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#but I have some simple ideas so I might go with it just to not waste time
blbrrymilk · 2 days
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😽🫶wren! How are you doing today? I was sleepy at work today and drank a lot of coffee. I hate capitalism 😭
Anyway, I want to share an interesting idea, what do you think would happen with Dr Ratio + bimbo reader? The reader has always been stupid and naive, and can't even understand his sarcasm… She often does wrong things accidentally, such as getting stuck on the wall, and even pouring drinks on him…
Oops, sunday / aventurine + bimbo reader would be interesting too…🥺
good luck with work love!! im relaxing in the bath today 🥱
I LOVE BIMBO READER... and stuck in the wall… 10/10 guilty pleasure...
cw: dubcon, dumbification kink go brrr, implied fem reader, slut shaming, manipulation
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ratio thinks you're beyond help. there's negative numbers going off in his head every time you open your airheaded mouth to speak some nonsense. -20, -25 - 30...
(“what’s this symbol mean again..?” “I don’t get it…” “these books have soooo many big words..”)
he really can't stand to listen to you stumbling around your own thoughts just to never actually reach a valid point or say anything of substance. he holds his head in his hands, raking his hands down his face each time his sarcasm and witty comebacks go right over your head.
he thought you might be good for taking simple orders for him, since you're no good as an apprentice to teach. but you can't even manage to serve his tea without tripping and falling and spilling it on his clothes. when he finds you stuck in the wall- he scoffs in disappointment. you're truly a lost cause. he knows you won't manage to get yourself out of there without his help. he's not even sure how you managed to get in there- but he's not surprised with how often you make these ridiculous mistakes.
you think he's going to help pull you out- but you feel the harsh smack of his ruler instead. you babble and whimper, confused- but he silences you immediately with another slap. you've been trying his patience for too long- always being troublesome. there's really nothing going on in that head of yours is there beyond your pretty face- is there? you end up hanging from the wall, drooling and leaking with his cum from your holes. your ass red and stinging and your legs quivering- still unsure what you did wrong.
ratio sighs, sticking a note of -10000 points (fail) on your forehead. at the very least, you're nice to look at. you make a nice decoration in the wall of his room. and you're pretty good at taking his cock and relieving some of his frustration. 100 points.
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aventurine thinks you're too fun to mess with. you really believe anything he says. and you fall for every single trick so easily. it's not even fair to call it a challenge when he gambles against you. he wouldn't even have to cheat to win. you don't seem to follow the rules of any of the card games or dice rolls- despite how many repeated explanations you're given. "ohhhhh... i get it now!" (you don't)
he charms you with his lies, someone like you is so easily impressed, gasping in awe and praising him for accomplishments and things he's never done. it's really too easy. if he asks you to bend over to pick up a coin he “accidentally” dropped, you bend at the waist fully, your panties on full display. the puffy outline of your cute pussy exposed to him- he takes a snapshot with his cell phone, laughing to himself. you're like putty in his hands, really. he hardly has to try.
when you end up stuck in the wall, he makes you a deal. promising to help you if you suck his cock first and let him record your cute face. of course this will stay a secret between just the two of you! you do your best, taking him all the way into your mouth until your jaw is sore and aching- his cum dribbling off your tongue. you look up at him with those thoughtless, wet eyes- asking if he'll finally help you- but he sneers, taking out a pen to write on your face and body. (aventurine's property), (dumb slut ♡)
he puts his sunglasses back on and waves you off, telling you to take this as a lesson not to believe everything you're told. don't worry- he'll be back to use you again when he's in the mood. he knows you won't figure out a way to get yourself out of there until then. so be a good onahole and wait for him <3
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sunday feels sorry for you. it's in good faith to take pity on the less fortunate... and the ... less intelligent, right? you always hear his soft sigh after every silly, thoughtless question you ask him. following behind him like a puppy with your wide-eyed, brainless expression.
(“who is xipe? what is the path of harmony? is the Family a real family? so you're like a dad, right? is your halo real? can i touch your wings?”)
you giggle and keep asking him these sort of questions all day long.
sunday looks at you with an exhausted, pitiable smile always. your naivety is a bit endearing, but you're bound to run into the wrong person one day who might take advantage of you- or have far less patience than he holds for your antics. it's difficult to take you with him on business matters. you can't keep up with the serious topics in political conversations- much less be left with the responsibility of being his assistant. even simple tasks like serving drinks and sorting paperwork proves too difficult for you. his office seems to be in a much worse state than when he left you to tidy it.
and somehow, you managed to get stuck in the wall too... a person with lower morals just might think of taking advantage of a pitiable thing like yourself. not that he hasn't entertained the thought... you really do anything he asks. you sit on his lap, and change your clothes without even waiting for him to leave the room- blissfully unaware that he's still a man. his eyes can't help but wander over the curve of your hips, your plush butt pushing against him as he attempts to pry you out of the wall. you won't stop wiggling around.
("u-um...! there's something hard pressing against me…? mr.sunday...?”)
he grits his teeth, ordering you to hold still while he figures out how to get you out- his mind filled with all sorts of ways to relieve his frustration on you. he really does pray for your wellbeing (and his sanity.) hoping you might finally gain some common sense.
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verstappen-cult · 2 days
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WAVE OF YOU, MASTERLIST.
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chill summer nights. smell of ocean water. whimsical love. beach cafe. silk slip dress. nights out with friends. falling in love under the sun. swimming in the ocean. living abroad. morning surf. sunkissed. hair whipping in the wind. tender hugs. stargazing in the sand.
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PAIRING. charles leclerc x female reader.
SYNOPSIS — Tired of traveling around the world for over two years, you think that is time to settle down somewhere and Australia is the best place to start. Working on a cafe near the beach and starting your mornings walking Daisy, your recently adopted Golden Retriever, sounds like paradise and wouldn’t trade it for anything. On the other hand, Charles Leclerc is spending summer in Australia with his friends, going to clubs at night and then surfing in the morning, just enjoying what the land down under has to offer when he meets a pretty girl and her dog at the beach. It’s no coincidence that Charles surfs in the same beach you’ve started to go, because two souls don’t find each other by simple accident.
CONTENT WARNINGS. female reader, use of Y/N, meet cute, mutual pining, fluff, angst, humor, set in australia, alcohol use, found family, explicit (eventual) sexual content, half written & half smau, cursing, specific warnings in each chapter.
( 🥥 ) SERIES STATUS — ONGOING.
GWEN’S RADIO MESSAGE. this started as a simple one-shot but i fell madly in love with the idea of surfer!charles after the video a fan took of him in australia! i really hope you all like this because i’ve been having the time of my life writing it, like the vibes are vibing.
i still don’t know how many chapters this series is gonna have, but we’re going to sort that out as this progresses. i wanted to write something easy to read and chill, so, don’t expect heavy angst or something like that. also, be aware that the updates might be a little slow! sorry about any spelling errors but, as some of you may know, english is not my first language.
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𓇼 CHAPTER INDEX !
000. PROLOGUE.
Tired of traveling around the world for over two years, you think that is time to settle down somewhere and Australia is the best place to start. Working on a cafe near the beach and starting your mornings walking Daisy, your recently adopted Golden Retriever, sounds like paradise and wouldn’t trade it for anything. On the other hand, Charles Leclerc is spending summer in Australia with his friends, going to clubs at night and then surfing in the morning, just enjoying what the land down under has to offer when he meets a pretty girl and her dog at the beach. It’s no coincidence that Charles surfs in the same beach you’ve started to go, because two souls don’t find each other by simple accident.
LOADING . . .
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BONUS. if you want to be added to the taglist you can reply to this post, send me a dm or leave it in my ask box! the tags will come from a my other blog that i’ve created specifically for this and other taglists or from just the comment section!
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© verstappen-cult, 2024. — do not repost plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.
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The Crow Road by Iain Banks
I finished The Crow Road and had a little time to think about it. I'll put my thoughts under a Keep Reading in case anyone is trying to avoid spoilers.
As I speculated before, I think it's likely that The Crow Road is more related to Good Omens in philosophy than in plot. I mean, it's not that the plots necessarily have nothing in common, and we could be very surprised in the end of course, but now that I've read the whole book, its philosophical commonalities with GO are both apparent and kind of inspiring. Also, if I were a writer, I'd be more interested in dropping hints about what themes are important than telegraphing my whole plot ahead of time.
So here, I will describe the book and point out themes that I believe may reappear in Good Omens 3.
This is a long post. If you read it, make a cup of [beverage of choice].
Below are mentions of suicide, death/murder, and sexual acts.
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The Crow Road centers around a character named Prentice McHoan, a university student in Scotland who starts to sort out his complicated relationship with his complicated family as he explores the mystery of his uncle Rory's disappearance. Although the book is mostly from Prentice's perspective, the narration jumps around in time with the McHoan family. There are quite a lot of important characters to keep track of; the bare-bones summary I put below doesn't even include some of the important ones. I wanted to make the summary even shorter and simpler than this, but the truth is that this book is not short or simple, and if I made the summary any simpler, it might be downright misleading.
There are at least three major cultural aspects of The Crow Road that I am inexperienced with: the overall culture in the 1950s-1980s (I was born in 1988, so of course wasn't here for the relevant decades), the international experience of the Gulf War (again, born in 1988), and the history and culture of Scotland itself (I'm USAmerican with only reading as a source). As a result, I'm sure there are important dimensions to the book that I've missed. If someone has a different perspective taking some of these things into account, I'd love to know about it.
Also, keep in mind, there is a great deal of descriptive writing in this book. There are a lot of pages about the geography of Scotland, and about Prentice as a kid, and about Prentice's father and uncles hanging out together in their youth, and about various family incidents, and about Prentice spending time with his brothers and friends. At first, these passages seem to just make things more confusing, and in my head, I accused them of being "filler." But they definitely serve a purpose. They're a way of showing and not telling the characters' attitudes and relationships to each other. More importantly, because we get to actually live these experiences with the characters, they are what give all the plot points below their deeper emotional impacts. In other words, the everyday experiences give the plot its deeper meaning. They resonate with one of the core themes in the novel: that our experiences in life, rather than any supposed existence after death, are what matters.
The Crow Road's story is like this:
Prentice is rather directionless in life, and he seems to have trouble investing any energy in his own future as he moons over his unrequited feelings for an idealized young woman named Verity. Soon, Verity ends up in a romance with Prentice's brother, Lewis, and Prentice feels that Lewis "stole" her from him. Prentice has also become estranged from his father, Kenneth, over spirituality. Prentice believes there has to be something more after death because he feels it would be incredibly unfair if people didn't get anything other than this one life; Kenneth is not only a passionate atheist, but is offended by the notion of an afterlife.
Prentice's uncle Hamish, Kenneth's brother, has always been religious, although his religion involves a number of bizarre and offbeat ideas of his own, with inspiration from more traditional Christian notions. Prentice is not really sure about this ideology, but he's willing to talk to Hamish about it and even participates during Hamish's prayers, whereas Kenneth is openly scornful of Hamish's beliefs. Hamish interprets this as Prentice being on "his side."
