#I can’t even get on fucking food stamps

[x-doom-and-gloom-x]

I think one of the hardest things I’ve come to realize is that I’ll never be able to live alone

#tunas tales #I realized this when I was in the hospital :// #I don’t know how to do anything for myself really #I can’t answer or make phone calls #I can’t do shit like pay rent or bills #I barely fucking remember to eat unless someone around me is #I can’t even get on fucking food stamps #I’m scared of people looking down on me for things I can’t help and will never be able to do #this seems. so pathetic typing it out #I don’t think anybody understands #I’ll always need someone here to help me with shit #and it hurts to realize that. because I don’t know if I’ll always have that help #swag hashtag autism moment

[hafwen]

The vet called earlier than expected and that's never a good sign

Pumpkin has always had a weird shaped kidney and a normal one and 3 years ago his kidneys values were normal

Now most are bad but one is still normal. They think it’s possible that he has a bacteria infection that they can’t see without doing a urine culture so that’s happening now. It will probably take 2 days so we’re waiting hoping it’s that.

Otherwise his funky kidney is probably failing and if he’s going to be okay we need to remove it which is even more than teeth stuff.

If he needs to have a kidney removed I’m doing a go fund me there’s no way I can pay for it. It was going to be almost impossible and I would need to ask for help for his teeth but this is worse.

The culture is $180 the tests we already ran were $210 plus the office visit plus we hadn’t paid for putting Ollie to sleep. I knew I needed to call and do it I was just waiting until I wouldn’t sob but since we were there they made us pay that too.

In total I’ve spent close to my entire disability check in just the past 2 days

#good thing we have food stamps #and they can’t turn off the heat or electricity because I’m disabled even if I owe them money #really the only thing I need to pay is the internet and phone stuff and the rest can wait #but holy fuck #this is not a good time in my life #fingers crossed it’s just an infection that we can clear up #otherwise apparently I’m cursed to lose my cats to kidney failure #oh yeah and if his kidneys are bad we can’t even put him under to get his teeth cleaned anyways #he’s only 12 #personal #pumpkin #so i have cats and a dog #pet death #pet illness

[moriphyte]

mom: do you wanna take this food home?

me:

#i went home w sooo much rapini #both the shit we cooked and a bundle of fresh to make later #also a ton of canned goods from the amish discount store #i need to start going there but it’s so hard when i don’t live nearby anymore #but it’s really worth it with how much shri and can get and how much money i can save #i live in my hometown but i cna barely afford to live here anymore cause of gentrification #rich bitches from the mainline are slowly taking over and i fuckin hate it #either get drunk at the italian lodge and smoke shitty weed like the rest of us or get the fuck out #on the bright side i can get an acai bowl within walkin distance of my house #but also i gotta be around ml bitches constantly and it’s kinda fuckin unbearable #can’t fucking stand ml bitches #i will only go to the mainline to visits one specific japanese specialty grocery store #and that’s only cause they have shit i can’t get anywhere else #and even the fact they don’t take food stamps is so telling #last time i was there i got into a convo w the cashier about how terrible it is to work in the mainline and how much we hate rich people #look what i’m sayin is living where i live (my gentrified hometown) i will take any and all the free food i can get #food stamps are endlessly helpful but still #can’t hurt to stock up on non perishables #i know what it’s like to survive on nothing but expired canned goods #and thusly i will always have a back stock of non perishable foods #if at all possible #p

[chronicallycouchbound]

I refuse to call government assistance programs “welfare” or “benefits”.

I’ve been on government assistance programs my whole life. I have never lived above the poverty line.

It’s a system that doesn’t care about my wellbeing, they care about doing the bare minimum to keep people alive enough to function and work, and if you’re disabled and cannot work, they give significantly less of a fuck.

And benefits?? What benefits?

Food stamps that run out within two weeks because I am budgeting with 8$ a day with literally dozens of dietary restrictions? Or do you mean the housing voucher that I have to never even have a gift card, penny to my name, Sams club membership, phone bill, literally anything that could be “income” in order to qualify? That same housing voucher system that if I mess up even once with I not only lose all government aid for at least 5 years, it’s also mandatory PRISON time for 1 year?? “Oh but they would never do that, right?” Nope! I have several friends who are now felons for minor lease violations and unhoused as a result! Oh maybe you mean the state health insurance that doesn’t cover most treatments, specialists, and testing I need and if I tried to make a gofundme to cover, I would lose aforementioned housing? Oh and we can’t forget all the money I get for being disabled, which is exactly 0$. I’m still fighting for SSI and have been for 6 years! That’s over 6 years with absolutely zero income. ZERO. And guess what, whenever I *do* get on SSI, I will lose my housing voucher. And I won’t be able to afford my current apartment because even in subsidized low income housing it’s too expensive for the maximum SSI “benefit” amount. And on SSI you can’t have savings over 2000$. Oh and they do make housing for people who are low income where you pay 30% of your income but I can’t even be on the waitlist since I don’t have any income. And on top of all this, I can never get married because I’ll lose all of the programs.

I could keep going. That’s not even half of the programs I’m a part of.

• None of them give me cash in hand. Even for vouchers I have to provide receipts for everything.

• Food stamps just straight up won’t even cover ineligible items. Which includes hot foods.

• I genuinely don’t believe that there’s a way to “game the system” and why would you? You would gain literally nothing.

• It’s designed to keep people poor. Once you make over a certain amount, you lose all or almost all benefits. There’s no way to slowly transition out of the programs, if you’re someone who’s able to. It’s all in or all out.

• All of these barriers are made significantly worse while unhoused/homeless. I’ve been homeless for over half of my life and there’s so many fucked up rules. If I missed one night staying in the shelter, I lost my housing voucher because I no longer was “verified as homeless” even if I was sleeping outside still.

#ranting #poverty #public welfare #welfare programs #government aid #government benefits #state benefits #disability benefits #SSI #disability #poor #poverty line #assistance #assistance programs #goverment assistance #usa specific #usa politics #chronically couchbound #poor people #classism #food stamps #ebt #housing vouchers #medicaid #state insurance #healthcare #health insurance #systemic poverty #forced poverty #welfare queen

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Floorboards and Astroturf

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T•Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Jake has a surprise for you on a rainy day.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Short and sweet <3 (I hope)

Warnings: fluff, reader being a little grumpy, Jake Jumpscare, Jake calling reader 'amor', typos - my head is really not in the game atm, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 643

You were a little bummed out as you made your way home from work on Friday. 

Not because the traffic was bad (it was) or that the bus was late (as normal) and full to the brim (you did manage to find some space towards the back doors), but because it raining. 

And was going to continue to do so for the rest of the weekend. 

On Wednesday the weather forecast had said the weekend ahead would have clear skies. On Thursday it predicted sunshine. 

And now here you were with a full year's worth of rain over two days. Excellent. 

Not that weather patterns that changed at the flip of a coin wasn’t unusual. It was just that you’d planned to go on a picnic on Saturday with Steven, Marc, and Jake to Greenwich park. And now that definitely wasn’t going to happen. Unless you want wanted to swim there and back. 

So you were in a little bit of a bad mood when you got back to the flat. Shutting the door a little too hard, stamping your feet as you took off your shoes and sighing. 

You didn’t expect Jake to be grinning like the Cheshire cat right in front of you when you turned around. 

“Fuck!” You visually jump and Jake can’t stop a small chuckle. 

“Sorry amor, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Could have fooled me.” You said a little harsher than normal, but Jake didn’t seem to mind. 

He holds up his hands and smiles. 

“What are you doing there anyway, just… standing there?” 

“Waiting for you.”

You give him a look. 

“I heard your footsteps in the hall.” He shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, and you decide to let his uncanny ability to differentiate individuals slip for now. “I have a surprise for you.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him as he steps forward and helps you out of your coat before handing it on the stand. 

“Thank you.” You mumble, starting to smile at how purposefully over the top he is acting, putting on a playful performance for you.

He takes you by the hand and leads you further into the flat. Once your field of vision isn’t blocked by Steven’s bookshelf you laugh quietly. A large grin spreads itself over your face, your shoulders relaxing. 

Jake smiles wider. 

He’s moved the furniture out of the way so that there’s a large space on the floor. There’s a large patch of floorboards that are covered with fake grass and topped with a tartan blanket. He’s also set up the mini projector with his phone, an image of a sunny park projected onto the bedsheet he’s draped over one of the bookshelves. 

By the blanket is a selection of food and drink, some that you purposefully bought for the weekend yesterday, and some that he’s obviously made today. 

“You like it?” He asks, eyes sparkling even though he knows the answer.

“I love it.” You say softly before you turn and hug him tightly. 

“I know you were disappointed about the weather…” he kisses your cheek. “I don’t deserve all the credit, Marc and Steven helped.” 

“Not true!” Steven suddenly chimes in.

“Came up with the idea and did it all himself!” Marc adds proudly. 

A touch of heat builds in Jake’s cheeks. “Yeah… well, you guys helped.” 

You giggle and kiss him lightly. “You’re the sweetest person in the world, Jake Lockley.” 

He grins, giving you another little squeeze and puffing his chest out a little. “I’m okay.” 

“The best.” 

He presses his lips to yours, soft and sweet, but deep and longing. Slowly taking you apart with his tongue. “Does the best person get whatever he wants?” He teases. 

“I don’t know…” You pretend to think. “What does he want?” 

He nuzzles your cheek. “I think you have a rough idea.”

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @pimosworld @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @queerponcho @lunar-ghoulie @dumdaradumdaradum @plastichearts @silver-night-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @spxctorsslxt

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#jake lockley #moon knight #moon knight mcu #jake lockley x reader #x reader #jake lockley x you #x you #jake lockley x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #jake lockley x gn!reader #x gn!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

[azukiel]

Nightfall Heir

Chapter 3

🔞 MDNI 🔞 NSFW

Warnings (as a whole): Explicit sexual content, Graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD, Angst, Blood kink, Pregnancy and Childbirth

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

⭐Here is the story on Archive of Our Own ⭐

🔥Comments and reblogs are much appreciated! 🔥

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your eyes flickered, a radiant warmth bathing your body. You were laying on your stomach in a messy tangle of sheets, remnants of your passionate night. Your gaze shifted, settling upon Astarion. He was leaning against the doorway, a smile upon his lips, admiring your naked form on the bed.

“Blessed morning, darling.”

“Morning,” you mumbled, your brain still trying to comprehend the fact that it was indeed time for you to awaken.

Astarion chuckled as he walked over to you, giving you a sharp yet playful slap on your buttocks. You jumped at the smarting pain and shot a glare in his direction.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” he cooed. “It is a brand new day and you’re going to miss half of it if you don’t get that beautiful arse up soon.”

“Let me sleep,” you griped as you shoved your face back into the pillows.

“I shall not!” He gave you an even sharper slap, making you instinctively lash out to kick him. But with his finesse, he avoided your protest and laughed heartily at your antics. “I have a bath readied for you and breakfast is on the table. You better eat it before it gets cold.”

Rubbing your eyes as you perched yourself on your elbows, you looked back over at him. “You’re leaving already?” You had discerned as much.

“I’m afraid so, my sweet. I have a lot of tedious paperwork to get through,” He sighed, exasperated at the thought. “Fucking Bhaalinists have been causing havoc in the Lower City as of late. Wyll is going to have to do something about it because I honestly do not know how many more of the bastards I can send to the prison.”

“I’m sure he is trying, my love.” You attempted to soothe your lover’s frustration. “Lae’zel tells me they have an influx of new recruits to train for the Fist.”

“They’re mere fodder.” Astarion waved his hand dismissively. “If we couldn’t stamp out the cult entirely when we were still the ragtag group of adventurers, then a bunch of green Fist are not going to have much luck either.”

You also sigh. He was right.

“Don’t you miss it?” He asked after a moment of deep contemplation, his expression now solemn, yearning.

You looked at him, slightly confused in your still sluggish state. “Miss what, love?”

“You know... All the travelling we did together with our companions. All the mischief and killing and debauchery we got up to whilst concurrently saving the world from the Absolute. Us sneaking off from camp to slate our lusts for one another. The excitement of it all!”

You sighed. “You know I do, Astarion. But our lives are here, now. And we can’t go back to the way things were, despite how much we might wish it. Not right now, anyway.”

“Hmmm...” He paused, and you saw a spark ignite in his eyes. “Well, darling, perhaps we can find a way to recreate the excitement. If you’re game for it, that is.”

“Oh?” He had your interest piqued.

“Come visit me in my offices at noon?”

“I would not dare refuse.”

“Excellent,” he seemed pleased.

“Now, as much as I’d love to stay and watch you prance around the room in your naked splendour, I really must be off.”

“Oh, so you want to ogle at me but can’t give me the courtesy of doing the same?”

He scoffed at your playful accusation. “Darling, if you were to watch me as I dressed myself, then we both would not be leaving the house this day.”

“Is that a promise?” You raised an eyebrow, grinning.

“You little minx!” He returned your salacious grin in kind. “Now go bathe and get some food into that delightful body of yours.”

“Yes, mother.”

He chuckled as he rolled his eyes at your antics. “See you at noon, honey cakes,” he teased. “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t be,” you assured as he turned to leave. But then you remembered something, something vital. “Wait, Astarion!”

He turned back to you, curious about your urgency.

“You’re wearing your ring, aren’t you?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at your constant worry over that ring. “Of course, my love. If I wasn’t, do you think I would be walking around the house with all the shutters and curtains open?”

He had a point.

“Sorry... I know, I just worry about you, too.”

His smile then was full of affection as he strode back over to you to kiss you fully on your still swollen lips.

“Don’t be late,” he repeated before he turned to leave once more. Once you heard the front door of your humble abode shut behind him, you fell back onto the bed, sighing.

“Best be up,” you instructed yourself as you pushed yourself to stand, wobbling slightly as you did so. Your legs ached and that delicious tingle between your thighs was still ever present. A soft groan escaped your lips as the soreness set in, but you were grateful for the pain.

You were a lucky woman. You knew that. To have such an extraordinary lover who could also be such an incredible partner and companion was a blessing in these trying times, especially as a Drow. You looked down at your matching ring and twirled it around your lithe finger.

