#it's silly how likeable he is

[feluka]

according to all laws of visual novels, if a character has to do a long, repetitive, unskippable animation to get to the next line of dialogue, then said character must get very old very quickly. and yet inspector cabanela

#it's silly how likeable he is #also i hope someone called him an ambulance hsjfkdjjs lynne and jowd were like ok thanks boo bye i'll see you later! #ghost trick lb

[the-acid-pear]

I think what really makes the spiderman movies so good to me is simply how human EVERYBODY is. From the heroes to the villains and the side characters too. It's just a very tragic story of ongoing events where regular people find themselves forced into unpleasant situations they did not chose to be in.

Like, every problem in every movie is always impulsed by human emotions; love, hate... There rarely is any bigger reason for anyone to act on anything.

And it's that why every character is so sympathetic once you take the time to understand them.

#luly talks #but i guess thats a bit of the wonder of spiderman in general though i cant confirm bc i havent watched nor read anything but the movies :P #and i do say movies in general but i mean i am kind of just thinking of the raimi trilogy nwvdkdvd since i dont find #max and curt and harry that sympathetic truly #like at the start yeah i can understand how they feel and shit but then its just too much like girlll... #and it doesn't include the holland ones bc i haven't watched those in forever LOL! #but i generalize bc some aspects are true in some like in others even if not all #with that out of the way its just the same human factor that can make villains so silly which makes them so likeable #and i will admit the one who is most in my mind as i say this is otto bc he's so human and emotion driven #harry too harry just turned evil bc he had undiagnosed psychological problems ITRWGJAGJAFAFS #gobby was literally just fulfilling norm's wild power fantasies #and lets go for a non villain example: mj who is just some vry unlucky lady w daddy issues #who makes stupid decisions all driven by emotion too #its just glorious man like all these characters are so human and also need so much therapy #spidertag

[masquenoire]

Is it weird that I think you and Doctor Crane would be good together?

“Good together as what? You might wanna elaborate on questions like this a little more in future else somebody might get the wrong idea about what you’re actually asking, get the wrong impression even....” Roman replied, though his tone of voice suggested he wasn’t angry about the question. If anything he sounded intrigued, head tilted to one side in a contemplative gesture as he thought about the aforementioned psychiatrist. Arkham Asylum was a place he’d detested being, as did most if not all the inmates incarcerated there but Doctor Crane had been highly unusual, both as a person and the fact he was one of the few members of staff Roman hadn’t immediately wanted to kill or flay to within an inch of his miserable life. No, the good doctor’s presence had been tolerable - better than his last psychiatrist by far who’d tried digging a little too deep into his past and refused to leave certain subjects be. Crane had been like a breath of fresh air after that, chilly air as brisk and unfriendly as winter but he’d take the man’s frankness over his co-worker’s fake smiles and feigned acts of caring. "Doctor Crane’s a clever man but I don’t have much use for a therapist when I’m not locked up in that shithole. I’d take him over his shit-for-brains colleagues anyday, which is funny considering some of the things I’ve heard during my time there. Whispers get around, you know how it goes. Anyways, I don’t hate the guy if that’s what you’re asking. If he were here right now, I’d probably treat him to a drink or two. Maybe three, I bet he’s got a lot of interesting stories to tell after his time working there...” It wasn’t a good look after their doctor-patient relationship had been so professional, but Roman had never given a damn about that and he doubted Crane cared much either. A job was a job at the end of the day; it paid the bills and kept your mind busy, both of which were necessary when living in a city like Gotham. ”Not that I treat other guys to drinks very often but for him, I’d make an exception.” @arkhampsychiatrist​

#anonymous #;; asks #arkhampsychiatrist #Tagging you because your Jonathan's the only Doctor Crane he's interacted with #Doctor Crane is a possibility but Scarecrow is another #Can you imagine the hours they'd spend talking about masks #Explaining to the other about the significance and meaning behind their own #I can #Roman finds Jonathan okay #And by okay Roman would beat the everliving shit out of other inmates if there's ever a mass breakout if they come looking for trouble #Roman: Excuse you we're still in the middle of therapy here #I'm being silly but ahhh #I liked this ask thank you nonny #Doctor Crane is one of the few men he finds likeable #How long that remains to be true is another story

[prodigal-sunlight]

IF YOU WANT TO SEE THE MARIO MOVIE!

- Jack Black’s Bowser is as amazing as you think he’ll be

- Chris Pratt’s Mario is good. Not GREAT, but he does actually put effort into it and it didn’t kill the movie as much as I thought it would.

- The animation is gorgeous. Like, seriously. The action was fun and bouncy, the settings were the perfect blend of silly cartoon and legitimately pretty, and the animation of the power-up was especially fun.

- Don’t expect a super complex story. It is Mario at the end of the day.

- There are a lot of fun easter eggs regarding classic Nintendo games, especially classic Mario games.

- Don’t get your hopes up for Wario, Waluigi, Daisy, or Rosalina; There are cameos for Pauline and the Yoshis though!

- The music is awesome. Like, it’s reimagining’s of classic Mario soundtracks as cinematic music and its really a ton of fun!

- All in all, a good movie. Above all else its just FUN. I definitely recommend it, at the very least for the eyecandy and music.

- You WILL be disappointed how little Luigi is in the movie

- They make Luigi the most likeable little guy and BARELY USE HIM

- Guys you dont understand LUIGI’S MOM IS PROUD OF HIM :( Why do they not use him more

- There needs to be a Luigi’s Mansion movie let him be the main character or else

#SERIOUSLY though I want a luigis mansion movie so bad :( #mario #luigi #super mario #mario and luigi #super mario movie #mario movie #jack black #charlie day

[thelastofhyde]

i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra​​ @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !​

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet. 

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?” 

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s. 

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point. 

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

 “you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure. 

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass. 

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

 and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time. 

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you. 

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms. 

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.​

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut

[nyursi]

𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐘!

꒰ † ੭‎ㅤNSFW 18+ㅤ(MDNI)...  oliver never thought that arriving at saltburn would leave a much more deep and sinister ache in his bones. and it's all because of you. felix is no better.ㅤノㅤnot proofread.

ᡴꪫ‎ TODAY'S SPECIAL!ㅤfelix catton, oliver quick.

WOULD YOU LIKE SPRINKLES? (っω=`)ㅤm!rdr, no spoilers surprisingly, weird stuff cause its oliver (but felix is weird too), wet dreams, stealing underwear, drugging, groping, somnophilia.

                 ㅤ ⏝꒷۰꒷⏝꒷۰꒷⏝꒷۰꒷⏝

It was alluring, really. Who could say no to the gorgeous stone walls of the castle? With its very own glamorous inhabitants to match as well. Saltburn practically begged Oliver to come and take it all for himself.

And who was he to deny that call?

Felix Catton too, bore the same charisma. The boy always had everyones eyes on him, no matter the place or time. There was just something about him that grabbed all the attention.

Like a magnet, attracting all the girls and boys to present themselves just to gain a spot in Felix's long list of night stands.

So when Felix so graciously offered for Oliver to spend the summer with him, how could he say no?

