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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 7 months ago

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𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝙸𝙸. 𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: fluff, flirting, pining, internalized negative talk | WORD COUNT: 8k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: When Miller Contracting ends up in a bind, Joel wonders if you might be the solution to their problem.

Joel overheard it somewhere near the cracker and chip aisle. He’d been here enough over the past few weeks to recognize disembodied voices of some of the staff or to see you helping Mrs. Baker load up her car time and again, the latter of which he repeatedly swore to himself wasn’t completely intentional. He told himself he just kept the same scheduled date and time with Jordan because it was easier that way. It had absolutely nothing to do with the little dopamine hit his brain got whenever he saw you or got to talk to you in passing when he came in to buy lemonade.

“No, what I’m saying is that we don’t have time for this kind of shit when somebody already called out sick for their shift,” the store manager’s voice came drifting around the corner. All the sickly sweet customer service had been drained from his tone, and Joel imagined this was what he sounded like most of the time. Your typical run of the mill asshole who acted too big for his britches and could use a swift kick in the ass to knock him down a peg or two.

“Sorry, it’s just Mrs. Baker comes every week, and she’s a really good customer. I’m sorry that Robert had to ring up a few more people on his own, but I loaded up her car as fast as I could.” There was that sweet voice he’d become way too eager to hear every week - not that he sought it out or anything. Except the kindness usually found in it had deflated into a mildly panicked rush of explanation.

“However you wanna play your ‘I’m just so sweet’ schtick is up to you, but not when we’re swamped with customers,” Jeremy snaps. “Now get over to produce and straighten it up. It’s a fucking mess over there!”

The heavy stomp of feet fades towards the opposite end of the store. Joel peers from behind the endcap and confirms his suspicions that it had indeed been you on the receiving end of that prick’s badgering. Your head was still fixed on Jeremy’s retreating form. Fists clenching and unclenching at your side. Shoulders hunched and tight, raised so high they're practically touching your ears. Then all at once your body slumps into an accepted defeat, and you let out a long, tired sigh.

“He always that much of an asshole to you?”

You whip around in comic speed, hands flying to your chest in surprise at Joel’s appearance. Your eyes had gone the size of dinner plates, and you sucked in a deep breath like you were squashing a genuine shriek of surprise.

“Oh, didn’t mean t’scare ya,” he quickly allays, taking a step back and raising an apologetic hand of surrender.

“N-No, you’re fine. I just didn’t hear you.” You shake your head and fix your face with a soft smile. “Sorry about that.”

“He talk to all the employees like that?” Joel presses again.

“Like what?”

“Like he hasn’t had his ass beat enough times to talk nice to people?”

The surprised giggle busts from your chest like a swarm of butterflies, and Joel can’t help but grin even if the response is a little different than what he’d been expecting. He chalks it up to the leftover nerves of being startled a few moments prior. “Oh, sorry. Yeah, he’s just- we’re one person short, so he just sort of gets that way sometimes when he’s stressed. Just a bad day kinda thing.”

It’s bothersome how dismissive you seem about someone talking down to you, and if that weren’t bad enough, you actually sounded like you were defending that asshole a little bit.

“S’not really a reason to give somebody a tongue lashing like that - especially not a lady.”

He clocks the tight smirk that curves your mouth. “Well, thanks for the sentiment, and I’m - again - I’m so sorry you had to overhear that. It’s definitely not the customer experience we want to offer here, and I apologize that your visit with us was impacted negatively. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

“You always apologize this much for stuff that’s not your fault?” He wouldn’t usually be so blunt, but that was at least the fourth time you’d said sorry in half as many minutes.

Your smirk fades into dust. “What?”

“S’just, I mean– he shouldn’t be talkin’ to employees like that, is all. I couldn’t imagine talkin’ to any of my crew that way. Bein’ in a bad mood ain’t much of a reason to chew somebody out like that.”

“You manage a grocery store, too?” “Besides, it doesn’t make for good business runnin’ it like that.”

You both talk over each other, and Joel lets out a soft chuckle.

“Oh, sorr–” You clamp your mouth shut before you can finish the dreaded word. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” You gesture for him to continue with what he was saying.

“You didn’t interrupt. We were just talkin’ at the same time. And, uh no, can’t say I’ve got the chops to manage a grocery store, but I do alright with my construction crew. I’m a contractor.”

Recognition dawns on your face. “Oh! Right! Miller Contracting, right?”

“Joel Miller of Miller Contracting, the one and only,” he confirms with a little wink.

Christ he needed to get a grip. Settling so easily into this sort of light, flirty exchange with you might not have been a conscious choice, but the last thing he wanted was end up being another creep hitting on you in the middle of your job when you didn’t have much choice but to stand there and engage. He was sure there was no short list of men who found all sorts of stupid things to ask for help with while you were just trying to get through your shift.

That small little grin was creeping back onto your features, and he tried very hard not to stare.

“Yeah, I didn’t recognize you without your car underneath you.”

“Well I guess we gotta work on the ‘outside the truck’ branding then.”

You glance over his shoulder to the produce section. Right. You had work to do, and he was holding you up.

“Well, uh… wish I could say I remember your name, but in all fairness I don’t think you got your name and number slapped on the side of your car for me to use as a cheat.”

“Well, I don’t think my name and number would be super visible on my bike frame, but maybe I can work out some kinda sign or something and zip tie it on there.”

You look amused, but Joel feels like an asshole. He’d seen you on a bike a million times and riding in a car approximately zero times. You probably didn’t even own a car if he had to guess. He thinks about all the unseasonable rain this past summer and wonders what you do to get to and from work on those days. Certainly not ride your bike in the pouring rain. Hopefully you caught a ride with somebody or did one of those rideshare things Sarah was always talking about.

“Oh, m’sorry abou–I didn’t mean for that to sound–”

“You always apologize for things that aren’t your fault?” Your small grin spreads into a wide smile, and Joel breathes a little sigh of relief that he hadn’t made a complete ass of himself. He’s further relieved when you refresh his memory on your name and the street you live on.

“Right. Your dad and brother live there, too. Right?”

Your face pulls tight for a second before returning to something more neutral. “That’s us,” you confirm in a brighter tone than your body language tells.

“Well, I’ll let ya get back to it.” He points his thumb behind him towards your waiting work. “It was nice talkin’ to ya. Hopefully won’t be under the same circumstances next time,” he adds with a searching glance for Jeremy.

“Yeah, definitely. It was good talking to you, Joel.” You dip your head and walk off towards produce. Joel rolls his eyes at his fumbling social skills. Since when did he get to feeling like a nervous teenager just talking to somebody in a grocery store? What was more innocuous than talking to somebody in the middle of a grocery store?

He shook his head at his awkwardness and headed to the drinks. By the time he made it back to his truck, he was going to be late no matter how many red lights he managed to avoid. Maybe he should push Jordan’s next appointment back a little next time. Just in case.

You hadn’t meant to laugh, but it came out before you could stop it. After all, Jeremy’s soft toothed bite was a drop in the bucket of what you’d lived with your entire life. Sure, you’d been a bit nervous in the moment, but that was more Pavlovian response to a man being upset with you than any actual fear being present. Jeremy was an asshole most of the time, but it didn’t grate you like it did a lot of the other employees. You suppose you could thank your father for that built in function of desensitization to acerbic men.

You’d been seeing Joel crop up on a regular basis every week now, and it had sort of become something to look forward to. He was easy on the eyes and always polite. It was nice having that sort of certainty in a shift. Today had been the most you’d talked to him since he started showing up every week. You weren’t entirely sure if he was seeking you out the way you sought him out, but it didn’t much matter as long as you got that little boost of encouragement mid shift.

He was a captivating person, making these small microexpressions you couldn’t quite pin. You’d spent your entire life tuned into the tiniest of shifts in mood or body language so you could be prepared to keep it from changing into something unpleasant. Managing the mood of the room was always how you’d looked at it. It had become a useful tool once you started working after your mom skipped town. Yet another unintended gift from your father.

You were still trying to figure out where Joel's mind had gone to after you corrected him about not having a car of your own. It almost looked like concern, but that didn’t make a lot of sense in the context of the conversation. And then he’d gone and apologized, but you weren’t sure why. You hadn’t taken any offense to his assumption that you had a car. Most people had to have a car to get hired these days because even the bus wasn’t considered “reliable transportation.” It was a giant middle finger to anybody unfortunate enough to not have the option of a personal vehicle.

Your thoughts drifted like they often did as to who that second lemonade was for. At first you’d deluded yourself into imagining that he got two for himself, but he’d just buy the bigger size if that was the case, right? It was sort of around lunchtime when he came every week, so maybe that’s when his girlfriend was available for a little work visit. Well, you assumed girlfriend. He didn’t wear a ring. Then again, he was a contractor. Sometimes they didn’t wear jewelry when they were working for safety reasons, right?

Dissatisfied with your meandering considerations, you focused your attention onto something more certain: how absolutely and insanely handsome he was, especially up close.

The whole contracting thing made perfect sense considering he was in pretty good shape for someone in his… 40s? 50s? He had enough grays sprinkled in his curly brown hair and patchy beard. He had a sort of authority about him that spoke to knowledge earned through experience while at the same time holding an air of confidence in someone who was comfortable with themselves.

He gave you the feeling that wherever he led, you’d be safe to follow. The unassuming, kind way he held conversation had you transfixed on the spot every time. There never seemed to be anything he was going after, no specific outcome or response he was seeking, and it had you chatting back and forth in an organic, instinctive sort of way that was foreign enough to make you feel out of sorts. It was rare that you were talking to someone without following the prompts or silent directions they laid out. And if carrying yourself in talk with someone without outside pressures wasn’t enough to manage, you had to force yourself to not stare at him.

The span of his shoulders was the stuff of wet dreams. They were the sort of shoulders you imagined gave rise to the phrase “weight of the world on your shoulders” because if any could support it they’d be his. His pronounced, curved nose winded down towards rounded, pink lips. His eyes crinkled whenever he smiled, and you had never thought the idea of fainting couches was actually a thing until he graced you with one of those Joel Miller smiles.

Come to think of it, the man explained a lot of idioms and metaphors that hadn’t really made much sense to you until you’d met him. A sight for sore eyes. Take your breath away. Go weak in the knees. Head over heels. You were sure there’d be more the longer you knew him. He was the sort of person who demanded something more than plain speech. He had something innately poetic and beautiful about him, and you felt yourself wanting to know as much as he’d let you know.

Whatever you’d yet to learn about him, one thing was certain: Joel Miller was a bright spot in your otherwise pathetic life.

“C’mon now, Jennifer. This is gonna put us in a hell of a spot,” Joel groans into the receiver.

Loud sniffles and a hiccup come through the other end. “I-I can’t s-s-see him! I’m already m-moving out this w-weekend. It’s over. He f-fucking broke my heart, Joel! I c-can’t d-deal with this! HE BROKE M-MY FUCK-FUCKING HEART!”

Joel scrubs a hand over his face. Jennifer had been a great secretary/sometimes personal assistant over the past seven years. He didn’t think too much of it when Corey started working for them a couple years ago and hit it off with her. It wasn’t long before he was turning a bit of a blind eye when they were getting a little too cozy in the office. It was happening more frequently as they were clearly going out of their way to see one another, but it wasn’t affecting anyone’s work so he let it slide. Besides, he didn’t want to be the grumpy boss dumping water all over the flame of young love.

About a year ago when Corey proposed, Joel and Tommy felt pretty good about their decision to not intervene on the budding relationship for the sake of professionalism or whatever else. Now, listening to Jennifer sobbing and quitting over the phone after she’d found out Corey had been cheating on her for a few months? Yeah, Joel is second guessing every time he maybe should’ve hit the brakes a little harder.

“Listen, Jennifer,” he pleads. “I know it’s fucked up, and I’m not makin’ excuses for him. I have every mind to kick his ass myself, but the thing is right now that you are the only thing keepin’ these books and calls and appointments together. If you quit right now, me ‘n Tommy are gonna be royally fucked.”

She lets out a new round of sobs, and Joel winces at his poor choice of words. “Listen, Jennifer, we can’t do this without yo–”

“I’m s-sorry, Joel, but you’re gonna h-have to,” she chokes out before the line goes dead.

Great. Perfect. The time of year when they catch up on all this shit, and now Corey had to go be a fucking moron about everything and wet his dick in someone who most definitely was not his fiance. Joel had tried calling Jennifer back multiple times to talk her into not quitting, but she shut him down every time. The only thing left to do was try to salvage what he could of everything she’d left behind. The phones were ringing way more than usual, and it took everything in Joel’s power to not find Corey every day and wring his neck for causing such a massive disruption.

