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#got inspired by a friend yesterday

saltycharacters · 4 days

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[ID: Various digital doodles mostly featuring Reigen Arataka and Serizawa Katsuya from Mob Psycho 100. The 1st is a parody of the "Wow Fluttershy, did you eat my Forever Weed Brownie?" comic, redrawn to feature Reigen as Pinkie Pie and Serizawa as Fluttershy. The next image is a doodle compilation of Serizawa, showing him with different expressions and poses. Similarly, the next artwork consists of Reigen expression and pose doodles, with some cameos from Mob, Tome, and Teruki. Finally, the last image is a short comic featuring the artist and a friend. First two panels show them watching a random MP100 scene, which is then followed by the friend stating, "I would NOT let Reigen preform brain surgery on me", to which the artist bursts out laughing from the absurdness. The next comic has the artist saying, "Rip to you but if my girlfriend offered to preform brain surgery I would let him", which then causes the friend to throw both hands in the air with an exasperated, "Yeah 'cuz he's your WIFE!" End ID]

MP100 Doods

#in reference to the last comic if u ever want someone to stream mp100 for u #or just want a little group to talk about mp100 #i got a discord for that :]#bonus points if u never seen it i love introducing it to ppl #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #reigen arataka #serizawa katsuya #my art #serirei #the weed comic was for 4/20 yesterday inspired by my friend Doc making a similar comic with his ocs

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lindstromm · 2 months

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The OTHER worry for tradwives is that it will work just fine. You stay married. You stay home. Your whole life. Your entire life revolves around your kids, who resent you for it (jeez, mom, get a life and leave me alone). Your husband criticizes your parenting and how you spend his money. You not only take care of your husband and children, but you'll be expected to take care of your parents as they age. Your other siblings have jobs, you see. You haven't worked in 25 years and have zero self-confidence about finding a job. He'll never file for divorce. You'll never file for divorce. Losing yourself in service to others is high and noble, until you realize you're entirely lost.

#this post inspired by having lunch with my friends yesterday #they felt so bad for me when I got divorced when my kids were tiny #and now it's 12 years later and getting divorced was the best thing that ever happened to me #i was a tradwife too #much easier to bridge that 10 year gap on the resume than trying to bridge a 25 year gap on the resume #marriage and motherhood can be awesome but don't make it your entire life #even if your family life is happy you'll still want to have something of your own

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quibbs126 · 1 year

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May I have a knight and princess cookie fan child :>

Alright, here you go, this is Dame Cookie

So full disclosure, I don’t know what gender Dame Cookie is. My three ideas are that Dame’s a guy that likes to wear dresses, non binary, or a trans woman. All I know is that Dame isn’t a cis woman. But for the sake of the thing, I’ll just stick with nonbinary

Edit: so I’ve finally decided that Dame is transfem, and will be editing the post as such, though I may forget some

So I was originally going to name her after shortcake, like Berry Shortcake, but then I remembered, both Princess and Knight are named after things, so why not do the same here? I chose Dame because it was the closest match I could find for a female knight. But she is still based on shortcake

Shortcake:

The design’s fine, but I swear, something about the proportions is off. Or the hair. Or maybe both. Also the sketch looks weird. Oh well. But yeah, my main references for her were Kouign Amann and Wildberry, as well as Princess for the dress. My whole idea was just “princess knight” for her. But what got me to finally draw her was me looking for references for my sketch dump and finding one of someone with a giant lance, and I basically went “I want that”. I gave her yellow hair just for the shortcake bit, and I changed it from Knight’s blonde just because I thought it looked a bit weird on her. And that it blended too much with the armor. I think I might have made the lance too small? It’s supposed to be really oversized. All in all, like I said, the design’s fine, but it’s not entirely what I was picturing in my head. Though then again, I think the picture in my head was that of a human character, so maybe that’s part of it

So anyways, Dame Cookie isn’t too complicated. She’s a fighter, but not as much of an adventurer. I imagine she likes to take part in a lot of tournaments. She’s also very friendly and easy to get along with. Oh, and another thing, Dame is pretty damn big. Like, she towers over their parents, and she’s also ridiculously strong, given she can throw their oversized lance at high speeds with ease. I imagine a scenario in which someone new in town hears of a young royal called Dame Cookie, and they imagine a dainty young girl, only to meet her in person (perhaps in a tournament) and find out Dame Cookie looks nothing like what they thought. But despite her fighting and physique, she also very much likes doing stuff like wearing fancy dresses and going to balls and such

Hmm, I wonder, would Dame have worked better as a darkknight fankid? I mean, mostly because of the large size and incredible strength probably fitting in better with Dark Choco’s family, and the fact that the colors work just as good with him too. Although at the same time, I doubt she’d wear frilly dresses or have her name be Dame Cookie…hm. Oh well, that’s not one of my requests yet, so who knows?

But yeah, that’s Dame Cookie. Hope you like her!

@amythecat2001 you were one of the people who asked

Edit: so the top was a redesign, mostly in the hair. The original is here

#I was originally writing this yesterday #but then I had to go to the movies with a friend and when we got back I was really tired so I went to sleep early #and I’ve been feeling sick this past weekend so it’s been some suffering for me #oh right I was supposed to do licolmond first #sorry about that but I was struck with inspiration for this first #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ovenbreak #knight cookie #princess cookie #princessknight #cookie run oc #fankid #fanchild #my ocs #my art #requests #answers #dame cookie

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bruhstation · 2 years

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here it is. bruhstation’s 2387th horrendous man

Arvaus (Casa Tidmouth: Arvaus Hyväonninen)

Basis: VR Class Sk1 Nationality: Finnish Serial number: 135 Built: est. 1885 Wheel configuration: 2-6-0 Fuel type: Coal Maximum speed: 60 km/h or 37 mph (Casa Tidmouth) Age: 36 (Casa Tidmouth) Occupation: VR Class Sk1’s driver

Charming and extremely keen. Whenever he speaks, there’s an air of intelligence and confidence around him. He has excellent deduction skills and is great at reading other people. However, he keeps his true opinions of others to himself and prefers to simply get along with them. He has a way with words and always gets on the good side of everyone, people and fellow engines alike, which is why despite being at the brink of scrapping several times he still managed to survive. In addition, Arvaus gets along with any engine no matter what they are or which alignment their morality lies.

Beneath his polite and appealing-to-others facade, Arvaus has a mindset regarding who he thinks is worthy of his respect and is more interested in using his communication skills to satisfy his morbid curiosity rather than to contribute for the greater good. Whatever secret about others he may piece together, he’ll keep it to himself. He never shows it, but he actually detests those who are too noisy (his previous driver and fireman) or simple-minded, like steam engines that hate diesels or diesels that hate steam engines. Because of his past, he has a very high image of himself and prioritizes surviving over work, something that his colleagues back in Finland dislike about him. As a result, he also has a very, VERY hard time trusting others.

