#anyway let's get em back up to 50 :' )

[blcssom]

hiiiiiiii to celebrate finally getting my life together (rp life no one ask abt my work life) i decided i want more things so !!!! like this for a wishlist starter <3

i'll come to you for a muse or two, so i've put the ones i'm feeling under the cut -- or if we're mutuals and you have a particular ship/muse (who may or may not be on my main muse list!!) you wanna revisit, just lmk !!!

alden richter || 40 - retired boxer/gym owner (assassin au) / bisexual / theo james

beau greer || 32 - librarian/cam boy / bisexual / drew starkey

brianne barlowe || 30 - personal stylist / bisexual / sarah catherine hook

clover beckett || 27 - fitness instructor / bisexual / michelle randolph

damini somerset || 32 - matchmaker / bisexual / simone ashley

esther devlin || 34 - sex therapist / bisexual / willa fitzgerald

ethan greer || 29 - intimacy coordinator / bisexual / harris dickinson

felix beckett || 45 - mechanic/ex-con / heterosexual / ryan gosling

gemma curtis || 30 - etsy store owner (crafter) / bisexual / aimee lou wood

katherine taylor || 53 - publicist / bisexual / jennifer connelly

paloma rubino || 25 - professional cuddler / bisexual / maia reficco

roxanne evans || 26 - stage sound designer / homosexual / ruby cruz

seth barlowe || 35 - sports journalist / heterosexual / glen powell

travis bell || 30 - stuntman / bisexual / nick robinson

virginia brooks || 29 - scam artist (serial thief) / bisexual / margaret qualley

[bixbythemartian]

50+ Ways to Annoy the Death Witch

Chapter 1: Call her a Necromancer

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I was on the porch sketching when Callahan showed up.

Callahan works for the Council and investigates witchy doings. Mostly in the vein of ‘please lets keep the normies from trying to murder us all’, though that concern has gone down a TON in the internet era.

You’d think it would be the opposite, right? Everybody has a camera, all the time. Surely they’d catch actual magic!

Yeah. They do, all the fuckin time, and they call it something else. Or they do call it magic, and they’re called crazy. You've seen 'em. The internet is full of people who think giants or aliens built the pyramids, people who claim they see shadow people, or think their neighbor controls the cows, they just don't stand out.

Anyway, work has dried up for Callahan and people like him, is my point. It's a much slower gig than it was back in the day.

Is he a witch cop? Ehhhh... he’s the closest we come. Mostly he’s just trying to keep us out of the news, like I said. If one of us was really out of line he’d take it to the council and let them handle it (usually by binding the witch’s magic), but that hasn’t happened in a couple of decades.

He still comes and crawls up my ass every time some teenager finds an old grimoire and brings back the family pet, or whatever.

I stood up as his truck came down the drive. That was my last big project, taking the gravel out and putting pavers in for the driveway. It was expensive as hell, but it means that I can just swap a paver out if one cracks, rather than having to have to deal with gravel all the time.

I do kind of miss the noise of the gravel, though.

That payday was from his last visit, come to think- usually he comes out because he's stumped, and after he's done accusing me of atrocities and grave robbing, he hires me to help him figure out who actually did it.

Pretty often it's some kid with too much magic and not enough sense trying to bring back someone they love. It's always sad, but that's easy to handle. By the time we get involved, they're usually pretty anxious for a solution, because it has gotten out of control.

He parked next to my pickup and got out, strolling over like he had all god damned day. He’s probably in his late 30s, dark hair and eyes. He lives up in the city, these days, but his grandparents went to high school with mine, in a town that gets smaller every year, and are buried in the same damned graveyard.

I first met him in that very graveyard.

“Hey there, Miss Tabitha,” he said. “How’s my favorite necromancer?”

I sighed. He annoys me so much.

“I know, I know, you don’t like being called that.”

“I’m not a necromancer,” I said, for probably the thousandth time.

“Sure, you’re a different kind of death magic witch. Whatever.”

“A necromancer is someone who uses magic to control corpses, and can be any type of witch. I’m a death witch, my power source is the death of any and all organic matter. Some witches get their power from the earth or the stars or weather, mine happens to come from a different natural force.” I don’t know where he gets his from. For a while I suspected it was hair gel, but he switched to wearing ballcaps.

I think he’s balding.

“And you use it to keep your neighbor’s chickens from getting sick and that’s it, huh?”

“I buy eggs off her,” I said. “Do you want something, or do you just get itchy if you haven’t accused me of something unholy?”

He clicked his tongue. “Well, now, there’s a cemetery out in Macomb that’s had some bodies dug up.”

“Macomb,” I said. I knew vaguely where it was- south of highway nine, east of where I lived, but pretty easy driving distance. I’d have to look at a map to be sure, but definitely a place I could drive out and back from in a day and still have plenty of time to get up to trouble. “You actually found a local crime to accuse me of, you’re getting a bit better at your job.” He rolled his eyes.

“What’s going on in Macomb?”

“Well, like I said, some bodies went missing. The cops say it’s funny, it’s almost like they dug themselves out."

"Well, they shouldn't be doin that," I said.

"Right? Coffins are there, just the bodies are gone. I know you’re gonna say it wasn’t you, but it wasn’t you, was it? That’s close enough that you probably draw power from that cemetery. Even if it was an accident?”

“There’s closer cemeteries. Norman has at least two that I know of.”

“Well, that’s fair,” he said. “I gotta ask. Necromancy shit in our neck of the woods? I gotta ask, Tabby.”

“Don’t call me that,” I said.

“Was it you?” he insisted.

“No, it wasn’t me,” I said.

“Alright, that’s all I needed to ask.” Once he'd asked and I'd answered, that was it, he didn't pester me about it again.

“Are you trying to get my help, or do you want to wander around with your thumb up your butt for a few days first?”

“Come on, Tabitha. We’ll pay you the usual rates,” he said.

I sighed at him, just so he knew I was annoyed. “Let me put some pants on and run a brush through my hair, and then I need to see the graves.”

“We’re taking my pickup,” he said. “So, if you’ve got a step stool-”

“Ha ha,” I said. “Wait here.” I took my sketchbook inside, and dropped it on the table by the door, went to find a brush and change into jeans. Grabbed my kit- it’s just got standard odds and ends that one might need when casting on the go, some prepared spells, all stuffed in an ancient maroon Jansport.

I’m probably going to have to get a new bag soon, I’ve had this one since 8th grade, and it’s really starting to wear out.

We head out.

He’s got a 70s Ford pickup he’s been restoring, to sell. Well, he’s been ‘restoring’ it about as long as I’ve been cleaning the house out so I can sell it, maybe longer, and I've been living in the house near a decade, so. Take that as you will.

It’s in decent shape on the inside, and the a/c works, and it’s matte primer gray on the outside, has been for years now.

The road out where I live is dirt, and then it goes to gravel, before you get on something paved.

He looked up in the rearview mirror. “You know, I just figured it was someone else who lived out this way when I came out, but I do believe I’m being followed.”

I looked in the sideview mirror. There was someone behind us, but it was hard to see them through all the dust the truck was kicking up.

Magic came rushing at the mirror, and snapped it off.

“Rude,” I said.

“Did they just snap off my mirror?”

I started cranking the window down. “Turn left if you have to turn, warn me if there’s a right curve,” I said, unbuckling my belt, and wrapping it around my leg. “But try to go straight as you can, that’ll help me aim.”

“It’ll help them aim, too.”

“Don’t worry about them.” Magic whined as it pinged off the vehicle. “You really should shield the pickup.”

“I’m just gonna sell it.”

I pulled myself out of the seat to sit on the window, one hand gripping the ‘oh shit’ handle, my legs clenching the door.

Late model SUV, something dark. I could see why he recognized it right away- it was a sort of dark red and had an engine snorkel. Also some extra lights on front- someone goes out in this truck. Mudding, looks like.

They had someone standing up through the sun/moon roof firing spells at us. He was using something that looks like a gun. That’s pretty common, these days, wands resembling guns.

Wands are a type of prepared spell, they hold charges and you fire off the charges until you’re out. Most people mostly use prepared spells.

Most people just can’t hold that much magic inside their bodies- there’s an upper limit- and so the best way to store the magic they gather from the wind or the stars or the grass or whatever their thing is to make spells and put the magic there. Even the more powerful witches, witches like me with a larger capacity for magic, they tend to store a lot in prepared spells.

Most sources trickle it in. So if you blow your magical load, as it were, you have to wait for it to come back. Recharge under a starlit sky where the light pollution is low. Or lay in the tickling grass.

There’s some exceptions. Sun witches- rare- basically can refuel constantly. Oh, it’s night? Oh, it’s cloudy? The heat in the ground beneath your feet comes from the sun. The sun is a constant, even when it’s not out. Sea witches, too- they have to be in range of the coast, but within that range, powerful. There’s also rumor of one lady up in the midwest who gathers her power specifically from the Great Lakes, and she’s supposed to be one of the most powerful witches in the world.

You know what's also around all the time? Dead shit.

If it is now dead and was ever alive, even briefly, it belongs to me.

Like his wand, a bit of dead wood. I sucked the power out of his wand, and whipped it out of his hand. “Knock it the fuck off!” I shout. I could barely see him, but he looked young.

He swore, shaking his hand. “Ram them!”

The driver I could see even less of, but I could see him shaking his head.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I said.

It takes a deep spike of power- the older and longer dead something is, the more briefly it was alive, the harder it is to fuck with.

