#escape from the pie folk

[yahoo201027]

Day in Fandom History: March 10…

Star, Marco, and River all travel down to an island that is home to the Pie Folk where she must outwit the citizens and finds her mother but also learn about her heritage once reunited. “Escape from the Pie Folk” premiered on this day, 4 Years Ago.

[selunesfavouriteprincess]

tfw you’re trying to befriend an owlbear cub but then your annoying little sister accidentally scares him away and you’re trying so hard not to be mad because she didn’t mean to but you wanted to play with the owlbear cub so badly

[pedgito]

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | you've got an issue and joel's willing to solve it. after all, what are neighbors for?

author's note | this was a prompt from a meet-weird thing i saw ages ago that was originally supposed to be javi, but jo (@undercoverpena) gave me the beautiful idea of making it joel and it spurred this monster.

content warning | established friendship, caught during sex, does the apocalypse having working appliances? probably not, but for the sake of this fic distend belief i beg. oral (eating out from the back), unprotected piv, subtly cocky!joel miller, he's a good ass neighbor, okay?, unbeta'd.

word count — 5.6k

Joel’s fixed this damn machine seven times, convincing himself every time that it was the last time. Shocker, it wasn’t. This time didn’t even last a month. He’s desperate now.

He would usually haul the load all the way to the communal laundry house closer to the group of joined townhomes that housed most of the younger adults—the spry and bright-faced ones who sprung up at the mention of patrol or work, any prospect of toting a gun around with any sense of leadership. They were eager, he couldn’t say the same for himself.

He was old, weathered—years of routine he had created to get the job done and get the hell home.

And truthfully, as he tapped the wrench against the metal machine, chin tucked into his palm as he scratched at his beard, he almost complied with the idea that he would just have to tough it out. Scrounging for parts was nearly impossible—dumb luck, really. In the past several years they’ve picked this town clean, bone-dry.

He’s elbow deep inside the barrel of the dryer when he hears the knock at his door, bumping his head against the rim of it as he exits and cursing under his breath as he pushes to stand, joints creaking and popping in disapproval. 

He can smell you before he sees you, the familiar scent of fresh-baked goods following you everywhere—Joel couldn’t feel guilt for being one of the folks addicted to your cooking. 

Grains had been hard to come by since the epidemic hit, everything was tainted on a global level. It took years and years of Jackson growing its own stock of wheat for things like pie or a nice, gooey cinnamon roll to even be plausible anymore. But, they were managing well so far.

“Saved ‘em for you and Ellie,” You tell him, a small plate of still hot brownies covered with parchment paper, dawning that trademark smile that Joel has come to love, tapping his fingers against the door frame as he passes the plate off to a quickly approaching Ellie.

“Girl’s got the nose of a basset hound,” Joel looks on in amused bewilderment as Ellie throws a mouth-stuffed thanks over her shoulder, “sorry ‘bout her.”

You wave her off whole-heartedly, taking in his sweaty appearance and casual attire. You were used to him in jeans and thick flannels, not a graphic tee and pair of sleep pants. He’s almost always dressed like he had to run at a moment's notice, you weren’t even sure he owned anything different until now.

“Everything good?” You question him, a small laugh escaping your throat.

“Damn washer and dryer is out again,” Joel explains, throwing a hand vaguely over his shoulder.

“Both of them this time?” You ask, “Damn.”

“I can fix ‘em, just a matter of finding the right parts,” Joel tells you, “ looks like I’m gonna have to hand wash again.”

Joel was a friend. You helped friends. It seemed like a no-brainer really, opening your mouth without thinking it through, the kindness tumbling out despite yourself.

“Oh, you’re welcome to load yours up at mine,” You offer and Joel looks immediately apprehensive, the southern charm and well-mannered tone gearing to creep up on you.

“Now, I don’t mean to make you feel like you have to—”

“Joel, I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t feel comfortable with it,” You remind him, “seriously—anytime, just try and bring your own detergent—and for the love of god, empty your pockets before you put ‘em in.”

Joel chuckles tiredly at that, rolling his eyes as he nods in agreement.

“Got it, of course, sweetheart.”

“I leave an extra key under the rug, so if I’m ever not home just come in,” Given that Joel was Tommy’s brother, you knew he wouldn’t be up to any trouble, “sound good?”

“Yep. Anytime—just make myself at home.” Joel confirms and you nod with an even wider smile, waving a pleasant goodbye as you trailed down the stairs and made your way to the house you inhabited next door.

Right, anytime.

Unfortunately, Joel took that a little too literally.

-

Joel managed to scrounge up the courage a day later, tumbling into his house on tired legs after a lengthy patrol up at the cabin lookout, scooping the basket up in his arms and heading out his front door, taking the short walk to your house.

The lights were off, but that wasn’t unusual. Joel knew you liked to stay late nights in the town’s mess hall, often working on prep for the following morning to make the load a little lighter and sleep in a while longer, so when he fishes under the doormat for the key he thinks nothing of it.

And as the door swings open, it is still fairly quiet. Though, he can hear your own dryer running upstairs. He’s got the layout down too, having shared more than a few nightcaps with you. Friend to friend and nothing more, even if you had always felt a little more strongly toward being affectionate. A hug or a kiss on the cheek from time to time, he never pushed you away. Joel never seemed like the type of man who openly showed affection, even toward a friend. But, he was good, reliable–most of the time.

He reaches the stairs with trepidation as the sounds grow louder and part of him wonders if by some uncanny coincidence your dryer might be growling and rumbling on its own final leg. 

The moment his hand reaches that doorknob and turns he realizes he’s made a mistake.

He’s caught you at a…bad time. Head thrown back with your mouth hung wide, whatever noise you’re making was mostly drowned out by the nagging sound of the dryer as it tore through the spin cycle but he hears the tailend of it, a soft moan of pleasure from the man who’s buried inside of you right now, both of you naked from the waist down but your breasts on full display with your shirt tucked under your neck.

“Benny?” Joel asks, slightly amused.

You lift your head at the sound and spot him, your feet nearly slipping out from under you as you scramble to push Benny away, who perks with an even more perplexed, “Joel?”

“Goddamn it, Joel,” You curse behind gritted teeth, furiously readjusting yourself, pulling your sweats back on and over your ass and your shirt down, “What are you doing here?”

Joel looks down at the basket still clinging to his hip before back up at you, wordlessly.

You sigh through your nose with a tight lipped frown, cheeks puffing out as you brushed your fingers through your hair and down—Benny was still scrambling to redress behind you, unable to pull his gaze away from Joel.

“Benny?” Joel mouths at you quietly, eyebrows raised curiously.

You walk toward the now open door slowly as Benny buttons his pants and you shoot Joel daggers with your stern gaze.

Cut it out.

Joel smirks slightly, cheek dimpling with the action as he side-steps Benny, who leans around you and kisses your cheek—it was a kind gesture but given the situation, in horrible taste. You force a polite smile and once Benny is a far enough distance you hit Joel firmly in the arm as he passes by you and into the laundry room.

You walk Benny to the door with a million thoughts racing through your head, offering a distracted goodbye before you’re locking the door and racing back upstairs with determined footsteps and Joel has already loaded his clothes in the washer, turning the knob to set the load size and time.

“Benny?” He echoes his earlier questions, “Really?”

“What? Are you judging me?”

“No—just, that kid’s had quite an obsession with you for some time now. Just…surprised is all.”

Your lips pull together in a disapproving but nonchalant frown, taking his words for the bullshit they are.

“When I said anytime that did not extend to the middle of the night, Joel.”

“You’re usually still at work,” He supplies—and really, he’s not wrong, “M’sorry. I mean that.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta deal with the fact you’ve seen me naked,” You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorframe and Joel’s eyes track you for a moment, smiling with amusement at the thought.

“What? You want a fair trade?” Joel teases, “‘Cause, darlin’. I don’t mind—but it was an accident. Besides, ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

He means it in a broader sense, but you can’t help the eye roll it induces. 

“No, no,” You chew at your bottom lip, watching Joel place the empty basket on top of the washer, “I can finish that up if you want to get some sleep. I know you had a long patrol today.”

“Oh, did you?”

He’s teasing you.

“Don’t push it, old man,” Joel shakes his head at that jab and chuckles, “Ellie clued me in when she picked up some sandwiches for her and Dina earlier.

He’s not going to pass on the offer, though. He nods, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

“Jesus—just…Benny?” Joel reiterates again, “Didn’t think the kid had it in ‘em.”

“Out,” You say with an over-pronunciation as you drag his slow and progressive steps further out of your laundry room and into the hall, “or you’re off my dessert list for a month, Miller.”

Joel smiles at you knowingly, “You wouldn’t dare,” He retorts, knowing you too well.

You wouldn’t make him suffer like that. Or Ellie, who wouldn’t hesitate to murder Joel if he robbed her of that pleasure. Not literally…but, she would carry a few choice words for him.

“Seriously, though, thank you,” He nods, leaning down to press a kiss into the crown of your head—an often familiar gesture when you parted after a long night of nonsensical talk and a couple glasses of wine or whiskey, depending on how hard the day had been, “I appreciate it, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah—”

“And I do apologize for…not knocking and showin’ up at such a weird time.”

You shrug, “You’re forgiven. Just…don’t give Benny a hard time. He’s a good guy.”

“You’ve got my word, darlin’.”

Joel was determined to be on his best behavior, clearly.

-

It takes Joel a couple weeks to find the parts he needs and luckily there are no more run-ins on your midnight sex-scapades, still feeling the embarrassment from the first one. Joel doesn’t even seem to remember it after a couple days, thankfully. He was bypassing it for your own benefit, truthfully. And you knew that.

Selfishly, you're glad to have your appliances back to yourself. 

They’re good, solid, reliable—until they aren’t.

