#lifestyle of an almost 20 year old girl | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gutterfuuck · 8 months ago

Note

bro bro hear me out

you’re like the only mark writer out there so i NEED THIS TO HAPPEN PLS.

frat boy mark x sorority girl reader.

PLLLLLEAAAAAAAASEEEEEEEEEEE.

enough — !

this idea was so good, i had to start writing before i lost my mind and forgot!! you are such genius. this is probably a little off topic(?) as what you were thinking!! sorry if it is not what you expected, however, i will be using this idea in future so if you do not enjoy this, i will be writing another that is more enjoyable to you!! (with credit to you of course as the original anon!!) the frat name is an abbreviation because i couldn’t come up with one 😭😭

cw: reader is like 2 years older than mark? idk they’re both in their 20s, no superheroes/abilities au!!, william is in here for a bit i love william #williamforpresident2024, alcohol, typical college frat/sorority type parties, the start is quite long sorry i got carried away 😭, dubcon(?), reader is a bitch lowkey, mark gets mean, smut, headlock, piv, degradation, mark gets really mean ouh, creampie hehe, typical sparkie fic it’s evil and hiding under your bed like the babadook or something, aftercare at the end cuz i got soft

a/n: i was supposed to release this yesterday night though have had to edit and spellcheck this myself!! i am quite proud as this is probably the longest fic i have written without any editing from my friend!! if you notice small mistakes no you didn’t

he’s had it with you.

it’s only been a few months since he’s started college and he’s already way behind everyone else. you didn’t have a care in the world, you’d already completed college!! yet you still stay in your old dorm room, bunking with someone who had gotten lucky and left without a roommate, you payed whatever rent you felt like. you just enjoyed the college scenery, the lifestyle, you never wanted it to end… most of all, you loved your sorority. you were well aware that you might’ve looked a little bit like a loser, still hanging out with the sorority with ever changing members. you didn’t care, you were practically in charge, their leader - the queen bee. and that’s what got on his nerves.

you see, you’ve been handed life on a silver platter. a sweet 16th birthday party with a car bought just for you, spoiled absolutely rotten. mark couldn’t really talk, but at least his family came from humble beginnings, you’ve always had your money and status. you’ve always gotten what you want, even if you had to play the long game. the long, hard, boring game... which people could only stand for five minutes or less, what with your constant whining sounds and your foot stomping on the ground, pouting with your arms crossed over your chest. whatever you wanted, people just gave to you. handed themselves on a silver platter… not him. never him.

mark had a love-hate relationship with you. on one hand, you were hot, stunning… he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about you some nights, just like the other guys he hung around with.. on the other hand, you were nothing but a spoiled brat. he remembered the first time you’d come bolting at him as he stood at the doorstep of your sorority house, confusing it with the other one he’d supposed to have showed up at on his first day. you threw your arms around him as your head pounded from last night’s heavy drinking, your only sober thought being “i hope the other girls don’t get to him first.”

“fresh meat huhhh… i *hic* always like the newer ones… you like to party..?” you ask, swaying around with your arm around his like you’d known him for years let alone five seconds. mark tensed, expression shifting to slight annoyance as you almost crumpled over, dragging you back up by your shoulder gently. “no. do you know where house 242 is?” you pout at him, wavy finger pressing to his cheek and wobbling a line down his face before he smacked your hand away, tutting at you and looking around the front porch of your sorority house. bingo. mark shook you away, trudging towards the folded up lawn chair he had spotted, bringing it back and unfolding it for you. you’d annoyed him, sure, but his mother had taught him to be nice to girls.

actually, he pitied you. mark thought he could read between the lines, thought you being drunk at 11am on a wednesday morning must’ve been because you were hurting about something, someone, someplace… debbie’s words before she dropped him off in the car two days prior played in his head, ‘you never know what people could be going through, so be kind.’ as much as you’d bothered him so far, he was still inclined to make sure you were at least sat down to minimize risking an injury. you flopped down into the chair, groaning when you bumped your spine against the metal frame of it, tilting your head back to look up at him. he stared down at you with tired brown eyes, stoic expression not registering to you in your drunken state. at least you were pretty.

he clears his throat before he talks again, unfolding a piece of paper from his pocket, “house 242. do you know how to get there?” your eyes widen, mouth falling open with an excited gasp, “shut up! you are not in OOA!” you slur loudly, attempting to get up from your seat but dropping back into it as your socked feet slipped on the grassy ground below. mark gave a sideways smile and nodded slowly, he hadn’t been given the frat name yet, only the house number. mark didn’t want to have to walk around campus with a drunk sorority girl, you were only dressed in a night dress and a loose jacket, people would get the wrong idea! but, if he had no choice (and he didn’t really feel like walking around campus and looking for the house for the third time today) he’d have to have you as his temporary guide of sorts. this was so embarrassing, he really hoped nobody would think of him as a scumbag.

after watching you flap your arms and get all excited about his frat, you wobble towards the house, rushing to put on a pair of shorts and a tank top, slipping your feet into your fluffy pink slippers, a staple. because of you, no other girls apart from your sorority would wear pink shoes around campus. and you wondered why people had branded you, and your little minions who wanted to be like you, as a bully of sorts. actually, if you thought for more than twenty seconds about it, you’d know people’d rather stay on your good side: you were rich, pretty, stole people’s boyfriends on the regular, confronted those who you thought were competition and you were allowed to basically do as you wanted. because daddykins’ best friends with the dean and the dean makes wayyyy less than your dear old dad and your father bends over backwards for you so if you wanted to waste your degree you fucked and paid yourself to, then you absolutely could.

when you both start walking, you attempt to interlock your arm with his, twisting your face up in disbelief when he rejected your advances. nobody had ever, ever, in the history of ever, done that to you. you want to stamp your foot on the ground but you resist, awkwardly crossing your arms over your chest. maybe he was just shy, you’d met guys like this before. new, shy, never had a pretty girl at his side like this… you got it, you really did. you’d take this as a loss, you’d soften him down later, OOA liked to party and you hadn’t seen a new member who hadn’t drank on their first night yet. you’d know, you’d been doing this same routine for almost three years. fresh meat, lost little lamb, needs the drunk pretty girl’s help ‘cause OOA was pretty hidden away, slipping your arm into theirs to tease them, walking them to their new hangout… coming back before seven on the evening and flirting your way into the new guy’s pants, blocking them when they try to contact you before moving on to the next one… one step had already gone south in your plan. you’d take it on the chin this time. he was cute and you’d already claimed him as yours, the other girls would know as soon as they saw him.

the path you both walked on faded into the concrete, a grassy path appearing as you spotted some guys outside of the house, a keg of beer already being set up this early in the day. mark thought maybe he’d made a mistake jointing the same frat his father had during his own college days, the promise of the frat being quite calm and collected faded away from almost three decades ago, the newer generation of young adults poisoning the good name his father had gone on and on about. sure, nolan had drank during his college years but parties and alcohol were never kept at OOA.

you see, mark wasn’t the average frat guy type: not loud, not obnoxious, actually wanted to learn and grow from his college experience and make some new friends. good friends, not meatheads who didn’t know their asses from their elbows. he hoped at least one person in that house was capable, sighing quietly to himself as he unenthusiastically approached the house with you. a guy waved at you, you waved back with a giggle as another set his drink down, announcing to the other guys that “y/n was here”. oh, so you were just a slut then. you don’t know what people could be going through, so be nice. he rolled his eyes internally, feeling slightly guilty with his thoughts as a red plastic cup is thrust into his chest by someone he’d found familiar, looking up to meet william’s eyes, his stone face cracking into a smile. he hadn’t even noticed the way you’d slipped away from him, chatting with some guy who stood shirtless with a concoction of different liquors that made him blink too slowly, constantly shifting from foot to foot to maintain his balance.

“what happened to not wanting to join us?” his friend asks as mark takes the cup into his hand, smelling the contents of the drink before he decides not to put it to his lips. it was way too early to day drink, he hadn’t even put his backpack down yet, “changed my mind, dad was on my ass about it, i just didn’t want the headache when i go visit.” he shrugged, eyes wondering over to you, watching as you let that guy hug you from behind, a strange feeling bubbling up in his gut. he wasn’t sure if he felt shame or disappointment that you hadn’t stayed with him, no longer worried about how weird it would have looked to walk around with you intoxicated. he looks away before your eyes meet his again, attention shifting back to william and whatever he had been babbling on about before he’d started daydreaming. “…and that’s why- mark? are you listening?” william snapped his fingers at him, shaking him out of his absent looking gaze. william looks behind him, in the direction mark had been staring in, slowly nodding his head with an eyebrow lifted when he looks back at mark again, “oh, right. i get it.” he smirks, mark’s red tinted cheeks being confirmation. “shut up, she only bought me here ‘cause you weren’t answering your texts.” he retorts, shaking his head when william gives him a knowing look.

that was the first day he’d met you. mark didn’t go to the party that night, much to your disappointment. instead, you spent the night in the lap of one of the jocks you’d settled on as a compromise, swigging back shots of vodka and rejecting his advances. he had a tiny cock anyway, you’d seen it before when one of the girls in your sorority received a picture of his dick and squealed about how gross the foreskin looked. you weren’t gonna fuck this guy, partly because you didn’t feel like it and partly because you were disappointed that you hadn’t gotten to see more of mark. you’d see him around campus, catch him staring at you outside sometimes. every interaction was short lived, always being shut down by him. hard to get was by far your least favourite game and there was no way mark would be able to resist someone like you! this had to be the twilight zone or something.

you’d tried everything at this point, low cut shirts with short skirts that exposed the bottom of your butt, shorts that should class as panties with how they barely classed as shorts, bikinis, standing outside his frat house while he was in it and being sprayed by beer in a wet t shirt contest, the works!! you had never been so offended, he just acted as if he didn’t even see you! it’s been four months now, four months of being basically celibate due to your petty “if he cant take me, nobody will have me” mentality. god, you were acting desperate. it embarrassed you, you hated working hard for things that should come as easy as one, two and three. while you thought your attention seeking streak was getting you nowhere, mark’s brain was going into overdrive.

“i just don’t get why you’re so… worked up about it.” william says as he sips from his mug that held coffee - the irish kind since he had a migraine from yesterday’s party and felt the only way to recover was to drink more - sitting with his leg crossed over the other on the sofa with mark who typed away on his laptop, “worked up? worked up?” mark repeated, never looking up from his screen, “come on. i’m sure she didn’t mean it-“ william began, sentence cut short by mark slamming his laptop down, getting up from the couch to put it on the kitchen isle, eyebrows furrowed. he was talking about how you’d ‘accidentally’ taken his jacket instead of yours and when he’d asked for it the morning after, you’d sent one of your sorority minions outside to tell him that they had no clue where the jacket or you was- only to see you walking around campus in it like it belonged to you a minute later, returning to the sorority house with drinks in a little black plastic bag. he had to walk back in the rain, his shirt soaked and blood boiling. yes, the jacket wasn’t a big deal. what william didn’t know was that he was mad because for the last few weeks, you’d been at the parties he’d been at. not only that but you’d always have a different guy all over you, always looking over to him, almost like you were doing it on purpose.

“yeah sure, i’m sure she didn’t mean to spill her drink all over me last week and steal my jacket yesterday, y’know, the one i needed to get home in the rain… oh, i’m sure she didn’t mean to break the fucking tv- the only one we have, when she came over for beer-pong.” mark spits back, pinching the space between his eyes with his index and thumb. william rolls his eyes, sipping away at his coffee without a care in the world. “and i’m sure she didn’t mean to make me miss nearly all of my classes.” he finishes, which makes william turn his head towards him with a smile, “oh, i’m sure y/n physically kept you from going to class.” william tuts, standing up and walking out of the room, “last time i checked, she doesn’t even go here…!” he said as he walked off, refusing to argue with mark. william was right, you hadn’t stopped him from attending classes. he’d just become a little obsessed maybe, wanted to keep an eye on you just in case. mark could only think back to the first day he’d met you, how you’d been drunk from before noon and how you looked like you needed help, how his mother’s words buzzed around in his head… he still hung onto that, taking himself up as your personal guardian angel without your knowledge.

you open your phone when you leave the shower, whatever music that had been playing through it stopping as you pressed pause to focus on the words on your screen:

william🤞

prty @ 242 6pm. bring back his jacket 🙄

you tilt your head slightly before you remember what he’s talking about. you dry your hands, opening your phone to respond,

y/n

omw ❤️

is all you type, not bothering to look at the notification that made your phone buzz before you rush to your little vanity, ready to doll yourself up for the evening and throw on some clothes, pairing them with the jacket you’d now have to return. you get an influx of messages on your phone suddenly, the group chat of the girls in your sorority letting you know that they’d also be attending, emojis and gifs and reaction images galore as you scroll through your phone. the girls wanted to go colour coordinated, all in the same pink miniskirts and black tank tops. you, however, wore a black miniskirt with a pink tank top, just to differentiate yourself from the rest of your hive. you didn’t remember exactly when you’d gotten william’s number but he was useful at times. plus, you thought he was pretty fun to hang around with! that, and the fact that he was mark’s best friend.

when you get to the OOA house music is already blaring and some of the boys are already sat out on the porch, some members of your sorority had shown up a few minutes prior. probably the new girls, you think, knowing the other girls wouldn’t make a mistake as grave as showing up earlier than you. for once, you’re gonna let it go. you were in a good mood today, felt like you were finally going to get your hands all over that slippery prick. you didn’t know why you had your sights set on him, you could be with literally anyone else. you told yourself it was pride, he’d offended you by rejecting you. pretty girls never knew when to quit, especially the rich and spoiled ones like yourself. you made heads turn towards you, as per usual. compliments flooded into your ears, dry “thank you”’s and “aww you’re so cute”’s leaving your mouth, hiding the scowl you had plastered under your perfect demeanour.

you scanned the room, looking for one person in particular, pushing away drinks that had been offered to you before you decided to just give up, plopping yourself down on the same sofa mark had been typing his essay on hours prior, finally giving in when william approaches you, swaying a little as he walked, already wasted by the looks of it. you put on a fake smile, trying to stop yourself from having a full on temper tantrum over not being able to find the guy you’d gotten all dressed up for, wearing his jacket, having no fun at the party his frat house was throwing. william opens his mouth before closing it again like a fish, trying to find his words, “y-you came..!” he speaks loudly, placing his cup on the coffee table in front of you, already littered with other people’s drinks as he throws his arms around you in a hug, “duh, it’s not a party til i’m here.” you say, your friendly tone threatening to falter as you looked down at your nails, observing them as if they had better things going on. you return his drunken embrace, giggling when he accidentally spills his drink on himself.

“you bought it, good..! you wouldn’t believe his b-..b-bitching- earlier-“ he covers his mouth with his hand to stop himself from burping at the last part of his sentence, gesturing towards the jacket you had draped over your shoulders to which you nod and smile, patience wearing thin. if william was here then where the fuck was mark? you wanted to ask him where the rest of him was, though didn’t think he’d understand as fast in his drunken state. tipsy wasn’t even the word. “it just looked so similar to mine, ha!” you lied, finally taking one of the empty cups out of the plastic sleeve and helping yourself to the bottle of vodka that stood in the middle, pouring orange juice straight into it afterwards to try and mask the sharp taste. william laughs, you drink.

