#* inbox .

[infamous-if]

any cool facts about any of the characters before the final cut? did you change any of them significantly compared to how you initially envisioned them?

Good question!

The biggest one is that Seven was supposed to have Blake's personality. Their role in the story as an ex-bandmate remains the same but they were going to be super antagonistic and smug and smirky and just mean. As I was writing I realized it didn't feel right with their storyline so I kept the antagonistic part of it but I changed the ~flavor.~ I wanted them to be sensitive and……………*sympathetic. I know some people may not agree but I think this Seven is much easier to feel for than a Blake version of Seven.

G and Victoria weren't originally going to be married but I think the marriage makes the affair feel 10x worse/the relationship even more suffocating and like a prison and that's great (for me).

G was supposed to be a very typical asshole unapproachable celebrity who is super mean and while I still kinda wish i did that sometimes i really do like this version of G who is just generally pretty nice and hasn't been completely changed by the industry (seeing them get worse in real time is part of the tragedy imo)

Soft Violence (and Seven) were supposed to be much bigger as a little hehaha at MC and the band after Seven left but it didnt make sense to have them on BOTB if they were pretty big. Seven wouldn't see the point (you'll know why down the line).

Not character related but for a very split second I wondered whether it'd be better to do a Real World style reality show in which they all stayed in the same house together and did Challenges like that. Then I did the Brittany Broski meme and realized my original plan of a moving tour was better (and more unique).

Adding onto this, I thought the idea of a music camp would be cool until I realized I was just recreating Camp Rock™

Players were going to have a choice to "choose" their drummer. (There would be three types of characters and you'd choose and it'd be flavor text in). Each character would come with their own problems/traits and some would be harder to get along with than others. I didn't do it because I love August too much and it was too much work for my first IF (especially since Infamous has a lot anyway). I'm still keeping that idea in the back of my mind though for a future story though !

There was supposed to be a film crew/camera guy(gn) RO that I regret not doing (E is kinda the bridge as a tour photographer). Maya was originally another character that would be a hater turned RO. I kinda regret that one too but the great thing about it is that I've been keeping those in my back pocket for the future har har. (Those didn't come to fruition because they didn't fit the story and Maya's role now just suits what I had planned much better so when I say I regret it, I don't. I just regret not being able to play with those dynamics hahah)

[taskmastersource]

Need the full size live greg reaction gif please op

okay i had to remake it cus the one i made in the set was so tiny but yeah here ya go :)

[sophie-laurel]

What's the honeymoon like for Sonadow?

maybe something like this, I guess

[chleem]

hii!

I hope you are doing good :)

could you write something really angsty/hurt

with rafe like she fell for him like really hard and he somehow too but he doesnt want to admit he's scared for a committment so he does date someone else ... i hope this helps the rest is up to you how you want to write it :) really like your writing so It just can be good anyway

Take care of yourself <33

⋆.˚ Warnings: explicit language and scenes, read at own caution

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: really proud of this one! enjoy!

word count: 2.6k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

“What do you like about me, Rafe?”

“Hmm?”

“…what do you like about me?”

“I dunno.”

“C’mon, there has to be something,” you whisper, smiling as you settle more comfortably into his lap, fingers tracing idle patterns on his forearm.

He shifts the wheel slightly, the car crunching over the gravel path toward the beach. The wind rushes in through the open window, cool and salty, mixing with the warmth of your bodies pressed so close they’re almost one. You don’t even care that it’s reckless, sitting in his lap while he’s driving, you just want to be here, with Rafe. 

Rafe licks his lips, his blue eyes focusing on something distant. 

You stare at his Adam’s apple; the way it throbs as he considers his answer. 

“I…I guess I like the way you feel.”

“The way I feel?” You repeat, giggling after, wrapping your arms around his neck, as if you weren’t already pressed close enough. 

“You gonna judge everything I say?”

“Of course not.” 

“Fuck, nevermind-“

“How do I feel, Rafe?”

He swallows, eyes flickering to yours, “like a fresh pack of coke.”

You immediately roll your eyes, biting back a laugh as he bursts into that low, genuine laugh that fills the car. The sound wraps around you like a warm blanket. With his free hand, he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering.

His laughter dies down, and he licks his lips again, shifting slightly beneath you- reminder that you’re still perched in his lap as he drives.

“Hey- hey.”

“Yeah?”

“What- what about me?”

“What about you?”

“You like me or somethin’?”

“Unfortunately.”

Rafe laughs, “well, your turn; since you like talking so much.”

You sit up straighter, trying not to get into his line of sight since he’s still focused on the road. The car hits a bump in the gravel path, and you jump slightly in your seat. Both of you burst into laughter.

Taking advantage of the pause, you study his features- how the fading light catches the curve of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the soft shadow under his lashes.

You think of his personality: the recklessness, the bravado, the unapologetic edge of it all. The part where everyone knows, and only knows. 

