#perdo

[foreverblondie23]

[queenofswords]

Rúnminations: I: Control

[concept/disclaimer/etc]

As I've taught the elder for years based on the surviving poems, lived experience comes to factor in. (Is this the difference in Óðinn's runemasters charge between interpret and receive? Who's to say.) So to start, I want to talk about Nauðiz, Perðo, Laguz, and the concept of control.

With Nauðiz, we have no control. We have "scant choice," we experience "state[s] of oppression and toilsome work." Many people see Hagalaz as the rune with the bad wrap, but there is agency in Hagalaz (although that's a different post). With Nauðiz, we are chilled by the frost. We have no choice. There is a lack of control, which is (in this rune's perspective, rightfully) troublesome and hurtful to us. I see Nauðiz also in relationship to Raiðo through its link with 'toil': the message, sometimes you are the horse.

The only other rune that offers no control is Perðo. Perðo, the rune of the unknown and unknowable: the dice cup of chance. As Jeanette Winterson wrote (unrelatedly), "You play, you win. You play, you lose. You play. It's the playing that's irresistible. [...] What you risk reveals what you value." We play because we have no control. If you fixed the game, if you knew for certain the outcome, it would no longer be a game—it would be something else. The joy of the game is the lack of control. In both Nauðiz and Perðo, we're given two looks at how to experience a lack of control in our situations.

I used to talk about the tensions between these two runes all the time, and it wasn't until this month that I experienced Laguz's lessons as it relates to control. Yes, yes, water, of all kinds, water and flow. Water that falls and water that swells, water that eddies, water that dazzles, confuses, terrifies. And how to learn from that. Words that, previously, landed in me like 'surrender,' 'flexibility,' 'adaptation.'

Recently, I've found another way to describe it: it's the choice to give up control. When I see it, now it says to me, You can have control here, in Laguz, if you want it—you can always swim upstream—but the suggestion is, perhaps, that you would flow further if you let go and let the current take you.

[smallscreengifs]

[martinbecker57]

The Last of US

English versionDeutsche Version TLOU HBO NO SPOILER, Just Pics Ellie and Joel walk through an apocalyptic world in 2023. Humanity has been decimated by a pandemic. They try to find rescue to save humanity. HBO is currently filming a series based on a game of the same name. The images are breathtaking. Ellie und Joel gehen durch eine apokalyptische Welt im Jahre 2023. Die Menschheit wurde…

[pedrospatch]

not a thing

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

part ii

summary: You and Joel had a private moment while Ellie was asleep. Or so you’d thought she was asleep.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. implied smut, but no actual smut. grumpy Joel, Ellie is a little shit.

Word Count: 1.5k

a/n: nervous to write for TLOU but still giving it a shot! poor Ellie for being subjected to what i am about to subject her to lol. Edit: holy shit, i did not expect this to get much attention. thank you all sm for reading, liking and reblogging!

It had been an incredibly stupid thing to do.

So, so, so fucking stupid.

You knew that.

And Joel knew that.

You two were supposed to have been standing watch.

Not to mention, there had been a teenaged girl sleeping close by, just mere fucking yards away from the two of you had been—

Jesus Christ.

Dammit, you and Joel fucking knew better than to be this goddamn stupid.

Careless.

But neither of you could help yourselves.

It had been several weeks—actually, it had been several months since you two had been able to steal a private moment for yourselves. That moment would have been missed had you not somehow woken up in the middle of the night, only to find Joel wide awake, his rifle in hand as he stood watch while you and Ellie had slept. You’d offered to take his place for a few hours so he could get some rest too, but instead, a few minutes and many, many desperate, feverish kisses later, the two of you found yourselves on the other side of Bill’s old white and blue Chevrolet pickup truck, Joel’s jeans unzipped and your own jeans pulled down around your knees along with your underwear. He’d had you bent over, but still standing at a point where you could peek over the bed of the truck so that you could somehow keep a watchful eye out in between the moments of mind-numbing pleasure—both for any signs of potential danger and also for Ellie, who was passed out, curled up into a little ball in her sleeping bag and completely unaware of what her two reluctant protectors were doing behind the vehicle right next to her.

Your bottom lip was busted, bruised from biting down on it so hard.

The deal had been no noise, not even a single whimper, although you couldn’t remember how well either of you had stuck to that rule in the heat of the moment. It had been a quick fuck, just enough to give you and Joel some much needed relief from all of those pent up stresses and frustrations you two were carrying on your shoulders since Ellie had entered your lives just the week before. And just like back in the Boston QZ, Joel said nothing to you once it was over and done with.

It never hurt your feelings. It was just how things were.

It was some sort of twisted, fucked up unspoken pact the two of you had. 

Joel Miller fucked you, and then he just pretended like nothing ever happened, not until the next time he found himself buried inside of you.

It’s not like you expected Joel to return your feelings.

Hell, you weren’t even sure the man knew how to feel anything but anger, bitterness, and violence. 

