#i have spent over 40 minutes on this time to post lol
Note
I need need need to know about Destiny please 🥹🥹
AIIII OKIE buckle in it's a bit of a ride
(the second one of those is them as a little kid, the other two they're more grown up)
They're human, fully an ordinary human up until they're not. Ordinary, I mean
They realized at about 13 that they were queer, and absolutely did not tell anyone and also tried to repress it bc they were raised to believe queer was Bad and Evil and blah blah blah (this is the emperor's fault and one of many reasons to hate him. he likes conformity and everyone doing what he says). That secrecy led to them also keeping their magic very very secret when it came in at 14.
Four years later they met a pretty faerie and kissed her. She was the first queer person they'd met, and they promptly ran away with her (this is when they choose the name Destiny) and got adopted into the same werewolf pack that'd taken her in. They are still keeping their magic secret, but now that they're dating a girl they start slipping more into their true self-- first a haircut, then 'pretending' to be a boy, to actually being a boy for a bit...
...to meeting a crow with no concept of human gender and figuring out they like 'they' best
Also by then they've half-accidentally revealed their magic. which is like. really fuckin powerful and also super rare bc everyone else with it gets taken away by the Emperor of the world and no one ever hears from them again
also the werewolves who adopted Destiny? are working with a network of rebels who are trying to take down the emperor. and they want Destiny's help. Des agrees, mainly bc they don't want to live in a world where they can't be true to themself, and they can help make things better
Annyyyways there is now a song about them (which I had to write, help (and then my friend is writing music for bc aaaaaa)) (in-story Vida wrote it)
their powers include: teleportation, elemental control (mainly fire bc they have a fire demon teacher, but they've also done earth and ice), transformation (another of their teachers is a werewolf), illusion, communication with their familiar, Nayan (the aforementioned crow- whose concept of gender is 'some of us lay eggs idk'), healing people, magically cleaning things (they used to always do the dishes this way), and yelling at people in power (Nayan calls this a threat display. Destiny calls it stop screwing with me Nox).
Other fun little things!
-given the language that we use, Des would probably id as nonbinary and bi/pansexual (partly depends on When storywise bc rn they're the only enby they know). as is they id as "I'm not a boy or a girl I'm a they" and "idk there are pretty people but the prettiest is Vida"
-their newest nickname for their girlfriend, Vida, is "meri jaan", or "my life". the first time they call her that is after Vida gets arrested for singing about Destiny. bc singing about how the king of the world is "a coward and a fucking fraud" and is going to get beaten by a young upstart mage is treason, who knew
-(they're so absolutely furious about this btw. it's very sweet)
-Destiny keeps being impulsive but it keeps working out so
-:)))
-I've said this before and I'll say it again: I love how Destiny was raised being told "don't give your name to strangers bc faeries can use it to steal you away" and then the first faerie they meet they try TWICE to give her their name and she says no (it's their deadname but it wasn't at that point)
-in a modern AU Des would be Indian or Indian-American and an activist, but I haven't figured out for exactly what. probably for queer rights, at least at first
-Destiny is 19 at the point I am in writing
-Nayan likes to call them "my Destiny" and when they speak out loud (as crows can do) they always choose Destiny's voice to speak with
-they like having long hair, but they do NOT like getting mistaken for a girl. After The Haircut that helps them realize some gendery stuff, they grow their hair out again even longer than before
-@plumblueflower had a part in making Des the way they are. specifically the Indian-coding bit <3
picrews
1: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/69653
2: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/186583
3: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1944831
#asks#!!!#oc asks#thamk#destiny#shadow and light#oc rambley#nayan#nonbinary#nonbinary character#destiny literally took over my brain thanks#also another fun fact that hasn't come into the story yet: they are a future jew! i'm gonna draw them with a kippah at some point probably#i have spent over 40 minutes on this time to post lol
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ghost
when i wrote jet, she was always a two-parter to me. two characters, two horses, two stories. equal and distinct. you guys loved the first part so much that i figured i'd leave it as it was, but recently i hit 2k and thought this could be a cool way to mark it. think of this as jet's sister story. walks right alongside her; same universe, same joel - but still very much a standalone. she can be read with or without her predecessor.
thank you a million times over for all the love y'all show me on the daily. writing for you guys is so much fun. love you all the most. 🤎🖤
dedicated to @hellishjoel whose love for this pair inspires me daily
pairing: joel miller x fem!reader
summary: your loyalty to joel - and your ability in yourself - are tested in st. louis. the reward might just be worth the risk
warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, graphic violence, moderate threat, a horse is shot and killed (though i don't think i made this too graphic, more gutwrenching), reader and joel are separated, badass stealthy reader, near-SA (more intended than attempted), very protective & very violent joel, unprotected piv sex, like...bloodplay i guess? lil bit of consensual choking and spitting, creampie, possessive!joel, dom!joel but also softdom!joel, big fluff at the end, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), strong language. this fic is not sponsored by nike. lol.
word count: 10.1k
main masterlist
It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too?
You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you.
“Go now. Now!”
And you do.
St. Louis is quiet, still, but fruitless.
It’s been two long days of wandering around and you’ve found one building safe enough to camp in. One. The rest have either been inaccessible – boarded up, broken down, or otherwise already inhabited by infected – or Joel’s deemed them too close to the middle of town, too open, not safe enough.
Not safe enough in a world overrun by a brain-rotting fungal infection? you’d asked.
He shut you up with a sharp expression which you understood simply as: Enough.
It meant that you were wasting days, though. The night you arrived, Joel quickly combed the area surrounding the barber shop you were holed up in for supplies, and found none. He woke you at the crack of dawn next morning to set off, saying he didn’t like the fact nothing was around here. Meant someone had been through before you guys and taken it all.
Meant company, is what he was saying.
So you’d ridden around for – what, maybe three hours? You and Jet, following Joel and Ghost down cracked roads, under rusted street signs. Listening to the wind circle the buildings overhead, nudging traffic lights gently until they sang in distorted, off-key creaks to you. Always keeping your eye on the Gateway Arch between buildings, using it as some kind of north star – not for any reason other than you’d never seen it before up close, but when you mentioned this to Joel, his brows furrowed and he chewed on the inside of his cheek.
Which meant that no, you wouldn’t be paying it a visit anytime soon.
It was mid-afternoon when Joel pulled on Ghost’s reins, brought her to a halt, and held his hand out to you. Jet huffed to a stop, and you swear you felt her cock her hip angrily at him.
“Turn back,” he muttered.
“What?”
“I said, turn back. Ain’t nothin’ out this way.”
“Turn back ‘n go where?”
He jerked his head back in the direction you’d come, swerved the reins sideways and then clicked to the black-coated horse to set off. She nodded obediently, like she knew what he was thinking and she figured he was right, and began the long walk back to the barbers.
You muttered an expletive and Joel coughed a Ha, hearing you loud and clear. So you turned to silently praying for a rainstorm, for a horde of infected, for anything you could sling an I told you so in and whip it at Joel.
You followed him, though, deliberately a good few paces behind, knowing he’d keep twisting around to check on you, and letting him fucking do it. Asshole.
When you finally arrived back at your spot, the red sun low behind the buildings and bleeding skyward into twilight, you slept with your back to him.
He didn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind when you’re distant. You wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even notice. He knows you’ll come back when you need something from him – want his words in your ear, want his body on yours, want…him.
The splintered sunlight through the boarded-up windows of the shop stirs you from your sleep. It wasn’t much of a sleep, despite Joel’s promise late last night that he’d let you lie for a little longer; knew you had a long day ahead if you were to get out of St. Louis, and he’d already drained your energy with the travelling yesterday.
You’d woven in and out of unconsciousness all night, dreaming of creaky farmhouses with clicking children inside, their skin torn and swollen and sprouting in swirls of pale white, singed with raw red and rotten green. And you dreamt of Joel’s shotgun blowing their moldy maws apart, blood and bone splattering across the floral wallpaper behind them.
You’re lying on your stomach, flat out on the floor with nothing but a worn comforter separating your fatigued body from the dusty tile. Joel’s out front feeding the horses on the street. You push yourself up, stretching your back, and a red-hot pain licks around your wrists.
“Motherf–”
You wince, falling onto your elbows, and your fingers link lightly around the red skin. The marks from Joel’s belt two nights ago still haven’t eased, haven’t cooled down so much as a degree. They’re still glowing, still burning, still painful.
Joel’s rugged face appears through a busted window. “Y’alright?”
“’m fine,” you mumble, turning over and examining the sores in the sunlight. The sting as your fingertips trace over the skin draws sharp tears to your eyes.
He feeds Jet the last handful of the hay you’d stocked up on and steps in from the golden morning to the dim light of the shop, dusting his hands on his jeans.
“You want more water on ‘em? Cold flannel?” he asks, avoiding the sight of your pained hands.
You shake your head. “Don’t think it’s helping.”
Eyebrows close, crease between them deep, he lowers himself with an achy groan and says, “We’ll find somewhere. You ready to go?”
You nod, tight lips blocking any words you think you’d probably regret later.
Joel helps you up, hands you a bag of beef jerky from his back pocket, and tells you to go get settled on Jet. He’ll pack up.
As you walk by him, he runs a hand from the crown of your head down to the nape of your neck. Gentle as air. And you almost fucking turn back. Almost catch his hand as it leaves your hair, almost wind your body into his. Almost.
Almost.
You follow at Ghost’s tail for another two hours, this time west instead of north. Joel turns to check on you more than he did yesterday; asks a couple times if you need more water, if you want any food. Even asks once if you need a break.
Each time, you reply with a flat, No. It seems to come from your throat more than your lips, more a grunt than an actual rounded word. Teeth locked tight around it, barely separating to let the sound through.
And each time, Joel turns back wordlessly. A mutual understanding; an unspoken agreement – as most of them are – to not talk any more than absolutely fucking necessary.
You spend most of the ride hunched over, your palms pushing heavily against the horn of Jet’s saddle. The sleeves of your jacket rolled up to stop them from brushing against your wrists.
The horse whinnies softly, and you reply to her as though she’s actually speaking. As though you can understand her thoughts, your forehead pressed lightly to the crest of her neck. You tell her you’re fine; tell her she’s doing a great job. You notice Joel’s jaw turn whenever you speak to her.
And then he whispers, “Hey,” and you lift your head, following the flick of his head to a tiny, lone pharmacy up ahead. You could fall off Jet’s back in equal parts shock and relief.
Joel winds Ghost along the road towards the building, stops by the curb outside it.
Its windows are smashed, broken glass decorating the sidewalk in front. There’s dried blood painting the white stone exterior, and empty shell casings dotted along the paved ground. You draw your eyes from the sight to look at Joel, and he’s already noticed them. He’s staring around the street, eyes darting from building to building, looking them all up and down.
The back wall inside the pharmacy is blocked, rubble and rafters hanging loose from a huge hole in the ceiling. Dusty insulation hangs between beams, and through the tears in the candy floss material, you can see the metal grate of the dispensing area. Joel sees it, too; notes it with a grumble and a click of his teeth.
“You stay here,” he tells you, dismounting Ghost.
“’n what if you get stuck in there?”
“Stuck in front of the collapsed ceiling? I ain’t gettin’ anywhere close to bein’ stuck. Stay put.”
You slide to the side, rubber-toed sneaker angling toward the ground to jump off of Jet. Joel swings back around and shoots you a look like fire on your skin.
“You got a death wish, or som’?”
“You just said you won’t get stuck. The hell’s gonna kill me in there?”
“Me, if you don’t listen to my damn instructions. Get back on the horse.”
“I ain’t off it,” you snap, a little louder than you intended. Sure, you want him to comfort you sometimes, but fuck, he pisses you off.
Joel stalks off without another word, head low between his shoulders. You hook your foot back into the stirrup and shake your head, averting your gaze to the other side of the street where the sight of an ill-tempered man-child won’t piss you off more.
The street is lined with stores and cafes, a bar on the corner with torn-up leather seats spilling out of the door like someone’s barricaded it. Your eye travels further down, where faded, moldy bunting ruffles in the wind, hooked around a traffic light.
There’s a red-brick building directly across from you, a truck with green tarpaulin parked out front. The doors to the building creak as they swing back and forth in the wind. The windows are still intact – surprising for this deep in the city. Other than that, the place looks pretty damn abandoned.
Ghost shakes her head, ears flicking. A heavy, shuddered breath jolts from her flared nostrils in the form of two white clouds, lit golden in the sunlight. She moves from foot to foot. You pat Jet gently, distracting yourself with the feel of her long, ginger mane.
You hum quietly, filling an eerie silence. Something to the beat of your heart, quickening with each second. Trying to calm the horses, calm yourself. Joel’s still wandering around inside.
You read an article once before the outbreak that said horses can smell fear on humans. It was for a school project. Said it affected their nervous system, like, made their heartrate pick up, though they never concluded whether it made the horses more afraid themselves or not.
Feeling Jet’s body weight shift from side to side as you swerve around atop her, analyzing every movement, every sound, every change in direction of the wind on this street, you figure you know the answer now.
Yeah. She feels edgy.
The wind picks up, carrying leaves across the broken road, fluttering by burnt-out cars. There’s a scuff from the store and your head shoots back to find Joel emerging from the shadows.
“Nothin’,” he mumbles, giving the street a sideways look as he walks back over to Ghost.
“Nothing I need, or nothing at all?”
He lifts his hands to take hold of her. “Nothin’ at all. Place is ransacked. Whole damn city’s –”
It all happens in the blink of an eye. One minute you’re looking at Joel, watching his lips form the words, his fingertips coming to land on the leather strap of Ghost’s bridle, and barely a heartbeat later, there’s a deafening crack from across the street.
Ghost’s body falls to the earth like she’s nothing but an inanimate sack. Her front legs buckle first, her chest crashes down towards the smooth stone, and then she’s rolling onto her left side. She’s dead before she hits the ground.
Dust and dirt are thrown skyward as she slams down, head falling heavy and still on the sidewalk.
“Ghost!” you shriek, and then you feel Joel’s hands on the sleeve of your jacket – rough. Painfully squeezing, canvas burning against your wrists.
He’s gripping the material, hauling you down to him, only you won’t let go of Jet’s reins. You’re being tossed to-and-fro atop the now-panicking horse. Ghost is bleeding from her head; thick, dark blood spilling out like tar and dripping down the curb.
You scream at Joel, fighting his grip off, eyes never leaving the black horse. But then another shot fires, ricocheting off of the ground by the pharmacy window, missing his head by less than a foot, and you fall limp.
You let him drag you off of Jet’s back and hurl you inside the pharmacy, shoving you out of view and into the dingy shadows. When you turn, you realize she’s still out there, a chestnut-colored blur as she rears and spins, fleeing from the noise. You scream her name but Joel whips around and plants his palm flat against your mouth, smothering your cry into a muffled whimper against the curve of his calloused skin.
“Shut up,” he whispers, free hand reaching into his holster for his own gun.
You drag his hand from your face, dropping it. “Jet’s still out –”
“They ain’t aimin’ for Jet,” he replies, switching the handgun into his right. “They’re aimin’ for us, and they’re gonna be down here soon. I need you to listen to me.”
“But Ghost –”
“Baby,” he says, laced with frustration and desperation and panic. Your sentence falls flat on your tongue. “Listen – to – me. Now.”
You nod, tears forming in your eyes. The horse is still lying out front; you can see her past Joel’s shoulder. You think back to your agreement: Do as you say. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, forcing you to look him in the eye, repeating those words to you. Listen to him. Focus on him. Stay alive. You don’t survive this if you don’t wake the fuck up right now.
And then he has his hands either side of your face, shaking you back to reality. “Hear me?”
“What? No, I didn’t hear. I didn’t fucking hear!”
He wastes no time chastising you. Just says it again. Calm, clear. Every word its own sharpened shape.
“I need you to move, need you to get out of here. They’re across the street, in that red building. There’s probably a gang of ‘em, right? So we gotta take ‘em out.”