“actually- he’s upstairs. studying or whate-ever.” william points to the ceiling, brushing some of his hair out of his face, “i can go give it to him if you like-“ and just like his conversation with mark earlier, he’s cut off short again by you springing up with a no, forgetting about your drink as it spilled over the rim, the whole thing splashing over your shirt. you gasp and squeak, william tries to stifle a loud laugh that would’ve bought all of the attention to you. even while drunk he knew not to put his reputation on the line, and his reputation he did kind of value. nobody wanted to draw unnecessary attention to you, the last person who had done that had been trashed so badly they had to move out of the state after a few months of non stop rumours. you sigh, defeated as you pick up someone’s jumper - they shouldn’t have left it out in the first place if they didn’t want you to use it as a cloth - and trying to soak all of the alcohol out of the black fabric. “bathroom upstairs- mark’s in the room to the r-right— ugh, i’m gonna throw up,” william says as he retches, cheeks puffing out before he takes his leave, sprinting into the back garden to puke in a plant pot. a few more compliments, you’re flirted with by a guy for like five minutes, you take a few more swigs of someone else’s drink and you’re headed upstairs, looking for the bathroom and hoping nobody had started fucking in there so you could act out your ever developing plan.

your eyes lit up when you successfully pushed the door and it wasn’t locked, closing it behind you and twisting the latch so nobody would intrude on you. lifting your shirt over your head, you’re careful to not let the fabric ruin your makeup. the next thing that’s discarded is your bra, winking at yourself in the mirror and jiggling your boobs experimentally, making sure your girls looked their best. you then put mark’s jacket on, sleeves coming past your hands as the hem just barely missed your knees. you didn’t hang out or interact with him often, you never get the chance and it’s frustrating, but you’re reminded of the potential size difference between you and him when you put on his jacket. showtime. if this didn’t get you laid tonight, you’d have to get a new name and move out of the COUNTRY out of embarrassment of coming off as desperate. to the right, a door that had large posters on the surface, some stickers peeled away and faded from years of being piled up on the door. a sock on the handle. no fucking way.

this had never happened before. nobody had ever wanted to fuck someone else before sticking it in you. you wanted to scream, rip your hair out and stomp your feet until you fell through the fucking ceiling. this wasn’t fucking happening, the boy you’d had your eyes on was not fucking another girl in this room. you saw red, the reality of not getting your way this time hitting you hard, your hand flying to the handle to twist it open, ready to have a cat fight if necessary. you felt like a steaming bull, felt like steam was coming out of your nose and ears cartoonishly. you didn’t even know what you were gonna do when you saw him and whoever the fuck that stupid bitch was, all you knew was that you hadn’t gotten what you wanted and it was time to let everyone know that.

you’re ready to bite his head off, both of them, blind rage taking over before you lay your eyes on the sight in front of you. he sat with his legs open, pants at his ankles with his head thrown back momentarily, hand going up and down between his thighs with his other hand holding up his shirt before he’s shuffling to cover himself, wide eyed and cursing with his cute face all beet red. “o-out..! get out-!” he stutters, voice cracking as he rushes to close the door, traping you behind it again. you’re stunned, never seen anything so… erotic before. you wished he wore shorts, the way his toned thighs flinched and tensed made you want to slide yourself up and down them, the small snippet of his abs you wished you’d had a longer look at before being blocked from entering… why’d he hide his body away for so long you’d never know. oh how you wished you’d seen his dick, imagining it made your mouth water. you shake your head, clearing your mind to prevent it from clouding with thoughts of lust, you couldn’t have your pussy leaking just yet. were you really so desperate for dick that you’d get wet without even seeing it? just the mental image of him, lip tugged between his teeth, pleasured expression barely visible? get your act together, you thought, breathing heavily before steadying yourself, standing up straight and knocking on his door.

“maaaarrrrkk…” you whine loudly, fist slamming against the posters, “i didn’t see anything, i swear..! but… i also won’t tell anyone if you let me in.” you offer teasingly, smiling wide when you heard a loud groan from the other side, followed by loud footsteps, followed by the door swinging open, mark avoiding your gaze with gritted teeth. he also wasn’t stupid, also had a reputation to keep squeaky clean. he’d had enough of you. for real, this time. he had enough of how you were the bitch who could make or break him if he ever slighted you in any way, had enough of the way you taunted him from afar, had enough of your complete and utter rudeness - who the hell even barges in when there’s a sock on the door? - he’d just had enough. he stood there, arms crossed as you took in your surroundings, blue and yellow scheme familiar to the clothes he wore... then it hit you, this was mark’s room. it wasn’t weird to have people living at a frat house, some people owned them. you wondered how he felt having to listen to music and people yelling and drinking all night, though that thought was quickly brushed away by mark’s voice,

“that’s mine.” he says bluntly, cheeks still pink as he points to his jacket that you wore, still standing at the door like some sort of bouncer. you nod, closing the door behind you and ignoring his words, “nice room y’got… seance dog? how old are you?” you joke, helping yourself to the shelf where stacked comic books stood, picking one up and flicking through it. mark walked towards you, snatching it out of your hands and putting it back, “again, that’s mine. i want my jacket back, y/n. then you should leave.” he spoke matter-of-factly, glaring at you for a second as you rolled your eyes, sitting on his bed and making yourself at home. “ugh, you’re still mad about it? i’m sorry we have the same jacket. i was drunk! fuck, man.” you shoot a glare back, yours with a grin. he’s had enough. he was at his boiling point, red hot rage was about to start bubbling over and you were the person he didn’t really want to take it out on. “y/n, i’m not gonna tell you again.” he warns, scowling at you as he approaches, fists balled up into his hands. this was probably the part of him people could most see his father in, his expression when he got angry. it didn’t scare you, it made you want to tease him more. so he thought he could intimidate you? he had another thing coming.

“you can’t make me. i’ll scream, you want everyone to come rushing up here?” you wouldn’t, you were only teasing. like a bolt of lightning, he’s tugging the zip of his jacket down, attempting to take it off of you and kick you out himself. you grabbed onto the zipper, trying to block his hands away from zipping it down any further, “taking back my shit and you can get the fuck out of here-“ he muttered, ignoring your sounds of protest, “mark— stop it, i’ll go i just-“ he doesn’t care, he’s trying to force your hands away, slapping at them and trying to restrain them to your sides, “shut up, shut the fuck up, give me back my fucking jacket, now—! you’re a liar, your jacket is hot-fucking-pink!” he’s more violent, grabbing the front and damn near shaking you around, your legs trying to kick him away, “m-mark, please-! stop, stop it!” there’s almost tears in your ears as you try to fight him off, remembering how you’d taken off your shirt and left it in the bathroom, with your bra.

mark couldn’t care less about his jacket or if it would be ruined, it was about the principle. more pulling, more trying to hold your hands away, more grabbing the jacket and trying to pull it off before— schzzzzt. fuck. the zipper popped, your protests stopped and mark’s huffs calmed down, eyes settling on your bare chest. tears rolled down your cheeks as you looked up at him, not expecting to have his eyes meet yours. he looks pissed, he’s had enough of you. right now, mark didn’t give a shit about what you were going through, didn’t care about being nice. you’d tipped him over, now he’s really annoyed with you. “mark,” you shuffle away, jumping with a surprised gasp when you feel his hands wrap around your ankles and pull you back to your place, the action making your skirt and his duvet catch on each other, hiking your skirt up to expose your underwear. it was like he wasn’t even looking at your body, keeping his eyes on yours at all times. you open your mouth again and his hand flies to your face, covering your mouth to prevent you from talking at all. now you’re scared, now you’re intimidated. so scared, yet your stomach flipped and your cunt fluttered around nothing when he silenced you with his palm.

“shut up, you bitch.” he snarled, tightening his grip on your face by pushing your cheeks together. it almost hurt, almost. mark shook his head, “what’s wrong with you? you wanna make me mad? for fucks sake—“ his words make your clit throb, your thighs slowly shifting to meet each other so you could move your hips around and get yourself off a little. this was hot, mark was serious. “you’re gonna scream? what the fuck, y/n, what the fuck is your problem!?” you’re wet. fuck, you’re wet and you’re being yelled at. this was the shit you’d see in porn, but for real. no acting, just a coincidence. when he lets you go to get off of you, he finally lets himself catch a glimpse of the wet spot that’s forming in your panties. he should’ve never looked, now he’s caught a sneak of your tits. the noise he makes is halfway between a groan and a sarcastic chuckle, pushing his hair back with the same hand he used to cover your mouth, “now you’re gonna go and leak all over my bed? after trying to go through my stuff?” mark can’t ignore the way his cock strains in his pants, the way it twitches as he glances over you again. any normal person would’ve ran out of his room, trying to cover themselves with the broken jacket and probably never speak to him again. then again, you weren’t a normal person, you were rich. hadn’t ever been told no or been scolded like this before or at all for that matter. you were truly stunned, felt like a deer in headlights.

“m’sorry, sorry..” you finally peep, sniffing as tears dripped down your face. he groaned, clearly annoyed by your antics now, “now you’re gonna cry? now you’re crying, you did this. stop crying, they’re not real tears.” he spits and you obey, quickly wiping your face, black streaks of mascara on your hands as well as your face. fuck, you looked gorgeous like this. you clearly wanted it. you didn’t look like you did, if anyone had burst through like you had earlier they’d definitely get the wrong idea - the worst idea - the kind of idea that stops you from getting a job in your desired field in the future if interpreted the wrong way. mark swallowed thickly. “y’gonna scream?” he asks and you shake your head no without even processing the question, looking up at him with big wide eyes.

you’re on your stomach, clawing at the bedsheets and messing up the way he’d made his bed this morning, face being pressed into a pillow by a heavy hand, mark’s hand. he’s thrusting into you, hips crashing violently against yours over and over again, got your legs trapped between his as he’s using you like you’re a toy, his other hand gripping onto the fat of your ass to help the momentum of his thrusts. your moans are muffled, drool seeping from the corner of your mouth and onto his pillow as you kept your head pressed into the soft cotton pillow, taking in his scent. god, he was jabbing right against your cervix and you let out a particularly loud whine which makes the brute above you lean in to you, his chest pressing against your back so he could talk into your ear meanly, “what’s that? i can’t. fucking. understand. you.” he punctuated each word with a sharp jab into your g-spot, your wrists aching from how hard you were grabbing around at the sheets. he knew you hadn’t said anything, just wanted to tease you like you’d teased him. he’d stripped you naked before you were taking his cock so deliciously right now, tearing your panties off and shaking you out of his jacket which laid beside you. now this was worth playing the hard to get game.

“hey, y/n? you wanna scream?” mark said, sweat beading at his temples as he moaned when he felt your gummy walls close in on him with his words. you shake your head, an almost inaudible ‘no’ coming from the pillow before his arm is hooked around your neck, lifting you up. this new position made you arch your back, leaving you in a dreamy daze as your eyes adjusted to the light of the room again after having your head forced down for so long, “i said, you wanna scream?” he repeats, you shake your head, “n-no-! no, m’m-sorry fuck, mark, i’m sorry—!” you squeal, voice hoarse as he tightens his arm, putting you in a headlock and moving his other hand to your stomach to hold you in place. he was moving so fast, his fat dick throbbed and stretched and rubbed against allll the right places. no other boy had fucked you til your head spun, made you feel so defenceless and inferior… you’d never been filled up this good, you’d been choked, sure - but a headlock? your cunt gripped him tightly, vision dotting as your body shook violently in his grasp, his fingers now swiping over your hard little clit, making you try to stifle the loud half scream of his name somehow, biting your lip with your eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

“that’s fucking nasty.” he moaned, watching as you sprayed all over his sheets with your body convulsing, hissing when your pussy started to milk him vigorously as you came. he didn’t stop, only let go of you and watched as you thumped onto the bed weakly, trying to lift yourself up before he’s drilling you with his cock again. you’re hardly responsive, body still twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, not even noticing how you’d laid in your own release until you blinked a few times, the feeling finally coming back into your body that mark had knocked numb for a second, “p-please-“ you gasped out, hand reaching down to tap at his thigh. he swiped it away, grabbing your wrist and jerking your body back to meet his, obsessed with the way your bodies made smacking sounds when he snapped his pelvis into your rear. “you gonna bother me again after this? look at you, you’re lying in your own mess- oh fuck, keep tightening like that—“ he growls into your ear, balls slapping against your sensitive clit from behind. you couldn’t think, your thoughts being fucked out of your brain with every rough jab to your cervix, words forming and failing to put them together into understandable sentences. he’s just as blissed out, his anger had faded forever ago, replaced by a carnal urge to just fuck, keep plunging himself in and out of your weeping cunt.

you whine when he pulls out with a pop, lines of your slick coating his cockhead and sticking to it before they snapped and dribbled down onto the soaked sheets below you, his hands grabbing your waist so he could flip you onto your back this time, taking you by surprise and finally waking you up out of whatever dreamy daze you’d been in. this is just how you felt earlier but better, you were scared of him sure but you’ve never been so turned on, you’d never had someone defy you before, you asked for a pony when you were younger and threatened a tantrum which got you your pony, your parents would rather give you whatever you wanted instead of saying a simple no. you stare up at him, he stares down at you. call you crazy, maybe you were finally being put in your place, but having someone hover over you like this, possessive and firm, made you feel as if you had no power at all. mark didn’t care about who you were or what you could do to ruin him anymore, especially since he’d already ruined you. mascara streaked down the sides and front of your face which made tracks in your foundation, your lipstick had been smudged from having your face pressed into the pillow for so long and you were pretty sure you were missing an eyelash (which you were; stuck to the bedsheets and twisted and ruined, you’d have to buy another pair).

mark grabs one of your legs with his hands, pulling you close to him as he leaned in, body pushing your knee up to your shoulder albeit a little painfully, eliciting an uncomfortable mewl from you in the process. you felt as if you couldn’t talk, if you opened your mouth you’d die or something. you’d taken mark for a virgin what with the way he awkwardly shuffled his feet when you spoke to him, the way he never picked up on or wanted to pursue your advances. “don’t look at me like that.” he grits, eyebrows furrowing at the way you pouted at him. you hadn’t even noticed but now you’ve made him mad so now he’s pushing into you again, spearing you open on his dick wet with your slick, your expression changing as you raised your brows, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth hanging open like you were trying to catch flies. he moves his hands, hooking them under your knees so he could pull you back and forth against himself, cock throbbing and begging for release when you start tightening again, lewd gasps and moans coming from your spit slicked and ruined lipstick lips. he can’t stand you, can’t stand the way you’re moaning and trying to say his name while having all knowledge knocked out of you over and over again with stabs repeatedly hitting that same sensitive spot with brutal thrusts, hoping your hips didn’t break every time his crashed into yours.

then, a moment of weakness, “am i pretty?” you ask between whines, small and timid like a rabbit. he’s broken out of his current demeanour, tilting his head. mark feared he’d falter, he’d already given you what you wanted by using you like you were nothing but a warm crevice to slide his cock into. you already knew you were pretty, you just needed to hear it from him. needed to hear it from the guy you’d been chasing for months since you’d stumbled upon him, needed to have confirmation that he was attracted to you. his thrusts almost slow down - almost - before he nods, biting his lip to stop the groan that wanted to respond, “y-yeah, pretty..” mark finally mumbles, hips stuttering as the warm coil that tightened in his stomach threatened to snap. you could feel it too, you could feel the way his cock throbbed, the way the head twitched when it pressed against your cervix every time mark canted his hips up into yours, stretching your pussy around him, churning up your insides so they could only think of him. “pretty, really pretty…” he babbles as he tries to keep his thrusts steady, “also p-pretty fucking mean, stupid…” he continues, trying to ignore the way a pleasured shock creeped up his spine and made his legs shake like yours had before.

