#seed reminds me of myself a little because i used to want to work in law

[nedecaelis]

love these guys <3 the most ever <3

[jasperxkuromi]

Play ideas for chronically ill, disabled, or otherwise bed bound/low energy littles

Hi all! I am chronically ill. I am not comfortable sharing my specific diagnosis, but I am more than okay with talking about disability in general. Everything below is based on my own personal experiences and activities I like to do while stuck in bed. Everyone's body and experiences are different. I may list some things that just aren't an option for you, and that's okay. You are more than welcome to add on to this post with activities you do too!

🐛 Open the curtains and cloud watch! I like to look for clouds that remind me of animals or characters and day dream a story about them. If the weather is nice, consider opening your window a little bit and letting some fresh air into your room.

🐦 Bird watch! I have a bird feeder outside my window that I painted myself from a kid's kit. There are also bird feeders that have suction cups that can be stuck right on your window. You can also make your own seed ornaments. You could pick yourself up a kids book or two on learning to identify birds.

🌷 Get a window planter. You may need someone's help to set one up, but once they are in place they are fairly easy to care for. I like pansies and marigolds because they remind me of childhood, and they are low maintenance and do well in containers.

📖 Audiobooks are great for middles who want to read chapter books. If you have a library card you can borrow tons of audiobook, ebooks, and comics through hoopla and Libby for free. There are some audiobooks for younger kiddo books, but honestly I think YouTube is better for that.

🖼️ Scrapbooks and journals! Being penpals with another little is also an option, but I do recommend using basic internet safety and common sense. (I don't think you should do this if you are under 18). You could always scan/take pictures of your letter and send it digitally to your penpal instead.

🛏️ If you spend a lot of time in bed, and have the money to do so, I really recommend getting items to make your time in bed more comfortable. Extra pillows, or even a reading pillow can be helpful. Lap desks or bed tables can give you space to color or set up play scenes with small toys.

🌟 You can also decorate the area around your bed to make it more child like! Fairy lights, glow in the dark stars, bed canopies, posters, and the like.

🪑 I have a floor chair I use for times I am playing outside of my bed. Being close to the floor helps me feel small, but not having back support hurts after a short while. I have an adjustable one that I can lay flat on the floor as a sleeping mat. Very helpful for the times when I need a quick nap after playtime.

🎨 Check the seasonal and kids sections at dollar stores and Five Below. I usually find fun craft kits that can keep me occupied for a bit for really cheap.

🧶 Do your own crafts! I like the knit and crochet. Some people can do them in bed, but I find it difficult to find a comfortable way to do that. However making friendship bracelets in bed works out pretty well. They make great gifts, even for non little friends. Or you could make matching ones for you and your CG or favorite plushie!

🪀 Make your own sensory bin! You can find tons of tutorials and ideas online. Bonus is you can get most of the items you would use at the dollar store. There are tons of other DIY sensory toys you can make as well if you look around. Glitter/shaker bottles are pretty popular too.

🐇 Cuddle with your stuffed animals. Tell them stories. Play pretend. Read to them. They will appreciate all of it.

🎮 If you have an old 3DS stuffed away in a drawer somewhere, pull it back out. 3DS are fairly easy to install homebrew and there are toooons of kiddo friendly games you could get (check 3ds.hacks.guide for this, do not follow tutorials on YouTube or random websites as they very well could be outdated)

💊 Decorate your medicine organizers with stickers. If you use mobility aids you can decorate them as well! Fake flowers are great for decorating mobility aids and there are tons of ideas you can find online.

🍼 I have stomach problems that makes it hard for me to eat enough. I often drink Ensure to make sure I am getting enough calories/nutrients. I get the strawberry flavor and sometimes put it in my sippy cup and pretend it is strawberry milk 😋

😴 If you need rest, rest! You deserve to get as much sleep as your body needs. Babies and toddlers take naps all the time! Trying to just exist with chronic health issues is difficult enough. You don't need to push yourself.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Heya! If you are doing requests then may I request Nagito x Junko's little sister reader? I think it'd be fun!

This sounds a lot like a series I started last month so I'll just continue with the same story line 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Third Enoshima | Yandere Nagito Komaeda

“What an honor! To be in the presence of such overwhelming hope!’

Before the killing game, you float around between the classes 

Considering most if not all of your education was condensed into a single-person course

Somehow organized by your guardians

One of the many students you got to know was Nagito

The wide-eyed oddly degrading friend who seemed to put everyone on a pedestal

Especially you

His behavior reminds you far too often of your sisters 

Only his obsession doesn’t even pretend to be platonic

“Oh my ultimate hope! Would you like to join me for lunch today? I happen to be graced with the perfect table for us to sit at!”

“This…just looks like a candle lit dinner.”

“My luck is is as unpredictable as ever.”

And always for his benefit

You don’t mind since your used to obsessive people your sisters

You do not condone the way he treats the honor students

Often scolding you when he interrupts you trying to hang out with them

“Not cool Nagito! You can’t just say that to people!”

“Forgive me for being so forward but would you put a deity on the level of maggots?”

When he’s finally effected by despair

It doesn’t get much better

On the command of Kamakura and Junko’s final message he’s one of your most adamant pursuers

“Oh (Y/n) the Seed of Despair! The silent flame of the fire that will bring despair to all! I will do right by Junko’s name and make sure you breed the Despair you were born to!”

It’s likely Munakata and the Hope Foundation uses you as bait to lure him

And he’s absolutely insane 

Losing his composure at the mere sight of you

Drooling

Scratching at the glass and metal crate

Smooching his face against the class

Humping the glass

Granted it’s just a hologram because according to Munakata–”Filth doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near diamonds even if for the fate of the world.”

After his treatment though, it’s believed that you because you’re now closely affiliated with the Hope Foundation will never see or hear from him again

You quickly proved wrong when a secret message and video file pops up on your private tablet

“I’m wishing you the best with your new life, (Y/n). I know those days we used to know each other are long since past and you are happily settled with the Future foundation. But as I’m learning to value myself more I’m also paying heed to what I want and what my friends want–”

You immediately try to record 

Pressing frantically as the button doesn’t seem to work

You go for your phone

“Don’t try to record this. It won’t actually compute the image on your screen. That being said I mean no harm, when I say we think you belong with us. We know how much pain we’ve brought the world. But I see no problem with preserving hope and if the Foundation can’t keep us away then they clearly aren’t the best fit for the job."

You get up, planning to run directly to Munakata

Only to find your tablet begin to overheat as the video message fizzles out

“My hope! My (Y/n)! We’ll be reunited soon. I can only count the minutes before we can spend our days together! Forever!”

[sixhours]

our endless numbered days

A continuation of the events in who knows where the time goes and reprise from the i know you by heart universe. This will make more sense if you've read those, but you do you.

This fic has everything! A dash of angst (forgive me, I can't write Joel without at least a little angst), nosy Tommy, a Joel/Tess interlude, family time with the kids, a slightly drunk Ellie, and two middle-aged dudes making out. What's not to love?

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut. Words: 12k Tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel x Tess, Tess Servopoulos, Tommy Miller, idiots in love, Joel is bad at feelings, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), Cee is also a little shit (affectionate), fluff!, soft fluff!, a dash of angst because I can't help myself, SMUT, gay sex, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, happy ending, romance, soft queer dads being so soft, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Notes: For @jessthebaker. <3 Merry Christmas from your AWLJM Secret Santa! You once said you’d read anything with these two, and you asked for Miller-family-in-Jackson shenanigans, so I hope this hits the right notes. Thank you for being such an avid supporter of this fandom and this series. <3

The title comes from the album of the same name by Iron & Wine, and specifically the song Passing Afternoon which gives me cozy Jackson vibes.

Joel wakes early, curled up against Ezra’s naked back. The other man’s ability to hog the damn bed is impressive–his arm hanging off the side, one long leg stretching to the opposite corner–but the chill in their room has Joel grateful for his closeness. They’d moved from the couch when it became obvious they were too fucking old to manage a night on the furniture, and his knees are still complaining, but there’s a giddy seed of happiness in his chest.

Outside, the fresh snow has gathered in drifts, wind-blown. They’ll need to shovel out at some point, and they’ll probably be called up to clear the town walkways later, but for now, Jackson sleeps under a pristine white blanket.

It’s a good day for pancakes.

Half an hour later, he’s donned his thermals under a pair of flannel-lined jeans and a wool sweater, built up the fire in the woodstove, and picked up their clothes off the living room floor. He’s working on coffee and the pancake batter when there’s a frantic knock at the front door.

Joel goes to open it, finds Ellie shivering on the porch in her pajamas.

“You have a key,” he grouches, ushering her inside. “The hell’s your coat, anyway?”

“Didn’t think I’d need either, you never lock it,” she says, stamping her feet to shake off the snow. She glances into the living room, squints at something. “Dude…I’m not gonna ask why there’s a pair of boxers under the coffee table.”

Oops.

“Good,” Joel says, keeping his back turned so she won’t see him blush. “Then I won’t ask why I found your damn bra in the couch cushions last week.”

“If you had to wear one of those torture devices every day, you’d take it off the first chance you got, too,” she shoots back, then looks over his shoulder at the kitchen. “Ooh, pancakes? Did I miss a birthday or something?”

“Don’t need to have a birthday to have pancakes.”

“Yeah, but usually they’re just for special occasions or Sundays or whatever.”

“Just seemed like a good day for it. Snow day n’ all.”

She peers at him suspiciously. “Huh.”

“What?”

“You’re just unusually chipper for someone who’s gonna have to spend the day shoveling this shit.”

Joel snorts. “Don’t remind me. D’you want pancakes or what?”

“Uh, duh .”

“Then make yourself useful an’ set the table. Think we still have some strawberry preserves left over from the summer in there, too.”

“Yes, sir!” she mock-salutes, heading for the fridge.

The first pancakes are ready to be flipped when he reaches across the counter to grab a spatula. He crosses Ellie’s line of vision as she’s putting butter on a small plate and suddenly she’s grabbing at his hand.

“The heck are you–oh.”

She’s staring, bug-eyed, at the simple gold band on his finger.

“What the–where’d this come from?”

She really does notice everything.

“Uh–yeah, guess we, uh…need to talk about that.”

She blinks up at him incredulously. “Is this what I think it is?”

Joel rubs at the back of his neck. “Well…we kinda–”

“Are you two–did you get engaged?”

“We mighta skipped that part…”

“You got married ?” she half shrieks.

“Uh–”

“And you didn’t tell me ?”

“I–ah shit!” Joel hisses.

Smoke wafts from the pan. He grabs the spatula but the first batch is a lost cause.

“I think what your surrogate father figure is trying to say is, it was a spur-of-the-moment lark, gem. Nothing planned, and certainly nothing we intended to keep from you.”

Ezra has appeared at the kitchen door, leaning against the frame in his sweatpants and a flannel that looks suspiciously like Joel’s. Between Ellie and Ezra, Joel’s wardrobe is slowly being co-opted into a family affair.

Fuckin’ communism.

“What he said,” Joel sighs, flipping the burnt pancakes into the trash and fiddling with the heat before adding fresh batter to the pan.

“Seriously?” she gapes, looking back and forth between them, settling on Ezra. “Oh my god, do I have to call you ‘dad’ now?”

“You don’t even call me dad,” Joel grumbles.

“Dude, shut up, I’m talking to my evil stepmother.”

“Been watchin’ too many Disney movies. Mornin’, by the way,” he say, smiling wryly at Ezra. “She knows, I guess.”

“Dude! Wait, who asked who? Did you get down on one knee?”

“He asked me, but the sentiment was mutual,” Ezra says. “And…no. Not exactly.”

Joel waits for the inevitable joke about his knees cracking, but Ellie is too entranced by this new development to make one. Small favors.

Soon he doles out the pancakes onto three plates and brings them to the table, dropping a kiss at Ezra’s temple before taking his usual seat.

“Huh. Still gross,” Ellie says mildly, prompting a revenge forehead kiss for her, too. She wrinkles her nose and pretends to push him away, but she’s grinning, reaching for the syrup. Like another child Joel adored, she pours the stuff over her pancakes until they’re practically swimming.

“Better not be wastin’ that syrup, kid.”

“You know I won’t,” she huffs, cutting into the stack and taking a giant bite before he can remind her to go easy. Practically eighteen and she’s still a tiny thing who eats like she’s starving. It’s a wonder she hasn’t choked to death.

“Sh’iz so fuckin’ weird,” she says, words muffled by her chewing. “Don’t you have to, like, register with the council or something? Say some vows? What about the cake?”

“Uh, no,” Joel says. “Don’t have to do any a’that.”

“Why the hell would you get married if you don’t even get to have a fucking cake?” she says.

“There used to be certain legal benefits,” Ezra muses. “In this day and age, it’s more a…show of commitment.”

“Right,” Joel mumbles. “Don’t need to be a big deal.”

“Hmm. I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Ezra offers thoughtfully. “It’s a very big deal. Especially when you consider the history, the matrimonial bond for same-sex couples back in the day was a pretty sad state of affairs…and Jackson is the exception to the rule. I don’t recall FEDRA giving out marriage licenses to queer folk.”

“I don’t–I just meant…we don’t need to make a show of anythin’.”

“And what if I wanted a bit of fanfare, hm?” Ezra asks nonchalantly, gesturing with his fork. “The wedding of every little boy’s dreams? Flowers, champagne, a sparkly white dress–”

Ellie giggles. “Dude.”

“I could pull it off,” Ezra smirks.

Joel barely hears any of this. He fumbles for his coffee and tries to clear his throat.

“I–you–you do? I mean, do you?”

Had he fucked this up already? He’d been enchanted, dopey with lovestruck affection and not thinking entirely with his brain when he’d presented the rings. Truly, he hadn’t been thinking much at all, warmed by the fire and the thought of his future husband’s hand in his and then, well, everything had turned very–

“Awwwww-kard,” Ellie says through a mouthful of pancakes, and Joel shoots her a look.

“Kid–”

But Ezra is grinning, watching Joel get more and more flustered. “I’m pullin’ your leg, songbird. No fuss necessary on my account.”

Joel returns to his food, still nursing a seed of discontent when his thoughts are interrupted by slurping, Ellie having tipped up her plate, licking it clean.

“What!?” she says off his look, wiping the back of her mouth with her sleeve. “Told you I wouldn’t waste it.”

“Raised in a goddamn barn,” Joel mutters, looking to Ezra for sympathy, only to find him doing the same thing.