He felt so fulfilled, seeing the extravagant hallways, walls lined with all the odd things they had, and the majestic carpets complementing the floor. But nothing ever compared to the feeling that hit him like a truck when he met you.

It was unexpected. There was a quick panic that you, of all people, would ruin his plans, to conquer the estate and banish all the Catton's from existence. I mean, who were you? A relative? Close friend? Surely someone important enough for Elspeth and Sir James to let you stay.

"This is my friend," Felix introduced, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, having noticed the tension between you two. Despite the awkwardness filling the air; you excitedly held out your hand for Oliver to shake. "How come I've never seen you around?" He asked.

You shrugged, "I don't go to Oxford."

Oliver must've not realized how tight his grip had been on your hand, not until you struggled to pull away. Felix smirked in amusement. "Now now, play nice Oliver. He's fragile, and I'd prefer my little friend to be in good condition at all times."

"Felix!" You groaned, nudging against his chest. Rolling your eyes playfully, you shook your head and looked to Oliver. "Don't listen to him, roughhouse all you want." The sweet smile reached your eyes, but the words that accompanied it were venomous. "He did it all the time when we were little. Actually, he still does."

Oh. So you two were close.

He didn't know why, but it left a rather bitter taste in his mouth. Was it because you were close with Felix? Or because Felix was close with you?

Either way, Oliver quickly realized that it just made sense for both of you to be friends. You were a warm light that drew everyone closer, huddling for the warmth you gave so generously. With your attractive physique to accompany such a bright personality made Oliver's heart flutter in a way that made him unsure. (Not to mention that cute boyish smile you had on your face nearly 24/7.)

Had you attended Oxford too— he was sure you and Felix would be a duo no one could forget. A package deal, he'd say.

Oliver found it uncomfortable how quick you were able to get on his good side. You were just so... likeable. In a way that whenever you and Felix would mess around, he found it endearing.

Two utterly perfect boys with the most perfect relationship. Everyone in Oxford would kill to be you.

But Oliver would kill to take Felix's place.

And that thought shocked him; Oliver never thought there would ever be someone else to hold on pedestal, higher than the throne Felix sat on. Because he wanted that closeness, the intimacy of your so called friendship, your very being down to your bones.

He was desperate to have your attention, to join in your silly little inside jokes that Oliver could never understand, to be the reason of your giggles and reddened cheeks from laughter, how your chest heaved with every intense howl deep from your chest, not Felix.

It's not like he didn't notice Felix's unwavering affection towards you. It almost made Oliver chuckle out loud, the first time he found out how enamored Felix was with the boy he wanted to get rid of.

He didn't know he'd too, join the bandwagon of steadfast interest towards Felix's friend. (Boy toy, Oliver wanted to say. But with how platonic you are with him, he doubts the godsend Felix ever had a chance to devour you.)

No worries, Oliver will just take things in his own hands. He'll handle these pressing matters, like how he always has and always will. It's just in his nature. He may never be the strongest, or most attractive in the room, but he sure is the smartest.

Hell— he's definitely the most intelligent amongst those in Saltburn. That's for sure.

You were just incredibly dumb. Gullible, naive— too trusting. Too ready to welcome the outsider Oliver Quick within the estate, who looked like he was attempting to take and seal away Felix from ever seeing you again.

Did you really not feel their burning gazes on your body? Whenever you donned the awfully tight swim shorts at the pond; neither could pull away their eyes because of how it hugged your frame. Showing off the curve of your hips and your behind, displaying a waist that they wanted to grab so badly, and thighs that could be stared at for days.

The exposed skin glistening with water under the burning sun, messy wet hair that clung to your forehead. Plump red lips that encased a popsicle, suckling and even poking your tongue out to lick your fingers when the melted treat slowly dribbled down them.

Perhaps you did know, and this was your own way of teasing them for a stunt they pulled a few nights before. Revenge.

That night, when you wore such careless attire, one that consisted of a large shirt that practically engulfed your frame (one that Oliver knew to be Felix's), and the sinful boxers that held your prick just behind the fabric, Oliver took a trip to the laundry room.

Imagine his shock when he found Felix Catton digging through your laundry basket that held the same boxers from the night before.

A solidarity formed between them that night. A relationship deeper than before. Oliver was just as in love with you as Felix was.

But it killed them to see how oblivious you were with their intentions.

Weren't they trying hard enough?

It came to the point where they were desperate enough to consider drugs. Of all things. The family would all have dinner as usual, but a simple slip of an extra ingredient would be placed into your food.

"Are you alright, dear?" Elspeth asked, concerned from the other side of the table.

Felix quickly came to your rescue, standing up and dragging you to your bedroom. "He might be ill, we'll take care of him." He met eyes with Oliver, who didn't hesitate to join his side. "I'll see to it that he recovers smoothly." And without a second thought, they both left to carry you to Felix's bedroom.

You groaned, the pounding in your skull too much to handle. But Felix talked you through it all the way. Legs too weak to get up the stairs? No worries, they've got that covered. Neither complained when they're able to get this close to your warm body.

"Atta boy," Felix praised, slowly lowering you on his bed. Oliver placed the back of his hand to your forehead, wincing at its temperature.

"That's not a side effect, is it?" Their motives were ultimately changed when you kept writhing on the bed, uncomfortable at the heat and ache throughout your body. You felt sick. This was not part of the plan.

Felix scoffed. "Of course not." He turned to you, frowning when you sobbed. "We'll just... change plans."

There was no doubt to it. Your current state was not to their liking to continue their original ideas, and its not like it was helping with their... guilt. Thinking back on it, they've realized that their original plan was rather unsavory.

It made them look like hypocrites.

After all, they've been wanting and needing you to dream of them as well. Countless nights spent under the sheets behind the safety of their doors, jacking off and wishing it was your hole around their cocks, not their fists.

The wet dreams of you being so good for them, taking them all at once— or the times when they peaked through the bathroom door to watch you showering, and purposefully breaking your doorknob so they can barge in your room whilst you were getting dressed, those they could play off.

But to take you, unsolicited whilst your mind was hazy, was against all their fantasies. They wanted you to want them the same way. With the same desperation, the same debauchery.

So they let you be for now.

The late night fantasies that constantly replayed in their head would be enough. For your sake. Because if they allowed the strong, primal urge to pounce and take you as you were; the bed is where you'd live.

But it doesn't mean the urge was gone.

Oh no, it was very much still there.

So when your soft snores reached their ears, they wasted no time to climb under the sheets, with you between their aching bodies. And no matter how hard they tried to shoo away the dark thoughts nagging at the back of their heads, it still found a way to hypontize them.

It was a golden opportunity. You were sick, yes. But you were still drugged. Fast asleep. Deep into dreamland. How could they pass it up?

Oliver bit his lip and maintained eye contact with Felix. What were they to do? Felix stayed in deep contemplation, but was quickly surprised when Oliver made the first move.

He quickly raised your shirt up to your collarbone, breath stuck in his throat when he was met with your nipples. Oliver traced your chest with his finger, featherlight as he felt your soft skin for the first time.

And shit, did it feel great.