you were going to cum again, you could feel it. familiar tingles and twinges picking at you before you felt it fully, the mind numbing sensation of an orgasm being fucked out of you again. mark isn’t any better, chasing his own pleasure with his head tilted back steady “hah, hah, hah”’s slipping out of his mouth. working for stuff really was fun sometimes, even if you had to wait a while to get it. you’re lost, back arching up off of the bed with your waist subtly moving in time with his, catching small hazy blinks of him before his face is closer to yours, not even waiting to kiss you. his tongue is bigger than yours, as with the rest of him, completely pushing your tongue away as he kisses into your mouth, muffling both of your sounds as his thrusts became more and more uneven. he’s cumming, hard and fast and with no consideration whether you were on birth control or not, painting your pink walls with his white cum and leaving his mark deep inside you, seeping into your womb with thick globs. you came as soon as he did, dry this time, arms flailing to grab onto his back to anchor yourself. your cunt squeezed around him, trying to milk all of his release into you. you weren’t on the pill but you didn’t care, you could always get that sorted later.

mark didn’t pull out, huffing slightly as he came back to, blinking at your shaking form below him. if it had been porn, he’d feel bad, close the tab and ignore his post nut clarity. this time, even with all of the thoughts in his head telling him that he’d just broken you down, used you like you were disposable, he couldn’t help but feel accomplished. you might’ve won by getting him to fuck you but he’s won the ice cold heart of the mean bitch that’s now laying in her own squirt on his bed, twitching every now and again to show how much you’d enjoyed it. he sighs, shaking his head and pulls out of you, watching for a second as his cum slowly starts to spill out of your aching pussy, ruining his bedsheets even further, “you still here..?” he asks, looking over at you before he’s headed back over to where he’d stripped off all of his clothes, quickly dressing himself back up as he puts his boxers back on, sliding his jeans back up his legs and looking over at your limp body on his bed. you don’t respond with words, only a faint nod, your body still swimming in the warmth that you’d been pushed into by mark. you could feel the way his cum dribbled out of you messily, leaking down your lower half and soaking up the sheets even further.

you’re pulled from your bliss with mark’s words, unexpected and apologetic, “want me to clean you up?” and you melt, nodded with a small ‘uh-huh’ as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him and knocking the sock off in the process. he’d return a moment later, towel in hand with one corner wet with warm water, patting you down gently, stark contrast to how he was just a minute ago. mark wasn’t mean but he’d tried to be nice and nice just wasn’t working for him - wasn’t working for you - so he had to show you how mean he could really be, had to counteract you somehow. you flinched when he started wiping your cunt, hissing when he bumped against your overly sensitive clit with the towel. he muttered a small sorry, drying you up and leaving once more, the sounds of the music from downstairs louder for a second before the door is closed, louder again and then muffled when he comes back with your shirt and bra, tossing it to your side. he avoided your gaze, absently fiddling around with something in the corner of his room, waiting for you to put your clothes back on. you get the memo, pulling your shirt over your head and reaching out for his jacket before you backed away from it, remembering that you’d come here to return the thing.

as you stood up to look around for your underwear and skirt, your thighs twitch as you feel his cum leaking between your legs, trickling down slowly. you could clean up properly later, sliding your panties and the skirt back to where they had left. “look,” he started, turning your attention towards him, “you can have it. just.. bring it back on saturday. there’s another party or something, ask william.” mark turns to you, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. you perk up as you clasp the strap to your heels back on, legs feeling like jelly as you moved to face him. you nod with a smile, eyes bright and sparkling like he’d just told you you’d won a billion dollars, “saturday, same time?” you ask, walking towards the door and resting your hand on the doorknob. mark hums at you, a silent yes. you take your leave, his broken jacket draped over your shoulders again as you make your way to the front door, ready to leave so you could go back to the dorm room you weren’t supposed to live in and sleep the next few days away. you couldn’t wait to party at house 242 again.

mark watched you walk away from the porch, your hands in his jacket’s pockets, the material swallowing you up to keep you warm. he shook his head, once again pinching the skin between his eyes, grabbing himself a clean towel so he could shower and fall asleep to the music that blared underneath him. mark thought he’d had enough of you.

now, he couldn’t get enough.

#dark blog #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson smut #invincible x reader #invincible smut #fem reader #tw dubcon #sorry if this got slow and boring at the end i need to think of ways to finish my fics better 😭😭

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oliveisme533 · 11 months ago

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My dad’s neighbor is a dilf

Chapter 1

Joel Miller x you

Summery: You had decided to spend your summer in Austin with your dad. You used to spend almost every summer there, but hadn't spent a summer there since you were a teenager. Which means you hadn't seen a certain Joel Miller in years..

You were a teacher so the summer months were nice and slow. As you packet your suitcase, you thought back to the phone call with your dad just a few weeks prior. "Hey babygirl, why don't you come on down to Austin for the summer? I know your roommate has been driving you a little crazy lately...wouldn't hurt to get a break ya know? Plus I miss you sweetheart... would love to see you"

You smiled at the memory of his words. He was right about your roommate being annoying lately. Nothing crazy...just normal roommate things. But most of all you missed your dad. Your college summers were all spent with your mom in Boston, so this visit was long overdue.

There airport was fucking packet of course. Airports made you anxious and you always got to your gate a couple hours early for fear of missing your flight. You sent a quick text to your dad letting him know you made it to the airport and would let him know when you safely landed. He loved the message and moments later your phone buzzed again.

Venmo: Dad sent you $50 for "Uber 🚗"

Your dad definitely did well for himself, He was a financial consultant and never missed out on an opportunity to splurge on you and your sister. You knew you wouldn't be swiping your card a single time once you stepped foot in his house for the summer, and you weren't complaining...teachers don't exactly make a ton of money. There was one thing nagging at the back of your mind that you hadn't let yourself think about until now. You always had kind of a girlish crush on your dad's friend and neighbor. You hadn't seen him in years and you wanted to believe he could find you attractive now that you were actually a grown woman. It was a fantasy you know would never come true even in your wildest dreams, but it was still fun to think about from time to time. You put your headphones and closed out the world.

You smiled as the warm air hit your skin as you walked across the tarmac with one hand shading your eyes from the Texas sun. Austin was where you spent your childhood. Before their divorce, your parents had brought you and your sister into a comfortable lifestyle that you were forever grateful for. Your mom headed to Boston after the divorce, you and your older sister followed suit, but Texas never stoped feeling like home. "Uber for y/n?" You slumped down into the air conditioned car with a sigh of relief. "Yes." You looked out the window as the familiar scene flew by. By the time the car turned into your neighborhood your mind had drifted far from Boston. Your stomach lurched slightly as you passed Mr. Millers house. His truck was in the driveway. You remembered a recent phone conversation with your dad where he mentioned Mr. Miller having kind of a hard time spending his first summer without his daughter Sarah. She was with her mom for the summer, a new arrangement you were pretty sure. Maybe you would go and visit him. He was the kind of family friend that had a key to your dad's house . What if he didn't remember you? You were being stupid. Mr. Miller didn't need to entertain a 20 some year old girl. He had friends his own age, a life, and for all you knew maybe a girlfriend. You brushed the idea off as the car slowed in-front of your dad's house.

Your key clicked in the door and you were promptly greeted by Lea, your dad's new kitten. Your sister and you joked that this was his first symptom of his mid life crises. The second being the fact that he now had a girlfriend. You flung your suitcase aside and sunk into the window seat of your bedroom. You have many memories of a younger version of yourself sitting here in the summer days, reading or just watching. In the evenings you were too busy sneaking out the back gate to do such things. You smile as you recall your reckless, teenage activities. You sigh and look down at your watch. Your dad won't be home for a couple more hours. A nap probably would serve you well. Before you get up, you feel your phone buzz again. It's your dad.

"Hey sweetheart I see you made it to the house. I completely forgot Joel said he was picking up some tools I borrowed from him last week. He knows the garage code, but didn't want you to be alarmed if he's there before I get home. See you soon xx"

You found yourself staring at the text... would Mr. Miller ...Joel, you correct yourself, would he even remember me? In the spirit of southern hospitality you decide to get dressed in something that does smell like the airport and go downstairs when you hear the garage opening. You walk through the front door and out towards the driveway where Joel is loading some tools in the back of his pick up truck. He glances up at you and a wide smile forms across his face. "Well hey!" He says. "Your dad told me you were coming in... welcome home!" The words warm your heart. This was home for sure. "Thanks, I'm glad to be back. Even just for the summer!" God his arms look good in that t-shirt... "well I know your old man is happy you're here. Hasn't shut up about you comin' for the last few weeks. 'Course I get it, countin' down the days 'till Sarah gets back myself." You giggle at the comment of your dad's excitement about your arrival. "Yeah dad told me she's with her mom for the summer right?" Joel nods closing the back of the pick up. "Yeah that's right." You noted a twinge of sadness in his voice. "I'm sorry I'm sure that's hard...I mean I know she loves being with her mom and you too. Of course she'll be back for school in the fall, but still I'm sure the summer feels different with out her. I'm not a parent though so I really have no idea what I'm talking about." You fumbled through this response and ended with a nervous laugh. Joel didn't mind. He looked at you with those fucking puppy dog eyes that could make you melt. He laughed too you were pretty sure the laugh was more at you than with you, but you kind of deserved it you figured. "You're sweet, yeah she's having a blast with her mom and that's all that really matters. Your dad has been putting up with me a lot. With an empty and quiet house it's just not the same, and he's been havin' me over lots" "Well I'm sure he appreciates the company too" you couldn't help but feel a little guilt that you had possibly made your dad feel the same emotions as Joel. "Well I gotta run, but I'm sure I'll be seein' you around. Good to see ya Darlin'" you waved as he pulled out of your driveway, grateful that he was probably too far away to see the blush on your cheeks.

The next few days went by with not much to remark on. On Friday your dad mentioned that Joel would be coming over for dinner tomorrow. You told yourself it was time to act like an adult and put this girlish crush out of your mind. Joel was at least 10 years your senior and he was a close friend of your dad, In fact these fantasies are simply degrading to him or disrespectful. You're not sure of the right word, but he's a person with a life and feelings and things he's going through. To make him the object of your fantasies was wrong, you decided.

Saturday evening came around and your dad was in the back grilling and playing his country music on the speaker you had gifted him last Christmas. There was a knock and the door and the sound of Joel's voice echoing through the entry way. You didn't bother coming out of the kitchen, knowing he would come to you. Your back was turned, focusing on the sangria recipe you were sure wouldn't turn out the way you wanted. "My dad's outback." You said gesturing to the back door. " I'm sorry, where are my manners!" You turned to open the fridge and pull out beer for Joel. "You ain't gotta make a fuss darlin' is just me" Joel chuckled. You wished he would stop calling you that, but you also hoped he never would. Joel y through the utensil draw to find the bottle opener. He asked about your day and you asked about his. "I can't get over how much you've grown up" he said at one point. "Yeah o guess the last time you would have seen me I was a lanky teenager with braces" you laughed and so did he. "I think you're right... if I recall you were just about the death of your old man when you were that age." You shrugged. "Yup that's about right. I had a nack for getting into trouble." He laughed that wonderful deep laugh and said "well you turned out alright, kid"

The rest of the evening you debated whether Joel saw you more as a grown woman or a kid. He had referred to you as both in a matter of minutes...so which was it? "What's on your mind kiddo?" Your dad's voice snapped you back to reality. "Oh ..um, nothing honestly. I'm just kind of tired today for some reason." You were both in the kitchen, Joel was still in the back yard getting ready to light a cigar. "Baby why don't you go upstairs and rest. I'll make sure to kick Mr. Miller here out if we get to rowdy." He said that last part loud enough for Joel to hear. "Dad jokes.." you mutter to yourself as you climb the stairs to the second floor of the house. Your bedroom is on the front end of the house, so by they time you get there, no noise from your dad and Joel can be heard. The sound of the shower in the bathroom drowned out the noise of your phone buzzing on your nightstand. When you exited the shower there was a missed call from "Ben" Ben Sinclair was your on again, off again boyfriend for the last 4 ish years. This time you were done. You had been broken up for a month this time and you told him (in no uncertain terms!) this was it. So what could he possibly want tonight...

#lovers #joel tlou #joel miller #smut #fanfic #joel and ellie #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff

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hochsleep · 3 months ago

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Chapter 2: First day in the quarry

• Era: Season 1

• Warning: foul language, disturbing thoughts.

• Summary: Daryl brings you to a camp in the quarry and now you have to get to know its inhabitants. Will you and your sister be allowed to stay? Have you finally found a safe place to stay?

• Word count: 6,9k.

• A/N: I will say right off the bat that there is almost no interaction between Daryl and Y/N in the chapter. But aside from the romantic relationship with Mr. Dixon, I also want to spell out the interactions between the reader and the other characters in the series. It's important, after all they're all in the same group and I don't consider all the other characters just set pieces. I love many of them immensely and I want to express my love here. But after these digressions, we'll usually be treated to chapters with a lot of Daryl. For balance.

The first chapter seems quite weak to me and if you made it here after that, you're good! I'm having trouble spelling out the beginning. I haven't really fumbled with the characters yet, especially my own, but the second chapter was easier for me to write and it feels really better. Glad you guys are here!

Yeah, that's pretty much all I wanted to say here for now.

Enjoy reading!

Your first day of your career was stressful to say the least.

You knew this place. One day your best friend got involved with a bunch of local amateur rockers who liked to hide from cops and law problems far away from your hometown. One day these assholes decided to perform at a bar in Atlanta, calling it their first big tour. Needless to say, they ended up not even being allowed in that bar? Their playing was pretty mediocre, they were more attracted to the image of rock stars and their lifestyle than the music. Their lead singer looked like Axl Rose and was a real asshole. Billy Stevenson. Famous for his husky voice, his problems with the local Dunwoody police, and his love of underage girls when he was in his early 20s. You couldn’t help it, your friend Holly was madly in love with this asshole and all your attempts to talk some sense into her were unsuccessful.

So when you and Holly were 16, you first tricked your mom and went on her boyfriend Billy Stevenson’s “tour” with her. You just didn’t want to let her go alone. Holly was naïve enough to get into trouble, and Billy had little interest in the safety of his underage girlfriend. So you volunteered to be her voice of reason on this trip. It wasn’t so bad. Except for a few days on the road in an old pot-smoking van with six sleazy guys who were failed rock stars. At least you finally got out of your little town and could see Atlanta. The big city you were hoping to go to after high school. And your best friend was with you and seemed really happy so you just ignored all the other aspects of the not-so-safe trip.

That group decided to stop at this very quarry for the night before finally reaching Atlanta. That’s how you first got here. It was only seven years ago, and it felt like an eternity. You never thought you’d be in this place again. You didn’t think Lottie would be with you. And you obviously couldn’t, even in your wildest fantasies, imagine under what circumstances you’d end up back in that old quarry. The end of the world. It’s still hard to believe.

But back to the camp that Daryl brought you to. It was hard to get a few words out of him on the way to the quarry, but at least after several attempts he introduced himself. He was probably just tired of your questioning or your annoying voice. He liked Lottie better because she kept quiet while you talked and talked all the way. Anyway, Daryl led you out of the forest and the first thing you came to was a small clearing where the trees had been cut down years ago.

