#so ill have to do that Sunday instead which is fine

[nerdie-faerie]

How's the hair? Has it been dyed?

Its very blonde at the moment minus that single green section that I'm trying to tone out with some pink shampoo. But the rest of my hair dyes arrived today so I'm probably gonna dye it next week

#ace answers #the last fabulous killjoy #Ratchet Salon #im not vibing with the blonde even though its temporary #was supposed to strand test the dark blue to make sure it shows up on the brown so i can buy a replacement of not but i forgot #so ill have to do that Sunday instead which is fine #im in the middle of making dinner so i started answering this then had to go do the next big #*bit

[floralcyanide]

˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

― day one ⛧ cockwarming

Cillian Murphy x Reader

A routine Zoom call between you, Cillian, and his parents gets a little interesting.

warnings: smut, cockwarming, penetrative sex, semi-public sex, overstimulation, milking, unprotected sex

word count: 930

author's note: welcome to day one of kinktober! I'm so excited for this year and can't wait to write as much for this challenge as possible. I was going to have weeks planned out, but fell ill with pneumonia, so I'm two whole weeks behind. hopefully I'll complete the challenge! fingers crossed. if I don't, there's always next year! I hope everyone enjoys!! feedback is always appreciated (: (keep in mind most of the kinktober works will be short.)

kinktober masterpost | kinktober taglist form | main masterlist | main taglist form

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

When Cillian tells you to pull up your dress upon entering his office, you expect him to drop to his knees before you. Instead, he waves you over to where he’s sitting on his desk chair, motioning for you to sit on his lap. You look at him, confused for a moment, before doing as he wordlessly asked. You can feel Cillian fumble his hands behind you, his cold watch brushing against the warm skin of your tailbone that’s exposed from your lifted dress. You hear his zipper come undone, and that’s when you realize what he’s wanting. Cillian adjusts you on his lap so you’re hovering, and he aligns his length with your clothed entrance, teasing your clit through your underwear. He pushes the fabric to the side with his fingers, allowing his tip to brush against your wetness. You slowly push yourself onto him, and Cillian guides himself into you at a snail’s pace. You aren’t quite wet enough yet, so he takes his time. Once he’s wholly sheathed inside your warmth, Cillian grabs your hips so you can’t move.

“What are you doing?” you half laugh, half ask curiously.

“I want you to just sit here and be a good girl, alright?”

“That’s kind of hard with you inside me, Cill.”

“You can do it, baby. You’re so good for me.”

You shiver at his words as you watch him fiddle with his computer, opening Zoom. You gulp nervously and hope he isn’t about to have a sort of meeting while you’re warming his cock. You aren’t sure what you’d do if you had to act normal while Cillian’s thick, now-throbbing length is being squeezed by your walls. 

But something even worse happens- Cillian opens Zoom with his parents. You forgot it’s Sunday, which is the day he usually calls them. You gulp down your nervousness, trying to appear presentable.

“Oh, hi!” you grin at the sight of his mother popping up on the screen, trying not to react to how Cillian’s fingernails are digging into the delicate skin of where your hips meet your thighs.

“How are you, darling?” his mother asks sweetly.

Cillian thrusts into you, disguising it as a minor shifting in his chair, and you have to clear your throat to stifle a moan, “I’m well, thanks! And you?”

“Oh, we’re just fine,” CIllian’s father chimes in, “Taking good care of my son, I see?”

“Of course,” you nod your head, rubbing your palm along Cillian’s thigh out of sight, “He’s being a good boy as always.” you joke.

Cillian rolls his hips slowly, causing your hand to pause its movements and your nails to dig into his slacks. He then engages in conversation with his father as you maintain a healthy combo of eye contact with his parents and looking at Cillian behind you.

“Are you sitting on his lap, dear? Are there no chairs in his office?” Cillian’s mom asks out of the blue, a hint of teasing in her voice.

“Still no extra chairs or furniture in here,” you poke Cillian’s cheek, “I’ve been telling him ever since we moved in, Mrs. Murphy.”

“Stubborn old thing,” his mother scolds playfully, “A new home needs its furniture!”

You begin to feel restless on Cillian’s cock, wishing for nothing more than to fuck him senseless. You want to end the call, spin around, and bounce on him for hours. But of course, until he gives the word, you can’t move.

“Well, we were just checking in to see how you were doing. We best be headed off now; love you,” Cillian waves to his parents.

They wave back, bidding farewells before Cillian ends the call. Silence fills the room, and all that can be properly heard is the sound of your ragged breathing.

“Please,” you whimper, “Let me move.”

“Then move.”

You shakily raise your hips until Cillian is almost outside you before slamming back down, your thighs hitting his. He lets out a strangled moan, hands gripping your sides tightly. 

“I’ve been wanting to teach you a lesson,” Cillian says through gritted teeth, letting you slowly lift and lower yourself along his cock, “About patience.”

“Lesson learned, then,” you sigh, spinning around to face Cillian, “I hear you loud and clear.”

You grab his cheeks as you pick up your pace of bouncing on his length, gaining a nice and steady rhythm. Cillian looks at you with glazed-over eyes, his tongue darting from his mouth to run over his lips. 

“Was the lesson worth it? Or was the patience killing you more than me?” you smirk.

“I'm not sure. There were times I wanted to take you over the desk on the call.”

“Really?” you wonder, “Maybe next time.”

“Not when on the phone, though,” Cillian warns.

“Alright,” you sigh, swiveling your hips around as your orgasm creeps into your stomach.

“Gonna cum,” Cillian mumbles lazily, thrusting himself into you in time with your movements.

“Please do, I’ve been waiting,” you pout.

Cillian twitches inside you, spilling his seed deep inside your cunt as you ride through your own impending release. Cillian lets you fuck yourself as much as you please despite his overstimulation, letting you milk him as your walls clench from your orgasm. You stop moving, catching your breath as Cillian watches you compose yourself.

“Definitely worth the wait,” you gasp, pushing hair from your face.

“Agreed,” Cillian exhales, leaning back in his chair.

“Can I stay here, though?” 

“On me?”

“Yes.”

Cillian pauses, weighing the pros and cons of you warming him as he does some emailing, “Fine.”

taglist:

@cillianswifefr @ins0mniac-whack @multifans-things @no-fooking-fighting @mypoisonedvine @madnessandobsession @Daviddeu @tiredkitten @lolabunny222 @gimmefood @preparedfruit @thecherrycocktail @thequeenoftheisleofavalon @lilyembry @scarlettlight06 @Gramelda @burnyouwithacigarettelighter @dunklerkeks1611 @reggxe-a @aviamulier @berlyrecords @dorknerdbeautiful @scribbuluswrites @ecstaticforus @vampireluck @doitmour1r @sharrren @desert-springtime @tuffy-floral @hllywdwhre @Death-by-bowie47 @moompie-blog @langdons-slut @cillymyfavdilf @generalvoidthing @luna047 @mg-i-have-issues @darlingsfandom @devotedly-sassy @banshailey @notevenellastein @cillsmurphys @ch3rry-co1a @elegantfacetree @ilikefictionalmen @juleshadalittlelamb @madnessandobsession @ceirinen @treac @Vrfilms @cillian-murph @sstar_ggirl @ecstaticforus @flwrs4aust

(if you signed up to be on the taglist and do not see your name, your tag failed or you may have typed the wrong url.)

#cillian muprhy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x reader smut #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy imagine #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #floralcyanide's kinktober 2023 #floralcyanide kinktober 2023 #floralcyanide writes #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x you smut #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x y/n smut #cillian murphy one shot

[dorothy-rainbird]

Here part 2

“Y/n? Why does Bu look so depressed?”

Kuni poked at a purple blob in his picnic basket as he took a bite of his sandwich.

“What do you mean? He was fine a few days ago.” You answered from his lap. That’s right. You both are currently having a mid night picnic at Starsnatch Cliff. Eating sandwiches while laying on Kunikuzushi’s lap as he eats his own. The only problem is that Bu seemed sad about something, sitting inside the picnic basket and making sad squeals that sound like “sighs”.

You sat up from his lap and inspected the blob in the basket. Good lord it seems it’ll deflate like a balloon any second. Wonder what’s troubling Bu…

“Yeah but…he’s kinda off these days.”Kunikuzushi looked at Bu worried. He continued, “He doesn’t even go beyond the garden anymore. I don’t think it’s healthy for him to stay holed up in a limited space.”

“Is he sick or something?” You finished your sandwich and carefully picked Bu out of the basket. Instead of being a happy energetic blob, you were met with a sad little slime.

“Oh no…something IS wrong with him.”

______________________

Bu’s sad behaviour has now taken 2 days. He only likes to be in the garden and with his daddy. You’ve flipped through every book on slime illness but none helped. Kuni isn’t having it easier either. He is stressed to the point he ruins his sleep schedule. You wonder…Is he terrified of losing Bu? You wouldn’t lie that you were also scared if anything happened to him. There’s gotta be a reason he is so depressed. So, with another sip of coffee at 11pm, you began to flip through the books again. There’s gotta be something you misse-

???

You heard snores from the living room…

Slowly getting up from your seat and out of your room, you tip toed down the hall.

In the living room, was Kunikuzushi, hugging Bu and a small plant?? They are fast asleep on the couch with a huge messy pile of books surrounding them. You sighed. Quietly getting a blanket, you draped it over them and started cleaning the mess. Once satisfied with the result, you turned to leave when someone grabbed your wrist…

Kunikuzushi was holding it.

“Please don’t go…” he muttered half asleep.

After processing for a few seconds, you gave a small smile and gently used your free hand to caress his cheek. Your eyes wandered on Bu, and you gave the sleeping slime a soft pat. It gave a low squeal and cuddled closer to into its plant.

Sitting beside them, and without causing much disturbance, you guided your roommate to lean on you. He did so sleepily and snuggled into you with Bu and the plant still in his arms as you held them and fell into slumber yourself.

______________________

You woke up. Still on the couch? Yes. Cuddled with your family? No. Where are they?

Just when you thought of that question, you heard noises from the kitchen. Ah…right, they are probably in the kitchen.

You got up from the couch and stretched. Thank god it was a Sunday.

After washing up, you make your way across the hall (a familiar plant catching your sight sitting next to the window) and into the kitchen next door. You met Kuni making pancakes.

“Good morning” you wished him and plopped onto the counter. He looked at you and returned the greeting with a sad little smile. He’s still stressed. You huffed.

“Are you still worried about Bu?” You gently asked him. That remaining small smile of his fell as he hastily flipped a pancake.

“*sigh* Don’t worry, whatever it is, must have a reason. Trust your guardian buddy, we’ll fix the problem in no time!” You tried reassuring him which was replied by another sigh.

“I don’t know…he’s been like this for three days now. It’s pretty concerning. What if we don’t-“

“Oi Oi Oi! Don’t think any of those bad thoughts. You gotta stay strong and positive for him, okay?” You gave him a light bonk.

“Right…”

…..

“By the way why were you hugging a plant in your sleep last night?” Curiosity strikes again. Hold on is that Kuni or a tomato cuz god damn he is red in embarrassment.

“U-Uh…well…ahem, Bu really liked the plant and would whine if I tried to take him away from it…” he tried saying that with a straight face. Keyword: tried. His face was a red mess.

“So…you slept with the plant?” You raised an eyebrow and smirked. He only managed to squeak out a “yes”. ‘Why tf is he so cute?’ you mentally squeal over him.

Wait…speaking of plant where is the tiny blob who cuddled it?

“Kuni, where’s Bu?” You asked.

“Oh, he’s in the garden, probably digging into the soil again.” He chuckled. That’s right our electro slime likes to bury himself in the ground. What a weird little slime Kuni found….

“Pfft, cuddling plants? Burying himself in the ground? What is he? A dendro slime?” You joked as you approached the back door to the garden. Little did you know….

__________________

“Hey little buddy.” You greeted Bu. Kuni was right about him digging holes in the ground. Bu looked up to you from the small pit he was halfway in. He still had a sad look on his face but something was off…Without any squeaks of acknowledgment, he turned to the fence, staring at something.

You stopped in your tracks for a second.

“Everything good?” You tilted your head. No response….you wonder…

You crouched down to his level and tried to spot what he was looking at. Was there something wrong with the fence? Were the small doors for him to crawl in and out of the garden too small? You looked harder and then you realised that…he wasn’t staring at the fence. He was staring beyond it.

Squinting hard, you catch a glimpse of…Dendro slimes…? Now it was pure confusion. Why was he so gloomy at the sight of dendro slimes? Did they bully him whenever he went out?

The dots didn’t connect until Bu hopped out of his hole and approached the small pond in your garden. (Yes you have a pond in your garden fight me)

He stopped at the water and looked at his reflection and made a noise that sounded like a sigh.

Cuddling with plants…digging holes in garden….

Aaand the dots connected.

___________________

“Y/n! Bu! Breakfast is re-AAH“ Kunikuzushi was interrupted when the back door opened to loudly he jumped.

“I KNOW WHAT THE PROBLEM IS!” you declared with Bu in your arms.

______________

“So let me get this straight…” Kuni sat in front of you and Bu on your lap, arms folded.

“Bu thinks he is a dendro slime.”

“Mhm”

“But he doesn’t look like one,”

“yep”

“And he gets insecure because of it.”

“Correcto!” You nodded.

There was silence for a moment.

“I mean...I guess it does explain his obsession with plants and distaste for those electro crystals…”

“It does!” You exclaimed.

…

Kunikuzushi picked up Bu from your lap and looked into his eyes.

……

“What are we going to do…?” He asked in a hush whisper.

You pondered for a moment and then…, an idea struck.

“Kuni you know how to sew right?”

“Yes but how will sewing help?”

“Okay so- hear me out..”

_____________One hour later…

“Bu~ we’re back!”

“Bu?”

Huh…where did he go?

“Y/n I don’t see Bu anywhere-“ kuni called as he looked under the cushion.

“Calm down he’s probably in the house somewhere. You can’t expect him to sit in one place for an hour.” You replied while checking under the table.

