#enthusiastic sobriety

[2b4st4r]

lookkkkk what if Shanks accidentally showed his very clingy side with reader infront of his crew? I mean shanks would probably be the type who wouldn’t mind to display public affection but maybe he was just too drunk and starts acting clingy in a way(or maybe different types of actions)that the crew would not expect?

hopefully this could give you some ideas!!<33

The Red-Haired Pirates Love

Shanks x reader

Words: 4,794

Warnings: alcohol consumption, vomiting, mild language, threat of violence, and caregiving themes.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The gentle rocking of the Red Force was a familiar lullaby, one you’d grown accustomed to over your years with the Red-Haired Pirates. It was a life of salty air, boisterous laughter, and an unspoken understanding that wove through the crew like the threads of a well-worn sail. And at the heart of that understanding, for you, was Shanks.

You never needed to announce it. There were no grand declarations, no whispered confessions overheard by nosy crewmates. Instead, your relationship with Shanks was etched into the very fabric of daily life aboard the ship. It was in the way his hand would subtly find the small of your back during a heated discussion, a quiet anchor in the midst of the chaos. It was in the almost imperceptible press of his lips to your forehead when he thought no one was looking, or the soft brush against your cheek that felt more intimate than any passionate kiss. These weren't constant displays of affection, but rather fleeting moments, stolen glances, and quiet touches that spoke volumes. The crew had seen it all—the way he’d pull you a fraction closer when you were standing side-by-side on deck, his fingers lightly grazing your arm, or the almost absentminded way he’d press his lips to yours, a soft, comfortable gesture that meant more than any word.

And then there were the conversations. "Oh! That reminds me of when you wake up," Shanks might chuckle, a wide grin spreading across his face as he recounted a particularly chaotic morning escapade involving Benn Beckman and a misplaced map. The crew would glance between the two of you, a knowing glint in their eyes, before turning back to their drinks. Or perhaps you'd be admiring a particularly vibrant sunset, a rare moment of quiet contemplation, and find yourself saying, "Shanks would love that," knowing full well the kind of joy such a simple beauty would bring him. It wasn't just your words; it was the way you’d both speak of each other, not as separate entities, but as intertwined halves of a whole. Everyone saw it, everyone felt it. You were Shanks's, and he was yours, in a way that needed no formal title or public display. The crew just knew.

The night was a symphony of celebration, the red haired pirates alive with the raucous joy of the crew. Sake flowed like a river, laughter boomed, and the aroma of roasted meat mingled with the salty sea air. You, however, were an island of sobriety in the boisterous sea. Your glass remained untouched, a silent sentinel beside you. You knew all too well the consequences of Shanks's enthusiastic drinking—a charming, albeit headache-inducing, whirlwind of a man who would need your care later, and even more so in the harsh light of morning.

Your gaze, seemingly casual, drifted towards him every few moments. He was a vibrant blur in the center of the revelry, bottle after bottle disappearing down his throat with alarming speed, his booming laugh easily cutting through the din.

"And so I told Yasopp," Benn Beckman rumbled, a thoughtful puff of smoke curling from his cigarette. You were supposedly discussing the finer points of long-range marksmanship and the surprising resilience of certain sea kings. "A true sharpshooter relies on instinct, not just aim. A calculated risk, you understand?"

"Mhm," you murmured, your eyes flickering back to Shanks just as he clinked bottles with Lucky Roo, a spray of sake arcing into the air. He was already leaning heavily on Yasopp, his arm slung around the sniper's shoulders.

Benn’s observant gaze followed yours. He took another slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing like a tiny ember in the dim light. "He's certainly... in his element tonight," he drawled, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Worried about the hangover, are we?" It wasn't a question, more an acknowledgement of the unspoken duty you always took upon yourself.

You let out a soft laugh, a small, knowing sound that was almost lost in the din of the celebration. You brought a hand up to your temple, pressing your fingertips against your forehead as if already warding off the phantom headache that would undoubtedly be yours tomorrow. "You know it, Benn," you sighed, shaking your head good-naturedly. "He'll be a complete mess. Demanding hot towels, complaining about the light, probably swearing off sake until the next port." You glanced at Shanks again, who was now attempting to dance a jig with a rather bewildered Rockstar, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Someone's got to keep him from sailing us into a storm cloud, right?"

Benn took another slow drag of his cigarette, his eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, softening just a touch as he watched you. "It’s a tough job," he finally said, his voice a low rumble, "but someone’s gotta do it." He paused, a flicker of something akin to admiration in his gaze. "He’s lucky to have you, you know. Most people would have thrown him overboard by now, especially after a night like this." He chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "He’d probably still be smiling, mind you, even as the sharks circled."

He extinguished his cigarette butt in a nearby ashtray, the faint hiss swallowed by the surrounding merriment. "It's more than just the hangovers, though, isn't it?" Benn mused, his gaze drifting towards Shanks, who was now attempting to lead a singalong, albeit off-key. "You keep him grounded. He flies so high, he needs someone to remind him where the deck is." He looked back at you, a knowing glint in his eye. "He trusts you. More than anyone else, I reckon."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, a quiet acknowledgment of the unspoken bond you shared with the boisterous captain. It was true. You were his anchor, and he, in turn, was your unwavering compass. You wouldn't have it any other way. Even if it meant another morning spent coaxing him out of bed with strong coffee and a steady hand.

Both you and Benn watched Shanks for a few moments, a brief lull in your conversation as the captain continued his boisterous revelry. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Shanks suddenly stilled. The wide grin faltered, replaced by an ill, greenish tinge that spread across his face. His eyes widened slightly before he bolted, a desperate dash to the edge of the ship. He leaned over, a retching sound tearing from his throat as everything he'd consumed that day, and likely much of the day before, violently exited his stomach.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Shanks," you muttered, already moving. You were there in an instant, pulling his long, red hair back from his face with one hand while the other rubbed soothing circles on his shaking back. "Rough night, huh, Captain? Just get it all out." Your voice was soft, laced with a familiar blend of exasperation and concern. "You’re going to hate yourself in the morning, you know that?"

The crew, who moments before had been roaring with laughter and song, fell into an abrupt, almost comical silence. Lucky Roo paused mid-bite, his drumstick still in his mouth. Yasopp lowered his tankard slowly, his eyes wide. Even Rockstar, who had been tangled in Shanks’s ill-fated dance, seemed to freeze in place. They knew this routine. It was a common, albeit pungent, side effect of their captain's boundless enthusiasm for sake. A few of the more seasoned members merely sighed, shaking their heads in a mixture of pity and amusement. Others, younger and less accustomed to Shanks's dramatic exits, exchanged wide-eyed glances, trying to stifle their snickers. Benn Beckman simply watched, a faint smirk playing on his lips, as if to say, told you so.

Shanks heaved a few more times, his shoulders shaking with the effort. Finally, he straightened up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A slow, almost triumphant smile spread across his face, completely oblivious to the green tinge that still lingered on his cheeks.

"Alright, that's enough of that!" he declared, his voice a little hoarse but already regaining its usual booming quality. He pushed off the railing, swaying slightly. "Now, where were we? The party's still going, isn't it?" He looked around at the still-stunned crew, who were slowly beginning to resume their previous activities, albeit with a new, cautious energy.

You let out a long, slow sigh, a mix of exasperation and profound affection. You were just about to scold him, perhaps suggest he consider a glass of water, when his eyes, still a little glazed from the alcohol and the recent exertion, met yours. A slow, impossibly cheeky grin stretched across his lips, the kind that always managed to disarm you, even when you were at your most annoyed. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Shanks's eyes, previously a swirling mess of drunken cheer, suddenly sharpened, focusing entirely on you. The cheeky grin softened into something profoundly tender, a look you knew intimately but one the rest of the crew rarely, if ever, witnessed. He took a wobbly step towards you, then another, until he was standing just inches away. His hand, warm and calloused, reached out, not to steady himself, but to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed softly over your skin, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

"There you are," he murmured, his voice surprisingly low and clear, completely devoid of the earlier slurring. "My anchor." His gaze held yours, deep and unwavering, filled with an affection so potent it felt like a physical presence. "Always there to pick up after my messes, aren't you?" He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. "What would I do without you, my love?" he whispered, a hint of genuine vulnerability in his tone that made your heart clench.

A hush fell over the ship, deeper than before. The last vestiges of drunken chatter died out. Every single member of the Red-Haired Pirates, from the usually oblivious Lucky Roo to the ever-stoic Benn Beckman, was frozen, eyes wide, staring at the intimate scene unfolding before them. This wasn't the subtle touch or the knowing glance they were used to. This was raw, open affection, a side of their captain they had never witnessed. Shanks, the boisterous, carefree emperor, was openly displaying a profound, loving devotion to you. It was a sight that would be etched into their memories, a testament to the quiet, powerful love that bloomed between their captain and the woman who was his world.

Shanks, still with that uncharacteristic tenderness in his eyes, didn't just lean away. Instead, he tightened his grip on your cheek, his thumb continuing its gentle caress. Then, in a move that startled even you, he pulled you closer, wrapping his other arm around your waist and effectively pinning you against his chest. His head dipped, resting on your shoulder, and you could feel the soft brush of his hair against your neck.

"Don't leave," he mumbled, his voice a low, rumbling vibration against your ear. It wasn't a demand, but a plea, thick with drunken sentimentality. He tightened his embrace, pressing his face into your hair, inhaling deeply. "You smell like… home."

He nuzzled closer, a happy, almost childlike sigh escaping his lips. His grip became even more possessive, as if he feared you might vanish if he loosened his hold even a fraction. He swayed slightly, and you had to brace yourself, hands coming up to his back to keep both of you steady.

The crew remained utterly silent, their gazes glued to the scene. This was beyond anything they had ever witnessed. Their fierce, independent captain, reduced to a clingy, affectionate mess in your arms, openly showing a vulnerability that was startling. Lucky Roo nearly dropped his drumstick, and Yasopp’s jaw hung slightly agape. Benn Beckman, for the first time in a long time, looked genuinely surprised, a flicker of bewildered amusement dancing in his usually unreadable eyes.

You were, for a few long seconds, utterly frozen. Not from discomfort, but from sheer surprise. This level of overt affection, especially in front of the entire crew, was unprecedented. Your mind raced, caught between the instinct to gently push him away and the overwhelming warmth that spread through you at his desperate clinginess.

Then, as his head settled more firmly on your shoulder and his mumbled words of "home" echoed in your ear, you relaxed. A soft sigh escaped your lips, and your hands, which had been hovering uncertainly, finally settled on his broad back. You began to rub gentle circles, a familiar, soothing gesture. He was heavy against you, his familiar scent of sea salt, sake, and something uniquely him filling your senses. You leaned into his embrace, letting yourself be enveloped by his unusual neediness.

"You're impossibly drunk, you know that?" you murmured, the words soft against his hair. A small, knowing smile played on your lips. It wasn't a question, more an observation laced with boundless affection. "Absolutely, hopelessly drunk, Captain."

Shanks mumbled a soft, "I know," his voice muffled against your shoulder. He pushed his face further into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing a series of warm, lingering kisses there. Each touch was soft, tender, and deeply affectionate, a stark contrast to his usual boisterous demeanor. You felt a shiver ripple through you, a pleasant warmth spreading from where his lips met your skin.

Then, he slowly lifted his head, his eyes, still a little unfocused but now with a sharp glint, sweeping over the astonished faces of his crew. His arms, which had been wrapped around your waist, tightened possessively, pulling you even closer until there was no space between you.

"What are you all looking at?" he demanded, his voice suddenly back to its familiar roar, though it held an edge of something new—a possessive challenge. A wide, almost feral grin spread across his face, daring anyone to comment. The crew, who had been gawking openly, flinched back, some quickly averting their gazes, others pretending to be deeply engrossed in their drinks. The silence that had fallen over the Red Force moments ago transformed into a palpable tension, thick with unspoken questions and newfound understanding.

You could feel the heat radiating from Shanks, both from his body pressed against yours and the sheer intensity of his gaze on the crew. It was a clear warning, a declaration of ownership that made your cheeks flush. Yet, despite the public display, you couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth. This drunken, clingy Shanks was surprisingly endearing.

"They're just surprised, Shanks," you murmured, patting his arm. His embrace, however, only tightened.

He grunted, still glaring at his stunned crew. "Well, they shouldn't be. You're mine," he declared, his voice booming across the ship, leaving no room for misinterpretation. He then buried his face in your hair again, letting out a contented sigh. "My lovely, beautiful Y/N."

The crew, having taken their cue, quickly scattered or found something intensely interesting to stare at in the opposite direction. The previous boisterous party atmosphere slowly began to filter back in, but now with an undercurrent of new understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the captain's unspoken, yet now very much spoken, relationship.

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips. "Yes, yes, I'm yours. Now, how about we get you to bed before you decide to declare war on the moon?" You tried to gently extract yourself from his grasp, but he held firm, a stubborn weight against you.

"No, stay," he whined, sounding remarkably like a giant, affectionate child. He pulled back slightly, his eyes half-lidded, and leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It was a slow, tender kiss, full of the kind of unspoken devotion that had always existed between you two, now laid bare for all to see.

When he finally pulled away, a triumphant, if still very drunk, smile played on his lips. "See? Much better than dancing with Rockstar."

You rolled your eyes, a smile of your own blooming across your face. "Come on, you big oaf," you said, finally managing to guide him away from the railing and towards the captain's quarters. "Let's get you cleaned up. And tomorrow, you're getting a very strong talking-to about your alcohol intake."

Shanks just chuckled, leaning heavily on you as you steered him through the lingering festivities. "Anything for you, my love," he slurred, before promptly tripping over his own feet, nearly taking you both down. You braced him, a familiar rhythm of support and unwavering affection that had always defined your life with the Red-Haired Pirates, and with him.

Navigating the bustling, still-celebrating deck with a half-conscious, overly affectionate Shanks was a familiar challenge. You chuckled softly as he mumbled about forgotten treasures and the bravery of seagulls, his weight a comfortable burden against your side. Finally, with a surprising amount of effort and a few gentle shoves, you managed to get him through the door of the captain's quarters.

The cabin was dimly lit, the only light filtering in from the single porthole, casting shifting shadows on the familiar maps and discarded coats. You maneuvered him towards the large, comfortable bed, his momentum almost toppling you both onto the soft mattress. He collapsed onto it with a contented groan, sprawling out like a starfish.

You sighed, but it was a soft, fond sound. You pulled off his boots, then his coat, tossing them onto a nearby chair. His movements were slow and sluggish now, the last vestiges of adrenaline giving way to the heavy pull of sleep. He shifted, reaching out a hand, blindly searching for you.

"Y/N?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"I'm here, Shanks," you replied, gently pushing his unruly red hair back from his forehead. You slipped off your own clothes, leaving them in a neat pile. The cabin air was cool, a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded deck.

When you slid under the covers beside him, the mattress dipping with your weight, he immediately shifted, rolling onto his side to face you. His arm snaked out, pulling you close, tucking your head under his chin. His breath, smelling faintly of sake, ghosted over your hair. He pressed a soft, sleepy kiss to your temple.

"Stay," he whispered, his voice barely audible now. It was a primal request, born of deep comfort and a profound sense of belonging.

You nestled deeper into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your back. The rhythmic creak of the ship, the distant muffled sounds of the lingering party, all faded into a soothing background hum. You closed your eyes, a peaceful smile on your lips. Being here, with him, was exactly where you were meant to be. Drunk or sober, boisterous or tender, he was your home, and you were his. And as sleep claimed you both, you knew, with absolute certainty, that tomorrow, even with the inevitable hangover, would begin exactly where today left off: in the quiet, comforting embrace of your shared world.

The first rays of morning sunlight, usually a welcome sight, felt like daggers against your eyelids. You stirred, a familiar ache thrumming behind your eyes, a ghost of Shanks's impending hangover. He was still dead to the world, a heavy, warm weight beside you. His arm was still slung possessively around your waist, his head buried in your hair, his breathing deep and even. He looked utterly peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaotic, vibrant man he usually was, and certainly a marked difference from the drunken mess he'd been mere hours ago.

You carefully extracted yourself from his grip, a feat that usually required a surprising amount of stealth. He mumbled in his sleep, a soft, indistinct sound, but didn't wake. After slipping out of bed, you pulled a loose shirt on and padded quietly around the cabin, gathering the strewn clothes from the night before. His boots lay haphazardly by the door, his coat draped over a chair like a fallen hero. The faint scent of stale sake still clung to the air, a testament to the previous night's revelry.

You glanced back at him, a fond smile touching your lips. He was completely oblivious, sprawled across the bed, one leg dangling off the side. You knew what the morning would bring: the groans, the complaints about the light, the desperate pleas for water and strong coffee. But for now, in this quiet, peaceful morning, he was just Shanks, your captain, your lover, lost in a deep, well-deserved sleep.