Afterwards, Joel took you up on your offer to keep watch and slept for a couple of hours until sunrise came and had you both moving, packing up the truck and getting ready to continue the long drive ahead to Wyoming.

“She’s been oddly quiet,” Joel mumbled to you as he packed up the remnants of the small campsite into the bed of the pickup truck. “Go check on her.”

Obediently, you nodded and dropped the sleeping bag in your hands before turning away and walking over to where Ellie was sitting cross legged on the ground, her fingers mindlessly fiddling with a small, broken tree branch on the ground. “Hey,” you offered her a small smile. “It’s almost time to get going. You doing alright over here?”

She looked up at you and gave you a small nod. “Yeah. Just cold as fuck since we can’t have a fucking fire going,” she said, tossing a tiny glare over in Joel’s direction. “But other than that? I’m just fucking peachy.”

You chuckled and shrugged out of your worn out, brown windbreaker jacket. You draped it over Ellie’s shoulders before taking a seat beside her on the ground. She may have been a thorn in Joel’s side—then again, who wasn’t a thorn in Joel Miller’s side—but you’d warmed up to her fairly quickly. A lot quicker than your partner, anyway. He was still a work in progress.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Ellie nodded, clutching your jacket close. “Kinda,” she shrugged her small shoulders. “The ground was really hard and uncomfortable. I woke up a couple of times throughout the night and had trouble falling back asleep.”

Your smile faded ever so slightly. “Oh? You did?”

Noticing the sudden change in your demeanor, a small smirk crossed the girl’s face. “I knew you and McGrumps over there were a thing.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva as you nervously sputtered out, “W-What the hell are you talking about?”

Ellie raised an eyebrow at you, shooting you a knowing look as her smirk widened.

Oh for fuck’s sake. Ellie had caught you and Joel while you two were—fucking?

Mortified did not even come close to cutting it.

“Oh god,” You muttered, your face on fire. 

“I really hope you two are being smart and using protection,” she added teasingly. “What’s that saying? Wrap it before you tap it?”

“Ellie!” You hissed, glancing over your shoulder. Joel went about his business and it was times like these where you were actually thankful that his hearing wasn’t what it used to be. You turned back to her and quickly started trying to explain yourself. “Ellie, I don’t know what you think you saw but—”

“Oh, it was too dark to see anything. I heard you guys.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Back behind the truck.” She paused, thoroughly enjoying every single moment of complete and utter discomfort she was causing you. “You know, if that’s gonna keep happening, I’m really gonna need you guys to find me a Walkman with some headphones. Noise cancelling headphones, please and thank you.”

You dropped your head into your hands and anxiously rubbed your face with your palms. “Fuck. I’m really sorry, Ellie,” Was all that you could say.

What else could you say?

Sorry you had to hear me getting fucked by my partner while you were laying just feet away in your sleeping bag?

“Sorry for what? For not being able to keep it in your pants?” Ellie giggled, slapping your knee with her hand in an attempt to get you to lighten up. “I get it. Nature. Hormones. Biology and shit.”

You lifted your face from your hands. “Joel can’t know,” You warned her. “Or he won’t be able to look you or me in the eye ever again.”

Ellie groaned in exaggeration, throwing her head back. “Aw, come on! I really wanted to see him squirm.”

“Me squirming should be fucking enough you little shit,” You laughed, shoving her playfully with your elbow. Once both of your giggles had subsided, in a more serious tone, you told her, “And for the record, we are not a thing.”

Ellie stared at you in disbelief. “Get out of here, you lying sack of shit! You totally are!”

“I know it’s hard to understand. But just because two people—” You trailed off, trying to choose your words carefully. It was more often than not that you had to remind yourself that despite what Ellie had been through and all she had seen, she was still fourteen. A fucking child.

“Bump uglies?” she suggested, wiggling her eyebrows.

You sighed. “Jesus Christ, please don’t ever fucking say that out loud again.” You paused briefly, running a hand through your hair. “But yes. Just because two people do what he and I were doing, that doesn’t mean anything. For a lot of people, it can be quite meaningless actually. It does not mean they are a thing. Me and Joel? Not a thing. Understood?”

Ellie blinked. “That’s probably the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard. Even before last night, I knew you two were a thing. Whether either of you admit it or not. I can tell.”

You knew better than to play into what she was saying, but the sheer curiosity got the better of you.

What had Ellie noticed about you and Joel?

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged, bringing her knees up to her chest. “I dunno. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. He’s a guy who doesn’t seem to give a shit about too many things or too many people. But I know he does give a shit about you. He cares about you. Even if he might have a shitty ass way of showing it.”

You glanced back over at Joel and then back at Ellie, confused.

“And you can deny it all you want. But if there’s one thing that stone cold asshole cares about, it’s definitely you,” Ellie stated firmly.

Your mouth fell open slightly, unsure what to say to her.

“What the hell are you two yappin’ about over there?” Joel called, looking over his shoulder.

