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rosanacafe · 3 months

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First Daffodils por Rosana

#February #My garden #Narcissus #Nikon z6 #Velvet 56 #flowers #Daffodils #winter #Lensbaby #Bokeh #dark mood #textured #flickr

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fleeting-moment-now · 2 years

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Fading hibiscus

#hibiscus #lensbaby #velvet 56 #flowers #summer

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chicinsilk · 5 months

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US Vogue November 1, 1955

"Samarcande"

Christian Dior Haute Couture Collection Fall/Winter 1955-56. Anne Sainte-Marie wears a ruby velvet coat with a stiff tracery of embroidery - a coat with mink collar, sheath, and depressed helmet. Velvet by Bodin, embroidery by Rébé. DIor-Delman sandals. The setting: Marie Antoinette's staircase at the Palace of Versailles, and quite atmospheric, a burst of Dior's "Miss Dior" perfume.

Christian Dior Collection Haute Couture Automne/Hiver 1955-56. Anne Sainte-Marie porte un manteau de velours rubis avec un entrelacs rigide de broderies - un manteau à col de vison, fourreau, et casque enfoncé. Velours de Bodin, broderies de Rébé. Sandales DIor-Delman. Le décor : l'escalier de Marie-Antoinette au château de Versailles, et tout à fait atmosphérique, un éclat du parfum "Miss Dior" de Dior.

Photo Henry Clarke vogue archive

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joelsgreys · 1 year

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to hell and back l one

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l main masterlist l next chapter

summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. canon violence, canon language, brief mentions of slavers, brutality, torture, assault, guns, reader is an archer, mentions of hunting, animal death, injured/unconscious Joel, very minor mentions of blood, age gap (reader is 30, Joel is 56) very brief mention of scars, reader does not/cannot speak at times, a lot of internal dialogue from reader, at one point reader does try to speak to Joel but she is unable. *please be advised that no specific diagnosis is used or will be mentioned, i’m writing the series with the idea that reader herself cannot fully comprehend her inability to speak at times. basically the gist of it is we have a very traumatized person who does not realize just how traumatized she is.

word count: 8.2k (good lord I am so sorry)

a/n: not a whole lot to say except for that this is...different. at least i think it is, i could be wrong lmao. this is by far one of the most challenging things i have ever decided to write, but hopefully it turned out okay

California l Fall, 2023

You’d been on the run since dawn.

It was several hours later now and nightfall was approaching—and it was approaching a hell of a lot fucking faster than you could have even anticipated. The darkness was quickly closing in, falling around you like a velvet black curtain. However, stumbling around blindly in the dark was currently the very least of your worries.

Your feet were raw, both completely blistered and bleeding through your socks inside of your worn out, muddied white canvas sneakers. Your sore, aching legs screamed out for mercy and your knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle out from underneath the weight of your body at any given moment.

In the week and a half leading up to your escape from captivity, you’d been deprived of both food and water—it had been your punishment for closing your eyes and turning your head away after you’d been instructed by the slavers to watch their brutal assault of the young teenaged girl that you had been sharing a cage with. She’d been unable to keep up with her work duties, and they had decided to make an example out of her.

Despite still having been forced to witness the horrendous, unspeakable things they’d done to that poor girl, your initial resistance resulted in you being beaten and then starved for several days. Occasionally, one of the late night guards would try and bribe you, offering a small piece of jerky or a couple of stale crackers in exchange for a blowjob. At first, you told him you’d rather cut your own tongue out with a rusty blade than suck his dick, but when he proposed the disgusting, vile trade again just a couple of nights later, you’d accepted it—because him pulling you out of that fucking cage after hours and removing the tight shackles from your wrists when no one else was around would give you the chance to finally make a run for it.

You swung yourself around the nearest redwood tree, slumping back against its thick, wide trunk. You covered your mouth with your two hands in an attempt to silence the sound of your heavy panting.

Besides being in pain, malnourished and severely dehydrated, the exhaustion was starting to set in too. The adrenaline pumping through your veins had brought you this far, but exactly how much farther could it take you? How much longer could it possibly keep you going before your tired body decided to give up and give out?

Somewhere behind you, you could hear the men calling out cheerfully.

One sang out, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Come out and plaaaaay,” a second taunted.

The third shouted, “We’re gonna get you!”

Their giddiness made you want to vomit. If your stomach hadn’t been empty, you would have.

Those sick, twisted fucks weren’t letting up.

They’d been on your heels for hours.

The large group of slavers in California were over two hundred strong and had dozens of prisoners chained up in their human cages—they had more than enough people to force into labor. There was no need for them to waste their time and efforts going after you, but after spending the last eight months witnessing firsthand how these sadistic bastards operated, it occurred to you that their desire to recapture you wasn’t out of a need for labor. It was for their entertainment.

They were hunting you down for sport.

This was their idea of fun.

“Fuck,” you whispered underneath your breath, your hands falling down to your sides.

Something had to give.

Your legs, your body, your will to live.

Perhaps all of the above.

You couldn’t keep on running for much longer.

And even if you could, where the hell were you supposed to go? How were you supposed to get there?

You had no food, no water, and no weapon.

Just the torn, tattered clothes on your back.

You were defenseless against whatever else was out there and you couldn’t see yourself surviving longer than a couple of days at most.

There was a part of you that wanted to give up and surrender. If you could be absolutely certain that they would shoot you dead on the spot, you would actually consider it and step out from behind the tree—hell, you would happily let them put a bullet between your eyes and put you out of your misery once and for all. But they wouldn’t be so generous. You knew they would have their way with you here in the middle of this forest and only after they were done would they take you back to their settlement where they’d put you right back in shackles so the real torture could begin. Just like that teenaged girl, the slavers would make an example out of you so that nobody else in their right mind would even think about running away.

They would be sure to make your death as slow and as agonizing as possible.

No. If you were going to die, then you were going to die. But fucking not like that.

Hearing them draw closer towards where you’d been hiding, you pushed yourself away from the redwood and willed yourself to keep on going.

Wyoming l Fall 2024

Your eyes softly flutter open.

Bright, early morning sunlight filters in through the ripped, white lace curtains that hang over the small, square shaped window right above your head.

Blinking the sleep away, you prop yourself up slightly on your elbows and take a glance around at your surroundings. The old, abandoned cabin that you’d stumbled across just a couple of days ago is tiny, cramped, and crumbling. It also reeks—it smells damp, musty, and earthy, like rotting wood. But beggars can’t be choosers and you are certainly in no position to be a chooser right now. It’s not what you consider to be ideal, but it’s four walls and a roof, which is more than anyone can ask for. It’s sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs, an old wood burning stove you had been too afraid to light because you didn’t want to risk setting the place on fire, and there’s even a small, twin sized bed for you to sleep on. Well, perhaps calling it a bed was a tad bit too generous. It’s really just a mattress sitting on four large concrete blocks. It’s rough, dirty, and torn with rusted springs and bits of fluff sticking out from every corner. Still, it sure as fuck beat the hell out of sleeping outside in the dirt and using a rock as a pillow.

Besides the luxury of having something close to a proper roof to sleep under, there’s also a lake just two and a half miles north of the cabin where you had been able to fill your canteen with fresh water. Not to mention, you’d also been able to bathe and wash your clothes for the first time in a couple of weeks. You had been on your own for about a year now, and this was the luckiest you’ve gotten in terms of finding a decent place to stay.

Whether or not it’s safe, it was still too early to tell.

Sure, you were out somewhere in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and hadn’t seen a single soul, living or dead, in a couple of months now. But that still didn’t mean that running into the infected or other people wasn’t a possibility. Letting your guard down was risky. Too risky.

You swing your legs over the side of the mattress and sit up, slipping on your pair of warm, wool socks before tugging on your boots—you’d found them over the summer and even though they had been about one size too small for you, you’d managed to break them in since then and the supple brown leather now molds almost perfectly to your feet. You stand up and lift your arms up above your head while simultaneously twisting your stiff, sore back in a painful, but much needed stretch. You’re only just a couple of months shy of turning thirty years old, but lately, your bones snap, crackle and pop with each and every movement, making you feel twice your actual age.

The thought of it makes you snort in amusement. You should be so lucky to stay alive long enough to see the age of sixty. Hell, you’re still unable to fathom how you’d even made it this close to seeing thirty.

Dropping your arms back down to your sides, you make your way over to your khaki colored pack and pull out your aluminum canteen from one of the side pockets. You twist off the cap and gulp back a long, cool drink of water, hoping to get rid of the dryness in your mouth and the cracks in your chapped lips. As soon as the liquid makes it all the way down to the pit of your stomach, the hollow, muscular organ grumbles loudly, demanding food. You’d had some decent luck while out hunting the previous morning, capturing two wild rabbits—you had eagerly skinned, cleaned and cooked them both, devouring one right after the other so fast that it had nearly made you sick. It had been a pretty decent meal, but not nearly enough to completely satisfy your ravenous hunger. Prior to finding the cabin and settling in, you had been living off of a couple handfuls of nuts and berries for three days while on the move. You were still fucking starving and all you could do was pray that you’d find more rabbits today.

Maybe you’d get even luckier and spot a pheasant. It was their season, after all.

You drink some more water and set your canteen aside. You’d planned to return to the lake later in the afternoon to refill it as well as to have another bath. You pull on your faded, black denim jacket over your hoodie and pick up the wooden bow and brown leather quiver of arrows sitting beside your pack. You’d found the weapon in some hunting shop back in Utah that had already been picked clean to the bone over the last couple of decades. However, no one had even bothered with taking the bow. It hadn’t really surprised you, though. In the post outbreak world, a bow and arrow would do absolutely nothing to protect against the infected runners and stalkers—and it would do much less to protect against clickers unless your aim was flawless.

Still, a bow was useful in its own right.

It was perfect for hunting game. It was silent, keeping you and your location concealed from potential passersby at all times. Most importantly, you could reuse your arrows so long as you were careful and didn’t break them while removing them from your kills—and in the event that you did happen to snap an arrow, all you had to do was salvage what you could from the damaged projectile and make a new one. Simple as that.

Your father had taught you how before he’d died.

“Why bother with a bow? What about a gun?” you had asked him.

“Might not always be able to get your hands on a gun,” he’d replied as he sharpened an edge of the small, thumb sized rock in his hand. “Or bullets. It doesn’t hurt to have alternatives in the event that you can’t get your hands on either of those things, kiddo.” Despite being in your mid twenties at the time, he’d still always call you kiddo. “Always have a backup weapon, alright?”

He’d been wise to give you that advice.

You did have a firearm, a colt pistol that you hardly have ammunition for. There were ten rounds left in the clip and with no luck in finding any more in the last couple of months, you’d decided to preserve them, saving what little bullets you had left for a real emergency. You kept the gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans at all times, along with the sharp switchblade that you used to gut and skin game. As far as weapons go, you sure as hell could’ve been a lot worse off. But if you happened to stumble upon more ammunition for your gun, you certainly wouldn’t complain about it.