You slipped out of the cabin, closing the door softly behind you. The deck was still mostly deserted, a few early risers already tending to their duties, their movements quiet and purposeful. The fresh morning air was a welcome contrast to the stale warmth of the cabin, and you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable chaos of a pirate ship waking up.

Your first stop was the galley. You pushed open the heavy wooden door, the familiar scent of simmering stew and fresh bread washing over you. Yasopp was already there, perched on a stool, nursing a steaming mug of coffee. He looked surprisingly spry for someone who'd been partying just hours ago. He glanced up as you entered, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Captain's personal nursemaid," he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Rough night, huh? Sounded like our captain had a real good time." He leaned back, taking a sip of his coffee, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Though, I gotta say, never seen him quite so... open about his affections before. Quite the show for the crew."

You rolled your eyes, heading straight for the pantry to grab some crackers and then to the water barrel. "Oh, hush, Yasopp. He was drunk off his skull. You know how he gets." You filled a tankard with cool water and found a small pouch of painkillers in the medical kit usually kept in the galley.

"Drunk, maybe," Yasopp conceded, "but that didn't stop him from practically stapling himself to you, did it? And that little speech about you being 'his'..." He let out a low whistle. "Pretty sure the entire Grand Line heard that one." He leaned forward, his grin widening. "So, when's the wedding?"

You threw a cracker at him, which he expertly caught mid-air with a laugh. "You're lucky I'm too tired to chase you around the ship right now, Yasopp. Just get back to your duties before Benn finds you loafing around." You hoisted the tray with the water, crackers, and painkillers, ready to make your escape back to the cabin and your very hungover captain. "Some of us actually have a job to do."

Just as you were about to make your escape, the galley door swung open again, and in strode Benn Beckman, a fresh cigarette already lit and dangling from his lips. He took one look at Yasopp, then at you with the tray, and a faint smirk played on his usually stoic face.

"Morning, Y/N," he rumbled, his voice low and even, a sharp contrast to Yasopp's boisterous teasing. "Looks like you're already earning your keep this morning." He paused, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. "Captain giving you trouble?"

"Just the usual," you mumbled, a flush creeping up your neck. You knew there was no escaping the crew's observations.

Yasopp snickered. "She's just mad because I called her the Captain's nursemaid, Benn. And asked about the wedding."

Benn raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Wedding, huh? Well, after last night's performance, I'd say it's about time. He certainly made his intentions clear." He glanced at the crackers on your tray. "Crackers, though? For him?"

You sighed. "It's all I could grab quickly. He's still dead to the world, and I just want to get him something before he starts demanding it."

Benn shook his head slowly. "He'll want toast. Thick, buttery toast. Always does after a night like that." He gave you a look that said, you know this.

"Crap," you muttered under your breath, realizing he was absolutely right. Shanks loved toast. You knew this. You just hadn't thought of it in your sleepy rush. Turning on your heel, you marched back to the counter where the bread was kept, already pulling out slices. "Alright, fine, toast it is. Happy now?" you grumbled, half to yourself and half to the two grinning pirates behind you.

"Just make sure it's nice and toasted, Y/N," Yasopp called out, still chuckling. "He likes it practically burnt sometimes, remember?"

"Oh, I remember!" you shot back, already sliding the bread into the galley's well-used toaster. "I remember a lot of things about him that I'm sure he'll regret remembering himself later today." You grabbed a butter knife, intending to spread butter on the eventual toast.

"And make sure you slather that butter on," Benn added, a smirk playing on his lips. "He needs his sustenance after such a… vigorous night."

"You two are absolutely insufferable," you muttered, turning to face them, the butter knife pointed playfully in their direction. "One more word, and this butter knife is going to find a new home in your respective eyeballs."

Just as the words left your mouth, the galley door creaked open. In a flash, a pair of hands were around you, pulling you back against a familiar, warm chest. You tensed, ready to fight, but then a low groan rumbled against your ear, and the scent of stale sake and Shanks's unique musk filled your nostrils.

"My head," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep and a burgeoning hangover. He buried his face in your hair. "And you shouldn't threaten the crew, Y/N. They're good lads." His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you closer still, his chin resting on your shoulder. The butter knife still clutched in your hand felt suddenly ridiculous.

Yasopp burst into outright laughter, quickly joined by Benn's deeper snicker. You felt a mortified flush creep up your neck, heat spreading to your ears. Shanks, oblivious in his hungover haze, simply tightened his grip, burrowing his face further into your neck.

The toaster dinged, signaling the readiness of the toast. You carefully twisted within Shanks's embrace, his grip surprisingly pliant when you moved with purpose. You managed to butter a thick slice, the rich aroma filling the galley. Turning back to him, you held the toast up to his face.

"Here," you said softly, pushing a piece into his mouth.

He grumbled around the mouthful, his eyes still closed. "Not hungry."

"I know, baby," you replied, your voice gentle but firm. "But you can't take painkillers on an empty stomach, or you'll feel even worse." You waited patiently as he slowly chewed, the motion of his jaw a silent testament to his reluctance.

Once he had swallowed, you handed him the tankard of water. He took a long, grateful gulp. Then, you offered him the painkillers. He swallowed them without complaint, still leaning heavily against you, his familiar weight a comforting presence despite the morning's chaos.

With the painkillers swallowed, Shanks finally let out a long, shuddering sigh, the worst of the immediate nausea seemingly abating. He sagged against you, a dead weight, but his grip remained stubbornly firm.

"Better?" you asked, gently rubbing his back.

He nodded, a barely perceptible movement against your hair. "Still feels like a sea king's trying to dance on my brain."

Yasopp and Benn, who had been quietly observing the entire exchange, exchanged a glance. Yasopp cleared his throat. "Alright, Captain, glad to see you're still in one piece. We'll, uh, leave you to it." He winked at you, a mischievous glint in his eye, before he and Benn discreetly exited the galley, leaving you and Shanks alone.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "They'll never let you live this down, you know."

Shanks just grumbled, burying his face deeper into your neck. "Worth it," he mumbled, his voice already drifting. He shifted, his body relaxing against yours as the painkillers began to take effect. You could feel him sinking back into a lighter sleep, the heavy weight of his hangover beginning to lift. You stood there for a few more moments, cradling him, the quiet hum of the ship your only company. It was a familiar comfort, this dance of chaos and calm, of boisterous adventures and tender mornings. With Shanks, it was always an unpredictable journey, but one you wouldn't trade for anything.

[lazysoulwriter]

protective love. - pedro pascal.

It was supposed to be a fun night, just a casual hangout with friends from the industry. Drinks flowed, laughter filled the air, and everything was lighthearted. But you? You were a little more than tipsy. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the atmosphere, or maybe it was just the warmth of the night. Whatever it was, you didn’t notice how much attention you were drawing, especially from one person.

Pedro, ever the calm and collected one, had barely touched his drink. He was the responsible one, the designated driver. But even with that extra level of sobriety, he could feel something was off as soon as he stepped into the bar. You were stunning, obviously, but tonight, you were wearing that dress. The one with the daring neckline and slit that reached up to your thigh. And as much as he hated to admit it, he knew all eyes were on you—particularly from one guy, who seemed to have a little too much interest in you.

Pedro wasn’t the jealous type, not normally. He trusted you. He trusted that you'd be able to handle yourself. But tonight, something shifted in him. Maybe it was the combination of the dim lighting, the music, and the way that man’s eyes kept lingering on you. Pedro was aware of the glances, the smirks. It made his chest tighten, and before he knew it, his jaw was clenched.

You, blissfully unaware of the tension building around you, were tipsy enough to be carefree. Your laughter echoed as you chatted with a few of the other guests, until you felt someone step a little too close. Your gaze met the stranger’s, and you, in your hazy state, didn’t quite process the way his smile was a little too wide, his hands a little too eager. He leaned in, his words slurred, and it was obvious he was trying his luck.

“Come on, darling,” he whispered, “I’m sure we could have a much better time alone…”

Before you could register what was happening, the room seemed to freeze. You felt the pit of your stomach twist, but it wasn’t fear—it was more of a sudden, unexpected excitement. Because, just as things were about to escalate, your heart skipped a beat.

“Mi amor!”

There he was. Pedro. Your Pedro. You stumbled toward him, arms outstretched, your voice a little too loud in the space as you nearly collided with his chest. You giggled, burying your face into the soft fabric of his jacket. “Pedrito,” you murmured affectionately, the nickname spilling from your lips like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Pedro couldn’t help but smile, his heart melting at the sight of you—stumbling, but with that warmth in your eyes that only you could carry. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his eyes flickering up to the guy who had been eyeing you. He didn’t need to say a word. His presence alone was enough to send the message loud and clear. Don’t even try.

You giggled even more, nuzzling your face into his chest. “I missed you,” you whispered, barely coherent but completely in love with the safety of his arms around you.

Pedro’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I missed you too, mi vida,” he murmured, glancing at the guy who was now awkwardly backing away, sensing the very real threat in Pedro’s gaze.

“Let’s get you home, sí?” Pedro said, his tone soft but commanding. You nodded enthusiastically, oblivious to how tense the situation had just been, and without a second thought, you linked your arm with his, almost tripping over your heels as he steadied you.

As you all headed out of the bar, Pedro couldn’t help but smile to himself, shaking his head. “No one gets to have you but me, cariño,” he whispered under his breath, his hand firmly around yours.

You looked up at him with sleepy eyes, smiling innocently. “I’m yours, Pedrito,” you said, and the way your words wrapped around him made his heart swell. “No one else could ever have me.”

“Good,” he murmured with a grin. “Let’s keep it that way.”

And as he helped you into the car, his hand never left your waist. Because tonight, something had changed. Tonight, Pedro had realized just how much he was willing to fight for you, even if it was just with a look.

But deep down, he knew the one thing that would always stand between you and anyone else wasn’t his jealousy—it was the way you called him “Mi amor” every time, and how that alone made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

[pratchettquotes]

Klatchian coffee has an even bigger sobering effect than an unexpected brown envelope from the tax man. In fact, coffee enthusiasts take the precaution of getting thoroughly drunk before touching the stuff, because Klatchian coffee takes you back through sobriety and, if you're not careful, out the other side, where the mind of man should not go. The Watch was generally of the opinion that Samuel Vimes was at least two drinks under par, and needed a stiff double even to be sober.

Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms

[pond-skater]

Stardew Valley spouses + what I think they'd name their children.

Shane - I actually personally headcanon that after marriage, Shane would focus on raising his goddaughter Jas and putting his all into his sobriety before he thinks about having other kids. But based on the fact that his favourite chicken is called Charlie, I think he'd like gender neutral names. Maybe something along the lines of Jessie / Jesse, Casey, or Cameron.

Maru - Something calling back to science, for sure. Ada for a girl (after Ada Lovelace) and Isaac for a boy (joint ode to Isaac Newton and Isaac Asimov.) Maybe names after constellations? Like Cass / Cassie (Cassiopeia), Andromeda, or Carina.

Sebastian - Obviously something referencing a gothic novel. Dorian (after Portrait of Dorian Gray) for a boy, and Mina (after the female protagonist of Dracula) for a girl. The middle name would possibly be a reference to an obsure Solarian Chronicles character, unless his spouse reigned him in.

Abigail - Abby would like older names, the kind of thing you'd see in a Victorian novel. Violet or Beatrice for a girl, Theodore or Henry for a boy. She would be dismayed when she realizes that those names are fashionable again, she definitely sees herself as a true original lol.

Sam - There's a piece of Kent dialogue at the flower dance where he says if he and Jodi had a girl they might name her after a flower. Maybe Sam would think along the same lines as his dad. Will (after sweet williams) or Cosmo for a boy, or Rosie or Heather for a girl.

Emily - Obviously she would love hippie-dippy names, gemstones and nature inspired. I actually have children with Emily in one save and they are called Meadow and Fen. I think she'd like names that called back to her personal history with the farmer. If they went on a particularly memorable date to the seaside for example, then their child would be called Marina or Morgan or even just Ocean. Gemstone names like Jasper and Ruby would also be a great choice.

Elliott - Somewhat old fashioned names with literary allusions. Agatha and Charles, after Agatha Christie and Charles Dickens. Maybe a reference to a famous piano player, like Frederic or Claude (Chopin & Debussy) for boys, or Martha or Myra (Argerich & Hess) for girls.

Penny - First of all, I know you can only have 2 children with a spouse in game, but I think Penny would like to foster various kids alongside having children of her own. Her own childhood was tumultuous, she would love to have a stable home offering respite to kids who need it. Penny is the only character in the game who doesn't hate poppies, maybe she'd name a daughter Poppy, which would also match the theme of her + her mother having P names. I think her taste in names would be fairly conventional. Anna, Jamie, David, Lizzie, Ben... You get the idea. Short, simple, but cute.

Harvey - My first thought is Amelia after Amelia Airheart but I don't know if that would be too grim considering she disappeared and probably died horribly. Maybe Harvey could look past that and just focus on the aviation history lol. For a boy, Sully, after Sully Sullenberger. Perhaps he'd also name a daughter after Marie Skłodowska-Curie, with the bonus points of it sounding close enough to Maru to be an ode to her as well. I could also see him liking the names Amy, Oscar, Oliver, and Florence. Also, I know in the game you have one boy and one girl, but I honestly headcanon him as being a very enthusiastic girldad tbh.

Alex - Whatever the Stardew Valley equivalent of an 'All American' name is. Carter, Zack, or Todd for boys & Maddison, Nicole, or Katie for girls. Maybe named for famous gridball players or something. I also think the middle names would probably be an ode to his grandparents, so George & Evelyn (or Georgia and Everett, if you feel like remixing it).

Haley - Summer, Lani, or Alyssa for a girl, and Kai, Evan or Chris for a boy. I have no real reason for this, I'm going on pure vibes. Haley doesn't strike me as a particularly sentimental person, I think her baby name choices would just be based on what she thought sounded pretty. Also, for whatever reason I only headcanon her having only one child.

Leah - Nature inspired names are the obvious choice. Fern, Hazel, or Willow for girls, and Cliff, Ash, or Rowan for boys. I think she might also like longer, more traditional names, like Catherine or Andrew.

[therealslimshakespeare]

How are poly Austin, Calum and OC doing ???

Ooooh how are they indeed? It is such fun to be asked about them, aaaah!! Like..:people remember them. You want more. That’s so fun for me, I love them and @ab4eva and I totally have plans for still more of them.

The Three of Us Update ✨

That more being- how they are now. Which is pretty grand but far too busy. Or at least, Austin is, workaholic that man and you knew that he was dedicated and in a very crucial stage of establishing himself as one of the most respected and in demand actors of his generation but, the fact of it is, the holidays find you about as worrisomely detached from his hectic set-life as Cal is from the both of you an ocean away. There is FaceTime and the group chat and gifts sent back and forth and avid interest for each other’s success and fits of glumness, but the long stretch between last time all together has begun to wear, it’s a melancholy sort of missing of both of them and you long for the closeness. The easy way everything is so right when together.

Your mother and your girl friends are making proclamations these days, general platitudes about how a man who was serious about you would make this something more official after a year and a half of “casual” dating. And they’re right, if that’s what was still happening. To be fair, dating doesn’t seem to be what you’re doing anymore, you and Austin are so far beyond that despite the recent distance and added to it, Callum is as solidly a part of that seriousness that your head spins with what sort of talk is even needed to solidify something so utterly unorthodox and yet so crucial for your world to make sense. No one can know, no beyond the occasional snicker over espresso martinis about “the boys” and double innuendos about sharing that you can always laugh off in the sobriety of the morning after.

In this funk, which would be no funk at all if the ones you love were simply near and life didn’t move too fast and work too slow- you find yourself in London in December. A work trip, but feeling indulgent and more than mopey at another fairy light snow dusted early December spent alone despite ostensibly being able to claim a boyfriend, you stay over. You museum stroll, you enjoy your favorite tea houses, explore the garden exhibitions, try your hand at photography on the various bridges. Get a text from Callum asking if you really came to London, stayed a few days, posted it on your Insta stories and “didn’t say shit” to him about it.

Chastened, and no longer deterred by the three avatar bubbles denoting each member of the group chat, you fire back apologies, a string of demure and pitiful emojis and inquiries as to how to make this slight better.

There’s barely five seconds of typing ellipses before your sentence is declared.

Coffee and baguettes at Burhams, 4:00, Mumford and Sons playing at the Carlton at 7:00, so wear something sexy under the coat. But bring a coat, it’s going to be frigid. I’ll schedule an uber if you give me your hotel address. Why the fuck aren’t you staying at mine? See you tonight. Xx

To your credit, between the giddy smile on your face in anticipation of seeing him and the butterflies in your belly of having an evening that’ll finally match the jollity of everyone around your sad little self, you feel a tiny slither of doubt. You like his message, biting your lip in worry over how to reply, not that you don’t know what you want to say to him and how enthusiastically you intend to agree with his hijacking of your evening, but rather, an uneasy awareness of Austin’s presence in the chat. That very same presence that erases all the guilt of such a conversation, not that there should be any anyway, you’re all friends, but you find your fingers stall when you go to gush in approval of the plan as warmly as you intend.

