#cordyceps growing near his eye and face

[akabloom]

natsuyuu dream moment

(read in tags if you want, kinda long)

[thegnomelord]

if you write a thing about the creaming the zussy i will kiss ur boots

The boots better be shining when you're done.

How To Cure Zombies 101

CW:NSFW MDNI, crackfic obv PiV sex, TLOU Clicker trans Ghost, Top Male Reader, established relationship, happy ending, dub-con because Simon consented before he got bit but reader is apprehensive, zombie sex (does it count as necro?) how does this work? idk porn logic. Don't ask me how this happened, i hope this doesn't become what my blog becomes known for.

When the Cordyceps spread across the planet and turned millions of people into shambling mushroom infested undead, the world ended.

When Simon got bitten. . . your world ended.

You still remember it like it had been yesterday; He came back bloody, an empty look in his eyes as he showed you the bite on his arm. Your hands shook as he wrapped them around the grip of the gun and aimed it at his head. You both ended up on the floor with you crying into his chest, unable to pull the trigger.

You remember the resigned look in his eyes when he had agreed to let you do whatever you needed to him to cure him, but both of you knew there was no way, what made you immune to the fungus was as mysterious to the rest of the world as it was for you. His lips had been burning hot when he laid a soft kiss on your forehead, the last sense of warmth you've felt since the docs took him to where they kept the infected for study, your heart leaving with him.

And now?

Now the scientists that have been prodding you like a lab rat since Simon got bitten nearly a year ago say they have a way to bring his mind back, to get Simon back.

And the way to do it?

"So let me get this straight?" You begin, your voice tense, your body even tenser. "You want me to fuck the corpse of my lover? And that will cure him?"

That. You're not sure how the eggheads arrived to this conclusion, frankly all of their scientific jargons had flown over your head. All you understood was that the man you had fallen since the first time you met him could be brought back.

You sincerely hope you won't make some type of super fungus through this.

Words can't describe what you feel as you look at Simon's (is it even Simon?) bound body writhing on the gyno chair, naked and bare to you. You doubt you even know what you feel, hope and fear simultaneously curling in your stomach— You hadn't had the courage to look at him ever since the scientists took him away; The harsh laboratory lights make it easy to see the mycelium filling his veins beneath the ashy pale skin, mushroom caps growing beneath his pecs and across all other scars he has. Red and yellow mushrooms have eaten away his nose and spread out to follow the contours of his face, growing in a way that makes the mushroom caps blend together into a skull shape.

Your heart aches when you see his eyes haven't been eaten away yet, the once deep brown turned milky white and staring lifelessly past you, thrashing about in the bindings, rotten teeth gnawing on the ball gag in his mouth, small hisses and malformed muffled clicks echoing through the room.

You try to look down and you stop at his stomach, forcing yourself to breathe in and out slowly because your heart is beating so fast it feels like you'll have a panic attack. You have no idea if this will work and doing this to Simon only to find out it's as useless as all your previous attempts to cure him. . . you're sure it would break you. Closing your eyes and counting to ten you will yourself to focus, your eyes opening slowly and following the trail of little mushroom caps down to his groin.

It's not what you expected., but it's. . . a lot; Mushroom caps have replaced the lips of his cunt, similar to the hard growths on his head but these look thinner and longer, almost like flower petals framing his cunt, bright red at the corners and getting progressively lighter as it nears his hole. A sort of morbid curiosity compels you to reach out brushing your fingertips against the caps. They're surprisingly softer than you had expected, smooth and slick with some kind of slime. You can't help but notice how a longer stalked mushroom grows from what had been his clit.

You jerk your hand back when a second brush of your fingers makes his body to jerk back and attempt to fight against the restraints, more angry clicks vibrating his throat.

But you also notice a kind of��� sweet scent in the air and it's coming from him. Cautiously you brush against the caps again, slowly dipping your fingers under to touch the gills underneath. You keep your hand where it is when he thrashes again, but you're certain that smell is stronger now, and you catch the glimpse of clear viscous slick slowly leak from his hole.

Carefully you push a finger into his hole in an attempt to stretch him out. Logically you know that he probably doesn't feel it, but it feels wrong to just stick your cock in him; He's cold. You know he's dead but you had held out some hope that he would be warmer, that there would be some signs of life despite how stupid that sounds.

He's dry right now, but more of that clear fluid seeps around your fingers and lubes the way as you experimentally push your finger all the way up to the last knuckle, and you felt his muscles flutter around you, clenching down as if trying to draw you in deeper. His head continued to thrash around, no change in the feral behavior, but you still try to be gentle, pushing one then two fingers in and slowly scissoring him open.

You pull your fingers out when his hole has relaxed enough to let you easily slide your fingers in and out, and he's produced enough slick to completely drench your hand. You try to look at him as you press your cock against his fluttering hole, but the sight of his milky eyes almost makes you soft on the spot so you screw your eyes closed and slowly slide in.

Despite how cold and wet his cunt is, you haven't felt anyone's touch, even your own, since he got infected, and a part of you feels disgusted at how a bit of pleasure traces up your spine. He continues to hiss and click as you bottom out, his hips bucking wildly you have to press them down. You set a slower pace than you're used to, keeping your thrusts even and consistent, afraid to tear anything but your fear is seemingly misplaced. He's so much wetter than he'd ever get before he got infected, slick wetly squelching as you bottom out over and over again, clicks and snarls accompanying every move you make.

You're ashamed to say you don't last long. Fuck, is he tight you've been ignoring your body for so long that when you accidentally brush against the stalk growing from his clit and his cunt suddenly tightens up like a vice you cum on the spot, your hips doing little minute twitches as you empty so much of your cum in his cunt that your balls hurt. You pull out just as slowly, both of your mixed fluids leaking out and almost getting caught by the soft mushrooms framing his hole.

You muster up the courage to look him in the eyes, and your heart breaks when his lifeless eyes blindly stare back at you.

You feel like a fool when the first time doesn't work, he's still just a body pupated by a fungus. And you feel like an even bigger fool when you agree to do this a second time.

But the third time. . .

You don't know if it's just wishful thinking but he seems more. . . alert. His head always follows you when you approach him but now his milky eyes almost seem to be looking at your face instead of staring straight through you. He's strangely still on the chair, teeth gnawing on the ball gag but he doesn't try to get out of the restraints.

He doesn't screech when you gently caress the soft outer mushroom caps framing his cunt, instead his chest vibrates with more deep clicks. Nor does he start to wildly writhe on the chair when you slowly sink a finger into his cunt, finding it's already wet with slick. If anything he almost seems to chase(more like stumble) after the sensation, his hips doing small little movements to push your finger deeper into him.

Emboldened by childish hope you do something you hadn't before and reach with your other hand to slowly trace the long stalk of the clitshroom (not a term you coined), before rubbing the base of the cap like you would your own cock.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the gentle pressure of your fingers makes him buck into your hands and let out an ear-piercing screech that the gag has trouble muffling. You pull your hands away and that worsens the problem, the shrieking turning into literal chest rumbling snarls as Simon starts to struggle against the bindings.

Panic rushing down your system you put your hands were they were, gently stroking the 2 inch long mushroom growing from his clit. His hips buck up to chase after your hand, the snarls reverting back into shrieks, but as you stroke him longer they gradually die down to low pitched clicks and whistles. You're stumped; the clicks sound a lot like a cat's puff, his hole fluttering and clenching around your fingers as you slowly push them inside.

He's warmer now, not quite how he was before, but not cold as a corpse either. You know that you've gone completely mad by the fact he starts to gyrate his hips— grinding down just as you get knuckles deep so your fingers can brush against the sensitive spots inside him — makes your mind think that it's a bit of your Simon coming back.

