"That you'd-- entertain that. You're not the type."

"You should be more careful putting girls in boxes, Tsukki-" The nickname just slipped out. You felt your face get warmer.

He stayed silent, though. You couldn't read him no matter how hard you tried.

You continued, treading lightly, "I... I don't know, it is nice being fawned over. It's flattering, at least."

The "Yeah," he choked out sounded like he'd gotten stabbed through the middle with a serrated knife- and you just twisted it.

"Much easier than having to deal with some jackass that doesn't know how to talk to me."

A surprised half-laugh, half-scoff left his lips at your brash comment.

"Really." He rolled his eyes, heart sinking, and regretting just about every moment between you. Especially that out-of-body shit he pulled back there.

"But," You leaned to look at him and found it nearly impossible.

He was staring at the sky. He really did look in pain.

"I wouldn't say I prefer it," A smile crept over your lips, a small laugh at how absurd your own words sounded, "It's not interesting enough."

His Adam's apple bobbed and his jaw worked. He was already at rock-bottom, so there was nothing to hide.

Another sigh-laced response, "What... would you prefer?"

The shared dormitories were approaching closer. You began to mosey, your footfalls with more time between them, smaller distance, in the hopes that you could steal more time alone. It was such a warm night and you were craving to get under a fan, but sweating out in this muggy, paved path had steady-growing appeal.

"Tall," You started to list, struggling to keep a nervous, yet amused grin down, "Blond,"

He finally looked down at you.

His eyes were glossy under his glasses. There was no such smile on his face, but his chest rose and fell faster.

"Intelligent, but-," You stopped and he followed your lead without a moment's hesitation. The pause felt right because now, the street light next to your housing was setting between you in a warm, flickering glow, "Somehow incredibly stupid."

An unfiltered laugh broke his melancholic silence and it was the most beautiful sound you could've asked for.

"Mean," You felt inclined to include through his bout of relieved laughter, "But- secretly really thoughtful, and sweet. And a really cute laugh."

You giggled with him, giddy and incredibly apprehensive as you took his hand. He laced his fingers through yours and your tummy started to dance with a billion butterflies.

Another tentative, gentle hand found its rightful place on your waist.

"I'm sorry," He muttered, "About... everything."

Crystal clear feelings of guilt flashed across his face, despite holding you, your admission, and his reparations today. His insecurities really did manage to worm their way back in.

"I thought it was pretty clear that I forgave you," You grinned, squinting up at him, "But since you're so stupid-,"

He smiled and looked away, shy.

"I guess I have to tell you directly that," You grabbed his chin to force him look at you, "I forgive you."

Those eyes were beyond complex. His charged, but needy stare sent a shiver down your spine and made your knees so weak that you were appreciative he pulled you closer to his chest.

You knew he didn't know how to kiss.

So you made the first move- a soft hand to the side of his face to guide him down, and a gentle, barely-there, slow peck. He started to kiss back, but it was over before he got the proper chance to try.

"One more," He breathed, the tiniest smirk covering a bottomless desire for you.

He could hardly form a kiss through his smiling, you weren't sure if he was really even trying on the second time he asked for another.

You leaned up for a third, hand at last unlacing from his, and slid to the base of his neck for a subtle pull for control. A deeper, much better kiss ensued as the result of this direction.

That unsure hand on your waist gripped harder with growing certainty- his thumb wrapped forward around your hip and squeezed, sending a shock throughout your body that left you tugging at the roots of his hair.

"Mmn," You buzzed against him and, a bit breathless, sucked a small, red spot to his jaw when you couldn't keep kissing him anymore.

"Ye-ah-" You seethed, brow knotted, "We can't do this here."

He was panting at the loss of your touch and your pretty voice. He nodded dumbly but didn't move.

You carefully guided his hand off of yours, holding it for a moment, and smiled at his dazed expression for all it was worth.

Your timing couldn't have been better. Just as you climbed the first steps to get into the building, Tanaka burst through the door in a fury.

"(Y/N)!! Where were you?! I'vebeenworriedsick!" He cried, only just barely drowning out the rapid, thundering of footsteps (interrupted only briefly with a crash and resulting shout) from your other personal fan, Nishinoya, who burst through the door in an identical fashion-- "Thank GOD!"

They both collapsed against you, not even giving you the chance to register their incessant noise.

"Jesus," You wheezed at the absurd weight of them both.

Tsukishima went completely unseen for the second time that night.

"Get off, both of you!" Daichi's disembodied, reprimanding voice called from upstairs. He certainly couldn't see them, so he must've just known.

With great, exaggerated labor, they did as told, but didn't drop the subject.

"You've never been out so late before!" Nishinoya exclaimed, taking both of your hands in his with big, dinner-plate eyes. It was only 9:30.

"Well, you have Tsukki to thank for getting me back safely," You joked, much quieter than them, heart light on the heels of a good kiss and in the company of good friends.

They looked around before spotting him, generating an amused smile on your face, and shook both of his hands at the same time, thanking him many times for his service.

"He saved me from Kuroo," You added with a playful glance back to Tsukishima, now free to walk in with them out of the way.

Now he was the one bombarded with questions as you slipped your shoes off in the doorway.

taglist:

this has been so nice writing! thank ya'll for the support! drop any suggestions for other characters or series you'd want to see in my requests!

@hotvinimon @cyzvx @aloveablechaos @kozumesphone

@beaniedoodz @idiotboys @djmoyolehuani @ilovemymomscooking

@imiqz @vierciale

[essycogany]

Small Things Can Make Big Differences 🩷

Hi, Fans Of Amy Rose!

This is my opinion and we don’t know what could happen between now and Sonic Movie 3. Anyone can disagree. I’m 100% fine with that and this isn’t going to tarnish my enjoyment of the film at all, but I’ve got to get this off my chest. I’d love to see Amy Rose in Sonic Movie 3 and would be disappointed if she wasn’t in it. Yeah, she’d probably not have a HUGE role or time to develop as much. I get it, but at the same time, I personally don’t think we should shy away from characters having small arcs.

Tails had one in Sonic Movie 2 and I wouldn’t say the movie would’ve been better without him. I don’t think we should have to justify a main character like Amy who’s existed before KNUCKLES (and debatably Tails) being in a movie about her own franchise. We shouldn’t have to wait a whole year for it either. Stuff takes time sure, but other movies with Pokémon, the Avengers, Mario, My Little Pony G4, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and many others did it and did it well for the most part. Most of these have tons of characters that they wasn’t afraid to show in one movie. Characters with smaller roles still impacted the movies and in a memorable way too. We shouldn’t be so timid in bringing Sonic characters in Sonic movies. They’re just as marketable as these other franchises. The successes of the Sonic trilogies proved that.

Without Amy or other characters it doesn’t feel as full as it could be. Not saying we should’ve got all of them from the get go but a little more would be nice.

I’m saying this respectfully but that doesn’t make sense especially if we have enough time to flesh out the human core characters/side characters who aren’t even part of the main franchise and not the ones most audiences came to see in the first place. I’m neutral and understand both critiques and defenses so you can decide where to go to on that.

Back to before, you don’t need long drawn out character development in order to be written well. Tails turned out fine despite his small role. Heck, Amy’s roles in the GAMES were usually small but not less impactful because of it. Amy practically helped save the entire world with her “small roles” and one for an emotional and impactful moment with Shadow. Even small things can make big differences and that’s one lesson you can learn from Amy.

Amy’s interactions with Gamma in SA1 impacted the robot to the point of him sacrificing himself to free a Bird he needed to stay alive.