Your washer shits itself mid-load and you can hear it from downstairs. A loud screeching noise before an even louder pop that has you groaning loudly because you know. You can feel it.

You can’t even bring yourself to go check, peering through the window of your kitchen and catching a fresh pot of coffee in the house across from yours, a man coming into view and his stark white shirt contrasting the black coffee cup in his hands. He catches you out of the corner of his eye and looks at you with a quizzical amusement, smile tugging at his face.

Joel was always up before the sun rose, so with the sun just creeping into the sky you’re sure that’s his third or fourth cup of coffee. He reaches over his sink and fiddles with the latch on his window before heaving it up, watching as you struggled to do that same but eventually managed.

“You run outta coffee again?” He asks, sipping at the bitter, black coffee in his mug.

“No,” You reply quickly, slightly exasperated as you chew at your bottom lip, debating how to pop the question and feeling nervous under Joel’s intense gaze, curiously wondering if he’s still picturing you naked. He’s never explicitly mentioned it since, but you have caught him in the act.

Wandering eyes, gazes catching when your back is turned for half a second as you bend down or move in a way that exposes too much skin.

“My washer broke,” You cut to the chase and Joel chuckles at how comical it is, in hindsight.

Was this karma? It was definitely karma. 

You’ve never asked Joel for anything—despite your often bouts of kindness toward him you never expected anything in return, not even a favor.

“Doors open,” Joel nods toward his front door out of view, an invitation like you offered him.

You didn’t even hesitate, pushing the window close and bounding up the stairs.

-

You’re already loading your things into his washer before he appears around the corner, peeking his head in, coffee cup still in hand as he takes a few more steps and leans against the wall beside the washing machine and your eyes glance at him briefly before you continue moving the clothes, watching him watch you from behind the rim of his mug.

“I can start them and come back,” You tell him, “so I won’t be lingering around here all day.”

“No Benny?”

You stand up as you close the washer, deadpan stare pointed in his direction.

“You can be such a nosy neighbor, you know that?”

Joel shrugs, a smug smile covered behind his sip of coffee.

“It was just a few times. Besides he’s…too much for me.”

You turn the dial to start the load and it rumbles to life with a simple press of a button.

“You wanna talk about it?”

It wasn’t completely unnatural for you two—you knew quite a bit about Joel now: his life before, his work, his daughter…all things that come with trust and time. He’s waited patiently for you and you’ve given him peeks into your life, but nothing like this.

“It’s a long story, Joel.”

“Got time,” He smiles slightly, “I’ll go grab you a cup of coffee—sit down.”

You look around briefly, not a chair in sight. So, you raise yourself up just enough that you can slide your ass over the top of the washer, bare feet dangling off the floor and you wait, the subtle and quiet shake from the beginning of the load process keeping the awkward silence at bay.

Joel turns the corner a few minutes later with your cup, made up just to your liking and you nod with a gentle smile, taking the cup from his hand and allowing yourself a few generous sips.

“So—that night, you caught us,” You can laugh at the instances now, so you do in a soft, clipped manner, “it wasn’t the first—it had been a month by that point and he just caught me by surprise, showed up that night and things just got a little out of hand.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise in interest but he urges you to continue, leaning against the wall in front of you now, resting his mug on the shelf just above his head as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong—but I don’t do serious…I can’t, now with how things are. And I know a lot of people think the opposite, seize the moment and all that shit,” You sigh, a deep and heavy sound that expands and releases from your chest, “he was already talking about moving in, the idea of us having kids—so that night I just tried to distract him.”

“With sex? Seems a little…counter-productive, don’t you think?”

“Don’t judge me, Joel,” You warn him but it’s edged with a playfulness that Joel recognizes. You didn’t have a mean, deceptive bone in your body and Joel knew that from the first conversation he had with you.

“I needed him to shut up,” You groan at the thought of the conversation as it replays in your mind, “I’m trying to wash my clothes, he’s talking to me about babies. I do not want kids, Joel. Ever. At least none that are biologically mine. Who would want to bring a kid into this world?”

Well…Tommy. The thought comes to you after the words have already left your mouth and your heart sinks into your stomach, looking at Joel apologetically.

“Sweetheart, don’t even try to apologize. Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

“It makes me sound horrible, I know but—”

“I’ve done my time—it’s none of my business how others choose to live. Besides, I’m pushing sixty, I don’t have to worry about all that…sorry, I’m not trying to be crude here.”

You nod knowingly with a smirk tugging at your lips, taking another sip of coffee before handing the mug off for him to place it next to his own, ready to slide off of the washer before Joel interjects with another question that catches you off guard.

“He treat you right, at least?”

You tilt your head with that same knowing smirk, pushing Joel away at his hip with your foot as he leans up from his position against the wall—Joel’s never flirted, always promptly skirted around the issue and went about it more gentlemanly. He’s not abrasive and straightforward like most of the men in Jackson, but damn did he know how to make you feel special.

Undivided attention, constant subtle compliments, giving up some much-needed sleep for a simple late night drink with you—part of you was too terrified to make your own move and make it clear just how badly you wanted just a small taste of him.

You’ve heard whispering, minimal talk from a few of the women in town. Joel didn’t often make his rounds but when he did, he left an impression. And you had every right to be jealous, because with him standing in front of you now—you knew it would be easy to say no and he would fix you right up, finally crossing that line that he’s been carefully dancing around for a few years.

“He’s a bit…timid,” You shrug, “and he doesn’t really…”

The air lingers and the side of Joel’s mouth pulls up—you don’t have to say it.

“Joel, don’t do that,” You shove at his shoulder as he approaches you, his hands pressing into the contraption you’re on, curled around the metal, “—he’s just…eager, but not in a good way.”

There’s a glint in Joel’s eye that leads you to believe he’s not thinking about Benny’s less than experienced sex life, feeling the sudden jitteriness from the coffee as your chest rises with a deep, shaky breath and Joel eyes the time over your shoulder.

Forty-five minutes and some change, plus the time to dry because Joel already knows you aren’t going to trouble yourself with walking the damp laundry through this cold, muggy weather.

“So, no then?” Joel asks.

He could have treated you better, sure. But, he wasn’t the worst.

But, the way Joel is staring at you knows makes everything and everyone dull in comparison.

You shake your head in agreement, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip as your hands fall to your lap, his hands ncreasingly closer to the tights covering your legs, suddenly feeling his thumb graze your hip. You both glance down at the action and your breathing halts, watching as his right hand slowly engulfs your thigh, fingers digging into the soft material and dimpling your skin underneath, his thumb only a few centimeters from dipping into the inside of your thigh.

They part on their own, welcoming Joel in wordlessly and his left hand echoes the other. His face is level with your own, staring down at your lips briefly before meeting your eyes and you’ve seen that look before—the adoration when he thought you weren’t watching, secretly you had become good at catching those glances, but Joel wasn’t trying to hide it now.

And it quickly dawns on you in the moment—he was jealous. Of Benny. Or really, any man that had come before him. But, he was using him as the scapegoat.

Honestly, you couldn’t even care.

“You want someone to treat you right?” He speaks softly and if you weren’t so close you wouldn’t have heard him, “I got you, sweetheart. I swear.”

He’s not looking at you anymore, eyes dragging down the bridge of your nose to your lips again. But, you are looking at him, flooded with that tricky feeling that creeps up on you when you want things you know you shouldn’t.

“Joel, I told you—I don’t do serious,” And you hold your breath for the response, wondering if that would send this moment crumbling to dust, but Joel doesn’t miss a step.

“Good for you,” Joel dotes, “neither do I.”

Then he’s on you, the press of his lips in a heated kiss sends you tumbling back, caught by the warm slide of his palm over your back to pull you in, throwing your arms over his shoulders as he pulls back briefly, just enough for you to open your mouth to speak, but his tongue finds its way inside and the words fade away.

Just friendly, my ass—you think.

If you had known he kissed like this—you would’ve jumped at the opportunity months ago; a night spent drinking too many glasses of wine and laughing over some movie far before your time, but not his. 

He was so entranced, giving you all the details, but you couldn’t help giggling over it, too touchy to be considered friendly.

You’d both cut it short quickly when Ellie popped in halfway through the movie, and beyond that, it never grew.

Until now.

“Sweet,” Joel notes with a subtle smile, his hand dwarfing the size of your neck as his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat, holding you firmly in place as he maneuvered you toward and away from the kiss as he pleased, swallowing every tiny moan that escaped your lips when his other hand squeezed at your thigh just a little too hard.

“All that sugar,” In your coffee, the taste lingering on your lips and he licks around them teasingly, pulling away briefly to look at you, your eyebrows raising in question as the gears turn in his head, “—you still with me?”

“I’m just wonderin’ if you’re okay with this,” Joel speaks candidly, his eyes trained on his thumb as it rubs against the middle of your throat, traveling up under your chin and tipping your head up slightly, watching as you swallowed, “before I take this further, jus’ need to know.”

You nod jerkily, not even a second of hesitation. 

“You would have known the moment you kissed me, Joel.”

In turn, Joel nods slowly before he speaks, stealing the air from your chest.

“Alright then, pull these down for me,” He tugs gently at the material clinging to your thighs before both of his hands find the spot behind your knees and tug until your feet hit the floor, “and push that pretty little ass out for me.”

The absurdity of this language on his tongue makes you giggle but abide in an instant, struggling slightly as the material bunches at your ankles and Joel helps you the rest of the way, tossing your pants aside before he’s kneeling despite how his body protests, too eager to give you a taste of the pleasure you deserve and he’s grabbing the cheeks of your ass and squeezing them between his hands before he’s leaning up to bite playful at the soft flesh.

He groans quietly against your skin, the press of his aquiline nose against your ass as his fingers fold around the string of your underwear and pull, dropping them down to your ankles and off and then his tongue is flat against the seam of your cunt, gasping as you fall forward and your own fingers clawing against nothing.

