#dakota frost

[introvertedturtlechickennuggett]

After reading the acotar series I can’t look at this sign the same. 😂 😅 🤭😏🦇

[spilling--the--beans]

fall-ter (noun) : winter that shows up in the middle of fall

[shellshocklove]

does anyone know where the love of god goes? | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: crossing the country alone as he searches for his brother, joel stumbles on a farm. winter is closing in, and against his better judgement he's convinced to stay. as the frost covers the land like a blanket, a warmth ignites in his heart for the young woman who's home he finds himself in.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so minors dni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), swearing, dead animals, joel being a sad man, masturbation, no use of y/n

a/n: i soft launched this ao3 last month and it flopped lol so i'm gonna keep my expectations low for this series. anyways this has been a story i've been thinking about since probably october. this is the first part of what i'm hoping will be 3 parts. happy reading i guess

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

The leaves rustled against Joel’s boots with every step he took. The sun had turned traitor cold, and he couldn’t feel its kiss against his cheek no more. The trees shivered above him in the wind – the only sound for miles except his heavy steps.

Did he still exist, with no one around? Joel had never minded being alone; after the breakout he’d found that he sometimes preferred it. People could be… well, when you’ve seen the worst of humanity, maybe it’s best to leave it behind.

And wasn’t he the worst of humanity? The things he’d done. The people he’d killed, and killed for. The people he’d lost.

But he had to keep going. For Tess. He promised.

Every night as he stared into the flames his thoughts would drift to her – the memories flickering in the fire. They should’ve never gone through that museum – it was supposed to have been empty – they should’ve never left Boston in the first place. Now Tess is gone because of him, him and his stupid plan to find his brother.

And for what? How is he ever gonna find Tommy?

Joel didn’t even know where he was. Nebraska? South-Dakota? Maybe he’d made it to Wyoming and just didn’t know it? Abe had told him ‘Cody Tower’, but Joel hadn’t seen anything other than mother nature for weeks.

Everything had started to look the same. Trees and more trees, a mountain in the distance, a grey and heavy sky above him. He’d been walking for forever. Slowly he moved west– or at least he thought he was. On the days where the sun hung high in the sky and wasn’t shielded behind a cloudy partition, he liked to watch it as it dipped below the earth. As the days turned shorter and shorter, the display of color had started to get more vivid. Joel would watch the light blue turn red and bloody, fiery tongues of flames licking over the horizon while the sharp edges of the mountains, and the triangular shapes of the trees faded into an intense black– like the shape of the mountain and the trees had been cut out with scissors. There wasn’t much to stay alive for anymore– but Joel lived for those few moments where nature painted with fire. Humanity might’ve gone to shit, but the cyclical regularity of mother nature gave Joel a small sense of peace.

But he missed the kiss of the sun against his cheek now. He’d moved into a large forest a few days ago. Tall trees hovered over him like giants and cast shadows down at him. It was colder here than out in the open country, but at least he’d been somewhat shaded from the rain pouring from the grey cover above his head the last few days.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound stopped Joel in his tracks. Muscle memory worked on its own, gripping the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He listened for the sound again, to the steady rhythm echoing through the forest.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

With slow calculated steps Joel walked in the direction of the sound with the shotgun held tightly to his chest, his finger hovered over the trigger. The chopping sound got louder as he closed in on a man. He couldn’t tell his age with the man’s back turned – but he was strong – Joel could tell from how hard the man’s axe hit the tree trunk.

Taking another silent step, Joel got in position, “How ‘bout you slowly turn around and place that axe on the ground.”

Joel’s voice was hoarse after no use, but still cold and calculated as he spoke his order. He could see he’d startled the man, probably thinking he was alone, just like Joel had thought mere minutes ago.

The man obeyed, turning around slowly. He was older than Joel, maybe mid-seventies, maybe older if the wrinkles and creases around his eyes and nose were to be believed. His hair was white as snow matching his unkempt beard. Joel caught his eye. Strong and steady, no trace of fear one would think a man would feel while having a gun pointed at them.

Joel’s grip around the gun tightened. He wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger if that’s where this was headed. The man watched him calmly before he bent his knees, throwing the axe haphazardly on the ground.

“Kick it over here,” Joel commanded again, and the man obeyed, kicking the axe clumsily towards Joel.

Slowly Joel crept closer, gun still pointed at the man. He locked the heel of his shoe against the shaft, dragging the axe behind him and out of the way.

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Are you going to kill me, son?”

The man’s question puzzled Joel. He said it so calmly, like how you’d ask someone to pass the salt.

“That depends on you.” Joel’s answer pulled at the old man’s lips, a small huff of a laugh escaping them.

“Well, you’re the one with the gun. I think it depends on you.”

Joel tightened his grip on the shotgun again – he didn’t know why –to frighten the man? He didn’t seem very frightened.

“Are you alone?” Joel asked.

“Not anymore,” the man answered.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Joel gritted through his teeth, “who you travelin’ with?”

“No one,” the man’s eyes never left Joel, “I live at a farm about a mile away.”

“Take me to it.”

The man walked with a limp Joel noticed. It was barely there, you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t pay attention, but it was there. The man acted tough enough, but his body revealed his weaknesses. It would be easy to kill him, Joel thought, if it came to that.

He followed the man through the trees with his gun pointed at his back. When they reached the end of the forest a clearing revealed itself. They followed a path through a field of, tall but wilted, brown grass until they reached an overgrown gravel road with a fence running along it. Looking out in the distance, Joel could see small spots of white and black wool. The gravel moaned under their feet as they closed in on a small farm. A two-story house sat in the middle of the barnyard where it was surrounded by a barn who’d seen better days, a silo, and a smaller farmhouse – a stable – Joel noticed as they walked closer.

The man trudged up the front stairs of the main farmhouse, a hand on the handrail keeping him steady.

“Put that gun away would you, son? I don’t want you frightening my wife.” The man broke the silence between them, speaking for the first time since they left the woods.

Joel’s grip on his shotgun didn’t loosen. How could he be sure that this man’s ‘wife’ wasn’t some gang of raiders hiding behind the front door? A question he asked the man through gritted teeth when he turned around to look at Joel.

“There’s nothing of the sort around here,” the man said, “we don’t even see any infected.”

When Joel didn’t say anything, and didn’t lower the gun, the man spoke again, “Who are you?”

“Just someone passin’ through,” Joel answered, making the man chuckle.

“You’re something else, passer-througher,” the old man smiled before he turned around again and stepped inside, leaving Joel on the porch alone.

Abandoned outside he lowered his gun slightly. Inside he could hear muffled voices, a deeper one, definitely the old man, and a brighter one, a woman’s voice. He listened, trying to make out their words with no prevail. The man seemed to have spoken the truth up until now. He most definitely lived on this farm – a seemingly normal farm. This man was just someone making an honest living – even after the apocalypse.

Lowering the gun completely, Joel put the safety on before he slung it over his shoulder. Taking a hollowed step towards the front door, movement in the window to the right of him caught his eye. It was there and then it was gone – just a ruffle of blonde curtains. Then, the door opened revealing an elderly woman.

The man’s wife.

“Welcome, traveler,” she greeted, stepping aside to let Joel in.

He passed through the doorway with a “Thank you, ma’am,” never forgetting his manners even after pointing a gun at her husband.

Inside it looked like a picture taken straight out of a Homes & Gardens magazine. The house was cozy, but it was small. He’d been welcomed into what probably used to be a parlor, but now served its purpose as their living room. It was hard to get a read on the house. Not like those open-floor plan houses he’d built too many of back before the outbreak – this was old, maybe hundreds of years old. The floorboard creaked under his shoes as he walked deeper into the living room, the rest of the house locked away like a secret behind three closed doors. The man was seated in a lounge chair by the fireplace, watching Joel with an expression Joel found it hard to decipher.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asked, “It’s peppermint from our garden.”

Joel turned his head to the woman. She must be around the same age as the old man, Joel thought. He cleared his throat before he answered with a nod, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pointed to the sofa, urging him to sit down with a smile before she disappeared through one of the doors to what Joel thought must be the kitchen. He felt the old man watching him as he slid his backpack off his shoulders, placing it on the creaky wooden floor behind the sofa. Joel hesitated for just a second when placing the shotgun up against the back, but decided he wasn’t in any imminent danger.

Joel almost groaned as he sat down. He’d been walking for so long, slept on the hard ground for months, he’d almost forgotten what a comfortable chair was. It almost felt surreal, being invited in for tea, like the outbreak had never happened. Here, it was like the time had stood still.

“So,” the man started, “where are you heading to if you’re just ‘passin’ through’?”

Joel cleared his throat again, “I’m lookin’ for my brother,” he answered truthfully, “last I heard he was somewhere in Wyoming.”

“If you’re going to Wyoming, then what you’re doing all the way up here?” The man queried with a chuckle.

Annoyed, Joel grinded his teeth, “Not many signs in the fuckin’ woods are there?” He huffed.

“I guess not,” the man shrugged, “but you’ve made a heck of a detour… where did you come from? Texas? You sound it.”

“Boston.”

“Boston?” the man didn’t hide his surprise, breathing out chuckles in disbelief, “I’ll give it to you, that’s one long trip.”

Joel only huffed in agreement, turning his head from the man to the window overlooking the barnyard.

“Well,” the man broke the growing silence between the two men, “you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and for the night– you look like you could need a hot meal and a warm bed.”

Joel’s instinct was to say no, but before he could the front door opened, revealing a young woman. You.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you laid your eyes on Joel, “Oh!”.

The door slammed behind you. Under your arm you were carrying a metal bucket filled with apples. You were beautiful, young, but still beautiful – Joel couldn’t deny it.

“This is…” The man paused.

“Joel.” He cleared his throat, introducing himself, “Joel Miller.”

“Mr. Miller is just passing through– he’s looking for his brother,” the old man explained to you.

You nodded at the information, sat the bucket down before you reached out a hand for Joel to take, introducing yourself. Your hand in his was warm and soft while his own dwarfed yours, rough and calloused. He couldn’t help but think about what his hands had done, the people they’d killed. He shouldn’t be tainting yours, painting them red. Joel quickly drew his hand back, balling it into a fist at his side.

Joel looked over at the old man, “Your daughter?” he asked with a tilt of his head in your direction.

“Oh, no,” the man answered with a playful smile, “You’re not the first person ‘passin’ through’ who’s shown up on our doorstep.”

The door to the kitchen opened to reveal the old woman with a teapot in her hand, and a stacked tower of teacups in the other.

“Let me help you Alma,” you said, taking the teacups from the old woman’s hand before placing them on the table; one in front of Joel, a second in front of the old man, “Here you go Arthur,” and a third next to Joel.

“Did you also want some tea, sweetie?” Alma asked you as she placed the steaming teapot on the table.

“Yes, please, but I can grab a cup myself– sit down,” you smiled and padded the old woman’s shoulder, then you grabbed the bucket of apples and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alma started pouring the tea as a silence fell over the room. A small, “Thank you, ma’am,” left Joel’s lips as she moved on to pouring tea for her husband.

“So,” the man started before taking a sip of his tea, “what do you say Mr. Miller? You staying for the night?”

That night as he laid in a real bed for the first time in months, Joel had trouble falling asleep. He wasn’t used to this. Hadn’t been used to it for a while. His belly full, soft fabric against his skin, feeling warm, and clean. The old couple had offered him one of the two bedrooms on the first floor, the two mystery doors in the living room now revealed. Laying in his new bed he tried not to think about who he was sharing a wall with.

You.

You were something else, helpful and kind. Everything Joel hadn’t seen since the outbreak. At the dinner table you’d asked him questions and listened intently – even when his answers were short and brisk. There was a glimmer in your eye, and it touched something inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time. But you were young, mid to late twenties he reckoned, maybe a little older– anyways, he shouldn’t be harboring anything for you, it wouldn’t be right. Especially now, now that he’d agreed to stay.

After the dinner plates had been cleared, Arthur had folded a big map out on the table. “Here are we now,” he’d pointed a finger at the map. Montana. Southern Montana to be precise. “I’ll give it to you Mr. Miller, if you’ve made it this far on your own you probably won’t have any trouble making your way down south to Wyoming.”

“But?” Joel watched the grimace pulling at the old man’s face.

“But,” Arthur had said, “Winter is just around the corner and… well, going back out there in the wilderness alone during our winters is a dead trap, I’ll tell you that much.”

Joel had let the man go on about the far below freezing temperatures, the heavy snow, and the tough wind, but Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew the winters up here were harsh. It wasn’t even winter yet, but every day he’d felt the temperature drop lower and lower, and the last few of nights he’d even had to get a fire going, against his better judgement.

So– the deal was: Joel would stay over the winter. Just for the winter, he’d been adamant on not staying longer. He’d get a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, and food in his belly on one condition – he’d help out on the farm.

The fire crackled loudly, red tongues licking up the chimney as Joel fed it another log. He watched as the fire caught in the new log, devouring it quickly and with no mercy. It was really starting to heat up now. A small flicker of pride sparked in Joel chest. He’d always been good at building a fire. It was one of those things, Joel had come to learn, where you needed to pay attention, to have patience.

When he was younger, he’d take Tommy out camping sometimes, just the two of them. Mostly they’d go during the summer; Tommy wasn’t a fan of sleeping outside in the cold, though cold had meant something different back then in Texas. But Joel remembered one time he’d managed to convince him to go with him. It was right after he’d gotten his driver’s license, and his parents had given him a beat-up truck for his birthday – for sharing – they’d told him, “You need to give your little brother a ride when he needs it!” Joel wasn’t exactly thrilled about his future as Tommy’s private driver, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love his brother.

A few weeks into October he’d managed to convince Tommy to go camping. They’d packed the truck with their tents, sleeping bags, and fishing equipment, before they’d gotten on the road, driving to a lake where they knew there were fish to catch. Finding a place to camp was always difficult with Tommy. They’d parked Joel’s truck at the edge of the forest before they’d followed a hiking trail. Joel was convinced they’d walked at least three quarters of the way around the lake before they found a spot good enough for Tommy.

It had to be flat, but also shielded. There couldn’t be too many rocks, but there also had to be enough rocks to build a hearth. Tommy wanted it to be private, but he also wanted it to be open enough that he could see if someone would stumble upon their camp. Joel knew not to argue with him when he got like that, opting instead for a defeated, “Whatever.”