Five whole minutes go by. Just your solitary and very unappreciative thumbs up lingering there. It’s making it weird, you’re making it weird. This is how you’ve been all this season and you’re sick of it.

Then another row of little dots appear, texting in progress. You hold your breath, melancholy and fond in expectation of Callum’s predictable ribbing over your moderation.

But it’s under Austin’s name when the grey chat box slides into delivered. It’s simple, easy, a pink cheeks smile emoji at the end.

Yeah, and wear tights with that coat, I know you. Tights can be sexy. Pneumonia isn’t ☺️.

God you miss him. And it seems you’re going out with Callum tonight. You should overthink the pulsing bravery and excitement that takes over then, but you don’t. Because that’s a thing to be left behind with the loneliness at Christmastime when you’ve got people to love you.

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 45

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks,

Time for another spreadsheet digest! I read a fuckload of Joel this week but there's plenty of other boys in there as well. Also ran the DMAMC this week so there's several subby pedro boys in here.

Tag me in your fic or send me a message if you'd like to appear on the Digest <3

Letting Go - Dave one shot by @auteurdelabre

Dave meets his match in more ways than one.

subbish!Dave, scenes of violence (guns, blood), descriptions of alcohol, Dave fights the sub life, edging, oral (f receiving), Dom/sub dynamics.

Fairytale of Dieter Bravo - Dieter series by @schnarfer

Dieter Bravo is fresh out of rehab and spending Christmas 1987 with his cousin Declan in the Cotswolds.

Lots of flitting between Dieter/reader POV. Heavy on the 80 references, drugs, alcohol, rehab, so much smoking and swearing. Allusions to smut. A kiss. Reader is married so… infidelity. Reader is a horse girl with strong thighs, but otherwise minimal physical descriptions. A lot more pheasants than I was expecting. Always somehow Fleabag coded. // part 2: it’s just smut. Big snogs, unprotected p in v, fingering, pussy eating, squirting, infidelity (reader is married). We flick between reader and Dieter POV.

Held by the Moon - Dieter/Dave one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Dieter is determined to prove his dedication to the film consultant on his latest project. Dave is determined to not cross any professional boundaries. Only one has the mental fortitude to see their intentions through.

dommy daddy subby baby vibes, "is somebody gonna match my freak?" is the main theme here, drugs/sobriety, Dave is uptight, Dieter is a silly goose, brief film industry stuff, heavy flirting, Dieter is on some Esmerelda shit and Dave is lusting bad like Frollo but without the attempted murder and self-righteous religious stuff, drug testing but make it erotic, this pairing made me insanely horny

Bedroom hymns - Din one shot by @saradika

You’d liked this, when you first got together. His desire. How much he wanted to consume you. To take - the weight of his armor pressing into your back, as he drove you into the thin mattress of his bunk. // But this is what you like more. The leash he offers so willingly to you. Eager to obey, even as the collar tightens. Following at your heels. // After all, his duty is to his people. But it’s you that he serves.

mand’alor!din, sub!din, soft dom!wife!reader, breeding kink, beskar cock cage, reference to needles & birth control, enthusiastic oral sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, references to pregnancy

Serpentine - Javi P one shot by @pedgito

Authority looks good on him, but you think he'd look ever better on his knees.

sub!javier, dom!reader (but lbr, they’re both switch) obviously. reader has vague backstory (related to work), enemies to fwb, they fuck a lot oops, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), restraints, brat!javi as god intended, choking, coming untouched, edging for the greater good, amen.

Ain’t shit sweeter - Javi P series by @encasedinobsidian

In the late 1990’s, Javier Peña transfers to the DEA field office in Chicago, finally given a long-awaited opportunity to spend more time with his son while he adjusts to life post-Colombia. But in the midst of it all, he falls in love with the woman who resents his very presence in her life; his own daughter-in-law.

Father in law Javi, Enemies to Lovers, Dad Javi but honestly absent dad Javi, dick from a man you wish was your father, Drink every time I say the word father, keep your friends close but your enemies closer, Smut, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Angst, Size Kink, Size Difference, age gap, Daddy Issues, References to death of a parent, Secret Relationship, Infidelity, I am not spoiling the nature of the ending, No that does not automatically mean there's an unhappy ending, But I'm keeping it a secret for once sorry, Grown ass adult man fuckboy Javi, slightly toxic relationship, Daddy Kink

Through the Glass Joel one shot by @murder-wife

Your neighbor, Joel, seems to have a revolving door of dates. He also doesn't seem to have a taste for keeping his curtains closed. You can't help but watch when it feels like he wants you to see what he's doing to them.

Neighbor Joel, voyeurism, exhibitionism, literally no plot here, S M U T, masturbation, oral sex, cumshot, unprotected PIV

Me and the Devil - Joel one shot by @gracieheartspedro

joel seeks out revenge on the man who stole from him. he finds you in the process.

mdni!, dark content, DUBCON, joel is a bad man, no mention of age (but joel is older than reader), murder, weapon use (g*ns), mentions of drug and alcohol, excessive alcohol consumption from reader, nicknames for reader (sweetheart, little one, etc.), stockholm syndrome, forced withdrawals from alcohol, mentions of non-con, forced proximity, physical violence/assault, reader is freaky and insane, reader has a vagina and boobs, sub!reader, dom!joel, orgasm denial, masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral (m receiving), fingering, throat fucking, cumplay/cum eating, dirty talk, name calling, spanking.

Hotline to Heaven - Joel one shot by @chaotic-mystery

An inquisitive man gets more than what he's used to when he pushes the wrong number on a phone sex hotline.

dom!reader, sub!joel, pre outbreak, empty house means he's up to no good, porn connoisseur, phone sex, dirty talk ( i mean duh) mutual masturbation, swearing, orgasm denial, safeword mentioned but not used, talking him through it this time, a little aftercare, slight mention of one of my favorite movies bc I know Joel would've liked it too.

Change - Joel one shot by @pedgito

Joel hates change, but you introduced the idea that letting someone else take charge isn't always bad.

sub!joel, no outbreak, power dynamics (he's your boss), age gap (shocker), lots of open communication, vague plot, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, creampies, cum eating, restraints, joel eating the puss with no hands, use of a cockring, joel's a real good boy, open-ended

Mile High Club - Joel one shot by @maiamore

Joel has to fly out of state for the first time in his life and his nerves are frayed. Luckily, he finds a good distraction. You.

m!receiving oral, deep throating, public indecency, mention of drug use, blowjob on a plane basically, alcohol consumption, nervous old man joel

Guilty Pleasure - Joel series by @for-a-longlongtime

You're home from college for the summer, staying with your parents in Austin, TX. So is your dad's best friend, Joel Miller.

Age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 43), masturbation (f), use of sex toys, oral sex, PiV, anal, hair pulling, dirty talk, getting caught, playful use of 'daddy', outrageous flirting, groping, reference to m/m, Joel's arms should always come with a warning. No outbreak!AU.

Frostbite - Max Phillips one shot by @brandyllyn

By all that was holy in the world, you were going to slap the ever-loving shit out of this man.

This is romantic and sweet and I make no apologies for that. Max being Max, however.

Good Pup, Bad Pup - Pero/Javi G one shot by @crowandmousewritingco (mouse)

You give your subs exactly what they deserve

Pup play, spankings, praise AND degradation, strap ons, dildos, Javi's genitalia is referred to as a T dick, pet names, and other debauchery.

Cuffed to the Grind - Tim Rockford one shot by @whocaresstillthelouvre

You're working late 'cause you're a detective.

Oh Tim looks so good handcuffed to a chair. smut, unprotected p in v, riding, handcuffs, domming the detective, vag badge, commingled cum, fucking your boss, panty gag, holding on to holsters, whiskey, cop stuff

Happy Reading!

[koshkamartell]

No One But Me

previous chapter

masterlist

chapter warnings: alcohol consumption, noncon/dubcon piv, manipulative!Joel.

Ellie had spent a solid 15 minutes during dinner detailing the new comic she was in the process of illustrating. Her eyes were bright with excitement as she babbled on and gestured animatedly with her small hands. You listened dutifully, adding comments and asking questions where appropriate, trying to appear sincere in your interest. It was difficult to focus when the anxiety was still churning in her stomach and the welts on your flesh were throbbing.

Seeing Joel in the mess hall had rattled you. The pressure from Ellie, as well as the fact that your thoughts had been so convoluted all day, meant you hadn't even considered the possibility of Joel being there at the same time. The way he had stomped out of the mess hall soon after your arrival made you even more uneasy. You wondered where he was going, what he was thinking. You were too consumed with thoughts of Joel to notice Ellie's eyes narrow on you like a snake watching it's prey.

"What's this?" Ellie suddenly blurted.

She grabbed hold of one of your hands and yanked your blouse sleeve up your arm. You squeaked and pulled away from her but it was too late - Ellie had already seen the faint red rope marks on your wrist. You batted her away gently and she let go of your hand.

"The fuck happened to your wrist?" She frowned, her big eyes flickering from your hand to your face.

"Nothing, El," you lied cooly, tugging your sleeves down to properly cover the marks. "The cuffs on this shirt are a bit too tight, I think."

You would never hurt Ellie by telling her the truth. You cared about her far too much to purposely expose her to Joel's darker side and jeopardise her happiness. Or Joel's.

She searched your face for a moment, scrutinising your features for some indication of dishonesty. You mirrored her sober glower playfully, then stuck out your tongue. It was an attempt to break the tension and distract her, and it seemed to work. Ellie giggled a little, uncertainty still evident in the crease of her brows, but she let the moment pass without any more dispute. She changed the subject back to her comic idea, fortunately for you.

"Anyway, so the main character of this story is going to be like, really fuckin' smart..." Ellie continued rambling.

After another ten minutes, Ellie had only eaten half her plate of vegetables and venison before abandoning you in favour of a party she had been invited to. You didn't mind. Infact, you were relieved. It was the perfect opportunity for you to bolt back home and retreat under the covers of your bed. But just as Ellie was walking out the door, Kate, Rhi and Jess almost collided with her as they came strolling in.

Kate spotted you instantly and called out your name, waving to you enthusiastically. You sighed to yourself and waved back half heartedly. It looks like your plans would have to wait.

••••••

Joel was dozing on the couch later that evening when there came a succession of loud knocks on his front door. He groaned as he got up, his back stiff and aching, and made his way to the door in a only a few large strides. He thought it must be Ellie coming home early from the party - but deep down he hoped it was you coming over to collapse into his arms and beg for his touch.

When he opened up the door he was greeted by Tommy. Tommy stood on the doorstep with his hands on his hips, his mouth downturned in grim sobriety. His expression made Joel stand to attention instantly.

"Tommy? Whatsa matter?" Joel asked straight away. "Ellie alright?"

"Ellie's fine. But Carl spotted raiders North West of the mountain this evenin'," Tommy explained with calm urgency, his voice low despite no one else being nearby. "We need to get a group out there and scoutin' by day break at the latest."

"Fuck," Joel muttered, shifting his eyes up and sighing.

Raiders were not a common threat but they posed a serious danger to the safety of the community. They usually consisted of groups of more than a dozen men, all of them armed somehow, searching for any place or any people to strip of supplies. With its agricultural vitality, amenities and abundance of resources, Jackson would be a prime target for raiders.

They had to gather some patrolmen and venture outside to find them.

Joel and Tommy knew first hand how ruthless raiders could be. It pissed Joel off to think of a bunch of strangers trying to bust their way into his town, wanting to steal what did not belong to them, thinking they were some big bad gang. Joel would gladly execute them all on the spot.

Joel's eyes flickered back to Tommy, who was staring back at him with a steely resolve that signalled he was ready to hunt and slaughter these assholes right this minute. Joel's jaw ticked.

He had to do it. He had to go. There was no way he wouldn't. Joel gave his brother a decisive nod, indicating he was prepared to join him.

"Round up Harry and Troy, meet me at the gate at 4o'clock," Joel ordered in a low voice. "Don't tell no one what's goin' on. Only Maria."

Tommy nodded in agreement then spun around on his heel, stalking away from the house and into the darkness of the night.

Joel ran a hand over his face and sighed heavily. There would be a slight change of plans tonight, but it would still work out. He had been on a few of these missions before, special patrols where the more experienced men tracked and hunted groups of raiders and infected and eliminated them. Such operations could take anywhere from a couple of days to a month, depending on the weather conditions and the expanse of area that was being compromised.

It was impossible to tell how long Joel would be away for this time. He couldn't risk leaving without seeing you first. He needed to be certain that you wouldn't forget that it was he who took care of you, his hands your heart was cradled in, he who owned you. You were definitely frightened of him right now, so he planned to assuage that fear with something more pleasurable.

Joel glanced at the clock hanging in the loungeroom wall and took note of the time. 9.20pm. There was still time to have a drink and visit you before he had to leave for this expedition.

Joel started up the stairs to begin packing his bag.

You pushed the peas and mashed potato around your plate with your fork, only partly paying attention to the conversation happening around you.

"Are we having a party at the Bison for Cassie, a big final hurrah before she gets married to one dick for the rest of her life?" Rhi asked, earning a round of giggles from your friends. You were too preoccupied with your thoughts to join in.

You randomly wondered if any of them had been in a situation like yours before, if they too had loved someone who hurt them but were too ashamed to confine in anyone. Probably not, you deduced. They were so much braver and stronger than you. They weren't fucked up like you were.

Jess snapped her fingers infront of your face. "Hello? We need your input here!"

You jolted upright, accidentally irritating the marks on your backside and briefly wincing from the pain. You looked around at your friends' amused faces. "Yeah, sure, sounds fun."

"You okay?" Kate asked tentatively. She wasn't entirely oblivious to your mood, it seemed.

"Yeah," you replied casually, forcing a tight smile. "Just thinking of Cassie's gift and the design for her glory box."

Rhi clapped her hands together and squealed. "Oh! I forgot to tell you guys! I spoke to Sheila at the haberdashery and she said she has a panel of satin that would be perfect for Cassie's present. It looks alot like her dress, too."

You made a more conscious effort to engage in the conversation, not wanting any more attention on you.

"The wedding is in a month, so we better get working on it," you said confidently.

"How about tomorrow night?" Jess suggested.

You and your friends remained in the dining hall for the next half an hour going over your plans for Cassie's gift and the preparations for her hens night. It ended up being a welcome distraction for you and by the time you all finished dinner and agreed to go hang out at Kate's house, you felt a little less on edge.

By the time dusk crept over the town and the specks of stars appeared across the canvas of the evening sky, Oscar knew he was going to have a difficult time falling asleep that night.

••••••

His day hadn't been particularly stressful or challenging - infact it had been quite easy going - but from time to time he would wake up with a heaviness in his chest, and today was one of those days.

From this morning up until now, he felt an underlying anxiety inside him, a sorrowful clawing at his heart that he hadn't wanted to acknowledge. Unconsciously he knew why it was there. He had sort of been expecting it. But despite the years of enduring this burden of melancholy, Oscar had never quite gotten used to it.

And so instead of wallowing in his room with only the dark shadows of his memory for company, he decided to go to the Tipsy Bison and have a drink. He rarely drank to get drunk, but just enough to feel something close to happiness, a balm to soothe his unspoken hurt and make him forget for a little while. It helped with the nightmares.

When Oscar stepped out onto the street to begin the walk to the bar, he was struck by how beautiful and clear the night sky was, how the stars twinkled so prettily against the backdrop of black and deep blue. He marvelled at the heavens above him as he walked, welcoming the distraction from the dull ache in his ankle.

It was almost healed now. He would be back to patrolling soon. But right now he was enjoying the library shifts alot. It was different. It was new. And you were there.

The atmosphere of the main street was quiet and lonesome at this time of night. The cool air nipped at the nape of his neck, a timely reminder of the impending change of season, he thought to himself.

Oscar wished he could see you right now. Just to say hello. Ask if you were really alright. You looked sad today at the school and it worried him. Although he hadn't known you for very long, he found himself caring about you quite alot. There was something about you that attracted him. Not necessarily physically - although you were certainly beautiful - but emotionally and intellectually. He enjoyed the way you spoke and described things, how you listened to what he said with genuine interest, how your quiet company relaxed him and soothed the unrest in his heart.

But you were probably busy with your friends. Oscar supposed you must be popular in the community. How could you not be? You probably had a boyfriend, too; but he hadn't been daring enough to ask you about that. It didn't matter, though. He was content to be your friend. He just hoped you wanted his friendship, too.

When Oscar reached the Tipsy Bison he pushed open the saloon style doors and relished the hallmark ambience of the bar rush over him; the twang of the country music coming from the battered jukebox in the corner, the voices of the patrons talking and arguing, the yellowing glow of the lights pouring through the light haze of cigarette smoke. The Tipsy Bison was a little less than half full but was by no means subdued.