Gasoline, for example, is derived from something that died at least 66 million years ago, so it’s kind of a big one.

The driver managed not to roll the car off the road as the car engine suddenly stopped working, and Callahan came to a stop.

I figured they'd be alright, they go out mudding, they're used to shit going wrong.

“The hell did you do? It took a ton of power. My nose hairs are burning.”

“Turned their gas into mesozoic algae for long enough to shut their car off,” I said.

"What?"

"Gas is made from crude oil. Crude oil is dead shit. Specifically, algae and plankton from the mesozoic."

"Huh. Your nose is bleeding," he said.

I wiped at my nose, untangled myself from the seatbelt, and managed to dismount from the window and land on both feet, which is about as much as I could ask for.

My right eye was throbbing- I’d drained myself to the last drop for that.

Still, there was a dead skunk on the road, and dead tree limbs, and I breathed magic in. The ache receded, but probably wouldn’t go away until I'd slept.

I walked up to their SUV, the driver keeping both hands on the wheel, like I was a cop. “Hey,” I said. “What the fuck?” I put my hand on the car, and converted all the ancient ocean sludge back into gas. That was easier, but it still made my eye throb.

The wand wielder jumped out of the SUV and got up in my face, tried to shove me against the car, but Callahan grabbed him and pulled him back.

“My grandparents crawled out of their grave, and everybody knows they got a pet necromancer around here. I want them back.”

Now, I’m not actually that easy to intimidate, and he was just a snot-nosed kid who’s barely old enough to drink, if that. But he was also angry to cover up being scared.

“Well, we’re on our way to find out what’s happened. Having to stop for your bullshit isn’t helpful," Callahan said.

“Everybody knows it was you.”

“Sweetheart, if I was raising the dead, why would I start with your kin? I don’t know you, I don't know your grandparents."

He looked at the driver. He had bleached his hair and it was a sort of peachy pink that could have been intentional or it could have been to light a pink over too orange a bleach. The driver had blue-black hair that was definitely box dye. They both looked indecisive.

"It’s probably someone who know your grandparents. It’s like a murder- it’s almost always someone who knows the victim,” I said. He's just a grieving kid, they both are.

“But you’re the only necromancer in the state, maybe the country,” he said. His heart wasn't really in it, though. He was just upset.

“I’m not a necromancer,” I said. “I am a death witch. It’s not the same thing. They died recently?”

He nodded. “We spent a lot of time living with em, Mom was in and out of rehab, and Dad… I don’t know. He wasn’t around until we were older.”

“You get your magic from this side, or your Daddy’s side?”

“They had magic, but they say I got mine from Dad, and he gets his from Mom.” He jerked his head at his brother in the driver's seat.

“Okay. Why don’t you get out in front, we’ll head on out to the gas station, because I need a fuckin energy drink, and then we can go take a look. Sometimes I can see stuff nobody else can, and I have a good nose for corpses.”

“You really think you can find them?”

"I don't know for sure about finding their bodies, but I'm positive we'll get to the bottom of this," I said.

He nodded and, almost sheepish, headed back to the SUV.

“Just try and start her again,” I told the driver. “I’ll top you off at the Valero station, that trick probably pulled some out of your tank.”

The car started, and they pulled around us and sped off.

“You think they’ll be at the gas station?” Callahan asked.

“Mmm. Fifty fifty, but they’ll be at the cemetery, which is what I really care about. C’mon, I want a Monster.”

“You keep drinking that crap, your heart’ll stop.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, climbing into the truck. “Let’s go.”

Next> Latest>>

If you read this and enjoyed it, maybe you want to help out and contribute to my ko-fi? I'm disabled and that's the best way for me to earn a living right now! Check out my masterpost for other fiction.

[jeremy-ken-anderson]

The New, Relaxed, Black Mage

Black Mage was always getting worse in the current design environment of FFXIV. It was designed around maintaining a strict rotation and if you lost the track - whether you fatfingered the wrong element and cast Fire 1 when you were in Umbral 3, or you were targeting while running for your life and oops it targeted an ALLY so your spell didn't go off and now your timer's expired, womp-womp - then you really lost track. You were down the time to get back into the groove, you might be down the time to get mana going again, it was a whole thing.

And the current design environment involves a lot of unexpected movement. This makes it more difficult to keep uptime, and the assorted mobility options help but don't solve the issue.

Meanwhile, design-wise, you couldn't solve this problem with the Numbers lever. You couldn't just make the damage number go up if the Black Mage played optimally. Because then, you would merely have a greater and greater disparity between people who literally memorized, beat for beat, the entirety of every fight they took part in, and reverse-engineered it to work out the optimal place to use each part of their toolkit...and everybody else. Yoshi P is part of "everybody else" in that discussion. He's a BLM main, but he's got better things to do with his time than...that. And so do the people who woulda done it if it meant they reclaimed the Magic DPS crown from Picto.

Well, for people like me who would have this little debilitating flash of panic when we saw the timer get down to 4 seconds, the new BLM is outstanding.

I appreciate that the old way maintained a valid use for Fire 1 all the way into late game. You needed it to keep the timer going, because Fire 4 didn't reset the timer to full. But a lot of the issues with Spell Speed also applied to BLM at large, because of that design. And also, the new setup lets you cast Thunder, Foul, and Xenoglossy when they're useful, not "when you can fit them in." You can use 'em in either Astral or Umbral, without regard to when the boss moves out of attack range or threatens to drop a meteor where you're standing. You can save Polyglot for when you need to move or when the party buffs are up, and if you've got to use a stack to keep it from overcapping that's fine; doing so won't wreck everything else.

The new shorter cast times have a curious side-effect: Triplecast is now only a damage-gain ability on AoE, not during boss fights. High Fire is a 3s cast with a 2.5s recast timer, so Triplecasting that is a 20% dps gain, done by reducing the S part rather than increasing the D - You still deal 540 potency to everyone in the enemy crowd, but now you deal it in 7.5 seconds instead of 9 seconds.

All your single-target that you're intended to use take less time to cast than your GCD timer. I say "that you're intended to use" because you CAN cast Blizzard 3 while under Umbral Ice or Fire 3 without a Firestarter stack while under Astral Fire...but it's bad and dumb to do so. Don't do that. Speaking of which, I think the current setup recommends casting Blizzard 3 -> Blizzard 1 to recover your mana at level 50 against a single target? I feel like the MSQ Roulette makes that something worth being sure of... So you don't gain damage by using Triplecast on your regular stuff, meaning in boss fights it really is JUST for movement. This is an interesting case where they didn't have to do anything to the damage numbers to compensate - by increasing the cast speed they're already functionally giving more DPS than Triplecast was giving you before (any damage gain you would have been getting from "using Triplecast for optimal damage" is now just happening on every attack).

Personally, I like it so far. Only tried it out for a day, but it feels good. And at endgame you weren't using Fire 1 for Fire 1 anymore anyway, because you were exclusively using Paradox or the Firestarter it granted. The situation of using that button is still present. But in general the whole job is less rigid, more capable of adapting to changing situations without losing everything. And the design paradigm for FFXIV has been moving toward adaptation for like 2 expansions now, with Dawntrail representing a big jump that direction. BLM as it was did not fit that, and as it is fits it a little better. And I feel sorry for the folks who wish the job would mechanically gatekeep their main for them alone, but FFXIV is trying to be fun to play.

[motherish]

July 4th. My final AX day. 🥲

.. the amount of shit I’ve got to say about this day lord. 😀

🦛 Where do I even BEGIN! LOL! Actually the most NONSENSE ASS MOMENT happened first thing in the fuckin morning! So let’s begin!! 🫠

🪲 We get to AX and right away Keii and I made it our mission to go to the Love & Deepspace booth cause we wanted the bags! I saw 999 people yesterday with their big ass LADS bags of their man and I wanted mine! 😤 We line up amongst the sea of 99 other people and once we get up there we show them our game (not allowed to have a screenshot and must be level 50+) and got our bags! Ok. So before we even got ours, we saw so many people holding up their bags cause they wanted to trade em and I just KNEW that would be me cause like I said before I GOT BAD LUCK!! I saw a girl standing outside the line holding up a Zayne bag they very obviously didn’t want and I told Keii “that’s gonna be me with my Zayne bag” CAUSE I ALWAYS GET THE NERDY ONES! 🙄 I get fuckin Iida all the time and now I KNOW ima get Zayne! I even jokingly said to Keii before bed last night “let me set my alarm so I can wake up early and get my Zayne bag” cause I just KNEW. Anyway. I get up there and the dude hands me the bag and GUESS WHO THE FUCK IT WASSSS.

🥧 Zayne. I fuckin called it. I said out loud “MAN I KNEW IT WAS GONNA BE ZAYNE” and the dude handing out the bags just flatly goes “sorry it’s random 😐” NO you corroborated with the universe to bestow this bag upon me!! 🙄 Keii gets Rafayel (which is funny cause she always gets him) but her luck is impeccable cause as soon as we get out the damn line she instantly trades with a woman for an Xavier bag!! Now I’m standing there with the bag I DONT WANT thinkin “well what the fuck we gone do now.” 🦧

👹 Well. We gone walk on over to the hoard of other girls trying to get rid of their bag LOLLL 🤡 AND HOW FRUSTRATING THAT ORDEAL WAS? God. I really am trying to keep this short but it’s so hard cause I legit have so fuckin much to say. 😀 But I spent some TIMMMEEE in the blazing sun trying to get my Caleb bag! And I was betrayed at every turn!!