Setting up camp went relatively easy. They’d worked together building the tents, collecting rocks for their fireplace, and even managed to find a fallen tree to use as a bench. When the night slowly started to cover them in darkness, Tommy decided to get the fire going. Joel watched him work the logs into a pile as he started on filleting the fish they’d just caught.

“You’re doin’ it wrong,” he’d told his brother, “You’re suffocatin’ it.” He’d washed his hands in the lake, ridding himself of the slimy smell of fish, before crouching down next to Tommy.

The fire was one big bowl of smoke, and Joel caught himself wondering what messages Tommy must’ve been sending to the heavens. He removed some of the heavier logs, and the fire could breathe.

“See?” he’d looked at Tommy, “It just needed air.” Joel had shifted the smaller pieces of wood around and not long after the fire was alive.

That Joel, that green boy who liked to take his little brother camping, that Joel didn’t know how much those skills would come in handy in a few years when the world would get turned upside down.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?”

Your question pulled Joel from his memories. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze from where you were huddled up in the corner of the couch. You looked cozy, but he knew you weren’t. The house was cold this morning, outside a thin layer of frost had stuck to the grass during the night. It was early too, the sun not having climbed high enough yet to peek over the mountains. You looked tired where you sat, clad in a wool sweater with a blanket pulled over your knees. Under the blanket Joel remembered you were still wearing your pajama pants, and in your hand you held a steaming cup of tea, peppermint, Joel knew, his own cup abandoned on the coffee table.

“What?” Joel answered, eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?” you repeated softly, like the way people tended to speak in the mornings, like they were afraid they’d wake up the world.

His calves were starting to burn from the strain of being crouched in front of the fireplace for a moment too long, and he tried his best to hide his groan, biting his teeth together as he stood to his feet, knees cracking loudly.

“Um, no,” he said, confused about your question.

“I’ll knit you a pair then,” you smiled before putting your cup down next to his.

“That’s… that ain’t necessary,” Joel hurried, but you waved him off.

“Sure it is,” you smiled again, much to Joel’s annoyance. He didn’t deserve your kindness, but you gave it away like it cost nothing. “If you’re gonna be helping Arthur out in the woods this winter, you need some mittens.”

Joel watched as you got up from your home on the couch and vanished into your bedroom. A moment later you appeared in the doorway with a basket under your arm.

“Also…” you gave him another smile as you sat back down again, placing the basket in your lap. It was close to overflowing with yarn, balls of black and white in varying sizes peeking over the top, the homespun ends fraying against the rough edges of the basket. “I’ll have something to do during the evenings,” you winked before you rummaged through the basket and fished out a measuring tape.

Joel shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched you. Mittens? Joel can’t remember if he’s ever owned a pair of mittens. Gloves, sure, but mittens?

You patted the cushion next to you, urging him to sit down, kind smile hanging off your lips like always. Sitting down, he folded his hands in his lap, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat next to you before; he’d been here a few weeks now, and he was starting to know you, but for some reason, this felt different. Maybe it was the early morning, the quiet house, or the fact that Alma and Arthur were still sleeping upstairs, but it felt like it was just the two of you, alone, and Joel didn’t know how to feel about it.

You shifted towards him, the blanket slipping slightly off the couch with your movement, in your hands you held the measuring tape while you looked at him expectantly.

When Joel didn’t move, a smile quirked at the corner of your mouth before you grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap. You uncurled his fingers slowly, one by one, making Joel hold his breath.

“I need to see how big I need to make them,” you whispered, holding his hand very gently.

Joel’s heart hammered in his chest. Your hand was warm and soft, like the last time he’d touched you as you’d introduced yourself to him. Joel didn’t dare look at your face, or he’d say something stupid, so he didn’t. He looked at your joined hands, his brain trying to remember the last time someone had held his hand as gently as you did, your thumb running over the back of it soothingly.

He can’t remember. His hands are always empty.

With your other hand, a finger curled around the measuring tape, you slipped it around his wrist before leaning closer to look at the numbers.

“Is this too tight you think, or do you want them to be looser?” You asked through your lashes, eyes sparkling in the low morning light.

Joel cleared his throat, “No, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” you nodded, slipping the measuring tape from his wrist to write down the measurement. He hadn’t noticed your notebook until now. It was a little rough around the edges from use, the spined cracked and the paper a little yellow. Placing the pen in the seam, you grabbed the measuring tape again.

Loosening your grip on his hand you placed it over the thick of your thigh. Joel drew a quick breath, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, under his hand he could feel the warmth of you through the soft flannel.

You continued taking your measurements. You didn’t say anything, so neither did Joel, but you looked up at him through your lashes sometimes, and Joel thought that maybe the most useful thing one can do with empty hands, is hold on.

The creak of the stair made Joel jump, and like he’d been burned his hand retracted on reflex, as Arthur’s heavy steps got closer.

“Morning,” Arthur greeted as he ducked his head through the door to the living room.

“Mornin’,” Joel mumbled, head lowered as he gathered his hands in his lap.

“Good morning!” you smiled, always with that kind smile, “Did you sleep well, Arthur?” you got up from your seat before grabbing your teacup to follow Arthur into the kitchen, leaving the yarn and Joel.

Taking a deep breath, Joel pinched the top of his nose. He needed to get it together. You were just being your regular kind self; your soft touch was nothing more than that. Standing to his feet, Joel grabbed his own cup, trudging into the kitchen.

In the kitchen Arthur sat in his usual spot at the dining table, the chair closest to the window. “I need to get on with this barn soon,” Joel heard him say as he sat down opposite him. “It’s gonna fall apart come spring if we get as much snow as we did last year.”

Joel tried his best not to look at you as he heard you hum. You were stood at the kitchen counter slicing the bread Alma had baked yesterday, readying breakfast. Instead, Joel opted to gaze down into his teacup, where the peppermint leaves had all gathered at the bottom.

“Um,” Joel cleared his throat, “what needs fixin’?”

“What doesn’t need fixing in that barn?” Arthur sighed, peeling his eyes from out the window to Joel.

“I can uh,” Joel eyes shifted quickly to you before he cleared his throat again, “I can take a look at it, if ya want?”

Arthur’s eyebrows met in a furrow as he looked at Joel.

“I used to be a contractor,” Joel explained with a shrug, before taking a last cold sip of his tea.

“So, you know a thing or two about buildings I reckon?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, well I used to,” Joel leaned back in his chair.

“Well, that would be very helpful Joel– I’d appreciated it!” Arthur smiled before leaning back in his chair making room for you as you started setting the table. Joel gave him a short nod in return, trying to fight the urge to look at you as you placed the food on the table.

Arthur had downplayed the state of the barn – it was a mess – it was dangerous, and had Joel told him as much. But it was nothing Joel couldn’t fix, as long as he had the right supplies, fortunately for him the forest would provide them with what they needed.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The axe dug a deep wound into the bark with every swing. Joel’s breath was heavy, and his arms ached, but it was a welcomed form of tiredness. A month into it, he was starting to get used to the work. There was something so satisfying about manual labor, of using his hands, of making something – he’d almost forgotten.

The routine of the work felt good. Waking up at dawn, then breakfast, he could use his body for something useful for the first time in twenty years and end the day with a warm meal for supper. This new temporary life was simple, but it was strangely normal.

Originally, Joel was only helping Arthur out in the woods for firewood through the winter– but now with the barn, they’d changed course. The last few days they’d started to become more selective with the trees; looking for the tallest and straightest ones that would fall safely.

A frozen sky hovered over the men as they worked. This morning when Joel had woken up, the thinnest layer of snow had fallen like powdered sugar during the night, turning the world bright with winter. Earlier in the week the frost had perched on the farm, and Joel had known winter was closing in. He’d lost count of the days and months passing while on his own, but Arthur had told him it was late October.

“It will start snowing properly soon,” Arthur said, breaking the silence between them.

Joel hummed before taking a bite of his packed lunch. They’d worked all morning – Joel felling the trees and Arthur cleaning them up and removing the branches. Now they were sat on a fresh tree stump each, their first break of the day.

“I have an old logging sled in the barn– used to be my father’s,” Arthur explained, “I think we should leave the trees here until the snow gets deep enough for the sled and have the horses pull them back to the farm.”

“Fine by me,” Joel took another bite of his lunch.

“The logs will have to dry out over the winter,” Arthur mused, “Then come spring we can start the repairs on the barn.”

Spring. If everything goes according to plan, Joel won’t be here come spring. He needed to find Tommy– he couldn’t, and he wasn’t gonna stay on the farm for any longer than necessary. He’d already decided– when the snow finally started to melt, Joel was gone.

Joel hummed, a non-committed answer. It was easier that way, to not get Arthur’s hopes up. He liked Arthur, he was a good man, a hard worker even in his old age, and silent when Joel wanted him to be. Joel liked Alma too, but her age shined through more easily than Arthur’s. Joel couldn’t help but notice her repeating herself more often and forgetting where she put things. It made life harder for you, Joel could see it. Your responsibilities were already a lot to handle as you took care of the animals mostly by yourself, but as Joel had discovered Alma starting to struggle with the housework, he’d noticed you starting to help her more often. In Joel’s mind it was unfair to you, but it wasn’t like he could blame Alma for growing older, in this world it was a feat.

Still, he’d try his best to help you when he could, like doing the dishes after dinner as you dried them off and put them away. The first few times you were both quiet, it was strangely intimate, only the sound of splashing water filling the space between you. One night he'd gotten brave, breaking the comfortable silence and asked you ‘What you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?’ You’d looked at him with big eyes, searching his own for something, but before he could figure out what it was, you’d answered him with a shrug. It was unlike you, unlike you to be this silent, but Joel didn’t push. The next night the silence persisted, and he’d thought adding ‘Sweetheart’ had been too much, but then the next night you’d sighed quietly and whispered, “I’m worried about Alma.”

Looking down at the mittens in his lap, the guilt gnawed at him. The look of worry in your eyes, Arthur’s hopeful wishes, and Alma’s aging. Joel couldn’t have anything tying him to this place. He was supposed to find his brother.

Suddenly, a black and orange butterfly landed on Joel’s knee. Joel stopped breathing, body going rigid as he tried not to move. How the hell was this butterfly still alive? It sat quiet on his knee, wings slowly retracting and widening behind it. Memories pushed its way to the forefront of Joel’s mind then.

Sarah. Another year had gone by, and the thought made his chest tighten.

“That’s quite a sight at this time of year,” he heard Arthur say, “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Y-yeah,” Joel stammered out an answer, afraid his voice would scare it away.

The longer Joel watched the butterfly he found his guilt started to slowly melt away. It’s okay, dad. It was like the rustling of the trees carried her voice with them. You’re on the right path.

“I can do that f’you want, sweetheart.”

Joel’s boots creaked under him as he walked across the barnyard. You looked up at the sound of his voice, smile blossoming across your face as you tightened your grip on the shovel.

“It’s alright,” you said with a grunt as you picked up more snow, adding it to the growing pile, “Good for me to get some physical work in.”

Joel nodded as you straightened up, hand going to your hip while the other leaned on the shovel, your heavy breath curled in small plumes out of your mouth. You took him in for a second, eyes flickering over his form before they fell on the rabbits hanging over Joel’s shoulder.

“Where’d you get those?” you asked, and Joel shrugged.

“Shot ‘em,” he said simply, “they walked right by me as I was choppin’– seemed too good to pass up.”

“Not for the rabbits,” you muttered, and Joel had to fight the urge to smile.

“You a vegetarian or somethin’?” he asked with a single raised eyebrow, and you waved him off.

“No,” you said pointedly, but a teasing lilt lingered, “Just stating a fact... we don’t eat a lot of rabbit around here, is all.”

Joel nodded slightly; it made sense. He knew there was a gun in the house, but it was a revolver– too small to do any real hunting, and Joel didn’t even know if there were bullets for it. So, Joel didn't ask further. Lucky for him, you did.

“So, you just shot those?” you asked, a frown pulling at your eyebrows, “Aren’t they fast?”

Joel made a nonchalant sort of face. “Ain’t that hard when you can aim straight.”

“Well, how do you aim straight?”

“You learn to shoot.”

You let out a small laugh, one that pulled at Joel’s lips. “And how did you go about learning that?”

Joel felt his smile drop, the leather strap of his shotgun weighing heavy on his shoulder, “Practice.”

You didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanor as you dug the shovel into the snow, so it stood by itself like a watchman. “Can you teach me?” you asked, the snow creaking under your shoes as you took a few steps closer.

His lips pulled at the corner, “No.”

Your eyes widened with disappointment, eyebrows pulling together in a frown as you asked, “Why?”

“Nothin’ good ever comes from it,” Joel shrugged.

“Okay,” you huffed a laugh, “that’s sinister.” Then you narrowed your eyes at him, gearing up for an argument no doubt with the way you rested your hand on your hip. “What if I also wanted to go hunting?” you posed, and Joel shook his head.

“That ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, but now you’ve brought us rabbits– and what if I end up really liking rabbit?” you bit down on your bottom lip, unconsciously showing off you own rabbit teeth.

Cute.

“Then I’ll shoot as many rabbits as you want,” Joel countered with a teasing smile before tightening his hold on the rope slung over his other shoulder (the one he’d tied the rabbits to), and walked towards the kitchen door at the back of the farmhouse.

He heard you huff in defeat behind him, your creaky steps following him up the stairs and inside. Walking into the kitchen Joel placed the rabbits on the table before he pulled at his mittens, stripped off his jacket, and hung it neatly over the back of one of the dining chairs. Grabbing one of the rabbits he brought it to the kitchen counter to start dressing it, fighting the urge to turn his head as he heard you enter the room.

“Come on, Joel,” you whined, “Why won’t you teach me?”

“Told you already,” Joel replied, “Nothin’ good comes from learnin’ to shoot things.”

Shifting the rabbit around on the counter he reached for the butcher knife in the knife block.

“You know, that’s a really stupid way of saying you don’t want to spend the time,” you told him, your voice closer now as you leaned against the kitchen counter.  

“When exactly did ya hear me sayin’ I don't wanna spend time with you?” Joel asked, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“You won’t teach me to shoot,” you teased, and Joel could hear the smile in your voice.

Joel huffed out a laugh, “Damn right I won’t.”  