Trivia:

The concept of “scrap” or “death” doesn’t seem to deter him. What has he seen? Or is it simply because of how much he’s been threatened?

Nobody knows exactly what’s on his mind.

The big engines (Henry, Gordon, and James) say that Arvaus is pleasant to talk to and smart. However, Edward comments that despite being useful and hard-working, the way he can get people wrapped around his finger is a dangerous trait.

He thinks that he’s the last of his type. Emphasis on thinks.

(Casa Tidmouth) He has a habit of pushing his hair back and tucking it behind his ear, usually when greeting others or bidding farewell.

(Casa Tidmouth) Nobody knows what his job before joining the Sodor Railways is. He also never discloses anything regarding his personal life, his family (if he has any left), literally anything before moving to Sodor. He’s an enigma, but a welcome one.

Likes: getting to know people, starry night skies, Lörtsy (Casa Tidmouth), reading historical novels (Casa Tidmouth) Dislikes: those who are noisy, the nickname “Little Brown”, snowstorms.

(pics of his basis under the cut:)

#thomas the tank engine #thomas and friends #ttte #ttte arvaus #ttte oc #casa tidmouth #human au #senjart #double posting today because I colored a lot of stuff yesterday and want to get some of them out pronto #I've been creating a lot of characters who don't fear death. now I've changed that!#anyways look at him. he is such a pain to color /affectionate #also his one grey pocket is supposed to resemble the grey cylinder thingies (what are they called again????) on his basis' sides #most of his bio is more about him in the canon ttte verse.... his bio for casa tidmouth is more or less the same-#-with changed stuff like his backstory and role in casa tidmouth. he's just a background character though #got inspired by trevor to make an oc ..... thank you trevor

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vermilionstarlight · 2 years

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More Miscellaneous MCD&D idea stuff >:)

I have another post drafting about human society and such right now but I have so many random ideas and I need to get them down right this instant

also some details may be lost on some of y’all, explanations of the magic system and such can be found earlier on in my blog >:D

- hearts of the sea are lapis lazuli crystals that have ended up underwater at a very specific depth and have had sea creatures die in their immediate vicinity. due to the phenomenon of a creature's refined mana dispersing after death, some of the mana goes into the lapis rather than falling down to the void.

- at very specific pressures underwater, the refined mana naturally sets itself into an alternate enchanting matrix than the one typically used for enchanting. this matrix is many times more powerful than the normal one, but takes literal years of constant maintenance to achieve, which is easily done underwater where the pressure is tireless. it can be done outside of very specific, high-pressure environments, but it’s the work of tireless artisans that seek to create a masterpiece.

- so now the enchanting matrix is set, and an entire ocean full of primordial mana is surrounding it, so the obvious happens and the lapis lazuli crystal becomes inundated with the ocean's primordial mana. now it is a Heart of the Sea

- the Heart naturally causes objects with high amounts of oceanic primordial mana (like shells, coral chunks, floating sea flora, etc.) to gravitate towards it.

- surrounding the Heart with a specific arrangement of nautilus shells causes them to orbit around it, and nautilus shells specifically are very conductive to oceanic primordial mana, allowing for the Heart’s stored primordial mana to be dispersed out rather than simply stored ad infinitum.

- then, a specific arrangement of prismarine must be placed around the heart to temporarily store the mana. without the prismarine, the conduit would simply emit a constant trickle of mana that has little to no effect. with the prismarine around it in the necessary arrangement, the mana is stored for a bit, then released out in bursts. these bursts allow creatures within a small radius to be able to swim faster, become amphibious, and allow for greater range of movement underwater than before.

- also i decided there are three gods! each god ‘created’ each dimension, but not really created. each dimension is basically a physical manifestation of their psyche. a period of being depressed would be represented as an ice age, an argument with their loved ones would be represented with a terrible, dimension-wide cataclysm, etc etc.

- take a wild guess as to who the three gods are. cmon guess. yeah you got me im an unoriginal bitch. its steve and alex and herobrine. i know i know i deserve a nobel prize for inventiveness <33 anyways alex’s mind is the Nether, steve’s is the Overworld, and herobrine’s is the End.

- actually when they dream, they manifest in their respective dimension as their avatars, explaining why the people of the world know of the existence of the gods. time works differently between where they live their lives and where my world is, so dreams happen centuries apart. The last recorded dream was a literal millenia ago, so we’re long overdue for another one at the time of the adventure (stephen is probably just doing an all-nighter to make alex something he think’s she’ll like). Also, Herobrine is the only lucid dreamer among the three.

- While reality bends to their will while they dream, the one thing they can’t do while dreaming is freely traverse between dimensions (eachothers’ psyches). They must do so like every other ‘mortal’ does, through portals. This allows them to explore eachothers’ mindscapes, though Herobrine is the only one aware he’s doing it.

- Herobrine is the only one with an always consistent avatar. Steve (Stephen) usually appears as the tanned bearded himbo we all know and love, and Alex usually appears as the cool redheaded girlboss we all know and love, but they can just as easily appear as a little fox or a sentient rock or a massive clump of floating sentient blades.

- magma slime is slime from a slime monster that lives in the lava oceans of the Nether. magma slime is similar to alkali metals in the fact that its highly reactive! in fact, magma slime constantly emits a small amount of heat

- crying obsidian is obsidian that has been treated with magma slime. magma slime emits the perfect amount of heat to react with the obsidian, but not enough to make a fully-fledged portal, so crying obsidian is created. while portals take a creature’s soul and shunt it through the void and into another world, crying obsidian can only attract and temporarily hold a soul (though not if it’s actively trying to escape)

- amethyst is an amazing magical insulator, preventing both primordial mana and refined mana from passing through it at all. tinted glass is often used by magic-users of all varieties, and is very useful in isolating mana and mana sources.

- soul jars are made with tinted glass and crying obsidian, and are used to store souls that are to be used in certain spells. theyre most commonly found among illager spellcasters, though they definitely aren’t exclusive to them, and many unsavory casters of other races use souls as well.

- glowstone is incredibly energy dense, and can be alchemically treated with fossil oil to be made into glowcoke, which is often used as a very efficient burnable fuel. And on top of being a very good combustion fuel when treated properly, it emits a constant and very potent amount of primordial mana. Glowstone is unique in the nether in that it contains the least amount of nether-specific primordial mana. Glowstone has aspects of light, warmth, energy, safety, etc.

- you canonically cannot sleep in dimensions that you are not native to in my world, at least not without assistance. in order to sleep in another dimension, you need to be holding or in the vicinity of a respawn anchor.

- normally, when you sleep your soul leaves your body on a tether, and explores in attempt to gather a variety of primordial mana while you sleep. dreams are what your soul senses as it travels.

