#i am in pain from some of these questions

[your-hockey-mom]

Christmas time engagement with Quinn, yeah? Something to make me feel less #foreveralone or whatever

Gold-coloured holiday lights reflected off the dark water of the bay like diamonds scattered against black velvet. The distant sound of several Christmas songs played from storefronts in the distance. All around downtown Vancouver, laughter could be heard as the city bustled with last minute shopping and dinner plans. It was a magical time of the year, the last fleeting moments of Christmas Eve right before everything shut down.

Quinn had three days off before the season resumed pace as usual on Friday. You had spent the day with your family in Vancouver, before Quinn and yourself would catch a flight to Florida in the early hours of the morning. The day had been wonderful! You helped your mom in the kitchen like you always had, while Quinn and your father talked hockey and the outlook of the Canucks for the playoffs. Your own personal Hallmark movie, that was what today had felt like.

The goodbyes had been hard but then you remembered it would be harder for Quinn in the coming days. You were fortunate enough to have your family outside the city proper, but his were thousands of mile away. You couldn't imagine what that must feel like, but you were appreciative that he had given up some of his rare time off to spend the day with your family instead of catching a flight the night before. There was also another agenda, that Quinn had, that involved needing to spend the day with your family: he wanted the permission from your father to ask for your hand in marriage.

He was an old-fashioned, hopeless romantic at times and this was one of those instances where it was almost necessary. He couldn't picture doing it any other way and thankfully your father appreciated the respect the young man had shown in asking him. Getting the chance to ask him had been harder than he had expected. The kitchen had butted up against the living room, in one large, open-air styled space. They could hear you and your mother just as easy as you could hear them, but just asking your father to leave the room would have been weird for Quinn to ask. He had to get creative. So, while he was having a short conversation with you about lunch, Quinn had texted your father about the idea of leaving the house on the premise of picking up something from in the city.

[Quinn: I need to talk to you about something. Can you make an excuse about us needing to leave the house?]

Your father didn't question it, and brilliantly spun the tale of Quinn and himself needing to pick up some wine that he had forgotten he had ordered. Both of you had looked at your father with mild confusion. He didn't drink wine, hated it actually, but the man probably had his reasons. So, when the two of the moved to leave, you gave Quinn a kiss goodbye as did your parents. Even after all these years, they still seemed to be in love. That was all you wanted in life; you wanted a marriage like they had.

No sooner had the car left the garage, your father turned to Quinn and asked him if everything was okay.

"Is there some kind of problem?" Your father asked.

"No, no, quite the opposite. I um, there was something I wanted to ask you, but I didn't want anyone to overhear it."

"Yeah?" He replied, eyebrow cocked in interest.

"I wanted your permission to marry your daughter."

Brakes were applied instantly, lurching the occupants forward in their seats. Quinn was wide-eyed and nervous, fearing he had said the wrong thing. He was now pained with regret.

"Are you serious?"

Quinn swallowed hard, his brows knitted making his face look more troubled than usual. "I am, yes."

In an instant, your father busts into a wide smile and laughter. "My god, that's great to hear! I always knew you were a good one, Quinn! Shit, you had me nervous there for a minute!"

The car returned to its forward momentum; Quinn sighed a full-bodied sigh of relief. "That makes two of us," he said, fighting a wave of dizziness.

"You're a good match, the two of you. I'm happy she found you, Quinn, truly. She loves you like no other. I would be happy to give you my blessing. When were you thinking of asking her?"

"I was hoping tonight before we left the city."

"Perfect! Since she was a teenager, I swear she's dreamed of a Christmas engagement," your father laughed, shaking his head over the fairy-tale moment that was being orchestrated. "This is just…wow. I'm at a loss for words!"

Dinner had been wonderful: full of laughter, embarrassing childhood stories, and new memories to be recounted years from now. Now, however, it was time to get ready to head to the airport and travel the eight hours south. Your parents had given you each a hug, and your mother both a kiss before finally letting you leave. Your waves goodbye continued until you left the driveway.

"That was nice," Quinn said, holding your hand as he drove.

"It was! Thank you for wanting to go!" You reply, turning in your seat to look at him. He always made you smile: from his brown curls, to that sly little smile he had grown accustomed to.

"I have somewhere I want to take you, before we get to the airport."

This strikes you as odd. "Are you sure we have time?"

"Oh yeah, it's fine." He brings your hand to his mouth for a kiss which makes you blush. "It will be worth it."

There was an area of the bay that was absolutely dripping in golden lights; strung from every lamppost for as far as the eye could see. With your hand still in his, the two of you began walking beneath the lighted glow of the numerous archways beside the waterway. There was a slight breeze but the temperature was mild enough and no rain. In fact, it had tried snowing a couple times that day but had ended moments later. White Christmas' were rare in Vancouver, it was just the nature of the region.

"Are you warm enough?" Quinn asked, checking in after a few minutes into the night air, he was fussing with the ring box in his coat pocket. It was like he had to reassure himself that it was still in his possession.

"Mhm, I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Before waiting for your answer, Quinn let go of your hand and put his arm around your waist, pulling you in close. Your head found his shoulder, and your arms around his waist in a compromise. Still you walked, unsure just where he was taking you. You tried to stay in the moment but the looming stress about catching a late-night holiday flight was still lurking in your mind.

In the distance, there was a garden gazebo, absolutely ablaze with light. It looked so beautiful against the dark backdrop of the bay. You found your feet being steered in its direction, Quinn placing a kiss to your temple.

"Here, sit down a moment," he spoke, taking a seat beside you. "I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me this year. For being with me through all my ups and downs, the playoffs, my moods, and my injuries. You've been my everything. You've kept me grounded and my feet going forward."

You smile, letting him talk without interrupting him.

"I owe you so much. You've been with me through the celebrations and the tears and there's no one else I'd have rather had by my side but you."

You watch him smile, as he shifts his weight, and before you can react he's on one knee, the black ring box in his fingers. "There's no one else I'd rather ask: will you marry me?"

Hands cover your mouth as you gasp. Of course, you had hoped he would have one day asked for your hand, but you hadn't dreamed it would be today. A fanciful daydream, sure, but you tried not to get ahead of yourself.

"Oh, Quinny! Absolutely! Yes~"

He's grinning ear-to-ear, putting the stunning diamond on your finger. As soon as it's placed you grab his face for a kiss, the warmth of his skin soothing your cold fingers. Minutes could have passed before you two parted ways but it didn't matter. Never, in your life, could you remember being so happy.

"You'll want for nothing with me," he whispers, your foreheads touching, lost in each other's eyes.

"I never have," you reply, tears now streaming down your cheeks.

"Only happy tears, okay?" He asks, kissing each and every one of them away.

"Only happy ones."

"I love you," Quinn smiles, holding your face in his hands.

"I love you. I love you so much!"

Moments pass, just exchanging sweet little promises to each other before Quinn remembers the night isn't over yet.

"Come on, sweetheart, lets get you warmed back up. I don't want you to get chilled." Another kiss is placed on your lips, one you could tell he didn't want to end. "We've got a flight to catch."

"Quinn?" You sniffle as she stands to his feet.

"Hmm? Something wrong?"

"No, nothing. I just… thank you, for everything."

"Sweetheart, you don't need to thank me for anything. I'd give you the stars if I could reach them."

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Here I am finally! 🥳

I loved this chapter, you perfectly pictured all the feelings they have and made it all so angsty, i love some well written angst sometimes and this works so well 🥲

“Despite it all, and I know how stupid this sounds. How stupid this is. I still… can’t stop thinking about him.” You confess out loud. 

Girl, same. SAME.

When he held your face in his hand and wiped your tears you knew that whatever was going on, his feelings for you were not something to question. He wanted you on a primal level and you wanted him to take what he needed from you. 

This is so beautiful, I can imagine him doing this to me, I would melt instantly 🫠 GIIIIIRL, He loves you, he’s just bad at communicating, you know 😭

Not to mention no one had pleasured you like Joel Miller. You were absolutely smitten by everything he gave to you. He made you insatiable for him in every way. 

Yep, she’s me 100%

As he started playing, he blocked out everything around him. His mind was just filled with the memories of Tess. What he loved. What he wanted. What he never got and never will. What he would always mourn but no longer desire. His time with her was over for him. He could feel his heart aching as he sang, but also getting lighter, not realizing how heavy this all was weighing on him for such a long time until he was letting it go

This description 😭 He’s so sweet, he has the biggest heart deep down inside him, I want to cry 🥺

A conflicting wave of emotions tears through him and it takes everything not to lose his composure. He takes the deepest breath, closes his eyes and it isn’t Tess that comes to mind. 

It’s you.

He’s so pookie, I love him 🥺

You had 34 unread messages from Joel. 9 missed calls and 3 voicemails. You fought the urge to see what he had to say and instead gave notice to your other missed calls.

And desperately down so bad, pls, I need to hug him 💔

You hugged the shirt to your chest and breathed in his masculine scent that still lingered. The scent that drove you wild with desire.  

Oh, I’m melting, bye 🫠

Settling on the second picture you sent, he focuses on how deranged and needy you looked. Hungry for his cock. Your breasts were perfectly in view and still partially clad in his shirt. His scent was all over you in that moment. You were his.  

This whole scene is SO HOT 🥵 And I actually love that he’s so hungry for her that he can’t even keep his hands off his cock heheheh 🤭

He was dressed in some dirty jeans that hugged him perfectly and heavy work boots. His torso clad in a rustic, plaid flannel not too different from the one you stole. The sleeves are pushed up and bunched on his forearms and his hands protected with leather gloves. 

This whole thing is going to be stuck in my mind for a long time, Jesus, I need lumberjack Joel so bad it’s ridiculous 🥵

The area between his shoulder blades was damp and dark with sweat. The curls in his hair were an unruly mess, especially where they met the hot perspiration on his neck. 

Oh yes, sweaty Joel is doing things to me 🤤

The desire to have his arms on you in this moment and feel the full force of his body against you

Crying 😭 the end is equally beautiful and painful, I can’t wait for them to stop arguing 🥲

Another beautiful chapter, my dear, you’re doing so great 🥹🥰

The Wolf You Feed (Part 5)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count: 7.3k

Part 5 / ? (Ongoing) A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T

Summary: Set in a fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Chapter Warnings: ANGST. Smut. POV-Switching. Rated Explicit. 18+ MDNI. See series masterlist for general warnings.

A/N: Hang in there friends. I will ease your pain soon 🧡

The next day you were, for the most part, unconsolable. Marlene let you lay around in her guest bed while you faded in between sleep and numbness. 

The pain was unfamiliar. Hurt because it was so unexpected. Amplified because you were falling so hard for him and thought he felt the same way. Hurt by the immense weight of betrayal and deception that he dumped on you last night. Hurt by the thought that he didn’t want you to know. Hurt because despite the pain you still felt a longing and prayed to just wake from the nightmare like it was all just a bad dream.

The early afternoon sun gave its best attempt to bring some life to you, but you simply rolled away from the window and wrapped yourself up in your warm cocoon. Your phone screen lit up on the nightstand for the umpteenth time and you ignored it.

The apathy you were feeling was weighing you down, paralyzing you from moving from your safe haven. It felt like time wasn’t moving either, and you were just trapped in this moment and helpless to do anything about it.

The 360 your emotions took in the span of 24 hours was unprecedented. It took everything out of you and you can’t stop ruminating on what was and what could have been. Where do you go from here? 

Last night, you don’t remember much of what happened when you left Coppers. You were inconsolable and Marlene felt too responsible for you to let you go home by yourself in your condition. She insisted you get in her car and she brought you to her apartment which was not too far away. 

She didn’t ask you any questions, and you could only assume what she could possibly be thinking about you now. You felt embarrassed and sick to your stomach whenever flashes from the night before popped into your mind. 

How could you have been so stupid?   

A tiny knock on the door caught your attention and Marlene meekly poked her head in. She wandered over to the bed and sat at the edge.

“Come on. I made us lunch and you are going to eat.” She patted your bundled up shoulder and got into your face to glare at you. This request was not optional at this point. You owed her big. She placed a bottle of water on the nightstand and you saw her eye your phone lighting up.

“Fine. Give me a minute?” You didn’t sound very convincing. “I promise.”

Marlene left you some clothes to borrow while you were there. An oversized long sleeve shirt and some sweatpants. Comfortable.

Marlene had lunch fixed for you both and slid over a hot cup of coffee as you approached the kitchen table. 

She was being far too kind to you. On the way home you remember little beyond the haze of being drunk and your breakdown. You remember sobbing and telling her you didn’t want to be alone. She ended up bringing you back to her place in town and babysat you through the night.

You were grateful to have made a friend in her and her kindness was the light guiding you through the turmoil. 

You manage a few bites from your sandwich out of consideration but don’t touch your coffee. The awkward silence is broken after a few moments, you knew the conversation was coming.

