#jazz envision

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

Soooo I gotta figure out what to wear to this date on Thursday. Two planned destinations: fancy cocktail bar, followed by a show/dancing at a goth club.

[jyoongim]

Hey I love your work so much! Could you please write about alastor with a wife who’s just like Jessica rabbit and ended up in heaven because she didn’t know about him killing but came down to visit him after meeting Charlie when she went up there. I just think I’d be wild for someone like Al to have a wife like that

AAAAOOOOGGGGAAAAA!!!! I could have written this in soooo many ways but i think its a bit like one i already wrote but I hope you enjoy nevertheless!!! @alientee

I highly recommend you listen to The Night We Met, Copacabana, and Why don’t You Do Right!!!! That’s what I envisioned for this one request!!!!

The meeting between the Princess of Hell and the Angelic council was a mess.

The Princess had a look of defeat, so you took it upon yourself to let her show you her hotel.

You prompted that you will be the one to go down and see if it were possible that demons could be redeemed.

I mean everyone deserves a second chance right?

You were talk even the worst sinner still possessed some sort of decency.

So you followed the Princess to her hotel to show you around.

Charlie was elated that you didn’t think her dream was just some fluck.

She asked you all sorts of questions. How you ended up in heaven and how was your life before you died.

”Believe it or not I was a singer at a gentlemen’s lounge. Oh darlin you should have seen me in my prime! Jazz, booze, and oh I had the sweetest husband.”

Charlie was shocked. I mean, yes you were breathtaking, but you really didn’t seem like the type to be tied down to some guy.

You giggled at her expression.  It was often the look men gave you when you refused their advances, happily boasting you were a taken woman and not some hussy that could warm their beds.

”Oh you’ll really find that the hotel has character. Our hotel manager might be a little…hmmm creepy but don’t pay him any mind” she said opening the door to the hotel to lead you through the lobby.

And character it did.

The interior was old-fashion but it had charm. A bit masculine for a young woman to run it,  but if the manager was a man, you could see why it looked the way it did.

You took a seat on a couch and waited as Charlie went to gather the residents so you would meet them.

You were slightly nervous. You were in Hell and hadn’t the slightest clue what demons even looked like.

You fiddled with your ring, how you wished to see your husband.

”Everyone we have a special guest so pleeeeaasssee be on your best behavior” you heard Charlie say.

You caught sight of a gnarly bar and the bartender, you smiled

”shot of whiskey on the rock love” Husker turned around and his eyes widened, yours did too “Why i never thought…Husker?!” You squealed happily, lunging across the bar to hug the demon. He smiled and patted your back, pulling away “Husker what ya doing down here?” He gave you a deadpan look, making you laugh. You then thought about it..

If Husker was down here then that…

”Charlie you should have said such beauty in our circle i would have cleaned up a lot better” a voice purred, making your head turn.

A tall spider smiled at you, giving you a flirtatious wink, which you sent back with a wave.

A little cyclone, a snake, and a seemingly human woman entered the room.

Charlie smiled “This lovely angel has decided to have a look around to prove Heaven wrong”

You introduced yourself.

”Now i know you’re not here long so Ill give you a quick-”

Charlie was interrupted by a radio-like voice.

”Don’t tell me you’re going to give a tour without me Charlie? You know we work as a team-” his words trailed off as he caught sight of you.

You stood, a happy smile on your face “Alastor baby!” You practically ran into his arms.

”Ain’t no way…”

”Noooo”

”oh welll that do make ssssennssseee”

”Pretty lady!”

everyone watched in shock as Alastor twirled you around, peppering your face in kisses.

”oooohhh my dear what a surprise this is!” He said hugging you. You heard a throat clear and broke your hold on him, turning to see everyone confused.

You gave a sheepish smile. Alastor beamed and hooked a arm around your waist

”Everyone this doll here is my wife! The prettiest thing that ever graced the earth!” You playfully slapped his chest.

Everyone's mouths dropped.

”WHAT!?”

You sat in Alastor’s lap as you told how you knew the red demon. Rambling on about how you two met and how your lives were like.

They just couldn’t process it.

YOU were married to Alastor. 

Married to the most feared Overlord in Hell. 

Wife to the Radio Demon.

How the fuck?

You were an angel? Literally and figuratively!

”How the hell did Mr. Creepy face fancy talk here get a broad like you?” Angel asked.

Alastor’s chest puffed with pride. His smile almost broke his face “with charm and wit my deluded friend” He said as he leaned his chin on your shoulder.

You giggled, it was always entertaining to see people's reactions to who your husband was.

You turned to Alastor,  lips pouty with a feigned upset look

”Now i been dead forever and not once have I seen you. Why? Why weren’t you in Heaven?”

Alastor stiffened, how was he to tell you that during your time alive he had killed many people just for the fun of it?

“Weeelll my dear I might have killed a few people” 

You blinked and then thought about it.

It kind of made sense, he used to be out ‘hunting’ at weird times of day, be gone at night saying he was working.

 You had a hard time getting stains out of his clothing.

That do explains some things.

”So do you regret anything?” He let out a laugh

nope. Not a single thing.

You shook your head “well since I’m heeeerrrrreee…why don’t we swing by juke joint, if you’re here, I’m sure Mimzy is here. I could use a good time. Its stuffy up there in Heaven. No fun at all”

Charlie perked “Ahh yes you must see how the sinners here are really like and what better than enagaging with them?”

Angel smirked “I know a place waaaayy better than some old booze lounge”

A club. You were at a club.

Your eyes honed in on a mic on the stage and it just happened to be open night.

You batted your eyes and just like that you were on stage.

The lights dimmed and you flipped through some songs to pick.

You might have been a bit old-fashioned but you were caught up on some of the modern singers that came through heaven.

The band nodded at your choice and you took hold of the mic.

With a twirl of your hand, you dawned on a 1920s theme look.

The gang mouths were jaw dropped as you started to sing, the audience was captivated. Catcalls and whistles filled the air.

Alastor felt static run through him as he sighed lovingly as you came down the stage and sat on his lap, mock fixing his bow tie as you sang. You teasingly nipped at his lips, causing his ears to twitch as you smiled going back to waltzing around the stage.

You smiled as bowed as the crowd exploded with cheers and applause as the lights came back on.

Ain’t no way Alastor had a bad broad like you, but the way you happily giggled as he whispered in your ear, pulling you into his chest…

There wasn’t denying it.

You held the Radio Demon’s dark heart.

His sweet, alluring wife

who would have thought?

[meanbossart]

Oh boy, VaM is kind of a trial and error experience LOL I couldn't really show you how to use the interface and stuff without a whole video or something, but it's not THAT difficult to get a hang of if you just give yourself a day or two to play around, not to mention the number of tutorials you find out there. Luckily, if you only want to use it as a reference software that makes the process far easier (to this day I have no idea how to animate on that thing, since that's not what I use it for)

As for how I use it, it's pretty self explanatory - if there's a complicated pose I want to draw but I'm either having trouble with it, or just want to double-check angles/anatomy, I will use it as a resource! I use for most of my "proper" pieces (y'know, the nicer looking ones) and every once in a while for my silly comics if I'm having trouble with a pose.

Lets use this drawing for example (the character on top of DU drow belongs to @namespara )

I don't draw a lot of mud-wrestling (shocking, I know) but I had an idea of the kind of pose I wanted them to be in. So the very first thing I did was make a rough sketch of what I was envisioning:

I often do a rough sketch first, even If I know I'm going to be pulling the program up because A) It's less tedious than adjusting the models over and over again until I pick a pose and B) because sometimes I'll decide I don't need the reference, after all, and so that's 30 minutes I'll have spared myself of playing around on the software.

Now, this is a pretty complicated pose! It's in a weird angle and the bodies are making contact in ways I'm not used to depicting, so I did choose to whip out VaM for this one. I went into the program and after some messing around, I flopped my little dolls together like this:

Now something really cool about VaM is that you can completely customize your models, and if you have the patience, I would definitely encourage you to do so! Obviously, you don't have to make picture perfect replicas of every single character you have, but as you can see here I have made a DU drow "decoy" to help me better understand some of his features when I draw him: he has a strong brow, a short nose, a square jawline - these are all going to look a very specific way from certain angles, and I might not always be sure of how to draw it right! So it's useful to have models that bear SOME semblance to the character so you can better understand how different viewpoints will affect their bone structure and mass.

Also thank fucking god for the elf-ear slider. Figuring out how to draw those shits from certain angles was a huge pain in the ass when I started drawing DnD races.

So, with the reference in hand, I go over the sketch again:

Now you may notice that I don't stick to the reference 100%. There's three reasons for this:

posing on VaM is tedious as hell. You can get something incredibly natural looking and picture-perfect to reference from if you wish, but it's going to take you hours to do. So, for the most part I just slap guys together until the results are "close enough" and use that.

In my opinion, you should always aim to ENHANCE your reference material, not replicate it exactly!

While VaM is a PRETTY DANG GOOD source of anatomical reference, it isn't perfect, I often supplement it with further reference from real life resources or make tweaks based on my own knowledge where I catch it falling short (and, antithetical to what I just said, I sometimes fuck the anatomy up further on purpose if I think it looks better that way LOL it's all jazz baby).

Then lines, color, yada yada. I don't have a tutorial on that and I don't think I could make one, because my process is chaotic as hell, but I do at times use Virt-a-mate as loose reference for lighting too when coloring - waaaaayyyy less so however, because that process is even more tedious and I feel like I often get better results by just winging it. It is a feature of the program though, and I'm sure it would be helpful for someone who has a difficult time visualizing lights and shadows. I only started using this program a few months ago, so I happened to already have a pretty good understanding of that kind of thing and just don't personally feel like I get much out of that particular mechanic.

Here's a few other examples of pieces that I made reference for (WARNING: Suggestive)

Now, for the question many of you may want to ask:

"Can I trace this junk?"

And to that, I say: Buddy, you can do whatever the hell you want with the reference material you created.

However,

If your goal is to learn and improve your art, and to recreate realistic proportions and anatomy from memory, tracing won't help you.

Developing your own style, your muscle memory, and personal technique will all be hindered by choosing to trace instead of drawing from observation, so I would encourage against it. Hell - even when tracing is employed as a technique, it's usually by high-skill realism & concept artists who are looking to either cut some corners, save time, or just double-check their own proportions in order to improve further - if you try tracing as a beginner, you will most definitely find the result to still look stiff and "off".

So trust me, there is so much more to be gained from drawing from observation. Make note of tangents, compare proportions, use all the elements of the picture to dictate where and how things should go - it will be a far more rewarding experience.

Hopefully this has been helpful! VaM is a really cheap program (you get it on the guys' patreon for I think 8 dollars, just google it!) and it's definitely been worth my money as an artist since I found it. Learning to use it can be a little intimidating at first glance, but as I said above you only really need a day plus one or two tutorials to get a hang of the interface.

A fair warning though, IT IS A SOFTWARE MADE FOR VIRTUAL SEX/ADULT ANIMATION So when looking it up expect to see a some spicy content.

[thenightwolf51]

So i originally had this idea when i reblogged this post by @saphushia but i wanna just seperate it out as its own little prompt.

A quick context is that Danny seems to be roaming around Gotham like some homeless cryptid, kinda Bus to Nowhere style but with more vigilante interaction and casual offerings of first aid. And the batkids are keeping their adoption bait First Aid Cryptid(tm) secret from Batman.

One set of tags in the reblogs from @little-pondhead caught my attention

I came up with both funny answers and an angsty answer for that "#why?" but here's the angsty one (though i promice i actually envision it to be more hurt/comfort with a lot of family fluff)

Actual Prompt⬇️⬇️

Something happens, maybe a reveal gone wrong, maybe he got capture by the GIW, maybe he lost Jazz and his parents somehow.

Whatever it is, it leaves Danny with a need to escaped to a new dimension which just so happens to end up being the DCU. He winds up in Gotham and is just trying to start over, easier said than done but at there's plenty of heros around so he doesn't need to go ghost and he can still patch up the local vigilantes to feed his obsession. He's just not up to being Phantom yet and he's still recovering from whatever happened in Amity, whether it be mentally or physically.