“Waste not, want not,” Ezra chirps, and Joel doesn’t miss the wink he gives Ellie across the table.

They’re already ganging up on him. Christ .

Later, after Ellie has bounced out the door with a promise to help shovel, they’re dressing to go out and brave the snow, pulling on thick coats and gloves.

“Hey,” Joel tries. “I, uh…about the whole, uh, wedding…thing. If you wanted…somethin’ more...I guess I prob’ly shoulda asked, but I wasn’t, uh…”

He rubs at the back of his neck, feeling just as awkward and fumbling as he had the day they first met. Two years together and the man can still turn him into a bumbling idiot. He’s fuckin’ hopeless.

Ezra’s expression softens. “I genuinely had no expectations…ceremonial or otherwise.”

“You sure? ‘Cause we can…if you–”

Ezra shakes his head firmly. “I’m certain. This,” he murmurs, reassuring him with a soft kiss. “This is more than enough.”

Joel is clearing the walkways in front of the Bison just before lunch when Anders walks by and claps him on the shoulder in passing.

“Congrats, man!”

It takes him several minutes to puzzle out what the hell he’s being congratulated for.

By the end of that day, enough of their neighbors have extended well-wishes that Joel knows Ellie must have talked to someone. Probably Dina, the unofficial Jackson town crier. When there was local news to share–and a couple making it official in their tiny community was exactly the kind of gossip that spread–Ellie and Dina were more efficient than a local news broadcast.

Tommy’s shit-eating grin the next morning at the stables is enough to confirm his suspicions.

“Heard congratulations are in order, big brother.”

“Ellie told you, huh?”

“Yup. But why the hell am I hearin’ about it from your kid and not you?”

Joel shrugs, smiles to himself. “Seem to remember you getting hitched without tellin’ me. Among other things.”

“You ever gonna consider letting me live that down?” Tommy asks cheerfully.

“Don’t reckon so.”

“Well, I’ll be the bigger man and forgive you,” Tommy says. “And I’ll do you one better and warn you; the girls are fixin’ to throw you two a surprise party.”

Joel groans, starts to open his mouth to protest, but Tommy holds up a hand.

“Look, you didn’t hear it from me. But don’t bother tryin’ to fight ‘em on this; Ellie’s invested and Maria’s always lookin’ for an excuse to lighten things up around here. I made ‘em promise to keep it small, but…”

He shrugs as if to say What can you do?

Joel huffs, tightens the strap on the saddle and tugs on the reins to lead Old Beardy out. Tommy follows with Justified, and soon they’re mounted up and riding through the gates.

“Gonna be a helluva week,” Tommy mutters. “Got half the crew off with that flu thing goin’ around. Think I’m on the damn schedule every day ‘til March.”

Joel grunts. “Yeah, me too.”

“Gonna make for a short honeymoon, huh?”

“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters, urging his horse to pick up the pace amidst Tommy’s delighted laughter.

It’s an uneventful if slow ride, the trail soft and not yet packed down after the storm. They take out a couple of runners from a distance–can barely be called runners, though, forced to shuffle and stumble through drifts, making them easy targets. Tommy’s in a chatty mood, and Joel is content to let him hold up the brunt of the conversation, business as usual. They’re taking lunch after clearing the outpost just outside Wilson when Tommy brings it up again, the serious note in his voice immediately setting Joel on edge.

“Y’know I’m happy for you, right?”

“Uhhh…yeah,” Joel says, opening the logbook.

“Think Sarah woulda got along real nice with y’all.”

The thought doesn’t stir the same hurt it used to, doesn’t bring him to his knees with grief, but his brother’s doing that thing he does with his hands when he wants to say something and doesn’t know how. He frowns.

“Sure…”

“I don’t–uh…I mean, I knew you weren’t…y’know. Glad it’s…glad Ezra’s good. Good for you. Even if he’s not, uh…not who I woulda…I just–”

Joel fixes him with a blank stare. “Spit it out, Tommy.”

His brother rubs at the back of his neck. Joel tenses, waiting for some just-shy-of-homophobic remark, the kind he’s grown all too familiar with over the last couple years. 

You don’t look like the type.

Joel Miller? I never would’ve thought.

Although he’d really hoped never to hear it from Tommy, who, until now, had kept silent about his brother’s inclinations. As he damn well should.

But he remembers all too well where they grew up, and old habits are hard to break.

Tommy sighs. “Haven’t seen you this happy since…since Tess, is all.”

Hearing the name jars him, his pen stuttering over the page, marring his signoff. He swallows the sudden lump in his throat, feels the weight of the new ring on his finger acutely. Just like his brother, to poke at a sore spot he didn’t even know he had.

“Yeah,” Joel mutters, slapping the book shut. “Thanks.”

“Sometimes I wonder what she’d make of all this,” Tommy says, chuckling, running a hand through his curls. “Communism. Fuck, she’d think we lost our damn minds.”

It occurs to him, probably two years too late, that Tess was just as much Tommy’s friend as Joel’s. Even if they weren’t exactly on speaking terms by the time Tommy ran off with the Fireflies, the three of them had once been close enough to be called family.

“You ever think about her?” Tommy asks when they’re mounted up and headed back toward town. There’s an edge to his voice that tells Joel he knows he’s treading dangerous ground.

“Not much,” Joel says tightly. Truth be told, it was closer to not at all until today, but like hell he’s going to tell his brother that.

You don't bring up Tess, ever .

Seems like he did a damn good job of taking his own advice, for once.

“Huh,” he says, too lightly. “Well…I think she’d be happy for you, too, big brother.”

Joel grunts and says nothing, stares straight down the path in hopes of ending this conversation right fuckin’ now. It works, and Tommy’s usual chatter dies down to the occasional comment on their surroundings.

But the damage is done and a slow-festering guilt has already begun blooming behind Joel’s ribs at the mention of her name.

It’s a long, cold ride back to Jackson.

Tommy’s not wrong about the patrol schedule. For the next ten days, they’re on duty from sunup to sundown. Thankfully wintertime means they’re mostly uneventful rides, but he puts in a lot of miles, the kind of days that leave his back achy and his ass and hips sore. Most nights he comes home bone-tired, with just enough energy to eat something and shower before falling into bed.

For his part, Ezra waits up for him to make sure he has a hot meal, teases about becoming a “proper little ménagère, ” and threatens to find a frilly apron at the trading post to complete the look. Meanwhile, Joel just tries not to fall asleep on the couch…and fails most of the time.

All the while, riding the trails with his patrol partners, he has too much time to think.

And for the first time in years, he’s thinking of Tess.

Fifteen years as partners. Two months traveling together before they’d fallen into bed and swore to keep each other’s secrets. It was more than he gave anyone back then, but it had never really been enough.

She asked once. Just once.

And he’d turned away. Got shitfaced. They never talked about it again, but she still came home to their bed every night.

…not to feel the way I felt.

And it wasn’t like she’d asked for much. Certainly nothing as formal as a proposal or a ring or even a promise. Just his heart, shattered as it was, and he couldn’t even manage that.

Then it was too late. Made him promise to save who he could and sacrificed herself for him, for Ellie, for the hope of a future she would never see. She would never know what she’d done for him.

Her memory haunts him, nags at him, makes a home under his skin like a splinter. She’s there, hovering at the edges of his consciousness, a ghost in his peripheral vision. He sees glimpses of her on patrols, in the lurch of a small, slight woman in flannel, infected; in someone’s long, red-auburn hair at the stables; in a rough laugh amongst the crowds at the dining hall.

And then one night, he dreams. The kind of dream he hasn’t had in months, the kind of dream he used to have over and over, but this time it’s Tess instead of Sarah.

Tess, yelling at him to help her, goddammit, there’s gotta be something .

Tess, pulling back her collar to reveal the bite with one already twitching hand.

Tess, twisted and gnarled with infection, caught in a sea of flames.

He wakes sweating and panting with a scream stuck in his throat and her mutilated face burned into the backs of his eyelids.

“Joel? Wha-happened?”

Ezra stirs at his side, voice thick with sleep.

“It’s…it’s nothin’,” he says roughly, still trying to catch his breath. “Go back to sleep.”

Then there’s a hesitant hand on his shoulder, and he lets himself be pulled down and pressed into the cradle of Ezra’s good arm. Soon his breath flutters the hair at his temple, slow and even, but Joel doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

Five years earlier

“Shouldn’t have turned around,” Joel grumbles, hissing as he puts more weight on his bad leg. “We coulda made it.”

Tess looks up at him from under his left arm; he’s been using her as a human crutch for the last quarter mile.

“Sure,” she says drily, grunting as they take another uncoordinated, shuffling step. Behind them, black storm clouds are rolling in faster than they can walk and the wind has already picked up, whipping the first drops of rain hard enough to sting their cheeks. “You wanna get caught in this shit, be my guest, but I’m not gonna get soaked on your account, and you can’t fuckin’ walk.”

“Gonna be late. They won’t let us in.”

“Frank won’t care.”

“Bill will.”

 A dry chuckle. “Yeah, well…we both know Bill’s not in charge.”

They’d done the trip from Boston to Lincoln dozens of times without incident, but today, the raiders took them by surprise. It was rare to find a group so ballsy as to fuck with Joel and Tess. Their reputation extended well beyond the walls of the QZ, but apparently these folks hadn’t heard about them, or they were feeling brave, desperate, stupid, or some combination of the three.

All four men were now littering the side of the road about half a mile back, but Joel took a bullet to the calf for the trouble.

“Just a graze,” he’d said tightly, blood pooling sticky and warm in his boot, but Tess took one look at the damage and shook her head in disgust. They were a mile past one of their cache houses, and Lincoln was at least six miles down the road.

“We’ll get to the safehouse, get that bullet out of your leg, wait out the storm,” Tess said in a voice that suggested the decision was final.

It usually was with her.

The safehouse is an old hunting cabin off a logging road. They’d set it up as a cache years ago but hadn’t had much need for it given the proximity to Lincoln. The rain has begun in full force and they’re already soaked by the time Tess confirms the place is clear, Joel sagging against the side of the building to keep watch.

Once they’re safely inside, Joel collapses onto the cabin’s only piece of furniture, a decrepit sofa. Tess is rummaging around in her pack and pulls out the first aid kit– a box of cloths, a flask of alcohol, a needle and thread, a lighter, and a roll of duct tape.

“Pants off, Texas.”

He’s in too much pain for innuendo. Tess unwraps the makeshift bandage, already soaked with blood, and he slides his jeans down with a groan and a muffled curse. Then she unbuttons her short-sleeved button-down, stripping down to her bra.

“What?” she says off his incredulous look. “This is my favorite shirt, not gonna get it all bloody. On your front.”

He obliges, rolling until he’s face down on the couch so Tess can examine his leg.

“Huh,” she says. “Never gonna believe this.”

Joel grunts. “Try me.”

“Went clean through.”

“Lucky me,” he grits his teeth.

“You are,” she says. “Few inches off and we’d be having a very different conversation. Alright, might wanna bite down unless you want every infected in a half-mile radius finding us.”

“I’ll be fine. Just do it.”

The alcohol burns like a motherfucker, but at this point, the pain is barely a blip on his radar, more of the same. The stitches are a different story. He ends up grabbing his belt, doubling it up and sinking his teeth into the sweaty, sticky old leather as Tess finishes sewing up the wounds.

“Not my best work, but it’ll hold until we can get Frank to take a look. Pretty sure Bill still has a stash of antibiotics,” Tess murmurs, digging in her pack for a fresh cloth to wrap it. “Just gonna tie this. We have the oxy–”

“Ain’t tradin’ that for antibiotics.”

Tess huffs. “No, Frank won’t let him trade for those, anyway. But you might want the oxy later. Don’t know how long the storm is going to last and you’re shaking.”

He is; he hadn’t even realized it. He’s trembling and his skin is dewy with sweat.

“Shock,” he mutters. Not the first time he’s been shot, after all.

“Uh-huh. Alright, you can roll over.”

He does, with some difficulty. Outside, rain lashes at the windows, lightning cracks and fills the room with bursts of light. Joel shivers, teeth clattering.

“Shirt off,” she says. “You’re soaked, that’s not helping.”

He tries, but his fingers are shaking too hard to undo the buttons. She pushes his hands gently away and does them herself, urging him up to take the wet flannel off, then unzips his bedroll and tucks it around him. Then she places two white pills in his palm.

“Don’t need ‘em,” he grits out. These are the good pills and he’s thinking of all that profit gone to waste for a stupid fuckin’ graze.

She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of an argument, just wordlessly holds out the flask. The shaking is making his damn leg hurt even worse. He swallows the pills with a mouthful of booze exactly as she knew he would.

The pain slowly ebbs, replaced by a fuzzy, uncaring feeling he recognizes all too well. He’s drifting on that high as time spreads like liquid honey, faintly aware of Tess’ movements about the room–digging under the floorboards to examine their cache, replenishing their ammo, checking the windows and exits, still only half dressed. At some point, she lets her hair down, damp and darkened from the rain, and combs it out with her fingers. A shorter cut would be easier to maintain, less likely to attract unwanted attention, but it’s one of the few vanities she allows herself and he secretly loves it. It always smells like her, soft burnt gold and sweet no matter how many miles they’ve covered.

Eventually, she settles on the floor next to the couch, sipping at the flask with her gun at hand.

“Sleep,” she all but orders, and he does.

When he wakes, it takes his eyes a moment to adjust. It’s night. The sounds of thunder and the roar on the roof overhead tells him it’s still pouring. Tess is silhouetted in the window, the orange glow of a cigarette moving in the dark.

His leg throbs and he can’t hold back a grunt of pain. The drugs have worn off, but he’s not going to take more if he can avoid it. She notices, though, and turns.

“Should get away from the window,” he says. “Someone might see the light.”

A deep inhale. “Not in this shit. Can’t see two feet in front of your face out there. How’s the leg?”

“Fine,” he mutters, trying to sit up, grimacing, hoping she can’t see his expression in the dark.

“Clothes should be dry,” she says, moving to his side, the smell of smoke wafting over him. Another rare indulgence, soothing her overtaxed nerves. She hands him the flask and he accepts it gratefully. Her hand is firm on his shoulder as she eases down to the floor.

“All’s quiet,” she murmurs, stubbing out the cigarette on a piece of foil. She leans her head back against his thigh and his hand finds its way to her hair, rubbing circles into her scalp until she hums.

“I can take watch,” he says roughly. “Let you get some rest.”

