#can you bring meat to a rage room?

[gooboogy]

The delicate balance of someone who gets really fucking angry and expresses as such (without making it anyone else's problem) and the people around them who are instinctually scared of angry people (everyone is traumatized)

[ominouspuff]

Kote’s House

Kote’s first house is a pathetic thing, and he is incurably proud of it. The twi’lek he purchased it from very evidently could not make up his mind what to do with a man that grinned while he haggled, but it was the first time Kote had haggled over a purchase of his very own. He had thoroughly enjoyed it.

The house is built for one being, and a compact being at that, but Kote doesn’t have much. Moving in is quick, and most of his efforts during the next few days after go into attempting ambitious repairs for things he doesn’t know the first thing about. 

His plumbing is an issue, he knows. Something is getting blocked up. Somehow while trying to fix the kitchen tumbler, his fresher spout explodes.

He hadn’t kept his new house a secret from anyone by any means, but it is still surprising when Fox barges in through his jamming front door. He finds Kote on the floor in his cramped kitchen while the fresher rains water in the adjacent room, laughing so hard and so crippled with delight that he can’t get up.

He tries to explain how wonderful it is —

“I-I have to fix my plumbing on my own, vod—”

—but judging by Fox’s single raised eyebrow he knows it doesn’t translate.

Fox, it turns out, is moving into the neighborhood. Kote doesn’t ask about the house Fox already has — the house he has visited, which is very nice and fancy — or point out that Fox’s contract there cannot possibly be up, which begs the question of why he’s here in Kote’s neighborhood — except that Kote already knows the answer to that question. So he doesn’t ask.

Fox doesn’t show him any grace or forbearance, though.

“Don’t even know how to fix a damn pipe, front lining show-off—” His brother snarls, but it is muffled; his top half had to go down beneath the floor they’d pried up to get at the plumbing issue.

“So that’s what they had you doing all these years.” Kote says, because he really is in a criminally good mood. He barely ducks the foot-long pipe Fox throws at his head, feeling giddy.

He makes dinner that night in thanks. Fox stays, ostensibly because now that he’s fixed the fresher he intends to use it, because his new house isn’t hooked up properly yet to all the supply lines and power grids. 

They choke on homemade tiingilar (vode-style; Kote can’t pretend at the real thing yet) so heavily spiced it’s got grit to it that sticks between the teeth. It’s disgusting, but Cody had bought fifteen different spices and while usually he likes to keep his approach to the unknown more cautious, more methodical, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than use them all at once for the first time. 

Wolffe joins them not long after; brings a few others along by recommending the apartment he picks out, so that soon most of the complex is taken up by vode, Kote hears, but he doesn’t visit yet. Everyone’s too busy coming over to his house, it seems; filling up his kitchen and asking why he hasn’t fixed the trash disposal yet, why he doesn’t have a couch, doesn’t he know they’re all the rage among civilized folk?

Kote fixes the trash disposal with Rex, who is better at it than he is but says it’s only due to Skywalker’s influence on managing all things mechanical. 

“How is Skywalker?” Kote asks, and gets more than he bargained for over the next hour. At first he’s a bit off-put, because he’s trying to get dinner sorted again and he’s not been very fond of Skywalker at the best of times, but Rex is snorting out a story and laughing and it’s contagious, so Kote just resigns himself and settles in to enjoy.

Skywalker has little ones, now. Obi-Wan is the only one that can get them to sleep. Ahsoka is distressed; she knows better, but every instinct in her is apparently in agony over the little ones’ inability to eat meat yet. She obsesses over nutrients in their diet — which, given what tiny natborn humans primarily ingest in the early stages, makes for some slightly awkward conversations.

Rex helps with dinner afterward, and they take turns being incredulous over natborn baby facts, shoving around one another in the tiny, uncomfortable kitchen.

“What’s your next project?” Rex asks at one point, glancing sidelong with a cheeky look, and Kote levels his vegetable knife at him (he’s got a vegetable knife. Specifically for vegetables. It’s a very new concept). 

“I make everyone’s dinner on Tuangsdays.” He says. “I’m productive.”

Rex’s sharp-toothed grin turns thoughtful. “Yeah” He says. “Everyone loves coming here, you know. You could be the new 79’s.”

Kote knows. He plans and plots, and puts more work into researching recipes than he’s put into any research whatsoever in months. It feels a bit like coming out of a shore leave; his thoughts quicken and his excitement grows. He hunts down a market. He brings a bag. He shops, bargains, and returns victorious.

He sends out a few comms., and can’t help but shake his head and grin at how different the responses are. 

What a marvelous idea, Cody. His general — ex-general — says.

Yus pls, Ahsoka sends back, with some sort of strange tooka vidclip that dances with wiggly gyrations Kote can only assume indicate excitement.

Where is your house, Anakin says, blunt and to the point, and Kote can appreciate that. 

He sends the address. He cooks all day. The sun sets, and Fox and Wolffe arrive, already bickering, Rex trailing behind with a long-suffering look sent to Kote, begging commiseration.

“Ugh, don’t you ever stop smiling, now?” He gripes when Kote just grins at him. 

“Nope,” Kote says, unrepentantly.

He leaves the soup on the stove, simmering, and takes his cup of caf to the window. He leans on it, breathing in cool air, and just listens — listens to the squabbling as Wolffe gets on Fox’s case for not washing Kote’s dishes correctly the last time they visited. Hears the soft thumps of Rex sneaking into the cramped room Kote has set aside for plants and the sole pet he has; a pastel goullian, fins swaying ever so gently, permanent scowl in place. Thinks he catches, distantly, the sound of his remaining three guests (Padme couldn’t attend, and had made him feel very awkward by how thoughtfully she apologized for it) plodding up the hill. 

“Cody!” Ahsoka cries, coming into view and waving. 

Kote’s cheeks have stopped aching from all the smiling he’s gotten used to, so it’s easy to let another through.

[atinylittlepain]

Easy Cowboy - A Joel Miller Story

Joel Miller x f!reader/f!oc

Joel Miller masterlist

The ladies around Jackson can’t seem to keep their eyes off Joel. While he seems oblivious to their advances, she’s prickling with a feeling she knows she shouldn’t be having. What’s a gal to do when everyone wants to take a ride on with her cowboy?

warnings | 18+ SMUT, angst, alcohol consumption, jealous and possessive Joel, and reader tbh

“You know, if you’re not careful your face could get stuck like that.” Ellie slaps a hard hand on her shoulder, startling her out of her eavesdropping. She’s been standing in the back of the makeshift town hall, watching folks trickle in for the weekly community meeting. She huffs at Ellie’s knowing smirk.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.” Ellie snorts, resting her head on her shoulder as she hangs off her arm.

“Oh, you don’t? You just always look like you’re about to strangle all the little housewives of Jackson?” She tries to soften her scowl, not quite sure how Ellie can figure her out so fast. She figures it must have been because of all the time they spent together on the road. Because the truth is, she would like to strangle some of the women of Jackson, at least sometimes. Like right now, as they’re eyeballing Joel, who’s standing at the head of the crowd with his brother, like he’s a goddamn piece of meat.

She had been listening in to their conversations, a few muttered desires of wanting to “ride that salt-and-pepper cowboy all night long” as well as some shared enjoyment of his “tight little jeans” that hugged his “equally tight little ass” just right. She hadn’t realized she had started shooting daggers at them until Ellie startled her out of her rage-induced reverie. 

Ellie tugs at her arm, once again shaking her out of her thoughts, “you know, a whole gaggle of them has started coming around when we get back from patrol? They like to watch him dismounting. S’fucking gross, man. Can you imagine? Having the hots for Joel.” Ellie grins, tilting her head, “well, I guess you can imagine.” “Ellie, watch it.” The girl puts her hands up, muttering “alright, alright, geez” before she shuffles off into the crowd to sit with some of the other teens of Jackson. She’s been relieved to see her finding some companions in town, thinking back on that young boy, Sam, and how hard it had been on her to lose the sweet comfort of a fast friend. She on the other hand, has had less luck, all the women her age casting sideways glances whenever she comes around. 

She’s heard the murmurings around town, mostly women’s gossip, calling her Joel’s “pet,” jealous scoffs at the way she and him move around each other, with each other, like magnets constantly coming back to contact. But she knows the truth. He’s not hers, not really. It’s mere comfort in closeness, familiarity. She had been with him since the beginning of this journey, been there for him. Through the loss of Tess, the trouble in Kansas City, and the whole road since. And even though there’s an understanding, an intimacy that runs bone deep between them, the sex has always been purely physical, just two bodies coming together again and again and again. She’d never ask him for anything more, the companionship is enough. But hey, who’s she to stop him from picking up a sweet little thing in town? Someone who’d cook him dinner, give him a back rub with soft hands that had never held a gun. Someone who wasn’t a whole decade younger than him.

She’s quick to block out these thoughts, bringing her attention back to the meeting that’s beginning. She watches Joel’s gaze scan the crowd as Tommy begins to talk about new security measures they’re working out. Even though she’s pressed up against the back wall, his eyes still find hers, but she’d be hard pressed to admit that her heart gives a tight squeeze when he offers her a sliver of a smile from across the room.

…

People are filing out of the hall, a few stragglers hanging around to talk to Tommy and Joel as well as the other leaders. She sticks at the back of the room, watching Joel look pretty uncomfortable in being forced to field so much conversation. Most of the people waiting to speak with him happen to come from the female half of Jackson’s population. She can’t help rolling her eyes at the way they hang off his crossed forearms. He keeps glancing her way, something pleading in his eyes, silently begging her to come give him an excuse to get the hell out of here. She’s enjoying watching him squirm just a little too much. Ellie sidles up to her again just then.

“You better go help him out, he looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.” She glances at the girl, fighting back a grin at her words.

“Suppose I should put him out of his misery.” She nudges into Ellie, earning a light laugh from the girl.

“You gonna go hang out with your friends tonight?” Ellie nods, they’re showing a movie in one of the old ski lodges.

“Alright, kid. Be good and–”

“Be safe. Yes, mother. I should be saying the same to you and the old man honestly.” She gasps at that, getting ready to chastise her, but Ellie is already slinking out of the building. That damn smartass.

She turns her attention back to Joel, who now has one of the women, she thinks her name is Katie, hanging on his shoulder and mumbling something in his ear. She scoffs, getting ready to shuffle over and save him from her mushy-gushy ramblings, but she pauses when she gets a better look at his face. He’s smiling. It’s small, but she knows it well. He glances at her briefly, but quickly shifts his gaze down to the floor, letting Katie continue to flirt shamelessly with him. For whatever reason, it’s enough to set her blood boiling. He’s a big boy, he can handle this himself. She quickly turns heel and stomps out of the town hall, heading straight to the bar.

…

She drinks way more than she knows she should. But, quite frankly, she’s too pissed off to care. Sure, she could put up with all the women throwing themselves at Joel, so long as he kept ignoring them. But it seemed like he had finally gotten the memo that he could have his pick of any of them, and that their little partnership, or whatever the hell it was, would soon be over. Well, fucking good for him then.

“You here alone?” She actually jumps a little off her stool at the intrusion before sighing and turning to whoever just startled her. She knows his name is Will, a young man who also works patrol shifts. He’s what people would have called a pretty boy, back before. Sort of floppy, sandy blond hair and soft blue eyes, dimples that crinkle when he splits into a smile. But she knows there’s more than meets the eye to this one, she’s been on a few shifts with him, and he can hold his own for sure.

She swallows another gulp of whatever it is they keep brewing before nodding.

“I suppose I am. Why? You wanna join me?” Her tongue has certainly been loosened by the drink and hell, if Joel gets to shop around, why shouldn’t the same go for her? Will smiles before sitting on the stool next to hers, turning so their knees are brushing lightly.

“How are you settling into town?” She quirks a crooked grin at him.

“Oh, just fine. Although I don’t think any of the ladies will be inviting me to their book clubs anytime soon.” Will laughs at that and it’s a sweet sound, one she thinks she could get used to. He leans in, whispering conspiratorially to her.

“Well, I think they’re all just a little jealous of the way you yank that man of yours around on an invisible leash.” She can’t help the laugh that bubbles up at that, a boldness sweeping through her that sends her leaning into Will even more, bringing her lips up close to his ear.

“Well, let me tell you, he’s certainly not my man.” There’s a heavy pause of silence.

“He’s not?” She leans back just slightly to look into his baby blues.

“Nope,” she pops the letter p, “but if you know anyone looking to be, what’d you say? On my invisible leash? You let me know, alright?” She’s going to regret everything about this when she’s sober, but for now, she’s letting her anger roll into lust. Will swallows thickly, eyes darting from her gaze to her lips.

“I think I might know someone, yeah.” 

…

They’re a stumbling entanglement of limbs and sloppy kisses as they meander down the street towards her house. Her head is swimming in Will, drowning out the incessant chants of Joel’s name. It’s dark out as they near the porch of the house she shares with Joel and Ellie, none of the lights are on inside. He must be shacking up with Katie for the night, fucking good for him.

She leads Will up the steps to the front door, and as she fumbles with her key in the lock he presses up against her, leaving a wet trail of open-mouthed smacks along her neck that makes her squeal. Will huffs a laugh, spinning her around and pressing her up against the door, licking into her mouth. She pulls away with a wet click of spit.

“Shh, we have to be quiet, someone might hear us.” They both giggle before diving in for another writhing kiss.

“Well, wouldn’t that be a shame.” She lets out a shriek that she quickly cuts off by clamping her hand over her mouth. Will jumps back from her. 

They both whip around to see Joel sitting on the bench seat out on the porch. His arms are crossed over his chest as he leans back, his legs kicked out and crossed in front of him. Even in the dim light of the evening she can see that he does not look very pleased with what he just saw. He stands with a sigh, slowly shuffling over until he’s standing right in Will’s space. He’s not much taller than him, but Joel still makes the other man look small with the way he’s scowling at him.

“Will, I suggest you go on home now.” Will’s eyes dart between Joel and her, hesitant to do anything.

“I said now.” Will jumps a bit at Joel’s harsh tone, taking one last look at her before shaking his head and stumbling down the porch steps and off down the street. She can’t believe what just happened.

“What the fuck, Joel?” He breezes past her, opening the door and turning around to look at her.

“The door was unlocked the whole time, by the way. Or are you really so drunk you couldn’t figure that out?” She’s dumbstruck by the venom laced through his words. He huffs before turning and going inside, her mutely following on his heels.

“Thought you’d be over at Katie’s, not lurking on the fucking porch.” It comes out as a grumble and he spins on her fast, looking totally confused.

“You must be real drunk, because you’re talking total nonsense.” She scoffs at that.

“Oh am I? So I didn’t see her practically chewing your ear off in the town hall?” Joel’s face falls, just for a moment, before he’s back to a furrowed scowl.

“Is that seriously what this is about? You’re jealous of some lady who I couldn’t give two fucks about?” They’re both up in each other’s faces now, arms crossed and pressing against each other.

“Fuck you, Joel. You seemed to be enjoying her attention just fine. And, for the record, I’m not jealous. But if you get to have yours I don’t see why I can’t have mine.” She sneers in his face but he looks like he’s about to explode, fists now clenched at his side.

“I am yours, goddamnit! And you’re mine. Not anyone else’s and especially not Will’s!” The tendons in his neck jump as he shouts at her, his eyes wild. It’s been a long time since she’s seen him like this, and suddenly she’s feeling really dizzy.

All she manages is a hoarse croak of his name before she’s keeling over at the waist and emptying the contents of her stomach all over his shoes and the floor. Through the dull ringing in her ears she hears Joel mutter a few choice curses before rather carefully toeing off his boots. He shifts over to her side and brings a warm palm between her shoulder blades, smoothing up and down the expanse of her back. She just hopes she got drunk enough that she won’t remember any of this the next morning.

…

Unfortunately, she receives no such mercy, waking up late the next morning with a throbbing headache and a very intact memory of everything that happened the night before. Joel had quietly helped her upstairs, shushing her groans as he cleaned her up, helping her out of her clothes and into one of his flannels that she had previously filched from him. He had even helped her into bed, the last thing she remembers before she passed out being him brushing her hair back from her face and muttering “get some rest, trouble.”

She’s completely mortified, and the only reason she feels brave enough to leave her room is because she knows Joel had a morning shift scheduled. When she creeps into the kitchen seeking a glass of water she finds Ellie leaning against the counter.

“Woah, so much for being good and being safe. You look like shit.” She groans, nudging Ellie to the side to grab a glass and fill it up.

“Thanks, kid. Feel worse than I look.” “Pretty sure that’s a statistical impossibility, but what the hell happened? Joel looked like he wanted to punch a hole through someone’s face this morning, like, more so than he usually does.” She glances at Ellie, choosing to take a long swig of water rather than answer her question. The girl huffs, stomping off with a muttered “no one tells me anything around here, jesus.”

Luckily, she has the day off from patrol, so she can spend it licking her wounds and avoiding Joel until he comes back tonight. She cleans herself up, taking a shower, still marveling that they get to have warm water. The rest of the day is spent simmering in a stew of her emotions. She goes to help out in the greenhouses, mostly because she knows Joel never goes over there. Unfortunately, that’s also where most of the women of Jackson work, and she can’t help but notice that their side eyes have transformed into blatant glares today.

She’s hauling sacks of soil when an overheard murmur makes her stop in her tracks. Did she just hear the word slut? She whips around, meeting the gaze of a pair of women.

“Excuse me, what did you just say?” The women share a look before both clearing their throats, the one finally speaking up.

“Oh nothing, hon. It’s just, Laura here lives across the street from you and Joel. She was telling me there was quite a scene on your porch last night.” The woman raises her eyebrows at her, a snide grin sliding across her face. She’s stunned speechless by these two birds’ boldness, but Laura seems to have something to add.

“A word of advice, sweetie. A real man like Joel needs a real woman, not some silly girl who’s messing around behind his back.” She drops the two sacks she had been carrying and they thud heavily on the ground, causing the two women to startle. She doesn’t stick around to hear any more of their advice, mostly because she knows that beating them up isn’t an option. She trudges through town, trying to hold back the tightness in her throat and the heat behind her eyes. It’s a race before the first tears fall, trying to get home before anyone sees her completely lose her mind.

