#agile guitars

[ianvase]

Agile Septor 828

[martiancount1877]

Pepe Romero - Bulerias

[thefearwithin]

The Bloodburst Rattlesnake

The Bloodburst Rattlesnake is named mostly for its striking red colorations that grow brighter toward the head. The name also has an unfortunate connection to the peculiar effect of the rattlesnake’s venom. The appearance of the bloodburst rattlesnake is certainly not cryptic, but it can use this to its advantage. The bright gold of its rattle can actually be used as a lure. The shining color often attracts the attention of birds, though small mammals are also known to fall into this trap. Despite its rattlesnake ancestry, this snake prefers the cover of forests and will leave most of its body hidden in the brush with only a glimmering rattle left in the open; placed right in front of its waiting mouth that is just barely concealed. These forests also allow the brightly colored snake to hide better in the shade of the trees.

When it comes to non-prey items, the bloodburst rattlesnake is extremely aggressive, willing to chase down any potential threats at the drop of a hat. This becomes even more true as the temperatures rise, making these already ‘hot-blooded’ snakes even more dangerous to encounter. This summer aggression is still largely a mystery, with some proposing that it could have something to do with either the hot conditions or possible mating events. To make matters worse, the snake may be slow to bite but it also almost never delivers dry bites. During the summer, the chances of a potentially deadly bite increase drastically.

Despite the well-documented displays of danger and aggression, there are those who suggest that this is a mischaracterization. There are those who would have you believe that the bloodburst rattlesnake is not only potentially tolerable toward human interaction, but actually responds well to handling. This is, most likely, a simple remnant of a rumor from the old pet trade.

[ecstarry]

@rosekillermicrofic / cheat / 432 words / a guitar hero loser meet-cute @star4daisy

They had been going at it for hours. Their shirts were sweaty, and their fingers were about to cramp for the third time. Ten minutes between rounds was not enough.

As they prepared for the last round, Barty took one last look at his competitor. He adjusted his grip on the guitar, bracing himself for the final song. It was the other guy’s turn to pick.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Barty mumbled to himself as he watched the blond man select ‘Knights of Cydonia’ for their last song. It was the one song Barty had never been able to complete with 100% accuracy on the level they were playing now.

But he tried. For the first minute, they both easily played through the chords, not breaking the streak. Barty lifted his guitar and activated the power as soon as he could, and the crowd went crazy. All four guys watching them at the dingy pizza parlor cheered.

Then came the solo. The fucking solo. And, as every time before, he messed up at the same note. He didn’t give up, though. Blondy over there was bound to mess up; what kind of psycho chooses that song when they want to win a Guitar Hero III battle? Barty didn't look at the guy once until the song finally ended.

Everyone went quiet as the screen loaded. Barty cursed under his breath when he realized he had lost.

He turned around to congratulate his opponent and blushed when he felt the large hand and long fingers that grasped his own. A disgusting amount of filthy imagines of what those fingers could do were not crossing his mind. 

“Well played, mate.” Now that was a fucking hot voice, Barty thought.

“You sure you didn’t cheat?”

“Just got blessed with long and agile fingers, I guess,” the man said, showing his hands as if to prove he wasn't hiding anything. “I’m Evan.”

“I’m Barty. Are you new here?” Barty was certain that if he had bumped into Evan even once, he would’ve remembered. If not for those hands, definitely those eyes.

“Nah, just moved here. But I saw the ad for a contest in exchange for a free slice and thought I’d give it a try.”

“A try!? You killed me out there.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” A grin spread across Evan’s face and Barty’s face lit up. “Let me make it up to you, I’ll share my slice.” 

Barty nodded and followed him to the closest table. 

“So, Evan, tell me, what else are your hands good at?” 

This would be fun.

[northsoulss]

breakaway - leah williamson

(a/n: im so sad about jen leaving arsenal, but shes in bay fc now so i hope we get news about her soon :”). also i LOVED leah’s cover of breakaway by kelly clarkson and it inspired me to to write this lol. also i’ve just been sad and stressed sooo. part 2?)

it was a gloomy day in your apartment, your clothes strewn all over the floor, dishes pilling up in the kitchen. you laid in bed, unable to move, absolutely heart broken. leah and you had parted ways not too long ago, the memory of her telling you she couldn’t do this anymore fresh in your mind.

you remember seeing leah hunched over at the dining table, phone in hand, not even acknowledging your presence. you could feel her pulling away from you, spending almost all her days outside and away from you. you really wanted to ask her what was wrong now that you’ve caught her at home. you’re sick of her silence and you want an answer.

“leah, what’s wrong?” your voice small, afraid to provoke her.

“nothing’s wrong, __. i’m fine.” she says in a deadpan voice, a slight bite to it.

“no leah! we aren’t fine! you don’t even call me baby, and you won’t even look at me anymore.” you lose it, your voice booming.

“yeah, i’ve had alot on my plate lately okay?!” she snaps back, and you finally see her face. her hair unkempt, eyes full of tears, her signature frown on her face. oh how you wanted to reach out to smooth her brows, your hand coming up to cup her face, but her hand pushes you away.

“well that doesn’t mean you get to just keep me out of it! i’m your girlfriend for goodness sakes. i want to be there for you.” your voice breaks, and you feel that familiar fear creeping back into your body.

she’s going to break up with you.

“look, __. i just can’t anymore.” leah says exasperated, hand pulling back her hair. you search her eyes, trying to find any ounce of love left, but all you saw was coldness.

there it is. that dreaded feeling.

“that’s it? you’re just going to give up?” you had more anger in your voice than you expected, the tone making leah flinch.