“Right”

“Bu! Where are you?”

“Come out little buddy we got a surprise for y- oh…Kuni I found him!” You saw the familiar blob nestled next to the same plant. The plant next to the window in the hall…

“Oh really? There you are!” Kunikuzushi stood next to you and saw his slime child snoozing away.

He chuckled.

________________

Bu woke up. His “antenna” feeling funny. He didn’t know what the reason was. It was mid afternoon now with the sky bright blue and for some reason he wanted to go out…

He started off by deciding to “hug” daddy first before leaving. He hopped off the window and made his way to the living room where his family was playing “chess” or whatever they called it. He stopped next to where his daddy was sitting and nuzzled against his leg. Kuni looked down on him and made a “surprised” gasp.

“Y/n look! Bu grew into a dendro slime in his sleep!” He giggled. Bu was confused now.

“Oh my! That is the prettiest dendro slime I’ve ever seen~” you played along.

Bu just stared. Did he finally grow into a dendro slime…? You got him a mirror and-

He was surprised at first, then began shaking with joy. He finally turned into a dendro slime!

You watched in amusement as he hopped around the round with loud squeaks and finally into Kuni’s arms where he got a nice hug.

“Who’s my little dendro slime? You are~” Kuni raised him high up and cooed at him.

“Congrats little buddy! Say, don’t you dendro slimes want to cuddle plants or something?” You raised a playful eyebrow at the slime while patting him. Plants…that seemed to hype him because he jumped out of Kuni’s arms, gave him and you a quick affectionate nuzzle and hopped his way to the garden.

“There, he’s back to normal now. Told ya you could trust your guardian buddy~” You grinned and elbowed him playfully.

“Nice sewing skills by the way. No way I could have made that flower petal acces-“ you paused.

Kunikuzushi was looking at you. Into your eyes. His eyes had pure admiration in them adorned by a small dreamy smile…

You chuckled and pat his head. “Come on dreamer boy, help me with drying the laundry.”

He snapped out of his admiration and replied with a sheepish smile. “Right!”

Here, part 4

@angryhope @hana-chie @twst-123 @depressed-bitchy-demon @milza12 @inlovewithwaffles @shizunxie @koi-chairowo @someone-with-wild-imagination @melodibells @franini @xiaosimper @kithewanderingme @tinykokomi @rinaxst @shizunxie @thetwinkims @mouchie @einnunnie @myahandhurts @arima26 @we-wo-we-wo @themistcherry @miss-tea-cza @etherisy @bigcandlesmolbrain @n8mareee @peachytears11 @esthelily @imyme20 @teal-clouds-sword @general-kuri @apyrose @campanula-rotundifolia @shoujishu @thebeanofdoom @mentallyunpresent @scaramouches-girlfriend @alicehasdrowned @genderfluid-insomniac @claymitch @night-shadowblood-writes2 @justakiro @valeriele3 @peter-the-pan @erosdevil @blockswon @missb00bs @a-single-pizza @that-boi-sus @gullantys @ekrii @astr4ray

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #kunikuzushi fluff #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi #genshin isekai #isekai #genshin slimes #found family #scaramouche fluff #genshin scara #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche #bu the slime

[forever-fixating]

Some Sentences Sunday

Thanks to @priincebutt @onthewaytosomewhere @dragonflylady77 and @piratefalls for the tags! I've actually been doing quite a bit of scribbling this week on two different projects, and I was torn on which one to share. So I decided to say "fuck it" and share snippets from both! Below the cut are snippets from A Tournament for His Heart and living in a new normal! THH is quite angsty, so I figured I'd add some sweet from LNN to temper that. Enjoy!

A Tournament for His Heart

“Roland told me about Bea’s outburst last night,” Henry said, picking at the grass. “I should have been here.”

Phillip sighed. “Minari advised me against it. She was so gone last night, Hen, there was nothing you could have done.”

“You don’t know that,” Henry snapped. “I’ve seen her at her worst. You don’t have to treat me like a child!”

“That isn’t fair,” Phillip replied. Henry looked at him and saw frustration in his eyes. Phillip pointed in the direction that Bea disappeared. “She was my priority in that moment. I know you don’t like it, feel excluded when we don’t call on you, but I can handle her in those moments better than you can. She is your twin. I know you feel her absence more acutely than I ever could.

His previous irritation melted away as Phillip’s words hit right at the heart of him. It was a hard adjustment at first, to be so disconnected from the person with whom he once shared everything, even a womb. She was his other half. Now, he was a friendly stranger in her eyes. A foolish part of him hoped Minari would find something that would bring Bea back to them. She sent messages to fellow healers from different parts of Lerasea and beyond, only to continue to come up empty-handed. She once told him, “Magick can only do so much, Henry. Wounds of the mind are tricky and not so easily healed.”

“I feel so lost without her, Pip,” Henry whispered, his vision swimming. “Giving up Alex was hard enough, but I told myself then I could survive it as long as I had Bea with me.”

He sucked in a breath and felt Phillip’s hand on his back.

“But without her?” Henry continued. “Having to publicly fight with you, be looked down upon by the court and Mary’s counsel…at times, it feels unbearable.”

living in a new normal

(Alex is in italics, and Henry is not. Based on their texting styles, I figured it would be obvious, but I added the italics just in case.)

whats ur go-to comfort meal?

Yes, hello, love. How are you? I’m fine, thanks. Was there a conversation started I missed somewhere?

adhd, baby. im always in the middle of a conversation.

go-to comfort meal, go!

In England, a full English, with the Welsh variation of laverbread instead of beans on toast.

just googled what that is. wtf???

Don’t know it until you’ve tried it, love.

In America, grilled cheese and tomato soup. When I moved here, I was determined to start cooking for myself and that was one of the first recipes I learned.

my dad would make us tomatillo soup when we were sick

ill send u the recipe

oh! or we can make it together when u come to austin

i got a badass kitchen set-up

So, is that your go-to comfort meal? I can’t wait to try it.

probably

that or my mom’s king ranch chicken casserole

ur turn to ask a question

What five movie when you show someone as a snapshot of who you are and why?

fuck, that’s a tough one!

A/N- Have a great week!

#tagging games #some sentence sunday #red white and royal blue #firstprince #rwrb #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #a tournament for his heart #living in a new normal

[pb-dot]

Spooktober Sunday Special: The Clockwork Monster Part I

Good Spooky Season everybody. This fine October I'm doing a little something for my followers, mutuals, and anyone else who would like to get a load of the spooky proceedings. As you may be aware, I just finished a draft of my novel The Clockwork Boy, and particularly eager readers may also remember that I've toyed with making a horror AU for the story to try out some new ideas. Friends, today the first part of this AU sees the light of day, with the remaining parts being released on Sundays during October.

Some quick notes: I'm experimenting a bit with form here, so I apologize if some of this gets a bit wacky. As one might expect from an AU this isn't canon to The Clockwork Boy, but I may borrow world-building ideas that I come up with for this one later. Probably won't make 13 quite so... like he is in this one, but well, you never know.

Part 1 below the cut:

05.09.552 From the diary of Jake, Clockmaker Apprentice at Barker Automatics. Recovered after the incident.

Another dull gray day filled with moderately gainful employment. Mr Barker showed me how to disassemble a gear walker actuator today, and I got the chance to inspect some gears in the process. Not the most interesting thing, but considering how often the damn things break, at least there’s a living to be made in repair if I can stand the tedium of it.

After his brief bout of pedagogy, Barker set me to oversee the Apprentices. As usual, they’re a rude unruly lot, at least to me. I’m decently sure one or two are gunning for my position as Journeyman, but they’d have to kill me to get me away from this place before I deliver my Masterwork to certification. Some of them are likely to try, but I calm myself with the knowledge that there’d certainly be a fight, and one I'm likely to win at that.

As usual when I’m left herding Novices, it was dark by the time I could close up shop, and I hadn’t even gotten to work on my clockwork limb project. I was disappointed, but not enough to give my wards grief over it. Tomorrow will be a better day I'm sure. On my way home, a strange fright came over me, but I am sure it was merely the stress from dealing with the greenhorns.

06.09.552 From the diary of Jake, Clockmaker Apprentice at Barker Automatics. Recovered after the incident. Try as I might, I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me. I have no idea who it’d be. The novices wouldn’t mind catching me slipping up I’m sure, but I find it hard to imagine any of them have enough energy left after a long day of work to stalk me from the shadows. I know I didn’t back in the day.

To back up a step, the strange fright from last night subsided as I came home, yes, but it didn't go away. Instead, I found myself strangely paranoid as I left for work the following morning. In retrospect, I am reasonably certain I didn't stand out from the crowd, and fairly sure I wasn't followed by a tail of whispers and rumors through the crowd of commuting workers, but at the time it sure felt like it.

The feeling didn’t subside as I went to get some lunch from a corner cart, if anything it expanded. I no longer feared the people around me, which was a mercy I suppose, but the fear had, again, not disappeared. Someone out there was watching me, no, that's not quite it. Watching feels too passive, too neutral in tone. If anything, I'm sure I'm being Observed. Usually, there’s nothing that’ll tear my mind away from the taste of fresh-off-the-grill corncakes with spice paste, but the persistent cold weight of ill intent sure did it.

I’m not too proud to say I all but ran back to the workshop as soon as I had finished my meal. My phantom pursuer did not strike, but neither did its presence fade in any way as I hurried my way through the throngs of sweaty workshoppers and harried couriers. This, I surmised, could mean one of two things. Either, my pursuer is a subtle beast, able to keep pace with me through a crowd, or, more worryingly, he is so phantom as to be immaterial.

As much as this pains me, I’m going to have to go to the Enforcers with my concerns. They’ll probably listen to me because Mr. Baker’s boss is in The Spire, but odds are good they’ll just brutalize some street rat over it and call it a day. Still, getting some eyes and some truncheons on the situation must surely discourage my stalker, whoever they may be.

Tomorrow morning I’ll seek out the Enforcer Liaison Office and submit my concern. Mr. Barker won’t be thrilled about me calling in his clout to deal with this, but I figure he owes me for all the overtime I've been doing.

10.09.552? Recovered from Site A after the Incident. I have no idea what date it is. He keeps me somewhere underground. No daylight.

No idea if he'll notice me hiding this document under my blanket, but I have to risk it. I have to believe I’ll make it out of here, but even if I don’t, I have to make sure someone, anyone knows. He’s incredible. Terrible? Yes, but incredible.

My time draws short. He will be here soon. More tomorrow, if the fates will.

Tag List @ettawritesnstudies @mrbexwrites @teacupsandstarlight @anonymousfoz @wrenofthewords @sm-writes-chaos @dyrewrites @owlsandwich @olive-riggzey @athenswrites

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#writing #hearts in clockwork #the clockwork boy #Spooktober Special #Horror AU

[restlessmaknae]

comfort [kang daniel]

kang daniel with a university/college student!au + “you are, without a doubt, the only person who can make me smile right now”.

➳ Characters: uni student!Kang Daniel x uni student!female reader/you

➳ Genre: slice of life, uni au, comforting, friends to lovers (implied)

➳ Words: 1.3k

➳ Warning: mentions of reader having a period, argument with friend

➳ A/N: This story was requested by @tranquilpetrichor for my request event. I hope you enjoy it! ❤️This story is partly inspired by real-life events, so thank you for the request, at least I could channel my frustration into this story haha.

You can still request stories for the event: you can find the guidelines here and the masterlist here.

➳ Taglist: @dat-town

You had the crappiest weekend ever.

You had been supposed to see one of your favourite singers on Sunday, you had made all the arrangements (booked the hotel, booked the train, told everyone about it and managed to drag your best friend with you, turning the Saturday night concert into a girly weekend with some sightseeing in a city that you hadn't been to a lot of times) only to have been told last minute that the singer had fallen ill, and the concert had to be cancelled. You had been shattered, but decided to go along with it.

However, on Sunday, the café you had put on the plan had been closed for technical reasons, the museum had not met your expectations, and besides, the weather had been horrendous. It had been raining all day with stormy winds, and your best friend huffed all the time that she hadn't enjoyed the weather and you should have known that this weekend was cursed from the start. To which, you couldn't have helped but retort that if she hadn't wanted to come, she should have just told you, you could have been fine, but neither the cancellation of the concert, nor the weather had been your fault. You had taken it upon yourself to arrange the travel and the accommodation in return for her coming with you, you had looked up sights that she would probably enjoy, and she had always said that whatever was fine with her, you could decide.

Yet, after the news of the cancellation, she had started turning everything against you which you hadn't enjoyed, to say the least. You had probably been angrier and more disappointed that it had all gone downhill after all the preparations, but she had just complained and complained. You had ended Sunday with an argument that had led you two to go back to the uni dorms almost in complete silence. Two hours worth of a train ride had never seemed so long, and if it had not been enough, your period had arrived on Sunday night, so you hadn't even slept well.

No wonder the 8am lecture on Monday didn't seem that appealing, but you didn't want to slack off and let the crappy weekend affect your studies, so you still decided to go. With one hand on your stomach (as if it could ease your cramps) and the other flipping through your notebook, you were praying that today's lecture would go by quickly.

You were so lost in thought that you almost didn't notice someone sitting down beside you, and if it had not been for Daniel's familiar deep voice reaching your ears, you would have probably not even looked up.

"Hey! How are you?" The boy inquired genuinely as he plopped down beside you, fishing his books and notebooks out of his bag. You were glad that he didn't look your way while doing so because you needed the time to pull yourself together.

"Hey!" You replied after a few seconds of silence, your voice coming out quite feebly. You cleared your throat before continuing though. "Not bad. And you?" You forced the words out, hoping that he didn't take note of the weariness in your voice. It was rather difficult to fake being happy, so you tried your best to numb your pain instead.

