#in her eyes: SHE'S the one that does the bulk of the protecting and while she knows she cant be everywhere at once--

[extrasfromthevoid]

Sibling Saga (part 1/5)

@tmntbestsibscompetiton

Raph and Milo have my favorite sibling dynamic because they're both the eldest of the bunch and feel a responsibility to protect their brothers. Milo feels it strongest as the elder sister (and the oracle), but Raph still has that protective brother inclination he has in the canon. It's a bit reduced though since he doesn't have the pressure of being the oldest and biggest, and being the team leader. With Milo in the picture, Raph is just the biggest.

For Raph, Milo is like...his personal hero. She's strong and kind and always gives it her all to protect them, and Raph wants more than anything to protect Milo back in turn. This is the moment in their childhood that really solidified that for him.

For Milo, Raph is the brother she has the closest bond with. He's her little shadow and someone she trusts to protect their family should she be absent. She adores his bold spirit and how he's unafraid to express his interests and joys. She's also the only one in the family to show any interest in wrestling, so Milo and Raph frequently watch together. Unlike Raph, Milo doesn't have a favorite wrestler as she just enjoys watching the performances and cheering alongside her biggest little brother.

(also, I believe in field-medic!Raph supremacy. He takes the relatively minor/everyday injuries while Leo takes the more in-depth surgical knowledge. If you've got a bad scrape or burn or flesh wound, you go to Raph. If you've got broken bones and potential internal bleeding, you go to Leo)

[fic below cut]

“And stay gone!” Milo shouts, waving her bokken threateningly as the dog runs back down the alley from whence it came.

Her breath comes out in ragged huffs and her left arm stings painfully, but at least the threat is gone.

Exhaling heavily, Milo puts the bokken on her back again and turns back to her brothers. Raph is curled protectively around Mikey, Leo, and Donnie, his spiky shell facing outwards defensively but a noticeable tremble in his shoulders.

“Everyone okay?” She asks, crouching down to them.

Mikey pops out of his shell and nods. “I’m okay.”

Donnie mumbles something Milo can’t quite catch.

"Donnie and I are okay too,” Leo says.

Milo nods. “And you, Raph? You were really taking the brunt of that,” she says, eyeing the sluggishly oozing scratches and the scuffed sections of his shell and shoulders, and a couple of scrapes on his legs from when he hit the ground.

He turns to look her in the eye, about to answer her when his eyes abruptly focus on Milo’s arm. “You’re hurt!”

Glancing down, Milo finds that the aching wound on her arm is a lot more visually distressing than she thought. At some point, the dog had lunged for her face and Milo put her arm up in a rising block to defend. Instead of sinking its sharp teeth into her face, it sunk them into Milo’s forearm. She didn’t think much of it at the time. It hurt, sure, but she could still fight and the threat was still present. So she kept going.

She hadn’t realized it was so deep until now as she watches the blood dribble down her arm, off her fingertips and splatter on the pavement of the alley.

“Oh. It’s okay, Raph. It’s just a scratch,” she says, trying—and clearly failing if her brothers’ expressions are any indication—to hide her profusely bleeding arm.

Raph pivots fully to face her, releasing their other brothers, who are circling, clearly torn between wanting to help and wanting to vomit—mostly the latter in Donnie’s case—though Mikey is visibly on the verge of tears.

Milo hisses a little in pain as Raph pulls her arm out between them to inspect her injury. Her heart breaks a little at the sad whine that comes from her little brother as he gets a clearer look at the damage.

The distant noise of the human city suddenly becomes less distant and Milo is starkly aware of how exposed she and her brothers are.

“Come on. Let’s go!” She hisses, abruptly herding her brothers towards the manhole.

Milo doesn’t relax until all five of them are safely sequestered in the cool dampness of the sewers and out of sight. Leo wastes no time climbing up onto Milo’s back and Donnie onto Raph’s shell with Mikey—the latter a little grumpy about being beat by Leo to his favorite spot, that being Milo’s back.

With the looming danger gone, Milo lets herself relax. However, Raph immediately starts pulling Milo along—thankfully by her uninjured arm.

“Whoa! Raph!” Milo exclaims in surprise.

“We gotta bandage your arm before it gets infected,” Raph stats firmly.

From his perch on Raph’s shell, Donnie nods. “No repeats of The Incident, dear sister,” he declares.

Milo grimaces, thinking of the ugly, puckered scar on her left thigh and the miserable sickness that followed the injury that caused it. Her brothers hadn’t left her side for a month as she’d been bedridden with a high fever, even after she’d recovered thanks to the medicine Dad brought her from the surface.

Admittedly, Milo’s a little surprised they remembered given it was four years ago now, but she’s also quite touched. Still, Milo wishes they wouldn’t worry so much about her. Worrying is supposed to be her job.

Quietly, Milo relents to letting Raph tug her along as Donnie, Leo, and Mikey chat loudly amongst themselves. When they return home, the three youngest dismount from Raph and Milo.

“We’re gonna go tell Dad what happened,” Leo declares.

Donnie goes rigid. “Wait! Leo, maybe Dad doesn’t need to know all of it—!”

He’s gone—Donnie and Mikey on his heels, begging for Leo to minimize their own involvement in the events leading up to their close encounter—before Milo can object, and Raph pulls her towards their designated med bay.

It’s just a small side room, nowhere near as impressive as Baba’s was, but in the years that Milo has lived with Dad, she’s found that none of them need anything near the level that she had with Baba. They’ve got a fairly robust stockpile for dire emergencies like broken bones and cracked shells, but the bulk of their medical supplies are bandages and anti-bacterial salve because that’s most of what they need.

Raph immediately bee-lines for the metal box covered in stickers that sits in the lowest cabinet—well within easy reach for their smaller brothers just in case they need it for whatever reason—and sits on the ground in front of Milo. Silently, she does the same, watching as Raph picks out the salve tube and cotton swabs and gauze wraps from amongst the collection of bandaids and gets to work.

They sit in silence for a while as Raph applies disinfectant and looks over the bite mark on Milo’s forearm.

And then…

“You shouldn’t have done that, sis,” Raph mumbles.

Milo starts. “Huh? Of course I had to do it, Raph!” She protests. “That dog was really mean and it could have hurt you all really badly.”

Raph’s eyes shine wetly. “But you got hurt protecting us…”

“I’m your big sister, Raph,” Milo says quietly as Raph wraps her injury.

“It's my job to protect you. I don’t mind getting a scrape or two out of it.”

His beak scrunches irritably at that, tears spilling from his eyes. “But if you’re protecting us, who’s protecting you?” He asks.

Milo doesn’t have a good answer to that. She doesn’t see herself as someone who needs protecting. She’s supposed to be the one doing the protecting. If there comes a day where that isn’t the case, then that means that Milo isn’t doing her job right.

She’s about to say as much when Raph continues.

“You matter so much to us, Milo. I hate it when you risk yourself like this,” he admits. He wipes his tears on the back of his arm and when he meets Milo’s gaze, it’s with a look of absolute determination. “That’s why Raph’s gonna to protect you right back!”

Milo finds herself chuckling at that. “Okay, sure.”

“I’m serious!” Raph protests, face flushing with his indignation.

“You’ll see! When I’m bigger, I’ll be able to protect all of us, just like you!”

Despite herself, Milo can’t help the warm, fuzzy feeling that blooms in her chest. She smiles fondly at her little brother.

When he wraps her arm, Milo turns the favor right back on him. Raph’s injuries are a lot more superficial than Milo’s but are more numerous. They’re giggling amongst themselves, picking through the selection of novelty bandaids when Dad comes stumbling in, Leo, Mikey, and Donnie shuffling sheepishly behind him.

“Green! Red! Are you both alright?” He exclaims.

Dad doesn’t even wait for them to answer before fretting over them both, looking visibly pained by the deep, still oozing bite wound on Milo’s left arm. Even now, little spots of red peak through the bandage, but not enough to warrant changing it right now. Later, definitely, but it’ll be fine until the bleeding stops completely.

“Oh, Green…”

“It’s alright, Dad,” Milo assures him. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

“Milo…that dog bit you pretty deep…,” Mikey whimpers.

���Yeah! What if you get rabies!” Leo shouts. “Are we gonna have to get you to a human hospital? Rabies is no joke! You’ll die from it!”

Donnie elbows Leo sharply in the side. “Nardo, that dog definitely didn’t have rabies,” he states calmly. “It was just aggressive and poorly trained. Still, our dear sister is at risk of infection. Who knows what that beast put in its mouth before biting her.” Donnie sticks out his tongue at the thought.

Dad exhales shakily and ruffles Milo’s hair, messing up the strands she has tucked behind her green bandana. She laughs, putting up a token protest against the show of affection.

“At least you all are alright,” Dad says.

“Of course we are!” Milo beams. “I’ll always make sure we come home safe.”

Raph shoulders in, pouting. “And I’ll make sure sis comes back too!”

Dad smiles softly, visibly relieved. “I am glad to hear it,” he says.

“Now. You’ve all had a trying day. How about some fruit?”

All five of them cheer, following their dad to the kitchen, and leaving behind the mess of bloodied cotton balls and torn up bandaid wrappers, the ordeal temporarily forgotten.

(But Raph never forgets the oath he made this day. Even if Milo admittedly didn’t take it very seriously, so sure that no matter what happens, her little brother will never have to shoulder her burden of safeguarding their family alone.)

[pedrospatch]

fall into temptation | three

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 10k

a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.

Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high. 

Solid. Steady.

Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?

Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.

It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter. 

His youngest daughter. 

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”

“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”

Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.

Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.

Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.

“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”

“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.

“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.

The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.

Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”

Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.

“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”

Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.

If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.

Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?

“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”

Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”

“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”

Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”

You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.

“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still. 

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.

“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.

He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”

Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit. 

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”

For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.

“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.

Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.

Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.

“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”

Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”

That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”

“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.

Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”

Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.

“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”

Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”

His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.

“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”

“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.

Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”

Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.

“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”

“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”

“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”

Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”

His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.

Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”

Of course not.

You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none. 

Still. 

The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.

Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.

Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.

No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.

He wouldn’t believe them.

“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”

Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”

The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation. 

There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him. 

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?

“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.

“What?”

“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”

Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.

“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”

“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”

“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.

He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.

You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.

“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”

“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”

“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”

You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”

“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”

His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.

“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”

Christ.

No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.

With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.

“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.

Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,” you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”

All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.

With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.

Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”

Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.

With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.

Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.

Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.

“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.

Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.

“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”

“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”

“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”

Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.

Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”

Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”

Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told. 

He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.

“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.

You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.

Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”

Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.

“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”

Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.

Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.

Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.

You opened wider. “Please.”

“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.

“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”

Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.

Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?

“Oh God.”

You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.

“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”

Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.

Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs. 

Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.

Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”

Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.

If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.

The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.

Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.

“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.

Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”

Surely, you would be the death of him.

He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?

There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”

And you did.

Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.

“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.

“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”

You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.

Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”

With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”

“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.

It was the second time you’d uttered His name.

Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.

“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.

He was getting closer and closer.

Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.

“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.

“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.

His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”

Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.

He was begging you.

Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?

“Joel,” you choked.

“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”

Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.  

Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”

He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”

Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.

Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”

Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”

“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”

“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.

The nerves began to set in.

Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.

With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.

He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.

You could have laughed. You almost did.

“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”

“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”

“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.

His chest swelled with warmth.

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.

He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”

He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you wore underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.

“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”

He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.

He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”

Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

[ghouldump]

(sending this again because i think tumblr deleted it!)

loustat x reader, and reader at the time is the only mortal in their relationship until reader privately asks louis to turn her (can be gn, i mainly read fem!reader stuff) into a vampire so she can commit herself to them eternally, louis says no in order of protecting her, they argue a bit before she agrees and a few days later lestat finds out and he does it for her and louis is not happy. even though he wanted her to stay innocent he still wanted to be her maker

and if u want u can take it from there :)

All I Ask Of You | Lestat x Reader x Louis

ෆ when lestat takes matters into his own hands, leaving louis to sit in his regret of not complying with your wishes.

i will be booked and busy tomorrow, so the bulk of post will be up on saturday, i hope you can accept this for now, my lovelies 🤲🩷

“Please, Louis”

“I told you, my answer is no,” he raised his voice, turning away from you. How could you ask him for such a thing? He and Lestat promised to fulfill your every desire, but not this, not when you had so much to live for.

“Fine,” you had been trying for days now to get him to comply, but he wouldn't budge.

“Don’t be like that, it is for the-

“For the best, I know, I heard you the first time, listen, I can’t stay tonight, could you tell Les for me?” you asked, already headed towards the door before he could speak. You refused to cry in front of him, swinging open the door of the townhouse, just as Lestat was entering the gate.

“Ma ch-

“I’m in a rush, Louis will explain,” you pulled away from his reach, leaving him to stare bewildered at your figure becoming more distant. He wanted to question what happened while he was away, but as he began to open his mouth, something about the gloom in Louis’s eyes kept him from speaking.

“She has errands,” he mumbled, as Lestat nodded.

Silently, he followed behind Louis locking up the house as they prepared for sunrise. He wasn’t sure what he’d missed, but he was determined to find out, soon enough.

“Y/n, are you sure you’re alright darling?” Your mother asked as she leaned against the counter watching as you helped put away the leftovers from dinner.

“Yes, why?”

“You never come home, and now you’re here. Not only that, we’re going on day 3, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, I can’t miss home?” you frowned.

“I didn’t say that, it’s just that it seemed like you were never leaving New Orleans, it’s been months and you’re only an hour away,” she explained. There wasn't a proper way to tell her, or your father, that you had fallen in love with two vampires, one being a few decades older, while the other — a few centuries.

“I’m sorry, I’ll visit more often,” you told her, watching as she smiled, going to pull you into a hug.