Amy believed in Sonic when the whole world (or Silver) was against him in Sonic 06.

Amy showed kindness to Sonic as the Werehog and gave her closest friend encouragement. She still loved him regardless of how he looked.

There’s more examples, but these are the most well known. Do you notice how most of them were small actions or small moments of development in small roles. And still managed to make Amy a wonderful character while impacting the stories?

I’ll also just show this too.

Also, don’t worry about her stealing time from Shadow. The film’s called Sonic Movie 3 not Shadow The Hedgehog. He can share the spotlight. Knuckles did in SM2. There’s no excuse in my opinion.

The movie doesn’t have to have Amy and wouldn’t be worse without her, but I think we shouldn’t overlook her importance to the franchise even if what she does is small. Or feel bad for being more aware of what little we get in these movies. It’s okay to admit certain flaws. Nothing’s perfect and not above criticism as long as we’re respectful about it. And for the kiddies who would like to see a cartoony animal girl character for the first time in these films, Amy would be a fantastic way to start.

Amy debuting in Sonic 3 and interacting with the boys would be a lovely way of establishing that close connection between the core four of the franchise. They’d literally have the definition of love at their sides. Again, small changes can make big differences. That’s all I have to say. Now I’m going to continue to be excited for the 3rd Sonic movie.

[novankenn]

Arc Method for Saving Atlas & Mantel

Jaune stood at the edge of atlas, making a plan. Salem was here, and the safety of the world was in balance. Next to him his sister Saphron Cotta-Arc and her wife Terra Cotta-Arc stood. Saphron holding an ornate case, while Terra clutched an aged leather tome to her chest.

Saphron: Are you sure?

Jaune: I am.

Terra: We're with you Jaune.

Jaune: Then let us begin. Saphron bring it here, and Terra if you please...

Saphron stepped before Jaune...

Terra: And Saint Attila raised the hand grenade up on high, saying,  'O Lord, bless this thy hand grenade, that with it thou mayst blow thine enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy.'  And the Lord did grin. And the people did feast upon the lambs, and sloths, and carp, and anchovies, and orangutans, and breakfast cereals, and fruit bats, and large chulapas...

Saphron: Terra honey... maybe skip ahead a bit?

Terra: Are you sure? We are using the the Holiest of the Arc Armory to save all of Remnant... maybe we should...

Saphron: I think it will be okay.

Terra: Jaune?

Jaune: It's okay.

Terra: Okay, but if this doesn't work, don't say I didn't warn you.

Jaune: It will work because we have the strength of faith.

Saphron: That we do.

Terra: And the Lord spake, saying,  'First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then shalt thou count to three, no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thy foe, who, being naughty in My sight, shall snuff it.'

Saphron: May your arm be strong and your aim true brother!

Jaune: Okay...

Jaune pulls the pin and rears back his arm for the most important throw of his life...

Jaune: 1!

Jaune: 2!

Jaune: 5!

Saphron& Terra: 3!

Jaune's arm shot forward sending the Blessed Weapon of mass destruction directly at the Grimm beast hanging in the air above Atlas...

Meanwhile standing in the court yard of Atlas Academy...

Oscar/Ozpin: That happened.

Ironwood: Did they?

Ruby: Just blow up a Grimm Whale?

Clover: With a hand grenade?

Nora: HELL YEAH!!! Fearless Leader!!!! I want you babies!!!

[multimousenette]

bkdkbk longfic recs

for @miss-multifandom-mess, who wanted fics that are:

Long & completed ☑️

Good balance of genres: angst, comedy, romance, the package deal

Accurate bakudeku (as a pair and individually)

Great dynamic 👍

Izuku is not ‘feminized’ or made uwu

I'll give title (linked to the fic) & author, word count, rating, dynamic if relevant*, content warnings, major tags and a synopsis.

I'll also put them in the following categories:

Canon compliant: this does not disagree with canon in any way (eg. character study of Kacchan during dark hero arc, anything during the 8 year time skip that has Kacchan saving up/Deku teaching)

Canon consistent: yeah that could more or less be canon (eg future pro heroes especially where deku keeps OFA)

Canon divergent: something during canon actively changes, but the world is the same (eg. becoming friends in middle school, one of them is on a different course, pro heroes but my gut says it's too far away to be really canon consistent)

Canon adjacent: feels like canon except for one Major Thing (eg. omegaverse, (non-quirk related) hanahaki but still heroes)

Alternate Universe (AU): completely different universe (eg fantasy, sci-fi, or no quirks)

*it ended up being mostly either bkdkbk (ie switching) or dkbk -- I've highlighted these red just in case, but I've included them cos people tend to use bkdk for the ship generally if they don't have a preference, and I couldn't see anything saying you were fixed bkdk on your acc

... and I'll put them below the cut cos this is already so long oh my god

In order of word count (high -> low):

I Will Find You by Purple_Insomniac (174k, T, canon consistent)

CW: Alt universe character death

Major tags: Parallel universes, angst w a happy ending.

Deku disappears in the middle of a rescue mission. Turns out, thanks to some OFA weirdness, the person who sent Izuku into an alternate universe… doesn’t know which one he’s in. Somehow, Izuku and Katsuki can speak in the OFA Vestige Realm, but it’s still a total nightmare trying to find which universe Izuku’s in — let alone bringing him home.

For it is Something That We Lost by TheGraveyardChild (160k, E, top Deku, canon divergent)

CW: past domestic abuse, past child abuse.

Major tags: Kidfic, angst with a happy ending.

Number four pro hero Dynamight returns to his hometown, but — to (number five pro hero) Deku’s surprise — he’s kind of flaky now. Turns out, this is because he has a daughter, and they’ve only just escaped his abusive ex. Slowly, Katsuki and Deku grow close again, but everything’s complicated when they start work on a child kidnapping/trafficking case — especially when Katsuki’s daughter is caught up in it.

Halfway to the Moon (But the Sun is So Bright) by Catsired (105k, T, canon divergent)

CW: Graphic depictions of abuse and self harm; depressed & suicidal Izuku; physically, financially, emotionally and verbally abusive Hisashi; bullying; mild homophobia.

Major tags: Middle School AU, Slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending.

Izuku has a lot on his plate. It’s his final year of middle school and between his training with All Might, the part time job he’s picked up to help his mum with bills, and Kacchan… being Kacchan, he’s about ready to drop. And then his dad comes home, and his mum is so happy he can’t bear to tell her that Hisashi hits him. Meanwhile, Katsuki notices there’s something up with Shitty Deku and somehow decides it’s his responsibility to fix it. And maybe, as they grow closer, he finds that doesn’t hate Deku so much anymore. Maybe he never really did.

Surprise Reunions and Childhood Rekindlings by ladyofsnails (90k, G, AU)

Major tags: Slice of life, no quirks AU, uni/college AU, mutual pining, FLUFF.

Izuku and Katsuki haven’t seen each other in five years, but it turns out their friends are friends — and incredibly shocked (and concerned) when the first thing Katsuki and Izuku do upon meeting is start roughhousing. The two of them fall straight back into their chaotic childhood dynamic… and in love. Obviously.

After All We’ve Been Through (You get turned into a fucking rabbit) by TigerLilies64 (88k, E, switching, canon consistent).

Major tags: crack treated seriously, fluff, hurt/comfort.

Pro hero Deku gets hit by a quirk that turns him into a rabbit hybrid. To make matters worse, he shapeshifts into an actual rabbit when his heart rate gets too high. Kacchan... helps. 