🎒First, a girl walks up to me asking to trade and she has Rafayel but she wants my Zayne. I go ahead and do it because whatever I want her to have her man and I wasn’t gonna keep this anyway LIKE I AM TRYING TO BE NICE! She thanks me and she’s on her way. Some girl walks up to me and goes “yeah I wouldn’t do that if I were you cause that’s how I got burned” basically saying I was gonna get fucked and I think she spoke it into existence cause I see a girl with a Caleb bag and guess who she wants. 😃 Guess. 😀 Yeah. Zayne HAHHAHAHA MY LUCK!! Some time goes by (and I mean timeeeeee ok I spent TIME out there) and a girl asks for my Rafayel and she has Zayne! I figure whatever I’ll switch back like who cares right cause that one girl DID wanna trade Caleb for Zayne! Maybe I’ll find another girl like that! So I do it!

🦋 I find a girl with a Caleb bag and guess who she wants bitch. Guess who she wants. After I traded my Rafayel bag. GUESS!!!!!

RAFAYEL!!! BITCH THE WAY I COULDA SCREAMED CAUSE WHY IS THE UNIVERSE FUCKIN WITH ME HUH??? IM LIVID!! THENNNNNN I see this girl. She has Xavier. I found ANOTHER GIRL earlier who had a Caleb bag and wants Xavier! So I ask her who she wants and she says “I want Zayne” PERFECT!! A 3 WAY TRADE!! SHE TRADES XAVIER FOR CALEB. THEN TRADES CALEB FOR MY ZAYNE. CAUSE SHE SAID SHE WANTS ZAYNE. EVERYONE WINS RIGHT??? RIGHT???? 🙂

🍓I get them to trade. I go to trade with her. She says “oh.. I’m good.” I go? 😀 What? You said you wanted Zayne? Otherwise why would I have done this? I literally say that. She tells me she’s sorry and she misspoke and she looks visibly uncomfortable and I go “yeah yeah nah.” And she scurries off. If not for the fact that I didn’t wanna get banned from AX I legit may have chopped her in her throat cause what do you MEAN you misspoke? WHAT? HOW YOU GET ZAYNE AND CALEB MIXED UP BITCH! YOURE AT LEAST LVL 50+ OTHERWISE THEY WOULDNT HAVE GIVEN YOUR ASS A BAG!! SO YOU SHOULD KNOW!!

🎱 At this point I’m defeated but still incredibly stubborn n determined. 😤 I can’t give up on getting Caleb it’s legit sunken cost fallacy at this point cause I have been out here in the hot ass sun with my long sleeve BNHA uniform on going up to ANY bitch with a Caleb bag and praying for a miracle. I was actually prepared to be out there till night cause I was GETTING my fuckin bag. 👹During this time Keii has came and went cause she’s got a damn business to run like she can’t be out here lookin at my sad ass begging for a Caleb bag!! 🥲 She messages me asking if I’m still out there lookin for a bag and MY SAD PATHETIC ASS HAHAHA YES I WAS! Keii is an angel. She comes back to support/help me some more on lookin for this bag! But I def am a lot more deflated once she sees me again cause 🫠 THE WAYYYYY I had to have a pep talk with myself!! Telling myself NOT TO GET EMOTIONAL OVER A DAMN PAPER BAG WITH GOODIES INSIDE! But it wasn’t even about the bag really at this point it was the sheer frustration with trying to get it? And that girl literally going back on her word!? Like what the fuck?

🐌 I see a girl with a Caleb bag ONCE MORE and I ask her who she wants. She tells me Xavier. 🥲 Well I ain’t got Xavier I got ZAYNE so I’m on my merry way. Keii asks me who she’s looking for and I tell her it’s Xavier and …. My heart. MY HEART!!!

IM LOOKIN OUT INTO THE DISTANCE. LOOKIN FOR ANOTHER GIRL WITH A CALEB BAG. AND SUDDENLY KEII COMES AROUND THE CORNER WITH ONE!

🥭 She gave up her Xavier bag for Caleb. 🥹 She sacrificed her man for mine. THE WAY I IMMEDIATELY GOT TEARY EYED!! She goes “I just want you to have fun and get what you want.” Love is REAL ok. It’s REAL! The way my body immediately relaxed after getting that bag and hearing her say those words. 🌱 I know I am loved in this world. But to have a gentle reminder like this? How could I not cry!??

🐚 But then I was determined to get Xavier for her! Cause uhhh we both going home with our man and I feel like it’s gonna be easier to get Xavier than Caleb?? Keii is so sweet she just goes “no no it’s fine” NO you made a sacrifice for me! 😤 I know how much you wanted your man too! I’m waiting out here forever if I have to! 🗣️ And I didn’t have to cause literally a second later I walked up to this girl with an Xavier bag and she just LOOKED like a Zayne girly LOL and I was right! I go “who you lookin for” 👀 and she says Zayne and I just pass her the bag and she goes “oh. That was easy.” Yes. I literally saved you from the HORROR of fighting for your man!!

🍌 AND THAT WAS THAT! Keii and I ran off with our men and went to stand in line to take pictures of their cut outs. 🤭 All the while we talked about how shitty that whole ordeal was! We took a picture with Zayne too cause LOLLLLL HES WHERE IT ALL BEGAN. AND ENDED? I will always look at Zayne a bit differently.. 🌤️

🌈 I swear the day was such smooth sailing after that whole LADS debacle. We went to the gaming hall and got to take pictures at the silent hill booth! Also took some pics of Keii with this guy dressed as Ace cause he looked GREAT LOLL!

🍎 We decided to walk back to her table cause we spent so much time lolly gagging and ok!!! Ever since yesterday I have been telling Keii to keep her eyes peeled for a Harry Dubois cosplayer cause I REALLY wanna see one! I feel like I never see him! Anyway. We are walking back and guess who I see? HARRY!! 🩷 I stop him dead in his tracks and RAMBLEEE I cannot help it cause I have no one to talk to about this BRILLIANT game! We end up exchanging discords by the end of it! Which WOOHOO cause yeah I was not done lol!! 🥸 We walk off and I tell Keii “ok I can wrap up the day now cause I got everything I wanted.” I was over the moon!! 🕺

🥯 I wandered off on my own once more and honestly? It was so nice. 🎈I had such a good time wandering around with Keii and a good time with just myself as well. I don’t think that’s something I could say in the past? But I also never had an Anime Expo experience be THIS enjoyable before. 🎊 I felt like one of those old people that like to just talk to random folks at length because I found ANOTHER Harry Dubois and I talked his ear off even more! Seriously. I swear we sat and talked for a good 30min. And he was so kind he matched my energy. I would bring something up and then he would bring something up too and there was this constant back and forth. We ended up having to stand off to the side because we were just not done talking. Then later I found some One Piece/JJBA cosplayers and I talked with them for a bit! I have never been so extroverted in my life lol I was a social BUTTERFLY!! 🤸

🥁 Oh!!! And I got to stop by so many of my friends tables this day and talk to them? I saw Wen after 99yrs! Kaia too! 🩷 We took a photo together and I begged her to get Fantasy Life so we could play together. 🧩 Had a really sweet and deep convo with Ria as well. We talked about Ichiban and Yakuza as a whole and what it means to us. So nice to be able to hold their hand after so so long. I said it once and ima say it again, aren't human connections amazing!? 🎈

🎏 After the con we ate at this place with really good okonomiyaki and takoyaki! Also really good highballs too LOLLL like just the right amount of alcohol? I ended up getting 2 cause they were delicious! 🥴 We stopped by Honeymee afterwards cause CRIES Vegas no longer has one and this is my only chance!! They had a photo booth there so ofc we had to take pics to commemorate this WONDERFUL DAY? 💕 Seriously. This is the best Anime Expo I have ever been to. The last time I went was just frustrating and exhausting. What a wonderful WONDERFUL do over? Makes me wanna go back next year. If I can spend it with Keii again? I just might do it. 🧸

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Hi!! I wanted to start by saying your writing is so captivating and I’m just in love.

I’m not sure if you are still writing for him but can I request #40 Tentative kisses given in the dark or #50 A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck for Daniel le Domas? If you don’t write for him anymore, can I ask for Art instead? Thank you!

*I'm not currently taking any more requests from this list

Nonnie when I saw the name Daniel le Domas? The gasp I gasped. The scream I scrumpt.

"Take a break."

"I'm not due for a break."

"Take one anyway."

You shot Daniel a sidelong glance before returning your focus to the drink that you were making. You couldn't count how many times you'd bartended for a shindig at the le Domas home. The catering company that you worked for was one of their frequent picks and you were where you always wound up: behind the bar.

Daniel had always been a polite and frequent visitor, but the more often you were there, the more he spoke to you. He was about the only family member that bothered to.

You'd been warned going into that evening that you were supposed to keep your head down and your mouth shut. You just weren't able to warn Daniel. You didn't have his number, and from what you could find, the guy didn't have social media.

It was strange. His life was so glamorous, but seemed so...Contained.

"Come on, go on break," He urged again.

"Daniel, I'm working."

"I can see that. Looks awful."

You glanced toward where your manager was lingering in the doorway to the kitchen, watching you closely. You smoothed your smile away, topping off your glass and passing it to the gentleman that was waiting.

"C'mon, take your break," Daniel urged. "Take a walk with me."

"Not now, Daniel," You muttered.

