#small electric pickup truck

[sealioninternationaltrade]

Affordable and Efficient: Small Electric Pickup Trucks Explained

In recent years, the automotive industry has seen a surge in interest and development towards electric vehicles (EVs), including the compact yet powerful segment of small electric pickup trucks. These vehicles combine the practicality of a pickup truck with the efficiency and eco-friendliness of electric propulsion, making them increasingly popular among urban dwellers and eco-conscious consumers alike.

Eco-Friendly Driving with Zero Emissions

One of the primary appeals of small electric pickup trucks, such as those offered by SEA LION INTERNATIONAL TRADE CO., Ltd, is their environmental friendliness. Unlike traditional gasoline-powered trucks that emit harmful pollutants, electric pickups produce zero tailpipe emissions. This feature not only helps reduce carbon footprints but also contributes to cleaner air in urban areas where air quality is often a concern.

Compact Size, Surprising Utility

Despite their smaller footprint compared to full-sized pickups, these electric trucks boast impressive utility. With advancements in battery technology and electric motors, manufacturers have been able to maximize interior space and payload capacity without compromising on efficiency. This makes them ideal for daily urban commutes, weekend adventures, and light-duty hauling tasks.

Cost-Effective Operation and Maintenance

Electric vehicles are known for their lower operating costs compared to gasoline counterparts, and small electric pickup trucks are no exception. They typically have fewer moving parts, reducing maintenance needs and costs over the vehicle's lifetime. Additionally, the cost of electricity is generally lower than gasoline, translating into savings at the pump for owners.

Advanced Technology and Connectivity

Modern small electric pickups come equipped with state-of-the-art technology and connectivity features. From touchscreen infotainment systems to advanced driver-assistance systems (ADAS) like lane-keeping assist and adaptive cruise control, these trucks offer a blend of comfort, convenience, and safety. Some models even incorporate smart charging capabilities that allow users to monitor and control charging remotely via smartphone apps.

Charging Infrastructure and Range

One of the initial concerns for electric vehicle adopters was the availability of charging infrastructure. However, with the rapid expansion of charging networks globally, charging small electric pickup trucks has become more convenient than ever. Many models offer fast-charging capabilities, allowing drivers to recharge their vehicles quickly during stops or at designated charging stations. As battery technology continues to evolve, so does the range of these vehicles, providing sufficient mileage for both urban and suburban use.

Style and Customization Options

Beyond their functional advantages, small electric pickup trucks also offer a range of style and customization options. Manufacturers understand the importance of personalization for consumers, offering various exterior colors, interior trims, and accessory packages to suit individual tastes and preferences. This customization not only enhances the vehicle's appeal but also allows owners to make a statement while driving a sustainable and efficient vehicle.

Conclusion

In conclusion, small electric pickup trucks represent a compelling option for consumers seeking a blend of affordability, efficiency, and practicality in their next vehicle purchase. With advancements in technology, expanding charging infrastructure, and a growing selection of models from leading manufacturers, these trucks are poised to play a significant role in the future of urban mobility. Whether you're looking to reduce your environmental impact, lower your operating costs, or simply enjoy the latest in automotive innovation, small electric pickups offer a versatile solution that meets modern-day transportation needs.

Blog Resources:- https://sealioninternationaltrade.blogspot.com/2024/07/affordable-and-efficient-small-electric.html

[uhohdad]

I know how specific this might sound so don't please don't hesitate to let this ask brew for a bit!: I'm wondering how loser!König would fair with a southern transmasc reader? Someone who's clearly backwoods country,but also cuntry, ya know? Ain't much to do other than swim in the rivers if your lucky,or check out nature if your not wanting to see the small towns scattered between said nature. Love love love your writings ofc,keep up the amazing work!

This is incredibly specific. I love it. Okay here we go I hope this tickles your fancy. Prob could be enjoyed by everyone.

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☆ Loser!König was intrigued with you right from the start. He’s never met anyone like you before.

☆ He feels so comfortable with you. It was like he could tell you anything, and you’d just nod along. Not even so much as quirking an eyebrow at the odd things he says as you wade your ankles into the creek, hunting for crawdads to make friends with, just for the fun of it.

☆ He felt like he was swept off his feet, it’s amazing how such a simple lifestyle can feel so… magical, so thrilling. A whirlwind adventure that’s makes him feel alive, but simultaneously gives him a cozy, relaxing warmth foreign to him.

☆ (He’s not really sure if it’s the lifestyle, or if it’s just you.)

☆ You were so down to earth, so genuine, and you’d accepted König for who he was. His infatuation with you started here, and snowballed rapidly, and before he knew it he was in too deep.

☆ Funny, too. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s laughed this hard, this much. It’s always a good time with you.

☆ The stargazing is his favorite part. Konig’s fingers threaded together and resting on his waist. Lying in the bed of your shoddy old pickup truck, the stars clear and beautiful in the middle of no where.

☆ It’s still hard to keep his focus on the stars when you’re right next to him, your arms folded to use your hands as a pillow, shoe absentmindedly swirling as you soak in the night sky. He can’t help the way his eyes are lingering. How his head keeps tilting to admire you, taking you in as you lay.

☆ It’s the beer, he thinks. He’s had too much. Flushing his cheeks and giving him that warm feeling in his chest.

☆ No, maybe it’s the atmosphere. It’s so romantic out here, just you and him and the night sky.

☆ No, it’s definitely you.

☆ He wants to leave his old life behind, he wants to stay out here with you forever. He wants to chase this feeling, he wants to chase you.

☆ The air between you is electric. He can’t stop thinking about how he wants to touch you. How badly he wants to hold your hand, how he has the overwhelming urge to kiss you. As he stares at you, he can’t help but wonder if you feel it too.

☆ He’s thinking about you sliding on top of him, straddling him. Grinding down on him, teasing him, his hands on your hips as you revel in his needy whines and moans. He wants you to take him - right here, right now

☆ The thought alone is enough to bring his cock to attention.

☆ “See something you like, handsome?”

☆ A cheeky grin spreads thick as you side-eye him, watching him snap his head back to the night sky, as if that was going to save him, as if you haven’t been feeling the burn of his stare this entire time.

☆ You got him, successfully flustered him, he’s sure he’s ruined it.

☆ “Well, don’t play shy now.”

☆ He doesn’t even know what to say, tongue-tied and trying to put out the heat just under his skin, but he’s only fanning the flame.

☆ He’ll carefully meet your gaze, his mouth dry and his lips twisted in worry.

☆ “S’okay.”

☆ He gives a shaky nod, hoping it’s dark enough out here that you can’t see the glow on his cheeks.

☆ A hand slips from behind your head, elbow propped up on the ribbed tailbed, wrist limp as you offer your hand.

☆ Konig swallows, eyes wide and flitting between your hand and your eyes, twinkling as they reflect the stars.

☆ “Don’t make it weird, dude. Just hold my stupid hand.”

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆ ・・・・

ੈ✩

[gyllenhaalstories]

FIREWORKS — JOHN KINLEY 🎆

summary: does john ever feel like a plastic bag drifting through the wind, wanting to start again? yeah, probably. but this fic isn't about john's existential crisis. it's about keeping his mind occupied during the fireworks of the 4th of july.

warnings: smut (teasing, masturbation, fingering, edging, orgasm control, penetration, outdoors sex). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 2680

gifs credits: @/pedropcl (cropped) / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: i finally wrote for john (big thanks go to @sizzlingcloudmentality for helping me out with your amazing suggestions)! it's not the idea i've attempted to write like 4 times, but it's an idea. that's gotta count for something 🫡 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

"The truck is loaded and ready to go." John's smile faded when he saw the new bags waiting for him by the front door.

"Just in case." You justified without being prompted to.

"We're leaving for the weekend, honey." He bent over to unzip one of the kaki Duffel bags, he pulled out several mismatched fuzzy socks. "We don't need all that. Wait... Is that a candle?"

You nodded proudly when he held up the glass jar. "We agreed to have a relaxing weekend getaway. Candles are relaxing. Look! That's your favourite scent too!"

He grinned at the attention and closed the bag after securing the candle deep into the clothes you packed just in case. He stood up with the bag on his shoulder. He held on the strap with one hand and grabbed yours with the other, dragging you out of the house before you came up with the idea to bring the appliances too.

John shut the tailgate and walked around the pickup truck to open your door, making sure you got in just fine. After a peck on your cheek, he closed the door and made his way to the driver's seat.

"Do you think there's gonna be a lot of traffic?" You buckled your seat belt at the same time as John did. "People go crazy around this time of year." John shot you a look that meant to say when did they not?

"We're not taking the highway." He engaged on the street and made a few turns you did not recognize as your usual route.

You trusted him. He knew his away around endless deserts and bushy hills, this would be no different especially since John had helped you to plan this weekend getaway. You found a secluded Bed and Breakfast, hours away from the house. It seemed cozy, you were lucky to reserve a room during the busy weekend.

The village was so small, there was not a single activity planned for the Fourth of July. You could have told him you were both going camping without electricity or running water and he would have accepted the invitation. He would have accepted anything just to escape.

Your mind wandered while John kept driving into the sunset. You wondered what food they would serve for breakfast, what the backyard would look like. You hoped they had a garden. You wondered if this would become a yearly tradition, where the managers would recognize you and fold your towels into pretty swans before your arrival. You hoped it did. You wondered what John was thinking about, you turned your head to admire him.

He felt your gaze on him, he grinned. "Everything alright? Did we forget something?" He marked a pause, he turned on a different road. "Let me guess, you wanted to bring the lawn mower?"

"We don't even have a lawn mower."

"Shit, we forgot to buy one?" He chuckled. "The trip is ruined."

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his laughter. A rare treat. A smile lingered on his lips, growing wider when he set his hand on your thigh. Your hand covered his and your eyes did not leave his handsome face for dozens of miles.

He could feel you were getting bored. He was too, quite frankly. At a certain point, the scenery blended into one blurry painting of trees and run-down houses. He knew the destination was well worth the hours of driving, but he would not despise a change of view. In the meantime, John distracted himself with caresses and squeezes on your thigh. One moment his hand was down to your knee, but then it would move back up and his fingers would attempt to disappear between your thighs.

You shifted on your seat, trying not to let those touches get to you too quickly. You still had a long way to go, but if John kept teasing you it would be impossible to resist. His hand hovered until you settled down so he could place it back on your thigh with a firm grip. You spotted a lonesome traffic light in the distance.