“You’re in no shape. We’re fine,” she says, then softens. “Was looking forward to one of Bill’s meals. Heard they found a contact and traded for a share of beef. Real steak.”

“End of the goddamned world and Frank’s still holdin’ dinner parties,” Joel mutters.

His hand drifts lower, callused fingers dragging over the back of her cheek, feels her smirk.

“He offered us a place.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Frank. We’d have our pick of houses within the perimeter. Share the work, share the supplies.”

“...and Bill’s alright with that?”

“I don’t think Bill knows.”

“What, uh…what’d you say?”

She shrugs, a non-answer. The silence grows heavy and he lets it lie. Often he doesn’t need to wait long before Tess takes control of the conversation, anyway, and he’s too stunned to find the words.

“I think Frank is worried about Bill,” she says softly. “What happens…after.”

After.

Frank has been sick for months. They’ve managed to trade for certain medications that help control the symptoms, but there is no cure, no coordinated treatment. The last time they made the hike from the QZ, roughly six months ago, Frank was no longer able to get out of his wheelchair.

“Can’t say I blame him,” she continues, frowning, picking at something on the floor. “There’s strength in numbers.”

Joel grunts, noncommittal. He’d rather have his leg amputated with a rusty hacksaw than live within ten miles of Bill.

“I keep thinking about it,” Tess says. “No more FEDRA, no Fireflies…no getting shafted on trades, hunting these assholes down–”

Joel blinks, wiping his hands over his face, trying to clear his head. This conversation feels like a dream, like it’s not really happening, and he wishes he had a couple more oxy so he could blame the drugs. Tess, the woman who had him break a guy’s fingers for shorting her three cigarettes–one finger for each. The woman who just murdered four people because they made the lethal mistake of shooting first. Tess– his Tess–talking about settling down.

“Can you even imagine?” she sighs.

He grunts again. She turns to look at him but he can’t meet her eyes.

“Aren’t you tired, Joel?”

Tired? Of course he is. His back hurts, his knees hurt, everything fuckin’ hurts. He hasn’t slept a day without booze or pills in years. But the hurt keeps him grounded, keeps him going, keeps him from feeling…everything else.

“So you wanna quit?” he says flatly.

“What is there to quit?” she scoffs. “We were never going to settle in Boston, we said it was temporary–”

“It’s been ten fuckin’ years.”

“Yeah, and we had plans, remember? Get out of the city, away from FEDRA. This could be our chance.”

“That was before. There were more of us. An’ Tommy…”

“Tommy,” she sniffs. “You really think he’s coming back?”

No, he doesn’t. Their once-weekly radio messages are growing further apart as they have less and less to say. The thought sets an aching fire in Joel’s chest and he takes a long swig of the whiskey. It burns the same, but at least it’ll get him drunk enough to forget.

“Look,” she tries again. “We go to Bill and Frank’s, we can retire. I sure as hell wouldn’t mind taking it easy for once. We’ve spent half our lives running, we’re getting too fuckin’ old for this–”

The windows flash, thunder rumbles, and he can see the lines around her eyes in harsh relief. He hates her for bringing this up, hates himself even more for the anger it stirs in him.

“Y’don’t retire from this,” he says. “That ain’t the world we live in.”

Her derision is palpable. “Just what I thought you’d say.”

He shifts on the couch, tries to stretch his busted leg and hisses at the stabbing, lancing pain. “What do you want, Tess? You wanna, what…plant a garden? Grow fuckin’ tomatoes? You can do that just fine in the QZ.”

“No, I–”

“You wanna spend the rest of your life drinkin’ shitty wine over hors d’oeuvres in Frank’s backyard like some post-apocalyptic Martha Stewart?”

He’s being cruel and he knows it, but he can’t seem to shut his mouth. Under any other circumstance she’d probably haul off and punch him and that would be the end of it, but she’s strangely subdued, almost melancholy. It’s unsettling, unnerving, makes his jaw ache from holding it tight, waiting for the strike that won’t come.

“I want to live , Joel,” she snaps. “I want more than this. Shitty fuckin’ apartment, living off rations, in lockup every other week for the dumbest shit. This isn’t a life! It’s fuckin’ purgatory.”

“I can’t do that, Tess,” he spits. “You get…you get what you get with me. I ain’t gonna settle down in some shit suburb an’ play fuckin’ house.”

“Just…fuck it. Fine,” she snaps. “Forget it. You’ve made your point. We stay in Boston.”

He takes another long, unsatisfying drink and silently begs for it to take hold, to take him past the point of caring. They stay like that, quiet and rigid in their anger, until the weight of her head against his thigh is barely there, until he can’t pin his thoughts in place long enough to let them sink their teeth in. He’s drifting and dozing when she nudges him awake.

“Move over,” she mutters, and he does.

She crawls under the blanket and tucks herself against his side. This is how they work–quick to anger, quick to forget. She’s warm and soft against his bare skin and he’s able to momentarily shut out the pain. Not just his leg, but all of it.

Sarah.

Tommy.

Everything they did to get to this point.

She makes it easy to forget.

“You’re right,” she says softly, fingers skimming over his chest. “But…we can’t keep going like this, Texas. One of these days, our luck’s gonna run out.”

Later, she shucks off her jeans and briefs and straddles his hips. Her hair falls around him, featherlight and sweet against his cheeks, forming a curtain as their lips meet. She tastes of liquor and smoke and desperation. Tight and hot, blunt fingernails digging into his pecs as she rides him slowly, grinding down to hit just the right spot, using him. But that’s fine, she’ll get what she needs, what little he can give. A warm body on a cold night, another set of eyes on her six, the brains to his brawn. Two halves unable to make a whole.

Lightning flashes and she hovers over him like an angel, haloed by the light as she comes, and he follows her into the dark.

Present day

Two weeks after his impromptu proposal, Joel comes home with a spring in his step. He’s exhausted, just about worn down to the marrow, but he’s home for dinner and the patrol schedule has loosened up. He has two whole days off.

He’s going to sleep. He’s going to spend time with his kid. Maybe pick up his guitar for the first time in weeks. And he’s going to spend at least one of those days with Ezra, because it’s been way too fuckin’ long. 

There’s music on the record player and the smell of something cooking. He half expects to see a frilly apron, too, but no, it’s just Ezra in an undershirt and dark jeans standing at the stove. Joel stops in the doorway to admire the sight–bare shoulders and biceps, the dark curl of hair at the nape of his neck, the easy confidence in his movements.

“Hey,” he says in greeting, suddenly itching to touch him, to ground himself in the warmth of his body. He moves in and wraps his arms around Ezra’s waist and presses his cheek to his back. Home.

“Exercise caution, songbird, there are hot things afoot,” he says. “And a stew.”

Joel muffles his groan and mutters into the back of Ezra’s neck. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly charming, I agree. The stew should be moderately edible, if my culinary talents haven’t failed me.”

But Joel finds he isn’t much interested in the food. The sight of all that bare skin has him wanting.

“Supper can wait,” Joel murmurs, drawing his hands across Ezra’s stomach, his hip, swaying a little. “S’go to bed.”

“As much as I would love to indulge, I’m afraid we have social obligations,” Ezra sighs.

Joel pulls back, frowning. “No.”

“We’re due at the Bison in an hour.”

“Shit,” Joel grumbles. “This what I think it is?”

“I’m afraid so,” he says, turning around. “And it would be in poor taste to miss our own party. Go clean up so we can eat.”

“Thinkin’ I’m about to have a bad case of the shits,” Joel mutters, but he turns away and heads for the stairs. Poor taste aside, he has no desire to face Ellie’s wrath…let alone Maria’s.

Later, showered and dressed in one of his nicer flannels, he finds Ezra still in the kitchen doling out bowls of stew, a clean, pressed button-down shirt over his undershirt. The empty sleeve has been carefully tailored to Ezra’s form, no hastily tied knot or cut-off sleeve, and the color makes his dark eyes look even darker.

Joel swallows past the lump in his throat.

“Seems a bit unfair for you to look this good when I can’t do a damn thing about it,” he says, voice low.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, but we’re still going to the party. Eat.”

He does, and the stew is more than edible, but he can’t eat much. He’s distracted and restless, finds himself irrationally jealous of Ezra’s spoon.

“Don’t forget to pretend to be surprised,” Ezra says, adjusting Joel’s collar at the door. “And try to enjoy yourself, hmm? I’ll make it up to you.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But you smash cake in my face at any point, you lose your other arm.”

To Ellie’s credit, it’s nothing fancy. Sure, they’ve turned the fairy lights on at the Bison and there’s a cake on the bar, but they kept it small–which, in Jackson, means only a quarter of the town. God knows they’ve earned the right to enjoy themselves and Joel doesn’t mind being half the excuse, even if it means blushing his way through a few awkward toasts.

He remembers his first wedding, not much bigger or more extravagant than this one. At least this time Tommy isn’t 15 years old and drunk as a skunk, vomiting in the ladies’ room because the men’s room at the Elks Lodge was out of order. His new bride had been vomiting in the ladies’ room, too–for a different reason.

This is definitely an improvement. In fact, he’s almost enjoying himself when Ellie sidles up to him, looking far too pleased with herself.

“How’s life with the ol’ ball n’ chain?”

Joel sips his beer. “The hell d’you come up with this shit?”

“Dina’s got us watching old episodes of Cheers ,” she says, wrinkling her nose. Then she grins, gesturing to the room. “So, whaddya think? Not bad for a reception, huh?”

“Not bad,” he admits, hugging her to his side, relishing the way she hangs on for a second longer than usual. “Thanks, kid. But no more surprise parties or you’re grounded ‘til you’re 30.”

“Better not get married again, then.”

“Don’t intend to,” he murmurs, watching Ezra talking to someone across the room. He can’t see her face, but her hair shines under the lights and she laughs at something Ezra has said, and in a flash of painful nostalgia he can only see Tess.

She’d never asked for anything like this. Probably would have laughed in his face if he’d proposed, not that he’d ever been inclined to. But there had been a time when she’d suggested something more permanent. Something more defined. Something much like the home he shares with Ezra. And he’d turned away, unable to think he deserved to be happy after a lifetime of brutality.

When Tess died, he’d told Ellie not to talk about her, and then he’d locked her memory away with Sarah’s. But Sarah had come back to him, with time and patience and Ellie’s influence.

Tess hadn’t. And somehow, in the scant three years since her passing, he’d managed to keep her tucked away, secreted at the back of his mind in that dark, lonely place. Nothing but a shoddy stone cairn somewhere in Western Massachusetts to show for it. But something in him has reawakened, Ezra bringing it out in him, and now–

“Joel?”

Ellie is looking up at him with concern. He blinks, squints, and the woman turns so he can see her profile–not Tess, not even close. Her hair is too short, her laugh too modest, her nose too long.

But he can’t convince his damn heart.

“I’m–uh, I just–gimme a minute,” he whispers hoarsely.

He doesn't even realize it’s happening until the panic is on top of him, until he tries to take a breath and his ribs feel bound in iron. Abandoning Ellie, he makes it to the door, slips outside without his jacket, the cold air hitting his lungs like a bomb.

He leans against the wall in the alley, willing his lungs to inflate. They do, just not as fast or as fully as he’d like. Jesus, he hasn’t had one this bad in months. Not since before Ellie and he–

A hand between his shoulder blades, a familiar voice at his shoulder.

“Breathe, love.”

“Shit,” Joel croaks, half startled, half relieved.

“Our young prodigy sent me,” Ezra murmurs. “Said you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

Joel can’t find the breath to answer, so he just nods.

“Should I be concerned?” Ezra is peering at him. “Are you chasing spirits, songbird?”

“Think they’re chasin’ me,” he rasps.

Ezra nods, draping Joel’s coat over his shoulders before his hand resumes its careful path up and down his spine.

“You know,” he says casually. “Normally one gets cold feet before they’ve exchanged rings.”

A laugh bubbles up from Joel’s throat–more a barking cough under the circumstances–but something in his chest relents.

“It ain’t that,” he mutters when he’s caught his breath. “Jus’...too much goin’ on in there.”

“Should we perhaps take our leave?”

“God yes,” Joel breathes. “Please.”

“Come,” Ezra says, threading his arm through Joel’s. “The merriment is for their sake. I doubt we’ll be missed.”

Joel isn’t so sure about that, but he lets Ezra lead him without protest, still trying to calm his heart. It’s a short walk and soon they’re standing on the porch at Ezra’s old house. He lets them in with the key Cee keeps under the mat.

“I suspect they won’t think to look for us here,” Ezra says. They shrug off their jackets and hang them in the hall, leave their boots at the door, and Joel feels a powerful sense of déja vu walking into Ezra’s office. The room is sparse now, most of the record collection having been moved to their shared house. There’s a plant in the corner on the pedestal where the record player used to be and a few books line the shelves. It’s less inhabited, less personal, but his memory fills in the blanks.

“I’m going to investigate the coffee situation,” Ezra says, leaving Joel with a pat on the shoulder.

Joel sinks into the loveseat across from Ezra’s usual chair. He hears him moving around in the kitchen down the hall, the sounds of water running. His head still feels fuzzy, but at least he can fuckin’ breathe. He closes his eyes, sags into the cushions.

Ezra comes back with two mugs and sets them on the coffee table, then moves to take his seat across the room before stopping himself. He glances back at Joel, smiles faintly. Not the only one having déja vu, apparently.

“Apologies. Old habits,” he murmurs, taking the seat next to Joel instead. “Drink.”

Joel does, relishing the warmth of the coffee despite the wood-like taste of the chicory. Ezra is watching him intently, his expression carefully neutral.

“It ain’t–it’s nothin’ bad,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s, uh…all this has me thinkin’ about someone I knew…before.”

Ezra frowns. “Your…wife?”

Joel shakes his head, realizing with a further pang of remorse; he’s never talked about her, never even said her name aloud. “That was before…Before. Tess was my…business partner. Back in Boston, we uh…we were…”

“Attached?” Ezra offers.

Joel snorts. “Yeah. Yeah, we were…together. More or less.”

Ezra leans back into the cushions, takes a long sip from his mug. Joel searches his face for jealousy or anger, any kind of sign he should stop. But Ezra has the almost infuriating ability to detach, and his expression gives nothing away.