Slinging your bow and the quiver of arrows over your shoulder, you grab the dark gray foraging bag that you used to collect and carry your kills in and leave the cabin, feeling somewhat confident enough to leave the remainder of your belongings behind instead of hauling them all along with you like you had the morning before. It wasn’t that you feared someone would come along and steal them. There wasn’t really anything for anyone to steal, anyway. Rather, you’d gotten so damn used to the instability and the constant moving around—you never stayed in one place for too long and were always prepared to run. But today, you decide to leave your things in the cabin, feeling certain that you would return in just a couple of hours.

You step out onto the creaking, three step porch that’s so old it buckles slightly under your weight and a gentle breeze nips at your cheeks and nose. It’s the middle of autumn in Wyoming and the air outside is fresh, cool and crisp. Winter was looming right around the corner like a dark shadow, and although you’d somehow managed to make it through the previous year’s brutal snow season, that didn’t do much to stop you from being nervous about the one that was to come. If all went according to your plan, you’d be holing yourself up in that shoddy little cabin until the worst of winter was over and then you would move along.

To where?

You didn’t have the slightest fucking clue.

You make a short trek about two miles south, going in the opposite direction of the lake and finding yourself closer to the thick forest trees that surrounded the base of the mountain range out in the distance instead. There’s a dried, grassy clearing just feet from the entrance of the forest—finding a single, decently sized boulder in the middle of the wide, open space, you decide that behind it is the perfect spot for you to set up and hope for the best. Carefully setting your things down on the ground, you pull out a pair of old, cracked binoculars from your bag. You lean your body over the smooth, round top of the rock and lift them up to your face, peeking through the lenses. You hope to spot something right away because it sure would be fucking nice to eat something sooner rather than later. Otherwise you might just start gnawing at your own arm.

Diligently, you scan your surroundings for any and all signs of wildlife.

That’s when you see it, standing near the edge of the woods.

You gasp softly as your sights fall upon the deer.

Pulling your face away from your binoculars, you blink furiously before taking another look just to be sure that your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you. It’s not a hallucination. It’s a white tailed deer, a female, and from the look of her, she has to be at least about a hundred pounds. At least.

You try to not get too far ahead of yourself, but it’s far too late. The thought of finding some herbs and making a hot, venison stew for supper makes your mouth water. The rest of the meat could be dried out and made into a batch of jerky that could feed you for months. Months.

Then, you suddenly remember you’ve never even attempted to bring down an animal of that size before and you’re slapped back into reality.

You think about your father, who would bring home a deer every weekend after going on his hunting trips with some of his old college buddies. “You want to aim for the heart or the lungs,” he’d say as you and your siblings would watch him dress the carcass, much to your mother’s chagrin. “Look between the shoulder blade and the last rib,” he would tell you and your brothers. You’d also had an older sister, but she had always been incredibly squeamish and had a soul that was much too sweet and caring for hunting. She would always want to bring home every animal your father shot and nurse it back to health. “Somewhere between those two lies everything you need to hit in order to do the job and do it well. And for the love of god, don’t you ever aim directly for the shoulder. Behind it, kiddos, always aim behind it. You got it?”

“Yes Papa,” you’d all chime out together.

Setting down the binoculars in your hands, you reach for your bow and pluck an arrow from your quiver before stepping out from behind the boulder. You’re careful to be as silent as possible as you take a few steps closer towards the unsuspecting grazing animal. You position yourself and stand perpendicular to the deer, placing your feet shoulder width apart—you’re a little farther from your target than you would have preferred, but you don’t want to risk going any closer and scaring her off, so it would have to do. Once you feel comfortable enough with your stance, you nock the arrow and set it on the string. You then hold the string and steady your grip on the bow, relaxing your shoulders before drawing it and pulling your arm back until you’ve reached your anchor point, which is always the corner of your mouth.

Breathe, you remind yourself calmly as you aim at the delicate spot behind her shoulder blade. Nice and slow. Breathe.

Just as you’re about to release the arrow and take your shot, the deer whips her head back towards the trees and her ears prick forward—a split second later, she darts off, zooming across the field in the opposite direction of where you’d been standing.

Your mouth falls open in disbelief.

“Are you fucking shitting me?” you mutter under your breath.

Frustrated, you lower your weapon and just as you start to contemplate whether or not it’s even worth it to try and hunt her down on foot, you suddenly hear something—it isn’t until the noise draws closer to where you’re standing that you realize it’s the sound of a galloping horse.

Perplexed, you squint over in the direction of where you think it’s coming from, right near the edge of the trees. Then, just a moment later, a brown stallion emerges from the woods with a dark haired man riding in his saddle. He holds a rifle in one hand and clutches the reins tightly in the other.

Gasping, you whirl around on the heel of your boot and immediately make a beeline back to the boulder. You swing around the rock and crouch down, ducking out of his sight. You couldn’t be too sure if he’d seen you or not, but it doesn’t matter—a wave of sheer panic washes over you and you can physically feel your own body preparing itself to go into fight or flight mode. Despite having your gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans, you still haven’t reached for it and continue to clutch your bow and arrow in your hands instead.

Swallowing dryly, you turn and carefully lift yourself up just enough so that you can glimpse over the top of the boulder. That’s when you see a second man emerge from the woods. This one is blond and he is on foot instead of a horse. He’s also armed, carrying a shotgun.

“You’re mine you fucking son of a bitch!” he shouts. He lifts his weapon, aims, and then squeezes the trigger, shooting the horse in the side and bringing him down instantly. His rider goes flying off and he hits the ground several feet away from the dead animal, landing so painfully hard that even from a distance you’d manage to hear the loud, cracking sound his body had made upon impact.

You momentarily freeze.

Your heart anxiously jumps up into your throat as you watch the shooter begin to approach him. The attacker moves slowly and with no haste seeing as his helpless victim is lying there motionless on the ground with his eyes closed and no idea that he’s about to die. The blond man comes to a halt just a few feet away from him, grinning as he lifts his shotgun once again and points the barrel of it at the other man’s head. His index finger hovers over the trigger.

Before your mind and body can even make the connection, you rise to your feet and aim your bow, swiftly sending an arrow straight through the blond man’s neck. He crumples, falling to the ground writhing and squirming as he bleeds out in less than sixty seconds.

You wait it out for another minute, refusing to move another muscle until his body finally goes limp and you are certain he’s dead. Taking a look around, you make sure the coast is clear and grab your belongings, slinging them over your shoulder before you make your way over to the scene. Unsure of whether or not there could be others heading in this direction, your plan was to pick off their guns and any other useful supplies before making a run for it back to the cabin. You crouch down beside the man you’d shot and killed, carefully pulling your arrow out of his neck. It makes a loud, horrid squelching sound as you remove it and blood from his jugular splatters your blue jeans. You then pick up his shotgun and check the chamber for ammunition.

Just like the pistol tucked away in your waistband, there’s hardly any rounds left, making it all but useless. Rolling your eyes, you carelessly drop the gun on top of his chest and move on in search of the rifle. You spot it right beside the dark haired man.

Apprehensive, you cautiously make your way over towards him. With how still he had been lying, you could have sworn he was gone—perhaps the fall off of his horse alone had killed him. But just to be sure, you decide to give his side a harsh nudge with the toe of your boot.

He groans and his head rolls to the side.

He’s still alive.

You effortlessly string the bloodied arrow in your hand and aim it right at his chest.

Move again and you’re dead, motherfucker.

“Ellie,” the man mumbles, his eyes still closed.

Ellie?

You slowly lower your bow.

Without realizing it, a little bit of your guard lowers along with it.

Carefully, you sink down onto one knee next to the man and get a better look at him. He’s much older than yourself, somewhere in his fifties if you had to guess. He has harsh forehead lines, deep creases in between his eyebrows, a patchy beard that is speckled with many, many grays, and wild waves of thick hair that look soft to the touch. Though some of his features are a little worse for wear due to his age, he’s still quite a handsome man from what you can see. He also appears to be in decent shape, clean and well fed, and you detect the light scent of laundry soap on his clothes. Surely, he had to have been part of some kind of group, and judging by the leather trimmed saddle on his horse, this group was one that was very well off in this post outbreak world.

You hesitate, but then lift a slightly trembling hand and take the side of his face, cupping it in your palm as you turn his head towards you.

There’s blood on his right temple and your fingers reach up to touch what you had assumed was the source of the bleeding—but then you realize it was a scar, maybe an inch or two in length at most and completely healed. Your fingers trail up even further and venture into his hair which, as it turned out, is in fact just as soft as one would imagine. You find a small gash on his scalp and your fingers become coated in the man’s blood.

Must’ve hit himself on a rock or something.

Your hand leaves his hair and you place it on his broad chest as you begin checking him over for any other potential injuries or wounds. Slipping your opposite hand inside of his brown jacket, you lift the hem of the dark green thermal henley he’s wearing and you discover the scar on his temple isn’t the only one he possesses—he has several more, way too many for you to count on one hand alone. You’re so preoccupied with inspecting the remainder of his abdomen that you don’t even notice the way one of his hands is slowly reaching for yours, the hand that’s still resting on his chest, right over his heartbeat.

Semiconscious, the man takes your hand in his so damn gently that it startles you and takes you by surprise, but it doesn’t frighten you. Weakly, he laces his fingers together with your own and he speaks again, uttering softly, “Babygirl.”

Puzzled, your eyebrows knit together.

It almost sounds like he’s pleading.

For what—for who? For Ellie?

Is she the babygirl he’s referring to?

Your other hand moves up to his shoulder and you give it a violent shake.

Hey, you’ve got to get up now.

“H—” You try to speak the words, but can’t. They’re formed in your mind and it feels like they are right there on the very tip of your tongue, but when you open your mouth, they refuse to come out. You frown.

It’s happened before.

In the spring, you’d stumbled across a small group of people while out hunting in Idaho—it was the first time you had seen other human beings since leaving California in the fall. There had been both men and women and they even had children with them, but that did nothing to stop you from panicking when they’d approached you. One of the women cornered you, trying to tell you that they were traveling across the country to the east coast. “It’s okay,” she’d tried to tell you, holding up her hands. “We’re not bad people, I promise. We’re just trying to get to the quarantine zone in Boston. I think you should come with us, honey.”

You’d been so terrified that when you’d tried to tell her that you didn’t want to join them, you couldn’t push the words out. It felt like your voice had gotten stuck in the back of your throat. That’s how afraid you’d been.

Technically, you can speak.

You’d talk to yourself often when you were feeling lonely. You would read the books you carried in your pack out loud. Hell, you even liked to sing.