Prentice has a few opportunities to go back and talk to his father, and is begged to do so by his mom, Mary, with whom his relationship is still good. Mary doesn't want either of the men to give up their inner ideas about the universe; she just wants them to agree to disagree and move on as a family. Prentice says he will visit, but he just keeps putting it off and off and off.
Prentice acquires a folder containing some of his missing uncle Rory's notes in the process of hooking up with Rory's former girlfriend, Janice Rae, who seems to have taken a shine to Prentice because he reminds her of Rory. Using the contents of the folder, Prentice wants to piece together the great literary work that Rory left unfinished, which Rory titled Crow Road; however, it becomes apparent that Rory didn't turn his concepts into anything substantial and only had a bunch of disconnected notes and ideas. He hadn't even decided whether Crow Road would be a novel, a play, or something else. The few bits of Rory's poetry for Crow Road read are bleak and depressing.
Prentice also spends a lot of time with a young woman named Ash. They've been good friends since childhood and seem to have a somewhat flirtatious dynamic now, but they aren't in a romantic relationship; mostly, they drink and hang out together. Ash tells Prentice bluntly to get his life back on track when she finds out he's failing at school, avoiding his family, and engaging in shoplifting. She is a voice of reason, and when Prentice insists to her that he's just a failure, she reminds him that actually, he's just a kid.
Prentice's efforts to figure out Rory's story or location stagnate, and he continues to fail at school and avoid his father. He then receives word that Kenneth was killed while debating faith with Hamish. In fact, Kenneth dies after a fall from a church lightning rod, which he was climbing in an act of defiance against Hamish's philosophy when it was struck by lightning; Hamish is convinced that Kenneth had incurred God's wrath. Ash is there for support when Prentice finds out about the death.
With Ash's help, Prentice returns to his hometown again to help manage Kenneth's affairs. Prentice speaks with a very shaken Hamish, who is handling Kenneth's death with extreme drama and making it all about his own feelings. Hamish tells Prentice that Kenneth was jealous that Prentice shared more in common with Hamish's faith than with Kenneth's lack of faith. However, this isn't really true, and as he contemplates his father's death, Prentice begins to internalize one of the last things Hamish reported that Kenneth had argued: "All the gods are false. Faith itself is idolatry."
As the chapters go on, Prentice is compelled by some of the meaningful items related to Rory that he discovers in his father's belongings. He gains a renewed sense of purpose trying to solve the mystery of where Rory went and what happened to him. Among the interesting items are an ancient computer disk of Rory's that Prentice can't access with any equipment he can find; Ash uses her connections in the US and Canada to find a computer expert who can finally open the files on it. This takes quite a while, since the disk has to be mailed and Ash's connection is investigating the disk only in his free time.
Prentice also discovers that his feelings for Verity have changed. He no longer feels angry with Lewis for "stealing her." At first, Prentice's narration describes this as his feelings "cooling" as a result of the trauma of losing his father, but interestingly, this soon means Prentice gets to know Verity as a sister-in-law without getting caught up in jealous romantic feelings. Verity gets along well with the family, and Prentice is actually happy to discover that she and Lewis have a baby on the way. Prentice's relationship with Lewis improves greatly as well, partly because he is no longer jealous and partly because he realizes he does not want to lose Lewis, too.
Ash's connection who was looking at Rory's computer disk comes through and sends the printed contents of the files to Prentice. The files reveal to him that Rory likely knew Prentice's uncle, Ferg, murdered his wife by unbuckling her seat belt and crashing their car. Rory had written out a fictional version of events and considered using it in Crow Road. I'm not clear on exactly how certain Rory was about Ferg's crime, or whether Rory would have intentionally reported Ferg, or whether Rory even had enough proof to publicly accuse Ferg of murder, but people would likely have connected the dots in Rory's work and become suspicious of Ferg. For this reason, Prentice believes Ferg murdered Rory as well.
Prentice confronts Ferg. He doesn't get a confession and leaves Ferg's home with no concrete proof of anything; Ferg denies it all. But Prentice is soon physically assaulted in the night, and it seems Ferg was almost certainly the culprit, because he hadn't been home that same night, and he had injuries (probably from being fought off) the next day. A day or two later, Ferg's body is found unconscious in the cockpit of a plane, which crashes into the ocean. It's uncertain whether this was a suicide, but Prentice suspects it was. Rory's body is then soon recovered from the bottom of a waterway near Prentice's home, where Ferg had sunk it years ago.
As the mysteries are solved, Prentice realizes his feelings for Ash are romantic love. However, it's too late, he thinks, because Ash is about to take a job in Canada, where she may or may not stay. Prentice also hesitates to approach her because he's embarrassed about his previous behavior, venting all his angst about Verity and his father. He isn't sure she would even want to be in a relationship with him after that. But the very night before Ash leaves, she kisses Prentice on the cheek, which leads to a deeper kiss. They finally connect, have sex, and confess their mutual feelings. Ash still goes to her job in Canada, but says she'll come back when Prentice is done with his studies that summer.
The relationship's future is somewhat uncertain because something could come up while Ash is in Canada, but Prentice is hopeful. The book ends with Prentice getting ready to graduate with his grades on track as a history scholar, fully renouncing his belief in an afterlife while he acknowledges the inherent importance of our experiences in our lives now, and enjoying his time with Lewis and Verity and his other family members.
What's the point of all these hundreds of pages?
Well, look at all of the above; there's definitely more than one point. But the main point I took away is that we get this one life, with our loved ones in this world here and now, and this is where we make our meanings. There is no other meaning, but that doesn't mean there's no meaning at all. It means the meaning is here.
It's not death that gives life its meaning. It's the things we do while alive that give life its deeper meaning.
The Crow Road is described (on Wikipedia) as a Bildungsroman, a story focusing on the moral and philosophical growth and change of its main character as they transition from childhood to adulthood ("coming-of-age novel" is a similar term that is interchangeable, but more vague and not necessarily focused on morality/philosophy). And, indeed, all of the plots ultimately tie into Prentice's changed philosophy.
After his argument with Kenneth, Prentice feels childish and humiliated, and as a result, he refuses to go back home, which leads to a spiral of shame and depression. Kenneth dies and Prentice realizes it's too late to repair the relationship, which also leads him to realize it's what we do in life that matters, and that therefore, his father's argument was correct after all.
At the end of the novel, Prentice outright describes his new philosophy. However, I can't recall one specific passage where Prentice describes the process of how he changed his mind (if anyone else can remember something I missed, do let me know). There is, however, a moment when his narration indicates that Hamish seems less disturbed by his own part in the incident that led to Kenneth's death and more disturbed by the notion that his beliefs might actually be true: there might actually be an angry, vengeful God. In other words, Hamish's philosophy was selfish at its core.
My interpretation is that when his father died, Prentice realized three things: how utterly self-serving Hamish's devout faith is, how Kenneth's untimely death proves the importance of working things out now rather than in an imaginary afterlife, and how much profound meaning Kenneth had left behind despite having no faith at all. After these realizations, a determined belief in an afterlife no longer makes our lives here more profound like Prentice once thought it did.
Also, it's worth noting that this incident changes Prentice's idea of partnership, too. He loses interest in this distant, idealized woman he's been after. In love as in the rest of life, Prentice lets go of his ideals, and in doing so, he makes room for true meaning, both in a sincere familial, platonic connection with Verity and a sincere intimate, romantic connection with Ash.
But what about the sex scene?!
Yes, indeed, at the tail end of the story, Prentice and Ash have sex and admit they want to be in a relationship together. Prentice's narration describes them sleeping together and having intercourse not just once, but many times, including some slow and relaxed couplings during which they flex the muscles in their private parts to spell out "I.L.Y." and "I.L.Y.T." to each other in Morse code. This is relevant because earlier, they had been surprised and delighted to discover that they both knew Morse code; it isn't a detail that came from nowhere.
I didn't get the impression that this scene was trying to be especially titillating to the reader. It was mostly just a list of stuff the characters did together. I felt the point was that they were still anxious about being emotionally honest, a little desperate to convey their feelings without having to speak them out loud, and awkward in a way that made it obvious that their primary concern was the feelings, not the sexual performance. They cared about each other, but they weren't trying to be impressive or put on a show; contrast this with previous scenes where Prentice would act like a clown in front of Ash to diffuse his own anxiety. I've always thought that being able to have awkward sex and still enjoy it is a good sign.
Okay, so what does this all have to do with Good Omens?
Here's where I have to get especially interpretive. I'm doing my best, but of course, not everyone reading this will have the same perspective on Good Omens, the Final Fifteen especially. I believe similar themes are going to resonate between The Crow Road and Good Omens regardless of our particular interpretations of the characters' behavior and motivations, but I suppose it could hit differently for some people.
The TL;DR: I see similar themes between The Crow Road and Good Omens in:
The importance of mortal life on Earth
Meaning (or purpose) as something that we create as we live, not something that is handed to us by a supreme being
Sincere connection and love/passion (for people, causes, arts, life's work, etc) as a type of meaning/purpose
Relationships as reflections of philosophy
The dual nature of humanity
Life on Earth as the important part of existence is a core theme in Good Omens, and has been since the very beginning. We all already know Adam chose to preserve the world as it already is because he figured this out, and we all already know Aziraphale and Crowley have been shaped for the better by their experiences on Earth. But Good Omens isn't done with this theme by a long shot. I think this is the most important thematic commonality Good Omens will have with The Crow Road. Closely related is the notion that we create our meanings as we live, rather than having them handed to us. Isn't this, in a way, what Aziraphale struggles with in A Companion to Owls? He's been given this meaning, this identity, that doesn't fit him. But does he have anything else to be? Not yet.
Partnerships as a parallel to the characters' philosophical development also resonates as a commonality that The Crow Road may have with Good Omens. Prentice's obsession with Verity goes away when he starts to embrace the importance of life on Earth and makes room for his sincere relationship with Ash. Note their names: "Verity" is truth, an ideal Prentice's father instills in him; "Ashley" means "dweller in the ash tree meadow" in Anglo-Saxon, according to Wikipedia, and "ash" is one of the things people return to after death. Prentice literally trades his high ideals for life on Earth. We see in Aziraphale a similar tug-o'-war between Heaven's distant ideals and Crowley's Earthly pleasures, so I can see a similar process potentially playing out for him.
I don't particularly recall a ton of thematic exploration of free will in The Crow Road. However, there is a glimmer of something there: Prentice feels excessively controlled by Kenneth's desire to pass down his beliefs, and part of the reason Prentice is so resistant to change is simply his frustration with feeling censored and not being taken seriously. As the reader, I do get the feeling that while Prentice is immature, Kenneth made major mistakes in handling their conflict, too. And Kenneth's mistakes come from trying to dictate Prentice's thoughts. There is likely some crossover with Good Omens in the sense that I'm pretty sure both stories are going to take the position that people need to be allowed to make mistakes, and to do things that one perceives as mistakes, without getting written off as "stupid" or "bad" or otherwise "unworthy."