However, Kang Daniel was a psychology major for a reason. He was excellent at reading people's moods, and he was even better at comforting people. You had this one lecture together - Business Psychology, an elective for you as a Business major and an elective for him as a Psychology major -, but even during the time before these lectures and during short exercises the prof gave you, you could get to know just how kind and compassionate he was. One thing you had realised quite early on was that he was rather soft-spoken despite his deep, raspy voice (and on a side note, he had the most adorable eye-smile and dimples combo). He had definitely surprised you with his maturity and gentleness, you hadn't expected it from him when he had sat beside you during the first lecture in his all black outfit.

During the past two months, you had become acquainted with each other, and had even met up a few times outside of lectures - both purposefully and both by accident -, and you would say you had become quite the friends. Maybe even more than friends, but neither of you wanted to force anything, so you were getting to know each other slowly.

Yet, exactly the thing that you liked about him the most (his attentiveness) was why you felt a bit uncomfortable now under the searching gaze of his, in the crossroads of his worried eyes.

"You sure? Is everything alright?"

In vain it would be if you tried to deny it, so you let out an aghast sigh as you shook your head.

"Do you want to talk about it? You don't have to, but if you want to, I'm listening," he offered as gently as one could once he stopped packing his stuff, and now, he put his elbow on top of his books, his jaw resting on the top of his hand.

You didn't even know where to begin, but you started somewhere and the rest followed. You realised that once you started talking about it, it came easier to share even those concerns that you hadn't voiced out before (like as the fear of losing your best friend over something like this), and Daniel listened, asking a few guiding questions to fill the plot holes of your stories. It was actually quite deliberating talking about all of the things that had bugged you lately. Usually, you vented to your best friend, but with her still not having replied to your latest message and with her being a part of why you were upset in the first place, you couldn't do so.

"Do you want me to leave you be and not force you to talk? Or do you want me to talk about my weekend?" He offered the options before he tilted his head and added a third one. "Or maybe do you want to see new pics of my cats to cheer you up?"

Hearing his question, your lips immediately curled upwards, and your voice softened a bit when you spoke up.

"The cat pics sound the most appealing right now."

"Alright, here you go," Daniel announced with a dimpled smile as he took a hold of his phone and started going through his phone's gallery. He showed the latest pics and videos of his cats back home sleeping, playing with their toys, chasing after each other and bothering his mother while she was trying to watch a movie. You found yourself smiling and giggling at what he showed you, and when he reached the end of his new photos, he looked up at you and merely stared at you, an expectant smile hiding in the corner of his lips.

"Thank you for these. You are, without a doubt, the only person who can make me smile right now," you admitted honestly, and earned a more shy version of his previous smile. He didn't even have time to comment on it though because the professor walked in, but it was enough how he comforted you with his words, with his silence and with his presence. He was a great person, and you were glad to have him in your life.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this story of mine! Let me know what you think!

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for Kang Daniel or for other artists, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Hope you have a lovely day/night! Take care! ❤️

#kang daniel x reader #kang daniel x you #kang daniel imagines #kang daniel scenarios #kang daniel fluff #wanna one scenarios #wanna one imagines #wanna one x reader #wanna one x you #restlessmaknae's request event

[sentientgolfball]

Ghoulette Appreciation: Week 9

not gonna lie I was almost late with this one

Read here or on Ao3

Word Count: 1982

Pairing: Mistshine

Summary: Mist gets caught between Sunshine and Ifrit

Sunshine giggles to herself from where she’s sitting at the table in the common area. It’s Sunday which means she has the whole place to herself unless Delta decided to pay a visit. She doubted he would though, he usually liked to visit Pebble and Ivy on the quiet days at the Ministry. She used this to her advantage. 

It’s been about a week since she recovered from her water induced illness and she’s been more energetic than ever before. She’s been keeping up with her messenger ghoul duties just fine, but she’s been itching to do something more. Really she can’t be blamed for the envelopes she’s stuffing full of glitter. It wasn’t her fault Ifrit had splashed her while on cleaning duty with a shout of ‘fish out of water’ and a laugh. Truly she can’t be blamed. Ifrit started it. 

“Do I even want to know?” 

Sunny jumps with a yelp when she hears the voice from her left. She whips her head in the direction only to see Zephyr emerging from the bedroom hallway. 

“Zeph what are you still doing here?” She chuckles nervously. 

“Decided to take the day off” they stalk to the kitchen, leaning their cane against the counter while they sift through the fridge. 

Sunny’s eyebrows shoot up “Does that mean Frit is here too?” 

“No I told him to go off, but he’s on standby incase it gets worse” 

They emerge from the kitchen with some snacks and one of the heating pads with an animal face on it. Sunny frowns at the pinch in their expression. 

“I could help if you want. I’m not as warm as Ifrit, Alpha, or Dew but still.” 

They shake their head giving her a small smile “Really it’s fine. Ifrit will come if I need him, plus I wouldn’t want to take away from whatever that is” they gesture to the pile of envelopes and glitter. 

She giggles “Alright if you say so, but uh if you doooo end up calling for Frit let me know so I can hide.” 

“Will do” they give a mock salute and head back to their room. 

Sunshine watches them go before returning to the task at hand. 

~~~

“What is the purpose of this?” Mist asks, crossing their arms watching Ifrit. 

“Sunshine has been dealing with a lot recently, yeah? Everyone being gone on tour, the bullies, her little element sickness.” 

“Correct.” 

“Figured I do something for her to help cheer her up a bit. Remind her she’s cared about.” 

Mist tilts her head. 

“Not that you’re not doing a great job of that! You are! But just…reminding her that other people still care about her.” 

“That makes sense, however what does that have to do with that?” 

Mist gestures to the stack of sponges that are currently half covered in frosting. She had come into the main kitchen hoping to grab some leftovers from lunch. Instead, she ran into Ifrit in an apron surrounded by mixing bowls. 

“This my dear sweet Mist is exactly what Sunny needs.” 

“You are aware you cannot eat sponges. If you want to bake her a cake I am sure there is a recipe for a real sponge cake somewhere in here.” 

“Controlled chaos Mist. Controlled chaos.” 

“I still do not understand, but if you are doing it to help Sunshine feel appreciated then I would like to help.” 

Ifrit breaks into a wide grin “Excellent. All I need you to do is—“ 

His phone pings and he glances at it where it’s propped up against the carton of heavy whipping cream. He wipes his hands on the front of his apron before grabbing it, quickly typing out a reply. 

“Okay change of plans, Zeph needs me. If you wanna still help all you gotta do is finish covering the sponges in the frosting and then write something on the top. Maybe congratulating her for her work with her water, just make it look as close to a real cake as possible.” 

“I will try.” 

Ifrit smiles at Mist. He gives her a quick kiss on the forehead before putting his apron away and leaving for the den. 

~~~

It’s not until a day later that Sunshine and Ifrit interact with each other long enough for Sunny to strike. Ifrit had come back to the den and Sunny was nowhere to be found. When dinner rolled around and Ifrit nor Zephyr emerged from their room, she knew it was not her day. 

Oh but now. Now she was able to corner him. With tour being underway Sunshine wasn’t very busy when it came to her duties. The Clergy was too focused on the success of the Ghost Project. She occasionally had some texts to deliver from the archives, but nothing overtly important. She was mostly given busy work, but for once this worked in her favor. 

She had found Ifrit with a group of Siblings. They were busy cleaning the chapel. Ifrit was there to lift the pews to make it easier for them. Sunny giggled at the obvious looks he was getting everytime he moved and his muscles visibly rippled under his uniform. 

“Hey tough guy” she calls “I have something for you!” 

He sets the pew he had picked up down, turning towards her with a questioning tilt of his head. Sunny waved an envelope in the air. 

“Got your assignments for next week!” 

His eyes light up and he turns to the closest Sister, asking to be excused for a moment. He pats her on the shoulder, thanking her before bounding over to Sunshine. 

“Whatcha got for me Sunny bunny?” 

“You lucked out. I don’t know who’s dick you’re sucking to get these easy hours.” 

He takes the envelope with a chuckle “I can answer that question for you.” 

“I would rather you didn’t, but it’s totally Terzo isn’t it.” 

He flashes a fang filled grin before slicing through the envelope with a claw. The moment he does blue glitter explodes out, covering him in the shiny dust. Sunshine giggles watching him spit glitter out of his mouth and slowly blinking open his eyes. The Siblings look up at the noise, groaning when they see the mess. 

“How did you even get it to do that?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets.”

“Mhm well this little magician better run away before the Siblings get ahold of her.” 

Sunny glances past Ifrit’s frame, making eye contact with three very irritated looking humans. 

“You maaaaay have a point” she roots around in her bag “here. Your actual assignments for next week are somewhere in here.”

She hands him a stack of 10 identical envelopes. 

“Good luck figuring it out!” She calls as she books it out of the chapel. 

He watches her go with a glint in his eyes “exploding glitter” he muses to himself. 

He turns around to face the Siblings. He opens his mouth to say something but is immediately cut off.

“If you open a single letter in here you’re getting sacrificed on the next Sabbath.” 

“Noted.” 

He exits the chapel, leaving a trail of glitter behind him. 

Sunshine spent the rest of the day on her toes. She knew Ifrit would do something to get her back, she just didn’t know how quickly he could strike. Though, the longer the day went without an incident the more she relaxed. If he tried something in the den it would be easy for her to evade. Maybe he wasn’t even going to get her back today. That gave her more time to come up with something bigger and better. 

Once she finished taking pictures for Mountain in the greenhouse, she made her way back to the den. She was immediately greeted to the sight of Aether and Ifrit curled up on the couch. Mist and Zephyr were sitting at the table sharing a quiet conversation over tea. She can hear Alpha in the kitchen cursing at a plastic container for not opening. 

She hesitates only for a moment, eyes quickly scanning the area to see if Ifrit planted anything. When she’s satisfied she closes the door behind her and greets everyone, making her way over to the table to sit next to Mist. When she sits, Mist stands. She makes a confused chirp, tilting her head. 

“I have something for you” they inform her, heading off to the kitchen. 

“For me? What did I do?” Her tail flicks excitedly behind her. 

Mist returns with her hands behind her back “You have progressed quite far, I feel like you deserve this.” 

They present a cake with white frosting, the word congratulations written in cursive with blue frosting. Sunny’s eyes light up when they place it on the table in front of her. She looks between the cake and Mist. 

“You made this for me? For me?” 

“Yes” they nod, “you have come very far with your water lessons, so I wanted to do something.” 

Mist steals a glance at Ifrit on the couch while Sunny is distracted with the cake. He smiles wide and gives her a thumbs up. When they return their gaze to Sunshine, she looks like she’s ready to pounce. 

“Sunshine ghoulette please do not use your hands” Aether calls from the couch. 

She hisses at him but relents “Alpha! Bring me a knife!” 

Alpha growls from the kitchen. There’s a brief moment of silence before he walks over, setting the knife down with more force than necessary. 

“Did you have to give her the biggest one we have?” Zephyr raises an eyebrow. 

“You wanted a knife I brought a knife” he grumbles, stalking back to the kitchen. 

“What’s got him so fired up?” Sunny asks examining the cake, trying to decide where to cut first. 

“He lost the fight to the leftovers container” Zephyr whispers. 

Sunny giggles as she sinks the knife into the cake. It goes through the top layer of frosting with ease, but it stops. She pauses, raising an eyebrow before pushing down again. 

“What the fuck?” 

She starts to saw with the knife, hissing when it barely starts to break through. 

“Household appliances two, ghouls zero” Zephyr deadpans, watching the struggle. 

Sunny abandons the knife in favor of her claws, tearing through the cake with ease. She stares at the inside of it for a moment, processing what she sees. Ifrit sits up and laughs. She glances up at him, then over to Mist, and then back down to the fake cake. 

“Do you like it? Ifrit said this would make you feel appreciated” Mist asks. 

“Mist” Sunny sets the halves down, frosting covering her hands “this is…” 

“Yes?” 

“This is amazing! I expect something like this out of sparky over there but this is even better! I didn’t know you had it in you!” 

Sunny grabs their face, pulling them to a kiss and smearing the frosting all over them. Mist chirps in surprise before kissing her back, loosely wrapping her tail around her waist. Ifrit makes a fake gagging noise. Sunshine breaks the kiss and stares at him. 

“You!” She hisses before jumping over the back of the couch to tackle him. 

“Sunny I swear to the hells if you stain this couch” Aether threatens, but there’s a smile on his face. 

Mist returns to her spot at the table, watching Ifrit and Sunny wrestle with a soft smile. Zephyr chuckles. 

“What is it?” 

“Nothing I just. You have no idea the can of worms you opened.” 

“I do not care. It is worth it if I get to see her like this.” 

Mist had decided long ago they’d do anything to keep Sunshine smiling, if they had to cause a little trouble here and there to make it happen then so be it. The feeling in their chest, the glow in her eyes would always be worth it. Sunny was always worth it.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fic #mist ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #mist x sunshine #mistshine #ghoulette appreciation #ghoulette appreciation weeks 2024 #golfball writes

[airiat]

northern sky, one. ✧˚ · .

{masterlist}

pairing: joel miller x you / f!reader (wc: 35.3k, 10 chapters)

rating: explicit, 18+

work tags: no outbreak, age difference (27/42), hurt/comfort, ptsd, fate, ldr, explicit sexual content (rough/romantic sex, light d/s & sadomasochism, dirty talk, choking/biting, oral (f & m receiving), unprotected piv, aftercare)

work warnings: themes of death (more details here, contains spoilers), depictions of mental illness/alcoholism, light discussion of theoretical relationship with minor (not condoned by either party), light blood kink

{ao3}

note: here. i've cut out my heart and laid it down beating and bloody on these pages. i needed to do this. you get to see it. this work is complete and will update every sunday bc tlou sunday. it'll be on tumblr in its entirety but also on ao3--pls just head to ao3 though i promise it's not scary there

anyway, i hope u enjoy and then comment to tell me u did thanks luv u

one. {8.5k}

Here it is. The witless beginning to the story you said you would never have. Here it is unfolding in the hallowed, wood-paneled walls of your small town’s bar. The one you always went to with your friends in high school because they’d never card, let the cheap beer flow like water. It’s the one that only plays 80s music, at home against the checkered floor tiles and the dull green vinyl of the bar stools.