But whenever you became stressed, anxious, or scared, it would happen. You’d lose your ability to speak and to communicate—not that you had anyone to communicate with except for yourself, but that’s besides the point. No matter how hard you tried to force your vocal cords, all you could get out were quiet, strangled noises. It was as if your own fears chased your voice away and during periods when you were under extreme distress, it would take several days for you to find it again. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, whenever you used your voice back in California, it only led to the harshest of punishments.

A gunshot sounds off in the distance, snapping you out of your train of thought.

You shake the man again, harder this time.

Come on, get up! They could be coming this way!

It’s useless. He’s losing complete consciousness.

You hear another gunshot and this one sounds like it’s coming from the base of the mountain range on the other side of the trees, not all too far from where you are. For all you know, it could very well be members of his own group who are firing those weapons out there. But whether it was his group or the other man’s group, it doesn’t really fucking matter. You don’t want to run into either one of them, regardless of who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. In your eyes, everyone’s a fucking bad guy.

Yanking your hand out of his, you get to your feet and prepare to make a run for it. But just as you’re about to take off, the man mumbles one last time. It’s incoherent and barely audible, but you manage to catch that name again. Ellie.

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

For some reason you can’t quite explain, that sweet little name bounces around in the inside of your skull.

You chew the inside of your cheek anxiously.

If it’s his group out there, they’ll save him.

If it’s the other man’s group, they’ll kill him.

Normally, you’d have no problem with the idea of leaving another person to die.

After everything that happened in California, you had lost your sense of humanity. Your ability to empathize and actually give a shit about other people had been long gone—or so you’d thought. But you had just saved this man’s life and now you find yourself unwilling to run the risk of leaving him for dead. And you don’t have the slightest fucking clue as to why. He’s a stranger. He shouldn’t matter to you.

You exhale a heavy sigh of defeat.

Okay, how the fuck do I do this?

Without much time left to waste, you gather up your belongings over your shoulder and pick up his rifle, slinging the brown leather strap across your chest so the gun rests comfortably against your backside. You walk around him, lean over, and hook your arms securely underneath his. Using every ounce of physical strength you have inside of you, you start dragging him back to the cabin as fast as you possibly can.

The pretty melody fills his ears as he comes to.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby…”

Joel Miller isn’t all too sure if heaven is a real place that actually exists, but the very minute he hears the feminine voice singing, he can’t help but think he’s died and that’s exactly where he’s gone—because only an angel could possibly have a voice like that. So rich, so smooth, and oh so sickeningly sweet.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue...”

The ballad being sung is all too familiar to him.

The Wizard of Oz had been Sarah’s favorite movie back when she had been a little girl, when she was seven years old and she still believed in princesses and fairy tales and faraway lands with yellow brick roads. Even when she grew older, his daughter continued to hold a soft spot for the film and Joel would watch it with her every Thanksgiving at his parents’ house right after their dinner—it would air on cable and Sarah would beg him to let her have her slice of pecan pie while sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his old man’s television set.

“So long as you don’t make a mess on Nana and PopPop’s carpet,” he’d warn her. “Deal?”

Sarah would beam at him and nod eagerly. “Deal!”

He’d grab his own slice of pie, park it right on the couch behind her, and together they would get lost in the whimsical world of Oz, although admittedly he’d usually fall deep into his food coma long before Dorothy had the chance to make it back home to Kansas.

“Where troubles melt like lemon drops

away above the chimney tops

that’s where you’ll find me...”

The words fade and the rest of the song is now being hummed.

Goddamn, he thinks.Even the humming is too fucking beautiful.

Joel feels a cold, damp cloth dabbing at his sore right temple.

Come to think of it, everything is fucking sore.

Once, when Joel had been in his mid twenties, he had been doing some under the table roofing job with his younger brother, Tommy. It had been the hottest day of the summer in Texas, and the two of them thought having a couple cold beers with their lunch to cool off would be a good idea. The pair of them went back to work and started fucking around, goofing off like the drunk idiots they were. While horsing around, Joel accidentally stumbled right over the edge of the roof and he had fallen about fifteen feet to the ground, landing on his back on Mrs. Adler’s lawn. Luckily, he’d been okay after the fall and hadn’t sustained any serious injuries or broken any bones, but he had spent the following three to four weeks feeling like he’d been hit by a fucking Greyhound.

That’s how he felt now.

Like he’d been hit by a fucking bus. Twice. There isn’t a single part of him that isn’t pulsating with pain—his back, his shoulders, and his head. Oh god, his head feels the worst. It’s fucking killing him.

Joel’s eyelids twitch and he cracks them open ever so slightly, just enough that he can see the silhouette of another person hovering over him. He feels a hand at the crown of his head as the other continues to dab at his temple with the cool cloth. It feels incredible against his warm skin and even sort of soothes the pain.

He lets out a small groan and the humming ceases.

Finally, he manages to force his eyes open.

Joel hears a little gasp and the bed he’s lying on squeaks and shifts. He then hears a loud thumping sound as if something, or someone had fallen to the floor.

Although he’s still disoriented and his entire body aches with even the slightest movement, Joel manages to push himself up into a sitting position. Blinking rapidly, his blurred vision steadies itself after a minute and he glances around. He’s in a small, single room wooden cabin that has seen better days in its lifetime. Looking down, he sees that he’s lying on a bare, worn out mattress with his own jacket draped over him like a blanket. He racks his mildly concussed brain, trying to recollect what had happened—it takes him a minute, but one by one, the memories start flooding back to him. Joel had been leading mid morning patrol with Tommy when they had been ambushed by a large group of hostile raiders. He remembers shouting at his brother, telling him that he’d try and lead some of them off, away from the direction of their community. He’d succeeded and managed to pick off a few of the bastards that had been tailing him with his rifle, all except for one. The very last thing that he remembered was the sound of a gunshot behind him before his horse went down and he’d been thrown off and knocked out.

Everything after that was nothing but a blur.

Joel takes another look around the cabin and that’s when he sees you.

You’re on the floor, backed up against the wall near the foot of the mattress. Your eyes are wide and round, like a deer caught in the headlights. Your chest heaves, rising and falling rapidly—you remind him of a helpless, frightened animal that had been cornered by a vicious predator. You clutch the handle of a switchblade up against your chest with the blade pointing downwards, holding it so tightly in your hand that Joel can see the skin stretching tightly over your knuckles.

“Who the hell are you?” He grimaces slightly, his own voice causing his head to throb.

You don’t reply.

Joel moves onto his next question. “Where am I?”

Again, no response.

He tries again. “Are you alone?”

Silence.

Joel takes a better look at you.

You’re young. You couldn’t have been older than your late twenties, perhaps even your early thirties although that might have been a bit of a stretch. You had that look about you, one that had become all but too familiar to him in the last two decades—the exhausted appearance of someone trying to survive in the post outbreak world. Your face is tired and worn, but somehow still soft and youthful at the same time. You might have looked a little rough around the edges, but you’re still the prettiest goddamn thing he’s seen in a long, long time.

Joel speaks again. “Who are you? Where the hell are we?” When he’s met with complete silence for the fourth time, he raises an eyebrow, feeling annoyed. “You gonna fuckin’ say somethin’ or what?”

You can only stare at him, your fingers wrapped around the handle of your knife in a vice-like grip.

Joel frowns.

Are you really that fucking terrified of him?

Or perhaps you can’t hear?

Only one way to find out, he thinks to himself.

He raises his voice, asking once again, “Who are you? Where are we?”

You wince, your features twisting in discomfort.

Oh, you could fucking hear him, alright.

Joel swings his legs over the side of the mattress, his movement causing you to shrink back further against the wall, almost as if you were trying to become a part of the old, rotted wood. He holds up his two hands, demonstrating that he has no plans to move another muscle towards you. “How long have I been out?”

He tries to show some patience and gives you a minute, gives you a chance to respond, but when you say nothing, he can’t help but sigh out in frustration. Just when he’s about to force himself to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any kind of answers out of you, you lift your free hand and hold up three trembling fingers.

His stomach sinks. “Three days? I’ve been out for three fuckin’ days?”

You give him a nod so tiny and so subtle that he would’ve missed it had he blinked.

“Fuck,” Joel curses, hanging his head. He begins to spiral.

What happened to Tommy? And the others?

Did they make it out alive?

And then Ellie’s face flashes in his mind, causing the blood in his veins to run ice cold.

What could she possibly be thinking right now after he’d been missing for three whole days? Who was taking care of her and looking after her while he wasn’t there?

He needed to get back to Jackson—he needed to get back to Ellie.

He wasn’t sure how he would be able to do that if you didn’t start talking soon and answering his goddamn questions.

Lifting his head, Joel looks over at you again.

“You all by yourself?”

You hesitate, but then nod in reply. Yes.

Joel sighs, his tense shoulders relaxing. That’s a start. “Listen, I’m gonna need a little help here, alright? I don’t remember much ‘bout what happened. I’m part of a community. I was out on patrol with my group when we were attacked by raiders. There were too many of them and I tried to lead some of them away,” he explains. He might not have known what had happened after he’d been thrown off of his horse, but the fact that he’s in your cabin and he’s alive help him piece at least one part of the puzzle together. “Wait a minute. Did you—did you save me out there?”

Sucking in your bottom lip, you nod again.

Stunned, Joel’s eyebrows raise up towards his hairline. “You fuckin’ serious?” he can’t help but question in complete and utter disbelief. Skeptically, he presses, “But how? What happened out there? How did you get me here all by yourself?” His queries spill from his lips one after the other despite knowing most of them, if not all of them, would go unanswered.

You look overwhelmed by them—by him.

Figuring it’s best to take it one slow step at a time, Joel stands up and he cautiously walks over towards you. He holds out his hand. “S’alright,” he assures you in the most gentle voice he can muster. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

You refuse to loosen your grip on your knife, but you accept his hand and allow him to help you up to your feet. Given that you didn’t lodge the blade straight through his chest, Joel would say some progress had been made.

He releases your hand and takes a step backwards to give you your space. He isn’t too sure if you can’t talk or simply don’t want to talk—still thinking you’d been the woman he’d heard singing when he had drifted back into consciousness, he guesses it’s probably the latter.

Joel tries to think of questions he knows you’ll be able to answer without having to speak.

“How long have you been by yourself?”

Shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, you hold up one finger.

“Sorry darlin’ but that don’t really help me much,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Are we talkin’ one week? One month?”

You make a gesture with your hand. Keep going.

“One year?” He doesn’t bother hiding his blatant skepticism. “You’ve been completely alone for one whole year?”

You point at him. That’s right.

Joel is beside himself. He’s almost in awe over the fact that you’ve survived on your own for so fucking long.

“You got any other weapons besides that knife?”

You nod over towards a bow and sheath of arrows next to your backpack.