You shake your head and pull your hands away, taking hold of his trembling thighs. You're greeted with another deep snarl but he quiets down immediately when you start to slowly push into him. He feels even tighter now, and you watch how his head falls back on the headrest, a long series of low clicks and whistles squirming past the gag.

His hips move to meet your slow thrusts, tight warm walls squeezing down every time you attempt to pull out just like he used to do. And that thought has your body increasing the pace automatically, your balls slapping against his ass, every sharp thrust hitting something spongy inside him and drawing out a sharp click, the rough pace leaving you panting.

Mindlessly you look up, too caught up in the moment remembering how Simon loved eye contact to remember the situation you're in.

He's looking straight at you.

You halt mid thrust, the low hiss he lets out falling on deaf ears as you tilt your head to the side. You're not insane, his eyes follow you. They're still milky, but they don't look through you. He's looking at you.

Another rough clicking sound leaves him and he thrusts his hips down against yours with enough strength to bruise, almost impatient. Despite how stupid it is you reach out and quickly unbuckle the gag with trembling fingers. "Si?" You say, unable to hide the hope in your voice. "Are you there?" You lean over him, looking hopefully into his eyes. "Do you remember me?"

His jaw moves like he's munching on a survivor, but all that leaves his mouth are more clicks and rough grunts.

Fuck. You are a fool.

A sob tears through your chest before you can stop it, ducking your head down to lay it on his chest. You're unable to keep the fresh tears from falling on him, watering the damned mushrooms that had taken him from you. You can't stop the sobs from coming, your back bowed and shoulders shaking as you cry just as much as the day you first lost him.

His chest vibrates with another long series of clicks and whistles, just pouring salt on the gaping would in your chest.

Your name rights through the room.

It's scratchy, rough, almost incomprehensible to your ears, but it's your name.

You look up so quickly you almost snap his neck. "Simon?" You whisper, staying in him even as you feel yourself soften. "Are you in there?" You slowly reach out to hold his face, careful not to cut your hands on the sharp mushroom caps along his cheeks.

He looks at you back, jaw moving still, but he doesn't try to bite the flesh of your palms despite your hands being right there. "Ckckck-" He clicks, pupils going from pinpricks to blown out, "Ckckrkck- Mo- ckck-ve." He manages, a thrust of his hips accompanying the order.

Your heart leaps to your throat and you can do nothing but follow it, sliding one hand down to dig your nails into his thigh, looming over him as you pull out until only the head is inside and them slam into him that there's an audible clap of skin on skin as you bottom out. A half shriek half click half "Yes!" escapes him as he throws his head back, slack jawed.

A whole range of noises escapes him as you hammer into him with all you've got, one hand remaining always on his face. You can feel him getting hotter the longer you pound into him, body shaking as each thrust nails his sensitive spot. He gets progressively tighter and tighter as you fuck into him, and you let go of his thigh to carefully strike along the long shaft of the clitshroom.

He shrieks at the top of his lungs and his cunt clenches down on you like a vice, fluttering around you and gripping your cock like it doesn't want you to pull out. It pulls you into an orgasm,

"Simon?" You whisper, staying in him even as you feel yourself soften. He's too silent compared to how vocal he had been a few moments ago. "Are you in there?"

His head rolls a bit, peering at you through through his lashes, tongue moving heavily in his mouth and lips twitching up into a soft of barely-there grin. "Cckck- l- ckckc- love- ckrk-you -ckkckrkckck-"

Taglist: @dead-end-stuff

[lillaydee]

The Arrangement Part 10

Frontier! Joel Miller / Reader

Your life crumbled to nothing during a migration to Jackson, forcing you to agree to an arrangement just to survive.

NOTE: Possible inaccuracies in baby developments, food intake and inheritance or ownership laws coming. I really know nothing, but I needed to put some stuff in for the sake of the story line, so please forgive me and take everything in the spirit of storytelling yeah?

WARNINGS: Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Ellie & Joel Bonding (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst, Frontier Joel, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Virgin Joel, Virgin Reader, Minor Character Death, Period-typical Misogyny, Marriage of Convenience

SERIES MASTERLIST

Part 9

Your sight remained blurry all the way home, Maria immediately getting Tommy, telling him to get Will and Benny and Diana. She thanked Max for the two of you, but politely told him it would be best if he left. Max nodded and tipped his hat at you, not that you noticed.

“Make sure you don’t let Joel get anywhere near her,” she told Tommy.

Tommy was confused but did as his wife told him. Minutes later Diana came running into your house followed by the rest of the Miller men, asking Maria what happened. Liv and Diana’s faces visibly turned red, so did Tommy, Will and Benny’s. You were inconsolable, struggling to even draw breath, let alone say anything.

You couldn’t even qualify what you were feeling. Sadness? Anger? Jealousy?

No.

What felt closest to what you were feeling was simply devastation. Heartbreak. Betrayal.

Your husband, the sweetest man you had ever met, who, up until a few weeks ago was so affectionate, so loving, so romantic, making you feel all sorts of feelings that left you floating on air, went to the brothel to get his needs met.

He went to Rose. In broad daylight.

Esther was right after all.

He was so unsatisfied by you, so unaroused, so unfeeling for you, he resorted to going to working ladies, rather than try again with you.

The house was quiet. No one said anything. Everyone was quietly seething and devastated for you.

Ellie’s cries filled the house. Liv made to go get her, but you stopped her, going in to get her yourself, shutting the bedroom door behind you. You picked her up, tearfully consoling her, telling her everything will be alright.

Will it, though?

Could you live with this? Could you get past this?

A lot of men seek services at the brothel. Their wives knew. And yet they remained married, having child after child with their husbands. They look the other way, turn a blind eye. Could you?

“I know we are all angry at him,” you heard Tommy’s voice said. “But I know my brother. He is in love with Elena. You know this, Maria. He was never like this, not even with Annie.”

“As angry as I am with him, I hate to say it, but he’s right. I’ve never seen Joel this smitten with anyone,” Maria said, despite being so livid for you earlier. “If this had been idle gossip I would never have believed it, but I saw him. With my own eyes.”

“This is not like him, he would never do something this stupid. There must be an explanation.”

Tommy was doing what a good brother would do, defending his brother, the one who sacrificed a lot for him to make sure he had a good life growing up. Will and Benny didn’t say much. Liv and Diana remained quiet. To be fair, the two ladies didn’t really know Joel, having only met him when you got to Jackson.

“I cannot believe he would do this,” Benny’s voice was disbelieving. “The way he was so enamoured with Elena was something else. He’s the last man I would ever see doing this.”

“But he did. He did do this. We can all deny and question it, but he did do this. When he’s wrong, he’s wrong. No use defending him.” It was clear to everyone that Will wasn’t having any of this.

“Are we just going to throw him out because of this? He’s family,” Tommy sounded desperate. “He’s my brother.”

“And he betrayed Elena,” Maria was firm in her stand. “He promised her that he would be faithful to her. A brothel, Tommy? You expect us to let that go? Let bygones be bygones?”

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t think I can ever look him in the eyes again,” Diana finally chimed in.

“ELENA!”

You froze.

“ELENA… darling, please…”

“No, he is not coming in here,” Will said, and you heard the chair scrape against the floor, followed by a rough opening of the front door. No… please don’t Will… don’t…

You opened your bedroom door, passing Ellie to Liv, running to the door, only to see the three men already outside, confronting a sweaty, panicked, out of breath Joel, who had clearly been running all the way from town. Will, leading his brother and cousin, immediately landed a punch on your husband’s face.

“No! Will! Don’t, please… don’t hurt him!”

You ran outside, trying hard to get to him, worried that the much bigger Will would kill your husband. All betrayal was lost, all anger and heartbreak and devastation disappeared at that moment.

