#was SO satisfying. it was so cool to figure out

[trashisstillhere]

My daughter,,, my dear daughter,,,,,,

It’s about time I kinda gave you a bit of a redesign and a new ref along with it…

Who am I talking about?

Serenity Peterson ofc!!

Here she is! With her kinda new look and a bit drawn better, Serenityyyy!!

My giiiirlllll ilyyyyy <33333

I honestly didn’t think I would make her ref like this. Most of the time I just make my ocs ref be them with a white background, they’re name and pronouns and done. Plain like that. But nah, I went to do more with Serenity’s new one here… used a font with text this time instead of just writing it all down, a light grey background, all that stuff..

Do I regret it? No! It honestly looks more decent this way! A special new ref just for her… exactly what she deserves! Looks better than her old plain ref with her old design.

But yea as you can see, she hasn’t changed THAT much. Her ninja design is still the same. However, in her ordinary form, her clothes have gotten some few upgrades. And boi, do I feel satisfied with it… oh and her own Nomicon is shown too! You can tell the details on it is kinda different from the original Nomicon.. especially the middle part with the ninja head medal thing shown..

Now, I have shown some small info about her already in the old ref… BUT! Those were actually written in a rush back then so more stuff about her wasn’t really revealed completely and properly…

so now, I AM gonna do her info much better here!! So you guys can actually know her even better! Some info is still the same but some more is added!

Here we goooo-)

————————-

Serenity (14-15) (she/her)

Full name: Serenity Peterson

- Serenity is a ninja just like Randy but more of a ‘hidden’ one, one who takes care of a problem elsewhere (a enemy hidden that had to be taken care of. Kinda like the sorcerer but hidden somewhere else far away.) that no one else knows about while she keeps herself in the shadows and making sure that no one finds out about her since everyone in Norrisville thinks there is only one ninja that protects them.

- i have mentioned it a few times before already but,,, i have a (currently old now but still exists and alive) fan made Rc9gn story that she is apart of which takes part after season 2 called “hidden danger”, it explains a bit more about it there along with The cursed Samurai’s first appearance but that’s still a story for another day…

- speaking of the Cursed Samurai, Cursed! Honoka herself, is the mentioned ‘problem’ that Serenity was tasked to take care of! Hell, that cursed woman was originally made and still from the “hidden danger” story as the main villain! The name of the story is meant to hint to HER since she IS a ‘hidden danger’. (She may be also a minor villain now in the NN AU too along with her being defeated in a different way and normal Honoka getting a different life… but she (both the curse and Honoka, and them together) was and still originally is from “hidden danger” first along with Serenity!)

- unlike Randy who is called the Ninja when he is being…well, the ninja. Serenity is called ‘Kunoichi’. I know, so original. But I think it’s nice. I’m still thinking about it though, this is a bit of an unsure idea but I don’t hate it.

- Serenity is kinda childish, very energetic and a bit of a nerd, usually with hero stuff and actions figures and stuff like that. She isn’t really what others may think is ‘feminine’.

- tho even if she is kind of a tomboy. she is fine with dresses and any other ‘feminine’ clothing but she prefers to dress more like the main outfit she has right now. Maybe sometimes some baggy clothes or just anything she finds casual, ‘cool’ and comfy.

- she’s bisexual.

- she used to have a crush on Morgan ( yes. MORGAN), thinking she was just so cool and elegant with her dance moves and all. Unfortunately, she got friend zoned. (Morgan didn’t really know about her feelings tho, just didn’t really have that much interest in her plus the girl didn’t even ever try to ask her out) the girl was a bit hurt at first as this was her first crush and all but don’t worry, she moved on.

- she looks up to Randy, he has been her role model ever since she had first learned about him when she got the job as the ‘hidden ninja’. She didn’t know like his entire life at first, only about the lessons he got (which she also had), his battles, fighting style and a bit of his personality along with his charm. All told and shown to her by her Nomicon. (Yes, she has her own Nomicon.) she found him to be so honking bruce and inspiring that she wanted to be just like him one day and she still, even in the present where they are good friends, wants to follow in his footsteps.

- they meet after the whole crazy stuff has ended in season 2. Serenity, in times when she was not busy doing her own duty, has been in the crowd of students in the school and watched him fight out there but she never tried talking to him because her Nomicon told her not to bring too much attention to herself from anyone else, including letting the main hero himself, this also has to do with her having to stay ‘hidden’.

- Randy and Serenity are the ‘ninja duo’! It’s just something a little cute I thought of back then during her development with the “hidden danger” story and everything and kept ever since. ‘The ninja duo’ thing was suggested by none other then the ninja girl herself back when they first met and she got him to go help her with her problem (cuz while he was doing his own thing in season 1 and 2, the poor girl had a very hard time and always got her ass kicked because of it.), she brought it up while she was being all excited about getting to fight with her role model for the very first time. Randy thought about it at first, accepting it right after.

- after everything that happened in the story (the cursed samurai being defeated for good), Serenity became friends with Randy! And then Howard later on!

- now we all know how the ninja can have powers such as Tengu fire ball, hydro hand, etc. well…..Serenity struggles with that too. In fact, she can barely use them. Now she has her weapons and moves but for some unknown reason, she has such a hard time using the other abilities no matter how much she trains for them. It’s almost like she’s cursed. She isn’t, that’s just what she thinks. Even her Nomicon seems slightly puzzled by this.

- because of this, Randy decided to try helping her with it. And later on, it kinda helps but it still takes alot of time for the girl to be able to use these skills properly so she continues to go on without them for the time being.

- Though later on in the future, she may or may not be able to finally actually do some for the first time ever. And that first ability/power she will be able to use may or may not be ninja rage….eheh….

- her family.. is only her and her parents, has always been like that for years.. her parents? Aren’t that great honestly. They are pretty neglectful, barely paying attention to her nowadays…but at least she gets to do stuff she wants outside!

- BTW…. She actually has a stanked form I made for her… yep that’s right, she gets stanked at one point! Not in “Hidden Danger” but after all that….huehuehue…it’s old now but it could soon be remaked..

In case you’re wondering…. Her stanked forms a big moth… :3

———-

And that’s it!

If you really have read everything here then dang, congrats!…

Okay…I’m gonna be fully honest rn… these past few days, I’ve been in a mixed mood. Both good and bad.. good cuz I’m stil alright ig but bad cuz of this small feeling of dread I have in me, one i can’t shake off that has gotten me in a kinda bad sad mood…. I’ll try to explain about it in another post when I’m ready, probably not today tho… (it’s nothing TOO terrible but it still bugs me ALOT.)

But drawing Serenity here again with her new fresh look and all, it gives me comfort, similar to how drawing Randy and any other character I love also gives me comfort.. /gen

It may not seem like it but Serenity means a lot to me, more than you think. That’s why I keep calling her ‘my daughter” like now, it’s not just only me being silly. Well kinda but still- I used to draw her so much with Randy years ago along with Howard sometimes.. way before others like Esther, Seth, his team, and even Nobu along with their AU existed!

I honestly want to draw her some more… just like old times.. ^^

Hope yall won’t mind a bit more of Serenity content for awhile(?)…

[blissfulflw]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝑉𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑡 𝑁𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠

Pairing- Jo Yuri x fem reader

Genre- Smut

Word count- 4026

Warnings- 18+ interaction only, Dom Yuri, overstimulation, teasing, light power play, grinding, oral, fingering praise kink, light begging, NSFW

A/N: JO YURI MY QUEEN 😭

The stage lights were the only thing that made sense to you anymore.

Rows of gels, perfectly aligned spot fixtures, dimmer switches responding to the rhythm of your fingers—it was all control. Clean, logical, satisfying. You didn’t need to stand under the lights to appreciate them. You made the stars shine. That was enough.

Until she noticed you.

“Hey,” came a voice behind you—low, melodic, and casually intimate.

You didn’t have to turn around to know it was her. Jo Yuri. Soloist. Angel-voiced. Too beautiful to look at directly under full spotlight. Somehow more dangerous in the half-dark of rehearsal spaces.

You turned anyway, wiping your hands on your cargo pants and trying not to flinch under her gaze. She wore a cropped hoodie and track pants, her hair slightly damp from dancing. There was a casual charm to her like she didn’t even know what she was doing.

“Everything good with the rigging?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Yeah. Just… checking presets,” you mumbled, motioning toward the light board beside you.

Yuri leaned against a nearby case, close enough for you to see the faint sheen of sweat along her collarbone. “You always talk like the lights are your children.”

You blinked. “I guess I just… like things to behave.”

Yuri smiled, and it was criminal. “I bet you do.”

You quickly looked away, heart stuttering in your chest. Jesus. Was she flirting? Or was that just how idols spoke to their staff? Polite. Disarming. Always on. You hated not being able to tell the difference.

“Anyway,” you muttered, fingers flicking switches to cover your embarrassment, “you’ve got another run-through at seven.”

Yuri didn’t move.

Instead, she asked, “Do you ever stay to watch?”

You paused.

“No,” you said, slowly. “Not usually.”

She nodded like she expected that. “Shame. You make the light look like magic. Feels like you should see it, too.”

The words sat heavy in your chest long after she’d walked away.

You stayed late.

You told yourself it was to fix a flickering strobe in rig four, or maybe double-check the gobo alignment for tomorrow’s rehearsal. But you knew that was a lie. A comfortable one, sure. But still a lie.

The theater was hushed now, its usual bustle replaced by the distant hum of air vents and the occasional creak of cooling metal. The silence after a long day of music was always strange—like the space was holding its breath.

You were just packing up your toolkit when a soft melody drifted in from center stage.

You froze.

It was Yuri’s voice. Humming. Soft and low, threading through the air like silk. You peered around the curtain edge, heart skipping.