“i just can’t. you keep pestering me and i’m sick of it. i’m sorry.” and like that, she left your apartment, leaving you standing in your hallway, the extra set of keys to your house clutched in your fist. you sunk to the floor the moment she slams the door shut, your knees hitting the ground with a loud thud. a part of you felt empty, a vacant spot left in your heart. you spoke a language only she understood, and now that she was gone, no one will be able to understand you.

it stung, knowing that you didn’t know the reason why she left, but you couldn’t take it anymore. you couldn’t just sit in your apartment all day, not moving while the world keeps spinning. you sit up, and immediately get hit with a memory of leah. you see your guitar collecting dust in the corner of your room. you haven’t played since ever since leah left, for it was too painful to have to relive every waking memory of her each time.

one of your favourite memories of leah was singing with her. you were classically trained in guitar, always pestering her to be your singer while you played. eventually when she relented, you would always beeline to your guitar, whipping it out from its case and taking it to where she sat.

one of your favourite songs to play was “break away” by kelly clarkson, it being the first song leah sang with you. you remembered the first time she did, her voice sounded like warm honey to your ears. your ears flushed and face warm as she sang, her eyes trained on you, watching your agile fingers strum the strings. from then onwards, you always asked her to sing while you played, wanting to only hear her angelic voice.

that memory was like a punch to the gut, knowing you can no longer hear her voice other than on the arsenal women’s Instagram which you still followed. you shook away the thoughts, a long sigh escaping your lips as you massaged your temples. you look around your house, and immediately start to clean up, slowly putting things away.

after a few hours of cleaning up, you collapse on your couch, completely exhausted. you open your tiktok, planning to doom scroll till midnight when a video of jen beattie and leah pops up. you forgot you were still following jen, becoming good friends with the older woman the moment leah brought you onto the pitch two years ago.

you instantly sat up straighter, eyes fixated on leah who sat next to jen, hoodie over her head with a smile. jen held her guitar, and the moment her fingers started to strum, your heart wanted to jump out of your chest. leah’s voice, oh how you missed it. she’s singing it again.

“shes singing our song.” you mumbled to yourself as you watched, a small smile growing on your face. you read through the comments, some of them mentioning you. you were a public figure as well after all, known for playing finger style covers of different songs. when leah and you started going out, you started posting videos of you two singing and playing, the very first video being that song.

“is it true? did they really break up?” “i miss your videos with __ leah!!” comments like this made your heart ache. you went MIA the moment you two split, not posting videos for over two months now. you really missed her, so much. after watching the video, you decide, fuck it. leah doesn’t get to ruin your love for guitar, and you sure as hell are not going to step playing just because she’s not here.

deciding to finally play again, you felt a sense of relief wash over you as you strummed, a sigh escaping your lips. propping up your phone, you record yourself, you play the introduction to breakaway, singing softly. you weren’t used to singing, only ever playing with an accompaniment. certain parts of the song hit harder than the rest, you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

trying hard to reach out

but when I tried to speak out

felt like no one could hear me

wanted to belong here

but something felt so wrong here

so I pray

i could breakaway

when you finished, you look up to the camera and stared wordlessly. this was the first time you truly saw yourself post breakup, and goodness. you looked terrible. hair in a disheveled bun, eye bags big enough to fit your dog in, bloodshot eyes. you’ve definitely had better days, and this is just the start.

“i’m sorry i’ve been gone for so long. i’m currently going through one of the toughest periods of my life, so have this song for old times sake.” you say with a smile, and stop recording, posting it without any second thought. you fall back onto your bed, ignoring the ringing of your phone. things are going to become better, you thought, yet another heavy sigh escaping you.

leah’s cover: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSFLBWYhs/

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

I’m not sure if you play or know genshin impact (if you don’t then ignore this request)

Can I have dorm leaders and vice dorm leaders with a shenhe like reader?

Especially their reaction to hearing her backstory from an opera.

Shenhe Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Its one thing to have the love of your life be a skilled fighter, agile, and stoic. But its another thing entirely when an opera plays in your head about their life story every time they walk in a room. Now some who feel inclined to the idea of this fantasy of love being a romcom with violent undertones versus the ones that are actively ignoring their growing insanity when it comes to you:

Trey Clover

“...You’ve got your own soundtrack huh? Sounds about right.”

Fully expects you, the object of his affections to have your own soundtrack anyway

He often hums along and even when you’re no where around 

He thinks about how your romance will play in this one

Ruggie Bucci

“...I-it’s probably just the wind?”

Probably attempts to avoid you before admitting to himself that he just can’t live without you

And if he can afford it no doubt ramping up his aggression on those he deems a threat

He might not connect the dots that the opera is about you until he’s buried his first body

Maybe it’ll stop when the ending changes

Jade Leech

“That’s certaintly not boring.”

It makes him irritated for awhile

How is he supposed to stalk you if he can’t hear himself correctly+

But eventually he realizes the benefit and starts leaning into that more

He’ll charm you in the end by force if he has to

Lilia Vanrouge

“Haha just leave it to my crane to be the soundtrack of my heart!”

Fully accepts it

Likes riffing to it with his guitar 

But he loves the song and of course he loves the story

Wonders if he can add to it when you realize you’ve+ become his

Jamil Viper

“I…really am twisted.”

Considers this his last straw

Tiredly resigns to this being his life 

Since he’s already decided to chase after you wholeheartedly

At least after hearing it for the 100th time he’ll gather its about you

And he yearns to be apart of your happy ending

Rook Hunt

“Aah my mon filou is here!”

Accepts it completely

Uses it as a radar to find you stalk you

Even when you are well aware of his nasty habit he can always find you with it

He’ll listen to the story and begin to subtly express his newfound obsession with the crane

[katyawriteswhump]

Steddie microfic: I got you

Steve loves it when Eddie rubs his chest.