Plus these vigilantes are kinda fun to mess with. Danny can practically see the gears turning as they try to put together and make sense of his little "lore drops", that Red Robin almost reminds him of Wes in a way.

Its not like he really needs to hide anyways. There's no GIW here, no Anti-Ecto Acts, if it really comes down to it he could probably pass as meta and fall under those protection laws. Judging by Signal, Danny's pretty sure Batman's bluffing on the whole "hating metas" thing anyways.

It takes awhile before Danny actually does meet the big bat himself and the reaction he gets is nothing anyone was expecting.

You see theres one little detail danny couldn't have been warned about, and its that there just so happens to be a version of Jazz here.

Except this Jazz lost her Danny when they were in high school, as in full on dead and gone Danny, no halfas here, the portal simply did not work and it was just regular ole lethal electrocution that hit her little brother.

What if she grew up with a young Bruce somehow, whether it be because CPS took her from the Fentons after her Danny's death or Amity Park simply doesn't exist in the DCU making Gotham the city with the thinnest veil and thus where the Fenton's chose to settle down.

This Jazz is an adult in her 40s but was once a kid smart enough to go to Gotham Academy on scholarship (or maybe the Fenton's had enough money from patents?). A kid who took one look at young Bruce's grumpy little face and decided he needed a honest friend, one that wasn't after status or money.

This Jazz grew up being a secondary voice of reason for Bruce, ganging up with Alfred in their own crusade to enforce healthy habits on him in between their weekly tea sessions.

This Jazz lost her brother and could not only understand Bruce's resoning on a minor level but encouraged his planned "journey of self discovery and healing". (Though the bat costume he made when he came back was unexpected and she gave him a look to rival Alfred for it)

This Jazz grew up to be a social worker because if anyone had cared enough to take her away from the Fenton's sooner then her brother might've still been alive

This Jazz being the one Bruce calls when he first gets Dick because holy shit he has no idea what hes doing and "Jazz, i just became a father, help!"

This Jazz being a sort of aunt to all the Batkids and is a major influence that has led to their dynamics being similar to Wayne Family Adventures

Bruce goes pale and later calls Jazz after he finally gets a glimps/meets the so called "First Aid Cryptid" his kids have been obsessed with. Because this kid that he's looking at with the barely visible lichtenberg scars... that's a face he hasn't seen in little over 20 years, that's his old friend's long dead baby brother.

Bruce sees danny and his mind rapidly jumps to all sorts of possibilities. Is this a clone? Is this a trap? Are the Lazarus pits involved somehow? Time travel? He does consider a ghost but this kid is too solid and they're nowhere near the old dilapidated Fenton Works building

Eventually, down the line when they get the full story of Danny being from an alternate dimension, Jazz might try to adopt him. Which has potential to be unhealthy but i fully believe Jazz would be aware enough not to project her decades old grief on this Danny, who is so similar but so different to her brother.

(Because I think a Gotham raised Danny would've been similar to a young Jason in street smarts so this Amity raised Danny is noticeably different)

Danny on the other hand... not sure if i could say the same, especially if he just lost his Jazz before winding up in the DCU. But again, this is an adult Jazz in her late 40s with professional experience dealing with traumatized kids, and she'll do her best to help him through it

Im imagining Jazz and Bruce to have a more platonic friendship, maybe even see each other as family, but you could go with Parent Syndrome if you want

(And because i love to see other peoples ideas and opinions, @omnicrafts @ailithnight @atiyasnake @hdgnj @nelkcats @nerdpoe @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @dcxdpdabbles. Sorry i tag you guys so much but i like your writing, im eager to offer ideas, and your posts have been major sources of joy while ive been hyperfixating on DPxDC)

[sylvies-chen]

my mother said something really interesting about this episode (yes, she also watches the show and is a huge fan of dani rojas just like me) and it’s been stuck in my head ever since. she said: “it seems to me like this whole episode was about intimacy”

and like… yeah! that’s exactly it! the amsterdam trip set the perfect scene for it too, because people are normally a little more lax on vacation, a little more adventurous, a little more lenient and able to put themselves out there.

you have the pretty obvious contenders for this point: rebecca having her little fling with that nameless bald man and learning to open herself up to real connection and intimacy again, to be able to envision for herself a life and a love that is unmoored to her past with rupert and is able to exist in its own little intimate pocket. you’ve got jamie and roy learning to trust in each other, to be intimate and vulnerable about their pasts and about their present situations too (especially for roy, who is still right now a man who would rather break up with the woman he loves that admit, that he doesn’t think he’s good enough for her). and you also have, of course, the true soul of the episode, which was colin and trent’s discussion, and how colin feels that ache to be able to show the more intimate parts of him to the world the way heterosexual couples do, to be able to merge his intimate personal life with his fun if not a little reserved professional life. how to achieve a balance between intimacy and privacy.

and then you have the less obvious ones maybe, like higgins and will going to the jazz club— which isn’t really that hard to decipher when you think about it. it is, after all, where higgins opens up about an intimate detail of his love for jazz, and then gets to share his previously very intimate and private activity of playing the bass with the crowd. he even starts the night complaining of how exposed their seats feel, and ends up standing on the stage by the end of it. and, of course, will potentially had a threesome. so there’s a kind of intimacy for you. the one that truly isn’t obvious is the team pillow fight which honestly, I think is just a way of showing that sometimes a more intimate, fun yet indoor activity makes for better memories than something like a sex show or a club, which are both very grand and exciting yet impersonal and detached kinds of activities.

then of course you have ted, who is sort of lacking what my mother called an intimacy with himself. he’s been feeling a little lost, a little “stuck” as he put it. and I don’t think he understood why until this episode, until this adventure he went on with the museum and the american themed restaurant. it was a way for him to spend quality time with himself, to be alone with his thoughts while still not totally unable to absorb his surroundings and learn something. and in exploring his more intimate thoughts he was able to think of something really good! something that will make him a better coach!

and yeah, when it’s framed in this way I think this episode was sooooo killer. I love seeing people open up a little bit, to show these deep and intimate parts of their being. it’s so so so good.

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ MASQUERADE PT. 2 ]

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxx

A/N: I physically can not refrain from writing smut with angst or implied angst… please forgive me.. ❤️

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SMUT ] + [ MATURE THEMES ] + [ MALE READER ] + [ SLIGHT ANGST ]

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxx

“Would you mind if I came to see you again? I'll be in town by the weekend.” You tried not to smile too hard as the question left your lips, carrying through the telephone’s gentle crackling to resonate to the receiving end clearly, and the man you'd grown to cherish after a few short months of quiet correspondence gave a low response.

“I'll have you all to myself?” Alastor tugged your inquiry along with his own, smirking as you huffed dramatically and no doubt rolled your eyes at his words.

“As always, Al. You know I'm not one for having many friends,” you admit, slumping further into your living room sofa as if to sink through cushions and disappear from the blooming embarrassment you felt hearing him laugh again.

It was your second favorite thing about him. His honest charm was the first, and that had yet to change since the last time you'd enjoyed his company. Exactly six months ago, during your second visit to the City of Jazz, it was fun!

Alastor had essentially filled the void you'd been unable to conceal, keeping you on your toes at every turn and stringing you along in affectionate mind games you knew better than to entertain.

It was difficult not to, though; he knew what to say, what to do with you, and how to handle you. At times, you considered the idea of him being no ordinary man.

Devilish.

That's how you'd describe him to anyone who asked. Alastor was a striking character, able to overshadow your persona with a gentle smile, making you feel very accessible.

You weren't allowed freedom from judgment, public image, and parasocial expectations like every silver screen star was subjected to. Fortunately, you had no obligations with Alastor, no point to prove, and you amounted such casualness to the building of mutual bonding.

He understood fame and its demands.

He understood you…more than most.

Alastor interrupted your wandering thoughts with a witty comment, “Hm, touche, but I suppose I'm the exception.” You scoffed, grinning at the ceiling before making an equally snarky retort.

“Don't sound so full of yourself..” you heard him click his tongue, a sharp sound you wished to hear in person again sooner rather than later.

“But it's the truth, mon cher. Plain and simple.” he concurs, and you shift to sit up straight, reaching for the glass on the coffee table before you, studying the few ounces of liquor before downing the bitter liquid. “Am I welcome or not, Mr. Hartifelt?” You suck your teeth, nose scrunching as the alcohol flushes your veins, promoting your nerves to settle and easing your heart rate as you wait for his answer.

You felt a thrill from just speaking to him. It was beautiful, really, and scandalous to some degree.

Falling for a man you’d met only a handful of times shouldn’t be possible, but here you were, waiting with bated breath to hear his decision to see you again.

Please say yes…just one last time.

Alastor smiled, taking his time to contemplate your offer while leaning back in his desk chair, eyes trained on the intricate soundboard he sat at. He'd grown attached to you in one way or another, unsure if it was pure curiosity or pity on his part. Both reasons hadn't plagued him before your first encounter, and Alastor refused to acknowledge such impractical emotions, reminding himself that you were nothing more than a tag-along for him.

A lonely soul he could very quickly leave behind.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

That's what he forced his conscience to believe, willing itself to envision his compliance to your request as intrigue rather than genuine affection.

“I wouldn't dream of you refusing you, my friend. I look forward to spending time with you soon,” his answer was concise, a brief hint of satisfaction in his tone, and you immediately blurted out a joyous remark of relief.

“Then it’s settled! I’ll see you in two days,” a bright smile stretched across your face as he laughed softly on the other end, “You make it sound as if I’m your only reason for living, my dear.” Alastor shakes his head at his statement, knowing it held truth and proud to know he had such an effect on you.

Am I really that obvious to him?…

A stab of embarrassment hit you square in the heart, a subtle frown replacing your grin as you reflected on the time you’d spent with the radio host. He’d taken you anywhere and everywhere in New Orleans, insisted you join him for dinner on nights he wasn’t broadcasting, and even made an effort to view your recent film. However, he avidly proclaimed his hate for lackluster visual media.

However, he never criticized your films, choosing to compliment your scenes, or congratulating your recent success on his broadcast, as any good friend should do.

You couldn’t recall when Alastor had ever let on he knew of your attraction to him. Yes, he pried at your emotions for the hell of it a few times, but he’d never explicitly acknowledged it.

This was the first time he’d even alluded to such feelings, and your nerves were alert instantly, mind going blank as you navigated your flustered state before murmuring into the phone with a sheepish smile.

“You think very highly of yourself, Alastor..”

“Apologies, my dear. I’m partial to being honest with you. Take it as a form of flattery, if you will.”

His attempt at a modest apology failed, but you had no intention of stamping out his smug nature. Alastor’s blatant confidence was refreshing, and though you wished to keep speaking with him, your evening wasn’t absent of essential events to attend to.

You bid him goodbye with a heavy heart, wishing him a good evening despite knowing he’d put off sleep until the early morning to keep broadcasting as long as possible, and he returned the subtle sentiment before ending the call.

Hours passed, pictures were taken, interviews were conducted, and fans were screaming your name, but the only person on your mind was Alastor.

The following two days felt tortious, a strained waiting game you couldn’t wait to finish, and the second you arrived back in New Orleans and found the time to slip away from your manager, you headed straight for your usual rendezvous spot with the acclaimed radio host.

Club Intime

—- ——- ——- ——- ———

There he was, relaxed in the seclusion of a velvet lounge booth, merely hidden away from the rest of the dimly lit speakeasy. Alastor wasn’t one to socialize unnecessarily. He was content with observing others through the lenses of his round glasses that were beginning to fog up from the fumes of his cigarette, a cold glass half full of whiskey set before him to aid his solitary sedation.