Felix on the other hand, took a more bold approach. Kissing at your nape while massaging his hand down your spine, towards your waistband. He tugged at first, but eventually settled on sneaking his palm beneath your boxers to feel the sweet mounds of flesh he's been dreaming of.

They groped and touched, feeling up every inch of you. No nook or cranny was left un-corrupted by their sinful hands. Slowly, their cocks hardened and they threw away all rational thoughts (Though there were none to begin with, really. Did anyone think rationally when they were in your presence?) Beginning to hump and palm at your own crotch.

Your drowsy whines and hums brought them closer to release. Even in your sleep you managed to be oblivious, unknowing to the dirty acts they commit. Hips bucking and stuttering, breath hitching, the creaking of the bed.

Whispered cussing and lip biting, red marks littered across your skin with their harsh grabbing. It was only after they reached their peak had all your breaths labored, you probably just thought it was a really good dream.

Oliver and Felix began to feel their eyelids get heavy. Even if they didn't get what they originally wanted, at least they got a taste of it. And fuck did they want more.

But no matter, there was always next time.

vanillaclaws 2024.ㅤdo not repost.

#っω=`)ㅤ⎯⎯ㅤmy works... #( ୨୧‎ )ㅤdebauchery! #felix catton #felix catton x male reader #felix catton smut #oliver quick #oliver quick x male reader #oliver quick smut #saltburn x male reader #saltburn smut #bottom male reader #uke male reader #sub male reader #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x reader

[manykinsmen]

a lot of people look at alfa romeo era valtteri bottas and are very confused. where did this deeply likeable silly man come from? where did this man who is unafraid to show how much he loves his girlfriend and his naked ass come from? where did all of these varied interests and pursuits that he is happy to share with the world come from? at mercedes there was none of this.

i want to make the case that valtteri was always this silly. his personality hasn’t come out of nowhere. for his entire tenure at mercedes, until the signing of his alfa romeo contract (where we get the first naked ass incident), he was deeply stressed. when our mental health is suffering, our personalities can disappear. let’s examine valtteri’s circumstances at mercedes.

to begin with until the weight regulations changed he was battling an eating/exercise disorder. on top of this, mercedes refused to give him more than a single year contract meaning that he had no job security at all and was constantly under threat of replacement. we talk a lot about red bull’s crimes in this area and how much of a toll it takes on the drivers in their program, but we rarely talk about how mercedes treated valtteri just as badly. the fact that valtteri managed to build a relationship with lewis hamilton during this period is a shining example of what a beautiful, kind personality he has, even when he is under so much pressure.

valtteri bottas shows us that we are our best selves when we are well.

#valtteri bottas #mercedes

[gremlingottoosilly]

Hey this is a genuine question I don't mean to hate or for this to seem hateful but why is your Konig so misogynistic? /genq like I am being fr when I ask this. I am genuinely curious. I've read your posts and find it interesting the way you interpret him /not neg

I just wanna know if it's how you headcanoned he was raised, or something else. Idk

To me I would make him likeable and not a complete ass, so I'm just curious what goes on in your head to make him like this

/genq again, I don't mean to sound rude. Sorry if I am /gen

Konig is horrible because I hate men and pray for their downfall /jk But honestly, I was just trying to modulate him after the military higher-ups I know personally in my life. Being from a country in a state of war, and also from an occupied territory constantly filled with mercenaries and PMC soldiers, even the "nicest" ones are still pretty much horrible and treat women like dolls and dumb, but cute pets that need to be protected in the best case, and as sub-human bitches in the worst scenario. There are good ones, of course, especially in a military group that has more female soldiers, but if I'm getting a guy who was bullied his whole childhood and then grew big, strong, and joined the PMC, I think he won't be super progressive.

I write Konig as being from a traditional Austrian family, with his cold and uncaring housewife mother, and even colder father who never expressed any warm feelings towards his family. Konig has a warped sense of feelings now - he kinda deals with women in two categories, either pure angels who need his protection and have to love him, or his war buddies like Roze or Stiletto, who can fight on pair with him and beat him in any drinking game. My version of Konig is more of a benevolent sexist. I don't think he has such dark views on every female he sees on the street, but when he is dating the woman of his dreams, when Mrs.Konig is already chained to him through marriage, his views gradually begin to get more and more twisted when he is with her. His wife isn't an independent woman anymore, she is weak and silly, she needs his protection, he can't allow her to work or be in danger such as getting groceries for herself without him. Colonel Konig is a perverted old man(in his mid-late thirties, so he is stuck in his ways) with his dangerously younger wife, so he sucks in a lot of ways.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig

[maopll]

Could I request headcanons of Dan Heng, Blade, Gepard and Samp being called a term of endearment (like sweetie or honey) from their s/o?

—MY LOVE, MY LIFE : #honkai star rail

⌗:, a/n: they deserve princess treatment cause they r so baby girl (but I don't like sampo)

⌗:, warning: none just men who r baby girl material

⌗:, pairings: dan heng, gepard, blade & sampo w/ gn!reader (separately)

DAN HENG —

Sweet endearments like dear, sweetheart, honey are all enough to make him swoon for you. He does not mind you calling anything. He knows the words you call him with are from the depths of you heart. The way your lips would would curl when you would them and how your voice goes high and then low whenever you call him with adoration.

It was late in the Astral Express. Dan heng, your lover, being the authority of the data bank, was busy learning about the species that you would encounter on your next mission. You saw him from the corner of your drowsy eyes. He only had a small lamp near him to help him read. "Dear, it's quite late at night. Why don't you come and sleep?" You called out. He looked at you and said, "Just five more minutes, babe, I will be right back," ignoring his words, and you slithered your way to his lap. You hugged him and locked your arms around his neck. "I was unable to sleep because of your absence, honey,". Knowing that he wouldn't be able to fight back, but your warmth was making him even more drowsy. Calling it a day, he laid you on your shared bed and kissed you a good night sleep.

GEPARD LANDAU —

The Silvermane Guard Captian, although holding more authorities than a normal citizen of Belobog, is a soft guy throughout. Praises and endearments like good boy, my hero, Prince charming work wonders on him. The way his face would go bright red is a sight to see.

After a long day of work, returning to home is the best feeling. Especially when you are there. You greet him with a soft smile, a warm hug, and a sweet "welcome home my prince," contrary to the bitter and harsh cold climate of Belobog. He nuzzles his face in your neck, inhaling the scent of oak and lavender you emit, which makes him sleepy. He wishes days like these would frequent him more. Although he has many responsibilities but when he is with you he wants to run away from them. However for now he likes these fleeting moments better as he finishes your sentence with a tone filled with adoration saying "I'm home my dear."

BLADE —

The emotionless and stone cold Blade never found amusement in anything, but when you came into his life after a chance encounter, his views of the world changed. He found solace in your company and amusement in the words mortals use, which he finds quite unnecessary since he has a name, but he can't deny the way he feels whenever you call him darling.