“Good, your father and I get so lonely”

“You should move to New Orleans, get out of Covington, and live a little,” you laughed.

“Absolutely not, this is home, I’ll take it from here, you go ahead and get ready for bed,” she waved you off.

“Goodnight,” you said, as she kissed your forehead.

“Goodnight sweet pea,” she called as you walked down the hall, going to your old bedroom.

Entering the room, you inhaled the vanilla aroma, as your mind drifted to your lovers. Only three days and you already felt sick to your stomach. You wondered if they missed you as much as you missed them. You told your roommate to simply tell them you were out of town if they showed up at your apartment, but you weren't sure how much longer you could continue with this.

Going to the connected bathroom, you filled the bathtub with warm water. Staring into the water, your mind drowned with regret. You had been so inconsiderate to Louis, expecting him to take on such a big responsibility. 

“Louis,” you moaned breathlessly, as he kissed along your collarbone.

“I want you to turn me,” you said, the oxygen seemingly getting caught in your throat, as he stopped, before pulling away from you.

“Where is this coming from?” he asked, his voice comforting, as he sat up, trying to concentrate on your thoughts.

“I love you both and I want to give myself to you and Lestat, forever, from this point on,” you vowed to him.

“Y/n, you don't know what you're saying, you are amazing, everything is perfect the way it is-

“Until I begin to age, and become decrepit, please Louis, become my maker, as Lestat is yours”

“You don't realize how precious life is until it is no longer in your reach. I can't do this to you, I can't take away your life when you have so much purpose,” he told you, wiping your tears as you began to cry.

Turning off the faucet, you huffed, roughly wiping the tears from your eyes. The fact that you were crying over him telling you no made you feel adolescent compared to the two. Tossing your clothing into the hamper, your muscles tensed before relaxing, as you submerged into the warm water. 

Laying back, you closed your eyes, relishing in the therapeutic sensation. Humming in relief, you focused on clearing your mind. You would only stay here a few more days before you headed home. You had built a life in New Orleans and you wouldn't leave it behind, and you certainly had no intentions of closing this chapter of your life with Louis or Lestat, over this situation.

Feeling a cool breeze across the water, you crossed your legs, shifting to feel the warmth, with your eyes still shut. Only a few minutes passed before the chilling fingertips brushed against your skin, causing you to open your eyes, sitting up. Looking around, you didn't see a person as you sighed, laying back again, closing your eyes.

“How we’ve missed you,” Lestat spoke, making you jump, but quickly relaxed as he reassuringly massaged your shoulders.

Standing behind you, he crouched down, kissing along your neck, licking away the water droplets, while you held back your moan.

“Louis isn't here,” he answered your thoughts before you could ask.

“He says you're upset with him, but won't say why,” he said, his large hands rubbing down your abdomen into the warm water.

“No, he should be upset with me,” you sat up, abruptly, facing him.

“Do tell why?” he smirked. 

“I asked him to turn me…into a vampire,” you said, your face burning in shame.

“And he said no-

“He is only trying to protect me, I didn't understand but I do now,” you said, unable to meet his eyes.

“But that isn't what you want, chèrie, is it?” he asked, as the waterworks began to pour. Shaking your head, as you finally met his eyes.

“I want an eternity with the two of you, the thought of me getting old and you both becoming a distant memory, if I even remember, it scares me, could I even live a normal life ever again, after sharing my heart with the two of you,” you said, as he stood up straight, reaching for the soft towel. Using his free hand, he helped you stand, wrapping the towel around your frame, before leading you out of the bathroom.

“You wanted Louis to change you, to allow him to experience what I have given him, but this is just as sentimental. Giving the gift to two extraordinary souls who I love greatly, would you like that, chèrie?” He asked, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“Yes, please,” you admitted embarrassingly.

“Do you vow to only love Louis and I, for an eternity? Forever is a very long time, go ahead, answer in the presence of God,” he motioned to the crucifix hanging on your wall.

“I do,” you nodded earnestly.

“Then you will be my fledgling, with my blood running through your veins,” he said, swiftly pulling you into his arms, before his fangs were out, plunging into your soft skin. You could feel your body weakening as he drained your blood, before he finally pulled away. Biting into his wrist, he soon placed it against your mouth.

“Drink,” he instructed, his eyes full of endearment as you moaned at the taste of his blood. You had licked your own wound as a child and the taste of iron was nothing worth comparing to his blood, you almost couldn’t stop, until he pulled his arm away.

“Thank you Les,” you said tiredly, as he grinned, kissing your neck, before sitting your limp body on the bed. Walking away, he became to boredly pack your things. He knew his intuition was correct, you had been wanting this for a while now and he had a feeling it started nearly three months back, when you asked if you could join them, as they hunted.

Watching you closely, as you sat up, hurling onto the floor, you clutched your stomach in agony. Groaning, you began to vomit on the floor, chills all over your body. Lestat neatly placed everything in your suitcase, going to zip it. Noticing your quietness, his smirk widened, as you now stood unfazed, the towel covering the vomit, as you stood nude with poise. Your new eyes and nails catching his attention, you certainly were a beautiful vampire.

“You look like perfection,” he approached you.

“I feel like…perfection”

“Let us find your first hunt, as you know with Louis’s situation, staying here won’t be possible, with your new life,” he said, as you nodded, going to grab clothing from the luggage, while looking for a pen and paper — leaving your mom a random excuse for why you had to leave.

“Do you think Louis will be mad at us?”

“Very”

“You have to suck not bite,” Lestat said, holding down your victim, as you straddled the guys lap, your fangs deep in his neck. You had made it back to New Orleans and the first thing Lestat took you to do was find your first meal. You were a natural, as you intentionally looked through the selection of people. When finally, you chose some creep, he was a bad man and you felt you were doing a bit of justice, ridding the world of such garbage.

Suddenly the front door opened, there was a few footsteps before he spoke, “What the fuck is going on?” Louis asked confusedly. Pulling away from the man, he tried screaming, begging for help, when Lestat snapped his neck.

“Did you enjoy dinner?” He asked you, as you bashfully nodded.

“Y/n,” Louis called out. Slowly facing him, you smiled, blood dripping down your mouth.

“Hi Louis”

“You turned her, now why the hell would you do that?” He yelled at Lestat.

“She wanted this, would you have preferred she stumbled across another vampire-

“I would have preferred you left her as she was,” Louis argued.

“I wanted this Louis, he was only helping-

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/n, you weren’t ready, and you took advantage of her ignorance,” he screamed as Lestat sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Louis, I wanted this for more than anything, to be alongside you both, an eternity together-

“Don’t you think I know what you want, I’ve heard your thoughts, it doesn’t change the fact that it was not smart. You just threw away everything, your family, your friends, life, you’re dead now, and there is no going back,” he said, as you hesitantly climbed from the limp body. His tone brought an uneasiness to your heart, your eyes stinging.

“All I wanted, all I thought I wanted, was to be with you and Lestat. I can’t see myself with anyone else, but I’m sorry, please don’t be angry with Lestat,” you said, the dark blood leaking from your eyes. Lestat reached for you, but you moved, walking out to the backyard.

“Are you seriously that angry, Louis, how long did you expect her to wait?” Lestat asked.

“Why did you do it? She didn’t have to be turned into this,” Louis shook his head, glancing in the direction of the backyard. Regretting how harsh he sounded, as he spoke to you.

“Louis, you can still protect her as a vampire, I know you only wanted to look out for her, but she wanted the gift, she chose to love us over her parents and friends, she was worthy,” Lestat said.

“I was too harsh to her,” Louis mumbled.

“Then you should be apologizing to her, and thanking me for making yet another beautiful fledgling,” Lestat smirked.

“She is beautiful, you did good,” Louis nodded.

“Again?”

“Again,” he laughed, sighing as Lestat approached him, pulling him into a hug, placing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Go now”

Louis hesitantly walked outside, stopping in his tracks, seeing you sit in the grass. Looking up at the bright moon. Clenching his jaw, he forced his legs to move, before he sat next to you, watching your side profile.

“The moon looks nice tonight,” he spoke up.

“It does, doesn’t it. She glows so beautifully, the sun has no choice but to hide from her presence,” you said, your face unmoving from the sky.

“I apologize for how I spoke to you, I want you forever, both of us do. I’m more angry with Lestat than you”

“Don’t be upset with Les, please, he knew I wanted this, and I think it was only a matter of time, before I was begging him next,” you explained.

“I think I’m more angry about the fact that he changed you, and not me,” he said, grinning as you finally looked at him.

“I thought I was protecting you, keeping you from our world, when you fit so perfectly in it — I wish I would have gone through with it,” he admitted.

“It is okay, really, as long as I’m with you both, I am happy,” you said, reaching for his hands.

“Is there anything I can do, to make up for this…”

“Love me, your love is all I ask of you,” you said, accepting his kiss.

“I feel quite excluded, where are my kisses?” Lestat spoke, as he stepped outside.

“If you come any closer, you may end up with more than a kiss, both of you, I feel like the happiest girl alive,” you said, as he moved to the grass, kissing along your neck.

“Then we are starting our eternity together on the right track”

[satoruhour]

omg I’d love to hear more about baby fever + gojo 🥹 just watching him match a babies babbles like he can actually understand them is killing me!!

a/n: omg stop anon this is so CUTE?? and ik i posted like three things today but posts will be slower this week since i still have work to do technically even if i have a school break ! / one sex joke lol

gojo always had a knack for caregiving — whether it was defending yuta against the higher-ups and advocating for yuji’s life (even if it had to be delayed) and making sure that one kid had gotten home safely after getting trapped in an abandoned home. but you realised you’ve never really seen your boyfriend around babies. it wasn’t a good idea in the first place, to mix babies and sorcerers — part of why nanami had waited so long before starting a family with his partner, or how utahime turned in her resignation for good after getting pregnant.

but now that you’re past terrible things in the world like sukuna and kenjaku and you both have properly buried your best friend’s body, you’re looking ahead to better things. you’re not too keen on kids, but you do sometimes spiral into what your kid with satoru would look like, probably taking the bulk of his features while some of yours are fighting to take first place. that sentiment is changed more and more when you see how gojo interacts with kids.

it’s when nanami first invites everyone to their (long overdue) baby shower, only wanting to introduce his partner and kid only a year after they’ve been safe. nanami is the happiest he’s ever been but so is gojo, dancing so foolishly in front of the kid to get her to like him that all she does is scrunch her face and hide back in her mother’s neck (“yeah, that’s nanami’s kid alright.”). soon, she’s let go to interact with the students, playing around with megumi’s dogs, running around the house from yuji and inumaki, doing silly battle poses with the girls. her laughter is like beauty to all the grown-ups in the room, something meant to be protected and cherished.

gojo tries to win her back, sitting on the floor so his height wouldn’t be too imposing and she almost runs into him. his infinity stops her and her head cocks to the side in confusion — she continues to run into gojo’s shield again and again, giggles at being constantly pushed back with a silly sound gojo makes with his mouth; it convinces her enough that she’s running into a bubble of some jelly. 

it’s some time later where you’re mingling with nanami’s partner, talking to shoko and utahime while your boyfriend chats with nanami (weirdly normal, you note) about everything. but you’re broken out of conversation when you hear gojo quietly squeal to his junior who only sighs. it’s all a facade; you know he’s actually glad his daughter succumbs to gojo’s charms soon enough, letting him carry the small toddler who’s already oh so tired from the day. she melts into satoru’s arms, mumbling something incoherent that he replies just as incoherently and bounces.

satoru strokes her hair, speaking in a hushed tone now, something that rarely happens in your home and it convinces nanami just a little to make him her godfather. he’s still considering it.

the next time it happens is when he meets utahime’s baby boy for the first time, coming over to provide some gifts and to just see your old friends. it’s a little hilarious how the first two people to have children are the people who are not particularly fond of gojo but both nanami and utahime are surprisingly tame when it comes to the strongest handling their kid. she’s giving him her baby carefully with a clear threat behind her eyes but he knows not to fuck anything up. the baby is clueless enough to not know who he was even being handed to, babbling mindlessly while drool leaves his mouth.

“babba boo-boo,” it’s gibberish, but satoru matches it perfectly, making stupid sounds back at the baby that you can’t help but grin. “wahbaba boo!” gojo continues to coo and mumble insults with a pointed finger to hime, “your mom is too uptight, can you tell her to calm down a little?” which gets a little hey! from the retired sorcerer and the baby attempts to copy his pointing. “mambama!” utahime’s and her partner’s soft gasp is all you need to know that they haven’t heard their baby call any of them, yet.

the baby continues his babbles and blows a raspberry, face lighting up at the bubbles he manages to make with saliva and gojo just has to laugh at how easily entertained children are. you’re stood there, heart melting with the gentleness in which he treats kids, because once the little one is handed back to utahime and you’re saying your goodbyes, you can’t even look at your lover without feeling lightheaded.

“you’re good with kids, y’know.” you’re saying as you remove your coat while satoru toes off his shoes in your home, your shared space. it feels unreal.

gojo pfts, “of course, baby!” he does a cute pose with thumb pointing toward him, “i’m just that good at everything.”

you laugh, “’course you are…” pulling him down, you have to kiss him or else you’d be overflowing with all the love you have for him and it’ll spill everywhere. gojo eases you into the kiss, humming and sighing in contentment.

“i’m just wondering…” you mumble, a little nervous. you’ve never thought of kids that much even but you think it might be due time even if you didn’t have a ring on your finger. “if you ever thought of having a kid with me?”

satoru’s face softens and you can hear his smile, “of course i do, princess. every time.” his voice is soft when he says it and the way it flips your heart makes you dizzy. “but only when you’re ready. and only when i’ve put a big fat rock on your fourth, although if you’re interested in a shotgun…”

you have to shoot him the finger before you’re nodding to yourself just to remind that everything depends on you. even if it takes 5, 10 years, or even if you didn’t want any children at all, gojo is enamoured with you too much to let it be a dealbreaker.