She was standing under one of the still-active presets—a warm amber wash spilling over her figure. She hadn’t changed out of her rehearsal clothes, her hoodie sleeves pushed up, revealing delicate wrists and the subtle tension in her fingers as she swayed slightly to the music in her head.

She hadn’t noticed you yet.

Or maybe she had.

“You’re still here,” she said without turning.

You swallowed. “Yeah. Just… finishing up.”

Yuri glanced over her shoulder, her eyes catching the stage light just right. “I was hoping you might be.”

That stopped you cold. “Why?”

She turned to face you fully, taking a slow step down toward the edge of the stage. “Because I don’t like going home right after rehearsals. It’s too quiet. Too fast. But sometimes, if I linger… I see you.”

You had no answer for that.

So she kept talking. “You’re always moving. So focused. Like the world disappears when you’re in front of that board.”

You finally found your voice. “You make it easy to focus. You’re—good. Precise.”

Yuri smiled. “That sounded dangerously close to a compliment.”

You gave a breathless laugh. “Don’t get used to it.”

She stepped off the stage entirely, now only a few feet away. Her tone dropped, quiet and sincere. “I meant what I said earlier. You should watch sometime. From out here. It’s different from the booth.”

“I don’t really like being… seen.”

Yuri tilted her head, considering you. “Why?”

You shrugged. “People like you are supposed to be in the light. Not people like me.”

Her expression shifted—something softer, almost wounded. “You don’t see yourself clearly, do you?”

Before you could respond, the lights above flickered violently—then shut off.

Darkness.

Total and sudden, broken only by the dull red glow of the emergency lights in the wings. You froze.

“Shit,” you muttered, fumbling for your phone flashlight. “Sorry. Something must’ve tripped—maybe rig four again, or the breaker—”

Yuri touched your arm, and you nearly dropped your phone.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “I’m not scared.”

You weren’t either. Not of the dark, anyway.

Just of her being this close. This open.

The emergency lights painted her in soft crimson edges, like the last warmth of a setting sun. Her face was inches from yours now. You could smell the faint trace of her vanilla body spray, mixed with something unmistakably her—clean sweat, warmth, life.

“Can I ask you something?” she whispered.

You nodded.

“Why do you always run when I talk to you?”

“I don’t—” You started, then stopped. Sighed. “Because it’s hard to believe someone like you would mean it.”

She leaned in even closer. “I mean every word. Every time.”

And then she kissed you.

There was no hesitation, no build-up beyond the weeks of quiet tension that had been simmering under the surface. Her lips were soft, but firm with intent. You froze for half a second, and then melted into her.

She tasted like mint and something sweeter.

Her fingers slipped into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head, to deepen the kiss. You whimpered softly against her mouth, your hands clutching the edge of her hoodie like a lifeline.

When she pulled back, her breath was ragged. Her eyes were dark.

“You gonna run now?” she asked, voice low.

“No,” you whispered. “Not this time.”

Her fingers tightened in your hair, holding you there like she wasn’t done—like she’d only just started.

And she had.

Yuri kissed you again, harder this time. Hungrier. Like she’d been waiting for this longer than you had. Your back bumped into one of the black draped flats near stage left, hidden from the world, but close enough to the emergency lights that you could still see the soft curve of her face. The way her eyes flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes like she was memorizing you.

You gasped when her hands slipped under your shirt.

“Cold?” she whispered, teasing.

You shook your head, voice breathless. “No. Just… not used to this.”

“To being touched?” Her voice dipped low, husky.

“To being wanted,” you admitted, before you could stop yourself.

Yuri paused. The silence stretched—but instead of pulling away, she pressed her forehead to yours.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” she murmured.

She kissed your jaw, your neck, her mouth moving in a slow trail down toward your collarbone. Her hands were under your shirt now, roaming up your sides like she was mapping you. Her fingertips were warm, calloused in the subtlest way, dragging lightly across your skin. It was maddening. Intoxicating.

And it felt good to let go.

You grabbed her hoodie, tugging her closer until your thighs bumped, bodies flush. She smiled against your neck.

“Tell me what you want,” she whispered.

You didn’t think—you just answered. “You. Like this. Just don’t stop.”

Her hoodie came off first, slow and deliberate, leaving her in a black sports bra that clung to her in all the right places. She stripped you next, pausing only to run her fingers over the skin just above your waistband, like she was savoring every inch.

“You’re so soft,” she whispered, more to herself than to you. “So fucking pretty.”

You felt heat coil low in your stomach at the sound of her cursing. It wasn’t something you heard from her on camera. This Yuri was private. Real. And she wanted you.

Her hand slid down the front of your pants, over your underwear—just enough pressure to make your hips buck against her.

“You’re already wet,” she murmured, pleased. “God, baby…”

You moaned as her fingers pressed more firmly, circling, teasing. She kissed you again, swallowing the sound, moving her hand just right while her other palm cradled the back of your head.

You felt yourself unraveling already, like your body had been waiting for her all this time. The attention. The care. The quiet need.

And Yuri gave it freely.

She whispered praise into your skin, her fingers moving in slow, torturous rhythms over your soaked underwear. “That’s it. Just like that… Let me make you feel good.”

You were panting now, your thighs trembling. You clutched at her shoulders, nails digging in lightly, and Yuri groaned at the sensation.

“You’re so responsive,” she said, voice thick with want. “Sensitive everywhere…”

She slid your underwear down and kissed you again, her tongue parting your lips at the same moment two fingers slipped inside you.

You gasped, clutching her harder. She moved with a precision that was both careful and greedy—curling her fingers at just the right angle, grinding her palm against your clit with every thrust.

“Fuck, Yuri—”

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “Just let go for me.”

And under that soft red glow, in the quiet backstage dark where no one could see you—where you could finally stop hiding—you did.

You came with a choked cry against her neck, your body trembling as the waves rolled through you. Yuri held you steady, her fingers never leaving you until your legs gave out and you collapsed into her arms.

She caught you like she expected it. Like she’d wanted this too badly to let you fall.

She kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips again—softer now, her hands gentler.

“Still with me?” she whispered.

You nodded, dazed. “Yeah… God.”

Yuri laughed softly, nuzzling against your skin. “We’re just getting started.”

Your body was still twitching when she eased her fingers out of you.

Slow. Purposeful.

You whimpered at the loss, your thighs still trembling, but she hushed you with a kiss—soft lips dragging across yours, the gentleness a striking contrast to the way she’d just wrecked you.

“You’re so responsive,” she whispered again, like she couldn’t stop marveling at it. “I could do that all night.”

You leaned into her touch, dizzy with afterglow, your body warm and slick with sweat beneath your half-peeled clothes. But Yuri wasn’t done. Not even close.

Her eyes roamed over you, hunger returning in full force.

“Lie back,” she said softly, nodding toward one of the low padded storage benches along the backstage wall. “There.”

The tone in her voice brooked no argument.

You obeyed, heart thudding, as you eased back onto the cool vinyl surface. It was wide enough to hold you, barely. Yuri followed you down, kneeling between your parted thighs, her palms dragging up along your calves as she positioned you exactly how she wanted—open, exposed, completely hers.

“You have no idea how long I’ve imagined this,” she murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Spreading you out. Making you fall apart again.”

You swallowed hard, your body already aching with anticipation.

Yuri leaned in and kissed your inner thigh, slow and deliberate, her mouth hot and wet against your skin. Another kiss, closer. Then her breath ghosted over your core.

You squirmed.

“Hold still,” she said firmly, her fingers gripping your hips. “Let me taste you.”

And then her mouth was on you.

Your breath hitched—then shattered into a moan as her tongue parted you with unbearable precision. She licked a slow, deliberate stripe up your soaked folds, teasing first, then pressing in deeper. Her tongue circled your clit with maddening skill, alternating between gentle flicks and steady suction, all while her fingers dug into your thighs to keep you right where she wanted you.

“You taste so fucking good,” she breathed against you. “I could live between your legs.”

You gasped her name, clutching the bench edge until your knuckles went white. She hummed in approval, the vibration shooting straight through your core. Your hips tried to jerk upward, but she pinned you down effortlessly, holding you open as her tongue worked faster, messier—sloppier in a way that made your toes curl.

The heat built fast.

Too fast.

Your whole body was tightening again, your nerves raw from your first orgasm, now hypersensitive to every slow drag of her tongue. Yuri seemed to know—enjoyed it, even.

“You gonna come again for me?” she murmured, licking her lips before diving back in. “I want to feel it this time. Want to watch you fall apart.”

Your reply was a strangled moan. You were already there.

Your thighs clamped around her head, your body arching off the bench as the second orgasm slammed through you, harder than the first—sharp, blinding, all-consuming. Yuri groaned into your cunt like she’d been waiting for it, holding you through every twitch and cry, her mouth relentless.

Only when you were shaking—overwhelmed, gasping—did she finally pull back.

Her mouth and chin were slick, glistening in the dim red light. She licked her lips and grinned, flushed and triumphant.

“Fuck, that was beautiful,” she whispered, crawling up over you, her body pressing fully against yours now—skin on skin, chest to chest. “You okay?”

You nodded, dazed, barely able to form words.

“Color?” she asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You blinked. “Green. Very green.”

That smile came again—soft, crooked, and a little wicked.

“Good.”

And then her hand slid between your legs again.

You gasped, hips jolting. “Yuri—!”

“I’m not done,” she whispered, mouth grazing your ear. “I haven’t even let you touch me yet.”

You whined, overwhelmed but craving more. Needy. Desperate.

Her voice dropped lower. “And I want you begging for it.”

You tried to catch your breath, body lax and shaking, but Yuri didn’t give you a moment.

Her hand slid back between your legs with unhurried purpose, her fingers feather-light against your soaked, swollen skin.

You jolted, hips twitching away instinctively. “Y-Yuri, wait—!”

A breathy laugh escaped her. “Oh, no. You’re not done yet.”