Oscar didn't stop to survey his surroundings before approaching the bar and ordering a beer. He took a seat on one of the stools and leaned his elbows on the counter, then ran a hand through his black curls. The anxiety was slowly consuming his thoughts, to the point that he hadn't even realised that Joel was sitting two spaces away from him.

Always vigilant of what was going on around him, Joel had noticed Oscar as soon as he sat down. He watched Oscar through his periphery, noting the defeated sag of his shoulders and the nervous way he raked his hand through his hair. Joel, being no stranger to self hatred and internal conflict, was adept at recognising when someone was struggling with something personal, and he could see something was bothering Oscar. Admittedly, he was curious. Especially now he knew you were working together at the library.

Joel had spent many hours patrolling with Oscar over the last few years and they shared a mutual respect of one another, not a friendship as such but a kind of comradery that only the patrolmen of Jackson shared. While Joel didn't care for cultivating friendships, he was comfortable enough initiating conversation with people when he was interested enough. And right now his interest was piqued.

"Somethin' on your mind, Estrada?" Joel asked without turning to face Oscar.

His question startled Oscar out of his thoughts, forcing him to straighten his back and look over to Joel.

"Oh, hey Miller," Oscar offered Joel a small grin, then shifted off the stool and onto the next one to sit beside Joel.

"Just the usual shit," he mumbled before taking a a swig of his beer. He let out a noise of satisfaction after swallowing it. "Goddamn, that hits the spot."

Oscar was a good man. He was friendly, talkative, and well liked by everyone. He didn't indulge in crude jokes or talk about sex, which Joel was grateful for (he fucking hated listening to crass banter almost as much as he hated someone talking unnecessarily). Oscar was never disrespectful towards anyone and he was a responsible patrolman.

Joel hummed in response and toyed with the neck of his bottle, his thumb smoothing over the condensation that had formed over the glass. A comfortable minute of silence passed as they both savoured the beer Tommy had spent countless hours crafting and perfecting.

But he didn't exude overtly masculine energy. He wasn't argumentative or had a bad temper, like alot of the other guys. He wasn't bloodthirsty or quick to prove his capabilities. To Joel, these traits automatically made Oscar weaker than him. And a little bit of a pussy.

It was because of these attributes that Joel did not perceive Oscar to be much of a threat regarding you. He had believed you when you said there was nothing going on with Oscar. Joel knew you well enough to know you were telling the truth. You were never good at lying, anyway. And you were always so open for him, so willing to please - you were such a good girl.

Joel recognised that a large part of your attraction to him was his own strength, his protective virility complimenting your soft, feminine nature so well. He too found it very appealing. So ofcourse you wouldn't be attracted to Oscar. You needed someone who could take care of you properly, and Joel was that man.

But Joel had to be honest with himself; witnessing the fear in your eyes had aroused him with such an unexpected ferocity that it was all he could think about tonight. Your innocent doe eyes wide with panic as you pleaded and begged, fuck, it filled Joel with a primal desire to devour you completely, body and soul. He couldn't wait to extract that reaction from you again.

But he knew he had to be careful with you. Scare you or hurt you too much and too quickly and you might tell Tommy or Maria on him, get him kicked out of Jackson, make Ellie hate him forever.

"Look like somethin's eatin' ya," Joel said casually, finally turning his head to look directly at Oscar. "Bad dreams again?"

No, Joel had to be a little bit tender, especially now. You'd learnt your lesson after he punished you, solidifying the fact that you only belonged to him. Joel could afford to be gentle right now and coax you back to feeling safe and satisfied with what you two had. Show you how kind and caring he could be if you stayed a good girl. Without the sappy relationship bullshit that your bitch girlfriends no doubt planted in your head.

Oscar gave a small shrug of his shoulders and sighed. "Most nights. Some are worse than others."

Joel nodded knowingly. He was no stranger to being startled awake, gasping for air, disturbed by the horrors projected in his mind in nightmares of the past. They still plagued Joel often enough for him to want to get drunk or fuck away his feelings every night. He wondered if Oscar had any secret vices.

Joel cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, unable to hide the awkwardness he was feeling.

"Ya got no family here," Joel stated matter of factly. "That's part of your problem. You need somethin' to live for, needa have some roots."

Oscar chewed his bottom lip, listening reverently to what Joel was saying. Joel was uncomfortable speaking so candidly but it was necessary. He needed to in order to gain some insight into Oscar's intentions.

"Me...I got my kid and my brother," Joel said with an offhanded shrug. He sounded gruff but earnest. "They keep me goin'."

Oscar was silent. Joel glanced back up at him.

"You been in Jackson a while now. You got yourself a woman?" Joel asked, trying to come across as casual rather than inquisitive.

Oscar looked down and gave a tight shake of his head, then took a long chug of his beer. Joel raised an eyebrow.

"Nothin'? No girlfriend?"

"Nah, man." Oscar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Joel looked over both of his shoulders before lowering his voice into a hushed hiss. "Not even just a once in a while fuck?"

Oscar barked a short laugh. "No, definitely not."

Joel's nostrils flared as he inhaled, a mixture of relief and pride surging inside his chest. He knew you were telling the truth. Now Oscar just confirmed it. There's no way you would go behind his back. Especially not with this pussy Estrada.

Joel hid the smug satisfaction threatening to spill across his face. Instead, he scratched the side of his face nonchalantly. "Fuck it, women ain't nothin' but trouble anyways."

Oscar exhaled a partly suppressed chuckle. Joel finished the last mouthful of his drink and set the bottle down on the countertop with a thud.

"Gotta good way to get rid of those bad dreams, ya know," Joel smirked at him.

"Yeah?" Oscar gave him a curious half smile in return. "What's your remedy, Miller?

"Let's get you hammered," Joel grinned wolfishly. "Won't be thinkin' too much about anythin' then."

Oscar chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, Miller, I don't think--"

"Hey Clyde!" Joel cut off Oscar to call out to the bartender down the other end of the bar. "Another couple of beers and some shots of whiskey this way."

Joel smacked his hand over Oscar's shoulder in a brotherly gesture of affection.

"Trust me, you'll be feelin' alot better after this."

"Okay okay, just a couple more," Oscar acquiesced genially. "Thanks, Miller."

"Anytime, buddy."

This is too fuckin' easy, Joel thought.

Kate had walked you back to your cottage after dinnertime and stayed for an hour curled up on your couch drinking a cup of herbal tea. When she left you tried to read through the book Oscar had given you and create notes for upcoming lessons for your class, but you were so tired that you fell asleep in bed by 10pm.

It was sometime after midnight when you sensed the dip of the mattress under your body and then the warm caresses underneath your tank top.

The scruff of his beard tickled your face as he peppered warm kisses over you cheeks. His rough hand roamed over your body with greedy hunger, only stopping to squeeze your breasts and the soft skin of your stomach. Your brows creased as you began to rouse from slumber. Even through the drowsy haze of sleepiness you could still identify the familiarity of Joel's touch and scent.

"Joel?" You murmured groggily, your voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah, babygirl, it's me," Joel whispered.

He gave you a sloppy wet kiss on your mouth, pushing his tongue past your lips. Your body was unmoving underneath his touch, still heavy with the sedative remnants of sleep. It took some time for your muddled brain to fully register the taste and smell of alcohol that enveloped your senses.

He has been drinking. Possibly drunk. And now he is in your bedroom, on-top of you.

The realisation made your body snap to attention with panic. Your eyes fluttered open and you brought your hands up to press against his chest and break away from his plush, hungry lips. Joel relented and pulled back, bracing himself on one hand above your head.

How the fuck did he get in?

You could feel the heat of his erection pressing against your thigh and you exhaled a small gasp when you realised his lower half was naked.

"What-you," you mumbled, "what're you doing?"

You shrunk back into your pillow and dared to stare up at his face to try gauge his mood. Joel's gaze met yours, his pupils blown wide with desire, the curls of his hair dishevelled as if he had been running his hands through them. There was no cruelty in his expression this time, no anger. It was such a huge contrast to his demeanour the last time he was in your bedroom and it made you feel even more disorientated.

And fuck, he looked so sexy.

"It's jus' me, baby," he whispered, his voice soft and slurred with lust. "Needed to see you."

His fingers dipped underneath the band of your sleep shorts and a lustful groan rumbled in his throat when he cupped your naked sex. You shifted your hips slightly and Joel moved his hand further down, his fingertips gliding across your lips. He found your entrance and slowly pushed one of his thick digits inside your pussy. You moaned softly at the intrusion and involuntarily parted your legs when his whole finger slid inside.

"Joel," you whispered breathlessly, your eyes still locked.

"Pussy missed me, ain't that right, sugar?" Joel purred.

He lowered his face and kissed you once again and this time you allowed him to, accepting his tongue to roll lazily into your mouth. His thumb pressed against your clit gently and began to move to in slow circles as his finger slid out of your pussy, then back in again. Joel continued fingering you and your body slowly began responding to his touch, your pussy becoming wet with arousal. He pushed his finger all the way inside you and curled it against your g spot. The intense pleasure made your eyes roll back and pull yourself away from his lips.

It felt so fucking good.

"Fuck," you panted, "J-Joel."

"So wet," Joel groaned. "See how your body wants me, babydoll?"

He was right. Your body was betraying you - your dignity, your honour. You shouldn't want this, not with Joel. Not after how he treated you these past few months, and definitely not after what he did to you with his belt.

Fuck fuck fuck, what if he is back to hurt you again?

You reached down and grabbed onto his thick wrist with your small hand.

"Joel, no," your voice cracked. "You hurt me. I don't want to do this."

"Ssssh," he cooed. "I ain't here to hurt you, darlin'. I wanna make you feel good. Lemme show you that I care about ya."

Joel nuzzled his nose against your cheek tenderly then licked at the corner of your mouth. You couldn't help but let out a tiny moan.

Why was he acting so different? Why was he being so tender now? Did he really want to show you that he cared?

The logical, rational part of your brain was being overruled by the naive softness of your heart and the yearning between your legs. Some small part of you knew that you should be wary and not trust Joel at all. But it was hopeless - you loved him. Still.

Your hand unwrapped from his wrist. A silent sign of permission. Joel removed his same hand from inside your shorts. Despite yourself, you whined at the loss of his touch at your core.

Joel sat back on his splayed knees inbetween your legs, the upper half of his body still covered by his flannel shirt. You bit your bottom lip and watched him, nervous to be so vulnerable underneath him yet excited, the arousal in your belly growing. He looked so broad and powerful.

While gazing down at you Joel began unbuttoning the buttons of his flannel with enticing dexterity. In only a few seconds he had stripped it from himself and discarded it on the floor. You drank in the sight of him naked, his bare torso dotted with scars, the muscles of his biceps flexing, how his thick cock bobbed up against his soft stomach. Saliva was pooling on-top of your tongue inside your mouth.

Joel took hold of the bottom of your shorts and tugged them down your legs. You hissed at the sting when it passed over your ass, but Joel didn't seem to notice. He slipped the shorts down your legs and threw them to the floor. You were now naked except for the thin tank top you fell asleep in.

"Pull your legs up," Joel rasped. "Wanna see that sweet pussy spread open for me. Come on, honey, show me."

He wrapped a hand around his cock and watched you obediently bend your knees and reach down to part your lips with your fingers, exposing your sensitive flesh and your hole to him. You lifted your head up off the pillow to see Joel groan and stroke his dick.

"So fuckin' pretty," he murmured. "Just waitin' for me to fuck her." His eyes flickered up to your face. "That what you want? You want me to fuck you, babydoll?"

You couldn't disguise the thrill of desire pulsing all over your body. You were mesmerised by every inch of the man infront of you, any hint of apprehension or fear having vanished now Joel was naked inbetween your legs.

"Yes, Joel. Please." You practically moaned.

Joel smirked, satisfied with your willingness to submit. "Keep that pussy spread for me, sugar."

Your fingers remained still as he leaned over you and spat out a warm wad of saliva onto your pussy. Joel watched intently as it slid down to your hole. You felt yourself fluttering at the sensation. Joel planted one hand on the mattress near your head to brace himself and hovered over you; his other hand notched himself at your entrance.

You held your breath in anticipation. Then Joel pushed himself into your tight wet heat.

The initial stretch from the head of his dick entering you was uncomfortable and overwhelming. But Joel was mindful tonight. He slowly sheathed himself completely inside and allowed a few moments for your body to adjust to the feeling of fullness. A long soft moan escaped your lips.

"Oh my god, Joel," you breathed.

"Feels so fuckin' good, babydoll," Joel groaned.

His eyes were downcast, transfixed, while he rocked his hips back to slide his cock out half way, then forward to move back inside you. He did so again and again, creating a slow and steady rhythm of fucking you.

Your hands travelled up to skim over his biceps, fingertips dancing over his muscles. Joel may have been considerably older than you but his stamina and might were impressive regardless of age. You were in awe of just how powerful his body was, how gorgeous his face was.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as his fat cock parted your insides so deliciously. It felt so natural to be underneath him again. You dug your nails into his shoulders and moaned softly with each thrust.

"That's it," Joel growled lowly, voice gravelly with passion. "There's my good girl."

He fucked you with a slow, hard momentum that made your stomach muscles contract and your inner thighs quiver. You could feel the stretch from his veiny thickness in each punch of his cock. Your body and mind were totally intoxicated by the carnal bliss Joel was enrapturing you with.

His actions were passionate but not at all rough. In fact he was being so gentle tonight, almost loving. Was this what making love is?

Joel was breathing heavily above you, his mouth slack, his eyebrows knitted in intense pleasure. Joel's hand snaked down and started rubbing your clit with two thick fingers without disrupting the pace of his hips snapping into yours. The stimulation added a whole new level of intensity. You shut your eyes tightly.

"Oh fuck yes, Joel," you groaned loudly without inhibition.

You no longer felt the sharp burn of the bruised welts on your ass as your body was being pushed into the mattress. You did not feel the tenderness on your red wrists, or the confused sadness of your heartbeat. You only felt Joel.

"Ya like that?" Joel panted. "Whose this sweet pussy belong to, baby? Whose your daddy?"

He stared down at you as he continued massaging your clit in steady circles. He angled his pelvis in a way that allowed his dick to tap into your g spot, that sweet part of your plush insides that he knew drove you crazy.

You dug your nails into the skin of his shoulders and tilted your head back, a guttural moan rising from your throat. Your head was swimming, unable to formulate a thought or a verbalise an answer except for his name.

Joel's movements stilled as he shifted to sit upright on his knees. You whined and opened your eyes. He was watching you, his eyebrows raised.

"P-please," you whispered weakly. "Dont stop."

"Ya didn't answer me," he muttered.

You were too distracted to perceive the underlying hint of danger and annoyance in his words. His cock was resting thick and heavy inside you. It was tortuous. You tried to grind yourself against him, desperate for friction to relieve the tension built deep in your core.

"Joooel," you whimpered. "I'm sorry, you just feel so good, so amazing, please, please keep going "

Joel wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed lightly, causing your pussy to clench around him.

"I'm gonna ask you again," he drawled calmly. He rocked his hips back and forth once teasingly. "Who owns this fuckin' pussy?"

"You do, Joel," you moaned, arching your back.

"Whose your fuckin' daddy?" Joel snarled, flexing his hand on your throat, a telltale gesture that he was holding back and close to snapping.

"You," you mewled pathetically, running your hands over his chest with fervor. "it's you, Joel."

He suddenly thrust all the way into you until his hips were flush against yours, his pubic bone slamming into yours. You cried out in shock. You were totally full of his girth with his heavy balls resting against your ass. The stretch at the opening of your vagina was actually painful. You could feel yourself tearing slightly.

"Ow, fuck, fuck! Joel," you whimpered, pressing your palms into his chest reflexively. "No, it's t-too much, too deep."

"Babygirl, this is my pussy and I'll go as deep as I fuckin' like," Joel growled. "So you're gonna shut the fuck up and take it."

The hand around your neck squeezed down, cutting off your air supply. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry, your eyes wide, your hands now limp by your sides. Joel started moving once again and was soon fucking you in deep, fast thrusts that hit your g spot each time, the action punctuated by Joel's heavy panting and the sound of the bed frame knocking against the wall.

Your mind was starting to go fuzzy, your vision blurry. The fiery pressure in your belly was growing and when Joel swiped the rough pad of his thumb over your clit your muscles squeezed around his shaft.

"You're gonna come on my cock," Joel ordered through ragged breaths. "And you're gonna thank me for it. You hear me, little slut?"

He relinquished his hold on your throat and you choked as your body gasped in a rush of air. You moaned and your eyelids fluttered when he then gave your cheek a few light rapid slaps.

"Gonna thank me for splittin' you open," Joel murmured, the drawl of his accent low and rich, pouring over your ears like thick honey. "For givin' this needy pussy what she's been beggin' for."