Tidal Hearts by macksmilesback and SamIsNotLegend (83k, T, AU) 

Major tags: h2o just add water/early 2000s mermaid AU, high school drama, mild angst, fluff.

Izuku and Katsuki were best friends as kids, but that all changes after they nearly drown while swimming in the ocean and Inko moves her and Izuku away. Years later, they reunite, and after Katsuki saves Izuku from a nasty hazing prank, end up… growing a tail any time they get wet. Well, that’s one way to spend their senior year of high school!

The Spell in Her Name by MerryWeatherWeather (62k, E, top Katsuki, canon divergent)

CW: Past OC teacher/student relationship, past minor character death, past child abandonment.

Major tags: kidfic, domestic fluff, mutual pining, angst. 

Pro hero Katsuki returns from working in the US and due to some complications, has nowhere to live, so pitches up at Deku’s house — and is shocked to discover that Deku has a child. Turns out, she was abandoned on his doorstep as a baby, and he took her in. When her mother initiates a public custody battle, Deku will do anything to keep his daughter — and Kacchan will do anything to help.

just for your love (I’ll give you the world) by thwnderpoint (52k, E, top deku, canon consistent)

Major tags: idiots to lovers, (light) angst with a happy ending, mutual pining.

Katsuki confesses to Izuku, and Izuku doesn’t want Kacchan to suffer or feel like he has to hold back his feelings. So he tells him not to. Kacchan takes this offer and runs with it. Izuku quickly realises that while he hadn’t considered Kacchan as a romantic option, he is in fact absolutely in love with him… but Kacchan thinks Izuku deserves better than him. Izuku, of course, can’t let that stand. And now they’re engaged in some sort of psychological flirt-off, much to the dismay of everyone around them.

Photo Op by whitetail (50k, M, top deku, canon adjacent)

CW: transphobia, gender dysphoria

Note: I LOVE the characterisation of Deku, he’s an absolute disaster, but I can see that it might be love it or hate it as the author does exaggerate his social issues a lot. This Deku is explicitly, intentionally autistic and it's a close third person POV so we're very much in his head... which is kind of a mess.

Major tags: trans izuku, autistic izuku, massive simp kacchan, comedy of errors, miscommunication, light angst.

Pro hero Deku has PR crisis after PR crisis and now the whole world knows about his Dynamight thirst blog and he’s newly insecure about his bottom surgery. And for some reason, Kacchan won’t stop asking him (him!!) to join him for a photoshoot, as if Deku’s stupid ugly face won’t ruin everything again. Still, he can’t say no to Kacchan… 

In Another Life by hollyandvice (44k, M, canon consistent)

Major tags: Parallel universes, grief/mourning, angst with a happy ending.

While fighting a villain, Kacchan disappears. Turns out, the villain has a parallel universe swapping quirk, and he was aiming to swap number one hero Deku for a quirkless civilian. Except, the only world the villain could find where Deku isn’t a hero is one where Kacchan is dead — so when Katsuki took the blow, no one swapped with him, and now no one knows how to get him back. Meanwhile, Katsuki discovers a dystopian world where half his friends are dead or injured — not to mention this world’s Deku, who is all sorts of broken up over meeting an adult Kacchan. Will he be able to fix the problems with this world before he gets home? And which world will he choose to stay in?

last days of war by antisora (44k, M, AU)

Major tags: Pacific Rim AU, Sci-Fi/Dystopian, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings.

Note: I've never watched pacific rim and had no issues with understanding what was going on. Author said there were lots of references, but you don't need existing knowledge to enjoy this.

All Izuku’s ever wanted is to save the world with his best friend… but his life doesn’t seem to be headed in that direction, especially when he doesn’t make it through the physical entrance exam for the best Jaeger pilot training school, UA. But after seeing him ace a Kaiju simulation, the world’s greatest ranger, All Might, intervenes, and Izuku is able to enrol at UA after all. Unsurprisingly, Kacchan’s there too — and their drift compatibility is through the roof. Much to Izuku’s dismay, even piloting a Jaeger together isn’t enough to regain their close friendship as children. Will almost dying (twice) be enough for them to finally be truly honest with each other?

The Time Between Our Lives by Fitzrovia (36k (56k inc. sequels), E, switching, canon divergent and AU)

Major tags: Hurt/comfort, angst w a happy ending.

Deku and Kacchan are sent back in time by a villain’s quirk and end up in an abandoned temple, quirkless. In order to escape — and return to their old lives — they must rake the gravel in the garden into a design that shows the beauty of all life. It takes a very, very long time.

Spacewalk by SamIsNotLegend (35k, M, AU)

CW: Major character death

Major tags: Sci-Fi/Horror, angst w a happy ending, grief/mourning.

Astronauts Izuku and Katsuki are set to co-lead the first manned mission to Jupiter… but a year and a half before launch, Izuku is hit by a car and dies. Katsuki has to lead the mission — their mission — alone, and sure enough, everything goes wrong. And keeps going wrong… until it starts going right. 

and a bonus totally-not-a-longfic-but-it-slaps:

Vertigo by Cyhyr (15k, T, canon adjacent)

Major tags: hanahaki, angst with a happy ending.

Pro hero Deku has hanahaki. He makes a plan to run away and just... die (when it gets too severe to keep working), but he didn’t account for Kacchan. 

[amourcherie606]

Lucy Heartfilla Redesign pt! 1

So I grew up with Fairy Tail as a child (and i mean i literally grew as the show came out)! And I loved it, rewatching it as an adult has made me realize alot of interesting and emotional moments. its like im watching it for the first time again. - and now i want to redesign the entire cast as if i designed them <3

Rambling aside, i shall be infodumping about the design under the cut! I will be redesigning all of team natsu (technically i already have just have to draw them digitally) and a few other fairy tail characters, you could even suggest some!

I wanted to keep two key factors with Lucy and I shall be keeping this in mind when I redesign her other outfits that im calling Arc 1, 2 , and 3. This is Arc 1 Lucy, the Lucy who has spent a year on the run and is joining her dream Guild, Fairy Tail.

Lucy throughout the show dresses in feminine, more skimpy-like clothing. Occasionally she'll whip out pants and a shirt when she wants to be comfy but overall shes shows off her skin alot. Shes a cute woman and she knows it!

I wanted to keep that element with Lucy, shes someone who finally has control over her wardrobe, free from conservative, heavy gowns. Her large knowledge about fashion outside of fancy rich people is the magazines from sorcerer weekly! Naturally, she wants to dress just like her idols and knowledge of what others wear, and is completely comfortable with doing so!

Is it impractical? In a way, yeah it is! She can get cut easily, more noticeable, less storage, etc. But This is only the beginning of Lucy's journey, so she's embracing her new freedom still. I normally don't like saying this but she's just a girl <3. And she wants to look cute in her own way!

2. Next, I wanted to keep the Lucky Lucy Heartfilla motif with her. I feel like her mother would have called Lucy "her lucky lucy" while she was still alive. Its stuck with her and warms her heart it hard times, and in a way Lucy does bring luck to the Fairy Tail guild, to her new team. She finally united them! So I keep four leaf clovers around her.

Also note she has alot of accessories! Because I imagine she can't help but buy cute little trinkets when she can, especially when she finally gets guild work.

She has yellow freckles to represent stars and also hint towards her type of magic + what her mother had in store for her.

her pencil sketch! ty for reading so far <3 this is mainly very self indulgent as im hyperfixating on ft again

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

I make four Milf Models on the list (and a Fifth on in Shiranui) and then I go and find Six more 'Mature' Gems! Dammit...

