#f midlander

[fair-fae]

[ahollowgrave]

-- lull them to rest.

[sirensongsea]

C:\Users\OMEGA\Programs >Run “ADORATION.exe”

[aethris-art]

I thought "oh shit she's looking good in the benchmark, I have nothing to worry about"

but then

ENTER HYUR ASTRA

I MIGHT HAVE TO FANTA.......? I DON'T KNOW

[penguineatingblueberries]

Something About Eating the Rich - [Emory Sands x Berkeley F. De la Porta, 16+]

Summary: The actual events of one of Sands' and De la Porta's security walkthroughs.

Word Count: 2,487

(No one is gonna read this. Why did I spend a solid 2 hours on it.)

~~~

Emory Sands muffles a yawn with his hand as he walks De la Porta throughout the layout of the 40th floor for what seemed like the hundredth time. It’s not that he wasn’t used to doing these routine security walk-throughs. The MSIG event hall was quite the hot spot for a whole number of events. Though, he was often able to throw out a couple of fancy phrases and play-up the security features or qualifications of his team leaving the normal event planner satisfied. Only the actual night of the event was anything to be stressed over. 

Berkley F. De la Porta (whatever the F stood for) was a different story. Despite previous events running without a hitch, De la Porta had the need to helicopter over every single aspect of security for this event. Sands was certainly getting exhausted with it. It’s not uncommon for him to have to occasionally deal with the eccentrics of the upper class, but this man had been taking up a painful amount of his time with his upcoming event. All because of those goddamn paintings. 

It was a confusing and headache-inducing time dealing with De la Porta. Despite all of these security measures, questions, and requirements, the one time Sands actually recommended something to protect the paintings it was quickly shot down. Sands would never understand the rapidly changing mindsets of the board. All he really wanted was the night to be over, a bourbon and ginger at his lips, and the low rumble of a muffled Midlands Marauders game as he inevitably passes out on his apartment’s couch only to be startled awake by his alarm a few hours later. Rinse and repeat. 

Sands sighs as De la Porta walks confidently in front of him as if he owns the place. Well, he supposes De la Porta does literally own the building but that’s beside the point. After about 9 walkthroughs of the building, he would’ve had to have the 40th floor committed to memory. Hell, why was he really even there? De la Porta had circled through these halls plenty on his own. Sands smirks to himself. De la Porta should just do the security walk-throughs by himself if he was such a “security tech wiz”. Sands would much rather just sit in the Command Center like normal. Dark, quiet except for the gentle buzz of the ceiling lights above his chair, the game pulled up on his phone, and his half-eaten box of doughnuts. Alone. Yes. That was perfect. 

“Alright. We aught to wrap things up. It’s getting dark and I’m sure you’d rather be on your way home by now.” Sands remarks, gently rubbing the back of his shaved head. 

De la Porta stops dead in his tracks, heels sharply clicking on the tile as he does so. He throws up a hand still facing away from Sands. His head sharply looks over his shoulder sending his brown curls bouncing. 

“I have one more concern!” De la Porta asserts. 

Keeping himself from aggressively rolling his eyes, Sands forces a smile. These numerous “last concerns” were certainly making the glowing red exit sign in his periphery more and more appealing by the minute. 

“Porta, I can promise you that our measures are up to snuff. There’s nothing to be worried about. Trust me, you’ve made sure of that.” Sands grits through his teeth. 

“See!! That’s where you’re wrong!” 

De la Porta promptly turns around and points a finger at Sands. Sands crosses his arms and quirks an eyebrow.

“I thought as the esteemed Director of Security of my Miller Tower, you would’ve realized this sooner!” 

“I’m glad you’re here to remind me then, hmm? What have I forgotten?”

Sands subtly checks his watch. Dammit. The game had already started. He’s got to get this wrapped up. Just play nice and everything will be finished soon. As soon as De la Porta finishes his tantrums and string of “geniuses”.

“The HELIPAD!”

The billionaire smiles big, the ends of his mustache seemingly extra curly with this exclamation of self-thought brilliance. Sands simply stands there. Arms crossed. He smiles slightly at the question. Not a nice smile. One of those “are you stupid” smiles you get when you ask for black coffee at a particularly bougie down-town coffee shop when you’re running late for work and your usual spot is closed. Sands was familiar. 

“The helipad?”

“Yes! It’s a security risk!” 

“I assure you its not. No one can even land on that thing without clearing it with me first.   You are your friends will be perfectly safe landing on it in case you needed to come to a charity gala…in a private jet.” 

“That’s not what I’m concerned about!” De la Porta marches up to Sands and huffs. His hands go wide as he looks up at Sands. “Someone could just land on there in the middle of the event and rob! Everyone!” 

Sands starts to chuckle before thinking about it more and laughing, placing his hands on his thighs. De la Porta lets out a bit of a struggled, frustrated noise as he stomps his foot on the ground. 

“This is serious! I’m not going to have anything happen to my precious Morisot paintings!” 

De la Porta pauses for a moment before adding-

“-and all the other auction items of course. It would be a travesty.”

Sands rolls his eyes before regaining his composure and shoving his hands back into his pockets. He looks down at De la Porta. 

“Apologies. You’re right. Though, the helipad access is secured with two armored doors that only a special security keycard or a button from the Command Center can open. There are no worries there. Anything els-“

“I would still like the survey the area. For-! For-! … To make absolutely sure.” 

Crossing his arms, De la Porta puffs out his chest as he shoots Sands a determined look. Sands’ mouth quirks at the request. 

“As I explained before, it’s a bit of a hassle to get out there and it really is getting late.” 

“I have plenty of time if it is to ensure this event has top security! If you fail to plan, you plan for failure as I always say! Come come. I’m sure you already have the extra security card on you.”

Sands barely has any time to react before De la Porta grabs his arm and begins pulling him towards the Command Center. He quickly regains his balance and stops in his tracks. This coincidentally stops the smaller man as well who begins to start with his usual griping. 

“Look. Porta. It’s safe. I’ve had no issues with the helipad in the past. There’s no reason to go up there. Besides, its dark and I already hate going out there. Try to avoid it if I can. Just take my word on this one, ok?” 

“What? You scared of heights or something?” 

Sands remains silent at what was meant to be playful teasing. Playful teasing he usually would’ve shot down. Though, after working on a case of a woman who murdered an ex by pushing him off the top of a ferris wheel, Sands’ outlook on those sorts of things were significantly changed. 

“Oh.” 

The smaller man straightened his posture in surprise. Looks like he was also expecting the same response. This doesn’t last for long as his familiar smirk creeps back on his face.

“Well, in that case how about you just give me the keycard for it and I’ll take a look myself!” “I’m sorry but that’s against protocol.”

“Aweee, come on. You trust me, don’t you? I’m not going to do anything! You know that.” 

Sands looks away as he thinks for a moment. His hand fiddles with his tie clip before sighing. 

“Fine. But you can’t have mine. I’ll make you a temporary one.” 

De la Porta’s face lights up as the security guard continues their walk to the Command Center. He runs quickly right up beside him and walks in stride. Sands stares blankly forward as the billionaire next to him begins to mutter on and on about lord knows what. Something about how they make a great team or how he was surprised that there was something that scared the “great Emory Sands”. Sands was just tired and trying to think about what lie he was gonna tell once De la Porta actually went up to the helipad and saw there was not in fact two armored doors but just the regular staircase door like all the others. 