“i want it… soon.” gojo laughs softly at that, taking you into his arms right at your doorstep and kisses you deeply once again. you brace yourself against his toned chest, clutching at his coat with tippy toes. in classic gojo satoru fashion, he has to pull away to make a dirty joke.

“i’m surprised that you aren’t knocked up already with how much i c—”

“gojo satoru. if you finish that sentence—!”

“—um in you…”

you pull a face, resorting to smacking him on the arm and he surrenders with loud laughter and an apology filled with pecks and kisses. standing at the doorway, you’d never think it would happen so soon.

two months later, satoru is getting down on one knee and asking you to marry him.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Life's Sweet Bells

A COD Farm Sim AU with some omegeverse splashed in!

Meet the Town!

John Soap Mactavish - Clean and green, with a scent like shortbread and rose,  you can see how the wiley alpha Soap got his nickname. Soap runs the neighboring livestock farm. Soap specializes in critters big and small, from velvety eared rabbits to towering horses. He prides himself in his work, and his animals usually run best in show for the town's yearly festivals. When not at the farm, Soap can be seen chatting it up at the blacksmith's or having an evening pint at the inn. With a friendly smile and sunkissed skin, could Soap be your first friend??

John Price. Or rather Captain, formerly. John is an alpha that once ran the town's mines with a tight efficiency. Slaying the monsters therein and emerging with jewels and ores a plenty. Since the town's devastating earthquake the mines have since been closed. John stubbornly remains, clearing the mines on his own. Though his ink and coffee scent permeates the artifacts wing of the local museum, a responsibility he shares  with Alex. John is considered an expert in monsters and hidden treasures. During down time John is down at the docks with Farah and Nik.

Simon Ghost Riley. Formerly Price's right hand in the mines, and now the town's blacksmith, Ghost stands tall and aloof. Pale arms lined with scars, and soot stained fingertips. Some say his room is lined with awards for his craft. Ghost can make anything, and is responsible for a lot of specialty items for the whole village, special swords and crossbows for Price. Stronger tools and equipment for Gaz. He doesn't say much to you when you show up, and you assume the mask is to protect his face, though he never takes it off.  What's more odd is the syrupy sweet scent buried under all the brimstone. 

Kyle Gaz Garrick. Kyle is a master of his craft and does the bulk of the repairs and renovations around the village. (As well as some of its more charming cosmetics) With the help of Ghost and Price, Gaz is slowly but surely piecing the town back together after the earthquake. Kyle is renown in town for his delicate work and eye for detail. Despite popular beliefs Kyle is a calm and laid back Alpha, with a fresh and citrusy scent that's almost hypnotic. Kyle is one of the first to come to the new farm, providing a few extra tools he had laying around to help you get started. He's ecstatic to have a new face around town!

Nikolai? Nobody seems to know his last name, but he seems to be well liked in town. Nikolai was once a traveling merchant, never staying in one place for too long. He made his way by selling rare and unique wares. Since the earthquake the alpha has settled in town on a more permanent basis. Nik now runs a beautifully crafted bathhouse so those hard workers of the village can rest their weary bones, while still having a handful of new and rare items to sell each week. There seems to be more to the alpha that meets the eye. 

Kate Laswell. Kate is the town physician. A no nonsense beta who is chronically scraping townsfolk off the ground when they fail to take care of themselves properly. She's lovely, but so very tired. When Kate isn't at the clinic she assists her wife with running the inn. 

Farah is a fisherman extraordinaire, and has been a godsend with getting supplies in and out of the village while the bridges were out. While Farah doesn't brag, tales of her adventures are written on the scars on her toned tanned arms. While goods and services aren't her day to day now, Farah still heads out on her boat each day with Alex in tow.

Alex is responsible for a bulk of the collections at the museum, and when he's not there, he helps Farah out on the docks. In his downtime Alex writes stories down on the well worn pages of his journal. Harrowing tales of a strong and fearless pirate who saves the day again and again. So what if the long braided heroin resembles someone familiar?

(Not sure how deep in the weeds i'll go with this, but I'm having fun, I would love to make it a little series)

[nichenarratives]

Asymmetrical Atrocity

An Obscure Oneshot

Inspiration Art by Tracy J Butler

Mordecai Heller has done a lot of dastardly things in his line of work. He murdered the competition, tortured information from the mouths of gangsters and threw numerous bodies into both rivers surrounding Saint Louis, all at the behest of his savior turned employer. Atlas May is a discerning man of many accomplishments, one who knows when to conduct a business intervention to protect his investments, and when a massacre is the only way to send a message, which is what Mordecai manages alongside Viktor, his cohort.

The tom tuxedo appreciates swift, decisive action as much as the entrepreneur who owns the Lackadaisy Speakeasy. As such, he rarely finds grievance with expectation, carrying out every assignment with extreme prejudice and efficiency. Alongside Viktor's sheer strength and bulk, they form a formidable partnership that's seen the underground liquor spring swell in popularity, creating quite the business for the ever-ambitious Atlas May.

This is work Mordecai excels at, even prefers despite the moral ambiguity most would consider troubling. What he doesn't enjoy are the languid, supposedly quiet stretches of time between jobs, where he is forced to attend Mrs May's exhaustingly raucous parties. Sometimes, he can convince Atlas to let him work instead and buries his nose in the Little Daisy Cafe's books, changing expenses and stock to hide their underground extracurriculars.

But not tonight.

Atlas is out of town collecting his goddaughter - why anyone would want responsibility for a child that isn't even theirs is beyond Mordecai - and taken Viktor with him, meaning other than the band and Horatio, everyone to step foot inside the Lackadaisy that evening would be a potential threat to his wife's life. Atlas has specifically ordered his sharpshooter to stay close to her all evening, so there is no escaping it.

Tonight, he's Mitzi May's bodyguard.

While he never needs an excuse to dress properly, the tom had taken time to dress correctly for tonight; a black three piece suit over a crisp, white shirt, his trademark blood red tie pressed and carefully secured about his neck before it's tucked into his waistcoat and secured with a silver pin, a holster on each shoulder each containing loaded pistols (obscured under his jacket, for security), a knife in each garter beneath his slacks and of course, the piece de resistance - a pocket square matching his tie.

His wayward hair carefully smoothed down and pince-nez shined to perfection, he'd reported to Mrs May's rooms at precisely six, as requested. He at least feels at home dressed up - poor Viktor always looks ridiculously uncomfortable in a suit - even if he's dreading the actual party. He takes a moment to check his pocket square is properly placed before rapping his knuckles on her door. 

"Come in, door's open."

The reply is immediate, but Mordecai hesitates on the threshold, hand still curled and raised uselessly in the air. He assumed she'd be ready on time. As such, the possibility of entering her room was not considered. He hangs in purgatory for a long moment, trapped between refusal and potential repercussions should anything happen to her in the next few seconds, then sighs and pushes the door open.

"Good evening, Mrs May," he greets upon entry, closing the door behind him before surveying the room. Not one to keep a clean house but hardly a slob either, Mitzi's room is clean but in general disarray; her bed isn't made, the closet hangs open, and her vanity table is cluttered with numerous vials, pots, lipsticks and more he doesn't care to identify. "It's time to welcome your esteemed guests into the Lackadaisy Speakeasy."

Mitzi sits at her vanity, leaning close to finish her makeup. She doesn't look over when Mordecai walks in, but an eye does track his reflection. "Of course," she says, pausing to dab her finest brush into the liquid eyeliner bottle. Satisfied it's sufficiently soaked, she raises it back to her face and returns her gaze to the ceiling. "I'm just finishing up, sweetie. Take a seat if you like."

Pale lips curl into a grimace. "No, thank you," he refuses, as politely as he can manage. Mordecai has no idea when she last changed the sheets - he prefers to change his weekly, when possible - nor if she's ever dusted. He doesn't intend to find out by coating his pristine suit in dust. His tail flicks slightly in agitation as he stays by the door. "I'll wait here."

"Suit yourself," Mitzi responds, accustomed to the odd tom after years of his service. She once tried to loosen the man up by asking about his family, but that only seemed to make him more distant. Since then, she's left Mordecai to his own devices, allowing Atlas to handle his peculiarities. Her own interactions with the tuxedo cat are more for entertainment than friendship now. "Are you going to dance tonight? I've invited plenty of young ladies who'd love to-"

"I'd rather not be in attendance," Mordecai answers flatly, his chin lifted very slightly as he grimaces. Mitzi suppresses a sigh as she sits back and studies her eyeliner. Makeup is such a chore sometimes, but a necessity when you have an image to keep. Satisfied, she screws the cap back on the bottle and wipes the brush off on cotton wool, an ear turned to her bodyguard as he continues. "However, Mr May has requested my attendance, therefore it is unavoidable."

The dolled-up feline hums in agreement; Mordecai isn't an enthralling party guest, unless you wish to listen to a man describe the main differences between monocotyledons and dicotyledons in excruciating detail, all in a flat monotone. If she had a choice, she'd have kept Viktor. At least could be loosened up with a drink or ten. "Well, I'm ready. Why don't we take our delightful conversation down to the-"

Glancing at Mordecai's reflection, she sees his eyes narrow, and Mitzi releases a tired huff. "What?" She asks as she turns around to face the pedantic accountant. An ear twitch and a deeper frown is the only response she gets, to which Mitzi glares right back. Atlas might enjoy his nonverbal communication, but she finds it irritating. "Come on, spit it out, Mordecai. The guests aren't getting any younger."

"Your eyeliner," the tom responds flatly. Mrs May turns back to the mirror and scrutinizes her reflection closely, checking for drips and smudges, or misplaced drops on her otherwise flawless skin and outfit. She's practically going insane trying to find the problem when Mordecai finally finished speaking. "Is asymmetrical."

She almost groans. Almost. Why does the man have to be so peculiar? "Is that all?" She asks, waving off his concern to instead fluff up her hair some more, running fingers through the freshly washed waves. They slide effortlessly from root to tip, as perfect as Mitzi planned. "No one will care if it's a little crooked once they taste the liquor, sweetie. My darling Atlas secured the best from Canada in our last shipment. They won't be sober long enough to notice."

"I've noticed," Mordecai asserts, finally stepping away from the door to approach his employer's wife. "Respectfully, should I spend the majority of your precious event distracted by symmetrical sacrilege, my efficacy will be compromised."

Mitzi turns in her seat and regards her employee tiredly, only to shrug a moment later. "Eyeliner is a fine art, sweetie. It could take hours to get it entirely even on both sides. We can't leave our guests waiting that long, can we?" Thinking she has him dead to rights, the feline woman opens both eyes and smirks at her husband's golden boy confidently. "Unless you can fix them in five minutes, it'll have to do."

If she's expecting some kind of emotional reaction, Mitzi is sorely mistaken. Mordecai glances at the discarded brush on the vanity, then the uneven lines framing her upper lids. He's fairly sure a child could do better, but for once, the tom decides to keep that thought to himself and instead looks around the room. Locating a small chaise, he pulls it over to the vanity - much to Mitzi's dismay. "What are you-"

Turning over the seat cushion before sitting down to avoid the dust, he then raises his hands, palms open expectantly. "Your brush and face paint," he requests with his expression set seriously, flexing his fingers for emphasis. "And erase your attempts of both eyes entirely. I prefer a blank canvas."

For the next seven minutes, Mordecai leans towards the other feline, coaching her which eye to close, where to look and sometimes, informing minor technique corrections he suggests for the future. Mitzi stays quiet and complies with his requests, mostly from pure curiosity if he'll be able to paint eyeliner as cleanly as he aims a pistol. She's not met a man who can frame an eye right yet, so she might even forgive his arrogance if he does a good enough job. 

The few times she does look at Mordecai directly, his gaze is intense and focused, fine lips pressed into a finer line in the depths of focus. Mitzi isn't sure he's ever been so close before - even when she was having him tailored for fresh, tidy suits and had to measure his neck ad-hoc for the collar. It's honestly disconcerting and she quickly looks away.

"There," he finally states after what feels like a year. Entirely uninvited, Mordecai takes a gentle hold of her chin and turns her head from side to side to inspect his handiwork. Taken by surprise, Mitzi allows him to do so until he hums in approval and releases her, only to grimace at the powder residue now on his fingers. "I will never understand the need to slather your face in chemicals, but it is now symmetrical, at least. I'll wash my hands, then we can go."

Taking the brush and pot when they're offered, Mitzi turns to the mirror to inspect his work and is pleasantly surprised to find he's framed her eyes beautifully. He even added a small whisper of eyeliner off the lid and extended it slightly to her cheek, giving the impression of fuller lashes when her eyes are open. Mrs May blinks, tilting her head from side to side, marveling at how fine it is and indeed, how symmetrical the quiet sharpshooter has managed to make them.

"Let's get this over with," Mordecai mutters as he re-enters the room, adjusting the cufflinks beneath his suit jacket. His eyes land on Mitzi, once again staring in the mirror, and an irritated murr slips through pursed lips. "Mrs May, while I admire your devotion to setting an immaculate visage in your husband's absence, there is only so much superficial modification careful artistry can achieve. Let's go."

It was in that moment, as Mordecai stalked for the door to hold it open like the gentlemanly type he certainly had not just spoken like, Mitzi decided she'd convinced the girls that dancing with her reclusatory bodyguard was the pinnacle of high society.

