#wire harp

[remyfire]

I need to know that y'all know what is going on right now.

I need y'all to understand that today there was a rally outside of the US Treasury Building to protest Elon Musk and DOGE's actions at the Treasury. I need y'all to know that there were Democrat Congresspeople out there in the streets, rallying together the protesters, unafraid to use words like fascism and dictator, literally leading chants to shut down the Senate. They were focused. They were passionate. They sent their best out and they kicked fucking ass.

I need y'all to understand that things are incredibly. Fucking. Serious right now. And I need y'all to call your goddamn representatives and put the fear of God in their hearts because if they don't get in there and slow every single thing that comes through the Senate down, I am not exaggerating, it is going to be incredibly hard to come back from this.

This is the time. This is when we need to move. There is a protest happening tomorrow in the capital of every major city. If you're ready to go, then get ready for it.

[huntershowl-moving]

@spungolden said:

a kiss to resolve suppressed romantic/sexual tension . // dio pt 2

THERE IS STILL BLOOD IN HER MOUTH when dio kisses her.

persephone never thought they would feel this way again — not after watching aya's life slip from her body in their hands, not after being ruined by someone who thought he knew what it meant to love. she never thought her body would sing at another's touch again, not outside the heat of a fight.

but dio pulls her down by the collar and kisses her with blood in her mouth, and every painful edge in her body softens at once. seph returns the kiss hungrily, greedily, but with all the reverence of a worshipper at the altar as they sink down onto the cot in the corner of their hideout and pull her into their lap. they'd never consciously thought about kissing her, but every time they fought and pinned each other to the floor, every time they protected each other with their bodies or flew into a killing rage to keep the other safe, every time dio's hands ghosted over her body while stitching up a wound, a little bit of pressure built up in the strange space between them. this feels like letting it all go, that tension and yearning she didn't even realize she was feeling.

and in these intimate moments they have already done the work of learning to trust her. they recognize the unique feeling of her hands on their body, even when they cannot see it, from the trial-and-error process of allowing her to access the injuries on their back without flying into a reactive rage. they know her voice, her smell, her footsteps. they have trusted her to guard them while they finally let themself drift off to sleep. it's — different, with such a deeply romantic gesture, but at the same time it isn't. they're prepared for the anxiety that shoots through their chest; they know how to keep it at bay.

there is something about dio that persephone has always seen as otherworldly. her attention felt special, like being picked out of a crowd by someone you admire; it sends a thrill through her whenever their eyes meet. persephone could never see her as a monster, no matter how many of their scars came from her — she is so much more than her danger. their hands slide up her back, false nails raking up the skin there hard enough to feel it in the prosthetics' pressure sensors.

they need to breathe eventually. persephone does, at least. when they break, she lets her hands fall again to rest on dio's hips, eyes nervous, seeking — always seeking the next punishment, trying to predict whether she's done something wrong. ❝ is — this okay? ❞

[rastronomicals]

11:46 AM EDT May 20, 2024:

Wire - "Playing Harp For The Fishes" From the album Silver/Lead (March 31, 2017)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

[pedrospatch]

fall into temptation | one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher��s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher���s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56, i know, i know but this is self indulgent because my birthday is next month idk just let me have this one) canon language, canon violence, several mentions of religion, terms pastor and preacher are used interchangeably here and there, mentions of the bible and religious symbols (cross), innocent/virgin reader, very brief scene of attempted sexual assault, no explicit smut (yet). asshole Joel, protective Joel, hints of softish dom Joel (if you squint). reader has two sisters, the only physical description for them is their hair, which they can also braid as well as their style of clothing.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 8.4k

Jackson, Wyoming

Fall 2024

Joel had seen him around the community before. 

He’s an older man in his late sixties or possibly his early seventies with thinning, snow white hair and silver, wire rimmed glasses that always seemed to be perched on the tip of his pointed nose. He was a good, kind man from what Joel could gather—offering up warm smiles and friendly waves to anyone who happened to cross his path, stopping to greet and say hello to familiar faces. The hem of his starched white shirt is tucked into pressed black slacks and even from where he stood across the road near the horse stables, Joel noticed the book clutched in his right hand, old and bound in supple, worn black leather with the words Holy Bible etched into the cover in flaked gold lettering.

Jacob, he thinks his name is. Or was it Josiah?

Something biblical—a name fit for a man who was so fucking clearly devoted to the big man upstairs.

Joel knew his own name was a biblical one, but he was the furthest thing from a man of God. After all that he’d done in the past twenty years, there was only one place he was going and that place wasn’t exactly known for its pearly gates or sweet cherub angels playing harps.

Joseph? Was that it? 

He couldn’t be certain.

Not that Joel really even cared to know his name. 

It’d been a couple months since Joel arrived back in Jackson with Ellie after Salt Lake City and the truth of the matter was that he preferred to keep to himself whenever it was possible. Joel had zero interest in getting to know the people of this settlement, not unless he had to for the sake of patrol duties—and that’s only if he hadn’t been able to weasel his way out of getting assigned with a partner who wasn’t Tommy or Maria, the only two people in the whole fucking community Joel could stand being around. Minus his kid of course, but even he and Ellie could really only take each other in small doses lately. Perhaps it was their tense, strained relationship that was to blame for the fact that Joel Miller walked around this place with a standoffish attitude and a permanent scowl plastered on his face. 

Most people were smart enough to scamper off in the opposite direction when they saw him coming. He was never offended by it. It’s what he wanted. He wasn’t here to make friends.

In fact, the closest thing he had come to a friend outside of his brother’s wife was Esther, the woman Maria and Tommy had tried setting him up with when he first got back to Jackson. He wouldn’t go as far as calling her a friend, either. That’s a little too generous. Friend? No, more like a good fuck when he couldn’t drown his bitterness with Seth’s barrel aged bourbon and he was in need of a different kind of distraction.

But there was a reason this particular man piqued his curiosity. Actually, there were three reasons he managed to garner Joel’s attention and all three of those reasons were trailing behind him in an orderly, single file line, each one more fucking gorgeous than the last. He was positive he’d never seen them around before—because how could he possibly forget the faces of the most beautiful women in this town?

They’ve gotta be sisters, Joel thought to himself, his hand resting on the neck of the horse that he’d ridden out to patrol that morning, a dark, chestnut mare named Willow. Although he was supposed to be walking her inside the stables and back into her stall, he found himself far too distracted. While the three women weren’t identical to one another, the similarity in their traits such as hair color and their skin tone confirmed his suspicions that they were related. They all styled their hair in neat halo braids and wore slightly different color variations of the same getup—pressed, long sleeved blouses tucked into knee length floral printed skirts and worn, leather oxford shoes.

Clutching the brown leather strap of his rifle in his opposite hand, Joel leaned himself against Willow and squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight in an effort to get a better look at them. 

The first two were slightly on the older side. If Joel had to take a shot at their age, he would guess the women were in their thirties—a man of fifty six, he still had about two decades on them, easy. Joel let his gaze shift, his dark brown eyes flickering to the last one. His breath audibly hitched in his throat and part of him wondered just how fucking dumb he had to be to be drawn to the youngest one of the three. It couldn’t be fucking possible—you couldn’t be that much older than your mid twenties, if that. 

Joel’s grip on the strap of his rifle tightened. 

All three of you were beautiful beyond words—why the fuck did it have to be you who held over his interest?

“Take a picture,” Maria remarked with a tiny laugh. She dismounted her horse and peered at Joel over the black stallion’s back. “It’ll last longer.”

She’d led that morning’s patrol, her first time back on duty since she had given birth to her son in the spring. Joel had returned to Jackson right on time to meet his one month old nephew, Noah. 

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Just tryin’ to figure out what their deal is, that’s all.” He paused, then remarked, “Didn’t know polygamy was a thing around here.”

His comment must have struck a nerve in his dear sister in law—fiercely protective of the people who were under her leadership, Maria hadn’t found the sister wives implication the slightest bit amusing. 

“Watch it, Joel,” she admonished, shooting him a warning glare. “He’s the town’s pastor and those girls happen to be his daughters. So let’s keep our wise ass cracks to ourselves, shall we?”

His daughters? He almost couldn’t believe it. Surely the girls must have taken after their mother because they sure as hell didn’t get their good looks from their old man. They hardly looked anything like him.

“Pastor,” Joel repeated with a small hum. He then remembered her pointing out an old church house back during the winter when she’d given him and Ellie the grand tour of the community. “So he ain’t got a real job like the rest of us?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “His job is a real job, Joel. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still a lot of people of faith around here,” she explained to him. “He provides them with comfort and with hope—”

He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”

“Yes, hope,” she snapped at him. 

“Hope for what, Maria? That things will go back to fuckin’ normal? That the end of the world is temporary?”

Maria crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her chin. “Some people never lose hope, Joel. There’s a lot of people who need this man and he serves a much bigger purpose than what you’re giving him credit for.”

“And what about the girls? They have it easy too? Do they just stand there lookin’ pretty on Sundays while their old man reads verses out loud from the most useless fuckin’ book known to man?”

“If you must know, they work in the schoolhouse,” she answered, tossing him another glare. “They’re teachers. The oldest one, she teaches Ellie’s class. The middle one, she teaches the primary school aged children and the youngest? She takes care of all of our little ones. She prepares our preschool kids for her sister’s class by teaching them numbers and basic literacy. Shows them how to start counting, reading and writing, things like that. She also helps run the commune’s daycare.”

“At least they have real jobs,” Joel mumbled under his breath. 

“What was that?”

He feigned innocence. “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Maria pointed her finger at him. “Come on, let’s get these guys back into their stalls. It was a long ride this morning, I’m sure they could use some rest.” Taking her stallion by the reins, she started leading him over toward Logan, one of the stable hands who helped take in the horses coming back from patrol. 

Joel took Willow’s reins in his hands—but before he could even think of moving another muscle, he glanced up and saw the preacher leading his three daughters past the stables and right past Joel. His self control faltered. All that he could do was stare at you, his eyes fixed on you so blatantly that one of your sisters had taken notice. Grinning, she turned back towards you and lifted a hand to her mouth. She used her palm to shield her lips from Joel’s view and whispered something to you over her shoulder.

Shit. 

He’d been caught gawking.

He thought about making a beeline for the stables but it was too late. 

Perplexed by whatever it was that your older sister had just said to you, you gave her an odd look, but then followed the subtle nod of her head. 

Glimpsing over in his direction, your lips parted in complete surprise and you came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dirt road when you found your gaze meeting that of the much older, rugged man standing there with a gun slung over his shoulder.

Unsure of what else to do, Joel simply offered you a polite nod of his head. The gesture was innocent enough but it startled you. He could tell by the way you let out a small gasp and turned away from him, your eyes falling to the ground as you scurried to catch up to your father and sisters like a spooked little mouse. 

Joel couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh.

“Is the preacher aware that his precious little daughters pay frequent visits to The Tipsy Bison at such late and ungodly hours?” Joel quipped. He gestured to a booth nestled over in a corner of the dimly lit bar with a subtle jerk of his chin. “S’gotta be the third or fourth time I’ve seen them here in the last couple of weeks.”