Written for the December @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘pine,’ 508 words. Originally inspired by the ‘pining’ idea, then it evolved and some extra pine turned up elsewhere!

Rating: T. CW: A couple of sexual references. Tags: shameless hurt/comfort, sickfic, fluff.

***

Their first winter, Eddie got sick. Then Steve got sicker. He took to their bed with a cough that scoured his lungs, rattled his ribs. When Eddie arrived, Steve buried his damp face in the pillow. “I’m all gross. G-go away.”

“Sorry, Babe.” Eddie rolled Steve over, fingers skittering soothingly across his brow. “Kinda guilty here. You scored my germs.”

“Always g-got chest infections as a kid.” Steve shivered. “Ask my m-mom.”

“She won’t talk to me, remember?”

“Ugh. Why are my f-family shitheads?” The pang of irritation proved too much. Steve’s next breath jammed in his lungs. A coughing fit consumed him. Eddie helped him sit, rubbed his back till the worst passed. Then Eddie removed his rings—huh?—pulled the covers over them, and spooned Steve from behind.

His warm hand slid under Steve’s t-shirt. He rubbed Steve’s chest, so gently Steve hardly noticed at first.

“I gotcha, Sweetheart. I gothcha.”

Steve’s shuddering breaths fell in sync with Eddie’s caresses, beneath which painfully taut sinews softened. Steve’s chest still burned, his breaths wheezy, but… 

…Eddie’s touch got him, somewhere so deep it almost choked him again.

It became a regular thing, in sickness and health. Eddie’s guitar-string callused strokes across Steve’s chest—sometimes firm, sometimes soft—set Steve sighing, groaning, purring like a cat. He even adored the cool slide of Eddie’s rings, especially when they snagged in his hair.

One day, afterward, he littered Eddie’s agile fingers with kisses. “Wanna marry your hands.”

Eddie quirked a brow: “You got a mighty fine chest, Babe.”

Steve grinned, sent his own hands south on a far dirtier mission.

Next winter, Eddie scored a touring gig with a band who’d lost their guitarist. Steve missed him like crazy, ignored that tell-tale tickle in his throat, and went to work—peddling hotdogs in the snow. Eddie called daily around 3am, always losing track of time. Steve mainlined cough medicine and pretended so hard:

“I don’t miss your mess, man. I cleaned the shit out of this place—totally reeks of Pine-Sol.”

“Haha. Miss you too, Stevie.”

“Riiight. If you blow the drummer, I’ll repave the drive with your vinyl collection.”

Steve got sicker. The pine stench of the stupid polish caught on his chest. He coughed himself raw. That night, Eddie didn’t call.

Or, Steve didn’t hear.

When he woke, he tried to sit. Flopped back down. He was shivering, out of water, and coughed till tears streaked his face and blood spattered his hand. Scared now... He drifted, never quite sleeping, coughing less, instead struggling to drag whistling breaths. His bones ached. His head ached worse. Freakin’ terrified…

A gentle touch revived him: “Babe?”

He blinked. Eddie? 

“You didn’t answer last night. Caught the first flight home.” Seriously? “Do I need to take you to ER?”

“No,” wheezed Steve.

“Don’t be macho, dude.”

“Need c-cuddle.” That ‘not macho’ enough, Honeypie? 

Steve was too sick for decisions, so let Eddie make them. Much later, when Eddie slid into bed behind him and rested a warm hand on his chest, he knew he was mending already.

***

Thank you for reading :) Also posted on my AO3 here

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

But what was most baffling to all that met the Pevensies after they came back was that they were kind.

Really. Not pretending, not because they were insecure. True, empathic. Far too understanding for children their age. They all have music in them.

Peter’s hands feel too small for him, but he shakes hands all the same. Gentle pressure. There is nobility behind those eyes. Eyes that always border on the supernatural sort of blue, especially in the dark.

He plays the guitar, gently coaxing otherworldly sounds out of an instrument that did not know it could be played like that. He helps his siblings with their homework, is taller much faster than his peers. Seems to take up more space, even though no one understands how a teenage boy manages that.

He doesn’t like doing nothing, ever. He instructs his classmates in grammar, gives away figures he cuts from wood with a knife that seems too sharp for a boy that small. He never hurts himself, though.

As the years pass, Peter grows strong. But he is gentle. He does not seem to be brash, even when many of his friends are. Peter keeps his emotions in check. Noble. Not undangerous, but not belligerent. Peter only ends fights, and only with people that deserve it.

He offers advice, a pat on the back. Teachers wanna dislike him, some do not like the look behind those eyes. Most find they cannot. Peter is popular with both adults and children, speaks sense and laughs often.

Peter is kind. Pious, devout. His faith is unmovable like rock. Did the kids meet God on the estate of their uncle?

Edmund plays the violin. A sad Edmund is a rare sight, but when he plays sad he can keep his whole floor awake. Somehow, Peter always finds h him quickly, effortlessly attuned to his brother’s moods. They play chess, then. Their chess master must have been a champion, Ed beats people with ease. He’s usually not smug about it.

Ed speaks politics and war in earnest, accepts critique graciously, is elegant in a way Peter never manages. Peter speaks frankly, but Edmund can wrap words up real nice. He doesn’t mince words, but his classmates grow into liking the sound of his voice. They appreciate that Edmund does not lie, even when speaking tactfully. Edmund can dial the temperature in a room, change it to suit himself.

He, too, laughs often, but Edmund is known to smirk. He likes being right and he often is. He’ll entertain anyone with a good story, always seems to have the right information to help you out. Remedies to illness, connections, job openings, how to sneak out of PE.

