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lokischocolatefountain · 2 months

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Warning || Men Like Me

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Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew.

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to.

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate.

That was where his troubles began.

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours.

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?”

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade.

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair.

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.”

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either.

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole.

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked, groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile.

“Depends. Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip.

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal.

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth.

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?”

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.”

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.”

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?”

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.”

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.”

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.”

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance.

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type.

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive.

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up.

Fucking disgusting.

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world?

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man.

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes.

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing.

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements.

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers.

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety.

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time.

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did.

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked.

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.”

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave.

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew.

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.”

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.”

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.”

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?”

“I’m not a doctor yet.”

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.”

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.”

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.”

“Like me.”

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.”

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.”

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.”

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.”

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.”

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen.

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?”

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived.

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside.

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts.

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines.

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this?

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass.

He should leave.

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home.

He should leave.

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day.

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one.

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open.

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about.

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.”

No, it couldn’t be anyone else.

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was.

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch.

“J-Joel?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks.

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you.

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one.

“Touch me!”

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you.

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?”

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.”

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to.

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time.

“Any man?”

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure.

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage.

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest.

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire.

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way.

“Please… I don’t– what was that?”

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore.

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.”

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!”

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you.

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree.

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward.

“Joel…”

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed.

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties.

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you.

“Be a good girl from now.”

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller age gap #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #all that i've inflicted on the world

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stardewremixed · 10 months

Text

First Kiss with Shane

@hellhoundmaggie requested a first kiss scene with Shane. He was the first guy I romanced in SDV, mostly because it was easy to in the beginning and I wanted that first-year flower dance so badly. 😂 🌸

🎈 In case you missed it - First Kiss with Harvey. 🎈

While Harvey holds a special place in my heart and is generally my go-to husbando, I didn’t want to leave my “first SDV squeeze” in the lurch. I’m trying to expand my experience with writing romance in general. Hope you enjoy. It’s a freakin’ novella. Haha. I don’t do short, and I wanted to show how he fell in love with the Farmer, and she with him.

This is female farmer x Shane = first kiss. This one might be a little more PG.

😉❤️‍🔥🔥

Sweaty palms. Greasy hair. Chubby cheeks and legs. Is this what she sees in me?

Shane stared bleakly at his own reflection in the refrigerator door. It was quiet. Nearly noiseless in the back aisle of the stark JojaMart. A lull in the daily traffic around 4pm on the dot. When his shift ended.

Shane pressed his forehead against the glass, grumbling to himself about his infinite lack of progress on losing weight. Ever since he started going to therapy and quit drinking, he felt confident that his life would turn around. Like magic.

However, life outside the rehabilitation center was much harder than he remembered. He was still stuck in the same dead-end job. He was still bumming a room off his aunt with his piddly rent And he was still rather plump around his abdomen.

Every time Morris ordered him around, in that pompous high London accent, Shane wanted to give up. To give in. To snatch a beer outta the cooler and gulp away his frustrations.

Instead, he settled for cussing under his breath, and resolving to keep his head down. At least until he could find another job. No one seemed to be hiring in this dying town. The recession was still hitting hard. And he knew he was lucky to get his old job back after nine months in detox and rehab.

It was worth it. It would be worth it. He convinced himself as he puffed a lazy strand of hair out of his eye and continued stocking cartons of overprocessed milk, nothing like his aunt’s fresh bottles or the farmer’s delicious cheeses.

While he was still grossly underpaid, Shane worked out the math. In six more checks, he could repay her. The Jolly Rancher. Just thinking about his silly little nickname for the farmer lady to the north gave him a warm feeling. The kind that alcohol used to give him, only better, more real. Her smile was sweet.

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When she first arrived in town, Shane genuinely disliked her. All her bubbly, bouncy, jolly persona encroaching on his flat, boring, grumpy existence. He had cultivated a philosophy of "me myself and I" and was perfectly content being alone, sulking into a pitcher of beer at the end of the night. But not really…

Her jovialty grew on him, especially when he would see her around town, helping people out. At first, he figured she was just another city do-gooder come to convert the backwater people to a more modern lifestyle. But her joy and kindness was genuine. Even when he yelled at her to go away, she still murmured a heartfelt apology for disturbing him and then brought him freshly grown peppers or tomatoes the next day like nothing had ever happened.

The Farmer purchased cows from Marnie so she could make her own specialty dairy products. He was seriously impressed. Because what city girl just ups and buys cattle?

Sometimes when he was restlessly tossing and turning in bed (and if was honest, lonely), Shane would wander around in the wee pre-dawn hours. He always seemed to make his way to her ranch. Most of the time, she was out in the barn milking the cows and talking to them like they were her babies, with just a lantern illuminating her soft face. She was so beautiful.

Raising cattle was no simple task. He knew this from watching his aunt. And Marnie had horses, pigs, goats, rabbits and chickens to think of too. He wasn't sure if the new rancher in town, with little to no experience (save her degree in veterinary medicine), was stupid or brave. Over time, he determined she was the latter.

Out searching for a lost cow in a thunderstorm. Not thinking about her own welfare. Only wanting to reunite a terrified animal with its herd.

Fixing fences after wolves knocked down the back posts time and time again. Her fingers bleeding and scarred because of her lack of self-awareness sometimes. And chasing of “’dem there wolves” with sheer willpower... and... a big stick.

Rebuilding the barn from scratch when a wildfire spread down from the mountains. She saved every single one of those animals. And needing treatment for smoke inhalation because she went back in for the tiniest frightened newborn.

He remembered the time she got kicked in the head by one of the cows. Shane was so worried about her, even if he wouldn’t admit it when he carried her to the Clinic. Thankfully, it was only a minor concussion. (And it was an excuse for him to deliver Marnie's special basket of goodies to her twice daily so she didn't have to worry about feeding herself during her recovery).

The rancher struggled for a whole year, after arriving in the Valley. But even when things went wrong, she was up and back at it the next morning with a lightness in her heart and step. It. Was. Admirable.

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Shane resolved to do better. To be better. She made him think about how things could be different if he wasn't a self-sabotaging jerkwad. The number of times she dragged his sorry ass home after getting plastered at the Saloon was too high to count, even if it was out of her way, even if she said she didn't mind. She wanted him to be okay. To be safe. She said so.

And she half pushed, half dragged him to the Clinic the night things got really dark. When he faced the edge of the cliff and thought "No more!" When he thought death would be a welcome reprieve from his pathetic life.

She never judged him. She didn't enable him like his aunt. She didn't fall apart into a puddle of tears like Jas. She didn't lecture him on the evils of his ways while twirling his moustache like Harvey. Okay. Shane chuckled to himself. Maybe that last part was an exaggeration and unfair to the good doctor.

She. Simply. Cared.

Through her actions.

In the beginning, it was little things. A happy hello. A robust handwave. Then she started pulling up a barstool next to him in the Stardrop. She would ask him about his day and he would always answer the same way. But "go away" somehow morphed into a sarcastic "just peachy" and then eventually a half-hearted "fine, you can sit there." Once she jokingly called him Peaches.

He didn't want to be bothered with her questions and idle chatter. He didn't want to listen to her ranching successes and woes, retold in a much-too-chipper voice. He didn't want to know about Bluebell and Daffodil and Daisy, how Mister Munster was nursing a hoof injury and how Mrs. Butters was expecting her second calf. Why did she think he cared about such details?

But it grew on him. Those rosy, ruddy cheeks, enjoying a hard-earned glass of whatever Gus had on tap. The way her eyes lit up and sparkled when she talked about her animal friends. The way her pale pink lips pouted when she lost a game of Journey of the Prairie King in the saloon arcade. Again.

Shane found himself drawn to her energy. And he found himself missing her on the nights she didn't stop into the Saloon. Which was a rarity, but did happen.

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Shane knew she was someone special when he would watch the entrance door, breath caught, hoping she would breeze through, and then she didn't. Two days in a row. He started to feel disappointed, but brushed it off. Three days. He started to get concerned. On the fourth night, he went looking for her. And that's when he learned she was sick.

He practically broke down her door when she didn’t answer.

“Aww you were worried,” she laughed weakly, and coughed.

She looked rather pitiful, bundled under the blankets, hair sticking to her cheek, eyes droopy and dark. She thought Marnie would have told him. His aunt had sent a few of her ranch hands to help their neighbor out while she was under the weather. so her cattle weren’t forgotten

No, Marnie never did. He suspected it was because she didn't know it would matter to him. But it did matter. She. Did. Matter.

Without a word, Shane went to the kitchen and returned with a cool towel. He didn't even think. He laid the back of his large hand against her delicate forehead. He could've sworn the little Miss Jolly Rancher blushed. Or maybe it was the slight fever she was running. She audibly sighed as he placed the wet cloth against her burning cheek, closing her eyes and mumbling her thanks.

He wanted to know the last time she ate. She grunted and said something about some cereal earlier that morning. She didn't know for sure. She had slept most of the day. He promised he would be right back.

She told him not to bother, as she struggled to lift her body off the bed, propping up by a shaky elbow. He insisted she lie back down. She was a stubborn one. Her protestations didn't last long as her head was too foggy to think straight. He microwaved a bowl of soup. She tried to sit up again, and he fluffed her pillows so she could prop up.

Her grip on the spoon wasn't firm, her trembling hands an indication of just how weak she was. So he caught the escaping silverware and lifted the soup to her lips. She turned red as a hot pepper, but he eased her with a surprisingly tender words, "Please. Let me take care of you for once, Miss Jolly." His own face and ears were probably red too. But she accepted.

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Since then, he began the habit of calling her "Miss Jolly." She flushed every time, but he enjoyed flustering her. It was nice… to care… about… someone.

She returned the “favor” and called him Peaches. At first, jokingly, just to annoy him. But over time, even the ridiculous fruity nickname grew on him. She was invading his thoughts and heart and he couldn’t stop her.

He knew he had to change. He had to get better. Alcoholism was a disease that had ravaged his life and he was ready for something better. He couldn’t live like he had been any longer. She had changed everything for him. And he wanted to change in return.

Disappointment smacked cold. He had researched so many places. But the one place that seemed to fit his needs and desired treatment plan was out of reach. Prohibitively expensive. He sold his dad’s watch. His car. He worked longer hours. Maybe in a few years he could make up the difference.

She knew how much he wanted this... and how badly he needed this. Every glance at his savings account wanted to drive him to the bottle, the hopelessness of a solution just out of reach because of his crappy medical insurance. They wouldn’t cover it. Even though he was pretty sure Joja was the reason he drank so heavily.

No, that wasn’t true. It was his own insurmountable guilt. Of surviving the accident. When they didn’t. Of leaving Jas without a respectable father figure. Or a mother. He didn’t even fight when the courts wanted to give him jail time.

His aunt got a lawyer and gave him a place to stay when he got out. She helped him put together a resume and practically shoved the application for overnight backroom clerk in his hands. He had to face the music. He wasn’t cut out for any other job. And it was basically a glorified “stock boy.”

Approaching middle-age, recently released from prison, and overwhelmed with a crushing lack of self worth, Shane interviewed and got the job. He should be grateful. But the hours were grueling and monotonous. Customers were rude. Employees were ruder. Except that Sam kid. He was a ball of sunshine. And his boss was sucking the life outta him.

So he drank. He drank to forget. Because he couldn’t forgive himself. And every time he looked at Jas’ little pained expression, he drank more because he felt... so... damn... worthless.

The Rancher changed things for him. He felt more positive. He got up earlier. He brushed his teeth. He combed his hair. He put on his uniform for the world’s lousiest low-paying job and went to work hoping things would be better.

Faced with the inability to actually “get better” was... frankly... terrifying. What if he went back to being that same old pathetic blob of a human again? After ten agonizing days, he finally confided in the one person he knew he could trust. His “Miss Jolly.”

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He couldn’t believe he had been moved to tears. She surprised him... again. With her thoughtful generosity and selflessness. She promised to pay for the difference. Whatever he couldn’t afford. She told him it wasn’t a big deal. It was a VERY BIG deal! She still had some of the inheritance money from her grandfather. What she hadn’t spent on fixing up the farm.

“So I don’t get those gingham curtains I’ve had my eyes on for the past month,” she quipped.

It was serious. He couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t accept it. It was too much. He didn’t like the idea of being indebted. He was stubborn. He could refuse.

But she was more stubborn. She insisted it would be a loan, not a gift. He could pay it off over time. Without interest. Or he could work it off - sweat equity - on her ranch. Maybe with those chickens he liked so much.

In the end, he caved. He packed up what little he could take with him. And she walked him to the bus stop. Kissed his cheek. Squeezed his hand. And said the words that simultaneously made him laugh and warmed his heart.

“Go get ‘em, Peaches.”

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That was a year ago now. When he came home, she threw a big surprise party for him. A few people from town, his aunt, Jas. And she never looked more beautiful. She even found chicken shaped balloons. Because... what guy doesn’t want balloon animals from the girl he’s crushing on?

Crushing on? He smirked. I sound like a middle schooler.

He split his time between the market and her ranch. Gradually spending more and more time on her farm. Gathering eggs before his shift. Feeding chickens on the way home from work. Sipping peach iced tea in the shade of her porch and thinking this life wasn’t half-bad. But he wanted more.

She started bringing by lunches on his longer shift days. Homemade sandwiches and fresh-pressed juices and handpicked peppers. The kind that burst with sweetness or that spicy kick he needed to get through the rest of his day.