“So…” She pauses and then just comes out with it. “You and Joel, huh?” She attempts to drop the topic casually and friendly.

“Not anymore.” You feel your eyes well up again. Tears from anger, sadness and heartbreak. A trifecta of emotions that you don’t recall ever feeling before. Everything about Joel was intense and had been from the moment you met him. 

You realize that since meeting him it had all been mostly bottled up inside you. Except for some vague chatter at work, your life with Joel was mostly a secret. Something you kept private because you were shy about being judged for falling for a man so much older than you.  

You tell her everything. 

“Babe, he isn’t worth the tears.” she said so confidently, like she had so much knowledge about him that you didn’t know. 

“I had no idea about Tess.” The words spill out. “I just assumed it was only me. I would have never… How stupid-”

“Joel is an asshole” she cuts you off. Her tone is getting more heated as she gets frustrated that you are blaming yourself for anything in all of this. “What he did was wrong.” Marlene tried her best to keep her judgements to herself, but she always had been very outspoken. You knew she would be an open book if you would just ask. She seemed to harbor some resentment that was starting to slip out.

“How long have they.. You know. Been together?” you choke on the words.

“As long as I’ve known them.” she catches the way you react and takes a step back to explain. “They used to be close. Really close. Over the years they have grown apart. I think nowadays they just fuck around with each other when they are feeling lonely.” 

Your heart is in your throat and you want to throw up. You go to speak but can’t find the words, only more tears. 

“Sorry. I mean, you should know this.”

She's right, you should know this, and Joel should be the one telling you. You think back to how he was so quick to push you away at the bar and wanted to talk later. You knew something was up and he wasn’t ready for you to find out. Even if you never really defined anything between you both, he led you on. He used you. 

“Tess isn’t a saint either.” She interrupts you as if she can hear your thoughts. “This has been a long time coming. They are both toxic.” 

You wanted to know what she meant by that, but your mind couldn’t get past his wrongdoings. From where you sat last night, it looked like Tess was caught off guard by him too. 

You felt sick to your stomach the moment you realized you were the other woman. Tess didn’t deserve that.  

The tears were flowing again. You drag the back of your hand across your face to quickly wipe them away. 

“You deserve better.” She reassures you.

Do you, though? You wonder. 

You never had the best luck with men. The way Joel made you feel was not something you would be able to replace or move on from easily. He awoke something inside you that you needed to feed. He had a darkness that you were drawn to. A sexual energy that you never sought out before. It was so perfectly hidden behind some neighborly deeds and a tired man’s body.       

“Despite it all, and I know how stupid this sounds. How stupid this is. I still… can’t stop thinking about him.” You confess out loud. 

You were not a stupid person by any stretch, but you were feeling blinded by how he had been making you feel up until last night. Even after you confronted him, before you really learnt what was going on, you still felt like he was doing this for you. He wasn’t acting like the same person, but you could feel the Joel you knew was still there inside him. Like the face he was putting on was for everyone else, but your Joel was waiting in the wings.

When he had you alone by the bathrooms you could feel how much he wanted you. See how much hurt there was in his eyes when you were crying. He told you it wasn’t about you and you really wanted to believe that was true.

When he held your face in his hand and wiped your tears you knew that whatever was going on, his feelings for you were not something to question. He wanted you on a primal level and you wanted him to take what he needed from you. 

You weren’t in a formal relationship with him. You never had that talk with him. You never asked if there was anyone else. These thoughts were creeping in and making you feel stupid and partially responsible. Your conscience was desperately looking for any excuse to help Joel’s case. 

Marlene rolls her eyes. “Joel is nothing but bad news. Look at what he already did to you. Forget him.” 

Easier said than done, you think to yourself. The truth is that up until his performance he had been the first guy in your life that made you feel truly desired. It couldn’t have felt so real if it wasn’t true.

He needed you, but you also needed him.   

“Marlene…” You pause, trepidation in your tone. “I was falling for him. I think I was in l-”

“Stop.” She cuts you off. “You liked his… handsome charm, don’t confuse it for something more.” An annoyance peaks in her voice. 

You had fallen for people before and had relationships based purely on lust and attraction, but this was not it. It was something so unique that you couldn’t even put into words or feelings. A high that he gave you that you had to chase because you needed that next fix so badly. 

“And…” She pauses before cautiously saying more. “He is old enough to be your dad. Come on, this wasn’t going anywhere!” She was trying to make you see the obvious things without sounding too critical. 

You actually liked that he was older. It was so attractive if not a little bit taboo which just made it that much more exciting. He was worn on the edges but he was so confident and capable with everything he did. Not to mention no one had pleasured you like Joel Miller. You were absolutely smitten by everything he gave to you. He made you insatiable for him in every way. 

You brushed off her comments about his age. It was something you loved about him. Something that turned you on that you didn’t feel like defending.

Still, by all counts she was right. You knew the right thing to do would be to move on with your life, without Joel. 

“I’m sure whatever you had was fun, but that is all it was ever going to be.” Her matter of fact way of stating things helped to make the reality hit a little less hard. 

Maybe the reason it felt so good with Joel is because you wanted it to be something more than it was. The pit in your stomach reminds you of its presence and how this whole ordeal makes you feel sick.

There is a long silence between the two of you, and she no doubt can tell how heavy the words are hitting you. She finishes her coffee and clears the table, taking away your hardly touched plate. 

You sit with your thoughts for a moment before joining her at the kitchen sink. You hand her your mostly full coffee mug to pour in the basin.

The elephant in the room is getting too big to ignore.

It didn’t matter how you felt or what you wanted when there was someone else involved.

“What am I going to do now?” You ask her with teary eyes and a meek voice.

“I know Tess pretty well, and she can be scornful. I don’t think she knows about you and Joel, and you should keep it that way.” 

You feel yourself disassociated and want to just disappear. Go back to your Boston life and pretend you never met Joel Miller. Find a new job.  A new place to live and start fresh, again. 

“I like you, and I think you got put in a real shitty situation.” That was an understatement. “I’m not going to say anything to her, ok?” 

You nod, and believe her words.

“You are done with Joel, right?” She looks at you for confirmation. “Right?”

“Yeah. Of course.” You look away from her as you answer and the tears flow again. You weren’t sure if you were lying to her or lying to yourself, but you knew it wasn’t truthful. Whatever path you carved out next would be wrong if it wasn’t leading away from Joel.  

“Then cry as much as you need to now and put this behind you.”

She brings you in for a comforting hug and you sob into her shoulder.   

The worst part of it all is that you still have feelings for him.

—

JOEL POV - The Night Before

As he walked towards the stage to play, he was a wreck inside. Looking calm and composed was just a facade. He was nervous enough to be playing tonight with his carefully thought out song, but now knowing you may very well still be around was tipping him over the edge. There was no turning back at this point and he had to stay the course. He had to get this off his chest and had to wash his hands of Tess. Whatever comes next he would have to take it as it comes. 

The thought of hurting you in any way made him sick. 

Taking his seat he was grateful for the bright lights on him, making the audience look like anonymous shadows. At least in his mind he could pretend it was a room of nobodies. He never was one to have stage fright. He was a talented enough musician and most of the audience was drunk. He didn’t care what they thought anyways.  

He drags his hand along the neck of the guitar, feeling the strings under his calloused fingertips. Taking in a deep breath he adjusts the guitar in his lap. The light reflects off his watch and the shiny, polished wood of his instrument. The stage feels lonely as the room silences with all eyes on him.    

He strums his guitar and flexes his hand to loosen up. There is no turning back now and this is something he has to do. 

“This one’s…. for Tess.” his voice shakes as the words leave his mouth. 

This moment the only thing that mattered was that she heard this. He never was one with words or talking about his feelings, but he always had been able to lean on music when it mattered. It was the only time he truly let himself be vulnerable.  

As he started playing, he blocked out everything around him. His mind was just filled with the memories of Tess. What he loved. What he wanted. What he never got and never will. What he would always mourn but no longer desire. His time with her was over for him. He could feel his heart aching as he sang, but also getting lighter, not realizing how heavy this all was weighing on him for such a long time until he was letting it go.

As the song progressed it felt cathartic. Letting some of his anger slip into his tone and fade out into the ether, taking along his frustrations. Confronting all the feelings he had been holding in for so long. The sadness he felt was mourning, and he knew it would only get better now that he was moving on. He had already been mourning her loss for a long time without truly acknowledging it. Until now.       

Living in the memory

   Of a love that never was

He was feeling bolder and confident that his decision to be done with Tess was the right one. It didn’t erase their history or make her impact on his life any less significant. What they had was special and always would be. It didn’t have to overstay like it was in order to preserve that history. It was time to move on and stop feeding the resentment that was overtaking everything left that was good.

He would always love her for their history and she had to know so that she could move on too before the damage between them was too great. He knew she would understand and accept it; in time. 

Then you crept back into his mind. Finally he was giving himself permission to allow it to, properly. 

You filled in all that empty space that was vacant for just mere moments. Another realization that he wasn’t giving everything to you and how much he wanted to. He had been indulging in your companionship with trepidation. Reluctant to open himself up and fearful that it would be another road to nowhere. 

Afraid you might not want him and his darkness that came along once you really knew him. 

His eyes were finally adjusted to the lights just enough to make out the details in the shadows in front of him. 

He couldn’t help himself to look up and scan the audience, searching for you passively. Deep down, he knew you were still out there. He could sense that unexplainable feeling when someone is watching you intently. It made his heart race as he struggled to fight the distraction and finish his song. 

'Cause I've done everything I know

To try and make you mine

And I think I'm gonna love you

As if by instinct, he zeroed in on you standing towards the back of the room with tears in your eyes. An invisible rope tethering you together against the odds in the sea of shadows. 

When he caught your eyes he had to look away in shame. Disgusted with himself that you were collateral damage in his situationship. He choked on his final words, and they came out low and shaky.  

For a long, long time.

He strummed the last chords of his song and fought back the feeling in his throat that was bubbling up. He felt like he couldn’t breathe and the weight of his actions was crushing him. The silence in the room filled him with dread and it felt like time was standing still, like he was in front of everyone naked with his emotions raw and exposed before them. His chest was tight, bursting with an anxious heart beating rapidly with heavy thuds.  

A conflicting wave of emotions tears through him and it takes everything not to lose his composure. He takes the deepest breath, closes his eyes and it isn’t Tess that comes to mind. 

It’s you. 

With his final strum of the guitar it felt like he was releasing himself from Tess. Free after so long and fighting so hard for their relationship. Free to bring his full attention to where his heart was calling him.

Finally the room erupts in applause and he feels the tiniest pang of relief wash over him and snaps him back to reality. He sneaks off the stage and makes his way towards the back. He needed to hold you and tell you how sorry he was and at this point he didn’t care who saw him.

Familiar faces and acquaintances slapped him on the back and boasted to him about how great he did and the gauntlet of drunken patrons slows him down significantly. When he manages to break away and gets eyes on where you were standing you are nowhere to be found. 

A hand grabs his sleeve and he turns but his heart sinks when it’s Tess.

“Joel..” she whines through a shaky voice and pulls him to look at her.

He didn’t want to be cruel to her or disregard whatever feelings she was going through but he also didn’t feel obligated to her anymore. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was on her leash. He was done putting her first.  

“Tess, not now.” His voice was low and gentle. He really did feel for her out of habit, but he also knew he couldn’t let her try to reconcile. Not yet, anyways. He was open and hopeful to remain friends with her, but she needed to get over him first. He knew her reaction would be anger until she had time to cool off. 

“Really? After that you are going to ice me out? What the hell, Joel?” Her anger was increasing with every sound leaving her lips. The last thing he wanted was a blow up with her and he wasn’t going to let her control this narrative any longer. 

“Stop it.” He unintentionally uses his size to intimidate her as he steps closer. Silencing her as the remaining empathy leaves his eyes. He was never confrontational with Tess, and this was something new that she did not expect or know how to react to.   

A few nosy people nearby get quiet as they try to watch the drama unfold in front of them and pretend to be minding their own business. Joel takes a step back from Tess and furrows his brow.  

“I told you. I’m moving on. We’re done now.” He says firmly and sharply points his finger towards her. The tears in her eyes almost make him soften, but he holds firm. “Done.” He reiterates through gritted teeth.

He hated being so cold, but he had to or else nothing would change.  

Tess bites her lip and for the first time has no words. She was so used to being the boss and calling the shots and for the most part Joel let her. Not this time. She wipes the wetness that starts to fall from her eyes and walks off, angry and hurt.

“What are you looking at?” He snaps at the prying eyes watching him be a total asshole and then proceeds to walk towards the exit to continue his search. He was quickly running out of fucks to give by this point in the evening.

The bar was starting to clear out a little now that the live entertainment was done for the night. He doesn’t see you and starts to worry you left without allowing him a chance to explain himself. 