“Take ‘em out? We gotta fuckin’ run, Joel! We don’t even know how many –”
“You,” his voice sounds like he’s about to break, “are gonna head out of there.”
He points past you, behind an upturned shelving unit, where there’s a small hole blown in the side of the pharmacy. Unnoticeable from outside, though if the perps across the street have ransacked this place, they’ll know it exists.
“You’re gonna make your way around the street, head low, quiet, ‘n get in the back of that building. You got it?”
“What the fuck are you gonna do?”
“I’m gonna distract ‘em. I’ll cover you, alright? Just do it.”
Just do it. Just fucking do it. I tell you what to do, and you just do it, because it’s me. Because you trust me, because we’ve kept each other alive this long.
Just do it. Because right now, what the fuck else are you going to do?
Your head’s still spinning. Pulse throbbing in your ears. Lungs hammering against your chest wall for breath. You can barely think straight.
“What do I do once I’m in?”
He’s kneeling down, swinging his backpack off of his shoulders. “Take – them – out. You’ve done it before, you know what you’re doin’.”
“Real noble of you, Joel,” you hiss, taking the spare gun he offers and slipping it under the back of your jeans, “sendin’ me in alone to kill who the hell knows how many fuckin’ guys.”
You pull the switchblade he picked up from that farm in Nebraska and flick it once, letting it glint fiercely in the light from out front, then close it and place it back in your pocket, ready to hand if – and when – you need it.
Joel’s loading his rifle, unable to meet your eye. He sniffs. “Do it quiet, you hear me? Sneak up on ‘em.”
You shake your head in disbelief, feet starting to carry you over to the side of the room. Powered by adrenaline only, letting go of any emotion that might keep you inside this stupid pharmacy. Forgetting anything in you that might convince you to stay glued to Joel’s side.
Yeah, you can fucking do it. You’re not a kid. You’ve been doing this long enough.
This was life before the QZ. You were in a group then, a collective of survivors whose only interest was staying alive. At all costs. And you got good at it. You’ve told Joel about it before – you were the first wave. Whenever you came across another group – no matter if it was hunters, smugglers, fucking FEDRA – they’d send you in, alongside Mila. The two of you lightest on your feet, best with a knife in your hands.
You started to find it fun, after a while. Thrill of the chase and all that. Creeping up behind them, dragging the blade along their throat, dropping them to their knees as they choked and gargled and bled out. The two of you could clear an entire building in ten minutes, not a single bullet fired.
Mila preferred puncturing them. She’d lift her arm and bring the knife down with the weight of her entire body, sinking it into their necks, under their jaws, sometimes through their fucking temples. You’d seen that girl do some pretty fucked-up stuff.
You’d seen yourself do some pretty fucked-up stuff. Stuff that’d have you avoiding mirrors for weeks.
And none of it scared Joel away. None of it made him think twice about setting off with you.
Certainly never made him think twice about sending you on what can only be described as a suicide mission, just to rid St. Louis of a few bandits.
Doing it isn’t the problem, though, is it? You haven’t had to do it in a while, sure. Joel takes care of you well enough that you barely have to look twice at a threat before there’s a bullet, a blade, or an arrow through it. And you’re not scared, either. Not of those guys across the street.
No. You’re scared of leaving him. Parting with him.
It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too?
You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you.
“Go now. Now!”
And you do.
You emerge into an alleyway, concealed from the street by a rusty blue dumpster. Overgrown weeds at your feet, you stay crouched and still until you’re sure there are no eyes on you from the windows overhead.
I mean, you’d be dead by now if there were. So that’s hopeful.
You slink around the jagged metal, slow, silent. More gunshots sound from across the street, and you know Joel’s tossed them a bone. Maybe he’s shown himself – a flash of his jacket or scuff of his heel as he settles to fire back. Maybe they’ve already killed him. Who fucking knows?
At the end of the alleyway sits a black gate, bent and contorted into an archway which separates you from the street. Still covered by knee-high weeds, you kneel down onto your stomach and peer between the wiry green plant to get your first scope of the street ahead.
There’s a long-abandoned nail bar on the right, a few doors down from that bunting you spotted earlier. And right outside it, cast in shadow from the awning: a chestnut horse, saddle hanging lopsided on her back. Waiting, patiently, watching the shootout before her.
You breathe a sigh of relief. Stay there. Stay right there.
Joel’s on his knees outside the pharmacy, crouched behind a Jersey barrier. He lifts his head every thirty seconds, fires one heavy shot at the windows on the top floor of the red-bricked building, and then ducks for cover when they send a burst of erratic bullets back down to him, pelting against the concrete.
You watch for a minute, studying the pattern, and then slip back between the weeds like a lion hiding in the bushes. When Joel fires at the window, you push yourself up and make a swift run for it.
There’s a truck in the middle of the street. Black paint scraped, shot, and sun-burnt off. You take three good strides, kneeling once you’re at the tailgate. You peer around the rear of the truck, huge tires flat and melted into the broken tarmac. You spot your opening.
A gray fence faded by the sun, a few slats missing from the bottom half, guarding an overgrown yard, and, sitting wide open: the backdoor to the building.
Bingo.
It’s an easy enough route. Looks almost like someone’s laid it out for you this way, a perfect path. You wait for your signal – Joel’s gunfire – and sprint over to the fence, back flush against the rotting wood.
You pull the revolver from your jeans and open the chamber. Five bullets. Not bad. You snap it back and adjust your grip on it, finger ghosting the trigger. And then you hear them.
“The girl’s still inside,” a voice grunts from over the fence. Your blood runs cold.
“He’s gotta run out sometime. What the fuck’s Nico doing wasting bullets?”
“How often do strays come through? Let him have his fun.”
Strays. Like a little pet name. Like it’s sport for them. It pisses you off, your adrenaline channeling into rage, white hot across the nape of your neck, growing into determination to put your knife through every single one of them.
So, you return the gun, favoring your switchblade.
Old dog, new tricks. Yadda yadda.
You bend down, peering through the gap like a dog searching for scraps.
It’s just the two of them. One, standing by the door; looks about six feet tall by six feet wide, buzzcut atop a puffy face, tattooed arms hanging loose by his side. The other, pacing around the yard; when his worn jeans pass the opening in the fence, you scan up the tall figure and notice dirty blond hair, scraped back from a gaunt face into a greasy ponytail.
“And if anything hears him? Runners? Fuckin’…we ain’t ready for that.”
Neither of them seem to have a gun. Scrawny doesn’t, anyway, and if Buzzcut does, it’s not in his hands. Which gives you a few seconds’ advantage.
Once Scrawny turns away, you slip through and hook your arm around his neck, holding your knife to the spongey skin under the ridge of his jaw. Buzzcut steps forward, hands reach into his waistband. Fuck.
“Make a sound, I’ll cut him.”
It’s not hard for your voice to fall back to that pitch, that same old tone. Muscle memory. Hushed, so no one inside hears; serious, flat, not a hint of fear. Even though this guy can probably feel your heart hammering into his back.
There’s still shooting on the street. Buzzcut steps forward, pistol between his fingers, silver reflecting the sun into your eyes. He’s unsure if he should lift it or not. Unsure if he should do anything or not. There’s panic painted across his face the color of crimson. He’s not built for this stuff, and he knows it. His free hand comes up, palm forward. Half of a surrender.
Not good enough.
“Put the gun down.”
“Fucking bitch,” Scrawny mutters, wrestling around, long legs bent awkwardly as he leans into your smaller frame.
Fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t know that this is the fun part. This is why you chose the knife, and not the gun. Blade over bullets. It’d be too easy to rip his brain apart with the squeeze of a trigger. Too quick. Nah, you want to hear him. Want to feel him writhe against you.
You let the blade sink into his whiskered neck. Ever so slightly. He hisses and settles.
“Put – the fucking gun – down.”
“Patrick,” your hostage spits, “just do it.”
Just do it.
Patrick glances down briefly and then nods, eyes flitting back to you. Your eyes stay locked on him, your grip tightens around the knife, but you deafen to the heaving of the chest under your elbow.
Just do it.
Where’s Joel? Is he alive? His voice is ringing in your ears.
Just do it.
There’s a pause between the bullets across the street. Have they hit him?
Just do it.
Patrick’s gun hits the ground with a blunt thud.
Just do it.
And then you feel it.
Searing pain, hot as fire in your upper thigh. A sharp scratch just below your hip, teeth cutting through denim and flesh, then a rutting feeling, twisting and digging and fucking burning as the knife is pushed further and further. You let an angry groan pass your lips and dig your own blade deep into his throat.
His skin bursts open like a bag of water. You pull on him, letting him sink to his knees flush against your chest. Before he’s even on the ground, you’re lurching forward, retrieving the pistol and swiping your knife at Patrick’s outstretched hand. He gasps, clutching his split palm, and then backs away a couple steps.
This time, he lifts both hands. That’s better, fucker.
“Don’t – don’t gotta –”
“Shut the fuck up,” you cut back, staring him down while his buddy writhes at your feet, taking his last few gulps of air. Fresh, warm blood seeps into the grass. Your thigh is on fire.
You edge closer to Patrick, and Patrick edges further away. Until his back is pressed against the wall, his knuckles scratching against the brick; his own blood streaming down his wrist.
“How many are in there?” you ask, head nodding to the doorway, barrel of the gun pressed into his cheek.
He gulps.
“How many?”
“Th-three. Please.”
“Where?”
“One in the h-hall. Two upstairs. Please,” he says again, and you drop the gun, leaving a white ring in his skin.
Mila would sink it in deep, right into his neck. The trapezius. Her favorite spot. She’d just plunge the knife in, push until he collapsed, and then leave him to bleed out. But this is a big guy. He’s gonna need more than that to floor him.
“Alright,” you concede, stepping forward. “Since you asked so nicely.”
You pull your arm down to your hip, knuckles white around the handle and take a fistful of his shirt with the other. Draw him in real close, and angle the blade to the sky, shoving it up under his chin. Nice ‘n snug.
It glides through his skin like it’s butter, and you catch the butt of the knife in your palm, pushing further up. You watch as his eyes widen, his pupils focus on yours long enough to take the memory of your face with him – and then they relax, roll back to check out the metal intrusion behind them.
Patrick gargles, chokes on blood and blade, then gasps as you haul it back out, bright red gushing down his front.
His body folds, both hands come up to cup his torn jaw, and with one kick which cracks into his knees, he’s flat on his face, breathing in dirt and grass and…the blood of his buddy.
“You’re welcome, Patrick,” you breathe, limping over him to enter the building.
Shots are firing again upstairs. It’s dark, your eyes take a few seconds to adjust, but you’re in a derelict store. Place is empty, probably looted by these assholes.
Patrick told you there was one guy in the hall, which you assume is through the door sat ajar on your left. Patrick, however, was most likely a liar. And even if he was telling the truth, you don’t know what this place looks like. You have no idea when or where you’ll come across this one guy.
The only things you have on you are your gun and your knife. So you open the revolver again, your trembling fingers fish one bullet out, and you toss it, aiming for the sliver of light between the door and its frame.
It rattles through, rolling over the solid floor.
“Patrick?” a voice calls, and footsteps begin to approach. “Tucker?”
You duck behind a battered, empty shelf.
A third guy, long brown hair tangled across his shoulders, thick beard patchy with white and gray, pushes the door open and sidles in.
“Pat–”
You’re on him before he can finish his pal’s name, same way you jumped Scrawny – now Tucker, out there. Your blade glides across his throat and he buckles, much quicker than his predecessor outside did. You settle him face down on the tile floor, nodding to him as some twisted form of a thank-you, and slip out of the room, swinging down to collect your bullet as you go.
Patrick, as it turns out, was not a liar. The bottom floor of the house is empty. You’re in a long, narrow hallway. A bloodstained runner at your feet. There are muffled voices upstairs – roaring, cursing. The sunlight streaming in through the arch-shaped window on the front door draws you nearer.
Your breathing is labored, with stress, exhaustion, and pain. Your thigh throbs under your jeans, pain shooting like lightning from the wound anytime you put weight on it. You drag yourself to the bottom of the stairs.
More shots. You swear they’ve only been coming from this building for the last five minutes. Where the fuck is Joel?
You lift your foot hesitantly, hovering over the first step. Don’t fuck this up now. You line it up, applying your weight bit by bit until you’re pushing up off the floor with a whimper, balancing on one leg, bracing for the inevitable creak of the wood.
Nothing.
You’re about to step onto the second, when the door behind you bursts open. Light screams into the hallway, shining on you like a spotlight, and three huge figures stumble in the doorway.
“Wh–? That’s the bitch on the horse!”
You throw yourself up the stairs desperately, taking them two – three at a time, but a pair of fists are in your hair, dragging you back down to the man they belong to. You cry out, swinging around, and catch him square on the nose with your elbow. He swears, retreating only momentarily, before looking you dead in the eye, blood pouring down his lips.
“Fucking – cunt,” he seethes, arms darting out to reach up for you.
His attempt is short-lived, for a number of reasons.
First: you kick his chest before he can grab you, sending him hurtling back down where he came from.
Second: one of the two Patrick said would be up here is at the top of the stairs now, taking you by the shoulders and hauling you up.
And third: Joel just opened fire downstairs.
The bullets pelt around the hallway, coming from the side you just snuck in through. He must’ve followed you across the street.
The last thing you see as you’re dragged off into another room is the three of them ducking for cover, and then you’re being flung onto a cold, dusty floor, knocking the wind out of your lungs and the revolver from your waistband. You roll over and groan, staring up at two men standing over you.
One of them – the one whose vice grip dragged you in here – is big and bulky. Like a brick wall. You realize you’ve no chance of getting by him. His fists are clenched, face reddened, black beady eyes boring into yours. Then he lurches forward, steals the gun from the floor beside you, and points it at you. The safety’s still fucking on.
The other looks younger, but still built. Toned. His shoulders swell in the green canvas jacket he’s wearing, patches on the sleeves. Short, black hair, face sculpted and smooth, chin hairless. Lips pursed as he surveys you, tosses over what to do.
“Cute little game you were playin’, down there,” he muses. “Took out half my guys.”
“Wasn’t that hard,” you pant in reply, “you’re all fucking idiots.”
You can hear Joel fighting off the rest of them, grunts and growls of pain echoing up the stairs. You don’t know which are him and which are them, and it sends fleets of panic through your chest, tightening your breath.
“Sounds like your man’s losing.”
You laugh, masking your fear with a roll of your eyes, head leaning back. “I don’t think so.”
The two men look at each other. The black-haired one nods down to you, then turns on his heel. “Do what you want to her,” he tells Brick Wall, bored, and begins walking away.
A repulsive smile pulls on the man’s lips as he glares down at you. Putrid pink cheeks swell, eyes disappear. Your heels dig against the floorboards, beginning to push yourself in a dizzy haze backwards as his huge, beefy hand reaches down for your waistband.
Something of a scream, warped by the way your body so quickly jumps away from him, escapes your throat, but it only makes him laugh. Your hand slips up inside your sleeve, fingers clutch the cold metal handle of your blade. It flicks open under the fabric, and, just as the noise draws the attention of the man now fumbling with the button of your jeans, you take one good swipe and cut through his forearm. One clean slice, separating skin and soaking the tip of your knife in his blood.
He hisses, stumbles backwards two steps, clutching his arm. You throw yourself to your feet, backing into the corner opposite.
“Nico!” Brick Wall cries out, and the canvas jacket spins to face you.
You clutch your knife, hunched, panting. The room slowly tilts, resetting every time you blink, then begins rotating again.
Nico laughs, pulling a gun of his own and aiming it straight at your face. It’s a nightmare – two on one, both of them armed. But it’s better than what was about to fucking happen.
“Fucking – bitch,” Nico snarls.
“Y’all keep saying that,” you utter, eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun, “I don’t get it. I’m goin’ easy on you here.”
“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it,” Nico spits, apparently not paying enough attention.
The building’s silent. The fighting’s stopped downstairs. And there are no loud footsteps making their way up here, which means one thing.