She learned to roll her own dough. Once a week, on hot summer evenings, she would make him pizza with her own special spicy red sauce. Wearing that cute little red and white checkered apron around her jean shorts and just below the edge of her tank top. Too hot to be standing around the stovetop making pizza sauce or the oven to bake the dough. But she did it for him. Shane looked forward to it after a long and grueling Saturday shift.

He still stopped at the Saloon most nights, but now it was just to drink soda and share a pepper poppers appetizer. Gus started bottling root beer, made from bark and flowers and herbs from around the Valley. It wasn’t alcoholic. And it was an acquired taste. Getting better with time.

She would breeze in and offer suggestions and feedback. Shane enjoyed watching the two “play” squabble over the choice of leaves. The kindly saloon owner and the girl he liked collaborating to make him a refreshing drink became a welcome nicety.

Most nights, they didn’t stay long. Heading out for long walks around town. Shoes scuffling along cobblestones. Kicking up dirt on wooded paths. Kicking off on the beach to feel the mushy sand. Talking about nothing important, but always special. Any time with her was special.

He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have a friend like her. To have a woman of her rare caliber show him any attention at all. She got past his defenses and he welcomed it. And deep in his heart, Shane knew - this was love.

With today’s paycheck, he could finally take her on a proper date. Somewhere out of the Valley. Someplace where they could have fun together. He felt the excitement and nervous anticipation rising in his chest. Somehow he fumbled through an “ask” on her front porch this morning, managing to invite her to join him... if she wanted... at the bus stop... around 5pm. He had tickets to see the Tunnelers play.

Shane finished his shelf, glancing at his watch. Ten past four. Just enough time to get home, showered, and changed. He disposed of the empty boxes in the dumpster and delivered the cart to the back room. Opening his locker, he hung his apron on the hook. Instantly, he felt lighter. Like that thing was a noose around his neck. A ball and chain. He really needed a new job. And in fifty, no, forty-six minutes, he could see her...

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"SHANE!"

The shrill obnoxious tone pierced his moment of peace. The voice could only belong to one person - a holllow husk of a corporate shill, even more unlikeable than him, if that was even possible. Shane frowned, his eyes clamping on the store manager barreling toward him at full speed.

“A whole second shipment came in just now,” the man grunted. “Like I need this when I’m short-staffed, as always,” he offered an exasperated sigh.

I can’t imagine why... Shane thought to himself, bemused. The boss was insufferable. Always barking orders. Never praising his team. Paying peanuts. Polishing his baby - a silver Rolls Royce in mint condition - parked in the only covered spot in the entire Joja lot - every night - instead of doing paperwork like he should. How was he still employed? No one at corporate cared.

“Not my problem, Morris,” Shane replied.

“No, no, no,” Morris fluttered his short arms. “It is your problem. I need you to stay late and help Sam empty the truck.”

The man continued to ramble something about “this is why I pay you” and “you think you can do better somewhere else?” He badgered Shane about his “work ethic,” even if Shane had been a near model employee since returning from rehab. Even if his former colleagues actually welcomed him back, much to his shock. Shy little Claire even commented on how he was “different” than before.

Shane had been nominated for employee of the month, no doubt, angering Morris. The man had it out for him. Sticking him on graveyard shifts. Making him mop baby puke in the aisles. Forcing him to attend a “hospitality” seminar so he could learn to be nicer to, in Morris’ words, “bored housewives who somehow like your prickly personality.”

Morris, a man who prided himself in appearance, with his neat little bow tie and perfectly ironed jacket, couldn’t believe how the ladies bought more after a rough encounter with Shane. It was good for business, of course, and Morris would take all the credit. That hospitality seminar wasn’t cheap, he constantly reminded Shane. Like rehab hadn’t made him a better person already. Or his relationship with little Miss Jolly.

“They just fawn over your monotone delivery of the daily sales,” Morris droned on. “Yoba only knows why. You haven’t been educated at the finest university this side of the Pond with an impeccable taste in... well, everything.” Morris puffed his chest.

“I just don’t understand why they giggle at the register about the ‘handsome’ stock boy when they could have me recite the daily sales in Shakespearean English for heavens sake. Well, no matter. I can use what I’ve got. You.”

The man thinks I’m a frickin’ pack of meat.

“Now in order to have sales, we must have stocked shelves. And in order to have stocked shelves, I need to have you stay longer. Because shelves don’t stock themselves... and what are you staring at?”

Shane rubbed his jaw, catching his reflection in Morris’ little glasses. Could I really be that handsome? Morris wasn’t wrong. The market had been a little busier than usual in the mornings and around lunchtime. Shane came back from breaks early sometimes because customers “requested” him. He could reach the “tall” shelves.

But he wasn’t that tall. And most times, he needed a ladder. Unlike Sam. But even Sam told him he had been relegated to “cute” because the female patrons wanted to check out the new guy (on the ladder) because Shane possessed a look of danger and mystery, and had that "hot dad bod."

Like that’s really a thing I wanted! Shane rolled his eyes. It's all a little disgusting. Being oogled. Because what? Dangerous? Dad bod? I’m just me. There was only one gal he wanted checking him out. And he needed to get going if he was going to meet her.

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“No can do, Boss,” Shane removed his Joja cap and hooked it alongside his apron. “Got plans tonight.”

“No, no, no,” Morris’ voice grew tight, his eyes becoming tinier. “That won’t do. You must cancel your plans.”

“Do I get overtime?” Shane asked, half-distracted by the photo occupying the inside of his locker.

It was the only thing he had ever decorated with at work. A photo of him and Miss Jolly at the Moonlight Jellies festival about a month ago. It was the one time he actually thought he was photogenic. How could he not be happy? With a gorgeous gal by his side, smiling and laughing as the photo was taken, a woman who believed in him, rooted for him, and cared for him. Shane’s expression softened as he thought about how much she had impacted his life.

“You know what?” Shane ripped the photo from his locker wall with gusto. “I quit.”

“Are you even listening?” Morris was saying. “And no, I’m not going to approve overtime. You left early by one minute the other night. One minute!"

"And one time last week, you were late by three minutes. I will not approve overtime for someone who nearly runs over a flock of geese with his bicycle and is late to work."

"If you’re going to keep up with this lazy attitude of yours...” he huffed and straightened his jacket. “I may have to reconsider my decision to rehire you... even if you bring in the ladies... I mean... sales...”

“What?” Morris’ eyes grew wide as saucers beneath his horn-rimmed glasses, and then his expression darkened, as if Shane poured bitter coffee all over the plates. “You cannot quit. Are you joking?”

“Well I do, and I’m not,” Shane shoved the old rusty lock that never latched properly into the other man’s hand, a smile crossing his face. “With pleasure.”

Shane waltzed out of the soul-sucking store, leaving a dumbfounded former boss as the double doors whooshed behind him. He closed his eyes and took a big gulp of sea-salt air and sighed. He felt free.

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When she met him at the bus stop, his heart skipped a beat. She looked radiant in the setting sun. Her eyes sparkling like stars. And her sexy little denim skirt was a nice touch too. The way her hips swayed ever so slightly on approach. He forced his gaze upward.

"Hiiii... Miss Jolly. I'm glad you decided to come," he greeted, his tone a bit stilted and formal.

What am I doing? He rubbed the back of his head.

"Of course, Peaches. I'm excited," she grinned. "This will be my first game."

"You'll love it!" he replied, wrinkling his nose at her childish nickname for him. And I will too with you by my side.

"Is that cologne?" she asked when she reached his side.

Her fingers curled around his hoodie strings as she closed her eyes and took a whiff. "I like it." She grinned and winked at him. "A bit spicy."

"Yeah yeah," he murmured and ushered her onto the bus, but he hopped up the step behind her, feeling a little lighter on his feet.

"You're in a good mood," she remarked as they wandered toward the back of the bus.

The atmosphere was charged. Rowdy. Everyone seemed excited for the Tunnelers game. He nodded to a few familiar faces before settling in next to her seat. The back was better than the front. Cool kids sat in the back. What am I? In the sixth grade?

Still he was relaxed. Smiling even. She repeated her statement as if he didn’t hear her the first time. Damn straight I’m in a good mood. Because I get to spend time with you… maybe even tell you how I feel tonight… He decided the overcrowded bus wasn't the best place for that confession. The vehicle lurched forward and so did the conversation.

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"I quit my job."

Her eyes widened and a slow smile played at her lips, drawing his attention to them. I bet they're juicy. He had fantasized about kissing her, ever since she planted one on him at this very bus stop twelve months ago when he shipped off to rehab. Out of respect for their “business arrangement” and friendship, he held off on the liplocking, but it didn’t mean he still didn’t wonder what it would be like if he had just turned his head to meet her mouth that night.

“Good for you,” she laid a hand on his shoulder.

Her gentle touch bringing him back to reality and away from his lustful la-la land.

“I knew that place was killing the light in you. I just wish I could've seen Morris' smug face when you finally told him."

"Light in me?" he repeated, ignoring the statement about his ex-manager.

"Yes," she slowly slid her hand up to his cheek, blushing a little while she moved. "You look better. Brighter."

"That's just the shower talkin'," he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"No, it's you, Shane," she replied, dropping her hand far too soon for his liking.

He wanted to beg her to keep it there, against his cheek. But present company dissuaded him, and he remained silent, nodding his thanks. The way she said his name... he bounced his leg a bit in nervousness as the bus bumped along the road... it made his knees weak and his head clouded.

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"Did I miss anything?"

Shane descended the last step, returning to their seats in the stadium, snacks in hand. The game was tied up, the teams neck and neck in their scoring with each other. It was one of the most thrilling games he had ever seen in person. Even more exciting because she was there. With her incessant questions about the rules. Her exuberance at the Tunnelers' first goal. Even the little wrinkle around her eyes when she didn’t understand what was happening. He loved every minute of it.

And he loved explaining things. Even if he worried about boring her to death with his encyclopedic knowledge of gridball, he couldn’t stop talking. This was something he loved and he was sharing it with the woman he loved... even if she didn’t know it yet.

"Only the announcer making bad jokes," she smirked. “And that guy...” she pointed to one of the pros. “...doing a silly little dance for the fans.”

“Yeah, he’s known for that,” Shane laughed awkwardly, feeling a small twinge of jealousy that another man had caught her eye.

“Not that he’s any good at it,” she laughed too. “Not like our little grooves in the Saloon.”

“Oh?” he quirked a brow. “By the way, I got us some nachos. I asked the vendor to add some hot peppers… just like we like it."

"Like we both like it," she said in unison. "Thanks,” she snagged a chip and did a deep dip into the sauce. “You should've let me pay for snacks since you paid for tickets and the bus fare."

"Naw, we're on a date," he shrugged. "The guy pays. Plus, I wanted to."

Shane averted his eyes, suddenly self-conscious. "Did I tell you how much… I l…love…. Gridball?"

She stopped and looked at him as if surprised by his old-fashioned thought. I shouldn't have been so careless, he grimaced. Then he immediately wished his face wasn't so readable.

It was a date. A real date. But somehow they slid from acquaintances to friends to best friends and then... somehow something more, without ever defining the relationship.

Did she want parameters? Did he need a label? Were they... ever going to be what he hoped to be if he ever got his head out of his ass and asked her for real?

"Yes, only the thousand or so times on the bus," she smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And I knew you played in high school.”

Just like that, she slipped back to a more neutral topic. And he mentally flogged himself for the missed opportunity.

“Yeah, blowing out my knee pretty much killed my chances at playing pro,” he said. “Doesn’t stop me from enjoying the games though.”

“Have you ever thought about it?” she inquired. “Going back. Maybe the minors or even just a pick-up team. I bet you looked great in a uniform,” her eyes twinkled mischievously. “And I wouldn’t mind the view of you in those white pants.”

Red flooded his cheeks. Is she messing with me? How does she do it? Go back and forth between friendzone topics and flirtation? She made it look effortless. She was toying with him. She had to be. Dancing around the subject. Hoping he would ask. Or was he imagining things?

Her hand hovered dangerously close to his side. Brushing the hem of her skirt. Nearly touching his shorts. He gulped, feeling flattered, but strangely unprepared for her seductive little smirks. He handed her the soda he fetched, and she thanked him, gulping back the liquid as if it were a small instead of a large. Saying something about all the cheering making her thirsty.

He was the thirsty one. Eyeing her up and down and wanting to close the distance between them. Taking it from flirty friends to... faithful lovers. He never wanted a woman more than he did right now. To devote all his love and passion and energy and goodwill into being there for her just like she had for him.

For the whole second half of the game, he nursed his cola. Distracted by her every move. The way she would raise her heels in anticipation of a score and lower them back to the ground when they didn’t quite make it. The way she spoke with that happy voice of hers, the kind that could lull him to sleep or rally him to make his best efforts. The way she repeated back facts she was learning about the sport, that he had literally just taught to her that night. He was completely mesmerized... so much so... he forgot to actually watch the game. For once, he liked the distraction.

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When the Tunnelers scored again, she nearly flew off the ground, wildly cheering for their unexpected interception. He caught her hand as she was jumping back down. She squeezed it and continued whooping and shaking her fist victoriously in the air, never taking her eyes off the game. It was now or never.

"Hey," he said loudly to be heard over the stadium noise. "I've been meaning to tell you… thank you.”

“For what, Peaches?” she said, teasingly. “Did you see that? How many yards was it? Seventy-five? Eighty?”