Then there’s the part no one else knows. The part where he’s vulnerable, the nights in August when he’s high or drunk and stressing over things that don’t even make sense. The moments you’ve held him, soothing that restless energy when the world feels too heavy. That part of him that he barely lets surface, but that you’ve come to understand, deep, raw, and unguarded.

And right now, riding shotgun on this gravel path, it feels like maybe, just maybe, he trusts you with it all.

He trusts you. With it all. 

“I love the way you make me feel, Rafe.”

The emphasis lingers on love, and as the word slips from your lips, you realize just how hard you’ve fallen, how completely and utterly you’re caught in this- him.

That maybe, this small summer fling of sixty days, can turn into a relationship. 

The car comes to a rough halt. You slip off slightly, but Rafe catches you fast, pulling you close again. You gasp, heart racing- whether from the sudden stop or the weight of the confession, you’re not sure.

But in his arms, pressed so close, you know one thing for certain; nothing will ever be the same.

Then, you hear Rafe’s laugh echo through the car.

“What? You almost crashed us, you psycho,” you laugh uncertainly, pushing against Rafe’s chest.

He laughs, the sound warm and easy, but when it dies down, his hand slides to the back of your neck.

“come here.”

Before you can say anything, he leans in and kisses you, rough and needy, long enough for you to read it as love. 

——

That was five days ago. 

Five days since that day at the beach; where you were sure you had him in your palms. Lying out in the sun, golden and half-asleep. Running into the salty water with him, laughing like kids, high on the moment. Kissing in the sand, fucking with his hand wrapped around your throat, messy and warm and a little too much, but in the best way.

Going home together and washing the same dirty sand off of each other; his hands roaming over the most private parts of you. 

What the fuck is wrong with him?

You're at the same beach, sitting near a campfire that one of the Kooks threw together to celebrate the end of summer. Smoke curls into the night sky, and laughter spills from the circle of glowing faces.

The log beneath you feels rough and splintered, but you ignore it. You're not here for comfort, or to have fun, you’re just here for Rafe.

The only people around you are his friends, drunk and high already. You try to engage in a conversation with them, but it’s hard when you’re only interested in Rafe. 

It’s been thirty minutes since the party started. Still no sign of him.

You tell yourself this is stupid. You should leave. You should never have come out here, to this party.

And then- headlights. A car pulls up toward the far edge of the beach, parking a little away from the noise. But you know the sound of it. The engine, the headlights, the silhouette behind the wheel.

Rafe.

You try to hold back the smile that’s already blooming, try not to sit up straighter, but your body betrays you.

From far away, you make out that the driver’s side door opens; and he steps out.

…and then the passenger side opens, too.

And that’s when you see her.

She walks around to his side without hesitation, and he waits, for her.

Your heart stumbles a little.

They walk toward the fire, toward his group, and his arm drapes around her shoulders.

You know. You know he’s already fucked her. The way she leans into him, smug and careless, says everything.

You sit still. A part of you wants to run. A part of you wants to scream. But you just sit there, letting the firelight flicker across your face, letting it cast enough glow that he has to see you.

And he does.

Rafe’s eyes flick over, for a split second, and then they move on- just like that. Like you’re a stranger. Like sixty- not sixteen, but sixty days of shared beds, whispered secrets, and messy mornings never happened.

And five days was all it took for him to forget.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Rafe! You’re finally here!” someone shouts.

“Yeah, man, what took you so long?”

He shrugs, his voice rough from smoke or disinterest, “got caught up.”

You stare, gaze locked on him, burning into him.

His eyes skirt the fire, skim across his friends, and land anywhere but you.

The girl he’s wrapped around leans into him, laughing at something, maybe nothing. It’s the laugh people use when they want to be seen, when they already know they’ve won. 

You wonder what he told her. You wonder if he used the same words he used on you.

“Well,” one of his friends pipes up, grinning way too hard, “y/n saved you a seat.”

Your stomach turns.

Rafe still doesn’t look at you. Instead, he gives a tight nod, jaw clenched, and reaches for a beer. He cracks it open with the opener nearby, metal scraping against metal with a sharp clink that sounds louder than it should.

His arm slips off the girl beside him as he steps forward, heading straight toward you- because, really, the only seat left on the log is right next to you. You shift slightly, pulse loud in your ears.

He settles down beside you without a word. His thigh brushes against yours, barely, but it might as well be a collision. Your body stiffens, every nerve aware of him.

The girl trails after him a second later, her smile faltering when she sees there’s no space left. She hesitates only briefly before motioning to sit on his lap.

Only, Rafe stops her.

With one hand, he pushes her gently, firmly- to the side. Not rough, but enough to make a statement. She stumbles slightly, groaning in annoyance as she drops onto the sand next to him. In the same motion, she reaches for his hand, linking her fingers through his like she has to claim what’s hers now.

And he lets her.

Your eyes stay forward, fixed on the fire, but your senses are betraying you. His scent, sharp cologne, salt, and the memory of skin on skin- cuts through the campfire smoke, filling your nose. 

