#welcome to grain town folks

[rcbertleckie]

masters of the air · part seven

[pedgito]

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | you've got an issue and joel's willing to solve it. after all, what are neighbors for?

author's note | this was a prompt from a meet-weird thing i saw ages ago that was originally supposed to be javi, but jo (@undercoverpena) gave me the beautiful idea of making it joel and it spurred this monster.

content warning | established friendship, caught during sex, does the apocalypse having working appliances? probably not, but for the sake of this fic distend belief i beg. oral (eating out from the back), unprotected piv, subtly cocky!joel miller, he's a good ass neighbor, okay?, unbeta'd.

word count — 5.6k

Joel’s fixed this damn machine seven times, convincing himself every time that it was the last time. Shocker, it wasn’t. This time didn’t even last a month. He’s desperate now.

He would usually haul the load all the way to the communal laundry house closer to the group of joined townhomes that housed most of the younger adults—the spry and bright-faced ones who sprung up at the mention of patrol or work, any prospect of toting a gun around with any sense of leadership. They were eager, he couldn’t say the same for himself.

He was old, weathered—years of routine he had created to get the job done and get the hell home.

And truthfully, as he tapped the wrench against the metal machine, chin tucked into his palm as he scratched at his beard, he almost complied with the idea that he would just have to tough it out. Scrounging for parts was nearly impossible—dumb luck, really. In the past several years they’ve picked this town clean, bone-dry.

He’s elbow deep inside the barrel of the dryer when he hears the knock at his door, bumping his head against the rim of it as he exits and cursing under his breath as he pushes to stand, joints creaking and popping in disapproval. 

He can smell you before he sees you, the familiar scent of fresh-baked goods following you everywhere—Joel couldn’t feel guilt for being one of the folks addicted to your cooking. 

Grains had been hard to come by since the epidemic hit, everything was tainted on a global level. It took years and years of Jackson growing its own stock of wheat for things like pie or a nice, gooey cinnamon roll to even be plausible anymore. But, they were managing well so far.

“Saved ‘em for you and Ellie,” You tell him, a small plate of still hot brownies covered with parchment paper, dawning that trademark smile that Joel has come to love, tapping his fingers against the door frame as he passes the plate off to a quickly approaching Ellie.

“Girl’s got the nose of a basset hound,” Joel looks on in amused bewilderment as Ellie throws a mouth-stuffed thanks over her shoulder, “sorry ‘bout her.”

You wave her off whole-heartedly, taking in his sweaty appearance and casual attire. You were used to him in jeans and thick flannels, not a graphic tee and pair of sleep pants. He’s almost always dressed like he had to run at a moment's notice, you weren’t even sure he owned anything different until now.

“Everything good?” You question him, a small laugh escaping your throat.

“Damn washer and dryer is out again,” Joel explains, throwing a hand vaguely over his shoulder.

“Both of them this time?” You ask, “Damn.”

“I can fix ‘em, just a matter of finding the right parts,” Joel tells you, “ looks like I’m gonna have to hand wash again.”

Joel was a friend. You helped friends. It seemed like a no-brainer really, opening your mouth without thinking it through, the kindness tumbling out despite yourself.

“Oh, you’re welcome to load yours up at mine,” You offer and Joel looks immediately apprehensive, the southern charm and well-mannered tone gearing to creep up on you.

“Now, I don’t mean to make you feel like you have to—”

“Joel, I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t feel comfortable with it,” You remind him, “seriously—anytime, just try and bring your own detergent—and for the love of god, empty your pockets before you put ‘em in.”

Joel chuckles tiredly at that, rolling his eyes as he nods in agreement.

“Got it, of course, sweetheart.”

“I leave an extra key under the rug, so if I’m ever not home just come in,” Given that Joel was Tommy’s brother, you knew he wouldn’t be up to any trouble, “sound good?”

“Yep. Anytime—just make myself at home.” Joel confirms and you nod with an even wider smile, waving a pleasant goodbye as you trailed down the stairs and made your way to the house you inhabited next door.

Right, anytime.

Unfortunately, Joel took that a little too literally.

-

Joel managed to scrounge up the courage a day later, tumbling into his house on tired legs after a lengthy patrol up at the cabin lookout, scooping the basket up in his arms and heading out his front door, taking the short walk to your house.

The lights were off, but that wasn’t unusual. Joel knew you liked to stay late nights in the town’s mess hall, often working on prep for the following morning to make the load a little lighter and sleep in a while longer, so when he fishes under the doormat for the key he thinks nothing of it.

And as the door swings open, it is still fairly quiet. Though, he can hear your own dryer running upstairs. He’s got the layout down too, having shared more than a few nightcaps with you. Friend to friend and nothing more, even if you had always felt a little more strongly toward being affectionate. A hug or a kiss on the cheek from time to time, he never pushed you away. Joel never seemed like the type of man who openly showed affection, even toward a friend. But, he was good, reliable–most of the time.

He reaches the stairs with trepidation as the sounds grow louder and part of him wonders if by some uncanny coincidence your dryer might be growling and rumbling on its own final leg. 

The moment his hand reaches that doorknob and turns he realizes he’s made a mistake.

He’s caught you at a…bad time. Head thrown back with your mouth hung wide, whatever noise you’re making was mostly drowned out by the nagging sound of the dryer as it tore through the spin cycle but he hears the tailend of it, a soft moan of pleasure from the man who’s buried inside of you right now, both of you naked from the waist down but your breasts on full display with your shirt tucked under your neck.

“Benny?” Joel asks, slightly amused.

You lift your head at the sound and spot him, your feet nearly slipping out from under you as you scramble to push Benny away, who perks with an even more perplexed, “Joel?”

“Goddamn it, Joel,” You curse behind gritted teeth, furiously readjusting yourself, pulling your sweats back on and over your ass and your shirt down, “What are you doing here?”

Joel looks down at the basket still clinging to his hip before back up at you, wordlessly.

You sigh through your nose with a tight lipped frown, cheeks puffing out as you brushed your fingers through your hair and down—Benny was still scrambling to redress behind you, unable to pull his gaze away from Joel.

“Benny?” Joel mouths at you quietly, eyebrows raised curiously.

You walk toward the now open door slowly as Benny buttons his pants and you shoot Joel daggers with your stern gaze.

Cut it out.

Joel smirks slightly, cheek dimpling with the action as he side-steps Benny, who leans around you and kisses your cheek—it was a kind gesture but given the situation, in horrible taste. You force a polite smile and once Benny is a far enough distance you hit Joel firmly in the arm as he passes by you and into the laundry room.

You walk Benny to the door with a million thoughts racing through your head, offering a distracted goodbye before you’re locking the door and racing back upstairs with determined footsteps and Joel has already loaded his clothes in the washer, turning the knob to set the load size and time.

“Benny?” He echoes his earlier questions, “Really?”

“What? Are you judging me?”

“No—just, that kid’s had quite an obsession with you for some time now. Just…surprised is all.”

Your lips pull together in a disapproving but nonchalant frown, taking his words for the bullshit they are.

“When I said anytime that did not extend to the middle of the night, Joel.”

“You’re usually still at work,” He supplies—and really, he’s not wrong, “M’sorry. I mean that.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta deal with the fact you’ve seen me naked,” You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorframe and Joel’s eyes track you for a moment, smiling with amusement at the thought.

“What? You want a fair trade?” Joel teases, “‘Cause, darlin’. I don’t mind—but it was an accident. Besides, ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

He means it in a broader sense, but you can’t help the eye roll it induces. 

“No, no,” You chew at your bottom lip, watching Joel place the empty basket on top of the washer, “I can finish that up if you want to get some sleep. I know you had a long patrol today.”

“Oh, did you?”

He’s teasing you.

“Don’t push it, old man,” Joel shakes his head at that jab and chuckles, “Ellie clued me in when she picked up some sandwiches for her and Dina earlier.

He’s not going to pass on the offer, though. He nods, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

“Jesus—just…Benny?” Joel reiterates again, “Didn’t think the kid had it in ‘em.”

“Out,” You say with an over-pronunciation as you drag his slow and progressive steps further out of your laundry room and into the hall, “or you’re off my dessert list for a month, Miller.”

Joel smiles at you knowingly, “You wouldn’t dare,” He retorts, knowing you too well.

You wouldn’t make him suffer like that. Or Ellie, who wouldn’t hesitate to murder Joel if he robbed her of that pleasure. Not literally…but, she would carry a few choice words for him.

“Seriously, though, thank you,” He nods, leaning down to press a kiss into the crown of your head—an often familiar gesture when you parted after a long night of nonsensical talk and a couple glasses of wine or whiskey, depending on how hard the day had been, “I appreciate it, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah—”

“And I do apologize for…not knocking and showin’ up at such a weird time.”

You shrug, “You’re forgiven. Just…don’t give Benny a hard time. He’s a good guy.”

“You’ve got my word, darlin’.”

Joel was determined to be on his best behavior, clearly.

-

It takes Joel a couple weeks to find the parts he needs and luckily there are no more run-ins on your midnight sex-scapades, still feeling the embarrassment from the first one. Joel doesn’t even seem to remember it after a couple days, thankfully. He was bypassing it for your own benefit, truthfully. And you knew that.

Selfishly, you're glad to have your appliances back to yourself. 

They’re good, solid, reliable—until they aren’t.

Your washer shits itself mid-load and you can hear it from downstairs. A loud screeching noise before an even louder pop that has you groaning loudly because you know. You can feel it.

You can’t even bring yourself to go check, peering through the window of your kitchen and catching a fresh pot of coffee in the house across from yours, a man coming into view and his stark white shirt contrasting the black coffee cup in his hands. He catches you out of the corner of his eye and looks at you with a quizzical amusement, smile tugging at his face.

Joel was always up before the sun rose, so with the sun just creeping into the sky you’re sure that’s his third or fourth cup of coffee. He reaches over his sink and fiddles with the latch on his window before heaving it up, watching as you struggled to do that same but eventually managed.

“You run outta coffee again?” He asks, sipping at the bitter, black coffee in his mug.

“No,” You reply quickly, slightly exasperated as you chew at your bottom lip, debating how to pop the question and feeling nervous under Joel’s intense gaze, curiously wondering if he’s still picturing you naked. He’s never explicitly mentioned it since, but you have caught him in the act.

Wandering eyes, gazes catching when your back is turned for half a second as you bend down or move in a way that exposes too much skin.

“My washer broke,” You cut to the chase and Joel chuckles at how comical it is, in hindsight.

Was this karma? It was definitely karma. 

You’ve never asked Joel for anything—despite your often bouts of kindness toward him you never expected anything in return, not even a favor.

“Doors open,” Joel nods toward his front door out of view, an invitation like you offered him.

You didn’t even hesitate, pushing the window close and bounding up the stairs.

-

You’re already loading your things into his washer before he appears around the corner, peeking his head in, coffee cup still in hand as he takes a few more steps and leans against the wall beside the washing machine and your eyes glance at him briefly before you continue moving the clothes, watching him watch you from behind the rim of his mug.

“I can start them and come back,” You tell him, “so I won’t be lingering around here all day.”

“No Benny?”

You stand up as you close the washer, deadpan stare pointed in his direction.

“You can be such a nosy neighbor, you know that?”

Joel shrugs, a smug smile covered behind his sip of coffee.

“It was just a few times. Besides he’s…too much for me.”

You turn the dial to start the load and it rumbles to life with a simple press of a button.

“You wanna talk about it?”

It wasn’t completely unnatural for you two—you knew quite a bit about Joel now: his life before, his work, his daughter…all things that come with trust and time. He’s waited patiently for you and you’ve given him peeks into your life, but nothing like this.

“It’s a long story, Joel.”

“Got time,” He smiles slightly, “I’ll go grab you a cup of coffee—sit down.”

You look around briefly, not a chair in sight. So, you raise yourself up just enough that you can slide your ass over the top of the washer, bare feet dangling off the floor and you wait, the subtle and quiet shake from the beginning of the load process keeping the awkward silence at bay.

Joel turns the corner a few minutes later with your cup, made up just to your liking and you nod with a gentle smile, taking the cup from his hand and allowing yourself a few generous sips.

“So—that night, you caught us,” You can laugh at the instances now, so you do in a soft, clipped manner, “it wasn’t the first—it had been a month by that point and he just caught me by surprise, showed up that night and things just got a little out of hand.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise in interest but he urges you to continue, leaning against the wall in front of you now, resting his mug on the shelf just above his head as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong—but I don’t do serious…I can’t, now with how things are. And I know a lot of people think the opposite, seize the moment and all that shit,” You sigh, a deep and heavy sound that expands and releases from your chest, “he was already talking about moving in, the idea of us having kids—so that night I just tried to distract him.”

“With sex? Seems a little…counter-productive, don’t you think?”

“Don’t judge me, Joel,” You warn him but it’s edged with a playfulness that Joel recognizes. You didn’t have a mean, deceptive bone in your body and Joel knew that from the first conversation he had with you.

“I needed him to shut up,” You groan at the thought of the conversation as it replays in your mind, “I’m trying to wash my clothes, he’s talking to me about babies. I do not want kids, Joel. Ever. At least none that are biologically mine. Who would want to bring a kid into this world?”

Well…Tommy. The thought comes to you after the words have already left your mouth and your heart sinks into your stomach, looking at Joel apologetically.

“Sweetheart, don’t even try to apologize. Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

“It makes me sound horrible, I know but—”

“I’ve done my time—it’s none of my business how others choose to live. Besides, I’m pushing sixty, I don’t have to worry about all that…sorry, I’m not trying to be crude here.”

You nod knowingly with a smirk tugging at your lips, taking another sip of coffee before handing the mug off for him to place it next to his own, ready to slide off of the washer before Joel interjects with another question that catches you off guard.

“He treat you right, at least?”

You tilt your head with that same knowing smirk, pushing Joel away at his hip with your foot as he leans up from his position against the wall—Joel’s never flirted, always promptly skirted around the issue and went about it more gentlemanly. He’s not abrasive and straightforward like most of the men in Jackson, but damn did he know how to make you feel special.

Undivided attention, constant subtle compliments, giving up some much-needed sleep for a simple late night drink with you—part of you was too terrified to make your own move and make it clear just how badly you wanted just a small taste of him.

You’ve heard whispering, minimal talk from a few of the women in town. Joel didn’t often make his rounds but when he did, he left an impression. And you had every right to be jealous, because with him standing in front of you now—you knew it would be easy to say no and he would fix you right up, finally crossing that line that he’s been carefully dancing around for a few years.

“He’s a bit…timid,” You shrug, “and he doesn’t really…”

The air lingers and the side of Joel’s mouth pulls up—you don’t have to say it.

“Joel, don’t do that,” You shove at his shoulder as he approaches you, his hands pressing into the contraption you’re on, curled around the metal, “—he’s just…eager, but not in a good way.”

There’s a glint in Joel’s eye that leads you to believe he’s not thinking about Benny’s less than experienced sex life, feeling the sudden jitteriness from the coffee as your chest rises with a deep, shaky breath and Joel eyes the time over your shoulder.

Forty-five minutes and some change, plus the time to dry because Joel already knows you aren’t going to trouble yourself with walking the damp laundry through this cold, muggy weather.

“So, no then?” Joel asks.

He could have treated you better, sure. But, he wasn’t the worst.

But, the way Joel is staring at you knows makes everything and everyone dull in comparison.

You shake your head in agreement, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip as your hands fall to your lap, his hands ncreasingly closer to the tights covering your legs, suddenly feeling his thumb graze your hip. You both glance down at the action and your breathing halts, watching as his right hand slowly engulfs your thigh, fingers digging into the soft material and dimpling your skin underneath, his thumb only a few centimeters from dipping into the inside of your thigh.

They part on their own, welcoming Joel in wordlessly and his left hand echoes the other. His face is level with your own, staring down at your lips briefly before meeting your eyes and you’ve seen that look before—the adoration when he thought you weren’t watching, secretly you had become good at catching those glances, but Joel wasn’t trying to hide it now.

And it quickly dawns on you in the moment—he was jealous. Of Benny. Or really, any man that had come before him. But, he was using him as the scapegoat.

Honestly, you couldn’t even care.

“You want someone to treat you right?” He speaks softly and if you weren’t so close you wouldn’t have heard him, “I got you, sweetheart. I swear.”

He’s not looking at you anymore, eyes dragging down the bridge of your nose to your lips again. But, you are looking at him, flooded with that tricky feeling that creeps up on you when you want things you know you shouldn’t.