He heard you let out a whiney huff, before you turned on your heel, muttering out a curse under your breath when you accidently bumped your hip into the counter and Joel couldn’t help the smile teasing at his lips. You sat down with an overdramatic sigh, and Joel still didn’t look at you – he knew he’d cave eventually if he did, say yes against his better judgement – so he kept his eyes on the knife in his hand.

“How’s Arthur?” Joel asked as he worked.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “The same I think– Alma was up there looking after him last time I checked.”

This time Joel allowed himself to look at you. You sat sideways on the wooden chair, legs crossed and tucked under your chair with your head hanging, eyes glued to your lap. Gone were the teasing, and gone were the smiles.

“He’ll be fine,” Joel said, his eyes back on the rabbit, “it’s just a cold.”

“Yeah… but he’s been getting sick a lot more often,” your voice was low, like you didn’t want them to hear you upstairs, “you can’t help but think the worst you know?”

Joel put the knife down and moved over to the sink. He quickly washed his hands before grabbing a towel to dry off, twisting it in his hands as he approached you. Placing the towel on the counter, he hesitated for a moment as he watched you, watched the way you twisted your hands in your lap with no sense of purpose or intent. It was like the worry dripped down your body. Pushing off the counter Joel knelt in front of you, a grunt escaped him as his knees clicked loudly, his balance slightly off on his haunches.

“Shit,” Joel huffed out a laugh, and you followed. Your palms landed on his knees to keep him steady, warmth spreading like jolting electricity.

“Sweetheart, I’ll tell you what–” he stopped himself when you looked at him through your lashes, trying to ignore the way your eyes focused on his mouth as he spoke. “’s just a cold, he’ll be up ‘n walkin’ tomorrow– man’s got gumption.”

“Yeah?” your eyes flickered upwards, meeting his.

Suddenly, under your gaze Joel felt brave. His hand moved on its own accord, cupping your cheek in his hand. He let his thumb ghost over your skin, still cold under his fingertips from being outside, but warming under his touch.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, you only watched him with glimmering eyes, like you were under a spell. Maybe he was too.

“Still,” you sighed, “Would be better if I could pick up more of the slack around here... Arthur does a lot, and I wish I could do more to support them.”

“Like what? You take care of the animals all by yourself– that’s more than enough.”

“Well, I could learn to shoot rabbits,” you told him, before the corners of your mouth pulled into a pleased smirk as he rolled his eyes at you.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, making a move to stand when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m kidding, Joel,” you smiled, before a more serious look washed over your features. “I mean it’s… It’s gonna be empty here without you,” you said, “I’m starting to really like having you here, Joel.”

Joel turned his hand to rest the back of it on your thigh, your hand fitting in his.

“I uh,” his eyes fixated on your joined hands, then he cleared his throat, “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. I’m not leavin’ you alone, sweetheart.”

Your eyes lit up at his words, smile growing large across your face. Joel’s heart drummed in his chest as your eyes flickered down to his mouth again.

“Thank you,” you said in a low voice, and then you did something Joel thought was gonna make his heart stop beating. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It bloomed against his skin, and made wings flutter against the walls of his stomach.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller,” you whispered before you pulled away, looking at him with kindness in your eyes.

If only you knew, Joel thought, if only you knew the blood on his hands.

He couldn’t look at you when you looked at him like that. Like you believed your own words. So, he cleared his throat awkwardly and stood to his feet, his knees clicking as your hand slipped from his movement. He walked back to the counter, fingers grabbing the towel with no other purpose than to calm himself down.

After placing the towel back where it usually hung, he grabbed the knife again, turning his attention back to the rabbit, allowing himself to steal a few glances at you where you sat looking out the kitchen window.

“Hey, uh,” Joel broke the growing silence after a few minutes, “how ‘bout rabbit stew for lunch?”

Your head snapped to look at him as he spoke, a smile ghosting over your lips as you said, “I’ll go get some vegetables from the cellar.”

Joel wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good cook – he wouldn’t even call himself a cook in the first place. Back before the outbreak he’d been forced to learn the basics as a fresh single dad, but he’d never been able to provide Sarah with gourmet meals very often, and when Sarah had gotten older, he’d been embarrassed to say that her food was always better than his – eggshells and all. One summer he’d bought himself a nice grill– one of those way too expensive gas grills with too many fancy accessories for Joel to regularly use. He’d had a job that ended up paying well, some rich guy’s mansion that needed renovating, and decided to treat himself for once. That summer all their meals had come from that grill, well mostly, and afterwards Joel looked at himself as a pretty good griller, if nothing else.

You on the other hand, you knew what you were doing, it was clear in the effortlessly way you moved beside him as you got the vegetables ready for the stew. Joel seared the meat to the best of his abilities, making sure it was properly browned on both sides before setting it aside. After that, it was clear that you were in charge, and Joel let you boss him around and tell him what to do. It made his heart warm around the edges, watching how you put so much love and care into everything you did.

An hour later you finally sat down to eat; two hearty bowls of stew each as light snowflakes covered the world outside. You’d let the pot simmer on low over the heat as you’d wanted to bring up a bowl for Arthur and Alma later.

“So…” you started, watching as Joel dug into his bowl, “How’s the stew?”

“’s good!” Joel nodded through a mouthful, and he wasn’t lying. It was good, really good in fact.

“Yeah?” you bubbled through a smile, before you dug into your own bowl to see if he’d spoken the truth. He watched as you face brightened as you chewed, nodding your head to confirm his verdict.

“I think I really like rabbit, Joel,” you said through a teasing smile, and Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle from spilling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, teasing smile not going anywhere, “So… when are you teaching me to shoot?”

“Shut up.”

The living room was quiet, safe for the cracking of the fire. It had almost died out when Joel had stepped out of his room. He’d been twisting and turning again, counting sheep, but nothing had been able to pull him under the blanket of sleep. He was plumb tired too, that was the worst part. The embers hummed with a low light, and with a small stick Joel had spread them out before placing a small piece of wood on top. No less than a minute later the fire fed on the log.

Taking a seat and leaning back in the lounge chair, Joel looked out the window with tired eyes. The moon looked down on him, big and bright, it shone its white light over the barnyard like a spotlight. His thoughts were clouded over as he gazed up. A billion little lights turning into bright spheres in the sky.

On nights like this, Joel felt like he was barely breathing at all.

His thoughts didn’t stray for long before they found you again. Lately, you were always on his mind. He thought about how you’d looked mere hours ago, when he’d sat in this same exact chair, only this time it was facing towards the sofa and not the window.

You’d been sat curled up in the corner, blanket thrown over your lap with a book in hand. You’d told him you’d read all the books in the house already, but it didn’t stop you from coming back to your favorites. Joel had been reading his own book, an old western he’d found in the bookshelf in the upstairs hallway a few days ago. It was entertaining, but not enough to hold his attention. He found his eyes had a mind of their own, slipping over the top to steal a peek at you as you read, feeling a smile tug at his lips at the barely there furrow of concentration between your eyebrows.

“Joel.”

Joel perked up at the whisper of his name, the memories fading like ripples in still water. He looked around the room –nothing. He sat quietly in his chair for a moment, listening, as his heartbeat quickened in his chest. It had been your voice, hadn’t it? Or was he starting to lose it? His eyes fell to the door of your bedroom. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he could see it was slightly ajar.

“Joel.”

The voice was louder this time, almost strained, but it was yours. A thousand scenarios flashed before his eyes then at your tone. Was there someone in your room? Were you in danger? Seconds later Joel crossed the room, a mix of fear and protectiveness overcoming him.

Leaning up against your door he listened for the intruder as he readied himself. The soft crinkling of your sheets combined with your strained whimpers was all it took for him to push the door open, fearing the worst.

And…

It was empty, your room, you were alone. Joel immediately felt stupid– the only intruder here was him.

He was about to step out, embarrassed at his actions, when he heard it again, his name falling from your lips. It was all Joel needed to finally take in your body, squirming under your sheets, still asleep. The realization of what he’d just walked in on made Joel’s eyes widen.

Laying on your back, the duvet had slipped down your torso from your movements to reveal the thin t-shirt you wore to bed. Like this he could see your perked nipples through the fabric, as your chest quickly rose and fell, making Joel’s imagination start to run wild.

“Joel.”

In his pajama pants, Joel could feel his cock come alive from the soft whimper that left your lips along with his name. He couldn’t move, like some farm elf had glued his feet to the floor while he wasn’t looking. He watched as you scrunched your face together in pleasure, another whimper falling from your lips, and all the blood in Joel’s body rushed down south.

As if the soundwaves from your voice had broken against him, he took a step backwards, and then another, and another until he crossed the threshold of your door. He tried his best to be quiet, to not wake you and have you catch him in your room in the middle of the night.

The image of you squirming under your sheets, dreaming of him, didn’t leave him as he closed the door to his own room. With a sigh his head fell against the door, a strong hand gliding down his front to hover over his aching cock.

Joel Miller was no saint, but what he was doing– what he was about to do, was bad.

“Shit,” he quietly hissed, running his hand up his clothed cock. He hadn’t touched himself properly in a long time, not since he left Boston.

His cock reacted to his touch, growing harder and harder until he couldn’t take it anymore. He hooked his finger around the hem of his pajama pants, pulling them down to the thick of his thigh, freeing himself. He hissed at the cold air hitting his length, as it bopped with the movement of being freed. Bringing his hand to his mouth, Joel spat, before he wrapped his spit-soaked hand around himself.

His mind found you again as he started stroking himself, slowly at first, pumping himself with a practiced hand, squeezing himself at the base before bringing his hand up to thumb at the tip. Joel couldn’t get the way you sounded out of his mind. Couldn’t forget how you were squirming in your bed, dreaming of him. Couldn’t shake the thought of pulling those moans and whimpers from you with his hands, and his mouth, and with his cock.

“Fuck.”

Joel tried to be quiet, but he couldn’t fight the moan from slipping from his lips. Fuck, he wanted you. He wanted his hands all over you. Closing his eyes his mouth dropped open as he imagined what he was dying to do to you.

How much he’d wanted to help you out of your t-shirt, run his hands over your breasts and tease your nipples. Take his time to pull those moans and whimpers from your soft lips as he teased you with kisses down your body, down the valley of your breasts, your tummy, down to you to your–

Another low moan fell from Joel’s lips. He squeezed himself tighter as he jerked himself off, precum pearling at the tip, and slipping down his length, mixing with his spit.

The sound of the slick rhythm of his hand filled his bedroom as he increased the pace of his strokes. He had to bite down on his lip to strangle a groan when thoughts of getting between your legs, spreading them open and getting his mouth on you filled his head. He fantasized about how you’d taste falling apart on his tongue–Fuck, how you’d sound falling apart around his cock.

His eyes fell shut as he fisted himself faster. Joel could feel his orgasm quickly building, coiling tight in his tummy. With his free hand he cupped his balls, and then he couldn’t help but imagine it was you, a picture of you on your knees before him flashed behind his eyelids, your tongue lapping at his balls while your hand pumped his cock.

“Shit.”

With a strained groan, thick ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles and down his length, coating him in his release. His breath came out ragged, as he continued his strokes, milking himself of the rest of his release.

Fuck.

His cock softened in his hand as he calmed down from his high. With a quiet groan he pushed himself off the door, looking around his room for something to clean himself up with.

The guilt of what he’d done washed over him quickly, settling in his chest like a heavy weight. You were so young, and beautiful, and Joel just an old man. He shouldn’t want you like this, shouldn’t want you this much.

Climbing under the covers, Joel couldn’t shake his thoughts of you, of you dreaming about him in your bed, about your smiles, and your touch. A supercut of you rolling like a tape in his minds eye. A supercut of you bundled up under a blanket on the sofa, knitting him his mittens. Of you, your own knitted hat pulled tightly down over your ears as you stepped out into the snow to check on the animals. Of the way you’d looked at him for the first time, with the bucket of apples under your arm, and the sweet taste of them as you’d offered him one later, after dinner.

Finally, Joel could breathe.

next part -> here! i hope someone liked this? if you did a comment, reply or an ask is always welcome and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[reaveries]

▬  a warm place for numb fingers (18+)

summary: after a conversation with a friend, tension arises between the reader and arthur. action is ultimately forced into her hands... or fingers, more like.

pairings: high honor!arthur morgan x female!reader

warnings: mature content (18+)// explicit descriptions of fingering, cunnilingus, and some good ol' fucking

word count: 5.7k (estimated 23-minute reading time)

a/n: this goes out to all the cold and horny girls out there. i see you and i salute you. enjoy the fic

masterlist archive of our own

The chill was an inescapable thing and it followed her closely wherever she went. It burned her face red whenever she emerged from the mining town cabins. When she’d been forced to ride against it in fierce storms, it possessed her hair to lash violently across her cheeks in a blinding fury. And once those storms passed, it continued to insatiably lap at any skin left exposed to its gnawing teeth. Numbness in her fingertips became commonplace, leaving her defenseless as her trigger finger trembled beneath thin leather gloves. Like a starved coyote, the chill searched for any scrap of flesh it could find and devoured it to the bone. It wasn’t forgiving, as nature often isn’t.

She draws her coat closer to her body now, but the little winds continue to hungrily nip at her cheeks and dust them pink. What once ravaged her has become meek since they’ve descended the peaks of the Grizzlies. But it’s still there, and will continue to be until spring thaws the world. 

“Can’t believe I’m lookin’ at one of the most wanted outlaws this side of the Dakota.”

She looks up from her feet and sees Karen smiling, holding a cigarette between her fingers. She brings it to her lips and draws out the smoke.

“God, if the Pinkertons knew how big of a baby you really are, maybe they’d have tried their luck in Colter,” she says with a cheeky grin.

“That’s the only way those fuckers could’ve taken me down,” the outlaw says, laughing bitterly into her scarf. “I’ve never done well in the cold. Every day that I wake up and can’t feel my toes, I’m closer to packing up and fleeing to New Austin. Thinking of building myself a house made of cacti.”

She walks through the frost-laden grass to where her friend stands, overlooking the Dakota river.

“You’re fulla shit,” Karen says, rolling her eyes. “The day you leave this bunch will be the day God, himself, shoots you off your horse. Got too much love in your little heart for the lot of us.”