Anyways let me introduce the Six new candidates.

1.) Cattleya (Queen's Blade)

Not gonna like, I know noithing besides that she has huge tits, glasses and is a blacksmith with hella muscle... That is more then enough! I would make her son and Jaune friends, and Cattleya is the only woman the Arc trust to forge their weapons and upkeep them. Her son Rana is one of the only people Jaune trust around his sisters.

2.) Kie Kamado (Demon Slayer)

So truth be told, I have not watched Demon Slayer... And this woman and her four dead kids are why! Like THE FUQ!? Jesus man this crap broke my heart, I... I just moved right along to happy anime cuz that shit makes me sad as fuck... So yeah they would live in Ansel, and she would be Juniper's best friend and one of the very few women he can understand the sheer difficulties of raising a small team of children. But worst, because she has to do it alone... Then Grimm attack, and while everyone else is trying to protect their own. Little Jaune rushes to help his best friend Tanjiro and his siblings! Auraless and with only his families sword in hand that he can barely wield the two boys actually manage to kill a Beowulf and proceed to get them to the safety of the Arc House.

3.) Shizu Shinazugawa (Demon Slayer)

DUDE WHAT THE FUCK!!! Seriously this woman somehow had a worst death then Kie! SHE ATE HER KIDS!!! WHAT IN THE FUCKING HELL!!! OH! AND LETS NOT FORGET THAT SHE WAS GETTEN BEATEN BY HER HUSBAND!!! God Dammit, at this point I'm starting to think it's a good thing pig boy was raised by boars. If his mom had been with him instead of abandoning him in thew woods (I assume) she'd probably be dead too! Much less lightening whiney bitch I swear don't give him a tragic backstory too! I do not want to like him... As for shizu, Imma play the Cardin card, and say the two older brothers are bullies in Ansel. Lashing out at others because of their abusive father and of course Jaune is a very ripe target, the envy of the pair because of his kind strong father. Jaune is mad, but after talking to his sisters he decides to invite the boys over to dinner, and try to be friends, after all like his mom says, friends are just strangers you haven't met yet. And besides... Their like him and Tanjiro, he heard they have a lot of siblings too. They should make a club together! It is as little Jaune is having these thoughts that he stumbles upon it... then father beating them, them and their poor mom! And much like with the Ursa Jaune rushes in. And gets beaten within a inch of his life, but doesn't stop, grabbing forks, spoons anything he can get his hands on... Telling them to run, to get his dad. Papa Arc does come forward and what he finds is his son, bloody, beaten barely able to stand, but standing he is, and protecting the poor lady with a broken leg from her evil husband... And then the man is gone, his head taken, the Arc Patriarch not hesitating for even a second.

4.) Ruka Rengoku (Demon Slayer)

'It is the obligation of those born strong to defend the weak. Don't ever forget that..'

That Fucking Line! That Fucking Line Right There Makes Her Hotter Then The Other Two! Oh and what do you know, another piece of shit husband!

Okay, so I get he only turned piece of shit cuz she died bu-NO! You Know what, Fuck that Your Son Died Cuz You Couldn't Step Up And Live Up To Your Wives Words! Fuck You!!! That Drunk Bastard Insulted her memory and made her have to suffer meeting her son FAR TOO EARLY!!!

There is no way this woman doesn't hate her husband from beyond the grave! So here what would happen, Shinjuro would snap earlier then like when his wife is first diagnosed with the disease. At first he tries to stay strong but then begins to drink, then gets pissed when told nothing can be done!

And then in his denial he tries to force them to leave to Atlas, to hopefully find a cure or way to treat her... But Ruka refuses, Ansel needs them, negativity has been on the rise and Grimm have shown up more often. So he begins to drink and rant, and rave and Ruka watches her husband betray both himself and her faith in him.

And then he leaves, taking her with him one night, in desperation kidnapping his own wife against her will, her body far too weak to resist to take her to Atlas forcibly if needed. He uses a favor Papa and Mama Arc owe him to watch his kids while he's gone (Lying and saying he convinced Ruka)

And it is as he was gone that Ansel was attacked, his sons forced to fight, children like them, Jaune, little Tanjiro and the Shinazugawa brothers barely managing to take his place, but not without injury.

When he returns, he isn't met with scorn, nor blame... Not from anyone, except his wife! Ruka will not forgive him, and would rather die alone then married to him... He leaves, bitter angry but knowing she was right. And it was as this was happening that her son brings Jaune to her, the boy noticing several cuts and bruises she'd received from her forceful travels... He reaches out, and uses the power he discovered while the held off the Grimm.

The power that let mere kids like them fight and barely make up the difference her Ex-Husbands absence... His Semblance, Aura Amplification, every doctor had told her her disease wasn't treatable because her body simply lacked the strength to fight it, her immune system was too too compromised and her body too fragile by that point to maintain.

But Jaune's power, it's strength was one of a nature to empower others, to share with them his strength, his vigor, his will and soul, and Jaune wouldn't stop sharing his strength until it was enough to save her!

It was the logic of a simply youth, if he could kill monsters as big as Grimm, he refused to let small ones so tiny and weak take one of his friends moms! The same woman who told him he could be a huntsman! No! That said it was his duty to be one! Well What Kinda Huntsman Couldn't Save a mother!

5.) Rinko Iori (Gundam... Apparently -///-)

I...I did not know she was from a anime... I firmly thought she was a hentai mom... But no, apparently she is from Gundam. Well, I think I've said enough and these pictures hopefully speak for themselves...

I'd say she is a Argus mom, and helped Saphron and Terra navigate raising their first kid.

6.) Mirelia Q Melromarc

She Is A Queen! (Literally!) but no... Like seriously she is best girl, she showed up and everything, oh everything just turned pure euphoria for me. And God Damn She hated her husband! I wish they went more in on how thoroughly pissed she was in the anime like they did in the light novel.

Seriously a fucked up daughter and husband... just... Fuck man, and seriously FUCK BITCH For What She did! (If you read the Web Novel you know what I'm talking about) And fuck Trash too! Y'know it was so he could have a redemption Arc.

Fuck that, as far as I'm concerned those two need death like I need air. Naofumi is her (Only) daughter's fiancée. Which means she's in need of a new consort, a noble, strong, kind one who has a sharp wit.

[deconstructthesoup]

Okay, everything about this finale made me ricochet through a thousand different emotions (and seeing the Cathilda art was just the icing on the cake), but what it did give me, first and foremost, is a concept for a season with the High 5 Heros.

It really is just the five of them now, and they're still processing Kipperlilly's betrayal and the lasting effects of the shatterstars. In an attempt to fully reconnect as friends and prove themselves as adventurers, they retake their spring break quest... and things spiral out from there.

Ruben (played by Raphael Chestang) doesn't remember anything from when he was shatterstared, but he still has all those fans who want to hear more of the emo music he wrote... and even though having attention is good for a bard, he's very upset about the fact that nobody wants to hear his real music. Ruben's starting to get a lot of self-confidence issues based on the fact that the guy that he doesn't even know but who he briefly was was so popular, and he's trying to be himself, but, well... it's hard.

Ivy (played by Mariah Rose Faith Callias) is... well, actually, the fact that she wasn't shown as often in the season means that her player can make up an arc from scratch for her, and I like that. Let's leave that up in the air. Maybe she's trying to reconcile her stint as a mean girl with her true self, or maybe her mean-girl self is closer to her true nature than we think.