"Is everything alright?" John asked again, glancing in your direction with a faint frown.

"It will be soon." You said with a smirk that did not go unnoticed.

John looked ahead, squeezing your thigh harshly. His hand pushed further up, but you closed you legs around him too tight to let him move. He scrunched his nose at the sudden, but small, frustration.

Your prayers for the green light to turn red were heard and you unbuckled your seat belt as soon as the truck went immobile. "Unlock the door." You demanded.

John did not budge, pretending he did not hear you.

"Unlock the door, please."

The lock clicked. You slid down the passenger seat, your skirt riding up while you did so. John watched you while you slammed one door, opened another. He turned his head while you clumsily climbed on the back seat of the truck.

"Nothing wrong with being the passenger princess," You answered the question he did not dare to ask. "I just wanted a little more space."

His face was still lit up by a bright red hue when you found a comfortable position. John put two and two together, indulging in your shenanigan without any hesitation. He focused on the road again, darting his eyes on the rear view mirror. "A little more to the left," you scooted. "Perfect."

The light turned green and the engine roared while John kept driving. You pulled on the the seat belt so it was loosely attached around you, giving you plenty of room to move. You spread your legs open, finding a position that was both comfortable for you and easy to admire for John.

"You're playing with fire." John scoffed.

"No, I'm trying to distract you from the fireworks." You corrected him and earned a grin in response. "The least you can do is say thank you."

"I'll thank you when I'll be satisfied with my distraction." You leaned forward, a playful slap landed on his shoulder. "Hey!" He adjusted the mirror so it hit the right angle, then he winked at you.

You sat against the large back seat. You ran your hands over your thighs, in the places John had touched. "How much time do we have left?"

John flicked his wrist, trusting his military watch more than the clock of the truck. "About an hour." He estimated based off the number of miles indicated on the last road sign.

Your fingertips drew abstract patterns on the inside of your thighs, approaching close to your core. You hummed, thinking about a plan to make the fun last. Your breath hitched when you reached the wet fabric of your panties.

John's breath hitched too when he caught a glimpse of you, staring at him while you pushed your panties to the side. He missed what happened next as the road became sinuous for a moment.

You brought your middle finger to your lips and licked it, eyes still glued on your man. The pad of your wet finger pressed on your clit. You moaned out his name while you began to rub in circular motions.

He caught you while your head fell against the back of the seat. His own jaw dropped slowly while he watched the expression on your face as you picked up the pace. The pickup veered into the other lane for a quick second, John straightened it up.

You stopped abruptly. "Be careful." You warned him.

"You're being dangerous." He warned you, too. He gave you time to settle down, to get further lost into your pleasure after your heart had skipped a beat in fear.

He stared ahead, now you were the one watching him. You watched as John blinked slowly. As his knuckles turned white from the tight grip on the steering wheel. As his Adam's apple bopped while he swallowed thickly. As a loose strand of hair escaped the sunglasses perched up on his head.

His voice drew you out of your fixation. You made him repeat himself.

"You're not cumming 'til i say so." Somehow, that did not make you stop. You rubbed more, more, more, and you pulled away right on the edge of your orgasm. "Good luck with that, babe. 'Cause we both know you won't last."

You exhaled, coming down from your first edge. "We both know you won't last either."

John's silence proved you right. Though he showed more patience and restraint than you expected. He coaxed you through some of your edges, reminding you to pull away at the right time and telling you that "you look so fuckin' pretty for me, that's it, fuck yourself good".

The more praise you earned, the harder it became to hold back. His words toyed with your mind, making it so incredibly difficult to not give in. To listen to his order and not cum until he commanded you to. This particular edge gave you a rough time, your fingers barely stroked your clit that you were about to burst into an explosive orgasm. You tensed on your seat, eyes shut and with a breath stuck.

John glanced at the mirror and saw you. He saw you were about to tip over the edge. It was written all over your face that you could no longer resist your own release. "Don't you fucking dare." He clenched his jaw and pulled over in a swift turn of the steering wheel. You shifted in your seat, causing you to stop at the perfect time. "You're not cumming. Not without me." He put on the brakes and lost no time to get out of the vehicle.

"Took you long enough." You spoke when the door opened before you. John reached into the car to remove the seat belt. He gave you a stern look that made you smile from ear to ear. He was just so fun to mess around with, until he was not... But you did not feel like pushing his limits too much tonight. You could save that for another time.

John helped you to scoot closer to the edge of the seat, he stopped you from closing your thighs together. Finally, he could touch what he had been craving. His fingers worked you close to another edge. And another. And another. Until you were writhing for him on the seat, until he was sure you had left a damp spot on it. He wanted to test your limits, just a bit, just for fun.

"No, no, no." You gripped on his forearm, trying to pull him away.

He grunted in satisfaction, you followed his command and he did not even need to remind you. "That's my good girl." He captured your lips with his, his beard tickled your skin. Like a magnet, he attracted you out of the pickup until your feet met the ground.

His tongue explored your mouth while his hands gripped on your hips. The second you pulled away to catch your breath, he made you spin on your feet. The buckle of his belt rattled while he rushed to pull down his pants and underwear just below his ass.

You bunched up your skirt for him, propped your leg up on the step. You earned a low, rumbling grunt as a reward when he pushed his cock in your wet pussy. In return, you moaned out his name again and caused him to bottom out inside of you.

"Got yourself ready for me, huh? Is this what you wanted all along?" The bruising grip of his rough hands on your hips made you wince. "You wanted to get fucked by the side of the road like a whore." He pulled out, then rammed himself all the way back in. "That's so cute."

His left hand abandoned your hip to travel up your sides then your shoulder. Until he found the back of your head, he pressed you down against the seat. With his other hand, he guided you to meet his thrusts. At any moment, someone could drive by. Not that you had seen many cars thus far, but it was a possibility. It added a whole new dimension that both John and you found pleasure in.

The show you gave him from the back seat, paired with palming himself over his pants, had gotten him riled up to the point he knew he would not last long. He wasted no time and enjoyed the feeling of your clenching walls to the fullest.

"Just like that! Keep... Fuck! Keep going." You snaked a hand underneath your body until your fingertips reached your clit, barely brushing over it to take you closer to your release.

Suddenly, John’s thrusts stopped. He turned his head to the side and watched as the sky was illuminated in the distance by red, white and blue fireworks. He took a second to admire them then he continued to fuck you, picking up the pace. So that you would moan louder. And louder. And louder. Until you were all he could hear.

The skin of your ass slapped against his thighs, adding to the obscene sounds. Your noises covered up the explosions of the fireworks.

"Thank you." John broke the silence, slowing down. He dragged his hips back and forth, making you feel every inch of him.

"What for?" You mumbled. You revelled in the way John’s cock stretched your tight pussy. Your slick walls clenched on him even more.

He punctuated his thrusts with grunts. He leaned forward, pressing down on your back and trapping you against the car seat. He whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "For being a good distraction."

"Good enough to let me cum?" Your voice cracked.

"Damn right." John smiled on your cheek while he pressed a kiss on it. "Cum for me, let me feel you."

The sky turned pitch-black again as if nothing happened. As if the fireworks travelled all the way to your core while you came for John. Stars spun around your head, you still saw them when you closed your eyes.

John saw them too when he spilled his cum inside of you, coating your walls white. He stilled, replacing the sound of your skin slapping by his addictive grunts of pleasure. Slowly, he stood up straight, careful not to his his head against the door frame. He was even more careful when you did the same, his hand protecting the back of your head.

"Well..." You chuckled, coming down from your high. "The whole point was to avoid the fireworks. Should we just cancel and drive back home?" You would be disappointed not to visit the Bed and Breakfast, but you would understand if John preferred to stay home.

The unpleasant thought of unpacking the multitude of bags you lovingly forced him to bring along crossed his mind. His lips curled into an upside-down smile. "Let's just keep driving." He glanced down at your wrinkled skirt. His hands disappeared under them to rip your panties from you as you gasped at the gesture. With a proud grin, he walked around the pickup and sat behind the wheel again.

You regained your place as the passenger princess. Your eyes were glued on John as he engaged back on the road. He pressed a button, the window on his left slid open. He stuck his hand out and, with a shit eating smirk on his face, he let them go. Your panties drifted through the wind.

He chuckled when you abruptly turned to look at the side mirror. You distinguished a drop of red on the blackness of the asphalt that blended with the sky. You scoffed in disbelief while your panties disappeared into the landscape.

John's hand regained its place on your thigh, more so between your thighs. He groaned at the soft, slick skin under his fingertips. He dragged his hand up until it reached the familiar heat of your core. "Yeah, let's just keep going."

[villainofmyownstory]

Day Zero

chapter 1: The First One

masterlist taglist

-> Next

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x plus size fem!reader

summary: Ghost and his dog Riley regularly patrol the city. A man has his own routine, every day, for almost 2 years, has to look the same. The man knows that he cannot change his behavior because deep down he still feels that someone will answer his radio signal. He doesn't lose hope. However, exactly 730 days after "Day Zero", no one shows up at the transmitter mast. Just when you finally get there. You've been trying to get here for weeks, seeing a tower in the distance. You needed electricity, and the tower had a source of light every night. And so each of you, individually, still thinks that you are the only one alive.

Chapter 1: The First One

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Day 729

Ghost & Riley

5:43 a.m., the black Gamin watch on the man's right hand started ringing. In exactly 25 minutes, the sun will rise and Ghost will be able to leave the safety of his home and begin his daily routine.

This morning is definitely warmer than the previous ones. Getting out of bed, the man decides that in the evening he will cover some of the solar panels, so that excess energy for heating will no longer be needed. He preferred to keep some panels unused in case others failed. He couldn't find any more panels in the city, so unfortunately he had to settle for the few he found in recent months.

Riley ran to the man's leg, growling quietly, he had been extremely excited since the morning.

“What's up Riley?” Ghost stroked the dog behind the ear and spoke softly to him.

This dog had been the only living thing he could talk to for almost two years. It was actually a monologue, but Ghost knew that his beloved dog understood him and even though they didn't speak the same language, they understood each other perfectly.

The man also knew that he had to try to remain civilized, speaking, listening and behaving as he had before Day Zero. After years in the army, he remembered what soldiers released after years of captivity looked like. Who were locked in isolation for long months in small, dark cells. They were quickly losing their minds.

And he had to remain human. Despite everything.