There he is. The man with calloused hands built to cradle the very shape of your heart. You’d know that if you could see the grooves of his palms. You’ll know that soon enough.

He’s walking through the front door. He’s shaking snowflakes from the salt, mainly pepper, strands of his hair. He’s running a thumb over the etched-in crease between his brows, tugging the edge of his mustache, sitting down on the stool next to yours so heavily that melted snow wets your cheeks.

“Coming down hard out there,” your friend, the bartender, says as a greeting.

“Yeah, sure is,” the stranger says, coat-clad elbows against the bar top. “Don’t think I’ll be able to drive any further tonight.”

Your friend, the bartender, tilts her head in sympathy. “Well, what can I get for ya, then?”

“Beer’s fine,” the stranger answers. “Anythin’ you got on tap. I ain’t picky.”

Your friend nods and moves to fill a glass, setting it down in front of the stranger who wastes no time taking a gulp.

Here they are. The words you toss into the ether that you can never fish back out. Tongue loosened by your fourth glass of whiskey. Almost enough drink to let you trudge home through the snow, fall face-first into your mattress. Just hope you don’t drown in vomit before it’s time to wake up for the first appointment at your salon. Hope your hands stop shaking enough to give a decent haircut.

The sweaty tumbler in front of you is the wound slotted between your ribs, which coats your hands in just enough blood to make a ring slide off your finger. But just little enough to keep you dazzling, to make heads turn to you. 

Still, nothing sticks. It’ll always be your palms alone pressed against that laceration at the end of the night.

“That sure is an accent,” you say. “Must be pretty far from home.”

Here it is now. The first time this stranger looks at you, like he’s only just realizing a full-blooded woman is sitting next to him. He blinks in surprise, long eyelashes framing eyes that must be brown. There’s a corner of his lip raised, but it’s humorless. Your whiskey eyes don’t delude you.

“Damn, that obvious? Here I thought I was blending right in.”

And there they are. His first words to you. You don’t see how the invisible threads are being tied into place by them. 

It could have gone a million other ways. You could have been you in a bar five hundred miles from here, instead. Where they play 90s rock, and the seats are red instead of green. Where the night is warm and a girl, but sober, but with steady hands, will drive home alone and fall asleep in bed with an orange cat curled up with her.

Instead, here he is, sitting next to you. Here he is for you.

“Almost,” you say. “Don’t talk, and you’ll have it down.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he drawls, but then he pauses, seems to consider. “What’s your name?”

You smile, shake your head. “What’s yours?”

“Mysterious, are you? Mine’s Joel. Joel Miller.” The unneeded addition of his last name is pointed. He’ll give you more than you’ll give him. He always will.

“Where did you come from, Joel Miller?”

“The road,” he grunts, taking another swig of beer.

“The road from where?”

“Texas. Austin.”

“To?”

Joel flicks his gaze over to you. The furrowed brow does not go unnoticed. “You sure ask a lot of questions for a girl with no name.”

“I’m making conversation,” you counter. Then, you wave down your friend who would never cut you off, ask for another glass of whiskey. “You could make conversation, too, if you answered them.”

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna,” Joel Miller says, but he’s smiling at you, something small and secret, just for you. 

“So, where’s the cowboy hat, Joel Miller?” you ask.

Behind you, another Tuesday night regular walks through the door donning the very thing. It’s Colorado, somewhere. Close enough to the mountains, far enough to block them out with a pinky over the horizon. It’s more ranches and dry plains, the endless expanse of watercolor sunrises.

“You think everyone from Texas is a cowboy or something?”

You shrug, take a sip of your drink. Tastes too much like water. You’d make a scene about it–you have before–but this moment with Joel is better than booze, better than yelling. If only for the time being. “Yeah. Aren’t they?”

He squints at you like he can’t decide if you’re fucking with him. “‘Course,” he says. “Just happened to leave mine in the truck.”

You squint back, but it’s to study his sun-worn face, his coat's old canvas. Maybe. But then you duck down beneath the bar to see his shoes. Come back up, grinning victorious. “Wrong kind of boots.” Work boots. The lace-up kind. “Bet you’ve never even ridden a horse in your whole life.”

“Sure I have. Once…when I was a kid.” He snorts a laugh. “No, I’m not a cowboy. And hardly anyone from Texas is.”

“How disappointing.” You give an exaggerated sigh. “Well, what do you do?”

“I’m a contractor.”

You grin. All cheek. “So, you’re good with your hands, then?”

Joel won’t look at you, but the tips of his ears are growing red. You can’t see that it sweeps across his cheeks, too. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he answers gruffly into the bottom of his beer.

“Maybe that works out better for us, then,” you say in a low voice, leaning closer. “I’m certainly no horse, after all.”

This has to be the moment. You’ve decided you want this. Want him. Want the heat of him, the weight, his short breaths, the quick snap of his hips, your body pressed under his.

Joel finally turns to you, and his eyes pass slowly over you–your face, your chest swathed in an old flannel shirt, lace camisole peaking through the top. 

“A horse?” he says in a voice like the snow falling outside in the darkness. “No, I wouldn’t say that you are.”

You reach out and brush his hand. “There’s a hotel in town, but it’s kind of a dump,” you murmur. “You could come back to my place instead.”

“Your place?” Joel chuckles. “Kind of you to offer, darlin’, but I can smell that whiskey on your breath from here.”

You smile. Darlin’. “Could be tasting it, instead.”

Joel swipes his tongue along his top lip. “Dunno if that’s such a good idea. You seem a little…young.”

“I’m being served at a bar, aren’t I?” But then you lean even closer, lips next to his ear. “I’m twenty-seven.”

The slope of his shoulders says you’ve eased him, but he still pulls away, shakes his head. “I should really just get to sleep. Have to finish the rest of my drive tomorrow.”

You shrug. You’re not gonna cry about it. This was never really the plan. You would have just been lucky. You say farewell with a soft hand on Joel’s shoulder as you stand up, tossing a twenty on the bar. For you and him, you indicate to the bartender who is no longer your friend.

“Safe travels, then,” you tell him. Kind smile. You’re good at this.

As you leave the bar, you’re stopped by something. It’s not him. No, it’s a voice singing a familiar tune, the one that goes, All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms. You can’t go just yet. You like this one, actually like this one. Your hips are swaying as you go to the small space in the bar where people sometimes dance. You’re the only one there tonight, but this isn’t the first time. It never stops you.

But you’re not there for very long this time. Barely even through the second verse. There’s an arm sliding around your waist. When you look up, you meet brown eyes. Those long lashes.

It’s his turn to dip down to your ear. “Changed my mind,” Joel murmurs. “Seeing you move….” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. You’re already threading your fingers through his, tugging him back towards the way you came.

His truck is dusted with snow in the parking lot. It’s an older one. Utilitarian. Nothing like those flashy ones that only pretend they have purpose. You imagine his tools cluttered in the bed. Imagine him driving it, sweaty and tired after work.

But now he’s pulling the passenger side door open for you, holding your hand for balance as you climb into the seat, closes the door, and gets into the seat next to you.

You’re warm with him in the cab now. The interior is surprisingly clean, smells of leather and earth, of cigarette smoke, faintly. The stereo is on from how he must have had it before, down low, playing a CD of some artist whose name is on the tip of your tongue. Minimal, mostly guitar, only one voice like it in the whole world. It suits him. You imagine him listening to it on the lonely road, mouthing the lyrics, thumb tapping against the wheel.

Joel’s driving now. Only, his thumb is brushing against your knuckles, hand resting in your lap. He’s asking you how to get to your house, and you’re directing him as he goes, but your voice is drowned out by the feeling of his hand on yours.

You hadn’t expected this. Maybe he’d have his hand on you, sure. But it should have been on your thigh. Maybe even drifting in between your legs. He should be thoughtless. He should pretend that you are nothing more than a pocket of warmth on a cold night. You don’t know what to do with tenderness. It’ll flounder and die if it’s left up to your heart to hold it.

When it starts to feel like he’s grinding glass into your skin, you pull your hand back to yourself. He glances over, but you just grit your teeth and say nothing. You’re approaching your house now, anyway. 

You don’t even have to direct him anymore. Yours is the only house at the end of the dirt road. Joel pulls into the drive, and you think you should be embarrassed. It’s old and neglected–chipping green paint, sagging porch, bare bulb over the front door. A farmhouse with only your garden beds left of the farm. At least it’s tucked into the trees, so no one really has to see it.

“You leave your car back at the bar?” is the only thing Joel says.

It isn’t what you’re expecting. “No,” you answer. 

“And not one here, neither. So you, what, take a cab?”

You don’t like what your response ought to be. You don’t like that he’s even asking. “Why are you asking?”

“Just confused, is all. How were you plannin’ on getting home?”

“Woulda walked.”

“Alone in the dark? In the snow? And taken you something like thirty minutes?” He’s bewildered. He shouldn’t be. This is how it always goes, and you are always fine.

“I like the fresh air. The adventure,” you reply. “So, are you coming inside…or?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry.” He shuts the truck off, and you both exit. You don’t wait for him before you march up to the front door. But he catches up when your unsteady hands take too long with the keys.

“You, uh, you sure you’re alright?” Joel asks.

You won’t look at him; you only catch a glimpse of the white cloud his breath makes. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just got a medical condition, okay? I’m basically sober. I barely drank anything.”

Two truths. A lie. But maybe you don’t like playing this game anymore. Maybe Joel and all his questions are more trouble than they’re worth. And so, you snap, “Look, if you don’t actually want to do this, you’re welcome to leave. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

And here it is. The choice. The first exit. The proof of…the proof of what? Desire? Integrity? Pity?

“Just want to make sure you’re…y’know, that this is what you want,” Joel says.

You finally get the key in and shove the door open. The house is as dark as it always is when you arrive.  Quiet, too. Like the inside of the pine box you should have been laid to rest in. But you didn’t get one. You were meant to go on. To live with that.

“Come with me,” you whisper to Joel, careful not to disturb the slumbering darkness.

He follows you as you lead him to your bedroom, just as quiet, honoring the stillness. As though the Earth has paused its orbit and will only begin again once you’ve told it to.

You reach the room and stop to light the single vanilla-scented candle on your dresser. Joel starts to reach for the lamp next to your bed, but you hold a halting hand out.

“No, don’t,” you tell him.

He pauses to look at you, face golden with candlelight, warm like the final rays of a sunset. “Alright, darlin’. Anything you want.”

And what you want is to step slowly towards him, press your hands to his chest, rise on your tiptoes, and kiss him. But you don’t. You pause with your lips a breath from his.

“Never got the chance to tell you how pretty you are, did I?” Joel murmurs, palms sliding against your jaw until his fingers are laced in the hair at the nape of your neck. 

You freeze a little because this isn’t what you’re supposed to hear. Hot, maybe, Sexy, maybe. But pretty? That’s meant for someone without ghosts haunting them. You were never meant to be more than warm flesh. You don’t have eyes, don’t have lungs or a heart. He isn’t meant to tell you otherwise.

But you can’t help how your eyelashes flutter, the bloody corpse of your hope reanimating. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, you are,” he says. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You think this has to be a lie. You make yourself presentable because your business is beauty. Keep up with your hair color, do a face of makeup. But right now, you’re in old jeans and a holey flannel, breath tainted with stale whiskey, eyes rimmed with smudged mascara.

“Okay,” you whisper. “If you think so.”

“Yeah, I do,” he tells you. “Now, c’mere.”

Finally, finally, Joel leans in and kisses you. You can’t help your immediate sigh, open-mouthed and slack against his lips, can’t help your hands from fisting at his chest, almost pushing him away. You can’t help it. You’re not familiar with this kind of gentleness. 

Joel pulls back, and your sigh becomes a quiet whine, hands clutching at his coat. If you let him go, he’ll become a wisp of smoke. You’ll wake up and realize that none of this has been real. That your mind is finally deranged enough to concoct such a beautiful illusion.

But those dark eyes looking down at you are too fathomless to be something you conjured. Your sickness would never let you create something so complicated, would never even realize that a life must exist inside of them. Because you see it all there in those eyes: every moment he’s lived, every teardrop, every piece of happiness witnessed.

“You have nice eyes,” you tell him. It’s all you can say.

“Thank you,” Joel says softly. “Now, here, just let me….”

He relocates your hands from his coat to the front of his shirt before he shrugs out of it, draping it over the back of your vanity chair. This is an appreciated change; now you can feel the shape of his muscles, slide your fingertips up to trace his collarbones.

This time, you kiss him, surrendering to your sadness as your lips meet his, aching. This kiss becomes your arms around his neck, rising on tiptoes to press yourself against his chest. His hands find the skin of your shoulder blades underneath your flannel, warm and rough on you. Warm and real. You break away long enough to tear at the buttons and let your flannel fall to the wooden floor. You still have your camisole on. It isn’t too scary.

But you find yourself backing into your bed, sinking onto it when the mattress presses into your calves. Joel is leaning over you, your head craned up, so the kiss never breaks. But, then, it does, and he’s kneeling in front of you, pulling your boots off, then gripping you behind your knees. Kissing you again so soon that it’s like he never stopped.

You wouldn’t have cared about the boots. You would walk through a sea of mud and still get tangled up in your sheets if it meant Joel would be there next to you. But he’s too considerate to even dream of it. He must be. He must care. He must want to make sure there is nothing about this that you’ll regret.

“You still doin’ alright, honey?” Joel pauses to ask you. 

In this new stillness, you notice the heaviness in your chest, realize your breaths are coming short and nearly frantic. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” you gulp.

He releases one of your knees to soothingly rub your arm. “We can always slow down, you know. Still got all night. Or, we don’t even have to do anythin’ at all.”

You smile at him. You can’t help it; your mind, in all its sickness, never could have dreamt up a man so gentle. “Are you hungry?” you ask him. “Got some leftover pasta, I think.”

He blinks once in surprise, but a smile comes to his face. “Yeah, sure, I could eat. Actually…that sounds pretty good.”