Unfortunately, she runs right into Tommy, literally, smacking into him as she rounds a block. He holds onto her forearms as she stumbles back. She feels her stomach drop, because if Tommy is back, that means Joel is too. He tries to ask her if she’s alright, but she just shakes her head, shifting out of his grip and continuing her beeline home, scrubbing harshly at her eyes to keep from fully dissolving.

When she gets to the house, she sees no sign of Joel on the porch, a small mercy. She quietly slips upstairs, and can hear the shower running, choosing to shut herself into her room before promptly burying her face in the sheets on her bed. There’s no holding it back now, and she begins to silently cry. No real thought behind her tears, just a general sense that she’s royally fucked everything up. She doesn’t cry often, not in this world, and so it’s a short-lived fit, leaving her drained and curled up across her bed. 

There’s a soft knock at her door, the sound of shuffling boots. When she doesn’t answer he opens the door anyways, tentatively stepping inside. She refuses to look at him, sitting at the end of her bed and drawing her knees up under her chin. She hears him let out a sigh.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live.” He huffs at that, walking further into the room and leaning up against the wall across from her.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m still pissed at you.” Her gaze jerks up to his face and she’s met with his steely expression.

“Why are you pissed at me? I was drunk, Joel, a-and really upset, ok?”

“No, it’s not ok. Christ– I– I thought what we had meant something, right? And you were just ready to throw that away? With Will? I mean– fuck– I-I don’t get that.” She raises her chin defiantly at him.

“What we had? That’s a load of horseshit. What did we have, Joel? Association by proximity? A warm body to curl up with? A half-decent fuck? No, you don’t get to keep me as your little hanger-on while you try out all the other flavors in Jackson.” He scoffs, grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

“Well, that’s real rich coming from you, considering you were getting ready to spread your legs for the first boy who looked your way.” She’s on her feet in a flash, taking one long stride to get in his space and slap him across his face, jerking his head to the side. He looks stunned as he holds his hand to his cheek.

“Fuck you, Joel. I’ve already been called a slut once today. I don’t need it coming from you too.” His demeanor changes instantly, brow furrowing.

“Who called you a slut?” She sighs, turning her back to him as she holds onto her arms across her chest.

“Baby?” 

“Don’t baby me, Miller. And who else but two bitchy members of your little fan club. Why don’t you go talk to them? I’m sure they’d be more than happy to give you their opinions of me.” There’s a hiccup of silence that passes between them before Joel’s gently reaching for her, turning her back to face him. She won’t lift her gaze from her feet.

“You gotta help me out here. I just– I don’t understand what happened for you to– christ– when I saw you with Will– you’re killing me here, baby.” She finally looks up at him, resisting the urge to thumb away the deep frown on his face.

“Look, Joel. I can admit that what I did was stupid. I just– fuck– I know what we are, what we were– and I had no right getting so worked up seeing you with those women. But please, don’t keep stringing me along. I’m not gonna wait for you in your back pocket until you find someone better than me. I can’t do that.” He’s looking at her like she’s grown a second head.

“What are you talking about? I’m not fucking looking for someone better. I’m looking at you, goddamnit! I want you. Thought that was clear.” She scoffs.

“I think we have two very different definitions of clear then. Joel, we’ve never talked like this.” He throws his hands up in exasperation.

“I didn’t think we needed to talk like this! You and me, we understand each other. Didn’t think we needed words for us.” Her brain can’t help the chant it starts up of us us us us. 

“Well, just a little communication would have been nice.” He sighs, shaking his head as he sits down on the end of her bed. She joins him, looking at where their thighs are pressed up against each other. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I guess I should have been more– clear, about how I feel about you.” She glances at him.

“And how do you feel about me?” He just shoots her a look, brow raised.

“I’m actually waiting for an apology too y’know.” She huffs at that, dragging a hand down her face.

“I’m sorry for almost fucking Will. There, are you happy now?” He lets out a deep laugh and it startles her, the baritone thrum. 

“Goddamn, Ellie may be right. We really are a pair of idiots.” They glance at each other, and a laugh is shared that feels like a door opening, like something new. Joel carefully slides one of his hands to lace with hers, clearing his throat.

“Y’know you’re it for me. Only want you. Christ, these women around town drive me fucking insane, so goddamn handsy. If I didn’t think it’d bug you I’d keep you under my arm all the time, maybe then they’d get the fucking message.” What she says comes out as more of a mumble, but Joel still catches it.

“That wouldn’t necessarily bug me.” He grins, dipping his head to meet her gaze.

“Oh, it wouldn’t?” She rolls her eyes, but shakes her head no.

“Hmm, I’ll keep that in mind.” He slings his arm around her shoulders, drawing her into his side and landing a kiss in her hair. It feels like the biggest relief ever. He huffs out another laugh, shaking her where she’s melting into his torso.

“Pfft, fucking Will.” She groans at him, trying to pull away but he just holds onto her tighter, muscling around her until she’s halfway sitting on his lap, twisting to look him square in his very smug face.

“ I think you would’ve been sorely disappointed by that kid. He wouldn’t have a clue what you like, what you need.” 

“Oh yeah? And what exactly do I need, Miller?” He’s got a cocky smirk on his face, it’s a look she doesn’t often see on him. He shifts her on his lap some more until she’s finally straddling his waist, arms wrapped around his neck and thighs framing his hips. She gasps at the heady contact. 

“You need me, honey. Same as I need you.” And with that he’s drawing her in by her jaw for a harsh kiss. There’s nothing sweet about it, all clashing teeth and stubborn tongues. They’re both still cooling off from the mutual anger and it shows in how they grab onto each other, licking into each other’s mouths and swallowing each other’s groans. He presses his calloused fingers into the sliver of skin between her shirt and her jeans, dragging her hips impossibly closer until she’s grinding into his hardness. He lets out a low thrumming moan at the sensation. She grins.

“You need me, huh, Joel?” He grunts, trying to dip his head into her neck but she pulls him back by the hair at the nape of his neck, drawing a low moan from him. She presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Why don’t you lay back for me, cowboy?” She can see the flush creeping up his neck as he huffs out a low laugh, but she means business. She pushes hard on his chest, tipping him back onto the mattress with a soft “oof” as she gets to work on the buttons of his shirt while he toes his boots off. She laves her tongue over each new inch of exposed skin, and by the time she gets to the bottom of his shirt he’s letting out the sweetest little grumbles. She noses along the waist of his jeans and he huffs.

“Such a tease.” She grins up at him, finally unbuckling his belt and harshly tugging it out from under him in a way that makes him startle.

“That’s right, baby. And I can do whatever I want. Because this is all mine, right?” She rests her palm on his stomach, feeling his rapid breaths rise and fall. He swallows hard, looking down at her with his hands crossed behind his head.

“S’all yours, darlin.” She knows she’s got him when he starts talking like that, his southern drawl melting his words and dripping slow like honey. He shudders as she lays one more open-mouthed kiss below his navel before finally undoing his jeans and shucking them down his legs along with his boxers. His cock immediately springs up to his stomach, dribbling pre-cum in the tufted hair there. She lays between his spread legs and noses up the length of him, just barely letting her lips brush against the tip. He grumbles under her teasing.

“C’mon, baby. Why don’t you go ahead and take what’s yours already, huh?” She grins at his almost pained expression, the crease between his brows and the little huffs he keeps letting out. 

“Always so bossy. Lucky for you I’m in a giving mood.” He goes to speak again but is quickly cut off by a broken moan when she finally licks a broad stripe up the heavy vein of his cock before taking the head into her mouth and giving an experimental bob. She finds a rhythm, taking him a bit deeper each time until she’s swallowing around him in her throat in a way that makes his toes curl. 

“Fuck– s’perfect– perfect mouth taking all of me. S’good, so good for me, baby.” He reaches for her, trying to card his fingers through her hair and guide her movements, but she immediately stops, grabbing his wrists and pinning them up by his shoulders.

“Uh-uh, no touching, Miller. You’re just gonna lay there and take what I give you, got it?” He looks frustrated that she stopped, that she’s demanding so much control, but he just swallows thickly and nods. She smiles and lays a quick peck at the corner of his mouth before sinking back down and returning to work.

He’s a writhing mess under her as she sucks him off, digging his hands into his thick hair to stop himself from reaching out for her. She can feel his thighs tensing where her hands are splayed and knows he must be getting close. This time, she’s surprised when he interrupts her, yanking her back by her hair and forcing her to look up at him.

“Alright, think you’ve had your fun. S’my turn now.” His movements are fluid and startling in their quickness as he sits up and effectively flips them until she’s splayed out on the bed underneath him. She gasps as his mouth and hands wander everywhere, making quick work of the buttons of her shirt before not so gently shrugging it off her shoulders and tossing it on the floor. He mouths over the fabric of her bra in a way that makes her back arch, giving him enough space to undo the clasp and slide it off her before dipping back down and taking a peaked nipple into his hot mouth. His teeth graze over the sensitive skin and she sighs out his name at the sensation. He grins up at her in a way that makes her want to smack him.

“This all mine, right darlin?” She lets out a breathy “yes” and it’s all he needs to hear to get back to work, starting to suck and bite harshly at her skin, leaving mottled bruises in his wake as he travels further down her torso. He makes quick work of her pants and underwear, shuffling them down her legs and tossing them aside, working his way back up to her center by dragging his mouth along the inside of her leg, nuzzling into the plush of her inner thighs. She can’t help the whimpers that start to crack in her throat under his ministrations. He hovers his mouth over the heat of her cunt, each exhale sending shivers up her spine.

“You’re lucky, darlin, you know why?” She furrows her brow at him, he just grins.

“Because unlike some people, I’m not a fucking tease.” With that, he’s licking a flat stripe through her folds that sends her hips arching up into his mouth. He’s holding nothing back, a sloppy haze of slick dipping from her entrance up to her clit. The sound of him devouring her is obscene laid over her drawn out whines. Joel knows her well after so much time together. Knows how she likes it, what she needs when he eats her out, when she needs him to slide his fingers inside her and give her something to clench down around, right as she’s teetering on the edge of release.

“Come for me, baby. Just like this. Show me you’re mine.” His low murmurs send a thrum through her core that’s enough to snap whatever resolve she had left as she comes undone around his fingers, shivering as he continues to lick at her. She finally pushes his face away from her with a gasp, becoming too sensitive to let him keep working at her. 

He crawls up her body, meeting her for a kiss and she groans at the taste of herself on his tongue. She draws her knee up to his hip, using the leverage to flip him under her, straddling his waist and soaking his happy trail with her dripping cunt. His hands are kneading at the meat of her ass and she lurches forward when he brings one down in a harsh smack. She scowls at the smug look on his face.

“Don’t give me that look, baby. Still pissed about seeing you with that fucking kid.” She rolls her eyes, going to say something smart but her voice dies in her throat when he lands another slap, causing her to gasp out his name and bury her face in his neck. He kisses her temple sweetly, a stark contrast to the sting as he smacks her ass again. She thinks there’s going to be marks left afterward, though maybe that’s the whole point. 

He finally lets up, once again gripping her ass in a way that makes the tender skin smart. She tilts her head to hold his gaze, pressing in for another kiss. He pulls away first, his breathing a bit ragged.

“You gonna ride your cowboy, baby?” She lets out a gasp as he laughs at the look on her face.

“So you have heard what those women are saying. Goddamnit, Joel–” he cuts her off with another hard kiss.

“Don’t give a fuck about what they’re saying. Just want you, now.” She presses her palms into his chest as she shifts her hips back, lining the tip of his cock up with her entrance before slowly sinking down. They’re both a mess of sighs and whines as she settles with him fully inside her. It’s always a stretch at first. Joel traces his fingers down her arms before wrapping his broad hands around the plush of her hips. She gives a few tentative rolls into him that sets his eyes turning back in his head. She slowly finds her rhythm, sinking down on him with each bounce and twisting her hips until he’s a panting mess beneath her. She rests the flat of her palm along the base of his throat and doesn’t miss the way his eyes widen at her movements. 

“Tell me how it feels, baby, s’good for you?” Joel grunts at her question, his fingers flexing where they’re squeezing at her waist.

“S’fucking perfect. You’re perfect– fuck– take me so well, darlin.” He bends his knees and plants his feet into the mattress, the shift causing her to press forward until their chests are smashed together as he starts to thrust up into her. She lets out a broken cry at the brutal pace he sets.

“Fuck, Joel– n-need more– need you– need you to–” he shushes her, already complying without needing her to say it as he flips them over so he’s caging her in. He drags a long kiss out of her before sitting up and pulling out of her, making her whine at the loss. 

“Want you on your hands and knees for me.” She doesn’t need to be told twice, flipping over and getting into position as Joel palms his cock behind her. She shudders when he presses up against her, just barely dipping back into her. She whines at his teasing, trying to draw him deeper but he squeezes her hips harshly.

“Patience, darlin. I’ll give you what you want. But I gotta ask you something first.” She glances at him over her shoulder, brow furrowed. 

“Need you to tell me. D’you think Will could fuck you as good as I do?” She huffs at that.

“Joel, I said I was sorry– christ– just fuck me already.” That’s not what he wants to hear and he acts like he’s getting ready to pull away from her entirely. She stammers on her words she talks so fast.

“No, no! H-he couldn’t fuck me like you do. No one f-fucks me as good as you– please, Joel.” That’s apparently enough of an answer for him as he lines himself up and thrusts into her in one long stroke, pressing his hips hard against the swell of her ass. She lets out a long preening whine as he starts to thrust into her, slow but deep movements that make the bed shuffle up against the wall. His hands are roaming over her back, her sides, down to her hips, rough calluses making her shiver.

“Fucking made for me, darlin. Nobody else, huh? S’just you and me.” She lets out a breathy “yes” to his low rumbling words, fisting the sheets below her as she feels the pleasure starting to spill over once again.

Joel seems to notice it too, snaking one of his hands down her front to bluntly swipe against her clit. 

“You gonna come for me, baby? Just for me, right? Not for anyone else?” She nods frantically, pressing her hips back into his with each thrust.

“Y-yes, Joel– fuck– s’all for you– only for you– p-please don’t stop– so fucking close, baby.” He curls over her, his broad chest brushing against her back as he brings his lips to her ear.

“Give it to me, baby. Come for me, right now.” That’s all it takes for her to seize up in his hold, pulsing around his cock and tumbling over that blinding edge of pleasure, a broken cry of his name the only sound she can get out. She bows down onto her elbows, pressing her cheek into the sheets as he fucks her through it, making the pleasure simmer almost painfully as his pace starts to falter too. 

“Fuck– s’good for me, baby– you’re perfect.” His voice sounds nearly pained and she immediately knows he’s close.

“Want you to come for me, Joel. Let go for me.” He presses his forehead between her shoulder blades, rutting haphazardly into her.

“Tell me you’re mine, darlin. Wanna hear you say it.” 

“I’m yours, Joel– p-please come, baby– come for me.” He curses lowly, pulling out but keeping a hand on the base of her spine as he strokes himself a few times before he’s painting her ass with his spend. The only sound as he comes is his breathless gasps of words.

“Fuck– I’m yours, darlin– I’m all yours.” It’s silent for a moment as they both catch their breath, Joel flops onto his back next to her and she splays out on her stomach, shivering at the sensation of his cooling come on her skin.

He glances at her flushed face, the twitch of a smile at his lips as he wheezes out a laugh.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, trouble.” 

…

Ellie looks between the pair at dinner, seeming to be trying to figure something out. 

“You two look pleased with yourselves. Something big must have happened between now and this morning when you were both so goddamn testy.” That earns her a glare from Joel. She holds her hands up in surrender.

“Hey, hey. I’m happy for you guys, seriously. It’s about time you stopped dicking around, gonna save a lot of ladies some serious trouble now that you’re officially together.” She quirks an eyebrow at the girl.

“What makes you think we’re “officially” together?” Ellie just shrugs.

“Well, usually you both make more of an effort to cover up the evidence, but from the looks of those bruises on both your necks I’d say you’re done hiding the obvious.” She swallows hard around her bite of food, glancing at Joel, sure enough spotting a trail of hickies peeking out of his shirt collar. She only feels a little guilty. Joel just huffs.

“Alright, kid, easy does it there. But, yes, just for the record. I guess, we– well, we– uh–” she stops his floundering, bringing her hand to rest over his on the table.

“You were right, Ellie. We’re together.” The kid gives them a smug look.

“I am both disgusted and happy for you.”

…

With everything finally out in the open, she feels no hesitancy in joining Joel in bed that night, curling up around each other in a tangle of limbs and settling on the brink of sleep. She glances up at him from where her cheek is resting against his chest.

“Joel?” His low murmur lets her know he’s listening.

“I wanna tell you something. And you don’t have to say anything back. But, I love you. You need to know that.” There’s a heavy pause of silence before Joel draws her into him a bit tighter, sighing over the top of her head.

“Feel the same way, darlin. Guess I’ve been in love with you for a while. Just a hard thing to say, in this world.” She breathes out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. He clears his throat.

“Hope you know I’m not letting you go now.”

“I know, cowboy.”

…

They both have a patrol shift the next morning, and as they step out onto the porch bright and early, she can see Laura across the street, sitting on her own porch and watching them pointedly. Just as Joel turns back to her after locking the door, she grabs him by the nape of his neck and spins them into an entirely too intense kiss for this early in the morning. When she pulls away with a lewd little pop, Joel’s face is painted with shock, his eyes darting from hers to her lips and back up again.

“What the hell was that for?” She just shrugs before taking his hand in hers and hopping down the steps. She waves to their neighbor with her other arm.

“Morning, Laura!” The woman doesn’t respond, primly looking away with a scowl on her face. 

She doesn’t care though, not when Joel’s got his arm wrapped around her and his hand on her hip as they head off down the street for their shift. Might as well give the ladies of Jackson something to talk about.

[thegnomelord]

OMG CONGRATS ON 500 FOLLOWERS!!!!!! how about prompt 30 with trans!ghost? there'd be such a nice mix of battle scars & surgery scars too <3

Thanks! and Anon you have no idea on what kind of a Hyper-fixation fender you put me on with this prompt, like it's 2 in the morning and I've never written something this fast before lol. Play the game HERE.

Prompt: Kissing scars

CW: NSFW, Trans Ghost, Male reader but can be read as GN, afab language, kinda non sexual nudity, body worship, scar kissing, fluff, fluffy fluffy fluff, I'm a dirty tease.