He’s a spider in a web. A bit reserved for a 11 year old, and oddly well-connected. A real ghost when he wants to be, but he never scares people with it.

Aslan would not approve of that. He believes in God as well, but much more intellectually. He’s got the intelligence to back it up and wit to match. A scholarly belief, but not lacking conviction.

Teachers like his enthousiasm, remember a moody nagging child when he left and see a secure young man come back.

Edmund will stand up for what is right. He gets into some trouble like that, but his verbal agility saves him always. Edmund has strong principles and will not bend them for anyone. No matter the trouble he gets in.

The bond with his brother is unbreakable. They even walk the same, chest out, left hand on their belt. They seem most at ease when fencing.

Susan was always warm and tenderhearted, but when she comes back there is a difference.

She seems to have gained authority. It’s real strange watching a 13-year old use her beauty like a grown woman, but Susan has learned to wield it, to stun people so she can creep under their skin. People LISTEN to her now.

Her wit is like a knife, but she avoids cutting deep. Susan is reasonable, and strong, and principled. The little drama others get involved in does not bother her, and she seems immune to petty insults. She has killed before, with her hands.

She will do it with kindness now. She is not very approachable ( that would be Lucy ), but she is kind. She used to mother over her brothers and sisters, but now that they have raised each other in a court full of magic she has gotten more relaxed. They listen to her on important issues, trust in her judgement. Her brothers does not deem himself more important, she is both well-spoken and well-respected by her siblings. Equal. It baffles the old men that teach her. Irritates them, too.

There is an air of mystery around her. Half a look is enough to get what she wants, Susan’s friends laud her security in herself, her Mona Lisa smile. She seems to temper moods easily, makes people feel at ease.

She most of everyone exudes royalty. It’s the grace. Susan plays the harp, her long fingers dancing across the strings like she’s had a lifetime of practice. She’s elegant, never caught off guard. Jamais faux pas.

She does not get angry. She knows who she will be. She is anxious to become an adult, yes, but she only wishes to look how she feels. Not to look differently. Yet the wish to be taken seriously, to have someone see you as an adult, it makes her surprisingly similar to her peers.

Her friends have not been old yet, is all. But Susan is calm and collected. People see her as someone you can tell a secret to. She never hurts someone, is usually a neutral party, speaks sense to adult and kids alike. She is not ignorant, however, will use every trick in the book to keep the peace. She knows when to go nuclear. Vis pacem para bellum.

Lucy is a sun in human form. She has a joie de vivre that is unmatched, is gay and golden-haired and never in a bad mood.

Lucy is kind by default, does not turn it off, does not turn it down. She’s witty and funny and quick on her feet. She has been grown before, yes, but enjoys being young for a few years more. She dances, sings old tunes. Her voice is her favorite instrument, you can usually hear Lucy coming.

Whistling a tune in the halls is known to improve the moods of everyone who hears it immensely. Young girls need to figure out who they are, but Lucy knows, knows what she’ll be and who she likes and what kind of people she wants to be around. She is not pretending, never moody. She can get sad, of course, but her older brothers and sisters are always nearby when that happens.

Lucy is genuine and fierce and convinced, immovable at times. Admired for her drive, but respected for her empathy. She speaks to everyone, often distributes flowers. There’s no naivite in her at all, she simply wishes to be like this so that the world may imitate her. She likes to see people prosper, is the first with praise.

She will go far, is the consensus. There’s steel beneath the soft exterior, Lucy has fire below the flowers. She’s well-liked and well-loved. She has love in spades, it seems, animals and stragglers and misfits and outcasts. She’s popular, her room is a good place to get a cup of tea and someone who will listen to you for some time. After a while she no longer bothers with the door.

That a heart that size fits in a girl that small is a mystery to many. Lucy does not think it is a mystery at all. It is the heart of a lion.

Her faith is as vocal as the rest of her, she sees it confirmed in all that is beautiful, all that is kind. She never tries to convert anyone but there are several people who have told her that version of God is someone they would like to know.

The Pevensies often see each other at parties, where they like to stand together. Edmund knows about everyone, everyone knows Peter, everyone likes Susan, but it is Lucy who knows everyone.

They are kind, but not weak. Peter gets his knuckles bloody sometimes, Edmund does not abide by the rules of unjust teachers. Susan and Lucy solve their problems differently but no less effective. Kindness is their usual way of operating, but they are still kings and queens. They will not allow cruelty, will not let bullies go unpunished.

They are sure of what they are and sure of what comes after death and this makes them kind. Kind , not harmless. Kind, not spineless. Kind, not ignorant. Kind, not naive.

Kind despite. Maybe kind because. The kings and queens of Narnia are proud of what they are, honour the teachings of their lion friend. Kind.

When the crash happens and three siblings die, everyone they know mourns deeply. Without them, the world is less kind.

[eggroll-sama]

What instruments would the Touchstarved LI's play?

Kuras - I would imagine Kuras being adept at select few instruments. I think the harp is a no brainer; the instrument is heavily associated with angels and according to one study harps are the best instruments to ease patients. But Kuras can be playful, so who knows, I can see him playing tiny gadget instruments like the Kalimba (aka thumb pianos) that have really innocent and pretty sound that help to destress him after a long day.

Vere - I could see him playing the violin maybe the flute. I feel like an instrument that seems fickle and let’s him stay agile is great. And I read somewhere that flute players are good kissers *wink wink* so I think I’m favoring the flute for Vere. Also Vere is a prisoner of the Senobium so I can’t imagine him with a big instrument, and I think Vere would hate lugging around a giant Tuba or guitar case.