Sands opens the door to the Command Center and flicks on the dimly lit lights. He slides his slightly worn down office chair out from under the desk and takes a seat. He begins typing on the computer, pulling up the software for a regular temporary keycard and prayed De la Porta wouldn’t notice. 

“This shouldn’t take too long. Just give me a moment.” 

De la Porta leans on the doorframe and takes a look at his nails while he waits for Sands to finish. Clearly not a patient person and uncomfortable with the silence, De la Porta pipes up after a minute or two. 

“I think I should buy you a drink! To celebrate. We’ve made so much progress together and I want to thank you for the hard work you’ve put into this.”

Sands remains fixed at the computer, only breaking to lean down and grab a keycard from one of the drawers. 

“I’m sorry but I’m going to have to decline this time. I need to get back to my apartment. I need to… water my plants.” 

He tried to come up with a better excuse than “I’m missing my favorite team playing right now” but… well. He didn’t have much. 

De la Porta lets out a hum in understanding and shifts his weight against the doorframe. The clock outside of the door clicks a few times before he pipes up again. 

“You’re a very lonely man, you know that?” 

“Excuse me?”

Sands quickly stops digging through the drawer and sits up to look at De la Porta. Those blue eyes pierce straight through him as the rich man stands up straight and crosses his arms. 

“I’ve never heard you talk any about a partner or children or pets or anything. Just money and work. That’s all. Or lack of money that is. Apparently they don’t pay you enough. Is that all life is to you, Emory? Work?” Sands scowls and begins to get out of his chair. 

“Look, I’m not going to get into my personal life with you and you have no right to stand there and berate me. You don’t know-“

De la Porta quickly steps into the room and pushes Sands back into the chair. He shifts a knee between Sands’ legs and rests his hands on Sands’ shoulders. He smiles darkly and gently traces a ringed thumb over one of the scars on Sands’ cheeks. 

“Nearly 5 decades of life without actually living. How sad… You know, I have the world right in the palms of my hands. I have everything I want. I can get everything I want. I can go wherever I please whenever I please. I live, Emory. I have power. I have the power to make my life whatever I want it to be. Now, isn’t that something?”

Sands makes a struggled noise and places his hand on De la Porta’s thigh. Though, his admitted weak pushes are only met with the knee being pressed further in. A strangled gasp escapes his throat and De la Porta leans down lower to his face. He hovers over the security guard’s pale, scarred skin, letting his hot breath trail down his face. 

“Tell me, Emory. How long has it been since you’ve truly enjoyed yourself? A year? Two years? A decade-?”

“Get off of me.”

“Darling~, we both know that if you truly wanted me to stop, you would’ve pushed me off long ago. You’re quite a lot bigger than I am.”

De la Porta pushes the chair up against one of the file cabinets and shifts to sit in Sands’ lap. He leans down to his neck and starts to pepper it with some light kisses. He feels Sands tense under him and his hands gently grip onto his hips. One of De la Porta’s hands slowly goes to Sands’ tie and begins to loosen it. 

“Mmm, a nice cologne you wear. Who’s it for?” 

Sands lets out a huff as he smiles, trying to regain control over his breathing. 

“Maybe it’s just for me.” 

“Oh, I seriously doubt that.”

De la Porta finishes unknotting Sands’ tie and casts it aside. He unbuttons the top couple of buttons on his crisp, white shirt before shifting back to Sands’ neck. De la Porta presses his mouth to it and begins to suck. The security guard grips tighter onto De la Porta’s hips as he chokes down a moan. The front of his pants tighten as he feels heat spread down in his lower half. De la Porta chuckles he pulls away slightly. 

“You know, I really do listen to what you say, Emory. Even something about having ‘unique feelings’ for me when you gave me the tac plan. Not something I expect you to say to every person that wanders this tower. Not even to please your boss.” 

Sands shifts in the chair and subconsciously grinds upward to try to relieve some of the pressure. De la Porta moans lowly in his ear before placing a hand on Sands’ chest to help himself sit up. He smirks and lifts up off of Sands’ hips. Sands grimaces at the sudden lack of weight. He tries to pull De la Porta back down on his hips as the smaller man chuckles. 

“I find it so interesting how much you try to gain power back over all of these high profile people with your little passive aggressive comments and sarcasm. But truly you don’t like being in charge. You miss having someone telling you what to do, isn’t that right? Is that why you retired so early once you became a lieutenant?”

Sands loosens his grip slightly and De la Porta presses his lips against his. He places his finger under Sands’ chin as he pulls away, forcing him to make eye contact. 

“Good boy~. How cute. I knew there would be something to break that levelheadedness of yours. So desperate… must have been a really long time then, hmm? Not to worry, darling. You don’t have to think. I’m going to tell you exactly what you have to do to please me and then I’ll give you a little reward for a job well done. A payment since you like those so much. How does that sound?”

Sands smirks and squeezes De la Porta’s hips. 

“Yes, sir~"

[palomajena]

I care deeply about poe cameron

[agentfascinateur]

CANADA - ARMS EMBARGO NOW ACTIONS THIS SATURDAY NOV. 16 :

• HALIFAX: 1:00pm, at BAE Systems – 35 Micmac Blvd., Dartmouth, NS.

• LUNENBURG: 1:00pm, 71 Hall St, Lunenburg. Rally at Stelia’s factory that has been producing parts for F-35s for almost a decade.

• MONCTON: 1pm. Rally at APEX factory producing structural components for the F-35.

• MONTREAL: 12:00pm. 1111 Boul. Saint Charles O, Longueuil. Rally at the global headquarters of major F-35 supplier Heroux-Devtek.

• OTTAWA: 2pm, 1011 Polytek Road. Rally at Gastops, the only place in the world that creates engine sensors for Lockheed Martin’s F-35 bomber jets.

• TORONTO: 2pm, 17 Prince Andrew Pl. Rally at L3Harris.

• VAUGHAN: 10am, 8065 Huntington Road. Rally at Ben Machine Products factory.

• MISSISSAUGA: 12pm, 3333 Unity Drive. Rally at Honeywell Aerospace.

• MISSISSAUGA: 2pm, Celebration Square, 300 City Centre Drive. Rally and march highlighting local F-35 suppliers.

• MIDLAND: 12pm. Meet at Regent Park located at 421 College St, Midland, ON L4R 2Y4. We’ll rally together at Raytheon Elcan.

• HAMILTON: 10am. Meet at Clappison’s Corners (intersection of Highway 5 and Clappison Ave, Waterdown). Rally at L3Harris.

• CAMBRIDGE: 1pm. 24 Cherry Blossom Road, Cambridge. Rally at PCC Aerostructures Centra’s Cambridge factory that produces F-35 parts on site.

• WINNIPEG: 12pm rally at CBC (541 Portage Ave), after which a contingent will break off to do a postering action near the Magellan factory that manufactures tail fins for the F-35.

• CALGARY: 1pm. 919 72 ave NE, Calgary. Rally at Raytheon. Park and pre-protest meetup at the IHOP/Walmart parking lot in Deerfoot City.

• VANCOUVER: Car rally and arms embargo tour visiting multiple sites. 12:30pm Vancouver meet-up (Safeway parking lot at Commercial and Broadway). 1:30pm Delta meetup at ASCO weapons factory (8510 River Road).

• VICTORIA: 9am prayer walk leaving Blue Bridge on Wharf St. leading to 11am rally at Lockheed Martin’s facility, 1250 Lockley Road.

More info here:

[mikkouille]

dance mods back now i get to play the mmorpg AND the vocaloid game at once

[rbbrbikerthorp]

Homeward Bound (Part 3)

I was jolted awake by alternating slaps across my face, the sting burning against my skin.

“Yeah, f***er, when I say wake up, YOU WAKE UP.” The voice, thick with a Mancunian accent, was a growl that echoed in my skull.

I blinked, struggling to focus, but my limbs were immobile—tied with rope. All I could see from this angle were his heavy duty black boots. Another pair stepped forward, the toe brushing my cheek, and I recoiled instinctively. This pair was different: shiny black leather with thick soles and stark white laces. My gaze froze as I noticed the boot was covered in dirt..