“You better make doubly sure it does not slip off,” you reminded yourself daily, despite knowing it would not. Without you wearing your ring, the enchantment on the pair would not work. Astarion would turn to ash in the sun.

Eclipsed Radiance and the enchantment itself was etched in an ancient language on both rings. Their title was given by the god of dawn, Lathander, who had blessed you with their ownership. Despite the god’s fervent loathing of all undead and evil creatures, he had acknowledged your group’s aid in expelling the Githyanki from Rosymorn Monastery, and your determination to rebuild it to its former glory. With the return to the monastery of his clergy and followers, Lathander had wished to reward you for the dedication and assistance you had displayed. Knowing all too well of your deep love and adoration for your vampiric companion, he blessed you with the rings. Yet, they came at some extra cost, which you willingly paid. Imbued within them was a part of your very own life force. From it and Lathander’s blessing, the rings drew their strength.

As you walked towards the kitchen, you could smell the breakfast Astarion had prepared for you. Your heart skipped a beat upon noticing he had made your favourite: toasted sourdough bread with melted cheese, crispy rashes of bacon, fried mini-tomatoes and two sunny side up eggs - extra sloppy. You chuckled at yourself at how he often jabbed that you eating sloppy eggs was akin to a child eating snot, but smiled warmly at the fact that he always made them just the way you liked them, regardless.

Sitting down, you tucked in, a sense of ease and gratitude washing over you. It was still somewhat difficult to fathom how you had ended up here. But, looking back on your adventures and the events that had led you to this point, you were grateful. For the most part, that is.

The memories that had taken place two years ago, when you had confronted Cazador and the Mind Flayers, were still as clear as the waters of Lake Titania. Shaking your head to rid yourself of them, you continued to down the delicious breakfast your beloved had made. Once eaten, it was the bath that waited for you.

Astarion had filled it with some of your favourite fragrant oils, and the air was thick with the aroma. A gentle sigh escaped your lips. The warmth of the water engulfed you as you entered, the sensation sending a wave of relief through your sore muscles. You allowed yourself to simply soak, basking in the tranquillity.

But it was short-lived, as a sense of guilt began to gnaw at you. It was not your intention to hide the troubling visions that still plagued you, but you had not yet found the words to explain. You did not want to risk upsetting him, despite how frequently he told you that you could open up to him.

Astarion was a proud man. And the scars of his past, of his failures, were still somewhat raw. You knew that. In the two years you had been together, you had come to know him better than he had probably known himself. He was a one of great intelligence and wit, and a charmer by nature. But beneath the charming, playful façade he carried, there was an insecurity that had developed over the course of his two centuries of undead torture. You had witnessed him become undone when he had enacted his revenge upon Cazador, and you could see the toll it had taken on him, the shame and the guilt that lingered, especially when it came to matters of the other spawn he had been forced to lure by his master.

The scars on his back were a painful reminder of the suffering he had endured, the humiliation and abuse he had experienced. They were a constant reminder of how close he had come to succumbing to his fate, and of how he had nearly lost his very essence.

Your heart sank, and tears began to pool in your eyes again. How were you going to tell him about what you were experiencing? Would he feel the same way as you did about the situation?

You could not bear the thought of losing him. He was a part of you. Your souls had been entwined since that night when the tadpoles had been implanted in your heads. That is what you wished to believe, anyway. You were certain it was true. Splashing your face with the aromatic water, you calmed yourself. You did not wish to continue delving into such thoughts. As you scrubbed the remnants of the previous evening’s passion from between your thighs, Astarion’s words flitted into your thoughts, bringing forth a small smile.

“But I’m not nearly done with you, my darling... Don’t be late...”

You would go to see him in a few hours, and you wondered what he had planned in that devious mind of his. He had a penchant for the unexpected, and his ideas of entertainment could be rather wild and wanton. You could not help but laugh.

“Only Astarion,” you sighed, yet still felt the heat of your blush spread across your cheeks. You were truly curious about what he would have in store for you that afternoon. Again, that tingling heat between your thighs sent delectable trills through your core. You let out a moan as you slid further into the bath. Your mind drifted and, almost intuitively, your hand slid down past your navel.

Your skin was flushed from the heat of the bath, but the touch of your fingers against your bud brought a shiver. You moaned again, this time more audible.

You knew that Astarion would not have left anything for you. He never did. His hunger for you in present days was insatiable, and he took every opportunity to devour you. But despite that, your mind wandered back to his mouth between your thighs the night before, and your fingers continued their ministrations.

You bit your lip as you teased yourself, your breathing becoming more laboured. You could hear the sounds of pleasure he had made, his voice deep and husky, his eyes dark with lust. You wanted him again.

You could not contain your desire for him. As the memory of his touch flooded back to you, the sensation overwhelmed your senses. The heat and pressure built in your abdomen, and you could feel your orgasm approaching.

You had not even realised how loudly you were moaning. You were so caught up in your fantasy, in the sensations that washed over you, that you did not hear the faint knocking on your front door.

“My dear, Tavrin!” It was Gale’s voice, but you were not aware of his presence until he was standing in the bathroom doorway.

You were startled and nearly jumped out of your skin. Your face flushed a deep shade of crimson. “Gods damn it, Gale! Do you not know how to knock?” You snapped.

“I did knock. I knocked three times, in fact, and no one answered. I thought something might have been wrong.”

“Well, nothing is wrong. I’m perfectly fine. Except that I’m a little pissed off now!”

“Oh, forgive me.”

He did not seem apologetic, however.

“How long were you standing there watching me, anyway?”

“Not long. I didn’t want to interrupt you. You seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Gale, I swear to the gods, I’m going to burn you.”

He let out a laugh. “Now, don’t be like that, my dear. It’s not like I haven’t heard you and Astarion slaking your lusts for each other before. The entire camp did.”

“You’re a prick, Gale,” you grumbled as you sank further into the water with embarrassment.

He chuckled teasingly. “Not as much as you enjoy Astarion’s prick inside of you.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You lobbed a bar of soap at him. Laughing, he dodged it easily enough, and it went flying past his head through the door.

“Now, now, my dear, no need to get cranky. Just be thankful I didn’t portal into the bathroom!”

Gale loved to tease you. He had once desired you as well. They all had. But the one who had won your affections was your beloved, devious vampire. Your companions still often poked fun at you both. Not malicious, of course. But you all relished in making jabs at each other from time to time. Perhaps that is why you were all as thick as thieves.

“What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“Well, you had promised to come help me continue the arduous task of cataloging. I came to make sure you wouldn’t try to abandon me to the task.”

“Oh shit, I had almost forgotten. Sorry, I had a late night.”

“I can tell!”

You grimaced at him. You had completely forgotten about helping Gale today. He had been working on cataloging the new acquisitions that had arrived at the Sundries, and with him being the resident scholar of the store and having the most extensive knowledge, the task had been delegated to him.

“Fine. But give me a moment to finish my bath, and then we can go.”

His grin then was full of mischief. “Do you need a hand?”

“For fuck’s sake, Gale!” You could not help but laugh with embarrassment. “If Astarion hears you say something like that, he’s going to rip your throat out!”

“Yes, I’m sure he would! But I’m willing to take the risk. I might even enjoy it so long as one of you revives me.”

You splashed an enormous wave of water at him, drenching his front. “Out!”

He raised his hands in defence and took a step back. “All right, I’m going. Take your time. I’ll be downstairs.”

“Fine.”

With a cheeky wink, he was gone.

“Asshole,” you mumbled, still chuckling. You adored Gale, despite his penchant for inappropriate humour. But he was not the only one in your group of companions that did so.

With your mind slightly more at ease, you continued to soak and finish off your bath. When finished, you got out and wrapped a towel around yourself. Looking in the mirror, you could see that you had a glow about you. Your skin was radiant, and you looked rested. You smiled. It was most definitely due to the night you had shared with your lover.

After getting dressed and drying your hair, you headed downstairs. Gale was seated in the living area, sipping tea from one of the delicate cups that Astarion had imported from the Sword Coast. It surprised none of you that Astarion delved into the finer trappings of life. He was, after all, a vampiric elf with exceptional taste.

"Ready to head out?" Gale asked, looking up at you.

"Of course," you smiled, "Lead the way, scholar."

"Excellent!"

Setting the teacup down, he stood, and the two of you headed outside.

#astarion #astarion daddy #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion has a child with Tav #astarion my beloved #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #dadstarion

[lordeofmars]

Jesus Christ the fucking check I got YESTERDAY is already over half gone just on bills and baby stuff and cat stuff and the food I bought that’s supposed to last for five days until I get my food stamps but is probably only gonna last 3 and then I’ll have to spend more of my own money on other food. I need help so fucking badly, I can’t afford to eat, I can’t even fucking dream of paying my rent (my first fucking rent payment no less) like I’m so god damn desperate. I need help so badly. Please please please try to help me get the money I need to survive. I think I’m gonna need around $600 dollars just for the rent alone and that’s not even counting all the other stuff I need every single day. If there’s anything you can spare please send it to $CheyennePettis on cashapp or @Cheyenne-Pettis on Venmo. Please spread this around to get the biggest reach possible because I literally do not know what to do.

#signal boost #donations #mutual aid #I don’t know please help me I’m literally fucking dying and I have a family

[milkygothgf]

It’s a normal day when you’re suddenly pulled off the street into a van, where you’re promptly knocked out with drugs. When you come to you’re naked, blindfolded and strapped into a chair with your legs spread. You’ve been conscripted to an official breeding program now, I tell you, and it’s time to get knocked up.

Seemingly endless numbers of people come in, fuck you hard, and leave. Most grope your tits and pull on your aching nipples, many smack your ass and caress your face, some even slip their fingers in your mouth, but every. single. one. of them cums in your pussy. Not one of them acknowledges or helps you, no matter what you say or what noises you make — after all, you’re just a sex toy to them.

You’re soon sitting in a puddle of fluid, their cum and your juices covering your thighs and ass. You’re raped around the clock for days on end, the only breaks being to feed you some sort of slurry that leaves your mind foggy and your pussy burning with lust. (Being the fertile breeding bitch you are, you got pregnant in less than an hour. You don’t know that, though, and I’m not going to tell you.)

By the time I take off your blindfold and let you out, your head is spinning with lust and whatever was in that food, you’re covered in cum from the waist down, and you’ve been fucked so hard you can barely stand. You look down and see “BREEDER” written (or tattooed? You can’t tell) on your chest. With a hard smack on your ass that triggers one final orgasm, I send you back out into the street to walk home — your kind are banned from wearing clothes, after all, and you’re in the program for life. As you stumble into a busy city street, all eyes on you, I cheerfully let you know that your next “checkup” is in a month. “Congratulations, Ms. Bri, on the pregnancy! Enjoy your new life as a breeder!”

(hope you don’t mind me practicing my writing in your inbox! if you have any requests lmk 😄)

I kept this in my inbox for a bit bc I hoard my favs sometimes to keep em just for me and oh my gods,,,, pls feel free to practice writing in my inbox any time please,,,, oh my god

Congrats, you've gotten a certified "Milky Doesn't Know How to Answer This bc It Made Her Wet" stamp of approval,,, fuck

#r. #fav #milky answers #breeding k1nk #cnc k!nk #cnc kidnapping #intox kink #forced intox #r@pe fantasy

[mathsbian]

You know what I was thinking about last night?

In the US, we pay into various accounts that are set up by the government to help us out later if/when we need it. These include unemployment insurance (UI), social security retirement benefits, and social security disability benefits (SSDI). These accounts are directly connected to how long you have worked and the amount of money you were paid, and are only for you to access.

We also pay into programs that are for anyone who needs them, no work required to get assistance. These include social welfare programs like SNAP (food stamps) and TANF (cash assistance for families with children so they can buy clothes for their kids and stuff that isn’t covered by SNAP) and SSI, which is another kind of disability insurance but is specifically for poor disabled people who are possibly still working but can’t afford their cost-of-living expenses which are higher than the average person thanks to their disability.

If you want to get money from SNAP or TANF, you have to prove that you need it. The government will be checking if you have a job and how much you get paid, they’ll look at your bank accounts to see how much money you have on hand, you send them copies of bill statements to prove your expenses eat up most or all of your income. Since SSI is a similar program, I can understand why there’s hoops to jump through to get money from that program.

However, if you want money from your UI account or your social security retirement account, you pretty much just have to tell the government you’re in the group that account is for now. For UI, you have to show you’re still looking for new work (at least in my state) but it’s a very lax requirement compared to the requirements for SNAP/TANF. I’m not entirely sure how one goes about collecting their retirement benefits but I assume it involves a similar process of filing with the government that you’ve retired instead of being between jobs, and they’re only check that that admission from you is true.

SSDI, though? You pay into that account your entire career. But then if you suddenly need the money, you have to go through a ridiculously complicated and drawn out process to be approved. UI approval takes a week at most in my state. I assume retirement benefits get approved in under a year at the very most. But getting approved for SSDI when you don’t have one of the limited diagnoses that automatically qualify you (and not even just a diagnosis in the list, a diagnosis with the right stipulations such as mental health conditions having to be present for over two years without much documented improvement despite consistent treatment)? That can take up to TWO YEARS because they can just deny you over and over again and force you to appeal the decision as many as like 5 times, and each appeal has a 6 month waiting period. And on top of that, once you stop working, the account starts counting down to self-destruction. You only have so much time before you lose access to the money entirely. If I am not found disabled on this application (I’m halfway through all the possible appeals), I will not be able to get my SSDI money AT ALL.

It’s fucking bullshit. I paid into that account so I would have money set aside for if I became disabled. I don’t have to prove I need the unemployment money, which I’m no longer qualified to receive, they’ll basically give it to me no questions asked. But when I’m disabled and barely scraping by for years I keep getting told that “actually from our review of your case it seems like you totally can have a desk job, go fuck yourself” despite me constantly including the detail that I cannot sit upright at a desk for more than an hour without needing to lie down completely flat for two hours immediately after. It’s MY MONEY. They’re not saving it for someone else, they’re going to just eat it if I don’t get it, why can’t they just GIVE IT TO ME???