You never know what you'll get when Ghost returns after a mission— Sometimes he'll return so hoped up on adrenaline he'll push you down on the nearest flat surface and ride you until he's satisfied, using you as a living dildo with a firm hand on your throat to keep you hard and quiet; Other times — even the barest brush of skin on skin will have him flinching away with a glare able to put you 6 feet deep.

So when you find him in your room, still fitted out in combat gear and staring off seemingly into space, you approach him slow and loud, making your footsteps echo as you draw close. You doubt he can even feel you brush your pinkies together through his thick gloves, but he jolts as if you're electric. . .but doesn't jerk away.

Creeping slowly until you're face to face with him you hold his hand loosely in your own, giving a gentle squeeze. It takes a few more squeezes before his eyes focus on you, the raging storm inside him turning them from honey brown to dark like blood soaked soil. You can tell his face is tense even with the mask on, the thin fabric helping to keep him together as his resolve slowly depletes like a fraying rope.

Something makes you move and before your mind properly registers it you're slowly taking off his glove, brushing the back of his hand with your thumb before you bring it closer to your face. His sharp eyes follow every movement of your lips as you kiss an old cigarette burn on the pad of his thumb and trail soft pecks across the silvery lines dotting his finger down to the meat of his palm, then back up to the pad of his pointer finger, kissing each knuckle as you go from finger to finger.

This doesn't stop or lessen the maelstrom in his mind, but each new kiss is like a new board to patch up the leaking holes in his boat. His other hand finds your shoulder by the time you're kissing the stab scar on the back of his hand.

His voice is so rough your name is hardly understandable, but gains your attention all the same. "Going soft on me now?" He growls, amused or irritated, you can't say.

Tempting luck you reach out to grab the zipper of his jacket, "Do you want me to stop?" You murmur against his skin.

His eyes narrow until you're staring into a dark void, a small and gruff sound leaving his throat. It's not a 'yes', but it's definitely not a 'no'. So like a miner without a canary, you slowly undress him, dropping to your knees to take off his boots and unclipping all his gear, stopping only when he's down to boxers and a long sleeve shirt when you feel him tense.

"Forgetting somethin' Sargent?" He asks, voice rough like he's ready to bark orders across the battlefield.

You look at him like a worshiper looks at a god, "Please, can I take these off Ghost?" You beg, sticking out your bottom lip for extra measure.

"Only because you look pathetic when you beg." There's no heat in his words, but you feel and see his muscles tense as you take away the last remaining articles of clothing. Only his mask remains, and you don't dare touch that.

He's dry as a bone and you can't blame him, this situation so far from normal for both of you. He lets you maneuver him until he's sitting on the bed, his knees spread just enough for you to comfortably kneel between them.

"That's bettah," He hums as you take his other hand and start kissing the rough patches of skin there, though you're a little surprised when he catches your tongue in his fingers. "You're like a damn dog." But he only brushes the his thumb against the flat of your tongue before letting go.

"Just for you, right?" You hum and start trailing bulletwounds and stab scars across his forearm.

"If yea know what's good for yea." He growls, though you can see him starting to relax, the cold edges melting slowly like the first thaw after a 1000 year old winter.

"Where do you ache, love?" You ask, reaching over to kiss a prominent scar on his bicep while you look at his abdomen. His front looks like a roadmap; full of long jagged scars from knives, dotted with small crates from old bullets, mottled with burns, and other unknown scars caused by god knows what. The only 'clean' scars he has are the two silvery lines beneath the curve of his pecs — the ones he never lets you touch.

"Will you kiss it better?" He mocks, like he doesn't believe you and looks at you like you're insane, but decides to humor you and briefly taps the fresh pink line on his abdomen. He watches you like a hawk as you lean down to lay soft kisses along the entire length of the jagged scar, a groan leaving his lips as your tongue tickles the frazzled beneath healing scar tissue, something like pleasure-not-pleasure sizzling wonderfully up his spine.

"Where else?" You ask, letting him place a heavy hand on your head and guide you where he wants you. His body aches in some way every waking moment, but for this night he can let you chase away the gnawing pain with your lips. He doesn't notice when he ends up splayed out on the bed and tugging you on top of him— another usually hard no with him —his mind growing strangely quiet as every lick and kiss on his damaged skin leaves behind shreds of warmth that build in his chest until he's boneless. It's almost like he melts into the bed, into your lips, his muscles more relaxed than they've ever been.

Then your lips brush against his top scars and a bucket of water gets splashed on his head. He barks out your name, raising his head as he scruffs you by the back of the neck before you can even react.

You don't resist his hold, "Yes, my handsome man?" You ask with a teasing lilt to your voice, your lips brushing against his top scars when he visibly shivers at your words.

"The fuck are you doin'?" He asks the question that's been plaguing both of your minds, but he doesn't sound angry and doesn't try to throw you off him, so you continue to gently worship his top scars.

"What's it look like?" You ask and feel his hold on your neck loosen as you trail from one scar to it's twin on the other side. His hand remains where it is, but his blunt nails lightly scratch your skin as reward for adoring scars like you're doing right now.

"Like you're doing something stupid." He huffs and you can finally see the dark clouds in his eyes parting, his chest rising and falling as he lets out a breath that's been weighing on his shoulders for a while. "But-" He takes your hand and moves it down between his legs, both of you groaning when you find his folds wet and pliant to your fingers, clit hard and pulsing against your hand. "-I can think of a few more places where I 'ache'." He gives a smug smirk that's obvious through his balaclava, his other hand lightly tugging on your hair, "Kiss it better for me, yeah?"

How can you refuse?

[malehypnofantasy]

Read Part 1 here

"Ben is in the gym now, he's talking about going to Walmart after that,"

"Let's go wait for him in Walmart parking lot then," said Casey as he thrown the car key to Ethan who caught it with ease as they decided to go right away. But even before they can open the door, several knocks came from the other side

"Yo Ethan, you in there? Are you fucking asleep?" said a deep and intimidating voice, but clearly he's not alone as someone can be heard mumbling in the background

"That's the twins. I just remembered about tonight's meeting to discuss on the O-week and how we are going to plan this year's Pledge Day,"

"Well, the prey just walked right to the predator's mouth, huh?" Said Casey with a smirk as he told Ethan to step away and hid behind the door as he opened the door instead

As Ethan said, it's the twins and they looked imposing as fuck as they loomed 7 inches taller than Ethan. They looked down at him after they quickly make a quick scan of the room and realizing that Ethan is nowhere to be found inside the 5 x 5 dorm.

"Where the fuck's Ethan, dweeb? Is his horny ass dicking down Lila or something?"

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that. Please, just walk in and make yourself comfortable first," Casey said with a smirk as the twins voluntarily walked into the dorm room.

They quicky then sit themselves down on the couple of chairs strewn around the room while finally realizing that Ethan is hiding behind the door.

Yet, they just don't remember why on Earth they even come all the way down here or why they should care about the hiding Ethan

"Okay roidheads. You'll feel extra comfy the longer you listen to me speaking. So comfy, all the noise around you blocked out and you can only hear my voice and you can only see me. So comfy like warm shower washing away your soreness after your intense workout and calming your muscle down. So comfy like you are a pair of little boys hugged by your mother after downing warm chocolate milk before you two.....sleep," and with that, the twins fall asleep in instance while sitting down, their head hung low and they quickly started to snore

"So, everything I said here is the truth and everytime the word roidheads mentioned, everything you have in your mind will take a step back as you two will solely remember the fact that I'm your Master and what I said is an order to be fulfilled and not a request. Obeying me and making me happy is the ultimate goal for you two, so whatever I said, you two will take it as an order you cannot deny. Failed to do so will bring unimaginable pain for you and the only way to relieve yourself would be begging for my mercy and forgiveness. Only after I forgive you two then you two will feel relieved, do you two roidheads understand?"

"Yes Master Casey, we understand,"

Casey then smirked a mischievous smile as he realized that he can still do whatever he want while the brothers' mind are still in malleable state. So he then followed up his previous statement,

"You two roidheads can read each other's mind and synchronize your action in accordance to that as a pair of twin. The bonding you two created between each other ever since you have your wet dreams is undeniably strong, especially with the fact that in yall first wet dreams, you two dreamed of each other. It's been a habit for you two to beat the shit out of each other's meat everytime you two could with those blurry nights now come to the surface and yall remember all those nights of playing games turned into you pummelling your hard raging cocks to your own twins slutty mouth. Ever since uni days, the intensity just increased even more with you two practically fucking each other's asses every night under the warm shower of the gym while you two still reeked with sweat from the intense workout you two pulled off every night. Yall always tried to keep it on the down low with the muffled groan and the hushes plus the occasional fuck with girls you two claimed as your girlfriend. Yall also never skipped to reassure the others after spilling cum into each other's hole the classic "No Homo". But being a narcissistic alpha douchebag that you two are, nothing screamed more of it other than fucking your own twins as they are the splitting image of yourselves,"

The twins cock hardened while they are still sleeping under Casey's control, and not even 10 seconds later their pants soiled as the burst of newly implanted memories filled their mind and corrupted all the original one filled with classic brotherly love into one laced with homosexual desires towards each other. Feeling satisfied, Casey then said

"Okay roidheads, when I said for you two to wake up, you'll wake up, act normal and head back to the frat house. You'll tell the other frat bros to wait until Ben comes back and if someone asked about Ethan, just say that he will come, understand?

"Yes Master Casey,"

"Okay then, awake,"

And as if nothing happened, the twin just briskly left the dorm room and walk back to the frat house, the two of them confused on why on Earth their pants soaked wet and what happened to them, but they don't really wanna think about it as they probably just fucked each other or something, they both simultaneously thought. As the coast is finally clear, Casey then said again

"Let's fucking go then, we can't miss Ben,"

Ethan just nodded meekly as he walked behind Casey Master while trying to hide his raging erection after witnessing Master's masterful control of the twin. The imposing twin just turned into mere dolls with no self-control as Master planted all this ideas and thoughts into their malleable mind and they simply accepted that as a truth with zero resistance showed. He's so blessed to be able to witness all of it and he's curious on what his Master stored in his sleeve for Ben

[heartfullofleeches]

Okay okay, i know she's a bully, a meanie and whatever. But can i request a girly sleepover with peach? Like doing our makeup, paint our nails and look pretty?

"Hey, Y/n - wanna have a sleepover this weekend?..." Peach nonchalantly shoves a stick of gum in your mouth before you can speak. "Great! Come over around nine on Friday. You don't have to worry about bringing anything besides your cute self and maybe snacks since you'll be here a while."

And that's how your weekend began - tossed at the mercy of preppy hybrid without preparation or a say in the whole ordeal. You arrive an hour earlier than she told you to on whim of the vague hints she left in her text messages leading up to the day. Peach has the nerve to act surprised seeing you there a whole sixty minutes earlier than planned, pulling her fluffy cream robe over her chest and flashing a flushed smile as she leans against the doorframe to let you in - batting her long lashes behind the bangs shielding her eyes.

"Y/n, oh my gosh, what a surprise! I didn't expect to see you for another hour I look hideous... but since you're here and everything else is already set up come on in."

Peach hooks her manicured nails in the meat of your arm and drags you inside her home. The whole house smells like someone burnt down an orchard centering from the candles lit up around her room. When Peach said you didn't need anything, she meant it. A foldable bed couch had been arranged beside hers, adorned with flower petals, a travel bag full of soaps and scrubs, and pajamas in your exact size.

Peach goes through your bag for the snacks you brought and a few other things then tosses what's left in her closet. While you're checking out the items and the extras you find under the bed, Peach grows bored of hiding away the things from your luggage she wanted to keep extra safe and stalks up behind you. Her blondish mane falling over your shoulders the only sign of her approach, Peach plucks you off the ground with one arm before you're fully aware and places you up on her bed.

She's surprisingly delicate as she pokes at your face and body like your some experiment in a lab, removing any accessories you were wearing and rolling up the sleeves of your pants. As she starts massaging the balls of your knuckles you feel it's safe to ask what she's up to.

"So... What are the plans for tonight?"

"Not too much. After I give you a bath and rinse out your hair, I want to get started on your nails while the cream I put in it dries. Spice gave me this new cuticle spray for my birthday that I think will be good for your nails too. While I'm doing your makeup, we can put on a movie in the background. You're absolutely adorable as is, but I want to see how your eyes will look with a little more flare, y'know? It's crazy how pretty you are naturally. I'd be super jealous and probably shove you in a busy street due to blind rage... if you weren't all mine~"

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

King thor (mcu thor) is stressed from his duty as king and avenger so his queen of midguard, reader (not actually a queen of midguard, but she is human who used to work as shield nurse and has a healing power) decided to release his anger and stress on her! Hard core fuck, suck nipple, blowjob, doggy style, sucking pussy, daddy, other positions style

How Kings Release

Thor paces your shared bedroom back and forth with long agitated strides. The pressure of becoming king has more than shredded any semblance of patience he possessed and often sent him to the realm of pure fucking insanity. He honestly didn't know how much more he could take before he snapped.

Pressures of keeping his kingdom safe weighed heavily on Thor, and he's not afraid to admit that he worries for his people. Unfortunately his concern usually translates to internal rage and he needs a fuckin stress reliever. He'll just never speak that little fact out loud.

You're unaware of Thors surly reflective state and unluckily take this moment to enter the room. Hes not facing you but his perturbed treading comes to a halt. Since youre only there to change your royal robes, you only glance at Thor, giving a warm loving smile to his backside before heading to your huge walk in closet. You undress as you speak to your unknowingly fuming husband.

"My king, you're needed in the prison chambers. Something about Loki needing a word with you."

You're clothes hit the floor, pooling around your ankles when you hear a thunderous pound on the wall behind you. The noise obviously startles you, makes you jump as you turn around bewildered. Your round heavy tits swing a bit as you look at him. He's facing you now, taking you in unabashedly.

Thor wordlessly gazes at your naked frame intensely. His silent brooding demeanor is starting to make you anxious. What the hell was goin on?

"Did something happen, Thor? Are you al-,"

Your inquiry clips short as he stalks towards you, still refusing to say a single word. You kinda wanna make a run for it but the way he's looking at you seems to dare you to take a single step and your not sure you want to take that chance. Your feet are rooted to the spot as he approaches, looking you up and down like a piece of damn meat. He hums a short sound of appreciation of everything he can see and fuckin KNOWS your body has to offer. His tongue flicks out to lick over his bottom lip as he continues to stare at your curvy naked body. Shit, you smell so God damn good to him.

"Thor-"

Your husband's large warm hand wraps firmly around your throat and you shut the fuck up promptly. It's about now that you're finally aware of your warrior's very tense disposition. He steers you towards the bed by your neck, makin you walk backwards till the back of your legs hit the soft midnight blue plush blankets. He brings his face close to yours, your noses almost touch, finally addressing you with a tone that was deadly low.

"Call me that again and you'll fuckin regret it."

Thor is seething.. And you have no idea why. Your heart is pounding at his behavior and when his hand clutching you becomes a bit more malleable on your neck, you might have an inkling of what's comin next. Even though your starting to get wet at his treatment, you hope to hell you're not limping afterwards for the entire damn kingdom to see this time.

"If I hear you call me anything besides who the fuck I am to you, I'll wreck that pussy way more than I intend to. A warning for you My Queen: this is not the time for your usual bratty, disobedient behavior. "

Thor pushes you to the bed, eagle-eyes focused on the way tits and thighs jiggle as you hit the bed with a soft plop. He kneels, pushing your legs open roughly as he examines your glistening folds. His fingers spread your pussy lips, relishing in the way the pink of you throbs for him. It makes his fat lengthy dick perk up even more in anticipation.

His cock lays heavy behind his clothing, so damn rigid and engorged. Thor's dick drips small drops of precum and it makes his underwear feel warm and sticky. Not even aware of when his dick got hard, all he can contemplate is taking his emotions out on your poor unsuspecting body.

"Now, I'm gonna suck and lick my pretty little pussy till you cum. Afterwards, I'm gonna fuck you however I want until my balls are drained. Understand?"

Thor doesn't bother to wait for answer as he pins back both of your thighs in each of his hands and dives in. Spearing your wet pussy with his stiff tongue, the king basks in your taste as his crown tips off of lengthy blonde flowing waves. He's moaning and groaning at the flavor of you bursting inside his mouth. Continuously stabbing at your pussy, Thor grips your thighs harder and pulls you closer to his mouth.

You have to grip the bed with tight balled fist as he attacks your little puss. Your breath puffs out in desperate little pants as he gives instant blindingly good pleasure. Your h/c hair fans out on the bed like a halo surrounding you while thrash wildly. You know better than to push him away so you do nothing but endure the intense sensations invading your overwhelmed fluttering pussy.

"Ooooohmyking! My King! Pleeeease! Ohgodohgodohgod! I c-ca-.. I can't!"

You hope your fuming husband takes pity on you and slows down but your wanton cries have the opposite affect. He sets your right leg on his shoulder and brings a hand down to thumb at your throbbing clit, pressing firm quick circles that have you gasping for air. You yank at you comforter but it does nothing to help with the feeling of him fuckin his tongue into you as hard and fast as he can. White sparks flash behind your tightly closed eyes as he forces you to take what he gives you.

Thors mouth, beard and chin are soaked. The smell of you, your passionate shrieks, and sight of your shuddering body makes his dick wanna spurt. He presses himself against the bed as he eats you like he'll never see you again. He can tell you're getting close, needs you to be as wet as possible cause when he gets inside you, he's gone beat ya pussy up till his hearts content.

"Ohfuuuuuck! Ah, ah aaahgod! Love you! I love you Daddy! Loveyou, loveyousofuh-uckinmuch!"

He knows damn near the entire castle can hear your wails bounce of your walls of your room and through the open window. Should let up some cause you'd be embarrassed as hell if you knew but he couldn't muster to find a single ounce of a fuck to give as he removes his tongue and give a vigorously resistant suck on your clit.

"St-st-o-op! Ple-! St- AH! Thoooor!! Pleeeease!"