What used to make you feel safe now makes you feel sick.

His grip tightens on the beer bottle, knuckles turning white. You let your eyes relax, slow, and you angle your head just slightly toward him.

Around you, the others are too drunk or high to notice the silent war unfolding in this small space between you and Rafe. Or maybe it’s just you and him who know.

Thirty seconds pass.

Your stare haunts the side of his face- catching the curve of his jaw, the tense line of his mouth.

Then, finally, he turns to you.

His blue eyes catch the firelight, flickering. 

He blinks, then licks his lips, eyes flicking briefly to yours- landing on your lips for just a heartbeat.

“Y/n.”

The sound of your name leaves his mouth rough and low, almost like a confession.

You barely hear yourself say it, but the words slip out anyway: “…fuck you.”

Rafe nods, like he expected it. A crooked smile curls at the corner of his mouth as he lifts the beer to his lips, tilting it back without hesitation. His Adam’s apple bobs with every swallow, sharp in the firelight, his throat moving like he’s trying to drown the moment.

“Fuck you, Rafe Cameron,” you say again- louder this time.

He lowers the bottle slowly, his fingers still curled around the neck of it. His eyes meet yours.

“…you already did,” he whispers.

Then he pulls his hand out of the girl’s grasp, raking it through his hair like he needs to shake something loose. She reaches for him again- desperate, but he doesn’t give a single shit.

His eyes stay glued to you, even as his body stays angled toward the fire.

You let out a laugh- quiet, cold, and empty. “I’m going home,” you say, voice sharp with finality.

“You got a ride?”

“You were my ride,” you remind him, the bitterness in your tone undeniable.

“Then you’re not going anywhere.”

“You don’t get to- ”

“You’re not going anywhere, alright?” he snaps, louder now. His voice cuts through the hum of drunken laughter around the fire. Heads turn. A few of his friends go quiet. But Rafe doesn’t care. His voice was for you, and only you.

You lean in, just a little, and point a finger to his chest, poking hard enough for him to feel it through his shirt. “Oh, so now you care about me?” you hiss, low and sharp. “What about her, Rafe?”

He doesn’t answer.

Your finger presses harder. “How does she feel, huh?”

I…I guess I like the way you feel.

His jaw tightens. His mouth parts like he’s about to speak, but the words die before they make it out.

The fire crackles in the silence between you.

You don’t wait for him to find the words; You get up and walk.

Past the flickering light. Past the sea of bottles and voices and the girl still sitting in the sand. The air grows colder with every step. You're steps ahead, almost to the edge of the beach, when you hear it.

“Hey- hey! Y/n!”

You keep walking.

Then a hand wraps around your wrist- fast, harsh, desperate.

“Y/N.”

You whirl around, voice shaking, breath hitched. “Let go of me, Rafe.”

“I’ll- I’ll get you home-”

“Stop-”

“C’mon, let me just-”

“No, Rafe!” you yell, your voice tearing at the sky.

You’re far from the fire now, far enough that no one hears, far enough that the campfire glow is just a faint halo in the distance. Just you and him now.

Your eyes sting, and then the tears fall- silent at first, then not. You pull your wrist from his grasp with everything you’ve got.

“No, Rafe,” you choke out, voice breaking. “Get away from me.”

He just stands there, chewing on his bottom lip, those blue eyes locked into yours like he can hold you in place with just a look.

So you shove him, hard; right in the chest.

And he lets you.

You hit him again, fists balled, and tears pour freely now, your voice low, bitter, aching.

“You fucking asshole,” you whisper. “Coward, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t flinch, or defend himself.

“You must really hate me, huh? To do that, to break me like that- ”

You hit him again, fists useless now, trembling as they fall against him.

And then- he grabs your other wrist. His grip locks you in place.

You stop moving.

But your face crumples. You cry- ugly, open.

“I don’t- don’t hate you. y’know that.”

Your breath hitches, you shake your head. “You do, Rafe. Because why else- why would you-”

“I don’t hate you, y/n.”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t hate you, why would I hate you?”

“Then why are you with her?” you yell, voice splintering.

He falters just for a second. “You don’t understand,” he mutters.

“‘Don’t understand’?” you echo, disbelieving.

“You just don’t-”

“What the hell is there not to understand?”

“You don’t-“

“Then tell me, Rafe!”

“No-”

“Tell me so I can understand. Fucking tell me, Rafe.”

He doesn’t speak.

You scoff, staring into those blue eyes of his. 

“You coward. Do you know how much I like you?” your voice breaks, small and sharp. “No, you don’t. Because you have this- this thing going on with you, I guess. Something- something fucked up about you-” 

Commitment. 

That’s what it is. That’s the word both of you are searching for. But neither of you says it out loud. You can’t; because deep down, you don’t want it to be true. You hope- need- to believe that he’s better than that. That he’s capable of more. 

Rafe reaches for you. 

He pulls you into him, and you don’t fight it. Your body collapses against his chest like it always belonged there. His arms circle you tightly, anchoring you in a way that almost makes you forget everything that’s been said. 