The first thing that catches your eye is a few camping tents with folding chairs and ropes for drying laundry. A woman with two children was sitting near one of these tents, and she was the first to look at you. The woman frowned slightly and whispered to her young son in Spanish to go back into the tent. You wondered how bad you and Lottie looked now if the woman had that reaction. Three days in the woods must have taken its toll. You’d had to sleep on the ground as it was, with nothing to put underneath you. But you always gave your knitted cardigan to Lottie to wrap up in so she wouldn’t freeze at night lying on the cold ground. Even if you were shaking from the cold yourself because Georgia nights feel like they’re polar. Oh, and you fell at least four times while you and Lottie were walking through the woods. From fatigue, dizziness from lack of food, a couple times you tripped. Resulting in bloody knees, elbows and palms. So yes, probably a strange girl covered in mud, blood and her own sweat did not arouse confidence in the camp.

You swept your eyes further and saw an old mobile home, on the roof of which stood an elderly man in a Hawaiian shirt and with a shotgun in his hands. He seemed to be trying to see what was going on down here. Two girls came out of the house. Two blondes, similar in appearance but different in age. They’re probably sisters, or so you’d think.

“Dixon, what’s going on here?” came a man’s voice.

A tall man of strong build wearing a shirt unbuttoned across his chest, showing off dark short hair and a large silver pendant. He looked to be no more than thirty-five. The man had his hands at his sides and was squinting at Daryl. Oh, now you know his last name. Not that you needed the information, but it was still interesting to know.

“Found them in the woods,” Daryl said hoarsely, waving his hand in your and Lottie’s direction while you stood behind his back, “gotta help the kid.”

“Let’s step back and talk, buddy,” the man snorted, as if saying the last word with disdain.

You could see Daryl’s shoulders tense. He nodded to the man and they both walked back toward the forest to discuss the situation. You couldn’t blame him. Today, with the old world dead, and with it the law and perhaps ethical rules controlling human behavior, you shouldn’t have trusted strangers. Especially ones from the woods.

“Are we not allowed to be here?” asked Lottie quietly, wrapping her arm tightly around yours, "are we going to get kicked out?”

For a ten-year-old, she was pretty savvy. Though it didn’t take much intelligence to notice the wary behavior of the people in this camp. You stood there in the middle of the clearing while several pairs of eyes stared at you and your sister tried to hide behind you. You wished you could hide too. It seemed easier with Daryl standing in front of you and covering you.

You saw a boy, looking about the same age as Lottie, walk confidently in your direction. Behind him, a tall, thin woman with long brown hair and a piercing gaze walked at a quicker pace. His mom?

“Carl, stop!” huffed the woman, catching up with the child, but he cared little for her words.

“Hi, I’m Carl Grimes,” the boy with the bright blue eyes smiled sincerely and pulled Lottie’s hand, “what’s your name?”

Lottie looked at his hand and then at you. You smiled slightly and nodded at her, encouraging her. It had been so long since Lottie had seen the other children, it seemed like years rather than a couple of weeks.

“Charlotte L/N,” the girl replied, looking apprehensively at Carl.

“Pleased to meet you,” Carl ventured and put his own arm around her arm to seal the acquaintance.

Lottie opened her eyes fearfully, but relaxed just as quickly, realizing that a boy her age wouldn’t hurt her.

“Carl,” the woman walked over to you and the boy and shook her head annoyedly, looking at him, “you definitely heard what I told you.”

“It’s okay,” you found the courage to answer the woman, “we’re not dangerous. I mean…”

“What’s your name?” the woman shifted her gaze to you. So cold it sent shivers down your spine.

“Y/N,” you replied, looking at her uncertainly.

“Y/N, I think we should all stay away from each other for now until we figure this out,” the woman said, grabbing Carl’s arm and pulling him aside. “For safety’s sake…ours and yours.”

“Lori, you shouldn’t chop off your shoulder,” the older man finally came down from the roof and approached you with a broad smile. “The two young ladies are obviously scared and tired, hardly a danger to anyone.”

“We’ve had enough of the Dixons who came here from the woods too and now we don’t all feel safe,” Lori answered him in a low voice so Carl and the others wouldn’t hear too much extra.

“Lori,” the old man shook his head faintly, looking at the woman, “this conversation is inappropriate right now, don’t you think? Obviously the girls need help, that’s what really matters.”

“Let’s see what Shane has to say to that,” Lori said and with another glance in your direction, dragged Carl by the arm to the side.

The man sighed his head as he watched Lori walk away behind Carl’s arm and quietly clucked his tongue. But then the good-natured smile bloomed back on his face as he looked at you.

“You must be hungry, ladies. Come on, I’ll feed you and we’ll get to know each other without any barbed looks in your direction,” the old man clapped his hands, “and don’t mind Lori, she’s always in a bad mood lately, it’s nothing to do with you.”

At the mention of food, saliva automatically accumulated in your mouth. You could literally feel your stomach digesting itself all these three days. The last thing you ate was a handful of wild raspberries found in the woods. The only safe thing you knew. It was a shame there weren’t many berries, but you weren’t in a position to complain. You’ve never been a believer, but you seem to finally understand why people pray before eating and thank God for sending food. But it was more hunger playing on your emotions, nothing serious.

The elderly man introduced himself as Dale. He nobly hid you and Lottie in his motor home, where no one would look at you both with supposed apprehension. You were truly grateful for that. And you were even more grateful when Dale put a plate full of pasta and meat chowder warmed over a fire in front of you. You didn’t like meat other than chicken, but right now you’d eat anything that had animal protein in it. Lots of wild protein. And damn it, it was the best chowder you’ve ever had in your life. Or at least in the last month. It was warm, rich, salty and peppery, even though you’d forgotten spices existed, and it was really hearty. Even Lottie, who was a very picky eater and would certainly not have eaten such an array of food at any other time, was happily gorging herself on the food Dale had provided. The man watched you with a caring smile as he poured the wild herbs into cups. An impromptu tea you wouldn’t mind having now.

“So, girls, how did you get into these woods?” asked Dale, placing a plastic cup of decoction in front of you. The pleasant, soothing scent of herbs enveloped you, and it was easier to breathe.

“We’re from Dunwoody,” you said, smiling slightly at the old man, “just like everyone else traveling towards Atlanta when we heard there was a safe camp for the uninfected. When we got to the town, it turned out there was no camp," you explained without going into detail.

You didn’t tell him how your mother was eaten in front of you and Lottie. How your stepfather John piled into the house that same day and ordered you to immediately pack all the essentials. How you took a long drive from Dunwoody in his old Ford, and when it stalled, you stole someone’s pickup truck. How you spent several days in the woods, eating the canned food you had collected at home and what you found in abandoned cars on the road. You didn’t tell him how you had to run away from walkers several times and how John cracked one of them open in front of his ten-year-old daughter, after which she was afraid to go near him. How you finally made it to Atlanta, but instead of a camp you found only abandoned military equipment, fire-damaged buildings, and crowds of corpses. How you couldn’t get away from them and John drew them off so you and Lottie could escape. You didn’t tell how the man who raised you from the age of ten and replaced your own father was torn apart by reanimated corpses, spewing out his insides as he screamed exhaustedly before life left him. How loudly Lottie screamed “Daddy!” and sobbed, and you had to literally carry her on your back to escape the walkers. How you ran off into the woods again, where you finally broke away from the mob of rotten ones. You didn’t tell how Lottie had been silent for the last two days, not realizing that she had lost both her parents so quickly. How the two of you wandered through the forest and survived only on wild berries and rare streams of water. You could only hope the water wasn’t poisoned with walker DNA. You didn’t tell him how you were found by four of those horrible creatures and chased after you. How Lottie was grabbed and almost bit. And how you gave up and for a moment thought it was best for both of you, you didn’t tell him either. The memories were still fresh and the realization of your weakness had not yet reached you. And there was a lot you hadn’t told Dale.

But he probably knew from the sad look in your eyes that you didn’t need to ask. Not now. And in front of Lottie, who was trying hard not to think about what had happened.

“Are you going to kick us out?” finally dispelled the silence, Lottie looking at Dale with her innocent childish gaze in which hope flickered.

“Kick you out? What makes you think that, little lady?” the old man raised his eyebrows, looking at the girl.

He and probably Carl were the only ones who already saw you as part of the group. Maybe also Daryl, since he brought you here, but you weren’t sure.

“That woman, the boy’s mom…Carl’s mom, she doesn’t want us here…and neither does that big tall man,” Lottie pressed her lips together. A habit you both shared when nervous or doubtful.

“Well you may have scared them, we’re all scared right now, but that doesn’t mean they want to kick you out,” Dale shook his head, “we all came to this camp hoping to find a safe place and we found one. Everyone arrived gradually and we were all new here, but no one kicked anyone out. Daryl, the one who brought you here, and his brother Merle, who I suggest you stay away from, were the last newcomers to this group, they too came from the forest a couple weeks ago and people just…got used to new people in the camp. Time goes very fast now, two weeks feels like two months ago,” the old man sighed, “and yet. No one’s kicked anyone out of this camp yet. If you want a safe place and a nice, well almost, company of other living people, you’ve found it and are now part of the group until you decide to leave. That’s the way it Is.”

Lottie smiled at Dale’s words. She didn’t want to leave. New people scared her, but she couldn’t help but be glad to be alive. Especially after seeing nothing but dead people for the last couple weeks. And she liked that there were more kids at camp. Carl and those kids whose mom had hastily hidden them in the tent. Maybe they could be friends. And maybe you wouldn’t have to give your food and clothes to Lottie anymore. She’d like that. She also liked Dale. He was kind and caring. He reminded Lottie of your grandfather from Oregon, the one you both went to see the summer before school. This place really could be a new home and Lottie really hoped it would be.

“Thanks for the food, Dale, it’s really good,” you said smiling and occasionally glancing at your sister’s satisfied face.

“Yes, thank you!” nodded the girl confidently, remembering to thank the old man.

“It’s all Carol,” the man brushed it off, but then apparently remembered that you have no idea who Carol is, “I’ll be sure to introduce you to her and the others. But you’d better get cleaned up first.”

Oh, right.

You still looked no better than a walker. Still covered in blood, sweat, and mud. You used to feel awful after a long day of work on particularly hot days in Georgia, when you sweated all over and literally felt like the dirtiest person on the planet. All you wanted to do was go home and give yourself a good scrubbing with a washcloth. But a light layer of sweat was a drop in the bucket compared to how truly dirty you were now. Not to mention the fact that you’d forgotten about shampoo for two weeks at least, and now if you ran your greasy hair over a frying pan, you could fry an egg without oil and it wouldn’t even burn. It was only now that you didn’t have to run and survive in the woods, where walkers could find you at any moment, that you thought about how you looked. You felt like wiping yourself with an iron sponge like the one your mom used to scrub the burned-on food off the dishes. Or scrub yourself with sandpaper. And burn those clothes you’ve been wearing for so long. There’s no saving it, you’re sure of that. But the problem is, you and Lottie left your backpacks in Atlanta. You had literally nothing with you. Wearing those filthy, tattered rags after you’ve washed up…It's rather not wash up at all.

“I don’t have a change of clothes and…” you looked awkwardly at Dale, “all our stuff was left in Atlanta when we ran away from there.”

“Oh, right,” nodded the old man, “you came light,” he reflected.

There are enough people in the camp. And they should have enough clothes, too. But you weren’t even sure if you and Lottie were staying here. You didn’t know for sure until now. Asking for clean clothes from these people would have been supercilious and you didn’t want to deal with it.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Dale said with a smile before leaving you and Lottie in his motorhome.

You didn’t even have time to object. He wouldn’t have let you.

“He’s cute,” Lottie grinned at you after a few seconds of silence, and you only grinned back at her.

Dale didn’t keep you waiting long as promised. He came back to the house accompanied by a young girl. One of those blondes you saw earlier. The younger one. The girl seemed your age. Maybe a couple years apart. She smiled charmingly and looked like a doll with her soft blond hair, blue eyes, and rosy cheeks. The girl held a stack of clothes in her hands.

Oh shit.

You wouldn’t want that. I mean, sure you wanted to wash up and put on clean clothes, but you didn’t want to feel indebted and steal from these people. You already felt like you owed Daryl for saving your life and Dale for the food and the warm welcome.

“Hi, we haven’t had a chance to meet yet,” the girl said in a voice as sweet as sugar syrup, “I’m Amy.”

“Y/N,” you nodded, lifting the corners of your lips slightly, “this is my sister Charlotte,” you nodded at the little girl next to you.

“That’s my full name, but I don’t like it when the full form is used, I’d rather just Lottie,” the girl explained.

“Nice to meet you,” Amy smiled even wider and for a moment you thought her rosy cheeks were going to burst, “I brought you both some clothes.”

Amy held out a stack of clothes to you and you took them into your hands. There were bigger clothes on the bottom, probably for you, and some smaller ones for Lottie on top.

“Thank you so much, I don’t know how I can repay you to be honest…” you pressed your lips together awkwardly, looking at Amy.

“Don’t need anything, it’s all right,” waved the girl away, “we’re here to help each other. It’s my stuff, I don’t know if it’ll fit, but if it doesn't we’ll look for something else. Maybe my sister has some or…well we have a lot of women in the camp,” she explained hastily, “and for Lottie, Sophia’s stuff. It’s Carol’s daughter and…”

“All right, honey, thanks,” Dale interrupted her, noticing that with excitement Amy was starting to gibber and explain too much.

“Yeah…anyway, if something doesn’t fit at all, we’ll look for more,” Amy nodded, exhaling.

“That’s fine, and thanks again,” you nodded at her.

“Thank you,” repeated Lottie after you.

“No problem, I’ll see you later,” Amy smiled once more and walked out the door.

“Okay, I have a shower room there a little farther closer to the bedroom. It’s not much of a dream, but it’s washable. The water is also scarce and it’s mostly cold, so I suggest you do all your business quickly because it’ll take a long time to rub down not lake water,” Dale began, walking past you further to show you everything, “Soap and shampoo are on the shelf next to the shower. And I’ll give you a towel. When you’re done, go outside. We’ll get to know the others.”

Dale gave you both a towel each and left you and Lottie alone in his motorhome, assuring you that no one would come in here and you could relax.

You sent Lott to wash first and hoped you’d have some water left over. But now you’d dive into the lake to wash yourself, frankly.

Lottie came out a few minutes later. Her long hair was wet and slightly disheveled from the water, but she looked fresh and clean for the first time in a long time. Lottie was dressed in knee-length blue leggings with a star pattern and a white T-shirt with a cartoon bear on it. Clothes were a little big for her because the Sophia you didn’t know yet was probably older than your sister. Or at least taller. But Lottie didn’t complain. Especially when she saw that she’d been allocated ballet flats with a strap around her ankle. Not very practical footwear now, but better than one miserable rubber boot. You hoped you wouldn’t have to run around anymore and Lottie’s shoes wouldn’t be something to worry about in that case. Especially as she seemed to like it very much herself. She loved shoes and ballet flats before all this. Fuck you could see sneakers on her feet, it was a rarity.

You walked into the tiny shower room, which somehow also contained a toilet and sink. The shower was disastrously small and you were left to guess how to turn around so as not to bruise yourself on the toilet and sink. You pulled off all your dirty clothes and shoved them with your foot closer to the door so they wouldn’t get in the way. Your gaze fell on your reflection in the small mirror above the sink. The crumpled, tired, and lost girl who had once smiled so brightly looked back at you. It was the worst version of you. And not even because of the blood and dirt on your face. Not because of the purple bruise on your collarbone and a few scratches on your neck. Not because of the greasy hair that clumped on your shoulders. It was because of that faded look in your eyes. The one you’d never seen in your life, not even in your worst moments. The funny thing was that now all those situations and your worries about them were nothing compared to your current problems.