Thor thinks the arch that snaps your back is so fuckin pretty as you cum fast and hard against his mouth. It's a damn miracle the bedspread doesn't rip between your fingers from your deranged tugging as you blast his mouth and chin with a heavy dose of your love. With eyes still shut, you beg for it to end but its a laughable concept to your mean ass man as he doubles down on his sucking.

Your now wordless screams make his ears ring and dick attempt to bust free. He pulls off with a POP! only to latch back, nursing at your sensitive little button ferociously.

The fervid sensation makes you kick at him and you actually manage to free your self. You think you'll take your chances of escape as you twist onto your belly and make a very sorry attempt at scrambling over the bed. Your knees are too shaky and your legs wobble, your poor pussy still pounding with overstimulation.

Thor can't believe his fucking eyes, not only had he peeped you calling him by his first fuckin name, here you were trying to make the weakest escape attempt he had ever witnessed. It actually made him laugh out loud, first in disbelief and then malevolence. Aight if that's the way you were gone play, he'd show you wassup. BET.

Your tyrant of a husband hastily pulls his stiff long dick out from under his kingly attire, pumping it quickly from tip to base as he snatches you back by your ankle. You're sobbing and flailing but Thor hardly gives you a chance to fight back. He briefly lets go of his cock to seize your hips upwards and grab a handful of your hair. Your impaled on his length before you can even think to beg for his forgiveness.

"FUUH-UUCK!" Your king's boisterous roar of satisfaction definitely beats your stuttering howl.

Your breath is knocked from your lungs as he digs into you more than halfway. He has to pause and revel in your lava hot snug little pussy already trying to milk the fuck outta him. You're uncontrollably clenching around his girth and its sending him to fucking Valhalla.

His next thrust takes him to the hilt as you wheeze for air. Thor utilizes his grip in your hair to pull you back to meet his powerful thrusts. The booming slaps of his pelvis crashing against your juicy jiggling ass cheeks as proof of his earlier promise to wreck you if disobeyed. You suck air into your lungs desperately, finally able to pitifully wail at his reckless treatment of your body.

You wanna beg him to slow down, plead with Thor to stop; at least just a small break from the havoc he was wreaking between your thighs. But you can't, don't even realize that your tongues hangs from between your lips uselessly as he despicablely fucks you without a hint of concern.

"Shoulda- dammit sooo tight! Fuuuck! Sh-shit, shoulda listened to me y/n." He leans down, pulling you back further to speak at your ear.

"You never listen. Actually thought I'd l-let your bad ass get away? Think Daddy's gonna h-have to stop taking it so e-easy on you."

He slaps each of your ass cheeks, admiring the way your radiant brown skin ripples from the impact before both hands wrap around your slender neck. He's bucking and riding you hard as tears stream down your face from the immense pressure in your gut. Your nothing more than a doll for him at this moment and the sentiment makes him squeeze a bit at your neck which in turn has your pussy attempting to strangle his cock.

Dammit, Thor wants to fuck you longer but with the week he's had he should be greatful he ain't explode inside your magic pussy on the first stroke. His balls draw up tight against his body and your tough ass husband actually whimpers as his cock starts to spasm. He's quick to rip his dick from your abused little puss, turn you to face him and push you to your knees.

Your dazed, beyond confused, as you rapidly try to blink tears from lashes and clear your blurry vision. Your most definitely not expecting or prepared for Thor to bully his spasming wood between your lips. He stares down at you with a dilated piercing gaze and lets loose massive torrents of cum as he shouts your name exuberantly.

"..aaaaah FUCK! Y/n, y/n! Oh f-fu- Gods help me! Sofuckingooood y/n! Haaah.."

You never had a fucking chance in hell! His cum gags you as you cough harshly around his dick. Try as you might to pull back from the onslaught, he easily holds you in place while he humps his dick in your mouth ruthlessly. The muscles in his torso flex erratically, and he shouts estatically as he busts a fierce ass nut.

By the 4th spurt of Thor's copious cum, he's slides in till your nose presses against his short dark blonde public hair. 'He smells like the flower soap on the the 4th floor' your mind supplys foggily as he spurts again, this one going straight down your throat.

Thankfully his streams lose volume by the 6th gush into your warm cavern but it's almost impossible to breathe as his cock chokes you. Trickles of his thick white liquid leaks from the corner of your mouth as he finishes releasing into your over stuffed jaws.

His saltiness assaults your senses and your chest burns with the need to take a real breath. Your arms now hang limply at your sides, eyes half closed as you helplessly wait for your king to release you.

Your freshly done make up runs from your watery eyes down your cheeks, smearing with the cum that streams down your chin. Splashes of Thor's warm milk decorates your chocolate skin in blotches and the sight makes his slowly softening dick twitch with interest. He takes a mental picture before pulling his dick out of throat slowly and relinquishing his grip.

You fall back against the bed flaccidly with a pathetic hum as his eyes follow the rivers of his release now dripping down your perky tits and tummy to your trembling thighs. You stare at the wall unfocused as your chest heaves. You can't think.. Can't move.. You can't speak.. Just how he likes it after a session.

"Fuuuuck.. I needed that, Woman."

He ducks down to retrieve his crown, tucking his dick back into his clothes as he smirks at your pliable, relaxed state. Thor wipes at the sweat on his face with his sleeves as he reluctantly turns and heads for the door, leaving you on the bedroom floor still trying to catch your breath. He'll be back to run you a hot bath and hopefully slide in some round 2. For now, time to deal with Loki..

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 1)

Prologue | Chapter 2

Content Warning: Soft, safe, unwilling vore

Word Count: 2.1k

------ Chapter 1: A Typical Royal Dinner ------

Six years later… 

Crown Prince Ronny, the adult heir to the throne, sat down at his usual spot at the table, on the right-hand side of his father, the king. King Richard claimed his rightful place at the head of the table, and Princess Bianca, the youngest by about two years, sat across from her brother Ronny. The king’s personal guard Ajax, his shadow, stood discreetly off to the side behind his seat, ever watchful. 

Ronny, dour as always, glared at his sister, who stuck her tongue out at him in response. He scoffed superciliously and removed his gloves for dinner, folding them neatly on the table. He was rescued from having to converse with his loathsome family members by the servants, who came in balancing plates loaded with vittles. Ronny sat in a gloomy silence as Chester, the royal food taster, checked each entrée for poison. He curled his lip with mild disgust when he was given his portion: prime rib, sautéed swiss chard, and scalloped potatoes, with a human dressed in a light sauce. 

Bianca had a similar reaction, poking and prodding the tiny woman on her plate with her fork. The woman winced, but stayed silent and didn’t try to run, knowing the consequences of resisting giant royalty would be far more gruesome. “Daddy, when are we going to get more humans? It’s been a while since the last tribute.” 

King Richard wiped his lips daintily with a napkin as he gleefully swallowed the human on his own plate. “Hmmm… it’s been a while, hasn’t it? We are certainly overdue for some fresh meat.” 

The giantess princess perked up. “If so, can you order some little men this time? Pleeeeeease? Ladies are fine and all, but they’re all we ever get, and I want a handsome boy to play with…” She pouted, scraping her fork with an obnoxious screech on her dish. Her human repast covered her ears and grimaced. Ronny rolled his eyes. 

The king gave his daughter a knowing smirk and chuckled lightly. “I’ll see what I can arrange, my darling.” He picked up his knife and cut into his meat, which leaked blood onto his plate. 

Ronny shook his head and dug into his own meal, flicking the human carelessly off his slab of prime rib. He didn’t understand his father’s obsession with tiny maidens, or his sister’s fascination with miniature men. Why couldn’t she be normal for once and content herself with an attractive giant instead? Humans were fine for eating, when he was in the right mood, but otherwise Ronny found them to be gross vermin, clambering around with their wiry legs like bugs. Distracted by his thoughts, he failed to notice his tiny female side dish had crawled off the edge of his plate. He put a bite of meat in his mouth, and his face puckered with detestation.  

“Ugh!” he groaned, spitting the offending meat back onto his dish without concern for decorum. “Nasty!” His face turned purple with rage. “Bring me the royal chef!” he bellowed. The servants scrambled to obey. Soon enough, the obese chef rushed into the dining room, huffing and puffing with the effort. 

“Yes, Your Highness? How may I best serve you?” he asked nervously, wringing his hands and picking at his blond mustache. He was sweating profusely, his skin ruddy with exertion. 

“Bucky!” Ronny roared. “This food isn’t fit to serve to a dog! The meat is cold in the middle and saltier than the sea! Dumping a mountain of salt on such a bland cut doesn’t improve the flavor, you cretin! I’m a prince, and I deserve only the best, not this offensive rubbish!”  

His temper flared as he got worked up into a frenzy. He stood up out of his chair and gesticulated with his hands aggressively. “You’re a sorry excuse for a cook, you worthless piece of shit! Just look at these vegetables! Wilted strings reeking of too much garlic and swimming in watery juices! And these potatoes! Unpalatable texture, lumpy and uneven, tasteless paste! Unacceptable, reprehensible slop!” 

He picked up the plate and hurled it against the wall with all his might, shattering the porcelain and staining the wall and expensive carpeting with juices. The servants hurried forward to clean up the mess in a hush. Nobody was especially surprised by his tantrum: The servants were accustomed to unhinged outbursts from the royal family. Ronny ignored them and continued to verbally berate the chef, who pointedly stared at his feet. Ronny shoved his finger into his fat chest as he ranted in his face, spitting and swearing. After several minutes of screaming at the top of his lungs and frothing at the mouth, Ronny finally cooled down, dismissing the silent chef with a contemptuous wave of his hand. His face changed from pink back to its usual pasty shade. He crossed his arms petulantly and slumped in his chair. 

“Good job, Ronny,” King Richard praised, grinning wide. “Sometimes you need to put the commoners in their place and make them fear you.” He chomped down on a bite of meat, clearly enjoying his meal despite his son’s scathing condemnation of its quality. Ronny shrugged, still scowling. The servants, so inferior to the royals as to be invisible to them, cleaned up his mess in the background. 

Bianca was unperturbed by Ronny venting his spleen, continuing to toy with the human on her plate as she ate the food around her. Eventually, she got bored and lifted the poor woman up by her leg, studying her wriggling with a cold inquisitiveness. She lowered the tiny woman headfirst into her mouth, licking her face and closing her plump lips around her torso before slurping her flailing legs inside with the rest of her body. She sucked on the delicious morsel for a while, shuffling her from one cheek to the other, before sending her off on a trip to her stomach with a hearty gulp. 

She watched as the servants flitted anxiously back to the table, bringing with them a sumptuous feast of roasted partridge and yams for the picky prince. He sulked as the royal food taster sampled each portion and cleared the food for consumption. The servants backed away, sweating nervously as Ronny tasted the partridge. The bratty prince raised an eyebrow and grunted, but didn’t complain. The tension dissipated among the servants and they disappeared into the background again, relieved not to be on the receiving end of another explosive fit. 

“Hey, Ronny, what happened to the human in your food?” Bianca queried.  

Ronny shrugged as he continued to shovel food into his mouth. “Fuck if I know. She probably ended up as a red stain on the wall.” 

King Richard frowned. “What a waste.” He gave Ronny a stern look. The aura in the room subtly changed, as if the air itself chilled. “Don’t squash your humans so carelessly, Ronny. They are valuable, and we can only extract so many without them revolting against us.” 

Ronny stiffened. “Of course, Father,” he mumbled, casting his eyes downward. “I won’t do it again.” The king assumed a milder expression, accepting his words, and the mood lightened again. Ronny repressed a shudder. 

“I never understood why you don’t just conquer the human kingdom, enslave the populace, and farm them,” Bianca remarked, tilting her head. “Wouldn’t that make more sense? Then you can have as many as you want.” 

The king sighed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Haven’t you noticed the humans that are here for a long time tend to lose their unique flavor and vitality? That’s because, if they’re not fed and cared for well, and they grow sad, they become frailer, weaker, and less appealing to the palate. That’s why over time we need fresh tributes, and why I usually dispose of them, when they are no longer of any use to us for our personal pleasure.” 

He licked his lips as he finished the last bite of his dinner. “I prefer my humans to be free-range, so to speak, and of high quality. That standard of health isn’t possible if they were all forcibly imprisoned. Happy humans also multiply in greater numbers, which is even better for us. Let them have their silly little kingdom, go about their lives, and exist in blissful ‘freedom.’ As long as they give us our rightful share and don’t complain, I will be content.” 

He inserted his fingers into his pocket and pulled out a small, trembling woman. “Of course, as you know, not all humans go stale! I still have my favorites, like my cute sweet little Millie, now don’t I?” He grinned roguishly and nuzzled her with his nose. 

“Y-yes, of course, Your Majesty! I would never want to disappoint you!” the poor creature squeaked, out of fright rather than affection. Ronny looked away, repulsed by the display. He hated his father’s distasteful perversions and could hardly stand to watch. Bianca stared at him with jealousy, wishing she had a tiny man to kiss and pet and play with. King Richard always exclusively requested maidens as tribute, and she was fed up with his selfishness. She was used to always getting what she wanted, so the fact that she couldn’t have one irritated her to no end. 

The servants cleared the dirty dishes off the table and brought slices of cheesecake for dessert. King Richard removed a small vial from his pocket full of a glowing blue potion and dripped a drop onto Millie’s head. Her face paled with dread as her body absorbed the substance, a magical anti-digestion fluid that would keep her unharmed inside his stomach. He pressed her into the soft dessert with his index finger up to her shoulders. She turned her head away from him, and Ronny spotted quiet tears glistening on her cheeks. The prince switched his attention to his own dessert and ate in silence, ignoring the display.  

King Richard scooped up Millie with his fork and licked the sweet filling off her body, chuckling at her small whines of discomfort. He gently enveloped her in his mouth, humming with delight. After slopping his tongue all over her and sliding her against the inner walls of his teeth, he took another bite of cheesecake and rolled her around with it, sucking it all up with pleasure. He continued in this manner until he finished his entire slice before finally gulping down the small lady. 

Ronny hastened to excuse himself from the table, grabbing up his gloves. As he lifted them, he noticed an abnormal weight inside, caused by a small, shivering lump. He flipped the glove and dumped its mystery contents out on the table, only to discover the food human that he thought he’d thrown across the room was hidden inside. She tumbled out and landed on the hard surface with a splattering of sauce. 

Ronny glared at her, then at his fancy gloves, soiled inside with sauce. “Ugh! Look what you did, you filthy little rat! These gloves are ruined!” He flung the gloves away, his dark eyes flashing as his white-hot wrath returned with a vengeance. The woman’s eyes widened and she cowered before the giant man looming above her like a mountain. She had already narrowly escaped death when he smashed his dinner plate against the wall; she knew what he was capable of with his volatile temper. 

The giant prince slammed his fist on the table next to her, startling her to her feet. Even standing up, she was shorter than his stacked fingers; he could easily crush her in his grasp like an insect. Her legs turned into useless rubber beneath her as she comprehended the futility of resisting and collapsed to the table. Ronny unclenched his fist and grabbed her up, raising her close to his face. 

“Vile, foul worm,” he grumbled as she whimpered helplessly in his hand. “I’ll make you pay for that.” He knew humans hated to be eaten, so he shoved her into his mouth and swallowed her hard, sending her straight to the fleshy prison in his midsection. King Richard grinned with approval as he observed his son. Ronny stormed off in a huff, stomping on his gloves and kicking them to the side on his way out. 

He clomped down one of the many stony corridors of the castle, fuming with irritation. He could feel the human fighting inside his gut as she was jostled about by his rapid steps. That idiotic human deserved her punishment. Those gloves were custom-made, based on the measurements of his hands, and now he’d have to order a new pair from the royal tailor. Such an inconvenience! 

Chapter 2

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hello there! ヾ(＾∇＾) Can i have request some spicy jealous Hades, Buddha, Poseidon, and Thor moments please? ( ͒•·̫| Just imagine the reader is a very popular goddess and loved by many that he can’t help but feel territorial(„ಡωಡ„) thank you =^∇^*

-With having a beautiful goddess as a lover comes big responsibilities, mainly with keeping other men who don’t seem to realize that you’re taken already and you’re happy with them.

-That doesn’t stop many cocky men from trying, and you being so sweet, not wanting to be rude to others, seems to send the message to them that you’re interested, even if you don’t mean that.

-You’re fiercely loyal and would never cheat, something your lover knows well, but sometimes, seeing the other men drooling over you, looking at your body when it’s his, he can’t help but get a little bit jealous.

-Hades- When he feels jealous he marks you up so much that nobody could every doubt that you are his, sucking mark after mark into your neck before to your chest, down to your belly and even the inside of your thighs. Seeing you quivering below him, sharp gasps escaping your lips, covered in his marks will make the normally calm Hades go absolutely feral. Not that you’re complaining. Usually after he’s covered you with marks of his love he will bend you over, either a couch or even his throne, and rail you from behind, driving all of the oxygen from your lungs with breathy cries. Hearing you call out for him, unable for form any words, always brings him relief, “There’s no one else you can fuck you as good as I can, is there? Your body is molded to mine and mine alone, no other can have you!!” He always tends to you afterwards, taking your scolding of marking you up so much with no regrets whatsoever.

-Buddha- When Buddha gets jealous, nobody knows it, as he’s usually calm, maybe sending a glare or two at those flirting with you, usually when you lean back into him, feeling afraid of their advances. Once the two of you were alone and away from peeping eyes, Buddha has his head between your legs, eating the tastiest sweet of all, devouring you with harsh licks, his hands holding you in place so you can’t flee. All of his anger comes out on you when he devours you, making you cry out and scream around him, not stopping until you’re overstimulated and crying, begging him to stop. That’s when he’ll pull back and whisper sweet words to you, pulling you down, seeing you writhe for him, it always gets his blood pumping, feeling cocky that he’s the one doing this to you, he’s the one that gets to fuck you, nobody else, all for him.

-Poseidon- He doesn’t show his emotions to those who are beneath him, but when he sees this filth flirting with you, his lover, he can’t help but feel rage building up inside. Anyone looking at him would feel terrified to be caught in his gaze, except for you, you were the only person not afraid of him, the only person worthy enough to stand by his side, and him at yours. When he gets jealous he will deny it full-heartedly, even to himself, but you will easily notice he is much quieter than normal. Once alone, having kicked everyone out of his throne room and assuring none could hear the sweet music you make, he’ll have you bent over his throne, fucking hard into you, his rage leaving as he watches your ass jiggle as you struggle to take his harsh pace. After he finishes he can’t help but admire your fucked out body on his throne, symbolizing your place as his and his alone.

