#WOOF that took three hours

[pettyprocrastination]

Reluctant Bride

Pairing: Ellaria Sand x Baratheon!Fem! Reader (background Oberyn Martell x baratheon!fem!reader)

warnings: description of war, derogatory description of women, forced marriage, oberyn talks lowly of the reader’s appearance and status because he’s angry he has to marry in the first place, Oberyn is a dick but he gets better, (this makes it sound worse than it is lol. Just lore building with angst and sapphic yearning lmao. 

Summary: Just months after the rebellion has ended, Ellaria Sand meets her lover’s betrothed.

word count: 1k 

_____

Ellaria was dressed in finer clothes than you on your own wedding day. 

Orange silk embroidered with golden serpents hugged her curves and fine jewels were weaved into her hair that your betrothed seemed content to twirl with his finger as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. 

You didn’t need to be told who she was. The beautiful woman by your husband’s side, you saw it plainly in his eyes. Love and devotion that could never be found in a marriage under the sept’s roof, but rather one made by affection and passion. 

Ellaria Sand was more of Oberyn’s wife than you ever thought you would be. 

But bless the poor woman’s heart, she was frightened. 

She didn’t want to come to his wedding at first. But Oberyn has all but begged her to, laying gentle kisses up her arm until he was mumbling his plea into the crook of her neck. 

“If I will be forced to wed against my will, the least you can allow me is the pleasure of having my true love by side when I am chained to another.” 

He always has a flair for dramatics, her sweet prince. 

But Ellaria felt it, as she entered Storm’s End by his side, the judgemental stares and hushed whispers when his hand did not release hers. She knew exactly what they thought of her without ever heaving to hear their voices grind against her ears. 

“He brought his whore?”

“To his own wedding, the gal!” 

“She’s a bastard too, I heard.” 

“That’s the dornish for you, debauched dogs, every single one of them.” 

But she would not flinch at their words, she knew she was a bastard since birth, Dorne may have welcomed it but the rest of Westeros had no issue reminding her and every other sand in the world of their place. She learned it well and wore it with pride. She was the lover of the Red Viper, a child of house Uller, the gossip of tittering lords and ladies did not frighten her. 

However, the Baratheons did. 

She would be a fool not to, truly. They were the ones that started the war, plunging the realm into a year of bloodshed and horror that their eldest son charged headfirst into without a second thought. 

Strong, dutiful, dangerous. 

As she entered Storm’s End, thunder echoing against its stone walls that made their grand home resemble a shadowed cave rather than a castle, she is reminded of their words. 

Ours is the fury. 

It had been the third child, who greeted them. Dressed in all black and face somber, he looked well past his age, like a soldier returning from war rather than the young man just coming to age as he was.

“It’s a great honor to have you, my prince.”

But Stannis Baratheon had suffered a siege while his brother commanded from the battlefield, he had seen the war just the same. 

His eyes, dark and cutting like a hidden blade, fell onto Ellaria, for a moment she felt as if she had come to an execution, rather than a wedding. Stannis looked at her like an intrusion, before bowing his head. 

“My sister is eager to join our houses with this union. As are you, I am sure.” 

Oberyn’s agreeance was slick with mockery, teeth flashed in a grin that made the young man’s face go sour. 

“There is nothing I look forward to more.” 

He had yet to let go of Ellaria’s hand. 

The pair did not separate until they reached the sept, a grand building covered in tapestries of every dead saint and alive with hymns that speak of love and devotion. 

Two things seldom found between husband and wife. 

Oberyn walked to the altar alone, but his eyes caught hers  in the crowd and he smiled. Even from afar, she knew him well enough to catch the twitch of his thumb at his side. That despite his anger and dismissive arrogance he loves to wrap himself in like a silken robe, he was at a disadvantage. This was not his home and nor were these were not his people.  He was in the house of the family responsible for the death of his sister with no plan for vengeance, but a wedding he was forced into, just like his Elia.

Ellaria’s gaze is pulled from her lover as the grand door creaks open over the singing, where their king enters, face still laden with scars of the rebellion, of his conquest, escorting the bride by hand. 

Robert Baratheon was large in every way possible. His presence commanded respect. Even in his formal wear the bulk of his muscle was seen through as he walked. The hymns dulled to a soft hum at his entrance, head turning as his eyes cut into the crowd before they landed on Ellaria and she froze in her spot. 

For a moment, fear clenched her heart. 

Robert had unleashed a war upon the realm when Rhaegar took his betrothed, he plunged his siblings into starvation and rode against countless noble families that now bend the knee to him. He caved in the chest of the silver-haired dragon prince himself, severing the three headed dragon with his war hammer until there was nothing left of it’s legacy than two eggs, lost to the wind. 

And here she stood at his sister’s wedding, the proud lover of her betrothed. 

There’s a brief moment where she wondered if he was going to say something. Shout an order for her to be escorted out for being so bold to be at the union, but then a hand squeezed his and he pulled away from her gaze to yours. 

“Don’t.” Barely a whisper that only he could hear. No question nor plea, but an order. 

One the Usurper obeys without resistance. 

Ellaria had never seen you in person before. But Oberyn had painted a foul picture of you the moment your betrothal was confirmed to still be held after the rebellion. He spoke of your sneer and the way your lips puckered into a sour pout each time somebody spoke to you, your eyes were flat and empty of any emotion. 

“If it weren’t for her skirt I wouldn’t know which one I was marrying.” Oberyn jested as he lifted a goblet of wine to his lips. “Her or Stannis.” 

Ellaria watched you walk down the aisle to her lover, struck by your beauty. 

A hood sat atop your head that fell to embroidered lace covering your shoulders, her eyes found a stray curl that dangled by your face and wondered what it would feel like under her finger tips. Dark eyes flick over to her own if only for a second and she felt herself stopped once more, not with fear. 

But desire. 

You continued forward and she watched you walk down the aisle to the awaiting prince. 

A strong nose frames the soft line of your features, shoulders drawn back and head held high like a queen to be worshiped or a painting to be admired. 

You were regal. Looking more like a crowned ruler than the king by your side.

Your voice did not waver during your vows, she wondered if you were frightened. Any woman would be. To marry a man who loathed her family for a death you had no part in. 

But you didn’t let it show. Instead the promise to be a loyal wife echoed through the sept before you leaned forward and pressed your lips to Oberyn’s, who was just as stiff as you. 

As she watched the first kiss of an unwanted marriage, Ellaria’s chest filled with envy of her beloved prince. 

#ellaria sand x reader #ellaria sand x you #baratheon wife tag #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #teehee #id like to say my fantasy/medival fics have gotten some inspiration from my poetry of desire class last semester <3 thanks professor #those annotations were torture but the poetry slapped frfr #i think i still have my book actually #one of my favorites was the vine #i just. *clenches fist* love lore and WOMEN #im proud of this but also embarassed it took me like. four hours to write 1.2k words jfc man #i like putting oberyns wife in pretty hoods and gowns hehe #also i listented to tamino like the entire time i wrote this i hope it shows #anyways its..three am now. woof

[sissylittlefeather]

How the Web Was Woven: Chapter 13

A/N: Woof. This one took me a minute. Also, it's a short bridge-type chapter, but don't worry. Next chapter will be LONG and JUICY. This is just a necessary part of the story. Please don't give up on us! ICYMI this is the soulmate/time travel AU between Elvis and a fem!reader.

Need to catch up? Here's my Masterlist.

Warnings: cussing and angst (a smut-free chapter?! Who am I?! Don't worry. It's coming soon and they will be too 😏)

Word count: ~1.9k

"Why didn't she come for me?"

******

Elvis spends the next few weeks anxiously waiting for you to show up somewhere. It's clear his mind is elsewhere. Everyone around him notices that something is off, but he won't tell anyone what's going on. He just prowls around like a caged animal, nervous and waiting for something that no one understands. He goes back to Memphis before he has to be back in Vegas in August to film his concert documentary. The only thing that gets him out of his room is Lisa Marie. Otherwise, he mopes around or stays inside.

What no one knows is he's grieving. He's pretty sure he's lost you and his son too. The pain almost overwhelms him and he has a hard time living in his real life. He finds solace in music and spends a lot of time at the piano playing a whole catalogue of new songs. His favorite, though, is a song produced by the Beatles' record label, and he eventually asks to record it later that summer. It ends up on his album for the documentary That's the Way It Is and even makes it into a rehearsal scene with him playing it on the piano and singing. For some reason, the song makes him think of you, so he sings it as often as he can.

Even though it begins to look like he's back to himself, the pain of losing you is omnipresent. He resigns himself to the fact that he will likely never see you or his son ever again. As such, he leans into the documentary and even does a photo shoot with Priscilla over Thanksgiving to try to rekindle the affection he feels for her.

But he still feels like part of his soul has gone missing. It's the same old feeling he always has when he's away from you for too long, but this time it settles in his chest and becomes a part of him. 1970 slips into 1971 and he does his best to move on. 1971 slips into 1972 and he throws himself into work and lets his relationship with Priscilla sour. She moves out and he has a hard time even caring, except that she took Lisa Marie and it just twists the dagger of having already lost one child. There are other girls, like there always have been, but they never fill the void that you leave. He has a you-shaped hole in his heart that no amount of sex or romance or even love can fill. 1972 slides by, he films Elvis on Tour, and he plays shows across the United States. He plays Vegas again and then tours again, hoping that by keeping himself busy he'll notice your absence less.

Finally, he prepares for the Aloha from Hawaii concert that will be broadcast across the world. He tries to get back into peak physical shape and does everything he can to throw himself fully into this concert. In the process, he squashes the last hope of you ever showing up again. It's been three years.

You're gone.

******

Covid hits strong in 2020 and your world gets upended. You learn to work from home, host zoom call happy hours with your friends (even though you're pregnant and can't drink), and wear a mask anytime you're in public, which isn't often. In September, you give birth (alone and in a mask) to your daughter and name her Erin Love. She's perfectly healthy and looks so much like her brother you think you've given birth to his twin. And again you weep. Elvis is missing this and you know it'll break him if he ever finds out.

2020 fades into 2021 and you still can't risk going out with a baby. Every time you start to think it might be safe, a new strain or variant shows up and the world cowers in fear again. Vegas opens, but you're terrified, both of traveling and of the possibility of sending Covid back to 1971.

So, you wait. You wait and you wait and you keep waiting until your baby is old enough and the virus seems to slow down. Still, Vegas, with its masses of people, seems too risky. Finally, in December of 2022 you have an idea. You start making plans to head to Hawaii with both kids and your mom in January of 2023. Hawaii is much more secluded and you know exactly where he will be.

When you ask your mom to come with you, she wants to know why. This is going to be a very expensive vacation and she's not sure why you need her. You sit on her couch trying to decide just how much you should tell her. Eventually, you settle on something very close to the truth.

"John is there. We haven't seen each other in three years." You look down at the ring on your finger.

"I was starting to wonder if he still existed."

"I'm not even sure he'll want to see me..." You look at the ceiling to try to stop yourself from crying, but it doesn't work and the tears come sliding down your face.

"Oh, sweetie. I'm sure he does. He loves you."

"I hope so." She pulls you into a hug.

"I will go with you. I'll watch the kids so you two can get reacquainted."

"Thank you, mom."

Once she agrees to go with you, you drop an ungodly amount of money to stay in his suite and pack up both kids to fly to the islands. You decide not to tell John Jessie why you're going, just in case it doesn't work out. He's almost 6 now and he asks about his daddy damn near everyday. Somehow, he remembers him despite the fact that it's been almost 3 years since he's seen him. Erin's too little to ask questions. She doesn't even know she has a daddy, which breaks your heart every time you think about it.

******

After a rehearsal, Elvis heads to his suite to rest. He's 100% invested in what he's doing. But out of nowhere, he thinks of you again. He hums the song he's designated as yours and goes to work changing out of his jumpsuit.

He's got the zipper all the way down when he hears a sound that makes his heart stop. There it is, the old familiar buzzing. He hasn't heard it in so long. He turns slowly, sees the portal, and practically runs through it without thinking about the fact that he has no clothes packed and is wearing a jumpsuit.

******

When Elvis comes through the portal, he stops and stares at you. He's so in shock that he doesn't know how to respond. Your mouth pops open in awe of him standing there in the American Eagle jumpsuit fully unzipped. He looks better than you could've imagined. Obviously, you've seen the footage, but it really didn't do him justice. He zips it back up and gives you a hard stare.

"It's been three fucking years, y/n."

"I know-" You don't get any further though because John Jessie comes bounding into the room. He runs to Elvis and jumps on him. He's supposed to be napping with your mom in one of the bedrooms.

"Daddy! I heard you!" Elvis grabs him and holds him tightly.

"Heyyy buddy, I missed you so much!" You can tell he's trying hard not to cry. You look nervously towards the bedroom. If your mom sees him in this jumpsuit, it'll be impossible to explain.

"Bubby, where's your grandma?"

"She's asleep." You breathe easier and John Jessie turns back to his daddy. He launches into a monologue that only a 5-year-old can follow, but Elvis sits with him on the couch and listens attentively. You stand and watch the scene and Elvis glances at you every once in a while.

After about 15 minutes, you hear Erin cry from the room where she is taking her nap. Elvis looks up at you, shocked.

"Who is that?"

"That's my sister. She's little still." John Jessie answers knowingly. Elvis's head swivels to you so fast.

"Sister?" You nod and duck out of the room to grab Erin before her crying wakes your mom up. When you come back, Elvis looks at both of you and his eyes are shiny with tears. "Is she-?"

"She's yours." He stands up and immediately takes her from you.

"What's her name?"

"Erin Love."

"Love? Like my..." He trails off and looks at her lovingly.

"Yes. Like your mother." He holds her to himself and looks up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. He pulls back and looks at her again while she babbles to him.

"Baby, do you know I'm your daddy?" She looks up at him.

"Daddy?"

"Yes!" She smiles widely and he holds her close to him again. He looks at you incredulously.

"We have another baby."

"Yes, we do." He kisses her cheek and sets her down on the floor, turning to you. His eyes burn through you and he whispers angrily.

"Where the fuck have you been?! We have a daughter?!"

"Please, Elvis, I can explain."

"You better. I'm going to spend the evening with my kids, but you better have a damn good story when they go to bed."

You nod. How will you get him to understand Covid?

******

He changes into some clothes you have for him and helps you put the kids to bed. Despite not knowing the routine, he proves to be pretty helpful. You're amazed at how well John Jessie remembers him. Your mom seems to just know she should make herself scarce through the whole evening and stays in the room. Once you get both kids in bed, you sit on the couch facing him, heart pounding and stomach in knots. He looks at you with a mixture of sadness and anger.

"Tell me why, y/n."

"There is a new virus." You desperately try to explain everything that's happened over the last three years.

"So you couldn't come to me because of a cold virus?"

"Elvis, you don't understand. This was a global pandemic. Everything was closed and people all around the world were dying. They literally shut down Las Vegas."

"I've been other places." He responds, the anger in his voice obvious.

"I know, but I couldn't risk our kids. Or the possibility of you taking this virus back to your time. I finally feel safe here in Hawaii."

"I don't know, y/n, I'm glad you're okay and I'm especially excited to see the kids. But I thought I'd lost you. I buried you in my mind."

"Did you- did you move on?" For the first time, the reality that your marriage to Elvis might be over hits you in the gut and your eyes widen. Elvis isn't sure how to answer. He has a girlfriend, and technically another wife. But he looks at you sitting in front of him and can't help but feel the connection that's bound you together for over fifteen years. He wants to be angry so badly, but really all he is is sad. Sad that he missed the first two and a half years of his daughter's life. Sad that he went so long without all of you. Sad that you almost feel like a stranger now.

You sit on the couch staring at each other waiting for his answer.

******

Come back soon for Chapter 14!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @rosepresley68 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @that-hotdog @eddiesgirlforever @helen06dreamer @returntopresley @rjmartin11 @noirrose21-blog @tacozebra051 @deltafalax

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis #elvis x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x you #how the web was woven

[thelastofhyde]

ii. the revving of engines.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller’s not made it this far in the age of the apocalypse just to die at the hands of some adrenaline-crazed, no-brain-having fool who barely knows where to place her hands on the steering wheel. hind-sight fully intact and ever-so eye opening, he should have said no before frank could even finish his question: can you teach the girl to drive? read part one, the likeability paradox, here !!

warnings. no use of y/n ( joel’s nickname for the reader is sol ), panic attacks, perv!joel, slightly dark!joel, soft!joel ( for like a second ), a smidge of fluff, gun violence, murder, smut ( unprotected piv sex- don’t be silly, wrap that willy-, public sex, car sex but also not, exhibitionism, possessiveness, murder kink [ kinda but not really, joel just gets... more enthusiatic at the thought of protecting the reader], mentions/implications of panty stealing, male masturbation, sex as a form of payment, glory-holes, dubcon. joel has a massive c*ck because i said so <3 )

word count. 16.7k ( my dumbass really thought this would be shorter than part one- )

hyde’s input. this took criminally too long to write but i did warn you that i’m a slow writer, so hopefully this makes up for the wait. think i may be a little in over my head with this one because, woof, there’s a lot going on. i’m still trying to wrap my head around how many people enjoyed the first part, i’m speechless. thank you for every like, comment, reblog, ask that has given me the motivation to not just write a second part but to turn this into a whole series. i’m really looking forward to sharing joel and his sol’s story, and i hope i’ll be able to write it in a way that not only conveys the love i have for these two idiots in love but will also make you guys fall in love and root for them too. more to come of these two soon ( soon = whenever hyde feels like it ) &lt;3

taglist. @kayleezra , @newavenger , @luthienaliceisilra​ , @str84pedro , @baebee35 , @aheartgonewild ( if you’re crossed out, i couldn’t tag you for whatever reason ) + add yourself to the taglist here !​

read on ao3. (capitalisation available )

the journey has been one of silence.

it all begins three days prior to arriving at their destination, with a dishevelled joel startling awake. sitting himself upright, a string of grunts and groans flow from him as several new pains in his back make themselves known, one for each year he’s lived. sleeping on the couch is no place for a man of his age, but it has become his abode more frequently as of late whilst tess has let herself get acquainted with the likes of a recently widowed woman.

why on earth the two women seem to insist on occupying his and tess’ shared mattress for their sweat-provoking and sheet-tangling endeavours when the widow’s own bed now harbours one less occupant, joel is none the wiser.

“you sly fox!” it occurs at an hour much too early for tess’ level of excitement, a spark of something in her voice he’s not quite heard in nearly a decade now, back when she’d let it slip that she’d made contact with someone over the radio. “keeping this all to yourself!”

blinking out the sleep-induced blur in his vision, his hands rub over them in a further effort to clear his sight. the couch squeaks beneath the weight of him as he leans forward, elbows coming to rest on his pointed knees. confusion leaves him in a questioning grunt.

“c’mon, joel, the jig is up!” she’s insisting on maintaining her enthusiasm, and the man has to wonder just how good her night must have been for her to be so chipper come barely an hour past sunrise. “so, who is she?”

with only the sparing of a clueless, sleep-filled glance, joel’s risen to his feet and shouldered past his companion. headed straight for the minuscule kitchen, where once he would have boiled a kettle and prepped himself a mug of instant coffee, nowadays he’s lucky to find enough water to fill a single unwashed cup. he does just that, watching the water fill only a third of the plastic before downing it in one gulp.

tess is hot on his heels, following him through their cramped living space. he sighs, resigning himself to the reality he’s faced with: this is not a conversation she will let him walk away from. be whatever it may be, the woman is hunting for some answers. “what’re ya talkin’ about? ain’t keepin’ shit from you.”

he’s reminded, much to his own dismay, of a time she’d accused him of cutting deals on the side without her, back when her distrust and his aloofness had kept their newfound partnership on edge.