Tommy’s eyes followed his brother’s gesture. “Oh man, not again,” he said with an exasperated sigh. He shook his head. “Those girls, they ain’t got no fuckin’ business hangin’ around this place and much less at this fuckin’ hour. But the middle one, she’s a whole lot of trouble.” He paused, just long enough to nod at one of the three sisters, the one who was wearing her hair loose around her shoulders, twirling a lock of it around her finger as she made flirtatious fuck me eyes at the group of drunk patrolmen sitting a few tables away. “She’s somethin’ of a rebel, that one. Likes to drink a lot, get herself involved with things that she ain’t really supposed to be messin’ with. She’s the one who convinces the other two into sneakin’ out and comin’ to the bar when their old man goes to sleep.”

Joel chuckled in disbelief. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“As a heart attack. And then there’s the older one. I know she likes to drink too, but she’s a lot calmer than the other one. Ain’t gotta worry about her all too much, y’know? She tries to be the chaperone—it don’t always work out that way, though. Her halo ain’t exactly perfect either.”

“What ‘bout the youngest one?” Joel asked in the most nonchalant tone he could possibly muster. “Where does she fall on the scale between angel and devil?”

You’re carefully perched on the edge of the booth, your pretty features twisting in disgust with every sip of the rich, amber colored liquid in your glass. Unable to stomach the burning alcohol, you set it off to the side, abandoning it in favor of a glass of water instead.

“Her?” Tommy grinned, leaning back into his chair as stated, “Oh, she’s an absolute angel. She’s just ‘bout the sweetest fuckin’ thing you’ll ever see in your whole damn life, big brother. She’s gotta be the kinda girl who all the little birds and woodland critters sing to when there ain’t no one around,” he laughed. “She’s real good. Too good. Wouldn’t surprise me if the lord sent her down from heaven himself.”

Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.

“She really as innocent as she seems?” 

“I don’t think she even knows what it’s like to hold another man’s hand,” his younger brother laughed again and reached for his beer, taking a generous swig. 

Joel hummed softly and lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips. The mere thought of you being so pure and so innocent—untouched by anyone else—caused something to stir deep in his lower belly. 

“She’s the old man’s pride and joy,” Tommy continued, breaking into his train of thought. “Kind. Polite. Behaves. Doesn’t get herself into any kinda trouble—I mean look at her, she can’t even choke down a glass of whiskey. She’s just too good of a girl.”

Joel proceeded cautiously with his next question. “Any of them taken?” 

Surprised, Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Joel, don’t fuckin’ tell me—”

“No, I ain’t interested,” he interjected, rolling his eyes. “Just a curious motherfucker, that’s all.”

He didn’t seem too convinced by Joel’s answer. “They’re all single from what I know. To be honest, there ain’t a whole lot of men around here their old man would approve of,” he remarked. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice man and all, but when it comes to his daughters, he’s real strict. Not that controllin’ has done him much good, though.” He lowered his voice as a fellow patrolman walked past their table. “The middle one’s fucked her way through this entire town and then back again. She even made a pass at me while Maria was pregnant with Noah, if you can fuckin’ believe that.”

Amused, Joel snorted into his drink. Ballsy. “How goddamn drunk was she?”

Tommy ran a hand through his jet black curls. “Wasted. Oldest one ain’t exactly the Virgin Mary, either.”

“And the old man doesn’t know?”

“Nope. Ain’t nobody gonna snitch on grown women in their thirties.” Noticing the amused expression on Joel’s face, he adds, “By the way, just in case you haven’t figured it out, this stays between us, Joel.”

He smirked. “Which part?”

“All of it. And take it from me, those girls? S’best you keep your distance from them,” he warned as he stood up from the table. He picked up the blue denim jacket draped over his chair, shrugging into it. “Don’t go gettin’ any dumbass ideas, alright?”

“Look, if the wild one makes a pass at me, I ain’t gonna turn her down. S’not like I’ve got a pregnant wife at home.”

“Joel, I fuckin’ swear. If you even think ‘bout it—”

He held up his hands to stop him. “Relax. Was just a joke.”

“Right. M’sure it was.” Tommy snorted. “Listen, I gotta get back home. Don’t wanna leave Maria on her own with the baby for too long.”

“How’s she been holdin’ up?”

“She’s been so tired. Jugglin’ motherhood, runnin’ this place, and bein’ back on patrol duty. I keep on tryin’ to tell her to slow it down, but she just won’t listen to me.” He let out a small sigh and waved a dismissive hand. “But anyway. If you’re all good to head out, I can walk you back to your place since it’s on the way to mine?”

Joel looked down at his glass, still half full. “I think I’m gonna hang back for a while longer. I’m on the roster for evenin’ patrol tomorrow, s’not like I’ve gotta be up at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Suit yourself.” Clapping him on the back, Tommy bid him goodnight and started towards the door. 

As soon as he was gone, Joel looked over towards your booth. He watched as you whispered into the ear of your eldest sister who nodded her head in understanding. You stood up and said something else to her, then spun around on your heel, long skirt flowing along with the movement. Head down, you hastily made your way across the bar, being careful so as not to bump into anyone along the way.

You were leaving. Alone. 

In the middle of the fucking night? While drunk morons poured in and out of the bar?

She’ll be just fine, he tried to convince himself. 

Joel frowned to himself, gripping his drink tightly in his hand as he scanned the room.

Sitting at a nearby table was Kent, some idiot he’d been stuck with a time or two for patrol. He clocks the smirk that crossed the younger man’s face, his eyes following you all the way to the door. Leaning forward over the table, he whispered something to his buddies, his smirk widening. His comrades, all who looked and behaved more like teenagers rather than grown men, lifted their beers to him, nodding in encouragement. Drunk off his ass, Kent drained the rest of his own beer, slamming the glass bottle down onto the table before clumsily stumbling to his feet. 

Joel momentarily froze as soon as he realized what was happening. 

Kent was going after you. 

Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.

Setting his drink down, he stood up from his table and slipped on his jacket before following suit.

Joel stepped out of the bar and into the night, the chilly evening air nipping at his face. He took a look around. 

You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent. 

That couldn’t fucking be good. 

“Where the fuck did you two go,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

That’s when he heard it. 

The sound of muffled screaming coming from the side of the building. Joel didn’t hesitate. Following your smothered cries for help, he whipped around into the dimly lit alley nestled in between the bar and the commune’s mess hall. You’re pinned underneath Kent with your skirt bunched up around your waist. One of his hands was covering your mouth while his other hand clawed its way up your bare thigh. 

“Aw, c’mon now, sugar,” Kent slurred his words together. “It’d be a fucking shame to let someone as cute as you stay a fucking virgin. Don’t be coy—I know you’re just like your stupid slut of a sister. She’s got no trouble spreading her fucking legs for me, y’know.”

Red.

It was the color that flashed in Joel’s mind. It was all he could see as he went up behind Kent, letting his hands reach for fistfuls of his leather jacket. He lifted him off of you with ease, slamming him hard against the brick wall of the mess hall. Pulling him forward, Joel slammed his body into the wall once more, knocking all the wind out of his lungs. 

“Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” Kent gasped out, frantically pawing at the older man’s hands in an effort to break free. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Takin’ advantage of an innocent girl?” Joel hissed at him, tightening his grasp on the collar of Kent’s jacket. “Think that makes you a fuckin’ man?”

Though he was still intoxicated, the sheer terror of being caught in Joel Miller’s hands sobered him just enough that he started sputtering an explanation. “I wasn’t fucking taking advantage of her! Her and her whore sisters were making eyes at me and the guys all fucking night! She fucking wanted it! She asked me for it, couldn’t even wait long enough to get back to my place—”

The lie came straight through his chattering teeth. The same teeth he would be picking up off the ground in the next minute or two. 

Joel knew he didn’t need to ask. Still, he turned to you, his rage only intensifying when he took in the sight of you lying there on the ground, the hem of your light blue floral skirt hiked around your waist. 

“That true?” He questioned you. “You wanted it?”

You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.

A single tear slipped down the side of your face.

“Answer me, darlin’,” he prompted. “You wanted this?”

“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was small, barely audible.

But he’d heard it loud and clear. 

“She’s lying!” Kent tried to tell him. “She’s—”

Joel delivered the first punch, a blow so hard he’d felt the younger man’s nose crack underneath his curled fist. He struck him again and again, the blows coming in harder and harder, turning Kent’s face into a bloodied pulp.

If Joel didn’t get a grip, he would kill him. Part of him wanted to fucking kill Kent for putting his hands you—and more so for accusing of you wanting it. Pathetic fucking bastard. 

Holding Kent up by the throat with one hand, Joel pulled his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans with the other. Fingers curled tightly around the hilt, Joel held up the knife into Kent’s view. He had left his eyes purple and swollen, but judging by the pitiful little pleas for mercy, it was clear that he could still somehow see the sharp blade being held an inch or so away from his face. 

“If I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I ain’t gonna be so fuckin’ generous,” Joel growled warningly. “I ain’t gonna let you walk away next time, boy. That understood?”

He nodded. “Un—Understood.”

“Good.” Joel released him, stepping backwards as he fell to the ground. “Get the fuck outta my face. Now.”

Kent managed to scramble to his feet and staggered off, disappearing from the alley. 

Chest heaving, Joel inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth before turning to you once more. 

Petrified, you still hadn’t moved a single muscle.

You looked fucking terrified. Whether it was from Kent’s assault or the way Joel had nearly beaten him to death right in front of you, it was hard to tell.

Crouching down beside you, Joel caught your subtle flinch. He proceeded to move slowly as he reached for the hem of your skirt. Delicately, he gripped the soft, flowing fabric and pulled it down into place. Joel then held his hand out to you. 

You hesitated for a split second, but accepted his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet. 

“You alright, little dove?” The nickname had fallen from his lips before he could even think to stop it. 

“I think so,” you replied, nodding your head. You’d started to tremble and even though it had nothing to do with being cold, Joel took notice of it and he shrugged out of his camel colored jacket. He gave it to you, draping it over your shoulders. The scent of him instantly enveloped you—a mouth watering masculine mixture of clean soap, woodiness, and musk. It was far more intoxicating than the scotch you had tried back inside the bar. He didn’t utter a word to you as he wrapped his jacket around your body, both of his hands pulling gently at the lapels to bring them together in front of your chest. That was when you glanced down and saw he’d injured his hand. You gasped lightly. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Joel hadn’t even noticed that he’d split his knuckles wide open. Giving it a light shake, he assured you gruffly, “M’fine.”

Without thinking it through, you gingerly grabbed Joel’s hand, holding it in both of yours. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” you countered. You inspected it as best as you could in such poor lighting. “You’re bleeding.”

“Trust me, I’ve had a whole lot worse,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his remark, you asked, “Can you move all your fingers for me? Just to make sure that it isn’t broken?”

Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest. 

Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you. 

You really were too good.

“Darlin’ I already told you m’fine—”

“Please?”

That word, and the way you’d said it, sent a shiver up the length of his spine.

Joel started wiggling his fingers in your palms. He winced slightly at the soreness. More than that, he knew his cuts and bruises would be all the fucking proof Tommy and Maria would need to know that he had been the one who rearranged Kent’s face. 