“Ain’t a big story,” Joel mutters. “We worked well together. Survived a hell of a lot. It was kinda…kinda an unspoken thing. Happened without us meanin’ it to, I think. Spend fifteen years with a person…you get to know ‘em. We shared everything–the best and worst, I always had a partner through it. Guess it was kinda inevitable, but…but she, uh…”

“You loved her,” Ezra prompts softly. Joel looks down, realizes he’s taken his hand.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “But I couldn’t…I couldn’t. She was bit ‘fore we came out here. She saved my ass one more time, then she was gone. Told me to take the kid and…and make it up to her.”

“Which…you did.”

Joel nods, throat going tight at the thought. He’d saved Ellie, Ellie had saved him. He thought he’d done his duty to Tess, but now he’s not so sure. The ring on his finger feels heavy again, like a broken promise.

“I guess all this…just catchin’ up to me,” he murmurs. “Didn’t even say goodbye. All happened so fast. And then…then I had Ellie to think of. And Tess died…not knowin’ I…how I…”

He trails off, unable to continue. He closes his eyes and all he can see is Tess standing in the warm evening light of the State House, telling him to save who he can save.

“Lately…I keep thinkin’ I see her,” he rasps, swiping at his eyes. “Around town, on patrol…she woulda got along real nice here. Made a good life for herself. But she never got a chance.”

Ezra brings his arm up to cradle the back of Joel’s neck, guides him gently down against his shoulder so he can bury his nose in the crook of his neck, the earthy scent of his shaving lotion a distant comfort. He wraps his arms around his waist.

“She knew,” he murmurs against his ear.

Joel shakes his head, clutches at the fabric of Ezra’s shirt, presses his face more firmly into his collar.

“She did,” he insists, gentle but firm. “And I know this because I know how you love, I have been…the recipient of said attentions, and I’m certain that even in your somewhat emotionally repressed state–”

Joel shudders, a dry laugh through his tears. Somewhat emotionally repressed couldn’t begin to describe how closed off he’d been. But then, Tess had her own demons, her own hard, impossible shell. They were as bad for each other as they were good, so many times they were the salt in each others’ wounds. But over time she had warmed, loosened, become more pliant. Somewhere along the line, she’d forgiven herself, while he continued to wear his self-hatred like armor.

Ezra pulls back, looking at him curiously.

“Y’don’t know, Ez, you don’t–I wasn’t…like this,” he says thickly. “Was barely alive.”

“But you are now. What she saw in you was worthy, so you live for her.”

“Sometimes I think…I don’t…don’t deserve to.”

“Whether any of us is deserving is beside the point,” he says gently. “You’re here, so you live for the ones who couldn’t.”

Joel huffs softly and Ezra leans in, presses a long kiss to the furrow between his brows, resting forehead to forehead, sharing breath. There’s an ache in his chest with her name on it clamoring for attention, a grief mixed with shame and hope and all the leftover love that had nowhere to go until now. A rough thing worn smooth over time.

Wasn’t time that did it , he thinks dully.

When their mouths meet, it’s hard and frantic and needy, pent up desire and sadness, a need to prove something. It’s been too long and there’s been too much and he needs to forget, so he lets Ezra ease him back, knee between Joel’s thighs, both of them sliding down into the cushions.

“Aren’t we getting a bit…far in years…to be doing this kind of thing on the couch?” Ezra murmurs between kisses, lowering himself onto Joel with a groan.

“Weren’t complainin’…last time,” he grits out, just as Ezra’s tongue traces the seam of his lips, delves deeper, stealing both his ability to speak and his last coherent thought.

“Touché.”

Ezra’s hand fumbles between them, untucking his shirt. Joel growls into his mouth as his husband finds warm flesh, takes the meat of his lower lip between his teeth and tugs gently, then soothes the bite with his tongue. It’s all desperation, a hiss as Joel rakes the shirt up Ezra’s back, rewarded with the warm expanse of bare skin.

They’ve barely managed to find a rhythm before the front door opens and Cee’s voice rings out in the hall.

“Hello?”

“Shit,” Ezra hisses as they scramble apart. “Just us, birdie,” he calls, jumping up with a blush of pink across his cheeks. He’s smoothing his hair back, subtly trying to adjust himself. Joel bites back a chuckle. Hasn’t been caught out like this since he was a goddamned teenager necking in his dad’s pickup.

He hastily tucks his shirt back in and follows Ezra into the hall where Cee is unwinding her scarf, hanging it alongside their coats.

“Saw the light,” she says, nodding toward the office, looking back and forth between them. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, no,” Ezra says, sounding as out of breath as Joel feels. “We simply required a moment of respite from the festivities.”

“Yeah, I get that,” she says with a wry smile. “Don’t worry, I think Ellie’s telling everyone you two left to…y’know. Honeymoon.”

“Christ,” Joel mutters, ducking his head, warmth creeping up the back of his neck. Thankfully Ezra is quick to change the subject.

“And where is your gentleman friend this evening?”

She rolls her eyes. “‘Gentleman friend?’ Really?”

“Your…lover?” Ezra tries, grimacing even as he says it.

“Gross, please don’t ever say that again,” she shudders. “ Luke is on the wall tonight, but he sends his congratulations.”

“Aha. Well, I suppose if you’re in for the night, we should take our—”

“Actually,” she says, drawing out the word. “I skipped dinner at the caf…and I have everything for grilled cheese…”

Joel recognizes her doe-eyed expression. He’s seen it on his own kid often enough when she’s asking after something, but Ezra doesn’t seem to take the hint.

“Oh,” he frowns. “We wouldn’t want to intrude on your dinner.”

“No, I mean–you make the best grilled cheese. Plus maybe I wanted to, y’know, spend time with you?”

Ezra shoots him a look. “Oh, I–I, uh–I’m not certain we’re exactly–”

“I could eat,” Joel cuts in, reassuring him with a nod, relieved to have the focus off his shoulders for the time being.

“Well, then…save the butter for your bread, birdie,” Ezra grins. “We’d be delighted to keep you company and share a meal. Let’s introduce my husband to a…family tradition of sorts.”

Which is how Joel ends up at the kitchen table watching Ezra and Cee working together at the counter. They banter and trade gentle barbs side by side, and Joel finds himself relaxing into it, happy for the distraction.

“When we first moved to Jackson, I couldn’t sleep,” Cee explains, scraping butter from a brick and dropping it into a pan to melt. “Had a lot of bad dreams. Ez was usually awake, too, so we’d meet up in the kitchen.”

“Cee neglects to mention that we were also half starved at the time. Access to a full pantry was an extravagance neither of us could have imagined…I suppose it’s no small wonder we sought solace in sustenance.”

It’s easy to see how the two made it together; they work as a team in the kitchen just as they must have worked together to survive outside the walls. But something about watching him with Cee tugs at Joel’s heart. Ezra has always been comfortable in his own skin, but with Cee he’s even softer, even more himself.

“Didn’t have much in the way of culinary experience between the two of us,” Ezra says, frowning in concentration while cutting thin slices from a small wheel of cheese. Cee begins peeling a clove of garlic. “But we had plenty of time on our hands to learn–isn’t that right, birdie?”

“Yep. Can you believe I’d never even had this stuff before?” Cee asks, looking over her shoulder and holding up the peeled clove, and Joel shakes his head. “I had no idea what I was missing. Anyway. Ez here got really good at making cheese sandwiches and that kinda became our thing. Bad dream? Grilled cheese. Rough day? Grilled cheese.”

“Sometimes it seemed that was the only thing I could get you to eat with any regularity,” Ezra says.

“Yeah, well…some days were bad ,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“But…it got better.” Ezra looks over at her, and Joel can hear the uncertainty in his voice. It’s a question as much as a statement.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “Yeah, it did.”

Joel thinks of his early days in Jackson, Ellie’s nightmares, the gun under his mattress. The constant fear he was failing her. How they picked up the pieces and turned them into routines, rituals, things to get them through the hard days. Built something from two patched-together lives. Found their people.

Movie nights or grilled cheese sandwiches, they figured it out.

“This is cool,” Cee says to Ezra as they bring the food to the table. “I almost miss having you around here. Almost,” she teases.

“I’m sure it’s much–”

“Quieter?” Cee offers with a smirk, and Joel has to hide his own with a cough.

“I was going to say ‘less lively’ but fair enough,” Ezra mutters, then softens. “I’ll make dinner for you anytime, birdie. Just say the word.”

The food is good, but the company is better. Ezra and Cee carry the conversation while they eat and Joel lets them reminisce, contributing the occasional nod or grunt of agreement. If Cee thinks he’s quieter than usual, if she notices his eyes are still a little red, she’s kind enough not to mention it. More than anything, he wishes Tess could be here, wishes she could have had this, too.

At one point, Ezra takes his hand under the table, sensing his need for an anchor. He answers his questioning look with a squeeze, soaks in the sound of Cee’s bubbling laughter and the adoration in Ezra’s eyes, decides there might be something to Ezra’s words after all.

He may not deserve it, but he has it all the same. Shame to let it go to waste.

It’s late by the time they take their leave, bundling up at the door.

“Thanks for the sandwiches,” Cee says. “And for, y’know, not forgetting about me now that you’re all domesticated and shit.”

“I could never,” Ezra says, enfolding her in a tight, one-armed hug, offers his usual departing words of wisdom. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, birdie.”

“What, like get hitched?” she says drily.

Joel urges him out the door before that can fully sink in, has Ezra stopping in his tracks and turning around.

“Wait–”

“Relax, Ez,” Joel mutters.

“Did you–she said–”

“Uh-huh, I heard what she said.”

“But–”

“C’mon,” he says, tugging at his hand. “S’too fuckin’ cold out here.”

Ezra relents with a soft grumble, one last worried glance over his shoulder. Joel bites his lip on a smile. That girl sure knows how to push his buttons.

“Thank you for…indulging me,” Ezra says after covering some ground in silence. “I confess I…I don’t think I realized how much I missed our time together. It was just Cee and I for so long…”

“She still needs you,” Joel says, nudging him lightly before taking his hand. “An’ I don’t mind sharin’.”

The night is bitter cold and the wind forces them to hurry toward home. Ellie, loud and slightly drunk, if Joel had to guess, is just turning onto Rancher Street as they get there.

“Dudes! You missed a great party.”

She stumbles a little, giggles, and Joel reaches out to steady her.

“You owe me, fuckers. I covered for you. Even saved you some cake before the rest of the vultures got to it,” she says, just this side of slurring as she hands him a bundle of waxed cloth. “It’s super fucking good.”

“Uh-huh,” Joel says. “How much did you have to drink, kid?”

“Only three! Or wait…four, maybe? I dunno, Cat says m’a lightweight, whatever that means.”

“Three what? Fifths?” Joel asks incredulously.

“Just beer,” she wrinkles her nose. "Maria wouldn’t let me have the hard stuff even though I told her I can take it, that bi–”

“Gonna stop you right there,” Joel says, shooting Ezra a look over her head. Now it’s his turn to smother a laugh. “Remind me to thank her tomorrow.”

Ellie grunts and inserts herself between them, looping one arm through each of theirs for the short walk to the end of the street. She leans a little heavy on Joel’s arm, plunks her cheek on his shoulder. She’s running on beer and cake and probably not much else as they make it to the house.

“I’ll be right in, just, uh…gotta get this one settled,” he says to Ezra, handing him the cake.

“Hydrate, young prodigy,” Ezra advises her, and Ellie sticks out her tongue, follows it with a raspberry.

Joel walks Ellie into the garage room and she plops down on her bed with a grunt. Joel goes to the little standalone sink, fills a cup with water. By the time he places the cup on her nightstand, she’s already curled up on her side.

“C’mon, kid. Can’t sleep with your damn boots on.”

“Can too.”

Joel sighs and unlaces her boots, gently tugging until they come loose. She giggles, tries to help, only ends up kicking him in the arm, which makes her laugh harder.

“Wanna watch those space wars movies. Y’know, those ones with the robots? Are-too somethin’ and see-pee-oh.”

He cocks his head. “Y’mean Star Wars?”

“Yes! And the brother who kisses his sister,” she says, then laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “Pew-pew, motherfuckers.”

“You’re full of it tonight,” he sighs, pulling the crumpled blankets out from under her and over her shoulders before kneeling by her side. “Think you need a bucket?”

“Nah,” she yawns. “M’fine.”

“Alright. Drink the water. I’ll check on ya in a bit.”

Before he can stand, her arm wiggles out from under the blanket and wraps around his shoulders, pulls him down into an awkward hug that melts him. He closes his eyes, holds her tight, drops a kiss in her hair.

“You’re goin’ soft, old man,” she mutters, but she’s still holding on.

“Uh-huh,” he says, throat tight. “Love you.”

When she finally pulls back, she smirks up at him with all the confidence of Han Solo.

“I know.”

Inside, Joel shucks off his coat to the sound of Ezra rummaging through the kitchen drawer. He’s unwrapped the cake Ellie saved, now slightly squished and sitting on the counter.

“Has our girl found the answers at the bottom of a bottle?”

“Found an attitude, more like. She’ll be fine, just needs to sleep it off. Still hungry?” Joel asks, nodding toward the cake.

“Ah. Thought I’d see what all the fuss is about,” Ezra says, bringing out a knife and aiming to cut a slice.

“Ain’t we supposed to do that together?”

Ezra’s grin is a slow, sweet spread thick as buttercream. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They share the knife and cut into the cake, Joel’s hand warm over Ezra’s. It’s an impressive dessert by Jackson standards. Real frosting–god knows where they found icing sugar–and the center has a layer of strawberry jam. Joel isn’t much for sweets, but he takes a bite when Ezra offers. It makes his teeth ache.

“I know you said no cake smashing, but–”

Before he can duck away, Ezra has swiped a fingertip of jam and smeared it lightly across Joel’s cheek. His eyes flash with mirth as he leans in, meaning to lick up the mess he’s made with the tip of his tongue.

It snaps the band of tension that’s been simmering all night.

Joel turns his head before Ezra can finish his cleanup and crashes their mouths together in an inelegant kiss. His hands find the collar of his fancy shirt and holds him, walks him back until he’s crowded against the counter and licks into him, tastes the remnants of vanilla sugar on his tongue. He only stops when Ezra yelps, having almost knocked the remaining cake off the counter in an effort to brace himself.

“Shit, sorry,” Joel pants, half laughing, half delirious with it, suddenly lighter than he’s felt all week.

Ezra grins, tongue darting out to wet kiss-swollen lips before cupping his cheek, leaning in to nip at him. “I suppose I did say I’d make it up to you. You’ve always been a touch…impatient.”