There’s a quieter, deadlier threat on his way up.
A brutal shot fires from the hallway, taking your breath with it, and Brick Wall’s body flops to the floor. Bullet hole in his temple. Spray of blood across the wall. Only three beating hearts left in the building.
Nico seems to gasp, whether from fright or the way he lunges toward you, wrapping a tight, choking arm around your neck and holding the gun to your temple, both of you waiting for Joel to materialize for two very different reasons.
His figure creeps around the doorway, footsteps slow and soft. His eyes flit over yours, shoulders hunched, rifle aimed ahead. Your breath lets go in one huge, shaky gasp, feeling your muscles relax.
“I’ll do it,” Nico hisses, panic strung through his voice tighter than the bow of a violin. “One wrong move and she’s dead, asshole.”
Joel shrugs. “Do it.”
Nico doesn’t move. He shakes your body, pushes the gun harder into your skin.
Joel looks you dead in the eye. “Do – it.”
Your fingers run over the handle of your knife, lowering it until you have a good enough grip to lock your fist and tilt the blade, lifting your right arm and hammering it backwards, stabbing deep into Nico’s side.
Your head leans to the right as he screams out; he falls to the left. And Joel takes his shot.
Nico’s hand bursts open, blood spraying everywhere. The revolver is thrown from his grip, rattling against the floor as your fist takes one good swing across his jaw and then you fall apart from one another – you, rocking into the steady weight of Joel’s body, and Nico, collapsing against a desk.
Joel catches you in his arms and straightens you up, shifting you to aim his gun back at the threat – though there’s not much about him that warrants such a name anymore. He’s slumped against the dark wood, dark stain seeping through his shirt, head rolled back and groaning. One hand cupping what’s left of the other, blood snaking through his fingers and down his hand like vines on a tree trunk. He looks…pathetic.
Joel fires another shot at him without fucking looking; it lands in Nico’s thigh, and he screams. Mouth full of blood and loose teeth, it’s a gargled, drowned howl of pain.
“They try somethin’?” the fierce drawl asks you, brows low, eyes dark. You know what he’s talking about. The button of your jeans is undone.
You want to say, It’s fine, I’m fine. You want to tell Joel to leave Nico to bleed out. He’s the last one, he’ll be dead inside of ten minutes. You want to go, want to climb onto Jet’s back and let her carry your weak, limp body as far from here as her legs will gallop, and then, once she’s rested, further.
But Joel won’t hear any of that, you know it. Won’t leave this little son of a bitch to slip into a half-conscious drowse, the dripping of his own blood ticking down the seconds he has left while the sound of Jet’s hooves fading into the distance lulls him to hell.
He knows you. Joel. He can read lies on your lips like they’re words scrawled into your skin, so that’s a waste of time, too.
You nod. Joel’s jaw locks. And his eyes flood black like ink.
He hands you the rifle, pulls his arms out of his backpack, and paces over to Nico. The bloody, injured figure begins to back up, push himself further away from Joel, who’s reaching down for something.
“Look, man,” Nico heaves, “you gotta see it from our point of v-view. You guys came walkin’ into our territory, you – you…”
There’s the sound of metal dragging across the bare floorboards, vibration strong enough that it rattles your entire body. You turn away, figuring you don’t need to see him pummel a man to death with a broken pipe.
You hear it, though. Every grunt from Joel, every cry from his victim. Every time the pipe bludgeons into him, the wet squelch of warm flesh and blood meeting cold, rusting metal. You wander off to the other side of the room, closing your eyes.
It’s like a pattern – like the shooting from earlier. Joel sucks in breath as he lifts the pipe above his head, groans as he hurtles it down. There’s the blunt sound, a ding almost of the metal whacking against Nico’s skull, the splatter of blood bursting. And repeat. Deep breath as the pipe winds back – groan as it uppercuts through the dusty air, crack of bone breaking when it makes contact.
Finally, he stops. Takes three deep breaths. Drops his weapon. You turn.
The limp body lies at his feet, a dent the size of Texas in the globe of his skull. Olive skin now splattered red, face unrecognizable. Blood pouring out of somewhere – everywhere in his head, circling his body in a thin, fast-moving pool.
Joel’s staring at you when your eyes lift. Sweat glistening on his forehead, lips apart. Shoulders tight. You’re standing face to face, both of your breathing heavy and labored. Exhausted. And yet…you fucking need him.
You take one step forward and suddenly Joel’s advancing, too, hands out to meet you when you collide into him. Your fingers scram for his collar, ripping his jacket from his shoulders while he messily tears apart the waist of your jeans.
His weight bears down on top of you and he pushes you to the floor, following you down. The floorboards are dirty, coated in a thick layer of dust disturbed by the scuffle you just had, and glazed by the blood of those who lost. You sit up only long enough to remove your jacket before Joel’s pinning you down, unbuckling his own jeans and taking a grip of yours.
You flinch when he tugs on the waistband, and he pauses. Looks up, watches your expression twist. Then follows your eyeline, down to your thigh, where the fresh stab wound oozes thick, dark blood.
Joel slowly peels your jeans down your legs and over the gash. When they pool loose around your knees, you bend them, angling your broken skin in the sunlight. It’s swollen, the cut, reddened and raw. Flesh dragged back and forth, torn and ripped around the edges. You can’t even feel the pain of it anymore, only a prickling heat leading up to the ridges of your broken skin.
And so, when Joel’s fingers run through the air directly above it, and he mutters something about cleanin’ you up, you grunt. Straighten your legs. Pull him by the shoulders back down to you. Reply with a rushed whisper, a Hurry the fuck up.
And he listens; he unbuckles his own jeans, sags them low on his hips, and bends your knees at his shoulders. His cock is already stiff, bead of precum at his wide tip, which he dips between your folds to collect your slick, and then fists himself slowly.
Hurryhurryhurry “– the fuck up,” you groan, watching your wet glisten off the smooth skin of his shaft.
He smirks, then pushes straight in.
Your head hits the floor, eyes rolling with it as he fills you up. His face buries between your breasts, voice muffled by the material of the fabric when he lets out an open-mouthed moan. You both adjust to the feeling – the stretch and the tightness – and then, with a couple more shallow thrusts, Joel begins really fucking you.
He drags his forehead up to yours, sweat mixing where your skin touches. Your jaw clenched; you’re hissing every time he hits that sweet spot inside of you. Holding onto him by the shoulders as he rocks his hips forward, pushing you closer and closer to your first release.
Joel lifts his hand, placing it flat on the floor above your head to steady himself. Then, he quickly glances up at it, an unusual look on his face. You crane your neck and follow his eyeline to find his hand gleaming wet with blood. Bright red. Fresh.
It’s the guy he shot. Bullet wound peering out from the other side of the desk you’re lying next to; his blood has travelled across the uneven flooring.
Joel studies his palm intently, thrusts slowing down some. His face looks…puzzled? As if he’s never had to physically encounter the result of him and his bullets. As if he doesn’t know where to put his hand, now that it’s covered in that result.
You do, though. You know exactly where you want him to put it.
You take his wrist in both hands and draw his gaze down to you. The blood drips from his almost trembling palm down your fingers.
His expression changes – softens, when he sees you looking up at him, watching him from under hooded lids. And then it darkens, when you pull his palm flat against your neck, and the red fluid stains your throat.
You can feel the warm wet between Joel’s skin and yours – the same warmth on the back of your head, creeping through your hair as it seeps further across the floorboards. You’re both covered in blood and dirt, anyway. Joel seems to consider the same, and his grip tightens.
His thumb and forefinger pinch, cutting into your windpipe. Your vision falters for a second, Joel blinks out of focus, and a tiny wave of euphoria crashes over your body. A sick grin pulls across your lips, mirrored in Joel’s.
He releases you and you gasp, oxygen surging through your throat like a burst of water in a dried-up pipe. You let go of his wrists to run your blood-soaked fingers across his face, through his hair. He’s still fucking you hard, and you need something to ground you as white-hot heat pools rapidly between your legs, and a knot begins to tighten.
“You like that?” Joel grunts, driving his hips harder.
“Mhm,” you reply, mouth falling open in a silent gasp when his tip punches into your cervix. The edges of the world start to whiten.
“You’re mine, you hear?” he says through gritted teeth. “Belong to me.”
You’re nodding, throat tossing out an, Uhuh.
“Ain’t no one gets this but me, h-uh?”
Joel’s hand is back around your neck, this time taking either side of your jaw between his fingers, keeping your eyes trained on his. Whatever the fuck makes you do it – the look in his eye, silently commanding, or maybe your own fucking desperation – you’re not sure. But you open your mouth wider, rest your tongue on your bottom lip, and plead with your eyes for him to do it.
So, he does.
His jaw slackens and a bead of spit falls from his mouth into yours. He watches as it lands on your tongue and you run it along your lips, coating yourself in him, before swallowing it.
Joel groans, lets a staggered, “F-fuck, baby,” pass his lips.
You smile in return, filthy, but needy, and beginning to crash hard as your orgasm bursts through you.
He fucks you through it, pace never faltering, still stringing wet saliva between your lips as he kisses you. You pull away when it becomes too much, burying your head in his shoulder and biting down on his shirt.
“Yeah,” he coaxes you, “that’s it. Fuck. Nice ‘n tight, baby.”
As soon as the room starts to return to your vision, the feeling back in your body, you’re rolling him over. Ignoring the burn of the wound in your thigh, you push him back down and straddle him, his cock still deep inside.
You roll your hips lazily, fingers coming down to toy with your clit as Joel stretches you even more from this angle. He groans, hands finding home tight on your hips, head rolling back. He bucks his hips and your free hand steadies yourself on his chest.
“Faster, baby,” he says, trying to move you with his hands.
“No,” you hum, “we go slow. I want to go slow.”
He grunts, pissed off. Good. Keep him that way.
You begin to slowly bounce, pads of your fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit, almost hurting with overstimulation.
“Tell me what you did downstairs,” you whisper, eyes falling shut.
“Downstairs?” Joel asks in a broken voice.
“Mhm. What did you do to ‘em?”
He catches on. “Shot one of ‘em under the jaw.”
You shake your head. “Next.”
“Ch-choked one of them out.”
“No. Not him.”
You want blood. You want Joel’s fists wrapped around someone’s vital organs. You want the sound of your screams in his ears, whether they were really there or not, driving him to commit acts so heinous he won’t look you in the eye when he confesses them.
That’s what you want: him to confess them.
“One of ‘em had a Bowie…” he breathes, knowing what you’re looking for.
You fall forward with a deep moan. “That’s it. Him.”
“…hangin’ from his belt. Shot his leg, right above his knee –”
You moan again, sighing as you sink down on his cock and that feeling creeps over you again.
“– then took the knife.”
“He on the floor?”
“He got up. He – fuck – he stood up, ‘n I put it between his shoulders.”
“Fuck, yeah?”
“Yeah. Ripped ‘im apart, baby.”
You cry out in pleasure, bouncing up and down faster and faster the more the image replays in your head. You’re leaning forward, hovering over Joel as your skin slaps against his every time his hard length fills you. Fucking him to the thought of him slaughtering anyone who posed any threat to you. Those guys didn’t make it upstairs, you’re not even sure they got a good look at you before you were hauled away. But Joel tore them limb from limb at just the possibility.
“Did he – did he scream?”
“Yeah, he fuckin’ screamed.”
Your head drops between your shoulders, hands splayed on either side of Joel’s head, and his fingers knot in your hair. He pulls your forehead against his again, whispering into your mouth.
“Begged me not to do it,” he hums, and you’re thrown over the edge for the second time.
Your hips stop moving to allow space for your high; a second blinding, screaming orgasm ripples through you. You’re gasping now, fingers clutching for Joel, but he’s already moving again.
He slips out from underneath you and lets you down gently on your front, taking your hips and pulling them up to him as he positions himself behind you. And then, without a second’s hesitation, he’s back inside you, chasing his own high. Your back arches as he fucks you, chest flat against the floor.
There’s blood fucking everywhere. On your clothes, in your hair, on the floor beneath you, streaming down your thigh. The entire room smells of it – that suffocating, sickly sweet bite of iron. The bitterness so thick that it coats your lungs with every desperate pant of breath.
And finally, fucking – finally, all the adrenaline and momentum is brought to a climax when Joel releases deep inside you, and you feel yourself contract around him as a third orgasm pulses through you. Your cunt swollen, aching, you almost don’t feel it, but for the way your legs give as soon as he stills inside you.
He’s groaning, borderline fucking whining, before he draws out of you and slumps down beside you on the floor. You’re both staring at one another, almost afraid to touch each other – as if you’re made of glass. Fragile. Breakable.
Yeah. You’re his. And he fucks you like you’re his, like your only purpose is to relieve his stress, tire out his anger, but then…then he looks at you like this, the sunlight twinkling in his warm eyes, dust falling over him like snow. Then he shifts the hair from your face so he can take a proper look at you, study every detail on your face – the cracks in your lips, the curve of your nose. And you know you’re so much more than that to him.
Always have been. Always will be.
You lean over and run your fingers across his cheek, dried blood the color of wine all over your hands. Joel lies still, places a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb when it touches his lips. Your nails sift through his beard. His eyes close over, laying in the comfortable stillness as you trace his face, delicately drawing from his dark brows down to the patches of skin between the graying hair on his jawline.
He doesn’t move when you push yourself up and roll over onto his chest. Doesn’t flinch when you press your mouth to his neck, running from the bottom of his ear up to the tip of his chin.
And when you bring your lips up to meet his, he kisses you back.
His hand sneaks through your hair to the crown of your head and he sits up, rolling you onto your back and caging you underneath him, teeth grazing along your bottom lip, asking it to part. His tongue slips inside, wet and warm and comforting against yours. Your fingers lace at the back of his head, your own cradled in his hands on the hardwood.
It’s like he’s starving. Like he’s been holding off on doing this, for whatever reason. And now that you’ve been the one to open the floodgates – fucking, destroy them – everything comes rushing to the surface. Every time he wanted to, and didn’t. Every time he was buried inside you, and purposefully held his jaw apart from yours. Every minute he’s spent since he met you, without his lips on yours. It all comes rocketing up.
And before it gets too heated, before he begins winding that coil again, he’s pulling away. Lips leaving yours, noses bumping together as they part. You smile, and Joel breathes a laugh for the first time in what feels like weeks.
“Hey,” he whispers.
“Hey.”
You glance down at his flannel: stained with dirt, with sweat, with blood. It brings you down a little from your sun-kissed, golden-rayed eutopia. You suck in a deep breath, and his finger hooks under your chin to lift your face to his.
“Should get that leg covered.”
You nod, and he pulls up off of you, letting you sit up. He wanders around the room, checking the backpacks of Nico and his guys, and pulls some gauze and a bottle of alcohol from a side pocket.
He kneels slowly by your side, offers you the white pad. You shake your head. He has to do it. You don’t know why, don’t know what’s stopping you from wrapping your own wound – something you’ve done hundreds of times by now. But it has to be Joel.
He tips the bottle over the dressing, dousing it in alcohol, and settles it carefully on the floor by your hip. You look at one another, a Ready? and a No, but do it anyway pass across your gaze.
The clear fluid seeps from the pad down his hands, thinning the bloodstains and dragging them in light orange streaks down to his wrist. And when your eyes are distracted, watching the stream of blood and alcohol, he presses the gauze to your thigh.
“Fuck – you,” you stammer, eyes screwing tight enough that you see stars.
“I know,” Joel breathes, and pushes the gauze down harder. Firmer. It shoots heat up your leg, flashes the image of that plank of wood named Tucker who stabbed you across your mind. Your teeth grit, the tendons in your neck leap.
Still holding the pad to your skin, Joel winds a dressing around your thigh. He knots it, gives it a little tug, and then sits back on his heels.
“Okay?”
You tilt your head, lift your eyebrows in form of a Yeah. A half-truth – it feels better to have it covered, but fuck is it stinging. You lift a roll of spare bandage and wrap your wrists.
Joel nods, and then passes you your jeans.