Suffice it to say that the human characters in Good Omens will also certainly play into these themes, but it's hard to write about them when we don't know much about them except that one of them is almost certainly the reincarnation of Jesus. This also makes me suspect perhaps the human cast will be 100% entirely all-new, or mostly new, symbolic of how Aziraphale and Crowley have immersed themselves in the ever-evolving, ever-changing world of life on Earth. Alternatively, if we encounter human characters again from Season 1 or 2, perhaps the ways they've grown and changed will be highlighted. For example, even in real-world time, Adam and Warlock have already, as of the time I'm writing this, gone through at least one entire life stage (from 11 in 2019 to 16 in 2024). They'll be legal adults in a couple of years, and if there's a significant time skip, they could be much older. If characters from Season 1 do reappear and themes from The Crow Road are prominent, I would expect either some key scenes highlighting contrasts and changes from their younger selves or for stagnation and growth to be a central part of their plot.
The more I write, the more I just interpret everything in circles. Hopefully this post has at least given you a decent idea of what The Crow Road is like and how it may relate to Good Omens.
I'll end this post with a quotation that feels relevant:
Telling us straight or through his stories, my father taught us that there was, generally, a fire at the core of things, and that change was the only constant, and that we – like everybody else – were both the most important people in the universe, and utterly without significance, depending, and that individuals mattered before their institutions, and that people were people, much the same everywhere, and when they appeared to do things that were stupid or evil, often you hadn’t been told the whole story, but that sometimes people did behave badly, usually because some idea had taken hold of them and given them an excuse to regard other people as expendable (or bad), and that was part of who we were too, as a species, and it wasn’t always possible to know that you were right and they were wrong, but the important thing was to keep trying to find out, and always to face the truth. Because truth mattered. Iain Banks, The Crow Road
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bcacstuff · 2 days
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Applying logic. How do you explain all this? Sam is single, free and heterosexual. Sam travels to GC with Sarah, staying on Airbnb together alone from Sunday to Thursday. They separate because they have separate jobs. Sam returned from Australia. First visit Hyrox to encourage Sarah and participate. This weekend they both disappeared. They have appeared at the same time. I don't believe in Mull, it seems like P's crazy idea. But Sam and Sarah living so close. They could have spent Saturday together. In Glasgow, in Stirling. Why not? At Sam's house for example. Where they have privacy. Eat, drink, sun, casual sex. I don't believe in a marriage commitment. They like each other, sexual chemistry and that's it. Sam is always busy and so is Sarah. It is a practical and comfortable relationship for both. Sam has to stay in Scotland for months now. Sarah has the characteristics that Sam is looking for. She is young, blonde, athletic, sporty. Busy with a son. This point allows Sam free time for himself as well. Sarah looks a lot like Georgia. Then why not? Why does this seem like a crazy idea to you? Convince me logically. Your blog always makes sense. I don't understand your resistance to such a simple relationship between a man and a woman.
Anon, I'm feeling a bit tired to explain over and over again the logic I use. I did in a few posts already and for what it is worth everything I wrote has been confirmed.
I told already when I posted about the villa in GC how they only share a mutual interest, working out, training for Hyrox. And so it isn't such a surprise he showed up at Hyrox in Glasgow, his home town, where he sucscribed to compete as well, and where many friends of him participated in the race as well, including Sarah.
Saying, he is single, a free heterosexual and staying at the same airbnb is not logic, but is confirmation bias. Just the fact someone is single sharing an airbnb isn't any proof or evidence he's dating or more than friends. It's as much as saying any guy wearing a pink shirt must be homosexual. It's stereotyping, it's implying that a person who is single can not share a hotel room or whatever place to sleep and stay with another person depending on their sexual preferences, without bedding them. I know I did many times, I know a lot have said here they're single and did so. It's not odd, it's just a place to crash and stay while in a place with a mutual interest, in this case working out, training for the Hyrox program. It doesn't mean automatically having casual sex as well. That's just a fable made up by people who are narrow minded. It's not logic.
You saying he has to stay in Scotland for months due to filming OL, well we've seen him many times go off for a week or a few days, even to NYC while filming S7. On top of that, as stated many times and not only by me, he doesn't want them close by. During Covid he had to, but that didn't end so well either.
Sarah looking a lot like Georgia??? Well I guess we have different views on that. And why bring up Georgia? Because he went to see her compete last year in a game in Germany? Well, and that's all there was to it, might as well compare that to watching Sarah at Hyrox.
I'm not here to convince you Anon. You gotta do that yourself. But what you are doing is not applying logic, it's applying confirmation bias. You're in a tunnel vision, put there by a blogger who's only 'proof' is filling voids with rumors. You seeing sexual chemistry is solely a result of that tunnel vision, seeing things that are not really there at all. How can you speak of chemistry when you do not even see one picture or these people together? Now use your logic, and ask yourself how much you search and put explantations on things that only confirms what you want to see. On things you think you see because you're in a tunnel vision. Convince yourself how biased that is, did you even consider other explanations? Did you even try to list some things that makes it less credible? It seems you only list the things that add up to your story. How would you know the characteristics he is looking for? Because he sometimes say some things at a talkshow? Where he says the things he knows what people want to hear? Why do you mention Saturday? Because this certain blogger claims he wasn't online? Well that's not true, he liked a lot and even left comments on posts. Why does this blogger not notice how he was much more off social media while he was in London? Where there was no Sarah!! You could easily see when he went to London, when his sm times shifted and were just very briefly, not a scroll before he went to sleep, hardly any likes! How about that? And that's just a few things this blogger leaves out, as it doesn't fit the narative.
We all could have, and did, already predict how this blogger was going to use every little straw she could come up with to spin her story around Sarah from the moment she learned they stayed in GC at the same airbnb. And let me remind you, it wasn't her who found that out, nor her team. It was because I was far ahead and already following things and worked out the villa, before the other blogger even knew her name. If it wasn't for a tweet on Monday 15 January nobody had known he went to GC at all! The said blogger even had to copy images from my blog as she didn't had any stories of Sarah from before. Also not Sunday but Monday he flew to GC and flew early on Friday to Kitzbuhel, not for work or any job but simply by choice. And from there to Munich which wasn't work either, and on to Oostende, work related for one day and from there to LA. How easy would it have been to catch up in Glasgow in between? And why not???
On top of that, and that's what you can't apply to your logic, I heard and saw a few other things, involving women. Not the women you expect, not the characteristics you listed. I haven't posted about that and I wont elaborate on it as well. But for what it is worth, the things I heard and saw doesn't leave much doubt. If I would do the same as this other blogger, I had a lot more proof and coincidences to show you than in Sarah's case. One of the stories I'm told and saw enough evidence of leaves hardly any room for doubts. But I'm not ready to share these information. As what I was told and shown is in confidence not to be shared, people coming to me as they learned they can trust me, as I don't throw any women under the bus and I'm so glad their names didn't turn up in any of my anon messages or anywhere else. I have my integrity and I'm sure I wouldn't have any triumphant feelings about it if I out these things. On the contrary.
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roll-of-royces · 12 hours
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HC: The LaDS Find You as a Neko
This is a request I ran into by @chryssikyu and as I love a good Neko I had fun!
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Xavier considers himself to be fairly prepared for the world at large. He's not so simple as most people seem to think he is, but this he did not expect. 
You are asleep, curled up on top of the covers instead of beneath them. That's not the unusual part, the two of you are avid nap takers. Many afternoons have been dedicated to curling up together and falling asleep in the sun. 
This is different. This is different for several reasons. One, you're napping in nothing but a thin white nightdress that barely comes to the mid-thigh. Two, you have two large fluffy looking cat ears. Three, those ears are accompanied by a lush tail that drapes over your thigh as you slumber. 
The fur has a soft pale white sheen. He has no idea how this could have happened, and he's seen so much in his life. Xavier approaches, steps light, as if he is approaching a threat instead of the light of his life. His hand reaches out, tentatively brushing the tip of your new ear. It twitches, not a trick. 
He can't help himself, he sinks onto the edge of the bed, you huff but don't awaken. Before he knows it he has his hand around your tail, dragging downward to feel the soft warmth. You open your eyes, and those too have changed. Your pupils are different, cat like, though still your color. 
"Do you understand me?" He asks carefully. 
You hum, yawn again, and rest your head on his lap, "Xavier." Your voice is the same, still rough with sleep. Still you, just you a little different. 
"What happened?" His hand comes to curl into your hair, it feels softer than it was before. It's nice.
"Dunno." You close your eyes, apparently content to go back to sleep. "Missed you." 
He smiles, because that never gets old to hear. You lean into his hand, arms curling around his waist. Well, he could nap. 
"Move over." He murmurs and you do as asked, knowing well enough he will join you. You'll figure this out in due time. For now he curls atop the bed, with you pressed along his side, tail twitching contentedly as he holds you to him. 
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It's not entirely uncommon for Zayne to find you in his office, especially since the two of you started openly stating you're a couple. Sometimes you drop in to see him, sometimes you're only there long enough to leave take-out on his desk before you're gone again. 
Regardless seeing you is always a pleasant surprise. He says your name in greeting, but you keep looking out the window. You're in a hoodie, hood up. It might be Xaviers'. Zayne chews on the jealousy of that for a moment, before letting out a slow breath through his nose. 
You must have been cold. He'll give you his jacket to wear home. You don't look up when he enters, eyes still pinned on something out of the window. He takes another step and sees Clopidogrel hovering on the windowsill. "We should set out some more nuts for him." Zayne says conversationally, walking toward his desk to get the bag he has there for this very purpose. 
Once he's by his desk he gets a view of your face, somewhat shadowed by the hood. There is enough light to see your eyes, the unnatural shape of them. Zayne freezes, scanning you over for injuries. Bag forgotten he heads right for you, watching you track the resident squirrel. 
His hand comes to your chin, pulling your face up to look at him. A doctor's gaze that floods concern through him, he pushes the hood back and is met with twitching fluffy black ears. His thumb pulls your lip up to see the sharpness of some of your teeth. He's heard of this condition only vaguely. 
Harmless, short term. Like the common cold, the tightness in his shoulders relaxes. "Are you alright?" 
Your eyes continue to track the squirrel, "Yes." 
"You can't have him." Zayne informs you, amusement coloring his tone. He'll need to take the rest of the day off at least, make sure you're safe. Your impulsivity will be up, you're likely to do something foolish. 
"Want him." 
He reaches out and pets the top of your head, scratching at your scalp with his nails to distract you from the prey you are being denied. It works, your eyes slip closed, and you lean into his hand. 