“I mean it, really,” Shane cleared his throat, leaning closer to her ear. “ For sticking with me through everything."

She turned to face him, her expression growing more serious.

"My… anxiety… depression… you know," he continued, fumbling over his words. "The alcoholism… I mean, I wasn't exactly the funnest person to be around back then."

Did I just use the word funnest? He rubbed the back of his head, hoping to read her expression, but for once, he couldn't.

“You do that... when you’re nervous,” she remarked. “That head rub thing...” she reached up and ruffled his hair. “It’s... cute.”

“Uh...” Shane trailed off. She was not making this easy. But he needed to say the words aloud now or he never would.

"You… uh… still helped me. You've been a really… good… friend to me," he shared, and then immediately regretted his word choice.

"Oh," she said, quietly.

Was that a flicker of disappointment in her eyes?

He hurried his words. "Anyway this is your first gridball game, huh? Well? What do you think?"

Smooth, Shane. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Changing the subject again, you frickin’ chicken.

"Oh…" she said, glancing back to the field, sounding a little confused. "Fun. I guess, Pelican Town seems pretty boring in comparison. Unless you count Sam's punk rock blaring at 11pm, breaking noise ordinances." She forced a chuckle.

Is she…? Am I imagining things?

"I'm surprised," he replied. "Didn't you move to the Valley to escape the noise of the city?"

She's looking at me again with those beautiful heart-melting eyes. He rushed through his words.

"I mean… don't get me wrong. I totally understand. My life in Pelican Town is pretty bland, you know. And now that I don't have a job, I gotta find something meaningful to do with my time again. A guy's gotta eat, right? Heh?"

"I was thinking about that," she replied, without looking at him. "I think it would be nice to have you around full-time."

"What?" he blinked.

"I've got one ranch hand now to help in the back pasture and one that helps out with the milking and all, but if I'm looking to expand, and if they ever take a sick day, I could use some extra hands," she continued. "Maybe your hands?"

I couldn't. Possibly. Was she blushing?

"You've already… done so much for me," he hated the hesitancy in his tone. "I… uh…"

She ignored his last comment. "This would be a business thing. We could do it temporarily to see if you like it. And if it's a good fit for both of us. I can be a bit of a…" she narrowed her eyes, mischievously. "Hard taskmaster."

"Oh? Yeah I've heard that from your current employees," he smirked. "But you are still a jolly one."

"Yeah…" she smiled, almost shyly, tucking a hair over her ear. “Your Miss Jolly.”

The noise level in the stadium increased near ten-fold. All he could think about was how she said the words. She was begging him, wasn’t she? Walking right up to the brink and leaving him there? He reluctantly ripped his gaze away from the farmer to the field.

"Gah!" he screamed, his volume matching the crowd. "The Tunnelers are on the attack."

"Yes! Yes!" she shrieked. "Oh my Yoba! Final seconds. They're gonna…" she jumped up and down and clapped her hands. "They're gonna break the tie."

"GOAL!" they yelled in unison.

He never felt so happy. He was going on six months sober. He quit his horrible job. The farmer was offering him another one so he could see her every day. And he got to watch his favorite team in the world in the closest game in history with his favorite person in the world. Sharing this moment together meant everything.

"Thank you Shane!" she said, trying to catch her breath. "This was the best evening ever with you!"

"I know, I know!" he exclaimed. "Probably one of the best moments of my life."

Before he could stop himself, his lips were against hers. Surprise flickered in her eyes. All he could hear was the thudding of his own heart. She was flushed. The warmth of her lips. The taste of root beer. The delight overwhelming the alarm bells. He took a step or two back, stumbling as he came to his senses.

"Oh?" he gasped for air. "Uh… um… sorry. I guess I got carried away there. Maybe I had one too many... sodas. All that sugar. Ha!"

Shane reached up to rub his head like he always did when he was nervous, just like she had noticed. Except this time, she strutted toward him, confidence in her eyes as she grabbed that hand and tugged him down. As they kissed for the second time, he felt her melt into his arms as she offered a faint “finally,” barely audible amidst the roar of the crowd.

Encouraged, Shane grinned, hoisting her off the ground. She giggled and kissed him more fervently. Maybe he didn’t need words. Maybe he only needed actions to show her how he felt.

And she was reciprocating. A dream come true. Their eyes remained locked in a loving gaze as he pulled back from her lips. When he finally set her down, he breathed heavily.

"You really do love the Tunnelers?" she teased, disentangling her hands from his hair.

"No," he shook his head, determined not to let this moment go by. "I really do love you."

"Come on, we'll miss our bus outta here," she grabbed his hand and pulled him through the exiting crowds.

“Wait,” Shane pulled her back for one more greedy kiss.

She happily accepted, but he felt a fleeting ping of sadness even as they kissed in the stairwell, people pushing around them. He wondered if she even heard his confession. Maybe it's too soon? We just had our first kiss. She probably didn't hear me.

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

When they reached the parking lot, the reality of what had just happened still sinking in, they were too late. The bus huffed away with a puff of smog. They had just missed their ride back to the Valley. And there wouldn’t be another one until morning. If he hadn’t been so carried away and enamored by his date, maybe they would’ve left the stadium sooner.

“Guess we should call a taxi,” she broke the silence first. “Or... actually... find a hotel.”

“A hotel?” he repeated, his ears perking at the thought of sharing space with her.

"Yes," she replied, without skipping a beat. "I mean, if we're gonna be stuck together in Zuzu overnight, we should get a hotel. A taxi ride would be really expensive and I don't think we have enough time to get across town to catch the train."

"Oh right," he said softly. "Uh… I can't let you pay for a hotel too."

"It's no trouble," she pulled out her cell phone and started scouring the internet for places. "And a hot shower sounds nice after all the sweat and grime of us in there,” she nodded back toward the stadium. “...jammed in like sardines."

"Uhm…" he blinked rapidly. You're a grown man. Get it together.

"This place looks nice," she showed him a picture after a minute or two, while he awkwardly plopped on the edge of the sidewalk. "And it's got a 4-star rating." She sat next to him, dropping her hand on top of his. “Oh look it’s got an in-suite jacuzzi.”

"Uh… sure," he shrugged, uncertain about what to do with his hands that so desperately wanted to kiss her again. "Well, that definitely was a good game."

"Yes, and it's going to be an even better night, because it doesn't have to end here," she smiled sweetly. “Since we’re getting a hotel,” she winked.

“Oh yeah... and we won too,” he stammered. “The Tunnelers, ya know?”

“No... no, I didn’t. Really? They did?" she smiled sarcastically, and leaned closer. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What?” he gasped, feeling shocked as her blase attitude toward his favorite team.

“I mean, it was great... and all... and their win was pretty spectacular,” she acknowledged. “But I feel like I won the lottery with you here.” She interlocked arms with him. “Did you mean it? Shane? When you said you loved me?”

So she did hear me! And the way his name fell from his lips caused his heart to soar and he found his confidence.

“Yes, I meant it. I love you,” Shane replied. “But I wanted it to be special. Better than this... stranded in a parking lot with trash all over the place.”

“It is special,” she replied.

“But it wasn’t perfect,” he grimaced. “I was planning on telling you when we got back... when I walked you back to your place tonight.”

His head felt hazy with love and desire as she kissed him again. This time, she draped a leg over his, pressing against his chest. He audibly moaned, leaning into the kiss. His hand naturally slid down her back to help her balance, and he squeezed softly, like he had wanted to for a long time. She matched his intensity with a clutch of her own, and he groaned again, reluctantly breaking their touch.

“I don’t need perfect, Shane. I just need you."

His heart leaped from his chest as she continued.

"I love you too. I want you.”

“Ahhhh... then let’s get to that hotel,” he said, the heat of her breasts against his chest creating a near uncontrollable fire within him.

“Fine,” she playfully pouted. “I’ll behave... Hot Stuff," she fanned herself. “...for now... since we’re in public.”

“Believe me,” he replied with a heavy sigh, feeling a healthy growth between his legs. “I want you all to myself.”

She giggled and tapped her phone. "Done. Got us booked.”

“That fast?”

“Yes, It’s only a two and a half block walk. Now… shall we?" She jumped to her feet and darted away briskly.

“Someone’s impatient!” he smirked. “What if I had said no?”

“I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Oh really?” he liked teasing her as she brought out his confidence. He started into a jog away, passing her on the sidewalk. “Well, I’ll see you soon.”

“Shane!” she laughed and chased after him.

Of course, he let her catch him. She playfully punched his arm, but then lingered. She was beaming. And he was too. Shane took her hand, looking down at the woman he loved, and smiled, brighter than he ever had in his entire life. She loved him and wanted him… just as he loved and wanted her.

“Shane?”

He wrapped an arm tightly around her shoulder. Tonight, he was going to make her fully his, and he would be fully hers.

"Yes, my Miss Jolly.”

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lulu2992 · 3 months

Text

Uncovering the unreleased Far Cry 5 in-game Encyclopedia

The almost complete but unused in-game encyclopedia, reconstructed thanks to the oasisstrings file.

Please note that it’s still cut content, so some information might not be relevant anymore.

You can read the oasisstrings file here. Pictures from this encyclopedia were also extracted and posted by @xbaebsae here.

Part 2: Locations - Holland Valley

Gardenview Packing Facility

The last facility added to the Hadlers' apple empire. They shipped their apples throughout Hope County and beyond. When the cult went red state, the Hadlers stopped their legal threats and resorted to violence.

Silver Lake Trailer Park

A community of people just trying to do their best.

Gardenview Orchards

A part of Doug and Debbie Hadler’s apple empire. After their ciderworks facility, they expanded to a second, larger orchard: Gardenview Orchards. Then they opened the Gardenview Packing Facility.

Rae-Rae's Pumpkin Farm

Fiery matriarch Rae-Rae Bouthillier cares about two things: Prize-winning pumpkins and her dog Boomer.

Gardenview Ciderworks

The first major facility owned by Doug and Debbie Hadler. Ten years ago, they had a dream: an empire made of apples. They nearly achieved it too, until the cult forcibly took over everything they had worked for.

Bridge of Tears

It was called the Mišihrew Bridge when the railroad was still active. It’s now a rickety old train bridge and John Seed's ideal location to send a warning message to all sinners.

Frobisher's Cave

In 1970, a cougar, named "Frobisher" by the locals, killed the star pitcher of a rival baseball team. The Hope County Silver Foxes won that year and changed their name to the Cougars in Frobisher's honor.

Howard Cabin

Home of Niesha Howard, an extreme rock climber from Canada who moved to Montana to be a prepper.

Copperhead Rail Yard

Copperhead Rail was created in the late 1800s by Emmet Reaves. It was shut down in the early 70s and a lot got left behind. It became a place for kids to get drunk or bums to find shelter, then the cult bought it.

Lincoln Lookout Tower

It’s the last working fire tower in the county. A man who worked here promised to help the Strickland family fight off the cult if ever their farm was under attack.

Sergey’s Place

A hobo historian calls this place home. Nobody's seen him in a while though.

Boyd Residence

Will Boyd lives here, or at least he did. No one in the valley talks about him. And for good reason.

Strickland Farm

Property owned by the Strickland family of farmers. No friends to Eden’s Gate.

U.S. Auto

A scrap yard containing trashed cars, broken farm equipment, and even a few busted planes. Eden's Gate uses the garage to build and maintain their convoys.

Doverspike Compound

Les Doverspike was a militia nut and he built himself a bunker. Nobody in the prepper community liked him. Despite that, he was anti-cult and pro-Resistance.

Harris Residence

Mike and Deb Harris were preppers with a cunning plan to keep themselves fed after the end of the world.

Reservoir Construction Yard

Deep North Water wanted to build a new reservoir for the Holland Valley. The company ran out of funding and was chased away by Eden’s Gate.

Dodd’s Dumps

Colin Dodd used to run garbage disposal for the whole Holland Valley, and his business lot shows it. The cult intimidated him into leaving but has yet to sort through all he left behind.

Davenport Farm

The remains of a run-down farm. Local farmers let their cows graze here. Can't let good land go to waste.

Hilgard Electric Power Station

The Holland Valley's power supply is reliant on this transformer station which is controlled by Eden's Gate.

Golden Valley Gas

Once the kind of gas station that gave out free bubble gum to kids, Golden Valley is now a strategic point of gasoline and auto maintenance for the Project at Eden's Gate.

Green-Busch Fertilizer Co.

Facing a decline in business, the Green-Busch family said “yes” and sold the place to John Seed on the condition that locals could keep their jobs and work alongside Eden's Gate.

St. Isidore School

Once a religious boarding school, it was forced to close its doors by Eden's Gate.

Dodd Residence

Home of Colin Dodd, hoarder and DIY enthusiast. He never throws anything out. His granddaughter Nadine's been known to lurk here.

Roberts Cabin

Home of Joe Roberts, a hunter. He's gone missing. He loved hunting deer above all else.

Hope County Clinic

Dr. Kim Patterson provides medical services to Hope County's farmers and low-income residents, many of whom would never receive care in such a remote area.

Holland Valley Station

In the days that it was up and running, Copperhead Rail used to stop here. Eden’s Gate uses this station to catch people who try to escape the region.

Grain Elevator

As the farmlands started to collapse, the grain elevator was the first casualty. Too expensive to maintain.

Henbane River Rail Bridge

Copperhead Rail was created in the 1880s during a mining boom, and shut down in the early 70s after the industry collapsed.