Every day, after getting up and taking a quick bathroom break, Ghost would do some exercises to wake up. And be in good shape all the time. Unfortunately, his supplies of black tea were slowly running out and surprisingly there were few tea lovers in this damn city. He never drank coffee, so physical activity had to be enough for him to overcome sleepiness.

Once he put on his old military clothes and took his gun from the safe, he headed to the kitchen, taking a few military biscuits that he used to eat during his morning routine.

"Riley come on, it's time for patrol" the dog wagged his tail and ran to his master, waiting for Ghost to put a tactical harnesses and leash on him.

On his way out, Ghost checked the surveillance cameras he had installed around the house. The area looked like any other day. Intact. For a split second he felt disappointed, he was under the illusion that he was not the only one alive in this world.

Getting into the black Ford Ranger pickup truck, he checked the gas level in the canisters in the back and the air in the tires. Everything was in order. When Riley jumped on the back trunk and Ghost checked if the dog was safe, he got into the car and slowly drove away, looking around the surrounding area. Today he was going to the eastern part of the city, there were a few houses on the outskirts that he didn't check. As the days were getting longer, he could afford to travel further and plunder new abandoned houses.

When he reached one of his checkpoints, Riley on the trunk started barking and wanted to jump down to the ground. The man, concerned about the dog's behavior, quickly stopped at one of the dead ends. The dog barked and wagged his tail, staring as if in a trance, his attention focused towards the west.

“Riley calm down, Riley!”

Ghost quickly jumped onto the trunk and grabbed the dog by the collar, trying to calm animal down and direct its attention to himself. The dog barked louder and louder and suddenly growled in a way he had never heard before. Ghost froze, he had never seen such aggression from his dog before.

“Riley, sit down. Riley!”

man's voice trembled with growing fear, despite this he tried to pronounce the commands in a loud and decisive tone. Ghost was afraid that the dog might have gotten sick, maybe he had been bitten by some sick animal during one of the patrols in a new area and the wound was so small that Ghost he missed it. Even though he checked Riley every day after every patrol. He couldn't lose his only family member. Only friend.

Suddenly the dog calms down. He sat on his hind legs and, panting slightly, looked at his owner with peace in his eyes

“Bloody hell Riley, what the fuck was that?”

Ghost shook his head disapprovingly, looking up at the dog, patting it on the belly and stroking it for a while. After making sure that the dog had calmed down, the man returned to the car and drove again, glancing at the dog in the rear-view mirror from time to time. Fortunately, the rest of the journey passed peacefully, without any strange incidents.

Ghost drove in silence with the car windows open, looking around the suburbs. The eastern part of the city was mainly inhabited by elites, wealthier people from the upper classes.

Was.

Ghost, remembering his old life, felt that he didn't miss it. Money, power, fame. He never aspired to it and didn't need it, but in connection with his work he often had contact with rich people and it was difficult for him to come to terms with them. He could never get along with them. So now, after so many days since Day Zero, looking at the empty large villas, he smiled to himself. People had so much in the past, they were concerned with getting rich, making more and more money. And what did they need it for? Now they were all dead. And large houses and expensive cars stood empty, deteriorating under the influence of the seasons.

When the former soldier reached the house he had last checked, he parked close to a large tree so that the car was hidden in the shade. He opened the trunk lid for Riley to jump down and search the front and back of the house first. Nothing really bad ever happened, no evil awaited them during the day.

But Ghost wanted his four-legged friend to feel important and appreciated. If only his life would be no different from the one before Day Zero. Even though the man was not sure whether the dog had previously served in the army, from the first day they met the man checked and was happy to find that Riley was well trained. Its previous owner must have taken care of it. Ghost was very grateful to this person.

Whoever that person was.

When the dog returned happily wagging his tail and meekly stood next to the man's right leg, it was a signal that the area was checked and safe. Ghost took a bag of raw meat from his tactical vest pocket and gave a piece of it to the dog as a reward

“Good boy” as he said this he patted the dog affectionately on the head and added

“Watch the door Riley, I'll be right back.”

Ghost easily entered the white house, which was small compared to other houses in the area. Knowing that the owners would not come back to it anyway, he simply broke the glass in the door and turned the lock from the inside.

It took him less than 10 minutes to search the house, and as he thought, unfortunately for him, he found nothing important. It was one of those houses where wealthy owners come for a few days a year when they had to do something in the city. Ghost found some bandages, batteries, two cans of beans and a package of pasta. He packed everything into a backpack and took a large pillow from the couch.

Something for Riley.

Leaving the villa, he looked around the area, the sun was shining more and more strongly and Ghost basked in the sun for a few seconds, closing his eyes for a moment. Waiting for Riley to run up to him. However, none of this happened.

"Riley, come on..."

Ghost said calmly, patting his thigh to encourage the dog to come to him.

Silence. No movement.

“Oh, come on boy, I've got something for you..” the soldier opened his eyes and stepped off the porch, looking around the front lawn.

For the first time in over 700 days, Ghost felt panic rising.

Riley was nowhere to be found.

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Day 730

You

The next day of walking was so tiring that you took each step slowly with a grimace on your face. Your feet are so injured that your white Converse shoes are not only dirty with dust and brown soil, but also have red stains on them.

You don't have the strength to walk anymore. You wipe the sweat from your forehead, straightening the old t-shirt that serves as a makeshift head cover. The days are getting hotter and the journey during the day is torture.

“Maybe I'll finally lose weight”

you mutter under your breath, standing in the shadow for a moment. The large billboard that stands in the western part of the city is slightly damaged. The advertisement for the movie, which premiered over two years ago, is slightly faded and torn.

You fan your face with your hand, hoping it will bring you some relief.

Even though almost two years have passed since Day Zero, you have not lost the excess weight, and walking in full sun was a real horror for you. Dropping your backpack at your feet, you take out a half-full bottle of water and take a few sips. Even the water in the bottle is warm.

You sigh and look around. Nevertheless, despite all the horror that took place so many days ago, the outskirts of this city do not look damaged or well-kept. Even in your previous life - as you call it - you had never been to this area. Maybe it would be worth looking around a bit, maybe you will find a working car. Or at least a bicycle.

The tingling and stinging in your feet constantly reminded you how hurt and bloody your feet were. But you had to get to the transmission tower. You had seen it for so many days and you knew there was electricity there. Even on a rainy night, the lights from the tower were visible from many miles away. You were hoping that you would be able to charge the electronics you collected two years ago and maybe you would finally hear a human voice. Some signal of life.

You couldn't be the only survivor on this earth.

After a moment of rest, you moved further west, the sun was shining stronger and higher. It must have been close to twelve o'clock. You wanted to reach the tower before sunset, hoping that apart from metal bars and many cables, there would be a technical building where you could spend the night and charge your equipment.

Life before Day Zero was kind and happy for you. However, after that day it was a fight for survival. You were suddenly alone, without family or friends. You were on your own for the first time in your life. And you weren't the survival type. You lived comfortably all your life and could count on family members. Walking towards the mast, you had time for further thoughts. After all, what else are you left with? You haven't seen a human in 2 years.

Alive, to be more precise.

You were having conversations in your head, speaking quietly to yourself every few days as if you were afraid that your vocal cords would grow together or that you would simply forget what it's like to be human. The silence of the desolate world scared you at first, sleepless nights and fear during the day accompanied you in the first year. It was only when you found a bigger city and nice, undamaged houses and moved into one of them, collecting found food and useful items, that you finally started to calm down and sleep through the nights.

However, when the batteries in the device ran out, the water in the tap stopped flowing, and the winter at home became so cold that you might as well have slept outside, because the temperature difference was practically negligible, you decided to head west.

One night, when a snowstorm and strong wind opened one window in the attic and you went to close it at least temporarily and secure it to prevent snow from entering the house, you noticed a flashing light on the horizon in the distance.

At first you thought it was just a hallucination. Maybe you didn't eat enough or ate some spoiled food and your eyesight is playing tricks on you. But as you stood there and looked out the open window. To the west, a small light kept flickering in the distance. And the next day and the next. And finally the next week too.

When more than a month had passed and the weather had finally normalized, you decided to pack the most necessary items and go in that direction.

It had to be some kind of sign.

Some miracle.

During those nights when you were waiting for the weather to allow you to travel on foot, you imagined many scenarios. You felt excited and happy. Hope. Maybe you weren't the only living person in this world, maybe there were other people that close. This thought kept you alive.

Thanks to this thought, after so many days of traveling with injured legs, you were finally close to your destination. You had to get there and see with your own eyes that you weren't crazy after all and that the red and white tower was a signpost that someone maintained to let you know that he was also here, that he was alive.

When you finally reached the fence, you didn't even notice that your emotions and tiredness had won and tears were rolling down your cheeks.

You were so very happy. So close to the goal.

The gate to the tower was padlocked.

“Fuck!”

you screamed, struggling against the metal fence. You stood there sobbing, not knowing how to get to the other side. It was impossible to climb the fence. Firstly, it was too high, secondly, there was barbed wire at the top and thirdly, you physically couldn't do it. You were too fat to pull your body up over the fence.

When you finally calmed down and wiped your tears, you walked away from the fence and noticed that next to one of the fence posts there was a piece of paper attached with a red material.

You froze.

You quickly pulled a piece of paper from behind the ribbon and unwrapped the paper with trembling hands:

“If anyone is reading this, it means I'm not alone here. You survived just like me.

My name is Ghost.

I have shelter, food and other necessary items to survive. If you are looking for help, wait here. I come to the towers every day, every day of the year. Right at noon and I've been waiting for an hour..."

You quickly looked at your watch and froze… 12:23…. No, it's impossible, you've been here for a long time, you must have seen someone, you wanted to cry again. It can't be true that the only living thing, ironically calling itself Ghost, didn't show up today. Just when you came here. Maybe you missed each other? Maybe you were here for a few minutes after all. There was hope. You were supposed to spend the night here anyway, so if by some miracle you two missed each other, there was a chance to meet the owner of this letter tomorrow.

You looked at the piece of paper again:

“...and I've been waiting for an hour.

However, if you have no good intentions and are counting on your own survival, I have to worry you. In my previous life I killed more people than you can count, now, apart from things to survive, I have a weapon with me and I know how to use it quickly.

Wait here, and until I appear, don't be afraid, because you will hear and see my dog…Riley.”

With your heart beating strongly, you finished reading the letter.

Your mind didn't even have time to fully read the content of the letter when a large German shepherd ran out from the west wing of the fence, barking loudly.