“See?” He spoke after a minute as he continued to move his fingers up and down. “Ain’t broken.”

“Let me clean you up,” you offered. Looking up at him, you cradled his hand as if it were a fragile baby bird you wanted to take home and nurse back to health.

“That really ain’t necessary.”

“You just saved me from—it’s the least I can do for you,” you insisted. Seeing him open his mouth just to protest again, you cut him off. “Please?”

There it was again.

Christ. That word sounded too good coming from those plush, pretty lips of yours. 

Joel sighed out in defeat. “Alright then,” he relented. “I s’ppose there ain’t no harm in lettin’ you clean me up a bit, little dove.”

Pleased that he had finally accepted, you carefully let go of his hand and took a step back, beckoning for him to follow you. “Come with me,” you said to him. “I know somewhere private we can go.”

When you came to a stop at the old church house, Joel shook his head and took a step backwards. 

Puzzled, your brows knitted together. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

He backed away further. “I ain’t goin’ in there.” 

You tossed him an amused glance. “It’s a church.”

“Yeah, I know that. I ain’t exactly a man of God.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle. “So? What does that have to do with me taking you inside to clean your hand up for you?”

Shuffling his weight from boot to boot, Joel shrugged. “Just don’t think I belong in there, that’s all.”

“Do you think you’re going to melt if you step foot inside?” you teased him. After a minute, it became apparent that he was being serious about it. Joel’s discomfort about going inside the church wasn’t some kind of joke on his part, it was real. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a man of God. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to explode or burn into a pile of ashes for going inside, you know.”

“After all the terrible shit I’ve done?” He looked up at the building, shaking his head again. “I just might burn, little dove.”

You bit back a small smile. You’d already grown to be quite fond of his sweet nickname for you. 

“There’s a first aid kit inside I can use to patch you up,” you told him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

His lower lip rolled in between teeth as he thought it over. “I ain’t too sure about this—”

“It’s only going to take me five minutes to get your hand cleaned up and then you can leave. Okay?”

You were as stubborn as you were sweet. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to you?

Reluctantly, Joel finally agreed to it. “Okay.” He followed you up the creaking, wooden porch steps towards the double doors. He’d just started to wonder how the two of you were even supposed to get into the building after hours when you leaned down, lifting the old mat on the floor to reveal a set of keys. Unable to help himself, he scoffed, “Serious?”

“Doesn’t everyone keep a key under their mat?” 

“Yeah at their fuckin’ house. Not their church.” 

“Well to be fair, this is kind of like a second home. I spend quite a bit of time here,” you confessed.

Joel raised an eyebrow at you. “So much time that you’ve decided to keep a set of keys under the mat?”

Sheepishly, you nodded. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll come here alone and sit with my thoughts for a while.” You shrugged. “Maria let me have the spare set of keys. She knows I come here and so does the rest of the council. I trespass with their full permission,” you kidded with a small grin. 

Unlocking one of the two doors, you stepped over the threshold and waited expectantly for Joel. But he stood there, making no move to join you on the other side. 

“This place gives me the fuckin’ creeps,” he admitted. 

You laughed. “It’s only the outside that’s creepy, I promise.”

Grimacing, Joel finally walked inside, his back and shoulders stiff with tension as he stepped into the place of worship. 

You closed the door and flipped on the lights, then opened a second set of double doors with another key from the ring. 

“Whoa.” He was pleasantly surprised. For as old as this place was, the interior of the church was quite nice. He could tell that it had been well cared for in its lifetime—the former contractor in him had little choice but to appreciate the high ceiling, the large windows, and the satin finish of the white paint on the rustic, wooden panel walls. 

There were a total of twelve pews, six on each side of the church. There was an older, antique piano in pristine condition nestled over in one corner of the room and in another, there was a large chalkboard propped up on a wooden easel, biblical verses that had been the focus of the congregation’s previous gathering still scribbled across it in white chalk. 

“See?” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “This isn’t so awful, right?”

“S’ppose it ain’t all that bad,” he muttered. 

Your eyes twinkled with pure amusement, adding, “And you didn’t burn into a pile of ashes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel grumbled out in response. “Can we just get this over with so I can get outta here?”

You tossed him a playful little eye roll then nodded towards the pews. “Go ahead and just have a seat anywhere,” you instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel slowly made his way down the aisle holding his injured hand against his chest. Now that the adrenaline had started wearing off, it’d started throbbing with pain.

There was an altar at the front of the church—if he could even call it an altar. 

It was a plain oakwood table with a white fair linen cloth draped over it and nothing else. 

Above it, bolted onto the wall, was a wooden cross.

He averted his eyes, turning away from it. 

Of all the shit to be intimidated by in this world. 

A fucking slab of carved wood. 

Joel’s attention shifted over to the chalkboard. He squinted at it, silently reading the verse to himself.

God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. 1 Corinthians 10:13

“But with the temptation, he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it,” you recited the rest of the verse from behind him.

“No offense darlin’, but it sounds like nothin’ but a whole lotta gibberish to me,” he remarked to you over his shoulder. 

“No offense taken, Joel.”

Whirling around on the heel of his worn boot, Joel blurted, “How did you know my name?”

“You’re Tommy Miller’s brother. Everybody in this town knows your name.” You held up the white tin box in your hands. A big, red cross had been spray painted onto the lid. You sat down in the first pew and patted the seat right beside you. “Come sit.”

He sauntered over and dropped down next to you, watching as you opened up the box and started digging through its contents. “You know my name,” he stated after a few seconds of silence. “Sure would be nice for me to know yours.”

Smiling politely, you told him your name.

Joel repeated it. It rolled almost too sweetly off his tongue.

“S’real pretty, little dove. Just like you.”

His compliment nearly knocked all of the air out of your lungs and for a split second, you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Cheeks burning, you murmured a small thank you and plucked a bottle of saline solution from the kit along with a piece of clean cotton. You tried not to think about the way his eyes were fixed intently on you as you unscrewed the cap and poured a bit of the liquid onto the cotton. “It shouldn’t sting,” you reassured him, reaching for Joel’s injured hand. It was rough and calloused, a stark contrast against your own soft and smooth. You set his hand down on your knee, a strange sensation fluttering in the depths of your lower belly when the warmth of his skin seeped right through the fabric of your skirt. 

Comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a curtain as you started cleaning the blood off of his knuckles and his long, thick fingers. 

“You really believe in all this stuff?” Joel spoke, his question echoing off the bare walls of the church. 

You continued dabbing at his cuts, thinking it over in your head for a moment.

“I honestly don’t know,” you admitted.

Your answer took him by complete surprise.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I have always been taught to believe in God, Joel. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I grew up in a religious community,” you explained to him, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his hand. Tossing aside the bloodied wad of cotton, you picked up another piece adding more saline to it. “After the outbreak, things changed, of course. I couldn’t imagine how He could let something like this happen. When we lost our mother to infection about five years ago, I stopped praying. I finally stopped holding onto the ounce of hope I had that He would make the world right again. I refused to believe in God. Sometimes I still do,” you confessed quietly.

“You said you spend a lot of time here. Why come to church if you’re not even sure you believe in any of this shit anymore?”

“I’m always here because there’s still a part of me that thinks there’s a chance for me to believe again. When I told you I come here when I can’t sleep at night, it’s true. It’s my time to be here completely alone, the time that I use to mend my broken relationship with God. Or at least, I’ve been trying to mend it.” Taking a little glass pot of homemade antibiotic ointment one of the women in the town made and traded, you took off the lid and scooped out some of the salve with the tip of your finger. You applied it carefully to his cuts and continued, “But lately, the more that I try to pray and talk to Him, the more foolish I feel. It’s just not working. It hasn’t been working for a long, long time.”

“Then why keep tryin’ if it ain’t workin’ anymore?”

“Because I don’t really have much of a choice.”

“Your old man?” Joel guessed, wincing slightly as you went over a particularly sore spot on his hand, right over the torn up knuckle of his index finger. 

“Mhm.” You nodded. “My father never lost faith in Him. He knows how I feel, but he refuses to let me give up on God. He won’t ever let me miss church or go to bed without reciting my nightly prayer. He won’t let me abandon our faith. Not until the day he is cold and buried in his grave.”

“So what I’m gettin’ is that he forces you?”

You finished applying the ointment and wiped the remnants lingering on your finger off on your skirt.

“Force is such a harsh word. I wouldn’t say that—”

“He’s forcin’ you,” Joel said, flatly. 

“Joel—”

“You can twist it however the hell you want, sweet girl,” he cut you off. “But if you’re tryin’ this fuckin’ hard to make yourself believe in somethin’ just for the sake of appeasin’ your dad because he can’t or won’t accept how you really feel ‘bout all this, well I hate to break it to you, but you’re bein’ forced.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words. 

You had never thought about it like that before.

Placing the lid back onto the pot of ointment, you put it back into the first aid kit and then set the tin box down onto the floor. You sat back and clasped your hands together in your lap, not knowing what else to say to him. 

He was right, after all. 

Joel’s fingers lightly squeezed your knee. “Hey.”

You brought your gaze over to meet his. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you somethin’ ‘bout your dad?”

“What is it?” 

Joel chose his words carefully. “Has he ever—he ain’t ever done anythin’ to hurt you, has he?” he asked you, earning himself a perplexed stare. He continued to elaborate. “What I mean is, he ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”

Oh. That’s what he meant.

“Never,” you assured him quickly. “He would never lay a single finger on me or my two sisters.”

He gave your knee another squeeze. “Just needed to make sure of it, sweetheart. Back in the day, I used to hear and see awful things on the news ‘bout—”

You were quick to cut him off. “Look, my father isn’t perfect, but he’s not like that. He’s a good man who only wants what is best for us. He’s strict and he can be tough, but it’s only because he cares. He just doesn’t want us running down the wrong path.”

“The wrong path?”

You shrugged. “Life here in Jackson is decent, but there’s a lot of temptations he doesn’t want any of us falling into. He wants to protect us.”

“By controllin’ you.” 

It had been a statement, not a question. 

Giving him a wry smile, you assured him, “Joel, it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound. I could be a whole lot worse off than this, you know.”

There was another short bout of silence.

Joel’s dark eyes fell to your blouse, noticing how a couple of the top buttons had come undone. 

He caught the slightest glimpse of the soft curves of your breasts—all it had taken was just a peek at them for his cock to twitch against the zipper of his jeans.

Don’t you get hard in a fuckin’ church, Miller.

His gaze wandered down a little further and that’s when he caught sight of the cross hanging from a delicate gold chain clasped around your neck.

Joel expected the sight of it to calm the straining in his jeans. Somehow, it only made it worse. 

“Earlier, when we were standing outside,” you had started to say, “You said you might burn if you came inside the church because of all the terrible shi—things that you’ve done.”

“S’right.”

You peered at him with curiosity. “So what exactly have you done, Joel?”

Joel leaned back into the pew, shaking his head at you as he finally pulled his hand from your knee. 

“You really don’t wanna know, little dove.”

“Why not?”

His answer was honest.  “Don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Angling your body towards him, you placed one of your hands on his thigh. Your fingers burned right through the dark blue denim of his jeans.

Joel’s lips parted slightly, taken aback by the bold move and the sudden shift in your demeanor.