“ I’m impatient?” Joel growls, pressing his thigh tighter to the growing hardness between Ezra’s legs to emphasize the point. There’s still strawberry jam drying sticky on his cheek. He doesn’t care. “Finish your damn cake, Ez. Let’s go to bed.”

So they do, curled up naked under the quilt. There’s the hint of something more, something wanted, limbs entwined and hands exploring as they share slow, lazy kisses. What started as a fire mellowed somewhere between downstairs and the bedroom, and the pull of sleep is strong, exhaustion settling heavy around Joel’s shoulders. The mind is ready but the body is unwilling.

“Sorry,” he sighs into Ezra’s neck when it’s clear they’re not getting anywhere.

“No rush,” Ezra murmurs, stretching out with Joel’s head on his shoulder. “There’s time.”

They stay like that for a while, Joel drifting on the verge of sleep while Ezra strokes his hair. He finds himself thinking of Tess again, of all the moments they missed because they were too busy scraping by. How this was all she’d asked of him, and he’d turned her away because he couldn’t imagine deserving such a life.

“Songbird?” Ezra’s voice is a low rumble in his chest, and Joel tightens his grip, nuzzles closer.

“Mmm?”

“The other morning over breakfast…when you asked me if I wanted…something more…”

Joel’s stomach sinks. “Yeah.”

Ezra hesitates and the silence only serves to tighten the knot in Joel’s chest. He feels the jumpy thrum of Ezra’s heartbeat against his cheek, waiting for him to deliver the letdown. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and rich and close to Joel’s ear, a whispered confession.

“I have never…had this. Men with my proclivities didn’t have a dearth of options before, and that became even less likely after…well. The life of a raider does not endeavor itself to…romantic entanglements. Not to say I’m inexperienced, but in matters of the heart I am woefully naive.”

In the dark, Joel can barely make out Ezra’s features, feels the tips of his fingers carding absently through his hair, skimming the shell of his ear, warming the back of his neck.

“Which is to say…I’ve known my share of lovers, certainly…but not…love.”

It takes a moment in Joel’s near-sleep-addled state to fully grasp his meaning. “Oh…”

Ezra tips his chin up, almost prideful. “I had long ago come to the conclusion that I wasn’t worthy of…something like this. I’d made my peace with that. You spoke of not being…deserving…and I know all too well what that’s like.”

His voice dips low, tugs at the meat of Joel’s heart. 

“I don’t tell you this for pity’s sake,” Ezra continues. “Just to ensure you understand that I…this is…more than I could have hoped for, songbird. I don’t take this commitment lightly.”

Times like this, Joel wishes he was better with words. As it is, all he can manage is to grasp Ezra’s hand and hold on, press a kiss to his knuckles.

“I know,” he whispers. He’d been so caught up with his ghosts, he hadn’t stopped to consider Ezra might have some of his own.

Later, he’ll put on his sweatpants and boots and wrap himself in a robe and go outside to check on Ellie, peer in through the frosted glass pane to find her where he left her, curled in bed and sleeping soundly. But for now, he’s content to stay like this, wrapped in his husband’s embrace, sheltered from the cold.

Maybe they didn’t have to do it alone.

Joel wakes to a huff of breath against his shoulder, Ezra wrapped around him like a second blanket. He’s nuzzling at the base of his neck, tickling the hairs there, peppering his upper back with kisses.

“Songbird,” he hums, tightening his arm low around Joel’s hips, nipping at the muscle along the ridge of his shoulder, clearly hoping to finish what they started last night. In the light of day, with a good night’s sleep behind him and no plans for the morning, that looks all the more likely.

“M’awake,” Joel grunts, turning over, doesn’t even have time to open his eyes before their mouths meet, hungry and wanting. Ezra’s soft moan resonates between them, hips hitching slightly, already hard and pressed tight to Joel’s thigh. It’ll take a little longer for Joel to get there, but not by much.

“Do you remember when I first…had you in this bed?” Ezra asks, pulling back, panting slightly.

Joel swallows hard, nods, still dizzy from the kiss and blinking sleep from his eyes.

“How I took you apart on my tongue? Hmm?”

Ezra on his knees at the edge of the bed, Joel’s torso bared and his jeans around his ankles, in too much of a rush to fully undress, glow of the golden hour slanting through the window. The memory sparks a pang of longing so strong it physically aches, sends a groan rippling up from Joel’s throat and a pulse of heat through his gut.

The body is more than willing this morning.

“I remember thinking to myself…that I had never witnessed a sunset more beautiful…had never experienced the majesty of a billion stars in the bliss of night, or watched the arc of a dove across the morning sky…than when you reached the apex of your enjoyment.”

Joel can’t speak, can’t breathe, fixed in place by Ezra’s dark eyes and his husked voice as his fingers trace the hollow at Joel’s throat. Their noses touch, the last words felt as a featherlight brush against his lips as much as heard.

“And I thought…in my haze of pleasure…that I want to be the reason you look like that. I want to watch you come apart every damn day for the rest of forever. And I will be there to put you back together again.”

Anything Joel might have thought to say, inadequate as it would have been, is quickly swallowed by Ezra’s kiss. His tongue skirts the pout of his lower lip and then they’re sinking into each other, a consummation of Ezra’s unexpected vows.

“Jesus,” Joel breathes when they pull apart. “You stay awake all night comin’ up with that?”

Ezra arches an eyebrow, eyes shining. “Did it work?”

With an agility that surprises even himself, Joel growls deep in his chest and rolls Ezra under him, pinning his willing form with his weight. His mouth finds the hinge of Ezra’s jaw, the freckle behind his ear, the ridge of his collarbone. The want is back, that old friend, and he gives into it, lets it lead him.

Down, teasing the ridge of a pebbled nipple with his teeth, down, lapping at the hollow of his breastbone, down, dipping his tongue into the soft circle of his navel and swirling, eliciting a stifled gasp, stomach twitching.

“You know I’m ticklish, cher ,” Ezra huffs, and Joel grins, does it again just to make him squirm before soothing the overstimulation with a gentle, firm bite to the softness at the base of his stomach.

He drags his scruff along his Adonis belt, teasing him with the heat of his breath, the slick muscle of his tongue lapping, sucking a mark into the curve at his hip. He admires the flush on his skin where he’s bruised him, the red scratches his beard has left behind, revels in the lightly painful tug of Ezra’s fingers in his hair, urging him on.

When he finally takes him in, the familiar taste and weight of him on his tongue is almost as delicious as the sound Ezra makes. It’s a whimper, a breath of equal relief and anticipation, soothing the ache while stoking the fire. It’s a heady rush, that first taste, the salt-tang of him, an invitation to see how much pleasure he can wring from his body.

Joel looks up, finds Ezra watching him intently, hungrily, head cocked to one side, chest flushed and heaving. He has to admit, the view ain’t half bad, stokes the heat roiling in his belly, and he grinds down into the mattress to find some relief. He takes him deeper, traces the ridges and veins with his tongue on the way back up, revels in the broken sounds he draws from Ezra’s lips.

“Songbird–your mouth, divinity itself could–could not–ohhh–”

He cuts himself off with a moan as Joel’s tongue circles and flutters, as his free hand grips him at the base and begins a firm stroke to help things along.

When Ezra’s hand pulls away, seeking purchase in the tangled mess of their bedding, Joel grabs for it instead, reaches up to lace their fingers, resting them on Ezra’s stomach and lightly holding him down. The intimacy is almost too much.

“Oh, oh love, you–I’m–”

Joel pulls off, still stroking, teasing. “You gonna come?”

Another throaty whimper, back arching into it. It doesn’t take long, they’ve been dancing around this for hours. He watches as Ezra comes apart in his hand with a choked gasp, spilling over his knuckles and onto the wiry curls at the base of his stomach, a breathed oh oh yes oh , and the power is a heady, giddy rush.

Every damn day for the rest of forever, indeed.

He crawls up the bed and settles on his side, allowing himself a moment of smug self-satisfaction. He’ll never match Ezra’s eloquence or even his energy, but he can manage this. Have him blissed out and shuddering in his arms, gazing up at him from under dark lashes, rendered monosyllabic. Has him curling into him, lips pressed to Joel’s throat and mumbling in French, legs tangled, arm cinched around his waist. He can hold him through the come-down. Can love him the way he deserves.

There’s quiet in the aftermath, Ezra nuzzling tenderly at Joel’s throat. His voice is all grit when he speaks.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel smirks, absently rubbing the back of Ezra’s neck. “Like you needed a reason to talk.”

“You love it,” Ezra whispers, peppering small kisses across the ridge of Joel’s jaw.

“Hmm. Reckon I do.” 

Ezra’s ministrations at his throat become more urgent, the graze of teeth and lips and tongue. Joel’s cock kicks against his stomach as Ezra sucks at his collarbone hard enough to leave a mark. His hand slips between them and then he’s teasing with his fingers, stroking him without pressure, cupping and petting him until he’s aching. Joel watches, drowsy with lust, as Ezra gathers his own slick spill in his palm before wrapping it around Joel’s cock to mingle with his precome, easing his movements considerably. The sight is enough to make him shudder. He thinks he hears Ezra murmur something over the rush of blood in his ears, something that sounds suspiciously like waste not, want not , and Joel thinks there’s still plenty of want to go around.

“Fuuuuck,” he breathes into Ezra’s neck, and it’s a syrupy hot slide into the tight wet clutch of his fist.

Joel lets himself sink into it, lets the tension coiling in his gut unfurl and bloom as Ezra strokes him. He fumbles for something to hold, hand finds the meat of Ezra’s ass, the back of a thigh, hears a low chuckle in his ear as he gasps and pulls him close. Soon he’s panting into the warm crevice of Ezra’s throat, unable to form more than hollow sounds of pleasure and want as Ezra works him through it.

“Like that?” he murmurs, the words like velvet, and Joel can barely manage a nod. Somehow his lips find Ezra’s and it’s a long, broken moan into his mouth as he feels the band at the base of his groin tightening, tightening, ready to snap. There’s only the sound of his own heavy breathing and the slick slide of Ezra’s hand on him and then he’s pulsing, throbbing, falling apart with a cry.

They’re tender and warm in the afterglow, taking advantage of a rare quiet morning to laze in bed while the sun rises, but Joel finds himself distracted, that nagging doubt creeping in to fill the space created by their lovemaking.

“Tell me about her,” Ezra murmurs, sensing his disquiet. “Tess.”

He hesitates.

“You sure?”

Ezra kisses him softly. “Memory poses no threat to my affections, songbird.”

It should be awkward, Joel thinks, but the words come easily. She’s been at the forefront of his mind for so many days, it’s a relief to lay it all out.

And when he’s told him as much as he can remember, and the sun is much higher in the sky, Ezra strokes his cheek with his thumb and offers a simple truth.

“I have her to thank for your being here.”

And he does, Joel supposes.

For giving him one last kick in the ass. 

For insisting he carry her hope for a cure, a future, and a life beyond the QZ.

For giving him a daughter.

For giving him a second chance.

He cups Ezra’s face in his hands, kisses him soundly, and silently promises he won’t let it go to waste.

[swelling-ftm-belly]

The Surrogate, finale

I must have been six months along when I stopped showing up to work, my pregnant belly so huge I wondered if I’m indeed carrying your twins, my breasts blew up in size, I was lactating and so sore I couldn't bind anymore. and I didn’t dare to go outside. my pregnant body was alien to me, a constant reminder that you bred me, that you claimed my fertile, little boywomb. despite me protesting and not being ready, my body betrayed me and carried your seed so eagerly.

the worst was how that made me even a bigger whore for you. I was so desperate and vulnerable, my pregnant, swollen pussy needed your cock and your touch even more. i wanted you to fondle and massage my lactating, embarrassingly big tits, i needed you to suckle on them with your tongue and lips, tour hands caressing my huge belly and feeling our babies kick inside me.

our babies. I looked at my belly in the mirror and I realized that you also made me a young dad, so soon. i was still in college, working part time to support my studies, but now, there was no doubt i’ll be dropping out.

I became dependent on you, and you accepted it eagerly, you couldn’t get enough of my pregnant body anyway.

it was the day of my ultrasound check when we ran into your husband. we came out of your car, my pussy still dripping with your fresh cum because you fucked me hard just before we left my place.

his eyes filled with shock as he stared at my pregnant body, and then stared at you. I felt moisture in my shirt and realized that my breasts were dripping milk, too. I was so ashamed, so embarrassed, I held my huge belly with one hand and tried to hide my chest with the other. I whispered, “I’m sorry I got pregnant.”

the three of us went together to the clinic. After months of denial and avoidance, I was finally there, getting properly checked. the doctor confirmed that I was carrying twins, and informed us of a due date.

it was sooner than we all expected, it was obvious that you were feeling a lot of guilt, your husband stayed silent, you drove and I was in the back seat. when you were heading to my place, your husband uttered, firmly, “no, take us to the house.”

your husband wanted me to stay at your place till I gave birth. and he started to warm up to me, probably feeling sorry over my gravid state, you being the culprit. he became caring, thoughtful, as my belly continued to grow, there were days I couldn’t imagine it getting any bigger, and I’d wake up the next day even more gravid.

I almost became bed ridden, it was a torture, my pregnancy hormones were still wild, my pussy swollen with need, my body needed attention, and you couldn’t do anything about, now that I’m living here, under the same roof with your husband. I thought I'd die from desperation.

one day you were still at work, when I was lying in bed, touching myself, imagining it was your cock or your tongue, I must have been whimpering at bit too loud, your husband must have heard.

he hurried to my room, “are you alright?” probably worrying about the babies. excpet they were fine, kicking in my belly, as my legs were spread, my fingers on my swollen lips, my pussy leaking. he stood there, a look of shock and something else in his eyes.

he came closer, and sat on the bed. I was drowning in shame, I was naked, and I wasn’t comfortable yet in my massively pregnant body, being seen naked. he whispered, shyly, a shyness I never saw in him before, “do you need help?”

I nodded, his hand moved slowly, his fingers touching me slightly, “does this feel good?” I nodded, he continued, over my clit, my lips, then into my hole, he put a finger, then too, I spread my legs wider, whimpering with need. “do you want more?” I nodded. He took off his pants, he breathed heavily, i was panting, he spread my legs, put each on his shoulders, and plunged his erect cock inside me. I screamed, he continued thrusting, his hands on my breasts, cupping and squeezing, I was screaming with each thrust, my belly moving up and down, the babies kicking.

