#rusty redwoods

[quartings]

Drawing the team from references I liked to see how they look outside the typical RWBY style they started out with- mostly to see Rusty as Superman from the latest cartoon. Nappa not included because she's already the perfect life form

[slu7formen]

MDNI. luke x fem!reader

you and Luke end up stuck in the same motel room on a mission, but as he tries his best to stay as far away from you as possible, he ends up with you sitting on his lap and moaning his name.

warnings: enemies to lovers (?, reader’s godly parent is not mentioned, CLASSIC share-the-same-bed prompt, cussing, clothed s3x, pet names, teasing, kinda virgin!luke, dom!luke for a sec, luke sees reader in her underwear

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

The groan of the rusty –stolen– car door echoed in the woods like a death knell. You slammed it shut with a wince, the throbbing ache in your shoulder protesting the movement as you placed your bag on it. The vehicle now lay crumpled against a giant redwood, a testament to the gigantic beast you'd just barely managed to outrun before Percy took take of it with Anaklusmos.

And him, ever the optimist, managed a weak attempt at sarcasm. "Well, that went great, don´t you think?" he muttered to you, his voice laced with exhaustion. A fresh cut adorned his cheek, a reminder of his near-death experience, from their recent encounter.

Luke, face dirty and torso sweaty, slammed the trunk shut with a finality that mirrored the exhaustion etched on his face. Dirt smudged his usually perfect features, and sweat plastered his black hair to his forehead, a sight that would have sent shivers down the spine of any other girl at camp. On you, however, it just fueled the simmering fire inside you that made you want to punch his face.

He slung his worn backpack over one shoulder, the weight of responsibility and fatigue pulling him down.

"Remind me not to let you drive again. Ever." he said to you, his voice laced with a mocking lilt.

You rolled your eyes, the familiar irritation sparking within you. "Oh, give me a break" you spat back, hands on your hips. "I'm the only one with a license here, genius."

"Is your license useful when it comes to a stolen car, genius?" he replied, voice lowering to match his mockery and a punchable smirk playing on his lips. He really knew how to push your buttons, even when you were both staring down the barrel of another night on the run, another night without a decent meal or a good night's sleep.

"At least I can drive" you countered, ignoring the prickle of annoyance that ran down your spine. "Besides, who else would have gotten us this far? You?" You gestured towards the flickering neon sign of a ramshackle motel in the distance, a beacon of hope in the gathering darkness.

"Enough" Annabeth said, her voice firm despite the tiredness in her tone. "You two can fight later, but right now, we need to find somewhere to stay. I am not spending another night sleeping on a tree"

With a determined stomp, she marched towards the side of the road. You and Luke both took a step forward at the same time, then stopped, locked in a silent battle of who would yield. You mockingly straightened your arm towards Annabeth's path. "Ladies first" you said to him.

He squinted his eyes playfully as he walked past you. “Very mature” he muttered.

The flickering neon sign cut through the twilight like a neon lifeline as you walked. ‘The Sun n' Sands Motel’ proclaimed in faded glory, the letters crooked and the sun sporting a single, sad-looking ray. It wasn't the exactly luxury, but after days on the run, a crumpled car, and a near-death encounter with a creature straight out of your worst nightmares, this place looked like a five-star resort.

"Finally" you sighed, relief washing over you in waves. You could practically smell the promise of clean sheets and a bed that didn't groan ominously with every movement. And a shower. Gods, you craved that.

Pushing open the glass door, you were greeted with a musty scent that hung in the air like a forgotten memory. The lobby was small and poorly decorated, the faded floral wallpaper clashing horrendously with the worn brown carpeting. Behind a chipped counter sat a woman whose age defied easy categorization. Her hair, the color of tarnished silver, was pulled back in a tight bun, emphasizing the deep lines etched around her eyes. She sat engrossed in a beauty magazine, oblivious to the four weary demigods who had just entered.

With a sigh that condensed the exhaustion of your entire journey, you approached the counter. Slamming a wad of crumpled bills onto the counter, you declared, "Rooms for four, please."

Percy shuffled behind you, his eyes flitting around the room with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Annabeth scanned the lobby for any signs of potential danger, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of her dagger.

The woman finally looked up, her gaze lingering on you for too long before flickering to the rest of your group. A slow smile played on her lips, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "One room, two beds?" she drawled, her voice thick with a southern twang that seemed to grate on your already frayed nerves.

"Two rooms" you corrected, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. Sharing a room with Luke Castellan, a roof, again, even in this desolate outpost, was an idea so abhorrent you couldn't entertain it for a second.

As if sensing your objection, the woman tapped away at a dusty computer terminal. A smirk played on her lips. "Couple's getaway, huh?" she asked, her eyes darting from Luke, back to you.

Percy and Annabeth exchanged a surprised and disgusted look. "What?" you demanded, your irritation bubbling over.

But before you could react, you felt Luke´s heavy arm slunging casually around your shoulder, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "Looks like we're gonna have to get a little bit cozy, don't you think, baby?" he drawled playfully.

You gritted your teeth, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep from exploding. You knew perfectly well he was just trying to get under your skin, and the worst part was, it was working. The thought of sharing a room with him was bad enough, but the idea of him calling you "baby" sent shivers down your spine – not of pleasure, but of pure, unadulterated annoyance.

Faking a sickly sweet smile, you leaned in and delivered a sharp elbow jab directly to his stomach. He doubled over with a groan, clutching his center for a moment. "Call me 'baby' again," you hissed, your voice low and dangerous, "and I'll punch way lower than that."

“Got it, muscles” he wheezed.

The receptionist, clearly enjoying the spectacle, leaned back in her chair and tapped away at the computer again. "Right now, we have one room with a double bed, and another one with two single beds" she explained.

You glanced back at Annabeth, a silent question hanging in the air. She nodded in understanding. Two single beds might not be ideal, but it was infinitely preferable to sharing a room with Luke.

"We'll take them" you declared.

The woman expertly counted the money, her lips pursed in concentration. "Rooms thirteen and fifteen." she announced, handing you two keys. "No smoking inside, and do not break anything, or you'll be charged double" the lady continued, her voice laced with a warning that was clearly aimed at you and Luke.

As you all four walked towards the stairs, you tossed the key to room fifteen at Luke. He snatched it reflexively in the air, a hint of confussion in his face. “Boys, you´ll share a room” you declare.

Luke scoffed behind your back. "What are we? Eleven?" he asked.

"It was a nightmare to drive a car with you in it" you retorted, "can't imagine what it would be like to share a room."

Later, after some questionable inspectioning around the room and re-organizing your bag for when you leave tomorrow morning, you finally had a little time to yourself.

The cool water splashed against your face, washing away the grime and exhaustion of the day. You glanced over at Annabeth, who was meticulously placing her most important things on the floor to clean and organize her bag; her dagger, her cap, a rope, a squished water bottle, and a few maps. Despite the cramped confines of the motel room, a sense of peace settled over you. Even with Luke's irritating presence hanging over your head, it was a welcome change from the constant fear and adrenaline that had fueled your journey.

A sharp rapping on the door snapped you out of your reverie. "Coming!" Annabeth called out. She opened the door just a crack as you peeked your head out of the tiny bathroom door. You were greeted by the sight of a very smug-looking Percy. His cheeks were puffed out, and he was clutching a brown paper bag that seemed precariously close to bursting.

"Uh, hey" he mumbled, his voice muffled through a mouthful of something chocolatey. "I raided the vending machine downstairs” he simply explained.

Annabeth turned towards you. “Dinner?” she asked.

The offer of a snack, however meager, was enough to send your stomach grumbling in protest. The idea of a proper meal sounded heavinly, the food from camp, the meat, the mashed potatoes. Gods, you really wanted to be back. But right now, even the greasiest bag of chips could be enough for you.

Percy shoved his way past Annabeth and into the room. He disgorged his loot onto the small bedside table that sat between your beds. Annabeth, with her usual organizational skills, started to create a semblance of order from the chaotic pile of snacks.

Across the room, you noticed Luke still leaning against the doorway. He had shed his usual polished exterior for a pair of worn sweatpants and a plain t-shirt, a sight that momentarily threw you off balance. He took you in with a lazy glance, his eyes lingering on your tired face and messy hair. "Looking good" he called, a smirk playing on his lips.

One of your eyes twitched in irritation. Grabbing the wet towel you'd been using, you flung it at him with a growl. He managed to snag it out of the air just before it connected with his face.

"Hilarious" he remarked.

Annabeth jumped in before the playful hostility could escalate further. "How about a movie?" she suggested, her voice laced with a hint of forced cheer.

The idea wasn't exactly appealing, but the prospect of some semblance of downtime outweighed the absurdity of watching television in a dingy motel room. You and Luke exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between you. You didn't know how much peace you could get in the middle of a mission, or for how long, but the idea of just sitting down and eating calmly while watching a movie was undeniably tempting. Even with the dubious snacks and the cramped quarters, it felt like a small oasis in the storm of your current situation.

The movie selection on the ancient TV was limited, to say the least. After a series of disgruntled grumbles and channel surfing, they settled on a cheesy romance movie with a plot that could have been predicted by a hyperactive squirrel. The acting was atrocious, the dialogue predictable, and the special effects looked like they were created by a bored teenager with basic editing software. Yet, despite the movie's inherent ridiculousness, a strange sense of camaraderie filled the room. Laughter, albeit tinged with exhaustion, erupted at the predictable plot twists and overly dramatic dialogue.

As the minutes ticked by, Percy and Annabeth succumbed to the fatigue of the day. Annabeth curled up by your side on her bed, but her eyelids eventually fluttered shut and her head lolled back against your shoulder. Percy managed to stay up for a little longer with Luke, but his snorting could easily be heard just ten minutes after.

Silence stretched between you and Luke, punctuated only by the rhythmic snores of Percy and the occasional sigh from Annabeth in her sleep. You glanced over at your friend, her head resting peacefully against your shoulder. Despite the discomfort of the shared bed and the dubious snacks, a sliver of normalcy felt oddly comforting.

Across from you, Luke mirrored your posture, leaning back against the headboard with his arms crossed. His gaze was fixed on the flickering television screen, but you knew his attention wasn't on the atrocious movie. He was lost in thought, a furrow etched between his brows.

There was tension in the air, a constant undercurrent simmering between you two. You didn't like each other, that much was certain. He was arrogant, self-serving, and his loyalty always seemed to have a price tag attached. Yet, a grudging respect had grown between you over the years. You both understood the weight of your responsibilities, the burden of protecting those younger, more innocent.

He cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Hey, Per—" he began, his voice a low murmur.

“Hey” you called. Luke´s head snapped towards your direction. "He's been out for more than half an hour" you interjected softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don't wake him up."

Luke's head tilted to the side. Confusion flickered across his brown eyes before settling on a scowl. "What?" he hissed, barely louder than a whisper.

"Think about it" you countered, your voice a low murmur that wouldn't disturb the sleeping teens. "Percy's been snoring like a miniature thunderstorm for at least ten minutes. Annabeth wouldn't wake up even if a centaur stepped next to her right now. Waking them up would just cause a monster of a different kind."

You knew Luke understood. You weren't just talking about Percy's physical exhaustion. You were both keenly aware of the burden these young demigods carried. They craved normalcy as much as anyone, and these stolen moments of peaceful sleep, however fleeting, were a precious commodity. Watching them, so vulnerable and carefree in their slumber, filled you with a fierce protectiveness. The last thing you wanted to do was disrupt that.

Luke didn't reply, but his gaze mirrored your sentiments. A flicker of something akin to respect softened the harsh lines of his face. You weren't friends, not by any stretch of the imagination. Yet, you shared a common enemy and a common purpose – to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.

The silence stretched for a momento before he cleared his throat again, the sound sharp in the cramped room. "So," he drawled, his voice laced with a hint of resignation, "what do we do then?"

You sighed, frustration creeping into your voice. "Guess we're stuck sharing a room after all" you muttered, throwing your hands up in defeat. The idea was far from appealing.

Luke's face contorted in horror. He let out a theatrical whine that would rival any crying toddler. "Oh come on" he whined, stretching the word into several syllables. "Sharing a room with you? Talk about cruelty and punishment."

“Oh, just shut up” you whispered-yelled at him. “Trust me, I don´t wanna sleep next to you either. I´ll build up a wall of pillows before you can even start snoring”

There was a certain absurdity to the situation, being forced to share a room with your least favorite person. But beneath the surface, you both acknowledged the unspoken truth – the safety and well-being of Percy and Annabeth took precedence over any personal discomfort.

You both rose from your beds, a tense air crackling around you. Picking up your backpack, you hoisted it over your shoulder with a sigh. "Alright" you declared, marching towards the door. "Let's get this over with."

Luke followed, his movements mirroring yours. The walk down the cramped hallway was filled with an tension. Neither of you dared to speak. Reaching his door, Luke fumbled for the key, his irritation evident in his clumsiness. Finally, with a click, the door swung open, revealing a room identical to yours – basic, cramped, and thoroughly unappealing.

Stepping inside, you couldn't help but let out a groan. A single, double bed dominated the room, leaving absolutely no room for separate sleeping arrangements. God, why did Percy have to fall asleep? Why didn´t you and Annabeth pick this room earlier? Everything was going the wrong way for you. You exchanged a look with Luke, the message clear in your burning eyes.

"Snort or drool" Luke began, his voice a low growl as he pointed a finger at you "and I swear I'll throw you out the window"

"Hm, how charming" you replied sarcastically, stepping past him and into the room.

The bed loomed before you, a battleground for an uncomfortable night's sleep. With a sigh, you dropped your backpack onto the nearest chair. Luke began building a formidable fortress of pillows in the center of the bed. You rolled your eyes at the sight. This was so ridiculous.

A glance at your watch confirmed your suspicions. It was not too late to hop on quick shower. Percy and Luke walked down to the vending machine so quickly earlier that you didn´t even have time to wash yourself before they came to your room with the so called dinner. Your clothes clung to you uncomfortably, the grime of the day begging to be washed away. You looked for a clean shirt you were sure you packed before leaving camp days ago. The possibilites of a shower were low in missions like these, but you never knew.

Leaving your backpack open on the chair, you made your way to the bathroom door, silently pushing it open. Luke watched your movements for a fleeting moment, but quickly went back to his pillow fortification once your figure disappeared inside the small bathroom. He didn't think much of it at first. You were just getting ready for the night, whatever your methods.

Inside the bathroom, you began stripping off your clothes, the cool air a welcome sensation against your heated skin. In your state of exhaustion, you neglected to fully close the bathroom door. A foolish mistake, perhaps, but in your defense, the room was tiny and the it wouldn't be winning any awards for spaciousness. Right now, all you craved was a chance to scrub away the road dust and find a clean shirt for the —uncomfortable— night ahead.