One hand threads gently through your hair, slow and soothing, like he’s trying to undo the damage in the only way he knows how. 

This might just be the most intimate it’s going to get. Just this- your face buried in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt, and his hand moving through your hair. 

“I’ll get you home, okay?” he murmurs. 

“Okay,” you cry, hugging him back- tight, like it’s the last time. 

And it is. 

Later, sitting in the backseat of his car, you stare out the window in silence. You don’t look at him. You don’t say anything. Neither does he. 

No words are spoken during the ride. 

And no words are ever spoken between you again. 

You’ll bump into Rafe sometimes, here and there, in crowded rooms, beach parties, places that used to feel like yours. His laugh will echo, a sound that haunts you. His scent will pass by and cling to you like something cursed. And the blueness of his eyes will become a color you’ll loathe forever. 

He’ll become a stranger you know too well. And you? You’ll just be a summer fling he forgets by winter. 

Maybe, Rafe will become the person you tell your future kids about when they ask if you’ve ever been in love- or really, who was your first love.

…and that’s just the way life goes, unfortunately.

-------------------------------

"I think I’m in love, but I cant stand fuckin’ relationships"

fear of commitment might just be the worst thing ever

elevator | other

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

hiii, how are u? for the 7k bingo could you do Joel Miller with sex pollen? hope u have a nice day :)

.⋆｡Blooming｡⋆.

7k Follower Bingo

Joel Miller x plus size reader

During patrol, you come across a weird-looking plant and can’t help but to check it out, though you’re not the one that gets in trouble when you touch it

Warnings: sex pollen, SMUT, older man and younger woman (age not specified), unprotected sex, pull-out method, guns, feral!Joel, reader is a tiny bit bratty, mention of spores, dub-can because of sex pollen, some amount of mutual pining/yearning WC: 2k Minors DNI Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Rules— you stay close, you stay silent and you-“

“-Run as fast as I can if things go south. Yeah I know Joel. It’s not as if I’ve dealt with this bullshit for almost my whole life.” You rolled your eyes as the older man in front of you shot you a glare that would’ve had anyone else cowering in fear but you just huffed in return. The derelict home that loomed in front of you had been marked by Jackson’s scouts earlier in the week for potential farming equipment given the impressive if not run-down greenhouse at its side.

“Don’t be a smartass.” He grumbled and shouldered his rifle but you caught the twitch of his full lips as he turned away from you and into the doorway of the (hopefully) empty building you were planning on ransacking. His broad shoulders lifted as he shot you one last glance before stepping inside, trusting that you would follow close behind.

“When am I ever not a smartass according to you?” You whined quietly from behind him as the stale air of the building closed in around you. It was obvious that nothing living had passed through here in years, infected or otherwise. A thick layer of dust coated every surface that you passed, muffling the sounds of your footsteps down to dull thumps. 

Joel lifted his left hand from the barrel of his gun, signalling you to go left as he turned to the room on the right. You grunted under your breath at his overabundance of anxiety but obeyed anyway, it would do you no good to argue with the man now. The soft yellow of your flashlight beam cut through the small sideroom, illuminating a workbench and a collection of tools that would be perfect for the farms. 

You holstered your pistol so you could pull the battered backpack off your shoulders, dropping it onto the bench next to a terracotta pot that held a quite impressive flower that looked to be on the edge of blooming. You ignored it for now, instead focusing on shoving seed packets and tools into your bag. Underneath a rusty trowel, a water-logged notebook sat, opened up to pages of now illegible notes. 

The pages crunched with decades of exposure to the elements but it still captured your attention. Blurry images of flowers and plants had you turning page after page, slowly revealing the story of the person that poured so much work into the notebook. It seemed like they were trying to breed some new type of flower, and had eventually succeeded given the still living specimen beside you. The last two pages were stuck together with age, threatening to rip as you attempted to seperate them. You gave up after a couple tries, instead closing the book with care and dropping it into the bag with everything else, you hadn’t noticed the petals beginning to fold out from the large bulb of the plant.

“Clear!” Joel’s voice rang through the house causing you to jolt and drop the backpack.

“Jesus man!” You spun just in time for him to stride through the doorway, a scowl on his face that only seemed to add to his attractiveness. It was his usual look with you; disappointed and annoyed but also somehow a little amused and it never failed to get your heart racing with the way his brows would draw together, his jaw tightening, and his dark eyes practically glowing with frustration. 

“How many times do I have to remind you to say something when you’ve finished checking your bit of a house?” Thick arms barely contained by rolled up sleeves of his flannel crossed over his chest.

“‘Bout twenty more times should do it.” You countered with your own withering look. His frown deepened and his muscles bulged. You swallowed back your drool. “Found some seeds for individual gardens so the community ones aren’t overloaded.” You offered up, reaching back to produce one of the packs you hadn’t picked up yet, but instead your knuckles bumped into the pot, causing it to rock back precariously.