Will managed to land another punch to a non-fighting Joel before you got to him, placing your body in front of him, begging Will to stop, to not hurt your husband. You loved him. I love him. Will, please, I love him. Please, don’t hurt him. Will seemed to snap out of his anger, looking at you in shock for a few seconds before screaming at Joel, how could you do this to her? What were you thinking? Benny and Tommy pulled him back, calming the older Miller down.

“Explain yourself, brother. What you did was inexcusable,” Tommy calmly said.

Joel placed his hand on your shoulder, quietly telling you to go inside. The left side of his face already blooming with bruises, his nose bloody. You surged to wipe the blood away, but he gently took your hand in his and told you he was alright. Please, darling, go inside. I will be right in. Please.

Benny pulled you gently by the elbow, and you reluctantly let him do so, passing you to Diana, who was giving Joel a stern look. Maria and Liv waited at your front door. If looks could kill, your husband would be long dead, thrice over. Joel kept his head down, accepting his family’s perception of him, but watched you go inside, his heart broken into pieces at the thought of you still trying to defend him despite what had happened.

And if he heard you right, even in thinking he did what you thought he did, you still told his older cousin that you loved him.

**********

You sat on your kitchen table, a cup of tea in your hands, courtesy of a very fidgety Maria. Your sisters sat with you, Liv with a protective arm around your shoulder, Diana with Ellie in her arms, all watching the Miller men through the open window.

They were all sat on the grass in a circle, a ways away from the house, Joel doing the talking while the others listened, taking in everything he was telling them. You couldn’t see their faces, only Joel’s. Joel kept stealing looks into the house, eyes searching for you, a look of worry and devastation on his face.

The three Miller men suddenly dropped their heads down, shaking them disbelievingly, making your heart drop. What? What did he say? What was happening? Joel dropped his head, too. Seemingly from shame. Liv’s hand tightened around your shoulder, and your heart dropped further, oh God, this looked bad.

Suddenly, the three men’s shoulders started shaking, even Will’s. Your husband’s head remained down, his fingers on his forehead, shaking his head too, before finally lifting it, a controlled smile on his face. The other three Miller men started howling, laughing so hard they could hardly sit up properly. Joel started laughing too, but not as much as his brothers, who by now were wiping their eyes from laughter, hands on their tummies, almost bent double from the hilarity of whatever was going on.

They eventually stopped laughing. A good ten seconds went by when Benny snorted, and off they all went again, laughing so hard, Joel now red in the face, head still down, shoulders shaking every now and again when he gave in and began giggling for a few beats before stopping again, looking so ashamed of himself.

“What on earth is going on?” Diana asked, at which point you realized that everyone was staring at their husbands, a befuddled look on their faces.

The men finally stopped laughing, breaking again every now and then, before getting up, and shaking their heads, patting Joel on his back. His head remained down, albeit with a small smile on his face. Will stood in front of him, saying something you couldn’t hear, and hugged him tight, slapping him on his back a few times, which Joel willingly accepted and returned. Tommy and Benny stayed outside, while Will and Joel walked back into the house, Will telling Liv to get Ellie, she will be spending the night with them tonight. Maria, Diana, let’s go. He came to you, apologizing for hitting your husband, telling you to hear him out, before giving you a tight side hug.

The ladies hugged you, side-eyeing Joel as they left, a grumpy Ellie in Liv’s arms. Maria closed the door behind her, leaving you and your husband alone in your living room, where the awkwardness suddenly returned, and your anger began to swell back in your chest.

He stood dumbly for a few minutes, before telling you he was going to wash first, but he will explain everything to you, alright? You kept your head down, knowing for a fact - considering that you broke when you saw Will hit him - that if you looked at him, you would give in to him. And you knew you shouldn’t. He did something wrong. He should be made to explain himself, be made to apologize.

You stayed where you were as he cleaned himself behind the house, and when he came back in, he offered you a hand, which you took, and led you into his bedroom, sitting you on his bed before joining you, sitting opposite you, your knees touching.

He took a deep breath and told you everything.

**********

Joel Miller was a gifted man. He had always known that. He had always been told that, even in his childhood. His brother, his cousins, his friends, all teased him about it. He never thought much of it, until he joined the army. His buddies would make lewd remarks about his member. It didn’t help that he was so shy about mingling with the ladies, oh… Miller’s just afraid he might end up winning the war with his weapon of mass destruction, they said. Careful where you aim that thing, Miller, the ladies may not live long to tell the tale. Oh, boy Miller, you’re gonna split some unlucky lady in half with that huge dong of yours. Watch where you’re running with that, Miller, you don’t want to trip on that third leg.

All these teasing, the lewd comments, the double meaning remarks, unbeknownst to his friends and family, made him extremely ashamed of his own body. So Joel went about his life being self-conscious of his private part. He never messed around, as he told you. He even stayed away from talks regarding that matter, knowing that the stories would inevitably lead to more teasing his way. They always did. His army buddies made a point to let him know every time he was showing through his trousers in public, particularly around the ladies.

At one point, his name became one that was always mentioned among the working ladies at the local brothel where he was stationed, all the ladies knew of him, despite never setting foot in the establishment. The ladies in the army knew of him, chasing him around, wanting a glimpse. Coupled with the fact that he was raised to be a gentleman by his Mama, his shy nature exacerbated his consciousness, and made him stay away.

He even convinced himself he wasn’t interested in such activities. When needs arise, he was mindful, settling instead for relieving himself with his own hands, pictures of ladies on flyers and magazines becoming his inspirations. It’s safe, healthy, even, and he was not in danger of getting a disease, or impregnating any ladies, let alone hurting them. He eventually got used to this, thinking that when the time comes, when he married, he will deal with the situation face on, but until then, his hands would have to do.

But then he met you, and for the first time in his life, Joel Miller really wanted to be intimate with a woman. But not just any woman, with you, his wife. Someone who he was supposed to be intimate with, encouraged, even. But at the same time, he had promised you he would be respectful. And he really was. For what felt like years to him, he did not touch himself at all after the wedding, trying to respect the fact that you were right there, sleeping in the next wagon. He refrained himself from touching you too much, but it was like an impossibility.

He didn’t even realize what he was yearning for was intimate in nature at first.

Everything was hidden behind his feelings for you, one he had never felt before. It took him by surprise. He remembered what he said to you about love on that first ride together, and at the time, what he thought was a crush and a harmless attraction to you revolved around wanting to be near you, getting to know you. He found himself smiling to sleep with the thought of you, looking forward to be alone with you, anything at all, as long as he was with you. His body magnetized towards you. In a short span of time, he found himself becoming extremely protective of you, consumed by you. You were always on his mind. Every single time he planned something in his head, you were right there. He didn’t think much of it, you were his wife, after all. Of course you would be in his plans. Right?  

Until that day he saw you bathing. The images of your body in a wet robe drove him wild. He couldn’t stop wondering what you would look like sans the material. His body responded to you in a way he had never experienced before. When the ladies he encountered during his army days tried to get close to him, all he could think of was to get away. But you… all he wanted was to hold you tight, make you feel good. His wonders about you went from how you liked your morning coffee to wondering what sounds you would make if he kissed your neck, and to his shame, how you would look like naked underneath his own naked body.

And once he realized that, as the days went by and his feelings for you got stronger and stronger, his need for you got bigger and bigger. But he had promised you. Only when you asked for it. And Joel Miller was a man who kept his promise.

He couldn’t help himself. His old habit resurfaced, only this time, his inspiration for manual relief turned from some random woman on a piece of paper to you, a real, living, breathing person, who he was married to. And to make things even more difficult, you seemed to respond to him, getting closer and closer, being more comfortable with his advances, and soon, physical touches became a norm between the two of you, not that he was complaining about it.