A few seconds later, a muffled curse broke the silence on Luke´s side. Luke, realizing he'd left his toothbrush in the bathroom, stopped himself from the pillows task and approached the bathroom door. He was expecting it to be shut. A polite knock, a request for his forgotten toothbrush – that was the plan. But as he drew closer, his steps faltered. The door wasn't shut.

“Seriously!?”

There you stood, completely devoid of clothes except for your underwear, taking off your camp´s necklace and your earrings. The warm glow from the bathroom light accentuated the smooth lines of your shoulders and the curve of your back. Time seemed to freeze for a beat. Luke's breath hitched in his throat.

You whirled around, startled. A small laugh escaped your lips as you saw Luke's flustered expression. His cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, and his brown eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape route.

"Didn't think you'd be so shy, Luke" It was a playful jab, a way to lighten the sudden tension that had filled the small space.

Luke sputtered, his voice barely even a regular tone. "Shy? I'm not-, I mean-…” he kept cutting himself off. “This-, don´t you know what privacy is!?"

His indignation was adorable, you couldn't help but think to yourself. You'd never seen him so flustered, so utterly out of sorts. A mischievous glint sparked in your eyes.

"Oh, come on" you countered, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Don't tell me you've never seen a girl in this state before."

The question just didn´t have an asnwer. Luke's mouth clamped shut. His eyes widened for a moment, then darted back down to the floor, avoiding your gaze. There was a flicker of something in his eyes – a memory, perhaps, or a realization – but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

The silence stretched, thick and awkward. You realized you had hit a nerve, a part of Luke you hadn't expected to expose, not in front of you. A pang of unexpected curiosity pricked at your insides. Just what kind of experiences had this arrogant, self-assured perfect golden boy had?

You opened your mouth to speak, to maybe apologize for your teasing, but Luke beat you to it.

"Just shower and get dressed, okay?" he mumbled, his voice tight with suppressed frustration. "I want to sleep."

He didn't wait for a reply, simply turning on his heel and retreating back to his pillow fort. You watched him go, a smile playing on your lips. The encounter had been unexpected, to say the least, but it had definitely shaken things up.

A low chuckle escaped your lips. "You'll wait for me?" you called out playfully, knowing full well he wouldn't answer.

"Shut up!" came his muffled reply from behind the pillows.

The silence in the cramped room was thick enough to spread. You emerged from the bathroom, a clean shirt clinging to your damp form and a towel wrapped around your head like a makeshift turban. You caught sight of Luke burrowed deep beneath the barricade of pillows, a picture of forced nonchalance. His eyes were resolutely fixed on the ceiling, but you could practically feel the heat radiating off him.

A mischievous glint flickered in your eyes. He might have gotten away with a verbal escape route earlier, but you weren't done yet. "Well, aren't you going to say something?" you queried, amusement dancing in your voice. "Speechless, Castellan? That's a first."

Luke remained stubbornly silent, his jaw clenched tight. He could feel the blush creeping back up his neck, a burning reminder of his moment of weakness. How was he supposed to act normal after seeing...well, after seeing more of you than he ever bargained for? The image of your smooth skin and the graceful curve of your back was burned into his memory, a stark contrast to the sarcastic warrior he knew.

You flopped down onto the bed, the makeshift wall of pillows separating you from Luke. You turned off the bedside lamp in silence before removing the towel off your hair, gently brushing it. The silence stretched on, broken only by the soft rustle of your brush. Just as you thought Luke had successfully retreated into a silent sulk, his voice broke through the tension.

"Look" he muttered, whispering "it was an accident. Just forget it, alright?"

You couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. "Oh, come on" you teased, leaning back against the pillows. "Didn’t expect that seeing a little skin was such a big deal for someone like you."

Luke shot you a glare, but it lacked its usual bite. Someone like him? What the hell did you mean by that? Maybe it was the unexpectedness of it all, or maybe it was the way the dim light had cast your figure in a different light, one he hadn't noticed before. Whatever it was, it had thrown him completely off balance.

A sudden, and quite unwelcome, thought struck him. Just what kind of experiences had you had? He knew you weren't naive, or dumb. But the thought of you with someone else… the possessiveness that flared up within him surprised him. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly, but a strange sense he couldn't quite explain.

He pushed the thought aside, focusing on calming his racing heart. He needed sleep, not a philosophical debate about his feelings for his least favorite demigod. Just as he was about to drift off, your voice sliced through the silence, sharper than any blade.

"Are you a virgin, Luke?"

The question hung in the air, a verbal bombshell that shattered the fragile peace. Luke's eyes snapped open, wide with disbelief. Gods, you were bold. He stared at you in the dark, lifiting his head up just enough to peak from the pillows in between your boides, his mind struggling to process your words.

"What?" he finally managed, his voice husky with disbelief.

A faint blush crept up your cheeks, a stark contrast to the playful glint in your eyes. "You heard me" you countered.

Luke felt a surge of annoyance mixed with a strange vulnerability. He wasn't used to being caught off guard, especially not by you. He opened his mouth to retort, to deflect the question with his usual sarcastic wit, but the words wouldn't come.

His gaze drifted towards the wall, a silent battle raging within him. Should he answer your question honestly? The thought of revealing such a personal detail to you, his nemesis, was unappealing. But then again, a small part of him, the part he kept hidden away, craved a different kind of connection with you.

He took a deep breath, the decision made. "Does it matter?" he finally replied, his voice a low murmur.

You turned on your side, facing him across the wall of pillows, getting rid of some of them, dropping them to the carpeted floor. The moonlight filtering through the window cast an ethereal glow on your face, making your eyes seem to sparkle with mischief.

"Maybe it does" you said, your voice soft and laced with an undercurrent of something else - intrigue? Even in the darkness, you could see the way your words affected him, the way his dark eyes seemed to flicker with a mixture of emotions.

Luke opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, you cut him off with a laugh that seemed tinged with nervousness.

"Forget it" you said, shaking your head slightly. "Just... hormonal thoughts." The explanation felt flimsy, even to your own ears. This wasn't just idle curiosity; it was something deeper, something you couldn't quite explain yet.

Luke remained silent for a moment, your sudden change in direction throwing him off. Part of him was relieved you weren't pressing the issue, but another part, the part he usually kept suppressed, felt a flicker of disappointment. He wouldn't admit it, not even to himself, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't found your boldness, your honesty, even your sudden vulnerability, strangely appealing.

"Hormonal thoughts, huh?" he finally echoed, his voice husky. "Does that mean you wanna have sex with me?" He dared to voice the possibility that you might be attracted to him. He must´ve been out of his mind.

The thought was simply impossible. Yet, the way your eyes sparkled in the moonlight, the way you'd turned towards him, discarding some of the pillows as if to bridge the gap…

"No!" you blurted out, as if reading his mind. The defensiveness in your voice surprised you both. "It's not that at all. It's just... I don't know." Frustration laced your words. This whole conversation was turning into a confusing mess. “Just… how far have you reached with a girl?”

Luke stared at you, dumbfounded. This night had taken a turn he hadn't anticipated. Why were you even talking about this? Why were you asking these questions? Why, despite the initial irritation, was he finding himself answering?

Heaving a sigh, he sat up against the headboard, exhaustion finally catching up to him. "Not too far, actually" he mumbled, the words laced with a weariness that surprised him. The words felt strange coming out of his mouth, a confession he wouldn't have made to anyone else. He hadn't meant to dwell on past experiences, especially not with you. He hadn't realized how much he'd carried on his shoulders, the weight of overlooked desires he never truly got to satisfy. Suddenly, the frustration in your voice clicked into place. Was that why you'd asked? Was it because you felt the same way, burdened by an unfulfilled yearning?

But as you shifted in your bed, suddenly sitting up on your knees, he couldn't help but notice the way your silhouette was illuminated by the moonlight. And then he saw it — the lack of shorts beneath your t-shirt, a detail he'd managed to conveniently overlook in the heat of the moment, which didn´t make sense at all.

"What are you—?" he began, the question dying on his lips as you moved closer. You began to dismantle the remaining wall of pillows, clearing the way between you.

His heart hammered against his ribs as you sat down on his lap, one leg on each side of him. You were close, closer than you'd ever been before. A mix of confusion and arousal that left him speechless. You stared at him, your eyes reflecting the soft moonlight, as your hands reached for his.

"Have you ever done this?" you asked, your voice gentle, devoid of the usual sarcasm you wielded like a weapon. You weren't mocking him, weren't trying to pry. This was a genuine question, a moment of surprising intimacy that neither of you could have predicted.

Luke stared at you, his mind reeling. His hands, usually quick and confident, felt heavy and clumsy under your touch. You guided them to hold steady of your thighs, even though you were not moving, not yet.

Luke had never been more confused in his life. His mind raced, searching for a coherent response, an appropriate action. Was this a trap? A test? 'What the hell?' his mind raced.

But as he looked into your eyes, searching for an explanation, all he saw was a reflection of his own thunderstorm. You were just as confused as he was, caught in a moment of unexpected intimacy.

Neither of you knew what to say, what to do next. This wasn't part of the plan. You were supposed to be enemies, rivals forced to share a cramped motel room.

You know, the classic shit.

But this wasn’t it. This was something strange that even though he hated to admit it, he didn’t want it to end yet.

So he trailed his hands higher. Higher, higher, higher. Then placed his hands on your hips. He was breathless, and a sudden feeling of dumbness filled his insides as he stared at you, reading you like a book; you were waiting. And he had no idea what to do.

But you surely did. A slight sway of your hips was all he needed to breath out the amount of air his chest was holding. Then another one, and another; each movement pressed deliciously against his cock, already hardened.

He let out a deep groan, teeth tightening and head falling back slightly.

You placed your hands around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you, almost chest to chest. Your hips kept rolling over him. If this felt good to him, it must’ve feel like heaven to you, due to your lack of lower clothes.

“You’re big, Luke” you whispered, a tiny smirk smudged along your lips. There it was. You again.

He thanked the darkness for hiding his red cheeks, but his state was not going to make him vulnerable again. He gripped your hips tighter, pulling at the top of your ass towards him over and over. “Fuck, just shut up for five minutes” he breathed out.

You didn’t answer. Your mouth hang open over his own. Your lips were dangerously close to touching, to kissing. But it was not gonna happen. As your hips rolled at a fast pace his breath tangled with yours, his moans, his groans, everything was swallowed by your own sounds.

He should feel embarrassed of behaving like this, not only because it is you but because he’s supposed to be in the middle of a mission. But come on, he knew this would happen soon or later.

All those years in which he secretly saved his feeling for himself. He had to hide the fact that whenever he touched your skin, whenever he felt your warm body against his hands, even the slightest and most teasing touch, a bolt of lighting went from the tip of his toes to his head.

He felt drunk in you in just a second and what, because he accidentally saw you almost naked?

He had to thank the gods for his luck.

“Oh, Luke” you moaned, head tilting back as you squeezed your eyes shut. Oh, he liked that.

He audibly chucked, laughed at you. “Who would’ve known?” he asked. “Who would’ve known you’d be so dirty, baby?”

Your eyes sparkled with fire, piercing Luke’s insides as the scar on his face twitched like every time he smiled. Despite the look on your face, your hips kept rolling over his; you couldn’t stop. It felt too good, too hot, too wet, even under Luke’s sweatpants.

“Don’t call me baby” you managed to blurt out, but the sound coming out of your mouth just made the whole sentence something pornographic. Luke didn’t complain.

You removed your hands from his neck. He was convinced you were gonna climb off of him and he would have to apologize repeatedly so he could finally get to cum with you on top of him; but instead, your hands travelled down his torso, and hid under his white shirt, pressing your palms onto his abs, pushing your own body harder against his.

“What should I call you then?” he whispered against your mouth, hands gripping impossibly tighter, finally gripping to your asscheeks. He had to hide a groan from the very back of his throat. “Bunny? ‘Cause you can’t deny you wanna hop on my cock?”

Now that was new.

If you were shocked, your face wouldn’t show it, but your body surely did. Your movements became sloppy, tired, and your chest moved up and down faster than ever. Luke rolled his own hips into yours, moaning uncontrollably at the feeling of his cock being constantly rubbed under your clothes pussy, and at the sight of the small wet patch you had on your underwear.

“Luke. I wanna cum” you moaned out. He liked that you didn’t warn you were going to, but you wanted to. As if you were asking for his permission.

“You won’t get off me until I cum, get it?”

He was a possessed man all of a sudden. His groans, growing deeper with every movement, his hands holding onto you for dear life and his breath twirling with yours as if you were the oxygen he needed to stay alive.

The tight feeling on your belly snapped as fast as you started to feel it. Yet you were obedient, so you kept moving.

The overstimulation was too much already, but when was gonna be the last time you would get to almost fuck Luke Castellan? Probably this time, you wouldn’t want to screw it up.

In fact, you wanted to do so much more. To suck his dick, to gag on it. To let him play with your body as much as he pleased and craved for. To let him take you anywhere and anytime he liked.

It didn’t take Luke long enough to hit his climax too, thankfully. His hips twitched against yours repeatedly as he placed his forehead on your chest. His breath was heavy as if he had run a million miles, his forehead sweaty.

Your hand reached his curls, smoothly running them down the back of his neck as if you were comforting him from the worst experience he had ever had. Little did you know this was his best so far.

“Do we-,” he cut himself off to swallow thickly. He didn’t realize how dry his throat was until he tried to speak. “Do we get to share rooms again?”

“What do you think?”

part two <3

[pedrospatch]

to hell and back l one

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l main masterlist l next chapter

summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. canon violence, canon language, brief mentions of slavers, brutality, torture, assault, guns, reader is an archer, mentions of hunting, animal death, injured/unconscious Joel, very minor mentions of blood, age gap (reader is 30, Joel is 56) very brief mention of scars, reader does not/cannot speak at times, a lot of internal dialogue from reader, at one point reader does try to speak to Joel but she is unable. *please be advised that no specific diagnosis is used or will be mentioned, i’m writing the series with the idea that reader herself cannot fully comprehend her inability to speak at times. basically the gist of it is we have a very traumatized person who does not realize just how traumatized she is.

word count: 8.2k (good lord I am so sorry)

a/n: not a whole lot to say except for that this is...different. at least i think it is, i could be wrong lmao. this is by far one of the most challenging things i have ever decided to write, but hopefully it turned out okay

California l Fall, 2023

You’d been on the run since dawn.

