#look me tattooing u is a 50/50

[hollowfairybabybat]

lemme tattoo u with some dumb lil cute design then u n then tell everyone its ur kids drawing

[seventh-district]

*puts a photo of me in between two random photos i took of the sky today, not because they go together whatsoever but simply so any poor soul that happens to scroll across this post won’t be jumpscared by one giant image of me taking up their entire dash* :)

also yes those are the Everything Stays shoes that i wear far too often and i thought about Moon and flustered my damn self when i was putting them on today and if you want to know why i thought of him specifically… well, you’re just gonna have to read Ch. 4 of ES when i post it on Thursday and you’ll find out 😊

[wintrwinchestr]

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

read this chapter on ao3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that? 

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway? 

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol. 

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has. 

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night. 

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out. 

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought. 

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you. 

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away. 

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge. 

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears. 

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need. 

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still. 

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans. 

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue. 

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour. 

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—” 

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” 

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already. 

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some. 

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise. 

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that. 

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why. 

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything. 

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.” 

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. 

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now. 

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up. 

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.” 

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers. 

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough. 

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band. 

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight. 

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary. 

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet. 

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

message/comment/ask if you'd like to be added!!

[sanjisboyfie]

one piece smau: married to franky edition

ー franky def a chronic emoji user

liked by frankys.favorite, dni_nami, and 9k others

SUPERLOVER: i love treating my husband out for dinner hes my entire world 😍🥰❤️💘

tagged: frankys.favorite

dni_nami: this is what i mean when i say get urself a man w money bc wdym u managed a res at this fancy ass restaurant ????

uso_pp: so this is what u skipped boys night for 🙄🙄🙄

-> roro.zoro: at ur grown age...

-> freeluffy: WHAT DO U MEAN BT THAT ZORO

-> SUPERLOVER: NO ILOVE U GUYS STILL BUT I LOVE MY HISBAND MORE

[liked by frankys.favorite, dni_nami, ans 90 others]

frankys.favorite: i love u sm handsome

-> SUPERLOVER: hehehe (//∇//)

liked by SUPERLOVER, freeluffy, and 10k others

frankys.favorite: best details about my husband

tagged: SUPERLOVER

SUPERLOVER: YOU CAN PUT AS MANY STICKERS ON MY TITTIES AS U WANT BBYBOY I LOVE YOU 😫😫😫🫶🏼🤭🤭😻🤖🤖🤖

-> frankys.favorite: 😭😭

-> robinkills: i need u to restrict the usage of emojis on your phone. its getting insane.

dni_nami: whyd i get frankys whole ass tit on my tl bruh

uso_pp: imma bite that 🤭🤭🤭

-> SUPERLOVER: [name]'s done this several times and ive yet to feel anything 😎

-> uso_pp: ayo????

princesanji: a hello kitty tattoo is crazy

-> frankys.favorite: ur def the type to have cinnamoroll tattooed on ur hipbone dont even try it

liked by robinkills, iceburg, and 10k others

dni_nami: literally told these two to not set off the fireworks and look at them kissing it up. absolutely shameless.

tagged: SUPERLOVER and frankys.favorite

frankys.favorite: what do u mean it was a great light show namiii

-> SUPERLOVER: I MUST AGREE IUR FIREWORKS SHOW WAS SUPPPPERRRR BEAUTIFUL

-> dni_nami: no. it was SUPERRRR disruptive for the whole street

SUPERLOVER: look at my handsome baby. his pretty face👻👻

-> roro.zoro: ur emoji selections r always so unsettling

princesanji: their marraige was a match made in heaven w the way they both are constantly ruining everyone elses night

[liked by SUPERLOVER, frankys.favorite, and 90 others]

liked by SUPERLOVER, dni_nami, and 13k others

frankys.favorite: get urself a buff man like mine holyyyy shiitttt

tagged: SUPERLOVER

SUPERLOVER: GET YOURSELF A SEXY MAN LIKE MINE HEHEHE 🫸🏼🫷🏼i love u so much

-> frankys.favorite: ❤️

uso_pp: NOOO WHEN U TWO START THIRSTING FOR EACH OTHER U DONT EVER FUCKING STOPPPP

-> dni_nami: time to mute the both of them

freeluffy: i wonder how someone so old like franky is able to keep his body so muscley

-> SUPERLOVER: im not even that old luffy what the fuck

-> freeluffy: ur like 50

-> frankys.favorite: hes 36????

-> freeluffy: same thing!!! :DDD

roro.zoro: how the fuck r u shaped like a dorrito

-> SUPERLOVER: i was crafted by the hands of my lover and molded into be the perfect man for him.

-> roro.zoro: FOR FUCKS SAKE.

liked by frankys.favorite, dni_nami, uso_pp, and 11k others

SUPERCOLA: finally was able to take my baby out to get him a new car 🏁🚙

tagged: frankys.favorite

frankys.favorite: thank u sm EVEN THO I TOLD U MULTIPLE TIMES U DIDNT HAVE TO but thank u so much i love u

-> SUPERLOVER: of course YOURE MY NUMBER ONE RIDE OR DIE i need to show u how much i love u 💍 i wish i could buy more than this because you deserve so much more my love

[liked by uso_pp, robinkills, and 200 others]

robinkills: this is crazy. but i love it for u two, absolute sweethearts

uso_pp: what about me franky 🥺🥺🥺

freeluffy: i wanr a car too franky 🥺🥺🥺

ttchopper: i want my own car too franky 🥺🥺🥺

frankys.favorite's story

me n my husband vs the world <3

SUPERLOVER replied to your story: u rlly had the time to snap a pic after all we did last night??? ur crazy and ily

[yoitsjay]

Voices

Pairings : Hunter x Gn!reader

Summary: your angelic voice brings you lots of credits, you and sid both have a mutual agreement on that. One day a new group of men, clones walks into cids parlor. And one takes an immediate fascination to you

Warnings: some teasing, your basically a god/goddess (not really u just sound like it), Hunter likey

Word count: 1,380

You had been working with Cid for years, during the clone wars from a teenager to now in the present time, you were singing while she had her meetings with the Jedi, and you made good money for her and yourself. At first her proposal wasn't very good, not for you anyway, but after a few shows and seeing just how many credits you wracked in for her you managed to convince her to make the cut even, 50:50. Business at Cids parlor boomed for years because of you, and it was a good time too, Cid fed you, and let you have your own room in the Parlor, all thanks to your voice, the one thing that could sway people not only to dance, but to hang onto every word you said and listen with such intent. You were a good strategist too, especially when it came to betting games like Dejarik or even sabaak, more things that earned you and Cid money.