“Perfect,” you say. “Food, then.”

Joel rises to his feet and holds a hand out to help you up. You walk together to your kitchen, then to the fridge. Opened, it emits the brightest light you’ve seen since the sun as you and Joel stand before it. “Well, I said pasta, but I also have….” You rattle off a litany of dishes you’ve made. The fridge is full of these leftovers, the drawers still bursting with ingredients. You love to cook. You would cook endlessly, make enough food for everyone and then some, but everyone is really only just you.

“You made all of this?” Joel asks, glancing at you, but can’t help but bring his eyes back to the food.

“All of it, yeah. It’s kind of a hobby, I guess.”

“God, wish I had that as a hobby.” He steps back from the fridge. “Well, I couldn’t possibly decide. You pick.”

You hem and haw for a moment before settling on a foil-wrapped dish that contains chicken pot pie. Then comes the decision to warm it up in either the microwave or the oven…the microwave, you decide. It won’t be perfect, but Joel probably won’t mind. You’re still thinking about what came before this. You imagine he is, too.

When it’s out of the microwave, you slice two squares and plate them. Joel’s sitting on a barstool at the island–you put one in front of him and yours at the other seat. “You want anything to drink?” you ask him. “Got wine…other things.”

“Just water’s fine. This looks good, darlin’. I’m sorry, you mind if I…?” He looks at you with his fork hovering over the food. “Think it really has been hours.”

“No, no, please do,” you insist, then watch for a moment as he takes the first bite. He closes his eyes and lets out a quiet groan.

“Yeah, damn good,” Joel confirms.

Satisfied, you turn to the cabinets to find two glasses. With his water glass in hand, you hesitate to reach for a wine glass. It won’t look very good…he’s having water, and you’re…you snatch it off the shelf. Your house. You’ll do what you want. And when you sit down at the island with your wine and his water, he says nothing. Doesn’t even seem to notice, really, except enough to take a drink.

“So, you never told me,” you begin, picking at your food, then relenting and taking a drink of wine. “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, I didn’t?” he says with a mouthful of food. “Headed to Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “What’s there?”

“My brother and his wife just had their baby. Thought I’d pay a visit.”

“Oh, nice. Girl? Boy?”

“Boy.” Joel smiles. “Be good to have a nephew. Have a daughter, myself.”

You glance down at his hands—no ring to be found—but you still feel funny about it. You take a long gulp of wine. “You do?” you make yourself ask.

“Yeah. Sarah. Think she’s plannin’ to be there, too.”

“You don’t know?”

“Well, she and I…she and I haven’t been speaking lately.”

You don’t think you should press, but the wine has reignited your earlier haziness, so you’ll do it anyway. “Why’s that?”

Joel looks over to you, gaze lingering like he’s deciding something, but then he bows his head back to the plate of food. “First, it was that she just started college. Thought I’d give her a little space to grow. But then, she came home this past Christmas with a girl, introduced her to me as her girlfriend.”

You furrow your brow. “You don’t like that your daughter has a girlfriend?”

“Well, I mean, I didn’t know what I thought about it. It wasn’t how I was raised, you know? To think something like that is alright. And my own daughter?” His voice comes quiet, and he’s picking at his food, too. “We fought about it, and then she left early. Haven’t spoken since.”

You stab your fork into the pie crust. “If I had a kid, I’d just want them to be happy.”

“Yeah, I know. I did eventually come to see it that way, too,” Joel replies, almost defensive, but then he sighs. “She doesn’t know I’m coming, but I’m hoping she’ll forgive me.”

If he were anyone else, you wouldn’t want to reassure him, but he’s Joel Miller, so you say, “I bet she will. You seem like a good dad.”

He gives you a soft smile. “Maybe,” he says. “But thanks. Sweet of you to listen.”

You shrug. “I do a lot of listening. Part of my job.”

“You some kind of therapist or something?”

“Hairdresser,” you answer. “Almost the same thing.”

“Huh, yeah,” Joel agrees. “You been doing it for long?”

“Five years.”

“You like it?”

“Well enough, I guess.”

“Surprised you can, y’know–”

“Why, because my hands shake?” You cut him off with a snap. “All that came after. I can do my job just fine. It’s muscle memory.”

“Didn’t mean it like that. Just that it’d be impressive.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you mutter. You’re taking it out on him. You know it. But your haziness will have you let it fester. The vengeance rolls across your tongue in waves. It’s all you can do not to say it.

Joel leans in towards you, sweeps your hair away from your neck. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I shouldn’t have said it. You’ve been so sweet to me.”

The vengeance dies when you let him press a small kiss on your cheek. Your cheek. You’d forgotten you could be kissed there. It feels better than you ever thought such a simple thing could. Like a bandaid smoothed over an old wound.

“You done eating?” you murmur.

“This, yeah,” he says, nudging the plate, face still near yours. “But maybe I’m, y’know, still a little hungry for something else.”

You giggle. Actually giggle. It’s a corny line. You know it, but it’s working on you. You’re not ashamed to say so. “Yeah? Well, I have a whole fridge full of other stuff.”

Joel shakes his head, tickling your cheek with his beard. “Not quite what I had in mind. Maybe…maybe I should just show you.”

“Yes, please do,” you whisper.

“Alright,” he says with a small smile. “But first, these have gotta go.”

Your gaze follows his movement down to his boots, which he unlaces with deft fingers. It’s the kind of thing that makes your mind wander, imagine what else he could use them for. You’ll find out soon enough.

Joel leads you back to your bedroom with your hand in his. He doesn’t let go until he’s sitting on the edge of your bed, and even then, it’s only to replace your hand with your hips as you stand before him. He’s looking up at you silently, waiting. You’re breathing in the vanilla of the air, marveling as it mixes with his scent: the woods in summer, a piece of the sky, something almost like blood. You could hold it all against your chest when you lay down under the trees and pull the earth over yourself. You’ll remember it.

But you’re not there yet. You blink, and the house comes crowding in around you, too fast and too much, but you feel Joel breathing beneath you, and you settle. His hands slide from your hips to cup your rear as you sink into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. Drape your arms over his shoulders, press your face into his neck.

“You smell so good,” you say against his skin.

Joel exhales. “Can I kiss you again, darlin’?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “Please do.”

He lifts your head with gentle fingers underneath your chin, pauses long enough that you start to melt into those dark eyes, but they’re moving over your face, lingering on every feature. Finally, his lips, with their perpetual M-shaped slope, curve up and kiss you.

All the night’s previous slowness is abandoned as Joel’s fingers thread into your hair, tugging at the roots, as you clutch at the back of his neck, forbidding each other from ever letting go. Not as though you would. Not when he’s parting your lips, licking into your mouth, drawing out a quiet moan. Not while his hands travel the road of your shoulders and down your sides, fingertips cautiously dipping under the hem of your camisole.

“Can I…?” Joel murmurs into your mouth.

You don’t answer him yet, instead moving to the buttons on the front of his shirt. You want to undo them, but your shaking hands prevent it. He notices, gently takes your place. 

His shirt is discarded along with the last shreds of your hesitation. You resist the temptation to sink your palms into his chest to find the warmth of his heart. You let him continue. 

First is your camisole shucked off, and then you’re sitting there in your thin bra, bracing yourself as he sees you. There’s nothing wrong with you; you know there isn’t. You know about the shadow of your ribs, the constellation of your beauty marks, the crescent moons of your breasts. There’s nothing ugly about it. But you can only unravel when he smiles, kisses the dip of your collarbone.

Your breath hitches when Joel reminds you of his tongue, licking up the junction of your neck, and again when he introduces you to his teeth as he softly drags them against your skin. You tighten your hands against his back, long fingernails sinking into his spine. He hisses through those teeth, pulling you tighter against him, arms a band around your middle.

“You gonna be sweet for me, honey?” he asks, leaning back to look at you. “I don’t have to be so gentle with you if that’s not what you want.”

Your lips part at his words. Maybe you’d be drooling if you didn’t have your decorum–or if you’d had just one more drink. “I–I don’t know what I want. But I’m not…fragile.”

“No, no, I know you’re not,” he says gruffly. “Well, then, I’m gonna stop asking you about everything. But you’re still going to tell me if you don’t want something to happen, or if something hurts in a way you don’t like, or if you just plain want me to stop. Alright?”

You nod, docile and brainless.

“And you’re not gonna be shy about it, either. You’re gonna be honest with me. Right, darlin’?”

“Yes, I’ll tell you,” you say softly. “I promise.”

“Good. Now, this first.” Joel slips his fingers under the band of your bra, unhooks it with his thumb. “Been wantin’ to see you. Know you’ll be beautiful.”

Goosebumps shimmer on your skin as he guides the straps down your shoulders, slow, making it feel like your arms go on forever. When he’s finally revealed you to him, a shiver wracks through you, probably because of how he’s looking at you: like he’s just sifted through all your layers, reached the empty space in your chest. But it’s not empty, is it? No, the light bathes his face.

He smiles. “Just as I thought. Beautiful.”

You giggle, press your bare chest against his, just as bare, and a kiss to his lips. “And what about you, huh? Most handsome man that’s ever been in my bed.”

“Probably only could have said that about me ten, fifteen years ago,” Joel disagrees lightly.

Then, as if to distract you, he wraps his arms around you and flips you around so you’re on your back. As if to make you forget the thought entirely, he kneels over you and frames your face with his hands, feathering kisses over your mouth, your cheeks. You’re grabbing his shoulders, breathless, floating, but you haven’t forgotten.

“No,” you speak hoarsely. “I’m saying it about you right now.”

His answering chuckle rumbles against your chest as he drags his lips down, attaching themselves to a nipple. You moan when his tongue flicks against it, clutching at his hair. What were you trying to tell him? Something about–he nips at you, just a little bit, and the sensitivity has you seeing stars.

You let it all go as he moves to your other nipple, as one hand grips your waist, slides down to the curve of your hip, where your skin becomes your jeans. There, his hand is all you can pay attention to, knowing what he’s asking of you.

“Joel, please, take them off.”

“You take ‘em off. I got other matters,” he tells you.

His “other matters” are to return his lips to yours and to not let you forget about his tongue, moving against yours in a new way, one that gives you some idea of another use for it. Flooded with the feeling, you’re fumbling with the button and the zipper on your jeans, pouring frustrated sounds into his mouth until he finally reaches down and yanks them off himself. When your hands meet as you go for your underwear next, he laces your fingers with his and presses your hands next to your waist.

“Be patient, pretty girl. Leave them for me.” His voice is like thick smoke.

A small moan is your agreement, enough that Joel gives your hand back, only for you to latch onto his arm braced next to you. His muscles move under your fingertips, and you consider his strength. How your hand was going nowhere, how badly he could probably hurt you, how he never will.

And it’s true: he won’t. Never in all your life. But you deserve at least that much. More.

Joel doesn’t make you wait for very long. His will probably isn’t made with as much iron as he’d have you believe, but his fingers feel sure as he slips beneath your underwear, finds the hollow below your stomach, careful to only just brush the hair there. Maybe he’ll have you beg for it. You look up and see him watching you with a contented little smile. All you can do is blink slowly back.

“Joel…” You try, but your words don’t form.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I know, darlin’. I’ll give you what you need. Just let me relish it.”

“No, now. Please.”

His smile morphs into something more wicked at your plea, when you reach down and grab at his wrist. He lets you guide his hand toward your center but won’t let his fingers go where you need them. He’s using his strength for that control. A frustrated whine falls from your lips. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he is an endless well of restraint. He doesn’t even kiss you–only lets his eyes roam your face.

But your own well is more akin to a puddle, on better days, the shallow end of a swimming pool. You show him this when you pull his head down, kiss him so hard that it hurts your lips. And finally, with a growl of surrender, his fingers travel down the length of your slit. Your moan drops into his mouth, his name strung after it.

“God, all of this for me, baby?” Joel rasps at the wetness gathered between your legs.

You can’t answer him because his fingers have made it to where you’ve needed him most, gliding over in slow, but firm circles. You’re tugging at his hair, holding his head, making sure his lips are there to catch all of your noises, to match your shallow breaths to his.

After a particularly sharp pull to his hair, he groans, and then his fingers move down to your entrance, lingering but not going in. There’s almost no sensation, almost unbearable after him having just worked your bud. Your frustration and exasperation have you yanked at his roots, wrapping your hand around his arm in a vice, trying to hold him there so you can move your hips to meet him. But you can go nowhere; his other hand is holding you still at your waist.

“Joel,” you whine, tears pricking at your eyes.

He’s looking down at you, pausing before he leans in and kisses you softly. “Bet I could keep you like this all night, have you delirious by morning. And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

Your breath comes quicker with panic, but somehow the thought is still a temptation. To let him work you down until you’re nothing more than your body, until you’re mindless and bent to his every word. It would be a pricklier sort of heaven, but heaven all the same. “Yes, I would. I would,” you say between your ragged breaths.

“Thought so,” Joel says, smug. “But I won’t. Not tonight.”

With that, he sinks two thick fingers deep into your wet heat. Throat bared as you toss your head back with a moan, he closes his lips around the thin skin, nipping until you feel raw, burnt as though by the sun. Your cries are sharp and thin as his fingers work you apart, legs splayed, hands clutching at anything in reach: him, the sheets, your bare breasts.

Soon, the tides change, and Joel pushes himself up, deftly maneuvering so that he’s kneeling on the floor, pulling you to the edge of the bed, all while keeping his fingers inside you. Propped up on your elbows, you gaze down at him between your legs, chest heaving as you realize what will come next.

But your underwear is still devastatingly on, and his mouth is miles and miles away from your center. His lips are on the inside of your leg, yes, but only at your knee. Still, you cannot complain–his fingers have started moving again, and this time, his thumb rubs at your bud.

“Joel,” you breathe, tipping your head back. “I’m gonna die waiting. I’m–I’m…please, my underwear.”