“Fresh, just for you,” the Mancunian sneered, his tone both mocking and possessive. “Go on, clean it.” The room erupted in sniggers, a cacophony of cruel laughter.

I twisted, pulling against my restraints, but it was no use. A rough hand gripped the back of my neck, forcing my face closer to the boot. “No, you don’t,” he hissed. “You’re gonna learn respect, lad.”

“Lick.”

The word sliced through the air like a whip. I clamped my lips shut, defiant, but the price of resistance was swift. Pain exploded through my face as a fist connected with my nose, and I felt warm blood trickling over my lip. My breath hitched as I tasted copper.

The man leaned in, his breath heavy with smoke and menace. “Listen, pretty boy. We’re in charge. You do as we say, or you’ll wish you were dead.”

The boot hovered an inch from my mouth again, and I hesitated, panic warring with stubborn pride. The room’s silence became oppressive, the weight of their gazes daring me to refuse. Tentatively, my tongue flicked out, brushing the cold leather. The texture was rough, the taste bitter, with a faint salty tang that churned my stomach.

“Keep going,” he ordered, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “Don’t stop until I say.”

From where I lay on the floor, I could sense Gav’s gaze drilling into me. “Better get used to the taste, posh boy,” he sneered. “There’s a lot more where that came from.”

The skinhead with the Mancunian accent leaned closer, his grin a sharp-edged weapon. “Congratulations,” he said mockingly. “You’ve been selected for transformation. We’re gonna remake you. You won’t like it while we’re at it, but when we’re done, you’ll be thanking us. Oh, and for now, you call me ‘Boss.’ The rest of the lads? ‘Sir.’ Understood?”

“Right, lads,” Mick cut in, his tone businesslike. “Let’s get him in the chair.”

My heart sank as my eyes locked onto the chair he was talking about. It sat hulking on the far side of the room, a monstrous hybrid of wood and metal, its surfaces stained with something dark and unsettling. Heavy leather straps dangled ominously from the armrests and legs.

“Wh-what do you want?” I croaked, forcing the words out through a throat that felt like sandpaper. My voice was faint, but it was enough to pause them for a fleeting moment.

Mick crouched in front of me, his icy gaze drilling into mine. “What we want,” he said slowly, savouring each word, “is to see if you’ve got what it takes.”

“What it takes for what?” Panic edged my voice sharper.

Mick smirked, a predator toying with its prey. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Laughter erupted from the group as they hauled me up, untied me, and dragged me toward the chair. Despite a desperate surge of resistance, my struggles were no match for the practiced efficiency of their hands. They strapped me in, the leather biting into my wrists and ankles, rendering me utterly helpless.

The youngest-looking skinhead hesitated, his doubt visible in the flicker of his eyes. “You sure he’s the right one?” he ventured timidly.

Boss rounded on him with a glare that could turn milk sour. “Course I’m sure. What’s the matter? Getting squeamish now?”

“No, it’s just…” The young one shuffled nervously. “He’s older than the others. Doesn’t seem like he’ll last long.”

“That’s the bloody point,” Boss snapped. “If he can’t handle it, he’s no use to us. Our Midlands friend has… let’s say very specific tastes.”

Cold dread coiled in my stomach as I tried to decipher their cryptic words. Handle what? Who was their friend? My mind raced, desperate for answers, while my eyes darted around the dimly lit room. It revealed nothing but an old sofa, a coffee table littered with cans of Special Brew, and a single bare lightbulb casting harsh shadows.

“This is where it starts,” Mick said, crouching down into my line of sight with a wicked grin. “You’re gonna become one of us. Whether you like it or not.”

My attempt to protest came out as a dry croak. Another skinhead—lanky, tattooed, and radiating malice—stepped forward with a buzzing set of clippers.

“First,” he sneered, “that office-worker haircut is going. Actually, your whole normal-bloke look is going.”

The clippers roared to life, and I felt the vibration against my scalp as clumps of hair tumbled to the floor. I squirmed against the restraints, but the straps held firm. The group cheered and jeered as my identity fell away in ragged tufts.

CLACK!

Just as I thought the humiliation might subside, Boss leaned in, his face mere inches from mine. His eyes locked onto mine with an unnerving intensity. “Mmm, looking better already,” he murmured, a smirk curling his lips. “But this? This is just the beginning.”

The youngest skinhead emerged from the shadows carrying a bowl of hot soapy water and a rag. My stomach churned at the sight. The rag looked filthy, its edges frayed and stained. He scrubbed at my face and neck with rough efficiency, his movements methodical under the approving stares of Mick, Gav, and Boss. When he was done, Mick handed him a can of shaving foam and a fresh razor.

“Now stay still,” Mick said, his voice mockingly sweet, “while I shave you smooth. Cue-ball smooth.” He dragged out the word ‘smooth’ with exaggerated glee, earning chuckles from the group.

I sat rigid as the razor scraped against my scalp. By the time he finished, the others descended on me, gleefully rubbing my freshly denuded head like it was some grotesque trophy.

Gav returned, carrying a large laundry bag. He tipped its contents onto the floor in front of me. Boss stepped forward, scissors in hand, and began cutting away at my clothes. Stripped down to my underwear in moments, I felt my last vestige of dignity vanish.

Gav unstrapped my wrists and ankles. “You can take those off yourself,” he said, gesturing to my remaining clothing. “Yeah, you’re going commando now, mate. Just like the rest of us. Now, get into yer new clobber.”

I hesitated, but a sharp slap to the back of my head reminded me resistance wasn’t an option. Under their watchful eyes, I reluctantly dressed in the outfit they’d laid out: cut-off jeans mottled with white patches, crusty off-white socks, and a black top that stretched over my newly shaved scalp.

Mick knelt in front of me to lace up the heavy black boots they’d forced onto my feet. The weight of them felt alien, grounding me in this surreal nightmare. When I stood, Mick stepped back to appraise me like an artist evaluating his work.

“Not bad,” he said with a nod. “But a look isn’t enough. You’ve got to think like us. Act like us. And that’s gonna take work.”

The group murmured in agreement, their faces alight with anticipation.

“What do you want from me?” I rasped, my voice barely audible.

Boss’ grin widened into something monstrous. “Oh, we’re gonna teach you everything, mate. From now on, you’re one of us. But first? We’ve got to break the old you down to nothing.”

His words hit me like a gut punch.

As the skinheads closed in, their eyes gleaming with malicious intent, I realised the person I’d been before stepping onto that train was slipping further away, piece by piece.

[kedsandtubesocks]

dance away your cowboy blues

Country Singer!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: who knew the man with the voice of an angel could break your heart this bad?

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, modern/no outbreak AU & Joel has both his daughters, exes to lovers with eventual husband!Joel, angst followed up by good sweet fluff, concert venue, light drinking mention, Joel being stubborn & bad at feelings, hints of spice, fools in love, reader is addressed as ‘honey, darlin,’ use of song lyrics in fic, Pearl Jam & Taylor Swift song mentions, soft & heartbroken!Joel, lovesick!Joel

word count: 6k

a/n: here we are - the last installment in our ‘Let’s Rodeo’ series & I’m so incredibly grateful to finally make it here, also this is my mini tribute to our boy and his SAG award! The main song Joel sings is this one and I highly recommend! Thank you to my forever babe @the-wild-wolves-around-you for letting me scream about plot holes & aiding my Joel brainrot, @tightjeansjavi for always being down to chat about Joel, and to @lowlights & @ahauntedcowboy for being my ever guiding forces for this series, thank you all… And finally to you reading this, thank you so much ♡

A year ago, Joel broke up with you on a warm early spring morning.

He arrived at your apartment, sat you down and shattered your world. You felt every range of emotion as he simply stood there like a man of steel.