You whimpered, a high, needy sound you barely recognized as your own. But Yuri just smiled—smirked—as she gently cupped your overstimulated pussy, pressing her palm down so you couldn’t move away.

Your body tensed, every nerve ending screaming, pleasure now razor-sharp and unbearable.

“You’re so sensitive now,” she murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “All twitchy and soft and messy…”

She ran a single finger through your folds, not even pushing in—just a slow, lazy glide that made you flinch and moan.

“Fuck,” you choked out, your voice shaking. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes,” Yuri said firmly, tilting your chin up to make you look her in the eyes, “you can. And you will. For me.”

You bit your lip, your thighs threatening to snap shut, but she simply pushed them apart again—stronger than she looked—and slipped two fingers back inside with maddening ease. The stretch was too much, too soon, but your cunt clenched around her anyway, greedy despite the ache.

She saw it.

Felt it.

And smirked again.

“You like this,” she whispered. “Being so fucked out you can’t think.”

You whined. “You’re so mean…”

Yuri leaned down, her lips brushing your ear. “You love it.”

Then her thumb pressed against your clit—just a light touch, but your back arched instantly, a broken sob spilling from your lips.

Your whole body was on fire now. Every drag of her fingers felt like lightning—delicious and cruel, a punishment and a gift. You were thrashing in her grip, overwhelmed by sensation, by heat, by her voice murmuring praise and filth in equal measure.

“That’s it, baby… So pretty when you beg…”

You hadn’t realized you were begging until the words left your mouth.

“Please—please, Yuri, I—fuck, it’s too much—”

She slowed her thrusts just enough to make you feel the stretch, the ache, the slick sound of your cunt taking her so easily. Your whole body trembled.

“You can give me one more,” she whispered, lips trailing down your neck. “One more. I want to see you break.”

You sobbed as the tension rose again, unbearable and fast and sharp. Yuri kept you pinned open, never letting you twist away, her thumb stroking tight circles that had your whole body on edge.

And then you shattered.

The orgasm hit like a wave crashing against rock—violent, uncontrollable. You screamed her name, your nails raking down her back as you convulsed, clenching hard around her fingers.

Yuri groaned into your throat, like the sound of your pleasure alone got her off.

“That’s it,” she whispered. “That’s fucking it…”

Your body gave out entirely, shaking and boneless, your vision flickering with stars. Yuri finally—finally—eased her fingers out, your slick coating her hand.

You whimpered as her palm brushed your clit again, even by accident. She chuckled.

“Sensitive,” she teased. “So cute when you whine.”

You blinked up at her, dazed, flushed, ruined.

“Can’t believe I made you come three times,” she said with a smug little grin, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “You’re going to be thinking about this every time you see me on stage, aren’t you?”

You managed a shaky nod, your voice barely a whisper.

“Yes.”

_____

You were barely there—body still twitching, chest heaving, skin damp with sweat—when Yuri leaned down and kissed your jaw again, almost tender. Almost.

Her thighs straddled your hips, her hands bracing on either side of your shoulders. You could feel the heat radiating off her core as she shifted forward, grinding slowly, letting her clothed pussy drag across your bare stomach.

She was soaked.

And smug about it.

“Think you can give me a little more, sweetheart?” she asked, voice syrup-sweet but wicked under the surface.

You blinked up at her, dazed. “I—I don’t think I can move…”

Yuri smirked, leaning closer until her mouth brushed yours. “Good. You don’t need to. Just lie there and let me use you.”

The way she said it made your breath catch—commanding but reverent. Like she knew she had you completely, and wouldn’t waste a second of it.

You nodded slowly. “Please…”

That single word—soft, needy—made something in her eyes darken.

She shifted up your body, knees planting to either side of your ribs, and slowly—so slowly—peeled her soaked underwear down her thighs. You couldn’t look away. The way it clung to her skin, the slick sheen between her legs, the flushed pink of her lips as she revealed herself to you… she was glistening.

And she saw you staring.

Yuri gave a breathless little laugh, full of heat. “You look ruined. Like you’d worship me if I let you.”

“I would,” you whispered. No hesitation.

That made her moan. Low. Rough.

She braced one hand on the wall behind your head, then used the other to guide herself down until her soaking core pressed directly against your lower stomach—grinding just enough to make her exhale sharply.

“So fucking warm,” she breathed. “God, you’re perfect…”

Then she shifted lower—deliberately—until her slick center hovered just above your thigh.

She looked into your eyes as she slowly lowered herself, her pussy dragging against your bare skin. The moment she found the right angle, her hips jerked—just slightly—and a choked moan escaped her lips.

“Oh—fuck—”

Her rhythm started slow. Careful.

Grinding down in steady, controlled circles as her clit found friction against your leg. Her slick coated you, every glide sending sparks up her spine. You watched, breathless, as Jo Yuri—idol, composed and flawless—rolled her hips with quiet desperation, chasing her own high on your body.

Her head dropped back slightly, her chest rising and falling with shallow gasps. One hand squeezed your shoulder for leverage, nails digging in lightly.

“You feel so good,” she panted. “Just… fuck, just let me ride you…”

You whimpered in response, dizzy from the sight—her flushed face, her sweat-damp hair, the soft curses spilling from her lips with each grind of her hips.

“Keep looking at me,” she said suddenly, eyes snapping open. “I want you watching when I come.”

You did.

And it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Her pace quickened, more erratic now, her breaths sharp and shallow as her thighs trembled against your ribs. You felt how close she was—how her whole body tightened, her stomach twitching, her rhythm faltering.

“I’m—close, fuck, I’m gonna—”

You moved your thigh just enough to add pressure. That was it.

Yuri shattered.

She cried out, high and broken, as her orgasm ripped through her—hips grinding desperately, riding out every wave until she finally collapsed forward onto your chest, panting, her whole body slick and shaking.

You wrapped your arms around her instinctively, holding her close as her breath stuttered against your neck.

“Fuck,” she whispered again. “I’ve never… I’ve never come like that.”

You smiled into her hair, dazed and spent. “Good.”

She laughed softly, lifting her head to look at you—really look. Her eyes were soft now, no teasing, just warmth.

“Next time,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “I’m going to ride your face.”

You groaned. “You’ll kill me.”

Yuri smiled, wicked and lovely. “What a way to go.”

_____

The silence after was thick and warm.

Yuri lay on top of you, her weight comforting, her breath still uneven against your collarbone. Your arms curled around her without thought, fingers tracing lazy patterns down her back, grounding you both.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Just the low hum of backstage electronics, your mingled breathing, and the rhythmic thud of your heart trying to remember what “rest” felt like.

Then Yuri stirred, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder.

“You okay?” she murmured. It wasn’t teasing now—just raw concern, hidden in softness.

You nodded. “More than okay.”

She pulled back just enough to see your face, her thumb brushing gently across your cheek. “You’re completely wrecked.”

“Whose fault is that?” you breathed, smiling weakly.

She smirked. “I regret nothing.”

You laughed softly, and the sound made her whole expression soften. Not the smirk this time—something quieter. Sweeter.

Yuri shifted to lie beside you, arm slung low across your waist. Her fingertips traced aimless shapes over your skin, like she couldn’t stop touching you, even now. You turned to face her fully, your foreheads almost touching.

“That was…” you began, but the words got stuck in your throat.

She filled them in. “Everything?”

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Everything.”

There was a pause. Then:

“You’ve always looked at me like that,” she said, voice barely a breath.

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Like I was something you couldn’t have.” Her hand moved to your chin, lifting it gently. “You can stop doing that now.”

Your chest squeezed at the quiet certainty in her voice. There was no need for bravado. No performance. Just Yuri—real and close and impossibly sincere.

You leaned in and kissed her again. Soft. Slow. Like a promise.

“I don’t want this to be just tonight,” you admitted.

Her smile was immediate, crooked and full of heat. “Good. Because I haven’t even taken you on a real date yet.”

You flushed. “You’ve already ruined me in a supply closet, but now you’re worried about dates?”

She grinned wider. “I’m a woman of class.”

You snorted. “Sure you are.”

Yuri leaned in again, this time pressing her lips to your temple.

“We’ll figure it out,” she whispered. “Cameras or no cameras. I want this.”

You swallowed hard, emotion pooling low in your throat.

“Okay,” you whispered.

She nuzzled into your neck, her arm pulling you closer as your bodies tangled under the heat of the night.

Somewhere above you, the lights onstage flickered back to full. The crew would come looking soon. But for now, in the hush between worlds—between the Yuri the world adored and the Yuri who held you like she’d never let go—you were safe. Spent. Wanted.

And you didn’t need the spotlight anymore.

You had her.

[turtlespancake]

i cant believe fontaine finally cleaned up its archon quest writing and learned to Actually Proper Balance its npc screentime with its playable character screentime. and yet. AND YET!!! THIS is the nation where i end up hyperfixating on the historical figures with no official designs.

[t3chborb]

With a bit of sculpting experience under my belt, I felt like making the first 3 orbs took way too long, so I tried making the other 3 all at once. Sculpting 3 at the same time, carving 3 at the same time, sanding 3 at the same time, etc etc. Turns out that is absolutely the better strategy :P

Sooo yeah, with Necromancer, Biohazard, and Diesel Baron orbs done at once, that means that as far as I'm concerned, my little Ramattra orb collection is done :P They're all definitely messy (the base skin one, the first one I've made somehow turned out the best of the bunch), but aren't they just charming together~

[not-cool-enough-to-scuba-dive]

actually I would quite like to hear your thoughts on gender philosophy in omegaverse worldbuilding? :3

hm. anon, I fear this is a far larger can of worms than you probably anticipated. I'm going to spare you the worst of it by only giving you a short version, but be careful what you wish for.

I'm also hiding it under a cut because even the short version is embarrassingly long.