Joel wasn’t a total stranger to all this stuff, but he hadn’t been in the throes of it for nearly a decade. Jennifer was at the helm for all this stuff for nearly 7 years, and Sarah had done most of the job before Jennifer came along. He'd taken it for granted, not having to worry about much of anything when it came to administrative stuff, and it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

Around the week and a half mark since Jennifer quit, Joel had finally moved all the files and calendars into his home office. Most of the time he felt ready to light a match and not look back. His main focus was keeping payroll uninterrupted, staying on top of current project accounts, and following up with payments and client satisfaction.

He missed a weekly appointment with Jordan because of all this hubbub, which meant he also missed a week getting to see you. He’s tired and on edge now, but at least he has a chance of getting to see you. Mrs. Baker is fiddling with her trunk, and he isn’t sure if she just arrived or is on her way out. When she shuffles towards the driver’s seat, Joel safely assumes you’d already loaded up her car and headed back inside. “Hey there, Mrs. Baker,” he greets with as much warmth as he can muster.

“Hi, sweet boy,” she calls back. She frowns a little as if she can tell something is off, and she says as much to him. He explains the main points of his current predicament but makes sure to leave out all the details of the stripclubs and the hidden dating apps. “Aw, well that’s a shame,” Mrs. Baker tuts. “We’d be better off if there were more youth like the sweet girl who helps me with these groceries.”

“That I agree with ya on one hundred percent, ma’am.”

“Such a sweet girl. Reminds me so much of my granddaughter. You know, Ruthie? Sweet girl. Always so helpful and looking for ways to be helpful. Smart as a whip, too. Seems a little sad sometimes, but what do I know.” Joel isn’t sure if she means her granddaughter or you, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask. “Anyway, you take care now, and tell that brother of yours I said hello.”

Joel promises to do just that and heads into the cold store. Much to his delight, he doesn’t have to venture very far inside before he spots you. You spot him, too, and he swears you look happy to see him. “Hey there. Met the President of your Fan Club out in the parking lot again.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Mrs. Baker is the President of everybody’s Fan Club, I think.”

“Tell that to Sandra Bigsby from when we were about 6 or 7. Mrs. Baker couldn’t stand her. We didn’t much care for her, but it was always sorta funny to see an adult show so much dislike for a kid.”

“Oh, you know Mrs. Baker? Or, well, I guess you’ve known her your whole life?”

“Yeah, pretty close to. Went to the same church growin’ up. She and my folks were friendly.”

“Well that says something, doesn’t it? That she still remembers you all these years later?”

“Yeah, I s’pose it does,” Joel admits with a faint blush. “And, uh, she’s pretty vocal about how nice of a person you are and helpful as all get out, so there’s that, too. You know, if we’re talkin’ about her stamp of approval meanin’ somethin’.”

Your face softens into a bittersweet corner tug of the mouth, like you hadn’t heard anyone say they were proud of you for a very long time. “She’s a very nice lady,” is all you mumble in return.

“That she is,” he agrees. “And, uh, you know, good judge of character ‘n all.” The thought had already started formulating in Joel’s head: would you be somebody that could help with a few phone calls and appointments until he found a replacement for Jennifer? “It’s actually sorta funny that she’d be talkin’ about how helpful ‘n smart you are because I’m actually lookin’ for a bit of help with something right now.”

You pause and turn your attention to him fully, brow pinched in curiosity.

“Well, you know the whole Miller Contracting business. We’re actually in a bit of a bind at the moment with secretary type help. Had our girl quit outta the blue on us, so I’ve been tryna do my regular stuff on top of all the stuff she managed.”

“Oh no, that sounds awful. I’m so sorry.”

The sincerity in your voice made Joel’s chest feel tight. “Yeah, it’s been about two weeks now, and I’m about ready to pull my hair out to be honest with ya.”

“No, I’m sure it’s a lot to deal with.”

“Yeah, that’s sorta where I was goin’ with this,” he presses. “I wouldn’t suppose– I mean, I know you work real hard here ‘n all, but if you were lookin’ for somethin’ like some extra hours, I mean….”

You tilt your head and purse your lips. “I just work at the grocery store. I don’t have any skills for office work or anything,” you breathe in a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve never done any stuff like that, really. I don’t have any experience, I guess is what I should say.”

“I mean, yeah, some of it is using computer programs and whatnot, but a lot of it is just picking up a phone and followin’ up with clients and appointments. I’m sure you know how to use a phone.” Joel scratches the back of his neck and looks off to the right to displace some of the jittery nerves he seemed to get whenever he had to hold conversation with you.

“How do you even know I’d be helpful?” You ask this like it’s a genuine question, as if you can’t fathom a scenario in which you’d possess the capabilities to do something more than what you currently do. It makes Joel feel sad for a passing moment knowing that Mrs. Baker must’ve been talking about you and not her granddaughter Ruthie when she’d said all those things: sweet girl, always so helpful, always looking for ways to be helpful, smart as a whip, seems a little sad sometimes.

If anything, it strengthened his resolve to talk you into it. “I trust Mrs. Baker, and so do you. So, if she says I’m a nice young man or whatever, and you believe that to be true, then you also gotta accept that she vouches for you as somebody that could really help me out right now.”

Something about this seems to land with you. It occurs to Joel that asking you to place the trust in someone else’s view of you is easier than trusting your own beliefs and judgments. Seems a little sad sometimes echoes again as he watches you consider his request.

“I mean, is it–I can’t cut my hours here,” you say like you’re talking yourself through it aloud. “And I don’t have a car, so if the office is – I don’t know where the office is, so if it’s kinda far off then I wouldn’t be able to get there.”

“No no, no need to cut hours,” Joel assures. “And I actually just moved all of it to my home office so I could work on it after hours, so it ain’t too far from your house.”

“Oh?” You perk up at that. “That’s actually, yeah. That could actually work, I think.”

“And I ain’t lookin’ to short ya or anything on pay. It ain’t like a personal favor or somethin’. I would pay you right,” he rushes to explain. He was glad you didn’t think it was creepy or unprofessional he was asking you to work out of his house. You didn’t seem too put off by it at all. In fact, you seemed to have rooted in something that made you almost excited about it. The tentative hope that bubbled up in you gave him a strong urge to say or do something that would give him the opportunity to do it again. And again. And again.

“No, of course not. I know you wouldn’t do that, Joel.”

God, the way his name rolled off your tongue was like butter sliding down a hot biscuit.

“So, you need me a couple days a week or ….?”

“Ah, well, yeah I’m willin’ to take up as much of your time as you can give me, if I’m bein’ honest.”

The easy smile that spreads across your features makes Joel feel like his brain just shut off and restarted. He blinks a few times and smiles back, a loose goofy thing he hoped didn’t make him look like too much of a dope. He gets himself together enough to exchange information with you and get a rough schedule for your help over the next couple of weeks. He apologizes in advance for his training abilities, but you just laughed it off and tell him it’ll be fine.

He had a feeling you were right.

You felt like you were flying the entire bike ride home. Not only were you going to have a secret stream of income that your father couldn’t touch, you were going to be spending more time with Joel Miller. The man who every time you talked to him it felt like you were slipping into a cozy warm bath. This type of thing was what the Kenzies of the world experienced, not you.

You tamper down your floaty feelings of happiness in case your dad was already home. The last thing you wanted was to rouse his suspicions about anything. You breathe a sigh of relief when you don't see his car in the driveway. It’s all a giddy blur getting inside and plopping down starfish onto your bed. You open your ancient slide screen phone and scroll down until you find Kenzie’s text thread.

You: how’s the job stuff going? miss u at the store :(

Kenzie: omg same :( but its going so good! ive already met so many ppl

You: I knew you’d hit it off right away typical kenzie lol

Kenzie: omg stop haha is jeremy being a tool still

You: the same so yes

Kenzie: ugh hes the worst istg

You: actually wish you’d been there the other day when he was being so loud getting on my ass that a customer overheard him

Kenzie: omg did they complain

You: no they just made sure I was okay it wasn’t like awful or anything just more awkward than anything Jeremy had always walked away

You: *already

Kenzie: was this customer a boy lol

You: no not a boy

Kenzie: aw booooo tomato tomato i thought u were gonna tell me a night in shining armor came to ur rescue

You: all I said was not a boy ;)

Kenzie: oohhhh a MAN?

You: lol yes Joel Miller

Kenzie: uuummmm mr lemonade hottie?!??!!

Kenzie: 👁️🫦👁️

You: ha ha yes

Kenzie: omg i would hav e died hes so hot

You: he was very nice :)

Kenzie: yeah ok and hot

You: I mean yeah duh

Kenzie: 💀

You: actually he offered me like a side hustle thing today

Kenzie: 👀

Kenzie: um explain pls bc that sounds kinda sus

You: 🙄 the secretary at his contractor business quit I guess so he needs some help with phonecalls and stuff until he can hire somebody else

Kenzie: ummm he could just hire u 🤨

You: I don’t have the experience for that no way

Kenzie: u could learn in like 2 secs

You: yeah I guess we’ll find out soon

Kenzie: when do u start

You: next Tuesday

Kenzie: ok when he offers u the job pls let me be there when u quit in jeremys face bc i wanna see it

You: yeah okay kenzie 😐

Kenzie: look at us out here becoming business professionals omg love that

You: you’re crazy lol

Kenzie: i know 💃

You laugh to yourself and let the phone slide beside you on the mattress. It felt nice to finally have something good to share with somebody.

The agonizing wait for Tuesday finally passes. You have the day off, and Joel shifted his schedule around to dedicate the entire day to showing you the ropes. You waited for your dad to leave for work and then biked over to Joel’s.

“Mornin’,” he greets warmly.

“Hey, how’s it going,” you return.

“Bit better now that I got somebody else to help with this clusterfuck.” He stills for a moment like maybe he shouldn’t be speaking to a quasi employee with such coarse language.

You wave a dismissive hand in his direction as he gestures for you to come inside. “I’m not going to tell you how to talk in your own home, Joel.”

And what a home it is. The space is muted but cozy, all earth tones like things grow and flourish here. Like the stories the walls hold are those of good times passed and good times to come. It makes your heart ache in such a distinct way, longing for something you don’t even know.

“It’s a bit of a mess, sorry,” he apologizes.

“It’s really nice here, actually.”

He offers you coffee, which you politely decline. He shows you his makeshift setup in his home office, and you spend the first few hours together just familiarizing yourself with the basics of the operation. You listen intently, categorizing and organizing every bit of information he shares. You’re determined to prove yourself, even if this isn’t a long-term thing. You watch his eyes squint when he’s explaining something more detailed. You watch the way his large hands grip so delicately around the mug of coffee, voided pitch black and bitter for a man who conveys neither attribute himself. You watch how his lips purse and flatten as he takes the time to explain things to you, pausing every now and then to make sure you’re understanding what he’s saying.

If watching wasn’t distracting enough, his shoulders would bump into yours every now and again when he’d lean forward to point out something on the laptop screen. His knees would knock against yours or a thigh would rub when he’d reach across you for a second to tap a few keys on the far end from him. The smell of him was intoxicating when he rested an arm along the back of your chair to lean in and explain something on the screen. It was a heady almost floral – no, citrus – sort of scent, mixed with an earthy bit of coffee and moss and woodwork.

The programs themselves seemed straightforward enough, but navigating and manipulating them was where the struggle would lie. Despite his hesitance at training you on all this, he had an amazing knack for adjusting his communication closer and closer each time to what was most comprehensible to you. It felt intimate in a way, his ability and desire to modify himself just so that it might be an easier undertaking for you.

By the time you get to lunch, you feel almost dizzy in the space with him. When he excuses himself for a minute to take a call from Tommy, you take the first deep breath you’ve had in a long time. You busy yourself with something so he doesn’t return to find you being lazy. You look over Jennifer’s physical calendar books and contacts. She has such legible, neat handwriting. Different bits of information are written in different colored inks – a sort of profiling system, you think.

At the bottom of each contact’s field on the page, there’s a small purple note. It’s always something random written there, no discernible pattern other than tidbits of personal information one might use to individualize an interaction. Factoids about a birthday or a vacation spot with a year next to it. Little snippets like do not call after 2 pm! or observes both Christmas and Hanukkah. Reminders like friends of the family and send copy to wife.

Besides all the helpful Purple Prompts – what you deemed them to yourself after reading the 6th or 7th one – the account overviews are also immaculately organized. The dread of getting anywhere near close to this level of competency starts to creep up on you and pull down. You push it away and focus again.