#disability #us politics #ssdi #disability benefits #disabled things #fibromyalgia #chronic pain #chronic fatigue #poverty #vent

[littlejuicebox]

The sky responded, blue and silver bonded

-----

Chapter number: Five

Themes: BG3, slow burn, original female character x astarion, dialogue heavy, canon adjacent behavior, angst, feelings realization, trauma, the slighest of smuts in this one

Masterlist: Click here.

Song inspiration: "Blue and Silver" - Lower Dens

Notes: A little angsty, a little smutty. I'm obsessed with these two. I'm nervous to write a full out scene because I've never done one and the thought is terrifying to me. :)

Rating: Mature 18+

-----

It was evening when Astarion finally came out of his trance. His body was so tired, even after a full day of rest. He considered remaining in his tent until another merciful wave of sleep came to him, but the crackle of the campfire and its comforting glow lured the rogue from the confines of his tent. Everyone besides the little bird sat around the flame, all in various stages of their dinner, the distant sounds of bog creatures and the whimpers of a sleeping Scratch the only noise between them.

“How is she?” The pale-elf asked, his gut churning once again, unsure if he actually wanted to know the answer. He settled on a stump next to Wyll, where Scratch lay sleeping between the two men, but his attention was focused on the Shar-worshipper.

Shadowheart eyed him cautiously on the other side of the flame. She took a slow deep breath, almost as if it were her final attempt to delay delivering any news to Astarion. The woman shook her head and let out the breath in a shudder as everyone else in the circle suddenly became very interested in their food.

“Not good. She’s concussed; she vomited twice and keeps calling for someone named Kol in her slumber.” Shadowheart gave a cough as her voice began to crack. “I think her right eye is…. unsalvageable and her left eye will take a few days to heal. The confuson will be there for a few days, as well.”

All at once, Astarion felt as if he’d been the one stabbed by the Gur; he was greeted by another vile churn of his now-empty stomach. The silence of his campmates set him on edge -- 'How is nobody concerned by this?' -- and he snapped, unable to contain his frustration any longer and tongue lashing out to wound the messenger.

“What do you mean you can’t save her eye?! You aren’t trying hard enough, Shadowheart! Some god forsaken cleric you are… or are your tales of Shar’s power actually just fake and useless FUCKING propaganda!” He spat the words into the silence and was met with a swift blade pressed to his neck by none other than Lae’zel. Had the pale-elf not been blinded by rage and secretly hoping for a fight to release some of the tension housed in his body, he would’ve laughed at this interesting development.

“The only reason she’s in that tent is because that Gur was looking for you… or did you forget?” The Githyanki hissed, dark eyes filled with disgust. “And how many more monster-hunters will come our way because our leader stupidly insists on protecting you. I think we should all just cut ties with you... and with her.”

Astarion sneered at the Gith, pushing his neck forward, calling her bluff. “Did you forget, Lae’zel," He spat, scarlet eyes daggers as he met the alien's gaze. "That it was Wren who shot you down from that cage when your precious Shadowheart wanted to leave you to die? I will sooner kill you for your ungratefulness than watch you abandon her, you cockroach."

Karlach was on her feet now, forming a t-shape with her hands. “Timeout! Oi! No one is killing anyone and no one is slicing any necks and no one is leaving anyone behind. Not today.” She approached her campmates, sighing heavily. “Look. We all need to get some rest and formulate a plan tomorrow… together. It’s been too much excitement for one day and none of us can think straight.”

At this, Lae'zel swiftly lowered her blade from the vampire's neck with a hissed “tch.” She spun around and stamped toward her tent, tossing her dagger at the practice dummy where it sliced into the canvas and remained. The green woman ducked into her tent and then closed it off to the outside world, thwarting the hopes of any nighttime visitors.

The remaining camp members sat in tense silence for a moment before shrugging and also turning in for the night, leaving a clattering of bowls and spoons in their wake. That left Astarion alone with the dog, who had woken up during all the clamor and sat next to him, panting heavily.

Shadowheart, to her credit, had remained the longest, desperate to express something she couldn’t find the words for. The expressions she wished for never came, so instead she sighed and clasped her hands in prayer as she addressed the vampire.

“I am trying, Astarion. But I cannot work miracles.” She muttered, voice cracking again, before she heaved another stressed sigh and headed to Wren’s tent, focused on performing one last exam prior to bed.

Scratch placed his injured maw on Astarion’s lap. Initially, the rogue wanted to recoil at the smelly, hot breath the dog coated his leg in, but decided to leave the creature be. Gods. He desperately wanted to go to Wren’s tent and speak to her, but Shadowheart was already there, and the vampire was unsure if his stomach could face what was sure to be a horrible sight. Guilt and fear settled into his chest, their roots taking hold and twisting around his heart, sharp pangs hitting him every time he took a breath. He remained on that stump with Scratch until the last embers of the campfire dwindled, signaling the rogue that it was time to force himself into a trance and fall into the numbing void.

-----

Wren’s consciousness found itself warped in a hazy state somewhere at the intersection between reality, dreams, and memory for the next few days. The ranger startled awake the day after the Gur encounter to a stressed Shadowheart stripping Wren of her filthy, blood-stained tunic, which the cleric had declared a lost cause. Unable to protest due to the bile rising in her mouth, the honey-eyed half-elf had let the other woman undress her down to her knickers. Then, she vomited, and passed out once again.

Kol came to her in a dream that night… except, it wasn’t actually Kol. The dream guardian’s face was same, those piercing eyes so comforting and familiar, but there was something strange about the way he carried himself. She’d grabbed his hand, her subconscious state desperate to find comfort, and dream-Kol told her that he was here to protect her. He’d said she needed to embrace the potential of the parasite to save the fate of Faerun before telling her to wake and promising she would feel better in the morning.

The following morning — or was it the morning after that? Wren became more conscious of the fact that she couldn’t see out of either eye. She noted with panic that the right side was completely pitch black, but in the left she saw flashes of light and shadow. The ranger mentioned as much, choking back tears of fear and frustration, to a solemn Shadowheart. The Shar-worshipper had done nothing but hum in response and cover both Wren’s eyes with a cold, putrid-smelling salve.

Gale came by many times throughout the days to spoon feed her meals. Wren found she was never more thankful for Gale and his ramblings about Tara and Waterdeep than she was now. She was content to be the sounding board and let him chatter on excitedly, his loquacious nature making is so that she did not have to fill the silence. Between her meals, she fell into sweaty sleep, sometimes dreaming of Kol, sometimes dreaming of Astarion (where was he?), and sometimes having the strange sensation that she was experiencing one of her campmate’s current points of view as the tadpole wriggled in her brain.

In her fitful periods of a sleep, she saw Lae’zel brush strands of hair from a worn and desperate looking Shadowheart, tears in the cleric’s eyes. She saw Karlach was playing fetch with Scratch as hand's that must've been Gale's prepped oatmeal for breakfast. And she saw a locked cabinet flicked open by a pale, dexterous hand, the contents of that cabinet not revealed to her during her slumber.

“For the love of Shar, go in there, you absolute git. You’ve been pacing around here nearly an hour!”

“Oi mate, it’s time! Grow some bollocks.”

Wren woke in mid-afternoon light to three beings whispering urgently outside her tent. She found, with some relief, that her left eye had finally been released from its previous prison of two bulged eye sockets and she could see well enough to reacquaint herself with her surroundings. She desperately needed a bath, the smells of dried blood, stale sweat, and bile clung to her in thick wafts, and her hair had turned into a dried clump of tangles.

Suddenly, Astarion burst into the tent, a tensed coil of jittery energy, and Wren felt her body burn with embarrassment; she silently wished the feeling would ignite her and burst her into flames on the spot. The ranger woman was not particularly vain — spending long stretches of time in the wild without a mirror or civilization had that effect — but she knew she looked ghastly and smelled horrible. And Astarion, well… he looked as he always did, nearly flawless, though his face seemed more sunken, and his eyes were circled by blue-purple bags of sleeplessness.

“Hello, darling.” He murmured, still standing, fiddling with a small package of wrapped cloth in his hand. “I… well… this for you." He waved the package in his hand before crouching down and placing it in Wren's lap. "Shadowheart told me she had to dispose of your tunic, and I thought that perhaps you might appreciate being covered by more than your undergarments while everyone insists on making calls to your tent."

Wren took the package he offered quietly, still painfully aware of her appearance as she undid the jute string holding the plain cloth together. The dressings broke apart to reveal a beautiful azure chemise. The woman's vision was still blurred since she could only see out of the left eye, but she had enough eyesight to appreciate how beautiful — and expensive — the gift was. Her stomach sank with guilt… they weren’t exactly loaded with cash.

The half-elf stared down at the piece of clothing, her bruised and battered fingers running lines along the golden floral embroidery stitched across the hem of the square, flounced neckline. Wren almost laughed at the extravagance of the nightdress. In her past, she'd always favored practicality, which meant sleeping in the nude or a garment that was past its prime for daytime use... fancy stitching and dyes were altogether foreign. She sighed, “Thank you, Astarion… but I think... well, perhaps you should return it, it isn’t—“

“Return it!” Astarion cut in with a good-natured chortle, sides of his eyes crinkling with humor, his head tilted back to look at the ceiling. “Little bird… you want me to return it to the charred remains of Waukeen’s Rest? I won't hear another word of that ridiculous droll; I’m sure Counsellor Florrick won’t miss it a bit."

“Counsellor Florrick?”

Astarion waved his hand dismissively. “You’ve missed quite a bit, darling. We couldn’t very well stay here and be sitting ducks, so we split up to do our own scouting and gather information while you were under recovery. Karlach and I pulled some Counsellor out of a burning building yesterday -- well, really, as you can expect it was Karlach that did all the work -- and today I returned to pillage the remains. We’d spent most of our gold purchasing what Shar’s favorite cleric needed for your salves, you see, and I guess I took a note from your book. This was there.”

Wren sighed in both relief and frustration, thankful that her gift had not cost them any coin but upset with herself that her healing had drained them near-dry. She made to put her new nightdress on while he moved to place a long-fingered hand on her wrist.

“Ah, darling. Perhaps you should consider a bath before you dress.”

His tone was polite, but the implication made Wren’s face flush once again with embarrassment. All she could do was nod.

“Let me go get Shadowheart, then. Wait here, little bird.”

-----

The bath somehow turned into an a group affair. Everyone was excited to see their leader back on her own feet and to share the tales of adventure she’d missed in her dazed state. Wren found herself thankful to be covered in Astarion’s shirt, which he had taken off and thrust at her in a snap decision. Initially she’d refused, considering the offer far too intimate for their current relationship status (whatever that was) but he’d responded with a roll of his scarlet eyes and a huffy but convincing, “Your body is yours to show off or cover however you wish, darling, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As one would think, the bog wasn’t the best place to find clean water suitable for a bath. So, Gale and Wyll double-teamed the task of readying bathwater with a bit of spellcasting and transmutation practice. It was quite a clever and efficient affair. Gale would conjure water, Wyll would heat it, and then Karlach would haul the bucket over to Shadowheart who, unsurprisingly, treated bathtime as if it were a surgical procedure. Lae’zel and Astarion stood begrudgingly on either side of the cleric as she instructed them to hand her different sponges, soaps, combs, salves and bandages that she used on the ranger with a heavy hand. Wren was sat on a tree stump, utterly at the mercy of the Shar-lover, and forced to endure her as she scraped, scrubbed, primped, and primed... cleansing the ranger of all matter of filth and potentially a few layers of skin.

The little bird’s eyes kept wandering to Astarion when he turned to retrieve another item that Shadowheart requested of him. She noted, with a mix of quickly stifled horror and shock, that his back was covered in a large, raised scar. Wren’s mind wandered through her memories, and she noted that she hadn’t seen the vampire shirtless until now. Camp life held different rules when compared to society, and while the group was far from a nudist colony, it hadn’t been unusual to catch glimpses of barred torsos and legs among her counterparts. She now understood why Astarion always went hunting while everyone else bathed.

As she worked, Shadowheart revealed that she, Gale, and Wyll had managed to infiltrate the Goblin Camp and do some reconnaissance. The shar-worshipper laughed as she explained how she’d disguised herself as a drow and waltzed right in with their posse. She described the interaction they had at the entrance of the gate, spurred on by their tadpoles, and recollected every detail about the True Souls and where they were located within the temple. Unfortunately, no one had any further information about Halsin. To Wren's surprise, the gang had already killed one True Soul named Priestess Gut and tipped her body off of a cavern edge... astoundingly, this had been Gale's idea. The goblins noted Gut's absence but without any evidence of struggle or a body to be found, they'd shrugged it off as her usual leave of business.

“Gut!” Astarion had interjected with incredulity. “The goblin’s name was Gut. How ridiculous.” Which had made Wren burst into laughter that quickly made her wince and stifle herself to avoid further pain. The vampire responded her laughter with a small smile before Shadowheart barked another order his way and roped him back into the task at hand.

Wyll and Gale recalled with shock and horror the beating that Shadowheart willingly took from Abdirak in the name of Loviatar. Wren noted with surprise that Lae’zel lamented her inability to witness the cleric’s penance, since the Githyanki been forced to become Wren’s babysitter while everyone else had all the fun. Wren noted that the usual edge to the Lae'zel's voice had been replaced with a touch of excitement... or perhaps arousal. ‘Who would’ve guessed that one.’

As the last rays of sunlight flared across the sky in a beautiful, milky blend of pink and orange, Wren was finally declared clean and dressed in her new nightgown. The ranger’s right eye was covered with a patch, and her hair was lifted into a high ponytail with accent braids. It wasn’t a style she would usually pick for herself, but Shadowheart did seem to prefer high updos. The little bird went along with it, as she was in no position to refuse the bossy Shar-lover. Finally, she was escorted back to her tent by Gale, who informed her of his intent to bring dinner by shortly.

“Her arms and hands work, wizard! It’s just the right eye that doesn’t.” Astarion bristled as he donned his own shirt, which Wren had returned minutes prior. His eyes were narrowed at the human as he pushed his silver curls back and tightened the strings of his shirt.