There’s a little spark of surprise as he immediately rips them off you, but you let out a thin wail when he pulls his hand away, leaving you cold and empty. Your arms shoot out to reach for him, but he eases you back with a hand on your stomach, draping your legs over his shoulders.

“Shh, baby,” he soothes, breath sweeping across the sensitive skin. “You’re so good for me. It’ll be worth it.”

“Please,” you whimper as he brushes soft kisses on the inside of your thigh, trailing down closer and closer until he finally presses one right onto–

His name falls like fluttering leaves from your lips as his tongue licks up through your folds. There is no easing into it this time; he eats at you like your body is something exquisite. Lips capture your bud as his tongue flicks over it, and you dissolve into a thousand flower petals as you sink into the bed.

“Joel, please, I need your–” Your moan is loud and throaty as his hand snakes between your legs, and he plunges his fingers into you, immediately curling them, all before you can even finish your sentence.

And this will do it. You know it will. The release is already coiling up in your stomach, heavy and tight, and you think maybe you’ll faint before you can get there. That’s how perfectly he works you. That’s how skilled his tongue is, how steady his fingers are in their movement. It’s like he had spent years studying your body, countless nights giving you this divine pleasure. 

But you’ve just met him. You can’t explain this, and you’re not meant to. 

You forget the thought as the warmth pools in the depths of your core, as one of his hands squeezes your thigh so tightly that it aches. There’s a sound coming from deep in his throat; if you could, you would pull it from him and cup it in your palms. His tongue is ceaseless, and his fingers are tapping against the spot inside you that sends your sense scattering.

“I’m almost there, I’m almost there, Joel,” you gasp, clenching down on him, drawing your thighs tighter around his head. He can’t go anywhere. He can’t stop. You need this. You’ll die without it. You’ll–you’ll–you’ll– “Fuck.”

The release envelopes you like an avalanche, pinning you down so that all you can do is arch your back into his mouth. You can hear his low groan amid your rapture, but you are otherwise so lost, so gone. You are meant for this. This is how you should always live. If it was forever like this, you could make it. His mouth, his fingers, him. Yes. Just like this.

It ends so soon. But your woe is interrupted by the simple sight of Joel, lips wet and glistening from you, shaped into a sloppy smile. He’s stroking the outside of your thigh as he untangles himself from your legs. Then he rises and crawls over you, kisses you soft and gentle, letting you taste the tang of yourself. The wetness of the fingers that were inside you trace against your jaw, leaving it cool in the air.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Joel murmurs into your hair, holding you closer to him. “So fucking sweet.”

You sigh contentedly into his chest, but you’re still buzzing, still yearning for more of him in different ways. It’s almost without thought when you reach between your bodies and slip your hand into his jeans. He’s already almost hard in his boxers, and as you trace his length, you bite your lip at just how much there is.

He groans, low and quiet, against your neck, pushing himself more into your hand. “Ah, fuck, baby. You don’t–” he swallows. “--you don’t have to.”

“And I’m not going to,” you say. And it’s true: that was never in the plan. It’ll be a while before you let him into your mouth. You’ve never liked doing it, only would if you loved him. “But you are still gonna fuck me, right?”

He chuckles lowly. “That even a question, darlin’?”

“Good. Then, these–” you withdraw your hand to pop the button on his jeans, yank down the zipper “--need to come off. Right now.”

He instantly sits up, tosses you a cocky grin. “Yes, ma’am. Anythin’ you want.”

You sit up to watch him as he gets on his feet to do what you ask. But, god, he still has the reins in this moment. You know this as he takes his sweet time pulling them down, letting you soak in his body for the first time. 

And fuck, how had you not noticed all this? 

All the delicious muscles in his torso were built by hard labor, not at the gym, but still with a leanness–long lines, not bulk. His arms could lift you like you’re nothing. The expanse of his shoulders could eclipse you underneath him. But his jeans are hanging low on his hips, and your eyes drop immediately to the v-lines now exposed, to the wisps of dark, coarse hair peeking over his briefs.

“You’re teasing me,” you accuse.

He raises an eyebrow. “Tellin’ me you don’t enjoy the show?”

“I do. I just–god, I need–” You’re stammering. You’re gesturing frantically with your hands. “Fuck, Joel, I need you. I can’t fucking stand how–how sexy you are.”

The rich sound of his laugh is at home in the flickering candlelight, but he finally lets the jeans drop to his ankles, standing there in only his tight briefs. Your chest is clenching with stifled pants as he returns to the bed, climbing over you until all you can do is flatten down onto the mattress, caged by his arms and legs.

“I…think…you forgot something,” you whisper as his lips dip down to your neck.

“Did I?” he murmurs between kisses. “Maybe you should fix it for me, hm?”

You exhale a trembling breath as your hands find his hips, a breath that he captures with his mouth on yours. You manage to get his briefs down somewhat but can only move so much with him over you, with his hand cradling the back of your head. At your frustrated squeak, Joel reaches around and takes them the rest of the way off.

Finally, finally.

But he curses under his breath and pulls away. Your heart feels like it’s sunken into a hole in the ground as you stare back at him. The absence of him kills you. “I don’t have anythin’ with me,” he admits, looking like he could punch himself. “I can’t believe I didn’t fuckin’ remember.”

“You mean, like, a condom?”

“Yeah.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Might have one in my truck, but this isn’t–this isn’t somethin’ I usually do. And everything’s probably closed now and–”

“Joel.”

He quiets, brings his eyes to yours.

“I don’t mind,” you tell him, sitting up. “I don’t really do this either, so I’m clean, and you can just pull out. I…trust you.” You say that last part so quietly. You can’t meet his gaze now.

“I don’t want this to be a mistake,” he says softly.

“I’ve made so many mistakes, Joel. You’d be the least of them,” you say. “I think you’re a decent man.”

“You just met me. How can you be so sure? I coulda, I dunno, killed a bunch of people or somethin’. Just because I’m decent to you don’t mean–”

“Have you killed a bunch of people?”

“Well, no, but–”

You tilt your head, cock a smile. “You’re acting like a dad. Cut that shit out, and please, just please fuck me, Joel.”

He exhales, his shoulders relax, and the easy smile slides back onto his face. “Yes, ma’am. Anything.”

You don’t wait before pulling him to you by the neck, smashing your lips to his. And he’s quick to push you down to the bed, hand behind your back, you arching over it. Your lips never separate. You’ll die if they ever do. He’s roughly palming your breast, licking into your mouth, hot and hungry, desperate and keen. And then, his hand leaves your chest for a moment, finds its way to where your bodies will meet. You tense, knowing what’s coming, and when he eases himself in, your moan shatters into his mouth. The start of his slow, deep thrusts has your eyes rolling back, has you clutching him closer by his shoulders, tossing your head so his teeth scrape your chin.

“Yes, yes. God, Joel, t-thank you,” you gasp.

He lets out another of his low growls before he grabs your head back to kiss you again, quickening his motion as he does. In this way, he continues until your body and your mind belong entirely to him. Every movement you make is to bend with him, to let Joel mold you into something perfect for him, to bear his roughness and welcome his gentleness. 

It’s how he holds your jaw between his fingers to keep you still, but how achingly tender are the kisses that come after. How he hooks your leg under his elbow, folding you into yourself almost painfully, but how attuned to every twitch of your body, every time you react–tempering himself at a wince, going deeper when he earns a moan.

And your every thought belongs to him, too. Every time you catch a glimpse of his dark eyes, the tendons in his neck, the expanse of his shoulders, your world shrinks until it’s taken his shape. And then, before long, it’s just him, and him, and him. 

It’s how he’s looking at you, too, like you’re the woman who filled his lungs with the breath he’s used to make all his beautiful sounds. Every fervent moan, every sweet little nothing he’s poured into your mouth, next to your ear. All because of your shaky hands that coaxed him into being. 

“Baby, I’m gonna…I’m sorry, I have to–” Joel chokes out, bracing a hand next to your head.

His thrusts come rougher, but looser, like they’re out of his control now.

You reach up and let him lean his cheek into your palm. “Go ahead, sweetheart,” you breathe.

Not a moment later, he jerks out of you and spills onto your stomach, tugging at himself, groans hanging in the air. You’re stroking his cheek, admiring him in quiet awe, still so perfectly handsome even at his most animal. The prominent veins in his hands and arms, bowed head, face contorted in an unholy mask of ecstasy. Yes, probably, even more so.

When Joel finishes, he leans over to snatch his shirt up from the ground and uses it to wipe your stomach clean. He’s holding you as he does this–arm slid under your shoulders, lips pressed unmoving to your forehead. You’re still and stiff in his embrace; this isn’t what you expected. The shirt, maybe, sure. His tenderness? Never.

“Sorry, darlin’, usually’d have a towel for this,” Joel tells you, wadding the shirt into a ball–messy part inside, it’d seem–and tossing it back to the floor.

“You got your shirt dirty for me,” you say. “You didn’t have to.”

He chuckles. “Good thing I got more of ‘em in the truck.”

You extract yourself from him, springing awkwardly to your feet, still a little unsteady. It was nice, you have to admit. But you can’t let yourself linger with him. It’s not supposed to work like that. “Let me put it in the wash for you, anyway. You thirsty or anything?”

He’s sat up as though to follow you, a bewildered expression on his face. “I’m not worried about the shirt, darlin’.”

“Are you sure?”

“Never been more sure in my life.”

“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. Now, what do you do? You’re standing at the foot of your bed, wringing your hands. You can’t stay here all night, can you?

“You seem lost,” Joel says gently.

“I–” you start but can’t admit to it. “What now?”

He cracks a little smile, but it doesn’t seem at your expense. “Well, much as I’d love to stay up with you, I’m tired, and I’ve still got a long drive tomorrow.”

You nod. “Okay, you should get some sleep, then. You sure you don’t need anything?”

“I do need something, actually, yeah,” Joel says.

“Sure, what is it?”

“You in this bed with me.”

You freeze. Not what you expected. “Oh, um, okay. If you really want,” you say, but you’re still stationary.

Joel shakes his head. “Not want, need.” Then, he casts his eyes somewhere to the side and says so softly that it’s almost inaudible, “Please.”

Your exhale tumbles out, but you nod, going to your dresser to find a clean set of pajamas–little shorts, big t-shirt. You let him watch you dress from afar and then return to his side slowly, cautiously. Like you think he might pounce, claws out. Instead, he stays where he is but leans in to kiss your bare shoulder slipping from the shirt.

“Would you–?” you begin, passing him his discarded underwear.

“Sure, honey,” Joel murmurs, standing up to put them on. But before he returns to bed, he goes over and blows out the candle. The room is almost completely dark, and you’re still until you feel the mattress dip down next to you. That’s when you lean into him, pressing against him like a cat. “Sorry,” he says. “Shouldn’t leave that burning overnight.”

“Sometimes I do,” you admit.

“I’ll bet you do,” he answers, chuckling. “But don’t, alright?”

You yawn wide, the dark conjuring exhaustion into your bones. “Alright, Joel.”

He gives a sigh of defeat, then you feel him peel back the covers and slide under. When you look over, you see the length of his body in the soft shadows. He’s stretched out on his side, head propped in his hand. The space he leaves is perfect for you.

You need to fill that space. Just not with your body. “You want me to set an alarm or anything, or I could–”

“Darlin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Lie down with me.”

You quietly arrange yourself next to him: on your side facing him, a delicate river of space between your bodies. But he’s so warm. He radiates it. And it’s snowing outside like it’ll never stop, and your old farmhouse is so drafty, and the candle’s snuffed, and your pile of pillows is just not gonna cut it tonight. So, you bury your face into his chest, and he wraps his arms around to pull you closer, wraps you both in blankets.

His heartbeat thrums like the pulse of the earth, and you let yourself be lulled by it.

#well two months later and we're finally here #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #my posts #my writing #sun & sky

[we-survive-endlessly]

Word vomit about my poor mental state below, feel free to ignore 😬👍

I have literally been so stressed lately that my skin picking is out of control and I’m having heart palpitations. Dealing with grief, my dog being sick again, work stress, life stress, stress and sadness about the state of the world, like my body just can’t take it.

There’s so much I could say about my job. I recently went to my supervisor about the fact that my coworker who I share an office with sleeps all day. Which was really scary and hard for me, but it’s damaging my uncle’s company and the stores she is supposed to be paying the bills for are super behind because of it. Like getting three to four vendors a DAY reaching out about past due bills. Anywho my supervisor said she would take care of it but now our hr person is leaving which will dump a lot more work on everyone and I doubt anything is going to change. They’re also training me on payroll with the expectation that I’ll be able to do it by myself when the person that trains me goes out of town in like a month. Meaning that NO ONE that will be there will know how to do it or help me if weird situations come up. So now I’m stressing about that.

I was just given a promotion that came with a $4 raise which is amazing. Like I’m now making $6 more than when I started and I haven’t even been there a year which should really excite me but all I can think about is the fact that I still don’t make enough to live on my own and that the average salary needed to live comfortably alone in California is $80,000 a year which I am nowhere near. I’m almost 28, and I still live at home with no expectations of being able to move out anytime soon. Every Sunday night I want to cry because I can’t believe the weekend is over and I have to go to work again tomorrow and I’m going to have to do this probably for the rest of my life because retirement seems like a pipe dream if we even have a society or liveable world when I get to that age anyways.

I see what is going on in the world both in other countries and with people I care about here and I cry every day because while I do what I can to help it never feels like enough and I have to listen to family members with just the most awful thoughts and opinions. We live in a world where the people in charge don’t give a fuck about anyone or anything so long as they get paid and I’m TIRED.

My future, the future in general, feels hopeless. Utterly and completely hopeless. And yet here I am. I’ll go to bed early tonight to try to calm the panic in my chest and escape into my dreamland, even though going to bed early just makes tomorrow feel like it comes even faster, and I’ll go to work. Just like I do every weekday. I’ll pretend like everything is fine. Like my coworker sleeping all day doesn’t infuriate me to the point of feeling physically ill. I’ll come home and take care of my dog and then instead of cleaning or exercising or doing any of my hobbies or anything else that I want to do, I’ll just scroll my phone because I’m too tired to do anything else. Maybe I’ll eat dinner, maybe I’ll just go to bed because I’m too nauseous to eat. And I’ll repeat. For the rest of my life because this shit is never ending.