I'm hardly a connoisseur of omegaverse content, nor would I consider myself anywhere near an expert. I don't want to speak for all fics as I've admittedly not read many. I did do my master's diss about legal gender recognition, so this is more about gender and philosophically sound worldbuilding than an indictment of any particular writing or story tbh.

the short answer is I find omegaverse worldbuilding really interesting, but I've never fully been able to enjoy it due to the way a/b/o identities tend to have a biological determinist slant to them imo, and tendency for a lack of real world implications of what the omegaverse does to gender and character interactions anywhere outside the bedroom. I'd love to figure out a version that's more inclusive and philosophically/ideologically consistent, both with itself and with my own views on real life gender (basically, I want to make it make more sense, have less biological determinism, and be more inclusive of the wider range of human experiences). this is a big task, and ngl I haven't achieved it and don't anticipate doing so any time soon. I have like, a concept in my head, taking apart all the key pieces and putting them together again but different, but to make it thorough enough would require more effort and time than I have because I'm like, employed 😔

I feel like someday if I ever get invited to a powerpoint night though, this could be It.

[autism-corner]

I couldn’t stop staring at those long, slender fingers as they lifted the glass of red wine to her lips, as they carefully cut up the meat with her knife and gracefully brought the food to her mouth...

She looked at me and smiled. "You always tend to provoke controversy, just like a Venus flytrap. Do you long for a sword that much?"

[hum--hallelujah]

computer ENHANCE

the red/orange is custom obviously but yeah I finally figured it out after a month of scratching my head like "that's not a jazz bass... doesn't look like a telecaster... he's clearly not playing a Squier anymore..." I have figured it out. thank you gettyimages

[aromanticasterisms]

my god i am ADORING the fontaine world quests so much they are so good

[kellystar321]

.

[heremob]

Some old wips that i never finished but i still like some things about them

[kursedmayo]

I've already known I'm bisexual for a while but I'm also bye-sexual (on the asexual spectrum) now so. Yeah.

[pandapetals]

when the leaves turn

summary: as the seasons change in jackson, so does your relationship with joel. It starts with small things—his quiet presence outside the schoolhouse, how he keeps bringing you books for the kids or how his gruff demeanor softens just slightly when he talks to you.

pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!teacher reader

word count: 8k

content warnings: slight reader description, y/n used once or twice, slight slow burn, fluff, some angst, maria appearance, ellie being ellie, grumpy joel but soft, kissing but at the end.

a/n: request from anon. inspired by autumn/winter months. divider by @saradika-graphics.

August

Autumn in Jackson smelled like wood smoke and damp earth, like something settling in before the frost. Maybe that was why it always felt like a fresh start. Or maybe it was because school began then, and with it, the quiet thrill of sharpening pencils, smoothing out worn pages, and watching young minds spark to life.

The air carried a crisp bite in the mornings, warming just enough by midday to make the schoolhouse feel less like a drafty old cabin and more like a place where something good could grow. You tried to hold on to that feeling now as you stood in the small room, surveying the meager stack of books on the shelf. Five. That was it. Five stories to last an entire year.

Maria did what she could—she always did—but Jackson could only provide so much. Food, shelter, safety. The essentials. Books, though? Books were sacred.

The kids deserved more. They deserved to get lost in stories, to hear unfamiliar words roll off the tongue, to dream beyond the walls of this town. And right now, all you had were the same five dog-eared volumes, ones that had already been read so many times the kids could recite them back to you. They needed more.

You’d mentioned it offhand, a passing comment to Maria or Tommy—how the kids were running out of new books to read, how their little library shelves were looking thinner by the week. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

Maria had brought it up to Joel once in passing, maybe while handing out patrol assignments or over dinner at the hall. Though he didn’t say much in response—just a slow nod, a quiet grunt of acknowledgment—he’d kept it tucked away.

After that, every time he rode beyond the gates, rifle slung across his back, he started looking. Not just for threats. Not just for supplies.

For books.

For the kids, at least. That’s what he told himself.

When Maria stopped by the schoolhouse, a small stack of books cradled in her arms. She set them down on your desk with a satisfied smile.

“Look what turned up,” she said, brushing the cold from her sleeves.

Your eyes widened as you reached for the top one—a hardcover copy of Charlotte’s Web, its edges worn but still intact. Beneath it, a few dog-eared paperbacks, pages yellowed with time but still readable.

“Oh, Maria,” you breathed, running a hand over the covers. “Where did you find these?”

She waved a hand. “You mentioned needing more. Figured I’d keep an eye out.”

You smiled, touched by the gesture. “Thank you.”

Maria didn’t correct you. Didn’t mention the real reason those books were here. Just shot you a knowing look before heading back out into the cool autumn breeze.

That day, you watched as the kids excitedly flipped through the pages, some still having to share, but none of them seeming to mind. Their little fingers traced over faded words, their voices rising with excitement as they pored over the “new” books. It was worth it—seeing them light up like that.

A few days later, more books appeared.

Five of them were stacked neatly on the steps outside the schoolhouse. No note. No explanation. Just left there in the quiet of the early morning.

You glanced around, expecting someone to step forward, maybe one of the townsfolk who had extras lying around. But no one lingered nearby, no one waiting to be thanked.

Possibly Maria had found more books but something about it didn’t sit right.

Then it happened again and again.

Every few days, another small pile of books—some more battered than others, their covers soft with age, spines cracked, but pages still intact. Someone was going through a lot of trouble to bring them here.

And you were determined to find out who.

____________

“Maria?” You called as you spotted her walking through town one Saturday afternoon, bundled up against the lingering chill in the air.

She turned, offering you a polite smile. “What’s up?”

You fell into step beside her, arms crossed. “How have you been finding all of these books?” Your voice was casual, but your curiosity slipped through.

Maria blinked, then let out a small chuckle. “Oh,” she shook her head, a little amused, a little knowing. “I didn’t find them.”

Your brows furrowed. “Then who—”

“Actually, Joel has—”

You stopped mid-step. “Joel?”

Maria’s smirk deepened, but she didn’t add anything else, just gave you a meaningful look before continuing on her way.

Joel.

You found him that afternoon, just as he was tying off his horse near the stables, fresh from patrol. His jacket was dusted with dried mud, his knuckles scuffed like he might’ve had to wrestle something—or someone—on the way back. And slung over his shoulder, nestled in his pack, you could just make out the edges of another book.

You crossed your arms and cleared your throat. “So… you wanna tell me why you’ve been sneaking books onto my porch like some kind of storybook bandit?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he unbuckled the saddle. “Ain’t sneakin’,” he muttered. “Just droppin’ ‘em off.”

You stepped closer, tilting your head. “And where exactly are you finding all of these?”

He grunted, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure why this was even a conversation. “Out there.” A vague nod toward the gate. “Old houses. Shops. Whatever’s left.”

You studied him, trying to piece it together. Joel wasn’t the type to go out of his way for things that weren’t necessary. He took care of what needed to be done—patrols, keeping Jackson safe—but this?

This was something else.

His fingers flexed against the strap of his pack, like he was debating whether to keep holding it or shove it into your arms and walk away.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said softly.

Joel finally looked at you then, eyes flickering with something unreadable. He swallowed, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Kids need somethin’ to do,” he muttered. “Better than runnin’ around causin’ trouble.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “You sure it’s just for the kids?”

His gaze dropped for half a second—just long enough for you to notice.

Then he shook his head, pulling the pack from his shoulder and thrusting it toward you. “Got more in here,” he said, clearing his throat. “Figure you’ll know what to do with ‘em.”

You took it, fingers brushing his. His hand was warm, rough from years of work, and the moment lingered longer than it needed to.

“Thank you, Joel.”

His lips parted slightly, like maybe he had something to say. But instead, he just gave a short nod, stepping back, putting space between you.

As he turned to go, you could’ve sworn you saw the corner of his mouth twitch—just the slightest hint of a smile.

September

You’d slowly worked your way into Joel’s life. Not that he’d admit it—not out loud, anyway.

It had started with the books, but there had always been something about him that intrigued you. Even before that. The way he carried himself and spoke in that quiet, measured way, like he only said what was worth saying. How he seemed to be made of sharp edges but had the softest touch when it came to the people he let in.

The books had just given you an excuse to talk to him.

And once you started, you didn’t want to stop.

You made a habit of waving when you passed him in town, throwing a casual ‘Hey, Joel’ over your shoulder as you carried on with your day. At first, all you got in return was a nod. Maybe a grunt.

Then, one day, he actually said ‘Hey’ back.

After a while, he started stopping when you stopped.

He never lingered long, always busy with something—fixing the fencing near the sheep pen, hauling supplies, heading out on patrol. But he let you talk to him, and that was something.

Small talk at first—how the kids were doing, whether the new batch of patrol recruits were worth a damn, what Jackson needed more of before winter hit. Nothing special. But the more you spoke, the more he softened. You saw it in how he lingered a little longer when you crossed paths, how his gaze didn’t dart away as quickly, how his nods turned into real answers.

Like today.

“I love this time of year,” you said one afternoon, adjusting the lesson plans in your arms as you passed Joel near the hall.

Joel glanced up from where he was adjusting his pack, one brow raised. “Why’s that?”

“It’s the beginning of autumn,” you said, shifting the stack of papers against your hip. “The air gets crisp, the leaves start turning.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “Or maybe I’m biased.”

His gaze lingered for a second longer than usual. “Biased how?”

“Well…” You hummed, pretending to think. “It’s my birth month.”

Joel let out a quiet huff, shaking his head. “Yeah, see, that explains it.”

You grinned. “And what about you? What’s your favorite month?”

“Don’t have one,” he answered too quickly.

You raised a brow. “No favorite month? No favorite season?”

“They’re all the same,” he muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Just depends how miserable the weather wants to be.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, well, what about the worst month?”