“oh, really?” her voice never loses that sense of excitement, and he’s beginning to wonder whether he should be grateful or resentful of this. the smile on her lips spreads wider over her face. “then explain these, casanova.”

there, dangling over her extended pointer finger, lays a blur of lace.

it is a dainty little thing, a blush of some pastel colour that’s oh so feminine it makes his toes curl at the thought. a tangle of fabrics so delicate he fears they’d fall apart with just a taste of his calloused touch.

it is delicate, it is soft, it is dirty.

and it is yours.

was yours, till he’d ripped it down your legs and stuffed the fabric into the back of his jeans. it was a mindless action, at the time, and one he’d forgotten about, tucked away in the unmarked box in his mind where he’d learned to place most things involving you. sleep-filled eyes, and wine-stained lips, and serenity-inducing laughter, and heavenly-soiled lace. forgotten about, until he’d been stripping himself off at the end of the night and the garment stumbled to the floor at his feet, calling for him like tess’ lover cried her name in pleas of more.

he’d tasted the softness of lace that night, first on his lips and then around his cock, tangled in the unforgiving grip of his frantic hands.

the fabric had not been forgotten since, always within reach of the man. where some kept trinkets of silvers and golds as their symbols of luck, he kept your lace, tucked safely in the back left pocket of his jeans, awaiting his nervous fiddling in times when stress ran high and only the softness of the fabric would pull him back down to earth

“they ain’t mine.” still, he snatches them out of her grasp.

back left pocket, tucked back into safety.

“never said they were,” she has a point, but it only serves to frustrate him. because of course she wasn’t implying they were his to wear- never in a month of sundays would the likes of joel miller fit himself into such well-kept lace-, but she sure as hell believes they are his. “thought i’d be nice for once and clean some of your clothes, since you seem to have forgotten how to. they fell out your pocket while i was busy folding some trousers.”

convenient.

that’s what it is, considering that in their who-knows-how-many years of partnership, the woman has not taken the time to tend to his washing. he’d asked her, once, body recovering from a near-fatal stab he’d taken to the abdomen. she had not said no to his request. or, rather, she had not simply used the word no. ask me again and i’ll finish what those raider’s started.

every surface of the room captures his attention, from the ripped wallpaper to the tattered remains of what once were curtains, anything other than tess, who hovers at his shoulder like a fly to shit.

he needs something to do, to distract.

thinking of the days ahead, he begins a list of things they’ll need- gauze, food rations, water, more gauze. joel has still yet to sharpen their knives, displeased with them since the moment he’d noticed tess’ struggling to cut through a cable wire. did they have enough ammo? maybe he’d need to grovel for some more off of bill-

“who’ve you been fucking, sunshine?”

frozen where he stands. mind in disarray, heart pounding a thousand miles an hour, blood somehow both everywhere and nowhere in his body at once. all he can think is that tess knows. sunshine. she knows, she knows, she knows.

she knows and she’s going to tell frank, who’ll tell bill, who’ll place a target on joel’s head and hit bullseye the moment he so much as tries to step anywhere near you, and then where will joel be? back to facing only the dull grey skies and locking himself away in bone-chilling solitude.

clarity befalls him.

she’s teasing. sunshine. it’s not an answer to her question, it’s a name meant to mock him. tess has no clue, not a single incline to guess what events had transpired in the stillness of the night the last time she’d dragged them out to bill and frank’s. she doesn’t know.

“if you don’t want to tell me,” the words leave her in a sing-song tone, and for a moment he needs to remind himself this is a woman his own age, not a teenager. it would be easy to confuse the two. “i’ll just have to figure it out myself!”

he won’t be the one to tell.

“laura silver.” it’s the first name that comes to mind, and the image it paints in his head brings forth a repulsion unlike no other. he’d rather lick shit off a stick than subject himself to her company willingly. by the twisted-up look on tess’ face, she seems to agree.

“really? isn’t she a bit... chatty for you? and, like, way too happy?”

she has no idea.

the questioning glances only amplify once the two set off, each stop they make along the way- to eat, to sleep, to rest their deteriorating joints- punctuated with that feeling in the air that joel dislikes so much. the unsaid, the unfinished, the more. it makes his stomach lurch with anxious thoughts and his heartbeat cease under the stress they bring.

birds tweeting, wind howling, leaves rustling becomes the soundtrack to their travels, guiding them onwards with encouraging notes and filling the empty pockets of silence that sit between the four, five, six steps he walks ahead of her, fingers curled around a weapon and eyes trained on anything that moves the wrong way. the guts and gore of clickers stabbed and bloaters beaten wet their clothes in the early hours, yet they dry come noon, coating their every inch in a sickening syrup.

“you both got another thing coming if you think he’s gonna let you through the door like that.” joel had not experienced anything like it since the ages where he’d arrive home hours past his curfew, knees scrapped on gravel and clothes stained in mud, stood beneath the dimming porch light as his mother washed him.

only, it is bill who holds the hose instead of the woman who’d raised him.

freshly hosed down, a trail of dripped water marks the space he crosses through the house out into the backyard, losing tess along the way as she calls dibs on showering first- as if joel wouldn’t immediately put himself last in any scenario that involves her.

what he finds is a garden in gloom, infant rosebuds so young and new to life they’ve yet to lose that tinge of green that separates them from the rest of the bush they inhabit. it is the image of winter, casting its blue hue on everything it touches, from the leafless trees to the wolf-eyed dog, who’s tail begins a slow wag from its place upon the floor before the mutt’s jumping up all four paws and bounding its way over to him.

the german shepherd crashes into him like a wave, nearly sending him stumbling backwards. it’s grown in the past weeks, he realises, large paws a little more suited to the length of its stretched back. he fights a fearsome battle to contain the man within him who longs to clap his hands down on the dog’s fur, with an inhale of breath he hopes will drag down the words of praise and greeting aimed towards the pointy-eared creature, joel manages to dismiss the animal with a shrug.

it follows him, even so, as he takes another step out into the yard.

frank’s familiar figure sits within a chair. he’s calm, staring out at his decayed world as though he’s merely waiting for the passing of time to bring back the colourfulness his flowerbeds once possessed. his hair sits the same, his clothes look the same and, yet, something is off. joel can’t quite put his finger on it, all he knows is that this man is half the man he’d bid goodbye to weeks ago.

“sorry for dragging you guys out here again so soon,” his words are gentle, like always, yet his voice is ragged. joel wonders if he too had caught that damn cold. maybe him and tess brought it into the house, leaving behind a tally of germs for the three occupants of the home to choke on. maybe you’d caught it too. maybe you were in need of someone to make you soup and fret over the temperature your body keeps. maybe he should have returned sooner. “but i’m sure bill’s already filled you in.”

bill has done no such thing.

joel shakes his head. frank’s never one to push him to talk, accustomed to the likes of a man who’s short on words and spreads any dose of warmth his soul may posses sparingly. it’s a trait he appreciates, the patience to never expect more. frank talks, joel listens, both of them agree on this dynamic.

“we’ve got nothing for you this time, i’m afraid," joel swallows a snarky then what d’ya call us out for. he’s not subtle enough to go unnoticed by the man who’s known him too long, who chooses to combat the raising of his hackles and the frowning of his brow with calmly spoken words. “but we’ll owe you one. a favour, i mean.”

that recaptures his attention. his shoulders lower in tow with his hostility and the dog nuzzles its muzzle into his hand, forcing him to uncurl his fist. “what’s the catch?” he asks because he knows frank, and he knows that frank knows him, that frank chooses his words wisely when they’re alone. he wouldn’t be beating around the bush, keeping his words vague and his tone secretive, if it weren’t for the fact that joel, likely, will not enjoy partaking in whatever favour they’re about to ask of him.

“we’ve got a truck, in the garage,” he shares, like this is news to joel, like he’d never seen the vehicle in question. “and it’s been a while since it’s had a run-around, breaks are probably squeaky as sin, and-”

“get to the point.”

frank smiles, less uneasy as joel’s usual candor nature gets in the way of his brooding image, interrupting his silent streak with a rushed out jumble of words the man’s sure would sound harsher were they directed at anyone other than the friendly-eyed artist. “can you teach the girl to drive?”

joel’s ability is not being questioned, in truth, but rather his willingness.

the request is sensical, understandable for a girl your age- whatever that may be- to have no experience behind the wheel. the damned mushrooms had likely already taken hold of the world by the time you’d reached the legal driving age.

it is not a difficult task either, he supposes, with no need for every intricate little road rule to be passed down. so long as you can learn to spin the wheel, shift the gears and control the pedals, you’d be good to go.

agreeing to it would also, in theory, be agreeing to the prospective scenario where joel miller finds himself trapped inside the small, four-wheeled confines of a moving vehicle with someone who grinds his gears and haunts his thoughts. there’s so much room to suffer in the solitude of your presence, so much potential to think up what-ifs and if-onlys in his head as you stare back at him, eyes beaming rays of pure-heartedness. i don’t like you, joel. it’ll echo in the distance between you.

“bill can’t do it?” his question is met with a grimace, and he wonders if the man had already attempted. perhaps you are beyond teaching in his eyes and so they’ve settled for calling in joel to deal with your unsalvageable driving skills. perhaps they know you already dislike the man and figured there’d be no harm in giving you more reason to, when he loses his patience and scrutinises your driving skills.

“she won’t let him,” joel’s head snaps up from the floor, eyes shifting from the mutt enjoying the carding of his fingers over its head back to frank. the greys in the man’s hair seem to have multiplied, the wrinkles on his face a little deeper. joel’s struck, his stomach twisting up, with the reality of noticing his friend is growing old. “said she’d sooner trust a clicker behind the wheel than bill. she asked us to call you guys.”

you called.

you wanted him here.

you guys. sure, it may be the collective of both him and tess. but he’s still a part of that equation, meaning you’d willingly brought him close, beckoned his return to the heaven he’d left you in.

one shower later and he’s wadding his way out back, into the garage. hair still a mess of towel-dried curls, clothes fresh and a little unfitting- he’d stolen them from frank, after overhearing the man inform tess he’d taken the liberty of burning their blood soaked clothing.

he’d agreed to the deal, much to frank’s delight and his own shame, mind too enraptured by the prospect of solitude with you to judge the situation at hand clearly.

the door creaks, a beg for oil, and announces joel’s arrival far sooner than he would have preferred, stumbling upon the scene of you. more specifically, the back of you, doubled over. everything from the waist up digging through the backseats of the vehicle, seemingly searching for something, while everything downwards sits on full display for his starved eyes to feast upon. boot covered feet, the hem of the most nonsensical skirt resting upon bare calves, the curvature of thighs beneath silk, the stretch of tightened fabric against your ass.

joel thinks himself a strong man, but he is weakened by the sight.

you startle at his entrance, rushing to straighten yourself so quickly your head smacks against the top of the car’s door frame. a hiss and a pressing of a hand to your head is not enough to comfort the witness of your harm, crossing those three steps forward needed to grip your jumper-covered shoulders and spin you to face him, eyes immediate with their scanning of your features, frantic to confirm you’re not teary-eyed, nor pouty-lipped, nor in the beginnings of a concussion.

“i never heard-" you pause whatever you wish to say when one of his hands covers your own, cradling the back of your head. he’s well-aware this is too close, too unlike him, too noteworthy. but he can not seem to care enough to welcomed back the distance that so often sits between you. “oh, it’s you.”

“sorry to disappoint ya.”

he surely is.

disappointed, confused, conflicted. here you stand, no runny nose, no bloodshot eyes, no scratch in your voice, no need to be cared for. it’s a selfish thing, to feel his heart lurch at the fact you’re in full-health, no pesky cough in sight, but his distaste towards the feeling only makes it double in size.

“no! sorry, i just,” you’re the first to inch back, head tilting to meet his stare with your own. he follows suit, taking your unvocalised desires and stepping away from you, hands back by his own side and vowing to keep themselves there. “i thought it would be tess teaching me.”

so maybe you’d never called for him.

he’s just the tag-along, the con to tess’ pro, the consequence to tess’ presence. you view him like the sun views the moon: a small, dim, lifeless rock that sits in wait every waking day, orbiting around tess’ planet.

it is not news, yet it stings like it. a fresh wound added onto the litter of marks that ache his soul. the pain leaves him in the only way he knows how anymore; a face devoid of emotion.

“not,” you’re uneasy. thrown-off. squitterish. hands tuck up into the sleeves of your sweater and eyes glass over with worry. the possibility that he scares you both lights his soul on fire and sends it to drown in a lake made of his sorrows. “that there’s anything wrong with you! i just... figured you’d have better stuff to do.”

he doesn’t.

“yeah, well, i ain’t doin’ it for free,” his proverbial foot shoots into his mouth, slamming shut whatever small window of opportunity he’d stumbled upon to say the kind thing, to do nice by you for once. i don’t like you, joel. but he could change that, if he just changed his attitude. and his nature. and his sense of being. so, just about everything about himself. it would not be much for the promise of a piece of his sol. it’s  much too late for that now and, so, he commits to the role life’s already chosen for him to play, the heartless bastard. “let’s get this over with.”

“jesus christ, sol, didn’t your daddy ever put ya behind the wheel?”

joel’s anger is unjustified.

he’s aware of this, in the back of his mind, yet any rational voices burn into silence at the heat of his ire. only twenty, or thirty, or forty minutes since you’ve hit the open road, since he’d buckled himself into the idea of being alone with you, and the car feels like it’s closing in on itself. every inhale a struggle for oxygen, every exhale a subdued desire.

perfectly manicured nails grip the steering wheel.

counting trees had worked, if only for a while, to keep his focus off everything occupying the driver’s side. the novelty wore off as you passed the thirty seventh in a row, where joel’s eyes finally drifted off from the view ahead to the one on his left.

a pair of lips sit parted in concentration.

he’d needed a new distraction, one he found as he popped open the glove compartment and found a man of his taste’s holy grail. well, at least the holy grail that was found in materials rather than between the thighs of- cds! rock, country, punk. the 70s, the 80s, the 90s. fleetwood mac, the rolling stones, johnny cash. that’s what he’d found, a collection bill must keep to hold an emblem of what the world once was: loud, rhythmic, lively. now static, quiet, lonely. not even a full verse into ring of fire and you’d switched the volume off. “i can’t concentrate with that crap playing.”

half a thigh, exposed by the slit up a skirt.

now he has nowhere to turn, to let himself run off to in thoughts that promise the sweet salvation of distraction. facing forward is not an option, the empty road ahead holding no ounce of his attention. focusing on the right as the world passes by outside the window holds no merit, and no amount of trinkets nor garbage that litter the nooks and crannies of the car helps. his eyes always find their way back to you.

breathtaking in the most painful way, you sit unaware of the effect you have on him. as you shift from third to fourth gear, as your thigh tenses to press down harder on the gas pedal, as nimble fingers unnecessarily practice using the indicators. you don’t see how his frown deepens and he scorns you with his stare.

“he was a bit busy making a name for himself,” you utter a reply minutes too late, when he’s already convinced himself you hadn’t heard him.

your focus is strict, eyes glued on the road as if you’re afraid an obstacle- be it something infected, or something animal, or something malevolent- will come your way. and all the while, joel’s sat in shock, pure fucking eye-widening shock, as the words you utter slowly seep into his brain. minute as it may be, it’s the first detail, the first piece of history you’ve offered of yourself. an absent father, the words cause a dull ache in the left side of his chest. 

god, he’s being too quiet, he needs to ask more while you’re willing to answer.

you switch to fifth gear with a delay that would have cost you points back in the days of capitalistic civilisations. the gear-box makes an ugly noise of which the engine follows up with a growl of its own. 

panicked, your hand shoots straight back to the gear-shift, curling around it so tight the white bones beneath your knuckles threaten to rip through your skin and put themselves on display. the car slows with the release of your foot off the pedal and he presumes you mean to lower the gears too- perhaps, you’ve thought it best to maintain the safety net provided in the third gear- but you must not be thinking straight, must lack proper motor-control over your body, as your hand pushes down on the stick and, slam!

the car comes to a complete stop.

the sharp pain that cuts up his neck as whiplash takes over, the weight of his upper-half flying forward and stopped only by the seatbelt that crosses over him, it becomes near non-existent as a strangled cry and a whimper of pain comes from the driver’s seat.

a scrambling of hands, a forceful push onto the pedal, a handful of panicked breaths and fearful mutterings of something involving bill and kill and will. none of it helps in the face of your problem. you’re stubborn, however, trying once more to push the stick forward, and getting nowhere. joel tells himself to remain delicate in his touch and composed in his heart as his hand clamps down on top yours, curling his longer digits around the gear-stick and giving it a tug upwards, effortless in his attempt to shift the car out of reverse and back into the first gear.

your eyes meet his. watery, and big, and full of fear.

“musician?” conversation, that will distract you in your moments of panic. he’ll talk you through the fierce currents of racing heartbeats and sweaty palms, till your waters are calm as can be.

the hand that still sits atop your own gives a soft squeeze.

“deep breath, sol,” he leads by example, filling his lungs with a sharp, deep inhale through his nose. you follow, nodding as if you’re in a trance yet you mimic him nonetheless. deep inhale, through the nose, inflate your chest. “atta girl. you’re fine. car’s fine. ya just stalled it, s’all. happens all the time.”

he’s hopeful to be helpful, but then the first tear wins the war over your composure, slipping down your cheek as you shakily exhale. another few- four, he thinks, but can not say for sure- follow suit, staining ugly cristaline rivers down the globes of your cheeks. another inhale from joel, another exhale from you. you breathe in tandem, as if relying on the other to remember such a human act is necessary for survival.

it’s purely instinctual, something as uncontrollable and unpracticed as the beating of his heart or the blinking of his eyes, the way his free hand captures ahold of your cheek. the rough pad of his thumb swipes over the bottom of your eye, so close that he feels the tickle of your lower lashes, collecting whatever tears threaten to fall next.

let them stain his skin instead of yours.

“ya dad,” maybe you need clarification, something to stall the rapidly speeding thoughts that race through your mind. “was he a musician?”

at first, silence. more deep breathing, less shaky exhales. your tears still wet his thumb but they no longer seem to be spilling down your cheek, collecting on your lashes like the dust on a shelf. he thinks of wiping the tears off the untouched side of your face, mostly to settle whatever part of him feels shaken at your distress, yet, as he slowly raises the hand that sits atop yours on the gear-stick, you halt him. fingers tangle messily with his own and squeeze so hard he feels the pressure deep in his bones, threatening to snap like twigs.

and, then, you shake you head.

no.

nonverbal, yet entirely understood by him.

your dad was not a singer. you hear him as much as you feel him. you’re slowly returning. to the car, and to a rational state of mind, and to him. a few moments pass, slipping between you with as much ease as his thumb stroking over your wrist, pushing down just that little bit till he feels the fading thrump-thrumps of a panicked heart. he speaks once you’re ready, once the slow rise and fall of your chest lulls his own self into a state of calm. “gonna need ya to turn the keys in the ignition, think ya can do that?”

you do as he says, inadvertently placing your trust in him and his words, and turn the key. when the car shudders yet fails to come alive, your head snaps right back to him, eyes a pleading mess for answers, guidance, help.

it does wonders to his ego, to that caveman mentality that sadly resides in some corner of his mind. needed, useful, protective. things he doesn’t get to feel with tess, doesn’t need to feel with tess. she takes care of herself, and him, and never asks for a damn thing in return. but you need him, need his calming words and his knowledge of vehicles.

for once, he’s a necessity instead of a casualty in your life.