When the two of you moved in and got a lot more physical than usual, he found it harder and harder to stay away from you. His desire for you became unavoidable. His thoughts were full of you. So that night, when you finally asked him to take you, it was literally his dreams come true. But as he was kissing you, preparing to consummate your marriage, he came to a devastating realization. 

He had no idea what he was doing.

What did he have to do? What do people usually do? Do you just stick it in? So many thoughts went through his head in those few seconds he was on top of you. Why, oh why didn’t he talk to Tommy and his cousins about this before then? Why did he shy away when his friends talked about their experiences? Oh God, he was going to hurt you, wasn’t he? All the teasing, all the self-consciousness, all the lack of knowledge, came rushing to his head. He was so ashamed of himself he couldn’t even look at you.

But, God, he wanted you. He wanted you so badly, he was shaking with need. His head was so full of his intrusive thoughts, from things that he could no longer do anything about, to his fear of hurting you, to his selfish need and desire for you. He was so nervous, he didn’t even take your clothes off. Come to think of it, he didn’t even take his trousers off fully.

And he did the unthinkable. He did the one thing he didn’t want to do.

He hurt you. Badly.

The sounds you were making were nothing like what he had imagined you would be making, nothing like the ones he had heard when passing by the brothels or the alleys when his buddies would have a woman. There was no passionate moaning, no screams of joy and pleasure. You were obviously in pain, and he had caused that. His friends were right. His generous member would end up hurting a woman, and it did. He had hurt you, badly, with his ‘gift’.

And to his own shame, the one thing he couldn’t forgive himself for, was the fact that he didn’t stop. You were so tight he couldn’t even go in all the way. And yet, it was the best feeling he had ever felt in his life, so, while you were in excruciating pain, his own needs took over, it was like he no longer had control over his own body and he selfishly let his body continue what it was doing to you until he finished, all while you were hissing and stiff from enduring the pain that he had caused you.

Once the clouds of euphoria left him, he was horrified. He had forced himself on you, in a way. He should have stopped. But he didn’t. He promised you he would never force you to do anything. And while you didn’t tell him to stop, he should have. And he didn’t.

He couldn’t even look at you. He was so ashamed of himself, he couldn’t even be a gentleman about it all. He let you leave the room, wincing and hissing in pain and discomfort as you did so, while he just sat there in his own shame. And when he finally went to clean himself, he realized that there was blood on his member. Your blood. He had hurt you so badly you were bleeding. He caused you to bleed. His shame finally caught up to him and he sobbed uncontrollably for the pain he had caused you. He, who yelled at Esther for spilling hot stew on your hand, who worried about your hand chafing from carrying water, had hurt you to the point of bleeding.

He tried to go to you, he wanted to see if you were alright, but you had blocked the door with your own body. He eventually relented and gave you some time to yourself before going to you, but when he heard you hissing in pain as you cleaned yourself, he couldn’t do it. How could he face you again? He was a bad husband, hurting his wife like that.

The few weeks that followed were the worst moments of his life.

When he woke up the next day and found the house without your presence in it, he panicked. Did you run off? Had he scared you like that? And in his relief of seeing you walk up to the house, he couldn’t help but notice your gait was off. You were still in pain. Every time you sat down, every time you got up, the subtle wince that resulted let him know that. He had physically hurt you. Badly. It took three whole days before he couldn’t detect any discomfort from you.

Was this how it would remain? That every time he had you, every time he gave in to his needs, you would end up in three days’ worth of pain?

How could he ever endure that? Seeing you in pain hurt him. Knowing that he was the reason you were in pain? He might as well die.

Maybe this was the way things went for people of his… afflictions. This ‘gift’ he supposedly had was his biggest disadvantage. Maybe he was just not meant to have you that way, not without hurting you. And in thinking this, he realized that he would willingly find a way to be alright with that. With never having you again. He would endure it. Just so he could spend the rest of his life with you.

Because he found that he could not imagine his life without you.

He couldn’t touch you as he once did. Despite the pain he knew he caused you, his needs for you multiplied. He wanted you, now more than ever. And every single touch and kisses were temptations of the greatest proportions for him. Even bathing himself, using the same soap you did, became a hurdle. The smell, your smell, overwhelmed him. And having your soft lips on his, oh…

Eventually, things got better. The two of you were laughing again, albeit with much less physical contact. But as the days went by, his need for you increased, and soon, he wanted you so badly he couldn’t sleep. He found himself physically, consciously refraining from going into your room to just ravage you. But he knew he shouldn’t do that.

So, he went back to his old habit. Away from the house, in the safety of the outhouse, where he would be alone. But when he walked in after that rainy night, he knew you knew. You knew he had been defiling himself to take care of his selfish needs. And he knew you were offended. He knew he had hurt you beyond the physical pain he had caused you.

If he thought not being able to touch you the way he wanted was painful, it was nothing compared to the way he felt when you stopped looking at him, stopped touching him. He found himself on a constant edge of tears. To have you treating him so well still, taking care of his daughter for him, cooking and cleaning for him, keeping him company, reading to him, but without you looking at him, without him being able to see your beautiful, beautiful eyes, made him ache in a way he had never experienced before. You flinched away from his touch as if his hands were made from fire. It would have been less painful if you had just treated him badly. He deserved it. But no. You remained the angel in disguise that he didn’t even feel he deserved, all the while keeping a large chasm between you and him that he would want nothing more than to bridge.

He tried, from that day after the fateful night, to talk to his brothers. To ask them what to do. But every time he tried, the memories of them making fun of him as children came to surface, and as childish as it may seem, he balked. The possibility of them making fun of him again, as silly as it may be, scared him. He didn’t think he could take it. He also doubted that they could help anyway, none of them suffer as badly from this affliction of his. And to say they were experts on the matter, as far as he knew, they were all inexperienced up until the day they were married too, and the one who was married the longest was Tommy, and even that, he married about a month before the journey to Jackson. And his biggest doubt of all, in telling them this, he would have to indirectly divulge private information about you. He could never shame you like that. What if they told their wives?

No… he shouldn’t talk to them about this.

He was going out of his mind, when one day, as he was fixing the door to one of the rooms at Rose’s establishment, a direct result of a fight over a particular working lady the day prior, he heard Rose’s talk with a couple of the ladies.

Apparently, a certain client of hers was particularly gifted, just like him, and had hurt a young lady in acquiring her services. Rose was seething, going on and on about mindless men who took no time in preparing the ladies for their own selfish needs. Well-endowed men are the worst, she had spat out. Was it so bad to help prepare the ladies? Wouldn’t the whole experience be better if she was prepared for him? But no… leave the ladies in pain, why don’t you. Never mind that all the lady would feel was pain. Never mind that the pain caused them to clamp up. Never mind that the pain caused the ladies to limp for days. So long as your ego is stroked, so long as you finish, why bother making the ladies feel good at all?

Joel listened to Rose’s rants, feeling as if she had been right at his bedside that fateful night. What did she mean by preparing the lady? Was she implying that men like him could actually make the ladies feel good? Was there a way for him to have you without hurting you? More to the point, could he actually make you feel good?

It hit him like a wagon train on a run. She would know, wouldn’t she? She’s had enough… experience. This was her expertise. And best of all, she was discreet. As far as he knew, she had never, ever, divulged personal information about her clients to anyone.

It took everything in him to gather up the courage to walk up to her desk at the end of the job, supposedly to collect payment, for him to ask her if he could talk to her about something, discreetly. To her credit, she didn’t make fun of him at all. She listened as he told her the issue he was having, without divulging too much information, obviously, asking her if she could help him make him and his wife… happy. He made it clear, that under no circumstances was he willing to cheat on his wife. No ma’am, he was not interested in that. He was simply a desperate man who needed her help, sans the normal services she and her ladies usually provided.  