Mary Ann (played by Katie Marovich) is still, at her core, Mary Ann, and I like the idea of her arc being less of an arc and more of a reassurance thing---this is who she is, she's not apologizing for it, and that doesn't mean that she doesn't deserve the same amount of respect. That'd be pretty cool to see.

Oisin (played by Joey Richter) is dealing with... a lot. Seeing as his actions led to getting his great-great-great-great-whatever grandmother killed, his family has not outright disowned him, but there's a lot of snide comments and clear disrespect being thrown his way. He's trying his hardest to prove that he's better than that, but, uh... yeah, I think it would end in a "fuck my rich asshole family" thing, much like Adaine's arc.

And lastly, Lucy (played by Ashley Johnson) is, of course, very shaken by the fact that she legit died, and spent a good chunk of her death in a hellish state. Her connection to her goddess has wavered after her experience, and she's very much in a space of doubt---maybe a space that's big enough for her to connect to Cassandra, and maybe share in Kristen's four-deity pantheon. Not to mention, it's still very hard to interact with her friends when she still remembers the night of her death, even though they were possessed.

So, uh... yeah!

[bekolxeram]

So... I said I couldn't wait for the plane disaster arc to be over, and I still stand by that statement. If you read my blog regularly, you'd know I loved it, the more plane stuff the merrier, but at the same time, it was a huge relief for me to finally be able to move on.

Warning: long rant incoming

I joined this fandom last season because of my love for BuckTommy and aviation, I've made it clear many times before. I saw comments downplaying Tommy's role in the cruise ship rescue, and I thought, well I know a thing or two about how hard flying is, especially flying a helicopter, so maybe I should write something about it.

Fast forward to last month, someone asked me whether Tommy could fly a plane realistically, so I answered it as they asked, realistically no. I can imagine him flying a light plane as a hobby, but never a four engine turboprop military plane that takes 5-12 crew members to fly, or an airliner that's basically a flying computer. I wasn't even aware of the Airport 1975 pilot transfer theory at first, so imagine my shock when I woke up to multiple posts naming my theory by name, (yeah, I said the water bomber in 2x14 belonged to CAL FIRE, I made my first post about this a long time ago, and I don't think anyone from the other side even made the effort to dig this deep, so those posts were referring to me) each with 400+ notes, and many reblogs by people I'd been following, telling me to shut the fuck up. It wasn't even aware that my aviation hc would be anything close to controversial, it deeply upset me and it fundamentally changed my interaction with the fandom as a whole.

I tried putting my more aviation focused posts under a specific tag that people can block if they're not interested, still, like clockwork, some posts popped up in the main ship tag around 6 hours later, digging up old interviews from Tim saying "Tommy did the water drop, just off screen" or expressing their disbelief that there were still people out there who thought Tommy didn't fly the air tanker.

I wanted to explain my reasoning, but I knew it would come across as needlessly confrontational, so I kept my mouth shut. I saw the pilot transfer theory gaining traction, I knew it was too crazy and too expensive for the show to pull off, but I kept my mouth shut. I even leaned into that theory at one point saying Tommy could be flying the helicopter in that stunt, but still the theory was hyped up more and more and its supporters were gradually getting more annoyed by me. I knew I would feel bad whether Tommy rappel into that cockpit or not, because on one hand, I hate that film with a burning passion, on the other, I basically stood back and watched everyone got their hopes way up then witnessed them getting crushed in real time.

Now Schrödinger's cat box is opened, without Tommy in it, I guess there's no need for me to self censor anymore. So here are some stuff I was too afraid to post when people were still deeply invested in their theory, before we all move on from this disaster arc.

The writers don't care about timeline, they can't even get when Tommy transferred out of the 118 right

Tommy supposedly left the 118 right before Buck joined, so 7 years ago, but in 7x09 Tommy said he joined Harbor 5 years ago. My very first post on this site is about this timeline conflict. My explanation was that it takes some years of training before you can even touch a helicopter at Air Ops (in real life LAFD sends you to LAPD for basic training), so Tommy probably only officially transferred to Harbor 5 years ago.

That led to a lot of comments saying the writers just didn't give a damn, they didn't care to google or get their story right, just accept it. But you don't even need to google. The description Tommy gave Buck in the Harbor tour scene was lifted straight from the LAFD Air Ops website, and you know what? If you scroll a little bit further down, you can clearly see the "at least two years of LAFD AIr Operations training line". It takes less than 5 minutes to read it all through.

Tim said Tommy did the water drop, so it's canon he flew that plane in 2x14

Someone pulled out Tim's interview specifically to disprove my CAL FIRE hc. Yeah, he did say Tommy did the water drop:

But I've never heard anyone from the show said Tommy was literally grabbing the yoke, pulling the thrust levers, flying the plane. A C-130 (or L-100 as the civilian variant) is not a single engine water scooper, it's a four engine monstrosity.

The heavier the plane, the faster it has to fly for the wings the generate enough lift to keep it in the sky, right? Well, in order to drop water/fire retardant in an accurate and effective fashion, the C-130 has to fly low and slow enough that the flight crew has to get used to hearing the "terrain! terrain! pull up!" and "stall! stall!" warnings at all time during a mission.

In fact, the C-130 water tanker usually flies behind a lead plane, most of the time a lighter business jet that surveys the area and plots the optimal route for the water drop. It fires a line of smoke to mark out the designated location for the payload, the C-130 behind it just has to release the water/fire retardant once the nose of the plane hit the trail of smoke.

That coordination is extremely cool.

The C-130 takes at the very least 3 crew members to fly: 2 pilots and a flight engineer, no fly-by-wire on this one, but it usually takes even more for a safer more accurate operation.

I can absolutely picture Tommy being one of the people sitting behind the pilots in 2x14. They didn't have a lead plane, so maybe the CAL FIRE guys asked him to pull his weight, since he was the one who asked for the favor and he was also an aerial firefighter, they needed an extra pair of professional eyes anyway. So technically he did the water drop, but he flew no plane that day. (I have a fully developed backstory in my head about Tommy's involvement in that episode, but unfortunately I'm not a good writer, and it'll probably piss people off more than it entertains them. It's about a clandestine mission à la 7x03 and Tommy's meet cute with his ex boyfriend)

If you've made it this far, you probably really like my blog or aviation stuff, and I think you for your support. At one point, I told myself I would leave the fandom behind if I saw one more post telling me to shut up, I got so closed to it. Now, reading post after post saying leaving the newly reintroduced pilot character out of the show's plane disaster arc is a missed opportunity just makes me, I don't know, kind of sad? I've always thought he's just a helicopter pilot, he wouldn't be much help in guiding the crippled jet down anyway, that I was right, but then what? It doesn't feel good to be right this time. I can accept not seeing Tommy working with the 118 on the ground, I can be patient and wait for a week longer for his presence, but accidentally annoying people with what I thought was fun trivia, watching hundreds of them clown on me for taking the show too seriously, for being a nitpicker, for being too obsessive, I don't think I can ever erase it from my mind.

Let's just hope we can all move on (mostly on my part), and I can return to making bad quality humorous gifs about our boys. I'll still post stuff about aviation, now that it's less controversial. If you're a brave soul you can go search for the tag I created for others to block (#aviation realism).

[pilot-boi]

how DOES Ozpin feel? Oscar I assume is just completely confused, but that's par for the course at the moment, but Oz?

There are exactly TWO People that don't stay dead, and that's Him and Salem, and even then there's a caveat - Salem's body regenerates when it's destroyed, and He's like a computer virus uploading itself onto a new system.