Today was like any other day, however you had just bought a new outfit and were in the midst of putting it on for your next performance, humming to yourself only to get interupted by a knock on your bedroom door. “yeah Cid?” you called out, already familiar with the way she knocked. Cid opened the door and offered you a very slight smile, unnoticeable to anyone else, but you've known her for so long that you know what she tells, and when she's in a particularly good mood. “We have a full house tonight, especially since you announced some new songs, but there's a particular group that just walked in asking for me, go see what they want, and if you like their vibe bring em to my office.” She requested, and you nodded as she left.

You quickly finished your routine, putting your hair up before you walked out to the main room of the parlor, you scanned around, seeing people playing games, drinking and dancing to the pre show music, but you quickly noticed the new group, boy they stuck out like a sore thumb, not just because of their armor, but because of the child that they had with them.

You let out a soft huff before making your approach, getting stopped by some fans of yours with markers held out, and you quickly signed whatever you needed to sign before finally reaching the group, their attention already focused on you, one of them however seemed to be more curious about you than the rest, this must have been the reader. “I hear you're looking for Cid?” You questioned, having to speak up over this crowd just so this group could hear you. who you assumed was the leader stood up and turned to you fully, nodding his head. You noticed he had a tattoo that covered half of his face, the details resembling a skull, which you found interesting, and yet attractive all the same.

“yea, that you?” He asked, and you giggled, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe, what do you want with her?” You questioned them, the glint of the leader's vibroblade catching your eye. “You won't get nothing if you flash those weapons around, not in this full house.” You added, crossing your arms over your chest. The leader cleared his throat, and raised his hands just slightly, which put you at ease for now. He then spoke up, glancing back at his group. “We heard that Cid was an informant for the Jedi, and were hoping we could talk with her.” He explained, and you looked him up and down before studying the rest of the group. You sighed, but nodded and gestured with your hand for them to follow. And they did without a second thought as you led them to the back part of the parlor, opening Cid's office as you stepped to the side, gesturing for them to walk in. “Good luck, and after you're done, maybe stick around for my performance, I could always use some new ears.” You said before walking to the stage back in the main room.

Cheers then flooded Hunter's ears and he winced slightly at the sudden anterage of voices, but once the door shut behind him and his brothers- and Omega- he relaxed a bit, turning to look at the green Trandotian who had now spun to face them.

Meanwhile, you started up with a few of your most popular songs, credits already being thrown on stage, soon Hunter and the rest of his family walked out with Cid not far behind, all having already decided that they were hired, and really they didn't have a choice. But the minute his senses and thoughts calmed, your voice was the only one that flooded his ears, he looked over at you, seeing you on your knees on the stage with the microphone clasped in one hand, while the other was extended in front of you, with many patrons hands reaching out for you. Whatever you were singing hadn’t even registered in his head, only that your voice just calmed every feeling in his body, his eyes wide and his lips slightly gaped. Just then he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned quickly, calming again when he noticed Echo standing by his side. “You okay Hunter? you kinda froze for a second.” He said, glancing up at the stage towards you.

Hunter cleared his throat and nodded but as his brothers and omega turned to grab a booth, however Hunter paused and he turned to look at you again, and this time you locked eyes while you sang a pretty inappropriate line from one of your songsm running your free hand down your body as you sent him a wink before turning away. After an hour or so you said your goodbyes and left the stage, disappearing in the back as you headed towards your bedroom, once in the peaceful atmosphere of your little space you undressed, and changed into something more casual and definitely more comfortable, sliding your own little viroblade into its holster secured on your thigh, just a precaution. You let your hair down and gave yourself a minute to decompress, sitting on your bed staring at the ceiling when you heard a knock on your door, and this one wasn't from Cid.

You slowly moved towards the door, opening it just a crack to see who was standing there, and low and behold it was the man from earlier, with the half skull tattoo. “hello” You greeted softly, opening the door fully as you smiled up at him. “I hear you're officially working for Cid, congrats.” You spoke playfully, noticing that his eyes flicked up and down a couple times, which made you smirk. “Yeah..” He muttered for a moment before his eyes snapped to yours, he was a lot taller than you were, basically a foot taller, but you always did love your men tall, you cleared your throat and it seemed to snap him from his little trans as he stood up a little straighter. “I wanted to introduce myself, Im Hunter.” He explained, sticking his hand out for you, you grinned, and took his arm in a firm handshake. “I know” You stated, Cid having already told you after your performance. “It's a good name, strong… hot.” You teased, letting your touch linger for a tad longer than it should have before letting his arm go.

You told him your name, watching something flash in his eyes before seeing his slight smile. “That's a beautiful name, suits you.” He stated, looking away for a moment as you giggled. Just then you stepped out of your room, placing a hand on his armored chest, pushing him back just ever so slightly so you could close your door. “Buy me a drink Hunter, and we’ll see where the night takes us, I always do like an adventure.” You teased, slipping past him as you walked towards the bar. Hunter shook his head, and followed not too far behind. You already had him in this transe, it was like he couldn't take his eyes off of you… he wasn't sure if he even wanted to.

He'd just have to see how this night went…

[kristeristerin]

HI I SAW U DOING THE ACOTAR TAYLOR THING and i wanred to ask if ud be willing to write an az x reader where shes been under the mountain with the song call it what you want ??? LOVE U THANK U

AN: Ok, this "Drabble" kind of took on a life of it's own and demanded to be a full one shot. Honestly though, I loved your prompt and couldn't tell the story I wanted to in less than 1000 words. Thank you for your suggestion! I hope you like it! As always asks are open for prompts!

Song: Call it what you want

Pairing: Reader X Azriel

Content Warning: None

Words: 2.5k

“Is he safe?” 

Your High Lord turns to you with a raised brow, “Is who safe?” 

“Azri-“ 

Before you’re able to finish the name Rhysand puts a hand over your mouth and wraps the two of you in darkness. Several heartbeats later and the two of you appear in a sparsely decorated bedroom.  He walks to the door and briefly peers into the hallway before turning a cold stare on you.  

“How do you remember him?” He demands, stalking toward you.  

“I- uh” you shrink back, “I don’t understand, what do you mean how do I remember him?” 

Rhysand runs a hand through his hair before looking back at you with wild eyes.  “I removed them all from the memory of everyone from the Court of Nightmares.” 

He takes another step toward you and slams his hand down on the desk beside you, “So again I ask, How. Do. You. Remember. Him?” 

Your forehead creases and you shake your head.  “I don’t know, High Lord.  Maybe it’s because he’s my mate.” 