“Joel, I told you—I don’t do serious,” And you hold your breath for the response, wondering if that would send this moment crumbling to dust, but Joel doesn’t miss a step.

“Good for you,” Joel dotes, “neither do I.”

Then he’s on you, the press of his lips in a heated kiss sends you tumbling back, caught by the warm slide of his palm over your back to pull you in, throwing your arms over his shoulders as he pulls back briefly, just enough for you to open your mouth to speak, but his tongue finds its way inside and the words fade away.

Just friendly, my ass—you think.

If you had known he kissed like this—you would’ve jumped at the opportunity months ago; a night spent drinking too many glasses of wine and laughing over some movie far before your time, but not his. 

He was so entranced, giving you all the details, but you couldn’t help giggling over it, too touchy to be considered friendly.

You’d both cut it short quickly when Ellie popped in halfway through the movie, and beyond that, it never grew.

Until now.

“Sweet,” Joel notes with a subtle smile, his hand dwarfing the size of your neck as his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat, holding you firmly in place as he maneuvered you toward and away from the kiss as he pleased, swallowing every tiny moan that escaped your lips when his other hand squeezed at your thigh just a little too hard.

“All that sugar,” In your coffee, the taste lingering on your lips and he licks around them teasingly, pulling away briefly to look at you, your eyebrows raising in question as the gears turn in his head, “—you still with me?”

“I’m just wonderin’ if you’re okay with this,” Joel speaks candidly, his eyes trained on his thumb as it rubs against the middle of your throat, traveling up under your chin and tipping your head up slightly, watching as you swallowed, “before I take this further, jus’ need to know.”

You nod jerkily, not even a second of hesitation. 

“You would have known the moment you kissed me, Joel.”

In turn, Joel nods slowly before he speaks, stealing the air from your chest.

“Alright then, pull these down for me,” He tugs gently at the material clinging to your thighs before both of his hands find the spot behind your knees and tug until your feet hit the floor, “and push that pretty little ass out for me.”

The absurdity of this language on his tongue makes you giggle but abide in an instant, struggling slightly as the material bunches at your ankles and Joel helps you the rest of the way, tossing your pants aside before he’s kneeling despite how his body protests, too eager to give you a taste of the pleasure you deserve and he’s grabbing the cheeks of your ass and squeezing them between his hands before he’s leaning up to bite playful at the soft flesh.

He groans quietly against your skin, the press of his aquiline nose against your ass as his fingers fold around the string of your underwear and pull, dropping them down to your ankles and off and then his tongue is flat against the seam of your cunt, gasping as you fall forward and your own fingers clawing against nothing.

“Joel!” You squeak out as his fingers dig hard into your ass, forcing you up on your tiptoes as devours, licking into your cunt as it quivers around his tongue. 

Your hand pressed against the wall in front of you to keep your chest from hitting the washer, feeling your pussy tighten around the finger that enters alongside his expert tongue, a soft groan erupting out of him from behind you. That smug motherfucker was attempting a teasing huh under his breath as he busied himself with the task of eating you out from the back and you couldn’t even think straight. 

‘C’mon, baby,” He coos between his alternating licks and slurps of the heady slick that dripped from your cunt, “come all over my mouth, let me taste that sugar.”

It’s absurd, the way he’s speaking to you now. Your eyes squeeze shut as his thumb finds your clit amongst the chaos of his tongue and fingers, face heating up at how noisy your cunt sounded over the dull shake of the washer and Joel’s satisfied moans, occasionally massaging at the back of your thigh when your legs shake with the creeping feeling of your impending orgasm.

“Oh,” You squeal, reaching behind you to dig your fingers into his hair, panting out in desperation, “—fuck, don’t stop! Joel, right—right there,” and then glance you take back at him, his eyes peeking open from his position below, on his knees and dutiful to you and you alone, well…

It sends you tumbling over the edge as his thumb rubs over your clit quickly, soothing you through the aftermath as he laps up the mess you’ve made all over yourself, dragging his tongue along the inside of your thigh because if you knew anything about Joel, he didn’t waste a meal. 

And you were just about the finest he’s tasted.

You clear your throat as you rest your feet flat on the floor, feeling the faint quake in your legs as Joel rises slowly, forcing you to swallow down a giggle as he winces and he can see it on your face.

“Worth it,” He excuses himself, “don’t look at me like that.”

“No old man jokes?” You sound sad and Joel can’t believe it.

He shakes his head.

But, the smile that breaks out on your face quickly diminishes any comeback he has.

You begin to push him away with a hand gripped in his shirt, carefully avoiding the obvious bulge in his sweats as you reach for your tights, ready to redress and drop to your own knees as a favor but his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

“I meant it,” Joel tells you, tilting his head to catch your gaze.

You smile wide and tilt your head to mirror him, “I think you proved your point—Benny is a pathetic man who doesn’t know how to make me come, blah blah…”

“My job ain’t done if you’re still thinkin’ about him, darlin’.”

His eyebrows raise in challenge.

Okay, you’re game.

Wordlessly you allow the hands at your hip that guide you toward the front of the joined appliances, his fingers sliding under your top until you get the hint to pull it off, your breasts bouncing free from the shirt—the few bras you had were already in the wash, big deal.

Joel chuckles and stops for a moment, admiring the sight of your breasts for the second time that month, albeit more openly this time. He reaches forward and rubs his thumb along your nipple, watching the nub harden under his touch and you bite at your bottom lip, eye fluttering closed at how sensitive they were to touch, something other men never took the time to notice.

“You like that?” Joel asks with a creeping grin.

You nod, watching as he squeezed your tits in his hands, showing your nipples ample attention as he circled them with his thumb before leaning down slightly and swiping his tongue over the hardened nubs, sucking your breast into his mouth and his eyes peer up, gauging your reaction which quickly developed from a soft giggle to a loud moan.

“Clothes,” You breath out, “off—if you still have a point to prove.”

A point that you wanted proven. Hard.

Joel pulls away and yanks his shirt over his head, allowing you an unobscured view of the mix of muscled shoulders and his softened stomach, running your hand over the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, right along his hips until his own fingers hook around the fabric and pull his sweats and boxers down in one motion, his cock catching against the edge of his waistband before it bobs back up toward his stomach.

You find yourself smiling despite yourself, forgetting for a moment that Joel was standing there and watching you, feeling your mouth water at the sight of him hard and leaking at how just getting a small taste of you had turned him on that much, precum leaking slowly from the tip and he wraps his hand around himself, other hand tapping at your chin to drag your attention back up to his face, reminding you he was still there.

“Got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

You shake your head furiously, “No, no—no, nothing. Just, uh—”

“I’ll start slow,” He tells you and with the size of him, thick and girthy in ways you’ve only imagined or pictured in your head, it’s daunting, “are you still alright with all of this?”

Your face softens and you nod, appreciating the repeated check-ins, the need for confirmation, but it pulls at your heart as you wonder why he feels the need to ask so much. As if he was fearful you would change your mind on a dime—Joel was fine with that, but he was more worried about the change in dynamic. Thankfully, you were determined for that not to be the case.

“I’m pretty tough,” You shrug, a playful smile gracing your face.

Joel nods absently as his fingers drag along your waist before catching behind your knee and pulling it up over his hip, both of your eyes dragging down to his cock as he tugged at himself a few times, his brow furrowed as he spread your lips apart with the head, dipping his hips down slightly to catch against your hole before he pushes in slow, one solid stroke that steals the sound from your throat and transfers to his own. Joel groans out softly as he pushes into you, his hands gravitating toward your face and wrapping around the sides of your neck, tilting your head back to mouth at your skin, his tongue dragging along your collarbone before sucking and nipping gently at your skin.

“Don’t I know it,” Joel responds after a while, “find something to hold onto.”

Your soft giggle of excitement shoots down to your core and your fingers wrap around the edges of the washer and Joel pulls back swiftly before he’s snapping his hips back into you before repeating the process several times, the jolt of the machine hitting the concrete wall behind you drowned out by your loud moans, quickly swallowed up by Joel’s lips as he pulls your mouth to his, breathing into it with every sharp snap of his hips.

“Harder,” You beg, biting at his bottom lip as he groans, using his fingers intertwined into the hair at the nape of your neck now to pull your head back and he pulls his hips back quick, bottoming himself out inside of you so forcefully you feel like your legs might give out, his cock rubbing against your already too sensitive g-spot and continuously finding a way to bring you closer and closer to the edge, “fuck—yes, yes. Joel, oh my god—”

“Yeah,” Joel goads you, his eyes drawn closed as he tries to keep his own orgasm at bay, “give it to me, baby—wanna watch you make a mess on my cock, alright?”

Easy, you laugh airily and feel the instinctive squeeze of your walls around Joel’s cock as he pulls your face to his, foreheads pressed against each other as he angles his hips back and slams into you one last time before you come undone, head falling back in a similar position to how he caught you a few weeks ago, this time for him. 

Your grab for his shoulders suddenly, blunt fingernails digging into his skin and he takes a few harsh breaths through his nose before he’s pulling out, hand grasping his cock as he jerked himself a few seconds before he comes in thick, short spurts against your stomach, squeezing at the head of his cock as he drags it through the mess he’s made.

His expression is nothing short of mesmerizing, mouth hung open just enough that his tongue can drag over his bottom lip before his teeth are taking its place, eyes drawn to your skin.

Wordlessly, he pulls away on his own pair of shaky legs as he reaches for his wrinkled, worn shirt and brings it to your stomach, cleaning up the mess with a faint smile on his face.

“You know, I think it might take me a bit to fix my washer,” You tease, “so—I might be over here bothering you for a while.”

Joel peers up at you, his head still tucked down as he wiped at your stomach.

“Fine with me.”

Then he’s peering over your shoulder, watching as the washer time inched toward zero, dinging behind you. You turn around, letting your leg fall from his hip finally, ass brush against him in the process and Joel can’t help the way his eyes refuse to leave the sight of it.

Only feeling slightly guilty when you catch him this time, not giving him the pass you usually do.

“We’ve still got about an hour left if I dry them here,” You tell him, “anything else you wanna prove?”

Joel’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, eyes dragging up toward the upper level of his house before flicking back toward you, a smile plastered on your face.

“I can think of a few things.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

[llamagoddessofficial]

GRJRHRJDJRJD YOUR FARM SANS STUFF IS MAKING MY BRAIN BUZZZZZZ

What if some rich city dude started vying for Farm Sans' love interest? Like the dude is a total douche, and he turns around and tries to take Sans' girl? >:3

It's probably one of those assholes who buys a second/third home in the countryside, out-pricing local families, so he can have an 'escape' he only lives in for a month out of the year. He's in town to 'get away from it all' for a while.

This dude sets off all of Sans' alarm bells when he flirts with you. With any other person, Sans' reaction would depend on whether or not you were into them. He'd respectfully back off if you genuinely liked someone. But honestly, this douche's vibes are so rancid that Sans is going to be constantly brittle and cold and on the offensive. He has a few tactics up his sleeve.

For one - he uses his community connections. This guy (we'll call him Douche) is NOT welcome here, and Sans rubs it in. Country communities are tight-knit, can be pretty closed off, and are often actively hostile to people like Douche. Douche can barely buy groceries, people either ignore him or speak in cold and brusque tones, the snub from Sans and Papyrus means people will hardly look at him. Not to mention you've been so deeply accepted that it's as if you were born and raised there; nobody wants Douche to win you over. With or without Sans' encouragement, other folk will gossip to you about what a terrible person Douche is. "Oh, don't hang around with his sort, MC. You're such a sweetheart."

Sans is relatively oblivious to how his physique is attractive to you. But he's not oblivious to how physically intimidating he can be. He enjoys casual displays of his overwhelming strength, and the terror he witnesses in Douche's eyes; nothing shuts Douche up faster than having to watch his romantic rival wrangle a bull with just his hands. Sans will wander up to Douche (particularly while Douche is trying to chat you up) holding a sack of grain in one hand like it's nothing - "hey buddy, think you can hold this for me for a few secs?" - and then Sans will watch in glee as Douche tips over under its weight.

... Sans' favourite, though, is playing mind games. He fully leans into the 'dumb country guy' stereotype, acting like he's lazy and stupid, playing up his accent and easygoing tone. Until anytime Douche tries to seem smart. Then, in a searingly faux-friendly manner, Sans nitpicks him apart, correcting him on even the most complicated issues. "hey man, pretty sure socrates said that, not plato." "actually it's gravitational lapsing that causes that effect. lensin' is somethin' else entirely." "well i don't know about no NFTs... but i do know the blockchain is only as strong as its weakest link, an' deregulation makes it impossible to recover any phished money. seems like an inherently flawed system and no real way to store yer hard earned cash. but what do i know?" This also doubles as a way of making Sans look better in front of you, because you had no idea he was so smart.

Douche honestly doesn't stand a chance. But it's fun to watch him flounder.

[samalong1]

Yandere Orc Gurren headcanons pt 1

Tw

Breeding mentions

Kidnapping

And murder

Mentions of nsfw

You lived in a small village so far away from the capitol that the king's laws and protection rarely touched your town, afterall why bother if monsters raid your village, by the time knights arrive they'd be long gone.

Because of this your village was poor which in its own twisted way caused less raids, you average gremlin clan would rather hit one of the fancy villages instead of one where at most you can get a few sheep and maybe some grain.

But lately whenever gaurds or suppliers do arrive you hear gossip, gossip of a clan of orcs tearing through towns, killing any civilian so they can make the kingdom their own.

The whole village was on edge. Kids were no longer allowed to go outside past early noon, a curfew was issued fir the whole town, and some braze folks hid weopons, although it's almost impossible then to kill a orc even more so one in a clan, since if you managed to stab one another one would simply snap your neck. Guess it was just to show some sort of resistance

Luckily you were too busy making deliveries for your shoe maker dad.

You were lucky, oblivious to the extent rarely hearing the gossip.

When you got back from a unusually long trip you were confused upon seeing a crowd

As you ushered to the front to see what was happening.

A clan of orcs making demands, not just simple ones but enough of your crops and animals that the village would starve in the winter. But if the village refused they'd be slaughtered.

You stared at what you assumed was the leader

He was Big

Even bigger than the orcs next to him, with his giant muscles, his hands were bigger then your whole head!

You soon regretted staring when his gaze shifted to you

Gurren stared at the small plump woman

Her terrified wide eyes, her soft body, and her breeding hips made his breath hitch

So when the village refused his demands he coudnt help but grab you as he burnt your village to the ground

Your scream and sobs were music to his ears

"Bag anything useful" he said still holding you over his shoulder like a sack of meat

You were soon thrown over his horse as he mounted it. He made sure his horse ran like the wind so you coudnt escape without being launched off onto the tough forest ground.

He was going to enjoy you already imagining what you'd look like waiting inside his dwelling for him to come home from his hunts, God the thought of you welcoming him home while being swollen with his children, a baby orc in your arms he wanted them to have your eyes.

He was drooling and some of that drool fell on you to your disgust

Soon he arrived at the campsite

"Tonight we celebrate Borg start a fire and pour the drinks*

Orcs were loud

You were stuck on the leader's lap as they all shouted and drank beer

It was pretty obscene sometimes the leader who you overheard being called Gurren would swing his cup and spill beer over you

"Watcha naming the pretty thing" one laughed before drinking again

You were loosing your name, the last thing that attached you to your now ruined village

He seemed to be thinking even rubbing his chin "hmmmmm y/n yea yea y/n nice pretty name for a pretty small thing" he slurred seeming to get drunkened

God what was in that beer to make a orc that big get drunk

He stared at you soon chuckling "hehe God your gonna be the perfect little mate so pretty" he cooed gently petting your head

You blushed as he showered you with compliments soon nuzzling into you as his beard scratched your neck

God you felt like you had carpet burn on your neck

Soon you were carried bridal style to his tent

With him being drunk you had a hope of escaping

Thst was until you had a giant orc laying ontop of you head resting on your boobs like they were the best pillows

Was he purring?????

The giant orc leader was purring like a cat

@ofallthingsnasty

[barbaracleboy]

Etrian Odyssey Series: Compilation of Archetypal Town Characters

I really love the NPCs that show up in each Etrian Odyssey game, in the town you keep coming back to between dungeon visits. Unironically, I'm always excited to see the new shopkeeper, innkeeper, barkeeper, etc. of any given EO game. Because of that, just for fun, I decided to gather official art for all characters of the archetypes: guildmasters (whom you speak to when growing and organizing your guilds), innkeepers (whom you speak to when resting at an inn or storing/taking back items), shopkeepers (whom you speak to when buying goods and armor/weapons), barkeepers (whom you speak to to get and report sidequests), and...mission givers? (officials whom you speak to to get or report important story missions).