- if you attempt to sleep in a dimension you’re not native to, your soul goes out and intakes a massive amount of mana that it is not acclimatized to in the slightest. this normally isnt a problem while you’re awake, as your soul intakes ambient primordial mana slowly enough that its infamiliarity with the mana doesnt affect it. while you are asleep in an unfamiliar dimension, however, your soul gathers so much unfamiliar mana that it attempts to rush back to your body to heal and recover. in effect, this means sleep is impossible except for small hour-long naps.

- if a creature that is non-native to a dimension repeatedly attempts to sleep inside of it, over the course of years their soul will eventually acclimatize to the mana. however, it will de-acclimatize to its previous native dimension. (no cheating for u players and making 300 yr old characters that are native to every dimension. eat my ass nerd.)

- respawn anchors allow creatures to sleep in a dimension that they aren’t native to. they’re made with a shell of crying obsidian that holds a small amount of glowstone, and are usually about the size of one of those huge strawberries that you sometimes find in strawberry baskets. they’re often hooked to travelers’ belts or worn as neck jewelry.

- respawn anchors function by having the crying obsidian draw in and hold the soul in place, while it is slowly drip-fed primordial mana from the glowstone (which it can handle). when the soul is done feeding on primordial mana, it easily leaves the influence of the crying obsidian and goes back to its body.

- respawn anchors like this work for nether and overworld natives, but for End natives you have to use the dust of an eye of ender instead of glowstone, because end natives handle that much better than they do glowstone.

- the ender portal was a dual effort by both overworldian and enderian artificers in an attempt to make a permanent way station between the end and overworld. this is because before it was made, the only way to get to and from the end was to find and convince an enderman with a VERY developed soul to transport you there, because only endemen with very developed souls full of experience can traverse between dimensions at will And good luck finding an enderman in those times, much less convincing one or even communicating with one. handsign was a much less common language at the time since endemen we're such a rare sight before the portal was made. it was only really used in small pockets where people that were deaf or hearing-impaired congregated

- Before the portals enderman were widely considered to be extremely strong and terrifying creatures with little ability to communicate that eviscerated you if you made eye contact. that was only because of limited communication methods and the fact that the only endemen that people met were basically the pinnacle of their kind, with strength, speed, and magical prowess to match.

- The end portal is comprised of two bits, the fluid and the frame. Both work in tandem to allow for a creature to traverse between the (dimensionally) distant realms of the Overworld and the End.

- The fluid of the portal is a massive pool full of a potion, made with gunpowder so it works on skin contact. the potion manually loosens your soul from your body, allowing for the frame to do its job.

- The frame of the portal is basically a massive enchanted object. unlike most other enchanted objects, it’s enchanted with the previously mentioned, self-sufficient, and highly intensive/difficult to make kind of enchantment. the one that takes years of constant maintenance to get functioning. the frame is studded with lapis crystals, and enchanted with highly complex enchantments that forcefully shunt your soul through the void and straight to the corresponding portal in the End.

- The frame of the portal needs a constant feed of primordial mana to function, hence the 12 eyes of ender required for the portal to catalyze. ender pearls naturally contain massive amounts of mana from the end, so to be made into eyes they must be collected and heated until they form a pitch black core in their center (causing it to look like a magic eyeball, hence its name). The heating physically changes the pearl to condense the mana further, while also allowing the mana to be trickled out as it condenses, then fed into the portal frame enchantment

- As detailed in another post, one must drown themselves in the portal liquid to traverse between the End and Overworld. if you were to open your eyes while submerged and drowning, you’d see an infinite starscape with a red speck in the distance. in front of you would be a purple speck speeding towards you, while a green speck fades behind you (or vice versa if travel is from the end to the overworld). Researchers propose that this is you sensing things from your soul as it is forced to another dimension.

That’s all for now! Gotta work on fleshing out human society, thinking out an explanation on how some miscellaneous items and phenomena work, working on the underwater people i came up with the other day, and also writing down the actual racial traits of copper golems and snow golems

(copper and snow golems very intelligent and i decided they should be playable cuz i know a few of my players would love to be what is functionally a funny magic robot <3)

#minecraft lore #mineblr #minecraft headcanon #headcanons #i came up with almost all of this in a massive hit of inspiration that lasted yesterday & today #and i just felt the strong need to put this down on my blog before it got lost in the depths of the discord chat logs.#shoutout to my best friend for helping give me all that inspiration #hes so cool #i have so many ideas in this little brain of mine but idk how to say them #yknow?#yeah #next post SHOULD be human society stuff. i hope. probably.#love yall (by yall i mean the like 5 people that actually followed me <3)#not really tho because parasocial relationships are bad #still yall are pretty cool i think for listening to my bullshit #i'll stop ranting now #craftmine

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mammonprotectionsquad · 2 years

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I'm sorry this took so long @kumaronoa 😅 I probably put more effort into this than necessary, but I wanted it to be nice xD sooo yeah... Here's one my favorite spots I've done in the serenitea pot so far :3 including the swing that took about an hour. We don't talk about it...

#becky rambles #one of my friends always insists that my world is luckier with pulls xD #so we usually end up going into my teapot so they can do the pulls at the swings :3 #that's also the spot where I did my 10 pull yesterday and got Diluc sooo xD #next up I wanna redo my Mondstadt inspired stuff #give Diluc a nice home and all 😌#genshin impact #serenitea pot

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joelscurls · 4 months

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best kept secret

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 6.7k

summary: In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, pre-outbreak, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is 36), secret relationship, angst, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, semi-public sex, car sex, creampie, some fluff; lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared. but we're back, baby! anyway, dbf!joel owns my ass, so here's my rendition of him. as always, ty to my baby @javisashtray for reading this over for me and helping me through the creative process <3

Joel’s bedroom window offers a perfect view of the sunrise; of shy, pink light creeping over treetops and the roof of your dad’s house across the street.

It’s gorgeous — breathtaking, even — maybe because you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually seen the crest of morning. You’re far more privy to late nights and sleeping in as long as you can push it, never been one to be up with the lark, so to speak.

You don’t mind the early wakeup call, though, not when it’s this: Joel’s head tucked between your thighs, his tongue rolling lazily over your clit, your eyes still adjusting to the light as he spreads you open for him.

He’s humming against you, his coarse beard tickling soft skin, thumbs dug into muscle to hold you in place as your back bows reflexively off the mattress. He looks so sweet like this, so eager to please, staring up at you with blown pupils.

“C’mon baby,” he purrs. “Just gimme one before you go.”

They’re the first words he’s said all morning, the first thought that’s necessitated utterance. His voice is hoarse and deep and drips honey-sweet at your core.

Even so, despite how badly you want to — because you always want Joel’s mouth on you — you’re not sure you can.

Because you need to get home before Denise next door leaves for her early shift. Before Susan a few houses down takes her dog out for a walk.

Before the neighborhood wakes and somebody sees you leaving Joel Miller’s house. Or worse, before your dad catches you slipping into the house in yesterday’s clothes, your car in the driveway still cold.

But with another experimental flick of Joel’s tongue, you forget all that, a content little sigh slipping past your parted lips, betraying you.