Flatiron Stockyards

Bobby Budell established the stock yards in 1946, and has proudly provided farm and ranch auction services since. The economic and community base employed over 25 people at its height.

Fillmore Residence

Home of Doug Fillmore. Not much is known about him.

Dupree Residence

Home of Tommy Dupree, an idiot who used to work at Green-Busch Fertilizer Co. He got fired by Eden's Gate because he was as dumb as the crap he bagged.

Catamount Mines

Fall’s End owes its existence to the gold Orville Fall discovered here in 1865. The mine brought a generation of prosperity to the region until a suspicious accident entombed 100 men within it, forcing its closure in 1912.

Sunrise Farm

Sunrise Farm was going under, so owners Mike and Chandra Dunagan reluctantly sold it to Eden's Gate. Big mistake.

Deep North Irrigation Reservoir

Originally designed to irrigate farms, the reservoir became a liability when the cult began putting Bliss in the water supply. The Resistance sealed it up to buy themselves time.

Red’s Farm Supply

The Redler family has run this place for 4 generations, and earned a reputation for honest business. Wendell did his best to keep it out of cult hands.

Purpletop Telecom Tower

In the 1950s, Purpletop Telecom built this tower, blessing people with the wonders of AM radio. As time and technology marched forward, they were also given the American splendor of a local TV station.

Woodson Pig Farm

This place has been in the Woodson family since 1943. Current owners Andrew and Frances Woodson used their wealth to try to stand up to John Seed and fight him in court. They lost, and joined the Resistance.

Sawyer Residence

Don Sawyer came from out of town to join the Project at Eden's Gate. He restores canoes, but isn't very good at it. Visitors have sworn they've heard him swearing in Russian over those boats.

Hyde Barn

Kenny Hyde's a poor man in Holland Valley, but that doesn't stop him from loving deep fried balls. He's the proud keeper of Fall’s End Testy Festy decorations, stashing them at his barn until they're needed.

Kupka Ranch

Zip Kupka's the only one who really knows what's going on in the Holland Valley.

John’s Gate

A missile silo long decommissioned and abandoned. The locals used to call it "Area 68." Eden's Gate bought it in secret and turned it into a bunker that is in John Seed's safekeeping until the Collapse.

Security Gate

Formerly the entrance to the missile silo, it's now the gateway to John Seed's bunker. Everything taken in the Reaping passes through this checkpoint.

Steele Farm

The Steele family managed to get their kids out of Hope County, but stayed behind to try and defend their home from Eden's Gate.

Lamb of God Church

A Lutheran church. Its elderly priest was overshadowed by Pastor Jerome’s charismatic sermons. John once asked the priest to say “yes.” Not a chance. Then, the priest was gone. He had taken a “long vacation.”

Lamb of God Sacristy

The Project at Eden's Gate has turned the Lamb of God Church's sacristy into a holding place for everything they need to baptize people at the water's edge.

Armstrong Residence

The Project at Eden's Gate targeted the Armstrong family early, burning their home to the ground when Grace Armstrong refused to devote her sharpshooting skills to the Father's cause.

Bradbury Tractor Shed

A shed for tractors.

Hope County Jail Bus

Prisoners hijacked this bus but were run off the road. The wreck was left to rot in the woods. When Eden's Gate brought prohibition to Hope County, some enterprising moonshiners set up shop behind the cult’s back.

Parker Laboratories

Home and workshop of Dr. Laurence Parker, and the origin of many mysterious noise complaints.

Seed Ranch

The power of yes gave John Seed this dream ranch overlooking the Holland Valley. it has commanding views, a private air strip, and secluded soundproofed rooms for his most invigorating religious pursuits.

Bradbury Farm

The home of the Bradbury family, hay farmers for generations. The strange pattern of dead hay in the field does not impact the quality of the final product. That's the Bradbury guarantee.

Bradbury Hay Field

Bradbury Farm's hay is baled and stored here before being sold to clients looking to feed their livestock with quality hay.

Laurel Residence

Laurel family honey was a local market favorite until their bee colony collapsed and jeopardized the business. It also spooked the Laurels who sunk money into a bunker and became preppers overnight.

Eden’s Gate Greenhouse

Bliss plants are found throughout the Henbane River, but they're also found here. John Seed takes the flowers he receives by boat from the east and plants them in his greenhouse.

Seed Boat Launch

Once a favorite spot for summer frolickers, this boat launch is used by John Seed for receiving shipments of Bliss and other supplies from elsewhere in Hope County.

Rye & Sons Aviation

This plot of land was first settled in 1920 by Willard Rye. He started a crop dusting business. His sons inherited both and it now belongs to the current generation of Ryes: Nick & Kim.

Kellett Cattle Co.

The Kellett family supplied beef for 3 generations. These proud Republicans thought they recognized the American spirit in Eden’s Gate, but when John Seed asked them to serve the Project, they said “no.”

Fall’s End

After prospector Orville Fall struck gold, his small mining camp quickly grew. Decades later, his rival, rail baron Emmett Reaves, shot him dead in the streets, giving the town its official name.

Old Silo

Welcome to the middle of it.

Kay-Nine Kennels

The owner, Kay Wheeler, loved her dogs more than life itself. She bred and trained hunting and guard dogs. When Eden’s Gate showed up, the local demand for guard dogs tripled. John Seed noticed and took action.

Sunrise Threshing

A silo and shed complex attached to Sunrise Farm. Rumor has it that Mike Dunagan's stashed a lot of cool shit around here somewhere.

Redler Residence

Home of Wendell Redler, local businessman and Vietnam veteran.

Adams Ranch

Jules Adams lost her husband in an "accident" after saying no to John Seed. Her family's struggled to keep the cattle ranch out of cult hands ever since.

Miller Residence

Despite financial hardship, the Miller family refused the cult’s invitations, prepping for doomsday all on their own. When the reaping came, Jerry Miller was out working.

Wellington Residence

The Wellington family mine is an urban legend, supposedly stuffed with gold, explosives, or both depending who you ask. Generations of Wellingtons (possibly inbred) have tried and failed to strike it rich here.

#far cry 5 #hope county #holland valley #boomer #wendell redler #kenny hide #zip kupka #john seed #jerome jeffries #grace armstrong #larry parker #nick rye #kim rye #far cry absolution #will boyd

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shiftythrifting · 8 months

Text

Full roster here from a vintage place in Easthampton Massachusetts:

1) two wretched beasts

2) religious(?) mugs

3) odd pokemon tableaus

4) fashionably behatted old gent

5) porcelain hand... thing

6) decorative cow pitcher (for milk)

7) decorative plate

8) that guy

9 & 10) the kenmobile/assorted kennery

#thrifting #shiftythrifting #submission #chillin with the bros #dolls #ain't that the mf from jem #decor #housewares #cows #hats #religion #mugs

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 4 months

Note

Is it bad that I want weird kid reader and Clark to become more than friends and just show Bruce that reader can live their best life without him

Here goes... something

Clark felt weird about leaving you alone. So he kept coming up with reasons to stay. And before long night was falling.

"Hungry?" you ask, wiping sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand.

"A little," he admitted.

You nod, "Come on. I'll feed you before you go home-"

"I saw a pizza place in town," Clark suggested. His manners made him feel bad about barging in on your day and then having you cook for him.

"It's probably better than anything I could cook," you tell him, smiling ruefully.

"I'll be right back!" And before you could protest, he was gone. On his way to get a pizza.

________________

Clark balanced the boxes on his arm and the bag of two liters opening the door. Distantly, he could hear the shower running and he nodded to himself, resolving to make a little noise when he heard the water turn off. Or at least call out to you or something so he didn't scare you to death.

But, thankfully he didn't have to x-ray your cupboards for plates. You'd gotten some out. And some glasses. And a pitcher of iced tea. Some napkins. Silverware. Odds and ends. It made him feel less like he was intruding.

You didn't really have a reason to be nice to him. The story he'd run about your brother had been... factual but not correct. It hadn't been the whole picture. Even the retraction and the whole story hadn't been all of it. Spending the day here surrounded by pictures and little mementos- your first pair of ice skates. Medals. A ukelele. A teddy bear made from a Hawaiian shirt. Photo after photo. A treasure trove. You and Bruce. Alfred eating a s'more. Jackie throwing both of you into the lake. Tabloids would KILL for awkward Teenager Bruce pictures.

Water shut off and he rattled around, whistling to himself as he set the table.

"I'll be right out," you call. "I was covered in grease."

"Take your time," he called back. And by the time you appeared, he was happy with his handiwork. And happy to see that you still look relaxed. You'd changed. Out of your coveralls and into a pair of cotton pants and a sort of top with little skinny straps.

"That's a lot-"

"I didn't know what to get so I just got a little of everything I guess," Clark said rubbing the back of his neck. "Thin crust though since all I've ever seen you eat is salad. And smoothies."

"I do like a good burger but it has to be a religious experience-"

Clark grinned, "Next time you come out and fix Pa's tractor I'll have him fix you up. The man knows how to work a grill."

"They just buy a cow every year don't they?"

"Half a cow now that I don't live at home," he said grinning.

#minors dni #ask answered #bruce wayne #reader insert #clark kent x reader #weird kid!bruce

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spoilmesweetieforficssake · 1 year

Note

Hi I was wondering if you can write the Can you please be civil?" "No." "Just this once?" "Also no. I have a reputation." With Melissa Schemmenti x reader please

I was a little unsure where to go with this one, so the lines aren’t quite said between Melissa and the Reader, but they do feature! Also, sorry that this isn’t as reader-centric as the other one shots I’ve done, but my muse wasn't cooperating! One final apology - having watched precisely one game of baseball where the nachos and beer were my favourite parts and when playing rounders my sole job being home base (essentially, sport isn’t exactly my bag) please excuse anything that doesn’t sound quite right.

“Can you please be civil?”

Melissa looks up to where Barb stands at the end of the bench, eyes pleading. The first grade teacher no longer took an active roll in the elementary school soft ball game, but she still wore her jersey and acted as cheerleader and coach. “No.”

“Just this once?” asked the older woman, giving it one more try.

“Also no.” The red head stood, swinging the baseball bat in her grasp. “I have a reputation to uphold and a trophy to keep.”

Barb fixes her friend with an exasperated look. To say that Melissa was competitive was an understatement and reasoning with her in the midst of a competition was nigh on impossible. She could only hope you arrived soon to help soften her sharp edges before she cut someone too deeply.

“You could always try throwing them off their game by being super nice?” suggests Janine, rocking back and forth on her heels. “They wouldn’t expect that.”

Melissa slowly turns to look at the young woman, shifting her grip on the bat and looking positively menacing. “Or I could just beat their asses?”

Jacob slumps down on the bench, suitably cowed by another of Melissa’s outbursts. She didn’t just reserve her no nonsense attitude and catty comments for the other team. No, her own team got it just as bad, if not worse.

“Damn girl, you gotta calm down!” called Ava. “The game hasn’t even started yet and you about to blow your top!”

“Well maybe if anyone on this damn team could hit the damn ball I wouldn’t be so damn pissed!” She let her eyes travel over her colleagues and for the day, teammates. “What happened to what I taught you at the batting cages, huh?”

“Hey guys!” you smile as you approach the Abbott Elementary team. You slow your steps as you start to feel the tension radiating off them. The game hasn't even started yet and it seems something has gone down. And gone down badly at that.

“Hey!” comes the bright greeting as Melissa turns to greet you, slinging the bat over her shoulder as she slips her free arm around you in a hug, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I was starting to worry you weren’t coming.”

“And miss all the fun?” you laugh. “Not a chance. I would have been here before now but my hunk of junk on wheels had other ideas.”

Melissa shakes her head. “You really gotta let me have my cousin have a look at that.” She leans in close, lowering her voice to whisper into your ear. “Or you could have just stayed at mine last night like I suggested.”

“Then neither of us would be here on time,” you smirk.

“Okay, I get threatened with having my nails pulled off one my one but she gets Momma Bear Schemmenti defending her pitching? How is that fair?” demands Ava.

Gregory turned to look at the Principal. “You want to say that to her face?”

“Hell no! I ain’t got a death wish and the reason I built my bunker wasn’t to hide from her!”

It’s your turn to bat. The moment you were dreading. It wasn’t as if you were a star pitcher, but at least when you were throwing almost everyone’s attention was focused on the person holding the bat. Now you were the centre of attention.

You push yourself up from the bench, forcing a smile as your little Abbott family cheers you on. You hesitate at the edge of the pitch, however, nervous to step up to the plate. Taking a deep breath, you’re about to take your place when you feel warm hands settle on your hips and get a whiff of familiar perfume as Melissa nuzzles into your temple.

“You okay, babe?”

“Just nervous,” you admit. The scores are close and Melissa’s mood has been tempestuous to say the least.

“What you got to be nervous about?” she asks. “You got this.”

Feeling her press closer to you, you find your forced smile settle into a more natural expression. She sways her hips behind you, moving your with her as her hands stroke down your arms, finally settling the bat into your grasp.

“Just remember all the lessons I gave you and you’ll be fine.”

You chuckle. Those lessons were imprinted in your mind. You’d never found baseball attractive until it meant that Melissa Schemmenti was pressed tightly against you as she guided you in the how to achieve the perfect swing.

She presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you a final smack on the rear as you head for the head for the home plate. “You got this!” she calls after you, a wide smile on her face.

Settling yourself on the home plate, you raise the bat, eyes on the pitcher as you wait.