The woman chuckles dryly, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Got too much love for you, Karen,” she says in a sickeningly sweet tone and leans in, tilting her head dramatically to the side as if to give her a sloppy kiss.

“Get the hell away from me!” Karen screeches and fumbles to push her away. 

The outlaw stumbles backward lazily with her head thrown back in laughter.

“You play around too much, you know that?” Karen says, shaking her head, but the forceful tug on the right side of her lips gives her away. 

She smiles down her nose at the blonde woman, “Yeah, that’s what I keep hearin’.”

Once they both settle down, Karen extends the cigarette to her, offering whatever she can manage as it quickly dies out. She takes it between her forefinger and thumb and lets the smoke warm her from the inside.

“You know what I overheard some of the workin’ girls sayin’ when I was in town?” Karen speaks up as the smoke escapes the woman’s throat. 

She hums in question. Words out of the mouth of a working girl can hardly ever be taken for truth, but damn if they weren’t entertaining.

“Apparently, the number of clients they get skyrockets in the winter months. Somethin’ about men subconsciously wantin’ to be warmed up so they seek out activities that make ‘em break a sweat.”

She nods, “I guess that makes enough sense.”

Karen shakes her head, “That’s not all. The girls were also sayin’ that as it gets colder, the men are more and more riled up. Almost like it’s something with the moon, but instead of turnin’ into the dogman, they just wanna bury themselves in a woman real bad. But all I’m hearin’ while these girls are sayin’ this is that we got ourselves a bunch of fools too dumb to think clearly down in that little town.”

She stomps the life out of the cigarette with the toe of her boot, her spurs jingling as she drives it into the dirt. 

“Ain’t no way that’s true,” she says with a sardonic smile. “That last part, sure, but the moon’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

“Well, somethin’s gotta explain it,” Karen says and crosses her arms defensively across her chest. “I can tell ya, once it gets colder the men start lookin’ at ya different. I never noticed the link ‘till now but it kinda makes sense.”

She has to fight the laugh rising in her chest as she tries to seriously process the idea that men are becoming more aroused due to a giant orb in the sky. It takes everything in her not to but Karen sees right through her.

“It ain’t that ridiculous, you know. You can’t tell me you ain’t never noticed Arthur actin’ different.” 

The amusement rapidly drains from her face and is replaced by a look of bewilderment. 

“What are you talkin’ about Arthur for? Arthur and I are just friends, we ain’t like that,” she sputters out. 

“Oh, sorry,” Karen says, putting her hands up, “I forgot you was still on that.”

Her flustered reaction surprises even herself, causing a creeping warmth to crawl its way to her cheeks. A biting retort fumbles dumbly in her mouth.

“I’m not on anything. Don’t know what got in your head but it ain’t never been like that between Arthur and me.”

“It ain’t just in my head, honey. Everyone here knows it. You think folk ain’t seein’ the way you two touch up on each other the way you do? How neither of you goes nowhere without the other? Get real. It’s plain as day to everyone but yourself.”

She tosses a quick glance over her shoulder, hoping no one is near enough to hear their conversation. Instead, she sees that the camp has slowly come to life while she’d been distracted by Karen. Folk have begun their morning chores, migrating from washboards to clothing lines or splitting logs of wood in two. Her eyes flit across their faces until they land on the one she’s searching for. He’s far enough away, speaking with Pearson by the food supplies wagon. The cook waves his hands around animatedly but he’s turned away from her so she can’t tell what they’re speaking about. Arthur looks past the man and meets her eyes. He smiles and nods at her, to which she returns with a forced thin smile of her own. 

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Karen,” she mutters, and without turning to say goodbye, walks away.

And yet, Karen’s words burrow themselves deep within her mind and linger in the spaces between each normal thought as the day continues. Surely she'd been exaggerating and not everyone in camp suspects her and Arthur to be intimate with each other. Karen just thinks she knows more than she does sometimes. It was very much like her to be overly confident about certain things, proclaiming them as fact even past the point she knows she’s wrong. Then again, that also wasn't the first time someone had mistaken their closeness for something more amorous in nature. Dutch, having watched her throw an arm around Arthur and share from his bottle, assumed the pair had made themselves official. This prompted some proud fatherly spiel wherein he clapped Arthur on the back and congratulated him. It was vague enough that neither of them knew what he was referring to until later. Once they both realized, it gave them a good doubled-over, tears-from-the-eyes sort of laugh. But Arthur quickly cleared it up with the man, assuring him that there was nothing of that sort going on. Apparently, Dutch remained unconvinced.

As she sharpens her knife, an interesting thought intrudes past the others. For a moment, she wonders if Arthur might be an exception to this phenomenon the working girls were talking about. He never spoke of women the way that most men did. So, if he’d ever been interested in that sort of way, she wasn’t privy to it in the slightest. But, he’s still a man and he isn’t immune to the desires of men. Could it be possible that Arthur wishes for a woman to warm his bed at night? Or perhaps, on the coldest nights, a woman to warm himself inside?

Her blade slips against the whetstone and nearly slices her hand open as depraved imagery flies behind her eyes. She curses loudly and the knife drops to the dirt with a muffled thud.

A horse gallops and skids next to the hitching post beside her and the rider quickly flies off the mount, hitting the earth with heavy feet. She looks up from her hand and it’s him. There’s a pristine buck carcass flung over the back of his mare from a hunting excursion he must be returning from. 

“You alright?” He asks in a raised voice, meeting her with a walk that holds no patience. He looks down at her hands, likely expecting to see them covered in blood. His shoulders drop in relief when he can’t find any.

“I’m fine,” she says, standing up quickly and brushing dust off her pants. She forcefully clears her head of the intrusive thoughts, worried he might be able to see them if he looks too close.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, woman. Don’t know what I’d do if you went and chopped off your trigger finger,” he says, running a stressed hand through his hair.

“You’d have to find a new riding partner, that’s for sure,” she quips unenthusiastically.

A breath of laughter leaves his lips to tell her she’s being ridiculous.

“Naw… There ain’t no replacin’ you. Ain’t a single person here has what it takes to put up with half the shit you and I do. We’d just have to teach ya to shoot with four fingers.”

His tone is lighthearted but there’s a hint of sincerity to his words that makes her cock her head in intrigue. He notices the change in her expression and quickly backpedals.

“Ah, don’t let that get to your head, now! I can barely tolerate ya most days. There’s just… no denyin’ you’re one of the best shots here,” he says, avoiding her eyes.

She smiles smugly and pats his chest.

“Tell me something I don’t know, cowboy.”

“Like I said, I can barely tolerate ya,” he says, swatting her hand off him. “Anyways, you mind takin’ that buck to Pearson? I need to have a word with Dutch about tomorrow.”

“Sure thing,” she says and slips past him to retrieve the fresh game. 

She hoists the buck over her shoulder and nearly gasps from the unexpected weight. The animal is nowhere near light and it’s a wonder he managed to cleanly take down the thing. He looks over his shoulder at the sound of her boot scuffling in the dirt as she steadies herself. 

She stumbles over to Pearson’s wagon and throws the carcass down on the ground. The cook is nowhere to be found so she figures she’ll save him the trouble and put her sharpened blade to good use. The knife cuts cleanly through the skin like warm butter, separating the hide from tender pink insides. As she’s making the final incisions, she looks up from the gruesome sight and sees Arthur talking to Dutch outside his tent. He seems relaxed enough, his hands resting on the buckle of his gun belt while he talks. It’s something he does often, just like someone might stuff their hands in their pockets for the sake of keeping them occupied. An endearing little action. And yet, for some reason, the common and utterly insignificant act of him doing this makes her forget herself. 

Maybe it’s the suggestion of him holding a different object hidden beneath the confines of denim, right below his loose grip. Because the longer she looks, a vision of him taking himself into a fisted hand begins to overshadow her mind. He’s lying in his cot, and while everyone else huddles together for warmth in their makeshift beds, he’s fucking his hand in the darkness of his tent. His eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is parted slightly, but no noise escapes his lips to save himself the mortification of someone walking past and overhearing. He quickens the pace of his pumping hand and breathes out a quiet, ragged moan as he coats his stomach with ropes of sticky seed. His chest heaves, then slows to normal before he wipes the evidence away with a worn shirt.

Arthur looks at her with a confused look on his face. He waves a hand slowly in mock greeting to rouse her from her dazed state. Dutch, mid-sentence, turns to look over his shoulder, but she averts her eyes before they can meet his. 

“Holy shit,” she whispers. She frantically finishes skinning the deer with her chin to her chest to hide the furious blush tormenting her cheeks. 

Once she’s finished, she practically sprints back to her tent before Arthur can ask her what her deal is. She closes the flaps hastily and goes to sit on the edge of her bed to collect herself. 

It’s not like she’s never fantasized about a person before, and she’s taken people to her bed more times than she can remember. This flustered feeling isn’t rooted in some virgin-like innocence, and yet she might as well be a pastor’s daughter with the way she’s blushing over it.

It’s because it’s him. He’s her partner. Her friend. Someone who’s grown to understand her better than she understands herself. She’s been the same person for him ever since they crossed paths in Montana all those months ago. Many feelings, albeit platonic, have come and gone since that fateful encounter, but lust? Lusting after a friend may be the most foreign feeling she’s stumbled upon in all her years of living. 

A griminess so thick and so palpable enshrouds her, weighing heavily, filthily, on her skin. And there’s only one solution that comes to mind.

She straddles the firmness between her thighs as it bounces rhythmically beneath her. A moan unintentionally escapes her lips in response to the merciless feeling down below. Her blouse sticks to damp skin and plasters itself lewdly against the curves of her stomach and chest as her hips rock back and forth. Another moan. This one more pained than the last.

Her thighs have always burned something fierce whenever she’d mount her horse directly after a bath. Soft, herbal-scented skin would grate against thick cotton of riding trousers, eliciting the pained gritting of teeth. But this time, the minor uncomfortable sensation is preferable, simple, compared to the complexities of her consuming thoughts from earlier. A hot bath was her saving grace as it turned out. It cleared her head and made her feel like her normal self again. Whatever thoughts she’d been having of her partner had been washed away and left behind at the bottom of the steel tub like some tainted baptism.

She rides through the trees that fringe the perimeter of camp and calls out to Javier, who stands guarding the entrance. He gives her a short wave, and nothing else. The two of them haven’t talked much, despite having ridden together for over a year now. Most of the men in camp tend to keep to themselves, she’s noticed. It’s a shame the talkative Irish man went and got himself killed in Blackwater. He knew how to have a good time. He always claimed the two of them were kindred spirits, but she heavily denied it each time since it read like an insult. 

She swings herself off the saddle and, like a moth to a lantern, migrates toward the fire to warm herself. The sun has sunk beneath the horizon and with it any amount of heat it provided, leaving her a shivering mess. Dinner bubbles inside the stew pot, prompting her to grab a portion before taking a seat on one of the logs.

The fire is reduced to glowing embers that do little to warm her bones. She nudges the logs with her boot but they just shift and plume ash. Sighing, she tugs closed the lapels of her coat and brings a spoonful of venison stew to her lips. The steaming broth slides down her throat and settles in her belly, making a furnace of her stomach. It’s a nice feeling, one that quiets her mind.

Suddenly, the log shifts as someone sits beside her. 

“Where’d you disappear off to?” He asks. “I couldn’t find ya anywhere.”

Arthur settles to sit hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, a bowl of stew in his hands. He’s wearing a dark long-sleeve shirt and a light jacket, but not much else to protect him from the cold. In fact, when she looks around, no one else seems to mind the chill as much as she does. Maybe Karen was right in calling her a baby.

“Nowhere special. I just had to go into town for a bit,” she says, taking another sip of the stew. 

He nods his head, “Had to go into town and get yerself a bath, huh?”

She turns sharply to look at him, her brows drawn together in confusion.

“I could smell the lavender oil the minute ya hitched yer horse,” he explains. “What’s that about? Are ya plannin’ on finally actin’ like a lady or somethin’?”

She shoves his shoulder with her free hand.

“Shut up Arthur. You act more like a lady than I do,” she accuses. “Also, it might do ya good to take a bath for once.”

That last part she says a little lower than the first. Sometimes when they’d be out on extended errands they’d bathe in the river together. But no matter how much he scrubbed his skin, the stench of cigarette smoke and sweat would linger in the closed tent when she lay beside him in her bedroll at night. She always put up with it though because it likely meant she didn’t smell much better.

“The hell’s that s’posed to mean?” He asks, looking visibly taken aback.

“It means you smell like—”

“Naw, not that. Whatchu mean I act like a lady?”

“Oh. It means you’re goin’ all soft, big guy. Take it as a compliment,” she says, trying to suppress a smile.

“Great. First Dutch, now you. I ain’t goin’ soft, girl. And I sure as hell ain’t turnin’ into a woman,” he says, looking away from her and shaking his head. “As if you even knew what it meant to be one. Look at yerself!” He adds with an indignant wave of his hand that gestures from the top of her head to her feet.

She doesn’t need to look. Her coat is crafted from bear and bison pelts, made to fit a man larger than herself because the trapper lacked the expertise to tailor one for a woman. It keeps her warm enough, which is all that should matter. Wearing clothes that flatter her figure ranks relatively low on her list of priorities when every day is a fight to not freeze to death. On top of that, folk have always been mighty eager to remind her of her femininity whenever she dared step outside the docile role of her fairer sex. Which, in her line of work, was often.

“I’ll have you know I consider myself an expert on the matter… ma’am.”

She starts to snicker but when she looks over at him his jaw is set and he’s giving her a side-eye that makes the noise die in her throat.

“Keep callin’ me a lady and see where it gets ya, woman. Y’ain’t gonna be laughin’ when I’m forced to prove myself to ya.”

If there was ever any heat being produced in her body, it's all gone and rushed to her face just now. She stares at him, unblinking.

“What?” 

“Mm, s’what I thought,” he says, bringing a spoon of potatoes and broth to his lips. “Now, if you’re done foolin’ around, are you comin’ with us tomorrow or not? Dutch said you might but I know you’ve got a lot on your plate as is.”

He said he’d prove himself to her. Prove that he’s a man. There’s hardly any innocent way to interpret that.

“Tomorrow?” She asks. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

He looks at her all funny-like, slightly annoyed even.