(More under the cut)

Mhin - Idk why I have such a strong mental image of Mhin playing the ocarina. I’d just imagine them by themselves sitting on the ledge of a window in the middle of the night, looking up at the moon and playing their ocarina, a nostalgic tune they’ve learned from their parents long time ago. Plus I would imagine Mhin would want an instrument that’s handy and they can pull out when they feel like playing, so the ocarina fits.

Leander - we know that Leander can sing and is the son of a Hightown family so I can see him being voice trained from a young age and maybe being taught an instrument or two, I would assume the piano because it’s highly beneficial and practical. I think Leander would have a love-hate relationship with the piano tho because he was forced into it and reminds him of the countless hours he sacrificed during his youth. And many a time when there were guests in the house his family would force him to play a song he’s practiced over and over again, when in actuality he’d rather just improvise. He’s learned to love it over time because of its versatility and sometimes it feels nice to sit down and play something (and many ppl get impressed too :D)

Ais - arguably the hardest one to choose for me. I think instruments hate him because Ais can get reckless and damage them (“oops” *smashes rude drunk with his instrument*). Ais is a very straightforward man with a bloody streak, so he’d probably want an instrument that isn’t the hardest to learn and can take his anger out on, so my best guess would be taiko drums. They are a physically demanding instrument but Ais likes that about it. Literally playing to “hit my feelings with sticks”

[vermutandherring]

Gottlieb Miura for @aniraklova Bachelorette Challenge

Gottlieb was born and raised in a small town near Tartosa, which was famous for breeding fighting bulls. As a child, he often teased these powerful animals for fun, pitting his agility against their strength. But one day he was unlucky, after which young Gottlieb was left with a glass eye and scars. But this incident did not weaken his fiery nature. A dreamer with the soul of a rebel, he could not obey the will of his parents, who saw their son as the successor of their business and a successful entrepreneur.

In search of himself, Gottlieb dropped out of college and went to try his luck. Playing guitar in a garage, working as a bouncer in a strip club and as a millwright on a rolling mill, a carpenter's assistant and even a florist - he seemed to have tried everything, but nothing appealed to his nature, which yearned for something truly big, worthy of his temper.

One day his girlfriend, a girl from a rather religious family, persuaded Gottlieb to join her at an Easter service. It seemed that on that day, the Holy Spirit really descended on his unbelieving head: among the gray heads of the parishioners and the sweet singing of the choir, Gottlieb finally found what he was so attracted to. The ghostly and powerful voice of the pipe organ captured his mind.

Numerous educational institutions, the Philharmonic, exams and, finally, the first concerts - he spent a lot of time to master this majestic instrument. It seemed that he had everything in his life: business and romantic trips, his passion and various forbidden and not so good things. But these 10 years of training turned the windy Gottlieb into a terrible perfectionist, who is ready to explode with rage if something does not go as he would like.

Turning back, he saw how many girls he had broken the heart with his fickleness, his lack of attention, his sometimes unbearable character. Or maybe he just didn't meet a person for whom he would be willing to change?

This thought crossed his mind as soon as he saw those big eyes staring at him from the neon screens of the big city. "Yasmine…" he drawled, and then sighed. Those eyes really looked like one solid problem, their opaque depth looked too dangerous. It seems that he has never felt such adrenaline, even looking into the bloodshot eyes of a bull and seeing death in them.

"Dating show? Does anyone still make them these days? Being on a show…" No, he wasn't used to being a test subject. This whole idea is one big scam, and most likely the young lady wants to grab another piece of fame. But isn't he the same - an adventurer who is willing to leave everything to find what he really wants? Even if everything is determined in advance, he will not lose the chance to try himself. And let his success not be determined by his own luck this time: he is ready to compete with Yasmine's luck.

Privat DL

[joelsfavouritegirl]

please I'm begging, could you give us pre-outbreak (i guess most of your account is pre-outbreak) joel body and 🍆 HC's? hehe be as unrealistic as you want, we're talking about a pixilated man and maybe I'm projecting but i just KNOW this man's dick is big

AAAA YESS I LOVE THIS SO MUCHH, i agree with you 💯 but you'll see what i mean in a minuteeee. hope i wasn't too unrealistic😭😭 BUT IT'S JOEL MILLER SO WHY ARE WE EVEN HERE

anyways i hope this was close enough to what you were looking for, TYSM FOR THE REQUEST🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

pre-outbreak!joel body headcanons bcs this man was crafted by the gods himself<33 (18+)

. so fuckin broad like have you seen that man????? js imagine him working on something in his garage, shirt off because the summer is cruel (CRUUEL SUMMER WITH YOU) in texas, his back muscles and shoulders and arms flexing as his hands do the job

. also have you seen his arms. large and strong and so fucking big (just like his dick but we’ll get to that), you have to control yourself when you stare at him because his biceps look so fucking delicious when he wears those t-shirts

. also his hands, they make you wanna become a puddle whenever he rests one on your thigh or back (or ass or boobs or anywhere really). also the fact that he can play guitar makes him….. agile with his fingers (he can get you off in a few minutes)

. man’s got some hair on his chest i’ll give him that, pre-outbreak it was definitely dark brown, later on it probably greyed but still. i’d say that one of his favorite things is when you scrape your nails along his chest, your fingers combing through his prominent happy trail before you y’know

. pre-outbreak he probably didn’t have very prominent muscles on his chest and stomach (but have you seen his pecs in the prologue ohmylorddd), i’d even call pre-outbreak!joel just a little chubby. he’s a lot softer and milder before the outbreak than he is after but he’s still hot as fuck, i’d give anything to lie against him

. also this man is a walking talking radiator, he’s so fuckin hot (in both ways) that you have move to the other side of the bed during summer (which doesn’t last long bcs he’s crawling right back to you and smothering you with his tight grip as he dozes back off to sleep)

. ok now we can talk about his dick; it’s big. have you seen the way that man walks? yeah he walks like it’s big bcs it is. around 17cm (6.6 inches) when he’s hard and a little curved to the left and can we talk about girth bcs this man has it. the first time you fucked it took you a while to get used to him, you probably still do (but dw he'll just praise you and talk you through it and call you his good girl like he always does)

this man is hot and i’d love to suck him off for good morning and good night<33

[cows-wearing-my-sweater]

acolyte

"what could be worse than having nothing to depend on? / we used to be friends"

word count: 1272 warnings: lots of angst lol notes: i have written a fic in months but !! hi again !! missed posting these a lot <3

There’s something inexplicable about him.