Were you the same girl who’d nearly had a fucking heart attack a couple of weeks ago when Joel had nodded at you back at the stables? 

“I’m not scared of you,” you murmured, softly. You gave his leg a squeeze, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth. Between that and the wide innocent doe eyes that you were giving him, it was taking every last ounce of strength Joel had inside him to keep a straight face, to pretend you weren’t driving him absolutely wild with desire.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt such an incredible need to have someone. 

Want, sure. 

He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther. 

But Joel didn’t just want you. 

He fucking needed you. 

And he didn’t know why.

“I’m not scared of you,” you repeated, trailing your hand further up his thigh, setting a fire neither one of you would soon be able to contain. 

Joel leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close towards yours. His warm breath fanned over your lips. It was still laced with bourbon. “You sure ‘bout that, darlin’ girl?” 

You tried to answer him in the steadiest voice that you could muster, but it was impossible for you to hide the effect this man had on you. 

You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”

Lifting his uninjured hand, he reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of your braids behind your ear. As his hand fell away, the palm of it grazed against the silkiness of your cheek. 

Though brief, the contact sent an electric current through each and every last single nerve ending in your entire body. 

Exhaling sharply, your eyelids fluttered closed. You nearly whimpered out his name. “Joel?”

“What is it, babygirl? What do you want?”

“I—I want you to kiss me.” 

Joel leaned in even closer, stopping only when his mouth was less than an inch away from yours. 

You heard him chuckle softly. 

“Y’know, I’d expect better manners from a good girl like you,” he tsked lightly, his nose skimming near the corner of your mouth. Closer. “What’s the magic word, little dove?”

“Please.”

“S’much better.”

Your heart pounded with anticipation.

It was almost too much for you to handle. 

Joel closed the remaining gap of space, capturing your lips with his own. He remembered his brother talking about you at the bar—how he had told Joel that you had never even held a man’s hand before.

It occurred to him that he was giving you your first kiss. Him. Joel Miller. The town’s resident asshole and a man who was well over twice your own age. He was the one giving you your very first kiss. 

The guilt suddenly started to creep in, sinking into his bones.

What the fuck had he been thinking? 

And what about you? 

Where the fuck had your common sense gone?

Probably ran off together with Joel’s.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away slightly in an attempt to stop it from going any further. He tried again, mumbling against your lips, “We gotta stop. This ain’t right—”

You were having none of it. 

None. 

Clutching fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt, you swung your leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. Your knees rested on either side of him on the bench. 

“Please,” you nearly pleaded. “Just kiss me. I want it—I want this. I promise you that I do.” You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them around him as you slowly sank down further onto his lap. “I want this, Joel.”

Suddenly, he realized that you were asking him for more than just his kiss. 

Now he knew for sure that all common sense had left that pretty little head of yours. 

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”

Joel bit back a groan. How could he deny you? 

He couldn’t. Simple as that. 

“You sure ‘bout this?”

Your fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”

Joel cupped the side of your face in his large palm and tilted his head up towards yours. Your mouths fused together and although he tried to be gentle, it was proving to be much too difficult—how could he be gentle when you were practically clinging to him? Holding onto him with fervor as if you’d been holding onto dear fucking life itself? 

Temperatures rising, you quickly shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with a soft thud before wrapping your arms around him once again. You melted against him as your mouth molded to his in a perfect fit. 

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore the cavern even further. 

Eagerly, your lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past them, meeting yours in a slow and sensual heated dance. 

You breathed him deeply into your lungs, a little moan vibrating at the back of your throat. 

Joel’s hands went to your waist and he yanked the hem of your blouse free from your skirt. 

“Can I feel you, baby?” he asked, breathlessly. His mouth abandoned yours and he began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses underneath your jawline. 

Dazed, all you could do was nod in reply and utter, “Mhm.”

Joel’s hands slipped under your blouse and he slid them up the length of your sides. “Fuck, you gotta be the softest fuckin’ thing,” he cursed against the delicate, tender flesh of your neck. His lips latched onto your pulse point, suckling at the skin there as his fingertips dug into your hips. He needed to feel more, but he forced himself to wait. The last thing he wanted to do was make a wrong move or move too fast and scare you off.

“Joel,” you mewled his name. “Joel, I need—”

You trailed off, moaning when his mouth released your skin with a loud, wet popping noise. 

“Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised. “Anythin’ you need or want, I’ll give it to you. Just say the fuckin’ word.”

“You, Joel. I need you.”

His hips involuntarily bucked upwards and you let out a startled gasp the moment you felt his bulge, hard as a rock, brush against your clothed cunt. 

Tearing away from him, it suddenly hit you. You’re in a church, straddling a much, much older man in a pew—and if that wasn’t sinful enough, the warm and slick arousal pooling between your thighs only proved that you were ready to fall into temptation, give into the lust and give your body to Joel. But it was none of those things that worried you. It was something else. 

You pulled yourself out of his arms and jumped up off his lap, nearly tripping over your own two feet.

“Darlin’ are you—?”

You didn’t even hear the rest of his question.

Knees trembling, you somehow managed to make your way up to the altar. Heart pounding and head spinning, you planted both of your hands firmly on the table and steadied yourself. Part of you hoped that Joel would just get up and leave. But a bigger part of you hoped he wouldn’t. 

Joel rose to his feet. “Listen, ain’t nothin’ wrong if you changed your mind, alright?”

“I didn’t,” you choked out. “That’s—that’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

Embarrassed, you tried to explain yourself. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m a—”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word out loud. 

“You’re a what?”

Blazing heat flooded your face. “Joel, please don’t make me say it,” you groaned. “For the sake of my sanity, don’t make me say it.” You heard the sound of his brown leather boots as he walked up behind you, one heavy footstep after the other.

“Turn around, sweet girl.” 

Joel’s command was firm but still gentle. 

Swallowing dryly, you obeyed and did as you were told. He stood close and you found yourself at eye level with his chest. 

“Look at me.”

You tried, but couldn’t. 

“I said, look at me.” Joel gingerly took your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He lifted your face, forcing your gaze to meet his own, timid and submissive meeting bold and dominant in a sweet and tender exchange. “Never known the lovin’ of a man, have you little dove?”

He backed you up against the table, pinning you in between it and himself. Planting both of his hands on either side of you, he caged you in and brought his chest flush against yours, pressing your bodies together.

Close, but somehow not close enough.

Joel lifted his hand to your cheek, cradling it in his palm. His thumb swept over your quivering bottom lip.

You reached behind you, clutching at the fair linen as you tried with every fiber of your entire being to remind yourself that you were standing at the altar where your father preached and delivered all of his sermons to the faithful people of Jackson. 

The very same altar where your father encouraged you to kneel and pray in effort to mend the broken relationship you had with God. 

You couldn’t help but to think if you were to get on your knees tonight, it wouldn’t be for prayer.

“I asked you a question, darlin’.” Joel’s voice broke into your train of thought. “Need you to be a good girl and give me an answer, alright?”

“My father loves me,” you stammered out in reply. “He loves me and my sisters—”

“C’mon, babygirl.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, lightly pinching your cheek. “That ain’t what I mean and you damn well know it.”

Sighing softly, you finally answered, “No, Joel.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’ve never known the loving of a man.”

Joel slipped the tip of his thumb between your lips and leaned into you, his hardness pressing against your upper thigh. Even through all the clothes, you could feel every inch of him. “Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? What it feels like when a man makes you his own?” 

You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he prompted, pulling his hand away.

“Yes, please.”

“I can show you.” Joel paused. “But not tonight.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Both of you were so clearly riled up and he was going to take a pass?

He almost laughed at your expression. 

“C’mon, don’t give me that face.”

“But Joel—”

“Just don’t wanna rush it, not with you,” Joel said in a tone so soft it nearly threw you for a loop. “M’gonna need you to be real patient for me, just for a little while, alright? You think you can do that, little dove? Think you can be patient for me?”

Your answer came without an ounce of hesitation.

“Of course,” you breathed.

You would wait an eternity for Joel Miller.

[crystallineconflict]

me scream-singing this album in the car for like 3 days straight wondering why it hits so good now and it’s bc i. literally was not old enough to drive when i was originally obsessed with this album

wtf do u mean the devil and god are raging inside me came out in 2006

[boltwrites]

NEED to know what happens when logan meets your parents for the first time - does he flirt w/ your mom? What do they think about the age gap? Does your dad like him or is he all "nobody's good enough for my princess😤" do they know you're mutants? Giving you full creative freedom to do as you please just give it to me 😭😭

A/N: ok, so since you've given me creative freedom, we have: 20s-ish mutant fem!reader who teaches at the mansion on 10005, old man worst wolverine!logan, the two of you met after the events of dp3 and the relationship progressed from there.

also. this shit has been giving me so many problems. i was really trying to write typical white-picket fence, suburban sitcom-style parents, but honestly? i don't know dick about those type of parents. so you get these assholes instead.

this may actually be one of the worst things i've ever written. i might add a part two at some point, but really i just think this is horrible and want it out of my sight lmao. so here you go.

Your palms were sweaty, your heart racing, as you reached for the doorknob to your childhood home, Logan standing to your side. The last time you'd brought a boy home (and he had been a boy) things hadn't ended well.

Your dad was a traditionalist, you see, and your mom - well, she wasn't one to judge your choices, but you could tell that sometimes when you told her about your love interests, she was holding in laughter. But your dad - he was very vocal about the expectations he had for your partners. He'd never treated you like some kind of princess or prize - oh no. he was a man who saw his children as students of his own knowledge. No matter what your gender, he had taught you how to trim a tree, change a tire, wire a light switch, cook a filling meal - the basics of owning a home and keeping it put together.

Because of that, your parents hadn't often approved of your previous boyfriends. In high school, you'd been too frightened to bring them home. You'd only attended a traditional public school for your freshman year, and the rest of your time spent at Xavier's you'd been far too worried about your dates accidentally exposing themselves as mutants to justify introducing them to your parents. They weren't anti-mutant, per-say... but they certainly weren't supportive, and you didn't want to put even your prom date through that.

As you grew older (graduated college, was hired on as a teacher at the mansion instead of a simple student), you came to understand the reasons why your parents were so discerning as to your choice in men. Your mother's stoic judgment wasn't meant to be mean - she just wanted you to choose a man for more than just superficial attraction, to think of the bigger picture. Which, you'd been blissfully unaware of, as a teen. Your father's traditionalism wasn't rooted in outdated gender norms - it was simply connected to the fact that he wanted your partner to be able to support both you and your household in a significant way. That's why he was always harping on picking a "real man" - not some newfound conservative bullshit, but the simple understanding that sometimes men tried to do the bare minimum, and that he knew you deserved so much more.

And Logan, well. He could certainly support you. He was unlike any man you'd ever dated. He didn't have any social media you had to worry about - no feed or "for you" page filled with scantily clad women and sexist messaging disguised as finance advice - only a stupid flip phone he refused to text you on. He was helpful, attentive, affectionate - even despite the trauma you'd both experienced as mutants. You understood that his struggled has affected him far more than your had, that he still needed to heal - and even though that strained your relationship at times, you knew he cared, knew he tried - so you fought for it. That was something you couldn't say about your previous boyfriends.