You didn’t want to see it anymore. You stood under the shower head and turned on the water. Cold jets ran through your hair, dripping onto your skin and causing a tabor of goosebumps to follow. But damn it now, that cold water felt like the embrace of a god you didn’t believe in, but now you were ready to believe in. You could only dream of a hot shower now, but the temperature of the water no longer mattered as long as the dirt and blood was washed away with the streams of water and left under your feet. You turned off the water to lather your hair with a man’s shampoo for lack of more. It smelled divine anyway. Everything smelled divine now after the smell of sweat, blood, and rotting corpses in your nose. The only thing your nose has been picking up lately. So the smell of pine branches and mint almost made you have an orgasm. Especially when you felt the foam between your fingers, lathering up your dirty hair. The next step was the mendal smelling soap you used to lather your body with. The sharp pain recognized your scratches on your sides and legs, but that was a good thing as they were getting clean. You had nothing to treat them with back then in the forest and could only hope you didn’t get an Infection or die of blood poisoning. That would be ridiculous and a shame in today’s world. As your slippery soapy fingers slid over your body you felt as if angels had come down from heaven to bathe you. It was very good. Very good. And it felt even better to wash the soap off yourself along with the rest of the dirt and blood. There was barely enough water, you used the rest and hoped no one else would shower today. At least you justified to yourself that you really needed it more.

You wiped yourself with a clean towel and exhaled with relief. Now you could get dressed. You made a mental note to thank Amy again, because she had been kind enough to share even fresh underwear with you. Today couldn’t have gotten any better after that. Even if the cute polka-dot cotton briefs were a little small for you. You didn’t even want to think about the condition of your own after a week of wearing them. It’s horrible, you should just burn them. Amy also brought you a bra, which was also incredibly cute, but you hadn’t used that part of your clothes since you were a teenager after your cousin Martha scared you with the story about bra pips causing cancer and terrible breast pain. You remembered that to this day. But even without those stories, you were uncomfortable in bras, and they pressed and chafed your skin every now and then. You gave them up a long time ago. There were the occasional snide comments from male customers at the store where you worked and the stares of middle-aged women, but your comfort was more important to you. So you put your bra aside and began to dress next. Next were light-colored jeans that were supposed to be loose, but looked like skinnies on you because you were fuller and taller than Amy. But the main thing was that they weren’t close to bursting at the seams if you sat down in them and that was enough. You even liked the way they fit around your soft, rounded hips. The last one was a soft pink short-sleeve button-down shirt. It fit you well without being too tight, unlike the jeans. Anyway, you threw on a thin gray sweater with cute buttons and bows embroidered on them. It was a far cry from your lazy, near boho style, but you didn’t complain. Amy had also brought you some sneakers, but you preferred your shabby yellow converse shoes, which were still alive. And you hoped to save your colorful knitted cardigan that your mother had carefully knitted for you for Christmas two years ago. It’s the only thing you have left of hers. The cardigan and Lottie.

You came out of the shower room and sat across from Lottie at the table. She looked at you anxiously. You knew what was wrong. She was scared. And so were you.

“We can escape through the roof hatch,” you whispered to your sister as if someone could hear you.

“No, we won’t do that,” Lottie shook her head and stood up from the table to say confidently, “let’s go.”

You and Charlotte walked out of Dale’s motorhome just as a young Asian-looking guy you didn't know was about to knock on the door.

“Oh, I…” he looked at you fearfully, “I thought Dale was in there.”

"He’s not there,” you shook your head.

“Yeah, I already figured that out,” the guy scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “I’m Glenn by the way,” and then extended his hand to you.

“Y/N,” you replied, squeezing his hand lightly.

“And you…?” Glenn looked at the girl next to you.

“Lottie,” she smiled. Glenn was about to reply when Dale appeared behind him.

"Oh, you girls are done now,” the old man clapped his hands, “have you met Glenn yet? He’s a good guy,” Dale clapped the younger guy on the shoulder in a friendly way.

"Come on,” Glenn lowered his head in embarrassment and you noted to yourself that he seemed really quite shy.

"Well, we need to find Shane and introduce you to the others, follow me,” Dale waved his hand, urging the three of you to follow him.

There’s nothing more for you to do. You took Lottie’s hand and followed the man. Glenn walked beside you, awkwardly tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The whole situation was embarrassing for you, too. Eventually you talked Daryl into bringing you to camp. You had hoped to just ask for food and lodging for one night, not expecting anything more. But now it’s people have lent you clothes and seem to actually let you stay here and live with them. This is something you could never have dreamed of. Unprecedented generosity.

“Shane we have an unspoken leader,” Glenn said as you walked, “well I mean we’re kind of his group, but there are other people in the camp who just knew about this place and stopped here on their own. Shane decided to organize all of us and he seems to know better than the rest of us how to handle difficult situations, so we just figured he could…I don’t know, be in charge? I mean, he’s really being listened to.”

“So he decides who can stay here?” you asked.

"We all decide together, Shane just makes the final determinations in matters like this, but since the camp is large and not everyone is, shall we say, part of our group, you could take a spot a little farther away and live on your own,” Glenn shrugged, “but that’s not necessary, no one minds if you’re actually with us.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you almost whispered, remembering the look in Lori’s eyes.

Dale led you to a campfire where people were beginning to gather. The sky was darkens rapidly and the air, warmed by the day, was cooling surprisingly quickly. Everyone wanted to take a seat close to the warm, cozy fire. You felt a thrill of excitement at how many eyes were directed at you at that moment. Lori and Carl, who you already knew. But now there was no coldness and distrust in the woman’s gaze that she had greeted you with earlier. And Carl was smiling, waving his hand to Lottie as if they were already friends. Next you saw Amy next to an other woman, her sister. The younger sister smiled at you, and the older one nodded her head in greeting. Next to them sat a middle-aged woman, unfamiliar to you until now, with short gray hair. She had her arm around the shoulders of a blonde girl who looked a little older than your sister. You suggested that perhaps she was the same Sophia who had lent her things to Lottie. Sitting next to them was a full man who looked at you in disgust. Actually, it wasn't just you, he looked like that at everyone if you watched him. He was definitely not someone you wanted to meet. The next person you saw was a chubby dark-haired guy who was holding a guitar and seemed to be playing something, but stopped when he saw you and Lottie. Next to him sat an older dark-skinned woman who smiled politely at you. And finally Shane. The same man who dragged Daryl into the woods to ‘chat’ when he brought you here. You recognized him from the confident pose he stood in, towering over these people.

Speaking of Daryl. You didn’t see him among these people. But when you looked to the side, you saw a familiar figure with a crossbow over his shoulder. Daryl was walking away, obviously not even thinking about joining the group around the fire. You watched as he separated and didn’t look in your direction, though you were obviously staring. But you were standing far enough away that he really didn’t notice your stare.

“Y/N, right?” you hear a male voice say and turn around to Shane.

“Yes,” you nodded, pursing your lips. “And little…?” Shane shifted his gaze to your sister and smiled at her.

“Charlotte,” the girl replied, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Y/N and Charlotte, I remembered,” the man grinned and nodded, “well, my name is Shane. I know we didn’t start this acquaintance on the most pleasant note, but I think we should all try again.”

“Does that mean we can stay here?” asked Lottie quietly, looking uncertainly at the big man.

“Sure,” he nodded his head, “yes, you can stay.”

Okay, maybe it was easier than you thought.

With a relieved exhale you were finally able to allow yourself to relax at least a little. Dale sat you both closer to the fire between him and Glenn, and you began to get to know the people around you. The blonde next to Amy was Andrea and you weren’t wrong to think they were sisters. T-Dog and Jacqui were introduced next. Lottie thought the guy’s name was funny. Carol then gave you a friendly smile and introduced her daughter Sophia. You guessed it here too. Oh, and her husband Ed, who wasn’t even paying attention to what was going on. Dale nodded toward where two adults and several children were sitting around a smaller fire. The old man introduced them as the Martinez family, and you recognized the woman as the one who had rushed to hide her children from you in the tent a couple of hours ago. She seemed friendlier now. Like everyone in this place. Oh, a little later a middle-aged man joined you and called himself Jim. He wasn’t too talkative, but he seemed to get along well with Dale, because pretty soon the two of them were discussing the old man’s motorhome and how to fix the insides of that old car.

The atmosphere became even more pleasant after everyone had eaten. You and Lottie refused to eat because Dale had already fed you a while ago. You were full, but the main reason was your shyness and unwillingness to eat all of these people's food. They had already given you too much in one day. After a while Carl dragged Sofia and Lottie away to play near the fire. The children were tired of listening to the boring adult conversations and no one dared blame them. You watched with a soft smile as your little sister was a little embarrassed but still interacting with the other children. She missed it. And you missed seeing her happy for so long.

“Hi,” you felt someone sit down on the log next to you. Lori.

“Hi,” you turned in her direction and only now noticed that most of the group had started to disperse to their tents.

"Listen, I wanted to apologize for the way I acted this afternoon,” the woman clasped her hands together, looking in front of her, “the day was difficult and…”

"It’s okay, I understand,” you nodded, “times are like this, it’s dangerous to trust strangers from the woods so easily. I mean it’s always been unsafe, but things have definitely escalated now.”

“That’s for sure,” Lori grinned and nodded, “but I’m still sorry, Y/N.”

“Forget it, I’m not offended, really,” you smiled at her.

“Okay,” nodded Lori in response.

Lori was silent for a few moments before she spoke again.

“It’s good you’re here, I can’t imagine how hard it is to survive out there in the woods alone,” she sighed.

“Yeah, it wasn’t easy…” you nodded, “but Daryl saved us and I talked him into bringing us here for real.”

“It’s worth being careful with the Dixons,” Lori said, “Daryl and his brother Merle…they’re not easy to get along with.”

Merle? You’re hearing again that it’s best not to go near him. You didn’t know him, but you chose to trust everyone’s prejudices. Lori’s the second person to tell you to stay away from another Dixon. But if he resembled Daryl even a little bit, you could tell that he would indeed be difficult to get along with. But that’s if you wanted to, because so far, you haven’t.

“You don’t seem to like them both,” you said, throwing the twig into the fire without looking at Lori.

“With their arrival many no longer feel safe really,” the woman exhaled and looked at you, “Daryl at least hunts and contributes to this group, but his brother…don’t be alone with him, stay close to the others.”

“Okay, you’re scaring me a little,” you grinned a little wrongly.

“Sorry, just trying to give you a heads up that’s all,” Lori only shrugged.

"Okay, I’ll…keep in mind what you said,” you nodded. “That would be nice,” a soft smile appeared on her face. And you smiled back.

You sat silent in a cozy silence and looked at the fire. All around you could hear children’s laughter, the conversations of people you’d barely gotten to know, the tracks of a campfire and the murmuring of crickets in the grass. And at that very moment it seemed to you that life hadn’t changed at all. The dead don’t walk the earth and don’t eat the living. You hadn’t lost your parents and friends. And the thought of letting the walkers eat you and your little sister out of your own powerlessness hadn’t bothered you for the last week. It’s like everything’s back to normal.

Like you were living again.

Glenn was kind enough to give you and Lottie his tent. He promised he’d find you two your own when he went out on the highway again, but for now he’d moved into Dale’s motorhome.

You and Lottie wrapped yourselves in sleeping bags, which didn’t really keep you very warm on this cold Georgia night, but it was a lot better than sleeping on the grass in the woods with bugs getting into your hair and you could barely sleep, torturing yourself with the thought that walkers would appear at any moment. You finally felt safe. In that old camping tent in your sleeping bag, cradling your little sister in your arms to make you both feel warmer.

“I like it here,” whispered Lottie.

“We’re lucky to have come across such good people,” you said.

“I thought there were no survivors left, it’s been so long since we’ve seen them.”

“I’m sure this group is far from the only survivors.”

“I wish daddy had gotten to this place with us,” said Lottie faintly, pressing her thin lips together.

“I know, honey,” you closed your eyes, feeling the burning in them, “I wish he was here too.”

“Do you think he’s looking out for us? Grandmother always said the dead watch over us from the sky,” the girl asked with hope in her voice.

And who are you to dash her hopes? Even if you didn’t really believe in it. The dead walk the earth, not watch over the living from above. That’s the way it is. But Lottie doesn’t need to think about that.

“I hope he is,” you whispered, “he’s certainly happy for us. We survived and found a safe place with good people.”

“Yes, he’s happy for us,” agreed Lottie, “him and mommy.”

Lottie was silent for a while and you thought she had fallen asleep. You could still hear the crickets outside the tent.

“I don’t want you to go, Y/N,” Lottie said quietly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied with complete confidence.

“I don’t want you looking out for me from upstairs,” the girl said barely audibly.

You frowned. If only Charlotte knew what you’ve been thinking about lately. If only she could pay attention to how you almost gave up back then in the woods when the walkers caught you. What would she think? Would she trust you like she did before? You were scared. Scared that she’d find out. Scared that in a stressful situation you’d give up again and there wouldn’t be Daryl or someone else around to save Lottie instead of you. Scared that she might actually die. Scared that you might die, too. You didn’t really want that. You just didn’t know how else to handle the situation. You just let your weakness get the best of you and it almost killed you and your sister. And you didn’t want that to happen again.

“That won’t happen, I promise,” you whispered, “you and I will be together until the end, and I definitely won’t die before you."

"I love you, Y/N,” Lottie said a little louder.

“I love you too, sweetie,” you kissed the top of her head, “now go to sleep,” and pulled her tighter against you.

Toward morning, the sound of crickets and Lottie’s soft sniffling put you to sleep. And that sleep was so sweet.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd #daryl dixon x reader #twd fanfiction

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local-philocalist · 6 months ago

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Entry to your 20s, advice to the 20-year-old women

Four pieces of advice for the twenty-year-old women from a twenty-something year old woman.

1. Move Your Body

I cannot stress this enough, if you can, please move your body! Move your joints and build your muscles. The doctors, scientists and our parents were unfortunately right, the older one becomes, the weaker they get. If you want to still be able to run around in your fifties, sixties, etc. You need to start the habit now. Get a routine, start working out, try a sport, attempt a dance class, and get active in general.

I’ve recently gotten a gym membership and have begun pilates once or twice a week. Although at first, my muscles were burning, my body soon got used to it and I found my stamina and flexibility improving.

However, you don't need to spend money on a gym membership or Pilates to get fit. You can take a run around your local park, start a sports team with your friends, or try a YouTube workout from the comfort of your home. There are so many different ways to stay fit without emptying your pockets.

2. Eat Your Vegetables

I understand that some people are genuinely picky eaters and their parents never took the initiative to introduce different textures and flavours healthily. Thus this has followed into adulthood and are now unable to eat anything outside the same four meals.

I also understand I cannot say too much as someone who can eat almost anything but as a reformed vegetable hater I do have a little bit to offer. To live a long, healthy life vegetables are a necessity. So if you find yourself unable to eat certain vegetables, I would suggest cooking the vegetables differently, or incorporating ingredients you enjoy in your meals, think outside the box!