Jaune is Back and Different. Distinctly nonhuman or Faunus, unlike how He and Salem were originally cursed. He has scars. He has retains injuries. He's not like Salem. It's "His" Body, so he's not like Ozpin.

Jaune is Back.

And he is different.

(Obviously You've said the Blacksmith did this, but Ozzy doesn't know that.)

I can only imagine it's either frantic Calculating of the "Why" and "How" or simply silent, like Oz got hit with a flashbang and his ears are still ringing, or the winds been knocked out of him.

Oscar doesn’t really get why Ozpin is freaking out. Kid’s pretty sheltered. If ancient resurrecting wizards can show up in farmboy’s heads, why can’t rabbit human hybrids exist?

Jaune seems like a nice enough guy. They bond over anxiety

Ozpin, meanwhile, is full on having a meltdown

He and Salem are the only immortals. This has been true for MILLENIA. They are locked in an endless battle of destruction and creation, life and death. Two sides to the same coin

And now this

If Jaune Arc is immortal, he’s a very new one. He doesn’t remember this ever happening before. This is his first death, and it was supposed to be his only one. It’s almost reassuring that the young man is as confused as he is

Was this one of the Gods? With the Fall of Beacon, did Light decide Oz is doing so abysmally in his quest that he chose another champion? Another knight who died before his time?

When Yang is ranting at raging at him for doing this to her friend, Oz doesn’t know how to explain that he also doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. He doesn’t know if that would make him seem more trustworthy or less

His whole worldview has been knocked upside down, and worse, the child who’s going through it has no idea why this is happening to him. He has four extra limbs than he should, a body that is wholly unfamiliar, fears and instincts that don’t belong in his head, and no idea why HIM

Oz can’t even give him reassurance, because what if this is a one time thing? What if Jaune isn’t immortal, and he just got a second chance? How does Oz tell these children that he has lived for so long, died so many times, and their friend’s biggest hope is that MAYBE he’ll get to die someday?

So yeah

Oz is going through it

[wylanzahn]

New-ish post, kinda posting this on different platforms and getting a general vibe check for some ideas I have. But basically this Halloween I want to actually do something for the TTRPG and Actualplay world (oh yeah I’m into those kinds of things). I want to try and get both players, GMs, and casual viewers alike something fun to look forward to this especially spooky season. I’ll probably talk a little more when we get closer to the actual season of scare-giving but just know that if you’re interested I’m still looking for people to join in!!

As my team and I’d first debut we’re going to try and do a two to four session actual play, which will probably be released in the weeks leading up to Halloween. We’ve had a couple good friend way in on the matter of “setting” but now I come to you fine folk. Mind you this is a horror campaign/arc so if…

Isn’t your thing, keep on a moving.

But without further ado here are a couple of the possible settings for our players, and myself, this coming espookee season…

1.) Somewhere off the coast of Florida, 1926 end of the first major housing boom in the state, a small island which calls back to the Spanish Empire, is Isla Boñyela, a small port made tourist location during the boom of disposable wealth in 1920s America. A small group of friends from the northeast tag along down for the perfect paradise vacation. Only to discover the island is much much older than anyone could have ever assumed. Whilst dealing with upstart gangsters, unnerving US soldiers, and the terrified locals they find something older than even undead conquistadors.

While I don’t have a working title, this is an old project in the running which I’ve had a few attempts at revamping over time. Its previous title was “perfect paradise vacation,” and runs on the Call of Cthulhu 7th Edition game. Anywho it’s a blast of fun with Caribbean lore, tone of anti-imperialism, and something dark lurking beneath the waves.

2.) 1950’s America, the nonexistent state of Mid-Atlantia (DMV coded) in a small suburban neighborhood where nothing goes wrong… it’s almost “All-Hallows-Eve” and little Johnny and Susie want nothing more than to trick or treat this year with all the big kids, Dad’s finally getting the big promotion at work, and Mom just got a new waffle iron! Sure everything is neat here in America. Heck you just got new neighbors! Newlyweds in fact from somewhere big and fancy, they sure aren’t like any of us in our simple town. But… and you can’t say exactly why but things are different. Or perhaps they’re all too the same? Everyday a repeat of ever other bland day that followed you over and over and over and over… and you could swear, while no one may listen to you there’s someone out there. Stalking you from outside your own home- or- perhaps, he’s just your friendly new neighbor welcoming you… to the end.

Ahhhhhh! I’ve also been working on this one for a sec and god writing it out does excite me. This is also a Call of Cthulhu game but modified/homebrewed to have a uniquely 1950s horror feel. This is definitely one of the more unique games I’ve written and am truly interested in seeing where it goes (even if we don’t choose it). This is for those who feel like isolation, fear of the unknown, fear from within, and liminal space horror comes best into play! So whadya say neighbor?

3.) The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend, or How I Learned to Love Strahd, okay so this one is a lot less horror-y and falls much more under the comedic spooky category, just so yall know. Deep in the middle of Barovia, the ancient kingdom of Vampires, meets a council of Count Strahd von Zarovich's greatest commanders and lieutenants to hunt down Strahd's greatest enemy Rudolph van Richten and his party of heroes known as "The Grape-Smashers." Strahd's lieutenants have been gifted powers greater than any mere mortals, but are these gifts enough to stop Van Richten, or even enough to stop the personal ambitions of each other? Come find out in "How I Learned to Love Strahd."

Okay, as much as this may seem like a joke suggestion it cracks me up and I feel like it would be ill-advised of me to not at least mention it. In an era where "The Curse of Strahd," is well-overdone at this point, it's worth a take from an all evil "revenge story." Obviously this will be in Dungeons and Dragons 5th Edition, which, in my opinion, is really hard to use for horror, but this is a nice go-around. Come for the evil PCs, maybe a PvP battle or two, and a game of intrigue in the shadows of Barovia! All that and a buff Van Richten.

4.) Before Annapolis was ever called such it was known as Providence, a settlement of exiled Puritans in the Province of Maryland, but these early days were no easy set-up for the far-flung protestants... in the mid 1600s the English Civil War spilled out into their holdings across the waves as brother turned on brother, clan erasing clan, and something from the shores of the Old World would arrive in the New. When around every corner could be someone you've known your whole life, what's stopping them from hunting you in the depths of winter. All matters made worse when rumors of a witch begins circulating your small home.

Think "The VVitch" (2015) meets "A Field in England" (2013) meets Atun Shei's recent film "The Sudsbury Devil" (2023). It is the unexplored wilderness of early colonial Maryland, but the hateful warmongering that slowly builds that makes the horror and tension so clear. Unsure of what system we'll be using, but maybe the new Regency Cthulhu system.

5.) The Great Baltimore Fire of 1904 destroyed some 140 Acres of Baltimore proper... and in it's rubble awakened something far worse. But you and your fellow survivors are just trying to get by in the aftermath of the fire... only for something to call out, whether some strange magicks or perhaps just a sickness... but sickness doesn't even linger like this... it doesn't call to you...

Some more local history, aspiring from the actual Fire of 1904 things quickly devolve from there as rumors of a cult begin to spread along the streets of Rosland Park... a mysterious illness leaving even more dead... and the death of an eclectic professor. Definitely using the Call of Cthulhu 7th Edition for this one.

Aaaaaaaand that's it! Let me know what y'all think!