Just one, you tell yourself, and then you’ll head out.

“Fuck, okay — yeah,” you breathe, twisting your fingers into the roots of his curls.

With your permission, he buries his nose in your mound. Licks at you again — with more purpose, this time. One long, drawn out lap followed by another.

He’s so gentle with you, so careful, caressing your folds with his tongue like they’re made of paper. It’s a dizzying juxtaposition to the way he laid you down last night and fucked you, teeth scraping your neck and cock bruising your cervix.

You’re still sore, your walls tender where he stretched them, but your pussy is drooling nonetheless, surely making a mess of the bedsheets underneath you.

Because you’re insatiable when it comes to Joel.

For the past few weeks, since the first time you’d found yourself in his bed, you’ve craved him. Regardless of how sated he’s left you each and every time, you’ve needed more.

It’s dangerous and stupid and undeniably wrong, having a fling with your dad’s best-friend. But you’re finding it difficult to consider the morality of it all when just his tongue makes you come harder than any other man’s cock ever has.

That tongue, now dipping into your apex, drawing more slick out of you as his thumb finds your swollen clit — It’s overwhelming how good it feels, how good he is at this.

He’s bringing you to the edge languidly, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your silky flesh. It’s like he doesn’t want this to be over, needs to stretch the moment as far as it’ll go, milk every last second before you slip from his grasp.

But it’s going to end soon; it’s inevitable with the way he’s laving your pussy, the crushed velvet of his tongue gliding through your folds so wet and warm. Your orgasm is building, and you’re powerless to stave it off any longer.

“Joel,” you warn, his name a high-pitched whine.

“Shh, I know babygirl; it’s okay.”

Two of his fingers hook at your entrance and push in, pacifying you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The soothe of his voice floods your senses like nitrous; renders your body loose and your head foggy. You come apart with a string of shattered breaths, eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the duvet.

Joel talks you through it: that’s it, pretty girl; so good for me; always so good for me, and though he sounds so far away, his words are the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

The world comes back into view slowly. Air settles in your lungs. And you can’t help but laugh at how fucked-out you feel when you peer down at Joel, his gaze already locked on you, expectantly.

“Okay?” he asks, rubbing at your inner thigh.

“Yeah,” you exhale, corners of your lips pulling taut. “More than okay.”

He smiles back at you. Props himself up with hands planted either side of you on the mattress and hovers over your feeble form.

“Good,” he whispers, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your mouth. He licks into you, letting you taste yourself on him — a little sweet, a little bitter — and his lips are so soft that you nearly melt. “Did so good, angel.”

You want nothing more than to spend all day in this bed with him. Return the favor a few times over. Learn what he looks like in the afternoon sun against the backdrop of navy blue sheets. What he tastes like after his coffee rather than before.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admit against his mouth and he frowns, taking one of your hands in his. He presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, one by one, his eyes never straying from yours.

“I don’t want you to either, darlin’. But you can come back tonight, yeah?”

Tonight. Hours away. A whole day between now and then. But it’ll have to do.

“Tonight,” you repeat. Solidify it.

You slink home just as the street lights dim.

The house is quiet when you enter, apart from the incessant ticking of the grandmother clock in the living room. It sets off a throbbing in your head, a dull pang right at the front of your skull that you massage with two fingers as you ascend the stairs.

You move cautiously up each step, wincing at every creak of old wood. It must take minutes to reach the second-floor landing, and then you’re tiptoeing past your father’s room, listening for signs of sleep behind the seal of his door. Sure enough, you catch it, a single, drawn-out snore, loud enough that you let your feet fall, shuffling the rest of the way to the bathroom across the hall.

You immediately crank the shower on, climbing in as soon as you see steam. Lathering your skin with citrus-scented body wash, the smell of sex washes off your body and down the drain.

The warm water soothes your sore muscles; bittersweet relief. You stand there until the stream grows icy, stepping out and toweling yourself off just as you hear the familiar blare of your dad’s alarm on the other side of the wall.

By the time you’ve dressed and made your way downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his back to you.

Sink empty, counters borderline sparkling, a coaster tucked under his warm mug — your father is a neat man. He does not take kindly to mess.

God forbid, anybody disrupt the sacred balance of his home; move something and forget to put it back, break something of his that should be kept intact.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he yawns. Turns to face you. “You were up early. Heard the shower going.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you lie.

“Something on your mind?”

Heat blooms across your chest and up your neck. There’s no way he knows — you’ve been far too careful. Still, you’re on edge, and the question lodges itself between your ribs uncomfortably as you frantically search for an answer.

“Uh, n-no,” you stutter. “Just work stuff, I guess.”

He seems to buy it, reaching for the percolator and re-filling his mug with a sigh, “Just gotta give it time. You only just started. Plus, it’s your first job out of school. They don’t expect you to know it all right away.”

It’s good advice, if not misguided. You nod as if you’re absorbing it, taking it straight to heart. As if your mind isn’t preoccupied.

You grab a mug from the cabinet. Fill it with coffee and creamer. Perch yourself at the breakfast table and take a slow, steadying sip.

The caffeine has just about seeped into your bloodstream when-

-there’s a knock at the door.

Your dad shoots you a puzzled look, one which you immediately return. Who could that be, so early on a Wednesday morning?

And when he pushes open the door to reveal none other than Joel, you just about fall out of your chair. Your nails absentmindedly dig into the wood of the table in an attempt to brace yourself.

“Oh, buddy — hey! Come on in,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he steps over the threshold. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

You grasp the handle of your mug like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, you worry the ceramic will shatter in your hands.

Joel is dressed — blue cotton t-shirt covering his broad back and the deep, red scratches you left there when you dug your nails into skin, your legs hiked over his hips and your face tucked into his chest.

The pair of boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans are different from the ones you pulled off of him last night, the ones he shimmied back into before you slept cradled in his arms.

He’s a different Joel here, now — your father’s friend, your neighbor — not the man who breaks you down with his tongue or the one who calls you his good girl while you take his entire, throbbing length.

No, this Joel, standing in your kitchen in the presence of your father, has never betrayed him. Hasn’t tasted his friend’s daughter or felt the tight embrace of her wet, warm cunt around his cock. This Joel is reliable, honest, not one to do harm.

You do not desire this Joel, cannot. You must look at him with apathetic eyes. Must keep the boat of your longing at bay.

Easier said than done. It’s as if your desire for him is a feral beast, fed by his touch and left starving in its wake. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, sweat beading at your collar as you not-so-subtly follow the subconscious flex of his hands, the bunching of fabric over his biceps.

His voice bounces off the backsplash, and your fingers tighten around the handle of your mug.

“Yeah, I uh — I went to make myself coffee and realized I was out. Was hopin’ you might have some to spare?”

He can’t be serious. He came over for coffee? He couldn’t get some on the road?