So upset and angry, you wanted to rip your heart out and throw it at him.

Then later that week you found out his record was officially getting picked up and you crumbled.

Ending your relationship simply because he was about to step into true proper fame - you never took Joel to be a man so somberly callous. However, you began wondering if that’s what fame sometimes did to people.

When curiosity gnawed too hard, you’d Google him or even check Spotify. Simply catching glimpses of how big he’s gotten sent you spiraling. Last Thanksgiving, your favorite aunt threatened to lock your phone away when she found you upset in the bathroom after discovering Joel was performing at the Dallas Cowboys holiday game.

From that point on you refused to even check any amount of social media or update on him.

A few clunky first dates and a couple of ghosting experiences later, you’ve now decided to simply work on yourself and embrace the selfcare of being single.

It’s why when your best friend called you earlier today eagerly explaining how her parents had extra tickets to the Rodeo tonight, she playfully teased how she knew you didn’t have anything planned for this Saturday night.

You almost hung up on her, but you excitedly scrambled to get ready.

Now the smell of fried foods, popcorn, and beer cloud the air. The fairgrounds hold a chaotic but controlled lively energy. You never knew so many cowboy hats could exist in one space.

Once you meet up with your best friends' parents, you’re transported to a whole new area you never believed could exist during a rodeo. Lux and cozy, the VIP lounge gleams with its elevated experience. You knew your best friend’s mom worked for the construction company managing the arena. You just didn’t realize how big of a hookup it was. The VIP tickets allowed for full premium dining along with a couple of free drinks.

More importantly - it came with the best concert seats.

“In the dirt” is how they’re described because the tickets are literally stationed on the floor, in the dirt of the rodeo stadium, right by the stage.

Ecstatic and bubby energy now fills you. The food being served is divine and you gladly enjoy the free various drinks.

“So wait, did we figure out who’s performing?” You ask curiously while you lounge taking advantage of the nice seating area.

“Uh, I think my dad said it’s that band named Midland is performing today.” Your friend answers but then is quickly pulled away to meet more of her mom’s coworkers.

You’ve never heard of the band, but for a free concert you’re open to enjoy some live music.

It’s a trait you gained from Joel.

Because of him you grew to love music performances, the energy that comes with hearing the band, being among the hum of the crowd. The trips around Austin seeing not just him perform, but enjoying other concerts with him, let you appreciate and admire live shows.

Waiting for the concert allows you to enjoy some of the actual rodeo event. But the main performance of the evening soon arrives.

“You kids go enjoy! We’re getting a little too old and are just gonna stay back and enjoy the free food.” Your best friend’s mom grins with a wink.

The ticket advertisement wasn’t joking when it said close to the stage. The ground level truly sits on the dirt floor. The arena swallows you whole surrounding you like a strange fishbowl. A small crowd already lines the front railing closest to the stage. However sneakily you find a nice open spot by the side that gives a clear sight to the stage.

Even if you don’t know the band, giddiness bubbles in you electric.

You take in the massive general admission floor section already packed full. The band must be popular. So you take plenty of pictures and happily enjoy the time with your dear friend.

The lights dim and excitement crackles in the air. The stage lights up. The large backdrop screens on the stage flutter to life beginning to showcase different picturesque black and white shots of Texas.

Midland, you remember, is a city in Texas so the images make sense. A low strum of a guitar begins playing. The melody dances soft but in a quick beat, a hypnotic tune trying to rev up the crowd.

The tune brews up its intended magic that you even get swept up in the anticipation. The sound gets faster and the strumming is rather simple but so striking.

Then the music stops. Suddenly the lights of the entire stadium shut off. Wild galvanized screams erupt.

The lights brilliantly dance forth back to light. They all focus now on the performer who, like magic, now appears on the stage with the rest of the band.

And the lead singer is Joel.

Your knees almost give out.

Dressed in the most dangerous plaid green button up, it so simple yet beautifully compliments him. More grays pepper his beard and highlight his tousled curls. The brilliant stage lights bask him in a heavenly glow.

Your soul momentarily leaves your body the minute his voice sings his first note.

Instantly your best friend whips towards you panicked. She rapidly screams asking if you’re okay as she apologizes over and over.

“My dad must have gotten the dates wrong! God I should’ve fucking doubled checked or some shit!” She cries deeply apologetic and hurt.

You earnestly tell her it’s not her fault and it’s alright. It was just an unfortunate mixup.

“Do you wanna leave?” Your friend leans closer to you. Her eyes shine understanding and considerate. “We didn’t pay for these tickets and I promise you my parents will completely understand. We can say fuck it and bounce.”

You haven’t even completely processed it’s Joel. It’s like your brain went cloudy and now blinking out of the fog, your eyes return to the stage.

Joel isn’t an extroverted man. He’s reserved, quietly charming, even holds a gruff but poised grace. But right now, he’s an absolute sun on the stage. He’s radiant, naturally swaying to the music while singing his soul soul.

Maybe it’s the piece of you still horribly in love with him, or just the curiosity to see how this goes, whatever it is - you shake your head no.

“We can stay.”

Your best friend’s eyes go wide as saucers hearing your answer.

“Are you sure?” She presses and you nod your head.

“Yeah, let’s stay. Afterwards we can laugh about how old he’s gotten.” You laugh bitterly about him looking more aged even after a year.

When truthfully the stronger wrinkles around his face, the vibrant grays, all of his aging only intensifies his striking looks.

A canyon wide sized hole rips through your heart.

The song flutters to an end and the crowd claps with a thunderous roar. With a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder your dear friend nods then turns back to the concert.

You pray this isn’t the worst decision you’ve ever made.

Then Joel speaks.

“Howdy everyone,” his voice is still so devilishly thick and smooth as a shot of moonshine. His accent does his home state proud. The crowd absolutely adores him, screaming loud just hearing him speak.

“Thank y'all for comin’ out tonight. I’m Joel Miller and m’here to sing y’all a few songs.” So simple, casually eased, and it’s so Joel.

His gruff southern charm made you fall in love with him so fast and now it’s a unique brand of magic charming everyone under his spell.

Joel strums a few notes, rapidly shifting the tune and transitions into the next song.

You now fully soak in Joel.

He seems otherworldly, a god of music reincarnated as a Texan cowboy. You think back to the days sitting in his living room and listening to him play. You were honored to see that side of him, to hear him strum to life so much magic.

During the holiday’s Joel’s daughters, Ellie and Sarah, would often pester him to sing silly songs. He’d grumpily obliged but you knew he basked in their attention and love.

He loved to sing. You always knew he was destined for the stage like it was woven into his veins.

You still remember the day one of Joel’s acoustic performances blew up online gaining so much attention. The excitement and absolute joy you felt then still lingers in the corners of your heart. Although, those feelings have been gathering cobwebs.

There’s of course a bitterness seeing him, but also, an unbearably small twinkling pride knowing he’s here living his dream. The song finishes and again the stadium rumbles in applause.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” Joel asks and your heart jumps hearing his voice again.

The crowd cheers back at him.