“Joel!” You squeak out as his fingers dig hard into your ass, forcing you up on your tiptoes as devours, licking into your cunt as it quivers around his tongue. 

Your hand pressed against the wall in front of you to keep your chest from hitting the washer, feeling your pussy tighten around the finger that enters alongside his expert tongue, a soft groan erupting out of him from behind you. That smug motherfucker was attempting a teasing huh under his breath as he busied himself with the task of eating you out from the back and you couldn’t even think straight. 

‘C’mon, baby,” He coos between his alternating licks and slurps of the heady slick that dripped from your cunt, “come all over my mouth, let me taste that sugar.”

It’s absurd, the way he’s speaking to you now. Your eyes squeeze shut as his thumb finds your clit amongst the chaos of his tongue and fingers, face heating up at how noisy your cunt sounded over the dull shake of the washer and Joel’s satisfied moans, occasionally massaging at the back of your thigh when your legs shake with the creeping feeling of your impending orgasm.

“Oh,” You squeal, reaching behind you to dig your fingers into his hair, panting out in desperation, “—fuck, don’t stop! Joel, right—right there,” and then glance you take back at him, his eyes peeking open from his position below, on his knees and dutiful to you and you alone, well…

It sends you tumbling over the edge as his thumb rubs over your clit quickly, soothing you through the aftermath as he laps up the mess you’ve made all over yourself, dragging his tongue along the inside of your thigh because if you knew anything about Joel, he didn’t waste a meal. 

And you were just about the finest he’s tasted.

You clear your throat as you rest your feet flat on the floor, feeling the faint quake in your legs as Joel rises slowly, forcing you to swallow down a giggle as he winces and he can see it on your face.

“Worth it,” He excuses himself, “don’t look at me like that.”

“No old man jokes?” You sound sad and Joel can’t believe it.

He shakes his head.

But, the smile that breaks out on your face quickly diminishes any comeback he has.

You begin to push him away with a hand gripped in his shirt, carefully avoiding the obvious bulge in his sweats as you reach for your tights, ready to redress and drop to your own knees as a favor but his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

“I meant it,” Joel tells you, tilting his head to catch your gaze.

You smile wide and tilt your head to mirror him, “I think you proved your point—Benny is a pathetic man who doesn’t know how to make me come, blah blah…”

“My job ain’t done if you’re still thinkin’ about him, darlin’.”

His eyebrows raise in challenge.

Okay, you’re game.

Wordlessly you allow the hands at your hip that guide you toward the front of the joined appliances, his fingers sliding under your top until you get the hint to pull it off, your breasts bouncing free from the shirt—the few bras you had were already in the wash, big deal.

Joel chuckles and stops for a moment, admiring the sight of your breasts for the second time that month, albeit more openly this time. He reaches forward and rubs his thumb along your nipple, watching the nub harden under his touch and you bite at your bottom lip, eye fluttering closed at how sensitive they were to touch, something other men never took the time to notice.

“You like that?” Joel asks with a creeping grin.

You nod, watching as he squeezed your tits in his hands, showing your nipples ample attention as he circled them with his thumb before leaning down slightly and swiping his tongue over the hardened nubs, sucking your breast into his mouth and his eyes peer up, gauging your reaction which quickly developed from a soft giggle to a loud moan.

“Clothes,” You breath out, “off—if you still have a point to prove.”

A point that you wanted proven. Hard.

Joel pulls away and yanks his shirt over his head, allowing you an unobscured view of the mix of muscled shoulders and his softened stomach, running your hand over the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, right along his hips until his own fingers hook around the fabric and pull his sweats and boxers down in one motion, his cock catching against the edge of his waistband before it bobs back up toward his stomach.

You find yourself smiling despite yourself, forgetting for a moment that Joel was standing there and watching you, feeling your mouth water at the sight of him hard and leaking at how just getting a small taste of you had turned him on that much, precum leaking slowly from the tip and he wraps his hand around himself, other hand tapping at your chin to drag your attention back up to his face, reminding you he was still there.

“Got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

You shake your head furiously, “No, no—no, nothing. Just, uh—”

“I’ll start slow,” He tells you and with the size of him, thick and girthy in ways you’ve only imagined or pictured in your head, it’s daunting, “are you still alright with all of this?”

Your face softens and you nod, appreciating the repeated check-ins, the need for confirmation, but it pulls at your heart as you wonder why he feels the need to ask so much. As if he was fearful you would change your mind on a dime—Joel was fine with that, but he was more worried about the change in dynamic. Thankfully, you were determined for that not to be the case.

“I’m pretty tough,” You shrug, a playful smile gracing your face.

Joel nods absently as his fingers drag along your waist before catching behind your knee and pulling it up over his hip, both of your eyes dragging down to his cock as he tugged at himself a few times, his brow furrowed as he spread your lips apart with the head, dipping his hips down slightly to catch against your hole before he pushes in slow, one solid stroke that steals the sound from your throat and transfers to his own. Joel groans out softly as he pushes into you, his hands gravitating toward your face and wrapping around the sides of your neck, tilting your head back to mouth at your skin, his tongue dragging along your collarbone before sucking and nipping gently at your skin.

“Don’t I know it,” Joel responds after a while, “find something to hold onto.”

Your soft giggle of excitement shoots down to your core and your fingers wrap around the edges of the washer and Joel pulls back swiftly before he’s snapping his hips back into you before repeating the process several times, the jolt of the machine hitting the concrete wall behind you drowned out by your loud moans, quickly swallowed up by Joel’s lips as he pulls your mouth to his, breathing into it with every sharp snap of his hips.

“Harder,” You beg, biting at his bottom lip as he groans, using his fingers intertwined into the hair at the nape of your neck now to pull your head back and he pulls his hips back quick, bottoming himself out inside of you so forcefully you feel like your legs might give out, his cock rubbing against your already too sensitive g-spot and continuously finding a way to bring you closer and closer to the edge, “fuck—yes, yes. Joel, oh my god—”

“Yeah,” Joel goads you, his eyes drawn closed as he tries to keep his own orgasm at bay, “give it to me, baby—wanna watch you make a mess on my cock, alright?”

Easy, you laugh airily and feel the instinctive squeeze of your walls around Joel’s cock as he pulls your face to his, foreheads pressed against each other as he angles his hips back and slams into you one last time before you come undone, head falling back in a similar position to how he caught you a few weeks ago, this time for him. 

Your grab for his shoulders suddenly, blunt fingernails digging into his skin and he takes a few harsh breaths through his nose before he’s pulling out, hand grasping his cock as he jerked himself a few seconds before he comes in thick, short spurts against your stomach, squeezing at the head of his cock as he drags it through the mess he’s made.

His expression is nothing short of mesmerizing, mouth hung open just enough that his tongue can drag over his bottom lip before his teeth are taking its place, eyes drawn to your skin.

Wordlessly, he pulls away on his own pair of shaky legs as he reaches for his wrinkled, worn shirt and brings it to your stomach, cleaning up the mess with a faint smile on his face.

“You know, I think it might take me a bit to fix my washer,” You tease, “so—I might be over here bothering you for a while.”

Joel peers up at you, his head still tucked down as he wiped at your stomach.

“Fine with me.”

Then he’s peering over your shoulder, watching as the washer time inched toward zero, dinging behind you. You turn around, letting your leg fall from his hip finally, ass brush against him in the process and Joel can’t help the way his eyes refuse to leave the sight of it.

Only feeling slightly guilty when you catch him this time, not giving him the pass you usually do.

“We’ve still got about an hour left if I dry them here,” You tell him, “anything else you wanna prove?”

Joel’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, eyes dragging up toward the upper level of his house before flicking back toward you, a smile plastered on your face.

“I can think of a few things.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - Dreemurr of Jokes

1 | 2 | 3

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

Toriel stops by Sans' shop for some goods, and for some more cheery distractions! Unfortunately, all this time later, it's still too difficult to escape reminders of what's been done.

It was fun finally getting to do some stuff with Sans in this universe! The last part for this trio of scenes will be up sometime next week!

Alt text for these pages is under the read more:

Page 1 Panel 1: Interior shot of a small store, with displays of goods, loose plywood, sacks of things. Two circular woven hangings bracket the door through which Toriel enters, a heavyset woman in a polka-dotted dress with a basket over her arm. Sans watches her enter, though we see only the back of his head. 

Panel 2: Toriel enters the shop and we see more displays, mostly food. There are large potted trees as well, and the shop’s counter, draped in patterned cloth and decorated with candles. Toriel: “Well, hello again. I was wondering if you had-” Sans, a jovial, bearded man dressed in loose robes and always smiling, waves a hand and cuts her off. “Hold on, you hear that?”

Panel 3: “...Hear what?” Toriel asks, nonplussed. Up close, her face is soft but distressed.

Panel 4: Sans leans over his slightly messy counter, still grinning. “I HERB that you needed some more cinnamon cloves, and look what I have here!” He offers a handful of herbs. Up close, the cuffs on his robe sleeves are patterned with little bones.  

Panel 5: “Just what I needed! How did you guess?” Toriel exclaims, reaching out with a real smile to accept the herbs. She and Sans are framed by other mysterious shop wares- jars of things, open sacks, rolled-up mats. Things you might find in an open-air desert market. 

Page 2 Panel 1: Sans: “Was just thinking it’d been awhile since I saw you making the neighborhood rounds with some of those pies of yours… Figured you were planning to start this month’s soon!” Sans gestures up at Toriel in explanation. 

Panel 2: Toriel smirks, setting down a handful of coins.  “And perhaps hoping that I would stop by your place first with them?” Sans: “I pride myself on my forward thinking, y’know.” His grin is conspiratorial as he leans towards her and he taps his temple with one finger. 

Panel 3: Toriel, eyes sad despite her smile: “All right. How about this: Tell me a good joke, and you have my word you will have the first and freshest one.”