Insert the ficus comic here…

[raayllum]

Do you have any headcanons of callum being protective/considerate/thoughtful with rayla? I'm so in love with how gentle he was with her this season.

Callum planting flowers from the Silvergrove in the castle gardens as a surprise and then convincing her to take a 'moonlit' stroll with him one night once they're ready so he can show them off

It's non traditional but he knows the main reason she hates the water is because she always feels unsteady on her feet so he gets her a grip mat for the tub so she can feel more centered

Redoing her braid for her whenever it comes undone and stitching up little tears and frayed edges in her clothing/cloaks because he knows how to sew

On that note: getting her a new cloak because her old one is tattered and doing up the clasp for her / tugging her in close by the hood for nose and mouth kisses if he's not smiling too much

Him and Ezran collecting a whole bunch of things during the timeskip to save up to give to her so that the castle can feel like home

So many forehead kisses and just gentle hand squeezes. Three squeezes means "I love you" and he'll trace the words onto her back or side sometimes when they're just laying together

He definitely talked privately to Opeli (and probably the guards) after the 5x01 throne room debacle and gave them a piece of his mind / new protocol to follow when it comes to them being concerned about Rayla's actions (ficlet here)

For that matter: absolute death glares to anyone who gives her a hard time at the castle / any diplomatic function (and probably almost causes a political incident or two over it)

Him murmuring the sappy love poetry he's read in her ear even when she rolls he eyes and can't quite hide her smile, working up his nerve to write personal poems of his own for her

Little things he did this season like being the one to handle the reigns of their mount the bulk of the time as soon as they started sharing because he knows she's not a morning person and is a light sleeper, so she holds onto his middle and he lets her doze for most of the day whenever he can

Requesting mints at inns they stay in that don't have any already / using magic to carve the soap into little shapes if they aren't that way to begin with and leaving them, once again, as little surprises for her to discover

If/when Rayla wants or needs time away from Stella (sparring perhaps) the cuddlemonkey is almost always with Callum and he makes sure she's cared for too. She's fussy about getting brushed and hard to pin down thanks to the six hands, so he'll usually help get her sitting still while Rayla does the actual grooming

Him using cooling spells for her when it's hot on summer nights (like in 4x07) and heating his hands to lay on her tummy when she gets period cramps

Normally he'd never throw his weight around as a prince, but he absolutely will on her behalf, whether it's getting something she wants from a servant tea/food wise or making sure they are treated well / have a nice place to stay while travelling

"It's none of your concern--" "It very much is her concern, and watch your tone."

Giving her his scarf whenever it's cold, of course

Making sure she's not overworking her bad wrist and giving little massages to that and her ankles when she's been doing a lot of jumps/movements that day, especially as they get older

His sketchbook is equally hers (even if she uses it far less often of course) and there's a few pages near the back designated for her to leave notes or doodles or whatever she wants when she's bored and/or he's not using it (he's very proud of how her drawing has improved)

Getting heavy duty enchanted blinds from Lux Aurea for her room so it can keep the sun out so she can sleep in / can give her room more of a twilight light quality so it can remind her of the Silvergrove (if she wants)

There are some meetings he can't get out of as crown prince but they're long and boring so he does his best to convince Rayla to go and spend her afternoon doing something she wants. (She usually stays for at least the first half anyway to support him and Ez)

Drawing memories and stories she tells him about her family and then giving her the pages so she can hold onto / remember them

Rayla still having a hard time articulating how she's feeling sometimes and getting upset/angry/embarrassed when it comes out wrong, so he takes her hand and gets her to take a steadying breath and start over with a gentle "Try again. What are you meaning to say?" if she says something obtuse/that comes out wrong

Ofc taking care of her when she's sick no matter how disgruntled or snotty she gets and reading to her quietly/stroking her hair until she falls asleep

Taking her to his favourite places in the castle/kingdom/Pentarchy for dates and private times to hang out alone, insisting on carrying their picnic basket because he's a Prince, Rayla, and chivalry isn't dead

Callum working very hard to learn traditional Moonshadow elf (no matter how much she teases him for his pronunciation) so he can use it to propose to her

[samobservessonic]

They might as well hit the ground running after a cover like that. The Kitching & Elson dream team is the right choice to bring us such an important milestone in StC as Porker quitting the team. We open with Porker’s decision and Sonic being angry about it, as would be expected. Porker isn’t one to start conflict, but his reason here is hardly a small one - after being trapped with an almost infinite number of time-travelling killer Sonic robots on an inescapable little planet for a month, Porker’s traumatised! And I don’t blame him! So yeah, Porker gets the badge of being one of the first Sonic comic characters to have PTSD. He can welcome Whisper the Wolf into that club in many years to come

But Sonic’s anger equally doesn’t come from a place of being unreasonable. He’s right that their small band of Freedom Fighters is one of the very few defences against Robotnik. And Porker isn’t just another number to bulk that up - he’s their tech guy. Sonic Adventure reestablishing Tails as the tech guy won’t hit StC until right at the end, so for now, Porker really is it (until Tekno comes along, but we haven’t got to her properly yet). Not only that, but Porker is one of Sonic’s close friends who he shared his backstory with early on. Out of all of the small animals, Porker is one of the two that Kitching picked out and went “These two are part of Sonic’s team”

I bring all of this up, because I don’t think either side deserves to be written off as either “Porker is just a wimp” or “Fleetway Sonic is a jerk”. There’s nuance here and I like that

Thankfully, Amy is here to defend Porker from Sonic’s accusations where Porker can’t defend himself. This is also kind of a turning point for Amy’s character, because while she’s always been headstrong in StC, previously it was more up to Johnny to be the voice of reason towards Sonic, since Amy was often still in fangirl mode. Here she is, voicing her feelings against Sonic’s opinion so she can protect a friend - it’s great character development all around

Johnny also defends Porker and the off-panel speech bubble in the top left is from Tails. They’re all sympathetic, but Sonic can’t handle that right now. This is all too big of a situation for him to gladly wave someone off

Oh hey, these guys are still here. But not for long, as we finally get an explanation as to what happened to Nack after last time - he’s been in prison, but now he’s out. There’s a footnote a bit further down that says we can check out this adventure in the upcoming Knuckles special. My loose plan atm is to cover that on the blog once the current Knuckles story wraps up

Imagine you’re just, like, the parking attendant robot and you stumble across the most-wanted criminal on the planet

Guess who’s the last line of defence to save the day!

Tails looks on, not knowing that one day this role will be his

It’s still a short story, however, so a quick dip of some wires in the puddles does the job. Plus, it’s never a bad time to teach kids that water conducts electricity. Well, I say “kids” but I still can’t convince my parents that taking electronics in the bath is a bad idea…

We cut ahead to the next morning and things are much more amiable between Sonic and Porker, as Sonic comes to see him off on his flight up to the Floating Island. It’s nice that they let this moment just be Sonic and Porker (And Tails over there). Either the others all knew that Sonic doesn’t like too many witnesses to mushy stuff or else they aren’t out of bed yet

Porker is soft and he knows it and Sonic doesn’t want to change him! Excuse me while I wipe these rivers of tears from my eyes…!

Tails is like “Well, maybe they don’t know I’m a genius yet, but they do know I can fly this plane, because I do it in the games”

And with that, Porker is gone from the main team, but certainly not gone from the book. This is the end of an era in StC - the first real shift in the Freedom Fighters since they were established as a proper team and not just the “Everyone in Emerald Hill is kind of in it for a while and then they're not” from the early issues. It’s the whole reason I went to the effort of buying a copy of this issue myself to try to get better scans. Because, I’ll be honest, if the issue with the dodgy scans had just been another badnik-of-the-week oneshot, I probably wouldn’t have bothered. But this felt important. We don’t get too many stories that are more focused on the characters’ feelings than on bashing the baddies and since Porker is one of my faves in StC, he deserved me to at least try to share this story as it was intended to be seen

[skyland2703]

Your Honest Opinion: Duo/Single aid characters that NEED their own series. And for added fun, pick ones for multiple ratings~

Honestly, yknow, it’d be super fun if all these characters just huddle up for one series.

Let’s say, there’s a Drakkon-from-Comics/Zedd-from-CF’s reign of terror. And our main rangers are all captured. Aka, anyone who’s had the grid bless em with powers… is gone.

So, now, you’ve got a bunch of their aids/allies, not so ranger people here. In a full 22 episode season. And the aim is to free the rangers + defeat main boss.

Marah and Kapri. The wind academy is stormed again, but only the rangers are taken. A lot of the students flee, but the girls stay back. The academy is now the base for this team of rangers. They use sensei’s help to broadcast a message.

First one to get the message is Andrew Heartford. But the asshole doesn’t like joining a team where he can’t keep control, hence, he just decides to send in Spencer to “keep watch.”

Fran receives this message on RJ’s computers, after panicking, realising none of the rangers are here, that they’ve all been taken.

SPD receives the alert, but since there’s no head of command ATM, it’s Birdy who’s incharge. He promptly decides to ignore the call— but Boom saw the message and decides that this needs him, and he sneaks away, taking Kat Manx’s gear WITH HIM.

Commander Shaw also receives the message, but acts better than Birdy. She sends Megan and Betty. Ben decides he’s gonna go along with Betty, because he’s not gonna let her go alone.

Once everyone is gathered, they decide to contact Bulk and Skull— for expertise, for experience, for mentor-ism… for leading them.

AND FINALLY, it’s cassidy fucking cornell, who covers them in news, realising that “OH HOLY SHIT ragtag team.” She and Devin tail the team all the while until they’re finally discovered… and given a chance to join.

Additional headcanons:

Fran cooks for everyone. Teaches everyone how to make pizza. And every single variation of pizza known to humans. Spencer finds about 90% of them A DISGRACE.

Spencer does the delicacies cooking. They have competitions. Finally, they learn to work together teaching each other appalling recipes UwU

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻KAPRI 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻LIKES👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻CASSIDY

Also Cassidy and Marah are played by the same actress, so double role yay! And they stare at each other for a reaaaaaaaally long time. It’s weird how they have an exact likeliness. They find it weird and creepy and Marah hates that HER SISTER. LIKES. her doppelgänger. How does that work.

Kapri assures it’s because of the bitchy personality. Marah finally decides to play protective sibling, giving Cassidy the side eye every chance she gets.

Boom blows up everything in the ninja academy. Devin likes joining in. KABOOM.

You can imagine Skull sitting on a chair, head in hands, as they all act around each other ridiculously. And just how often Bulk joins in on the shenanigans.

Guest appearance from Jarrod and Camille. Devin is drooling on the both of them.

Megan is the Asshole™️ of the team. And nobody likes her. But she eventually redeems herself.

I have more stuff in mind, but this already got too long so imma end it at this~ Feel free to add more :3

[jillsandwhichs]

Valenfield OneShots/AUs Collection, Chapter 12, Risky

Masterlist

Pairing: Jill Valentine & Chris Redfield

Summary: Chris and Jill have some special alone time in her office

Status of their relationship in this one shot: Dating

WC: 3.7k

Type: NSFW

Warnings: Imma be honest, I didn't write down the warnings when I did this. To guess, P in V, Dirty talk, Making out, Office sex, Semi public sex, Biting, No protection, He cums on her & more

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

Jill was on her laptop, typing up the final few sentences she needed for this analysis on her latest mission. If there was one thing she dreaded most about her job, it wouldn't even be the dangerous part, rather writing and typing for majority of the day. Luckily, it was getting later on in the day, considering it was around seven P.M currently, which just gave Jill more motivation to keep working so she could finally head back to her apartment.

The woman had her own personal office. It was miniscule but cozy, Jill loved the fact she got time to herself whilst working, it helped her keep a clearer headspace and you most definitely need one working this tank of a job. Her office was square shaped, just like any other stereotypical office you'd find. Her desk was all white, drawers stacked on the top of it, but leaving a decent amount of room for her extra knick knacks she needed for work.

It was overall hard to focus on her work right now, all she could think about was being able to go home. Jill is passionate about her line of work, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want a break, because she seriously does. Mental health breaks are important yet ever since she was young, she never necessarily prioritized her mental well being like she should. Her boyfriend, Chris, has definitely helped her with that though. He makes her want to be better.

"Fuck me..." Jill groaned out, rubbing her forehead, attempting to relieve the immense amount of stress she has been feeling. Jill was guilty of being a procrastinator. She would put work off and not touch it for a while, which is what causes her to have to sit through more meetings than usual, have more work to do and have to even stay back late to receive lectures from Clive, which when he's disappointed in a worker, oh, he'll most definitely make sure you know.

Overall, Jill doesn't wanna deal with that anymore, she wants to complete this course and just be done with all this work, and that starts tonight.

-

The woman had completed her analysis and was now typing up an email to Clive, letting him know of her accomplishment. Jill was inevitably getting more and more bored of typing, reading and scanning through all these documents. It was actually such a bore, but you reap what you sow, and Jill sowed his job. She literally helped form what the BSAA is today, it kind of gains her the authentic right to complain about it, or at least that's what she tells herself.

As she was finalizing the email, double checking for any spelling errors, there was a light knock at the door, before it then slowly creaked open, revealing a tall, bulk figure. Jill's eyes glanced up, capturing who was standing just before her. The door was only a couple feet in front of her desk, her office wasn't the largest. "Jeez baby, I didn't expect you to still be here." Jill exclaimed, placing her hand up on her chest as if you hold on for dear life. "Yeah, yeah, no, I wasn't going to be here this late, considering it's eight-thirty now but I wanted to see you before I left."

Chris and Jill worked together at the BSAA. While they technically aren't partners on missions, they always manage to weasel their way in to working with one another, which they both enjoy very much. "I'm glad, I was hoping I'd finish sooner but I literally now just finished my analysis... When did you do yours?" "Just about an hour ago, I've been with Jessica ever since, we went over last Mondays mission." Chris expressed, ambling to Jill's desk, twinking with her knick-knacks.