Suddenly Rhysands eyes widen and he takes a step back from you.  “I’m sorry” he whispers, “ I didn’t know. He hadn’t told me.” 

“We haven’t told anyone,” you reply hesitantly. 

You watch as your High Lord begins pacing back and forth, muttering to himself.  You jump when he abruptly stops in front of you. 

“I should have enough power left to get you out of here, but we’ll have to be careful.  I think I can get you to Velaris though.” 

He reaches for your hand but his eyebrows draw together when you swiftly pull it away.  

“No,” you shake your head.  

“No?” 

You shake your head again, “If he’s safe then I’m where I’m meant to be.” You take a deep breath, “You’ll need someone you can trust, High Lord, and we both know it won’t be anyone else from the Court of Nightmares.” 

“Please,” he offers his hand to you again, “call me Rhysand, and just know that I swear to you I’ll do everything in my power to get us both back to them safely” 

You reluctantly take his hand and when you shake it you gasp at the sensation in your wrist.  Pulling away you see a small tattoo of swirling shadows around your wrist.  

-—————————

Rhysand had only been home for 30 minutes when Azriel came storming into his office.  

“Where is she?” The Shadowsinger demanded. Rhys noted that his usually docile shadows now swirled around him frantically.  

“I believe she returned to the Hewn City,” Rhysand responded carefully, “but Az, you might want to give her some time.  The things that were required of us, of her,” he shuddered.  “They took a toll on her. She’s not going to be the same female you remember.” 

Azriel was silent for a moment before he sank to his knees.  “I don’t care what she had to do, Rhys” He looked up at his brother with tear-filled eyes, “ I just need to see her.  I need to know that she’s ok.” 

Rhysand crossed the room and kneeled next to Azriel.  Without a word, he wrapped his arms around him and held him as he cried.  

———————-

The knock on your apartment door broke you out of your somber thoughts. You stare at your door for a moment hoping whoever is there would just leave, but instead, they knock more persistently a moment later. 

Groaning, you stand up from your couch and trudge to the door. 

“This had better be-” Your words die on your lips when you pull the door open to reveal hazel eyes and tousled black hair that you’d dreamed of for the last 50 years. Your lip quivers and you begin to blink rapidly as you stare up at Azriel. For a long moment, neither of you dare make a sound. 

“Y/N,” he breathes. Reaching forward to cup your cheek. His brow furrows when you shrink back from his touch. 

“Why are you here, Azriel?” you finally ask in a small voice. 

“What do you mean?” he shakes his head, “I’m here for you. I’ve missed you so much.” 

He takes a step forward and you step back further into your apartment, shaking your head. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “you shouldn’t have come.” 

You try to shut the door, but he puts his hand in the way. 

“Don’t do this,” he pleads. “Don’t shut me out. I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, but please let me help you. You don’t have to do this alone.” 

You watch him for several seconds as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and his gaze darts around your dark apartment. When you nod and turn to retreat further into the darkness he follows without another word. 

The first thing he does when you settle on the couch is clean out your fireplace and build you a fire. Then you listen as he moves around the kitchen, opening, and closing cabinets for several minutes before he softly curses and comes back into the living room. 

“You don’t have anything to eat. I am going to go out and see what I can scrounge up, do you have any requests?” 

You just shake your head and pull your knees up under your chin.

Azriel begins to reach out to you but thinks better of it and lets his hand drop back to his side. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

You don’t reply. 

When he returns you haven’t moved an inch. 

Azriel stays with you for several hours before he’s able to coax you into eating. When he leaves it’s only because Rhysand insists that it’s important and he promises he’ll be back as soon as he’s finished whatever Rhysand needs. 

When Azriel returns, he’s not alone. 

A beautiful blonde female kneels down beside you and brushes your hair back from your face. 

“Hey, Y/N,” she smiles at you, “My name is Morrigan. Azriel thought maybe you’d like someone to talk to.” 

Your eyes snapped to where he leaned against the far wall. 

“Do you mind if I spend some time with you?” She reaches into a bag to her left and pulls out a pile of clothes. “Perhaps we can get you cleaned up?” 

“Sure,” your voice is hoarse from disuse, but you take her hand and follow her into the bathing room down your hall. She draws you a bath and turns as you undress and sink below the water's surface. 

“Can I wash your hair?” She asks after a moment. When you nod she moves to sit on a stool behind you. 

You let out a low groan as she works the soap into your hair and uses her finger to gently detangle it. When she’s finished she leaves you to wash your body and get dressed. 

You can hear them speaking in hushed voices as you enter the living room. When they notice you Morrigan gives you another soft smile and gestures for you to sit in a chair in front of her. You watch Azriel’s contemplative gaze as she brushes through your hair and quickly braids it into a neat plait. 

“There, doesn’t that feel better?” She asks you before clearing her throat and pointedly looking at Azriel. 

He moves to kneel in front of you. “Y/N, Mor and I were wondering if you’d come back to Velaris with us. I can have a room prepared for you in The House of Wind, or Rhysand offered you a room in his townhouse for as long as you need it.” 

“Rhysand?” You ask, averting your gaze from Azriel’s. 

“Yes,” he reaches out and gently cups your cheek. He tilts your head so you’re looking back at him. “I’d feel better if you were closer to me.” 

You close your eyes and lean into his touch before nodding. 

—------------------------

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Azriel asks from across the room. “No one would blame you if you decided to stay home.” 

You shake your head and try to give him a reassuring smile, “You need a distraction, and while Feyre might be somewhat of one, I am sure that after six months away I will be a bigger one.” 

You smooth down the sheer panels of your dress and once again look at yourself in the mirror. You can see that Azriel is still watching you as well. His face pinched in concern. He runs a hand through his hair before crossing the room and coming to stand behind you. When he begins to run his hands up and down the length of your arms you lean back into his chest.

“I just don’t want to lose you again.” He finally whispers, “I’ve never been more scared than that first night in your apartment when you flinched away from my every touch.”

You turn to look up at your mate. “That won’t happen again, Az.”  This time when his hands come down your arms you catch them in your own and interlock your fingers.  “I have had so much time to heal. You have helped me more than I can even express. Everyone in our family was great, but you, Az, your unwavering support through all of the ups and downs. That made all of the difference.” 

His eyes were glassy as he let go of your hands and pulled you tightly to his body. “I love you more than anything in this world, Y/N. There is not a thing I wouldn’t do to ensure your happiness. I would burn the whole of the Court of Nightmares to the ground for you if you wished for it.” 

