#and that was so fucking dead-on accurate it was such a good compliment

[babsaros]

Who’s Lyra? :3

good question! this is Lyra! (nonbinary, ne/nim/nis pronouns only)

ne's a counterpart to my Blades in the Dark character Catch, who you can find art of here and here! (because i'm incapable of not making ocs in pairs)

going to avoid going into specifics for rn so that the players i'm mutuals with on here don't get spoilers but basically! they grew up together and have a very fucked up relationship shaped by the very unfortunate circumstances of their births. The people around them groomed and lied to Lyra to get nim to do some very bad things.

they're best friends. they know each other better than anyone else. and they were just kids.

Catch never wants to see Lyra again.

and in our last session, they were suddenly in the same exact room together for the first time in years :)

and i'm extremely on my bullshit about it :3

[xzaddyzanakinx]

My Best Girl

Stepdad!Anakin Skywalker x Femme Reader Oneshot

18+ MDNI

Warnings: domestic violence/abuse, non-con/dub-con, oral sex, emotional abuse, manipulation, gaslighting

Info: this is a graphic and accurate depiction of an instance of domestic abuse/non-con. Read at your own risk.

🕊dead dove do not eat🕊

“Don't lie to me," he snarled, his hands gripping your wrists tightly. "I saw you."

He leaned in closer, his ice blue eyes boring into yours, filled with pure undiluted jealousy.

"Tell me the truth." Anakin’s fingers dug into your wrists just like your knees dug into the tile of the kitchen floor.

You were sitting at the kitchen counter, having a wonderful little moment to yourself. A big tall glass of blue koolaid, your favorite snack and your comfort cartoon playing quietly on your phone for background noise while you worked diligently on repairing your younger brother Luke’s loth-cat stuffie.

The poor thing had been through the wringer this week; left all alone in the cold dark cubby overnight in his preschool classroom, ran over by Leia’s tricycle, and his undoing was being left unattended in the living room under the watchful eye of your family dog. The horrible shriek that pierced your ears was enough to burst your eardrums, you went rushing, hoping that you didn’t walk into a bloody mess.

Though the tantrum that ensued after his initial shock was more than enough to wish maybe just alittle bit that Leia had just wacked him upside the head with her toy doctor’s kit again.

You’d sworn on your life that his ‘only best friend’ would have his leg reattached and in it’s rightful place under his arm when he woke up tomorrow morning.

So there you sat, sewing his leg back on when your stepfather Anakin returned home from work. Covered in oil and grease from his day at the garage, he walked past the kitchen and gave you a wave and crooked smile. You gladly returned the gesture, your relationship with your stepdad had begun rocky, arguments and mean words exchanged on a daily basis. But now, months later, you’d finally begun to get along.

He was a good man, a good dad; it wasn’t his fault that he had a bit of an anger issue. He worked hard to keep it in check, attending therapy, taking CBD gummies, he even tried meditating.

You’d quickly come to realize that his anger was a front to hide his vulnerabilities. He was a horribly cocky and arrogant person outwardly. But inside, tucked away in a beat up box, was a messily stored collection of vulnerabilities and insecurities.

Anakin thrived on praise and affection, he was happiest when he was eight inches deep in your poor little fucked-out pussy. Bathing in the sounds of your babbled compliments, the sweet lilt of your whiny voice when you begged him for more. His favorite thing? The best compliment? The quickest way to reassure him of his worth? That was the devastatingly wet *shlck* of his cock sliding home between your thighs.

It never failed to astound him. The way your body responded to him, the way you were tucked under his thumb. When he was pounding into you night after night while your mother worked the late shift; that’s when he truly came to life.

You made him feel needed. Wanted. Valued. But most importantly? Worshipped.

There was nothing else like the rush of warm adoration he felt from every little noise your pretty mouth made. It flowed over his tired, work-worn body and soothed all his stress away. He needed it. He craved it. He had to have it.

You.

You were the only thing that mattered.

It would be an understatement to say that he regretted marrying your mother. Every second of every day he hated her more. She wasn’t you. She could never be you.

Divorce, the hours of research on annulments, laws and stipulations, the legality of things. He’d searched through it all. He had the best lawyer in the state on speed-dial. Set on retainer for the moment he saw his opportunity to snatch up his brand new trophy wife.

But it’s not exactly acceptable to divorce your wife of six months to run off with her freshly 18 year old daughter is it? No. But was he going to do it? Absolutely.

You were his good girl.

You were his good girl, til now.

Anakin crouched down in front of you, getting on your level somehow made you feel even smaller. Any other time you would’ve taken the time to admire his freshly washed hair that stuck to his forehead in little swoops, the scent of his cedar soap, his bare chest and that delicious V carved into his lower abdomen.

But instead all you could see was the hard line of his lips, his knitted eyebrows… he was trying so hard to be angry. But you could tell he was just in pain, those big beautiful blue eyes were holding back tears, and you so badly wanted to comfort him, to make him understand.

“Anakin. Please listen.” You pleaded with him, desperate to get him to hear you out.

“Oh? I’ve been listening.” He stood back up and grabbed your hair roughly, tilting your head back to force you into eye contact. “I just don’t believe what I heard.”

“Just look!” You said gesturing at your phone laying on the counter near him, the screen cracked. “Please just look at you’ll see.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Seeing what I already know is there.” He scowled.

“Am I not good enough for you?” He hissed, shaking your head by your hair. “Is that it?”

Before you could even answer him he grabbed your jaw and pried your mouth open and shoved two fingers down your throat.

“That’s alright. You don’t deserve me anyway.”

Collecting your saliva on his digits, he removed his fingers and flicked the spit on your face, making you flinch.

“Not even gonna waste my spit on you.” His voice tinged with hurt under the grit of his anger.

Your eyes welled up with tears, never had he spoken to you this way. You never imagined that he was capable of being so mean. Of course he had his issues, you’d argued plenty before you both finally allowed the hands of fate to shove you into each other’s arms. But never like this.

“I come home from work, see you sitting all pretty and patient for me.” He starts, his voice low and dark.

“Then I come back from the shower, ready to hold and love and spoil you just like I do every night. I leaned in to give you a sweet little kiss and what do I see?” You weren’t sure if he wanted an answer, so you stayed silent and waited. Apparently that was the wrong thing to do.

“I asked you a fucking question.” He grumbled. “You were so eager to talk earlier, so fucking talk.”

“You saw me decline a phone call.” You said quietly, trying hard to keep eye contact with him through the blurriness in your vision.

“A phone call from who?” He prodded.

“My friend Tyler.” You answered meekly.

“Exactly.” He released your hair by pushing you backwards, causing you to catch yourself with your elbow right on the granite tile flooring.

Pain shot up your upper arm and wracked your body with a momentary spasm of tension as your brain tried to sort out this new pain. Extended your arm gently you breathed in relief that it wasn’t actually damaged, but you would definitely have a gnarly bruise.

Anakin had turned around, his back to you. One hand on the kitchen counter and the other ruffling his wet hair, shaking off water droplets as he did so.

“Why?” He asked, his tone quieter but no less menacing. “Why would you hang up like that if there wasn’t anything to hide?”

“B-because Ani, I was talking to you!” You tried to explain as you stood up and hesitantly stepped closer to him.

“Don’t.” He barked over his shoulder. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

“I was- okay.” You said, backing away.

“Anakin I was just trying to focus on you that’s all. You’d just gotten home, I didn’t want to be bothered while I was spending time with you.” Your whisper sounded cracked, broken.

“Why is a boy calling you at 8:00 on a Friday huh?” He spun around quickly and grabbed your arm.

“They’re not a-“ You tried to speak, to explain yourself but he didn’t give you a second breath.

He stole the air from your lungs and the words from your mouth with a resounding *smack* to your cheek. The impact was so forceful that your head felt like it was on swivel and you stumbled back. Too shocked to even cry, too hurt to look at him.

“Were you planning to cheat? Is that what this is?” He scoffed.

“N-no!” You squeaked. “No I wouldn’t! Never!”

He laughed, not in amusement or cynicism, but in a strangled bout of hysteria.

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” His teeth clenched and bared.

“You think someone else would treat you as well as I do? That they’d be able to put up with your attitude?” He laughed again, pointing his finger in your face.

“You’re a fucking brat you know that? There’s not another man in this galaxy who could love you like I do. You’re a spoiled bitch. But you’re my spoiled bitch.”

You flinched at his choice of words. He’d called you a brat plenty of times, sometimes even as a term of endearment. Bitch though? The thought of him calling you that was previously inconceivable.

“You want me to show you how someone else would treat you? How this stupid fucker Tyler would handle you?” He growled, putting a hand on the back of your neck and forcing you to your knees.

“Anakin wait! Just let-“ He shoved your face into the soft flannel of his pajama pants, fisting your hair to hold you in place while he ground his cock across your tear stained cheeks.

“No sweetheart I’m not Anakin right now remember? I’m anyone but me.” He corrected you.

“Take your fucking shirt off. I want to see those pretty tits.” He smirked as he watched you quickly comply. “There. Not so difficult Hmm?”

You shook your head no in agreement with him, hoping to appease him. You had no idea where this was going, but you knew for damn sure that you weren’t gonna like it.

“That’s right.” He said as he gripped your jaw once more, chuckling when you instinctively dropped your mouth open. “That was the last easy thing you’ll be doing tonight.”

“Pull out my cock.” He demanded, the look on his face giving no indication that this was negotiable.

You hesitated, then steeled yourself to comply with his order. His pretty cock, the beautiful thing that made you feel like you were floating amongst the clouds… was standing tall and proud. This was the only time you’d ever been unhappy to see it and you hoped it was the last time too.

“Oh don’t look at me like that.” He grumbled. “This is what you wanted isn’t it? To be a whore? To cheat on me?”

“No! Anakin Tyler isn’t-“ He scoffed and took advantage of your open mouth and forced your head down around his length.

“Fuck.” He mumbled his stomach muscles tightened momentarily before relaxing again.

“Finally some fucking peace and quiet. I’m sick of your whining. I don’t ever want to hear that fuckboy’s name again do you understand me?” He growled, his eyes filled with jealousy painted red with rage.

Anakin started to thrust quick and shallow into your mouth panting while he glared down at you like you were his mortal enemy.

“You like this?” He asked, watching you shake your head no vigorously. “No? Didn’t think you would.”

“Can’t fucking believe this shit.” He moaned, tipping his head back toward the ceiling before letting his chin fall to his chest.

He growled, seeing you drool down the column of your throat. A fire lit behind his eyes and burst into an inferno after only seconds of this brutal punishment.

“Move your tongue.” He commanded, jerking your head to the side when you didn’t do it immediately. “Fuck, that’s better.”

Your tongue lay flat against the under side of his shaft as his cockhead started to bully its way down your throat, in and out in deep ruthless strokes. Tears pricked your eyes and began to fall, this time from discomfort instead of the horrible emotional pain he’d dealt to you.

“What?” He laughed again, looking down at you with a menacing grin that didn’t meet his glassy eyes. “Don’t wanna be a whore anymore do you?”

You shook your head no to the best of your ability and Anakin nodded in agreement, his breath caught in his throat just like his cock was stuck in yours.

“This is how men treat whores.” He said matter of factly. “Like a stupid little fuck toy. Do you want to be a stupid fuck toy?”

“No of course you don’t.” He tsk’d. “You want to be my good girl, my sweet princess.”

You nodded vigorously, choking on his length accidentally from the quick movement.

Your gag reflex kicked in violently, caused by your choking fit as you tried to cough, your body begging for some control to be returned to you. You struggled to breathe as he continued his brutal assault on your throat. But despite the pain, there was an odd thrill running through you, a sick satisfaction knowing you were pleasing him in this way. You should hate him for what he’s doing right now, but it would be a lie if you said you didn’t find it alittle bit hot.

He was unraveling quickly, his hips snapping fast and deep. You heard the familiar change in breathing that happen just moments before he would cum, the cute little high-pitched whimpers that left his beautiful plump lips.

You tapped his thigh, looking up at him with furrowed brows and pleading eyes. Begging him to relent for just moment so you could breathe.

“No, I’m close. You can wait." he growled back, his pace unrelenting, but his voice becoming shaky.

“I don’t understand.” He panted, looking down at you with a pained expression. “Why would you want to be treated this way when I give you all the love in the world? When I love you so much?

“Seeing you hurt like this baby… it hurts me.” He sniffled, on the verge of tears.

“Just think, imagine it sweetheart; what if you went out there tonight and that horrible guy did this to you?” His eyebrows turned up in a deep swoop.

“You know I’m only doing this to help you right baby?” He let out a choked sob as his cock twitched in your mouth.

“I don’t want you to get hurt! I love you!” He cried out, his own tears freely flowing, salty drips hitting your face as he stared down at you with the face of a broken man.

“Promise me you won’t ever make me do this again.” He whispered, lovingly wiping the tears from your eyes. “I can’t stand it.”

“Promise? You won’t ever do it again? Please baby.” He cried, his chest heaving with a sob as his face scrunched up.

“Can’t do that to me, you can’t! I’d die.” He was practically hysterical, seeing him like this was tearing you apart in ways his rough treatment couldn’t. The pain and torture in his voice was a worse punishment.

“I wouldn’t wanna live without you. I wouldn’t.” He sobbed, his thumbs softly caress your cheekbones made you forget all about the way he was brutalizing you. It made you forget the hurtful things he’d said. You weren’t even sure your throat would be sore after this; how could it be worse than having your heart bruised the way Anakin’s must be?

“My sweet girl.” He sniffled. “My poor baby, I’m sorry. So sorry I had to do this. You understood don’t you doll?

You nodded, crying for an entirely different reason now. If you could, you’d be wailing. Pleading with him as you comforted him with kisses and gentle touches, holding him as he cried over your actions. How could you have done this? How could you be so cruel!?