Matty’s hands move up and down the frets of his guitar easily. You curse the fact that your eyes are drawn to him with the same level of ease. Two dark curls droop over Matty’s forehead as he plays, eyes nearly shut and lips parted almost imperceptibly. You see it, though. The song he’s playing isn’t one you can name, but you recognize it. It feels like a song you heard last summer, like maybe if you could drink his melody you would remember it again. 

You hate the label “friends with benefits,” mostly because it feels far too simple for the situation you’re in. “Friends with benefits” makes you feel like you’re just a quick fuck for someone who can tolerate you – surely that’s not what you are to Matty. No, this is different. It’s slow with him. There’s purpose and contemplation behind every deliberate kiss he places on your body, he takes his time coaxing noises out of you when you’re straddling his lap and hungry for everything you know he’s capable of. You want — rather, need — this to be something more. 

Typically, you can deal with Matty on bad days. “Bad” meaning days where he incessantly (albeit accidentally) reminds you of the nature of your relationship: fleeting moments of passion and a lack of commitment. You received a text earlier in the morning asking you to come over. Not for sex, not for the aforementioned passion, but just to exist near each other for a while. Ever since the beginning of your hookups with him, normal platonic hangouts had come less frequently; they always held a sort of tension, at least in your mind. Should I tell him or should I speak through our touch? But the request today had given you a glimmer of hope, a flutter in your heart.

And it really had gone quite well at first. The moments you spend with Matty with no strings attached, no sexual undertones, are some of your most cherished. You could let yourself fall for him like this without hesitation, and occasionally you let yourself believe he could do the same for you. 

Something in the air shifted over the course of the day, though. It’s a festering frustration, one that spreads its tendrils further and further despite how little you want it. Just like Matty himself, it’s inexplicable. You look at him, your heart breaks. This could be mine; why isn’t this mine? Because of it, everything Matty does in your presence seems to send a pang of annoyance through your entire body. His words sound pretentious, his actions too big and too loud, the looks he gives you feel calculated and judgmental.

Which is why you’re here, idly lying on the sofa, trying very hard to be mad at him. Trying very hard to hold a grudge against him for more than five minutes. You’re sure it’s all in your head, but you consider for a moment that maybe this is good. It’s either anger or infatuation, and the latter doesn’t seem to be an option. Besides, how else are you supposed to cope with the purgatory of being somewhere between a lover and a one-night stand? If anything, maybe I’ll get a good hate-fuck out of this. It’s a crude thought, but it crosses your mind. 

The movement of Matty’s fingers on his guitar strings evokes memories of previous nights with him, with his hands. His kisses in those moments feel larger than the universe, whisking you away from the side of reality in which he’s not yours. His lips are a prayer that you say every night, over and over, waiting for it to be heard. Agile fingers strum across the guitar. You could swallow him whole, you could tear him to pieces, you could have a life together, you could—

“You’re awfully quiet today.” The music stops.

You hesitate. “Am I?”

Matty just looks at you for a moment, eyebrows raised, big brown eyes boring into yours. His lips part, then close as he chooses his words. “You can tell me if you don’t want to hang out like this. Or if I did something.” He doesn’t say it like an accusation, or like he blames you; he just sounds sad, and you can hear the silent question: Is this how things have to be between us? 

That’s all it takes for your eyes to begin welling up. “You didn’t do something,” you tell him, and really, you mean it. “It’s just…” The words weigh heavy on your tongue. “Matty, I don’t want to do this anymore.” You quickly flick your eyes back to his to gauge his reaction. “I can’t just blur the lines of whatever the fuck we are together and feel totally okay.” 

He stands up and moves to sit next to you. Matty takes your hand in his, calloused fingers swallowing you. You’re small here, and his touch makes you want to cry out for him. He could kiss away the hell he brought. Any other day and he would be making his way down your neck, soft touches to ease your aches. “How could I not want you?” he would tell you. His love would wash over you like an orgasm; it’s the only way he would ever say it.

None of that happens today, though. All of a sudden you realize the hand that’s holding yours is trembling. The words don’t come to Matty’s lips. The deafening silence plagues you with guilt. What the fuck am I doing? you ask yourself. And then Matty says it. “You know we can’t be together.”

It was a long time coming. “I know.” But you don’t really know, you were never given an explanation. It’s okay to be friends, to fuck, to give yourselves to each other, but for some unspoken reason a relationship was off the table.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says. “But I don’t know how to be with you right now. I want to be good to you.”

You are good to me, you almost scream. You are so good to me. “We could just try,” you say. You hear the weakness in your voice. You want to wretch.

“I would hurt you.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do. You will.”

Matty is right and you so desperately wish he wasn’t. How easy it would be to hate him rather than let go of him. He could ruin you and you could despise him and there would be satisfaction. But all you have left now are questions. “Are we still friends?” The question sounds small and childish as you say it.