It was several hours later now and nightfall was approaching—and it was approaching a hell of a lot fucking faster than you could have even anticipated. The darkness was quickly closing in, falling around you like a velvet black curtain. However, stumbling around blindly in the dark was currently the very least of your worries. 

Your feet were raw, both completely blistered and bleeding through your socks inside of your worn out, muddied white canvas sneakers. Your sore, aching legs screamed out for mercy and your knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle out from underneath the weight of your body at any given moment. 

In the week and a half leading up to your escape from captivity, you’d been deprived of both food and water—it had been your punishment for closing your eyes and turning your head away after you’d been instructed by the slavers to watch their brutal assault of the young teenaged girl that you had been sharing a cage with. She’d been unable to keep up with her work duties, and they had decided to make an example out of her.

Despite still having been forced to witness the horrendous, unspeakable things they’d done to that poor girl, your initial resistance resulted in you being beaten and then starved for several days. Occasionally, one of the late night guards would try and bribe you, offering a small piece of jerky or a couple of stale crackers in exchange for a blowjob. At first, you told him you’d rather cut your own tongue out with a rusty blade than suck his dick, but when he proposed the disgusting, vile trade again just a couple of nights later, you’d accepted it—because him pulling you out of that fucking cage after hours and removing the tight shackles from your wrists when no one else was around would give you the chance to finally make a run for it.

You swung yourself around the nearest redwood tree, slumping back against its thick, wide trunk. You covered your mouth with your two hands in an attempt to silence the sound of your heavy panting. 

Besides being in pain, malnourished and severely dehydrated, the exhaustion was starting to set in too. The adrenaline pumping through your veins had brought you this far, but exactly how much farther could it take you? How much longer could it possibly keep you going before your tired body decided to give up and give out?

Somewhere behind you, you could hear the men calling out cheerfully.

One sang out, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Come out and plaaaaay,” a second taunted.

The third shouted, “We’re gonna get you!”

Their giddiness made you want to vomit. If your stomach hadn’t been empty, you would have.

Those sick, twisted fucks weren’t letting up. 

They’d been on your heels for hours.

The large group of slavers in California were over two hundred strong and had dozens of prisoners chained up in their human cages—they had more than enough people to force into labor. There was no need for them to waste their time and efforts going after you, but after spending the last eight months witnessing firsthand how these sadistic bastards operated, it occurred to you that their desire to recapture you wasn’t out of a need for labor. It was for their entertainment. 

They were hunting you down for sport.

This was their idea of fun.

“Fuck,” you whispered underneath your breath, your hands falling down to your sides.

Something had to give.

Your legs, your body, your will to live.

Perhaps all of the above.

You couldn’t keep on running for much longer.

And even if you could, where the hell were you supposed to go? How were you supposed to get there?

You had no food, no water, and no weapon.

Just the torn, tattered clothes on your back.

You were defenseless against whatever else was out there and you couldn’t see yourself surviving longer than a couple of days at most.

There was a part of you that wanted to give up and surrender. If you could be absolutely certain that they would shoot you dead on the spot, you would actually consider it and step out from behind the tree—hell, you would happily let them put a bullet between your eyes and put you out of your misery once and for all. But they wouldn’t be so generous. You knew they would have their way with you here in the middle of this forest and only after they were done would they take you back to their settlement where they’d put you right back in shackles so the real torture could begin. Just like that teenaged girl, the slavers would make an example out of you so that nobody else in their right mind would even think about running away. 

They would be sure to make your death as slow and as agonizing as possible.  

No. If you were going to die, then you were going to die. But fucking not like that.

Hearing them draw closer towards where you’d been hiding, you pushed yourself away from the redwood and willed yourself to keep on going.

Wyoming l Fall 2024

Your eyes softly flutter open.

Bright, early morning sunlight filters in through the ripped, white lace curtains that hang over the small, square shaped window right above your head. 

Blinking the sleep away, you prop yourself up slightly on your elbows and take a glance around at your surroundings. The old, abandoned cabin that you’d stumbled across just a couple of days ago is tiny, cramped, and crumbling. It also reeks—it smells damp, musty, and earthy, like rotting wood. But beggars can’t be choosers and you are certainly in no position to be a chooser right now. It’s not what you consider to be ideal, but it’s four walls and a roof, which is more than anyone can ask for. It’s sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs, an old wood burning stove you had been too afraid to light because you didn’t want to risk setting the place on fire, and there’s even a small, twin sized bed for you to sleep on. Well, perhaps calling it a bed was a tad bit too generous. It’s really just a mattress sitting on four large concrete blocks. It’s rough, dirty, and torn with rusted springs and bits of fluff sticking out from every corner. Still, it sure as fuck beat the hell out of sleeping outside in the dirt and using a rock as a pillow.

Besides the luxury of having something close to a proper roof to sleep under, there’s also a lake just two and a half miles north of the cabin where you had been able to fill your canteen with fresh water. Not to mention, you’d also been able to bathe and wash your clothes for the first time in a couple of weeks. You had been on your own for about a year now, and this was the luckiest you’ve gotten in terms of finding a decent place to stay.

Whether or not it’s safe, it was still too early to tell. 

Sure, you were out somewhere in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and hadn’t seen a single soul, living or dead, in a couple of months now. But that still didn’t mean that running into the infected or other people wasn’t a possibility. Letting your guard down was risky. Too risky. 

You swing your legs over the side of the mattress and sit up, slipping on your pair of warm, wool socks before tugging on your boots—you’d found them over the summer and even though they had been about one size too small for you, you’d managed to break them in since then and the supple brown leather now molds almost perfectly to your feet. You stand up and lift your arms up above your head while simultaneously twisting your stiff, sore back in a painful, but much needed stretch. You’re only just a couple of months shy of turning thirty years old, but lately, your bones snap, crackle and pop with each and every movement, making you feel twice your actual age. 

The thought of it makes you snort in amusement. You should be so lucky to stay alive long enough to see the age of sixty. Hell, you’re still unable to fathom how you’d even made it this close to seeing thirty.

Dropping your arms back down to your sides, you make your way over to your khaki colored pack and pull out your aluminum canteen from one of the side pockets. You twist off the cap and gulp back a long, cool drink of water, hoping to get rid of the dryness in your mouth and the cracks in your chapped lips. As soon as the liquid makes it all the way down to the pit of your stomach, the hollow, muscular organ grumbles loudly, demanding food. You’d had some decent luck while out hunting the previous morning, capturing two wild rabbits—you had eagerly skinned, cleaned and cooked them both, devouring one right after the other so fast that it had nearly made you sick. It had been a pretty decent meal, but not nearly enough to completely satisfy your ravenous hunger. Prior to finding the cabin and settling in, you had been living off of a couple handfuls of nuts and berries for three days while on the move. You were still fucking starving and all you could do was pray that you’d find more rabbits today. 

Maybe you’d get even luckier and spot a pheasant. It was their season, after all. 

You drink some more water and set your canteen aside. You’d planned to return to the lake later in the afternoon to refill it as well as to have another bath. You pull on your faded, black denim jacket over your hoodie and pick up the wooden bow and brown leather quiver of arrows sitting beside your pack. You’d found the weapon in some hunting shop back in Utah that had already been picked clean to the bone over the last couple of decades. However, no one had even bothered with taking the bow. It hadn’t really surprised you, though. In the post outbreak world, a bow and arrow would do absolutely nothing to protect against the infected runners and stalkers—and it would do much less to protect against clickers unless your aim was flawless.

Still, a bow was useful in its own right. 

It was perfect for hunting game. It was silent, keeping you and your location concealed from potential passersby at all times. Most importantly, you could reuse your arrows so long as you were careful and didn’t break them while removing them from your kills—and in the event that you did happen to snap an arrow, all you had to do was salvage what you could from the damaged projectile and make a new one. Simple as that. 

Your father had taught you how before he’d died.

“Why bother with a bow? What about a gun?” you had asked him. 

“Might not always be able to get your hands on a gun,” he’d replied as he sharpened an edge of the small, thumb sized rock in his hand. “Or bullets. It doesn’t hurt to have alternatives in the event that you can’t get your hands on either of those things, kiddo.” Despite being in your mid twenties at the time, he’d still always call you kiddo. “Always have a backup weapon, alright?”

He’d been wise to give you that advice.

You did have a firearm, a colt pistol that you hardly have ammunition for. There were ten rounds left in the clip and with no luck in finding any more in the last couple of months, you’d decided to preserve them, saving what little bullets you had left for a real emergency. You kept the gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans at all times, along with the sharp switchblade that you used to gut and skin game. As far as weapons go, you sure as hell could’ve been a lot worse off. But if you happened to stumble upon more ammunition for your gun, you certainly wouldn’t complain about it. 

Slinging your bow and the quiver of arrows over your shoulder, you grab the dark gray foraging bag that you used to collect and carry your kills in and leave the cabin, feeling somewhat confident enough to leave the remainder of your belongings behind instead of hauling them all along with you like you had the morning before. It wasn’t that you feared someone would come along and steal them. There wasn’t really anything for anyone to steal, anyway. Rather, you’d gotten so damn used to the instability and the constant moving around—you never stayed in one place for too long and were always prepared to run. But today, you decide to leave your things in the cabin, feeling certain that you would return in just a couple of hours. 

You step out onto the creaking, three step porch that’s so old it buckles slightly under your weight and a gentle breeze nips at your cheeks and nose. It’s the middle of autumn in Wyoming and the air outside is fresh, cool and crisp. Winter was looming right around the corner like a dark shadow, and although you’d somehow managed to make it through the previous year’s brutal snow season, that didn’t do much to stop you from being nervous about the one that was to come. If all went according to your plan, you’d be holing yourself up in that shoddy little cabin until the worst of winter was over and then you would move along.

To where?

You didn’t have the slightest fucking clue. 

You make a short trek about two miles south, going in the opposite direction of the lake and finding yourself closer to the thick forest trees that surrounded the base of the mountain range out in the distance instead. There’s a dried, grassy clearing just feet from the entrance of the forest—finding a single, decently sized boulder in the middle of the wide, open space, you decide that behind it is the perfect spot for you to set up and hope for the best. Carefully setting your things down on the ground, you pull out a pair of old, cracked binoculars from your bag. You lean your body over the smooth, round top of the rock and lift them up to your face, peeking through the lenses. You hope to spot something right away because it sure would be fucking nice to eat something sooner rather than later. Otherwise you might just start gnawing at your own arm. 

Diligently, you scan your surroundings for any and all signs of wildlife. 

That’s when you see it, standing near the edge of the woods.

You gasp softly as your sights fall upon the deer. 

Pulling your face away from your binoculars, you blink furiously before taking another look just to be sure that your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you. It’s not a hallucination. It’s a white tailed deer, a female, and from the look of her, she has to be at least about a hundred pounds. At least.

You try to not get too far ahead of yourself, but it’s far too late. The thought of finding some herbs and making a hot, venison stew for supper makes your mouth water. The rest of the meat could be dried out and made into a batch of jerky that could feed you for months. Months.

Then, you suddenly remember you’ve never even attempted to bring down an animal of that size before and you’re slapped back into reality.

You think about your father, who would bring home a deer every weekend after going on his hunting trips with some of his old college buddies. “You want to aim for the heart or the lungs,” he’d say as you and your siblings would watch him dress the carcass, much to your mother’s chagrin. “Look between the shoulder blade and the last rib,” he would tell you and your brothers. You’d also had an older sister, but she had always been incredibly squeamish and had a soul that was much too sweet and caring for hunting. She would always want to bring home every animal your father shot and nurse it back to health. “Somewhere between those two lies everything you need to hit in order to do the job and do it well. And for the love of god, don’t you ever aim directly for the shoulder. Behind it, kiddos, always aim behind it. You got it?”

“Yes Papa,” you’d all chime out together.

Setting down the binoculars in your hands, you reach for your bow and pluck an arrow from your quiver before stepping out from behind the boulder. You’re careful to be as silent as possible as you take a few steps closer towards the unsuspecting grazing animal. You position yourself and stand perpendicular to the deer, placing your feet shoulder width apart—you’re a little farther from your target than you would have preferred, but you don’t want to risk going any closer and scaring her off, so it would have to do. Once you feel comfortable enough with your stance, you nock the arrow and set it on the string. You then hold the string and steady your grip on the bow, relaxing your shoulders before drawing it and pulling your arm back until you’ve reached your anchor point, which is always the corner of your mouth. 

Breathe, you remind yourself calmly as you aim at the delicate spot behind her shoulder blade. Nice and slow. Breathe.

Just as you’re about to release the arrow and take your shot, the deer whips her head back towards the trees and her ears prick forward—a split second later, she darts off, zooming across the field in the opposite direction of where you’d been standing. 

Your mouth falls open in disbelief. 

“Are you fucking shitting me?” you mutter under your breath.

Frustrated, you lower your weapon and just as you start to contemplate whether or not it’s even worth it to try and hunt her down on foot, you suddenly hear something—it isn’t until the noise draws closer to where you’re standing that you realize it’s the sound of a galloping horse.

Perplexed, you squint over in the direction of where you think it’s coming from, right near the edge of the trees. Then, just a moment later, a brown stallion emerges from the woods with a dark haired man riding in his saddle. He holds a rifle in one hand and clutches the reins tightly in the other. 

Gasping, you whirl around on the heel of your boot and immediately make a beeline back to the boulder. You swing around the rock and crouch down, ducking out of his sight. You couldn’t be too sure if he’d seen you or not, but it doesn’t matter—a wave of sheer panic washes over you and you can physically feel your own body preparing itself to go into fight or flight mode. Despite having your gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans, you still haven’t reached for it and continue to clutch your bow and arrow in your hands instead. 

Swallowing dryly, you turn and carefully lift yourself up just enough so that you can glimpse over the top of the boulder. That’s when you see a second man emerge from the woods. This one is blond and he is on foot instead of a horse. He’s also armed, carrying a shotgun. 

“You’re mine you fucking son of a bitch!” he shouts. He lifts his weapon, aims, and then squeezes the trigger, shooting the horse in the side and bringing him down instantly. His rider goes flying off and he hits the ground several feet away from the dead animal, landing so painfully hard that even from a distance you’d manage to hear the loud, cracking sound his body had made upon impact.

You momentarily freeze. 

Your heart anxiously jumps up into your throat as you watch the shooter begin to approach him. The attacker moves slowly and with no haste seeing as his helpless victim is lying there motionless on the ground with his eyes closed and no idea that he’s about to die. The blond man comes to a halt just a few feet away from him, grinning as he lifts his shotgun once again and points the barrel of it at the other man’s head. His index finger hovers over the trigger. 