“Good girl baby.” He hiccuped. “Good girl. I love you. Love you so much babydoll, g-gonna hold you n’ make love to you like you deserve.”

His hips stuttered against your mouth, his stomach tense and his hand tightened around your hair.

“My best girl.” He whined. “Do you want my cum? Those horrible bad men wouldn’t give it to you. They wouldn’t know how much you love it.”

You nodded, eyes rolling back in your head. He’s right. They wouldn’t know, how could they know? No one knew you like Anakin did.

“Mmm… yeah? G-goddamn.” He whimpered, pushing your face deep into his groin, your nose pressed firmly into the curly hairs at the base of his cock.

He sobbed, a full loud heart-wrenching sob as he came violently down your throat. You gratefully drank it down, thankful he’d let you have it after all you’d put him through.

Gently he pulled himself from your mouth, wiping his eyes dry as he sniffled. Tucking himself back into his pants before scooping you up into his arms and rocking you against his chest. Then he walked over to the recliner in the living room and sat down with you.

He let you cry it out while showering you with love and affection and beautiful sweet words in his warm honeyed voice. Finally once you’d calmed down he tilted your chin up to face him. Giving you a slow sensual kiss. The kind of kiss that was almost sticky, your lips wanting to stay connected for as long as possible.

“Are you okay sweetheart? Do you need anything?” He whispered against your lips in a pleading tone.

“No.” You shook your head, still taking shaky short gasping breaths. “M’so sorry Ani.”

“Oh baby. No, it’s okay.” He cooed. “You didn’t know. That’s why I had to teach you huh?”

“Uh huh.” You sniffled.

“You understand now don’t you doll? No body could ever love you like I do.” He squeezed you tightly as you agreed.

“That was horrible wasn’t it?” He sighed. “Those other boys… oh princess it would be so much worse you know that?”

“I couldn’t be as mean to you as they could, not even half as bad.” He said softly as if the information were scary to even say outloud.

“R-really?” You squeaked, not even half as bad? You shivered at the thought that if could ever be worse than he’d shown you.

“Yes baby.” He nodded, a sad and solemn expression on his tear streaked face.

“Th-thank you Ani.” You sniffled. Feeling grateful that he wasn’t even capable of what must be such horrendous brutality.

“Oh sweetheart. Don’t thank me,” he whispered, petting your head. “Just hold me and I’ll hold you okay? We both need alittle extra snuggles tonight after that don’t we?”

Tag-List:

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@angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled

[tac-the-unseen]

What the Lost boys think about vampire related media

Fluff, x reader but just barely

•While making conversation with your four Vampire lovers you were suddenly plagued with a question.

“How do you guys feel about vampire related media?”

-That question was an immediate head turner. The cave goes dead quite before Dwayne speaks up, “Well…vampires are in hiding so…”

-This sparks a conversation about how media representation of vampires may not be accurate, but that's a good thing. “If a book or movie comes out and it is shockingly accurate to what being a vampire is really like, the creator isn't going to last long.” David explained

-That's because there's a set of rules vampires have to follow and one of those rules is to never publicly reveal your double life identity

-”If something like that comes out, that means a vampire has broken that rule OR somebody knows vampires very closely and is creating media they know shouldn't exist.”

-Turns out if a vampire breaks that rule it's basically open season to kill and destroy their creations.

•You turn the conversation and begin to ask how they, specifically, feel about certain vampire representation

•Bram Stoker's Dracula

-Dwayne is the first to buy in his opinion.

-Dwayne feels that while it is a cult classic and well written, The characters are exceedingly dumb.

-”Johnathan spends a ridiculous amount of time talking about other characters ‘Breasts’ and trying to figure out why his host climbs walls ‘like a lizard's.”

-David is the next one to speak up

-David thinks it's not really worth the read

-”Unless you're trying to brag to people there's no point in reading it.”

-”Also why was Mina talking to that old sailor so much?”

-Paul laughs as he remembers “how fucking crazy he wrote Dracula to be”

-”I'm pretty sure the real Dracula thinks it's a heinous crime against him”

-Paul hasn't read it but have heard enough about it to know even the more obscure references

-Marko comments on the graceful writing style and the beautiful descriptions

-”I've only read it because Dwayne thought I would like it"

-Marko also loves how oblivious Jonathan and most of the other characters are

-All of them think the movie adaptation is hilarious and love the shitty special effects

•Interview with a vampire

-Paul chimes in immediately

-”God it's so homo erotic it hurts…in a good way.”

-Paul thinks its a nice horror novel mixed with a weird cozy atmosphere

-Dwayne thinks it's another well written classic and He actually begins to rave about all the themes involved within Anne Rice’s work

-”It's a beautiful Gothic thriller with a deep, sadly comedic energy.”

-He even offers to read it too you sometime

-Marko chimes in quickly about “Claudia’s rebellious behavior and persona”

-”imagine watching your family choose somebody else over you. It's so deeply upsetting but to an understandable level.”

-”I would have hated to turn so young. I look like a teenager and other people can respect that to a certain point. But being five years old with the mind of an adult, No one would respect you.”

-Marko relates to Claudia on an internal level and loves unraveling her character. When you ask why he quickly responds "Some people call me a cherub... You think I enjoy that?"

-David says he doesn't have much to say other than it was a decent read (That's his version of a compliments)

•Twilight

-All of them agree that it's laughably horrendous

-Almost immediately at the same time they say “This is the skin of a killer Bella”

-This leads to banshee like laughter

David speaks up immediately

-”Why do you humans want us to sparkle so bad?”

-”I personally hate the idea of being a walking disco ball, but to each their own.”

-Marko chimes in quickly

-”Would you like it if we sparkled?” He asked while leans on you affectionately

-Marko thinks the only reason to read it is to have a nice laugh

-”Why did Edward have such a violent reaction of Bella standing by a fan? That makes no sense…like I have mates and I enjoy the smell of you guys but…I'm not nearly clawing off my face at your smell”

-”Yeah yeah, I get he's trying not to overreact but running out of class to get away is crazy.”

-Paul even adds that even thought it's very dumb even he can appreciate the message it's trying to said.

-”something something, coming over adversary, something something, love wins, something something..”

-”Also that Jacob imprinting on Bella's infant daughter is super fucking creepy.”

-when you asked Dwayne about his feels he scoffed and said It's insulting at best and borderline sexual harassment at worst.

-He refused to go into depth

•You thank them for humoring you and they tell you that it's no problem

-David kisses the side of your head in an uncharacteristically soft way “We don't ever mind answering your vampire related question.” He tells you

-Marko turns to you “But seriously do you want us to sparkle?”

-”I think I have some roll on body glitter somewhere..” Paul says while getting up to look for it

Thanks for reading <3

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Meet the Millers (part 1)

Neighbourhood dilf!Joel Miller x Reader

(AO3 mirror) TLOU Masterlist

summary: Your neighbour, Joel Miller, has always caught your eye. After a perfect storm of events, you end up in his house. Or more accurately, in his bed. 

warnings: pwp, at least half of this is just smut, fingering, grinding, squirting, dirty talk, eventual fwb, reader and Joel are oblivious asf, a bit of angst (bc i love any excuse for angst). 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: this will be a (short) series! lowkey just an excuse for me to write fwb!Joel lmao. Also, don’t look too closely: it's an au set in 2004 cuz I said so.

wc: 4k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He knows exactly what he's doing. Joel Miller on Mrs Harris’ porch, in a tank top and snug jeans, wiping the sweat of his brow. Fucking delicious in the hot summer air. 

You're not watching, of course. Just…. checking the mailbox. It's not an excuse to see the way his arms ripple as he tugs at the cord of the lawnmower, or how his tanned back flexes in the sun. Nope. Not at all. 

You sidle up to the mailbox, giving discreet glances at Joel on the porch opposite. The rip and roar of the lawnmower is so loud, you barely hear him call out to you. 

"Hey neighbour!" He calls, giving you a wave. The hem of his shirt slides up to reveal his v-line. You make a point to keep your eyes upwards. 

"Hey yourself!" You open up the mailbox to find a couple of letters. Perfect for pretending like you weren't ogling the man opposite a mere few metres away. Unbeknownst to you, he chuckles at your attempt to distract yourself from him. He thinks it's cute. He jogs across the road. 

"I got something for you," Your eyes practically bulge out your head. "Think Sarah took your spare keys by accident." Oh. Oh. She'd been coming over to feed your cat for a couple weeks, whilst you were away. Procrastinating, as usual, you'd been putting off getting your keys back for the past week. 

~~~

You'd moved in about six months ago. As someone who worked from home, you'd quickly built an odd routine. Joel was in the same boat: a contractor, working odd hours, some days at home and some days working from 8am to 8pm. As a new neighbour, you tried not to make a splash - quiet and respectful in the quiet Texan suburb. No kids, no husband - just you and your cat, Arlo. 

You didn't ask for him in your life: sometimes seeing Joel in his yard or packing up his truck. Occasionally, you'd pass each other picking up the morning paper, or late at night after your runs. Sarah was the one to say hi first, complimenting your clothes just before a night out. You're waiting for a cab on the front porch when you see her. 

"Hey neighbour!" She called, her dad behind her slamming the boot in a huff. 

You wave back, dolled up in a little black dress and probably a little too much makeup. "Hey, yourself!" 

She jogs towards you. "God, that is a cute dress! I've been bugging my dad for ages to let me get one just like it, where's it from?" She knocks you off guard, stuttering as you tell her the brand. 

"Thanks, it's not too expensive either, and it has pockets ," Despite yourself, you give her a twirl, showing off its hidden feature. 

"No freakin' way!" Sarah smiles warmly, hand on your arm and introduces herself. "Sarah. We met at the potluck a couple weeks ago."

You furrow your brow. "Oh, the Millers! Of course, you brought the veggie hotdogs and grilled kebabs." 

She nods. "We haven't had the chance to say hi yet! My dad, Joel…" she turns to wave at the man who stands at the car, arms crossed like a gruff bulldog. "...he's not the friendliest. But Mrs Harris, next to us, says you came round and took a look at her computer. She said it was half dead and you fixed it up for her; you… work at a fancy tech company and you're really good at that stuff? So, I've got a weird question to ask."

"We were wondering if you could have a look at our new computer for us? I think we messed it up trying to set up and it keeps coming up with this blank blue screen…. no pressure of course! A-And we'll pay you in pancakes and coffee!" The young girl seems jittery, bouncing on the balls of her feet. You can't say no to her. 

"S-sure. I've got some time, tomorrow morning. Let's say… after 9? If that's okay with your dad."

She squeals, almost knocking you over in a frantic hug. "Thank you, thank you! Dad? Dad, guess what…?"

She bounds off into her Dad's arms, excitedly babbling about your conversation. You chuckle to yourself in the light of the streetlamps. You'd noticed him around, of course. He's the only one on your street the same age as you: the rest were old and retired. At the potluck, he manned the grill, reserved but skilful. A man of few words, but Joel Miller laughed and smiled like a hyena around his daughter. It was sweet. You were happy to help. 

The morning after, you felt rough, admittedly. Technically, you'd gone out for networking - strictly business. But one work drink turned into two, two turned into three; and then you were downing shots until 3 in the morning. The pounding headache at your temples seemed punishment enough. Shit. The time. 

You get to Joel's at 15 past 9, impressive considering that you were in bed 10 minutes ago. You're dressed in a light sundress and slippers, standing on the doorstep. You knock, and Joel opens the door: scruffy and in a t-shirt and low gray joggers. There's the scruff of a 5 o'clock shadow on his face; making him look rugged and good in the morning light. You're imagining how it would feel on your thighs, rough beard scratching at the plush skin, dragging your sweet cunt on the apex of his nose….. 

"Sarah's upstairs," He clears his throat, morning voice low and gruff. 

 "I'm not too early? Looks like I woke you up." You walk in and he points you up the stairs. 

"S'alright sweetheart. It's not a bad view to wake up to." 

You almost trip up the stairs at the implication. Joel's behind you, hand steady at the crook of your back to stop you from falling. 

"I j-just meant getting our computer fixed. Sarah's been so excited and I'm not good at that kinda thing…" 

"I get it. You're okay." You chuckle. He's beautifully flushed, hand snaking around the back of his neck to scratch at it nervously. "But is this all okay with you? She kinda ambushed me yesterday, and I can't make any promises-" 

"-she tends to do that. She looks at you with those big brown eyes and then all of a sudden…."   ...you're in your hot neighbour's house, on your hands and knees. To fix his computer, of course. "That's my Sarah. I'd be more scared if she wasn't my own."

You like her. She's buzzing through her door when you walk up the stairs, excited. She grabs your hand and leads you to Joel's office. "Morning! So, I've been fiddling around with the parts but I can't get her to turn on…"

"Her?" You laugh. 

"Her name is Carol, and she's basically my kid." She kneels at the wires under the desk. "Dad had no clue how to set this up so, of course, I had to do everything. See, with this cord…" 

She chatters as she explains her process. You find out she's funny, and bright: a smart young kid who sourced most of the materials herself. Frankly, she reminds you of yourself; a young upstart in college looking for an explosive new career. Under his desk, you trace the cables and explain what they all do, peeling back the clunky tower to find the source of the problem. Sarah listens, intently, asking you questions about how it all works - clearly inquisitive. Joel watches at the doorway, equally enraptured. The technical details all go over his head, but he softens when he sees Sarah so free with you. You laugh at her jokes and indulge all her questions, no matter how small. You are kind and patient with her, refusing to be patronising; engaging her at her own level. 

When you finish up, Joel calls you downstairs for coffee and pancakes, as promised. Sarah races down the stairs, and you trail behind her. From the kitchen, Joel likes the way you look in his home, in a pretty dress and a smile on your face. He shakes the sudden thought out of his head. 

"Dad, I swear to god, Lindsey's not gonna believe it. She told me about MySpace, but she didn't think I'd actually do it-"

"Lindsey? S'that the girl who came to your party, the one with the buck teeth?" He says, between mouthfuls of pancakes. 

"That's Linda, Lindsey's-" 

"The one in your math class, right? With the-" You put your hands up by head to mimic horns, pulling a face that makes her laugh. It makes him laugh, too. 

It's been a couple of hours, when you get back home. You collapse on the couch, warm and content. It becomes the beginning of a gentle back and forth with the Millers. 