"We'll get you some food on the way home." He promises. "Come on, kitten." 
It's the first time he's used the term of endearment but Zayne thinks it might stick. 
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Rafayel juggles the bags over one arm as he pushes his studio door open with his foot, calling out as soon as he's through, "If only my bodyguard came with me today. These bags are so heavy!" He gets the door closed, frowning when you don't call out in reply or approach. 
Depositing the bags onto the kitchen counter Rafayel goes off in search of you. He doesn't expect what he finds. You're on the balcony outside of your shared bedroom, in nothing but one of his shirts. Which normally he would not mind, not one bit. 
However. You have a pair of purple ears and a tail to match, a tail that is moving on its own, flicking from side to side. Oh no, oh no. You've got that weird cat sickness. He's read about it, he even had a nightmare once. 
Rafayel rushes toward you, colliding with the balcony railing to look at you. And when you turn to him, ears pivoting, eyes strange he doesn't know what to do. "Are you ... are you alright?" 
You nod, and then step into his arms. He flounders momentarily before he remembers this is you, cat or not, this is you. And he is safe. He is safe. 
His arms wrap around you, as you tuck yourself against his chest. "Play with me, I'm bored." 
Rafayel relaxes further hearing you sound normal, if a bit needy. He likes when you're needy, he likes the fact you need him. "What do you want to do? Not eat me I hope." 
Your eyes spark with mirth, and then you sink your teeth into the side of his neck. He squeaks, but you let go and it didn't really hurt. 
"I'm not on the menu." He scolds. "Find another fish to chew on." 
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mrs-snape5984 · 1 day
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“Free me from this pain, I’ve been running from…”
“I'm tired and I'm free falling. Free me! I'm lost and I am calling you…” (“Free me” by Sia)
I’ve experienced some very rough hardships in my almost 40 years lasting existence in this world…but I’ve never given up on myself. I knew, that I’d have to fight my way back out of these horrible miseries, and I kept my faith to find the path to better times…to find the path, which will lead me upwards again.
I admit, these hardships left their marks, their scars on me. They formed my heart and my mindset…they made me the person, that I am today. I learned my lessons…and I kept going.
Since I’m living struggling with this goddamn bitch of a disease, called ME/CFS, my life has only one direction: It’s going downhill…and it’s getting faster! In these past 1,5 years, I’ve lost more and more of all the things, which made my life worth living for. I lost my ability to do my job as a pedagogue and social worker. I lost my freedom, since I’m stuck in my dark room day and night. I lost a lot of social contacts, since screen time is messing with my brain and each phone call costs me too much energy. I lost my capability to be an active mother for my three children…and this is the part, that hurts the most. Damn, I lost so much more…and I feel my heart shattering in pieces every fucking day!
Everything in my life is slowly falling apart and I’m losing my grip on reality…and on myself! The newest pain in the ass is probably my habit of passing out every few days. My whole system shuts down in the middle of a simple talk or something else and I’m falling into unconsciousness! I can’t remember the things, I’ve done before…I’m just blacked out for several hours. At first, my kids were afraid in these moments…especially when they couldn’t wake me up from this state! But now, they simply accept that “quirk” of mine as their new reality…and my motherly heart is aching for them. This shouldn’t be their reality! They shouldn’t have to live with a mother, who’s always in the dark…who’s always lying in bed! They’re children!! They shouldn’t have to whisper in my presence. I should be the person, they can rely on unconditionally!! Fuck…my heart is bleeding…and I’m sorry for my pathetic venting.
I need a way out of this hell…but since there isn’t any possibility for me right now, I’ll keep on clinging on Severus. My fantasies of him and my way of coping with my misery by writing stories about him and my - oh so self-inserted - OC Julia/Jules are the only thing, that keeps me mentally stable functioning. Well…at least that’s what I’m telling myself. I mean, I know how depressed my posts might seem.
My favourite artist for my darkest ideas is my friend @madfantasy. I told Mani about my wish to be freed from my darkness…to be cured from my disease. I need a saviour…a true hero…I need Severus! Since there aren’t any promising medical treatments, I’ll need a magical miracle to get rescued. And this is exactly, what Severus is trying for me. He conjures the demons inside my soul and forces them to leave my body. Severus is the only person, who’s brave enough to face the darkness within me. He’s my knight…and the love of my life. 21 years of my life, it was Severus, who kept me going…who inspired me with his resilience and his courage! A lot of those previous hardships could be endured by me, because I had something, I believed in. I had something, that gave me confidence and strength. I had Severus. So, please…don’t let me lose my hope and my faith in his support. And don’t let me lose my faith in myself.
Mani, my precious friend, I’m stunned by your ability to understand my ideas. Every time, I’m commissioning you for another project, your art helps me to soothe my troubled heart. It is as if you’re drawing my feelings!! I can sense my own emotions in every single line of your drawing. You don’t know, how grateful I am that I was allowed to meet you here. I love our conversations and our understanding for each other. Feel hugged, Mani! I’m sending you so much love! 🫂🫂 (fly fly) 🥹🖤 Thank you for everything.
🖤Severus & Julia🖤
🖤Sevy & Jules🖤
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sasster · 2 days
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Getaway
Don’t know how we got here, but! Here we are. If you see typos, no you didn’t. [Doc]
Dreams, for those who have them, are an unappreciated gift. Because the prophet does not possess the ability to conjure his own, ironic as that might be all things considered, he must stick to rooting in the minds of others so that he may steal theirs. This way he can, for a moment, drift off into a sweet fantasy and leave the headache of the waking world behind him. Heaven knows he has had no shortage of headaches recently; Mettling Roatuses, handsy fathers, and whiny bratty godlings included.
The process is a simple one, Cylion need only enter a sort of meditation, push away his own thoughts, and allow the constant vibrations of the unconscious minds that surround him to cross the threshold of his own consciousness. The ones he has made a visit to in the past buzz at a higher frequency in an attempt to lull him into the security of a familiar mind, when he chooses to reach beyond them, he finds the tentative hum of dreamers that have not had the pleasure of hosting him. In times of boredom, he would follow that thread as far as it went and test the outer limits of his dream hopping and mending.
Neither business nor boredom brought him here, though, so he lays in his bed and chews on the decision of where to go while his mind begins to flood with the hopes, aspirations, dread, and regret of the people around him. Mostly followers, he thinks, and the last thing he wants to waste his freetime on is Nymira’s following fawning over her.
He has had quite enough of fawning over Nymira these days. Ugh, the thought is nearly enough to throw his focus off altogether. Thankfully, he doesn’t get to dwell on that idea for too long before something interesting draws his attention. A mind that he visited in the past but has not seen in some time reveals itself to him.
In practicing to be the perfect prophet for the mutant dreamer, Cylion had become very good at picking out whose thoughts he would find himself swimming in. Magical to an observer, but to him it is as much a science as picking up color coded folders and knowing which one is math and which one is history. Only a moron could mistake the psyche of someone like Somnia for, say, Nymira.
Motivations change the flavor, experience influences the color.
The mind that reaches out to him vibrates at a frequency not dissimilar to his own fathers. A vile mind, steeped in the sort of cruelty that is somehow mindless let calculated at the same time. Such a mind that a more timid man might want to keep it miles away, but Cylion’s curiosity is only piqued; Minds do not just drop off of the grid once he has mingled with them, barring death, and they certainly do not crop back up out of nowhere either.
Something tells him he knows exactly who it belongs to even before he starts to dig into it.
“I wonder what the devil dreams of.” He muses to himself, which is the same as speaking out loud when in this state.
The rest of the vibrating bubbles of consciousness melt away in sync with the bed as he negotiates communication with the mind of his new subject, he has no intention of fabricating so he allows the scene to wash over him. The ceiling is replaced by the thick canopy of a forest, it brings along with it the smell of wet earth. Towering trees crowd his vision, save for a path that leads down to a clearing meant for a large building. Nearby running water completes the scene and it is all draped in a thick curtain of melancholy.
One man’s longing is another man’s relaxation, it seems.
Cylion finds his legs and sets off down the path towards the clearing, the satisfying crunch of leaves under his feet is more clear to him than anything he’d stumbled in on a whim before.
At the clearing he finds the purple blood, unmoving and staring wordlessly out in front of him. When the dreamer is certain that his visitor is within earshot, he speaks.
“He dreams of home.” Persep answers his question, turning to face him on the approach. “Or what is left of it.”
Not entirely surprised to see the man, but somehow put off by the sight of him without his face paint and stitches, as though he’d expected the man to dream himself in that state, Cylion raises both of his eyebrows. Then his lips quirk into a smile.
“Are you trying to get sympathy from me?” He comes to stand directly beside him. “That’s rich.”
“I am only answering your question. You’re visiting me, after all. What are you running from, Holy One?”
Cylion makes a face that causes Persep to flash him with a quick grin.
“Not so holy then? It’s rare that you imagine yourself without the flower these days. Isn’t it part of the holy look?”
The yellow blood sucks his teeth and rolls his eyes while Persep, ever the lucid dreamer, materializes a replica sunflower in his hand. Cylion digs the tip of his toes into the earth mindlessly.
“This divinity shit is so frustrating.”
“Imagine the real thing. It’s a bitch.”
“Hard pass.”
Persep lets out a bark of a laugh, turning the flower over in his hands. “Cowardice earns you nothing.”
“Courage burns your hive down?”
“Something like that. You didn’t answer my question.”
 “Hm?”
“What are you running from that you’ve found your solace with the devil?” He asks again, humored.
Cylion heaves out a sigh and drops to sit with his legs crossed, staring at the space where the puppet master’s home used to live and admiring the detail of the fire singed grass.
“I don’t know. Everything?”
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lackablazeical · 2 days
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Snippet 11 - Quiet Understanding
All the credit to NewFallenLeaves on A03 for this writing!!@ Shes such an angel I love her go support her
There's lots of tism in this one yall will love it
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Snippet below the cut!!!⬇️⬇️⬇️
The next time one of the youngest bunny siblings traipsed into Donnie’s lab, it was not at all within the parameters of any scenario that he had anticipated.
Mari came slinking in so quietly, even his sensitive hearing aids almost failed to pick up the sound. Her padded steps were so soft and careful, it was as if she didn’t even want to hear her own footfalls. He could even go so far as to say that she was as silent as any ninja, although Donnie knew the Miyamoto clan had no training in that style.
When his sensors did pick up on her presence, she was almost already right behind him.
He swiveled in his chair abruptly. She froze mid-stride. Her ears were trembling and her eyes were rimmed with red.
He knew practically nothing about the younger bunny twin, due to the fact that he hardly interacted with her. With minimal data, all he could tell for sure was that she was extraordinarily introverted, and for some reason enjoyed Raph’s tea parties. Why she would be coming to him unannounced, he had no idea.
“What’s the matter with you?” Donnie asked.
“You’re not sick,” said Donnie.