From afar, he looked out of place, cordial, and put together, unlike the rest of the patrons waltzing around. The only unkempt detail about him was the state of his bow tie and collar. He’d undone it the second he sat down, nimble fingers unlacing the stiff ribbon before trying to unbutton his dress shirt's first two clasps. It was a habit he’d yet to avoid after a long evening of work and one you thoroughly enjoyed.

The insignificant results hit just the right nerves, drawing your eyes to his clean-cut features, caramel skin, and hidden scars that he’d once called “unavoidable trophies.” From what or who you weren't sure.

You’d thought to ask him why he felt so highly of his wounds, concerned they’d hit deeper than he let on, but Alastor reassured you through a tight smile your sympathy for him wasn’t needed.

He was a proud man, very sure of himself, and it showed even in a room full of illicit drinkers and rowdy partygoers. Intimidating was the easiest way to describe him, and you felt exactly that way as his hazel eyes settled on you from across the room: intimidated.

You stood at the club's entrance, letting one of the hosts take your coat, but as he asked which table you preferred, you politely declined his offer before looking back at Alastor.

He hadn’t moved, still staring you down with a gentle smile, glasses pushed to the top of his head, and drink in one hand while the cigarette dangled above its rim nestled between two of his fingers.

God, he was beautiful, like a demon straight out of hell.

Alastor tipped his head, signaling you to come his way, and you did with a certain excitement in your eyes. He studied you just the same as you’d done to him, watching your form intently as you snaked through the bustling crowd toward your regular table with him, and by the time you were close enough to call his name, a shameless grin was on your face.

“Al!” You shouted above the drumming music, slipping to sit beside him in the blink of an eye, and he didn’t hesitate to make room for you. “I see you made it to town safely, my dear!” He placed his drink down, taking one last drag from his cigarette before putting it in the liquor. You blushed at the sight of him exhaling the smoke, brown eyes trained on you and an expectant glint in them as he shifted to face you.

“Y-Yes, well, you’ve been an excellent guide the first few times I’ve come here, so I suppose I’m used to the city now.” You smiled at him softly, hoping he’d disregard the stutter in your voice, but knowing him, you were sure he’d caught it very clearly.

Nothing ever got past Alastor.

He hummed, flattered by your praise but more interested in your apparent nervousness. You had yet to act unbothered by him, which amused the radio host.

“Glad to know my assistance was helpful. Do you plan to stay longer this time round?” Alastor rested an arm on the table, chin finding his open palm, and his head now level with yours.

Fuck, I forget how tall he is sometimes…Jesus Christ…

You gulp, blood running hot as his gaze bores into yours, searching for an answer you had yet to give him. It felt hard to breathe for a moment; all you could hear was your heartbeat and the muffled noise of the club.

Why’d he always have to be so close?

Didn’t he know who you were, who he was, what this looked like to other people?

Granted, the onlookers were drunk or too dizzy from dancing to focus on you both.

But the risk of it all, that unmistakable boldness Alastor embodied, had you nervous in all the right ways.

After a beat of silence and staring, you mustered up the courage to give him a response. “Seeing as I have time off from filming, I’ll spend it here. A change of scenery is an actor's best challenge.” You broke eye contact with him, staring into the crowd to keep from fidgeting as he nodded with a low hum, “So, in other words, I won’t be rid of you anytime soon?” Alastor chuckled as you feigned offense at his question, head snapping towards him and a discreet frown on your lips.

“That was quite rude of you to say, Mr. Hartifelt. Especially since I came all the way here to see you…”

A mischievous spark lit up his eyes, smile growing devilish as you glared at him, “Ah, so I am the apple of your eye, mon cher…”

It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t pose the observation as anything else, wanting to bait you into a confession, and he succeeded quicker than you realized.

“No, I did come to experience the city,” you retort flatly, tempted to order a drink and down it to freeze the nerves burning your skin.

Alastor glanced around, assuring no one was invested in your exchange, before dipping his head to whisper in your ear. “Don’t lie to me, cher. I can see it written all over your face, and I must admit it’s a delight to see.” You could practically hear the wicked grin on his lips, sweet and sinister all at once.

Damn. It.

You paled as he pulled back, smirk ever present as he waved a waiter down to order another drink as if he hadn’t reduced you to a fluttery mess beside him.

You sat pin straight, willing to breathe, and on the verge of zoning out completely.

“And what would you like to order, monsieur?” The waiter addressed you, brow raised as you flinched from the sudden question, “I…uh…I-I’ll have the…” you inwardly panicked from the lack of coherent speech left on your tongue, but the building embarrassment dulled as Alastor spoke up for you.

“He’ll have the same as me. Double it and bring the tab as well. Merci.”

“Je vais le faire sortir tout de suite, monsieur. “ The waiter nodded, taking down Alastor’s request quickly before throwing you a strange look and strutting away.

You had to pull it together, or the image you worked so hard for Katina would crumple at one man’s behest, and deep down, you didn’t mind.

It was tiring being perfect, faking your entire personality for the masses's support, and the longer you lingered in Alastor’s company, the more enticing it was just to let it all go.

To drop the mask you wore like an overbearing shroud.

Just once, you’d like to be another person, someone less empty and carnally fulfilled.

One night wouldn’t hurt, right?

You glanced at Alastor, entranced by his lax manner, foot tapping to the swinging melodies and his eyes scanning the room as if searching for prey.

One night with him…wouldn’t be your end, right?

He didn't pretend with you, nor sugar coat his thoughts and actions in hopes of impressing you, and on more than one occasion you both sought some form of imtalcay from the other.

This man had seen what others couldn’t, so why deny yourself a chance at fleeting freedom?

He could pick you apart and put you back together again, and you wouldn’t mind.

So long as Alastor remained the only man to see through you.

One night.

That’s all you asked him for when your drinks arrived, and you were prepared for him to reject your offer, but the sting of refusal never came.

He accepted the arrangement, smile wide, and his eyes hazing over with lust the moment your question reached his ears.

“I thought you’d never ask, cher….”

The night was a whirlwind after that; the tab left on the table tallied to a large sum from the amount of alcohol ordered, and by the end of two hours, you were utterly inebriated.

You met the comfort of your hotel room not long after your time at the hidden bar, stumbling through the door by Alastors lead, laughing softly as his grip on your wrist tightened when you reached behind to close and lock the door.

If you'd seen the malicious edge to his smile as your lips met, you could've sensed danger before it arrived. Maybe if you'd stopped to think properly as clothes were tossed to the floor and his hands met your bare skin, you would've been weary of how cold they felt. Maybe if you'd perceived the rapid pace of your heart as fear for your life and not a side effect of mind-boggling pleasure while he fucked you to the point of tears, you could've vied for safety.

If only you'd seen through his mask, through his glamorous praises, and listless stares…

Maybe you could've survived and tried to fight him, but the rewards of cracking under his pressure rendered such critical thinking useless.

Once. Twice. A third.

Alastor took you from one height of pleasure to the next, forcing whatever bit of raw honesty he could out of you with a series of unforgiving thrusts, swallowing your breathless moans with shallow kisses. He'd never let you utter a word of refusal, using your body to the fullest without a second thought and scarcely sympathetic of how much you could take from him.

At the mercy of your fourth high, you clung to him, nails digging into his scarred back, head tucked into the crook of his neck, and your chest heaving with quiet groans of his name. Alastor could feel the stray tears on your cheeks, melting on his skin, exciting him to no end. “Oh, you poor thing..” he teased you through gritted teeth, biting back a smile as your walls tightened around his cock, another whine rippling your throat at the condensing remark.

“To think so many adore you, and yet here you are…” Alastor pressed his weight down onto you entirely, hands tight on your hips as he deepened his strokes, reaching places inside you that felt almost foreign. You gave up trying to speak, scratching down his back instead as a wordless warning for release, but he didn't let up.

“…showing your true colors to me. I could almost feel sport for you, Cher.” his tone dripped with vague pity, full of satisfaction as he buried himself in you, earning a soft gasp on your part and a fulfilled grown from him.

A warmth enveloped your core as he spilled his cum into you, adding to the amount he'd already so graciously given and triggering your release in seconds.

“Don't want you to feel bad for me..” you huff tiredly, eyes rolling as your cock twitched and leaked between you. Alastor hummed, eyes lowering the sight of skin glossing over with the sticky white fluid, “I pity any soul as desperate as yours, darling…”

“Desperate?” you question him with a lazy smile, ready to correct his comment but failing to as he pulled out of you, leaving you empty and restless.

“Desperate to be loved by any and everyone…” Alastor clarifies, staring at you with a soft smile on his lips as he leans down to graze them over your parted ones.

“Even by a killer like me…”

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx

I finally completed this!!!! I'm seriously considering getting an Alastor blanket to curl up in because the stress I've been feeling this week is wild…❤️

Quick side note: do you all realize Alastor would be the most toxic partner in history? Yes, he's sweet, respectful, dashing, and everything else needed to be a surface-level perfect companion. But once you get past all of that, there's not a single aspect of your life Alastor wouldn't control, stalking you, weaving webs of lies to isolate you, using minor signs of affection as a way to keep you close, and buying you gifts to mask all his deep seeded antagonism. He would be your dream man but a total nightmare in one way or another.

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Pilot Alsstor was something else I love him so muchhhh ❤️ credit to creator

[thegardenofbae]

I don’t know what this says about me, bu I just always envisioned my adult self as being wildly fabulous, drinking red wine & listening to jazz music when I was a kid. Constant imagery.

It occurred to me tonight, as I’m drinking red wine in my kitchen and jazz plays over the tv in my living room, that I am the embodiment of my childhood day dreams. Wildly fabulous, drinking red wine & listening to jazz.

I like to think I’ve always had taste, ever since a young age ✨

[paradiseinaverno]

Reader is a human and is oblivious to Morpheus's feelings for her?!?

in your dreams

aka; gn!reader being completely oblivious to morpheus’ feelings

thank you for the ask ! as always, lowercase intended :)

headcanons, morpheus x constantine!reader, established contact, slight plot derision, heavy miscommunication (idiots in love basically), GENDER NOT SPECIFIED !

oh you silly, oblivious fool. the both of you.

in fact, morpheus should become despair, and you? denial. utter delusion.

despite having strings of passionate love affairs, morpheus is perplexed by you. the seduction has never been hard for him, only the longevity. but he can’t even reach that.

he supposes he should be somewhat grateful, as he won’t come on too headstrong. on the other hand, however, he wonders exactly how much effort he has to put in to win you over. and morpheus has never shied away from a romantic pursuit, especially not when it involves his ego (which, in fairness, it always does), but you are…something else. that’s why he likes you. you’re so different from your sibling; where she’s perceptive, you practically live in daydreams.

and that is precisely where he begins his pursuit of you. in your dreams, as you say to him. morpheus begins by making everything softer, brighter. both you and your sister are chronic nightmare sufferers, as you’ve mentioned. so, unknown to you, he keeps nightmares at bay. not this time, he chides them. not this time.

it’s the first night you get a full eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

you suspect it has something to do with him, but you brush it off as impersonal. even despite johanna’s prodding, you think it’s probably because the sand has been returned.

“i’m telling you jo, it’s nothing.”

“well he didn’t make my nightmares suddenly vanish. next time you see him, tell him i have a bone to pick with him.”

“there won’t be a next time!”

deep down, you hope there will be.

on the other hand, it’s been at least two weeks of pleasant dreams, and morpheus’ patience is wearing thin. surely for someone of your intelligence, you’d realise it has something to do with him? fine. maybe he just has to be more obvious.

he starts by physically appearing in your dream. slowly, though. tactfully. there’s roses along the meadow you’re dreaming of tonight. maybe it’s just you, but you swear you can hear some type of slow jazz.

it takes you at least twenty minutes (if the dreaming even has a linear concept of time) to notice him. and when you do, it’s only because he has to shuffle to get a better view of you, and you’re slightly perplexed by the swath of black fabric against such a vibrant pink background.

“oh! it’s you!”

finally, he thinks. “it is. and you, y/n? how are you?”

“i’m good. i’m not sure if this is actually you, or if you’re just me. still wrapping my head around this whole thing.”