~~~

"You alright there, sweetheart?" 

You've spaced out on Joel's sofa. Joel’s by the kitchen island, rummaging around the drawers and running a lazy hand through his locks. With the way his arms flex and stretch with ease, you’re left practically drooling; head swimming with all the ways you could make his legs buckle, or how his hand would feel between your thighs, or…

He cocks his head to the side in amusement. “Think I lost you again.”

Embarrassed, you cringe into yourself. “Sorry, Joel. Just thinking.”

“....about?” He prompts.

“Work. Mostly.” You lie. “Sarah, too. Thinking about if she knows you whore yourself out to the neighbours like this.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He keep his head down, pointedly.

“... I bet Mrs Harris enjoys the view, then.” You say it under your breath, but he hears and laughs. Quiet, at first and then roaring; laughing so hard tears form at his eyes.

“You're gonna kill me, sweetheart .” he laughs.

Time and time again, the pet name makes something at the pit of your stomach bubble. At first, you thought it was Southern hospitality, something you weren’t used to before moving down here. The doll’ s and the bless ‘yer heart ’s rolled off your back coming from everyone else; at the grocery store, grabbing lunch, at the bank. But coming from Joel : with a warmth that knocks you over every time? It would be the death of you, you’re sure.

“What’s she payin’ you, then?” 

His back is turned now, head into the depths of a cupboard. “..just needed to get out the house. M’goin’ crazy in here.”

You hum. “It’s quiet downtown?”

“Too quiet. The Kier contract finished a while ago, and now m’just twiddling my thumbs waiting for another one to tide me over.” He peeks out from the wooden frame. “I think I’m actually bored without Sarah.”

You giggle. God, he was such a softie. A couple days of Sarah at a summer camp and Joel seemed to be bouncing off the walls already. It was cute, even if the deep furrows in his brow made him look so frustrated. “I think if she heard that she wouldn’t let me live it down.” 

You’re up now, palms dragging along the surface of the counter, a grin as big as a dinner plate plastered on your face. “Wouldn’t it be such a shame if someone were to tell her…”

He stops, dead still. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You get a little closer. “I would.”

He narrows his eyes as you step closer, until the tips of your noses almost brush together. “You-”

“- would. ” You say, barely a whisper. Thick, long eyelashes frame the chocolate brown of his eyes: stormy, lidded. You can't help it, in the tension. Your own eyes flick towards his lips and you bite down words that are a little… inappropriate. 

Instead, you tap the drawer by your hip and open it up to a tray of knick knacks. In the rough and tangle, your spare keys sit squarely in the nest. Joel grabs them and takes your hand, softly, to put them in your palm. 

"You wanna stay? For a drink?" 

You cut the air with melodious laughter. "It's 11am, Joel."

Indifferent, he shrugs. "I've got some beer in the fridge, and an empty house. Could do with some good company…"

"...why not?" You smile. 

You sit on a battered loveseat outside, on his deck. The sun is shining, the sliding door open, and you're nestled in the cushions next to Joel. He sits closer than expected, a lazy arm draped on the back of the furniture and the other swigging a cold beer. You place yours in the gap of your lap, giggling at the way he clinks your bottles together. He makes you feel like a teenager, the meat of your thighs peeking out from your shorts and touching the cool glass. 

"Didn't think I'd see you out this morning.

"And why's that?" You ask. 

"Would'a thought you'd be nursing a pretty mean hangover." He shrugs. 

"Ummm…?" 

"I saw you last night," He explains. "Real late, stumblin' out of a taxi. You were wearing a different dress to the last time, so I just thought-" 

"Well, last time it was work drinks."

"S'always work drinks, sweetheart." Your heart goes thud-thud. Sweetheart. 

"Last night, it was a date." You see him clench his jaw and tense up slightly. 

"...But?" He prompts, taking a long swig of his beer. 

"But…" You sigh. "I got stood up."

He almost does a spit take, choking on his drink. His eyebrows are raised, confused. " Seriously? " 

"Seriously." You deadpan. "Probably should've known. He sounded weird on the phone a couple of days before…"

"-He didn't call you right before your date?" 

" God Joel , I know how it sounds, okay? Thought I was overreacting but I guess I'm not good at seeing red flags."

He deliberates for a moment. "Yeah, me neither."

It's your turn to be confused, and so he clarifies. "Sarah's mom."

Your mouth forms a silent Oh , in realisation. You put a hand on his arm, that flopped down by your side. "Was it just you and her in the beginning?" 

"Me and Sarah? Sure feels like it." He mumbles. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

"She's a good kid." You say softly. "You did good." 

He grunts in affirmation before turning to you. "You're probably the smartest person I know. Sarah looks up to you for good reason. You dodged a bullet. That dickbag doesn't know what he's missing." 

"Thanks, Joel." And then you titter, softly. "Would've been nice to get laid, though."

He makes a face you can't quite read, so you nudge him with your elbow. "Not like that! It's just been a while with work and-" 

"You're okay, sweetheart." He smiles with a faraway look in his eyes. Unceremoniously, he downs the rest of his beer, and says something you don't quite hear. 

"I could help with that." He tucks away your hair absentmindedly, and rests his hand by your cheek.

"Huh?" You almost splutter. It comes out like an unintelligible garble. 

"I could make you feel good." A little louder this time, but low and sultry. The tips of his fingers brush your cheek. Honestly, it makes you short circuit, overloading your brain with a million ways to interpret his words. He takes your silence for a no. 

Apologetically, he says, "Forget I said anythin’-" 

You kiss him, impossibly soft at first. You lean into one another, gulping down air with the way your chest pounds. It could be the beer, or Joel, but you feel light-headed when you separate. He stays close, thumb on your chin and never once breaks eye contact. 

"Need to hear you say it." He strains. 

From your mouth comes the three words it feels like he's been waiting a lifetime for. You chew your lip, but without missing a beat you say what you both need to hear. " I want you ." 

He crashes his lips to yours this time, sloppy and needy and desperate. You want to swallow him whole, warmth radiating off you both. You're not thinking when you clamber onto his lap, dragging your pussy on his jeans. Groaning, he separates like it's all too much. 

" F-fuck, sweetheart. "

You're sure it's suggestive, in tiny sleep shorts and no bra, eaten up in a large t-shirt. The material of your panties have been swallowed up by your cunt, soaking wet. You need his hands on you, but he seems surprisingly chaste - having them rest on your back for now. Smiling into the kiss, you tug them lower and he squeezes the plush of your ass in response. You reward him with a moan and the delicious roll of your hips in his lap. Joel’s rock hard in his jeans, and you savor the feeling of it against your pussy.

“Want you to be more specific, doll. What do you want?” He pauses to nip at the juncture of your neck, leaving wet kisses in his wake. You can’t think properly with the way his hands knead at your hips and your ass; strong, rough palms brushing against your skin under your shirt.

Without thinking, you croak. “Y-your hands. Need your fingers in me.” 

He groans, hips jumping up at your words, and then takes a moment with his head on your shoulder. Cursing, he lifts you up with ease so you're on his lap facing the garden. 

He slaps a big palm on the crotch of your shorts, making you jump. One strong around your waist, the others strums at your clothed cunt - rubbing you until you're soaked through. You turn your neck as much as you can to suck hickeys into the base of his neck. Flushed, you realise just how exposed you two are: with the slatted wooden fence barely covering you from view. All your neighbours had to do was step out into their gardens to see you writhing on Joel's lap. Against all reason, the thought makes you wetter, and you whine. 

Ever perceptive, Joel traces his hand around the waistband of your shorts. "You like this, don't you darlin'?" 

You whine when he dips his hand lower, barely glancing your clit. "F-Fuck… don't know.. what you're talking 'bout." 

His other hand snakes under your shirt, slowly but surely brushing against the apex of your nipples. "That someone could see us…"

"N-no, Joel-" 

"That someone could see you fucked out on my lap like this. Like a dirty slut…"  

"J-Joel-" 

"Can't go saying my name like that, sweetheart. Someone might hear you," He wrenches your legs open with his knees and finally, finally, circles your clit quicker. " Fuck, fuuuck, listen to how wet you are f'me. Prettiest fuckin' whore this side of town.…you make the prettiest noises.."

It's not fair, really. He kneads at your tits, sending pleasure up your spine at the way he manhandles you. He slips a thick finger into your hole and you clench at the stretch. The bulge of his cock rocking into your ass, his fingers at your pussy, and a hand pawing at your tits? You had no chance. 

"M'gonna cum, fuck , Joel m'gonna.."

"Cum for me, sweetheart."

His voice is low and tender, and pushes you off the edge. With a moan, your walls clamp down onto his finger, and you see white in the heat of your orgasm. It's been a while since you've cummed; usually a desperate hand in your pussy for a quickie every now and then; but the feeling is amplified 10 times as much with Joel whispering obscenities into your ear. You shake with the aftermath and pull him into a deep kiss. 

"You ok?" He asks, the concern making you laugh after the filth he had been saying mere seconds ago. You nod, smiling warmly at him in the morning sun. He gives you another kiss and then you jump as he slips another finger in you. 

"Wanna give you another one," Eyes lidded, he slows, waiting for permission. "And another, and another. As many as you'll let me."

You nod, gently, and he picks up the pace. His fingers go in and out of your sopping hole, thumb tightly on your clit. Joel's fingers are magical - unwavering and hitting all the right spots. He plays you like a guitar, listening for your moans and the way your body reacts - strumming this way and that to get you to orgasm. And you do, again, but gentler; bliss washing over you like the tide. 

He's your neighbour, and you've never seen him like this: in a trance-like state, moulded into you and hellbent on your pleasure. All you can do is sink into his embrace, drunk on him and the way his lips taste - beer and breathmints - in the airy light of the morning. 

He's coaxing you through your third orgasm when you feel it, a pressure just behind your swollen clit. Joel notices the way your legs shiver and the subtle shake of your hips. 

"You're so beautiful." He says, pumping faster. "Knew it when I saw you in that little dress, tits spillin' out and I knew it when I saw you today. You look so good with my hand buried in your cunt, humpin' my lap like a bitch in heat..."

"J-Joel I can't…"

"You can, baby, jus' one more." 

"I can't.."

"So, so close for me, please . Cum on my fingers f'me, sweetheart , please -" 

With a sob, you clamp down on his fingers once more. Your orgasm ripples down your body, like a tight thread snapped in a split second. Liquid gushes from your cunt; so much his hand and your shorts are covered in it. Did you just…? The pressure at the base of your stomach peters off, and Joel talks you through it. 

He covers you in kisses at the apples of your cheek, your forehead, anywhere he can reach. "Did so good f'me. You're such a good girl, baby."

You whine when he separates his hand from your slick. Groaning, he brings his fingers to his lips and licks them clean; of which his fervor makes you dizzy. All you can do is watch, exhausted but satisfied, through lidded eyes. He rubs your knee with his other hand. 