He tugged his goggles down over his eyes and activated a quick scan. It revealed an elevated heart rate, minor congestion in her sinuses, and some light inflammation in her corneas. Nothing that indicated illness.
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Her eyes welled, and she swiped them with the heel of her hand. “Yes I am. I need something…to fix me.”
“Fix what?”
“You make potions like mystics, right? Ishi-nii-san said so. And you made him better.”
Donnie resisted the urge to criticize her comparison of his science to the backward mysticism her culture subscribed to. “Your brother has quantifiable symptoms that can be tempered with the right admixture of medications. But I can’t create medicine for vague or nonexistent problems, so if you want something, explain it properly.”
She hesitated, and for a moment looked as if she might just turn and leave. Instead she said, slowly, “Riko was humming again. And when I told her to stop she got mad and called me stupid again.”
Donnie cocked an eyebrow. “It’s not stupid to ask someone else to allay their noise pollution.”
“But only simple people have to have quiet to concentrate. I’m not supposed to get so annoyed when Riko sings or makes noise.” Mari twisted the lacing on her tunic between her fingers. “Usually I don’t mind too much, but…today I was mean and I asked her to be quiet anyway.”
Donnie cocked an eyebrow. “Why is that mean?”
“Because she wasn’t even very loud like she is sometimes. But it still made my ears hurt and my head fuzzy and my tummy all shaky.”
“Oh. That.” Donnie swiveled the goggles back up to the top of his head.
“Can you make it better?”
“Of course not.”
He spoke little too quickly and bluntly, based on the absolutely crestfallen look that overtook her.
Donnie added, “But only because there’s nothing to fix. Aversion to auditory stimulation isn’t an illness that you take medicine for.”
He knew what it was like to feel overstimulated. And he’d read enough medical journals to understand sensory issues and how to handle them. It didn’t mean that Mari was deficient, just that she was more sensitive than most. She needed quiet and privacy more than noise and social interaction.
He watched as her eyes began to fill again. Oh, Hawking. Of course no one had ever explained this to her. From what he heard, the clan’s so-called ‘healers’ hadn’t even bothered to treat Usagi’s wounds when he was a child for fear it would hinder the mystic tattoos. With that level of incompetence, Donnie was surprised him and his siblings had survived for as long as they did.
“Auditory hypersensitivity isn’t uncommon,” said Donnie. “Adaptability is optimal in someone your age, and it’s just a matter of mitigating the stimulation to a tolerable level and practicing coping strategies for moments when extenuation is impossible.”
Mari blinked.
Donnie sighed. “Your body doesn’t like loud noises. That’s okay. You’re not sick, and you’re not stupid.”
“But Riko likes loud noises. And being busy. And being around lots of other people all the time…”
“So?” said Donnie. “Twins can be different.”
Her face fell, and he wondered what the problem was. He and Leo had never really been alike. He'd thought that sort of thing when it came to siblings and twins was obvious.
“Here.” Donnie tugged the headset loose from around his ears and plopped them onto her head. One quick twist adjusted the headband and tucked the speakers in close to her ears.
In true Donnie fashion, he hadn’t been able to resist enhancing his hearings aids to adjust volume and filter background noises. He spun the dial to what was essentially a ‘sound-canceling’ setting, and the fins retracted. (Strange to have that option for someone who was nearly deaf, but versatility was inestimable.)
Mari’s eyes widened.
“Quieter, right?” asked Donnie.
She nodded.
Donnie tapped a button that would emit a low wash of white noise. He watched with satisfaction as Mari’s shoulders relaxed and the faintest of smiles threatened to break through.
“Better?” Donnie couldn’t hear his own voice, much less her answer, but he could easily surmise what her vigorous nod meant.
“Stay here where I can see you.” He pointed to a nearby stool. “And if you break those I will make myself new ones out of your ears.”
She smiled and nodded again. Probably couldn’t hear a word he was saying. Perfect.
He turned back to his desk and flipped to a blank page in his sketchbook to begin the basic design. It wasn’t a staggering challenge, but recreating his tech to fit a rabbit yokai and grow with her would provide an interesting afternoon project. It should occupy him for a few hours, at least, and the way Mari immediately hopped onto the nearest swiveling stool and snagged a book on the evolutionary processes of insects told him she could entertain herself quietly for however long it took.
He would make hers smaller and lighter, of course. Fitted so they wouldn’t even be noticeable once they were in place, hidden under the tufts of fur around her ears.
He didn’t bother to ask what color she wanted.
How fortuitous that she already wore purple.
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cakerybakery · 2 days
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I like the idea of Eve having reddish hair and green eyes while alive because she came from Adam’s rib, since I picture Adam as having brown hair and a golden-brown eye colour while alive. It would be as if the angels tried to photocopy Adam in order to make Eve but the hue didn’t turn out right.
But the angels couldn’t just go, Adam, then slap come tits on him. He ended up having an abrasive personality, so they needed to make her more forgiving. Make her a little smaller so she might need help more to reach stuff on the high branches, so she’s more reliant on Adam than Lilith was. But Adam wasn’t exactly the smartest so they made her clever. They were both curious, and Adam isn’t dumb, just doesn’t always think stuff through. He’s a direct action for direct results type of guy.
Hell is over populated, just kill them. Need food? Plant it, hunt it. This cave is a shelter, Eve! Why would we build a shelter?? Okay I’ll hold this, but I don’t know why you’re doing this. Oh shit that would make things easier to carry!
Where are Eve can come up with more outside the box solutions. She sees how some grasses, all twisted together, are harder to cut and wonders what happens if she did that on purpose? Makes a basket. Thinks that a shelter should have a block they can open and close to keep out the winds, the rains, and hungry animals while allowing them in. Invents the door.
Adam has his own tools. But they’re simple and effective. He saw a sharp rock one day and thought, I wonder if this will help cut this? And it worked. So he looked for just the right rock to fit in his hand. He gets annoyed and swings the rock one day and realizes it does more damage that way. Thinks, oh of it was longer would that help? And makes an axe. He makes other tools based on that.
While blonde and blue eyes in humans is just normal mutations over time.
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mattodore · 1 month
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pose making they could never make me hate you
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nvoc · 15 days
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once again i am gutting out a whole chunk of stuff from my load order.....
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bread-of-death · 2 months
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Oh my god I might get to take my friend on a date EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK
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the-acid-pear · 6 months
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today's prompts are spiders and self insert so i've been thinking of drawing nembone and a uh, bunger. but Im still thinking around the uh. ? i cant remember the word HELP the fucking COMPOSITION there.
#luly talks#i was thinking of formating it like a parody of a flash or mobile game where the character is like FEED ME x =D but i cannot find like#references.#btw another ideas i had was doing ONLY self insert and make a character select screen with my sonas#first i thought of a gif where you'd change selection making the border shine and the character change expression and get color#(otherwise they'd be greyed out) and then i thought of doing a more classic smash bros like character screen#but those two ideas would be too hard#i also thought of something more simple like just. my fursonas hugging yuri style#and then i was like no lets go back to nembone (my og idea as mentioned yesterday on the tags of my art post)#and i was CONVINCED today the prompt was path and i was gonna make a very cool scene with Nembone and Keabin sitting on a bar#and i hope yall know why i hope yall are tuned in with the completely neglected bugsnax oc luly lore but in case youre not first of all#shame on you but second its bc keabin actually is my save where ppl DIE#and i spoke in a post that i think is in my oc blog or maybe my self ship one either way im sure is crossposted on both but i spoke about#how fucking Low Nembone would be in a post Shelda's death path <- eh eh get it get it that's where the prompt plays!!#they'd also be saying something about wishing things could've been different or something#it'd have been a cool drawing and a great excuse to draw my guy keabin who has been borderline fucking retconned otherwise but hey#its not the prompt. so.#idk what i will do for tomorrow btw i dont have many complicated fits ocs juan has been in my brain for close to a decade or more#and he has never wore anything but a green tshirt and some pants#but ill figure something i might do Bloody#or i might double the fuck down and if i do bloody i can tie spiders to her and do nembone and keabin today#it is cringetober after all!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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jewishsuperfam · 2 years
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and what if i wrote a fic where the unsinkable 8 play d&d on the island
like. they don't have any source books but rachel remembers enough from nora's books, and dot has played enough video games that she can help suggest class abilities and stuff, so between the two of them they can basically homebrew classes for everyone
leah probably played once or twice with ian and i doubt she remembers much but i'd also bet she's ITCHING to write, and this is the first writing-adjacent creative outlet she's had on the island (taking notes on her observations of everyone not included), so she helps with the worldbuilding and coming up with an adventure and winds up getting way more into it than she expected, until they hit a point where she actually volunteers to DM (which no one was expecting; dot was definitely convinced it was gonna have to be her and was kind of dreading it)
(also, once leah winds up kind of taking over and spearheading the creative aspect, which dot and rachel are pretty happy to let her do, dot and rachel wind up deciding to make dice or dice-equivalents out of like. carved bits of wood, probably. or maybe they invent a new system using cards or smt)
shelby is cautiously optimistic; she doesn't really know anything about the game and has probably had some of the more satanic panic opinions on d&d crammed into her head, but from how the other girls describe it it sounds like fun to her. toni's more skeptical, but shelby and martha are both pretty enthusiastic, so she winds up agreeing just for them
fatin's not remotely interested in the game to begin with, and only agrees bc leah's been putting so much time + energy + heart into this and she wants to be supportive (and also bc she doesn't want to be the only one who refuses to play), but she winds up getting really into it, in a way that genuinely surprises her
#anyway: leah is dm like i said already#dot already knows off the bat that she wants to play a cleric#rachel decides to play a rogue just for the skill proficiencies and bc insane amounts of damage#martha's 1000% a druid no question abt it#i think toni probably plays a paladin tbh?#at first she just wants to play a character that doesn't have too much going on mechanically--just a good simple beginner character#but rachel makes the mistake of suggesting that barbarian might be a good class for that#and toni's feelings get hurt and they have a fight and later rachel is like#'u know....there are other characters that also like to hit things with swords but don't have a rage mechanic......'#and toni likes the idea of the aura of protection so. she goes with that#shelby wants to play a character pretty far removed from religion and also cast spells and help her friends#but she doesn't want to play a damage-focused character or do too much direct healing#so she winds up playing a bard#fatin tho. fatin's tricky#she doesn't really know much about the game so she asks leah to pick for her#and leah won't do that but she DOES give fatin a rundown of the options and what she thinks fatin would have fun with#after the explanations i think she thinks about playing a charisma caster like a sorcerer or warlock#but finds that she's not really into the idea of not knowing where her powers come from or how to control them#similarly she thinks abt being a barbarian and having an opportunity to vent some bottled up anger#but honestly she's not like. really seeing the appeal of any of the martial classes#shes like 'if i have to play this dumb game i want to have magic or what's even the point'#so to her absolute horror and self-disgust i think she winds up playing a wizard and LOVING it#anyway this got long but. i cant stop thinking abt it sooooo#the wilds
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reploidbuddy · 2 months
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Man sometimes I wish ao3 had some DMs
Not all the time but today absolutely
((oh my god I rambled sm in the tags I reached the 30 limit oh my GOD JFBSJCBJD
#Found this new bookbinding tutorial#one that FINALLY explains the logistics of printing the text idk why I couldnt find one before#and while my old method was extremely simple and fun the minute you have smthn a lil bigger it's hard to open#like At Hope's End is MASSIVE for the simpler technique#and even though I knew how to play with my pages enough to make it all functional it#*it's hard to open and feels like it might break or you see the prong and idk#it's a great trophy but the functionality is meh#but yeah found an understandable tutorial on the sewing thing and I'd like to make one like this at least for At Hope's End#bc it would benefit most I think#AND SO THE POINT I WANTED TO DO WAS:#The tutorial gave the brilliant idea of putting art in some pages and stuff#and like listen I got 1 single fanart through the entire journey of Light on the Horizon#by dragonswirl on DA and insta (go look at their art btw it's pretty)#and BOY.#I LOVE IT#it was the reason I smiled all week#I showed it to anyone that had heard I write fanfic/like sonic#heck it's my phone's home screen#I go look at it sometimes randomly bc AGH IT LOOKS SOSOSO GOOD#I'll do just 1 copy of it as trophy but like a functional readable one#but I'd love to put that fanart in it#like at the beginning where in published books theres some random stuff#just put it there all like LOOK AT IT even if it'll end up being @ myself#idk I'd like to ask them if they're okay with it#and if so like actually have them know how much I love that one art and want to put it in there#IDC IF IT'S BEFORE EVEN CHAPTER ONE IT'S AMAZING AND IT MAKES ME HAPPY OK /positive /lighthearted#so yea they dont seem to have tumblr so there isn't really a mean to ask sadly#rambling#light on the horizon#at hope’s end
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javiscigarette · 2 months
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Teacher's Pet
Joel Miller x virgin f!reader
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Summary: 25 years old, anxiety-ridden, and still a virgin, you ask your friend Joel for advice on your upcoming date. But you're more of a...hands-on learner. And he's more than happy to help. 