This couldn't be true.

When you turned towards the dog, you froze.

“Oh my God…Riley…boy”

It was your dog. Who disappeared on Day Zero.

And now, after 730 days, he was running towards you.

Your beloved dog has been found.

[afrowrites]

Your (Super)Man

A Clark x Black! Reader Smallville imagine

Rating: Teen and Up

Word count: 995

Clark Kent, you older brothers best friend and your secret crush takes you to go see linkin park

Notes: I wrote this for a lovely new mutual @justalovelyblackgf Thank you so much for my first ask, here's to many more :))).

“Hey (Y/N),” Your favorite tall and handsome older brother’s best friend asks you, “I was wondering something.” 

You look at him quizzically “What?”

“I don’t know what it is but, it just surprises me that one of the prettiest girls I know has never dated,” he joked. Your cheeks heat up, you remember before that during a game of truth or dare you tell your class you never dated. There wasn’t really a chance to, you lived in the middle of nowhere smallville. Your choices were slim to none and when you’re black your dating pool is that much smaller.

“Well I mean it’s like no big deal, I plan on dating when I’m twenty-five,” you answered honestly, 

“That’s a real shame because I have two great front row tickets to go see linkin park.” 

You immediately start gushing “OH MY GOD, Clark how did you get these,” “I had a little help.” He winks. 

Clark is an all america salt of the earth good boy, but for whatever reason he was still a complete mystery to you. Maybe it was the allure of him being Pete’s best friend. But his kindness was certainly known to you.  When you had sprained your ankle in p.e he carried you to the nurses office. When you wanted to join a club he welcomed you into the journalism club. He has the most beautiful eyes and gorgeous lips that you just wanna- wait you're getting a bit ahead of yourself. 

“I’ll pick you up around six, That ok?” he cocks his head to the side when he asks you, looking sweet as ever.

“It’s a date.” you smile sweetly,

~You're getting ready (sorry I didn’t have a good transition for this)

You popped in your Destiny’s Child cd and started your I’m going on a date with the hottest guy I know outfit and makeup. But it’s linkin park so you wear a super cute navy blue baby tee with gray sleeves and some low rise flares, some midi gold hoops and a small gold necklace to go with it. 

“Y/N He’s outside.” Pete yells at you.

“Oh my gosh!”,You mumble under your breath. Then you yell “TELL HIM I’M NOT FINISHED”. 

“That’s a shame because you look perfect to me.  What else could you do?” he leans against the doorframe, shyly eyeing you.

“Oh God, h-hey clark,” You were spooked by him. “C’mon tiger, let’s go.” he nods his head towards the door.

“And uh, Bring Destiny we need something to do while I drive.” He winks.

You roll your eyes as you slip on your shoes.

He opens the passenger side of his dads red pickup truck, you’re a little short getting in so he takes your hand and gently lifts you up onto the seat. The warmth of his hand is electric in your palm. 

“Thanks,” you smile. He smiles back “No problem.” Like a man who’s just seen the stars.

The drive is fun as you two sing to Independent women, “You know everyone’s favorite is Beyonce but I’m a Kelly fan myself.” 

“Of course you are.” You chuckle softly.

You both get to the venue, hordes of half drunk teenagers line up to see the main event.

The opening acts start as you start jumping around enjoying the music, and suddenly you feel a set of hands around your waist. No they weren’t clarks hands like you would have liked. You smelled cheap beer on your neck. 

“Hey!” You immediately turned to see some acne-faced guy with frosted tips start grinding on you, “Cmon, babe I know girls like you like this stuff.” 

“Hey man, you need to back off!” Clark is steaming mad, “Look man your girl is fine you need to learn how to share.” 

Before Clark can even get a punch in, the guy is immediately on the ground. “For your information, his girl won’t be shared with anyone.” you spat, “So go take a long walk off a short pier.”

The crowd around you ooh’s an ahh’s, Until the main event finally came. Chester speaks to the crowd “Hey we just wanted to let y’all know that creeps are not allowed to any of our concerts, that being said will the pretty lady with the braids c’mon stage.”

“Oh My God, Clark he wants me!!!” You scream in his ear. “Well go up there pretty lady.” 

So there you were on stage dancing with Linkin Park, and Clark can only see your shining face, and cocoa butter skin. He sees your smile that’s brighter than any stage light in this whole place. 

Later you both go back to his car, and you both talk about the whole ordeal the whole time. However, it starts to rain hard.

“You know if your parents are ok with it, Ms and Pa would love to have you over?”, “Well you know I don’t like getting my hair wet so sure.”

You called your parents and reluctantly your father agreed, but in black dad fashion he made you promise to sleep on the couch and stay six feet away from Clark. 

He even called his parents who were fine with it, and after Martha warmed you up a nice cup of tea. You settled on the couch and thanked his parents goodnight. And as they went to bed before you could even close your eyes you hear.

“Hey,” it’s his whisper that startled you, “Wanna see my room?”

You obliged of course “So what is so great about clarks roo-” He cuts you off with a sweet kiss, “I’m sorry I really wanted to do that all night.” He sheepishly smiles.

But you don’t care, instead you go in for your turn deep and passionate, and then suddenly you wake up in a blue t-shirt with warm arms wrapped around you. And you didn’t know it yet, but you had just fallen in love with the man of steel.

[seat-safety-switch]

There's been a lot of talk about small towns in the news lately. If you believe the cultural hive mind, small towns have a unique and distinct way of life that just can't be found in big cities. Friends, I am here to tell you that the only thing you can find more of in small towns is parking, followed shortly by inexplicable multi-generational feuds. The latter idea bores me, so we're gonna talk about all the places you can cram a car when you live in the boonies.

Where I live, in a part of town that used to be called a suburb, back when the cops could drive through it without locking their doors and changing their hats, there's only a few places to park. Driveway. Street. Alley. Back yard, if you're frisky. Out in the Great Unknown, you can park right on your front yard if you so please. You can build a simulated junkyard on your back forty. Maybe shove your cars in something called an "out-building," which despite the name is not where you poop (it is, however, where mice poop.) This bounty of parking space means that you can acquire many, many cars and spend the majority of your life not having to move them for the street sweeper every alternating Tuesday.

So what does this mean? It means that rurals are hoarding all the cars. Without space pressure forcing you to get rid of, say, your 17th Dodge Omni, then it stands to reason that they will just stay there, slowly rotting into the ground. For this reason, I recommend that new car hunters visit the sticks in order to ask farmers to sell them their never-gonna-get-around-to-it hoopties.

Of course, there are some problems. If you roll around out there in a new electric car, or even a moderately clean pickup truck, you'll probably get shot at. They can smell the city slicker on you, and they know that cities are a hotbed of crimes, such as illegally parking, or turning right on a stop sign without coming to a complete stop first. You might be coming there to steal their precious shitboxes!

There is a solution, though. I've gotten ahold of one really shitty 1953 GMC pickup truck. There's no floors, there's not much of a bed, its tires are made out of rubber sourced from floor mats people forgot at the car wash, and the three-speed manual transmission is about as synchronized as the last time I tried to do karaoke. What it does have is honesty, though. You can drive right onto a farmer's property, park it amongst their shitty old pickup trucks, and wait until nightfall without anyone being the wiser. Have your pick! They won't even notice they're gone.

Just bring back the pickup truck. I need it back so I can sell it for way too much money to an authentic, hard-working rural politician who spends all his time in the city.

[kxxkiecxre]

Would you ever do soft sex + established relationship but with joon, pls? ❤️

ʚ✟⃛ɞ Highway to Heaven ʚ✟⃛ɞ K.N.J

PAIRING: Namjoon x reader

WARNINGS: unprotected sex, soft and cute. Absolutely adorable just like Namjoon.

GENRE: established Relationship.

NAMJOON was probably the most adorable person to ever grace this earth. His smile had your heart doing laps and your eyes softening. He was truly a blessing in disguise, and he was all yours to enjoy. So here he is, sprawled out with you underneath the glowing stars in the back of his pick up truck. The red and white checkered picnic cloth underneath you as he adjusted the white blanket over you. Your home behind you abandoned as you laughed in your very own new garden.

You finally bought a house. After many years of talking about it, you finally did it. A small cottage in a tiny country side with a loving and cute little farm. You had two goats, two (husband and wife as Namjoon calls them) sheep and one little lamb, and couple chickens. They were essentially your pets rather than farm animals. You both loved and cared for them like your lives depended on it.

He read to you the great gatsby, as you stared at him in pure love and awe. Forming a promising life with a beautiful man. A beautiful and gentle soul.

“I hope she’ll be a fool- that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.” He says, face clearly not agreeing.

“That’s a little demeaning isn’t it?” He mutters, looking at you.

You chuckle, “it’s just a book baby, don’t get yourself worked up.”

He looked a little confused, expecting you to be a little more angry with the lines of the book. Again, you just laughed, caressing the little lines formed in his forehead from his deep frown.

“Come on now Joon, you’re going to get wrinkles.” You continue chuckling.

Electric love by BORNS came on through the truck speakers, softly playing in the back ground as he scoffed in amusement, “I’ll quicker get wrinkles because of you woman.”

You gasped, throwing your head back in laughter as you wrapped your arm around his waist, “baby, maybe we should focus a little more on extending our little family, hm?”.

That seems to get him smiling as his cheeks blushed, head immediately twisting to look at you, “I love the sound of baby making”.

You snort in laughter as he hoists himself up above you, shutting you up with his lips. You continued chuckling into his lips as he smiled back, but your giggles quickly turned into soft moans as he dragged the tip of his cock along your pussy. Your clit still sensitive from your previous orgasm.

“I love you.” He kisses your neck as he slips into you smoothly.

“Ah fuck,” you gasped softly, “I love you too baby”.

Gently, he started a soft and rhythmic pace. Lips leaving wet kisses everywhere, all over your chest, neck face and breasts. Hips rolling into your own softly, you could feel him so deeply inside you. Kissing your cervix expertly and when he finally finds your sweet spot, he smirks, repeatedly hitting it as your moans picked up, breathy whines mixing with each other as he couldn’t get enough of your sweetness, kissing every inch of skin accessible to him.

He swore he’s never met anyone as precious to him as you. His body, whenever connected to yours, felt like it was empowered. Like both of your energies created this one huge ball of enigmatic power. He knew you were close, by the way you tightened around him, the way your cheeks blushed and your chest reddened. The way his name rolled of your tongue so sweetly was pushing him to his own release, and within a few more thrusts, for the first time in awhile both of you finish together.