I heard the door open and you came in, you walked on us fucking, it didn’t seem as if you were surprised. I haven’t been fucked in a while, and I didn’t hold back any screams of pleasure, and you joined shortly.

after your husband shot his load inside me, it was your turn. I was on my back on the bed. my legs spread, your cock inside me, and your husband was suckling my engorged nipples, your hands was on my belly while your plowed me with your massive cock. I came hard, many times, and you both came inside me many, many times.

I gave birth to your twins two months later, at your home. you both doting over me the whole time.

I wondered if my relation with you two would end once I delivered the babies, but your husband insisted that I stay just a bit longer, at least for chest feeding.

I wouldnt’ know if it was a real excuse, when i was ready again, your husband was the one to fuck me first.

I wasn't getting into the mood yet, but seeing me chest feed the babies set him off, one night he waited till i put them to sleep then bent me over and ravaged me. and I couldn’t stop him.

I was aching to be fucked again, fucked and filled. i spread my legs as he fucked my sore, stretched pussy, his hands squeezing my milk-filled tits.

i whimpered and protested, ‘no, daddy, no.” but he couldn’t keep his hands off me. and it seemed like you were oblivious to that fact.

while you kept away from me, allowing me time to recover. my body, still tender, soft and swollen from the pregnancy, was being ravaged multiple times a day by your husband. i let him do it, he would fuck me as he pleased, and I was craving to be filled and claimed again.

you only found out months later, when my belly started to swell again, so soon. and there was no doubt that it was your husband who knocked me up this time.

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.197 The haunting

Sophia made an appointment for Desi bright and early the next morning. After a thorough examination, the doctor determined she was as healthy as a horse and developing normally. I guess that just means my child has a nasty streak and needs to work on her manners. Honestly, the whole situation was kind of embarrassing. Of course, I'm not embarrassed by her behavior because all kids have something they need to grow through, especially being only fewer than 48 hours into childhood. However, the entire appointment felt like a judgement against our parenting. I caught every smirk, snide inflection of the voice, and slant of the eye. I hope Desi never gets sick because we are not seeing this doctor ever again.

Winter in San Sequoia is a lot rainier than I remember this year, and we have to spend yet another day inside. I love spending time with my family, of course, but I'm not a homebody and I'm getting a little antsy. My plan was to get started on the tree house, but I'll have to delay once more. The back porch is covered, so I step outside, hoping not physically being in the house will help. As if on cue, Desiree follows me and hits me with a very unexpected question.

"Daddy? Where do babies come from?"

My first thought is to panic and wonder how and why she's even asking, but we did just come from the doctor's office. She probably saw a poster or diagram that piqued her interest. Children her age are very curious about the world because their brains are developing super fast. They have more than just their stomach and entertainment to be concerned about now. Desi is smart, and I don't want to be the parent who insults her intelligence by talking down to her, deciding what she does and doesn't understand. Telling her about storks delivering babies to the front door will only confuse her. Besides, how can we develop trust if I lie to her? I'm going to tell her the truth—a very abridged truth, heh.

"Babies? Well... When mommies and daddies love each other, sometimes that love expresses itself in the form of a baby in the mom's belly. The baby grows in there for a few days, and then it is born."

I really hope that landed because despite everything I just said, it is waaaaaaay too early for the woohoo talk.

"How does the baby get in there?"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhh ..."

My mind races, and I regret not expecting follow-up questions. I refuse to have the woohoo talk right now, but she deserves an answer. How can I describe it without getting too graphic?

"Do you know how plants grow?" I ask.

She nodded enthusiastically.

"You put a seed in the ground and then you water it and then the plant comes up!"

"That's right. Mommies' bellies are like the soil, and daddies have special seeds."

"You and Mommy love each other. Will she have a baby?"

I have to sit down on that one. It's not every day I'm reminded of how my body failed me. Failed us. This innocent conversation got super deep really fast, and I need to gather myself before thinking of how to share that story with her.

"We can't have anymore babies, Des."

"Why not?"

"Because ... My special seeds are ... I don't have anymore."

"Oh."

"How does that make you feel? Do you want brothers and sisters like your cousins?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know."

"Well, let me ask this way. Does it bother you being the only child?"

She thought about it for a moment.

"No. I like having you alllllll to myself!"

That's a relief, but I feel bad forcing her to make that decision. True, me and Sophia are the only ones who can really make that decision, but I hate I made her even think about it.

"I like having you all to myself, too. Well, I have to share with Mommy, of course. You know what I mean."

"MOMMYYYYY," she shouted and hopped up from her seat. "Kooper poo poo'd on the porch!"

She goes inside, leaving me with my sad thoughts. I'm glad she's okay with not having siblings. That certainly makes it easier on my mind. I just hate that I couldn't give her any. Sophia and I discussed it, and we agreed a singular child is the best thing for our family. Most days, I'm totally fine with that, but the desire to grow our family is still there, hidden deep down in the crevices of my brain. I know it because sometimes it comes out to haunt me, and today it had an open invitation.

[artist-issues]

Day Nine💖

(reminder that if anybody wants me to stop sending these asks at any time, just tell me and I will stop!)

what is the thing that you are the most passionate about in life and why? what sparked your interest in it? is their a goal with it you want to reach, and are you actively working on your passion, or is it just something you know a lot about?

It should be Jesus but I don’t think it is, not perfectly, not all the time. What I tell myself and others it is, most of the time, is “storytelling.” But what I think it actually is (most of the time, but not when I’m in the Spirit) is self-glorification and wanting to be famous.

So there’s the triple-nature. What I should be passionate about, what I want to be passionate about, what I am passionate about underneath it all. But only one of those things is going to actually endure, and it’s “what I should be passionate about.”

Anyway.

What sparked my interest in storytelling was a combo of factors, but I remember the exact moment it came together clearly. I was getting ready for church and I’d been up all night (because at this point in my life I was like 19 and having trouble sleeping was a thing.) And I was trying to decide what to do with my life. I had interest in animated movies and in counseling but I didn’t know what to go to college for, so I was taking a gap year.

And as I was getting ready for church my draft table had the “Lilo & Stitch: Collected Stories From the Film’s Creators” book open on it, and I was listening to a worship playlist in my room and thinking about movies, and thinking about telling some of the kids I worked with in student ministries what made Lilo & Stitch kind of a Gospel story and how I could tell that to them convincingly.

(This is not my picture, but the book looks like this.)

It was open to the producer’s foreword. And this song came on my playlist:

Which is about how God is the inventor and producer behind everything. It’s Tyler Joseph and Travis Whittaker. But I wasn’t familiar with this song yet, so I thought the lyrics were saying “You’re the author, the producer, the inventor of the scene.” It’s not, it’s “inventor of the seed,” but whatever, same principle.

Then like I was having some kind of dramatic realization, the vague idea that all of life was a movie God made, and the main point was Himself, and all man-made stories that were good had nuggets of that in them, clicked together. I had never thought of reality that way before.

And ll through that morning’s service and yammering to my mother at lunch afterward, I was just thinking thinking thinking about it. About how, in movies, the setting tells the story as much as the characters and events tell the story. (Stitch starts out in vast outer space where all the ships look vaguely like fish—then the scene transitions to a small, folksy town with a local feel, but still plenty of fish imagery.) And how, in God’s “movie,” the plants and the way they work tell the story of the Gospel. Seeds, growth, death, rebirth. How the seasons do the same thing. How the animals do the same thing—the freakin caterpillar is a crawling worm, then goes into a kind of death for a period of time, then comes out a new creation.

The art of storytelling, settings, characters, narrative, and all, is just a hobbled-together copy of how God has been communicating from the dawn of time.

And my brain was racing, and I remember thinking about the idea that Christians are supposed to be “little Christs.” Well, if He was THE storyteller who told His story to show us Himself, then what better could I do than be a little storyteller who showed people Him, too? Not just with my career and my writing and art, but with the way I obeyed Him with my life, obviously.

But that’s how I decided what to go to school for. And that’s what got me into the industry I’m in now.

All that to say, if there’s anything that is actually accurate about reality and God in my little “realization” or philosophy, it’s only because God showed it to me, not because I came up with it myself. And if it’s not accurate, He didn’t show it to me, I made it up and heaven help me. But so far I think He did show it to me, so I keep trying to tell stories without letting that become an idol.

[herbirdglitter]

Some Rosemary and Thyme fic ideas I won't use, for public use:

(fair warning my ideas can be wildly disjointed)

Rosemary leaves Laura a note that says "Be back soon, love Rosemary." What if Laura keeps it? she doesn't fully know why, it just gives her a happy sort of thrill, so tucks it a way in her sock drawer at home. Then one day, Rosemary is out of socks and decides to borrow a pair of Laura's and finds the note. And she wonders why Laura would still have that? why would she keep a meaningless note? be back soon doesn't mean much, but "Love Rosemary" could mean a good deal more to her, couldn't it? and she wonders about that, and wonders and wonders and wonders until she's distracted by it nearly every minute and now she can't get a moment's peace. I don't know where this one goes.

2. that bit where laura thinks rosemary is dead and goes to tell her mum and Rosemary shows up in a bathrobe and Laura goes "Rosemary!" and we don't get much of a reaction. They probably hug, and Laura cries, and probably keeps touching her to remind herself rosemary is there. And then… what if she wakes up in the middle of the night and goes to check if Rosemary is still there and it turns into an only one bed fic because of course, Rosemary is like "why don't you just stay"

3. Your standard, we got drunk, woke up, and oh damn, are those rings on our fingers? fic

4. drunk flirting

5. drunk sleeping together?

6. one of them arrives first to a job. The client has gotten confused and called them by the other's last name. He's such a poor old thing that they don't want to correct him. Little do they know, he thinks they're married. "Mrs" Thyme, etc. And when they try and protest, the client doesn't take no for an answer and now everyone thinks they're together. and maybe whichever one it is kind of likes the assumption. likes people assuming they belong together. Likes as the suitor's backing off the other one when she arrives, because they think she's taken. and then you know, feelings realization.

7. Season 2 the Gongoozlers

Rosemary breaks her leg and Laura goes to the hospital to see her. the nurse (?) asks if she's a relative. And Laura, fearing she won't be let in if she isn't a relative, tells them she's her wife. She still can't go in because they're busy operating but the son of the family at the place they're working overhears (he's a porter at the hospital) and mentions it to the fam and pretty soon the entire film set thinks they're married or the equivalent since it's not legal yet and Rosemary doesn't know and Laura is just wondering around like oops. Because she is getting to see Rosemary now and she's scared if she denied it, that it'll get back to the hospital and she won't be allowed to see her at odd hours anymore. She's having to adlib answers to how did you two get together? Etc.

A lot of these are excess ideas i trimmed off of a potential "5 times everyone thought they were gay and 1 time they were" fic, if one couldn't tell

8. They run into Rosemary's ex. A female ex, and not a very nice one. Laura gets defensive, even though up till now, she had absolutely no idea Rosemary liked girls.

alright random dialogue prompts time:

"we are going to have to talk about this at some point."

"I know. But please not right now, I've got to have a sexuality crisis first."

"Oh right. Me too I suppose, but it's not so much of a crisis for me. To hell with men, remember?"

"Yes, but I think you took that to heart more than I did."

"Well you started it."

"I started it?!" Laura said indignantly. "I seem to recall you kissing me!"

"You might want to get over there. Your partner is verbally assaulting a police officer." And Laura gets there, sees it's Nick Rosemary is yelling at, and dives behind a bush.

3×2 seeds of time: "Even Caroline Pargiter! I was only introduced to her a couple of hours ago. What do I get but "oh this is er, er." I'm going to start calling myself er. Save people the trouble."

"Well you do have that effect on people. Sometimes I look at you and you're so beautiful I even forget my own name, let alone yours, and I've known you for years. You can't expect them to remember a thing after meeting you again. Poor things were so flustered they could hardly look at you."

Laura gave her a look. "I'm going to choose to believe that's it."

They were silent as they got into the car. Then Laura said "You know, it's been a long time since anyone's called me beautiful. I'd forgotten how it feels."

"this is why people think we're lesbians." "quite right."

and these are just the ones I don't want to use. I probably could come up with fifty more. look I just remembered another one.

9. the Gongoozlers.

Laura and Quinny are driving in the rover and Quinny asks if she can ask Laura some thing very forward and every single time I think she's about to ask if Laura likes women or of Laura and Rosemary are together. It also would fit pretty well if she asked Laura out. So perhaps those are three ideas.

I'm going to stop now.

Edit: here’s another.

When gay marriage is legalized in the Uk, Rosemary goes “well, shall we give it a go then?” And laura… is confused because they’re not even together. And Rosemary gives her this whole speech about how they should take advantage of this for the people that came before them etc.” And laura is like but we’re not gay.and Rosemary says it wasn’t legalized because of love, but so that the gays could visit each other in the hospital and inherit each other’s property, and doesn’t she want that? And laura finds she does want that, and that the more she thinks about it, the more she thinks she’d like Rosemary as her wife

[bullet-prooflove]

Slow: Ian Edgerton x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @words-and-seeds

“Slow.” Ian whispers into your ear as his body presses against the length of yours. He’s buried deep inside of you, his cock raking over that deviant spot inside of you as his grip on your throat tightens just a little. You exhale, your head tipping back against the hollow of his throat as he watches the two of you in the reflection of the French windows.

“This isn’t a race.” His lips brush over your skin and it feels like a wildfire chasing through your synapses. “I’m not going anywhere, not tonight.”

It’s a change of play for the two of you, because when Ian comes to town it’s usually hard and fast, a way of depleting the adrenaline that rampages thorough his system. He doesn’t stick around; he leaves you ruined in the sheets before he slips out of the door and disappears into the night. He doesn’t do intimacy; you fulfil a need for him, and he reciprocates.

That is until tonight.

When he’d appeared at your door you didn’t expect him. The two of you weren’t working a case. You weren’t even aware that he was in LA.

“I heard about what happened.” He’d told you when you’d found him on your doorstep to let him. “I wanted to check in…”

You know that Charlie called him. You’d been infected with a nerve toxin just over a week ago, Don had managed to get the antidote in time, but you were still in recovery. There’s still some residual nerve damage, nothing too limiting. The doctors say it will fade with time. You’ve been cleared for desk duty already, but it may take a couple of weeks before you’re back in the field.

“You could have called.” You say with a small smile as you close the door behind him. “You didn’t have to come here all the way from Quantico.”