Joel’s arms dropped back down to his sides as the pot righted with a clink. You breathed a sigh of relief but it was short-lived. The heart of the flower opened up, delicate red and black petals stretched outwards revealing a dense ball of pollen that looked like it was going to fall apart with the slightest touch. As if he knew exactly what you were thinking, Joel darted forwards and grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t touch it.” His tone wobbled as he spoke, sending a spark of panic through your lizard brain that you chose to push down.

“I wasn’t gonna. Besides, it’s just a flower, not spores. I doubt a fungus has worked out how to evolve into a flower contained completely inside a pot.” You didn’t sound convincing as the words left your lips but you tried to keep a neutral expression. “The owner of the house was breeding it, probably before the end of the world if his little notebook is anything to go by. It won’t kill us.”

His grip tightened. “You don’t know what it’s going to do. Stop being so innocent.” 

You couldn’t help it, the thought popped into your brain and sprinted out of your mouth before you could even think to stop it: “I bet you’d love that wouldn’t you Miller.” 

You watched as his breath hitched, suddenly at a loss for how to deal with you before his hand loosened and fell to the workbench. The tips of his fingers caught the top edge of the pot, finally toppling it over. The flower’s thin stalk bent with the weight of its head, aiming directly for him. The pollen burst onto the bare skin of his forearm, staining his tanned skin a radioactive yellow before the whole thing clattered to the ground.

There was a beat of silence, then two, then your brain finally kicked into gear.

“Fuck fuck fuck. Joel I’m so sorry I didn’t- fuck!” You scrambled for something, anything, in your bag that could rectify this as fear sprinted through your system. The water bottle in your bag was half-empty, something you were saving for the long walk home, but you splashed it over his arm without a second thought. He tugged his shirt sleeve back down in an attempt to scrub it off his skin.

“Leave!” He turned away from you, his shoulder trembling as he redoubled his effort. Guilt struck you square in the chest.

“I’m not leaving. This is my fault, I need to help you. Don’t- don’t make me go.” You knew better than to try and reach out and touch him, even if your spirit screamed at you to try and comfort the possibly dying man. His breathing began to pick up before he swallowed.

“Then check the book.” His chest rumbled, refusing to look back at you. The pollen wouldn’t budge, even when he stripped the shirt off completely to use as a rag. You forced your gaze away from him and back to your bag.

“Right yeah. I’ll um do that.” The notebook shook as you frantically flipped through the pages, desperately scanning the ancient scrawl for anything that could soothe the blinding fear that had wrapped tightly around you. The final brittle pages ripped as you tore them apart, but the writing remained clear. “What the fuck.” 

Sweat was now beading along Joel’s hairline, his muscles screwed up like his body was preparing itself for something. “Tell me.” His voice was empty, his mind already going to the pistol tucked into your waistband.

“It-“ For probably the first time in your life, words escaped you.

Joel whipped around. His pupils were blown so wide that you couldn’t find a trace of the deep brown of his irises, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. “Tell me!” 

Heat shot through you at the revelation of what exactly was wrong with him, something you could beg on your knees to fix. The notebook dropped back onto the workbench as you reached for the buttons on your shirt. Joel’s eyes follow your movements with deadly precision, his body winding even tighter as your body was revealed.

“It’s an aphrodisiac. Supposed to make you go crazy for sex.” He stepped closer, crowding you against the bench. You could feel the hardness of his cock against your soft stomach, it was huge.

“What. Else.” The air between you had suddenly shifted, no longer was there the simmering undercurrent of tension that may or may not have led anywhere, but there was now a fire growing in ferocity, threatening to consume you entirely if you turned away now. 

You popped open the button of your jeans. “It’ll be in your system for hours, maybe days, if you don’t-“ 

“If I don't, what.” The heat of his body was almost unbearable.

Your eyes dropped down to his lips. “If you don’t fuck it out.” A large hand wrapped around the back of your neck, yanking you into a kiss. Your teeth clacked together painfully while Joel pressed you further into the table. You tugged at his white undershirt, whining into his mouth. 

He ripped himself away from you, looking as crazed as you felt. “Turn around.” He left no room for resistance or questions, already turning your body to the bench. He pulled your jeans and panties over your ass, just far enough for access. 

“Joel-“ You knew he wouldn’t stop, not when you could feel the fever running through him as he pressed himself to the soft fat of your ass and thighs. He fumbled for his belt, hands trembling against you. 

“Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want this.” He kissed your shoulders, your neck, anywhere he could reach. You wiggled back into him, blissfully feeling his bare cock finally released from the confines of his jeans and boxers. Wet pre-cum smeared against the tops of your thighs.

“Just be careful, don’t want your heart to give out old man.” The growl that escaped him was entirely inhuman and before you could make another sound, he slammed into you. Your cunt burned with his size, by far bigger than anything you had ever taken before and given the smirk you felt against your shoulder blade, Joel knew it too.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He groaned, his forehead falling to your back as he struggled to control himself. He rolled his hips against your ass, immediately sending a flare of pleasure through you. He took a deep breath and pulled back, letting his cock almost completely leave the warmth of your pussy before he finally succumbed to the pollen.