-Thor- Is very gentle with you in the bedroom, as he’s a big guy and knows that if he’s not careful he will hurt you. The only time he goes a bit rougher on you is when he gets jealous, seeing other men looking at what is his, other men flirting with you. He’s usually quick to whisk you away, as he knows you get uncomfortable when other men are around you, looking at you like you’re a piece of meat. Thor always makes you unable to walk the next day when he gets jealous, railing you so hard into the bed, making you cry out for him. He will always leer down at you but with a fondness, watching your body struggling to take his girth, crying out, pleading up at him for more. He always gives you what you want, since he is the only one who gets to have you, who gets to hear you like this, see you like this, feel you like this. The thought always makes him lick his lips, a feral possessive feeling coming over him as he goes harder on you.

[robsheridan]

Getting psyched for the Big Game with my favorite sports movie, 1981’s CANNIBAL QUARTERBACK. A schlocky low-budget grindhouse splatterfest, the film is impossible to track down but cherished by aficionados of tasteless cinema. Although it contains no sex scenes, it received an X rating for “senseless, prolonged nudity and graphic violence” thanks largely to its notorious “cheerleader blood orgy” scene, which at 27 grueling minutes accounts for nearly a third of the entire film.

In CANNIBAL QUARTERBACK, radioactive waste from a secretive government facility leaks into the farm of cattle destined for leather, and a football made from the mutated cows finds its way to the local college football team. At first the mysterious football seems to give the players power and stamina on the field. But what follows is anger, violent rage, and an intense hunger for raw bloody meat. When gobbling beef before each game is no longer enough, the gruesome killings begin; students begin disappearing, and mangled bodies turn up around the stadium, the flesh chewed off them.

Consuming human flesh begins to change the players, mutating them one by one into savage creatures who yearn only for blood. Their coach, greedy for the wins his newly supercharged players are bringing, tries to conceal the dark secret of the team and even helps lure unsuspecting students into the locker room to become pre-game snacks. The big game against their rival team proceeds as planned despite the growing body count, and all hell breaks loose on the field. The rage and bloodlust of the now monstrous players can no longer be contained, nor can the sickness afflicting them, which spreads rapidly to the other team — and the cheerleaders.

A fight between the rival cheer squads quickly descends into a cannibalistic orgy of gore. In a trance-like state, drunk on an abundance of nubile flesh, the possessed women tear each other apart and writhe in their blood and guts, consuming their bodies layer by layer until the locker room is a formless heap of meat and bone.

Meanwhile, the violence on the field has continued, the teams of deranged mutants engaged in a twisted "game," savagely competing to devour each other all through the night until only the strongest cannibal remains.

The film’s final scene sees the sun rising on a field of grotesque death, with only a few mindless cannibal monsters still alive, wandering around seeking new blood. But a bizarre post-credits scene returns to the radioactive farmlands of the opening shot, where humanoid mutant cows are seen emerging ominously from the glowing green ooze that created them. A planned sequel of mutant cow creatures seeking revenge on the humans for slaughtering their kind was supposedly filmed but never completed.

Auteur underground horror director Ron Sharletan, fresh off the success of 1977’s DRIVE-THRU OF DEATH, described CANNIBAL QUARTERBACK as “a commentary on the corruption of school sports and the toxic American obsession with zero-sum victory at all costs.” Upon receiving an X rating from the MPAA for the film’s “excessive graphic violence and nudity,” Sharletan refused to edit the film despite the rating meaning near-certain commercial failure for the film. “Art is not defined by censors,” Sharletan said in a statement, “and my vision will not be sacrificed on the altar of mass market puritanism.” Thus, the film had an almost non-existent theatrical release, and only found its niche audience years later on VHS.

Critical reviews were unkind, with many reviewers walking out of press screenings during the film’s notoriously graphic 27-minute “cheerleader blood orgy.” Gene Siskel wrote: “I’m envious of my colleagues who made the wise decision to abandon this cinematic atrocity, because having enduring the full length of the film, I can assure you dear reader that there is no merit to be found on the other side.”

Peter Travers called the film “regressive, exploitative trash” and Sports Illustrated’s review said “such excessive violence and sexism make a mockery of the beautiful game of football.”

Little is known about why the planned sequel fell apart before completion, but one crew member described it as “a drug-addled trainwreck” and “the worst filming experience of my life.” The never-seen footage from the sequel has become a “holy grail” for underground cinema aficionados.

Official CANNIBAL QUARTERBACK t-shirts now available at Glitch Goods!

------

NOTE: This film does not actually exist outside of my imagination. This alternate history horror story is part of my NightmAIres series exploring media and events that never existed, conceived by me and visualized with synthography. Some other entries in this series include Cyborg Slaves of Satan, The Macy's Thanksgiving Day "Blood Parade", World Without Christmas, Rankin/Bass' 1967 Krampus TV Special, Children of Irradiated Skies, Jodorowsky's Frasier, David Lynch's Perfect Strangers.

[silkythewriter]

I feel bad asking another hazbin ask. Sorry, but I loved your Vox and Alastor post. Can you do them seperatly with their s/o after vox and alastor have a terrible day (possibly caused by eachother, lol)

🏩Alastor’s and Vox’s S/O comforting them after a bad day!🏩

Summary: Alastor’s and Vox’s S/O comforting them after a bad day!

Small warning!: sorry for any spelling/ grammar mistakes and if their OOC! I hope you enjoy!

Small note!: I’m getting a lot of request for hazbin hotel! I personally enjoy it writing it! I hope you like this as much as the other one!<3

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel!

Daily song suggestion:

🦌Alastor📻

This man rarely gets mad so you know it’s bad when he’s absolutely pissed and tired

Today was not his today, he had many fights with overlords trying to prove themselves, of course he won in the end but it was still tiring when one came after the other

Usually he’d love it but today was your guys anniversary and he just wanted to spend some time with you and celebrate the occasion with a small dinner and maybe a slow dance between you two

Once he got to the hotel after all the fights he was quick to search for you

Once he found you he would refuse to leave your side and would most likely come up with an excuse for you to leave whatever your doing

He would explain why he was late but would leave out the part of him being a bit mad and frustrated- he doesn’t want you to worry about him after all!

But after all that he’d definitely take you somewhere romantic he is a gentleman after all! And if you don’t want to go out that’s completely fine! You and him can just bake or cook together while playing old time music in the kitchen and maybe dancing a bit!

Once you guys finish whatever you two are doing he’d love to just relax in bed for once and just have some small talk with you and catch up whatever he missed while he was busy with the hotel and overlords

He doesn’t really stay still for long in my opinion unless it’s an important matter or you guys are just talking, but right now he’d just like to lay in bed with your head on his chest or his on yours and spend some time together <3.

Overall he’s a bit out of character but can you blame the man? He just wants to spend sometime with you!

🖥 Vox📱

I feel like it’s a bit noticeable he’s not the best at hiding he’s emotions especially if he is EXTRA pissed off my man is scary-

Valentino and velvet basically use you as a meat shield from Vox’s anger 💀 this is literally how it plays out “Good luck y/n you were an awesome friend” “Huh?velvet what do you mean?” “Good luck trooper!” “Wait Valentino what the fu-“

They literally shove you near Vox and take cover in another room

Once Vox sees you I wouldn’t say he would calm down immediately but it would bring some comfort, He’d look you way and just cross his arms before walking towards you and taking you to your guy’s shared room

I feel like he would just grumble about how stupid today was due to Alastor messing up one of he’s plans

Like I’ve indicated before he doesn’t talk much but when it comes to him being angry there’s an acceptation for him because he just wants to rant how frustrating his day was

Like Alastor he’ll want to lay in bed but unlike alastor He’s more touchy like cuddling you closer, or making you and him tangle you legs together so on so fourth!

Baby just wants to watch some TV to be honest I feel like he wouldn’t want to play game or it’s just not a good idea cause he’ll just rage even more 💀 so he’d just like to cuddle and watch some horror movies or anything really 

Valentino and Velvet check in after you two fall asleep to make sure everything cooled down and to be honest they would probably take some pictures of you two cuddling for blackmail or just to tease you two 💀

Overall he just wants you to comfort him while he rants a bit about the long day he had, once he’s down though he just wants to cuddle and watch TV with you and maybe even watch some cheesy romantic movies just to laugh and make fun of it!

Hope you enjoyed Anon! Thank you so much for requesting again! I love doing these! <3

[edenityy]

( chapter nineteen ! )

"He's dead!"

Thunder crackles in the stormy night sky, creating a flash in the window that highlights Georg Von Siemens' cold and lifeless eyes. The party attendees crowd the room with tense postures, mixtures of silence and loud chatter travel through their ears. Naturally, no one can be calm in this situation, like Patrick Phelps who collapsed.

Even Leah keeps a firm grip on Ciel, her robe hardly working to counter the chill in the air, both from the weather and atmosphere. She keeps her head against his shoulder but subtly peeks out to view the scene, the fabric of her fiancé's robe gently rubbing against her cheek.

"A.. Anyway, we shouldn't move anything until the yard arrives.." Grimsby struggles to keep his voice steady as he glances around at the others in the room.

Bardroy gives a shake of his head. "No. It'd be better if we move the body now."

"Huh?" asks Finnian.

"I can't say it any nicer than this.. meat rots faster than you might think," Bardroy's eyebrows furrow in thought and his cigarette sits between his lips. "Even if we turn off the fire now, time will be up before you know it if he stays next to the hearth."

Leah groans at the sound of the words leaving the chef's lips, almost shivering in disgust. However, the feeling of Anna's hand on her head does keep her somewhat calm. Barely.

Irene's face fills with dread as she nearly collapses, trying to grab ahold of Grimsby's coat. "Rot.. you say?"

"Irene!" Grimsby calls out with worry, leaning down to catch her.

"It's like he says," Arthur chimes in, his stance tense as he stares at the two. "I also think it'd be better if we take him to a cool, dark place until an expert can take a look at him."

"Well then, let's move him to the cellar until the yard gets here," Sebastian turns back to look at the gardener. "Finny, bring a stretcher."

It doesn't take Finnian long to jog back into the room with a long stretcher in his arms, lying it across the floor as he and Bardroy lift Georg's lifeless body on top. As the two cover him with a blanket, Leah instead focuses on the stitched flower that now sits on the top of Finnian's hat. 'That is quite cute..'

Looking out the window, Lau listens to the servants exit the room. "But, I'd think the yard won't be showing up for a while," he comments.

Everyone shifts their attention over to the window that Lau stands beside, holding the curtain to give them a better view. Outside, the storm rages and sways the trees, pounding against the glass and making it harder to see.

"Seeing as there is quite the storm?" Lau's brow raises and Ran Mao leans across him to see for herself.

"So you mean we can't leave here either?!" Carl Woodley exclaims in a mixture of anger and nervousness.

"Why do you ask that now?" with a shrug of his shoulders, Lau smiles indifferently. "It's fine right, everyone was meant to stay over anyway."

Woodley releases a noise of annoyance, his brows knitted as he stares down the Chinese man. "Like you can call this fine! I'm not staying at a place where a murder took—"

"Indeed. We surely are on the shores of a deserted island right now," Lau interrupts, his tone chilling. "It also means that there is a good chance that the killer is still inside the mansion."

A loud crackle of thunder flashes atop Phantomhive Manor, ringing out through the halls. But it isn't the sound that makes Leah's hands tighten around Ciel's arms, rather the words of Lau that unnerve her. Even Bardroy and Finnian are uncomfortable with their return to the room.

"Now that you mention it," Charles Grey speaks up. "If you think about it logically, wouldn't the killer be one of us then?"

The guests in the room stiffen, their eyes filled with dread at the thought of being near a potential murderer and not knowing.

"Why us?! This isn't a joke!" Grimsby yells.

"Th.. That's right!" Woodley agrees.

Kneeling, Arthur checks on Patrick who is still lying unconscious on the floor. "Well, first of all, we only just met each other.."

Leah squints her eyes as she observes all of the people in the room, leaning her mouth to her fiancé's ear. "I believe it was that irritating man who kept speaking about diamonds," she whispers.

With a raised brow, Ciel turns his face to Leah's, their noses nearly colliding. "Carl Woodley? What makes you think that?"

"Nothing," she shrugs. "I just hate irritating people, so I shall point a finger at him."

Ciel releases a sigh as he turns his attention back to the matter at hand, keeping his hand on Leah's shoulder to hold her close. Sometimes he can't comprehend what goes on in that head of hers, but he can't say he hates it.

"So wouldn't it be likely that someone broke in through the window, locked the door to leave time for an escape, and then went back out the window again?" asks Irene, continuing her question that the teenagers weren't listening to.

"But if you came in through this kind of rain.. wouldn't you leave footprints? Not to mention that this room is on the second floor," Charles walks over to the window and pulls on the handle, "and the windows were locked."

Looking off to the side, Grimsby places a hand on his chin. "So.. someone locked it from the hallway and escaped that way after all.." he says lowly.

"That is unlikely."

The sound of Sebastian's voice draws the attention of everyone in the room, looking over at the butler who holds a key in his gloved hand.

"The keys for this mansion all go with the original ward locks from when this mansion was first built. They are complex pieces so it is unlikely that someone other than a craftsman could make an imitation," explains Sebastian. "Furthermore, these keys have all been locked away in a safe. The only copy of the key that opens the safe is in possession of the butler, me. Therefore the keys stored there can't be taken."

Leah stares incredulously as the words fly out of the butler's mouth, trying to prevent herself from looking bored. God forbid she looks suspicious in a time like this.

"Also, in order for it to be locked simply from the inside, other than the ward lock there is also a latch attached to the door. In a situation where the key cannot be taken out of the safe, there is the possibility of locking the room from the inside only," Sebastian makes Leah's eye twitch as he glances around the room as he speaks. "In other words.."

"This is a locked room murder," Lau finishes off Sebastian's sentence with a smirk, his hand stationed loosely on Ran Mao's shoulder.

There is a still in the room as the guests and servants stare in worry, realizing they truly are amongst a murderer. This information doesn't sit lightly though, as everyone is willing to try and prove their innocence.

Woodley speaks up first with wide eyes and sweat dripping down his forehead. "Preposterous.. we're not in a novel!" he exclaims.

"Indeed," chimes in Ciel is a yawn, his hair brushing against Leah's and a bit of her forehead. "If anyone published this kind of crude locked room drama, they'd surely get complaints. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Wordsmith?"

Both Woodley and Arthur perk up in surprise and confusion at Ciel's words before the writer quickly sees what the boy is trying to say.

"That's right.. Surely if you used those.." with a hand to his chin, Arthur stares at the floor in thought.

Lau tilts his head. "What's that?"

"A needle and thread," says Ciel.

"Here I go not knowing anything again," Leah rolls her eyes in annoyance, forgetting that she's often at fault for not understanding what is happening.

Unlike the Barrett's annoyance, the other guests hold confusion in their eyes. There are too many words and discoveries to accurately keep up with new information while balancing their emotions.

"Needle and.. thread?"

"Like Sebastian says, the only way to lock the door is from inside, but if you use a needle and thread you could easily do it from the outside. It works like this.." Ciel takes a deep, quiet breath. "First you jab the needle and thread into the door somewhere to hold the latch in place. Then you pull the thread down under the door and go outside of the room. Finally, if you pull the thread carefully to avoid breaking it and manage to pull out the needle.. the latch will close and you'll be able to lock it!"

Everyone tries to envision Ciel's description in their heads, some understanding while others fail. Anna on the other hand now seems focused on the fact that no slippers are adorning Leah's feet.

"Then if you pull the needle and thread through the crevice under the door, you won't leave any evidence behind either. So with the needle and thread, cleaning up is easy also," despite the serious situation, Ciel's voice lacks emotion. "In mystery novels, it's the oldest trick in the book, not to mention plain and boring. However, the criminal isn't looking to write a mystery novel, of course, it's more like he's trying to create a realistic smoke screen or something."

Lau tilts his head. "That sure does explain the locked room murder but..

"It also means that anyone could be the killer," Arthur finishes with sweat dripping down the side of his face.

Bringing Irene closer to him, Grimsby starts to get defensive. "It definitely wasn't us! It was someone else!" he yells.

"It wasn't me either!" Woodley chimes in. "A.. Amongst all of us, aren't you the most suspicious? You had a fight with the Lord at the buffet, didn't you?!" he points an accusatory finger at Grimsby.

"Don't make false accusations, you old man! Like I'd kill someone over that!" beginning to get aggravated, Grimsby starts shouting. "What about the girl who said she wanted the Lord to die?! She hit him with a glass!" the theatrical producer ignores Irene's calls of his name to now try and throw the blame on Leah.

Both Leah and Anna gasp, though Leah's noise comes from a place of displeasure. If Ciel didn't have his hand wrapped around her so firmly, she would certainly be jumping at Grimsby or Woodley by now.

She nearly stomps her foot to the floor in the manner of a child. "How dare you accuse me! I was merely being dramatic," Leah grumbles.

"You still said it!" Grimsby points a long finger in her direction, not noticing the look she gives him that screams that she wants to rip his face off.

Ciel doesn't appreciate Grimsby or Woodley's tone, his expression darkening. "Don't accuse my fiancé so lightly!" he barks.

"Now, now," Lau cuts in with a troubled shrug of his shoulders. "Let's calm down and hear everyone's alibis, shall we?"

Everyone goes silent in thought, disturbed by the stressed atmosphere of the room. 'They are one to point fingers..' Leah rolls her eyes this time around, feeling the care slip from her body while Anna steps closer to stand against her master.

"Lord Siemens was killed after he had retired to his room. Actually, to be precise, it was between the time that the Lord rang the servant's bell and the time that the butler and co. arrived at his room. If you have an alibi to cover that time, you're safe," explains Lau, observing the guests with closed eyes.

Grimsby is the first to speak up, looking off to the side. "Me and Irene were in the billiards room."

"Yes," Irene nods along with saddened eyes.

Charles raises a hand. "I was in there too."

"So were me and Mr. Phelps," Arthur gestures to the blonde that he kneels beside.