“We should go,” he tells you. Then, softer, kinder, “Gotta go back to the pharmacy. Still supplies in the…”
You push yourself to your feet, unable to listen to the end of his sentence. Ghost was carrying most of your food. The map is still in her saddlebag. Ammo, too. The thought of seeing her again turns your stomach, and Joel seems to figure.
“Why don’t you head out back, go get Jet? I’ll grab everything.”
You stare down at him. Your head shakes before words filter through it. You don’t want to be apart from him again. Not today, at least.
He seems to figure that, too. He nods once, then stands with a low grunt. He fixes his jeans, shrugs his jacket back over his shoulders, and his hand finds the nape of your neck again. He pulls you nearer him, your lips brush against the shoulder of his jacket, and then you split, grabbing your supplies and searching the room for any that these assholes might’ve left to you.
When your pockets are full, you limp at Joel’s heels down the stairs and outside, glancing down the street. The silhouette of a horse slowly meanders back over to you, head bobbing, hooves clicking across the asphalt. Show’s over.
Joel stops and waits for her to approach, lets you bury your face into her strong body when she reaches you.
You squeeze your eyes shut against her muzzle, your forehead between her glossy eyes, and hope the message finds a way through flesh and bone – strong enough and sincere enough to push its way through your skull to hers. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Joel’s hand leaves your back and he walks slowly over to the pharmacy.
Your hands run over Jet’s soft mane, combing her gently, reassuring her as if she’s the one covered in blood, bruised and pained. You hook a finger around her bridle and follow Joel.
As you slowly approach, he’s emerging from the shadows of the pharmacy, a backpack in each hand. He reaches the same curb you were stood on less than an hour ago, and looks up to check on you. Your stomach lurches, glancing down to his boots.
There she is. Black coat shining, chest not moving. Legs splayed out on the road. Pool of blood around her velvety soft ears. She seemed so lean, so fit and graceful when she was on all fours. Now, lying in a heap in the shade of some barren street, she looks huge and clumsy. It makes your eyes swell with tears.
You shift with Jet, turning her to avert her gaze. It’s stupid; she’s a horse. How would she know what’s going on? But then, the way she’s breathing – soft, quiet. It’s like – it’s like she fucking knows.
Joel does it gently – kneels beside Ghost, searches in each pocket for your belongings. He knows your eyes are on him. He pulls a box of bullets and the folded-up map from the bag, slips them into his jacket pocket. Collects the tins of soup and canned fruit in one hand, standing to roll them into Jet’s bag.
He turns to you. “You got your switchblade?”
You nod, and he holds his hand out. You drop the heavy knife into his palm, and he bends back down to Ghost’s side.
He uses your blade to cut the bridle by the corner of her mouth, slicing through the leather running from the bit up to the headpiece. Then pulls it apart, a single strap with a tiny buckle still attached, a silver hoop at one end.
He reaches for your backpack, drags it across the rough ground, and knots one of the canvas ties through the silver hoop of Ghost’s bridle. Triple knots it, to make sure it won’t budge. And then he leans back, surveys his handiwork, and turns to gain your approval.
You can’t do much more than nod, tears dappling down your raw cheeks.
When he’s sure he’s got everything, Joel passes you your backpack, slings his on, and then kneels by her side one last time. He places a gentle palm on her head, runs his hand down her muzzle. Sniffs.
A thank-you, you think. A Farewell, brave girl.
He stands again, turns back to you. Waits for you to decide it’s time to move on.
“I can’t do it…” you whisper, and Joel nods, taking a step closer. “I don’t want to leave her.”
And then you’re sobbing, and he’s taking hold of your shoulders and pulling you into his arms, and your cries are muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt. You wrap yourself close around him, bury deeper into his chest, and Joel tightens his grip. The steady beat of his heart pulls you back down, grounds you. You match your breathing with his and pull away.
You approach Ghost shakily, then crouch, fix her mane out of her eyes, scratch her silky ears one last time, and let her go.
Joel’s face is tight when you turn back. Eyebrows low. You bite the inside of your cheek as you pass him, and then hoist yourself up onto the brown horse’s back.
He pulls himself up in front and leans back into you, head cocked to wait for your signal. You snake your arms around his waist and feel a delicate hand rest on top of yours, interlaced on his belt buckle. His thumb traces your knuckles, and when you lean your ear between his shoulder blades, he clicks to Jet.
The horse swerves off, beginning your long journey out of the city.
----------
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Patience is a Virtue C. Loveland
Colston Loveland x fem!Minter!reader
synopsis - Colston gets the trophy, and finally gets the girl.
wc - 3.8k
contains - UNEDITED! this is based off of this request! READER IS COACH MINTER(michigan defensive coordinator)'S DAUGHTER!!!!!!! kissing, hugging, fluff, cursing, stress over the game. guys if u don't like my cute outfit i picked then #1 ur a hater and #2 it's not a big deal! think of something else🤞🤞🤞 cause my Adidas navy handballs with gold accents ARE STAYING. there IS a picture of the outfit im describing but im obvi not gonna stick it in the middle of the fic so if anyone wants that i guess request or message me lols?
an - GUYS PLEASE LET THIS POST LETS PRAY TOGETHER. THIS WAS CUTE. i've been getting the BEST requests lately. i'm on my Michigan FOOTBALL grind. ive spent a long while introducing the jesse minter daughter reader.... she might have to stick around. i want to write for Blake Corum but don't know what to do because literally all i have written for the past week is like "girlfriend or friend of player reader comes to watch their playoff game, reader and love interest kiss after love interest wins game" so... DONT GET ME WRONG I LOVEEEE WRITING THAT SHIT. but it feels so repetitive. BUT THIS? I LOVED THIS. daughter of the coach is so scandalous and i love it. minter is only 40 so like we're just saying he had his daughter (reader) pretty young, like 21. hope u enjoyyyyyyyy ;)!
-
You woke up with a start. Your body jolted as you brain registered a shout somewhere in the room. You sucked in a breath, opening your eyes, only to close them again. You squinted, trying to orient yourself. You were in a hotel room, your brothers were the ones shouting.
You groaned at the realization, then let out a shout when you felt three small bodies land on top of you.
"Holy shit, get off of me!"
They immediately scrambled, most likely going to tell your mom you cursed in their presence. You loved your 3 baby siblings, but they were pains in your ass sometimes.
You heard a faint "she said shit mommy!" in the conjoining hotel room, and rolled your eyes. You sat in bed, stretching, grabbing your phone before grabbing your bag and locking yourself in the bathroom before your mom could scold you so your siblings shut up about it.
Today was the college football playoff championship, and it was safe to say your family members above the age of 8 were stressed. It was 8:11, and you had to be out the door by 9:50. You showered, drying your hair after and then starting to pick your outfit. You brought a lot of different gear, you had not clue what you wanted to wear to the game. You had so much Michigan gear, and even more maize and navy colored clothing, courtesy to your father.
After almost 30 minutes, you decided on a cute denim skirt, a maize long sleeve, and your navy Adidaas Handballs. You perfected your hair and makeup, successfully erasing any signs that you'd only been awake for about an hour.
You came out of the bathroom all put together, your bag and pajamas in hand. Your siblings were sitting on your bed, watching something on the TV. Since you guys had 6 people in your family, you'd gotten two hotel rooms with the connecting door in the middle. You slept in one room with your little sister on the other bed, and your parents and brothers slept in the other room. You walked through the connecting door, checking the time. 9:17.
Your mom was getting ready in the bathroom when you walked into it. You sat on the closed lid toilet and started talking to her about the plans for today.
"You really gotta stop cursing in front of the littles!"
Your mother scolded you, a grin wide on her face. She was joking, of course. You and your parents had always been close, you'd been their baby for the longest. You'd been with them since they were two just married 20 year olds in college. Not that you remembered it, but you were there for all of your dad's junior and senior year games when he played at MSJ. You'd been there through all the coaching jobs. From Cincinnati, to Georgia State, to the Baltimore Ravens, you'd been there through all of it.
You sat with your mom until it was time to go. Your dad corralled everyone together, taking a photo before you all headed to the elevator. When an elevator came, it opened up and there was barely any room unless your parents held two of your siblings, so you told them to go ahead and that you would wait for the next one.
You only waited about a minute before the doors slid open again, revealing none other than Colston Loveland. His eyes lit up, a grin shining on his beautiful face. You'd always had a weird little thing with Colston. No words were ever said about it, but there had always been a vibe between you.
Being the daughter of the defensive coordinator definitely drove a lot of the guys, even ones you had classes and other school related things with, far far away. The boys knew how protective their coach was of his family, and didn't want any bad blood on the team. Something about you just attracted Colston so heavily. He knew he shouldn't even think about it, but he never could help himself.
"Hey coach."
You rolled your eyes at him playfully as you stepped into the elevator. He always called you coach, he had to remind you he was one of your dad's players. You would've loved to forget that for two seconds.
"Hi Cole."
He could've died. You'd called him Cole, instead of Colston. It was the smallest, most insignificant little thing, but it made him melt.
"Where's your family at?"
You tilted your head towards him, he wanted to talk, okay. You smiled at him, he loved it.
"The other elevator was too full, some of the guys were on the way down too."
He nodded, the smirk never leaving his face. You thought about kissing it off of him, then realized you had just thought of kissing his smirk off of him. Shit. You were in deep with this kid, and there was little to no chance anything would ever happen.
The elevator reached the lobby, and Colston gestured for you to step out first. You exited the elevator, the boy hot on your tail. You were immediately greeted by a hallway packed full of Michigan players, coaches, families, and more.
You have Colston one last glance and smile before finding your mom, taking your baby brother out of her arms and into yours, playing with him. Colston's eyes followed you, he admired you as you smiled and laughed with your brother. You were perfect. He was gonna have to find a way to get around the fact that you were his coach's daughter.
You held your brother with one arm and your sisters hand with the other as you smiled at the cameras, walking through to the buses. Your family followed behind the rest of the coaches and families, the team trailing behind you.
The ride to NRG took longer than you assumed it would, almost an hour because of the traffic, and it didn't help that everyone could tell that the buses were transporting one of the CFP Championship teams in them.
Everyone went into the stadium together, through some backstage type area. You walked with the team until you had to go separate ways. You hugged your dad, squeezing him tight. You would see him again before the game, so you saved your 'Good luck, I love you Dad.' sentiment for then.
You'd always had a special connection with your dad, you were closer to him than almost anyone else. You were his baby, his first baby. Still, you were his baby in his eyes. Your dad would do anything for you, and he was quite protective. Though he was protective, all he wanted was for you to be happy, and if it meant dating one of his guys, he would have no problem with it.
Your family sat bored in the box of the stadium, looking down on the field as Washington practiced. There was over 6 more hours till the game started, and there was practically nothing to do.
You took a nap on the carpeted floor of the box with your siblings for a couple hours, your mother snapping photos that although you were embarrassed of, were undeniably cute. Once you guys had woken up, there was about 2 hours till game time. You voted with your family on whether you guys wanted to stay in the box, or sit way close to the field. You all wanted to be closer to the field, you wanted to see the action head on.
Your family departed the box, along with a few others to see the team one more time before the game. You got down onto the field in about 20 minutes, and stood with your dad for awhile. When you were being told it was time to go, you quickly hugged your dad.
"Good luck, I love you!"
He thanked you, saying the three words back as you guys waved at him, going to leave. Your eyes caught on a certain brunette as he ran off the field, his eyes finding you quickly. He smiled at you, ugh, that smile.
"Good luck, Cole!"
You smiled at him, right before you turned to go up the tunnel. More and more fans started to pour in as you got settled into your bleacher seats. You were three rows from the bottom with a perfect view of the field. You settled in as the national anthem ended and the game began.
As the game progressed, you were so happy to say that Michigan was winning, the entire time. You'd caught Colston's eyes multiple times during the game, letting it linger for a few seconds before giving him a stern look and gesturing towards the field. He'd mouth back, 'okay, coach.' and turn back around. Your mother caught the interaction once, her heart warming seeing her baby with a crush.
You stood up, your brother in your arms as you jumped up and down, shouting, Michigan had finally won! You cheered and danced around with your little siblings as you celebrated. You were all so insanely proud of your dad. Soon though, you were being escorted to the field, eager to see your father and congratulate him.
Blood was pumping and hearts were racing as you exited the tunnel, smiles burned onto your faces as you went to look for your dad. You held your sister's hand as you two ran around, trying to find him. Your mom shouted, and you turned to look at her. She pointed to your left, and there stood your dad, hugging one of his players. Your sister went back to your mom, to walk over to your dad with her as you all but sprinted over to your dad, weaving in between sweaty boys and families.
Your dad saw you incoming and held his arms out accepting your forceful hug. You both laughed, your dad squeezing you tightly. Your best friend had finally done it.
"Literally told you you would do it."
He laughed again, agreeing as he laid a kiss to your temple, pulling back with one arm to accept your other siblings into the hug, who'd finally made their way over. After a minute, you took your siblings from your dad so your mom could hug him, and kiss him, much to your brothers' disgust.
After talking with your dad for a little, you spotted a familiar 6'5 frame standing by himself as his teammates walked away from him. You sauntered over, shouting his name when you were in earshot. The brunette quickly turned around, the smile already gracing his face deepening.
"Well hi, coach."
"Congratulations, Cole. You know your catches were pretty legit."
You gave him a slightly impressed face, shrugging your shoulders. He laughed, rolling his eyes playfully.
"You can't win 'em all over, can you?"
You laughed in turn, stepping closer to him. Colston's heart was racing as he looked down into your eyes.
"But really, Cole, you were incredible, serious."
He nodded, accepting your praise with a grin, before he looked around, over-exaggerating a look of being in thought.
"You know, coach, I think I might just deserve a reward, for my quote incredible performance."
Your eyes widened, your heart starting off, faster and faster.
"Really? What might that entail, Cole?"
Shit, he was gonna have to kiss you if you kept calling him that. He was about to take the leap. He knew he had to at some point, and he was on an adrenaline rush, that just chanted at him to do it.
"Well I think it entails you accepting a date with me back in Michigan."
Your jaw dropped slightly, you were dumbfounded. Colston really wanted to go on a date with you?
"For real?"
Colston nodded, seemingly confident, though he was shaking in his boots on the inside.
"Well then, I think we can make that work."
Colston's heart erupted. He literally could not have been happier. He'd just won the Natty, and got his dream girl to agree to a date, holy fuck. You got nervous all of the sudden, leaning up to kiss his cheek, before turning to leave.
"Just text me, Cole!"
He nodded, his eyes following you as you went to go find your family again. His family came back over to him, they'd been gone for just a second but stopped and waited when they saw him talking to you. His family, especially his mom, knew quite a bit about you.
You found your family, immediately grabbing your moms hand to pull her a few steps away. You looked at her with the biggest eyes ever, still in shock over what had just happened.
"What's up, sweetheart? Why are you all, thousand yard stare-y?"
"Mom Colston just asked me out, and I said yes! And then I kissed his cheek! And then I left!"
Your mom laughed, her baby was finally growing up. You'd had a few boyfriends in all your days, but you'd never been proper crushing like you were right now.
"That's so good! I knew this was coming, we just had to wait for one of you to get the courage."
You blushed, hiding your face in your hands. Your smile suddenly dropped, a realization coming to you.
"Is dad gonna hate me?"
"Why would I hate you?"
Shit.
You ended up telling your dad later on in the night, when you were tired and sitting in the back of a restaurant the team was celebrating in. Your family didn't party for too long, having a 4, 7, and 8 year old didn't exactly allow you guys to stay out for too long. Even your parents 19 year old daughter got a bit cranky if she stayed out too late.
When you told your dad, he just laughed. He knew you and Colston had things for each other, he was waiting for the tight end to make a move.
-
You were stressing. Tonight was your date with Colston. You sat at your vanity, ranting to your roommate over it. You put on makeup and did your hair, wanting to look cute but not over the top.