Wren thanked Gale but informed him that she actually was not hungry and preferred to rest. The wizard, always good-natured and rather receptive, nodded and walked off toward Wyll, who poured them both a glass of wine as they waited for dinner to finish cooking. Slowly, the half-elf ducked into her tent, still adjusting to seeing through one eye and attempting to avoid any sudden movements sending her spinning. She turned to see the vampire watching as she entered her shelter and gestured for him to follow her. Her heart fluttered a beat as he obliged.

-----

“You really don’t remember what happened after you stabbed Gandrel in the eye?” Astarion asked, brow cocked with incredulity. “Darling, you were, by all accounts, amazing… and also quite terrifying.”

He recounted the events to Wren and watched as her eyes — well, eye — widened in shock and terror. A hush fell between them and Astarion whispered the next question, the one that had been on his and everyone else's mind for days.

“Wren... Who is Kol?”

Wren gasped and clasped freckled hands over her mouth but said nothing. The silence stretched between them again. Crickets and frogs sang outside the tent, highlighting the awkward bit of quiet that fell between rogue and ranger. But Astarion wouldn’t relent by moving past the question; he had am inexplicable, visceral need clawing at his psyche. He needed the answer more than he needed to drink blood.

“My husband.”

Time always moved at a strange pace for the vampire. Torture sessions seemed like they lasted decades and his few moments of relative freedom out on the streets of Baldur’s Gate lasted mere seconds. But in this moment, it felt as if the world stopped turning at all. Astarion noted that familiar sensation of nausea rising up again. 'Who knew freedom would cause as much sickness as captivity does.' The nausea flipped to outrage and his lips curled back, fangs bared, tongue ready to cut into the little bird when she continued through a shaky breath.

“He’s dead. I must’ve been calling for him when I was out of it.”

Astarion stopped his insults before they spilled out of his mouth. He was astonished but found he did not desire, in that moment, to hear further details. The revelation, mixed with the fact that he hadn’t hunted anything since Wren had let him bite into her several days prior, had been enough to give him a headache. The silence stretched between them again. To the rogue's surprise, he reached a pale hand to her freckled one and sighed.

“I suppose... well, I guess I’m sorry to hear that, little bird. Now let’s get you into bed. I have to turn in early as it is, I’ll be gone by first light. Shadowheart found some man named Volo at the Goblin Camp and needs me to break him out of his cell, for what, I have no earthly idea. It seems that even with you out of commission, I'll never get away from being forced to play the hero."

Wren's response surprised the vampire entirely. She deftly grabbed the flounced collar of his shirt and pulled him forward into a kiss, practically lunging to meet him. His cold lips crashed to her warm ones, the smell of berries and cinnamon eerily reminiscent of the moment they'd shared a few nights prior. Wren poured so much emotion into Astarion’s mouth, extracting an overwhelming wave of emotion from him, that all he could think to do was close his eyes and succumb to her kiss.

The half-elf woman's shaking, freckled hands drifted up to the vampire's face and then brushed along to pinna of his pointed ears, shocking a gasp from his mouth and the sudden rush of blood into his ears. In his previous encounters under Cazador’s control, he’d never crossed paths with someone that dared to perform such an intimate gesture on a one-night stand. She’d thrown him off script again and ignited a part of his psyche that had buried itself beneath layers of rote mechanics and one-liners for 200 years. The vampire grasped desperately at her forearm in response, silently urging her to touch him again, but froze in place when the little bird winced in pain and retracted from the kiss, pulling him out of the spell.

Astarion opened his eyes and gently pulled Wren’s hands away from his face; half of his heart regretted the action the moment he performed it, desperate to feel her warmth along his cheek once more. She was staring at him, cheeks flushed. She was a vision in the new nightdress he'd given her, and the new hairstyle Shadowheart had chosen for the ranger gave an enticing view of the neck and collarbone. The vampire stunned himself when he planted a soft kiss on Wren’s knuckle before placing her hands in her own lap. “Perhaps we should postpone more… athletic activities, little bird.” He murmured, offering her a raised eyebrow and a good-natured twinkle in his scarlet eyes to ease the sting of rejection. “After all, Shadowheart will have my head if I undo all her hard work. And I do believe her green guard dog would love any excuse to rip my neck out.”

This wasn’t a simple game anymore. Everything that had happened and everything she shared twisted his original plan of manipulation to feel much more… well, wrong. Part of him wished to go back to the time when he knew nothing of his marks apart from their desperation for his body. It had been astoundingly easy back then.

But Wren wasn’t an easy mark. Astarion was sure he could not compete with the ghost of her dear, dead husband. Surely, she would see his true colors and reject him in the end. And what was the point of exerting all that effort? He needed someone that would follow him blindly to Cazador.

“Goodnight, darling.” The pale elf whispered as he turned on his heel and stalked towards his tent, not waiting for a reply. He burst into his own shelter, desperate to be far away from the spell that little bird had him under and relieved of the painful straining within his trousers. What an idiot spawn he was, that the slightest brush against his ear had sent him into such a frenzied state. A few urgent tugs of his trousers to force them down and the vampire grasped desperately at his arousal. Astarion used his deft hand to stroke wantonly at his member, gasping as the release came. His head tilted back, he saw a flash of Wren’s scarred lip and freckled collar bone ripping through his mind as he rode the wave of his climax.

Either she was going to be his undoing, or he was going to be hers.

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x original female character #astarion x tav #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion #baulders gate tav #bg3 fanfic idea #bg3 fanfiction #slow burn #astarion smut #bg3 smut #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #smut #slow burn fanfic

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev chapters

———

Lance smooths down the pleats of his new black skirt, trying to focus on how nice it feels and not the anxiety churning in his stomach.

It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s totally not going to make a fool of himself and then be forced to quit Voltron due to his own humiliation.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” Hunk laments dramatically, poking at Lance’s lockpad like he’s itching to take a screwdriver to it. “Keith is so whipped for you that it’s actually embarrassing. I dunno why you’re worrying about anything.”

“The person who’s fault this is doesn’t get an opinion,” Lance says pointedly. He glares at his best friend through the mirror, who only shrugs in defense.

“You don’t work through your shit unless you’re forced to. Remember the Garrison applications?”

Lance sighs. Hunk’s right, which is annoying. Lance had dreamed about becoming a pilot since he could think, basically, but as soon as he was old enough to fill out the forms, he chickened out. Worked himself up into a frenzy about not being good enough, and managed to convince himself not to bother. It was Hunk, aged eleven, who forged Lance’s application for him and sent it in with his own.

Lance does, unfortunately, need to be pushed into things he’s nervous about. That’s why he and Hunk are friends, even though Hunk is a horrible secret keeper.

“I still think you should be begging for my forgiveness,” Lance grumbles. He takes one last look in the mirror and can’t quite help a smile.

He does, if one were to think completely objectively, look fine as hell. Red is his colour, and damn any conflicting opinions to hell — the belly button piercing is pretty. The tramp stamp is a classy kind of trashy.

And the lipgloss Allura convinced him to get?

Damn. That’s all he has to say about that.

“Finally,” Hunk grouches when Lance turns to the door, but he’s grinning, and he keeps an encouraging hand on Lance’s shoulder the whole walk to the dining room.

“I think it’s really excellent that we’re doing this as we eat,” he says conversationally. “I’m looking forward to watching Keith forget how to use a spoon.”

Lance snorts. “Keith will not forget how to use a fuckin’ spoon, dorkbrain. Besides, he’s seen it all, remember?”

Hunk grins. “I do remember you telling me about the shower incident. Allura and I like to bring it up to each other randomly and laugh until we cry.”

Fortunately for Hunk, they make it to the doors before Lance can kick him for his insolence. Hunk half-yanks Lance through before he can talk himself out of it.

“Oh, no fucking way.” Pidge is the first to notice. She looks at Lance with wide, gleeful eyes, as if Lance has just informed her that her birthday comes twice this year. She looks at his midriff, then back at his face, and grins, adjusting her glasses. “I fucking love it here. Everything about my life is a gem.”

“I mean, we are fighting fascism,” Allura mumbles. She shoots Lance a smile and turns back to trying to sculpt the castle out of food goo (it is not going well, thus her stuck-out tongue and intense concentration). Lance tugs on her hair as he walks by, just to be a nuisance. She tries and fails to trip him.

“My, dear, you look wonderful!” Coran says. He beams so brightly at Lance that Lance can’t help but smile back, accepting the chair Coran pulls out for him — swallowing down the twinge of pain he gets when he remembers his siblings doing the same teasing gesture back home, whenever he dressed up for no reason, the twinge of pain he gets when his space family and his Earth family occupy the same space in his heart — and sitting carefully so as to not flare up his skirt.

“Thanks, Coran.”

He glances at the rest of the table. Shiro shoots him a wink and a thumbs up, and Hunk, who’s sat down next to Pidge, is openly sniggering.

Keith is completely frozen, spoon halfway to his mouth, goo sliding off of it.

“Hey, Keith,” Lance says. He hears the slight slyness in his voice, the nerves making butterflies turn in his stomach but kind of exciting him, too.

Keith opens his mouth, then closes it again, and does that several times before he finally makes himself speak.

“Hey,” he croaks out. Lance ducks his head slightly to hide his grin. “You, uh. You look — I like your —” he struggles to find his words and gives up for a moment, gesturing vaguely to Lance’s person.

Poorly-hidden giggles erupt from all over the table. Keith goes redder than his lion.

“You like my…?” Lance tries, well aware he’s fishing for compliments and beyond caring.

“All of it,” Keith says, a little helplessly. He’s undoubtedly embarrassed — obviously — but his eyes are determined, and his voice is sincere. He takes a deep breath and then nods once to himself, like he’s solidifying a decision.

“All of it,” he repeats, voice steadier than before.

Lance’s cheeks start to hurt. “Thank you.”

Keith nods again, ears still red, and turns back to his goo. He scarfs his food down, not looking up, and practically runs to the sink when he’s done, washing his dish at lightspeed and rushing out the doors with a hasty wave and excuse.

“Oh, he’s going to be so embarrassing for the next few weeks,” Shiro says wistfully. He turns to Lance with the fondest expression. “Gold star for you, kiddo. Please continue to make my week.”

Lance thinks to the giant bag of clothes he and Allura brought back from the mall, and how absolutely none of them cover his midriff. He smirks slightly to himself

“Will do, Team Leader.”

He’s going to have fun cracking that boy.

#not as good as the last chapter tbh but it’s fine until i get the story rolling again #since it’s been TEN FUCKING MONTHS since i’ve updated 😭😭 #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #klance #pre klance #pining lance #pining keith #whipped keith #whipped lance #hot lance #flirty lance #flustered keith #hunk #hunk garrett #lance & hunk #my writing #fic #longpost #the butterfly effect #team as family #fluff

[tommysversion]

Unconditionally: Joel Miller x OC { Part 1/10 }

Summary: Lucy loves Joel Miller unconditionally. A cross country trip to escort an immune, bad mouthed teenager to safety might just prove it.

CWs: canon typical violence / unsafe sex / age gap / language / spoilers (if anyone cares) / canon divergence / mentions of attempted sexual assault / themes of previous suicidal tendencies

Note: this work is intended for adult audiences only. It is not strictly canon compliant, and was originally posted to A03 when I first ventured into the fandom.

Unconditionally. Part One of Thirteen.

Joel doesn’t want to stay the night, not really. It feels too much like invading the peace, too much like an intrusion, even though Bill and Frank are dead. Maybe that’s precisely why it feels that way.

It feels too much like an intrusion, and he’s lost enough, as of late. He didn’t much like Bill, and he’s certain that feeling was mutual. Grudgingly, he admits he didn’t mind Frank so much. He was hard to dislike, even by someone as prickly as Joel. He can’t afford to get caught up in thinking on it, not too heavily. Even with Tess gone… he has two travelling companions still relying on him. One more than the other, he supposed, on account of Ellie being a goddamn kid. Lucy, not so much. The younger woman he met by chance in the QZ isn’t bad with a weapon, and she’s good at being stealthy. All good traits in a smuggler. He never wanted a fucking apprentice, or whatever the hell she started as, but when she found out he was leaving the QZ, she’d pretty much invited herself along to “watch his dumb ass”. He hadn’t exactly argued.

As requested in the letter, he doesn’t go into the bedroom. What he does do, before he showers, is take inventory of the gas canisters, the truck, the supplies in the garage. Only once he has an idea of what they’re working with, does he relent to Ellie’s nagging and hit the shower.

For a kid, she’s persistent.

It’s not his ideal scenario, to crash for the night in the bunker Bill installed beneath his house long before the infection ever started, but it soon becomes clear to him that it’s the scenario he gets.

Ellie’s rubbing her eyes, clearly exhausted but making a show of pretending she isn’t; even the hype of the handgun she pocketed earlier can’t fight off fatigue. Joel doesn’t know about the weapon, nor does Lucy, and in Ellie’s eyes, the adults guarding her don’t need to know. Not yet anyway.

Lucy doesn’t look much better; there’s only so far you can go on caffeine pills and pure adrenaline, and Joel fully expects her to crash at any moment. She’s currently examining the wall of guns along the far side of the bunker, occasionally pausing to check the security cameras.

“We may as well stay here for the night.” Joel offers, because he knows Lucy wants to ask, but won’t, and he’d rather she was sharp for the journey ahead.

“You sure?” She’s not questioning him, more making certain; she knows he’s not a huge fan of staying in one place for too long. Even though the compound is protected, it still feels too exposed. Too risky.

“May as well. We can get some sleep, load up the truck and be out of here by dawn.” He’s already taking a mental inventory of everything they’ll be taking with them.

“Right.” Lucy turns her attention back to the wall of guns, running her fingers over a few, occasionally taking one down to test the weight of it, to see how fast it reloads and cocks.

Ellie, meanwhile, busies herself opening a cardboard box stamped: US ARMY MRE RATION.

“Is this food?” She turns a vacuum sealed bag over in her hands, squinting at it.

Lucy looks over her shoulder, a rifle in her hands.