Plus, you knew he could handle your weirdass parents.

"Nervous?" He'd asked you, when you asked him if he wanted to meet your parents. You'd given him a side-eyed look as you posed the concept, like you were giving him an out to decline.

"I mean, kind of?" You responded, hesitant. All he did was chuckle, smirking at you.

"What, am I gonna pull up to your dad cleaning his shotgun in the garage?"

"Honestly? Maybe, but that's not what I'm worried about," you admitted, fidgeting. "It's... it's hard to explain. I guess the closest thing is that they're - funny? Like - they'll make fun of you. My dad - he makes all of these horrible inappropriate jokes, like, all the time, and my mom is just really sarcastic, and she seems super judgmental because of it, but really, she's just being funny."

Logan just looked at you, one eyebrow raised. "

What?" You asked. You'd expected more from him. But he just snorted.

"Babe, I've been stuck in the void with Wade-fucking-Wilson. I'm not scared of your parents."

So, you took a breath, offered Logan one last "brace yourself-" and pushed open the door. Immediately you were met with the smell of something cooking - you recognized it immediately as one of your dad's signature dishes, sizzling on the stove.

"Hey, we're here!" You called out, you tried to usher Logan in and up the stairs of your split-level, but he insisted on closing the door behind you - and the shitty screen door that had been around since before you were born made a horrible shaking, scraping metal sound as it bounced along the concrete of your porch. Ah, the sound of home.

"Hey, you!" Your dad called, poking his head out of the kitchen. "What're you- hey, ho! Who's this?" He gestured to Logan with the spatula in his hand, and your face immediately reddened.

"Dad, this is Logan."

"Hey," Logan nodded in greeting, and your dad made a little shocked noise.

"Logan? Who's Logan?"

"Jesus Christ-" you huffed it under your breath, and Logan tried to stifle a chuckle. "He's my boyfriend, remember?"

"Boyfriend?" Your dad's voice pitched higher. "That motherfucker looks older than me!"

Well. There was your dad getting right to the point, as per usual.

"I am," Logan replied, and you fucking elbowed him in the ribs.

"No mutant shit - they don't know," you hissed a reminder, and he rolled his eyes.

"Hey - you see this guy, Nikki?" Your dad called to the dining room.

Your mom sighed - unlike your dad, she had some kind of decorum, and had the decency to shoot him daggers before she met you and Logan at the top of the steps.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan," she greeted him - you could tell that she was fighting the all consuming urge to shoot you a look or make a joke about this whole thing. She was trying so hard. It was like that scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit with the shave and a haircut song.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked. "Since you're clearly old enough-"

It was like some demon forced her to spit out that line. You snorted, had to shake your head. This was a mistake.

"What do you have?" Logan asked instead, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, smirking at the whole situation. It was like he lived to see you embarrassed.

"Water, coke, iced tea -" she listed off.

"My dad's shitty beer," you added, and Logan's brow raised.

"Hey! Busch is good beer!"

"No the fuck it is not," you replied, because he didn't even drink the light stuff.

"I don't care, I'll take the beer," Logan cut in, and your dad wagged a finger at him.

"Yeah! I'll get you one - it's good shit, man. Somebody watch the stove."

Oh good lord. There he goes. Logan shot you a look - lip quirked into a little smile, before your dad clapped him on the shoulder and hauled him towards the stairs.

That just left you. And your mom.

She looked at you. You looked at her.

"Well?" you asked, stepping up to take your dad's place at the stove to watch the food. Your mom shrugged in response.

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me about him - make some weird comment about his age? I mean - now would be the time," you hedged. You just hated this weird aura surrounding you all. How it felt like she had so many questions to ask, but was holding them all back.

"Obviously I can tell he's old," your mom replied. "It's not really a discussion. Is there something we do need to talk about?"

You knew what she meant. Were you safe with him? Were you happy? Did you bring him here to meet them because you needed help, not because you wanted to share your happiness with them?

Some people might find that sort of implication unthinkable, or rude to address - but you knew your mom. She watched a lot of true crime. She just cared about you.

"No," you replied, with a sigh. "I-I really like him. He's a good man. He actually - he knows how to be a man, if you know what I mean. How to take care of himself. I don't know - I didn't realize how important that was until I met him."

You mom nodded. Her arms were crossed, and she wore her typical resting bitch face, but you could tell she understood what you meant.

"Well. Hopefully your father doesn't shoot him."

[stellaluna33]

I like to imagine that Thorin Oakenshield's golden harp was wire-strung. Doesn't it make sense that dwarven harps would have finely-drawn silver and gold or bronze strings? I think that would just really appeal to their love of fine craftsmanship and their tradition of expert metalsmithing. And then it would have that clear, ringing, chime-like sound too, echoing through the stone halls...

[veebeeboo109]

"A Morning Workout"

{From Ch. 11 of "Cleaning Up the Timeline". After a less-than-peaceful sleepover, you wake up with Zayne and Sylus. Snowcrow is snowcrowing}

Word Count: 3.9k

Tags: Smut, MMF, Zayne x Sylus x You, Threesome, DP, Wear a condom kids, and practice safe-sex practices.

“Can you take the day off? Please?”

Your timid question has him turning back around, “Really? I– I don’t think I can.”

“A sick day? You never take a sick day. Just a day to relax. I think you need it.” You argue. 

“I’m on call. There isn’t anything scheduled but I should go anyway.” Zayne’s arguing with himself more than you at this point. Debating against the part of himself that likes his work, and the part that really likes you. 

If there was an award for best puppeteer in the house, it would go to Sylus. (That is until Rafayel woke up.) You felt Sylus wake up, rising into consciousness and wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you more securely. Sleepily, lazily, he presses kisses to your tummy, then to your sternum, and then to the exposed skin of your chest. Taking his time to drift slowly upwards until your attention is torn between the two men. One who is still debating leaving, and the other baiting the hook to dangle in front of him. 

“We could have a lazy day,” Sylus rumbles against you, and you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or Zayne. “Stay in bed all day.” 

“I have responsibilities.” Zayne stands when he speaks, sounding a little irritated by Sylus’ taunt. 

“Oh, I know.” Sylus is pushing himself onto his elbows and moving to pepper your neck with kisses, unable to resist letting his tongue lap at your skin. “So responsible, Dr. Zayne. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of our kitten while you work. Such good, good care.”

Your breathing is picking up, steamy little pants leaving your lips as Sylus punctuates his words with branding fingers dragging down your sides, hooking into your shorts and panties and taking his time to pull them down your legs. 

“Hear her?” Sylus sounds almost pitiful, “How can anybody leave such a sweet little thing like you? Oh, I could never, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll give you what you need.”

“Sylus.” You gasp as he flattens his hands on your legs and caresses upwards. You can feel your heartbeat get faster the closer his hands get to the mess of slick between your legs. Barely a touch and your sopping, clenching around the mere idea of more. The pound of your heartbeat pulsing in your core, a desperate wanton drum. 

“You’re incorrigible.” Zayne seethes. His tone is icy and disapproving, arms crossed across his chest. But if he meant it he’d be leaving. Turning away to get ready for work and all his responsibilities. But he doesn’t. Zayne doesn’t move a muscle, standing at the edge of the bed like he’s anchored there. “You’d have me quit my job if I let you.”

Sylus’ laugh vibrates the live wire inside you. A pluck against that too-tight harp string of desire. The white-haired man glances over at the other, and he smirks like the devil himself, “Now there’s an idea. What do you think, kitten? Do you think Zayne should quit his job to take care of you?”

You mewl as Sylus drags his fingers up your slit, any words evaporating against the white-hot fever of his touch. You're getting a little dizzy, and feeling a little lost. Sylus begins playing with you slowly, drawing out little breaths of saccharine pleasure in a sleepy, thoughtless way. 

But he’s never thoughtless, never sloppy. You’ll realize later it’s on purpose. The loose swipes of fingers that leave you half-mad. He’s missing on purpose, making you whine in frustration on purpose. Is it because he’s mean? No. It’s because it’s the final straw for your fair, high-strung doctor. 

Zayne moves with scalpel precision, kneeling on the bed and grabbing Sylus’ wrist with an offended huff, “You’re not doing it right.”

Sylus grins like a victor after a fight, all canine. “Am I? Show me then, doc-tor.”

Zayne throws Sylus’ hand aside and gives him a glare, “You move too fast. You can’t just jump into touching her like that. She needs more affection. Watch.”

The dark haired man moves to pull you upright, placing himself between your thighs and holding the sides of your face to bring you to him. He opens his mouth like he might ask for permission, but you're already closing the gap. Pressing your lips to his hungrily. He responds in kind, matching your rhythm. 

Zayne is so measured. So even. Like the soft untouched surface of freshly fallen snow, but it's only a cover. A thin lay of snow and ice revealing dark waters below. You could drown in them, You would drown in them. Get lost in that painful abyss that’s equal parts comfort and consumption. 

You feel loved in his arms. Like you might find forever in his kisses. His hands drift down your body and pull you closer, and you’re taking the initiative to grip at his sleep shirt and tug it upwards. 

He pulls away to let you pull it off him. And you're back to kissing him. Breaking away from him is to be without air, to be without warmth. 

Zayne gasps when you bite at his lip, and he’s pushing his hand into your hair to hold you more firmly. 

When Zayne pulls away, there’s a sinful string of saliva connecting you. The delicate web snapping as he draws you away from him with the hold on your hair. “There. That’s the right way, isn’t it? Tell him, love. Tell him you like it better that way.”

You gasp and nod, “I like– ah–” Zayne doesn’t let you finish because his fingers are between your legs, drawing circles around your clit and down to your fluttering hole. Never lingering too long on the sensitive nub– too much stimulation making your eyes flutter. 

Sylus is behind Zayne, pressing against his back and dragging his lips along the other man’s neck. “So good…Keep going. Show me how good you can make her feel.”

Zayne sits up a little, turning his head to the side and meeting Sylus’ gaze. “It seems like you need the practice, Sy~lus.” 

The way Zayne purrs Sylus’ name makes you clench and roll your hips against Zayne’s hand. It’s a sight that you want to imprint into your mind forever. These two beautiful, massive, dangerous men, turning their attention to you and their eyes shining with lust and affection. 

“Sylus likes to be in charge,” Zayne says to you with a smirk, “Have you ever noticed how much he likes to boss others around?”

You nod, moaning as Zayne presses one of his fingers inside you. He grunts at the resistance, and exhales through his teeth. His glazed eyes dropping down to watch the digit disappear inside you. “So tight, love. Can you even handle another?”

Your head spins with how quickly you nod, “Yes, ngh– Yes, I c-can take it. I can.”

Sylus growls from behind Zayne, “Don’t push her too hard. Don’t–”

“I’m not going to.” Zayne bites back, but pushes another finger inside you. You squeal at the slight stretch and roll your hips down onto him. 

“I want–” Sylus sounds a little breathless when he speaks, looking at Zayne like he’s waiting for permission, “I want to taste her again.”

“I heard you got plenty yesterday.” Zayne chastises coolly, staring at Sylus almost disapprovingly while he simultaneously finger fucks you into oblivion. “Maybe you should just watch.”