"For the whole time, from the moment that Lord Siemens went to bed up until the disturbance, we were all in there."

They think back to the game of billiards, where everything went normal.

"During that time, no one left their place either."

Turning his head to Lau and Ran Mao, Ciel raises a brow. "What were you two doing?"

"We were drinking in the lounge with Mr. Woodley," Lau raises a hand and tilts his head dismissively. "Weren't we Ran Mao?"

Woodley and Ran Mao both nod along with Lau's words. "Right! We were together the entire time before the commotion started," Woodley remains tense.

"If I remember correctly, after midnight the alcohol ran out and we had the butler fetch us some more right?"

The three think back to themselves sitting in the lounge, drinking away.

"Yes, I brought it to you at around twelve ten," Sebastian confirms.

Attention shifts to the Phantomhive servants who sweat and shake with worry. "U-Us servants were all cleaning up together!" Meyrin has a quiver in her voice.

"Anna was helping me retire for bed," Leah speaks up from her spot as she turns to get a quiet confirmation from her lady's maid.

Eyes shift to Leah, realizing the number of suspects is dwindling. Lucky enough for the girl, she has an alibi. Otherwise, she is beyond suspicious given her behavior earlier in the night. If anything, there is a big red mark on her forehead.

"First and foremost, none of us even knew what room Siemens was staying in," says Grimsby, though he does raise a brow at Leah who may potentially know her way around the manor. "To find him in such a large mansion would take quite some time right?!"

Charles' eyes are trained on the floor. "Which means that.."

All focus shifts to Ciel who stands with wide eyes, but his grip on Leah doesn't falter. 'Should I be moving away..?' Leah questions. What is one meant to do when your betrothed may potentially be a murderer?

"Excuse me for asking Earl, but what were you doing at the time?" asks Lau with a smirk.

Ciel's eyes darken at the question, his hand tightening around Leah's arm and feeling the silk fabric of her robe. "Certainly I'm the only one who hasn't got an alibi, but I don't have any reason to kill the Lord."

"Oh? Is that so?" Charles tilts his head cockily.

"What?" Ciel retaliates with an annoyed glare.

"Well you wouldn't say there was no reason at all now would you?" Lau lowers his head and crosses his arms. "Most of the reasons for someone to kill another are reasons inconceivable to other people. It doesn't matter how many times a genius scientist studies it, the psychology of a person is something that cannot be comprehended by other people."

The rain patters against the glass louder, causing a faint ringing in Leah's ears.

"Besides, your company has a branch in Germany does it not? There could have been some memos outside of the official books with a major bank executive from Germany like him," Lau continues his ideas and brings a hand to his chest. "That's something we don't know anything about though."

Woodley's face hardens.

On the other hand, Ciel brings a hand up to his face in annoyance. "You're suggesting that my Funtom Company has some kind of horrible debt? That's absurd!"

"It's not an unrealistic story, right? No matter how big a company is, there are times when all of it can vanish overnight," the words of Lau begin to upset a specific gardener. Though they confuse Leah more than anything.

Tears prick Finnian's eyes and his voice is filled with protest. "Wai.. Wait a minute! I don't get all the complicated stuff but.. but.. Young Master would never.." his hands are clenched.

"Finny," cutting in, Ciel doesn't bother glancing at the boy. "Enough. Back off."

Staring off with a dejected look, Finnian stands off to the side with his arms at his side. This prompts a look of pity from Leah. It is the first time she's seen the gardener without a smile on his face and frankly, she doesn't like it.

Speaking up through the silence, Charles stands stationed by the window with a gloved hand to his chin. "I'd like some insurance."

"Insurance?" asks Irene.

The white-haired man shifts his eyes up to her. "Insurance that we'll get out of here alive."

Leah and a few others cringe at Charles' words.

"What.." Irene's voice trails off, "do you mean by that?" her brows knit.

"Well, this mansion is currently under the control of a killer, you know? And we can't get out until the storm settles down," the storm rages outside and Charles' face darkens. "What if we were all 'gagged' before the storm settles?"

The face of the guests fill with dread, even sparking a faint reaction from Anna. When they all accepted their invitations, they hadn't anticipated dying the same night.

"Well then.." starts Lau. "Let's confine him!" he says with a smile, holding his finger high.

"Confinement?!"

"Confine the young master?!"

"Confinement?!"

Finnian, Bardroy, and Meyrin don't take Lau's words lightly. The thought unsettles them. They have always been so loyal after all.

"But he's scary.." sighs Lau dramatically.

Releasing a sigh, Ciel looks off tiredly. "If that makes you feel better, go ahead."

"If we're going to confine him, it can't be in his own room," says Charles. "Nobles' rooms generally have some kind of secret built-in escape route built in. My place has them too," he pictures a moving closet that moves and shows a descending staircase.

For the first time in a while, Sebastian's voice can be heard. "Well then, we'll keep an eye on him while attending to his—"

"That won't do," Lau crosses his fingers in an X, "seeing as you might help the Earl escape, right?" the servants are placed under the spotlight at his words.

"So in other words, it'd be best if one of the guests would stay with him and keep watch," Charles moves a hand to explain, looking towards Grimsby.

But this suggestion only prompts Grimsby to tighten his hold on Irene. "No, thank you! Like I'd leave Irene by herself!" he yells loudly.

"I.. I just can't!" Woodley sweats rather cowardly.

Lau has a faint hint of nervousness in his expression as he glances off to the side, Ran Mao pressed against him. "I don't want to either~"

"Well I don't want to either but someone has to do it?" speaks Charles, his face now showing annoyance as seemingly every male in the room refuses.

The room goes silent, only filled with the ambiance of the storm. Women know they can't, nor want to stay in a room with Ciel so it is up to the men. But the men don't want to either, until their eyes fall to Arthur who has yet to speak a word about his stance on the idea.

"So," sneaking up behind the writer, Lau places a hand on his shoulder. "It's up to you, Mr. Wordsmith!"

Jumping in his place with a scream, Arthur turns around to notice Lau who gives a carefree smile. "Wha.. What?!"

"Please watch him carefully so that he doesn't escape."

"B-But.."

"That's right. I have something good stored in my horse carriage," Charles looks up and disrupts the two, pointing to Bardroy and Finnian. "Would you get it for me?"

Ciel and Leah stare at the scene with mild disinterest, acting like the bratty, spoiled children that they are. If it didn't make them look like murderers, they would be expressing it much more openly at the moment.

"It looks like this is where we split up," Ciel glances down at Leah and notes the slight hint of sleepiness in her eyes.

Looking up with a pout, Leah nods and brings a hand up to rub her eye. "I suppose.."

"Sebastian," the Phantomhive calls to his butler. "Escort everyone to their rooms."

"Certainly," Sebastian gives a half bow. "Well then, everyone let me guide you. This way please.."

With reluctance, the guests file out of the room after Sebastian to be taken to their respective rooms. Except for Leah and Anna who already know where they shall go, preparing for the night ahead of them.

— ౨ৎ —

Inside the bedroom originally meant for Leah, Anna is now in her nightwear as well as they attempt to settle in for the night. The weight of Georg Von Siemens' death is heavy. Despite often being insensitive towards other people, Leah can't deny that his death has made her uncomfortable and she can't bring herself to make many comments.

Silence clouds over them, neither having anything to say as they get beneath the covers. But as her head hits the pillow, Leah finally glances over at Anna and observes her face.

Watching her lady's maids expression, Leah gazes into her brown eyes. "You don't look scared," she remarks.

"Hm?" Anna's brows furrow.

"I haven't seen you look scared for even a moment," Leah's voice is low and quiet, "despite the fact that a murderer might be within these very walls."

Anna's facial expression remains steel as she chooses to fluff her pillow, avoiding the teen's eyes. "I am just accustomed to it," she nods along to her words.

Leah perks up at Anna's words. "Did you have a rough upbringing?"

The maid squints her eyes, focusing on her thoughts. Sometimes she doesn't appreciate that Leah is quite chatty with people she actually likes to be around.

"No," replies Anna, her tone rather sharp.

"What is it? You can tell me," Leah tries to reassure the maid, preparing for the struggle she'll deal with to comfort another person.

The maid inhales. "Mistress—"

"Seriously! You can confide in me!" Leah repeats, voice becoming clearer.

For a moment, Anna goes silent and the room is still. Her eyes can't help but soften as Leah stares at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. Anna knows Leah has always struggled emotionally, with herself and others due to emotional neglect, and she's not quite sure if the girl can handle her words.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Anna looks into Leah's blue eyes that sparkle from the room's light source. "It is you," she is straight to the point.

A pout forms on Leah's face, the gears in her head moving but unable to understand what Anna means. "What?"

"You are why I am accustomed to it," the blank expression on Anna's face doesn't help Leah comprehend any better. "That and I have never been one to openly react to things."

"I.." Leah shakes her head softly, her hair rubbing against the pillow. "I don't understand."

Anna takes a deep breath in. "Sometimes you harm people and you don't remember.. so I clean up the mess," her voice doesn't raise above a whisper.

"What? No," Leah shifts to sit straight with her right arm supporting herself. "I don't hurt people!"

"Yes you do," a flash of pity goes across Anna's face, unable to handle the pained and confused expression on Leah's face. "Don't you recall the times that someone has broken into the manor?"

Mouth gaping like a fish, Leah shakes her head incredulously. "Yes, but Thomas took care of that!"

"You took care of it," Anna corrects. "You only ever remember the beginning and the end. Someone intrudes, you lose yourself and attack them, then you calm down and Thomas claims he did it, and I clean you up," her voice trembles.

Tears well up in Leah's eyes, her head beginning to hurt. "No! Thomas says—"

"Thomas lies!" Anna's voice raises. "I have seen you kill people with my own two eyes, you are the one who does it. He just wants to protect you the same way I have. That is why I never mention it."

Shoving her head into her hands, Leah shakes her head profusely. 'I don't remember..' Her face begins to heat up. 'It wasn't me!' Leah's hands twitch against her skin as her breaths struggle to steady themselves.

"I don't remember!"

— ౨ৎ —

Cold air filled the night. It was late and everyone in the house lay in their beds, hoping for sleep to overcome them. But for poor Leah Barrett, that seemed impossible when she heard the sudden sound of glass shattering in the distance.

She stumbled out of her bed and opened her door with a creak, turning her head every which way to see if she could notice anything. When she didn't, she stepped out and stood in the middle of the hallway, waiting to see if she could notice a servant exiting a room.

Only more uncomfortable noises sounded from down the hall, prompting Leah to walk closer. Had Thomas been there, he would have easily guided Leah back to her bed. But it isn't that simple.

Turning a corner, her eyes fell onto a group of men whispering loudly, weapons tightly clenched in their hands. After that, the memory begins to distort.

A blur.

Everything is a blur.

Down to her rigid movements and the sounds of screams, or the slippery feeling of the crimson liquid that dripped on her body, Leah can't seem to clearly remember a single thing. All she can see are small, blurred flashes of things she cannot make out.

The scene changes, her head throbbing.

"It is just me, My Lady," Thomas' voice rang out in her head, echoing against the walls.

Leah's eyebrows furrowed as she opened and closed her hand, toying with the blood that drenched it. "Thomas? What happened?" she asked, feeling disoriented.

"Someone broke in," he knelt to her spot on the cold floor. "But do not worry.. I took care of it," his voice was filled with sheer lies as he stared at the girl in fascination.

Thomas lies.

Of course he lies.. he isn't human.

The faces in her head are unclear and she now standing bare in the bathroom. Leah looked down and noticed small patches of blood that covered her lower body, but it was nothing compared to her hands and face.

"I'll get you all clean and then you can settle in for bed," Anna mumbled, guiding her over to the bathtub.

Leah opened her mouth to speak but no words left, the memory slowly beginning to fade out.

— ౨ৎ —

"No," Leah shakes her head and tightly grips her hair. "No!"

"Mistress—" Anna starts, reaching out for her.

Lifting her head from her hands, Leah stares at Anna with wide, glazed-over eyes. "Do you think I murdered that man?" her voice wavers.

"No!" taking ahold of Leah's hand, Anna grips it tightly and locks eyes with the girl. "You couldn't have!"

Leah's hand twitches in Anna's hold. "But you said I don't remember when I do it.. I don't remember!" she bites down on her lips in an attempt to hold in her tears.

Eyes full of guilt, Anna regrets ever speaking in the first place. "I was with you the entire time, you never left my sight. It is impossible for you to have done it," she brings her hands up to Leah's face.

"I am a murderer.." the teen whispers.

Anna's breath catches in her throat, pulling Leah in for a hug. "You were protecting yourself."

With dull eyes, Leah's head collides with Anna's chest as she chooses to stare at a wall, struggling to comprehend this information being thrown at her. 'Why can't I be normal?' She bites down on her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood.

"But I am still a murderer," Leah retorts, her lips moving against Anna's nightgown. "It was those sword lessons, wasn't it? Is this all my mother's fault? They always made me feel barbaric.."

Unable to think of a counterargument, Anna simply runs her hand through Leah's hair. She lowers the both of them until they lay side by side, keeping the girl held tightly against her despite the initial desire to pull away at the feeling of the teen's cold skin.

"Forget I ever said anything.." whispers Anna. She can only hope it works, though the likelihood is low.

Lifting her head, Leah can't see Anna's face to show her confused frown. "But—"

Anna cuts the girl off by gently shushing her, laying her head atop Leah's in an attempt to comfort her.

"Just go to sleep, Mistress."

[fgfluidity]

pincera (part 3)

Summary: pincera- Latin, ‘cup-bearer, one who mixes drinks’ || The private and intimate life of the house.

Pairings: Damien/DA, Celine/Mark, Celine/Will

Tags: Alcohol, Bootlegging, Adultery, WWI, Fights, implied Overserving, Abusive Parents, Autistic!Seer!DA

Parts: 1 | 2

find it on ao3 | donate to my kofi

@opprose @statictay @volbeast @otterlyinluv @flerpdederp @hapikiou (and if anyone else wants to be tagged lmk!

Of course, we know now that not all twins are strictly identical, veritable clones of one another and of the same sex. They don’t have to be the same sort of person in temperament, interests, style, or whatever else; a pair of twins can be as opposite as the poles of a magnet, with only the circumstances of their birth enough to tell you otherwise.

This is the case with Damien and Celine, but even then… many would be hard-pressed to believe them on it.

They don’t look much as all alike. Celine is shorter, small enough of frame to be considered slight, and a good deal paler than her twin, despite the same lineage. For his part, Damien rests at the shorter side of average, but maintains a broader, stronger figure than that of at least one of his friends-- he could never match up to Wil, even if he wished it, but Mark’s no challenge.

Her father’s coloring with her mother’s features, and his, the exact opposite.

She dresses in flowing, deep color, and his favor rests with the straight lines of a nicely-tailored suit.

She holds a taste for the macabre, the mysterious, and he busies himself with the mundane and realistic.

She’s the braver, the bolder, the more outspoken of them both, and Damien…

Found it much more of a struggle.

The air is tense. It rests heavy in the ornate dining room, the singular sound of cutlery sawing through meat and vegetables bouncing off the cavernous walls, coming back to him.

Celine, across from him, almost seems bored, methodically cutting apart her meal as if, a scant thirty minutes ago, she and her father hadn’t been nearly at blows. Still, she resolutely isn’t looking at any of them-- it has to be affecting her somehow, he just knows it.

His mother, at the foot of the table, says nothing. It’s regrettably her default state, these days, but with the energy radiating from her partner at the opposite end, feet interspersed with various dishes, he must wonder if it’s self-preservation or fury that stills her tongue.

He can’t make himself look down towards his father. Celine can rage and act aloof all she likes, but he can’t bring himself to lie-- he’s very frightened of the man. He’s held the power for years on end, over both this city and his own family, and if Damien’s ever going to get out from under his thumb-- unlikely-- it’s certainly not by rocking the boat, as it were.

His supper is an alright place to look, though, and he pays far too much attention to his fork and knife. Saw the meat, back and forth, but he can’t go too quickly; if he scrapes the plate, that jagged and earsplitting sound will equally split the tension in the air, and the aftermath won’t be pretty. Stay calm, stay polite, stay out of the way, and you just might make it through-- he’s learned that tactic quite well.

The dish of peas scoots towards him, and the tablecloth bunches. He doesn’t pay it too much mind-- he still has his own scoop sitting there, untouched, on his plate-- until it scoots again and several tiny peas spill over, stark green against white, one rolling to the edge of his plate.

He blinks at it a moment, the spell broken, and then looks up.

His mother places a bite delicately in her mouth in lieu of saying a word, but her eyes flick from his plate to him-- once, twice.

It may be difficult, out in the world, but his mother’s non-verbal communication has never escaped him-- likely through necessity. The bite he’d been sawing away at has come free, sitting on his fork; likely, any futher action would bring about that awful shriek he’s trying to avoid. Thankful for her help, he brings it to his own mouth.

Salty, savory, well-cooked-- it’s enough to stir his appetite all over again.

“Tomorrow, I’ll be making a call to that school.”

At once, his father’s voice turns the flavorful food to ash and dust in his mouth, and he struggles to swallow around the sudden dryness of his throat.

To her credit, Celine doesn’t start at that, retaining her disinterested expression as she expertly slices up more of her meal. “You’re free to do so, but I won’t be going. Like I said.”

“You will.” His voice comes as a roll of thunder down the table, a warning, and the hair standing up on the back of Damien’s neck could just as easily be from the lightning as it is from fear. “I’m trying to make something of the two of you, and you’ve been resistant at every turn. It ends now, Celine.”

“No, it won’t.” She looks up at him, finally, her eyes cool. “I want nothing to do with politics or any such thing. I have my own passions worth following, thank you.”

Damien keeps his eyes firmly on Celine, but he can’t stop from flinching as his father’s chair scrapes back from the table; he doesn’t need to look to know he’s looming over the end, dark and terrible.

“I’ve had enough of this,” he seethes. “You have to, because at the very least I can make something of you, unlike your brother--”

In an instant, the thunder ceases, the crackling electricity falling out of the air, as everyone in the room simply stares.

Celine, face twisted in barely-restrained, icy fury, sets down her newly-emptied water glass so hard that it cracks from the crystalline base. “I don’t have to do anything,” she hisses. “I’m leaving, and good riddance. Clean yourself up-- you have a meeting tomorrow, Father, and you really don’t want to miss this one.”