"I know you get twenty minutes, we'll only take ten...Five?"

You jolted at the sound of your name, straightening up as your manager came over.

"Has she served you, Mr. Le Domas?" He asked.

"Yes, she has."

"Is there an issue with your order?"

"No," Daniel's eyes darted between you and your manager.

"Excellent. I will be taking over here," Your manager stepped in pointedly beside you. "Your help is needed in the kitchen."

You nodded your acquiescence, turning away and heading to the kitchen without another word. Damnit, you were worried that this would happen.

--

"C'mere."

"Jesus!" You hissed, whirling around at the sound of Daniel's voice. When you'd finally taken your break, you'd ducked out to the service entrance to get some air, but you hadn't expected for anyone to be waiting for you.

"C'mere," He urged again, taking hold of your hand.

"You're going to get me in trouble again!" You groaned, but you didn't bother to stay put or let go. You followed him unthinkingly, glancing back toward the door nervously to ensure that no one heard or saw you before you lost sight of it.

--

"You're not planning on murdering me out here, are you?" You asked, glancing around the stables.

"No."

"Helluva place to do it, you know, if you did. Use the hay to clean up some of the blood—You probably can't put a horse on trial. Probably."

"Are you trying to give me ideas?"

"I don't think you need 'em."

"I really get you in trouble?"

"A little."

"...What're they gonna do if they find you out here with me?"

"Fire me, probably. I don't know how they'd find us, though. This place is a fucking labyrinth."

You stopped looking around as you felt the heat of Daniel's body against your back. You bit your lip, fighting to keep yourself still as he stepped around you.

"Hey, but if you are gonna murder me, could you do it quickly? I'm not really into the whole edging thing with sex so I'm definitely not gonna find it hot with, like, death—"

You went still as he cupped your face, swiping his thumb across your cheekbone. You peered up at him, taking in the sweep of his lashes as his gaze lingered on your lips. You stepped a little closer, nudging your nose lightly against his before closing the gap between you. For all of his flirting and teasing at the bar, Daniel seemed almost as nervous as you felt. You slid your hand up into his hair, drawing him closer as he teased his tongue between your lips. His hands settled on your hips, steering you back against a beam. You tipped your head back as the kiss broke, sighing as his lips trailed along your jaw.

"Daniel..."

"Mm."

"I can't be late."

"I'll take care of it."

"But—"

Daniel grasped your jaw, turning your head toward his again, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

"I'll take care of you."

[wintrwinchestr]

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

read this chapter on ao3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that? 

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway? 

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol. 

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has. 

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night. 

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out. 

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought. 

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you. 

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away. 

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge. 

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears. 

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need. 

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still. 

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans. 

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue. 

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour. 

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—” 

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” 

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already. 

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some. 

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise. 

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that. 

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why. 

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything. 

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.” 

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. 

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now. 

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up. 

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.” 

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers. 

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough. 

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band. 

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight. 

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary. 

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet. 

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

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message/comment/ask if you'd like to be added!!

[ooffmlsorry]

One Piece Men Driving (you around)

monster trio

A/N: I don't know a lot about Kid but I thought I'd give a shot anyway :I I'm really sorry if he's OOC

LAW

Would make a great get away driver honestly, like he genuinely has a great understanding of driving/the road and hardly ever gets lost and he knows you think that's hot

He drives SO FAST like WHERE ARE YOU GOING??? This man actively considers the speed limit a challenge

For that reason he's either always early or on time to pick you up...but somehow suspiciously late getting you home 😉

8/10 times he's in charge of the music, it depends on your taste and his mood honestly. If you don't have the same music taste, he'll grin and bear it because he loves you, really you're torturing this man

Yeah he drives really fast but never in a school zone or neighborhood, he takes that really seriously

Acts like it's a big pain to drive you around but secretly loves it and always claims he was headed that way even if he wasn't

Loves late night drives with you that end in some empty parking lot to talk for hours or make out or both

The two of your are menaces to late night convenience store clerks

Loves holding your hand or keeping a hand on your thigh while driving

Keeps his car pretty clean except for all the coffee cups and energy drink cans on the floor in the backseat that he thinks you don't notice

KID

His car > you sorry not sorry

Drives a loud, obnoxious hot rod

Drives like a MANIAC and LOVES IT. Fuck it we ball, if y'all die then y'all die. This man is not afraid to take a risk and you know that

That being said he'd probably never put you in real danger

"Oh look, y/n there's some kids riding their bikes. LET'S HIT 'EM!!" does not actually hit the kids but definitely keeps a point score in his head as if he did. "You know I just missed 40 points for you, tricycles are worth more."

Doesn't let you drive it but thinks you look totally hot behind the wheel

Gets there when he gets there, babe, but wherever you're going you're going in style

Genuinely loves blasting the music when he's near you so you know he's on the way

The best part of driving with him is being obnoxiously loud and wild and free together

Acts like he's gonna crash just to mess with you a little

Drag races for sure

Secretly prefers your company over everyone else's while tinkering with the car y'all have definitely fucked on top of it like he just likes having you in presence while he works, it kind of puts him at peace

There's definitely some kind of detail that's an homage to you and any sort of decoration you buy that he can put in his car he will

ACE

I'm so serious DO NOT distract this man

It takes every last brain cell he has not to fuck up

Like when he's alone he's fine, but as soon as another person's in the car with him he gets so distracted especially with you

He can't help it he's just so happy to see you and talk to you and look at you and whoops! There was the exit he was supposed to take

He's either picking you up a half an hour early or twenty minutes late there's no in between

Y'all share the music but he can listen to just about anything just don't put on anything boring

You already know the deal, if y'all end up going out to eat you're driving home because he's absolutely asleep

Definitely prefers back roads and intentionally takes the "long way" so he can spend more time with you

Of course there's a 50/50 chance y'all are gonna get real lost anyway so either way he's spending more time with you

Gets really embarrassed anytime he fucks up so don't backseat drive because it'll only make it worse

King of Normalize Hitting the Curb™️

Loves a good snack run

[beefslipper]

Hello! sorry to bother you again. But this thought came to me at 2 am and I need to see your writing on it. How do you think hsr men show their affection? I know Dan Heng would be a man of service but Jing Yuan? Is he going to be like Dan Heng or more open about it? 🤔.

Anyways, I'll be there to eat up the masterpiece. Stay hydrated and Thank you! 💜

Don't apologize! :D

I'll try to do ALL the male characters, excluding MC and Duke Inferno. I thought about it but decided against it cuz AAAAAAAAAAAA. I'm going to cry like a baby if I forget any. Since there are 17 men (I think, I'm half asleep) I'm gonna number them in alphabetical order and just. Go with it.

Argenti

Argenti would do everything humanly possible for you. Whatever love language you're most comfortable with, he's doing that all for you and you only.

You like physical affection? Whenever you're okay with it, he's holding your hand, giving you kisses, doing whatever makes you feel best.

You like verbal affirmations? Bro isn't hesitating to never shut up about everything he loves about you (P.S., it's everything).

Gifts? Be prepared to get something from him every time you see each other. He's not gonna hold back at all for the person he loves most.

Arlan

Dude's 100% a cuddler. Spending hours with you is his way of showing he cares. He isn't just asking to cuddle to avoid his responsibilities, he willingly spends lots of time with you (and gets yelled at for doing that instead of doing what he needs to).

However, if you're alright with doing little tasks with him, he's bringing you with. You two often walk Peppy together or go to deal with anything that won't get you hurt. You could be like 20 times stronger than him and he'd refuse to 'let you risk getting hurt'. Lol.

Aventurine

You already know this peacock's buying you everything you want. That cute dress you saw in a shop window? All your's. A new pair of earrings that you don't really even need? Dawg you're getting that and like 50 other pairs. That one perfume everybody's talking about? He's buying the whole company for you.

However! Behind closed doors, he's all about physical affection. Whenever it's just the two of you, he's always clinging to you like a sloth.

Blade

No Gif for Bladie cuz Tumblr asked if I was suicidal LOL

Bladie would seem like he hates you in public. Like you killed his pet dog when he was 6 and has hated you ever since type stuff. But when you're alone, he LOVES physical affection. Mostly receiving it, but he's definitely sure to make you feel loved, too. Whenever he's not feeling too good, he sends you little gifts to show he cares since he's not good with his words.

In short, he'd be extremely dedicated to loving you if he didn't have such a negative relationship with love.

Boothill

He loves using his words because he comes up with the craziest affectionate names for you. Some that have your eyes popping out of your skull before you even have a chance to get blushy over 'em.

Besides that, it depends on what kinda person you are. Yapper? He's more than willing to sit there and listen to your voice. He'll try to pay attention but it's a 50/50. Listener? He's always got something weird or interesting to tell you.

Dan Heng

He likes physical stuff the most but to an extent. He refuses to do anything bigger than hand-holding and small, quick kisses while in public. He REALLY shows his love behind closed doors to make up for it.

However. If someone's bothering you in public, he's gonna unintentionally do that 'don't worry kitten, daddy's gonna protect you' thing. He'll be mean mugging the person while holding you because he hates seeing you so uncomfortable from random weirdos.

Dr. Ratio

BATHTUB GIF RATIO SCREAMS

As much as I hate 'tsunderes' from cringey 2020 stuff, Ratio's one of them. He'll call you the most offensive names you've ever heard as he makes you the most godly, perfect-tasting meal you've ever had.