“Nothing!” Ellie practically sang, causing him to roll his eyes and turn his attention back to his task.

“Well then, get off your asses and let’s get a fuckin’ move on. Ain’t got time to waste.”

[molecoledigiorni]

- non mi perdo -

parlami di un amore che non ha radici

che affonda le mani nel

silenzio,

che resiste alla paura

del buio

alla paura del vuoto,

anche se ci perderemo ancora

anche se ci perderà.

Tu resta

ad inventare un tempo nuovo

a sfidare la fatica del domani,

regalami ancora quella gioia

nello sguardo.

Tu resta dove sei

che non mi perdo.

©b.b.s

[toxicanonymity]

Cargo. Silence can never be bought, only rented (pt. 4)

3.1k / dbf!Joel x f!Reader 18+ / pt 1 / master list

His arms loosen and you turn around to face him.  Bedhead is unreasonably sexy on him.   You try to kiss him and he dodges you again, going for your neck instead. . . He starts giving you a light hickey.  "You're evil," you say, pulling away to look at him.  He smiles wickedly, then it fades.  | next: part 5

Thank you @dark-scape for the mood board (and sounding board).

CONTENT WARNINGS/NOTES: NSFW 18+ Noncon somnophilia just the tip (don't get too excited) dry humping, vaginal fingering, oral (M receiving), alcohol, reader wears his shirt, excessive dialogue, elvis reference, sex work references, NO HOG BBQ YET SORRY- It took on a life of its own, needed its own part (next Sunday) and I think you'll see why the pacing is better that way.

Tags - This story: @jbcalway @daddy-din @angelmenace @silkiers @axshadows @legs0pen4dilfs @fan-fiction-floozy @grnherbs @icuminurbutt @lokanda @not-a-unique-snowflakewflake89 @likeanimagepassingby2 @witchy-jadda @mxtokko @missannwinchester @cannolighost @anxiousankylosaurus @montenegroisr @97cityy @lillyrob @billyloomiswhore4 @cloudroomblog @boysddontcry @blackvelveteen1339 @twsssmlmaa @call-me-doll-face All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione Lmk if i missed you. Idk why some are buggy.

-

The hotel shampoo and body wash smell like Joel after his shower, which makes you want to take the bottles with you.  After your bath, you lounge on your bed in a towel, air-drying, finishing the movie, and replaying the night in your mind.  Mainly how hot Joel looked between your legs.  You also dwell on the fact that he wouldn’t really kiss you.  Apparently, he won't sleep in the same bed with you either.  It hurts.  Like, it's physically painful.  

You go across the suite to Joel's room for a shirt to sleep in.  His door is cracked open and there's a green flannel folded on top of his luggage.  It’s not weather-appropriate and you wonder if he brought it for you.   He's tucked in, already asleep on his stomach with his shirt off, a massive arm sticking out over the white comforter and another under his pillow.   You drop your towel to put the shirt on – leisurely, hoping he wakes up to the tempting sight – but he's already sleeping soundly.   You've never seen his face so relaxed, but his brow is still somewhat furrowed.  

You sit down on his bed to fasten a couple of buttons.  He doesn't  wake up.  The irony doesn't escape you that you're watching him sleep when he's supposed to be the creep.  Why doesn't he try to fuck you, you wonder.  His words to Chad echo in your mind: If she told her father, you wouldn't be breathing.  But that's obviously different, you think. That was about someone breaking your heart and physically intimidating you.   

-

The hotel bed is tightly made, with the comforter tucked under the mattress on the side Joel isn't using.  You wonder if you could slip inside without waking him up.  You move the pillows out of the way, then slowly, inch by inch, wedge yourself under the sheets. When you're almost settled, he stirs.  He blinks a few times, squints at you, then sighs, "Trouble . . ."  He moves one of his pillows and hugs it, effectively putting something between you.  It stings.  You try to sleep but you end up sniffling.  

He hears you and wakes up again.  "C'mere, damnit," he half-whispers, half-asleep.  His gruff bedroom whisper makes you wet.  He lifts up his arm but doesn't turn on his side or move the pillow.  You rotate the pillow slightly and rest your head on it with his arm over your chest.  You drift off sooner than you expect.  

-

At some point in your sleep, you roll over facing away from him.  You wake up in the fetal position with Joel’s arm draped over you.  Joel has turned onto his side, too.  Your upper back is just barely against his chest.  You scoot your lower body backwards to spoon with him, and your naked ass meets the tip of his cock.  Arousal shoots through you like a bolt of lightning.  It's the first time you've actually had contact with it.  You didn't even realize he was naked. 

At the first contact, his hips instinctively press his cock up against you, sending all the blood in your body to your core.  You stifle a moan, not stopping to wonder why you don't want to wake him up.  You carefully maneuver your ass to nestle his cock between your thighs.  He thrusts in his sleep, gliding firm and wet against your folds, reaching your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. 