“Good good, let’s keep it goin’.” He yells back and then strums the guitar sharp.

That’s when the stage slowly starts moving.

It’s slow but with the surprise purpose to look out to the entire crowd. For some reason you almost laugh thinking of that man, who couldn’t even remember how to FaceTime on his ipad, on a full rotating platform.

However, the lyrics start and you realize he’s singing a heartbreak ballad.

If you’re going out with someone new, I’m going out with someone too…I won’t feel sorry for me, I’m getting drunk but I’d much rather be somewhere with you…

It’s hard hearing him now with how exhilarated the crowd screams at the stage moving. But you try to hear how the rest of the song unfolds.

At the chorus, your throat tightens.

I can go out every night of the week, can go home with anybody I meet, but it’s just a temporary high… ‘cause when I close my eyes, I’m somewhere with you

The words sting every inch of you, but you believe it has to be just a simple heartbreak story and isn’t about you, isn’t directed at you. Yet the words feel like sharpened edges of a broken mirror that seem to reflect every moment of your time with him.

Then the stage rotates to your side of the floor.

There’s no way he can see you or will even spot you. There’s a whole crowd stretching before him. You’re just a fish in a sea of fans.

Joel continues strumming, allowing his voice to so beautifully carry the emotion.

The stage, in its slow movement, is now front and center to your line of sight. Some girls at the very direct front of the railing scream and wave frantically at him.

A small smile tugs at Joel’s lips as he waves back. Joel’s eyes scan the rest of the crowd -

And that’s when he spots you.

Quickly, you rationalize he could be staring out behind you at someone else alongside the side railing.

But Joel’s eyes even narrow trying to focus more. Your gaze stays on him, like something inside of you refuses to waiver.

His eyes flicker with realization then turn into full moons.

He knows it’s you.

Joel continues singing the chorus but emotions cloud his face. His brows are furrowed hard, almost confused like he’s trying to really comprehend what’s going on.

You understand. You’d be so confused too if you were in his position. You’re still even baffled as to why you stayed in the first place.

The stage starts shifting back to the main center direction

But Joel cranes his face to the side, refusing to have his eyes leave.

His focus stays on you.

It’s obvious enough that your best friend now shakes your body.

“Is he staring at you?!” She tries to whisper but she ends up partly screaming.

You think maybe it’s a hallucination.

Yet Joel’s deep inky eyes stubbornly stay locked on you as he sings now.

If you see out on the town and it looks like I’m burning it down, you won’t ask and I won’t say… but in my heart I’m always somewhere with you…

Your world twists warped, melting into a sea of so many emotions you can’t stay afloat.

Joel finishes his song and the crowd enthusiastically cheers. Yet, it sounds muffled as a numbness crawls over you like a thick soupy fog.

You should leave. You need to. But you’re here now. And decide to see the end of this. If he’s singing about someone lingering within him, then you might as well make true to those lyrics.

Joel lowers his face for a moment and shakes his head. The mic faintly picks up his cough of a disbelieving laugh and your heart sinks.

“Alright folks, let’s jam.” He announces composed and brings his guitar to life.

He’s beautiful walking around with it. Strums effortlessly until he shifts from one guitar, his classic, to a more sleek all black styled one.

Joel lets the music and band take over while he makes the switch. He also leans in to whisper something to the stage hand.

Then as if nothing, Joel steps back into the limelight and illuminates the stage.

He walks around freely now that the stage stopped rotating. The current song is lively with a great beat and you hate how badly you want to bounce around to its infectious sound and the way Joel’s voice elevates the tune.

Caught up in the melody, you don’t notice until it’s too late. Joel walks over to the side of the stage directly facing you.

The guitar carries a large piece of this song’s bridge allowing his eyes to flicker across the crowd.

Until they return to your gaze. Stuck in his stare, Joel suddenly cocks his chin towards you.

Most of the crowd around you screams at his simple action. Even your best friend yells out a loud ‘holy shit’ but you stay quiet.

Not knowing how to react, all you do is stupidly shrug.

It’s awful, not even the best reaction you can give.

But Joel barks a laugh, a true laugh that thankfully happens at the tail end of the song, but your knees go weak.

You made him laugh.

On stage.

Heartache finds its way back into your system fiercer than ever and it poisonously tastes of adoration as well.

Joel transitions into another song. This time moving around the stage more towards the other side.

Yet, either his eyes flicker back to you, or he ends up walking to your section.

A part of you wonders if he’s doing this now to mock you, almost showing off how good he is knowing you’re here. You don’t believe Joel would be that heartless, but you hate how that option still lingers.

“He’s been walking over here a lot.” Someone even behind you even notices.

“Well he is old.” Someone yells back. “Maybe he’s just trying to keep his joints in shape.”

You almost want to snap back that he’s looking damn good for his age and in good enough shape that he kept you bent like a pretzel for practically a whole weekend, but you swallow back the protective bite.

You simply go back to enjoying the show, and it’s fantastic. You can’t deny that. Joel is a performer, keeps the crowd focused and engaged. He isn’t showy or dramatic but takes control of his presence on stage.

You think of the days seeing him at small bars around town, sitting on a stool playing till his heart's content.

Then he booked Stubb’s in Austin and when you watched him own that stage - you knew this was meant for him.

You’re reminded of that so vividly tonight.

“Alright, gettin’ to the end here.” He announces and the crowd sounds heartbroken.

“I know, i know,” he coos back soft and low. “But just wanted to say y’all have been lovely.”

So many shrill shrieks crack in the room and you almost roll your eyes.

Your best friend snickers beside you. “Gotta give it to him, man can work a room.”

She’s right of course. Though it’s still so surprising for a man grumpily reserved and introverted at times.

“This next one I hope maybe some of y’all will know.”

He strums the cords to Pearl Jam’s ‘Alive.’

What gained Joel traction online was his renditions and covers of various songs. He added his own country twang and twist to all the songs he covered.

Pearl Jam happened to be one of Ellie’s favorite bands. A hollow nostalgia rip through you, thinking of the two girls you miss.

The crowd ignites recognizing the familiar rock ballad now turned into the tune of a country song by Joel’s touch. He owns the solo and his husky voice melts into the lyrics beautifully.

Under your breath you sing along. You used to sing along when you cooked breakfast at his place or during drives with him and the girls.

It’s a beautiful fondness, yet one still barbed and so aching.

The song ends with the intense but small burst of fireworks that has the stadium cheering. You even clap.

“Appreciate y’all.” He addresses the crowd. “That’s a one of my daughter’s favorites so always means a lot when I get to play it.”

A smile you can’t fight tugs at your lips at the mention of Ellie.

“Now my daughters, they’re like night ‘n day.” Joel continues and your heart fills up so overwhelming fast for those girls.

“One of them, like I said, loves some Pearl Jam. Now my other daughter…” Joel pauses.

“She’s a big fan of someone by the name of Taylor Swift.”

The crowd absolutely explodes and you think you even feel the arena shake. Sarah honestly was a big fan and Ellie loved to tease her about it so much.

“Normally for this next and final song, I’d play ‘‘shake it off.’” Joel had a few songs of hers that he covered. That one was a fan favorite.

“But tonight, I'm itchin’ to play somethin’ else.” He continues.

You even perk up curious.

“So let’s end this on a high note, yeah? Sing along if you know this one.” Joel concludes.

Then the drums begin and the song bursts to life.

The stadium swims in a dizzying frantic energy.