Once the two of you have gotten close enough, he'd probably allow you in that stupid bath of his, but if you dare to try any NSFW stuff while he's reading, you're getting a thick-ass book to the head.

Gallagher

Words and physical affection. Yk that one image of the two blank characters swapping spit? That's you and him whenever you come up with some comeback to one of his teasing compliments.

Anyways, he'd always be holding you while in public. Anyone dares to express concern about it? Bro's throwing haymakers (reference).

Gepard

Geppieeee :D Although I wanna do Geppie, I've done some HCs on him on a different post (excuse for me to be lazy LOL)

Imbibitor Lunae

A plankton drooling and screaming yes gif came up when I searched his name sjfjkldsjf

IL would spoil you with gifts. He'd always be off doing his weird dragon shit, so he'd send gifts from where ever he was. You could get sea shells or flowers that somehow stay fresh for ever. You could even get hairpins or clothing.

He isn't big on physical affection only because I'm sure you'd be obsessed with touching his tail and 'horns'?. Whatever, he's not letting that happen lol.

Jing Yuan

Physical affection 100%. When he's cooped up indoors doing work, he brings you with him and has you sitting within arm's reach at all times. Or in his lap if you're especially clingy.

He'd try to be verbally affectionate, but he'd use a weird nickname once and forever be embarrassed by it so that's out the window.

Luka

Me rn omg the brain juices are running lower as this post goes on, I'm sure you can see the effort decreasing. My apologies for that.

Luka's probably physically affectionate and really wants that treatment from you, too. I can't imagine how sore he must be, bro punches robots and big-ass monsters all day.

I'm sure he'd also give you gifts and whatnot, but physical stuff > anything else.

Luocha

I feel like he'd switch constantly. Without warning. One day he's all happy and clingy and the next he's super distant but leaving you gifts like he's about to leave. He doesn't even have a real reason behind this other than he doesn't know which is easiest for him.

Misha

NAUR I GOT TRAUMATIZED BY THE GIFS SFLKJSKFJF :(

He'd be all about gifting. I only say this 'cuz of the little side stuff about him having a buncha candy and other little souvenirs. He'd definitely get you something if it reminded him of you.

Sampo

I couldn't help myself the gif was too tempting I'm sorry

He'd always be stealing random crap for you. He'd even use his beautiful persona to get you the more expensive things you want.

Besides that, I'm sure he uses lots of verbally affectionate words with you and makes sure you know how much he loves you. Even if he constantly dresses up as a beautiful woman to distract another man LMFAO.

Welt

Literally all of the above. There's nothing he wouldn't do for you. You need to be held? You're already in his lap. Craving anything? Bro's learning how to make it for you as we speak. Need to hear someone tell you that you're worth something? He's got a big-ass 36-page love letter for you already.

Yanqing

Physical 100%. He doesn't know how to use his words without turning into a blushing tomato. He'd rather hold you for hours on end than try to compliment you. He loves so much about you that he's physically incapable of coming up with a compliment.

BONUS BOYSSSSS

no more gifs omfg my computer gonna explode

Jiaoqiu

Gifts and verbal stuff definitely. He'd spoil you with your favorite food and would always compliment you to the point it seemed like he had endless compliments stored away for you alone.

However, you're getting thwacked with a spoon if you dare to try and touch his tail or ears. Cuddles and hugs are a-okay, but touching the sensitive parts? N O

Moze

He loves physical stuff... Ignoring his VA's crimes.

He'd probably spend a chunk of the day cuddling you and refusing to get out of bed. Whenever he's not cuddling you, he's making origami things of your favorite animals until you have an army of them, varying in size and color.

Screwllum

Definitely a gifter. He's always making new things to give to you. However, when he makes new inventions, he forces the MC to play with it to ensure it's absolutely safe before it gets into your hands (You're gonna find a way to break it and set everything on fire no matter what LOL)

Sunday

FINALLY THE LAST ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

He sends you expensive gifts, but before he really got to know you and what you want, he'd be sending some weird stuff. Like a cat killing a bird and leaving it on your porch for you or something.

Over time, he got better about his gift choices. He probably goes to Robin to beg for advice on what to get you next.

Holy breaking and entering Batman! That's a lotta yap. And gifs. Good lord the gifs. My computer's hardly alive. I'm hardly alive.

Well, despite the decrease in quality and effort over time, I hope you enjoyed the HCs!

Have a great day, evening, and/or night! :)

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: oh em geez hill i love your work so freakin much! i was wondering if you could do a winchester bros x little sister reader fic where they go to fight a vamp nest (nothing big like 3-4 vamps) and they get separated and reader is like 1 on 1 with a vamp and its like a close call (whatever that means to you 99) but reader gets the upper hand and chops their head off and then the brothers find her and shes just kinda mute after that like she has trouble talking abt what happened to her? IDK IF THIS IS TOO DETAILED IM SORRYYY anyway, dont feel obligated to write! take care of your self! - alexA

A/N: um HI THANK YOU!??! That’s literally so sweet. Okay I love this request and the more details the better!! I started writing this and it took me to a totally different place I think? Ugh idk, but I hope you like it. If not just send in another request!

Pairings: Dean and Sam x Sister!Reader

You were hunting some vampires that were sucking people dry left and right. You all assumed there was no more than 5 of them wreaking absolute havoc on this random small town. The death toll was rapidly rising and they needed to be taken care of immediately. You cringed internally as you thought about how you had to take care of them. You hated killing vampires because something about, oh, I don’t know, chopping their heads off, absolutely mortified you. But they were monsters and it needed to be done.

You arrived to the abandoned barn where you all assumed they were hiding out.

“Stay behind us kid until we figure out how many were really up against.” Dean said handing you a machete.

“Okay,” you nodded.

Your brothers ran towards the barn and you trailed behind them. You got to the barn doors, watched as Dean counted down with his fingers before he busted the door open. As you ran in you saw three vamps and some people chained up. Perfect three on three, you thought, this should be easy. You immediately started fighting one of them while your brothers went to the others. You crashed through the old barn wall and tumbled outside. Your heart was pounding, but you knew you had one over on the guy so you weren’t sweating it. In the midst of your fight, you ended up getting about 50 yards away from the barn before slicing the vampires head off. You sat back, trying to catch your breath. There was something just so gruesome about chopping off their heads. They looked too much like people and it’s just never sat right with you. You let yourself mentally and physically recover for those five seconds before jumping back up to head to the barn. As soon as you stood up though it was like you got the wind knocked out of you. There was a sudden weight on top of you and realized it was another vampire. You panicked and reached for the machete as you were being held to the ground. When you tried to swing it in a last attempt to save yourself, the vampire grabbed it and pushed it towards your throat. You grabbed the machete on the sharp end with your other hand in order to prevent it from going against your throat. It was searing through your hand and you felt the blood start to drastically drip out of it. You felt a few drops hit your face as you pushed harder away from your throat. Your heart sunk and an intense feeling of doom came over you. This was it. You were going to die. You felt yourself growing weaker as you were losing too much blood. You were losing your fight on the machete and it started to touch down on the skin of your throat. You turned your head to the side trying to protect yourself, but it gently sliced your neck. In your final attempt for life, you shoved your knee into the vampire and caught him off guard. He released his grip on the machete for the slightest second, but it was all you needed to save yourself. He needed to readjust himself, but in that split second, you swung the machete in one swift motion, taking off his head. You fell back into the ground breathing heavily. Your pulse was rapid and you realized how clammy you were getting. You sat back up on your knees, held your hair back and started puking. You threw up until there was nothing left and you scooted as far away as you could from the scene that was in front of you.

——-

“Y/N/N,” Dean shouted.

You were in a complete daze, staring out blankly. They got closer to you after calling your name several times with no response. Sam noticed your blank stare and came into realization.

“She’s going into shock,” he stated rushing in front of Dean to get to you.

He squatted down in front of you and grabbed your hands but you sat staring blankly. That’s when he noticed all the blood over your hand and saw it completely sliced open.

“Shit, Dean grab a rag!” He said while holding your wrist out so Dean had a better angle at fixing you up. Dean rushed back over, wrapping your hand up while he watched your face for any sign of pain, but none ever showed. He put pressure on your hand to stop your bleeding.

“Sorry kid.” He grimaced expecting to hear you cry out, but still there was nothing. He squinted his eyes and looked at you with concern before turning to Sam.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey.” Sam gave your hand a little squeeze to get you responsive, but you continued to stare blankly ahead.

“Hey sweetheart, I need you to look at me,” he tried again.

“Okay, it’s okay, you’re in shock, it’s alright.” He said knowing it was actually really far from alright.

“You’re safe, you’re okay, alright? Do you hear me?” He asked, tapping your face and trying to reassure you.

“Alright kid, it’s okay, let’s get you snapped out of this, alright? I’m here.” He said calmly while Dean just stared at his siblings feeling completely helpless.

“I need you to tell me five things about your surroundings, alright? Can you do that for me?” He asked.

Still nothing.

“Okay that’s alright lets get your senses going, okay?” He said trying to walk her through what he was going to do. He reached down and squeezed your lower thigh a few times

“Alright, hey, that’s me, I’m squeezing your leg. Do you feel that?” He asked.

Still no answer.

He took his fingers and trickled them up and down your arms hoping it would do the trick to get you more aware of your surroundings.

“Okay hey, those are my fingers trickling up and down your arms, right?” He asked nodding his own head yes, internally begging you to snap out of it.