All you could do was moan as Joel relentlessly pummeled his cock into you, his thumb still rubbing your clit. It didn't take much longer for your orgasm to hit. The feverish climax flooded over your entire body and left you whimpering breathlessly and without any energy to move. Joel fucked you through your orgasm and allowed you a minute to recover before he ripped away from your body. You cried out from the sudden withdrawal.

Joel crawled up the bed so that he was straddling your torso. He grabbed a handful of your hair and lifted your head up from the pillow so that the fat head of his cock was directly infront of you, close to touching your lips.

"Thank me," he growled.

Joel began to pump his cock with his other hand. His dark hooded eyes narrowed on you. You licked your lips and stared back up at Joel. You felt the familiar desperate need to please him, to hear his praise reign over you.

"Thank you Joel," you purred. "Thank you for letting me come."

Joel groaned. His grip on your hair tightened. "Keep goin'."

"Thank you for splitting me open."

He fisted his cock faster, his hips rocking slightly as he chased his pleasure. You batted your eyelashes and moaned softly.

"Thank you for fucking my needy pussy."

Joel growled through heaving breaths as he came, thick ropes of cum shooting onto your face. You shut your eyes while his hand tangled in your hair held you still while. He continued to pump his cock and empty his load all over you.

"That's right," he panted, "take it. Good fucking girl."

When Joel had finished he let go of your hair and shifted to stand up from the bed. You blindly lifted the bottom of your tank top and gingerly wiped his cum from around your eyes, then the rest of your face. When you were able to open your eyes again you saw Joel already getting dressed.

Your heart sank. Was he really just going to leave straight away?

Joel looked at you as he hitched his jeans up.

"Raiders been spotted near Jackson. We got to get a patrol group out there tonight."

You felt your heart crack. He just fucked you and now he is going away?

You couldn't help the tears pooling in your eyes. "You're going?" You asked in a small voice.

Joel looked away from you as he zipped and buttoned his jeans. To your relief he wasn't wearing a belt.

"I gotta," he replied gruffly. "Don't know how long I'll be."

"Joel," you whispered.

You bowed your head and cried. You knew how dangerous this kind of mission was and despite the hurt you had endured at his hands, the possibility of him being injured or dying was devastating. You felt the warmth of his large hand stroke your head gently.

"Comin' back for you, sugar. Be good for me while I'm gone, ya hear me?"

"Yes Joel," you croaked.

Joel pressed your face into his naked belly, your cheeks still sticky from his cum. You wrapped your arms around his middle and sobbed. He allowed you to cry, smoothing your hair in soothing strokes until you calmed down.

Joel had stayed just long enough for you to fall asleep cuddled into the crook of his arm. Your features were slightly strained as you slept, as if your worry and sadness of real life had seeped into your dreams. Your cheeks were still stained with a mixture of dried tears and his cum. Joel checked his watch. It wasn't long now. He managed to extract himself from the bed without waking you and finished getting dressed. He watched you silently for a few moments before leaving to find Ellie.

••••••

However, neither of you could have foreseen the significance of events that were to develop during Joel's absence, nor the catastrophic repercussions of his return.

Joel knew your body craved him just as much as your heart did. You were so easy to placate. Now he could go with Tommy and hunt down those piece of shit raiders without needing to worry about you getting stupid ideas in your head.

What did you all think of this chapter? How do we feel about Joel? How about our main character?

Things are going to ramp up in the next installment.

taglist - @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed @kewwrites @romanarose

[lysandra-vesper]

Chapter 2 - A Madman and a Dead Man

When your group arrives at Mo Village, it's still early. The sun is partially hidden by some clouds, so you don't have to suffer from its heat beating down on you. While flying on your sword above the village, you couldn't help but look around at how it was, until your gaze fell upon the Mo Manor.

Mo Village is a traditional settlement, with houses featuring gray ceramic roofs and stone-paved streets. In the center, there's a simple yet bustling market, with stalls covered by tarps and paper umbrellas. The buildings are made of wood, some two-stories tall, with rice paper windows. Trees are scattered among the rooftops, bringing life to the scenery. The village has a calm, welcoming atmosphere, seemingly frozen in time, with residents who live off trading and selling at the local market.

"Despite the report about corpses, everyone here seems fine," you reflect silently.

"Maybe it's because they only arrived in this region recently. They haven't had time to cause any trouble yet," one of the Lan disciples says.

"Probably. Well, let's get this done and do our best, right, boys?" You look back at the group, tilting your head with a small encouraging smile.

They all nod eagerly. Although you're not the only woman in the Lan Clan, it's a fact that there are far fewer women than men. Therefore, whenever there's a female cultivator — regardless of her beauty, status, or cultivation level — she's bound to be popular among them, at least most of the time.

When you arrive at the Mo Manor, you're greeted by a well-maintained middle-aged woman dressed in extravagant clothing.

"Welcome, renowned cultivators," the woman says with a slightly over-enthusiastic smile. "I am the lady of the house. Please, follow me."

Just as you were about to descend from your sword, a hand extends into your field of vision. Looking up, you see Lan Sizhui offering his hand with his typical gentle smile.

Out of courtesy, you accept his hand and step down from your sword, waiting.

"I could’ve gotten down by myself, you know?"

"It's just courtesy."

"Aren't we close enough not to bother with formalities? We're friends, aren't we? Treat me like one."

"Is it so wrong to treat you with respect, Li Yuqing?" He raises his eyebrows.

"Fine, you win, Shixiong."

He just chuckles softly before letting go of your hand and following Madame Mo toward the East Courtyard's main hall. You and the others follow closely behind.

The entrance to the house is impressive, with a spacious courtyard paved with light-colored stones, neatly arranged. Two small lanterns stand on either side, adding an elegant touch. A central path, made of even lighter stones, leads to a low staircase that opens to the main door, composed of wooden panels with rice paper details. On either side of the courtyard are well-arranged potted plants, and the outer walls are white with dark wooden beams, following traditional architecture. The gray ceramic roof completes the scene, transmitting harmony and sobriety.

Upon entering, you're quickly led by servants to sit at low tables, neatly organized. Each table has a teapot, a cup, and a plate with a simple yet refined meal.

Madame Mo sits at the central table, beside an elderly man — probably her husband — while a few others stand near the doorway.

So this is the Mo family. They seem rather content, you think to yourself.

"Thank you, cultivators, for coming all this way to deal with the corpses. I’ve heard that members of the Gusu Lan Clan are known for their integrity, kindness, and distinction. Seeing is believing — you truly live up to your reputation," Madame Mo says, as smoothly and pleasantly as if trying to win something.

You've always found it interesting how people tend to idolize cultivators. In the capital, that rarely happens. Most people don’t think much of cultivators there. Maybe that's why you were so stubborn about accepting cultivation at first.

"In fact, we of the Mo family have ties to cultivation. We have a young man in the family who once pursued the path of a cultivator..."

"Here! Here! I’m right here!" A young man’s voice calls out from the crowd as he steps into the center of the hall.

The young man looks to be in his twenties, with an attractive, graceful face and lips naturally curved upwards. His black hair is messy, tied loosely in a bun. But what truly draws attention is his face painted white, with red circles on his cheeks, giving him the appearance of a "hanged ghost."

"So, he 'once pursued cultivation,' huh? Mhm... Interesting," you mutter.

As if he appeared out of nowhere, the disheveled stranger startles everyone present.

"Who was calling me? The one with the ‘fate of a cultivator’ — isn't that me?"

Lan Jingyi can’t hold back a laugh and immediately earns a reproachful look from Sizhui, which forces him to straighten his posture.

The young Mo scans each of the Lan disciples present. He seems briefly lost in thought until his eyes meet yours. He tilts his head slightly, as if silently asking what you're doing there.

Madame Mo, silent for a moment from the confusion, snaps out of it and her expression turns to irritation. She turns to her husband and calmly asks:

"Who let him out? Take him back!"

Her husband smiles apologetically and, with a scowl, starts moving toward the young man. But suddenly, the young man flops to the floor, pressing his arms and legs down so hard that even when dragged, they can't lift him. The man tries, pushes, even calls the servants, but to no avail. If there weren’t so many witnesses, he probably would've kicked him by now.

As they argue about clothes and nonsense, you lean over and start talking to Lan Jingyi in a low voice.

"What do you think of that young master?"

"What do you mean? He’s clearly crazy. I mean, his own family says so, don’t they?"

"Yeah, but... don’t you think he’s making a lot of sense?"

"Why are you trying to defend him, huh?"

"Because the best people are crazy. You know what they say — 'Everyone’s a little bit doctor and a little bit mad.'"

"Mhm... You bought those suspicious poetry books again, didn’t you?"

"Don’t make it sound so bad! It was three for one — I couldn’t pass up a deal like that!"

He sighs and shakes his head. He’s used to you buying what others would call useless things, but somehow, you always make use of them.

"But really, why do you think he’s crazy, Jingyi?"

"Stress. A big disappointment. A hard life. Maybe a scheme. Usually, it’s one of those. Or maybe... some people are just born like that."

"You know, my grandma used to say he once walked the cultivation path. If the family still has even a bit of pride about it, then I assume the clan wasn’t completely unknown. But... not famous either, or I would’ve heard about him."

"You’re overthinking it again. Don’t stress. We’re just here for one thing."

"Mhm, right. Hunting. I have a bet to win, so no distractions."

He nods, satisfied, as you both turn your attention back to the family argument.

"Mother! Are you really going to let him humiliate me like that?" Madame Mo’s son yells.

Madame Mo glares at him, warning him not to make things worse. Unexpectedly, the messy-haired young master pipes up again.

"Speaking of which, besides the fact that he stole my things, shouldn’t he avoid going out at night? It’s no secret I like men. He may have no shame, but under a plum tree, one shouldn’t raise their arm to fix their hat, and beside a field, one shouldn’t squat — or it’s easy for others to misunderstand.

He’s a cut-sleeve!"

The disciples all think the same thing at once.

Madame Mo inhales deeply and scolds:

"What nonsense are you spouting in front of the neighbors! Have you no shame? A-Yuan is your cousin!"

"He knows he's my cousin and still acts in... suspicious ways! Who’s really shameless here? He may not care about his own innocence, but I do! I still want to end up with a good man!"

Mo Ziyuan screams, grabs a chair, and throws it at the young master. Seeing him finally snap, the messy-haired man rolls away, jumps up, and dodges it. The chair crashes to the floor and breaks. The onlookers, who were originally waiting to witness the Mo family's public humiliation, scatter in fear of what might happen next.

The young master then darts toward you, hiding behind you and grabbing your shoulders as if to shield himself, shouting:

"Everyone saw that, right?! Not only did he steal from me, now he wants to beat me too! What a lack of conscience!"

Sizhui, noticing Mo Ziyuan’s expression and fearing this would escalate further, steps forward.

"Err... Young master, wouldn’t it be better if we talked?"

Madame Mo sees the disciple trying to protect the crazy young man and hesitates. Forcing a smile, she explains:

"This is my sister’s son. His mind is... not right." She taps her temple. "Everyone in Mo Village knows he’s crazy. He says strange things... Please don’t take him seriously, esteemed cultivators..."

But the young master doesn’t even wait for her to finish. He peeks out from behind you and shouts:

"Who says you shouldn’t take me seriously?! From now on, anyone who tries to steal from me loses an arm. One at a time!"

Mo Ziyuan, being held back by his father, glares and tries to lunge at him again. The young master bolts toward the door, singing a childish "la-la-la" as he runs.

You stare at the door for a moment, then chuckle, exchanging a glance with Sizhui.

"Li Yuqing, don’t laugh."

"How could I not? That young master is so interesting."

"He’s insane. That’s what he is," Jingyi adds.

"And the rule about not speaking ill of others behind their backs, hmm?"

Sizhui places a hand on both your and Jingyi’s shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze before turning to Madame Mo.

"Err... Well then, with your permission, we’ll use the west courtyard. Please, remember: after sunset, close all doors and windows tightly and do not approach that courtyard."

Madame Mo trembles with anger. Her path was blocked, but she couldn’t push the young master aside. All she could do was force a smile and say:

"Yes, yes. Thank you, thank you..."

Your group starts leaving the hall.

"Mother, are we really letting that lunatic humiliate me like that in front of everyone?! You said he was nothing but a—" Mo Ziyuan begins but is immediately cut off.

"Silence. Whatever it is, wait until we’re back to discuss it."

Mo Ziyuan has never felt so humiliated or reprimanded like this by his own mother. "That lunatic won’t live another night," he mutters.

You were close enough to hear. "Young master."

He looks at you.

"Forgive me if I’m wrong, but let me ask... Is the reason you ‘borrowed’ those things because you want to be a cultivator? From what your mother, your cousin... and your, uh..." You gesture, prompting him to say the lunatic’s name.

"Mo Xuanyu."

"...said, Mo Xuanyu was once a cultivator. I assume he still has some belongings from that time. Did you take them?"

"I already said I didn’t! Stop accusing me!"

"Who’s accusing? I said ‘borrowed,’ not ‘stolen.’ If you’re this upset about something you say you didn’t do... maybe you did. Now, please, be honest, young master."

You step closer. He takes a step back.

"If your goal is to be a cultivator, my advice is — stop stealing, be humble toward others, even the ‘crazy’ one. Don’t wear yourself out this way. This is friendly advice... The world won’t be as kind when offering its lessons. Now please, return your cousin’s belongings. Family is me

ant to get along, isn’t it?"

And with that, you leave the hall with the others.

After quite some time, your group was spread across the rooftops, carefully setting up an array of flags all around the courtyard. They had even warned everyone in the manor not to come close.

These flags were called Yin Attraction Flags. If pinned to a living person, they would lure Yin spirits, vengeful souls, fierce corpses, and malicious ghosts — all of which would focus their attacks solely on the marked target. Because the person essentially became a walking bullseye, the flags were also known as Target Flags. They could be placed on buildings as well, but only if there was someone alive inside. In that case, the "target" expanded to everyone within the structure. The area surrounding a raised flag would become heavy with Yin energy — like a cold, dark wind lingering in the air — which earned them yet another name: Black Wind Flags.

As you stared at one of the flags fluttering eerily in the wind, you couldn't help but think, The Yiling Patriarch… How ridiculously creative he was...

Even if the entire cultivation world cursed his name, you had always been secretly fascinated by his brilliance and craftsmanship.

It reminded you of when, just a few months after joining the Lan Clan, you'd heard whispers of him for the first time. Your insatiable curiosity drove you to scour the clan’s library for any records about him — but there was almost nothing. Apparently, the Lan Clan wanted no trace of him left behind, not even in ink.

So, you had to get creative.

You tried discreetly asking townsfolk, but every story you heard was drenched in negativity — tales of horror, disgrace, and wickedness. Early on, you had learned that every story has two sides. But it seemed the entire world only cared to remember one.

It left you frustrated… until Lan Wangji himself caught wind of your little "investigation." You’d heard the rumors — that he and the Yiling Patriarch were like water and oil: always together, yet never mixing.

And yet… to your surprise, he told you the other side of the story — the side no one else dared to speak.

Even though you didn't know how to read Lan Wangji's stoic expressions back then, you could swear… for a brief moment… there was a trace of melancholy in his eyes.

“Hey! Don’t touch that! You’re not supposed to mess with it!”

Jingyi’s sharp voice yanked you out of your thoughts.

You turned just in time to see Mo Xuanyu bolting across the courtyard — hair flying wildly, arms flailing like broken puppet strings, face twisted in manic determination.

“I WON’T GIVE IT BACK! I WON’T! IT’S MINE! I WANT IT!”

Jingyi caught up to him in a few quick strides, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Are you gonna give it back or NOT?! ‘Cause if not, I swear I’m gonna—!”

“NO!! IT’S MINE!!!” Mo Xuanyu screeched, clutching the flag like a treasure, wrestling wildly.

Sizhui, who had been calmly adjusting one of the flags atop a roof, sighed when he noticed the commotion. He hopped down gracefully, robes fluttering behind him.

“Jingyi… Just take the flag back. There’s no need to get worked up over this,” he reprimanded, voice steady.

Jingyi scowled. “I didn’t even hit him! Look at this mess! He completely ruined the flag formation!”

You stepped in, raising your hands. “Come on now, let’s not gang up on the young master. A little patience wouldn’t kill anyone.”

“Easy for you to say! You’re not the one who wrote all the talisman scripts!” Jingyi shot back. “Your handwriting’s so bad they don’t even let you do it! And the one time you tried, it took you an etern—”

STOMP.

You planted your foot firmly on his.

“OW! OW! OW!! Okay, okay, I TAKE IT BACK!”

Sizhui just shook his head with an exhausted sigh at his friends' antics.

Turning back to Mo Xuanyu, Sizhui softened his tone. “Young Master Mo, the sun’s setting. We’ll start hunting the walking corpses soon. It’s going to be dangerous. You should really head back to your room.”

Mo Xuanyu stared at him, blinking like he didn’t understand a single word.