Panel 4: Sans: “Just a good joke?” He raises an eyebrow. 

Panel 5: Toriel clutches her chest- we don’t see her eyes. “I find myself in desperate need of levity these days.” 

Panel 6: Sans waves his hand as if to keep her from feeling like she need say more, scratching his chin in thought with the other.  “Sure, I got one…” 

Page 3 Panel 1: Sans, with the smug grin of someone about to tell a terrible pun: “Why was the empire soldier happy to get demoted to horse groomer?” Toriel, with her hand on her chin in thought: “I do not know, why?” 

Panel 2: Sans shrugs widely like the answer is obvious. “Because he finally had STABLE employment!” 

Panel 3: Toriel laughs in genuine delight, although maybe a little harder than expected. 

Panel 4: Toriel: “Thank you, I needed that.” She smiles a relieved little smile. Sans: “No problem. So hey, aside from the pie… Can I maybe get an invite to those little get-togethers I see some folks around here doing once a month?” He steeples his fingertips together. 

Panel 5: San’s dialogue continues: “I’m so curious as to what goes on then!” We only see Toriel, though, shocked and dismayed. She’s thinking of the Ritual gatherings- townspeople gathered in their robes and animal masks- reindeer, fish, but most centrally, the goat masks she and Asgore wear. 

Panel 6: Toriel: “Unless you are completely enraptured by tedious talk of planting schedules and building repairs, I believe I can sate your curiosity by saying you would find them quite boring.” She waves a hand in front of her, dismissing the thought- her expression is once again drawn and weary. 

Page 4 Panel 1: Toriel turns to leave, waving goodbye. “You should look forward to your well-earned pie more!” 

Panel 2: Sans gives her a slightly skeptical look. “Alright.” is all he says. 

Panel 3: As she leaves, Toriel looks down and sees for the first time a small statue set by the door, surrounded by candles- it’s not a merchandise display, more like an altar. The statue is a horned figure holding a bowl filled with greenery- an offering of some type. The figure is rounded like a sitting child, and simple, with closed eyes and little other detail. 

Panel 4: Toriel’s dialogue over a close up shot of the figure: “What an interesting little figure you have. It does not look like it is for sale, is it?” The little horned one has three toes and four fingers on its stubby little arms and legs, and a detail on its forehead that could be a suggestion of hair, or it could be a symbol. The pillar candles surrounding it have been burned enough to have long wax drips pooled around them. 

Panel 5: Sans: “Nah, that’s just a holdover from my home country. Supposed to help keep demons out of your space.” He seems uninterested in this bit of lore, but Toriel, still facing away, is wide-eyed and shaken.

Panel 6: Toriel whirls back to him, sweating. “I-Is that so?” 

Panel 7: Sans’s expression intensifies, eyebrows dropping dramatically. “Sure thing. You know what happens when demons get in your grain stores?” 

Page 5 Panel 1: “They’re OATsolutely RYE-ined!” Sans holds his hands wide, like he’s waiting for the rimshot effect. It’s almost like his shop counter and back wall are suddenly a stage. 

Panel 2: Toriel hides a giggle behind her hand, relieved. 

Panel 3: “Is that something you have had to deal with previously?” she asks, stepping a little closer in her interest. Sans makes a slight gesture of dismissal. “Nah, I don’t really go in for that sort of stuff, honestly.”

Panel 4: Sans: “My brother, though… He’s all in on charms and wards and that sort of thing.” He gestures up, as if to point to wherever it is in the town that his brother might be now. 

Panel 5: “Keeping customs from your home country, I suppose?” Toriel asks, drawn again into the shop and closer to Sans. “Something like that,” he responds, leaning forward on his counter. On the wall next to him, there’s another woven wall hanging like the ones over the door.  Toriel: “Do you have any customs that have a reverse effect?” 

Panel 6: Sans looks as skeptical as one can while constantly grinning. “You mean like, if you want demons in your house?” 

Page 6 Panel 1: Toriel puts a hand up in denial. “N-No, that would obviously be undesirable! I meant more… just out of curiosity about your home.” 

Panel 2: Sans stares up at her, for a beat of silence. 

Panel 3: “Maybe? Again, this stuff isn’t my thing.” He leans back in his chair with his hands behind his head, nonchalant as can be. “And anyways, we left our country for a reason. Old customs aren’t relevant in this town, y’know?” 

Panel 4: Toriel once again turns to go, with a rueful smile. “Maybe not… but I cannot imagine letting go of your entire history.”

Panel 5: Sans shrugs and looks away. “There’s worse things to let go of, honestly.” 

Panel 6: Toriel, gritting her teeth, thinks of a happier time tucking Kris into bed. 

Panel 7: Close on Toriel’s expression, now more haggard and pained than it was when she came in. She clutches her chest tight. 

[songmingisthighs]

Wanbelyn

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. lv - uncle yuyu

neurosurgeon!hongjoong × reader

buy me coffee ?

where love and peace is held, i never expected for this to happen. i planned and i planned, i expected, and i hoped, but it was never you. you held what i wanted hostage to make room for you, the thing that i needed but has no means of acceptance. deny me, live your best life.

For some reason, Yeonjun felt compelled to sort trash out that day. He had been staring at the bags that his kitchen staff would bring out for 20 minutes straight before deciding he couldn't stand the damn thing any longer.

It wasn't like the task was fun or it had benefits. Heck, he had to recycle and risk meeting a recycling nut who would attack him for not crushing his cans first. So his plan was to just get the bags there, throw it out and return ASAP.

But one thing caught his eye when he turned around to walk back to his cafe. He noticed a very familiar boy looking around the park with furrowed eyebrows and he noticed people looking at him, probably as confused as the little boy was, maybe even concerned because it didn't seem like he was there with someone and that was concerning.

"Hey, bud," Yeonjun called out after jogging towards Kijoong who turned around at the sound of a familiar voice. Though it seemed like Kijoong recognized him, he didn't make a move to approach Yeonjun. Heck, he took a couple of steps back and made it seem like he was ready to run away. "It's me, uncle Yeonjun! I know your nanny (y/n) and your uncle Woowoo!" He said, desperately hoping the boy won't run because if he ran and he chased him down, that could seem like a humongous problem.

Thankfully Kijoong nodded, "You're the uncle from the cafe," he stated though seemingly shying away from Yeonjun's kind gaze slightly. Yeonjun was glad to hear that Kijoong remembered him but there more pressing matters he needed to prioritize. "That's right! So... What are you doing here alone? Is your daddy nearby?" Kijoong immediately shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows, "No, I want (y/n) and daddy don't know where (y/n) is," he said, obviously hating the fact that his dad didn't seem like he was going to round up a search party to look for you. Though Yeonjun couldn't help but notice that Kijoong was so keen on looking for you, he knew he had to get the boy back to his dad. "So, your dad's not around here, huh?" Kijoong shook his head at Yeonjun's question, "So where is he?" "Daddy's cutting people with his friends," and boy did Kijoong said that with much confidence because some people heard and couldn't help but stop in their tracks and stare at the innocent toddler and a panicked adult who immediately look around and waved his hands frantically, "It's not what it sounds like, folks. His dad is a neurosurgeon, a very good one at that."

It wouldn't take a genius to realze that the kid had ran away from wherever he was supposed to be and whoever he was with, but knowing that it would be hard to ask Kijoong about where he was and who he was with, Yeonjun decided to just cut the middle man and call up his friend.

"What's up cutie pie?" Wooyoung snickered, not looking into the camera though Yeonjun had face-timed him. "Yeah I kind of have a problem and you're the only one who could help me," Yeonjun said, shifting his eyes between his phone and Kijoong who was looking around as if disinterested or worse, trying to find a means to escape. Yeonjun's words made Wooyoung roll his eyes, "For the last time, I am not dressing up like a cupcake and handing out flyers. You're roommates with Jongho, ask him," he scoffed which made Yeonjun groan, "No, dude, look." It took Wooyoung longer than he'd care to admit to realize that he wasn't hallucinating when Yeonjun moved the camera to Kijoong who upon seeing Wooyoung, beamed up and waved. "HI WOOWOO," he yelled into the mic but Wooyoung was unbudging, still confused, "Hey bud, what- why are you with my friend Yeonjun?" and Kijoong shrugged his tiny shoulders, "Uncle followed me," and Yeonjun immediately turned the camera back on him, "That is not true, I found him at the park!" "The park? Why is he there? He was supposed to be in daycare," Wooyoung asked but it was apparent that he was doing something else frantically, "He was looking for (y/n)." That seemed to cause both men to stop momentarily and stare at each other knowingly.

With a sigh, Wooyoung mustered up a smile, "Kijoong, buddy," Kijoong, who heard his name being called, popped his head into the frame and tilted his head to the side, "I need you to go with Uncle Yeonjun here back to the hospital, okay?" Kijoong momentarily glanced up at Yeonjun before he furrowed his eyebrows, "But... (y/n) said I can't go with anyone I don't know," he said, looking at Yeonjun suspiciously. "But you do know him! You know I know him and he's going to take you back to the hospital!" Wooyoung tried to reason but Kijoong only stared at the screen with furrowed eyebrows. "Tell you what," Yeonjun spoke up finally, "How about you keep calling Uncle Wooyoung on our way to the hospital, huh? That way Uncle Wooyoung can see that I'm really bringing you to the hospital, how about that?" he reasoned. Kijoong seemed to be satisfied with the idea by nodding and opening his arms up so Yeonjun could carry him.

During the whole way to the car parked near the cafe and the hospital, Yeonjun took notice of how Kijoong seemed to be calmer though he kept talking about you along the way. What made Yeonjun sigh heavily was when Kijoong told Wooyoung to tell you that he was being so good and that he listened to you to not follow strangers so you could come back home. He actually said home and while it could easily be about the apartment he and his dad lived in, he had a feeling that Kijoong was talking about the place you belong in. Even when Wooyoung told him that he and his dad would be waiting by the lobby he asked about you, seemingly hopeful that you would be there for him.