“Come on kid!” He practically begged starting to get worried that it was becoming much more serious. Dean looked worried seeing Sam panic. He was the much calmer one in these scenarios and always seemed to know what to do so seeing him panic, terrified him.

“Sam?” He called his name out weakly.

“Dean start pushing into her wound, it’ll hurt like a bitch, but we have to get her responsive.” He said to his brother.

Dean nodded and did what he was told while Sam grabbed your good hand.

“Alright, hey, now you’re going to feel the stuff around you, okay? Here.” He said and rubbed your hand into the grass.

“You feel that?” He asked. “That’s the grass.”

He brought your hand up to his face and rubbed it all over his stubby beard.

“That’s my beard, it’s pretty pokey right? You say that all the time that my beard is so stubby, right kid?” He said, trying to get your body to respond to your mind.

You suddenly felt everything at once and focused on Sam’s face that was right in front of you. You looked at him confused, “S’mmy?” You mumbled.

He sighed in relief before falling onto his knees and pulling you into his chest.

“You’re okay, you’re safe, it’s alright.” He whispered, mostly to himself. Your arm was awkwardly being pulled out and you felt sharp stinging pressure in your hand. You whimpered tried pulling away from whatever had its hold on it, but it was firm.

“Hey kiddo, it’s bad I’ve gotta keep pressure on it.” You heard Dean say.

You pulled away from Sam and looked at Dean. He shot you a sympathetic look, before you looked at your hand. It was covered in a rag that was soaked with blood. Everything just felt extremely foggy and you were confused, “what happened?” You asked, turning your head to take in your surroundings. As soon as you did, you felt pain shoot through your neck. You hissed in pain before reaching up to hold it. It was stinging and you felt the moistness of your blood. You looked at Dean with panic before crying out, “what happened!” You already knew what happened so you weren’t sure why you were even asking. You almost died and to keep the machete from chopping off your own head, it cut deep into your hand and grazed the side of your neck. You started trembling as you recalled the fear that pulsed through your body. This time Dean pulled you into him. He wrapped his arm around you while still keeping your other hand tight in his.

“You’re alright kid shhhh you’re safe.” He comforted you before motioning to Sam that they should get out of there.

“We’re gonna get you cleaned up just fine kiddo we’ll take care of you, you’re safe now.” He said, rubbing your back. You nodded into his chest.

“Alright let’s go.” He said and the three of you left the horrendous scene behind.

[nudistcat]

Listen/purchase: Midnight Florist by Jessica Best and the Creeping Doubts

Alright, story time.

So, back in the most torturous stretch of my 20s, I was living in the neocon hellscape of Colorado Springs and working a succession of minimum wage jobs. The worst of those was a gig as a caramel cook at a candy store, which combined retail misery, manual labor contributing to chronic pain disorders, and ungodly stickiness.

Late one summer night it was just me and another young female peon working the closing shift when a dude blew in with a serious case of ants-in-pants. He immediately asked for a dozen chocolate-covered strawberries. 

(An aside: it’s worth explaining that these were one of the store’s signature offerings. Hand-dipped, special-ordered from a farm in California that grew them extra-large and juicy. They were $3 a pop even without 15 years of inflation, so this guy was dropping a significant chunk of change.)

Still anxious and distracted, he asked if we had gift wrap options so I pulled out our nicest tissue paper and ribbon and started boxing ‘em. Straight men failing at forward planning were one of our main customer bases so I’d seen his ilk before, although more usually late on Christmas Eve or Valentine’s Day.

My coworker was ringing him up and I was putting the finishing touches on the wrapping when the customer said something that made both of us turn to look at him in creepy wide-eyed Exorcist-style unison: “Do you know where to find a florist open right now?”

Let me reiterate, the man had just spent the current equivalent of $50 on high-octane apology fuel. It was a fair going rate for “Our anniversary was, uh, yesterday.” If you need flowers on top of the fancy candy and are visibly twitching in dread, the fuckup was DIRE.

He left the store with the stern feminine admonition that THE ONLY FLORISTS WHO WORK LATE ARE AT THE GROCERY STORE...and we spent the rest of the shift placing bets on what landed him in hot water. My pick was “ran over her cat”. Coworker went with “slept with her sister”.

Anyway, here’s a song my dear friend @idiopathicsmile wrote about the desperation inherent in trying to find a bouquet before your wife gets home in a righteous fury.

[slugtranslation-hypmic]

All the fling posse song snippets are out !!!

👀 The Fling Posse snippets are all out now!! :D Ramuda sounds so happy I cry TwT

Hey! Any thoughts on the Fling Posse solo previews? Love hearing your opinions on the trailers and getting some neat tidbits of insight into the lyrics/motifs.

Thanks for the messages! Let's go check 'em out.

One and Only

(8 seconds in) Ramuda's saying "Let's go" too

(41 seconds in) Ahh!

(48 seconds in) Jesus, Shirai is really pushing his range in this one

(50 seconds in) Self love for Ramuda, hell yeah. Good on him

(End of video) Not a lot to say; I feel like this one was pretty straight-forward. It's Ramuda embracing his personal identity as a unique human being-- LOVE to see it-- which is the culmination of his arc through the series so far. The music itself didn't capture me. I might warm up to it later like I usually do, but Shirai's singing on its own isn't usually my cup of tea. Which is chill; I hope other people like it. The wordplay on "clap your hands (te wo tataite); I want to celebrate [being alive] (tataeteitai)" was neat.

Lies

(Title note) I'm intrigued that the title is in kana instead of kanji, giving it a simple and almost "honest" feel in its simplicity. It's been a hot sec since I've seen Gentarou use that word in writing but iirc he usually uses kanji for it.

(5 seconds in) Loving this piano.

(15 seconds in) A boku-using Gentarou? Bruh.

(35 seconds in) Ohhh I see the point of the kana. The title is the same as a famous Shuntarou Tanikawa poem narrated by a little boy (hence the lack of kanji). Since the song lyrics reference it, here's a quick 'n dirty TL of the poem: Lies I think I'll always tell lies. My mother doesn't, but she's done so before. I think that because I know lying is painful. Even if the things I say are lies, the lying feeling is the truth. There are some truths that can only be told in lies. Even dogs--if they could talk, I think they'd tell lies as well. Even when I tell lies, even when my lies get caught, I don't apologize. I never tell lies just to get out of trouble. (*) Even if no one knows that, I know that, and so here I am, living with my lies. Until I just can't bear to lie any longer, I know I'll lie again and again and all the while long for the truth. (*) Literally, "resolve [the trouble] with apologies" which is why the narrator says he doesn't apologize Anyway, the "Even when I tell lies..." verse sans "and so..." is the opening of this song. Gentarou stops at "Even if no one knows that" and sighs in his second repetition of the verse.

(end of song) Wait, the whole thing is just verses of this poem? This is really cool and artistic (I dig it) but wow, what a choice! Saitou Souma's performance is incredible, and the background music is cool. I don't know how well this would go on a playlist, but I am here for it! ...I'm also wondering what the rights acquisition must have been like. This poem isn't in the JPN public domain yet, right? Hahaha.

God in the Dice

(title note) Fwiw I usually say Dice has "spirits" in his dice; calling them gods is just as valid. That seems to be what this is referring to.

(15 seconds in) Man I love Nozuyama's rapping chops. He delivers every time

(23 seconds in) Going to take this "I don't care" and make it a reaction image. Can't adequately express how much the phrase "Thog don't care" gets me through the day; this is right up there with that

(29 seconds in) It's very, very funny that Gentarou always teases Dice about his lack of vocab when you compare these two songs back to back. Hahaha.

(50 seconds in) Call back to Scramble Gamble with a more positive outlook. I can fuck with that.

(end of song) This one seems very similar to Ramuda's in terms of message (once again, I'm inappropriately amused at the notion of Ramuda and Dice living it up in the booth like "Love yourself...! Respect yourself! Love yourse--" and then it cuts to Gentarou who's got a piano and a Dramatic Poetry Reading and Angst. Well, that's Gentarou's way of loving himself, I suppose) and on the one hand, I am very happy for Dice deciding to live his life his own way, even if it goes against societal values... but I don't know how I feel about indulging in a gambling addiction as a way to explore that. You know? Maybe I'm just going "You don't have to follow societal expectations, but you should follow MY expectations, dammit!" Hahaha. Well....... Do what you gotta do, homie.... I'm reminded of how very 20 Dice is. Very, very 20 y.o. leaving a bad home life. Do what you gotta do....

Well, that's Fling Posse! Very much their usual Fling Posse selves.