[arc-misadventures]

What are those

Winter " weiss mom wants me to marry jaune

All the girls who do want to marry him hug winter " welcome sister

Weiss 😱

The Dragons Dowery

Weiss: Ughhh… Gods that was a nightmare…

Yang: Yeah, that was… That was a mess…

Ruby: Going to have some words with, Blake. She… she…

Yang: Has no chill?

Ruby: Yeah, that… How did this all happen? I was too busy trying not to get attacked by crazed faunas that I forgot.

Weiss: Jaune said he eats dust, I wanted to test that out, and then he started belching up fire. Apparently, the quality of, Dust made by the, Schnee Dust Company is considered… cheap to his literal taste.

Yang: Cheap? What do you mean by cheap?

Weiss: I… I don’t know. When he started hacking, and belching out fire, and when he had a chance to speak all he said was that my father was a, ‘cheap bastard.’

Ruby: So, he thinks the dust is of poor quality? What does that mean?

: Mr. Arc considers the, Dust made by the, SDC to be of poor quality. As is it unrefined in his opinion. Therefore it… tastes rancid…

Ruby: Huw? Who are you?

Weiss: Winter; You’re here?!

Winter: Hello, Weiss it’s nice to see you again.

Yang: Is this your aunt, Weiss?

Weiss: Aunt? No this is my older sister, Winter Schnee. Why did you think she was my aunt?

Yang: She’s taller, older, has breasts…

Weiss: Hey!

Yang: She’s the complete opposite to you, so I thought you were family, just not siblings.

Winter: That is a fair assessment.

Weiss: Winter?!

Ruby: Hello! I’m Ruby, Ruby Rose leader of, Team RWBY!

Winter: Ruby of, Team RWBY?

Ruby: Yeah… even I get confused at times too…

Yang: Well, I’m Yang Xiao Long! This little gremlins cool hot older sister, nice to meet you!

Winter: Pleasure. There should be four members, where is the fourth member of your team?

Weiss: Our fourth member is, Blake Belladonna, and she is… somewhere…? I don’t know where she is, last time I saw her she was trying to linch me because she thought I tried to kill, Jaune.

Winter: And… why did she try to do that?

Weiss: Blake is a faunas, and she’s part of the more… fanatic devotees towards my friend, Jaune Arc.

Winter: I suppose it has to deal with him being this supposed, ‘Dragon King?’

Weiss: That’s more, or less it.

Ruby: So, what brings you here, Winter?

Winter: Mother, and I came at the request of your summons.

Yang: Summons?

Ruby: Are you talking about the time, Weiss yelled at your dad to get her diamonds checked?

Winter: Yes, Weiss wanted, Mr. Arc to authenticate the authenticity of our family’s family jewels.

Yang: Was that a correct sentence?

Ruby: The auto correct says so.

Weiss: And, how did the grading go?

Winter: Well… two thirds of them are fake…

Weiss: Eh…?

Winter: A fact that, Mr. Arc proved by eating the fakes…

Ruby: He ate them?

Winter: Even mother’s engagement ring was a fake, to which he proved by eating it.

Yang: Ouch.

Winter: But, based upon what, Mr. Arc said, the person father bought these diamonds from was an infamous swindler specializing in fake diamonds.

Weiss: Oh… Well, I guess that’s okay…

Winter: And, Mom offered the, Schnee Diamond as a dowery for, Jaune.

Weiss: Eh…?

Ruby: The what?

Yang: The Schnee Diamond? The hell is that?

Weiss: It’s our family’s heirloom; My grandfather, Nicolas Schnee found it decades ago during a mining expedition when he was founding the SDC. He named it after our family to be a moniker of our family’s legacy. Ha… you know it’s actually funny…

Ruby: What’s funny?

Weiss: All the diamonds my father acquired were fakes, and yet our grandfather’s diamond has more valuable than anything father could ever hope to acquire.

Winter: Fufufu~! That is quite funny.

Weiss: But, wait… Mom offered it as a dowery… F-For whose hand…?

Winter: …

Winter: M-My hand…

Weiss: W-W-What?!

Yang: Seriously?

Ruby: Congratulations!

Weiss: Ruby?!

Ruby: What?

Weiss: No, I… Okay, no… W-What did you say about all of this? No! What did, Jaune say about all of this, because based upon what he said, I will kill him!

Winter: Well… he was inspecting the, Schnee Diamond when, Mother made this offer. And, well… he seemed highly conflicted.

Yang: Was it because of, Jaune’s obsession of precious stones?

Winter: I would believe so. He seemed genuinely interested in accepting mother’s offer, but he eventually put the diamond back into its case, and shook his head. Jaune then told my mother that while he was genuinely tempted to accept her offer, it would remain my decision to accept this marriage proposal. And, that he wouldn’t accept anything until he learned more about me. Considering at most he knew about was that I was, Weiss’s older sister, and that I was more… full bodied than her. Whatever that meant.

Yang: I think he was talking about how, Weiss is flat, and you have booba.

Weiss: I am not flat!

Winter: Oh… that makes sense…

Ruby: So… you want to marry, Jaune?

Winter: …

Winter: Because of my position in the, Atlas Military I never thought about marriage. But, now that it has been presented before me as it has… Well… I am uncertain of how to react to all of this.

Yang: Probably should get to know, Jaune before you think of marriage then.

Winter: That would be an appropriate option to take. Should I ask him on an outing to get to know him then?

Yang: A date?

Winter: Yes, a date. Do you think he’d prefer dining at the, Chatou Chriteline?

Ruby: They serve food there right?

Winter: It’s a restaurant, the most famous high class one in all of, Vale. Have you not heard of it?

Yang: Lady, do we look like high class, hoty toty kind of gals?

Winter: Well…?!

Weiss: Don’t answer that.

Winter: Very well then…

Ruby: You could ask, Jaune’s girlfriends for help.

Winter: G-Girlfriends…? He already has a girlfriend?

Weiss: He has two actually…

Yang: And, if I play my cards right he’ll have three~!

Winter: You want to become a part of his… His…!!

Yang: Harem? Hell yeah I do~!

Winter: But, why?

Yang: I’m in love with the blond goofball. What more needs to be said?

Winter: You’re in love with him…?

Yang: Yeah. I can give you a list of reasons why, but all that matters really is that I love him.

Winter: Is that really all that matters…?

Yang: …

Yang: What are you asking?

Winter: I’m asking if you love him.

Yang: No, you’re not asking me that.

Ruby: What is she asking you, Yang?

: You should ask, ‘Have you ever been in love before?’

: She’s an, Atlasian. I doubt they understand the concept of love.

Winter: What? Who are you?

: Hello~! I’m Pyrrha Nikos, and I am, Jaune’s, First Chosen.

: Hi there pretty lady~! My name is, Coco Adel, his, Second Chosen.

Weiss: What are you two doing here?

Pyrrha: Yang texted me about the dowry. And, we decided to see who actually managed to get, Jaune’s attention.

Coco: And, I must say, Jaune has impeccable taste~!

Winter: Actually my mother put me up for this whole arranged marriage by offering him a dowery he couldn’t deny, well, barely could deny. This whole thing wasn’t my idea.

Pyrrha: Yeah, he’s been dealing with that a lot lately.

Winter: I’m willing to believe that. But, I must ask, what did the two of you mean by, ‘Chosen?’

Pyrrha: Oh it’s just a name we were given by the faunas because we were the… the… the first that…

Coco: The first girls that, Jaune fucked~!

Pyrrha: Yeah, that…

Winter: Y-You’ve slept with him?

Pyrrha: Yes we have.

Coco: Several times.