“Yeah, those are her handwritten things,” Joel announces as he walks through the door. “I haven’t gone over those much if I’m bein’ honest. Mostly just been tryna keep all the digital stuff goin’.”

“She’s very tidy,” you note.

“Definitely had all our ducks in a row,” he agrees. “That’s the downside, I guess, of havin’ somebody so damn good at their job. When they leave, it takes multiple people to do a poor imitation of ‘em.”

You grimace slightly at his remark, which prompts him to hastily add, “Not that you’re a poor imitation of anybody! I just meant it– you know– listen, you’re doin’ great.” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it even more than it already was. Bits of silver catch in the light when he tilts his head. There was something so attractive about a man who wasn’t afraid to let his grays come through. Not holing himself up in the bathroom every week for 20 minutes with a bottle of Just For Men and a beer while he painted away any traces of wisdom and experience.

“Do I have somethin’ in my hair?” he worries as he runs his hand through it again. You realize you’re staring.

“Oh, no! It looks great!” you squeak out in embarrassment. “You look great. Very handsome.” Your eyes bug out in shock at the casual compliment word vomit. You turn in your chair quickly and busy yourself with the laptop. Joel just chuckles softly and settles into his chair next to you.

“Wow, brown nosin’ the boss already, huh?” he teases. “You better watch out before I start fishin’ for compliments.”

“I wasn’t–I didn’t mean to–I’m sorry,” you stutter.

“Hey now, I’m just kiddin’. It’s good for an old man like me to have his ego boosted every now and then, right?”

You snort and shake your head but keep your eyes glued to the laptop screen where you’re busy doing a whole bunch of nothing. “You’re not even old.”

“Okay, now you’re really just butterin’ me up.”

“No, I swear. You don’t look old. To me.” Your face feels like it’s a million degrees and counting.

“Oh? Can I get that in writing?” he laughs. “Would come in handy to show Sarah the next time she gives me grief for my creaky knees.”

“Oh yeah, that’s your daughter, right? The one who did all this before Jennifer?”

“That’s the one, yep,” he confirms. “Little shit gives me a hard time any chance she gets. Between her ‘n Tommy I’m tempted to say it’s borderline bullying.”

You giggle at his tellings of family and downtime and home life. It sounds nice. “Oh come on, you can’t be that old.”

A glint of amusement dances in his eyes, mouth tugging up in one corner. “Go on. Give me your best guess.”

You scoff and get a little nervous. You don’t want to offend him. Truth is, it wouldn’t matter if he was old. He was kind and sweet and drop dead gorgeous. He motions for you to wager your guess. “Um. I dunno. Um. Fourty…. three?”

He tuts and leans back as if to take in all your audacity at guessing so low. “Oh c’mon now, give me a real guess.”

“That was a real— ugh, okay. Um. I mean. I dunno, fifty six?”

“Now you’re just gettin’ wild with it,” he busts out in a deep laugh.

You fidget your hands in your lap, fingers picking at imaginary pieces of dead skin hanging off of them. You’d never really been good at telling people’s ages, and this felt like a test you were failing somehow. “Well, I don’t know! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. It was stupid.”

“Aw, don’t say that, sweetheart. You’re not stupid, not one bit. I’m just teasin’ you. I’m comin’ up on 50 in a coupla weeks, actually.”

Sweetheart. It had poured from his mouth like a thick nectar, burning a sugary halo into your ear.

“Oh, happy birthday!” you say in a way-too-breathy-to-be-appropriate voice.

He waves you off but thanks you anyway. “See, you sorta had it. Just in between the first and the second number, yeah? You weren’t too far off. No need to feel bad or anything like that. And certainly no reason to feel stupid.”

“Okay, gotcha,” you agree quickly in the hopes that he’ll stop complimenting you.

“Besides, you’re what? Twenty… er, twenty?” he offers weakly.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at his ridiculous guess.

“Hey now, it’s different for ladies,” he protests with an impish smile.

“I’m the ripe old age of twenty three,” you hum with a shrug. "Twenty four in a few months."

“Christ, you’re makin’ me feel ancient now. Sarah was already born by the time I was twenty three.”

“No, I think that’s just a generation thing. My parents had us young, too.” Your stomach clenches at the conversational transition to your family. If Joel notices your odd change in posture or behavior, he doesn’t say anything.

“Hm, maybe. Maybe so,” he agrees. “Well, it’s due time for a little break. You don’t have to stay in here – unless you feel more comfortable doin’ that.”

You realize you didn’t pack anything to eat. “Um, I think I’ll actually just, uh, head back home for a little bit if that’s okay. I forgot to pack anything to eat like a moron,” you huff in self-directed impatience.

“You ain’t dumb. Quit sayin’ that. It’s worse than you apologizin’ all the time,” he gently chides. “Just come on down to the kitchen with me, and I’ll make you a sandwich or somethin’.”

Your mouth hangs open for a moment in surprise at his earnest appeal for you to not tear yourself down. It was a far cry from your usual day to day. “Okay, but only if you’re sure?”

He lobs one of those devastating smiles your way. “Very sure. Let’s go.”

He hasn’t made somebody else a sandwich since Sarah was probably in her late teens. He’s overthinking it now: how do you fold the ham so it sits right? What angle does the cheese go? He assembles it in the most presentable way he can manage, but he doubts you’d have any complaints. You don’t seem like the type to complain, even if it might be warranted. Even if you might want to.

At first it just read as polite and good home training, but the more he’s around you the more he feels like it’s just a veneer. Not that you wouldn’t be kind and considerate of your own accord, but the inclination to do so feels very much forced at times, like there’s some small voice in your ear constantly dictating which move should come next. Sometimes you get flustered at some perceived wrongdoing on your part, all imagined, and Joel just hopes he isn’t unconsciously doing something to make you feel so nervous.

It’d hit him like a lead cloud when you came into his home and looked around as if it was some sort of breathtaking sanctuary. He felt the waves of immediate, riveted comfort rolling off you. And then that small smile of yours when you’d said it’s nice here, actually, the one that plays so timid on your mouth like you’ve taken a lot of nerve to speak whatever words fell from your lips. He couldn’t help but soften and drink it in.

He tried so, so hard to not stare at you while he was trying to go over the basics of the company and its workings. Every unintentional bump or glide against you felt like a scorching surge of electricity straight through him. And your face when you were concentrating, how you’d sometimes nibble on your lower lip when you were listening really hard to something he was saying. He’d had to look away a few times when his cock started kicking against his thigh in appreciation.

But then you’d gone and done that thing again where you talk down to yourself. Sorry this, stupid that. He hoped he wasn’t making you feel that way. He wanted to see that same smile that softened your face when you’d first arrived. He kept lunchtime light on conversation, letting you take the lead on it. Turns out you’re a bit like himself in that you don’t feel the need to fill every moment of silence with something. The comfortable silence felt nice, though. It wasn't often he could just sit with somebody and enjoy solitude together. It was a different sort of peace to have that with someone.

Eventually he spoke up, though, not wanting to give an impression that he didn’t want to talk to you. You seemed more relaxed now, and it warmed his blood to think he might’ve had something to do with that. You’re agreeable, as always, when he mentions pay at first might just be an under the table situation until he figures out if he needs to - or is capable of - adding another employee to the roster. You seem perfectly fine with his cash offer. In fact, he thinks you seem to be relieved in a way. He’s not sure what to make of that, but he doesn’t spend too much time on it. Not when you’re sitting across from him smiling about something and laughing under your breath as you tell him some random little tidbit.

Every morsel feels like a feast, but you? You’ve made a glutton out of him. He might be able to drink you until he’s sick, but he doesn’t think he could ever drink enough of you to be satisfied.

You hope and pray that baking Joel a cake for his birthday isn’t too weird. Now that you’re standing in front of his door, the same door you’ve frequented over the past few weeks since you started, you sort of wish you hadn’t done a lemonade flavor cake. It felt sort of personal but in a forced way. You should’ve just went with chocolate or something and made it less pushy and awkward.

But you forget all about that when he opens the door for you and erupts into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen when he spots the confection. He grabs it up like he’s elated and eager and over the moon at your silly little gesture. Your eyes flit to where his band t-shirt flexes against the bulge of his bicep and tugs across his chest. Your eyes wander down to the curvature and fit of his jeans against his hips and thighs as you follow behind him into the kitchen. The denim clings and pulls as he bends towards the counter to set the cake down. You can feel the heat on your chest creeping up your neck.

“This is just– thank you,” he says in earnest.

You smile back at him and shrug. “Just thought I’d brown nose the boss some more, you know?”

His whole face lights up at your gentle teasing. “Well, it’s working.”

“Would it undo it if I said I didn’t want to put candles on there because I didn’t want to risk burning the house down? Fifty is a lot, you know.”

He breaks into a deep belly laugh at that. “Sarah would give you a gold star for that one.”

He grabs you up into a loose, friendly hug. Your hand shoots to his chest and snakes up in a fraction of a second. He pulls back, still smiling, and rubs your back. “Thank you. Really.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist.

You both pull away from one another and eat a slice of cake.

It’s nearly the end of the month, and Joel has a growing funny feeling lodged in his chest. Once he thought it, he couldn’t unthink it. Once it crossed his mind, it had boomeranged back and rooted itself firmly into place and exploded. You look like you belong here in his home. It melded around you as if you’d always been a part of it - were meant to be here - and what was worse was every time you were here it felt like a missing piece had come back to fill the empty space left behind.

He wishes he could blame it on that hug when you’d brought him cake for his birthday, when your hand grazed across his chest and left a blazing fire in its place. But, no, it had started before that, and it was only getting worse. He listens to you now taking on a sometimes alright sometimes difficult client. They were behind schedule on starting a project for him. He was a repeat customer, but he was no nonsense about things.

“No, of course, Mr. Dillard. And I hate that all this is going on when I know it’s probably a tough time for you, too,” you say softly into the landline in his home office.

There’s some gruff sound on the other end.

“Oh, I apologize. I just– Joel had mentioned about Duke passing last year, and I know the first anniversary of something like that can be so difficult.”

Joel’s head cocks to attention at that. He hadn’t said any such thing. He leans in closer to listen to whatever it is that you’re concocting. There’s a long pause and then softer speaking.

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have said anything– Oh– no, right —”

Another pause and a muted voice. You nod your head and purse your lips in agreement and faux understanding even though Mr. Dillard can’t see it.

“He mentioned it when I told him you were on my list of clients to call next. He has a memory I would kill for, I swear. And he’s always had a soft spot for dogs– oh my god, don’t tell him I said that, though. He might kill me if I’m going around telling everyone he loves fluffy puppies,” you giggle.

He hears what sounds like gentle laughter over the receiver before more unintelligible comments.

“No, and we appreciate how wonderful everyone is being about it. We’ve certainly been trying to put on a brave face, you know. She feels terrible about having to exit like that, but we keep telling her she absolutely should be focused on her health right now.”

More garbled conversation on the other end.

“Well I’m not at liberty to say, but I cannot express how much that means to us that you’re asking after her. I just know she appreciates all the support with how fast everything happened. Yeah. MMmhhhmmm. Yes, your thoughts and prayers mean so much to us, and I will definitely let her know that you are thinking about her.”

Joel’s jaw would’ve been on the floor if possible. Mr. Dillard was okay for the most part, but god could he be a jerk if you caught him in the wrong mood. Here you were pulling some story outta your ass that had him doing a 180º and asking after Jennifer’s health after her brisk departure.

“Okay, now. I’ll be back in touch very soon, Mr. Dillard. Alright. You take care now. Buh-bye.”

You set the receiver down and scribble a few quick notes in purple ink. He doesn’t remember when he’d bought a purple pen. Had you bought that to just keep up with Jennifer’s established system?

“You’re amazing,” he laughs – an incredulous tone.

You knock him out with one of those bright smiles of yours.

tagging a few people who showed interest (lmk if you wanna be removed):

@witchy-and-persnickity @sheepdogchick3 @tuquoquebrute @ellenmunn @akah565 @goodwithcheese @koshkaj-blog @umnitsa @ellenmunn @jupiter-soups @pastelnap @fadajnaoqkzalq @confusedpuffin @zooty-and-fruity @drunk-and-capable @cumberpegg @witchy-and-persnickity @persephone-girl @lovelyjess69 @verybigvag @nutterbitter @sunshinehaze1 @tuquoquebrute @beelzebeth87

#fic: chrysalism #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller au #joel miller fluff

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13as07 · 9 months ago

Text

It Hurts

(Itachi Uchahi)

[Art work is not mine! Credit to Hikaru Meo]

Requested by: Myself

[Idea inspired by I'm Yours sung by Isabel LaRosa]

Word Count: 3,304

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

I'll fight to my grave that Uchihas go through withdrawals if they're away from the people/person they love for too long

Also, angst. Sorry, not sorry. Suffer and cry like I did while writing it :)

———————————————————————

"Hey," a voice calls softly before a finger is tapped against my forehead.