When Yeonjun took Kijoong out of the backseat's seatbelt, he took notice of how Kijoong simply waited by his side as he made sure his car was locked before offering Yeonjun his phone before lifting his hand. "(y/n) said hold," he stated though innocently, his eyes was showing determination. Yeonjun barely knew the boy but he could tell how much he had grown to get used to and close to you so much so that he was dependent. For some reason the knowledge made him feel bad that you had been absent from his life.

Even before reaching the lobby, Yeonjun could see the neurosurgeon pacing back and forth worriedly with Wooyoung next to him with his arms crossed and disgust on his face, talking about something so serous that it caused Hongjoong to stop in his tracks and put his hands on his hips, replying Wooyoung something that was probably ridiculous to Wooyoung as seen from the way he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Daddy!"

The very second the automatic door opened, Kijoong let go of Yeonjun's hand and ran to his dad, grabbing the man's white jacket as if to crawl up. Hongjoong crouched down and scooped his son into his arms and burying his face in his hair. Hongjoong visibly let out a shaky sigh and you could almost see the stress leaving his shoulders.

"Where have you been? Why did you run out of daycare?" Hongjoong asked, momentarily letting go of his relief to scold his son. Before Kijoong could answer, Wooyoung stepped up and answered for the little boy, "Because he missed (y/n) you dumb fuck. Remember her? The strong as hell woman you manage to mess with YET AGAIN with whatever you said?" At the mention of messing with you, Hongjoong visibly shifted, seemingly uncomfortable that he was being called out like that. "What the hell did you say to her?" Wooyoung pressed, taking a step forward when Hongjoong lifted Kijoong into his arms, "What the hell happened that she couldn't seem to talk about it?" Hongjoong sighed and shook his head, "It's honestly not my business that she doesn't want to talk to you, but honestly, her running away and abandoning her responsibilities because I made a mistake is not on me." Had it not for the fact that his son was right there (and that it could jeopardize his employment), Wooyoung would have definitely punched Hongjoong in his face. "She ran away because of whatever it is you said or did, I can definitely be sure of that," Wooyoung scoffed but Hongjoong was not backing down, "You kept saying that she's an adult, she's a grown-up, she's a woman or whatever, so should a grown-up just hide when a mistake was made? I was and still am willing to talk about what I did wrong because I did, I can admit that, but frankly, I don't know how effective that conversation is now that she selfishly closed the door to have a conversation from her side and blocked other means of conversation. I get her need to preserve herself, to shield her from potential pain, and to tend to her wounded feelings first, I do, but she can't call me names when she herself is in hiding and is refusing to talk without even notifying anyone in her life. So before you bite my head for being stupid and God knows I was, do your friend a favour and help her back," he said before turning around and carrying Kijoong back to the daycare after bowing to Yeonjun and thanking him before excusing himself.

Hongjoong could feel Wooyoung and Yeonjun staring at him but he couldn't care less. 1. Wooyoung is stubbornly statued on his convictions so if he were to fight him off on it, he'd just be wasting his breath, 2. He didn't know Yeonjun and he knew Yeonjun is your friend so he would most likely side with you and try to defend you in front of him, 3. Kijoong had been returned and he would much rather focus on his son than strangers. But with each step he took, he couldn't help but let his mind go back to that day you left, that day he sat under his home office desk and let the fact that he had hurt you badly sink in slowly, drowning him in guilt and feeling of stupidity. Then his mind connected the memories and feelings to the ones he experienced years before, the day his ex abandoned him with their 3-month-old. And once again, he blamed himself for being abandoned by someone he had leant on, someone he trust, someone who was hurt because of him.

network :

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[babybatss-blog]

EUPHORIA

Link (TOTK) x f!reader, 700 words

Summary: Your dancing at the stable drives Link to a strange realisation.

Cw: written from 3rd persons pov, therefore y/n is used lots. Implied mental health issues in reader.

A picture-perfect serenity, with smoke bellowing out the nose of a cartoonish horse shaped tent, adorned with colourful reds and blues and purples of cloth flowing throughout where Y/n and Link are tonight. This scenic location appears to be the pure definition of stillness, the only sound being the rushing water in a river and the crickets chirping in the grass.

That is until you get closer, and suddenly the true reality unveils itself.

A cacophony of sounds is heard, such as guitar, singing and laughter, displaying happiness between the party of unlikely friends. At New Serene Stable the full moon is high as the many guests gather around singing folk songs passed down through generations of Hyrule, some even Link knows from his 100 years in the past. Link sit’s next to y/n at the campfire, listening to her angelic singing in a choir with the others.

“The seas are calm and blue, so welcoming anew.

The sky a piece of pie, soft and warm tonight.

The captain soars off in his boat its as if he can fly!”

This song invokes a weak memory within Link, a vision of the past where his father sang the very song to him in his tiny bed. It was made of straw, but he slept peacefully after hearing the soothing voice. Y/n on the other hand, remembers it in a very different way. Her classmates would go to the beach and scream the song at the top of their lungs to the boats passing by, giggling and doing cartwheels on the scorching sand. She sometimes wished that she could be a sailor herself, escaping towards a new adventure across the hypnotising ocean.

“The chef cooks up a storm, its tasty in this form.

Its lettuce tastes like water and without it you’re forlorn!”

One old man claps to the beat, swaying with a wide smile. Y/n immediately joins in with the others, an enthusiastic clap coming from them. Link subtly turns towards Y/n, noticing the twinkle in her eyes due to the campfire and pure joy collectively. A thought crosses his mind on how he wishes to see them in this state a million times again, but he pushes it away due to the pit quickly forming in his stomach.

Y/n leans towards Link whispering in his ear intimately. “You don’t know the words?” She asks, seeing a nervous smile appear on his face. “I know the words. I just, don’t like to sing.” He admits. She giggles at his embarrassment, half shocked and half endeared by this confession. They are so different, but also so intertwined in each other. Suddenly, she stands up along with a couple of little kids, who hold hands around the campfire. Y/n turns over her shoulder to look at Link, a grin on her face. “Join us?” He fervently shakes his head in response, seemingly repulsed by the idea. Y/n merely laughs, beginning to spin with the kids to the words resounding in the stable.

“Oh my Hylia said to me, this is where your meant to be.

A captain, chef, and a happy team all like a family!”

Y/n soon feels dizzy, hand in hand with ecstatic children that run around like monkeys. Despite this, her laughter is resounding, a brown skirt flowing in her movements. Truthfully, no matter how happy she is she wishes that Link would join her. Her eyes lock with his momentarily as she stands opposite from him, and some strange moment of connection ensues. She sees him as the nervous child too scared to make a move, and he sees her as the woman hiding away a deep seeding pain within. But they also see a beauty, one that they would never see in themselves but should as it shows their true selves.

And Link wonders… Why is this woman so perfect? Her hair flowing, her cheeks blushed and teeth shining are the definition of unadulterated joy, something he craves forever more.

Is this… Love?

[goodnightmemes]

SUPERNATURAL SENTENCE STARTERS / SEASONS 4 - 5

❛ What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be saved? ❜

❛ You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of hell. I can throw you back in. ❜

❛ Destiny can’t be changed. All roads lead to the same destination. ❜

❛ I have questions. I have doubts. I don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore. ❜

❛ The only reason you’re still alive is because you’ve been useful. But the moment that ceases to be true, the second you become more trouble than you’re worth, one word, one, and I will turn you to dust. ❜

❛ Who do I have to kill to get some French fries around here? ❜

❛ How I feel, this… inside me, I wish I couldn’t feel anything. I wish I couldn’t feel a damn thing. ❜

❛ We’re all scared. That’s the big secret… We’re all scared. ❜

❛ If you think you have good intentions, think again. ❜

❛ It’s not blame that falls on you. It’s fate. ❜

❛ I’m tired of burying friends. ❜

❛ You ask me to open that door and walk through it…? You will not like what walks back out. ❜

❛ I’m sorry. This is a very serious, very emotional situation for you. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just that, I mean, are they serious? They sent you to torture me? ❜

❛ Oh, you’ll spill your guts, one way or the other. I just didn’t want to ruin my shoes. ❜

❛ Most folks live and die without moving anything more than the dirt it takes to bury them. You get to change things. Save people. ❜

❛ I can’t see your face, but those are definitely your brooding and pensive shoulders. ❜

❛ You promised me my family would be okay! You promised you were gonna take care of them! ❜

❛ I gave you everything you asked me to give. I gave you more. This is the thanks I get? This is what you do? ❜

❛ Now for the punch line. Everybody dies. ❜

❛ Now I’m asking you, for once, trust me. ❜

❛ Maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s, no escape. After all, how can you run from what’s inside you? ❜

❛ You don’t know me. You never did. And you never will. ❜

❛ Well, boo hoo! I am so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess! ❜

❛ Are you under the impression that family’s supposed to make you feel good, make you an apple pie, maybe? They’re supposed to make you miserable! That’s why they’re family! ❜

❛ We’ve been through much together, you and I. And I just wanted… to say, I’m sorry it ended like this. ❜

❛ What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here! ❜

❛ No more crap about being a good soldier, there is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it! ❜

❛ If there is anything worth dying for, this is it. ❜

❛ Well, can’t make an omelet without cracking a few eggs. In this case, truckloads of eggs, but you get the picture. ❜

❛ Oh God. Is that a molar? I have a molar in my hair? This has been a really stressful day. ❜

❛ I’ve got no idea, but what I do have is a GED and a give-em hell attitude, and I’ll figure it out. ❜