The way Joel sings, he’s pouring his heart out. He’s memorizing. Utterly heart wrenching.

This is the finale, the end of this strange unreal dream you’ve wandered into. You wonder if he feels it too.

The song’s chilling bridge comes and Joel walks to stare directly at you.

I thought I had you figured out, can’t breathe whenever you’re gone. Can't turn back now, I'm haunted…

His eyes never leave yours.

The lyrics sear through your heart. You think about screaming the song to back him. He’s the one who left, the one who’s ghost lives among your ribs.

Then Joel hits the final high note, lets his voice carry the powerful finale, and the crowd roars in earth shaking excitement.

It’s magical, magnetic and utterly devastating in both the best and worst ways. Another few sets of indoor fireworks go off and the show ends.

Joel wishes the crowd a beautiful night and you’re left in a tangled web of emotions.

Your best friend immediately turns to see if you’re okay. While the crowd starts leaving, you and her take a moment. Out of the edge of your focus, you notice a crew member of the arena approaching the side of the rail. You don’t think anything of it.

“Excuse me,” until that crew member stands in front of you on the other side of the barrier.

Blinking absolutely confused you turn towards the man.

“I’ve been asked to escort you backstage.” He explains and your best friend gasps.

You wonder if the ground opened below and dropped you into a free fall.

Quickly you stammer out that you couldn’t. There's no way. Maybe the man must’ve mistaken you for someone else.

“Mr. Miller said you’d say something like that.” The crew member says reaching into his pocket to hand you something.

It’s a keychain.

Not just any keychain, but the one you gave Joel.

It’s a cartoon armadillo, dressed up as a cowboy, holding a guitar. When you first saw it you immediately thought of Joel. His daughters got a kick over it, giggled at how cute it was, and your heart had bursted when you saw it constantly among his keys.

Now the worn little cowboy creature sits waiting for you. It’s sweet marble like eyes stare up at you like a day hasn’t gone by since you gave Joel this.

Your best friend gasps, maybe not fully recognizing the keychain but understanding the significance.

You ask the crew member if your friend can maybe accompany you backstage, but he shakes his head a sad no.

“Then I…I can’t.” You shakily breathe out.

“Yes you can!” She interjects. “You gotta at least hear him out!”

You turn to her and find determination fiercely burning in her eyes as she nods.

“But what about you? I don’t want you or your parents waiting around for me.” You urge.

“Don’t worry about me or especially about them!” She reassures, even offering to wait for as long as you need.

You’re grateful, unbearably so and embrace her tight.

“You call me if he gets stupid. I don’t care backstage or not, I’ll go get you.”

You laugh watery at her well meaning threat and thank her. With a quick sweet goodbye, you follow the crew member along the rails until exiting.

The walk out to the backstage area fills you with a hurricane of emotions. What else could Joel say to you? A part of you wonders if he’s going to be cruel about this, having you simply show up to his dressing room just to laugh so arrogant and smug about how wonderfully famous he is now.

No, Joel isn’t that type of man.

Or you hope fame hasn't warped him into that type of man. Arriving at the green room door, your heart races loud in your ears.

The crew member knocks and before you can compose yourself, Joel opens the door.

He’s bathed in the golden amber light of the backstage room. It highlights all those grays again but also illuminates more of the time passed on his face. More winkles line against his eyes and when he fully stares at you, you wonder how different you might look in his eyes.

A jackrabbit like urge rushes over you to maybe flee, call your best friend to come get you.

“Thanks for comin’,” he mutters out. “Was worried ya wouldn’t show.”

You want to bitterly joke that you didn’t want to, but the armadillo keychain you hang onto holds the truth.

The door closes leaving you and Joel alone. Awkward stale air chokes the space.

You simply keep your attention on examining the room. His classic weathered jacket rests thrown over the couch. The rider is stacked with so many classic Joel snacks like his favorite jerky, popcorn, and even a few familiar favorite treats his daughters love.

Then your eyes catch the mug on the counter and you grin softly.

It must be filled with Joel’s classic drink - chamomile and ginger tea with honey for his throat.

“It’s…yeah. That’s it.”

You didn’t even realize you said anything out loud until Joel replies casuing your heart to jump. Finally your eyes find his.

It's a curse that your greatest heartbreak is this handsome. Exhaustion weighs in you and feels ancient, like if you carry the sum of so many lifetimes before.

“So…You wanted to talk to me?” You speak first, trying to keep yourself strong.

“I…uh yeah.” Answering so cryptically, his shoulders deflate. “How ya been?”

“Good.” You answer simple, curt almost.

There’s too many things that could’ve slipped out if you said anything more. Like how you selfishly kept one of his shirts and hate that the smell of him on it has faded like a wistful memory. Or how you can barely listen to Dolly Parton or Johnny Cash anymore because you’re reminded of Joel singing along to their songs.

So you turn the conversation back to him.

You ask how the girls are and Joel perks up, eyes shimmering with fatherly pride.

“Good, yeah they’re good. Uh, Ellie’s playing softball for the school again ‘n Sarah’s busy with student council. They’re still just bossin’ me all around.”

“As usual.”

You both say the same line at the same time and it chokes you up.

Joel inhales and his lips press tight, a hard line. The air tightens. No one says anything and now annoyance, frustration and maybe even a bit of panic claw at you.

“Joel, why am I here?” You ask him again.

Sighing, so weary and tired, he looks down.

Feels like ages pass between you and him. The faint noise of the stadium leaks into the room muffled.

You think of your best friend waiting and of your own heart waiting to end this.

“Look, it was good to see you,” you half lie. “You did great, hope you and the girls take care”

You turn to walk out.

That’s when he blurts out your name and you stop.

“I miss you.” He exhales.

“Miss ya so g’damn much. Every fuckin’ day.” He mutters.

When you turn back around, he stares at you unwavering. You don’t know what to say.

“Seein’ ya out in the crowd…thought m’heart was gonna give out.” He barks a weak laugh.

“Almost stoppin’ the fuckin’ show just to make sure it was you… y’look beautiful as ever.” His eyes haze over slightly, almost nostalgic.

Suddenly a heated spark rips into your chest, jagged edged and angered.

“You broke up with me.” You snap, voice already raw.

“I know,” Joel nods. “Worst damn decision of m’life.”

Your lips tremble. Everything hurts like a live wire is burning up your veins.

“Then why? Why did you do it?” You croak. You want to scream, maybe even storm out and not even give him the chance to speak.

“What? Did Mr. Big Country Star hate having a partner that wasn’t famous too?” Venom leaks bitter and poisonous in your mouth, choking your throat.

“Y’know god damn well that ain’t it.” He snarls back hard.

“No actually I fucking don’t know Joel.” You reply with a fierce bite. “You so conveniently left out any real damn reason why you were breaking up with me.”

“I said our paths were going in separate directions.” He glares hard at you now.

“And that’s about it!” Your voice raises and you hate it.

The tears come quicker than you hoped for and you hate that more.

“No real explanation,” you exhale, wanting to stay as calm as you can. “You couldn’t even give me that…what else am I supposed to think?”

Even dabbing away your tears, your composure is slowly slipping.

“I couldn’t do this to you,” he breathes out and it’s broken. His eyes are shimmering obsidian pools.

“This life, all the fuckin’ mess that comes with dating someone in the limelight, I couldn’t just throw that on ya.” He explains and the truth rings out a quiet hum.

“And you didn’t think to talk to me about this?” You whisper out now hurt. “Joel, I thought we were a team.”

“We are- were.” He slips and corrects himself fast. “I just knew if we fuckin’ talked about it you wouldn’t have understood.”