"Hey," I call back, tearing my eyes out of my textbook to look at the poker. Standing in front of me is Itachi, who's not looking too hot. He's pale, paler than normal, and decorated in sweat droplets. "You don't look too good."

"I'm fine," he mumbles, eyes glancing around the school grounds.

"Your suspension over?" He hums a yes, eyes flickering to me before he goes back to the scenery. "Are you still grounded?" Another hummed yes. "For how long?"

"I don't know," he mutters, shifting his weight around.

His face flashes with pain, visible for only a second, before he's stone-faced again. "You seem sick, maybe you should go home and rest."

"I'm fine," Itachi repeats, eyes landing on me again, but this time they stay put.

"No, you're not. You look like you're dying."

"I'm not dying, Little Crow." My face scrunches at the nickname. I don't like when Itachi uses it, it makes me feel like he's degrading me or has an inside joke that I'm not in on. "I'm just in a bit of pain. It'll subside."

"Why are you in pain?" I yelp, my words soaked in worry. Because of my worry, I'm on my feet, sliding my hands over my best friend in search of any injuries. "I thought you didn't start duty for another two weeks?" Panic soon fills my words as well, another unwanted emotion filling me because of my unwanted best friend.

Throughout our school years, Itachi has been attached to my hip and unwilling to be unattached. Over the three years, I've accepted it. There's no point in fighting an uphill battle, even if the hill is an unemotional, stone-faced, Uchiha protege.

"I don't."

"You don't what?" I hiss, patting him down again.

"I don't start for another two weeks," Itachi explains, his hands catching my wrists.

"Then why are you in pain? Did you pick another fight?" I question, anger quickly replacing my worry. The last thing Itachi needs is to be picking more fights, especially with the start of his Shinobi career just fourteen days away.

"No, can't you just drop it?" Itachi huffs, his hands sliding down to cup my elbows.

"Headstrong, ego-driven shinobis are usually the firsts to die in battle," I respond, mimicking his huffiness. "Why are you hurting?"

Itachi's eyes fall closed, soft breaths being inhaled and held before exhaling, his attempt to stay patient with me. "You."

"Me?!" I screech, about ready to throw down with Mr 'Amazing'.

"Yes. Well, no, but also yes. Just drop it," his face heats up, pink dusting his sheet-white skin as his nose scrunches up. Mr. 'Amazing' is experiencing some big-boy emotions, ones he doesn't know how to deal with. "It's complicated," Itachi tries again after another round of calming breaths.

"Then explain it to me, or are you too high and mighty for me now?"

His face scrunches up at my question, but I'm not sure if it's from anger or sadness. "You are incredibly naive."

"And you're too big for your britches."

Itachi's face relaxes again at my insult. He all of a sudden seems better, some of the sweat subsiding and his skin getting just a hint of color back sometime during our discussion. "You're so pretty it hurts."

"I knew that-" I cut myself off once Itachi's answer fills my mind. The words tumble around, not being able to process correctly. "I don't... what did you say?"

"I said," Itachi starts, shifting closer to me. His eyes almost glow as he stares into mine, his hands tight but soft to keep me in place, and his nose barely touching mine. "You're so pretty it hurts."

"How... how does that..." A rare smile cracks across his face, hiding his stress lines the slightest.

"I don't know. My mother said that... well... if someone from my clan cares about... if we're away from someone... it's kind of like getting withdrawals." My chest warms from Itachi's stuttering, his words sticking in his throat as he tries to explain.

"So what you're saying is that you're an addict and I'm your drug," I tease, pulling away from my emotionally stunted friend. "What a little addict."

"That is not what I'm saying. I'm not an addict - Little Crow," Itachi races out, huffing and puffing as he walks after me.

"How do you plan to survive once you're an active-duty Shinobi? What are you going to do? Make yourself little fixes to take with you, little addict?" I continue to tease, walking down the familiar path towards my home.

"I don't know. It'll be fine. Can you stop wording it like that? What if someone eavesdrops? They're going to think I'm a drug addict." It's entertaining seeing how upset Itachi is about this. It's a nice reminder that he's not as old as he acts.

"It's quite the ego boost to know I'm your addiction, Tachi."

"Little Crow!" He hisses again, eyes jumping around to the people filling the busy streets of the village.

"Hey, maybe now that you'll be too busy for me, I'll become the addiction of a different Uchahi."

"No," he yells, his hand shooting forward to grab ahold of my shirt collar. "Absolutely not," he repeats softer this time, tugging me backward, my back colliding with his chest.

Itachi feels hot, his body heat sizzling through his shirt. "I was just kidding," I tell him, leaning my head back to look at the angry future chief. "I'm yours." Once the words are out, his body heat noticeably drops, shifting him back to the normal cold-to-the-touch temperature I'm used to.

———————————

The knocking on my window echoes through my ears, temporarily silencing my heartbeat that's been pounding there. Another knock rings out before two glowing circles appear on the other side of the glass. The familiar red I've grown accustomed to suddenly scares me.

Silently, Itachi slides my window open, climbing through it for the millionth time of our lives. The sight of him makes me panic, all the whispers about tonight booming in my head.

"Did you-"

"Ya," the answer is short, but so loud at the same time. So many emotions push through with it, most noticeably sadness.

My heart pings, but only for a second. The need to comfort Itachi washes away when my eyes catch sight of the blood smeared on his cheek. Panic quickly rises again as I look over him. More blood smears cover his Anbu uniform.

"I think you should-"

"Just let me hold you. Just... please." His request tugs at my heart again, chasing away any sane response I can come up with.

When I don't say no, Itachi slowly moves towards me, very obviously leaving his katana against the wall. His arms fall into place, wrapping around my sides and knotting themselves behind my back. I'm gently pressed into his chest, my face buried into the material of his uniform. It reeks of blood and misery, leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

"It hurts," he whispers, voice creaking and chest jumping with a silent sob.

"What hurts?" I ask gently, clinging to his sides as much as he's clinging to mine.

"You." The word hangs in the air as Itachi buries his face into my hair, soft sobs being whispered into it. "You're so pretty it hurts," he tells me for the hundredth time. The words fill me with love, the same way they have since we were eight. It's a bittersweet moment, Itachi's undying love poking through all the distraction and murder he's caused tonight.

"Why does it hurt, Tachi? You just saw me this morning."

His fingers ghost through my hair, his head shifting to my neck and gently pressing his nose against my skin. "We won't... Little Crow... you... can't be mine anymore... it'll eat you alive."

My hands gently rub his sides, my tears threatening to spill out with the truth. The truth I've been avoiding all night long. "Stop worrying yourself. I'm yours," I whisper, trying my best to keep my voice even and my tears from flowing. "I'll always be yours."

A gentle kiss is pressed to my forehead. When Itachi's lips leave my skin, he's gone completely. No sign of him anywhere to be seen.

A knock fills the room again, this time coming from the door. "Anbu Black Ops. Open up."

———————————

"Welcome home." The greeting comes once my front door is opened, startling me.

"Who's there?" I call trying to keep the fear out of my voice as I glance around the dark space.

The red glowing eyes of my dreams soon fill the darkness, bringing a drop of peace to the wave of panic. "It's just me, Little Crow. There's no need to panic." Tears prickle my eyes at the nickname. The past year of emotions wash over me; anger, sadness, fear, longing, and love, all hit me at once.

Itachi moves slowly through my home, making his way toward the front door and in turn, me. He stops in front of me, feverish heat rolling off of him and colliding with me. "I've missed you," he whispers, dipping his head down. Our noses brush, the skin of his feeling like flames of a fire.

"I missed you too," I murmur, my eyes locked on his even though I know that's the last thing I should do. "What, um... what are you doing here?"

He shifts again, lips brushing against mine as he speaks. "I wanted to remind the council I'm still around. I don't need them messing with Sasuke... or you."

"Oh."

A soft kiss is pressed to my lips, both mending the last year and breaking my heart even more. I reach out, my hands clinging to his clothing as our lips dance together.

When we pull apart, Itachi's eyes scan over me, taking in the minor and major changes from the past fifteen months. My hands slide against his chest. Sweat has soaked through his shirt, leaving him drenched.

"You're so pretty it hurt," he mutters, head falling to be pressed into my neck as his hands grip my waist. Despite the time apart, Itachi's love still seeps through his words. His longing for me is evident in his voice. "Make me stop hurting. Please."

"How do I do that, Tach? Stop being so pretty?" I can feel the smile being pressed into my skin, a silent curse falling from me because of the darkness coating the room.

"You're mine." He mumbles, lips brushing against my neck, working their way down.

"I'm yours," I echo, letting the lava of Itachi's skin burn into my hands as I slide them up to cup his face.

"Let me make you mine, please," he asks, head shifting so I can hold it better. His sharingans glow so beautifully in the pitch black, the sight quickly burning away any fear I have of them.

"Itachi."

His hands slide from my sides as he falls to his knees. They land behind my thighs, clinging to me as his head nestles into my stomach. I let my hands drop down too, burring them into his crow-colored hair. "Please?" Itachi continues to beg, pressing careful kisses into my torso.

"Be gentle."

"I will."

———————————

Itachi clings to my legs, gentle praises and pleads fall from him. "Just this once," he tries again, his lips trailing up my thighs. "Please?"

"I don't like going on your... outings with you."

"I know."

His kisses waiver as his eyes crawl up to my face. "It hurts when you're not with me."

"I know."

His hands shift, balling up the fabric of my dress. "You'll have a nice time. I promise. Please." The words are coated in desperation, just as much desperation as his hands that are going white from him clinging to me. "It'll be like a vacation."

"Normal people don't murder someone on their vacation."

A sharp breath is sucked in by Itachi, the oxygen stifling his whine. Tears start forming in his eyes as he looks up at me, the dark shading of his eye color slowly shifting to the bleeding red of his sharingans. "You're so pretty it hurts. It hurts so much when I'm away. I can't survive four weeks without you. Please my Little Crow."

"You survived a year without me. A month will be like nothing."

Tears streak down his cheeks, hands shifting to grip my hips instead of the fabric of my clothes. "Please? You're mine, aren't you? Pretty please?" The words are broken up by sobs, tugging my heart into reluctantly giving in.

"Yes, I'm yours," I mumble, sliding my hands through his hair to flatten out the loose strands.

Itachi knows what he's doing, he knows I'm still uneasy from the last time he was gone for an extended amount of time. I swore he was going to die from longing. His fever was high, higher than it had ever been, and took longer than normal to level back out.

The longing for his brother is finally starting to catch up to him. Why should I put him through more longing just for my comfort?

———————————

“I’m dying.”

“I know.”

The words stab my heart, even though I knew they were coming soon. I know Itachi has been coughing up blood. I know Sasuke’s life mission is to kill his brother. I know our time is limited, has been limited from the beginning. It doesn’t make it any easier.

The familiar trail of kisses is pressed against my skin. Starting at my knee, trialing up my thigh, crossing my hip, and curving over my stomach before trialing back down my other leg.

The familiar feeling of his fingers clinging to me promises to leave small bruises on the back of my legs.

The newest familiar feeling of blood trickling from Itachi leaves the sticky and warm sensation of fresh blood against my skin. All the familiar feelings that’ll never happen again.

“Don’t hate Sasuke,” he whispers against my skin, starting his second lap of kisses.

“I won’t,” my promise is followed by tears prickling my eyes, threatening to spill over.

“You’re so pretty it hurts. It hurts so much,” Itachi says, spilling out his version of ‘I love you’.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his warm breath coating my skin, making it tingle with need. Need to make Sasuke forgive his brother, need to make time slow down, need to fix the illness that’ll take Itachi away from me even if his brother doesn’t.

“For what?” I ask, tingling my fingers in his hair for the last time. The last time I’ll see Itachi on his knees yearning for me. The last time he’ll kiss me. The last time I’ll see his chest pumping with life.

“All of it. For making you mine, for forcing you into a life of regret.”

“I don’t regret my life with you,” my honesty makes tears fall from both of us. Mine coats my cheeks as Itachi’s mixes with the smears of blood on my thighs, making it smear even more.

“My Little Crow?” I hum a yes, not believing I can speak without sobbing. “Promise me you’ll move on. That you’ll find someone else to spend your life with.”