Truthfully, he didn’t know what he was going to say, but he knew he needed to see you. To apologize at the minimum and beg you to hear him out. There was so much you didn’t know that he needed to tell you.

He collects his guitar, dons his jacket and makes his way outside. There is a gentle snow falling and a coating on the cars and walkway. Footprints heavily littering the path into the parking lot and fanning out. It would be a fool's errand to pick out your prints or your car under the blanket of winter. 

He makes his way to his truck, and carelessly brushes off his windshield with his sleeve. 

He pulls out his phone and calls you, but it goes unanswered and to your mailbox. He sends you a text.

Joel: Im so sorry baby

Joel: Please can we talk? 

He leans on his truck, ignoring the cold and tries to call you again. And again. The relentless ringing is only silenced by the robotic voice of the generic voice mail operator.

After the 3rd call he left a message.

“Please answer the phone baby girl. I know I don’t deserve it, but I need to talk to you. Please.” His message was delivered with a low, calm tone, barely masking that he was afraid. 

Afraid he lost you.  

—

READER POV - Saturday Afternoon

Marlene dropped you off at the bar to pick up your car. No one was around this time of day and it felt surreal being back at the scene of the crime, so to speak. She gave you a hug and just nodded to you as you left. Urging you to believe you would be ok, and you had to move on. 

When you got home you didn’t even dare look to see if Joel was home. You went inside, took a shower and wrapped up in a blanket to watch TV on your couch.

Whatever was on you didn’t really pay attention. Your mind was just filled with Joel. You wanted to wake up from this bad dream. 

You had been vulnerable with him. You were ready to give yourself to him so quickly because you craved that intimacy only he could give. He worshipped your body and made you feel something you never felt before. 

Was that enough? Surely not to a self respecting person. It makes you feel sick to be so hesitant to do the obviously right thing.  

You so badly wanted him, and knew you couldn’t just let him treat you this way. You felt guilty about still wanting to give him a chance.

You finally gave in to looking at your phone. 

You had 34 unread messages from Joel. 9 missed calls and 3 voicemails. You fought the urge to see what he had to say and instead gave notice to your other missed calls. Your mother. She had tried to call you 3 times. You had barely talked to her this past week and didn’t really want to but you also knew she would worry if you continued to ignore her. You were afraid she might also reach out to her precious neighbor too if you gave her any reason to panic. It didn’t take much with her. 

You called your mom, lied that you were sick with the flu and that you just wanted to sleep. She didn’t make you talk long thankfully and she didn’t say anything about her handyman neighbor.

The night was getting late and you mustered up enough energy to move into your bedroom. 

Seeing Joel’s flannel shirt laying at the foot of your bed hit you hard. You had been so happy and flirty just a few nights before and you wanted that back. It felt like it was taken from you unfairly.

You hugged the shirt to your chest and breathed in his masculine scent that still lingered. The scent that drove you wild with desire.  

How were you going to get over this man who made you such a mess?

You tossed the shirt into your dirty clothes pile and got into bed, lamenting how cold and empty it was and wishing you were wrapped up in Joel’s navy blue sheets and stealing his heat. Feeling his heartbeat against your cheek as he holds you close. The ghost of his touch on your skin makes you tear up again. 

Fuck you Joel Miller. You mumble out loud to yourself. It wasn’t fair.   

You lay there for what felt like hours, your mind firing on all cylinders with no hope of slowing down. 

Curiosity won in the end, and you opened up the text thread with Joel. You scanned it quickly and saw a recurring theme of him asking if you were ok, apologizing and worried that you were not home.  

Joel: Please just tell me you are safe

Joel: I’ll leave you alone just let me know

Joel: Where are you? 

Those were texts from the morning. After your car was back home and signs of life his messages were back to apologizing and what you can only imagine to be a descent of drunken texts from this evening.

Joel: I’m so sorry

Joel: We need to talk

Joel: Please n

Joel: I m fucknig srry

Joel: Just let m tel you and ill stpo

Joel: /

Joel: I ned to talk to you

You wanted to talk to him. You needed some clarity, but you also didn’t want to be tricked into forgiving him because of your body betraying your mind. There was a nagging you could not shake that his actions at the bar didn’t undo the way he made you feel. There had to be more to it or else it would be so easy to wash your hands of him and never turn back. 

You started typing a reply and deleting until finally settling on just leaving him on read. 

You listened to his first voicemail, and hearing the pain in his voice made your heart break more. He was worried about you and he sounded like he was doing his best to be composed, but you could see through it. That southern drawl makes you melt when you hear him call you baby girl.

You slammed your phone down and regretted giving in to his attempts. It only made it harder to be mad at him.  

As you drifted off to sleep with tears leaving wet stripes on your cheeks you decided that tomorrow you would go see Joel. You would go in person and get a true gauge of where things stand. You would also try to do the right thing.    

—

JOEL POV - Saturday Night

Midday and he was worried about you. Not only were you not answering him or reading his messages, but you also had not been home. Of course you were an adult and clearly could do whatever you wanted, but he felt entirely responsible for whatever you were up to. 

He paced to his bedroom window, looking out through the blinds to see the same snow covered drive. Untouched. He was getting restless.  

He flips through your messages and can’t help but look at the pics you sent him during your bedtime photoshoot.

He could feel himself harden and palmed himself through his denim to get some relief. It felt wrong, but he couldn’t control the way his body reacted to you. He unzips his jeans to let his cock breathe as he takes a seat in the living room. 

Scrolling through the photos you sent and seeing more and more of your body made him swell. The pressure in his groin became too much to handle with a casual touch. 

Fuck he mumbles under his breath. 

He spreads his legs wider and slides a hand inside his boxers to stroke himself, imagining it was you and your gentle hands wrapped around his shaft. 

The guilt of what he did weighed heavy on his mind but didn’t hinder him from getting aroused. He needed to have you again. Feel your tight pussy gripping him and listen to your sweet moans. 

It eats away at him. It was wrong to get off to you especially after what he had done to you. 

But it didn’t stop him.

Settling on the second picture you sent, he focuses on how deranged and needy you looked. Hungry for his cock. Your breasts were perfectly in view and still partially clad in his shirt. His scent was all over you in that moment. You were his.  

His labored strokes quicken as he fucks into his fist and he comes with a stifled groan. 

Sitting alone with his release dripping over his knuckles made him feel like a dirty old man. Getting off to a woman that didn’t want him anymore.   

He woke later that evening, awkwardly slumped against the arm of his chair. The house was completely dark except for some embers from his wood stove about to give it’s last breath. He was groggy and sore. His neck ached from the awkward position. 

After getting his wits about him, he opened his phone to see you still had not replied. He stumbled over to his window and to his relief your car was parked in the yard. 

At least you were home. You were safe. Clearly you did not want to talk to him yet. 

He wanders off to his kitchen to pour himself a stiff drink and downs it way too fast before taking a shower and drinking again and again. 

As the whiskey clouds his mind and fills him with nothing but remorse for what he did, he sloppily sends you some desperate texts before passing out for the night.

—

READER POV - Sunday

The Sunday afternoon energy was heavy. You had been avoiding Joel in every possible way since Friday night. The exception being your moment of weakness and reading his texts. Instead you buried yourself in a book trying to focus your mind on another world with characters struggling with simpler problems.

The time spent alone had given you some peace to think about what your next move was going to be, but you were still battling with what to do.

If you were not so smitten with him it would be so easy to just walk away. You never questioned his character before and now it’s all you can do. Weighing the damage he did with what you had come to know about him before was not an easy task. It also made you question your own character. What kind of a person would it make you be to continue on with this? Maybe you battled with failed relationships all your life because you never found the one to balance who you really are. Maybe you are just hopelessly lusting over Joel Miller and telling yourself anything that can make it feel ok. 

Your anger and hurt was stinging less and making you feel more numb than anything. Marlene’s words of advice were lingering in the front of your mind constantly. You felt guilty for entertaining the idea of talking to him and even more guilty for settling on actually doing it. 

Looking out your front window you see his truck parked in his driveway. No fresh tire tracks and covered in snow. You had not seen any signs of life since you returned home other than some smoke from his chimney and a light or two.

The text messages from him did still trickle in at a slower pace, but you continued to ignore them. Wiping the notification off your lock screen.

Marlene also texted you periodically to check in and you assured her you were doing just fine and would be ok. 

You made an impulsive decision to go over now before you changed your mind again, not sure what you were going to say or do, but you couldn’t ignore him forever. The more you thought about what your gameplan was the more you started to talk yourself out of it.  

You freshened up in the bathroom, applying some light makeup to mask the bags under your eyes and hide the fact that you have been crying for days. You knew deep down you also just wanted to look really good for him. You wanted to spite him and make him want you but not let him have you as some sort of punishment. At least that is what you told yourself.     

You bundled up in your boots and winter jacket. Wrapped a scarf around you and put on some mittens and a hat. Your hair falling loosely around your face. You looked cute but completely covered up. 

The sun was just starting to set, but there was still plenty of light left to venture outside.

You wandered over to your mailbox and picked up the scent of burning wood. A smoky, campfire smell. It smelled inviting. You heard a chopping sound coming from the direction of Joel’s house and guessed he was outside working. Typical Joel behavior to be outdoors. 

As you make your way to his house the campfire smell intensifies and you see some smoke coming from the side of his house. There is a footpath going from his driveway and you decide to follow it to the sound.

As you round the corner, the sight is enough to make you forgive all his wrongs.

Joel’s back was to you and his silhouette is bright and familiar. You could recognize his figure in a lineup with ease. Broad and commanding.  

The frame of his body was muscular but not bulky. Toned from his manual labor lifestyle. His broad shoulders and tapered waist were perfectly illuminated by the burning fire next to him.  

He was dressed in some dirty jeans that hugged him perfectly and heavy work boots. His torso clad in a rustic, plaid flannel not too different from the one you stole. The sleeves are pushed up and bunched on his forearms and his hands protected with leather gloves. 

You see his jacket discarded on a pile of chopped wood and a small brush pile burning next to him, keeping him unnecessarily warm. It looked like he had more than enough body heat radiating off him. Uncomfortably toasty.  

The area between his shoulder blades was damp and dark with sweat. The curls in his hair were an unruly mess, especially where they met the hot perspiration on his neck. 

Seeing Joel in lumberjack mode unlocked something inside you that you didn’t even know existed. He was so primal in his ability to handle whatever task was at hand. Just as he had been when intimate with you. He could take you away and live off the grid someplace in the wilderness and you wouldn’t bat an eye. He was more than capable of taking care of all your needs.  

You feel it deep inside you. That intense heat building that only Joel can make you feel. An arousal coiling up inside you and ready to burst out if given the chance.   

He turns to place a section of wood in front of him and makes a grunt sound as he lifts it into place. No doubt it was heavy and judging by his pile, and the sweat on his body, he had been at this for a while. His outstretched arm had his flannel tightly choking his bicep as he moved to adjust the log in front of him. It was obscene to see his body flex and demonstrate his strength. The desire to have his arms on you in this moment and feel the full force of his body against you.

He picks up the axe and throttles it down again with a grunt, wood splintering in front of him as the force from his axe splits the wood into two.

He is nearly panting from the exertion, moving the split wood over to the pile only to repeat it all over again. He pulls his shirt up to wipe his brow. The hard ridges of his muscles taunt you as they shine in the light of the fire. As he wipes his sweat and pauses for the briefest moment to rest against his axe you decide to make your presence known before he realizes you are watching him.

“Hey Joel” you announce softly.

He is startled by you and turns quickly, letting his shirt fall back over his stomach. His expression softens when he meets your eyes. He tosses the axe next to him and pulls off his gloves as he steps towards you. 

The heat of his body and his smoky scent hit you all at once as he stands just in front of you, unsure if he should touch you or not.  He hesitates but you can see the desire in his eyes to touch you. 

“Sweetheart, I’m–” he pauses, and rakes his hand through his hair. “I’m so glad to see you. Lord knows I don’t deserve it.” He gives a side smirk and his best attempt at looking innocent. It almost works.

He steps towards you but you reluctantly hold your hand up. He ignores it and pushes his chest into your palm. His innocence was replaced with cunning intentions. His damp and hot chest sending a wave of desire through you, making you even more wet. You were certain he could sense it too despite your attempts to act put together.  

Before you can protest he has his hands on your waist. His fingers wrapping around you and positioned to pull you in close. His needy energy is not something you have seen before. Not like this. Assertive but stepping over a line you put out. 

“Joel, stop.” You weakly protest and take a step back from him. His hands slide off your hip as you step away and you can see some panic in his eyes that he misread what this was. 

He could clearly see how mixed you were feeling. He was letting his raw desire take the lead and hoped it would help sway you to give in to him and soften your resolve. Whether it was wrong or right, he knew that sexual tension you both had was not going silently.

He also knew that he cared about you more than just as a hookup. Truthfully you had made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was so scared to lose you before he even got to properly have you. His fear was making him act stupid and desperate and he didn’t know how to reign it back. Especially with you being just within your reach. He was tailspinning.      