It was raining a lot at the place your hideout is. The streets were filled with rainwater, and the pitter patter accompanied by the roaring thunder seemed to grow louder by the second. You were snuggling in his arms since the day was a bit cold. You noticed how distant he looked as if he was thinking about many things. "What are you thinking about, darling ?" Your use of the endearment snapped him out of his thoughts. He told you that it was nothing that you should be worried about. Knowing you wouldn't be able to get the information you want from him you slid onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Alright then since you don't want to tell me I won't ask too much baby". You suddenly started to shower his face with your kisses. The room which had turned cold and only the sound of rain could be heard now resonates with laughter filled with adoration and warmth.

SAMPO KOSKI —

He knew he had an aura, which many found annoying. As a result, he believed that nobody would find him attractive or likeable, but you were different. Although you did admit to him one day that he might get a little clumsy at times but you liked his silly little attitude by saying "oh you're just a silly little guy babe" and oh what that endearment did to him. His cheeks bloomed full red like fresh ripe strawberries. Ever since then, he would ask you to call him by whatever nicknames you wish for.

Usual day in both of your lives. Trying to not get caught by Silvermane Guards as they chase both of you together. Hastily opening up a portal using your ability, you escape the chase. By now, you have gotten enough experience to know where to land and when to open up the portal. "Another successful escape! goodness I was worried about my client's goods" he sighed to you "It's only a success when it's me bro you've got caught more than 4 times if I'm not wrong" you told him panting and sweating. "I know, I know ! that's why I always take you with me, dear. ". "Yeah, yeah, I know, babe, let's go home. I wanna sleep so ba—" abruptly hoisting you up in his muscular arms, he proceeded to walk towards the desired destination "Oh come on I know you can never be so feisty when I'm around" you know you cannot argue with him too much since he always has a thing or two to counter your statement with so chuckling at his childlike behaviour you kissed him on the cheek. What an eventful day it was...

#honkaiposting #honkai star rail #hsr fluff #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr blade #blade x reader #blade fluff #hsr sampo #sampo x reader #sampo fluff #hsr gepard #gepard x reader #sampo koski #gepard landau #gepard fluff #dan heng fluff #hsr dan heng #dan heng x reader #hsr drabbles #hsr headcanons

[katapotato55]

how to make your writing be remembered forever and possibly be well loved.

(incredibly stupid and silly fanfiction line at the end of this post) I know that title is incredibly daunting but listen, its very simple. you ready?

MAKE STRONG CHARACTERS

"but kat! surely its not that simple! " nononono listen. bear with me. I want you to think of your favorite thing. Now ask: what do you remember the most about the thing you love? I will go first:

I love team fortress 2. and guess what: this game has been around since 2007, and was in development hell since before I was even born. The game has been around for 16 fucking years. And guess what? in the strong year of 2023 team fortress 2 Is STILL getting memed about. and do you want to know the crazy part? the character designs to the naked eye are not special at all. ok sure from a designer standpoint, these are very well designed characters made so that you can easily tell who they are based on their silhouette. but from the average joe.... tf2 is iconic but overall it looks ok. it doesn't seem special to a stranger to tf2. look at this completely random and arbitrary example of a game in the same genre:

I don't know shit about the characters in overwatch. Yeah i have a BASIC idea on what their personality is like based on voice lines and some videos i guess... but in-game they just exist. these characters are brightly colored, they have beautiful unique designs, hell they have even more diversity such as robots and people from other cultures! but i don't remember shit about these characters. Maybe I remember the ice lady and tracer, but nothing else. and yeah part of overwatch struggling right now is incompetant development, BUT: The characters in team fortress 2 are SO remember-able because the characters have such a vibrant personality. I am an orange box owner, its been a decade and a half and I am still remembering this game and enjoying art about it.

"but kat! that is a comedy game! Overwatch is a very serious game! are you saying comedy is needed to make a character more noticeable?" no. though I think allowing your characters to lighten up every now and then would humanize them. Not full on goofy, just give them something that makes them likeable. and if you cant do that, you can STILL make a compelling character even though they are mostly seriousness. I have an even more awfully thought out example:

kung fu panda is a masterclass in making a serious comedic movie somehow work. Master Oogway.... he isn't a comedic character at all. Yeah we made memes about him, but ignoring that, he is a wise and resourceful person. He is at calm and has faith in this intuition. there are a lot of characters like this. What makes Oogway stand out is that he is also a little bit kooky and sassy.

this youtube clip sums up what I mean. It is a funny line, it fits the character, and It doesn't ruin the seriousness of the moment. Some of the most successful series in history have something about them that has appealed to people. In my opinion: characters with strong personality and interesting traits is always a good way to ensure your writing is successful. The second most important is the characters bouncing off of each other in terms of their chemistry with each other. There is a reason why I spent years playing the first Destiny game and all of the DLC, but I remember fuck all about the characters. I think I maybe remember the bootleg star lord robot guy.

A writing exercise

here is an exercise to get you in the spirit of character making. step 1- get a random character from a random bit of media. In this case let me bring you master Oogway. Step 2- Get a completely different character from a completely unrelated series. I am going to give you Scout from team fortress 2. step 3- write a random ass thing about them interacting. Think about how the characters would react to each other and why. Think about each characters values in life and think about how they would bond and conflict with each other. Think about characters similar to the character they met in the past and how they reacted then, and if they have never interacted, make something interesting with it. Step 4- keep experimenting. Once you get into the spirit you can apply this to any new character you could want to make anyways thats it byeee- "arent you going to do that ?" do what? "make a writing thing about oogway and scout. " ........

Scout: let's go turtle you got nothing on my speed- Oogway: The one who first resorts to violence shows that he has no more arguments. Scout: that sounds like chicken talk! come on tough guy let me have it- Oogway then proceeds to make scout eat shit before vanishing in a cloud of cherry blossoms and dust from the desert. If this post isn't popular I want you to know my dignity was lost for nothing.

#please read the post before you comment “oooh no why do you have so many random tags”. they are not random this post is just weird as fuck #trust me on this this absolutely does actually have something to do with both kung fu panda and team fortress 2 please read the post first #also fan art or writing bits based on the oogway and scout interaction I made would be 100% appreciated and loved by me. #I would love to see what yall make based on the exercise i made! #writing tips #writing advice #creative writing #writing #writers #character analysis #team fortress #team fortress 2 #tf2 #overwatch #overwatch 2 #kung fu panda #master oogway #tf2 scout

[yan-lorkai]

Hello~ Could I request a Sebastian x reader where his darling gets confused when kidnapped cuz his darling has low self-esteem and zero experience with love and becomes shy? (Implying that nobody's confessed to reader before)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ This was simply too much to take in such a short time, so much information, so much everything. The worst part was how Sebastian was looking at you, so serene as if he just didn't confessed to you. But... He was lying right? Maybe he would kill right here and right now, you were not sure why though as you aren't a danger for Ciel. You aren't powerful, didn't have any influential friends.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ "If you're going to kill me, you don't need to lie." You say because you know there's just no way he love you as he claim. There's nothing likeable in you, you're not inteligent enough, not as beautiful as other people, not as good. You were the worst of the worstest and nobody had ever confessed to you before. But Sebastian has the nerve to pretend that he is surprised by your response and you hate it. You hate how he blinks, how his mouth tremble, how he frowns.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ You look the other way, admiring the bed that seems so comfy and cozy, and only a few steps from distance. For a kidnapper, Sebastian through a lot about your comfort, all your things are on the shelves, organized as you prefer. Your shake your hands, testing the handcuffs. Hesitantly you look at him.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ "I beg your pardon?" His head is tilted, confused by your behavior. Truly he expected to see you screaming and struggling against your restraints, calling for help, anything. But you aren't, in fact he isn't sure what's going through your head. But for you, he seems to be mocking you. What else would he do? Kiss you? Hold you? A blink of your eyes and you knew he's going to stab you at any second now. "What gives you the impression I'm lying, my soul?"