You unbutton your shirt then nudge his hand into it. His hand twitches and so does his cock. It pulls back a little and the tip is right at your entrance. Your hips tilt, nestling it there, the top curve of the head resting just inside without truly breaching you.  You could sink onto him right now.  It would be so easy.  But you want him to do it himself.  

You're absolutely throbbing, aching for him.  He pulls back again with a sigh, then his hard tip bypasses your tight, dripping hole and glides to your clit again and you softly moan.  You adjust your chest, wanting the movement of your breast to prompt his hand to cup around it.  But instead of cupping your breast, his hand drifts up your chest.  Then, it wraps loosely around your throat.

His voice is quiet but stern as his cock retreats then slides firmly against your clit with an aggressive thrust.  His hand applies light pressure around your throat.  “What’d I tell ya last night?”  

You remember it well, how you foolishly claimed you weren't gonna fuck him and he replied, oh, I'm not gonna let ya, sugar.  Blood drains from your face and your heart races. You scoff but don't say anything.  Having made his point, his hand goes slack again.  Humiliation drowns out your arousal and you begin to scoot away, but he follows you, effortlessly restraining you with one enormous arm.  

“Calm down," he says into your hair, then half-whispers under your ear, "I’m still gonna take care of ya,” as he palms your breast.  His hard cock nestles against your crack. 

"Lucky me," you say sarcastically and begin to squirm away, but both his arms wrap around you.  In a mocking tone, you parrot, "Take care of me," and add, "you're an actual whore, aren't you?"  A veiny hand slowly works your breast then trails down your torso and digs between your legs.  That’s all it takes for your arousal to return.  

He gathers your ample wetness and uses his middle and ring fingers in a way he must have been perfecting since before you were born.   You gasp and your back arches with tension building rapidly in your core.  His bicep flexes under your neck as his other hand slowly gropes your breasts.  His stiff cock slowly ruts against your ass while he touches you like you've never been touched before.  

He grunts and you gasp on the edge of your climax.  He softly bites your neck, and it sends you.  He sucks your neck as you come.   When your body finishes convulsing into his, his arms loosen and you turn around to face him. 

-

Bedhead is unreasonably sexy on him.   You can't resist. You try to kiss him.  

He fucking dodges you again, going for your neck instead.   "Haven't you seen Pretty woman?" Yeah, the one where a sex worker won’t kiss johns on the mouth because it’s too emotional . . .Joel starts giving you a light hickey.  

"You're evil," you say, pulling away to look at him.  

He smiles wickedly, then it fades.  He opens his mouth to say something but stops short when you reach down and grab his cock.  Your mouth falls open at its hardness and the fact that his hand is already around it. 

He winces at your icy fingers. 

You get up on your knees and straddle his legs, pushing the plush luxury comforter behind you.  You fold at the hips and take a moment to admire his cock in your fist and breathe in his musk.  Your thumb lightly traces a vein, and he exhales with a soft grunt.  You look up and are greeted with a twinkle in his eye and a barely perceptible smirk.  You want to wipe that smirk off his face.  

You quickly succeed by holding eye contact while you wrap your lips around his swollen tip and tongue the slit.  It’s already salty with pre-cum.  He takes a deep breath and his lips part just barely.   He puts another pillow behind his head for a better view. His face falls into a trance.  When you begin to suck, he swallows and his jaw clenches.    His eyes darken. You bob your head on his cock, taking as much of his shaft as you can without gagging, stroking the rest with your hand. 

“Fuck,” he pants.  His quads tense under you and his breathing changes. His hips rock gently into your mouth.  Your eyes water as you keep blowing him.  Then, his hand joins yours.  

“Where ya want it?” he asks somewhat urgently.  What a gentleman. 

You don’t answer, you simply take his hand off his cock and place it on his stomach.  You slow your sucking and relax your tongue.  His hips thrust gently into your mouth and his  hand floats to your head, but you send it back to his stomach again  

“God almighty,” he groans.  “Fuck me.”  It’s a turn-on seeing him so desperate.  

You edge him until you’re ready to see him come. Then, you suck with your whole mouth, your cheeks caving in as you firmly tongue the underside.  Within seconds, his hips lift and stay lifted as he erupts in your mouth with a groan.  His warm load hits the roof of your mouth first, and it’s so many ropes you lose count.  You swallow, then return to the head of the bed. 

-

You put your head on his chest and he strokes your shoulder.  

“You’re the evil one,” he says, and you bask in self-satisfaction for a minute.  “Nah, you’re right.  You don’t wanna believe it, but you’re right.” 

“About what?” 

He sits up and your eyes glue to his inner bicep flexing as he reaches for his phone.  His brow furrows as he reads something then dismisses it.  Then he puts on the song Trouble by Elvis.  He meant you’re right that he’s evil.  

You hold out your arm and say, “I’m cringing so hard I have goosebumps.”  

“Just for that, I’m gonna play DJ allll mornin’,” he says.  He sings along as he walks to the shower, “well I’m evil, so don’t you mess around with me. . .” 