“You better hit this,” comes a voice from behind you. “Because she’s going to kills us if you strike out.”

You can’t help but grin. “You’re not scared of Ms Schemmenti are you?”

“You kidding? You and Barbara Howard are the only two people here who aren’t!”

You grin as Melissa comes back to the table bearing pitchers of drinks for everyone. Her mood has improved drastically since your team won thanks in no small part to a fantastic hit from Ava that sent the other team scrambling and some impressive sprinting from Janine.

She slides in next to you, a possessive arm finding its way around your shoulders. It never fails to make you feel warm inside, that she is so open in her affection towards you. She is never shy letting her actions proudly declare you as hers. “You were great out there,” she tells you. “Look pretty hot in team colours, too.”

“This from the sexiest woman on the pitch?” What else were you meant to say? You’d have to be blind not to see how the softball uniform clung to her hips and showcased her delicious curves.

“What can I say, winning looks good on me.”

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti

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sagecodex · 1 year

Text

When I'm putting together a project and I need to fill it with content that doesn't exist yet, I usually turn to the tried and true Lorem Ipsum generator. But sometimes, I want to have a little fun with my projects.

So here's a list of 60+ text generators (in alphabetical order) to zhuzh up your projects. Just don't be like me and forget to replace them with something appropriate when you share them with the world (a mistake I will likely continue to make).

Note: the following blocks of text are all pre-generated. Some of them may be offensive, though I am by no means endorsing any of them! They're just examples of of what these tools generate and I’m too lazy to edit.

Lorem Ipsum

Generates the standard lorem ipsum text.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur.

90s Ipsum

Generates a string of 90s text and -ism’s.

Charlotte hornets flip flops braveheart as I lay me down to sleep umbro shorts aviators, this is your brain on drugs speed tlc schindler’s list hot pink chronic. Extreme sports dennis rodman toy story choker necklace. Body piercings armageddon personalized mixtapes toyota supra, spiked hair I've fallen and I can't get up bowl cut dallas cowboys catsuit. Airwalk khaki roseanne leopard print instant messaging royal stewart tartan.

Bacon Ipsum

Generates a block of bacon and meat text.

Bacon ipsum dolor amet biltong rump bresaola kielbasa, pancetta shank shoulder turkey kevin meatloaf cow ground round. Jerky corned beef sausage, filet mignon chislic strip steak capicola porchetta shoulder. Biltong turkey brisket landjaeger, cupim pancetta ham hock pastrami short loin.

Baseball Ipsum

Generates baseball-themed text.

Runs leather fielder's choice center fielder slide perfect game glove leather grounder. Batter's box knuckleball club wild pitch butcher boy cellar win 4-6-3. Batting average petey relief pitcher wrigley hack, scorecard right fielder away. Cardinals bush league no decision home curve earned run flyout.

Bavaria Ipsum

GeneratesBavarian-themed text in Dutch.

Bavaria ipsum dolor sit amet Foidweg Biakriagal, guad o’ha Auffisteign? Ned Servas ognudelt Radi Charivari Griasnoggalsubbm kimmt auf gehds beim Schichtl Zidern. Deandlgwand oamoi und glei wirds no fui lustiga, de Sonn Engelgwand Maßkruag.

Beer Lorem Ipsum

Generates beer text that could almost be a real blog post.

The Mango Beer panics, and another cantankerous Coors goes to sleep; however, an Ellis Island IPA brainwashes a foreign wanker. Furthermore, a burly customer laughs out loud, and a Kashmir IPA of a Home brew avoids contact with an obsequious stein. A surly Pilsner often competes with a chain saw.

Birolipsum

Generates quotes from the President of Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro (or Biroliro for those intimate). In Portuguese.

Marcos Valério alega que o corrupto presidiário Lula é um dos mandantes do assassinato de Celso Daniel! Surpreso? Não! Pela memória do coronel Brilhante Ustra, o pavor de Dilma Rousseff. Eu estou lutando contra um sistema, contra o establishment. Paulo fala: “venda suas capas e compre espadas".

Bluth Ipsum

Generates quotes from the TV show Arrested Development.

I'll be in the hospital bar. You know there isn't a hospital bar, Mother. Well, this is why people hate hospitals. They want to break his legs. It's a good thing he's already got that little scooter. A flower in my garden, a mystery in my panties.

Bob Ross Lipsum

Generates quotes from Bob Ross.

You can create beautiful things - but you have to see them in your mind first. If you don't think every day is a good day - try missing a few. You'll see. All you need to paint is a few tools, a little instruction, and a vision in your mind. And I will hypnotize that just a little bit. We spend so much of our life looking - but never seeing. The little tiny Tim easels will let you down.

Bro Ipsum

Generates “bro culture” text.

Bro ipsum dolor sit amet bunny slope free ride laps, liftie park beater frozen chicken heads Whistler skid lid huck ollie taco mitt. Nose bonk hardtail chain ring white room taco euro spin backside presta rigid giblets. Stunt free ride taco glove deck. White room death cookies park, tele giblets grab dope 360 corn table top spread eagle nose beater snake bite.

Busey Ipsum

Generates quotes from Gary Busey.

Go with the feeling of the nature. Take it easy. Know why you're here. And remember to balance your internal energy with the environment.Sometimes horses cough and fart at the same time, so stay out of the range of its butt muscle because a horses butt muscle is thick.

Cajun Ipsum

Generates cajun-inspired text.

Cayenne boiled crawfish bread pudding sauce piquante Boudreaux po-boy. Interstate envie Lafayette tasso lagniappe King Cake fishing iced tea. Po-boy bonjour smoked sausage trail ride beignet merci beaucoup cajun lagniappe hunting iced tea.

Cat Ipsum

Generates text as cat thoughts.

Stare at guinea pigs mmmmmmmmm eeeeeeee ooooooooo wwwwwwww run in circles, so loved it, hated it, loved it, hated it. Cough furball find box a little too small and curl up with fur hanging out. Kitty ipsum dolor sit amet, shed everywhere shed everywhere stretching attack your ankles chase the red dot, hairball run catnip eat the grass sniff.

Cheese Ipsum

Generates cheese and cheese-adjacent text.

Cow cheese triangles cheesy grin. Stinking bishop port-salut lancashire pecorino stinking bishop cheesy grin red leicester danish fontina. Stilton swiss bocconcini parmesan cottage cheese fondue parmesan hard cheese. Airedale everyone loves halloumi cheese triangles cut the cheese stilton stilton taleggio. Smelly cheese.

Cheesburger Ipsum

Generates actual cheeseburger copy. Limited in what it can give you.

The last time you had a cheeseburger was too long ago. Try not to drool when you think about the slightly charred, medium-rare meat nestled between soft brioche, cradled in crisp iceberg lettuce and flavour amplifying condiments. Why are you still reading this- go get a cheeseburger.

Chiquito Ipsum

I don’t speak Spanish, but it generates Spanish text. Also has a Latin option. Which I also don’t speak. Idk I'm very confused.

Lorem fistrum no puedor de la pradera tiene musho peligro diodenoo a wan. Ese hombree me cago en tus muelas qué dise usteer fistro. Mamaar no puedor al ataquerl ese hombree diodeno caballo blanco caballo negroorl. Ese que llega te va a hasé pupitaa la caidita te voy a borrar el cerito hasta luego Lucas se calle ustée.

Chuck Norris Facts

Generates Chuck Norris Facts. What did you expect XD

Chuck Norris doesn't churn butter. He roundhouse kicks the cows and the butter comes straight out If you spell Chuck Norris in Scrabble, you win. Forever, Chuck Norris is the king of fighters, Chuck Norris originally appeared in the "Street Fighter II" video game, but was removed by Beta Testers because every button caused him to do a roundhouse kick. When asked bout this "glitch," Norris replied, "That's no glitch.".

Coffee Ipsum

Generates coffee-inspired text

Cultivar, strong carajillo whipped half and half irish galão. Id variety that, at redeye, trifecta variety crema robust con panna. Coffee ristretto, et milk, robust flavour cinnamon spoon cappuccino. Dripper, half and half cortado white extra milk medium.

Corporate Ipsum

Generates corporate-style jargon. Sounds like every sales meeting I’ve ever been in.

Leverage agile frameworks to provide a robust synopsis for high level overviews. Iterative approaches to corporate strategy foster collaborative thinking to further the overall value proposition. Organically grow the holistic world view of disruptive innovation via workplace diversity and empowerment.

Cupcake Ipsum

Generates pastry and dessert-inspired text.

Marshmallow lollipop apple pie bonbon pastry icing jujubes toffee jelly beans. Liquorice marzipan toffee candy canes bear claw tart lollipop apple pie. Tootsie roll cake gummies gingerbread wafer sesame snaps cupcake fruitcake sweet roll.

Dalaipsum

Generates quotes from His Holiness the XIVth Dalai Lama.

I love friends, I want more friends. I love smiles. That is a fact. How to develop smiles? There are a variety of smiles. Some smiles are sarcastic. Some smiles are artificial-diplomatic smiles. These smiles do not produce satisfaction, but rather fear or suspicion. But a genuine smile gives us hope, freshness. If we want a genuine smile, then first we must produce the basis for a smile to come.

DeLorean Ipsum

Generates quotes from the movie Back to the Future.

Hey, Doc? Doc. Hello, anybody home? Einstein, come here, boy. What's going on? Wha- aw, god. Aw, Jesus. Whoa, rock and roll. Yo C'mon, Mom, make it fast, I'll miss my bus. Hey see you tonight, Pop. Woo, time to change that oil. Hello. Tab?

Dino Ipsum

Generates names of dinosaurs!

Astrophocaudia Chaoyangsaurus Priconodon Amygdalodon Dracoraptor Mahakala Zalmoxes Anthodon Alocodon Lingyuanosaurus Kotasaurus Leinkupal Magnamanus Styracosaurus Atlasaurus Janenschia Drusilasaura Acristavus Leinkupal Bagaceratops Cedrorestes Batyrosaurus Sinornithoides Coelophysis Neuquensaurus Pachyspondylus Eurolimnornis Platyceratops Marisaurus Quilmesaurus.

Doggo Ipsum

Cat Ipsum but for dogs.

Doggo ipsum lotsa pats very taste wow lotsa pats extremely cuuuuuute, pats adorable doggo. heck very good spot heckin. Heckin good boys and girls clouds corgo sub woofer borking doggo, heckin angery woofer boof length boy. He made many woofs pats h*ck heckin good boys and girls pats boofers, you are doing me the shock the neighborhood pupper long bois.

Durham Ipsum

I don’t know where Durham is, but it generates text inspired by the city...county?

Triangle localista dino trail jazz diamondview nccu the connecter historic preservation smoffice lemurs, bimbe scrap exchange trinity park brightleaf dance upcycled. Chapel hill street locavore wunc plaid, beer old five points 15-501, angier drive hipster.

Farm Animal Lorem Ipsum

Generates farm-inspired text. I hate that oink oink is in this.

Mallet herbs basil nest, in welding equipment pens quail. Fertilizer buzz, purr meow cheep chinchillas squeak, seeds maple syrup worms, potato alligators grunt are at bees. Apples ducks straw, quail a ostriches donkey, hay hook cucumbers. Post pounder calf, hay or duck is, tool shed horse. Grapes at yams mushrooms organic berries gobble. Mouse soybeans sweet corn hogs llamas or oink oink wind.

Fillerama

Generates quotes from the TV show Futurama.

OK, this has gotta stop. I'm going to remind Fry of his humanity the way only a woman can. In your time, yes, but nowadays shut up! Besides, these are adult stemcells, harvested from perfectly healthy adults whom I killed for their stemcells. I saw you with those two "ladies of the evening" at Elzars. Explain that.

Gangsta Lorem Ipsum

Generates “gangsta” inspired text.

Lorem ipsum dolizzle sit amet, consectetuer gizzle bow wow wow. Nullam sapizzle velit, get down get down volutpizzle, suscipit ma nizzle, gravida vel, mammasay mammasa mamma oo sa. Pellentesque crackalackin tortizzle. Yo eros. Fo shizzle at dolizzle dapibizzle turpizzle tempizzle da bomb.

Heisenberg Ipsum

Generates quotes from the TV show Breaking Bad. It lets you select the character (I’m assuming they’re all from the same show I haven’t seen it).

He has enough money to last forever. He knows he needs to keep moving. You'll never find him. He's out of the picture. I saved his life, I owed him that, but now he and I are done. Which is exactly what you wanted, isn't it. You've always struck me as a very pragmatic man so if I may, I would like to review options with you. Of which, it seems to me you have two.

Hillbilly Ipsum

Generates hillbilly-inspired text and -ism’s.

Chickens in the sack died when I was young rye whiskey steel driving crew? Going to town soldier's joy. One arm round my whiskey keg poor boy sugar baby soldier's joy, fiddle, coming down the track, hot corn nine-pound hammer cluck old hen run. Stranger? Pickle my bones in alcohol.

Hipster Ipsum

Generates hipster-inspired text.

I'm baby plaid umami kale chips, pinterest selvage microdosing gochujang Brooklyn small batch vinyl 3 wolf moon. VHS pinterest wayfarers normcore direct trade pickled lumbersexual vegan yuccie palo santo kickstarter crucifix 3 wolf moon. Vexillologist adaptogen try-hard, chicharrones hexagon vape polaroid.

Horror Lorem Ipsum

Generates horror-inspired text.