“God I can never get enough of you” he chuckles, pulling out.

“I hope so, cause you’re stuck with me for life.”

He looked back at you as he rolled back onto his side of the pickup, pulling the blanket over you a little more, and the way he looked at you, was the way many women dreamed to be looked at by a man.

“So do you think you’re pregnant?”.

And though his iQ is high, sometimes he can be a little dumb, and by the way you’re laughing, he’s glad he is.

——————————————————

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this!!!

MASTERLIST

No copying, reposting (aside from reblogging), or translation or any form of recreation is allowed!!

[h-y-dontatme]

Obey Me! Set to Silent Mode

Summary: You have no way to charge your DDD in your very human home. Pairing: None, if you squint it could be read as GN!MC x Mammon Word count: 851 Warnings: angsty goodness, mentioned drinking, mentioned death, spoilers for chapter 16 and i guess chapter 20 A/N: A very short little dabble. I know canon says everyone keeps messaging and calling after MC returns home for the first time, but I like the idea that MC was really cut off from Devildom and has to work their way through it.

Mammon was promising some terribly stupid business idea for your return when your DDD died. Now it sits on your bedside table, right next to your actual phone. You know, the normal one that used normal, human electricity to connect you to all the people you know and some of the ones you loved. Earthly little pings probed you upon your return- rebirth- some concerned, some angry, but all keen on untangling the story of how you faked your death. Oh, it was like I’ve died and was reborn again, you’d joke over brunch. Your mimosa would sparkle against your lips, the tart sweetness of the orange juice covering the hint of bitterness; bottomless, bottoms up.

Sometimes, in the small hours of the morning, you imagine a devilish glow casting strange shadows across your bedroom wall. They’d dance in the pre-dawn light tempting you with wastefulness, but flee with your dreams as your mind finds your body.

Once you accidentally grabbed it instead of your functional, operational, and relevant human device. You caused something of a minor traffic jam standing in the middle of a busy intersection staring at it. Ruri-chan stares out with a sort of delusional optimism from the confines of her clear acrylic prison while the cross-walk sign blink threateningly. Behind her a Devildom lotto ticket and a coupon for Madam Scream’s Macaroons compete — unsuccessfully— for your attention.

The driver of the gray pickup truck lays on his horn and you skitter to the sidewalk. After a moment you realize you’ve gone the wrong way.

You were late to the psychic’s, but the old woman didn’t seem to mind. The bangles on her wrist jangled as she sits you at her little table in the back room where the sights and sounds of the outside world are caught between layers of velvet and dried eucalyptus. You supposed, in retrospect, that that should’ve been your first warning. No witch worth their cauldron would be caught dead with eucalyptus. She peers at your palm, then your tea leaves, them her cards with gentle scrutiny before surmising you had experienced a great loss. It was enough to knock some tears out of you, but the real crying would happen later, at home, relieved of some $30, burdened by the ever-growing guilt of having left Mammon on read.

Texting 666 on your regular, dinky, human phone did not work. You resisted the urge to throw it against a wall.

Slowly you found psychic visits woven their way into the fabric of your life until every soothsayer and fortune teller became something more than strangers but less than friends. Through the psychics you found the mystics; through the mystics you found witches; through the witches you found despair. A witch’s jealousy to be an ugly thing. They danced around you, play-tracing sigils into your skin and flicking harmless spats of magic into your face. Pact-marked and pigeoned-holed they called you, as useless as you had been before the exchange program. Back home you stared into the mirror, tracing the witch’s sigils on your skin then onto paper. They made for poor art and poorer signs of power laying as dormant as the pact marks scattered across your body.

One day, drowning in a nap-gone-too-long, you imagine Mammon calling for you outside your window; it would be the last time you cried.

Life was less a ride than it was a chariot, dragging you across a bloodied arena for the entertainment of some higher power. Your first order of business was to move your Harrison Porter charm to your keys; looking at it made you feel a little like Alice in Wonderland. Rent was due, so a job was found; then a better one. You counted the bills, paid your debts. You set aside spared bills and change in a little yellow treasure box on your dresser that sat beside a growing collection of nail polish and skincare that never failed to make you feel —dare you say it— pretty. You swam and cursed your way through summer, fostered a sizable clan of cats in the fall, then decided to become a recluse in the winter, watching winter’s stars drape across the sky from the comfort of your home.

The promise of a new life in a new city lured you out from your cave. You went to RAD with so very little, so you decide to part with all but a suitcase of the essentials, then opted for a backpack. The edges of the little yellow treasure chest pressed into your lower back as you hiked your way across the city to a hilly park with a view. Winter still clung to this part of the world; the sparkling of snow was nearly indistinguishable from the steel and glass of skyscrapers; a sky so clear that the horizon retreated into a white nothingness. You soaked in the view, then turned.

At the edge of the outlook a familiar shock of white hair caught your eye. He waves. You could feel the edge of the acrylic Harrison Porter charm, smooth after months of worry.

[kylestfs]

Starting something, finally !

Hey everybody - here to start a (small) series of short TFs, similar to my past airplane seat series.

(This will not be a long series, as I do not have enough time to post daily and have a lot of submissions, so I really apologise in advance if you do not get the chance to participate due to slots being taken)

Now for the subject ;

I’ve came up with an idea : a parking lot. I’ve put vehicles that you guys will choose from in order to be transformed into a new body. Each slot can and will only be used one, thus making it hard for everybody that will submit to get a story.

RULES :

Just pick the vehicle that you want, add a little text (personalise it, but not precise or any specifications on your future body. Only on your previous, actual one or other stuff) and send it to me in my Inbox!

For the people who don’t know a lot about cars & bikes, I’ve created a little sum-up.

CARS :

Ford F-150 : Big pickup-truck.

Nissan Sentra : Small, economical sedan.

Mercedes-Benz S-class : Big, luxurious prestigious sedan.

Ford Mustang : Sporty, powerful American coupe.

Chevrolet Tahoe : Big SUV…with a little twist.

BMW M3 : Sporty, sleek sedan.

Tesla model X : Big, electric full-of-tech SUV.

Toyota Camry : Midsize, average sedan.

Dodge charger : Powerful Sedan. (With a twist)

Porsche 911 : Sporty, luxurious coupe.

Toyota Prius : Hybrid economical small sedan.

MOTORCYCLES :

Kawasaki Ninja : Powerful sports bike

BMW GS : Big, touring motorcycle (long trips)

Yamaha R1 : Excessively quick sporty motorcycle.

Yamaha MT-07 : Average, sporty motorcycle.

EXTRA :

Trek bicycle : Expensive long distance professional bicycle.

[joelswritingmistress]

Oh Captain, My Captain: Chapter 5

You began to wonder what kind of car Joel drove, anticipating a pickup truck. Something about the image of him in a rusty, old Ford with his arm hanging out the window gave you a pleasurable shudder.

"You alright?" Joel asked. It made you blush. You hadn't realized how visible the reaction to was to an overall innocent thought.

"Yeah." You grinned.

"Come on." Joel smirked and reached for your hand. It made your body feel both electric and content at the same time.

You swallowed hard and sighed through your nose. Again, you wondered if you were already in over your head. Logically, you knew you shouldn't be having intense feelings like this right away.

Or should I? You thought. The first phase of any kind of attraction or relationship was infatuation. It left your brain chemically magnifying every little thing. Maybe it *was* normal. You weren't sure which side you favored.

When Joel towed you past a row of cars and empty parking spaces, you looked around.

"Where's your car?" You asked.

"Oh, I live right up there." He motioned with his first finger up a wooden staircase between a thin layer of trees.

An oversized cottage with brown siding and a balcony overlooking the dead end road that led to the docks hovered overhead. It sat behind a little restaurant that sold burgers and hotdogs and hung over the top a bit.

"That's where you live?" You asked.

Joel looked at you and grinned again. "Mmm-hmm." He gave a head nod, "Not a bad commute."

You smiled back and allowed him to pull you out of sight and up the staircase that exposed you to his property - a modest yard with a grassy area big enough to house a small firepit with six chairs. Beneath the overhanging balcony was a small patio with a grill.

"My parents owned the place and I bought it from them. I live on the top level and I rent out the bottom to some friends. It's an attached apartment."

"That's cool." You nodded and looked up at the beachy estate. "The view must be amazing."

"Well, let's have a look. You can see for yourself." Joel continued to smile wide. As he slipped the key into the lock at the front door you saw a little shake in his hand. It made you smile as you curiously wondered if he was nervous, too; or even just excited as excited as you were.

The interior was more or less what you expected from a cottage on the Vineyard. Hardwood floors, pale, sea green walls with horizontal panels, a high top table that sat by a light, open kitchen and looked out a set of French doors. There were little hints of imperfection in every corner that brought the place charm - nicks in the cabinets, scuff marks on the bottom of the doors, a sectional couch that looked as if it had as many memories as the house, itself. Hanging on a wall in the living room was an oversized swordfish. You couldn't tell if it was real or just a piece of plastic decor.

"I love this." You gawked at Joel's living quarters.

"It's not much, but I call it home." He exchanged a look with you and winked. Joel nodded toward the back doors that lead outside. "I swear the balcony is safe." He gave a laugh, "But I'm going to have to invest in some money to replace it soon."

You followed him out back and smiled when the sea air hit you again. Your sandals paced the uneven floorboards and you rested your hands on the chipped paint of the wooden railing.

"I could so wake up here every day." You meant it, but after letting it process in your mind how the words came out you whipped in Joel's direction. "Like, I mean-"

He laughed to cut you off. "I know what you mean."

"Like the view and the chill atmosphere here." You laughed lightly now too. "You know.."

"I know." Joel nodded and looked outward. "I'll be here forever, I think." He shrugged. "Honestly, I can't picturing living anywhere else."

"I could paint the sunsets from here." You made a rectangle with your fingers and held your arms straight out toward the horizon. "Even in winter."

"It's quieter then." Joel turned and you shared a closed-mouth smile.

Right then in that moment you felt that intense infatuation kick up a notch. You weren't trying to get ahead of yourself but you really, truly felt at ease and at home in Joel's presence. His living space was just an extension of him. You wished you could ditch your family for the rest of the week and just hang out there.

Take about ten steps back, you warned yourself.