“I’m sorry, baby.” He pauses. “I should have told you about her. It’s not what it looks like. I mean, it is complicated and–”

You swallow back your feelings and look him straight in the eyes. How much more cliche could he get?  

“It’s too late for that now,” you countered, realizing that confronting this now was not something you were ready for after all. 

Joel chewed his lip, wiping his hand on his chin as he fought back the urge to unleash some of his anger that he had been harboring. Anger he had towards himself that needed to escape. He was getting agitated.

He knew you were right, but he knew he couldn’t just let you go. He lets out a deep breath as he pinches between his brows, releasing a little tension as he exhales and composes his next words carefully.

“I want you to… need you to know I never did anything with her while I was with you.” His words come out desperate, pleading with you to understand. To forgive him even. 

You weren’t sure if you believed that. You couldn’t exactly trust him anymore now that the trust had been broken.     

“I swear it. There is a lot you don’t know about Tess and-”

Hearing her name on his lips is the last straw and it enrages you, reminding you that you are not here for second chances and apologies. You are here to tell him to leave you alone.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” You declare coldly and emotionless. 

Joel stares, he looks like he wants to speak but he isn’t sure what to say. He isn’t sure he heard you right, or didn’t want to believe that he did. 

You go to turn but he grabs your sleeve and holds you to face him.

“Please, I need to… don’t go.” He stumbles over his words, grabbing you harder than he meant to, desperate to make you stay.  

“You hurt me.” The tears start to fall again as you speak your truth to him. You look him straight in the eyes so he can see your pain from what he did. There was no misreading your tears. 

“I know. Never meant for you to get hurt. I can explain-” He panics, realizing you are leaving him and his chance is fleeting.

You struggle to pull your arm away but he isn’t listening and just brings you closer with his strength. He was blind to your obvious demands to stop. Clouded by his panic.  

“I owe you an explanation. Let me-” His eyes penetrate into you, begging you to look at him. 

“It's too late.” You cut him off. “Lose my number.” Your words bite. 

You pull your arm away sharply and continue to walk away. You feel him staring at you and you swear he can hear your heart beating out of your chest. It took every ounce of restraint to hold firm with what you set out to do. You were not going to let him talk you into changing your mind.

With tears welling up in your eye you continue walking forward. You hear him begging you to stop and listen to him. 

“Sweetheart, please.” he calls out after you. Pleading with you but you put more distance between him and his words as they get quieter.

Under his breath, Joel whispers “I’m sorry.” When your pace quickens and you don’t look back you swear you can hear him speak those words again and again, but you keep walking. 

To be continued...

A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T | N O T I F I C A T I O N S

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[marzipanandminutiae]

I apologize if this is a stupid question, but the Amazon corset discourse has me wondering: some of these young women are complaining that their corsets are causing rib pain. I've had the same problem from sports bras worn for too long and have heard of something similar with binders. I am interested in trying out wearing a corset as a support garment (I have a large chest and like the idea of spreading out the weight), but is there a way to avoid that risk when I am testing the fit?

I’m guessing it has something to do with not being a good fit?

I honestly don’t know because I really only know people who’ve worn historical corsets, not the Amazon kind, and none of them have had that complaint. I have no doubt that you still can with any style of garments that has any amount of compression around your ribs, if it’s not fitted well, but… I guess I just mostly know people who’ve been scrupulous about the fit of their corsets. It could also be an effect of boning versus heavy duty elastic, if the Amazon corsets primarily use the latter? But I don’t actually know enough about them to say

Which I suppose is an answer in itself: just make sure you get something decent quality that fits well. Take your measurements before ordering, go to a reputable corsetier (I really like RedThreaded, but they are somewhat expensive; I’ve heard that Orchard Corset is also good. AVOID CORSET STORY/CORSETS UK.), etc.

Best of luck!

[bridgyrose]

Neo couldnt help but watch as the new girl to Lady Brownings was being bullied by a few of the older girls. It was a normal hazing process, but something about the girl kept her intrigued. Maybe it was her silver eyes or how young the girl was compared to everyone else. Either way, she wasnt going to watch the girl be bullied anymore.

She got up and made her way over to the girls and pushed them away from the new girl. She put herself in front of the girl and glared at the others. 

“And what are you going to do about it, Trivia?” one of the girls asked. 

Neo raised a fist, then lowered it with a smirk. The smirk changed to a smile as she stuck out her tongue as she made a snipping motion with her fingers as she stared at the girls. 

The lead girl scoffed and walked away. “Freak.” 

Neo stopped and lowered her fingers, turning to the girl that she had just saved. It was almost like looking at a mirror and seeing her younger self. Scared, weak, out of place… needing someone to step in and help. 

She knelt down and pulled out her scroll, typing quickly before showing the girl her question. “Are you okay?” 

The girl flinched before looking at the scroll and gave a nervous nod. “I-I am. Thank… thank you for helping me.” 

Neo nodded, erased her message, and typed a new one. “It gets easier.” 

“I’m not sure it ever does. Its not the first time someone bullied me because of my eyes. They’re strange enough for the color.” 

A frown crossed Neo’s lips, familiar with what the girl had been going through. She still wore the contact to give her pink eye a brown color because of her parents, but hearing that another person was going through the same torment… this wasnt something she could allow slide. Instead, she’d be the person this girl… no, her younger self, needed. A mentor. A friend.

She offered a hand to the girl and signed to the girl. “What is your name?” 

“Ruby,” Ruby answered as she took Neo’s hand. “Ruby Rose.” 

Neo flashed a smile at Ruby, her fingers moving slower “I would like to be your friend.” 

Ruby smiled. “I’d like that.” 

Neo helped Ruby up and started to walk her to the dorm. 

The weeks went by and Neo and Ruby became practically inseparable. Neo helped Ruby study, train, get used to the etiquette classes… everything that she needed to succeed. A smile crossed her lips as she watched her pick up on her lessons quickly, and even more proud as she found Ruby quickly becoming top of her class. 

She lowered her weapon with a smile as she panted, glancing at her aura. Ruby had done better, bringing her aura down into the yellow and starting to see through her tricks. She started to sign, her fingers relaxed. “You’re improving.” 

“It doesnt feel like I am,” Ruby said as she picked herself up. “I still didnt win and you’re still wiping the floor with me.”

“I’ve had some of the best tutors to train me when I was younger, but you’ll get there.” 

“Then maybe I’ll get you next time.”

Next time. Neo paused and looked at her scroll, her fingers shaking as she held it. When would next time be? She was only here until she could find the time to leave and to help Roman. And then there was Lady Beat and that room she seemed to disappear to… so many questions that needed answers. 

Ruby put a hand on Neo’s shoulder. “Everything alright?” 

Neo nodded and gave her a smile. “I’m not sure when next time will be. I will be going out tonight-” 

“Then let me come with you.” 

Neo paused. “Come with me?” 

“Yes, I can come with you. And then we can train when we have time-” 

“You’ll get in trouble if you follow me. And besides, what I’m going to do tonight will be dangerous.” 

“And I dont want to be left alone again!” 

Neo lowered her hands for a moment as she took a good look at Ruby. There was a sadness in her eyes that she hadnt noticed until now, not too unfamiliar to what she’d seen in her own eyes before meeting Roman. She signed once more, trying to understand. “What do you mean ‘again’?”

Ruby looked away as if she wanted to hide the pain she felt, her body trembled as she held her arm to her chest. “Dad… wasnt given a choice. Someone from the village we lived in called to check in on my sister and I while he was at work. It wasnt something he did often, but this time was different because of grimm sightings nearby. Yang had been attending Signal and was trained to start fighting grimm, but that didnt matter. In the end, it was either we were to be  sent to boarding school or taken away from him. So, he chose to send us here. Until Yang fought back. She was taken away and I… I was sent here. To keep me out of trouble.” 

Neo nodded as she listened to the story, her own heart felt like it was starting to break. While it wasnt the same reason she was sent to Lady Brownings, it certainly hurt to hear what Ruby had gone through. She walked over to Ruby and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder to comfort her, a smile crossing her lips. 

Ruby wiped a few tears away from her eyes. “Please, let me come with you.” 

“We leave tonight. But first, I have something I need to check,”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything had happened so quickly, and yet, she had never felt so… satisfied. A year had passed since her family’s manor had burned down along with her parents inside of it, Lady Browning’s Preparatory Academy had been shut down, and now she was free to be with Ruby and Roman. And yet, even in that satisfaction, she couldnt help but feel like something was missing.

“Roman told me I’d be able to find you here,” Ruby said as she sat down on the rooftop next to Neo. “We were supposed to train tonight.” 

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Neo signed as she kept her eyes towards the city. “I needed to think.” 

“Think about what?” 

“What I want to do.” 

“I thought you already knew what you wanted to do. Its why we’re still with Roman, isnt it?”

Neo shrugged and looked over at Ruby. She had dragged her into a life of crime, and yet, Ruby didnt seem to look disappointed in it as long as it meant trying to find her sister. But as she stared into the eyes of her friend, of the girl she was starting to love, the doubts had started to fade. 

Ruby smiled and got up. “I know what’ll make you happy. There’s a dust shop not too far away that we can go rob with Roman’s help.” 

“Are you sure?” Neo signed slowly.

“Of course. And I can get some stealth practice like you keep asking me to.” 

Neo smiled and nodded. “Sure.” 

“Great! I’ll go get him!” 

Neo couldnt help but watch as Ruby jumped down the building, red-lined black cloak fluttering in the wind before she turned into a flurry of petals. Her heart fluttered and she stood up to look over Vale once more. There was nothing more that she wanted in this world than to be with Roman and Ruby, no matter what it was that they wanted. She shattered piece by piece with her own semblance, ready to meet her partners on the street. 

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Surgery

In which the Drifter requests medical assistance from Eris Morn.

Now with art from @h3xxthev3xx !!!

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

ACCESS: RESTRICTED DECRYPTION KEY: 7CP9SXMO2G$IKO-006 REP#: 062-DERELICT-AUDIO AGENT(S): AUN-326 SUBJ: RECENT VIP#1316 and ERI-223 INTERACTIONS - MULTIPLE RECORDINGS

RECORDING 77455.8 [BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

“Hey, Moondust!”

“What is it, Rat?”

“Serious question for you. I’ve been thinkin’-”

“A challenge for you, I’m sure.”

“Aww… you ruined it.”

“Ruined what?”

“Can’t tell you now. Maybe later.”

“Clearly it wasn’t that important.”

“Oh it was, but it can wait.”

“Speak plainly. What do you want?”

“Nope. Not telling you now. The moment is gone.”

[END TRANSCRIPT]

...

RECORDING 77456.4 [BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

“Hey, Three-Eyes.”

“I am returning your call. Your message said it was important.”

“Yeah, so, um… you do dissections, right? Cutting stuff up, like, medically? For science?”

“Generally, yes.”

“So you’d be good at using tweezers to pull bits of shrapnel out from being embedded in human flesh, right?”

“What have you done?”

“I was working on a grenade idea, more of a mine, really, and it worked! It worked real well, actually. I’m proud of it. Misjudged the range a bit, though. Made myself into a bit of a pincushion. Was wondering if you’d be willing to help me out.”

“You have a ghost. Use it.”

“Nope. Not gonna happen. But, if you’re busy, that’s fine. I’ll deal.”

“I… do you even have antiseptic there? Bandages?”

“Yeah, a bright light and tweezers too, just need you to be the hands.”

“I am on my way.”

[END TRANSCRIPT]

...

RECORDING 77456.5 [BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

“Ow.”

Plink.

“Do you prefer I stop?”

“Nope I prefer you keep going.”

“Then stop squirming.”

“It hurts.”

“You have punctured over one third of your body with foreign objects. Of course it hurts.”

“Ow.”

Plink.

“Upon cursory examination, that appears to be a shell casing.”

“Yeah I threw some in there. Ow.”

Plink.

“And this one… a finishing nail? From carpentry?”

“Yeah, tossed that in there too, whatever I had lying around, really. Ow.”

“A metal screw. Not pointed. For fastening metal, most likely, but rather small. From electronics, perhaps?”

Plink.

“Probably. I wasn’t paying much attention when I stuffed the thing. Oh dammit.”

“This one is curved and deeply embedded. I am trying to be gentle but if I do not pull it out, it is just going to work its way in deeper. It looks like broken glass.”

“Yeah I put some of that in there too. Ah shit. Fuck!”

“I have extracted it.”

Plink.

“That was probably the worst one. Just a few more and this leg will be done. Do you need a break?”

“Nope. Let’s get it over with.”

“I would let you squeeze my hand through the pain, but I need both of mine to remove what you’ve done to yourself.”

“Yeah, I know, thought’s real sweet though. Sweeter than you normally are. You must feel sorry for me. Ugh.”

Plink.