“Did you drink the bathwater or somethin’? The O’Driscoll told us they was all holed up in some cabin not far from here. Mentioned Colm is with’em. I only told ya about it a handful of times.”

She hears him but isn’t really listening. The phrase repeats on a loop in her head. She wants to ask him what he meant by it but the moment’s passed and she knows there’s no real answer. If asked, he’d just say he was teasing her and there’s nothing more to it. 

He calls her name, bringing her out of her stupor. She opens her mouth to say something but the wind picks up. A bone-rattling shiver possesses her, making her shrink inside herself. He stares at her, unphased by the chill but with concern etched into his handsome features.

“Sorry, Arthur. I- I don’t know where my head’s at,” she says through clenched teeth.

“S’Alright,” he says, looking her over. “I forget how sensitive you are to the cold.”

He sets his bowl on the ground and brings his hands to cup around his mouth, heating them with hot breath. He then takes her hands into his and clamps around them, transferring warmth to numb fingers.

“Jesus, you’re freezin’,” he says.

He brings her hands close to his mouth and repeats the same action, trying to warm them back to life with his breath. He presses into her palms, massaging heat from the pads of his fingers into hers.

Had he done this simple gesture for her yesterday, she likely would’ve just felt grateful to feel her fingers again. But today isn’t like yesterday. Yesterday, she wasn’t acutely aware of the ever-present moisture nearly dripping down her thighs or the dull, aching pain at her core as it practically begs to be filled by a man. Yesterday, she didn’t envision that man to be Arthur. She didn’t envision herself blissed out and bouncing on his cock, being guided by his hands gripping her ass and forcing her all the way down on him every time. She also didn’t visualize their sweating naked bodies pressed against one another as he hoists her legs around his waist and fucks her relentlessly against the side of his wagon. Yesterday was, without a doubt, much easier than today. Today she’d thought of all these things and more.

She watches attentively how he holds her slender fingers in the thickness of his own. Those hands have snuffed out the lives of many, brutally at that. She’d seen them wrapped around the necks of men, crushing their windpipes and severing their spines when he’d been provoked on the wrong sort of day. Lots of blood on those hands. But there’s just as much on hers and in this moment, those blooded hands are so tender towards her. 

If these same hands could kill without remorse, yet be so gentle when the time came for it, then by God, what else were they capable of?

She slips her hands out of his faster than she intended to.

“Thank you, Arthur,” she whispers, looking away.

“Sure. Maybe that’ll help ya to start actin’ normal again. Get the blood flowin’ to yer brain and such.”

If only he knew it was doing the opposite. Blood is flowing elsewhere and she’s the furthest from normal she’s been in a long while.

She stands up, leaving the bowl of stew unfinished on the ground.

“Here’s hoping,” she says, her hands clasped together to preserve his heat. 

Her boots crunch ice-bitten dirt loudly beneath their heels as she makes her way through the quiet camp and to her tent. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until the flaps close shut behind her. 

“What… What is wrong with you?” she asks no one. Her tent is empty, and even though she wants to be alone, this is no comfort.

Her palms dig into the concave of her eye sockets, rubbing them furiously to wake herself up. She groans and shrugs off her coat, letting it collapse onto the floor. Her boots are kicked off her feet and her shirt is made quick work of before it’s thrown violently across the room. Her pants meet the same fate, being unbuttoned and kicked off, then kicked again so they lie atop the other garments. She collides with her mattress in a huff and lies there to stare at the ceiling of her tent, chest rising and falling rapidly.

She’s not going to be laughing when he’s forced to prove himself to her. 

Why is that phrase repeating over and over in her head? More importantly, why is she closing her eyes and slipping her hand beneath the waistband of her combinations?

She pauses. It’s wrong to do this. So wrong. To touch herself with visions of him in her head is sick. But she needs it so badly, so desperately she needs this to be taken care of. The throbbing at her core ultimately wins over her conscience, and forcefully pushes guilt to the side.

Her fingers slide between the delicate folds down below, the slick moisture coating her digits easily. She imagines it’s his hand. Large and warm, playing with her and teasing out moans by dancing around her clit. He asks her if it feels good, but only incoherent noises leave her lips. 

He chuckles and the breath of his laughter hits her center as he dips his head between her thighs. Lips replace fingers, sucking and leaving open-mouthed kisses heavy with tongue, ravishing her like a starved man. Her thighs clench around him and her calves tremble against his bare back. She whispers praises to him when she can find the words. 

Please keep going. You’re doing so good. So good.

Both of her hands tangle themselves in his hair. She can’t help but pull on the strands the minute he slides his thumb inside her all the way to the knuckle. Her back arches off the cot at the sudden sensation but he pulls her back down, locking her in with a hand wrapped around her thigh. She can feel him smile against her, momentarily letting up the relentless forces of his mouth. He’s loving watching her squirm beneath him, because of him. 

But the combined sensation of his thumb fucking her and the concentrated movements of his tongue at her clit nearly drive her to the edge. She squirms and brings her knees up around him, causing him to pull away and leave her empty.

Ya have to keep still, darlin’.

He coaxes her legs back open, spreading them apart with firm hands. But before he can return, she whispers desperate words that fall sweetly on his ears. He changes direction and begins to kiss his way north, traces of her still on his lips as they press wetly to her stomach, then her breasts, and then her neck. While he trails up her jaw, she tugs down his union suit from where it gathers at his hips. He assists her clumsily by shaking it off his legs and kicking it to the floor, where it now lies atop her own discarded clothing.

Before he takes her, he hovers on rested elbows and searches her face for any sign of reluctance. Only half of his features she can see clearly as warm oranges and yellows flicker across it from the lantern at her bedside. The fringe of his hair tickles her forehead, teasing her into closing the distance between them. With a hand on the back of his neck, she brings him down to her level and connects their lips. Their mouths move roughly against one another, their noses squishing and bending against the pressure of their touch. 

He’s warm, so warm. His mouth is hot against her tongue and the points on her body where the two of them meet are ablaze with a fire that spreads down, and down, until it rests in a sweltering mess at the apex of her thighs. She needs him, were the words she’d whispered. And she needs him now. She reaches down between their two bodies to where his cock grazes against her legs and with a sure hand, takes hold of it and guides it to her entrance. She can’t see it but it feels thick in her grasp; her hold not permitting thumb and forefinger to meet. 

The head slips gently inside and opens her up to him with a slow, shallow movement of his hips. He removes his lips from hers and rests his forehead against her own, looking down and indulgently watching himself disappear inside of her inch by inch. It fills her deliciously, stretching her open until he eventually bottoms out and their pelvises lie flush with one another. She lets out a sharp exhale at the contact, knowing he’s sheathed fully inside of her. Before he moves again, she brings her legs around his waist and crosses her ankles so his movements are limited to being shallow and forceful. 

The cot squeaks beneath them as he pulls out and thrusts back in, slow at first. He quickly picks up the pace, pistoling his hips to give short thrusts that fill her to the hilt each time with a near-bruising force. One hand wraps around the meat of her thigh and another hand starts rubbing furious circles at her clit. She throws her head back with a wide-opened gasp at the explosive euphoric sensation of being filled by him and the simultaneous attention given to the sensitive nub. He goes even faster when he sees how close she is, and within seconds she unravels beneath him. 

She notices through her clouded gaze his brows screwing together and lips parting as her soft muscles throb around the swell of his cock. It’s too much for him. He hurriedly pulls out and releases himself on her belly, coating it with spurts of his seed. He looks at her breathlessly through hooded eyes.

The two of them lie panting, him still stationed between her legs with a heaving chest and weary gaze. He leans down and places a chaste kiss on the inside of her thigh before slumping beside her and laying there in his nakedness.

She cums hard against diligent fingers. Hot and tingly ecstacy spreads from her core throughout her limbs, fluttering her eyes to the back of her skull and leaving her a panting mess. Once that passes and the drowsiness that always follows a dumbing climax sets in, she realizes she’d conjured a strange ending to her fantasy. It was one of genuine intimacy, not driven by the carnal desires of her body. 

Thankfully, sleep takes over before she can begin trying to process whatever that means. She drifts off as remnants of pleasure buzz beneath her skin and warm her beneath ticking sheets.

Morning comes quickly, and the accompanying chill of a new day forces her off the cot in search of heavier clothing. She pulls fleece-lined chaps over jeans and buttons them at the waist before throwing on the bear coat she’s worn every day since Colter. As she slips her arms into the clothing, she thinks back on last night. There’s no reason to make a big deal of it. Surely men get off with much worse ideas in their heads about the people they know. She hopes all of that is behind her now that it’s been forced out of her system.

But this is not the case. 

This hope is massacred in vain shortly after being conceived. For the day is ablaze with yearning, shame, and raging inferno. 

Accompanying Arthur to the hideout was soon realized as a mistake. Every small, inconsequential thing he did served to stoke the fire blistering her loins. Every word whispered atop the secluded hillock, every incidental brushing of skin, and every intentional one too. It all fanned incessantly at consuming flames.

She rides back to camp alone with heavy pockets and a heavier conscience. And as she approaches the grounds, she sees her friend, the blonde woman, standing guard outside. Without thought, she throws her reins and swings herself off the horse, hitting the earth hard and swift. A blustering storm brews inside her, fighting against fire and losing. She approaches Karen, treading heavily over branch and stone, a wild look in her eyes.

“Karen!” She calls out.

The woman turns to face her, her rifle lowering just as quickly as it’s raised.

“Oh, it’s just you. You here to tell me I don’t know what I’m talkin’ about again? If so, you can keep on walkin’, bigshot.” 

She sighs and runs a frustrated hand through her wind-tangled hair.

“No! No, I- I didn’t mean it,” she says, with an unmistakable sound of desperation in her voice. “Karen, you were right.”

Karen’s tensed shoulders sink beneath her coat and her features soften. She doesn’t seem to understand, but she’s no longer angry. It’s difficult to be when her friend stands before her, uncharacteristically vulnerable and fumbling with words.

Whatever forces are at work here, be it the chill, the moon, or an unknown third thing, it can be certain she is out of her depth, adrift in deep ice waters. And he is calling to her like a siren’s song but she knows it is an illusion she has conjured up and there is no solace allowed to be found there. He cannot take her like she needs so deeply to be taken by him. It would ruin them, for certain. Because they are not a wholesome people, and despite that, their bond has been forged by goodness. Something like that is uncommon for folk like themselves. It should be held closely, protected from whatever may destroy it, even if it is from herself. It’s for that reason she withdraws her hand, rides alone, averts wandering eyes, and tries her utmost best to quench the flames.

And yet, it has been only a day. 

“You were right.”

[breelandwalker]

Frost Moon - November 26-27, 2023

Grab your scarves and mittens, witches - it's time for the Frost Moon!

Frost Moon

The Frost Moon is the name given to the full moon which occurs in the month of November. In temperate zones in the Northern Hemisphere, November is the month during which the first frost or first hard freeze of the season is usually observed.

Like most full moon names, this is an English translation of a traditional name used by one or more North American indigenous groups, in this case the Cree and the Assiniboine. Similarly, the Anishinaabe and the Ojibwe also called this month the Freezing Moon or Freezing Over Moon respectively, as indigenous naming conventions usually refer to the entire lunar month and not just the full moon itself. Other indigenous names include Deer Rutting Moon (Dakota and Lakota), Whitefish Moon (Algonquin), Leaf Fall Moon (Catawba), and Digging (or Scratching) Moon (Tlingit). The latter refers to the habit of deer and other creatures scratching up the ground to find hidden food caches, as well as bears digging their dens for winter hibernation.

Another common name for this month's full moon is the Beaver Moon, due to the increased sightings of these busy little creatures shoring up their dams and food stores before the first hard freeze of winter. (Unfortunately, it's also a reference to the peak days of the North American fur trade, signaling the optimal hunting time for beaver pelts.)

In some modern pagan traditions, particularly those claiming Celtic lineage, the November moon is also called the Mourning Moon. This occurs when the November moon is the final full moon before the winter solstice. In 2023, the November is indeed a Mourning Moon, as the December full moon falls on the 26th, a good few days after the solstice. (I was not able to find an original source for this claim, but given the celebration of the beloved dead in October, a subsequent period of mourning and remembrance makes sense. It may also be a reference to the Catholic All Souls Day, but that's just speculation.)

This particular Frost Moon will be at peak fullness in the early hours of November 27th (4:16am EST), so the moon may appear to be full on both Sunday the 26th and Monday the 27th, depending on where you live.

What Does It Mean For Witches?

This is the month when migrations are finishing up, animals are finishing their cold weather preparations, the temperature starts to plummet, and fall descends rapidly into winter. If you haven't finished your preparations for winter, mundane or magical, this is probably your last chance to do it. (Don't forget to prioritize and delegate!)

With the days getting shorter and the nights getting colder, the temptation to hunker down and hibernate is STRONG. But we have to remember that just like the eponymous Beaver, humans have to stay active during the cold months. Start stockpiling ways to keep yourself busy and motivated, since that Seasonal Slump is on the horizon for many of us.

Consider also the beaver's dam. You've spent the whole year working towards all kinds of goals. Is there still something blocking your way? What might it be and how can you best address and remove the obstacle? Or, alternatively, is it time to stop and rest and see if that roadblock will clear itself with a little time and patience?

In keeping with the Mourning Moon moniker, this could be a good time for reflection and remembrance. Think back on what you've built this year and take time to be proud of yourself. Remember what is dear to you, take a moment to miss someone who is gone, and consider rekindling bonds that may have lapsed or grown tenuous during the hustle and bustle of daily life. It's always a good time to tell someone you love them.

On a practical note, if you have pets that regularly stay outdoors overnight, start bringing them inside or make sure they have a shelter that is properly warm, clean, and secure against human or animal intruders. If it's too chilly for you to be out without a coat, it's too chilly for the critters, fur or no fur. PLEASE do not leave your furry friends out in the cold!

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

As we prepare for winter, this is an excellent time to shore up those magical protections. Check on your longterm spells to see if they need refreshing, or just go ahead and do a quick cleanse-and-reclaim as a proactive measure. Even if everything is solid, practice your technique by shoring up points of egress or adding a new layer to the existing wards or trying a new visualization or method for personal protections. Create a new charm or talisman to carry you through the winter or make something festive and decorative that could be given as a gift.