When you turn around, he’s there in in front of you, backing you up against the door, caging you in with his body. The scent of pine floods your senses as his dark eyes focus on yours, burning with desire. The look in his eyes it sends an erotic thrill chasing through you, the same way it does everytime you’re in his presence. It’s exhilarating being wanted by this man, there’s a wildness in Ian, there always has been and that’s fine, because there’s a wildness in you too.

“Hm, but then I wouldn’t have gotten to see for myself.” He reminds you, his hips slotting perfectly against yours.

You can feel him, hard and urgent, pressing against you core and you let out a whine at the sensation because it’s been a couple of months since he last had his hands on you, and you’ve forgotten how good it feels.

“You think I’d lie to you?” You ask him as his thumb ghosts along the line of your jaw, tipping your chin up so that his lips barely brush over yours. It isn’t nearly enough, but that’s the point. It always starts with a little teasing, he likes getting you worked up, having you needy and desperate when he finally gives you what he wants.

“I think you would have sugarcoated it.” He predicts, his mouth covering yours.

It’s soft, the way he kisses you. Tender.

It’s never been like that before, he’s always domineering, passionate.

He takes his time undressing you, lips chasing over every inch of your skin as you leave a trail of clothes leading towards your bedroom.

His fingers thread through your hair, gripping it tightly in his fist as he fucks you in long drawn-out strokes that punctuate each every single one of your breathes. You’re close, he can feel it in the way you grip his cock, the fact your skin starts to flush.

“Watch us.” He whispers in your ear.  “I need you to see what you do to me.”

Because this isn’t about the fucking, not for Ian. It’s about showing the woman he loves how much he cares in the only way he knows how.

Love Ian? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[a-single-white-crow]

hi hi! for the ask game 7 and 11 are super interesting questions imo! I hope you have a wonderful day despite all the chaos, you truly do matter no matter what everyone (even your government) says!

7✦ What do you think is the most accurate representation of witchcraft in fictional media? (shows, movies or books!)

_

Although she isn't technically a witch and doesn't cast spells or have stereotypical witch-like abilities, I still find my favorite show, which I find accurate enough that it doesn’t leave me annoyed and frustrated, is Ghost Whisperer.

As a practitioner whose focus is on spirits and the dead, I utterly love this show.

Yes, it can be a bit overdramatic and silly. But it's a TV show, one whose main goal is for the main character, Melinda Gordon, to work with the spirits around her so she can help them cross over.

◆◆☆◆◆

11✦ What are the top 3 fruits that you use more often in your craft? what's their significance to you?

_

Mandarin Oranges: This fruit is one of my favorites to use as offerings. They leave everything feeling happier, even just my home. I also love using them in my protection spells and teas. Truly, I think the only reason I use them so much is because I don't like actual Oranges.

Blueberries: I think they're cute, simple, and easy to use. I like using them in my magical teas before stressful days or visiting home with negative energy.

Apples: I love apples. From the skin to the flesh, even the seeds! Apple seeds are one of my favorite ingredients for baneful workings (personally, I avoid doing these forms of magic unless I have no choice). I love leaving apple slices out for wandering spirits who come to visit. I love drying them for charms to put around the house—either for a little extra luck or for a sweet feeling. I think they are my favorite fruit to use in my practice. Plus, I love baked apples, and that's a whole other thing.

• A fruit i want to use more in my practice is Saskatoon berries. They are so important to me, yet I just don't use them. So, reminder for myself- use more Saskatoon berries!

◆◆☆◆◆

Thank you! It's very hard to feel positive right now when it seems my own neighbors wish me ill will, but I am working my hardest to be okay. Right now, my goal is to keep moving forward and try my best to find happiness. I pray for Mother Earth and my fellow cousins living on this wonderful planet.

[deldeldel90]

"what do you mean you don't want to celebrate?" Uhh idk who to suggest? If I'm supposed to suggest anyone. So do whoever you like haha

WJSYWJS!!!!!!! thank you thank you thank you!!! I loved receiving this and writing this :DD // did silly pre-canon Lance & Blaine bc they reminded me of this

It was his birthday today, which, for the eldest son of the Plaid Kingdom, was like every other day. That was, unfortunately, not to say it wasn't important -- it was, annoyingly so -- but it was an event more for political and economic reasons than anything else.

There was a ball he attended the next day or so, of course, because in warm, stuffy autumn, it usually rained the day of his actual birth, so, because of that, his entire life was spent celebrating (if you could call it that) something that was, like much of his life, a festival of lies and pretentions in order to provide a comfort carriage ride for the kingdoms' nobility. THE CROWN PRINCE'S DAY, read the invites. It would be the next evening that the ballroom would be decorated in shades of red and gold. The next day, where Kings and Queens would exchange pleasant greetings with him and Father, give him extravagant but relatively meaningless gifts that would be checked for poisons and traps, and chipper about marriage prospects and if he'd won the great inter-kingdom piano competition.

(the answer would be no, something he was not excited about sharing.)

The next day where Prince Blaine would smile and accept the opera-like mask he gladly, perfectly wore since he turned five and realized Father did not love imperfect children.

But, for now, on the day he was born and the day his mother decided to give it all up, Blaine had decided to simply sit by himself and mourn everything he couldn't do in the span of the past year.

Well... That was what he was supposed to do. Until his brother came strutting like a bull in a porcelain shop and looked upon him with his bright clear eyes and asked --

"What do you mean you don't want to celebrate?"

It was said with the same confused whine Lance used to use whenever he hadn't gotten the newest sports equipment, the latest comic book that all his junior military friends enjoyed, an extra cookie for his lunch to share with the unfortunate child who sat next to him and endured every rant on boxing champions every time.

He should have been used to it. Honestly, after all these years of being the other prince's brother, there was no reason he wasn't immune to the impassioned plea and the big, sad, droopy eyes of his little brother.

All performance acts, by the way. Lance really could've worked in the theater, just as Blaine once wanted to. Despite how they were pretty much the same height, however younger Lance was, his blue-donning compatriot still had the innocence to shatter his bloody heart with guilt.

Blaine looked downwards, red eyes to the floor. A seed enveloped itself right in the middle of his larynx, flesh tight, throat caught up in everything he wants to say and everything he can't.

Lance was still staring at him, with the same dumbfounded cluelessness as a lamb or a dog or some other animal he identified with this happy good-natured kindness. a kindness he always noticed but wished he didn't, because it always made things so much harder.

"I prefer calmer days," Blaine explained and it was the truth in a way that felt wholly unacceptable. "I read a book by the fireplace, I allow myself a cookie, and that's, that's all I need."

Lance frowned. "C'mon, Blaine," he huffed. "That ain't even --"

"Isn't," Blaine corrected absent-mindedly. Or perhaps with too much mind. His stomach weighed with the burden of what his brother was planning.

"I'll invite my friends! They're dope -- you'll like 'em --"

"What?"

"-- And, and the royal bakers! Yeah, I'll give 'em some orders, and they'll make you a cake and fix some punch, and, y'know what, we'll get the chocolate fountain too -- with strawberries 'cause I know you like it fancy --"

"Hold on, Lance..."

"I'll decorate! I'm super good at decorating! And I'll order you some gifts -- some of those mythology books, I guess, and maybe something enchantedly awesome from that witch --"

"I don't think you should talk to her..."

"It'll be a surprise party!"

A small, indulgent smile sneaked its way onto Blaine's mouth. How odd. "But..."

"We'll have a party for your old ass," Lance declared at once. He was grinning brightly. "Right?"

Blaine sighed. He glanced away, feeling so light he could hardly pretend to be apathetic. "Fine," he said with a shrug. "Whatever you want. And watch your language."

[thinkpink212]

♡ Taking Myself There ♡

The past few days had me wanting to gain overview over my life; specifically to look at where I am, where I desire to be, who I desire to become, all of it!

In short, for a moment I had lost track of what I wanted to do in life. I quit University 3.5 semesters in because I didn’t belive it could get me there the why I wanted & it was overall just the wrong time in my life. I lost friends, making me doubt everything even further. Covid hit, and life just sunk into more chaos. I left many people, including the person I was. With most of my family cut off, being homeless for months & staying places I wasn’t welcomed or felt entirely safe in — I’ve managed to turn my life around in such a short time. Physically, emotionally and mentally I am now ready again to fully commit to myself & the goals I’ve had since I could remember

I’ve managed to move into a place that feels like home.

I’ve managed to pass an exam I’ve been battling for 3 years.

I’ve made new friends, and met Incredible people

And most importantly, I’ve become the person I needed all those years ago. But she’s here now and now I feel ready to jump in with both feet.

My Goals have always fluctuated as I’ve never been a very ‘one goal’ orientated person. I’ve been a full time artist, worked in the receptionist world, retail & sales advisor. But all of those always felt like they lacked something or were more so a means to gain the financial stability that was needed for me to to what I truly wanted to do—

I’ve never been one that desired working, but when the work didn’t feel like work I was all on board! This goes for all things astrology, tarot readings, drawing & painting whatever I felt like creating. And most importantly, writing.

I have two main goals in this life

♡ Becoming A Publish Author

Ever since I could remember, I loved reading. I loved hearing stories and telling them! I’ve always been a very imaginative person, very creative, and I’m always told I’m great with words — and I believe it. I have tales I wish to share, tales I know will inspire more then I already have & tales to inspire myself to keep going. Nothing brings me mroe joy then when I am typing away, lost in my little worlds.

♡ Becoming Financially Secure

I do not need bilions but I know I’ll make more money then I’ll ever need. It’ll be enough money to never worry about unexpected expenses or those around me struggling. I’ll have more then enough to leave my future generations with financial security. I have known luxury, and I’ll know it again.

So now what? It’s simple really, I just need to do what I’ve always done — persist, and go after what I know is already mine. It’ll take determination, discipline, persistency, but also it’ll take for me to rest when rest needs to be had. Asking for help when help is needed.

Soon I’ll graduate and become a certified massage therapist — a job I already know is very fulfilling, and despite the physical and emotional taxation, it’s something I see myself doing while I write my stories & get closer to financial stability.

The idea of doing all of this brings me such internal peace and warmth.

The rest of the year will be a time of…

♡ Saving, living within my means and reminding myself that this is a sacrifice for a better tomorrow

♡ Making writing my all, just how it used to be. The stories are in my mind already, and many are created weekly, but focus and determination will get me there

♡ Knowing when to rest, because my sleep, sanity or overall health should not be compromised for something that can be resumed tomorrow.

♡ Continue to be my own peace, saying no more and focusing on this endeavor

I’ll be Enjoy the journey. It’ll take a while, and I know because I’ve inspired others to write. Friends, and my cousins have written and published their work (some are still not there but aren’t giving up) and seeing how long it took them, but their determination got them there, is inspirational. I planted a seed and now they all have trees and I’m so proud. Now it’s my turn to plant my seeds and watch them grow. I’m ready!

And I start today —

All updates will be made under #ThinkpinkJourney if you would like to follow along my journey to success

[talldarkandroguesome]

21st of Last Seed, Middas

We have arrived back home. It feels good to be back in the manor, though I miss the easy days of being with the Nest or with Sildras and Avon. I spent more time tending to my ancestors as well.

There is a strange feeling in the house. I think it is all the residue of the magicka that had to be used to diagnose and then reward the house. I cannot believe that something had disrupted wards that had been placed on this manor in the 1st era! I suspect that something even beyond that which Urtisa was capable of must have happened.

I wonder what might have the power. It would have to be something very strong. A high powered mage or even a Daedra of some kind. The specialists at Shad Astula are still working to try and piece together the source of the disruption. They say something altered the enchantment in the wardings and had caused it to actually begin to fuel whatever strange maladies were befalling us, rather than protecting us.

They say that it is very peculiar indeed and are trying to figure out if it is because the age of the wards that they failed due to circumstance, or if something actively caused it. Regardless, it was a very frightening thing to behold. I was glad that Zethith was willing to clear out my hidden temple chamber and replace it with what would appear to be a secret room designed to keep one alive should the house be under siege. It meant that even if any of the illustrious mages of the university did somehow manage to stumble upon the place, the fact that there were extra protections there would make sense.

Of course, I now owe quite a few favors to Zethith and already I have had one that has been called due. Zethith wanted me to reconsider my stance on killing within my own House. I had initially been very against the idea. For a start, I am always the first scapegoat for all the House when it comes to any slights against them.

Second, despite how dysfunctional the House may be, it is the product of the House system and the well being of those whom I love so often depends upon the might and influence of our House. I would not risk anything that might sway that balance and risk weakening our House and exposing those I love to danger.

And finally, I have always feared that if I start to take the lives of those who I know well, it might eventually cause me to dull that part of my mortality that keeps me from simply murdering anyone at anytime that I am displeased. I have heard of many a soldier who, having taken countless lives, starts to see those around them as just as likely an enemy. I was raised on tales of those with the ambition to raise their ranks, who grew bold and cold and suddenly found it easier to take any life that stood between them and their desires, even if it were over the most mundane inconvenience. Even in House Intelligence, we constantly were reminded that, unless it were for some grave reason, we would never be asked to so much as consider harm to one within our House. Not unless they had betrayed the House itself.

Everything I have ever been taught has spoken of staying your hand when it came to taking the life of one of your own. It is a slippery slope and not one which I wish to fall down. As with my own uncle, if I had simply killed him, I cannot imagine the plight of our House. And in the end, when he was able to lay pride aside, he recognized me for who I was. We had little time to mend a rift that was older than my whole life, but he was still able to find that before he passed.

A life taken cannot have that opportunity.

Yet I needed to protect my family and myself. We needed to have the House looked at. Zethith agreed to add more protections once the matter was settled and so I agreed that I would lift my ban on targets within my own House.

A part of me feels like I have made a grave mistake. That I have given up more than I gained. It would not be unlikely given that I am bargaining with a Daedra. Yet I know that Zethith and I are bound for as long as I am useful to my Prince. That I am going to become more and more like Zethith with each death I face. And perhaps with each life I take. Does an act of giving to my Prince do much the same?

How would I even know if it is changing me? Would I only know when it was too late? Or should I even know then?

[abbatoirablaze]

The Girl With Two Dragons, Chapter 12

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings:  rape, noncon relationship, mentions of violence, daggers, mentions of character death.

“You’ll never see him again,” he moaned, his hips thrusting hard against her core.  Daemhyra sobbed, her arms pulling the ropes until they were rubbing her already raw wrists and ankles.  He groaned once more as he felt her getting wetter, “is the idea of me keeping that monster away from you getting you wet, princess? Is the thought of me emptying my royal seed into you turning you on, you whore?”