“N-no.” Sylus whines, and the sound of it shoots like an arrow through you. “Please, let me. Come on, kitten. You want me to lick you again, don’t you? Tell him. Tell Zayne you want me to.”

“No.” Zayne’s voice is an even command. He draws his fingers out of you and you mewl at the loss, but watch with rapt attention as he lifts his dewy digits up to Sylus, “This is what you get. You get what I give you. You’re already getting your way by me staying here. You want to taste? Then lick them clean.”

You nearly come just from his words, and feel the pool of slick beneath you grow as you watch Sylus obey without a second thought. He grabs Zayne’s wrist and pulls the fingers to his mouth, dragging his long tongue up the length of them and then drawing them into his mouth, sucking them so thoroughly the sound of it fills the room. 

  Zayne pulls his hand away. His expression is even but his cheeks and ears are red, the skin of his chest flushed a sweet strawberry blush. He’s clearly affected, twitching as Sylus claws at him to draw him into a kiss, sharing the taste of you between them.

“I’ll help you,” Sylus breathes as he pulls away, “Just let me touch her. I’ll be good, but just let me–”

Zayne snorts, “Go on then.”

With permission granted, Sylus crawls over to you, “Sweet girl, oh, you smell so good. You’re twitching with it, aren’t you? You need to be filled up. Tell me, can I kiss you, sweetheart? Can I take care of you?”

You reach out to pull him to you, as easy as guiding a paper boat across a pond. There’s no resistance to him as you pull him on top of you, drawing him into a sloppy kiss. “Yes.” You rasp against his lips, “Anything– ah. Anything, please.”

Sylus groans and grinds his clothed hips against you, “Anything? You can’t offer that to me, sweetheart. Or I’ll actually take it.”

You’re tired of waiting. Tired of touching and grinding and not enough. So, you take matters into your own hands, and push Sylus’ shoulders and twist him around. He’s too big to move unwillingly, but the way his eyes widen tells you he’s more than willing. He moves with the tiniest pressure of your hands onto his back, letting you straddle him and remove his shirt. He’s a puppeteer at the mercy of someone else’s strings, lifting his hips when you hook around the waistband of his pants and pull down. 

You’ve barely got the pants past the roundness of his ass before there are hands at your waist, squeezing you.

“Slow down.” Zayne whispers, “We have the whole day, don’t we?”

“Zayne…” You whine airly, “I don’t want to wait.”

“Neither does he.” Zayne says with a pointed glance to a panting Sylus. The white haired man’s hands are raised, as if to show Zayne he was innocent in this stripping game. Zayne chuckles softly and pulls you by the back of the neck to kiss you, and when he lets you go,  he mumbles against your lips, “Do you trust me, love?”

You nearly smack your forehead into his when you nod, and can’t help but kiss him once more. A light, soft kiss. 

“Use your mouth.” Zayne hisses into you, “And I’ll use mine.”

You’re not clear what he means but you don’t care. You’re back at the task at hand, grabbing the elastic band of Sylus’ briefs and pulling down, eager like opening a present. Too excited for the prize within to care about the wrapping. 

Sylus’ cock springs out, slapping obscenely against his stomach and he hisses through his teeth. There’s a magnetic pull to him, drawing into his aura like a moth to flame. The heat emanating from his skin is addictive, only magnified by the cool air coming from Zayne as he grabs handfuls of your hips and ass. Guiding you onto all fours in front of Sylus with your hips in the air. 

A long ragged moan leaves Sylus’ lips when you drag your tongue up his thick, monstrous cock. It’s large like the rest of him is– thick and weighty. Even as furiously hard as he is, the weight of it makes it droop against his bellybutton, twitching upwards. 

You wrap your hand around the girth of him at the base and lift it up to your lips. Kissing the tip before you press the head into your warm, wet mouth. Sylus’ hand is in your hair the instant you touch him, and his fingers tremble with the untempered desire to grip and hold. 

It’s a stretch. He barely fits into your mouth, and you nearly gag on more than one occasion, but the wrecked sounds he makes are more than enough motivation for you to press on. 

A sharp yelp shocks out of you when Zayne is at your cunt, licking a long stripe up the messy line of your sex. He’s slow and gentle, polite even as he licks at your clit and presses his tongue into you. 

A chain reaction occurs. Your squeal makes Sylus groan, gripping your hair tightly which makes your eyes cross. You’re pressing back into Zayne’s tongue without thought, only pure delirium. 

It takes effort to focus on Sylus’ cock, but he doesn’t seem to mind. When your mind starts to drip into syrupy pleasure and your movements become sloppy, Sylus seems to enjoy it. His breathing hitches and the grip on your hair tightens. 

“That’s it…” Sylus growls, beginning to guide your head up and down his length. You can feel his thundering heartbeat against your tongue. “G-gorgeous girl... So good for us. Right–ahh that’s it– Right where you belong.”

He’s stuttering through the pleasure, his hips starting to thrust up. Something in his face shifts. A curl to his upper lip that makes Zayne stop. Zayne is quick, pushing Sylus’ hand off your head and pulling you off with an arm around your chest. You gasp as you're physically removed from Sylus, a wanton whine escaping. 

Sylus chokes, caught right at the precipice of orgasm but caught off. A flash of anger crosses his eyes before sense returns to him.

“You come when I say you can.” Zayne says as he uses his hold on your waist to maneuver you. Moving you further up Sylus’ body until your chest to chest with the man. 

Zayne is kneeling behind you, his hands finding holds on the sides of your hips, and shifts you from side to side just because he can. He hums, a deep, pleased noise as he watches you and Sylus share the same breath. Both fucked out and dumb– higher functioning off and nothing but writhing, sensory beings. 

“So pretty.” Zayne coos, “Looking at you two…what a sight you make. Lean back for me, love. That’s it– press back into me.”

“You want Zayne to fuck you, sweetie?” Sylus whispers against your lips, swallowing the soft gasp you make. 

“Yes– ahn– please Zayne!” You shift back, presenting for him like a bitch in heat, “Please, please, please.”

Sylus is grinning against you as he watches over your shoulder. Zayne releases one side of your hips to hold his cock and line it up. The fat head catches on your entrance, and you keen as he slowly presses in. The stretch is sublime. Edging just on the edge of discomfort. 

Zayne is quiet– the softest hitch of his breath the only sign he’s feeling anything. But then Sylus is moving his hands to the soft globes of your ass and spreading them, pushing you back and further down onto the other man’s throbbing cock. 

A dewy moan leaves you, and Zayne chokes on the staggering sound that his chest makes. He’s only halfway in, and you’re breathlessly full, unsure whether you want to move away or further down. 

“G-god, you’re so tight. Oh. Oh, don’t move.” Zayne snaps, “I don’t want to hurt you, love, so don’t move for a second. F-fu-uuck…”

“You can handle it.” Sylus whispers in your ear, sounding nearly as wrecked as you feel, “Keep going. Take it all. Fuck, just like that. Take it. Take it. Take it.”

You’re clinging to Sylus as Zayne presses in, coaxed deeper and deeper by needy movements of your hips. Completely surrounded by the two of them and every sense is overwhelmed. 

Sylus swallows your cries as Zayne begins to move, slow and steady.

When Zayne finally bottoms out, he grips the curve of your waist almost too tightly, pulling you back ever firmer against him, but he’s already as deep as he can possibly get. His hips pressed against your ass, and his cock tucked snugly against your cervix. 

It’s almost painful, but it dissolves into feathery pleasure when Sylus kisses you through it, muttering sweet words of praise and moving his hand to rub little circles on your clit. 

Your orgasm is fast approaching and Zayne’s barely moved. 

“O-oh fuck!” You squeal, nails digging into Sylus’ shoulder, “More, please, more!”

Zayne pounds into you. Long, hard thrusts that make stars sparkle behind your eyes. The sinful squelch of your slick and the slap of his hips is a symphony. It’s hard, and it’s lovely, and it’s perfect. 

You’re unable to keep kissing Sylus, mouth open and gasping for breath. He’s smiling– a wild, feral smile.

And a horrible thought occurs to you. Horrible only for your self-preservation and your sanity, but so so good for that depraved whore inside you. 

“B-b-both.” You stutter out between breaths. Zayne slows down, giving you half a second to find your voice. “I want both. Both please.”

Zayne’s cock throbs inside you, pressing against that sensitive spot deep in your core that makes you clench. Sylus looks a little lost, his face slackening in rapt eagerness.

“You sure, sweetheart? You want me to fuck you too? Think I’ll fit in your pretty little pussy?” Sylus bites your lower lip and groans, “Oh sweetie, come here.”

Zayne groans, and moves with you, never pulling out as you shift down to lay against Sylus’ chest, your breasts pressed into his face which he wastes no time nipping at. 

“This isn’t–” Zayne hisses, “She needs more prep.”

“She’s so determined, Zayne.” Sylus argues, shifting to press the head of his cock to the stretched rim of your hole. The instant he adds pressure you’re sure it won’t fit, but Sylus’ eyes are glazing over and his jaw is falling open. Practically drooling. “Let her try. Let my sweet girl try. She’ll feel so good, won’t she? I want to be inside her with you.”

Zayne’s hips thrust forward of their own accord, the most ragged moan yet leaving his dry lips. Sylus is pressing in tightly, and the stretch is unreal. He’s barely got half the head in and you're sure you’ll split in two, but god what a way to go. What a perfect death. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You whimper, “Oh god, it’s too much. Don’t stop. Ah! Don’t stop!”

“You’re mine, sweet girl. You’re ours.” Sylus snarls, hips pushing up into you, and the fat head of his cock slips in with a wet squelch. “Take us both. Take it so fucking  good for us.”

“Oh love,” Zayne’s back is pressed against yours, his voice in your ear and it's such a contrast to the depravity in Sylus’. “You feel so divine. You’re doing so well. So well. Yes. Yes, ngh.”

It’s ages before Sylus is all the way in, and there are tears shimmering down your face when he finally bottoms out. The two of them nestled within, swallowed by delicious friction. Divine death is the vice of your cunt and the slide of their cocks against each other. 

Zayne stays still while Sylus moves. There’s too much violent energy in the white haired man for him to stay still any longer. Long, slow thrusts and he’s barely half a dozen glides inside when you're clenching, vibrating on the precipice. 

“Oh fuck I’m gonna–” You choke, hips jerking and making the pair inside you groan in unison. “I’m gonna come. Please. Please, please. Oh god– you feel so good. Don’t leave. Don’t leave me please.”

“I’m not gonna last,” Zayne bites into your shoulder softly, “Come on, love. Come around us. Let me feel it. Yes, yes.”

“Not going anywhere, sweetheart. You just hold onto me. I’ll stay inside forever if you let me. Yeah, fuck. That’s it, come for me. Come for us.” Sylus’ fingertips dig into your flesh, and your mind is struck with the sudden feeling of loss. There’s a lack of digging. A lack of points at the tips of his fingers. Where did they go?

You’re coming before you can debate that odd sensation. Tipped over the edge into writhing oblivion and crying out. Gushing around their cocks and soaking the bed sheets below. 