❛ I’m hunted, I rebelled, and I did it, all of it, for you, and you failed. ❜

❛ I lost everything… for nothing. ❜

❛ You feel bad now? Wait ‘till you’re thigh-deep in warm corpses. 'Cause my friend, I’m just getting started. ❜

❛ We’ve talked about this. Personal space? ❜

❛ I was dead from the moment we said hello. ❜

❛ Don’t you get it? You can’t run from yourself. ❜

❛ Same song, different verse. Things are never gonna change with you. Ever. ❜

❛ My heart breaks for you. The weight on your shoulders, what you’ve done, what you still have to do. It is more than anyone could bear. ❜

❛ You’re not fooling me, you know that? With this sympathy for the Devil crap? I know what you are. ❜

❛ Whatever you do, you will always end up here. No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up…here. ❜

❛ Maybe we are each other’s Achilles’ Heel. Maybe they’ll find a way to use us against each other, I don’t know. I just know we’re all we’ve got. ❜

❛ You can do the right thing. You’ve got choices. But if you make the wrong ones, it’ll haunt you for the rest of your life. ❜

❛ I have to believe someone can make the right choice, even if I couldn’t. ❜

❛ You know, I’m starting to get why parents lie to their kids. You want them to believe that the worst thing out there is mixing Pop Rocks and Coke - protect them from the real evil. You want them going to bed feeling safe. If that means lying to them, so be it. ❜

❛ I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, endings wrapped up in a bow. But this is real. And it’s gonna end bloody for all of us. That’s just how it’s gotta be. ❜

❛ Now listen very closely. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and play the roles that destiny has chosen for you! ❜

❛ Are you giving me the 'Last Night on Earth’ speech? ❜

❛ What a peculiar thing you are. ❜

❛ I still love him. But I am going to kill him because it is right and I have to. ❜

❛ Think of the million random choices that you make, and yet how each and every one of them brings you closer to your destiny. Do you know why that is? Because it’s not random. It’s not chance. It’s a plan that is playing itself out perfectly. Free will’s an illusion. ❜

❛ I can see how broken you are, how defeated; you can’t win and you know it, but you just keep fighting, just keep going through the motions. You’re not hungry, because inside, you’re already dead. ❜

❛ We’re supposed to be a team, it’s supposed to be you and me against the world, right? ❜

❛ Not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that… I got laid. ❜

❛ Well, we’re working on the power of love. ❜

❛ I love you, but you are a great big bag of dicks. ❜

❛ No one gives us the right. We take it. ❜

❛ If anyone gets to end this world, it’s me. ❜

❛ Before we get down to brass tacks, some ground rules: No slaughtering each other, curb your wrath. Oh, and keep your hands off the local virgins. We’re trying to keep a low profile here. ❜

❛ Get the hell off my property before I blast you so full of rock salt, you crap margaritas. ❜

❛ I don’t understand your definition of good news. ❜

❛ You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man that I believed you to be. ❜

❛ You have an inflated sense of your importance. ❜

❛ To a thing like me, a thing like you, well… Think how you’d feel if a bacterium sat at your table and started to get snarky. ❜

❛ I’m old. Very old. So, I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you. ❜

❛ However you feel now, it’s only gonna get so very, very much worse… questions? ❜

❛ I suggest we imbibe copious quantities of alcohol. ❜

❛ You’re not a kid anymore, and I can’t keep treating you like one. Maybe I gotta grow up a little, too. ❜

❛ Come on, I’ve never lied to you, you could at least pay me the same respect. ❜

❛ We’re going to kill each other. And for what? We don’t even know the answer. Let’s just walk off the chessboard. ❜

❛ What would you rather have: peace or freedom? ❜

[jomiddlemarch]

That it alone is high fantastical

“Oh, Mother, you’ll never guess! You’ll never guess in century of guessing!” Rilla cried out, sounding so much as she had as a little girl, for a moment, Anne could convince herself the War had never happened and that somewhere in Rainbow Valley, Walter sat writing a crown of sonnets in his leather-bound journal, his face dappled by the light, back braced against the bole of a birch tree, his grey eyes unfocused as he searched for his next word.

There was still a white stone in the graveyard. Shirley was in Toronto, having refused (albeit politely) to return to Glen St. Mary, much to Susan’s dismay, and Jem walked with a pronounced limp, his uneven gait announcing him as much as Mary’s voice.

There was a mystery there, Jem and Mary Vance, but Anne couldn’t see any way through it and Gilbert, lying beside her in bed, both of them tired but sleepless, told her not to try. Jem had seemed less removed, less falsely cheerful lately, and had begun talking about the medical course again, perhaps a specialty in obstetrics, a hospital practice. As far away from men dying in battle as he can get, Gilbert had observed and Anne had recalled Joyce’s little face, white as a mayflower blossom, and held her tongue.

Rilla, remarkably, given her exuberant entrance, had done the same in the absence of Anne’s response. Miss Oliver had left Ingleside some weeks ago, so there was no one to suggest Rilla either elaborate or calm herself, as her likeness to a whistling copper tea-kettle was increasingly pronounced.

“If I’ll never guess, dear, you must tell me,” Anne said. It was a relief that Rilla could still be the young girl she ought to be, for all that she wore Ken Ford’s diamond ring on her finger and was capable of a brisk, warm matronliness when it came to raising Jims, now reserved for the writing of letters to his new British stepmother and clucking over the missives she received.

“Faith Meredith has eloped!”

Anne did admit to herself she would never have guessed that, because for all her imagination, she wouldn’t have guessed something impossible.

“But, Rilla, Jem is with your father today, doing the Lowbridge rounds. Susan and I packed a lunch with plenty of pie for Dad and some of that flapjack Jem took to after being in England,” Anne said. He’d been in hospital in England, recovering from the injuries he’d sustained at the Front, in the prison camp, during his escape, none of which was spoken of. Only flapjack and stewed tea and how no cook in England was a patch on Susan and that you may tie to, uttered with some semblance of his old roguish humor.

“I didn’t say she married Jem, Mother!” Rilla exclaimed. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright. She had a look of Gilbert at his most delighted about him, an expression Anne remembered from their childhood. Anne opened her mouth to speak but Rilla interrupted.

“It’s Bertie Shakespeare Drew! Faith Meredith is Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare!” Rilla said.

If Anne hadn’t already been sitting down, she would have, suddenly and gracelessly. As it was, the shirt she’d been mending fell from her lap.

“That’s—why, Rilla, are you sure?”

“I heard it directly from Mary Vance,” Rilla said, lifting a hand to stop Anne from speaking. “And Miss Cornelia Bryant. You know Miss Cornelia has no taste for gossip. Miss Cornelia’d heard it from Mrs. Meredith—”

“Poor Rosemary,” Anne said, before she could stop herself.

“Why poor Rosemary? I suppose they thought Faith and Jem would make a go of it, at least, perhaps Reverend Meredith and Mrs. Meredith did, but the War’s done funny things to people and Faith and Jem, they just didn’t fit any longer,” Rilla said. Sometimes, Anne felt Rilla reminded her of someone she couldn’t name and realized her youngest daughter spoke with the wisdom Anne’s own mother might have had. Plenty of folks in the Glen would find such a thought eerie, but Anne was comforted, for all that she ought to be the one offering a thoughtful explanation rather than receiving it.

“I suppose I meant the surprise, an elopement—”

“They must not have wanted to wait. Or were afraid someone would try to talk them out of it. Bertie’s mother maybe,” Rilla said.

Rosemary or her father, Anne thought. Jem, if he’d been given the chance, perhaps. Perhaps not, if Rilla was correct.

“Bertie Shakespeare Drew,” Anne said. “I remember when he was born. He’s just Jem’s age.”

“He’s not much like you remember him, Mother. He’s all tall and stalwart now and they say he’s going in for engineering, that he learned quite a bit in France, found he had a talent for that sort of thing. And his ears don’t stick out quite so much anymore,” Rilla said.

“There’re more things on heav’n and earth,” Anne said, mangling the quote a bit, fairly certain Rilla would not correct her. “D’you suppose Faith calls him Bertie? Or his full name—it’s quite a mouthful.”

Queenly Faith Meredith, the undisputed beauty of Glen St. Mary, who had a sense of humor but also a sense of herself as beyond any teasing, now to be Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare Drew. Anne smiled to herself and thought how Mary Vance would find a way to make Jem grin over it all. She’s lucky to get him, Mary would say, reversing the order the Glen would have assumed, and Mary, canny and unexpectedly kind, would have the right of it, perhaps.

Susan would be quite outraged and the pastry of her next pie might suffer for it, but Gilbert had always taken an unchristian glee in Susan’s outrage and wouldn’t mind the pastry being a bit heavier. It was still the best piecrust on Prince Edward Island, now that Mrs. Rachel Lynde was no longer living to give Susan a run for her money.

“Miss Cornelia said Faith was heard to call him Will, when she spoke to her parents. It’s after Shakespeare of course, and because he was so determined they marry,” Rilla said. 

“And because Faith wanted to,” Anne said. She wasn’t sure if she meant the elopement or the name, but it was all of a piece.

“Miss Cornelia said they’d gone to New York for their honeymoon and she hoped Faith didn’t come back with a bunch of silly Yankee airs but Mary and I didn’t think that was likely,” Rilla said, sitting down beside Anne, picking up the shirt and starting to sew.

“She didn’t come back from England any different, after all,” Rilla said.

“Except that she didn’t marry your brother,” Anne replied.

“D’you know, Mother, even without the War, I don’t think they’d ever have gone through with it, Faith and Jem,” Rilla said. “It was, how shall I put it, like a childhood fairy tale, the honorable knight and the maiden fair, all sorts of adventures they had in Rainbow Valley. They were always going to grow up. We all were.”

Not Walter, Anne’s heart said. Not Joyce.