“September,” Joel said immediately, shifting his pack higher on his shoulder. “It’s forgettable.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause.

Not because of the words, but because of the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Like the answer had been waiting there, right at the surface, ready to slip out the second you asked.

Forgettable, he’d called it.

The way he said it made your stomach twist. Like he wasn’t talking about the month at all.

You didn’t push. Just nodded, shifting the papers in your arms. “Huh.”

Something about the way he said it didn’t sit right. Like, he didn’t mean September was forgettable. Maybe he meant he was.

And that’s when it clicked.

You kept your expression neutral, storing the information away. If you were right—and you had a feeling you were—his birthday was coming up.

Joel exhaled through his nose like he was already done with the conversation. “You need help with those?”

You blinked. It was the first time he’d ever offered.

“Nah, I got it,” you said, watching as he gave a small nod and started walking away.

You let him go because even if Joel Miller hated his birthday, you already knew you weren’t going to let it pass unnoticed.

____________

You found out from Tommy that Joel’s birthday was September 26th.

He hadn’t meant to tell you—just an offhand comment, muttered between sips of coffee as he patched up a tear in his glove. But the second the words left his mouth, Tommy went stiff, like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to.

“He don’t like to talk about it,” he warned, his voice quieter now. “Lost Sarah...”

Joel had lost his daughter that same day.

The weight of it sat heavy in your chest that night, curled up under a too-thin blanket, staring at the ceiling. You wanted to do something, but how did you celebrate a day that only brought him pain? The thought made your throat tighten, eyes burning as you buried your face in the pillow.

You couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t take away the hurt.

Maybe you could give him something that didn’t feel like a celebration but still meant I see you.

The answer came sooner than expected.

It was a chilly afternoon when you spotted Joel walking toward you, his shoulders hunched against the wind. His usual scowl was in place, but something was different.

He was carrying something.

“Hey,” you greeted, shifting the basket in your arms as he came to a stop in front of you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, his gaze flicking away like he was already second-guessing himself. Then, without a word, he reached into his pack and pulled out a small, wrapped bundle.

Rough brown paper, tied with twine.

He held it out. “Here.”

You blinked. “What’s this?”

Joel sighed, looking somewhere over your shoulder like this whole thing was deeply inconvenient for him. “You said September was your birthday month.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Carefully, you took the bundle from his hands, fingers grazing his—rough, calloused, warm even in the cold. You pulled the twine loose and peeled back the paper.

A mug.

Not just any mug. Sturdy ceramic, a little chipped at the rim, but glazed in a deep, autumn gold. You could tell it was old but well-made, like the kind you’d find in a house that had once been a home.

You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat. “Joel…”

He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured you might need one,” he muttered. “See you haulin’ coffee to the school every mornin’. Thought… well. Just thought.”

Your fingers curled around the handle. It fit perfectly in your palm.

It was nothing grand. Nothing fancy, but it was thoughtful.

You looked up at him, warmth spreading through your chest. “Thank you.”

His ears tinged pink. He gave a stiff nod like he wasn’t sure what to do with your gratitude.

Your heart pounded. Now or never.

“Actually…” You hesitated. “I have something for you too.”

Joel’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing slightly. “For what?”

You bit your lip, gripping the mug a little tighter. “For your birthday.”

Something passed over his face—quick, fleeting. His jaw clenched, his fingers flexing at his sides.

He shook his head. “You don’t gotta—”

“I know,” you cut in softly. “I know you don’t like your birthday. But… I still wanted to do something for you.”

Joel went quiet.

You let the words settle between you, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way his mouth pressed into a firm line like he wanted to argue but couldn’t quite find the words.

Then, finally, he exhaled, slow and measured. “What is it?”

You smiled. “Come by my place later and find out.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. He hesitated. Then, after a long pause, he gave a small nod.

That evening, there was a knock at your door.

Joel stood there, arms crossed, looking like he wasn’t sure if he regretted showing up or not.

You grinned. “Come in.”

He did, stepping inside cautiously, gaze sweeping over the cozy space—books stacked in uneven piles, a blanket draped over the couch, the faint scent of something warm in the air.

You grabbed the package from the table and turned to face him. “Here.”

He stared at it. Then at you.

Slowly, he reached out and took it.

He unwrapped it carefully, calloused fingers making quick work of the twine. The paper fell away, and Joel went still.

A flannel shirt.

Dark green, lined with soft fleece on the inside. Thick enough to keep him warm on patrol, but not too heavy. Well-made, just like the one he always wore—the one you knew had been patched up more times than you could count.

His fingers smoothed over the fabric, quiet.

You shifted on your feet. “I noticed yours was getting pretty worn,” you murmured. “Thought you could use another.”

Joel swallowed, still staring at it.

For a long moment, you thought maybe you’d overstepped. That he’d shake his head, shove it back at you, mutter something about how he didn’t need it.

Instead, he surprised you.

He cleared his throat. “It’s… nice.” A pause. “Thank you.”

Your chest ached at how hesitant he sounded. Like he wasn’t used to someone thinking about him, let alone for him.

You smiled. “Happy early birthday, Joel.”

He looked at you then. Really looked, and for the first time, he didn’t seem quite so uncomfortable with the weight of it.

October 

October had settled into Jackson with crisp air and golden leaves crunching underfoot. The town buzzed with preparations for Maria’s fall festival: strings of lanterns hung between buildings, tables were set up with baked goods, and the faint scent of cinnamon and apples drifted through the streets.

Joel had tried to ignore the whole thing. Tried.

But then you’d mentioned it—offhand, casual.

“You’re coming, right?” You’d asked, tilting your head at him as you straightened a pile of books in the schoolhouse.

Joel had grunted, which you took as hesitation.

You just smiled. “C’mon, it wouldn’t kill you to have a little fun.”

And somehow, he’d found himself agreeing.

Now, Ellie sat across from him at the dinner table, stabbing at a slice of pie with unnecessary force, a wicked glint in her eye.

“I’m so excited for the dance,” she said, too loud, flashing Joel a knowing grin.

Joel grunted, trying to appear disinterested as he scooped up another bite of stew. “Mhm.”

Ellie’s grin widened. She was a shark who had scented blood.

“Is your girlfriend gonna be there?” she asked, dragging out the word obnoxiously.

Joel nearly choked on his food. He shot her a glare. “She ain’t my girlfriend.”

Ellie gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like she’d been personally wounded. “Wow. Harsh.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his spoon down with a little too much force. “I ain’t havin’ this conversation with you.”

“Oh, you so are.” Ellie leaned in, elbows on the table, smirking. “You’ve been actin’ all weird lately. Like, more than usual.”

“I don’t act weird.”

“You so do.” She started counting on her fingers. “You’ve been nice to people. Like, actually talking to them instead of just grunting. You suddenly care about how you look before you leave the house—”

Joel scoffed. “The hell I do.”

Ellie ignored him, grinning wider. “And the other day? You were smiling. Like, a real, actual smile.”

Joel picked up his spoon again, pointing it at her. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Ellie kicked her feet up on the chair next to her, completely undeterred. “Oh, but I do. You like her.”

Joel tensed, his jaw ticking. Ellie just sat there, smirking, waiting for him to deny it.

He didn’t.

Instead, he focused on his food, muttering under his breath, “Eat your damn pie.”

Ellie beamed in victory.

“Can’t wait to see you two at the dance,” she sang, hopping up from the table and grabbing her plate. “Gonna be so romantic.”

Joel groaned, rubbing a hand down his face.

What the hell had he just agreed to?

____________

The hall had been transformed. Twinkling lanterns hung from the rafters, casting everything in a warm golden glow. Tables were lined with mismatched candles, their tiny flames flickering against the cool draft seeping in from the open doors. The scent of cider and baked apples filled the space, blending with the sound of laughter and the soft strum of a guitar from the corner.

You stood near the refreshment table, hands wrapped around a warm mug, watching as couples twirled across the wooden floor. It was almost normal.

For a moment, it was easy to pretend the world wasn’t broken. That beyond Jackson’s walls, there weren’t infected lurking in the shadows, waiting to take all of this away.

You shifted on your feet, smoothing a hand over your dress—nothing fancy, just something simple, warm enough for the crisp autumn night, paired with your trusty boots. The fabric swayed gently as you moved, and you felt a little lighter, a little more… hopeful.

Then, the door swung open, and your breath caught, causing your heart to do a stupid little flutter at the sight of him.

Joel’s hair was combed back—not slicked, not perfect, just neater than usual, like maybe he’d actually put in some effort. He wore a deep green flannel, the one you’d given him for his birthday, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. He wore jeans, boots, and his usual belt. Still very much Joel, but softened somehow.

Beside him, Ellie smirked up at him, clearly impressed.

“Damn, look at you,” she teased, elbowing him as they stepped inside. “Who knew you could clean up this nice?”

Joel shot her a look. “I ain’t cleaned up.”

Ellie snorted. “You so are.” Then, as if just noticing you, her smirk widened. “Ohhh, I see now.”

Joel followed her gaze, his eyes landing on you. His movements slowed, just for a second.

Then he exhaled through his nose, shifting on his feet like he was suddenly self-conscious.

You smiled. “You made it.”

He grunted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. You asked.”

Ellie gasped, loud and exaggerated. “Wait. Wait—did Joel Miller just admit he came here for you?” She turned to him, grinning. “That’s, like, the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Joel shot her a withering look. “Go away.”

Ellie only cackled, grabbing a cup of cider from the table. “Nah, I think I’ll stick around and see how this plays out.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Be nice, Ellie.”

Ellie snorted. “I am being nice. You should’ve seen him before we left—kept grumbling about how this was a waste of time. And yet, here he is.”

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear to God—”

You stepped closer, tilting your head up at him. “You do look nice, though.”

Joel’s hand dropped. His gaze flickered to yours, something unreadable behind it.