Now, some of this art was a bit tough to find, mainly for Etrian Mystery Dungeon 2 and the Mobile game, since neither was released outside of Japan and the latter is more or less lost. For EMD 2 I went to some Japanese articles on 4gamer talking about it (https://www.4gamer.net/games/375/G037512/20170720039/ and https://www.4gamer.net/games/375/G037512/20170622014/) and for the Mobile game I went to this Japanese Article that that talked about playing it a little (http://dihyhi.blog.fc2.com/blog-entry-47.html), which to my knowledge is one of the only documentations of that game, so credit to those sources for the art. I also machine translated those sites for info on the Characters' names and whatnot, so take it with a grain of salt. I know machine translations are rarely very helpful but it's all I had right now, sorry.

It should also be noted that there will be light spoilers for some of the games here, mainly Etrian Odyssey 3. Nothing too egregious, at worst it's for something you find when you beat the second Stratum, but I still feel I should mention it.

One last thing, I will be listing most games as EO plus their respective number (so the first game will be EO1), the Mystery Dungeon games will be listed as EMD and EMD2, for the first and second respectively, the Mobile game will written EOM, and even though in America it's called Etrian Odyssey Nexus I will write that game as "EOX", simply because that's more distinctive as an acronym. I've seen others on here do that so it's probably not so weird but I still felt I should clarify.

But enough talk! It is time to meet the guildmasters, some of the most important NPCs in any Etrian Odyssey game! Mostly rather well-armored looking (except for in EO3, EMD2, and Mobile), these tend to be pretty cool characters, and while we don't always get to see them fight much it's welcome when the chance does arrive.

My favorite of these is probably Marion, with Asuka and Egar as runner ups.

[The rest will be under the Keep reading, otherwise this post would just be way too long by default]

And now, for the group that, to be real, is a big part of why I wanted to make this post: the Innkeepers! Friendly, helpful folks that run the inns where your characters can rest, healing up and saving progress. As some likely remember, I already listed most of these characters in that meme I made some time back, featuring characters I like that have constantly closed eyes (https://barbaracleboy.tumblr.com/post/722662911985778688/forgive-me-if-ive-posted-this-here-already-but-i). I intentionally tried to list every Innkeeper from the Etrian Odyssey series (minus some whose eye aren't closed all the time, whom I will get into later), and I largely succeeded!...except it turns out that there's a unique innkeeper in the Etrian Odyssey Mobile game. Granted, I can't really get on myself for that, it's a Japan-only mobile game that barely anyone seems to have played or heard of and is also not available anymore. Still, that was a slight bummer for me. But look! They're all here now!

My favorites of these is probably Hanna, with Jenetta and Dalla as runner ups.

And now, I can truly have them lined up together.

Look! They're friends!

Next up are various shopkeepers! Fun fact! Napier is not only the Shopkeeper to have run the shop in two separate games (not counting remakes), but one of, if not the only one of these NPCs to have hosted a facility in two separate games.

My favorite of these is probably Shilleka, with Edie and Wynne as runner ups.

This group consists of characters in similar, if not identical roles to the prior group: if I'm correct, in Etrian Odyssey One medicines and equipment were sold at different shops, and at medicine shops you could also revive characters and cure petrification (EO2 brought medicine at the main shop but kept the revival at the hospital). Hoffman, Stiles, and Muse(?) here ran their respective games medicine shops/hospitals, Angie supported Dr. Stiles, Don Chano supported his daughter, Elizabeth (from the prior group), and Lizley and the Merchant of Darkness(?) acted as merchants you coukd run into within the dungeon itself. Also, apparently Hoffman, Stiles, and Angie are (based on) characters from Trauma Center, which is neat.

My favorite of these is probably Don Chano, with Lizley and the Merchant of Darkness as runner ups.

Another big favorite of mine, the Barkeeps! It's always fun chatting with these friendly types, hearing them cheer you on before many quests and compliment you for having completed one. They're so pleasant!...Though. yeah, Kvasir can be quite suspect with some of the things he says.

My favorite here is probably Kirtida, with Niralda and...either Missy or Mukkoran as runner ups...I love them too much, ha.

I don't know what to call this group really but they give the story missions and are about all in some position of power. Some are more involved in the story than others, but overall you will be seeing them often...Also, for some reason I couldn't find anyone that fills this role for Etrian Mystery Dungeon 2? Maybe I just did a bad job at looking but I don't know, I just couldn't find anybody. It's odd.

My favorite here has GOT to be the Outland Count (massively fond of his face, his moustache, and his dog), with Flowdia and Persephone as runner ups.

Last group here, being a variety of characters that act as alternatives or support for some of the other ones. This also has spoilers for Etrian Odyssey 3 (the thing being spoiled is discovered after you beat the second Stratum but still).

Visil is a character you'll occasionally see during tbe story of EO1, Quona is Hannah's daughter who will sometimes greet you at the inn instead of or in addition to her mother, Gradriel is someone you'll see a bit throughout EO2's story, Gutrune is the Princess of Armoroad whom you'll see and/or hear about throuought EO3's story, Seyfreid is the Abyssal King whom you'll speak with and get Subclasses from in the Deep City of EO3, Napier's Sister (who, unfortunately, seems to have no confirmed name) runs the shop of the Deep City in EO3, Angie (who I would presume isn't the same one from EO2 but is based on the same Trauma Team character? I think?) runs the inn of EO3's Deep City, and finally, Yobo is Traoré's brother in Etrian Mystery Dungeon 2, and I...think he assists Mukkoran in giving out quests?...Him being a recolor is pretty lame, tbh.

My favorite here is probably Visil, with Napier's Sister and Seyfreid as runner ups.

HOO! THERE WE GO! Hope you guys liked this little trip down memory lane I guess, ha. I love many of these characters, and if and when EO6 happens I can't wait to see who it introduces that'll enter my heart just like many of these have!

[gobboguy]

Welcome to the quaint Fantasy City of Southam, nestled amidst the sprawling forests and rolling hills of the countryside. Though now little more than a large hunting village, Southam was once a thriving settlement that fell into ruin decades ago due to a devastating earthquake. Despite its diminished stature, Southam retains a unique charm and a rich history that echoes through its cobblestone streets and timeworn buildings.

History:

Southam's origins can be traced back to ancient times when it served as a bustling trading post and agricultural center. However, a catastrophic earthquake ravaged the city, leaving much of it in ruins. Over time, Southam was rebuilt as a humble hunting village, its former grandeur a distant memory.

Arts:

Despite its modest size, Southam boasts a vibrant artistic community, with local artisans crafting intricate wood carvings, tapestries, and pottery inspired by the natural beauty of the surrounding landscape. The city's residents also take pride in their traditional folk music and dances, keeping ancient customs alive through spirited performances.

Famous People:

Among Southam's notable figures is Alaric Greenleaf, a renowned hunter and tracker revered for his unparalleled skills in navigating the dense forests that surround the village. Another beloved resident is Elara Songbird, a gifted singer whose melodic voice captivates audiences at the local tavern.

Castle:

At the heart of Southam stands the sturdy Stonekeep Castle, a relic of the city's former glory. Though weathered by time and neglect, the castle's imposing walls and towering towers still stand as a symbol of resilience. Stonekeep Castle serves as a gathering place for the village council and a refuge during times of need.

Food:

The cuisine of Southam is hearty and rustic, reflecting the village's reliance on the bounties of the forest. Game meats such as venison, rabbit, and wild boar are staples of the local diet, often seasoned with aromatic herbs and spices for a burst of flavor. Foraged mushrooms, berries, and nuts complement these savory dishes, providing a taste of the wilderness.

Major Events:

Southam's annual Harvest Festival is a highlight of the village calendar, celebrating the bounty of the land and the community's resilience in the face of adversity. The festival features feasting, music, and traditional games, drawing visitors from neighboring villages to join in the festivities.

Major Exports and Imports:

Southam exports prized furs, cured meats, and handcrafted goods to nearby towns and cities, trading them for essential supplies such as grains, textiles, and tools. The village also serves as a gateway to the wilderness, offering guided hunting expeditions and outdoor adventures to travelers seeking to explore the untamed wilderness.

Beautiful Sights:

A particular structure that catches the eye in Southam is the Whispering Grove, a tranquil clearing nestled within the forest on the outskirts of the village. Here, ancient stone pillars stand sentinel among towering trees, their weathered surfaces adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes from Southam's storied past. Legend has it that the Whispering Grove holds mystical powers, granting wisdom and guidance to those who seek solace within its hallowed grounds.

Leader of Southam - Lady Elara Southam:

Lady Elara Southam, a descendant of the village's founding family, inherited leadership of Southam following the untimely death of her father. Raised amidst the rugged beauty of the wilderness, Elara possesses a deep connection to the land and its people. Known for her compassion, wisdom, and unwavering determination, Lady Elara has earned the respect and admiration of the villagers through her tireless efforts to rebuild and revitalize Southam in the wake of the earthquake. Her leadership is characterized by a commitment to preserving Southam's traditions while embracing new opportunities for growth and prosperity.

Welcome to the transformed city of Muggalgrur, once the peaceful Southam, now reshaped into an Orcish stronghold following the invasion five years ago. The vibrant tapestry of Southam's cultural heritage and natural beauty has been replaced by the harsh stamp of Orcish dominance.

City Transformation:

Muggalgrur is little more than a shadow of its former self, now an Orcish inverse of the once-thriving Southam. The elegant architecture and quaint charm have been replaced with crude, imposing structures adorned with Orcish symbols and banners. The streets that once bustled with life are now eerily quiet, save for the occasional grunt or snarl of passing Orc patrols.

Orcish Rule:

Under the iron fist of Warchief Bloodlick, Muggalgrur is governed with ruthless efficiency. The city has become a hub of Orcish activity, with thralls toiling under the watchful eyes of their Orcish overlords. Former citizens of Southam have been reduced to servitude, forced into labor and subjected to the harsh rule of their new masters.

Hunting Lodge:

Castle Stonekeep, once a symbol of Southam's resilience, has been torn down and replaced with an opulent Orcish hunting lodge. The lodge serves as Warchief Bloodlick's residence, boasting lavish furnishings and adorned with trophies of Orcish conquests. From its imposing halls, Bloodlick oversees the city's operations with a keen eye and an iron will.

Leader of Muggalgrur - Warchief Bloodlick:

Warchief Bloodlick, a short but powerful Orc known for his mastery of horseback riding, rules Muggalgrur with an iron fist. He earned his title through bloodshed and cunning, rising through the ranks of the Orcish horde to claim leadership of the city. Bloodlick's leadership is characterized by brutality and ruthlessness, with dissenters swiftly dealt with and obedience demanded without question.

Alaric Greenleaf and Elara Songbird:

Alaric Greenleaf, once a revered hunter of Southam, met his demise defending the city against the Orcish invaders. His corpse now hangs from a cage at the city entrance, a grim reminder of the price of resistance. Elara Songbird, once a beloved singer, has been reduced to a thrall in service to Warchief Bloodlick. Forced to sing every night as the Orcs dine in their opulent lodge, her melodic voice now serves as a haunting echo of Muggalgrur's tragic transformation.

Exports and Imports:

Muggalgrur exports weapons, armor, and enslaved thralls to neighboring Orcish strongholds, fueling the war machine of the Orcish horde. The city imports rare materials, precious gems, and luxury goods to satisfy the extravagant tastes of its ruling class.

Orcish Sights:

A particular sight in Muggalgrur is the Sacrificial Altar of MOG, located within the once-tranquil Whispering Grove. Here, Orc Priestesses perform gruesome rituals during the Harvest Festival, sacrificing a Snaga virgin to appease the bloodthirsty deity. The grove, once a place of serenity and reflection, now echoes with the chilling chants of Orcish worshipers and the cries of sacrificial victims.

Harvest Festival:

The Harvest Festival has been transformed into a celebration of Orcish farming, where thralls are forced to dig up Orcroot bulbs, Thistlepods, Sweetleaf, and Zaza, Orc crops that are only palatable to their Orcish masters. The festival is a grim reminder of the thralls' servitude and the Orcs' complete domination over the land and its resources.

Muggalgrur stands as a stark reminder of the brutality of Orcish conquest, its once-proud heritage twisted into a grotesque mockery of its former self. Under the oppressive rule of Warchief Bloodlick, the city's inhabitants suffer in silence, their spirits broken and their hopes for freedom extinguished in the shadow of Orcish tyranny.

[rtnortherly]

Tierney, and Where the Story Began

Recently did a series of polls to decide on my Baldur's Gate 3 Early access character. What we landed on was this:

Tiefling, Trickery Cleric (Tymora), with an Entertainer background.

This is them, as decided by popular vote:

And this is their story, as I have decided. Some of the details might not apply so well once I get into the game, but I have had so much fun coming up with this story all the same. I am already very attached.

(TW: Depression, abandonment, grief)

~ I was born Tierney, in a small hamlet southeast of Loudwater to a solitary trapper who spent more time in the foothills of the Greypeak Mountains than amongst other folk. I grew up understanding the quiet solitude of the vast world around me, and the few times we ventured into towns to sell leather and furs and meat I always found to be bizarre and almost fantastical. The rhythm and closeness of it all seemed almost supernatural to me.

For the most part though, my mother and I kept to ourselves. She raised me alone, but I never felt the absence of other people. The land was too full of life for that, and mother was too good at telling stories for me to grow bored or dwell upon loneliness. Some of the things she would tell me she’d declare were history, sometimes heart breaking and cruel, sometimes powerful and undeniable.

“The bones of our world,” she call them.

Other times the tales she wove were strange and silly, impossible things full of wonder and humour. I would laugh and laugh and insist that I did not believe a word of it and that she could not fool me.

“Why, my little rabbit’s foot,” she would say, winking at me over the fire, or as she set traps, “anything is possible. Don’t you know the world is vast?”

That was before she got sick.

I’d thought I had know solitude before, that it was a comforting friend. Without her I realized what it was to truly be alone. I tried to be like her, I did. I tried to be content under the open sky and among the trees. I looked for serenity in the dirt under my feet, and the nip of the wind across my face. I told myself stories by the fire and as I set traps, sang songs she used to sing. But with no one to rely on except for my own self, the world began to feel a little too big and a little too indifferent and cold.

The twilight caw of the carrion birds began to contort into eery and eldritch scream. The barking of foxes and coyotes began to sound a little mocking and hungry. It was odd to find the shadows of the forest haunting, twisted and dark when once they had been cool and welcoming shade.

And then came my thirteenth winter, not even a year after my mother’s passing. It was a cruel and terrible long freeze. Prey grew ever more scarce, and what I did manage to catch in my traps often got scavenged by other creatures and I found myself more and more often trying to fend off the starving forest creatures, patrolling my trap line in the bitter cold, exhausted and with a constant cough and sniffle.

And then, when spring should have already been easing back the thick snowfall, but was continuing to hide its face, the large cats began to come down from the mountains, ravening with hunger.

I remember going out to check my traps, mind foggy with a fever I couldn’t shake, and stomach hollow with hunger that my dwindling stores of grain could not sate. I remember the blood, the torn carcass, and the low, yowling growl that drifted somewhere between warning and hunger.

I remember thinking that my luck surely had run out that day.

The rest is a blur of snow and fear and branches clawing at my face. The cold burned in my throat and lungs, and my ribs ached with the beat of my heart.

There is no outrunning wild beasts. Especially not as a sickly child, half starved and near delirious from fever. It didn’t matter how well I knew the woods, not with the snow hungrily devouring my awkward, gangly stride. I wasn’t so foolish as to think that climbing a tree would help keep me away from a mountain cat, that I could out last its patience in the cold.

But I ran all the same, and I prayed to whoever might have been listening.

I’m sure it was the luck of the devil that sent my tumbling head over heels down the steep embankment that overlooked a cold mountain creek, frozen over for months. It left me with cracked ribs, a dislocated hip, and a concussion that did nothing for the fever. I was told later that I bounced off of no less than three rocks and four trees, and rolled off a drop of at least eight feet, and I was lucky the snow that had built up over the frozen stream cushioned my fall somewhat. And most of all, I was lucky for Crusoe.

He never would tell me what he was doing out in those woods, all on his own. He’d just wink and tell me how very fortunate I was that he had been. He’d tell me that I was lucky he had been born with a knack for little tricks and magic, and that the mountain cat was too clever to risk a fight with a person who could apparently hurl fire at it. Wild animals are like that. They won’t risk the damage of a fight for a morsel of prey when they’ll have better, surer chances elsewhere.