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

E Rated Fics Masterlist (52)

Part 1 -Part 45 / Part 46 / Part 47 / Part 48 / Part 49 / Part 50 / Part 51 /

Created: May 27th, 2024

Last Checked:-----

Ain’t it Funny-oakfarmer (ao3) Summary: Peeta is the Baker's bastard Seam son. Katniss is the Miner's merchant daughter. This story is based on oh-wellau's Funny How it Goes. Starting after the end of Chapter 3. Birthday Surprises-Pikelet184 (ao3) Summary: Growing up, Katniss Everdeen’s birthday had always been her favorite day of the year, spending it with the people who meant the most to her and doing the things she loved. These days, though, it was nothing more than an aching reminder of the people she’d loved who’d then left her without so much as even a goodbye. First, her father. Then Peeta, whose sudden disappearance from her life when they were 17 cut almost as deep as her father’s death. But now Peeta’s back. And there are 6 years of history that they’ll need to overcome if there’s any hope for them. Children of Paradise-OfPearlsAndShoelaces (ao3) Summary: Stranded alone on a lush tropical island, young children Katniss and Peeta live a simple and fulfilling life together. As burgeoning teenagers, their once easy and carefree relationship blossoms into something much more. An Everlark retelling of "The Blue Lagoon." Cursed-OfPearlsAndShoelaces (ao3) Summary: Katniss and Peeta end their Victory Tour with an encounter from a mysterious fortuneteller in the Capitol. When they wake the next morning, they're not quite... themselves. This is Everlark: freaky Friday style. Canon divergent AU. Destiny Is All (may the gods be ever in your favor)-oh_so_loverly (ao3) Summary: “Danes,” Peada gestures upstream, “A Dane-ship, sailing inland!” “Raiders?” one of the men asks. “Coastal scouts should have sent word.” “The fog?” another guesses. “Trading vessels,” Peersen scoffs. “No!” Peada insists. “They are high in the water!” Or, The Last Kingdom AU: Peeta and Katniss's Anglo-Saxon world is about to be turned upside-down by a Danish Viking invasion. Hope-papofglencoe (ao3) Summary: It took five, ten, fifteen years… It would have been easier to let go. But Peeta wanted them so badly.

Wild Flowers-LilyMaid (ao3) Summary: Part of the This Would Have Happened Anyway Winter Challenge. Peeta and Katniss finally get a chance to talk openly on their way home after their first Games. Wreck & Ruin-JennaGill (ao3) Summary: “When I tell you….you'll look at me differently. You'll see me as wounded and I'm not. Not anymore. And I don't want you to think of me like that. I'd like you to see me as a friend.” Peeta Mellark has struggled with moving on from his childhood. Can he do it with peer counselor Katniss Everdeen? Modern AU. Rated E for language, adult content, emotional and physical child abuse, and disturbing violence toward a child.

In The Middle-papofglencoe (ao3)

Summary: The only mercy in all of this was that she hadn’t been outside to see it. Or to hear it. It was bad enough she was seeing him bleed, could see the tracks his tears had carved through his caked and clotted face paint. He was just thankful she didn’t know she was the reason why.

Mile High-papofglencoe (ao3)

Summary: When Katniss Everdeen boards Pan Em Flight 1213, the last thing she expects is to be flying a mile high with Peeta Mellark.

[elf-kid2]

Modern Witchers

So this contractor drives into this tiny town, way out in the sticks, in the kind of beat-up white van used by many tradesman, and allegedly favored by murderous kidnappers.

He's got white hair that you're not sure is bleached or not, strange eyes short manners. Maybe (probably) he kinda gives you the creeps. White van, stranger-danger, big guy with muscles, and all. Bad vibes.

But you've got a problem, no denying: there's SOMETHING in those woods that doesn't belong there, and recently, when the local boys went to DO something about it... that SOMETHING went from killing livestock, to killing people to. And you know, once those types of creatures get a taste for human blood... best to deal with it sooner, rather than later. Hence, the out-of-town contractor.

Witchers specialize in hunting monsters, after all.

Better to put together a fundraiser to pay the (frankly, outrageous) fees now, then to have to pay all that later, plus the surcharge for beasts that've killed multiple people, plus pulling together the funds for more funerals.

A stitch in time save nine, as the saying goes.

He's got a musician hitchhiking with him, which you weren't expecting. Some hapless hitchhiker with a dufflebag over his shoulder, and a guitar on his back, who got lost on the way to Vegas, or Nashville, or wherever it is starry-eyed musicians go to Make It Big, these days.

Auntie said that any hitchhiker with sense'd be better off walking down a lonely road, instead of getting into a van like that, driven by a man like that. But I guess it takes all kinds of kinds, and that musician hadn't been murdered yet, so make of that what you will.

Anyhow, the musician started busking in the farmer's market-- some decent covers, a few original songs, and some kind of surprisingly catchy jingle for the contractor who'd given him a lift into town. It was pretty good; live music is always a treat when you can get it, and it'd been a while since the last Bluegrass Festival.

He knew how to charm people, work the crowd, how to ask for "donations to the fine arts" without being irritating about it. People dropped cash, and pennies, and quarters, into his open guitar case, at any rate.

I reckon he scraped together at least enough for lunch, form himself'n his friend. Witchers are surly and stingy as anything, y'know, so I wondered why he wasn't covering the meal, with how much he'd charged for slaying the monster...

...But I overheard mention of how he'd had to get that van fixed up at Joe's Auto-Mechanics, over by the old factory in the valley-- and everyone knows that Joe's Auto'll charge three times what the repairs are worth, with parts that cost ten times as much as they oughtta. Lord knows, those scammers'd be out of business, if there were any better options within 50 miles of their shop!

And that is why if you think your truck's getting ready to break down, you should try an' make sure it breaks down closer to home. And also why I figure it makes sense that even a Witcher'd be short on cash, after dealing with 'em.

Anyway, the Witcher spoke with the Sheriff, and he went out monster-hunting that night.

Meanwhile, that hitchhiking musician was playing at the local bar, and let me tell you-- he was pretty damn good! Played a few drinking-songs, and the kind of songs you can't play in front of the kiddos at Farmer's Market, played some catchy tunes that had people dancing and clapping along...!

I particularly enjoyed the murder-ballad about the woman who turned into a vengeful fire-monster when she found out her man was messing around with other women. Very clever wordplay, "flames of desire lighting up your funeral pyre!" Good stuff.

Then the Witcher came in-- fresh from the contract, and half-covered in mud and blood! Barkeep wouldn't even let him sit down until he'd hosed off the worst of it, out back!

Musician-- Jaskier, he called himself-- raised a toast to a successful hunt, and another to monster-hunters who let loving families sleep safely, and rowdy drunks stumble home un-eaten, and soon enough somebody was buying that Witcher a drink, and the barkeep gave him a plate of food on the house, and it was good times all around!

Beats toasting newly-dead friends, and drinking to forget the monsters at the door, any day.

The thing is, this is a small town. Not a lot of people come visit, and if they do, they're generally staying with family. Which is to say, there aren't any motels around here.

Now, that contractor, that Witcher, he'd asked around, beforehand, about what was available, in terms of overnight accomodations-- which, let's be honest, isn't much around here. Come morning, I saw that beat-up van parked outside the Rosebud Bed & Breakfast.

Now Rosebud's is a nice place, a respectable establishment, but we all know they've had some trouble since that big storm last month, when a tree smashed through the roof! Las I checked, that Bed & Breakfast only had the one bed fit for guests to sleep in!

Might've been a rather one-sided bidding war, or a tight fit, with two out-of-towners vying for a roof overhead, that night. But that's none of my business.

Jaskier the musician left town with the Witcher-- Geralt Rivera, I think the name was-- same as he came in. Well, makes sense that he wouldn't want to stay long enough to put down roots, a young musician on a mission to see the world and/or become rich and famous.

The Witcher, Geralt, did good work with the monster, too. I guess that's why they're the experts... Some folks are talking about having what's left of the beasty taxidermy'd, did you know? Might make a decent tourist attraction, or a decoration for Town Hall, or something. I don't know.

Anyway, all that's to say... don't let anybody tell you there's not still a need for Witchers, in the modern day.

[pinkiepieemo]

ROLLING DICE AU (part 1)

After the events of cuphead Luci is dealing with the backlash of losing to children in battle. She has lost the respect most of the other sins and is struggling to keep her image afloat. More than she was when she started working with mortals and bending rules she shouldn’t have even before the boys came along. Now she is on her way with the company of wheezy, chips and king dice, to greed ring to begin clearing her image with the sins. But she soon learns that actions both past and present have consequences.

……

[ inside one of Lucifer’s many cars our four beloved characters find themselves sitting in a long, uncomfortable, awkward silence. Followed by the occasional snores from chips, one of the older members of the crew, who always seemed to be in a grumpy mood. The 50 year old man could never make it through a car ride without passing out. To his right was wheezy, a 35 year old cigar man, who is a very loyal friend and coworker . Wheezy was looking out the car window, arms crossed and eye brows curled into a worried expression. Wheezy was the first member of Luci’s crew and never felt comfortable about the sins for some reasons he could never manage to muster up. Almost like there was something he knew, that the others don’t. But no -couldn’t be, the man was far too kind for that. Sitting in the passenger seat was dice, the casinos manager and luci’s right hand man. Also wheeze’s best childhood friend who just so happened to be the same age as him. Dice is a very reassuring man, and probably the only thing keeping wheezy from freaking out in the back seat. Finally with her claws digging into the black leather steering wheel was none other than Lucifer herself. All four of her red Eyes dead focused on the road and an expression that could pierce through steel. She was very clearly annoyed and her mind seemed preoccupied with thoughts. So with a soft exhale, wheezy finally decided to end the silence.]

Wheezy: so uh….you really think this is a good idea boss’s? I mean how can we even trust HER of all em…

[king turned his head to face wheezy , a mix of emotions on his face that wheezy couldn’t quite make out.]

Dice: well…we, don’t really have a choice here wheeze. Luci’s whole reputation is on the line here, not to mention the casino..and this- mammon woman is only making it worse…uh..

…wanna chime in boss?

[Lucifer let out an annoyed sigh as she looked in tiny mirror above her head ,making eye contact with wheezy]

Lucifer: Fine. Wheezy stop whining.

[wheezy let out an offended gasp, with a face that could be described as none other than >:( . ]

Wheezy: HEY?- WHINING!? god forbid a guy has his own concerns about this shit..