Colston had told you to wear comfy clothes, so you were in one of your most common outfits. Leggings and a Michigan sweatshirt. You stared at yourself in the mirror, doubting yourself. You had known Colston for over a year, almost two, but you didn't really know him that well. You wanted him to like you so badly.
"Babe, you look fantastic. He's going to stare at you all night."
You sighed at your roommate's encouragement. But before you could respond, you got a text from Colston. He was outside your dorm building. Your roommate pushed you straight out the door, saying bye.
You went down the stairs quickly, making your way out of the complex. You saw Colston as you opened the door, slipping out. He looked up and smiled at you, his stupid beautiful smile.
"Hey, Gorgeous."
You felt the heat on your face even in the Ann Arbor cold. You smiled, shaking your head as you gave him a spin, showing off your extra casual outfit.
"Even in this ensemble?"
He nodded, his smile deepening. He pulled you into his side, hugging you. You were immediately enveloped in his warmth. You ducked your head down to hide the shock in your eyes. He smelled really good.
When you pulled away Colston led you to his car, opening the door for you before going around and getting in. You two buckled up before Colston pulled out of the parking spot, setting off into Ann Arbor. He gave you the aux, warming your heart. You both knew he probably didn't listen to the same music as you, but he wanted you to listen to whatever you liked.
Smaller Acts by Zach Bryan came on when you hit shuffle on your main playlist, making you smile. You resonated with the song, always having thought that smaller acts of love were more important than any grand gestures. You got to really look at Colston while he drove. He kept his eyes right on the road always, until you got to a red light, that's when you'd jerk your head back forward as he turned to look at you. He was really pretty, his jaw was so insanely defined, he had a strong neck, and the deepest brown eyes. You stared at the tattoo on his left forearm, he was hot, to put it simply.
You drove for around 40 minutes before the car slowed, pulling onto a gravel driveway. You looked out of your window, seeing a large screen and projector, and lots of cars. He had brought you to a drive in movie. You could've cried when you saw the sign reading the movie you would be seeing. Ocean's 11. The very first time you ever talked to Colston, he'd asked you your favorite movie. You said you couldn't pick one, then settled on Ocean's 11 because it was one you'd seen so many times you could quote any scene.
You couldn't believe he remembered. You'd never mentioned it since then. That was the kind of smaller, seemingly insignificant thing that meant the world to you. You jerked your head to the left, staring at Colston with wide eyes. He was dealing with the tickets for a few seconds before you pulled into a spot, then he finally looked to you.
"Cole, I cannot believe that you remembered."
Colston smiled, and on the inside he was celebrating that you loved it. What he hadn't expected though was you leaning over the console and hugging him. It was honestly the sweetest thing any guy had ever done for you, you were beyond grateful for this boy, and it was your first date.
"This is the sweetest thing a guy's ever done for me, I'm being serious."
Though you were mostly saying that about the fact that he'd remembered, the date itself was also amazing. Colston knew you enough to know that you'd have preferred this over any fancy restaurant, and that meant a lot.
"It's the least I could do, coach. You mean something to me, 'm gonna take care of you."
You just squirmed in your seat, getting more comfortable and smiling as you looked ahead of you. You wordlessly reached over and slipped your hand into his, pulling them into your lap.
Colston was so happy he could've gotten out of the car and started dancing. He acted as cool as he could on the outside. You two settled in as the movie began.
At some point, Colston had reached back into the backseat and grabbed a blanket that he tossed into your lap, and a bag of food and snacks.
You traced your free hand over Colston's tattoo, admiring the line work and shading. The movie ended, and Colston's hand stayed with you as you two began the drive back. You fell asleep on the drive, your head leaning against Colston's arm.
You woke up slowly about 5 minutes out from school. You kept your head on Colston's arm, but allowed yourself to carelessly stare at him in your tired state. At a stoplight, he turned to look at you, smiling deeply when his eyes met your sleepy ones.
"Hey, coach. Nap good?"
You smiled and nodded, yawning at him. He laughed lowly, turning his head back when the light went green. You parked outside your building, dampening your heart. The night had been perfect. You sleepily got out of Colston's car, after he told you to not dare opening your own door. He walked you up to the entrance with his hand on your back, rubbing his fingers back and forth lightly.
When you got to the door you stopped and turned around, wrapping your arms around his middle.
"Thank you so much Colston. This was like, the best date I think ever."
He smiled, hugging you tightly. Colston had the best time, obviously you were gorgeous, but getting to talk to you one-on-one without interruptions was his idea of a good time. His insides melted whenever you fell asleep, and before then, he could've swore he was in love while you traced over his tattoo.
You pulled away from him, looking at the boy through heavy eyes. He looked absolutely handsome in the dim lighting of a street lamp. You put your hands on his shoulders, leaning up and kissing him. You probably wouldn't have if your drowzy mind hadn't commanded you to. Obviously you wanted to, but you weren't sure if it was 100% mutual yet, but it was.
Colston's hands went to hold the back of your head, his hands in your hair. He kept the kiss shorter than you would've liked, knowing you were tired.
You looked up at him with stars in your eyes, a smiling fighting its way onto you face. Colston's hands shifted from your hair to your jaw, rubbing his thumb over your cheek.
"I'll see you tomorrow baby."
Your blown out eyes widened at the name, your heart clenching in your chest. Colston saw the reaction, his lips quirking up the slightest bit.
"I'll see you, Loveland."
You let go of him, turning towards the door. You paused for a second, quickly turning back around and kissing Colston again. Colston's hands grabbed at your hips, pulling you closer. Colston smiled brightly into the kiss, giggling to himself.
You pulled away from him, a grin falling to your face.
"You ever gonna let me leave, coach?"
"Thinkin' about it."
"You get inside, gorgeous. It's too cold for you to be out here."
You smiled, nodding at him, letting go of him for the last time.
"You gotta go too, off season just started. You gotta stay on your A-Game Loveland."
He laughed at you, shaking his head as he watched you walk into the dorm complex, turning the corner and out of his sight. You ran back up the stairs and to your room, squealing like a 13 year old as you described your date to your roommate.
Colston sat in his car, texting his mom that everything went well. When he put his phone away, he finally let himself think that you were the girl he'd want to be with forever. It was finally real. The boy just had to be patient.
#colston loveland#colston loveland x reader#umich football#umich#umich x reader#umich smut#umich fic#umich blurbs#umich lb#umich imagine#umich boys#umich hockey#umich wolverines#colston loveland smut#colston loveland burb#colston loveland fic#colston loveland fluff#jj mccarthy blurb#jj mccarthy fluff#jj mccarthy fic#cfp#college football playoff#cfp national championship
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The New Girl
masterlist
parings ✦ eddie munson x reader
summary ✦ It’s your first day at a new school and your a nervous wreck. Sitting at a random table of boys might just change your life for the better when their leader take a special interest in you.
authors note ✦ I spend so much time writing Eddie fics and oneshots. I have a whole ass 40+ chapter finished fic I have yet to share with the world just cause I am too scared. Decided to start lightly with this and maybe post more in the future. Let me know what you think, good or bad. lol I think my problem is I’m so worried about my grammar and shit that I never post. So if that has a bunch of errors I’m sorry
⊹ ꙳ ✦ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹
You spent all summer dreading this day, your first day as a senior at Hawkins High. You’d be the new girl in the last year of school when everyone has already established their cliques, you’d be the outsider. To your surprise it wasn’t as painful as you’d imagined. First half of the day went by quickly, you sat in the period before lunch wondering where you were gonna sit. For a brief moment you considered spending it in the bathroom to avoid be the new girl sitting by her self but quickly decided against that idea. Concluding that being caught sitting in the bathroom for thirty minutes was far more embarrassing.
The bell rings breaking you out of your thoughts. The rest of class wastes no time, sighing you stand up and follow their lead. You’re the last one out of the room but that’s not before your stopped by the teacher.
“Y/N, right?” You nod yes in response. “How’s your first day so far?”
“So far so good. Everyone’s been really nice.” You realize there’s not much truth to that statement considering he’s the first person that’s took the time to talk to you.
“That great to hear, if you need anything at all don’t hesitate to ask.” He smiles reassuringly, you smile back and thank him before leaving the room.
Once in the cafeteria, you get in line and grab a tray. Thanking the lunch ladies as they slop on the mysterious food. In that moment you think to your self you’ll be bringing lunch from now on. Out of the line you’re greeted by the rows of tables filled with students.
Eyes scan the room quickly realizing there’s not many empty seats left. You watch them fill up as you stand there. You decide fuck it and go to sit down at a table filled with girls. You’re not fast enough because someone steals it before you, giving you an annoyed look before turning their back to you.
Down a few tables there a group of boys all wearing the same shirt, they look harmless enough. They’re only taking up half the table. You decide you’ll sit at the far end and pray that they leave you alone.
As soon as you walk over all their eyes are on you, probably wondering who the hell you are. Shock hits their faces when you actually sit down. You half smile before picking your fork up and start playing with your food. You can’t help but notice a taller long haired boy approaching the table, he’s wearing the same shirt. ‘The Hellfire Club’
“Who do we have here?” He says sitting directly across from you, a grin across his face. You tell him your name and his response is,”Who said you can sit here?”
“Didn’t realize I had to ask.” You retort, sort of irritated.
“I’m just givin’ you shit. I’m Eddie.” He laughs, “You new here?” Eddie asks knowing damn well she’s new, knowing he would have remembered someone as pretty as her.
“Yeah.”
“How you liken Hawkins?” Eddie asks.
“It’s nice so far.” You lie and Eddie sees right through you.
“You don’t have to lie to me. We’re all aware of how shit it is.” He laughs.
“It’s pretty shit.” You agree laughing quickly covering your mouth when you laugh, Eddie notices.
“You wanna actually come sit with us at that end of the table instead of being the loser all by your self?” Eddie teases.
“Sure.” You say warily. You watch as Eddie gets up and heads to the end to sit. One of the younger kids tries to argue but Eddie tells them to shut up.
“Scoot down.” He commands the younger kids and they listen. “You can sit by me.” He smiles motioning to the seat next to him. Grabbing your tray you make your way over to Eddie. You can feel all their eyes on you as you sit.
“Thanks. What’s the shirts for?” You ask curiously, attempting to start a conversation.
“We’re a DND club.” You look over to the young boy who spoke, “I’m Dustin.” He introduces himself.
“That cool I used to watch my older brother play all the time.” You smile, remembering you oldest brother.
“Have you played before?”
“No he wouldn’t let me.” You admit.
“Do you want to?” Eddie asks, regaining your attention.
“I dunno maybe.” You say smiling. Eddie’s only known you for a few minutes and he’s already can’t stop staring. He wants to know everything about you.
“I’m gonna be so real with you right now. The longer you sit here the less chance you have of having any type of social status.” Another kid speaks up, you look over to him before speaking.
“I don’t care about that stuff anyways.” You look back to Eddie who’s already smiling at you. You take this moment to look at his beauty. His eyes are a deep brown and you can’t help yourself but admire them.
Conversation amongst the rest of them start but you still have Eddie’s full undivided attention. “What brings you to Hawkins?”
You answer and spend the rest of lunch answering all his questions. While learning so much about him.
Eventually lunch comes to an end and Eddie sighs, he seemed upset. You were upset too, you could of spent all day getting to know him. You get up grabbing your tray to empty it into the trash.
Eddie follows behind, once you’re done he grabs your wrist softly. You turn around to face him and he says, “You should sit with us tomorrow again.”
“I’d love that.” You grin, happy you’ve found friends. Especially cause one of them is this real cute older guy.
-
The next day rolls around and you excitedly wait for lunch ready for the chance to talk to Eddie again. This time you skip the lunch line and make your way for their table. “Hi guys.” You say, sitting where you sat yesterday. Eddie’s not here yet but the rest of the guys greet you. Mikes going off about one of his teachers already assigned a ‘fuck ton’ of homework. You laugh when you feel the weight of someone sitting next to you. Smiling you turn your attention that way hoping it’s Eddie.
It’s not. Your smile fades quickly. A blonde haired boy fills his spot, he’s sporting a green lettermen jacket. “Why are you sitting with these freaks?” You’re in total shock and confused unsure of how to respond. “You should sit with us,” he points over to a table filled with cheerleader and football players. “You’re too pretty to be hanging out with these losers.” He laughs, his hand reaching for your hair letting his fingers run through it.
“No thank you.” You politely decline, pushing his hand away.
“Oh come on. Fuck these freaks.” He pouts.
You don’t know what comes over you but you spit,“Fuck off.”
“Oh she’s feisty.” He laughs, “Well if you ever change your mind and need some good dick you know where to find me.” Your jaw drops, shocked those words would come out of his mouth.
“Just leave her alone.” One of the guys speaks up.
“I bet you let that freak fuck you, huh? I saw they way you two were looking at each other yesterday.” He hands find its way in your lap, quickly slipping it way into between your thighs. Before he can get any farther, you do the unthinkable. Something you could never imagine yourself doing. You punch him square in the face, he quickly falls back. His hands gravitate to his nose, it’s bleeding. You look down at your fist, it hurts but you’re too much in shock to notice.
Looking up from your fist you’re greeted by Eddie. His hands cup you face, “Are you okay?” Tears start to fall down your face realizing what just happened. The blonde boy mutters fuck you before taking off blood staining his letterman. “What happened?” When you can’t respond, he grabs your hand, “Let’s get you out of here.” You don’t argue following Eddie out of the lunchroom, through a hall way, and out a door that leads to a nearly empty parking lot.
Eddie takes you to his van, opening the door for you. For some reason you get in, you feel like you can trust Eddie. He shuts the door behind you before making his way to the drivers side. “Do you want me to take you home?”
“No.” You say wiping the tears from you face, trying to calm down. “Just take me away from here. I don’t want to go home.”
“Okay.” He smiles softly.
-
Eddie and you drove the whole way a in silence. Occasionally glancing over at each other. Music filled the silence, Eddie hummed along. For a moment it crosses your mind that your alone with essentially a stranger. You just hope that he’s not gonna murder you and try to forget shake that thought.
Eventually you two arrive at a little lake you’ve never been to before. He reverses into a parking spot. “This is my favorite place to come to when I need to breathe.” Eddie gets out, walking behind his van. You can tell he’s opened the back so you let yourself out. Eddie’s sat in the back of his van his legs dangling from the edge.
For a few moments you look around the back of Eddie van. The back seats had been taken out and there were blankets and pillows laid out. You sit next to him scooting as close as you can. His arm falls on your shoulders, allowing you to rest your head on him. You both sit in silence for a few moments.
“What all did you see?” You ask.
“I walked into the lunch room and seen Jason Carver laying on the floor in front of you with a bloody nose.” He’s arm leaves your shoulder and grabs the fist you used to punch that guy. “Does it hurt? It looks like it hurts.” Eddie says while he’s gently examining it. Your knuckles are bruised.
“It hurts a lot.”
“Why did you punch him?” Eddie asks.
“He was being such a dick.”
“That’s Jason for you.” Eddie explains.
“He kept touching me after I turned him down.” Eddie noticeably tenses up. “I blacked out and when I came to he was on the floor. I’ve never don’t that before.”
“Well he deserved it. If he ever touches you again I swear to god I’ll kill him.” Eddie grits his teeth speaking.
“Hopefully he’ll leave me alone after today.” You sigh.
“You’re kinda bad ass.” Eddie smiles.
“How?”
“You punched Jason Carver in the face. You haven’t gone here long enough to realize how bad ass that is. Everyone hates him except his bone head friends who are just as terrible as him.”
-
You couldn’t explain it but you felt so comfortable around Eddie. You two sat there for a while talking about anything and everything. Eventually you two ended up laying down in the back of his van, next to each other facing each other as you talked. Your hands rested so closely together. You so badly wanted to grab his but chicken out. Eddie must of noticed you looking at his hand cause he does exactly what you were to chicken to do causing the biggest grin to form on your face almost too afraid to make eye contact with him. You can feel him getting closer, the butterflies in your stomach getting bigger.