“foot on the clutch, sol,” his pointed words hold no mockery, becoming a metaphorical rubber-dingy that he tosses your way, one more thing to pull you into the safety of a calm shore.

this time, the engine roars back to life.

you’re elated, a smile splitting up your cheeks even as you let the car crawl to a start, wheels turning slowly as you give the gas a light tap. he sees the way your shoulders sag, like a ten-ton weight has just been stripped off them. 

“told ya, s’just a stall,” it’s the nicest i told you so he can offer, especially as the lingering of that nasty feeling still creeps over your actions, subduing you in a way he doesn’t quite enjoy. you should not be meek, nor placid, nor doubtful yet that is all he sees as he watches you hesitantly drive the car into second gear. “used to happen t’me all the time. at the worst times, too. like... intersections and shit. can’t count the times i got flipped off by some truck driver.”

you giggle. quiet, girlish, subtle. joel almost mistakes it for a tickle in your throat, a discomfort you catch yourself coughing over. but, no. your shoulders dance, your lips tilt up, rapid little breaths sneak out your nose. it doesn’t even matter that it’s at his expense, the fact he’s the one to rouse such a delicate reaction despite his rough voice, and rough words and, well, rough everything, it’s enough to settle his soul with a deep contempt.

you continue slowly, not daring to test the power of the car. he says nothing, not a word about the waste of bill’s fuel nor the painfully boring pace at which the world flies by outside the window. you’ll speed up, he knows it, once you get your momentarily lost confidence back. talking seems to be your first approach to easing the tension in your stiff arms. “actor.”

he hums in question, quirking a brow despite your gaze being fixated on nothing but what sits ahead.

“he was an actor. a wannabe actor,” you’re soft spoken, trying your best to keep that shake in your voice under control. “my dad. so... you almost had it right.”

“anything i might know him from?” he tries, and fails, to match the lightness of your voice, his own far too gruff, and dark, and jagged to replicate the smooth edges of your own. 

“not unless you had a thing for cheesy teenage romcoms.”

the words seem to take control of him, forcing their way out before he can so much as recognise their existence. “i didn’t but my dau-” if you notice the way he halts himself, you say nothing.

“wanna know the most ironic thing?” he senses no real humour behind the few chuckles you let out, eyes lost ahead. joel wonders if you’re truly seeing the road, or merely looking at it, letting the world blur as your focus sits elsewhere. you await no response before continuing. “the only role he could never master was the present father.”

a father placing his dreams over his child, the idea is one he can’t quite wrap his head around.

joel had had big dreams, once. dreams that involved world tours, and golden records, and screaming fans. those dreams were shoved aside, not even a whisper to be heard in his mind, the moment he held his bundle of joy for the first time. screaming her little lungs off, tiny body covered in fluids he could never name, eyes staring wide back at him as she took in the image of her father for the first time. she became his new dream, his only dream. to hold, protect and love.

just like the stage, he eventually lost that dream too.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes the words out, quiet beneath the hum of the engine.

“why?” you’re not harsh with your delivery. in fact, you even glance momentarily in his direction and shoot him one of those smiles, the ones that steal the spotlight away from everything else and render him frozen beneath it’s shine. nonetheless, joel fears he’s done it once more, offended you without even trying. “it’s not your job to apologise for someone else’s mistake, joel.”

the silence which settles between you once more feels less like the awful quiet of drowning beneath crashing waves and more akin to the static of an untuned radio, with its antenna out of place and detecting no signals. it’s calming to sit like that with you and somewhere between the hum of the engine and the world passing by outside the windows, joel’s mind wanders off into dangerous territories.

territories where he thinks of this exact setting, you driving and him sitting in the passengers side fighting off the sudden languid feeling that grips his soul, only in his imagination it’s later, deep into the night. you’re not alone on the road, a collection of cars passing by and driving ahead, and the smell of cheap beer fills the car. snoring from the backseats, a sleepy girl finally given into the call of sleep after a long day. the image of his hand reaching over the console to find yours, matching silver bands clinking together as he lets himself entwine his fingers with yours.

he jolts up straight, head no longer resting on the window and eyes blinking away whatever make-believe daydream he’d inflicted upon himself, when a sound of anguish comes from your seat.

selfishly indulging in his silly fantasies, joel’d failed to notice your silence was not the same as his. while he bathed in warmth, you quivered in coldness. your nails now threaten to leave marks on the steering wheel, your lips point downwards in a frown, your thigh shakes nervously with each measly push of fuel you give the car.

it’s cruel of him to keep you driving in this state.

“there’s a gas station a few miles from ‘ere,” his words are punctuated by a defeated sigh, already beating himself up mentally for not noticing soon enough the state you’ve been sat in. “pull into it.”

if joel had a nickel for every time he’s seen you in this position, he’d have two nickels.

your chest heaving with every breath, your back pressed to his front, your closed legs stood between his own. flashbacks to the kitchen, all you’re missing is a knife in your hand and a counter-top for him to box you in against.

he’d believe the idea of popping the car’s hood and teaching you a little about the interior of a vehicle was a good one, a smart one, a chance to gain some knowledge that may prove itself useful. the plan was to show you where things sat- the engine, the dip-stick for the oil, the battery- and hope the momentary distraction would be enough to unravel your nerves, leaving you primed and prepped to drive you both back to the home joel would never share with you.

as marvellously innocent and simple as his plan was, he’d failed to take into account one important detail: you’re your own person, capable of things he’d never think to predict. so, when you’d stepped out the now parked truck a few minutes after him, sweater left behind and nothing but some flimsy, practically see-through white tank top, he’d just about felt all the blood drain from his face- and head straight to his crotch- while his eyes done little to hide the glaringly obvious staring at your breasts they indulged in, the blush of colour from pebbled nipples beneath the fabric enough to have him salivating at the thought of putting his mouth on them. “i’m not staining my favourite sweater with oil”, that had been your excuse for torturing him so cruelly.

he’s no better than the old perverts who used to drool over a woman jogging down the street.

“ok, so, this,” you shuffle forwards, feet crunching down on some crumbling gravel below. before joel can let relief flood over his senses at having just that slightest bit of distance between you both, you bend at the hip and lean across the vehicle, hands grabbing at a familiar yellow stick. “is the dip-stick?”

hearing your voice but rendered incapable of listening, he’s frozen. the fingers at his side ball into fists as that familiar beast seduces itself over his senses, flashing images in his mind of all the places he’s yet to place his hands. your neck, your waist, your thighs, the wanton desire to map out your every trace and burn it into his memory is endless, all-consuming.

your voice calls out his name.

he hums, you repeat your question, to which he huffs out an agreement, tongue too heavy to form words.

“then this,” you stretch further, fingertips reaching for the top right corner. not quite reaching your desired object, you shuffle two steps back and send him into turmoil as your ass presses tightly into his crotch. like a wounded animal, he sucks air in through his teeth and clamps his hands down on your hips. initially he means to move you but, inevitably, he holds you against him. “must be the battery.”

the jeans he wears seem to have grown a little tighter. uncomfortably so. still, he can’t bring himself to care, nor to readjust them, grip only clamping itself down tighter on you at the sheer threat of removing them.

he’d thought back to that night, more times that he cares to admit to himself. at first, it was a means to an end, a memory of lustful images to drive him towards some quick pleasure and relieve the pressure of stress off his shoulders, giving him the chance to actually get some sleep. your taste on his tongue, your hands in his hair, the weight of your body keening back into him. he felt it for days. weeks, even, ghosts that haunted his skin.

then came the guilt, seeping in like rain through the crack in tess’ and his ceiling.

he had no right to touching you the way he had. here you are, a glimmer of light that brings warmth into the coldest of place, while there he is, a thunderstorm of emotions all wrapped up in the darkness of rain clouds, threatening to stain and dampen everything he puts his care into. his daughter, dead. his brother, gone. and, hell, even tess has nearly slipped through his weak hold countless times. so, how dare he subject you to the danger of his caress, mark you with the touch of death his heart seems to bring?

hours of tossing and turning, unwrapping himself from tess’ arms as he’d crawl out of bed in the middle of the night to go wear his footprints into the floorboards of their living room, pacing back and forth as withered hands ran through greying hair, searching for some solution to this... this swelling in his heart, ache in his bones, longing in his loins at the memory of you.

bill had asked him once, years ago, what his greatest weakness was. he’d been wise enough to gruff out a harsh nothin’.

his answer has changed, since then.

you reach into the darkness of his spiralling mind and drag him back with three words. “texas, you good?”

he doesn’t quite give you an answer. not a vocal one, at least, settling for giving each of your hips a squeeze when words fail him. he’s gazing in admiration and wonder, eyes trailing themselves over the way you’re struggling to stretch further, the tips of your fingers fighting to reach the object you’d been trying to identify. one moment, you’re huffing over the fight to touch the car’s battery, and the next, you’re sending two tidal waves down joel’s spine: panic and arousal.

maybe, you don’t mean to do it. it could be purely accidental, an action you don’t even take a second to consider after years of living solely in the presence of two men who bare no interest in bending you over any surface. but, you do it.

you whine.

it’s born from pain, your entire frame shooting upright while clutching your hand close to your chest. joel knows that alone should be enough to vanish any explicit thoughts from his mind. the hunger only grows though, his insides twisting up at the notion of you being hurt, needing comfort. a kiss to a bleeding wound, he’d deliver it no questions asked.

his hands are still around your waist. your bodies are still pressed together. he feels every shaky inhale, every heaved exhale. it’s a struggle to pry your injured hand away from the safety of your chest, pulling backwards till your elbow juts outwards and your open palm sits level with his mouth.

it’s your pointer finger, a dark, angry looking mark running halfway down your fingerprints.

“‘s the matter with ya,” worry has always been something joel expresses loudly. raised voices, frantic movements, heavy steps. his brother had called him out on it, the morning after his parental care led to a heated argument and the slamming of doors, from both the pre-teen and the adult in the miller household. it’s a flaw that’s only worsened, with time and circumstance, and it keeps him from saying what he really means. are you okay? “you some kind of idiot or somethin’?” i can’t stand to see you hurt.

“i didn’t think-”

“clearly fuckin’ not!” be more careful. “touchin’ the damn battery like the car ain’t just been stopped!” please.

he’s better with actions, gentle in the physical even as he berates you verbally. he pulls in air through his nostrils before blowing it out through his puckered lips, directly onto the mild burn imprinting itself on your delicate skin. you hiss as his cooling breath makes initial contact and your hand jerks back, fighting to stray away from him. joel fixes his grip, making sure you don’t get too far before he blows a second breath.

“i’m fine,” you’re an awful liar, the grimace on your lips doing nothing to reassure him. at least you’re smart enough to not waste any more energy on fighting against him, slumping forward to rest your hand on the truck’s open hood. “didn’t even hurt that much. i just wasn’t expecting it to be hot.”

with no acknowledgement thrown your way, he huffs out another couple of breaths, mind already running off in thoughts of what comes next. a superficial burn, it should heal in a matter of days. if you’re lucky, the injured skin will merely peal away to reveal a fresh layer. if you’re unlucky, a blister will swell in it’s place.

joel only aims to ensure your luck.

bowing his head and leaning down, he captures your finger between his lips. your breaths catches in your throat as this new angle, new proximity to your face allows his eyes to take in the way your own seem to roll back, lips parted with something unsaid. he drags the tip of his tongue over your wound, which pulses and burns hot beneath his muscle. his tongue flicks back over only for him to lick at the burn once more, this time with a flattened tongue, smothering it in his saliva.

the suckle his lips give is purely selfish.

“that kinda-” a fluttery sort of noise leaves you, a pleasant little thing that seems unable to decide if it wants to be a giggle or a moan. it settles for something in between, unknowingly spurring joel on to suck around your digit again. “it kinda tickles.”

the hand he holds against your hip travels north, halting abruptly as the top of his thumb reaches the swell of your breast. being so affected by a braless chest is something joel thought he’d left behind in teenage-hood. the way his cock twitches in his pants at the knowledge that yours sit bare beneath the thin cotton camisole gives him deja-vu.

in a rushed- and entirely unthought over decision- joel switches the direction of his trail of fingerprints to move south, slipping down past where cotton sits tucked beneath silk. the skirt is soft and inviting. all his sick mind can do is picture you lain across a bed with silk sheets, your naked curves, and pert nipples, and dribbling cunt a whole different kind of soft and inviting.

skin meets skin when he arrives at the top of the skirt’s slit. he wastes no time, fingers dragging themselves under the material to feel the recently discovered terrain of your full thighs. with supple skin, warm and pliable beneath his hold, he indulges himself in letting his grip dig in and squeeze the meaty flesh.

all the while, his tongue licks over your burn.

“otis does that too,” you’re struggling to keep your grip on the car, a delightful realisation for joel. you’d played the innocent for far too long last time, hardly exposing your desires till push came to shove and your knife went clattering out your hand. now you force yourself deeper into his touch, your finger applying pressure to his tongue as it pushes down on the muscle and tickles his tastebuds with the bite of your painted nail. the quiet voice of his subconscious wants you to push deeper, till your digit hits the back of his throat, his eyes sting with tears and he’s gagging around you. “tries to lick wounds better-”

the sight of you shutting up, lips parted in some unheard noise as his hand cups the entirety of your clothed pussy, sends a wave of heat to joel’s already burning loins.

the furnace of your two intertwined bodies shields you both to the slowly dropping temperatures, with no time to spare and no care to give to the grey skies that roll in while he rolls your concealed clit beneath two fingers, pinching once or twice, possibly thrice, in hopes of pushing his emotional aches onto you physically.

fighting against the tight squeeze of your underwear’s band around his wrist, two fingers, a pointer and a middle, smooth their way past your pubic bone, over your aching mound and dip down to swipe over your slit. a soaked mess, a warm and sticky coating, welcomes them as joel strokes the outer surface of your cunt in a lax manner, taking his time to admire how soft your lips feel, how warm your skin burns, how hard your entrance throbs, all the while he’s coating your cunt it’s own liquid pleasure. his mouth drops your hand, the grip his own has on it tightening once more. though, this time, it’s not from the need to keep you in place but from a primal, possessive desire that seduces his rationality. “quit comparin’ me to your fuckin’ dog.”

the hand down your pants has a mind of its own, trading the teasing strokes up the length of your seam for the tight squeeze of your walls around his fingers as they penetrate you- two at the same time, no consideration for the discomfort the sudden sting of breaching your entrance brings.

you seem to like the pain, enough to let go of the vehicle and melt back into joel. your head meets his shoulder as your eyes roll back and your mouth falls slack, legs writhing to fight for more friction. he remains frozen, face a stoic slab void of expression if not for the crease in his brow where his eyebrows have furrowed. the fingers in your cunt curl, slightly, testing your patience with the way they press into the spongy tissue.

“joe- ah...” you fail to say his name, your two lips barely getting the chance to touch as he curls his finger a second time. this time harder, with more certainty in the way he’s touching you. “move, please.”

your lips, parted in gasps and cries that threaten to cut his fun short with the way they likely have his cock staining his briefs in precum, become public enemy number one as he decides they need to be shut, silenced, occupied so that he can hold off blowing his load again before he’s even had the chance to feel you clench around his cock.

with your finger still drenched in his spit, a fat bead of it dripping down the back of your hand, he shoves it into your own mouth, disgustingly intrigued with the way you welcome it so eagerly and drink down the taste of his saliva.

now you’re silenced, joel gives an experimental thrust of his hand, dragging both his fingers out till only the tips tease at your entrance before slamming them back in. the moan you let out is muffled, a sound that titillates him yet no longer threatens his sanity. you find another way to ruin him, however, body jolting and ass rolling back into his form when he starts to set a steady pace to leisurely fuck his fingers into your cunt.

“tried to be fuckin’ good. kept my hands to myself, didn’t- fuck!” he must reach something inside of you, knuckles deep and slick spilling down his hand, that has you mewling, eyes no longer shut as you crane your neck to stare up at him and your hips roll backwards, momentarily smothering his clothed cock between the swell of your silk covered cheeks. “didn’t bring up anythin’ ‘bout the last time i saw ya. but you just ‘ad to go and ruin it now, didn’t ya?”

“leasehmm,” you hum the incoherent babble around your own finger and joel can’t stop himself from forcing it further into your mouth, laser stare sharp enough to burn holes into your throat as he watches you gag.

“c’mon, you can do it,” you’ve got him trapped between your legs, both your thighs and the walls of your cunt clenching his hand in a vice grip as he continues his ministrations, satiating the taste for warm flesh he’s been craving since he slammed the door to the kitchen and tried to fool himself into thinking he could simply make his way back to tess in her drunken state, crash down to sleep on the couch and wake up the next day as if everything that had transpired in the moonlight was just another one of his perverted fantasies. awakening with the taste of you still on his tongue threw all hope out the window. “use your words, pretty girl.”

with an awkward bend, the pad of his thumb brushes over your neglected clit in a gentle circling motion, coaxing you further and further to that ledge of ecstasy he aims to throw you off, plunge you into the heavens of a blinding orgasm. crooking his fingers and grinding his cock into the base of your spine become practiced movements, a kind of push and pull dance his body plays with yours, guiding you both to the beats of your erratic hearts.

“mmmoel,” bless you, really, for trying so hard to speak while chocking on yourself, yet making no attempt to shove his hand away. your well-mannered nature has never made him so hard- and, trust that it has done so plenty of times- as you melt yourself into a writhing mess in his arms, blown out pupils and spit dribbling out the corner of your mouth all the while you do as he bids. “mmhop.”

“‘s the matter, sweet girl? hmm?” you’re close, he knows it. feels it, when your free hand shoots down to grip his wrist through the soft skirt, nails biting flesh even through the layer of silk. he half wonders if this is it, this is where you’re going to rip him off you and slap him in the face with the harsh truth: you’re too good to be touched by the likes of him. only, you simply clutch onto him and let him continue to play you like he’d once played a guitar, fingers plucking at the right strings and pressing on the right cords to make you sing a melody so sweet even the angels themselves would cry at its sound. “cat got your tongue? feels good, i know. ‘s okay, you can let go f’me, not gonna hold it against ya. just gonna hold ya through it, yeah? keep ya real safe in my arms while this pretty little pussy of yours takes what she needs, m’kay?”

the longer you take to tell him to stop, the more debauched the images of you in his mind become. once wishes of butterfly kisses and sweet surrenders beneath his naked embrace, now desires to have you on your knees crying, begging, praying for him to smother you with his sins.

with another thrust, he fucks a third finger into your cunt, stretching you even wider and trying his damn best to ignore the fact you’re still so tight despite the thickness of his fingers. that’ll only lead to his thoughts derailing to how much tighter you’d feel clamped around the girth of his cock.

he’d been modest, back in his younger years, shrugging off the cries of past lovers regarding his well endowed state as nothing more than flirtatious fiction, the kind of thing women would tell their man to make him feel special. only a few years ago he’d started to second guess his assumptions as he began to chase his highs with faceless bodies and all kinds of holes- mouth, cunt and ass.

most of the time his concubines get no chance to truly see his cock, too busy having their face shoved down into gravel, or into some brick wall in a sketchy alleyway, or, simply, the darkness that consumed the walls of the cubicle which kept them from seeing just who exactly they were fucking would also take away their chance to know what they were getting themselves into, what was about to get in to them.

their first reactions always seem to be a crying sort of sound, a sick pleasure washing over him and having his balls tightening. then comes the complaining of too much, too fast, too good, their bodies at odds with themselves and unable to decide if being impaled by him is their worst nightmare or their sweetest dream.

before they can ever decide, he’s ripping away from them and fucking himself to completion with his own hand. a mumbled thanks and- if it was one of those kind of deals- a drop of a med kit or some food rations to their feet, joel would be tucked back into his worn jeans and out of their sight before they’re able to catch their breaths and realise he’d left them there, stretched open and fucked out with no orgasm to show for it.

with you, he’d be different though.

there’s no need for his own pleasure if it came down to choosing between it and your own. the sheer thought of nuzzling his mouth between your thighs and lapping at every inch of your pussy, till his muscle aches and his jaw locks, is enough to have him on the precipice of cumming untouched. so, to think of a scenario where he slips his cock inside your velvet walls and doesn’t leave you a spasming mess after several earth shattering orgasms, over and over till a ring of your mixed juices decorates the base of him and you’ve milked him dry, that feels impossible.