Before your mind and body can even make the connection, you rise to your feet and aim your bow, swiftly sending an arrow straight through the blond man’s neck. He crumples, falling to the ground writhing and squirming as he bleeds out in less than sixty seconds.

You wait it out for another minute, refusing to move another muscle until his body finally goes limp and you are certain he’s dead. Taking a look around, you make sure the coast is clear and grab your belongings, slinging them over your shoulder before you make your way over to the scene. Unsure of whether or not there could be others heading in this direction, your plan was to pick off their guns and any other useful supplies before making a run for it back to the cabin. You crouch down beside the man you’d shot and killed, carefully pulling your arrow out of his neck. It makes a loud, horrid squelching sound as you remove it and blood from his jugular splatters your blue jeans. You then pick up his shotgun and check the chamber for ammunition. 

Just like the pistol tucked away in your waistband, there’s hardly any rounds left, making it all but useless. Rolling your eyes, you carelessly drop the gun on top of his chest and move on in search of the rifle. You spot it right beside the dark haired man.

Apprehensive, you cautiously make your way over towards him. With how still he had been lying, you could have sworn he was gone—perhaps the fall off of his horse alone had killed him. But just to be sure, you decide to give his side a harsh nudge with the toe of your boot. 

He groans and his head rolls to the side.

He’s still alive.

You effortlessly string the bloodied arrow in your hand and aim it right at his chest.

Move again and you’re dead, motherfucker.

“Ellie,” the man mumbles, his eyes still closed.

Ellie?

You slowly lower your bow.

Without realizing it, a little bit of your guard lowers along with it. 

Carefully, you sink down onto one knee next to the man and get a better look at him. He’s much older than yourself, somewhere in his fifties if you had to guess. He has harsh forehead lines, deep creases in between his eyebrows, a patchy beard that is speckled with many, many grays, and wild waves of thick hair that look soft to the touch. Though some of his features are a little worse for wear due to his age, he’s still quite a handsome man from what you can see. He also appears to be in decent shape, clean and well fed, and you detect the light scent of laundry soap on his clothes. Surely, he had to have been part of some kind of group, and judging by the leather trimmed saddle on his horse, this group was one that was very well off in this post outbreak world. 

You hesitate, but then lift a slightly trembling hand and take the side of his face, cupping it in your palm as you turn his head towards you. 

There’s blood on his right temple and your fingers reach up to touch what you had assumed was the source of the bleeding—but then you realize it was a scar, maybe an inch or two in length at most and completely healed. Your fingers trail up even further and venture into his hair which, as it turned out, is in fact just as soft as one would imagine. You find a small gash on his scalp and your fingers become coated in the man’s blood.

Must’ve hit himself on a rock or something.

Your hand leaves his hair and you place it on his broad chest as you begin checking him over for any other potential injuries or wounds. Slipping your opposite hand inside of his brown jacket, you lift the hem of the dark green thermal henley he’s wearing and you discover the scar on his temple isn’t the only one he possesses—he has several more, way too many for you to count on one hand alone. You’re so preoccupied with inspecting the remainder of his abdomen that you don’t even notice the way one of his hands is slowly reaching for yours, the hand that’s still resting on his chest, right over his heartbeat.

Semiconscious, the man takes your hand in his so damn gently that it startles you and takes you by surprise, but it doesn’t frighten you. Weakly, he laces his fingers together with your own and he speaks again, uttering softly, “Babygirl.”

Puzzled, your eyebrows knit together.

It almost sounds like he’s pleading.

For what—for who? For Ellie?

Is she the babygirl he’s referring to?

Your other hand moves up to his shoulder and you give it a violent shake. 

Hey, you’ve got to get up now.

“H—” You try to speak the words, but can’t. They’re formed in your mind and it feels like they are right there on the very tip of your tongue, but when you open your mouth, they refuse to come out. You frown.

It’s happened before. 

In the spring, you’d stumbled across a small group of people while out hunting in Idaho—it was the first time you had seen other human beings since leaving California in the fall. There had been both men and women and they even had children with them, but that did nothing to stop you from panicking when they’d approached you. One of the women cornered you, trying to tell you that they were traveling across the country to the east coast. “It’s okay,” she’d tried to tell you, holding up her hands. “We’re not bad people, I promise. We’re just trying to get to the quarantine zone in Boston. I think you should come with us, honey.”

You’d been so terrified that when you’d tried to tell her that you didn’t want to join them, you couldn’t push the words out. It felt like your voice had gotten stuck in the back of your throat. That’s how afraid you’d been.

Technically, you can speak.

You’d talk to yourself often when you were feeling lonely. You would read the books you carried in your pack out loud. Hell, you even liked to sing.

But whenever you became stressed, anxious, or scared, it would happen. You’d lose your ability to speak and to communicate—not that you had anyone to communicate with except for yourself, but that’s besides the point. No matter how hard you tried to force your vocal cords, all you could get out were quiet, strangled noises. It was as if your own fears chased your voice away and during periods when you were under extreme distress, it would take several days for you to find it again. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, whenever you used your voice back in California, it only led to the harshest of punishments. 

A gunshot sounds off in the distance, snapping you out of your train of thought.

You shake the man again, harder this time.

Come on, get up! They could be coming this way!

It’s useless. He’s losing complete consciousness. 

You hear another gunshot and this one sounds like it’s coming from the base of the mountain range on the other side of the trees, not all too far from where you are. For all you know, it could very well be members of his own group who are firing those weapons out there. But whether it was his group or the other man’s group, it doesn’t really fucking matter. You don’t want to run into either one of them, regardless of who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. In your eyes, everyone’s a fucking bad guy. 

Yanking your hand out of his, you get to your feet and prepare to make a run for it. But just as you’re about to take off, the man mumbles one last time. It’s incoherent and barely audible, but you manage to catch that name again. Ellie. 

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

For some reason you can’t quite explain, that sweet little name bounces around in the inside of your skull. 

You chew the inside of your cheek anxiously. 

If it’s his group out there, they’ll save him.

If it’s the other man’s group, they’ll kill him.

Normally, you’d have no problem with the idea of leaving another person to die.

After everything that happened in California, you had lost your sense of humanity. Your ability to empathize and actually give a shit about other people had been long gone—or so you’d thought. But you had just saved this man’s life and now you find yourself unwilling to run the risk of leaving him for dead. And you don’t have the slightest fucking clue as to why. He’s a stranger. He shouldn’t matter to you. 

You exhale a heavy sigh of defeat.

Okay, how the fuck do I do this?

Without much time left to waste, you gather up your belongings over your shoulder and pick up his rifle, slinging the brown leather strap across your chest so the gun rests comfortably against your backside. You walk around him, lean over, and hook your arms securely underneath his. Using every ounce of physical strength you have inside of you, you start dragging him back to the cabin as fast as you possibly can.

The pretty melody fills his ears as he comes to.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby…”

Joel Miller isn’t all too sure if heaven is a real place that actually exists, but the very minute he hears the feminine voice singing, he can’t help but think he’s died and that’s exactly where he’s gone—because only an angel could possibly have a voice like that. So rich, so smooth, and oh so sickeningly sweet.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue...”

The ballad being sung is all too familiar to him.

The Wizard of Oz had been Sarah’s favorite movie back when she had been a little girl, when she was seven years old and she still believed in princesses and fairy tales and faraway lands with yellow brick roads. Even when she grew older, his daughter continued to hold a soft spot for the film and Joel would watch it with her every Thanksgiving at his parents’ house right after their dinner—it would air on cable and Sarah would beg him to let her have her slice of pecan pie while sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his old man’s television set.

“So long as you don’t make a mess on Nana and PopPop’s carpet,” he’d warn her. “Deal?”

Sarah would beam at him and nod eagerly. “Deal!”

He’d grab his own slice of pie, park it right on the couch behind her, and together they would get lost in the whimsical world of Oz, although admittedly he’d usually fall deep into his food coma long before Dorothy had the chance to make it back home to Kansas.  

“Where troubles melt like lemon drops

away above the chimney tops 

that’s where you’ll find me...”

The words fade and the rest of the song is now being hummed.

Goddamn, he thinks.Even the humming is too fucking beautiful.

Joel feels a cold, damp cloth dabbing at his sore right temple.

Come to think of it, everything is fucking sore. 

Once, when Joel had been in his mid twenties, he had been doing some under the table roofing job with his younger brother, Tommy. It had been the hottest day of the summer in Texas, and the two of them thought having a couple cold beers with their lunch to cool off would be a good idea. The pair of them went back to work and started fucking around, goofing off like the drunk idiots they were. While horsing around, Joel accidentally stumbled right over the edge of the roof and he had fallen about fifteen feet to the ground, landing on his back on Mrs. Adler’s lawn. Luckily, he’d been okay after the fall and hadn’t sustained any serious injuries or broken any bones, but he had spent the following three to four weeks feeling like he’d been hit by a fucking Greyhound.

That’s how he felt now.

Like he’d been hit by a fucking bus. Twice. There isn’t a single part of him that isn’t pulsating with pain—his back, his shoulders, and his head. Oh god, his head feels the worst. It’s fucking killing him. 

Joel’s eyelids twitch and he cracks them open ever so slightly, just enough that he can see the silhouette of another person hovering over him. He feels a hand at the crown of his head as the other continues to dab at his temple with the cool cloth. It feels incredible against his warm skin and even sort of soothes the pain.

He lets out a small groan and the humming ceases.

Finally, he manages to force his eyes open.

Joel hears a little gasp and the bed he’s lying on squeaks and shifts. He then hears a loud thumping sound as if something, or someone had fallen to the floor. 

Although he’s still disoriented and his entire body aches with even the slightest movement, Joel manages to push himself up into a sitting position. Blinking rapidly, his blurred vision steadies itself after a minute and he glances around. He’s in a small, single room wooden cabin that has seen better days in its lifetime. Looking down, he sees that he’s lying on a bare, worn out mattress with his own jacket draped over him like a blanket. He racks his mildly concussed brain, trying to recollect what had happened—it takes him a minute, but one by one, the memories start flooding back to him. Joel had been leading mid morning patrol with Tommy when they had been ambushed by a large group of hostile raiders. He remembers shouting at his brother, telling him that he’d try and lead some of them off, away from the direction of their community. He’d succeeded and managed to pick off a few of the bastards that had been tailing him with his rifle, all except for one. The very last thing that he remembered was the sound of a gunshot behind him before his horse went down and he’d been thrown off and knocked out.

Everything after that was nothing but a blur.

Joel takes another look around the cabin and that’s when he sees you.

You’re on the floor, backed up against the wall near the foot of the mattress. Your eyes are wide and round, like a deer caught in the headlights. Your chest heaves, rising and falling rapidly—you remind him of a helpless, frightened animal that had been cornered by a vicious predator. You clutch the handle of a switchblade up against your chest with the blade pointing downwards, holding it so tightly in your hand that Joel can see the skin stretching tightly over your knuckles. 

“Who the hell are you?” He grimaces slightly, his own voice causing his head to throb. 

You don’t reply.

Joel moves onto his next question. “Where am I?”

Again, no response.

He tries again. “Are you alone?”

Silence. 

Joel takes a better look at you.

You’re young. You couldn’t have been older than your late twenties, perhaps even your early thirties although that might have been a bit of a stretch. You had that look about you, one that had become all but too familiar to him in the last two decades—the exhausted appearance of someone trying to survive in the post outbreak world. Your face is tired and worn, but somehow still soft and youthful at the same time. You might have looked a little rough around the edges, but you’re still the prettiest goddamn thing he’s seen in a long, long time. 

Joel speaks again. “Who are you? Where the hell are we?” When he’s met with complete silence for the fourth time, he raises an eyebrow, feeling annoyed. “You gonna fuckin’ say somethin’ or what?”

You can only stare at him, your fingers wrapped around the handle of your knife in a vice-like grip.

Joel frowns.

Are you really that fucking terrified of him?

Or perhaps you can’t hear?

Only one way to find out, he thinks to himself.

He raises his voice, asking once again, “Who are you? Where are we?”

You wince, your features twisting in discomfort.

Oh, you could fucking hear him, alright. 

Joel swings his legs over the side of the mattress, his movement causing you to shrink back further against the wall, almost as if you were trying to become a part of the old, rotted wood. He holds up his two hands, demonstrating that he has no plans to move another muscle towards you. “How long have I been out?”

He tries to show some patience and gives you a minute, gives you a chance to respond, but when you say nothing, he can’t help but sigh out in frustration. Just when he’s about to force himself to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any kind of answers out of you, you lift your free hand and hold up three trembling fingers. 

His stomach sinks. “Three days? I’ve been out for three fuckin’ days?”

You give him a nod so tiny and so subtle that he would’ve missed it had he blinked.

“Fuck,” Joel curses, hanging his head. He begins to spiral.

What happened to Tommy? And the others? 

Did they make it out alive?

And then Ellie’s face flashes in his mind, causing the blood in his veins to run ice cold. 

What could she possibly be thinking right now after he’d been missing for three whole days? Who was taking care of her and looking after her while he wasn’t there?

He needed to get back to Jackson—he needed to get back to Ellie.

He wasn’t sure how he would be able to do that if you didn’t start talking soon and answering his goddamn questions.

Lifting his head, Joel looks over at you again. 

“You all by yourself?”

You hesitate, but then nod in reply. Yes.

Joel sighs, his tense shoulders relaxing. That’s a start. “Listen, I’m gonna need a little help here, alright? I don’t remember much ‘bout what happened. I’m part of a community. I was out on patrol with my group when we were attacked by raiders. There were too many of them and I tried to lead some of them away,” he explains. He might not have known what had happened after he’d been thrown off of his horse, but the fact that he’s in your cabin and he’s alive help him piece at least one part of the puzzle together. “Wait a minute. Did you—did you save me out there?”

Sucking in your bottom lip, you nod again.

Stunned, Joel’s eyebrows raise up towards his hairline. “You fuckin’ serious?” he can’t help but question in complete and utter disbelief. Skeptically, he presses, “But how? What happened out there? How did you get me here all by yourself?” His queries spill from his lips one after the other despite knowing most of them, if not all of them, would go unanswered.

You look overwhelmed by them—by him.

Figuring it’s best to take it one slow step at a time, Joel stands up and he cautiously walks over towards you. He holds out his hand. “S’alright,” he assures you in the most gentle voice he can muster. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

You refuse to loosen your grip on your knife, but you accept his hand and allow him to help you up to your feet. Given that you didn’t lodge the blade straight through his chest, Joel would say some progress had been made. 

He releases your hand and takes a step backwards to give you your space. He isn’t too sure if you can’t talk or simply don’t want to talk—still thinking you’d been the woman he’d heard singing when he had drifted back into consciousness, he guesses it’s probably the latter. 