“I can’t do that, Tach. I’m yours. Only yours. Always have been, always will be.” My answer tears my heart apart even more, partly because it’s true and partly because I know I’ll never get to say it to him again.

“I love you,” he mumbles, another kiss being pressed into my stomach.

“I love you too.”

———————————

“Hello,” a voice rings out, making more sadness soak into my heart.

“Hello,” I answer back, keeping my eyes locked forward. They trial over Itachi’s clan symbol painted into the wall above his memorial. Once I’m done doing that for the tenth time today, I let them drop down to his death platter.

Sasuke shifts behind me, moving to stand next to me instead. “I was wondering who kept leaving flowers.”

“Is that why you set the trap?” I ask, shrugging towards the now dismembered trapped that awaited me for my visit today.

“Ya.” Sasuke sinks to the soil, sitting next to me.

I spare him a glance, a mistake on my end. Even as a boy, he looked so much like his brother. It would be almost impossible to tell the brothers apart if it wasn’t for Itachi’s stress lines. Now… now all I see is Itachi when I look at him.

Before I can stop it, tears spill over, coating my cheeks like they have for the past handful of years.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispers, eyes landing on me. Sasuke sucks in a breath and holds it, calming himself down the same way his brother used to. “I remember you… a lot,” he mutters, his own eyes bouncing around the grave site.

“Ya?” I tease, my voice still shaky. “I’m not surprised. Ita… I was with you as much as he was,” I continue, shrugging towards the grave. “Before everything, at least.”

“I assumed you were dead.”

“I’m sure most people do.”

Silence falls between us, a heavy sad but mutually understanding silence. Though, it doesn’t last long. “I remember what my brother would say to you, every time he saw you. Every time.”

“‘You’re so pretty it hurts’,” I quote, fresh tears coating my eyes.

“I thought he was crazy saying it. How could someone be pretty enough that it hurt to be away? I thought he was dumb.”

I chuckle at Sasuke’s confusion, a piece of my heart falling back into place.

“Well, I get what he’s saying now. There’s this girl and… I understand what he meant now.”

I look at Sasuke again, shoving down the heartache that comes with it. His face is scrunched up, his nose curling the same way Itachi’s would when he was struggling with emotional situations.

“We’re getting married… Sakura and me and… um… she asked what family I wanted to invite.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, turning his attention back to me. His sharingans glow with the familiar red I’m used to. They’re so different from his brother’s. “She didn’t mean anything by it. Sakura doesn’t always use her head before she talks.” Sasuke smiles softly to himself, causing me to smile too.

Another piece of my heart clicks into place.

“I don’t have any family… obviously,” the sad word is followed by his eyes widening, another trait the brothers both inherited from their father. “But I have you.”

“Me?”

Sasuke shrugs again, eyes jumping away from me. “It’s safe to say you’re my sister-in-law. That makes you my last family member. You are, right?”

“Ya, I’m yours,” I answer, my eyes falling on Itachi’s grave when the last two words stumble out of me. “Your family,” I correct, bittersweet emotions filling my chest.

Sasuke sighs, his body language relaxing a bit. “Apparently there’s this ‘mother-son’ dance thing. It’s the same as a ‘father-daughter’ dance I guess. I don’t… ya.”

“Ya,” I echo, the weight of Itachi’s actions hanging over us.

“I would like you to be there and… maybe dance with me,” the awkward words are followed by a cough. “I would like you to come back to the village too. So we can… so that I’m… so you aren’t… ya.”

“As you wish,” I whisper, burning Itachi’s memorial into memory. Sasuke doesn’t have to say it. I know what he means, what he wants. He wants to have and be reminded of good memories of his brother, for me - the last good piece of Itachi - to not wither away.

“Thank you.”

The soft words, the gentle conversation has started threading my heart back together.

#naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden oneshot #naruto shippuden x reader #itachi uchiha #itachi oneshot #itachi uchiha oneshot #itachi x reader #itachi uchiha x reader

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turning-monday-blue · 6 months ago

Text

Obsession

I'm not a complicated woman, I swear.

I'm so boring.

I'm quiet. I live alone. I drink decaf. I file my taxes in January. I majored in art history.

I crochet, goddammit! I crochet cardigans, the most boring kind of sweater! And then I wear them! Like Mister Rogers, aka the plainest person to ever exist.

No one could possibly suspect how deeply weird I am.

I've been perfect. I've never left a browser history. I've never worn blue and red together. I've kept myself as trim as my mom's genes let me. No one's ever caught me watching the movie.

You know... the movie?

You know the movie.

Well, I mean, I guess it's "movies" now, but... I know which one left a violet stain on my soul.

You can't blame me.

Well... you certainly can't, anyway.

If you were me, maxed out on good karma, toeing every line you've ever met, perfectly alone in all the universe... what would you have done differently? What other choice was there?

Never mind how I got the chance. As soon as I found out about it, there was nothing else I could do. Everything I thought I knew about myself fell away. All the safe choices and good behavior just gone, poof, like they never existed. This is my fate, it was made for me.

I was always going to be the one chewing this stick of gum.

In the end, it was like they wanted me to find it.

Dodging through an unlocked door, stealing through low-lit corridors, drawn to it like the heartbeat of the universe.

It's so silly. I know it is. Some stray neutrino passed through my brain as a child, and I watched the wrong movie, and I twisted into whatever it is that I am. All I've wanted is to become something else, and that something is big, and round, and draped in the shreds of the last clothes she'll ever wear.

That last part is really important for reasons I just can't explain. All that matters is that I literally get too big for my britches. I just need to hear that little "pop". That's it.

I can never seem to imagine past that. Regardless, I'm putting the gum to my lips, completely, defiantly unaware of how this will end. It's on my tongue, and the flavor is unreal. I guess they didn't bother with the roast beef or anything. It's just violently fruity. Juicy, and warm, and way too sweet.

A door creaks open. I was so sure I wouldn't be found, but joke's on them. It's too late.

It's a mousy woman woman with huge glasses, wearing a lab coat. She peeks around the door before she enters, like she doesn't want to offend me.

"Oh-" she says.

"Um," I say around a mouthful of juice. "I-"

And then I think, hey, wait, I've made my choice. It doesn't matter how this ends! What's she going to do, save me? I'm in control here! Kind of!

"... um." I say again. Actually, it's hard to talk. I'm swallowing a lot of juice.

She steps all the way into the room.

"Uh, hi," she says, fiddling with her glasses. She looks at me, and then down at her clipboard, and then back to me. "Are you-"

"I'm not spitting it out," I say, before gulping down another burst of juice. I'm starting to feel kinda bloated.

"No, I mean. Um," she says, "sorry, I'm new here, um."

I'm tired of my mouth working so hard, so I make a show of swallowing the gum.

"Oh!" she says, "that was fast," and she makes some sort of mark on her clipboard.

What.

"Um, could you follow me this way, please?" she asks, gesturing toward another door I hadn't noticed. One of those big ones like they have on loading docks that roll upward.

"What?" I ask, reflexively.

She walks over and pushes a big red button on the wall. The door starts lifting.

"Oh, sorry, we can wait if you want," she says, "you'll fit, don't worry."

I start to have a thought, but then my stomach gurgles and I feel like I'm on an elevator going down. I clutch my sides and double over, but... it's getting hard to bend.

"Don't worry," she says again, "it just feels weird, but you'll be okay."

The thought comes back. Someone was expecting this. They're prepared for this.

I look back at the pedestal the gum was resting on. It's already been replaced with another piece.

The worst feeling in the world is thinking you're making a defiant last stand, only to find out that the hill you chose to die on was ready-made for your dramatic exit, and that you'll be asked to leave through the gift shop and pay way too much for the photos they take of you. You know, figuratively.

I have to do something they won't see coming.

I turn around and lunge for the new piece of gum. Or, at least, I try to lunge, but my thighs are filling up and it's getting difficult to move dramatically. Still, I grab it and cram it in my mouth. Might as well be a brat.

"Oh!" she chirps again, and makes another mark on her clipboard. "Wow! So-"

God, I'm feeling so full. I can feel every inch of my clothes pulling taut against my skin. I gave in to temptation and wore a blue top, blue jeans, and a red belt. I couldn't help myself. Now, that belt is starting to dig in, trying to squeeze me in half.

I swallow the new gum, too, and look down at myself. I'm getting pretty big, bulging out around the belt. My shirt is riding up, exposing my swelling blue belly to the cool air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her make another mark.

I try to touch my growing midsection, but it's getting hard to move my arms. They're filling up too. I feel warm all over now.

"You're blowing up so fast!" she says.

She opens her mouth to say something else, and that's when my belt snaps apart. My equator surges outward, jiggling and sloshing from the violent release.

It feels so, so strange, becoming something completely alien to what you use to be.

That said, it also feels amazing. Swelling bigger and bigger with gushing blueberry juice, bursting out of- wait.

I'm still growing, but besides the belt, everything's still on.

I try to look down again, but all I can see is the blue horizon of my belly. I flap my hands in frustration.

The lady speaks up again. "Since you're likely unable to move by yourself now, may I have your permission to roll you?"

"Um," I say, trying to think. I'm freaking out a little right now. "Uh."

I need this. It's all I've ever really needed. I just need need need to blow up and burst out of my clothes, that's it, and who cares what happens to the blueberry that used to be me.

All I need is to burst one little button and I'm done. I'll have won. Good day, miss.

The problems is, I'm perfectly round now, and my jeans are so, so tight but haven't so much as snapped a stray thread.

"Miss?" she says, "may I roll you away?"

I try to think of something to say, just to stall for a little more time. I'm so close, so so close.

Instead, I break down.

"Please," I beg her, "I'm going to lose my mind if I can't pop this button."

"Hey-" she starts, but I'm in a full-on panic right now.

"I have to, I have to, I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to be a blueberry, and like what if you roll me away and I never get juiced and I'm just stuck like this forever which would be hot but still or like what if this is as big as I can get and it's just impossible like what the fuck who even makes clothes that fit spherical women I knew I should have worn the red ones-"

"-but-"

"And I know what you're thinking! She broke the rules, it doesn't matter what she wants, she's just a blueberry now, blueberries don't want things, they're not even people! She had her chance and she blew it except she couldn't even blow it-"

"Miss! Please," she snaps, and she walks over, reaches up, and pinches my lips closed.

We lock eyes, because where else can I look, and for a moment, I just cry silent blue tears down my puffy cheeks, pouting all the while.

Then she smiles, and says, "I'm a trained professional, Miss. I can help you with that." She lets go, brushes her frizzy hair out of her eyes, and disappears behind me.

I feel her warm little hands on either side of me, like she's trying to give me a weird hug. Then I feel her squeeze into me. It feels startling, she must be way stronger than she looks. The pressure builds more and more, and I can hear her making an adorable little straining noise.

Then, there's a pop, and immediately a sense of relief. I hear a little zipping noise as the fly on my jeans explodes open. I gasp at the sensation.

Finally.

I give a little shudder, releasing the tension I hadn't realized was building the whole time. How Freudian of me, I guess. The oral stage ain't got nothing on this.

"Now then," she says, appearing in front of me again, smiling wider, making yet another mark. "May I please roll you away, Miss?"

#blueberry inflation #my words #blueberry expansion #copping to some deep autism here but don't mind me #maybe if i write enough i'll understand myself lol doubt it though #anyway good riddance and hope y'all enjoy #also please ignore any typos or plot holes or whatever #just had to get this one out #body inflation #body expansion #i guess this is as close as i want to get to a factory tour story

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wishing-stones · 1 year ago

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How would each of the boys feel about the bitty versions of themselves (and maybe vice versa?)

In general: The guys think they're cute and fun to fuck around with, and the bitties... don't.

Killer likes to poke Razor and push him around. Razor does not think this is funny in the slightest and either stabs with his little needle-shiv, or bites if there's phalanges in range. There's a whole lot of attitude in a small package there, and Killer's flippancy and automatic demand for respect would not be received well.

Dust messes with Speck, but doesn't openly antagonize him. He'll put the bitty back in his place if he feels that behavior needs correcting, but otherwise, these two are the ones that get along the best. They chill together.

Axe would get along with Scrap if he didn't hide food and guard it. It's a real detriment to being able to cook when your chopped onions vanish off the counter and into a dark corner. Despite his best efforts to accommodate by giving him little bits and pieces of things while cooking, Scrap... takes as much as he sees fit and bites if someone tries to take it away. It's... a work in progress.