“Understood what?” You’re frustrated and it leaks into your voice.

“That I didn’t want ya fuckin’ hatin’ me!” He finally screams the weighted truth.

Stunned quiet but still slightly confused, you ask Joel what he means.

Pain travels across Joel’s handsome face as his jaw clenches hard.

“This shit…it takes away a lot.” He croaks out. “Hell I’ve even missed things with the girls. Didn’t want ya sacrificin’ your life or wakin’ up one day and realizin’ how much you’ve lost ‘cause of me…couldn’t let myself do that to you.”

Your chest aches like a rocket got shot into you. You’re angry he took that chance for you to decide, but you understand.

Joel never wants to be the cause of pain to others, especially those he loves.

He agonizes so much over his decisions and how corrupting he believes he is. When in reality every action he takes you know simply stems from his endless deep devotion to keep those he loves safe.

His decision to end your relationship was him, in his own frustrating Joel way, trying to keep you safe. Even if it was from himself.

Your lips tremble and you cuss bitterly hard under your breath.

“You damn stupid man.” You hiccup. “I didn’t…I don’t care what life fame would’ve given me with you. I would never resent you. For better or worse I just wanted a life with you, that’s all I ever wanted.”

Through a few sobs, you wipe the tears fogging up your sight.

Before you can see it happening, strong sturdy arms suddenly wrap around you and shock you breathless. Curled in Joel’s arms, it’s like a sad coming home party and you cry even more.

“M’so sorry, my darlin’.” Joel whispers against your forehead.

“I hate you.” You don’t. Even on your hardest days, you never could.

“I know, hate my fuckin’ ass too.” Joel replies.

His arms squeeze you tighter.

“Never stopped lovin’ you. Never will.” His voice wavers and now your arms wrap around him.

“You left.” You whisper back so small while tears continue to prickle in your eyes.

“I know honeydew, ‘n I’ll never forgive myself for it.” He replies fiercely like a strike of lightning with its bright force. “Been a fuckin’ mess without ya. Tommy would be the first to agree and the girls too.”

You absorb his words, basking in the safe haven that is Joel. Hours, maybe days pass just in his arms.

“Please forgive me, baby.” He whispers hoarse against your head.

You nod a soft yes.

Because even the part of you that wants to yell and stubbornly say no knows the ultimate answer is, and always will be, him.

“Of course…I love you.” You mutter half dazed against his strong chest. “Love of my life.”

Pressed so close to him, you feel how hard he swallows and his arms squeeze you impossibly tighter against you.

He says your name and you hum out a soft noise.

“Marry me.”

Your eyes, which have sort of glazed over, snap open wide.

“What?” You mutter out, maybe think you misheard him.

“Marry me.” Joel repeats himself.

You practically squawk like a confused bird and scramble in his arms.

“Joel Miller, you can’t be serious?!” You shriek through the tears still lingering in your voice.

Your face snaps up to him. His face is composed, almost serene in a way as he look at you with molten eyes.

“Serious as that g’damn ring I bought ya.”

His words are a mumble but so soft and unwavering. Your soul leaves your body like you were thrown into a cold lake.

“You what?” You stammer out.

“Y’heard me.” He nudges his chin to you. “A ring. Bought it after you dropped everything to go take care of the girls when they got sick.”

Too many emotions overwhelm you and the tears return with a vengeance.

Joel, like a steady man in the storm, places his warm hand on your face to gather you back into his embrace. He places the softest kiss to the side of your head.

“We gotta have a chat about discussing your feelings with me more, Miller.” You manage to chide him through your tears.

“I know.” He mutters against your skin while he continues softly kissing you with utter tenderness. “‘N I’m not lettin’ ya go again.”

You squeeze him hard, trying to burn his memory into your arms worried you’re going to wake up and find this is just a heartbroken hallucination.

“Baby,” he begins.

“Hm?”

“Stay with me for the night.” He urges. “The bus got plenty of room-”

“Ooo, is this what you say to all your groupies, Mr. Miller?” You tease with a snort.

“Behave.” His hand playfully squeezes your hip but his underlying somber tone even with his chuckle ignites a familiar heat brewing in you of the times he’s reprimanded you like that before.

“No groupies.” Joel reassures you. “Only you sweetheart, only ever gonna be you.”

His words flutter into your heart and make a nest there.

Gently you draw back to stare at Joel. Your hand moves to his face, aching to just touch him. Even in his arms you’re waiting for him to vanish from your touch as if he’s a figment of your wrecked heart, a ghost of lovers past haunting you now.

But his stubble tickles against your palm. Running warm as usual, his face feels like a soft morning sun. Your thumb strokes his cheek and his eyes close, melting into your hold.

Gently you place a soft kiss against the corner of his lips.

Joel now tilts his head so he can deepen the kiss before you can even draw away.

It’s not a consuming passion that you expected. No frantic fierce clash of lips or an overflow from a year passed between you two.

Instead it’s a soft welcome home. It’s a kiss you’ve given him when he’s come home late or when you leave for work.

Because his blood, his soul, you believe are simply stitched into the very fabric of you. It’s like a piece of you is returning back to you, or maybe back to your other home with him.

“So you gonna stay with me?” He mumbles against your lips.

“I don’t know Miller, you haven’t even offered to sign anything for me. What kind of famous country singer are you?” You smirk against his lips.

He laughs, hearty, a true wild deep one sweeping you into its joy.

“Hell yeah I’ll fuckin’ sign something for ya, our marriage certificate.” He snaps in classic grumpy Joel fashion and you almost think about dragging him to a courthouse.

You text your friend a million apologies and even take pictures of all the signed merch you’re bringing back to her.

Now in the cocoon of Joel’s cozy bed on his tour bus, among the warmth sheets, you hold the ring up in the dim light inspecting it. Because of course your secretly romantic man kept the ring with him.

“You sure you weren’t keeping this around for someone else?” You ask.

“Fuck no.” He growls low. “S’yours…only yours.”

From behind his arms slide around you and you’re encompassed by his swallowing presence. His beard scrapes against your shoulder.

“If ya don’t like it, can get ya another one.” He mutters casually but hesitant softness peeks out from under his gruff tone.

“It’s perfect.” You reassure him.

It’s the ring Joel got you then and it’s the ring you want now and always will. You even tell him that.

The kisses places on your bare shoulder whispers of his devotion.

“Honey.” However, his voice now is hesitant and makes you pause on your ring inspecting.

“I gotta ask…but do ya have my armadillo keychain?” Joel asks with an utter somberness.

You burst out laughing and it shakes your body.

“Honeydew, I’m being serious!” He growls out. “Want that lil’ fella back!”

Wheezing with giggles you lean back against Joel, floating so blissfully floating in renewed adoration.

Twisting in his arms your lips find his.

“Tryin’ to distract me ‘cause you lost him, huh?” He mutters.

You snort, shaking your head.

“No I just love you so much, you dumb cowboy.” You tell him.

“Your dumb cowboy. For better or worse.” He vows, kissing you back firmer now.

“For better or worse,” you nod breathing into him.

In this carved out slightly cramped space it feels holy, sacred, chapel like. You’re even afraid it might be gone tomorrow morning. However, the ring on your finger is the steeled reassurance it isn’t going anywhere.

But, just in case, you gather this glory and Joel into your arms with the promise of never letting go.

[blackbirdffxiv]

Also I don't post them anymore, but for the sake of balance I fanta'ed my other highlander, Cae, into my midlander, gave them some more mods beyond the face (as I used to just use them to model mods) and

W O O F I am weak

[fair-fae]

[blitheringmcgonagall]

Lily Evans Was a feminist. Ergo So Was James Potter