“I think so, yeah.” His voice shakes, but refuses to give. It makes you want to hold his head in your hands and press kisses to his cheeks until all is well. Remind him of love and how simple it can be.

You don’t know where to go from here. Matty’s guitar lays forgotten on the other side of the room as you sit together, silent. The next words uttered may be the last ones – what are you supposed to do with that?

Something inside you vows to never speak again.

Matty’s hand still holds yours, resting together atop his leg. Despite it all, you remain intertwined. You pray that this means something. Somewhere in the room, you find the courage to ask Matty what your heart has been aching to know. “Do you think we could fall in love again? Later, I mean.”

He gives you a soft smile, a sad one. “I like to think we could.”

[badchoicesworld]

Helloo! Would you be willing to write a Hobie x Spider!reader, gender neutral? Maybe there's a big fight or something, and Hobie just adoringly watches his s/o take down villains before joining in? Up to you, just spewing the thought! Feel free to ignore this, have a nice rest of your day!

hobie admires your fighting spirit

RAAHH thank you, hope your day is going well too :] hope this met your standards !

established relationship ❤️‍🔥

warnings: none

hobie brown x gn!reader

requests: open ! pleasepleasepleaseplea

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

so this can be interpreted however you like, maybe miguel sent you two out on a mission or you two are just out doing spidey-things when you come across some baddies that need a beat down

doesn’t matter how you got there, you and hobie are now choreographing a smack down with a bunch of scallywags

he’ll take the ones on that side, you’ll take the ones over there- easy peasy lemon squeezy, yeah ?

anyway, bing bang boom commences and despite being a little distance apart now, you’re still calling out to each other and probably discussing dinner over each wallop

i imagine hobie has the throatiest laughs for no damn reason so you’re occasionally hearing that from a distance whenever someone cracks a zinger or smthn

Hobie finishes his little dance w the baddies first and now his guitar needs retuning, but it means he gets front row seats to your own fight (tried so hard to think of a better word for fight that i haven’t already used)

mans is so enthralled by you when he swings over

can either be found sitting on the top of a car a short distance away or leaning on some kind of surface while he lets you go ape on these guys

is hiding the most snarky grin but loving eyes behind that mask

watching you swing from place to place, forcing your fist down on someone’s skull before using your enhanced agility to drive your elbow into the next guy- he’d never say it out loud but he’s absolutely entranced by all this

seeing you being all independent and protecting yourself, fighting so well and in such a fluent way, spider-people don’t feel real sometimes with what they can achieve

he’s so smitten by you. watching to be funny turns into this silent adoration while he watches you in your element

labels are restricting but there’s also no other way for him to put into words how he feels about you, so he’s just fucking glad he can call you his partner

if you catch him just watching by the sidelines and ask/demand for his help, it’ll snap him out of his trance

he’ll insist you’ve got it

lifts those lanky ass hands up all defensively and is like “Nah, love, you’ve got it!” you can hear his grin.

his body kinda drapes over whatever his been leaning on the whole time while watching you, he’s just so chill

keeps watching for just a liittle bit longer before swinging in to save the day, he’d never actually deprive his partner of his support

is absolutely cheeky abt it though, saying things like “ay, what can i say? i’m just that good.” “you really can’t live without me,” “no worries love, i’ve got you.”

2vswhatever-the-fuck seems about fair, so you finish the job a lot quicker together, but you did a number on the guys you did take out

if you’re feeling a little insecure by needing his help, hobie’s on it

“nah. you did good, love.” while slinging an arm over your shoulder and pulling you into one of those side hugs

probably nudging where his lips would be under his mask against the top of your head before swinging off, proposing a race while he has a head start

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

ug so sorry this is kinda short

[seospicybin]

SEOSPICY UPCOMING POST!

THAT SONG: PART I PREVIEW

Han x reader. (s,f,a)

A chapter of On Tour.

Synopsis: Han forms a rock band with a help from you, his muse who is so cynical of love.

Preview under the cut!

...

Han is happy as long as you're around him, just like now. He's sitting with his back against the headboard, a guitar on his lap, and been aimlessly playing it yet you remain unbothered, lying sideways with a hand propped under your head while reading a book, occupying the end of the bed.

Even sharing the silence with you isn't boring, it's comfortable and nice. How can it get boring when he gets to see your beautiful face as much as he wants?

"Babe?" He calls.

You look away from your book, "yeah?"

"Want to hear a song I wrote about you?" He asks with a sly grin.

You exhale and close your book, "Okay, let's hear it."

Han takes a breath and memorizes the chords he's going to play, he begins by placing his fingers on the guitar fret to form the A chord.

He strums and starts singing, "Spinning on that dizzy edge. Kissed her face and kissed her head. Dreamed of all the different ways. I had to make her glow.”

Once he finds the rhythm, he can confidently look at you as he continues singing and playing his guitar.

"'Why are you so far away?' she said. 'Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you, that I'm in love with you?'"

With such agility, his fingers seamlessly change their position based on the chords he's playing on the fret.

"You... Soft and only. You... Lost and lonely."

He smiles as he sings and stares at the expression on your face as you intently listen to him.

"You... Strange as angels. Dancing in the deepest oceans. Twisting in the water."

He raises the note at the end and croons, "You're just like a dream. You're just like a dream."

He aggressively strums the strings to end the song and lifts his guitar in pride.

"It's good, right?" He asks with a subtle eyebrow raise.

You turn and lay on your stomach, not sure if you know that in that position, he can see your cleavage as your breasts almost spill out of your black tank top. He shouldn't be seeing those but it's easy to tell you're not impressed with the song he played.

"Three things," you simply say.

"Go ahead and tell me," he allows you with a hand gesture.

"First, you think I wouldn't know that it's The Cure song?" You ask with a hand under your chin.