Your phone goes off bringing you back to reality. It’s your dad. Fuck.
Quickly sitting up, letting go of Eddie and answering your dad starts with the questions, “Where are you? Your school says you never showed up to second half of classes after you got into a fight?” He sounds more concerned than angry, which calms you.
“I’m safe. I’ll explain when I get home. I love you.” He says he loves you before hanging up. “Can you take me home?” You groan annoyed you have to leave Eddie so soon.
“Yeah of course.” Eddie says, getting up and helping you out of the van.
-
You give Eddie directions to your home as his drives. A good twenty minutes later he parks in front of your home.
“I know what happened to you today was really shitty but for what it’s worth I had fun with you after the fact. Hope you don’t get in too much trouble.” He says causing you to smile.
“If punching some jock in the face meant I could hang out with you I’d do it again.” You laugh to yourself.
“You don’t have to punch anyone in the face to hang out with me.” Eddie jokes with you, you look over to him to find him already looking at you and decide in that moment to do something else you’d never imagine yourself doing. You lean in closer to Eddie, reaching over the center console. Your lips meet his. Eddie seems taken aback but slowly lets him self kiss you. His hands finding their way to your face. You two make out for a few moments, Eddie eventually being the one to pull away to catch his breath.
“You’re kinda bad ass.”
“How?” You laugh.
“I’ve wanted to do that for hours now but I was too chicken shit. You just went for it.” He smiles, smitten.
“Can I go for it again?” Eddie nods before kissing you again.
#stranger things x reader#eddie imagine#eddie munson fanfic#joseph quinn x you#joseph quinn x reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson pov#eddie munson#eddie x reader#eddie x you#eddie munson x you#stranger things#stranger things 4#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson fic
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- come out and play.
┈⋆⭒ daniel ricciardo x fem!reader [3.1k]
┈⋆⭒ part 3 !
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ find all parts here !
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ contains: SHARING BED TROPE LOL
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ a/n: nothing tbh
you were slightly ashamed to admit you had spent the whole week thinking about Daniel, going to the extended lengths to stalk every single one of his acquaintances just to see the edge of his corner in a smile. you were rarely like this, blaming your heightened stalker (ish) behaviour on the fact that he was a kind of (major) celebrity because there was just so much more to stalk. fuck there was some good ones out there. highlights including a photo of Daniel stretched out on a yacht posted on landos story which physically made you squirm slightly.
highlights: lando norris 3 months ago.
christ, you think you looked at this image for a little over 40 minutes. throwing your head back to hit your headboard repeatedly, an action trying to rid the less than proper thoughts from your mind.
you'd told grace on Monday night everything that happened, her face immediately perking up when you mentioned it was. she’d nodded and listened to every account and to every little touch exchanged between you both and every time he looked at you. the time his thigh touched yours, and the feeling of taut muscle under his shorts. christ, you thoughts alone were getting more depraved by the day. his voice kept playing over and over in your head, in class, out of class, in the car, in the shower. christ it was so smooth, nothing like your accent, he made Australian slang so good and god you were jealous. you texted lando nearly everyday, giving photo updates of your life, yours considerably more mundane than his were. but you'd thanked your life for giving you lando, a break from the fucking incels in your course and the constant "nice guys finish last" that you got from the boys in your lectures or rather the British equivalent of eshays who thought uni was stupid but was using daddy's money and would make sure to always bring that up when talking to a woman. ever. lando was fun and inoffensive and kind and sarcastic and likeable and a fucking break from everything else. you'd already been over to landos house once this week, where you literally sat and played Mario kart for three hours and then went for a swim and then played Mario kart and then ate cereal and then made dinner and then went home. it was like being 13 again and spending days at a friends house, except it was a single day, but it was all day and it was so good. grace was always number one, but lando was climbing a close second. one thing you do remember from that day quite well though is when Daniel called him.
"oh wait hang on" he takes his phone out of his pocket, shaking it, showing you he won't be long.
"hey Daniel"
your heads lifts at his name and lando notices, silently teasing you about it.
he takes the rest of the call inside and you kind of wished he'd given the chance to eavesdrop by you understood you would've done the same thing.
"I told Daniel that we were swimming and I could nearly hear his jaw hit the floor"
you know what hes insinuating, that the crush you held was a little more than obvious, but that he more or less may have felt the same. but where's the fun in acknowledging that.
"oh yeah? didn't know Daniel was that into you?"
"you know exactly what I meant and don't even try to mug me off cause he was staring at you the whole night, his eyes were practically glllluuuuueeeddd open the whole night just looking at you."
"you should've seen his face when I joked we were together, pretty sure it was the equivalent to if I crashed and swerved and hit him in quali"
"you're such a dickhead"
"hey you would've laughed too"
you pretend not to but you slowly nod
"yeah okay"
"yeah exactly, plus hes like what, 10 years older than you. come on, just because hes Australian doesn't mean you have to go all incest-y on me"
you screw your face up
"don’t say. okay gross- not incest, and not 10 years older than me"
you pause
"just 7"
"OH JUST 7 WELL IN THAT CASE-"
"oh shush lando i haven't talked to the man since that night"
"hmmmmm"
"what does that mean?"
"it means what do you say to drinks with me and Daniel this weekend"
"really lando"
"yeah but don't worry I make sure he'll keep his distance from you and all that stuff."
"you suck"
"okay but I don't wanna third wheel so just for that night hands off"
your glaring at him.
"plleeeaaassseee"
"yeah alright lando, ill just feel you up instead, considering we're basically a couple" you joke.
"basically married."
"im telling Danny you said that"
"yeah yeah sure"
the rest of the week was calm enough, spent in your routine of uni and study and work and home. your mind had only been briefly drifting to daniel. your ex however was becoming a slightly concerning presence in your life. calling and texting saying he was in london and that you should catch up for coffee. listen. you ended things on okay enough terms, you thought. you broke up with him,
1. because you didn’t love him anymore
2. there was a 99% confirmed situation in whcih he made out with one of your friends at your birthday party. (he didn’t know you knew)
but him insisting to meet up was getting pestering and annoying, considering london was one of those places where you always end up seeing people you’d wished you hadn’t. the amount of times you’ve ran into a professor at a bar or on the way home, swaying side to side with grace or sitting hunched over your computer, 4th cup of coffee in a random cafe and your uncle just happened to be visiting and he just happened to have the time to sit down and disrupt your whole life and tear you apart by the end of it. christ. you had hoped he would leave you alone, because you defiantly didn’t want to see him. not that he was necessarily the most awful person , but he was just annoying and also probably only wanted to fuck you and then say something about how he needs to focus on himself. ew definitely not going through that again.
Saturday had come too soon and before you knew it, you were second guessing everything. the comments that lando had brought up rather lightheartedly had made their way to your head, would it actually be a problem the age gap? would it matter because he was a formula one driver? not that you were even in a relationship, or anywhere close to being in one. would this stop him from being interested in you? the thoughts plagued you until lando arrived at yours. texting you that he was there, you nearly backed out then and there. but you figured acting it was a bigger deal than it really was would make it worse. walking down the stairs, slightly buzzed was definitely an interesting feat. giggling as the fading light eclipsed the stairs and you stared intently at your feet hitting the ground beneath. clambering into the car quite ungracefully, settling yourself upright, lando turns back to you turning down the music and leans back
", way to make an entrance"
"always a performer" Daniel in the passenger seat pipes up.
his voice makes something inside you turn.
"your welcome, your welcome."
"are you buzzed?" Daniel says
lando looks at you and then at Daniel.
"what do you think mate?"
you just smile, eyes glazed over slightly.
"hey im not made of money and you have expensive taste, lets go"
you had secretly put grace on standby for the night, telling her that if the night went horribly could she please just happen to show up so you could hang out. she obliged, insisting that her only plans tonight consisted of a fleabag marathon she wasn't sure shed finish. you’d given her a hug and then demand she helped you pick an outfit , while also fervently hanging up the repeated calls from “thomas ex boyfriend don’t pick up”. they were racking up and it was honestly just annoying, he wouldn’t call you all day and then would call you ten times in twenty minutes. like dude. what? genuine curiosity filled you, because you were 99% sure he didn’t like you when you guys broke up, why would he have kissed your friend otherwise.
whatever it was stupid. he was literally stupid. you honestly couldn’t put together a coherent reason why you didn’t just block him. idk to feel wanted, god that feels pathetic saying it out loud, you needed to block him and you needed to fuck someone else. you had between him and now, but him just rubbing his little boy behaviour everywhere that had messed you up or something.
anyway, the conversation was flowing in the car on the way to the club, or wherever prestigious place lando was taking you and daniel tonight, you hung forward from the middle seat, sticking your head between both seats and propping your arms around the headrests on the 2 front seats. you had put a window down in the back seat as the car was oddly and painfully humid and you were enjoying the cold london breeze on your bare arms and occasionally bare legs. you’d arrived all too soon and clambered once again out of the car, although offered a gentlemanly hand by lando to which you dramatically accepted, not ignoring the way daniel stared at landos lingering touch on your waist. you walked in and were ushered straight to a booth, where you imagined you would be spending majority of the night. that and dancing. lando left shortly thereafter to get drinks and apparently mingle. stating that he knew people here, it was blatantly obvious that lando was trying to get you to make a move with daniel. painfully obvious, you just wished he wasn’t right about how much you liked him. his smile was actually killing you, tearing you from the inside out, fucking ripping you to pieces. this was an infatuation at this point. your eyes growing larger than life as he talked and laughed and smiled, occasionally throwing in a relevant joke but wholely just appreciating everything about him.
as he continued talking you found yourself drifting towards him, further into his side, flushed against him in the seats of the booth. staring up at him listening to him recounting the stupid motocross trick he did with his friends the other day and humming along. content, the week had been heavy academically and the break from statistics or graphs or the consequences of the recession. so this, was nice, you followed in with stories of your own adventures. though of a different calibre, normally stemming from when you and grace caught the wrong train in Paris and ended up crossing the border into Germany, which you now admit wasn't your brightest day and you still are absolutely dumbfounded on how exactly you did that. or the time in Austria when you went out for dinner and they spoke to you both in fluent fast German and you were too afraid to say slow down or I literally can only understand one or two words at a time so you just said, yes and thank you. this lead to you ending up purchasing a set-menu and living through an 8 course meal of which at the end the chef gave a you guessed moving speech, but you couldn't understand him because it was still in accented and fluent Austrian German. the way he looked at you as he mocked your own stupidity and embarrassment with those stories was one that you wished someone could've taken a photo of, so you could see the intensity. you could definitely feel it, but seeing it that wouldve been special. when lando returns much later, you’re slightly embarassed at your body flush against daniels, feeling caught. you move aside a tiny bit only to be met with a look from daniel that says. come back.
the night continues much like that, the banter between you all and a final announcement of
“let’s all sleep at landos!”
the slumber party joke you had made had apparently gone over their heads, as they took you seriously and loaded into a taxi towards landos vowing on doing a fast and furious marathon and sleeping on his couch. the more or less “party” had continued at landos, with you making drinks and the boys engaging in a somewhat heated ping pong match, you joined in and managed to beat lando, but daniel was another story. you’d moved inside as the air outside got colder and settled onto the floor in front on landos couch, putting on the first fast and furious movie, it became obvious that daniel and lando were going to have thoughts. commenting on every little thing mentioning how, “that’s impossible” or “as if!”
lando had fallen asleep comically fast, face buried in the couch pillows as you and Daniel sat on the floor with the doona.
"should we go and sleep in landos bed?" you ask him
"you really think that's a good idea?" he laughs
"no" you say in all earnest.
"alright, only if you promise not to kick me"
"deal"
"perfect"
you make your way to landos bedroom and am in shock at the sheer cleanliness even his bed was made, you climb into it, still slightly tipsy and offer Daniel a glass of water, to which he accepts. he climbs into the bed and when you return hes positively cosy underneath the covers as you place the water by his bed. you climb under the covers and are welcomed by the warmth and by Daniels scent.
you drift closer to him naturally and the hairs of your arm stand on end as you graze his arm, he turns to look at you, eyes drowsy and moves closer to you, closing any gap there was before. warm bodies now pressed together under the cool sheets. you turn your head so that its facing his neck and settle further into the pillow. you feel the way his hands keeps stroking yours and he throws an arm around you, his hand landing just next to your head, close enough to stroke your hair. with his eyes still closed he mumbles.
"you promised not to kick me"
#daniel ricciardo#daniel ricciardo angst#daniel ricciardo fic#daniel ricciardo smut#f1#lando norris#Daniel Ricciardo fanfic#daniel ricciardo x you#daniel ricciardo imagine#formula one#f1 x you#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 fluff
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Dog tags
***********************
It's currently 11:40 pm and my brain is still working lol.
This will be the last fic for today, but i hope that i'll be able to post again tomorrow or on tuesday :)
Tw: character death
************************
The day began quite normal.
It was Saturday, which meant that you didn't have work.
You spent the day cleaning the house and buying groceries.
It was the same routine that happened every Saturday. But this time there was an exception.
You loving husband was supposed to come home today. He's been gone for 3 months now and you two weren't able to phone each other, because of him being busy.
You hated to admit it but it was hard without him. The house felt empty. It was only you and your thoughts.
His pillow has stopped smelling like him a month ago. You cried yourself to sleep every night, without someone telling you that everything would be ok.
John and you had fought a lot about his job. Him saying that you shouldn't be so dramatic about him having to leave.
Moments like these made you realise that he's just a man. A man that sometimes -more often than you wished- loved his job more than anything else.
Tho of course he would never say that out loud.
His team was like a second family, so it wasn't hard for him to leave. But it was for you.
You had met his team before, in a pub to be more specific. John had asked you to meet them and you obviously couldn't say no to his puppy eyes.
You trusted his team to bring him back home. Alive. That had always worked, at least until now.
You were now standing in the kitchen preparing John's favourite meal. It was a receipt from his mother. A simple, yet delicious dish.
You stirred the bacon in the pan while listening to a song that was on the radio. The atmosphere was calming down your nerves, as you were excited to see your husband again.
While humming the song, you heard the door bell ringing. You turned off the stove and half sprinted towards the door.
You opened it with a smile, but you weren't greeted with John. No, his team was standing on the porch, faces formed into frowns.
Your smile faltered a bit, but you recovered quickly.
"Hey nice to see you again! I didn't know we will have dinner guests over" you laughed slightly.
Seeing them not returning the gesture made you nervous. And only then did you realise, that John wasn't there.
You looked around confused only to see something metallic laying in Gaz's hand. Dog tags.
"W-what...?"
Your weary smile fell. A shiver ran down your spine. No, that couldn't be his.
A feeling of hurt engulfed your body, and you could hear your heart beating in your ears.
It seemed that Gaz saw the change of demeanour, because he stepped forward and handed you the dog tags.
His hand took a hold of your shaky one as you examined the object.
Your eyes were glossy as you read the gravure. Captain John Price.
That was the moment your world fell apart. You let out a sob as your knees buckled, making you fall to the ground.
Gaz caught you and sank to the floor with you in his arms. He clinged onto you as if he was afraid to let go.
Your body went hysterical as you cried into his shoulder, clutching the dog tags. Your husbands dog tags.
"H-he promised! He fucking promised to come back" you cried out. Sadness mixing with anger directed at your husband for breaking his promise.
Soap and Ghost were still standing on the same spot, watching the scene unfold. Sadness was still a prominent feeling in their body.
They knew that Price wanted them to tell you that he died. To tell you that he loved you more than anything.
But that didn't make the situation easier as they felt your pain. Your usual bubbly personality was gone and grief took over.
Minutes went by with you still crying for your dead husband, while hugging the dear life out of Gaz.
Soap watched them with sympathy as something caught his eyes. It was the small but prominent bump of your stomach.
His heart dropped when he realised that you were pregnant. You probably wanted to tell Price the good news after he came home.
Soap took a deep breath and starred up to the sky, wishing that it had been him dying instead of his Captain.
***********************
Critique and tips for improvements are always welcome <3
I really have to stop posting angsty fics haha.