. . .

Before Joel takes you back to your apartment, you have brunch at a restaurant overlooking the riverwalk.  In the absence of other options, you wear your leather pants with the lacy top.  You both get bloody marys. He wears his Ray-Bans and a white t-shirt, jeans as tight as always, and sits back lazily with one elbow over the back of his chair and his knees spread wide.  

Your phone dings with a text from another family friend, Frank, asking if you’re coming home for the Independence Day barbecue, and it gets you thinking.

“Dad’s back this week,” you say to Joel.  You instantly regret it for killing the mood, but it’s the elephant in the room.  “Y’all still gonna barbecue?” 

He takes a sip of his drink, then puts it back down.  He looks at the river and furrows his brow, then his eyes return to you.  “Why wouldn’t we?  You gonna talk to him?”

“I dunno,” you say, not wanting to show your hand, but you’re leaning against snitching any time soon.  

Joel tenses and his nose twitches. “What are you gonna tell’m?”  He rubs one side of his beard.  A waiter approaches from behind, but Joel doesn’t see him.  “Gonna tell’m you climbed into my bed?  Tried to fuck yourself on my cock?"  There’s a bite to his words.  The waiter stops in his tracks and awkwardly tries to pretend he wasn’t coming to your table.  You look at the waiter and shrug and he gulps before nodding at you in acknowledgement.  Joel looks over his shoulder then shakes his head at you and smirks as the waiter walks away. 

Climbed into his bed. . . tried to fuck yourself on his cock. . . It sounds so bad when he puts it that way.  Maybe it was.  Your cheeks burn.

You sigh.  "I wasn't -” 

Joel raises his eyebrows at you. 

“Just the tip," you protest. 

Joel nods thoughtfully. 

“I dunno what I was thinking,” you admit.  You cross your arms and slouch down in your seat. 

"It's never just the tip,"  Joel says. 

"Why didn't you want it?" You ask pathetically 

He sighs.  "Nothin' to do with want.”  He takes a deep breath and leans back.  He looks at the river, exhales, then adds, "Trust me. . .Fuck."  He takes a sip of his bloody mary and looks back at you. 

"What then?”

The way he looks like he’s racking his brain, you wonder if he’s holding back just to drive you crazy.  It certainly has your attention. In fact, you didn’t know how badly you needed to fuck him until last night . . .just minutes after he said he wasn’t going to let you. 

Finally, he says, "It's bad for you, sugar."

“What is? Your evil cock?”

He smirks then shifts uncomfortably in his seat and looks at the river again.  “I dunno what to tell ya. I've seen a lot.  Don't wanna put ya through it.  Shoot, look at your stepmom, she's damn near lost her mind.”

“You're just that good,” you roll your eyes.  You have every reason to believe he is. 

Joel sighs.  “Nothin' to do with good. Shit, I’m not good, I'm just grown."  He takes a sip of his bloody mary.  "Don't you know any hot professors? Take 'em for a spin, you'll see."

You brush it off as his crude way of being modest.  He could probably make bank as an actual gigolo from what you’ve seen. 

"Then what is it?" you wonder.  He gives it some thought.  

"Reckon it’s ‘cause ya can't have me.  No one can. I'm un-have-able."  

“Why don’t you ever settle down?” 

“Shoot, I dunno.  When I was your age, I was already a father.  Maybe I went backwards.”

You nod, appreciative of his effort to give a real answer. 

He continues, “But ya know, monogamy just ain’t right for some people.  Hell, even in a marriage.  You’d be surprised how many are open.” 

“How many what? Marriages?” You suspect his sample is skewed. 

“Yeah. Relationships, marriages.”  He crosses his legs.  “Alright, my turn to ask you somethin’.”

Your heart rate spikes, hoping he won’t revisit the just-the-tip incident.  

“Why'd you stand there and watch that night, hmm?" He cocks an eyebrow.  It’s the first time either of you bring up the moment that started all of this.  Sometimes, when you’re with him, you forget about it entirely. 

You laugh at his audacity, then counter with, "Why'd you stand there and finish?"

"Easy. So I could nut.”  He flashes his eyebrows with a casual smirk, then downs the rest of his drink. 

"You did not just say nut.  God, you're such a boomer."

"Alright, let's get outta here ‘fore we traumatize another waiter."  He throws more than enough cash on the table then stands up and pulls up his jeans.  He puts his hands on his hips and cocks a leg out, looking out over the river while you chug the rest of your drink.

-

When you get in the truck, Joel puts his phone on bluetooth and “Call Me,” the theme to American Gigolo, blasts on.  He’s so lame.  You shake your head at him and he has that subtle Dad joke smirk.  His bicep stretches that t-shirt so nicely. 

Halfway to your apartment, some kind of restricted call pops up and his phone automatically answers it.  You swear it’s your father’s voice on the line that says, “You’re offline.  What’s your 20?”  Joel’s face changes entirely, and something tightens in your chest.  