You pull away enough to smirk up at him, “That might be a little dramatic, Az.” 

He chuckles and drops a kiss to your forehead. “I’m being serious though, if at any time you need to leave all you have to do is say the word and we will get you out of there.” 

You smile at him and nod, but then the gravity of where you’re going hits you. Your smile falters and you bite your lip. “Hey, Az? You know the kind of things they’re going to say about me, right?” 

He nods solemnly and brushes a lock of hair from your face. “I know the accusations they’re going to throw at you, but you know that we all love you and know the truth, right?” 

You nod, but he doesn’t seem convinced. He pulls away from you and crosses the room to his dresser. You watch him with a raised eyebrow as he shuffles through his clothes and pulls out a small box. 

“I was going to wait until your birthday to give this to you, but I think it might serve as a good reminder tonight. Turn around.” 

Your eyes widen when he sweeps your hair to the side and fastens a thin chain around your neck. From the chain hung a small silver heart-shaped pendant. Your eyes widen when you notice the A delicately engraved into the front of the charm. 

“This is to remind you just how much I love you,” he whispers into your ear. “So you know even when I have to be far away.” 

Before you had a chance to thank him, there was a knock on your door. “Are you two about ready? Rhys wants to leave in 5.” Mor called from the other side. 

You fingered the charm for a moment before giving Azriel another reassuring smile. “I’m ready.” 

—---------------------------

You leaned against a pillar with Mor and lazily sipped wine as the two of you stared out at the crowd. When her father's cries could be heard over the crowd Mor turned to you and smiled, “Oh, I have to see this. Are you coming?” 

She pouted when you shook your head no, but promised to return soon and winked at you as she disappeared into the crowd. 

It takes no more than a minute after Mor leaves for a male to take her place beside you. You barely spare him a glance before looking back at the crowded dance floor. 

“What do you want, Finn?” 

“Now, Y/N, is that any way to address your brother after YOU disappeared for 6 months?” he puts a hand to his chest in mock outrage before moving in front of you to block your view. “Although, I suppose no one is particularly surprised to see you show up with them.” 

You roll your eyes at him, “Say what you’ve come to say, or leave me the fuck alone.” 

“One has to wonder though,” he puts a finger to his chin and raises a brow, “Why are you not the one perched up there on the High Lord’s knee? Could it be that you're no longer his favorite whore?” 

The familiar accusation causes you to snarl at him. “You should be careful speaking about things you know nothing about.” At that moment you notice a commotion behind Finn. When you crane your neck to look at the crowd you can’t help the smirk that comes to your lips. 

The crowd hastily parts as Azriel saunters toward you. The rage that is rippling off of him is palpable as he gets closer and has even the more powerful High Fae giving him a wide berth. When he approaches he rams a shoulder into your brother before moving next to you and pulling you to his side.

“There you are, my love.” he says gruffly as he pulls you in tighter, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

When you notice the amusement dancing in your brother’s eyes you can’t help but wonder if he was dropped in infancy or if he was just plain stupid. 

“Oh, this is delicious,” he laughs. “The Highlord got bored of you so he passed you off to one of his Illyrian brutes?” He shook his head as he continued to laugh. “You know, after the shame you brought our fam-”

Your brother didn’t have a chance to continue his train of thought before Azriel left your side and had him pinned against the wall. “You will watch how you speak about my mate. Is that clear?” 

When Finn didn’t immediately answer Azriel’s grip tightened, causing him to whimper. He looked at you for a moment before nodding to the Spymaster. He sagged in relief when Azriel set his back on the ground, but the relief was short-lived when a moment later Azriel’s fist made contact with Finn’s jaw. 

You could still see the hatred in Azriel’s eyes when he turned back toward you, but you just held your hand out to him and led him from the room and onto a balcony. 

When you were alone you once again touched the charm around your neck, “Az?” you asked in a small voice. 

“Yes, my love?” he hesitated as if he feared that you were moments away from cracking. 

“This time, I don’t need you to save me,” you smiled broadly at him, “But will you run away with me?” 

“Always,” he returned your smile and wrapped his arms tightly around you before shooting into the air. 

[babyyweebbitch]

How about any Mortal Kombat characters of your choice with s/o that really knowledgeable on certain things like they can tell you all about the Internet drama and how it started but when asked to do math or any other topic, they are head empty no thoughts sorry if I’m rambling 

BRO i do this 💀💀 i’m so knowledgeable about games, tattoos, piercings and a bunch of other stuff but if u ask me a math question i will literally sit there like 👁️👄👁️ this is super horrible i’m sorry 😭😭

content warning : GN reader ,

Hanzo H.

you know alot about video games, technology and everything in between, hanzo doesn’t. so there are times if you’re talking about technically to this literal dinosaur he will ask a lot of questions and you will answer them and any other questions he has.

your knowledge about this stuff is what makes you special in his eyes. he says you should make a career out of your knowledge or even help special forces since you also know alot about programming. but you always say no

but, he found out you weren’t math smart after he asked you what 5 x 50 was. you literally sat there head empty, no thoughts and then proceeded to say 55 with your whole chest, the biggest smile on your face too. he kinda looked at u like

THAT PICTURE IS SO FUCKING FUNNY IM CRYING RN

Kano

you know the entire lore of FNAF. ans when i said the ENTIRE lore i mean THE ENTIRE FUCKING LORE. you know everything, the side games, the main games, individual characters stories, the stories of each game EVERYTHING

you explained the entire lore to kano for three goddamn hours. you followed him every time he would move around and every time he would go “babe i-“ YOU WOULD GO “WAIT THERES MORE”

kano every time you say that:

then once you were done speaking he would say “i’m sorry, but i don’t fucking care, i just asked who this character was because i saw it on the internet” AND YOU WENT “oh, 😀 it’s freddy fazbear”

😭😭😭

[kimdokjas]

Hi, do you know any fics of joongdok that retains Dokja's sass? Preferably an au because novel angst hurts. Tyy in advance.

OH BOY DO I *pulls up my [redacted number] pages of ao3 bookmarks* this is gonna be long so i'll put it under the cut!

okay so, some of these are a bit heavier on the humor than others, but in general i feel like these fics do a great job of retaining kdj's snarky personality!