There are many articles about breaking picky eating, as adults we should try to expand our tastebuds, there's so much food to enjoy in this life. Nobody likes to be the person ordering chicken fingers at a Michelin restaurant.

3. Feed Your Brain

[edited: the previous paragraph has been published on my personal substack as a full piece; I've rewritten and changed this section for publication and privacy purposes].

I urge young women to nurture their brains; you are so blessed to be in a society and world where education is so accessible for women. If you live in the West, take advantage and don't feed into the propaganda of "I'm just a girl". Women are being minimised, and I don't want young ladies falling down the rabbit hole of this recent no-purpose lifestyle that's advertised.

Looks are essential, and don't get me wrong, I know attraction still plays a huge part in society, but it isn't the only important thing. It's not cute to be ignorant, lack life skills and use social media concepts like "I'm just a girl" as excuses. Stupidity isn't hot, so while it's okay to indulge in media consumption, find yourself hobbies outside of that and put in the effort to grow intellectually and further yourself.

4. High Self-esteem Will Protect You

Most of my girlfriends are in the dating field, and from the stories they tell me its clear these men are crazy. Good discernment is needed and for you to trust your discernment you need a healthy level of self-worth.

I’m not just talking about romantic interest, in general, high self-esteem will take you far in life. From romantic partners to career paths, when you know your value and do not settle, that translates to every crevice of your life. People treat you with more respect, you're likely to find yourself in fewer abusive scenarios and get better opportunities in your place of work.

Nothing good comes from beating yourself down and letting others treat you horribly. Overall your twenties can be fun but also filled with anxiety so take it step-by-step, don't beat yourself up and remember comparison is the thief.

#Salome advice

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merrybloomwrites · 2 years ago

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You Can Start a Family (Chapter 1)

Summary: During their break from Love on Tour, Mitch and Sarah make a new friend. She's spent years taking care of herself and others, nearly to the point of burnout, and they have plenty of love to share. The couple becomes a trio, and eventually a quartet after Harry finds out the truth about the relationship between Mitch, Sarah, and Y/N.

Hi everyone!! I've had this idea brewing for awhile and finally started writing it. For those who found this in the Harry Styles x Reader tag, I promise he will enter into the story later. Not to give too much away but it will eventually be the 4 of them all together privately but as 2 separate couples publicly.

I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort and all things soft, and am branching out into more spicy territory, so this should me a good mix of both. I hope you enjoy!

(yes the title is from Matilda, it's a found family story, of course the title is from Matilda!)

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Mitch and Sarah had been touring with Harry for years, and they loved every minute of it. They got to play for wonderful crowds of fans, explore new places, and meet new people while falling ever more in love.

But when Mitch’s mother, Tammy, was diagnosed with cancer and had to undergo a series of surgeries, they immediately made the decision to sit out the Asia and Australia leg of tour to be with family. The doctors were very confident that they would get all of the cancer, but everyone was still nervous.

The first surgery had been a success. There were 2 days in between procedures to give Tammy time to recover. Mitch and Sarah spent plenty of time at the hospital with her to keep her company. They shared stories, played cards, even sang to her when she was dealing with pain.

On the second day post-op Mitch’s father, Mark, went to the hospital early in the day and asked for some time to be alone with his wife. Mitch and Sarah let him know that they would come in the afternoon and bring lunch for everyone. That morning they decided to walk around the neighborhood.

Mark and Tammy had moved into their house two years prior. They had sold Mitch’s childhood home in the center of town to buy a house in a quieter area. It really was a lovely street they lived on, quiet with lots of open land. Even though it was only late-February, the weather that day was mild, making for a very pleasant walk.

The residents of the neighborhood were all very friendly. Everyone Mitch and Sarah walked past shared a greeting with them which Sarah reciprocated with a cheerful good morning as Mitch politely waved.

When they were almost back at the house, they came across a young woman pushing a stroller. She looked to be in her mid-20s, and they guessed the little boy was roughly 15 months old.

Mitch and Sarah had discussed having children of their own. They always knew that they had a lot of love to share and a desire to care for someone but decided to remain child free. They felt that with their lifestyle they wouldn’t be able to give a little one their full attention.

“Good morning,” the young woman said with a smile and a slightly confused look on her face.

“Good morning,” Sarah replied before turning to the stroller to greet the toddler. As she waved to him, Mitch reached his hand out to the girl to introduce himself. “I’m Mitch, and this is my wife, Sarah.”

“I’m Y/N, I actually recognized you guys. I’m a fan of Harry Styles, and I think you both are really awesome.” Internally, Y/N was freaking out at casually bumping into two of her favorite musicians, but she was determined to remain calm and casual.

“Aw, thank you, that’s so sweet!” Sarah said. “What is your son’s name?”

“His name is Ryan, and he’s actually not mine. I’m the nanny. It’s a common mistake.” It truly was. Every time you were seen in public with Ryan people assumed he was your son. For a 26-year-old who looks so young that you still get carded every time you go to a bar, having a toddler as a companion suddenly ages you in strangers’ eyes.

“You said you’re a Harry fan, is this little one a fan as well?” Sarah asked.

“Oh, he definitely is. He loves music, and every time I put on videos of Harry, he pays close attention. Even when I put on One Direction, he’s most focused when Harry sings.”

“Have you been to any of Harry’s shows?” Mitch asked.

“Yea, I actually went to one of the Chicago shows. It was amazing! I had such a fun time. He puts on a great show, and you guys and the whole band are really talented.”

“What’s your favorite song of Harry’s?” You were about to answer Sarah’s question when Ryan started kicking and yelling.

“I’m sorry, he doesn’t love being in the stroller too long, especially if we’re not moving. I should get him home so he can run around before nap time.”

“Oh of course! It was lovely meeting you Y/N,” Sarah said as Mitch smiled and waved next to her. You waved good-bye and started walking down the driveway to Ryan’s home, noticing Sarah and Mitch walk into the house directly across the street.

Once you got back to the house, your internal freak out finally became an external freak out. “Ryan! That was Mitch and Sarah! We bumped into Mitch Rowland and Sarah Jones, how crazy is that?” Ryan stared at you and you imagined he was thinking that you were the crazy one, freaking out over random people. You continued on with your day, deciding that afternoon to bake cookies for the couple. Ryan was a wonderful helper, pulling every mixing pot and utensil he could find out of the kitchen drawers to scatter all over the floor while watching you do something he’d never seen done before. You talked him through every step of the cookie baking process, thinking that every activity is a new learning adventure for the little guy.

Meanwhile, Mitch and Sarah spent a couple of hours that afternoon visiting Tammy in the hospital. She had been told the first surgery was successful and that they would move onto the next step as planned. She was also feeling better than she thought she would having just had surgery. She knew that it was going to get harder as they did the final two procedures, so she was happy to spend time with family while she was feeling up to it.

Mark had gone home for a little while and came back around 5 in the evening, sending Mitch and Sarah home so he could have dinner with his wife. They said good-bye and let her know they would be back the next morning before her second surgery.

Shortly after, Y/N finished her workday and went to drop off the cookies on her way home. She knocked on the door and a moment later Sarah answered.

“Hi! Ryan and I baked cookies today and wanted to share with you and Mitch.”

“Thank you so much! Are these snickerdoodles? Those are my favorite!”

“Yes, they’re mine too! I used my grandmother’s recipe. We used to bake them together for like, every holiday.”

Mitch walked into the entryway as you finished speaking. Sarah handed him the container saying “Look, Y/N baked us cookies. Isn’t that sweet?”

He smiled softly saying, “Thanks. Can I actually ask a favor?”

You nodded, having no idea what he would say next.

“Can you not post online about us being here? We’re here for a family matter and don’t really want anyone to know about it. Or know where we are.”

“Oh of course! I would never share where you all are. I don’t really post online at all anyway. My Tik Tok and Instagram are pretty much just of my cats.” You forced yourself to stop talking before you made your life sound incredibly sad. Because truthfully, you felt it kind of was. You had barely any friends in the area or living family members. Aside from going to work, you didn’t get out much. You spent most weekends at home with your cats reading or bingeing the same TV shows over and over again. But no one needed to know that.

“Thanks, we really appreciate it. It can be hard to have privacy sometimes and right now being home with family we really need it.”

“If there’s anything else you need just let me know! I’m right across the street most of the time and my apartment is only a few minutes from here. Have a great night you two!” They said good-bye and you got back in your car before you could say anything to make a fool of yourself. You felt you had done well so far, but you were secretly fangirling and were afraid that it was only a matter of time before something crazy slipped out of your mouth.

You hadn’t lied when you said you never posted on social media. There was no way you were spreading personal information over the internet, especially personal information about someone else. However, it was difficult to not immediately call up your best friend and tell her who you had met. You were just so excited to have interacted with Mitch and Sarah. You had been a huge fan of theirs for so long. There wasn’t much about them online, just short snippets from concerts and interviews here and there. It was hard to guess how they would be in real life, but so far, they seemed like sweet, down to earth people.

When you got back to your apartment you took a quick shower, had dinner, and decided to read some of your book. You were nervous that if you touched your phone, you’d call your friend, so you ended up going to bed quite early to avoid temptation. You fell asleep thinking back on the interactions of the day, happier than you had felt in a long time.

What you didn’t realize is that you had made an impact on Mitch and Sarah as well. After you left, they sat down to have dinner together and you became a topic of conversation.

“She seems sweet,” Sarah said.

“Yea. And calm.”

“I didn’t even guess she was a fan and recognized us at first, she was so casual.”

“Well, you were also distracted by the baby. You missed the barely contained panic on her face when we first said hi.”

“Ah so that’s why you introduced yourself. It did seem out of character for you to strike up the conversation.”

“I’m not completely socially inept Sarah, I can talk to people when I want to. I just don’t always want to.”

“I know that. I was just curious about what you saw in her that made you want to talk to her. Thought maybe it had something to do with that conversation we had a couple weeks ago. I know I thought back to it when she stopped by with the cookies. She is rather pretty.”

Mitch put down his fork and just stared at his wife for a moment. He knew exactly which conversation she was bringing up. One they had after Harry’s birthday party post Palm Springs night 2. After Harry’s birthday show the whole band and crew went to a club that had been reserved for their group. While Harry generally liked a more laid-back birthday dinner, he figured since it was also the end of the US leg of tour, they all deserved to go a little wild.

On top of their normal entourage there were a fair number of people in attendance that Mitch and Sarah didn’t recognize but assumed either knew Harry or were somehow connected through their networks. Well into the night, when everyone was feeling rather loose thanks to the alcohol in their systems, a young woman came up to the married couple. She introduced herself as Colleen, and let them know that if they were interested, she would be more than happy to please them both. They were startled by how forward she was, and immediately, but politely, turned her down. Once she walked away, they shared a surprised look.

After getting back to their hotel, Sarah brought up the interaction suddenly while getting ready for bed. “Maybe we should’ve said yes.”

“Said yes to what?” Mitch asked, slipping out of his jeans and throwing them on top of his shirt that was already piled on the floor.

“Said yes to that girl.”

“What girl?” Drunk Mitch wasn’t always the best at paying attention enough to store conversations in his memory.

“Colleen. You know, the one who offered the three way.”

“Oh.” Mitch joined his wife in the bathroom so he could see her while they had this conversation. “Is that something that you would want?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. Obviously, it’s not something I need. You keep me more than satisfied, so this isn’t about anything being missing. But you know I’ve always been interested in experimenting with a girl.”

“I still can’t believe you spent years touring with bands and never once hooked up with a girl.”

“Yes well, I was focused on work at the time. It just didn’t seem all that important.”

“But now you’re interested in the possibility again?”

“Part of me feels like I want to have that experience, even just once. I mean I know you’ve experimented with boys. You and Harry had your fling in Jamaica.” Mitch smiled thinking back to the writing trip they took when working on the first album, before the touring band had been brought together and he met Sarah.

“Alright. Maybe we’ll meet someone who’s a good fit for us to branch out a little and have some fun. But right now, I am drunk and exhausted so let’s get some sleep and talk about this again when we’re more coherent.”

They didn’t talk about it the next morning as they dealt with their hangovers, nor did it come up in the following weeks. Not until Sarah casually mentioned it at Mitch’s parents’ kitchen table on a random Wednesday in February. Just as Mitch was about to reply his father walked in, effectively cutting off the conversation. But now it was on top of both their minds, surely not to be forgotten for weeks once again.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Chapter 2 is posted here!

If there are any specific scenarios you want to see with this dynamic let me know and I'll try to work them in! I might do some blurbs outside of the main story as well.

Hope you enjoyed, and I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback!! (or if you find a typo, feel free to point it out!)

#sarah jones x reader #mitch rowland x reader #harry styles x reader #mitch rowland x sarah jones #mitch rowland x sarah jones x reader #sarah jones x mitch rowland x reader #mitch rowland x harry styles

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maaarine · 3 months ago

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How The Netherlands Built a Biking Utopia (Michael Thomas, Distilled, March 09 2023)

"According to one estimate, 60% of all Dutch transportation infrastructure was destroyed during World War II.

Roads, bridges, and tunnels were all bombed during the invasion. Some cities, like Rotterdam, were completely flattened.

All of this destruction forced The Netherlands to rebuild their country almost entirely from scratch.

With this blank canvas, the Netherlands didn’t immediately set out to build a biking utopia.

In fact, the opposite happened. Like many countries around the world, the post-war era was a golden age for the personal automobile. (…)

In 1971, 500 children were killed by cars.

One of those children was Simone Langenhoff, a 6 year old girl who was struck and killed by a car on her way to school.

In response to the tragedy, her father, a journalist, wrote a front page article with the provocative title “Stop de Kindermord” or “Stop Murdering the Children.”

The article inspired protests and eventually an entire movement. The next year, something else important happened.

In 1972, the Dutch government released a report showing that it would cost billions to continue building roads and highways.

Nearly every politician at the time agreed that this kind of spending just wasn’t feasible. They all agreed that the country needed to look at alternatives to cars.

If that wasn’t enough, another year later, gas prices skyrocketed due to the first oil crisis.

Suddenly the price of oil went up by 300%. In a nationally televised speech, the prime minister urged people to use less energy and change their lifestyles.

He also announced a series of car-free Sundays which gave people a glimpse of cities would look like with less cars.

As a journalist for The Guardian put it: “People were suddenly reminded of what life was like before the hegemony of the car.”

In the 1980s a few Dutch cities began to experiment with new ways to get people out of cars and onto bikes again.

For example The Hague and Tilberg built a few bike lanes and painted them bright red.

But biking rates didn’t go up after they built these bikes lanes. (…)

In other words, if you want people to bike you can’t just make it pleasant to bike. You have to make it a pain to drive.

Over the last 20 years, Dutch cities like Amsterdam and The Hague have done just that.

One way they’ve discouraged car use is by making parking expensive.

“In the city centre, you pay seven euros per hour [to park],” de Lange said. “If it's expensive, people will think about going by car twice.”

But policies like this don’t just discourage people from driving. They also provide income for the government.

And most Dutch cities use that income to fund bike and pedestrian infrastructure.

In addition to making parking expensive, Dutch cities also use a city planning strategy called “traffic calming” to slow down cars.

The basic idea of this is to make roads more narrow, reduce speed limits, add bumps, and make it difficult to drive fast.

This makes driving less desirable. But it also makes it safer for pedestrians and cyclists. The result is less driving and more biking and walking.

Many cities have also begun converting roads into car-free zones. As the name implies, these are areas of the city where cars can’t travel with the exception of delivery trucks and emergency vehicles.