"Let's get you cleaned up." Nonchalant, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. You bury your head in the crook of his shoulder, embarrassed at the mess you've made. Joel only laughs, squeezing you into a hug. 

~~~

Simply put, he's a gentleman; making you feel completely at ease. He urges you towards a hot shower, with a change of clothes folded neatly by the door. It's his clothes - Sarah's were too small to fit - and they're big but familiar on your body. You traipse down the stairs in Joel's old sweats and a flannel, padding into the kitchen. Joel's at the hob, wearing a new t-shirt and loose tartan bottoms. You try not to think about how he was almost elbow deep in your pussy not too long ago. Or how he made you see stars more times in an hour than you have in months . 

"Just made lunch." He stirs at the pot on the stove. You sidle up to him, close but careful. He dips in a finger to the sauce he's making. "Pasta. Think it's missing something, though." 

Without thinking, you hold his hands to your lips and suck the sauce off his finger. "More salt, maybe?" 

He looks a little dumbfounded. Oh. Oh. God, you can't help it when he looks like that, stormy and brooding and… 

"More salt it is, then. You could help me finish it? I can put on a movie or somethin’."

You want to, you really do. It would be like heaven with your head on Joel Miller's shoulder, on the sofa - seeing him soft and domestic . Like a relationship.

"I should head home, I think." You don't exactly know the etiquette for one night stands. "Next time."

To be honest, you didn't even know if this counted as a one night stand? Just sex? Friends with benefits? Would there even be a next time? 

His smile seems rueful for a second before he nods. 

"Next time, sweetheart."

_

_

_

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

Nico prides himself on not being overly emotional. Has he had his breakdowns? Sure. The occasional nightmare that is inevitably accompanied by an unwilling outburst of underworldly powers? Of course. A month or ten of self-inflicted isolation in the literal realm of the dead? Just a perk of his parentage. Hades has to make up for the near-death-experiences and lack of dental somehow.

Maybe, if he is being painfully honest with himself, it would be more accurate to say that he doesn't know how to process his emotions. But then he would have to confront a bunch of uncomfortable questions like why he'd rather stab himself with stygian iron than admit when something is bothering him, so he doesn't. He'll deal with this particular can of worms when the next freakout arrives. Maybe. Or perhaps the one after. Or, if he is in a particularly silly mood, he'll just sneak back into Lotus and stay there for another century. Who is to say, really.

Or maybe what he had actually meant to say was that he tends to be perceived as emotionless by others. Sometimes "reserved", if they want to be nice about it. Or "introverted" - that's another classic.

He doesn't really get it, to be honest. What's so bad about keeping everything to himself? His feelings, his baggage, his problems, his business. There's plenty of space in his repression box! Other people would only make it even more confusing. He never knows whether to be impressed or terrified whenever he meets someone who loudly broadcasts their every mood because like. What the fuck. What the fuck??!

(Besides. When he does feel something strong enough that he can't suppress it anymore - when the battle makes his blood sing and the smile on his face wondrously feels like it belongs for once - he tends to scare people. They try to hide it (sometimes, at least), but they aren't nearly as good at it as they think they are. He really wishes people realized that "I'm really glad you're fighting on our side" isn't as much of a compliment as they seem to think it is. Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys.)

Or maybe he's just deflecting. Sue him. (No, literally. His father is the god of riches so good luck on that front. Together we can put Alecto's dusty old law degree and human disguise to use again!)

The tears feel hot against his frigid cheeks. This doesn't count as a breakdown, right? He is aware of his surroundings, and he is calm. It's only the tears that won't stop falling for some reason.

Some reason.

Fuck, it's so stupid-

It's just-

He has people that feel like that, sure. Bianca, before she died. Hazel, whenever he gets to see her. But they are just that; people with their own thoughts and wills and whims. People that can move and die and leave and abandon him. But-

It's so stupid because it was just another short and overall insignificant mission given to him by his father. Stupid because he hadn't even needed the unicorn draught he always carries with him. Stupid because he hasn't been able to properly cry in years, had thought his body wasn't physically capable of it anymore-

But then he'd sheathed his beloved blade, pleasantly surprised to see that it'd taken less time than expected. And then, frustratingly casually and without even a second thought: can't wait to go back home.

And he hadn't been thinking about Bianca's Italian lullabies she used to sing to him sometimes, or Hazel's infamous hugs (she may not be very big but damn can that girl give a hug). Instead, he had been thinking about camp.

Not a person that can decide he isn't worth the effort. Not a relationship he has to constant put work into. But a place.

And now he is crying. Honestly what the fuck?!

[clown-moss]

I'm really fucking bored so imma post all the random shit our N fictive has done/does and play it off as headcanons.

This man does not know how to use a knife and fork, he uses his bare hands like the feral man he is. He had to text a close friend of his at a fancy dinner to ask how to use a knife and fork because he genuinely didn't know how to without scraping the plate.

N was chess champion at a place for years and was never beaten and still was never beaten until he had to leave permanently, he gave the title to some other kid but he wore that championship like a fucking badge.

He's read the Bible, he enjoyed it thoroughly. That's all I need to say really.

This man will manipulate you in every single game imaginable, even games you wouldn't think it'd be possible to be manipulated in. I've never seen this man lose in a match of Monopoly, doesn't matter the board or type of monopoly he'll kick your ass in it (also he only uses the dog piece, it doesn't matter which game he'll always use the animal piece.) He's so good at games that a friend of his drew this amazing photo to show his luck with winning.

He'll just make random animal noises, whenever he goes on his walks if a dog barks at him he just... Barks back. He replies to anything with animal chirps or noises if he trusts you enough that he knows you won't judge him, his cat noises get so accurate that it actually attracts cats and grabs the attention of cat ladies. He tilts his head to the side like a bird whenever he's confused, not only that but he can actually purr, like genuinely. He can mimic purring and it freaked the fuck out of a friend once, he can also growl as well but that's not as impressive as the purring.

Sometimes he walks on his toes or heels and if he's laying in a place that he feels safe in/and or soft his feet will mimic the action of cats making biscuits, sometimes he doesn't even notice he's doing it. He also wears a necklace that has a little bell on it so whenever he's bored or overstimulated he'll just fidget with the bell, it's very effective but very annoying if he rings it right.

In public I hope you're not socially awkward because this man has gone up to random people (kids to adults) and complimented their style, he has shouted across the mall that he liked some teenager's rainbow socks. On the bright side hell always talk to customer service for you in anything, he'll always say your order for you when you're getting fast food because he genuinely does not give a flying fuck.

He sticks his head out car windows, he loves the feeling of the wind blowing his hair and face that he smiles stupidly when he does it. He definitely won't hear you if you're talking to him while he's doing it because he's in pure and utter bliss. Whenever he walks by a gas station/servo (I'm Australian shut up) he plugs his nose because he absolutely hates the smell of gasoline.

His favourite place to go his a huge lake that people often fish near, he can't smell the dead fish even if he tried. He'll wear whatever he pleases no matter the weather, it'll be blazing hot and he'll wear a sweater because he claims he can't feel the heat. N also has motion sickness when it comes to huge swings, doesn't mean he won't try it though.

His man is very fucking strong, he's restrained a 17 year old with ease with his small twig arms and he's thrown a kid into the pavement, (he was a prosecutor but he's gotten much better and he's no longer one) I'm pretty sure he's almost broken a kid's spine because of how well he's able to immobilise people.

Very clingy and LOVES pets but he'll only let you pet him if he actually trusts you, other than that he loves em. His skin his very sensitive and he very ticklish, he's got this stupid laugh when he physically cannot contain it and it's so damn loud but damn is it contagious.

This man will fall asleep ANYWHERE, doesn't matter where it is he'll fall asleep in it. He's fallen asleep on concrete while sitting cross legged, he's fallen asleep in a metal work shop whole standing up, he's fallen asleep anywhere! He just can't sleep in his room apparently.

Hopefully N doesn't kill me in the morning lmao ✌️

- Mod Ivor 💗

[wwhatev3r]

Aaahh, I'm so glad your requests are open :) Can I request anything with Guarnere? He's my favorite and I hardly ever find anything with him haha

Relationship Headcanons | Bill Guarnere

I hope I didn’t take too long writing this :) | But anyway, since you said you like reading the headcanons about being in a relationship with the boys, and I haven’t made one for Bill yet, I took this opportunity. Thank you so much for the request, It just gives me so much motivation to write for this fandom. I really hope you like it and It’s accurate. | Gif Credit: @rebeccapearson |

SFW

Troublemaker Alert.

Just kidding, he is just very risk taking, principally with you. 

If he had to cross a burning field to see you he would.

I feel like the first time he saw you he would automatically flirt with you.

And you definitely fell for ol' Gonorrhea's charm, let me tell ya. 

But you kinda started as really close friends, always making jokes about each other.

His main mission is to impress you; but he is so bad with jokes and pick up lines.

He fell in love with your confidence, strength and resilience and the fact that you can keep up with him.

The fact that you fall seven times and stand up eight. 

Expect some sneaking around when you both start dating.

You being or not in the Company, Bill would have to hide you until the dorms inspection was over during Camp Toccoa.

If you were both in Easy, let me tell ya, this man would admire you so fucking much; (Even if you're not.)

He has a core memory of you throwing a grenade and hiding behind a wall but your hair is blowing so beautifully.

His dates are quite simple, he is not the most romantic person but he is giving his best and learning with you.

When you go out he drinks a lot, but don't worry this man holds alcohol like it's water.

You never saw him drunk.

Btw, he loves to dance and talk to everyone, principally telling histories to people.

Also, you guys love to go to the movies, principally the ones that role the latest at night.

We all know Bill is competitive so expect this:

"Honey, let's go home. I wanna go to bed." you said.

"Alright hon, let's go then."

You would get up first and then hear him whisper loud enough:

"I knew you couldn't stay awake." 

"Get your ass back in your seat Gonorrhea."

May all gods protect the ones who dare to mess with you.

Bill is charming, loyal, kind hearted and humble but if anyone hurts you, that person is dead.

He is very understandable too, and he knows when something is wrong.

Bill will welcome you with open arms if he sees you with your head down.

"You look like you could use a hug, sweetheart."

If you need time alone he will say: "I'll wait."

He compliments you so fucking much.

And if you wanna thank him he would recommend a kiss. 

He started working from a very young age, so a domestic Bill involves him giving you a hand for everything.

Carry groceries, fix something for you and even wash the dishes.

He has a big and humble family so you would for sure be welcomed like you are automatically part of the family.

Bill is the sweetest, but something that he hates about himself is when jealousy takes him, he becomes really protective and It's something that he wants to work on.

About his leg, listen, he is not that sensitive about it as Toye, he accepted it very well and dealt with his life pretty well.

If you guys get in a fight it would quickly be resolved. 

Yes, Bill is competitive, but between your happiness and winning a discussion, there's no doubt that the only victory for him is to make you happy. 

NSFW

He is so confident and enthusiastic.

Honey, he knows what he is doing; (He does have experience.)

Bill is there to show you that he is your man.

He worships your thighs.

He does like to bite them when is going down on you. 

Bill curses between his moans for sure.

Sex with him is so physical, steamy and intense. 

He has a high sex drive so anything about you get’s him going.

From the smell of your perfume to the way you look at him.

He can take so many rounds, goodness. 

And he gives it all every time, It’s until you are dripping sweat.

He likes to take his time, so Bill thanks you if you let him go as many rounds as he can.

I swear, if it was for him you would never leave the bed.

Or whatever place, as i said, he is very risk taking, he’s down for any place. 

Bill likes to explore and try new things. 

There’s no getting bored with this man, and this is both NSFW and SFW.

His favorite position is missionary with your legs on his shoulders.

After the accident he didn't lose his abilities, of course there's certain things he can't do but he learns how to get to his main objective in different ways.

His thrusts are so deep, rough and intimate, I don’t even know how to describe it.

In terms of oral, Bill is 50/50; can be very greedy or very giving. 

When you get into a fight, after all the apologies, kisses and cuddles process, Bill likes to give you a special apology with makeup sex.

After he finishes you more than enough times, both of you will take a shower and he will wait in bed for you.

He stays there with a proud smile.

“Don’t be cocky.” you say. 

“I didn't say anything.”

“You don’t need to, your smile says everything.”

“Just come here and let me kiss ya.” 

He will wash you with kisses and hold you close to his chest until both fall asleep.

[beautifulbluejay]

Hi! Could you please make an NSFW headcanons thing for Iceman from Top Gun, please?

I loved the dating headcanons, by the way! It actually just popped up on my dashboard randomly hehe

Top Gun (1986)

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky Headcanons

{NSFW Verison}

18+ Only! Minors DNI! You have been warned!

Warnings: Sexual content (nothing too detailed)

The dog tags most certainly stay on during sex

-he especially loves it when you grab onto them to pull him closer

-sometimes he likes to put them on you cause in his mind it’s kind of like branding you as his since you’re wearing his name

Lots of jealously sex

-if you and him go out to a bar one night and a bunch of men hit on you, he will pull you out of there and drive you home quickly, in dead silence, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrow, focused on the road, and his hand squeezing your thigh, not saying a word until you get home

-the second the door to your house shuts, your back is pinned against it as he kisses you harshly

-he won’t talk much during jealousy sex except to remind you who you belong to (😏)

-will NOT let you be on top on those nights (unless you are the jealous one or you demand it) but most fo the time he wants to make those nights about you so you remember how good he makes you feel and how he’s the only one who will ever know exactly what you want

He has the amazing ability of fucking you till you can’t walk

-depends on his and your mood if the sex is slow and soft or quick and rough

-lemme tell you, you have heard some FILTH leave this man’s mouth (he loves dirty talk, speaking it and hearing it)

-one thing that will always make him go rough on you is if you tease him as he always ends up making you beg for forgiveness (😏)

He also has the wonderful ability to be passionate and soft

-these nights are often on anniversaries, nights before he ships out, night he gets back from deployment, etc

-he is very touchy/feely when you two take it slow and make it passionate

-those are the times where he whispers in your ear how much he loves you and how beautiful you are

-almost every time, after your clothes are thrown on the floor and you two are about to move on, he looks at you for a moment with literal heart eyes, simply wanted to take in the image of you and wonder to himself how he possibly got so lucky to be with someone as perfect as you

He is pretty talkative during sex

-as mentioned before, he can speak endless filth or endless compliments

-there are moments where he gets really focused and goes kind of silent, but you can see that a million thoughts are running through his head behind his eyes

Hope you guys enjoyed, would love to know your favorite parts and which ones you think I got pretty accurate!😂