Gore at chainsaw knife crazed choking helpless. In willow trees, killer dolls are rotten teeth bite, sheep children virus nibh, in zombies brains unknown ghost creepy. Drenched scream scared dark. Creep cold graves, shadow non fear a, psychotic ashes ghost. Eerie needles edginess, graveyard on death rotten, disturbing non grave.

Jipsum

A random lorem ipsum generator so not all your text is the same. It’s in German though.

Impensa quaeque mediocris elitr iactare Confirmat metu comit Explicatis civibus deterruisset Manus. Cupiditatum exedunt suaviter inveniri voluptas pauca Inter illa confirmavit. Reprehensiones rebus imperdiet etiam temporis Ornateque delectatio platonem nostris occulta Hausta intercapedo magni. Dicitis timeam Vocet faciendum consul Simulent chrysippe. Fortunae nostros arare Inter futurove.

Journo Ipsum

Generates some of the most common catchphrases, buzzwords, and bon mots of the future-of-news crowd. (Wow I hate that description)

future API Zite the notion of the public #twittermakesyoustupid election-night hologram Rupert Murdoch crowdfunding CPC nut graf gamification gotta grok it before you rock it rubber cement, Foursquare nonprofit Dan Fleckner WikiLeaks abundance libel lawyer Tim Carmody media bias.

Katy Perry Ipsum

Generates Katy Perry lyrics.

The boys break their necks try'na to creep a little sneak peek. Think the city towed my car, chandeliers on the floor. I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter, dancing through the fire. They say, be afraid you're not like the others, futuristic lover. You think I'm funny when I tell the punchline wrong. We'd keep all our promises be us against the world. Yeah, she's footloose and so fancy free. So I sat quietly, agreed politely.

Khaled Ipsum

Generates Khaled quotes...lyrics? Unclear.

Lorem Khaled Ipsum is a major key to success. The weather is amazing, walk with me through the pathway of more success. Take this journey with me, Lion! Look at the sunset, life is amazing, life is beautiful, life is what you make it. It’s on you how you want to live your life. Everyone has a choice.

Lancashire Ipsum

Generates colloquialisms that originate from the county of Lancashire.

Lancashire ipsum dolor amet gradely axin camp neaw cowd frit. Bellasses yer'sen unawl greaund peawnd. Camp Darrun geet, howd feyther clowt eyter. Vawse way'er clum nought. Gronny no nouse heawr beawnt, Keawyed City purring es'tin inth arrers bin diddy our Peg shoon.

Liquor Ipsum

A boozy text generator.

Singapore sling old etonian aberlour missouri mule vodka sunrise two fingers shirley temple black pappy van winkle glenburgie. Paddy the last word, gibson vat 69, bruichladdich flirtini lejon hanky-panky drambuie finlandia tequila sunrise edradour!

Melbourne Ipsum

Honestly I have no idea what this is but I’m assuming it’s Australian.

Naked for satan street art, spiegeltent north of the river brunswick and brunswick st MSAC kylie minogue, swanston melb collingwood ferals spring racing carnival empire of the sun, the melbourne cup the hawks victory vs heart four seasons in one day the borek woman, avalon is so not melb the espy bill clinton ate two bowls.

Mid-century Ipsum

Generates mid-century-inspired text.

Hostess trolley bakelite selectric creative carport candy-ass, jazz whiskey beatnik creative. Tiki upswept frutiger googie drive-in futuristic highway jet-age television, herman miller danish modern jet-age. Ratpack ranch home whiskey candy-ass upswept saul bass jet-age hostess trolley?

Morse Code Lorem Ipsum

Generates random Morse Code.

.-.. --- .-. . -- .. .--. … ..- -- -.. --- .-.. --- .-. … .. - .- -- . - --..-- -.-. --- -. … . -.-. - . - ..- . .-. .- -.. .. .--. .. … -.-. .. -. --. . .-.. .. - .-.-.- ..- - --- -.. .. --- .-.-.- -. .- -- … . -.. . … - .-.-.- -. .- -- .- .-. .. … ..- … . - . … - .. .- -.-. ..- .-.. .. … .- -.. .. .--. .. … -.-. .. -. --. .-.-.- …- . … - .. -… ..- .-.. ..- -- .- -. - . .. .--. … ..- -- .--. .-. .. -- .. … .. -. ..-. .- ..- -.-. .. -… ..- … --- .-. -.-. .. .-.. ..- -.-. - ..- … . - ..- .-.. -

Mussem Ipsum

I don’t know who Mussem is but it’s in Portuguese. He looks friendly?

Mussum Ipsum, cacilds vidis litro abertis. A ordem dos tratores não altera o pão duris.Interessantiss quisso pudia ce receita de bolis, mais bolis eu num gostis.Suco de cevadiss, é um leite divinis, qui tem lupuliz, matis, aguis e fermentis.Admodum accumsan disputationi eu sit. Vide electram sadipscing et per.

Neil deGrasse Tyson Ipsum

Generates quotes from astrophysicist Niel deGrasse Tyson.

As an educator, I try to get people to be fundamentally curious and to question ideas that they might have or that are shared by others. In that state of mind, they have earned a kind of inoculation against the fuzzy thinking of these weird ideas floating around out there.

Nietzsche Ipsum

Generates Nietzsche-inspired text.

Society depths ubermensch christianity sea enlightenment joy virtues decieve society good disgust selfish noble. Ascetic decieve pious play deceptions decieve decieve intentions self self ideal.

Ocean Creature Lorem Ipsum

Generates sea creature-inspired text.

Manta ray with lionfish ect. Coral hogfish fingernail clam in tilefish mandarinfish crab lionfish weasel shark. Yellow pseudochromis weasel shark shadow, darkness in deap ocean an, Motionless Wabash pigtoe Full moon. Colorful soldierfish banded sole jump. Nurse shark at goatfish grey whale.

Obama Ipsum

Generates quotes from former US President Barack Obama.

We are a better country than this. But I will also renew the tough, direct diplomacy that can prevent Iran from obtaining nuclear weapons and curb Russian aggression. It is time for us to act on what everyone knows to be true. This tolerance is essential for religion to thrive, but it is being challenged in many different ways.

Office Ipsum

Generates sentences you’ve heard in every meeting ever. Also has a client feedback version!

If you're not hurting you're not winning pivot, dear hiring manager:, for incentivization even dead cats bounce wiggle room, for one-sheet. Put a record on and see who dances high-level, but we've got to manage that low hanging fruit lift and shift. It just needs more cowbell make it a priority, but strategic high-level 30,000 ft view pro-sumer software, so golden goose low-hanging fruit can we parallel path.

Pirate Ipsum

Generates pirate-inspired jargon.

Squiffy ballast maroon gangplank tackle grog scuppers driver barque tack. Yardarm mizzen barque capstan heave to hardtack Pieces of Eight port hulk parrel. Pinnace lass Jack Tar gabion Yellow Jack run a rig furl red ensign come about Brethren of the Coast.

Pizza Ipsum

I love pizza ?

Pizza ipsum dolor amet garlic sausage white pizza bianca hawaiian pizza meat lovers large onions. Banana peppers black olives stuffed crust, pizza steak bbq sauce chicken wing meatball garlic lasagna green bell peppers anchovies mushrooms extra cheese. Philly steak bianca pizza mayo, garlic sauce bbq rib platter.

Placehodler

It’s crypto and I hate it.

Bitcoin could be many dormant accidental fork! Monero waited some efficient do your own research during lots of market cap. Since someone specialises in few quick coin in the difficulty, Litecoin limited a hot wallet at few smart contract, so although SHA 256 did lots of provably fair double spend behind many Lambo

Pommy Ipsum

“The official lorem ipsum filler text generator of the British Empire.”

Pommy ipsum knee high to a grasshopper i'll be a monkey's uncle sod's law knows bugger all about nowt one would like spend a penny grab a jumper, cheesed off that's ace shepherd's pie mince pies anorak because there was nothing on the gogglebox, what a load of guff chippy accordingly nosh on a stag do chin up.

Postmodernist Generator

Generates a whole meaningless essay of postmodernist jargon.

If one examines textual deappropriation, one is faced with a choice: either reject textual precapitalist theory or conclude that sexual identity has objective value. Lyotard uses the term ‘textual materialism’ to denote a mythopoetical paradox It could be said that the premise of textual precapitalist theory holds that narrative is a product of communication, given that narrativity is equal to language.

Ramen Ipsum

Ramen is love. Ramen is life.

Ginger sesame oil abura soba chopped onions chicken stock seasoned egg corn Nagoya pork bones soy sauce. Asahikawa flavoured oil scallions Kagoshima Tokushima abura soba Hakata Tokyo Nissin instant cup ramen soy sauce yuzu toasted sesame seeds ramen burger vinegar.

Rush Ipsum

Generates lyrics from the band Rush.

One likes to believe in the freedom of music, but glittering prizes and endless compromises shatter the illusion of integrity. I wandered home though the silent streets and fell into a fitful sleep. I know it's most unusual to come before you so, but I've found an ancient miracle.

Sagan Ipsum

Generates text inspired by astronomer Carl Sagan.

Paroxysm of global death Drake Equation explorations another world from which we spring a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. Cosmos kindling the energy hidden in matter globular star cluster dream of the mind's eye ship of the imagination courage of our questions?

Samuel L. Ipsum

Generates quotes from actor Samuel L. Jackson. (Warning: inappropriate language)

Now that there is the Tec-9, a crappy spray gun from South Miami. This gun is advertised as the most popular gun in American crime. Do you believe that shit? It actually says that in the little book that comes with it: the most popular gun in American crime. Like they're actually proud of that shit.

Skate Ipsum

Generates skater lingo.

Skate ipsum dolor sit amet, Primo slide dude rock and roll mute-air 540 nose bump. Masonite locals egg plant trucks Saran Wrap camel back. Pool bigspin Paul Rodriguez no comply mini ramp nose slide feeble. 720 fakie out griptape Grind King mute-air regular footed bail. Pogo rail slide crail slide full-cab feeble concave Johnny Rad.

Space Ipsum

Generates outer space-inspired text.

There is no strife, no prejudice, no national conflict in outer space as yet. Its hazards are hostile to us all. Its conquest deserves the best of all mankind, and its opportunity for peaceful cooperation many never come again. But why, some say, the moon? Why choose this as our goal?

Trump Ipsum

Generates text inspired by former US President Donald Trump.

You have so many different things placeholder text has to be able to do, and I don't believe Lorem Ipsum has the stamina. You have so many different things placeholder text has to be able to do, and I don't believe Lorem Ipsum has the stamina. He’s not a word hero. He’s a word hero because he was captured. I like text that wasn’t captured.

Web 2.0 Ipsum

Generates text from nonsensical Web 2.0 startup names, just for the heck of it.

Webtwo ipsum sclipo zapier groupon blippy, wesabe. Empressr twitter groupon meebo joukuu doostang octopart, grockit spock doostang koofers. Scribd airbnb zoho insala gooru chartly yuntaa, odeo knewton koofers balihoo zlio. Wikia prezi zlio empressr glogster cloudera tivo kno, wufoo sifteo zimbra jiglu kippt.

Wine Ipsum

Generates actual filler copy about wine.

The aftertaste, or "finish," is the primary factor in judging the quality and character of wine. Tomato and cherry flavors nestle comfortably together with notes of leather and clay in Sangiovese. A lingering finish indicates a luscious vintage! If a husband found his wife drinking wine in the early Roman times, he was at liberty to kill her. Be not offended when your ex drinks wine.

Yolo Ipsum

I hate this and I will be using it for every project going forward.

Don’t trust anyone, cause you only live once. Aliquam imperdiet, ligula vehicula sodales lobortis, dui arcu ultricies libero, vitae tempor eros libero sed neque. Pop a molly, I’m sweatin’, consequat feugiat eros. How you like your eggs, fried or fertilized?

Zombie Ipsum

“A macabre feast of frightful filler.”

Zombie ipsum reversus ab viral inferno, nam rick grimes malum cerebro. De carne lumbering animata corpora quaeritis. Summus brains sit, morbo vel maleficia? De apocalypsi gorger omero undead survivor dictum mauris. Hi mindless mortuis soulless creaturas, imo evil stalking monstra adventus resi dentevil vultus comedat cerebella viventium.