All of these changes have had an incredible impact on The Netherlands.

In the 1970s about 500 children were dying from car fatalities per year. Four decades later in 2010, 14 children died, a decrease of about 97%.

Compared to the United States, the Netherlands has 3 times less car fatalities per capita. If the US could replicate this, we’d save 20,000 lives per year.

All of this biking is also improving people’s health. Everywhere in Europe, obesity rates are growing with one exception: The Netherlands.

As Melissa and Chris Bruntlett point out in their book, Curbing Traffic: “Similar bicycling rates in the United States would save a staggering 125,000 lives each year.”

These policies have also cut the Netherlands carbon emissions. In the United States the average person emits about 5.4 tons of CO2 per year from driving.

Dutch people, on the other, drive much less and as a result their cars emit 3 times less CO2 per capita."

#article #environment

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rosemarysndthyme · 1 year ago

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✞ The Summer of Ravenswood Manor: A Haunting Tale ✞

Honey Dreary moves the desolate town of Angels' Creek in the Midwest, desperately trying to escape her troubled past. Unexpectedly she becomes entranced by the mysterious and brooding owner of a rundown mansion on the edge of town, Ravenswood Manor. The two begin a tumultous romance as she begins to uncover the dark secrets of his past.

Character Moodboards here

Chapter 1: Milk, Honey, Harmony

Considering Jesus died almost two thousand years ago in sanction for our sins, seems he had failed. At least in Honey Dreary's eyes.

The trees in this dismal town seemed to howl and shriek, their brittle bare branches reaching out like bony fingers, waiting to pick and pluck every morsel of life from its residents. Often things would vanish. Cars were parked and never to be seen again. Small children would wander off from their parents, never to return.

Honey, in her cherry red 1967 Ford Mustang raced down the road, blazing a fiery red trail to a new beginning. With a Marlboro gold hanging from her opulent cherry lips, and the wind in her hair, it was enough to distract her from a possible grave mistake. No, she wouldn't let herself admit she'd made an impulsive decision, upping and leaving her old apartment in the city in the middle of the night. Not telling anyone where she was going or for how long and with no plans of a job. As her mother always said ‘every cloud has a silver lining’. She'd found an ad for an old chapel converted into apartments, using what little savings she had on the small deposit and gathering the rest for her first months rent. She decided the rest would work it’s self out. The apartment had a pretty little porch out front for her to sit out and read, smoke or play her vintage Billie Holiday vinyl. If nothing else, that would be this cloud’s silver lining. She was looking forward to an escape from her previous city life, one where she could do as she pleased without the torments of being a city girl in her 20s, or the ever-looming disapproval of her family.

Angels' Creek was a sleepy rundown Midwestern town. A place that was no one’s destination and not even somewhere you’d be passing through. It was surrounded by open fields of forest and farmland. Honey had chosen it for its lazy hazy atmosphere, now closing in on her late twenties , she decided a more tame lifestyle was due. There definitely wasn’t much in the way of modern amenities or entertainment. From what she could make out, the town had one singular main road that ran from one end of town, Angels’ Entrance, to the other, Ravenswood End. She lived at the far end, like a guilty child banished to a dark corner. The street was littered with tattered shops: Daisy's Diner, The Cloudy Laundrette, Pembrooke Supermarket, and somewhere called Ray's. All are in need of a good refurbishment, their lit up signs flickering and dying, as was the life from this town. There was a heavy sense of faded glory, with the town's best days behind it, the barren remnants sit gathering dust in the middle of a vast plain of deathly trees.

Honey's tyres screeched as she pulled up to her new apartment. Flicking what was left of her cigarette onto the pavement, she takes off her sunglasses and adjusts her windswept blonde hair in the rear-view mirror, as she leans over to the passenger seat to gather her bags before grounding her wedged heel onto the pavement. Her perpetual hazy cloud of cigarette smoke, amaretto perfume, and bad decisions, pervaded the air around her.

A sweaty outstretched palm startled her, 'Miss Dreary' a voice spoke before she'd hardly put her other foot down on the pavement. She shifted her gaze up drinking in the sight, brown trousers, starched shirt, round bald head with friendly overly enthusiastic blue eyes. ‘Mr Bluebell. I’m your new landlord.’ Honey grasped his hand, using it to hoist herself up from the drivers seat bringing her to eye level with her new landlord. ‘My gosh! What a beautiful car you have. Must be a 1974.’

‘It’s actually a '67.’

‘Yes. Of course. You’re correct. Anyway. Would you like me to show you inside? Your particular apartment is named ‘Garden of Eden’ …controversial these days. ’ Mr Bluebell turns around with Honey on his tail… she guesses he’ll offer to help with her bags after the tour. ‘I bought this property years ago now. It was a derelict church before I had the idea to convert it into quaint little apartments.' It was an insult to call it an 'apartment' really, she thought.

Mr Bluebell continues... 'The previous owners weren’t too fond of the idea, but they came around once they saw how much I was offering! You have the ground floor, it’s cosy with excellent bones, well lit in the mornings with east-facing windows.’ They pass the sweet white porch before entering the small living room with a kitchenette attached. ‘This is your living space, as you can see it comes with a sofa, and a TV cabinet.’ The ‘sofa’ he was referring to was more of an armchair, and the ‘TV cabinet’ was a single television plonked on the floor in front of said ‘sofa.’

He leads her down a narrow hallway. ‘Down here is your bedroom. And to the left is your bathroom.’ They come to a halt in front of a large window overlooking the street opposite. Mr Bluebell quickly snatches a glance out before snapping his head back into place. ‘I’ll leave you now to settle down and get comfortable,’ he huffs. The middle-aged man makes his way back to the front door, still rambling on. He comes to an abrupt stop. He leans uncomfortably close to Honey’s uninterested face. ‘I will say, be wear. Of the Manor on the hill. Strange things happen in Angles’ Creek. Just… be careful.’ His serious demise reverts back to his usual friendly cheerfulness. ‘Toodaloo! You can always find me at Ray’s,’ with no more than a wiggle of his chubby fingers he nearly vanished from Honey’s porch.

She wasn't even sure exactly which manor he was talking about. All she could see were brittle twigs for miles in the bleak distance. But. There was a murky grey space, what looked to be an opening in the whispering trees. If she squinted hard enough, yes, there was a tattered house in the distance. One that combined a lavish art deco style with 1950s Americana brilliance. There were holes in the brickwork that looked to be poorly boarded over with scraps of rotting wood. The old hanging porch lights, once a crystal shiny glass, now swung smashed from its socket. A gate of exquisite design once stood guarding the house and its glory is now ripped off its hinges lazily swinging and creaking with the wind's force.

Retrieving her suitcase and what little belongings she brought with her from her car, Honey begins to unpack. With interior design not being her strong suit, her judgement told her the framed Elvis photograph looked best on the already dusty glass shelf in the bathroom, ironically. Her American flag was pinned above her bed in all its failing glory. The small vintage trinkets she considered her prized possessions: a little bone China jewellery dish with hand-painted pink roses, a porcelain doll her grandmother gave her for her first birthday, and a wooden box of teeth she found in an antique shop. All neatly placed on her brown dressing table in front of the infamous east facing window. The cramped structure left no room for any kind of wardrobe, meaning her few items of clothing had to be hung off the end of the cream curtain pole, supporting the flimsy mesh lace curtains that provided a very minuscule amount of privacy. She supposed in a run down town like this, not enough goes on for her to need more modesty.

The crinkle of her cardboard cigarette carton simmered off the walls as she fished one out to light between her supple lips. That’s how quiet Angles’ Creek was. How drab, how dull, how dismal. Not even the sound of footsteps from passers by, nor a car engine. Only the howling wind. Honey wanted quiet, and that’s what she got. The urge to fill an unfamiliar void of anonymity had her unpacking her record player to put on ‘I Call My Baby Pussycat’ by The Funkadelic. Leaning back on her new bed, she’d stripped herself of her plaid miniskirt and wedged heels, left in only her soft white thong that read ‘rockstars only’ across the front and a white lace tank top. She decided to unwind with the one of the only ways she knew how. Slipping her fingers into the front of her knickers, thinking thoughts of James Dean in ‘Rebel Without a Cause’, and Marlon Brando sweaty in a wifebeater. Her brain and body was nothing but oozing chocolate pudding and sticky melted marshmallow- a tapping on her window drew her out of her dreamland and anchored her down into reality. She padded over to see where the sound was coming from, expecting it to be that annoying old man again, just to find it was nothing but a tree branch blowing in the wind. So dead and bony, making a sound akin to dry fingers tapping and scraping at glass. No one was there. Not a soul in sight.

The old manor atop the hill in the distance caught her attention once again. A yellowish light bulb now glowed through one of the second-floor windows, right at the top of the house, beneath the deteriorating roof. It was almost as if a deathly shadowy figure created a colossal silhouette. If she squinted, the figure had a pale face. One of a handsome gentlemen, younger than she would expect of a manor so old. Stood there in nothing but a lacy vest top, nipples hard and protruding, and her knickers. An ominous figure of broad stature remains staring back at her.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #writing #harry styles soft goth #harry styles smut #harry styles story #harry styles lizzy grant #lizzy grant

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smurf4006 · 4 months ago

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A long overdue concert review incoming!!

Finally watched Suede performance live for the first time in 2024. Never in my life like even once would I think it was possible. You could say I’m a casual listener. The 1st song that got us hooked was actually ‘Obsessions’ way, way back when they released the single. When we found out they were coming to our country via instagram, we were elated & excited that it was held at Zepp. It was gonna be an intimate gig with smaller crowd & great ambience. Right when they opened the ticket queue, I immediately surfed the website & bought a pair of electronic tickets with QR codes. Ah gone are the days when we had to physically line up to buy tickets. Well except BMTH, it was so easy to get it.

Historically like other veteran fans, our playlist was full of Suede songs during our university days before graduation. The only way we could get in touch with their fans >12 years ago was thru tumblr. (However it’s sad that f*ckyeahneilcodling was deactivated coz the Italian girl admin was so sweet & friendly!) Currently we subscribed to Apple Music, I’m sorry it sucks to get paid 0.000000001 cent for each stream but I ain’t got no place to store physical CDs no more :(

Back to the live performance, I came with an unfairly low expectation. Thought they're gonna play whole setlist of new songs that most of us hadn't heard of. Maybe Brett will get tired of us eventually & smash some of the front row's iPhones through Simon's cymbals? What if Neil pass out suddenly onstage coz he had MECFS? Will Mat's bass drown & ended up buried in all that noise? Richard's fine I guess, he's an impeccable guitar demigod who never seemed to make a mistake. At times during our short road trip, I joked with ageist nuance on how we were on our way to see a bunch of old men who thought they could still rock it.

Boy was I mistaken. They opened with Turn Off Your Brain & Yell & it was the most energetic performance I ever seen. I'm the most irregular concert-goer who had only attended to a few local artists, Muse, Placebo & MCR; so I might be a little biased towards Suede but they are so underrated it’s maddening.

Brett's thunderous vocals echoed through the hall & stunned us all. How did a 57-year-old bloke manage to sing with his whole heart & emotion like that? I was perplexed on how they always sound better live than a studio record. Anyway, they played a lot of classic oldies we were familiar with. I almost cried of happines ala fanatic Swiftie when they played Life is Golden coz it was sucha beautiful song. It was also the first time I saw a frontman would wade through the crowd & allowed them to hold the mic & sang? Dare you to point me at least one frontman who’d be so intimate with his crowd coz there’s no others like Brett Anderson. He’s special in his own way & is irreplaceable. The security was somewhat complacent or relaxed most likely coz the civilized crowd did return Brett’s mic after the song was finished.

It was a bit comedic seeing Neil switching instruments time to time but yet I can’t stop wondering how did he heal his MECFS? I have acquaintances with MECFS & they shared how debilitating the disease was. Made you feel more sympathetic coz decades ago most doctors would brush you off & their diagnosis would lean more towards psychiatric disorder.

Throughout the 20-track setlist, I was amazed at how the band literally came back from the dead. I’m pretty sure they were split once & I didn’t know they reunited in 2010. Maybe I was aware maybe I wasn’t ah who could remember when you were so busy with life.

Thanks again Brett, Mat, Simon, Richard & Neil, the crew, roadies whoever for making the gig a dream come true. The jetset touring lifestyle is exhausting but I knew you guys are enjoying this journey too. While I wished they play Heroine, The Power, By The Sea & The Chemistry Between Us, there’s also an array of songs that my brother had wishlisted too like Killing of a Flashboy. I did remind him that he could always drop a comment for song request on their social media like instagram? We both were never fond of Drowners, Animal Nitrate & Metal Mickey thus guessed we were the younger generation who didn’t dig the Bernard Butler era. Their hardcore fans loved it though as evidenced by the roaring crowd that night.

It was worth the half-days we took off from work. Will we go again if they ever come back? Absolutely. I’d even go as far as to suggest them to do a Vegas-esque residency .

P/s: my photos were all blurry coz I was quite afar away; we are in our 30s who preferred leatherette comfy seats on the pretentiously elitist balcony which dampened our concert spirit. At times we did wish that we were down there but I was petite like Sabrina Carpenter who could not see anything in the standing zone. Not uploading any video, there’s always youtube for those who wanted to check them out.

#suede band #suede #brett anderson #neil codling #concert review

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brian-in-finance · 2 years ago

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Instagram 2 June 2023 ⬆️ Instagram 20 August 2015 Instagram 20 August 2015 #2

Glamour Italia: August 2015

I TRAVEL THROUGH TIME

Caitriona Balfe, the Outlander’s star, is hitting the big time in Hollywood. And after shooting with Clooney and Julia Roberts, she’s ready to return to Scotland. With specific ideas, some style tricks and few regrets.

One thinks that some things can happen only in an episode of Sex and the City. Instead you can just walk in the West Village in New York with Caitriona Balfe (pronounced Catrina; it’s a Gaelic name) to suddenly glance at your side a coach with the advertising of Outlander, where she is the leading actress, exactly what it happens to Carrie in the unforgettable theme song. But Caitriona does not stumble: she mirrors herself in her image and smiles. “Thanks to the photo editing the scene seems almost heroic”,she says. “But looking at it I can only recall that my ass was freezing that day in the mountains of Scotland”. After leaving Ireland at 15 years old, entering the fashion industry as a model, last year she has been mentioned by Entertainment Weekly among the twelve Hollywood’s rising stars. Thirty-five years, 1.77 cm tall, a perfect body, icy stare and reminiscent features as Cate Blanchett, one of the actressess she likes more.

How did you feel working side by side to George Clooney and Julia Roberts in Jodie Foster’s Money Monster?:

“They are all movie giants, I learned a lot. But in the end, when you’re there, it’s just a work, and it becomes almost a routine”.

You grew up in Northern Ireland, two hours from Dublin, not only far from the spotlight but even from the city lights. How did you end up working in fashion?

“The usual fate. When I was 18 an agent stopped me while I was volunteering for an association against multiple sclerosis. I was filling shopping bags in a supermarket. He offered me to work for an agency in Dublin. I left the college, where I studied acting, and a year later I moved to Paris”.

You have worked with all the greatest – from Karl Lagerfeld to Dolce & Gabbana and Balenciaga – at the spike of your career you were considered one of the twenty most sought-after models in the world. Is there something you currently miss of that world?