Joongdok AU Fic Recs

the pros & cons of caramel by sunwarmed

“What’s in this,” Yoo Joonghyuk demands. “Peruvian dark roast.” Yoo Joonghyuk looks as if he’s about to commit a crime, so Dokja takes pity on him and continues, “And sugar, ice, whipped cream, cookie crumbles, caramel, hazelnut syrup, chocolate, and a little bit of almond milk. Really, I put a ton of work into making this, and you’re not even thanking me.” Yoo Joonghyuk’s eye twitches — once, twice, three times — before he takes the cup and squeezes it so hard Dokja’s a little afraid the drink will fly everywhere. [or: 5 times kim dokja makes yoo joonghyuk (the wrong) coffee & one time yoo joonghyuk returns the favor.]

loving out of tune by almostprimary

After a truly tragic series of events, Kim Dokja gains a new neighbor who also happens to be the only person in the world he would, without hesitation, push in front of a moving vehicle.

you're home by ksalientian

Yoo Joonghyuk is sick. This is not, strictly speaking, a problem, except for how Joonghyuk has never been sick in all the years Dokja knows him other than when he's been actively dying, which he is probably not at the moment, but how is Dokja supposed to know that, he's never taken care of a sick person, Dokja barely even takes care of himself when he's healthy because Joonghyuk is the one doing that most of the time, and now Joonghyuk is sick— Okay, Dokja thinks, staring at the thermometer that reads 39.2°C in cheerful green, this may be a problem.

new activity by oronine

In a strange turn of events, Kim Dokja meets one pro gamer on Google Documents and begins a correspondence.

pretty strangers by HeavenlyDusk

A stranger at a party drags Yoo Joonghyuk around town. Somehow, in the span of one night, he falls in love.

Moving Out of the Closet by Sinnatious

Yoo Joonghyuk meets his neighbour Kim Dokja, who at first glance seems to be living in what he thought was the building's janitor's closet.

two hands of the same clock by furihatachlookie

The hour hand falls upon the fifth hour, and Yoo Joonghyuk dies before the clock can chime in answer. In which a crown prince and a commoner, unaware of one another's existence in this seemingly unbreakable time loop, inevitably cross paths.

"can u tattoo 'i love u' in flowers?" by crispy_scoliosis

In which Kim Dokja, a florist, reunites with his estranged childhood friend, Yoo Joonghyuk.

a new reality with you by fruitastic

Yoo Joonghyuk is a beta tester for the unreleased game “Ways of Survival'' and gets way too attached to a simple NPC, Kim Dokja. When the final battle looms over his head, will he be able to say goodbye? ...Hmm…Maybe Mia was right about touching grass…

to begin again. by frostfall

(In which Kim Dokja goes on a blind date. It's just his luck that he runs into his ex.)

salsa doesn't count as tomatoes by aphrodisiac

Yoo Joonghyuk has a roommate. (And a crush.)

couples discount by anemotions (realdefonge)

When junior manager, Yoo Joonghyuk wins the grand prize of their company’s raffle–a five-day trip for two to Hawaii, all expenses paid–the senior manager, Kim Dokja, who’s had no luck with raffles, asks the junior manager to bring him along as a travel buddy. Yoo Joonghyuk eventually agrees and they go to Hawaii. But things only escalate from there because apparently, there’s a 50% dinner buffet discount for couples in the hotel, and Kim Dokja would to absolutely anything to avail it.

gimme choco (or gimme love) by beewithouthoney

Every Valentine's day, Yoo Jonghyuk's desk is buried in a heaping pile of chocolates. And every year, Kim Dokja gets one from the pile.

on the art of unplanned serenadingby sunwarmed

“Then prove it,” says Yoo Joonghyuk, voice low, and Dokja is struck with a few realisations at once. One — he isn’t a good cook at all. He relies on microwave meals for the vast majority of his diet. Two — when it’s revealed that he’s not a good cook, he’ll almost certainly never hear the end of it. Three — Yoo Joonghyuk has a really nice voice. Goddamnit. [or: kim dokja keeps accidentally asking yoo joonghyuk out on dates. he swears it's only because he likes annoying the hell out of him. probably.]

When I said I hate isekai tropes, I wasn’t sarcastically praying for it to happen to me. by Waltzfor-Zizi(azro_zee)

Kim Dokja wants it on the record that he absolutely loathes those cringey royalty isekai stories and even more so the cliché archetype of cold and murderous but devastatingly handsome black-haired dukes with a troubled past. He really should learn by now that the universe has a hobby to throw him into the lion’s den and make him swallow his own words. After all, he and the God up there do not share the same taste of humor.

there are more but this is getting a bit long orz

i hope these are similar to what you're looking for! if you want any more recs feel free to let me know <3

EDIT: if you're looking for even more recs (and also some of my absolute faves) there's now a Part 2 here!

[kiinard]

tag game (thursday) tagged by @vintagelacerosette

When is your bday? dec. 16

Where were you born? u.s.

How do you feel about your legal name? Are you using it online and/or IRL? i've been learning to love it over the years, i use it IRL but online a lot of ppl already pronounce it wrong so i go by a variant online that's close to what it actually is to prevent anyone mispronouncing it.

How about your sign? Do you feel it "fits"? I am a Sagittarius, although sometimes I feel like i'm also a Scorpio

What's your earliest memory related to your birthday? Being at Chuck E. Cheese with my whole Kindergarden class!

What's one of the best gifts you've ever received? Concert tickets to Shawn Mendes!

How about one of the best you've given yourself? i think Notebooks and pens, and a lot of wine!

What's your favourite cake flavour? German chocolate, other than that, i'm not really big on cake

How about your favourite flowers? Irises and forget-me-nots

Have you ever thrown a birthday party? If yes, tell us about your favourite one. Yes, and the best one so far has been 2 years ago when my best friend came up for a couple days after not seeing eachother for over 3 years and we got matching tattoos!

What's the ultimate birthday song? In Da Club - 50 Cent

And last but not least, pick a celebrity with whom you share your birthday. Jane Austen and Beethoven

tagging: @gardenerian @look-i-love-u @y0itsbri @7x10mickey @catgrassplantdad @heymrspatel @sickness-health-all-that-shit if u haven’t yet! 😘

[rowaelinsdaughter]

Can u eventually do 50 and 4 with rowan im in love with your fics and all your writing notifications are on

4- where it hurts.

50- out of love.

omg thank u so much, and it means the world to me that you have your notifications on for my fics, im going to cry 🥺💌

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 4

she knew it would hurt. she knew it and still she wanted to do it. they talked and talked, and she would do it.

"you okay?"

she nodded.

"you sure?"

"yes ro, im fine". "okay babe"

she felt the sting from the needle mixed with the salt and cringed a bit. "if you want me to stop, i'll stop"

she rolled her eyes. "ro, im not made of crystal. i want my tattoo finished as fast as possible, so keep going please"

"ok. here i go again". 15 minutes passed and rowan watched as his mate hands grab tightly the sheet. placing the needle on the table beside them, and leaned down to kiss her back. one, two, three, four... he kissed all her back until she was giggling.