“You’re kiddin’ me. That’s all you’ve got?”

You narrow your eyes at him.

Hey, it’s a good weapon and it saved your fucking life, thank you very much.

“Sorry. Just can’t imagine that thing would do much against a clicker. ‘Specially if your aim is shit,” Joel muses. He notices the offended expression on your face and quickly moves on. “You don’t have a gun at all?”

You reach behind yourself and pull out a colt pistol from the waistband of your jeans. You finally set down your knife and then show him that you’re low on ammunition and don’t have any more. Tucking the gun back into your jeans, you step around him and walk over to a corner where his rifle is propped up against the wall. You pick it up, make your way back over to him and hand it over.

I believe this belongs to you.

“Thank you,” he utters quietly, taking it from you. “And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the gun, either. I honestly don’t think I’d be standin’ here alive if you hadn’t done whatever it was you did out there.” His eyes try meeting yours. “I’m serious, darlin’. I owe you one. I really fuckin’ do.”

You shrug, too timid to meet his gaze.

“I’m Joel,” he says after a minute, setting his rifle down. “What’s your name?”

You simply stare at him.

“Oh that’s right,” Joel mumbles sheepishly. “You can’t—” He stops himself, but he’s sure you know what he’d meant to say.

You can’t talk.

“You got a pencil or somethin’ to write with?”

You snort and roll your eyes at him. No, sorry. Silly me totally forgot to pick up a pack of pencils while I was out scavenging for supplies the other day.

Joel chuckles and holds up his hands in defense. “Figured it was at least worth askin’,” he says. “It’d be kinda nice to know the name of the person who saved my fuckin’ ass, you know.” He clocks the way the corners of your mouth threaten to turn upwards into a tiny smile at his remark. “How ‘bout a map? You got one of those so you can show me where we are?”

You hold up a finger, as if telling him to give you a minute. Digging into one of the front pockets of your pack, you pull out a large map of the state of Wyoming. It’s severely creased, as if you’ve folded and unfolded it hundreds of times. You hand it over to him and as he holds it out for you, you point to your current location.

“Jackson’s ‘bout fifteen miles south from here,” Joel murmurs as he scans the map. Suddenly, his dark brown eyes flicker over your wrist—the long sleeve of your thin gray shirt had hiked up, exposing severe discoloration and scarring that went all the way around, marking your skin.

Noticing where his gaze had wandered off to, you quickly retract your hand away from the map and tug your sleeve down back into place. But it’d been much too late. He had seen the mark, clear as fucking day.

Joel awkwardly clears his throat and for the sake of not causing you any discomfort, he pretends he hadn’t seen a goddamn thing. He turns his attention back to the map. “Remember how I told you I’m a part of a community? It’s in Jackson and it ain’t all too far from here,” he states, peering up at you from over the top of the map. “The town’s gated and it’s secure. You’ll be safe there. If we head out right now, we can make it there by nightfall—”

You back away from him, shaking your head.

I’m not going with you.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Look darlin’, I don’t mean to offend, but you ain’t gonna last a whole lot longer out here on your own, especially not in a place like this with winter right around the corner. If you don’t starve to death, then you’ll fuckin’ freeze to death.”

You glare at him and lift your chin.

I’ve been doing just fine on my own, thanks.

Having read your mind, Joel sighs. “Alright, fair enough. You’ve gotten this far by yourself, but that don’t mean you gotta turn down an offer for some help. Just come with me to Jackson—”

You shake your head even harder.

The last time that you had agreed to go back with a stranger to their camp, you’d been imprisoned. Tortured.

Joel observes you, and it doesn’t take him very long to connect the dots between the scars around your wrists and your refusal to leave with him. His hard, stony face softens. “Listen sweetheart, I ain’t all too sure ‘bout what’s happened to you,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But I can assure you that you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing this time around. Just come with me and I’ll prove it to you.”

You toss him a skeptical look.

“Jackson is a safe place,” he swears. “My brother runs it along with his wife and a small council. There’s families, lots of children—hell I’ve got a kid myself. Teenager. Her name is Ellie and she’s fifteen years old.”

Your lips part slightly and your eyes glimmer with something that looks a lot like recognition, though Joel can’t be too sure what had prompted it. Perhaps you’d known someone with that name once in your life.

“There’s plenty of food, running water, electricity,” he lists off in an attempt to sway you. “It’d be a shot at a normal life. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Crossing your arms, you lift your chin again.

You’d heard that before.

Why the hell should I even trust you? Why should I trust this place is what you say it is?

Joel bites back another frustrated sigh.

Normally, he wouldn’t bother to put up with such stubbornness. He wasn’t one to plead or beg and part of him almost wanted to give up so he could be on his way, but you had saved him from being killed. He owed you his fucking life. He had to get you to go with him. He wouldn’t give up until you agreed to go to Jackson with him.

“I’ll let you carry your weapons,” he offers as a compromise. “Hell, you can even walk behind me with your gun pointed at the back of my fuckin’ head if that’s gonna make you feel safest.”

You squint at him. Really?

“Or that bow of yours,” he adds, chuckling softly. “It’s your pick, darlin’. Whatever’s gonna make you feel comfortable. I’ll trust you not to shoot an arrow through the back of my skull—all I ask in return is that you at least make an attempt to trust me too. I think that’s a fair enough deal. Don’t you?”

You bite your bottom lip.

I don’t know about this.

“I really don’t wanna leave you out here all alone,” Joel says, taking a step closer towards you. He finds himself feeling surprised that it hadn’t startled you and he only hopes that means that, to some degree, you trust him already. “Please. You saved my life—and I know you probably don’t need me savin’ yours, but at least let me take you to Jackson so you can see for yourself what we’ve got goin’ on there. If you don’t like it and you don’t wanna stay, then we’ll load up your pack with food and supplies. We’ll put you on a horse and you can be on your way. You can choose to leave and no one will lift a finger to stop you, I’ll make sure of it. How does that sound?”

He waits, giving you a chance to think it over.

Finally, after a minute, you sigh and reluctantly nodd your head.

Okay. I’m gonna try and trust you.

“Good,” Joel says, softly. “Now get your stuff and let’s head out before we start losin’ daylight.”

#joel miller series #joel miller story #joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller angst #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #fic: to hell and back

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banananutsmuthie · 10 months

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The Inaugural Writer's Meow Meow Mock Draft

Ok so I had a fun hypothetical with some fellow writers. The premise being: if there was a fantasy draft of girl group idols where each pick represents who you get to call your "Meow Meow" in the writer's discord and no one else can call them that, what would be your draft strategy? Would there be a lot of biases picked first? 3rd gen? 4th gen?

One of these idols went first in the draft. Can you guess who?

So I had a handful of writers who volunteered to be a part of a mock draft. A handful of other writers opted to watch. Seems like everyone had fun, which may lead to more of these.

Here are the rules: 7-team snake draft, 10 total rounds. Any 18+ GG idol.

The draft order (randomized):

@banananutsmuthie

@usedpidemo

@sinswithpleasure

@passingnotions

@chunksworld

@capslocked

@ggidolsmuts

The draft took a little longer than 2 hours. Hit that "Keep Reading" to see the final results. Comment who's team you liked most, the biggest surprises, what other writers you'd like to see in the next one, and who you thought should've been drafted!

Team BNS

Arin [OH MY GIRL] (1st overall)

Isa [STAYC] (14)

Tzuyu [Twice] (15)

Sullyoon [NMIXX] (28)

Mina [TWICE] (29)

Somi (42)

Gaeul [IVE] (43)

Ningning [aespa] (56)

Yeri [Red Velvet] (57)

Shuhua [(G)I-DLE] (70)

Team Pi

Yujin [IVE] (2)

Wonyoung [IVE] (13)

Yunjin [LSF] (16)

Minnie [(G)I-DLE] (27)

Eunbi (30)

Jihyo [TWICE] (41)

Xiaoting [Kep1er] (44)

Rei [IVE] (55)

Seola [WJSN] (58)

Wendy [Red Velvet] (69)

Team Sins

Winter [aespa] (3)

Nayeon [TWICE] (12)

Yuna [ITZY] (17)

Yena (26)

IU (31)

Jiheon [fromis_9] (40)

Hyunjin [LOONA] (45)

Choerry [LOONA OEC] (54)

Hyeju [LOONA] (59)

Jisun [fromis_9] (68)

Team Notions

Dahyun [TWICE] (4)

Yeoreum [WJSN] (11)

Jisoo [Blackpink] (18)

Jo Yuri (25)

Chaeryeong [ITZY] (32)

Sieun [STAYC] (39)

Yuqi [(G)I-DLE] (46)

Yeojin [LOONA] (53)

Chaeyoung [fromis_9] (60)

Chaeyoung [TWICE] (67)

Team Chunk

Hanni [NewJeans] (5)

Minji [NewJeans] (10)

Miyeon [(G)I-DLE] (19)

Chaewon [LSF] (24)

Kazuha [LSF] (33)

Seoyeon [fromis_9] (38)

Ryujin [ITZY] (47)

Chaehyun [Kep1er] (52)

Eunseo [WJSN] (61)

Dayeon [Kep1er] (66)

Team Caps

Sana [TWICE] (6)

Heejin [LOONA] (9)

Sakura [LSF] (20)

Yeji [ITZY] (23)

Minju (34)

Jinsoul [LOONA OEC] (37)

Saerom [fromis_9] (48)

Irene [Red Velvet] (51)

Luda [WJSN] (62)

Taeyeon [Girl's Generation] (65)

Team ddeun

Yubin [OH MY GIRL] (7)

Seulgi [Red Velvet] (8)

Nagyung [fromis_9] (21)

Nana [woo!ah!] (22)

Youngeun [Kep1er] (35)

Sohyun [tripleS] (36)

Karina [aespa] (49)

SinB [Viviz] (50)

Yeonhee [Rocket Punch] (63)

Yein (64)

#meow meow mock draft #update

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ecargmura · 10 months

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Japanese Tales Fans Vote Their Favorite Tales Games In Recent Survey

Japanese website Net Lab has made another Tales related survey for fans to vote; the topic this time is favorite Tales games. The poll ran from June 27, 2023 to July 4, 2023 and has a total of 10, 344 votes overall.

Before I reveal the results, there are three things I want to let you know:

This is a Japan-only poll because the admins did not want overseas fans to vote due to possible illegal voting.

Fans can vote up to three games.

Please do not be vocal about the games/titles you hate or don’t particularly; if you don’t have anything nice to say, keep it to yourself.

Here are the results from 1st to 24th (I’ll add in the number of votes the game has received and a comment that pertain to the respective game translated via Google Translate and me trying to make it as cohesive in English):

Abyss - 1176 votes

Comment: Bamco, are you seeing this? I’m forever waiting on a full remake of Abyss.