Lemme know if you want a part two cause I definitely have more ideas!!!

[sidewalk-scrawls]

5, 7, 8, 18, 36, 72 for the fanfic asks!

OKAY, this one took me a bit longer than the others to get to, but here we go!

5. How many wips do you have?

In terms of fanfic, honestly not that many! I have 2 fics that I fully intend on finishing, and a couple ideas stewing where I *might* write them, but don't really consider them wips. My non-fic wips are a lot more out of control, though, lol (I'm not sure I could assign a number if I tried) 7. Post a snippet from a wip.

-Ringing a bell- Come and get your angst! (You get a long excerpt because I couldn't decide where to break this up)

"But then, Edward doesn’t really resemble Edward these days, does he? He doesn’t even resemble Blackbeard. And if Ed himself is dead and gone, then it’s only fair to share the blame. Stede fucking Bonnet had lined up the shot, but Izzy had gone ahead and fired the bullet.

Still, you can’t fire a bullet without a gun, and Izzy can pinpoint the exact moment his world had cracked open and begun to bleed—When Bonnet, that useless fuck of a pirate, had pranced into Ed’s life and seduced him with all his wealth and finery and bullshit."

8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.

Pain, misery, and more pain, and maybe, MAYBE some comfort (hopefully)

18. Do you enjoy research? Which fic of yours required the most research?

Oh I LOVE it. I don't think research is entirely necessary for most fic writing, but I can't help myself -- I love learning about random topics and I like to be at least *kind of* accurate. I think my fic that required the most research so far is my Owl House fic, primarily because I ended up learning a lot about how to treat hypothermia.

36. What fic are you proudest of?

I think I'm proudest of my Good Omens one-shot, partially because it's one of the first fics I wrote on this side of adulthood. Writing it was wild because I was realizing in real-time that I could actually write fic! And people would read it! It also contains a lot of small lines that I really like.

72. What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?

This is tricky because I often don't remember specific compliments (I do remember the people who delivered them and the *feeling* of getting the compliment). I would say largely, though, my favorite compliments tend to be the ones where people spiral over certain turns of phrase. I put a lot of effort into my word choice (part of why I'm a painfully slow fiction writer ha), so those kind of compliments always feel *really* good!

[casliveblog]

Custom Toonami Block Week 113 Rundown

Kaguya-sama: Love is War: So we get the traditional ‘character that hasn’t shown up for half the series but is in the OP so we know it’s coming’ intro which seems to be an oddly common thing for slice of life anime nowadays. Yu Ishigami is fun, his manic paranoia adds some energy to scenes that are basically Romantic Death Note and his hyper awareness of social cues makes up for everyone else’s total blindness to them. He’s in trouble because he can accurately tell that Kaguya can and will murder someone at the drop of a hat and has definitely had assassination training so every time he thinks about her we get a Higurashi-inspired Rena aesthetic which is just  a fun Halloween look so good timing on this episode. Then there’s a bunch of bullshit internet questions that don’t amount to much except Kaguya KOing herself with the final answer and Yu thinking he has a thing for yanderes. The last segment confused me at first because Maid Lady is apparently going to the same school as Kaguya but ninjas her way out of any of the other council members ever seeing her so they don’t know she’s there so at first I thought she was like in her early twenties so I assumed she was undercover as a high schooler and acting in a deep cover as a gyaru with her own friend group to protect Kaguya but apparently she just… goes to the school and is ordered never to interact with Kaguya which is way less cool and obtuse than what I was thinking. Anyway they do Kaguya’s nails and the rest of the segment is just a ‘will he notice the change’ deal and he does instantly but he has a little monologue about treading the line between trying to be nice and compliment people without making them think you have an overinflated right to comment on their physical appearance which hit a little too close to home for anybody that’s socially awkward because geez that’s a hard thing to figure out. Anyway things are romantically inconclusive as always but this episode was fun overall.  

Inuyasha: It’s time for Koga’s spotlight episode and I always appreciate when we get some time for the side characters to have a serious fight. Renkotsu and Ginkotsu are standing just behind the barrier on Mt. Hakurei ready to snipe Koga with Ginkotsu’s cannons and they get his legs enough to slow him down before retreating behind the barrier and spawncamping him. Also Miroku has a sideplot about being determined to grab Sango’s butt despite the barrier purifying his lewd thoughts and forcing him to respect women, it doesn’t come to anything but it’s like a third of the episode and pretty funny so I thought I’d mention it. Koga pulls a Naruto and pops out of the ground when they think he’s dead and traps them on the outside of the barrier, slashing Renkotsu and stuffing his armor into Ginkotsu’s cannons to make him blow up. Now in the manga this is how Ginkotsu dies but in the anime they extend the fight a bit which is funny because Koga even says ‘You shouldn’t be alive’ after the explosion and they just have Ginkotsu’s cannons explode and give him MORE fuck off cannons that root him to the ground but basically make him the Gundam Heavyarms and also let him shoot his torso at Koga. Since Koga’s the master of dodging this isn’t too much of a problem but Ginkotsu self-detonates and gives Renkotsu his jewel shard. Overall this is probably THE Koga fight and gives him two Band of Seven kills which is pretty decent, always love me some Koga.

Yu Yu Hakusho: Elder Toguro completes the cycle of “Kuwabara’s about to be slammed into the ground but it’s a cliffhanger” by… slamming Kuwabara into the ground, kinda anticlimactic really. Still Kuwabara’s basically a Jedi at this point and is able to call his Spirit Hilt to him and chop up Toguro on the way. Luckily not only can the guy not die but he legit cannot shut up and Kuwabara gets angry enough to just make his sword into a giant fly swatter to dice Toguro before he can play musical chairs with his organs and wins the match. Sakyo tells everyone that if Yusuke win’s the final match he’ll let himself die if Koenma will do the same making the last big worth double points which if Yusuke won they wouldn’t need another win anyway because it’d be 3-1 but if the other dude is betting his life on the match you don’t wanna look like a bitch so Koenma agrees since if Toguro wins Koenma’s definitely gonna lose anyway so it really doesn’t change anything it just makes things more dramatic so the two joke characters don’t have to decide things if the bad guy wins. Sakyo goes on for a bit to Toguro about how he’s insane and just wants to bet and kill and shit and Setsuna’s like ‘awww poor just wants to torture animals and bet on people killing each other’. Anyway the final match is here and… Elder Toguro is back and he pulled a Mayuri Kurotsuchi and did emergency liquification to… bump the betting odds in Yusuke’s team’s favor? Like Sakyo mentions this too that Yusuke’s teams’ odds are now better than Toguro’s as far as the betting pool but like it’s not like Team Toguro was pulling any punches and Elder Toguro sure looked like he was trying to win that fight so idk how much bullshit this is supposed to be or if it’s an ‘even when we lose we win’ type deal. Anyway Elder Toguro still can’t shut the fuck up and offers to turn into a weapon for Younger Toguro while talking about what a slut Genkai was (his actual words) and Younger Bro is just like ‘you know what dude shut the fuck up’ and legit kicks him into a slushie and says he’s gonna have a fair fight against Yusuke. Like idk how legal Elder Toguro being a weapon for Younger in this fight would’ve been anyway but then again Sakyo literally is the rules committee at this point so who knows.

Fate/Apocrypha: We get the bulk of Mordred’s backstory which is basically how she loved Artoria until she found out she was her dad and then was like ‘I hate you dad’ because that’s what people do in Fate is hate their dads. And then something something Camland everyone’s dead. Everyone’s like ‘hey Assassin’s acting pretty sus’ and go out to fuck her up. Astolfo’s Master is just sitting in her underwear dismembering puppets, as one does and has resolved herself to save all her Command Seals for the purposes of femdom pegging Astolfo which, I get it, but also, eww. Fran’s Master decides to not take her with him to go check out the Jack the Ripper situation because… reasons I guess, like they say he can call her with a Command Seal if needed but like just bring her, one Servant isn’t gonna matter when you have 4-5 others as well as an army of golems defending the castle. Anyway Mordred and Jack fight but Chiron interrupts them and his Master turns into Doc Ock to fuck with Lion guy while Chiron proves that Gilgamesh isn’t the rule for Archers sucking at close range and just judo flips Mordred which I guess is enough to hurt her somehow despite most Servants being able to tank anything short of orbital bombardment but I guess if you hit the ground pretty hard that’s bad too.

Nisemonogatari: We thankfully skip over the incest kiss and cut to Kiyomi having taken half of Karen’s deadly bee virus. Having been slapped with the respect women stick by having shit go down with his sister, he meets Mayoi and doesn’t sexually assault her for once which makes the little girl even wonder if he’s the same fucking person which is harsh. Their conversation doesn’t go much of anywhere except the ‘my sisters are doing stupid shit and don’t have the vampire powers to back it up like I do so they’re foolish children’ thing we’ve been doing for the past three episodes. Eventually he arrives at Hitagi’s house and is like ‘Why are you hand-sharpening a hundred pencils like you’re on your way to stab the shit out of someone?’ and she’s like ‘Because I’m on my way to stab the shit out of someone, duh’ and they agree to confront Kaiki together on one condition that Hitagi will name later which she all but says is just for dramatic tension. Kiyomi gets home and Karen is gone, guess we should’ve let her suffer under the full virus a little longer so she wasn’t well enough to bail, this is why you get for solving your problems with incest. Tsukihi doesn’t know where Kaiki’s place is to track Karen but Karen might be heading there so Kiyomi has to track her down before she fucks up the meeting Hitagi has with him in a few hours. He calls Shinobu out who says she’s going to help him in the most tsundere way possible and they get a read on her position.

Speed Grapher: We resume our program of a naked diamond lady invading a drag queen strip club to capture a teenage girl that grants billionaires super powers… god this show is weird. The girls do their best to hold her off while Kagura and Saiga escape and obviously because she’s made of diamonds camera explosions don’t work on her. They duck out through a blowjob factory and there’s a high speed chase through the city that ends with Diamond Lady Koganei stabbing her hand through both Saiga’s motorcycle and Saiga himself like three times and taking off with Kagura. We learn that Euphorics basically have a decent healing factor as Suitengu’s already recovered from Kagura’s mom blowing his kneecaps out and Saiga’s more or less shrugging off multiple stabbings after a few hours and a good meal. Saiga holds the Bloodhound guy and his goons at camera-point to get them to tell him where Koganei took Kagura. Koganei calls Bloodhound dude and tells him she’s ransoming Kagura off for crates of diamonds instead of the shit they promised her and Saiga gets the address for Koganei’s mansion from them while Bloodhound boi is ready to let his enemies fight to the death and pick off the winner. Saiga goes to his camera guy to get a meal and heal up as well as a new camera while Koganei tells Kagura her backstory. Basically her husband was a rich simp that gave her diamonds all the time because she was a gold digger and eventually took out an insurance policy on himself and died to use that money for more diamonds and she feels bad about that and basically became a diamond-consuming monster after kissing Kagura to manifest the all-consuming lust for jewels she feels killed her husband as her jaded form of punishment on herself. Saiga shows up and she gets him to drop his camera but he pulls out spray pain to act as ‘focus points’ and hit her with a couple quick shots with the camera since the paint clouds the diamond and lets the impact of the explosion hit her head on, knocking her around a bit and breaking off one of her arms. They make a break for it while she’s down and Suitengu shows up and kills her with his weird hand tattoo thing which if he had that why did she ever think she could just ransom Kagura to them? He says he’s going to sell the broken bits of her diamond body to profit off her betrayal so they’re legit selling a diamond-encrusted corpse and that’s pretty dark. Kagura’s kind of having an existential crisis that her kisses turn people into monsters and wants to know what the fuck’s going on with that and so we’ll probably look into that next episode.

Durararax2: We start with Chikage coming to visit Kadota in the hospital after they bonded over beating the shit out of each other and now he’s in on the ‘fuck up whoever ran over Dota-chin’ club, which is of course the best club to be in. Izaya also goes to the hospital to get his head examined (fucking finally) after getting knocked around because one of his henchmen is very insistent about it, though this does give him a good chance to fuck with Anri who was there to tell Erika all about her Saika powers. Izaya goes on for a bit about how he’s gonna make sure Masaomi and Mikado kill each other in this gang war and Anri debates just using Saika on him to stop it but knows it could just all be part of his plan and she may not be able to stop herself if she uses Saika in hatred like that. Meanwhile now that her puppeteer boss is dead, Kujiragi does what any mastermind villain would do… buys out the party store’s supply of cat ear headbands and heads to a café. Turns out Kujiragi’s Ruri’s sister and their grandma sold her off to Yodogiri to basically be his supernatural slave before she ended up taking over the whole empire and now she’s just kinda vibing with freedom now that she doesn’t have to keep up the act anymore. Meanwhile turns out Izaya’s gang is kind of like herding cats because they all hate his guts and just wanna fuck shit up so it’s like unleashing half a dozen Jokers on the city and Haruna and Mamiya have decided to fuck shit up proper. Haruna confronts Anri and says she’s fine with a Saika-off in the streets but for now they should probably just talk. And Celty’s guild is just starting to get their shit together when they turn on the news and find out Mamiya swiped Celty’s head from Haruna and tossed it in some random bushes just to fuck with Izaya so now Celty’s head is in play again and all over the fucking news.

[jamiefantana]

The Neuroticism of Writing

   This was my latest essay in my tinyletter.  Read the post that some called “unhinged” and others, “essentially accurate.”  Also, enjoy the proper formatting since tinyletter’s is screwy.

   Ah shit, the roughly biweekly schedule I set up for myself is already screwed.  Will anyone notice?  Well, I noticed.  That’s enough.

   My friend complimented my column but noticed I repeated the word “but” too many times too close together.  What a fucking hack.  If I wasn’t cranking that one out way past my bedtime I’d probably have had the energy to reread it and edit.  You know who doesn’t reread their stuff and edit accordingly?  Amateurs.  Christian Bale would be appalled. 

   I’m gonna restart this tinyletter with this quirky lil column, where I make a nice connection between depression and dead plants.  Aha!  Still got it!  That private school English degree wasn’t entirely useless!  Just… ninety-nine percent of it.

   And post and… the formatting is screwed up.  Fuck!  Why did I have to include a picture?  Why does tinyletter assume that’s how I want it to look like?  Completely different than what it looked like to me, mere seconds before I hit send?

   Now I’m gonna make this quick column about the success of this film at the Oscars, and how I’m a brilliant tastemaker who really should be working as a producer out in California and… what?  Why?  Why are my paragraphs not indented?  And why just the first two?  I obviously know how to indent paragraphs, I have an expensive private school English degree after all.

   Is anyone reading these?  Why aren’t more people reading these?  Have I really lost touch with so many people I knew in my life that my subscriber count is so small?  And I want to one day get paid to write?  People aren’t reading this… for free.

   How do I find a bigger audience?  How does anyone find a bigger audience?  I’m not a hot person between the ages of 18-22… I’m completely invisible online.  I’m also a millennial, I’m already old news.  It’s the time of the Zoomer now.

   Did I miss my shot?  I haven’t written a full-length script since college.  When did I go to college?  Fuck, that was two entire presidents ago.  I might as well be listening to M.I.A. on my iPod.  Is anyone going to get that reference?  A Zoomer wouldn’t.