Your peak is a trigger, firing off the other two in rapid succession. Zayne thrusts up once and then twice and you can feel the throb of him when he comes, pressing his face into any skin he can reach and panting for breath. 

Sylus snarls like an animal lurching forward to latch his mouth and teeth onto the junction of your shoulder as his cock jumps, slamming to the hilt inside you– slickened by the other man’s come leaking out. It’s filthy, and his teeth dig into your skin so sharply your vision blanks. 

They come down from their highs in different ways. Zayne slowly rolls his hips, relaxing like the unwinding of a tightened spring— easy and slow. Relishing in the afterglow and the slick heat of your pussy around him. 

Sylus is a serrated blade. Fucking up into you with sharp half-thrusts and pushing the mixture of their come deeper and deeper. He growls through it, keeping himself clawing into the sensations for as long as he possibly can. Breathing harshly and lapping his tongue against the bite mark he left behind. 

Your body protests any movement, and you’re not ready to let go of them just yet. So you let your head rest on Sylus’ shoulder and focus on the full feeling of them both inside you. How did that even happen? How did they both fit?

Zayne runs a hand up your spine. A gentle caress, “Shh, relax love. Let me–” He’s pulling out, and the drag has you keening, twitchy in aftershocks and then left horrifically empty. 

You turn to Sylus and he kisses you mushily, “I’m not going anywhere, kitten.” He whispers, “Let me stay for a minute, yeah? Let me feel you for just a bit longer.”

Zayne is gone and back but your mind is still filled with rose cotton. He’s got a water bottle in his hands that he presses to your lips. You drink a few swallows and then collapse back onto Sylus. 

“A lazy day, then?” Zayne asks with an affectionate shake of his head. 

Sylus’ laugh vibrates against you, “I’m feeling particularly lazy now.”

You giggle softly and shift to get more comfortable on top of Sylus, “I hope you don’t blame me if I slack off today, right Zayne? I’ll be sure to catch up on cleaning tomorrow.”

Zayne sits down next to you on the bed and brushes his hand through your hair, “Don’t worry about any of it. Perhaps we should revisit the contract again.”

You sigh and shake your head, “Not happening. I have a job to do, and I’m going to do it.”

“Even if I ask you nicely?” Zayne’s smirking when he teases you, and you reach up to poke his cheek. “We can talk about it later, if you ask me nicely.”

[whovianofmidgard]

For @indigoneaway. Your poll made my creative juices flowing and inspired this short thing.

Makalaurë wears silver.  

Before Tyelkormo is born, his decision to do so is seen unconventional compared to his family.  

Fëanáro, when seen in an official capacity, decks himself out in golden jewellery with a rainbow of glittering gems, all created by his own hand. Even dressed down to his simple work clothes, his dark hair is held back with a gold hair clip or has gold wire twisted into his braids.  

Maitimo ornaments himself in gold embroidery on his state robes, a golden circlet flickering brightly in his crimson mane like living flames. Two teardrops of sparkling gold earrings dangle from his shapely ears, as if the fire of his hair had melted the precious metal.  

Nerdanel doesn't concern herself with fashion or appearances, happily unbothered to be seen without a single piece of jewellery. However, for the love of her crafty husband she wears all the shiny gifts Fëanáro bestows upon her, often made of gold. "To complement your complexion," Fëanáro would say. "To light up your lovely hair," he would plant a soft kiss to said curls.  

Makalaurë is named for gold, Gold-cleaver, his mother foresaw. Yet, he wears silver.  

"He's a kind soul, a humble one that Makalaurë," the older elves sagely nod to themselves.  

"Why adorn himself in gold when his voice is all the gold he needs?" all the music critics praise.  

"It matches his eyes so well," his young admirers sigh, getting lost in his grey gaze.  

Makalaurë once admits to Maitimo on a warm afternoon spent sharing sweet wine and gossiping, that he had also thought of all those reasons and finds them true. Yet, the true reason he likes to wear silver is because it's funny.  

"It is ironic!" he laughs, and his elder brother chuckles along with him.  

"My brother, the subversive artist," Maitimo says fondly.  

~*~  

In Beleriand his father is dead, Maedhros is captured, and Makalaurë wears silver.  

The time Celegorm shoved the High King's crown at him Maglor almost screamed down the walls with the strong voice he was also named for, in rage and indignation.  

His brothers pushed. His advisors pushed. In the end he ordered Curufin to fashion him a silver diadem if they so strongly insist he wear a crown.  

The crown of the King sits lonely on the King's throne. Maglor sits on a wooden chair, harps and songbirds carved into it, a step below the throne, at its right hand.  

All who try to call him King fall silent when they glance at the silver diadem cushioned upon his black curls. They are forced to remember that Maglor is not King, merely a Regent in the absence of the King.  

So Maglor wears silver and awaits the return of his brother his King.

[ares-protector]

Final part of the info dump! Random bat facts! This is also a very long post! Side note, anytime I say "Some species" it's because I know it is a thing, I just don't know the specific species of bats that do or have it.

Starting with a sad one, the things that threaten bats(disturbances). Wind turbines, pesticides, habit destruction, White Note Syndrome, glue traps, barbed wire, illegal hunting and the illegal exotic pet trade.

Bats have the lowest birthrate for a mammal their size. About 1 pup per year, which contributes to why it is hard for them to recover from disturbances.

I only know of Flying Foxes doing this, so maybe other species do this too. But, when they feel threatened they'll spread their wings out to appear bigger. I like to call it big wings.

Less than 1% of bats have rabies.

Bats have excellent eyesight(better than humans), especially flying foxes because they lack echolocation abilities. Instead they use sight and smell to navigate.

Some species of bats have suckers for thumbs to grip onto leaves.

Flying foxes will partake in an activity called belly dipping. It is a way they cool down and get water during hot conditions. They will swoop down towards a body of water and dip their bellies into it or get a drink of water. It's quite adorable. I do not know if this is just a flying fox thing, or if all bats do this. https://youtu.be/MbhFKcqNFUU?si=F2tpfjGkr7Zlc4Qt

Bats who use echolocation typically have faces that help them utilize it better. Their noses, faces, and ears reflect that. That's why flying foxes have small ears.

Each species has its own unique calls and range for echolocation and communication. Most are above human hearing.

Wing membranes have muscles in them. The web-like structures you see when the light shines through are the muscles.

Fruit bats spit out the seeds and pulp when eating fruit.

Baby bats are called pups while groups of bats are called colonies.

Bat pups are born with fully formed legs to be able to hold onto their mother. Which is important because they will be flying around and being dropped would be bad. They also bite down on the nipple to hang on as well.

I am unsure exactly how this works, but I have direct experience with this when helping with bat research. To tell the difference between a Juvenile and Adult bat, you look at the wings. You take a light and shine it through the stretched out wing, if the finger bones have gaps in-between them, then it's a juvenile. If the bones have no gaps, then it's an adult. There's also a difference between breeding and non-breeding male bats, but I am unsure.

One way to catch bats for research is with a harp trap. It is a bunch of thin strings lined up, and you put it in front of a cave. Then you tarp off the rest of the entrance to the cave, that way bats have to go through the trap. It forces their wings to close, and they fall into a bag below the trap. It does not hurt them.

Bats can purr, as I've stated in a past post.

Not all bats are nocturnal. Some are diurnal, meaning they are active during the day. While others are crepuscular, meaning they are active during the twilight period. Before a sunrise and after a sunset.

Some bat species will pee on things to mark their territory. They will also pee on themselves to bathe. That being said, bats are very clean animals and groom themselves regularly.

Ummm, very weird fact. I happen to watch a lot of rehabilitation videos and sanctuary videos, just happened to learn this, I'm so sorry. Some species will partake in fellatio(Oral Sex), in order to increase the chances of fertilization during mating.

Bats are gay. Females, males, don't matter. Homosexual and bisexual, there are species that will form a couple with the same sex, and they will mate and show affection to each other.

The largest species of bat is the Giant Golden-crowned Flying Fox, Acerodon jubatus.

The smallest species of bat is the Bumblebee Bat also known as the Kitti's Hog-nosed Bat, Craseonycteris thonglongyai. Also the smallest mammal in the world.

My 2 personal favorite bats are the Hoary Bat, Lasiurus cinereus, because their fur is absolutely gorgeous. As well as the Black Flying Fox, Pteropus alecto.

Underland side rant: Obviously, Black Flying Fox is my favorite animal because of Ares. It's been my favorite animal for years now for that reason alone. And the Hoary Bat is how I imagine Queen Athena to look. Except all that the base fur is a more dark, silvery gray that turns into a silvery white towards the tips instead of the yellow brown the Hoary Bats have. You can't look at the Hoary Bat and then tell me it isn't giving absolute Queen energy.

Sources: Just my brain for this one, and that video of belly dipping.

Call me out if any information I have said is wrong, I am still a college student and am learning. Besides that I am human and may remember things wrongly, please correct me so I don't spread misinformation.

And finally! As always, DON'T touch a bat with your bare hands, unless rabies are vaccinated, trained, and have gloves on. If the bat bites you, it will be euthanized and tested for rabies, nobody wants that. If you find a stranded bat that seems injured or such, then call your nearest wildlife rehabilitation center, Bat Con International, Bat World Sanctuary, PA Bat Rescue, or Lubee Bat Conservatory. If you live somewhere other than the US, then I believe you can call Bat Con International or a wildlife rehabilitation center near you. The only Bat Rehab Centers I know of outside of the US is Fledermaushilfe Hamburg in Germany and there are ones in Australia. I have been informed that you can call the SSPCA in the UK/Scotland. But, I'm you could call any of the places I've mentioned and they would gladly help wherever you live. They will direct you in what to do, or will send someone to help the bat.

[thebluerequiem]

Golden Kamuy Orchestra AU! Where Koito [Violin/Viola] will just not shut the fuck up during rehearsal! (Him and Tsukishima are stand partners {at the misfortune of the latter})

Asirpa [Flute] is the child prodigy that makes you want to crawl in a hole and die.

Ogata [Cello] replaces Yusaku Hanazawa's [Viola] strings with dead strings right before the performance. (The Golden Boy will manage just fine with them)

Nikaido [Drums] cannot play without being a live wire! There is meth hidden in the drum set! (We don't know where he gets it from {probably usami})

Usami [Clarinet] has this really annoying tendency to play every piece 2 pitches below the signature, driving everyone insane as they all ask themselves if they are even in tune!?!

Sugimoto [Trumpet] empties his spit value and unintentionally (????) nukes Ogata directly in the eyes (almost every time)

Tsurumi gets all the bitches because he's the pianist and all pianists always get all the bitches always.

Tanigaki [Tuba] runs out of breath really easily, so if you listen carefully enough you can hear him fighting for his life.

Inkarmat Harp player because she's that girl! She's her!

[citizenscreen]

The time Salvador Dalí gave Harpo Marx a barbed wire harp, 1936.