2. Vesperia - 1035 votes

Comment: My favorite is Tales of Vesperia. My first Tales game was Legendia, but Vesperia is the first one I’ve cleared. The Switch version is super packed and I have beaten the secret boss. I had a super hard time with that boss battle. I love Yuri so much.

3. Zestiria - 983 votes

Comment: It’s been a long time since I graduated from the Tales series, but Zestiria made me want to come back. There may be times where I feel unreasonable, but I’ve come to like this work, including that “do-it-yourself” thing. I really like it.

4. Symphonia - 962 votes

Comment: Before I played the first 3D game, I was a little worried, but when I opened the lid, I was hooked on the perfection that surpassed the previous work. I love the characters, the story, the music and the system.

5. Phantasia - 701 votes

Comment: For me, it’s Phantasia, which I played for the first time and became the most memorable. I want it to have a remake like Destiny.

6. Eternia - 693 votes

Comment: One vote for Eternia with a smooth battle system!

7. Destiny - 601 votes

Comment: Just remembering that scene with Leon breaks my heart. My favorite work of all time. I want to play again, so I’ll be waiting for a port!

8. Berseria - 529 votes

Comment: Because the first game I played was Tales of Berseria, I got hooked onto Velvet.

9. Graces F - 528 votes

10. Xillia 2 — 508 votes

11. Destiny 2 - 456 votes

12. Arise - 367 votes

13. Rebirth - 311 votes

Comment: I love Rebirth’s battle system and characters so much!

14. Legendia - 294 votes

Comment: Legendia, when will you get a remake or a port? I’ve been waiting…

15. Xillia - 176 votes

16. Luminaria - 171 votes

Comment: Luminaria is the best! I want to see the continuation someday!

17. Innocence R - 168 votes (tied)

Comment: Tales of Innocence (DS version) makes me want to play regularly. A work that I love and value so much that I lose my vocabulary.

17. Dawn of the New World - 168 votes (tied)

19. Crestoria - 148 votes

20. Hearts R - 134 votes

Comment: Tales of Hearts for DS is my favorite work, not the remake version of Hearts R.

21. Narikiri Dungeon - 91 votes

22. Others - 68 votes

I’ve seen people say “Radiant Mythology series”, “Asteria”, “Versus” “Link”, “The Rays” and “Warheit”.

23. Tempest - 56 votes

Comment: I will always love Tempest. Please remake it.

24 - Summoner’s Lineage - 20 votes

What are your thoughts about the results?

What is your favorite Tales game? Let us know in the comments below!

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lixzey · 3 months

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the start of everything

note: starts in 2016, where they are both 14.

1: young half bloods

2: newbie

3: luke castellan learns a valuable lesson (he gets distracted, most of the time)

4: Annabeth attends a fashion show (and realizes it isn’t for her)

5: capture the flag (and her attention, if possible)

6: strawberry fields, wildflowers, and annoying boys

7: prank wars and unsuspecting victims

8: punishments and prayers

9: luke, the big stupid idiot

10: Oh, I don't know why she's just my type

11: Stay away from me. Don’t look at me. Don’t even breathe the same air as me.

12: I can't believe that I have to put up with your annoying face all year.

13: snowball fight, cabin ten versus cabin eleven

14: the more you hate, the more you love

15: capture the flag: luke led us to victory!

16: smores and chores

17: cheeseburgers and barbies

18: to charm the charmer

19: luke tries forging, gardening, and poetry (failing miserably)

20: pleas, bargains, and bets

21: She doesn’t like surprises. Do you really want another black eye?

becoming friends and more

22: a letter from dear old daddy

23: daddy issues ft mommy issues

24: hide and seek with the harpies

25: your house is haunted

26: somehow, he knew

27: nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter

28: christmas getaways, new york city, and secret glances

29: new years, new beginnings

30: back to camp

31: sparring, smiles, and sweet talks

32: a field trip to olympus and look alikes

33: my girl

34: moonlight rendezvous

35: steal my girl

36: a picnic and eavesdropping siblings

37: grouchy

38: she is beauty, she is grace, and she will punch you in the face

39: Maya starts junior year

40: you?

41: popcorn, movies, and slushies

42: I’m a feminist, obviously. But, I wouldn’t really mind him savin’ me and I know that I’m fine without a man but I think I would like his protection.

43: sweet sixteen

44: with you I'd dance in a storm, in my best dress, fearless

45: hot cocoa, longing glances, and mistletoes

46: wanna bet?

47: school is boring, wanna go somewhere?

48: camp

49: rumor has it

50: the best swordsman at camp and a furious maya williams

51: i’ve never heard silence quite this loud

52: capture the flag: a great way to destress - cabin five, probably

53: thin white lies

54: that brainless idiot

55: jealousy, jealousy

56: patience wearing thin

57: oblivious idiots and chris gets twenty drachmas richer

58: confrontation drama

59: You are in love!

60: stupid cupid, stop picking on me!

61: everyone wants him, that was my crime

62: I'm so in love with you and I hope you know

63: give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around

64: interventions, stubborn idiots, and annoying siblings

65: somebody to you

66: don’t take it personal, but personally you’d be better with somebody like me

67: i think it’s time i lay my heart out on the line

established relationship:

68: i once believed love would be black and white, but it’s golden

69: in a world of boys, he’s a gentleman

70: you with the dark curls, you with the watercolor eyes

71: take a look at my girlfriend, she’s the only one i got

72: to be young and in love in new york city

73: fight so dirty, but you love so sweet.

74: Luke, the lovesick idiot

75: your hand fits in mine like it’s made just for me

76: promises sealed with a kiss under the velvet sky

77: golden apples and worries

78: pain of words

79: quest blues

80: iris messages and nightmares

81: stupid quest, stupid apples, stupid dragon

82: birthday blues and special surprises

83: i fell in love with a careless man’s careful daughter

84: darkness inside

85: christmas traditions

86: i want to wear his initial on a chain ‘round my neck

87: devil in disguise

88: all of the city lights never shine as bright as your eyes

89: i love the way you’re screaming my name

90: valentines day

91: some days, you're the best thing in my life. sometimes when I look at you, i see my wife

92: love languages

93: demigod pick up service

94: across my memory

95: monsters

96: four walls and a roof

97: closets and radios

98: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cookies, and kool aid

99: pent up anger

100: dance around the living room, lose me in the sight of you

101: on with the quest

102: Drew

103: all i did is try my best, this the kind of thanks i get?

104: only an angel, never a god

105: and in the middle of my chaos, there was you

106: touch her and i’ll break your neck

107: if anybody hurts you, i’m going to prison for life

108: legal age, baby!

109: I can't keep my hands to myself. I mean I could, but why would I want to?

110: prom dances and birthday cakes

111: I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

112: big blue house

113: great to be back

114: peace and quiet

115: orders from the pit

116: makeshift prom

117: Can I have this dance?

118: handsome, you’re a mansion with a view

119: cockblockers—nope, I mean kids.

120: amorous activities in the armory

121: suspiciously quiet

122: Happy birthday! You can finally get arrested!

123: the winter solstice

124: meddling cocky son of a bitch

125: don’t be suspicious.

126: nightmares

127: if you’re tired, you can lay your head on my lap

128: lazy day, cuddles, and kisses

129: she looks so perfect

130: until we’re gray and old

131: just normal days

132: A prophecy

taglist:

@mischiefmoons @lilmaymayy @iliketopgun @pleasingregulus

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hadesisqueer · 8 months

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Okay, since I am extremely bored, I am doing the second edition of the RWBY Hottest Character Poll. A few characters are different from the first one; for example, Oobleck isn't on this one, and I don't think Jinn was in the first one but she's in the second one.

Anyway.

List of Characters:

1) Blake Belladonna

2) Yang Xiao Long

3) Weiss Schnee

4) Jaune Arc

5) Nora Valkyrie

6) Lie Ren

7) Ambrosius

8) Qrow Branwen

9) Raven Branwen

10) Young María Calavera

11) Coco Adel

12) Velvet Scarlatina

13) Yatsuhashi Daichi

14) Fox Alistair

15) Neopolitan

16) Roman Torchwick

17) Cinder Fall

18) Emerald Sustrai

19) Mercury Black

20) Salem

21) Ozpin

22) OG Ozma

23) James Ironwood

24) Winter Schnee

25) Pyrrha Nikos

26) Kali Belladonna

27) Ghira Belladonna

28) Sun Wukong

29) Neptune Vasilias

30) Marrow Amin

31) Taiyang Xiao Long

32) Harriet Bree

33) Sienna Khan

34) Clover Ebi

35) Scarlet David

36) Nolan Porfirio

37) Amber

38) Vine Zeki

39) Elm Ederne

40) Jacques Schnee

41) Adam Taurus

42) Ilia Amitola

43) Saphron Cotta-Arc

44) Terra Cotta-Arc

45) Jinn

46) Summer Rose

47) Caroline Cordovin

48) Sage Ayana

49) Tyrian Callows

50) Arthur Watts

51) Robyn Hill

52) May Marigold

53) Fionna Thyme

54) Joanna Greenleaf

55) Hazel Rainart

56) Klein Sieben

57) Willow Schnee

58) Neon Katt

59) Vernal

60) Flynt Coal

61) Glynda Goodwitch

62) Leonardo Lionheart

63) Rhodes

64) Blacksmith Lady

Obviously, just like in the first one, I didn't add underage characters such as Ruby, Oscar or Whitley. Pyrrha is there because since her confirmed birthday was on April and the Vytal Festival took place in the Fall, then she had most likely turned 18 by volume 3.

I randomized all the pairs, but still I made sure most guys were with other guys because considering how gay this fandom is, all the guys would be out of the poll in the first round if they were against women.

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rosanacafe · 2 years

Video

flickr

Delicious Red por Rosana Por Flickr: For Smile on Saturday: "Berries & Cherries" Lensbaby Velvet 56

#Lensbaby #Nikon Z6 #Smile on Saturday #Still Life #Velvet 56 #berries & cherries #currants #food #fruits #kitchen #red #red berries #textured #flickr

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chic-a-gigot · 1 year

Photo

La Mode illustrée, no. 11, 17 mars 1862, Paris. Toilettes de mme Vignon Chauvin, 182 rue de Rivoli. Lingerie de la Mon LeBorgne et Henneveu (Ancne Mon Dupont) Rue du Bac, 56. Coiffures par Mr Croisat, 76, r. de Richelieu. Ameublements et Bronzes de la Mon de Commission Générale, 53 rue d'Hauteville. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

Description de toilettes:

Toilette de jeune fille. — Robe en tarlatane blanche. À 10 centimètres du bord de la jupe, deux bouillonnés en tarlatane s'entrelacent, en formant une grecque double. Cette garniture est répétée à 10 centimètres de distance de la première; une deuxième robe en tarlatane, à bords festonnés, recouvre la première, sans être tout à fait aussi longue; le bord'festonné retombe à 6 centimètres environ du bord de la première robe.