A slow breath. Then—so soft you almost missed it—“You too.”

A warmth spread through you, settling deep in your chest.

Ellie groaned, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Oh my God, just dance already.”

Joel scowled. “Ain’t happenin’.”

Ellie grinned. “We’ll see about that.”

You chuckled, taking a slow sip of your cider, already scheming.

Ellie, ever the troublemaker, smirked one last time before making a half-hearted excuse and disappearing into the crowd, leaving you and Joel standing there alone.

You turned to him, offering a fresh cup of cider. “Here.”

Joel hesitated for just a second before taking it, his fingers brushing against yours—warm and rough.

“Thanks,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor like the damn woodgrain had something interesting to say.

You smiled, watching him. It was strange, seeing him here—out of place but present, the usual tension in his shoulders just a little looser. The lantern light flickered over his face, casting soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, catching the silver in his hair.

Then, the band struck up a new tune.

Your breath hitched. That song.

An old favorite, one you hadn’t heard in years. Something soft and slow, the kind of melody that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

You set your cider down, turning to Joel with a grin. “C’mon.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

Joel stiffened, shifting on his feet like you’d just asked him to recite poetry in front of the whole town. “Nah.”

You sighed dramatically. “Joel.”

“Nope.”

You took a step closer. “It’s just one dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

You arched a brow. “Not even back in the day?”

Joel huffed, eyes darting to the side like he was contemplating an escape route. “That was different.”

Your lips twitched. “Different how?”

He exhaled sharply, tilting his head back before looking at you again. “You ain’t lettin’ this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

Joel stared at you for a long moment. You could see the war in his eyes—the reluctance, the hesitation.

Then you reached for his hand, and he let you.

His palm was broad, calloused, fingers twitching slightly under yours. You squeezed gently, giving him an out if he wanted it.

He didn’t take it.

With a quiet sigh, Joel let you lead him toward the dance floor, moving stiffly at first, like his body had forgotten how this worked.

“You’re gonna be fine,” you teased softly, placing his free hand at your waist.

He swallowed. “You say that now.”

You started to sway, guiding him with slow, easy steps. After a beat, he followed.

The tension in his shoulders faded gradually, his grip firm but careful, like he wasn’t sure how much space to leave between you. You took the liberty of closing the distance just a little more, your body brushing against his as the music hummed around you.

He smelled like worn leather and cedarwood. It made you feel safe.

His hand at your waist flexed slightly. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against the fabric of your dress, barely there, but enough to make your breath hitch.

You tilted your head up to look at him. His gaze was already on you.

Something unreadable passed between you.

“You’re not bad at this,” you murmured.

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “Not sayin’ I like it.”

You smiled. “Sure, Joel.”

He huffed, but his fingers curled a little tighter at your waist, holding you closer. His grip wasn’t hesitant anymore.

“You’re a…” He started, his voice low, rough.

You grinned. “Pain in your ass?”

Joel exhaled sharply, something close to a laugh—not quite, but enough to make your stomach flutter.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Was gonna say somethin’ else.”

You tilted your head up at him, eyes bright with mischief. “Oh? Like what?”

Joel’s jaw tightened, like he was debating whether or not to take the bait. His gaze flickered away for a brief second before landing back on you, something unreadable in those deep, hazel eyes.

“You’re persistent,” he finally said.

Joel let out a quiet grunt, but there was no real bite behind it. His thumb brushed absently along your waist just enough to send warmth curling through you.

“You always this difficult?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You hummed, swaying a little closer. “Only with you.”

Joel’s fingers twitched against your waist. His eyes held yours, something shifting in them, something softer than before.

“I should’ve known,” he muttered, but his voice had no frustration. If anything, he sounded almost… amused.

You grinned. “You’re gettin’ used to me, though.”

He shook his head, but his lips twitched just enough for you to notice. “Don’t know ‘bout that, sweetheart.”

December

Autumn was long gone, swept away with the last of the golden leaves. Winter had settled into Jackson with an unforgiving grip—bitter winds, thick snowfall, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore.

Today was no different.

Snow had started falling in the early afternoon, dusting the rooftops and piling in soft drifts along the streets. By the time class ended, the steady flurries had thickened into something heavier, swirling outside the schoolhouse windows.

Most of the kids had already rushed out the door, eager to get home before the worst of it hit, but a few lingered behind, helping you straighten chairs and gather up scattered lesson papers.

Then, the door creaked open, and a burst of cold air followed Joel Miller inside.

He stomped the snow from his boots, shaking his head as he pulled the scarf from around his neck. A familiar worn satchel was slung over his shoulder, and he made his way toward your desk, setting a small stack of books down with a quiet thump.

“Found these on patrol,” he muttered, glancing at you before shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure if he should linger.

You brushed your hands off on your skirt and stepped closer, fingertips trailing over the covers. “You’re making a habit of this,” you mused, looking up at him.

Joel grunted, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You smirked with an expression that read—Sure, Joel.

Before you could tease him further, the wind outside howled, rattling the old windowpanes. One of the kids—Lucy, a bright-eyed girl no older than seven—paused in the middle of stacking the bookshelves.

“Sounds bad out there,” she murmured.

Another gust of wind shrieked against the schoolhouse walls. The fire in the woodstove crackled, but a draft crept in beneath the door, chilling the air. You frowned, moving to peek outside.

Your stomach dipped.

The gentle snowfall from earlier had turned into a full-blown storm. White-out conditions. The streets had already disappeared under a thick, shifting blanket of snow, and the wind howled through town, sharp and biting.

Joel came up behind you, close enough that you felt his warmth. “Storm’s settin’ in fast,” he muttered, voice low.

You turned to the kids, trying to keep your voice calm. “Alright, looks like we’re stayin’ put for a bit.”

Lucy’s little brother, Daniel, fidgeted. “For how long?”

Joel crossed his arms. “’Til it clears up enough to walk home safe.”

The words weren’t unkind, but Daniel’s face still fell. His lip trembled, and he blinked up at Joel, eyes wide. “But what if it doesn’t stop?”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. You could see the exact moment he caved, the hard lines in his expression softening just slightly.

Kneeling down, he met Daniel’s worried gaze head-on. “Ain’t the first storm I’ve seen, kid,” he said, voice gentler now. “Won’t be the last. Nothin’ to do but wait it out. We’re safe here.”

Daniel sniffled but nodded.

You hid a smile, glancing at Joel as he stood back up. He caught you looking and huffed. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said innocently.

He narrowed his eyes, but before he could press, another voice piped up.

“What do we do now?” Lucy asked, shifting on her feet.

Joel glanced at you. You both knew the worst thing to do was let the kids sit in silence, stewing in worry.

You clapped your hands together. “We make the best of it.”

A few skeptical looks.

“Ever had a snowstorm sleepover?”

Lucy perked up. “Like… camping?”

“Exactly like camping,” you said brightly. “Except warmer.”

Joel snorted. “Debatable.”

You ignored him. “We’ve got books, a warm fire, and if we’re lucky…” You shot a glance at Joel. “Maybe some stories?”

Joel sighed, already shaking his head. “I ain’t—”

“C’mon, Joel,” Ellie’s voice suddenly called from the doorway.

You turned just in time to see her waltz in, brushing snow from her shoulders. “Oh, hell yeah,” she grinned, glancing around at the kids. “We havin’ a storm party in here?”

“You shouldn’t be out in this,” Joel muttered, but there was no real heat behind it.

Ellie shrugged, flopping onto a chair. “Relax, old man. I barely had to walk a block.”

She turned to the kids, nodding toward Joel. “Y’know, he’s real good at tellin’ stories. Bet if you bug him enough, he’ll spill a good one.”

Joel scowled. “Ellie.”

Ellie grinned, leaning back. “What? Just sayin’.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Guess it’s unanimous, then. Looks like you’re up, Miller.”

Joel exhaled sharply, glaring at Ellie before looking back at you. For a second, he seemed like he might refuse. Might grumble something about how this was your problem, not his, but then Daniel looked up at him again, eyes still a little wary, still searching for reassurance.

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Fine.”

Cheers erupted from the kids. Ellie whooped, shooting you a smug look.

You smiled, settling in as Joel pulled up a chair.

He leaned back, arms crossed, eyes scanning the small group in front of him like he was still debating whether this was worth his time. But then Lucy wiggled forward eagerly, Daniel tucked himself into the corner of the worn-out couch, and even Ellie leaned in slightly, clearly expecting a show.

Joel sighed, like he was already regretting this, and then—he started talking.

You leaned against your desk, watching him. Hanging onto every word.

At first, you were just listening, like everyone else. But then, your focus started to shift—not just to what he was saying, but how he was saying it.

The way his deep, low voice wrapped around the words, rich and slow, his Texan drawl stretching certain syllables, dragging out vowels in a way that sent a shiver up your spine.

God.

How had you never noticed it before?

His voice wasn’t just rough—it was warm, like whiskey on a cold night, settling deep into your bones. There was a cadence to how he spoke, how his gravelly tone smoothed over certain words and sharpened on others.

The fire flickered beside him, its glow catching the silver in his hair, casting deep shadows along the strong cut of his jaw. He wasn’t a performer, wasn’t trying to be—but he had the room in the palm of his hand, his voice steady, sure, filling the space between the crackling woodstove and the howling wind outside.

You swallowed, fingers gripping the edge of your desk.

Shit.

This was bad.

You’d always liked Joel. Always found him intriguing in that quiet, rough-around-the-edges way. Now it was something deeper, dangerous. 

You had it bad.

The worst part? You weren’t even sure when it had happened. Maybe it was the books or the way he always looked out for the kids. Maybe it was the rare, reluctant smirks he sent your way or how his hands lingered just a second too long when he handed you something.

Or maybe it was just him.

Joel Miller. A man made of sharp edges and quiet kindness, of steady hands and a voice that had somehow curled itself around your heart without you realizing it.