“Oh, yeah. That’s old shit, but it’ll survive anything. Whatcha got there?”

“Chilli.” Ellie reads the print on the package, “and something called a snack cake? The fuck is a snack cake?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. Probably an old Twinkie.” Lucy puts the rifle back and selects another, weighing it in her hands, checking the ammunition capacity. Satisfied, she raids the ammunition cabinet nearby then sets about repacking her backpack.

“It’s safe to eat, if that’s what you mean.” Joel reaches past Ellie to snag his own freeze dried food, unsealing the package to inspect the contents.

It’s not the best meal they’ve ever eaten, but it’s decidedly better than some of the worst, and certainly enough that each of the trio made room in their backpacks for a few of the rations. Better to have ancient, somewhat tasteless food, than no food at all.

“So we’re sleeping down here?” Ellie surveys the bunker in mild amusement. They’re all aware there’s a spare room upstairs and a couch, but it feels too exposed, and too much like squatting.

“May as well. You take the cot, Ellie.” Lucy nods to the camping cot tucked away against the wall, under a rolled sleeping mat and a small stack of blankets.

“Not gonna complain.” The teen shrugs, helps move the sleeping mat and most of the blankets off the cot, then drops herself down onto the surface, pausing only to take off her new hoodie.

Joel keeps his eyes on the security cameras as Lucy unrolls the sleeping mat; it’s relatively large, they can probably both squash onto it and have enough room, and a blanket each.

“Tonight only.” He warns both woman and girl, “don’t get comfortable.”

Lucy sticks her tongue out at him. She wants to argue with him, make a smartass comment about it being impossible to get comfortable on a thin ass sleeping mat in a bunker, but she knows the road ahead is likely to be unpleasant, far more uncomfortable than the current situation.

Joel rolls his eyes, watches as she unlaces her boots and leaves them to the side of the sleeping mat; if they were anywhere else, he knows that she wouldn’t have taken her shoes off at all. But if they’re compromised in the night? Best thing they can do is wait it out in the bunker. He’s not going to begrudge her taking off her shoes, not when he plans on doing the same.

He glances over to the cot, where Ellie’s already out like a light. He has to hand it to the kid, her ability to sleep wherever the fuck they land is somewhat impressive.

Another glance, to Lucy this time, then he returns to the security feed.

“We can swap out watching the monitors, if you wanna be sure.” Lucy unfolds a thin, itchy blanket, then another. Sighs. Wool isn’t what it used to be.

“Honestly there ain’t much point, but. I’m not the type to be a sitting duck. Not that we’ve got much choice.” Joel frowns, surveys the makeshift double bed Lucy’s put together. “I can sleep in the chair.”

“At your age?” Lucy’s mouth turns up into a smirk, the way it always does when she’s teasing. He can hear it in her voice, even when she turns away from him so she can crawl under the blanket, nose wrinkled with distaste at the fabric.

“Rude.” Joel replies without rancor; honestly, the chair looks uncomfortable as hell, more so than the camping mat, itchy blankets or no.

“Don’t argue with me,” Lucy says in response, “there’s room. Besides, these blankets fucking suck. We’ll freeze down here without each other.”

Her tone is playful, makes it clear she’s just messing with him. Sighing, he takes off his own shoes, leaves them on his side of the ‘bed’, then sets his handgun down beside them, within reach. He notices she’s done the same thing, has her pistol within reach, just in case. Her new rifle isn’t far off, either. He wants to think he’s taught her well, but honestly, Lucy was a survivor before he met her.

Joel turns out the fluorescent overhead lights, leaving the bunker illuminated only by a camping lantern next to the ‘bed’ and the security feed monitors.

He strips off his coat, folding it into a makeshift pillow, then slides under the blankets, immediately feeling the slight itch of old fabric mixed with the chill of the night coming.

“These blankets do suck.” He comments as he turns onto his side, facing her. He can look over her shoulder or prop himself up to check the monitors every now and then. He doesn’t think they’ll be disturbed, not really, not down here. It’s probably the only secure night of sleep they’ll get until they’re back in the QZ, or something similar.

“Told you.” Lucy huddles under them nonetheless; he supposes it is somewhat cold down here, and it’ll only get colder during the night. That, and she gave the best blanket to the kid. Of course she did.

He looks over her shoulder to check the monitors one last time before he turns his attention back to her; she’s trying not to shiver, even in the long pants - jeans - and shirt she’s wearing.

“Fuck sake, c’mere before you wake the kid with your chattering teeth.” Again, there’s no heat in his words as he opens his arms to her. Anyone else, it might feel weird or uncomfortable, but Lucy is just…. Lucy.

She doesn’t even hesitate, even though she might have normally done so. She’s too damn cold to care, and fully aware it’ll be a long night if they don’t warm up soon.

When she’s right against him, Joel pulls the two blankets over the pair of them, adding an extra layer to her before wrapping his arms around her, rubbing his hands up her back to generate heat.

“How are you always a goddamn furnace?” It comes out muffled, on account of her face being buried in the crook of his shoulder, cheek resting on his collarbone.

“Luck of the draw.”

“Very funny.”

He can feel the curve of her smile against his neck, though, so he knows he hasn’t actually annoyed her with his sarcasm.

“Warming up?” He doesn’t want to push her away, not really. They’ve shared a bed - or a makeshift one - plenty of times, when the situation has called for it. There’s never been anything strange about it, not really, and if there’s an unspoken tension? Well, that’s not his problem. Or so he tells himself.

“Little bit.” Her lips graze his throat when she speaks, but she’s not so tense now; clearly she’s warming up, feeling more at ease than she was before.

“Good. Can’t have you come all this way just to lose you to frostbite.”

“I don’t think it’s cold en- oh.” She huffs, realising too late he was making another joke, albeit in that dry way of his.

A low chuckle escapes his throat, not laughing at her; at least, not in a mocking way, more just amused by her embarrassment and the little huff she made.

“Just tell me if you’re still cold.”

“A little,” she admits, “but I’ll take being a little cold as a fair trade for a single night of sleeping in relative comfort and safety.”

She said relative, so he doesn’t argue with her, just keeps running his hands up and down her back.

“We’ll find somewhere safe enough in Wyoming. After.” Joel says instead. He doesn’t add the unspoken rest: after they find his brother. After they find someone who can take Ellie in. Lucy understands; there are too many variables, too many things that could go wrong.

“Go back to being FEDRA slaves?” She suggests.

“If that’s what it takes to be safe, sure.”

He can’t see her roll her eyes in the dimmed light, not really, but he can almost hear her doing it.

“Safe.” She mutters, “as if that’s a reality.”

Joel hums agreement, adjusts his arm around her, tucks the blankets a little tighter around her shoulders.

They lay in silence for a few minutes, Joel watching the monitors, thinking she must have drifted off to sleep, when her soft voice breaks the near silence.

“Thank you.”

“For what? Keeping you warm?” He isn’t too sure what precisely she’s thanking him for.

“Keeping me around. Keeping me safe as best you can. I know I get on your last nerve, but I really do appreciate you.”

He can feel the heat of her breath on his skin as she speaks, hushed words into his good ear, not wanting to disturb Ellie.

“You don’t get on my last nerve.” He says finally, “and you don’t have to thank me. You watch my ass, I watch yours. It’s a good partnership.”

He can feel her smiling again.

“No longer a padawan, huh?”

It’s his turn to smile, a rarity for him.

“Those movies are older than both of us. How do you even know that phrase?”

“Keeper of my secrets, I am. Never know everything, will you.” Lucy responds, mimicking Yoda in a whisper.

Joel has to turn his face into her hair to muffle his own laugh, instead getting a good inhale of whatever shampoo she pilfered from the shower earlier. Something floral.

“Nerd.”

“I miss pop culture.” Lucy half shrugs, dislodging the blanket, then shivers and tucks herself further under his arm, pausing only to peek over at Ellie, who’s still a steadily breathing shape under her own blanket, probably a great deal warmer for not being practically on the concrete floor. Lucky kid.

“I miss good music and decent coffee.” Joel readjusts the blanket again, tucks the edges down around her shoulder to keep the chill out.

He misses about fifty other things, some things far more painful to talk about than others; he’s barely been able to talk about Sarah with her. He doesn’t know if he ever will. But he doesn’t want to ruin the good feeling between them by being a downer, even if he thinks she’ll understand, so he keeps it light.

“Gas station coffee was never decent.” Lucy counters, “but I get you.”

“Yeah? You were a Frappuccino girl, huh?”

“Latte.” She informs him, “with a flavour syrup.”

Joel snorts in spite of himself.

“And here I am giving you the shittiest black coffee in the history of shitty instant coffee.”

“That means we have access to it, so I’ll take it.” Her tone makes it plain she doesn’t mind, not really. Her preference might have once been for sweet coffees with lots of almond milk, but these days, she’ll take whatever caffeine she can find. Especially when it means he’s sharing his limited supply with her.

“You’re too kind.”

She’s laughing again, soft sounds muffled in his shoulder, but at least she’s no longer shivering.

“If you say so.” She says finally, hands flat against his chest, keeping herself as close as possible, trying to conserve heat. “I guess I should move, huh? I’m not about to freeze on you anymore, so.”

He doesn’t want her to move. Even the four or five inches they’d have between them if she did suddenly feels like too far.

“Only if you want to.” He says finally, “I don’t want you to just freeze again. I’m comfortable like this, if you are.”

Lucy shrugs against him.

“I’m not opposed to this.”

If there’s more she isn’t saying, that’s her business. Joel doesn’t pry, because quite frankly he’s not sure he wants to go down that path. Not because he finds her unappealing, but because letting someone close could have dire consequences.

So he just hums agreement, rests his chin on top of her head. Almost expects that to be the end of it, until -

“Not opposed to it, or okay with it?” He speaks before he can think it through, and he knows it. Wants to take it back almost right away, because this is precisely down the path he wanted to avoid. Apparently not. Again, he’s not blind to the tension between them, but he isn’t truly sure he wants to allow someone to get close to him. Not after so many losses.

“What a leading question.” Lucy tilts her head against his shoulder.

“That’s not an answer.” If he’s going to walk this path, he may as well walk it properly. Or maybe she’ll save them both the awkwardness and just go to sleep.

“Do I really need to answer it? Spell it out for you?” She laughs softly, “I’m comfortable here. I feel safe here, with you.”

“Nowhere’s safe, Lu. You said it yourself.” Joel feels like a dick the moment he says it, but he’s trying to keep it light, almost afraid to let this go any further, even if he wants it to.

“I know that. What I mean is this. Lying here like this. It feels nice.” She knows she’s doing a terrible job at explaining herself, but he’s caught her off guard.

“Yeah. I get you.” He admits, because he’s not so much of a jerk that he’ll let her confess that and not be honest in return.

“I know you do.” She adjusts herself, fingers playing idly with the fabric of his shirt. “Get me, I mean.”

It takes him a moment to formulate a response; he’s almost ashamed of how distracted her touch makes him, as though he hadn’t been running his hands up and down her back a short while ago. As though he hadn’t been distracting her just as much, even if he doesn’t know it.

“Be a shit team if I didn’t, huh?” His hand moves to briefly cover hers, planning on giving it a light squeeze of reassurance before letting go.

Lucy has other plans, flipping her hand over and interlocking her fingers with his, surprising both of them.

“What are you doing?” He asks, truly surprised by her touch.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” There’s a quiet determination in her voice, something he’s heard only hints of before. Not like this.

“I’m not gonna tell you to stop.” Joel says finally, “Hell, I got you wrapped up against me. How’s it any different?”

He’s being deliberately vague, toying with her. He doesn’t mean to, but he’s curious how far she’ll push it. He’s almost glad she’s making the first steps.

“To keep warm.” She reminds him, “that’s why I said… tell me to stop if you want me to.”

“I don’t want you to stop, honestly. This is nice.”

He means that; it’s been far too damn long since he held anyone like this, let alone had someone hold his hand the way she’s holding him, her smaller thumb tracing over his, rubbing little circles. It’s soothing, and quite frankly probably the only tiny piece of serenity they’ll get for a while.

“I’m glad.” There’s a sheer honesty in her voice, even with it pitched so low, so as not to wake Ellie.

He sighs, weighing his options in his head, fighting a losing battle with himself if he’s honest. Maybe it’s strange to even be considering any sort of romantic entanglement when laying in the basement of someone else’s house, when that someone else is dead in the bedroom the floor above. But somehow, Joel thinks, Bill and Frank would understand. Here, in this house, where their story began and ultimately ended… why shouldn’t it be the place something else starts too?

“Hey, you okay in there?” Lucy tilts her head up to look at him, eyes searching his face, trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Escape route?” She’s only half joking, so used to him constantly being wired, attuned to their surroundings.

“Not quite.”

“Then what? Is everything alright?” Truly she sounds concerned, which in itself is touching. Maybe it once annoyed him that she gave a shit, but now? It’s grown on him.

“Everything’s fine. Honestly.”

She’s still looking at him like she doesn’t quite believe him, like she’s trying to work him out. Fuck it. Why shouldn’t this be the place something else begins too? Isn’t that what they’d have wanted? Isn’t that why Bill left him an entire goddamn arsenal? To protect those he cares about? So maybe that’s a foul mouthed teenager and a woman he used to help scavenge black market medicine with. Better than the alternative. Better than the aching emptiness of being alone.

Lucy’s still looking at him, lips slightly parted.

“Ah, what the hell.” Joel mutters, and tilts his head down so he can connect his mouth with hers.

It’s not the perfect moment to kiss her, not really. They’re barely above freezing cold in the basement of their dead friends’ house, with their antsy charge asleep twelve feet away, but it feels right nonetheless, and hell, it may be the only chance he gets.

Seize the fucking day, or whatever whoever said that shit said.

He’s almost surprised by how soft her mouth is; honestly, in a world without makeup, or very little of it, he knows her singular concession to vanity is chapstick, if she can find it. She doesn’t waste her time trying to find box dye or eyeliner or anything else that she once used daily, lets her hair be streaked with silver in places without shame or concern. She wears practical clothes to keep herself comfortable and protected, usually keeps her hair tied back for safety. And yet somehow, somehow, she has the softest goddamn mouth he’s ever kissed.