“wait, joel, ah! please, please,” your head thrashes to the side, ripping away from your burned finger. you’re trembling, feet pushing up onto their tippy-toes as he fucks higher and higher into you. the hand around your wrists finds a new home curled around your jaw and his thumb begins it’s torturous circling of your clit once more, pushing and guiding and bullying your aching cunt towards an orgasm that’s sure to leave you breathless and- “stop!”

this time, it’s joel who’s recoiling his scorned hands.

pants fill the air, a desperate fight for oxygen as you stand before him, legs shaky and perked nipples chafing against the see-through fabric of your camisole. thunder cracks above, a deep and trembling noises that joel can’t help but feel fits the ambience, turmoil in both the sky and his heart.

he knows its for the best, to have you put your foot down and put an end to this ridiculous pursuit of lust joel’s imposing on you. not only have you made it clear you do not like him, but you’re younger, full of life, heart too mellow for a soul as dark as his. still, disappointment floods his bones.

both hands back at his side, he clenches them. wrong move, only serving to remind him one of his hands is smothered in your wetness, a schlick squelch bouncing up to his eardrums. you’ve turned to look at him, at some point. he notices the slight swell of your lips and the blown-out pupils, try though he might to ignore it.

staring right at him, you seem to be almost waiting on a reaction.

“‘s gettin’ dark, should prolly think of headin’ back,” joel won’t give you the satisfaction of hearing him beg, not when he knows it’ll get him nowhere. the hood, that’s what he should be focusing on. he shoots a hand up and slams the hood shut, fighting the urge to let his stare linger on the stain his pleasure soaked fingers leave behind on the blue painted metal. “bill and frank’ll be wonder-”

you call his name.

he can’t look at you, fingers fidgeting with some scab on his hand.

you try again. louder.

a sigh of resignation. he turns to face you, leaning back against the truck. the quirk of his brow enough to encourage you to get on with it, say what you need to say. paint him in shame, call him some names and then let you both be on your way.

you seem to take it as an invitation to approach. one step, then two more when he fails to back away. with a final step, you’re stood right before him, forcing yourself between the space of his parted legs. he’s never had you this close before, at least not with you facing him, and it’s almost too much. the familiar anxious pit in his loins creeps back, leaving him all too aware of the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins.

you smell... christmassy. burnt wood, dusted cinnamon, mulled wine. warm.

he can’t remember the last time he even thought of christmas.

he jolts at the feeling of your hands on his thighs, the coldness of them burning through the rough material of his pants. he’s not sure when it happened but he somehow finds himself sitting on the truck’s hood, hands splayed out on either side of him and knees bent over the edge as he parts way for you between them.

your hands smooth up the muscles of his thighs, up and down in repeated motions. soothing, calming. his heart beats a little slower with each movement.

only to jackhammer against his ribcage as your touch begins to move higher.

“i didn’t mean stop as in, stop touching me,” you breathe out the words like they’re the most delicate of secrets, only for his ears and your own to know. fingers threading through belt loops. a pull or two. he’s vaguely aware of the sound of metal clinking as you release him from the strain of it’s buckle, and the biting sound of teeth unzipping. “just... just wanna see you... feel you this time, when i... if that’s okay with you.”

he’s nodding his head before you can even finish your words, nearly crumbling as your fingers brush against his bulge. “‘smore than fine by me. shit, that’s... yeah.”

a pathetic man, that’s what he’s become, a meek shadow to the man who moments ago had you on the precipice of cumming around his fingers while you babbled incoherently. you seem to have turned the tide, whether you’re aware of it or not, hand sinking beneath the withered band of his boxers.

you don’t give him the relief he wants- needs- instantly. instead, you tease, fingertips dancing down the underside of his shaft and following the trail of a vein he doubts you’re even aware of. sliding back up to his tip, you revel in the weakness he displays as you brush over heightened nerves, sensitive to your touch and stained in earlier excitement.

“you’re warm,” is not exactly what he’d expected you to say, if he’s honest. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it, mind firing into overdrive as you fully wrap yourself around his cock. ignoring the chafing, you work your hand over him, grow familiar with the length of him, tip to base. “big.”

with your free hand, you do your best to peel back the layers of fabric till nothing stands in your path of gazing at his cock, heavy in your palm and red at the tip.

“yeah? ‘s bigger than you’re used to, ain’t it?” joel coos, you nod, tongue darting out to wet your lips as your eyes meet his. wide, glossy, intrigued, a mirror of the scared look you’ve worn when you’d stalled the car.

joel groans at the memory, the way he’d taken care of you, coaxed you back to a rational state of mind.

he wants more of that, more chances to protect you.

even if it’s against your own mind.

“‘s okay, sol, you’ll learn to take it,” you keen at his words, sinking closer to him, shoes scratching on the gravel beneath you. you squeeze your hand around him and he chokes on an inhale. “gonna teach ya to take it like a champ.”

he reaches behind him, tugging the gun out the back of his trousers. he was stupid to place it there in the first place, a rushed action he’d made when stepping out the vehicle. he hadn’t wanted you to see the weapon, to be reminded that the world outside bill and frank- the world joel resides in- is not safe, not from infected and certainly not from people.

before he can put it to rest on the hood, you snatch it out his hand.

you’re inspecting it like it’s the first you’ve ever seen, yet the way you perfectly wrap your hand around it and point past his shoulders tells him otherwise. there’s familiarity in your stance, like you’d once lived under rules where bill didn’t prohibit you from touching a firearm. it has him wondering, longing to know who you were before. where you’d come from, how you’d met the two men you share a roof with.

you play with the safety, snapping his attention right back to the present.

the sight of the gun in your hand fills him dread. and misery. and a sense of nausea. you’re far from weak, no matter how much he’d like you to be, but there’s just something fundamentally wrong with the image of you holding such a destructive weapon.

you should be holding otis’ lead. or a canvas depicting frank’s recent masterpiece. or the end of some wine bottle bill’s struggling to open.

or joel’s hand.

instead of speaking his mind, he pries it from you with a huff- from both of you- and lays it to rest somewhere towards his right, out of sight and out of mind. “‘s not some toy for a girl like you to be messin’ about with.”

“neither are you,” you make a point to rack your pretty nails over the untamed curls of his pubic hair, the occasional flash of silver a reminder of his aging state. you don’t seem to notice, or care, too busy bringing the attention back to his leaking tip.

a sound adjacent to a growl escapes him, feral and domineering. shame exists within him, for a moment, witnessing himself be at such a loss of control. when his hands find purchase on your waist, the feeling dissipates and what takes it’s place is pure adulterated need, throbbing in his very core.

he tugs you forward, closer, catching the way you’re struggling to reach him, hand gripping his thigh for support.

“y’gonna hurry on up ‘ere,” impatience punctuates the soul, driving him off the cliff of sanity and plunging head first into the rocky territories below. “or d’ya need me to do all the work? lay ya down, nice and pretty on the hood so i can fuck you?”

you deny his offer with actions, clambering your way into his lap, legs splayed out either side of his thighs. the skirt bunches awkwardly between you both and steals his view as you rest down against his stiffness and smother it in the warmth of your clothed cunt.

there’s dampness on your panties, teasing him as you give an experimental roll along his cock, holding it tight between both your bodies.

“shit, joel,” a hiss through your clenched teeth and your face twisting up in something- pain? arousal? both? he can’t quite pinpoint it. your hips roll again, this time reaching higher, teasing him with a visual of what’s to come. “feel so thick, don’t know how i’m gonna-”

“didn’t i already tell ya-” he grabs at your skirt, irritation clear in the way he rips it up the length of your legs, exposing your skin inch by inch. “you’re gonna learn to take it?”

your hand dives under the fabric before his can, fingers curling around his cock once again and giving him a salacious stroke, taking your time gliding over the smooth skin and sensitive head. “mhmm. you gonna teach me?”

he nods, affirmative.

the next few minutes are nothing but messy grinding. like a pair of hormone-crazed teens, you explore the joys of rubbing up on each other. two pieces of wet wood searching for that spark in between. you make the most effort, working the muscles in your thighs to slide up the length of him and to grind back down, the wet patch in your panties growing with each stroke. joel sits back, allows himself the rare luxury of being taking care of. the last time he had a pretty girl in his lap, she had solace in her eyes and a couple twenties stuffed down her sparkly bra.

“what d’ya bring me ‘ere for,” he’d berated his younger brother after, his anger seemingly coming across as unserious to a giggling tommy, “was fuckin’ depressin’. kept lookin’ at those girls and thinkin’ bout if their poor dads knew what they were up to.”

he can’t help but wonder if bill and frank know what you’re up to.

“hey, hey, wait,” the words tumble out of him erratically as he catches up to your actions, the hand around his cock suddenly holding it still as you raise your hips. his hands pull and grab at the fabric of your skirt, a frustrated grunt slipping out of him as he hoists it up past your waist. this time, you’re covered by a shade of baby blue cotton instead of lace, less sultry yet far more appealing in his eyes. comfortable, that’s what they look like, the kind of pair he’d find you wearing stood in a kitchen in the early hours of the morning, one of his wrinkled old t-shirts the only thing keeping your frame concealed. joel’d always had a good imagination, and it serves him well, decorating his mind with several images of a domestic bliss he’d never get to share with you. “lemme see.”

you’re a smart girl, it’s one of your best qualities, and so you need no further instructions to understand what joel’s asking for.

he watches like a hawk as your fingers tug your panties to one side, a pretty window of slick covered skin that has him involuntarily jutting his hips up off the truck, his head slipping up your seam and pressing into your clit, an action that sparks the reaction of your own hips grinding down. you recover quick, hand back on the task of gripping his base and holding him, while your over reaches back to grip his knee, giving you a grip to steady yourself on as you straighten your thighs.

“this what you want,” your voice calls through the lustful haze in his mind as he takes in the sight of you sinking down onto him, the head of his cock fitting snuggly between your velvet walls. it’s almost enough to make him cum on sight. “to watch? me sitting on your dick?”

joel wonders if you’re trying to shame his desires. ultimately, he’s too lost in the way you cling around him to really care. if anything, he almost wants you to be disgusted by him, making the act of devouring your pleasure that much more sinful.

hands grip at your hips, with moon-shape indents forming around where his nails dig into your flesh. patience is a virtue he scarcely possess but he forces it on himself, fighting back the need to slam you right down on him and carve a home out for his hot cum inside your empty womb. he can’t allow himself the fast-paced indulgence he’s used to, not when he sees the deep breaths you need to take or the pained wrinkle in your brow with each inch you sink deeper and deeper down on him with.

he let’s you take your time, eyes starring with a crazed expression at the point your bodies meet. once he’s fully nestled inside the warmth of your cunt, your forehead rests against his own and he’s forced to look into your eyes and once again notice the way your pupils sit dilated in lust.

it’s a sight he’d like to get used to.

“kinda regretting this,” dread plummets through his heart and a ball forms in his throat. your walls hold him in a vice grip that seems to contradict your statement, until you clarify. “thinking i could take it like this. i’ve never, you know, in this position before-”

“you’re doin’ great,” joel’s own voice sounds pained, straining beneath the buzzing energy that’s begging him to relinquish control to his lust. it would be so easy, effortless even, to grip your hips and fuck you down onto him like you’re nothing if not a hole to get himself off in. unfortunately, his heart stands in the way. “shit, fuckin’ better than great.”

neither of you keep time of how long you sit like that, pelvis to pelvis, his cock buried into the hilt and a puddle of your wetness collecting along his pubic bone, the bristle hairs providing a rough friction for your clit.

eventually, initiative is taken, and you work up the nerve to roll your hips.

the view he’d been enjoying is stolen as your skirt slips back down to pool around you both, his hands too occupied gripping at your waist as your own find home on his sturdy shoulders.

another roll of of your body, slow and steady, lighting every nerve in his cock on fire with the sweet burn of your cunt fighting to keep him inside, refusing to let him slip too far out before you’re filling yourself back up again. your lips fall open in a pathetic moan, the sweet smell of your breath hitting his nostrils as you sit forehead to forehead.

and joel wonders if there’ll ever be a part of you he’s not enamoured by.

your confidence grows as you begin to set a pace, bouncing yourself up and down in his lap as joel grips here, there and everywhere on your body. a pinch to your hardened nipples, a trace of your hidden thighs, a cradling of your face. there’s not an inch of you he wants to neglect, staining his fingerprints all over you with every frantic touch.

this is nothing like the back-alley exchanges of body heat he’s grown accustomed to, this is nothing rushed and everything felt. it’s a carnal hunger for the feel of flesh and the taste of sweat. it’s feral, and lustful, and downright intoxicating. it’s the need to get his fill of you over, and over, and over again, till the fountain of your velvet warmth overflows with his seed and has nowhere else to run but down the length of your full thighs and dripping onto his emptied balls below.

“joel, please,” he decides he likes you much better like this, your whole body gripping itself around him-arms, legs, soaked cunt- in search of a sweet salvation only he can bring as your usual bright smile and quick tongue become reduced to nothing but whimpered breaths and desperate prayers. “i’m- god, i can’t-”

your thighs tremble as he tightens his hold, keeping you steady when the exhaustion of exhilarating yourself on top of him begins to take a hold of you. the need to take over becomes primal, blunt nails tearing into the meat of your thighs and bouncing you down on him with an effortless look he hopes will fool you out of noticing he’s seconds away from blowing his load prematurely, mind and body too close to the edge of nirvana from simply having the weight of you on him.

he just needs to get you there first.

“hate this fucking skirt,” the grumble was meant to be a thought he keeps to himself, but the giggle it rouses out of you makes it worth the slip-up, your own hands delivering the mercy of helping him drag the length of it farther up, marking a clear path for his own to sneak under and find your pulsing clit. “don’t wear it again.”

a few tight circles with just the right amount of pressure has you melting deeper into him, your arms curling around him as your head lays itself to rest upon his shoulder. your every breath delivers a brush of heat against his already burning skin and he wishes there were no plaid shirts nor camisoles resting between your heartbeats. 

“but it’s so,” he must have struck gold, found some hidden gem in the combination of the pressure of his fingers on your clit and the rhythm at which he’s fucking you down onto his cock, for you clamp down on him so tightly he worries you may cut off his circulation. “soft and, oh, yes! and it- it fits me so perfectly-”

“not sure if you’re talkin’ bout your skirt or your pussy,” he grunts out, a teasing smirk on his mouth that dies the instance his lips press to your neck, nose chasing the scent of your lingering shampoo.

“you’re so-” he’s so, what? you don’t get to finish, hand fisting into his hair and moans falling from your lips like autumn leaves. 

“tsk, look at ya,” he certainly is, and loving every inch of you he sees, hips rolling down with the guidance of his hands, head tucked safely away from the world in the crook of his neck, hands gripping any part of him they seem to reach. if art is subjective, then you’re the damned mona lisa, the starry night, the birth of venus. “can’t even fuckin’ speak properly, mouth’s good for nothin’ when you’re full of cock.”

you nod into him, hips moving faster, nails digging deeper, moans getting louder. he’s got you so close, a few more thrusts till he’s sure to have you flying off the handles and cumming around him.

you whine his name.

he meets the roll of your hips with the raising of his own.

a pull of hair, a bite of skin, and then you’re-

“oh shit, ain’t this a pretty sight.”

joel’s blood runs cold.

you’re frozen against him.

just past your shoulder, directly in joel’s eye-line, by the gas station’s entry stands a man. he’s younger than joel, maybe even younger than you. his clothes are stained in all sorts- sweat, dried blood, mud- and are tattered, as if he’s been wearing the same thing everyday. the strap of a backpack sits over one shoulder and he seems to be carrying no weapons but the hunting knife in his belt.

the intruder- if he can even be called that out in the openness of the world- takes a couple steps closer but they’re not full of confidence. if anything, his frame seems just as shaken as you both, fingers fidgeting with the adjustable cord of the bag’s strap.

“please, don’t stop on my account,” he seems to be trying to play it cool, but fails to let out the light-hearted chuckle he intends to, a noise more similar to a choke taking its place. “heck, give me a little performance even”

joel’s not sure what’s gotten into him- if it’s the fact he’d been moments away from making you cum, or the dropping temperatures that have you sinking deeper into his warm body, or the sheer desire to possess you so intimately under someone else’s knowledge- but he finds himself rutting up into you again.

you don’t join in, limbs still locked in shocked, yet a moan is breathed into his neck.

“shit, man,” the stranger sounds amazed, as if not even he thought joel would gift him such a sight. his hands find something new to fidget with, struggling to undo the buckle of his tattered leather belt. “pull up her skirt, lemme see how she’s taking you.”

he obliges and bunches the fabric up in his hands, exposing the sight that lays beneath. it’s not the explicit sight the man must be hoping for, the snug fit of his cock inside your cunt mostly concealed by your pushed-aside panties.

unable to stop himself, joel wonders if this man would prefer you in something more scandalous than the blue cotton that he so deeply adores.

“sorry- fuck! just, it’s just been a while,” the buckle comes undone at last, a button and a zipper follow. one hand dips beneath the waist band of the man’s boxers. “swear i’m not trynna be a creep, or nuffin’. can you... could you squeeze her ass? wanna see how much of a hand full she is.”

this time around, you let out a sound that’s less pleasant to joel’s ears, a far cry from pleasured as he so greedily cups a handful of your ass. the realisation that, though your body may contradict you with the canting of your hips into his or the continued arousal you drip between your pelvises, you’re not enjoying this, hits him like a truck.

you’re not moaning in pleasure, you’re whimpering in fear. you’re not shaking because you’re cold, you’re shaking because you’re scared. this man is scaring you.

joel is letting him scare you.

“swear i’ll just- a few minutes and i’ll be out your hair, ok?” the man’s fumbling, bag dropping off his shoulder down onto the floor as he works over his cock. joel wonders if it’s uncomfortable, stroking himself without the help of spit to ease the slide, and scoots his hand over to his right, fingers slipping over the hood in search. “just really need this, man, you’ve no idea how it gets out here on your own-”

nothing usually crosses joel’s mind when he pulls a trigger.

becoming numb to it, blanking one’s mind, treating it as normal. it’s the only way to come out the other side of it without it weighing on your conscious. it was built over time, the first few months a struggle to even touch a gun after what happened on outbreak day. shooting humans had always been the easy part, reminding himself there’s an evil in them he doesn’t need to meet to know it exists. the infected, he’d struggled, compassion sinking deep into the pit of his stomach as he’d glance at their once-alive eyes, now nothing but a breeding ground for some mushroom.

the shot rings out, moments after the bullet hits its target and, this time, you cross his mind.

defenceless, shaking, clinging onto him. it’s shameful to admit that it turns him on, has his balls throbbing with unloaded cum, to protect you. to play the role of saviour, supporter, guardian to the fearful girl in his lap.

he doesn’t even care enough to spare the dead man a look, eyes back on you.

you’re already staring right back at him, shock written all over your face. “you... you killed him.”