She didn’t respond for a while, causing him to hesitate and leave. He had just stepped out the front door when she called his name.

“You fix things around here for free every Saturday for a month. Come over tomorrow after lunch, and I will teach you how to please your wife. No touching.” She held out a hand for him to shake. And he gladly took it.

“Deal.”

**********

He stopped talking. His head down, looking at his fidgety hands, not daring to look at your sweet, sweet face. You hadn’t said a word to him. Hadn’t responded, hadn’t taken your eyes off him, in fact. After the past week or so, he should be thankful for it. He had missed having you look at him. But right now, he cowered under your gaze, ashamed that he had let this go on the way it did, for as long as it did.

You got off the bed and left the room. Joel found himself covering his face with his hands defeatedly, tears pouring from his eyes, disgusted with himself for even thinking that what he was doing was going to help him solve his problems. His shoulders shook, letting all his regrets and frustrations out, knowing that the marriage he had envisioned with you had effectively ended, and it was all due to his own stupidity.

A soft, gentle hand touched his shoulder. And there you were, one of his kerchiefs in your hand, a small bucket with ice-cold water in the other. You sat back down in front of him, wet the kerchief and squeezed it dry, before dabbing the bruises on his left cheek, your other hand wiping his tears off his face. Your own eyes were teary, but all anger seemed to have dissipated from them, worry, instead, took its place.

He let you fuss over him, his hands in his lap, not daring to touch you. You continued to wipe his face, icing his bruise, tears falling slowly down your cheek. And when you were done, you leaned in and gently placed a kiss on his injured cheek.

Joel felt as if he was floating on air. His wife had kissed him. He turned his head tentatively, capturing your lips in his. When you didn’t protest, he brought both hands to your cheeks, deepening the kiss, which you happily returned.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said when you pulled back, his forehead on yours, “I’m sorry for hurting you, for pulling back from you, for everything. Please, believe me. I did not betray you. I would never. My heart, my body, they’re yours. Only yours. Please, my darling wife, forgive me.”

You looked into his eyes and found no lies there. Only sincerity, honesty, yearning.

You patted his pillow, asking him to lie down. He’s injured, he should rest. He did as you asked him to, pulling your hand to join him. You laid down next to him, facing him.

“You were not lying?”

“No, darling, I am not.”

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore.” Your eyes looked so sad he raised himself on one elbow and took your face in his hand.

The familiar shyness consumed his face. He took a deep breath, eyes looking deep into yours.

“Elena, I am so in love with you. I love you so much, my heart couldn’t take the thought of hurting you. It beats for you. I cannot imagine my life without you. You are all I think about, I lay awake at night wondering what I ever did to deserve you. I want you, all of you. I need you to be alive. I want you so badly I ache. I was going out of my mind trying to stay away from you, to not hurt you. You have no idea how much I need you, how much I want you.”

You blushed, “You love me?”

He laughed softly, shaking his head a little, “You didn’t know?”

You shook your head, eyes away from him, unable to look at him without feeling like you could melt. You face felt so hot you were sure it was beet red.

He took your chin into his fingers again, “Well, now you do.”

He kissed you, passionately. And you found yourself giving him that kiss right back, pressing your own body to him, and he immediately laid you back, his body covering yours, arms tight around you, yours around his torso, fingers clutching onto his shirt. He stopped for a beat, looking at you with teary eyes, telling you he loved you again, and this time, you replied.

“I love you too.”

He nodded with a happy, teary smile, and his lips found yours again, putting all his feelings for you in that kiss, which you reciprocated, your tongue playing with his, making him groan. He let go of your lips, trailing his kisses down to your jaw before going to your neck, his scruff making you whine.

This was new. He had never done this before. Your body felt as if it was on fire. And no, you didn’t want him to stop. So when he tried to claim your lips again, you quickly asked him a very important question.

“So, Mr Miller. Are you going to show your wife what you’ve learnt today?”

Part 11

[bonezone44]

Muddy Waters, pt. 1 (18+)

'Limewash'

Ezra x F!Reader x Joel Miller

Summary: You live with Ezra in Jackson. Joel and Ezra are sometimes partnered for patrol. He doesn't trust Ezra. He doesn't trust you, either, by association, and because you don't have a job. When you finally meet him, he's even less certain than before.

Word Count: 3,5k

next: part 2 (story masterlist) (my masterlist)

tags: NSFW 18+ (not graphic yet). Intuitive!Reader. Afab!Reader (she/they). Southern!Reader. Established Ezra x F!Reader. Pet names: baby. Eventual smut. Eventual cuckold. Eventual threesome (maybe?). Ezra Enjoying Violence. No use of Y/N.

Author's Note: so this is happening. I'm not fighting it and just letting the story come out. Also doing paintings for them because I gotta. I've been reading so much amazing smut recently, this was bound to come out sooner or later. I'm thankful to @toxicanonymity and @walkintotheriveranddisappear for sharing their amazing work and inspiring my own.

=================================

An irritatin’ snake. 

That’s how Joel saw Ezra.

For starters, the man talked too goddamn much. Drove him goddamn crazy when they were out on patrol or in and taking care of the horses. Fucker always had something to say about something and it rode every last nerve Joel had left in his aching body.

Secondly, he was so charming that Joel found it disconcerting. Ezra could make everyone around him smile and feel special. At the Tipsy Bison, when Ezra drank enough to turn his ears pink and his eyes blurry–there’d still be a flirtatious grin plastered on his face. Hell, people loved the man even more when he was drinking. He would finally stop talking so much and listen for once.

But that didn’t mean he was quiet.

Ezra was what people would call an ‘active listener.’ He’d stare into the eyes of whoever was speaking like they were the only other person in the world. He’d follow along real intently, nodding his head, and asking follow-up questions as if he was damn near desperate to learn the answers. He would laugh real loud at any little pun or joke. Shit, he would make even the dullest Jackson had to offer feel like they were a goddamn movie star.

Goddamn! It annoyed the hell out of Joel.

Because thirdly, and most importantly, they didn’t see Ezra’s twitchy fingers or shaking legs when they were alone at night, circling outside the town on horseback. They didn’t see the shift in his face when he would gun down infected–something sick and excited dancing through him. It was even worse when raiders would show up. Ezra looked downright horny.  He’d stroke his gun like it was his own cock blasting holes in people’s heads.

One time, Ezra killed a man and then turned to Joel with a grunt and said, “Doesn’t that feel divine?” He dragged out the word ‘divine’ like he was scraping up poker winnings–slow, indulgent, and haughty.

“Not s’posed to feel good,” Joel chided.

He gave Joel a boyish grin. “Which makes the taste of it that much more ambrosial, don’t it?” He hummed and stared at the barrel of his rifle. “It is an effusive pleasure to be a batter for the winning team.”

Joel scoffed. “Winnin’ ain’t a sure thing.”

Ezra huffed. “I must riposte, brother. We may succumb to a battle or two, but Jackson is winning the long game.”

Joel always twitched when Ezra would call him ‘brother.’ That serpent would never be his kin. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do,” Ezra began with his shoulders back and chin high. “Look at history. Look at evolution. Our species thrives with the efforts of cooperation and cohabitation.” He huffed. “And Jackson’s community grows stronger every day.” A gloved finger rose into the air. “Now stay with me for a moment while I explain this.” He paused for dramatic effect to which Joel made no response. “But I believe God sent the fungal plague to start us anew and on an upwardly path.”

Joel’s lip twitched.

“Better the cordyceps than nuclear warheads, in my opinion.” 

Joel glared that much harder.

Ezra held up his palms. “You know as well as I that we were gonna end ourselves on way or another.” He shrugged his shoulder and flicked his head. “At least this way, the earth is still fecund enough for us to plant our virile seed.” Ezra’s left eyebrow curled upward as he chuckled to himself.