And then he carried me, a strange and unconscious child who’d all but fallen from the sky back to the nearest town to be healed. It wasn’t an easy process. It took more than a couple weeks to clear the fluid off my lungs, and to keep the fever from coming back. Never mind that I was malnourished and had bones that needed mending. Out in some small hamlet that was still locked in by the long winter there was no magic healing for me. I had to do it the hard, long way. To this day my hip aches in the cold.

As for Crusoe, I don’t know why he stuck around, not really. He was as much a stranger as I was to the little hamlet, supposedly a traveler by trade. He could have left me there, a problem for the townsfolk to solve. Maybe he pitied me, maybe he took one look at the horns crowning my skull, and the dull embers of my eyes, and knew I would not have an easy time fitting in. Maybe it was some noble sense of responsibility that made him want to see me well and looked after with his own eyes. Maybe it was something else, some other thing he wanted to cling on to.

He never spoke of his family in all the years that I knew him after all, and there were times I saw a weariness in his face that made my chest hurt. For all the connections he made, for all the people he spoke to, I wasn’t even sure if he had much in the way of friends. He was always happy to listen, to share a drink and a laugh, but with the exception of the months it took me to heal he never stayed bound to one place for very long.

When the spring finally came, we left together. We’d not discussed it. I just woke up one morning to find that he had packed our things and was told that we could eat on the road. He had seemed to be in a rush, but when I asked about it, he told me that he’d gotten an itch in his feet and if he stayed any longer he thought he would go mad.

Over the course of the next six years we travelled up and down the Sword Coast, drifting from one place to the next. I learned a lot from Crusoe in that time. He was a thespian by nature, and used his talents for storytelling to make his living. He was impressed by my own repertoire of tales, and taught me to expand on that. I learned to change my tone, how to pace my words and adjust the tempo of my speech. I learned to act, to give life to my characters. I learned to breathe from deep in my chest, to project my voice far and wide—something we found my devilish heritage gave me quite the advantage at. I learned how to shift my expressions on a coin. I learned to improvise, and I learned how to listen and remember.

Most of all, I learned to never forget that all the world was stage (that seemed to mean different things to Crusoe, at different times, and I’m not sure I’ve uncovered them all yet).

But then, just as I was about to turn twenty, something changed. I couldn’t quite put my thumb on what gave it away, the moment I truly noticed, but one day it was as if suddenly Crusoe’s stage was a little different than mine. As if he was reading from a script that I did not know, and looking out at an audience I could not see.

Perhaps I’m simply imagining things in retrospect, trying to find some through line, some explanation for the change, but I look back on those times and I wonder if maybe his smile was a little strained, if I caught him staring blankly into the distance, some half formed and frozen expression on his face that I couldn’t understand. When I woke up in the night, on the side of the road, why had he still been awake staring up at the stars, or maybe into the deep darkness between them, so very still that I’d wonder if he’d turned to stone.

I may never know, because I woke up one morning, in a backwater town with an inn that had little more than three rooms to rent, to find Crusoe and all his things gone.

For a while I thought that he might come back so I stuck around, doubtful and confused. After several weeks of telling stories for meagre coin that grew more meagre by the day, I decided that maybe if I hit the road I would cross paths with him. Maybe I’d find him standing in a town square, his eyes alight with mischief and merriment, a hoard of small children gathered around him with faces contorted in awe. Maybe I would find him sitting on a stump by the side of the road, the end of his pen caught between his teeth and ink on his fingertips. He would look up in surprise, flush with embarrassment for being caught. We’d fight. He’d make excuses, and I would sulk and stew in bitterness. Things wouldn’t quite be the same, but we would make it work and maybe I would finally learn about some of his stories. The ones he never told.

Four months later I found him in a small seaside town, emaciated and stuck in a coma in a small church that was little more than a shack with a shrine and a loft. He was being tended to by the young priest and herbalist who tended to the church, and she told me that he had washed up on the shore one morning, covered in strange injuries. The fishermen had brought him to her for healing, but she had not been able to do anything for him, because he was cursed and it was far beyond her abilities to undo whatever fell magic had bound itself to him.

I stayed for a time, fearing he would simply slip away the minute I wasn’t looking. Lorelei, the priest, said that his condition was very unstable, and that he was clinging onto life by only a thread. All I could think of was that look in his eyes as he stared into the space between the stars, and whether maybe that hadn’t been the case for a very long time.

I tried to find answers for where he had been, and what had made him this way, but all of his things were gone, lost to the sea no doubt. The only thing that was left was a a strange metal amulet that Lorelei warned me not to remove, as trying had stopped his heart and forced her to resuscitate him—something she wasn’t sure would work a second time. Other than that, he had a two faced coin in his pocket, which both Lorelei and I determined was utterly mundane as far as our limited abilities could discern.

I sat by his sick bed (I tried so hard not to think of it as his death bed, but it grew harder as time passed and he wasted away more and more), flipping that two faced coin over and over in my fingers, and I talked. I told stories we had told together a hundred times or more. I asked questions that I had always been to afraid to ask. I whispered accusations, and I begged, and I bargained, and I almost gave up hope.

I think I almost would have gone mad sitting there in that chair, if not for Lorelei, who dragged me outside one day to help her with her rounds in the town delivering medicines and checking in on the people.

Maybe it was because it was all I knew how to do, but on one such venture I found myself telling a story to a child who sat by the fountain and stared with sad little eyes at the other kids and fiddled with the pinned up legs of his empty trousers. And then I told another one, and another, and at some point I might have cried.

It was nightfall when I stopped, the parents coming out and urging the crowd of tiny faces that had collected around me to return home breaking me out of my daze. Across the way, Lorelei looked on. She came and sat next to me and we spoke for a time, late into the night, far away from Crusoe’s sick bed with the stars shining down on us both. We spoke of many things, and many of them were very embarrassing for me, fears that had snaked along my thoughts since my mother had left me, but had bared their fangs since Crusoe had left.

And so Lorelei told me about faith, and she talked to me about chance, and she talked to me about fate. And then she slipped the coin from my fingers with a tiny little grin, and tossed it into the fountain and told me that at the end of the day, it was all a gamble. It was just up to us to rig the odds.

I can’t say when my path found me. It simply happened gradually over the the following years, as I helped Lorelei with her duties during the day, and local legends and all many of accounts regarding vile magics during the day, hunting for a solution. It happened gradually, with every coin I’d toss into the fountain, and every late night by Crusoe’s sick bed pouring over books and texts I’d uncover from the church’s lacklustre library, or buy from travelling merchants. It happened on my short forays to nearby towns as I chased rumours and hunted for scholars and arcane practitioners. It happened with every bruised knee and rattling cough I watched Lorelei tend to.

It happened with ever fragile bit of faith I cultivated in myself.

It happened with every time I held on to Crusoe’s hand and thought of all the things I would say when I got him to wake up.

It’s been more than six months since I have seen him last. I found a lead, and I will chase it down, come hell or high water. Lorelei will keep him alive until I return, and when I do, I’ll wake him up, and we will tell each other our stories.~

[wellthatschaotic]

:)

Transcript:

Oh hey! you're new in town, aren't ya? Well, welcome to Wolfsong! I'm Todd, I run the place. Haven't seen a human around here in…centuries, it's gotta be! There used to be humans here, but they all kinda left. Found better places to live I guess. Left behind a few of their buildings- including this one, actually! Of course, I've improved it since then. Inherited from my father. He's passed now- heart attack- but he was a great guy. Never thought to make the doorways taller, though! Everyone always bumps their head!

Speaking of doorways and humans, the creepiest thing they left behind in my opinion is a weird doorway in the cave tunnels. The doorway's pretty small and no one's been able to crack the lock, and some people say there's ghosts and evil spirits back there! Oh, well! We don't need to dwell on weird superstitions.

I know this guy, clay, who's SUPER superstitious. Believes in all the things, walking under ladders, breaking mirrors, cutting the birthday cake before the birthday person's had their slice. Really sweet guy though. I think he's working on writing a book.

You guys have superstitions like that too? Well, i guess we can't be that different after all! Despite our town being human-free as far as the eye can see! Well, except for you, of course.

Yeah, clay says keeping his grain next to his salt makes it last longer. He swears by it. His pantry's a mess, I don't know how he ever gets food made. It started a while ago, his grain kept going missing no matter what he seemed to do about it. I asked him if he just used more than he thought, but he insisted that he was keeping good track of it, but it just disappeared. Said it couldn't be mice, either, on accounta no dung. He started getting paranoid and putting it in unmarked containers and things, next to sand and salt and other inedible things. Overreacting in my opinion, but at least he's stopped accusing people of thievery. Other folks have started to try this salt trick, like some kind of mass hysteria. I've never had a problem with grain myself, nor have those folks over there I think. Never even seen them keep salt, but they have plenty of grain. All this talk of grain reminds me, I better roll another barrel out from the back, and start another batch of rolls! But I had a great time chatting with you, Listener, be safe out there and I hope to see you again!

[trail-mx]

Prompt is courtesy of @writing-prompt-s:

"You are a werewolf and everyone in the village knows. When its nearing the full moon they all help you baricade yourself in your home since you are the only wheat farmer in town. Everything was fine until some self righteous lord takes over and demands not only your land but your home as well."

. . . . . . .

"Allen killed his first deer yesterday - he wants you to have it."

I look up from my tea, surprised. "I hadn't realized he was old enough to go hunting yet. How big are we talking?"

"Oh, nothing much. It's just a full-grown buck, weighing shy of 270 pounds with an 8-point rack."

"270!" I sputter, tea almost coming out of my nose. The bastard timed that bit of information too well. "Paulie, I can't accept that. Winter is coming. His family will - "

"His family has already agreed to give it to you." Paulie - or 'Little Paul' as he's called by the folks in the village - interrupts what's gearing up to be a fully reasoned argument as to why I cannot accept such a fine offering. "Mary considers it a good omen that he got it right before the moon."

I look down towards my tea again. I'm not one to believe in omens, but even I find the timing of a 12 year old killing a full-grown buck on his first hunting trip now of all times to be suspicious. Allen's family has been very kind to me since I came out about my 'Moonly Issues', and I would be a fool to turn away such a thoughtful gift. Mary would probably tan my hide and put it in the entryway of their home as a warning to others about accepting the kindness of your neighbors.

However, I've never been one to give in easily. "Tell them I'll pay them the full value after the moon."

Paulie's blue eyes dance with restrained laughter. "You're welcome to tell them that yourself. I'd rather avoid the lecture."

He takes a long sip of his warmed cider, his preferred drink during autumn. This year, the season seems to be rushing towards winter faster than anyone wants. Being this close to the Full Moon makes me more susceptible to the cold, so I've wrapped my hands around my own tea and desperately wish to bury myself in about four thick blankets.

"Cold?" Paulie asks, a look of understanding crosses his face as I reluctantly nod. "This weather is miserable. I'll get with the twins to make sure you have extra blankets when you wake up tomorrow."

I sigh. The twins will probably make sure I have every blanket in town if they have their way. "Please try to temper their enthusiasm. You know how they get."

"I know. Cara and I will supply the blankets. That should ensure you only have to deal with a small mound of covers rather than an avalanche."

I laugh. "Thanks, Paulie. What would I do without you?"

"Mmm... you'd survive. We're just happy to look after you. Mark is just glad you're making use of the old property. He's willing to sell it to you for a fair price."

I shake my head. "I have no need for two properties. My little homestead is just fine. It's just a little..."

Paulie scratches his scruffy beard while he hums in understanding. "You know how Tall John installed those new iron-bound wooden doors to both your home and this house? All the reading he and Jacob have done says that should be enough to keep you locked in during the change, but I respect your desire to keep a healthy distance from the town."

"It's not that I don't appreciate their research," I say while looking around the sparsly furnished room. I don't need much this time of the month and had been forced to spend more time than I thought I would arguing with Mark that, no, I didn't need a better bed. I'd probably just destroy it. "It's just that I don't want to risk anyone. You've all been very kind."

"Of course we are!" He grins. "If it wasn't for you, Suzi might not have made it through last winter. Plus, the grain you stored away kept the whole village fed when the meat ran out. We're just returning the favor."

I look down to hide my blush. I had only been doing what was right. There was no reason to hoard all that extra grain when it would feed the village. As for Suzi - Paulie's youngest - she had been ill off and on all winter, and it seemed that fresh meat helped. It hadn't been that much of a hardship to get as far from civilization as possible during the Full and hunt.

Taking care of the Pack is instinct for the Wolf, after all.

"It was nothing, Paulie." I say. "I was happy to help."

"And we're happy to look after you." Paulie replies. "Now, do you need anything before I go and tell Allen the good news?"

I think about it a moment. The town always makes sure that there is plenty of tea to drink and books for me to read while I wait for moonrise. I prefer to lock myself away the whole day of the Full Moon - not because I'm dangerous the whole day, but because I'm always so blasted cold even during the height of summer and it makes my joints ache something fierce.

Others with my affliction say it's different for everyone - some are more sensitive to the chilled pull of the moon than others. Many say it's a sign of strength, with the more spiritual saying that the moon blesses her chosen to sense her power even during the day so that they can pull on it if the need arises.

I just find it to be entirely uncomfortable. So, I hide away in the cabin, downing cups of near scalding tea while wrapped in the warmest sweater I own in an attempt to stave off the chill.

"Another blanket if you don't mind. Oh, and if you can ask Big Paul to place something heavy in front of the door after you're done bringing things over, that would be great."

Paulie doesn't roll his eyes, but I can tell he's considering it as he stands. I have always found it ironic that the town calls Paulie 'Little Paul' despite being 6 feet tall and 250-odd pounds. Then again, 'Big Paul' is 5 inches taller and at least 50 pounds heavier.

"Don't I always? I already planned on speaking with Paul anyway. I'll need his help to bring the buck over. Sucker is heavy."

"You do know they invented this new device. I've heard it's called a wagon. Means you don't have to drag the beast all the way here." I tease.

"I'm familiar." He drawls, standing in the doorway. "However, would you like to bring that beast in here yourself?"

"No, thank you!" I rush to say. No way would I be able to bring that inside. Plus, that would mean going outside where it is cold.

"Then hush. I'll be back in a while."

. . . . . . . .

"Oh dear. Why do you always insist on sleeping on the floor? I have it on good authority that even dogs enjoy sleeping on the bed."

I roll over and open my eyes, squinting them in the light. I feel vaguely hungover and my body aches some. The change last night must not have been as awful as it could have been. I've had better ones, but on average, this one wasn't terrible. Lonely, but not painful.

"Bed is awkward when you're 7 feet of gangly Wolf limbs." I reply to the voice. "Floor is easier."

"Hmph. Sure it is! Maybe we'll just have to make you a bigger bed then!"

"Ugh, no." I roll over to face the voice, almost rolling into a pool of blood. I almost panic for a second - did someone get in? - when I remember the deer. That would explain the mess and why I only feel like I drank too much last night rather than like I'm recovering from a terrible illness.

"No? Don't tell me this is some sort of 'Punishment' thing! Just because some idiots think that your illness is some sort of 'Divine Retribution' for whatever sin your ancestors committed doesn't mean you don't deserve to be comfortable." Eva - one half of the brown eyed, brown haired Harrison twins - is looking down at me with a look of mild disappointment.

"No. It's practical." I say, sitting up. At some point, one of them must have put 3 blankets over me. I'm thankful and wrap myself in one. Not that there is any shame in my naked form, and the twins would scold me if I even considered it, but it takes a couple hours for the moon's chill to recede. "I'll just tear at a mattress with my claws trying to get comfortable."

"Hmm..." she squints at me. She doesn't buy it, but isn't going to argue with the only Werewolf she knows over the matter. Especially when there are more important issues. "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat."

"Hah! You sure? You certainly gorged yourself last night!" Eva gestures to the bloodied mass on the floor next to me.

I shrug self-consciously. The Wolf is always such a messy eater. "Transformation takes a lot out of you."

"Well, Lacey will get something fried up for you. Won't you, Lace?" Eva looks over to the small kitchenette in the corner where her twin is standing by the stove, eyebrow arched in challenge.

Lacey doesn't rise to the bait, which is odd. If there is anything that the twins enjoy more than hovering over me after the full moon, it's arguing with each other. They will argue over anything and everything. They find it to be good fun - everyone else just finds it bewildering.

Eva is also disconcerted by the lack. "Lacey! Won't you start breakfast for our dear doggy pal here? I'd do it, but I'm cleaning up deer viscera."