Joel tries to think of questions he knows you’ll be able to answer without having to speak. 

“How long have you been by yourself?”

Shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, you hold up one finger. 

“Sorry darlin’ but that don’t really help me much,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Are we talkin’ one week? One month?”

You make a gesture with your hand. Keep going.

“One year?” He doesn’t bother hiding his blatant skepticism. “You’ve been completely alone for one whole year?”

You point at him. That’s right. 

Joel is beside himself. He’s almost in awe over the fact that you’ve survived on your own for so fucking long.

“You got any other weapons besides that knife?”

You nod over towards a bow and sheath of arrows next to your backpack.

“You’re kiddin’ me. That’s all you’ve got?”

You narrow your eyes at him.

Hey, it’s a good weapon and it saved your fucking life, thank you very much.

“Sorry. Just can’t imagine that thing would do much against a clicker. ‘Specially if your aim is shit,” Joel muses. He notices the offended expression on your face and quickly moves on. “You don’t have a gun at all?”

You reach behind yourself and pull out a colt pistol from the waistband of your jeans. You finally set down your knife and then show him that you’re low on ammunition and don’t have any more. Tucking the gun back into your jeans, you step around him and walk over to a corner where his rifle is propped up against the wall. You pick it up, make your way back over to him and hand it over. 

I believe this belongs to you.

“Thank you,” he utters quietly, taking it from you. “And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the gun, either. I honestly don’t think I’d be standin’ here alive if you hadn’t done whatever it was you did out there.” His eyes try meeting yours. “I’m serious, darlin’. I owe you one. I really fuckin’ do.”

You shrug, too timid to meet his gaze.

“I’m Joel,” he says after a minute, setting his rifle down. “What’s your name?”

You simply stare at him.

“Oh that’s right,” Joel mumbles sheepishly. “You can’t—” He stops himself, but he’s sure you know what he’d meant to say.

You can’t talk.

“You got a pencil or somethin’ to write with?”

You snort and roll your eyes at him. No, sorry. Silly me totally forgot to pick up a pack of pencils while I was out scavenging for supplies the other day.

Joel chuckles and holds up his hands in defense. “Figured it was at least worth askin’,” he says. “It’d be kinda nice to know the name of the person who saved my fuckin’ ass, you know.” He clocks the way the corners of your mouth threaten to turn upwards into a tiny smile at his remark. “How ‘bout a map? You got one of those so you can show me where we are?”

You hold up a finger, as if telling him to give you a minute. Digging into one of the front pockets of your pack, you pull out a large map of the state of Wyoming. It’s severely creased, as if you’ve folded and unfolded it hundreds of times. You hand it over to him and as he holds it out for you, you point to your current location. 

“Jackson’s ‘bout fifteen miles south from here,” Joel murmurs as he scans the map. Suddenly, his dark brown eyes flicker over your wrist—the long sleeve of your thin gray shirt had hiked up, exposing severe discoloration and scarring that went all the way around, marking your skin. 

Noticing where his gaze had wandered off to, you quickly retract your hand away from the map and tug your sleeve down back into place. But it’d been much too late. He had seen the mark, clear as fucking day. 

Joel awkwardly clears his throat and for the sake of not causing you any discomfort, he pretends he hadn’t seen a goddamn thing. He turns his attention back to the map. “Remember how I told you I’m a part of a community? It’s in Jackson and it ain’t all too far from here,” he states, peering up at you from over the top of the map. “The town’s gated and it’s secure. You’ll be safe there. If we head out right now, we can make it there by nightfall—”

You back away from him, shaking your head.

I’m not going with you.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Look darlin’, I don’t mean to offend, but you ain’t gonna last a whole lot longer out here on your own, especially not in a place like this with winter right around the corner. If you don’t starve to death, then you’ll fuckin’ freeze to death.”

You glare at him and lift your chin.

I’ve been doing just fine on my own, thanks. 

Having read your mind, Joel sighs. “Alright, fair enough. You’ve gotten this far by yourself, but that don’t mean you gotta turn down an offer for some help. Just come with me to Jackson—”

You shake your head even harder.

The last time that you had agreed to go back with a stranger to their camp, you’d been imprisoned. Tortured. 

Joel observes you, and it doesn’t take him very long to connect the dots between the scars around your wrists and your refusal to leave with him. His hard, stony face softens. “Listen sweetheart, I ain’t all too sure ‘bout what’s happened to you,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But I can assure you that you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing this time around. Just come with me and I’ll prove it to you.”

You toss him a skeptical look.

“Jackson is a safe place,” he swears. “My brother runs it along with his wife and a small council. There’s families, lots of children—hell I’ve got a kid myself. Teenager. Her name is Ellie and she’s fifteen years old.”

Your lips part slightly and your eyes glimmer with something that looks a lot like recognition, though Joel can’t be too sure what had prompted it. Perhaps you’d known someone with that name once in your life. 

“There’s plenty of food, running water, electricity,” he lists off in an attempt to sway you. “It’d be a shot at a normal life. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Crossing your arms, you lift your chin again.

You’d heard that before.

Why the hell should I even trust you? Why should I trust this place is what you say it is?

Joel bites back another frustrated sigh. 

Normally, he wouldn’t bother to put up with such stubbornness. He wasn’t one to plead or beg and part of him almost wanted to give up so he could be on his way, but you had saved him from being killed. He owed you his fucking life. He had to get you to go with him. He wouldn’t give up until you agreed to go to Jackson with him. 

“I’ll let you carry your weapons,” he offers as a compromise. “Hell, you can even walk behind me with your gun pointed at the back of my fuckin’ head if that’s gonna make you feel safest.”

You squint at him. Really?

“Or that bow of yours,” he adds, chuckling softly. “It’s your pick, darlin’. Whatever’s gonna make you feel comfortable. I’ll trust you not to shoot an arrow through the back of my skull—all I ask in return is that you at least make an attempt to trust me too. I think that’s a fair enough deal. Don’t you?”

You bite your bottom lip. 

I don’t know about this.

“I really don’t wanna leave you out here all alone,” Joel says, taking a step closer towards you. He finds himself feeling surprised that it hadn’t startled you and he only hopes that means that, to some degree, you trust him already. “Please. You saved my life—and I know you probably don’t need me savin’ yours, but at least let me take you to Jackson so you can see for yourself what we’ve got goin’ on there. If you don’t like it and you don’t wanna stay, then we’ll load up your pack with food and supplies. We’ll put you on a horse and you can be on your way. You can choose to leave and no one will lift a finger to stop you, I’ll make sure of it. How does that sound?”

He waits, giving you a chance to think it over.

Finally, after a minute, you sigh and reluctantly nodd your head. 

Okay. I’m gonna try and trust you.

“Good,” Joel says, softly. “Now get your stuff and let’s head out before we start losin’ daylight.” 

[shinxit]

Behind the windshield (fic)

Pre-warning: This is just really really shameless porn.

Warning: Contagion, Explicit sexual themes, Sneeze fetish, excessive body fluids, sex work

Summary: Sasha is a van-life man with a cold kink, and runs into a very sick and beautiful sex worker for whom he has some requests.

Van life can be picturesque when you’re on parked on a hilltop sipping hot cacao sitting on the back of your hatch watching the sun puncture its yolk beyond the redwood tops and sink into the dark broth of the ocean. At the same time, it can also be drudgery. For Sasha, finding a new spot to part on the at 3am on a Tuesday every time street cleaning comes around was the bane of his existence. A close second was the existential crisis of people trying to peek into his tinted windows, not knowing if this was going to be a smash-and-grab-my-ankle situation. And the cold, don’t even start. It was a hell of a time heating the van even in temperate winters. Life is a lot harder when it’s 50F inside and out.

It was on one of these particularly chilly mornings that Sasha met Jan. Or technically, he heard her first. ATSSSCHH! SSSSSTHCHHKKK! Sneezes like sonic arrows shook the sedan parked in front of Sasha’s, waking him from his slumber. It was that time of day when the birds were stretching their wings but not yet started to sing and the air was draped in a dusty blue haze. Thankfully Sasha was an early riser and didn’t really mind the unconventional alarm. After changing into his joggers and workout tee, Sasha slid open his van door to breathe in the fog and get his morning run in.

When… uu—CHTSCHOO! KTSCHHH! atzCKHOOO! The purple accord shook once more, this time Sasha could see the wind shield misting with each barrage. Then the rusty door swung out, followed by a pink baby stiletto heel stepped out, and then the head of a beautiful platinum blonde which contrasted magnificently with a fiery nose and deep chestnut eyes that Sasha only caught a glimpse of before they closed in -AKTscheeew! The jet of spray left the woman’s mouth and lunged forward at least three feet before dissipating into the drifting fogs. She then blew her nose forcefully, expelling a long string of yellow-green snot for which she leaned over the ground to pitch off at her abused nostrils with her fingers and flick onto the ground. Sasha took a deep breath.

She was irresistible. As she leaned her head back, holding the bridge of her nose and sniffled, Sasha could hear the gurgling congestion in her sinuses from several feet away. Her flaming nose drew Sasha like a moth, and before he could really register what was happening, he was standing in front of her, watching in awe as she desperately tried to hold back the next round and thick discharge escaped from her nostrils.

“Ugh…” she moaned. “mbuck.”

“Fuck is right,” Sasha said. “That’s quite a cold you’ve got there. Need a tissue? I’ve got some extra lying around in my van.”

S-sniff. “Yes blease” she responded in an impossibly stuffed up voice. It wasn’t until Sasha had gotten this close that he noticed how the early middle-aged blonde was dressed—in a hot pink bikini bottom with the string tightly wedged between her cheeks showing off her well-cared-for glutes. On top she sported a matching string bikini top covering a pair of breasts that must have been the nature plus package. Across her shoulders draped a pink tweed cropped blazer which felt somehow perfect to round off all that was going on here.

“I’b Jad by the way. Dis is by corder today.” She extended a damp hand, which Sasha grasped to pull her out of the car onto her feet.

“Sasha. I’m from here and there.”

“Dice to beet you Sasha. Welcob to the deighborhood.” She drew her finger under her nose, wiping a streak of liquid yellow onto her index finger. “Umb… could I get those tissues? By last cliedt had a dasty cold, ad I think I’b cobing dowd wit it dow.”

“Sure thing. Wanna come into the van and warm up?”

Jan nodded, wiping her nose once again, this time leaving a snail trail across the arm of her blazer. Sasha helped Jan into the cozy back of the sprinter van, and both of them had to crouch to get to the bed/sofa in the back where Sasha joined the very sick girlie after fishing out his box of puffs from behind the pans. Jan took the box with a look of gratitude, and immediately soaked one through with the toxic sludge pouring out of her nose. When she looked up, Sasha had already handed her a steaming hot cacao to replace the dirty tissue which was relegated to a corner of the kitchen counter. He then attentively took her temperature with an axillary thermometer: 99.9F. A low temp, but no fever… yet. It sounded like she was still early in her illness, and Sasha couldn’t rule out that it could evolve.

Now you should know that inviting a literal walking neon sign for a contagious illness into such a tight and unventilated space, and then enclose oneself inside with said person was entirely intentional on Sasha’s part. There was always something titillating about the risk of illness, or even intentionally taking a stuffy sneezy cold from someone. The only thing hotter than that, would be someone forcing a cold on him.

“No client’s today?” Ask Sasha.

“Do….”uuuutschooooOO! Jan turned away, spraying Sasha’s duvet. Snifff. “I doubt sobeode id their right mide would wadt to pay for this.”

“Mmmm I beg to differ. ”

Jan looked Sasha up and down, from his modern mullet to his well-toned shoulders, to his stained gap hoodie and Kirkland joggers. He could only imagine what was going through her mind. Maybe she was disturbed? Attracted? Sizing him up for the size of his wallet?

“You should dkow I dod’t cobe cheap.”

“I would never imagine that to be the case for a women as beautiful as you. But I do have a special request. I want you to give me your cold.”

Jan seemed to pause for a moment before she burst out laughing which devolved into a coughing fit and ended with her blowing her nose once more, adding to the growing pile of yellow snow on the kitchen counter.

“Dat’s already goidg to happed, but if you idsist…” Jan turned to straddle Sasha’s lap before whispering a price into his ear that he readily agreed to.

Now in her element, Sasha shed her blazer, revealing her reality+ chest that bounced and heaved with each breath. She then took her blazer and tied Sasha’s hands behind his back, leaving him helpless to stop her ministrations. She then sneezed, spraying directly onto her chest, and pressed Sasha’s face in the damp crevice. Sasha happily lapped up the fat beaded virus-laden droplets.

Then, Jan grabbed the thermometer left on the counter from earlier and used the shiny tapered tip to ticker her nostrils until… AAAATHSCHOOO! No hold backs, hot spray hit Sasha directly in the face before he could even manage to close his eye. A remnant string of snot hung from Jan’s face, which Sasha wiped away with a finger and cleaned up with a lick.

“You a sicko” croaked Jan.

“No you” Sasha quipped, smiling.

“Not ONLY me for long.” Jan once again grabbed the thermometer now covered with a layer of virile green slime and used to rub around Sasha’s own nostrils. First teasing in little circles the edges of his well-shaped nose, leaving little snail trails on his face. Then she brought the thermometer back to her own nose and blew, positively drowning the plastic rod in a thick contagious gel that she then plunged deep into Sasha’s nose, using her fingers to help wipe off the excess and press it into his crevices. This thermometer was so deep, that it triggered something in Sasha, leading him to sneeze ATSCHOOO! Spraying green chunks across Jan’s chest and bikini top.

“Bad boy” Jan scolded. “It’s dot your turd yet. Patiedce”

Jan then held her raw red nose millimeters from Sasha’s own. He could feel her hot infectious breath hitting his face as he tried to inhale as much as he could.

“Tell be wat you wadt.”

“You…” Sasha panted.

“I’b goidg to bake you so sick. You’re goidg to regret this. Toborrow, you’re goidg to wake up dot beidg able to breathe through your dose, ad you’re going to blow and blow so buch that your dose will be as red ad bine.”

Jan then went ahead and slammed her lips on his, sharing the saliva that flowed from beyond her raw red throat into his uninfected mucosa. Her nose continued to run. And as she pinned Sasha down, gravity brought the dangerous golden fluid flowing from her abused nostrils into his. Meanwhile, their tongues found each other and danced deep in each other’s mouths, her virus-laden saliva tickling Sasha’s uvula, and his prodding at her swollen tonsils. They spent the rest of the morning, making out and exchanging fluids, but never made it past second base. Unfortunately, Sasha’s budget didn’t stretch that far.