Cross and Chi kind of just... exist around one another. They don't talk, they don't come in contact (often, Chi will sleep either on his chest or in the small of his back, depending on where he's laying) and they don't mind each other. Chi is quiet, and Cross doesn't mind if he's around, really. Sometimes rides in his hood, too.

Baggs thinks Dryl is fascinating, and Dryl knows exactly how dangerous that is. He tends to stay away from his full-sized counterpart and makes himself a little hidden nest in a dark, messy corner of the lab where he can't be gotten and tossed into a tank for observation. He doesn't tend to stay in one spot for longer than a week, but has a somewhat more permanent setup on top of one of the bookshelves in his office. Dryl can climb; Baggs, not so much. Baggs absolutely knows where he is, but studying survival patterns can absolutely come before other observations he might otherwise gain with eventual trust.

Nightmare cohabitates with Dread... okay. Dread doesn't bother him a lot, but sometimes gets a little big for his britches and tries to emulate his larger self by also ordering the guys around. There's a sizable terrarium on his desk now for when Dread needs Time Out. There's a mutual understanding between the two, but Nightmare's the one in charge and doesn't tolerate a bitty trying to usurp him, no matter how laughable it is. Fortunately, the terrarium is pretty cozy and well-furnished with very fancy dollhouse furniture and other items.

#k answers #k headcanons #feat. r&r crew #and their bitties

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silvantransthranduiltrash · 7 months ago

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Please give me more of the Míriel comes out of the halls, the moment Finwë dies. I’m on my knees begging you!

Have a delightful day.

i imagine that the moment Miriel comes out of the halls, she's simultaniously murderous, but also over whelmed, bc what tf is she supposed to do?

she's like the deadbeat mom (though she was dead so-)

i imagine she'd do 1 of two things

not mention her return to anyone and just... disappear into the background

in this scenario i imagine she makes her way to middle earth ( personally hc that Miriel doens't really like valinor at all). maybe she sneaks into fingolfin's host? i don't think he'd know all the elves that joined him soo.....

or maybe she's mor sensible and, because she's technically not been identified as a noldo (bc she wasn't there during the first massacre and she has silver hair, which is a more teleri like trait and no one suspects MIRIEL THERINDE to be out of the hall)

i don't think she reaches feanaro before he sails away with his host bc i imagine she takes a moment to get her barrings and figure out what she's going to do and then hear's about the massacre, and by the time she arrives she's too late.

like i said before, Miriel doesn't strike me as the kind of elf that's all that bothered by the incident, not because she's heartless but bc she's a cuivienen elf and bc she will always prioritize her family over anyone else.

2. the other thing i can see happening is her (begrudgingly) staying in valinor in order to take controll there. sure, it might not be the nicest move but she's the MOTHERFUCKING QUEEN OF THE NOLDO

YOU REALLY THINK FINWE BECAME KING ON HIS OWN AND SHE'S JUST THE WIFE?!? NO MA'AM.

if anyone has a claim on that throne it's her, thank you.

she's about to make her re-embodiment everyone's problem. (you can see where feanaro get's it from)

now, her taking over the remaining noldo does make things more difficult bc, again, feanaro does not have the best rep atm. but god damnit, no way she's loosing against the third son and fifth child that had no interest in leading.

plus, i refuse to believe that she didn't have her own supporters when she was still alive that stayed in valinor bc they're only gonna respect miriel therinde, or someone who also survived life at the lack, fuck you. they're not following some greenhorn warrior that's to big for his britches to their completely avoidable death, thank you. (sorry feanaro, but you were not made for middle earth. he's a lowkey rich kid that thought he could make it on his own (tbf, most valinor born noldo thought that, hence why they fucked up so many times))

of course in this scenarios, the moment Miriel catches wind of shit going tits up in Berilian, she mobelizes her army (bc Morgoth is out there, fuckers, and you're an idiot if you think that bitch isn't gonna go after valinor the moment he's got ME) and heads to Beriliand. she's got a score to settle with that MotherFucker.

#miriel therinde #miriel #give miriel a personality 2023 #miriel is feral #answered asks #lord of the rings #lotr #lotr elves #silmarillion

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melanatedkink · 9 months ago

Text

Just a Little Reminder

Pairing: Ran x Y/N

Synopsis: Oh the sex is great with your boyfriend, even if he does play it safe just to keep from getting vulnerable with you. Though, tonight, you're not having it. I mean, guys deserve to be told that they're good boys, right? Tonight, you make him believe that sentiment.

Warnings: dom y/n, affirmations, mentions of good boy, I, again avoid gender defining genetalia and pronouns for y/n(let me know if I slip up), Ran says tits but it's gender neutral(everyone has tits), teasing an orgasm, Ran getting therapy in the middle fof sex

It had been another rough day for Ran. You could tell in the way his dry humour had become accented with a little chuckle that seemed to sour his face moreso than save it. It was typical for Ran to have days where things just did not seem to go very well at work. Sometimes rivals get too big for their britches and break contracts with him and his gang. Depending on how the betrayal goes down, you could get a smug bastard with a myriad of gruesome facts spilling out his lips like it was the weather. Or you could get what you currently had, a stiff and distracted Ran who could only manage absentmindedly caressing you, in place of his usual social self.

An hour after dinner, you finally found this personality change more than slightly confusing. No, you were effectively suffocating in the tension in the air. You broke the silence, gently leading his gaze to yours with a soft finger against his jaw.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

Again, the strained smirk popped up, souring your mood further.

"Nothin' baby. Whatever it is, it's gonna handled sooner or later,"

You tilted your head, trying a different approach," I'm feeling lonely. What can I do to get your attention on me?"

That seemed to do the trick. The light in Ran's eyes was almost criminal. Rarely did you ever have to ask for his attention, his gaze zeroing in on every movement you made as soon as you entered the room.

"Feeling lonely? I'm right here, babe," he whined, as he maneuvered you onto his lap," Don't worry, I'll fix it for you,"

You'd hoped he'd catch the hint with how distant he seemed all night. Luckily, the promise of sex could effectively break this man out of any mental turmoil he may have been going through. Once he'd carried you to the bedroom, he was all over you. Tender hands caressed and massaged their way down your body. His lavender gaze seared themselves into your memory, while he nibbled your thighs making you wish he'd just enter already.

"Looks like you're expecting somethin'."

You hummed, sitting up on the edge of the bed were he had layed you out. Ran straightened, allowing you to catch the tension in his shoulders and jaw. You hadn't seen him this nervous since you first did it as a couple. The only other time he'd gotten vulnerable during sex. He made a promise afterward, promising to keep you in the innerworkings of his brain as long as you were there to listen. You guessed he just needed a refresher course tonight.

You leaned forward, allowing your chest to captivate him while you steathily curled your fingers into his belt loop and wrenched him into your spread legs. Before Ran could get his bearings, you'd wrapped your legs around his waist.

"I think you're holding out on me, Ran,"

A twinge of fear shifted through his face. He absoutely loathed his name coming out of your mouth. You only did that if he made a big mistake. That tied with the current situation could only make for a special punishment just for him.

He raised his hands in defeat, hoping to get to the problem first and squash it before you went on a guilt trip.

"Alright, I admit that I've been a little distracted today. But, like, do we have to do this now? I mean, I was about to take my frustration out on that pretty little spot down there. You know it's basically therapy for me,"

His smile did a little more to ease your worries, but you were greedy. You wanted every little spot in his mind. And you were entering demon time trying to get it. His fingers walked themselves up your thigh, only to be stopped by your hand taking his and kissing it. You fluttered your lashes as you caressed the skin. He gulped. Here comes the guilt trip.

"When is a good time for you? Earlier on the couch or at dinner? After sex? Tomorrow night when sommething else happens at work? That's not fair, Ran," you whined.

He grunted as he squirmed under your puppy dog eyes. Man, you coud be evil sometimes, working up a love hate relationship with the way you spoke to him. It made him desperately want to give you everything he had.

"How about you listen to me, answer my questions and I'll let it go, hm?" you suggested.

You teased your fingers around his straining erection as he weighed the current options. This could be a trick to open up. But you were honest. Besides, this was a simple task. He'd dealt with worse interrogations before. How hard could this be?

"Alright, baby, I'm all ears,"

You chuckled, the sound acting like the bell beginning round one.

"What's your name?"

His eyebrows knitted," This a trick question?" You inched your hands away from his crotch forcing him to backtrack," Wait, wait. Ran Haitani,"

"Good," you slipped your thumb over his button, swiftly undoing it,"Who's your lover?"

Ran's amusement morphed into awe as you fished his dick from his pants, finding it drooling already.

"You- uh Y/N," he tugged his lip into his teeth,"That good?"

He'd never know how badly he'd just exposed himself. Nevermind you gave a soft "good job" and began masturbating him. Ran blew out a sigh of relief at the feels of your tight hand smearing slick up and down his needy shaft.

He rolled his head back," Oh yeah. That's good,"

You giggled at him slightly going dumb in front of you. His hips chased you ministrations, his breaths becoming ragged.

"Am I getting you off, love?" you teased.

His initial answer tapered off into a moan," Oh what kinda question is that? Of course you are,"

As Ran inched closer and closer to orgasm, more hushed curses mingled with his wet cock. You teased him with a moan of your own. Once again, you captured his eyes. You spread your thighs, exposing yourself and loosing a slutty moan just for him. His eyes nearly crossed at the mounting stimulation. It was getting to him. Your pretty voice. Your pretty hands. The way you encouraged his good behavior. Good God, you were a vice and he could only ever want more.

"Are you a good boy?"

His hips stuttered, as if your question hit a speed bump in his brain. He opted to just ignore it in favor of biting his lip. You shook your head. Oh no. No way he was trying to get an out in the middle of an out. You slowed your tempo, earning a frustrated growl from you man.

"Fuck wait! I'm sorry I'll fucking answer. Just say it one more time," he stammered.

That was new. You never thought you'd ever hear him beg so easily.

"Oh honey, all you had to do was answer," you said, slowing and loosening your hand around his shaft.

Another irritated sigh. That godforasken tone of yours was back with a vengence, making him twitch in your limp grip. "Fuck, baby. I-I'll answer it. Please, one more time."

"How bout this," you squeezed, testing his attention,"Where do you want to cum?"

His pupils dilated at the prospect.

"Oh fuck. Your tits. Shit I wanna mess em up so bad," he was practically vibrating in your grasp. A new wave on excitement crackled in the air, almost making you give in. Almost.

"I don't think you deserve it," you stated flatly.

"Wha- wait! I answered!" he squealed," You can't just leave me hanging!"

You dragged his hand from his hanging dick just to twist and play with your nipples. He swallowed a whimper. He was beginning to wonder what he did just to avoid this torture ever taking place in the future. Hell, he'd beg forgiveness now if you just let him cum.

"I said you answer my questions, you get out of telling me what's bothering you at work, honey," you shrugged," You were doing so well, too, baby,"

His fist balled up at his sides. It would be so easy just to jerk it right now, but seeing you on the brink of dispappointmnet already, he didn't want to see what you would turn into if he tested your kindness any longer.

"Alright baby, alright. How can I... I'm at your mercy; how do I fix it?" he pleaded.

You scanned his frame. His eyes shone with unabashed hope. You sighed, relenting.

"Be honest: do you think you deserve to cum on my tits?"

His brain short circuited. Ran slipped out his sex-crazed stupor to throw an incredulous look your way. You smirked as he silently went through all the possible answers. There was no need to over think this, right? Just be honest.

"I think I do,"

You slowly replaced your hand, making his dick twitch immediately from the pressure.

"Why?"

He swallowed hard. Why? Hell, he barely thought he desserved you just from the amount of danger he risked you getting in by selfishly keeping you in his life. Here he was twitching and squirming, just aching for release, and completely stumped at your question.

"Oh Ran," he flinched," You're a good boy. Do you believe that?"

"N-not really," he admitted.

That earned your pace doubled on his cock. The pressure nearly made him double over from how fast he chased your hand.

"Too bad, only good boys cum where they want,"

He whimpered. He couldn't tell if this was humiliating or tantalizing. One thing was for sure, though, if you stopped again, he was gonna have one.

"Fuck. I'm a good boy. I- oh God- I'm a good boy. Believe me I am. I do my best just for you. Just mm keep going,"

Over and over Ran repeated his "I'm a good boy mantra" slipping up as he began to shake. Something was holding him back, and this time, it wasn't work. It was you. Specifically your lack of permission. So, you leaned forward, pressing yourself into his leaking erection. Just before his eyes crossed, you teased him with one more question.

"Would like to be a good boy, now?"