I don’t know how to tell you this but:

1. Canon James Potter only asked Lily Evans out once.

ONCE

The whole “he kept asking her out every few minutes for years till she relented” thing is complete fanon

Makey-upy

Capisce? ONCE

2. Lily Evans wasn’t a pushover

Lily was canonically a firebrand. She was kind and beautiful, sure. but - she was described as cheeky and clever. She could be scary (Sirius & James in SWM). She was a muggleborn growing up in 1970s Britain. For those not aware, this was happening in 1970s Britain:

“ If you’re black, working class and a woman, you lose out three times over” (1971)

Also - we know she was from a nondescript midlands town. This was what it would have been like:

So you’re telling me that a bright, intelligent, studious woman and a bit of a rebel, who refused the offer to join Voldemort and duelled him 3 times - who volunteered to get involved in an underground/illegal, subversive group in a war against Wix bigoted fascist-types - somehow wasn’t remotely interested in the women’s rights movement, CND (Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament), workers’ right and the Gay liberation Front?

Everyone can make up their own marauders headcanons etc etc - but for me, with that personality?

Not a chance

Ok, but then, if we agree Lily wasn’t clueless about feminism and other social movements in 1970s/early 1980s - you think she’d actually date Potter (let along marry the bloke) if he wasn’t a feminist too??

ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND???

In the same way I’d never ever even consider a single figment of an imagined date with a Trump Guy, Lily Evans wouldn’t go out with someone uninterested in women’s rights… that’s just the way it is.

(You can decide did he start off not v knowledgeable about this area and need a lot of education to undo misogynistic thinking. Or you can decide that Mia Potter (with her husband’s full support) was a strong woman who was really involved in rights movements in the Wix World and James Potter understood all this stuff from the age of 3. I don’t care)

@chdarling’s The Last Enemy certainly has themes involving this stuff, and we know that’s our canon bible!

Or, inferior fic obviously, but from We Can Be Heroes:

“To paraphrase President John F. Kennedy: Ich bin eine Feministin.”

[sylaurin]

Kabniel Shinespark - Stats and Facts

B A S I C S

Name: Kabniel Shinespark

Nicknames: Kab, Sparks

Age: 22 as of the beginning of Dawntrail

Nameday: 7th Sun of the 4th Astral Moon

Race: Hyur Midlander

Gender: Female (mtf trans)

Orientation: Bisexual/polyamorous

Profession: Adventurer, small business owner

P H Y S I C A L   A S P E C T S

Hair: Black with orange highlights, kept long but worn up in braids/tails

Eyes: Green

Skin: tan

Tattoos/scars: none(yet)

F A M I L Y

Parents: Bio parents are Iskra (mother) and Thiago (father) who were part of a Garlean spy network in Ala Mhigo prio to the invasion and during the occupation but fled to Eorzea after becoming pregnant. Thiago is captured during the escape and Iskra barely makes it to Eorzea. Iskra later leaves her twin children in the care of an exiled monk, Rennir, once a lead on Thiago's whereabouts emerges, however she didn't return. Adoptive parents are Defiant Oak (dad) and Silver Allium (mom) a Roegadyn couple that took her in after her "grandfather" was murdered.

Siblings: she has a twin brother, Kal, separated as children when Iskra failed to return and he was placed in the care of mages once his affinity for magic was discovered. They've met each other in their adventures but have no clue they're related.

Grandparents: Rennir a hyur highlander Monk that was friends with Iskra back in Ala Mhigo, though he only knows her as her cover identity and not as a Garlean operative. He raises Kabniel until he was killed by H'raha Tia, a monk from the secretive Sect of Shadows

In-laws and Other: the Leveilleur family from her bond with Alisaie (which includes Thancred in this AU) and the Dotharl tribe (which includes the WoL Kal’istae Miurani) through her bond with Sadu. Gaius Baelsar, her mother's adoptive father.

Pets: None

S K I L L S

Abilities: Highly skilled martial artist, knows a little bit about magitek (enough to keep her bike on the road without having to rely on the Iron Works overmuch), somewhat skilled in botany learning from her adoptive parents, learned to make various drinks (hard and soft) while working in Costa Del Sol.

Hobbies: Training, competitive fighting, traveling, mischief

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Determination, nothing short of hydaelyn herself can stop Kabniel once she is on her path.

Most Negative Trait: Rowdy, loud and proud. She's often rude and indelicate.

L I K E S

Colors: Orange, red, pink, gold, blue, purple

Smells: the ocean, mountain air, rain, sweat, citrus

Textures: Silk, smooth wood, smooth stone, soft petals, cold water

Drinks: Hot and Iced tea, water, sweet red wine, hot chocolate, mixed drinks

O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: Never

Drinks: socially on occasion

Drugs: Never

Mount Issuance: She generally didn't have the time or resources to own and maintain a chocobo of her own so she typically walked or rented a bird if she needed to move fast. Eventually though she managed to scrape up enough to commission Nero to build her her motorcycle.

Been Arrested: Yes

Tagged by @paintedscales

[gonkaccino]

Max Caulfield has FF14 installed on that laptop of hers. She doesn't play too often, especially not now that she's got an adult job, but every now and then, when the weather's off or everyone else is busy, she'll log in. Her character (started f!midlander, swapped to m!viera when Endwalker released) would have a silly name, something like Hoppy Birthday, and unbeknownst to her, she'd be one of her server's known cryptids -- someone people will spot in the middle of some distant zone, gposing alone, trying to do some virtual photography.

Max quit playing for a while when she was in Heavensward. Uninstalled and everything, no amount of warnings could've ever prepared her for a smile better suits a hero. Eventually she goes back, and makes it to Shadowbringers, where she figures the Exarch out quick enough and, surprise surprise, G'raha Tia becomes her favorite character (of course) and not once does she think any deeper on why her favorite character is the guy who time traveled to save his dearest friend.

She isn't up to date in the MSQ (as of DE, which is implied to be December 2022), and hadn't progressed much beyond 5.3. The events of DE cause enough of a disruption, though, that with Safi gone, she decides to take the time to play through Endwalker, just to unlock new zones to take pictures of. Instead, she gets her shit rocked so thoroughly that by the end, Max has to talk to someone about it -- and that someone is, unfortunately for him, Moses.

Moses doesn't play FF14. He's aware, he's heard all the good things about it, he just doesn't have the time to devote to a game like that. So, with that in mind, he sits and listens to Max go off about the handsome catboy proposing to her, and makes the horrible mistake of pointing out G'raha's apparent similarities to Max. Maybe he accidentally compares the Warrior of Light to Safi in the process, what with her whole "breaking reality with her willpower" thing sounding kinda like that dynamis thing Max mentioned. Either way Max ends up going home from the Turtle, stone cold sober, and staring at her ceiling for the rest of the night, processing this new awful awful knowledge and wondering what this means for her sizeable collection of WoL/G'raha media.

Mostly, though, she wonders if Safi would answer if she called.

[squapejuice]

Public release!

I asked Thancred to make this set of earrings for me because I was tired of having to draw them in for all my screenshots. I couldn't find any hoops/bars combo I was happy with on XMA.

When it comes to paid mods, I consider it just paying for someone's time to make it. I'll never gatekeep/vault my mods, so I gave Thancred my blessing to do a public release.

I also had Thancred make a hearing aid mod for my other F!midlander character; that's not up on XMA yet (there's a bit of a backlog of things to upload) but if anyone wants it, they can feel free to msg me. :)

(I also can't recommend Thancred enough for mods; they're very easy to work with and have easy to understand workflow and requirements.)