"What? Oh, sure! What sounds good, dear?" Lacey seems to be trying to shake off whatever is distracting her with limited success, considering she - with her well-known sensitive disposition - doesn't even acknowledge the mention of deer guts on the floor.

"Now I know something is wrong. What's gotten into you?" Eva almost sounds concerned rather than irritated, but only just.

"Oh, it's that notice on the community board. The one about the Lord."

"What notice?" I ask, gathering my blanket around me while standing up and making my way to the little table. The aches are easing - I'll have to come up with something nice to give to Allen if he won't accept payment for the buck.

"The one they put up today about how our village is being given to some Lord or another." Eva says, tone unimpressed and hands covered in gore. "All that means is our taxes fill a different coffer is all."

"That's not what Marcie is saying! She's heard of this Lord Ransom. Apparently, he was given ownership over another village and he either bought out the villagers' homes or harrassed them into leaving."

"Lace, I know you like the girl, but where would Marcie have heard anything about a Lord? She barely leaves her house!" Eva exclaims in disbelief, hands flying up.

I flinch back as some blood lands on my face. I'm sure my face is already a bloody mess, but I don't desire to make it any worse.

"Watch it, you fool! You're getting blood everywhere!" Lacey scowls, coming over with a wet towel to wipe my face. "And if you must know - she heard it from her cousin. She does write to her extended family fairly often. Just because you never mastered the proper social graces doesn't mean the rest of us didn't."

Eva rolls her eyes but does keep the gestures to a minimum. "And this supposed 'cousin' of hers knows this Lord Ransom?"

"I'm given to understand that he knows him well enough, even if they're not exactly bosom buddies."

"Hmm..." Eva hums, then uncharacteristically changes the subject while turning to face me. "Would you mind if I took some of this antler? My boy has gotten it in his head that he'd like to take up carving and has been asking for antlers. Don't know how long his interest will last, but I figure 'why not?'"

"Take the whole carcass, or what's left of it. I have no need of it. Just ask him to let me know if he makes something he's proud of and wants to sell. I'd like to get a chance to look at it first." There - that takes care of both dealing with the deer and gives me the opportunity to get my debt to Allen's family cleared if they won't accept my money.

"Delightful. I'll be sure to ask. Thank you."

I just nod and look over at Lacey for a moment while Eva begins to clean and wrap up the deer. She's looking distracted again while frying up the bacon.

I clear my throat. It's going to be a bit sore from the howling for a day or two. "You know, Eva is probably right about that Lord Ransom, but I've got some contacts myself within the Werewolf community. I'll send out some letters over the next couple of days. What did the notice say? Anything about a meeting?"

"Yes, there's to be a meeting with both the Tax Collector and the Lord in two weeks at the tavern. All adults are encouraged to attend." Lacey looks over her shoulder. "And thank you, dear. I appreciate you looking into it."

"Well, now that those issues are being looked into and your worries are settled," Eva wanders over after washing up outside. The carcass was wrapped up and placed in their wagon presumably. "Maybe you can focus on breakfast. The bacon is about to burn."

"Oh, bother!"

. . . . . . . . .

"This is highway robbery! We can't afford those taxes! We're barely making enough to cover the current rate as is!"

"I don't like it either, Mark, but what can we do?" Paulie yells over the angry din of the tavern. "The new Lord has the right to set the tax rate. We'll just have to adjust!"

"Adjust!" Mark yells, grey mustache quivering. "You can't drain blood from a stone! There's no adjusting to such!"

I wince at the volume, thankful that the moon is dark in the sky. Closer to the Full, I'd be practically whimpering under the table. I cannot say I disagree with the man, however. It is an unfair amount, especially for a town that is constantly walking far too close to famine each winter.

I look around the table. The whole tavern is full, but seated with me are those who help me the most often during the moon. There's Paulie, local busybody/my friend; Cara, Paulie's wife and the schoolteacher with intense green eyes; Mark, the village blacksmith and carpenter; Jacob, Mark's eldest son and the villages pharmacist; Mary and Charles, Allen's parents and owners of the only other farm in town outside of my own; and the twins Eva and Lacey who, when they're not caring for a tired Werewolf post moon, run the tavern and small inn.

"Maybe we can discuss it further with him. He said that he'd be in town the next couple of weeks." Mary says while brushing her blonde hair out of her face. "If we can get the figures together, maybe we can help him see. He's not familiar with the area - he admitted to that much. He might not realize that we simply can't afford what he's asking for. "

"No, I know the type." Charles massages his knuckles while he speaks. The chill of autumn is hard on his arthritis, or maybe he's imagining punching that swarmy Tax Collector on the nose. I certainly am. "He 'earned' his money on the backs of the people. He'll break us first before he'll compromise."

"Well, it doesn't hurt to try, right?" Eva points out, her expression sour, but not just because of the topic. The person to deliver the Lord Ransom's 'most generous and gracious tax plan' was the Tax Collector, otherwise known as her ex... something or other. No one has ever really said for certain, except to say that their falling out was more like a nasty explosion that rocked the town. "He just wants money - maybe he'll take installments instead of one lump sum at the end of the year."

"I'm not sure we could even afford that," Lacey looks over at me, eyebrows knitted in concern. "What did your contacts say?"

The table goes quiet, and everyone looks towards me. They have all been curious about my network of Werewolf contacts. I tried to explain that we were all just people who happened to have a pretty major, life-altering condition in common - one that is fairly demonized and greatly misunderstood by a good majority of the population. It makes sense to have a network, even if to only be sure we didn't settle in an area where people would kill us. It isn't anything different than keeping up with some extended family.

Considering how focused everyone at the table is on me, I don't believe it sunk in.

"He's rich, powerful, and well connected. The rumors Marcie's cousin heard are true - he has been buying up towns and villages. Most of my better connected friends are confused as to why - it makes more sense to keep the village intact and collect taxes. What they do know is that all the places he bought out were old mining towns. Some still are in operation, but most haven't been used in years."

"So he's after the mines, then." Jacob speaks up for the first time that night, swirling his drink in his glass. "At least we know that much."

"What mines?"

"There's nothing in those mines. They were stripped ages ago."

I look over to Paulie, who had spoken when I did. I raise an eyebrow.

"The silver mines. They lay just outside the village. Been blocked off for years once they were stripped of anything of value at the time. They closed when I was a kid." Paulie nods at me, then gives me a quelling look when I notice the play on words.

Not the whole story, then - something to discuss later.

"Regardless of his reasons, the tax issue must be addressed." Mark presses.

We all agree on that much.

. . . . . . . . .

"I kept my peace, but I want to know what you mean by 'at the time.'"

Paulie looks over to Jacob. "You're the one who brought it to my attention. You explain it."

Jacob never looks comfortable. Tonight, sitting at my table, he looks less so. He's accepting of my furry problem, but he's heard too many horror stories to ever be completely at ease in my home.

It's just the three of us. Paulie wouldn't say why, but I knew he wanted to keep this quiet, so I invited him for late night tea. The village is used to us meeting up that no one will think too much about Paulie inviting his pal Jacob along.

Jacob clears his throat. "You're not the only one who has been exchanging letters with others outside of town. I've got an uncle up north who is really into new science innovations, and he's been all excited about a new mineral that has been discovered that has some rather explosive properties if bonded with other elements. Apparently, kingdoms are clamoring for it to continue their wars and are willing to pay handsomely for it."

"Let me guess: this miracle mineral is found in silver mines."

"It appears so. The problem is that if you want this mineral for its explosive properties, it has to be processed a certain way almost immediately after being removed from the earth, or else it's just a pretty, if useless, rock."

"That's why he's scooping up the land around the mines. He needs the space." Paulie muses.

Jacob nods. "He would need both a place to store the mineral before and after the processing as well as space for treatment."

"Okay, now that we've answered that, here's the real question: Why?" I look at them both.

"Why what?"Jacob asks.

"Why the pretense? Why pretend he's interested in the village's taxes when what he really wants is the land itself?"

Paulie, as always, follows my thinking. "Because the King doesn't know. The King gave him the right to collect taxation, not to kick the townsfolk out of their homes and reopen the mines. What do you want to bet he isn't giving the King his fair percentage?"

"I'm not taking that bet." I reply with a grin.

"Nor I, but this is all merely speculation. We don't have proof of such things." Jacob cuts in. "What are we going to tell everyone else?"

I think about it. Jacob is right. We have no proof of wrongdoing, just buckets of speculation. "Regaredless of his reasons, there's only one clear path: We must not sell him our homes."

"With these taxation rates, many won't have a choice but to move," Paulie looks to be thinking it over. "But if those who are better off help out the others..."

"Then the bastard will get his money and won't have a choice but to leave us alone." Jacob says triumphantly. Then his expression turns sober. "That only leaves the rumors of his harassment campaign. He might not go away quietly."

"We'll handle when it comes up." I say, and if my smile is a little sharp, you can always blame the Wolf.

. . . . . . . .

"I hate that man! I hate him and his stupid cane! Jules didn't deserve that!"

I look over to Allen, but I can't bring myself to chastise him. I also hate the Lord Ransom. A week out from the Full and each night I get steadily colder and the Wolf inside begins to bay for blood. This would be manageable - I've been doing it for years - if it wasn't for that damned man.

The offers started last week when no one packed up immediately to avoid his high taxes. The gossip chain (the Marcie-Lacey-Eva-Mary-Cara-Paulie version anyway) spoke of the high amounts of money being offered. A couple of families had taken the deal, and no one could begrudge them that, but most of the town held firm.

This is our home, and we aren't going to be bought out.

This week, the harassment campaign began. Big men, saying they spoke on behalf of the 'Good Lord Ransom', went to random homes and offered larger sums of money. If those families refused the offer, then they were threatened. A few of them had rocks thrown in their windows.

Eva's home had gotten a visit, and she blistered the goons ears for the attempt. Who did they think they were threatening her? What would their mothers say?

They didn't take kindly to the scolding. In retaliation, that night, they threw a burning bottle of liquid through her son's window while he slept. He will survive, but the flames weren't kind.

The house, however, is lost.

"I know. I'm worried about Jules, too." I say. We're sitting on my porch while Mary and Charlie get Eva settled at her sister's place. Eva is furious and out for blood. The two of them are the only ones capable of restraining her - everyone else wants to help her or hide the body.

I can't say I blame them, either.

Maybe I'll let Eva get her pound of flesh and put what's left of him in the pig pen. Saves time on hiding the body, not that I think anyone would look that hard for it based on his reputation.

"I hate that man! Mom says he's greedy and is gonna get what's coming to him. Do you think so?" Allen looks up at me from his angry brooding. He's clutching his fists in his lap tight enough to see the whites of his knuckles.

I look down at him. "Men like that always get their due."

. . . . . . . . .

"Nice farm you have here."

I look up from my work. Harvesting the last of the wheat and preparing the grounds for the frosts to come must have been consuming my attention. Normally, 3 days out, I'm hyper aware of my surroundings. I should've heard him approach a hundred feet or so ago.

The Lord Ransom is not a handsome man despite the quality attire he wears. Prematurely balding with beady brown eyes hiding behind thick spectacles, I imagine there are few hearts that flutter at the mention of him if either his title or money aren't mentioned in the same sentence. He carries himself like he knows he deserves better than being in a place where his new leather shoes might get mud on them, but he is willing to suffer the indignities to suffer us.

Or maybe I'm too close to the Full and his very presence is irritating me, but I know how to play nice when the situation calls for it.

"Good afternoon, my Lord. It's not much, but it's home."

His resulting laugh is high and boisterous - and very false. "And what a fine home it is! I was actually hoping to talk to you about it."

Ah. I'd been wondering what was taking him so long. Everyone else in town had gotten offers and threats over the past couple of weeks. I had wondered if my 'Moon Problem' had been shared with him and he was avoiding me. Ideal, considering I can't stand the fool, but it would be so very annoying if he hired someone to 'take care' of me.

There's no reason to play dumb. "I hear you're buying up land."

"I am, but if I was only interested in that, I would've sent one of my associates to talk with you." Somehow, his smile is more false than his laugh.

"I've heard you've spoken to everyone in town yourself before outsourcing the... negotiations to your associates. Is there a reason you would not offer me the same courtesy?"

"Not at all!" He proclaims loudly. He certainly likes the sound of his own voice. "I'm just a busy man and grow weary of the slog of negotiating."

If this man is weary of anything, it's probably being denied what he wants. I know the type well enough.

"You are asking a lot of these people. Some of these homes have been in their family for generations. That kind of thing is priceless." I reply lightly, leaning on skills I haven't needed in years and slipping into that old, highborn accent.

He was not the only one taught by a Governess, after all.

He may be unattractive, but he's not a fool. He catches on quickly. "You are not from around these parts, are you?"

"No. I was raised somewhere more like those places you prefer to be - with their high vaulted ceilings, crystal goblets, and gentle manners. I wanted something different, and I found it here."

It's almost too easy to slip into that role of misplaced noble. Just a person of gentle birth who wanted to step away for a while - rough it with the common folk - but with the right offer, they would be willing to be swept back into that glittering world.

Not that I want to go back, of course, but this man only respects those of his own rank and, by rights, I'm that and more. A common person won't get through to him, but someone from his world? He might give them their due consideration.

The Lord Ransom assesses me. I know he's unmarried, and I know that there are circles closed to him because of that. I can see the calculations going on in his head and the plans that he discards based on this development.

"You own this farm outright? No debt to the town?"

"The property is mine, yes."

He laughs, incredulous. This laugh is genuine, at least. "I suppose that you work the land yourself then? No hired hands to help?"

I look at him blandly, as I had been raised to do. "I believe that would defeat the purpose."

"And what purpose would that be?" He leans in, expression curious. I imagine he couldn't ever imagine himself willingly working in the dirt for all the gold in the King's vault.

"To make something of my own. To watch it grow from seed, to plant, to grain, and into bread from my own effort. To toil and reap the rewards from what I've sewn."

"Yes," He muses, "I can see that."

A moment of silence. I can see him come to a conclusion.

"You'll do." He says almost too softly to hear, but I'm no longer distracted by grain and soil.

"I'm sorry, my Lord?"

"I originally came here to offer to buy your land. However, in the place of what I thought was a young widow, I find a Lady of gentle birth toiling in the dirt. A soul who understands the value of hard work, dedication, and sacrifice! I have been long put off by the vapid nature of the common High-born and therefore put off marriage. I had even accepted that I might never be married - that it wasn't my role in this life."

He steps forward, a fevered gleam in his eyes. I can almost see his grand scheme play out in them.

"Then, I meet you. Now, I see that I was looking for a proper union in all the wrong places! I needed a bride who was forged from hardship and unafraid of doing what needed to be done."

He bows deeply before me.

"Allow me to court you, my Lady."

I stare at him and blink. That's... interesting. I hope my expression is still coming across as bland curiosity and not sickened shock. "This is very sudden, my Lord. You don't know me or anything about - "

"That's because I don't need to! I already know you're the one I've been waiting for!" He moves forward and grabs my hands. I keep from pulling back in revulsion. "I don't care about your past or where you're from. I want you! I'd marry you right here... right now! However, you are rightfully cautious. I'm willing to wait."

"I... don't know what to say."

"How about I give you time to think about it. I know I have had my own worldview changed. Just say you're willing to consider it?"

I look at him, and then I see it. The way forward.

The solution.

I breathe in and resign myself to the inevitable. "Dinner."

"What?"

"In 3 days. Dinner. I have another property north of here. Quiet and secluded. If you're seen here again, there will be unwelcome rumors, things neither of us can afford. However, few know that I own that property. If you were to stop by in the evening..."

"No one would suspect. Beautiful and brilliant, my Lady." He puts him lips to the back of my hand and looks up, a knowing look in his eyes.

If only he knew.

. . . . . . . . .

"I thought you gave up all these jewels and dresses and things."

"I thought I did, too." I look in the mirror back at Cara's worried expression. She's pulling my hair back in the classic braided style down my back. Nothing as fancy as I would've worn to Court, but nicer than I've worn in ages. Thankfully, the gown fits well, its color bringing out the full intensity of my eyes.

Or maybe it's just that moonrise is mere hours away.

"I know you're cold, but I found this velvet shawl in my things. It'll keep you warmer." Cara says as she wraps the shawl around my shoulders with a small smile. The black velvet adds a certain dignity to the outfit.

I try to smile back, but it stalls out halfway. "I..."

She nods in sympathy and understanding. "No one wants this for you. We can come up with another way. We can - "

"No," I cut in, speaking around the lump in my throat. "I... I'll be okay. It's just..."

Cara doesn't say anything. She just leans in and gives me a hug as I cry and shiver into the warmth.