“I’m afraid she took the last of it,” your dad’s eyes point to you, and you ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze when his follow.

“Ahh,” he says. “‘ts okay. I’ll grab some on my way in.”

His fingers taptaptap on the edge of the countertop, bottom lip tucked between his teeth like there’s something else. Another reason he came here.

And then you spot it — your wallet, dark red leather, poking out the top of Joel’s back pocket.

You must’ve left it in his room before you hurried home. Somewhere amongst the mess of trinkets and trash on his dresser. You half-remember dropping it there last night as he’d kneeled in front of you and peppered kisses up the length of your leg.

Thankfully, your dad is oblivious as ever, giving Joel the perfect opportunity to inconspicuously slip you your wallet when he turns around and crosses the kitchen, placing his empty mug in the sink.

Joel sidesteps once, twice, extending his arm and snapping it back as soon as you have the wallet in your grasp.

Your father clears his throat. Spins to find Joel exactly where he was. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wrestling a slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it into the toaster, “I gotta set you up with this co-worker of mine, Deb.”

Joel freezes. You watch as the color drains from his face and his large hand anxiously cards through dark curls. You’re pretty sure you freeze too, breath caught somewhere in your throat until your dad turns to you and you remember to exhale.

“You know Deb, right, honey?” he asks. You mentally flick through the rolodex of your dad’s coworkers.

There’s Leanne, tall redhead, hosted a potluck a few months back at which you tasted the worst mac & cheese you’ve ever had. And Barbara from accounting, who he got into a heated argument with over who makes the best BBQ in the city. You only remember her name because he hadn’t shut up about how wrong her opinion was for a full week.

This woman actually thinks the Smoke Shop has got better ribs than Lou’s. I said to her, Barbara, your taste buds must be absolutely torched.

But Deb? You don’t recall a Deb. Still, you’re pretty sure you hate her, just in hearing her name in this context.

You shake your head, no.

“Well, I guess you haven’t seen her in a while. She was there that day I brought you into the office.”

“When I was ten?” you retort.

“Yeah, I guess it was that long ago, huh?”

You shrug. He returns his attention to Joel. “Anyway, Deb – she’s around your age, just got divorced about a year back, and she’s a real nice woman. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Is that so?” Joel replies. You swear his voice wavers. If your dad notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll like her Joel, I promise. I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a nice lady? Not since – what was her name — Jean? And if things were going well with her, I’d hope you’d tell your old friend.” The toaster pops, and he retrieves his slice of toast. Grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer.

“No, I ain’t seeing Jean,” Joel sighs. Flashes you an apologetic glance as your dad slathers his toast in artificial purple jam, blissfully unaware.

“Well, you gotta get back out there!”

Joel’s gaze rolls to the ceiling. “I don’t know – I’m just not real interested in datin’ right now.”

You exhale, then — a quiet declaration of relief that seems to go unnoticed — unperturbed even when your dad continues his pitch.

I’ve known this woman for years Joel, I’m telling you, the two of you’d be the perfect match; she’s a looker too, real pretty.

Ew. Tuning him out, you check the clock, find that you only have a few minutes before you need to get going. You stand from the table and make your way toward the sink with your now-empty coffee mug in hand.

Would I ever lead you astray? your dad is asking just as you brush past Joel. His hand, idle by his side, catches the fabric of your blouse and you have to fight to ignore the pinprick of electricity it ignites under your skin.

“No, I know,” Joel grumbles. “I trust your judgment ‘n all, ‘ts just-”

“Will you just give her a chance?”

“Jesus; fine.”

The mug slips from your grip, falls into the sink with a clang.

Your dad glares at you, expression softening only when you gesture to the still-intact ceramic lying on its side in the basin.

He’s quickly distracted, then, jotting a series of numbers down onto a scrap of notebook paper, the blue ink pressed in so hard that it’s beginning to bleed through.

“Atta boy,” he drawls, sliding it across the counter. Joel pinches it between two fingers, folds the paper without looking at it and stuffs it into his front pocket.

“Promise you’ll give her a call tonight? I may or may not have already talked you up, and I need to know you’re not gonna make me look bad here.”

Joel has to see you staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He must. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But he’s refusing to meet your gaze, eyes glued to the cabinet directly in front of him as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” he says, a small, unconvincing smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

He’s actually agreeing to this?

You need to get out of here before you say something rash.

The anger bubbles in you slowly, then all at once, threatening to boil over as you slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder.

Marching toward the door, you offer a half-hearted bye, not bothering to look back before you leave.

The office is already milling with people by the time you stroll in, ten minutes late.

The conversation between Joel and your dad is still running laps in your head as you sneak past your boss’s door.

It sticks there through the morning and well into the afternoon, your dad’s words an incessant earworm: I think you two would really hit it off.

The thing is — you can’t blame Joel for saying yes to the setup. Not really. Your situation is complicated, messy, bound to end badly.

Maybe he’d be happier with Deb.

They could take walks together, stroll through the grocery store or down the street hand-in-hand. Throw dinner parties and shamelessly gush about their relationship to their friends. All without fear of being caught doing something wrong.

Because that’s what this is, you and Joel — it’s wrong. Not like you weren’t already well aware of that. Leave it to some woman you’ve never met to rub it in.

The day passes infuriatingly slow.

The pile of emails in your inbox only grows larger by the time you’re due to clock out, stack of reports on your desk barely touched. You wince when your boss stops by your cubicle on her way out, eager for an update.

“Sorry, Linda; a couple of these were more time-consuming than I’d hoped,” you lie. But you can tell she doesn’t buy it, not one bit, her expression souring as you shuffle through papers.

“I need these done by the end of the week, no matter what.”

“Of course,” you mutter, face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll get them done and on your desk by Friday.”

“Thanks.” Her heels are already clacking on tile when you open your mouth to apologize again, your sorry lost to the ether.

You gather your things and scramble to your feet as soon as she’s out of view, not sticking around to watch your computer power down. By the time you get to your car, Joel’s number is already dialed on your phone.

He picks up after two rings.

“Darlin’ — are you okay?”

It’s admittedly uncharacteristic for you to call him so early. You usually wait until after dark, when you’ve both retreated to your respective bedrooms, away from listening ears.

But this can’t wait. It’s been eating at you all day, digging into your work. If you don’t talk to him about it, you’re going to end up unemployed. You don’t bother to ask if he’s still on the job site, around other people. “You’re going on this date.” It’s not a question. More of an accusation.

“Baby,” he sighs. You try your best to ignore his molasses drawl and the way it seeps into your chest.

“Why didn’t you say no?”

“How could I?” he groans. “There’s your dad, askin’ me if I’m seein’ someone, sayin’ he’s already told this lady about me – what am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice comes out a whine. “Make something up. Tell him you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”

He laughs, low and breathy on the other end. “Yeah, baby. Think he’d believe that one, f’sure.”