He looks up and shrugs, he can't find any reason why you wouldn't know such a widely known band, "Well..."

"Second is I don't like love songs," you share with an apologetic smile.

It hits him just now that he should know you're not a fan of love songs. He agrees with a nod, "Okay, noted. The third?"

"I don't want you to write a love song about me," you say.

"Oh, come on!" He groans in complaint.

"I haven't been dating anyone in a long time and now that I have a girlfriend, I have so much to get off my chest so let me be gooey and cheesy!" He rambles and runs out of breath at the end of the sentence.

"I'm not saying you can't write love songs," you say with a subtle eye roll.

"You want me to write love songs about... someone else?" He asks with confusion.

"Or about something like your faded and worn-out Supreme t-shirt," you answer.

Han can't tell if you're trying to mock him, make fun of him or completely joking, either way, he's feeling offended.

"Can I write a hate song about you then?" He asks.

You scrunch your nose and ask, "A hate song?"

"Yeah like things I hate about you," he says with a sneer.

He picks up his guitar and places it on his lap again, "You know what? I wrote one already just now," he says.

You stifle a laugh and lightly shake your head, "The stage is yours."

Han lies about making a song in his head just now but he starts by strumming his guitar and plays a combination of chords.

"I hate your hair..." he begins, strumming two chords in between as he thinks of another lyric.

"The way it always falls perfectly in place and makes you look like a girl in a shampoo ad," he tries to fit the melody to the chords he's playing.

"Hate it when you fix my grammar and insist that it's pronounced keen-wah instead of queen-noa," he continues while thinking of another thing he hates.

"I know you're right but god please let me be a man with pride."

You dramatically roll your eyes at that one while keep listening to him as he goes through a bridge which is just him playing the same four chords on repeat.

"Hate it, hate it that I'm your boyfriend," he keeps going.

"Now people going to compare us and say you have the prettiest smile," He slips two chords in between, "but that's okay... because I have the bigger brain."

You frown at that one and throw daggers with your eyes, he takes that as his cue to stop with his make-up song and ends it with a slap on the guitar.

"So..." he drags the word as silence hangs in the air, "what do you think?"

You tilt your head to one side and stay quiet for a moment. You rub your temple is never a good sign and he prepares himself for the worst.

Then you suddenly ask, "Want to make out?"

He repeatedly nods like a happy puppy, putting away his guitar as you crawl on the bed towards him. You put your leg over his body and sit on his lap.

You smile as you look down at his face with your hands holding his face, and then you slowly put your lips on his lips, kissing him with fondness.

He no longer hesitates to touch you, he puts his arms under and around you, angling your head so he can kiss you deeper, and when he pulls away from the kiss, he drags his mouth down the column on your neck.

"Han?" You softly call.

He hums and answers your call with a kiss because that's most likely what you're going to ask him which is to kiss you again.

The hand on his chest pushes him away and keeps a few inches between your faces, "I read your journal this morning," You suddenly confess and hurriedly kiss him, knowing that he's going to be mad about it.

It's his turn to push you away with his hands on your shoulders, "You went through my underwear drawer?"

There's a surprised look on your face, "Ew, no. It was lying near the window sill," you say.

It's his habit of forgetting things, where he puts them, and forgets to put them back in its place. He's bad with his memory but the thing is you read it.

"Another thing on the list of things I hate about you," he remarks.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," you sigh.

"I wrote about my most personal things there," he says with his hands resting on your shoulder blades.

"Like how you lost your virginity in the backseat of a car while Radiohead's most depressing song is playing in the car stereo?"

"Exit Music For A Film is not depressing," he defends himself.

"They wrote it for the Romeo + Juliet soundtrack and they didn't even play it in the movie because guess what?"

"It's depressing?"

You nod and put your hands on his chest, it's time to turn the conversation back on track, "No one wants to listen to a song about how you lost your virginity but your other songs are good."

"You should let them out to the world," you say with eyes that sparkle and make his heart leap.

He turns away to not let your charm win him over, "You know how I feel about being a singer, by myself on a stage... it's awkward," he explains.

You turn his head back to look at you, "Okay then let's make a band!" You simply solve.

"Unless you want to join then I don't have anyone who wants to be in a band with me," he says with a defeated sigh.

You turn his head back to face you again, "how about a one-man band?"

"That's even lame. I never heard a successful one-man band," he says with a chagrin.

You put on a shocked face and start to list all the one-man bands you know, "Paul McCartney, Prince, Phil Collins, Bon Iver, Tame Impala, LCD Soundsystem, M83, Sufjan Stevens... and Dave Grohl basically started The Foo Fighters by himself," you finish with a proud smile.

"Dave Grohl and I are different entities, he is in Nirvana and I'm just... me, loser," he gives another explanation that makes him not pursue music.

"Being dramatic again," you sigh and rub your temple again.

He slides his hands down your arms and squeezes your elbows, he understands that you're trying to be supportive of his passion but he's not sure of his talent.

He sees your disappointed face and lifts your chin, "I'm not that good," he says.

You don't even try to deny him, probably have enough of doing it for him.

"And I'm still mad about you reading my journal," he says with a pout.

You put your hands around his neck and draw him close, "How about I give you head to make up for it?"

That gets him hot and bothered in a second, he plays it cool as if your words didn't affect him at all.

"Well, if you insist," he says.

You chuckle and kiss him, continuing the make-out session that is put to a halt by an argument. Your hand swiftly works open his jeans and slips inside, palming his hardening member with your hand.

"I'll make you forget that you were mad at me," you whisper before kissing him down his chest and pulling his jeans down to let his cock out of its confine.

...

Full fic will be posted tomorrow!