"So.." Joel took a step in your direction. "Why don't I get you settled with a cocktail?" He waited until you gave a little nod, "And I'll just hop in the shower quick. Then we'll hit the town."

Now that you were in Joel's house you didn't even want to hit the town. You could've stayed right there talking, sipping beers, watching a movie and whatever else transpired the entire night. Still, a night on the town with Joel didn't sound too bad, either. It was a win-win.

"That sounds good," you told him.

"Great. You can either hang out here," he motioned to a little patio set, "Or I can set you up in front of the TV."

"Out here is nice," you said with a nod.

"I thought you'd say that."

In a lull in the conversation it felt like there was some magnetic force that pulled the two of you together; because once the conversation ended, your lips found his again. There was no discussion necessary. Body language said it all. You could ravage Joel, or let him ravage you. A part of you wondered, as you made out on the balcony of his empty house, what you were waiting for.

Joel abruptly pulled back, though kept his hands against you. "I'll be back in ten minutes. Help yourself to a beer or whatever you want. I can make you a drink."

"A beer is fine." You breathed the words aloud, unable to fully hide your desire. As bad as you wanted him to pull you down the hall and throw you on the bed, there was something so addicting about the wait; about the anticipation.

Joel reluctantly separated himself from you and you found yourself accepting a Kona brew from the fridge.

"I'll be right back." He smiled and popped the top of the beer before wandering down the hall.

A part of you wanted to explore his home, but not for the purpose of snooping. You were simply curious, but you would never intrude on Joel's privacy like that.

When you heard the shower go on you wandered back out onto the balcony and let your elbows kiss the railing as your arms hung over, drink in hand. Things felt right. Right there with Joel Miller. You felt a little uneasy because you barely knew the man; but on the same note you had never felt so naturally at ease and drawn to anyone in your life. Already, being with Joel and breathing his air was easy.

I need to ask him what he wants from this, you knew. The more time you spent with him, the harder it would be to be let down. And you knew this could turn into some fling that didn't last the better half of a week. Deep down, your intuition knew it was more than that - or at least it had the potential to be.

You pushed that all out of your mind for a moment and sipped the beer to relax. Things were good. Right there in that moment they were good. There was nothing wrong. You were happy. Joel seemed happy.

It was time to live in the moment and enjoy a night on the town - on Joel Miller's arm.

..

The temptation to remain in Joel's house almost caused your impulses to will you to ask if there were any good take out places in the area. You managed to refrain.

When he emerged from his room in a white button down shirt, cuffed just below the elbow and cargo, khaki colored shorts ignited another lustful fire inside of you.

"Show me somewhere.. fun." You smiled and couldn't help but wrap your arms around him.

Joel snickered against your lips and linked his fingers through yours. "I do know a lot of those kind of places."

"Take me." There was double meaning to your words, and you could tell Joel knew it from the little squint his eyes made when the locked in with yours.

"Alright, let's go."

You could feel in your bones that this was about to be one of the best nights of your life - the kind you would tell your grandkids in your older years, while leaving the intimate parts to yourself, and giving them the cheesy details about how you met their grandfather.

Joel was already causing you to see a future with him. And that scared the hell out of you.

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER 6

[sealioninternationaltrade]

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[rivetingrosie4]

Rockets’ Red Glare

RDR2 | Relationship: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader (modern) | Rating: Teen+

Summary: Arthur and reader invite John, Abigail, and Jack over to their property for a little Fourth of July celebration, complete with at-home fireworks.

Tumblr masterlist | Ao3

🎆Comments always welcome! Reblogs always appreciated!🎆

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As you set a large tupperware of sliced watermelon on the long, wooden outdoor table, the tinny smoke of beef on the grill begins to fill your nostrils. You’re hoping Arthur doesn’t put too much black on the burger patties. Since you share a love of burnt ends, you aren’t worried about the brisket he’s had perfecting in the smoker for hours. But he tends to get carried away watching the flames he’d created lick up through the grill’s grate and put a char on the edges of the patties.

When you’re reaching to adjust the little spray of metallic red, white, and blue stars you’d placed in the midst of the table earlier, the familiar electric guitar opening of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Up Around the Bend” suddenly bursts through the air. You look over just in time to see John setting his blaring bluetooth speaker on the ground and stuffing his phone in his pocket with a grin.

“All right! Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he hollers.

You smile and chuff a silent laugh as you watch him nod to the tune in his strange way with his head too low—more like ducking his head repeatedly—and nibble from a bare, freshly piping patty he’d clearly just snatched from Arthur’s grill plate.

“Now it’s a party, Morgan! You gotta get the mood set right,” he calls as he nonchalantly turns away.

“Oh I’m sorry, thought I was just puttin’ food in your belly, is all,” Arthur says from his place standing before the grill. “Ain’t ever a party without that, that’s for sure.”

Just catching Arthur’s flat half-smirk and indignant glare in John’s direction, you glance back in time to see John wave his hand.

“Just be glad your cookin’s decent enough to bring me around every time.”

“Oh yeah…” you hear Arthur mumble beneath his breath. “Ain’t I just real glad about that…”

Shaking your head, you turn back to look at Arthur, his focus having returned to the grill. A smile spreads across your mouth at the vivid memories that visit you at the sound of this song. The romance of your relationship still very new, your timid heart so full of audacious hope and longing and trepidation. Even at your age, never had you been in a relationship before, and you’d certainly never been given reason to hope by any man as kind and respectful and gorgeous and wonderful as Arthur.

Riding with him in his cherry red pickup, you’d enjoyed the winding mountain path through the lush green of poplars and evergreens until you’d arrived at the nearby town’s gathering for their Fourth of July parade. When you’d parked and stepped out of the truck, it had been this song playing over the main street speakers. And you couldn’t have helped the bright smile that grew on your face at the beauty and vibrant energy of such a quaint, small-town celebration. Little boys and girls with bucket hats riding atop their father’s shoulders, waving flags in one hand and oblivious to the drops of melting ice cream dripping onto his long-suffering head from their cones in the other. Toddlers stomping both sandaled feet in excitement, clumsily clapping their hands and pointing at the marching bands and floats that passed by. Girls in jostling pigtails getting their faces painted and little boys with tiny sunglasses soaking up the sun and munching and slurping crispy watermelon slices, holding their mother’s hand.

It was all so beautiful, you’d found yourself almost crying above your bright, laughing smile, for reasons you couldn’t put into words. You’d never seen or experienced such a homey celebration before, full of such simple feelings of community and shared happiness. Arthur had given it to you, and he’d even slipped his hand into yours to bring you closer and make you apart of it.

That day you never felt any worry about behaving as suavely as you could or being the hottest, most perfect date. Arthur’s presence had let you relax and enjoy the whole day, from beginning to end, as a friend in love with your best friend.

Now here you both are, married and shaken loose from the gang and trying for a baby of your own. Putting on an intimate little Independence Day celebration at your own home.

“John, could you pour a cup of Sprite for Jack please? Just halfway,” you hear Abigail ask from somewhere on the other side of the table.

After glancing up to see her walking towards the table, you turn to your right to find the now five-year-old Jack reaching on tiptoes with his little arm outstretched and his tongue tucked over his top lip for the big, open green liter bottle on the table with his red plastic cup in his other hand. You notice John is several feet behind him, and though he turns to look at Jack, he won’t get there in time to keep him from tipping the bottle unless he immediately runs over, which he isn’t doing.

“Oh, I can help you with that,” you say with a smile, smoothly stepping to the side and pouring the soda into Jack’s cup.

“John!” Abigail quietly rasps through gritted teeth, her tone laced with a sharp, exasperated reprimand.

“What?” he shrugs with a mouthful of hamburger patty. “I’m all the way over here!”

When you hear Abigail sigh, you avert your wide eyes from what you’re sure is to be yet another argument.

“He’s your son! Not hers!” you hear her begin as she walks towards John. “And did you even wonder why he wasn’t comfortable askin’ you for help in the first place?”

Thankfully, as you walk towards Arthur, the sounds of the argument fade to indecipherable.

You have to smile at the sight of Arthur’s focused face, heather navy blue henley unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up to the elbows, and hunter green apron. Smoothing your expression, you step to his side and reach to drape your forearm atop his tall, broad shoulder.

“Goin’ all right over here, chef?” you ask with a mock serious tone.

“Yeah—” he offers a truncated grunt, pinching and turning one of the patties with his long metal tongs, and taking another off the grill and setting it on a plate on the side. “Just about done.”

After a few moments, you can’t keep from scrunching your nose, chuckling, and letting your bright smile show. You slip an arm through his and around to his back.

“I don’t think you look silly at all; I think an apron suits you,” you say, drawing close and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Oh yeah?” he quietly mumbles in a sheepish tone.

“Look like a daddy already.”

He releases a huff of air through his smiling cheeks and rolls his eyes up and away from you.

Pressing in even closer, you kiss his earlobe and mumble quietly, “Would look even better with…only the apron.”

You notice the corner of his mouth curl as he turns and pulls his chin back to face you. “That so.”

“Mm-hm,” you nod. “Maybe you can manage that tomorrow mornin’.”

“Oh! I see!” he chuckles with a wide smile and lifted brows, causing you to giggle. “Are you tryin’ to finagle a package deal of gettin’ laid and gettin’ served breakfast, Mrs. Morgan?” he asks, squinting and letting his gaze slide over to you.

Grinning and biting your lip, you nod. “Either way, I’m gonna sex you up tonight,” you say, your voice even and sure. Then you lean in and press your lips beside his ear to whisper, “So don’t overeat.”

Turning to stand beside him and keeping your posture inconspicuous, you quickly spank his rear. He gives the tiniest jump that you notice before you walk off.

Arthur is left standing there, releasing the breath he’d secretly been holding, wagging his head to play off how affected he is by you, and contemplating that it must be a crime in some places for a person to be as sexy as you are to him.

Hours later, as the sun is lazily drooping behind the skyline of trees, you’re popping the lid off a lager for yourself with the heel of your hand against the wooden table.

“Yeah, that spot is perfect,” you call over to Arthur and John, who are arranging a couple huge tester fireworks between the grass and gravel of your driveway. “Grass ain’t even ‘sposed to be there; it’s crab grass,” you chuckle, anticipating the black marks on the ground as you lift the bottle’s lip to your mouth. “Burn it up!”

“Are y’all sure we won’t miss the county’s show if we’re busy with our own?” Abigail asks in her pleasant twang as she puts ear muffs on Jack and nestles with him on the edge of the truck bed that’s parked several dozen yards away.