“You listenin’ or just starin’?”

Your eyes snapped up.

Joel was looking right at you, brow raised, mouth twitching at the corners like he already knew the answer.

Heat rushed to your face. “I—I’m listening.”

Joel hummed, unconvinced. His gaze flickered down—just for a second—before returning to yours. His fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair.

“Y’look real deep in thought over there,” he mused. “Somethin’ you wanna share with the class?”

Ellie perked up immediately. “Ohhh, yeah, what were you thinkin’ about?” She shot you a wicked grin. “Wait—were you staring at him?”

Joel groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “I was not staring.”

Ellie snickered. “Sure.”

Joel just shook his head, exhaling sharply. “You gonna let me finish this story or what?”

“By all means,” you said, biting back a smile.

Joel held your gaze for a second longer, something unreadable flickering behind those deep brown eyes. He leaned back again, clearing his throat.

But this time, when he kept talking, you noticed something different.

How his voice dipped a little lower, his fingers curled slightly tighter around the chair. The way his eyes found yours between sentences like maybe he was thinking about you, too.

____________

The snow finally stopped after two long hours, the sky clearing just enough for the late afternoon sun to peek through the heavy clouds. Its weak rays glinted off the thick blanket of white outside, already softening at the edges, turning to slush where footprints had trampled paths.

Joel stood near the door, arms crossed, watching as Lucy and Daniel rushed past him, their boots thudding against the wooden floor. Ellie was right behind them, already packing a handful of snow.

“Last one outside’s a rotten egg!” she called, shoving her way through the door with a laugh.

The kids shrieked, disappearing into the bright afternoon, their voices echoing down the street.

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Told ‘em I’d walk ‘em home.”

You smirked, stepping beside him, watching the kids tumble into the fresh snow. “Think they’ll be okay without you?”

Joel scoffed. “Barely.”

You chuckled, shifting slightly—and that’s when you realized.

It was just the two of you now.

The schoolhouse was quiet. The fire in the stove had died down to embers, casting a dim, flickering glow against the walls. Outside, Jackson stirred back to life after the storm, but in here, it felt like time had slowed.

Joel hadn’t moved. He still stood beside you, close enough that his warmth reached you, despite the cold creeping through the gaps in the door.

You cleared your throat, turning toward him. “Guess that means you don’t have an excuse to run off now.”

Joel arched a brow. “Wasn’t plannin’ on runnin’.”

Your lips quirked. “That so?”

His gaze flickered to yours, steady, unreadable. Then—so subtly you almost didn’t catch it—his fingers twitched at his side, like he’d thought about reaching for something but thought better of it.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of every little thing. The way his hand hovered just inches from yours. The roughness of his knuckles, the calloused pads of his fingertips, how easy it would be to close the space and—

You shook the thought away.

Joel shifted, glancing toward the table where the stack of books he’d brought still sat. “Y’gonna take those home?”

“Probably.” You moved past him to gather them up, but the moment your fingers brushed the top book, another hand beat you to it.

Joel’s.

Your breath hitched.

For a second, neither of you moved. His hand had settled just over yours, warm, solid, his fingers barely curling against your skin. A beat passed. Then another.

You glanced up.

Joel didn’t pull away.

His gaze met yours, something flickering behind those deep brown eyes—something unreadable, something waiting. The air felt different, heavier, like the storm had never really left.

Then, he cleared his throat and pulled back, grabbing half the stack and tucking it under his arm like nothing had happened.

“C’mon,” he muttered, heading for the door. “Ain’t lettin’ you haul all these by yourself.”

You blinked, heart still racing, then let out a breathless laugh. “Wow. Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

Joel rolled his eyes, holding the door open for you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

You grinned, brushing past him, close enough that your shoulder bumped his. “Too late.”

Joel huffed. But as you stepped outside, boots crunching in the fresh snow, you caught it—that small, almost imperceptible tug at the corner of his mouth.

And you knew.

He wasn’t regretting it at all.

February 

“Alright, make sure not to eat the glue sticks,” you warned, hands on your hips, though you couldn’t keep the laughter out of your voice.

A few giggles erupted around the classroom.

“I wasn’t gonna,” Daniel muttered, even though you had caught him eyeing one earlier.

You shook your head fondly, surveying the scene in front of you. The classroom was a mess of red and pink paper scraps, doilies, and way too much glitter. Some of the kids took their time, carefully writing heartfelt messages in their Valentine’s Day cards, while others scribbled their names in messy, oversized letters before immediately running off to cause trouble.

Still, it was sweet.

Seeing them like this—carefree, just being kids—it made all the chaos worth it.

Once the last of the glue had dried, you clapped your hands. “Alright! Time to exchange.”

Excited chatter filled the air as the kids hopped up from their seats, running around the room to deliver their cards. Daniel handed Lucy one, grinning as he presented his with a dramatic flourish. Ellie, having appointed herself The Valentine’s Day Critic, went around judging everyone’s artistic abilities, much to the other kids’ annoyance.

Lucy—sweet, thoughtful Lucy—clutched a card in her hands, biting her lip in concentration.

Then, with a determined nod, she slipped it into her coat pocket and bolted out the door.

Joel had just finished up at the stables when he heard his name being called.

“Mr. Joel! Wait!”

He barely had time to turn before Lucy skidded to a stop in front of him, red-faced from the cold, her scarf trailing behind her.

Joel blinked down at her. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Nope!” she beamed. Then, without another word, she shoved a handmade Valentine into his hands.

Joel frowned, glancing down at it. The card was lopsided, the edges trimmed with uneven bits of lace. A few hearts were drawn in the corners, scribbled in crayon, and right in the center, in big, careful letters—

Happy Valentine’s Day, Joel!

And at the bottom—Love, (Y/N)

Joel’s entire body locked up.

Lucy rocked on her heels, beaming at him like she’d just handed him gold.

He stared at the card. His grip tightened slightly. Then loosened.

“What is this?” he asked, voice gruff.

“A Valentine,” Lucy chirped, looking far too pleased with herself. “Miss (L/N) made it for you.”

Joel blinked. “She… what?”

Lucy nodded eagerly, her braids bouncing. “She must really like you. She worked really hard on it.”

Joel opened his mouth. Closed it. Shifted his weight.

He could count on one hand the number of times in his life he’d been genuinely caught off guard. This was one of them.

“Uh—”

“Well, see ya later, Mr. Joel!” Lucy chirped, already spinning on her heel and dashing off.

Joel watched her go, still frozen in place, still holding the damn Valentine like it was a live grenade.

His heart thudded once, heavy in his chest. You had made this? For him?

He glanced down at the card again before his feet carried him towards the school.

____________

You had just stepped out of the schoolhouse, wrapping your scarf tighter around your neck as the cold breeze nipped at your cheeks. The day was already starting to fade, the sun slipping lower behind the rooftops, casting long, golden shadows over the snow-covered streets.

As you locked up the door, you heard footsteps crunching in the frost behind you.

You sighed, already turning. “Did you forget someth—”

The words caught in your throat. It wasn’t one of the kids.

It was Joel.

He was holding a familiar lopsided Valentine's card in one hand, gripping it like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

Your stomach flipped.

Joel shifted, his jaw working like he was debating something. His other hand was stuffed deep in his jacket pocket, his shoulders tense like he’d rather be anywhere else—but his feet weren’t moving.

You frowned. “Joel?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, lifting the card slightly. “You, uh… you make this?”

Your eyes flickered to the crumpled Valentine, the sight of your own name scrawled at the bottom in a handwriting that definitely wasn’t yours.

It took all of two seconds to piece it together.

Your lips parted in realization. Lucy. That little menace.

The laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, slipping past your lips, a warm contrast against the chilly air. “Oh, Joel.” You shook your head, biting back a grin.

Joel’s frown deepened. “That a yes or a no?”

You grinned, arms crossing. “It’s a no. But I know who did.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Lucy.”

“Bingo.”

He let out a heavy sigh, raking a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ.”

You laughed again, watching as he stared down at the card like it had personally offended him.

“She told me you made it,” he muttered, like he still wasn’t sure if he was being messed with.

“Yeah, sounds like Lucy,” you mused, shaking your head. “She’s got a bit of a matchmaking streak.”

Joel grunted. “Figured that out real quick.”

You smirked. “So. What’d you think?”

He blinked. “What?”

“The card,” you teased. “You seemed pretty torn up about it. For a second, I thought you wanted me to make you one.”

Joel scoffed, but the tips of his ears had gone pink.

“I wasn’t torn up about nothin’,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders like he could physically shake off the flustered energy clinging to him.

You just tilted your head, watching him.

He huffed, stuffing the card back into his pocket like it was evidence of something, like he needed to get rid of it but couldn’t quite bring himself to toss it.

That warmth curled low in your stomach again. Because for all his grumbling, for all his attempts to brush this off, there was one simple fact he wasn’t acknowledging.

He’d come all the way here to ask you.

Just to be sure.

The thought made your heart skip.

You stepped a little closer, voice softer now. “Well… if you wanted one, you could’ve just asked.”

Joel’s breath hitched, just barely. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was stopping himself from doing something—stepping back, stepping closer.

You bit your lip, smiling. “Next year, maybe I’ll make you a real one.”

Joel swallowed, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Then, after a long beat—

“Yeah,” he muttered, barely audible. “Maybe.”

Then, before you could say anything else, he turned, muttering something under his breath as he stomped off into the snow.

You watched him go, his broad frame cutting through the snow, shoulders tense like he was trying to shake off something that had crawled under his skin.

Maybe that was the problem because you didn’t want him to shake it off.

Not this time.

“Joel.”

He didn’t stop.

You took a step forward, heart pounding. “Wait.”

His pace quickened, boots crunching against the frozen ground, as if putting more space between you would make this whole thing disappear.