   (Did everyone else just find out that M.I.A. is 47?  And that she has a Patreon?  And she did an interview with Candace fucking Owens?  No wonder she has to use a Patreon now.  Man, there was this popular Twitterer named Ayesha Siddiqi who loved two musicians- Kanye and M.I.A.  This has not been a good decade for her. 

   What is it with these former countercultural progressive types making a hard turn to the right?  Kanye, M.I.A., Russell Brand… god, if that ever happened to me I’d want someone to put me out of my misery and let me at least go out with some dignity, like a person that’s been bitten on the hand by a zombie.)

   I’d save those above observations for a future column except… do I even have anything insightful to say about that?  Or just “man… shit’s fucked.”  Am I getting dumber and less perceptive?  I have to believe I’m not as sharp and clever as I once was.  I read an article on how a person’s two peaks of being able to learn were in their teens and twenties when their brain is pliable and fresh, like a new stick of bubblegum, and when they’re elderly when they can use their accumulated experience and wisdom.  It’s official… I am biologically in a slump.  It’s just science.

   Hell, I can’t even think of a proper ending to this.

[zzzaaaa]

The Tap-Dancing Mind

(Self-deprecation at its finest, June 2018)

“Oh, um you go”

“no ,you.”

“ooh oh ok yeah , thanks.”

“Oh no you’re welcome.”

Clears throat. “Yeah how’s your day?”

“Good”

“nice , yeah that’s good.” .....~silence~ being awkward is a fucking trip and a half. It’s like you’re always in a state of transiency—sure my body and face are in place, however my mind is looking down at me dancing with tap shoes , mocking my inaccessibility. Right before I talk to most people, my stomach clenches , oil glands open, and my tapdancin mind drifts above me , leaving me to stammers and blank thoughts after blank thoughts. Most times, the best access to continual conversation is my environment : I see something around us which interests me, simply to state “oh wow that squirrel looks interesting.” ..heh, cue nervous laughter, meanwhile the person just doesn’t respond because why the fuck would you? Or they graciously give me a pity nod, cuing my nerves to increase and desire to tuck and roll immediately.

Or perhaps a very clever person I have the chance to talk to gives me room to expand , cuing more nerves at this unprecedented offer, paving way for more nonsense to spew out my mouth: “ha yeah cuz squirrels are like pretty cool animals, it’s just that one is , ya know um, we’ll gaha , I guess I don’t know ..interesting ..”slowly looks down.

I will say there is a silver lining to being awkward and that’s my ability to listen. Sit me down with flappy lips and I’m appreciative of their cohesive thoughts and nonstop vernacular. Most times I genuinely take in what they have to say, although I have moments of self-reflection —“what the hell went wrong with me?” The tap dance begins. That’s when they intuitively stop talking and wonder if I can chime in—“haha, yeah yeah, interesting interesting...”eyes roll up to the fricken tap-dancing mind once again leaving my body to the silence of my impended awkwardness.

Now, when awkward flirts with a crush, a real crush too, like someone that you’re fond of for many reasons, the tap dancing mind leaves the room and I’m forced to breathe through sheer nerves masked by instant friend-zoning behavior. I might think, “here’s the time to really impress my crush with all ideas, facts, and stories i have bottled up in some dusty corner of my mind,” only to make statements without much room to walk in.

“Hey how’s your day?” They might ask.

“Oh you know, ha, fine. Did you know that , um, huh, you know, I forgot what I was going to say.” Mind? Mind? Where the fuck are you?? Get back here. As my eyes shift back and forth, I only see the boredom arise and my only salvage is to hope they can talk a shit ton about their day.

Now if a crush compliments me, my awkwardness is fully bare, “you’re so cute,” one crush once told me out of the seemingly blue. So my immediate, visceral reaction is to “hahahaha, ah yeah... yeah,” heaving. My go to response, wait for it, “My feet have bunions so uh you know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.” Kills the moment almost to the point where any energy that may have been attracted between us repels to nearly dead-air.

If love doesn’t kill, awkwardness will. You’d think when awkward meets awkward it’s kind of like love at first sight? Well they’re both true in the sense that they bring false hope. When two awkward people interact, we get a glimpse into truly viewing ourselves outside of ourselves, and begin hating each stutter, nervous laughter, gangly gesture, and unclear thoughts even more. Sure this person gets me, and we can sit in low-discomfort levels of silence for quite some time, however our spurts of ideas fused with excitement trail off in t-minus 30seconds post-expression because neither party can add much more to the conversation:

sits in silence for a few minutes, then suddenly “oh!! So I was reading the other day that our brain consolidates memories differently each time we share them out loud, which makes it hard for us to truly remember the fine and accurate details of a memory!!”

“Oh wow?Really?? Huh. I wonder how many memories of mine are more false than true !”

“Yeah!! I wonder too.., yeah, I was just like wow.”

“Ha, yeah..wow.”....looks down and to the side.

Nonetheless , this awkward bond does unify our tapdancin minds above to wonder “why the hell do we exist?” Like why and how has being awkward continued the survival of our species? We offer no benefit to conversation and quite frankly we offend people just enough to run off inside their own minds and wonder “why the hell is this person looking at me with bugged-eyes and flared nostrils? What did I ever do to them?”

[ice-knife]

5, 13, 31, 48 for taber and raven : D

Eeee thank you! Love my PCs with the two most tragic backstories lmao //

5. is there something they want to be known for?

taber wants to be known for doing good, but she doesn't even necessarily want her name attached. she wants to bring good into the world, to make a difference with the chainbreakers. her legacy can live on through her family and friends, she doesn't need to be personally famous

raven would need to know himself in order to have an answer for this question lmao. he Doesn't want to be known as The Van Date Heir Who Killed His Sister -- as far as he's concerned that man is dead and gone, but he's stayed away from the area for a long time because he didn't want to be around people who he was convinced Would think of him that way. ideally at this point he doesn't want to be known for anything, and would prefer to fade into obscurity

13. what are some motifs you associate with them? did you intentionally bring in those motifs, or did it happen over time?

taber's motifs include martyrdom and knight in shining armour symbolism, neither of which were there from the beginning. she did not have Any symbolism in the beginning, maybe barring fire, because she was meant to be a character i'd play for like two sessions

raven's got a death-and-rebirth motif which had been baked into the character even before alice and i decided his birth name was phoenix. those themes may have come along at about the same time actually, but the death-and-rebirth thing did come first

alice also said she associates raven with Giant Fucking Hats, and i know that was a joke but holy fuck that's both accurate and really fucking funny

the rest will be under the cut! both of the other answers got very long skdjhgh

31. do they respond well to praise? how about criticism?

i can't believe i could answer this question almost exactly the same way for both of these characters kjsdhg, Oh No

so taber has been receiving praise periodically over the course of this campaign, which is Very new for her because she wasn't used to receiving praise from people other than felix and, sometimes, cora. she Has been getting used to it, to the point that she doesn't balk at it anymore. she Does get flustered and laugh though

criticism has historically made her shut down. the party has had to tell her more than once to put herself ahead of others sometimes or she Will get herself and the rest of them killed, which made her feel Deeply ashamed of her desire to save people and also made her feel like aracelli and belasco didn't like her anymore. she's... taken some time to sort through that business. it's a work in progress

raven absolutely doesn't expect praise, much like taber didn't (and still doesn't really). a genuine compliment in his direction is enough to stop him in his tracks as his brain tries to process what you just told him, because he is Certain he doesn't deserve such a thing. granted, there is a part of him that is hardwired to at least respond to praise with a "thank you", so he will at least respond that way, and he will also probably be thinking about that compliment for a couple of days after the fact

criticism is much easier for raven to take, because just as he is Certain he doesn't deserve praise, he is Certain he deserves criticism. there's nothing you can tell him that he hasn't already cooked up in his own head, and he will generally nod along with whatever you've told him, not in dismissal but in agreement. unless you're criticizing his tendency to be pedantic and persnickety bc he's being annoying -- if you do that, he will get frosty toward whoever criticized him in that manner

48. do they relate to anyone in their group? conversely, which person do they relate to the least?

the party member taber's related to most has flip-flopped since the beginning of the campaign actually, and it's been fascinating!

in the beginning she felt she understood belasco better, what with their shared goal of taking down the broker and their similar upbringings as sheltered rich kids. as time passed, though, and the seekers came to understand each other better, she started relating to belasco less and aracelli more; belasco looks out for himself more, whereas aracelli has fairly consistently put effort into the interests of the group, and she also relates to aracelli on the basis of both of them growing up as Very lonely pariahs who desperately wanted the unattainable approval of their parents

raven is hard to answer for since i haven't played him in a campaign yet. he is absolutely not at all going to relate to maxine when he meets her again. yes it's the same maxine that he accidentally killed, no he doesn't know it's her initially, and no he doesn't understand a damn thing about her philosophy

[atlabeth]

nightmares - mike munroe x reader

summary: It was a deal made by two almost-friends in the early hours of the morning after the worst night of their lives, when they realized that all they really had left was each other.

a/n: so this is once again. not my normal content but ive been on an until dawn kick lately and fell in love w the characters all over again. i dont know if anyone still reads or writes for this fandom but. here u go. enjoy

warning(s): lots of cursing, canon typical violence, mentions of graphic violence/death (but nothing too descriptive), mentioned depression, insomnia, and alcoholism, some heavy themes but its hurt/comfort so it ends in fluff

wc: 4.8k

You were running.

You were running, and it was freezing — fuck, it was freezing.

You knew your surroundings; how could you ever forget? Every fucking moment on the goddamn mountain was engraved into your mind for what you assumed would be the rest of your life, an assumption that had since been proven correct.

And now, against your will, you were back. Of course you were back.

A shudder ran through your whole body as that all-too-familiar screech rang out behind you, each second of it like nails on a chalkboard in the worst way. Your lungs burned like all hell but you couldn’t stop — if you stopped, you were as good as dead.

Some part of this fucked up thing was almost funny. Humans were always boasting about how they were the top of the food chain, how they were the height of evolution. There was nothing to keep an ego in check like being hunted by a supernatural creature.

Any thoughts of bullshit philosophy were dashed from your mind as you took a hard right, nearly falling over from the sharp curve of the mountain but just able to catch yourself. Your heart was thundering in your chest, the beats nearly lining up with your sprinting. You felt an intense urge to turn around, try and gauge your chances, but the thought of slowing down for even a second terrified you. It’s not like you needed to anyways — you knew exactly what was after you.

You were nearing the end of your road, both literally and figuratively. You stumbled over a tree root, your hands splayed out in front of yourself at just the right angle to keep your momentum going and, in some feat of luck, stay upright and running.

But your luck had just run out.

Your senses were proven correct as the harrowing cliff edge came into view, and a thousand things screamed in your mind at once as your demise stared you right in the eye. You barely managed to catch yourself, very much aware that the snow falling into the void could’ve just as well been you.

That fucking screech again, even closer than before, and you whipped around as you took an instinctive step back. Your hands patted around everywhere, searching for something to defend yourself, but you had nothing. No gun, knife, even the ground around you was devoid of rocks.

You had nothing. You had nothing to defend yourself from this goddamn nightmare creature, and you were going to die.

Your eyes darted around wildly in an attempt to find something, anything, to save yourself, but there was nothing. You took another step back and felt your foot slip, your breath catching as you barely managed to save yourself with a twist and a lunge away from the edge. The shock of the ground and the cold against your skin was just enough to remind yourself that you were actually alive. Another pile of snow mimicked the fate that seemed imminent as it trickled over the side of the cliff, and you screwed your eyes shut as you tried to shut your mind up.

Think, goddammit, if you wanted to get off of this fucking mountain you had to think—

The screech that pierced through the night sky was far too close for comfort, and as your head snapped back towards the woods you swore that your heart stopped beating.

It had caught up. You were out of time you were going to die but you didn’t have anything and you were going to fucking die—

A flash of white pushed off a tree and lunged towards you, teeth bared as it emitted that horrible screech. You didn’t even have time to scream, completely frozen in place as one clawed hand reached your neck, and you braced for the moment of release.

You shot up in your bed, breathing rapid and unsteady with a barely contained cry on the edge of your lips as your hand instinctively flew to your neck. You heaved an almost strangled sigh of relief to know that your head was still attached to your body (it might’ve seemed obvious, but… your head wasn’t exactly on straight at the moment, all jokes aside) and collapsed against the headboard.

You ran your hands across your face as you tried in vain to calm yourself down, ultimately having to turn on your lamp to ease your troubled mind that there was nothing going thump in the night.

It had been this same routine almost every night — horrible nightmare, wake up crying or screaming or both, and start the day at 3 am because you couldn’t fall back asleep.

It was exhausting. You were exhausted.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this, but what choice did you have? Therapy had been mandated by the police for a certain amount of time after the incident, but… it’s not like it had helped. How could it, when no one truly knew what you had gone through?

Well… that wasn’t completely accurate.

One person knew what you were going through, and you hadn’t said as much as one word to him since that night. You didn’t really… know what to say.

Hey. I know we’re not all that close, but I’m sorry your girlfriend and all your friends were killed by a Wendigo and that I made it instead. Hope you’re not going insane with grief. I’ll send you a card at Christmas!

...yeah. You had no idea what to say to him after months of no contact.

The relationship you had with Mike Munroe was a strange one, to say the least.

None of you were the same after that night on the mountain. The horrors of the mines would be forever entrenched in your head, flashes of the Wendigos appearing every time you closed your eyes. You and Mike were the only ones who made it off, and the guilt you carried everywhere was a burden you knew you couldn’t shoulder. And even after the physical scars had faded, you knew the mental ones never would.

Sometimes you wondered how you had even managed to get involved with the group in the first place — bonds that had been made in your freshman and sophomore years had somehow managed to stay strong enough throughout the rest of high school, strong enough to cement your spot in the friend group and the yearly lodge visits. You liked them all well enough, enough to go up to an isolated mountain with them for a weekend or so, but… yeah. Sometimes you did wonder what the hell you were doing with them.

But now?

Now, you would give almost anything to hear Sam’s laugh or one of her compliments, or tease Ashley and Chris about their very obvious feelings; hell, you found yourself missing Matt’s useless football facts. And even though Emily and Jessica weren’t always the nicest, you still had managed to worm your way into their hearts. Knowing that you would never get Emily’s brutal but helpful advice or get dragged to a football game by Jessica again?