“Surely the bread with olives made by Dolce & Gabbana’s cook! I remember they always had the best refreshments. Sometimes I still dream that bread. However, it was a very funnyworld, but I think it was a suitable lifestyle for my age at that time. You can cope with certain pace, between trips and parties, only when you are twenty years old”.

Is there something you never tolerate?

“The fashion system idealize only one type of woman: it’s wrong and misleading. It forces to doubt about yourself, because it doesn’t matter if you were the prettiest girl or the smartest one at school. You are judged only upon the basis of how much you are skinnier than the girl at your side. Or if you have nicer doe eyes “.

Did you feel you would have become an actress?

“Yes, I always saw my modelling career as a temporary thing. Of course, I did not think it was a step lasting for ten years! But at the time I wouldn’t have even been able to deal with all the responsibilities requested to an actress and the roles I play”.

Such as the Claire role, the heroine of the Outlander series, adapted from the book by Diana Gabaldon. Do you see herself in her?

“The story of Claire is a radical change, a great loss, but also a renaissance (Claire is mysteriously thrown back in time; in Scotland, from 1945 to 1743.) It talks about how you can survive in front of tragic events and that you must keep living your life against all odds. She has ahuge force: she is a modern and feminist woman, not by choice, but simply because she feels to be worth as much as men. And she is so strong she can afford to make mistakes … So not only I like to think to have many things in common with her, but I hope so”.

Claire is in a love triangle. Have you ever experienced a similar situation?

“It happened that the place in my heart taken by someone I loved was not yet free and meanwhile … someone else was already entering! But I have never found in a difficult position as Claire is. I do not think, however, that neither of the two men competing for her would be right for me. The first thing I look for in a boyfriend? Certainly a beautiful head. Even if no woman would say no to the overwhelming passion felt by Claire and Jamie in the serial. I almost had to take a test of “chemistry” on the set before having the part ( she laughs)”.

You had to cope with the book fans, following the character for years. Judging from your followers on Twitter – more than ninety thousand –you convinced them.

“The reviews so far are always positive and fans are very active. The funniest part is that they send me a lot of paintings of my cat. I find them beautiful and I gave a part of them to some friends who live around the world. So, it seems to meI have a piece of home wherever I go”.

Do you like Twitter?

“The wonder of this social network is doing something good by using all the “chatter”created around my success. For example, I support an association helping children with cancer worldwide. Through Twitter I can give visibility even to them”.

The first series of Outlander was shot for almost a year in Scotland: did it was a kind of homecoming or did you feel isolated from the world?

“It was a long time since I was living in Europe … Scotland and Ireland are very different but both have landscapes with ancestral energies, magical, taking your breath away. However, sometimes we were so isolated that the mobile phone did not work for days. But that’s good – actually I hate to take it always with me on the set! Maybe the only thing I really missed was dressing up elegant to go out. It seems strange, but being accustomed to Paris or New York, where you pay attention to how you dress even to go to dinner, I felt a bit out of place in Glasgow. No one dresses to impress there, unless you go to dance”.

But your look, brown sweater, high waist denim skirt, ankle boots with a little heel, apparently, seems to reflect a simple taste …

“In New York, jeans and t-shirt are the uniform between shootings, but when I go out I want to tart myself up. My style depends a lot about how I wake up: one day very feminine, girly, the day after tomboy or even “rock and roll”. The only constant is black and a few jewels. And, definitely, high heels”.

Do you have a secret to be perfect during the long days on the set?

“Perhaps the main problem are dark circles, due to the impossible schedule. So patches help a lot, the ones you can cool down. When I am engaged during the episodes of the series I have always a bit of them hidden in the fridge of the crew, and usually my days begin with them”.

With the end of the Money Monsters’ shooting you will have to leave New York to return to Outlander in Scotland. And then? Which are your plans?

“For now, I know more or less what direction I want to go, but I do not want to have a clear strategy. If you schedule everything, you risk being disappointed, while I always took my best decisions without thinking at them. I let myself be surprised and, when there are challenges, I took them up. For the moment, they were right choices. I have no regrets..apart from a couple of ex-boyfriends!”

Outlander-Online

Remember when August 2015 seemed like only yesterday?

#Tait rhymes with hat #Good times #Outlander #Money Monster #Fashion #Glamour Italia #August 2015 #Instagram

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alwaysthesitter · 2 years ago

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Alright, I just finished watching Part 1 of Season 4. I was going to finish the whole thing, but it's almost midnight and I do work tomorrow. Sadly I didn't get any replies done tonight, but here's the head canons that have come up for me since doing the rewatch (now that I have time to focus strictly on Steve, and not you know....everything else going on).

This one is so random, but I just now noticed that Steve has leather seats in his BMW. I don't know if all BMW's have leather seats, but for someone that brings a lot of girls to Lover's Lake, I'm just saying.....those seats are probably pretty beneficial for keeping things as clean as possible. Did Steve possibly get the interior of his car done just for that? I could see it.

Steve seems to still jump to violence or violent threats as a defense, as noted when he threatens to punch Dustin's teeth out a second time or whatever the phrasing is. I feel like this is really reminiscent of his King Steve days, and that threatening others not only equates to him being tough, but it keeps people from prying past his facade and allowing him to be vulnerable. If he's feeling in a vulnerable position, chances are he's going to make a threat to deter from it.

THE CEMETARY SCENE. This one is going to be a huge stretch, but it's my interp and so I'm rolling with it. As soon as Max says "turn here", Steve immediately wipes a hand down his face. As we know from the series, this is a tic he seems to have whenever feeling particular emotional, as if "wiping off his feelings." To me, this heavily implied to me that Steve knew that turn led to the cemetary. Since Steve doesn't have anyone he's lost personally, I'm going to through out this hc that he has gone to Billy's grave since he died. This also goes along with the fact that he knew exactly which grave they were going to and was able to get his car there without Max's help (granted, we just see a wide shot of his car and Max could easily be giving him directions, but let my Harringrove heart have this).

Going off of Billy's birthday on his grave, I'm officially calling it that Steve's is April 29, 1966. There's a ton of theorizing about the year Steve was born, but this would make the most sense, because Steve is supposed to be a year older than Billy and with Billy being born in March of 67, Steve would have to be a 66 baby in order to be the oldest of the two. The sad thing is that in present day, that would make Steve only a few years younger than my parents - oof. But that also really solidifies the fact that I play Steve as a 20 year old post season 4.

Steve hates spiders. I think that's pretty obvious in canon by his interaction, but I'm extending this to say that Steve is fine with presenting as the 'manly man' in scenarios, except when it comes to killing the spider. He's definitely going to make his partner take that role.

I've had this unofficial head canon for awhile that Steve has a fake ID, and I've used it in several threads. I'm confirming this, because who else would have bought the six pack for Eddie that was in that car? Steve is the oldest of the group, and I surely don't think Nancy with her rule abiding lifestyle would have a fake ID, and Robin doesn't even have a license. So head canon, more or less confirmed.

Somewhat NSFW head canon, but Steve is very....very terrified of bondage. If his partner is into it (we see you and your handcuffs, Munson) then he's going to be willing to try for them, but it will take a lot of prep and coaxing and a ton of after care. Between being tied up by Russians, choked by the Demobat, pulled down and held up by vines.....he really doesn't like the feeling of being tied up and helpless.

Steve is absolutely 1000% a combat fighter. I always knew he had love and passion for his bat, and I know his main weapon of choice from the surplus store is a hatchet, but I never realized just how often this boy is grabbing handheld objects as weapons. He grabbed an oar twice to fend off danger. He grabbed the lamp. And maybe we could say it's because there was nothing else readily available, but he could have gotten all sorts of things at the surplus store and he still chose a close combat, hand-on object. I know he loses fights a lot, but with the way he absolutely destroyed that demobat with his bare hands, I think he's a better direct fighter than he gets credit for.

And that's all I have for now. As always, I love hearing what you all think or having questions to further develop this and make my interpretation really personal to me.

#[the hell am i sorry for*/head canons]#season 4 head canons

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preludetoselfdestruction · 2 months ago

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Prelude to self-destruction Chapter one

The parents

1967.... My parents were a couple of West Virginia hillbillies that fell in love and moved to Miami when I was three months old. My father an average hard working man. He worked hard to provide a modest home. He was the classic leave it to beaver type famly man but the hillbillie version with old fashion morals. A women stays home to make babies and has dinner on the table at 6pm. She does all the housework and picks up behind him. His ways, i think we're more of a 50's era way of life, not the 60's. A loving father who was consistent and dedicated to his family. One of the best fathers a kid could have. He made $2.60 an hour, and that was enough in 67 to purchase a modest home with a swimming pool and enjoy the Florida lifestyle. He was very much in love and happy.

My mother also a hillbillie from West Virgin had been born with a face that let her get away with anything. The complete package of stunning beauty and brains. The only thing holding her back was where she was born.

The move to Miami provided countless opportunities for both of them. Have you ever heard the saying you can bring a city girl to the country but you can't bring a country girl to the city? That was nothing but fact. It didn't take long for the big city of Miami to seep in. She had her second child and stay at home beauty was getting resless. The marriage started seeing stress, and arguing was common when dad got home. She wanted a job, and of course, dad wanted her home. She always had a way of getting her way. She was pregnant with my sister at this time and was growing more anxious. I dont know the story of why and i can't ask her now. she picked real-estate school. The 3rd child was born shortly before obtaining her real estate license. She went to work, and almost overnight, we went from modest income family to her getting as much as 20k in commissions a month. In the late 60s, that was a considerable amount of money. For a woman from West Virginia or anybody for that matter. She was at the top winning awards for best saleswoman. Along with the most commissions. I've overheard people at dinner parties say she could sell you a bag of sand while standing on the beach. She was brokering some of the most expensive properties in Miami beach to the elite wealthy from all over the U.S.

One of those Miami Beach homes sold to an organized crime family, and she made friends. The lavish parties became more frequently along with the arguments. My parents sold the modest home, and we moved into a million dollar 20 acre ranch in West Palm Beach. The elite, wealthy, hot spot had just started to get hot. She was now brokering lavish homes in both Miami and West Palm. This is where divorce is imminent I think as she traveled between cities not coming home. The arguments were loud and became violent. Eventually, both parents were not around much, and anytime we were all together, the violence would be bad. It was always my father leaving with various wounds and blood all over him. I would see my mother the next morning seemingly unphased. This went on for years. I wouldn't see my mother for a week or more at a time. I started seeing my mother with different men if she was even around. We spent most of our time with the live-in sitter. It had been a week or more since I'd seen her this time. My mother arrived home late in the evening with a man in tow dressed in a business suit, She introduced him asher lawyer to the sitter. She had filed for divorce on grounds of child abuse. She accused my father of molesting his own children. This could not be farther from the truth. He was devastated and not allowed to see his children and shamed on a complete lie. When I saw him, he was completely destroyed emotionally. As I got older, I despised her for that, but I had despised her for a lot of other things already.

I remember this night like it was yesterday eched in my memory forever. My mother had called him to the house for a talk, something about the divorce papers. A little while after my father arrived, the screaming and sounds of things in the house crashed into the walls and the floor just liike it had many times before.

I watched 3 men walk into the house and go straight to the kitchen. These were the same men i had seen at her office and separately for a long time now. I heard multiple voices now screaming in the kitchen, and it scared the shit out of me and ran back to my room to hide. Under my table at the window. I heard yelling and the big double front door open and slam against the wall. This shook everything in my room. My wall separates the living room. I hid under my table at the window and watched the 3 men drag my father into the front yard. I watched helplessly as three large men took turns beating my father. My father was a small man 5' 9" and 155 lbs. They took breaks only to yell at him and continue beating him. This went on quite a while, and i did not think this then as a child, but now remembering the ranch with its mile long driveway to the house. Nobody would hear anything in the front yard of this home. It was completely seclued and far away from the main road. As the men continued, the police arrived, and I was excited to see them. I remember feeling relieved, but the men kept beating on my father as they walked over to him, and they joined in beating him too. I can't remember feeling anything but complete sadness and horror at that moment and watched as they put my fathers lifeless body in the trunk of the police car.

To this day, I have only seen violent beatings like my father's received in movies. I didn't see my father again for a long time, thinking he was dead. My father and I only talked about this one time about 25 years ago. He did tell me it was my mothers doing which i knew already, and one of the thugs was her boyfriend at the time. He had been taken to an airport hanger, cleaned up, told him he would die if he came back handed a small amount of cash and put on a plane to Texas.

We didn't stay long in West Palm, moved to California. There were always a lot of drugs in the house. Hundreds of pounds of weed and several kilos of coke with giant bags of pills are always in the house. I know now the bags were Quyludes and amphetamine. There were a lot of violent arguments between my mother and whatever man was in the house. Large parties and fights. The fights would get quite violent. Only this time, my mother was the one bleeding and bruised. Sometimes police would arrive walking through the house with drugs everywhere you looked, but they never said a thing about them, it was like they were invisible and nobody ever went to jail. We had gone from Miami to California and had added another home in Daytona Beach in this cycle of chaos. While in California, my mother would go missing for weeks at a time. I shoplifted food to keep us fed. I received a call one night, and nobody said a word. It was just the sounds of my mother pleading for her life and getting a beating. That is a wonderful thing to hear as a child. I know it was purposely done. The reason i never knew. We stopped traveling and stayed in the Daytona home, mostly with the live-in sitter. The Daytona home was not as big or nice as the others. I believe this home was purchased by my mother and the others owned by the men she dated and those relationships were over. This is when i assume she was trying to get out of the drug dealing business. There were large quantities of drugs in the house but nothing like before.

This is where the smelly house guests would pop in from time to time to put me to sleep. I only woke up one time to what they were doing to me, and it's so horrifying that i don't talk about it, at least not in this chapter. My mother was rarely around, and sometimes we were left alone for a long period of time on our own but mostly with the sitter. The smelly house guest stopped drugging me, and my sister had taken my place. I suppose I had grown into something that these sick fucks didn't want. My brother was lucky and was spared any of the weirdness my sister and I endured. My sister, these days is way out of space, so i know it's done a number on her like it has me. She lives in a noisy place in her own mind to quite the demons. I dont know why, but I think it was just timing. My sister was the age they wanted and left my brother alone as far as I know. He could have blocked it out in a trauma response, though.My sister and I would talk of the abuse with my brother, and he remembers nothing. It was almost as if his mind from a certain period in time had been erased. I wish I'd had that superpower. With attention off of me, i just continued to numb myself with the vast amount of free drugs in the house and stayed in my room watching tv. At one point, I was 11 years old, consuming an 8 ball a day or more, I know now. My mother kept a fireproof box on a ledge inside the fireplace at the house in Daytona beach. There was always a few kilos in it in one big chunk.

I would help mysef to whatever I wanted and go back to my room. One night playing rough I knocked the couch on its side in the living room. That's where i found a paper grocery sack full to the top of $100 dollar bills. To this day I dont know how much that would be but I had grabbed several stacks and hit the streets of Daytona having fun. A 12 year olds dream come true I bought anything and everything at any place that was open. I couldn't spend it all and came home that night with a lot of $100 dollar bills in my pocket. A few days later I came in the ftont door and found my mom in a pool of blood. Not knowing what happened and immediately concered about the money I took I tried to put what was left back, it wasn't there. I assume I was responsible for her beating. A few days later I'm on a plane to go live with my father. Something that saved my life.

#narcissism #depressing shit #emotional abuse #child abuse #bpd #narcissistic personality disorder #life lessons #author #suicideprevention #addiction #story #who cares #nobody gaf #autobiography

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