His confirmation metled into a myriad of unintelligent fragments and curses as he released all over your chest. You got the brunt of how pent up he was as his orgasm seemed to go on longer than usual. He doubled over, trapping you in his arms as he came to. You ran fingers through his purple locks, listening him to him gasp and groan into your shoulder.

A light sniffle broke the silence. You gripped his face, inspecting it closely for any remnants of pain.

"Fuck, didn't know how much I needed the uh confidence boost there," he leaned into your hand," Reminds me of the promise I made ya, when we first got together,"

You smoothed your thumb over his cheekbone, swooning at his muted bashfulness.

"Let's clean up, and we can talk about it, okay?"

A smirk split his face, as Ran crept over your torso until you were forced to lay under him.

"Oh you're not hearing a damn thing, til you answer a few questions of my own, hm?"

#melanatedkink #smutfic #smut #tokyorev #tokyo revengers #ran haitani #haitani x reader #y/n x ran #sub ran

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alanshee-keeper-of-realms · 1 month ago

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I know this is a pretty ungodly time to ask, but I am getting hooked on your off the animation table stuff in your blog and I have to ask. What do you make of Hellaverse’s toons? Lucifer in particular could either be Mickey’s pal or biggest nightmare cause he’s been designed to be a sort of affectionate parody of Walt Disney himself.

Hi!!! And its alright I'm glad you're enjoying the off the animation table universe!!! I have so much fun talking about it, so to answer question (sorry got kinda long lol a lot to explain socially with OtAT)

The Hellaverse Toons are a part of the A24 studio, right now Mickey doesn't have too much connection with them because well Disney doesn't have very much adult entertainment they just started getting into it with the buying out of Fox,

(Deadpool literally grabbed him and chucked him into the deepend by skipping by calling him Daddy Disney)

He is also very old fashioned, old money sort thus sticks to the friend groups he has he does have friends of the modern Toons(Mario, Astroboy, Steven Universe,) however a lot of the Modern Toons outside the Disney Studio rub him the wrong way, i.e being too invested in fame or the power that comes from it, or Dramas and slandering one another for the sake of social climbing,

DreamWorks is a BIG example of such Shrek is an ass along with many others. Po and the Guardians are sweethearts though.

Lucifer would honestly probably be an acquaintance. The A24 Folk are very down to earth, they come from Humble backgrounds thus usually live very 'human' existences

The only ones that really cause trouble are Angel Dust and the rest of the Hazbin Mains

Blitzo is a sweetheart along with the I.M.P crew, he's the only one different from how he is on screen, he's still snarky and yes you Stolitz folks they're together off screen, the Helluva Boss folks are basically the Office off screen goofy found family,

Viv: Blitz you cannot shoot Moxie out of a canon

Blitz: *does it anyways*

While Hazbins crew shot to fame and oh boy did they not have time to learn to appreciate what they have.

This is why Mickey keeps people at arm's length because a lot of the newbies get big in their britches, thinking the fame's going to last

He knows it won't, he's just gotten stupidly lucky there are a handful (Simpsons, Fairly Odd Parents, Lego Ninjago) that also have had shows last, but even those toons have tampered down over the years.

Even his Fame in modern day is more so the factor he's the owner and lead animator of Disney than an actor,

Usually, if he's going to be a friend with somebody, it's going to be after they've calmed down, and he can see the true person behind the bravado.

He also has a wife(Minnie/Minerva) and 9 kids he's got to protect alongside the social side he isn't going to bring somebody into his home that he cannot trust,

Especially since he's also royalty unto his own right as Disney is considered a micronation kingdom under the United States of America's government so he's got a lot of security also that he's got to worry about

There is a lot of reasons a lot of people might try to abuse his friendship for power

#mickey mouse #disney #helluva boss #hazbin hotel #helluva boss blitz #stolitz #off the animation table #who framed roger rabbit #answering asks #thank you so much for your question #feel free to ask more if you have any!

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codylabs · 7 months ago

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Mechanical symbolism in Dune

Dune Part 2 (and Part 1) did something I don't notice much of and don't see nearly enough of, and that's characterizing factions and characters through their equipment. I'm not even talking about costumes, I'm talking about the ship baybeee.

House Atreides has ships, aircraft, and armor that are very angular and square-ish. Their spice harvesters look like NASA crawler carriers, very mundane, very mechanical. Their ships aren't the biggest or most powerful, but still dwarf all the locals when coming in for a landing. Their interior design is likewise fairly minimalist. Their aircraft are ornithopters, which stay aloft using good-ol-fashioned aerodynamics and hard-working nature-mimicking flapping rotors (albiet twice as many rotors as the dragonflys they're based on). If we think of a square as a perfectly "ordered" shape, and nature's methods of flight as the 'ideal', we can see House Atreides, with their endless trapezoids, as the closest this world has to the "good guys." An unassuming, honorable, humble dukedom, though still mired in politics and corruption, still a little (maybe a lot, maybe not enough) too big for their britches. All that communicated by their vehicles.

House Harkonnen is their contrast in every way. The book gave their baron a 'suspension rig' to float around because he was so fat, but the movie ingeniously gave that same tech to their troops as well. They float around effortlessly, climbing mountains with a thought, not even engaging with the terrain, perfectly mirroring their attitude and the superior power they represent. They wear black, the categorically worst color for the desert, and their soldier's faces are obscured, almost inhumanly. Their ships are round, bulbous, shaped like rolls of fat, and so darkly-colored and confusingly-shaped that it's hard to even make out their intricate and crowded details except that they're bristling with guns. Their aircraft use lifting gas balloons. Their spice harvesters are so huge and tall and fat with machinery that they need silly legs just to stay upright. Now of course from all this, we can tell that the Harkonnen are so proud that they consider themselves too good for the ground itself, so rich that they don't have to touch it, so powerful they don't think they need to, so disconnected that it's made them weak.

The Fremen are the simplest and most obvious of course; they have nothing. Their technology is simple. We don't see much of it. I wish their thumpers and compasses looked a little more obviously mechanical, but I can forgive that because they look very simple. The only aircraft we see them using are tiny 2-seater ornithopters with only 4 rotors; a copy of nature's dragonfly, no frills. The instruments onboard look like something out of WWII. Just perfect.

But my favorite of all is the scene where the emperor arrives. The movie shows him going through the flames of reentry, which isn't something movies often show; the director put it in deliberately, because the very fact that he's entering the atmosphere, that he's coming down to the planet at all, is a thing of much importance, spectacle, and monument. And then his ship itself is an enormous shiny chrome sphere. Because of course it is! What symbolism could possibly be better? When you look at him, you can't even see him without just seeing yourself smaller. But as the ship comes in for a landing (and it doesn't even land, it just perpetually hovers) you can see that the mirror isn't perfect. You can see the seams between the mirrors, see it's just square paneling. The emperor is a powerful and proud and magnificent invisible god, except he's NOT, you can see all that splendor and hubris and pride, and see that beneath it all he's just a mortal man, just by looking at his ship. I have never seen that done in quite this way before. Spectacular.

And then and THEN the next time we see the emperor's ship, it's after it's unpacked all its cargo, into this huge palace, complete with a complement of battleships and thousands of ground troops. My first thought was "hey how did all that fit onboard? That should be a literally impossible construction. Oh well, it's just a movie, who cares." But then the Fremen attack happens. A nuclear strike destroys the defenses, and then the sandworms come in, and something hits the palace, and the entire thing shakes and rattles! Because of COURSE it's not an actual building! Of COURSE all that could fit onboard, because it's just a shaky, fragile house-of cards! Sheet metal held together by rivets and a prayer, because he wanted to appear magnificent on his visit! The imperial rule makes a big talk, but it's all bark and no bite and it's fragile enough to be done in by a stiff breeze, and you can tell all that from the mechanical design alone!

GOSH these movies are good.

#dune #film stuff #2am rant #visual storytelling my beloved #mechanical storytelling

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divine-misfortune · 1 year ago

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YOU STOP THAT im already ruined about this wtf

i need a moment to myself godDAMN

I just think she likes to remind him there are better options! Can't have him getting too big for his britches! Honestly, she might do that a little bit to all the big ghouls, and they're just sooo lucky to have the pretty princess wrapped around their big cocks that they'll do anything to keep her there.

She's playing all of them, and will probably pay dearly for it one day, but she's having fun right now :)

#void rambles #spicy tag #aurora ghoulette #answered

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yellowsugarwords · 1 year ago

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Girlie I love ur writing‼️‼️ can we get Luke reacting to a reader (15-ish) who uses crutches? Ty so much

omg let's go this is gonna be cuuuuute

Luke had no idea what has happened.

Y/N seemed fine just earlier that day.

And now, right at the brink of dawn,

Just as his night shift was ending,

There they were.

They stumbled into the living room,

At the crack of dawn,

With two make-shift crutches made of sturdy branches.

Luke leapt to his feet,

Eyes wide and panicked.

"What the hell happened?"

Kenny sauntered in, sighing,

Hands on his hips as he watched them start toward the couch Luke was once sitting on.

"They got knocked out of a tree."

"What!?" Luke was practically fuming.

He flipped around to Y/N,

Helping them to sit on the couch.

"Easy, take it easy," he hushed. "Hold onto me."

The instant they were sitting, Luke turned,

Eyes blazing,

Fists clenched.

"Why the hell would you like this happen to--"

"Calm down," Kenny scoffed, raising a brow at his concern.

Kenny crossed his arms defensively over his chest.

"It happens all the time out on the farm."

Luke closed his eyes in anger.

"But there's no one out here who can help them!"

Kenny shrugged again. "You have a doctor."

"He can't fix a broken leg!" Luke scoffed.

He couldn't believe this.

To think,. he trusted Kenny with Y/N for one day,

One. Day.

And this is what happened.

"They're gonna be fine, I know it's not broken."

"How do you know?" Luke asked.

What if it became infected?

What if Y/N got sick?

What if they--

"I can tell it's a simple sprain. It'll heal."

Even if that was the case, Luke's rage didn't simmer.

"Really, I'm okay Luke." Y/N called from the couch,

Trying to relax his frazzled nerves.

Luke paused and turned,

Sweetly smiling,

Hoping to put them at ease even slightly.

"Of course, kiddo."

After hesitating a moment,

Watching them turn away to look out the window,

Luke snapped back to Kenny.

"If you ever let anything like this happen to them again,"

Kenny's eyes widened,

Only partially,

As Luke began.

"I swear to God, it'll be the last thing you do."

While Kenny wasn't scared,

Merely taken aback,

He couldn't help but smile when Luke turned his back on him.

It was adorable how much he cared.

In a silly, too-big-for-his-britches young adult kind of way.

But it filled Kenny's heart to see someone care about Y/N that much.

He watched as Luke wandered to Y/N's side,

Sitting beside them,

Gently asking them what hurt,

And what he could do.

Kenny chuckled and shook his head.

That was all any of them could really ask for.

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰�� 𝘴𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 💌☕️♡

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impercre · 8 months ago

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Why do you not like the new Dune movies?

Like if you want the short answer ultimately Denis Villeneuve is interested in much different things than I am when it comes to Dune. And that's fine, a lot of people are getting a lot of joy from his take but it's not my music so I'm not gonna dance.

Dune means multiple things for different people. And for me I enjoy most of what was cut/was changed. I like that House Atriedes is ultimately as amoral and ambitious as House Harkonnen. I like that Paul is in big ways a villain protagonist. Paul likes to paint himself as the victim of fate/destiny but I don't see him as one.

I love the tragedy of Stilgar being a noble and respected leader who lets himself lose some of his own humanity because he comes to believe in Paul as a messiah. I like that Jessica realizes far too late she's fucked up raising Paul and Alia and now they are what she's raised them to be- ambitious, violent and alienated from others around them.

I like that Feyd Rautha possesses flashes of true nobilty and intelligence but is ultimately dashed against the rocks of Paul's ascension.

The operatic quality isn't in the scale of the sets or crowds but in the humanity of the characters and their flaws.

Couple that with the fact Denis Villeneuve belongs to a school of film-making (ie how he paces, edits, scores his movies) that I just don't subscribe too. And they're just not movies I was ever going to like. (I am a film graduate who has made short films of my own so this is no small thing with me.) This qoute for example jus boggles my mind:

I'm also bummed to britches that he repeats a lot of things I didn't like in 84 film or the miniseries-like cutting Feyd's positive aspects, erasing how difficult Duke Leto can be. Seeing the Baron naked, him and Feyd kissing, etc.

I also feel really uncomfortable with the casting. Frank for all his flaws took as much care as he could making the Fremen not only true to the MENA cultures he pulled from but also the struggles of many First Nations peoples. His best friend was Quileute author, Howie Hansen and he had a lot of influence on Frank's writing both of Dune and other novels as well.