If someone had told you the difference between life-long trauma and a completely normal existence was that blonde girl with the braids in your biology class, you might’ve thought a little harder before accepting that party invite.

The days after you were rescued from the mountain passed in a daze, questions and interrogations from police never sticking for too long. And it didn’t even feel like it mattered, the way none of them seemed to believe you.

They kept you separated from Mike throughout the whole process, and you were only able to catch glances of him when you were being transferred to different rooms throughout the long process. It really was like something out of a horror movie — a group of teens go up to a lodge in the woods, and only two return with a story of unspeakable horrors — and rather than try and work out what had happened, they seemed intent on pinning the deaths on you and Mike.

As if you weren’t dealing with enough after watching your friends get murdered by the monster of another friend, the people that were supposed to be helping you were instead trying to charge you with them. If it wasn’t so fucking infuriating, it would’ve been laughable.

The worst part? You could hardly blame them.

When you took a second to listen to yourself, to what you were spouting to the police, you sounded insane. If you hadn’t witnessed it all first hand, you wouldn’t have believed yourself.

You told them to go down to the mines. That the thing that killed your friends would be down there, and they could see it for themselves.

You didn’t know if that was the right choice. Hell, you might’ve been sending those cops to their deaths. But it was the only way you could think of to get them to believe you.

(You doubted they would go down there anyways. What was the word of two crazy college kids over actual logic? Not much, you imagined.)

You were in that damn interrogation room for what felt like forever until you were finally taken to a hospital to get your wounds treated. But even in the hospital bed, police were by your side asking about what happened every day of your stay. After your discharge, you were forced into custody until they got information that they deemed satisfactory.

By some miracle, you and Mike weren’t charged with anything. The news might’ve gotten hold of your story, but you didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t ever look at the news after the tragedy, too afraid that you would see the smiling faces of your friends staring back at you, or pictures of you and Mike with news anchors trying to talk about how involved the two of you were.

If there was one thing worse than going through hell, it was other people trying to make a profit off of your spiral.

Your friends’ families offered their condolences, but not much else. You didn’t hold it against them. Your survivor’s guilt was strong enough to know exactly why they didn’t reach out further.

(You blame yourself for their deaths, after all. Why wouldn’t they?)

It was the same situation with Mike.

Maybe you had purposefully drifted apart from him, trying to build up walls of your own so that he wouldn’t be able to spring it on you first. You assumed he hated you after what had happened, and he had every right to. You might’ve helped each other through the night, but you had no other option. Now, everyone else but you was dead — people he cared about more than you — and you just couldn’t face that.

But as you stared at yourself in your bathroom mirror, you realized that you might have to.

You looked awful.

Weeks of sleepless nights were catching up to you, appearing in the form of

hollow eyes and dark circles, along with a slight discoloration of your skin. The scars from the mountain had mostly healed, but there was a particularly nasty gash on your cheek that was still showing — it wasn’t doing you any favors in the ‘looking completely normal and sane and not severely sleep deprived’ department.

You splashed some water in your face to try and wake up a bit, but the slight drowsiness that followed you everywhere seemed to be a permanent part of you now.

(It was almost funny, in a way. You were so paranoid and alert all the time, unable to fall asleep, and yet it was all you could think about in moments like these. You wondered when irony had become such a staple in your life.)

You had tried talking to therapists, your friends, your family, even searching the internet for advice on what to do after a life changing traumatic event. Nothing had worked.

The simplest solution had come to mind more than once, but you had pushed it aside with the determination to work through this on your own. But now, staring at yourself and seeing how much you had deteriorated…

You had to go talk to the only person who would understand.

~

You had considered turning around more than once on the drive over.

Because, really, what the hell were you doing? Showing up at his doorstep in the middle of o dark thirty because— because what?

Because you had a nightmare?

He had gone through the same thing you had, probably even worse. Losing Jessica right in front of him, having to cut off his fingers to get free, spending countless hours alone, dealing with the nightmare that was the sanatorium, and then…

Well, you had been in the mines with him and Josh when it happened. There was no doubt in your mind that the scene replayed in his head endlessly, just like it did for you.

Showing up… it was going to be a mistake. You knew it was.

For all you knew, Mike had moved on already. He was stronger than you, he always had been. Maybe your presence would send him spiraling once more, or maybe it would just earn you a verbal beating like no other. Mike had always been nice enough, but the trauma you had endured was enough to turn a saint into his own worst enemy.

You didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t know anything, and as you turned down his street you regretted more than ever not keeping in touch with him. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this situation, scrambling after your last hope for salvation after slowly killing yourself over the past few months.

But there was no chance to turn back now, because before you knew it your knuckles were rapping against his front door.

The pause between your arrival and a response was so long that you considered leaving and pretending like this never happened, but just as you began to step back the door swung open.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but… he was there. The only other testament to the horrors of Blackwood Pines, and maybe the only person that could help you through this.

“...hi,” you murmured, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat as you looked the personification of your shame in the eye.

Mike blinked a few times, whether to try and wake up a little or out of surprise from his visitor you didn’t know, but it was a few seconds before he responded in kind. “...hey. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around.”

You chuckled dryly as you nodded. “Yeah. Sorry for the sudden arrival. I’m, uh… I’m kind of surprised you even opened the door.”

He huffed out a short breath in a facsimile of a laugh. “Not getting much sleep these days.”

“That’s something we’ve got in common.” You crossed your arms across your chest and let out a loose sigh, eyes wandering around in an attempt to think of what to say next. It should’ve been so easy, but… but for some reason, it just wasn’t.

“Guess so.” That awkward silence stretched out once more, neither of you knowing how to fill it. Thankfully, Mike continued to take the plunge, but it wasn’t without a slight barb. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” you stopped just as you had begun, because you really didn’t know. You had come here for help, but could Mike really do that for you? He was the same as you — a fucked up teenager trying to deal with something so far beyond him.

“I don’t know,” you admitted as you made eye contact once more. “I… I really don’t know. I’m out of options, and… I can’t keep going like this. So I came here to talk, or— or to try and get some help. I don’t know.”

That same silence filled the air once more, the night ambiance the only thing in between the two of you. You missed when that silence used to be comfortable, but… you could only blame yourself for it.

“So— so, what?” he asked, the beginnings of a frown starting to crease his brows. “You just— we go through all that together up there, and then when we get back down you don’t say a word for months. And now— now, out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, you just show up and ask for help?”

“God,” you muttered. When he put it that way, it was true. It was ridiculous, to expect his help after the way you had just left him to deal with it all on his own for a reason borne of your own insecurity. “You’re right. This was— this was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You had already turned to go when you felt a calloused hand on your shoulder, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“No.” His voice was surprisingly soft as he sighed, stepping back with a shake of his head to make room in the doorway. “No, I—” Mike paused for a moment, as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I’m sorry. You can come in. Obviously, you can come in.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you tried to hide your shock at the gesture, but you weren’t about to turn it down. You nodded, and he stepped aside to make space for you to walk in. When you did, you were met with a mess not unlike the one back at your apartment, save for the beer bottles. Clothes were strewn about haphazardly on every surface, so you took a seat on a clean spot on the floor, leaning back against a chair and pulling your knees up to your chest. You actually preferred it this way — it was grounding, in a literal sense. Mike pushed aside a laundry basket and did the same, but pulled one leg up and let the other lay extended.

“Why?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been accumulating once more. “Why did you just…” he gestured around with his hands to try and get his point across but ultimately settled with a sigh. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to text, or call, or write, or— or anything. Hell, I would’ve probably jumped to get a messenger pigeon from you. But it was just… radio silence.”

You picked at the dry skin on your thumbs as you tried to come up with an answer. “I… I don’t know,” you repeated. “It was stupid, and it was horrible of me to leave you alone. I mean… I don’t know why I did it. I know what I’ve been going through, and I know you’ve been going through the same. So I don’t know why I didn’t try to reach out and see how you were doing.”

He chuckled mirthlessly as his eyes swept over the empty bottles that had accumulated on the coffee table. “I’m not the best with alone.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I thought…” you shook your head as you looked at the ceiling. “I thought that you hated me. I know that you cared about them all more, you were closer to all of them, and… and I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That I would just always be a reminder of what you lost. And… and, I don’t know. Maybe it was my way of trying to move on. Was a stupid fucking idea, though.”

That got a genuine laugh out of him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I get that. I dunno why I didn’t try to talk to you either. Maybe since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to either. This whole thing fucked me up.” His gaze moved to you. “Fucked us both up.”

“You can say that again,” you muttered as you tapped your fingers on your knees. “I can’t look anywhere without seeing them. I mean, I see that fucking…” you grimaced. “I see Josh, and I see what that thing did to him, and I just— I’m right back to step one.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “...yeah. That was seven layers of fucked up.”

“You can’t just keep saying everything was fucked up,” you said dryly. “It was shitty, too.”

Mike snorted, some kind of slightly masochistic humor going on between the two of you. “Nothing really gets the point across like fucked up.”

“Guess you’re right,” you finally conceded with a small smile. “This is… this is nice. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to… I don’t know, to talk to someone like this.”

“It is,” he murmured.

Another pregnant pause hung in the air, but the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable now. Trickles of what it used to be like, of your old life, were beginning to poke through.

“I never hated you,” he said suddenly. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and it was like his brown eyes were piercing through you as he continued. “I never did. After it happened… yeah, I was mad. I was fucking pissed, but it was never at you. You were my friend too, y’know? Even though we weren’t that close, we were still… we were still something. And I’m glad you made it. I just wish you hadn’t convinced yourself that you had to go through this alone. Maybe things would’ve turned out different, these past few months. For both of us.”

You nodded, choosing to avert eye contact first because you almost couldn’t handle the sincerity. Your heart sank a bit at the sight of all the beer bottles, and you knew that he was right. Maybe things would’ve been different if the two of you had weathered it together from the start. And so you said that.

“I still can’t help but feel like I’m to blame for—” you gestured around at the mess with a sigh, “for this.”

“Look.” His voice was raspy as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and as he met your eyes once more you were able to see how truly exhausted he was. With dark circles that matched your own, scars that were still healing, and a certain hollowness behind his eyes… It was like looking in a mirror. And it made you realize how fucked up the two of you had really become.

Mike had always been good at holding himself together, putting up his signature egotistical-douchebag-jock act in the face of anything that threatened to tear him down, and more often than not he came out victorious. But not even class presidents were immune to the horrors that they had faced, and it was taking more of a toll on him than you had realized.

“It’s not your fault. You— you did everything you could; I know I’m still alive because of you. Besides, we were idiot teenagers — we still are — and none of them deserved to die because of it. Not Hannah, not Beth, not any of them.” Mike shook his head and sighed. “Not even Josh. Man was fucked up even before all of this, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He needed help, but instead he got his fucking… god. I can’t even say it. But he didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, the subconscious process having stopped because of the weight of his words. It was cliche, but you didn’t know how much you needed to hear those four words: it’s not your fault.

“Maybe you should be my therapist,” you joked weakly. But as you let your eyes trail back to Mike you bit your lip. He hadn’t included himself in that statement, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out why.

“Mike… it wasn’t your fault either. You’re not just saying bullshit to try and make yourself feel better, it really wasn’t your fault. What do they say? ‘Getting through your guilt is the first step to recovery’ or some shit? You deserve to be here just as much as I do.”

“But it was,” he insisted. “It’s easy for you to say that. You tried to stop it, I… I just went along with it. Fuck, I started it all. Hannah and Beth went missing because of me, Josh went out of his fuckin’ mind, and if he hadn’t brought us all back up there for his revenge plot then they wouldn’t have died. How is it not my fault? Why do I get to live when all of them died because of me?”

“Mike,” you sighed. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know why we made it back when none of them did, but it’s not your fucking fault, okay? You— yeah, that prank was fucking stupid, but— but how could you know what was going to happen?” You huffed a laugh that was only slightly unhinged. “People pull pranks all the time. Native American legend cannibal spirit things don’t try to kill people all the time. You can’t keep blaming yourself. It’s not going to help them, and it’s not going to help you.”

That silence stretched out once more as he took in your words. You didn’t know if he believed them or not, but you did. That had to be worth something, right?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he muttered, breaking the silence once more. “And I… I don’t know. I don’t know why it took almost fucking dying from those goddamn things, a— and seeing what happened to all of them...”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, leaning back against the foot of the sofa. “All the shit that happened, all of them dying — I don’t know how long it’ll take until we’re okay again. Hell, I don’t even know if we ever will be okay again. What happened up there was fucked up in the worst way, and the fact that no one believes us makes it a hell of a lot worse.”

You chuckled darkly as you cupped one hand in the other. “You can say that again.”

His lips twitched for a moment as if he wanted to smile but ultimately thought better of it. “I know we aren’t that close anymore, but the truth is we’re the only ones on this fuckin’ planet that know what really happened up there. We’re the only ones that will ever really understand what happened to us, and… and I think we’re the only ones that can really help each other through this shit.”