“Fuck,” you huff. “I just— I don’t-“

You want to tell him not to go. To cancel. Fake his own death. Do whatever it takes to get out of this. But you have no right, not really. The two of you aren’t dating. You don’t have any control over what he does or who he sees. And you don’t want that, no. You just want him to choose you.

“I don’t wanna go, darlin’. I really don’t. But if I do this, I think it’ll get him off my back for a while. He won’t have a reason to suspect that I’m foolin’ around with his daughter.”

Fooling around. His phrasing is a metaphorical punch in the gut.

It’s not exactly a lie. You haven’t put a label on this thing, whatever it is. It’s been purely physical: lips slotted to lips, tongues pressed together, swapped sweat and saliva. But hearing it reduced to two words, words with such a casual connotation — as if you haven’t been driven by overwhelming desire — makes your stomach churn.

Joel doesn’t seem to clock it when you go quiet, a cocktail of rage and sorrow sloshing around your insides. “It’s for the best,” he adds, a shot of hard, burning liquor.

“Yeah,” you say defeatedly. Choke back the pathetic tears that creep up your throat. “For the best.”

He ends the call with the excuse of bad cell reception. Promises to talk to you later. You’re not sure that you believe him.

The phrase fooling around curls up in your head, a wet dog, its fur dripping into the crevices of your rattled brain the entire drive home.

You dodge Joel’s calls for the remainder of the week.

There’s no use in talking to him when you have nothing to say, when you know any words you attempt will be overtaken by tears.

Even so, it doesn’t stop him from trying. His number lights up the screen of your phone at least twice a day.

He leaves voicemails that you do not listen to. You can’t. The last thing you need is his syruppy drawl in your ear. You’ll break; you know you will.

So instead, you delete them. Rid yourself of temptation.

But you still ache for him — a devastating truth. You lumber through the days, bones heavy with hurt. Find yourself kept up at night by thoughts of Joel and the infuriatingly soothing timbre of his voice, the intoxicating callous of his fingertips against your soft skin.

It’s a lonely thing, yearning for Joel Miller.

On Friday, your father beams at the dinner table. He’s grinning like a child as he stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Joel and Deb’s date is tomorrow,” he says. “Think they’ll really hit it off, don’t you?”

You’re dumbfounded for a long moment — can’t believe that this is your life now: being asked about your thoughts on Joel and the ever-elusive Deb as a couple. When it takes too long for you to answer, your father’s fork stills pointedly on his plate, and you sputter.

“Oh! I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember Deb.” You can’t help your condescending tone. Your dad doesn’t seem to catch it anyway.

“Well,” he says, “I think they’ll be a match. Hoping so, anyway. The man has been such a hermit lately — maybe if he has a lady, he’ll get out more!”

“You sound real excited,” you grumble. Stab four peas on the prongs of your fork.

“It is exciting. I’ve never set anyone up before. And the best part is, the place they’re going to — the Tavern — it’s got rooms you can rent out for wedding receptions. Just imagine if down the line, they got mar-“

“Dad,” you stop him. You think you’ll be physically sick if you let him finish that sentence. “Sorry, I just — I’m really tired, all of a sudden. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”

It’s not a complete lie. You’re emotionally exhausted as a result of the past couple days. Sleep sounds like a much-needed, blissful escape right now.

Your dad doesn’t question you. He just nods. Swipes your plate from in front of you and brings it to the sink along with his.

Of course, you find it impossible to actually drift off that night. Tossing and turning, you battle the glaring urge to get up, slink into the home-office and look up directions to the Tavern.

Not that you’re planning to go there anytime soon — you’re just curious. That’s all.

Around midnight, you give up, pad down the hallway and into the room parallel yours. The computer dials up slowly, and you chew your bottom lip as you wait.

You snatch a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from the #1 Dad mug that sits next to the monitor. Click on the internet icon and type the words into the search bar.

This is definitely a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve had in a while.

You jot the address down anyway.

Downtown Austin is buzzing with life.

Patrons spilling out of bars, tourists striding down the street in their brand new Stetsons – it almost distracts you from the task at hand.

At just past seven, you’d told your dad you were going out, meeting a friend for drinks. He’d been a bit taken aback, seeing as you’re not very social these days, but he’d seemed happy. Relieved.

That’s not what you’re doing, of course.

No – in reality, you’re turning into the parking lot attached to the Tavern. It’s packed to the brim with cars, but you still manage to find Joel’s truck, its license plate number burned into the back of your mind after countless mornings of absently reading it as you snuck past.

It’s idle and empty when you inch by, and even though you knew he’d be here, on this date, your heart still sinks. Because maybe a tiny part of you had hoped he’d stand Deb up.

You should leave. It was stupid to come here in the first place. What are you going to do — storm inside and demand that he leave with you?

You consider it for half a second, groaning when you realize how pitiful you are. Defeated, you swing your car into a spot at the back, facing the building, and shift it into park. You hug the steering wheel dejectedly.

From here, you have a straight-shot view of the restaurant’s entrance, a set of double doors at the side of the building. Groups spill out every so often, every pair that emerges causing your back to arch reflexively.

Joel and Deb are probably discussing their interests right now, bonding over a shared connection with your dad. You can vividly picture the smile likely plastered across his face — the same one you’ve elicited with sweet filth whispered in his ear.

And you’re here, sitting in your running car, watching the door. Your pulse thumps obnoxiously loud in your ears.

Minutes pass like molasses, slow and thick. You watch the clock on the car radio obsessively, betting with yourself on what time they’ll leave. After thirty minutes of nothing, you’re convinced that they’re going to close the place out.

But then the door opens again, and you straighten up, immediately met with the sight of Joel and Deb.

She’s talking animatedly, eyes widening every few words, blonde hair wafting around her narrow face. It’s undeniable that she’s stunning, even from far away; possesses the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers in line at the grocery store. The jealousy that pools in your gut burns like acetone in an open wound.

She takes his arm as they walk toward the parking lot, and he lets her, despite the rest of his body appearing strangely rigid.

You wonder if he’ll take her home. Lead her to his truck, help her up the step to the passenger seat and sneak a look at her ass under her dress before shutting the door. If they’ll leave her car in the lot for the night, come back to retrieve it in the morning once he’s helped her forget about her loser ex-husband; let the scent of her perfume seep into the bed sheets to cover up yours.

But he doesn’t lead her to his truck. You watch as they unexpectedly turn down a row of cars, disappearing from your view completely, his arm still locked with hers.

He could still kiss her. Press her against the car. Promise her that he’ll call — and he will, first thing tomorrow. He’s probably just being a real gentleman. Treating her like a woman he might want to marry someday.

Maybe he knows, after just one date, that she’s his soulmate. He’ll buy the ring in a couple weeks. They’ll be engaged in a month’s time, and he’ll say he just couldn’t wait any longer.

She’s the one thing I’ve been missing.

You stew in the agonizing unknown for what feels like hours before Joel materializes once again, backside illuminated by headlights as he strides toward his truck.