Javier Bardem is a white Spaniard and I don't feel comfortable with him being made a buffoon with this really broad Arabic accent.

There's also a dozen other nitpicky things I could bring up but would be unfair too.

#not in the book [ooc]#WELP GUESS I'M CANCELLED

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exeggcute · 8 months ago

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My gf works in tech and it's good money and great bennies, work from home, a hip workplace, her coworkers are getting loaded... and then between your posts and this Tumblr drama it seems so messy and then my girlfriend's company makes the national paper BC the CEO "resigns" after sex pest allegations and the company wants to IPO with a new (American) CFO and well. looking from the outside I have to wonder if the money and casualness is worth the often quite public messiness.

oh man, "company wants to IPO" is already a doozy in itself but "company wants to IPO immediately after ousting sex pest CEO" is a real one-two punch lol. at least they got rid of the shitty CEO, but I'd definitely watch out with the new CFO because shitty CFOs who ascribe to the "save a penny to spend a pound" philosophy love to come in and slash random costs only to find out six to nine months later that the costs they cut were... not things you really want to cut. so fingers crossed this isn't a sign of layoffs on the horizon :/

honestly though. it can be turbulent out here in softwareland but I would be lying if I said I didn't still enjoy it, despite the messiness. it's certainly never boring (and the money doesn't hurt). but I do think a lot of companies have this sort of ebb-and-flow lifecycle where you can come in at a stable time and solve interesting problems with cool people, until the company either gets too big for its britches and turns into a bureaucratic nightmare or doesn't bring in enough money and starts circling the drain. jumping ship a lot (either by choice or by force) becomes the norm, which has its own pros and cons, and then you have the holdouts who stick around at the same company for so long that their butt and their office chair start to meld into one indistinguishable mass.

the company I got laid off from a few months ago is definitely in the "circling the drain" phase right now—right after the wave of layoffs I got caught in, the guy who'd been the CEO since the company's inception "stepped down" (i.e., the board wanted him out) and I'm not confident that the new guy is gonna fare any better trying to steer a company that lost some pivotal clients to bankruptcy and that's still catching its breath in the wake of an ill-fated merger. the fact that they're hiring back my exact role for more than they ever paid me is not a good sign 🤷

and sometimes it's fun because of its messiness, not just in spite of it lol. tomorrow I have an "interview" with that place even though I already accepted a job offer somewhere else for a better title and a 25% raise... but I can't wait to gather intel and maybe, god willing, get some fucking closure on the whole thing

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forgottenroderick · 2 months ago

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OOC | Roderick's Tiers for Holdings

RODERICK'S PRIORITIES

@forgottenedmund @forgottenmarian ive been meaning to put this down somewhere, so here it shall be! but this is basically his strategy for figuring out who gets what kind of land/spoils/titles/etc -- w the best/most strategic/richest/best stuff going to higher tiers etc!

ok so roderick is def gonna make sure that ~roderick has the best of everything like!!!! this is def a given lakjdsfkljdf but he also knows that rewarding his most faithful servants is a good idea, so that's def a thing, but he ~also knows he doesn't ever wanna invite anyone getting too big for their britches and tryna grab smth out from under him/his fam, and (atm anyway!) even ~he knows he can't hold the whole world by himself wo v powerful allies to back him up. he also believes that family is the thing he can trust most, w those related most closely being worthy of more trust than those ~less related etc!

this must also be balanced w due respect etc towards the crown and such!!

so! when roderick's handing out goodies to the playable characters, what's the priority? ive got some kinda ~tiers, and within these tiers, he tries to keep things pr even, but in a longterm kind of scale/w a sense of ~earning things getting you more etc. so, if you really exert yourself for roderick you'll get rewarded for it!

for example: uncles of heirs is a tier and, if godfrey really acquits himself well and gets smth big out of it, roderick will then put an uncle of arthur's or guin's in a position where he can really acquit himself and thus potentially earn as much as godfrey did! if he doesn't, that's on him, bc roderick gave him equal opportunity! that kind of thing ;D

RODERICK'S TIERS

empress -- now...the empress is dead! buT she just can't stop winning! and dead or alive, she's still the richest woman in the varmont empire! one of the big things roderick likes to do, right, is play his wives off against e/o by making ~them compete to be his next empress like he does w his heir, its unlikely this award will ever be given, but he's ensured this pot is pr large so the prize is def worth having! and boy is it! the empress, alone, is free to rule over her own holdings like any male lord might! i know, jaw-dropper! now, atm, these holdings are in trust and probs stewarded by either alaric or bart (or perhaps even working together bc it is...a lot and they're both busy, as is!), w that regent splitting the revenues w roderick and w guin, as heirs to the late empress, but all to be reworked, should a new empress ever be named. the empress, as part of roderick's winnings, is always awarded a new holding in every single nation. roderick feels it would be a slight against his own glory, were his empress not to be the second most powerful person in the world and the .richest woman alive!....and she is! well, rich..not...alive... ;D anyway ngl this is also a way of helping assuage his guilt over her death, so that's fun too!

alaric -- sorry to roderick's many (living) wives and children, alaric's in a league of his own!! he's the man who has believed in roderick longest, had his back throughout it all, his most trusted compatriot and warrior and bff! after roderick himself, alaric gets the best of everything! roderick knows alaric can and will hold it, and enrich himself and the empire w whatever he gets bc he's proved it! AND he knows that alaric will do all that w roderick's best interests at heart, too! alaric, alone, out of all the tiers can count on getting a new holding in every single country, regardless of how he acquits himself atp! his loyalty is proven!

ot3: succession -- those heirs out here to scooooore!!! they're gonna get the next best stuff!!!! this is their training-to-rule opportunity, really, so use it wisely bc duly pleasing roderick is as close to that as youre ever gonna get!! nd roderick really ~does actually want them to have a holding in every single country but they're now at the age where they have to earn it!! he will be embarrassed if they fail to do this and they will have to suffer the consequences! now, the boys are most likely gonna earn this through conquest: guin will have to do it by negotiating extraordinary trade deals and diplomatic affairs and strategic marriages and such, both within the empire and outside of it. t he boys can do this as well but they MUST do the other as well and guin CANNOT.

queens: that's right, ladies! sleeping w roderick has its privileges, and you get to hold land in ur own name! obv you don't get to do much ~w that or abt it w/o permissions etc, but you get the revenues from it and that prestige too! also a lot of their households will probs be ppl'd by ppl from their various holdings (aka implied allies) etc!! and they can do more or less as they like, so long as they meet w their council of (male!) advisors before doing anything too big, the heads of which are their respective firstborn sons. alaric, bart, and eoin, and any other extraneous male varmont relations there may be also sit each council, and the respective queen's own male relatives may do as well, (as appointed by the presiding son in question,) all presided over by edmund or arthur, respectively, which is honestly probs another big opportunity for them each to learn abt such things so that's smth! in marian's case, sebastian would also be part of this council. before edmund and arthur were born, arthur or bart or perhaps even roderick, himself, was probs the presiding member.

sebastian: same as ot3: scs, but w less pressure and less opulent potential winnings, bc roderick doesn't mind as much if he doesn't have a holding in every country, etc! he also doesn't have access to affairs ~outside the empire, but may negotiate to his heart's content ~within it as long as he doesn't in any way embarrass roderick ofc!

cassandra: so this one's a lil uhhh weird...she can't do anything to earn anything except by pleasaing/displeasing her father or her mother or full bros doing the same! she also doesn't even get to attend the sessions where her lands etc are dealt with! the deal here is basically that these holdings are effectively her dowry. whoever marries her automatically becomes one of THE most powerful men in the world, becoming archduke and count and lord and everything else w a holding in each of roderick's many domains bc, after guin and roderick's wives, cassandra is the wealthiest and most powerful. (powerless) woman in the world via everything she's got. now, its not nearly as nice as what sebastian's got, bc roderick is here to make sure that his own blood is still more powerful than whoever just ~marries in~ etc, but!!! this is an insane level of wealth and power notwithstanding!!! rn, tho, this one's largely seen to by arthur w sebastian's help, since they both got a lot of holdings of their own to attend to. (also arthur defff checks in w his mom abt what she wants done here but that's just out of love/respect and isn't official bc marian is, ofc, a woman alksdjfkljdsf ironically tho i doubt it occurs to him much to check in w cassandra re: what ~she might want even tho these are literally ~her holdings lakjsdfkljsdf)

the church: yeah his one god getting a temple in every single land! and its gonna be bigg and granddd and flashyyyy, and this guy don't have to earn it! its not on the ~choicest pc of land but its still rad af and lotsa ppl would kill for it but they won't get the chance! the god gets his piece no matter what <3 i would guess that royce is running these, largely, but this lowkey falls under the jurisdiction of the entire privy council to deal w should anything come up and roderick is actively involved w designing each temple etc too

so the immediate imperial family now taken care of, roderick starts to think of satellite family. their tiers are still extravagant, but all ~the best has already been divvied up in the above tiers! now, best can mean amany things, and it incorporates both wealth/power AND strategic significance. so yeah! these guys are less trusted and can't rebel as easily, is basically the thought here!

bartholomew: once roderick's immediate family is all taken care, the very next guy roderick's thinking of is his uncle! he loves this guy, and trusts him as much as he trusts anyone, and before there were kids and multiple wives, bart got WAY choicer pieces!!!! so in the early conquests he realllly made out, still!!! he will still be more wealthy/powerful, id imagine, than cassandra's husband, id wager, but he's now much lower on the pecking order than he used to be, as each successive wife and child pops him into a lower bracket than he was, early on. bartholomew, like everyone else, has to earn these but it seems like he's extremely competent so ive no doubt that happens!

eoin/any other extraneous male varmonts: he's only a nephew, sure, but this dude's still a varmont! his ~sons will be varmonts! and that means smth!! so eoin, on his own, probs less wealthy than cassandra's future hubby, since he wasn't alive and accumulating wealth ~that long before roderick started having kids etc, but once he inherits from his dad and unites everything they both have, well, that varmont name still looking pr great!

brothers-in-laws: w all roderick's blood relatives taken care of, its time to start looking in on those in-laws! they def gotta earn this stuff, and a lot of this will depend on politics re: the related queen/heir etc bc if roderick's mad at amira, well, tristan's (look i brought it around to him again in his own post! ;D but...just as an example bahahah) not being put in a position to earn another holding! ~marian's brother is! and so forth lakjdsfalkjsdf this will ultimately also encompass families who intermarry w roderick's kids, etc. (bc in roderick's mind this is def happening someday! too bad only roderick stands in the way... ;D alkjsdflkjdsf) fathers of wives get better pieces than her brothers, older brothers get better pieces than younger ones, etc. cassandra's husband's family would get lesser pieces than the families of the queens, or of the princes' wives, since his social standing would be lesser. guin's hsuabdn's family would get more than sebastian's and it'd be a whole thing abt whether he gets more than arthur or edmund's bride's families but probs he would?

council members: here's where your alistair greys and your alexander royces come in! they too have to earn it -- in war, yes, but largely w good politicking! roderick likes that thing you did? you get a holding! you get a holding! you displeased him? no holding for you! etc

other loyal lords: earned by extraordinary deeds and pleasing roderick! you're a lord who distinguishes yourself in. me way? you get another holding courtesy the god's chosen! congrats! its good to be you!!! so yeah, roderick keeps lands to himself in this strata and a lesser one so that he can hand them out as rewards to those who earn them in his mind. beware tho! he will also give this strata of holding to the tier below if his lords have displeased him in some way, playing the commons and lords off against e/o just as he does w everyone else! (this also tends to help funnel rebels towards local landowners rather than himself -- this is another benefit @forgottenrian unwittingly offers roderick, which he's happy to exploit at any time!)

anyone else: roderick gets the significance of rewarding extraordinary effort! so he ~will raise you from nothing into a lord (w a lesser holding ngl but still!), if you're somehow epic enough as an ally to him/he happens to notice you for whatever eason and is randomly feeling generous/wanting to make the point of his generosity felt to his underlings! this category of man, who owes everything to roderick, he knows will fight the hardest and prove the most loyal. he exploits that

#about #ooc #edmund varmont #arthur varmont #sebastian varmont #lore #cassandra varmont #guinevere varmont #marian varmont #alaric varmont #amira varmont #bartholomew varmont #eoin varmont #aleksander royce #alistair grey #godfrey calainon #tristan calainon #i think??? ive tagged everyone alksjfklsjdf #rian stafford

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