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He is so cruel. But you suppose you can entertain him a little and gestures to yourself. "Look at me, who could love me? I'm not really cool or interesting, I'm not even beautiful. And now you are here telling that you love me? As if, nobody could love me!"

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ You feel silly telling him all that but looking around, there's not much you can do but try to appeal to whatever compassion he has. Maybe if you look pathetic enough he'll release you. Sebastian though seems to be processing everything, he was expecting fear, tears, he practiced mentally how he would soothe you. He wanted everything to be perfect. But this was something unexpected that he didn't predicted, lucky him, he knew how to navigate around and twisted it to his advantage. Kneeling at your feet and holding your bound hand on his, offering you a small smile, a comforting, warm one.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ "I truly love you, darling." He kissed your hand. "I love your smile", another kiss, on your wrist, "I love your happy face," this time was a little higher and he was planning to go up till he was facing you. Your heart beating loudly. "I love your voice, your personality, your laugh, the way you dance when you think you're alone, the way you bite your lip when you're indecisive, how you play with animals, every single thing, I love it all."

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ So many soft, light kisses he was leaving by your arm, face already at your neck where he was appreciating your scent. The whole experience was so strange. Was he serious? Everything he said was true? Your whole face was burning in embarrassment while you thought. No, he wants serious, he could be. Or could he?

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Sebastian let his head rest on your neck, looking at you with those beautiful ruby eyes. "Believe it or not, my darling, but I'm going to make you understand by any means necessary how much I feel for you."

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Looking at you, defenseless, incredulous, he couldn't help but smile. It was so bad for you that he had fallen in love with you and now it was even badder as he would use your insecurity against you, subtly, creating a spider web that would tie you up without you noticing, all those plans and thoughts shining in his beautiful red eyes as he looked at you.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He planted a last kiss on your lips, it was chaste and innocent even though it comes from a demon. "I love you."

#yandere black butler #yandere sebastian michaelis #yandere sebastian #yandere sebastian x reader #yandere sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis x y/n #lorkai headcanons

[antimatterz]

down bad, huh?

pairing: dan heng x gn!reader (ft. march 7th)

summary: you can't hold it in anymore; your crush on dan heng is getting serious and you just have to talk about it. but little do you know that a certain someone is within earshot.

cw: fluff, pining, bit of humor (?) maybe, probably ooc dan heng

enyo's note: got this idea while answering an ask. to the anon who sent that ask; thank you for indirectly inspiring me !

content under the cut | masterlist

"so what is it that's on your mind?" march asked, looking at you with curious eyes. "you look like it's really bothering you."

"it is bothering me," you nodded truthfully.

and oh, it was. and it had been bothering you from the very beginning. and by now it had reached a point where you just couldn't hold it in anymore. you had to talk about it, because it was driving you insane.

ever since you woke up without memories, two people had been around you non-stop. and like that, they grew to mean something to you, both in a different way.

there was march, who grew to be your best friend rapidly. the girl was always there with her everlasting enthusiasm, making her very easily likeable. she was your biggest hypeman, but as much as she was a talker, she also proved to be a good listener who tried her best to give you advice when you were in need of some.

and then there was dan heng, the mysterious raven-haired guy with solemn gray eyes that never seemed to stray away from you. it had taken you some time to get used to him, if you were fully honest. the male was often quiet, and when he spoke he was blunt and straight-to-the point, unintentionally bold sometimes. but he enthralled you, and your infatuation was quick to grow into a silly crush.

a crush you had to talk about with your best friend.

"okay, where do i start," you mused, suddenly feeling slightly nervous now that you were about to speak up about your crush on dan heng for the very first time.

how would march react? would she be surprised? would she disapprove of your feelings for your fellow trailblazer? though you couldn't think of any reason why she would do so, you were a little worried regardless.

"i wanna know everything from the start, y/n," march urged, and the girl was nearly at the point of clenching her fists in excitement. she was so eager to find out what you were about to tell her, curiosity sparkling in her pretty eyes.

"okay, here goes," you sighed, your shoulders drooping a little as you forced yourself to relax. for the final time, you shot a glance around the area to see if you were really alone, and then you spoke up.

"it's dan heng." you felt butterflies in your stomach as you said his name out loud, and march's eyes widened as she realized where this was going. after all, what else could this be about? the blush that painted your cheeks gave away the words that weren't spoken yet, but you continued regardless.

"you know, that moment when i opened my eyes and he was basically about to kiss me?" you said awkwardly, taking the hem of your shirt between the pads of your fingers. "it made me feel butterflies all over, and i guess those never left."

"sooooo, you like dan heng?" march marvelled, a massive smile creeping up her features. "that's so so so cute! you have to tell me more, y/n."

her enthusiastic reaction brought a grin to your face, relief washing over you. she seemed excited about your confession which spurred you on to tell her more.

"yeah, i do. he's just so... so... have you seen him, march? his hair is so fluffy, his eyes are beautiful, he's beyond pretty. and aeons, don't get me started on his personality. okay, i have to admit that i was intimidated by him at first, but he's such a nice and caring guy when he opens up and you get to know him. and his words, march. he just... i'm so down bad."

a breathy laugh bubbled up from your best friend's throat, and she wiggled her eyebrows at you suggestively. "oh, y/n, you really are down bad. so what now? are you going to do something about it?"

you hastily shook your head no, for merely the idea brought you a rush of panic. confessing to dan heng? you could never. you didn't have the courage to do that, afraid of being turned down by him. you weren't sure if you could handle that. and besides, you developed quite a nice friendship with the male and you knew better than to put that at risk.

"aww, but you two'd be so cute together!" march protested with a pout, her voice being way too loud for your liking.

"march," you hissed, pressing your index finger against her lips to shut her up momentarily. it looked like you were alone, but hertha's space station was packed with researchers and you didn't want any of them to find out about your crush.

"sorry," the girl sheepishly apologized.

"don't tell anyone," you almost pleaded her. march was an absolute harmless sweetheart but her mouth often ran faster than her mind. but she was your best friend regardless, so of course you had to share the news with her.

you offered her a smile, one she enthusiastically reciprocated immediately. she was obviously elated after hearing the news and it wasn't hard to figure out what went through her mind right now. she was probably shipping the two of you avidly by now, and you could only hope she wouldn't come up with crazy ideas to get the two of you together. really, as much as you liked dan heng, you didn't want him to find out. let alone if march would meddle about. you internally cringed as you imagined the girl dropping not-so-subtle hints around the male. no, you sincerely hoped it wouldn't get to that point.