“i am quite certain that we are separate. it will take time to adjust, but i am sure you will. you have quite the mind.”

you flush. “thank you. oh! actually, i had a favour to ask.”

“anything,” morpheus replies, instantly. there’s a softness in his voice that makes you almost melt. he, on the other hand, is elated. such intimacy, already? perhaps his worries were for nothing. he’d quite literally grant you the sun, if he could (though he doesn’t have the best experiences with those).

“could you perhaps get rid of my sister’s nightmares, too? in her own words, she ‘has a bone to pick.’ if that’s not too much?”

ah. not quite the favour he was thinking, but if it makes you happy…

“of course. i will see to it myself.”

you smile at that, and morpheus feels a warmth in his chest that he hasn’t felt for a long, long time.

“thanks, man. i appreciate that.”

you physically cringe. man ? there are seven ways you can envision the ground swallowing you up alive, and the only reason it doesn’t is because of morpheus’ presence.

meanwhile morpheus himself is inwardly despairing. ‘man’ ? either humans have changed entirely, or his seductive skills are at a miserable low.

thankfully, you’re saved by your alarm blaring through. you wake up in sheer agony. so bad, in fact, that you lie in bed for another twenty minutes quite literally saying prayers to every deity you can imagine. you’re atoning for some sin you can’t even think about. what the hell have you done to deserve this?

whilst you’re busy despairing in the waking world, morpheus is slumping against his throne in the dreaming. despair must be having a brilliant time, he thinks.

it takes both lucienne and matthew’s combined efforts to pull him out. giving the lord of dreams a pep talk? never been on the agenda, but he feels remarkably better after matthew assures him “maybe they’re just shy!”

so morpheus does something he’s never done before.

he consults human dating books. oh, so a ‘light touch on the arm’ is still popular. matthew tells him to try a more extroverted approach.

“why can’t you just tell them?”

but the lord of dreams is a prideful creature, though he’d never admit it. why should he go to them?

underneath that is a piercing fear of rejection, of being alone again, especially after the burgess incident. but that’s for later.

morpheus even consults death. his sister has a wonderful track record of being good with humans.

so, armed with flowers, and newfound knowledge of “tenderness, morpheus. be tender and warm,” he shows up at your door.

when you answer, you’re delighted, though you try and hide it, of course.

“hi again - oh, are those for johanna? she’s out at the moment, unfortunately, but i can pass a message on if you’d like?”

he blinks. “no, they…they are for you, actually.”

your eyes widen in surprise. “for me? what’s the occasion?”

he looks at you, so deeply that you almost shudder. there’s something…tangible about his stare. something that looks like restraint. “there was no reason,” he almost whispers. “i just thought you might like these. they’re often in your dreams.”

you could melt right there. he saw your dreams? personally?

but of course he did. he’s quite literally the lord of dreams. he sees everybody’s.

inwardly, you recoil, too caught up in denial to continue even thinking about any possible advances towards you.

“that’s…that’s really nice of you. thank you. would you like to come in?”

but before he can, you hear a car pull up. johanna’s home. and you love your sister, you truly do, but just this once you wish she hadn’t been home on time (which is a rare occurrence of it’s own).

morpheus, on the other hand, looks distraught. he’s practically on the verge of tears as johanna approaches, and though you remind him the offer still stands, he bids the both of you farewell. much to matthew’s chagrin, of course.

“nice one, boss.”

johanna teases you about the flowers, but you brush her off.

“it’s probably just appreciation. you know, because of the sand?”

your sister’s had enough. “you’re utterly hopeless, you know that? and so is he.”

“who?” you ask, absentmindedly.

“your sand boyfriend.”

“he’s not my boyfriend!”

oh, but how he wants to be.

in fact, morpheus has all but given up, until he sees one dream that particularly intrigues him.

you’re dreaming, again. you’re dreaming, and he could fall to his knees in relief when he realises that you’re dreaming of a romance movie.

it’s pride and prejudice. and the only reason he realises this is because he was there for its publication, of course (and because there’s been a strange influx of austen-adapted movie dreams lately, for some reason).

but it’s the scene that intrigues him, where darcy is walking up to you, in this case, and profoundly expressing his love.

how odd. he never would have pegged you down for such a hopeless romantic, but now he realises. he needs to be forward in his advances.

so he swallows your pride and shows up at your door the next morning, armed with nothing this time.

you answer the door hurriedly after hopping out of the shower, wearing nothing but an artfully wrapped towel, thinking it’s johanna.

it’s not. it’s a man (a man?) you are incredibly interested in, and you’re standing in front of him with wet hair and just a towel.

“could you…could you give me a minute, maybe?”

but morpheus’ usually formal tendencies have somehow vanished, and he protests.

“i need to speak to you.”

he barely waits for an answer, striding in. you practically run to shut the door, frantically looking around for something to preserve any shred of modesty you have left. that towel is slipping and you give yourself maybe five minutes before all hell breaks loose.

“y/n.”

“morpheus?”

to your utter horror, he launches into a speech you find all too familiar.

“-you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i-”

“were you spying on me?”

you’re seething. is this some sort of joke? does he mean to insult you? does he find humour in dreams that bring you some semblance of joy?

“i…”

“you have no right to peer into my dreams. that is personal. i don’t give a shit if you’re the king of dreams, you let me have that! let me live my dreams in peace!”

you’re all but yelling into his face, jabbing a finger into his chest. embarrassment is flaring into every atom of your being at the thought of him laughing at you. ridiculing you.

to your surprise, his own eyes burn in anger. “my apologies, but you are not exactly the easiest person to please.”

“to please?”

he groans. quite literally. the sound reverberates around the walls.

“do you have any idea how utterly exhausting it is to get in your mind? to try and win your affection? i have done everything. i have lost my dignity - i even considered asking desire for advice, all for you!” his voice penetrates into every layer of your body.

bashfully, you mutter, “why?”

if he could explode, he might have. you’ve both quietened down, a palpable tension between the two of you. the clock ticking dully is the only sound that fills the room for maybe five minutes.

“i have…i feel for you.”

“what? like pity?”

“no. listen to me. i feel for you. i have feelings for you. every moment i spend in your presence is a test of my restraint. there are no words for the boundless nature of just how deeply i feel for you. i am…i am half agony, half hope. say the word once, and i will leave you in peace. i will not interfere in your affairs, nor your dreams, again. but if there is even a glimmering semblance of affection for me, i beg you. tell me so. i cannot bear it any longer.”

oh.

you’ve never been good with words. it’s not in your nature; you’ve always left the negotiating, the diplomacy, to your sister. you’ve always been the first to act.

so when you grab morpheus’ face with your hands, eyes locked, you can feel in your gut that once again, your instinct hasn’t failed you.

you can practically hear relief filled in the sigh that escapes morpheus’ lips, a wordless plea pooling in his eyes, mouth begging to be savoured with everything you have in you. so tenderly, you press your lips to his.

it’s heaven. months, of pure restraint and long-awaited hope pour into the kiss, settle into your bones, wrap around the two of you. in fact, it’s almost like you both become one, so deeply are you melded together. kissing morpheus is like being filled with every star in the cosmos; like light and dark themselves, simultaneously.

when you finally break apart, you can’t help the smile that spreads on your face, and neither can he.

he looks at you eyes full of wonder, lips lightly swollen from the kiss. you’re wrapped in his arms, and his neck is woven in between your own arms.

“nice way to sneak austen in there, casanova. i thought the lord of dreams would have been original about that stuff.”

he pulls you closer, your head nestling into the crook of his neck. “i might have been very loosely inspired.”

you hum softly. “what a shame. you owe her an apology.”

morpheus shakes his head, and you feel a low chuckle build in his throat.

“in her dreams.”

——-

TAGLIST;

@liv-n

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, please let me know ! i appreciate all feedback. and thank you so much for all the love on my recent writes! it is heartwarming and i am so grateful to everybody! :)

-orion

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 13- goddamn when you're young

"My heart plays the songs of my lost years. My scars are a church for my old fears. My body's a wreck, but I don't care, I swear. So say a prayer, gotta lift me up, goddamn when you're young in America." -Young In America by Barns Courtney

Masterlist Part 12

Jazz felt the shockwave of the bomb seconds before the sound reached them. Concussive, lethal, far too close as Jazz pushed Jason to the ground, trying to shield him with her body. It was instinct to protect her loved ones, her body was near indestructible after all. 

Chunks of wall and metal rained down on them, striking Jazz in the back but not forcing her down just yet, making sure to keep Jason tucked as far under her as possible and cradling his head. The debris hurt but ultimately couldn’t harm her, but they were stuck under until it was safe to move. 

“Jason?” Jazz murmured, hearing still sensitive from the shockwave. He was still under her, shallow breaths against her sternum proof he was alive, but Jazz needed to hear his voice. 

“Jason, talk to me.” She tried again, this time shuffling a bit to get some debris off her spine that was uncomfortable. 

She felt him speak against her, “Jazz.” His speech was slurred so her name came out more like ‘ass’, funny it would be in any other moment, but not now that she felt like one for not being able to protect her boyfriend from what killed him previously. He wasn’t alone this time, Jazz was here and she wasn’t going to let go until she absolutely had to. 

“It’s ok, Jay, I got you.” She promised, “We have to move.” Time was running out, just like her faith in this shitty apartment to hold itself together after such a blast. She had to get them both out of here, but-

Her train of thought was interrupted by something warm on her thigh. Jazz didn’t need to guess what it was from the smell alone. 

Blood. 

It wasn’t hers, no it had the tinge of corrupted ecto to it and held Jason’s scent just on the surface. 

Fuck, he’d been hurt. 

Jazz cursed out loud and shifted again, forcing debris away from the two of them so she could summon her sword. It was dangerous to rip open a portal from below, but she had no other choice. Thankfully, she was skilled enough to create a directional difference on the other side, so no debris would fall on them and they themselves wouldn’t have to plummet from above. 

Channeling her energy towards her hand, Jazz released her hold on Jason’s head as she felt the cool metal of her sword handle settle into her palm, vibrating slightly from being called forth. 

Envisioning the Far Frozen, her sword vibrated more strongly in acceptance before she imagined where she wanted the portal and with far more effort that she should have expended, Jazz thrusted her sword into the floor beneath them. 

Her beautiful sword, her Faithkeeper, hummed as the fabric of reality was torn asunder and allowed for the Infinite Realms to bleed through, Jazz held her breath as Jason’s muffled scream echoed in her chest as they sunk through her portal to be embraced by winter frost. 

It wasn’t easy to let Jason be taken from her grasp, even if it was Frostbite himself who cradled her lover to his soft fur. The Yeti had come bounding across the snow to her side, ready to fight an army but only to be greeted by Jazz’s teary face as she cradled the love of her life to her chest. 

Frostbite didn’t say anything as he brought them both back to the tribe. 

Jazz refused to leave Jason’s side even as he was stitched up, gently carding a shaking hand through his dark hair, wanting nothing more than to wrap him up in a blanket and hide him from the world. He had been hurt in her apartment, on her watch, in her haunt. It was unacceptable. 

Danny would no doubt be investigating the explosion that had occurred in his haunt, even if Jazz’s tear in reality hadn’t alerted him to the fact that something was very wrong. She hadn’t tasted any corrupted ectoplasm in the air, which the GIW unknowingly used in their weapons post-Fenton death and lack of access to the Realms, but still didn’t eliminate them as suspects. 

The question was- Why? If Jazz could answer that then she’d eventually find the culprit and properly deal with them. 

(Eviscerate them.) 

But not right now, Jason was more important than murder getting on the trail of whoever was idiotic enough to hurt the man she loved. 

By the time Jason woke up, Jazz had zero doubts she would have to come clean about everything spooky going on. 

His blue eyes were narrowed In contemplation as he digested her words, her explanation of where they were, what happened, why they were there and so on. 

He didn’t seem angry, which she took as a good sign. 

“So I’m a Revenant.” The word sounded wrong in the air between them, bitter with the memory of death, his death. 