Pyrrha: We’ve slept with each other actually.

Coco: The future threesome we will have will be legendary~!

Pyrrha: Hopefully we won’t be walking out with a limp next time.

Coco: You kidding? The limp is the best part!

Yang: How good of a limp is it?

Coco: Why spoil the surprise~?

Weiss: Stop it. I don’t want to hear this. You can have your perverted sex lives all you want. I just don’t want to hear you explain it to me. Also, you broke, Ruby.

Yang: What?

Ruby: Bwhaaaaaaaaaaaaa…

(Thud!)

Yang: RUBY?!

Pyrrha: Oops…

Coco: Ha! Blushing virgin.

Pyrrha: So… are you interested in dating, Jaune, Winter?

Winter: Well… to be honest, as you guessed I never dated before… or, be interested in anyone romantically. So, I don’t know…

Pyrrha: That’s fair, I’ve never been in love until I met, Jaune. And, after we first met I fell head over heels for him on the spot.

Winter: You’ve never been in love until after you met him?

Pyrrha: Nope. I’ve had plenty of famous people, and the like come on to me, but they never sparked anything in me. They were all just trying to use me to their advantage in one form, or the other. But, then I met someone who knew nothing about me, relied on me for who I am, and not who appeared to be. I’m more happy now than I have ever been since I met him, and becoming his girlfriend has made me more happy than I could ever imagine.

Winter: But, are you okay with… sharing him?

Pyrrha: I was hesitant at first, but the benefits of being part of a harem are quite… enticing~!

Winter: They are?

Coco: Ignore her, unless you want to hear something juicy~?

Winter: I would rather not.

Weiss: Me as well.

Yang: Well I would!

Coco: Later, hot stuff. So, tell me; are you interested in dating, Jaune, or would you prefer to brush this all aside, and forget this all happened?

Winter: …

Winter: I am willing to… investigate the possibility of a relationship if that is possible…

Weiss: You can’t be serious, Winter?

Winter: Have… have you ever seen a person, and thought, ‘what if?’

Weiss: I have…

Winter: Did you ever try to find out what, ‘what if’ could become?

Weiss: I have, and honestly I regretted trying to.

Winter: Then would you have regretted trying to, or never trying, Weiss?

Weiss: …

Weiss: Haa… I would have regretted never trying… Go… Go, and see if things could work between you two.

Winter: Thank you, Weiss.

Coco: Then come with us beautiful, and let us tell you all about our little dragon~!

Pyrrha: Little? Coco, honey, what part about, Jaune is little?

Coco: Good point.

Winter: I would prefer to learn more about his personality, habits, interests, and the like, before… before learning about those things.

Coco: Probably for the best if we do so.

Pyrrha: We wouldn’t want to scare her away now doubt we?

Coco: You coming along, Yang? Certainly you’ll want to hear this~!

Yang: Hell yeah I do!

Winter: I’ll see you later, Weiss. Shall we have dinner together later?

Weiss: I would love to, Winter. Have fun you… (Pa-Ping~!) Oh, Jaune just sent me a text.

Weiss: …

Weiss: W-What the hell…?

Pyrrha: What’s wrong, Weiss?

Weiss: ‘Weiss! Save me! Your mom is trying to seduce me, and it’s working! Save me before I do something I will (Slightly?) regret! Help!’

Coco: W-What…?

Pyrrha: Your mother is trying to seduce, Jaune… Why?

Yang: And, it’s working…?

Winter: How would I know?

Ruby: …

Ruby: Uhh… aren’t you going to go save, Jaune?

Weiss: Huw?

Winter: Beg pardon?

Ruby: Jaune just called for your help, are you two going to go save him, or are you going to let your mother sleep with your friend, and your, potential, husband?

Weiss: …

Winter: …

Weiss: Well… It’s, Jaune.

Winter: He seems like a pretty nice guy.

Weiss: And, the message he sent shows he doesn’t want to do it.

Winter: But, Mother is trying to seduce him, and succeeding… somehow.

Weiss: Mom sleeping with my friend just sounds wrong.

Winter: Not as bad as the thought of Mother sleeping with Father…

Weiss: I feel like throwing up just thinking about it…

Winter: Is that why she trying to seduce him, to have… to have a good time?

Weiss: Possibly, Pyrrha, and Coco gloat constantly on how good he is in bed. Maybe, Mom wanted to see that for herself.

Ruby: Uhh… Are you two trying to justify, Jaune sleeping with your mother?

Weiss: Uhh…

Yang: Sounds like you’re gonna let him bang your mom.

Winter: Well…

Ruby: Do you want, Jaune to sleep with your mom…?

Weiss: …

Winter: …

WW: Well…

[aihoshiino]

Wow ONK sure had an ending and I think my main Issue with it is honestly the fact that it feels like every character is back at square one last chapter, until this chapter when Akane narrates to us how „actually everyone is ok and moved on“ and we‘re just supposed to? Accept this? Ok (shrugs)

And also the fact I feel like much of its themes didn’t reach a satisfying conclusion like what it means to live a life of lies/lying in general and (the focus of this last chapter) what to do with your life and how to live it.

We see all the characters magically moving on and being fine which is like, yea, good (ignoring the terrible execution) but? Why was? Aqua? The male lead/protagonist of much of the story? Not allowed to do that? Why can’t he move on from any of his trauma, sadness, suicidal tendencies and the idea his life has less value than those of others? Why can’t he get better? I hope it’s kinda understandable what I mean, this isn’t a „Why can’t my fave character be happy“ thing I‘m trying to get at but more so a „I think the themes could‘ve been explored way better in terms of his character and I‘m disappointed it wasn’t.“ I feel like I‘m missing something but it really just feels like the story is telling us that Aqua was right in believing this self imposed lie that the only value in his life is to die (so his sister gets to be in the spotlight for the final chapters)

Idk just leaves a really bitter taste in my mouth the way they handled Aqua‘s mental health/state and suicide

Honestly yeah, it feels like everyone is just kind of circling a Character Development Cul-de-sac. Sometimes recovery does mean taking a few steps back before you can go forwards but this feels less like a depiction of the natural and inevitable unevenness of healing after trauma and more like Akasaka just, like. Didn't have an end point in mind for anyone's arcs apart from Aqua lol. AND EVEN THEN, IT'S... YEAH.

I said this in a previous ask but I think if the story was more willing to frame Aqua's death as him relapsing in his recovery and ultimately succumbing to his suicidal ideation & survivor's guilt, I think that could be not just cathartically tragic but quite an important message to send - that, unfortunately, yeah. Long term suicidal ideation really can just catastrophically consume someone even if they're actively looking forward to and taking steps towards building their future. Aqua has textually been suicidal since he was four years old and that's not something that would've just turned itself off.

But even when the story does acknowledge Aqua's death as being a suicide, it still also has this weird horrible framing of like. It's SAD, sure, but it's this beautiful and necessary sacrifice that he was DESTINED to make to protect Ruby('s career lol). So we end in this horrible place where Aqua's life, dreams and happiness are implicitly, cosmically Not Important in comparison to Ruby's and that Aqua himself is not just acceptable bit of collateral damage but a necessary one.

Which would be an insane note to end things on ANYWAY if the career that Aqua was protecting was anything OTHER than being an idol, when we've spent the whole manga talking about what a fleeting, exploitative and ephemeral stage of someone's life it is. Like, what are the chances that Ruby's going to still be an idol in ten years? Five, even? What's she going to do when she's not an idol anymore? Was Aqua's life really worth this?