"my lips are sealed, y/n," she promised you.

little did you know that it mattered not; a certain someone had overheard your entire conversation. march keeping quiet or speaking up would no longer make a difference.

~ ♡ ~

it was pretty late at night. you were still in the lobby of the astral express, seated on one of the comfortable benches. march had passed by a couple of minutes ago, bidding you goodnight before retreating to her room. welt and himeko had left quite a while ago and you didn't know where dan heng was. well, you were quite relieved about the latter. you didn't know if you were prepared to face him after today. you've harbored feelings towards him for a long time, but it somehow felt more official now that you've said it out loud.

it was about time you headed to your room as well. you were getting pretty tired, almost dozing off right then and there. it was utterly quiet inside the train, which didn't aid to the fact that you were nearing the point of falling asleep.

but the door opened, and the person you least wanted to see entered the lobby. your drowsiness evaporated on the spot and you sat up, cheeks painted in a shade of red that rapidly gained saturation. okay, your previous statement held a faint hint of a lie; you did want to see him, but were you prepared? no, you weren't. you fought the urge to hide your face in your hands, forcing yourself to offer him a reluctant smile.

you expected him to pass you by, to head to the archive room like he usually did. but he didn't, and instead took a seat next to you.

"hi, y/n," he greeted you, his solemn gray eyes meeting yours.

something about his gaze awakened a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, and you struggled to maintain eye contact as you greeted him back. a silence followed, and you fidgeted with your fingers as dan heng's gaze didn't falter. he seemed to be looking right through you, and you were pretty damn sure your blush was painfully obvious by now.

"so..." dan heng spoke up after what felt like long minutes.

you hummed questioningly, eyeing him curiously. the male suddenly looked reluctant and awkward instead of his usual calm and collected demeanor, and a sense of suspicion grew in your mind – much to your horror.

dan heng cleared his throat, momentarily averting his eyes as he seemed to gather himself before facing you once more. he looked more confident now, though his reddened cheeks basically confirmed what you already feared.

"down bad, huh?" he inquired, and you swore your soul left your body at that very moment. your breath halted for a second, and your heart performed somersaults in your chest.

a rush of panic came over you. dan heng knew? that was your worst nightmare coming true. you breathed out, trying but failing to calm yourself. this had never been part of the plan, he wasn't meant to find out! aeons, you were supposed to crush on him in silence.

"d-did march–" you stuttered, because what else could've happened? she was the only one who knew, you told no one else about your feelings.

"no, it wasn't march," dan heng reassured you. "she didn't tell me anything. i just... i just happened to be there and then i heard you saying my name. i got curious and eavesdropped."

you felt ashamed, so so ashamed. you genuinely thought you were all alone when you told march, you checked multiple times and besides from a few researchers far out of earshot, no one was around – or so you thought. this was the worst case scenario, the worst way he could possibly find out. oh aeons, you were doomed. you weren't ready for what was bound to happen next. he would reject you, and your friendship would turn weird.

"i'm sorry,'" you squeaked, staring downward in order to avoid his gaze.

"for what?" dan heng asked, taken aback by your sudden apology. "are you sorry for liking me? you don't have to say sorry for that, y/n."

"but–" you began, all sorts of reasons and excuses flooding your panicked mind. you bravely faced him, but it was as if the air was knocked out of your lungs as you found him looking at you with a tiny smile.

"i'll be honest. i'm glad i overheard that conversation," the raven-haired male admitted, nervousness brimming behind his gray eyes for once. "because if i didn't... i wouldn't have had the courage to tell you that i feel the same."

"you... what?" you asked, the meaning of his words not yet quite dawning upon you. your feelings for dan heng were not unrecruited? you feared that he wouldn't feel the same, which had kept you from confessing for so long. and here he was, telling you that he felt the same after accidentally catching wind of your crush on him.

"i like you, y/n," he said bluntly, the little smile disappearing as his placid mask ghosted over his features again. but his eyes had changed, as he gazed at you warmly.

he inched closer to you and took your hand. the gesture made you laugh awkwardly, but you scoured your entire being for some leftover courage and leaned against him.

"i like you too, dan heng," you smiled. "so much that i wish i didn't wake up before you were about to kiss me– i mean, give me cpr."

then, as you realized what you had just blurted out, your hand shot up and clasped over your mouth. oh, you were really hanging out with march too much, your mouth was running faster than your mind way too often!

"oh?" dan heng said, quirking a brow.

"i–i mean– !" you quickly began, but a finger against your lips made you seal your mouth. you swallowed your words as he succesfully made you shut up, even more so when his index finger was replaced by his lips.

they were soft, incredibly so, and felt heavenly against yours. your widened eyes were soon to flutter closed as you grasped on to what was happening, and you kissed him back. a whole zoo sprung to life in your stomach as you realized, dan heng was kissing you!! it only lasted briefly and he pulled back way too soon for your liking.

"you don't need to be knock-out for that, y/n," the male spoke. "i'll kiss you without needing any reason to do so."

you beamed at him, happiness filling your entire being. dan heng was so blunt sometimes, making him unintentionally bold – which, on its turn, brought butterflies to your tummy.

"then do it again," you grinned, delighted with this unexpected turn of events. you didn't know where you got the sudden courage from, all the awkwardness dissolving.

"gladly," dan heng nodded, and he complied.

it all started as an accident, but it turned out to be the best mistake you ever made. you felt silly. silly, because you so long feared that your crush was one-sided. but apparently coincidence was on your side, and when you went to sleep that night, you were no longer single.

you couldn't wait to tell march.

#honkai star rail #hsr #dan heng #honkai #dan heng x reader #honkai dan heng #honkai: star rail #hsr dan heng #dan heng honkai star rail #dan heng imagine #dan heng imagines #dan heng x you #dan heng x y/n #dan heng hsr #dan heng honkai #— enyo writes

[intotherumiverse]

★ ૮₍ ≧ . ≦ ₎ა 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 !!

ღ. synopsis ; one peice characters and the majors and trades they're in !

ღ. featuring ; luffy m. ; zoro r. ; sanji v. ; ussop ; robin ; nami ; chopper ; brook + bonus !