[chips let out an old man grunt, eyes slowly opening, wheezy’s offended response had woken him up from his Nap. Which very clearly pissed off the cowboy already. Great. They now had to deal with the cowboy’s attitude problem ontop of wheezy’s nerves. The old man, now half awake didn’t bother to look up from under his hat, but still had no problem making the others aware of his annoyance]

Chips : UGhghh-, just SHUT The FUCK up all-a-yall.

Lucifer: Great now you’re whining too, how… wonderful.

[wheezy and dice gave each-Other nervous looks]

Chips : I wouldn’t be complain-in if yall weren’t chatting the whole damn car ride!! swear I’m gonna lose my damn patients with yall before this whole deal even begins..

Wheezy: but you were sleeping the whole time..how did you-

Chips: shut up cigar. Nobody asked ya.

Wheezy: oh wow, is everyone just being an ass today besides dice? alright then, I see how this whole day is gonna be……

[Dice let out a sigh, he knew what type of day it was gonna be too, a very long one.]

Lucifer: we’ll try not to get your diper in a twist old man, we’re here now anyways…

chips: ooohh you son of a-…tsk.. lucky your ass is immortal or I would have killed ya by now.

[chips was fully awake and pissed off now]

[they drove up the pathway to see a beautiful casino, not as big as theirs but still buzzing with customers and life. The building itself was made with gold but was painted to look otherwise. Looked like there was some sort of party going on, nothing crazy but definitely an event worth while. In front of the building was a gold fountain with a statue of a beautiful woman, hands stretched out far in front of her. the fountain was pouring liquid gold and coins. She was positioned to look like she was catching it desperately. There were two giant doors at the front that looked like they needed be opened by someone with a lot of strength. Guarded by two very strong reptile men. Above them at the top of the building was a sign that reads “Mammons Jackpot”. As they pulled to the front Luci parked the car right in front of the radiant gold fountain. Chips and Luci were quick to step out while dice and wheezy took their time. They were finally here after what seemed like forever.]

[to be continued……]

[naidawriter]

🩷 plot idea!

📍SETTING:

A fictional but familiar HBCU somewhere down South. Think lush campuses, marching bands playing Frankie Beverly, front porches with cups full of Crown, Casa-freakhoes and Don Julio (bitch I called yo muthafuckin’ phone, that’s how you do me, hoe?!), and line jackets clacking down brick paths. It’s Homecoming season… and the yard is hot with legacy, lust, and letters. Greek life is everything.

Respectability matters… or at least it’s supposed to. And beneath the pageantry, the step shows, and the honor rolls…. Is a nigga with his hands in the dirt.

✴️THE PLOT:

( MUSE A ) is not what the brochures advertised.

He’s smart — but doesn’t care about school at all.

He’s connected — but not Greek.

And he’s rich — but not on paper.

Instead? He’s running product out the back of a greenhouse behind the Visual Arts building.

Organic, high-grade, specialty-grown. He’s your plug’s plug. Shit, he’s your plug. He’s the man on campus for his weed supply. But that’s not all he gets down with. He’ll serve you a little molly. A little coke. A lot of people owe him favors ‘cause of his good supply.

He keeps it lowkey, but everyone knows his name — and when he looks at you? It’s like he already knows what you taste like.

And then there’s ( MUSE B: ) you.

You’re that girl. Chapter president. Hair always done. Heels always clicking. Your daddy is the dean, your sorors worship you, and your mantras live on sticky notes. You’re legacy. You’re perfect. You’re everything he should stay away from.

But something pulls you toward him anyway.

First it’s the weed.

Then the stories.

Last, the silence between them.

Now you’re texting someone you’d never bring to brunch…

and wondering if he feels this burn, too.

🎭 DUAL CASTING — WHO IS MUSE A?

These two prolly’ got different styles of breaking your heart wide open.

🌱 KOFI SIRIBOE as MUSE A

He’s still. Striking. Brooding.

Moves like thunder. Doesn’t say much… but when he does, it’s already too late.

He’s the type to roll your joint and fix your alternator. Never seen without his Glock. Trusts no one. Smiles when he shouldn’t.

He’ll whisper in your ear at 2AM, “I ain’t tryna confuse you or hurt yo’ feelings” — then pull your thong to the side anyway.

He’s protective. He’s lethal.

He don’t chase. He claims.

🌪️ LAKEITH STANFIELD as MUSE A

He’s a breeze. Abstract. Spiritual.

He grows lavender next to his weed. Drinks Yerba Mate. Probably DJs on Saturdays. He loves Sade and Anita Baker as much as he loves Project Pat; his music taste is outta this world and he’s often putting you on to new music. He’s got a smooth smile, a quiet mouth, and a million thoughts he never says.

But he’s no punk… if he pulls that black hoodie over his head and gets real quiet? Run.

He’s the type to quote Confucius while loading a 9mm behind a closed bedroom door.

He’ll never beg you to stay,,, but he’ll write about you in a notebook he never lets anyone read.

He’s free. He’s dangerous.

He feels like a dream you ain’t ready to wake up from.

🖤 THE VIBE

• Heavy eye contact across the yard

• Sorority brunches where your girls whisper “that’s him?”

• Sweet kisses laced with ash and regret

• Late-night texts that say “come outside”

• Greenhouses that smell like kush and heartbreak

• You hiding him from your daddy… while he’s protecting you from his whole world.

🎶 THE PLAYLIST —

• “ Can’t Leave ’Em Alone ” – Ciara / 50 Cent

• “ Let Me Hold You ” – Bow Wow / Omarion

• “ College Girl ” – Travis Porter

• “ Crew ” – Goldlink / Brent Faiyaz / Shy Glizzy

• “ Could It Be ” – Jaheim

• “ Prototype ” – OutKast

• “ Healing ” – Jagged Edge

• “ Selfish ” – Slum Village / Kanye / John Legend

📌 ABOUT ME:

Hey, I’m Nai 💌

I love long form writing, deep plots, heavy emotions, and slow burns that build over time until it’s too late to pull back. If we write together, expect big feelings, late-night plotting, aesthetic spam, and paragraphs fullaaaaaa tension. I’m an artist, and I’m sensitive bout my shit!

message me if you tryna build. Let’s work!

[desire-mona]

ramble post

im actually not the most gigantic fan of the wizard of oz MOVIE, not because its bad or because of the bts abuse or whatever else. to me i just dont really like it.. being a musical i guess? NOW HOLD ON WAIT because the songs are great and i adore the choreography but. like i was watching it and i was like Man the dialogue and movement of the characters (outside of song) seems really unnatural and dramatic I Wonder Why. at first i was like well its 1939 what do u expect and then i remembered that its a musical and thats just What Musicals Are Like. gotta play it all up for the stage cuz ppl cant see in depth facial expressions yadda yadda yadda, i just dont really like it as much when translated to screen a lot of the time. which is weird because theatrical stage acting translated to screen is the exact reason WHY i like robert sean leonard's acting, though theres a big difference between wilson theatrical and dorothy theatrical. like the stage acting experience made rsl's facial expressions and mannerisms MUCH easier to read, but its played up tenfold in oz where Yes i can tell exactly what each character is thinking, but there arent as many nice lil subtleties. anyway i wish i liked that theatrical style of film more bc i feel like im missing out and now im just land locked to like.... rocketman? i guess? im just not a big musical person in general, especially not musical theatre, again not that i dislike it i just feel like the theatrics ruin my immersion unfortunately

the dialogue specifically in the book is very touch and go for me tbh. its very simple, which is expected from a children's book written in 1900, but i feel like its repetitive almost? not as in the characters say the same thing all the time, but the way they say it is the same thru the whole book. in moderation its fine and again this is very trivial, but i can only take so much

"i must blah blah blah blah blah, for i blah blah blah blah blah"

there's a lot of for's which i find endearing on its own but not when its said 50 monillion times. however the illustrations are the cutest sweetest little things in the universe let me show my favs

do you understand. do you understand why i love book dorothy so much. SHES JUST A BABYYYYY!

also also tin man lore goes crazy! he used to be a real guy and he fell in love with this munchkin woman, but didnt have the money to marry her, so he worked real hard chopping trees (woodsman) to get the money. for whatever reason that i dont actually remember, he pissed off a bad witch (i dont remember if it was east or west but i believe east) and got cursed to keep CHOPPING OFF HIS DAMN LIMBS bc her ass really did not want him to marry his lady. anyway he kept chopping off his limbs and this tinsman was like I Will Replace Them With Tin so he DID. after all his limbs got replaced he chopped off his HEAD, got that replaced with tin, THEN CUT HIMSELF IN HALF and got his torso replaced as well. after he no longer had his old body, and therefore his heart, he lost all his love for the munchkin woman. THATS WHY HE WANTS HIS HEART BACK HE WANTS TO LOVE HIS LADY AGAIN!!!!! but she doesnt get mentioned again so that kinda sucks tbh....

i have redesigns of all the characters as well as plotline edits and stuff in my mind but im more than likely not gonna do anything with em so ill post what i said to monty here

idk i rly like the wizard of oz and im excited to read the other 4 oz novels i have in this book AND THEN I ALSO HAVE WICKED im gonna read wicked after too. i know the wicked book is supposedly kinda freaky (idk in what way everyone been really vague when i asked) but im a full grown adult so i can handle it. but im mostly just excited to see all the cute illustrations in the rest of the book