“This is your fucking fault. Not doing what I tell you.” Your hands scrambled for something to ground yourself as he punched into you.

“‘M sorry!” You cried.

“Fucking driving me crazy with those fucking tight pants and constantly gettin on my nerves.” You tightened around him, pleasure licking at your nerves like nothing you had ever felt before. “You like that? You like knowing you piss me off? Damn fucking brat, I should’ve known.”

You felt him in your throat, stealing any attempt at speaking or even catching your breath. “Shoulda known you just needed to be fucked by a man to get you to listen.” The table bit into your stomach but the pain only sent you higher along with the growling of his voice. Joel thrust downwards, the fat head of his cock hitting your g-spot with each thrust.

“You gonna cum? I can feel it. Do it. Fucking cum.” He snarled into your ear as you shattered beneath him, losing yourself to everything Joel. “Fuck!” He groaned, ripping himself from you only second before he came onto the battered flesh of your ass. 

Your body went limp as his cum began to cool on your skin. “Holy shit Joel. I did not think you had it in you.” You went to turn back around but Joel’s hand returned to your shoulder blade, keeping you still. “What?” 

His cock prodded at your wrecked pussy once more. “We’re nowhere near done.”

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[the-cookie-dragons]

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EternalBerry reacting to ShadowVanilla. And vice versa.

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(I need my daily dose of gays-)

-HoneyDewwww

hollyberry and pure vanilla stare at each other like “was this supposed to happen??”

JA i love these lil guys AND THANK UU FOR THE REQUEST I’ve been needing my daily dose of gays too💕💕💕

[ultimatesomething-1191]

Jeez…these websites are utterly useless…

[Komaeda had been awake a little long before Hinata had been, careful not to complain too loud as to not disturb him. He had been working pretty hard, after all, and Komaeda would hate to stop him from getting some well deserved rest.

Tapping on his phone, Komaeda tried to endure what felt like a life or death battle trying to deliver something to his dorm, which at this point seemed like a lost cause. They were determined to get something for Hinata’s efforts, and prior conversation told them that he was a fan of kusamochi. If anything, he was lucky he remembered that. But now, the bad luck seemed to manifest in a barely functioning delivery app that was in the middle of maintenance.

Komaeda grumbled under his breath as he continued to wait yet another minute for the order to load.]

( @komaedas-fragments )

*Hinata lies on his side, curled up with his head on Komaeda’s chest and one arm draped across their waist. His lips are slightly parted, soft snores occasionally coming from his mouth. He seems to be fast asleep, at least for now, and completely unaware of Komaeda’s current struggle.*

[bennetsbonnet]

In that post about Joe Wright avoiding bonnets in p&p 2005 for being “too clichéd” (wtf), you said “and the disdain he clearly has for said author which manifests in various ways”. Could you elaborate on that? (asking only out of interest, not disagreement)

Absolutely (the post anon refers to) it's always a pleasure! Though I will say before starting, I'm not bashing 2005 for the sake of it and no one is "wrong" for enjoying it. For me, it's not about fan wars/arguing about which adaptation is best... I just really care about Pride and Prejudice as a novel and I get frustrated when the beautiful, timeless story is distorted!

My main problem with the 2005 adaptation is how much it misrepresents the characters and changes the speech from the snappy, witty dialogue that Jane Austen wrote into something entirely different. Not only do I believe that it does not need updating for C21st audiences (though it might sound a little strange to the modern ear at first,you quickly get used to it) but that dialogue is what really stood out to me and charmed me when I first read it and I don't care for it being rewritten into either something that is either worse than what is found in the novel, or entirely changes the characterisation.

The one that particularly irks me is Darcy's 'bewitched me body and soul' dialogue as, to me, book!Darcy's confession to Elizabeth of when he fell in love with her:

'I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.'

is so beautiful and romantic. Why change that? Additionally, this man is not awkward, he can make romantic speeches, he doesn't need to trip over telling her he loves her. And I've previously discussed here why I think Darcy saying he is bewitched by Elizabeth is out of character.

There are many such cases in the film, but that is amongst the worst to me, perhaps only alongside Darcy's first proposal and how much Lady Catherine's visit and confrontation was watered down (and why did it take place in the middle of the night???).

I suppose he didn't write the script so perhaps I cannot blame him entirely for that... but it goes beyond dialogue, to how the actors were directed and the contempt shown for the period it was set in, which is bizarre when making a period drama.

I think it's quite apparent that JW desperately wanted to make Pride and Prejudice into a Brontësque romance with sweeping landscapes and dramatic weather. I suppose you can argue he did that successfully, but it came entirely at the expense of it being the story that Jane Austen wrote. There are lighthearted, humorous moments too but very few of them feature dialogue actually written by Austen ('what excellent boiled potatoes' springs to mind).