By the time lunchtime hit, they bid their goodbyes. Jan went back to her sedan and drove home, wherever she stayed, calling the rest of the day a wash after her payday courtesy of Sasha. Meanwhile, Sasha, dealt with the Yukon gold rush Jan had left piled up on his counter. He went through each tissue, unfolding and marveling at each unique green Rorschach. He pressed particularly wet spots into his nose, and inhaled deeply, imagining the generous innocuous in his nostrils and throat infecting his cells and multiplying and reminiscing how this dangerous fluid shared by a beautiful woman doomed him to an ill fate.

[timbitshockey]

unable to watch the game as i’m currently screaming mid-2000s pop punk with my high school friends dressed as the puppet from saw but i’m going to assume we’re getting a rusty 2 goal night (one power play) a sid penalty and a kris fight. and geno will fall down like a redwood

[tl-os]

I was in the living room reading “Bellefleur” (again), and when I looked up the light had changed. The room was now dark and spot-lit in curious places where lamps had never stood.

Something, someone, somewhere. Was it me?

I got up and walked into the hallway, and instead of my bedroom, I entered the large office where the landlord (he measured everything) kept all of his paperwork strewn around the room in messy piles. And then I walked into the hallway that communicates with the apartment next door. (I like them well enough, but living without a locked door—or any door at all— between us is unnerving. So far, there has never been an issue. Nobody has wandered into our apartment. I would never dare intrude on their privacy.) Any other night I might wind up in what I like to call The Yard Sale Room - full of tables displaying costume jewelry, trinkets, textiles, china and flatware, long rambling letters full of apologies for heinous acts committed lifetimes ago, funereal urns, musical instruments long silent, coffee cans full of buttons, two verdigris deer, champagne flutes, three perfect gold spheres, empty journals, tarnished swords, One Enamel Eye, tin ice cube trays, heaps of dried flowers, lots of small jars filled with a viscous dark liquid, a collection of ceramic redwoods and sycamores, wooden spoons, a diploma, empty decorative boxes, one large stone horse, a disintegrating shopping bag full of sponges, dishwashing liquid, a can of powder cleanser, laundry detergent, fabric softener, dryer sheets, window cleaner, steel wool pads, and scrub brushes (c. 1978?), two pallets of 5 & ½ inch white candles, an entire collection of hagiographies in fine-tooled leather binding, magnifying glasses and mirrors (all broken), one pair child’s (size 3) ballet shoes, never worn, four distinctly different samovars, a pair of arms, envelopes full of receipts, hotel keys, lazy susans holding little jars of bleached herbs and spices long inert, brown paper grocery bags overflowing with prescription pill bottles (not empty), maps, a tiny little spinning wheel constructed from unpainted wood, and shards of glass crusted with some dark, rusty substance.

But no clocks. Not a single clock to tick. Just silence. Alone in the room with the weight of it all.

[moonlitcomet]

Concept for an unnamed alien species + planet, with some plants and fauna that live with them. They have no arms, instead manipulating the world around them with their prehensile trunks and tails.

They have four eyes and live in very high light conditions, with days on their home planet sometimes lasting up to three earth months at a time. Photosynthesizing plants, ergo, get REALLY FUCKING BIG. an average tree there is as tall as the tallest redwoods. the biggest trees can get up to 2000 feet tall. Plants also have massive leaves, sometimes leaves bigger than a house.

Most animals [about 70%] on their home planet are photovores and feed off the near-constant sunlight, with big frills, sheets, and wings like leaves on a plant. "Animal" is a term used loosely, they're usually more akin to corals; typically stationary but can move in the presence of predators.

These guys are herbivores.

Despite most life on their planet being gigantic, these sophonts are pretty small at only two feet tall! They managed to get by by not being worth eating to most predators. It was an evolutionary extreme that came to their advantage.

They usually make their settlements and cities out of the tallest trees, with a monoculture forest near the equator being a simultaneous farm and metropolis.

Their home planet is extremely oxygen rich, being 40% oxygen rather than our 20.95% oxygen. The atmosphere is very thick and gravity quite low, allowing flying and gliding animals to get even larger than they ever could on our planet. Their sky is a deep, rich blue.

They live under a class A star, which gives off strong blue light that causes most of their flora to be rusty autumn colors rather than green. Being essentially microfauna, these sophonts adapted the orange and purple colors of the plants around them, and usually don't come in many extremes outside of that.

[eldorr]

Canyon Queerhet

Plain flag (left), Flag with stripe meanings (right)

This term/flags were originally posted June 5th, 2022.

Last year or so (actually around 2 years now upon re-posting) I made my own take on the lesbian/gay/vincian/enbian flags since I am critinclus/radinclus. However one of the two posts detailing these flags was lost, so I am remaking/renaming them, along with simplifying and cleaning up some stripe meanings.

The original flags I made were 9 stripes, and I didn’t like the way I simplified them into 5 stripes, so I’ve decided to make a simple 6 stripe one. Some of these flags will look very similar to the ones I originally did, and some will look way different.

This flag is coined as a Queerhet flag, however anyone who is Q4G (Queer for Women,Men,Enbies,etc), WLM/MLW/NBLM/XLNB/etc, or identifies their attraction to a gender as queer regardless of their own gender or other attractions. This is also inclusive of queers whose’ gender is queer, while they may be het/straight/strayt/etc. (Basically anyone who feels like queerhet, but may not 100% identify with the queerhet label for any reason, is allowed to use this flag, as long as they recognize it as the Canyon Queerhet/non-Q4G flag. You could call yourself Canyon Strayt/Pluralian/etc in order to make that connection.)

This flag stands for inclusion and solidarity within the Queerhet community, and between the Queerhet community, other non-Q4G communities, and other non-primarily non-Q4G Queer communities (Transhets/Cisgays/etc). Generally just look at the stripe meanings if you want the general idea, I go into more detail for my reasoning below each meaning. This is a LONG POST.

.

The Stripe meanings:

Top/Vibrant Redwood: Aspec Queerhet, Monospec Queerhet, and Mspec Queerhet inclusion and solidarity.

The Canyon Queerhet flag is radically inclusive of Aspec and Mspec queerhets, since most people thing of cis gays and transhets when they hear the term Queerhet. Anyone may ID as Queerhet for any reason. Monospec Queerhets should have solidarity with Aspec and Mspec queerhets.

—

Second Stripe/Vibrant Auburn Orange: Multigender Queerhet, Genderfluid Queerhet, Genderflux Queerhet, Monogender Queerhet, Xenogender Queerhet, Agender Queerhet inclusion and solidarity.

Of course these are not the only genders included under this stripe, however these are some of the more excluded and misunderstood even by general queerhet spaces, so they’re here to explicitly say they’re included under this flag. There’s many reasons why someone who isn’t a binary monogender may describe themself as Queerhet. Monogender Queerhets should stand with Queerhets with more complicated gender identities.

—

Third Stripe/Rusty Orange: Pronoun-Non-Conforming Queerhet, Gender-Non-Conforming Queerhet, Pronoun-Conforming Queerhet, Gender-Conforming Queerhet Inclusion and Solidarity

This stripe is here due to some exclusion in queerhet spaces against basically anyone that’s not a binary gender, and presents as such. This stripe is for explicit inclusion of they/them, it/its, neopronoun, nounself, emojiself queerhets, neutral, transneutral, transmasc, transfem, lavenderian, amaranthian, butch, femme, wisterian, transxen, xenic, queerhets. Gender and Pronoun conforming queerhets should include and have solidarity with non-gender/pronoun conforming queerhets.

—

Fourth Stripe/Salmon Pink: Queerhet and Non-Queerhet non-Q4G inclusion and solidarity

This stripe is here to include non-queerhet non-Q4G in queerhet spaces, conversation, etc. This stripe stands for and includes anyone who has Queer love for any gender, is queer gender-wise, and doesn’t primarily identify as queerhet. This includes, transhets, strayt, rubian, umbalian, etc. This stripe can also include queerhets who are not explicitly non-Q4G, and may be NBMLW/NBWLM/NBLM/NBLW queerhets. Non-Queerhets are not the enemies of queerhets, and queerhets should include and have solidarity with other non-Q4G.

—

Fifth Stripe/Burnt Pink: Femme Queerhet, Futch Queerhet, Butch Queerhet, Twink Queerhet, Otter Queerhet, Bear Queerhet inclusion and solidarity.

This stripe is here partly for the same reason as stripe number three, however with the added notion that Femme/Futch/Butch are not lesbian exclusive terms, and that Otter/Bear/Twink are not vincian/gay man exclusive terms. There may be many reasons someone would use these terms, Femme/Futch/Butch generally relate to gender-presentation, and Otter/Bear/Twink generally relate to one’s body. Of which there is a lot of fatphobia in queer communities, so this stripe is primarily here to focus on challenging what a queerhet “looks like”. Futch queerhets are not the enemies of Femme and Butch queerhets, and Bear queerhets and just as valid in their queerhet identity as Otter and Twink queerhets. Be inclusive and have solidarity with other queerhets, even if they don’t “look like” queerhet. Challenge fatphobia, transphobia, and queermisia in your own communities.

—

Sixth/Last Stripe/Vibrant Rich Purple: Otherwise Marginalized Queerhet inclusion and solidarity.

Like I mentioned in stripe number five, there is not “look” to being queerhet. This stripe is for the explicit inclusion of otherwise marginalized queerhets, whether they be BIPOC, a religious minority, trans, intersex, polyamorous, chronically ill and/or disabled, neurodivergent, fat and/or a bear, etc. Include and have solidarity with other queerhets, whether or not they’re like yourself. Challenge bigoted rhetoric in your own communities.

[cryptid-s-wips]

Happy STS (or answer whenever if ya want), Quentin! For any WIP, if it was a house, how would you describe it. And what rooms would it have? Sending good ☆☆ vibes ☆☆ and good luck to you. - ✨️ (@enchanted-lightning-aes)

Hi Enchant! Thank you for the ask! Sending ~*good vibes*~ right back

If Where the Redwood Lies were a house, it would be a little hunting cabin in the middle of the woods sitting on a pond. A rusty old pickup truck sits outside on the gravel driveway, a clearly handmade dock stretches out past a small shoreline into the cool water, and besides the pond, the cabin, and the truck, there's nothing but trees for miles around.

It's heated with a wood stove, and only has three rooms (a common room with a kitchen, living space, and dining area plus two bedrooms) with an outhouse and shed outside. It's rustic and probably hasn't been updated since the 70s. There are shag area rugs in the bedrooms, under the bunk beds. Most of the decorations are fishing and hunting memorabilia. Old hunting rifles, snowshoes, and fishing poles line the walls and you can't tell if they're still in use. A 10-point buck's taxidermied head sits over the fireplace, its impressive rack of antlers casting shadows on the ceiling.

If you go out into the shed, though, and move around a few of the old tackle boxes, shelves with canned food and preserves, and moth-eaten blankets, you'll find a little hatch that leads to a ladder descending into darkness. Once you flip a switch, turn on the fluorescent lights, and make your way down, you find a bunker filled with scientific laboratories and computers that take up whole rooms. Petri dishes are scattered throughout, labeled with ominous signs, and one room is completely blocked off, sealed with caution tape and the biohazard symbol. You don't know what's in that room, but you think you'd rather it stay that way.

Ok, this was actually so fun to do. It may or may not be based on the setting at the beginning of the novel itself, but it was fun to explore it more. I've been getting way more into writing it too lately, so I'm glad I actually have more to say about it here!

[thewriterghost]

Tag Game: Find the Word

Thank you @tailoroffates for tagging me!

I'm a bit swamped up in homework right now so I don't know who to tag, but if you see this and want to join, go ahead and pretend that I tagged you!

New words: gentle, rusty, value, kitten, and crowded

Incredible/Savage (From a really old WIP that I didn't continue)

“Who the hell are you and where did you come from?!” I held the vase close to me in an attacking position.

“Your inner voices.” Said the guy with the glasses, incredibly calmly, as he shuffled through a book in his hands.

“In the flesh.” The annoying, dark haired guy added with a smirk from my couch, where he was making himself comfortable.

“Let the vase go, honey.” As I turned to the calm and sweet voice my eyes met with a blonde girl. She walked slowly to me and reached for the vase, like I was an angry animal, about to attack them. And to be fair, I was going to. Maybe I should’ve? I let her get the vase instead.

“Prove it.”

All three of their appearances flickered in that moment, like there was another appearance underneath this. A very familiar appearance. In fact, the one I see every morning. In the mirror. When I look at myself.

The first one smiled at me as he put the book back to a shelf. “We usually look like you, but…”

“We didn’t want to scare you.” The girl mumbled.

“And you thought it was better to just show up as strangers?!” I couldn’t control my voice.

“Just be grateful we showed up as humans.” Said the one I found annoying, with a laidback attitude I still found annoying. At that moment, the others looked around in a kind of a panic.

“What?” I asked. The girl looked at the one with the glasses and answered.

“Well, there was supposed to be a cat here…”

Seeing how speechless I was, the annoying one added with another smirk. “Yeah, pretty savage.”

As soon as he said it, we heard a glass breaking from the direction of my kitchen. I turned to the others with a threatening finger as another glass met with floor. “Catch it, or I swear to god I’ll destroy each and every one of you.”

Thought (From my main WIP, Luminits: The Children of Light)

I slowed down my car as I saw the huge iron gate, and stopped in front of it. I had noticed that there was also a camera in the upper corner of the gate, which completely blocked my view. As I tugged on my beanie uncomfortably, a part of the gate opened in the size of a normal door, and a tall, red-haired woman appeared through the gap. She approached my car, almost swinging, and knocked on the window. The thought of opening the window occurred to me at that exact time. She smiled at me from behind the slowly descending window. There was a strangeness on her face that I couldn't explain. Her pretty, sunset-like hair framed her white skin. Thinking about how warm her emerald green eyes were, I suddenly realized. The shape of her eyes… It was the shape of her eyes that seemed strange. She had upturned, almond-shaped eyes, but this upturn did not appear to be at a normal level. The corners of her eyes were slightly higher than normal, like an alien. Involuntarily, I pulled away from the window.

“Hello, Miss Carter.” Her voice sounded like music. It had a calming effect.

“How do you know my name?” My body was slowly relaxing.

"We've been waiting for you." Her eyes were fixed on the glow behind my beanie. She waved her hand towards the door. The iron gate swung open with an unexpected silence.

“Please come inside. I'll take you to Redwood after you park your car."

My body, which no longer held any tension, obeyed her words and drove the car through the gate. In the middle of the land stood the mansion in all its splendor. After I parked the car next to the other cars in the parking lot, I approached the woman who was waiting to take me.