"I see... Let me just send this email and then we can talk, yeah?" Jill stated, aiming back down at her laptop and typing away. "Go ahead baby." Chris whispered, going back to fidgeting with the little stuff on her desk. Chris didn't have any at his but that's just for the best knowing he'd get distracted and mess with them twenty-four-seven.

The email she was sending wasn't too long nor too short. It was basically just her apologizing for never getting caught up and mostly focusing on hands on missions rather than the reports, analysis's and documents side of things, which is just as important. Jill just prefers the thrill of being out on a mission, it's just what she likes more. Ultimately, she sent the email, releasing a huge sigh and slumping in her chair before gandering back to Chris, smiling as she watched him fuck with her gadgets.

Soon, Chris caught onto the fact she was staring at him, it made him feel somewhat embarrassed, conveying him to convert the topic. "Are we staying at your place tonight? Or seperate? If you wanna be alone tonight, that's okay." Chris spoke, not wanting her to feel pressured. "We can stay at mine." Jill answered him, standing up after sitting down for so long felt great, her muscles stretched in all the right places.

"Yeah, sounds good." Chris spoke, putting the item down and letting his eyes advert to Jill, whom was heading towards him. "I don't know if I ever told you this but that shirt looks great on you babe." Jill complimented him. All he was wearing was a tight fit BSAA uniform shirt, it wasn't anything special. "Oh really?" Chris chuckled, watching as Jill stepped closer to him. "Yes." "Well, I'm glad you like it, but all it is, is my uniform." Chris stated, placing his hands on her lower waist, his hands resting just above her rear.

"It looks good on you though." She spoke again, her voice was awfully enticing. "You look good too, you always do." He replied. "I know." She said sarcastically, retrieving a laugh out of Chris. "Glad to see you're self aware sweetheart." Chris chortled, squeezing her hips firmly. Jill giggled and gandered her eyes up at him, their eyes locking as if the two were in a trance. "I love you." "I love you too baby." Chris whispered, moving his right hand up to her cheek and caressing it with ease.

"Did Jessica leave?" Jill asked aloud. "Yeah, why?" "Nothing, I just wanna make sure she won't come looking for you, you're mine for the rest of the night." She joked. "Yes ma'am." He replied with a tint of playfulness in his tone. Jill smiled to herself and leaned up towards his face, indicating she wanted to kiss him. Chris snorted and brought her face up to his, pressing his lips to hers and embracing the lovely feeling of their lips moving together.

Chris replaced his hands back onto her hips, turning her around and pushing her against her desk, causing it to shake for a moment, making her fidgets tip over. "Careful!" Jill laughed.

"Never." Chris teased her, going back to kissing her, the passion between the two was clear as day ; it's almost as if they were made for one another. Her hands rested on his lower stomach, his rock hard abs plundered through his shirt, which just so happened to be part of why Jill loves his uniform on him so much.

The way Jill's hands felt on his body was always beyond pleasant. Chris allowed her hands to roam wherever they pleased, he enjoyed the way she'd touch him, it was one of the best feelings in the world to him. "I love when you're like this." Chris muttered out, continuing to periodically kiss her. "I can't help myself..." Jill mumbled back, her fingers trailing as the end of his shirt, it intrigued Chris an insane amount.

Jill began to take off his shirt, it was somewhat hard though due to the tightness of it. Bit by bit, his torso was revealed to her, it honestly just aroused her even more. "You're so hot." Jill gawked, making Chris laugh. Seeing Jill vulnerable like this was rare and usually, it was only Chris who got to see her this way. He doesn't mind it though ; he loves it if anything, it's his sight to see and only his. "Says you." Chris snickered, gazing down at Jill.

After that, Jill fully removed his shirt, smirking at the sight. "Don't you think this is a little risky? We are at work honey." "I love me some adrenaline..." "Baby, seriously, what if we get caught?" Chris expressed his worry. "Babe, we won't, most people are gone and the others are either in their offices or outside, we're fine." "I'll take your word for it sweetheart." He sighed out, relaxing his nerves at her reassurance. She always knew how to calm him down in any situation.

Taking her cheek into his hand once more, he drew himself closer to her face, leaving loving kisses onto her lips, the moment felt so real and passionate, the two couldn't get enough of it, they relished in it. Chris slipped his hands down to the bottom of her shirt, lifting it above her head, revealing her dark blue bra, Chris couldn't help but get turned on further just by the sight. "You're amazing." Chris let out, latching his mouth onto her neck, leading to her releasing a soft, quiet noise, almost like a moan.

Throwing her head back slightly, Jill stood there, living for the feeling of Chris kissing and suckling on her throat. It was such an exlierating feeling, one that she's always cherished each time it happens. Her heart was pumping fast too ; the nerve wracking feeling that someone could knock on the door at any moment was flooding her mind. At the same time, it was adrenaline inducing, it felt good. "I love you." Jill whispered, tossing her head back even further. "I love you more, Jill." Chris replied, leaving hickeys all along her upper neck. "Oh you best hope those are visible by Monday..." "Let's pray hun." Chris snickered.

Releasing his threshold on her neck, Chris instantly went from that to picking her up swiftly and placing her to sit up straight on her desk, her body directly in front of him. "This is how we're gonna do it?" Jill giggled, placing her arms behind her to support her weight. "If you'd like." "Mhm." Jill mumbled in response, more than happy to take the position he put her in. "Do you have any condoms?" Chris questioned. "I don't... Can you just pull out?" Jill answered, moving her hands to be on his wrists. "I'll try." He cackled. "It'll be okay if you don't, I'll get the pill." Jill assured him, moving her hands to rest behind her again.

Luckily, Chris's pants weren't the ones he usually wears, these ones were much more casual and easier to slip off, especially since they were morely in a rush, not wanting anyone to come looking for them. He pulled down his pants, along with his underwear, revealing his erect length, Jill felt as if she could drool at the sight. "Take a picture, it'll last longer." Chris teased her. "I will." Jill said back to him, her tone sassy but in a attractive way, basically seductive.

His hands now shot to her leggings, pulling them all the way down from her waist to her feet, watched as she kicked them off from her ankles, leaving her in just her bra and panties. "Let's get these off." Chris spoke with concentration as he laughed, removing her panties haistly. "You always say that." Jill sneered. "Yeah, and? I mean it, I'm always quick to want you nude." "Of course." Jill giggled, gazing up at him.

Positioning himself right in front of her, Chris heaved as he stared at her gorgeous body, a warm pit was forming in his lower abdomen and his member only felt as though it was forming to become even harder - if that was even possible. "I'll never get enough of you." Chris admitted to her, taking in the view of her perfection. "Good." Jill whispered with a lustful voice. He snorted and grabbed his length, jerking it once or twice before aligning himself with her core. "Make sure you stay quiet baby." Chris ordered, wanting to be safe, no one needs to here what he's about to do to her.

Slowly but surely, Chris pushed himself inside of her, gasping to himself as he felt her immediately contract around him. It just went to show how much she had longed for him. "Fuck." Jill vocalized, biting her lip tightly, wanting to restraint herself from making any noise. "Shhh baby, be quiet for me." Chris demanded lovingly, moving his arms behind her and holding onto the desk. "I'm trying Chris." Jill pleaded, bundling her arms around his neck, holding onto him as he began to pump himself in and out of her.

As he pulled all the way out, Chris pushed back into her, going as deep as he could in this position. It felt so good, he was even trying to remain silent, Jill wasn't wrong, it's hard. His ass flexed as he pumped into her, making sure she felt him deep inside of her walls. "Oh my God..." Jill moaned out, once again throwing her head back, reveling in the intense feeling he was causing her to feel deep inside. "How are you so good at this..." Jill tittered, trying to maintain a soft tone, not to alert anyone in the HQ still. "It's all you baby." Chris responded, keeping the same decent pace.

Chris picked up the pace after a minute or so, he didn't immediately, allowing Jill to adjust to him inside of her. "Baby..." Jill whispered out, her head bouncing slightly from the movements of the desk, which she was still sat on. "Keep taking it." Chris muttered out, watching his length slip in and out of her, it was quite the sight to see and oddly enough, it turned him on even more. Jill's left arm was hanging off of one of his shoulders, her right hand resting on the table for stability.

Exhaling roughly, Chris began to slam into her at this rate, their skin slapping, Jill's moans and Chris's grunts were about the only sounds that could be heard within the room, sounds of a couple making intense love to each other, which the two loved to do together. "You're tight." Chris groaned out, tilting his head back and squinting his eyes, his mouth agap. He could feel his member twitching inside of her, her wetness coated his entire length, it was a sight he hungered for.

Tilting his head back to face her, Chris grunted as he pulled her closer to him, causing Jill to shriek at the sudden action. Their fronts were now pressed together, her breasts tucked into her bra were pressed up against his chest. "Surprised you haven't taken off my bra yet..." Jill soughed out, somehow being able to form words. Without saying anything back, Chris took his hand from behind the desk and to her back, unclipping her bra and groaning as he watched it fall off of her chest. "How about that?" Chris chuckled, taking his hand to her boob and fondling it, it felt so soft in his hand.

Jill gasped as Chris pounded even harder into her, the entire desk was now shaking and Jill actually feared it'd collapse beneath her. "Baby, baby, actually slow down, I can't have my desk breaking." "Heh, sorry hun." Chris laughed, slowing down somewhat but still keeping a pace that made them both weak in the best way possible. "Oh it feels really good..." Jill moaned out, her eyes locking with his. Her body felt as though it was floating as Chris stared back at her, he knew how to make her feel shy, even during special moments like these.

Ending the eye contact, Jill encased her arms around his torso, her nails digging into his back as he continued to move into her, sounds of pleasure emitting from both of them. Jill pressed her face into his shoulder, kissing it and biting down on it ever so gently, causing him to grunt at the pain, but it also felt great to him. "Fuck baby..." Chris groaned, his hands squeezing her waist as he thrusted into her unrelentlessly. "Oh..." Jill whimpered out, her voice cracking as she did so.

"You feel amazing." Chris expressed to her, admiring every aspect of her. Jill looked up at Chris, their faces inches apart. Chris smirked and kissed her, breathing in deeply as he did. Jill slipped her tongue alongside his upper lip, wanting entry into his mouth. He opened his mouth a bit, slipping his tongue to move with hers, their salvia mixing together. Their kisses were filled with complete love and care for each other - it was visible, just through their touches.

"You close?" Chris questioned, his mouth now near her ear. "Yes... Don't stop handsome." Jill pleaded, her hands resting on his back, her body shaking with ecstasy. "You're so beautiful, you know that? I love you Jill." Chris muttered out, pulling away from her, still pulling out and inside of her. "I love you so much." Jill said, her hands trailing up to his broad shoulders now, holding onto them firmly.

There was that familiar deep pit forming within Jill's stomach, she could even feel herself pulsing at the feeling of Chris railing her. "C'mon baby..." Chris grunted out, going extra fast now, wanting to finish himself and her off. Chris gripped her hips in his hands, pulling her into him as he pushed into her, making the experience feel even better and more pleasing. "Oh fuck..." Jill whined out, biting her lip to the point it turned into a faded white color, she was trying her best to keep herself quiet.

"That's it baby, you're okay." Chris spoke, he was talking her through it, he knows Jill likes it a lot whenever he does. He won't even lie, he likes when Jill does it to him too, but that's morely a rare occasion. Chris was absolutely enamored with the way Jill felt around him. She was perfect, every part of her, physically and mentally, she was just herself and Chris loved that so much about her. He basically idolized her, worshipped her. He cherished every bit of her well being.

The grip on her waist was still strong as ever, but he began to do deep, long, hard thrusts into her, indicating he was extremely close to finishing. "Just like that..." Jill expired out, her walls clenching around his member. Jill felt like she was going to explode at any given moment, she felt so alive, but that was also due to the fact they were fucking in her office at their literal workplace. "I'm about to finish baby..." Jill said aloud, her nails digging into her shoulder as if she was holding onto him for dear life.

When Chris heard her speak those words, he grabbed her chin, forcing her into look up at him and into his eyes. There was something about just her pretty face that could get him off ; he knew he'd finish alongside her if he just looked at her. She was ethereal. After he thrusted into her a few more times, she finally hit her peak, her back arched and her mouth opened wide, small vocal noises came out as she finished, her body was shaking too, it felt all too surreal.

Chris studied Jill's face as she finished, watching as she released her final moans and as her back arched from the immense pleasure he was giving to her. "My God..." Chris groaned out, pumping himself into her once more before instantly pulling out and releasing his cum all over her lower stomach, the warm liquid seeped down her body for a moment, there was a lot, Chris couldn't help but snicker at the sight.

"Jesus, that was good." Chris denoted, chuckling to himself. "Yeah, yeah it was." Jill sighed, breathing heavily as she stared down at her stomach, looking at his seed resting on it. "Grab me a rag baby, there are some in the cabinet over there..." Jill pointed over to the left side of her office, a few cabinets were lined up beside each other. "Okay sweetheart." Chris stated, walking over and opening one of the metal drawers, grabbing an old looking rag and treading back over to her, she was still looking adorable as she was sat on her work desk.

Taking the rag to her lower waistline, Chris began to wipe away his cum, not wanting to leave it on her. Chris felt so calm all of the sudden, as if their love making made it feel as though all of his problems were swept away into oblivion. He couldn't even describe the feeling - all he knew was that he was happy to be here, with Jill. "All better." Chris mumbled out, folding the rag and tossing it back over to the cabinets. "Thank you." "Of course babe."