ღ. cw ; weed mention, cursing, shitposting

ღ. notes ; i haven't written in so long I forgot how to so this.... bare w me on this one !

luffy

luffy is an international relation major

all the professors love him and its defintely the only reason he's passing his classes

he has not one clue what going on (most of the time), head empty

also has really good finals grades

like its so surprising to see him pass with a low b high c average

he's really likeable, everyone and they momma wants to hang out with him

usally hanging out with sanji (bc he cooks) or zoro (caus he thinks he's cool)

he tutors with nami and robin sometimes (they're the only ones that can deal with him on the regular)

he's so silly and goofy i love him your honor

zoro

bussniess major but is never doing what he needs to do

classes? not in them. Homework? What's that? he is no where to be found and that should scare you.

he's somehow doing well in class and no one can figure out how he's doing it.

he's the captain of the fighting club (first rule of fight club? no talking about fight club) and he's good with members and running them

he hates the idea of hazing in his club and will kick you out if you try it

he has a special bond with one of the advisors given to him and he defends him like hell

he hangs around luffy bc he thinks of him as a little brother and wants to make sure he's alright

fights with sanji because he thinks its sooooo fucking funny

he's a regualar at the local bar to the point they don't even I.D him anymore they're just like "there's zoro."

sanji

definitely a food science major

he loves trying out new recipes and helping in the kitchen

sometimes when money gets low, he'll have a bake sale and they always do really fucking well

sometimes he'll take apprentenships for "fun" and so he's just racked up expirence in working in different places

his dream job is to have his own resturant where he can create his own dishes and not take any shit from anyone

also (because my sanji is a weed smoker not a cig user) will sometimes make weed pastries and they do so well when he sells them

would be outside on a smoke break but somehow never smells like weed its so crazy

would be the type of student to grumble and complain about homework but still do it anyway (he's just like me fr)

ussop

went to a shopworking trade school (his momma didn't want him to learn nothing after high school so she made him)

he found out later that he like working on different things and keeping himself busy

he also like gardening in his spare time

he's like really good at it and sometimes when his garden is too much for his family, he'll either give it to his neighbors or sell it in the farmer's market

his most frequent customer is sanji because sanji likes the freshest products avaliable

sanji askes him to hang out and try his recipes from time to time and eventually he makes friends with everyone

nami

earth sceiene major with minor in accounting

she is the the most ruthless student you'll ever meet

she don't take any shit from no one regardless of who you are, which is why she makes such a good tutor

she makes sure all her students get a good grade and because she tutors both zoro and luffy, she makes BANK

she also is the pretty girl on campus and all her friends pretty too !

hair done, lashes done, lashes done, face card don't decline, body tea !

she loves hanging out with the group but she'll never tell you that but everyone knows she cares about her people

she's lowkey scary

she isn't afriad to curse you the fuck out when you piss her off

fiercely loyal my girl nami is badddd

robin

history major with a minor in english

knows everything about everything and is one of the best tutors of the campus

she's kinda shy (mostly cause she doesn't like people but she's trying)

luffy thought she was cool and just kept bothering her until she reluctantly accepted

she's a real history buff and can debate her history like no one else

once got into it with zoro for a peice of random history

chopper

struggling medicene major

he looks stressed at all times and somehow is keeping a 4.0 gpa

luffy and zoro will come over with brusises and he just takes one look at him and sighs deeply

he helps in the nursing home with the doctors because he feels happy when people are treated

he doesn't like when people treat him or others differently so he's such a big advocate for anti discrimination against anyone

he likes helping people that most doctors would ignore and people hate him for that

he's not good at taking compliments so its funny to see him react to the compliments

he loves sweets and he loves when sanji makes them so he's always first in line at sanjis bake sale

he's so cute and small your honor

frankky

mechanic (trade school)

a literal grease monkey

he's always making something in his garage and

he makes custom peices for his friends and even sold some to some of the rich kids

besides that he's really cool about things

he's co chill about everything and help fix things whenever the crew needs it

all in all a cool dude

brook

old ass music head

he's one of the best musicains and he's so casual about it

he's a allumi for the school and he takes students every year to train them and teach them what he knows

he only takes like 5 students a year so the spots are very competative and very hard to get into

hes so chill otherwise

the type of mentor to call you out on your bullshit but still

extra little bonus scene!

the gang goes to Jinbe's resturant every week after all they're classes. Luffy had stumbled upon it one day and he just slowly started to get his friends to go their and that's just become their hangout spot since then. Jinbe pretends to hate when they come over but in all actuality, he loves talking to them and getting to know them as a group and as individuals. he loves their energy and will make sure they eat well and they're getting good grades.

no tag list for now but make sure you're supporting the people that are spending time making works for your entertainment !

@rynfiles ; @strawhatkia

#one piece luffy #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #zoro x reader #luffy x reader #sanji x reader #robin x reader #brook x reader #one piece chopper #frankky x reader #one peice #one piece #one piece x you #one piece x black!reader #monkey d. luffy #ronoroa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #one piece nami #nico robin #cyborg franky #soul king brook #tony tony chopper #jinbe

[ant1quarian]

Question, How do you tell you're being courted by an Avian, and if so can you do the Bad sans, Classic and Red trying to Court YN?

How could you tell? They're actively around you and also protecting you- even outside of their territory.

They'll be following you around like it's normal, posing as one of the various monsters in society if they really have to- but always, always avoiding eye-contact with almost everyone else.

Classic is a lot more casual with how he hangs around. He's still got that likeable persona that he can put up if he needs to. He'll stroll up to your workplace and pop in to say hello if he misses you, but otherwise he's probably hanging around on top of buildings in order to escape any ignorant humans or monsters that might attempt to touch him. Avians aren't well known, and there are a couple of monsters with wings that he could pass as.

Red is also very charming, and will actively hang around. But be careful about hanging around other people that may show romantic interest in you- he can get somewhat jealous. Other than that he, like Classic, will somewhat manage to pass as a winged monster.

Nightmare is very devoted as a lover, but he will only be able to visit you within the night time as he is busy throughout the day as a Pastor to his flock. He will often wrap you up in his wings when he hugs you.

Dust is very attentive- always following, always around. Silent and very much the omen of death his legends tell of- but yours. Always yours. There. Intimidating. A threat glimmering in his mismatched eyelights, always softening whenever his gaze lands on you. You'd have to be an utter fool to not know how much he cares for you.

Killer is even more of a little shit, but in a warm, affectionate way. He doesn't like to explicitly tell you he loves you- but he does. He likes to follow you around a lot, sort of like a cat wanting food. He also likes to intimidate other people by simply being there. He's about as jealous as he is territorial.

Axe is... like a lost puppy, in some aspects. He loves to just follow you and hang around. It's also super common for him to just start doing random crap for you- including fixing things and uncharacteristically cleaning things up.

Cross can and will be your personal bodyguard and also the most devoted silly guy you'll ever know. He's very, very sweet but also very protective, which often leads to him hovering around you and glaring down anyone who tries to get a bit too close to you in his opinion.

Thank you for the ask! :D

#Arian's Asks #Arian's Avians #Aviantale #Cross Sans x Reader #Horrortale Sans x Reader #Killer Sans x Reader #Dust Sans x Reader #Nightmare Sans x Reader #Sans x Reader #Underfell Sans x Reader

[omgrachwrites]

One of The Lads - Sirius Black

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Warnings: swearing and fluff!!

Request: Could I get au number 8, for secret relationship with Sirius black and female reader? Where maybe they’re only secret because she’s like the pet of the friend group to everyone with how like silly she is and no one really expected the 2 of them, lots of fluff please 🙏 and only if you want to ofc, take it easy and don’t rush! Thank you for consideringggg🧡🧡 - @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader

A/N: Thanks so much for requesting love! I hope everyone enjoys, I love you all very much! xxx

It was a wet and dreary day in October, the enchanted ceiling overhead was exceptionally dull with dark grey clouds floating in the centre, that looked to burst at any moment. The bad weather seemed to have an impact on some of the Hogwarts students, not you though, you loved weather like this.