“he was holdin’ a gun, sol,” he’s not sure if it makes you feel any better. you do, however, seem to shuffle closer to him, chest to chest as you take in what he’s telling you. “was gonna fire a few rounds into me and then where would that leave ya, huh? free for the taken.”

thunder roars above your heads.

your brows furrow, conflictive expressions taking over you while you assess what’s just happened. he tries not to think too much about the fact his cock is still very much nestled inside your soaked pussy, throbbing with the impending release life keeps stealing away from you both.

“you killed him.” you repeat, more sure in your words this time.

“i did.”

lightning lights up the darkening sky.

“i should be scared of you.”

“you should.”

one last rumble from the storm clouds.

“but i’m not.”

the heavens above seem to open as cold, thick drops of water fall from the sky, quickly soaking everything they meet. the gravel, his shirt, your hair. the rain seems to have no boundaries, slipping between you both and filling the little gaps it manages to find.

neither of you move from where you’re seated, letting the cold overtake your bodies. you both use it as an excuse to move closer, arms tangling around one another as you stare each other down with judgement, assessing what either will do next.

you call the shots, experimentally rolling your hips, testing the waters to see where he’s at.

joel meets you just where you want him to, touches more frantic than before and far more sloppy, neither of you conscious of the goosebumps that line your skins as you indulge in one another’s bodies, fucking beneath the pouring rain like some silly scene out of a romance film.

“i was protectin’ you,” he breathes onto your neck, mouthing at your flesh and enjoying the thudding of your pulse beneath his tongue. “keepin’ you safe, sol. ‘s what i do, what i’ll always do.”

it’s unclear if the words are meant to assure you or himself.

it doesn’t take long till you’re both back at the edge of glorious relief, the unmet orgasms from earlier rearing their heads all at once and flooding over both of you. one of his hands snakes it’s way under your skirt to rub at your clit, while one of your own threads itself in his hair and tugs sharply, till he feels a sting in his scalp.

what a sight it is to behold as you cum, eyes rolled back, lips parted in a mute scream, soaked hair sticking to your forehead and every other place it touches. joel wants to see you through to the very end, hold you while you shake and break completely on his cock, but the warmth that creeps up his loins takes that priviledge away.

only as the first spurt of thick cum shoots out of him does joel manage to rip you off him, jostling you further up his lap and providing him with the friction of your ass cheeks to sooth over his spasming member as he paints your lower back and inner skirt in his pleasure.

he watches you falling apart in the heat of your orgasm and his bones ache a little less, his soul feels a little lighter, his heart seems to beat a little better.

joel never manages to put his thoughts into words quite properly.

“you’re not,” he breaths out, shaky. you’re still rutting against his limp cock, soaking him with your slick and whimpering into his shoulder as his head bumps against your aching clit, the come down from your orgasm hitting you harder than his. he’s vaguely aware of how tightly he’s gripping you, arms holding you flush, anchoring you down against him as the rain continues to pour. “you’re not real.”

you’re mumbling something but it falls on deaf ears as joel fails to reel his thoughts in, eyes skittish as they jump from watching water crash against the windows of the deserted gas station to the limp body of the stranger, cock still in his hand and a bullet straight through his forehead, a sick red washing away along the gravel.

“...here. i’m real, joel,” a kiss pressed to his forehead. you’re gentle with him, whispering into his good ear and he wonders if you know he can hear you better on this side, he’d never mentioned it. a hand coaxes his own off your waist and guides it upwards, pressing against the left side of your chest. rapid thumps. you mimic the movement, hand pressing against his own heart as you rest your forehead against his. “i’m here. we’re both here.”

joel drives back.

there’s no prior discussion where you agree on this. he simply cleans you both up- to the best of his abilities-, sits you down in the passengers seat and walks his way round to the driver’s side. it’s silent, and this time it’s the uncomfortable kind. the kind that wrestles with his mind and puts discomfort in his heart. there’s something unspoken between you both and he does not know how to begin to talk about it, not without the risk of messing it all up.

you don’t protest this time around when he turns on one of bill’s old cd’s, and, so, billy joel sings you all the way home.

at some point, he convinces himself you’ve fallen prey to sleep, eyes closed and head slumped to the side, searching for the safety of something to rest itself on. slowing to a stop, he takes his time undoing your seatbelt and maneuvering your lax limbs till your head meets his shoulder. the drive onwards is slower, more careful as he drives over any bump in the road and each turning he takes less sharp.

“i owe you a thank you,” you eventually mumble, weight still leaning against him and eyes very much shut.

he nods, though you do not see it. “okay.”

it’s all he can think to say, unsure what a girl like you could ever thank him for. all he’s done since the moment he met you is dampen your shine and stain your kindness with rough hands and a rougher heart.

“for, you know, not telling tess,” your response brings more questions than answers. not telling tess what? “i just... she’d hate me, if she knew, and she’s some of the only family i have left. i couldn’t stand to lose her over a few... mistaken moments between us.”

joel wonders if he’s part of this short list of family you have.

he doubts it.

“don’t see why she’d care,” he’s choosing to ignore that word, mistaken, yet it’s not enough to stop his fingers from twisting tighter around the wheel, tension in his wounded heart.

“of course you wouldn’t,” you wrestle down a yawn and nestle your head deeper into the crook of his neck, body hunched in a position he can’t imagine to be too comfortable. he keeps this thought to himself, decidedly enjoying this false image of tender touch. you ground him, weight down on his paper-thin mind-state like a rock that promises to keep all his pages in place. “you’re careless.”

there you go again, displaying such casual cruelty.

you’re careless.

how twisted life is to give him everything he’s worked so hard to be- a man feared, untested, unmessed with- only for his every want become his waking nightmare as it sits on your own lips.

i don’t like you, joel.

“‘s that why ya don’t like me?” he can’t help himself, even if he wanted to.

“i don’t like you because you-” a pull of breath. an opening of eyes. a raise of a head. you don’t make it far before he’s raising a hand off the wheel to encourage you back down to rest upon him, half-worrying he’ll be strown apart by the next gust of wind should he lose the weight of your head on his shoulder. “i can’t tell you.”

“why not?”

“you never brought me that dress.”

there’s no answer he can give that won’t incriminate him and steer you on the clear path to see just how caring a man like him can be. every fabric he’s seen the wrong colour, the wrong length, the wrong style for you. the closest he’d gotten to finding a dress worthy enough of slipping down your skin was stripped from the corpse of a woman joel’d been tasked with disposing of. in a moment of weakness, he’d nearly taken it, till his skin began to crawl with the implications of gifting you a dead woman’s dress, the last piece of clothing she’d worn while her blood was still warm and her lungs filled with air.

you fall asleep, for real this time, not even stirring as he maneuvers himself out of his jacket and drapes it over your damp figure, body sinking deeper into his own- as deep as the console between you allows.

night has taken hold of the sky by the time he pulls into the fenced community, headlights lighting up the path back into the garage. pulling the car to a stop, joel eases your weight off him and steps out the car, mindful of how he closes the door over. he makes his way around to the passenger side and pries the door open to find you still sleeping, peaceful as can be, the dull army green of his jacket contrasting the pastel shade of your skirt.

he takes a moment, sinking to his knees, and let’s himself indulge in the image of you like this a little longer, before the watchful eyes of bill or the curious glances of tess stand between the ways joel longs to look at you. softness greets his thumb as it brushes over your cheek. you seek out his warmth, chasing it even as he moves downwards to swipe at the dribble of spit threatening to spill out your slacked lips.

if he were a better liar, perhaps he’d claim this was his way of attempting to wake you up.

“what happened?” frank is the first to greet him, eyes blown a little wider than usual as he takes in the sight of you curled against joel, one arm round your back and another under your knees keeping the weight of you off the ground. “is she okay?”

“nothin’s happened,” the man’s reactions to joel’s return to the house has brought on more pairs of eyes, tess and bill flooding out the kitchen to catch a glimpse of him in the hallway. “she’s just tired. ‘s been a long day and-”

“your clothes are wet.” bill’s eyes are glaring, tearing apart every detail they can pick up: the gentle grip he holds you with, your sweater thrown over his shoulder, the peaceful manner in which your sleeping form sinks into his warmth, the jacket that’s slowly slipping down your form to reveal bare shoulders and soaked cotton.

his tongue feels heavy, his mouth turning to sandpaper as the anxious feeling of being watched dries up his senses. hardly aware of it, he’s straightening his spine and puffing his chest, staring the older man down before flickering over to where tess stands, face much kinder looking as she watches you sleep. “you just gonna stand there, or are ya gonna show me her room ‘fore my back gives out?”

that seems to get the ball rolling, all questioning and staring left behind as frank guides him three doors down and slips the door open, stepping aside to let joel in. he doesn’t bother hitting the light, a part of him not wanting to pick up any details to linger on around your room, using what little light the moon provides to find his way over to the bed. frank’s gaze is burning a hole in joel’s back even as he drops you down onto the mattress, and it’s almost like he can hear the buzz of energy radiating from everything the man wants to ask him.

it’s not till the four of them sit the dining table and joel’s shovelling a fork-load of food into his mouth that the next question comes.

“why was her sweater dry?” it’s tess who asks, punctuating it with an obnoxious sip from her glass.

all eyes are on Joel, a spotlight she’d shun directly on him and leaving him on display. bill, in particular, seems to be clinging to his every movement, anticipating his answer with the clenching of fingers around the steak knife in his hand.

“what?” it’s all he can manage without the fear of saying too much.

“your clothes were all wet. but her sweater, on your shoulder, it was dry.”

how had tess even noticed that?

“she took it off,” it takes a couple minutes to answer, a pause he tries to play off as simply his need to chew on the food he shovels into his mouth at last. it feels heavy, slipping down his throat, like he can already anticipate it’s return to the surface alongside his bile. “said somethin’ bout not wantin’ to get oil on it when i told her i was gonna show her the different parts of the engine.”

silence.

eyes shooting back and forth.

tess looks at frank.

frank looks at bill.

bill loathes at joel.

and then, “oh.”

tess says it like it’s the start of a sentence, an audible ellipses that she’s refusing to elaborate on.

“oh.” joel parrots, hoping they’ll drop the topic and allow him to go back to the raging waters thrashing around in his thoughts.

luck is not on his side.

“that makes sense,” the woman continues, attempting to cut the tension with an airy chuckle and a shrugging of her shoulders, as if doing so will shake the tension out of everyone else’s. “was worried that poor girl was running around with her tits out in front of the likes of you.”

bill grips tighter around his cutlery, knuckles white under the dining room light.

straightening up, a momentary lapse of judgement and a foolish flash of red hot possession shoots over him, embarking him on the road to saying perhaps the dumbest thing he’s ever said.

“would that be so bad?”

a hand smacks down on the table. a chair scrapes, another following right after.

“bill,” frank’s tone is nothing if not a warning, hand on the man’s forearm as he soothes his thumb over his skin.

“it’s late,” it comes after a deep breath, the kind a shrink would teach you to use in times of stress, or fear, or anger. bill isn’t even acknowledging tess, fully focused on joel. “you should get going.”

plates half full, bellies half empty, the four of them step away from the table. tess slips on a jacket, one she’d not had prior to arriving, and passes joel a loaded bag. he figures she must have had her pick around the old clothes shop, loitering whatever was left that could either fit them or keep them warm through the remainder of the cold months.

he throws it over his shoulder without question.

the air has shifted, a tense feeling floating around the atmosphere that exists between him and bill. tess and frank are seemingly unaware of it, laughing and talking amongst themselves as the group makes their way to the front door.

joel is the last to step out and, in doing so, he pauses, glancing backwards into the open doorway. 

he calls out to tess, all three heads turn.

“need a piss.”

“take your time,” it’s the friendlier of the two men who responds, threading his arm around bill’s and dragging him along with him. it reminds him of why he likes frank more. “we’ll walk tess to the gate.”

he watches the three figures fade away into the dark of the street, carefully stepping back into the house once he feels the safety of distance. he tries to keep his footsteps light, suddenly aware of how quiet the place feels without the panting of a dog or the rustling of someone in the kitchen. he counts the doors as he goes- one, two, three- and turns the handle of the third.

the room is still dark, but that’s okay. he’s used to darkness. his eyes carefully scan the floor with each step he takes closer to the bed, watching out for any discarded dog toy or worn clothing splayed across it. at some point, his steps meet carpet instead of cold floor. he’d not noticed it earlier, but then his sense had been rather focused on the precious cargo he carried.

he finds you where he left you, hair a mess upon your pillow and chest rising steadily in the breaths of deep sleep. only, you’ve gained a companion, the unmistakeable beady-eyed stare of the german shepherd meeting joel’s in the dark. the dog makes a noise, half whimper half whine, and the tip of its bushy tail begins to beat against the mattress, matching the rhythm of joel’s heart.

like before, he lets his hand brush your cheek. instead of wiping saliva, he brushes a few stray hairs away from your peaceful face. you shift and he panics, fearful you’ve awakened, only to relax as you sink deeper into the pillow.

his hand lingers longer than necessary.

another whine from the mutt gives him the will to at last pull away from you, trading your soft cheek for the smooth fur along the dog’s head. his fingers card through it, nails digging a little to scratch at otis’ scalp.

“you take care of her,” for me. “alright bud?”

he must be losing his mind, for he swears he feels the dog nod.

the steps he takes on his way out are less careful, though he’s slowed by the amount of times he seems to insist on turning back to glance at the bed. maybe it’s for comfort, the peace of mind of knowing he’d brought you back safe and sound.

maybe it’s with longing, his aching joints begging for him to crawl his way in beside you, cocooning you between himself and the ball of fluff behind you.

shaking his head, an array of self-aimed insults plough through his mind, joel curls his hand around the wooden frame of the door, steadying himself to glance back one last time.

“joel...” he freezes, caught in place. how long have you been awake? how do you know it’s him? how are you so softly spoken when your voice is hoarse?  “turn the lamp on,” a yawn. he hears rustling and imagines you readjusting yourself into whichever position brings you most comfort. the thought of if it ever gets lonely, sleeping with no one to hold, crosses his mind. he refuses to let it linger. “don’t wanna wake up to the dark.”

he shuffles over to where he sees the outline of a lamp, fingers sliding around in the dark till they hit a switch and a lovely orange hue overtakes the room, bringing it to life. little trinkets, scattered papers, a couple pictures in frames line the desk in front of him. he’s seen too much for comfort, avoiding looking at anything else in your space till he finds you, curled up in the bed too big for one, otis’ head resting on your hip.

you still have his jacket over you, ignoring the warm comforter you lay upon.

he thinks he musters up a smile. if he does, you’re returning it, eyes sleepy and lips lazy in their movement. it’s a peaceful moment, the kind joel doesn’t get many- if any- of these days. he won’t waste it by speaking what’s on his mind. your eyes slowly drop once more, surrendering to exhaustion.

the bedroom door creaks behind him on the way out.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal smut

[trick-r-treat421]

Chapter 1

Riley’s POV:

I was in a surprisingly peaceful sleep when I felt soft fur against my face then the gentle nudge and lick. It’s the morning ritual I’ve grown accustomed to. “Good morning, Hades.” I groggily say to my three-year-old black German Shepherd who has oh so rudely decided it’s time to get up.

I roll over rubbing the sleep from my eyes to see the soft glow of the morning light filtering in through my window. Picking my phone up from the nightstand it reads 7:26 am October 13th. Sighing, I swing my feet to the edge of my bed and proceed to start our normal morning routines.

A short time later I step out onto my back deck to let Hades do his business, my hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. I’m immediately hit with a warm breeze and realize just how comfortable it feels. Pulling my phone from the pocket of my pajama pants, I check the weather app where it predicts it to be an exceptionally warm day. Luckily, it’s one of my days off from my boring, dead-end customer service job. It’s been a major stressor for me lately and I’m ecstatic to avoid that hell hole even if just for today.

I mindlessly scroll random apps as I sip my coffee, enjoying the sun’s rays on my pale skin as my boy gets all his overnight zoomies out. Just as I sip the last of the coffee from my mug, he comes running back up sitting beside me, tongue out, panting. “Hey, handsome boy of mine. I know we usually take walks around the neighborhood on my days off but how’d you like to go to the park instead?” I ask, scratching behind his ear, getting only a gruff woof and tail wag in agreement. “Perfect!” I exclaim before we walk back inside.

I spend a few hours working around the house tidying a bit and starting some laundry while singing (ok more like screaming) and dancing around the cozy bungalow I call my home, all while the songs boom through the Bluetooth speakers. Hades tilted his head or huffed at me occasionally from his oversized dog bed in the living room. “You know you love it!” I tease as I pass by, stopping to give him a few good belly scratches.

I quickly shower before stepping out into the steamy bathroom, grabbing one of my oversized towels from the rack and wrapping it around my small frame. I pull my paddle brush through the tangles that are my shoulder-length black hair, then twist another towel around it, pushing it onto the top of my head and retreating to my room. I fall back onto my queen bed, my arms spreading as I lean back, and stay that way for a while, closing my eyes and preparing myself to venture out.

Eventually, I push myself up and go over to my dresser. I pull out a black thong and lace bralette then a pair of black leggings and my go-to comfy, faded, grey Guns N’ Roses shirt I’ve cut into a crop top. After getting dressed, I return to the bathroom to pull my hair into a low loose ponytail, leaving a few strands out to frame my face. I stare at myself in the mirror above my sink, sighing at the sight but I don’t bother putting on makeup. I’m too tired to care and it’s not like I’m out to impress anyone. Dropping my gaze, I push myself away from the counter and head back towards the kitchen to prepare everything Hades and I will need for the park.

Half an hour later we’re pulling into my favorite park. I reach back to clip on Hades’ leash, grab my crossbody bag from the passenger floorboard, and then exit the SUV. We stop to grab the blanket from the back hatch of my grey 2010 Nissan Xterra before making our way down the sidewalk.

 As expected, the park was alive with the sounds of nature and people out enjoying the weather. It took us a few minutes, but we managed to find a nice shady spot under a tall oak tree that’s adjacent to the large field where people lounge and play. I release Hades and tell him to stay as I work to spread out my black and white buffalo plaid blanket and begin unpacking for a relaxing afternoon.

It didn’t take long before we got comfortable. I lay on my stomach, my legs bent at the knee, casually swinging back and forth through the air. I’ve got my sticker-covered tumbler and a Tupperware full of fresh-cut fruit (ok mostly strawberries) on one side of me. A book was spread in front of me, my eyes skimming over the pages from behind my oversized sunglasses. Hades had posted up near the edge of the blanket on my other side as he went to town on his large red Kong toy, his travel bowl full of water next to him.

I’d lost track of time, completely caught up in my reading, most of my fruit picked over and eaten. Hades had long given up on his toy and was almost asleep when suddenly he perked up giving a slight huff. Figuring he saw a squirrel or something, I failed to see the large shadow pass over me as a sudden pain shoots into the left side of my ribs and something heavy fell over top of me, Hades darting away from his position. Whatever it is landed with a thud in front of Hades, water splashing everywhere in the process. I quickly began to shake the water from the pages of my book before any damage could be done.

“Ouch! What the fu…” I begin to exclaim, but my words come up short as my eyes fall onto this dazed, dark-haired man lying across me and my blanket.

He slowly pushes himself up onto his elbows, putting his shirtless and heavily tattooed chest on full display, droplets of water sliding down and glistening in the afternoon light. I thank God for these sunglasses hiding my eyes as I gawk at this stranger’s toned body. I shake my head and slowly take in the scene, realizing his long legs are still stretched across my back and one of his elbows rests halfway in Hades’ water bowl.