"We should probably get dressed and head to my apartment." "Yeah, I agree, I'm exhausted now." Chris exclaimed, snorting to himself. "All guys are after sex." Jill teased, grabbing ahold of her clothing and putting it back on, along with Chris doing the same. It was moments like these that were so near and dear to them ; it's hard to live a romantic life whilst living your life to fight bioterrorism. Nonetheless, the two were just happy to get any amount of time together.

"I'll leave my car here overnight, let's just take your truck, okay?" Jill spoke, her tone timid. "Fine by me." Chris uttered out, adjusting his shirt to his form. The two tried their best to make it look as though they didn't just have some of the best sex of their life. "Let's go and act normal, yeah?" Jill giggled. "I'll try baby." Chris snickered, kissing her head before opening her office door, the two of them walking out and making their way to Chris's truck so they could finally go home.

[aristocratic-otter]

Hello all! I've been tagged on so many lovely things the last couple of weeks and, while I've been writing, it's just been one step to far to post with everything else I've got to do. But I've got time today, hooray! So first to thank all the lovely folk who keep tagging me even when I disappear:

@ivelovedhimthroughworse, @katmiscellanious, @prettygoododds, @messofthejess, @j-nipper-95, @rimeswithpurple, @aroace-genderfluid-sheep, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @wellbelesbian, @alleycat0306, @hushed-chorus, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @whatevertheweather, @ileadacharmedlife, @confused-bi-queer, @cutestkilla, @nightimedreamersghost, and @shrekgogurt.

On to the sentences!

From Westward Son:

“Mistress Penny!” he shouts. “My little brother is coming, and my mother wants your help!”

We all straighten. We’d thought Chapa was heavily pregnant months ago, but she’s only gotten more immense since. She’s had to ride in the wagon for the last two months, once her bulk meant she couldn’t keep up with the slow pace of the wagon train. Penny is certain that she’s carrying twins, given the size of her.

From my Age of Sail AU:

When I emerge onto the beach, blinking rapidly against the sunlight, the tide has gone out, and the rock spur our ship is hung up on is surrounded by prolly only a foot or so of water. 

“Ah, there you are, Simon lad,” Davy appears at my elbow, and I turn obediently to listen. “The tide’s low enough,” he tells me. “We’ll take the raft out an’ you and the Pitch boy can climb around the ship like the monkeys you are and retrieve anythin’ that’s of use.”

“Aye, sir,” I tell him. I’m bone tired, but we’ll need those barrels and boxes of goods on the ship if we’re to survive here.

From this year's COTTA: Snow Fox

Penny’s horse was done in from her wild ride to Snow Island, so she’s mounted up behind me, clinging to my waist, and Shepard is riding behind my second in command. Which would be fine were she not using her position to hiss angry rebukes in my ear. 

Finally, I’ve had enough. “Fine, I get it, Pen. I’m an arsehole! What can I do about it now?”

“Now?” she shouts back. “Now you can save my brother. Later? You’re going to train me, and Shepard, so that we can defend our family and make sure this never happens again!”

From To Heal A Broken Mind (final chapter!):

His head is tilted down, his hair loose and falling into his face. He tends to do that when he feels vulnerable, I’ve noticed. Like his hair is a mask that will protect him from a harsh world. It’s odd..I never used to think of Baz as someone who’d ever need or want protection. But I know better now, and I’m glad for it. Glad that he lets me see this side of himself. 

And From Saving Simon Snow

“Now grab Baz’s hand, Simon, and think about what I told you to,” she directs. Simon does. I do my best to clear my mind, though when Simon closes his eyes and concentrates, I can’t help but think about how erotic he looks, with his closed eyes turned towards the roof of the car, his lower lip sucked into his mouth, his forehead tense with concentration. Crowley, he looks like he’s in the midst of an orgasm! 

And that’s when I feel a surge of excitement, mixed with joy and incredulity. The feelings aren’t completely at odds with my own, but I still report them dutifully to Bunce.

Yes, only five WIPs! Except actually there's a secret project going on that I can't share yet...and CORB choosing starts soon...so, yeah.

Tag Backsies to everyone above for Wednesday, along with these folks:

@artsyunderstudy, @angelsfalling16, @bazzybelle, @bookish-bogwitch, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @fatalfangirl, @facewithoutheart, @ic3-que3n, @krisrix, @larkral, @letraspal, @moodandmist, @frjsti, @raenestee, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @theearlgreymage, @tea-brigade, @upuntil6am, @yellobb-old.

[popculturebuffet]

Mighty Morphin Power Rangers Boom! Retrospective: Issues 4 and 5: The Power Rangers Explode!

It's morphin time once again you happy ranger. TLDR iv'e been covering Boom Studio's Power Rangers for my good patron brotoman.exed in between transformers reviews. This will be the last for a while as I have Transformers One Next month, possibly Transformers: The Movie after, and Transformers: More than Meets the eye returns after. But the power will protect us again in 2025.

For now though we wrap up the round of mighty morphin with a giant cliffhanger and a flashback. And get used to those clliffhangers as Mighty Morphin, both during this run and when Ryan Parrot takes over tends to be one big continuous story. But rather than just.. do power rangers then get back to more than meets the eye in a few years, we're going back and forth so expect a lot of cliffhangers from both.

So to breifly recap for those just joining us, i'll collect the link to this arc in one post later, in an arc set in an alternate timeline where Mighty Morphin takes place in present day but green with evil still happened Tommy laser eyeing bulk and skull into a trashcan and all, Tommy is dealing with his ptsd in the shape of a rita ghost haunting him and hid it from everyone, while the real rita plots her hideous revenge using a mysterous black crystal powered by the green energy. As for everyone else Billy and Trini are hanging out and being good buds, Jason has doubts about tommy, Kimberly is thirsty as hell and Zack is

Constantly bitching about "WELL MAYBE TOMMY'S EVIL GUYS". And spoilers despite being called out on it he only gets worse in this one now he thinks he's been proven right. And on top of all of this, Rita has hyjacked the dragonzord and sent it the rangers way. And shit's only gonna get worse as we see how our heroes save the day only to still loose while we find out WHY Zack won't shut up.

So we begin the issue with the dragonzord having wrecked a cruise ship. There were some surivors but scorpina defintely just killed some people. Unless that boat was just haunted then the ghosts are fine.

Point is shit is bad as the dragonzord is headed for land and our heroes head to stop it.. minus tommy who Jason benches.. not unfarily given you know, the untreated ptsd he just confessed to and the fact the one strategy Tommy does have, telport into the cockpit, isn't available.

The rangers strategy after a badass looking half page of the zords

Such a cool panel. I've given this comic's art some crap but it's megazord art is incredible. So their solution is rather than you know, form the megazord since last time they fought the dragonzord it was on par with it they ... use their zords to drag it into the sea to hang out with godzilla and cthulu.

Rita is actually ready for this as she NEEDS the dragonzord to kill people so she has finster... send a bunch of generic shark monsters and make them grow because.. rita can do more than one at a time now?

Look i'm not the kind of nerd who goes nitpicking every minuta of a plot. I like to analize stuff yes, find deep meanings, character arcs, that sort of thing. I'll poke fun at stuff I don't like, i'll call it out but I try not to nitpick. There's stuff in power rangers like "Why don't they just call the zords right away", "why dosen't rita make her monster grow right away" i'm willing to handwave or can be explained in a more grounded take like this. This very comic , in the only issue i've read besides this arc pre-ryan parro, has a great issue we'll get to in a few years i'm sure that explains WHY Zordon picked 5 teenagers with atittude instead of experinced adults. I'm not saying it's not fun to try and fill said holes with your own theroes, but it's weird to mock a show with a pumpkin rapper. Some later power rangers series do deserve more praise and scruitny but mighty morphin is camp personified so it can get away with weird lore swings.

This series takes it seriously.. and thus really can't jus tsay "oh finster could always make more and didn't because shut up" I dont' mind saying he can do that.. but you have to explain HOW. Rita building a new dragon dagger made sense and they gave it the limit of being far more unstable. This is just plot convience and the comic just proved with said dagger twist it can do better.

So with Rita pulling out the cheat codes, our heroes are in a bind, angle grove's about to be attacked and Tommy is getting impatient.. and for the final time has a confrontation with his PTSD Ghost... and it's confirmed that I was right, I had genuinely forgotten but yeah.. PTSD Rita..is just that.

It's a great scene and pays off the PTSD Ghost rita well: doe sit mean all of Tommy's problems are solved? No. It isn't that easy and I don't think the comic is implying "oh well solving your PTSD is just as easy as confronting it". But it is right in that simply burying trauma.. dosen't fix it and from personal experince same with self loathing. The only way to deal with it is to face it head on. It's.. honestly inspired me a bit. I may not like this comic on the whole.. but it has it's moments of greatness.

So Tommy decides fuck it, he's going to ingnore jason's orde rand go to help. Zordon.. isn't so sure, partly because he knwos damn well this will rattle the stick firmly planted up Jason's ass, and partly because he's worried about the ptsd ghost. Granted Tommy could've given him more than "I'ts handled now", but what I like is this isn't Tommy trying to prove something entirely. This isn't a one side thing: Zordon is right this is going against his friend and commander and that's going to have consequences.. but Tommy's right that if he CAN save lives, he has to. No question.

So Tommy ports in directly on top of the dragon zord to try and control it proving Tommy Oliver being the biggest badass of any reality he's in is a multiversal constant. This gets him bucked off the thing but kim catches him in what I feel's also a sweet moment. While Sure Tommy could've just been winging it, given his next step it feels like he KNEW kim could catch him and tells jason he has a plan to just trust him. Jason reluctantly agrees and Tommy... well TOmmy tops himself

FUCK YES. The climax here is awesome as the rangers take down generic shark man while Tommy takes down scorpina. She does the normal villian bragging "It's too late" "our plans can't be stopped" and tommy just.. breaks her dagger stopping the zord while the rangers can this fish.

Back at the center though.. it's sadly not a happy ending. Jason at his limit with Tommy is pissed he defied him. Tommy does make a valid point: he wona nd had no hallucinations.. but he is being a bit of a dick basically saying "We won shut the fuck up" instead of being apologetic that he broke orders.. but still making his point. Still he does try to walk away, and while dickish it PROBABLY would'e solved things. The divide would've festered a bit... but cooling down and not biting each others heads off was the right call. Jason however.. just can't let it go saying we're not done. Which they arne't, Tommy is being a dick but as i've learned when your getting into a really heated fucking argument sometims it's best to take a break and circle back later. Don't ignore it, running away, as we established in this arc, dosen't help either, but the two of them bickering over whose right isn't going to help anyone. Unfortunately.. SOMEBODY DOSEN'T AGREEEEEEEEE

I will lay into this bitch in a second, but as a DIRECT RESULT OF HIS ACTIONS, Jason and Tommy resume their fight, Tommy is a petulant ass saying jason isn't a good leader, which apart from not adressing the zack thing better, isn't true, and Jason wonders if they really need 5 while Zordon begs his kids to stop fighting.. and as they prepare to throw hands.. the crystal is fully powered. The villians have won: the black dragon.l.. is awake and the comman dcenter explodes as Jason has the rangers put their helmets on and we meet the big bad this has all been building towards , the black dragon

Yeah while he is intimdating to a point... his deisgn is so damn generic and clashing with power rangers as a whole , like the other monsters it feels like a let down. We'll see if he gets better next year.

For now though... let's circle back to why this is Zack's fault and why i'm tired of his bullshit. Tommy was walking away. Tommy was a doucheballon, I havne't sugar coated it, but he was walking away.. ZACK is the one who grabbed him and ZACK is the one whose been doubting tommy, constnatly assuming he's evil, being a prized asshole. Jason's only leadership failing is not recognizing that and reining it in, telling Zack it's okay to have some doubts but to TRY or having the two talk it out. The last part's a bit understandable given how much has been going on, but Jason KNEW Zack was constantly being a dick to tommy, was saying shit behind his back, being passive agressive as fuck did nothing, and then ends up fighting his new friend because of that. Zack didn't START the fight, both tommy and jason share blame, tommy for his ego, jason for not accepting tommy made a good call and sometimes the rangers need to make a hard call by themselves. Being a team means both respecting your leader AND knowing when to break rank if it saves lives. On those two arguing it's well done: Tommy seroiusly rankled Jason by not telling him then disobeying while Tommy solving his issues dosen't solve his tendency to lash out, he just switched targets from himself to Zack, who deserved it and Jason, who didn't entirely.

But Zack's petty grudge against Tommy, his refusal to belelive tommy was a victim and not evil because of his own backstory, his own moment of weakness we'll get to caused it to escalate. It's fine to be wary, tommy was hiding serious hallucinations from everyone and his own doubts, and while he had reason to, he shoudl've been honest. Tommy did get cocky and did defy jason. But Zack isn't doing this because he's jason's friend he's doing this becauasse he WATNS tommy to be evil, wants to pick a fight with him and has ever since zordon recurited him. Billy and Trini have doubts, but genuinely tried to be welcoming: Billy apparently also put Tommy in their group notifications and Trini had that nice heart ot heart last issue. Kim is the most welcoming due to her crush but tried. Jason has clear doubts that explode here, but tried. Zack didn't give a fuck, was a petulant toddler and now the whole team is going to pay for his bullshit. The character gets way better under Ryan Parrot thankfully and will HOPEFULLY get some development from this debacle, but for this first Arc zack is easily the worst part: I don't mind having a ranger doubt tommy, but they take it WAY too far with Zack who spends the entire arc being a giant dick then caps it off by causing the next one. Fuck.. this.. dude.