Although long, summer days were glorious, sometimes you yearned for the cold weather when you could wrap up in your fluffy coat and scarf. Weather where you could all rush to Hogsmeade, finding shelter and warmth in a corner The Three Broomsticks, laughing and joking over a pint of Butterbeer before wandering back to the castle in the dark, you way lit only by a couple of streetlamps.

Remus tried to give you an unimpressed look but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried not to laugh when another marshmallow hit him between the eyes, “Jesus, Y/N! You’re the best seeker that we’ve had in years, how can you not land a marshmallow in a giant mug,” he laughed as he gestured to his enormous mug of hot chocolate.

You pulled a face at him, “I can catch things well enough, I just can’t throw them,” you proved your statement as you lobbed another marshmallow and it completely missed its mark as it flew past Remus’ shoulder and hit someone on the back of their head.

“What’s going on here?” Sirius laughed as he finally joined the breakfast table, “it looks like a marshmallow factory has exploded,” his voice was rough from sleep and his hair was a little messy as he ran a hand through it.

You were momentarily speechless as you gazed up at him, your mouth slightly open, in your opinion he looked the most handsome after just waking up. You and Sirius had been dating for a couple of months. In complete secret. You had even hidden it from your best friends, not for any malicious reasons of course, you didn’t know how they would take it. Dating within the friendship was some sort of forbidden unspoken rule.

“Y/N, is being a pain in the arse,” Remus grinned at you.

You gasped, pretending to be offended, “I’m a delight.”

Remus rolled his eyes as he looked at his best friend, “she can’t get a marshmallow into my mug, embarrassing really,” he joked, immediately contradicting his words as a marshmallow soared into the mug, making a tiny splash.

James, who had been watching let out a weak cheer, “finally. That was fucking painful to watch,” he smirked as you gave him the finger.

Sirius grinned at you as he sat next to you, his little finger linking with yours, his way of saying I love you when he couldn’t say it out loud. You smiled back as you linked your fingers together.

As you, Remus and Sirius walked down to Potions, you could see James once again, trying his hardest to chat up Lily Evans. To be fair, this year she seemed to hate him less, James’ head had really deflated in size and he was much more likeable. Lily caught your eye over James shoulder and she rolled her eyes with a grin before trying to look like she was interested in whatever James was saying.

You smirked at the couple, wanting to get James back for what he said at breakfast, and you did just that. Taking your wand from the inside of your robes you subtly pointed it at James’ bag, muttering a spell. A quiet ripping noise and a louder crash echoed through the corridors of the dungeons as the seams on James’ bag was pulled apart and his belongings went crashing to the floor. James let out a very high pitched yelp as he scrambled to pick his stuff up, his glasses falling down his nose and his cheeks flushing.

Your face must have given you away because he shook his head and slung an arm over your shoulders as you all walked into the classroom. He glared at you but when he spoke you could hear the laughter in his voice.

“That was so mean.”

You laughed as you looked up at him, “you still love me though, right?”

He groaned “yes, I do,” he replied reluctantly.

More of your silliness ensued while you were making your potion, you were all brewing an Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Unfortunately, it seemed as though you had put in too much of one ingredient and not enough of another, which resulted in the effects being too strong, reducing you and your friend Alice into fits of silent giggles. Slughorn looked up at you both, shaking his head.

Finally, it came to yours and Sirius’ free period so you were sitting down at the deserted boat house, Sirius was sitting behind you with his arms wrapped around you as he placed sweet kisses on your cheek. You hummed as you leaned back into him and you felt him smile against your skin. There was nothing but the sound of the howling wind and the rippling of the water before Sirius spoke up.

“I want to tell people we’re dating.”

You tensed up in his arms and glanced at him over your shoulder to find him grinning at you but his grey eyes held a look of vulnerability, “you do?”

“Yeah, I know you’re not big on the idea.”

You sighed, “I want to tell people Sirius, I do,” you hesitated, “but I mean, I’m not exactly your type am I?”

Sirius frowned, a crease forming between his eyebrows, “you’re beautiful, smart and funny. Exactly my type,” he kissed you gently.

You flushed at his words as you fiddled with the ring that he wore on his thumb, “everyone sees me as just ‘one of the lads’ though, they’d be weirded out if they found out we were together.”

“Our friends would want us to be happy, Y/N.”

You knew he was right, of course he was right. You guys had the best friends in the whole world who would be happy for you. Finally, you nodded, “okay. Let’s tell them.”

After classes were over, you both walked into the dormitory, hand in hand and found your friends sitting by the fire, “we have to tell you guys something,” Sirius spoke up.

Remus smirked as he pointed at your joined hands, “is it something to do with that?” his words caused you and Sirius to exchange a look.

James’ eyes widened slightly, “wow, I never would have thought of you guys as a couple,” your face dropped at James’ words and you exchanged another nervous look with Sirius.

“What do you mean by that?” you whispered, bracing yourself.

“Well, he’s infuriating enough as a best friend, never mind a boyfriend. You’re a saint, Y/N,” James joked and you let out a relived sigh, “I’m really happy for you guys.”

“Me too,” Remus grinned as Sirius turned to give you a little kiss.

“C’mon, I snuck into the kitchens and stole some Firewhiskey, let’s celebrate,” James picked up a bottle of amber liquid, shaking it with a suggestive look on his face.

#sirius black #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #remus lupin #james potter #lily evans #fluff #one shot #the marauders era #the marauders #hp marauders #marauders era

[herzspalter]

Rise of the Beasts spoiler thoughts:

I had a guy next to me who got really nitpicky with their buddy about Elena being stupid for standing so close to Airazor going rogue, but I genuinely don't think that was the character being dumb for the script. That felt like an impulsive bad decision to me that someone might do in her position. She wanted to help and didn't think twice about how small she is. I don't know, characters doing something stupid isn't always bad writing, sometimes people do dumb shit irl too because they got tunnel vision and, in her case, just wanted to help because someone was in distress.

I personally never enjoy ultra violent Optimus Prime killing people left and right, but it didn't bother me as much here as it does in the other live action movies. He's not presented as the perfect guy, he's flawed and frustrated, and even though I prefer Optimus being a gentle but stern guy, I don't mind him Scorpion-Fatality-killing a dude in this because I think within the context of the movie, it makes sense. I always hated him in the Bay-directed movies because he's presented as this perfect hero, but he also kills people who are defenceless and begging for their lives, and that just doesn't work for me :) Crazy, I know!

This movie wasn't a big jack off session for America so I liked that a lot, the other live action movies are a fucking propaganda fest (I havent seen Bumblebee so I dont know about that one)

I like that the US military isn't a part in this movie at all thank god, but I'm worried about the GI Joe stuff at the end. GI joe is extremely stupid and can be a lot of fun if treated with the silliness that the original cartoon is, but man I hope they don't turn this into military propaganda :( I know they very likely will because that's what GI Joe is, but I can still wish hahaha

I like Noah, he reminded me of Raoul from G1, I think both him and Elena are likeable, I didn't mind hanging out with them

Mirage is MVP I'm so happy Mirage finally gets to do something

#Transformers #Rise of the Beasts #spoilers