Have a nice day/ evening :)
(English isn't my first language so please excuse minor grammar mistakes <3)
#john price x reader#captain john price x reader#Captain john price x reader angst#cod angst#cod mw2#captain john price
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Midwest Lost Post #5
Stepfather:
For the past month I've been pretty busy, so I've mainly just been focusing on working on Midwest Lost whenever I have a chance. In this time I finally got the character model for the stepfather mostly complete and in the game. In this fight he is "unwinding" after work so he's ditched his pants and put on a bathrobe, but he was too dejected to change out of his work shirt. He's an abusive guy with a messy life, and he often takes his anger out on whoever he thinks he can have power over. Unlucky for the protagonist, this often means he's the target of his rage. Luckily for the protagonist, he has a big ass sword.
The Face:
For a while now I've been pretty concerned on how I am going to handle face textures in this game. I need the characters to be expressive for the various cinematics and for certain emotional beats to hit properly, but creating proper detailed faces is a bit of a wild west territory for me. Because of this, I decided to try an experiment. Recently I've been trying to learn how to paint properly using a VR painting tool called Vermillion, It's proven to be a really powerful and relaxing way to paint, so I was wondering if it would be feasible for me to paint character textures in it. At my current skill level I honestly thought it wouldn't work out at all, but surprisingly it did!
As you can see here, I spent a good 4-5 hours painting this face texture in VR. It looked pretty horrible until like the last 40 minutes of the process or so. I guess that's how its supposed to go, but it really surprised me that it came together at all.
After I got that base texture completed, I exported it and touched it up a bit to better fit the model. I then added a pair of eyes and eyebrows on top of the texture in Affinity Photo. They are a lot more cartoony / simplistic than the base texture so that I can change them out and create new expressions easily. I was honestly unsure if that would clash too hard with the painted face, but I think it looks pretty good. This was a really fun process, and It's got me excited for the amount of opportunities it has afforded me. Character creation is my favorite, but until now I really never thought I'd be able to paint the more detailed organic aspects of certain characters / animals. Oh yeah I also painted his knees in the same way lol, but I think going into detail about that would be redundant.
Heavy Attacks:
The last major thing I did recently was finally implement some heavy attacks. Rather than have separate inputs for light and heavy attacks, the attack button causes a light or heavy attack to occur based on whether or not you are currently holding the stance/strafe button. The heavy attacks I decided on are meant to be able to close in a considerable gap between you and the enemy, so that you can get in there more easily after slowly strafing around. Alternatively, you can just use heavy attacks whenever as long as you just press the strafe and attack buttons at the same time, so really they are for whenever you feel as though you can afford the wind up and cooldown of the animations. But yeah, as you can see in the gif above, the heavy attacks currently take the form of a two swing combo where you can lunge forward with the sword pointing outwards and then follow it up by swinging it back over your head and slamming it down. I think they are pretty satisfying to use as of now, but I might consider extending the combo in the future.
Conclusion:
That is all 4 today. I really want to get more work done on all of these games. I'm really tired of being stuck in the same debug scene in all of them. Hopefully this year I can dedicate more time to all this, and maybe I can make a second scene for one of them lol. Next time I post one of these it will probably be midwest lost again, but if not I'll be working on J(a)SON next. A big part of me being busy this month is that I'm actually attending GDC alongside Quinn K. If any of u mutuals out there want to meetup at GDC lmk.
#screenshotsaturday#midwest lost#midwest#lost#american midwest#midwest emo#mall goth#soulslike#dark souls#soulsborne#y2k#y2k aesthetic#indiegames#indie games#indiegamedev#indiedev#lowpoly#psx#gamedev#game development#vermillion#vermillion vr#painting#oil painting#digital painting
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Hey You!
Ok I was just infatuated with your sneak peak for GC Ch. 25 omg. I had to look at it over and over again since yesterday. Really I love your AI art for this series. This is exactly how I picture the boys in my head. Sirius' hair I'm dying. I've already spent my time using AI to create portraits of them, and it was just rubbish. Maybe I'm not advanced enough to use it properly. But I just had a look at you last art again and I just have to ask you! I have so many questions. Which tools do you use to create it? Do you rework the pics with other software like Photoshop or something? And most important, and propably the most improper question: what do you tell the AI to do exactly? You don't have to answer this one. I don't want to steal your style or anything, I'd just like to know how you get them pictured so accurate you know? And how much time do you spend in average to be satisfied with a picture to publish it for GC?
Yeah I hope I'm not rude asking you this, but I'm a big fan of your work 😭
Have a nice week! 🤍
I find it hilarious I got this question just when I was fighting with AI to do what I wanted it to do lol.
There are a lot of questions, so I'll try to be as detailed as possible. I talked about the AIs I used on this post. But basically, I recommend Bing's Image Creator that's powered by Dall-e 3.
I do rework the pics, not always, but AI always seems to confuse hair colours, gives Sirius a sandy brown and Remus black, so I do find myself switching that often (I use things like picsart, facelab, procreate and makeup+ for this). I have also done some face altering things here and there, especially when the faces don't look exactly like I want them to, for example in this one:
I wasn't quite satisfied with Sirius' face so I altered the features a little more so that they looked exactly like they looked in my head. This minor alterations I find myself doing rather often on the pictures that will be the official ones.
Now the time I spend until I'm satisfied varies, sometimes the AI image is perfect and I use it straight, sometimes I have try a few times over and over until I get the exact result I want, and that takes much more time. Maybe like 30-40 minutes to get the image and the side (aesthetic) pics I add to the sides.
Now, the most important question, what do I say? Again it varies, sometimes I find myself tweaking and altering things arounf until I get exactly what I want. For this image in particular I said something like this:
16 year old Remus Lupin (sandy blond hair, golden-brown eyes, scars on his face, handsome)holding back a 16 Sirius Black 16 year old Sirius black (long curly hair, delicate & soft features, pretty and handosme, grey-blue eyes). Remus has his hand in Sirius shoulder, they both look tense, like they want to stop a fight.
Defense against the dark arts classroom. realistic art.
I remember I changed it later, to Hogwarts classroom and students standing behind but, once I get the basics of the composition I tweak things around until I have exactly what I want.
Now I find AI has some issues with side profiles, maybe I haven't cracked it yet, but I spent all my energy on Bing trying to get the right composition for an image for next week's episode and it was not cooperating with me.
I asked for this:
16 year old Remus Lupin (sandy brown hair, golden-brown eyes, scars on his face, handsome) and young Sirius black (long curly hair, delicate & soft features, pretty and handosme, grey-blue eyes, gryffindor). Remus covers Sirius mouth with his hand and he is pressing his chest onto Sirius’, they’re front to front (we see their profiles), foreheads almost touching . Restricted section of the library. they’re hiding from someone. realistic art.
And kept getting Remus standing behind Sirius:
Don't get me wrong, I loved most of this, they look amazing! But it wasn't exactly my vision. Even wasted $15 usd on DALL·E hoping it would make it better but I was very disappointed (Bing is so much better and FREE).
Eventually, I got one image that did exactly what I wanted and I'm currently reworking it to make it exactly what I want, we'll see how it goes in the end.
But yeah, I've spent almost all day working on this (using my free time at work), and only one out of all worked, so time spent on it really, really varies.
Hope you find this helpful darling, and if you managed to get the image I've struggling with to work, it'd be really cool if you shared it with me.
Read Gilded Constellations
#ask lilly#lilly talks#marauders era#marauders x reader#marauders x y/n#moony#padfoot#prongs#sirius black#sirius x reader#sirius black fluff#sirius x you#sirius x y/n#remus x y/n#remus x you#remus x reader#remus one shot#sirius black one shot#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders#wolfstar x reader#wolfstar x y/n#wolfstar x you#sirius black x fem!reader#remus lupin x fem!reader#moony x reader#moony x padfoot#moony x you
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Can yall help me out? I did this coloring of someone’s fanart forever ago (with permission) but I can’t find the original artist. I know they were on tumblr and I thought I had saved their original post in my drafts but I can’t find it. I’d really like to find the og artist for the lineart so I can credit them. It seems their watermark was cropped out at some point and I can’t find another version saved that has the watermark.
Also if anyone is wondering (I ask as if people even noticed) why I haven’t been posting my own colorings in a long time, it’s cause I lost them all lol. I got a new phone and all of my old digital art and colorings didn’t transfer, so I only have the ones that I had saved to post and they are scattered within over 8000 photos I have on my phone (the photos did transfer thank god) which also means I lost literally all of my wips, including personal projects that I’d spent over 40 hours on perfecting every single shade and shadow. I wish I could show you guys my progress on some of those but oopsies they’re fucking GONE. So that uh really demoralized me and sent me into art block for a few good months. The same also goes for fics, I primarily write in the notes app on my phone, which I also fucking lost 🙃 and I had three and a half chapters written at the time so I had to rewrite them from memory which was also incredibly demoralizing and sent me into writers block and just plain old procrastination because I’d rather write something new than rewrite something I’d already spent hours on writing and editing.
But on the bright side this phone can operate tumblr, unlike my old phone which would overheat in less than five minutes if I had the app open and crash.
Anyways…. Please help me find this artist!!!
#bnha#mha#dabi#mha dabi#bnha dabi#dabi fanart#todoroki Toya fanart#toya todoroki fanart#mha fanart#bnha fanart#todoroki fanart#I’m using a lot of tags in hopes this gets to someone who would know
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thank you for the tag @albonoooo <333
star sign: leo (attention whore signs 4 the win)
favourite holiday: my neighborhood does neighbor day every year and that’s a solid percentage of my favorite childhood memories. my neighborhood is very very close (very much so an “it takes a village” mentality) so i grew up with essentially twenty aunts and uncles. and also like ten dogs and thirteen vaguely cousin-esque figures on my block. anyways it’s like a massive potluck barbecue thing, it goes from like noon to whenever the last person heads in (which can be quite late). think like. potluck barbecue to casual day drinking to big bonfire w smores as the day goes by. as a kid i spent the whole day roaming the neighborhood and coming back every so often to grab food from the tables before heading off again. as an adult i got to get drunk on seltzers with a bunch of 50 somethings and it was incredible
last meal: omg it was my last ohio meal… i got it from this really special like local version of sonic’s (like a drive up food place). they make their burgers w a little bit of brown sugar and mashed banana (they’re the best burgers i’ve ever had). so i had a double hamburger w fries and a mint shake w brownie spindled in. if you’re ever driving through ohio PLEASE hit me up to get this place’s name it’s GLORIOUS. 1980s pricing (admittedly 80s portions too lol). neon signs everywhere. what i will miss the most
current favourite musician: i tend to just hit play on my liked songs so whatever i liked most recently gets played wayyyy more. a lot of the backseat lovers rn
last music listened to: mama’s gun by glass animals (BANGER OF A SONG!!!)
last movie watched: the muppet christmas carol i think . yeah according to letterboxd that lmfao
last tv show watched: i just binged monarch: legacy of monsters w my parents (amazing godzilla tv show but godzilla’s only in it for like. 10 minutes total lol. gay people <3) and then we started lockwood & co tonight on a whim
last book/fic finished: the invisible library by genevieve cogman !!! so good. librarian spy thieves…
last book/fic abandoned: oh gosh. i am such a completionist that i don’t think i ever leave books unfinished. technically i won’t be able to finish the masked city (the sequel to the invisible library) bc it belongs to the library and i am moving. but i will be picking it back up as soon as i have a library card in my new area so? does that even count? yeah i don’t really dnf things
currently reading: the masked city by genevieve cogman technically. lol. i’m trying to read at least a page a day in january. some days that means literally reading a page other days it’s reading 300. since i started the masked city like four days ago ive only made it through 30 pages bc moving is a nightmare so.
last thing researched for writing/art/hyperfixation: hm. technically for the last thing i like posted that would be the drug testing guidelines for f1 (tldr fun fact party drugs are fine out of competition). i read like. 60 pages of legalese. and a bunch of medical stuff and then several wikipedia pages and guides for athletes. the last wikipedia article i opened was for NATO and i have no idea why LOL
favourite online fandom memory: i have the memory of a goldfish… i’m also pretty sure f1 is the first time i’ve been involved w a fandom like. as it’s happening. i’m usually a latecomer . i did enjoy whatever the fuck went down w supernatural and putin that was fun second hand (literally thru a groupchat bc i was in my significantly less terminally online era aka i was in college)
favourite old fandom you wish would drag you back in/have a resurgence: newsies (1992) my beloved… i plotted out a fic that would stretch over like. 40 years. i went INSANE on historical accuracy research. and then i got depressed… someday my magnum opus (slice of life polyamory through turn of the century nyc) will come to fruition
favourite thing you enjoy that never had an active or big fandom, but you wish it did: i feel like there’s been a million times i’ve walked out of a movie (or finished a book, or a tv show) and gone to ao3 and then it has like. 4 works. the rivers of london series by ben aaronovitch only has like . 1k fics on ao3. and not a lot of ppl posting on tumblr. so maybe that?
tempting project you're trying to rein in/don't have time for: all of them tbh… runners au really (it’s spawned into like three different fics of plot lines Plus an epistolary type companion…). i literally constantly come up w ideas (usually hyper specific aus) all the time ask dees it’s a PROBLEM for me. bc i have no time for any of them…
no pressure tags if u wld like <3 @userkritaaay @leclercenjoyer @drivestraight @oscarpiastriwdc @eyes-likepilotlights (i have not paid a ton of attention to who has done this/been tagged sorry)
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*claps* ANALYSIS/THEORY TIME GUYS
I just finished rewatching Despicable Me 2 and I got a bunch of screenshots here yeah lets gooooo! You already know which character is the main focus for me here ;)
Okay I just wanted to try and clarify the whole “they worked together for 40 years and then Nefario just straight up abandoned Gru at first opportunity”. I’m here to say that he probably never planned to leave forever. More like he wanted to lure Gru back into being evil. And this leaving was just a step that he needed to make for this plan to work out properly.
As we know from Minions 2, in his early 30s Nefario was about to start living honest life without any crimes and other stuff like that, but Gru just came and dragged him back, this time for the rest of his life. And now he is in mid 70s, there is already no time for him to change the lifestyle again, he is already fully devoted to villainy and can’t imagine his existence without it. And then Gru goes “oops yeah I wanna live an honest life”, and Nefario is like “…….man what the f**k did I tell you like 40 years ago???”
He just can’t change himself anymore, he feels out of place, but he doesn’t want to grow apart with Gru since he is probably the only one who he can truly call his family. So he tries to do the same thing that Gru did to him all those years ago - drag him back into being villain.
He goes to work for El Macho and slowly takes the minions after him, and basically this whole purple army thing is just a big bait for Gru. I’m almost certain that he convinced El Macho that they need to invite Gru into this plan, since he was really happy to finally see him in El Macho’s lair and even brought the confetti to celebrate their reunion as a team. He was hoping that Gru will get inspired, that they will be back to being villains and will take over the world together with their new forces.
I’m pretty sure that at some point Nefario would just quietly get rid of El Macho and go “oops, looks like there are two of us again, cool right?”
He looks quite disappointed when Gru doesn’t show any enthusiasm for the idea. He doesn’t want to take over the world without him. All of this was just to bring his evil boi back into the business. Aw.
And he definitely didn’t expect El Macho to sic the purple minion on Gru. That was the moment that he realised that the situation went out of control. “Destroying the family in case Gru doesn’t join us” clearly wasn’t on his to-do list.
So almost immediately after that Nefario goes back to Gru’s side and sabotages El Macho’s plans. Because the whole plan of luring Gru into the villainy transformed into a big life threat for everyone too fast. Not only for Gru, but for the girls and Lucy as well.
Does Nefario treat the girls like granddaughters? I think yeah, kind of. His attitude to them evolved from DM 1 a lot. I think he even started seeing in them the echoes of his past with 11 yr old Gru. Just look how happy he is about bringing them with him into the battle and giving them guns and stuff, he forgets for a minute that Gru is much more protective about children then Marlena was.