"better?" looking back she smiled at him "much better"

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 50

"what have you done?"

she knew rowan for ages. he was her best friend. the only true one she ever had. and she loved him. not in the way friends love, but in the way lovers do. the silent conversations, the light touches, locking eyes and not looking apart. she would have married him if she didn't have an arranged marriage.

"dont tell me you dont fell the same. dont tell me you love that loser"

"im going to marry him, of course i love him" she raised her voice a little. "no you dont. i know you. gods, ive been yours for one hundred years"

"stop rowan"

"no i dont want to stop, because i know if i stop know, im not going to be able to tell you"

"please rowan, stop". rowan moved as if he was going to kiss her again, but she stepped back until her back was pressed on the wall. rowan was on her the moment she was on the wall. a hand placed on the wall and the other under her chin. her eyes were closed but he sensed rowan watching her face. every feature he had memorized like a map. "i love you. i love you so much its tearing me apart, because i was a fool. a fool for not telling you that i loved you, that i love you. but im telling you now. i love you. youre the only one in my mind. every night i dream about you, every sunset, every flower, every book, i see you. only you." he lifted her chin so she was looking at her. at the love she saw on his eyes was enough to bring her to her knees. the devotion.

and rowan kissed her again. not giving a damn if someone saw them, he didn't care if her fiance saw them. because he knew her heart only belonged to him. as his heart belonged to her.

the hand on her chin travelled to the side of her neck, and she arched her back, feeling his body, feeling everything of him. his body, his love. breaking the kiss, she said breathless "lets get out of here"

rowan smirked. "as you wish my lady"

all rights reserved to ©rowaelinsdaughter. no tranlations allowed. no copy theme. don not copy my work.

[loudmound]

about that post u rbed on the new sh2 remake.... u mentioned in the tags that removing the patches kinda subtracts from his personality-- do u think the original design's patches say something abt his character? or do u think theyre just a stylistic choice

i think they're both a stylistic choice and something that could possibly allude to his character! i don't think they represent anything "profound" or "deep" like other character design elements, such as maria's butterfly tattoo being surmised as a tie to themes of rebirth, i think they're indicative of a man who likes to feel decorated in a "safe" way. have a pop of color here and there but nothing super flashy.

james' general outfit in the original sh2 fascinates me a lot—i really enjoy it, honestly. his polo is striped, his jacket's got patches of all kinds on it, and he wears biker boots as casual footwear. there is a certain style that he's going for and it's very cute. there's also a sort of "blink and you'll miss it" element of his choice in wear, which is why i think he's trying to hit some kind of stylistic quota, but all within the realm of "safety", per my interpretation.

i also think that his jacket is a hand-me-down from his dad, frank. since my james was born in the 50s and sh2 takes place in 87 to me, this jacket's from frank's service in ww2, so it's fairly old and worn by the time sh2 rolls around. i think the american flag patch was just on there when james got it, and the various other patches were added by james himself (with mary's help with some of them). my favorite patches do have to be the yellow and red patches on his jacket sleeves; those patches, to me, are the most telling aspect of what i've stated before.

james wants to look sharp in his own way... but not too sharp! please don't look at me for longer than 5 seconds or i'll kill myself thx 🫰

[coeluvr]

Hello dearest!

I don't usually write messages because I have weird, shy internet anxiety, but I wanted to make an exception because compliments always motivate me to keep writing and I need u to keep writing so I can finally h*ld Vincent's h*nd!!! 😔😭🤡

This is one of the few IFs where I actually want to romance all ROs!!! Usually, I have a few I really want to romance and the rest I slog through cause completionist tendencies. But you've done a wonderful job of not only making the characters feel very alive and dynamic but also making them all appealing and attractive.

I usually always want to romance the hater because pettiness fuels me but also love angst with a kill them with kindness mc (I WILL H*LD VINCENTS H*ND OR DIE FIGHTING GOD). So, confirmed Vincent-mancer. His art? HIS EYES. HIS LIPS. PRETTY PRIVELEGE IS REAL AND ALL CRIMES ARE EXCUSED (also I really tried going into it being like he's not sad!!! But, as someone who's been in that place, while not an actual war, he definitely comes across as sad in the sense of a weariness at life and that he's struggling to fit back into his skin as pre-trauma Vincent. Artist did a 10/10 job with all the art because THEY'RE SO BEAUTIFUL I CREYYYY)

But the chokehold Hunter has on me? They were gonna be first because their personality is appealing to me both fictional and irl but omg everything I read I HAVE TO HAVE MORE. Like it's moved beyond I'd definitely vibe with this character and look forward to their route to i WANT TO SMOOCH THEIR PRETTY FACE OFF. So now confirmed Hunter-mancer (I actually died on the tattoo snippet on patreon is it a good or bad day to be bi?)

Helios kind of types I'm more of a 50/50 with, but obviously gotta do it for the juicy drama. But all stuff with him has just been so ??!!!???😳😳🫠 like he just leaves me more intrigued. Confirmed Helios-mancer. (The amount of times I'm gonna replay his route to try different things is actually gonna be crazy)

Soarine hot women nuff said. But also just ???!!!?!? I can't even form words. I'm so excited for more scenes with her. Confirmed Soarine-mancer. (Ma'am pls step on me respectfully and not so respectfully)

Fadiya as the official best friend (Hunter you're a bestie too but I feel bad like I'm making u choose between me and Helios :((( ) is usually one I'd keep strictly platonic. I love platonic routes as much as romance and nothing grabs me more than having a best friend character in IFs. BUT SHES SO ADORABLE. I WANNA SMOOSH HER CHEEKS. Also I feel her cause I'm that oblivious too 😭😭😭 I always appreciate ifs having the shy and bold type flirting but I need an oblivious idiot one because I'd be accidentally flirting with her like I do with all my friends without realizing I'm in love with her (and then be unable to speak to her once I realize because flirting? With people that aren't just platonic friends??? That I have feelings for????? Sounds fake). I gotta write the fanfic now (and perhaps share with u once I get over my shyness)

I really am looking forward to the next chapter! I'm so glad I subscribed on patreon too :))) keep up the good work (it also motivates me to cure my depression and post my stuff too)

💙💙💙💙💙

This is so sweet, anon 🥺 Thank you for sending me this message!!