Corsage décolleté, garni d'une berthe à grecque double, pareille à celles de la robe; manches très-courtes, composées d'un seul bouillonné. Coiffure: bandeaux-coques, dégageant le front et l'oreille; guirlande diadème en feuillage.

Robe en crêpe blanc. — Le bas de la jupe est garni avec cinq petits volants tuyautés, à larges plis; chacun de ces volants est bordé par deux rangs de ruban de velours zéro, couleur mauve; au-dessus de ces cinq petits volants, qui couvrent un espace de 33 centimètres environ, sont placés trois grands volants en dentelle noire non espacés, une large écharpe en velours mauve, dont les côtés forment une sorte de treillage, est placée sur le côté gauche; un dessin de grecque, exécuté en soie blanche, encadre l'écharpe, qui est terminée par une large frange de chenille.

Corsage décolleté, à draperie recouverte d'un volant de dentelle noire, surmonté d'un ruban de velours mauve, orné d'une grecque. Nœud de corsage et nœuds d'épaules également en velours mauve, terminés par une frange de chenille. Coiffure composée de bandeaux relevés sur des nattes. Diadème et bouquet de chignon, composés de touffes de violettes.

—

Girl's ensemble. — White tarlatan dress. 10 centimeters from the edge of the skirt, two tarlatan swirls intertwine, forming a double fretboard. This filling is repeated 10 centimeters from the first; a second tarlatan dress, with scalloped edges, covers the first, without being quite as long; the scalloped edge falls about 6 centimeters from the edge of the first robe.

Low-cut bodice, trimmed with a double Grecian band, similar to those of the dress; very short sleeves, composed of a single bubble. Hairstyle: headbands, revealing the forehead and the ear; foliage tiara garland.

White crepe dress. — The bottom of the skirt is trimmed with five small fluted flounces, with wide pleats; each of these ruffles is bordered by two rows of zero velvet ribbon, mauve color; above these five small ruffles, which cover a space of about 33 centimeters, are placed three large unspaced black lace ruffles, a wide mauve velvet scarf, the sides of which form a sort of trellis, is placed on the left side; a Greek design, executed in white silk, frames the scarf, which is finished with a wide fringe of chenille.

Low-cut bodice, with drapery covered with a flounce of black lace, topped with a mauve velvet ribbon, adorned with a Greek key. Bodice bow and shoulder bows also in mauve velvet, finished with a chenille fringe. Hairstyle composed of headbands raised on mats. Tiara and chignon bouquet, composed of tufts of violets.

#La Mode illustrée #19th century #1860s #1862 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #color #description #Forney #dress #Modèles de chez #Madame Vignon-Chauvin #Monsieur Croisat #Leborgne et Henneveu

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nonobadcat · 10 months

Text

For @oklolnoty

Down the Rabbit Hole - Five Chapters - 20k words - Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Rabbit Quirk Female Reader

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Rating: 18+ readers only - Minors DNI

Whole story TW: Noncon, yandere with kidnapping, severe quirk based discrimination, binge drinking, canon typical threats of violence (reader directed), canon typical death (nonreader directed), oral (give/receive), PnV (doggie), breeding, and expensive designer clothing everywhere.

Chapter 3: Choice - 4.1k words

TW: Oral (giving), mentions of quirk discrimination, non-con in entertainment media, and sexual harassment

At exactly 1:56 PM, you turned the corner from the main street onto a wide, concrete alley. Low, overcast ceilings hovered down around tall, glossy buildings. Vermillion hues, a product of human smog more than mother nature, washed the bottom of the clouds. From below the eaves of a grey high rise, a pair of narrow eyes, the same color as the sky, glared at you.

Shigaraki kicked off the hard wall, scratching his neck. “Aren’t you supposed to say something like: ‘Sorry, did I keep you waiting?’”

You hiked your bow-studded messenger back over your shoulder and sauntered to his side. Wrapping your hands around his arm, you smirked at him. “Why? I’m not sorry and I didn’t keep you waiting.”

Tomura stiffened. “What are you doing?!”

Huh… That reaction? At his age? Guess his mentor sent him to the hostess bar for a good reason.

You clamped down on him and sneered. “It’s 13°C and I’m in yoga pants. Shut up and be grateful for the view.”

Shigaraki’s gaze raked over your outfit. Tactically unzipped to the perfect level, the oversized hoodie gaped open to reveal a grey, ribbed tank almost as touchable as your ears. Its plunging neckline promised more cleavage than it delivered but the way it hugged your tits more than made up for the tease. The yoga pants in question smoothed your thighs and butt into sculpted perfection. Chunky, black sneakers with rhinestone accents added a girlish kick to the casual clothing. Taking a page from Lola Bunny, you wrapped your lop ears high on your head in a velvet bow.

“Hot, right?" you taunted. "It's too bad the club has a formal dress code. I think I causal-up really cute."

He scoffed.

You tugged his arm. "Third floor. Come on."

You dragged your date across the bland, grimey tile and past the money exchange service. A short ride up the cramped elevator carried you to the third floor. The bright, blue and red sign proclaimed “24 hours/365 days a year”. Beyond fingerprint-pocked glass doors lay the hidden depths of “MyStyle Manga Cafe”. You strolled in and dug your membership card out of your bag.

“I have a reservation for the VIP flatbed pair suite.”

The balding middle age manager scanned your card before handing you a ticket. “Room ten, just next to the copier. Payment is due when you leave.”

You nodded, tugging your victim's arm. Cherry flavored lips brushed against his ear. “I got the one with the locking door. It costs a little more, but you don’t mind paying for the upgrade, right, Tomura?"

Your date inhaled as if he’d been shot in the leg.

Oh. This was going to be fun.

Only about eight steps from the check-in desk, room ten was a cramped space, barely big enough for two adults. You flopped onto the thick, black floor pads and shoved the foam-stuffed pillow chair aside. The lock clicked from behind. New weight shifted the mat beside you. You rifled through your bag, humming the “item get” tune from Zelda as you produced a cheap USB drive. Within seconds, a pop colored menu burst to life on the computer screen.

“Animal Attraction: Tails of Love!” five different girls cried out from the crackling speakers.

Red eyes narrowed. “What is that?”

“You wanted the real me, right? Today, extra special for your royal pain-in-my-tail, I’m giving you the side I don’t show clients.” You held out a pair of cheap, padded headphones to him and flashed him a crooked smile. “Chase the cat girl, and I will claw your eyes out.”

A few hours later, a fluffy, white haired girl with blazing red eyes and tall rabbit ears stood at the back of an empty lecture hall. She picked at the heart shaped buttons of her pink sundress, refusing to look the player in the eye.

‘The truth is… the professor makes me feel uncomfortable,’ she explained, shifting nervously in her strappy sandals.' ‘Why? Did he do something?’ the player replied. She shook her head. ‘No. Not really. I mean, maybe I’m just imagining it but it just feels wrong. It makes my hair prickle and my stomach hurt when I’m around him.’ Fat tears welled at her pale lash line. ‘He asked me to go to his office hours today to discuss my grades but I... I just… I don’t know. I can’t put it into words.”

Choice:

Calm down. You’re just imagining things.

Your grades are fine, right? Just skip the office hours.

If he makes you uncomfortable, I’ll go with you.

Tomura clicked option 3.

‘Oh no!’ she protested. ‘He hasn’t done anything. I swear.’ Chewing her soft lips, she began to shake. She forced a smile. ‘Anyway, I’m sure I’m just being stupid. I’m sorry to have worried you over nothing.’ As she turned to bolt, the player grabbed her arm. 'Don’t say that about yourself! You’re not stupid!' Hard teeth bit quivering lips. Her nostrils flared. All at once her beautiful face contorted into pure pain. The camera panned high. A detailed CG filled the screen. Crumpled into her thighs, the heroine wailed at the top of her lungs. ‘I know I’m not! Everyone thinks I am just because I’m a bunny girl!’ she shrieked, grabbing at her ears. ‘I’m so sick of it. Day in, day out it’s ‘Smile for me sweetie. You’re so much prettier when you smile’ and ‘wow… isn’t a bachelor’s degree kinda hard for you?’ and ‘You want to join our club? No problem. Why don’t you grab us some drinks and you can sit here so everyone can see you?’' Twin fists slammed hard against the tile. ‘I’M A PERSON, NOT A MASCOT.’ The player kneeled beside her, their hand hovering for a moment before they pulled it away. “That sounds rough.” ‘It is rough,’ she agreed, fumbling for her abandoned purse. The player held out their hand towel. ‘Here.’ Watery eyes stared up at the player. ‘Look,’ the player continued. ‘You really aren’t stupid. If you say something is wrong then something is wrong. Even if you don’t want me to come, don’t go by yourself.’ She took the towel with a bright smile and shook her head. ‘No. I want you.’ Red eyes slipped shut as she buried her nose in the terry cloth. ‘I trust you, Tomura.’

Beside you on the floor, the real Tomura sneered. “100% guarantee the professor is a perv.”

You hummed, resting your head on his shoulder.

His body went rigid.

“Something wrong?”

He coughed, tilting his legs so that his lap remained hidden. “It’s a pretty lame plot device. She should just drop-kick him through a window. Problem solved.”

You clicked your tongue. “It’s not that easy. She’s a senior in college and he manages her internship. If she makes him mad, her chances for getting a reference go up in flames.”

Boney fingers raked his neck. “That’s a load of crap.”

“But realistic,” you argued with a finger wag. “Despite being an indie project, the game got really good reviews specifically because the bunny girl route was such a realistic portrayal of sexual harassment.” A dark shadow filled your face. “Though there were some complaints.”

“Such as?”

Your eye twitched. “Apparently, the bad end wasn’t bad enough. If the player tells her to calm down, she quits school and leaves town, never to contact them again. Several reviewers insisted the professor should have on-camera raped her to really drive the point home that sexual harassment is bad.”

“...so they wanted to watch her get raped so they could whine about how rape is bad?”

“Yup,” you explained, flipping down onto the mat.

“That’s stupid.”

You laughed. “I know, right?! You need to just own your kink at that point! Don’t pretend you don’t like it just to feel morally superior.”

“You wrote this, didn’t you?”

“Oh no, no, no. I wrote AND coded it.” You slapped the computer and pointed to your head. “There’s more than good hair between these ears.”

“Good hair or good hare?”

“Hares are not the same as rabbits,” you reminded him.

Tomura snorted. “Okay. Okay. I got it.”

“You better!” You shoved his shoulder. “I have no interest in stupid guys.”

He stared down his nose at you. “So why play dumb yourself?”