There is a sparkle in him that reminded him of the younger days when he and small Gru were just having genuine fun. Maybe he even felt for a few moments that he went back in time, he wasn’t as excited about anything through the whole movie as much as he was about giving the gOrls the guns and letting them have pure fun without consequences. He is clearly having the time of his life during the whole final battle scene.
Oh my GOD that was a lot. I hope you like the whole thing, I spent like 50 minutes on making this post, lol :D
Any thoughts, maybe? I’d be very happy to hear from you, thank you for reading! <3
#analysis#theories#but mostly just me trying to dig further into their relationship#why didn’t give him the attention he deserved?#he is an amazing character#for real#despicable me#dr nefario#felonious gru#gru
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My dude, as I get notification after notification about your posts every day, I had to wonder... How do you find the time to write SO much? Only because I can't even keep up with READING it all, let alone having the creativity to write that much 😂 And by that I mean, Kudos to you 👏🏻 Truly an inspiration 🙌🏼 Love the dirty, depraved world you've created 😝
Thank you 😅🖤 This might be rhetorical but I'm gonna give it a real answer. Also, I don't read nearly as much as I write. I feel guilty about all the amazing fics I haven't read. But I get caught up in getting my thots out.
I "write" in my head a lot when I'm not actually writing. Like I'm bound to have a mess of thoughts while I drive, so to make that time more productive and relaxing, as I walk to my car I might decide which story I'm going to think about and what I want to figure out. With that focus and some luck, it might come together enough that once I'm in a position to "actually" write, it pours out of my fingers.
I can type really fast. Full speed is well over 100 wpm, brazenly making typos and nonsense. Of course I rarely type that fast, but the fact that I can when I need to get a thought out helps. I had to take typing in school but really honed my skills on AOL AIM lol. I was able to type and edit "night walks morning after" in < 1hr because the thoughts were there.
For me it replaces other habits like scrolling the news or insta or Twitter or watching Netflix. Also I will write anywhere. I once wrote a whole smut scene standing in line at Burlington for 40 minutes. If I'm standing in line or a waiting room more than a couple minutes, better believe I'm opening google docs or my tumblr.
I multitask to get thoughts out. Like I will write on my phone at the gym while I'm on the recumbant bike.
It's my favorite thing to do these days, so I will dedicate time to it. Over recent weekends, I've spent a good bit of time at the library writing.
I maximize efficiency by writing whatever I feel like at any given moment. This helps me be in a natural flow where I'm not thinking too hard. This is why I can't say whether or when I'll do or finish something. And why a request may sit in my inbox so long then suddenly get done when inspiration strikes,.
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Okay. Of course my first post on this blog will be something as boring and dark as my symptoms and my health anxiety.
Sooo I was woken up around 5 in the morning with diffuse right chest and shoulder blade pain(it didnt HURT it was more like a squeezing, uncomfortable feeling)
Spent the last 40 minutes googling symptoms. Im scared, tired and angry with myself. I have so many different symptoms and I just accepted the fact that I pulled my pectoralis minor muscle in my left side from testing myself, pressing and hurting myself to see if my chest pain is muscular or from the heart. Then this shows up, another symptom. I dont know where to start, mentally. In some ways I am to tired to even care about it. It feels like I have chronic discomfort in my belly, along the sides of both my ribs, throat and esphouseugal spasm, globus sensation etc.
All these symptoms can be indication of GERD (acid reflux) and I do hope it is what it is (even though I dont reslly have a sour taste in my mouth lol) when I google all these symptoms everything from GERD to angina and blood clot shows up. I know its not a blood cloth but Im terribly worried it is heart even though I dont get heart pain from excersie (that seems to be a teller)
If someone reads this and is having a hard time with similar things, know that you are not alone. The truth is that it is probably something mimor, nothing to obsess about. This is hard for me to accept. I feel broken, like my mind is playing tricks on me or that maybe I really am ill and will die young. My brain keeps spinning with "what if's". Like a scratched, deformed record. I hate myself because I know I will seek reasurance from my boyfriend as soon as he wakes up. My poor, fantastic boyfriend that has to deal with me and all my symptoms. Im scared of losing him over my own fears of illness.
I am tired.
I'll keep you updated.
#healt anxiety#healthanxiety#anxiety#depression#cardiophobia#sadnees#ocd#panic disorder#gad#generalized anxiety disorder
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Thirteen Era Rewatch: Revolution of the Daleks
I'm re-watching Thirteen's era in lead up to the Centenary and since this is likely going to be my last full re-watch for a while I thought I'd do a post on each ep where I just go over all the things I love, hate or just have some general thoughts on.
I literally skipped the first 8 minutes idgaf
I love that she talks to the other prisoners like ofc she does lmao
Obviously Ryan has never been as attached to 13 as Yaz but I wonder if part of why it’s easier for him to move on and get on with life even if probs especially at the beginning he did miss her is bc he’s had to deal with similar shit with his dad leaving him
Yaz literally living in the TARDIS and just her general obsessive vibe in the first scene she’s in is chef’s kiss actually
The fact this ep was low-key presented as being the fam figuring shit out while the Doctor is in prison but then that doesn’t even happen is weird to me like I don’t even care that they Don’t do all that themselves, it’s just weird that it was kinda implied in the marketing
When I first saw 13 and Jack reunite when the ep aired I literally started crying. And I cried again when they hugged. It doesn’t get me quite as fucked up now but I do still love it a lot. Bringing Jack back was a cool idea, shame John is a twat
There’s just something about 13’s face when they hug like she’s been away from people for so long and she’s generally not that touchy but this is Jack and UGH I’m fine
The whole scene of Jack and 13 in the TARDIS is cute tbh, I love their vibe together
Imo ‘rough few decades’ implies she spent at least 30 years but probably more like 40 years in prison
Yaz’s hope/desperation here is my fave
The way she just jumps out the TARDIS and exclaims she was in ‘space jail’ like it was a fun time fucks me up like the mask is back on right away
God bless the shove
This is so uncomfortable like I think Jack’s flirting is funny but Graham’s reaction is insane like he does not want to be there at all. I remember from this scene some ppl were like lol Graham is flustered like no bro Graham is fearing for his life. Weird choice idk
I know the main focus is on how Yaz is fucked up by the Doctor leaving but God you can tell it got to Ryan too, his whole vibe is different, like he feels annoyed/let down
I love the Rose reference, just casual as fuck. Part of me wishes we coulda seen 13 face’s when she was brought up but i imagine she probably wouldn’t have had much of a reaction
Jack and Yaz’s chat is chef’s kiss. The way I’m watching all this and she is literally leaving in a couple weeks oh I want to die. Also Mandip plays this so well !!
I love past companions giving current companions advice inject it into my veins!!
I remember when we saw the Dalek land on Yaz in the trailer I thought it was gonna be fr and 13 was gonna go off tryna save Yaz lmao
The entire scene with 13 and Ryan is God tier. One of my fave eps of the show. The growth from Ryan where he’s now the one making ppl open up, them both knowing shit has changed. I know Thasmin is a thing but low-key I’ve always liked the idea that Ryan is 13’s fave
I don’t know if it’s the intention or not but I wonder if the reason Ryan managed to get that info out of 13 is bc she kinda knew that he was gonna choose to leave anyway and knowing he wasn’t gonna stick around made it easier for her to tell him
I’m a fan of the height difference.
‘one day’ aka literally for four years in series 13 and then for ever in just under two irl weeks
I also love that that scene is Yaz kinda starting to get frustrated with the Doctor not telling her shit and then it continues into S13
This shot? This scene? Chef’s kiss
This is so odd like why did he need to announce that idek. Just feels like a trailer moment. Also I don’t feel too passionate about the fact Jack never died in this ep, like it would’ve been nice but like it’s not the end of the world idk
I don’t get why people care about 13 letting that TARDIS dies or whatever tbh
Robertson is way less annoying in this ep which is weird bc he still feels kinda comically ridiculous idk. But somehow it just works better than in Arachnids
The way she smiles when she comes out of the Ryan hug. Like she’s almost not letting herself be really upset in front of him
remember thinking Ryan and Graham just walking out would be kinda boring but UGH I love it so much and it makes so much sense for their characters to go that way it makes me crazy
Her face in this makes me fucking depressed idek what to say
Such a simple line and yet I am sobbing thank you Chris Chibnall
13 literally considering messing with the timelines to get Ryan and Graham back fucks me up. Also the way Yaz response and the way she says ‘It’s okay to be sad’ is my fave
Ryan and Graham wearing the same outfits as in 11.01 is a bit cringe I can’t lie. I also used to think Grace showing up was really weird but idk, I didn’t mind it this time round
In conclusion, other than the first 8 minutes being an absolute slog that I couldn’t care less about, this ep is chef’s kiss and has so many 10/10 amazing moments. Loved it more than i thought I did tbh
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originally posted on hardestgrove which is trapped in hell now. reposted completely unedited.
A small thing I wrote because I’d mentioned ages ago the cute concept of Billy teaching my littlest oc in my stranger things oc family Alison how to swim and I finally decided to write it. While you can read more about Alison and her family (mainly the older siblings and not Alison lol) in my Black Planet series all you really need for context for this is that it’s like May and Billy is close with the King family via Emily who’s in his and Steve’s class at school and their mutual friend/partner.
black planet taglist: @emeraldwitches @darkovempire @hargroveshaunt @iwigyounot @polaris-talks-fandom @rebsmoonn @znxvvallvsfi (unable to tag)
He’d come over to the King place to use their pool, Harrington’s was heated sure but his parents were actually around right now and Billy didn’t wanna talk to them. It was warm enough out anyway it wasn’t that big of a deal. Emily had given him cart blanche to come over whenever so he just let himself in and made his way through to the pool. Thing was when Alison, the littlest King, had noticed him and his swim shorts she decided it was play time for her too.
He’d been hoping to get some sun and some laps in but she came charging back down in her own little pink bathing suit he knew he was on kiddie duty. It was kind of a pain but he didn’t mind it too much really, he liked Alison. She was cute kind. A little blonde haired bundle of sweetness. So he dumped his shit on one of the pool chairs and hopped in the pool with her.
Alison was 7 now so she could swim but he knew when he was her age he could’ve swam circles around her. Most likely she got taken to those “how not to drown” lessons for babies since they had a pool and anything else she learned just swimming in it. He figured while he was here he might as well help her out on that.
“Hey princess wanna get some swimming lessons?”
“But I can swim! Why would I need lessons?”
“Check this out—“
Billy left her in the shallow end to do an quick and easy backstroke lap to the deep end and back. When he came back to the shallow end and she latched onto him all excited.
“Yeah! I wanna learn! Teach meeee!”
Billy laughed and put an arm around her to keep her up.
“Okay I gotcha.” He waded over to the side and peeled her off of him. “Alright first things first little missy I’m gonna teach you how to push off from the side and then I’m gonna help you with the back glide okay?”
He got in position, hands grabbing the rim, feet flat on the side of the pool, head back looking up at the sky. “Start off like this okay?”
He nodded to Alison and she mimicked him and he looked over her form before moving on.
“Lookin’ good. Okay from here we’re gonna push off and we’re gonna keep our chin up, our hips up at the surface and we’re gonna point our toes okay? Even when we’re kicking. Got that?”
Alison nodded excitedly. “Got it!”
He smiled. “Okay, 3…2… 1…”
They pushed off, Alison full throttle and Billy nowhere near and as they glided into the pool Billy shifted so he could place his hand on her back and keep her hips up.
“Okay princess lookin’ good I’m gonna help you stay up now alright? Remember chin up” He adjusted her chin, “Hips up” He pushed gently at her back “And toes pointed even when you’re kicking got that?”
“Yup!”
“Okay good girl. Now gimme some kicks.”
Alison started kicking as he gently guided her around the pool.
“Arms stuck to your sides— that’s it Ally girl real good.”
Alison grinned up at him and he couldn’t help but grin back as he guided them back to the side.
“Okay great job. Let’s do it again a few times then I’m gonna let you try on your own okay?”
They easily spent something like 40 minutes just working her up to the point where she really didn’t need him at all before they moved onto adding in the arms. She was pretty good, and a pleasure to have as a student. She was just so excited and happy to be there. He liked Alison a lot, she reminded him about how fun being a kid could be. Sometimes Billy felt like all he did was fucking break everything around him but Alison always looked at him like he was her hero. She didn’t look at him and see someone scary. She was always excited for him to be there. It was a fucking head trip and yeah it did make him feel pretty cool. Eventually though it was pretty clear she was getting tuckered out and he figured it was best to call it a day.
“Okay okay, great job but I think that’s enough for the day. Let’s just hang out for a bit alright?”
“But I didn’t learn it all yet!” She whined and pouted.
Billy held her up easily, scrunched his nose and smiled down at her conspiratorially.
“And this ain’t gonna be your only lesson kid so don’t worry. I’ll teach you all the tricks alright? When we’re done you’ll be as good as any chump on the swim team.”
Alison looked like she was fit to burst. “Really Billy!? You’re gonna keep teaching me!”
“Yeah sure princess. I’ll talk to Ems and we’ll work it aaall out .”
Alison screamed happily, nearly taking out his fucking ear drums, and launched herself at him. Her little arms locked around his neck and Billy laughed and held her close. He’d kill for this kid. She was all sunshine and rainbows. Her siblings all worked overtime to keep the worst of their parents away from her and Billy’d decided months ago he’d throw himself in on that. Just to keep this kinda goodness alive and safe. Ally refused to let go of him so he walked them up and out of the pool and wrapped them both up in a big fluffy beach towel. She weighed basically nothing to him so he really didn’t care that she was insisting on hanging on to him, talking all about the big events of her little first grader life. He sat them down on a pool chair directly in the sun knowing he was in for even more babysitting time than he’d already given.
And honestly, he was alright with that.
#stranger things ocs#ocappreciation#fyeahstrangerthingsocs#stranger things fanfic#billy hargrove#alison king#writing.doc#billy teaching kiddies my beloved#I JUST WANTED NICE BILLY CONTENT#bp content#the ancient texts
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So, random thought…I talk too much.
Not in the sense that I’m not saying anything. Sometimes people can talk in circles without really adding anything to the conversation. I think I’m definitely adding things when I go on a whole rant. Just…an excessive amount of things. It’s kind of just how my brain works; I like being thorough.
I don’t really think this is a big deal, for the most part. I’m thankfully pretty good at telling when someone’s waiting for me to shut up, and I can adjust accordingly. Sometimes a person’s genuinely interested in what I’m saying, and that’s wonderful. However, it all starts spiraling out of control when I can’t see the reactions of the person I’m speaking to.
For example…making public posts. Fun fact: I make a lot of video documentaries. Y’know, the thing that’s basically a huge public post in verbal form, where length becomes crucial.
As I get back into the swing of making videos, I’m suddenly remembering that I’m REALLY bad at the whole pacing thing, and this is why. Like, I’m sure pacing sucks for everyone, and it’s really something you have to adjust for on a case-by-case basis, but my first instinct is always “This is far too brief! There are super important details missing!” There’s always the possibility I’m right on occasion, and that 40 minute video just really needed that extra bit where I’m talking about poster lamination oddities or whatever, but…odds are that I’m probably just talking too much again.
The worst part is that there’s almost always a justification for it. I’ll see a comment that says “I can’t believe they completely glossed over tidbit x”, and I have to refrain from responding “No no no, I didn’t! It was in the original script, around the 3 hour mark!!”
I really do think pacing is an art by itself. I adore words, and the ones I want to share are a reflection of the things that matter to me. But to properly pace and summarize my words, I have to know what things matter to everyone else. That’s the only way I can figure out which of my words are the ones that will mean something to them.
I think pacing is gonna be a big thing I focus on going forward. Less overly long intros, and less time spent getting to each main point. Getting into the meat of the topic shortly after starting the video still feels super wrong, but I think it’s worth learning how to work around that feeling.
(And apparently I’ll just cope with that by making long, useless tumblr posts lol)
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