“You were, but now-“ 

He cut her off, “I’m a Liminal.” 

Jazz nodded, softly rubbing her thumb over his hand she held in her own, comforted by the rhythm of his pulse against her fingers. 

“And you’re like me?” It was a question, one of hope that Jason wasn’t alone, that someone would understand. 

“Yes, I’m a liminal too.” They had time to get into the finer details of their respective liminality, Proto-Cores and all. For right now, the basics were enough. 

Jason fixed his gaze back on her, searching her features for something, something he clearly found much to her bewilderment, “You’re Regent.” 

It was spoken with awe and sadness. Jason knew what she had done to the Fentons, to her proginators, but he still wasn’t angry. 

She didn’t answer him with words, only lifting his hand to her lips to leave a kiss on his palm. Many things would need to be discussed later, but for now they had this moment to rest. 

Frostbite allowed them to stay in the healing tent for a day cycle, content with Jason’s vitals and ecto-levels left the room, but not before sparing Jazz a knowing look as she held fast to her boyfriend. Yes, the old Yeti knew the answers to several questions of hers and it only served to further tie the two liminals together. 

Jason, for his part, was calm and resting peacefully despite how his temperature began to fluctuate every so often, not as bad as when he’d first been brought to the Realms though. Further proof that he was settling in well as a Proto-core liminal, but Jasmine still worried every time a shiver ran through him. She didn’t want to invade his space without his consent, especially now that it wasn’t life threatening enough that she had to use her own Proto-core heat, but she still wanted nothing more than to curl into his chest and block out the world. 

“Jazz….” Jason mumbled, drawing the Regent back to her love. He was somewhat conscious again, but still ready to be dragged back under. 

“Yeah, Jay?” Jasmine responded, hand squeezing his own lightly where she had yet to let go. 

Her love didn’t answer, lifting up his opposite arm from the one she held captive and Jazz took the initiative embarrassingly quick to climb over and settle against his side in a familiar fashion as they would on her bed. 

(Jazz loved the smell of him on her sheets.)

(Gunpowder, petrichor and something uniquely Jason.)

“‘M sorry, Jay.” The red head mumbled, head resting against his chest right above the steady beat of his heart. There were many things she had to apologize for in this lifetime (and never would), but for Jason she felt they were necessary. He’d been nothing but good to her, watching over her as she walked home late at night, softly reading to her by lamplight, cooking her favorite food… he was her perfect match. 

Her soulmate. 

Despite how bad she wanted to mock the overused cliche, Jazz could not dispute its validity at any angle other than sheer audacity of it happening to her of all people. 

(The one lost in the dark.) 

Perhaps it was meant to be, she mused, with her proclivity towards the darkness of mind and soul that her other half would possess a proto-core of shadows. The same ones that hid him, aided him and now gave him life in a completely ironic sense. 

(Not dead.) 

(One foot in the grave.)

(Cat in a box.)

(What are we today?) 

“No.” Jason rumbled underneath her ear in the same baritone she loved to hear. He didn’t say anything more, so Jazz left him to fall back asleep. They would talk more later anyways. 

For now, Jazz was left to her thoughts. 

Danny’d been about to take a sip of his milkshake when the ripple of sheer terror came over him, body and core. One that he’d only felt when Amity was pulled into the Realms, when his people were hurt and terrified. 

Jazz. 

He didn’t even bother to say goodbye to Signal, the Sunshine child startled by Danny’s sudden departure- no he literally started sprinting in the direction of his haunt, where Jazz should be, not even dropping his milkshake as he ran. The meta was probably going to follow him but he wasn’t all that concerned, hell he’d take Sunshine over Stabby any day… but Jazz! 

Jazz was in trouble! 

The ripple was her effect on his core, a side effect of a portal being opened within the bounds of his haunt. Usually he didn’t really pay attention to it, other than a passing thought that she was back home safe, but terror at the same time? No. Jazz was in trouble and he needed to be there now. 

(And he fucking forgot he could fly. )

Tossing his milkshake over his shoulder to where the meta was almost about to grab him by the arm, Danny ducked out of sight and transformed into his ghostly alter, rings of light barely making a complete pass before he was off in the air. 

He left a very baffled daylight hero, covered in boo-berry delight, watching him go.

Duke, not for the first time, had the thought of- Add that to the list of ‘must never let B find out’. 

Prime adoption bait Danny Nightingale was prime bat bait because he was a vigilante already. 

He’d seen the strange shadow shapes around the teenager ever since they’d first met on a random Gotham rooftop, with Danny lounging on a lawn chair with coffee and a look that screamed he wished for the sweet release of death, but he’d put it down to ‘meta-in-hiding’ and closed the case. 

(Not before getting the background on the kid thanks to Oracle.) 

It wasn’t the first time his ghost sight had outed a meta and Duke was positive it wouldn’t be the last, but Danny had been the first to have an overlay rather than an aura. Others, metas included, had silhouettes of themselves of colors associated with them as a being. Batman was charcoal grey, Jason was red, Tim was brown and Duke was yellow. Rarely had he’d seen an overlay of something else, something other and familiar to the hero. 

Standing over Danny’s shoulder, ever still and watchful with its green, green gaze fixed unflinching forwards was a King. 

(A Phantom King.)

Skin tinted light blue as if suffering hypothermia, stark white hair braided across one shoulder with several glass beads tied into the strands that clinked with every shift Danny made in an echo of wind chimes, sharp features set in a neutral expression as if frozen in place. Snowflakes dusted the light blue collar of a black cloak fastened at the collarbone with a shard of ice entrapping a green flame and galaxies lazily floating across the span of the cloak, though with every movement it parted to reveal a white shirt tucked haphazardly into black jeans.

The being wore a crown of green ice on its head that reflected the sunlight. 

Duke felt in his bones that should he dare try anything against Danny that he would come face to face with the otherworldly being. 

(Why did the being look like a victim of hypothermia?) 

 (Why was it attached to Danny?) 

(And why did he just see a variation of it fly away?) 

It wasn’t until Duke was about to fall asleep some hours later that the realization struck him about what he’d seen standing behind Danny. 

He’d seen the future Phantom. 

Phantom frosted over the smoldering embers of what had been his sister’s apartment building, the remnants clinging to a broken frame like a shambling corpse. He’d not been able to hear anyone in need, most importantly he couldn’t hear Jazz though. Her apartment was on the top floor with roof access, but it was empty of life forms much to his relief. Jazz had probably gotten out using a portal. 

Phantom lingered for a few moments in the debris of his sister’s home, carefully sorting through for anything salvageable that couldn’t wait. Most of the shelves were furthest from the blast zone so Jazz’s books were going to be fine, though singed and ash coated alongside the contents of her closet, which included a hidden safe Phantom phased a hand through. 

His hand touched something glass, thrumming with power underneath his fingers and familiar. 

(Pure ecto.)

(What Jazz needs to remain alive.) 

Phantom hurriedly retrieved the vials, shoving them into his chest for safekeeping before moving on towards where he suspects the bomb was placed. 

It was odd.

He’d been expecting corroded remains of a cannablized Fenton explosive, the ones he’d been familiar with down in the lab, but this was plainly human for even a goopy ghouly ghosty like him to see. 

Not a trace of corrupted ectoplasm either, a sure sign of GIW presence due to the nature of their technology. The GIW wouldn’t plant something like this for the hell of it right? It’s not ‘anti-ghost’ in the slightest! 

Who else would target Jazz, the most ecto-contaminated being on Earth? 

(Unless she wasn’t the target.) 

Definitely human oriented explosive, timed and locked firmly into place with what looks to be a steel plate bolted into the floorboards, clearly meant to be left unattended for a long period of time. Delayed detonation. 

(Explosives were never his strong suit.) 

(But he’d learnt at the knee of Jack Fenton.) 

(And so he knew many things he wished he didn’t.) 

(What his beating heart looks like.) 

(“-molecule by molecule!”) 

This wasn’t meant for a liminal being, but for humans. 

Either someone targeted Jazz without that bit of extra knowledge or she wasn’t the target. 

(Sure looked like it though.) 

(Right in the middle of the empty apartment next door.) 

“I’m telling you, his tracker stopped working right there!” 

Tim didn’t like going outside most days. The sun hurt his eyes and he hated being swarmed by people. 

(Ugh, people.) 

Yet, here he was, in the outernet with only sunglasses and a ball cap to ward off pesky reporters on his way to the last location of his most murderous sibling at the edge of said sibling’s territory. 

(Tim hated Crime Alley with a vengeance.) 

The Ridge wasn’t where he’d ever expect to find Jason, the older man preferring to remain in the Alley if he wasn’t wandering Gotham proper. The Ridge was neglected and crime ridden up to a few months previously, the vigilantes Phantom and Regent claimed the territory as their own to protect. It was kind of awe-inspiring to study the real-time data plummet with their presence, though the big Bat himself wasn’t pleased with openly active ‘Metas’ in his city despite their obvious positive influence. 

Phantom was once a vigilante from Amity Park, Illinois, the town that claimed itself to be the most haunted place on Earth. It’s population was halved on its opinion of the ghost, almost split perfectly between generations on whether or not the teenager was a hero or the one controlling the attacking ghosts. With what Tim knew now thanks to the Ghost Files, he was of the firm belief that the vigilante was only defending his haunt from both ghost hunters and ghosts. Major Justice League level threats had been handled by Phantom almost single-handedly, though Batman had been livid to discover that someone had classified the distress calls from the small town as pranks. 

(He’d listened to every single one.)

(There was nothing about them that screamed prank.) 

(And no, they still hadn’t found who had committed such a fuck up.) 

It was fortunate that Phantom was a Protector spirit with all the powers available to him, not to mention the grit and resilience he displayed in every major fight he threw himself into. Mad respect to the ghost boy, couldn’t have been easy. 

(Though Tim could never unsee the death and rebirth of that same hero.) 

(The scream echoes in his ears when he thinks too hard about it.) 

Unfortunately for him, his thoughts screeched to a halt when he found the location he’d been sent to. 

A burnt shell of an apartment building held together by Phantom’s ice, firefighters carefully searching for anyone left trapped inside, civilians loitering around like ants at a picnic. No one spared him more than a passing glance, but Tim still noted the weary gazes and tried to get information. No one could say anything more than an explosion happened, with Phantom following close behind to form Ice on the building in an effort to keep it intact, before the ghost kid entered himself and Phantom had yet to leave. 

Jason was in the building when the explosion happened, but without a time to match the tracker read out to they wouldn’t know if he’d been killed in the blast, tracker affected by the shockwave or pinned down by debris.  

“Hey babs, did Jason have a safe house here?” Tim asked, soft spoken into his phone so as to not be overheard. 

Barbara didn’t answer, but Tim had a feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever she said next. 

“…in a way?” 

“You just answered a question with a question.” He accused, a bit of shock coloring his words. Barbara definitely knew something she wasn’t sharing. 

“Jason might have… a girlfriend…” 

“What.” 

It came pouring out, “Its so cute, they’re so cute. He just adores her and she’s so sweet to him, I’ve never seen him smile so much and he’s so calm-“ 

“Woah, woah, slow down, Jason has a girlfriend?” If it wasn’t so concerning from his angle, the explosion wracked building in front of him, he would be cackling at the juicy blackmail as only a younger sibling can. 

“Mhm, Jasmine Nightingale, twenty years old and applicant for Gotham University currently pending. Younger brother is Danny Nightingale who often talks to Signal whenever Duke crosses his path, obsessed with Space and science, currently attending Gotham Academy. Jasmine has a trust fund allowance from the estate of her presumed dead godfather, but that’s the only thing that stands out.” 

(Jasmine and Jason.) 

(Tim felt happy for his older brother despite their history.) 

“This is her apartment, isn’t it.” 

Tim didn’t need Barbara to answer that either, the silence spoke for itself. 

“Well, shit.” 