Joel huffed all frustrated and leaned forward, resting his elbow on the saddle horn. “How the hell does that make Jackson the winnin team?”

“Raiders are individualistic,” he answered with confidence. “And individualism is a remnant of the old world. Individualism. Capitalism. Monotheism.” He held his palm out wide. “We are evolving beyond it.” He gazed at the dead raider on the ground between them before pointing to it with his rifle. “We’re putting down the dying breeds to secure resources for our symbiotic comrades.” He looked up at Joel again. “And please–” he raised his empty palm. “--do not mistake my analogy for eugenics.” The empty palm found his heart. “We’re killing ideals, not controlling gene pools.”

Joel’s brows shot up. “Are you trying to say that we only killed that man’s hopes and dreams?” He pointed to the body with a thick, gloved finger. “That we didn’t just kill off his family tree?”

“I–” Ezra’s brow furrowed as he solemnly observed the deceased. His lips went tight. “Shit.” He watched the blood soak into the soil. “I guess we are doing a little bit of both, aren’t we?” He looked back up at Joel with that cheerful, boyish smile again.

Joel clenched his teeth. “You gotta be shittin’ me.” He grabbed the reins and tugged his horse back toward the main path.

Ezra held out his arms, gun barrel aimed at the clouds. “No philosophy is perfect, brother. It evolves just as we do on our ascension toward greater realms.”

Joel stopped humoring Ezra after that.

Now you…

Joel wasn’t too sure about you, either. You didn’t have an exact job as far as Joel could tell. You were never on any of the rotations. When he asked Tommy about it in passing, Tommy only said that you ‘contributed in your own way.’

“If you took the time to get to know her, you’d understand,” said Maria.

“Dude, she just gets it,” said Ellie.

Buncha bullshit if you asked Joel.

There was no reason for you to be wandering the town every day without a care in the world, smiling like the sun shined outta your ass and everyone should be kissing you for it. Anytime he did see you in a storefront or at the stables, you weren’t doing anything special. Just… visiting with whoever was doing all the real work.

Like some kinda lazy ass.

He wondered if you were just like Ezra: charming people around you while something twisted boiled underneath.

Were you just as bloodthirsty?

No.

Couldn’t be.

You never ventured beyond the safety of Jackson’s walls and he never saw you arguing with anyone–let alone get into some kinda physical altercation. You seemed pretty happy most of the time. And downright jubilant when you had a few drinks at the bar.

(One time, he saw you gather up a group of women to sit around and play hand games. Hand games. At a goddamn bar. You were singing songs and clapping and even convinced Maria to join and teach everyone the songs that she could remember, too. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Grown women regressing into little girls–and under the influence to boot. There was so much screaming and laughing that the whole bar nearly emptied. Anyone not in on the fun didn’t wanna be anywhere near it. The whole thing bombarded the senses. And then Ellie came home a few days later, clapping her hands and singing the same songs. Joel almost kicked her out the house.)

Were you some kind of a crook? Were you gaining the trust of the people in town as some kind of long con?

It was possible, though unlikely.

And to what end?

You and Ezra seemed so invested. Not just in planting roots for yourselves, but invested in the town in general. Ezra was at every town meeting, offering his opinion and joining the group discussions. Joel never attended himself, but he would hear about it from either Tommy or Maria.

That was another thing! Tommy and Maria liked Ezra, too! They admitted he was ‘interesting’, but couldn’t find any real fault in him.

One night, Joel confronted Tommy about him. 

Joel’s eyes got real wide. “Something’s wrong with that man.”

Tommy laughed. “Everybody’s got somethin wrong with them.”

“You know what I mean.” Joel punctuated his remark with a sneer. Like he was saying something he really meant.

“Look.” Tommy sighed. “I don’t know how to put this, but his wife or partner or however they like to call it–she’s a good influence on him. Keeps him settled, I guess.” He sighed again. “Like… you and Tess,” Tommy added hesitantly.

Joel huffed and clenched his teeth. There was no way. He and Tess were–they were–he and Tess were nothing like Ezra and his ladyfriend. Simple fact. He just didn’t know how to prove it, yet.

For all Joel’s pondering and curiosities–he finally got his chance to talk to you.

You were walking by one morning while he was on his porch drinking coffee. You smiled and waved, he answered by raising his brows at you. But then you stopped dead in your tracks and pointed past him.

“Are those new shutters?” you asked, face all screwed up and confused.

Joel turned his head to see. Even though this was his house. He knew the shutters you were talking about. He turned back to you. “Uhh… yep.”

“When did you put ‘em up?”

Joel’s body tensed. “Last week.”

“Wow. I walk by here every day. I don’t remember even seeing you workin on ‘em.” You shook your head. “How long did it take?” You weren’t smiling or sunny when you asked him, either. You looked downright offended for some reason that Joel couldn’t quite figure.

“Couple days,” he answered with tight lips. He wasn’t sure where your questions were trying to take him.

“Well, shit.” You put your hands on your hips. “How did I miss all that?” You tilted your head and pointed again. “Did you thin out some paint or is that a real lime wash?”

“‘S a wash,” he said. “Don’t gotta prime it or nothin nowadays.”

“Ohh, okay.” You shrugged. “It looks really good.” And while you were giving him a compliment, your face said ‘meh.’

“Thanks.” He glowed a little in his chest. He could tell that you meant it. That you weren’t just being polite.

And Joel didn’t know what made him say it, but he followed up with, “I did the kitchen table, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded his head back. “C’mere. I’ll show ya.”

Next thing he knew, Joel was talking to you about a country music festival he went to when he was 25. It was just him and his old friend, Andrew. Andrew had bought tickets for them and even secured a sitter for Sarah. They spent the whole weekend sleeping and drinking in the back of his truck, singing songs and saying hi to all the pretty girls that walked by.

And when the story was over, and you both said your good-byes, Joel felt more confused than anything. He held a glass of water in his hand. His throat had gone dry. He wasn’t used to speaking that much, because, yeah, Joel just spoke a lot. A lot a lot. More than he’d spoken in years maybe.

And he felt good. Real good. Like a high flutter in his chest that got him all excited to go out and do something. Do something fun just for the fun of it.

But… why?

All he did was show you some work he’d done on the house. Then he saw his guitar and talked about playing again. Then that turned into talking about the music he liked. Then somehow he remembered that festival. Clear as day. After not thinking about it for over two decades.

And all you did was listen.

You just visited.

But it got him all excited. Like he was a little boy making a new best friend.

But… how?

Joel couldn’t make sense of it. And he didn’t have anyone to talk to about it either.

He didn’t like that something so simple could feel so good. He didn’t like that you didn’t do any of the talking. He was supposed to figure you out. Figure out you and Ezra. But this just made him even more confused.

You didn’t listen like Ezra did–all hyped up and dramatic. You made a comment here or there, but nothing significant enough to recall. And you barely asked him any follow up questions.

But you smiled when he said something nice. Chuckled when he said something funny. It was like you were water–rippling out and taking shape in whatever manner he needed you to. Whatever kept the words flowing out of his dry, creaky throat.

But people weren’t water. People were people. They had opinions and wants and needs. And no one could be that easy going, that passive, that submissive without expecting something in return.

Joel needed to figure you out. He just needed to figure out how to figure you out.

+++++++

Now that Joel had officially met you, he couldn’t find you anywhere. He stopped seeing you walking around town. He stopped seeing you in the storefronts. You weren’t around during mealtimes or at the bar at night, either. It was like you up and vanished.

He knew nothing bad had happened. It was a small town. Word traveled fast. If anything had gone wrong, he’d have heard about it an hour later. Two hours, tops. And Ezra would certainly not be walking around so cheerily.