I said I would take care of the problem and I will.

The Wolf protects the Pack.

But like this?

I didn't want this. I was running from this, but here I am, despite everything.

After too short of a moment, I lean forward and dry my eyes. "You have to go. He'll be here soon."

Cara looks around the cabin. It's been made up nicer than I prefer, with fine silver utensils and linen on the table. The bed, which I'm spending most of my time trying not to look at, has been fitted with the nice silk sheets I had packed up when I left home. It had been something to remind me of where I came from, and then I had hid it away because it reminded me of what I'd left behind.

"It looks like a proper Lady's home now. I'm sure he'll appreciate the effort." Cara looks at me and grins. The smile dims when she looks closer at my expression. "You don't have to do this."

"You should go, Cara." I say, my smile - as strained as it is - hopefully taking the sting out of the words. "Tell Paulie I said not to forget his promise."

Her smile is small, and her eyes are sad. "I will, but he won't. He has never once forgotten his promises to you."

. . . . . . . . .

"Simply ravishing, my dear."

"Do come in, my Lord Ransom. Welcome to my home." I curtsey before him exactly the way I was taught. Some things really are ingrained.

He takes my hand in his. I can hear his pulse beginning to quicken as he takes in the low neckline of my gown. "Van, please. I thought you were beautiful out in the field, but in here, you are radiant. These common folk don't know what beauty has been gracing them."

"Thank you, my L - Van. You are too kind." I murmur, looking down demurely. I focus on breathing through my mouth. Breathe in, hold for 4, and breathe out.

"I must say, my Lady, despite how quaint this cabin is, you do manage to bring some class to it." He says as he looks around the room. "Do you stay here often?"

I look up to see he's practically staring at the bed. I don't need to meet his gaze to know that he's thinking about my low-cut gown and how he wants this night to end.

"Not often. I was gifted this cabin by an Aunt. I try to keep my birth a secret from the town."

"Yes." He looks at me and winks. "You like to rough it with the riff-raff."

I focus on my breathing. "They are good folk."

"I'm sure they are, but you have to admit they're rather dull."

"They have their charm." I say with a little smile. I can see the mocking laughter in his eyes. "Would you like to eat? Maybe tell me more about why you're buying up the town?"

Asking a Lord to talk about himself and his plans will usually save one from any discomfort when it comes to smalltalk. The Lord Ransom is no different.

"What do you know of mining, my dear?" He asks as he sits down at the table, putting a napkin in his lap.

I make my way to the wine bottle first before sitting. A Lady always offers to pour their guests' drink first. "Wine, my Lord? And not much, I'm afraid. I know that metal comes from the ground, and it is backbreaking work, but that's all."

"Yes, please. And please, do call me Van. It sounds lovely when you say it." He pauses while I pour, focused intently on me. His eyes meet mine, and I can see the desire in them. I finish pouring both our glasses and hold his gaze while I sit across from him, pulling my shawl tighter around me. I try to keep my breathing even.

"Well, you know the basics, then. However, what you may not be aware of is that certain metals tend to be grouped up underground with other minerals. It turns out a particular mineral that has high value in warfare forms near silver. Now, most silver mines around here were stripped of their fine metals years ago, but with the discovery of this material, these mines can be reopened and lost jobs restored!"

I take a sip of the fine wine. It's not what I want. I focus on my words. "That's fascinating, but I'm confused as to why you can't just open the mine without buying out the villages? They formed around the mines, right?"

"You know your history, my dear! Yes, the villages and towns sprung up around the mines as the miners and their families needed places to stay nearby, but silver doesn't need any special processing when it's mined, so the miner's homes could be closer. However, this mineral does need special treatment. I need the land around the mine as well for such things."

"Ah, I see. Do you plan on founding a new town then? Outside the blocked off area, I mean?"

"I do. I don't know how far the mines go, so I don't know where the bounds will be, but eventually, there will be. After all, the workers need a place to sleep!"

"Surely forcing others to leave their homes is rather crass, isn't it?" I focus on my plate, taking extra time to cut my chicken into smaller pieces. Ones small enough for a Lady.

"Yes, some might think that, but much is sacrificed for progress! What's one home, or even a dozen, in the face of that?"

"And money, of course."

"Of course, my Lady." He says with a wink. "No one said you couldn't make money from progress - you just can't stop it!"

The conversation dies for a moment. The only sounds that fill the cabin are the clank and scrape of silver on porcelain - the only sounds I allow myself to notice, anyway. I focus on the chicken - dry. Then the vegetables - I force them down. I take gulps of wine that are borderline unladylike - the taste is wrong and the alcohol does little to warm me.

"I was thinking we should discuss our future." The Lord breaks the silence, placing his utensils down. It appears he had no trouble eating.

"Our Courtship, you mean?"

He nods. "And beyond."

I let out a pained laugh that I hope he reads as simply incredulous. "Beyond? Awfully presumptuous of you, my Lord."

"Van, my dear, and is it?" He looks at me, raising an eyebrow and speaking slowly as if to a child. "You invited me into your home without a chaperone for dinner, skipping several steps of the process. A home you specifically invited me to because no one was around to question your honor. You have been playing coy, and I do enjoy that in a woman, but let's not lie to ourselves."

His gaze burns as he looks at me.

"You know how this night ends."

I look out the window to see the sky darkening, the first stars starting to peek through the twilight. There is a heavy thunk from the door that startles the Lord into looking away as his head swivels towards the source of the noise.

I shudder from the sudden chill I feel all the way down into my bones.

It's time. I take a deep breath in.

The Lord turns back towards me, his eyes widening in horror as I feel the Moon's pull. He smells of our dinner, sweat, and no small amount of fear.

Good.

I feel my bones break and shift, my body elongating, and nails turning into claws. The gown tears from my body as I stand, the shawl dropping from my shoulders. The pain is intense, but my eyes never leave his as he backs away and then tries to get through the door before sliding down it.

It's locked and blocked until morning - a promise Paulie always keeps.

I didn't want this. I ran from this. Here I am.

"Yes, Van," the words pull from me in a growl as I get on all fours and stalk towards him. "I imagine we both know how this night ends."

[teacherintransition]

The Teacher in Transition

What has been learned?

From Monday, August 3rd 2020 to Friday February 2nd 2024 there have been 1278 days. That's 3 years, 5 months and 30 days. This is the amount of time that has passed since I retired from thirty years of teaching. A career that started August 20th 1990 and lasted 10941 days …29Years, 11 Months, 14Days. Yes, there is still a significant part of my mindset that feels that I should still be at it; a feeling that abandoned those kids. I suppose that will never go away. I know I did my best and most days I feel I made a difference. I have nothing to prove. I know I more than likely won’t go back, but I ask myself, what was the trade off?

In my initial planning towards retirement, there were specific goals and dreams to be pursued. No planning was taken lightly; attention to detail was carefully paid, structure was established… and very little turned out as planned. Despite dotting “i’s” and crossing “t’s,” we are at a place I would never have imagined. Luckily, it’s been mostly good surprises with few disappointments and the biggest lesson was just to roll with things. Nothing is written in stone. Surprising and infinite variety is a good thing, and learning to not be locked in to one definitive result has been a lesson I wished I’d learned earlier in life. Ah well, wisdom is where and when you find it.

What have I learned during this change in life’s direction? If you are being adventurous in any way, expect that most of your contemporaries are not. Trust me, you’re going against the grain, most our age are settling into routine and making their worlds smaller. If you have friends of a like mind, chances are you’ll never see them as you and your fellow adventurers are always out of pocket …away … traveling… experiencing life. Those most like you in pursuing a life of adventure will only, usually, communicate via text or social media. It’s sad to a degree, but it is who we are and what you feel if you are avoiding the rocking chair. Most of my other friends who are still in the workforce are a welcome sight when we return to Nac. They are always asking about our lives and are happy for you. This is a good thing; to be welcomed home …and it is home, even though Kim and I spend most of our days on the road each year.

Another thing I’ve learned is that post career can be very lonely. I say this thankful that my best buddy, Kim …my spouse for almost 37 years, is my road companion, but missing the home friends is a real deal. This I didn’t fully expect…I’m not good at doing the alone thing. Life is balance, sometimes, and karma gave me a good experience to keep things balanced. At the various, towns, villages, cities, coffee shops, bars, hikes, walks, sightseeings etc. etc. I’ve made friends all over the country and the world. This has been a wonderful discovery that I didn’t plan. We’ve made friends with folks in Scotland, Ireland, Italy, Chicago, Alexandria La., Austin, Granbury, Missouri, Kentucky, Kansas, Oklahoma, Minnesota and more! Friends we would never have met if we stayed in Nacogdoches! Jorge, Melissa, Jim, Vangie, Jeanette, Sarah, Luigi, Margaret, Dustin, Samantha, Caitlyn, Happy, Jennifer, Dana, Scotty, Big Mooch, J, William …and on and on. This was and is fortunate happenstance. The loneliness is a bitch, but I’m grateful for new friends in new places.

A final fortunate development has been the growing bond with my sons and their families. I hoped for this, but its happening has been unlike what was expected. It’s an incredible feeling … a sense of family perpetuity that is wonderful. I can see and feel that our family and its impact will see a bright future. The balance reestablished … the bleak mindset of middle age assuaged by a sense of our lineage going forward is incredibly exciting. I see my sons and grandchildren carrying Kim and I into the future, an unexpected pleasure. Without question, unpleasant things have occurred and more will in the future of that I’m certain. As this transition goes forth, I’m in possession of a faith that my family and friends will carry on and negate some of the bad that is expected. Freeing yourself the drudgery of the chains of working and bill paying has allowed me to see possibilities undreamed of as a young man. I’m not being blind, everything is precarious and life can turn in an instant: financial struggles, illness, death can all overturn the cart, but wasn’t it always the case? Everyday is a choice and is also devoid of control. Go with the flow and don’t settle for sameness. This is the biggest lesson I’ve learned. Movement is life …and it ain’t half bad.

[jdgo51]

DAILY DEVOTIONAL FOR OCTOBER 1, 2023

God’s Open Table

By John Hall (North Carolina, USA)

READ MATTHEW 22:1-10

"Look at the birds in the sky. They don’t sow seed or harvest grain or gather crops into barns. Yet your heavenly Father feeds them."

MATTHEW 6:26 (CEB)

"'I love birds, and I feed them at multiple locations. They are amazing creations of God, and I enjoy hearing and seeing them. They also remind me of Jesus’ love and care as scripture affirms.

My feeding areas attract many different birds: colorful cardinals, perky wrens, cute chickadees, assertive mockingbirds. All these diverse species eat together, though they don’t always get along. I am happy they all enjoy their food side by side.

This reminds me of the parable Jesus shared with the chief priests and elders in Jerusalem shortly before his death and resurrection. His story of the king who prepared a wedding feast for his son and filled the banquet hall with all types of people is an example of how God loves us and delights in our presence, regardless of race, gender, creed, or other differences. In fact, the king sent his servants throughout the town to ensure that all were invited.

Just as all birds are welcome at my feeders, so all people are welcome at our Lord’s table. May we invite everyone to our faith fellowship, regardless of how we may differ. As Paul says, “Christ is all things and in all people” (Col. 3:11, CEB)."' Every single person is welcome at the table. It's not those that certain people or groups deem worth, rather all people who breathe. Come to the table!

TODAY'S PRAYER

"Heavenly Father, thank you for your wonderful and diverse creation. Help us to seek and welcome all people to your table of living bread." Amen.

Matthew 22:1-10

"1 Jesus responded by speaking again in parables: 2 “The kingdom of heaven is like a king who prepared a wedding party for his son. 3 He sent his servants to call those invited to the wedding party. But they didn’t want to come. 4 Again he sent other servants and said to them, ‘Tell those who have been invited, “Look, the meal is all prepared. I’ve butchered the oxen and the fattened cattle. Now everything’s ready. Come to the wedding party!” ’ 5 But they paid no attention and went away—some to their fields, others to their businesses. 6 The rest of them grabbed his servants, abused them, and killed them. 7 “The king was angry. He sent his soldiers to destroy those murderers and set their city on fire. 8 Then he said to his servants, ‘The wedding party is prepared, but those who were invited weren’t worthy. 9 Therefore, go to the roads on the edge of town and invite everyone you find to the wedding party.’ 10 “Then those servants went to the roads and gathered everyone they found, both evil and good. The wedding party was full of guests." Everyone came to this wedding party. The pious and judgy folks just went on and missed out. Bless you! Joe

[harleyshahas]

Psst. *opens trenchcoat suspiciously* you want some fic recs? (ignore the M and E ones if that's not your thing)

GFFA (Canon/canon divergence)

The Storm and The Suns by Shirozora. Both T. These are on every damn rec list because they're so fucking good. They're stranded on a planet, trapped by torrential rain. There's an awkward third wheel who I love.

Crash and Burn by Aureutr. E. Sweeping epic where there was no seeing stone on Tython and Din and Grogu meet Luke by chance. Mandalore is reclaimed.

The Father, the Son and the Exile by SushiBurrito. M. Luke is in a self-imposed exile after having severed ties with his family years earlier. Weary and paranoid, he stumbles upon Din and Grogu on Gideon's cruiser, and their destinies end up entwined.

Who Carried the Hill by Spqr. M. Set during the Galactic Civil War. Din and Luke are linked soulmates, Din ends up in the Rebellion.

The Way of the Mand'alor by SubtleHysteria. T. TBOBF fix-it. Dual guardianship and the Darksaber.

Icarus, Point to the Sun by LuminousSkywhiner. T. Luke is a self-sacrificing idiot who ran away from what he felt. Years later he encounters a young girl on Jakku, and then there's a return of an old, family man in beskar.

The Drink Will Flow (and Blood Will Spill) by You_Idjits. Unrated. Han, Chewie and Din get drunk. That's it, that's the fic.

Separate Ways by PepperPrints. E. Written before season 2 came out so the vibe is slightly off, but it is the seminal DinLuke fic. Predicted a lot of stuff though.

Brothers-in-Crimes by Aureutr. T. WIP. Han longs for the glory days and some good, old-fashioned Shenanigans. Din, the brother-in-law he doesn't think much of, is the only one available.

PWP

Dear Fellow Traveller by TheSexierEvilerCora. E. Luke infiltrates an Imperial remnant ship. Another dangerous sexy person has also done so. Aka Luke and Din are terrifyingly competent.

Like Vines by ObjectLesson. E. Simple temple maintenance turns into introspection via smut.

Surrounded by Stories Surreal and Sublime by SunshineAndALittleFlour. E. Din and Luke find erotica written by a Jedi long ago in the Coruscant Library. They do something that should not be done in a sacred temple of knowledge.

Two Clouds in Outer Space, We Raised a Storm by StupidFatPenguin. E. Din and Luke one-night stand during the Rebellion.

AU

I Have Fallen Foul of My Desire by Chromat1cs. M. Set in post-WWII rural Scotland, Luke is a shepherd and Din is a ceramicist. Deals with loss, longing, PTSD and rediscovery of onself. Does contain past BobaDin. The prose is phenomenal.

All the Grey Spaces by Chromat1cs. E. Religious/Folk Horror. Priest!Luke and Constable!Din. Something dark is taking the town children and Luke is suffering from immense bouts of Catholic Guilt because of Din.

MY FICS

Ever Decreasing Circles. M. WIP. Grogu refuses to learn without his father there. Luke goes looking for his father. Meanwhile Din has to figure out who is now, but perhaps he doesn't have to do it alone.

And Stars Like Grains of Sand. G. Luke takes Din and Grogu back to the Lars homestead to meet two very important people.

Come and Be Welcome. T. After a hyperdrive malfunction, Din, Luke and Grogu end up stranded on Sorgan. While waiting for help from Han, there are awkward moments in Omera's village.

👀

I'll take all of them

[bokettochild]

About Legend having insane leg strenght: what if the reason he never brags about that is because he's embarassed about it? He thinks that pulverizing a boulder with a kick is either something everyone can do or too similar to a bunny. One day he and Four get dumped into a monster camp without their items or weapons and Legend takes desperate measures to ensure they don't die: anihilating the entire camp with only his legs. He is unironically and literally capable of killing someone with his /1

This ask references this post btw, so, check it out if you need context!

Honestly, I loved this so much! THANK YOU!!! But I am half asleep, so the cool stuff I saw in my head is being stinky and not comng out. I'm sorry, hope you like my half-asleep drabbl of Legend being weak as shit while simultaneously having the strongest kick out of the whole Chain XD

Legend hates being at Ordon.