A/N: 3k words for you! @meditating-cat had suggested making the last section more dramatic, but I want to save that for the next part where I want Bruce to react. And now Jason finally knows the truth! I can't wait to write more about him as Hood with Regent out in Gotham.

Yes, beta read by @meditating-cat who also gave me some song suggestions. If you have any of your own please don't hesitate to message me! I love music and often use it for inspiration in my works.

In fact the very last part of this series was written first as a draft before I even made Regent!Jazz or Vigilante!Jazz, because of a Katy Perry song.

It has always been a Hardcover pairing though.

Thanks for reading!

[jazz-envision-781]

English ♥ Spanish

The Magic of Architecture…

Architecture inspires, Architecture motivates, Architecture revitalises, is metaphysical….or beyond the physical nature. Many parts of the human existence can be considered to be metaphysical: thoughts, feelings, memories, dreams, ideas or any other thing that goes beyond the physical word we live in. Humans have dealt with these intangible elements of life since the beginnings of consciousness. How do you feel entering here? There? It expand you, or shkring you? Cozy, cold, protects you, scares you? How do you want to feel? How to find inspiration here? Wood? Concrete? Dark, light?

Like Khan would say: “Inspiration is the feeling of beginning at the threshold where silence and light meet. Silence, the unmeasurable, desire to be, desire to express, the source of new need, meets light, the measurable, giver of all presence, by will, by law, the measure of things already made, at a threshold which is inspiration, the sanctuary of art, the Treasury of Shadow.”

LOUIS I. KAHN, BETWEEN SILENCE AND LIGHT

La Magia de la Arquitectura…

La arquitectura inspira, la arquitectura motiva, la arquitectura revitaliza, es metafísica… o más allá de la naturaleza física. Muchas partes de la existencia humana pueden considerarse metafísicas: pensamientos, sentimientos, recuerdos, sueños, ideas o cualquier otra cosa que vaya más allá del mundo físico en el que vivimos. Los seres humanos se han ocupado de estos elementos intangibles de la vida desde los inicios de la conciencia. . ¿Cómo te sientes al entrar aquí? ¿Ahí? ¿Te expande o te encoge? ¿Acogedor, frío, te protege, te asusta? ¿Cómo quieres sentirte? ¿Cómo encontrar inspiración aquí? ¿Madera? ¿Concreto? ¿Luz oscura?

Como diría Khan: “La inspiración es la sensación de comenzar en el umbral donde se encuentran el silencio y la luz. El silencio, lo inconmensurable, el deseo de ser, el deseo de expresar, fuente de nueva necesidad, se encuentra con la luz, lo mensurable, dadora de toda presencia, por la voluntad, por la ley, medida de las cosas ya hechas, en un umbral que es la inspiración, el santuario del arte, el Tesoro de la Sombra.”

LOUIS I. KAHN, ENTRE EL SILENCIO Y LA LUZ

[dev1lm4n]

4 + 1

pairings: bodyguard!joel miller x f!reader

summary: the apocalypse didn't happen. joel shift jobs into becoming a bodyguard for a billionaire’s wife. four times joel realized he's in love and the one time he actually did something about it.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: explicit (18+), p in v, no protection, infidelity, implied domestic abuse (not by joel)

notes: this is my fav to write by far ♡ if ur a writer or loves reading, chat me up and let's be moots

Clementine hues of orange sauntered in through the slick frame of her kitchen windows, causing a layer of tinted filtering to be added throughout the boring beige paints littered all around. Everything was in honeyed tones, beautiful and soothing. He had to admit that there was something godly about your kitchen. Something he couldn’t resist.

It was much different compared to the heavy smell of paint and cement he’s smothered in back when he’s still dwelling in construction. Instead of the constant buzz of drilling and swings of hammers into wooden panels, he’s now embraced in an endless collection of Jazz. His shoes are now polished— he could even see his own beaming reflection in the shiny black. A fitted tuxedo snug against the broad of his chest— a total 180° change from his Texan classic style of flannels and denims.

Joel used to think that he’s all too ill-mannered to be participating in the posh bullshit rich families are prone to, but when he saw the ads your husband was posting out, he couldn’t possibly decline the offer. The pay was enough to get Sarah all the way through university without picking up loans and it came with barely a risk.

He was just there to follow a billionaire’s pretty little wife around, carry your bags of impulsive purchases, and drop you off to go drink martinis with your girlfriends. The gun tucked into his back pocket was merely for show. After all, his dirty scowl is usually enough to set people aside. So, he signed the contract and was tied to what he envisioned to be a snobby flashy gal.

But you were an anomaly. 

You were the opposite of the few descriptive words your husband mapped you out as, which he recalled to be ‘bimbo’ and ‘a pain in the ass’. You were lovely. The kind of girl that’d bake your husband a sweet tray of apple pie in your cute little dotted blue apron. He was guilty of watching your every move. Every bend, perk, curve of your body. Because, duh, he had to make sure you weren’t harming yourself. What if you accidentally set a fire off in the stove? At least, that’s what he’s telling himself to fend upon his guilt.

“Come on. Open your mouth, Joel!” you cheered excitedly at the sight of your glistening apple pie, cut open into perfectly eight slices. As the fork pierced through the warm, flaky crust of the apple pie, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and baked apples filled the air. The crust crumbled ever so slightly as the fork lifted a generous slice, revealing the warm, gooey filling. A persuasive look keen on your face as you raised your fork forward, just a few inches away from his pursed lips.

“I don’t think I should, ma’am.”

“Why not?”

“Your husband’s coming home soon..” he trailed off, uneasy about the increasingly delicate situation.

“So? Married people can’t have friends now?”

You could closely watch his determination waver, because god did your apple pie look good even from a distance. But he shouldn’t be doing this on the job, right? Playing kitchen with you out of all people.

“We’re not friends.”

“Oh, we’re not?”

“No,” he shook his head. 

Only to entertain you and play into your own rhythm of things, Joel sank his teeth into the tender apples and buttery crust, sweet flavors exploded on his tongue. The warm, rich filling oozed out of the pie and coated his palate in a heavenly blend of spices and sweetness. What made it better was the shy smile you had on your face, unmarred by what the world had to offer. Your eyes twinkle fondly, sparking what felt like fireworks in his belly.

“Good?”

He simply nodded. Joel chewed slowly, averting his gaze away from you because who knows what he might start to imagine if he’s constantly being presented that view of you.

“Mr. Waterford’s gonna like it,” he reassured.

“Wait. Joel. What does that spell out?”

You enquired, brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of the word he’d just put together on the tiled board. Your lips pursed and you tilted your head slightly to the side, as if trying to get a different perspective. It seemed that your feigned innocence managed to work wonders in your bodyguard’s head, because his brows knitted along with yours, seemingly worried that he might actually get the word incorrectly. It may have been the nth time that you toyed around with him childishly, but it’s not your fault he always had such a silly expression to share each time.

“Darling,” he read the word aloud innocently. Texas twang dripping from every syllable.

“Yes, honey?”

Joel looked away bashfully at your playful banter. You could tell he’s raking his head to find ways to try and guide the conversation back into a safe spot. To maintain professionalism, where his heart doesn’t have to race a million times per second and his palms doesn’t have to turn all clammy from a childish joke. But he’s failing. Miserably at that. He tried to muster up the courage to respond in kind, but his mind went blank, leaving him tongue-tied.

“I’m just joking. You’re not mad, are you?”

Of course, he’s not mad. He could never be angry at you even if you sometimes do the weirdest things he could ever think of, like that one time last week where you decided you should try out every single barbeque sauce available in the supermarket. You’re just too sweet to be angry at. Snow could melt if you were there beaming that same dear smile of yours, miracles could happen if it was you. Joel thought that this was his punishment. A karma for all the terrible things he did throughout his twenties, the girls he fiddled and the money he possibly swindled. It’s hard to watch you and not be able to put his hands on you. It’s unfair.

“No,” he whispered vaguely as he drew more tiles from the messy pile. Joel looked amazingly dedicated for a bodyguard who’s being forced to play Scrabble with his employer’s wife— you found it hilarious, which resulted in the delicate giggle you uttered.

“Why don’t you hang out with your actual friends, Mrs. Waterford?”

You frowned.

“First of all, never call me by his name. Second, why do you care so much about who I hang out with?” you seethed out petulantly.

Even when you’re throwing a silly tantrum, he still looked at you as if you held out the sun and the moon. As if you’re the beginning and the end, but you weren’t going to assume what might just be a figment to your foolish imaginations.

“Sorry. I just.. I don’t have to play the dutiful, elegant wife when I’m here. I don’t have to pretend like I enjoy tea times and chalky macarons.”

You hate playing dress up when you’re just there to be your husband’s little pet. Ready to serve him at your every move. It’s suffocating to pretend like you’re content with how your life turned out to be, to giggle at condescending jokes other wives make, or to let your husband degrade you in front of other members of the high society. You felt like a mannequin and you’d rather be here, comforted in your own qualms with Joel. Simple ol’ Joel from Texas who took such good care of you.

“I can’t say I understand.”

Joel chuckled, thinking back to his rather ordinary background. He didn’t think he ever had to participate in any social events unwillingly, except when his mom dragged him to church on Sundays when he was younger, but that was different. You were in another realm. Someone who’s not equal to him.

“Although, I’m glad you feel at ease with me.”

He’s so good with his words, you sometimes wonder if those sweet compliments actually meant a thing. You simmered at his encouragement.

Tonight marks the evening of the Annual Spring Ball. Joel, being the country boy that he is, didn’t have much clue regarding what significance this particular event held. Although, he guessed that it was a big thing considering the pile of dresses you’ve dumped carelessly in front of your walk-in closet. You’re always so messy. Maybe he liked that about you.

He stood aimlessly, feeling like a nervous boy waiting for his prom partner to reveal themselves. It crept from inside his stomach and the grip it had on his throat grew tighter and tighter the longer you took in that damned dressing room. You’re not even going with him to this presumptuous event. You’re going with your damn husband, so why is he getting ahead of himself?

“What do ya think?”

You came bursting out of the pale blue curtains like a ray of sunshine, cladded with a long fitted evening gown. He was convinced that black belonged to you. The gown was made of flowing, luxurious fabric that draped elegantly down the womanly curves of your hips.

He couldn’t help but take a peek down your classic plunging neckline, like a fucking pervert. A flattering scoop that showed off your delicate collarbone and décolletage. Viewing a glimpse of your soft mounds propped up by the tailored bodice had him shifting from one leg to the other. God, you looked like a goddess blessed you personally. Waterford is a lucky man having you by his side.

“Is it too much?”

“No. It’s just..”

Joel swallowed thickly. How he wished he could say how you’d stolen his heart and robbed him of common sense.

“You look beautiful. Mr. Waterford would’ve-”

“Can we not speak of my husband?”

You interrupted bitterly. He wasn’t sure if he saw it correctly, but he could see a look of solemn ghosting over your sweet features. How you suddenly stop being all chirpy and instead, settle on chewing your inner lip. Joel was worried and it took all of him not to prod into whatever it is you’re hiding behind all the kind and warm facade. He was simply your bodyguard and that’s all he’ll ever be so why impose?

“Will you help me with my pearls?”

“Of course.”

He swiftly walked over to the jewelry case he’s grown accustomed to, not because he ever had thoughts of stealing your precious belongings, more so because you’ve allowed him to enter and assist you in your bedroom way too often. He’s memorized every inch of the blush tinted room without fail, maybe because he was a good help or maybe.. because he’s undeniably infatuated in you. With much precision, he held the shiny pearls in between his rough fingers. Only to gently clasp the chain around your neck. The ghost of his fingers on your bare skin made you shudder in anticipation.

He might’ve overstepped his boundaries by tracing over the exposed skin of your back, feeling the bumps of your spinal cords as if he’s a professional harpist. His gaze settled on where you felt the most plush and smooth. How he wished he could feel more of you; was the rest of your unexposed skin this delicate? Did you like this?

A pregnant silence enveloped the both of you. A mutual understanding. You were nervous, enough that you could listen to how your heart pumped blood into your increasingly warm cheeks.