He met your eyes once more, something resolute in them. “So the next time this happens, because it will, if you don’t want to be alone… you can come here. Any time, any day, no questions asked. Just knock on that door, and I will be there. No more isolation, no more trying to get through this on our own. We gotta be there for each other, because we’re all we have.”

You nodded gratefully, a feeling of warmth slowly creeping through your body with his reassurance. “Thank you, Mike. You… you have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I have some clue,” he murmured.

As you exchanged weary smiles, you saw a faint twinkle in Mike’s eyes. He was always the kind of person to help others, even if it was for the wrong reasons, and that was one thing that stuck with him after the disaster. And in that moment, a long lost feeling washed over you — safety.

You hadn’t felt safe in… well, it seemed like forever. Adrenaline and pure instinct were responsible for getting you through those twelve hours, along with an overwhelming wave of numbness and denial. But once all of that wore off, the nightmares had begun. Your friends, the Wendigos, the mountain itself — anything and everything that your mind could use against you, it did.

It was a living hell. You could hardly ever sleep anymore, horrific images always jolting you awake after an hour or two and keeping you awake for the rest of the day. It was no wonder Mike had ended up with a drinking problem — it was probably the only way he could sleep, the only way he could bring some form of peace to his mind. By some miracle, you had avoided that fate, but… you would be lying if you said you hadn’t come close.

But somehow, for some reason, you could tell that things were going to be different. Now that you and Mike weren’t avoiding each other anymore in the name of painful memories… you felt like things were going to be okay. Or as close to okay as you could get these days.

You weren’t alone, and neither was he.

He had saved your life on the mountain more than once. Now, he was saving you again. Just in a different way.

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ud tags: @kwyloz

[idiacide]

Man holy fuck, you're really good dude

I feel like I've hit the jackpot lmAo

Everyone is so in character, it's all straddling that line perfectly of Accurate characterization and Wish Fulfillment. It makes me so sad when people say that X twst character wouldn't be interested in romance or what-have-you. You don't go and make anyone mushier than they would realistically be, either. You take the character, as they are, into consideration first and just agsjdkfl. Ugh. It's perfect. You're perfect. Thank you for sharing your skill with us.

I really appreciate that, you’re very sweet. I’ve been interested in dating sims and x reader content for a really long time and its one of my favorite ways to do character studies. Toboso’s also just, really good at efficiently fleshing out characters and leaving drops of dynamics that make my brain start sparking. Also apologies for what’s to follow because evidently your comment just made me decide to drop a thesis on my character building ethos:

So far as “X wouldn’t be interested in romance” (as in, x would never care about a person like that), to me that take has always been really confusing in every fandom I’ve encountered it in. Sure, plenty of characters aren’t going to go in for a sappy, end of the world romance where you promise your whole heart and devotion to only each other. Looking at TWST specifically, I have a hard time imagining Floyd, Jade, Leona, or Vil going in for that kind of thing. The thing about all those characters, though, is they’re still capable of forming relationship connections. What connection looks like isn’t going to be the same for every single character, but that doesn’t mean there wouldn’t be real feelings and affection there. Instead of deciding who does and doesn’t like love its more interesting for me to assume that the character does love someone, and what that love tends to manifest itself as depending on the context of those feelings.

What’s particularly consistent for TWST characters is that all of them have a series of walls they’ve constructed around themselves to guard some core vulnerability from the world around them. Yes, even the upbeat ones. Kalim, for instance, has his title as his core vulnerability, and has his kindness and generosity as walls around that. I think what we’re shown time and again is that Kalim doesn’t like the distance that being the firstborn Asim son puts between himself and others, or the fact that there are so many people who hate him and want him dead for reasons that have nothing to do with who he actually is. As a result, he tends to go hard on being kind, friendly, and generous with others because he wants so badly for them to like him.  So the question then becomes, how does that interact with having an s/o, someone who you theoretically have getting closer to your vulnerabilities? Does he bury them in praise and compliments because he’s worried they might get scared off by that fear, or does he have a certain amount of insecurity about giving them things because that feels like pushing them back? These questions make for a really interesting push and pull and allow for the creation of conflict that feels natural without me having to make the reader insert too much of an OC.

Importantly, the core vulnerability is not the same thing as a character flaw (though it can overlap). Kalim’s flaws are that he’s frequently a little bit selfish and often steamrolls the needs and wishes of others in his excitement. His vulnerability is the fear that if he doesn’t make himself fun and likable, then all people will see is a prince that they’re jealous of. Riddle’s flaws are that he’s controlling, anal, and has a superiority complex. His vulnerability is that if he’s not Achieving, he must not deserve love and must be doing something very wrong. As a general rule in my writing, flaws are the responsibility of the character. No one is going to mother Riddle out of being controlling, he has to make the decision himself. The vulnerability, however, is something that the reader (or the characters friends!) has to work on with them. Its something so deeply rooted in insecurity and trauma that trying to talk themselves out of feeling it runs the risk of making it worse. I will never have a reader forced to do pep talks for Kalim’s selfishness, that’s something that he can and should control. But I will typically create scenarios which encourage the reader to affirm to Kalim that he is more than just his family, and that he doesn’t have to convince them to see him as a good and kind person.

All this to say. Interpersonal relationships, whether theyre romantic or very close platonic ones, are fun to write and engage with. People are like puzzle pieces a lot of the times. You’re never going to find someone without a few jagged edges. You’re never going to BE someone without a few jagged edges of your own. But with luck, patience, and a little bit of hard work. you can maybe find someone who’s edges fit right up against yours, just so.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Tattoo Shop AU - a quick, practical guide for writers

Guest Post by lebanon-hangover

lebanon-hangover said: this is based on my personal experience with the industry only, so depending on the era and country you are portraying, it may not be 100% accurate for your setting.

Hygiene

It may not be obvious at first glance, but most tattooists are clean freaks. We work with human blood every day, and we get clients from all ages, ethnic and social economic backgrounds, with all sorts of medical conditions.

We usually mop frequently, bleach the sinks, wipe down everything, and use cling film or bags to wrap everything. I mean fucking everything. We also scrub in, and sanitise the area on the person we work on.

Needles are collected in a sharps bin, and handled very carefully. Medical waste goes in yellow bags, and both are collected by a professional service.

Used ink caps may look full, but the ink gets diluted by blood. Like you dip the inky needle into the person, but you also dip the person’s blood into your ink. These are medical waste too.

Cleaning up must be done promptly after the session. Bin everything disposable, put things through the ultrasonic and the autoclave, and sanitise the area. We may take machines apart, but more for maintenance than cleaning, sometimes we swap parts in them too.

We have two sinks, one for hand washing, one for cleaning.

All inks and needles have use by dates.

The internal dynamics of a studio

Depending on the country, some tattoo shops tend to have ties to biker gangs, and some of those internal dynamics and unwritten rules are often present.

There’s a pecking order and it’s dead serious. Basically the longer you’ve been in a shop, the higher ‘rank’ you are, you get the better positioned stations, first pick of walk-ins, etc (Unless the client is asking for someone by name). Regardless of your actual experience in the industry, like if you move into your old apprentice’s shop, they are still senior to you. If the owner or their partner is an artist, obviously they are on top of the chain by default.

We are self employed, but we have a boss. You are only making money if you are working, but you still have set work hours.

We get paid by the clients, and we pay the studio a cut. In return, there are some items provided by them, and some we buy for ourselves. Usually the chairs, tattoo beds, gloves, cleaning products, clip cord covers, masks, aprons, ink caps, vaseline, green soap, and some basic ink is provided by the shop. We buy our own machines, arm rests, stations, pedals, power supplies, clipcords, tips and grips, needles, special colours, stencil fluid…these are a personal preference, and often depend on the artists’ style.

We totally ask to try out each other’s equipment sometimes, or ask for a certain type of needle if we ran out.

The receptionist is usually just one of us, maybe a piercer, but it also can be a hired person in top studios.

The apprentice in the traditional system is often mistreated, and they have to pay for their education, have to be there multiple days a week and don’t make any money. It’s kind of like a tear them down, build them back up again thing to see if they are really serious about the job. Times are slowly changing, but 99% of them will always need a second job. Most of them are working as bar staff.

When you open a new studio, you must visit all the existing local ones and introduce yourself, otherwise you may get a brick through the window. Otherwise there’s not much beef among individual artists, they are often friends, go to conventions together and party after, etc.

The Artists

Tattooing is a fairly physical job, stretching skin is very important. We have to also keep our clients safely still, so we often use positions to pin them down a bit. Sometimes you hit a reflex point on the foot or under a knee, and you don’t want to get kicked. Sometimes you have to pull away super fast, cos they are sneezing, yawning or giggling.

Most tattooists drink a lot of coffee, tea or energy drinks.

Some people are all rounders, some have specific styles, but we recognise each other’s art styles. Sometimes we delegate work to each other, if we think our coworkers style fits the concept better. For example if there’s a person who does script well, we give them those projects.

We don’t like when people come in with designs from other artists. Art theft is frowned upon, and we work best with our own drawings.

Most apprentices practice on their own legs, and sometimes we tattoo each other when it’s quiet. Most people have cover ups, or bad pieces from their early days. The artists’ own tattoos sometimes are in a different style than what they do, but we like to collect ink from friends or colleagues we admire.

In the first 1-2 years one is an apprentice, then junior artist. At 5-8 years of tattooing, you have earned your stripes and are considered an experienced artist.

Conventions are really fun, but can be stressful. You can make good money working at one, and sometimes get awarded for it too. We can also spend a lot at a convention.

Sometimes we poke our fingers by accident, and it’s a scary thing. Good case scenario is just some random dots on your fingers. Let’s not go into the bad case scenario.

We do guest spots sometimes, just to meet new clients, and change it up a bit.

We spend a lot of time drawing up things, and designs are meant to fall on specific muscles, stretch with the skin a certain way, so they are tailored to the body proportions of the client. A good tattoo is also an optical illusion, complimenting the body shape.

Social media presence is like a second job, you need good photos, and you need to market yourself.

Tattoo ink does not wash out, so some stains are inevitable when pouring it out. Those ink bottles get stuck so easily, and we wrestle them a lot. We try to avoid it, but wearing all dark colours is a thing for a reason.

The Clients

Tattooists need to have a good ‘bedside manners’ too. We get nervous or self conscious people, and we are told personal things during long sessions. For example scar coverups and memorial pieces can be very emotional.

We have pretty good poker faces and first aid trainings. People can faint, get shaky, throw up, some have seizures, have b.o., get sweaty, etc the same way as at a blood donation event? It’s no big deal really. We sit them down, give them some water and some sugar, and re-book them if necessary. Most artists keep some wet wipes, mouth wash, deodorant, sweets, maybe even some clean clothes at work, just in case.

If someone comes in with a wild idea for a jobstopper, we would sit down and have a long talk. If they haven’t got many tattoos, we usually try to stir them towards more safe choices, offering them creative ideas. It’s like those jedi mind tricks sometimes.

If someone is undecided, we show them our own hand drawn flash sheets. Once its gone, its gone tho, we don’t use the designs twice.

Pinterest is full of photoshopped fake tattoos, some that won’t even work as real ink. Many people also touch up their work digitally on photos, so some clients have really unrealistic expectations.

We can totally tell if someone is intoxicated or hangover. It thins the blood, and they bleed out the ink, and it’s super annoying. if it’s bad, they will be sent home and rebooked.

Some folks are self conscious about body hair, their size, stretch marks and scars. Chances are, we have seen similar, and we aren’t bothered by it, because it’s work. Surgery scars, scars from accidents, self harm scars, burns, we see it all the time. We shave some really hairy dudes all the time girl, your legs are fine. Seriously. If something makes tattooing you dangerous we will tell you.

Fit, muscular people are harder to tattoo because they are really firm. Its a workout for us.

Everyone gets midnight messages about the aftercare from nervous clients, and drunken booty calls about getting inked right at this second. We have copy paste replies…

We get creeps sometimes. Stalking, weird conversations, tmi info dumps etc.

Other things to include (for fun, or for plot reasons)

We sometimes have those “oh fuck” moments. We all do, but mistakes can be fixed, and we play it cool.

Tattooing takes time. Usually 30 minutes to multiple sessions though years and years.

Healing tattoos takes about 2-4ish weeks, and your characters shouldn’t go roll around in dirt, sunbathe, swim, pick at the scabs. Nasty infections, and messed up tattoos would be the results.

If you have a strong immune system, and you get a lot of work done in one sitting, you may get a brief bit of a temperature. It’s normal, and will go away.

Its a lot easier to get seriously drunk after getting a tattoo. Be careful.

We sometimes draw on each other for practice with our marker pens.

Tattoos are inside the skin, not on top of it. Imagine a low opacity, skin toned layer over the ink, adding to the healed tattoos’ colour. Please stop making your characters skin fully transparent.

Heavy blackwork and palms are done in multiple sessions.

You can’t cover up moles, because if they develop skin cancer, the dermatologist can’t see the signs.

There’s a stereotype about piercers having blacked out sleeves.

Stencil fluid looks just like cum.

You get that annoying itch on your face when you scrubbed in, put on gloves and finally ready to go.

Some artists have a strong preference for coil or rotary machines, and they bicker about it a lot. Coils are louder, more punchy, and more traditional, perfect for lineart. They can be customised, and they last forever. They are also called glorified doorbells by people who prefer rotaries. Rotary machines are smoother, lighter, and often use needles that are pulled back into the cartridges for safety. They are better for shading and delicate line work. Older tattooists often say they are dildo or butt plug shaped, overly delicate and are for “soft millennials” only.

Every artist owns like 5 to 20 machines, and they have specific machine builders they are loyal to.

The “which cable is broken and cutting out” guessing game. Clip cords and pedal cables get worn out easily, and that results in your machine running really jerky.

Walk-in always show up 10 minutes before closing.

We often look quite silly at work. Sleeves rolled up, folks use all sorts of plastic ppe, headlamps, and we tie up our hair. Add couple of purple smears from carbon paper, and we aren’t scary at all.