And then — he stops. You see the exact moment he notices your car in the parking lot, his eyebrows threading together and his hands splaying over his hips.

He’s staring directly through the windshield. At you.

Fuck.

He takes a few slow steps. Stops in front of the hood. Narrows his eyes and flexes his jaw.

With a deep breath, you unlock the doors. Gesture for him to get in the passenger side.

He immediately rounds the car, prying the door open and climbing inside just as a SUV pulls out the row he and Deb had walked down.

The door slams when he yanks it closed. The sound echoes through the cab of the car.

“You wanna fuckin’ explain what you’re doin’ here?” he snaps. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, embarrassment and now, anger, spooling hot behind your ears.

You know you’re in the wrong. You shouldn’t have followed him. But does he have to be so hostile?

When your gaze finally meets his, he looks — distraught — jaw clenched and lips set in a straight line. His fingers absently dig into denim-covered thighs.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just wanted to see how you were with her.” And it’s the truth; not one you want to be admitting right now, to him, but it’s the truth nonetheless.

“Doesn’t give you the right to spy on me.”

“So what was I supposed to do? Sit at home and mope while the guy I was seeing is on a date with someone else? Oh no, I’m sorry,” you throw your hands up, form air quotes with your fingers, “the guy I was fooling around with.”

This seems to strike a nerve. His jaw twitches, and his fingers still on his lap.

“It wasn’t like that,” he grits

“No? Isn’t that all this was to you: fooling around?”

There’s a beat. Joel sighs.

“No — fuck, no. Of course not.”

His expression softens. A crack in solid stone. “I tried callin’ you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you admit.

He nods. Another beat.

“Did you kiss her?” you ask.

“No.” He says it with intent, with promise, eyes firmly locked on yours now.

Your mouth goes dry.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t want her?”

“No,” he says flatly, his pupils bulging in the lamplight, black bleeding into the brown of his irises. “I don’t want her.”

“Why not?”

He leans forward. His weight presses into the center console and his breath fans your face — warm, tinged with the scent of cheap beer.

“I don’t want her,” he says, voice an octave lower, “because I want you. I thought you knew that?”

The radio drones between the two of you, some classic rock song you think you recognize flitting through the speaker. Your pulse beats staccato in your throat, off tempo.

“You want me?” you ask, a little breathless, and the next words you say are beyond dumb, beyond reckless, but you say them anyway. “Prove it.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He closes the slight distance between you and kisses you, hard, his tongue frantically sliding against yours through parted lips.

It’s sloppy, and desperate, and you feel drunk on the taste of him, on longing laced with carnal need. He’s groaning into your mouth, grabbing your head with both hands, burying his fingers in your hair — as if he can’t get close enough, as if he’ll only be satisfied once he’s swallowed you whole. You’re pretty sure you want him to.

Your hands move frantically to his t-shirt, then, bunch into the fabric and pull. You need to feel the skin underneath, need to rove your hands along his bare chest. He accommodates, tugging the shirt by the back of the collar, lips separating from yours ever-so-briefly to bring it over his head and toss it onto the backseat.

And then he’s back on you, licking into your mouth again, eliciting a whimper from you when his hand wraps around the side of your throat, just under your jaw.

Your palms splay across his torso, wander over warm, golden skin. You’ve missed this, god, you’ve missed this — but it’s still not enough. You need to feel more of him. In your mouth, in your hand, in your cunt — you’re not picky. Just need him in whatever way he’ll provide.

“Joel,” you whimper into his mouth, fingers winding around his bicep.

He pulls back. Peers at you through hooded eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks through labored breaths.

“Need you — please.”

He immediately unbuckles your seatbelt. Lowers his seat back and manhandles you onto his lap. You go easily; slot yourself to him with legs folded on either side of his thighs.

Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you grind down into his lap. His cock strains against denim underneath you. He groans when you swivel your hips and brush the heft of it again with your clothed heat.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” he asks into your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your breath catches.

You know what he’s really asking: are you going to let him fuck you here, in the parking lot of a public establishment, where anybody could see?

But you don’t care. In fact, you’re way past caring, the emptiness of your cunt too painful to ignore any longer. Let them watch him take what’s his.

You nod frantically. “Yes,” you pant. “Please.”

Joel nods too, as if he’s accepting his fate. He’s going to fuck his friend’s daughter in the passenger seat of her car. There’s no way around it — not when you’re begging for it. He’s going to give you what you need.

“Okay,” he soothes, “I got you baby.”

He helps you out of your pants, then; clumsily maneuvers them down and off your legs along with your panties and tosses them aimlessly into the back.

He doesn’t bother to take his jeans off. Lets you unzip them and pop the button open, your nimble fingers making quick work of it. And then you’re pulling his cock out of his boxers, stiff and leaking in your grasp.

You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders just as he begins to pepper placating kisses along your neck. “Go ahead baby,” he whispers into your ear. “Take it; it’s yours.”

His head falls back against the seat as you stroke him a few times and line his cock up with your dripping entrance, his hands clasped around your waist.

You sink down slowly, savoring every inch of him as he burrows in deeper. He’s so thick, stretching you like it’s the first time again, your walls fluttering as they relax around his cock.

“Fuck,” Joel slurs, fingers digging into your skin impatiently when you still, fully seated on him.

“Gotta move baby — please move.”

He’s so fucking deep, though, his cockhead bumping your cervix, and your entire body feels gelatinous atop him. A cloying sort of heat hangs around your head. You swivel your hips weakly, your forehead falling to rest on his with a heavy sigh.

Joel is happy to take control, bucking up into you so hard you see stars. You can’t suppress the string of moans that spill from your mouth, and Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just as loud, anyway, his broken sounds bleeding into yours, bouncing off glass and leather.

Neither of you can muster an actual word, though, not with him rutting up into you, sheathing himself in your pussy over and over again. He’s relentlessly hitting that spot — the one that has you practically clinging to him for dear life.

It’s approaching too quickly; he’s going to make you come.

One of your hands flies to the roof of the car in an attempt to brace yourself, flat palm pressing into it so hard you worry it’ll pop.

Joel takes the opportunity to drag you down in his lap, spearing you on his cock, and the sudden change in angle makes you cry out.

“Oh f— ahh, oh my—“

“That’s it,” he coos, “you got it, babygirl.”

His words tip you over the edge, your entire body locking up as you gush around him. You’re wetting his lap, slick splattering his thighs, and he loves it, his fervid moan telling you so.

His movements begin to falter then, hips stuttering underneath you as he chases his own high.

“Cmon, baby,” you goad, “please fill me up.”

He grunts when he spills inside, his face nestling in your chest, heaving as he works through it and begins to come down. You don’t move, not that Joel would let you, still holding you on his lap like he’s afraid to let you go.

You nuzzle into his embrace as his cock softens inside you.