Anyways, if any of you read this, I’m sorry it’s so negative and depressing. I’ve really been trying to tell myself the things that I would tell a friend who felt this way but it’s just not working. I’m just in a really awful hopeless place and I’m sorry.

#I’m going to bed now #I love you all #I’m sure tomorrow will be back to our regularly scheduled programming of screaming about pretty men on the internet #I just… I’m tired and needed to get this out somewhere without reaching out and burdening my friends with this directly #goodnight 💚 #Rae’s ramblings

[blairwaldcrf]

okay! Now that we got this covered. Which was THE breaking point for you? Since you left that faith behind. Was there one particular thing that made you realize "well, shit I gotta get outta this" or many things piling up? And, since your original post already implies negative experiences, I'd be curious if you have any positive experience too?

Okay! So, positive first:

I do miss the sense of community. Because so many days are spent together, each congregation is pretty close. (Sunday being church service, certain days of the week being 3 hour youth/women/men groups as well, and often Saturday service projects.) I grew up in poverty that without the church's assistance would have been very bad. They have programs where they overview finances and help allocate food and necessities they keep in a "storehouse" to it's members, which literally saved my family. Groups in our congregation dropped off expensive toys and gifts on our doorstep on Christmas without taking credit. They do highly value acts of service.

negative/personal/triggers below

Now as for what made me leave, it was a piling of things on another.

It's important to remember that from a very young age girls are told over and over about how important it is to keep your body pure and untouched before marriage, and too often this discussion occurs without the nuance of sexual assault in the conversation. This made me, as a victim from very young ages, consistently feel shamed and forced into self hatred.

One of the most poignant memories I have of "questioning whether it was a true church" was finding out that black men weren't allowed to hold the priesthood until the 70's. The reasonings I was given varied from offensive to disgusting, and while I was a white girl growing up in a town with only two black people in its entirety, my analytical brain hated the fact I never got a straight answer that wasn't rooted in hatred.

As I entered my teenage years, my next issue was around sex. I felt deeply that sex didn't have to be a sin and could actually be an expression/act of love, but I was told over and over that it was a sin second to murder. Murder. Nothing about that felt true to my experiences and as I started to grow past my shame I became critical of the teaching.

When I came out to myself and friends as bisexual, I had an acceptance of myself very similar to abuela's from ODAAT where I figured if god is love and god didn't make mistakes, then I was fine. ... However after my first girlfriend and I broke up, I figured I had been wrong and that God was punishing me. A friend from school who was also only a teenager sent me material from what was basically a conversion therapy website sponsored through the church explaining that my same-sex attraction was due to mommy issues. When I saw how the Mormon church fought against LGBTQ+ rights, I started to split my affiliation with the church while still technically being apart of it.

The final tipping point was when I was told by my bishop that the reason I was self-harming and suicidal was because I had previously had sex before marriage and that I needed to repent before I could ever be happy again. To me, any authority figure who could say something like that to a seventeen-year old girl who was showing signs of actual mental illness that needed medication was not someone who spoke through God. None of the bishops I had spoken with throughout the years had ever seemed like they really spoke through God, except for maybe one. Instead they were all men with too much influence, quoting scripture and going through the motions.

Since I left, I've had the church send a letter to my brother asking where I lived now. I had that previous horrible bishop tell me once more upon a reunion that I did not in fact have Bipolar disorder. I've had several people try to pressure me back into the church... It's hard to explain how it's a cult without being someone in it, but I HIGHLY recommend watching Under the Banner of Heaven because it gets the Utah mormon culture just dead on, as well as the history of the church. It's a great mystery/true crime drama.

#anti mormon #anti mormonism #ex mormon

[writing-sunshine]

illness

Paring: Thursday Settman x reader

Warnings:

Summary: What happens when (Y/n) is ill and instead of going to work, she goes to her lovers house.

A/n: An alternative to disappear

-

The day before (Y/n) (Y/L) woke up ill, she was at her girlfriends apartment - Thursday Settman. She was feeling fine then and on her way home but as soon as she woke up the illness she had fallen victim to, took her by surprise.

She called out of work and shortly fell back asleep, wrapped up in all her blankets. When she woke up again it was 2pm and her throat was killing her, so she finally dragged herself out of bed.

After freshening up a little which was just brushing her teeth and chucking on the most comfy clothes she had, (Y/n) made her way to the Settman house, wrapped up with as much fabric as she could while still looking normal and not crazy.

Slowly, she made her way down the not so busy streets since everyone was at work on a Tuesday. (Y/n) only lived a block away from the Settman’s so it didn’t take her long to get there. Greeting Eddie once she made her way in the lobby.

“Hey (Y/n), you okay?” He asked after noticing her unusual attire. “I’m fine.” She replied and walked away from him before he could ask anything else. Luckily the elevator was already on the ground floor.

(Y/n) knocked her pattern on the door, to which it was immediately opened by a concerned Sunday. “What happened.” She asked, having only seen her 16 hours ago when she was perfectly fine.

She guided (Y/n) into the apartment, closing the door and them making their way to sit down. “I don’t know, I woke up like this.” Accepting some tea from someone.

“Wednesday go wake up Thursday.” Sunday said and Wednesday went without argument, but (Y/n) stopped her. “No! Don’t wake her up, I’m fine.” Standing up but supporting herself with the table.

Wednesday stopped and Sunday gave her a disapproving look. They knew exactly why (Y/n) didn’t want Thursday to be woken up, she could get a little overwhelming when someone she loves is sick.

“Just let her wake up from her nap by herself.” (Y/n) tried to convince them and they didn’t argue but gave her the ‘when she gets angry at us, it’s on you’ look.

“Why did you come here if you don’t want Thursday to comfort you while you’re ill?” Saturday asked from across the room, having ease dropping the entire conversation.

“I do want her to comfort me, but I also didn’t want to be alone.” (Y/n) told her, leaving out the part where she probably wouldn’t take care of herself when she’s ill, since she would be too drowsy.

Sunday led her to the couch to lay down, since she didn’t want to go up to Thursday. After taking some more medicine, she drifted into a peaceful slumber.

-

Thursday woke up from her afternoon nap to the sound of coughing. Sitting up, she tried to figure out who was ill. She didn’t remember anyone being ill before she fell asleep.

Going down the stairs, she went to see where the coughing was coming from. “(Y/n)?” Thursday was shocked to find her girlfriend coughing with tissues all around her and a red stuffy nose.

“Hi.” She replied quietly. Thursday practically rushed over to the woman, putting the back of her hand on (Y/n)’s forehead to see if she had a fever, which of course she did.

“Are you okay? How long have you been here for?” Thursday questioned looking over to her sisters with the last question. Wondering why no one had woken her up.

“Only an hour or two.” She told Thursday who was unimpressed. “Don’t look at them like that, I told them not to wake you.” (Y/n) confessed and Thursday looked at her confused. “Why?”

“Because.” (Y/n) shrugged not wanting to get into an argument while ill. Thursday thinking the same thing decided to drop the subject for the moment.

Thursday led (Y/n) to her bed and covered her with more blankets since she was still shivering. She soon fell asleep, and Thursday went to make her some soup.

“She knew as soon as you woke up you would dote on her.” Sunday told Thursday, to which she replied “Of course I would, I hate seeing her sick.”

(Y/n) remained ill for another week, it was the first Thursday that Thursday didn’t want to leave the apartment. But she did, and came back as soon as she could.

#what happened to monday #what happened to monday x reader #what happened to monday imagine #Karen settman #karen settman x reader #x reader #Thursday x reader #Monday Settman #Tuesday settman #Wednesday settman #Thursday Settman #Friday settman #Saturday settman #Sunday settman

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Friday 20 May 1836

8

11 5

no kiss  ready in an hour very fine morning - breakfast at 9 - Mr. Husband brought Mosey’s bill for railing about the house and railing off bit of Long field for the ponies, taken from what Pickells had and now to be leased to Mark Town - and railing 80 or 100 yards for John Oates on the top of the hill, and 70 or 80 yards for Jonathan Mallinson in Mytholm Ing, and for new gates for Aquilla Green at Mytholm - out - at the Lodge - new road - Mark Hepworth and his one-horse-cart and my own 2 onehorse carts and Robert Mann + 5 forming the bed of the new road along the Wheat field - took the carts off to cart away the coach house court wall into the high road ready for walling up the inside of the wall towards the house - all this coach house court wall got off today - one of the 2 cows ill - (have but 2 cows now) - Jabus Fawthrope the cow doctor so long in coming sent George off at 11 to Suter’s for 4oz. carbonate of soda and ½ a pint of castor oil (White on Diseases of cattle vol. 4 p.220) and gave her this in a pint of warm water - John had just given the medicine when Jabus came at 12 - nice civil man but a common uneducated cow doctor - he said the medicine was too cold - bleeding at any time would have been wrong - she had a slax of the bowls (lax, he meant) - ordered the cow to be sheeted and wrapt up warm about her head and horn-roots - I said little but  a counterorder ll the sheeting and wrapping - Mr. Jubb came about 1 ½ - got him to look at the cow - he said I had done all very right - at 12 A- set off by herself to the Conery to speak to Matty about a washerwoman and I went with Holt to the Long goit, down to Dumb mill bridge - all going on well - the coal holed yesterday afternoon - about 60 yards length to get up to Mr. Rawson - should do about 6 yards in a week - said I would rather they worked in the shifts (i.e. day and night) and got on as fast as they could - might then do 10 yards in a week - might therefore do the job in 6 weeks instead of 10 - H- to come tomorrow to see the levelling - went to Aquilla Green’s - got the 3 Mytholm cottage keys - told Mrs. AG- I meant to let the cottages etc with the colliery and should reserve them - should put somebody into some of them for the time - in the meanwhile AG-‘s man might sleep there i.e. till I wanted the cottage where he sleeps whenever that might be - home at 1 ½ and gave the Mytholm keys to Frank to give to his wife - went up with Mr. Jubb to my aunt - her legs got on very well - her pulse very good - he set an issue under the right knee inside - a little bit of broken skin there which he just touched with lunar caustic and then placed an orangepea there (capsules some larger some smaller - roughish - from India) and bound it down under a fillet of diaculon plaster  - it gave my aunt a little pain, but not perhaps much George told me John Green (William’s son) had told Samuel Booth, he JG- had seen a man steal young oaks off the Godley embankment 3 Sundays together - with A- at her luncheon and then had her out with me from 3 to 5 - I then out (alone) till 5 ½ - then wrote 5 or 6 lines to M- interrupted - dinner at 6 ¼ - coffee - out (A- and I) at 7 ¾ - at the Conery - John Booth planted a few ivy plants at the end of the saddle room - had Joseph Green - he persisted in it he had seen a man, would not say whom ‘a stranger’ steal young oaks 3 Sundays together but it was a year ago - hoped I should forgive him JG- this time - said he did not tell because it was not his business because he had had never been told to do so - he wanted no mischief - this annoyed me - I said I thought the person who would see another robbed 3 times together and take no notice was almost as bad as the thief - JG- thought these hard words ‘very feeling words’ - said I was sorry if he did not think as I did I could not do with a person in my own cottage would see me robbed in this way and begged him to get another cottage as soon as he could - had Matty Pollard (about washerwoman) till 9 40 - then with my aunt till 10 - very fine day - F51° now at 10 ½ pm - Note this afternoon and parcel from Mr. Parker - note to say that the parcel contained ‘the abstract of title to the Staups estate and your admittance to the copyhold part of that estate - the other papers were sent sometime since to Shibden hall’ - my bill also from January to 12 May inclusive of this year = £29.14.2 annoyed to find charged not only the allowed by act of parliament 10 p.c. procuration money on the £4000 but ‘several attendances upon you and Mr. Wainhouse Esquire....... 20/. and letter and clerk to you there with etc etc 3/6’ - the procuration 10p.c.  is enough - nothing more ought to be charged as I broadly hinted to Mr. Parker when I agreed to take the money

[lettersformiah]

9:12am, 23 june

hello bubba!

you are at home sleeping rn and i am here instead of in your arms? so dog. but yeah ^^ in geo righ tnow and i dont actually give a fuck about doing this internal right now. i had a bit of an annoying morning with my phone dying and all that so im just not a fan (i just sneezed hehehe) im so sniffly now because the geo room is quite warm compared to outside. i havent seen maya or muskaan today becase when i got to the class there were only a few people in there. apparently it was because mrs copley got them all to help out with matariki and go to the stage? and do stuff? i dont know and i also wasnt really told by cash or leo smh. they just said they had to do stuff and were content with just that. so whatever, ill see them at interval.

i hope you wake up soon but i know you wont smh. youll probably wake up during the assembly maybe? or even while we are at countdown before the festival. i dont knpw actually. im not looking forward to french but i can just fuck around and try and memorise it. i know some of it? its like 'mon ecole primaire? elle s'apellait stanmore bay. je n'ai aimait ca parce que les gens etait mechants et enervants.' thats the first part of it. i know the ideas that i talk about but i dont atually know what it said. something about 'je prommais -- ecole car je vivais cinq minutes'?? something like that. unsure hehee but i guess thats what i have next period for. im excited to drop french next year hehehe. i feel bad quitting it after 4 years of learning it but honestly i dont want to do the internals or externals for it next year and im very very average. and im ok with that. plus! i can take another subject :D i gotta look into that with you, tonight maybe? hopefully youll be down for that.