Warnings: PWP, unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, first kiss, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), frequent check-ins, soo much banter and Joel is a menace also so soft and sweet :')....(ends on a cliffhanger but there will be a part two I swear).
w/c: 7.7k idk what happened
a/n: I am resurfacing for your monthly reminder that I do in fact still write!! Inspiration for this came out of literally nowhere but I took it and RAN with it and I think I like it?? As always, thank you to my baby love @undrthelights for helping me with this and always listening to my rambling and for being my biggest enabler Ilysm
Part Two
my masterlist
"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever." Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck pound in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed. "A what?" "Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.  "No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 
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"Seriously, Joel. Fuck off" you snap but with no bite or heat behind it. You bring the sweating bottle of beer to your lips and finish the rest of the now lukewarm liquid off in one gulp. 
"What? I just find it hard to believe that you've never even had a kiss. Didn't you go to high school? Didn't you ever get invited to a party? Didn't you go to college? College kids do the do like all the time” 
"Clearly not all the time" you mutter, a tad bitterly.
Joel raises his hands defensively and takes a sip of his own beer. "Just seems crazy is all. There's gotta be some chick or dude out there willing to take pity on you and pop your cherry."
You audibly gag at his choice of words. "I don't need a pity fuck, thanks." You stand from the couch and head over to the fridge. The bottles of cold alcohol inside are calling your name and you want something that will help soothe your nerves. You're not a big drinker, but when Joel is prying into your love life like he is now, you wish you were.
"Okay,” he starts from the living room. “Maybe I worded that wrong. What I meant to say was, there's gotta be someone out there who would be more than willing to show you a good time."
You groan and let your forehead fall against the fridge door. "That's the whole point! I came here to get advice for my date, someone who might actually be interested in me, and all you've done is make fun of me for not having fucked anyone yet. So thanks, Joel. You're a real pal."
You push away from the fridge and slam the door shut, a second beer in hand.
"Alright, alright, calm down." He says, hands in the air as if you were holding him at gunpoint as you head back to the couch. "Look, if this guy really likes you then he's not gonna care. Probably won't even be able to tell if you are or aren't."
"You think so?" You ask hopefully.
"Well, I mean, unless you're like... super bad."
Your heart drops into your stomach and you glare at him, "Joel."
"Oh come on, I'm kidding. You're not gonna be bad, okay? Just, go into it with an open mind and just relax. If he tries something you're not comfortable with or makes you feel weird, tell him. And if he gets pissy, dump his ass."
"That simple, huh?" You scoff.
"Well, yeah. You're the one who made it complicated by thinking it was a big deal."
"It is a big deal, Joel! I know nothing!
"Nothing? You ain’t ever watched porn? Jesus, I had no idea you were such a prude."
You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and slapping the back of your hand against his arm. He yelps and laughs, rubbing his arm.
"I've watched porn before" you retort. 
"What kind?" he asks with a wiggle of his brows.
"None of your fucking business" you respond, feeling your face heat up.
Joel's lips quirk into a shit-eating grin and you're quick to smack him again.
"Okay okay, sorry!" he says through his laughter. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"
You're not really sure how to answer. It's a combination of so many things, most of which are irrational fears and insecurities. Sure you've seen it all done before, but you're well aware that none of it is realistic. At least, not completely. And just the fact that you're freshly 25 years old without a single notch in your bedpost makes you dizzy with anxiety. It's not like you're saving yourself or anything, it's just that hook up culture has never agreed with you and there's never been an opportunity that made you feel like it was the right one. That is until now, with your cute coworker who you thought was miles out of your league asking you out on a third date. And now, the prospect of being in bed with him is looming over you like a dark cloud and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.
"I guess, I'm just afraid that he's gonna be disappointed, or I'm gonna weird him out, or I'm gonna do something wrong and embarrass myself.” Joel nods along and listens. "And if it is bad then we still have to work with each other and then what if it's awkward and everyone knows about it and then he hates me and--"
"Okay, whoa slow down there, buddy" Joel says, putting a hand on your shoulder. "One, you're overthinking this. You're literally thinking like, five steps ahead of what's actually going on. It's a date. And even if it does end up in the bedroom, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one's forcing you, okay? He can't. No one can."
"I know, but I want to," you reply quietly.
"Alright. Then do."
"I don't know howwww!! " you whine, flopping backwards into the couch.
Joel groans and sits up a little straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face. 
"Well, there's no magic trick, I don't have a secret sex manual I'm holding out on ya."
You sigh, shoulders sagging as you look over at him. The idea comes out of nowhere, well, not exactly from nowhere, but it pops in your head so fast that you then have to bite your tongue before the words bubbling up from your throat come tumbling out. 
It's not a bad idea, not necessarily. 
You've been good friends with Joel ever since you moved in next door last year. An unlikely pairing, a 40 year old contractor and an almost 25 year old office worker. But after offering him a six pack as part of introducing yourself to the neighbors, you'd gotten along famously. He fixes things around your house and you send him home with hot dinners and warm, gooey cookies.
 It's an easy friendship, open and honest and supportive, and Joel has never given you reason not to trust him. He's a good guy, if not a little brash, but you know deep down he means well. And it doesn't hurt that he's objectively attractive, with his tall and sturdy frame, strong, calloused hands, dark messy curls....It's not a bad idea.
It's an absolutely insane idea. 
You continue to stare at him, clenching your teeth together to hold back the question sitting on the tip of your tongue.
"What?" he says, looking back at you.
"Nothing" you mutter, eyes flicking away.
"You've got that face you make when you're about to say something really stupid, so just get it out."
You glare at him again, not enjoying the way he can read you so well.
"I wasn't gonna say anything."
"Well now you're lying."
"I'm not."
"You're doing it again!"
"Doing what?!"
"That face!"
"I'm not making a face!"
"Yes you are! Just spit it out!"
You groan and hide your face in your hands. You blame it on the one beer even though you know you’re not anywhere close to being drunk because how else would you justify what you’re about to say? You wait a moment, thinking about the weight of it but your mouth opens before you can stop yourself. 
"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."
Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck and hear it in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.
"A what?"
"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. 
"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 
His eyes are wide, and he looks incredulous. You can't blame him, because the more time that passes between your suggestion and now, the more ridiculous the idea seems.
"I’m sorry, that was…It was stupid. Pretend I didn't say anything. Let's just watch a movie." You move to grab the remote, but Joel's hand covers yours, stopping you.
"Is that what you want?"
You look at him, searching his expression for any sign of disgust or apprehension. But all you can see is the same Joel you've known for months, patient, warm, and understanding.
"I know. I know it's stupid. But I can't get this date out of my head, Joel. It's all I can think about and the more I do, the more worried I get and I just don't want to fuck it up. And I know we're friends and this is weird and gross, but I just thought that... maybe, I could have some practice, so to speak."
He doesn't say anything. Just keeps looking at you, the panic rising in your chest the longer the silence stretches. You start to fidget, wringing your hands together in your lap.
"I'm sorry, that was way out of line" you say, moving to stand up, your skin sweaty and hot with embarrassment and your feet ready to run out the door and never come back. 
But Joel catches your wrist, gently pulling you back down to sit next to him.
"Joel" you whine, not wanting him to humiliate you any further.
"It's okay, come here."
His voice is softer than before, and his eyes are kind. You let him pull you closer, the two of you sitting knee to knee. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes, not with your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning like they are, but Joel doesn't push. He simply moves his hand from your wrist, sliding it into yours. His palms are rough and warm, and the simple touch alone is comforting.
"You really wanna do this?” he asks softly. You can feel his eyes boring into you. “I mean, I'm not exactly a prize winning catch. And it's not like there's a shortage of willing men out there."
You shrug and chew the inside of your lip.
"Yeah, but you're my friend and I...I trust you."
There's another pause, and you wish that you could just disappear into the couch and erase this moment from your memory.
"How drunk are you?" he asks, glancing at the beer bottle on the coffee table.
"You saw me finish one bottle. And half of another. I’m barely tipsy."
"Not drunk?”
"Nope."
"You're gonna remember this tomorrow."
"Uh huh."
"And you still want to?"
You groan for the millionth time and squeeze his hand.
"Yes I want to! Look, if you don't want to then that's fine. It was just a dumb suggestion and we can just forget this ever happened."
He hums, considering your words. His hand slips out of yours, and you think that's it, you've scared him off and washed the friendship down the drain. That you'll have to hide from him from now on, that you'll have to pack your things up and move because the mortification would be too much, and that he'll hate you, and—
His two fingers sliding under chin surprise you, and he tilts your head up. He's looking down at you with that same even expression, eyes big, soft, and warm as he slides his hand over to cup your jaw in his palm. 
"If you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I won't be upset and we can go back to the way things were before. Got it?"
You nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone, the tender touch is enough to make your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this is actually happening. That your first kiss is going to be with your 40 year old menace of a neighbor. That you’re going to, how did you put it, get a sex lesson from him. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes and you’re positive you’re no longer able to breathe. 
"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. You nod. 
You're sure he can hear the thumping of your heart in his own ears as he leans down. His other hand comes to rest on your hip and when his lips touch yours, a soft, tentative pressure, you're not prepared for the electricity that shoots through you.
He's barely done anything and already you feel like you're floating. Your own hands reach out to clutch his shirt, keeping him close, afraid he'll pull away and leave you cold and wanting if you don't. But he stays put, pressing himself against you, his lips working gently against yours. You follow his lead, kissing him back while trying not to overthink it.
It's nothing like the kisses in the movies or the books, where fireworks explode behind your eyelids or where your foot pops up in the air. It's far more subdued, more quiet and subtle. But the warmth that pools low in your belly and the goosebumps that erupt on your skin when his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, light and quick, makes you absolutely melt. 
He pulls back before you can really react, and you're left with a dizzying rush of both blistering desire and excruciating anxiety. You want to pull him back in and never let him go. But your heart is beating so fast you can hardly breathe, your nerves are buzzing, and the urge to run and hide is nearly paralyzing. 
"Was it bad?" you ask tentatively, cheeks heated.
"No" he replies, giving your hip a squeeze as a smirk plays on his lips. "It was fucking awful. Worst kiss of my life"
"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. He laughs, the sound easing some of the tension in your body. 
"I'm just teasing" he says, voice dropping lower. "C'mere, we can work on it."
His lips find yours again, and you try not to smile into the kiss but it's hard when you can feel the way his lips are quirked up as well. It doesn’t take much else to get you to relax and let yourself fall into the moment, into the gentle press of his mouth and the warm hands on your hip and your cheek. He swipes his tongue against your lips again, his fingers pressing lightly into the hinge of your jaw to tilt your head back and coax your lips apart.
You let him, sighing as his tongue glides across yours, hot and smooth and sweet. Your hands slide up his chest, finding purchase around his shoulders, and when you move forward, pushing yourself against him, he grunts softly but lets you. He kisses you until the both of you are gasping for air, and when he pulls back, his lips are wet and red and you're certain yours must be as well.
"Better?" you ask, a bit breathless.
"Getting there" he answers with, his breath warm where it fans across your cheek. 
"You're such a liar" you say with a goofy smile.
"Yeah, I know. Now try again, practice makes perfect.” 
You roll your eyes but lean back in nonetheless. It's a bit more heated this time, the feeling of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip making you squirm. His hand rounds over your hip, palm smoothing to the small of your back to pull you closer, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes and warming your skin. Your hands move on their own accord, no thought behind the action as they slide up to his shoulders and then his neck, your fingers finding home in the curls at the base of his skull. When you give them a slight tug, you're rewarded with a muffled grunt from Joel. Emboldened, you pull back, lips swollen and tingling.
"You’re a good kisser,” you pant. "Is that something people usually say?"
"When it’s true" he says, grinning at you. "And since I know you're gonna ask, I'd say that was a C+, maybe a B-."
You scoff but blush furiously at the smile he flashes, his eyes crinkling in the corners.
"Well then, tell me what to do next. What do I need to know?"
Joel hums as he thinks for a moment. 
"What do you want to do?"
You stare at him for a second, blinking.
"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you" you say, shaking your head a bit.
"Well, how far do you want to take this?"
You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy. You can’t deny that when the idea popped in your head it was accompanied by the mental image of you naked, spread out on his bed, but the actual act of asking him, or better yet, actually doing it is... intimidating to say the least. Are you really about to let him go all the way, to see you bare and vulnerable, let him pop your cherry as he would disgustingly put it? All just to “prepare” for a date with a guy who might not even like you that way?
Yeah, probably.
"All the way" you answer. “I want to go all the way” 
He doesn’t pounce on you like you expected, doesn’t press his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss that you had half hoped for. Instead, he simply looks at you, his brown eyes boring into yours, searching.
"Are you sure? You can always say no and you're not gonna lose me as a friend if this isn’t what you actually want. I don’t want you thinking that."
You can't help the laugh that bubbles up and slips out, because of course Joel, your kind, thoughtful Joel, would say that. He's a good man. A great one, even.
"Yes, I'm sure. But if you don't, I get it, I can just leave and-"
Joel laughs, the sound traveling up from deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against you.
"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be doin’ this if I didn't want to. Just makin’ sure this is what you really want."
"I want it.” 
He squeezes your hip and swipes a thumb over your cheekbone once again. 
“Alright then.” He nods, firm and resolute, and then looks around the room. “ We’re not doing it here, though. If you're getting the full Joel Miller experience, we're gonna do it right.” 
Your eyes roll reflexively, but your heart picks up its pace regardless.
"I’m not gonna do anything if you call it that ever again."
"Fine, fine,” he relents. “Let me show you what a good, thorough fucking feels like. Better?"
Your jaw drops, and he's laughing at you, his body shaking with amusement.
"Fuck you" you grumble, shoving him away while trying to hide your coy smile. 
"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," he says with a wide, self-assured grin.
"I'm leaving" you declare with a false sense of offense as you rise to your feet. Joel is quick to do the same and before you can take a single step away, he slips a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugs you back into him, wrapping an arm around your waist.
"I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I'm sorry" he says, not sounding it one bit.
You huff, but let him pull you closer until you’re pressed against his chest and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.
"I’ll be good. I promise."
"Liar"
"Well, yeah. But I can promise that I'll make you feel good."
You can't help the giggle that spills out and he kisses it away, his lips warm and plush and sweet against yours. The hand not resting on your lower back comes up, curling around the nape of your neck and keeping you close. You sink into him, and the fog creeps in again, dulling the rest of the world, making it seem fuzzy and distant, like the memory of a dream. All you can focus on is him, the warm solid weight of him against you, the strong arms holding you, the way his mouth moves against yours. And then he’s pulling back all too soon and you have to stifle a whine.
"Come on" he says, tugging at your hand.
His bedroom is dim, the little lamp on his nightstand and the faint glow of the moon through the curtains providing the only light. You swallow and take a deep breath as you step inside, your bare toes digging into the plush carpet, his hand warm and large where it grips yours.
He holds onto you as he sits on the edge of the bed. You step forward, letting him pull you between his knees. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel their heat through the fabric of your shirt.
He doesn’t ask if you're sure again and you’re grateful because you’re not sure if you could form any kind of response right now. Instead, he slides his hands up and under your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your breath hitches as his hands smooth over your ribs and around to your back, the tips of his fingers mapping out the curve of your spine, skimming over each notch and bump. They climb higher, the fabric of your shirt bunching around his wrists. 
“Can I take this off, baby?”
Your heart jumps to your throat but you nod anyway. He grabs the hem and tugs your shirt up and and you lift your arms so he can slip it off over your head. He tosses it aside, the fabric falling to the floor beside the bed. You’re left exposed, vulnerable and bare, save for the worn out bra you wear, a few too many washes and a few years past its prime.
Your hands itch where they hang by your side with the instinct to cover yourself, hide the imperfections that you know so well, the stretch marks, the softness of your stomach, the way the cups of your bra are just a bit too small and spill over the tops.
But then he’s pressing his lips to the space just above your navel, his scruff tickling your skin and making the muscles in your abdomen jump and twitch. His hands find your waist again, and when his lips continue their path upwards, his palms follow, skimming up your sides, thumbs tracing the outline of your ribs before stopping at the band of your bra.
"This too?" he asks, voice quiet and husky.
"Yeah" you answer with a squeak, and he grins like a kid in a candy store.
His fingers undo the clasp deftness that makes your knees go weak, the straps slipping from your shoulders and the whole thing sliding down your arms, landing somewhere near your shirt. 
"God, baby, look at you" he murmurs, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tops and then down the slope and around your nipple. Your breath hitches, the gentle touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You're fucking perfect."
The praise is unexpected and it sends a jolt of heat through your core. You whimper quietly and his hands are on you again, the calloused palms rough on the soft skin of your breasts. He kneads the flesh, squeezing gently before rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching and teasing. 
He pulls you closer and ducks his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, and his pupils blown wide with desire.
"Can I?" he asks.
"Please."
He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.
His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other. Pleasure builds and coils deep inside, the sensation unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.
He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You’re already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.
"Feels good, Joel," you whisper shyly. 
"I know, honey" he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Feel good anywhere else?"
He doesn't wait for a response, simply slips a hand between your thighs, cupping you through the denim, the simple action making you squeak.
"Here, huh?" he says, the heel of his palm pressing against you.
You gasp softly and nod, biting your lip, too shy to say anything.
"Get on the bed, baby."
You comply, crawling onto the mattress and scooting backwards towards the pillows, sitting at the head of the bed as you watch him. His eyes never leave you as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Your heart thumps as you stare at his bare chest, his tanned skin dotted with a light dusting of salt and pepper hair. He's broad, his shoulders thick and chest solid. Your fingers burn with the urge to reach out and touch him, so you do, extending a tentative, slightly shaky hand.
He watches you closely, eyes flitting down to the palm pressed against his chest before meeting yours again, his mouth curling into a smile.
"You can touch" he says, reaching down to curl a hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before guiding your hand back down to his chest. "I think most people would enjoy that."
"You're having entirely too much fun with this,” you mumble while your fingers spread out across his pec.  
"It is fun" he counters, his own hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans and rubbing up and down. "But it'll be more fun once these come off"
Your lips part, a puff of air rushing out.
"You gonna take them off?" you ask, the words slipping out, bold and unbidden.
He grins, his brow quirking up.
"Look at you, being all bossy"
"You like it" you say, finally feeling some of the anxiety slipping away, the familiar and comfortable banter between the two of you slipping into place in a new, unfamiliar situation.
His smile takes up nearly his whole face as moves closer. 
“I sure do.” 
He looms over you, bracing himself on an elbow next to your head before ducking down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into your mouth, warm and insistent. You sigh into it, your hands finding the warm, bare skin of his back, muscles gliding beneath your palms as you slide them up and around, fingertips digging into his shoulders. He's so warm and solid and you can't help the little noise that slips out, a soft, needy moan. You're about to break the kiss and beg him to touch you, give you something, anything, but he pulls back before you can. 
"Impatient. I like that too" he says, voice barely above a whisper.
He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. He continues his path, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts, his beard tickling your sternum.
His palm presses into the top of your thigh, and you instinctively open your legs for him, his hand immediately moving to cup you through the denim, thick fingers pressing against the seam and the bundle of nerves just below. Your hips rock up, seeking more pressure and he grins, entirely too pleased with himself right now.
You huff, and he laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, but he relents, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans and tugging the fabric down, revealing the pair of pink panties underneath. 