You stay like that for a while, probably too long given that anybody could easily look into the car and see you straddling him. You don’t have the energy to care.

Eventually, you lift your head from its spot on Joel’s chest. Look up at him with bleary eyes.

“Joel,” you say.

He meets your gaze, face shiny with sweat and his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous like this, you think. The way only you get to see him.

“Yeah?” He grazes along your arm with featherlight fingers. His touch raises goosebumps on your skin.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About wanting me.” In truth, you’re not sure you want the answer. But you need to know, definitively, if Joel is yours. You’re done sharing him.

“Oh, baby,” he drawls. “Of course I do. You’re all I want. Do you want me?”

And it’s a stupid question. He has to know that. You’re nodding before he can even finish it. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Joel”

“Then it’s settled. It’s me and you. No more…interlopers.”

You giggle. Reluctantly separate yourself from his body and re-dress. You settle back into the driver’s seat with achy legs.

You’ve never felt more content than you do in this moment.

Still, you’ll have to hide — won’t be able to share the news of your new relationship with friends or coworkers, your dad — and neither will Joel.

You don’t care much, not as long as he’s yours, but you need to be sure he feels the same.

“Joel,” you stop him as he opens the passenger-side door to get out. He stills with one leg swung out the door.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind…being a secret? Don’t mind keeping me a secret?”

He looks at you like you have two heads.

He pulls his leg back into the car. Shuts the door and leans over the console again.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he forces your gaze. Makes sure you’re listening.

“I want you — doesn’t matter who knows or doesn’t know. Long as you’re mine.”

Your chest tightens, and your heart squeezes inside your ribcage.

“I’m yours?”

He smiles. Presses a chaste kiss between your eyes, on the tip of your nose, on your lips. The same way he did the other morning.

It all feels somehow sweeter, now.

“Yeah, angel. You’re mine. My girl.”

end notes: tysm for reading! please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed! I've been toying with the idea of turning this into a series so lmk if that's something you'd be interested in hehe.

Also, I hopped on the bandwagon and made a sideblog for notifs! I'll be doing away with a taglist from here on out, so follow @joelscurlsupdates & turn on notifications if you wanna be notified when I post a new fic :-)

tag list: @janaispunk @amanitacowboy @fhatbhabie @frannyzooey @lola8888673

#joel x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction

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kcrossvine-art · 1 month

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Hi fellow adventurers!! A few weeks ago i caught wind of "Delicious in Dungeon". I'm not really an anime person, but I am a TTRPG, CRPG, and cooking person- . And holy shit. It is so good i convinced my partner to binge read the whole thing. I'm caught up on dungeon meshi, the anime, and just yesterday i also finished dungeon meshi, the manga.

Its rare to come across a serialized story that is so thematically cohesive and knows its characters so well. All of the bonus content like the artbooks and monster tidbits are just the icing on top.

So, inspired by Ryōko Kui's writing and illustration I'm going to attempt to create a recipe for every single Delicious in Dungeon recipe!-

Today that means Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom hotpot is on the menu!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom hotpot?” YOU MIGHT ASKThis is one of the pricier dishes until we get to the kelpies and dragons of the menu-

Rock lobster tail

Porcini mushrooms

Shiitake mushrooms

Snow fungus

Small potatos

Fensi (glass noodles)

Water

OPTIONAL: your choice of dipping sauces

There was a crossover/promotional event in Shibuya which featured various realworld dishes from the series. They had one for Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom, but they used prawns. while those cook better in a hotpot, they also didn't look enough like the scorpion for me, they also used udon noodles for the slime and a seaweed/kale(?) mixture for the algae. If you're looking for substitutes due to price or availability i would start with those ingredients.

AND, “what does a Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom hotpot taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKI hope Senshi would forgive me for technically cooking the lobster outside the pot, once he tastes it.

Okay im always partial to veggies but wowowowowowowoowowowow the snow fungus and the mushrooms tasted soooooooooooo good in the lobster stock

A nice delicate layering of different flavors

Try to get a bite with the lobster meat and shiitake together, dip in butter then chili- trust me

Its up to you what texture you prefer if you want to put the noodles in at the end or put them in halfway through the meal. Either way dont go for eating those first as theyre very filling

I think this would pair well with a citrus drink, something light and clarifying

This would also pair well with being extremely high and hungry (if you feel safe cooking while inebriated lol) very calorically dense

For the trial run I did one lobster tail in the pot with everything else, and one lobster tail off to the side to be picked apart. The former is more in spirit with a hotpot, but it got rubbery as the meal went on and lost its nice taste. The latter may be a bit more work but all you have to do still is boil it and set it aside. I found it held up much better. It was also easier to get inside the shell.

. If you have hardshell maine lobster available, i think it would be superior to rock lobster (keep in mind crustaceans will get rubbery if cooked too long in the pot) . Green onions and/or lotus root would make excellent additions

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From getting the ingredients out to sitting down and eating, id say it took maybe 30 minutes max? It'd vary on how fast you can prep vegetables and get the various implements heated.

Hotpots are not something i do very often as i'm usually just feeding myself. I think thats why a hotpot makes perfect sense to start the series off. If you want to set the tone of "take care of yourself, eat food with others, and use what you have" (generally speaking) there is nothing more simplistic, flexible, and defeats-the-purpose-if-you-eat-it-alone than a hotpot. Gather around and let your friends bring ingredients to the pot if you want to fill your heart up extra full <3

I'm doing something different here because unlike previous recipes where i used a bunch of different sources and made my own recipe out of hodge-podging it, or just used another persons recipe entirely if they did it really well, i made this more whole-cloth based off of what i had available, what I could discover through research, and my existing knowledge. Instead of the recipe being 50/50 original, this one is more 20/80. So. I'll pass the final verdict off to you guys :D

What would you rate this recipe out of 10? (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Did you love it, did you hate it? What're your thoughts on what I could do different, and what would you have done instead?

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

2 Rock lobster tails

3 Porcini mushrooms

2 Shiitake mushrooms

Snow fungus (a good handful, should rehydrate in the hotpot)

2 Small waxy potatos

Fensi (glass noodles)

Water/lobster stock

Method:

Lightly rinse all of your vegetables beforehand and let them dry.

Vertically slice the porcini mushrooms. Cut off and dice the stems of the shiitake mushrooms. You can slice the tops if youd like.

Peel and cube the potatoes, roughly an inch each.

For the lobster tails; Boil a pot of salted water. Keep the shell on. Weigh the largest tail and add 1 minute of cooking time for every ounce of weight.

When done, strain the lobster from the water. Pour the water into your hotpot as the base. Serve the lobster on the side so people can pick the meat out to dip into the hotpot.

Bring the hotpot to a simmer. Add the potato cubes, snow fungus, mushrooms, and noodles.

OPTIONAL: this wasnt in the show, but its fun having sauces on the side :) i had oyster sauce, dry seasoned chili dip, melted butter, and soy sauce available

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #cooking #digital art

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