“What is this?”

He broke the sacred silence at the irregular hues blooming from beneath the velvet fabric. Blues, purples, some were still inflamed, red marring your sacred skin. You were bruised. Bad. His eyes went wide at the sight of permanent scars shaped like a long rod buried deep in your skin, the new skin much lighter than your skin tone. If he weren’t attentive, he would’ve missed the way it hid underneath the hemlines. 

The worst part was you didn’t say anything. Just showcasing him the same ol’ smile as you turned.

Ever since he saw your marks, the ones you’ve tried your very best to cover and withheld from the world, you’ve avoided him more than ever. Joel Miller was specifically assigned to you. To cater to your every need and protect you from the danger you might encounter, but it’s hard to do his job properly when the danger was from within.

He’s seen the way you lock your doors in his presence, leaving him uneasy as he guarded in front of your door. He’s also noticed how you stopped baking sweet apple pies, quit picking the juicy strawberries in your garden, and were lost in your own thoughts more often than anything. Maybe you’ve had enough of playing house with the lousy bodyguard he was. Maybe he was too old, too wrinkly, and too nosy for your taste.

“Joel?”

“Yes,” he answered almost too eagerly at the pleasant call of his name. His puppy-like brown eyes peaked through the small crack of your door.

“Come in. I have a surprise for you.”

A surprise for him? Didn’t you hate him? Joel looked almost entranced at the sudden knowledge. He took a determined step into your room, your wooden door creaking close behind him. You narrowed your eyes to strengthen your vision towards his striking figure. Without shame, you took in all of him. You’ve missed him as much as you hated to admit. Joel was a crucial part to your daily life. He’s a breath of fresh air. The only thing keeping you alive when you’re caged in this mansion.

“Winter’s coming.”

“It is,” he spoke softly, out-of-breath at the sight of you in your nightgown. His pupils dilated erratically at what you’ve blessed him with.

“I knitted you and Sarah matching scarfs.”

You pulled out the most beautiful pair of scarfs out of your side table, decorated with your favorite shades of ballet pink and powder blue. It wasn’t the cleanest work out there. A few loose and uneven threads here and there, but it was the most someone has ever done to him in a very long time.

It felt sincere and heartfelt. You even knitted one for his daughter who he’d only mention briefly during your time together. Once during your weekly Scrabble game and the other time when he entertained you during a house party. He smoothed the thick fabric down, tears pricking his eyes from the emotions budding from within.

“Are you seriously crying?”

You chuckled at the sight, arms crossed in front of your chest at the sight of your tough and grouchy bodyguard tearing up over some scarf. Joel meant more to you than you could ever admit. Maybe this’ll show him that part of you, just enough that your husband would never notice and you could still play it off as an act of kindness.

“That’s so lame, Joel.”

Fact is.. you were magnetic. The sweetest thing he’s ever witnessed in his long thirty six years of life, yet you’re stuck here playing wife of Waterford. Joel wanted to be your knight in shining armor and bring you to safety where he’d cherish you all his life, but what could he do? Should he just witness you wither away into an empty shell? The thought brought up the long awaited bravado and he was already bringing you up into his arms. Wrapping you in a tight embrace where all he could feel was you and only you. The softness of your pliant body, the smell of strawberries and cinnamon, and your undeniable warmth.

“You’re not happy,” he muttered underneath his breath, brows knitted and wrinkles evident.

“I will be.”

You paused.

“I have to be.”

You reassured him, pulling away from his grasp slightly. Your longing eyes bored into him with a tinge of emotion he couldn’t quite decipher, but it all became clear when you finally kissed him. You tasted better than he could ever imagine.

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

His voice was tantalizing, the rough bristles of his scruff tickling the curve of your earlobes in a manner that made you feel small. You couldn’t really pipe up a sweet comeback to what he had to say. Not when you’re pinned face down onto your fresh floral sheets, the same one you’ve spent countless nights with your estranged husband.

The crisp fabric felt cool and smooth on your squished cheek, you could even smell the lingering notes of softener wafted through the air. Joel caged you in like some sort of feral animal. Thick muscular thighs pressing next to your own as he loomed over you.

“You’re driving me insane, darlin’. Bending over with that silly knitted dress of yours.”

He murmured out into the junction of your neck. Always so careful with you, he made sure to smooth down every inch of your pristine skin, over each and every one of your scars and marks. His fingers were electric, jolting you every time he made bare contact.

You whined a soft tone when he pulled the wool hem of your dress upwards. Leaving your perky butt exposed to the cold air with nothing on but the panties you’ve chosen specifically for him. The one with the pretty pink bow and lace rimming each side; the one you knew he’s secretly pocketed a few times.

“Fuck. Such a pretty cunt. Is this for me or for Waterford?”

You were just too good to be true. Someone so perfect like you was willing to let him have a taste of what heaven on earth was, even when your husband was downstairs mingling with the other party guests. Joel was ecstatic at the thought. His eyes twinkled with obsession as he pulled your panties aside, probing a finger into your sloppy hole. One of his fingers was swallowed whole by your throbbing cunt and all he could hear was the loud squelching noise it made. It was as if you hadn’t been filled to the brim for a very long time. What a waste.

“For you. Only for you, Joel.”

Joel couldn’t hide the smugness running deep in his expression, pulling onto each corner his mustache. The constant need to prove himself to you tipped him over the edge. He wanted to be gentle with you, to be kind and cautious, because you were his everything, but it’s harder when he’s already leaking in his boxers. Seven inch, uncut, and sensitive. His fat cock thrived at the thought of you aching beneath him.

“He didn’t fuck you well, did he? Left you all wet for me.”

He teased sweetly as he unzipped his pants eagerly, only to tug at his waistband swiftly. Joel felt the adrenaline rushing through his headspace. It might be fucked up but somehow he wanted to prove how good he is for you, how he’d let your husband barge in if it meant proving how you’re such a good fit for his girth.

At the thought, Joel leaned forward to nip at your pulse point. You whined for more. He cooed softly, making sure you were slick enough as he flicked his cock along your needy slit. His thick raspy groans were heavenly, yet sinful for you to hear. You’re married for goodness sake.

“Put it in me, Joel. Fuck me. Please. Now.”

Your incoherent begging was music to his ears, enough that he gave in to your requests. He prodded his leaking tip into your entrance. Joel was unable to hide his pleasure, lashes fluttering as he rolled his hips in one sharp movement. He had to stop immediately once he’s buried deep in your velvety walls. Knowing he’d burst if he was to continue. He let out a breathy chuckle, grounding himself with all his might.

“Joe-el!”

That’s all you could muster as you pushed your hips further back into his, babbling hopeless pleads in hopes that he’d move and solve the everlasting coiling need. Such a slut.

“I got you, darlin’”

He held you steady by the small of your hips, adding ample pressure to have you arching back nicely. Joel fulfilled his promise by sheathing himself entirely within you. Slick and sloppy, he pounded into you. You’re on cloud nine. Desperately muffling his name into your bed sheets as if it’d make a difference in the boundaries you’ve crossed on this eventful day.

The golden ring band encircling your finger taunted you whilst it glimmered underneath the dim lights: all about your failing marriage and your stupid affair. You knew this wasn’t going to last long. Hell, things could fall apart if your husband caught a whiff of Joel’s cedar cologne on you.

“Stay with me, please, darlin’”

Joel looped his tough arms over your chest, effectively straightening you upright against his firm chest. His tip probed deeper inside you at the new position, exploring places you didn’t think was possible. You couldn’t see him and you thought it might be better. For you didn’t have to remember how unbelievably hot he looked while fucking you from behind; you’d worry his name would slip in your head when Waterford finally required you to cater to his needs.

“Run away with me.”

He tried once more and you had to say, it was quite a romantic gesture to attempt when he’s twitching vulgarly inside you. There was a sense of need in his voice. He’s begging you to leave all this luxury and royalty behind for the love he had to offer. What was it.. modern times Romeo & Juliet? You let out an airy moan in response, backing up even further to fulfill your burning desire. The coily dark trim on the base of his slick cock scraped your soft skin. He’s inside you entirely. Without any barrier because god did he secretly want to pump you full of cum. Maybe he'll let you wander back onto your husband's arms with his cum still stuffed deep within you.

“I can’t.”

You shook your head, a soft gasp slipping past your lips as his grip tightened around your wrist. His nails dug out crescent shape marks into your skin uncomfortably.

“Joel. Shit. Don’t move.”

He obeyed. A small grin taking over when he witnessed the shake of your legs and how you looked heavenly even when you’re seconds away from climaxing. He relished in the way your tongue cutely darted out like a dog in heat. You’re still cute even when you’re all spread out for him.

“I love you.”

He whispered once more, voice fleeting against your ear. Joel needed to kiss you. Needed to feel your soft lips on him for what might be the last time. His nimble fingers gently guide your jaw to turn his way, wrapping you in such an emotional kiss. As if you’d wither away if he didn’t hold you down tight enough.

“Please say it back, darlin’. Please?”

And just like that, he submitted to your wishes and let the mighty dam fall apart. A soft groan you’ve never heard before mused out his parted lips. He’s filling you up so full with a taste of him to the point that it’s leaking out each side of your thighs. A white rim left behind. Tonight he thought that maybe white belonged to you as well, just like black did.

“I love you too, Joel.”

[lesbiansovereverything]

EVERLYN

A female family member of mine got married to a man in the middle of the COVID pandemic. So I watched the heterosexual coupling via Zoom. She wore a white dress with a long flowing train and a veil that hid her face; a spectacle of patriarchal heteronormativity. After the vows were said, and just before kissing the bride, her husband turned to the camera and announced with glee, “This is the first time we will be kissing!” They had been dating for three years.

In that moment, I saw the future and person my family had envisioned and engineered for me. One that I had escaped by coming out. The box and script that I was supposed to fit into and follow was made visible in the person of my relative and I mourned for her – wishing that this was what she genuinely wanted and had chosen and not the script that she was unconsciously following in order to win the approval of her parents and her community. But I’ve also known her since birth and I mourned because I knew different.

I’d escaped the same fate by coming out at 19. My rebellion had begun long before that in small ways, easily dismissed by family and community as eccentricisms that would be corrected once I followed the “plan.” But coming out as a lesbian sealed the deal for my family – as it was THE scarlet letter that could never be erased from my forehead. For me, however, it was a joyfully revelatory catalyst that embedded in me the surety that I could eschew scripts, jump from boxes, carve a life without templates of heterosexism, gender conformity, and sexual confinement – a knowledge that I had the freedom to choose something other than the life that had been set out by society and family.

My brother reacted by saying, “I feel as if you’re getting away with something. I just don’t know what.” I didn’t either – not then. But now I do. Somewhere deep inside, without having the words for it, I knew that what I wanted as a child–to be a Renaissance Woman who felt free to pursue a life of intellectual, physical, and creative freedom–was impossible under the regime of heteronormativity and female sexual subjugation that I saw all around me. And so many years later, having come out publicly at age 19, I look back and can honestly say that I am that Renaissance Woman I envisioned myself to be when I was seven.

*Everlyn Hunter immigrated to the US from Jamaica at the age of 14. Her educational accomplishments include Masters and Doctoral degrees in Psychology, as well as a diploma from Vancouver Film School in Writing for Television and Film. Concurrent with her professional work, Everlyn has held numerous leadership roles as a board member of non-profit human rights, Jewish, and LGBT organizations. Dr. Hunter currently lives in Los Angeles where she works as a Psychologist. In her spare time, she is a student pilot who loves flying, and an aspiring jazz vocalist. She is currently working on her first full length novel.

[captain-mj]

Pay-Per-View

Based (loosely) on a phone call I got at my work, but basically, the gang finds out Ghost still pays for cable porn instead of literally any other option. I understand that in the uk, cable porn is different but I've tried to get a straight answer on how it works and came up blank so I'm working with what I know

It was either this or werewolf porn and I finished this first. Pure crack.