He scrambles to turn off bluetooth and puts the phone to his ear.  You can still somewhat hear the other end of the line.  

Joel glances at you and says, “Uhhh-”

“We’ve gotta move,” your dad says. 

“It’s broad daylight,” Joel counters. 

“The Bureau tracked down his number two and he’s on the move.” 

Joel seems frustrated.  “Why don’t you get Jesse?”

Your dad says, “He’s comin’ but they’re rollin’ deep.  We need our best shot or it’s gonna be a shitshow.”  Your heart is a mile a minute.

“Dad?” you ask meekly, too nervous to fully commit to asking.

“What was that?” your Dad asks. “Who was that?” You don't say anything else. You feel weak.

Joel glances at you regretfully.  “Damnit, gimme ten and I’ll call you.”

“We gotta move, Miller. I need you back online.”

Joel sighs  “Working on it.  I’ve got cargo, k?” 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.  "What kind of cargo?”

Joel looks at you again and answers, "precious.”  He hangs up.

Joel hits the steering wheel angrily.  He speeds back toward your apartment, clenching his jaw as his driving intensifies.   You’re shaking.  That was almost certainly your father, and it didn’t sound anything like a military training exercise, or a construction project of Joel’s, for that matter.  

Joel silently fumes.  

“Was that my dad?” you ask with watery eyes.   He takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out as he exhales.  Before he can answer, you foolishly let him off the hook with another question.  “Did you just call me cargo?"

“Sorry sugar, no time right now.”  You ride in silence, bracing yourself as he careens around a corner. 

The tears in your eyes threaten to overflow, then one does.  

-

Joel pulls up to your apartment.  He waits with one hand still on the steering wheel for you to get out, but when he looks at you, he sees that big fat tear run down your cheek and his face softens. 

“Aw, shoot,” he says, and unbuckles. “I’m an asshole.”  He gets out and jogs over to the passenger side.  He opens the door for you and you slide out of the chair lazily, numbly, not quite wanting to meet his eyes.  

“Hey,” he says, and tilts your chin up.  Suddenly, it seems like he’s in no hurry at all.  He takes off his Ray-Bans and looks at you like he’s trying to heal you with his eyes.  You finally make eye contact and take a shaky breath, trying not to full-on sob.  His thumb brushes away your tears, then the same hand cradles the back of your head.   You stand there reading each other’s eyes.  Slowly, your head begins to pull like a magnet toward his lips.  You almost feel like his hand is ever so subtly pulling you that way.  You steel yourself for rejection anyway.  But then, Joel’s head drifts toward yours.   

His beard lightly prickles your skin as your lips lock and his free arm wraps around you.  You’re caught off guard, but in less than a second, you don’t care about anything else in the world.  Joel’s tongue parts your lips and you accept it hungrily.  His lips are soft but strong as they suck you into him.  Your mouths are needy for each other.  His hand behind your head pulls you further into him.  You kiss like you’re sharing a last breath of air.  Then, he seals the moment on your upper lip and pulls away.  The whole kiss can’t be more than ten seconds, tops. 

“Gotta go, Trouble.” he whispers, then swallows solemnly, looking down.   “I’m sorry.”  

He jumps in his truck and peels off.  

-

next: part 5

-

thank you all so much for reading and engaging. y'all are the best ILY!!!

[allebasimaianunes]

doce pecado feito mel nos meus lábios.

[smut]

seus lábios eram macios como um novelo de lã, seu cheiro doce embriagava sua mente, como um mel selvagem que melava seus paladar enquanto beijava-lhe o busto liso, um vale de ondas de pele arrepiada que transbordava um calor acolhedor que pulsava o sangue impuro até os campos cavernosos que um dia jurou perante a Deus, castidade.

celibato.

palavra ruidosa, que esticava na língua e pinicava sua moral. porém para padre charlie aquilo não significava tanta coisa – na realidade ele desejava quebrar as antigas estruturas que erguiam as tradições anciãs da igreja que ele congregava.

as mãos firmes deslizavam pelas ondulações do corpo, estava zonzo de tesão e desejo, a respiração quente tocando-lhe o rosto angelical, a forma como ela lamuriava com os olhos fechados e os lábios torcidos de desejos o enlouquecia. seu corpo grande, feito uma fortaleza de ossos duros e músculos forjados por horas e horas de exercícios físicos e uma alimentação impecável, que encaixava tão bem para um ser humano tão vaidoso quanto ele, ergueu as pernas esguias dela para seus ombros, na posição que estava era só penetrar nela, quente e molhada, macia e tão receptiva a ele e desfrutar do prazer eterno.

prazer eterno que perdurava por minutos inconstantes. por que Deus permitiu que um dos maiores prazeres da carne fosse finito? ele se questionava, a mão no pau de veias grossas que circulava todo o sangue até lá, a sensação de topor era grande: como se ele estivesse de cabeça para baixo, o sangue indo todo para a cabeça num instante para logo descer em cascata para o pau. melado, babado, lubrificado. posicionou a cabeça rosada na buceta que o acolhia em um abraço tepido, fixou o olhar para a mulher deitada, rendida a ele, os bicos dos seios apontados para cima, a pele arrepiada, o suor brotando na testa, ela gemendo de tesão e anseio.

ele se curvou encima dela, ainda segurando o pau com a destra, a canhota indo de encontro no queixo dela firmando-o para sua direção. a fez encarar o carvão em brasa de suas íris, pupilas dilatadas quase comendo o céu nublado do olhar, sussurrou, a voz grave retubando no quarto em chamas:

— me diga de quem você pertence.