“My name is Bonnalurie. It is my duty to take the newcomers to Redwood," she said as our steps led us towards the mansion.

“You… What are you?” Although it took me a while to formulate the question, I was able to ask it. I was surprised when she turned towards me and smiled.

"I'm an elf, Miss Carter." It was a sentence that was hard to believe, let alone digest, but I had a level of acceptance that I couldn't understand. I didn't question it.

Love (From a Marauders fanfic with an OC. Not fully fleshed out yet)

She made her way to the Gryffindor table. It was always the loudest which she didn’t like, but it was also the funniest and she loved to be able to laugh with everyone else. As she walked, she heard a second year laugh at his friend saying, “If you eat a bit faster, we won’t be able to eat at all anyways.”. She laughed along but when the laughs died down, she commented, “Leave him alone, at least some of us can eat.”. She always commented on people, said things in return and never expected an answer because there never was, since no one could see or hear her. What happened next was something she was waiting for since the very first day, which was now months ago. A fifth year raised his head and looked towards her. She took a step forward.

“It can easily be a coincidence.” She mumbled a bit loud to see if he heard her again. He looked around once more, as well.

“Who was it?” He asked, though his friends didn’t seem to hear.

“Did you—Did you just hear me?” She walked up to him and his friend group, which contained two other guys.

“Where are you?” His voice was audible for his friends this time, their heads turned to him, confused. One of them, the one with the longer hair, asked.

“Where is who?”

But he shushed them, clearly expecting her to answer, so she did.

“I’m right here but nobody can see or hear me, except you.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged even though they couldn’t see her.

“Remus, care to fill us in?” His other friend asked curiously, but he didn’t reply.

“Tell them. Maybe one of them knows something that can help me.” She suggested, eager to know more.

After she practically gave him permission to do so, Remus told the others what was going on, with a hushed voice. She was amazed to see how they accepted everything Remus said without questioning his sanity.

As lunch went on, she learned their names and ages, and gathered some of their personality traits from the way they talk or act. She explained what she knew about her situation which wasn’t much, but it was a start. She didn’t expect them to be in on this that quickly but by the time lunch was over they’ve already made plans to meet in the library after classes. Until then, it was decided that she was to tag along Remus, since he was the only one who could hear her.

“We didn’t ask your name, by the way.” James, as she knew now, stated right before they parted ways.

“Olivia,” she replied. “My name is Olivia.”

[whiskeyandphotos]

Big Sur, day two

I woke up not long after the sun rose. It was behind the mountains, so camp was still in shadow, but the sky was getting brighter by the minute. I got up and boiled water for my oatmeal before I did a last minute review of the trail I intended to hike that morning.

It was a 7 mile hike, and I had no idea what I had ahead of me. The trail was about nine miles south of camp so once I was dressed, I jumped into Fiona and hit the PCH. It was still foggy off the coast, I could not see the ocean beyond the immediate 100 yards or so off the highway. Fog wrapped around the moss-draped branches of the pines which dotted the side of the winding highway. It was early, and I was one of the only people driving down the highway which added to the eerie feeling of driving through the fog.

I passed the trailhead because I was looking for a sign which did not exist. I doubled back and parked where I needed to. Threw on my Timbs, grabbed my CamelBak, grabbed my 35mm, locked up, and headed out.

Walking into a foggy, damp forest on a cold morning when you know that the mountain lions are the apex predator in the general area is certainly a choice. Obviously, the chances of seeing one or being turned into cat food is slim, but still, I’m not sure my Buck knife would’ve done much other than piss the cat off more.

The redwoods towered ahead of and around me, the fog obscuring their height from my eyes. The trail began in a gulley, with a small stream to the left of the trail and rock walls covered in green rising up on each side of me. The trail followed the stream for about a mile until veering to the right and up one of the walls. The climb upward covered a lot of elevation in a short amount of time - 1,000 feet in less than two miles. At a certain point the trail turned back toward the coast and I came onto a sea of clouds on the other side of the 1. They stretched as far as the ocean itself, and felt completely otherworldly. I wasn’t really up too high in elevation, but when you’re hiking on the coast, that doesn’t really matter.

I continued up and over and around on the trail for another mile and a half until the trail ended at a fire road. To the left of the trailhead was a path to what is locally known as the tin house. It was, obviously, a house built out of tin though I think I saw some bricks in there too. Now it was in total disrepair with a collapsed roof on one side and I honestly didn’t feel like chancing it and going in to look around. I’d seen, literally, no one on the trail up so I was very clearly alone out here and being impaled by rusty metal seems like a pretty bad way to go.

Anyway, I sat on the fire road and looked out over the cloud ocean and enjoyed some trail mix and a Clif Bar - well, as much as one can enjoy a Clif Bar anyway - while letting my legs rest. My only contact with another living being for my entirety of sitting there was a lizard and a jay who flew down from the higher part of the mountain and landed on the tree in front of me. It was perfectly silent and exactly what you would need and expect from being in such an isolated location. I wondered if any of the old writers who used to hang around in Big Sur came up this way and why this house was even built in the first place. There was nothing around for miles, it had to have been for the peace and quiet. If only they knew what peace and quiet meant now compared to back in the day!

I decided I needed to get moving before my legs completely seized up on me and head back down the trail. On the way down, I did finally run into people. One guy didn’t see me but he heard me so began clapping as if to scare away an animal, which I found funny. By the time I got back to my truck, the sun had burnt the clouds and fog off the coast and now I was able to see the actual ocean as far as my eyes would allow. Amazing difference what a couple of hours makes. Once I made it back to camp, I showered, cleaned camp and got ready for the evening fire and dinner. I decided to make the most of the daylight I had left and drove up to the Big Sur Inn to look for some cool stickers at the general store and hung around for a bit before heading home for the night. Day two was in the books.

[quartings]

It is with so, so much pleasure for me to announce that I have finally started my first animation internship since graduating from college! I don't know if this'll impact my post rate on this blog, but I'm definitely happy to finally be able to help make cartoons!

I never would have gotten this far if it wasn't for all of your support, so I'll keep doing my best to keep posting fun art and comics for you all- plus I still have a few surprises up my sleeve for the semi-distant future!

[mtnkat3]

Let's see how to write this...

[Stop being distracted by bones! Drowsy. Turkey.]

9.56pm. Diary.

When I think about bridges & you ..

I think about several different types on my journey to you .

That I am standing on one end of a damaged & dangerous broken down covered bridge. The road surface is warped, bent & twisted. The nails rusty & sticking up all over the place. It's a maze.. worthy of any treasure hunt but not to a temple of doom!

You .. are both light.. & standing in the light. Like my guardian Angels ..

Awe inspiring.

My feet moving slowly but steadily towards where you are patiently waiting on me.. your souls pulling me.. like a .. stars magnetic force & a bears honey pot rolled into one..

Then there's the wide open trestle bridge.. that one that makes me so nervous because there's no safety rails & the drop.. it's as impressive as the new river gorge.. & the grandfather mountain mile high swinging bridge..

those.. I need to feel you .. surrounding me.. pressed into me.. those.. as much as am fascinated & wanna experience them.. I know I can't alone. I just.. fills my tummy with butterflies.. & not the wonderful ones that you give me.. chewing my lips.

Ok. The next kind.. the sturdy kind.

The bridges made of concrete, metals, wood. Aesthetically pleasing but also very useful. Some are over small wee lil tricklin brooks, not meant for a rushing torrent of water. Not a flood. Others .. are built .. well.. to withstand floods.. they are attached.. rooted deeply..

like a strong, sturdy redwood forest.. or a mighty oak.. undisturbed for hundreds of years. Have withstood every storm, every flood. The rings are magnificent. The breadth.. so inspiring.. it's like.. the most tactile, earthly version of looking at the stars. And being able to touch makes me gasp..

then.. I feel like .. I'm stronger.. able to walk to you .. I feel .. surrounded.. by you .. by love.. it pulses power thru my veins.. keeps me remembering why I I won't let ever let go. It's feeding my soul.. even as I feel it's on a never ending loop. So many breathtaking images going thru my soul as I think on this.

But words are struggling.. maybe because I wanna leave them private, in my diary.. but I need to talk to you .. & that right now means exposing myself. Being vulnerable. Maybe.. the fear.. its founded in rejections & the pain. Maybe.. it's that I am capable of being so with you .. but showing the world my sensitive soul.. my marshmallow heart & soul.. it fills me with trepidation. But. I do it. For you ..

I just.. words fall me when I think about you .. but I keep trying.. my soul's the part that finds the words.. I hope I've explained a wee bit of how I feel about you .. about trees.. bridges.. the stars & all the universe you show me.. when you .. guide me.. I feel love.. I feel you .. & no matter how crazy that sounds to others.. I am flying around the moon at the feel of you lovin me..

Now I'm sleepy.. I've fought off the turkey to write this to you .. but I need to go to bed.. hopefully I can be.. naughty.. oh I so wanna be.. but with you .. hhmmm... squirming sleepily..

I love you .

& miss you so.. its shredding my spine like a cat-o'-nine tails.

Pleasee... touch me.. crave the scent of me.. the way I move.. crave.. my vibe.. who I am. The woman God Created beside you .. because I always want your neck kisses.. they melt me.. into a puddle of kat goo at your feet..

Please.. let's make soul love in our dreams..

I work. I await. On my cliffside. For you .. I'll wait for eternity. Because I believe. But I think it's happening soon.. & I am oh so ever hungry... you .

~True love never dies & true love always waits.~

Your fighting sleep kat.

Your complex quirky warrior queen daughter.

~Tijgeress kat Phoenix. ✝️🌺🐾🐯

🥰😍😘😌🤓⚓🙏🙇‍♀️⛓

⌚💡⚡🌠🗝🔱⚜💝🐻🦌🧩♠️♾🎯🌎🧭🕯

Tu.11.29.2022 12.11am est.

Gifs & transfer. 12.52am.

[garyalanhidalgo]

4. Richard Hunter in the Flesh

Not a clueless man, James must’ve felt Fabian’s fury even as he fussed over his VIP guest, who they’d kept waiting for nearly two hours.

“What time is it?” Hughie Roman said, yawning.

“It’s only four in the afternoon. You must be so worn out from your trip.”

“Well, your boyfriend seems adamant I won’t be checking in anytime soon.”

“Your Uber driver will call soon to clear things. Hank says her name sounds familiar.”

“She mentioned she grew up here. Hank’s that hunky lawman over there?” He nudged correctly toward Sheriff Holden.

“Yes, that’s the Sheriff.”

“Maybe he’ll search or handcuff me,” Hughie said. “The evening’s still young.”

Sheriff Holden pocketed his phone and approached Mr. Roman and Fabian while James hovered nearby. “That was Rusty Fontana. She confirmed your identity and also wanted me to tell you she’s charging extra.”

“Thank you for your help. I promise to be of no more trouble during my stay in your quaint but outstandingly safe town. We don’t want you to have to handcuff me after all.”

Hank wrinkled his suntanned forehead, blind to Mr. Roman’s flirting.

“I’ll take you to Redwood Lodge now so you can rest, Mr. Roman. Thank you, Hank. And James?” The hotel manager offered his arm to his guest. 

In response, Mr. Roman linked arms with Fabian while making certain to smile smugly at James as Fabian whisked him off.

They approached the northwest edge of the property where a faint breeze that seemed to stay one step ahead of them swept through the trees, so that delicate yellow, orange, and red leaves trickled from above and carpeted the ground. They crunched softly below their shoes with each footstep.

Just as the bewildered Mr. Roman was terrified that he’d be camping out in the forest that night, Redwood Lodge sprung out of the early evening fog. Even the nodding Hughie Roman’s eyes lit up at the lovely sight of the mocha-brown wooden lodge with its tall windows lit from the inside. Its main deck faced the Cherry Hills, which blazed in its distinctive rainbow fires as if it had been saving it for Mr. Roman’s arrival.

“That is the best light show I’ve ever seen,” he said, sleepy-eyed. “But I need a hot shower, then a whole day of sleep.”

Fabian swiped his keycard. His frazzled guest rushed past him.

“Where’s the shower and bed?” he hurriedly asked.

“The master suite is on the second floor,” Fabian said to no one, since Hughie Roman was already long gone. 

He heard his heavy footsteps navigate the flight of stairs that ended on the topmost floor. Fabian understood he didn’t mean to be unsociable, but wanted to wash away the grime and stink. He hoped the water was hot enough to relax every stressed-out muscle on Mr. Roman’s body.

Fabian blushed. Why was he thinking about Hughie Roman in the shower all this time when he heard the water stop dripping? Then he remembered to put Mr. Roman’s soiled clothes in a hotel laundry bag to drop off. The less they reminded him of today’s humiliation and brutality, the better.

He entered the room, sure he had enough time to remove the offensive garments. Fabian’s first thought was to turn on the lights so his guest didn’t walk into the bedroom, which in five minutes while he showered went from dazzling to pitch black.

He reached for the light switch. Hughie Roman was drying himself off with a cotton towel when the overhead lights flooded the room. The hotel manager’s cheeks flushed red-hot at the brief glimpse of the actor’s nude backside, his creamy tan stretched from head to toe. The skin on most of his back glistened with shiny droplets that looked like he was sweating from intense activity. Hughie turned around, still not noticing he had company. He didn’t have a young man’s body with washboard abs like some celebrities. He may even have had a slight bulge, but it was neither fat nor flat. Fabian’s eyes traced the salt and pepper wisps of hair congregating in faint strokes across his armpits, chest, and tummy down to his … Fabian’s mouth dropped wide open as he finally covered his eyes …

“Mr. Roman?”

“I didn’t know you were still here,” Mr. Roman said, not shocked by the least bit. After drying his butt last, he tied the towel around his waist before the younger man had a heart attack. “Relax, it’s nothing a million viewers haven’t seen before with one caveat. I haven’t gone to the gym in two months.”

“I don’t watch your show, but our head of housekeeping’s mom is a lifelong fan.”

“That’s nice to know. I should’ve put on a robe. The shower here works better than the one I have at home.”

“Please think of Redwood Lodge as your home now.” Fabian scooped up his dirty clothes and tied them in a lavender-scented laundry bag.

“I feel so much better.” Mr. Roman raised his arms and sniffed his armpits. “I definitely smell better. You should try the shower here. I mean on your own time when I’m not using it. Maybe once I’ve gone.”

“Don’t be in a rush to leave us,” Fabian said. “You just got here. I stayed so I could apologize.”

Mr. Roman yanked off the white silk duvet from its near perfect alignment. He fondled the coolness and smoothness of the sheets. “You’ve apologized enough. Besides, it’s that hotel lawyer guy who hit me. Now, he owes me an apology.”