On the subject of cleansing, this is a good time to clear out any stale or disruptive energy that might be lingering from the recent change of seasons. Solstices can be times of transformation, but change is rarely a calm or peaceful process and it brings its' own set of challenges and upheavals. If things have gotten a little more chaotic than you'd like, take a moment to put your house in order, metaphysically speaking.

If you're partial to jar spells, consider putting one together to help maintain safety and abundance through the winter months. If you're going to be traveling for the upcoming holidays, a bit of luck and protection for the journey wouldn't go amiss either.

Try a frost divination. If your area is starting to see overnight frosts, take a moment in the morning to examine the patterns that the frost leaves on the windows of your home or vehicle. Do you see any patterns or images in the ice crystals? Check the weather forecast and whisper a question into the wind when the overnight temps will drop below freezing. Then in the morning, see if there's an answer waiting for you!

Happy Frost Moon, witches! 🌕❄

Further Reading:

Additional Lunar Calendar posts

Full Moon November 2023: The Beaver Moon's Spectacular Spiritual Meaning, The Peculiar Brunette.

Beaver Moon: Full Moon in November 2023, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

Beaver Full Moon in November - Buckle and Hocken, TimeAndDate.com.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

Image Credit - iStockPhoto.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[hitolucius]

i enjoyed making the last one so yeah (this one is shorter because i have a headache)

last part

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ash-frost reblogged dc-inthehouse

👻 wizpererxx follow

APPARENTLY doxxing someone isnt “good hero etiquette” and “is a crime”. nobody supports me in my heroing endeavors

🍕 dc-inthehouse follow

☹️

13,906 notes

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xxghostlypoet reblogged vyncentsol2043

🔪 vyncentsol2043 follow

wat is cat bo

🔪 vyncentsol2043 follow

my frens cal me cat boy. what

1,328 notes

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ash-frost reblogged dakotacolestyle

⚡ dakotacolestyle follow

i hate gay ppl!!!!

⚡ dakotacolestyle follow

ok that sounds like im heterochromia BUT IM NOTt😰😰. that was for my gay frends who i third wheel 😓😓

5,679 notes

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xxghostlypoet reblogged ash-frost

📓ash-frost follow

my whimsy and love for the world is gone!! dust in the wind. even

🔪 vyncentsol2043 follow

wat hapn

📓ash-frost follow

dakota ate my slice of pizza while I wasnt looking. :(

56 notes

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summer-side-up reblogged xxghostlypoet

☀️summer-side-up follow

Imagine not seeing your friends for 3 months and the first time you see them again one of them asks you what's wrong with your face. Couldn't be me! haha

🐺 xxghostlypoet follow

uhmmm. this feels like an attack

☀️summer-side-up follow

I wonder why William.

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dakotacolestyle reblogged ash-frost

📓ash-frost follow

just watched william give vyncent a warhead. will update if something interesting happens!! :^

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vyncent is on the ground. foaming at the mouth.

509 notes

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[brightlotusmoon]

From Doxie Simone on Facebook:

"You make fun of ONE non-binary person, and here come Basil, Moonshadow, Sock, Plum, Fang, Tofu, Crow, Patchouli, Cupid, Shade, Snow, Flannel, Brick, Daffodil, Quinn, Wildflower, Leaf, Lichen, October, Ink, September, Clover, August, Bone, Driftwood, Bread, Aspen, Spirit, Jasper, Lightbulb, Glitter, Tuna, Nebula, Zamboni, Cloud, Pickle, Starlight, Pancake, Jellybean, Twister, Toothbrush, Denim, Lava Lamp, Moonbeam, Disco, Apricot, Banjo, Fork, Sock Puppet, Fern, Ghost, Dune, River, Galaxy, Fig, Echo, Storm, Velvet, Rain, Phoenix, Stone, Feather, Indigo, Moss, Bunni, Ember, Ocean, Paperclip, Lotus, Birch, Compass, Button, Marshmallow, Cactus, Comet, Skye, Lavender, Cedar, Thorn, Breeze, Astral, Beer, Cricket, Horizon, Marble, Canyon, Timber, Shadow, Prism, Link, Willow, Fable, Solstice, Haze, Orbit, Bubbles, Trinket, Sapphire, Jayson, River, Skyler, Rowan, Taylor, Finley, Casey, Morgan, Avery, Reese, Harper, Charlie, Sage, Quinn, Alex, Riley, Jordan, Cameron, Dakota, Ellis, Bailey, Parker, Emery, Peyton, Blake, Drew, Avery, Logan, Devon, Jamie, Ashton, Kendall, Hayden, Blake, Jules, Tegan, Cassidy, Marley, Blair, Micah, Sam, Kai, Sawyer, Lennon, Sky, Dakota, Elliot, Lane, Arden, Ezra, Spencer, Emerson, Jude, Kieran, Harper, Ryan, Bailey, Brooks, Sage, Riley, Avery, Jude, Taylor, Avery, Sam, Logan, Alex, Kai, Quinn, Rowan, Casey, Alex, Drew, Jordan, Charlie, Reese, Wren, Cameron, Blake, Bailey, River, Skyler, Ashton, Kai, Devon, Elliot, Spencer, Marley, Kendall, Quinn, Taylor, Jordan, Parker, Reese, Hayden, Sage, Sky, Sam, Cameron, Emerson, Logan, Drew, Nimbus, X, Acorn, Sparrow, Rohan, Drift, Tinsel, Frost, Bramble, Ajax, Worm, Kay, Strigoi, Helios, Phalanx, Lee, Leo (short for Leonidas), Drayden, Angel, Alexander, Salem, Athena, Ajax, and HildaOliver, Sunny, Sage, Quasar, Jade, Jude, Bug, Mouse, Toro, Spark, Rocks, Moth, Roan, Sage, Bear, Pill, Banshee, Tooth, Nail, Lumia, Mutt, Rue, Roo, Ru, Rù, Thunder, Pyrite, Petal, Aurora, Lagoon, Pixel, Raven, Zephyr, Moth, Lyric, Wish, Atlas, Charm, Pocket, Lilac, Rune, Vapor, Dusk, Opal, Dusk, Dawn, Autumn, Stream, Halo, Tempest, Mist, Poppy, Gem, Nova, Quest, Dusty, Osprey, Orchid, Jinx, Flare, and Candle to jump you in the Whole Foods alley!"

[voraciouskingdom]

"January's full moon is named after the howling of hungry wolves lamenting the scarcity of food in midwinter, but we know today that isn’t accurate. Howling and other wolf vocalizations are heard in the wintertime to locate pack members, reinforce social bonds, define territory, and coordinate hunting. Other names for this month's full moon include Old Moon and Ice Moon. Another fitting name for this full Moon is the Center Moon. Used by the Assiniboine people of the Northern Great Plains, it refers to the idea that this Moon roughly marks the middle of the cold season. Other traditional names for the January Moon emphasize the harsh coldness of the season: Cold Moon (Cree), Frost Exploding Moon (Cree), Freeze Up Moon (Algonquin), and Severe Moon (Dakota). Hard Moon (Dakota) highlights the phenomenon of the fallen snow developing a hard crust. Also, Canada Goose Moon (Tlingit), Great Moon (Cree), Greetings Moon (Western Abenaki), and Spirit Moon (Ojibwe) have also been recorded as Moon names for this month."

Justine 'J.E.' Marriott, Author — in Brockville, Canada.

🌙💙🌙

[fictionadventurer]

A Little House Sampler contains an interview between Rose and Almanzo from when Rose was trying to gather information for her book set in 1870s Dakota, and let's just say that Almanzo did not share his wife's talent for crafting detailed reminiscences.

What were the early saloons like? Saloons. Did they have mahogany bars and mirrors? Yes. Paintings behind the bar, swinging doors, frosted windows, or anything like that? Paintings, yes; swinging doors, no. Brass rails? Brass cuspidors? Yes. Were they poolrooms or were poolrooms separate places? Yes.

Half of the interview is Rose just desperately trying to pull any kind of detail out of Almanzo. Which is impressive given that she typed out the interview and mailed it to him to fill out--she must have known what her father was like.

The most voluble he gets is an entire paragraph describing the different types of prairie grass for her (based on which ones make the best hay.)

There are flashes of humor.

What was your attitude toward the local banker. He was a whole fellow. We would say, "Hello, Tom," but when it came to borrowing money, it was 3 percent a month.

We also have a surprisingly sad moment.

What in regard to your claim, gave you the most satisfaction during the first few years? I mean moments of satisfaction, such as finishing the shanty, putting up the team after the sod was broken, or seeing the wheat up, something like that. Those special times that one remembers of looking at something and feeling good. As, for instance, the day on Rocky Ridge when the first mortgage was paid off, and we said, "Now the place is ours!" It must have been a grand moment when you walked into the bank and handed that money to old man Freeman. Must have been moments like that, in homesteading. To save me, I can't remember of anything except that when we thrashed the first crop that was the best crop we ever had, but it was before we had much land broke up. My life has been mostly disappointments.

I also really like this last question because it's drives home that this is just a daughter talking to her dad.

If I know you, you had a fit of extravagance now and then. What did you spend money on? When you had it in you pocket and just felt like spending it? Nowadays a man would buy a new car. Remember one time when you did something like that? And hardly dast face Mama Bess with whatever you'd brought? That would in the in 1880s, but it's all the same if it was something you could have bought in 1870s. Or maybe it was one time that Roy went on a spending spree, bought something you didn't have to have, but just wanted to have. I bought a top buggy in 1882. I bought a $50 nickel-plated harness in spring 1882. I am sorry I could not remember more but it has been a long time and things did not impress me when they happened like they did some people.

That last line sums up the situation pretty well. But when you're looking into the background of a series put together by two women, it is fun to see the man of the household get a chance to speak for himself.

[wheredidalltheusersgo]

The Aftershow AU headcanons

Trent and Courtney have a bad habit of being pushed into pools

Tyler still can't do a kickflip

Sierra has to BRAWL with the urge to take home every pigeon she sees

Geoff once had a baby shower that involved an exploding cake, courtesy of Brody, Tyler, Izzy, and Lindsay. Very few people made it out of that party without bits of frosting and pink cake in their hair.

Duncan is Trisha's babysitter. She is terrified of him because she thinks he's secretly a vampire or a werewolf. She snuck into way too many of her parent's movie nights

Trisha tried to play dead to scare Duncan off, but that just ended with him having to wash ketchup and fruit punch out of her hair.

Leshawna is practically a magnet for excited dogs, she's approached by at least one whenever she goes out.

Around the holidays, Gwen makes the dumbest paintings ever and sends them to everyone she knows.

Harold roams the house late at night, he has scared the hell out of Leshawna several times by standing silently in the living room or kitchen.

Geoff is a certified Peanut Dad

Courtney glares at Cody and Harold whenever they make Ace Attorney references about her job as a lawyer

Trent and Owen talk in their sleep

Scott fell off the roof of his farmhouse once

Eva once found Lauren hanging from the ceiling fan when she was 4. She didn't bother questioning how she got up there

All of Geoff's friends have received at least one Hawaiian shirt from him as a gift

Izzy snorkels in the bathtub

Noah gets bad cases of the midnight munchies

Heather laughs whenever little kids trip and fall down

Justin, Lindsay, Brick, and Dakota watch Mean Girls and Legally Blonde religiously

Justin and Alejandro constantly commission Brick for outfits

Ezekiel loves going on ferry rides

Duncan, Alejandro, Mal, Scott, and Sam have a yearly tradition where they go to an Amusement park, have a mini eating contest, and go on the wildest rides to see who can last the longest without vomiting. The winner gets a free favour from each of the losers.

Trent owns a motorcycle

Geoff is an honorary member of the Drama Brothers, but he only sings/performs with them once in a while

Bridgette took Lindsay surfing and watched her get obliterated by a wave

Lindsay enjoys water skiing with DJ and Bridgette

Duncan got him and Scott matching possum onesies

Cody makes biscuits on Alejandro like a cat

Lindsay begs Gwen to go on slushie-dates with her

Alejandro forgets to tie his hair up on most rollercoasters, much to Heather's annoyance. She yanks his hair mid-coaster to scare the shit out of him so he ties it up before they go on any more rides

Geoff has a Mariah Carey cosplay that he wears while singing "All I want for Christmas is you"

Duncan dresses up as the grinch every Christmas

Trent and Harold are forklift certified

[mysterysoulrider]

Ssoblr's ingame servers - Masterpost

Hii! I got lots of replies to my question as to which server everyone is on so I decided to create a post where it'll be very easy to see who are on the server that you're on.

If you want to be removed, added or have anything changed -> shoot me a message (alts (that you use) are welcome too!)

ps. make sure to click on my account to see the updated post as reblogs only show the post as it was at that certain moment.