Eventually, my eyes make it back to his face where I’m greeted with a strong, sharp jawline peppered with the beginnings of some facial hair and mesmerizing deep chocolate-brown eyes. I’m brought back to reality when Hades is suddenly at the man’s side dropping a frisbee I hadn’t even noticed onto his lap. I can’t help but let out a laugh at the situation and the fact I was letting myself get lost in this stranger’s looks, no matter how handsome he may be. “I think Hades is returning your frisbee to you.” I state matter of factly. Despite his size and intimidating looks, he was quite a gentle giant. Thanks a lot bud, so much for protecting me.

Noah’s POV:

I have no idea what happened, but one second I was running full speed and the next I found myself lying flat on my back staring at the brightly colored tree canopy above me.

I let out a groan and begin to push myself up onto my elbows. Feeling something wet on one of my arms, I look over to see my elbow in a water bowl. I begin taking in the rest of my surroundings and find I’m on someone’s picnic blanket. Just then I see something dark in my peripheral vision and the frisbee I’d been running to catch drops in my lap.

I hear a feminine laugh as my eyes dart up, noticing my legs are laid across the back of a petite raven-haired woman who had been stretched out on said blanket. I hear her words as I look down to the frisbee in my lap, then to the big furry black mass standing to my right. That must be whose water bowl my elbow is resting in.

I hurriedly remove my legs and scramble to my knees, the frisbee falling from my lap while putting my hands up in case this dog decides to attack. Again, I hear the sound of her laughter drawing my eyes to her full, slightly red tinted lips. Slowly she sits up crisscrossing her legs in front of her, her crop top riding up a little to reveal a tattoo on her side as she rubs at her ribs. A few more are sprinkled on her arms.

“Don’t worry, he may look ferocious, but he’s really a big baby.” With the motion of her free hand I watch as the large dog returns to the girl’s side and lays against her, eyes closing, tongue out as he soaks up her head pats.

I breathe out a sigh of relief as I sit back on my heels and brush my hands down my star covered sweat shorts nervously and let out a slight chuckle. “Good to know, cause I was about to high tail it out of here and hope—Hades was it?—didn’t catch me!” I respond. “Hey, sorry about all of this, though.” I start as I wave my hand around us.

She lifts her sunglasses revealing stunning icy blue/grey almond-shaped eyes as she takes in the now wet and twisted blanket. Sucking in a breath I try to offer, “My buddies and I were just tossing the frisbee around and I guess I let my competitive nature get the best of me.  I wasn’t paying attention, and you see where that got me.”

As if on cue my friends, Jolly and Nick, come jogging over taking in the scene and thankfully ending my nervous rant. “What you mean on the ground beside a pretty lady?” Nick waggles his eyebrows as he smirks before asking, “Are you two good?”

Jolly jumped in with, “That looked like quite a fall, man.”

I chuckle lightly before I answer, “Yeah I’m good, but I’ll probably feel it in the morning.” I clear my throat a little remembering the stunning girl and her dog sitting across from me. “Umm are you okay…?” I ask, pausing since I don’t know her name.

Picking up on the pause she answers, “Riley. Yeah, I think I’ll be okay. Might have a bruise in the next couple of days but I’ll deal.”

A pang of guilt washes over me for hurting her but I give a crooked smile. “I’m Noah, these are my friends Jolly and Folio,” I say pointing to each of the guys.

She nods her head slightly at each of the guys, giving a polite smile and wave. It suddenly becomes abundantly clear we are invading her space, as the awkward silence grows between us all. I move to stand tucking the frisbee under my arm and giving the guys a nod, each taking a few steps back in understanding, Jolly looking over his shoulder to find where our roommates dog, Harper, is playing. “We should probably leave you be, you seemed to have been enjoying your reading when I tripped over you.” I say as I glance down at the abandoned book laid out on the blanket.

Shrugging, she responds with, “I was but I’d lost track of time, and we actually need to be heading out.” With that she stands, Hades whining slightly, and begins picking up her belongings and packing them back into her bag.

I look down at the mess I’ve made of her space, everything scattered about, so I quickly lean down, picking up her book. I offer it to her as I ask “Are you sure you’re alright? Can I help you carry anything?”

She takes the book, my eyes drawn to where she chews on her lip, thinking it over. After some hesitation Riley nods. “You really don’t have to, but I might need a hand with the blanket. I can never get them folded up easily on my own, and I’ve got to be able to hold his leash as we walk.” She motions over to Hades who tilts his head sideways at the mention of leash.

With a small chuckle I call out a “heads up!” to Folio, who’s now walking away with Jolly before tossing him the frisbee and reaching to pick up the blanket. I shake it out then do my best to fold it before draping it over my arm as she picks up her remaining belongings.

After a moment and her commands to Hades, we walk back towards the parking lot in another slightly awkward silence. Coming to a stop at the back of an Xterra, she starts digging for her keys and unlocks the doors. She takes Hades to the back passenger door allowing him to jump inside before unhooking his leash and telling him to stay then returning to the back where I stand.

“Thank you for helping with that and walking me back.” She says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and staring down at the asphalt before taking the blanket and placing it in the back hatch.

“No problem. It was the least I could do after crashing into you like I did.” I shrug, earning a small, cute giggle from her.

After another moment of silence she shifts on her feet, bringing her eyes up to meet mine and extending her hand before saying with a playful tone, “Well, it was nice to meet you Noah, wish I could say it was under better circumstances though.”

I take her hand, noticing just how small it feels in mine before lightly shaking it and saying, “You too Riley.” With that I drop her hand and move to the sidewalk as she walks to her driver’s door. Turning back, I give a salute as she starts the SUV and I head back to the guys.

The moment I walk up, Folio raises his eyebrow asking, “What was that all about Casanova?”

I shrug running my hand through my shoulder-length hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” They both let out a laugh.

It’s Jolly’s turn to pipe up now, his slight Swedish accent coming through. “Bullshit Noah, you’ve still got a goofy grin plastered on your face and the way you were looking at her… it’s obvious you thought she was attractive.”

Folio chimes in again, “Tell us you at least got her number…”

I don’t bother responding before grabbing the frisbee out of his hands and jogging away. I silently kick myself for not thinking about that. We stay for another hour or so before leaving, my mind wandering to Riley quite often through the night.

P.S. I don't own the rights to any of these photos, they were all found on Pinterest or a Google image search.

I hope you enjoyed this. It's been quite a while since I even tried writing something for others to read so sorry if it's not up to your standards. It may start out slow but I promise there's some good things to come.

Huge shout out to @crimson-calligraphyx for encouraging and helping me with this.

#fanfic #fan fiction #The Worst in Me #noah sebastian #bad omens #nick folio #jolly karlsson #strangers to lovers #slow burn

[antianakin]

You know it'd be kind of poetic if what you call the Insidious lineage continued to branch further away from Jedi teachings over the years while the good lineage of Obi-Wan/Luke/Rey/etc continued until the latter is forced to stop the former when they once again endanger the Galaxy.

I mean I know it's already happened with Palpatine and Vader but those guys are openly Sith. I mean it'd be tragic if Ahsoka or Sabine, still thinking they're doing the right thing, not realizing they've fallen, and even thinking they're the true Jedi come into conflict with Luke (or Rey it's far enough in the future) who have to stop them from causing harm while trying to reason with them.

Be a either a good (if they decided to be better) or tragic (if they don't) ending to the insidious lineage.

Woof, that's a pretty depressing AU depending on how you explore it!

One of the things I feel like would happen like post-ROTJ is that you might end up with varying different... branches of Jedi. They would EFFECTIVELY be lineages because all of them start from one Jedi survivor, but they branch out as time goes on. And because a lot of our different Jedi survivors were people who had limited training, they're all going to approach this Jedi thing just slightly differently.

Ezra's version of what being a Jedi means isn't going to mean the same thing as Cal's, for example. Ezra got taught by a padawan who never finished his own training, which massively limits the specific Jedi teachings he would've gotten. Cal on the other hand was someone who was raised in the Temple and then got trained by a real Master (Cere) for several years post Order 66, which means his training is likely more complete than Ezra's is and includes more of the typical Prequels Jedi apprenticeship milestones. Cal is going to know more of the traditions and rituals than Ezra is that he can then pass on to his own students (like Kata). Cal understands what it is to have been a Jedi survivor in a way that Ezra just never will. And none of this makes Cal a better or more real Jedi than Ezra is, just one who is going to be passing on different things. And so far as we know, these two characters don't overlap at all. They don't meet, they don't know each other.

And that doesn't even begin to bring in Luke who was taught by two Masters himself, but who got about 24 hours of training at like 19, took a three year break, got a couple of weeks with Yoda, took another 6 month break, and then is miraculously a Jedi Knight afterwards and starts his own school from that. We have to assume that he does NOT have access to the Ahch-To Jedi texts for most of the time he is running that school since Han seems to believe Luke was still LOOKING for Ahch-To and doesn't actually know if he found it at all during TFA. So what Luke is passing on is this combination of like the quickest apprenticeship ever and some REALLY old Jedi texts that probably barely any of the Prequels Jedi even knew about and had likely undergone a lot of changes by the time the Prequels Jedi were doing things. Luke and Leia are running almost entirely on instinct and like a couple of words of advice from Obi-Wan and Yoda that Luke can pass down.

And Luke doesn't seem to have met Ezra or Cal, either. It's possible Luke and Ezra will meet in the Mandoverse as we move forward, but as of now, they've never met and Ezra isn't a part of Luke's Jedi school.

So what this leaves us with is the potential for there to be several Jedi lineages kinda running around out there that all sort-of branch out from three people whose experiences of learning to be a Jedi are WILDLY different. The core of it is always the same, that selflessness and compassion and balance, but the details of it, the traditions and teachings and rituals of what you even DO as a Jedi are going to probably end up dissimilar from each other. Luke's school is not going to be the same as whatever Cal might set up on Tanalorr which isn't going to be the same as whatever Ezra passes on to any student he ends up taking on (if he survives the Mandoverse).

Ahsoka and Sabine then just kind-of end up their own little branch. They MIGHT call themselves Jedi, Sabine seems to call herself a Jedi even though Ahsoka explicitly says that she doesn't want Sabine to BE a Jedi, but their variation on it is going to be its own thing. If we're kind about it, they're not necessarily Sith, they're not villains, but they have a tendency towards selfishness, arrogance, and impatience. And maybe they end up more like the Nightsisters in TCW where the Jedi know they're out there being weird and kind-of dark, but they're keeping it relatively contained so the Jedi just let them be for the most part. Luke, Cal, and Ezra all know Ahsoka and Sabine are out there being weird and kind-of selfish, but until it becomes a galaxy-ending problem, they're just going to let them do what they want.

#star wars #luke skywalker #cal kestis #ezra bridger #jedi #pro jedi #ahsoka critical #ahsoka tano critical #sabine critical #sabine wren critical #insidious lineage #infinite lineage #shatterpoint lineage

[jungle-angel]

Cozy Companions: Part 2 (Calvin Evans x Reader)

Summary: You and Calvin absolutely hate grading papers but your daughter and Six-Thirty will always give you a reason to laugh in the midst of the stress

Tagging: @floydsmuse

Calvin really truly hated grading papers, the very bane of his existence as a teacher. Already, you two had enough stress on your plate with the holidays around the corner and petty admins thinking they were the cat's ass on campus. At home, you could somewhat relax, but around finals, you could both tell that the next two days would be utter hell.

Calvin looked up from the test of a student who, although had done well, had clearly struggled with technical terms, to hear Six-Thirty coming around the corner, his tags jangling like a bell. Cal gave him a few scritches behind the ears, sighing deeply at the annoying and tedious task of grading.

"You know?" he said to the dog. "You're a lucky boy. All you have to worry about is digging up that ham bone you buried in the flower bed last spring."

Six-Thirty gave something akin to a snort and a woof before Cal heard you coming from your adjacent bathroom.

"Here she is," you chirped in your sing-song voice. "Little princess fresh from her bath."

Your daughter Ellen, giggled as Calvin rose from his spot on your shared bed and took her from your arms, littering her soft little cheeks with a million kisses. "Hi princess," he cooed. "You're so warm from the bath......and you smell so good too."

You yourself, giggled a little. It had been the few drops of orange and mint oil you used for your own bath but figured it wouldn't hurt in the least for Ellen since this time of year was prime season for dry skin.

Your baby girl babbled like crazy, her pretty blue eyes lighting up when she reached up and pressed her chubby hands against Cal's cheeks. You both melted at the sight of her gummy little smile and her adorable little baby giggles that filled the room.

As soon as Ellen was in her warm little pjs and nested cozily in the crib at the foot of the bed with her teddy bear, you and Cal had set to grading the papers, hoping that despite the chatter, Ellen would go to sleep. Already, the house was feeling draftier than usual and through the Christmas lights outside, you could see the snowflakes beginning to fall more heavily.

"So what technically is the answer?" you asked, stumped by a question with a half point mark next to it.

"The answer to the question in this case is 'no,'" Calvin explained. "Dissolving salt molecules in water doesn't make its atoms ionize. Ionization begins long before that."

"So he got it right then?" you asked Cal.

"Yes but I do have trouble reading this one's handwriting," Calvin said. "I'll give him the points but I am gonna work with him on the handwriting skills."

You laughed a little but once the test was graded, you and Calvin realized you had at least twelve or eleven more to grade. Calvin was at his wits end when he suddenly heard Ellen giggling like crazy and Six-Thirty coming around to his side of the bed. To his shock, there was Ellen, crawling out of her crib and up the foot of the bed towards the both of you.

"How'd you get out?" Calvin teased, picking the giggling baby up into his arms. "Did your big brother let you outta your crib?"

Six-Thirty jumped right up onto the bed with Ellen's bear in his mouth, dropping it between you both. Calvin couldn't resist teasing the baby, blowing soft little raspberries on her cheeks, hearing her giggles erupt throughout the room. You both could barely keep your eyes open when the clock downstairs in the living room rang in the hour of nine.

"Alright princess," Calvin said, scooping Ellen up into his arms. "In you go."

He had been about to put Ellen back in her crib when the draftiness had suddenly changed his mind. Back into bed he crawled with her, tucking her in safely between you both so that she wouldn't get hurt while you all slept. As the three of you settled in, you and Calvin let the stress melt away, happy to always have a reason to have fun even when tending to a chore.

#calvin evans #calvin evans x reader #lessons in chemistry

[s-creations]

🛁🛁 platonic bathing in like a lake or small river with the M & L & W²

🛁 Bathing together/platonic bathing (specifiy)

((Woof, this one is long and rather difficult to write, enjoy!))

Link to Post

Mario and Luigi couldn’t help but let out a groan as they dropped on their bags. Both followed soon after. Sitting on the ground as they leaned against the other in exhaustion. 

“You two really aren’t built for hiking? With all the stuff you’ve done so far? This is a worrisome development.” Waluigi casually pointed out as he placed down his own bag. Further back, Wario was already doing his best to set up the large tents, grumbling as he did so. 

“We’re not really one for nature.” Luigi argued back.

“City boys, right here, all our lives, never left the city limits. This is different for us.” Mario added on. 

“...Wow. Mushroom Kingdom heroes, right here. Can’t handle a little bit of nature.” 

The conversation paused when Wario let out a cry of triumph. Who stood back from his handing work on getting the two large tents set up. With that out of the way, he turned to join the conversation properly. “Think your sensitive skin is going to bruise sleeping on the ground?”

“Very funny,” Mario huffed, “This is just a different kind of terrain for us. Give us some slack.”

“Absolutely not! As your mentor, it’s our duty to make sure you’re ready for any situation.”

“Okay, ‘mentor’, what lesson are we being taught here?”

“How to rough it, in a very moderate way. If we need to leave the Mushroom Kingdom for something major, our best bet might need to be a sneak approach. So, how do we survive the wilderness with very little with us? We’re taking it easy on you two this round.” 

The twins groaned again, but didn’t argue back. Merely standing once more with their bags still resting on the ground. Mario stated, “Alright, what’s the first thing we need to get done.”

“Well, we have the tents set up-”

“I have the tents set up.” Wario interrupted his brother with his arms crossed. 

“Fine, whatever, they’re set up is the bottom line. Now we get the rest prepared and properly stored away.” 

Bottom line, it took a few hours before the camp was properly set up. Each twin paired with another brother so enough information was covered. Food safely stored, a place for a small campfire, tents secured so each set of brothers had their area set up for sleep. 

“And…that’s it,” Waluigi looked around, “We have it all set up. Nicely done you two.” 

“That wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be.” Luigi admitted. 

“Well, with that being done, we should probably-”

“Heads up!”

That was the only warning given before Waluigi had grabbed onto the twin’s arms and pulled them out of the way. Rushing past the three was Wario, now wearing only his underwear, let out a loud ‘Woop!’ as he jumped into the river. Creating a large enough splash that Waluigi had to pull them all back further with a look of disgust. 

“Do you mind!” Waluigi huffed as his brother’s head popped out of the water’s surface. 

“No, I don’t,” Wario smirked back, “What are you worked up about? You’re gonna be getting here soon enough.”

“That doesn’t mean I want the rest of my clothing wet!” 

“What is happening right now?” Mario cautiously asked.

“Bathtime,” Waluigi replied simply, “We’re disgusting and this is the closest thing we’re going to get to clean water. Come on, clothes off.”

“Um…we’re good.”

“No you’re not. Trust me, nothing is more aggravating than trying to sleep covered in a good layer of dirt. You’re not going to be in your birthday suit, just your underwear, you’re fine.” Waluigi casually commented as he started doing as he suggested. 

Mario and Luigi gave each other a worried glance before starting to do the same.

“How long are you lot going to take, I’m almost done!” Wario called out.

“Not without soap you’re not!” Waluigi argued back, “I’m not going to be stuck in that tent with you if you’re going to smell like sweat.” 

“I have water washing over me.”

“That is not enough.” 

Being the first of the twins to approach the river’s edge, Luigi let out a yelp as he pulled his foot back out of the moving water. “It’s freezing!”

“Well, yeah, this isn’t indoor plumbing. Nothing’s here to heat it up,” Waluigi stuck his foot in, “And it’s not that bad. Come on, in you go.”

The twins stuck close together as they inched into the water. Realizing it wasn’t as cold as they originally thought it was. But still keeping their arms crossed to hold into the stable point of warmth they created. Only for that plan to end when Mario suddenly felt hands in his hair. Waving his own arms in a desperate attempt to push the other away.

“What are you doing!?” Mario turned, glaring at Wario. Who was holding a sheepish smile with shampoo covering his hands. 

“What? Just trying to help.”

“I can wash my own hair, thank you.”

“With how much you were whining about being tired? No way. Now hold still!”

Luigi only watched as Wario quickly wrapped an arm around the other twin and furiously scrubbed his fingers into Mario’s hand. All the while, the fire user was kicking his legs in an attempt to get Wario to stop or to break away from it. Just as Wario started, Mario was able to slip out. Quickly diving under the water to make his escape. Only for Wario to follow close behind. 

He was pulled away from the ‘fight’ feeling a tap on his shoulder. Finding Waluigi there with shampoo pools in his other hand. “Keep your eyes close.”

“Okay.” Luigi smiled softly and faced forward again. Remaining still as fingers gently ran through his hair.

Both respectfully ignoring the ‘fight’ between their brothers.

#s-creations #s-creations answers #anonymous asks #drabble #emoji prompts #writing prompts #yellow purple red green #mario #luigi #mario and luigi #wario #waluigi #wario and waluigi #they're all brother! #either by blood or by begrudging choice! #don't make this weird! #if anyone marks anything of a pairing you're being blocked!