“I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow.”

“As long as it’s not tonight,” Mr. Roman said. “I just want to crawl into this bed. If you don’t mind.”

“We can talk business tomorrow. I’ll have breakfast sent over first thing. Maybe I could join you? Seven o’clock?”

“Yes, I’d enjoy your company. Can you make it noontime? One last favor?”

“Anything, Mr. Roman.”

“Well, since you’ve seen me naked. Please call me Hughie from now on.”

* * *

On his way out door, Fabian thought about the actor’s face again after its thorough washing. Why was it so familiar? Hughie Roman’s thick, black and gray beard made it difficult to tell for certain.

“Fabian?” a familiar yet anxious voice said.

“I don’t want to talk, James,” said Fabian. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Not if you know how awful I feel.”

“You should feel awful. You punched Mr. Roman.”

“Don’t you find it dubious that the Hotel Cairo’s majority owner took a ride share here? If he’s some rich TV star, wouldn’t he have—I don’t know—flown first class and arrived in a limo?”

“Just imagine if you insulted Miss Xavier or Mr. Holden like you demeaned Mr. Roman?”

“Xenia would hang me in front of the hotel and leave my rotting corpse as a malodorous warning to anyone who crosses her,” James said. “And Mr. Holden would have Hank put me in a cell down at the station, along with Hannibal’s other smelly rabble-rousers.”

James fanned a hand across his face as if an enraged skunk had walked past them. Fabian prepared to lecture him again then remembered he still carried the laundry bag with Hughie’s filthy clothes.

 “You’re picking up after him too?” James pointed at the bag.

“I didn’t want him to be reminded how horribly we treated him,” Fabian said, being diplomatic using “we.” “Did you forget Hughie is still my boss and your client?”

“It doesn’t mean I’d pick up his dirty clothes.”

“You mean the ones you dumped in the driveway?”

“I’ll apologize to him if it means you’ll forgive me.” James tried to approach the hotel manager only to get the cold shoulder. “So it’s Hughie now?”

Fabian reached out for his arm. “I forgive you. Please apologize to him after our lunch meeting. Mr. Roman will undoubtedly be in a better mood after one of Chef Milos’ lavish brunches.”

James became more urgent, his gray-green eyes glazed over. “If we can stop talking about the hotel business, I want to discuss something personal.”

Fabian froze, and his mouth went dry. It was early evening, and the moon was gleaming high above them. “I enjoyed spending time with you this week.”

James said, “I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

“But we’ll have to pick up where we left off after the partners’ meeting.”

“That won’t be until next week.”

“I have to prepare my presentation for the shareholders and show Hughie,” he said, “I mean Mr. Roman, around the property. He should get acquainted with our business and meet everybody. I want him to know the Hotel Cairo was worth his investment.”

“You don’t need to win him over.” James reasoned with restraint. “He’s happy receiving his quarterly bank deposits. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Hughie may want to sell his shares to the other partners.”

“Sell to Xenia or Happy Holden?” James sounded amused. “Where would they get the money? Even if Xenia sold the car she inherited from Leo, she might be able to purchase half a percent. As for Happy Holden, why would he buy more shares of a business he literally avoids since Leo’s death?”

“If those shares can’t go to one of the partners, I still wouldn’t want half of the hotel to go to a property developer or, worse, a bank.”

James’ eyes lit up. “That’s why you tricked Hughie Roman into coming here? Then why hit pause on us?”

“We went out on a couple of dates. If you were hoping for something more?”

“I know,” said James. “I’ll have to wait in line while you babysit the senior citizen.”

“Hughie Roman is only sixty,” Fabian said. Why he defended him confused him, especially to James. “He’s in very good shape.”

“Already googling Hughie? Are we?”

Fabian became noticeably flustered as his thoughts wandered to Hughie toweling himself off after his shower. “Rosa filled me in. She and her mother watch Mr. Roman’s show.”

“I fully realize Hughie Roman is my client too. I’ll apologize to him tomorrow, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Fabian looked steadily into his dreamy eyes, grateful for what he assured.

James rested a hand tenderly behind Fabian’s neck while the other caught his back. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Fabian relaxed his head to permit him. He closed his eyes, praying his heart wouldn’t race out of his chest. As James drew him closer, Fabian felt the other man’s eager lips hunting for him. When they finally found each other in the dark, they kissed without reservation. They kissed until they both were breathless.

Although Fabian wanted to stay like that, the lights in the mansion flickered on from top to bottom. He still had a great deal to take care of tonight.

“I’m sorry.” Fabian backed away.

“Was I going too fast?” James asked. “I really like you.”

“You’ve proven that. I like you too. But let’s pick up after the meeting.”

In better spirits, Fabian Flores thought about weddings as he set out for the basement with the laundry bag pressed to his chest. Maybe one day, he’d get married too. But for now, his developing feelings for James were as good as it got.

A short but curvy woman in a burgundy lapel uniform waited for him in the basement, ready to pounce.

“I heard Hughie Roman is here,” Rosa squealed, caught her breath, and tackled him as soon as he came in. “Richard Hunter from Autumn of My Discontent is at the Hotel Cairo.”

She read the show’s title with the flourish she knew it warranted.

“Richard Hunter?” Fabian said. “What a generic name.”

“On the contrary, he’s a dashing private investigator who’s solved every murder in Autumn Valley since the late 1990s. Seriously, mommy swears she wouldn’t have learned English after arriving from the Philippines if it weren’t for her soaps.”

“I never noticed that Pearl spoke dramatically like this.” Fabian tried on a Shakespearean accent to spice up his request. “This is Hughie Roman’s stinky laundry.”

“You better not let Mr. Roman hear you mocking him or soap operas. Not after everything that’s happened”

“Upsetting Hughie is the last thing I want to do. You must’ve already heard James knocked him out when he thought he was trespassing.”

“You’re already on a first-name basis?” she said as she continued to swoon even as he dropped the noxious laundry bag on top of the closest machine. She clapped her hands and demanded, “Tell me how he sounds. Tell me how he looks. Tell me how he smells.”

“His smell was what caused all the misunderstanding in the first place. He traveled here from Los Angeles in a Jetta and—don’t quote me on this—looked like he’d been drinking the entire trip.”

“I don’t blame him for being out of sorts and drinking a little,” she said. “Richard Hunter was shot by his ex-wife last February. They left him in a coma, and we had to wait until April to find out his family agreed with her to take him off life support.”

“Seriously? This is what Tita Pearl and you fangirl over?”

“Hughie Roman was nominated for a Daytime Emmy for his big death scene.”

“Did he win?”

“No.” Rosa nodded. “After almost thirty years on the show, you’d think he’d get a phenomenal send-off. They had Mr. Roman sleep through the scene and relied on sound effects to finish Richard off. Mommy and I cried cause of how poorly they treated Richard and Mr. Roman. There was no way he’d win an Emmy. Even out of pity.”

“Don’t feel bad for Mr. Roman. He’s not poor. He owns half of the hotel. He doesn’t deserve your pity or your tears.”

“There’s a rumor going around the fan groups that he was fired because he was turning sixty. Gal said she’ll be happy to represent him if he wants to sue the show.”

“Don’t talk about lawsuits with Pearl or her girlfriend anymore. I don’t want to stir things up with Mr. Roman.”

“Girlfriend? Didn’t I already tell you they got engaged last Valentine’s Day?” Rosa rolled her eyes. “I know you’re busy making sure we don’t lose our jobs, so you get a free pass.”

“Don’t worry about Mr. Roman anymore, either. He’s probably being offered larger roles already. He is an attractive man if it wasn’t for his hygiene problem earlier, which was probably a one-off.” Fabian could now say, since no actual harm was done. “For someone sixty, he keeps in shape. Might not have a six-pack, but his body’s okay.”

“Oh my God!” Rosa squealed and became starry-eyed again. “You saw him shirtless?”

“He was drying himself after a long, hot shower. I was picking up his dirty laundry.” He pointed at the bag across from them. “And he didn’t know I was still in the lodge, apparently. It was all innocent.”

“Mommy’s still going to be jealous you saw Richard Hunter in the flesh.”

Rosa’s lusty emphasis on flesh made it seem less than innocent. Fabian thanked the stars Hughie didn’t make a big deal out of it, unlike his fangirl.

“Well,” he said, “you get to pick up his used towels and change his bedding.”

“Guess Mommy will have to be impressed by that for now.”

“Rosa, one last thing. When you watch Hughie Roman on TV, does he look familiar? Like you’ve met him before?” Fabian rubbed his chin and felt a five o’clock shadow emerging. “If it wasn’t for his damn beard, I’d figure out where I know him from.”

“That beard’s been his trademark since the early 2000s. You can always take him to Brenda at the Beauty Salon to get it shaved.”

“Too obvious.”

“You’re not working until dawn again. Are you?” Rosa dumped the contents of the laundry bag into the washer. “What about James?”

“I have to make sure my presentation’s airtight, especially the financials. And James and I hit pause it until after the partners’ meeting.”

“There you go again, telling yourself you don’t deserve to be loved.”

“It’s not that. Mr. Roman is a wildcard. And I need a Royal Flush.”

“So win him over before game day,” she advised, poking his shoulder for emphasis. “Show him those magic dimples and tell him why he should be interested in what you’ve got planned for his hotel.” 

After hugging Rosa adios, he went upstairs to consult Leo’s painting. He remembered it was still gone, and his answer was as plain as the nose on his face. Hughie was the problem and the solution.

Buy The Hotel Cairo now in a beautiful 280-page hardcover and digital/Kindle Unlimited:

[cats-of-eden-valley]

Okay, Elio (AKA Rusty) is a tamecat and meets Sayge (AKA Graypaw) after being bored. He meets a Knight, Redwood (Lionheart) and Linaria (Bluestar). Soon, Elio joins the Kingdom of Goldspring as Larch, with his mentor being Mandrake (Longtail). So, one major diff is that Larch is cis tom and always will be, as the toms don’t have to leave for a coalition here. Basic beginning of my AU like how I mentioned earlier. Signed as the 🦏 anon.

yoooo if you're going the way i think you are with Mandrake and Larch that'll be fun as hell owo

[that-pretty-arcanine]

Choosing the Right Materials for Your Raised Garden Bed

The selection of materials will impact factors such as durability, drainage, moisture retention and overall ease of maintenance. Options include wood, metal, plastic and composite materials, each with its own advantages and considerations. Wood is a popular choice due to its natural look and affordability, but it requires regular maintenance. Metal offers durability but can heat up quickly in the sun. Plastic is lightweight and low-maintenance but may lack aesthetic appeal. Composite materials provide durability and aesthetics but can be more expensive. Consider your specific needs, budget and desired aesthetic to make an informed decision.

Wood: A Classic and Versatile Choice

Wood is a popular choice for raised garden bed due to its natural aesthetic and versatility. Options such as cedar, redwood, and pine are commonly used. Cedar and redwood offer excellent durability and resistance to rot, making them ideal for outdoor use. Pine is more budget-friendly but may require regular maintenance to prevent decay. Wood provides good insulation for plant roots and can easily be customized to fit specific size requirements. However, it's important to choose untreated wood or opt for safe alternatives, as pressure-treated wood can leach harmful chemicals into the soil.

Metal: Durability and Sleek Design

Metal raised garden beds offer exceptional durability and a sleek, modern aesthetic. Materials like galvanized steel or corten steel are commonly used. Galvanized steel resists rust and corrosion, making it a long-lasting option. Corten steel develops a weathered, rusty appearance over time, adding an artistic touch to the garden. Metal beds provide excellent drainage and are resistant to pests and rot. However, they can heat up more quickly in the sun, potentially affecting soil temperature and moisture levels. Adding a layer of insulation or shade cloth can mitigate this issue.

Plastic: Lightweight and Low-Maintenance

Plastic raised garden beds are a lightweight and low-maintenance option that offers convenience and affordability. They are typically made from recycled materials and are resistant to rot and pests. Plastic beds are easy to assemble, move, and clean, making them suitable for urban gardens or temporary setups. However, they may lack the aesthetic appeal of other materials and can be prone to warping or cracking over time. It's important to choose high-quality, UV-stabilized plastic to ensure longevity and prevent leaching of harmful chemicals into the soil.

Composite Materials: Durability and Aesthetics Combined

Composite materials, such as recycled plastic and wood fiber blends, offer the best of both worlds: durability and aesthetics. These materials are designed to mimic the look of wood while providing excellent resistance to rot, pests, and weathering. Composite raised garden beds require minimal maintenance and can withstand the test of time. They come in a variety of colors and styles, allowing for customization to match your outdoor decor. However, composite materials can be more expensive than other options, so budget considerations should be taken into account.

Concrete Blocks: Sturdy and Long-Lasting

Concrete blocks are a solid and durable choice for raised garden beds. They offer excellent stability and can withstand harsh weather conditions. Concrete blocks are available in various sizes and can be easily stacked to create desired bed dimensions. They provide good insulation for plant roots and can be painted or stained to enhance their visual appeal. However, it's important to note that concrete blocks can raise the soil pH over time, potentially affecting plant health. Adding a protective layer such as landscape fabric between the blocks and soil can mitigate this issue.

Stone or Brick: Timeless Elegance

Stone or brick raised garden beds bring a timeless elegance to any garden space. These materials offer durability, natural beauty, and excellent insulation for plant roots. Stone or brick beds can be customized to fit any size or shape, allowing for unique designs and layouts. However, they can be labor-intensive to construct and may require professional installation. Additionally, the cost of stone or brick materials can be higher compared to other options. Proper drainage must be ensured by incorporating weep holes or a gravel base during construction.

Considerations for Safety and Sustainability

When choosing materials for your raised garden bed, it's important to consider safety and sustainability factors. Avoid using pressure-treated wood, which can release harmful chemicals into the soil. Instead, opt for untreated wood or alternative materials. If using plastic, ensure it is made from recycled and UV-stabilized materials. Consider the environmental impact of your chosen materials and opt for sustainable options whenever possible. Additionally, if you plan to grow edible plants, make sure the materials used are food-safe and do not contain any toxins or chemicals that could leach into the soil and affect the crops.

Conclusion

In conclusion, this is crucial for creating a functional and visually appealing gardening space. It is important to assess the specific requirements of your garden, such as durability, drainage, and aesthetic preferences, when selecting materials. Wood, metal, plastic, and composite materials each have their own strengths and considerations, and it's essential to weigh the pros and cons of each option. By making an informed decision based on your specific needs and budget, you can create a raised garden bed that not only meets your gardening requirements but also adds beauty and value to your outdoor space.