im actually okay with the assembly today. its gonna be outside bc covid which is both good and bad. bit cold but also no mask wearing. i dont know where we are meant to be though. apparently the black mat? but how do you fit a whole school onto one court? i dont think you can. and the whole plan is a bit scuffed. some people know it but i havent been shown. i dont think ill be able to wear your hoodie for it though :( they are very grr about uniform obvs bc its a formal assembly but i just put it in my bag after interval and chuck it back on! and i jus zip up my jacket for french so mr moss doesnt throw a fit. hes a nice guy really but me and him dont get on sometimes. but i love him truly, hes my favorite teacher. i think i just get on his nerves sometimes. but whoops! im not for everyone all the time and thats okay. but yeah :D i have no idea what theyre gonna talk about in the assembly tbh. i dont think we have ever have a matariki one and its also meant to be from like 11:30-12:30. what do you talk about for an hour? i guess maybe with songs and lil speeches and things. im assuming itll be like the anzac ones. so necessary, but horribly boring. but i dont mind spacing out for a bit. and! ill be with my friends :D i can sit with muskaan which is nice since i got no classes with her. will be a good time. even though we always make each other laugh during the national anthem. we always end up giggling at leo because his voice is so deep compared to everyone else. so we do the thing where we look at each other and just crack up. its really bad sometimes. hopefully today will be alright!

im also excited not for the festival itself but to just hang out with ym friends. and see leo and myaya performing! but mainly just to be with muskaan and kealan >:) we hung out on sunday obvs but i havent just existed with them since no classes. sad thing about being a senior i think. but i have no money to go to countdown with :P i think i just mooch off of kealan. but if he pays for just like something for all of us to share. but he cant even eat anything because of his braces. thats shit :( i dont know. we will see i guess. i feel bad taking and using money from him even though he assures us its fine. but i dont know. maybe itll be alright.

i got half an hour of class left. did they play dnd last night? were we meant to be there? i swear i went to bed at like 10/11 and you guys were playing val. wasnt dnd meant to start at like 8? or even 10? but i wasnt told about this. thats shit. i hate that i dont stay up late anymore. i think this weekend i do :D bc its a long weekend! so i can try and stay up later tn and tomorrow night. and then its all good. i have no plans for tomorrow except for wash my sheets and do some schoolwork. which please please please make me do i have so many internals due next week and honestly it ouwld be easier to just not do them and cry about it instead. but i gotta.

my sister also texted me! well you know that, but we did the old oh yeah how u im good how u and then i left her on delivered because i genuinely forgot to reply. or i didnt knwo what to say. i never know what to say to her. she asked me if i wanted to do the daffodil day volunteering so :D i do, i was meant to last year? year before? i dont know. they cancelled it bc of covid. but its just the thing where we stand on a road and ask for money. good times. but i love daffodil day so anything to help out!!

so yeah! thats my life up until 9:38am. thrilling stuff i know. i dont know. i wish you were awake. i wish i was texting you or calling or better yet in the same room. i love you bubba. i love you so much :*)

hope your sleep is going well n youre having good dreams. i love you, talk soon.

-mads<3



#letters

[godtiercomplex]

maya fertility journal #2

1/28/2024

alrighty.

i went ahead and bought one vial of sperm as i hit my weight goal—or so i thought. did an official weigh in on friday and according to the doctors scale i still need to lose 5-10 pounds. i’m saying 5-10 because i need to be underneath 260 but im weighing in at 265 at their offices. i’m weighing in at 260 at home so it’s about 5 pounds off. so for my sanity im thinking the closer to 250 i hit the better. so if i weigh in at home at 255 i’ll be at 260 at the doctors office. but if i hit 250 at home ill be 255 at the doctors office.

here’s praying for favors.

oh i just did a weigh in this sunday morning and forget what i typed up earlier. i'm weighing in now at home at 265 so maybe it's just the same as the doctor's office. maybe i don't need to lose an additional pounds to get to 250 and will be fine at like 255, 253....

we'll see!

anyway, i find it Hilarious that i got into TLT at the same time i'm narrowing down potential baby names cuz man a certain name was high on my list of baby boy names and now it's kinda... iffy

my sister's like jealous of a baby that doesn't even exist yet--she doesn't want me to stop spoiling her to spoil my kids instead. she's like 'i'm not ready to be an aunt yet. i'm only 9' ma'am and i'm 30. i'm ready to start my parenting journey lmao. she's just suddenly aware now that when i have kids i can redirect my funds toward buying them things and not always buying her things. it's so funny. she's so fun.

also, i saw the adult photos of my sperm donor and like i'm crying. dude has blond hair. and it's so poorly dyed. like sir! did you dye it yourself? i just find it funny that i was like 'yeah he's a pokenerd' and my coworker came over to see his photos and the first thing she said was 'is he a blond asian?' and i had no response cuz he is!

i personally never want to meet the sperm donor but i do want my kids to have the option so you know. it's nice to have access to all this data that i can save for them in the future.

anyway, overall i'm excited to almost have hit the goal weight and i think i'm gonna be plotting to have at least one of my kids be born in march so that way all of my kids can have bdays in march. leo's so funny. he's like 'oh you need to arrange for them to be born on march 1st' and it's like no. cuz my bday is march 2nd. and leo's is march 3rd. but he claims both the 3rd and the 4th so that leaves like any dates after the 4th available. but as we know babies don't come when you want them to sooo its likely that i'll just fuck around and end up sharing a bday with my kid which i don't wanna do.

as a pisces can i raise another pisces?

i guess when i DO get pregnant the tag will change to #maya pregnancy journal and then #maya parenting misadventures when they're born

god i'm excited

#maya misadventures #maya fertility journal #weight mention cw

[fallinghorizontally]

The cause of your anxiety is your mother

Mine is, that's for sure. I've been having panic attacks almost every other day for the past 5 weeks now. They happen because my body randomly shoots out a physical symptoms like fast heart rate, chest discomfort, a feeling of dread, or weird spasms in my neck. It's so hard because I can never know if it's something serious or not. It's hard trying not to completely freak the fuck out in the middle of a symptom and most of the time I will. Sometimes I'm able to get ahold of myself but sometimes even if I do, for a moment, I'm stuck with nothing but dread that will turn into anxiety again and I'll feel another symptom again. It's so hard to be brave and tell myself that I'm fine in the moment when part of my brain tells me its serious and to top it off the fight or flight just makes everything seem so much more dire.

Whenever I have a panic attack and my moms around, I run to her for help and perhaps comfort. I wonder why I do this. It's almost like an instinct. I know she will be of no help so why do I keep running to her. Before shit hit, I would get anxious and it was a direct cause of my environment, I think. I think that if I am constantly under stress and emotional hardship it will manifest itself as anxiety and physical symptoms. Of course, I haven't been normal for a while. I constantly check my pulse and do other shit that "helps" my symptoms or anxiety. But that was manageable. I could live my life peacefully and still do those things even if I knew it was not normal. Ever since I moved back home, my anxiety has increased so much and maybe that's why I'm now in this fucking cycle of panic and anxiety. My mom is is too fucking much. I play many roles in her fucking house. I am an assistant, translator, baby sitter, therapist, accountant, DOCTOR, advisor, and so much more. It is too fucking much and the worst part is that all that shit is expected. I can't even get a sincere fucking thank you. I barely ask for anything, just empathy and it seems like I'm asking for the deed to the world. She's religious and she tells her church friends all of my ailments and according to them my mental illness is because of evil. That my anxiety is caused by problems that go beyond the physical and my mom thinks that I am constantly thinking about my past traumas. I mean sure maybe but it disregards the fact that hypochondria and mental illness in general is very fucking real and I feel like she does not fucking listen. I feel so lost and lonely. To her and her fucking church friends, I am empowered by the devil and if I don't submit to their religion then I'm going to hell. Like why the fuck would you tell that to someone who's already going through so much mental anguish not to mention the fact that I am not even religious. I simply don't believe in the white mans religion which they've been indoctrinated into believing. I don't need my mental problems to be pushed aside and labeled as "evil spirits." I want to ask all those old hags to stop taking their fucking diabetes and dementia treatments and to trust God with their sickness. That little plastic box with Sunday through Saturday labeled on it? Yeah toss those the fuck out, God has your back sister! Just because mental illness is something they can't ever understand, it is treated as something other worldly and it pains me so much because I am simply not heard and threatened with eviction if I don't submit to my moms religion. And I don't do it because I simply don't believe nor do I trust those people. They simply would not understand what I am going through and they would tell me to pray it away. It is such hypocrisy. I wish you could see my mothers medication cabinet as well as the boxes of diabetes injections in the fridge. I just wish someone would listen and actually understand what it is I am going through. Instead, I just get more shit, threats, stress, and terrible advice from people who don't understand this kind of disease.

And it just makes me more anxious.

Oh and I mention their medications because I am currently taking lexapro (just started) and my mom is so against it. She says I'm just gonna be a fucking addict and all fucking stupid and that it's a clutch or whatever. Basically she's against modern medicine when it comes to mental health, something she doesn't understand, hence the hypocrisy.

#anxitey #deppresion #mental illness #hypochondria #religious trauma #emotional incest

[bylightofdawn]

WIP Sunday

I'm sorry to say that today hasn't been a very fruitful writing day. But I did get a scene with Tyvokka and Jaster written down. Pretty much, the only context needed is Tyvokka comes to Jaster to warn him about a Force vision he's seen with the warning that you shouldn't take it as a forgone conclusion and there's always a choice or a path that will bring that particular future about. So you know, your basic Jedi nonsense which Mando soooooo love to hear. I quickly debated Tyvokka giving Jaster the ol' shovel talk but truthfully? I kinda hate them. It usually comes across kinda possessive of the person you're trying to warn the party off of them. Not to mention taking way their agency and right to make their own choices. It’s got this icky connotation that the one giving the shove talk doesn’t trust the person to be an adult etc. Maybe they don’t want you to fight their own battles for them and wow welcome to my anti-shovel talk Ted Talk.

I DID think about doing a reverse shovel talk and having Jaster go in expecting the 'Don't you hurt my son' talk. And thought instead. "Be careful that my son does not hurt you. He's a Jedi and he will always choose his duties over you' sorta speech. Cause I love my expectation subversion. Not too sold on this but we'll see. As always, super rough draft, no editing blah blah blah. I might end up switching up the quotation marks on Tyvokka's speech to the same « » thingies they use in the comics. Though I feel like that is just them translating Shyriiwook. We'll see. I'm not completely in love with this scene and may end up re-doing it. Tyvokka seems remarkable chill over Plo kinda skating the edge of acceptable Jedi behavior in having a regular romantic partner.

I might have him give him a come to Jesus speech, I don't know. Again ugh I hate it and it's kinda troperiffic too. But I figure from the Jedi side of things the person who would totally be able to read through Jaster and Plo's super bad attempts at hiding their relationship would be Tyvokka. So we'll see, I suppose? Also wow El how many times can you say we'll see I suppose in the span of two paragraphs? A shit ton, I suppose.

“You are talking like this is some holonovel where good defeats evil and everyone lives happily ever after. But real life isn’t like that, Mandalorian. It isn’t that neat or tidy.” Tyvokka didn’t mince words and while it was strange hearing the crisp Core-worlds Coruscanti accent try to convey the same level of gruff harshness that he could hear in the Wookie’s actual tone of voice. 

But honestly, Jaster could appreciate that brutal honesty. 

“Alright, fine, I will try not to let my hatred for Tor make me stupid.” 

“Good. There is one other thing, this was much more....nebulous. I think there may be a traitor in your camp. Or at least one who has ill intentions. I could not see that detail very clearly, but some kind of betrayal is what will set you on the path toward the destruction that I foresaw.”

“That’s not saying a lot, I’m sorry to say. Half of them barely want to be here and are probably secretly hoping this whole affair crashes and burns.” Jaster felt awful that when he said that, his mind immediately went to Montross and the sort of cold war the two’s once strong partnership had devolved into. 

“That division in your ranks might explain what I was sensing, but I suspect there is more to it. I will meditate on this.” 

“I won’t lie, it all sounds a little far-fetched to me but I have spent enough time around Plo Koon to know that the Force <I>osik</I> you Jedi get up to is real enough. And I am man enough to admit that I don’t know or am capable of understanding the many and varied workings of the universe around me.”

Tyvokka eyed the Mandalorian curiously and with piercing golden eyes. He’d heard enough false modesty to recognize when someone was putting on a facade and Jaster Mereel was not. It didn’t exactly fit with the image he had of what a Mandalorian would be. 

At first, when he’d heard of the strange friendship between Plo and this Mandalorian, it had sounded like one of the most bizarre things he’d heard in his many centuries of living. 

He’d long suspected there might be more to that friendship and while as a Jedi, he did not wish to see Plo Koon come to a point where he might have to choose between his duties as a Jedi and his curious choice of lovers. 

The part of him that had nurtured and cared for the boy like he was his own wanted to see him happy. And this man seemed to make him happy so really, what more could he ask for? 

“You’re looking at me like you’re considering which kind of wine my liver would best pair with again.” The human joked and Tyvokka snorted inelegantly. 

“I was never fond of liver anyway. Now kidneys on the other hand. And humans have two, right? Even better.” 

He half expected the man to wince or cringe back, but the Mandalorian was made of sterner stuff and just laughed sharply. 

“Hands off my kidneys and my liver. I’m using them.”

“You’re the one who keeps mentioning me eating them. How was I to know you were not making me some strange Mandalorian offering?”

“I know we have a reputation for being rough and uncivilized but even we don’t participate in cannibalism.” Jaster snorted and climbed to his feet carefully. “I appreciate the heads up though. Seriously. Stars know when it comes to Tor Vizsla, I tend to get tunnel vision.”

“You must learn to let that anger and hate go, Mandalorian. That is the path to the Dark side. You may not be a Jedi but it can still taint your heart and poison your mind.”

“Easier said than done, I am afraid.”

“Anything worth doing is never easy. Even we Jedi struggle with our own inner demons and temptations from the Dark side. Anger and hatred are uncomplicated emotions, but ultimately, they are hollow and leave you feeling unsatisfying. That is what makes them so dangerous.” 

The dark-haired human had a strange look on his face, one that Tyvokka couldn’t quite parse out despite his centuries of dealing with his kind. 

“Some interesting food for thought.” 

#wip sunday #el writes #seeds for the future fic #tyvokka #jaster mereel