It’s not that he hates the people; he’s used to country folk, he was raised around them, heck, his grandparents have the same strong twang in their voices that everyone in Twi’s village does! He loves the fresh air and the sounds of animals and the sight of growing things everywhere he looks.

But he hates looking around and seeing Twilight’s entire village (even the freaking kids!) wander around lifting things that probably equal his entire body weight!

Seriously, Malo (that was the terrifying toddler’s name, right? That’s what Twilight said when he introduced them all, right?) could lift up a small goat with ease, and he was an actual toddler!

What was Uli feeding her children that they turned out this strong? Were all the village women using it? How on earth was every person in all of Ordon fully capable of throwing Legend over their shoulder?

It hadn’t happened yet, but Legend was on guard because it was only so much time before someone figured out it was possible, and it wasn’t as if he could fight them off.

He wasn’t jealous, definitely not. Not even when he saw Twilight carrying a mother goat across the village with an easy stride as he brought the nanny back to her pen. When he buried his face in his arms and sighed it wasn’t because he was remembering how much he had to tug and pull to move a basket of apples, no, it was just because the mere thought of carrying goats for the foreseeable future made him tired. Definitely.

But this strength was just an Ordon thing, right? It was totally just something that was common in Ordon, and Legend took comfort in that as he sat on the front porch of Uli and Rusl’s house and helped with the mending.

Even their blankets were heavy, what the heck?

But then Sky walked past.

And Sky was carrying a barrel, an entire barrel. One that swished and clunked with the sounds of grain filling it, and if the small trail of spilled seed that followed after the hero meant anything, then that thing was full.

Okay, so Skyloftians were strong too, no big deal.

Big deal.

Their entire visit to Ordon, helping to hide away animals and supplies before a local monster band stole them, was spent with Legend trying desperately to not be jealous as he watched everyone from Wind to Time lift and carry things that he couldn’t even knock over if he pushed against them.

It wasn’t even that most of thing things were heavy, it was just... he was weak.

Uli’s gaze when she’d figured out the truth had been surprised, eyes blown wide with shock as she watched as Legend, who’d opted to help indoors since he knew working outside would lead to him being more a burden than an aid, struggled to lift buckets of water to fill the wash basin. Dark brown eyes had followed him as he’s left the bucket outdoors and stomped inside, hissing and wheezing under his breath as he moved his attention to his bag and grabbed one of his power bracelets.

“Hun,” Uli’s soft country twang caught his attention as the woman drew close, concern filling her warm gaze. “Are ya’ feelin’ alright?”

And reputation or no, Legend’s Gran would have his hide on a hitching-post if he even so much as dropped his manners. There was something about country folk that was so inherently polite and welcoming, that even the salty vet couldn’t help but return with the same manners that his Gran had pounded into his head since childhood.

“Yes, ma’am.” Crimson trailed up his neck to blossom across his cheeks and shoot up his ears. He tried to ignore that Uli had a baby on one hip and a bushel of food on the other, breath contained and relaxes as she stood there, no hint of strain in her face or body language. His fingers trailed along the clasp of his power bracelet, shame building inside as he shuffled his feet.

You just can’t walk away when lady’s talking to you, especially if she’s being all polite like and just makin’ sure you’re okay.

“Are you injured?” The farm-wife pressed. “You were huffy something huge with that there bucket.”

And Legend would like nothing more than to sink into the earth as he glances over the full bucket of water that no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t lift. “I’m just not much of a farm-hand is all, ma’am. I’ll be right as rain in a tick, just needed to grab something I forgot.”

And while the look Uli gives him is a bright smile, he knows worry when he sees it peeking out of someone’s gaze. He tries to ignore that, instead turning back to the chores he’d been assigned and trying his hardest to ignore ethe fact that no one else was wearing power bracelets when they all came back for dinner that evening.

He’s not strong. So what? He can lift his sword well enough, and he can do most other things too when he wears the power bracelets.

Yes, he knows that Ravio warned him about not developing muscles if he relied on objects so much, but he’s never had time to work out or build any muscle mass, so when he needs it it’s a bit more important to just get his work done rather than hope he’ll develop it. He’s paying for that, and he knows it, but he can’t really help that he doesn’t have the time or space to really do anything about it.

Oh well, at least the others haven’t caught on.

Warriors hefts a huge rock over his shoulder and throws it, chuckling deep and loud as he smirks at the rancher. “Beat that!”

They’re clearing a road where an avalanche swept through and blocked off the main entrance to a local town. They’ve been at it for hours, and while Legend tries his hardest to be discreet by sticking to things he can actually lift, even if it does require his bracelets, the others have devolved into a contest to see who can throw stuff the furthest.

There’s nothing on the other side of the road except for the edge of a swamp, and even Legend has to admit that it’s ridiculously satisfying to hear each of the heavy stones go ‘plop’ as they land in the marsh.

Twilight smirks at the captain, all his sharp teeth on display as he hefts a rock that’s the size of Wild and easily bigger than half of the rest of the heroes. “Watch and learn, city boy.” Twilight grunts (well at least it took some effort) before throwing the boulder and watching with the rest of them as it soars through the air and lands with a dramatic ‘splosh’ in the middle of the swamp. Cheers erupt from the younger heroes, and a few even drop their own burdens to give a brief round of applause.

Warriors humphs shrewdly, gaze thin as he looks over at Twi, who only cocks a brow in challenge. “Anyone think they can beat that?”

Legend finds his gaze meeting Four’s swirling hazel, and they both quickly look away from the captain, both well aware that the biggest rocks they’ve lifted are maybe the sizes of their heads, and no where near the horrific loads that the taller heroes are tossing left and right.

“I’ll try!” Wild’s eyes are flashing as the kid clambers over the rock slide, eyes darting to and fro until they land on what has to be the biggest, most horrifically sized piece of rubble Legend has ever seen. The Champion beams, rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles briefly before taking the stone in both hands and lifting it over his head and throwing it.

The swam erupts in goop and several of their group yelp and have to dark back as smelly water sprinkles the edge of the path. Wild beams down from his perch on top of the pile, hands on his hips as he looks down at them. “Who dares challenge my strength?”

“How about you, Vet?” Warriors nudges him lightly, chuckling with a cocked brow. The man is just teasing, and he doesn’t mean any harm, but Legend finds himself irritated anyways. He doesn’t know what it is about Warriors, but the man gets under his skin entirely too easily.

“No thanks.” He grunts, hefting his own stone (so small in comparison) a bit higher and adjusting his grip as he walks over to the swamp.

Wild scrabbles around above, knocking stones aside and sending them rolling down towards the vet. Legend rolls his eyes, dodging quickly around a few and kicking some of the larger ones in the direction of the swamp.

He smiles to himself at the satisfying ‘plonk’ as each one hits the surface.

Four’s head aches and the next time they see Warriors they’re going to kick him in the shins.

The captain is good at planning, usually, but if his planning means that Four is waking up to stare around a vast room where people in red and black PJ suits are eating bananas because said plan went wrong, then they think they’re a bit justified in wanting to kick the captain.

They’d reach to rub their head, to adjust the headband that’s riding too low and letting their hair all hang in their eyes, but their hands are bound behind them, and they’re left huffing their breath and scrunching their nose in an effort to relive their irritation. Their mind is too wild to shake their head, but they let their eyes wander.

Legend’s violet gaze meets theirs, sharp fury bubbling below the surface as Legend sits across from them, hands bound behind him, a rope leading from his wrists to a hook in the wall that is definitely higher than either of the two of them can reach.

As unkind as it is, they breathe a sigh of relief to know they aren’t alone (even if being four people in one body technically means that they’re never alone as is). It’s...nice, having Legend around. They don’t know what it is, but the taller boy feels safe and that’s something that they, especially Red, fond comfort in.

But the fact that two of them are here means that Wars is getting both his shins kicked, fair is fair.

Legend squeaks in that harsh way he does when he’s angry, a poor and rather adorable attempt at a growl, but apparently, he’s unable to make any sort of guttural noise, so the squeak is the best he can do. “I am going to strangle Wars when we get back. Yiga? Seriously?”

They raise a brow. “Weren’t we fighting moblins?”

“And a Talus. Unless these guys have transformative rings, then someone messed up.” The vet grates out, but before he can try and unravel their situation any more, a masked face is shoved into the vets own, one of the pajama clad banana eater’s apparently trying to leer over the vet, breath strong and rank even behind his mask.

“So! The friends of the hero awake! You will call me Astorah! Leader of the Yiga and supreme priestess to Lord Ganon!”

“I’ll call you annoying and maybe alive if you let us go.” legend drawls, unimpressed. “Seriously lady, get your face of mine or I’ll knock it in.”

They smirk. Legend is as polite and well-mannered as can be around the country villages, but the minute he’s away from thick mountain drawls and country twang, the Vet becomes a sour and salty speaker who’s as likely to threaten you as o smile at you. It would almost be funny if they weren’t being held captive.

Astorah makes an indignant sound, hand shooting out to smack Legend across the face. The vet can’t do anything to stop it, and the blow sends his head swinging to the side, a faint grunt escaping as the self-declared priestess stands to her full height (she’s taller than either of them at any rate) and promptly orders her subordinates to see to it that the prisoners be brought to ‘the mountain’.

“The hero will be looking for his friends,” The pajama clad leader declares excitedly, hands rubbing together like a villain in a bad stage play. “So, let's help him out, shall we?”

The vet and smithy exchange a glance, each somewhat surprised at how... pathetic their opponent seems to be.

“Their screams should do the trick; all heroes listen to cries of help after all.” There’s a mad waver in her voice and the pitching is all wrong.

She’s delusional. Vio whispers, and the rest of them are inclined to agree.

Across from them, legend scowls as another red and black clad weirdo comes to grasp his binds, unhooking them from above as yet another does the same to Four.

Ideally, they would try and escape now, but legend only follows along slowly as Astorah leads them through the endless halls and up step after step, murmuring, laughing and shrieking loudly as she goes, hands fluttering and gestures erratic as Legend’s scowl grows more and more each minute.

It all seems rather pathetic, all thing considered, until another, larger, more intimidating individual stops them, voice harsh as it grates out something in a language neither hero can understand. Astorah protests and shrieks at the figure, but they disregard her and instead turn to the heroes.

“Put them back, screams echo within a cave far better than on a mountain top.”

Four’s stomach sinks. Being outside means being closer to escape, means finding the others easier and kicking Wars for landing the in a battle where two of their own had been captured by the enemy.

Legend seems to be of the same idea, his eyes flashing as he pulls at his bonds, tugging away from the guard holding onto him.

The oddly garbed enemy slaps him again, but Legend doesn’t seem to be affected, only pushing harder and biting towards the next hand that swings his way. Astorah pulls away with a light sob, shrieking when Legend’s teeth keep hold of her hand while the enemies around them erupt into action.

Fours unsure of what happens next, their head is still spinning, and quite honestly, they’re sure Hyrule will declare him concussed when they get back, but he does see blows being thrown Legend's way, blades being drawn as shouts echo around them.

There’s a dark of movement, and one of the enemies falls. Four stares in shock for half of a moment before turning their gaze to Legend, who, for all intents and purposes, looks half feral.

Blood stains the Vet’s bucked teeth and his hair swirls as he spins and ducks beneath blows. His hands are still bound tightly behind him, a rope trailing on the ground as Legend evades contact, yet somehow still manages to down another enemy.

Four would try and help, but their mind is spinning, their brain not yet up to date with what their eyes are seeing, that and they’re still bound themself, their arms are fastened behind them and they’re not even sure how Legend is managing to get blows in.

And the he sees.

The vet’s boot swings up to make contact with one of the jaws of the enemy.

Yiga. Wild had told them about them, the Yiga clan, people out for the hero’s blood. The word only comes to mind now, but they’d had to tune out of the battle for a brief moment to remember it. They’re brought back to it as the sound of an agonized scream breaks through the air, accompanied by the harsh snapping sound that Four knows too well from having broken their own bones.

Legend fights with his hands behind his back, kicking out like an angered horse and injuring any who step near. It’s impressive honestly, watching how blood spurts and bones crumple from the force of the vet’s blows, and all that without having use of his hands.

The Yiga back away, eventually leaving the room entirely as Legend squeaks out an angry Legend sound after them, before turning his attention to Four. Four says nothing, and it appear Legend thinks that that’s okay, because he darts towards the door they had been headed too, leading Four with nervous glances being thrown back over his shoulder every few minutes.

The mountain top they emerge onto is higher than Four expected, and they want nothing more than to snuggle down in the cozy parka Legend once leant him, but they have none of their items, and they’re lucky to even be out in one piece.

It takes a lot of work to climb down a mountain with their hands tied, but their fingers are too cold to make any good of the knots, and they manage in the end to climb down. They’re in the last legs when Four notices what looks like a small group of travelers below, and they can almost hear the singing of the Four Sword from them.

They’d dropped their blade in their battle, the very reason they were caught in the first blade. They’re not happy someone else touched it, but they are glad they didn’t leave it behind.

“Four,” Legend’s voice breaks them from their thoughts, and as they turn to face him, they find that Legend’s face is flushed, ears twitching nervously as he avoids their gaze. “Could you...not tell the others about all that?”

“About what?” They clamber down another stone, Legend still within sight as he trails down beside them.

“The...kicking.” Legend flushes. “I know you guys- most of them anyway- could have it handled better. I just, Wars is bad enough as is, I don’t need him bring up my lack of strength next time he decides he needs ammo to mess with me.” There’s a scowl on the vets features as he hops down and across and small hold in the mountain side. “I get it, I’m weak in comparison, they could probably have beheaded those guys with their bare hands, but mine fingers are shit o a good day and-”

Four doesn’t know if they actually figure something out or randomly spew words, but Legend’s eyes turn to them in surprise when the smithy stares down at him. “You do know most Hylia’s can’t do anything by kicking each other, right? I’m planning on kicking Wars when we get back, and the most it’ll do is bruise him.” Their voice is flat, but they let Viol take over, he always had the best endurance out of them when it came to rocky places anyways. “You kicked a man’s ribs in, Legend.”

And it’s not funny, it really isn’t, but they giggle, watching as Legend flushes before their eyes, and when the others trail up towards them, gazes curious and concerned, Four is laughing hysterically.

It could be the head wound, it could be Legend’s face, but the thought that Legend was able to kick a man's ribs in and hadn’t done so to any of them yet was both surprising and highly relieving for whatever reason, and it’s hilarious listening to Legend try and explain himself as the vet protests and struggles against the fact that apparently Hylian’s don’t usually have enough leg strength to kill people with.

Yes, people died back there. Yes, Four just watched them die. Maybe it’s Shadow’s influence, but Four can’t find that they're overly bothered. They are tired and injured and cold, and if they can laugh about something as ridiculous as Legend’s strange strength imbalance, then Hylia danggit they’re going to!

They never do kick Wars’ shins in, they giggle to hard at the thought that Legend doing so could actually break them, so they topple over before they can lift their feet.

[officialleehadan]

Has Not Wings

Sent Beyond

+++

“Never even anyone ride like that.” Bertie told Reinette once she made it back to them. “An’ bareback too. Even the Grass-folk would stare.”

It had taken Reinette a while to get away from the jubilant crowd, but she finally made it. Edion met her at Woodgrain’s stall, where she flung herself into his arms, high on the joy of her victory. Edion swing her around until she shrieked with laughter and then kissed her breathless. They had a few kisses between hem already, but this was something else entirely.

She was a victor on the field of battle. There was no better way to celebrate the defeat of an opponent. Edion was the veteran of a dozen tourneys, but he couldn’t remember shouting himself hoarse at any of them. Of course, he hadn’t been so excited, or so invested, in the outcome of any tourney when he was a prince. Now he was one in a crowd, cheering for the woman he loved.

Love was new as well, but welcome.

Once the excitement died down, they had retreated to the barns where Reinette gave Woodgrain a good rub-down and a brown sugar cube for his performance. The horse wasn’t even out of breath from the blazing run over the impromptu jumping course. Then again, Woodgrain loved to run, and loved jumping even more. Reinette didn’t bother trying to fence him in. There wasn’t a single fence on the farm Woodgrain couldn’t jump.

As long as he stayed out of the garden, Reinette didn’t mind, but the one time she caught the horse in her roses was an experience. Edion had learned a great many new words in her language that day, and not one of them was suitable for polite company.

“He likes to jump and I like to ride,” Reinette said. Now that Woodgrain was taken care of, she had taken  her place in Edion’s lap. He wrapped her arms around her, rested his cheek against her back, and listened to her heart slowly slow down after the excitement. “We’ve been going for the world championship in jumping.”