“I’m glad of Ken’s name, anyway. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t elope for anything. I want our families around us, as many as we can get, even if we have to wait. We’re rather good at that,” Rilla said. She’d finished the one shirt and picked up another. She peered at it, frowned. “I can’t think what Dad does to his clothes—”

“I’ve made up a thousand stories to try to explain that and I still don’t think I’ve figured it out,” Anne said. “Some things, my darling girl, are beyond explanation.”

This one's for @freyafrida because I didn't manage to squeeze Faith/Bertie Shakespeare into my Jem/Mary fic...

[silky-silks]

The Trees

(Im going to respond to my ask soon guys after March 11)

The run for Mario is coming to a close everybody! And as much as I want to continue sadly Mario day is where the finale is revealed. But Im having tons of fun with this, and i have learned a lot of things in theese short span of few days. A part of me wish I knew of Mario day earlier, but enough of my lamenting. Back to story time.

Anger

Uncertain if Nina is truly dead or not, Silky tries to comfort and give everyone hope as Nina might actually be alive. Silky however had no idea just how enrages Eric could get. She turns and see's the blinding rage on Eric's face. She freezes as his glare looks...so similar to someone else she known. (And it's not Bob). She does not know what to do, doesn't even know what to say as for countless times even therapist can soothe his pain. So she sits very still, and hushes everyone in the room (Silky is no expert at this, so take her response to how in Puss in Boots: The last Wish when Perro helped Puss during a panic attack. ) She stays at the calmest expression she can until eventually Eric is able to get pass the anger faze.

Eventually the air does become a bit calm, and Silky hesitates to hold Eric close to her soft fur, she is grateful he doesnt yank it off. But not that it matters, her fur is not important: Eric is. Her extreme fluff drowns out the sound of the room, as it was all so incredibly "loud" earlier.

At this Time, Patches is trying to process the news and find something to help Bob with, but everything falls apart when Mono hurries out of the observatory. King Boo yells for her to come back but Patches is already at her trail.

The Black Hole

(idea from @22a-girl-from-galaxy22, and it's amazing)

Somehow and in someway, Mono finds a black hole and jumps into it. This is dangerous, incredibly dangerous but by sheer luck she makes it to the other side. Hell Valley, and Patches it as her side.

There they find Nina in a cell, and are overjoyed to know she is alive. But just like Eric, Mono probably should have thought of the escape plan. Nina however is depserate know if her family is okay and is relieved to know Bob and are safe. But hearing of Eric's breakdown broke her heart. However this little reunion is about to end as.....{REDACTED} shows up with a bit of a cosmic drip.

_it's Ducifer....Mono readies her weapon but they are surronded.

(To be continued tomorrow as soon as possible or probably at midnight)

Whew okay we almost there guys! Man I'm going to miss this little series a bit, but I'm resting after all of this haha..

But some notes yes, Ducifer is the bad guy because everybody loves Ducifer! (Did I say that right?) Hopefully he is able to survive the wrath of Silky when she gets there.

Nina originally was going to look petrified but i made her angry. Already having met this dude some time ago, and now seeing him back with him trying to kill mono, herself, patches, and is the main cause for all of this pain fuels her with anger.

I dont know much about PTSD so i had to tread very lightly with it as i did not want to end up making something very offensive. Hence why i reframed from Silky doing a whole "Oh let me hug and talk to you" as I know in some cases, talking and hugging can be one terrible thing for some folks.

And finally Patches is horrified of Hell Valley trees. I mean look at those things, if her friends were there they would be fighting like hell cats. Anyway, im going to eat some food, and prepare for the finale!

Patches Bashful belongs to @eve-pie

Eric Velseb @night-light-artz

Mono and Ducifer @22a-girl-from-galaxy22

[oldfuckeditor]

“=⌕ INFORMATION //﹫

name:  Charles Munroe  alias:  Charlie, Chief   age / d.o.b.:  58; February 5th  gender, pronouns & sexuality:  Cis Male, He/Him, Pansexual  hometown:  Yonkers, New York  affiliation:  Media  job position:  Editor-in-Chief at the New York Times  education:  2 years of community college, no further education as he started interning for the Times  relationship status:  Single   children:  Mary/Marie, his daughter

— personality  🖋

personality type: ENTJ  moral alignment: True Neutral   positive traits:  Adaptable, Supportive, Confident, Efficient, Honest  negative traits: Workaholic, Avoidant, Confrontational, Arrogant, Inflexible  religion:  Agnostic  

— appearance  🖋

faceclaim: William Fichtner  hair colour: Grey  eye colour: Deep Blue   scars: He sliced the top of his hand working with a paper guillotine in the 80s, Old and healed over cigarette burns that he won’t talk about  tattoos: Charlie has a few tattoos, “all on his ass” but the location of them is unknown to anyone but his dead wife.  piercings:  None 

— skills  🖋

languages:  English  technical:  Knows how to bind a book, Can read up to 600 words per minute, types up to 50 words per minute.  

— other  🖋

smokes: A pack a day, used to be worse  drinks: Almost every evening, keeps scotch under his desk  drugs: Used to, not anymore  injuries/medical: Not Yet 

— biography  🖋 TW: drugs, gang violence, media bribery, character death 

Growing up in the 70s with a typical Air Force pilot for a father and a neater than scotch whiskey no ice housewife for a mother, it wasn't exactly the worst thing in the world, but it wasn't entirely mundane, either. Charles Munroe grew up in the All-American home, meaning no drugs, no girls, no rock and roll, and no stepping out of line. The family went to church every Sunday, and by the evening he was getting high and hanging out with his group of friends. He was never about the American pie life, he wanted more substance, and more intrigue. Charlie ran with a more adventurous and wild crowd than his parents might have liked. This caused a great rift between them and he left home as soon as he was able.

Which he found, upon entering college, that was exactly what college was for. Escaping the dichotomy of regular life, finding your home away from home, and partying without the parents around. For him, college was just an excuse and a means to leave, he was never one for classrooms, curriculums, and teachers, they were just old folks 2.0 and he wanted nothing to do with it. The first time his buddies mentioned a road trip around the country, he bought a van and never looked back. He partied at the biggest bashes of the century, he tried most of the drugs in that day and age, and most importantly, he WROTE about his adventures. Sold them to some publishing company and lived off the checks for a while.

Until one day, he lands back in New York. No cash, no place to go, no education to speak of, and an itch to write. The Times Editor in Chief at the time found him about a week into searching for a writing gig, having read his articles on East to West Coast and Desert bonfires gone horribly wrong when drinking and copious amounts of drugs were involved, it was the late 80s and no one tended to blink at that sort of thing. Charlie started at the very bottom of the company, but his impressive writing skills and ties with the boss made his climb to the top more like a rocket. Within a few years, he was writing articles for page one and on the Chief's close personal circle of editors.

That's when he learned about shady ties to the Times and some underhanded cash flowing in, an incentive to write nothing on certain goings on in the city or a personal smear campaign against those the "donators" didn't like. Charles wasn't a prude; he liked money and didn't mind avoiding topics whenever he was paid handsomely and not told where the money came from; it only bothered him when he put in the work, and it would end up in the shredder. On one fateful evening, he had done just that, he wasn't happy about it, his "magnum opus" he called it, spat in the Chief's face about how he was jealous of the younger's talents and how he just wanted Charlie to be smothered, a dim candle at his side.

He'd regret those words for the rest of his days. The next morning, his Chief was all over the pages, shot in the head right in front of his condo, no suspect for his murder, and he was buried in the ground a week later. Charlie was handed the reigns of Editor in Chief the next day. He had been high or drunk when he got the call, because all he had to gumption to do was curse and tell them to call him back on Monday. Whatever this would entail for him, he would meet it with a stiff lip and an aggressive disposition. Landing himself to be one of the harshest and more dedicated Editors the Times had ever seen.

— wanted connections 🖋

His daughter, Mary/Marie!!! A girl of 30, you can decide on how she feels about him, but his wife/her mother died around ten years ago, and they’ve been on short terms since then. He’s a workaholic and often prioritized work over his family. He loved his girls though, kept a roof over their heads, bought them both gifts, almost never forgot a birthday or anniversary, tried his best in the beginning but the promotions kept taking him away and journalism was always his passion above all else. He calls his daughter almost every week, just to check in, whether she likes this, or even answers, is completely up to you. He’s trying to bridge the relationship, though.  

[twig-tea]

So I caught up on Naughty Babe and I'm a bit confused as to why folks are confused. Here's my understanding of where we're at:

Yi knows that KhonDiao's family have been taking advantage

He was delaying the wedding and working hard, I'm assuming figuring out how to get them out of the bonkers contracts the families signed

He's pretending to still have memory loss to be able to trick them/catch the shitty family members out

He also kept it from KhonDiao because he didn't want to tell him about his family and didn't otherwise know how to explain it without hurting him

KhonDiao figured it out anyway and has his own plan (to run away from the wedding and escape via helicopter)

Yi knows about the plan and has his own plan, probably relying on KhonDiao's plan plus his own fake amnesia

Meanwhile KhonDiao's and Yi's family members (KhonDiao's dad, stepmom, half siblings , and uncle; Yi's estranged mom) are conspiring to get even more out of this couple.

I... think that's what's happening? Someone tell me if I got something wrong because I admit I only half watched while I was catching up on tumblr yesterday but I've seen a few people confused about why the fake amnesia even happened so I thought I should check in if I missed something.

As always with this series I'm frustrated that their go-to even after a communication breakthrough is to once again keep secrets from one another but that's this universe's brand lol

The only part I don't understand is why they retconned the sex that was clearly signalled to have occurred between KhonDiao and Yi in Cutie Pie.

[yahoo201027]

Day in Fandom History: March 10…

Star, Marco, and River all travel down to an island that is home to the Pie Folk where she must outwit the citizens and find her mother but also learn about her heritage once reunited. “Escape from the Pie Folk” premiered on this day, 5 Years Ago.