She half pulls away, just for a second, her eyes searching his once more. She must have found some sort of answer in his gaze, because she doesn’t hesitate to lean back in to initiate another kiss.

Lucy’s younger than him, it’s true, but not by so much that she’s inexperienced; that much is clear by their second kiss, by the way her teeth nip gently at his bottom lip, almost demanding better access to his mouth. He doesn’t remotely hesitate to let her, lips parting, letting their tongues entwine as he pulls her tighter against his chest, holding her there for a moment before he rolls them, carefully, propping himself up on one elbow so he’s not putting his entire weight on top of her.

She breaks the kiss once more, glances over to the other occupant of the room. Joel looks too. Still dead asleep.

“We’ll have to be quiet.” He breathes into her ear, dropping a kiss below her jaw. “Can you do that?”

A little smirk is her first answer.

“I’m sure I can.” She hums, undoes the top button of his new borrowed shirt so she can lean up and drop a kiss to his collarbone.

Once, she might have bitten, left a little mark, but since the outbreak, biting one another has sort of lost any amorous appeal. Thanks, cordyceps.

Still, the kiss there is intimate enough, considering. He doesn’t stop her, lets her hands wander down his chest, settling there for a moment before they slide under his shirt, fingertips tracing every old scar she can find, like she’s committing every inch of him to memory.

His hand - the one that isn’t occupied propping himself up, slides along her side, thumb rubbing circles on her hip. It’s the most he’s touched another person in months. Years, maybe. He can’t say he dislikes it; it’s unfamiliar, sure, to be touching another person in a caring and intimate way, but he’s certainly not opposed to it at all.

“Joel…”

He’s not entirely sure, but it almost sounds like a plea. One he’s more than happy to answer, letting his hand drift to the button of her jeans. He’s gotta admit, he’s glad he can get them undone with one hand, not wanting to appear as out of practise as he realistically is.

Her hands slide out of his shirt to help tug her jeans down, not fully off, but out of the way. Neither of them are stupid enough to undress fully, not in their surroundings. They’ll make do, and Lucy does, shaking one foot loose from her pants, keeping them looped around her other ankle. Their shirts can stay on, not wanting to waste time or expose themselves too fully.

As her hands move again, he leans down into another kiss; it’s his turn to nip at her lips this time, leaning right into her as she gets his jeans undone. It only takes her a moment, considering she has both her hands to work with.

Speaking of hands. He has one free, and he decides to make use of it, rubbing his fingers across her hips, now bare to him, just watching how she responds to each little touch. He doesn’t get much time to observe her, though; she seems far more interested in kissing him, which is fine, it’ll at least keep her relatively quiet as things progress. It’s a shame; honestly, he almost wishes they were back in his apartment in the QZ, or hers, somewhere where he could coax all sorts of interesting sounds out of her and not care about the volume. But things have changed, and they’re here now, and that necessitates they be as quick and quiet as possible.

It’s almost disappointing. He would have liked to take his time, but well. He’ll take the situation as it is. His fingers move inwards, across her thigh, slowly, teasing her, their lips still locked together, her tongue teasing at his bottom lip between kisses.

He can tease right back, letting his fingers slide between her thighs, pausing just before he reaches his target to break their kiss.

“Remember what I said about quiet.” He warns, a gentle reminder whispered into her ear. She hums her assent, her fingers carding through his silver streaked hair, as though she can’t get enough of just simply touching him.

He understands the feeling, truly, but he has other plans, beyond touching her hair. His fingers trail along her inner thigh, amused to find her already soaked and waiting for him. Amused, yes, but aroused, too; his thumb finds the little bundle of nerves at the apex of her core, rubs it slowly, watches her eyes widen, her teeth sink into her lip to keep herself from making a sound.

He finds himself smirking, just a little, rubbing slow little circles on her sensitive skin, fingers skimming across wetness, spreading it, coating his fingertips in it.

Her lips part in a silent gasp as he slowly slides two fingers inside her, giving her a warning look as he curls them, buried to the knuckle inside her soaked heat. He can feel himself aching against the fabric of his jeans; even unbuttoned, he feels constricted, a dull aching need throbbing in him.

“Been thinking about this for a while,” he admits, voice still low and sensual in her ear, “maybe not in this setting, but I’ll take it.”

He keeps slowly moving his fingers, pumping them in and out, agonisingly slow, wanting to watch her reaction, wanting her to beg him for more. He knows her well, knows her better than he’d like to admit, and he knows damn well she’ll crumble eventually.

It comes sooner than he expected; he can feel her tensing up, her back arched up, her chest pressing flush against his, her entire body trembling. And somehow, somehow, she manages to stay almost completely silent, burying her face in his chest to muffle the tiniest of whimpers that fall past her parted lips.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers out of her slowly, “just ride it out. You’re okay. I got you.”

Her whimpers fade as she recovers, lies back, gazes at him with half-shut, adoring eyes. Fuck, why has he never done this before? All this time…

He wipes his soaked fingers on his pants, pausing just a moment before he moves the offending fabric out the way, tugging them down slightly, freeing himself. He damn near sighs himself when her hand wraps around his length, stroking slowly, her thumb caressing the tip of him.

“I want you so bad,” she whispers, leaning up to kiss him softly, “you have no idea…”

He laughs, a quietly amused chuckle.

“I’m getting an idea, darling. Don’t worry. It’s nowhere near as much as I’ve wanted you.”

It feels wrong, in a way, how long he’s wanted her, since the first time they ventured out of the QZ together, since she proved herself a capable survivor, since she back talked him and brought a smile to his face.

Her impossibly soft mouth curves into a smile.

“Then take me,” she whispers against his lips, “I’m yours, Joel. All yours.”

As she speaks, her hand tightens slightly around him, guiding him between her legs, rubbing the head of his length against her dripping sex.

“Mine.” He repeats softly, before he sinks into her, slowly, inch by inch. He has the foresight to cover her mouth with his, to muffle the soft moan that falls from her lips.

Fuck, she feels so good. So warm and tight around him, her velvet walls tightening and pulsing as he buries himself to the hilt.

Her fingers ball into the flannel of his shirt as she returns his eager, desperate kiss, wrapping her freed leg around his waist loosely.

He breaks the kiss, takes a breath, before he slowly starts to move. Her head falls back against the sleeping mat, eyes half closed as her leg tightens around his waist, drawing him in deeper. In spite of himself, a low groan tears from his chest.

“Careful there, baby girl,” he murmurs, “careful.”

He’s warning himself as much as he is her, reminding himself to keep his head as best he can. It’s difficult, so difficult, when her fingers are curled in his shirt, when she’s so tight and wet around him, when her breathing is becoming more and more frantic as he starts to move again.

Lucy leans up to pull him against her, her lips brushing his throat.

“Joel…”

He understands what she’s asking, without her having to say it; he picks up the pace, lets his hips rock against hers a little harder, a little faster. He has to bury his face in her shoulder to muffle his own sounds; it’s been so long since he was intimate with someone, and she’s so desperate for him, one of her hands leaving his shirt to tangle in salt and pepper curls.

They’re both being pushed to the limit, trying to keep as silent as possible, not wanting to wake Ellie, trying to keep their noise as low as they possibly can, quieter than the low hum of the generator Bill kept down here, just in case, always switched on and wired to the security system.

“You feel so good,” Lucy whispers, lifts her leg slightly higher around his waist, wraps it tighter, keeping him buried inside her. Her voice shakes as she whispers it, as he keeps up the deep, steady thrusts, in and out of her.

“Mm, you have no idea, baby girl. No idea how good you feel. How are you so fucking wet?” He can’t help the low moan that he lets out into her ear as his hips steadily collide with hers, harder and faster, chasing both of their release.

She can’t answer, not a full word, only tiny whimpers as she clings to him, raking her fingers through his hair. She can’t get enough of touching him, of feeling him close to her, the scratch of his beard on the skin of her throat.

“So close…” she whispers, back arched up against him, “don’t stop…”

“Not a chance, baby girl. Not a chance.” He murmurs, picking up his pace once again. Chances are he’ll feel this in his lower back and his hips tomorrow, but he’s beyond caring. All that matters is her, and the pleasure building between them, and her soft, soft mouth, kissing at every inch of him she can reach.

His mouth finds hers, captures it in a deep kiss, letting his tongue sweep her mouth as she clings to him, feels her tighten around him, feels her entire body tremble as he brings her to a steady climax, feels her soak every inch of his length as he buries himself to the very hilt inside her. Her moans and whimpers of pure pleasure are muffled by their kiss, her hand tightening in his hair for the briefest moment before she goes limp, lets her hand fall from his hair, caressing his face gently before her hand falls.

“I know baby, I know. Let go for me,” he murmurs, presses a kiss to her forehead, “that’s it, darling, breathe through it…”

She whimpers again, links her fingers with his.

Regrettably, Joel realises he can’t hold back much longer, not with how tight she is, the fluttering of her around him. His mind is hazy with pleasure, becoming more and more clouded with each snap of his hips.

He presses deep one final time, rolls his hips into hers slowly, before he reluctantly pulls out of her warm heat, spilling his release onto her stomach with a low groan against her lips.

The temptation to finish inside her had been overwhelming, but he wasn’t about to risk any complications. Not in this world.

Joel rests his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. Lucy glances over to ensure they’re still as alone as they can be, before she exhales, sighs, looks down at their joined hands and smiles weakly.

“That’s it,” he sighs, “fuck…”

He’s most certainly going to feel this in the morning, but he’s in no rush to roll away from her; he moves so he’s no longer on top of her, tucks himself back into his jeans and gives her a moment to pull her own pants back on. Once she’s redressed, he pulls her right back into his arms, inhaling the scent of her hair, their mingled sweat.

“You alright there, old timer?” She whispers, pure tease and thinly veiled adoration.

Joel huffs.

“This old timer just made you come so hard you went limp. Smartass.” He kisses her forehead and she giggles softly.

“Yeah, but I’m your smartass.” Her fingers trace the lines of his face, committing every little wrinkle and detail to memory. Just in case.

“True enough,” he agrees, pulling her closer against his chest.

Joel isn’t one to half ass things; he’s a stoic bastard at times, sure, but he’s protective as hell when he cares, and hell, he cares about her. He wasn’t kidding when he said she was his, and they both know it.

“Joel?” There’s a hesitation in her voice as she says his name. It’s a harsh contrast to the soft, adoring reverence with which she spoke minutes before.

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna pretend this never happened in the morning?” There’s a raw fear in the way she asks it, the way she doesn’t sugarcoat it or dress it up. He likes that about her. That she’s brutally honest.

“No.” He says finally, “there’s no going back. I’m not gonna shut you out like that. It’s… not easy for me. You know that. But … for you? I’ll try.”

“I know it’s not easy.” She agrees, fingertips tracing in his hair, her other hand splayed on his chest, “I just… that’s all I want. For you to try. I just want you.”

“I know. Don’t worry, baby girl. You’ve got me.” He presses a soft kiss to her lips before he kisses her forehead once more.

He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a liar. Not to her. Never to her.

She hums happy agreement, “You know you’ve got me. Til the very end.”

“I know.” He assures her, shifts the blankets tighter around them. “Try get some sleep, darling. I’ll be here when you wake up. Then we can hit the road.”

“Hmm,” she sighs, nuzzles her face into his shoulder. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I plan on it. Someone tired me out.” He chuckles, surprised at his own good mood, in spite of everything he’s lost recently.

“Your own fault.” Lucy replies, her voice heavy with sleepiness as she settles against him.

Try as he might to fight his own fatigue, he can feel it overwhelming him. He’s exhausted, warm and comfortable, and the weight of her in his arms is so goddamn inviting.

“Not a fault.” He mumbles, but she’s already asleep, unable to answer him.

———

Morning dawns, but Joel is awake long before he originally planned to be. He wants to take an inventory of supplies, pack up Bill’s truck, and hit the road, but first he wants to allow himself a moment.

It’s been so long since he simply lay in a bed with someone, let alone allowed himself to hold someone in such an intimate way.

Lucy’s still asleep, her head tucked on his shoulder, arm draped over him, legs tangled with his. They’ve shared a bed before, but only for necessity. Never have they allowed themselves to become intimate before, and now…

If he thought he was protective of her before, it’s nothing compared to the dull ache in his chest whenever he looks down at her now, taking in every detail of her sleeping face.

“I’m yours,” she had said, “all yours.”

There had been so much longing in her voice, going beyond lust and physical need. He doesn’t think he deserves it, and yet. And yet he isn’t going to refuse her. Not when he so desperately, deeply, needs her to be his.

He sighs. Presses a kiss to her forehead, untangles himself from her just as she stirs.

“Time to get going?” She asks, her voice thick and heavy with sleep.

“Yeah. Time to pack up and move on.” He almost wishes they could stay in this stupid bunker for a little longer, but that’s not their path. Wyoming calls. His brother waits.

Lucy doesn’t argue, just sits herself up, untangles her hair, braids it back and slips her boots on.

“I’ll pack up some supplies from down here.” She offers. He likes that about her; she asked him for reassurance before they slept, but she’s not about to ask for it every five minutes. They both know everything’s changed between them now, but simultaneously, nothing has. All they’ve really done is act on what was already there.

“Great idea. Some rations, some ammo. Whatever you think we need.” Joel shoves his own shoes on, surveys the monitors for a moment. All quiet.

“I’ll get Ellie ready, too.”

“I’ll fuel up the truck, pack a few things. Come on up when you’re ready.” Almost without thinking, he drops a kiss to her lips on his way past, climbs the ladder, pushes the bunker door open, and disappears into the morning light.

Lucy stares after him for a moment before she’s interrupted by a soft snicker. Turning, she finds Ellie sitting up and staring at her, grinning.

“What?”

“I fuckin’ knew you two were a thing.” Ellie shrugs, unravels herself from her blanket and tosses her jacket over her shoulders.

“Wh-?” Lucy doesn’t even try to deny it.