“Stop, Aegon.  Stop!” she begged; her attempts to fight him off for nothing while he continued to mock her, "p-please...I-"

"Shut up, whore!" he spat, his hand lashing out and catching her lip, "when I want you to open your mouth I should put my cock in it!"

“Now that my brother is leaving for Lord Borros’ territory….you and I have some unfinished business that we really must attend to. It's been far too long, and I've waited much longer than necessary,” he began, opening the door to his chambers.  Nearly half a dozen of the king’s guard filed into the room, making Daemhyra feel on edge, “Daemhyra…if you follow my orders, this will be very easy…get on the bed.”

“W-what is going on?”

“Your king commands you to get on the bed, whore!” one of the guards barked, causing her to jump.

Daemhyra looked at the guard, shocked to hear him speaking to her in such a manner.

“Get on the bed, Daemhyra.  Lay on your back.”

“You cannot force me, Aegon!” she growled. 

Aegon chuckled and snapped his fingers, causing the guards to fall into a cadence as they made their way towards her. 

“Let me go,” she begged as he emptied himself into her for the umpteenth time that night.  Her tears were slipping down her cheeks as she fought the ties which kept her in place,  “AEGON!  STOP!”

Her throat felt like it'd been rubbed raw with how much she'd begged him to stop already, but she continued on, her voice hoarse.

“I will go as long as I wish...and with you, my sweet, fertile whore...I feel as though I could go for days. Your pussy is so tight...did my brother really have that small a prick that he couldn't loosen your cunt? No worries cousin...I'll take my time and loosen you up with my royal cock,” he growled firmly as his hips stuttered to a finish, “oh, Daemhyra!”

His fingers trailed over her lip which had split, then up to her brow. He frowned.

He was gentle in the way his fingers danced over the bruise that had started to form over her brow, “they shouldn’t have struck you…that guard will pay for what he did to you. I can tell you that now, Daemhyra. I'll put his head on a pike for that.”

“Because only you can bruise me up, right, Aegon?” she taunted  tiredly. 

“You are my property, Daemhyra…”

“I am no such thing," she disagreed quickly, "I belong to Aemond. I am your brother’s wife.”

“And we’ve gone over how you are lucky in the fact that I will not simply force you to drink the tea, or cut his spawn from your stomach!” he growled in response, “be happy in the fact that I show you that kindness, Daemhyra.  You’ll have your reminder of your time with Aemond, and I will have you every night, as my second queen.  It all works out for the best.”

Daemhyra spat at him, “I will never be yours.”

“It has been two days since I wrote my treaty to Lord Borros,” he reminded her softly, “two evenings I have enjoyed the carnal nature of emptying myself into you.  Two nights since I made the priest complete the rites of the new gods and married us.  You may say that you are never going to be mine, but I’ve already had your body, Daemhyra.  I’ve already claimed your spirituality when I wed you.”

“You will never have my heart!”

Aegon chuckled, “I don’t need your heart to put a child into you once this one is born!  All I need is your pussy!”

“You are nothing but a spineless quim,” she retorted, spitting at him once more, “you’re no king.  You’re not even a man.  You’re just a spineless, scared little boy who stole his brother's wife, because he'll never be loved in the way that he was.”

He was quick to slap her.  Her head snapped against the pillows, “do not forget your place, Daemhyra.  You are not my first wife.  You will be my second.  Which means you should be grateful for every time I choose you to lay in my bed with me.”

“I am not a bed warmer, Aegon!”

“Oh, but you are. And you are also my wife now!” he growled, grabbing her jaw once more, “you are my bed warmer.  My whore.  My wife.  YOU ARE WHATEVER I SAY YOU ARE TO BE!  IF I WANT YOU BEGGING ON YOUR KNEES TO BE SUCKLING ON MY COCK YOU WILL DO SO!  DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!”

“Let.  Me.  Go!”

The rage that had filled him once more faded as he let go of her and rolled away from the bed, “I’m going to bathe myself…after that, I expect you to be on your knees.”

“The only way I will be on my knees is if you have cut off my head and I can no longer stand.”

“That would be far to easy, my unofficial, secret queen!” he taunted, walking towards the copper tub in nothing but his birthday suit.  He grabbed a simple tunic and threw it on before starting towards the door.  Opening it, he started addressing the guard, “find one of the chamber maids.  Alert them that my wife and myself would like a hot bath drawn.”

“I’m not going to bathe with you, Aegon!”

“You will do what I say,” he reminded her, “now…do you wish to lay naked, tied to the bed when the chamber maid comes in, or are you going to be civil?  Because if you can promise that you will be civil I will allow you to throw on one of my tunics for modesty’s purposes.”

She looked away from him, unwilling to answer.

“Well?”

“I do not wish to be exposed.”

“Good,” he nodded.  He reached towards the bedside stand and reached for a dagger.  Tucking it underneath the rope, Daemhyra didn’t move as he cut away the bondage and turned towards the closet once more to grab her a tunic, “all it takes is for you to-“

“Not another word!” Daemhyra uttered.

In the simple time that it had taken him to put the dagger back down and turn to grab a tunic, Daemhyra had grabbed it and was now pointing it towards Aegon.

“You would really kill your king?”

“You are not my king, Aegon!” she said firmly, “and I am no queen.  I am a warrior who was forced to marry a sniveling baby!”

“Be careful with your words,” he answered, “wife or not, if you cross some lines it could be considered treason!”

“Oh no, cousin,” Daemhyra replied, with a shake of her head, “you had your chance to kill me and you refused to take it…I know where your priorities lie...they lay with you and wetting your pathetic cock”

“What about Aemond?” he asked, knowing that it was a sore subject for her, “are you really going to leave him behind to run off to Dragonstone? I assume you're heading to Dragonstone to be protected by your father? He's the only one that is stupid enough to take you in once word is received around the realm that you are a traitor.”

"Go to hell..."

"You know, I should think that right about now, Aemond must have gone along with my letter and is promised to one of the lord's daughters," he taunted, "I think as though he might be relieved when he finds out just how much of a whore his wife was when she married me and took my cock for nearly a week before running away!"

“He made his choices, Aegon…and now I must make mine!”

He went to step forward, and she whipped the blade around, catching his arm and slicing it open.  Aegon wailed out in pain, and she whistled. 

Shaedowir appeared at the window, his large eyes looking into the chambers to see his rider in distress. 

“Stay!” she commanded, running towards the window as the guards flung the door open. 

“DON’T HURT HER!” Aegon commanded throughout his pain as she managed to make it out the window and onto her dragon’s back.

Daemhyra could make out the crown even before she had managed to land. 

Outside in the courtyard, she could see her birth mother staring at a pyre. 

Instinctively she felt her stomach turn. 

Someone was already dead. 

The people of Dragonstone looked up to the sky as she came into their line of vision.  Had she not had both Shaedowir and Wynstrun, she was sure that they would have attempted to shoot her down.  But her dragons made everyone aware of who the rider in the sky was as she started her descent. 

A shiver ran down her spine when she caught the sadness in everyone’s eyes as she slid off of Shadeowir’s back.   She’d reached for her satchel and held it close to herself, feeling for the two eggs that were warm. 

Her father stood stock still, not daring to step towards her. 

Even her grandmother, Rhaenys stood with her other granddaughters. 

But it was her birth mother who made the first move, running towards Daemhyra.

"My child!" She broke down into tears, sobbing as she wrapped her arms around her own first born, "oh Daemhyra...my child. You are alive!"

Daemhyra didn’t know how to react. 

She and her mother were never really close. 

But she could tell that she needed her.

"Wh-what's going on?" she asked gently, looking at the somber expressions of her family, "who is that pyre for? I do not see a body."

“Your brother, Lucerys, is dead, Daemhyra.”

The cement that felt like it was in the pit of her stomach suddenly disappeared as she pulled away to look at her mother, “Wh-what?  Lucerys is dead?”

“Prince Aemond and his dragon Vhagar killed him…just a few hours ago.  Vhagar swallowed him and Arrax whole,” she admitted, “Aemond killed your brother, Daemhyra.”

Her lips parted, and she didn't know what to say. Rhaenyra gave her a solemn, but relieved look as she took her hands in her own, "we have lost your brother...but I was worried when I received word from King's landing of your status. Rhaenys said you helped her escape, and I feared that your head might already be on a pike..."

"I-I'm not dead," she mutterred quickly, exposing the swell of her stomach and the eggs within the satchel that had been hidden beneath her thick winter cloak, "Aegon forced me to marry him...but I'm carrying Aemond's child...because he and I wed of the old rites...I-"

"You're carrying his spawn?" Jacerys scowled, glaring at his elder sister, "and you came here? To Dragonstone?"

"Jacery-"

Her younger brother unsheathed his sword, his nostrils flaring as his rage unwound. Off in the distance Daemhyra could hear his dragon bellowing, "cut the bastard from her belly and send it back to him in pieces...make an examp-"

"She is your sister!" Rhaenyra growled, immediately holding her daughter close to herself, "you will not harm any member of our family that is here."

"She let him fuck her!"

Daemon stepped forward, unsheathing his own sword, "put away your weapons, Jacerys...I will not tell you a second time. You will not raise a sword to my daughter."

"Please..." Daemhyra begged softly as she stepped out from her mother's shadow, "I have no ill will towards you Jacerys...I came to the one place that I know I can count on everyone."

"And what of your precious husband?" he growled, "the one that killed Luke?"

"As far as I'm concerned, he made his choice when he went to Lord Borros on Vhagar and he left me and our babe behind. Ancient rites or not...I have no husband now." she answered firmly, looking at her younger brother. When he didn't respond she turned towards her mother and father, giving them each a firm look, "tell me how I can help. We're going to destroy that usurper and everyone that stands in our way..."

Daemon nodded to his daughter, putting his sword up in the air, "all hail Queen Rhaenyra. The rightful queen of the realm!"

"All hail Queen Rhaenyra!" everyone chanted over the roaring pyre.

[cowboybrunch]

What's gods will bleed? (From your wipes)

(lots of interest in this one, maybe i should start working on it again lol) i talked a little about it here but here's a summary:

starts with fmc and family celebrating over her being chosen as an "acolyte" to the gods. she's excited, thinks it's an honor, but she's scared of leaving her family so the night before she's meant to depart she takes a walk thru the woods to clear her head

ends up getting kidnapped and locked up by a mysterious man that seems oddly concerned about her wellbeing for a kidnapper. she learns that all of the gods' "chosen ones" are actually sacrifices taken as retribution for their ancestor's impertinence— and her ancestor was the worst of them

I blow out a breath. “The Godsthief.” I rack my brain and can only recall the barest details. It was a story told to me only once by my father. A warning, a fable. “She was born into a family that wasn’t blessed by magic. She was jealous so she traveled to (GODS HOME) and begged them for a sliver of power. They refused. She got angry and stole… something from them, and it gave her power.” “She stole a relic,” he corrects. “From Aena herself. A pendant.” I nod. “But then she got greedy. She went back and took Kuna’s dagger, and then Imera’s circlet and Odall’s longsword. The gods found out and they punished her.” I raise my eyebrows. “How’d I do?” “Awful,” he chides. “You must’ve been a terrible student.”

“They gave some of the humans small amounts of magic, and now they wanted to see how it would sustain them. The problem, though, is that the humans were clumsy and untrained. The gods shoved a seed of power into them and did not teach them how to water it. So for the most part, the humans died.” "This isn’t the version I was told.” “Of course it isn’t. Because they killed Elena and wrote the history as they saw fit. But I’m getting ahead of myself.” (The story goes that Elena stole the relics and used them to help her people, and then hid them. In retribution, the gods demanded a sacrifice of one magic wielder every quarter century to keep the humans weak and remind them of their powerlessness.)

she's in denial at first but then (something that i havent figured out yet) ignites* her desire for vengeance and she goes on a quest to find Aena's pendant and finish her ancestor's quest

*she has fire magic so. a little pun for you

thank you for the ask! <3

[kimiehashobbies]

Night time greetings ladybugs,

Im feel so much better! Just had to work through some melancholy but im back at it. I have not done much working out this week but thats ok. What matters is im back on schedule tomorrow.

Something good I focused on during my low mood period: I finished interlocking my locs. I have microlocs so it always takes me 3-7 days. I really try to take my time. I recently cut off 3 rows in the back. My hair is fine and soft in the back in particular so it wasnt doing well in the loc style. Im going to just leave it alone. Just do wash and go in the back for it. Its a good reminder that sometimes we have to go with the flow. People wont like it but thats ok. I've had locs since October 2019. Its been amazing and freeing. I wear my hair for me now. Im comfortable with all the imperfections. I started them myself and maintain them myself. I learned from watching youtube videos. Im probably going to dye my hair again soon. I'll show pics when I finally do it. Im trying to pick a color. I didnt like dyeing my roots so i wont be doing that again. I like a soft dark brown eyebrow and root. Looks better to me.

I also got more yard work done. We are going to start spreading seeds. Its been over run with weeds but the worst part is the stickers. Awful for all of us but mostly our Luca. Im going to work really hard this spring to get the yard growing.

Not too much else has happened. Im back at it with my fitness, art and writing now that my mood has gotten optimistic! I have an idea for a comic book and thats what im working on for my art. Im casually drawing my 1st comic strip (i have 4 ideas) i hope i can get that first strip out this month. My timeline is kind of off a little. I haven't written at all in 2 weeks. Im picking that back up. I should've had this first idea done but I get so in my head about if its good enough. I'll never know if it is good enough unless i finish. Oh and also, I have not even looked at my Banjo so...... I take full accountability I failed at that goal.

Just a piece of wisdom I've learned is that opportunity wont just magically come without inner work. I've had beautiful ideas in my mind for at least a decade but I've always had self doubt and I'm an expert at self sabotaging. I have to get this creativity out there because its what i love and its who i am. Sometimes it is you yourself that holds you back. 2024 im done hiding, I will start this creative journey and document it the whole way through. I've got this and I want this. I believe in me and thats where action starts.

Ladybugs if you feel called to do something, just do it. The regret from not doing it sooner (or at all) will eat away at you. You cant fail if you dont try, BUT (but, but, but) you cant succeed either. You gotta believe in you and be your biggest fan.

As my favorite poet Jermaine Cole wrote "There's beauty in the struggle..."

🫶🏾🐞Kimie