“Nah, they don’t start ‘til dark thirty—half an hour after the sun goes down,” John answers as he twists the Roman candle into the gravel until it doesn’t rock or budge.

“Been a few years, huh?” you hear Arthur mumble quietly to John, and something light and feathery fills your chest at the hint of unburdened, wry camaraderie edging his tone.

“You could say that,” John chuckles in his hoarse voice.

“Just make sure you don’t get those bushy eyebrows singed off like last time,” Arthur says a little louder.

“What?!” Abigail almost shrieks.

“Your husband’s an idiot is all, nothin’ unusual,” Arthur drawls lackadaisically as the gravel shifts beneath his western work boots.

“Elaborate immediately,” you chuckle before taking another swig.

“He always lingers!” Arthur gestures vaguely towards the Roman candle. “Even after enough time passes that you think, ‘Surely, now he’ll run.’ Get the fuse goin’, and he can’t tear himself away. He’s like an addict. Like a goddamn fire glutton.” Resting his hands on his belt, he limply turns his head to look at him with a knowing pinch to his crows’ feet. “And once, a teenage John Marston lingered a few seconds too long. That was the very last time we did this.”

“Oh my God…” you whine a laugh as you cover your mouth, imagining the smoke above his eyes and the curl of the few strands of damaged hair left.

“And you’re tellin’ me he ain’t had any experience doin’ this since?” Abigail asks.

“Well plenty before, but not since,” Arthur shakes his head as he bends to reach forward and secure the second Roman candle.

“John Marston, you just better not,” she says.

“Would you all just lighten up! Jesus!” John rasps in a high tone. “Can’t even prove I’m a grown ass man around here!”

“Well here’s your chance, Marston,” Arthur says, giving his head a tip.

After fanning out a blanket over the grass a few feet to the right of the truck, you sit with your legs before you and bent at the knee. You watch as the men fuss and fidget with the fireworks for a few more minutes before deciding to light them.

The whoosh of the match, the ensuing sizzle of the fuses. With a hiss below his breath of, "Shyit," and a shout, Arthur hauls ass to the right. John tears cheek a few degrees in a different direction. With a sudden loud pop, the flare is sent way up into the sky with a glittering tail. It wiggles for a moment before erupting with a head-splitting bang that fills your ears and thumps in your chest. It shoots its sparkling embers throughout the dull twilight canvas with a clapping clatter. At the sheer volume, your shoulders shoot up, and your smiling mouth hangs agape.

“Whoo-eee!” John promptly hoots with a pitch that rings through the surrounding forests as he and Arthur emerge from their respectively chosen cover.

“Hot damn!” Arthur shouts with a growly timbre.

“God bless America!” John wheezes.

“‘At one there had a bite to it!”

After a beat of silence, you all hear the peal of a tiny scream and the tinkle of giggling laughter. You turn to see Jack clapping with a huge, elated smile.

“That was amaaazing!” he sings, his voice strangely wavy since he can hardly hear himself through the ear muffs. “More! Do more, do more!”

At the sound, all of the adults feel the tenseness in their shoulders release and feel themselves ease into their own delighted smiles.

“All right, that was just a dry run,” Arthur says with lit-up eyes and a winsome grin. “Let’s get ‘em all set up.”

With the sky darkened to a deep, inky blue and with the moon high in the sky, he and John proceed to arrange several fireworks in multiple distanced rows to keep each stage of the little show timed properly. Fiery fountains, spinning awesome blossoms, snapping firecrackers, screeching Piccolo Pete missiles, whirring Roman candles, and more. When they begin to light the fuses one by one, you huddle your knees closer to your chest.

They light off several sets, one right after the other, and a peculiarly sweet, earthy scent similar to gunsmoke reaches your nostrils. With each new eruption high into the sky, you throw your head back to watch. You scream and hoot, smiling and laughing and clapping like a little kid.

Arthur is almost caught up with lighting set after set in a timely manner to keep the show continuous. He loves the spectacular play of sparkling light, the flashes of color through the dark sky. He even enjoys the rush of excitement through his veins, the pounding in his chest, and the sudden booms and crackles in his ears. But he glances in your direction just in time to see your upward-tilted face and your stunning smile. He spares a few moments to watch you bring your chin down and look forward again as the next firework bursts and blooms, shining more light across your face. It catches in your eyes, and for a moment all Arthur sees is the twinkling glimmer of joy reflected there. And he knows there is no firework that doesn’t pale in comparison to the beauty of that smile, the joy in those radiant eyes, or how precious you are to him.

Before long, the pair are on their final set of fireworks. You watch as Arthur stoops with the lighter. He flinches but dares to stay a moment longer to ignite the last long fuses. But though Arthur darts and makes it several yards away, John remains, standing beside the projectile, bent at the waist and gazing dazedly at the dancing sparks of the hungry fuse.

It all happens so fast.

“Marston!” Arthur hollers. “Run like hell!”

But John doesn’t seem to hear him. The light of the spitting spark plays across his face in a brutal, menacing cast of orange against the black atmosphere of night.

“Get your ass outta there, you idiot!” Arthur shouts again over the sizzling sound of the fuse.

John simply peers at the spraying light.

Your heart thuds faster as panic rises in time with the fuse that speeds towards its target, and you glance back and forth between the moving sparkle and John’s hunched, shadowy form.

Arthur steps closer, hurling warnings his way. Abigail screams her own warning.

Still, John remains.

Finally, at the same moment that the projectile is lit and launched into the air, out of nowhere Arthur tackles him to the ground a few feet away. The firework bursts in a shimmering display overhead, but no one pays any mind to it. Your attention is fastened to the struggling form of John and Arthur as they shift and rise.

“…goddamn moron!” you hear Arthur yell as he shoves John in the chest a couple times.

“I’m fine, it’s fine!” is John’s airy plea.

“Wanna get yourself killed?!” Arthur growls and heaves, his voice steely and ferocious as he glares at him with a tight, wrathful stance.

After a few moments of silence in the stillness and dark of night, a snorted, bubbling laugh arises from somewhere.

Arthur and John start to spin and look around. It takes a moment for you to realize the sound of relieved, disbelieving laughter is your own. They turn to find you toppling over to the side on your blanket, holding your belly and chortling and cackling uncontrollably.

The two of them stand there for another several moments. But the sound of your laughter is involuntarily loosening the rage in each muscle of Arthur’s body, one by one. First, John starts to quietly wheeze. Then, a few mindless, incredulous huffs arise from deep in Arthur’s chest. In no time, the two of them are snickering hysterically.

Unable to find a suitable word for the ridiculousness of it all or to chide in the midst of his relief, Arthur simply wags his head and walks away. You open an arm to him as he takes a seat beside you on the blanket.

John walks over to hop up and sit on the tailgate of the truck on the other side of Jack. Abigail promptly smacks the side of his arm.

“Gave me a heart attack!” she whispers before removing Jack’s ear muffs.

You all sit gazing up at the twinkling pinpricks of light in the sky and listening to the pleasant, creaking chirp of crickets until the county’s fireworks start. When the flashes light up the sky, you can see the beautiful show in the distance just over the tops of the trees. Jack oohs and aahs, gasping and pointing out each of his favorite types of fireworks.

Sitting beside and slightly behind you, Arthur scoots in closer, wrapping you in his big arms. You snuggle into him, closing your eyes when you feel him plant sweet kisses to your cheek. After managing to press a kiss to his lips, you finally let your head rest back on his shoulder with a sigh and turn your face towards him. He immediately meets your mouth for a full and surprisingly passionate kiss, quickly deepening it and sweeping his tongue into your mouth.

From her spot on the tailgate, Abigail glances your way and has to look back at the two of you. Your throat is fully extended as you rest your head back on his shoulder. Your arm nearer Arthur is outstretched before his chest, your hand sliding up his neck into his hair. She notices the brief, glinting flash of your wedding ring. And his arm that isn’t wrapped behind you is draped over your bent knees, his hands splaying over your bare, smooth legs. Even at a distance of a dozen feet, she notices the subtle way your open mouths move together as you kiss.

Such easy affection and passion between you, she thinks to herself.

Without thinking, her eyes flit to John where he sits on the other side of Jack. Jack himself is still completely enraptured by the show overhead. But instead of watching the fireworks, John is also taking note of the two of you.

As she watches John’s face, she can’t help but contemplate all the things that have led to such warm affection becoming a stranger to their own relationship. Outcroppings of selfishness and resentment on John’s part, of resentment and anger on her own part. Years of overgrowths of misunderstanding and isolation. And somehow, they’ve both let it all happen.

Her gaze on John stutters. She glances back to find you two gently pulling away with shared smiles as you slowly press tender little kisses to each other’s lips. When you both resume watching the fireworks, she glances back at John, expecting her gaze to remain covert. But she is met by John’s eyes on her.

After a few moments, his eyes falter. But he lifts them again and intentionally holds her gaze. Without a word, he reaches over Jack and brushes a hand to her back.

[octuscle]

Take Me Home, Country Roads

Konstantin had been looking forward to his year as an exchange student for over a year. At first, his parents had expressed massive concerns about whether he was mature enough to spend a year abroad on his own. Konstantin had just turned 17, but he still looked much younger. Puberty was not yet showing any significant effects. And if he was already being teased in his familiar environment at home for being too small for his age and looking too childish, what would it be like in the U.S.? Only after the agency had assured that Konstantin would be placed in a first-class family with an excellent environment did his parents agree. A year had passed since then, and Konstantin still looked like a slightly overweight lad of maybe 14. Even though he had just passed his 18th birthday. But the son of his host family in Boston seemed to have similar interests to him and also looked physically more like a late developer. The two had developed a promising pen pal relationship, so nothing seemed to stand in the way of a successful exchange year. And then everything that could go wrong did.

At the airport in Boston, Konstantin was met by a representative of the agency. There had been a bereavement in his host family and the parents were currently unable to take care of another guest son. Fortunately, another exchange student had dropped out due to illness. Therefore, they were now forced to send Konstantin to Louisiana to the family to which the absent guest son should have gone. Southern states instead of New England, Konstantin thought. There it might be difficult to learn a reasonably accent-free English. But he was still happy, especially since he was assured that he would be assigned to a family in Boston as soon as possible if a place became available.