#resource #resources #lorem ipsum #filler #filler text generators #web design #generator #text generator #did i make this list so i don't have to google “lipsum generators” ? absolutely i did #did i hyperfixate on this list instead of designing? maybe #don't perceive me you know who you are #anyway here you go #use them wisely #sagecodex collection #sage codes collection

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doctorwhoisadhd · 10 months

Text

wow combing through prehistory stuff and you really can extrapolate quite a lot from these!

the first time a player batted themself in was day 1 of season A: during a game against the cows, eggplants player cote loveless hit a single, repeated so their at-bat began again while they were still on base, and then hit a 2-run HR

we already know parker got ego in season A, but so did fletcher berger and james nolan (they both received ego++ in season B)

some season A game outcomes: fireballs beat the cows on day 168; fridays beat the blue crabs on day 169 (nice) and the mints on day 174; truckers beat the flowers on day 176 and the fridays on day 182; and immortals beat the beams on day 175, the pies on day 183, and the truckers on days 184, 185, 186, and 187 (sweeping them in the internet series).

some season B game outcomes: trunks beat the immortals on days 163, 164, 165, and 166 (sweeping them in round 1 of the postseason); flowers beat heartthrobs on day 169 (nice); fridays beat the flowers on day 175; psychics beat the saltines on day 175; fireballs beat the trunks on day 175 and the psychics on day 182; and crabs beat dolphins on day 174, the fridays on day 181, and the fireballs on day 189

the immortals were incinerated during a home game

trunks were the first team to have instability chain to them (from the immortals) OR wear off (day 9 of season C)

i knew the artists won the season C internet series, but now i also know that they won it against the shoe thieves

artists beat the shoe thieves at home on day 187; they were tied in the bottom of the ninth and parker macmillan (artists) scored against megan ito (thieves) to shame after being struck out in innings 3 and 6

artists were incinerated at an away game against the squirrels

squirrels won against the artists/talkers on day 3 of season D

Psychics beat thieves at home on day 97 of season D: game was tied in the bottom of the 9th and parker scored against thieves pitcher megan ito to shame

between season D and E megan ito moved from the thieves to the truckers

truckers won the first 9 games of season E

#this is so fascinating #blaseball #parker macmillan #megan ito #cote loveless #ari opinion hour

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suthex · 6 months

Text

See I have outfaced you, demon! See, I have faced the one who is submerged in the limbs of [NAME NAME] born of N.N - like someone who flies up and then stops and settles on a high place, like the flying of Ra [or else: the Sun] when He is rising. I have outfaced you in the same way, demon! But see, it is the [name of god] who knows me, namely that I belong to the tribe of gods; those who speak with the snakes, who kill the vipers, those who make an end of your life-breath! See, from the breasts of Anat/Astarte I have suckled the big cow [wife; mother] of Seth.

See, I have lots of words against you. From the big pitcher of Seth I have drunk them, from his jug I have drained them. Listen, demon, listen! The voice of Seth is roaring, you shall listen to his roaring. While you are tortured, Seth will lift you up with his mighty hand and he will throw you onto the solid stone. The deserts drink you up, you who is against me, the deserts drink you up since they are thirsty. The ground which is dried-up and stone-dry drinks you up; the ground that never becomes satiated now drinks you up. It is this that drinks you up, demon!

Then the gods will learn of your death, then the [seven] Hathor-goddesses will learn that your heart has left. Set has vanquished you, demon. Powerless are you, you who submerged and plotted against me. The heat of your mouth does not exist any longer. Victorious are the Mighty Ones.

- (modified by me) ”24. Another Conjuration”, Ancient Egyptian Magical Texts, J. F Borghouts

#grimoire

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krishnpremika · 1 year

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Rather than being in this world, I'd like to be there where every morning Krishna follows his cows into the forests of Braj. I want to wake up to Krishna's flute. I want to happily go around the kitchen to churn butter out of the milk for Krishna, while singing glories of my Govinda. I want to do my Shringaar really nice just for Mohan. Wearing a beautiful dress, decorating my eyes with kajal, head with flowers making sure that it pleases his eyes.

I just want to be in that time, where I can wait for my Radhe outside her palace, while she gets ready for Kanha. All decked up in jewels, flowers, garlands. I want to be the person Radhe calls for, when she wants someone to help her with the aalta. I want to carefully colour her feet with aalta. I want to walk with her through the forests of Braj laughing and singing. I want to follow her footsteps through the forests, carrying pitchers all the way to Yamuna and then be stopped by Krishna. I want to be on Radhe's team when he becomes the "tax collector" and I want the pitchers to be broken with pebbles by Kanha, as I carry them on my head. I want to be the one, who Krishna calls "Sakhi" with his nectarean voice in a nectarean rhythm. I want to see Krishna laugh, smile while the wind brings his deep blue curls on his face. I want to witness the scene where Krishna's eyes twinkles with love upon seeing his Radhe. Whare Radhe goes to Kusum Sarovar with the excuse of picking flowers just meet her Shyamsundar. I want to touch that soil where Krishna leaves his footprint. I want to sit at the lotus feet of my RadheShyam and decorate them. At night, when he plays the flute, I want to forget the world and run leaving everything behind and only be surrendered to Krishna. I want to dance with my senses lost in Krishna. I only want to see Krishna, feel Krishna, hear Krishna, and be with Krishna.

I want to be in the world where there's nothing except Shyam and his Shyama.

I want to forget the world in the remembrance of Krishna.

#krishna #love #radhakrishna #radheradhe #radheshyam #krishnalove #harekrishna #hinduism #hindublr #krishnaconsciousness #vrindavan #braj

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minty-mumbles · 10 months

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Shifting Hues (Ch. 3.2: Lavender Cloth)

Summary: A fic that follows Wild’s journey to discover themselves. This chapter: Wild has a chat with Malon, and Hyrule tries to offer some advice

A/N: Thank you to @breannasfluff for helping me out with this chapter. Also happy pride month :)

(Read on AO3)

~~~

The scents wafting through Malon’s kitchen are heavenly, and Wild takes a moment to breathe them in and appreciate it. It’s been a while since Wild’s had the luxury of cooking inside with a real fireplace and oven, so they’d jumped at the opportunity to join Malon in the kitchen.

The fact that helping Malon also got Wild out of spending the rest of the evening doing chores was only a bonus.

Don’t get them wrong; Wild loves horses and most other farm animals. (Barring the Cuccos. Wild simply holds a healthy respect for those birds.) But despite their love for animals, Wild doubts that they could ever become a farmer. Having to muck out stables and milk cows is not their idea of fun.

Wild hadn’t been the only one who would’ve loved an excuse to get out of chores. Warriors in particular had sent Wild a somewhat nasty look when the Champion had nearly ran out of the barn to help Malon with cooking. However, Wild was the only one who had enough competence to help in the kitchen. That, and the other heroes were looking forward to seeing what the two of them would make for dinner. So there hadn’t been that much grumbling when Wild had fled the barn.

Malon had shared a wink with them as they entered the house and she directed them to go wash up. Apparently, she also didn’t mind the break from farm work. When Time had been away, Malon had done more than her fair share of running the farm. Now that Time was back, along with many extra pairs of hands, he hadn’t hesitated to insist she take the day off from farm work.

Malon had let Wild choose the menu for tonight, and Wild had decided to make a veritable feast. They might’ve gone a little bit overboard in choosing what dishes to make, but Malon had raised no complaint. She’d simply smiled at them with a hint of amused affection in her eyes. Wild turned away to hide the way their cheeks warmed.

If the first time the group had visited the farm had been any indication, the chores would be done sooner than expected with all the extra help. The other heroes would have plenty of time to relax before dinner was ready.

With that in mind, Wild sets about preparing something small for them to nibble on while they waited for dinner to be done. Some freshly cut vegetables from the ranch’s garden, a bowl of roasted nuts, and a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade took up residence on the dining table, waiting for the hungry heroes who would soon come into the house. After a moment of hesitation, Wild spikes the lemonade with a splash of chilly elixir to help everyone cool down after a day spent out in the sun. Hopefully, that would be enough to stall any grumbling, either from the heroes or their stomachs.

With that settled, Wild heads out of the house and around the back to Time and Malon’s personal garden. After a brief deliberation, they pull up some carrots and parsnips. Soon, the vegetables are scrubbed clean, chopped, and tossed into the roasting pan with the rump roast of a wild boar, which Wild rubbed down thoroughly with their own special blend of spices. The vegetables would soak up all the juices from the meat and spices while they cooked and turn flavorful and tender as the meat cooked. That went into the oven right away to slow roast for as long as possible.

As Wild dealt with the main dish, Malon had brought up a large number of potatoes from the cellar and had started preparing them. A large pot had been set to boil over the fire, ready to receive the potatoes. They would be boiled until soft, then mashed with butter, a splash of fresh milk, some strong Hateno cheese, and roasted garlic.

Wild toys with the idea of making a light mushroom soup to serve with the main course, but quickly dismisses the idea. Soups and stews are a staple of traveling, and while Wild tries to mix it up with a curry or stir fry every once in a while- anything that could be cooked easily in a single pot– they knew their companions would enjoy a break from soups.

All of the pair’s work is done in relative silence. Both cooks are engrossed in their jobs and feel no need to exchange words besides “pass me that knife over there,” or “where did you put the salt?”

It’s peaceful to be able to cook in a real kitchen again, and Wild and Malon work well together, neither of them having to be instructed on what to do next.

Wild pulls out a second cutting board, starting to help Malon with the potatoes as they contemplate what else to serve. The roast wouldn’t be enough for all of them, and some of the heroes, like Sky, Legend, and Hyrule, didn’t care for red meat.

Wild mentally rifles through all the recipes they know, eventually coming to settle on salmon meuniere. The dish brought good memories to Wild. The first time they'd made the recipe had been for Genli, one of Kass' many daughters. She'd nearly shattered their eardrums with her excited shriek when they’d approached her with the finished dish. It’d made the hours they'd spent gathering the materials and trying to get the recipe just right all worth it.

That, and the dish was truly delicious.

A swishing movement out of the corner of their eye pulls them from their contemplation. A quick turn of their head shows it’s only Malon’s dress flaring out as she twists to grab something off the counter.

For a brief moment, Wild’s reminded of the necklace Riju had been wearing the last time they’d seen her. Malon’s dress is a similar shade of soft purple as the gems Riju had worn.

Now thoroughly distracted from their task, Wild’s movements turn robotic. Their mind wanders back to the subject that’d been consuming them lately. It had become a little troublesome, with how much the topic still weighs on their mind.

They wished they could talk to Zel about this. She would understand, and even if she didn’t, it would be nice to just get their thought’s off their chest. Unfortunately, Wild was hundreds of miles and thousands of years away from Zel, and surrounded by people who didn’t know who Wild really was.

Another swish from Malon’s skirt draws their eyes back to the fabric. It’s a pretty pastel purple, which is a subtle flex of wealth that Wild hadn’t expected from Malon or Time. It’s not a bold enough purple to be overly expensive, or the kind that’s reserved for royalty, but it would’ve been expensive cloth. Malon is still wearing her typical apron and yellow neckerchief overtop of it, which dresses it down even more. As Wild stares, they notice subtle embroidery. Little bunches of lavender line the hems of the dress, with flourishes of green leaves.

“See something interesting?” Wild looked up at Malon’s question, finding her staring right back at them.

They turn away to the flush that creeps up their cheeks at being caught staring. “I really like your dress, that's all. It’s pretty.”

“Oh!” Malon blinks in surprise, apparently not expecting that answer. She looks pleased. ”Link got the fabric for me as an anniversary gift a few years back. He probably would’a commissioned someone to make it into a dress for me too, but I like to make my own. I’m the only one who knows how’ta make ‘em fit just right. Premade dresses always seem to have something wrong with ‘em.”

Malon holds out the edge of her skirt for them to feel, which they do after a moment of hesitation. The fabric feels as high quality as it looks, and Wild can tell it’s not something Malon would wear if she were working on the farm. It’s a bit too delicate for that. Wild’s mind wanders as they rub the fabric between their fingers, and something of their envy must show on their face as they inspect the fabric, because Malon looks intrigued. A little confused at Wild’s interest, but not hostile.

“I think I have some of my older dresses in the attic. I’m saving ‘em for if Link and I ever have a- well,” She cuts herself off with a smile, and Wild feels a similar smile tug at the corner of their mouth. The thought of Time and Malon having children makes their heart squeeze. They know it’s something the couple is hoping for, and the two of them deserve to be happy. They deserve to have as many children as they want.

Malon’s fond, love-struck expression makes Wild relax slightly, which means they’re all the less prepared for her next words. Malon shakes her head to dispel the thought she’d been trapped in.

“I think some of them might fit you, if you’d like to try them. I think you’d look pretty in them.”

Wild stiffened, their hands which had gone back to steadily chopping potatoes freeze instantly. Their heart is beating swiftly in their chest. Some kind of fluttery, light feeling rises in their stomach, but it brings along a dread that crawls under their skin.

Pretty.

Pretty pretty pretty pretty prettyprettypretty

Their brain frantically grabs hold of the word, turning it over and over obsessively in their mind, as if that will reveal some secret hidden message. Wild curses the fact that they hadn’t been looking at Malon when she’d said it. They weren't good at reading facial expressions, but they wish they had something to puzzle over instead of just Malon’s voice.

Pretty?

They hadn’t detected any sneer in her voice. She hadn’t sounded like she’d been making fun of them.

Malon had called them pretty. Or… implied it, at least.

“Wild? Are you alright, hon? You don’t have to try on any dresses if you don’t want to.” Malon is trying to reassure them, Wild thinks, and they startle as they realize they’ve been staring at the potatoes on the cutting board in front of them this whole time.

“No one’s ever called me pretty before.” The words slip out without their permission, but they aren’t a lie.

“Oh.” Malon’s expression turns gentle. There’s a small bit of pity in her gaze too, and for once, the emotion doesn't irritate them. Usually, when the topic of his scars come up, people are awkward at best, and downright insulting at worst, whether they intend to be or not.

No one’s ever offered comfort before. No one except Zel ever felt bad for them or told them they were sorry that it had happened. And Zel didn’t count. She had the same kinds of scar they had- the horrific burns that came with surviving an encounter with a guardian. That type of scar was rare to see, and usually only garnered horror or grotesque curiosity.

“I don’t care what I look like,” Wild remarks, still not looking at Malon. The protest sounds hollow and false even to Wild’s ears. It was… partially true. Wild had never put too much thought into their actual appearance before. They’ve worried about whether they looked masculine or feminine, but they’d never bothered with how good they looked. They knew their lifestyle of traveling and fighting didn’t leave much time for appearances.

That didn’t stop people from judging.

Malon hummed a reassurance. “You don’t need to care, hon, at least not if you don’t want to.” Wild nodded. They knew that, but what if they did care what other people thought? What then? Tears prick at the corner of their eyes. They know that Malon can’t see it, turned away as they were, but it still makes their ears turn downward in shame.

“And I know my opinion doesn’t matter, but I think you're beautiful, Wild.” A fat tear rolls down Wild’s cheek, dripping onto their tunic and turning the blue fabric dark as it soaks in.

Malon’s hand cups their cheek, and guides them to look at her. She doesn’t look surprised to see the tear tracks on their face. She simply says “Oh, honey,” and draws them into a hug. She sounds gentle but there’s an undercurrent of sadness that makes the corner of Wild’s mouth twitch downwards as they try not to cry.

Wild can see Malon’s face out of the corner of their eye. Her expression is still concerned but still gentle and caring, and for a second, Wild is stuck with the overwhelming urge to tell her everything.

Could they tell her? Malon is very kind, and she’s married to Time. She knows intimately how the title of hero can affect those who bear it, and that being a hero didn’t mean you had to fit a certain mold.

And if she did react badly- well, Wild doesn’t live in the same era as her. They wouldn’t have to live with her opinion of them.

Could they really tell her?

Wild is halfway through opening their mouth to try and speak through their tears when the front door opens. They can hear Time’s voice call out a greeting, and heavy footsteps making their way toward the kitchen

They try to twitch away from the hug instinctually, never mind the fact that it’s obvious they’re still crying, their shoulders still heaving with every breath. Malon tightens her arms and doesn’t let them out of her embrace. When the door opens, Wild, who’s facing away from it, can't see Time or his expression. They tense under the weight of the old man’s gaze anyways, burying their face in Malon’s shoulder.

There’s a pause as Time takes in the scene. When he speaks, his voice is a little confused, but mostly concerned. “Champion?” Wild doesn't respond, knowing that their voice would waver and crack if they tried to speak now.

When Wild doesn’t respond, Time speaks to Malon instead. “Is he alright?”

Wild can feel Malon shake her head, motioning for Time to leave with one hand. “He’ll be fine. Dinner won’t be ready for a bit. Go back outside.” Wild can’t see the silent conversation taking place between the two, but after a few more seconds Wild can hear Time turn and go back outside without another word.

Wild will have to worry about that later. Hopefully, Time won’t try to ask them or Malon about what just happened. It’s a futile hope- the heroes of Hyrule are all a nosy bunch, Time included. With luck, Malon would head him off, and tell him not to ask Wild about it.

Wild still wasn’t ready to tell any of the other heroes, yet. Their mind goes back to the thought they’d had before Time had opened the door. Could they tell Malon who they really were?

No.

Malon is kind, but Wild isn’t ready to tell a friendly acquaintance one of their deepest secrets. Wild’s only met Malon a few times. In truth, they barely know her. A few hours spent cooking together isn’t enough for them to trust her with this. Wild can think of a whole list of people who deserve to know about this first.

Teba, Yunobo, Sidon, the rest of Wild’s friends in their era, and Malon’s own husband are on that list, along with the rest of the heroes.

Wild spends a moment to think this all over.

Those who wield the sword that seals the darkness all have an undeniable connection. Some of the heroes had proposed that they all shared the same soul, while others thought that they simply shared experiences that no one else– besides possibly their respective princess– could relate to.

Whatever it was, there had always been an underlying sense of trust between them, even the more paranoid like Time and Legend. They trusted each other explicitly to guard their back in battle, but not only that. They’re able to trust each other with their deepest secrets. Things they haven't told anyone else.

Hylia knows that Wild’s admitted some things to the other heroes that they haven’t told anyone before, not even Zel. Things like the fact that they remember how it felt to die, things like how many times they had to use Mipha’s grace on their adventure because they were still so new to the world and had no one to watch their back, things like–

Well. The point was there was a certain vulnerability between the heroes they only shared with each other. Wild brushes away those thoughts before they can overwhelm them.

Wild backs off, wiping at their eyes. This time, Malon lets them go without resistance.

“My offer about those dresses is always open, hon.” Malon’s expression is calm, and Wild can’t tell what she must be thinking. They throw their focus back to their cooking, trying to take their mind off of what just happened.

Wild wonders what the other heroes would think about Wild dressing in women’s clothing. Would they care? Against their will, Wild’s mind flashes back to Warriors jeering tone when he had found Wild’s vai outfit, and they let the thought drift away.