I'm so glad all of the ROs are appealing to you! I love them all so much they're all beautiful and have so much to their stories. 🥰

Vincent's pretty privilege is insane lmao so many people folded when they saw him 😭 I guess Vincent's inner sadness seeped through because he's really okay #trust but then I probably have a wildly different definition of okay haha very low standards of living over here. He was also never trauma free lol my man just going through it. 🤭

I understand your love for Hunter!! They are just very... very. The tattoo part is one of my favs too they're so smooth with it like okay you're popular with everyone we get it 🙄 *cries to sleep*

Helios is super interesting to me because of the way he handles things and his mindset like I need to study him under a microscope. His route will definitely fulfill all your desires for drama! 🥳

Soarine hot woman. Real. She can ruin my life any day.

Fadiya is perfection and a gift from the gods because she's just so 🥹🥹 I love her to bits and she's going to be so fun to write.

Thank you for your kind words! I love these kind of messages so you're right hehe. Definitely gave me a boost! 💗

[disgustinggf]

@bbexoxo girl firstly i dont know how u got more fixated on me saying u stole my text posts than people saying ur a catfish

however u can look at dates of my text posts and when u search them up elsewhere u would see that they were reposted on twitter nd other apps LATER :) so stop trying to help urself cuz no one believes u lol plus even if u did take from other apps (which u didnt cuz ur posts are 50% mine and thatd be too much of a coincidence), no one likes content stealers who cant form their own sentences. also i had friends look on pinterest and none of my stuff is there :)

another thing - if u got no time to stalk me, how come when i originally blocked u like a month ago, i got blocked back immediately? and other people got blocked back as soon as they blocked u too. so u do sit there and check this shit? but got no time for all the other stuff? mhm sure so believable

oh another thing ur acting legit the same as to last april (only attacking me when i wasnt even the one who exposed u), same asks, only empty and inactive blogs defending u so yeah no just quit this bs and remake ur account already cuz thats what ur obviously gonna do

also id like to mention how it must be such a funny coincidence how when u got called out u werent online so NONE of us got asks about it but as soon as u got online hours later we all immediately started getting asks about it. juuuust like last time

and where the fuck did ur tattoo and freckles on ur body disappear? i didnt even notice it but other people did so like can u at least try to catfish right lmfao embarrassing

[sanctus-ingenium]

answering your asks in one big post because you sent so many of them (update: added 2 more that just got sent)

hi guys. what the fuck

in plain text so i don't have to type out a million image IDs

Anonymous asked: "I am obsessed with your metal beasts and lore!! The designs are *chef's kiss* gorgeous and inspired and if you were to ever make print versions of the kinda diagram-like side view pieces of them I'd slap that stuff all over my walls ❤️❤️"

Answer: I'd have to pretty them up a LOT to get them print ready. But I think it would be cool to do a blueprint style version kind of like old diagrams of machinery with additional embellishments

like this (source)

Anonymous asked: "have you ever posted any art of the dragons you've mentioned before? im really curious ab them"

Answer: I've posted sketches. I have trouble drawing diagrams because I am STILL torn between radial and bilateral symmetry... i know it should be radial but in my heart I prefer bilateral. So I'm thinking maybe it is radial but with a pseudo-bilateral look. It's definitely on my to-draw list

Anonymous asked: "just wanna pop in and say i love all your worldbuilding its so creative and fun, but as a dragon lover i ESPECIALLY adore your weird and funky dragons. i think its so cool when people push the boundaries on what a dragon can be (that versatility is a big part of their appeal to me in the first place) and your take is one of the most fun ive seen in a while"

Answer: as a marine biologist, I-

the dragons came after the beasts. I wanted to give them a reason for existing and 'knights fighting dragons' evokes such a great retro fantasy vibe that i loved it. The reason Pantera is a leopard (and not any other kind of big cat) is because in medieval bestiaries, leopards were said to fight dragons using their 'sweet breath'. You can see where I went with it. But dragons in these bestiaries have such variable appearances and can be virtually anything, like you said they're so versatile. For the people in this setting, the most they ever really see of dragons are the legs, tendrils, and the massive beak (which is mineralised like the pen of a squid). It's a creature really too big to comprehend, so they depict it in their diagrams as a bird-headed creature with wings and a back end made of serpents. but you can always tell in these illustrations whether the artist has actually seen a dragon in person.. because they won't draw it like this:

@our-tiny-hotel asked: "where did you get the idea/inspiration for these stories?"

Answer: for mez, i like zoids, retro fantasy, speculative biology, and stories which explore themes of religion and its role in highly gendered systems of oppression (lbr it is fantasy catholicism. that's right... this is also a story about gender)

for inver: fairies man

Anonymous asked: "is nosewyse a dog? i cant find anything about it on your blog"

Answer: You can find Nosewyse here. He's the smallest Holy Beast and by far the most pathetic

@raskies456 asked: "Re: your tags on the Taurus art, how DO the smiths manufacture such massive single plates of metal?"

Answer: I'm going to draw some diagrams to explain but basically the theocratic empire sits on a massive wealth of iron ore so there's no shortage of it. Smiths can manipulate metallic elements using the dialogue tattoos on their palms - Mercury and Mars are the titles for enginesmiths and armoursmiths respectively. Enginesmiths use mercury because it doesn't interact with incandescent dragonsblood, and it's a liquid metal which in alchemical theory is Pure and extremely close to gold (free of sin u might say). The quicksilver is used to manipulate the insides of a working engine without having to physically touch it. Armoursmiths work on iron, but here's the issue: solid metal won't budge. It needs to be softened or liquid for the dialogues to have any effect. So the armoursmith teams are blacksmiths who heat up these mass amounts of iron using dragonsblood furnaces until the iron is malleable, and then in teams of 50 or more they slowly and painstakingly stretch and shape it into the desired form. that's how they make armour plating for Holy Beasts. The use of dialogue tattoos isn't like psychic telekinesis, but more like playing an instrument where the position of each finger has to be perfectly accurate in 3D space to produce the desired effect. it's a very physical job and incredibly skilled. Taurus's barge took decades to construct and thousands of workers.

Anonymous asked: "are you ever going to publish the book are you are writing"

Answer: maybe. the idea of traditional publishing doesn't appeal to me. might just be a "buy this pdf on itch.io" sort of deal

Anonymous asked: "Hi, im new here. I hope this isn't rude, but from what i can tell the gist here is that medieval people dug up what i can only assume are the still-living skeletons of otherworldly beings or perhaps demons and went "Wouldn't it be cool if we put flamethrowers in these guys and rode them to war" and then they do that thanks to jellyfish ooze from giant violent sky jellyfish?"