"Wow, you actually still have a cable box?" Alejandro asked as he glanced at the clunky box attached to the tv. The 141, Alex, Farah, Alejandro and Rodolfo had come over to his flat. They had all been invited by Price and somehow, someway, they ended up at Ghost's house instead of Price's flat. He knew it was because Price had a flat and Ghost had inherited a house, but still.

"Yes." Ghost continued to make tea. "I'll eventually set up that stick thing you guys got me, but I'm rarely here."

Alejandro frowned at him. "Giant flat screen and you watch cable? Really? You have internet, I could set it up for you right now?"

Ghost shrugged and Alejandro quickly started to set it up. Alex stood by to help, as they tried to figure out how to unhook the cable box to set up the Roku they bought him.

They turned on the tv and moans filled the entire flat. The two men on the screen were looking into each other's eyes with the amount of passion that only really showed up in porn.

"I told you that you belong with me." The 'top' character growled and rocked into the person underneath them. He was big and tattooed, holding the smaller man underneath him by his wrists.

"Yes, sir." A soft whine came from the person underneath. He threw his head back to expose his throat.

Alex scrambled to change the channel as Alejandro started to wheeze. "YOU PAY FOR FUCKING PAY-PER-VIEW?"

"Where else would i get porn?" Ghost didn't seemed bothered at all despite the mortified looks of a few people. "I have a flat screen. I want to use it."

Alejandro was still wheezing as Alex finally managed to pause it. "It's three fucking hours?? Do you jack off the whole time?"

"...Yeah?"

Rodolfo cleared his throat. "So! Dinner plans?"

"How do you not finish?" Gaz ignored him trying to tactfully get away from the situation.

Ghost frowned. "I just stop, wait a minute and keep going?? Same thing you do during sex?"

Gaz looked flabbergasted. "That's not normal."

Price tried to talk louder to get everyone's attention. "So, Rodolfo, dinner plans you were saying?"

"Fuck you mean not normal?" Ghost scoffed. "Can't a man relax in his own home? Sometimes a bloke wants to take it slow."

Alejandro asked. "What do you light candles? Put on some classical music?"

There was just a bit too long of a pause before Ghost said, "No."

"Oh my god. Oh my god." Alex covered his face. "I don't want to envision this."

Soap interrupted. "Classical music? Really?"

"Sometimes I put on jazz."

Soap nodded and got out his phone.

Farah hummed. "Alex, we have pay per view on our cable. You've used it."

"I have not!" Alex blushed.

Farah frowned. "When you click on the porn channels on tv, I pay for those."

Alex stared at her. "I don't use those."

"...Alex. I've caught you using them. Please do not patronize me."

Ghost raised his hand at Alex. "See, Ale."

"Don't ever pronounce my nickname like that again."

Ghost sighed. "Dinner plans?"

Soap hummed. "So what porn do you like?"

"Are we seriously doing this?" Gaz asked.

Ghost frowned. "So dinner plans?"

They shelfed the conversation for later.

[pickleking8]

12 - Adoption Isn't All It's Cracked Up To Be - Chapter Twelve

Words: 412 (very short chapter today, sorry)

Ao3 Link

Previous - Masterpost

I don't think there's any content warnings for this chapter, but let me know if I missed something.

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Danny was getting close, so very, very close. He sat on his bed. No, the bed. It wasn’t his bed, no matter how many nights he had slept in it, it was Jason’s, and he wasn’t Jason. He wasn’t. No, he was Danny. He liked stars and space, not “Pride and Prejudice", and loved his sister, Jazz, not these lunatics of siblings. His favorite color was yellow, not red (never green). 

That’s who he was. 

…right?

Right.

He squeezed his eyes shut, spots dancing in front of them as he cleared the thoughts. 

He’s not focusing on that. He’s focusing on the buzzing, the humming. He can feel it under his skin, writhing and squirming like worms. He squints, staring at a wayward ant resolutely marching across the carpet. Ants are brave, he thinks. So small, so fragile, but tenacious all the same. 

Focus. Come on, Danny. He’s focusing right now. On what?

…

…

His pinky. He’s focusing on his pinky, he knows this. 

He feels weird. Lethargic. It’s been too long.

It’s been too long, he’s lethargic.

The buzzing builds. Danny squints. An acorn plinks on the windowsill. It’s funny, he thinks, how acorns have little hats.

FOCUS. His pinky. His right pinky. 

He remembers this, this buzzing. When he first got his powers. Like his mind was swimming through molasses. Too much, too much, too much. Just too much. He was expanding, him, his awareness, his everything, and it was too much. He couldn’t keep up. He couldn’t-

He couldn’t keep up. 

Focus. He tastes watermelon. Sweet, a little mushy (overripe, maybe), juice dribbling down his chin. Why does he taste watermelon?

Ah. He remembers. The picnic, when he was seven. It doesn’t seem so long ago, now. Perhaps it’s still happening. Perhaps it’s always happening. Maybe, he’s still eating the watermelon. That’d be nice, he thinks. He was happy then. 

Happy. It was a good picnic, except for the flies. They buzzed. Buzz, buzz, buzz. It was loud, the buzzing, almost like static, like his brain was a broken TV. Buzz. It made him feel like he would vibrate out of his skin, like there were worms underneath. Writhing. Squirming. 

He hears buzzing.

FOCUS. The buzzing. The worms. The pinky. The power. 

There! His pinky. Invisible. He pushes it, slowly, through the blanket. Intangible. Good. He smiles. It’s bitter. Empty. 

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.

He’s close. He’s so very, very, close. 

…

The buzzing doesn’t stop.

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Taglist: @tkiesai, @simplestoryteller

Hey! At this point I'm going to stop saying that I'm excited to get back into writing regularly and accept that my update schedule is usually about once every two months. But who knows. Perhaps the inspiration will strike. Anyway, I know this chapter is pretty short, but I felt that kind of fit it, so here we are. This isn't how I envisioned this chapter going but eh. Here. Have this. Thanks for reading!

[glassconfined]

saw headcanons: music taste

peter strahm always struck me as an enjoyer of the oldies but goodies. frank sinatra, dean martin, eddy arnold, chet baker . . . jazz & swing. i like to think he used to play the saxophone at a jazz club in his youth, a side gig for cash.

it seems like everyone associates mark hoffman with nu metal and rock, which means it’s hard for me to envision anything different. three days grace, korn, system of a down, breaking benjamin, slipknot.

though i can’t find it now, i do seem to remember the mentions of posters and whatnot in adam faulkner-stanheight’s apartment practically confirming his love for things of the alt rock variety. bands like the ramones, the sex pistols, the clash, misfits, buzzcocks.

. . . but if you ask me, i’ve always thought adam faulkner-stanheight would also enjoy 80s new wave. oingo boingo, depeche mode, tears for fears, talking heads, joy division.

lawrence gordon falls into the same boat as peter strahm for me, oldies but goodies. i venture he’d go even older, more pretentious in his boasting for a love of tchaikovsky and alessandro moreschi. i imagine classical music and opera are highly ranked for him.

allison kerry strikes me as a lover of fleetwood mac & stevie nicks, i think most of her favorites come from the 60s-70s. other artists i see her liking: the shangri-las, tanya tucker, nico, nancy sinatra, lesley gore, kate bush, dolly parton, tammy wynette.

lindsey perez . . . a tough nut for me to crack. my gut instinct goes latin pop, or pop in general, and maybe R&B. las ketchup, blu cantrell, fugees (neither pop nor R&B, sure, but who confines their taste to just a genre), shakira, selena.

[thecynthh]

confide - M.S

summery - y/n escapes to the balcony of you and matt’s room while a whole party is still buzzing under you, he finds you and lets you know that he still loves you no matter what

notes - MORE FLUFF, guys we needed more fluff, i can make a part 2 with smut in it if u whores like this one 🫶

a/n - this is me putting off smart ass 🤗

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trying to escape the madness of the party happening underneath me i choose to sit on the outdoor couch on the very high balcony i sit at. i started the mini fire pit in front of me as all the supplies for it was just in a box near the door. 

the blanket that embraces me is fluffy and soft, as much as i love matt i couldn’t breath in that horrible blanket of tension his mother threw onto me. i was drilled with questions by her knowing the reason for the excessive amount. matt went through a rough break up before me, and i can’t blame her for wanting to make sure her son doesn’t go through something like that again. 

the fire crackles and pops while i just enjoy the city lights and soft jazz that plays on the upper level of the penthouse, i lay my head down on the other seat cozying up on the bamboo woven couch, the thick padding cradle me as i feel myself being lulled to sleep. 

not long after i fall asleep im woken up by the sound of the sliding door behind me, a shadowy figure walks to the side of the couch, it was matt. 

“hi sweetheart, did you get tired?” matt says, folding over to get closer to my face, the glow of the fireplace reflects every chiselled feature in his face.  i give him a soft nod while he peels his suit jacket off resting it on the chair that is also stationed towards the fire.

“hey move your head up,” i do as i’m told and he slides into the seat on the couch my head was recently covering up, he lays my head back onto his muscular thigh letting me use him as a pillow. 

“im sorry, i was so overwhelmed by your mom,” i say shameful of when i tripped over my words and made a fool of myself. 

“yeah, nick told me about it, he already told her to calm down on the questions, he also led me here to you and i don't think my mom is the only factor of you coming up here.” he says, dipping his head down to kiss my forehead. his fingers push my hair away from my face as i turn to look up at him. 

“i don’t know matt, i feel weird. i don’t belong in this sparkly dress or these high class parties. i’m so new to all of it, and don’t get me wrong, i love all of this and you so much to keep pushing through but if i’m being honest it’s really hard for me to be down there.” i hope matt understood what i meant by all of that because it really felt good to get off my chest. 

“i get it, we grew up differently, but that doesn’t change anything between us. i dont care if you were dirty and homeless on the street as long as i knew who you were i would have picked you up, housed you and loved you forever. and i'm willing to do that right now too. i don’t care if my family is worried about me, because i know that i'm alright now. you healed me.” he cupped my cheek making sure my eyes were still connected to his while he assured me of his intentions and beliefs. 

“i know i’m not what your mom envisioned who you would be with, so thank you for all of this. from the dress to the heels and your sweet words, thank you for sharing your beautiful life with me.” i sit up and begin to straddle matt, my red dress pools around us while i take matt in for a large hug. he returns it pushing my head into his neck letting me become way more calm then i was when i came up here. 

i look back up to him with a tear escaping from my perfectly done eye make up. “don’t cry please, it breaks my fucking heart when you cry.” he kisses the tear before it can run fully down my face fully. “how about we go to bed, i’ll get you all cleaned up and all i have to do is tell nick and chris that i’m not feeling well and we can cuddle all night, sounds good?” i eagerly nod, giving an enthusiastic yes. 

he wraps my straddled legs around his torso and carries me inside, keeping me bundled up in my blanket as I'm moved to the bed, before promptly putting out the fire i started. he retreats back to me bringing one of my silk black cami tops to change into while he goes to my large vanity and brings back a soaked cotton pad to use to clean my face of running mascara and concealer. 

he gently rubs and wipes across my face seeing him extremely focused on the task in front of him. he tosses the stained pad and he lets me crawl into bed. “okay i’ll be back im just going to find chris or nick to update them, i won’t be long.” he lingers at the door handle while telling me his exact actions while he heads out the door.

i check my phone for messages and notifications while before he comes back to our room, he strips off his button up abandoning it in the hamper that crowds a corner of the room. his dress pants hang low on his hips as they fall slightly while he pulls his belt through the multitude of loops on his pants. 

he’s now just left in his plaid print boxers as he slips under the charcoal grey duvet and snakes his arms around me pulling me in, embracing me just like he said he would. his chest is flush with my back and his legs entangle with mine. he’s warm and still smells like the intoxicating cologne he adores. i take a deep breath in being very content in where my life ended up and how i’m now engaged with my fiance and now letting the rest of his family know at a party. life is great when you find your person.

taglist - @westwiing13 @comet235 @mayhem73