[wildbeautifuldamned]

Yellow Cotton & Tinsel Lyre, with Star. 1880s Pennsylvania Home-crafted Ornament ebay noelbob

[rastronomicals]

4:11 AM EST November 5, 2023:

Wire - "Playing Harp For The Fishes" From the album Silver/Lead (March 31, 2017)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

[procyonloser]

Pt 5 Serial Killer AU ( you know the drill)

Adam wasn't exactly sure caused Lucifer's change in attitude towards him, but he wasn't about to argue against it. Lucifer had installed a line in the room upstairs for Adam, so he could be uncuffed, but still be able to move around the room. He had an old fashion wheelchair, so Adam had a bit of freedom. He was able to finally get to a bathroom by himself, without having to crawl over to the pot and drain he'd had in the bowels of the school. Of course, Adam didn't have access to anything sharp, no phones, nothing he could reach to use as a weapon; he was still being held captive, he just had more freedom than he'd had.

He even had a TV.

But it was of little solace.

A body had been found, under a lake. It had been arranged to look like a mermaid, her legs had been broken into pieces to make up the tail. She'd been weighed down, sunk down into the depths for who knew how long. The report stated the police and federal authorities had only just started to investigate, but that it was clearly the work of the serial killer known as Lucifer. They were trying to identify the woman's identity, but they promised to bring the individual responsible to justice as quickly as possible.

Adam heard a laugh, and turned to find Lucifer in the doorway, eyes pin point focused on the television screen. He walked into the room, well dressed in a suit, a devil in disguise.

"I put her there over a year ago," Lucifer said with humor in his voice. "But what do you expect from the police?"

"... Who was she?" Adam asked, and Lucifer paused, looking down at him with a darkness in his eyes that unnerved him. Sometimes he forgot that Lucifer was... This, a sociopathic killer, with a live wire that Adam was always only moments away from tripping over.

"What does it matter?" Lucifer asked, tilting his head. "Look at what she is now, Adam."

Adam looked back at the screen, at the fervor over her death, the images of swarms of investigators and police at the lake edge. Every single person in that space was focused on her. It was like a concert, throws of people waiting for the next performance.

"Immortal," Adam said, and Lucifer's gaze softened slightly.

"Exactly. I don't do this because I feel nothing, because I hate anyone, I do it as a gift." Lucifer told him, kneeling on the couch beside him, grabbing Adam's chin. "These people were insignificant, broken, disgusting, criminals, sinners. Look at what I've done for them, the gift I've given them."

Adam didn't know how to feel, because part of him understood. It was horrific, the man was fucking nuts, but... he understood.

"Speaking of gifts," Lucifer said after a moment, pushing back up off the couch. He reappeared moments later carrying a familiar item, making him lurch forward in joy, grabbing his guitar from Lucifer's fingers.

"You didn't trash it?" Adam breathed out, fingers strumming over the body and strings. He'd missed it; he spent a few years putting away money every month working shitty jobs, just to afford it. His axe, his harp, his soul belonged to it.

"No," Lucifer sat down beside him on the couch. Adam played a quick tune on it, gauging if he needed to adjust anything, not knowing how Lucifer had been storing it. "You know, I never actually heard you play anything. I saw that your band only had a handful of followers. I figured you must be pretty awful."

Adam barely heard him, closing his eyes and begun to play, humming along to a song that only belonged in his head, words beginning to form slowly as he continued.

When he finally opened his eyes, Lucifer was still watching him, and Adam felt more embarrassed than he'd ever felt after playing for someone. He'd been playing the guitar since he was 6, in one form or another, he'd done it in front of countless audiences, some of whom had been less than kind - but Lucifer was something else.

Blue and red lights flashed across his face, police lights from the television playing on his skin. Lucifer was a fitting title for the man, he looked like a fallen angel, a soft face, pale blond hair, pink lips, and a wicked black tongue. Adam remembered the nuns in his childhood church telling him that the devil would whisper lies in his ear, to try to deceive him.

"Beautiful," Lucifer said softly, and Adam leaned in, kissing him.

"I want to help you," Adam breathed out against his lips.

[idrawfunkythings]

DCAtober Day 15: Hide

Words 1,600+ Summary: You knew Moon loved a good prank. So nothing could possibly go wrong

Author here! This is NOT in any way canon to my fic, but if it were, it would take place after the reader is made aware of the glitch. They know Moon has been malfunctioning, but have never experienced it themselves

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was turning out to be a pretty good night shift.

All your tasks were around the lobby, like rebooting a few Staffbots, clearing out the expired food from the kitchen and greasing the gears of the ride on machines by the elevators. After that, you’d gone to the daycare and done some basic cleaning, going over any spots the Staffbots missed. It wasn’t their fault - they were still learning.

Moon had left you in their company, having to leave to do a sweep of the plex. He’d eyed the bots distrustfully, like they’d somehow manage to take your head off with a mop or something, but you’d assured him that they were harmless (and teased him over the idea of him worrying about you, which made him grab you by the back of your shirt and toss you into the ballpit).

Anyway, you’d crawled out and he’d left, and you were done with your final party room, which meant you got to relax until he got back and harped on about getting rest. The bots rolled around aimlessly when the cleaning was done, which almost felt mean. You had no idea how sentient they were - were they even choosing to wander?

You didn’t want to dwell on that, so you packed up your supplies into the janitor’s closet and slid down the stair railing to the padded play area. A quick check of your watch told you Moon was coming back to the daycare. Hmmm. You were in the mood for a game.

During the day, you’d crawled around with the kids in the playplace - okay, yes, it was gross, but you had done your best not to think about that. You knew for a fact that Sun had sanitized it when they all left, however, because you’d cleared out the leftover rags to send to the laundry. Therefore, there was significantly less kid gunk on it now than at any other time of the day.

You eye the tunnels.

Moon loved to scare you, wasn’t it time you did it back? You doubted you even could, what with his thermal sensors and night vision, but you were choosing to ignore that fact because damnit, you missed having fun like a kid.

Before your brain had the chance to catch up to your idea, you were sliding into a bottom tunnel, scrambling up each level until you were positioned at the exit to the bridge connecting two of the towers. Hopefully, Moon would come searching for you, and you could jump out onto his head.

It was a flawless plan, really.

You hear the shutter door to the daycare open, and restrain a quiet laugh. This was so stupid. Moon’s bells jingle softly as he descends the stairs, shoving open the doors and stretching his robotic joints.

One of your legs is starting to go dead. It wouldn’t hurt for him to hurry up a bit.

“Starlight?” Moon says, red eyes scanning the room. They pass right over you - guess his thermal sensors were turned off for the moment. You shift in your position, and your shoe squeaks against the plastic mat lining the structure. Damnit.

You see Moon’s head whip around at the noise, cursing under your breath. Well, there goes that surprise. Rolling your eyes, you prepare to drag yourself out of your hiding spot and pretend you were simply just exploring the structure, but you freeze at Moon’s face.

His eyes are glowing red as always, but his sclera is narrowed, like a shutter going over a camera lens. Only a small red pinprick pokes through, and both of them are locked completely on you.

The wire drops from the ceiling.

In a heartbeat, Moon is hooked up and drops on the bridge in front of you, faceplate spinning slowly. You hold up your hands, rolling your eyes. Of course he’d tried to beat you at your own game.

“Oh, great party trick, buddy. I’m so scared.”

The robot doesn’t say anything.

“Seriously. Knock it off, dude, you look creepy.”

The wire unhooks and sails away into the darkness of the rafters. Moon’s eyes are locked on you.

You scoot back instinctively, unsure of what else to do. “Are you short circuiting or something?”

His head does one full rotation, during which you both stare at each other, the only noise your quiet breathing and the soft scraping of metal as it spins.

He lunges.

“What the fuck?” You shout, scrambling backwards in a panic. “Okay, you win! Quit it!”

He doesn’t seem to want to quit it, because he’s wriggling into the structure and crawling after you. You drag yourself away, yelping as your hand slips and you tumble down one of the kiddy ramps that takes you to the lower level. Moon follows, on all fours like a lioness stalking her prey. His fingers stretch out in front of him as he descends, the way he does when he’s telling the kids the tickle monster will get them, except this doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.

You flip onto your front and scramble madly, trying to remember the layout of the tower and where the nearest exit is. The problem lies in the fact that you are not kid sized, and you can’t get through the tunnels anywhere as near as fast as they could.

Behind you, you hear quiet chuckles. First intermittent, then becoming constant. You take a corner, clambering through a plastic tunnel to the next tower over. Moon follows, taking his sweet time, peeking around the corner mockingly each time you dare to look back.

You slide down another ramp, finally on the bottom floor, and head for the nearest part of the structure that has an open space. The security desk was right there, and so was the light switch. All you had to do was get there, flick the switch and then berate Moon through Sun for a good half an hour. You were gonna be fine.

Metal fingers clasp your ankle and jerk you backwards.

You scream, because what else would you do, and start madly kicking out at the robot. You feel your feet connect with something, and hear it too because Moon screeches and draws back, giving you time to slip away and onto the playmat.

The desk is right there.

“Intruders are not allowed in the daycare.”

Stupidly, stupidly, you look over your shoulder in shock at the voice. Moon is standing unnaturally, hunched over, his head dangling to the side and his hat sliding off. You’d never seen his hat slide off. You thought it was attached to him.

A hand grabs your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks and making you scream. You struggle, but his other hand comes around and clasps your neck, and then he pounces and pins you to the ground, crushing your throat.

“It’s past your bedtime.”

His voice is distorted, and you can barely make out the sentence with the amount of glitches that interrupt each word. His eyes are narrowed to even smaller pinpricks, and oh god, you might actually die. You might actually die at the hands of your friend, all because of some glitch in his system.

“Do I look like an intruder?” you shout, like any normal person would, because the alternative is getting killed instantly. Moon hesitates, his grip loosening. “Look, at me, cheese head! See this stupid watch?”

You can’t actually show him said watch, because that hand is pinned under one of his knees as he straddles you, but he pauses long enough for you to grab his faceplate with your other hand and slam it to the side, sending his head spinning like a ballerina. He lets go of you to stop it, and lets his guard just in time for you to buck him with your hips and throw him off balance.

Okay, fuck, you have no idea how in god’s name you managed that, especially because he was like one hundred times stronger than you, but you sure as hell weren’t gonna take a break to ponder it. You propel yourself upwards, lunging forwards and sliding behind the desk just as Moon sliced a hand towards where you had been three seconds prior.

You heart is pounding. Your hands are sweaty. You probably would have pissed yourself if you had to deal with that any longer. But you’re alive, so none of that matters right now.

Shaking, you stand up and take stock of yourself. No broken bones, maybe a few bruises. Nothing major. You’re okay. It’s okay.

Moon is glowering at you, hands on the very edge of the desk as he seems to be trying very hard to lean over and finish you off. The desk has claw marks etched into the end. Something was very, very wrong here.

Of course, you don’t feel like dealing with that right now. So you lean to the right, smack the shit out of the light switch, and watch frozen in place as Moon makes the switch to Sun.

“Nice one, asshole,” you exhale, not bothering to give Sun the time to sift through their memory bank and see what happened. You knew most nights he was resting in their head, not watching, and this was clearly no exception. “My shift is over. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

You march out of the daycare, leaving Sun staring blankly at the claw marks in the desk, trying to figure out what the hell he had missed. You manage to make it to the lobby before your legs give out, and you sit there for a good while, remaining in the permanent light given off by the walkway.

You were alive. Everything is okay.