She whirls away, frosty air and an unsettling silence left in her wake, her shoes echoing down the polished hall until, finally, the slam of a door silences them.

Damien swallows hard and chances a look at his father.

He doesn’t make to move, but a tendon in his jaw twitches, eyes hard as flint, even as drops of water roll down his nose and off his chin. The thundercloud has stalled in place, headed off by the cold, but that can only last so long. It’ll come for him, eventually, like it always does.

But if she can just go, can just stand in the face of the thing that tore him down for years...

Before he can stop himself, he rises from his own chair, hardly worrying about the shriek against the tile. “I ought to go and follow her, see if I can… talk to her,” he explains, too full of nervous energy to quail before the look his father gives him. He swallows again, letting it course through him. “Water might ruin that tie. I would take her advice.”

The brief courage fails him, then, and he hurries off for the door, but not before he catches sight of his mother.

His mother, braving that storm every single day, even before they did. Who remained quiet and calm, because any push back might transfer more onto her children.

His mother, who gives him a smile just like his sister’s, because it was hers first: all-knowing, satisfied, proud.

He turns, and runs after his sister.

It’s easy enough to catch up with her; he has longer legs, and she hasn’t gotten very far. In fact, as he slows his jog under a gas lamp, she’s already turned to face him.

“I’m not coming back,” she says, matter of fact, eyeing him as if she expects him to try and change her mind.

The eyebrow she raises when he shakes his head makes him grin. It’s always fun to surprise Celine-- she always seems a few steps ahead of everyone else, though whether that’s through her machinations or some mystical ability, he can’t say. “I know you aren’t. I just wanted to talk to you, before…”

At that, she gives him the smallest smile, stance relaxing as she steps up beside him. “Sure. Come with me, little brother-- I need a drink.”

These days, it’s only proper to escort a woman after dark, but from the moment they step into the smoky bar, it’s very clear he’s the one being escorted; Celine strides in with a ripple of her lacy cape, paying no mind to the gentleman who raised their eyes to their intrusion.

They go back to whatever they were doing, but it leaves Damien a bit on edge as he picks out his barstool beside Celine.

He waits until she’s through ordering to speak up, the weight of her words truly settling in. “You’re leaving. For… good, this time, yes?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t look at him, keen eyes watching as the barkeep tosses the ingredients into a metal cup. “I thought you didn’t think I was coming back.”

“No, I do, and it’ll be good for you, it’s just…” The words remain lodged behind a knot in his chest, grappling with the idea that his sister will be gone. It isn’t until the drink-- some pale green thing in a frosty glass-- is in her hand that it loosens enough for him to speak. “I’ll miss you. I don’t know what I’ll do without you around to be the brave one.”

She eyes him behind the glass, savoring the drink for a few long moments. It feels like she’s reading deep into him, like no matter what, she’ll know everything about him. “You came after me.”

Damien frowns, confused. “Yes?”

“Against our father. You were scared to death all night, but you still came after me.” Finally, she smiles, something real and rare. “You’ll be the brave one, too-- you are.”

He doesn’t feel very brave, his stomach twisting in his middle at the thought of the strangers here, his angry father at home, university starting soon. Then again… “Well, I did say he’d ruin his tie if he waited any longer to change,” he starts, smiling himself as she chuckles. “By the way, about his meeting… does that have something to do with you?”

Celine snorts. “It takes no precognition to tell his awful manner was coming back to bite him, someday. I’ve heard people talking. It just seemed now was the time they might finally take the chance.”

“So, you aren’t actually magic?” He teases.

She smiles, her self-satisfied smile. “I didn’t say that. College will be very good to you. Here,” she continues, holding out her drink. “Try it. It’s better than the champagne.”

He does, because he knows university is rife with the stuff, and his sister won’t steer him wrong. It’s sharp, cold enough to sting, but under the zest is something sweet.

He raises the glass in salute to her, and she leaves it raised when she takes it back. She’s not going away forever, not completely, but in the meantime, he’ll take on the world. Just like she would.

--------

Gin Gimlet

--

50ml/2oz gin

25ml/1oz lime cordial

or 25ml/0.5oz each lime juice and simple syrup

Add ingredients to shaker with ice. Shake sharply and return to frosted martini glass.

Deceptive in its seeming simplicity, a sharp and tart drink, best served ice cold. Not the sweetest around, but strong enough to put you under-- if you aren’t careful.

[joels6string]

More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x OFC

Chapter 14 - On the Road

Summary: You wake up and face the fact you can't run from this any longer. A decision needs to be made.

Rating: E

Word Count: 5.9k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), slow burn, Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix it fic

“Promise me you won’t just leave without a word.”

Chapter 13 || Series Masterlist

The sun shined brighter in the winters, the white blanketed over the ground working like a reflector straight into your window. It had never been this bright before, the typical dull gray hue of sunrise you were used to now hitting your sleep-sensitized eyes blindingly. 

“What fucking time is it?” you grumbled to yourself, sitting up slowly to allow the ache in your bones to throb, throwing the blanket off yourself roughly as you swung your legs over the side of the couch. 

Wrapped in the discarded wool was a familiar lump of brown canvas; Joel. Your fingers curled into the fabric as you searched for him in the room and found no one, panic rising, your heart beating rapidly. Was he gone? The last thing you remembered was him leaving to clean up last night, sleep finally taking you as the comfort of his smell ingrained in the threads of that coat had lulled you off to sleep. You hadn’t needed to pretend or try to remember it, it was surrounding you, keeping you safe even in his brief absence. 

Clutching it to your chest, you ran from the room, following the quiet murmur of voices to the living room where the sight of his broad shoulders and thick gray hair had you sighing in relief loud enough to catch his attention. 

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” he announced with a crooked smile, his eyebrows furrowing at the distress on your face.

“Hi,” you choked, long strides bringing him to you within seconds, his hands softly gripping your upper arms as he studied you, “I’m okay. What are you doing?”

“Packin’. Go get some food, it’s in the kitchen.”

Your eyes fell to his lips, the desire to have them be the first thing yours touched every morning sending a foreign warmth radiating outward from your stomach. His chest looked so welcoming, the henley he wore so tightly stretched the one button he still had done up looked like it was ready to pop. Your fingers twitched as your eyes focused on the patch of dark hair descending down the open collar, your cheeks were burning, and it was a toss-up if it was desire or embarrassment fueling the fire. 

“Okay,” you exhaled, breath shaking, causing more concern from him as you quickly spun out of his grip and walked as fast as you could into the solitude of the kitchen. 

His and Tommy’s clothes hung damp around the wood stove Corbin had installed to cook with, the crackling of the flames like fireworks as panic began to set in. 

“Shit…” you muttered, eyes darting around, “Fuck…”

There was that nagging voice, the hammering in your chest, the drop of your stomach.

“Not this time. Not this time. No.” You recited it like a mantra under your breath. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

“Millie?” Not the voice you were expecting. 

Tommy walked cautiously into the room, leaning his back against the counter you’d braced yourself on.

“Thank you,” he said, your eyes snapping closed as you readied to try and converse with him about something that wasn’t the storm raging in your blood, “They’re comin’ back with us.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you blurted out, “They never said a word to me when I asked.”

“Huh. Well, either way we’re packing whatever valuables they have and heading out this afternoon. Can you check what food can be carried? We packed the fresh meat, hoping keepin’ it packed with snow will keep it cold enough to travel.”

“Sure. Yeah.”

“You alright? You seem…nervous.”

“What am I going back to, Tommy?”

It has been a question lingering like a whisper behind the chaos. 

“Well, we left within a few hours of the group gettin’ back so I assume Ellie is a little on edge. And Joel well…Joel did a little damage to Paulie’s face. But, I don’t think it’s anything that can’t be forgiven given the circumstances—”

“Where is Ellie now?”

“Maria is keepin’ an eye on her. I know she’s cooking for her. And she’s got her friends and I made Maria promise no farming.”

That made you laugh. Ellie did always hate farming rotation. It was certainly a reprieve for her to be free of it. 

“And Paulie,” Tommy continued, “Well, I think he was expectin’ a little anger. Ain’t like you all have a good history. He’ll live, and hell, maybe we can get Joel to apologize.”

“When hell freezes over maybe,” you replied with another breathy chuckle, Tommy's blue-green eyes soft as they wrinkled in the corners with a smile. 

“Yeah, suppose you’re right. Look I wanted to talk to you, about somethin’ else.”

You hoped your silence was a response enough for him to continue, those nerves bubbling once again in your stomach. 

“Joel he uh, he’s been through a lot. I don’t know how much you know about…his life before…but…he can’t take someone else walkin’ out on him,” you could hear the anxiety in his voice, the hesitation to divulge too much of a story that wasn’t his to tell, “I need you to promise you’re gonna do right by him. And I’m not sayin’ I think you’ll do anything but, I just…I need to know he’s gonna be okay.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” you confessed, “So I don’t know if I can promise anything.”

“Promise me you won’t just leave without a word.”

Well that was sort of your signature style. And you were well aware Tommy knew that, he must have figured it out with how many times you’d tried to escape or walked away at the first sign of conflict that didn’t involve a weapon in one or both hands. It had been the exact thing you’d been contemplating before he'd walked in. It was like a reflex at this point, snapping whatever thread of attachment you formed instead of weaving it stronger.

“You’re important to him,” he continued, “So please, just bear that in mind.”

“Okay,” you finally acknowledged, not answering the younger Miller’s request but at least confirming you understood his sentiment.  

“Tommy, what the hell are you doin’?” Joel snapped as he came searching for you after too long a delay, “Let her eat for Christ’s sake.”

“Please,” Tommy repeated one more time to you, and you nodded, hearing the clap of Tommy’s palm on Joel’s shoulder as he returned to the living room.

“What’s he on about?”

“What?” How much did you divulge? This didn’t feel like the time or place to tell Joel you’d just gotten the talk from his brother, especially since it immediately followed your own contemplation on whether or not this was something you could even handle.

“I told him we’d make it to the path by dark. He ain’t listenin’. Keeps askin’ everyone if those clouds look like snow and the latest we can leave… Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

Two thick forearms caged you in against the counter, your chest turning to brush against his as that radiating warmth returned. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, the deep scar indenting his nose, the white competing with black in his beard, the sunspots, and tiny nick scars that practically glowed against his sun-weathered skin. 

This time you couldn’t resist. Your heels left the floor as you stood on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips to his hard, taking a chance despite the fear of rejection that told you it would only last a second before it all came crashing down. 

But it didn’t. He pressed in closer, one hand twisting into your hair as you tugged his bottom lip between yours, fisting his shirt by the collar and silencing the demons that were telling you this couldn’t happen. It was happening. And here you felt safer than you had alone in this kitchen moments before. His hands, his heat, the familiar smell, how every kiss was focused and reverent, you could feel the gratitude in the every brush and pull, and when he lifted you to sit on the counter to be at his level, you wrapped your arms around his neck and granted his tongue’s request at the seam of your lips.

He swallowed your pathetic little mewls, his body pressing between your thighs enough to reignite a long abandoned flame. Your fingers craved to feel him, dragging up over his shoulders and onto his neck in their quest. The fringe of his soft gray hair and searing hot skin satiated the growing desire licking against your resolve, his beard scraping against your chin, the risk of being heard by the people in the room just next door something you didn’t care enough to consider. 

When his hands slipped just beneath the hem of your shirt and landed on the untouched skin of your waist you gasped, fingers tightening in his locks and tugging enough to have him groaning quietly. It was still clumsy and lacking finesse, teeth still clacking and marks missed, but as you slowed down he read the cue, and when his fingers pressed harder into your skin and struck another chord, he met your desperate fervor with need of his own. 

Air was in short supply but for a moment you wondered if you needed it at all. This was a moment of reprieve, another pocket of stolen time reminiscent of the overlook, the only thing that mattered was this and him and whatever you were finally allowing yourself to feel after years of solitude and resentment. 

“Get out,” Joel barked as footsteps you assumed belonged to Tommy began to draw closer, your fingers now scratching soothingly over his still-twinging scalp.

“You grew your hair,” you panted as he pecked at your mouth again.

“You said you liked it longer.”

“You grew your hair for me?”

“I guess so.”

Buzzing, frayed nerves had been replaced by warm, flowing currents, his palms drifting to the plush of your denim-clad thighs as you lightly traced the lines on his face with your now-free hand, ending with a gentle peck to the scar across his nose. His eyes were closed as he took in the sensation, his mouth turning into a frown you knew was born more from the lack of affection he’d been shown and the control he was trying to keep on himself. It made you wonder if it would break the next time you were alone, which wouldn’t come for weeks. 

“Joel…” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his as you cradled his jaw, your throat closing in as you attempted to muster the courage to say the words, “Thank you.” 

He pulled away to stare at you questioningly, and you answered with sad eyes of your own, a heavy sigh preceding his response “Millie, I need to know what the hell you want. I ain’t guessin’.”

It was so blunt, designed to not allow you to skirt the question. He’d been planning this in your time away, though your continued affections toward him probably surprised him as much as it had you. But it could easily be read as relief to finally see a familiar face, not longevity. 

“I want to try,” you replied, straightening your shoulders and nodding. There was no going back now.

“Alright then. Me too.”

Tipping your chin up with his thumb and pointer, he kissed you so lightly it was a tease, your body craving for more as he pulled his lips just out of reach while his fingers kept you in place. 

“Okay,” you sighed, allowing the feeling of relief to consume you.

“Okay.”

And with that he walked off, shooting you a crooked smile over his shoulder as he passed through the doorway, your eyes turning to thin slits as your cheeks lifted in a smile that had your cheeks twinging from disuse. 

“You done making out like a teenager and ready to fuckin’ help?” you heard Tommy chastise as you threw the oatmeal that was still warm on the hearth into a bowl, “You’re the one insistin’ we leave today and you ain’t helpin’!”

“Shut the hell up, baby brother,” was Joel’s response, and you could practically hear his grin.

By noon, the horses were packed with as much as they could carry, only three to hold the goods and all five people heading back to Jackson. Corbin and Lee shared theirs while Bill would have to lug both you and Joel around, Tommy’s carrying the bulk of Corbin and Lee’s personal items. It would be a long two weeks on the road and you dreaded every second of it—this was the first time you could say you just wanted to be home. 

“Joel,” Corbin called from a few yards away, “Can you help me with something?”

You took over the task of giving Bill’s saddle one last fit check, your eyes following him as he walked up the path and took what looked like a gas can from Corbin’s hands. It all still felt like a dream. Seeing him again had been a pipe dream from the moment you’d woken up in Corbin’s basement, your chest in agony and your hands strapped to the bedposts. There’d been no way to check if you were infected, and he’d taken a chance on bringing you back, something you’d be forever indebted to him for. But now Jackson was two weeks away, your chances of making it back almost guaranteed thanks to the two brothers flanking the man who’d risked his life to save you, a swell of gratitude hitting you like a tsunami. 

“I told you, didn’t I?” Lee sang out from behind you, a breathy laugh blowing out through your nose, “It’s a rare thing to find. But it’s not hard to see.”

“Okay,” you brushed off, “Well, we’ll see. What’re they doing?”

“Burning the house.”

“What?!”

“Hunters and worse have tried to take it from us for years. I’d rather see it in ashes than used as some kind of base.”

Joel’s uneasy gaze found yours across the farm, questioning you, almost asking for permission. The urge to scream no was building in your throat, whatever small semblance of serenity you’d stolen ripped away as reality finally came pouring down, its riptides ready to whisk you away back out into the lonesome sea. 

“It’s okay,” Lee sounded again, “We have a new home now.”

“Fuck…” you muttered your breath as you nodded to Joel, his own chin tipping slightly in acknowledgement.

With the house that stood through winters, summers, apocalypses, and countless attacks swallowed by flames behind you, you nestled into Joel on the back of Bill as you began the trek to Jackson. You could hear the crackling and shattering of beams that had withstood the worst moments of a family’s life, your arms wrapped tightly around Joel’s middle as you tried to drown the sounds out of at least one ear in the valley between his shoulders. The scent of gunpowder had been replaced with wood oil in the months since settling, his jacket thick with the air of familiarity, his fingers threading through yours on his stomach as his other hand gripped the reins. 

It continued like this for miles, hazy comfort and warmth despite the frigid temperatures battering against the protective bubble surrounding you. Your fingers stayed locked with Joel’s until they were practically numb from the pressure he was gripping you with, the fear that you were gone that had held him captive still whispering in his ear. 

You tried to remember when it all fell into place, whatever this was. What was the catalyst? The fairytale moment where the stars aligned and the clouds drifted away—that second you looked at him and realized he was the one. 

None of that had ever happened. 

It had come on gradually, there was no beginning, middle, or end. It just existed. Even from the earliest days your heart had searched for him. It began as your fingers finding the small hole in the collar of his t-shirt as he carried you bleeding and limp to safety when leaving you would have been easier. It continued in the rough way his voice sounded in the morning and when he was tired from a long day, or the songs you’d caught him humming when he thought no one was around. When it all should have changed and come tumbling down, the burden of your safety off his shoulders, he’d remained. Fetching groceries, tending wounds, helping you acclimate to a world strange to both of you, forcing him to adjust faster than he needed to to continue being whatever it was he knew you needed him to be. And he’d done it all without expectation.

In this, there was no need for showmanship, it was never booming fireworks or grand storybook gestures. It was walking into your home after a long day, an easy comfort, the smell of wood oil and sawdust, the plucking of guitar strings melding with the crickets’ song. It was him and it was you and it was simple. 

Loving him had always been easy, even when you’d tried your hardest to not. Leaving him had been the hard part. Whether it had been walking away or ignoring the fists slamming against the fortress you’d built around your heart, every second away from him had felt lacking. And you had no questions about whether or not he felt the same. It wasn’t a worry, it was unspoken and known. You felt it in the way his thumb hadn’t stopped moving up and down on the top of your hand since the journey began, saw it in the way he snuck a glance at you behind him every few minutes, his shoulders relaxing with every assurance you were there and you were well. Being loved by him could be easy, too. 

“Joel…” you mumbled into his coat as the sun began to drift below the trees, “Joel…”

“Hmm?” he hummed, squeezing your fingers softly as he turned an ear back.