Australia / New Zealand Fire Star - Cassandra Shadownight (@jorvegian-nights) - Lily Wolfstorm (jorvikpresident) - Toby Mistbrooke (@jorvikcity)

Sunbeam Palace - Luciana Nightweb (@hikolu) - Zelda Snowward (zzeldasnowward)

DenmarkLicorice Heaven - Vivian Toadhome (jorvikcity)

Finland Carrot Cove - Alexis Lowpeak (@horsegamerants)

France Blueberry Mountain - Lana Windriver (@graphi-horse-time)

Frozen Field - Athena Rockstorm (athena-of-jorvik)

Germany Autumn Star - Michelle Skydaughter (@lilakennedy)

Rainbow Galaxy - Montana Opalheart (@sso-montana)

Hungary Coconut Mountain - Dusty Beachbeach (@ouh-three)

Netherlands Dandelion Hill - Corinne Eaglebridge (@corinne-eaglebridge-sso)

Magnolia Island - Ylva Moonwell (@ylvaslooks)

Misty Mountain - Felicia Sapphiresong (@feliciasapphiresong) - Hayden Pinegoat (zzeldasnowward) - Liv Mysteryhome (mysterysoulrider)

Penguin Pond - Alice Friendside (@sso-alice)

Strawberry Meadow - Cadence Moonborn (@cryptid-deity)

North America Cherry Island - Adelaide Oldburg (@adelaideoldburg) - Susanne Proudleaf (@mufiy-valcuse)

Freezing Crater - Allison Nightstar (@sso-noodlelord) - Elsa Seadawn (@twracehorse) - Kit Farwild (jorvikcity) - Sasha Swifthurricane (sasha-swifthurricane)

Frost Valley - Brooke Tidegarden (@lisasprideflag) - Evangeline Eveninglove (@evangelineeveninglove) - Zelda Bowsmith (@jorvikzelda)

Maple Star - Carolina Strawberrystream (@strawberrystreamfields)

Night Sprinkles - Appolinariya Cometsky (@a-cometsky) - Avery Cuteman (@yasminewestbank) - Cadence Sparrowburg (@cadencesparrowburg) - Capri Mouseflower (@foryouthegays bf) - Emma Wolfheart (@emma-wolfheart) - Eva Masterbear (@valedale-rose) - Evelyn Northbank (@algirdasgiedraitis) - Grace Topazlion (@telemutt) - Lily Dolphinbook (@dumbhorsegameblog) - Lucy Flowerhill (@mistfallenjoyer) - Marie Silentfall (@foggy-milk) - Maya Sweetpoulos (mayasweetpoulos) - Sasha Shadowforce (sasha-swifthurricane) - Sam Papabear (mysterysoulrider) - Siri Greenhaven (@sirigreenhaven) - Susan Southhome (@socksonvideo) - Vera Lavagale (@zzeldasnowward) - Viktoria Ravenstorm (@foryouthegays) - Willow Crazytree (@can-of-pringles) - Zoey Pineheart (@everwindfields)

Poppy Moon - Esther Darkdragon (@esther-darkdragon) - Svea Darkdragon (@svea-darkdragon)

Stormy Pear - Blake Silvercrest (@starstablegeek) - Hannah Ponytree (@dinosaurvalley)

Poland Cookie Kingdom - Aurora Wisefall (@aurorahasanexistentialcrisis)

Sunbeam Meadow - Lana Shadowhouse (@najmiska)

Sweden Air star - Bella Highgirl (@bellassoblr)

Avocado Island - Jiao Catgirl (@djungelskogbear) - Kit Orangecat (mysterysoulrider) - Yasmine Westbank (yasminewestbank) - Zelda Axewatcher (jorvikzelda) - Zelda Snowcat (zzeldasnowward)

Marshmallow Clouds - Felicia Wolfpaw (feliciawolfpaw)

United Kingdom Candy Cove - Charlie Rainford (@charlierainfordsso)

Coconut Island - Clarisse Darkfire (barricade-moonriser) - Dakota Gloomsmith (barricade-moonriser) - Dalka Lightningwalker (barricade-moonriser)

Cupcake Valley - Daniella Bunnywood (@ro-sso) - Esther Northberg (@northberg)

Snowflake Island - Brooklyn Eveningsky (@brookevesky)

West Europe Spring Star - Adelaide Froglake (@froggistain)

[therealnightcity]

[Subject Interview: Ares]

NICKNAME: Ares is a nickname, actually. My full name is Arisa, but it's only ever that when I'm in trouble for something.

GENDER: Female

STAR SIGN: I'm a Tarus. (Bet you thought I was going to say Aries huh?) It says I'm dependable, and logical but also stubborn and set in my ways. I hope I'm the first, but I don't think I'm that stubborn, unless it's something that matters a lot. And that I'm attracted to people who make me feel safe and comfortable. I don't know who wrote this, but 'safe' isn't exactly in plentiful supply in Night City, or the Badlands.

HEIGHT: 6'3, (or 191cm for those of you across the pond)

ORIENTATION: Women please, not that I have anything again men. They're just not for me, thanks.

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: I was born in the Badlands, but my mom was from Brazil, and my dad was Japanese. I never met him, he ran off before I was born. I never met him and yeah I wonder what he was like, but if he was a nice person, he'd have stuck around. I have two amazing mom's though, and I can't complain.

FAVE FRUIT: I love cantaloupe! Dakota grows these melons that are the best thing I've ever tasted. Watermelon too! Or cactus fruit (but its's even better as liquor, at least till the next morning.)

FAVE SEASON: Spring is my favorite--when it starts to get a little warmer, and the flowers start peeking out again. Everyone makes the Badlands sound like it's devoid of life, but they've never been to the places where the wildflowers have been growing back.

FAVE FLOWER: I've always liked California Fuchsia. It has these little red flowers, and soft green leaves, that look like they're brushed with frost. I try to take a sprig home with me when I find it.

FAVE SCENT: It'd have to be campfire smoke. Always reminds me of summer nights, and the smell of something good roasting over the coals. I also love the smell of oil--I'm sure it's not good for me, but it's familiar, and there's comfort in that.

COFFEE, TEA, HOT CHOCOLATE: Coffee for me, no milk or sugar, and preferably over a campfire.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: I try to get at least 8, but let's be honest, that's a goal and not a given.

DOG OR CAT PERSON: Dogs for me! Not that I don't like cats, but I've always grown up with dogs. I have two, Luna and Jiji (who's the size of a cat anyway, so I think he counts.)

DREAM TRIP: I'd love to go back to Colorado. We traveled through the area when I was younger, and I've always wanted to stay longer. Or further up the coast would be nice too. Anywhere with nature, or open spaces. The cities have always been a little too much.

FAVE FICTIONAL CHARACTER POET: I can't pick a single character (there's too many I like) so you get my favorite poet instad. I love Jack Kerouac--there's this passage--

“As I was hiking down the mountain with my pack I turned and knelt on the trail and said ‘Thank you, shack.’ Then I added ‘Blah,’ with a little grin, because I knew that shack and that mountain would understand what that meant, and turned and went on down the trail back to this world.”

I don't know what his world was like, but I wish I could have seen it. One with "beautiful blue sunshine sky" or "hundreds of miles of pure snow-covered rocks and virgin lakes and high timber".

NUMBER OF BLANKETS THEY SLEEP WITH: I sleep with one, if the dogs don't steal it in the middle of the night.

RANDOM FACT: I know how to fly a plane! Not a big one, but my mom taught me. She's...a little weird about it when you ask her where she learned, but people have their secrets, I guess.

---

Happy to talk again, if you ever feel like it. Sure you don't want a drink? I think I have a couple beers if you've got a while.

[the-occult-lounge]

January 25th is the first full moon after Yule and the New Year. According to The Old Farmer’s Almanac, the names for full moons come from a number of places, including Native American groups, colonial Americans or other traditional North American names passed down through generations. This moon is typically known as the Wolf Moon, believed to be derived from Celtic and Old English origins. So, why the Wolf Moon, mainly due to the fact that wolves tend to howl more often in the winter months.

Other Names for the Full Moon in January:

• Center Moon (Assiniboine)

• Cold Moon (Cree)

• Frost Exploding Moon (Cree)

• Great Moon (Cree)

• Freeze Up Moon (Algonquin)

• Severe Moon (Dakota)

• Hard Moon (Dakota)

• Canada Goose Moon (Tlingit)

• Greeting Moon (Western Abenaki)

• Spirit Moon (Ojibwe)

This year the Wolf Moon occurs in the sign of Leo. It is a powerful time to embrace your passions and let go of people or things you are not in tune with. During this full moon you should be able to find the areas within your life that need you focus, maybe take the time to do a tarot spread to ask what areas are lacking the attention they need. When doing the spread focus on the meanings that reach to your heart and not your mind, Leo energy often focuses on truths of the heart.

You may feel strong emotions pulling you in one direction, do not over think. Allow your emotions to guide you during this time, it may be a leap of faith but it is one that is needed. This road you travel may feel messy or illogical but hold strong and know that through chaos comes clarity. Leo teaches us to show up for ourselves with courage and strength. It reminds us that we can face anything within ourselves, not just the good, with love and compassion.

Take sometime to meditate over the next three days with a focus on listening to your heart, try to block out the mind during these moments (which can be difficult). Find a candle or incense that brings your heart joy. Listen to a soft song that calls to your heart. Set your intention out loud by saying something along the lines of "I block the thoughts that flow from my mind and allow the feelings to flow from my heart that I often push aside". Repeating this allows you a focal point to put your energy into during your meditation. Once the session is complete write EVERYTHING you felt down. Then over the next few days decipher why it was you felt these things.

Another action you can take during this full moon is bathing ritual to aide in self-love. Leo is perfect to bring out unconditional self-love. Take time to look at yourself in the mirror, do NOT focus on the things you see as negatives but say aloud each thing you find to be amazing about yourself, whether physical or mental. Then set up a shower or bath with some candles, a mesh bag of herbs that correlate to self-love (rose buds/petals, apple, lemon balm, marjoram, mint, etc), some soft meditatice music and allow the water to wash away the faults that you see in yourself. When you step out of the shower or bath be renewed and know that you are capable of so much more than what your mind allows you to believe.

[robertreich]

Big Midterm Victories That Give Me Hope For The Future

While it’s still too soon to know the full results of the midterms, there were some major victories on Tuesday night that spanned the entire country.

Numerous election denying candidates in key battleground states lost their races for both Secretary of State and Governor.

Abortion rights were protected in five states, minimum wage increases were approved by voters in Nebraska and Washington DC, collective bargaining rights were enshrined in the Illinois constitution, and Medicaid coverage was expanded to more than 40,000 people in South Dakota.

Control of state legislatures flipped to Democrats for the first time in years in Michigan and Minnesota — as well as in the Pennsylvania House. Maryland elected its first Black Governor – only the third Black governor elected in U.S. history. The first openly lesbian U.S. governor was elected in Massachusettes. New Hampshire elected the first trans man to a state legislature in U.S. history.

John Fetterman ran as a voice of the working class and flipped a U.S. Senate seat in Pennsylvania. Meanwhile, dozens of other progressive candidates defeated big monied interests to win elections to the U.S. House, including Maxwell Frost, the first Gen Z member of Congress.

Friends, regardless of the overall outcome of the midterms, have no doubt: progressives are the future.

Why else would election deniers, monied interests, and bigots be fighting so hard to defeat us?

For one simple reason: They’re terrified of our power.

America still has a long way to go. But it is far better and stronger now — more inclusive, more diverse, more dynamic — than it has ever been.

Remember this as we continue our work. The fight isn’t over — and it won’t get easier. But WE can win. Tuesday was proof.

[necroromantics]

🧺 — Laundry And Taxes

chapter 12. // (masterlist)

After a drawn out goodbye from his family, Toby had once again made his way back to his new home in North Dakota. He never stayed long in his childhood home, as if every time he set foot in that place, there was a scorching feeling within him that beckoned him to escape. On the way to the train station, he had stopped by an old antique store hidden in the recess of downtown Denver, a hidden gem it seemed only he knew about; his own corner of the world. In that little shop, Toby had spent his last trip savings on a small pocket watch for Natalie. He couldn’t seem to get the hands to move, but decided to tell her it was a deep metaphor for time, or something of the sorts.

The excitement of Christmas lingered, frost flushing the boys pale cheeks as he hurried through fields of snow, eager to arrive at his warm destination. The only ounce of color that painted the winter-blanketed countryside was Toby’s wild brown hair, which too had been dusted with falling snowflakes. As he ran up the creaky steps of the front porch, and fumbled with the house key, the boy could already feel the glow of the lit fireplace. He had hoped he left enough wood when he came back home, and to his luck, it seemed he did.

Natalie sat on the couch in the living room, leaning into the crackling flames, a sketchbook propped up on her raised knees. She turned her head up to look towards the noise of Toby walking into the room, and raised her eyebrow at him as he began to dig into his backpack.

“Here, I got you a little something on my way back,” He said as he pulled out a small box, and handed it to the girl who looked entirely indifferent, maybe uncomfortable.

“Hey, welcome back. And I thought we agreed on no gifts.”

“Yeah, well, I just saw it in passing and thought might as well. Don’t be a bitch Nat, just open it.”

Natalie rolled her eyes as she awkwardly dug her fingers under the lid of the box, and pulled it open. She stared down at the pocket watch for a moment as Toby eyed her blank expression. He thought he may have seen a hint of happiness in that typical glare of hers, or maybe it was disgust. The same type of look she’d always give him.

There was a tense silence for a moment before Natalie took the clock out of the box, and examined it closer, before putting it on the coffee table beside her and picking up her pencil once again.

“You really shouldn’t have wasted your money,” She said quietly as she avoided his gaze, continuing to work on whatever it was she had been drawing. Toby tried to choke back his anger, and took a seat next to her.

“I guess I shouldn’t have,” he sunk into his seat, “when’d you get back home?”

“Really early Christmas morning.”

“I got back to my mom’s place early. I think she was happy to see me, I scared the fuck out of Lyra though.” Toby smiled to himself as he sat himself up straight, and tried to lean over to see what Natalie had been working on, to which she turned her sketchbook further out of his view.

“But it was nice to see them regardless. It’s weird being able to visit my mom anytime I want, like actually go up and see her. And on Christmas I get to hangout with my sister, not just visit her gra-”

Toby trailed off with his words as they caught in his throat. He shook off the bubbling feeling he didn’t have a name for, and tried not to think of all the Christmases he had spent in the old world standing over his sister's grave, placing little trinkets he’d found down alongside flowers. Natalie glanced over at the boy, and noticed a strange type of sorrow settling itself on his face. A grief for something he hadn’t lost. A love for something that had only left him once.

“So you had a good time?” She asked.

“Oh yeah, great time. Last night was just spent with Lyra and I arguing over what movie to watch. Obviously I won, so we watched Die Hard. And apparently my mom was actually planning on surprising me by coming up here, but I got to her first.” Toby rambled on as a smile crept back onto his face. Though relieved at his returning excitement, Natalie couldn’t stop herself from ruthlessly beating down any feelings of envy for what her best friend had. Even in a world where nothing was wrong, her family was still a mess. She couldn’t seem to feel as happy as she should’ve been for him. There was only the sense that he was leaving her behind; that he was going where the grass was greener, while she was stuck with graveyard dirt and rot.

Natalie gripped her pencil a bit too tightly, and stood up.

“I’m going to go make a pot of coffee.”