“No matter what they claim, people have expectations based on appearances,” you muttered with a frown. “A hostess is selling a fantasy. Turns out customers don’t fantasize about smart bunny babes.”

“They should.”

You flashed him a coy grin. “Are you saying I’m not so boring now?”

He scoffed and turned his head, but you caught the pink tinge at the tip of his ears. You hummed knowingly. He scowled and pointed at the screen.

“Why even work as a hostess if you can do this? Was the pay crap or something?”

"No one wanted me."

Tomura raised a peeling brow. "Huh?"

"Well, not for my brains anyway," you huffed, crossing your arms. "One look at my bunny ears and suddenly everything on my resume might as well have read, 'S class whore'. Women whispered behind my back and men kept staring at my tits. No one bothered to hear what I had to say."

Tomura glanced back at the screen. Shining with tears, the bunny girl in the game peered at him from above her declaration of affection. His eyes rolled back to you. "So when did you make the game?"

"College, during my internship." You scowled. "Didn't go so well in the end either."

"The professor?"

You shook your head. "Two 'friends'. One kept demanding I write stuff about heat cycles in the bunny girl route to 'spice it up'. Bunnies don't have heat cycles. They have receptive periods. I tried to explain and he told me I was just being nit picky."

"Receptive periods?"

"Bunnies and cats are induced ovulators, meaning mating causes ovulation. Cats go through a period where they are super horny called a heat. They'd bang anything," you explained, jabbing a finger at the screen. "Female bunnies just become more tolerant of mating for a few days a month called a receptive period. They don’t crave it. It's totally different!"

"And outside that period they claw your eyes out?" he teased.

"Google it if you're so curious."

"So what happened with the other 'friend'?"

“He backed me… At least until I told he figured out I wasn’t just a pussy-machine that you put kindness coins in until it dispensed sex. Then he sided with the other guy.” You pulled your knees to your chin. “I don’t like shallow guys like that, so it wasn’t much of a loss.”

Dry lips pinched into a thin line.

A mischievous glint sparked in your eye. “Aw… not going to ask me what type of guy I do like?”

He scratched his neck, turning back to the game.

“Now who’s boring,” you muttered, pressing your cheek to his boney shoulder.

Mechanically, Tomura tapped through the dialogue line by line until the two characters reached the professor’s office. The love interest knocked twice and fixed her companion with a nervous smile before slipping inside. Listening at the door, the player was privy to only half the words shared between the two.

“...concerned for you… Your grades are...” “...doing my best!” “...under a lot of stress.”

Chapped lips quirked into a cruel smile. “Bad flag.”

“Professor! What are you doing!” “...calm down. Just let me—” “No!” THUD.

Tomura whistled. “That escalated quickly.”

You winced at the choices. “This is one of the parts where we got into a debate about the ‘true ending’.”

Choice:

Open the door

Make some noise

Leave. This is not your job.

He tapped the quick save in the top corner. “Two arbitrary choices and an obvious bad end? Pretty typical to me.” He clicked the first option.

The door knob refused to budge.

He save-scummed and clicked the second option.

No one inside the room heard a word.

“Oh.”

You crossed your arms. “The other developers thought the best way to win her heart was to go all ‘hero to the rescue’. However, if you were to do that, she won’t get a reference for a job.”

Red eyes shifted from you to the screen. With two taps, he quick-loaded the choice again. “Don’t be heroic, huh?” He sneered. “I like it.”

Tomura tapped the last box.

The player headed down the hallway, and around the corner. One screen shake later, they found themselves face first in the Dean of Students’ chest. Armed with an authority figure and a set of skeleton keys, the player returned to the scene of the crime. “You lead me on, you little slut!” “No! I swear I didn’t—” “You want to pass this class, right?” “Please don’t!” “Shut up and just—” The Dean shoved his keys into the lock before throwing open the door. “What on earth is going on here?!” Within seconds, the love interest threw herself into the player’s chest. “T-Tomura. I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Work smarter, not harder,” you cheered.

“Chcc…” Brittle nails raked his scabbed neck as he clicked into the next scene.

Down a long, winding side street, the player walked their love interest back to her home. When they reached the gate, she paused for a moment, digging her toe into the chipping sidewalk. Orange light streamed through the fluffy purple clouds. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at the player from under long lashes. "You walked me so far just so I wouldn't be scared." A warm flush flittered over her button nose. "Would you… would you like to come in for a snack before you go home?"

Choice:

I'm not hungry.

Sure.

A manicured hand slapped Tomura on the back so hard he jolted forward. Your claws pointed to the second choice as you cheered. "GET SOME, PLAYER!"

Tomura stuck his pinky in his ear, jiggling it to clear out the ringing noise. "Could you be a little more loud?!" he muttered, selecting the latter option.

You hummed and rolled your eyes.

On screen, the player followed their love interest up a short flight of stairs to a violently feminine bedroom. Pink polka dots and chubby cartoon carrots splattered the bedspread like some sort of kawaii-pox. Impractically sheer curtains provided no privacy from the tall windows. Taking a seat on the heart-studded floor cushions, the player listened as nervous rambling poured from their love interest’s lips. “—could get you some tea if you want? You know, like green tea? You like green tea right? Oh, wait, you might prefer barley… Do you? I don’t know if I have barley but I could go get some really quick from the convenience stor— er… oh… but that’d be rude to leave you alone since there isn’t anyone here right now.” She flushed pink from head to toe, furiously waving her hands. “Not that I planned it like that or anything! I mean… well… maybe I did but it wasn’t for that reason, I swear! I just have something to tell you and it was too embarrassing to say in front of people. Oh crap! No wait! No! I mean, I’m not embarrassed by you or anything! I-I’m just not confident in myself!” She melted into her palms, steam pouring from her ears. “Ohmigosh what am I even saying?!” Confused silence was her only reply. A low thumping vibrated from the speakers. The girl quickly gripped her long leg, forcing it to stop tapping the ground. Red eyes looked everywhere but on the screen. Glossy lips trembled. “I… I’m in love with you!” she blurted out, clipping the old speakers.

Choice:

I love you too

I prefer cat girls

The mouse hovered over the second option for a moment.

“You’re horrible!” you laughed, elbowing him in the rib.

He sneered at you before clicking the first line.

“Tomura… Can I… Could I kiss you?”

A gentle pop smack popped from the speakers.

“M-maybe… just one more?”

Small tongue clicks matched with a well timed lip bite, kept the IRL Tomura’s eyes glued to the screen.You reached for your purse.

“One more?” she begged, her voice raspy with need.

Tomura shifted, tugging at his pants. The back of your hand grazed his thigh. He didn’t budge. Satisfaction filled your stomach. You leaned in for the kill.

On screen, an erotic CG filled the screen complete with a covert cleavage shot and animated drool pooling at the corner of plush lips. Wet sucking noises split the needy whining. “Ah… Tomura… I feel so hot.”

“Ah… Tomura… I feel so hot.”

Your prey jolted as dual bunny girls echoed in his ears. His head snapped to you. You smirked at him and cupped his thigh.

His breath hitched.

Peering at him from below your lashes, you shuffled to your knees.

“What—” he gulped, leaning away “—are you doing?”

Your moist tongue flicked out, tasting your cherry lip balm. “That depends.”

Red eyes flashed to your lips. “On what?”

You chuckled, angling your chest until your top gaped open. Manicured nails dragged down bare skin into the valley between your breasts. “How much do you want?”

“How much of what?”

A fake, high pitched giggle rapidly devolved into a sensual sigh. Your lips grazed his ear. Warm breath tickled his cheek. “Of the truth?”

The mouse hit the floor mat with a soft pap.

“Like all truths, there’s a pretty part and an ugly part.” Walking your fingers up his thigh, you pressed onward with your tease. “The pretty part is I always wanted to try something like this with my boyfriend.” With a nod to the computer screen, you nuzzled baby blue locks from the edge of his jaw. “But of all the guys I’ve dated, you're the only one I know is nasty enough to be down for it.”

You snapped the button on his jeans open. He groaned.

“Neh. Tomura. You know that hostesses can get fired if they sleep with their clients, right?”

His zipper fell. Your hand slipped below his elastic band. Warm sweat beaded in the pile of wiry, pale curls. You combed lower. Something firm jumped at your touch.

“After all, men pay for the chase. If they catch you, they have no reason to come back. No club wants a hostess that loses clients.”

Tomura’s eyes lulled into his lids as you wormed your way down the shaft. More on instinct than rationale, he leaned into the cushion behind him and arched his hips. Little by little you wiggled him loose from the confines of stretch denim and into the cool air. Musky arousal left a sticky trail up your palm.

“But the ugly truth is I don’t want you to come back. You cause too much trouble, crusty boy.”

Crinkling foil caused his eyes to drift open. You wagged the pink rubber in front of his face, before lowering it to his weeping, red head. Gripping his thigh for balance, you leaned down and wrapped your mouth over the strawberry flavored plastic. You tongued it down his shaft. He gasped.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Tomura.”

He squinted down at you through watery eyes.

With a smirk, you nodded to the screen. “Keep going.”

Click.

“T-tomura… Ah! Wait! When you touch me like that I—!”

Keeping your lips tucked over your teeth, you teased down with pressure, making him fight you just enough to squeeze into your mouth. One hand cupped his shaft as your fingers made a firm ring. The other slipped lower, gently threading his balls between your rolling digits.

He moaned, closing his eyes.

You popped off his cock, giving him a long stroke. “Keep going.”

Click.

“Ah… Your tongue! Hah… so wet. **gulp** It’s so different from when I— ngnn!”

You tugged his shirt and caught his gaze. Your tongue fanned wide, taking a languid taste of artificial strawberry. Saliva pooled at the tip before dripping onto him. With rapt attention, he watched the droplet wind its way between every crease of the condom. When it bulged over the rolled rim, his cock throbbed against your mouth.

Click.

“—feels so hot.”

You plunged down over his length, sucking in your cheeks.

Click.

“M-my brain is kinda… ahhhhh… mu-shy…”

Angling him for mid-throat, you pressed on until coarse hair tickled your nose.

Click.

“Just like that! Ohmigosh Tomura I need—”

Who knew crusty boy was packing a good cock? Not some hentai-worthy pussy destroyer or anything but the curve would have been nice to ride. Too bad the girth made your jaw ache.

Click.

“Tomura. Oh, Tomura. Right there! Please. Hah. S-so close.”

She wasn’t the only one. Half of Tomura’s hand clamped down on your skull. Sharp nails pricked your scalp as he curled most of his fingers into your hair. Insistent tugs set a punishing pace. Your neck burned. Salty snot dripped from your nose. A stream of garbled cuss words slipped from his lips.

Click.

“—gonna! Mmmm gonna—!”

As the screen flashed white, Tomura stuffed you into his crotch. His swollen head pressed hard into your tender throat. You gagged. He groaned. Cum-filled condom ballooned at the back of your tongue. You jerked your head to the side, trying to free yourself.