[maxbegone]

a late-to-the-game wip wednesday! still trudging away here. this thing is gonna be...woof. long, to say the least. hopefully it's enjoyable, though ♥️

Everyone had their experiences when the end came — for Alex, it was a lot of survival mode and getting to where they needed to go before it was too late. June doesn’t love talking about it; she spent most of her nights in the beginning wide awake and stressed to the point that Alex swore she was going to make herself seriously sick. Nora was similar, but not as extreme.

No one rested, no one functioned properly. It was terrifying.

“It’s a miracle we even made it here in the first place,” Alex starts. “It’s not like we had go-bags or a plan or anything, but what started as a whisper at the top of the food chain soon became an avalanche, and my mom was calling my dad and telling him to get us and get the fuck out of New York.”

“Your parents seem civil,” Henry says pointedly, and Alex could laugh.

“They haven’t always been. Believe me, when you live with two politicians growing up, it’s like real life Face The Nation.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“A political talkshow, don’t worry about it.” Alex focuses on the gentleness of Henry’s fingers and continues. “He called me and June up, told us to pack as much as we could and that he would be by us within the hour. We shoved the important things in suitcases, sentimental shit, whatever felt right. And Nora had actually just moved into a new place so she was pretty much ready to go from the jump. My dad grabbed us, and all he had was what he packed for his trip.

“My mom spent so much time in DC throughout the year, that she and Leo actually got a place there, so they were able to get what they needed. Then we got a hold of Raf and told him to meet us in Hudson Valley because this was Leo’s family’s place. Same thing with Zahra and Shaan, but they took a while to get here.”

“All of them?”

“Zee and Shaan were in DC, too, because she was my mom’s right hand, but they got caught in a major detour that took them into a weird part of Pennsylvania until they were able to turn around. And Raf was in a safe haven.”

At this point, Henry’s hand has gone still on Alex’s chest, his palm flat against his sternum. Alex offers him a smile. “It took the four of us three days to get here with all of the roadblocks, Mom and Leo arrived two days after. And then we figured things out as they came; the towns nearby evacuated, people went north or to the midwest, tried to get as far away from the congested areas as they could.”

“Why not just stay here?” Henry asks him. “It’s rural enough, no?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Alex replies. “Maybe people just wanted to get to their families, if they could.”

“How did you handle all of it? Genuinely?”

“About as well as you could expect,” he admits. “No one knew what was going on.”

“No, I know that, but—you.”

Alex takes a deep breath. Okay. They’re going there. Something he hasn’t really done since he sat with June out in a pasture and watched the sunrise. “I really didn’t think we were going to make it past the year,” he admits aloud for the first time ever. He notably doesn’t look at Henry. “I thought it would all happen again and we’d be taken out.”

Henry sits up. “Alex…”

“It’s okay,” he tells him, smile falling tight. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay,” Henry repeats.

#rwrb #rwrb fic #firstrprince #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #apocalypse au

[tomorrowxtogether]

TXT Setlist & Concert Review: TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s Fantasy-Filled Stage Stuns New York

Welcome to TXT’s magical kingdom. TOMORROW X TOGETHER shone like the stars they are on their third US date of the ACT: SWEET MIRAGE World Tour on May 10, 2023. The five-piece boy group, consisting of SOOBIN, YEONJUN, BEOMGYU, TAEHYUN and HUENINGKAI, has come a long way since the last time they were in New York. Just 10 months ago, they embarked on their first world tour, ACT: LOVE SICK and were the first K-Pop group to perform at Lollapalooza. They also landed their first No. 1 on the Billboard 200 with their latest mini-album The Name Chapter: Temptation earlier this year. It’s safe to say that they’ve become pros in the game.

As the luminous “Blue Hour” introduced the boys, their beaming confidence filled every inch of Belmont Park’s UBS Arena. With their princely attire, they walked and boasted down the extended stage to perform the fan-favorite dance break. The vibrant “Can’t We Just Leave The Monster Alive?” showed their boyish charms and qualities while they sang “Do we have to break this stage? Do we have to become adults / To say that we’re doing well?”

Resistance to growing up is TXT’s strongest concept and they’ve absolutely perfected it. “We know we have to grow but are tempted by the possibility of staying as we are and living freely day to day,” TAEHYUN told StyleCaster back in January. Transitioning from the background of Disney castles and the everlasting feeling of royalty, the boys took off their jackets and revealed sports jerseys as they skipped toward the back of the stage. They dribbled basketballs and did exercise stretches while singing “Drama” and “No Rules” accompanied by a vividly colorful forest in the background that accentuated their youthfulness.

But even with all those athletic moves, the energy ramped up exponentially when they performed “Cat and Dog.” A beloved classic of the group, they brought the song back into the setlist after fans perpetually barked at them at their last tour—mimicking the fervent outro of the song where YEONJUN sings “Let’s play forever, I just wanna be your dog!”

Of course, they took part in the action as each member of the group demonstrated cute gestures and impressed their fans, MOA (which stands for Moments of Alwaysness) with one woof and smile at a time. Extending the time and fully equipped with their own lightsticks, the members controlled the radiant crowd with such jubilant and intense motions. Sectioned off with different parts of the arena, each one of their personalities lightly dazzled with their instructions— BEOMGYU screamed, TAEHYUN drew circles, YEONJUN did rumbling choreography, SOOBIN conducted the crowd very fluidly (like the great leader that he is) and HUENINGKAI did an elaborate beatbox tutorial. MOA satisfyingly reflected every action with thousands of lights doing the same thing and it surely tightened the bond and trust between the fans and the group.

It was a magical segue into “9 and Three Quarters (Run Away),” where HUENINGKAI illuminated the stage with his solo dance and winded back time to the breezy track “We Lost The Summer.” They later delved into their fiery reflective selves in “Can’t You See Me?” before exploding into the more emo-inspired and angsty songs of their repertoire: “0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You)” and “LO$ER = L♡VER.” The members couldn’t contain their excitement and intense energy while performing “Dear Sputnik” where it seemed like they directed the audience to jump for more than half of the punchy rock song.

For most of the setlist, TXT’s wide range of expressions of lightheartedness and deep heartache were portrayed in complete succession. “Magic” offered a playful and bouncy atmosphere but the group separated into elegant dance pairs and solo dances right before the dramatic reveal of “Opening Sequence” where they all convened and leaned on each other before they moved with so much precision. Personal sulking and the acceptance of unrequited love are at their best when the soft “Anti-Romantic” played and they sang in solitude in front of the enchanted rose inspired by Beauty And The Beast.

“Eternally” stirred all of those heightened emotions in a passionate and jolting manner. The song started in an ethereal blue and stationary setting where the members flowed through the stage, but once the beat switched, the stage descended into a nightmarish hell and the boys danced rigidly with flames appearing everywhere with no escape. A connection between the two props and thematics happened right before the frenzied and visceral “Good Boy Gone Bad” when BEOMGYU lit up a rose in his mouth and extinguished it by throwing it at the back of the stage like a true rebel.

The infectious Afrobeat song “Tinnitus” slowed everything down to a more chill atmosphere to the frigid “Devil By The Window” where the group was taunted by spiraling Cheshire Cat visuals in the background. Immediately after, “Angel or Devil” picked up the pace with the group’s pleasing and cheerful raps. TikTok master YEONJUN later took the lead when it came to teaching the crowd the “Happy Fools” dance challenge—where it thrived on the social media app with its easy and followable movements since the song’s release date. “Sugar Rush Ride” closed off the main set of the night with the audience wanting more and more.

The encore reiterated TXT’s radiant love for MOA; Sitting upon a golden sunset, the boys crooned “Farewell, Neverland,” a soft ballad about being at the cusp of adulthood. The penultimate “Blue Spring” was a unifying gentle anthem for their fans that joins the ranks with “MOA Diary (Dubbadu Wari Wari)” of songs that are specifically dedicated to the people who’ve supported them all the way. “When we’re high when we’re low you’re always by my side / you’ve filled up all my youth with your warmth,” they sang confidently in the chorus as an abundant promise that the members will always be by their side. The upbeat “Our Summer” extended that promise beyond the arena and well after the concert was over. “No matter where you are, no matter what season / If we’re together, feel like summer” Their long goodbyes stretched out after the song and assured fans that they’ll be back soon in an even bigger venue, all grown up. Until those moments, TXT’s fervor and youthful spirit will persist.

TOMORROW X TOGETHER Act: Sweet Mirage Tour Setlist

Blue Hour

Can’t We Just Leave The Monster Alive?

Drama

Cat & Dog (English ver.)

9 and Three Quarters (Run Away)

We Lost The Summer

Can’t You See Me?

0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You)

LO$ER=LO♡ER

Dear Sputnik

Magic

Opening Sequence

Anti-Romantic

Eternally

Good Boy Gone Bad

Tinnitus

Devil by the Window

Angel or Devil

Ice Cream

Happy Fools

Sugar Rush Ride

Farewell, Neverland

Blue Spring

Our Summer

#txt #tomorrow x together #230517 #article #style caster #soobin #yeonjun #beomgyu #taehyun #hueningkai

[kiwiana-writes]

💝🕯🧿 for the writer asks!

Ooooh we love a multi-question, thanks pal!

💝 what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

This is a FANTASTIC question!

I rage-wrote a part-character study, part-alternate ending after watching Happiest Season that, to this day, is the most-kudosed fic in the Happiest Season tag. It's definitely 'got in early' effect and it not having a ton of fics but that is still a piece of information that blows my mind a little bit every time I remember it 😅

The response to the RWRB Much Ado actor AU was far beyond anything I could have anticipated, honestly. Like, I knew people would like it for sure, I wasn't expecting it to languish or anything, but it absolutely blew past my most popular Schitt's Creek fic for kudos/comments/bookmarks, like, the day after it was complete. It hit a ridiculous kudos milestone that took SC angstapalooza almost three years to achieve. There was a lot of just kind of... staring in bafflement at my stats page for a while that day lol.

For Schitt's Creek, the Patrick as a Hallmark greeting card writer fic is second only to angstapalooza for kudos, which also remains wild to me. I wrote that thing in like three hours because @midnightstreet posted a cute pic of queer greeting cards and, like, my hand slipped. Don't get me wrong, it's a cute fic, but every time I remember it's THAT high up I'm like ???

In terms of fics that maybe didn't do as well as I would have thought... honestly, when I take a scroll through my stats page it's sort of expected. All the low stuff is wlw or gen fic, or the more out there pairings, stuff where I dip my toe into polyam-adjacent things, etc. (And, of course, the podfics. Send love to your podficcers, folks!)

🕯️ was there a fic that was really hard on you to write, or took you to a place you didn’t think it would take you?

Answered here!

🧿 what steps do you take to not take things personally if a fic doesn’t do well, or if your writing/posting/sharing experience isn’t going how you’d like it to?

Woof, this is a tough question because like. My brain is a hellscape lol. The (mostly) unserious process is: I whine at @celeritas2997 and @ships-to-sail about how I'm Quitting Writing Forever and they tell me to suck it the fuck up and usually I'm writing again within, like, 24 hours.

[Let’s Get REAL fic writer asks]

#let's get real fic writer asks #ask meme response #cha-melodius

[nvrcmplt]

thierry is here to track down wingates. he looks put together if you ignore the scent of blood fresh on the air and the gleam in his eye that speaks of chaos well fed. his vulture sits on his shoulder, yellow eyes watching the door of the hut and talons digging in the flesh of her souls shoulder. a basket is set down on the floor, close but not encroaching territory enough to be considered a threat. a gift of food, baked goods and sweets, french bonbons and turkish baklava. there's a braided bracelet hidden among the treats, the exact same colour as thierry's hair threaded with blood red beads as hard as amber. the voirloup howls and then waits.

And wait he would…

The door never opened, not for a long while. How long would the creature wait for the man within to open them? If he was in at all. It was a strangeness to the scent of this place - a ward that mixed nature and human together, but not strong nor weak. Enough to tease the senses of their noses - but not enough to tell them any information outside, human belonged here.

Still, it wasn't like it was planned the absence… Wingates didn't care for people, nor letters or motions of intentions to return. So - he was oblivious to the guest at his door whilst he knelt with roots and twisted traps, grasping caught rabbits by their faces to snap the necks of two plump creatures. Tugging them to his belt, fixing a leg into tight rope knots and hoisting himself to the next closed trap, he got himself busy with emptying the next three, not needing so much meat from these this time.

Instead, with his belt weighted down just enough with four rabbits, he returned his attention to the buck that had died nearby. He wasn't to eat it, no, he didn't know what disease it would be riddled with to die without signs of being prey. But he did venture over to take an antler. Using his axe with ease to remove the left rack and take with him back towards his cabin.

Howling was common, though the tune felt different to what he was remembering in his surroundings, it wasn't something he had to rush back for. After all, his cabin was safe - his dogs within its ground too. He was sure they would bound over to the noise, woofing under their tongues as they knew not to provoke wolves, but they were bred to ward them off in their sheer size and spiked collars.

Wingates took his time to return to the knowing pathways, but to step out of the trees with his gaze heavy upon the oddity with avian upon shoulder… His axe slide comfortably into his palm once more with a halt of his walking. Taking in the sight of them --- the brat he gave safe travels for, as he sensed that this thing wasn't something he was to hunt at this age. Though he wouldn't mind trying again if this was something of a bad sign. He wasn't completely downwind to them, but it mattered not, if this being had a nose, they'd smell the dead animals on his frame right now.

"What's a lost Blade doing here at this hour?" He wasn't a fan of them, what he found out in his own research and connections on the grapevine. Little but enough to fathom it was one of those new, co-habit the very monsters he killed. Gaze was wary, his axe poised as he spied something at their feet. Daring, stepping closer to his home, he didn't release the tension in his shoulders as he moved to open his front gate - one of many of his fencing. Stepping through it and tossing the antler he hacked off to a pile of materials without looking, since he didn't take his eyes off the silver haired being and bird that gave him the creeps.

"You know where the village is to return lost goods." The basket was eyed a bit more now he was closer... It smelt sweet. He didn't trust it, so he didn't go any closer, instead he moved to his successful hunt trophies to place upon a wooden butcher block set up near his patio. Trading the axe for a hunting knife that was wedged in the wooden beam.

#bonesofchaos #« ( Wingates ) » Answers. #nauiwebjshd thierry terrible decision sir!

[narrators-journal]

could i get shower sex with yu and yosuke?

Woof, this one might be a lil rough. I'm trying to vary the sexual acts in these to keep them interesting, but I'm a little torn on how this one turned out. But! I hope the meh parts are weighed out by the good parts! I tried my best! Thank you for the fun ask regardless!

Kinktober prompt list: Here

Kinktober masterlist: Here

CW: Semi-public sex, a bit of an iffy knowledge of show sex and hand jobs, and the characters lol. Tho, Yosuke is gently implied to be homophobic, which is kind of canon.

After three years, Inaba had managed to grow a fair bit. Having gone from a tiny, sleepy town, to a slightly less sleepy hole in the ground. Now, it no longer had nothing beyond Junes to offer bored teens on the weekends, or for summer work outside of family businesses, but also a pool now.

That pool, in fact, was where Narukami had run into a familiar face in the chlorine and scream-filled air. “Well, well, well. I didn’t expect to find you back in this itty bitty town.” He chuckled, making the brunette in the lazily bobbing intertube jump. He took his sunglasses off to look at Narukami as if he’d teleported there. “Holy shit, Yu Narukami?! What are you doing back here?” He about squawked, the taller male laughing when his old friend about threw himself from the floaty to scramble out of the water. “I came back to visit my uncle, and I decided to join them for a visit to the pool” He explained, grabbing Yosuke Hanamura’s arm to haul him up to his feet, only for the nine-year-old to come out of nowhere to tackle the brunette.

Not that the man seemed to mind, hugging Nanako back and taking a moment to chatter like a pair of birds before, like any other child, the little girl was off once more to chug chlorine water and soak her father’s wallet and phone. Leaving Narukami with Yosuke at the poolside.

And, taking a look at the sun-kissed man shaking the water from his hair, the silver-haired man found that the three or so years they had been apart had been good to Yosuke. Finally handling that baby-ish face he’d had in highschool, and turned his wirey, scrawny frame into a more filled out, slightly pudgier figure. Though, Narukami could also see that, like him, the persona user had stuck to those work outs a bit, at least. So, he was still just as cute as the wildcard had found in highschool. ”Do you wanna swim? I brought a spare floaty if you wanna join me in floating around.” Yosuke offered, making the taller man hum with thought. Glancing over to where Nanako had made a friend and was blissfully ignoring him, or her napping father in a pool chair. “Sure. I wouldn’t mind floating around and catching up.” He decided, smiling when Yosuke beamed.

So, the men stuck to that. Narukami grabbing the other intertube the brunette had brought with him, and spent the next hour or two simply bobbing in the cool water and joking around as they caught up The silver-haired man even hanging back when Dojima decided to take Nanako home before she got too sunburnt. All was peaceful. At least, until they got out and decided to bathe and get some food.

Making their way to the small collection of showers the pool offered to let people wash off the chemicals, Narukami found one to use, but, Yosuke had...less luck. “Bro! How are all of these broken?!” He whined, making the wildcard snort from his stall, pushing the curtain to the side to ask, “Are they really?” “Yes! I’ve tried the nobs on all of them, but none of them come on!” Yosuke whined, scowling a bit. “I don’t want to bathe right after you. You’ll be stuck waiting…” Making the wildcard shrug, “It’s not like I brought shampoo, you wouldn’t take an hour in here.” “That’s not the point! I’d be embarrassed.” “then don’t shower. It’s just pool water.” Narukami reminded, only to get a dark glare to remind him of it being a public pool. Earning a dramatic sigh, “If you really want to shower that bad, you could always hop in here with me. We’ve done weirder.”

Admittedly, maybe a bit too forward of a flirt. Yosuke had always been sort of skittish about homoerotic types of things, so Narukami might have been too forward with the offer. However, all his words got was a long, heavy silence in reply, so Narukami closed the curtain again and went back to scrubbing out his hair. Leaving his words in the air with a bit of curiosity blooming in his chest. Will he take it? He asked himself, only to jump at the sound of the curtain being just about ripped open. Yosuke standing there, pink-cheeked and huffy, “I’m taking your offer. Don’t make it weird though.” That was his only explanation. Ignoring Narukami’s snort as he stepped into the small shower with him and did his best to scrub himself clean of the piss, chemicals, and whatever grime a child could carry into the water/ All the while, Narukami admired how the cold shower water trickled over Yosuke’s tanned skin. Seeming to trace his muscles when he lifted his arms to scrub the chlorine from his hair.

Before Narukami realized it, he was putting his arms on one side of Yosuke’s head, then the other before the brunette realized it and whirled around to find the wildcard’s face mere inches from his. “Woah there! What the hell are you doing, Yu?! It’s your first visit back, and you’re making moves like that?!” Yosuke yelped, instantly the color of a ripe tomato under the cool droplets of the shower, with his hand on the taller man’s chest to stop him from leaning any closer. His hazel eyes as wide as dinner plates as he stared up at the silver-haired wildcard caging him between his strong arms and the wall of the tiny beach shower. So, thinking quickly to hide how impulsive the movements were, Narukami reasoned, “Experimenting? Uh, testing the waters? Come on, Yosuke. Aren’t you a little curious about how this would go? I mean, I always thought we had a little something there. And, personally, I think it’s worth it to test the waters now.” Watching those honey-brown pools swim with a moment of confusion, contemplation, and then, a decision. “O-okay, I’ll admit I’m...kind of curious.” His voice cracking a bit with how his nerves seemed to choke him. “But, no kissing! That’s gay.”