“…The flag,” Sizhui reminded, extending a hand.

Before he could finish the sentence, Mo Xuanyu huffed dramatically, threw the flag down, and shouted, “It’s just a dumb flag anyway! I could draw a better one in my sleep!”

He spun on his heel and stormed off.

The disciples still perched on the rooftops nearly fell over from laughing so hard. Even Jingyi, caught between anger and disbelief, burst out laughing as he dusted off the flag.

“Completely insane,” he muttered.

“Don’t say that,” Sizhui sighed. “Come help.”

Sizhui turned, intending to call you over — only to realize you weren’t there. His gaze flicked toward the corner of the courtyard… and there you were, quietly slipping after Mo Xuanyu as he disappeared around the bend.

“…What on earth is she up to now?”

You jogged quietly after him, but eventually lost sight of him in the maze of corridors. As you rounded a corner—

A hand yanked you into the shadows.

Your shoulder collided with a solid chest. For a split second, you were pressed against him, frozen by the surprise. Then you pushed back instinctively, looking up.

A familiar smirk greeted you.

“Well, well... Following me, are you? Here to scold me? Well, too bad — I’m not apologizing for earlier because—”

“Are you okay?” you interrupted.

“…Huh?”

“I said... are you okay?”

He blinked, genuinely thrown off. His mouth opened, then closed, unsure what to say. While he stood there stunned, you pulled a few talismans from your pocket and pressed them into his hands.

“Wha— Why are you giving me this?”

“Well… your cousin steals stuff like this, right?” You lowered your gaze slightly. “I know what it feels like… when someone takes something important. Even if it’s small, it still hurts. I can’t give you back what he took… so I’m giving you these instead.”

“I… I don’t need this. Besides, isn’t this for your job?”

“They’re basic talismans. They won’t do much in a real fight anyway,” you admitted with a sheepish smile. “Sorry if that sounds rude… but still. Please, take them.”

“…Why?” His voice softened. “Why do something like this for someone you just met?”

“Because... it’s the duty of the strong to protect the weak. And the duty of the weak… is to live a longer, happier life than the strong. But... that doesn’t mean anyone’s worth less than anyone else. We should protect each other. That’s balance.”

His lips twitched into a crooked smile. “Heh... So what, are you calling me the weak one?”

“I never said who was the weak one… or the strong one.” You turned to leave, waving lightly over your shoulder. “It was nice talking to you, Young Master.”

He stood there watching you go, stunned. Then he let out a chuckle, shaking his head.

“…What… What a weird kind of nobility,” he muttered, pocketing the talismans before walking off in the opposite direction.

Hours passed since then, and everything had been going surprisingly smoothly. Your group had handled most of the walking corpses in the area without any serious problems.

Even better — you’d personally managed to take down more than your share, which left you grinning, energized, and proud of yourself.

But as your group gathered near the east courtyard, a servant came sprinting toward you in a panic.

When you asked what had happened, his voice trembled as he gasped:

“It’s… it’s Young Master Mo Ziyuan…! H-He’s... we found him... dead! His body... His body’s in the hall!

[tragicallyuncreative]

Atsila Cade

Johnny didn’t look enthusiastic. He wasn’t a big fan of Curly, especially since he gave him weed under the guise it was a cigarette and had a bad reaction. He proceeded to spend four hours locked in the bathroom, in tears because he was hearing voices and terrified he was getting sick like his mom.

~

I have no clue what story this will appear in, if any. But I will continue to reference my headcanon that Atsila Cade is schizophrenic (obviously, we know little about her in the book other than the fact that she's an abusive alcoholic). I don't want to make her a truly sympathetic character, as there's no excuse for child abuse. However, I see her as much more than a one-dimensional character who's simply evil and abusive for the hell of it.

Atsila was born in the Cherokee Nation Reservation near Ottawa, Oklahoma and resided there with her parents until her early 20s, when she met Anthony Cade. She began showing symptoms of schizophrenia around age 16, which is unusually early but not unheard of. Initially, there was no cause for alarm. It was small changes; withdrawing from others, not sleeping, having difficulty focusing on academics. Her auditory hallucinations were also not a red flag, in face, it was considered a good thing. Many cultures and religions practice shamanism, a practice that involves interacting with the spirit world. This is certainly a valid thing and does not mean one is mentally ill, rather, they are hearing voices because they are receiving communications from ancestors, spirits, elementals, etc. However, Atsila's experience was different. Her hallucinations were intense and harmful, and she developed classic symptoms of paranoia and delusions of grandeur.

By the time she met Anthony Cade, she was extremely vulnerable: a minority woman with a mental illness and desire to escape her circumstances. He was an alcoholic with a bad temper and desire to control others- and she was an easy target.

She was diagnosed with schizophrenia following an involuntary hospitalization and prescribed medication. Like many individuals with this diagnosis, she struggled with medication compliance (stopping because they feel "better", fear that pills are actually poison, etc) as well as an alcohol addiction as it masked her symptoms and quieted the voices. Alcohol did a good job at suppressing her delusions, unfortunately, under its influence she was angry and abusive, no better than her husband.

Her longest stretch of sobriety and medication adherence was nearly a year, when Johnny was six. Her arrest and subsequent court-ordered therapy and treatment regimen did wonders. She became the type of mother little Johnny had hoped for- loving and dedicated to making a better life for her son. She was nowhere near perfect, but it felt like enough for him. She took him to the reservation to meet his grandparents, and he felt connected to his culture for the first time. She made meals. She helped with homework. It didn't last.

Johnny spent his teen years (and later in our happy alternative endings) terrified that he would become afflicted with the same illness that stole his real mother, the person deep down, away. He wouldn't touch drugs or alcohol, afraid it may trigger the process. He obsessively had Ponyboy find books on schizophrenia and read them to him, hoping to find something, anything, that could decrease his chances of developing it. And he clung to the memories of his mother in those good days, going back again and again to the home he hated, to shouting and abuse and fear, hoping for glimpses of her again. And sometimes, he was rewarded.

[sleepywrite]

I may be writing a fun little Chilaios fic, so here’s a small draft that may contain so many errors lol

Draft:

Retirement has been a recent goal that Chilchuck wanted to reach and finally, here he is.

This achievement paired with a solid year of sobriety is what encouraged him to finally begin to contacting his family after nearly six whole months of radio silence. This is the best he has felt in years.

Chilchuck sinks into the oversized sofa chair, his feet barely touching the floor as he sips on his soda, pushing out a large, satisfied sigh. His laptop sits in front of him on the living room table, the white loading screen taunting his dark thoughts. His health was not the only thing that was neglected, it was shocking how quickly his body turned his lust for a quick drink into one that craved masturbating nearly every day.

The relief his current entertainment provides can almost scratch that same craving, except that the craving now gets the face of a pretty, desperate blond that haunts his every fantasy.

Chilchuck digs his heel into the couch as he watches the white waiting sign turn to the welcome screen filled with color.

"I hope your day has been amazing, let’s make it better!” Chilchuck smiles at the familiar greeting and looks down at the description as the time ticks down. The content is different from the previous video, which still fills Chilchuck's mind with memories, all of the camboy's thick thighs shaking and covered in bodily fluids.

“Today I am trying out a new monster toy, while you watch!” Chilchuck sat back in his chair biting his lip, this was gonna be a treat that he was gonna eat up all night long.

“ChimeraStreams is beginning!” Chilchuck tenses up, feeling tiny tremors of excitement move through his body. The livestream switches to black, but slowly changes as Chimera removes his hand from the camera lens.

“Hey everyone,” the camboy said enthusiastically, glancing towards the corner of the screen as people begin to join, “I’m still setting up so everyone can have fun with me, so hold tight! I plan to make the stream longer than usual!” Chimera’s eyes lit up with genuine excitement, teasing the audience as the chat fills with flirty greetings.

Chilchuck takes a breath, studying the mans face and naked torso, the only part of his body fully in view, and he is absolutely captivating.

[kinardbegins]

✮ main masterlist + ao3 ✮

casper. 20s. he/him. uk. tommy kinard enthusiast. bucktommy truther. follows from softhairedhotch.

9-1-1 masterlist:

sense of belonging [bucktommy]

i'll give you roses [bucktommy]

family line [bucktommy, tommy & rocker]

sobriety [bobby nash & gn!reader]

sharing beds like little kids [bucktommy]

mr mystery man [bucktommy]

need your arms to hold me tight [bucktommy]

anxious mess [bucktommy]

finally home [bucktommy]

in every universe [bucktommy]

we'll build a blanket fort [buddietommy]

elevator love [bucktommy]

caleb collins (9-1-1 oc):

i don't wanna say goodbye (cause this one means forever) [caleb & brother]

hot cocoa [caleb collins/may grant]

[firsttarotreader]

Lucien Flores - The Fool

The nineteenth character of our series “Pedro’s Characters as Tarot Cards” is Lucien Flores. Lucien represents “The Fool”.

The Fool walks joyfully into a new adventure. He’s excited, he is not scared of the dangers he will face. There is an idealism to him, he is ready to discover the world, he’s spontaneous and even kind of innocent. This card’s energy is one of optimism, freedom and infinite potential. A bold risk-taker, he doesn’t hold back. A person under The Fool’s energy is a free spirit, an adventurer, with a bright smile, a youthful spark in their eyes and carefree style. Their presence is invigorating,they are optimistic and enthusiastic about life, jumping in on new adventures and opportunities with passion and courage.

We don’t know everything about Lucien Flores yet, but what we have seen shows his adventurous spirit, someone who arrives at his former love’s house bringing her the possibility of a new beginning, full of excitement and freedom. He’s there to apologize as part of his sobriety steps, and we learn from Rose, his ex, that he partied too hard, and that was one of the reasons why they broke up, although what they had was passionate and intense. He is still like that, he is not afraid, he sneaks out of the party with her, takes her to a corner, kisses her, with his spontaneous and carefree attitude. He doesn’t even care about her husband who’s in the house, he ignores the danger, he is a wild card, a man who went on to become a successful actor and who’s ready to boldly jump in on a new adventure.

For now, this is it in our Character Cards journey! When we are able to see his next characters, we’ll resume our series! Hope you all have enjoyed it so far! 🥰

[dollarbin]

Free Bin #4:

All One Song, Chris Forsyth Week

Okay, there is no plan this week: let's just listen to the second episode of my famous brother's new podcast while I rant in real time.

To begin, I don't know anything about Forsyth other than the fact that my brother writes about him all the time. And if he does so, the guy, who seems to front 17 different bands, must be talented. Plus, the theme music the guy created for All One Song is absolutely great: his is the only tribute act on the planet that we'd all want to see.

That's this week's praise for the podcast. Now, let the complaining begin!

Complaint Number 1: the editing. Tyler keeps inviting us to sit back and enjoy Forsyth's band, with the sublime moniker Coca Leaves and Pearls, while he does the same. I love that idea. After all, as an eager listener to a Neil Young podcast and not much else, what the hell else have I got going on?

But then we get just 2.2 seconds of listening time before my brother is back to talking again. Surely my famous brother intended for these dedicated music interludes to be lengthy, and so he entrusted his editor to make them so. In summary, his editor needs to follow Tyler's directions and take a chill pill.

Complaint Number 2: Chris sounds sober. That means there is a 100% sobriety rate on this podcast. That is a troubling statistic. As I've argued before, sobriety is an unwelcome guest on a Neil Young podcast.

Complaint Number 3: Why didn't my 7th grade history teacher play me Neil Young? While we are at it did I even have a 7th grade history teacher? I simply cannot remember.

Then again, I'm a history teacher and I sure don't play my students any Neil Young, especially during classes on the Black experience. Rather I bring in music, writing and art by, you know, Black people. Chris was clearly brought up, like me, back when we supposedly didn't know any better.

Instead of Neil Young, I had to spend much of 5th grade listening to The Kingston Trio in class. My teacher just thought they were the best. Someone should have rescinded the guy's teaching certificate.

Complaint Number 4: Chris opens with the thesis that Neil has no clue: that he can never tell the difference between his good music and his bad music.

THIS IS NOT TRUE!

Neil knows. He knows! After all, the guy never made a studio recording of Sweet Joni. We all want the song to be good - after all, it's about his love for Joni Mitchell! - but it's just not a very good song.

And so he ditched the thing and never played it again.

Sure, he did not initially issue at least 1/2 the timeless music he made in the 70's. But he put it all out eventually, often with great fanfare.

And sure, he released tons of crap in the 80's. But take a listen to Archives 3: what he actually issued in the 80's is almost universally better than that which he held onto. I mean have you listened to Johnny's Island?

Last week's episode, which Chris obviously did not listen to, disproves his argument as well. Remember? Neil has not played Will to Love a second time, ever. It's because HE KNOWS. He could never do it justice again; a second pass would tarnish its perfect halo.

Sure, Neil puts out a lot of crap. And sure, he acts all enthusiastic about it at the time. Remember how he ranted about how great Storytone was with its one mic orchestra or whatever? It was the same thing with his phone booth record and The Shocking Pinks.

But all the while Neil knew he was pulling his own leg, and ours. In discussing The Shocking Pinks Neil put things plainly: "What am I? Stupid? Did people really think I put that out thinking it was the greatest fu%kin' thing I'd ever recorded? Obviously I'm aware it's not."

And do you see him playing any of those songs or in any of those styles today? No, you do not. (Happily, Tyler just made this same point the same time I typed it. Smooth move Broheim.) And when the movie Paradox came out he acted all fired up. But, meanwhile, he absolutely could not keep a straight face.

Chris, Chris, Chris: Neil is enthusiastic about his crap not because he thinks it's good but because he has dedicated his entire life to being utterly bonkers.

The guy is not crazy. No way.

But he gets joy from, and centers his art around, earnestly embracing his inner (not his outer, thankfully!) nuts. He rejects all conventions. He bends over and moons our reasonable, established standards for beauty, entertainment and value. He's Neil Young.

And he's not alone! That's what all creative geniuses do. They put out Self Portrait. With a gatefold! They cover It's Not Easy Being Green. They write Mansfield Park, with its pathetic-until-she-isn't heroine, and they assemble a chorus of Frogs to mock their city state. They earnestly insist that their hero absolutely could have crossed France on foot in a bearskin and be mistaken for a real bear. They write 40,000 words, with more planned, that no one will ever read about Buffalo Springfield.

Okay, I admit that I undercut myself with that last point. But otherwise, are you with me? Yes? Good.

Now, that just about sums up my thoughts on the first ten minutes. What else has Forsyth got to say?

I may never find out: my wife is giving me that get-a-life look so I guess I'll pretend to do so for awhile.

Will there be a Part 2 to this post? I don't know that either! But if there is, I will genuinely embrace the surely incorrect idea that my Part 2 is awesome, at least I will do so for the one moment in which I hit publish.

Update!

I sneaked in the rest of the podcast this afternoon and I’ve just gotta say the whole thing is fantastic. Forsyth comes across as the kind of guy you want to take a class from, have a beer with, and scream at while he shreds. I sure hope his Shakey band makes their way to the West Coast soon.

I know much of what I write here in the bin is cynical nonsense, but I want to come right out and earnestly say that I admire what my famous brother has got going on with All One Song. I'll even cut his poor editor some slack: nice work everyone.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go listen to Lookout Joe - a song I've listened to hundreds of times without ever really paying attention - with an entirely new perspective.

[vinylspinning]

Motörhead: We Are Motörhead (2000)

Here's a bit of trivia for those of you who pay attention to dates and calendars and such: We Are Motörhead was released 25 years ago, and also 25 years after this hard rock institution's official foundation, back in 1975.

It was Motörhead's 15th studio LP (16th if you count '79's once-shelved On Parole) and seven more would follow -- some good, some not so good -- before Ian 'Lemmy' Kilmister left for his next "adventure," but I had to question my sobriety when I re-read my overly enthusiastic review for Ultimate Classic Rock.

But wait, I can explain!

We Are Motörhead can't compete with Motörhead's early classics, but it sounded pretty great when sandwiched between two of the band's all-time-weakest LPs: '98's Snake Bite Love and '02's Hammered, so just take what follows with a grain of salt ...

Many considered it no small miracle that the hard-living Lemmy even made it to the year 2000 (he was 55, same age as me, as I write this), but he and his band sure celebrated the accomplishment with We Are Motörhead's proud statement of survival.

Led by an absolutely blinding performance from drummer Mikkey Dee, "See Me Burning," "Stagefright/Crash & Burn," and the "Ace of Spades"-derived title track rank among the fastest Motörhead songs ever recorded -- and that's obviously saying something.

But the album was anything but a relentless barrage, and yielded a bluesy late-career highlight in "Out to Lunch," locked into an industrially-precise groove on "Slow Dance," and recalled the horrifying "Orgasmatron" on "Wake Up Dead" (complete with bass solo).

If anything, some of these highlights were probably overlooked at the time because so much attention was paid to Motörhead's much publicized cover of The Sex Pistols' "God Save the Queen" which they performed convincingly and entirely irony-free.