“I saw that. And I see the way you two look at each other. It’s gross. You’re both old.” Ellie makes a face as she starts to pack MRE rations into her backpack.

“I’m not that old!” Lucy protests, somewhat lamely.

“Not as old as Joel, that’s for sure.” Ellie smirks, then laughs when Lucy opens her mouth. “I’m just fucking with you. I don’t care. Maybe it’ll get him to stop being such a stone cold asshole.”

Lucy laughs in spite of herself, stocks her own backpack with another box of ammunition for her new rifle and her handgun, before shoving a few rations of her own on top.

“Not gonna argue there,” she agrees, “c‘mon. He’s fuelling up so we can leave. Let’s go.”

“Back to the road. Yay.” Ellie sticks her tongue out, takes one last look around the bunker, then heads for the ladder.

Lucy follows her, taking one last look at the rumpled sleeping mat on the floor, a small smile crossing her face.

She’s not sure where they’ll go from here, but it doesn’t matter. She has Joel, and he has her, and that’s all that matters right now.

#my writing #rue unconditionally #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal character fic #pedro pascal characters #tagged: jocy

[what-a-weird-rose]

RoseKiller: The Things You Do (Make Me Crazy)

Pairing: Evan Rosier / Barty Crouch Jr.

Rating: E

Prompt: Choking

Word Count: 1.4k

There is a long mirror on the wall of his office, stretching from the ceiling to the floor; it was too big to fit anywhere else, not to mention a strange addition to the rustic look of the rest of the bar. Barty liked it, he liked looking through it during the wee hour of the night and seeing his father’s face staring back at him. Perhaps it was strange, his need to see his father in himself when he was half-way high, or drunk, or both. The crazy thing about it was, really, Barty wasn’t sure when it started, all he knows is that from the moment he can remember he reveled in seeing his father’s face on his own, doing terrible things.

Maybe that was the problem with the whole picture, Barty could never let go. His father had quietly disowned him -gave him a good chunk of cash and sent him away- and clearly had no intention of reaching out, but Barty just couldn’t. He loathed the very idea of letting the resentment die because, at the end of the day, the resentment is what kept him going most times; when the dark was too chilling and the loneliness too overbearing, the resentment of his father kept the embers stirred.

Even now, as the night dwindles into very early morning, Barty finds himself lost staring at himself -his father- in the massive mirror.

There is a knock at his office door, he says nothing.

The door opened and Barty makes no effort to look at who decided to ignore the obvious brooding energy in favor of annoying him, not like he doesn’t know already.

Of all his friends -the ones he considers friends and not stepping stones to bigger things- Evan is the one with the least patience for Barty’s moods. Often, he outright ignoring them in favor of doing whatever it was Evan dragged him into on those days.

“Good morning, hot-stuff,” Barty snorts as his swivel-chair is spun around, “brought you breakfast, sexy.”

“Disgusting,” Barty says derisively, digging his hands into the flimsy paper bag Evan holds out.

“You get stuck with Dorky and McKinnon for a day and then tell me how you’re planning to cope with the things you’ve seen.” Evan nods to himself, as if trying to convince his own brain that he’s in the right -he’s is, no one should be subjected to Dorcas and Marlene’s hot-garbage flirting.

“You mean you don’t think I’m really ‘hot-stuff’?” Barty pouts, exaggerated in the motion as he dunks fries into a half-melted milkshake. Evan shakes his head vigorously, though Barty is unsure if its in reference to his comment or his fry-milkshake crime. “Thanks for the food, babygirl.”

“Ew. Never call me that again, toad.” Evan recoils, pulling his feet up to rest on the plush of the chair he must have pulled in from the hall. “They’re so fucking nasty, hot-stuff, I don’t know how they manage it.”

Barty nods, throwing his legs out to rest precariously on Evan’s socked feet. “Who stole your shoes?”

“Nargles.”

“Of course, pesky things.”

Evan stretches out in the chair, shoving Barty’s gross mostly-decayed-but-decent-enough Sketchers’ off him. “Those things are so gross, Barty.” And he laughs, as though Evan can’t see his hot pink socks through the holes.

“But without them, I can’t see in the dark,” Barty whines petulantly, stamping his feet on the ground to demonstrate his point, waving his arms around as the soles flicker to life.

“Get a flashlight ‘fore you give me tetanus.” Barty smiles wide as he stands, lifting his arms up high. “When’re you leaving tonight?”

“Wanna take me home?”

“Better than you going with some crazy with a vendetta.”

“One time, Ev. It was one fucking time.”

Evan watches as Barty moves across the room to stare into that mirror of his. He watches as the muscles in Barty’s back shift as he scoots the thing over to access the safe; he says nothing as Barty unlocks the metal box.

“Pandora wants you to come to breakfast tomor- later this morning,” He can’t see it, but Evan can certainly feel Barty roll his eyes, “don’t blow me off, and don’t blow her off either. They’re getting worried about you.”

“Panda send you then? Wanted to make sure ickle Barty was staying out of trouble?” Evan feels the moment Barty stiffens, as if prepared for a fight.

“Either you meet them somewhere they choose, make niceties, and convince them you’re fine, or I tell them your half-homeless and living mostly out of your boss’ office.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Fucking test me, Crouch, see how close to wouldn’t I’ll get.”

Evan’s hands are warm and soft around his neck, holding tight around his airways- Barty feels high.

Evan licks the side of his face, moving one of his hands from Barty’s neck to his arm, where he pulls one hand up and toward his face. He bites and licks Barty’s inner wrist before setting the hand in his hair.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Evan says, like last time, and every time before that.

“Take me somewhere nice, Ev.”

Evan tightens his grasp over Barty’s neck, shifting his body if only to get more leverage. He pushes backwards into the wall until there is even less no where for Barty to go- not that he’d want to.

Evan kisses his jaw, scraping his teeth along the skin as far as he can get before he runs out of space to mark on Barty’s face. His hand loosens, moving off of Barty’s neck entirely to join his other to pin Barty’s wrists against the wall. Evan’s mouth works quickly, licking stripes of sweaty skin and kissing the crevices between Barty’s jaw, neck, and shoulders.

Barty throws his head back, whining loudly as Evan licks along his collarbones.

“Fuck you, make me cum.”

“Shut up, Barty, no one wants to hear you whine.”

Evan releases his hands and spins him around speedily, before grasping at Barty’s neck once again and sending him back into that quiet submission they both seemed so fond of.

Evan takes the opportunity to bite into the back of Barty’s neck, sucking the skin into his mouth enough to definitely leave a mark. Good, he thinks as his free hand unbuckles Barty’s cheap belt.

Barty jerks his hips forward in some half-hearted attempt at getting friction against the wall; Evan gives his bare ass one good slap in retaliation.

“What have they done to you to make you so fucking impatient.”

“They don’t dally around with foreplay, that’s what.”

Evan rolls his eyes, feeling around Barty’s ass until he finds that puckering hole.

Barty whines louder than before as Evan’s index finger drags along the sensitive skin.

“Fuck me, whore.”

“Shut up, slut.” Evan grips hard on Barty’s neck, and deeply enjoys feeling the way Barty’s gasps around it, trying desperately to get something, with such little luck.

Evan reaches out toward the bag Barty brought in with him, scrambling around inside it until he finds the little bottle of cheap lube.

He squirts the clear gel on the plump of Barty’s ass before smearing it onto his fingers.

“Have you been good, pretty?” He feels as Barty desperately tries to nod, or speak, or anything, and revels in how little he manages. “That’s right, you haven’t, shame that. But I suppose, since I’m so nice, I’ll give you a treat anyways.”

He gives no other warnings before shoving three fingers into Barty’s ass, confident enough in the other’s innate ability to be stretched at all times.

Barty cries, though its choked and scratchy sounding.

Evan soothes him by nuzzling in his hair, though they both know its more patronizing than anything else.

He pumps his fingers in and out, splaying they out at random intervals before calling it a day. Evan scoops more lube off Barty’s ass before stroking his cock, setting up the angle, and shoving in all the way at once.

Barty thinks he might really cry at that.

Evan makes quick work of configuring the angles, setting the pace rough and quick, finding his now-free hand loss in Barty’s hair, tugging and petting.

Barty moans and grunts and groans, though all sound decrepit and pitiful from behind Evan’s large hand.

Evan’s pace is relentless, setting them up for a quick end regardless of anything Barty does. And as they always seem to do at the end, Barty cums first, fast and hard and all-consuming, right before Evan follows, quieter and more deliberate as he fills Barty’s hole.

“Ugh, now I have to sit in your car with cum in my ass.”

“Sucks to suck, cuntface.”

#(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #tales from the hogwarts broom closests #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #rosekiller #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #smut

[soulofapatrick]

Love is a Fire - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel sees you have a panic attack and something makes him admit and deny his feelings for you

Words: 

Warnings: none I think except angsty and fluff

Notes: Part two can be done if wanted 👀

Y/N’s POV

The trade went well, Robert’s goons didn’t even attempt to get me to trade sexual pleasures for the rare commodities I was sent to get. They took the food stamps Tess had set me up with, giving me a once over before turning and scurrying down the alleyway like a spooked cat. It felt like there were eyes constantly on me, watching my every move but I didn’t feel scared or threatened as everyone knows to not touch me or they’ll have to deal with Joel and Tess. The pair had rescued me from a group of guys not long after I arrived in Boston QZ, not realising how rough of a place it was, especially for woman. I can defend myself but it was nice to have someone else do it for me, no one ever having even thought to look at in my direction usually. 

People are bustling about, keeping their heads down and getting on with life, not wanting to cause trouble. The burnings have finished, FEDRA getting ready for the hangings they’ve been doing recently. The stage is being set up and the nooses tied so I do what everyone else does, keep my head down and stride past with confidence, knowing even some of the FEDRA soldiers fear Joel and his massive temper. 

There’s commotion up ahead, people are yelling and screaming. I should be turning around and heading straight home, forgetting about the second trade but the yelling of kids makes me want to help in any way I can so I’m breaking into a jog towards the sounds. People are running around, some crying and others trying to keep people calm and the closer I get the more my instinct is to run home but I promised Tess I’d get the cigarettes she wanted and the drugs. I don’t question what she uses, it would be rude after all she’s done for me over the last year. 

I hear it before I see it: the familiar crackling and popping sound I never wanted to hear ever again and turning the corner it comes into view, leaving me breathless and my fight or flight disappears, leaving me with freeze. The fire blazes and I’m stuck staring at it, the heat so close it prickles against my skin and bright enough to blind. I want to move, to look away, to run away but it feels like the soles of my shoes are melted to the ground. The FEDRA cars are pulling up and the people are yelling but all I can focus on is the fire that is quickly turning the house to ashes and I should be running in the opposite direction before FEDRA appear but I’m stuck. 

Large, calloused hands are gripping my hand and tugging. I’m stumbling after them, unable to look away from the ways the flames lick their way up the wood and engulf the next floor like a hungry beast and knowing. The hand in mine, pulling me away from the commotions is familiar, knowing it’s Joel and I can feel the anger radiating off of him as I’m still stumbling and flailing behind him as we try to get as far away from everything as we can. He doesn’t let go of my hand until we’re inside the shitty apartment we live in, honey eyes narrowed and the crease in his brow even more noticeable than normal. It’s not like he ever looks happy so I just ignore him, still in a daze. 

My rucksack of supplies I went out to trade for falls to the floor with a muffle ‘thump’ and I’m staggering towards the bathroom, trying to steady my breathing and practically ripping my jacket in the panic to get it off me. The sink is cold against my hands where I grip it so tight my knuckles go white, looking in the mirror at the vacant eyes staring back. I need to calm down. I’m safe; I’m in my own home; I’m with Joel and Tess. Fuck, I can’t breathe. My knees are buckling as my breath comes out in gasps, the floor cold underneath me as I shift myself between the bath and the sink. Putting myself in a safe space, surrounded on three sides usually helps me calm down but it doesn’t work very well. Every time I close my eyes I can see the flames, feel the burning on my back and the cries of my siblings locked in their room. 

“Y/N?” Joel’s shoes appear in my view, accompanying his gruff voice, but I ignore him, keeping my knees to my chest and head between them as I try to calm down, having a panic attack. I must look so pathetic right now, tears streaking down my cheeks and body trembling, and I want him to leave. Except I don’t… I need him to stay and he seems to understand this because he’s kneeling in front of me. I’d have usually snorted and made an old man joke when one of his knees pops but I can’t, reaching for him and his calloused palms slip into my hands. 

What’s the technique I got taught again? Five things you can see: the bath; the sink; the toilet; the towels on the rack and Joel. Four things you can touch: the floor; the crappy rug; the cool porcelain of the bath and Joel’s hands. Three things you can hear: the constant drip of the broken tap; the muted murmurs from the people downstairs and Joel’s calm breathing. Two things you can smell: the aroma of coffee that always fills the apartment and Joel’s cologne that is something woodsy and musky. One thing you can taste: the coffee Joel gave me before I went out. 

My breathing slows and I can actually think coherently, pushing the nightmares to the back of my mind as my eyes follow the trail of veins up Joel’s arms that disappear underneath his grey shortsleeved shirt. His adams apple bobs as he swallows, his dark beard beginning to show silver flecks in it, those loose curls have a few too but I’m not gonna tell him that. The beginning of the salt and pepper style really suits his tan skin and brings out the warmth in honey eyes that are currently full of worry. His dark brows are practically knitted together with worry. 

“I-I’m okay,” My voice is hoarse, like I’ve inhaled all the smoke and it does nothing to ease the creases in his brows so I repeat myself, “I’m okay.” 

He nods once, keeping my hands in his so he can carefully pull me to my feet and out of the bathroom. I’m being forced to sit on the couch, Joel crouching in front of me to unlace my boots and putting them by the front door on his way to the kitchen after. He begins to move about, searching through the cupboards for things until it goes quiet again and I’m moving to stand up to find out what’s going on but his voice carries from the kitchen, “Stay there, I’m making us coffee.” 

How the fuck does he just always know? Wait… no… “Have you been following me?” 