— você.

saiu em um sussurro fraco. padre charlie riu entredentes, negou com a cabeça, molhou os os lábios, encostou a cabecinha do pau na entradinha da mulher que retorceu debaixo dele. a mão canhota desceu para o pescoço dela e apertou ali. repetiu autoritário:

— repete de novo. quero fuder essa bucetinha sabendo de quem ela é.

— sua! completamente sua charlie! me fode agora porra!

padre charlie riu. um sorriso malicioso. tremeu dos pés às cabeça, assentiu satisfeito com a ansiedade dela, os olhos pidões para ele. tão indefesa e vulnerável feito um cordeirinho que se afastou do seu bando e está na mira de um lobo voraz, sedento por carne fresca.

ele acariciou o rosto dela. seus lábios encontraram com os dela, um beijo casto demais enquanto ele enfiava seu pau dentro dela, numa investida brusca que a fez resfolegar antes de aliviar a tensão.

era tanto prazer que fugia da órbita. o ar era quente, em brasas. o sabor mel dos lábios misturava agora ao sabor agridoce de porra e orgasmo. respiração descontrolada, corpos em sincronia, vai e vêm numa dança lascívia. o desejo queimando cera pelas veias, deslizando em forma de gemidos de seus lábios entreabertos, olhares dengosos e amores surrupiados um pelo outro naquela comunhão herege em busca da plenitude divina do êxtase.

e mais uma vez, no meio dos braços dela, padre charlie mayhew se perdia completamente de si: sua humanidade, virtude, sua santidade se tornavam vãs. pequeninas demais para o grande prazer que o enchia enquanto metia e fodia uma mulher que jurou jamais amar como a amava naquele momento, em sua cama, berço de rezas e choros de arrependimentos. mas ele se arrependia de fazer aquilo?

não.

ele queria mais.

provar do fruto proibido uma vez atrás da outra, até se fartar. cometer o pecado da gula com luxúria de braços abertos feito um jesus cristo na cruz. aceitando sua humanidade como um pecador que no dia seguinte iria se ajoelhar, clamar por clemência e se açoitar até tirar o sangue impuro e imputar a dor do pecado de si mesmo.

tão simples.

[trechos (imagens) do livro “o crime do padre amaro”, eça de queiróz (1875).]

[erensbich]

JAVIER PEÑA in THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE DEAD

[stormishcl0ud]

@filhasdeumbra bom dia :)

ME DESCULPA

eu sei que deveria ter pedido permissão pra fazer seu design deles antes, pfv me perdoe :')

[foreverblondie23]

[thesmartass]

⋆˚✿˖° 𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖐 𝖎. Transcrição da entrevista de Dahlia Dufour-Lapointe ⋆·˚

Dada a urgência de nossa investigação, optamos por entrevistar DAHLIA DUFOUR-LAPOINTE em seu local de descanso na enfermaria. Seus curandeiros pedem que conste nos autos que a changeling, em seu décimo nono ciclo das estações, está sob o efeito de chás e ervas que visam sua recuperação, mas que possuem como efeito a névoa mental e dificuldade na comunicação. Esta é a transcrição da entrevista:

Investigador (a partir de agora representado por Inv neste documento): A senhorita confirma que é Dahlia Dufour-Lapoite, aluna do Instituto Militar de Wülfhere?

[ A entrevistada gruiu, levantando o polegar indicando positivamente. Nota-se que ela tem alguma dificuldade para se mover e falar devido a sequelas do incêndio] 

Inv: Vou entender isso como um sim. De acordo com o seu laudo médico, você sofreu diversas queimaduras de segundo grau. Você confirma isso?

Dahlia Dufour-Lapoite (a partir de agora representada por DDL neste documento): Você precisa do meu laudo para chegar a essa conclusão? Por Erianwood, os culpados disso não vão ser pegos nunca! É claro que eu sofri queimaduras… [a entrevistada tem uma crise de tosse no meio de sua resposta e parece alterada pelo rumo das perguntas] 

Inv: Consta aqui que você foi encontrada por Kyrell Vortirgen em uma torre afastada do castelo, qual o motivo para isso? Por que estava naquele local nesse horário específico? Você tinha algum plano?