“Have you decided whether or not you will ask me what you were going to ask me before?”

“Nope. Now is definitely not the time. Ow.”

Plink.

“I am curious as to what has you so reserved. You are not normally bashful.”

“Ow.”

Plink.

“I don’t… I don’t even know what that means. But that hurts.”

“I spoke too soon. This one is another that is much deeper than expected. You are bleeding quite a bit. I recommend we stop.”

“Is that the last one?”

“In this leg, yes. I have not yet examined the rest of you.”

“Get it outta me.”

“Can I convince you to reconsider your ghost?”

“No. You take it out or I will.”

“The cleanest way to remove this will be to cut it out of you.”

“Then do that.”

“Why are you so stubborn about this?”

“Because I am.”

“Will you at least get your ghost to give you something for the pain? I am hurting you considerably.”

“No.”

“What about alcohol?”

“I have plenty of that, yeah.”

“Where is it?”

“Second door on the left, back cupboard up high has the strong stuff.”

“Do you have a preference?”

“Whiskey.”

“In a glass?”

“Nah. This ain’t a glass kinda situation.”

“I will return.”

[END TRANSCRIPT]

...

RECORDING 77456.6 [BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

“I told you I didn’t need a glass, Moondust.”

“This is for me, when I’m done. The rest of the bottle is yours.”

“I mean, the whole thing is mine, but fine, Doctor Three-Eyes, you can take your cut.”

“I shall, and the alcohol too. Now drink some of that while I clean up the rest of you and prepare the incision site.”

“You say such sexy things when you’re working. What? What’s that look for?”

“You are not normally this careless. What actually happened?”

“I am not in the habit of lying to you, Moondust. In fact, I don’t even know if I can. You see through everything. I do not think I have ever successfully convinced you something was true when it was not.”

“You are not in the habit of lying to anyone. You simply do not state the full truth, constantly deflect conversations, and allow people to believe whatever they want to be true without ever correcting them. It is what makes your methods of deception so effective.”

“You… you really do know me, Moondust. Ain’t no one ever been able to get in my head like you. Ow!”

“Drink more. You are still too sensitive for me to proceed.”

“Get me drunk, in a compromising position, and then stick things into me. I see how it is.”

“Keep insinuating that I’d behave in such a manner as to take advantage of you and you will be left to extract this distorted… spring? on your own.”

“I’m sorry. That was actually out of line. I trust you more than anyone. You know that. I was trying to make a joke and worded that way wrong. Didn't come out as flirty as it did in my head.”

“You are in considerable pain. “

“Don't forget the blood loss.”

“Drink more alcohol you… clumsy fool.”

“That has to be one of the gentlest insults you’ve ever thrown at me. You are being nice to me. What I was trying to say before was more that you are at this point literally trying to get me drunk. I might say anything.”

“Any confessions of undying love will not be held against you when you are sober.”

“Well there goes that plan out the window. How am I supposed to tell you of my undying love so you won't believe me when I'm drunk and I can deny it later if you don't feel the same way so it isn't awkward?”

“I have faith in your ability to be forthright and lewd without chemical assistance. And you have yet to show any reservations about being awkward in my presence so I doubt that is an issue. Also, drink.”

“Yes ma'am. Oh shit that stings.”

“Disinfectant usually does.”

“So let's say, hypothetically, I was truly madly deeply hopelessly in love with you, what would be the best way to go about getting you to love me back? Hypothetically.”

“Let me see the bottle. Not enough. Drink. Hypothetically, your premise is flawed, rendering the logic of the entire question unanswerable.”

“Come again?”

“There is an inherent assumption in what you have asked, hypothetically, which would itself be, again hypothetically, incorrect.”

“And what's that?”

“The assumption that I do not care for you already.”

“Wait what?”

“More. Drink.”

“Did you just say what I think you just said?”

“I said nothing. We were speaking hypothetically.”

“Ah, because I could have sworn you said you love me. Totally am starting to feel a buzz though so that may have been wishful thinking on my part.”

“Clearly someone who shows up in the middle of the night to remove foreign objects from your flesh because you are too stubborn to get help from your ghost does not have any affection for you in the slightest. You obviously imagined that. Do you have scissors?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I'm cutting off your pants.”

“Now I know I'm dreaming.”

“Hmmm…”

[END TRANSCRIPT]

...

RECORDING 77456.8 [BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

“Are you ready?”

“Ready as I'll ever be to have a beautiful woman scar me for life.”

“You have more than one life. This is a non-issue.”

“Point.”

“I am beginning now.”

“Fuck.”

“Pausing for a moment here. I've got the object. I have a mostly clear path to pull it free.”

“Ok.”

“I'm going to have to wiggle it. This will be painful.”

“Eris Morn, mistress of pain, I submit to your will. Hurt me you beautiful three eyed witch.”

“Is it the alcohol or the pain that's making you so eloquent?”

“Probably both, plus that undying love.”

“Hold on to something that is not me. Three… two… one...”

[INTERMITTENT SCREAMING 43 SECONDS]

“Did you just freeze my ass with stasis?”

“To stop the bleeding, yes. You have needle and thread?”

“Yeah desk over there, bottom drawer.”

“And I'll find a pot within which to boil water within your kitchen area?”

“Yeah.”

“A clean pot?”

“I ain’t the one that leaves a burned wok lying around unusable for a month. I use my pots. They’re all clean. Trust.”

“Be still until I return.”

“You’ve got me frozen to the table. I couldn't move if I wanted to.”

“You're a resourceful creature. I'm sure you'd find a way if you wished to be free, but please don't.”

“I'm staying put. You say stay, I stay.”

[END TRANSCRIPT]

...

RECORDING 77456.8 [BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

“You keep doin sweet gentle stuff like brushing your chin against the top of my head like that I’m gonna start thinking you like me or something.”

“It is difficult to express reassurance to you any other way when my hands are coated in your blood.”

“If I’m good will you nuzzle my head again? Or is it if I wiggle? What gets me more head nuzzles, Moondust?”

“Be still, Rat. You are messing up my stitches.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re weirdly good at sewing human flesh?”

“No, but I accept the compliment.”

“It barely even hurts where you’re sewing. You really are good.”

“Thank the alcohol.”

“I’m thanking you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You know, there ain’t no one else I trust like this.”

“I know. It is an honour to have your trust. One I do not take lightly. I know how rarely it is given.”

“If by rarely, you mean pretty much not at all, yeah.”

“Are you going to tell me what you were going to ask me?”

“Now’s really not the time.”

“I think we have cleansed the last of your blood off of most surfaces and ourselves.”

“You patched me up real good. You make a fine surgeon.”

“Usually my subjects are not still alive.”

“You gonna stay and finish that drink?”

“I had forgotten. Yes. I shall. But first would you like help to your bed?”

“You and me in my bed? I like this.”

“Avoid putting weight on that side. You can, and will, rip the stitches if you exert it too much before you’ve healed.”

“I like this side of you, all sweet and nurturing. If I’d known you’d be this nice to me I’d… nah that was stupid and I won’t be doing that again.”

“Thank you.“

“Still proud of how well it exploded though. Gonna give some of them to Devrim to put around the farm. Should very effectively shred anything that comes to mess with the civilians. I really didn’t think I was in range. You know how careful I am.”

“I know. Sit. I will return.”

“You gonna come back and cuddle me? I’d like that.”

“No, but if you wish, I will sit with you while I finish my drink.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

"I'd expect nothing less"

[SILENCE 8.25 MINUTES]

“Woman of my dreams, bringing me the bottle after putting me to bed. You really are the best, Three-Eyes.”

“Sit up.”

“Ok. Oh hello. You let me lie in your lap like this, you must feel sorry for me.”

“No. There is nowhere else to sit.”

“I disagree, this is half-way to cuddling right here. You like me. Ain’t no one sit like this with someone they don’t like.”

“I sewed your skin. That’s considerably more testament to me liking you than this, and this is at least comfortable for both of us.”

“It’s real nice. ‘Specially when you touch my face like that.”

“Hmmm…”

“I propose a toast.”

“To?”

“Why, to the most excruciating and intimate experience you and I have shared to date. The night Eris Morn sewed up the Drifter after he blew himself up.”

Clink.

“Hmmm…”

“You like it?”

“It tastes like… wood and paint thinner.”

“That’s just the first few sips. Flavour changes as you go.”

“Hmmm…”

“You should visit my bed more often, Moondust, it’s nice.”

“If you wish I will return tomorrow and change the bandages to make sure you aren’t getting infected.”

“I’d like that. You know… you could… stay.”

“And sleep with you in your bed?”

“Yeah. Don’t tell me that doesn’t sound real nice to you too. Not when you’re running your fingertips through my hair like that, like you’re already considering it.”

“Perhaps now is the time to ask me what you were going to ask me?”

“You sure those eyes don’t give you mind reading powers?”

“One does not need to read your mind, when they can read your body language, and between the lines of what comes out of your lips. You have not been discrete.”

“No, I have not. But, if you already know what I was going to ask you, what’s your answer then?”

[SILENCE 3.75 MINUTES]

“That… is worth getting blowed up for.”

“Please do not. Multiple lacerations and shrapnel from improvised explosive devices are not a prerequisite for my affection.”

“Can you let me know what the pre-”

“The pre-”

“The p-”

“You know, Moondust, it’s been a very long time, literally longer than I can remember, since someone was able to make my head spin with just a few kisses.”

“That is more likely being caused by a combination of shock, blood loss and alcohol.”

“Nah. Had all three lots of times. This is all you.”

“You’re trembling.”

“Yeah, it happens.”

“Let me get you under the blankets.”

“I ain’t cold. It’s just you feel so good. You feel so fucking good. Wait, where you going?”

“To take off my boots. Move over and get under the covers so that I may join you.”

“Oh hell yeah, you’re just making all my dreams come true right now.”

“Be careful of your stitches or you’ll bleed all over both of us and your bed.”

“Worth it.”

“Behave yourself or I will leave.”

“Yes ma’am. Ah shit, Eris, I can’t handle how soft and warm you are when I’m this drunk. I’m gonna cry.”

“You are inebriated and injured and I am choosing to stay. Alcohol induced emotional outbursts are to be expected and are a reflection of your trust, which is precious to me. I consider it an honour to hold you as you cry.”

[END TRANSCRIPT]

[apparitionism]

Real

Can’t believe tomorrow is a particular Wednesday already; this season has rushed in like the most foolish of fools, and as a result I’m rushing to push out this new holiday story... because I too am a fool. This is set post-series (including the nonexistent season), though not by much, as the first little bit will make clear. It’s kind of all about fallout. And who wants what, and why, and whether they’re willing to work, wait, and do other things that probably start with “w” to get it. Anyway, season’s greetings to all—and to all (including, eventually, Myka and Helena, I promise) a good night.

Real

“She’s back,” Artie announces one autumn night, and before anyone (Myka) can fully register what that might mean...

...she is.

Is, is, is... a distillation of so much of what Myka instantaneously knows again as possibility, as hopes and wishes jolting back to life, as again (still) the only presence that instantly makes Myka aware of herself as a body, one that responds with barely controllable fervor to that presence—that other body.

Artie goes on saying words, “reinstated” and “agent” among them, but the roaring of Myka’s blood drowns them out.

She fears she will spontaneously combust. She would rather spontaneously combust. That would be better than having to consciously keep from spontaneously combusting, in response to Helena existing, to her moving and speaking, in a proximity that Myka should prize but that her body, fervently responding, informs her is completely insufficient.

Myka escapes as soon as she can, to sit in the dark of her room, to sit and process, but her usual, reliable processing processes fail her.

They always have, where Helena is concerned.

All she does is sit, empty but for the replaying of Helena’s entry into the dining room, her stride so sure, her aspect so unlike the dismissive, shrinking shrugs of Boone... that had sent Myka’s soul soaring.

Helena had greeted them all with good humor, her manner and words to everyone so convivial. So convivial, but also: to everyone, and that is what finds clawed purchase in Myka’s heart, here in the dark.

Here in the dark, Myka viciously tells herself that she deserves no special acknowledgment. Why would you?

She also tells herself, This will get easier.

****

In some ways it does. For example, Myka’s shock at, and subsequent need to recover from, each new sight of Helena lessens somewhat. Or maybe it’s that her body becomes accustomed to absorbing the impact.

In others, it profoundly doesn’t.

Case in painful point: one evening when they’re all cleaning up after dinner, Claudia says to Helena, “So can I ask you something?”

“Clearly you can. You just did,” Helena bats back, in play, and envy stabs Myka.

“You’re as bad as Artie,” Claudia groans. “But here goes: are you still seeing that lady?”

Terror appropriates envy’s knife, gashing anew. Myka has not let herself begin to imagine how to get such a question answered, and here Claudia just says it while lowering a stack of dirty plates into the sink.

Helena’s airy reply: “Still the case. Obviously we’re long-distance at the moment.”