The whole thing was making him all sick in the stomach. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, worrying about you, looking for you. He made to ask Tommy or Maria, but the words never breached his lips. It felt wrong. Like he was gonna expose something about himself that he didn’t want them to know.

If he had known where you lived, he would have shown up at your house. Shit, the man even tried to follow Ezra home a couple of times–lurking in the shadows, stepping real light. But there was always something ruining his efforts. A loud tumble of cans falling over behind the general store. A small group of drunks walking by and talking loud. A goddamn dog barking at him.

Shit.

It pained him–greatly, he might add–but he knew what he had to do. 

He had to talk to Ezra.

Joel waited until they were paired up again for patrol–well, no. That’s not true. He switched shifts with someone to hurry it all up. But nevertheless, he waited until they were alone and out of earshot of anyone else, lest they get the wrong idea about Joel. He was just wondering about her. That’s all. Nothing untoward about it.

Joel cleared his throat, trotting alongside Ezra in the bright light of the full moon. “How’s your uh… ladyfriend doin?”

“Ladyfriend, huh?” Ezra teased. “I like that word. I don’t know how I ever forgot about that one.”

Joel rolled his eyes.

Ezra chuckled. “She’s doin alright.”

Joel slid his jaw side to side. “Haven’t seen her around in a while.”

“Yeah, she gets like that sometimes,” Ezra murmured.

“Is-is somethin wrong? Did somethin happen?” Joel asked, concern evident on his brow.

Ezra’s eyes found Joel. He sized him up as they made their way around the north end of the woods. After what felt to Joel like twenty fuckin minutes, Ezra looked away and sighed. “Look,” he said. “There is no need for you or anyone else to worry–”

“Worry ‘bout what?” Joel’s heart raced in his chest. His hands gripped tight around the reins, leather gloves squeaking. He’d go straight back to town if he had to–patrol protocol be damned.

“She has this feeling that someone is looking for her.”

Joel blinked. “What?”

Ezra sighed again. “She gets the feelings sometimes and sometimes she has misread her notions and sometimes they are accurate.” He stared off. “Disconcertingly accurate, to be honest with you.”

“Once,” Ezra began. “In our early days together, I got shot in my arm.” He pointed to his right bicep. “It wasn’t direct, but it wasn’t a slug, either.” He laughed and shook his head. “This asshole in a fuckin 49er’s cap was firing buckshot.” He looked at Joel with wide eyes. “Can you believe that shit? Buckshot. And the 49ers? Who in the hell liked the 49ers?” He huffed and wiped his mouth. “Now this all transpired down in Louisiana where I was born and raised. At the time, we were somewhere a little east of Houma, which if you don’t know, is mired in swamps and bayous and just… water, water everywhere.” Ezra gazed through the thick of evergreens, sucking fresh air through his nose. “And I was not thinkin clearly at the time.” He rolled his shoulders, eyes blank in disbelief. “Maybe it was the oppressive summer heat or the unrelenting humidity, but I washed the wound with some contaminated water.” He sighed. “As soon as I unveiled my hardship to her, she took one look and said, ‘We’re going to LSU.’” He shrugged. “That’s all,” he said. “And I can remember thinkin to myself, ‘LSU? Where the hell did that idea come from?’ We had been trying to go back east. I wanted to keep trekkin towards Florida, hopin we might find some help along the way, but she told me no. Said we had to go north. Go get our purple and gold on, I suppose.” He grimaced. “We walked a day straight. Now I mean that.” He stressed his words with widened eyes. “Twenty four hours of walkin. No little catnaps under the shady oak trees or dippin our toes into the creek.” He took a deep breath. “A whole day.” He exhaled laboriously.

“And I… started gettin feverish toward the end of our journey.” He closed his eyes. “I could feel every little pellet as it pulsed and bulged with pus beneath my skin.” He shuddered and opened his eyes. “I thought I was gonna start devolving into the Thing. Thought I was gonna have to strap dynamite to my torso and blow myself into smithereens.” He threw his arm up, exasperated. “She wouldn’t let me search any of the Eckerds or pharmacies we passed. Wouldn’t let me stop walkin neither.” He laughed dryly and sighed. “We make it to the LSU campus. We walk up to the gates.” He threw his arm up again. “And those people took us right in. No questions asked.” It was a good thing, but Ezra sounded so frustrated. “Got me cleaned and bandaged. They fed us.” He shook his head. “They even gave us each a new pair of shoes. Nike’s.” He looked in Joel in whole-hearted disbelief. “Swoosh on ‘em and everything.” He huffed out a laugh. “She just knew. She knew where to go and how to get us in. Didn’t need a map. We were out and exposed, walkin along the main roads. And when we got there, she spoke to the doctors and got me a change of clothes, too.” He chuckled. “She slept about a week straight after all of it was said and done, though. Poor thing could barely stay awake long enough to eat.” He hummed. “She had exhausted her mind, body, and soul to get me to where I needed to go.” He smiled with tender warmth. “I am forever grateful to her for that.”

“Sh-she just… knew?” Joel asked.

“She just knew.”

“Y-you think she’s right this time, too?” 

Ezra threw his head back and laughed. “Now, she is resolute to be right and true this time.” He grinned. “Her worries are beginnin to snake themselves into my mind, as well.” He turned to Joel with a playful smirk. “Past few days I could have sworn someone was following me in town.” He shook his head, still smiling. “But I know there’s no real danger in Jackson and the daily reports offer nothing of significance. I am inclined to believe that she has misread her notions again.” He sniffed. “‘Cause the real danger–” He pointed to the words with his chin. “The real danger is all out here.” He narrowed his eyes as his breaths grew heavy.

Joel watched as Ezra gripped the horn of his saddle with both hands, leather gloves twisting and creaking. He lewdly rolled his hips into the rise of his seat with a grunt.

Ezra turned back to Joel with a devilish grin–leaning toward him with slack shoulders. “Let’s go kill us some infected, brother.” He bit his lip before turning and trotting deeper into the trees.

Joel sucked his teeth. “Sick fuck,” he said under his breath and followed.

+++++

The following morning, Ezra woke you up on the couch after returning home from patrol. He pet your shoulder while you laid wrapped in your blanket.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered.

“Hey,” you mumbled with your eyes closed.

“How you feelin?”

“Like shit.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he cooed.

You didn’t move. Only grunted.

“Guess who was askin’ after you?”

You grunted again.

“Joel Miller.”

‘Joel Miller?’ you thought. ‘Why?’

Then it clicked.

Fear left your mind and body and was quickly replaced with fury.

You shot up with a gasp. “Oh my god!” you shouted.

“What?” Ezra reeled back with his palms up in surrender. “What?”

“That’s who’s been lookin for me!” You balled up your blanket with righteous anger and hopped up from the couch. You threw the tangled wool fabric to the floor. The fact that it was too soft to make a sound when it hit the wood just pissed you off even more.

“Him?” Ezra’s eyes glittered, a small smile on his lips.

You squeezed your fists tight. “That motherfucker!”

+++++

-----

part 2

(story masterlist)

(my masterlist)

[little-droid]

LittleDroid's Long Overdue Animorphs Re-Read: Book 1 – The Invasion - Part 1

My name is Jake. That's my first name, obviously. I can't tell you my last name. It would be too dangerous. The Controllers are everywhere. Everywhere. And if they knew my full name, they could find me and my friends, and then . . . well, let's just say I don't want them to find me. What they do to people who resist them is too horrible to think about.

If there's one thing that sticks in my mind about the Animorphs books, it's this framing device. Each book is written in the first person, from the point of view of one of the main characters telling us how they can't give away too many details, in case the bad guys find them. Each one opens with one character giving their name and telling you it's far too dangerous to give you any more identifying information. As a kid reading these, it was compelling. A little part of me always wondered if the stories were true, and the books were a convenient ploy on behalf of the Animorphs to get the word out.