~~~

Time keeps shooting Wild concerned glances over dinner. No one else has caught on to Time’s worry yet, which is a relief. Wild’s sure the other heroes have noticed that they’d been quieter than usual, but it wasn’t odd for the heroes to be more selective with their words at times, Wild included.

Instead of meeting Time’s gaze, Wild busies themself with pushing around the mashed potatoes on their plate. After a while, and what Wild could swear was Malon giving Time a swift kick under the table, Time moves his scrutiny to his own plate.

Wild is finally able to relax minutely, the tension bleeding out of their shoulders. They tune back into the conversations around them.

Closest to them, Hyrule and Warriors are talking, with Legend, Time, and Malon listening in. At the other end of the table, Four, Twilight, and Sky are having a quiet conversion that Wild can’t make out, save for Wind’s occasional loud interjections.

Hyrule speaks, asking a question from Warriors that Wild had missed. “Um, I only named myself Link a few months before I started my first journey. Believe me, the irony wasn’t lost on me.”

Warriors raises an eyebrow at Hyrule as he takes a sip of his drink. “Why did you choose Link, if I may ask?”

Hyrule shrinks into his seat, his eyes darting over to Legend, ears twitching nervously. When he speaks, his voice is even quieter than normal for the soft-spoken traveler. “I had heard stories about the hero who came before me. I was just a kid at the time, but I already knew I wanted to be like him.”

Hyrule makes a slightly strangled noise after he finishes speaking. Wild doubts he meant to say all that, and feels a little bad for the traveler. He’s always been one of the quieter members of the group, and anyone with eyes could tell that he idolizes Legend.

“I assume you didn’t believe it would turn out to be so literal.” Warriors commented. He looks delighted, and Wild suspects the only reason he’s not teasing Legend mercilessly right now is to avoid Hyrule exploding from embarrassment at the dinner table. Wild doesn’t doubt that Warriors will be on Legend's case– and on his nerves–the second Hyrule is out of earshot.

Legend is also steadfastly refusing to look up from his plate, so at least Wild isn’t the only one. He’s pretending not to listen to the conversation, but the bright red ears and emotionally constipated look on his face made it clear that the veteran had indeed been listening.

~~~

Wild finds it hard to fall asleep that night.

The group is split between the ranch’s two guest rooms, and Wild ends up in the room with Legend, Warriors, and Wind. Legend almost immediately claims the single bed, and the rest of them end up setting up their bedrolls on the floor after a token protest from Warriors.

Despite having to lay on the floor, they’re still more comfortable than they are in the majority of the places the group has camped before. There are no sticks or rocks to poke their bedroll, no need to worry about movement or sounds in the dark, no light from the fire, or noises from those on watch to keep them awake.

But despite all this, Wild’s wandering mind keeps them awake until long after everyone else has fallen asleep. The only sounds in the room are the soft, even breathing of the other heroes, and the sun has long since slipped below the horizon, leaving the dim glow of the moon filtering through the open window as the only source of light.

Wild’s mind continues to wander aimlessly, never quite slipping into the sweet oblivion of sleep. No particular thought is keeping them awake, but their mind refuses to settle.

They don’t know how late it is when they finally give up on falling asleep, quietly rising from their bedroll. They make their way out of the room without waking anyone, thanking themself for having the foresight to lay their bedroll the closest to the door.

The house is deathly silent as Wild wanders through it and the stillness of the empty house puts them on edge. The only sound is the consistent tick, tick, tick of the clock in the corner of the entryway. The sound echoes through the rooms on the first floor of the house.

Wild shivers and slips out the front door.

They slowly make their way out to the barn to say hello to both Time and Twilight’s Eponas and sneak them both an apple, which they seem to appreciate. The company of the horses is nice, but Wild’s restless feet carry them onward after only a few minutes.

They end up deciding to head up to the roof of the house. Maybe the fresh air, the sounds of crickets, and being able to see the stars would put them at ease enough to catch a few hours of sleep before the sun came up. It’s a perfect night for stargazing. There isn’t a single cloud out, and a light breeze making the slight humidity not feel too stuffy.

But when they peek their head over the edge of the roof, they discover they aren’t the first one there. Hyrule is sprawled out on his back, gazing up at the stars. Wild considers backing away and finding someplace else to sit, but Wild thinks that they wouldn’t mind the traveler's quiet company.

Hyrule seems to notice them hovering indecisively at the edge of the roof, and he sits up. An inviting smile is sent in Wild’s direction, so they hoist themself over the edge of the roof, flopping down next to Hyrule.

Hyrule is the first to speak. “I saw you go into the barn. Sneaking the horses apples again?” Wild nods, and Hyrule grins. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Time or Twilight.”

Wild laughs, thanking him. Twilight had been getting on them about giving Epona too many treats recently. Wild personally doesn’t think they’d been doing so. Epona is a good horse, she deserves treats.

The two of them fall into a companionable silence after that. It’s nearly a half hour before Hyrule speaks up. “I was thinking about the conversation we had at dinner. About how Warriors and I choose the name Link?”

Wild wonders why Hyrule includes them in the ”we,” as Wild hadn’t participated in the conversation at all. They also hadn't been paying attention for most of it, so they must’ve missed when Warriors had elaborated on his name. They nod in agreement anyways.

“When I was younger I had a… friend, named Navi, who would tell me stories about heroes of ages past. I wasn’t sure when I first met him, but now I think Legend was one of those heroes. I think she even knew Time personally, even if she mostly refuses to talk about him.”

Hyrule must see the odd look Wild shoots him because he elaborates. “Navi is a great fairy, so she’s been around for a while. She basically raised me. Taught me everything I know about magic.”

That made sense. Wild had always wondered about some of Hyrule’s spells. His magic had always felt familiar, giving off the same feeling as the magic of the great fairies Wild knew.

Hyrule continues. “Before that, I was- uh, fairies are all female, and being raised by them doesn’t help with-” Hyrule sighs. “What I mean is, I didn’t really have any role models who were men while I was growing up.”

Wild wants to bury their face in their hands. They had come up here in hopes it would let them relax, but this was not helping.

Hyrule is either oblivious to Wild’s growing stress or continues on despite it. “But the stories about heroes of old- the courage they showed in the face of danger, the sacrifices they made for the sake of others- I decided I wanted to be that kind of person. Long before I ever understood the difference between man and woman, I knew that’s who I was.” Hyrule aims a strange smile at Wild that they don’t understand. It doesn't seem malicious, at least.

Wild wonders what Hyrule’s point was. This conversation is getting a little too personal, a little too close to what had been haunting Wild for months. Why can’t they have a break? They just want a break from worrying about what they are and if they should tell anyone.

“Why didn’t you say that all at dinner? Why tell me now?” They ask.

“I just thought you might need to hear it, that’s all. Also, Legend would combust if I told him that.”

“You mean you would combust if you did?” Wild teases. They’re deflecting, they know they are, but their heart is pounding too fast to care.

Thankfully, their distraction works, or at least Hyrule is willing to let the previous conversation go. He laughs, an embarrassed flush crawling over their cheeks, just like it had at dinner.

‘I just thought you might need to hear it.’ What had Hyrule meant by that? Their mind whirls, and they have to focus on keeping their breathing even. In the quiet of the night, any unsteady breathing would be easily noticed.

After that, the conversation falls back into the usual routine of banter and soft laughter. Wild’s breathing becomes easier, and his heart slows, but they still wonder why Hyrule felt the need to share that with them.

A heavy kind of sorrow wells in their stomach, and their mind swirls with questions that they can’t answer.

Why couldn't Wild have had a crisis over their identity and realized that they were just being silly? That those feelings they were having were due to something else, and they really were a man? Why couldn’t they have become more assured in their own identity, instead of feeling like their soul had been ripped open and rearranged?

Humiliation burns at them. They were supposed to be the hero. They were meant to be the kind of man that children were told bedtime stories about. They were meant to be that famous figure that looms in the public consciousness. They were supposed to be the fabled hero that was always unquestionably and recognizably a man.

And sure, Wild had defeated great evil, even if it took them a while to finish the job, and they’ve fought monsters, and sacrificed everything they were for the good of the people. This was all true.

But it was also true that every time they looked at their body, their brain told them it was wrong, wrong, wrong.

If Wild truly had to feel like this, why couldn’t they have been more like Hyrule? If they’d truly been meant to feel so wrong in their own body- if this was what the goddess wished for them- why couldn’t it have been the other way around? Why couldn’t they have been born a girl, and later realize they were a man?

Wild knows that none of these questions are something they’ll ever find an answer to, most likely. They try to push down the feeling of desperation that rises in their throat and nearly chokes, and tries to stop thinking about it. The feelings might not ever go away, but Wild couldn’t spend their entire life wishing their circumstances were different.

After they manage to get their mind to stop spiraling, they’re still left with a dread pooling in their chest and one question running through their mind that keeps them from falling asleep the rest of the night.

Does Hyrule know?

#mint's fanfiction #linked universe #lu wild #lu warriors #lu time #lu hyrule #trans wild #lu fanfiction #lgbtq+#shifting hues #lu malon

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