Come to think of it, can you think of another band more qualified than Motörhead to tap into the Pistols' establishment-shaking ethos and then actually take it to another level of wanton destruction?

And yet the album's most surprising number was probably the deceptively named "One More Fucking Time," which rode a mournful Phil Campbell arpeggio lick and solo atop which Lemmy delivered a bitter, heartbroken relationship requiem with one of his most vulnerable vocals and philosophical lyrics, which I'll paraphrase:

"All your life is in your head; All your dreams are in your sleep; And if your dreams are hid too deep; They're just a waste of time;

Both your eyes wide open; You see the shape I'm in; It wasn't of my choosing; It's only bones and skin;

And I will plead no contest; If loving you's a crime; So go on and find me guilty; Just one more fucking time;

All your instincts let you down; It's not a case of love in vain; It's not a case of love insane; It's enough to break your heart;

And so all those years together; Weren't worth a fucking dime; So go on and find me guilty; Just one more fucking time"

Pretty great, right? Especially when you consider that all of these songs were produced "by committee" with the help of engineer Duane Baron, former Racer-X guitarist Bruce Bouillet, and, perhaps most notable of all, longtime Kiss associate Bob Kulick.

But that's Motörhead for you: enduring, resilient, defiant, unyielding, indestructible, and eternal -- just like the title cut explained:

"We are the ones you love or we're the ones you hate; We are the ones always too early or too late; We are the first and we just still might be the last; We are Motörhead, born to kick your ass!"

More Motörhead: Motörhead, Overkill, Bomber, “Bomber,” Ace of Spades, St. Valentine’s Day Massacre EP, No Sleep 'til Hammersmith, Iron Fist, Another Perfect Day, Killed by Death EP, No Remorse, Orgasmatron, Rock 'n’ Roll, 1916, Bastards, Sacrifice,  Snake Bite Love, Hammered, Inferno, Motörizer, Aftershock, Bad Magic.

[mwexodusofficial]

Chapter VI: Festivities (Pt. II)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Music: "Supersonics", by Caravan Palace)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Whut floor ehm I oonnn???"

5 shots each and a few hours later, and the Tulpar crew plus Hawkes were shit-faced drunk. Before he reached the point of no return, Hawkes instructed the room staff to loosen up their uniforms and join in the merrymaking. In his severely drunken state, he had mistakenly gone up to Annalise and quietly directed her to sit next to Daisuke, being painfully obvious in his implication without realizing it.

Whereas any other woman would have simply ignored the drunken Captain and continued their merrymaking, Annalise was a die-hard loyalist- and additionally, very dense. The Captain's failure to hide his agenda completely passed over Anna's head, and instead, she simply interpreted the order as an assignment to socialize with the resurrected to help them adjust to the land of the living again.

Enthusiastically, she sat down next to Daisuke, who yelped in a high pitch as he noticed her presence, gaining temporary sobriety.

"Hey, Daisuke!"

"H-Hey there, A-Annalise!"

Meanwhile, Jeremiah entered the room with a somewhat drunk Roble, the two of them instantly noticing the chaotic atmosphere. Many of the crewmates employed as waitstaff were engaged in all kinds of mischief and party games. A few of them were playing beer pong on the bar counter, some others were playing cards, two were playing chess (where the hell did they get a chessboard?), and even the stowaway rats were sloppily dancing to the music pumping from the overhead speakers, after licking up spilled droplets of Hennessy.

"I need some liquor in my system, stat!" Jeremiah immediately commented, and Roble smirked, leading him with a stumbling gait over to the bar counter to grab a bottle. At the same time, Swansea was drunkenly reading medical flashcards to an even more intoxicated Anya, quizzing her as Daisuke, Curly and Hawkes cheered Anya on from the sidelines.

"Okey. Nexx queshtion," Swansea muttered almost incomprehensibly, pulling the next flash card up to read. "Dehfine thuh ad-dreen-uhl cor-tecks (Define the adrenal cortex)."

Anya swayed back and forth, seemingly thinking on the question, before spitting out an answer like a robot.

"Outeerrrr... Outerrr sex-shin uhf tha adreeenal gland. It sec-kreets cor-ti-sahl, all-dough-ster-own, andddd-uhhhh, ssseeexxx hor-mones(Outer section of the adrenal gland. It secretes cortisol, aldosterone, and sex hormones)."

"Currrr-eckt!" Swansea announced boisterously, as Hawkes, Daisuke and Curly clapped wildly.

"Shee's on a rollll!!!" Daisuke slurred.

"Amay-zinggg!" Curly exclaimed with weary but spirited eyes, his mind still haunted and on the verge of breaking despite the severe lack of sobriety.

"Sum-one ghet her a troph-eee." Hawkes complimented with rapidly deteriorating awareness of his surroundings. Anya smiled obliviously, waving at her supporters as if she'd just been elected to office.

"Nexcht question!!" Swansea incoherently interjected. "Wheeh-ch part of thaa ver-teh-bruhl cah-naal will shooow sec-un-dehr-eee currr-ves, with cahn-cah-vit-eee back-werrds (Which part of the vertebral canal will show secondary curves, with concavity backwards?)"

Anya swayed back and forth once more, thinking on the question while fighting the urge to drop on her side and fall asleep.

"Thaa ser-vick-uhl an' lum-barrr reej-juhns (The cervical and lumbar regions). Tha curvess dev-ehl-uhp af-tur birth, and-uhhh are ass-osh-ee-ay-ted with thaa-uuhhh bah-dee's adaptation toooo up-right pause-shter and bye-ped-uhl lo-coh-moh-shun (The curves develop after birth, and are associated with the body's adaptation to upright posture and bipedal locomotion)."

"Currect, ag-ayn!" Swansea proclaimed loudly with overwhelming drunk stupor, pumping his fist in the air like he'd just watched his betting horse cross the finish line first. Again, the clapping from the peanut gallery erupted, humbly inviting thanks and salutations from Anya, who at this point was standing up and bowing several times over, offering thanks and beaming with pride.

How did she fail the medical exam eight times? Hawkes wondered in semi-coherent thought.

"Hey, Anya!" 

Anya turned to Hawkes' voice, stumbling and placing her hands on her hips with acute confidence. Hawkes thought his heart would burst from how the sight overwhelmed his orbitofrontal cortex with adorable-ness. He looked to Curly, concerned that-

"CuRLy!" He muttered under his breath in alarm, seeing Curly had flopped back on the couch with a violent shiver- a rigid grin wrought across his face as he silently quivered.

Fuck, Hawkes thought in rising concern. He might have an actual heart attack.

That was no hyperbole, either- Hawkes had thought about the intricate problems with this whole 'reviving people from the dead' thing. When a person died, their emotions were pushed to their extremes, beyond anything they've ever felt in their life. Imagine dying with those otherworldly heights of emotions, then waking back up in the same life?

Without a doubt, from what Hawkes had observed, those death's door emotions came slamming back into their minds, wreaking havoc across their body, and decimating practically every complex component that summarized their existence. Everything from simple topics, to merely glancing at other returned friends or loved ones, to just thinking about the trauma, was enough to cause meltdowns, breakdowns, mental snaps, insanity, and a whole other troupe of issues.

So, in conclusion, Curly seeing his once-dead (alleged) lover exude such adorable energy sent his receptors into shock, which cascaded across the rest of his brain and body, amplified by the heightened emotions from death and subsequent resurrection. What a fucking headache to deal with.

It was times like these that Hawkes was always grateful for the invention of the Reformation Procedure- he could fix any issue they had. However, he had reservations about just 'curing' everything about them.

Physically, he had no issue restoring them to perfection. But when it came to mental issues, there were certain moral misgivings he had with it. No matter if it were an illness or an ailment, those were unfortunately part of who a person is or was. The primary fear that Hawkes had with removing those was if he removed such a key component to someone's life; they could potentially lose their sanity entirely by being pushed over the edge, not knowing who they were or being unable to comprehend reality without those key parts of them.

Perhaps, as time went on and they healed from their past, there could be a gradual reduction and eventual dissipation entirely. But right now, doing that was far too risky. Right now, they needed treatment.

Hawkes almost snickered out loud at himself. As often as he had used it to practice terror and evil on the wicked, he had discontinued it for torture ever since the Day of Erudition (A really stupid name, in his opinion), and had focused his full efforts on healing and improving people's lives.

It was the only path he was allowed because it was the path he had been gifted by the greatest. He was not going to squander this. Everything, every fiber of his being was dedicated to helping the innocent and punishing the guilty.

The only difference was, helping the innocent would be far more of an ordeal.

As everyone began to glance over to Curly to see what happened, Hawkes quickly diverted the conversation back to Anya.

"WhUt's thE nExT qUeSsstchun, ShwaaansSEAA?" Hawkes proclaimed giddily with a facade of being more drunk than he was, dancing with his upper torso while poking the air in rhythm with the song. Thankfully, everyone's attention returned back to Swansea, who didn't skip a beat in reading off the next question. Hawkes took the opportunity to silently sneak over to Curly to check on him.

"Hey. Hey. Curly, you good? Curly?" He whispered as he came up to inspect the blonde idiot. He was relieved to see Curly had stopped shivering, suddenly raising his head with wandering drunk-eyes and surveying the suite with regaining clarity.

"Y-Yeah... Wh-What happened?"

"You fell in love again. Anyways, can you keep an eye on Anya and drink some water? I gotta hit the men's room."

Curly jabbed a thumbs up and Hawkes quickly departed, heading towards the restroom door. He felt a surge of gratitude and affection for his crew as he didn't have to duck his head when going through it; they had taken a lot of time and care for this suite. And it wasn't for nothing.

He had saved their lives more times than the amount of years they'd lived. Not collectively, obviously, but individually. He wasn't sure why he had to clarify that in his thinking.

He entered the restroom and immediately went to a stall to relieve himself. He had drank a ton, after all. It wasn't dignified, but tis was the nature of any living being. Dignity was a facade made up by humans to seem above the station they were given in life; as vulgar, awkward, bumbling creatures whose only saving graces against the natural order were cunning, intellect, and a horrifying imagination for creativity.

Oh, and sweating, of course. They would still be monkeys if not for sweat evolution. Wow, what a pair of words to put together.

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(Music: "Midnight", by Caravan Palace)

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"Ah, shit." Hawkes cursed silently, trying to finish his prolonged relief. "Song change, I need to get back out there and vibe right now."

He quickly re-did his belt and pants, sprint-walk-stumbling towards the sink to cleanse his sinful hands, and stormed through the door. 

Seeing the faces of Curly, Anya, Swansea and Daisuke turn to face him, their eyes lighting up with affection and excitement, seeing their bodies relax and re-energized, seeing nothing except respect, admiration and hope resonate from them...

Hawkes was born in a dingy lower-class fiefdom on Canaris. His father was a metalworker, his mother a seamstress. Both were employed by the Canaris Global Federation as they were waging wars against pirates, rival nations and private mercenary groups. His father was cruel, but after being conscripted his cruelty found an outlet. He had eventually brought this home, inflicting it on the family for years.

Hawkes' mother died at his father's hands. And his father died at his hands. His brother had joined a gang to find alternative income and ended up dead from a drive-by. Hawkes moved off-world, finding nothing except contempt and abuse in the holdings of cruisers, freighters and carriers. Even as he was promoted, his young age garnered disrespect and loathing from his subordinates and superiors, along with his impoverished background.

He had to find respect through overwhelming, frightening violence. It was the norm for military vessels at the time, and he caught on quick. Ten years more, ten years before he finally gained some respect from his peers.

Ten years after that, he gained admiration from his crew and military.

Ten years once more, and he gained their trust- the whole damn kingdom.

But at no point in time, did he see affection in their eyes. At no point did he see love. Familial love.

And that was exactly what he said in those four only a few meters away. Love.

He had never seen this from his mother nor father, nor brother. He had long known he was the product of rape, that the mother hated the child and the father loathed him for being the burden that ended his nomadic lifestyle; that Hawkes' brother was a mutual conception thanks to his mother's Stockholm Syndrome, a brother who hated him for causing his parents such grief and rage for no apparent reason, one they did not disclose to him.

Such injustice. Such hypocrisy. Such ignorant evil.

And yet when he looked at these four, those thoughts that terrified and enraged him would fade away as if it were the morning mist of a rising sun.

Love. Love, love, love.

Loooove.

What a wonderful word, he thought to himself. It was the most fitting, most perfect word he could conceive to describe how he felt about them. Love.

It was settled. He had no family until today. These people- these beautiful souls- they were his family now. They were kin to him. A divine gift.

Thank. God.

"hEy hAwKeS!!" Daisuke mumbled near-incoherently, waving over-dramatically as Hawkes exited the bathroom. Hawkes smiled genuinely, waving back at him- more sober and euphoric than ever before. Minus the sober part.

"Hey Daisuke!" He replied with a beaming smile. He wanted to go and sit with them so badly. But he needed to take care of some minor issues first. He turned on his shoulder radio, speaking to a few people before he went back to his comfort.

"Hawkes here, you hear me, Ali?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Start the renovations on their rooms early tomorrow."

"Fuck... Hawkes, dude, we're gonna be hung over as hell."

"I'm sorry, did hangover cures become obsolete when I wasn't looking? Here's some tips, crack an egg over a beer and chug it."

"That was only one tip, Cap-"

Click. He switched to the next channel.

"Jazz."

"Jazz here, what's up?"

"Suite. Now."

Before Jazz could respond, Hawkes switched the radio to the next channel. He was pissed at Jazz; solely over his bullshit speech about Anya during the Ritual. He had his reservations on what happened, but he wanted a damn good explanation from Jazz on why he would lie during a revival procession.

"Lily. Hawkes here." He whispered as loud as he could over the music and noise.

"Here, beautiful."

"I told you to stop the flirting. I need you to have some agents keep an eye on the four we resurrected, 24/7."

"Done. When are you free tomorrow?"

"Never... maybe." 

Click.

Hawkes exhaled, trying to fight off the urge to fall over and find slumber. He wasn't going to waste a second of this precious time. Two more. He changed the channel.

"Annie, you there? It's Hawkes."

"Fuck you want? I'm partying."

Hawkes half-grinned , having always enjoyed the crude behavior and language of the Chief Medical Officer. It reminded him of his home district.

"I'm not asking you to stop. Tomorrow (write this down, you forgetful ditz) I'd like you to perform a mental evaluation of the Tulpar crew, I'll be present."

"Why do you always make wishes that can't be granted? I shouldn't have to reiterate why evaluations are isolated between the CMO and the patient."

"I'm the Captain. My wishes are always granted."

Hawkes had come off more strongly than he intended, but the message seemed more than sufficient.

"Very well, Admiral."

Hawkes laughed, then sneered at the crass rebuttal. Hawkes was an admiral, a commander of several ships in a fleet, but for this rescue mission he had been temporarily bumped down to the rank of Captain since he was only commandeering one ship. Apparently, the reasoning for this had been, "If an admiral dies during a non-combat operation, it is far worse of a hit to public morale than a captain dying."

What the fuck? Shockingly, Hawkes was somewhat understanding of the reasoning, no matter how cold-blooded it was. Seeing 'Admiral Dead During Rescue Operation' in the headlines was not good for morale, and since Canaris was still fighting two wars with other nations, that morale was key to winning the whole conflict.

He turned off the radio, knowing he was better than to respond spitefully to Annie's provocations-

Click.

"Hope the love life is progressing well, Annie."

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY YOU SON OF A BITC-"

Click.

It was just too satisfying.

Last one. He switched to the Divinity Channel, this time hearing Jazz's shaky voice.

"S-So, uh, Captain Hawkes, we're all good right?"

"Get that sack of shit ready for resurrection, then dose him until he's in a coma for twenty-four hours. I don't want to hear his name spoken by anyone. After he's back, tie him down and shove him into Interrogation. Then you can come up and hang out in the Captain's Suite."

Jazz exhaled through the radio in relief, seemingly glad he wasn't getting reamed out.

"Yes, sir."

Click. He was still getting reamed out.

Hawkes purged his mind of the last few seconds, trying to clear his mind rapidly before any form of rage could onset. He practically skipped over to the four of them-

...

To his family.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Music: "Tension", by Avery Alexander)

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"Miss Lilia, Mr. Frank is on the line."

"Patch him over."

Lilia, Chief of Espionage for the Argonaut II, was swiveling in her chair to handle the deluge of different assignments, tasks and issues that assailed her every minute. Being a workaholic, she absolutely loved this role, giving her overactive mind a constant stimulation that itched that scratch she'd been looking for her whole life.

"Lilia here. Any sign of trouble afar?"

"Hey. Yeah, there's a renegade armada with no sigil readings. They're on a different course, though, and they've got some serious manpower and weaponry. We should let them cruise by."