Toby held a large bunch of freshly chopped firewood in his arms, his hatchet remaining in his free hand that draped around the wood. He dropped the lumber down onto the ground outside the backdoor, and took a deep breath in. He stared down mindlessly at the wood for a moment as the cold outside air danced around him. It was a chilly afternoon, and he could feel the frost build a home on his calloused hands. Toby continued to stare as time passed by him, slowly tightening his grip on his hatchet. The boy took another deep breath and the windchill overtook his tired lungs. He shook himself off, snapping himself back into the moment, and left to go back inside. Toby made his way into the bedroom, slowly opening the door so as to not wake his friend who had once again been sleeping in. Natalie had been sleeping so much that she was almost only awake for work, going back into her room as soon as she got home. The Christmas excitement had worn off, and had left them both miserable and bored. There was no more holiday cheer, only a cold, dead winter that surrounded them. Toby quietly closed the bedroom door after watching the sleeping girl for a moment, and sighed to himself.

Later that winter, Toby had begun to hunt animals as well, selling the meat to the local butcher shop which processed it for him. There was a rich population of deer and rabbits in the area, and Toby bought himself a shotgun off of Hank, the owner of the bar Natalie had been working at. The boy would often make the impulsive decision to leave the gun at home; he enjoyed the thrill of the chase when he used a close-range weapon like his hatchet. He always pushed his body to run as fast as it could to catch up to the prey. And a sick satisfaction that added to it when he finally caught it, holding the squirming animal down to cut its head off in one quick swing. To him, that was what made hunting so fun. To him, that was what he was built for.

He would often stay out late at night in that forest. Natalie never bothered to ask what he was always up to in his midnight lonesome. Toby would typically come home to find her fast asleep, or on some nights, still awake in that quiet farmhouse watching cable TV. When she saw how blue his hands had become, how red his cheeks, she would scold him for nearly getting frostbite, and Toby would brush her off as he crept up close to warm himself by the fireplace.

The afternoon sun glistened off the snowy fields as Natalie stared out of the kitchen window, a warm cup of coffee held in her hands, her eyes heavy with residue from her long sleep. She took a long sip before turning around and heading into the livingroom where Toby laid, lifting his head up to look at the girl entering the room, dropping it back down as he caught a glance.

“My mom called me again the other night,” he said.

“What’d she say?”

��I dunno, I didn’t pick up. I have a hard time talking to her.”

Natalie looked down at the boy sprawled out on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

“Before all of that proxy bullshit happened, I was only her son. I keep forgetting that.” He sighed to himself as he sat up, bringing himself to his feet.

“I’ll go call her back.”

Toby pushed past the girl as she stared at him with an awkward sort of sympathy. There was a part of her that still wished she too could be lucky enough to be able to call her mother. There was a strange feeling that Natalie only lived in Toby’s shadows. That he had the luxury of family, connection, life, while she only had her morning cup of coffee that she held in her charcoal stained fingertips.

Once Toby had finished with the call his mother kept dragging out, Natalie suggested they go for another one of their walks around the forest near their house. She noticed that Toby would always have something new to share with her about the area. Some strange facts about the trees he cut down, some casual stories of a random happening. He always had something to talk about, and she always had time to listen. It had gotten dark out early into the evening, as the nights typically did that long winter. The two strolled down into the abyss that engulfed the gravel roads near the decaying farmhouse they lived in, heading towards the lights of the town in the distance. The birds had all flown south, and no deer dared to cross their path. It was another quiet night, only the sound of the pairs passing laughter and chatting filled the chilly winter air in the dead darkness.

“You seriously broke the hands?” Natalie said, holding the pocket watch Toby had gifted her in her palm. She had made it a habit to carry it around with her everywhere.

“I didn’t break them! I just couldn’t get them to work,” He replied, throwing up his hands in defense as they walked down the desolate streets of the town, only a few flickering street lamps lit up the dark roads.

“You told me it was a metaphor for time.”

“I lied.”

Natalie laughed as she collided her body into the boy's side. Toby smiled back and snaked his hand around her waist as they walked around aimlessly together. Though her heart was as cold as her hands, as dead as the winter roads the two walked through, she liked him. She liked him to ruin, to ash. And he liked her with a warmth greater than the fire between them. They could’ve burnt that town to the ground if they wanted.

It seemed that through all the suffocation and massacre of the wintertime, the two still found solace in each other. Partners in crime. As they walked in the dark, there was a remaining memory of all the things they had done together. All the blood they shed, all the things they stole, everything they tore apart. It was them against the world, they were both far too stubborn to let the mutual destruction go. Toby wondered who else could stomach them, and not choke them back up. Who else could see that girl in all of her wild insanity, her sharp gnashing teeth, her ruthless tongue, and not run for the hills. Who else could fight with each other, and for each other, as mercilessly as they did.

Through the sound of their banter, teasing, and rough laughter, there was a harmonizing symphony of something breaking, like glass, or a window pane, that screeched through the open air. The two stopped in their tracks, standing silently in the dead of night, glancing around the lifeless neighborhood for any signs of movement. Suddenly, they heard a scream, and a loud bang of a gun, and then silence again. Toby quickly ran towards the noise, watching as a man wearing a face mask scrambled frantically out of the house and down the streets, past the boy. Natalie rushed after Toby as he bolted up to the shattered window and peered in. The only thing he saw was a woman on her knees, wailing over the body of her dead child. The snow fell gently down onto the ground below his feet, the boy stood frozen, stuck in place, looking into the window of that dark house. Through shallow, shaky breaths, he inhaled the stench of blood and death. The world stopped for a moment, the cries and pleads from that mother were so loud, so guttural, it almost strangled him, and that murder wasn’t his burden to carry this time.

“Toby we need to get out of here,” Natalie whispered harshly at the dazed boy, the sound of approaching sirens mixing with the screaming sobs coming from within the house. As soon as the girl grabbed the boy's hand, he quickly snapped back into the world, and turned to face Natalie before she began to pull him away from the window, running through the icy streets.

They ran as fast as they could, back through the quiet abyss, down the gravel roads, up the creaky front porch steps, into the warm farmhouse. There was no laughter, no cheers of victories that they had escaped the police. Only the sound of panting as they desperately chased after their breaths. Natalie looked up at Toby, who looked to the floor as he breathed heavily. She calmed herself before he did, there was a contorted look on his face, as if he was about to vomit.

“Toby?”

Toby snapped his head up towards Natalie, and shook his head, brushing her concern off and walking towards their bedroom. She followed after him and watched as he took off his sweater, shirt, then socks, and climbed into bed without another word. Natalie silently flicked off the light, the cold air still burning in her lungs, and laid herself down next to him. The warmth from his body heated her icy hands as she pressed up against his back which was turned towards her. Natalie closed her eyes and tried to drift off to sleep, listening to the quick breathing from the boy next to her. It seemed he still hadn’t caught his breath.

That night, Toby dreamt he was walking alone under the early morning sky, barely dawn, only the birds were awake. He had blood on his hands, a gash in his cheek, goggles around his neck. He gripped his hatchet in his hand as he walked past a playground, and noticed a little girl alone, playing on the monkey bars. Toby kicked the dirt with his mud-crusted and blood-stained sneakers as he hoped she wouldn’t scream at his crimson soaked appearance. Then, he noticed how empty the area was, how quiet. And he noticed the girl was now standing in front of him.

“Where are your parents?” He asked, irritated.

“I don’t know, they leave me here.”

“They leave you here alone?”

“Mhm. A man took me from my momma and he leaves me here sometimes.”

Toby stared down at the little girl who couldn’t have been more than 7 years old. He furrowed his brow with annoyance, and brushed her off, walking past her and into the forest that surrounded the park. He didn’t look back as he left that little girl there alone. He had better things to waste his time on.

The boy fluttered his eyes awake, the night skies still darkening the room. Natalie slept beside him, occasionally muttering to herself. Toby felt a deep, soiled sort of feeling in his chest. Like he had just swallowed mud, or buried a body. He pulled himself up out of bed, and walked sluggishly through the dark, down the hall, and into the bathroom. Toby rubbed his eyes, and leaned over the sink, spitting down the drain to remove the sour taste in his mouth. His hands gripped the edges as he held his weak body up, spitting again, and glanced up into the mirror. He stared at himself for a moment. He looked at the circles under his eyes, and how they’d gotten darker since when he had first come to the new world. He looked at his young face, still only a seventeen year old boy. He looked at how his scars were no longer there, how the gash in his cheek was still gone. Toby had avoided mirrors for so long, he almost forgot how strange he looked. Everything in that reflection looked like a rotten mutt, like he was looking at the decomposing body of a man who knew he wasn’t going to see the pearly gates when he died.

It made him sick. And that sickness crawled its way up from his gut, and into his throat. He gagged for a moment, glancing away from the mirror, and spat into the sink once again. Then, Toby began to throw up. There wasn’t much to remove itself from his stomach, but he retched, and he spat, and he choked. Toby felt as though something horrible was about to happen, like maybe against all odds, he’d finally collapse and die in that bathroom. And like he did back on the floor of his childhood home, he half-wished he would.

Toby wiped his mouth and rinsed his hands off before heading back into bed. He made sure to not touch his body up against Natalie’s as she slept. He made sure to keep that distance between them. And though he tried, Toby couldn’t seem to fall back asleep. He listened to the sound of the old bell alarm clock Natalie had bought tick away, creating a gentle ambiance that cradled him. It reminded the boy of the times he’d fall asleep with her back in the old world. Under trees by a dim campfire, in old abandoned cabins, on torn up mattresses. Toby always had struggles sleeping, there was always something to consider before he gave himself the right to rest. Was his father up late drinking? Did he have a job to do? Were there any dangers? Did he reinforce the door? Was he given orders? Had he done something terrible?

Countless nights afterwards, Natalie would wake up to find Toby shaken, trying to find God in the bathroom light, trying to wash something off his fingers. Sometimes, he would scrub so hard he would bleed, and that red was only confirmation to his beliefs that his hands were still stained. In his reckless mind, he would never escape what he was, what he’d done.

“Toby, come back to bed,” the girl groaned through a tired voice, shaking the sleepiness off of her heavy body as she made her way to the boy's side. Her hands gripped his, in a tender telling that everything was fine. She pulled him with her back into the bedroom, and the two sat together on the mattress, a gentle creak giving way under their weight. The girl nudged his body with her arm as a form of tough intimacy. Natalie never knew how to express herself besides roughness. Toby knew this, and let her show herself to him in her entirety. It worked out well for the both of them that he couldn’t feel pain. But to him, as long as it was her, it wouldn’t have mattered either way.

“You shouldn’t let it get to you, you know. It’s not like you’ve done anything bad here besides steal a few things, and who gives a shit about that?” Natalie said as she leaned into Toby.

“Yeah, I know. I just keep having weird dreams.”

“About what?”

“Killing people, I guess.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that, it’s just a dream.”

“It feels more like a memory.” Toby looked down at his hands which had been scrubbed to the bone, pieces of skin flaking off, bleeding from his nails and the cracks in his fingers. Even when he washed, the blood didn’t come off.

“Yeah, Toby, you’ve killed people. I have too. But damn we’re lucky we get a clean slate. All of those people you hurt are probably still alive and well in this world.”

“That doesn’t matter Nat, it doesn’t change anything. At some place, at some time, I killed people, and now it’s all gone like it was for nothing.” Toby swallowed and breathed in the darkness surrounding them.

“I killed people for no reason at all. All of that shit was for nothing. You- You think I wanted any of that? You think I wanted to be stuck in that fucking place, doing all those things just to survive?”

“I know-”

“No! Nat, you don’t know shit. All the fighting and screaming and blood. All the losing time, losing my fucking mind, losing everything. And for what? I was supposed to die in that forest fire, I never asked to be saved” Toby raised his voice into a shout as he stood up. Natalie looked up at him as Toby ran his hand over his mouth, shaking his head as he tried to calm himself down.

“I’m just really tired, Nat.” His voice cracked as he spoke quietly. Natalie reached over and grabbed his hand, pulling him down into her. She leaned back as the boy pressed his body on top of hers.

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault. I know you never wanted it to be this way. Neither did I,” she hushed as she ran her fingers through his hair. Toby sniffled to himself in the dark silence of the room. Natalie dragged her hand down his spine, rubbing his back as she quietly hummed the tune of ‘you are my sunshine’; something her mother used to do with her when she was young. It was almost like an undressing of the soul, a symphony of the past that assured the angry boy the world is better with him in it. Toby buried his face into the nape of her neck and breathed in.

“I don’t want all of that to be for nothing. I never became anything great after it all. I didn’t get stronger, or better. I’m seventeen again and the only thing that changed is that I just suffered more.” He whispered in a low confession. Natalie ran her hand over his back, over where the Slender Symbol was once branded into his right back shoulder blade.

“You’re a dumbass.” She whispered back.

Toby stood silently in the midst of the forest on a quiet January morning, a shotgun in his hand. He aimed it at a deer who was staring back at him, neither of them looked away. Toby placed his finger on the trigger, a perfect shot. The deer remained still, as still as the trees, as the wind, as the snow, as the boy's finger lightly tapping the gun. Toby felt a dizziness take over him as he continued to stare at the animal across from him, his hands trembling. A wave of sickness choked him as he dropped the shotgun, the sudden motion startling the deer which quickly ran off.

The boy began to feel his body get weak, and his chest get tight. The world around him was spinning. He assumed The Slenderman was punishing him for disobeying again. He knew he should’ve been strong enough to pull that trigger. Toby collapsed to his knees as he tried to catch his escaping breath, his hand pressing against his chest as his heart beat faster and faster. He heard the snapping of a branch across the woods, and he quickly looked up to see the deer once again standing distanced from him. Toby glared at the animal.

“I already let you go, so fuck off,” he yelled out. The deer didn’t move.

“What? You want me to kill you? I’ll blow your fucking brains out, go already you dumbass!” And still, the deer didn’t move. Toby sat on his knees for a moment, his hand resting on the shotgun beside him, and stared back at the animal. He took in the world around him. The soft warmth of the morning sun, the white glistening snow, the curious deer, the naked tree branches winding up into the blue skies overhead. There was something so unfamiliar about it all. The dangerous knowledge that there was no command from central, that there was no need to kill. For once in his wartorn life, the soldier boy was given a choice. And for once in his life, the ruthless boy gave mercy.

“You’re not worth my time,” he scoffed as he stood up, taking the shotgun with him as he walked back home.

[maples-helping-paws]

names recs for a frostpaw fictive!

lumi, crystal, eira, elsa, alba, alaska, snow, carol, frost, ivory, edurne, winter, tundra, aspen, robin, atlas, blake, dakota, bora, juniper, north

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