He ripped his hand away. “Don’t do that!” he snapped.

Hacking into your fist, you glared at him. “Then d-coughcough-n’t choke me, moron!”

Beady eyes narrowed. He grabbed your shoulder and wrapped his legs around your thigh. The world flipped. Your head collided with the hard mat. Vision spinning, you coughed again through painful tears. Tomura snatched up the torn wrapper, dangling it over your chest.

“Watch,” he commanded.

One at a time, he brought his fingers down onto the pink foil. After four exaggerated pinches, nothing appeared to change. You opened your mouth to tell him off just as all five fingers touched the packet. All at once, dry ash fluttered through the air. Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Welp, that explained why he seemed so touch starved.

“Understand now?!” His hard fist smacked the padding beside your head. “I could have killed you, idiot!”

Between a tight throat and breathless lungs, no words could escape. Ice snaked through your veins. For the first time in a long time, terror rippled across your skin like a shock from a cattle prod. You swallowed, sniffing back tears.

With a deep breath, Tomura rolled off of you and shuffled away. He picked at the drooping plastic like a child picks at bell peppers. Cracking lips pouted. “How do I get this thing off?”

“O-oh…” You shoved off the mat and kneeled beside him. “Here. Let me—”

When your hand bumped his, every hair on your body prickled.

He pulled his arm away and averted his gaze. “Whatever. Don’t force yourself.

You grunted before lunging for his lap. One hand caught his jaw. The other circled his now drooping cock. You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before turning him to watch.

“Not uh. Not until you understand.”

Centimeter by centimeter, you carefully dragged the condom free. Your fingers brushed his weeping tip. It jumped from the contact. The hand on his face trailed down his chest, following every dip until it bumped its twin. Three deft twists and a tight knot secured the payload. You swung it back and forth from your fingers and fixed him with a sultry grin.

“Don’t tell a professional how to do her job,” you warned.

Tossing the condom over your shoulder, you wrenched his face to yours and locked him in a blazing kiss. His eyes bulged. Your knee slipped between his as your tongue dove through his defenses. Nip after nip, you coaxed him into your clutches.

A low groan vibrated from his chest. His hands slid up your hips.The hair on your neck prickled. You ignored it, pressing slow, sensual affections deep into his skin. A whiff of your perfume slipped by your nose. Something twitched against your pants. Your toothy grin pricked his chapped lips.

Got him.

Careful to peel away rather than pull, you scooped up your bag and the evidence of your little ploy. Through heaving pants, he shot you a pointed look. You nodded to the computer clock. It read a quarter to nine.

“I have another arrangement at nine thirty, so I have to get dressed. Make sure you clear out by midnight or they’ll charge you extra.” You nudged his now swollen cock with the tip of your toe. He shivered. Manicured nails clacked on the door handle. “Hope the rest of your night is less boring—” You flashed him a wink. “—Tomura. ❤”

You swung your hips and strutted away.

Violent curses chased you down the hall.

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Next Chapter Expected: July 30th, 2023

Expected Completion Date: Mid-Aug 2023

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misunhye · 5 months

Text

MY FIRST AND LAST

LINES

MY FIRST AND LAST

책에 적힌 글자들이 현실이 돼

가슴이 곧 터져 버릴 것 같아 [ 0:39 — 0:46 ]

Let me talk about love [ 1:14 ]

Yeah I’m talking to you [ 1:16 ]

알딸딸한 게 뭔지 난 아직 모르지만

너에게 취한 것 같아 [ 1:50 — 1:56 ]

(HAECHAN/MISUN] 넌 나의 나의 마지막 [ 3:04 — 3:05 ]

(HAECHAN/MISUN] 넌 나의 나의 마지막 [ 3:14 — 3:15 ]

DUNK SHOT

덩크슛 한 번 할 수 있다면

내 평생 단 한 번만이라도 [ 0:59 — 1:07 ]

덩크슛 한 번 할 수 있다면

내 평생 단 한 번만이라도

얼마나 짜릿한 [ 2:07 — 2:18 ]

It’s a dunk shot [ 2:42 ]

덩크슛 한 번 할 수 있다면

내 평생 단 한 번만이라도

얼마나 짜릿한 그 기분을 느낄까 [ 2:59 — 3:18 ]

LOOKBOOK

PHOTOCARD

Misun

thank you for the support. I appreciate all of you.

HIGHLIGHTS

oh GOD

this was the WORST era for rory

actually second worst right after we go up but we'll get into that later

she absolutely hated it for one reason:

jaemin wasn't there

she was absolutely heartbroken when they told the group he had to go on hiatus for his herniated disc

they obviously didnt show it on camera but her and jaemin were very close

he would always cheer her up

she was just not feeling this era

she talked probably even less than chewing gum

at least in chewing gum, jaemin would encourage her to speak up

the other members tried too, but it was always him who made her feel best

she’d catch herself playing with the boys and being happy and then she remembers and gets sad

she feels bad that shes enjoying herself when jaemin cant be there

she’s down for most of this era :( jaemin had to end up talking to her to reassure her (and himself) that he would come back and they’d be eight again

okay anyways .. besides the hurt and empty feeling she felt all this time

she grew an inch so she was happy abt that

her hair was still dirty blonde, not much change but she had forehead bangs this time

umm 2 fansites opened up for her this era! 'B' and 'SUGAR CREAM' !!

once again, red velvet and nct dream's promotions clashed again!!

when rookie won, joy gave a huge kiss on rory's cheeks and rory blushing was all over twitter

once again the fucking SKIRTS

this was especially bad because they had to get on the floor multiple times during the choreo

thank god for her safety shorts

actually most of the time though, luckily, she was in the back of the choreo

even though she was literally .. one of the main dancers but anyway still grateful since she mostly wore skirts during this era

also she probably had the most almost wardrobe accidents this era

so many times there was a lot of wind and her skirt would almost blow up but either she'd notice or the other members would and would quickly cover her

that happens almost every era though but like it was bad because all they wore were their fucking uniforms to perform mfal

for ppl who wanted to put her in the back to make her one of the guys and not stand out,, u werent helping with making her wear a skirt

or yknow. the only girl in a group full of boys

okay right

so she still got major hate this era. it didn’t help that her character on the mfal mv was clingy

nothing new with that

intl fans and korean fans alike were angry at the fact that she had to wear a skirt while being on the floor

but sm never changed the choreo so :/

(dw it gets better now she never wears skirts or dresses whenever they have to get on the floor for choreos)

in chewing gum era, she stuck the most to mark and jaemin

however this time, she was closest to mark and jisung

one fav moment from this era is when misun said she thought renjun's snaggletooth was cute and for him to never get it fixed to which he promptly began blushing

yeah she lowkey got cocky after that LMAO

oh during the mv

at the start she was walking with jeno and when he turned to look at the teacher, she was still talking and when she noticed he wasnt paying attention she hit him in the arm

the whole mv is just her being annoyed by the boys not paying attention to her and focusing on the teacher more

during her part w/ mark she follows and tugs on mark's arm for his attention but he doesnt give it to her

when they run for the teacher's mug and almost drop it, she's the one who quickly grabs it from smashing on the floor

the camera pans to her with a disgusted look on her face

either from how the boys were acting or the fact that the teacher left her lipstick mark on it

oh during the car thing .. she's literally just shaking her head in disappointment but helps them anyway

when they get outside and she sees the boys' disappointment to the teacher having a child and husband .. she's literally just sitting there laughing

.. until she sees the husband's face and is in awe

and then the boys make fun of her

and the end

actually her character in the mfal mv makes knetz think she’s even more of a brat and in love with the boys bc of how annoyed she acts

which sucks and she emphasizes in lives that it was just a character

for dunk shot she's pretty much neutral on this song

but she does like that she got to wear either jeans or shorts for performing it :D

when renjun throws the ball and like then haechan is supposed to catch it,,

misun is in the middle and jumps to hit the ball to haechan

her fits for dunk shot, similar to the boys she’s wearing jerseys/sport shirts with actual shorts underneath 😭 sometimes they’d be long jerseys and cover her shorts but she was always wearing shorts

sporty misun >>

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bitter69uk · 8 months

Text

“More revered than actually listened to, model / actress / Warhol superstar Nico (née Christa Paffgen) began her musical career as the hidden razor blade in the Velvet Underground’s Halloween apple. Her icy beauty and bloodless Teutonic “singing” cut through the group’s cacophony with a soporific poignancy on 1967’s The Velvet Underground and Nico, where she was simply billed as “chanteuse.” It’s as apt a description as any for her sibilant, enunciatory mono-drone – and her enduring appeal. Nico left the group amicably; half the songs on Chelsea Girl, her ’67 solo debut, were written by Velvets Lou Reed, John Cale and Sterling Morrison. The other half include covers of Dylan’s “I’ll Keep It with Mine” and Tim Hardin’s “Eulogy to Lenny Bruce” and three songs written by her then-teenage accompanist (and roommate) Jackson Browne. In a merger of folk and neoclassical traditions, the LP’s artfully arranged guitars, strings and wind instruments provide both the rhythm (in lieu of bass and drums) and the melody. Nico’s bummed-but-not-unbowed vocals transform songs about small uncertainties and faint hopes into lush melancholia, the inspiration for many a rainy-day miserabilist. The title track, a seemingly blasé accounting of Chelsea Hotel residents who appear in Warhol’s film epic Chelsea Girls, is an exquisitely dreary time capsule, capturing the dark cloud inside Andy’s silver-lined Factory.”

/ David A Keeps in March 1995 issue of Details magazine /

56 years ago this month (October 1967), the late, great heroin-ravaged, wraith-cheekboned German diva, Velvet Underground chanteuse, actress, fashion model, Warhol Superstar, Moon Goddess and “Marlene Dietrich of Punk” Nico released her debut solo album Chelsea Girl. This sublimely gloomy glass-half-empty urban folk music makes for ideal autumnal listening. Is there any higher praise than "exquisitely dreary"?

#nico #chelsea girl #velvet underground and nico #warhol superstar #heroin ravaged chanteuse #wraith cheekbones #moon goddess #lobotomy room #marlene dietrich of punk #christa paffgen #gloomy

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holdoncallfailed · 3 months

Text

took myself on a velvet underground walking tour for the hell of it..obviously none of the buildings look the same but still it was a nice walk hashtag history is all around us

john and lou and tony conrad's apartment at 56 ludlow street, café bizarre where warhol first heard them, riviera café where lou told sterling and maureen that he was going to kick john out of the band lol, the dom aka the home of the exploding plastic inevitable, 2nd factory location, max's kansas city, 3rd factory location :-) i also passed cbgb but i didn't bother taking a picture this time

#got nearly 15k steps in !#the velvet underground

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