Something previously un-knifed in Myka collapses at that “obviously.” Obviously. Obviously. Obviously, the Warehouse return had not entailed a renouncing of Helena’s non-Warehouse connections. As Myka had obviously, she now sees, believed—hoped!—it would.

The depth and breadth of her error sends her to her room again, lightless, wounded, empty, waiting for time to pass until she once again has something to do.

Such as a retrieval with Pete.

The next one of which proceeds well—it’s not a big, dangerous deal, but rather a matter of a sad, not villainous, loner seeking connection via an artifact-compromised comic-book message board. Pete’s his enthusiastic self about the comics of it all, and Myka lets it lull her into a near-trance of this is how it used to be, before everything.

Until they’re on the plane home, when Pete says, “So H.G.’s back.”

“Thanks for the update,” she says, bracing herself, because of course that won’t be all, because that would be too easy.

“And what about that girlfriend?”

“What about her?” Well, that was stupid: asking some reflex question she doesn’t want answered. She braces herself again.

“You think she’s her one?”

That’s worse than she’d imagined. Myka doesn’t want to go anywhere near that Schrödinger-box, for fear that peeking inside would reveal a very dead cat. Would in fact be the deciding factor in that cat’s demise.

After a stretch of silence, Pete says, “Bet she’s not. So what are you gonna do about it?”

What does he mean? Do about the girlfriend not being, or being, Helena’s one? Do about Helena being back in the first place? She would rather avoid nailing that down—another let’s-not-look Schrödinger box.

“I’m going to ignore it,” she says.

“That’s not healthy. I mean, I get it, but it’s not healthy.”

He coughs ostentatiously. Meaningfully? Myka doesn’t know. Can’t tell. Won’t ask. She hates how she feels compelled to leave this cat in limbo too, just so she can shift away from any potential situational consequences.

If only she had resisted the pressure to shift her definition of love.

She tries for resistance now, even though it’s too late: “I’m not going to try to keep her from doing what she wants to do.”

He cocks his head in that exaggerated what-are-you-saying way. “I thought you might though. Try.”

Myka is tempted to demand, “Why would you think that,” but she knows why he would think it, and revisiting that fight is an impossibility. Especially now.

“But you’re not trying,” he says. His tone, though, ratchets down the danger. It’s a relief. “So why not?”

Now Myka’s tempted to give some indignant “I don’t have to justify my behavior to you” answer... and yet. She does owe him more than that. Especially now, having misled him so severely before, she owes him some decent measure of honesty. So she says it as plain as she can: “Because people should do what they want to do.”

“Huh.” He puts on his “thinking” face—the real one, not the cartoon. “But you’re not doing what you want to do.”

“What?” Myka says, playing dismissively dumb. Hoping he’ll give some dumb response.

“You want to stop her doing what she’s doing.” Myka shakes her head at that, trying to pretend it’s dumb, but Pete rolls his eyes. He sees the weakness. How can he be getting her so right in this when he got her so so so wrong before? But then again she’d got herself wrong... “So why wouldn’t you do what you want to do?” he finishes.

Want, want, want. Myka wishes he would quit using the word.

Yes it’s her fault for using it first. Yes she should have shut him down forcefully to begin with. Yes that applies to situations preceding this one.

In any case, wanting is pointless. It literally does not matter: its only product is empty space, a horrific gaping sink, a vacuum as vast as space itself.

So she says, as pedantically as she can, “Because if one person’s wants affect another person’s wants, that’s a different category of... you know what? Never mind.”

“You only ever say ‘never mind’ when you know I’m right.”

“What? I say ‘never mind’ a lot.”

“Which means...” He taps his temple.

“No. No it does not.” But she does smile.

Pete bobs his head as if she’s actually agreed with him, and so they end on a familiar, jokey note. It’s far better than they could have managed some months ago, in the immediate aftermath of their... mistake? Misunderstanding? Mismanagement? Misadventure? Misapprehension?

Stop dictionarying, she tells herself. Despite its being one of her default ways of trying to process confusion, it rarely delivers the clarity she seeks. At any rate, their short-lived whatever-it-was was a mis-everything.

She takes out the book she’s brought with her, H Is for Hawk, so as to fill her head with Heather MacDonald’s solitude rather than her own. She has lately found that overlaying her own thoughts with someone else’s ruminations is quieting, so she’s reading even more than usual... it beats sitting in darkness, waiting. Which she supposes means she should thank Helena (thank her) for her extensive new knowledge: of, here, grief and falconry, but also, the Wright brothers, Joan of Arc, India’s partition, séances in the 1920s, Salem’s witch hunts, various aspects of the Supreme Court...

Erudition must surely outweigh emotionalism Extremity. Enthrallment? Embitterment.

Stop dictionarying.

****

Relentlessly, the holidays approach. Myka tries to ignore them too, particularly their invitation to soften. Unhealthy, Pete’s accusation echoes.

But in speaking to Pete, Myka had lied: she isn’t really ignoring anything Helena-related. In a folder of significant size in her mind, she stores a cascade of spreadsheets in which she tallies and tracks as many of Helena’s movements, statements, interactions as she can, in as much detail as possible: e.g., it wasn’t enough for Myka to get Steve to tell her about his retrievals with Helena—those accounts, while captivating, were incomplete, secondhand—so she has made perverse use of her hard-earned Warehouse database access to read Helena’s actual mission reports, like some pathetic online stalker. They’re literarily significant, she tries to use as additional justification, ignoring the fact that no one other than Warehousers will ever know how or why.

It’s not that she’s hoping to gain insight from any of this; the activity is simply itself. A flat gather of data. For those spreadsheets.

Which she uses, of course, to torture herself, not least for her damning inability to gain insight. Thus proving Pete wrong: it isn’t ignoring things that’s unhealthy. No, it’s paying them attention—stupid, pointless attention—that causes disease.

That’s true, but Myka genuinely does not know how much longer she can suffer making herself sick.

Lovesick, she sometimes thinks... but that makes “love” too prominent in the mix. No, the “sick” is what matters, and it is chronic, not acute. Which means it must be managed rather than cured, and she will manage it, because she has to: because she is an agent and Helena is an agent and they live in the same house and say the same mutually polite “good morning” to each other each day.

Sometimes Myka wisps a wish, in the wake of one of those morningtides whose undertow she cannot reveal, that she could begin to shift her thinking, to try floating above rather than falling under, the better work her way to commencing the actual ignoring.

But then Helena will talk to Steve about the particulars of his Buddhist practice, or to Claudia about a joint invention project’s feasibility, or to Artie about a disputed wrinkle of history, or even to Pete about, bizarrely yet bizarrely frequently, which menu items should be avoided at fast-food chains... and Myka enters each new datum into the spreadsheets out of avid habit, all while ferally wishing everything different—even, some days, heretically, Helena gone. And while castigating herself for having wished, before, so stupidly inchoately, pleading with the universe to let Helena come back. More: to send Helena back.

How very monkey’s-paw of you, she jeers, to leave out specifics. In particular, to leave out “to me.” Send Helena back to me.

Before Helena came back, Myka was lost; now she’s still lost, but differently. And if there is one thing Myka has never liked—in fact, has always feared—it’s change.

So in truth she can probably suffer making herself sick for quite some time. As long as nothing about the making—or the sickness—changes.

****

The days leading up to Christmas itself are blessedly busy. On the 22nd, Myka and Steve head to West Virginia to bag a problematic coal-miner’s lamp; the work keeps them away until Christmas Eve, and if Myka happens to linger a bit longer at the Warehouse after Steve goes back to the B&B once they’ve deposited the artifact... well, that’s because she’s very conscientious about filing reports in a timely fashion.

In fact, she lingers a lot longer, and she’s happy to arrive home to a mostly silent B&B... however, she is instantly deposited into precisely the sort of situation she’d hoped to avoid: she must walk past Helena, who is in the living room, alone, with the television on. Impossible to slink past undetected, and thus rude to try—particularly once Helena says, “Welcome home.”

How disorienting, for Helena to be here and to say that. Worse, the articulation seems to ring of... before. When Myka was special.

But she is imagining that. She must be.

“What are you watching?” she asks, though she doesn’t need to. Helena is watching the Yule Log.

You strike me. Myka’s thought stops there, true as can be. Aloud, she says, “You know what it is, right?”

“A strangely mesmerizing facsimile of a fire,” Helena says, without looking up. “Do I strike you as hypnotized?”

Now Helena looks up. She blinks at Myka and nods, oddly soft, childlike. “I consulted Google.”

Helena is absurdly fond of Google. Myka struggles to keep from finding this absurdly charming. She struggles similarly with the way in which Helena articulates the word itself—every witnessed occurrence of which is represented in the spreadsheets. so Myka is painfully aware of the way Helena puts a slight formal emphasis on both syllables, such that it sounds, in a capping absurdity, as if she’s saying she consulted Gogol.

Not that acquiring input from a dead Russian writer would necessarily be all that different, absurdity-wise, from having instant access to a towering percentage of the world’s collective knowledge. And Helena probably understands that congruence, if that’s what it is, better than Myka ever could.

Myka knows she’s thinking herself down treacherous paths; she should say goodnight and walk away. But it’s Christmas Eve, and she gives herself a present she shouldn’t want but feels she has earned, earned by ignoring—or, to the contrary, recording—so strenuously. She has done such hard work. So she lets herself ask, “Why are you so focused?”

“Pete gave me a choice: watch the Yule Log or talk to Myka. I believe he thought I would reject the former as unworthy of my attention. Yet here I watch, mesmerized.”

“Since when do you do what Pete tells you?” But thanks, I guess, for letting me know where I stand. She can’t then hold back a jab: “Anyway, shouldn’t you be spending the holiday with the famous Giselle?”

Helena blinks again. This time it’s not at all childlike. “That’s why he wanted me to talk to you. But to answer your previous question: since he told me he’s in love with you.”

He... what? “What?”

“You asked me since when do I do what Pete tells me. I’m answering.”

Keep up, Myka; keep up. “When did he tell you that?”

“This evening. As part of what I fear—or hope?—was intended as a Christmas gift.”

“For you?” That’s not keeping up.

“No.”

“Then for who?” That’s not either.

“Whom.”

“Well, excuse my grammar, but I’m a little weirded out.” This is the most extended conversation she and Helena have had since... before. That’s destabilizing enough to her ability to concentrate on words. but what, exactly, is she supposed to do with these words?

“Weirded out,” Helena says, an unexpected affirmation. “As was I. I wasn’t aware.” She makes a small “huh” noise, as if she has to bridge her way to what’s next. “That the two of you had been involved.”

Oh. Hence the bridge—but this is a shifting surprise. “I thought someone—Claudia—would have told you. Must have told you.” Must have, and that in turn must have contributed, Myka had been sure, to Helena’s lack of engagement. She’s always known your judgment was abysmal, she’d lashed herself, based on those must haves, and this is certainly fuel for that fire.

“Our discussions have been more focused on her future. And my past. And technology, of course.”

“Of course,” Myka says. And then, quick, before she loses her nerve: “It didn’t take.”

“Technology?”

“The involvement.”

“I gathered that from its current status.”

“Right.” The conversation, such as it is, should probably end here... but something is off. “Wait. You said he said he is in love with me.”

“Yes.”

Myka had believed it was over. All over. The idea of having to deal with it, with any aspect of it, in perpetuity, or at least with no clear sundown, preemptively exhausts her. And it rekindles her anger at the entire situation, at its utter pointlessness. “I don’t know what to do with that,” she says. She immediately regrets the admission.

“He said he’ll get over it.”

“Well, that’s something. I guess.” It comes out grudging, and that’s another admission Helena shouldn’t be privy to.

“He said you won’t.”

“What? Get over it? No, the problem was that I wasn’t ever in love. With him.” She’s saying far too much. She supposes it’s fortunate that she’s looking at this repetitively flickery video loop, rather than into Helena’s eyes. She supposes also that said loop is a reasonable metaphor for how her life has been proceeding. Lately. Before, and lately.

“He said that too.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re losing me.”

“Interestingly, he said a version of that as well.”

“That you were losing him?” Not hard to believe; sometimes Pete can barely follow a laser pointer.

Helena focuses her gaze on Myka again, adamantine. “That I was losing you.”

And just like that, Myka is through the looking glass. Trapped like Alice, trying to get out. “Why would you care?” she chokes.

Helena lowers her brow, a stern schoolmarm confronting an intransigent pupil. “Because as I mentioned, he said—and seemed quite certain—that you won’t get over being in love.”

Myka knows now what’s next. Helena is about to say, “With me.” Because once again: that fight.

Oh yes I will. That’s what the ignoring is for. When I work my way around to it, that’s what it’s for.

“I didn’t know,” is what Helena actually says, clearly taking Myka’s silence as affirmation of those unuttered words.

“Oh please. Like I could have been any more obvious.” Obviously. She says it with contempt at herself, past and present: what a pathetic moonstruck puppy.