He misunderstood and consequently misrepresented Elizabeth and Darcy's dynamic to the point that they are hardly recognisable to the characters Jane Austen created. 2005!Darcy is so painfully shy and pathetic, that when contrasted with such an impertinent and sarcastic Elizabeth, it just seems like she's bullying a smol bean who struggles in social situations. You cannot emphasise Elizabeth's sassiness while making Darcy such a pathetic specimen, it just doesn't work. She isn't the witty, charming character from the novel anymore.

The period inaccuracy is absolutely baffling in ways beyond costumes, beyond the lack of bonnets and that one scene where one of the sisters is having her corset tied so tightly. For me, the worst offences are:

The bleachers at the Meryton assembly. Not only wildly historically inaccurate but makes Elizabeth look like a gossip and an eavesdropper, rather than an innocent party insulted by a rich snob.

The pig running through Longbourn and generally everything about Longbourn itself. The Bennets are not on the same level of wealth as Darcy and Bingley but they are not some poor farmers, with a scruffy house. Elizabeth is very much of the same class as Darcy.

Chatsworth is absolutely, definitively NOT Pemberley. It is explicitly mentioned in the text as featuring in their tour of the Peaks so consequently it CANNOT be Pemberley. It's far too grand an estate for an untitled gentleman. Darcy is rich but Chatsworth is another level.

I care about this because the landscaping is not at all correct as it's very artificial, whereas Pemberley is renowned for its natural beauty. It might not seem like much but it really is a huge part of why Elizabeth fell for him!

Another reason Chatsworth shouldn't have been used is because Elizabeth seeing a portrait of Darcy and looking into his eyes rather than a bust with holes is crucial, as I explained here.

This is all disappointing but I do feel like I could get over it if the characterisation was adequate. Unfortunately, I barely recognise any of them.

Mr Bennet is not a cute fatherly figure. Him not accompanying them to the Meryton assembly is a plot point to underscore his bone idleness. Yes, his relationship with Elizabeth is very sweet and he loves her a lot... but that does not a good father make!

The total character assassination of Mr Bingley... who is not a clueless himbo. As if Jane Bennet would ever fall for a man like that, or Jane Austen would ever write a character like that (except to be the object of ridiculue).

I do not know in what universe Charlotte Lucas, the pragmatic voice of reason would say 'we are all fools in love.' And the 'I'm 27 years old' monologue is just not something I can ever picture her saying... she wasn't a frightened, timid little creature whatsoever.

Wickham isn't bad enough. What he did to Georgiana is blink and you'll miss it, and when he returns with Lydia, Elizabeth glares at him a bit and that's it? The elopement is also resolved very quickly, there is no real tension with it.

The key story beats are butchered too. Especially the letter, not just in how short it is but in the way Darcy hands it to Elizabeth. I think I remember reading something about how JW couldn't imagine how Darcy would be in the room with her, so he just made it like a dream sequence... aka he put his own creative desires over what's in the novel, when Darcy seeking Elizabeth out to hand it to her is very important. Not least, because it shows the length he's prepared to go to in order to set the record straight as it was breaking social convention for a man to write a letter like that to a woman he wasn't related to or engaged to.

That quote, among others, just shows he had a desire to do things differently and it seems to be because he thinks he can do it 'better.' It's bizarre because why bother adapting a classic which is anchored to its time when you blatantly have disdain for it? It's like doing a war film without army uniforms and guns.

Everything I've read from him, he just seems like a smug film bro that believes that he got it 'right' and people had been Missing The Point the entire until he came along. No, you weren't onto anything new. There are certain things, like bonnets, that tend to be in period dramas. And Jane Austen is very literal with her meanings, for the most part. There isn't a new way to interpret her works.

For a film entitled Pride and Prejudice there isn't a great deal of pride or prejudice... it's really just a poor shy boi, who stands there and fidgets with his gloves while not saying anything, and his girlboss, who uses towels that have been getting wet on the line outside to dry herself after coming in from a rainstorm.

[graytodd]

Man that art of Dick with Jason after UTRH, his tears! Jason's hurt expression! it so angsty I love it. Could you draw Dick's reaction to the news Jaybin died, his Little Wing that he can never see again. With your arts of Jaybin always hanging on to him imagine him suddenly feeling the loss of that warm weight, thinking he'd never get it back. The anger and grief at not being there.

Sorry for the late reply dear anon 🥹 I couldn't find the right inspiration to properly portray Dick's feelings at the news of Robin's death, despite several failed attempts, I thought this was the best way. I hope you enjoy it 🥀💔

[infamous-if]

You missed Victorias birthday

oh nooooo happy (belated) bday to our favorite girl Victoria !