Now I will say this last issue of the arc proper.. is pretty damn good. The conflict that ultimately leads to the bad guys winning is well built up and I like it more on this read through: Jason has shown to be way too far up his own ass in trying to be leader, and Tommy has shown to have a loner streak, so both's actions, Jason taking Tommy's last ditch move personally and Tommy being a spiteful dick and then getting utterly pissed Jason keeps having Zack's back all feel natural. Zack still sucks, the three sharks thing makes no sense.. but the rest of the issue IS pretty great and does give me hope when we get back to power rangers, i'll enjoy it more. That Higgins simply needed time to sort things out or was building his story slowly.

This first arc.. still has issues but their more structural: boom shoudl've just started from scratch instead of trying to dance between the raindrops of ranger history, though it does a decent job of it and would sustain 100 issues, so it worked out in the end, but I still feel the fresh start their doing now is a good call. Let them use the wide canvas instead of just the most profitable one. But it's not as bad as I remembered.. which I know, it's faint praise, but there's a lot more good character work than I remembered: Zack aside, the other rangers all feel like distinct well built indviduals building their sterotypes from the show out into something: Jason is a scott summers style leader, good at what he does tactically, carring for his men, but also with a tendency to expect military precision and obdience when that's just not always fesable. Kimberly is sassy, won't hestiate to confront her friends on their shit, but warm and kind. Trini is the team's heart, helping both billy and tommy with their self doubt issues and wanting to help the world as a whole. And Billy is the brains but is self concious, knowing he's the only one in the team whose not a trained martial artist or gymnist. Zack is an ass but at the bare minimum the next issue gives us context for that, showing he has a deep well of resentment and is quick to anger. It's not good still, and I hope the character grows and I prefer Ryan Parrot's take, but I appricate fleshing these 6 teenagers with attitude out as people. I've been hard on this book and might be again, but I respect what it does right and hope it fixes what it does wrong.

So onto our last issue. It's a flashback that takes place one month before Tommy arrived. The prime minister of italy is speaking out against Rita.

Now THIS... this is really neat. I like this idea: that while yes Rita tends to target one american town's abandoned warehouse district constantly, other countries probably WOULD have throughts on giant fucking monsters being real. Honestly it woul'dve been neat if we saw how other countries responded, maybe saw some try to make their own rangers, though that last part at least DOES get used much later in the continuity. But this little snippet is still fun as is Rita's response. After sending more generic monsters with no real creativity previously we FINALLY get a goodun.

That my friends is leonado da vinchi's vitruvian man, which I and you likely know better as this

See THIS is the kinda camp we were missing. I'm not asking the monster break tension, but i'm asking for some creativity. Just throwing a generic monster or a shark, and I love me some sharks, at the rangers is boring and you could do better. now throwing a fucking da vinci design at them spouting out generic quotes Squatt and Baboo got off the internet as it attacks italy with twin swords and a crossbow. Fuck yes. And it's still intimdating. Rome is still in deadly danger and this thing still comes off dangerous. But you can have fun and make a threat for your heroes. It's what I love about superheroes; you can have dark gritty stories dealing with police shooting a masked criminal they unleahsed to cover their tracks and getting away with it or a ghostly highway man who hates the poor who has to be defeated by batman using a magic ritual with alfred's help. BOTH of those are plots from the recent series Batman Caped Crusader, which slaps by the way, and both work swimingly. Even in a moody work you can have camp and when your heroes are the power rangers.. it's kinda demanded. It's why I hope while this new reboot seems serious it still has some fun with it.

Our heroes head to italy to fight the giant naked man.The finish is also awesome. The Vitruvian man is about ot kill the prime minister so jason leaps out of the cock pit, also a nice parallel to tommy leaping in last issue, and fucking stabs the bitch. Tommy may be the supreme badass of all power rangers universes, but Jason is easily #2. Carter Grayson is #3 of course.

Zack also gets a moment of triumph out of this, piloting the zord, and I like the touch that it's shown doing so isn't easy, it requires them all working in concert and thus zack filling in for both himself an djason with a killer swipe is impressive. Sadly.. he gets no credit and stews a bit as Jason did the flashier heroics.

So as Goldar admits they already have a sequel in the works, Rita decides nah... she notices Zack's quiet stewing.. and has an idea. So the next afternoon Zack is kidnapped by putties and brought to fog machine dimension from Green with Evil. Rita is being nice.. which can't be good and it's not: She tries to play zack admitting she only did so because he wouldn't likely come to hear her out willingly and wants to show him her place. Which is creepy given she's a grown ass woman and he's a teen, but I feel the predator vibes are intetnional without overplaying them or making them actual text.

Zack to his credit.. dosen't buy her sales pitch that she's misunderstood, the world would be better than her and Goldar's entirley bs claim she didn't start growing monsters until Zordon pulled out zords. Especially since... most rangers are linked to some set of Zords. While zordon didn't build his, most ranger teams are both some sort of ancient force and have zords attached from the get go or linked to them in some way. I mean there are wild ones from wild force wondering the world at this point. So Rita, especially since they fought before, KNEW Zordon had them and Zordon knew she could lkely make them grow. it was an even repsonse and Zack figured it out without any of that evidence.

Rita does try to make a good pitch: that yeah she wants to conquer the world.. but to make it better. Is it really that good without her? It's a great sequence too as she tempts him, shwoing a vision of him and the green ranger. She even sympathizes: she knows what it's like to be an underated second in command, a nod to Zed before he properly debuts after the time skip and something I like: while working in the confines of the original show limits the series slightly... it also means they have the whole map: everything that will happen and things they never built up to because the show was only lightly seralized: having strong continuity but only occasional story arcs before season 3. They ddin't plan for zed, master vile or rito. But they can hint at that, hint at dark specter or other future events and other rangers.

Zack things about it and decides.. nope. not going to betray his friends and tries to yoink the dragon coin away. Zack does go straight to Zordon which explains why the others didn't know during green with evil. I'ts also why again I wish they'd adapte dit: it would've been a decent starting point and while most fans know it, ther'es a lot you could do to deepen the character and stakes. Still it works:W hile Zordon is midlly stupid for not telling them about the power coin.. it makes sense he'd be careful.. and is also being respectful knowing Zack's probably ashamed they came to him. Zack in turn is honest: he WAS tempeted by the power and the good it could do for the world, and Zordon assures him, as a good mentor should that he's only human: of course he considered it, what matters is he didn't and zack honestly wants to DO more, again setting up the peace confrence that'll never happen here. And Zordon to his credit agrees they should, he just has to think it over. Unintended consequences and all that.

So I do like this explination: that zack was offered the coin, reseted and thus resents tommy as he probably assumes he wasn't so easy and is projecting his own insecurties about nearly saying yes. It dosen't fix things: Zack is still a giant ass even with that explination as he's projecting all his bullshit on tommy instead of empathizing with him and using this incident to help assure his new teaamate. Zack still sucks.. but this does show the potetial for the character when given some more depth and that he could be fleshed out well if given the chance.

It ends sweetly though... Zack goes to meet the others who welcome him and praise him for what he did, making it clear their a team... Jason may of gotten the glory but they needed each other. A shame neither jason nor Zack remembered this lesson, but it's some good irony. We also end on another om inous hook, the black dragon talking to rita saying the green ranger will fail.. and when he does.. he'll be waiting as Rita plans to grab tommy.

So now for Bulk and Skull which to my delight is not ending after 6 issues. We pick up from last time as trini and Kim despatch the putty.. as they shoudl've. Like again your martial artists, it's fesable. But they use baskeptball. and spot bulk used some of the same streamers on the putty as he did on himself, so not only are the girls pissed.. but our heroes.. get arrested.

We gloss over Bulk and Skull go to jail sadly, but it's compesnated for by something truly awesome I forgot happened a sthis was the last issue I read monthly before giving up. (I also tried the trade later and thus didn't even get this far). So the judge sentences our heroes to 1993 hours of community service, a bit excessive.. but also a fair punishment given their jackassery would've gotten someone who wasn't a power ranger hurt bad and I like said judge, the principal's brother, 's logic: thedy want to be heroes, they get an actual shot at it. And their officer monitoring this? LT STONE

For those who forgot him, Lt Stone was Bulk and Skull's boss in season 3. Our heroes joined the junior police to meet women, and Stone thus served as their straight man. Stone would actually last a shockingly long time, being their boss still in Zeo and running a juice bar in turbo for some reason. So it's a neat way to get him in early, with Bulk still afraid of him this early, clearly havnig met him before. It's a fun way to bring in a character from later that makes perfect sense and frankly our heroes having a straight man does help their comedy. They work fine without one, but with the rangers kinda busy unless your giving them a bigger story, putting stone against them is great.

So that's MMPR for now. We'll be back I assume next year for more, and i'll see if it improves. For now may the power protect you and thanks for reading.

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 195 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: mowing the lawn.

I heard this episode (and MAG 198) have been perceived as fillers. But while it feels like the final stretch  has already begun 3 episodes or so ago, there's still 5 episodes left and there have been episodes after cliff hangers, which had nothing to do with the cliff hanger before. Especially in S3 when we bounced back and forth between Jon and the Archives. But I understand that this can feel tedious when you already had to wait an entire week for the new episode and then it’s not resolving anything yet.

[EXTENDED SOUNDS OF TIRED ROWING] Lol...

JON: "The one time I’m on my own, and it’s a domain where –" What? Where your boyfriend could finally show off his rowing arms?

I have a friend who has serious thalassophobia. Needless to say, she did not enjoy this statement xD Especially when the leviathan thing showed up, before that she thought she could stomach it pretty well. I think I have already spoken about her in my a mag a day posts, she sends me spider stuff and I send her thalassophobia stuff, perfectly balanced.

"An icy, liquid chill that surrounds you, embraces you, pierces every inch of your naked gooseflesh skin with its needling touch, and gets inside your bones" I know, after 195 episodes this is a bit late to point out, but anyone else got the feeling Jonny likes the word "bones"?

"You can feel its titanic bulk moving past, just below you. Or perhaps above. It almost brushes against you and, despite the pressure of the water all around you, you cannot fight the frantic instinct to run." I find the idea of huge monsters in the water particularly fascinating! I always had a soft spot for creature features!

"There is nothing else. No boat to save you, no land to make your escape, not even another lost soul who shares your torments." I do think the idea of being lost in open water is horrifying. But I don't live near the sea, I don't go on boat rides in waters so vast that there are stretches where I can't see land no matter which direction I turn. So it's something I'm not particularly worried about. (I do like kayaking on lakes though^^)

"You choke it down, and slip once again below the surface. Into the concealing darkness of the freezing waters below, and you leave behind the nothing that waits above." TW Suicide .......I don't know if I already mentioned this in one of my earlier a mag a day posts, but I know people who worked on a submarine or on boats (divers cleaning the underside). The actual recommendation when getting lost in the water is to dive down and take a big breath, basically killing yourself. That is super scary...

JON: "Well, not quite nothing. Not for me." Awww!

BASIRA: "Thanks." JON: "Oh, uh, you’re welcome?" BASIRA: "What?" JON: "No-Nothing. I-I just… I was worried you might be upset if I interrupted your whole ‘solo reflection’ thing." BASIRA: "It’s fine. I mean, I would have at first but… honestly? There are a bunch more hells between me and London than I thought." [JON KINDA CHUCKLES] BASIRA: "I’ve been hoping for a friendly face for a while now." Oh, how the turns have tabled! Seriously though, it does make sense that Basira underwent some changes. She had quite some time alone to process.

JON: "Annabelle Cane has Martin." BASIRA: "Shit." I love how everybody immediately gets that this is serious for Jon.

BASIRA: "Can you, y’know, ‘see’ him?" JON: "No. A-Annabelle has a – Sh-She can block The Eye. There’s a, a camera. It’s an artefact that was protecting Salesa’s – Right. So, um, shortly after we left you we found –" BASIRA: "Magic camera that keeps them hidden. Got it." Ahhhhaha, I do this as well. I go above and beyond when trying to summarize stuff. I can't help it, I think certain details can’t be left out to understand the subject unmistakably. And then there are people who can just put it together in one sentence xD

BASIRA: "So I’m guessing it represents academic isolation or something? Maybe something to do with ‘the dangerous unknown’, skimming to the surface, that kind of thing?" JON: [Weary] "Maybe it just represents the feeling of sore arms." Lol, Basira theorizing about the domains like we do. And there's Jon, who's just tired of it all and especially tired from rowing xD Kind of reminds me of art school. When someone went immensely into detail why the color blue was chosen and what it represents and what is the deeper meaning of it etc. And then someone comes along and is just "Maybe the artist just likes blue?" xD

JON: "I’d be more than happy to let you take over, if you’d like?" BASIRA: "No, I wouldn’t want to cramp your style." JON: "At this point, that’s just about the only part of me that isn’t cramping." BASIRA: "Alright, give ‘em here." God I love humor like this! Basira probably gets them in no time across the lake now, having been with the police and defending the Archives probably makes her a lot more fit than cellar dweller Jon with his stick figure arms.

JON: "Well, hopefully this one will go a bit better." BASIRA: "Would be hard for it to go worse." OMG, can people pls stop jinxing it, you're fictional characters, you can't say that! xD

BASIRA: "So does this mean there are others?" JON: "What do you mean?" BASIRA: "Like, they can’t be the only ones like that, right? Maybe there are other people out there, naturally immune, wandering around or hunkered down?" JON: "Uh, maybe. I mean, probably. But, y’know, well, I can’t see them, can I?" I know there are people who think the gang should have waited longer with their decision. Looking for other artefacts, other people who are immune. Trying to find a solution circling around their existence. So, basically this was the only time this got mentioned, right? I don't think it comes up in MAG 198 anymore. So it's dismissed as "I can't find them anyway and if they want to stay hidden, they most likely will."