“You should go for the Olympics,” Bertie said admiringly. “You’d do us proud.”

“Nah. It would take too much time form the farm,” Reinette said as if they weren’t discussing th highest levels of a sport she loved. Edion only vaguely knew what the Olympics were, but he figured they were something like a royal tourney. The best of the best were invited. The prizes were rich. The competition was fierce. Not everyone wanted to fight that hard, even for the reputation and recognition that would come to them for a victory. “I’m a small-town girl. We wouldn’t even be going for the jumping record if Woodgrain didn’t like jumping so much.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think he had wings.”

Bertie smiled with a distant look in his eyes, no doubt remembering the same thing Edion did at the words.

There was no sight in the world like the winged horses of the southern coast. They were rare and skittish except in spring, when they came together in great flocks to mate and breed. As soon as the mating dances were done, they scattered again on their long migrations home. Plenty of people had tried to ride them, but it inevitably ended in the person, at best, getting bucked off.

The dances were visible from the furthest-most southern castle of Edion’s former home. He had spent hours watching the winged horses every spring.

Well, before the war, anyway. After the war broke out, Edion was needed with the armies, trying to put down the much-deserved rebellion that had, eventually, knocked him into a different world.

“Pretty sure I would notice if he had wings,” Reinette said, breaking Edion out of his thoughts with her fond smile. Woodgrain must have realized they were talking about him, because he stuck his nose out of his stall and whuffed softly against Reinette’s hair. She laughed and pushed him off, but scratched under his halter until his ears went lax with happiness. “Yes, you, my jumpy sweetheart. Do you have wings?”

Woodgrain huffed again and turned away, more interested in his grain bucket than in scratches now tha the wasn’t itchy anymore. He still had plenty of energy. It wouldn’t surprise Edion if Reinette took him over the jumping course later, just to work off some of his energy. Edion might even join her, even though his Spooky would never be a prize jumper. He was just too big.

“He doesn’t have wings,” Reinette told Bertie when she turned back to them. Edion shifted to accommodate her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “But that would be pretty cool. I think jumping is as close to flying as anyone can get. In this world, anyway.”

“You’re not wrong,” Bertie allowed. “So, what are you two mad children doing for the rest of the day?”

“Walking the fairgrounds,” Edion supplied. He was enjoying the experience so far, and was deeply curious about the food booths. Apparently there were all sorts of strange and interesting foods available. Frying wasn’t new to him, but the way Reinette’s world handled it, and the many ingredients they used, certainly were. He was particularly enjoying having a whole new world of food to explore. “I heard something about obscene fried foods, and I must know more.”

“Ah, corrupted by the junk food already!” Bertie said with a roar of laughter. “Alright, younglings. You go off and have fun. I’m sure Master Wings here won’t mind waiting a bit for his next chance to show off.”

+++

Sent Beyond:

Unspoken Words

The Sign of a Healer

Two words shared  (Subscriber Only!)

Of Horses

Wish to Stay   (Subscriber Only!)

Wish to Ride (Subscriber Only!)

Faire Dance

About Bout

Swear Fealty (Subscriber Only!)

Racers Spotted

Growing Wings

Has Not Wings (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[thesunmeltedthegrayaway]

The Outsider From Opulence, Sodapop Curtis x OC: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: An Interesting Introduction to Tulsa

~~~

Rumbling, the speed bumps that always jolted me forward slightly, the radio softly playing in the background. None of this sounds so bad if you’re just dealing with them for an hour or two. But when you’re stuck in a car for almost 10 hours without stopping for many breaks. The sound of a bird chirping gleefully could even set you off. It makes it even worse if you're stuck in a cramped car with a person who won’t stop annoying the fire out of you.

“Stop sulking.”

“You’re acting like a child.”

“Get over yourself, you’re a man so start acting like one.”

My father just couldn’t help but comment on how I was acting and feeling the second I got into the car. I didn’t try to combat his endless demands and orders. Mostly because it probably would’ve ended up him yelling at me till he got red in the face. Sometimes, it was just easier to let him ramble on about whatever he thought was so interesting or warranted his response. So, I just waited, painfully waited. As much as I didn’t want to move down to Tulsa, a relief filled me when I finally saw that “Welcome to Tulsa!” sign.  

The city we were moving to looked drastically different from the small town of Estes Park. There didn’t seem to be a mountain in sight. Tulsa looked bustling, it seemed a lot livelier and busier than where I had come from. It had a rustic and lived-in look to it. But there was one thing that stuck out from the rest of its features. It was the people, I noticed almost immediately by how observant they were of us. Some looked at us with disapproval and tension. Others looked a little more accepting of us, but still warry. I guess the folks around here didn’t like it too much when someone new moved into town.  

But finally, after driving for almost 10 hours, we had finally reached out new home. It was a fairly big house, there wasn’t really anything to special about it in my opinion. It looked perfect, almost too perfect. It didn’t have a lived-in look; it didn’t look inviting... it was just there.  

“Don’t just stand there, get your ass into gear and start moving.” My dad ordered, carrying a stack of boxes.

"Yes Sir,” I reply in a monotone voice.

Dad always makes such a big deal out of minuscule things and he can’t take a break to save his life. It seemed as though he constantly had to be moving, which in return made him want me to be moving as well. As I begun to dig out random boxes out of the trunk, I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder. My mother stood next to me with her usual sympathetic smile on her face.

“Don’t get to bothered by him honey. You know your father he’s just-”

“Intense? Yeah, I know mom.” I interrupted.  

She gave me a doting kiss on the cheek before patting my back. “If he starts in on you too much I’ll say something this time, okay?”

“Sure,” I reply halfheartedly. She walked away seemingly satisfied with my answer.

As much as I would love to believe my mother when she told me she would stick up for me. I knew to take her words with a grain of salt. She had told me countless times before that she would try and stand up for me. But each opportunity she had; she’d clam up looking everywhere but at me. I couldn’t hold anything against her, though, I wasn’t exactly the best when it came to confrontation either. I must’ve gotten that habit from her.

“Sure, you will...” I mutter to myself once she was out of earshot.

~~~

It was strange how energetic I felt now, after hours of feeling lethargic in the car. I fully expected myself to be exhausted after we moved everything in. But I felt the exact opposite of that. I felt restless, stir crazy. I was itching to get out of the house and I had only been here for 3 hours. So, after failing, to try to settle down the ever-growing restlessness I felt. I nearly bolted out of my completely unorganized room, planning to head toward the front door.  

Luckily for me, both my mother and father seemed distracted, meaning I could dodge the interrogation I was usually met with whenever I wanted to leave the house. I quietly opened and closed the door, cringing as it creaked slightly. I waited a few seconds outside, wanting to see if mom and dad really noticed the sound or not. After not hearing the sounds of frantic footsteps and muffled sounds of worry. I began to walk, curious to see more of the intriguing city I had moved into.  

The neighborhood we moved into was pretty plain, if I’m being honest. Each house was seemingly painted in similar colors; every lawn was mowed to the same length. White picket fences adorned every one of the houses front yards. If there was one thing I could say about this place, it would be unoriginal. Slowly but surely, the nice, plain neighborhoods slowly began to bleed into a more rougher looking scene. Each house and building I passed now all had a different look; each of them had an imperfection of some kind.

But I couldn’t help but focus on the people that passed by me. People went from wearing clothes that I would consider to be a uniform. Plain tan and black pants, nice crisp looking sweaters, and clean shoes adorned the people I saw at first. But then, I began to see a lot more people wearing leather jackets and blue jeans. They looked rugged, tough, and in all honesty; looked like they were tempted to knock the living daylights out of me. The apprehensive and tension-filled looks I had gotten before felt stronger now that I wasn’t in the car. I could feel their eyes burn on my back; it was hard not to stare back at them.  

Wanting to get away from the constant burning glares that were sent my way, I searched to find a building of some kind. Maybe then I could get a break from feeling like I was about to be set on fire. I approached what seemed to be a small gas station. Two figures stood outside leisurely, it seemed inviting enough to me. But as I grew closer to it, the two figures had noticed me, and neither of them seemed thrilled to see me.

One of the boy’s stares was icier than the others, he was tall and lean. He had thick, dark black hair that had been done up in a series of complicated swirls. His once leisurely postured tensed the second he saw me. The other boy just looked at me with curiosity and apprehension, it was as if he was waiting for me to pull something on the pair of them. He had dark brown hair that was simply slicked back, and bright blue eyes.  

“I’m sorry if I bothered you... I just umm,” I began to think of something to say, but their stares made it hard to concentrate. “Just wanted something to drink.” I finish now walking past them as quickly as I could.  

As I pushed past the glass door, I breathed out a sigh of relief. I was beginning to feel like an anomaly, something unnatural from everything else. Or like I was a car wreck that people couldn’t help but stare at. After taking a moment to settle my nerves, I finally observed the small gas station I was at. I walked around slowly, just scanning the contents of the small store. Then suddenly, I heard the front door open and close again. I didn’t want to look at who had come in; the thought of being met with another untrusting stare made me want the ground to swallow me up.

“Hey,” A smooth voice spoke up after a few seconds of silence, “You do know you're looking at the liquor, right?” The question made me look at the source of its sound. The boy with the bright blue eyes was looking over at me, his question stare was now replaced with one of slight amusement.  

“Oh,” I reply with a laugh, “I would say that I did know but it would be a lie.” I shuffled away from the alcohol filled cooler trying to keep down the burning embarrassment that threatened to come out.  

“I’ve had a long day.” I add hoping that would count as an excuse.

He nodded understandingly in reply before we both stood in silence for a few seconds again. “Uh, sorry about my friend out there. He ain’t too trustin’ with folks like you.”

I furrowed my eyebrows at him in confusion. “Like me?” I ask wanting him to elaborate on his statement.

“Yeah,” He answered not really giving me an answer.  

“I don’t understand what you mean.” I admit skeptically.  

It was now his turn to stare at me in confusion, he let out a slight laugh before responding. “A soc.” He said simply.

I began to draw conclusions to the meaning of a soc. I figured it was a nickname they used for new people who moved into town. But from the reaction to everyone that saw me, I don’t think being labeled as a soc was a good thing.  

“I uh... prefer to go by Elliot.” I state unsurely... I honestly didn’t even know what to say at this point.  

The boy looked at me bewildered before letting out a full-on laugh. “You really don’t know what I’m talkin’ about do you?” He asked, humor laced in his smooth voice.

“No idea.” I reply now laughing myself. “Please explain things to me because I am completely lost.”

“A soc is a rich kid.” He said simply, but by the tone of his voice he didn’t seem to like these “socs” very much.

“How do you even-”

“Your clothes,” He interrupted. “A greaser ain’t going to be walkin’ around town in clothes that nice.”

“A greaser?” I ask, the feeling of understand I felt before fell right back down into confusion.

“A greaser is someone like me,” He answered proudly. “We aren’t that well off.” He added with a mumble.

“Gotcha,” I reply with a smile. I finally reached into the cooler I was standing in front of, grabbing a bottle of pop. When I turned back around to look at the bright blue-eyed boy, he looked at me in almost a stunned state.

“Did I say something?” I asked with slight concern, I didn’t think I had said anything to upset him, but I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t.

“Oh no... I just thought you’d, write me off is all.” He admitted.

“Why would I do that?” I question with a laugh.

“I... I’m poor.” He answered as though that would cause me to run away.

“So?” I state with a shrug off my shoulders. “As long as you’re a decent human being I think I’ll get along with just about anybody. Money has nothing to do with the friendships I have, trust me.” I add honestly.  

He gave me an almost relieved look as I spoke. “I don’t think you realize how shocking it is to hear you say that.”

“It’s sad that it is shocking.” I speak with a slightly sad tone. I placed the bottle of pop I planned on getting onto the small counter. “Well... you already know my name, what’s yours?” I ask wanting to get to know the blue-eyed boy more.

He let out a laugh before ringing my pop. “It’s Sodapop,” He answered brightly. 

I give him a slightly shocked before replying. “That’s amazing, it’s a lot more original than Elliot.”  

“Yeah well, I have some very original parents.” He replies with a fond smile.  

“I’m sure you do,” I sigh now feeling a lot more relaxed. “Thanks for uh... not treating and looking at me like a failed science experiment.” I say with a laugh. 

“Thanks for not bein’ a complete uptight jerk.” He answered back, handing me my bottle of pop.

“No problem,” I turned to walk out of the gas station, but before I fully left, I turned to look back at Soda. My hand still resting on the glass door. “I’ll see you around sometime?” I ask hopefully.

“Yeah definitely.” He said back confidently.  

I gave him a small wave before leaving the small coinvent store. The boy with the complicated hair swirls still looked at me with an icy glare. But now, it didn’t even bother me....

Maybe there could be some good to this move after all...

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Writeblr Introduction (even though I’ve been here for 6 years oops)

Hi folks! I’ve been posting writeblr content to this blog for over 6 years, but haven’t done a formal introduction since my very first post! So here we go!

(Image description: a photo of a pale blue to orange sunset above a field of green plants and trees that line an embankment. Written on the sky in a green serif font reads “rachel’s writeblr intro” /end ID)

About Me

I am a 19-year-old (nearly 20 oml) writer from Toronto!

I started this blog, Coffee and Calligraphy, when I was 13, and have posted ever since!

I love: green tea, true crime, highlight bloom (lol)

I am also: an artist, a guitarist, a graphic designer, a photographer, and a YouTuber (I make writing vlogs, craft vids, book cover design speedpaints, and more)!

My writing background

I’ve been writing for 7 years. I started writing YA dystopian but now primarily write adult literary fiction (though I do have a few genre WIPs in the works). I also write and publish poetry.

I’ve written 10 books and am at work on the eleventh (and twelfth, and thirteenth, oops)!

I will be entering my third year as a creative writing undergrad at a Canadian university in the fall.

My writing has been published in magazines across Canada such as Minola Review, Grain Magazine, The Malahat Review, Augur Magazine, carte blanche, filling Station (forthcoming) and elsewhere!

My WIPs

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Feeding Habits

(Image description: a photo of 8 sheep in a field positioned toward a tree line with the text “Feeding Habits” written in an all-caps cream serif font on top /end ID)

Feeding Habits is my eleventh novel, and the second book of the Moth Work series, which is a spinoff of my six-book series, Fostered.

Genre: Adult literary fiction/contemporary/romance/LGBTQ+

POV: Third person, present tense.

Status: Currently drafting

Logline: Lonan, stuck in a toxic relationship, and Harrison, disappointed by his New York City restart, find themselves on separate trajectories toward inevitable isolation until Lonan finds purpose in helping out an old friend, and Harrison realizes his dull reboot could be revitalized if he seeks out what—or who—is missing.

You can read more about it HERE, where all the writing updates are linked.

Seventh Virtue

(Image description: a photo of two ravens in profile, each facing the other with the text “Seventh Virtue” written in a navy blue all-caps serif font on top /end ID)

Seventh Virtue is my thirteenth novel (if I do finish it!) and an alternate-reality spinoff of the Fostered series. So, the same characters, but in a different world!

Genre: Adult urban fantasy

POV: Third person, present tense.

Status: Currently drafting

Logline: After being tormented by nightmares of his ex-lover Lonan, Harrison seeks a magical intervention from old friend, Reeve. When she reveals she and Lonan are members of the Seventh Roost, one of seven magical families that coincide with the 7 Virtues and 7 Capital Sins, she also unveils another secret: Lonan is part Virtue, the immortal bird that represents each house, and her family is holding him captive in hopes of extrapolating his power. Harrison must choose to continue life as he knows it or rekindle relationships he thought he’d left behind to save someone he once loved.

She is Also Dead

(Image description: a photo of a woman in a pool floating face-up with the text “She is Also Dead” written in a white all-caps serif font on top /end ID)

She is Also Dead is my twelfth book and my first short story collection.

Genre: Adult literary fiction, short fiction

Status: Currently drafting, 14 stories

Logline: In SHE IS ALSO DEAD, a small town turns murderous when their local invasive species, the Janices, begin dying. A child struggles to understand her mother’s suicide. A mother acknowledges her daughter’s homicidal tendencies after her backyard chickens mysteriously die, and a murderous brother and sister upkeep their yearly tradition of abducting a young girl. These stories follow characters who navigate death, violent impulses, womanhood, and loss, both self-imposed and otherwise.

If you’d like to keep updated on my short stories, I tag all relevant posts HERE.

That’s it for me! Welcome if you’re new here, and hello again if you’ve been here for a while! Look out for new content soon.

--Rachel