“Are we stopping?”

“Not here. Little further up.”

The neighborhood surrounding you was one you were familiar with. The rushing of the river, that old white house, the snow stretching for miles…this was where you thought your life had ended. Bill trotted past the very spot you’d slipped off a rock into the rushing waters, a particularly brutal coughing fit had been enough to send your fever-weakened body toppling over, lightheaded and close to fainting. You’d tried to claw your way up onto the rocks that sped by you as the current swept you away, but the water had been too cold, your joints effectively frozen, lungs useless, and you’d realized you could spend your last few minutes panicking or simply accepting your fate. You’d chosen the latter. 

You’d thought of Ellie, beaming ear-to-ear as she hit a particularly difficult shot at the target with her arrow, the raucous reaction to learning Darth Vader was Luke’s father that had her jumping on Joel’s couch much to his dismay, and as your head smacked against the root of tree protruding on the bank, you’d just begun to hope you’d made a difference for her in the short time you knew her. Then it had all gone black until you'd woken up in what must have been your ninth life.

Three hours later, Joel’s hand guided you off your horse in a garage, the only one in the area that still had a roof. The house was like every other you’d set foot into—destroyed, looted, the ghosts of its owner’s still lingering in shattered picture frames and trinkets with no value in whatever semblance of a society still remained. Tommy instructed everyone to search for anything useful, bullets, clothes, medical supplies, the usual, and you opted to check the upstairs with Joel no more than five paces behind you. It was the same as always, a few sweaters, jeans, some shirts for Tommy and Joel, old rags and even half a bottle of rubbing alcohol, the empty boxes of bullet shells in the master bedroom frustrating Joel who grumbled something about not having enough to make it home. 

“I’m starving,” you finally sighed as you closed the closet door, turning to find Joel staring out the window at the plume of smoke stretching into the winter clouds.

“I’m sure Tommy’s got somethin’ goin’,” he answered, eyes still locked ahead of them, his voice distant and distracted.

Food was in abundance for the trip at least, Corbin and Lee’s chicken and canned goods all being stashed in Tommy’s saddle bags. He’d estimated it was more than enough to get everyone home if it was used wisely. And using things wisely was one of Tommy’s strongest suits. This would be a rare moment alone with Joel, the group already establishing that sleeping in one location on the ground floor would always be safest, regardless of how many beds the house held. You knew he was grappling with his hand in burning everything those people had held dear. He'd forced them to choose between their home and traveling for weeks with them to a world unknown, wondering if it would be worth it in the end and knowing if it wasn’t, they had nothing. He’d had a home once, one he left behind. You’d overheard him and Tommy talking about it not long after your arrival, about Tommy’s visit back down to Texas some years back, those four walls still standing as if it was waiting for them to return. All but one. 

“Let’s go see,” you instructed, his nod of agreement finally pulling his attention.

Dinner was cooking on a small hot plate, Lee fretting over Tommy’s shoulder as he laughed affectionately at her concerns of overcooking. Joel stopped halfway down the staircase, your brow furrowing as you turned back at the absence of the creaking wood when you’d hit the floor. 

“Tommy,” he called out, “Gimme a hand with these mattresses.” His attention then fell to you. “Go and eat. Don’t worry about leavin’ anything.”

“Joel…” you exhaled, but he’d already turned away, “Tommy, Tommy…” you grabbed the man passing you by the forearm, “He needs to eat.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Tommy assured, patting your hand softly, “Don’t you worry. Make us some bowls.”

As promised, Tommy did ensure Joel ate the prepared stew after they’d lugged two mattresses down to the living room. With those and the couch, everyone would have a softer place to sleep than the floor, enough blankets being found that a fire wouldn’t be worth the risk. Tommy and Joel did one last perimeter sweep before settling in for the night, Joel welcoming you onto his chest as good nights were said and flashlights flicked off. 

Both of his arms swaddled you, his palm gently cradling your head where it lay tucked into the crook of his neck. In the company of so many others, the words of relief you both wanted to speak sat idle on your tongues. You wanted to tell him you’d remembered how it felt to be held by him while you slept, that memory the only thing that could get you to sleep most nights. His heat, his smell, the feeling of being safe and content, nothing had ever compared. The way his heart thudded against your cheek transported you back to that night—the night it all changed—but there was no longer the dread of regret that lingered over the moments of comfort. The second chance had come. 

Sleep came quickly, a drowsy warmth trapped beneath the blankets and trapped between where your bodies met lulling you to restless images too vivid to differentiate from reality and dreams. 

Crack!

Joel shot up at the sound of gunfire crackling through the frigid morning air. His eyes fell first to Tommy across from him on the couch, his brother also alert and tossing his blankets off in a scramble to get out the front door. You were nowhere to be found. 

Crack!

The sound echoed through the abandoned neighborhood as they ran out into cold, two bodies lying off in the distance on the snow-covered ground. They took off in a run, pistol and revolver drawn, crimson pooling on the crystal white beneath two very dead men, bullets sunk right through the sides of their heads. 

“Morning boys.” The greeting had Tommy chuckling and Joel sighing. “It’s about time you woke up.”

You popped up on a rooftop to their right, Corbin’s rifle in your hand, snow covering the front of your jacket from laying flat on the slanted surface. Joel took off immediately as you moved to slide down, reaching the back of the house where you’d used an old charcoal grill and the dilapidated roof to a covered porch to get yourself up, his face tensing at the fact despite everything you were still just as reckless. 

“What the hell are you doin’?” he asked, grabbing your lower half hanging off the beams of the porch and placing you gently back down onto the ground. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” you answered, dusting your clothes off, “Came outside to see where the sun was and heard them down the road.”

“Tell me you knew they were a threat,” Tommy called out from the side of the house, Joel meeting your eyes with a much more sympathetic look than Tommy’s inquiring gaze. 

“They were looking for the people who burned ‘that crazy old kook’s house down’,” you retorted, “Figured that was good enough. You could still see the smoke from here this morning, maybe not the best idea.”

“Yeah, well, hindsight’s always 20/20,” Tommy acknowledged, “We’ll be outta here soon. Let’s go pack up.”

As Tommy took back off down the road, you stopped at the two victims in the street, searching them for anything useful. A pistol, a rifle, and a fair number of bullets later, you found the real prize: a freshly rolled cigar. You held it up proudly for Joel, his lips forming an O as he exhaled loudly in excitement, his nose pressing to the paper and inhaling deeply.

“Yeah,” he chortled, “Yeah, that’ll do. Keep that away from Tommy.”

Days turned into a week, the time spent quietly with Joel on the back of Bill a pocket of bliss you knew you’d never have again. Occasionally, you veered off from the group, and he told you about the task him and Tommy had begun of renovating Jackson, how much Ellie had improved on the guitar in a few short months, and that he’d managed to pilfer and save enough seeds to have a small garden started for you in a makeshift greenhouse in his downstairs bathroom. You crossed so few adversaries thanks to Joel’s expert clean up work on the way down, it gave you the time to just be. 

“That look like a little town square to you?” he asked one afternoon with an estimated six days to go.

“Probably,” you confirmed, Joel’s whistle to get Tommy and Corbin’s attention shrill in your ear.

“This way!”

The group wandered through the streets of what was once a bustling town center. The remnants of a farmer’s market lay destroyed, the tents and stands still barely displaying shop names and prices with sun-worn paint and ink, scattered totes and wooden boxes that once held homegrown produce discarded throughout the street. It must have hit differently out here, you envisioned the panic of the shoppers as they came in contact with their first infected on what was probably a cool autumn morning. They’d been out with their families, enjoying the last of the summer’s harvests, shopping for pumpkins to carve, fall decorations…then everything had been ripped away. 

“Right here,” Joel announced as you stopped in front of an old brick building, “We’ll just be a second. You three keep watch, we’ll go in.”

“What are we doing here?” you asked as Joel helped you off the horse, grabbing a weapon for each of you and heading off up the walkway without a response. 

It was a public library. Even more questions floated into your head as you entered what would have once been considered a sanctuary. It was almost frozen in time, books still neatly placed on the shelves, the only indicator anything had been awry the shattered windows, spindly sticks that no doubt sprouted green ivy throughout the space in warmer months, and a layer of dust proving you were the first to set foot in this space in years. Joel walked immediately to the directory, clearly after something specific, muttering to himself about archives and videos, and you grabbed the first book left strewn on the counter, flipping it open to marvel at the still partially stiff pages. Had someone been checking it out? Was this their choice of the week read that they’d enjoy in front of a crackling fire as the sun began to set? Or was it one someone had already learned from? Taken new life from?

“This way,” Joel interjected, threading his fingers with yours and taking off towards the back.

He entered an old storeroom, labeled boxes lining the walls, a table set in the middle of the space, and he got to work immediately rummaging through. 

“What are you looking for?” you finally asked, crossing your arms over your chest impatiently.

“Moon landing,” he answered so bluntly it was hardly an answer at all.

“The moon landing? What for?”

“Ellie.”

“Uh huh…”

“I found a place to maybe take her for her birthday if it’s still standin’ and we can clear it out, an old museum, so I need this.”

Ellie’s fascination with space was no secret. She swore she was going to be the one to restart the space program single-handedly, and you’d never even considered squashing that dream. Nor had he. He was laser-focused, reading date after date with his flashlight, and you knew you should help him but you were so enamored at the sight of him diligently looking for this small thing that could bring a smile to that girl’s face you couldn’t move. 

Then, the color drained from your face, the too-familiar vile clicking echoed, both you and Joel’s attention snapping to the doorway leading into a back hall that was missing its door. He stood up straight slowly, gently unsheathing the machete strapped to his backpack, turning with his left arm out as he backed up until your body hit his. With your pistol already drawn, you batted his protective arm away, moving to stand beside in whatever fight came next. 

“I’m a better shot than you,” you whispered, his nostrils flaring.

“Not at close range,” he retorted, and he was right. “Stay put.”

Before you could snatch his arm and pull him back, he was advancing into the hallway. You cursed silently, turning and going out the way you came to sweep the larger library; if he could go looking for a fight so could you. You walked shelf after shelf, your eyes sweeping and finding nothing, your ears still on high alert to any sounds of distress or unwanted visitors, but it was quiet. Terrifyingly silent.

Chapter 15

[needleanddead]

I shamelessly just want to be coddled by lucas after i have a really stressful day trying to get "accustomed" to my new life ... (coming from someone who's extremely clumsy and breaks things alot, w/ naturally shaky hands and jumpy, like fr lucas pull through !!!)

cw: death, cannibalism, physical abuse, infantilisation, reader is well on the path to stockholm syndrome. 1.1k.

All things considered, you think that you could have acclimatised to things worse.

After all; one doesn't go into the forest for a camping trip expecting to find themselves the honoured guest and sole survivor of a man in the woods with an axe. That is the domain of horror movies; things like that do not happen in real life, no matter what your friends had said around the campfire with their torches beneath their chins and their eyes bugged wide to try and make you squeal in pretend terror.

So it's no surprise you're struggling a little. It's no surprise your hands shake when you try and shrug yourself into the too-big flannel nightshirt that Lucas had procured for you from drawers in the bedroom - no surprise it takes you four times to spear any of the meat on your plate with your fork. No surprise that when Lucas asks you if you can take the plates over to the sink, your hands shake something awful, and if it hadn't been for his quick movements the dirty china would have been shattered all over the wooden floorboards of the cabin.

You don't scream. You don't rage against Lucas and beat your fists on his chest and try and hit him--

The very first day, when you'd woken up from an unconsciousness found at the blunt end of an axe handle, you had made to hurt Lucas. Launched yourself across the room with your hand held aloft in terror, thinking you could push him or hit him hard enough to make an attempt at escape. Lucas had caught your wrist in his hand, and said - his tone surprisingly patient, but barbed with the gruffness of a man who was telling the truth;

"You try that again, darlin', and I'll break your fingers one by one til' you apologise. You get one warnin'."

Fragments of the evening before had come back to you, as you stand suspended with your eyes wide and your wrist caught in Lucas's grip. The shine of a bloody axe. The scream of your friends. You, begging a broad silhouetted figure, sniffling and sobbing until it had knelt down in front of you--

("Poor thing," you vaguely remember a voice murmuring. "You're not like the others, are ya'? C'mon. Stand up. I'll take care of you.")

So . . . you think you could have done worse. After that first outburst, you had taken his threat to heart. Quieted yourself. And it's not so bad, is it? Lucas is gentle with you, despite the ice that glints in his green eyes sometimes and the low edge of something else that plays along the knife edge of his syllables when he speaks to you. Cooks for you. Compliments you. Coddles you--

"Oh, angel," he'd said, walking into the bedroom as you'd fumbled with the buttons of the flannel nightshirt. You'd gone stock-still to be in front of him so vulnerable, so bare - but though his eyes had roved over the skin on display, though his throat had bobbed as he'd swallowed . . . work-roughened fingers had reached out, surprisingly tender and far more solid than your own, to bring button through button hole.

If he'd slipped into bed beside you afterwards for the first time, instead of going back to the handmade blankets on the couch . . . you suppose it must get cold, on his own. You couldn't expect him to give up his bed forever, could you?

"Sweetheart," he'd said, as he watched you fail to cut your meat (the third night you'd been here, as you'd discreetly coughed something small and round into an embroidered napkin and forced yourself not to think of your best friend's dermal piercing, you'd decided not to think too hard about what animal the meat that Lucas served came from). "You're makin' a real mess'a that."

You'd put forth a trembling apology, fear bridling up your spine - though Lucas has not shown his temper since that first day, it simmers below the surface of everything he does, a reminder of what he is capable of - but Lucas just chuckles softly and pushes his chair out some.

"C'mere," he'd murmured, patting his knee. "C'mon."

You'd had to follow his instruction - pulled your leaden body up from the chair, knees trembling, and gone over to him. Perched yourself as lightly as you could on him - only to be pulled full force into his lap. A reminder of his strength that makes what little food you've managed to get into your mouth churn into your stomach - but as Lucas had reached over and pulled your plate over to in front of him instead, some of the fear had abated.

"No need to tremble like that," he'd chided you, gently, cutting up your food like you were five years old - piercing a neat hunk of the meat with the tines of a shining silver fork that reminds you too much of an axe blade. Bringing it slowly to your lips. Smiling against your hair. "Open wide, angel."

When you'd almost dropped both of your plates on the floor, a few days later, you'd expected him to blow up. You'd once accidentally slammed a door and seen his eyes flash dangerously, heard an intake of breath like a rattle in his chest, and had surmised that he didn't like loud noises. As your grip had faltered around the willow-patterned plates in your grip, you'd had visions of him slamming your head into the floorboards after them - but instead, suddenly a strong arm had wrapped around your middle, a hand fastening around the rim of the dirty crockery.

"Careful there," he'd said to you, right against your ear. "You mighta hurt yourself."

It seems foolish to say of the man who has kidnapped you, brutally dispatched your friends, ensconced you in the middle of nowhere in the woods and made it clear that if you defied him or fought him or betrayed his trust you too would meet your maker, that he is kind. But he is.

When you wake up crying in the middle of the night, his warm body shifts over to you. His arms curve around you protectively as he murmurs soft platitudes in your ear about how much he adores you and how glad he is to have you. When your hands shake, he is there - whether they shake brushing your hair, buttoning your clothes, washing yourself in the bathroom - to take over, hands and fingers lingering over you in appreciation. When you get nostalgic, when you want to cry from how alone you feel - Lucas soothes you, runs a hand over your waist and back and thigh, pulls you onto his lap on the old overstuffed couch and puts on an old record with the fire roaring until you forget what it is you were upset about.

Or at least until you stop mentioning it aloud to him.

Yes. Lucas is kind.

And it's so much easier to keep telling yourself that than it is to dwell on your reality.

[ms-hells-bells]

doesn't peta literally take + kill people's pets though? I recall even the vegan groups I used to be in distancing themselves from that organisation...

it was largely a misrepresentation. it's like saying 'crazy how hospices have such high death rates!'

peta, is not like most shelters, they are the last resort people or other shelters go to, they euthanise animals taken in that are either too sick or injured to live, so traumatised/feral that they can never be homed, and very elderly animals with not much time to go, and sometimes in desperate circumstances, others that they simply have no room to take in. peta shelters have an 'open door policy', meaning they NEVER say no, and they offer people free euthanasia (euthanising a pet is actually rather expensive and many low income people cannot afford it, so go to peta shelters to get it done, boosting the euthanasia numbers).

'no kill' shelters are a fallacy, they simply pick and choose who they take in, only taking in animals that are young, healthy, and attractive breeds. all the rest they refuse, and the refused animals just get dumped on the street. the only places that can take these animals are 'kill' shelters (with no kill shelters often giving animals who haven't been adopted within a few months to kill shelters), who try their best got adopt them out if they can.

what are you or other critics gonna do? adopt millions of starving, injured cats and dogs? including ones that pose a very high danger to humans? as a vegan i HATE it, but this is why both vegans and peta are against breeding, and puppy selling of animals. every new designer life born is a home lost for an already living animal, and our dragging of these species to environments where they have zero competition and few predators has created a massive global boom in their populations. peta tries to relocate as many animals as possible to shelters with space, but with so many, often (in peta's view) a painless euthanasia is far kinder than chucking them back to suffer with feline aids, tumours, ptsd, infectioned wounds, blindness (on the streets), starvation, etc.

people hate their actions regarding that, but have no solution themselves, they just wanna pretend there's no problem.

i'm not even being DEFENSIVE of peta, i don't like them either, but for proven, legit reasons like their use of misogyny and objectification in adverts and demonstrations, as well as their claims that drinking dairy is linked to autism (though they did somewhat rescind that statement in 2020, when the 2010 ad resurfaced online).

but the utter hypocrisy of people bringing that up when they're almost never vegan, therefore they contribute to hundreds of animal deaths each year with their wallet, drives me nuts. not to mention that this rage and misinformation is fueled and funded by the MEAT INDUSTRY, with things like the 'center for consumer freedom' being funded by farmers and big brands like kfc, as well as political lobbyists that get those sweet ag bribes. they literally run the website 'petakillsanimals.com', the one most quoted regarding this topic. these people are intent on destroying every group against their agenda, and people eat it up because they benefit. because they wanna eat eggs and bacon for breakfast.