“At which point?” Helena asks.

That’s a surprisingly troubling question. Timelines. Decisions. What did you know and when did you know it? What did you show and when did you show it?

“All I knew was how you responded. Not how you felt.”

Of course the former was all Myka herself had known, certainly at first, and their consonance surprises her. If only she could share that consonance, and her surprise in it, with Helena... but that seems too much like a reward, one that neither she nor Helena deserves. Again exhaustion: at their lack of merit. “I don’t want to play these games,” she says.

“Then don’t.” Was that a shrug? Did Helena really shrug?

“Fine. I won’t.” It’s childish, yet it feels like the best end she can manage tonight. You didn’t seek this out, she assures herself as she takes a first step away.

Before she can seal the escape with her second step, Helena says, “You might at least release me from this view.”

“You talked to me,” Myka says, doing her best to make it all go away. “You’re free.”

Helena turns from the flames too quickly for Myka to dodge being caught by the look. “I am in no way free.”

That is not my problem, Myka would like to maintain, but Helena’s gaze and tone are implicating, which is entirely unfair but still needs to be dealt with. She sits down next to Helena on the sofa. At a judicious distance.

Now they are both watching the Yule Log, which, indifferent to them both, continues its facsimile flicker. “I guess it is kind of mesmerizing,” Myka says after some time.

“We haven’t spoken much,” Helena rejoins.

“There hasn’t been much to speak about.” Without peril, Myka adds, internally, and by that she means, peril to me.

“On the contrary. But I’ve tried to ignore it.”

“So have I. I hear it’s unhealthy.”

“Perhaps. It’s Pete’s strategy as well, according to him,” Helena says. Then, following a throat-clear, “With regard to his feelings for you.”

Myka doesn’t need to clear her throat. “He’s the one who told me it was unhealthy.” Which puts her in mind of his ostentatious cough: it’s meaningful now. Ridiculous, but meaningful.

“Then I suppose we’re ailing, all of us.”

“I suppose we are. An epidemic of ignorance.”

Helena smiles a little at that. Myka can’t help but smile back, and she maintains it as Helena asks, light, “What is the prognosis?”

“Depends on the ignoring’s end result,” Myka temporizes.

“Pete maintains that ignoring something long enough makes it go away.”

Or it kills you, Myka might say, like cancer. But instead she stays light. As light as she can. “Maybe he’s right. No, probably he’s right.” She owes him that.

Now a pause. A wait. What’s next? “So is that where we leave it?” Helena asks.

Maybe it goes away. Maybe that’s what’s next.

Myka can see it, now: see the spreadsheets dissolving into unnecessarity, see herself not responding physically to Helena, see Helena becoming, in essence, like Pete: someone with a past version of whom a past version of herself made a mistake.

She hadn’t imagined, not before this minute, that it was possible. But now a road leads there.

Can she take that road? She looks again into the fire. The not-fire. It mocks her: Everything you really want turns out to be unreal. On the other side of some facsimilating screen. A mirage. She turns away from it, ashamed. She looks at Helena... for the moment, Helena is still real. Still able to render Myka’s resistance from her body, here in this moment by sitting quietly and watching fake flames, in the next by doing nothing more than breathing out, breathing in.

Myka has not yet taken that awful road. Not yet. One more try, she tells herself. But no, that’s not right. She’s never really tried. Never really. She’s waited—longer than she thought she should—and she’s hoped—harder than she thought she could—but that wasn’t trying.

So: one try.

It can’t be the try she might have made in the past, a desperate just-please-touch-me push. Under the circumstances, that’s impossible. So, what?

An olive branch? No, peace isn’t the right aim, even now.

Better, perhaps: something she wouldn’t have said before tonight’s... encounter. Something related to tonight’s encounter, something more real than she’s offered so far: “We fought. Pete and I.”

TBC

[asktheyigamaster]

Leader Kogha of the despicable Yiga Clan,

It is no secret that I hate you, and you hate me. We are sworn enemies as by our background. Beyond putting an arrow through your skull, I have little desire to ever have an interaction with you. Your pathetic existence repulses me.

However. As much as it pains me to do so, I would like to propose a momentary truce in the name of knowledge exchange.

It is becoming increasingly obvious that you; for whatever reason, seem to have a great deal of information in regards to the inner workings and nature of the four Divine Beasts. I supose them being ancient Sheika technology means that you must have some history with them.

The one and only thing you and I perhaps share in common is that we both seem to have an invested interest in the wellbeing of Vah Medoh.

You are pleased for the rise of this ancient technology that your people created and feel as though the Beasts should remain unburied and thrive, and as her designated Pilot I have a responsibility to keep her safe and in working order.

Thus I propose the following;

You shall provide me with information to aid in Medoh's well being, and in return I shall offer you the payment of taking mercy on the next Yiga assassin that attempts to cross me. Also this one bunch of mighty bananas enclosed, which I had to fly all the way to Faron to aquire.

In short. Usually I would request the Princesses aid or perhaps Purah when it comes to any technical issues regarding Medoh. However; ever since her release from the Demon King's filthy paws, she has been making a strange clunking sound intermittently from the lower back energy core behind her main control panel. When questioned about it, both Purah and the Princess insisted it was likely just rusted gears that could be fixed with a little oil - as if I hadn't already thought of that possibility and done as such. Honnestly their dismissive attitudes about it frustrated me.

Which I'm certain is obvious by the fact I have sunk low enough to resort to coming to you for advice.

Vah Medoh is in... pain. I know she is a machine and machines don't feel pain, I am not a fool. I admit I don't know how to explain that I know this, I just do. I want to help her, even if it means turning to...distrustful sources. I am unsure where else to turn.

I would like to clarify that this is not an invitation to approach the Divine Beast. If you come within a ten foot radius of her or attempt to board, I will not hesitate to send you away looking like a porcupine. This is merely a request for information exchange. If you know what could be the cause for Vah Medoh's distress, and know how to fix it, I implore you to share it with me, just on this one occasion.

This does not make us allies, you are still my sworn enemy and I yours.

Unkind regards,

Champion Revali, Hero of the Rito, Master of the Skies.

Champiom Revali, Master of Blah-blah-blah

You hear a WHAT?

From WHERE?

Medoh is a busty mechanim, with massive metal parts. A clunking noise would be rather normal. NOT anywhere near the energy cells!!!

AND DEFINITELY NOT NEAR THE CONSOLE. THAT'S WHERE THE EMPATHIC CORE IS!

What in dear Ganon's name did you do to it, Featherbrain?!?!! There's not any moving parts TO clang there. This means you made a part move. BADLY

...

It is the place you and Link fought off Ganon's influence isn't it? Both of you share a proclivity for explosive arrowheads, DONT YOU?!?!

mmmmhhhhhhhaaaAAAAAAA

And of course the Princess just told you to oil her up! ... I excepted better from Purah though......

At least you understand that they are wrong, so there's some hope.

There should be more to your situation. No, there definitely is. And the people who, through what I imagine can only be sheer ignorance, managed to convince a Pilot of a Divine Beast that it can't feel pain, are SO not qualified to tell me what it is. A nither are YOU! A pilot who is calling himself a fool for thinking a sapient creature can feel.

I am going in there right now. And I am going to help Vah Medoh, or at least learn exactly how you hurt her to add it to the list of Yiga geudges or so help me Ganon. And you try to stop me the Rito will be holding a contest for a new mech pilot. Cash in that promise of yours not to touch a Yiga for this, I don't care.

By the way! Those are some BRILLIANT Bananas, incredible quality, juuuuuust the right ripeness. Thanks a lot. You gotta share where exactly you got them.

Kindly, Master Kohga, the only guy around with an Ancient Sheikah engineering degree.

[biblical-chronicles]

Tactical distractions

___________________________________________

where the reader finds a rather interesting way to get Liam to wear a warmer coat

___________________________________________

The bedroom was alive with the usual back-and-forth as you and Liam got ready to head out. You were already pulling on a sweater, prepping for the cold, when you glanced over and saw him reach for his go-to parka—the thinner one he wore no matter the weather, like it was some kind of sacred armor.

“Oh, nuh-uh,” you said, hands on your hips, freezing mid-movement. “No way, Gallagher. You might be capable of lookin’ good, but you’re not capable of dressing yourself for this weather.”

Liam looked over, his hand still on the hanger. He gave you one of his signature smirks, like you’d just issued a challenge he was well prepared for. “What are you on about? This one’s class.”

“It’s class, sure,” you replied, walking over and snatching the parka off the hanger. “But it’s also bloody useless in this weather. I’m not letting you catch your death out there just ‘cause you want to look like a bloody rock star.”

“Love, newsflash: I am a bloody rock star,” he said, grabbing it back from you. “And this coat’s done me fine. It’s a classic. Can’t just toss it aside for some puffed-up thing that makes me look like I’m off to scale Snowdon.”

“Snowdon’s exactly where you’ll feel like you’re heading if you wear this,” you shot back, giving the parka a disdainful once-over. “Where’s the thick one? The one with actual insulation?”

He groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “Not this again. You’re like a broken record, y’know that?”

“And you’re like a toddler,” you countered, crossing your arms. “Always choosing style over practicality. What’s next, refusing gloves ‘cause they cramp your style?”

He shrugged, clearly unfazed. “Gloves are for soft lads.”

“Oh, for—” you started, but Liam interrupted, holding the thinner parka against himself like a shield.

“Look, it’s got layers underneath,” he argued, gesturing to the jumper he had on. “I’ll be fine. Manc lads don’t feel the cold.”

“You lot also think a chip barm is a balanced meal,” you said dryly. “Your judgment is questionable at best.”

He laughed, leaning back against the dresser. “Oi, don’t knock the chip barm. That’s tradition.”

“And so is you being a pain in the arse about this coat,” you replied, stepping closer to tug at the parka. “Come on, just put on the warm one. Please? For me?”

“Not happening,” he said stubbornly, holding it out of your reach. “This is the one.”

You stared at him, your hands on your hips, and then something clicked in your head—a spark of mischief that made your lips curl into a sly smile. He clocked the shift immediately, narrowing his eyes.

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

Without answering, you grabbed the hem of your sweater and pulled it up, flashing him without so much as a warning.

Liam’s reaction was immediate. His mouth fell open, his hands dropping the parka like it’d burned him. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice rough around the edges.

You dropped your sweater back down, grinning smugly as you crossed your arms. “Still arguing about the coat?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you like his brain had short-circuited. Then, his face turned a shade of red you’d rarely seen on him, and he let out a low, disbelieving laugh. “You can’t just go flashin’ me like that, love. That’s cheating.”

“All’s fair in love and wardrobe debates,” you said innocently.

“You’re trouble,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and amusement.

“And you love it,” you quipped.

“Too bloody much,” he admitted, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you. His lips found yours in a kiss that was insistent and full of heat, his hands roaming your back like he couldn’t get close enough.

When he pulled back, his eyes were darker, his breath warm against your cheek. “You’re a right menace, y’know that?”

“Guilty as charged,” you said, grinning up at him. “Now, let’s get you into that warmer coat, yeah?”

“No way,” he said, scooping you up without warning and carrying you toward the couch.

“Liam!” you yelped, laughing as you grabbed onto his shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“Priorities, love,” he said, dropping you onto the couch gently before climbing over you, his hands bracketing your hips. “Coat can wait. You, on the other hand...”

He trailed off, leaning down to kiss you again. His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, pressing soft kisses along your neck and collarbone.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, laughing softly as you teased, “And here I thought you didn’t like distractions.”

“Shut it,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and full of affection. “This is entirely your fault.”

“Oh, I’ll take the blame,” you said, smiling as you tugged him closer.

By the time you both finally sat up from the little make-out session, your sweater was a bit wrinkled, and Liam’s hair was thoroughly mussed. He looked at you, his grin lopsided but full of warmth, and said, “You’re still not winnin’ the coat argument, y’know.”

“Oh, I think I am,” you replied, reaching over to grab the warmer parka from where it was draped over a chair.

Liam groaned, but there was no real annoyance in it, just the sound of a man who knew he was wrapped around your finger—and liked it.

As you held the coat out to him with a teasing smile, he shook his head and muttered, “Absolute menace.”

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way,” you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He sighed dramatically, but the soft smile he gave you after said it all.

___________________________________________

Keepin’ it short today due to all that christmas racket kickin’ off, but hold tight, soldiers—the finish line’s in sight, as you were!

Was gonna have ’em bicker over records, but then it hit me—Liam arguin’ about a coat that’s not fit for the weather like a toddler? Yeah that's him. So yeah, hope the person who requested it and the rest of you lot are into it! xx

Also, as a Pretty Green parka owner meself, gotta hand it to Liam—they’re actually warmer than you’d think. He might know a thing or two after all—credit where it’s due.

love you all !