The crash is all I need to know, the stoniness to his eyes and the pop of his jaw just adds to the silent admission of guilt when he comes back in with two steaming cups of coffee. He sets them on the coffee table before sitting next to me, raising an eyebrow as if to ask ‘you not gonna yell at me?’. Of course I’m not going to yell at him, I have been crazy in love with him since he saved me from a fate worse than death a year ago. Admitting to that would probably break the bond we have, I don’t know if you could call it a friendship. No, a friendship is what he has with Tess, tolerance is what he has with me. 

“I didn’t want to see you get hurt,” Joel’s voice is barely above a whisper and if my thoughts were any louder I wouldn’t have heard it but I do hear it, my head whipping around to face him so quick I’m surprised I don’t get whiplash. His hand grips my wrist, bringing my right palm up to his cheek and he leans into the touch, something so domestic and so unexpected it steals all the air from my lungs, “I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.” 

“Joel…?” My voice shakes as I have to know. I have to know if I’m misreading this. I have to know if he really does feel the same way. 

“I’m a terrible person. I’ve killed people. I’m not a good man Y/N. You shouldn’t feel how you feel about me and I… It would be wrong for me to take all the innocence from you. I should’t be your first anything,” He caresses my cheek, pain in his eyes and I want to tell him to shut and stop talking rubbish, “I’ve done terrible things and I shouldn’t have even agreed for you to live with me, I’ve had to hold myself back for-“ 

“Don’t hold back.” I whisper back and he’s jumping up off the couch, hand running through his hair making it stand in all directions and his plump bottom lip between his teeth as he begins pacing. The muscles in his shoulders tensing and rippling as he thinks and I know Joel: if I let him continue to think he’ll walk out and this time he may never come back, “I want you.” 

“No you don’t.” He spits, voice hard and closed off, all that openness gone from his features. The softness replaces by the hardened emotionless of pain and he’s slipping further and further away from me. I have to do something so I’m standing too and stalking towards him, part of me mad that he thinks he knows better. 

“Joel!” I’m snapping, grabbing his face and making him look at me. He’s still closed off but he doesn’t pull from my grip which he is more than capable of, “You may be able to protect me from the leering eyes of other men but you don’t get to decide who I want to date.” 

“You don’t want to date me.” 

“For fucks sake!” I feel like I want to pull my hair out as he pulls himself from me and he’s heading for the door, ready to leave again, “I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU JOEL HENRY MILLER!” 

Suddenly chapped lips are on mine, large hands holding my face and my hands fly to his shirt as if I could hold him here. He’s walking me backwards as his tongue slides across my bottom lip, licking into my mouth when I gasp as my back hits the wall. It’s desperate and messy, teeth clacking, tongues clashing and lips crushing. It’s hot and heavy, his broad and sturdy frame caging me against the wall. I never want it to stop, never want his lips to leave my skin with the way they soften up as they trail down to my neck. He’s sucking dark marks into my skin and licking the flat of his tongue over the pinching pain and I’m tugging at his surprisingly fluffy hair, the other digging half moons into his broad back where its slipped under his shirt as my head falls back against the wall. His hand cradling the back of my head when it falls back so I don’t smack in on the wall while the other is gripping my hip tightly.

Joel doesn’t even stop when the door clicks open and Tess is appearing in my line of sight. He just lets out a low sound, almost a growl when I tap at his back, trying to tell him that Tess is there but he knows she’s here. 

“Alright… I’ll come back in the morning then.” Tess sighs, rolling her eyes and leaving with a slam of the door and Joel’s finally pulling back, smirking as he admires the artwork he’s created on my neck. 

“Bedroom, now.” 

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

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@words-are-cheap @clover723 @a-psych0s-w0rld @sexyvixen7 @iraot @gemimawrites @pedropascalsrealhusband @twopercentmilk @amythenortherner @sxnshinebxcky @nelsoomon @urnewghostfriend @grooveandshit @reyas-world @canpillowscry @androgynoysgaz @outl4wage @ginger-swag-rapunzel @quinnverses @librafilms @leonkennedyslefthand @notsosecretspy @intergalacticspacemonkey @certifiedhunter @yourmommilf @mediocrewallflow3r @fariylixie0915 @randomhoex​ @secretsthathauntus​ @ems-alexandra​ @pedr0swh0r3 @quinnsgrapejuice​ @marvelsimps​ @cutesyscreenname​ @missmomiverse​ @midgetpottermills​ @thesapphirequeen​

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller tlou #Joel Miller x y/n #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller x smut #Joel Miller angst #Joel Miller fluff #Joel Miller fanfiction #Joel Miller fanfics #Joel Miller fanfic #Joel Miller fic #Pedro Pascal #the last of us #the last of us 2 #the last of us x reader #the last of us angst #the last of us smut #the last of us fluff #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou2 #tlou x reader #tlou angst #tlou smut #tlou fluff #tlou Joel #Joel tlou

[cjoatprehn]

Survival Financial Request!

My mom’s been filing for bankruptcy, has been extremely financially stressed lately, and trying to get me over to her has been really stressful. She’s a burn victim from a Yankee Candle catching on fire on Halloween, she received 3rd degree burns on most of her body for trying to save her support dog. Between support animal costs, food, rent, and hospital recovery, she’s in dire need of aid. If y’all could and are in a position to help, could you send some money over, please, to help ensure she will be able to at the very least have some pressure off her shoulders? And a sweet note, if you want to—? Thank you…

Adding to this post-

I want to make clear I’ve been struggling to keep us and others afloat, and now I’m at a point in my life and health where I am no longer able to do so. They’re cutting away more food stamp money from many households in the legislature not just ours, and I’m in the process of moving to my mom’s to help out. And also—

I’m kinda Flipping out right now. I don’t want to lie, with the US being a 3rd world country now. I’m flipping out because last month…was the last month they would be giving food money in the 100s. With food so high and Rent higher. SSI—I don’t even know. …I’m smiling but I don’t know what else to do. My moms still recovering from 3rd degree burns, surgery, and trying to get me there, and I’ve learned that the Aunt that had control of late great grandma’s reservoir for funds…Help won’t last long.

I’m scared, and I’m losing hope. I don’t want to go out as the person who Fucking struggled and suffered their entire life, never got to flourish. …I’ve never thought of making a gofundme again. Every time I’ve made one it never reached anything. And…I-can’t even maintain a savings for long. If we run out of money or assistance, then my mom stops getting treatment. Her dog doesn’t get food or treatment…and we’ll lose the little we have left.

She doesn’t have any friends or many connections outside of herself or her former government job. So—I’m just—like—trying to convince her to.. at least accept my help. I know everyone’s not in the best financial situation to help but—I can’t continue giving good energy to the universe from an empty cup…so I really appreciate the support..!

For record only, no longer helping someone who wants to gaslight and abuse me. I’ve been evicted as of May 9th, 2023. I found a place to stay for last night and possibly tonight. After that I’m on the streets. I’ve accepted I might not make it. I’m bedbound forced to rest by my body and disabilities. My phone has been deactivated by my mom only to discover she can’t reactivate it due to my phone being 6-7 years old. It’s too old to be reactivated with its old line.

But…hey…I’m no longer at my abusive home situation. I don’t wish to tell my dad’s side of the family. My mom prolly let them know anyway. I don’t know for sure though.

…I’m so flipping screwed. Had to deactivate my throne, due to no longer having that address. So…I’m just.. Here. Waiting. Watching my time come closer.

Thread of some of the abuse from my mom. I don’t feel like typing it all here..

https://cjoatbysamwise.com/donate-to-cjoat

…I’m scared. But I don’t know what else to do so I’m accepting my fate and situation for now at least. So.

Here’s to updates..

Late Update:

Got yelled at, insulted, and screamed at by my mom through text. She’s called AT&T to lock everything down; I asked her for my account information. When she didn’t answer for the next 5-6 hours. I had AT&T send an email and a text to her & asked her for what they sent her. I got accused of hacking. I’m Not getting my phone line back.

Oh and to top it off, she sent me a picture of Storme laying outside of where I used to sleep. With Storme saying hi. I relayed a message to Storme. It would be a goodbye unless we meet again.

…So I’m unable to exactly…Do anything so. Just…Trying to calm my heart rate down…It’s been elevated all damn day…and increasing..

Good News: The Situation has Partly Cleared!

I cued a erasure on the iPhone 14 Pro Max, which my mom gave me and then took away from me after snooping through my iPhone 8+ and kicking me out, as soon as it connects to the internet; that way, my mom gets to return the phone, she gets her $1K+ back, problem solved. However, twice my mom sent 2 “Reset Apple ID Password” pop-ups on my devices, which…fuck off, mom, tf?

In response, after checking with the select few, I have changed my Apple ID email, because she doesn’t know my Apple ID password. I will be working with Apple Customer Servicee to ensure she can not steal my Apple account through Screen Time (which is possible). Conclusively:

I have a bed and address, temporarily but for awhile, unsure of how long, definitely more than a few days. Right now, until things stabilize with assistance, I don’t have to pay yet, despite being willing to. Currently slowly getting out of survival mode. Many of my stuff remain at my mom’s. I am able to get another physical SIM for my phone. Throne should be showing and working now, because I now have a new address, temporary while I figure what to do from here. I am no longer am able to draw due to my stylus breaking and my disc tips running out. Still got to get back. Laptop is out of commission until I get a new laptop charger, or until I get my old one back. That’s the update for now.

…I’m…finally going to heal, now that I’m safe and in a warm & accepting, and lax environment.

Still going to need assistance, thank y’all so much for supporting me so far.

#mutual aid #time sensitive #disabled #homeless #abuse victim #black sheep

[goldeneyedgirl]

can't believe my dumb ass misunderstanding the hybrid jasper thing and the fact that you were talking about vampire jasper in the og hybrid universe actually resulted in such a beautiful thing thanks a lot to your galaxy brain and i'm sorry but now i'm one more anon disturbing you til death to have more of this concept !!!!!!!!!!

No, Anon. You gifted me with your galaxybrain thoughts. This concept has eaten away at me. I love fucking with the dynamic between Alice and Jasper, and the idea that he's some fucked up, mutated version of a hybrid because Maria crossed his path will feed me for a long time. 

I'm still fiddling with how I want to approach this - there's the 'rewriting the canon story beats'. Or there's more of a Jasper-version of Hybrid which is... tempting. I could have fun with that. 

But for now, here's some more from the ficmas version!

He wants to trust Alice.

But it’s hard. Nothing good has ever come from trusting a vampire. Or a woman.

Everything about her seems to be designed to lure him in - her big eyes, the sweet and hopeful smile on her face, the way she fusses with her gloves and hat and shoes. She smells like good things, safe things that feel like he dreamed them once. He really does want to trust her.

But he can’t.

The room that she’s rented for them is small but clean and warm. He wasn’t expecting that. Or the fact there’s a weather-beaten suitcase with clothing for him on the bed.

“It was easier to tell the landlady that you were my husband,” Alice says apologetically, as she takes off her coat and hangs it up. “If we’d traveled as siblings, more questions would have been asked.” There’s a tarnished brass ring, held on with a slip of paper, on her left hand that she slips off and into thin air. “She has assumed you were a soldier, which will work in our favor.”

He nods dumbly. Cover stories are nothing new, and this one is sturdy. But it makes him feel like he’s caught in a net and he can’t get free if everything turns sour with all the details already figured out for him. He wishes he knew if he could trust her.

Alice watches him for a moment, and she looks almost sad before she gestures to the suitcase. “Take what you need - the washroom is at the end of the hall. If… if I fetch you some food, will you eat?”She sounds oddly tentative making that offer but he nods. He’s not sure what he will eat - he existed on human blood for so long that human food only does so much; it is essentially medicinal, to keep him healthy and functioning. He can go for weeks, if not months, without much more than a few mouthfuls of water but it will take its toll.

But the blood… the blood he needs to stay in control.

In the washroom, he finds the case is very precisely packed - two outfits for him, all in dark colours and folded neatly, along with a comb and a razor. Soap and towels are provided in the washroom, thankfully. She’s even found him a set of pajamas that smell like soap flakes and dust. But underneath his things is a filmy pink scarf, separating another layer of clothing, and he cannot help but peel it back to see what else is packed in this suitcase.

There’s a threadbare yellow dress with mismatched buttons; a grey sweater that looks miles too big for Alice; a beige slip with a torn strap hastily pinned; a little pouch with an ancient-looking hairbrush, a dirty lipstick, and a brown leather notebook tied closed with some ribbon.

The notebook looks as old as he is, and he feels oddly guilty as he reaches for it. But he opens it and… maybe he can trust her.

The first few pages are letters. Unsteady and uneven, in a small, cramped hand; practicing over and over again until the letters become words. Mostly ‘Alice’ and ‘Jasper’ and ‘Cullen’. Leaning to write until it looks like the hand of someone her age and not someone who seems to have taught themselves.

And then little drawings - he’s stunned to see himself in many of them, drawings the size of postage stamps so as not to run out of pages.

A few sketches of clothing - dresses and coats and shirts. Lists of items, as if her memory cannot retain things. And then, almost in the middle of the book, it becomes … it becomes something he feels like he shouldn’t have seen. Notes on him, for him. Things to remember, things to know. Things that her funny gift has seen.

Can’t get cold or wet.

Doesn’t like milk.

Sleeps!

Pages and pages of notes to herself about him. And instead of being creeping and unnerving, like being watched in the dark, he found it… sweet and endearing, a clumsy gesture of goodwill.

She wasn’t lying when she said that she had been looking for him, waiting for him.

When he goes to put her things back in order, hoping that she won’t realize he intentionally looked through them and just messed them up pulling his own things out, he finds a dirty bit of cloth. There’s mud and old blood on it, and he pulls it out to see exactly why Alice has kept it.

It’s a torn, dirty garment. Not a dress or a shirt, but shapeless. The blood runs down the left side - a distinct pattern. He doesn’t need the lingering scent of venom to identify it, not with the blood splatter the way it is.

This was the garment she died in.

#alice cullen #jasper hale #anon #asks #my fic: hybrid jasper #alice being hopeless at human things #jasper being so tired and malnourished he's not thinking straight #just shenanigans