Joel sits up, pulling your jeans down your legs and letting them drop off the side of the bed, the sound of the denim hitting the floor indicating that you've officially crossed a line that neither of you can come back from. But if the hungry, desperate look on his face and the way you're practically vibrating underneath him are any indication, neither of you want to.
"I'll start with just my fingers, yeah?" he says, his hands running up the insides of your thighs, touch light and teasing, the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. You nod dumbly, at a complete loss for words right now.
He ducks his head, his lips landing on the smooth skin stretched over your hip bone. You squirm, ticklish, and he grins. His mouth is a great distraction from his hand, which has found its way back in between your legs, his fingers now pressing against damp fabric.
"Shit" he curses, his touch firm. "Fuckin' soaked already. Am I just that good?" he quips with a smirk.
"Jesus do you ever shut up" you gripe, but the effect is ruined by the whimper that escapes you when his thumb sweeps up, pressing hard against your clit. 
"Oh, that's a pretty sound" he murmurs, repeating the motion to pull out another one, your hips bucking against his hand.
"Now," he starts, his tone shifting to the same one he uses when he's about to impart some life lesson. "This guy you're gonna see, or any man for that matter, should always take care of you before himself. That's just common fuckin' sense. And if he doesn't, you send him on his way" he continues. "Because a man that don't wanna see a woman get off is no fuckin' man at all"
You're about to interrupt, tell him he's an idiot and ask him to please, please, get on with it, but his fingers sliding under the elastic of your panties, swiftly pulling them down your legs steals the breath from your lungs. Your pulse sky rockets and you shift underneath him, crossing your thighs in instinctual effort to hide yourself from him. 
"M'sorry I didn't shave or anything" you blurt out, your throat tight with anxiety and embarrassment once again 
Joel just shakes his head as he pries your legs apart.
"Baby, I could not give less of a shit about that."
"But-"
"No" he says, the word firm, an edge of command to his tone. "You’re not apologizin’ for that. And if a man gives a shit, he's a fuckin' child who doesn't deserve the honor of bein' between these thighs" he says, pushing your knees further apart.
You nod and bite your lip, the words that are just so very Joel, settling in your chest and easing the tension in your body. You let out a long, slow breath and relax, trying to ease the nervousness.
"There ya go" he says, his fingers dancing along your slit, gathering the slick pooling there. You shudder at the gentle touch, your hips rolling up just a bit before you force them back down into the mattress, trying to keep yourself still.
"Nuh-uh. None of that" he says, immediately noticing the movement. He slides his free hand under you, his palm pushing into the small of your back and encouraging you to move again, to lean into your pleasure. "You take what you want, baby. Show me how good it feels. That's all I wanna see."
You squirm and whimper, the simple, almost lazy touch driving you insane. You've touched yourself before, brought yourself over the edge while imagining what it would be like to have the things you read about and watch in videos happen to you. But you've never managed to make yourself feel this good, never felt pleasure so intense, never felt a burning pressure in your abdomen so demanding that it radiates all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.
And he's barely touched you.
"How's that feel?"
You can't even form the words, so you just nod and hum, the sound a mix of a whimper and a moan, your hips rolling up against his palm. He chuckles, and then the pressure increases, the friction building, his fingers slipping down, collecting more of your wetness to ease the drag against your skin.
He moves his fingers down, down, down, the tip of one circling your entrance, gathering the wetness pooling there. You whine loudly, any shame and modesty you once had replaced entirely with desperate need and pure desire.
"Please, Joel" you whisper, voice shaky.
"I gotcha" he says, dipping his fingertip in, just barely, and pulling a moan from deep in your chest. "Gonna give you what you need"
You groan, a long, low sound as he slowly sinks his finger into you. It's nothing like your own, so perfectly thick and long/ And you found the spot before, the spot that he curls his finger up into, but never at this angle, never with the perfect amount of pressure that he's applying right now. 
"Mmm, look at that" he coos as you clench tightly around his finger.
"Joel, god, feels so good" you whimper pathetically. 
"I know, honey, I know."
You clench again, the cockiness and self-assured attitude that usually gets under your skin now ignites your whole body in an entirely different way. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, your head tipping back as the pleasure builds.
"Another" you beg, the fullness not nearly enough.
"Greedy girl" he chides, but he pulls his finger out, and slides two back in. You swear that you could come from this alone, but he doesn't let you, the hand that was supporting your lower back disappearing, only to reappear between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with firm, steady strokes.
White hot pleasure wraps around the base of your spine, the dual sensations of his fingers and his thumb sending you spiraling. The sounds falling from your lips are unrecognizable, high and desperate as your mind goes blissfully blank, your entire focus on the heat coiling in your abdomen. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bury your face in the pillow next to your head, trying to hide the ridiculous expression you're surely making, but you inhale the traces of his shampoo and cologne that cling to the fabric, the scent pushing you even closer to the edge. 
You try to hold back. Surely you're not supposed to come this quickly, not just from two fingers and a thumb. Surely that's a sign that you're an easy lay, or too inexperienced, or-
"Just let it happen, baby. I can feel it, Just let go" Joel says, his voice cutting through the thoughts racing through your mind, his fingers crooking inside you and dragging across the spot that makes your hips stutter and a cry fall from your lips.
You can't hold back any longer, the pleasure cresting and crashing down around you. You squeeze his fingers, your back arching, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you roll your hips up into his touch, seeking more and more and more. And he gives and gives and gives, working you through it and drawing it out for as long as he can before you melt into the mattress, bones and muscles liquid and warm and satisfied.
He pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness draws a disappointed whine from you, his answering chuckle making you smile.
"That was- fuck" you sigh, not quite capable of coherent thought.
"Absolutely mind-blowing? Yeah I know" he teases. You roll your eyes but don't say anything because it's true, and his cocky grin fades into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you return to Earth. 
"Can I- can I return the favor?" you ask, your gaze flicking down to the noticeable bulge in his jeans.
He grunts and shakes his head.
"Not yet. Got somethin' else in mind."
You frown and push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he shifts from his position. You're about to ask what he's going to do until he's settling himself on his stomach between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize exactly what he's got planned and your heart jumps, anxiety clouding your mind once again. 
He rests his cheek on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours.
"Alright?"
You swallow and nod, licking your lips.
"Yeah. Just... no one's ever-"
"Yeah, I got that much, that's why we're here" he says, smiling smugly when you glare at him. 
"But what if it's not good? Or I don't taste good? Or-"
"Stop" he says, the single word halting your runaway train of thought. "You need lessons in relaxing, not sex. You're so fucking tense all the time"
"Sorry" you say, immediately cringing.
He sighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. "What did I say about apologizin'?" he says, his tone slightly sharp.
"I know. Sorry- shit, sorry! Fuck!"
He barks out a laugh and you huff, bringing up both hands to scrub over your face.
"See what I mean?"
"Yes, yes, you're very smart and know everything"
He hums and nips at your thigh.
"Damn right I do."
You want to snark back, but his mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.
His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and the urge to close your legs and hide yourself from his gaze is overwhelming, the embarrassment making your skin burn. But before you can even think about closing them, his tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but the mortification is easily swallowed up by the pleasure.
He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the pillow behind your head and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile. He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.
The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.
"Don't know what you were worried about" he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fuckin' divine"
His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it. The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.
He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.
Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.
You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and– is he fucking grinding his hips into the mattress?
You're fucked.
A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His hands leave your thighs and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still while his other hand snakes down, fingers dipping inside again, finding the spot that makes you see stars.
"Fuck, Joel, please, oh my god, I'm so- please"
He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster. Flames lick up your spine and spread throughout your body, threatening to burn you alive. 
Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. Wave after wave of blinding euphoria crashes over you and all you can do is cling to the pillow and arch your back, your toes curling as he continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.
He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.You feel sated and sleepy, a bone deep satisfaction making you feel boneless. 
But as you come down from your high, rational thoughts start to filter in and you suddenly remember the reason this all started in the first place.
You're here to learn, he should be teaching you how to please a man.
How to please him. 
You watch as he gets off the bed and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. Your eyes shamelessly rake over him, the dusty pink flush that decorates his neck and chest, the curve of his belly down to the impressive bulge in his jeans. 
You push yourself up, ignoring the way your arms tremble with the effort. He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face no doubt looking for signs of distress.
"You ok?" he asks, eyebrows pinched together in his typical concerned Joel fashion.
"Yeah" you say, a little breathlessly. "But I still want to..."
Your voice trails off and you glance down at his crotch, hoping he gets the message.
"That's alright, baby. It's a lot, we don't-"
"No" you interrupt, a hint of desperation in your voice. "You said you would teach me. Please, Joel. I-I wanna learn" You hope it's a good enough cover to the fact that you really just want him, your original goal forgotten. "I just don't want to embarrass myself" you add, pouting slightly for good measure, praying to god that he can’t detect the underlying want for him and him only.
He watches you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his decision. And then his eyes narrow, because of course he knows. There's never been an instance where you succeeded in lying to this man. He always, always knows when something is off.
"Alright" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. "Dick sucking class is now in session"
You groan, your face twisting with visible disgust.
"Oh my god, that was terrible."
"What? It's true" he says with a shrug.
"That is- no, no way. Never say those words ever again. Ever." you say, pointing a finger at him accusingly.
"Or what?" he challenges, taking a step towards the bed.
You gulp and lick your lips.
"Or..."
He waits expectantly for a response. You have none, so you just shake your head and look away.
"Yeah, that's what I thought"
You glare at him and then sigh.
"You're a bully"
"Am I?” He asks, taking a step back to give you more room. “ 'Cause you're the one that asked me to teach ya. On your knees, kid. Let's see whatcha got."
You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a grin. You don't know how he does it, but his ability to make a joke or a quip out of anything always has a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even when the jokes are awful and the puns are terrible. Even when the joke is about you getting ready to suck his dick. 
"You're a bully and a pervert" you say, sliding off the bed and sliding to your knees, the plush carpet doing a decent job at protecting your joints.
"And proud of it.”
"Pride is a sin."
"So is premarital sex, so I'll see you in hell, honey"
You snort and look up at him from your place on the floor, grinning widely.
"You're ridiculous"
"You love it"
And that's the thing, isn't it?
Because you do. You love his innate ability to make you laugh, to make you smile even when he's about to take your fucking virginity. He knows how to comfort you, how to put you at ease, when to push you with his teasing and when to pull back and let you take control. You've never met a person who has so effortlessly made their way into your heart.
And here you are, on your knees for him under the false pretense of practicing for a man who's name you can't even remember right now.
You shake your head, the motion clearing the thoughts and the emotions that were swirling in your head, the ones that make you want to stand up and kiss him, kiss him until your lips are numb and you're left gasping for air.
"Joel?" you say his name softly.
"Yeah, baby?"
"Teach me."
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Part 2 is already in the works I promise hehehe thank you for reading I hope u all enjoy!!
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