BASIRA: "Honestly, it’s kind of a relief. How did Melanie take it?" JON: "Melanie?" BASIRA: "Yeah. She and… She and Helen were pretty tight back when, uh…" Of course Helen latched onto Melanie, subtly nudging her more and more towards the Slaughter.

BASIRA: “So anyway, run this by me again, they’re like a proper cult, cult?” JON: "Ish. They all seemed fairly normal given the circumstances. Bit of a let-down in some ways." Excuse me Jon, you have heard Arun's poem! They are hope and good and holy and hope!

BASIRA: "Must have been funny though –" [STATIC CRACKLE AS THEY PASS THROUGH AN UNSEEN DIVIDER] [FOOTSTEPS ARE NOW ON PAVED GROUND AND BIRDS ARE TWEETING IN OXFORD] BASIRA: "Huh. Hang on, is that – ? That’s the real sun isn’t it?" Actually I just realized... If the sun can be seen from Earth, than this whole affair probably isn't stretching far into space. If there's a moon visible at night it doesn't even reach that far! Because I don't think the effect of the camera stretches upwards infinitely like a Eye-repellent column (or downwards for that matter or is the world actually flat now?). A spherical area of effect would make a lot more sense. It feels a bit weird considering the whole thing about altering the fabric of reality and such, but stopping beyond the stratosphere. (Like Weirdmageddon only affected Gravity Falls! Was there ever an explanation for this? I can’t remember...)

The episode ending on "Mr. Spider wants more" sure is something! Jon will finally knock on the Spider's door. And this time he even does it willingly! More or less.

@a-mag-a-day

[bobaheadshark]

Nashuri - Roses

A nashuri drabble, based on the word prompt: roses

(i.e. due to some grief going on in my personal life, i’ve had five weeks worth or more of writer’s block, and this was what I could manage)

Rated: G/T

————————

“Roses really smell like pooh-pooh ooh…” Shuri sings, very off key.

“This does not make sense. ‘Down to Mars’ girl. Mars is above us. We cannot be down to Mars, when mars is in constant orbit above our planet.”

“It’s just a song, Namor.”

“Yes, a very catchy song. A, how do you say it in your age, a banger-bop.”

“That is not how we say it, but okay.”

OutKast keep singing about leaning a bit closer, and it’s two in the morning, the lab is a little cold because of the delicate cores and material they’re working with, and Namor is obviously grumpy because he hasn’t eaten anything in hours, but Shuri thinks for the first time in a long time she might, possibly, be having fun.

The Vibranium power cell hovers on its tiny dias, glowing blue and purple, even more compact and efficient than when they first started working on it. Two kingdoms, sharing expertise, working for something greater than themselves.

And nobody said sharing expertise couldn’t be fun.

Shuri sways gently along to the song. Namor puts up a front of not being enthused, but he’s tapping one foot perfectly in time with the beat. Shuri finds herself wanting to engage him, has the mad impulse to even take his hands and boogie along, so she stops herself by dancing a respectful distance away.

“Had a lot of time to ponder songs while you were underwater, eh?”

“I got a gramophone right when it came out.”

She’s sure he didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so defensive. It makes the corners of her mouth quirk up, despite herself.

“You are so funny.”

“I keep up with the trends.”

“Okay, boomer.”

“Shuri,” he says, warningly. With as much bite as a sunfish would a sea snail.

In one over enthused move, Shuri bumps the side of the lab table, knocking a vibranium core slightly off balance. It’s in no danger of actually falling off, since Griot is programmed to follow her movement and constantly nanobots are at the ready to form a protective net.

But Namor lunges anyway. Half of his body ends up knocked into hers, one arm outstretched to catch the rock where it would’ve fallen, and logically, exploded.

The lab goes into darkness. The song, silenced.

The muscled bulk of Namor’s shoulder is hard against her lab coat, his bicep like a tree branch where she’s ended up tangled up against him, lifted up on her toes where he is pushed upwards. He seems partially caught in an attempt to push her away from danger, and half to take the brunt of the impact where the core would’ve detonated on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Shuri asks, blinking spots out of her eyes. She hadn’t even realised how bright it was.

“Helping you.”

“I was fine.” She swallows the lump in her throat. Tilts her chin at a display panel, glowing softly in the distance. “Built in failsafes.”

“I know.”

Neither of them moves. She thinks they probably should.

The lights stay low. The vibranium core stains the world blue.

She can feel him breathing; remembers the lightning fast way he crossed the room to her, even though her reflexes are just as fast as his, even though she has her panther habit on, even though she’s done this a thousand times before.

Shuri stretches an arm out gingerly, and plucks the core back from his hand to put on the table. He pulls slightly away and stands straight. He doesn’t avert his eyes, or anything like that. He just looks at her, and waits.

The moment stretches out too long between them. He’s close enough she can see the uneven direction that his beard is trimmed, with so many hours they’ve spent up here.

She leans in, and he does too, mouth parted like he wants to share a secret. But she bails at the last minute, acting like she wanted to move the vibranium piece back to safety.

“Griot, resume song.”

The beat comes back on, and the lab with it. Namor blinks once, then twice, understanding her meaning.

(And what is my meaning? Shuri asks herself. Half fearing the answer.)

Neither of them says anything, falling back into careful syncopation as they fuss with the nano batteries. There is only the sound of music in her lab and the careful hush of quiet work. The smell of molten silver and something aquatic from him that she can’t place, like open sky and dark water.

As he holds a piece in place for her to solder a component tight, she thinks to herself that maybe she didn’t make it up in her head.

That he once told her about the chucum blossom and the tortoise shell; and maybe he wasn’t really joking, when he called her something like a smoking star.

What does that mean? She’d asked.

Precious beyond compare. He’d said back, with the wealth of an entire world in his eyes.

———————

Last few lines are, afaik, from flower song, an Ancient Mayan poem

[itwasanangryinch]

I am never coming out again

Lots of queer people consider coming out to be a never ending process. An endless saga of informing new people or reminding old ones of who you fundamentally are. Well. Not who you fundamentally are, but to tell them information that will fundamentally change how they see you. That the world as a whole has an acceptable base standard and that your being is a deviation of that.

I reject that premise.

I’m nearly 30. I have green eyes. My hair is originally brown, but has quite a few red highlights when left out in the sun. Lately, I’ve been bleaching it blonder. Keeping it un “toned.”

I like the brassiness.

Matches my personality better.

Starting a new job in the Midwest as a queer person is always a challenge. Even when you’re attached to a mid-sized city, there’s still a 50/50 chance that you’re talking to a bigot.

50/50 is still considered relatively good odds compared to “some places.”

You join a retail store, cos on paper that’s all you’re qualified for. You like the store director, he’s nice but always seems harried. He respects you, even when you’re a little awkward. Both he and the assistant store manager think that you could go far with the company.

A company that wasn’t even in your top 10 ideal places to work, just close to your house.

Before you know it, you’re low-key planning a career there.

Five months in, that store director is transferred. Twelve years in one store. Been with it almost since it’s opened and been with the company for nearly twenty years. But regional thinks that it’s time for a management shakeup.

Before even meeting the new guy, you’re looking at transferring.

A month after, the assistant store managers also shuffle stores at regional’s insistence.

I’ve always been... different. Never quite fitting in all the way. Like a puzzle piece with a false common edge. Seems like it should fit lots of places, but when you really look at it, it never quite does.

Must be why ‘queer’ resonates so much deeper than an ever expanding bulk acronym.

Because it doesn’t matter how far it expands or how many people it’s looking to include, you’re never quite sure that this is where you belong either.

It takes two months to properly meet the new guy. He’s been with the company so long that he’s on vacation for almost that entire time. He brags about ten stores in fourteen years as a store director and fanciest himself the company's fixer.

The longest conversation you have in three months is regarding an already-approved vacation request that he readily admits he didn’t really look at. He asks if you can delay your trip by a day to accommodate a newly released schedule. For a job where you’re making $10/hr. You tell him that you’ve paid $1200 just for the flight. You’re prepared to give notice.

It’s not about the money.

Australia is beautiful. Life changing in so many ways. But when you come back, one of your work friends tells you you can’t be out at this store. Not any longer. It’s no longer safe.

You had been slowly working your way towards a workplace public transition and getting yourself comfortable with your new name and correcting people when they make the wrong assumptions about you. Getting up the nerve for that comes after.

You still stay at that job longer than you should. Burning yourself out for a job you hate more and more  each day with the new ASM acting openly hostile because you no longer will accept being misgendered by her. Or by guests.

Your worst experience with a customer is a woman who refuses to show an ID for a financial transaction. She demands a manager and you call over one of your friends. The angry woman tells your friend that “he...she --IT-- won’t put money on my father’s card.”

All your friend can say to the woman is that she’s “so sorry.”

And she stammers it over and over again to the woman while she complains about a rule put in place to protect the father she allegedly cares so much about. Later she gives a half-assed apology and allows for an extra fifteen minute break so you don’t leave her by herself to close the store.

I am almost 30 and officially I’ve “come out” twice. Once as bisexual and once as transgender. I consider both of those times to be the relatively perfunctory notices to my parents.

I live in a place where half the population openly hates me for what I fundamentally am. Where I get unsolicited comments on my body from cab drivers and colleagues. Do tits affect how well I take pictures now?

Does my mostly passing face and voice paired with an often not-passing body suggest to you that I’m open to casual sex? Or an offer to help you with my language and culture if you teach me yours inherently invite a too-lingering hug?

One where you won’t release and I begin to panic having already confirmed with Uber the end of the ride while you drive around the block to help me find my rented front door?

I’m turning 30 and I’m no longer coming out for your benefit. If you assume that I’m straight, that’s your problem. If you insist that I’m cis, that’s on you.

I came out for the last time seven years ago and there won’t be another “coming out.” It will be a piece of information you’re informed of. A fact about me like my green eyes and brassy hair. But what it will never be is another coming out.

Frankly, the world at large is not important enough to merit one.

[winters-mistress]

Sleep, sweet girl.

"Geralt." Ciri's voice jolts him out of his thoughts. He inhales deeply, the cold air that makes his lungs ache in the way that reminded him of his home. His nose is numb, his cheeks too, but it doesn't bother him in the way it does his companions.

Jasker is shivering loudly, bundled up in gawdy reds and purples and furs, his human shape gone. He looks like a lump with how much he's bundled up, and if it were under any other circumstances, Geralt may have been amused by the bard's appearance. Not this one however, for the witcher only checks that the human is still breathing and the brown pony is still taking the weight of the wolly bard and his multitude of bags without struggle.

Yennefer is silent upon her sleek black mare she'd taken from a recent winter market they'd passed by, claiming Jaskier's perfume irritated her. Her black curls are hidden by the purple cloak, white skirts a stark contrast between the two colours. She sits tall and proud, chin high as it always was. He takes a few moments to harden his resolve against her, remembering what had happened in mid winter.

He looks down at his little girl, who sits in front of him on Not-Roach. Instead of facing the snow covered mountains, she faces his chest, big green eyes shining as she looks up at him.

Their position is a trick of his he had found when the two of them went on the first few hunting expeditions together. After Yennefer's mess, Geralt had been eager to put distance between she and the girl, and with supplies destroyed and reserected-witcher mouths to feed, what better way to fix these issues than with hunting?

It had worked, they ate well, but Cirilla had been plagued with nightmares in the second and third nights they had been out. Knowing his girl was exhausted, he had suggested that Ciri's white stallion that Vesemir had gifted her take the carcasses while she hops on with him to rest her eyes for a moment. It had worked like a charm, his girl sleeping soundlessly from the mouth of the Noire Valley right til the gates of Kaer Morhen.

She's small enough, and his cloak is big enough, that if she pulls her legs up and shuffles a bit closer, that the girl seems to disappear into the bulk of the witcher. That suits him just fine, knowing that human -even one as powerful and mysterious and probably elven as she was- teenage girls were fragile and needed to be kept warm, and he ran warmest of all his kin. He could keep her warm, and keep her safe. That was his purpose in life.

Now, however, winter was over, for the most part, which meant that the witchers vacated their home, ready to hunt the beasts awakening in their lairs. Not him, though, his duty is to Cirilla, to take her further north where nobody can find her. Even if that means taking her to destitute lands where the only comfort is a ratty old blanket, than so be it.

He says nothing, just looks down at her.

"'M tired." She mumbles, resting her head against his chest and neck.

He smiles through one side of his mouth, perfectly aware of the two pairs of bright eyes staring at him.

"Then sleep, sweet girl." He mutters. "I'll keep you safe."

Ciri settles, her body growing heavy, and she slumps into sleep. They've been riding slowly all morning, the gate of the new horse soothing as much as it was a relief to the horse himself.

"Is she asleep?" Yennefer asks. Geralt tenses, the arm he was wrapping against the girl hidden in his cloak tightening. He will not ever forget what Yennefer had done to her, what she had taken from her, all in selfish pursuits of pleasure and entitlement.

"Yes." His voice is sharp. Yennefer blinks, licking her lips. "She needs to rest."

"So, where are we going, Papa bear?" Jaskier asks, popping his face out from his cocoon of warmth.

"North." At the bard's wine of protest, he continues on. "Colder, still, yes, but it'll be safe. Yarpen told me of a safe house when we were together, we'll take her there." He decides. "Train her, protect her, then see how the world has changed in its pursuit."

"You're good with her." Jaskier says quietly.

Geralt humms, looking down at the small lump that he wouldn't know he was looking for unless he knew to look for it.

Jaskier smiles, he knows what that grunt means. The old, crotchety dog was going soft, after all.