Chuckling, the wildcard nodded, giving a salute as he said, “Of course. Totally not gay if we don’t kiss.” And, with that, he stepped back to give the pretty brunette some space to tame the burning blush across his cheeks. Once it had simmered down to a pinker hue, the silver-haired man took his hand and placed it on his well-muscled chest. Yosuke wordlessly took the invitation to run his fingers over each muscle.

Which, Narukami didn’t mind at all. Humming slightly at the temperature difference between the cold, trickling water of the shower, and the warmth of his partner’s hand coasting over the curve of his pectorals, relaxed muscles of his stomach, and, tentatively, the tops of his hip bones.

Glancing back at Yosuke’s face, Narukami smiled slightly at the almost awe-struck glint in his eyes as he drank in the wildcard’s toned physique, making the taller man’s blood zip slightly. So, he went ahead and continued the game.

Tracing a finger over Yosuke’s collarbone, pulling away slightly when he jumped, but when he did little else but eye his hand, he returned to following the bone back to his friend’s shoulder to slide his hand down his arm, letting the cold water trickle over his fingers in more of a rush than him. Then, he lifted his hand back to the brunette’s chest to start another lazy trail down his sternum and over his stomach the same way he had with him. “You’re very handsome, y’know.” He noted, watching that rosey dusting on Yosuke’s tanned face darken once more as he stuttered out, “U-um, thank you. Y-y-you’re not that bad yourself.” His blush darkened when Narukami chuckled lightly at the compliment.

He would’ve leaned in to kiss the man as well, but remembered the rule he’d set, so he refrained. Instead sliding his fingers over the man’s belly and down to the waistband of his swim trunks. Tugging them down and wrapping his fingers around the brunette’s length to stroke him slowly, inwardly grinning when he felt his old friend shiver under his touch.

“H-holy shit…” was the only thing Yosuke offered, so, Narukami kept moving his hand up and down his stiffening length. Letting the brunette grip his hips, taking his own time to tentatively push down the taller man’s swim trunks to toy with Narukami’s member in return. Earning a shudder from the silver-haired wildcard in the same way he’d reacted to the thrill in his blood. That contrast of his warm skin and the cool water trickling off of his skin heightening the excitement of their setting to kindle a small fire in the man’s belly.

Yet, despite the small voice in his head whispering skip the appetizer. Before we’re caught. Yu Narukami kept a hold of his impulses. Letting out a slow breath and letting the cold shower water draw out a small shiver as he continued toying with the brunette’s now-erect dick until Yosuke cracked, letting slip a soft moan. “sorry…” He instantly panted, his cheeks managing to somehow turn a redder color as his brown eyes locked onto the tiled floor of their small beach shower. “For what?” Narukami chuckled, tightening his grip on his partner’s cock to increase the friction each slow pump of his hand sent through the man. “I kind of hope my partners enjoy my touch. No matter their gender.” He pointed out, Yosuke not bothering to respond, just keeping his eyes glued to the tiles with a hand over his mouth to muffle the small moans the taller man’s slow movements earned bit by bit.

Though, he did finally swallow down the embarrassment and finally remember how his fingers were wrapped loosely around the wildcard’s semi-soft, twitching member. Hesitating a moment longer before returning to slowly stroking Narukami’s dick. This time, though, with more confidence, and a slightly tighter hold that earned a quiet moan of relief. Which, thankfully, seemed to encourage the man, instead of making him recoil or call off their ‘experiment’.

Not that Narukami would’ve been surprised. A few times in their high school years, Yosuke had asked to ‘try things out’ with the taller man, only to chicken out at the last second. So, when his soft noises of pleasure didn’t discourage him, the wildcard was happy to let out a few more to keep the friction going. Thankful for the cold water running down his back, as it kept him grounded enough to keep a handle on his volume and horny thoughts, as well as hid their lewd noises with the rhythmic patter of the water hitting the tile floor.

A fact that came in especially handy when the wildcard finally sped his own motions up. Making the brunette’s noises trickle out more often. Bitten back and hissed out while he tried to match the wildcard’s pace with a thin film over those pools of autumnal warmth that had Narukami’s own stomach twisting. Each change in speed or grip was mirrored, making the silver-haired man smile and moan more each time the coil in his stomach grew tighter.

The breathless panting and glint of lust shining in those amber pools, and the wildcard’s own hums and sighs of pleasure mixing and stoking the flames in their bellies further, and further. Warming their blood until it finally seemed to boil. Accompanied by a series of hisses and muttered curses as the boys tried not to fall under the onslaught of pleasurable buzz.

Taking a moment after to simply let the cold rainfall of the shower head soothe the burst of warmth and drag Narukami back to earth before Yosuke panted, “This...doesn’t mean anything, right?” with that same tinge of red to his face as before, his warm brown eyes once again locked onto the tile floor rather than the taller man in front of him, “I mean, it means something, but it doesn’t have to mean anything at the same time. If you catch my drift,” he assured, the brunette just huffing and shoving him against the wall so he could get out to dry off and get dressed. Narukami simply laughed as he followed after him, but let him go off on his own once they were dressed again.

#Persona 4 #Souyo #Kinktober #Kinktober 2023 #Yu Narukami x Yosuke Hanamura #Persona #ask #scenario #Kinktober2023 #Yu Narukami #Persona 4 protagonist #Yosuke Hanamura #Seta Souji #spicy #not sfw #lemon

[chesterxparker]

I was walking down a dark alleyway when I bumped into you

C: hey im so sorry-I said with a shy but flirty voice-

C: I'm chester what's your name?

y/n: Oh my name is y/n.

C: wow that's a really pretty name

-y/n blushed a little-

Y/n: well I should get going.

C: wait can I have you number.

y/n: uhh..I'm not sure but I guess

I told her my number and asker her "should I call you tonight?"

y/n: yeah why not!

-later that night-

Texting..

y/n: oh my God he's texting!

C: hello y/n..no that not good..uhh..I KNOW!!

Hello want to come to my house tonight and we can watch a movie and eat snacks?

y/n: ofc! What time?

C: whenever.

y/n: okay I'll come now than :D

C: sounds good!

-a few minutes later-

Knock knock

C: oh my God it's her!

I opened the door and y/n's jaw dropped

I I had fixed my self as I heard my brother shout "who's that!?"

C: just a friend

P: okay!

y/n: is that your brother what's his name?

C: yeah it's my brother his name is Parker

y/n: oh okay-

Parker came down and she stared at him

P: oh hey!

y/n: hey

y/n: my names y/n and Ur parker right?

P: yeah

y/n: well do you wanna watch a movie with me and chester?

P: yeah sure

y/n: it's okay right chester?

C: yes ofc he's my brother!

P: well what movie?

C:I don't know but do u know y/n?

y/n: broken romance?

P & C: yeah sure!

I turned on the TV and it costed $30

C: I'll buy it for you guys

y/n & P: awh thank you!

I bought and we started watching the movie it was so good

-one movie later-

y/n: that was so fun!!

P: yeah!

y/n: I'm sad the movie ended-OH MY GOD THERE A BROKEN ROMANCE 2!!

C: wait really!

y/n: can we please watch it?

y/n stared at me and my brother with puppy eyes

C: yeah why not

I laughed a little

y/n: wait really!? Thank you so much

She hugged me tight

I pat her on the head

P: well I'll go get more snacks!

C: okay

Knock knock

All three: huh?

C: mabey it's the ups guy with my package

P: I'll get it!

C: thank you!

Parker opened the door

P: hello-

H: hello

He said with a big creepy smile

P: what are you doing here?

H: oh nothing

He walked in

P: I didn't say you could come in!

C: who is it!?

P: some random dude

C: ask why he's here!

P: he walked in!

C: well get him out!

P: okay-f*ck

C: what's wrong?

P: h..he's gone

C: well that's good-

P: he's in the house somewhere!

C: oh

H: hello..

He said from the other side of the room

P: found him!

C: I'm coming

P: okay

H: put me down

Hunter said kicking around

P & C: no and good bye!

Parker locked the door

C: pew

P: are you okay y/n

y/n: yeah

-the next day-

C: I'll be right back

P & y/n: okay!!

-one hour later-

C: I'm back!!

B: woof woof

Buck barked high pitched

y/n: oh my God!!!

y/n: It's a puppy!!

P: awh what's his name?

C: buck

y/n: awh

[The puppy]

C: he is our new friend now

-one year later-

y/n's insta:

Happy birthday buck!!🥳🥳😆😆

Coments:

Livslife✅️

Happy birthday day buck!

Dixiedoodle and 286 more has comented

-some time later-

y/n: let's drink some beer!

C & P: yeah sure

I'm not sure how much we drank but we got drunk

y/n: let's go to bed

P & C: okay

y/n took her hand and put it on me and started playing with me

She sat up infront of me and took her shirt and bra she played with her b00bs and said "you like that"

C: yeah

I said in a flirty voice

y/n: want to help me

She winked at me

C: ofc

I started playing with her and she moaned

Parker walked in

y/n: hey parker want to help

P: yeah sure

Parker got I bed with me and y/n

y/n bent down and started sucking my d*ck

Parker went behind her and took her pants and under wear of and started f*cking her

y/n: harder!

I started c*mming me and parker changed spots

We aventually fell asleep or I thought..

Some fact about the characters:

C-chester/funny/kind/strong/can be aggressive/usually hungry/8 inches

P-parker/strong/kind/flirty/usually a bit aggressive/6 inches

y/n-you chose

H-hunter/rude/strong/aggressive/? Inches

B-Buck/very strong/very aggressive/smart/loyal to owners/dog

10 likes for pt.2

[smolcinnamonchipmunk]

I realized I forgot to say how my first experience with a club went. I know not everyone will care, but I know at least two people that straight up asked me to let them know how it went, so here goes

First off, I almost didn't go because the day before I was like "I only have three dresses, and all of them are too fancy/lacy, and I want to at least TRY to be feminine". Now, nothing wrong with not being feminine. I'm literally an AFAB NB that does not like my hips, but I try to make do. But, sometimes, once in a blue moon, I wanna try to be feminine. Like, maybe once a year level frequency, so it had to be RIGHT

I go to an actual dress place first, but everything was too fancy, so I fell back on my classic: Hot Topic. Unfortunately, it was particularly busy that day and I didn't bring my headphones, and there were too many choices and options, and I quickly became overwhelmed and had stunted text messages with my friend for the hour and a half I was inside because the connection sucked so much. But, she promised that we could go shopping the next day together and I felt instantly better and got the fuck out of dodge after buying one shirt I really liked

We went shopping the next day and I got two pairs of pants and a skirt that was just slightly too small at the waist but we could make it work with some safety pins. I still took my binder and one of the pants in case I felt uncomfortable being in a skirt/being feminine. Anyways, this is the outfit I settled on sans the fishnets

I was super nervous on the way because my friend has a much larger friend group than I do, so I didn't know anyone else really well and I knew it was obviously going to be really crowded and loud so I tried to pregame a bit beforehand. Man, when I tell you the amount of relief that washed over me when I found out it was a gay bar, woof

Anyways, it was me, my friend, and five of her friends (Four gay and one straight who was there for vibes like me), and it was decent. I feel like I need something to do, and even though I knew clubs was just drinks and music for the most part, I was still kind of... bored? Idk, lmao. Still kind of fun, just feel like I need things to do with my hands at least

The newest guy in the group, and also the tallest, kept fucking buying shots for everyone, and there was a point where we raced to the counter to buy shots for each other, AND I WON, but my card declined because apparently I go out so little that my bank was like "This bitch is at the club? I don't fucking buy it. Lock it down boys!"

I ended up having half a bottle of soju and a glass of plum wine for pregame, four/five pickle shots (they were SO good, I had to resist the urge to keep going back), a lemon drop, some blue raspberry shot, pink lemonade shot, and a watermelon shot, and I STILL wasn't drunk >:(

Something about the loud music and atmosphere made it so it didn't affect me until I got home (I introduced the tall guy to my cats and showed guy my bookshelf of dragon books while my friend and I talked)

I tried dancing by mimicking one of the guys who was FEELING himself (like, draped across the other three when we went outside for fresh air), and he kept dropping into low squats REALLY EFFECIENTLY so I was trying to follow along and my legs were sore for three days afterwards

OH! and there was a person in a dinosaur button up shirt that I rushed up to and asked them where they got it from, and they said they stole it from their sister, but told me where to find their sister because she was there, and turns out its from Shein :/

I WILL get a dinosaur button up though, just not that one

#cinntalks

[karaptcg]

Road to 2024 Worlds: Week 1

This was my first weekend of competitive play for the new season. Here's what I got up to:

Friday, Jul. 21: Weekly League, 3rd place(2-0-2)

No CP awarding going on here, but I do these to get games in with a couple of friends every now and then. I played Gardevoir with a Lost Vacuum and a split of Forest and Sky Seal Stone.

Here's how it went: T vs United Wings W vs Palkia T vs Lugia SS W vs Fusion Mew

Played against my testing partner in the last round and absolutely blew him away with the Sky Seal Stone he didn't know I put in my deck. We usually know each other's lists very well, but he had just gotten back from vacation and I took our resulting testing drought as a fun opportunity to surprise him.

Saturday, Jul. 22: League Cup, 20th Place (3-3)

Played the same list as the day before. Daniel Altavilla, Chip Richey and his brother were there playing, along with a few other local friends. The cup ended up with 40 players and was an absolute blast.

Here's how it went: W vs Inteleon Urshifu L vs Lugia L vs ArcUmbreon W vs Fusion Mew L vs Chien-Pao W vs Lugia SS

So close but so far. I can't say I didn't have fun though. I definitely had variance not go my way a good number of times.

In Round 2, I played a Temple of Sinnoh and Iono'd my opponent to 2 cards. I needed them to whiff a counter stadium for a turn to have a chance and they...didn't. Kind of unlucky, given that they hadn't thinned their deck much that game but such is life.

In Round 3, I lost after missing a highly probable Boss's Orders for game. On my final turn, I had 9 cards left in deck. I drew for turn, taking me down to 8. I used Mew's Mysterious Tale finding an Ultra Ball, thinning my deck down to 7. I used Refinement to draw 2 cards, taking me down to 5. Then, I played the Ultra Ball to find Shining Arcana Gardevoir, played it and used Shining Arcana to draw 2 more cards, leaving my deck at 2. My 2 remaining Boss's Orders were in the bottom 3 cards. Woof.

The other loss I'm honestly not sure how I managed. I had some awkward draws but it felt okay-ish. I probably just made a couple misplays that I can't remember. No X-2's made cut that day so I didn't feel too bad about it.

A friend ended up taking it down with UrshiInteleon. I probably would not have fared well in that top cut anyways.

Going 3-3 at my first League Cup of the season is a time honored tradition with 3 seasons of history behind it, so...yeah. Tradition!

Sunday, Jul. 23: League Challenge, 3rd place (2-0-1)

I was conflicted on if I even wanted to go to this one. I hadn't heard good things about recent changes made to this store, but I decided that Championship Points are more important than well run events so there I went.

I was a little burnt out on Gardie, so I decided to sleeve up Turbo Lost Box, turn my brain off and have some fun. I couldn't find my copy of Raikou V and didn't have extra Forest Seal Stones handy so I ended up just playing a weird suboptimal list. It was just a small event after all. Most of the more invested players in the area travelled the extra hour to the League Cup that happened on the same day.

Here's how it went: T vs Chien Pao W vs Lugia W vs Lugia

There was supposed to be a fourth round, but the organizer made a mistake. I wanted to play more Poke, so I was left a little disappointed but it is what it is. There were 3 2-0-1s by the end and my resistance ended up being the worst.

One story I really do want to share is that my round 3 opponent conceded after seeing his opening hand, packed up all his stuff and declared "I'm going to go home, get drunk and watch Tokyo Ghoul." and then did exactly that. My opening hand was fire and I'm a little sad I didn't get to play it out but at least I got a funny story out of it.

My testing partner ended up getting first with Fusion Mew though! The car came home with 25 CP so...profit?

That was the whole weekend for me! Pretty uneventful but I got to play three days of Poke so I have minimal complaints.

10/???

#competitive ptcg #ptcg #pokemon tcg #Gardevoir #Lost Box #Road to Worlds 2024

[ronoken]

I saw something recently asking, “what’s something someone shared with you that they never shared with anyone else?”

I have a little story. Nothing fancy, but it’s mine.

When I was about 18, my grandpa was moved by my mother from his home that was 200 miles away to a nice house about a block from our house. He was a quiet man who didn’t speak quickly, and he was very reserved. He also suffered from some dementia, which led to him yelling about the neighbors stealing his water when they flushed their toilets. That has no bearing on the story, but it helps to paint a picture of who he was and why people didn’t really interact with him. He was gruff to his neighbors, and he never opened up to anyone.

Still, he was my grandpa, and he was now living nearby, so one extremely boring spring day, I walked over to his house. I realized I hadn’t really spent any time with him in ages, and he was right there, so why not? He let me in and showed me around his house (which I’d been in before. He always took you on a tour). We sat in his front room not really knowing what to say when he opened a cabinet and said, “You wanna see something?”

I said sure. He took out a large photo album and started flipping through it. It was filled with pictures of him in World War II. He was posing with his company, goofing off with other soldiers, there was one of him with a pretty girl that was very much not grandma, and so on. On that note, when I asked who she was, he got a little red and said, “Oh, she, um, was pretty wild. That was a wild week.” He also made a woof sound. He did that a lot, and I catch myself doing it now, too. Woof.

Then he took out a box full of medals and started going through them, and holy fuck. He takes out a bronze star, a silver star, and two purple hearts. He tells me about how he was a combat medic, and one day while island hopping, his unit came under fire from a sniper. One of his friends was struck, so he ran across the beach to get him. While trying to drag his friend back to safety, he took two sniper rounds to the chest… and kept dragging his friend until they were safely back with their unit.

I learned the medics weren’t able to remove the bullets because they were too close to his heart. He died with those bullets still inside of him, which to this day blows my mind.

And after all that? He just… went home. He married grandma, worked at a dairy for decades and just kind of existed. Growing up, I’d never seen grandpa do much of anything except play with his model trains in his basement and watch TV. He was a slow-moving man who liked to record James Bond movies off network television and drank nothing but coffee. He would walk a mile to the library to read the daily paper because, “the paper costs dough, ya know.” He wasn’t outgoing or quick to act, but he’d done this one thing, this one incredible, heroic, life-changing thing for his friend all those years ago that he’d never talked about before with me.

And the reason he suddenly shared all that? I spent two hours talking to him. That’s all. I made some time and spent it with him, and he shared something with me that no one had heard before (mostly the talk about the pretty girl, but some other things, too).

Not too long after that, he started having mini strokes and was put into a series of assisted living complexes and homes. I saw him off and on, but I’d moved away by then, gone to college, met a gal, and so on.

The last time I saw him, he was suffering from full-on dementia and Alzheimer’s, but that afternoon, he was clear. I was there with my son and my oldest daughter, who was only three at the time. It was our first visit up north in over a year.

He looked at me, my wife and my kids. He smiled and said, “That’s a fine-looking family you’ve got there.”

That was the last thing he said to me. He died a couple weeks later, just north of 90. We set his medals out at his funeral, and there were so many. We had a table just for his medals. It floored me because I was pretty sure there were some that I hadn’t seen and that he hadn’t talked about. All I could think was if he was willing to share about getting shot in the chest by a sniper, what hadn’t he talked about? I honestly don’t know. I don’t think anyone in the family does.

I have lots of memories of him, but that afternoon in his front room stands out. It was one of the few times he ever lit up around me, and it was just because I spent some time with him.

That’s all.

Woof.

#ww2 #grandpa #family stories #woof