[nuggeteri]

hello hello i see you are a flower ranchers enjoyer, i am The flower ranchers guy would you like to talk abt them :>

Oh my god I was writing you a one-shot and my fucking website just fucking glitched and erased all of it. Welp. Back to writing I go (another concept though because I am not rewriting the same shit twice)

Also my DMS are open if that's what you meant :333

.

"Are you sure?" Jimmy asks, looking from right to left---almost worried to be getting caught.

Scott doesn't know why he even bothers. They're in the BamBunker and it really wasn't that big. It could all be seen from one look. He guesses it only emphasized on how anxious Scott was about the idea.

Scott doesn't think it should be against the rules if it's his power. He nods.

"Well, okay, but you can't say I gave you permission, alright?" He warns and Scott knows that Jimmy wouldn't do anything even if he didn't listen. Scott agrees anyway. "Yup. Sure. Now let me."

With only minimal sounds of protests, Jimmy turned around, back facing Scott, which the shirt the blond was wearing having two rips, allowing golden small wings to pass through.

Scott knows he could've stolen Grian's wings. They were bigger and would probably get him more success. Pearl would've let him without a second thought. He could probably coherse Martyn. While Lizzie's were fake, they could certainly do the job. But if he chose anyone other than Jimmy, then they wouldn't be getting all red, hot and bothered and Scott having his hands in their wings.

"You've grown some blue feathers." He remarks as he passes a hand through them. Jimmy hiccups, gasps and chirps before managing to answer him--- "Yeah..- I guess? I mean, look at me! Still standing!" He wasn't a canary anymore,Mumbo and Skizz are indeed dead. Scott can give that to him. "Proud of you, Petal."

He passes his hand through a few more of the new feathers before activating his powers. He's not even entirely sure if it would work, but at least, trying it gave him an excuse to pass his hands over Jimmy's soft wings.

It does work. It's not painful, per say, more of uncomfortable to have his back torn off to let wings pass through, but oh well.

It also ripped his shirt and jacket--oh well. He could always ask Cleo to sew it back together afterwards. She wouldn't say not to her soulmate.

"Did it work?"

Scott chirped---it didn't come as a surprise for him, he remembered how being an Avian was from Empires season one-- and it was all Jimmy needed to get his question answered. He chirped back, and oh gosh, not only had Scott missed these Avian instincts, but it made him feel fuzzy to have his partner respond.

He doesn't show it, though. That's Jimmy's thing, as he got redder and redder by the second.

"Aww, Jimmy, are you flustered?"

"Go and catch Tango!"

Right--- because this was also what it was all about. While Scott wanted to run his hands through his boyfriend's unused wings, he also wanted to catch up on his other boyfriend who had been running all around the server not to get caught.

He knew, logically, that Tango would stop for him if he asked. After all, he was still green, and therefore not allowed to attack him. However, that wouldn't be fun.

"I'll send kisses from you his way, then!" He says before flapping his new wings and getting out of the bunker without using the ladders--which he could hear his boyfriend complaining about.

He doesn't care--- he has a mission. Find Tango.

It's not that hard. The Bamboozlers' mountain already gave a good overall view of the server--flying slightly higher made it incredible.

Tango was running circles around Spawn.

Scott dipped and glided all the way over there.

"Hey, snowbug!" He called out.

"AAAH!" Tango screams---a little loud, which makes Scotts newly obtained head wings flap back in surprise, but other wise, doesn't hurt a fly.

"Since when have you gotten wings?" He asks, flabbergasted.

"Jimmy gave them to me. Powers, remember? I can steal people's hybrid status."

"That is---amazing! Oh my, can you become a blaze hybrid?" Tango proposes and---well, it's not like Scott hadn't already considered it. There were cultural and biological traditions he and his partners couldn't practice. Like wrapping someone around a wing for Jimmy, or have flames intertwine for blazes. He wanted to try all of that. But not right now.

"Later, bug," he informs him, "You've already stolen from me!"

Tango's fire seems to spark at Scotts words---something that he finds absolutely adorable. They were all excited.

"How so?" He still manages to get out.

"Ice is my thing. It's the second time you steal it!"

-

I did get lazy towards the end soryyyy it's soon to be four AM....but flower ranchers

[runes-menagerie]

Sky giggled and shivered a bit when Viktor nuzzled against her breast. She looked down at him in clear amusement. It wasn't the first time they had laid like this but she still found it enjoyable when he decided to use her chest as a pillow. She was a touch suspicious however given what had happened last she she was between them.

"(When we left the lab that day I thought any chance of this happening was gone so I buried those fantasies deep, not wanting you to feel like you weren't enough Viktor. But now that I have you both... well... It's hard not to remember them.)" She commented sheepishly while glancing between them. "(Even if it took us a while to get here. I'm glad we're all together now. And now that I have you, I'm not planning to let either of you go.)"

There was the tiniest hint of a possessive darkness to her words and the subtlest of shifts in her colors for just a moment. There was a chance Viktor might recall a similar feeling from before he merged with the Hexcore. The next instant it was gone however and Sky was giving both her boys sweet kisses before looking at Jayce worriedly.

"(There's plenty to go around in the commune. We can ask someone to bring some food and water for you as soon as you two are back in your bodies. My body will need to be healed before I can use it again but that should be too hard with Viktor's help.)" She said as she turned slightly towards him and reached up to rest a hand on his head. "(We have bathing pools too. After you eat, you can get cleaned up and I can take a look at your leg and any other injuries. I'm sure we have enough supplies that you and Viktor can make some upgrades to your brace as well if it's still needed after the healing.)"

Already she was making lists and plans based on what she knew of his physical state. Her conclusion was that they would have to help him get into a healthier state but fortunately she didn't think he was at the point of no return since he had been able to eat and drink something while in that cave. The question was simply how that had impacted his body. She planned to give him a thorough medical exam as soon as they returned to the physical world.

"(You're with us now Jayce. You're safe and I'll make sure you're taken care of, just like I did before.)" She said with a reassuring smile, clear confidence in her words and expression. "(You're back in my care now. I'll make sure you don't have to worry about pain or hunger again. And if you're ever afraid of something then I'll be right by your side. Just like I am for Viktor.)"

 Viktor’s calmness only grew stronger when he was joined by Sky in their snuggles against Jayce. His slim frame moved aside for her to fit between them, where he saw Jayce wrap an arm across her waist and onto his, pulling them both close in a hug. He slipped his hands around her hips, nuzzling his face against her breast before letting out a dreamy little hum. Her admission touched his heart with a shade of adoration, which seeped into his eyes as he gazed up at her from her chest. “(All those years spent in the cold… We shall have to make up for lost time, now that we are finally together, as it should be.)”

 Jayce acted as a pillow for Sky’s upper body, with his head nestled in the crook of her shoulder. He was quite tall, so it wasn’t hard to fit her whole body against his, and Viktor’s head was in perfect petting range for his hand. So he laid there, pressed up against Sky and petting Viktor’s hair. It felt right. Perfect. Like Sky said – warm. “(I could stay like this forever. It’s like the outside world doesn’t even exist…)”

 “(We are safe here. We have time.)” Viktor assured as he placed his cheek against Sky’s breast, his hand very gently stroking and pressing the skin of her hips. “(I…I had often thought about what I would do, if I could have both of you in my heart… This is like a dream come true.)” He chuckled breathy and soft. “(Ahh… My heart. My dream. I am so happy…)” He smiled against her skin, eyes closed with relaxation.

 “(You know, I always wanted to know what this felt like, and you’re right, Sky. It’s perfect,)” Jayce sighed out. He moved to use his other arm as a pillow for Sky’s head, fingers draped over the edge of the mattress. “(I don’t know how I’ll be able to go back to my body after this. No pain, no hunger, no fear…)”

 Viktor perked a little, knitting his brow sympathetically. “(Is your body hungry?)”

 Jayce shrugged a shoulder with a smirk. “(You two saw my memories. I was living off of cave salamanders for half a year. Not exactly the most robust diet.)”

 The smaller framed man frowned, looking to Sky first before his eyes fell back on Jayce. “(Once we return, we should get you fed… There is plenty of fruit and bread to give.)”

[moeblob]

TIL "Lay On Hands" is a paladin healing skill and I am blessed by this knowledge.

[badlydrawn-brostrider]

Do your scars ever hurt?

BRO: My scars?

BRO: Most of 'em don't, like my hands. Don't even feel when I cut 'em anymore, honestly.

BRO: Some hurt. Usually the newer or deeper ones.

BRO: This shit? Pretty new. Hurts like a bitch sometimes, especially when It's cold.

BRO: 'Sides that . . .

BRO: . . .

BRO: . . Don't feel a thing.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

one odd thing about going deeper is that I'm no longer satisfied with shallower. and that's, weirdly enough, a net positive. I've self harmed - eh, twice? in the last month. both were well into the criteria that should have got sutures and ignored it; suspect I hit a vein once and was extremely close to muscle, which feels kind of odd. yeah, it's ramped up; yeah, there's a lot of blood and all that kind of stuff. very high risk of infection, potential nerve damage and all that kind of stuff (though I have not got either of them; I scared off an infection that wanted to hang round by chucking quantities of alcohol on it). but at the same time. that's only twice. that's a lot better than previously.

[zorquil]

Taking this quiz and reacting to it! Spoilers for the quiz below!

Okay, question one. What's the food for the superbowl? Well, I don't watch it, but I'll do chips and salsa. Was hard to choose between that and the veggies with ranch. Also, wow on one of the options being "whatever the wife brings".

Question two. Revealing baby's... gender. Oh gosh... Okay, I guess I'll choose cake. Though shooting a box would be kinda funny.

Question three, inspirational post. Let's see what's... Oh. No. No... That freaking first option is such a toxic masculinity thing... Like seriously, man up? Ugggh... Well, I'll just choose "the best view is after the hardest climb" because we love seeing our blorbos suffer and get through hard things. Could have chosen "don't let your sparkle dull", but the phrasing just feels so off.

Question four is a tattoo, which I don't really care about. Let's see, the options are... a skull, "Live, Laugh, Love", a dream catcher, beer, and an infinity symbol with the word love. Uh... I guess dream catchers are pretty cool?

Let's go to question five! ... Oh my gosh... "Choose an LGBT to complain about on Twitter". Sigh... I really don't care about celebrities much, if at all? Like, all I really care about are my silly Pokémon blorbos and the like. I don't even recognize half of these people, so I'll just go with Lil Nas X because X reminds me of how dumb Twitter is. Though honestly, he's kinda rocking the pink cowboy attire!

Question six is "what's your kid's name?" I'm going with Carter, I guess. The others don't appeal to me as much. Actually, wait, Avery is also kinda nice... Yeah, I'll choose Avery.

Question seven! Pick your wedding theme! Honestly, I never think about it due to not really caring much about romance or anything? Though a barn-type wedding would be kinda fun because cowboy hats! Rustic was a close second.

Question e-Oh no. I already saw it and clicked over to this tab because it said "how do you feel about gay people?" What homophobic crap will be appearing on this... Yep, the options are horrible. I am in pain. The second option is just so Christian that it's just... ugh... I'll just choose the option that is the best of them, which is "YASSS SISTER SLAY!" I'm choosing to ignore the second part of the option.

OH MY GOSH! XD QUESTION NINE: HOW ARE YOU GETTING DIVORCED! Okay, that's honestly the best-worse question on this quiz! I'll actually go serious and choose the option that would fit me the most, and that's "we got bored of each other". I know that it's a bit horrible, but to be honest, I don't think I have much passion to keep a romantic relationship going (at least from what I know since I never really dated anyone except for one group church date activity). To be honest, I'm too introverted to care about stressing going on dates and stuff.

Question 10: Pick a TV show to binge. Already, Family Guy will be off the list. I don't like the idea of people who pay to have a matchmaker pair them off with someone else. Don't really care about race cars. Though I do think it would be interesting to see things get built up and fixed, so I'll choose that one. House remodeling kinda falls under that umbrella, to be honest.

Question 11 is about drinks. All of them are... stuff I refuse to drink because I don't like beer, wine, or alcohol. I'll just choose White Claw because that's the most furry name of the drinks. :3 But if I did choose a drink... Just water. Please? I don't really care about flavor drinks. I just care about being hydrated.

Finally, last question! ... Oh no. "Pick a cause to stand behind". What is it going to be? ... Yep, these are horrible. I'll probably choose Boy Scouts though since I was in a pretty good pack when I was young. Honestly though, I audibly groaned when I saw the option of "anti-vax" and "traditional gender roles".

And the result is... Christian Girl. XD

Assigned Cowboy Christian Girl By Quiz. I'm apparently in the 12% according to the poll.

That was horrendous, but I still managed to get a masochistic kick out of it. Frick you, a-frog-in-the-bog, and I hope you have a wonderful day to make up for the night you ruined for me.

answer some questions and I’ll tell you what kind of straight person you would be

[kirby-the-gorb]

[lovsome]

am i so hard to care about?