Jake tells us he can't reveal who he is, or where he lives, and that his life was normal up to one Friday night at the mall.

The book introduces the main cast quickly, and doesn't waste any time toying around establishing their characters. Everyone jumps off the pages right from the get go. There's Marco, Jake's cynical and sarcastic best friend who thinks he's suaver than he really is. There's Tobias, a bit of a dreamer who gets bullied at school for being weird and having a rough home life. There's Rachel, Jake's cousin, who's fashionable, tough and an amateur gymnast. There's Cassie, who's quiet, earthy and an animal lover (and who Jake has a crush on that he refuses to do anything about!).

We don't get a huge sense of who Jake is as a person just yet. Part of that is these books are short and this one has a lot of introductory material to cover. Part of it is Jake falls into the standard 'everyman' character trope. He's serious, dependable, and we find out he recently didn't make the basketball team. Aww.

Before we get into the story properly, I want to say I'm impressed with the cast diversity in this series. Cassie is black. Marco is Hispanic. We find out later that Jake is Jewish. And while there's no explicitly queer characters on paper (there are two characters later who are confirmed by Word of God to be in a queer relationship), I imagine this has more to do with the limitations of children's publishing in the late nineties rather than a lack of intent on the part of the authors.

Especially in a sci-fi series, it's too easy to fall into the trope of space adventures being a thing for cishet white boys. Kudos to Katherine Applegate and Michael Grant for writing something a wide range of kids could recognise themselves in.

Our characters decide to walk home together from the mall and take a short cut through an abandoned construction site they've all been told they're not allowed inside. They banter back and forth, Rachel teasing Jake for implying the girls need looking after on the way home, Cassie smoothing things over. Tobias spots a brilliant light shooting across the sky.

I looked at Tobias and he looked back at me. We both knew what we thought it was, but we didn't want to say it. Marco and Rachel would have laughed, we figured.

But Cassie just blurted it right out. "It's a flying saucer!"

The kids stand stunned. They nervously debate just what the hell is going on and whether they should run before they find up, right up until the ship lands ten feet away from them. The ship is described as "about three or four times as big as our minivan" and has structural damage as if it's been in a fight.

It's Tobias who attempts to communicate first, and everyone receives a response they can only hear in their minds.

Tobias tried again. "Please, come out. We won't hurt you."

‹I know.›

Telepathic aliens? Nine year old me thought this was amazing. Heck, thirty year old me still thinks this is amazing. I blame nostalgia.

The spacecraft opens and we get our first glimpse of an Andalite. These are our 'good guy' aliens, and look like a blue and tan deer centaur with a scythe bladed scorpion tail, no mouth and an extra set of eyes on stalks on top of their heads. Five stars for quality alien design. No Star Trek style rubber foreheads here.

This did also contribute to the nightmare of costume design that was the not-anywhere-near-stellar Nickelodeon adaptation, but we don't talk about that.

The next section is fairly exposition heavy, which is to be expected. This is the introductory book in a long series. There's a lot of groundwork to lay before the real meat of the plot gets going.

The Andalite is dying, and explains that he's here because Earth is in the midst of a covert invasion by a parasitic race called the Yeerks. Grey slug aliens that crawl into the heads of other sapient creatures and take over control of their brains. Evil space cordyceps. The Andalites have been fighting back against them and their takeover, but they were massively outgunned and lost the battle in orbit. They were able to get a message back to their home planet for reinforcements, but those could take over a year to arrive.

Without anyone else to turn to, the Andalite asks Jake to retrieve a blue box from his ship. Jake also finds a little holographic picture of the Andalite's family in his ship and contemplates how sad it is he's dying so far from home, which upset nine year old me greatly.

The Andalite offers to give the kids a piece of technology to help them hold out against the Yeerk invasion until help arrives: the power to physically transform into any animal they can touch.

No one is thrilled about this. Marco points out “this whole thing is nuts”, which becomes a bit of a catchphrase for him over the rest of the series. He's who you count on to point out when things are getting ridiculous. It's Cassie who agrees first, but before the others can get on board, Yeerk ships appear overhead.

Out of time, they each touch one side of the blue box.

‹Go now,› the Andalite said. ‹Only remember this - never remain in animal form for more than two of your Earth hours. Never! That is the greatest danger of the morphing! If you stay longer than two hours you will be trapped, unable to return to human form.›

Aside from the antagonists, the two hour time limit becomes one of the main sources of tension in the series. Having a countdown on being forced to morph back to human complicates their missions and adds a layer of logistics that ramps up the tension in almost every book to come.

Speaking of antagonists, it's at this point we're introduced to our main villain: Visser Three. The only Andalite to ever be taken over by a Yeerk, and the only enemy also capable of morphing.

I would like to go on record here to say I adore Visser Three. He's a first class graduate of the Disney school of maniacal villainy, with honours in pompousness and chewing the scenery. He's the epitome of petty, vicious egomaniacs. He's Darth Vader on deer legs.

Enemy ships descend. The kids flee and hide. Tobias lingers for a moment beside the dying Andalite before being sent running. The rest of the plot exposition happens while the kids are crouched behind a half-built wall, praying they don't breath loud enough to get caught.

Visser Three disembarks from his Blade ship along with his hordes of underlings. We're introduced to two more alien species, both controlled by the Yeerks. Hork-Bajir: huge bipedal raptor-esque creatures covered in blades from top to toe. And Taxxons: ten foot long centipedes with jelly-like, red eyes, and a voracious appetite for any living thing they can devour.

From the get go, you get the sense this isn't ever going to be a series where the odds are on our protagonists' side. The Yeerk forces are overwhelming and relentless. No-one is considering making a dashing stand against evil and hoping good will save the day. The kids are terrified. It's all they can do to stay hidden and hope they'll get out alive.

Visser Three gloats over the fallen Andalite, taunting him about how his ship has been completely destroyed and no-one else is left. We learn the good Andalite's name, Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul, and that he's a Prince, some kind of military hero. He doesn't rise to Visser Three's taunting, and we're treated to the first of the Visser's many classic villain speeches.

‹What do you want with these Humans?› the Andalite asked. ‹You have your Taxxon allies. You have your Hork-Bajir slaves. And other slaves from other worlds. Why these people?›

‹Because there are so many, and they are so weak,› Visser Three sneered. ‹Billions of bodies! And they have no idea what's happening. With this many hosts we can spread throughout the universe, unstoppable! Billions of us. We'll have to build a thousand new Yeerk pools just to raise Yeerks for half this number of bodies. Face it, Andalite, you have fought well and bravely. But you have lost.›

Elfangor's response to this is to whack Visser Three with his tail blade and gouge a chunk out of his shoulder, and honestly? Good for him. Unfortunately Visser Three retaliates by having his ship disintegrate Elfangor's space pod, morphs into a monster that can only be described as a gargantuan mouth on tree trunk legs and eats Elfangor alive.

Yep, you read that right. See, up until this point, nine year old me was still convinced they were somehow going to save the alien and have an alien friend to go with them on space adventures. That's how adventure books work, right? Nine year old me quickly had to learn this series wasn't going to pull its punches. At all. Nine year old me had some growing up to do.

Nerves get the better of Marco after listening to psychic screams of an alien he just met being chewed into kibble, and he throws up, inadvertently giving away their hiding spot. Cue searchlights and armed soldiers. The kids run, splitting up to scrape a marginally better change of some of them getting away. Jake stumbles into an empty building and only manages to escape by literally tripping over a homeless man who the Yeerks murder in his stead. It's not explicit in the text, and Jake hopes the man gets away, but the Yeerks are bringing the heads back for identification. I think it's safe to say that guy is dead.

Jake keeps running and doesn't look back.