I just realized a few of you guys have already sent it to me in my inbox but now at least you guys know that im genuinely writing and not procrastinating on Tumblr because I did not see that lolol

here's my millionth disclaimer that I struggle remembering anyones bday fictional or otherwise (my only flaw /j)

[dawneternal]

a lil cazriel for pride 👀

okay I may have gone overboard with this one but I just have such a soft spot for cazriel I love them so much 😭 they love each other so much it kills me

just don't look too close at the hands or tattoos lmao

[madamechrissy]

I hope you know I gobble your writing like one gobbles some really good lasagna.

NOT Daddy Tony following meee!! Babe I'm freaking out right now omg :') You're way too sweet I'm fangirling like a mf!!!! Babe you're the smut queen lemme bow down🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️I'm so glad you like them I'm legit squealing ppl are looking at me weird hehe! ILY

[npdkondraki]

NEED you to see this insane fucking pan

“Oh yeah, Garma and his love interest were talking about how if this next operation goes well, Garma can retire from the military and marry Icelina, and how if it doesn’t go well he’ll run away and elope with her. And Char was watching THE ENTIRE THING”

wait i had a joke to make but im so caught off guard by . char & icelina being . such obvious design parallels to eachother (even in their NAMES?????????????). what the fuck was in the water when this was being made

[artsy-hobbitses]

Prowl had quite the update in backstory and personality a while ago, mind sharing his evolution proccess?

Honestly the biggest thing was that he never had a solid personality in my early draft of him! He started out as a mirror of IDW Prowl but in all frankness, while I find 2005 IDW Prowl EXTREMELY intriguing, I don't care for him as a person, and I especially do not like how the later writers treated him as the communal hate sink, and how this has ALSO caused some fans to justify the awful things done to him by others in narrative (this part of the reason TTB is a also No-Chromedome territory--people get fucking weird about him versus Prowl).

The thing is however that I LOVE Prowl's IDW background, coming from a place like Petrex where rules were so draconian that questioning your lot in life was grounds to throw you in prison (outside of IDW, I love that the terrible things done there in name of assimilation and order was also delved into in the War for Cybertron series, where unlike IDW Prowl, this Prowl was remorseful and genuinely disturbed by it). Prowl is also ofc a Cold Construct, and how that impacts humans as opposed to Cybertronians is something that is heavily explored in Ties That Bind. To note here, Megatron, Blaster and Starscream are Cold Constructs who were either loved and managed to retain a sense of personhood (Megs), had their true background hidden from them until adulthood (Blaster) or were successful in fighting for some semblance of rights over their own destiny (Starscream). In Prowl, given his history in Petrex, I wanted to explore the logical extreme of a Cold Construct who NEVER had that chance, who had everything taken from him and had almost all semblance of rebellion he can't even remember wrung out of him. Almost everything that makes him a person is functionally destroyed by his government in service of turning him into an asset (Not even the DNA that makes him who he is is sacred, as it was used by Mesothulas to create Springer--he doesn't even have rights to what makes him him), almost everything (he would have been killed for his last act of rebellion if Jazz hadn't saved him in time), but an inch, as mentioned in V for Vendetta: "Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch, but one. An inch. It is small and it is fragile and it is the only thing in the world worth having." And I wanted, despite everything done to him, to make him care. Really care. Even if it's clumsy and stilted, and he himself doesn't understand it but goddamn if he ain't trying. To hold on to that inch. Because is his compassion worth any less than his companions if he has to learn it? Is his concern for his companions any less earnest if he ties it to the good of the unit (because that's what he understands best) before the individual? Is his desire for justice less powerful than his friends' if he ties it to how it's 'wrong' in the order of things as he understands it as opposed to 'I empathise with this person being wronged' (because he doesn't KNOW HOW TO DO THAT)? Is who he is, broken and shattered on the inside in places where he isn't outright empty, worth saving? Jazz certainly thought he was! And I suppose that's also tied to parts of my simultaneous dislike and intrigue of his IDW version: What is someone got him? (because he HAS A POINT. A LOT OF THE TIME. 'Good' IDW Autobots mostly run on 'Maverick' mode even if it's stupid or makes no sense) What if someone tried to understand where he was coming from (he is STILL trying to do good albeit in terrible ways because that's what he's taught) instead of seeing him as an aberration (MORE SO than the Cons sometimes which is insane) for something he cannot help as a living state asset, and a constant lost cause for a personality and an outlook molded by one of the worst regimes on Cybertron (because Functionism was awful as it was, but it seemed PARTICULARLY awful in Petrex)? Because I see him as deserving of a satisfying narrative of figuring out who he is away from everything he was molded to become, and a redemption arc way more than say, WarCrimes McGee Megatron, and I happen to LIKE IDW Megatron. So in TTB he gets that! All the AWFUL things that comes with being a flesh tool with barcode imprinted on him, and the messy things that comes with breaking away from that and trying to figure out how to fucking person, and all the love that comes from a community that see the work he's putting in, and see that inch he's holding on to, and are helping him hold on to it when his grip on it loosens.

I just think it's the kind of evolution and story that he deserves!

[imissmywife0]

It’s prime month. You know what that means

i’m not kissing big black oiled up booty cheek hot men.

wait….