DDL: Eu estava terminando minha anotação no diário, como faço todas as noites. Ai, ai comecei a ouvir uma gritaria, o que não era comum, então… tinha tanta fumaça… eu pensei, eu pensei nos meus livros. Tive tanto trabalho traduzindo eles, eu preciso salvar o meu trabalho. Meus manuscritos!!!! [DDL parece agitada ao recordar dos eventos da fatídica noite. Sua maior preocupação sendo livros perdidos???]

Int: Está tudo bem senhorita, os livros e cadernos que estavam em sua posse parecem ter sido recuperados com dano mínimo e estão catalogados junto com nossas evidencias, você os terá de volta assim que possivel. Agora me diga, você notou algo incomum no dia do incendio? Ou algum comportamento estranho de outras pessoas no castelo de Wülfhere?

DDL: [Parece mais aliviada ao ouvir que seus livros estão seguros. Mas balança a cabeça negativamente como resposta] Eu, eu não vi ninguém. O dia inteiro estava tentando decifrar esse texto que encontrei no dia anterior, era antigo, bem complicado de traduzir, porque não conhecia o idioma direito e o pergaminho estava desgastado. Era isso que eu queria salvar, você tem certeza que nada foi perdido? Posso pelo menos ver eles? 

Int: Infelizmente não podemos retirar as evidências de onde são mantidas, estamos quebrando o protocolo fazendo essa entrevista aqui, peço que entenda. Agora, você notou algum dragão agindo estranho no dia do incêndio?

DDL: Não, eles não fariam algo assim. Wülfhere é tão lar dos dragões quanto é nosso, você atearia fogo em sua própria casa voluntariamente, senhor? 

[O investigador parece desconfortável com a pergunta. Dahlia Dufour-Lapointe começa a dar sinais de exaustão e não parece disposta a cooperar com a investigação.]

Inv: Vou fazer apenas mais uma pergunta em consideração ao seu estado de saúde, tudo bem? Na sua opinião, quem estaria mais interessado no desaparecimento do Cálice dos Sonhos e na interrupção do acesso ao Sonhār?

DDL: Como assim o desaparecimento do Cálice dos Sonhos? Nós não temos mais acesso ao Sonhār? Você está mentindo! Diga para mim que está mentindo! 

[A entrevistada perdeu o controle de suas emoções e começou a se debater em sua maca, curandeiros interromperam a sessão de perguntas expulsando o investigador e seu assistente da ala médica. O investigador sustenta ferimentos nos braços e rosto devido ao surto da paciente. Ela se tornou uma suspeita em potencial e será submetida a uma investigação mais profunda.] 

Nota extra da transcritor deletadas do documento oficial: As garras da changeling fizeram um estrago no Jorge e ele tirou uma licença de três dias "pra se recuperar"

[crocodilesareboring]

provate la pressione a salvini grazie

[eirikhrafnkel]

*　SETTING : lições de manipulação da realidade com @angusdelaunay.

　　　Mais do que nunca, as aulas particulares com Angus deviam ser prioridade. Seu próprio nascimento era um presságio de guerra, e o sumiço do cálice e da pira o pareciam reforçar: Uthdon ainda os atacava na fronteira, mas talvez não fossem os únicos inimigos. Era apenas com a magia de Odin que podia contar, por muito que esta parecesse enfraquecer a cada dia sem o fortalecimento do sacro cardo. Talvez o professor o tivesse algum conselho para dar–algo que pudesse ajudar a manter o vínculo firme até o artefato sagrado ser recuperado. Delaunay parecia concentrado em desenhar uma série de aons para os demonstrar, mas Eirik decidiu interrompê-lo.  ❛  Sua mágica não está nem um pouco enfraquecida?  ❜  Perguntou, em iguais partes curioso e admirado que ele seguisse capaz de manipular a realidade quando a fonte do poder divino que canalizavam estava prestes a secar. Se debruçou sobre a figura do tutor e amigo de modo a inspecionar quais símbolos desenhava, tentando adivinhar qual feitiço estava prestes a realizar. ❛  Divida o segredo, pelo amor de Odin. Eu sinto como se todos os meus sentidos estivessem abafados.  ❜ Resmungou, a sensação tendo virado uma frustração constante para quem estava acostumado com o transbordar da magia do Allfather.

[ross-nekochan]

Oggi ho beccato vicino l'ascensore il signore italiano dell'azienda in cui lavoro.

Io: buonsalve

Lui: ehilà! Madonna quest'app della Suica (carta prepagata per i treni, ndr)... sti giapponesi ste app non le sanno proprio fare

Io: ma comeee! Tecnologia così avanzata!!1!

Lui: eh sì, avanzata... fammi un fax che ti rispondo!

[originalempathplaidfreak]

"Se mi perdo”

“Se mi perdo,

tieni un capo del filo

e, con l’altro capo in mano,

io correrò nel mondo.

E se dovessi perdermi, tu tira.”

Margaret Mazzantini