Your stomach twisted. “Joel!”

He let out a sharp breath and finally stopped, turning on his heel so fast you nearly ran into him.

“What?” His voice was gruff, a little too sharp, like he was already regretting stopping.

The look on his face made you hesitate—jaw tight, lips pressed into a firm line, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. But you swallowed past the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to speak.

“Why… why are you upset?”

Joel scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck, his breath curling into the cold air. “Because a damn kid embarrassed me.”

You frowned. “No, I mean—”

“And because you think it’s funny.”

“I—Joel, that’s not—”

“And because—”

“Will you just shut up for a second?”

The words snapped out before you could stop them, your voice louder than intended.

Joel blinked. His mouth shut, brow furrowing as he stared at you, caught off guard.

Your heart pounded, breath shaky, but you had already started. No going back now.

“I’m not laughing at you,” you said, your voice steadier now. “I’m frustrated because you’re too damn stubborn to see what’s right in front of you.”

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

So you pressed on.

“I like you, Joel.” The words tumbled out before you could second-guess them. “I have for a while. And maybe Lucy saw it before you did, but hell—I see it too. In the way you look at me. The way you show up for me. The way you’re standing here, right now, instead of walking away like I know you want to.”

A long, heavy, unbearable silence hung in the air. 

Joel stepped forward.

It was slow and hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was making the right move, but he was. He always had been.

His hand lifted, rough fingers brushing against your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was warm, careful, lingering longer than it needed to.

His voice was quieter when he spoke. “You ain’t wrong.”

Your breath hitched.

Joel exhaled sharply, looking down for a moment before lifting his gaze back to yours. “I—” He stopped, shook his head slightly, as if the words wouldn’t come out right. But then, finally—“I like you too.”

The words were gruff and unpolished but true.

Something cracked open inside you, something warm that had been waiting for this exact moment.

You barely had time to process before Joel was closing the last bit of space between you, his hands framing your face, his lips pressing against yours.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was steady.

Like him.

Like something solid and certain, something that had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to fall into place.

God, you melted into it, your hands grasping at the front of his jacket, pulling him impossibly closer.

Joel let out a quiet breath against your lips, his fingers tightening slightly like he’d been holding himself back for too long and wasn’t sure how to stop anymore.

Neither of you pulled away.

When you finally did, Joel’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm in the freezing air.

“Guess Lucy was onto somethin’,” you murmured.

Joel huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Little troublemaker.”

You grinned. “Mm. Remind you of anyone?”

His lips brushed against yours, just barely, before he murmured—

“Not a chance, darlin’.”

And then, he kissed you again.

[the-aviary-system]

Mood. We've had to stop playing games like this because we'd get unhealthily addicted to "number go up"

Like we'd get a withdrawal like effect, we'd get anxious about missing out on potential number going up if we didn't have whatever idle game we were obsessing over running in the background of our computer 24/7. Doing schoolwork? Keep it in the background and tab in like every 5 minutes to check in on it and buy upgrades. Planning D&D? Same thing.

Other games that use the "number go up" formula often got greedy with their players and kept trying to exploit their addiction to make them spend money, they made it more and more grindy until it was impossible for free-to-play people like us to keep up. (We didn't have a job, so no consistent money, so that's a reason why we were FTP. I dunno if we would've fallen into the trap of spending tons of money on games like these if we had a consistent income)

After getting disillusioned with our latest "number go up" simulator, I decided to try cookie clicker because I heard it wasn't pay to win. Yeah, I used an autoclicker too. And CC was pretty neat and all, it wasn't exploitative, which I appreciate- it was a grindy game in its purest state, grinding for the sake of grinding, gaining numbers for the hell of it, instead of trying to make money off of players- but since it wasn't actively trying to exploit us with FOMO it let us stop and think, and we realized we don't even enjoy these kinds of games that have taken up hours and hours of our lives.

So we made a rule for ourselves. No more of these games. From now on, we only play games if we're actually enjoying them, not just playing it out of obligation to make the number go higher. And it was really hard to stop playing since we got that same kind of withdrawal effect, the little itch in the back of the head that "I could be more productive right now, if I just had one of those games open in the background while I write I would be more productive" but we had to just fight that.

Anyway, that's not to say nobody should play these games. I'm not writing this to shame anyone for playing them, I'm not trying to sound preachy and hope that it doesn't come off that way- this comic just reminded me of our experience with these types of games and I felt like talking about it since we were addicted to these kinds of games for a good while. Some people will definitely be able to handle the addicting nature of these games better than we can. Some people genuinely enjoy the grind because it lets them just turn off their brain for a little while or not have to focus too much on something. Just be mindful to not let it become an addiction, is all.

So yeah that's the story of how we had an addiction to really grindy idle games

-Emyr (he/it)

[mostly-imagines]

The Morning After The Venus Drug

You wake to an ache that runs straight through your muscles and into your bones. Your eyelids feel weighted as you try to blink yourself to consciousness, the fabric of the pillowcase an unexpectedly tough barrier.

You lay on your stomach, bed sheets pooling around your waist. You recognize the weight of Jason’s arm over you before you see him, hair tousled and face scrunched up against your same pillow.

His cheeks are flushed pink and he’s still perspired, but he looks peaceful. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, frowning at the heat you’re met with.

You try your hardest to unwrap his arm from around your torso without waking him, an action that requires far more energy than you were hoping to capitulate to. But that movement turns out to be nothing compared to the ache felt when you try to move your legs.

A slight shift has you immediately stilling, the soreness between your legs proving to be more severe than anticipated. You stifle a groan, slowly pushing yourself to sit up. You have to take a moment to rest your muscles as your legs hang limp over the side of the bed.

Your legs are shaky and unstable as you try to stand and you nearly fall back onto the bed. You need a few practice steps before you’re able to pick up any actual pace towards the door.

You sit on the side of the tub while you clean yourself up, the skin of your thighs almost too tender to bear the ruggedness of the rag. You can’t be sure of how many rounds you went last night, but if you’re in this kind of shape, he must be worse off.

On your way to toss the used cloth in favor of a new one, a glance in the mirror has you double-taking. The hickies scattered across your neck and collarbone are blossoming dark and to be expected. However, the sight of bruises littered across your waist and hips draw some extra attention. They don’t hurt, really, the marks mostly bring forth warm feelings.

But you know that Jason won’t feel the same upon discovering them, so you figure it's best to cover them up for now.

You quietly shuffle through the bedroom drawers and pull out one of his gray shirts that’s even a little big on him. It drowns you out, more than enough to cover your rembrandts from last night.

The floorboards creak as you make your way to the kitchen, steps stiff and awkward. The warm orange light flowing in from the living room curtains is soothing, if not far too bright.

With a restrained pull, you pop the fridge open, careful not to let the unseal make too much noise. You collect a bottle of water and dampen the extra rag with cool water from the faucet.

You tiptoe back to the bedroom, supplies in hand. The mattress springs squeak slightly as your weight returns to them.

One hand comes to rest on Jason’s back as water from the washcloth drips down your other arm. “Hey,” you trace nonsense patterns into his skin, hoping the sensation will be enough to rouse him like it usually is.

But he doesn’t so much as stir, still breathing deeply. “Jay?” you shake him lightly, “You gotta wake up, baby.”

His eyes squeeze shut harder and a groan reverberates from deep in his throat. “Fuck…”

“Hey pretty boy,” you murmur, brushing his hair back. His face burrows further into the pillow as his hand comes up to blindly search for your thigh, kneading your skin once he finds you. “How you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a train,” he croaks, turning his head hesitantly into the light to look at you. He squints as he takes in the sight of you, slowly shifting onto his back. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head tenderly, “Just sore.” You hold the water out to him, “Here.”

He looks at the water, then back to you. You huff, “Just drink it. I’ll have some after.”

He perches himself up on his elbow, taking the bottle from your hand with a pout. He chugs down three gulps before pushing the drink back in your hands expectantly. You feel his eyes on you as you take your own sips, only moving to sit up completely when he’s satisfied with your hydration.

He grunts as he adjusts his muscles to the new position, holding a hand out. “Lemme see you.”

“I’m alright,” you tell him, trying to mitigate his worry before it begins.

But his face only sterns, voice becoming serious. “Then let me see you.”

You’re ready to argue more to save him from the sure-to-come guilt, but he tugs your shirt up anyway, blinking a few times to get a clearer look at your skin.

Delicate hands come to hold you by the sides of your ribs, nudging you this way and that to examine the bruises littered across your skin. “Oh fuck, baby..”

He leans in close, running featherlight touches over the marks. “I don’t…” his chest drops, “I don’t remember doing that.”

You nod in understanding, taking his hands in yours and pulling them away from your body. “They don’t hurt. I like seeing them.”

He peers up at you skeptically and you nod again. “I like them. A lot. I like anything you give me.”

He closes his eyes and drops his head, “I should give you nicer things. Less painful.”

You gently push his face up to look at yours, keeping hold of his cheeks. “You do give me nice things,” you tell him before pressing a slow kiss to his lips. You rest your forehead against his, “But I like the rougher things too. Especially when I get them while you’re feeling good.”

His hands cover yours, moving them back down and turning them so he can hold them properly. “You’re okay?”

“I’m better than okay. Can guarantee I’m feeling better than you are anyways.” You pull back, scanning over his flushed face. You pick up the rag from your now considerably wet thigh, dabbing his forehead with it. “You look overheated.”

He relaxes a bit against the coolness, “Yeah, the effects of the toxin take a little while to wear all the way off. It’s not so bad anymore though.”

You nudge him to lay back down, draping the cloth over his head. He looks over you fondly as you lay a light kiss on his collarbone before tucking yourself into his side with closed eyes.

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than drama

Booted up Cavern of Dreams for the first time in too long and immediately found and 100%'ed the 2nd world (Airborne Armada)