Just a few hours later, Konstantin was on a plane to New Orleans. There came the next stroke of fate: his suitcase had been lost somewhere between Frankfurt, Boston and New Orleans. The agency employee who greeted him seemed friendly and helpful, but unfortunately Konstantin barely understood a word. They really spoke a nasty accent here! Somehow the communication worked out and Konstantin followed the woman through the almost unbearably sultry air across a parking lot to a monstrous, but quite battered pickup truck. This was the car that his host family had given him. He was to drive it to the address set in the navigation system, and they would be waiting there for him.

Konstantin got hot and cold. He had had his driver's license for two weeks. And so far he had been driving the electric car his parents had given him for his birthday. It would fit in the loading area of the car he was standing in front of. Very well, it would work. It had to work. He was going to face the challenges, after all. He sat down in the car. Manual gear, he had no experience with that... And the tank was almost empty. And it started to rain heavily. It couldn't get much better. Then he realized that the air conditioning wasn't working.

According to the navigation system, he still had 200 miles to go. No idea how far he would get this monster on an eighth of a tank of gas. Hopefully, a gas station would come soon. At least here Konstantin seemed to be lucky. After a few miles, what looked like a gas station appeared on the side of the road. Everything was pretty run down, but there was a light on. So Konstantin stopped at a gas pump that he could only hope had the right fuel and got out of the car. At that moment, a truck roared through a muddy puddle beside him. He was wet to the bone. And completely covered in mud. The pouring rain didn't make it any better. None of it mattered now. Konstantin dropped to his knees and began to cry. His parents had been right. Everything was overwhelming him. He wanted to go home. He didn't feel like it anymore. Suddenly he noticed the boots in front of him. And a voice that asked him if he needed help. Konstantin swallowed and nodded. The man in front of him helped him up and gestured for him to follow.

This language here was hell. He understood a lot of things only if he asked twice. But after a few minutes he had a coffee and hot soup in front of him. And a woman put a bundle of clothes in front of him. If he had understood correctly, from her son. The people were really friendly. And dry clothes were tempting. Even if they didn't seem to be really clean. He took everything and changed in the filthy toilet. And after one look in the mirror, he felt super stupid: The T-shirt with the wide-cut sleeve holes was way too big. The boxers were washed out and yellowish in color, which disgusted him a bit. The jeans were fine, only the huge belt buckle was silly. Oh well, in combination with the obviously frequently worn socks and the at least well fitting boots it fit. Fuck, he thought. What kind of impression should my host family get?

The waitress indicated him to turn around. And she smiled at him and handed him a cap. That was really the icing on the cake then, to just look silly.

"Bless your heart, ma'am! Wudden have survived withou' ye." Constantine slapped his mouth. What had he said? He tried again, as he had learned in school. But it came out a broad "Whaddoo I owe you, ma'am?" Constantine paid for the coffee, soup and gas and left what he understood to be a generous tip for the clothes. The rain had stopped. His car was filled with gas. And somehow he felt considerably more relaxed. Now he could also look for a station on the radio for the rest of the trip. It was still going to take a few hours. He quickly came across a country music station. While he was here, he should make the most of it. Kyle scratched his chin. Hadn't he just shaved before leaving? How long had that been? In any case, he had a decent beard shadow. And he could feel himself starting to sweat in the heat. He raised his right arm to check the smell under his armpits. The bushy cavern smelled like a real man should smell. His cock leaked precum as it always did when he got that smell in his nose. On himself. Or on one of his fuck buddies. The road was lonely, no one would notice if he jerked off on the ride.

[mumifyy]

Guitar Hands.

Summary: Ghost is a big fan of your band, more like just you yourself. Soon enough you and Ghost become close friends that care for eachother, maybe more. One day, Ghost finds you and your aching tired hands from how much you practice your guitar.

Notices: F!Guitarist!reader, soft!Ghost, tooth rotting fluff, not proofread, age gap (reader is 25, Ghost is 30.)

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You huffed at the sound of the sink running backstage, your delicate fingertips raw, red, and bothered from your constant guitar practice. Your band mates, especially the drummer up your ass about getting better at your skills even though he doesn’t mind his own. Tony always Aggravated you continuously about your “slip ups” even though he was too arrogant to notice it was his drumming pace during rehearsals. You soft touched the tap water from the faucet to check if it was blazing hot, just in case. Fortunately, it was cold so you dipped your hands into the stream of water to relive the tension in your fingertip pads.

After you had returned back to your chair where your famous red electric guitar lean on the wall, you sit down on the wooden chair and pick up your prized possession, the strings of the red instrument began to play as your skull pick strummed against the strings from your movement’s. Your brain focused on your melody as the chatter between your band mates from in the hallway behind the back stage grew more quiet, before dissolving into the air, making it obvious they had left for the day. You ignored it, continuing to practice to prove Tony wrong and embarrass him in-front of everyone like he did you. Minutes turned into hours of your practice, the joints of your pointer finger and thumb getting more cranky and sore from the same finger placement on your guitar pick, your other fingers getting more red and irritated from how hard you held down the strings of your guitar. You were in a daydream, a trance.

But all of that was broken when you felt a strong large hand wrap around your wrist. “Love, you need to sleep, you look exhausted.” The all too familiar deep british voice rang in your ears as you looked up to see your friend, or rather your boyfriend considering the way you both acted with each other, looking down at you through his signature skull balaclava. Ghost couldn’t help but smile softly under his mask as he looked at you. Your innocent gaze gave him butterflies. “Let’s get you home lovie.” *Ghost whispered, gently taking the guitar out of your hands, placing it on the black leather guitar case before looking back at you. “Si.. I need to pra-“ Ghost cut you off, shushing you gently before he took your hand, gently pulling you up and guiding you out of the backstage area as he carried your guitar case along with.

“You need to take care of yourself better love.” *Ghost grumbled out, his rough hand guiding you at the small of your back, just below your waist down the stairs and outside where his black colored pickup truck sit, rumbling full of life with warmth inside, away from the cold snow. Ghost opened the backseat of his truck, laying your Guitar in the floorboard gently, carful not to break it before closing it and walking over to you, guiding you to the passenger side. Ghost opened the door, motioning for you to get in. You looked at him with hazy tired eyes, giving him a hug with a hum of satisfaction before getting in.

Ghost smiled under his mask as he made sure your legs were properly in his truck before closing the door shut and going to the other side to get into the drivers seat.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Hopefully this ain’t as bad as I think it is, enjoy though.

[mysterymanjoseph]

Just Being Neighborly: mysterymanjoseph and libraryofdesire

The little farm had been easy to buy, no one seemed interested and the price was more than low, the real estate agent seemed eager to be rid of the property. After some clearing, a small, but over built house was constructed, just the right sort of place to wait out any sort of 'the world has gone insane' sort of situation. He pretty much has everything set up, hand tools and supplies in the basement. Solar panels stored in the 'barn', along with the blades for the two wind turbines to supply electricity in case of a 'grid down' sort of thing. The past week or so, it was cutting and splitting firewood. He has to admit, the high output commercial splitter is quite the wonder, he has cleared out all the deadfall worth burning in the wood stove in the home, it is now stacked neatly under the lean to portion of his 'barn'. Still, he is not satisfied. Looking across the road, to the farm that sits there, he can see that there are downed trees at the back of the property. He thinks, "Maybe go halves with them, I cut, keep half, the other half, they can have if they have a stove, or sell if they don't?" So, today, cleaned up and dressed nice, but country 'casual'. He drives the restored old Ford pickup that will stay at the place across the road, up the driveway, and parks. Getting out, he waits by the truck patiently, not wishing to just 'barge in' on the property owners,...would not be a good way to finally introduce himself to his neighbors.

@libraryofdesire

[dragons-and-magic]

🚂 In need of some cool engines for TTTE OCs? Look no further! 🚃

Here's a list of all sorts of unusual and little known engines to make into your next OCs!

1082 class electric locomotive: Not much is known about this engine, so information is fragmented. This Austrain steam engine was powered by electricity heating up the water in its boiler through electric coils. The hydroelectric system was apparently 50 years ahead of it time and was built in response to the rising prices of imported German Coal during WW2. This engine and ones like it Sweden, were scrapped after the war ended. I'll never understand why. Such a self sufficient engine could have been the key to many break throughs.

2. DRG Class 05: This German streamlined engine was made in response of record breaking streamlined diesel engines made earlier. In 1936, this engine set the world speed record for reaching 124.5 mph, while hauling 217 short tons. However this record was later beaten by Mallard, (Yes, that Mallard. The LNER Gresley one.) on a technicality. Mallard was on a slightly downhill line, and with a heavier train. Interpret that as you will. If you want Gresley family drama, I have a feeling this engine would make a great OC to start it.

3. B&O #305 Camel: This unique engine was trademarked by the Baltimore and Ohio railroad in the 1900s. It's unusual build allowed to pull trains up steep mountains. This build also came with a terrible flaw. Since the cab was placed directly above the boiler, it became very hot and anyone in it would not only be uncomfortable, but in terrible danger if if the engine ever derailed. And there was very little protection for the crew. In short, it was like an overbred dog. Created purely for one purpose, and not with health or safety in mind. More information can be found at the B&O website.

4. The Rail Pickup Truck??? (GMC Switch Engine): Well, if you need a Fankid that's a cross between a steam engine and a pickup, I've got you covered! Haha! Not much information on these, except that they were used during WW2 and were modified for rail use.

5. Ateliers Moës-Freres Diesel: This little guy is absolutely adorable! He'd definitely make an cute OC! This engine one of many diesels built by the popular Belgian company Ateliers Moës-Freres. They're were know for making exceptional small diesel engines. Even ones that looked like steam engines! Unfortunately, I couldn't any information on what exactly this engine's name is. But if anyone does know, please contact me so I may add it!

6. M-497 (Nicknamed Black Beetle by the press): This futuristic engine was once the fastest engine in North America! It was an experiment, developed by the New York Central Railway. Two J47-19 Jet Engines were attached to a streamlined Budd Rail Diesel Car. The experiment was successful, with the engine reaching a speed of 183.68 mph. Despite the successful run and the valuable data gathered, the project was considered to quote "not considered viable commercially". Black Beetle continued to run after the jet engines were removed, until retirement in 1977 and being scrapped in 1984.

And that's it for now! If you guys like these OC ideas, make sure to let me know, so I can make another one! Also, it's important to note, that I am not an expert on engines. If you see any misinformation here, please let me know, so I can correct it.

Thanks for reading!