Lilia chuckled in slight amusement. Had this been three months ago, her report to Hawkes would have resulted in an inevitable fight. That stubborn bastard possessed a hate for pirates she'd never seen in anyone else, her whole life. Everytime they won the fight, having disabled the engines, blown up the bridge and obliterating the enemy armaments, they would board these pirate ships.

There would always be captives onboard- always. No pirate could survive long in the outer reaches of space without a penchant for raiding weaker ships and getting involved in the slave market. The first time she had seen him free those captives and grant them comfort and reprieve, she had been a cold skeptic- believing it to be nothing more than a political stunt to make himself look better.

The second time, she wondered.

The fiftieth time, she knew. She knew.

In this hellish society, with these pig-fucker leaders and autocrats and elitists and useful idiots... there was a real-life hero. Tainted as he may have been, he was a hero to her. She'd served as a spy, an informant, a double agent and an undercover detective for over twenty years. At the ripe old age of 35, she was a master in her craft. But for 20 of those years, she felt soulless. Empty. Aimless, no matter the accolades or talents she gained and exhibited. In her role, she'd seen the absolute worst that humanity had to offer, and no further statements could fully detail nor explain that kind of depravity- what it did to the human mind.

But on one fateful day, she was given a contract to spy on Admiral Hawkes, of the 8th Canaris Fleet.

Lilia pressed the button to speak over the radio.

"We'll let them cruise by, then."

"Should we warp now to avoid confrontation?"

"No. It takes a while to spool our FTL drivers, and the energy it gives off while it warms up is detectable within several millions of miles. We're sure to get found and shot at if we do it."

"Copy that."

Lilia switched her radio to General, secretly hoping Hawkes would call her to request something. She had been obsessed with him for the last ten years. After being promoted to Chief of Espionage, she was granted access to every surveillance device onboard. With this overwhelming power, she naturally spent several waking moments watching, listening and understanding the Captain's words and actions.

The more she listened, the more she saw- the more she felt connected to him, empathized with him. She'd spent her whole life studying others, seeing the worst and best sides of them all. Those 'worse' sides were far more plentiful than the best.

But with Hawkes... he was, without a doubt, a hero. She'd spent so much time trying to know him, brute-hacking and scouring through his locked-away government records, studying his every movement, interpreting his actions and words in with multiple ledgers of those movements.

Over the years, she'd accumulated a handful of subordinates in her position, those who knew of her obsession and were still loyal after years of dutiful service. These people were trusted with her most secretive of tasks; infiltrating gatherings, eavesdropping on private conversations, jotting down the movements and behaviors of troublesome crewmates.

Most of the head of crew were at the end-result of veterancy; more than a decade for most of them. Their direct subordinates were loyal, efficient and reliable. Their minds were clear of trouble, their morale unwavering.

But Lilia was the reason for this. She had weeded out the cancerous tumors that had boarded this vessel. Whether by imprisonment in the brig, severe punishments for atonement, or outright execution for foiled plots- she had been the maintainer of this ship's safety and order; through surveillance, a proactive mindset, and a network of trustworthy spies who were willing to die before giving up her name. Her role and theirs were known only by the Heads of Departments- and the true identities of her informants were only known by her.

A perfect system, that she had devised for optimum security and full accountability. A system she had created and wanted so badly to put in place. And Hawkes -God! That fucking beautiful man!- had given her the greenlight to implement it however she pleased.

This was her paying him back, for everything he'd done for her. She'd seen every interaction of him on the ship. Every single one for fifteen years. There wasn't a single moment where he doubted his crew, or talked shit behind their backs; there wasn't a single instance or occurrence where he committed wrongs against his crew, or acted out of hubris or cowardice or self-interest. For fifteen fucking years! He was an unwavering force of nature, to her. And a force for good.

She was aware of what he did to criminals in the Interrogation Room. She was aware of his flaws, his insecurities, his imperfections, his moments of self-doubt and depression. She knew his history, for the last fifteen years and everything she could find in records or from witness accounts since his birth, as much as she possibly could. She just wanted to understand what made him tick- especially from how he was raised... how could he form such a heroic mindset and stick by it? With such intellect, how did he not grow slothful, or lazy, or contemptuous of the world and lose all hope? How did he find the determination to reach a goal known to no one but himself?

When his whole personality and mindset switched in the last two months, Lilia was only driven into a frenzy of curiosity. More questions, less answers. The discovery of resurrection. The discovery of an afterlife- of a creator, of a universe that was designed...

Her mind raced. And raced. And raced. It was all so interesting. She just needed time to sort it all out. And throughout this time, she had only Hawkes to thank. For centering her mind, centering her world, around a beacon of hope and steadfast leader in these changing times.

She was eternally grateful for having ever met him. She would protect him at all costs. And she would continue to do so, to guard the man she venerated as the most heroic person she'd ever met.

"Lilia, I've got the prints for that armada."

"Give 'em here, Ozzy."

The First Agent, Ozzy, handed the documents over to Lilia, who scanned them with pinpoint focus.

"Send copies of these to the Heads of Departments."

"Roger. By the by, are you still watching the Suite Cam?"

"Please exit this room with haste."

"Why don't you just ask him out?"

"LEAVE- THE- ROOM- PLEASE."

Ozzy snickered plentifully as Lilia, frustrated, returned to her work.

Bzzt.

"Lily, Hawkes here."

OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OHMYGOSH-

Lilia recomposed herself, answering the radio with giddy excitement.

"Hey, beautiful." She flirted over the radio. Despite being a master spy with decades of experience, she had absolutely no understanding of social conventions nor romance in the slightest. She had spent most of her teenage and adult life watching other people interact, which meant she had no opportunity to accumulate this experience herself.

"I told you to stop the flirting. I need you to have some agents keep an eye on the four we resurrected, 24/7."

"Done. When are you free tomorrow?"

She pitched the question with earnest, even if she knew the answer every single time.

"Never."

She barely smiled, shaking her head in disappointment. She was hurt every time he said it, but she would never want to impose-

"...Maybe."

"AAAAAHAAHAHAAHHAHAHHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!"

As the radio clicked off, Lilia squealed in absolute euphoria, punching the air to release the pent-up energy that had been brewing inside her. Ozzy came back around the corner, relaying more news.

"The CMO says she wants to-"

"TELL THAT BITCH TO FUCK OFF AND D- Ahem. Ahem. Mmm."

Lilia quickly recomposed herself, trying to ignore the deluge of eyes glancing towards her in slight concern. Her host of subordinates expected those kinds of outbursts from Hawkes, but not their usually calm and collected Chief. 

...

Then, the room collectively reconsidered their thoughts and summarily, unanimously concluded that this was, in fact, in line with their Chief of Espionage's past behavior, and continued their work diligently.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Music: "Lady, Hear Me Tonight", by Modjo)

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The Captain's Suite was once more abuzz, as the alcohol wore off somewhat and left most of the room in a state of perfect non-sobriety. A Modern-Era song was jamming on the overhead speakers, and the first one to jump up and start dancing was none other than Daisuke, equipped with a pair of sunglasses Hawkes had gifted him from his bedroom drawer.

Swansea cheered him on, while Curly and Anya were talking privately to one another, serious expressions on their faces. That damnable look of terror hadn't dissipated from behind their eyes. Hawkes badly wanted to intrude on their conversation to know what they were discussing, but he knew that was going to turn them away. He decided to let them be for a few minutes- but not for too long. He had a ping pong match set up next- that is, if there wasn't some random incident that spoiled his plans.

"Hawkes."

Hawkes turned his head to Swansea, who was leaning against the couch, beaming with pride at Daisuke as he danced.

"Thank you."

Hawkes needed no other words to understand the depths of Swansea's gratitude- it was tenfold the gratitude he had received from people whose lives he had snatched from death. It exhumed from every pore of Swansea, echoing sentiments of deep, deep thankfulness that stretched beyond what words could possibly describe.

Hawkes smiled at him, feeling a stirring of emotion he hadn't felt in decades.

"I am not sure how you perceive me, Swansea," Captain Hawkes conceded with genuine remorse. "And whatever you may learn of me in the future, I hope you'll... still see someone worth being around."

He was surprised when Swansea scooted over, placing his hand firmly on Hawkes' shoulder (having to stretch his arm to the max limit) and looking Hawkes dead in the eyes.

"We all have skeletons in our closet. You gave us something that could only happen in a dream. I couldn't give less of a single fuck what people have to say, or what your past was like. You saved the people who were- are my world. My entire world. As far as I'm concerned, I'm indebted to you for the rest of my life and beyond."

Hawkes felt light stabs of pain in his eyes, fearing the onset of tears. It would not do for a Captain to cry in front of anyone, much less those he'd just brought back from the dead. It did not inspire confidence in others to see their highest authority lose his composure.

"Th...Thank you, Swansea." Hawkes said with a breaking voice, turning his head away to conceal the tears running down his cheeks. "You deserve the world, and I will g....give it to you no matter what."

Hawkes quickly stood up from the couch, covering his face with his hand and disguising it as a coughing fit, returning to the restroom once more.

How undignified! Hawkes raged at himself. The Captain of the ship, frequenting the stalls like some sort of blitzed bozo! This would be the last time he entered this cursed restroom... unless he genuinely needed to relieve himself, of course. He wasn't stupid. 

Hawkes opened the stall with the most leg room, sitting on the top of the toilet seat and pondering. The tears continued to stream down his cheeks, but it was easier to let it happen when no eyes were concentrated on him.

"What to do next?" He muttered confusedly, trying to piece together the next plan of action. He had given them comfort, provided them food and booze, given them the warmth and coziness of a social, fun atmosphere... what was next? What was... what was next?

Perhaps... perhaps after this, they could pass out here and wait until their room renovations were done. There were still two months left for the return trip; the rescue mission only took a year because the flight path was so spotty and indecipherable most of the time; yet another failing of that shit-bred fuck-wad useless detritus of a pithy company, Pony Express. 

"I'm gonna- heh! I'm gonna fucking eviscerate them in court. I'm gonna destroy their companies and find their names and home addresses. I'm gonna use my authority to police their transport to the prison systems and- GhhhRAAAH!"

He smacked himself in the head a multitude of times, utterly enraged at himself, knowing he'd already made a pact to discontinue physical torture- he was thinking of so many ways to help the Tulpar crew recover, he could barely conceive plans for the next day without thinking of everything involving them, and especially about the people who hurt them.

Why? Why was it so hard to help people? Why was it so complex? This wasn't a one-and-done issue like blowing up a pirate vessel, or capturing an integral enemy's team of scientists, or even hosting negotiations for a cruiser full of hostages. This was a day-to-day struggle of constantly maintaining and ensuring one's mental and physical states were okey dokey.

He wanted them to be okey dokey. FUCK! He wanted them to be okey dokey! Just to-

Knock, knock.

"Captain, can I use this stall? The other one's clogged with toilet paper."

"MOTHERF-"

Hawkes had been prepared to launch a barrage of verbal replies tinged with animosity, but decided against it. He sighed and covered his face with his hands. What was he thinking? Couldn't he just get his thoughts together?

"So... is that a no, then?"

"Name, rank and ID number, please."

That sentence alone sent whoever was behind the door scurrying out of the bathroom. Hawkes snickered, getting up and dusting himself off again.

"Fuckin' belligerents." He muttered, exiting the bathroom just in time to see Anya and Curly scuffling out of the Suite quietly. With concern, he quickly moved over to where Swansea was, sipping from a glass of wine while watching Daisuke, still dancing, and tapping his feet to the rhythm of the song.

"Hey hey, Swansea."

"Wazzaaaap, Hawkes." Swansea greeted him casually. "You havin' a good time?"

Hawkes nodded with a forced smile. His anxiety was gnawing at him over Curly and Anya's recent actions.

"I saw those two early scurrying off, are they going to do some dirty business?" Hawkes questioned mischieviously with a sly grin, putting on a clear facade to extract information. Swansea laughed and shook his head.

"No, no. They just said they were gonna have a private talk for a bit. I'm a bit thankful, cuz they were bringing down my energy for a while..."

"Uh huh!" Hawkes said dismissively as he immediately stood up and practically floated across the room to an empty corner, turning on his radio.

"Lilia, come in."

"Where do you think we should go? I was thinking we could try out Hephalia's Garden once we get back to Canaris!"

"Wh..What? Sure, whatever. Listen, I need you to-"

"REALLY???"

Hawkes was overwhelmed by the energy pouring out of the radio, and almost regretted whatever he had just agreed to. Still, his primary concern was Curly and Anya- he could deal with these other issues later on.

"Yes, really. I need you focused. Please get your spies to follow Curly and Anya, and whatever room they enter, route the wiretaps and hidden cameras to my headset and holopad."

"You got it, Hawkes."

Hawkes shivered slightly as the milky voice poured over the radio, before it turned off from the other end. Now that he had a few seconds to think, he realized he might just have agreed to a date with Lilia.

Oh, well. Whether or not it worked out, he knew there'd be no efficiency issue with the ship. Lilia was reliable by every standard, regardless of whatever emotions she had brewing inside her.

Having resolved the remainder of the issues, Hawkes sat down, tired, on the couch alongside Swansea, admiring the endurance and ability to dance that Daisuke possessed.

"Swansea, what do you think of me?" Hawkes muttered. Swansea looked over at him, then back at Daisuke, pondering.

...

"I think you're an amazing human being. Brought us back, spoiled us, gave us relief from the endless nightmare. I still have a hundred thousand questions about what the fuck is going on. I still don't fully trust this situation. I still partially think this is some twisted, long-form dream that I'm gonna wake up from and realize I'm still stuck on that piece of shit freighter."

Swansea exhaled, as if glad to voice his thoughts.

"But, for once in my fuckin' life, I actually feel... hope. I feel like I have a chance to breathe, like my chest isn't always tightened, choking and crushing me from the inside over time. I feel like I'd won the lottery. I had so many fuckin' wishes when I died... I had regrets like you wouldn't believe. Daisuke... his... past life... was un-fuckin-fair. I hated it beyond what words could do justice. I hated it."

He turned to Hawkes, with tired but ever-grateful eyes shining anew.

"But you... you managed to fix everything I wanted. You... fuck, you're like an actual savior. How the hell else could I describe you? I'm not going to brown-nose. But you did the impossible. And before my very eyes, is all the proof I need."

His eyes switched back to Daisuke, his face softened into new and youthful vigor.

"So what do I think of you... I think you can do no wrong, at this point. As long as you aren't some psycho bastard getting a kick out of seeing us happy again-"

Hawkes laughed, once again glad to see Swansea had similar thoughts to his.

"-Then as far as I'm concerned, you're someone whose corner I want to be in."

Hawkes bowed his head in deep appreciation, deeper than any he'd felt in his entire life.

"The feeling is mutual, Swansea. I will dedicate my life to protecting you, Anya, Curly and Daisuke."

Swansea chuckled somewhat awkwardly.

"Well, I didn't say you had to be our bodyguards the whole time, heh. But we appreciate it. You're a good soul, and I'm constantly grateful that you gave us this. All of this."

Hawkes nodded respectfully, his mind invaded totally by an urge to see this band of crewmates perpetually happy.

"Thank you, Swansea... I hope you don't mind. I need to tend to a radio call-"

Swansea waved him off gently, smiling. "Do what you gotta do. No need to coddle us."

Actually, that is precisely my job, Hawkes thought worriedly, tuning in to the radio that was buzzing alert notifications from Lilia.

"Lily, did you do it?"

"Yeah. Patch in to listen, whenever."

[zot3-flopped]

I agree with your anon. I don't think Niall has a lot of confidence in his vocal ability. I DO think that out of the four he enjoys music. Singing it, playing it, performing it. He's enthusiastic. Which could come off as confidence but I think he's just having fun. I actually like some of his music but I can't watch him perform live. It's too cringy. I guess kudos to him for just going out there and doing the thing and not trying to be cool but it's not for me. Louis sings for attention. From his cult. He always looks uncomfortable and even in pain sometimes. I don't think he likes it but he needs it. Unfortunately he's tone deaf and doesn't have the discipline to put in the work to have the muscle memory to combat it so he's always going to suck at singing. That's on top of the lack of care he takes with his voice and his health. Zayn has a great voice and I think he's pretty vain about it but he has zero idea where to play to his strengths and where to edit and I personally can't listen to one whole song all the way through because the mumbling and the indulgent way he writes and sings takes me out of it. Then we have Liam. Good voice. But the man is as exciting as watching rocks grow. His voice is boring and generic. His songs are boring and generic and his stage presence is boring and generic. But he thinks he's all that. Always has. I don't think he compensates for low self esteem like his fans say. I think he struggles with the bitterness he feels over not being more successful because he thinks he was the best. That's why he wrestles with his sobriety. It's why he lies. It's why he lives such an extravagant lifestyle. Because he thinks he deserves. He fakes it so it looks like he's as successful as he thinks he should be.

This is a perceptive ask. I wish the guys hadn't made so much money in 1d. You're right when you say that Liam hasn't had the kind of success that warrants his international playboy lifestyle.