Answer: I can neither confirm nor deny (yes but also nooot quite ;))

Anonymous asked: "Jowd you learn how to draw machines? Is it hard to draw all the Bits on those mechazords in the correct place when theyre like jumping and run ing and shit?"

Answer: I learned a lot from building zoids, putting them together, watching them move etc etc. At the same time, it's also sort of basic anatomy too? Your hinged elbow joint is a mechanism and if you just made the same joint in metal it would work the same way. But ALSO when i draw them, I follow the ref sheets for big parts but mostly bullshit the details because who give a shit at the end of the day if I put a screw wrong, no one's going to care

Anonymous asked: "Idk if this helps you at all but on r/zoids on the Dreaded Reddit people talk about 3d printed zoids so maybe you can get your zoids that way"

Answer: I am a member of r/zoids lol... that sounds really cool though. I've never seen a 3D printer in real life before tho. But I can't be out here getting more zoids when I have had my HMM command wolf half-constructed for literally over a year because I keep procrastinating on it

Anonymous asked: "A lot of libraries have 3d printers and some people will like. Hire theirs out so people can print stuff"

Answer: Not in Ireland they don't

Anonymous asked: "Is it illegal to make beaft ocs".

Answer: I'm not a cop and my main stance is: do what you want, I can't stop you. If you would like to design a mech animal using medieval bestiary aesthetics - go for it, it's fun. However, why does it have to play by my setting rules? Wouldn't you prefer to make something wholly belonging to yourself? You can invent a million new ways to use this sort of mech design in a story with a whole new setting, all yours. It just won't be one of mine or in my setting.

Anyway you couldn't make a beaft oc in my setting anyway because you don't even know what they are or how they work

[ghostsangel]

Listen fic/ Drabble idc I’m back in my bullshit (50% chance I’m ovulating),,, but soap is 100 % the type of fucker to get horny when you fight. Better yet you do something so minor to your appearance without him knowing or not him not seeing it earlier ,, yeah honey take a sick day you’re not walking 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Like you would be so annoyed at him for something and hes annoyed as well frankly the argument is stupid you’ll resolve this later , but now he can’t look at you so he’s looking around you like a mad dog ,, and only to observe your body and your silhouette and just to say mid fight : is that a tattoo on the side of your chest.

And you’re thrown of guard but before you can even say anything your man is just so mesmerized at the slight ink. Now he’s star eyed asking 50 questions about some tattoo you got on a whimsy , hands grabbing whatever he can , pretty sure your undressed while he’s now on his knees with a look that says your going to get f u c k ed , because he feels so betrayed and would say something insane “he doesn’t know you anymore because you would have kept this away from you “ and now he’s angry fucking you ???

(between orgasm 2 or 3 , he 100% stopped talking to you , and starts talking your cunt in third person asking her why you would do something like that and how she’d never betray him right ? )

Anyways how to say this on hinge that I need me a freak like that 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

-🎂

oh my god😭 see i’m v weird and i’m not into soap like that, but this is a very hot concept.

[v-anrouge]

Answer some or all, I want to know more about you 👀 that wasn’t the right emoji but oh well I’m using voice to text

Do you have freckles? 

 Do you drink tea or coffee? How do you take it? 

What was the last song you listened to? 

Do you sleep on your back, stomach or side? 

Do you sleep with a stuffed animal? 

Do you prefer drawing or writing? 

What’s your ideal number of blankets to sleep with? 

What’s your favorite band/artist? 

When is your birthday? 

How tall are you? 

What color are your eyes? 

Who are five (or more) people you want to hug right now? 

Fears? 

What’s your favorite color? 

What’s your favorite season? 

Want any tattoos? What of? 

Want any piercings? Where? 

Who is the last person you texted? 

Do you have a best friend? How long have you been friends? 

What/who do you miss? 

How was your day today? 

How much sleep did you get last night? 

Do you believe in aliens? 

When was the last time you cried? Why? 

What’s your favorite decade? 

What are some seemingly childish things you like? 

What’s your favorite book? Or just one you’ve read a few times? 

How are you, really? 

Does it take you a long time to make decisions? 

What are you looking forward to in the near future? 

What are you looking forward to in the distant future? 

If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go? 

Do you sleep with your door open or closed? 

What’s your favorite flower? 

Do you currently have a squish? 

Do you like your middle name? 

Do you prefer dogs or cats? 

Do you have any phobias? 

Do you stay up late?

Do you like the beach? Do you prefer it sunny or cloudy? 

What’s your favorite cartoon? 

Tag 5 of your favorite blogs

Do you have siblings? How many? 

Who was the last person you said “I love you” to? 

Is there anyone you would die for? 

What do you need when you’re sad? 

Have you memorized your phone number? 

Who’s someone you can trust with your life? 

What does your last text say? 

Wild Card. Any question, ask away. 

1- actually yeah but theyre super super super light so u can barely see them

2- coffee, i hate tea. i drink it with milk and sugar

3- more KDA

4- side, shrimping

5- yes:3 rook vil and my childhood plush

6- drawing

7- one, and it has to be thin

8- DONT DO THID TO ME I CANT DECIDE

9- june 19

10- 5'3 💀

11- very dark brown

12- all my mooties

13- abandonment, forests, insects, worm like things, heaven, dogs

14- blue and purple

15- winter 100%

16- yes! maybe of a deer, not realistic tho

17- i want all my piercings back my mom made me take them off so now im only left w my bites and the cheek ones😔

18- my mother

19- my lesbian irl :3 like two years?

20- peace

21- okay-ish

22- like 4 or 5?

23- i don't care for them

24- like 1 hour ago, obey me 💀

25- i don't think there are decades to be celebrated humans are evil in all of them

26- cute things, children movies and cartoons, they make me happy

27- i haven't read in LONG because books in brazil are way more expensive than i can afford

28- okay i think

29- yes😭

30- getting a job that i actually like

31- moving with my irl

32- to my irl's house :3

33- locked shut

34- oleanders!

35- nope

36- HATE IT

37- CATSSS

38- insects, worm like things..i think that's it?

39- yeah💀

40- no, but also yes, i dislike beaches because in there's always those fucking sand dollars , i prefer it sunny because the water is cold

41- GUMBALL!!!

42- I CANT I DON'T WANT TO MAKE ANYONE SAD FOR NOT BEING HERE

43- two older brothers

44- my irl

45- my irl...

46- distract myself and talk to people i like (usually my irl)

47- no i havent 😭

48- my irl <3

49- it's a fight between me and my mom id rather not, sorry

50- I have absolutely no idea what to ask tbh😭 uhmm i guess id like to ask why so many ppl like me