[lil-doodle-noodle]

NO NAME AU

(HORROR AU)

CREATURES

Poppy: In the kitchen, making delicious pies! Who doesn't want a pie made out of the small people running around like mice? Her mouth is usually closed, opening to show a mouth wider than it should be.

Howdy: Long arms, like a spider, and moth wings that bled into his surroundings. He can easily catch you off guard, often diving silently, so watch out. He can be spotted around a light source, knowing folks feel safer under the beam. Though hard to see, you can usually tell it's him by his beady eyes that seem to glow.

Barnaby: Rough fur, cold body, torn scalp... It was like a walking corpse. He roams around wherever he pleases, often being heard by his heavy footsteps or breathing. He smells like rotting flesh, a human heart beating slowly in his chest.

Julie: A girl without eyes, using her flowers to see. They are scattered everywhere, even in places flowers usually wouldn't be. Nowhere is safe from one growing. Keep an eye out, these flowers can capture and hold.

Eddie: He is the most sane looking out of all of them, having a relatively normal appearance, aside from having no mouth. He is known as a “gentle giant”, but he is merely tricking you. He waits for you to get close enough before snatching you and taking you to Home.

Home: An unknown entity who had begun to leak through the house that Wally had once lived in. A being who had fully manifested over many nights, eventually becoming powerful enough to make a few changes.

WANDERERS

Frank: A man who’s spent his time documenting every creature and its mannerisms. Very knowledgeable and is the main guy behind the planning (food, items, escape routes, safe passageways). Lost Eddie.

Sally: The scavenger. She is the leader of the folks tasked with going out for supplies, food, medicine ingredients. She is in charge of keeping everyone in order inside the safety of their camp, as well. Lost Julie.

Wally: The lookout. Wally suffers from insomnia, usually leading him to being the watchful eye during the night, when everyone is asleep. When he does sleep, however, it isn't long before the nightmares come. Usually stays in the camp unless told otherwise. Lost Barnaby.

Y/N: Helps around whenever they can. Can usually be seen by the two leaders or the watch out. Almost fell for Eddie’s gentle lie. Doesn't remember where they came from, but they were found unconscious and brought back to camp.

STORY

Welcome Home was a normal neighborhood, though it was media. The characters were not aware of such information, assuming they were real. One night, behind the set, some kids thought it would be fun to summon a demon. They did not know of the reality of what they saw as puppets. They did not know they had lives in a seemingly other world.

When they did it, it didn't seem like anything happened. But it did. And they were the first victims.

When the demon was summoned, it had appeared in the world of Welcome Home, leaking out of Wally’s Home like tar. It was worrying to the neighborhood, especially to Wally. Home never sounded like it used to, sounding more… unsettling. Over the days, the demon claimed lives in the real world, growing more powerful with each soul. Those kids that had summoned it now serve, possessed, bringing new souls for it to consume.

Once day, it had grown powerful enough to change things, able to feed off of the negative energies. It had waited long enough to change even living creatures. The neighborhood turned into a world of a nightmare. It was always dark, the world seemed to tower over the neighbors.

The souls fed to the demon were used as puppets for the entity, capturing several of the neighbors before they understood what was happening. Only Sally, Frank, and Wally were left, having watched their beloved community change into monsters. The captured were taken to Home, where it painfully changed them into who they were not.

They grew and changed. If you listen closely, some say you can still hear their screams when you look into their eyes.

The survivors, or “wanderers”, built a camp in a place far from Home. It was in a hollow, covered by bushes and fallen leaves. To their confusion, new folks appeared, who had no idea where they had come from. The folks were often found unconscious and brought back to camp.This is Home’s doing. He wanted new toys and didn't want to transform these beings immediately, though this is not the case for all sacrifices from the real world.

[thejollywriter]

Delilah Jones

There’s something pulp-fiction about her name. Not in relation to the movie, but to the genre of genre fiction that was published on a far cheaper quality of paper than the mainstream literary books in the 1920s-50s. The paper was a pulp conglomeration, thicker than more refined paper, and courser. And the paper came to represent the whole genre.

Pulp. Popular. Violent, sexy, evocative, accessible. Everything you want in your fiction. That’s the spirit I infused Delilah with, going forward. She’s not me, the character may be trans, but she’s not my wish fulfillment anymore.

Well. Not for my life.

See, in those old pulp stories of adventure and sex, queer folks and minorities were almost always either villains, or cruel stereotypes designed to undercut the clean-shaven strong-jawed all-American hero.

But there’s beauty in those stories. There’s room to play against power structures in those pages. And there’s a lot worth reclaiming. I think there’s real value in telling pulp-style transgressive stories through the eyes of the people excluded from those narratives. Pointing at the constricting ouroboros of end-stage capitalism and, if in no other place, using fiction to dismantle the power of corporate fascism and brutality is important.

It's escapism. It’s literary pecan pie. Nutritional value may be lacking, but the things it feeds the soul cannot be replicated.

These villains can be overcome in real life through enormous work and incredible solidarity. But sometimes you just wanna see the bully get fucking slammed by the physical manifestation of punishing hubris.

That’s what these stories are. Delilah Jones exists to literally lay hands on these existential killers of our world and just whoop their asses.

The first volume of her stories are coming out this month of July, 2024. I'll share the cover soon. You can see it first, and the stories included in this anthology, on the patreon.

[francis-writes]

Hello! Can I request headcanons of Alex DeLarge with a shy and chubby girlfriend? Can be sfw and/or nsfw. Thank you! <3

Warnings: Alex being Alex

SFW

Alex doesn't care about look that much. I mean, he likes to dress up and he likes pretty things but in general, for him body is a body. He likes women, men, nonbinary folks, skinny, chubby, muscled, tall, short, etc etc

Because of it you may think that you're less special but nah. Alex looked at all the people and he was "i want that one. This cute pie"

There might be problems bc of your different personalities, because while he enjoys once in a while to stay with you at home and watch movies, most of the times Alex tries to pull you out of your shell. Maybe not full ultraviolence and visiting poor citizens but taking you to the bar with his droogies or taking you for a ride

As we're talking about droogies, Alex likes to say dirty comments when you're with them, and he also doesn't keep his hands to himself. And - that actually happens when your not around- you can expect that drogies know secrets of your intimate life.

On a positive side, he makes sure you don't get into EDs or if you're currently fighting one - he supports you and tries to help you get out of it

He likes to get you on dates in town and spoil you rotten (don't ask him how he got the money). Buying you new clothes, taking you to the cinema, theatre, whatever you want, you get it. And some more. Alex may not be the best at emotions, but he covers it playing stereotypical best-boyfriend-ever

Also, his ideas of dating (dating, not one night stands which is a completely different scenario from him) probably comes mostly from old movies so if you want to know how it's like, just picture dating 50s gentleman (with a glimpse of madness behind his eyes)

NSFW

I know it's totally clichè but he wants you to sit on his face and squeeze it with your thighs

He always liked to talk dirty, but it turns him on ever more when he sees you blushing and embarassed

If you are shy in bedroom as well, Alex will probably try to change it. Well, your shyness itself he finds cute, but he will encourage you to try more positions and some of his kinks

In terms of kinks, it would be easier to tell what kink he doesn't have, but it's mostly bdsm, especially bondage, spanking, humiliation and praising (him). connected - cnc. Old habits die hard so he will be even more turned on when you wiggle and scream and try to escape from him

[principiumindividuationis777]

Celebs Should Date Non-Celebs

We all know that celebrities, even if we try to look away, are irresistible. Most of them are so good-looking, so talented, so good at drawing attention to themselves, yet somehow remain mysterious, because they are often actors, so we ask ourselves, "Is s/he really serious, or acting?".

Yet they are often unhappy in relationships with other celebrities, breaking up as often as they get together. There are exceptions (e.g. Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Freddie Prinze Jr.), but for the most part, celebrity power couples, like pie crusts, are made to be broken.

Thus, what should celebrities do? They should date ordinary-looking, unknown people with low-wage jobs, like most of us.

They could consider the advantages:

(1) We would never cheat. Seriously, think of your biggest "celeb crush". If that person were with you, you would be so obsessed with pleasing that person that the thought of cheating would never cross your mind. If, for instance, Amanda Seyfried or Emma Watson suddenly wanted me, why would I look elsewhere? Anyone else would just be a huge, depressing step down from their magnificence.

(2) We would never steal their thunder. Celebs have to be competitive to survive in show business. They do not like being upstaged. Well, if they did us the honor of showing up in public with ordinary folks like us, the tabloids would read, "(Celeb name) with unknown guy/girl".

(3) They would save money. It's true that they would probably buy things more expensive than we are used to having, as gifts for us, were we their significant others, but we would not have Hollywood expectations. Those of us used to dining at McDonald's would be grateful for anything we got, and would not expect mansions and sports cars and such.

(4) We would introduce them to more people outside the dog-eat-dog world of show business, helping them find more real friends (not sycophant employees and bully producers), givng them an escape, a sort of vacation world among "normal" people, where they would disappear from the press for a while, then return to the spotlight if and when they felt like it.

(5) We would protect their privacy from the paparazzi. If a celeb dates another celeb, both are worried about lawsuits if they got aggrassive with a tabloid reporter. Why? Because they have so much money, and thus so much to lose. Those of us with almost nothing to lose would not care: "Stay away from my guy/girl... or else." Thus, we would be unofficial security/bodyguards too, wanting no money, but only love in return.

Jennifer Lawrence, for instance, actually said she would probably say yes to a male fan (saying if they wanted to date her, "Just ask me."), explaining that she hadn't been with a man in a long time.

Sometimes the people who would be available (e.g. crew members on set) are intimidated by A-listers, and so never ask them out, even though the worst they could say is "no". Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and celebrities might just be happier with "ordinary" boyfriends and girlfriends.

Right back at you, JLaw.